WORM - SI OC Alt-power Crossover

by kaviyarasank124

WORM - SI / OC / Alt-power / Crossover from SB & QQ

3. Doors to the Unknown

Doors to the Unknown (Worm/D , Fusion/Crossover)

By: Silver Pyromancer

A cluster of countless parallel worlds has recently been discovered by the Prime Material Cartographic Society, an organization of multiversal explorers who are curious about the goings-on in this obscure corner of the cosmos.

Valigan Talaire is an exceptionally powerful psionicist, and in the wake of a personal tragedy he finds himself volunteering to explore one of those worlds for the Society to get his mind off his troubles.

Taylor Hebert is an inexperienced teenage cape, and on her first night playing hero she finds herself stumbling through the Society's portal along with several other capes to end up on an unknown world.

With Valigan doing his best to resist the temptation to meddle with the locals of Earth Bet, and Taylor willing to do anything to find a way home from the world of Eberron, both worlds will find themselves greatly changed by their unexpected visitors.

Status: ongoing

Published: 2022-03-10

Updated: 2023-05-23

Words: 611970

Chapters: 46

Original source: https/forums./threads/1001110

Exported with the assistance of

Doors to the Unknown (Worm/D , Fusion/Crossover)

Introduction

Prologue

Transposition 1.1.V

Transposition 1.1.T

Transposition 1.2.V

Transposition 1.2.T

Transposition 1.3.V

Transposition 1.3.T

Transposition 1.4.V

Transposition 1.4.T

Transposition 1.C

Transposition 1.P

Transposition 1.5.V

Transposition 1.5.T

Transposition 1.6.V

Transposition 1.6.T

Transposition 1.E

Transposition 1.A

Integration 2.1.V

Integration 2.1.T

Integration 2.2.V

Integration 2.2.T

Integration 2.3.V

Integration 2.3.T

Integration 2.M

Integration 2.C

Integration 2.4.V

Integration 2.4.T

Integration 2.5.V

Integration 2.5.T

Integration 2.6.V

Integration 2.6.T

Integration 2.D

Integration 2.Z

Rule of Three 3.1.V

Rule of Three 3.1.T

Rule of Three 3.2.V

Rule of Three 3.2.T

Rule of Three 3.3.V

Rule of Three 3.3.T

Rule of Three 3.C

Rule of Three 3.L

Rule of Three 3.4.V

Rule of Three 3.4.T

Rule of Three 3.5.V

Rule of Three 3.5.T

Rule of Three 3.6.V

Prologue

4:38 am, Friday the 1st of April, 2011 Room 288, Cauldron Compound, Côte d'Ivoire, Earth Efes
10 days before transposition

In a featureless room with walls of brilliant white, one of countless such rooms in a sprawling complex scattered across several continents and dozens of square miles, a young man furrowed his brow over the ashen sockets where his eyes had once been.

Just moments ago, he hadn't seen something.

For most, this would hardly be an unusual occurrence, but for this young man, who with every waking moment gazed upon the whole of multiple parallel worlds and perceived everything that occurred thereupon, it was highly unusual indeed. Exciting, even!

In this particular case, the something that he hadn't seen had fallen into a puddle on a rain-soaked street with a muted sound of impact, as if from a short height, and splashed some water around with multiple limbs.

All of the available evidence indicated that the something had moved rapidly away from said puddle and toward a narrow gap between two buildings, leaving a trail of oddly-shaped wet markings on the sidewalk that grew indistinct as the something's appendages dried off, at which point even those signs of its presence were no longer detectable.

Quite curious.

More curious was the fact that it had apparently come through an opening in the air of some kind, one that had opened and then closed with such alacrity that there was no sign of its presence when a vehicle passed through the same space less than half a minute later, and yet the young man's companion-another man, one and a half times his physical age and four times his mental age, whose hand was constantly clasped in his own-had not sensed said opening.

Again, hardly an unusual occurrence, except that his companion was the expert on portals, gateways, doorways, and all other means of traveling between worlds, on this planet or any other he could see. An individual or device capable of creating a portal that his companion could not detect, manipulate, and close at his whim had never before been found.

Even more curious was the fact that the young man's first indication of the anomaly was something emerging from a doorway in the air, rather than something entering one. That would imply that the other side of the doorway did not open onto any of the worlds that he could see, which was of course impossible.

No, rather, it should have been impossible. Yet there it was, plain to (not) see.

All of this was conveyed in moments to his companion, along with the undercurrent of enthusiasm over the novelty of the situation, who then carefully considered the evidence and its implications and came to a decision.

Yet another unusual occurrence, this. The two men were not, as a rule, expected to come to decisions of any sort; rather, they were expected to act immediately and precisely as ordered, nothing more and nothing less.

But the companion was fairly certain that, in this case, the woman to whom they ultimately answered would appreciate their notifying her of the anomaly without waiting to be prompted.

Before the companion could open a doorway to the woman's office, though, he had his attention directed toward another location.

The young man hadn't seen something else, several hundred miles away from the first.

Moments later, a third something wasn't seen, this time on a world dimensionally adjacent to the one on which the first two had been (not) sighted.

And then a fourth something didn't appear. And a fifth. And a sixth. And….

Yes, the companion decided, she would most definitely wish to be notified.

~*~*~

3:24 After Peak, 15th of Order, Hashkar 136

Prime Material Cartographic Society Headquarters, The Lady's Ward, Sigil, The Outlands

9 days before transposition

In an unassuming manor with razorvine climbing the outer walls, one of many in a toroidal city floating atop an infinite spire, a skeletal figure in decadent silken robes tapped a phalange against her mandible in thought.

Spread before her on a massive and ornate writing desk were hundreds of sheets of paper and parchment outlining the initial scouting reports from dozens of worlds. Around the desk's periphery, enchanted quills scritched and scribbled their way across yet more pages, each quill linked to a single golem on one of those worlds to record and summarize that golem's observations and measurements in real time.

The lights in the woman's eyesockets absently scanned the reports, looking for a word here or a detail there that might aid in resolving her current indecision regarding which of those many worlds would be the next target of her organization's exploratory efforts. She had easily winnowed down the selection of potential worlds under consideration to the three most promising candidates, but choosing the final one out of those three was proving significantly more difficult.

A fresh sketch on one of the papers caught her attention, and a twitch of a finger set the quills and papers to rearranging themselves so that that sheet, and all the others associated with the same world, ended up neatly stacked at her fingerbonetips.

The sketch in question, with extensive annotations in the margins to add context to the rather crude rendering, depicted a world with multiple metaphysically-adjacent echoes.

Hardly an unusual occurrence, really; it was common for worlds lacking a deity of time to keep temporal divergences in check to have one or two alternate worlds… except that instead of one, or two, or the current all-time record of seven, this world had at least a dozen, and in a heretofore-unseen configuration which made it impossible to easily determine which was the main world in the sphere and which were merely echoes of that world.

Finding herself quite intrigued, the woman rose from her chair and strode across her study to a chalkboard taking up most of the far wall, papers floating in her wake. Conjuring up some chalk and whisking a few reference tomes over from a nearby bookshelf, she set to work.

Just under an hour later, she stepped back, banished the chalk dust from her clothing with a negligent wave, and reviewed her calculations.

The woman hadn't been certain of her hypothesis at the start, but the thaumaturgic, chronomantic, and metatopographic equations did not lie: to match the observations, the world would have to possess a minimum of not one but two dozen alternates and a maximum of… well, many more than she could estimate off the top of her skull.

That many echoes in a single sphere was something previously believed to be impossible under the laws of physics and metaphysics alike.

What's more, a particular degeneracy in the equations for the boundary conditions between four of the worlds implied that there were almost certainly stable rifts or portals between them-specifically, three of them all connecting to the fourth; she may as well designate the latter the main world in this sphere, given its privileged position.

The woman's mandible lowered in the skeletal equivalent of a gleeful smile. Permanent portals between alternate worlds in the same sphere? Why, that was completely unprecedented!

All of the promising attributes the other candidate worlds possessed, no matter how novel and appealing they might be, simply paled in comparison.

She returned to her desk and sat with a contented sigh, her decision made at last.

A sweeping gesture sent all of the quills and papers not associated with the world she had chosen floating out the door and down the hall to a second study, where they would continue their work without disturbing her.

Another gesture called several of the remaining quills to hand, where a few careful taps to each nib sent new instructions to the golems to which they were linked: one golem on each world was to allow itself to be captured if confronted by an individual or group appearing to possess both magical and political authority in the settlement in which it was located. Once one had been captured, all others on that world were to escape back through their respective portal if possible or initiate their self-destruct procedure otherwise.

Each "captive" golem would cooperate with all analysis efforts to a reasonable degree, feeding everything it learned and observed back to the woman so that her organization could begin studying the local cultures of that world from the inside… and, of course, to give her an impression of each world's level of magical, political, and strategic sophistication, in case of any unpleasantness arising between her organization and the world's inhabitants sometime down the road.

That done, the woman pulled a blank tome from a shelf and a fresh quill from thin air and began writing. She had diagrams to refine, guild members to notify, planar trajectories to calculate, and of course a full series of experiments to plan.

This intriguing collection of worlds would give up all of its secrets to her and to her compatriots, one way or another.

~*~*~

8:45 pm, Monday the 4th of April, 2011

Protectorate ENE Headquarters, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

7 days before transposition

In a well-appointed workspace filled with dozens of tools and several weapons, all arranged to exacting precision in racks along the walls and drawers beneath the worktables, an armored man examined an intriguing creature.

The man's blue and silver armor was not worn to protect himself from the creature, merely out of long-established habit, as the metallic creature, which looked like a bizarre cross between a wolf and a spider with a few other animal features thrown on for good measure, did not appear to bear him any ill will.

In fact, the creature seemed perfectly content to sit in the containment area into which he had placed it and yield absolutely zero useful and comprehensible data to all of his many sensors and scanners, while somehow managing to give off the distinct impression that it was examining him in turn, and with considerably more success.

Not that the man was confident that the creature (being? automaton? device?) actually could be contained if it didn't wish to be. Two days ago, he had been informed by his superiors that it and many others like it had started popping up in out-of-the-way places in many cities throughout the nation; according to reports from partner organizations overseas, more of them had appeared in quite a few other nations as well, though concrete details on those appearances were less than forthcoming.

The creatures' apparent modus operandi was to arrive via some variety of portal, wander around doing various indecipherable things for a few hours, and disappear again, giving no indications as to their goals or purpose.

It was only through chance encounters in a few cities in which the creatures had appeared that their presence was discovered-and, more importantly, kept out of the public eye to forestall panic over a possible invasion of some sort, or perhaps something worse.

This particular specimen, captured just yesterday evening and conveyed to him overnight with the utmost speed and secrecy, was the only one that had been acquired for study thus far, the others all having vanished or self-destructed before any heroes could get close enough to disable and contain them.

The difficulty in acquiring more than one of the beings was due, essentially, to the fact that they seemed to possess a vastly wider array of capabilities (and much greater defensive ability) than should be possible for something of their size and apparent level of sophistication, implying that they were the work of a powerful new cape of unknown capability.

As the nation's and quite possibly the world's expert on all things miniaturized and paratechnological, the armored man was naturally the one chosen to examine the specimen. He had been tasked firstly with getting some answers out of this creature, if such a thing was possible, and secondly with devising a means of detecting the creatures' arrival and departure points to enable acquiring more of them.

The first task was… not going well, suffice to say.

The second, though, he had largely accomplished. Whatever portals the creatures used could not be detected directly by any of the usual methods he had tried, and remained open for too short a duration to try to detect them indirectly through the presence of impossible temperature gradients or unusual wind patterns or the like, but he had managed to work up a sensor package small enough to be fitted in a mask or helmet that could use active phased array radar to detect and catalog any portals that opened within its considerable range.

Under normal circumstances he would have made use of such a device himself on one of his daily patrols of the city, but studying the creature was deemed a much higher priority than most of his other duties by his superiors and so some of his fellow heroes had been assigned extra patrol shifts in his place.

Four of them had been chosen to have their masks or helmets upgraded with the prototypes he'd completed so far: the observant speedster in red and blue, who could cover an incredible amount of territory in a single patrol; the irritating punch-clock hero in white and gold, who could fly at considerable speed and thus range higher and farther than any of the others; the man's sort-of protégé in red and gold, who already had experience with advanced scanners and could field-repair the package if necessary; and the surly ex-vigilante in black and more black, who had a tendency to stray off designated patrol paths and so would be likely to come within detection range of portals that the other three might miss.

None of the heroes thus equipped had found any signs of portals or creatures yet, and he hadn't expected to get any real results so soon in any case, but at least one of them would be assigned to every single patrol shift for the next few days-the next few weeks, if necessary-until actionable evidence was found or until his superiors informed him that they believed the potential threat had passed.

Until then, the man would be focusing exclusively on his examination, experimentation, and prototyping.

How terrible that he would be forced to ignore low-priority messages and miss optional meetings and such.

A most distressing turn of events, certainly, but he was sure he would find a way to manage somehow.

~*~*~

Fourth Afternoon Bell, Zor the 26th of Barrakas, 999 YK

Inner Bastion, Io'Lokar, Argonnessen, Eberron

6 days before transposition

In a lavish suite cluttered with bags and boxes and crates, each full nearly to the brim with rare tomes and alchemical reagents and all manner of other valuables, a feathered woman oversaw several summoned creatures as they packed and organized all of her worldly possessions.

She was leaving her homeworld, possibly never to return.

Five months prior, she'd been approached by a man and woman telling outlandish tales. They were, they said, members of a society of immortals who had made it their mission to discover and explore new worlds, and what she'd thought of as "the entire universe" was merely a tiny speck in an endless multiverse.

They were, they continued, looking for potential new members and she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, so might she possibly like to take a quick jaunt to an entirely foreign reality if they could get her back home in time for supper?

The woman had merely laughed at them, of course. She didn't believe a word they'd said, and the very idea of something existing outside of the known universe was ridiculous.

But over the next week, as the idea took root in her mind and simply wouldn't leave her alone, she started to have second thoughts.

She'd pondered and mused and paced and wondered, and when the duo once more darkened her doorstep she decided to humor them and accept their offer, whereupon she'd learned beyond the shadow of a doubt that every word of their claim was true.

Since then, she'd taken several trips to places impossibly far away. She'd visited planes of abject misery and planes of radiant splendor. She'd seen and done things the other natives of her world could only imagine. She'd spoken face-to-face with a god, even, and experienced a religious epiphany of sorts.

She had risen to every challenge and passed every test that the organization had thus far placed before her.

And now she was packing up everything she owned because she would be away for many years and there was quite a good chance that her temporary absence would become a permanent one, either because she died before ever returning home or because she might discover that, having experienced the much grander vistas beyond, she could no longer be satisfied with the world of her birth.

That final test, according to her sponsors, would essentially be to visit a new world, learn everything she possibly could, and report what she learned back to their society to be recorded for posterity.

A simple task, but deceptively so; new worlds were always full of surprises. Especially so, in this case, because her own world and this new one were, her sponsors claimed, in a particularly interesting corner of the cosmos.

She wasn't unduly worried. She was one of the most learned priestesses on the continent, had lived most of her life in a city of dragons, and had faced down some of the strongest fiends in existence without blinking.

She was certain she would be able to rise to any challenge that the new world could throw at her.

~*~*~

3:16 pm, Friday the 8th of April, 2011 CE

Midtown, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

3 days before transposition

In a run-down coastal city where supervillains ran amok, too numerous and powerful for the local heroes to bring to heel, a dejected girl made her way home from the bus stop.

This day had been a bad one (like most of her days of late), as evidenced by the fact that her hair, clothing, and backpack were currently tinged with purple and all smelled faintly of grapes. It wasn't the worst day she'd suffered through in silence, far from it, but as she washed away the evidence of the day's events she swore to herself that it would be the last day she did that.

No more waiting, no more planning, no more dithering. This weekend she would finally don her spider-silk costume and officially start her career as a hero.

But there was much to do before that.

Adding the last few sections of plating to her armor and lying to her father about her day over dinner would likely take up the remainder of the evening. Over the next two days she planned to purchase the last supplies on her heroing equipment list, get a little more practice with maneuvering swarms of insects, make a few last-minute touchups to her costume, finish all of the weekend's homework, and map out a few potential patrol routes.

(She wasn't planning to come up with excuses to delay just one more week that she'd have to talk herself out of, or to feel guilty yet again for keeping her father in the dark, but she expected those things to happen anyway.)

The girl may have only seriously tested her power on makeshift basement looms and not in the thick of battle, but she was confident that in two days' time she would be as prepared for her heroic debut as she would ever be.

And besides, what's the worst that could possibly happen on a new hero's first patrol?

~*~*~

Late Evening, 65th Day of High Sun, Year of Desert's Slumber in the 190th King's Age

Somewhere in the Wilderness, The Endless Dunes, Athas

1 day before transposition

In a remote valley where monsters prowled and sandstorms raged, far too dangerous for most living beings to risk passage, a heartbroken man trudged across the crimson sands.

Though the man appeared to be paying no mind to the potentially-lethal environs, the few wild beasts who attempted to prey upon him along the way were dispatched with a passing thought and a flash of psionic energy.

He was not unaware of his surroundings, merely too consumed with his inner demons to give much attention to any outer ones.

Where he had come to this world years ago with two compatriots and grand ambitions, as of a few hours before he'd found himself completely alone and possessed of nothing but regrets. He did have an immediate goal in mind for the next few hours, but after that….well, he'd rather not think that far ahead just yet.

He would reach his goal, he would return to his colleagues, he would give his report, and he would find himself a new purpose.

Or perhaps he wouldn't.

But hopefully he would.

An endless multiverse is, after all, home to endless possibilities.

Transposition 1.1.V

Late Evening, 65th Day of High Sun, Year of Desert's Slumber in the 190th King's Age Somewhere in the Wilderness, The Endless Dunes, Athas
Valigan Talaire

With every step I took across the shifting sands, I cursed the moment I first set foot on this gods-forsaken world.

It wasn't the scorching heat that I cursed, nor the flensing sandstorms. Wards against heat and projectiles were among the first I mastered when I began to study the psionic sciences as a child, and they've only grown stronger with time and practice. After one has chased an ancient obsidian dragon through maddening windstorms and rivers of lava, a bit of sun and some inclement weather doesn't even register anymore.

Neither was it the deep prejudice against certain kinds of magic-users held by the native Athasians. As a psionicist, practitioner of what my world termed the Invisible Art and this one termed the Will and the Way, I could work my magic openly without fear of reprisal. I did sympathize with the arcanists who were so vilified on this world, but I could hardly blame the locals for painting all wizards with the same brush; after all, I myself had done the same to all elves for decades after the destruction of my homeland.

No, the storm of pain and regret and fury and sorrow and a half-dozen other twisting emotions threatening to burst free of their confinement in the back of my mind was sparked by one simple fact:

My beloved husband Aldric, my only remaining family on this world or any other, my constant companion for over three thousand years, was dead.

~*~*~

To individuals such as we, with lifespans measured in millennia and possessing sufficient magical power to conquer a moderately-sized nation on an idle afternoon were we so inclined, the subject of death was… complicated.

My husband and I were no strangers to deaths in the family, as both of us lost our homelands to cataclysms many centuries ago-his, the empire of Netheril, fell (both figuratively and literally) due to its leaders' hubris, and mine, the empire of Jhaamdath, was obliterated by the workings of foreign mages.

Nor were we strangers to deaths of friends and acquaintances, as we'd visited so many worlds in the course of our work for the Society that by the time we got around to visiting a given world again it was nearly guaranteed that anyone we had met there on our first visit would have perished in the intervening time of magical catastrophe, fiendish incursion, or simply old age.

The deaths of spouses, however, or those of close friends? Those were, to a not-inconsiderable degree, unthinkable.

Oh, they did happen, certainly. I myself have died no fewer than seven times over the centuries… though, granted, when asked I generally admit to only five deaths and leave the more embarrassing ones out. But there were so very many ways to prevent or reverse death, and so very few beings that could render a person of our rarefied stature dead in the first place, that death quickly lost its sting.

That attitude-call it carelessness, arrogance, a loss of perspective, what have you-is what led to my husband's final passing.

All modesty aside, my husband and I would usually be ranked among the top twelve most powerful human or demihuman magic-users on any given world. Even on those with exceptionally high numbers of exceptionally powerful magic-users, such as our own homeworld of Toril, we would nearly always fall easily within the top thirty or thereabouts.

We did our best not to make waves on worlds we visited, largely for philosophical and religious reasons, but we became accustomed to the fact that if we did ever decide to meddle there were practically none who could oppose us.

So when we sought to depose one of the self-proclaimed rulers of this world, a sorcerous tyrant by the name of Dregoth, Third Champion of Rajaat and Dread King of Giustenal and several other such grandiose titles, we sorely underestimated him.

There are no gods in Athas's crystal sphere, perhaps there never were, but Dregoth was certainly the next best thing to an incarnate deity on this world, and not only could he threaten us with death but he could, for once, actually make it stick. And when he-

When he-

…

Suffice it to say that possessing a flawless memory comes with distinct disadvantages.

Namely, that painful memories never soften with time, and to soften them oneself and sequester them in the far reaches of one's mind to avoid them arising unexpectedly requires reliving them in full, a task which for the most painful memories can be a daunting prospect indeed. Failing that, the best one could manage would be to simply not think about them as best as one possibly could.

The truth I could not bring myself to face was that Aldric's body, mind, and soul were utterly gone.

Beyond the reach of reincarnation, resurrection, lichhood, or countless other methods of regaining life or acquiring unlife after death.

Beyond the reach of chronomancy… not that it would much matter, as that is-was-his specialty, not mine, and the Guardians of Time take a very dim view of amateurs altering the past, as I had recently (and unsuccessfully) attempted to do.

Beyond even the reach of any gods, both the false gods that empowered the priests of this world and the true gods whose reach did not-indeed could not-extend to this sphere.

And so I trudged through the crimson sands, truly alone for the first time in a very very long time.

my psicrystal sent.

The tiny chunk of violet crystal was floating in his customary position just above and behind my left shoulder, from which location he'd been bombarding me with intermittent telepathic commentary since we'd first set out hours ago, which I had in turn been ignoring to the best of my ability.

The constant and nigh-unbreakable telempathic bond between psionicist and psicrystal is an invaluable resource when a psionicist wants to solicit an external perspective from someone who can fully and truly understand his thoughts and emotions. When said psionicist wishes to keep said thoughts and emotions to himself, however….

I sent back to him with the mental impression of a long-suffering sigh.

Aspect sent in his most aggressively cheerful tone, followed by the mental equivalent of pressing one's hands to one's temple. ow. Gods above and between, man, watch the emotional bleed! I don't know if you noticed, but you're broadcasting very heavily in the negative spectrum, probably enough that it would leak over normal telepathy too. It's enough to make me want to cry my eyes out, and I don't even have tear ducts. Or eyes!

I sent back, smoothing out the rage and grief I felt at his insensitive antics to dry sarcasm before they could boil over and lead me to do something I'd regret.

he returned just as dryly.

I took a deep breath and deliberately flexed my fingers.

I am calm.

As a psionicist, controlling and understanding thoughts and emotions that other beings would consider subconscious, uncontrollable, or inexplicable was second nature to me.

I am the sky without cloud or wind.

Usually.

I am the lake without current or ripple.

At the moment, it would be more accurate to say that I was simply aggressively not thinking about certain recent events, which may, perhaps, have been influencing my self-control and emotional responses to an indeterminate degree.

I am the serene void at the heart of the Plane of Vacuum itself.

It also may have been requiring me to remind myself that blasting a part of myself out of the sky would be highly counterproductive.

After a few blissful minutes of mental silence, Aspect's voice once again intruded upon my thoughts.

he said. walking to the Crimson Monolith like a couple of peasants, instead of simply teleporting there directly?

I replied.

alone with-

My mental voice was as flat as the obsidian plateau we'd passed two hours back, and my psicrystal twitched a few inches backwards in response.

I once again sent the impression of a sigh and I resigned myself to several more hours of scintillating conversation.

~*~*~

Every world in the Prime Material Plane-that is, the plane of the multiverse that most of its sheltered inhabitants think of as "reality" or "the universe" or the like-is contained in what is known as a crystal sphere or crystal shell, along with its sun (or suns), moon (or moons), planets, stars, and any other astronomical phenomena that exist in its system.

The existence of these spheres-which, among other things, confine each world's unique physical and metaphysical laws to the bounds of its own local reality-is what allows Toril to have different magical traditions and gods and so forth than, say, Oerth or Krynn or any of the countless other Prime worlds that exist.

Importantly, the vast majority of crystal spheres are highly permeable to the right spells and allow free access to other worlds of the Prime Material and to all the other planes of existence. Travel between the known spheres is relatively common, in fact, at least to travelers who know the right spells or worship deities belonging to the right pantheons.

Travel to the more obscure spheres is possible as well with the right connections and the right maps. The single greatest source of knowledge regarding such things (and much more besides) is the Prime Material Cartographic Society, a rather exclusive organization to which my husband and I both belong- belonged, rather-which is dedicated to discovering, exploring, studying, and cataloging all the myriad worlds in existence and aiding others who may wish to do the same.

(No, neither the Seekers nor the Church of Ptah is the foremost source, as they both so often claim. Compared to the Society they are, at best, enthusiastic hobbyists with delusions of grandeur.)

A small number of spheres, however, are nearly or entirely closed against physical passage and only accessible through planar travel, or vice versa-or, much more rarely, a sphere is closed against both, in which case it is termed a sealed sphere.

Several decades ago, the Society discovered just over a dozen sealed spheres clustered together in a remote corner of the Prime, and, after years of experimentation, developed the means to… well, in exceptionally crude terms, to create artificial "weak spots" in those spheres and pry them open wide enough to permit explorers to pass through without blowing themselves or the natives to tiny pieces in the process.

As senior members of the Society, my husband and I were among the first to survey the worlds in these spheres, and Athas is the sixth such world that we were sent to explore.

Once inside Athas's sphere, provisionally dubbed Crimsonspace for its dying red sun, we'd determined after extensive research that there were only three artifacts on the entire world that would allow travel out of it, and then only under very specific conditions, hence why I was bothering with an hours-long trek to the Monolith instead of simply opening a gate to the Astral Plane and leaving that way.

Originally, my husband and I had planned to use another artifact, the Planar Gate hidden in the depths of Dregoth's palace, to leave Athas at the completion of our mission, but… well.

~*~*~

I made it to the Monolith with a few minutes to spare, and I took a deep and centering breath as I beheld for the first time the featureless stone pillar rising from the dunes like a blood-red spear.

The crushing weight of misery pressing upon my mind had marginally lessened over the past few hours-in the same way that the volume of a lake is marginally lessened when one removes a bowlful of water from it-and I was preparing to do battle, for just as the Monolith was one of only three ways out of the crystal sphere for stranded travelers, it was one of only three ways into the sphere for any monsters (demons, usually) wishing to intrude upon it.

Under most circumstances, I would have approached a battle against unknown enemies of unknown number possessing unknown capabilities more… judiciously.

While there were literal thousands of powers in my psionic repertoire, the particular tradition through which I approached the Invisible Art achieved that extreme breadth at the cost of much-reduced versatility, with each new power I used in a given period of time becoming fixed in my mental lattice and dramatically limiting my selection of available powers from that point until I retreated to my mindscape to refresh myself. Normally, I selected each power I used very carefully to mitigate this drawback.

Normally, I would not have been forced to fill nearly all of my mental "slots" earlier in the day during the most physically challenging and mentally taxing battle I had faced in centuries.

Normally, I would not be so accepting of the possibility of a tactical error on my part granting me a permanent reprieve from my sorrows.

When the moons finally moved into the proper state of conjunction overhead the entire stone edifice before me began to ripple, like the surface of a lake into which a hundred stones had been tossed at once.

Several demons bearing all manner of horns and spines and claws emerged from the Monolith's surface… and were promptly incinerated, as with a single thought I delved deep into my reserves of psionic power and saturated the area with enough flame to turn the sand for yards around into molten glass.

Was that unnecessary? Certainly; I could have made it to the Monolith and vanished through it before they ever realized I was there.

Was it excessive? Possibly; if I continued to expend energy at that rate I would soon need to pause to refill my reserves, and I had no idea how many demons might come through in the next few minutes.

Was it cathartic? Incredibly so.

The next ten minutes passed in a blur as I channeled every last bit of rage at Dregoth into clouds of searing flame, every last twinge of self-recrimination over our many foolish decisions into blasts of razor-sharp ice, every last ounce of pain into echoing thunderclaps. The loss that had been visited upon me was visited upon the unsuspecting demons a hundredfold.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, a sending by Aspect penetrated the haze of unleashed emotions that had so consumed me.

I replied absently, somehow feeling both drained and invigorated after the physical and mental exertion.

It appears I survived, completely unscathed.

Alas.

I strode up to the Crimson Monolith, levitating myself a few inches above the copious quantities of fiendish ichor seeping into the sand before it, and with a touch and a thought we were whisked away, out through the natural weak spot in this crystal sphere to which the Monolith was attuned and off to our destination.

~*~*~

11:30 Before Peak, 3rd of Concordance, Hashkar 136

The Great Bazaar, Market Ward, Sigil, The Outlands

As my boots touched down on cobblestones instead of sand for the first time in over two years and I took in the sights, my lips twitched into a small but definite smile.

To my left, a golden-winged deva chatted amiably with a rune-encrusted immoth as they ambled down the street; off to the right, a vociferous debate between a Sensate and a Dustman drew an interested crowd to the plaza; ahead of me, a tangle of razorvine was creeping its way up the wall and poking its serrated leaves above the rooftops; behind me stood an empty archway that hadn't been an active portal fifteen minutes ago and wouldn't be one again for another eleven years.

There's nowhere in the multiverse quite like Sigil, the City of Doors.

My smile faded as I considered what lay ahead. First things first: reducing the proverbial footprint of my aura, as there are certain proprieties to be observed in a city where the multiverse's movers and shakers rub elbows and wingtips both metaphorically and literally. And, of course, avoiding ostentatious displays of strength was both good tactics and simple politeness.

Unlike the peoples of Athas (may their world rot in the lowest layer of the Abyss), the inhabitants of Sigil didn't have any objections to the use of magic; to the contrary, magic was used practically everywhere and by everyone, and a being who could sense magical auras, as I could, would immediately see that nearly every being in the city shone with the signature of multiple magical effects.

Which was precisely the problem: I could see their magical auras, and they could see mine.

Well, some of them. Like any powerful magic-user, I maintained many permanent or periodically-reapplied magical effects on myself, including dozens of wards of all sorts against everything from poor weather to temporal manipulation, over a dozen extrasensory powers, various enhancements to my body and mind, multiple varieties of short-range prescience, several translation enchantments, and a power to split my attention to allow me to carry on two streams of thought at once, among others.

While my own aura and any auras on my person were rendered undetectable by Mind Blank, a power whose effects included preventing any sort of information-gathering about myself via magical means, any auras that extended from myself-namely, those of several of my extrasensory powers-were still detectable even if I suppressed their effects.

Seeing as those powers extended out to several dozen yards and penetrated through barriers of nearly all sorts, and many of the city's residents would be most displeased to find they were being spied upon, even unintentionally, I reluctantly dismissed them.

While I still retained a good portion of my extra senses, the loss of so many of them at once was still quite jarring. To analogize to the normal six senses, it was much like suddenly being struck color-blind and tone-deaf: not as bad as being rendered fully blind and deaf, but still a thoroughly miserable experience.

For good measure, I then stowed all of my magical gear (except my clothing and the items embedded in or inscribed upon my flesh, of course) into my extradimensional storage spaces and sealed them off from casual observation.

Were I carrying visible valuables but bearing no detectable auras, I might be mistaken for one of the Clueless (a derogatory term for Prime natives inexperienced with planar travel) and considered a tempting mark, and I was concerned that in my current mood I might react… overly punitively toward any would-be thieves.

Speaking of magical clothing, the thought of getting out of rustic desert apparel and back into more proper attire brought another fleeting smile to my lips. A mental nudge toward my enchanted garb caused it to writhe and change from the faded, rough, and altogether bland traveler's cloak I had been wearing for the past few months to one of my favored outfits: a set of semi-formal robes in the Neoclassical Jhaamdathic style, with interleaving folds and sashes down the front, a hooded mantle over the back and shoulders, a wide belt, and loose sleeves, all in the traditional violet and cerulean with intricate gold embroidery.

Second things second: addressing my current emotional… disquiet.

I'd returned four years ahead of schedule, my mission having been cut short extremely prematurely, and my checking in with the Society at this point was neither expected nor required.

I could, if I so desired, take all the time in the multiverse to find a nice quiet place to meditate, a friendly ear to chat with, or other healthful outlets via which to come to terms with… recent events, which would certainly be a reasonable route to take so as not to concern my friends and colleagues with my emotional instability.

It would also be the right and proper route according to the tenets of my patron deity Auppenser, the Serene One, the Lord of Reason, the Master of the Invisible Art, and so on and so forth, who was among other things the Torillian god of self-knowledge, self-reflection, and similar virtues. My intermittent prayers to him always helped to soothe troubled thoughts and inspire solutions to nagging problems, and I was halfway tempted to conjure myself a shrine right then and there to seclude myself for a tenday or more.

Aspect prodded unhelpfully.

Alternatively, I could continue not thinking about everything that had happened recently and find something with which to occupy myself until I could find a more proper time to reflect, which seemed a much more appealing option at the moment.

Decision made, I squeezed past the deva while making the appropriate apologies and set off clockwise and spireward in the direction of The Lady's Ward, the most affluent section of the city and the location of one of the Society's three headquarters.

~*~*~

The sign outside my destination hadn't faded in the slightest since I last laid eyes on it, thanks to the enchantments on it rendering it immune to defacement and the passage of time. Shimmering illusion-enhanced calligraphy advertised the Society's public services to all and sundry:

Prime Material Cartographic Society

---

Worlds charted, Flows mapped, portals unsealed, gates crashed

Maps sold, spelljammers rented, expeditions chartered, guides trained

Relics collected, treasures hunted, tongues translated, cultures exchanged

Beyond said sign lay the Society headquarters itself. Its exterior was that of a small manor in the High Suloise style with touches of archonic and drowic architecture here and there, lending just the right air of grandeur and mystique to the organization for those who would make use of its services.

The manor's interior, meanwhile, was roughly three times as large as its external dimensions would suggest. All of that additional space was stuffed full of meeting rooms, training rooms, libraries, conservatories, map chambers, alchemical laboratories, and more to provide ample workspace for Society members.

A brief pause outside the wrought-iron gate separating the neatly manicured lawn from the street let me take a deep breath and plaster on my most easygoing smile.

I then strode in through the gate, past the assassin vines and topiary guardians discreetly scattered throughout the front garden, and right on through the front doors without bothering to knock, the wards on the grounds and the building itself recognizing me and permitting me entrance.

Sounds of activity and my remaining extrasensory powers informed me that there were at least a handful of other members present at the moment, but I was in no mood to speak with any of them just yet. Instead, I walked directly to the personal study of Lady Penumbra, one of the three core founders of the Society and the manor's original owner before its conversion into a guildhall.

The lady herself was inside, preoccupied with her painting. Three easels stood in front of her, the ones to either side bearing completed paintings while the one in the center was still in progress, and many tiny paint vials sat or floated within arm's reach. When she wasn't serving as the Society's foremost thaumaturgical and cosmological researcher, one of her favored hobbies was painting with special alchemical pigments that would cause the painting to gradually change the scenes it depicted as it aged through the centuries instead of merely fading away.

(It was originally an elven practice, as one might expect of an art form combining long timescales with excessive artistic pretension.)

Penumbra glanced back when she heard my polite knock on the doorframe, and her eyes lit up immediately. "Valigan, darling!" she called in a delighted tone. "It's so good to see you again!"

A quick flick of her wrist sent her brushes and palette floating off to the side and cleaning themselves over a nearby sink. Chairs and easels rushed to move themselves out of the way to avoid catching on her elaborate black and silver dress as she came forward and gave me a bone-crushing hug.

Then she frowned, held me at arm's length, and asked, "You're back awfully early. Was my estimate of the temporal differential on Athas off by that wide a margin, or did something go wrong?"

When I said that her eyes lit up and her hug was bone-crushing, I meant that literally. Penumbra was a lich-a shadow lich, if one wishes to be technical, but the difference is largely academic-and though she maintained the illusion of a living woman around herself most of the time in consideration for those who experienced discomfort around the undead, her pale blue eyelights tended to shine through the veil whenever she became excited about something and her grip was considerably stronger than that of the dainty courtesan whose seeming she habitually wore.

"It's good to see you as well, Penumbra," I replied, affecting nonchalance in my tone as I extricated myself from her grasp. "And it was the latter case, I'm afraid. We encountered something that necessitated ending the mission early."

"'Something'?" she echoed, raising a concerned eyebrow, quite the impressive trick given that she lacked eyebrows under her disguise. Then she glanced meaningfully to either side and frowned delicately. "Where is-?"

"He… didn't make it," I cut her off, not yet ready to hear my husband's name spoken aloud. Her expression melted into one of sympathy and she tried to enfold me in another hug, but I stepped out of reach. "There's no need for that, thank you."

"Darling, you're clearly-"

"I am just fine, thank you. Rao," I said, naming the third member of the Athasian expedition, "chose to remain behind, as he is still speaking with a potential new recruit, and plans to return on schedule. I simply felt that it was best I returned early given the circumstances."

We stood in silence for a few seconds, an expression of skepticism and sympathy on her face, an expression of… I don't even know what I was managing to project on mine. I wasn't fooling her in the slightest and we both knew it, but then the display of stoicism was much more for my own benefit than hers.

The shadow lich's eyelights flicked to my left, I assumed to ask Aspect what he thought of my current state.

"I see," Penumbra finally said, willing to follow my lead, for which I was more grateful than I could put into words. Whatever my self-appointed conscience had told her, it at least hadn't persuaded her to pry. "In that case, my dear, what are your plans now? The usual?"

" The usual" meant taking time to myself for a while. Members of the Society have their own goals and side projects, of course, so after each six-year mission to a new Prime world (or three-year immersion on a previously-discovered world) members would customarily return home and take one or two years to pursue their own interests before embarking on their next expedition.

While I could possibly return to the demiplane that my husband and I call home- called home-and do… practically anything to keep busy, at the moment even setting foot in our-my-home would simply be too much.

"I would, but I don't exactly have a suitable place to go at the moment," I admitted. "I'm not quite sure what to do with myself, really."

I hadn't actually thought ahead about anything beyond this point, having been far too preoccupied with the past to look to the future, but the thought of 'a suitable place to go' did give me an idea.

And so, after a few moments' pondering, I made what was, for me, an uncharacteristically rash decision.

"I don't suppose," I asked slowly, "that there would be a new expedition leaving any time soon?"

"Valigan, dear, are you sure that's a good idea?" Penumbra asked. "One thing I've learned for sure in my five thousand years-"

"Milady Penumbra, you don't look a century over four thousand," I interrupted with my best flippant-yet-charming smile, which all too quickly faded. "Please. I need to go somewhere, to do something. To surround myself with the new and unfamiliar and entirely preoccupying."

"And that would be a better option than taking my and your psicrystal's advice why, precisely?" she asked, placing her hands on her hipbones in challenge.

"Because," I said tonelessly, holding up my right hand and touching my thumb to my marriage band, "in eighteen days it would have been our anniversary. Three thousand seven hundred thirty-eight objective years." My hand dropped. "No amount of meditation and prayer will leave me ready to face that alone with nothing to occupy my mind. Not yet."

She nodded slowly in acquiescence. "I think I understand. In that case… Juroth, Adilege, and I recently finalized our decision as to which of the other sealed spheres will be the subject of our next expedition. According to my initial findings its local metaphysics are even more unusual than any of those you've explored already, so I'm sure you'd find exploring it to be sufficiently distracting. I had planned to send Gwydion and Daelan on that mission in a few weeks, along with a prospective new member who's ready for her last trial, but there's no reason we couldn't rearrange things. You go speak with Juroth about that, and I'll send for the others to join the two of you in the meeting chamber."

Not trusting my voice at the moment, I merely bowed my head in thanks and withdrew to the conservatory to make use of the portal there.

Author's Note

So, lots of D stuff showing up already, and from a bunch of different settings. For anyone who wants to read up on said stuff…

Toril is the world of the Forgotten Realms setting, a high fantasy setting with lots of magic and mythological influences. Sigil is the center of the Planescape setting, a weird and wonderful and fairly philosophical setting. Oerth is the world of the Greyhawk setting, a Medieval-ish fantasy setting with more than a little sci-fantasy influence and the "default" setting for 3e books. Athas is the world of the Dark Sun setting, a gritty post-apocalyptic world where the world itself is dying and tyrannical Sorcerer-Kings hold the people in thrall.

They're likely to be referenced in roughly that order of frequency, so FR stuff will come up a lot and Dark Sun stuff will get a few passing references after the first few chapters. Once again, don't feel like you have to go wiki-diving, everything referenced in-story will be explained if necessary.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

Devas and Immoths are creatures from other planes of existence. The Sensates and the Dustmen are Factions (half philosopher's club, half government agency) in Sigil. Netheril and Jhaamdath are very ancient, powerful, and magic-heavy human empires of Toril, the former magical, the latter psionic. The Crimson Monolith and Planar Gate are two of three incredibly powerful magic items allowing travel to and from Athas, the third being the Nightmare Gate. Dregoth is the strongest, scariest, evil-est, and most final-boss-ish of the thirteen Sorcerer-Kings of Athas. Auppenser is Valigan's patron deity. He's mostly dead at the moment, but as we all know, mostly dead is slightly alive. Power-wise, Valigan referenced using greater teleport (unlimited-range teleport, so long as you have a very good idea where you're going) to get to the general area of the Monolith, and he floated over to the Monolith using overland flight (a slower but longer-duration flight spell).

Last edited: Apr 4, 2022

Transposition 1.1.T

12:41 am, Monday the 11th of April, 2011 CE The Docks, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Taylor Hebert

I lay against the raised lip of the roof, curled into a ball with my hands covering the exposed back of my head as best I could. Lung's last wave of flames had scorched my costume all over, not enough to melt it but definitely enough to leave it uncomfortably hot against my skin.

I bit my lip, hard, to keep from crying out and letting him know where I was. Not that it would matter if that bastard had a superhuman sense of smell on top of his enhanced hearing and could detect my singed hair from across the rooftop.

I carefully peeked over at him, moving my head as carefully and quietly as I could. Lung wasn't coming any closer, just breathing heavily and moving his head slowly from side to side.

"Move," he snarled as he rubbed vigorously at his eyes, his words hard to make out between his thick accent and the stiffness of his metal-scaled face. "Give me something to aim for."

His breathing calmed and grew more quiet, and I held my own breath in case that's what he was listening for.

Ideas raced through my mind, none of them good.

More pepper spray? He'd roast me before I could get into position.

Run around him? I definitely couldn't outrun another one of those flame blasts.

Dash back to the fire escape? That skid along the gravel had left my legs aching, and I didn't know if I could get up and over the lip in time.

Lung dropped his hand and began blinking rapidly, his movements becoming more sure, more purposeful. He was almost completely recovered, and I was out of ideas and out of time.

He suddenly spun in my direction and flames burst to life in his hands.

This is it , I thought. I'm sorry, Dad. I love you.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt the sudden flare of heat-

-and opened them again as the flame went wide. It wasn't even aimed at me, but at the apartment building off to the right. A moment later, a massive four-legged creature that looked like it was covered in bones instead of skin landed on Lung with an impact that shook the entire building beneath me.

Lung started fighting the skeletal tiger-lizard-thing claw to claw, ignoring me completely, and that quickly ended with Lung getting charged off the roof and the two continuing their brawl below.

I stood up carefully, shaking like a leaf at the very close call, and barely had time to take a steadying breath before two more of the creatures landed a few yards away, this time with riders on their backs.

There were two girls on the farther one and two guys on the closer one. They all slid off the creatures' backs, which couldn't have been comfortable to ride without any kind of saddles, or at least none I could see. The girls and the shorter of the guys rushed over to see how Lung was holding up, while the taller guy approached me instead.

"You really saved us a lot of trouble," he said, his deep voice a bit muffled by the motorcycle helmet he wore. He was dressed all in black leather, and the only thing that told me it was a costume was that the normal visor on the helmet had been replaced with one molded into a stylized black skull with white highlighting along the edges.

He extended a hand, but I leaned away, staying silent. He sounded friendly enough, but he and the other three were complete unknowns and I'd already gotten in over my head once tonight by rushing into things.

He eventually dropped his hand and kept talking, explaining how Lung had been planning to come after them and they'd gotten into a fight, but I was still coming down from the adrenaline high from almost getting myself killed and was only kind of paying attention. He asked me a question about what I did to Lung, but one of the girls answered before I could, so I stayed quiet.

"So, introductions," Skull-Mask said abruptly, drawing my attention again. "That's Tattletale," he pointed to the girl who'd spoken for me, a blonde in a skintight black-and-probably-purple suit, who waved cheekily at me. "I'm Grue. The girl with the dogs-" he waved at the other girl, who was wearing normal clothes aside from a cheap-looking dog mask "-we call her Bitch, her preference, but in the interests of being PG, the good guys and media decided to call her Hellhound instead."

Wait, the tiger-lizard-things were dogs ?

"Last and certainly least," he jerked his thumb at the other guy, who was holding a scepter and dressed like he'd just came from a Renaissance Faire, "we have Regent."

The other cape chuckled in mock offense and looked like he was going to say something, but before he could Tattletale glanced up from where she'd been keeping an eye on Lung, squinted off into the distance, and held up a hand.

"Heads up," she said in a clipped tone. "We've got Wards on the way. Kid Win in the air, either Gallant or Clockblocker on the ground. They're not close enough to see us yet, but they will be in a few minutes so let's wrap this up."

I looked over in that direction, searching for what she'd seen. After a moment I spotted it, a vaguely-humanoid outline in the air, mostly dark and blurry but with a faint red glow around its feet and head and smaller points of light scattered over its body. Kid Win was flying in a wide zig-zag search pattern as he came toward us, not trying at all to be stealthy.

I thought about sending some bugs over to get a better "look" at him, the way I had been able to "see" the gang members earlier when I'd swarmed them, but at least for now he was still outside my range.

Bitch nodded in response to Tattletale's suggestion and whistled for her dogs, one short and two long, and moments later they'd jumped back onto the rooftops with a shuddering crash. The other three capes scrambled up onto the dogs and looked ready to leave, but Grue hesitated and turned back to me. "Hey, you okay?" he asked. "You've been quiet. Are you hurt?"

"She's not hurt, just shy," Tattletale called over her shoulder, sounding impatient.

"All right," Grue said, nodding once. "You want a ride, then?"

I looked at the dogs-which I still wasn't convinced were actually dogs-and all the blood and gashes covering their flanks, and shook my head.

"You sure?" he asked skeptically. "Do you have some kind of movement power? It's pretty hard to give flyers the slip from the ground otherwise."

I frowned behind my mask. Give Kid Win the slip? Why would they think I'd want to run from one of the heroes?

Unless….

"Hey," Tattletale called, derailing my train of thought. "What's your name?"

"I don't… I haven't picked one yet," I hesitantly replied.

"Well, tell you what, Bug, you did us a solid, so here's some free advice," she said. "If the heroes catch two bad guys duking it out, they're not going to let either one walk away, and from his vantage point Kid Win is probably going to notice you when you leave. We can wait a couple blocks that way for a bit," she leaned back and pointed with one arm as she held on to one of the dog's bony growths with the other, "in case you need an extraction plan. That sound good to you?"

"I, uh…." I said, eloquently.

"Great!" she said, flashing me a smile. "Now let's scram." With that, another whistle from Bitch sent all three dogs leaping over the fire escape to land heavily on the pavement below.

I felt conflicted as I watched them dash down the street for a few blocks and then duck into an alley. After all that, it turned out I'd almost died saving a bunch of villains from Lung, and even though I'd just stood there and hadn't said more than a few words to them, for some reason they thought I was one, too.

Well, nothing to be done now but wait for the Wards to arrive. And see if I could do anything about my burnt hair.

~*~*~

As I watched Kid Win fly closer, I started to feel nervous. Would he see me and think I was one of the bad guys, too? If he did, would he try to talk or just attack me immediately?

Even after doing some very basic research on the local heroes, I really didn't know much about Kid Win. I mean, of course I knew about him in general, everyone in the city knew about the hometown Wards and their general powers and stuff, but a billboard or TV ad didn't really tell you what a particular hero was like as a person when they weren't posing for pictures or reading a script.

He hadn't come to Winslow for the usual "anyone can be a hero so stay in school and don't do drugs" Wards assemblies my freshman year, so I couldn't even use whatever canned speeches he'd have given to help guess at his personality.

The second Ward turned a corner onto the street below me, and I saw that it was definitely Gallant with his bulky silver armor and not Clockblocker with his slimmer white costume. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing I couldn't say, since I didn't know much more about Gallant than I did Kid Win, or any of the other Wards for that matter.

While I had seen Gallant at a couple assemblies and his speeches actually weren't that bad, all I could tell from them was that he seemed to be, well, gallant, like any hero should be. Hopefully if they did think I was a villain he'd be willing to talk even if Kid Win wasn't.

As far as their powers went, I was fairly certain that both of them were Tinkers, capes whose powers let them make all sorts of futuristic technology. Or at least, they probably were.

I knew Kid Win had some laser pistols, some kind of scanner in his visor, his hoverboard-though I hadn't expected something called a hoverboard to be able to fly that high-and an assortment of other gadgets, and Gallant had power armor with gauntlets that could shoot a variety of energy blasts in different colors which had an emotional component that could scare criminals into running away or guilt them into surrendering or things like that, which implied they were Tinkers.

But Dauntless used all sorts of fancy equipment too and I'd seen an interview where he said he "was sort of a Tinker but technically not," whatever that meant, so maybe they weren't after all.

Heck, for all I knew, none of the three of them were Tinkers, and maybe neither was Armsmaster, and the four of them had totally unrelated powers while some other hero just made all of their weapons and armor for them.

Either way, there wasn't really anything I could do about the Wards' reactions before they got here, so I just sat down on the raised edge of the roof and stayed put. It felt good to finally relax, and I rubbed at my legs to try to work out the tension and all the tiny aches and pains from that slide across the gravel.

A minute or two later Kid Win changed course and headed over to where the fight between Bitch's dogs and Lung had been, and by the way he rose another ten feet or so into the air and backed off a bit when he reached that point it was obvious he'd just found Lung. The hero hovered there for a few moments, then turned in place and swooped down toward the street back the way he came, probably to talk to Gallant.

That was fine by me. I wasn't planning to get up off this nice comfortable concrete any time soon.

When Kid Win hadn't reappeared after another minute or so, I sent a bunch of the smallest insects in my swarm down to the street to get a sense of what was going on, spreading them out to land on every surface until I could build up a mental "picture" of the scene.

Gallant had his arm stretched out toward Lung, who was sprawled on the street and apparently unconscious. Kid Win was floating near Gallant and pointing something in Lung's direction, but I couldn't get a more precise impression than that.

Suddenly I felt Kid Win turn toward me and fly upwards, and a moment later his upper body popped up over the far edge of the roof.

The hero's arms and torso were fully covered in bright red armor, with gold highlights that reflected the nearby streetlights, except for some parts around the joints where a darker red bodysuit was showing through.

The gauntlets of his armor were covered in a dizzying array of buttons, dials, lights, and other controls; I couldn't tell if they were all real or if some were just for decoration. His helmet wasn't really a full helmet, more of a visor that only covered the sides and back of his head from cheek to forehead, leaving his shaggy brown hair exposed, and a tinted red glass eye shield hid the upper half of his face.

The glass in his visor, some small screens on his gauntlets, and the panels on his hoverboard were glowing a vibrant red, while the larger panels of his armor were edged with thin lines of golden light in patterns resembling circuitry. The smaller lights I'd seen before were coming from a bunch of small gadgets hanging from his utility belt or attached to various points on his arm and leg plates. Those lights came in red, gold, white, and silver, and if there was any significance to the pattern of colors, I couldn't tell what it was.

All in all, he definitely looked a lot more impressive in person than he did on the posters.

"Hey there!" he called out. He slowly raised his left hand, fingers splayed to show he wasn't holding anything, and gave a little wave. "Sorry, I saw you on the way in, but, y'know, Lung. Had to deal with that first." There was a pause, and when I didn't say anything he added, "You mind if I come up and chat?"

If he was taking the time to ask, he probably didn't think I was a villain, so I waved back and called, "Sure."

As he floated the rest of the way up, I levered myself to my feet and walked forward. We met roughly halfway, just close enough that we didn't have to raise our voices to talk, and though he lowered his hoverboard to within a few inches of the rooftop he didn't actually get off of it.

I felt a twinge of excitement run through me as we both came to a stop. Not a big one, I was too exhausted to feel that much at the moment, but still: this was the first time I was meeting an actual hero, in person, as a fellow hero!

"So…." he said, drawing the word out. "Good guy or bad guy?"

Damn it.

"I'm a hero," I said, sounding a little harsher than I'd intended, and Kid Win winced.

"Sorry," he said apologetically, "I figured you were since you were willing to talk, but I had to be sure. The costume's… kinda villainous, you know."

"That wasn't intentional," I replied. "It ended up looking a little more edgy than I'd planned, and at that point I couldn't do much about it."

Kid Win cocked his head to the side slightly, and I got the impression he was raising an eyebrow under his visor. "All black and gray is just 'a little more edgy'?" he asked with a smirk. "The only other hero in New England who has a mostly-black costume is Shadow Stalker, and she's nothing but edge."

I crossed my arms defensively. "Alexandria wears all black, with some light and dark gray," I retorted. While I could tell he was joking, I was still a little annoyed. Getting teased about my costume by a hero wasn't making the best first impression.

"Besides," I added before he could say anything, "I haven't actually finished it yet."

He perked up at that. "Oh, you made the costume yourself? Sweet!" He leaned in a bit, I assumed to look my costume over in more detail. "It looks basically done to me, and professional-quality, too. What else is left to do?"

The compliment almost made up for his earlier comment, and I relaxed somewhat, my annoyance fading. "Some armor panels on the arms and legs, probably some over my neck and shoulders, and definitely something to cover the back of my head. I found out tonight that I really shouldn't have left that part off."

"Ooh, yeah, I bet," he said with a wince of sympathy. "My first visor didn't have any armor on it, just a strap around the back, and I banged my head pretty good a few times."

"I was also thinking of maybe adding some color? I wasn't sure about it, but if I'm going to keep getting mistaken for a villain I definitely will," I grumbled, and he grinned sheepishly. "I was thinking yellow stripes on the armor panels, kind of like a fiddler beetle."

Like Eupoecila australasiae, specifically, because of all the insect patterns I'd looked up I'd liked that one the best, and I felt a scarab beetle would be more heroic than a wasp or spider or something like that.

"Yellow to match the goggles?" he mused, gesturing toward my mask. "Yeah, that could work. Bright highlights definitely say 'hero' more than 'villain' even if the base color is dark. Speaking of armor, what are you using for the plating? I'm guessing some kind of ceramic, but that's usually hard to work with for curved panels."

I hesitated, briefly debating whether or not I should tell him, but there was no reason to hide it if I was going to tell him about my power anyway.

And, honestly, I liked that he seemed to appreciate all the effort I'd put into my costume. I hadn't expected to get to talk shop about hero stuff tonight, but it was… kind of nice.

"It's layers of insect exoskeletons reinforced with spider silk," I said. "The rest of it is all spider silk, too. Four different kinds, for their different properties."

"Oh, wow," Kid Win said. "And I here I thought you were like Carapacitator."

"Who?"

"Protectorate hero, out in California. He makes power armor with an insect aesthetic. But I guess you actually tinker with insects, huh? That's something I've definitely never heard of before."

I blinked. "… No I don't? I'm not a Tinker."

"Oh! I, um," Kid Win rubbed the back of his neck. "I just kind of assumed, since you made a costume yourself and went out when it wasn't done but already had plans for how you wanted to improve it even though it's already better than like everything else out there which is totally a Tinker thing to do and I totally understand where you're coming from there, so…."

He shrugged. "What is your power, then?"

"I control bugs." I held out a hand, brought over the larger flying insects in my swarm, and had them fly in circles above my palm.

Kid Win looked impressed. "Nice! I gotta say, that's-" he started, then help up a finger and looked slightly off to the right. "Sorry, one second." A moment later he said "Acknowledged" and looked back at me, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"I was just supposed to quickly check in with you, but I got all wrapped up in the Tinker talk and completely forgot I left Gallant by himself down there. Do you mind if we head down and talk with him as well?"

I'd actually forgotten about Gallant, too, and was thankful my mask hid my expression. "That's fine. I'll take the fire escape down. Meet you there?"

He nodded and zipped off on his hoverboard, and I walked over to the fire escape and climbed down. I reached the street just as Kid Win came around the corner-now walking with the hoverboard under one arm instead of flying-followed by Gallant.

I had to admit, Gallant's costume was even more impressive than Kid Win's. It almost looked like a cross between Armsmaster's costume and Kid Win's: the armor itself was basically a suit of high-tech Medieval plate armor, though much bulkier to accommodate machinery inside, with a soft blue light shining through the gaps in the plates kind of like the golden lines on Kid Win's armor.

The light pulsed softly as he moved, too, almost like the circuitry designs on Battery's costume did when she used her power.

As he stopped a few feet away and gave an exaggerated half-bow I saw that the palms and backs of his hands had glowing disks on them and the insides of his forearms had what looked like glowing control panels, again like Kid Win's armor, which I guessed had something to do with controlling his energy blasts.

"A pleasure to meet you," he said as he rose from his bow. Where Kid Win had had a kind of geeky vibe, Gallant's voice and gestures came off as more theatrical. "I'm Gallant, and of course you've already met Kid Win. What might your name be?"

"I'm not actually sure yet," I admitted. "It's my first night out, and I haven't been able to decide on anything. You have any idea how hard it is to come up with a bug-themed name that's not villainous like 'Black Widow' or completely dorky like-" I thought back to the name Kid Win had mentioned "-'Carapacitator'?"

I thought I might have heard a muttered comment about that from Kid Win, but either way my lack of a name thankfully didn't faze Gallant. "Not a problem, we can always put down 'unnamed cape' in our report and you can decide on a name later," he said, sounding less theatrical as he got into the practical details. I guess that was just something he put on for the public and not for other capes.

"You know, the Wards program is pretty great with names and branding, if you'd like some professional assistance with things like that," he added.

Ugh. I'd thought about joining the Wards, early on, but figured that something combining the worst parts of high school with the worst parts of a government job wouldn't really be my thing. These two guys seemed perfectly nice so far… but then, so did Emma and Madison to anyone who didn't know them well.

Something of my opinion must have shown in my body language, because Gallant quickly continued, "But that's something you can decide on later. Speaking of our report, would you mind walking us through what happened here with Lung?"

"Sure," I replied, checking on the bugs I'd left on and around the gang leader. Still no signs of movement, fortunately. "Aren't you going to do something to restrain him, by the way?"

Kid Win shook his head. "Wards don't carry containment foam or Brute restraints. But I hit him with a stunner that'll have him out for a while," he said, patting a boxy gadget attached to his belt, "and Gallant hit him with some calming beams and called for backup while I was talking with you, so he should be fine until the PRT gets here to pick him up."

I thought of how quickly Lung shrugged off the pepper spray I'd used, but Kid Win seemed confident about his device and Lung had stayed unconscious for the five or ten minutes since they'd gotten here without any signs of waking up, so they probably knew what they were doing.

"Good," I said. "That will make me feel like I actually accomplished something tonight. I only started the fight because I overheard him telling his men to shoot some kids, and only found out later that he was talking about some other villains."

The two Wards exchanged a look, though with their faces mostly or entirely covered I couldn't tell what it meant.

"That sounds like quite the story. Why don't you start from the beginning?" Gallant asked.

"Sure." I took a few seconds to put my thoughts in order. "So, I was walking through the Docks around midnight-uh, hold on." I held up a hand.

On the other side of the apartment building, I'd suddenly felt Lung's neck twitch to one side. As I watched through my bugs, he took a deep breath and sluggishly lifted a hand to rub at his eyes.

"It's Lung! He's waking up!" I hissed.

Kid Win visibly paled. "Already!? Console-" he called out, and I frantically motioned for him to keep quiet, mouthing ' enhanced hearing' so they both could see.

"Right. Console ," he repeated at a lower volume, looking over his shoulder toward Lung's location, "ETA on our backup?"

There was a pause, then he shook his head minutely. Turning to me, he explained, "PRT van's still eight minutes out, and there aren't any other heroes any closer than that."

"We don't have eight minutes," I said. I could sense that Lung was mostly awake now, and he was carefully rolling to one side so he could stand up. Worse, he obviously noticed the bugs on him at that point, because he let out a growl and a sudden burst of flame incinerated every bug in the alley. "I don't think we even have three!"

"Is he facing this way?" Gallant asked softly, and I nodded. "Then there's no way we can slip past him to go back toward headquarters. We'll have to loop around. Kid, can you plot us a detour?"

"Already on it," Kid Win said, tapping some buttons on his gauntlet. "But I don't know how much it'll help. Even with my board and a head start it'd be hard to outpace him, and there's no way we can lose him if we can't get enough distance between us."

I thought back to how fast the villains' dogs had been compared to Lung, and after a very long moment of indecision I sent part of my swarm in the direction the villains had gone to check on them. They were still hanging around in the side street I'd seen them go down, just sitting there talking as far as I could tell.

I took a deep breath, looked over at Gallant, and asked, "What if we had a way to go a lot faster?"

"How? The villains you mentioned?" he asked.

"Yeah, it looks like they're actually still nearby, and they offered me a ride before to help me get away, so I was thinking…."

I carefully didn't mention the context of their offer, but I think Gallant might have guessed anyway, since he tilted his helmet in what I took to be a skeptical way.

"All right, fine. We don't have much choice," he agreed, sounding resigned.

I nodded to him as I moved some of my bugs near the villains in a big circle to try to get their attention, then formed the rest into the shapes of letters as best I could:

L U N G

A W A K E

H E L P

Tattletale noticed the words immediately. She said something to the others, the dogs took off almost immediately, and I used my swarm to make a trail in the air to lead them to where I was.

Moments later the villains rounded the corner and skidded to a stop, staring past me at the Wards.

Regent lifted his scepter and pointed it vaguely in the direction of the Wards as if it were a weapon of some sort, and I glanced back to see Gallant raise his arms partway while Kid Win's hand went for the pistols at his hip.

"This isn't exactly what we-" Grue started. His voice had a strange echoing quality now that it hadn't before, but even through that he sounded pissed off.

Tattletale, obviously picking up on the situation faster than Grue, cut him off. "No time," she snapped, then glared at the Wards. "Truce until we're safely away?"

Kid Win glanced at Gallant, who nodded. "Truce." Both of them lowered their weapons, and Regent followed suit.

Tattletale waved the Wards and me over. "Good, everyone get on. Bug, you're light, get up here behind me and-" Bitch stiffened and turned to look at her, and the blonde quickly shook her head, "-check that, get on with the boys. Wards, you're on Angelica."

I rushed toward Grue and grabbed the hand he offered me while the Wards jogged over to the riderless dog-"Angelica"? For that monster? Really?-and started to scramble on.

That's when Lung limped into view, easily seven or eight feet tall, every visible inch of skin completely covered in thick scales and wreathed in flame.

"Undersiders!" he snarled at the villains, then looked toward me and narrowed his eyes. "And the bug girl," he added in a rumbling tone deep enough that I could feel it in my chest from half a block away.

…

Well shit.

Author's Note

Yes, I know, it's kind of cliché to start with a Lung fight, but hopefully starting at the end of the canonical fight rather than retreading ground with an alternate Taylor makes it a bit more palatable.

Oh, and for anyone who isn't familiar with fiddler beetles, this (warning, big beetle) is what Eupoecila australasiae look like. Definitely adorable, and a much more heroic appearance than plain ol' black, no?

Last edited: Mar 14, 2022

Transposition 1.2.V

Late Afternoon, 3rd of Concordance, Hashkar 136 Primary Receiving Room, South Wing, PMCS Headquarters, Secluded Demiplane
Valigan Talaire

I stepped out of the portal to find that the receiving room had been extensively redecorated. Again.

Where the Society's public headquarters in Sigil maintained a relatively constant and quite refined décor, in part because it was necessary to present a vaguely professional front to returning clients and in part because the manor was largely Penumbra's demesne and her tastes rarely changed, its second headquarters was under no such constraint.

The sprawling complex that served as the Society's true base of operations was hidden away in a private demiplane and secured against spying or intrusion to the utmost degree that a dedicated cadre of several dozen immortal magic-users could manage.

I wouldn't place any bets as to whether the wards could exclude, say, a flight of ancient prismatic dragons or a sufficiently-motivated greater deity, but it had proven able to repel a jilted demigod on one very memorable occasion, so it could be considered impregnable for all practical purposes.

Thus freed of any need to keep the place presentable to outsiders, the second of the Society's core founders, Adilege, tended to treat it as their own personal museum and art gallery: every time they returned from a new world, one could be sure that they would fill the complex with all manner of sculptures, furniture, magical trinkets, and anything else that had struck their fancy during their trip.

Not being in the mood to appreciate any art at the moment, I barely glanced at the tapestries covering the walls, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and the divans around the periphery. Instead, I concentrated for a moment, visualized the main meeting chamber, and teleported there.

~*~*~

"Good morning, Juroth," I called out to the man standing at the other end of the long dining table from me, then glanced out the nearest window at the position of the illusory sun in the sky and corrected myself. "Afternoon, rather."

"Afternoon, Valigan," he said somberly, already walking over the moment I appeared. His robes were just as elaborate as my own, though they were of a very different style and were primarily colored various dark shades of gray, orange, and red.

His skin was covered in intricate tattoos-some mundane, some psionic tattoos like my own, some of other magical varieties-and a thick tome whose cover was inscribed with similar designs floated by his side; I'd never seen him without it. A series of small arcane sigils floated in a ring around his head, smoldering with a dark orange light, and as he put a hand on my shoulder and shook his head sadly the sigils blurred back and forth with the movement.

"Penumbra told me what happened to Aldric, and I'm incredibly sorry to hear it. He was a good friend to all of us, and he will be sorely missed," he said, and though his voice was full of genuine warmth and regret I still winced at the mention of Aldric's name.

His tone didn't change in the slightest as he added, "I happened to acquire the Lesser Tome of Yagrax while you were away, so if you want to nail the bastard who did it with a continent-shaking catastrophe or two, just say the word."

In contrast to Penumbra, who could somewhat accurately be described (so long as you were safely out of her hearing range) as a kindly doting grandmother who happened to occupy the body of a fearsome lich, the cheerful smiling face of Juroth of Cabal Ashcrow concealed the kind of amoral genius one generally only finds in a mad wizards out of children's tales, one who might seclude himself in a foreboding tower constantly shrouded in dramatic storms and spend years breeding half-dire-scorpion half-green-dragon monstrosities to release upon the world simply because it had never been done before and he found the idea amusing.

Suffice it to say that there were very good reasons why Penumbra and Adilege did their best to keep him too busy for any field work.

"These catastrophes," I asked, my mood lifting enough to play along for the moment, "would be the same type of potentially-apocalyptic catastrophes as those caused by improper usage of the Codex of Infinite Planes?"

"Exactly!" He nodded enthusiastically, then held up his fingers half an inch apart. "Only… lesser ones, for the Lesser Tome."

"How damaging would said catastrophes be to the surrounding environs on a scale of one to twelve, where twelve is the time you 'accidentally' covered an entire-"

"A nine. Probably." The illumian waved a hand dismissively. "Nine and a half, at worst. Assuming a logarithmic scale."

"I'll pass, then," I said, smile fading. As much as I wanted revenge on Dregoth, one of the main reasons we had decided to oppose him in the first place was the fact that he ruled an entire city-state full of slaves and fanatic devotees that he used as hostages against wandering do-gooders and sources of life energy for his rituals, and so obliterating said city-state and its innocent inhabitants in revenge would rather miss the point.

"If you ever change your mind, the offer remains open," Juroth said, then clapped once. "To business, then! First item, your report on Athas." From a pocket in his robes he pulled out a palm-sized green memory crystal and tossed it to me.

With a moment of concentration, I caused the small gemstone embedded over my heart to wriggle its way down to my wrist and tapped it against the memory crystal.

The gemstone, one of several items I kept embedded in my body for convenience and security, was an item of my own devising that combined the functions of quite a few useful items I'd encountered over the centuries. This Experiential Repository, as I'd named it, kept a perfect record of my sensory experience and with a simple touch could instantly transfer a portion of it to another person or to a storage device such as the memory crystal.

I could of course have simply transferred memories directly from my mind to the crystal, that being how the crystals are usually used, but that would have taken much longer and, importantly, required me to relive the memories being transferred, something I was not yet prepared to do.

"I'll edit and annotate everything later," I told Juroth as I tossed the crystal back to him and returned my Repository to its usual place, "but that will at least prevent any loss of records if something should happen to me on this mission."

"Good. Next item, meeting the team! As I'm sure Penumbra mentioned, we have a prospective new member, and she'll be joining you and Gwydion on this mission." he added telepathically, probably noticing that my usual suite of detection powers was currently incomplete.

I frowned. "Daelan didn't mind being replaced, I hope? I wouldn't want to deprive him of the experience if he was especially looking forward to this mission…" … and I hope you're not expecting me to play mentor to the new one. I am not in the right frame of mind for that.

He laughed. "Oh, hardly, he was hoping to spend a few months in the City of Brass anyway, so you're actually doing him a favor."

"I'm relieved to hear that," I said, and I released some tension in my shoulders that I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

A few moments later, the door opened and two people stepped into the room. One of them was Gwyn, a longtime friend; we were both senior Society members, having joined shortly after its founding, and my husband and I had gone on more missions with him over the centuries than with any other member. He gave me a brief smile and a wave as he circled around to the other side of the table.

The other was an unfamiliar woman of a race with which I was only passingly familiar.

Many worlds had serpentfolk races of one kind or another, but only on Eberron (at least to the best of our considerable knowledge) could one find the shulassakar, a race of snakelike humanoids descended from couatls and inclined strongly toward Good like their progenitors rather than possessing the Evil tendencies common to most serpentine races.

While I had never personally encountered a member of her race before, her heritage was obvious in the slender rainbow feathers she possessed in place of hair and in the fine scales that almost entirely covered her skin and glinted silver in the light.

Said scales appeared to change in color with her mood, as lines of scales along her cheeks and neck momentarily flickered from silver to pale green and back as she hesitated on the threshold, then briefly took on a firm reddish-orange hue as she nodded to me and came around to my side of the table.

"Kassalyn, a very warm first-time welcome to our not-at-all-humble abode. Gwyn, welcome back, and thank you for showing her the way here," Juroth said. "Now, a quick round of introductions before I brief you on your new home-away-from-home for the next few years. Gwyn, you first."

"Certainly. My name is Gwydion Stennarden, Gwyn to my friends… and also to Juroth," said the man with a brief bow and a cheeky smile, ever the performer. "I'm a human, and I hail from the world of Oerth, though I spend most of my time between missions on the Plane of Shadow. I was one of the original founders of the Fochlucan College and a longtime shepherd of the bardic arts on my homeworld, and am a bit of a knave of all trades these days. I didn't join the Society to advance any big overarching goal-just here to see the sights, as it were-but my current side project is a longitudinal study comparing poetic and musical traditions between the worlds of Oerth, Aebrynis, Ippruk, and Morath over the past millennium." He gestured to Kassalyn. "And you?"

The woman brushed a stray feather out of her eyes before speaking. "I am Kassalyn, of no clan. I am a shulassakar, and hail from Eberron, specifically from Io'lokar, the City of Knowledge. I am a priestess of the Flame That Binds specializing in history, theology, and war magic. I hope to officially join this Society to be among the few from my world able to explore far beyond the bounds of what I thought was all of existence, firstly, and secondly to bring word of the Flame and its blessings to wherever I may go," she said, briefly touching her fingertips to a silver holy symbol around her neck depicting a swirling flame contained within an arrowhead.

"I don't have any current projects, having canceled or paused all those I had been working on… back home." Scattered patches of violet briefly rippled across her scales, which presumably signified repressed homesickness, nostalgia, or a similar emotion. "But if I achieve full membership I do have a few ideas for projects I might wish to pursue."

Well then. Not only was she a pure priestess with no other magical training, quite the rarity for an organization that travels to new worlds where the reach of other worlds' gods generally does not yet extend, but one that actively planned to evangelize her religion.

I assumed she had already been informed that the Society aimed only to learn about new worlds it found, not to change or influence them in any significant manner, but either way that would certainly make for a very interesting first mission.

"My name is Valigan Talaire," I introduced myself when she was done. "And it is Valigan, not Val, please. I am an elan hailing from Toril, specifically from the Empire of Jhaamdath-"

Kassalyn held up a hand questioningly, which I ignored for the moment as I was almost certain I knew what her question would be.

I was actually somewhat disappointed; she wasn't the first new Society member who'd wondered why I identified with a nation that had been wiped from the face of Toril over sixteen hundred years ago instead of one of the comparatively primitive successor states that now infested its former territory, but considering that she herself hailed from a highly advanced city-state that held itself apart from the lesser nations on the continents of Khorvaire and Sarlona, I had hoped she , of all people, would understand.

"-and a psionicist with no particular discipline focus, though I do favor psychoportive powers, both for the convenience when traveling and because that was my home city's specialty. My primary goals are, first, to discover some kind of magical tradition, ritual, artifact, or any other means by which I can restore my fallen homeland-"

The feathered woman let out a hmm of understanding and put her hand down, as expected.

"-second, to do the same for my patron deity, Auppenser; and third, to seek out any knowledge concerning the long-lost original homeworld of my family line."

And of course I'd added more goals in the past day, namely pursuing vengeance for Aldric and either finding some way to restore him to existence or pursuing his goals in his honor should I fail to restore him, but I was still doing my utmost to not think about those for now and wasn't inclined to share those yet in any case.

Kassalyn looked confused and dismayed at the mention of a fallen deity, but fortunately didn't raise a hand again. Possibly a conversation for later.

"Those three goals are more than enough to consume most of my time, but I do dabble in theoretical psiothaumaturgy when I have a spare month here and there."

"And I am Ashcrow Juroth: illumian, Society co-founder, collector of artifacts, connoisseur of monsters, and designer and builder of the incredibly complicated magical device that's going to poke some holes in a sealed crystal sphere so you can get into it," Juroth concluded.

Aspect interjected in a mental whisper, fortunately sending only to me and not everyone in the room.

Fine , fine, I get it. I'll just keep floating here completely neglected and unappreciated while you do your thing.

"Speaking of magical devices, if you'll direct your attention to the projection stone," he continued, pulling a fist-sized sapphire covered in silver-inlaid glyphs out of a pocket and placing it in the center of the table while the rest of us took our seats, "it's time to talk details."

Juroth touched the projection stone and briefly furrowed his brow. A translucent illusion of a world appeared above the stone, rotating slowly, and we all leaned in for a closer look. "Notice anything interesting?" he asked in an overly-innocent tone.

As worlds go, it seemed relatively standard. Multiple continents, surface mostly ocean, glaciers at the poles, glowing dots scattered around landmasses indicating known settlements, nothing particularly unusual.

At least it wasn't another world covered in deserts, or overrun by demons, or both.

I leaned back and pondered for a moment, shared a look with Gwyn across the table, then turned to Juroth. "Well, the first missions my husband and I undertook involved exploration of alternate worlds via chronomancy, and nearly all of our missions after that which involved Gwyn were similar, given his origins."

In response to Kassalyn's questioning look, I explained, "Oerth has no fewer than four parallel worlds in its sphere, of which Gwyn has explored three extensively, the fourth being a world largely devoid of magic and thus not worth visiting."

She nodded in understanding, and I gestured to the illusion. "So I would assume this world is special not because of the world itself but because of other worlds alongside it, and possibly because there are unique properties of these echoes compared to most alternates, mirrors, or parallels?"

"Correct on all counts," Juroth beamed. "Our homunculi have scouted out the primary world as well as eleven others-yes, eleven," he confirmed at Gwyn's and my skeptical expressions, "and there are a lot more that we've established connections with but that still have yet to be explored."

He waved his hand over the stone and the image split, from a single world in normal colors to twelve slightly-overlapping worlds each depicted in a pair of bright colors, as well as a mind-boggling twenty-eight more depicted with pale monocolored outlines.

"But it gets better!" he said, and pointed to one specific area on the primary world. I looked closer, and what I had originally taken for merely a distortion in the illusion due to the many blended colors appeared, in fact, to be-

"A portal?" Gwyn asked, eyebrows raised. "Even gating between parallels is incredibly tricky, yet somehow they figured out how to make a permanent connection? Either their artificers are incredibly advanced or the local metaphysics are like nothing we've seen before."

"Or both," Kassalyn suggested, and the rest of us nodded. Eberron's local cosmology was noticeably different from that of the wider multiverse and their magical research had gone in very different directions than it had on most worlds, so finding another world in the same cluster of spheres that also diverged considerably from the baseline wouldn't be much of a surprise.

"There are multiple such portals, in fact, which presents us with a unique opportunity," Juroth said, dismissing all but four of the worlds with another wave of his hand and then expanding them so we could observe them in greater detail.

The blur on the primary world extended into a bridge between it and a second world, and two more bridges coalesced to connect points on the third and fourth to different locations on the primary.

"We can infer from the settlement density near the portal and near-identical settlement patterns on both sides of it that not only is it an artificial creation rather than a natural phenomenon of some sort but also that inhabitants of both worlds are aware of it and make use of it regularly," he explained, pointing to the first portal and the many lights around it.

"Meanwhile, the remoteness of the other two portals from the nearest settlements on their respective worlds implies that they are either sealed, difficult to access, or otherwise not regularly used. It's even possible that the portals' existence is a secret and most on those worlds don't know that they have alternates at all.

"So here is my proposal." He gestured to the three of us. "Instead of sending a trio of explorers to one world as usual, we send each of you to a different world; you'll learn less about each individual world, but much more overall. You can check in with one another while you're there, and depending on how things work out you might want to trade worlds, move on to explore the fourth world, all gather on a single world, or whatever other arrangement you find necessary."

Kassalyn frowned. "Forgive me if the answer is obvious, but… if there are four worlds, why not send four explorers instead of three?"

"An excellent question," Juroth replied. "You'll learn the long answer if you become a full member, but the short answer is a combination of logistics, respect for members' personal time and projects, avoiding excessive focus on a single sphere, and the Rule of Three, among other reasons."

She didn't look entirely convinced, but the feathered woman nodded slowly and accepted the explanation.

"Any more questions? No? Good, that's settled. Now to choose which world each of you would prefer to explore. Until we learn what names the locals use for them, we'll call the primary world One, the most similar echo Two, the one connected to the western coast of this continent Three, and the one connected to the center of that continent Four. Valigan, the first choice is yours."

I gazed silently upon the four illusory images. Making a decision as to which world would be the most interesting to explore was quite difficult given what little information I had, but that was to be expected; as a rule, we weren't given much information about a world before actually setting foot on it, in order to avoid prejudicing our observations in any way.

Perhaps either of the two closely-connected worlds would be the better choice, given that the close connection might indicate a cross-world civilization such as had never before been observed? Perhaps the much less populated fourth world would be the better choice, given that I might have the opportunity to observe a civilization as they discovered their side of the inter-world portal as well as the first contact scenario that would ensue?

Too hard to say without additional information. "Might I ask what the divergence quotient is for each of these worlds?" I asked Juroth.

"Seeing as this is a rather special case, I suppose that wouldn't hurt," he replied, and before Kassalyn could ask about the topic he turned to her and began to explain. "That's another thing you'll learn in more detail later on, but the short version is, how do you compare multiple worlds to determine which ones are more or less alike to each other?"

The feathered woman looked off to the side for a moment, then shook her head. "I've no idea. I wouldn't even begin to know where to start."

"A wise answer. Here's the system Penumbra devised for the Society: first, start with a set of baseline worlds to calibrate your measurement. We chose the worlds of the Radiant Triangle, widely treated as if they were the 'center' of the Material Plane given their relatively central location among the Known Spheres."

"Those three worlds, if you're not familiar with the term, are Toril," I interjected, placing a hand on my chest, "which is known for its long and rather eventful history and plethora of advanced civilizations; Oerth," I gestured at Gwyn, "which is known for its richly detailed cultural tapestry and its many contributions to the arcane sciences; and Krynn," I finished dryly, "which I'm sure has some redeeming quality that I simply have yet to discover."

Kassalyn let out a delicate laugh in response, then placed a hand over her mouth as her scales briefly turned a bright magenta. Gwyn and Juroth, already quite familiar with my opinions on that world, didn't noticeably react.

"Second," Juroth continued, "come up with scales and numerical mappings for tens of thousands of properties of possible worlds. Geographical, geological, physical, metaphysical, planar, elemental, cultural, political, magical, artistic, everything you can think of. Which we'd already been doing to help standardize observations across worlds, of course, we just formalized everything for this step. Third, create a complex mathematical model that can weight and condense all those various factors into a single number between zero and one to represent the world in an extremely concise fashion, something like finding the magnitude of a vector, to allow easy shorthand rankings and comparisons."

He tapped the projector stone, and the four illusory worlds shifted to the side to make way for a new image, a thick black line with a glowing golden triangle on one end, a chaotic storm of colors on the other end, and glowing dots at various points along it.

"In this case, a value of 'zero' represents a hypothetical ideal world with which every possible world has many large commonalities and against which all worlds can be compared," he said as he pointed to a dot in the center of the triangle, "and the Radiant Triangle worlds are all fairly close to that, with values below 0.01. A value of 'one' represents the Far Realm," he indicated the swirling colors, and a flick of his fingers made tiny clawed tentacles emerge from the storm to wave around in a menacingly adorable manner.

"The Far Realm is the plane like Xoriat, yes?" Kassalyn recalled, referring to one of the planes in Eberron's local cosmology, but Gwyn shook his head vigorously.

"It's like Xoriat in the same way that a bonfire is like a candle, so yes, but also no. Xoriat is merely a plane of madness and chaos, but the Far Realm is… a non-place, a that-which-cannot-be-yet-is, outside of the Great Wheel and totally anathema to it."

"Precisely. In this model, it's essentially a hypothetical ideal world with which every possible world has nothing in common and to which no reasonable comparison can be made," Juroth stated.

"Every existing world, then, fits somewhere along the line, and the larger the value is, the more different the world is from the ones we know. The worlds in the sealed spheres we've been exploring recently, including your own homeworld and the world of Athas from which Valigan has recently returned-"

And there goes my good mood. Thank you ever so much for the reminder, Juroth.

"-had the highest values we'd yet observed, roughly tied near the upper end of the 0.3 range. A world with a value of 0.5 would be precisely equally as foreign to everyone here as it is recognizable, and would likely require a dramatic revision of our exploration protocols before approaching it." Juroth locked eyes with me as he continued, "The primary world in this sphere has a value of 0.41732. Interesting enough for you?"

"Yes, I'll take that one," I replied immediately.

"I assumed as much. Any preferences regarding the insertion point?"

Like any portal, Juroth's translocation device bridged a single point in one world to a single point in another, and neither point could be moved thereafter without breaking the connection and establishing another one-a simple enough operation when dealing with normal crystal spheres, but quite an energy-intensive one when dealing with sealed spheres considering the amount of power needed to establish such a portal in the first place.

Choosing the destination point carefully when entering a sealed sphere was important, not just to avoid things like accidentally opening a portal on the bottom of the ocean and flooding the origin side (a mistake, Juroth was always quick to assure me, that he has ensured will not happen a third time) but because staying physically close to the portal's endpoint was necessary if we explorers wanted to be able to communicate regularly with those on the other side, as standard communications magic would not cross the sealed sphere boundary and so we had to ensure that the shortest path for such magic would pass through the portal.

Some Society members habitually chose points based on proximity to or remoteness from major cities, some to height above or depth below the surface, some to proximity to ancient ruins or religious sites or natural wonders; the device could interpret one's intentions essentially as well as a genie granting a wish, so even highly arbitrary criteria were possible to meet.

I didn't have anything overly specific in mind for this world, just one broad criterion: "I'd find anywhere acceptable so long as the local magic-users are accepted by the public and have no need nor desire to hide their identities," I said.

After a few months spent dealing with the myriad disguises and endless paranoia of the Veiled Alliance, an Athasian organization of persecuted arcanists forced to conceal their identities and operate in secret in order to survive, I wasn't eager to deal with such a tiresome system again.

"Easy enough. Kassalyn?"

She let out a long sigh, seeming overwhelmed by the choice. Eventually, she replied, "I'll choose world Two. In a large and cosmopolitan city, please, so I have a better chance to blend in with the populace."

"Three for me, then, and let's make it a surprise," Gwyn declared.

Juroth nodded, waved the illusions above the table away, and returned the projector stone to his pocket. "Duly noted, all. Are all of you ready to depart?"

Gwyn nodded, but Kassalyn shook her head. "We weren't originally supposed to leave for a few weeks, so I hadn't decided what to pack yet." She glanced over at Gwyn. "Did you know we'd be leaving soon?"

"No, I just keep everything I'll need on me all the time," he said. The shulassakar appeared confused and looked him up and down, presumably noting that he didn't appear to be wearing or carrying any extradimensional storage gear of the usual varieties that she would recognize.

The human gave her a cheeky grin and tapped his chest. I knew he wore a soulbound amulet that served as an anchor for a vast extradimensional vault, much like how I anchored a panoply of smaller extradimensional spaces to my Experiential Repository.

"Gwyn's rules of adventuring, number thirty six: if you're going to carry all your worldly possessions in an extradimensional storage item, do that using something that doesn't look like an extradimensional storage item," he advised Kassalyn, and she nodded thoughtfully.

Juroth turned to me. "I assume you're ready to go?"

"I have all my gear, yes, but I wanted to speak with Daelan before we left." At his questioning eyebrow, I reluctantly explained, "Now that I'm-" I paused, started again: "There are some spells that, normally, would…."

"Ah, say no more," he said. "Daelan should be in the alchemy lab, I believe. You'll have… two hours?" he looked questioningly over at Kassalyn, who nodded. "Two hours, then we'll depart from here."

I nodded, and with a thought I teleported to the laboratory hall.

I knocked firmly on the door-I could easily have teleported into the laboratory directly, but it is unwise to disturb a wizard with an epithet of "the Pyromancer" in the midst of potentially-delicate experiments-and after a moment Daelan opened the door and ushered me in, closing it behind me.

"Valigan," he said in greeting, a solemn expression on his charcoal-gray face. "I heard. My condolences."

Daelan was always a man of few words, something I certainly appreciated at the moment after the others' effusiveness, and I nodded my thanks.

"You need something?" he prompted.

"I currently find myself… lacking access to certain spells I would find useful on my imminent mission," I said slowly. "I was hoping to add a few of yours to my repertoire, assuming you don't mind?"

"Go ahead," he said, and extended a hand; through my arcane sight, I saw him modulate his protections against mental intrusion to allow me entry. I took his hand, closed my eyes, and concentrated, and after a moment the vast expanse of arcane patterns that was his repertoire of spells opened itself to me.

~*~*~

All psionicists share the ability to establish physical and mental contact with another psionicist, identify the powers they know, and attempt to manifest one of those powers as if were in their own repertoire, though of course to do so effectively and reliably requires a certain degree of training in the fundamentals of psionic theory.

I, however, could go further even than most highly-trained psions: thanks to the tradition I follow, one developed by the savants of my family's original homeworld and then imperfectly mimicked by lesser psionicists elsewhere, I could pluck knowledge of powers directly from another's mind (so long as they did not become aware of the probe and resist the intrusion) and learn them myself after a period of study and meditation.

Further still, thanks to my extensive cross-discipline studies of both psionics and arcane magic, not only could I peruse the powers of a wilder or a fellow psion, I could do the same with the spells of a sorcerer or wizard as well, and this is precisely what I was doing with Daelan.

(Wizards and psions, of course, being those magic-users who actually work for their magic, through intensive research and study, while sorcerers merely gain their arcane abilities and wilders their psionic abilities through various quirks of biological and spiritual inheritance.

It would be grossly unfair to characterize all sorcerers and wilders as intellectually-lazy layabouts who hope to be handed the deepest secrets of reality on a golden platter and who couldn't state the simple differences between pyromancy, pyroturgy, pyronomy, and pyrokinesis if their lives depended on it… but it wouldn't be entirely inaccurate, either.

And the less said of the third type of arcanist, the third type of psionicist, and the entire practice of divine magic, all of which make the laziest sorcerers and wilders look like the most disciplined of sages, the better.)

The sensation of exploring the mental space in which reside a psionicist's powers or an arcanist's spells is practically indescribable to the layperson. Visual metaphors do not come anywhere close to encapsulating the experience, but one could, I suppose, describe the hyperdimensional thoughtforms that make up spells and powers as resembling stars in the sky, grouped into a vast web of interlocking "constellations" based on the schools of magic or disciplines of psionics to which they belong, the energy valences they occupy, and various other factors.

Daelan's repertoire comprised several hundred spells. Some of them "shone" brightly, indicating that these were prepared spells currently available to him, while others merely glimmered faintly to indicate that he had either not prepared those spells for use or that he had exhausted any instances of those spells he had prepared.

A similar distinction can be "seen" in a psionicist's repertoire; we do not prepare our powers in this way, but one might "see" a power as dim rather than bright if a psionicist's energy reserves are too depleted to allow manifestation of a power of that valence, for instance.

I recognized nearly all of his spells, and chose those I most immediately wished to learn: one to let me view the past, another to probe a creature's deepest thoughts.

I studied the thoughtforms from every angle and then carefully, ever so carefully, "pulled" copies of them into my mind. They were tenuous things, delicate enough that if I were to manifest any of my own powers they would destabilize and vanish, and I would need to take time to internalize them.

One of his spells I didn't recognize. I could still identify what it did, and reverse-architect it for my own use through study of a copy of the thoughtform if I so desired, as from this "viewpoint" the general theoretical framework of any spell is obvious to anyone sufficiently trained in the thaumaturgic sciences; it simply wasn't one of the set of common spells learned by magic-users the multiverse over that spread from world to world thanks to the depth of their imprint on the Astral fabric.

~*~*~

I opened my eyes and released Daelan's hand. The experience of viewing another's repertoire can subjectively seem to stretch on for hours, but in objective terms it actually occurs within the blink of an eye and so from his perspective I merely touched his hand briefly, which is quite useful if one wishes to discreetly examine another's powers.

"You finally cracked that new spell of yours, I see," I noted. "Have you chosen a name?"

"Yes. Daelan's Pyroclastic Bombardment."

"Very evocative. Have you tested it yet?"

He ran a hand through his flaming-red hair-literally flaming, given that he was a fire genasi-and smiled modestly. "Two great white wyrms. One casting. Nothing left," he confirmed with a definite note of satisfaction in his voice.

"Well done," I said. "I'll let you get back to your experiments, then. Fare well."

"Good luck," he said, and turned back to his apparatus as I let myself out.

Being unable to teleport while holding the new thoughtforms in my mind without using up one of my stored soul crystals of Teleport (which would be incredibly wasteful at the moment) or using my Orb of Planar Journeying (which would definitely be overkill for such a short jaunt), I physically walked all the way to the temporal dilation chamber on the other side of the complex.

I sent to Aspect preemptively. He remained silent, but did send over a slight impression of smugness as he flew along behind me.

~*~*~

As its name would imply, within the temporal dilation chamber the flow of time could be accelerated by any desired factor of up to ten-to-one, and using the chamber would allow me to accomplish the eight or so subjective hours of meditation needed to firmly affix each new power into my repertoire in less than an hour of objective time.

I entered the chamber, rotated the control crystal just within the doorway to its maximum setting, assumed a contemplative pose on a conveniently-placed cushion, and began to carry out another complex mental process that is very difficult to describe to the layperson.

Suffice it to say that after roughly ninety objective minutes of meditation and the sacrifice of a small quantity of intrinsic magic, my repertoire of powers had expanded by two.

I still had half of an objective hour before the others would be ready to depart, so I decided I would take some time to check over my equipment before leaving on the mission. Despite the fact that all of my gear was so heavily enchanted as to be practically immune to harm, I had recently faced someone who could throw around the kind of power necessary to damage it.

And in any case, pre-mission checks were a good habit to maintain, one that Aldric had always-

Anyhow.

I began with the gear incorporated into my body, as such items are the hardest to damage. I'd seen already that my Experiential Repository was unharmed when I'd used it to share its recorded memories with Juroth, so I skipped that. Likewise my clothing, as its shapeshifting capabilities would have replaced any damaged portions back in Sigil.

I first checked my ten psionic tattoos, moving them one at a time from their customary positions on my back and arms down to the back of my hands to give them a visual inspection.

Some of these tattoos held high-valence powers that would normally require a significant expenditure of intrinsic magic to activate, while others held the necessary psionic circuitry to let me bypass that sacrifice using my normal psionic reserves instead, thus allowing me to use said powers much more frequently than I otherwise could As expected, all of them were fine; my wards and my clothing had shielded them all from Dregoth's many attempts to disenchant them.

After that, the crystal shards in my back. They were the most recent addition to my arsenal, having been crafted just under nine years ago under the tutelage of Adaran artificers during my expedition to Eberron. The shards could not be moved from where they were implanted, so I mentally commanded the back of my tunic to fold itself up into my collar and sent,

My psicrystal floated around behind me to closely examine the pairs of false aura projectors embedded above my shoulder blades and the rows of psionic amplifiers running down either side of my spine.

I sent, restoring my tunic to its normal appearance.

Anything in my extradimensional spaces had been safe from harm, so I skipped over my Orb of Planar Journeying, Demiplane Seed, and Weirdstone and moved on to the items I'd actually used in the battle.

First, my sword, and the symbol of my noble rank, Reason.

(Yes, I have in fact bestowed names upon all of my most powerful items, antiquated as that practice may seem in the modern era. That was the general trend when I was first learning artifice, and I am nothing if not a creature of habit.)

I withdrew it from storage and examined it carefully. From pommel to point, everything seemed to be-ah, there: a small nick in the blade near the tip.

Understandable, given that Dregoth's scales had turned out to be harder than adamantine, a fact that had almost cost me a hand to discover.

Reason is, among its many other properties, a morphing weapon, so one mental command and a brief rippling of crystal saw its iridescent blade returned to pristine condition once more.

Second, my staff, Perpetuance. Like my tattoos, its main purpose was to allow me to make frequent use of powers that would otherwise require a permanent sacrifice of my intrinsic magical energy, so it had seen heavy use during the battle.

(It has quite a variety of other useful powers as well; when one effectively carries all of one's possessions on oneself at all times, it's generally useful to cram as many enchantments as possible onto as few items as possible.)

The staff bore a few scorch marks from dealing with summoned magma elementals, but nothing a quick cleaning and polishing with Prestidigitation couldn't handle.

Third, my ring, Eternity.

…

That name, once a symbol of optimism and commitment, was now a cruel reminder of what I had lost.

Aldric and I crafted our marriage bands together, the first items we ever enchanted without the aid of our respective mentors. The initial enchantments placed upon them were a permanent telepathic bond, in the Jhaamdathic wedding tradition, and an enchantment to render us immune to the harmful effects of each others' magic, in the Netherese tradition.

On every anniversary, we made a point of adding minor magics to our own and to each others' rings, usually related to novel magical techniques studied on a world we had recently finished exploring or to countermeasures against a novel challenge or threat we had recently overcome.

By this point, my ring would put the most powerful artifacts and relics of most worlds to shame, even more so than my other enchanted equipment, and to replicate the full breadth of enchantments on Eternity would likely take a massive cabal of wizards and psions months of research, over a year of labor, and materials costing a literal ton of platinum, at the very least.

Yet I would toss that priceless ring into a Sphere of Annihilation without a second thought if doing so would return Aldric to me.

Aspect sent hesitantly.

fine. I've finished for now, I'll inspect Last Resort later, I sent.

I did not use a minor illusion to mask the redness of my eyes and the rawness in my throat, nor did I have any need to prestidigitate away any wetness that most certainly could not be found on my cheeks.

Aspect sighed, floating in my wake as I swept out the door.

~*~*~

Back in the main meeting room, I found Kassalyn arranging the last of her pouches of equipment and Gwyn and Juroth waiting patiently. Once she had finished, Juroth rubbed his hands together enthusiastically-always a concerning gesture for a man as… eccentric as he is-and then motioned for us to gather around him.

"Now then! Without further ado…." he said as he reached out to the side with a flourish and, from his own hidden extradimensional space, retrieved a truly massive magical device. It was roughly three feet across, made of thousands of intricate interlocking plates of many different metals, and studded with more gemstones, crystals, runes, and glyphs than I could take in at once even with the aid of my extrasensory powers. Quite similar in appearance to my own Orb of Planar Journeying, in fact, but on a much grander scale.

This was his interspheric translocation device, and the fact that Eternity could hold all of the incredibly complex and powerful enchantments that it did with barely any difficulty, yet this device had to be as large and bulky as it was in order to function, should quite clearly convey the scale of power necessary to open a passage into a sealed sphere.

The illumian waved us over, we all placed a hand on the device, and we were instantly whisked away to-

~*~*~

Mid-Morning, Wir the 4th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Dal Olam Ruins, Xen'drik, Eberron

"… Eberron?" Kassalyn asked, sounding quite surprised to suddenly find herself in the depths of a jungle on her homeworld.

It wasn't the jungle itself that told her where we'd arrived-one can't exactly distinguish a random patch of Torillian jungle from a random patch of Eberronian jungle at a glance-but the style of architecture of the ruins in which we appeared, which was immediately recognizable as belonging to one of her world's ancient giantish civilizations.

I was surprised by our destination as well, and evidently so was Gwyn. "Back when we were considering bridging Eberron and Athas, didn't you say that going from one sealed cosmology to another would more than double both the resources required and the complexity of the calculations involved, compared to starting on another world?" he asked Juroth.

"It would in the general case," Juroth agreed, "but the preliminary results from Abacus show otherwise in this one."

Abacus is the nickname Juroth gave to Penumbra's analytical engine, an enchanted device that filled an entire floor of our third headquarters and has been crammed full of every magical spell, psionic power, alchemical concoction, clockwork device, and mystical relic she could find that relates to divination, prescience, calculation, cognition, and similar fields.

It was what she used to, effectively, model certain aspects of the entire Material Plane to a sufficient level of detail to enable discovering and analyzing new crystal spheres as well as to plot routes between them as their physical and metaphysical locations drift over time.

He named it Abacus as a pun , because it carries out calculations involving a large number of moving spheres.

Truly, there are no limits to his depravity.

"The calculations show that there's a much shorter conceptual distance between the new world and Eberron than there is between it and any other world, or even than Eberron and Athas have between them. Maybe it's the aberrant local cosmology, maybe it's related to the local artificing traditions, who knows, but the difference is enough that even with the doubled-and-a-bit activation energy we're saving lots of power overall-and since we're opening three portals this time instead of one, we need all the spare power we can get. Now, to find the optimal location…."

We trailed behind Juroth as he slowly ambled around the ruins, steering the floating translocation device with one hand and telekinetically waving branches and underbrush out of his way with the other.

~*~*~

While Juroth searched for whatever spot might meet his exacting criteria, I took the opportunity to renew the extrasensory powers I'd dismissed back in Sigil.

I had not yet meditated to reforge my mental lattice and thus currently lacked any unattuned "slots" through which to manifest any new powers, but fortunately I'd long since discovered a workaround: a handy power by the name of Soul Crystal, first developed by an obscure sect of Oeridian psionicists and later spread to many other worlds by psionic travelers.

It was originally designed to allow psionicists to share their powers with their allies by creating a psychoresponsive crystal storing one thoughtform and a small psionic energy reserve that any creature (even a non-psionic one) could use without requiring any sort of special talent or training, and it served that purpose quite adequately.

More importantly for me, however, I could manifest any number of powers using a soul crystal and take up only one mental slot, that which Soul Crystal itself occupied, so long as I was willing to spend the extra time and psionic energy to do so-and better yet, if I didn't entirely spend the energy in a given crystal, I could keep it in stasis in an extradimensional storage space for later use.

It wasn't an ideal tactic in combat situations or when one was low on energy, to be sure, but it was generally how I manifested all of my powers whenever I wasn't in immediate danger in order to save my other slots for time-sensitive situations.

The first power I manifested granted me the ability to sense the impressions left behind by events of strong emotional or conceptual significance, causing the crumbling ruins around us to suddenly dance with flickers of dreamlike visions only I could see; the soul crystal I used to do that popped into existence silently and discreetly in the palm of my hand when I manifested it, and was stowed away in the designated extradimensional pocket the moment I was done with it.

After reveling in the renewed sensations for a moment, as I hadn't visited any giantish ruins during my first trip to Eberron and what glimpses I could catch of the site's past looked truly spectacular, I pushed the sense to my secondary mental partition.

This partition, granted by the power known commonly as Schism, was the portion of my mind to which I assigned various tasks-the more repetitive or "background" ones such as replenishing my psionic energy reserves, re-manifesting powers that required periodic refreshment, or monitoring the more exotic senses-so as not to distract my primary stream of thought with trivialities.

The next power I manifested was one to detect nearby creatures who were actively or imminently hostile to me, a critical power to use when venturing to a new world where any number of cultural misunderstandings could lead to a sudden outbreak of violence.

Then the rest of them: illusion sight, aura sight, emotion reading, thought reading, infravision, ultravision, telekinetic senses, telepathic senses, sensing scrying, sensing teleportation, vision into adjacent planes of existence, vision through solid objects… for all practical purposes, I was once again effectively omniscient within a few dozen yards of myself.

Except, of course, for discerning anything about my three companions. Like myself, they'd all used Mind Blank or an equivalent to render them completely immune to divinations and similar magics.

Given the number of eavesdropping seers and meddlesome oracles and such that exist throughout the multiverse, it would be quite short-sighted and irresponsible for any intelligent magic-user of our stature to do otherwise.

~*~*~

"This should do it," Juroth finally said after twenty-two minutes of walking, lifting the device up and anchoring it to a point it midair that was roughly at his eye level. He began to manipulate the sphere in a complex pattern, tapping sigils and twisting metal plates, until the process was far enough along that it could continue on its own. It began to pulse and crackle with enough visible and invisible magical energy that I had to temporarily suppress my arcane sight to avoid being blinded.

He turned to face the three of us and clapped once. "Kassalyn, this is your last chance to reconsider. Having any second thoughts?"

She shook her head and placed a hand on the holy symbol around her neck. "None at all. I will see this through to the end, Flame willing."

"Just what I wanted to hear! Now, portal protocol: once each portal opens, it will remain active for one local Eberron hour. You have that long to return through it if you run face-first into a dragon, find yourself in a dead-magic region, or otherwise end up in circumstances that make it too dangerous to proceed."

Juroth's expression grew serious and he looked Kassalyn in the eye. "Don't feel like you've failed if you have to return in that time. I added that safety period because even our most experienced members aren't…" he glanced at me and obviously decided to change what he was about to say "… are capable of running into things they can't handle on their own."

She nodded, and the illumian continued more cheerily, "After that, the portal will close, I'll head back to headquarters with the device, and you'll all be on your own. The device will build up enough energy to let us check in with each of you intermittently, most likely once every few weeks depending on local conditions on the other side, so try to stay near the arrival point or at least visit the area regularly. Questions?"

"Do we need to worry about anyone coming through the portal while it's open?" Kassalyn asked.

"Highly unlikely. The other side of the portal is invisible in the normal and extended visible spectra, both the portals and the device itself emit a subtle antipathic effect to keep animals and weak-willed sapients away, and if anything does stumble through and try to do anything to or with my device, well, the contingencies on it will significantly bolster the antipathic field and ensure that it remains in perfect condition," he replied.

The fact that anyone attempting to meddle with the device would be left in anything but perfect condition went unsaid.

Soon enough, the arcing currents of energy surrounding the device settled into a stable configuration. Without looking, Juroth reached back to tap the largest crystal embedded in the device, and three large circular gates appeared behind the rest of us with a clap of thunder (which was, given Juroth's sense of style, almost certainly something he'd added for effect rather than an actual side effect of their opening).

Each gate's perimeter was demarcated by an identical ring of rippling viridian energy, but the areas visible through the gates were all different. The one nearest Gwyn showed a snowy mountainside around local dawn or dusk, with no signs of civilization for miles around; the one nearest Kassalyn showed a nondescript alleyway around local noon, with enough noise coming through the gate to imply a reasonably large and bustling city; and the one nearest me showed another nondescript alleyway at night, with a fair amount of debris on the ground but no sights or sounds of activity.

Kassalyn didn't hesitate, striding confidently up to her doorway and passing through without a moment's pause.

Gwyn waited a moment until the sound of her footsteps receded, whistled a few notes to cloak himself in the illusion of the most average-looking male human one could possibly imagine, gave Juroth and me a jaunty wave, and sauntered through his own doorway as though he hadn't a care in the worlds.

I didn't step through mine quite yet, instead glancing sideways at Juroth.

"I can't help but notice," I remarked idly, "that we are currently standing in the ruins of the ancient giantish city of Dal Olam."

"That we are," he said, smiling guilelessly.

"I seem to recall reading that this is one of the locations that leading scholars believe may hold one or more critical components of the Sul'at Moon Breaker."

"That it is."

"I assume that you are not, in fact, planning to remain in this area until the portals close, but are instead planning to spend the next few hours searching for yet another apocalyptic artifact to add to your collection."

"That I am."

A small smile tugged at my lips. "If you find it, do at least check in with Adilege before you destroy the continent. I understand they haven't taken a trip to Eberron yet and I'm sure they'd be quite put out if you carried out any large-scale concussive landscaping before they could spare time for a visit."

Juroth spread his arms in an I make no promises whatsoever gesture, his broad smile not having changed in the slightest.

I shook my head in mock exasperation and walked to my doorway. "I hope you find what you're looking for. I'll see you in a tenday, then?" I called over my shoulder.

"Give or take," he replied as I stepped through. "And Valigan… I hope you find what you're looking for, too."

Author's Note

In case it wasn't clear, the mention of "identical settlement patterns" is referring to Haywire's portal, and the reference to a portal "connected to the western coast of this continent" is referring to the White Rock smuggler's portal, so Kassalyn is headed to Earth Aleph and Gwyn is headed to Earth Shin.

I'm sure their activities will be in no way relevant to anything happening on Earth Bet.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

Soul crystal (create a crystal holding a power that anyone can use) is the power Valigan mentioned. Hindsight (see the past in a certain area) and probe thoughts (pull information directly from someone's mind) are the two spells he picked up from Daelan. Shulassakar are a snake-like race related to couatls, also know as rainbow serpents. Illumians are former humans infused with magical power related to runes and language and such, best known for the circle of visible magical glyphs around their head (like these guys have). Elans are also former humans, this time infused with psionic energy. They're biologically immortal and psionically powerful, but physically indistinguishable from humans. Fire genasi are a human-like race descended from elemental beings of fire.

Last edited: Aug 24, 2022

Transposition 1.2.T

12:54 am, Monday the 11th of April, 2011 CE The Docks, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Taylor Hebert

Everything happened at once.

Bitch whistled sharply the moment we were all on her dogs, and they scrambled to turn their massive bodies around as fast as they could.

Lung dashed toward us, his fists on fire and his limp almost fully healed.

Grue swung one arm backwards in an arc and what looked like a cloud of solid darkness streamed past me toward the gang leader.

Gallant raised a palm toward Lung and launched a balloon-sized bolt of purple light toward his scaled chest.

Kid Win frantically fired both of his laser pistols, sending alternating darts of crackling red and blue energy toward Lung's head.

Then the dogs made a break for it, and between the darkness and fire and light beams and just holding onto Grue's waist as tight as I could with one hand and onto a bone spur with the other, for a long and terrifying moment I couldn't tell what was going on.

I was almost thrown right off the dog at first, not expecting how fast it could run or how bumpy the ride would be without a saddle, but it quickly settled into a rhythm that was, if not exactly like that of the horses we used to ride at nature camp, at least close enough that I could manage.

As the dogs bounded down the alley I started gathering all the bugs I could from everywhere in my range, since Lung had incinerated nearly the entire swarm I'd started with. I quickly realized that most of the bugs wouldn't be able to keep up with the dogs, so I only ordered around a quarter of them to fly up to meet me and left the rest alone.

If only I'd known that I should have added "build up and direct my swarm while moving at thirty-some miles an hour" to my training regimen.

We quickly reached the end of the alley where it opened onto a side street and Bitch called "Left!"

The dogs leaned left and scrabbled to find purchase against the street in a way that reminded me of a normal-sized dog skidding along a hardwood floor, and their claws tore gouges out of the pavement as they barely managed to make the turn in time.

During the turn the Wards' dog went from lagging behind and to the right of the one holding Grue, Regent, and me to pacing us on the left, and when they crossed behind us Gallant ended up getting a faceful of Grue's darkness. He was only in the way for a brief moment, but patches of it clung to his helmet and swirled around for another a second or two, almost like mist or smoke.

"Hey, watch it!" he barked at Grue once the darkness had cleared, raising his voice to be heard over the loud sound of galloping mutant dog.

"Sorry!" Grue shot back, not sounding at all sorry. "Just keep firing!"

"At what? I can't see a thing through all that!"

"It's Lung! He's hard to miss! Just aim for the middle of the street!"

Gallant twisted to face backward and launched a few more of his purple bolts into the pitch-black cloud, with a couple of pale green ones from his other hand mixed in as well. Kid Win just continued shooting, having kept up intermittent fire with his left pistol since we'd started moving while he held on for dear life with his right hand.

Regent and Tattletale seemed content to just hold fast to the dogs and let Grue and the Wards handle things, so either their powers weren't the type that would help against Lung or they needed to be able to see him directly to do anything useful.

Tattletale looked like she was fiddling with something in her lap with one hand while she held on with the other. Maybe she had a Tinker weapon she used when her power wouldn't help, like Regent probably did with his scepter?

We raced down the street for a little over two blocks. Grue's darkness almost completely blanketed the street behind us, filling the entire space from sidewalk to sidewalk with only a few gaps on either side where patches of wall were visible, so I had no idea how close Lung was or if he was even still following us.

I had gathered enough bugs by this point that I could spare some of them to figure that out, though. I sent a small portion of my swarm flying into the darkness, along with all of the slower bugs along the street that I'd left out of my swarm but that could get there reasonably quickly.

Almost immediately, I felt nearly a third of those bugs get incinerated.

Lung was bounding through the darkness, still completely covered in flames; obviously he'd learned from our last fight and wasn't going to let any of my bugs get anywhere close to him. The heat was intense enough that only the bugs at the very edges of the darkness were safe, and any cars in the street or trees on the sidewalk that he ran past were quickly set ablaze.

He was only twenty or so feet behind us and getting closer, so I called "He's gaining!" to the Undersiders ahead of us. Tattletale tapped Bitch's right shoulder, Bitch whistled loudly, and the dogs veered right to make a quick unplanned turn into another alley.

Lung didn't turn with us, so his enhanced hearing obviously wasn't enough to make up for a complete lack of sight.

But based on the path he took through my dying bugs, as he shot out of the far side of the darkness and saw that we'd changed course he managed to turn himself around and dive back into the cloud by basically slamming into a row of shops and apartment buildings, scraping along it until he slowed down enough, and then launching himself off it again in the opposite direction.

It took him over half a block of buildings to pull off that maneuver, and I could feel him burning up bugs inside the buildings as the impact knocked holes in walls and shattered windows to let his flames in.

By the time he was done, it felt like the bottom few floors of nearly all the buildings on that block were on fire.

I had the fleeting thought that I hoped whoever lived in the buildings he'd crashed into had insurance, but given the general state of the area we were currently in, I very much doubted it.

The good news, after all that, was that while it looked like Lung was faster than the dogs on a straightaway we'd be probably able to outpace him so long as we could keep forcing him to change directions.

Unfortunately, we were heading into a part of the Docks I wasn't really familiar with and I didn't know if there would be enough side streets and alleys to make that work.

Grue had obviously noticed the same things I had about Lung's capabilities, and he called out "Does anyone besides Bitch actually know where we're going?"

"Kid Win's got a route!" Gallant offered.

"Going where?"

"The PRT building!"

"Fuck that!" Regent yelled.

"Better than just running around randomly!" Kid Win shot back.

"For you, maybe!"

The sniping back and forth paused for a moment as we reached the end of the alley and took a sharp left again.

"We're not taking heroes back to the lair, and we can't just dump the two of them on a street corner for Lung to run over!" Tattletale called over her shoulder.

"Yes we fucking can!"

"Shut up, Regent!" Grue ordered

"Truce, remember?" Tattletale called. "We drop them off there, the heroes let us go! Right, Wards?"

"Right!" Gallant agreed.

"Good enough!" Grue declared. "Kid Win, you ready?"

"One sec!" Kid Win quickly braced himself against a bone spur to free his hands to fiddle with his gauntlet, then called, "Keep going three blocks, then left on Sycamore!"

The next half a minute was tense. I could feel Lung getting closer every second, and if he managed to catch up… well, with three car-sized dogs on a two-lane road we didn't really have much room to dodge anything he might throw at us. I was just glad we were very unlikely to run into anyone driving in this part of town at this time of night, or things could get a lot trickier.

The Wards kept intermittently blasting away into the darkness, but if they were doing anything to actually slow Lung down, I certainly couldn't tell. I felt some bugs get fried or knocked out of the way by each shot that passed through the swarm, but the few that managed to hit Lung (or at least the flames around him) didn't seem to have any effect.

When we were almost at the intersection, I felt Lung briefly speed up and then take a massive leap.

"He's going above us!" I cried, and a moment later his head reached high enough to emerge from the darkness. His neck was at least a foot long and his face didn't even look human anymore. He shouted something at us, but I couldn't make out anything of what he said.

Before he fell out of sight, the villain snapped his neck forward and a massive jet of fire shot out at us from the flames around his head.

It went wide, streaking diagonally between the Wards' dog and mine to instead hit a parked car on the far side of the street, where it completely melted the car doors facing us and blew all of the tires out, but it was a close thing.

After he'd gotten a sense of the range with that shot, I was worried he'd be much more accurate with a second one.

Gallant and Kid Win both tried to hit Lung before he disappeared again, but they had as little time to aim as he did and their blasts also went wide.

"Stop with the purple ones!" Tattletale snapped at Gallant. "They're just making him mad!"

"They're calming blasts!"

"I know, and they're still just making him mad !" she said, sounding annoyed.

"Fine!" Gallant said, and switched to firing blobs of light in several different shades of yellowish-green instead.

Before I knew it, we'd reached the intersection.

"Grue, blanket us!" Tattletale called, waving her hand in a wide circle as the dogs started to turn once again.

He nodded, and without warning darkness exploded from his body in every direction.

I was suddenly blind and deaf.

That would explain why Lung's hearing hadn't helped him follow us.

Without being able to focus on my surroundings I was a lot more aware of how tenuous my grip on Grue and the dog was, and it felt like I might fall off any second, especially because moving through the darkness felt like I was stuck underwater and trying to swim against a current.

I had no idea whether it just felt that thick to me because I was sitting right next to the source, or whether it felt the same way to Lung and he was simply that strong and fast.

I hung on tight to Grue's waist and did my best to lean into the turn, which did help reduce the pressure from his cloud at least a little bit. Through my swarm, I felt Lung sprint right up to the intersection after us… and keep on going.

Based on how long it was taking us to get out of his cloud, Grue must have covered a whole block or two in every direction and Lung couldn't tell which way we went.

We burst out of the darkness, finally, and I reflexively took a deep breath. I'd had no trouble breathing in there, but it felt like I should have. Darkness was no longer streaming out behind us, probably to avoid giving Lung an obvious trail to follow.

"You mind easing up a bit?" Grue asked softly, without his echoing voice effect, and I realized I was still tightly squeezing his stomach.

His very firm, very muscled, stomach.

I immediately let go of him and mumbled an apology, but he chuckled warmly and said, "It's fine. The others weren't comfortable riding blind at first, either."

"Where to from here?" Tattletale called, sparing me any more awkwardness with Grue. She wasn't speaking quite as loudly now; the dogs had slowed down from a gallop to more of a trot while they were in the darkness, so we weren't as far apart and there was less noise to shout over.

"Let me check." Kid Win put his pistols away and tapped the side of his helmet. "Keep going three blocks, left on Fifth, go one block, right on Aspen, go one block-"

"We're not exactly in a car, here," Tattletale interrupted. "Screw traffic and one-ways, what's the direct route?"

"Right, sorry," Kid Win said. He did something else with his gauntlet, then: "Three and a half blocks, left on Sixth, follow that up to Fulton Street, follow that all the way around, left on Ferry Street, then keep going until we hit Archer's Bridge."

"Are you sure that's the most direct way?" I asked. I had no idea what the best route to Downtown was from here, but I didn't think going farther into the Docks for a while and then looping around would be it.

"It's not the most direct way, that would be Woodward Avenue, but my visor's hooked into the PRT and police systems," he explained. "If it's not sending us that way, it's because there's a cape fight in the way, or a major car crash, or something else we'd want to avoid."

"Cape fight, huh? I think we should go that way anyway. I'd take my chances against pretty much any other cape other than Lung at the moment and let them run interference with him," Regent said.

"It's not just a choice of Lung or another cape, it could end up being Lung and another cape," Grue disagreed. "I wouldn't want to get stuck between Lung on one side and Stormtiger or Hookwolf or Blitz or Krieg or-"

"Okay, fine, I get it," Regent said, throwing his free hand up in the air. "We can do it his way."

"Gallant? You've been pretty quiet," Grue asked the other Ward.

There was a pause. "Just been reporting in," Gallant replied, sounding distracted. "That's fine with me."

"All right. Bitch? Bug? Any objections?"

"Don't care," the other girl replied, and I shook my head.

"Then let's get moving. Lung won't be turned around for long," Grue said.

We traveled in near-silence for few minutes after that, the only sound the dogs' panting and the muted rhythmic pounding of their paws against asphalt as they trotted down the street. Everyone was tense, constantly glancing around to see if Lung was about to burst out from an unexpected direction and attack us again.

I wasn't as worried about him surprising us, since with my swarm spread out to the limits of my range I should be able to sense him long before he saw us. But with how fast he could move, if he was already coming right for us even that extra time to react wouldn't be enough.

"Armsmaster says he's on his way," Gallant said softly, breaking the quiet. "ETA twelve minutes."

"Twelve minutes?" Regent repeated accusingly. "I've had pizzas delivered faster that that!"

"It can't be helped," Gallant said with a one-shoulder shrug. "Assault and Battery are dealing with an Empire arms shipment up by I-91 tonight. Velocity was the hero on duty this shift, so if they're not sending him then something must have come up somewhere else. Everyone else would still take a while to get here after they're paged, even if they used the PHQ's bridge to cut across the bay. We're just lucky Armsmaster was still on base or no one would've been able to get here in such a short time at all."

"Well maybe if we weren't taking the scenic route-"

"Knock it off, Regent," Grue cut him off. "We should be fine for that long."

"Way to jinx it," the curly-haired villain grumbled.

"It's been a little while already. Maybe Lung gave up and stopped chasing us?" I offered.

Tattletale laughed derisively. "Not after you and Gallant pissed him off, he wouldn't."

"What did I do?" Gallant protested, at the same time Kid Win asked "What did she do?"

"You," the blonde villain said, jabbing a finger at the plate-armored Ward, "went all-out with the calm and happy beams, but Lung's one of those capes with screwed-up emotional wiring. I wasn't kidding before about them doing nothing but making him mad; hit him with whatever you want, it'll just turn into anger, all of it probably directed straight at you."

"Ah," Gallant said, shoulders slumping. "That's… not good."

"Nope! And you," she continued, turning the other way to point at me, "well, you're the first cape in a while who managed to really hit him where it hurts."

I hadn't really done anything to Lung while he was chasing us. What did she-?

---

I felt my face heat up, once again very glad that my mask hid my expression.

"What do you mean?" Kid Win asked.

"You noticed how he was limping when he first came out of that alley?" Tattletale asked, a sharklike grin on her face.

"Yeah?"

"The limp wasn't because Bug sent dozens if not hundreds of insects to bite him in the leg. "

It took a second for her meaning to sink in, and then I could see-and feel, in Grue's case-all the guys cringe, hard.

"Ooh, yeah, that would do it," Regent chuckled. "Real dick move , there."

"So you two are probably his two least favorite people in the city right about now," Tattletale concluded. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if he-oh fuck ." Her eyes darted upwards and her grin vanished. "Behind us, five o'clock!"

The others and I all I twisted around to look. I didn't feel anything with my swarm, but… there!

A few blocks outside of my range, the roof of a four-story tenement back near the intersection was glowing a dull reddish-orange. She had to have some kind of perception power to spot such a small detail at that distance.

At first I thought it was just on fire-really, with the way Lung was throwing his flame blasts around I'd have been shocked if half the buildings on the streets we'd been chased through weren't on fire-but then the glow started to get brighter as it moved closer and I realized it was Lung himself, stalking toward the edge of the roof after having jumped or climbed up there to get a better view.

"There's no way we can hide from him at this angle, and if he's above us going into a narrower street would be a bad idea. Bitch," Grue called softly, "if he hasn't seen us already he's going to in a minute, so stick with this pace for now but as soon as he makes a move we head for the bridge as fast as we can, got it?"

"Yeah," Bitch said.

I grabbed hold of Grue again so I wouldn't be thrown off if the dogs started running, and settled in to wait, feeling incredibly tense.

Five seconds passed. No sign Lung saw us.

Ten seconds. Still nothing.

Fifteen seconds. I took a deep, calming breath.

Twenty seconds.

Twenty-five. Maybe we'd manage to sneak away from him after all.

Thirty.

Thirty-five-

A furious roar echoed through the night.

"Go go go !" Grue yelled.

Bitch whistled, and the dogs bolted.

I looked back. Lung was standing right at the edge of the roof and looking a lot more monstrous than I'd ever seen before. His neck was more snakelike than human, his torso looked like it was longer than I was tall, his claws were long enough that I could count them individually from this distance, and… were those things sticking out of his back the beginning of wings?

I guess the rumors about him being able to fly were true.

We were so fucked.

He couldn't fly yet, thankfully, so he just jumped off the roof. Four stories straight down, no hesitation at all.

Wait, no. Not all the way down.

He appeared again briefly on a slightly closer rooftop, in all his fiery glory, then disappeared again.

He hadn't jumped down to the ground, just down to a shorter building, and now he was leaping from roof to roof to chase us in a way that wouldn't make his size a disadvantage and wouldn't let us easily hide from him.

"He's on the rooftops!" I called out.

"Damn!" Tattletale swore. "Grue, cover us, but leave a tunnel!"

Darkness exploded from Grue for the second time tonight, but this time I was ready for the sudden pressure and sensory deprivation and leaned into my swarm to get a sense of where I was.

The darkness only surrounded me for a short time, a few seconds at most, and what I could see afterward surprised me. We were completely enclosed by his cloud, but Grue had left a clear area around us and maybe half a block in front of us so that we could all see each other and the street ahead.

Darkness was still streaming from his helmet and forearms to maintain the cloud, but he was somehow making it go up and around instead of flowing over me, which I appreciated.

Grue was turning out to be a surprisingly considerate guy.

… Uh, for a villain, I mean.

"Can you open a small hole up top for a few minutes?" Tattletale called to Grue.

"Why? He might see us!" Kid Win said.

Without looking back, Tattletale briefly held up a cell phone where we could all see it. "Need to check something. It's important."

The Ward didn't reply, and a moment later light started to shine faintly through a tiny opening in the darkness overhead.

As we raced down the street, Grue kept looking over his shoulder for some reason, and the motion kept pulling me to the side.

"Could you not do that so often?" I asked.

"I have to. I'm moving the borders of the darkness to hide our exact position, and I need to keep an eye on Lung so if he gets too close I can make it look like we're turning."

Oh, right. In hindsight, it was obvious that he'd be able to see through his own darkness.

"What if I told you instead?" I suggested.

"What do you mean?"

"I can sense where all the bugs I control are and can feel when they're killed. If he gets close enough for his flames to kill my bugs, I'll know."

"That could work. What's your range?"

"Right now? Almost three blocks, give or take."

"Well damn." He sounded genuinely impressed. "Yeah, that'd definitely work. Just let me know when."

I nodded and shifted my swarm to cover more space behind us, with an especially dense mass between three and four stories up to line up with most of the rooftops in this area.

We continued going straight for a few more minutes, dogs panting as they ran, no one talking. The surrounding cloud of darkness seemed to deaden sound, so there was none of the usual background city noise we'd been hearing earlier. That, plus how quiet the dogs' feet sounded on the pavement without the usual echoes, made the whole situation seem somewhat unreal.

I jerked when I felt a section of my swarm suddenly disappear from my senses.

"Lung, on the right! Uh, four o' clock!"

Grue nodded, and though I couldn't see any change in his darkness, a moment later he asked, "Is he going for it?"

There was a pause, and then Lung-or at least the huge ball of fire around him-swerved left. Not left and forward, like he was headed directly toward us, but a straight shot directly to his left. I felt him burn away a thin swath of bugs along the very outer edge of my swarm as he went, like someone peeling the skin off an apple.

"He bought it," I confirmed.

"Good," Grue said, sounding as relieved about it as I felt.

~*~*~

Grue pulled the same trick three more times, moving our apparent location in his darkness every time I told him Lung was getting too close, but it wouldn't last.

The gang leader hadn't figured out exactly what we were doing yet, but he wasn't stupid, he'd at least figured out we weren't in the center of the mass of darkness. The last two times Grue had moved it, instead of using a thin jet of fire like he'd done before I'd felt Lung explode with flame the way he had when I'd first fought him, trying to flush us out of hiding.

And incinerating a few thousand insects in the process.

I was actually starting to have to conserve the flying insects in my swarm; we were in an area with very few of the fastest local species like hornets or butterflies and we weren't close enough to the water yet for me to pick up any dragonflies, so I was having to make do with the slower moths and cockroaches.

"We can't keep this up," Bitch called, the first time I'd heard her speak up unprompted. She slowed her dog down just enough that all three dogs were roughly in a line across instead of her dog leading the pack so that we could talk without shouting back and forth.

"I think maybe he'll fall for-" Grue started.

"I mean the dogs!" she interrupted. "Angelica was hurt in the fight, and they've all been going nonstop since then. We have to let them rest."

Let them rest? And then, what, we'd walk the rest of the way in the meantime?

"How much longer can they hold up at this speed, you think?" Grue asked.

"Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen."

"And if we want to leave them in fighting shape, just in case?"

"A lot less."

"Kid Win," Tattletale called, "after the bridge, how much farther do we have?"

"Not sure, it'll depend on whether there's anything new in our way and I have bad reception right now," he admitted, "but it's going to take longer than fifteen minutes."

Tattletale bit her lip anxiously and briefly glanced down at her phone. "Can we last longer if Angelica doesn't have to carry the Wards?" she asked Bitch urgently.

"I don't like where this is going!" Gallant called.

"I do!" replied Regent.

"Yeah. Don't know how much longer, but a while," Bitch said.

"Wards, what's your top speed over long distances?"

"My hoverboard will do twenty-two miles an hour pretty much indefinitely, more if I push it. Gallant's armor… maybe fifteen or sixteen for half an hour before it starts having issues?"

"Yep, sounds about right," Gallant agreed.

"Okay, new plan," Tattletale said. "We split up."

" What? No, that's crazy," Kid Win objected.

"Trust me. Grue, you make long trails of darkness leading backwards in a few random directions, then you three slow down, duck into an alley, and use just enough darkness around yourselves to blend in. Wards, you two get off Angelica and stay just ahead of them, and the five of you follow Kid Win's route. Bitch and I will double back with Angelica, make it look like we all turned around and then split up. Lung follows the decoy? We're set. Lung follows us? It'll be much easier for us to evade him down narrow alleys without the rest of you, or to fight him if we have to. Once you drop the Wards off, drop Bug off wherever she wants, then the four of us meet up afterward."

"I'm with the dork. That's fucking nuts," Regent said.

Tattletale turned her whole torso to face him and gave him a look. "Like I said. Trust me."

"… all right, you got it, boss," he agreed after a moment, and she nodded.

I hadn't been sure whether Grue or Tattletale was actually in charge of their team, but I guess that answered that question.

Gallant looked at Tattletale, looked at Regent, back at Tattletale. "Fine. So long as you know what you're doing," he agreed reluctantly.

Kid Win craned his neck forward a bit like he was peering at something in his visor. "If we're going to do this, it'd better be soon. In a few blocks we're gong to start running out of side streets."

Grue nodded. "Let's do it. Bitch?"

Bitch whistled yet again and all three dogs slowed to roughly half their previous speed.

Kid Win pulled his hoverboard from its mount on his back, swung his left leg over his dog until he was sitting on it sideways, and both activated the board and hopped onto it in one smooth motion that he'd probably practiced a lot.

He ended up being dragged along in midair beside the dog, one hand clamped around Gallant's upper arm and the other held out for balance as he adjusted his footing. After a few seconds the red light under the board brightened and he let go of his fellow Ward to keep pace under his own power.

Gallant was next, and was surprisingly graceful for someone in heavy armor. He leaned forward, swung his leg around behind him, and leaped off to the side, a picture-perfect dismount. He stumbled a bit when he hit the street but quickly righted himself and began running along behind Kid Win.

"Angelica, come!" Bitch called with a wave, then pointed at Grue and called, "Judas, carry!"

Not a command I'd ever heard someone give a dog before, but if you want someone to be able to ride your monster dog without you directing it, I guess it's as good as any.

Angelica trotted over next to Bitch's dog and then both circled around to face the way we'd come, while ours let out a deep whine, looked back at Bitch, looked forward again, and reluctantly kept going.

And then Bitch and Tattletale vanished into the darkness and we were left alone with the Wards.

Or, no, I was left alone with two heroes and two villains.

Grue nudged Judas hard with his right knee and after a moment the dog turned left into an alley that had just emerged from the darkness.

"All right, which way?" he asked Kid Win.

"Just follow me," the Ward said, zipping forward so that he was in the lead.

Now that Judas had slowed down I was realizing how sore I was after all that galloping. I was not looking forward to walking home from wherever I had the Undersiders drop me off; asking for a ride home from the PRT building would obviously be a very stupid idea, but it was a tempting one at the moment.

We hadn't even gotten halfway down the street when I felt the bugs at the limits of my range suddenly burn up.

"Lung's coming!" I yelled.

" Fuck!" Grue swore as he dug his heels into Judas's sides. The dog started running again, though not as fast as it had been before, and the Wards picked up their pace to stay ahead of us.

"You want to do the same-?" I started to ask.

"No, just gonna flood the area, no time to get fancy."

Kid Win look back at Grue, who waved him forward. "Keep going! Don't stop, I'll keep the darkness out of your way!" Looking down at our dog, Grue hesitantly said, "Uh… Judas, follow?" and dug his heels into the dog's side for good measure.

The Ward swerved into the first alley we came to and Judas, after a knee from Grue, turned to follow him. The alley was a short one, and narrow enough that Judas barely fit; trying to get all three dogs through it at any reasonable speed wouldn't have worked at all.

We came out onto yet another side street. The darkness was hugging us too closely to let me see any details but to my swarm the sagging awnings and lots of large jagged holes that were probably broken windows made it feel like a row of run-down storefronts like you'd usually see near the boundary between the Docks and the less-terrible parts of the city.

Many more insects died as a jet of flame cut through my swarm. It wasn't directed right at us, but it was still too close for comfort. Far too close.

Right turn. Another side street. This one more residential, going by all the parked cars.

Cars that quickly started to melt under torrents of fire from above.

Lung might not be able to tell where we were, but he didn't really have to when he could just leap up to the nearest roof and set half a street on fire at once.

This definitely couldn't go on much longer. My body was aching with the effort of holding myself in place, Judas was obviously flagging, and it was only a matter of time until Lung caught us with a lucky shot.

Another right turn. Another alley. Judas leaped over a group of trash cans that Kid Win flew over and Gallant jogged around, and he would have given us away with the height of his jump if Grue's darkness hadn't reached all the way up to the rooftops.

Turn left. A main road, this time. A stoplight briefly appeared overhead, the light from it almost blinding after all that time spent in darkness, then vanished again behind us.

Beyond the stoplight, something felt off about the road, but I couldn't put my finger on what.

Left again. Another side street. Nothing stood out about it, but I was definitely getting a funny feeling about the street for some reason. Kid Win looked to be feeling similarly, his mouth twisted in a nervous expression, and though I couldn't see Gallant's face he was glancing over his shoulder as he ran in a way that seemed nervous as well. If Regent or Grue felt the same way, they were doing a good job of hiding it.

Another left, another alley. In a heartbeat, my funny feeling exploded into full-blown anxiety, and even there was no rational reason for it at all I knew in my gut that we just had to get out of there immediately.

"Guys? I really don't think we should-"

Kid Win vanished.

There one moment, gone the next.

It didn't make any sense, I hadn't felt anything strange there, my bugs in the same space were-actually, there weren't any bugs in the same space, I suddenly noticed.

There was a vaguely disk-shaped gap right around the point where he'd disappeared, though I hadn't consciously formed an empty space in my swarm.

I forced down a sudden spike of anxiety at the thought of sending bugs into that space and then moved a handful of them into the center of the gap.

The bugs disappeared. I couldn't feel them at all, like they'd all just been instantly snuffed out.

I felt Grue jerk back as his darkness made contact with the empty space as well and disappeared, and he almost reflexively pulled all the nearby darkness away from it. Even with good lighting, I could see absolutely nothing in that space and had no idea what we were dealing with.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

Gallant was close behind Kid Win and only had seconds to react to his fellow Ward's disappearance. He tried to duck out of the way of whatever was in that gap, but he had too much momentum and after barely managing a few stumbling steps to the right he, too, vanished without a trace.

"Down! Stop! Heel! Whoa!" Regent shouted frantically, and I felt Grue leaning back and digging his heels into the dog's side, but if a teenager in a hundred pounds or so of metal armor couldn't stop on a dime then the probably-several-ton Judas didn't stand a chance.

We reached the spot where the Wards had vanished and I squeezed my eyes shut. I felt my stomach drop like I was on one of the old Boardwalk roller coasters, followed by an intense pounding in my head and a sudden vertigo as every single insect in my swarm vanished from my senses, followed by… a gust of hot air?

Since I couldn't feel anything through my swarm I cracked an eye open to try to see what was going on past the headache.

Before I could get more than a brief glimpse, my bugs were suddenly back. Mostly. I couldn't sense all of them, but I could feel enough to get a general-

And then they were gone again, which was really disorienting.

Then they were somehow partially back again, then gone, then back and gone and back like a strobe light, all in less than a second or two. Every time I started to feel them again, I was getting more and more sensory input from them, and not in a useful way.

Then I felt an intense stabbing pain behind my eyes and I was assaulted by a deluge of sensory feedback from all of my bugs at once like thousands of twitching screaming things and I just-it was like-I just-I couldn't-there were too many-

The last thought I had before I blacked out was, What the hell are palm trees doing in Brockton Bay?

Transposition 1.3.V

1:08 am, Monday the 11th of April, 2011 CE The Docks, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

The alleyway into which I emerged had seen better days. Better years, even.

Garbage and debris littered the street, despite the presence of large metal receptacles mere yards away which were clearly intended for the collection and disposal of such materials.

The street itself appeared to be constructed of a single mass of porous black stone, rather than the cobblestones or paving stones one would expect to see, which was somewhat surprising as the many cracks and holes in the street would be much easier to repair if the street were made of either of those other materials.

The wall before me, composed of bricks of exceptional fit and regularity that indicated relatively advanced architectural knowledge on the part of the local civilization, was covered in painted figures in red and green, mostly inexpert renderings of various draconic creatures along with a variety of messages in alphabetic and logographic scripts that I didn't recognize. I could come back to take a closer look at those once I'd absorbed the local languages.

My additional senses revealed that all of the nearby streets appeared to be constructed in the same way and that the walls of many buildings along them bore similar crude images and inscriptions. Further, there were many devices of indeterminate purpose scattered along the streets: small yellow and red cylinders roughly half a pace tall, with small circular hatches on three sides; a series of tall wooden poles spaced a few dozen yards apart and connected by four or more wrist-thick metal cables; blocky metal devices mounted in pairs on chest-high poles, containing some variety of clockwork; and dozens of small signs in all shapes, sizes, and colors whose inscriptions, like those on the alley wall, I could not yet decipher.

My deepsight revealed that more such structures lay within the walls and beneath the streets. Embedded in the walls were complex networks of metal wires, similar to the inlaid diagrams used for summoning circles and ward anchors and the like but lacking any apparent symmetry or recognizable glyphs. One might expect the assemblage to be some sort of trap for anyone teleporting or gating into the area, except that I detected neither magic nor hostile intent from them, leaving their purpose unclear.

Both the walls and the streets contained metal pipes through which water and sewage were flowing, and both contained several other hidden devices of indeterminate purpose. As with the bricks, the exceptional artisanship of the pipework indicated a rather advanced infrastructural expertise, and as with the wall paintings, I would need to return to examine the latter at some later time.

The juxtaposition between the high-quality construction demonstrated by the roads and devices that one would generally find in the richer neighborhoods of a given city and the obvious disregard for neatness and cleanliness demonstrated by the defacement of the walls and debris strewn everywhere that one would generally find in the slums was quite curious. Unless of course the entire city boasted architecture and infrastructure of this sort, which was certainly possibly, if unlikely.

In addition to all of that, underneath the hint of salt in the air that indicated the city was located near the ocean, I detected a strange scent that almost made it seem as if the air itself were burnt despite there being no fires anywhere nearby. It somewhat resembled the effects of a minor breach to the Plane of Smoke, except that, again, there were no detectable magical or planar phenomena anywhere nearby.

I'd been on this world for less than ten seconds and already discovered over a dozen novel and currently-inexplicable things, for good and for ill.

The next few years would certainly be anything but boring.

There were no obvious dangers within my sensory radius, nor even any detectable living creatures at all, so it would be safe to proceed to steps one and two on our usual checklist: divine details of the local area to give a general sense of the location at which I had emerged and ensure I could always find my way back here, and then observe the local planar geometries of the three major Transitive Planes accessible from the Material Plane so as to be aware of any ways in which one's magic might function differently on this new world.

The first was accomplished easily enough. The aptly-named Know Direction and Location power taps into the collective subconscious of all nearby creatures to give a brief summary of one's current location, and a quick manifestation informed me that I was standing in a city by the name of "Brockton Bay" on the coast of the "Atlantic Ocean," specifically in the eastern portion of the city known as "the Docks."

None of that meant anything to me at the moment, of course, but every name is useful sooner or later.

Then, with a thought, I opened a gate to the Ethereal Plane. The gate irised opened silently and exhibited no energy leakage around its perimeter, and I sensed no resistance to the gate's opening that would indicate any sort of abnormal Ethereal connections, two very good signs thus far.

For the second time in less than a minute, I stepped through a portal to another reality, this time dismissing the gate behind me.

~*~*~

Time Irrelevant, Date Irrelevant

Region of the Ethereal Plane Coexistent with Brockton Bay

I emerged from the gate into the endless colorful expanse of the Ethereal Plane, only to find that it was neither endless nor colorful.

Considering that the Ethereal Plane has been absolutely uniform everywhere in the multiverse that I had visited except for the gods-forsaken wasteland that is Athas, this deviation from the norm was not at all a good sign.

The Ethereal Plane is one of three Transitive Planes-that is, planes of existence primarily used for travel between the Material, Inner, and Outer Planes because they are easily accessed from those other planes and are largely, but not entirely, devoid of inhabitants or obstacles-which are familiar to every arcane scholar and are used by nearly every planar traveler at some point, and is one of nine known Transitive Planes overall.

(Well, one of seven, technically, but Lethchauntos's Theory of Hierarchical Isomorphism has conclusively proven the existence of the remaining two planes, in accordance with the Rule of Three, even though they have not yet been found. Discovering one of these as-yet-unverified planes is- was -one of my husband's pet projects, before….)

The Ethereal Plane connects Material Plane worlds to the Inner Planes from which originate all physical matter and energy in the multiverse, and the Ethereal is itself composed of protomatter, the stuff of possibility and potential given physical form from which new substances or even new planes of existence spontaneously arise.

Each world has a local Ethereal region coexistent with it-meaning that each point on the Material Plane corresponds to exactly one point on the Ethereal Plane and distances are identical and fixed, hence the plane's suitability for travel-and in fact the two overlap so closely that when one is on the Ethereal Plane one can see into the corresponding portion of the Material Plane for a short distance before one's surroundings vanish into the Ethereal mists.

Under normal circumstances said mists are predominantly a shimmering silvery-white, shot through with streaks and curtains of every color one can possibly imagine (and quite a few that one can't). Further, it is infinite in size both physically and conceptually, and any visitor who possesses the appropriate mystical senses can feel a sort of depth to it, like the sensation one experiences when one swims in a crystal-clear sea miles away from land and miles above any sort of ocean floor and one realizes how small one truly is by comparison.

In this local Ethereal, however, the mists were a flat and lifeless white, barely even moving at all where protomatter normally swirls in unceasing patterns. The ambient sensation was one of claustrophobia rather than depth, that which one feels when one stands in a lightless room-without darkvision or any similar sense, of course-and knows that the ceiling is built too low and the walls too narrow for comfort even when one cannot see that this is the case.

Aspect intruded upon my thoughts,

The Gray was the name the Athasians gave their local Ethereal Plane. As that sphere lacked both the deities that would normally shepherd departed souls and the Outer Planes toward which those souls would naturally gravitate, the Gray was a metaphysical dumping ground of sorts and the closest thing its native creatures had to an afterlife.

The similarity between the two was obvious once Aspect pointed it out. Both were lifeless expanses of a single color permeated with negative emotions: white and confinement here, gray (obviously) and despair in the Gray. One could only hope that the souls of the departed in this crystal sphere were marginally better off than those withering away in the Gray's ashen haze.

I decided to indulge Aspect, since noticing such details while I was busy ruminating was part of the reason I created him in the first place.

A pause. local thing…? he trailed off meaningfully.

he replied. He then flew out of my sensory radius and off into the depths of the mist at his top speed…

… and only moments later he promptly flew right back to hover in front of me, radiating anticipation.

I noted dryly.

he assured me.

He dashed off again and I floated after him, the mists parting as we went.

After a hundred feet or thereabouts, he stopped, and I quickly saw what had caught his attention: one of the buildings in the coexistent city, a small grocer's shop of some variety, was in fact two nearly-identical buildings, slightly offset from one another but otherwise occupying the same space.

A poorly-cast illusion, perhaps? No, both registered as completely real to all of my senses, as opposed to one being merely a veil laid over the other.

Neither was it the case that one of the two was on this plane and the other on the Material, as one would usually expect when seeing two coexistent structures, since I could definitely tell that neither of them existed on the Ethereal side.

Fascinating.

Operating on a hunch, I manifested a power that let me scry a specified location and willed it to show me the space above one of the two buildings. I could now sense one of the buildings from two perspectives, one directly through my own senses and one indirectly through the scrying sensor that the power created, and in the second case I could only see that building, not the other.

I manifested the same power again, this time focusing on the other building. The second scrying sensor showed me only that building, not both at once, and more tellingly the two sensors weren't visible to each other.

The two buildings existed on separate worlds, and this Ethereal Plane overlapped with both of them !

Think of all the cosmological implications!

I conveyed all this to Aspect through our link, and he practically vibrated with excitement. he sent.

I confirmed.

I thought back to the sensation of the three portals Juroth's device had opened, focusing on that of the gate Kassalyn had used.

Every plane and every world in existence had its own unique signature-which is often discussed in musical terms thanks to the common use of tuning forks as foci in plane shifting spells, but these signatures actually have very little to do with "frequencies" or "harmonics" or the like-and it was the signature of her chosen world upon which I focused.

Once I had that signature firmly in mind, I manifested a third scrying power targeting a location on that world with nearly identical coordinates to that of the first building… and was treated to the sight of yet a third building, visually identical to the first one but provably unique given that I could see all three sensors from my Ethereal vantage point but none of the sensors could see each other.

It would appear that the worlds in this sphere didn't act like multiple alternates of a single Material Plane world, as we had thought, but more like multiple layers of a single Outer Plane.

Which… didn't make any sort of sense at all, and violated dozens of postulates in the cosmological sciences.

It did, however, neatly explain the existence of the permanent portals between worlds that the Society had found: Where traveling between alternates was usually the realm of dedicated experts and specialized magic, in theory anyone with basic Ethereal travel or plane shifting capabilities could open a doorway from one world in this sphere to any other, and from there constructing portals between them would be trivial.

I said.

Aspect bobbed in acknowledgment and floated back to his customary place over my shoulder, and then I opened a gate to the Astral Plane.

As I did, I felt an unusual resistance to the power, and the psionic energy began to fluctuate unexpectedly. I corrected for it, of course, and the gate opened with only a slightly ragged edge indicating that it was any different from any other I'd created, but the effect was quite strange nonetheless.

Aspect opined. All of my sensory powers were shared with him, and thus he could sense exactly what I was sensing about the gate.

I responded absently.

I am something of a perfectionist when it comes to my power manifestations and I had the psionic energy to spare, so I dismissed that gate, waited a beat, and opened another, this time paying much closer attention to the effects on the planar fabric.

The problem, it turned out, was not on the Ethereal side of things but on the Astral side. Just as using fire magic on the Plane of Water or healing magic on the Negative Energy Plane is impeded due to the antithetical energies involved, requiring a good deal of training in magical theory in order to adapt one's magic to the local planar geometries on the fly, it appeared that connecting to the Astral Plane was similarly impeded here.

I briefly plane-shifted Aspect back to the Material, channeled my power through him to open a gate from there to the Astral to check if the local Material plane was thus affected, and discovered that the same Astral impedance seemed to exist there.

Which made no sense at all, even more so than the idea of layers on a Material Plane.

Firstly, while various kinds of magical impedance have been observed on Transitive Planes and could theoretically exist on the Ethereal, I'd never before encountered magical impedance of any sort on the Material Plane.

Secondly, Astral impedance in particular was, as a rule, only something that could be imposed by gods or planar rulers rather than something that could ever naturally-

Ah.

There's an interesting thought.

Retrieving Aspect, I opened another gate to the Astral-this one appearing flawlessly, to my gratification-and stepped through.

~*~*~

No Time

Somewhere in the Astral Plane

The Astral Plane appeared completely as expected, fortunately, in all its timeless glory.

(And I do mean "timeless" literally: the Astral Plane is a realm of pure thought, where time and space do not exist in the physical sense and any physical matter arriving there, including any visitor's physical body, is translated into mental and spiritual matter while it remains on the plane.)

The appearance of soft ambient silver light and vast "sky" full of twinkling "stars" in the distance was precisely the scenery I expected to find, and it was both familiar and comforting after the disconcerting blandness of the Ethereal Plane.

The total lack of color pools and astral conduits anywhere in sight was unusual, but not unprecedented. There existed some spheres in which such phenomena were not visible to an Astral traveler unless they already had a destination in mind, and I, not knowing what other planes might be accessible within this sphere, of course did not arrive in the Astral in search of any particular destination.

Not wasting any time, I closed my eyes and manifested the power known as Contact Other Plane, whose purpose was to establish a connection to a deity or planar ruler and tap into their knowledge to answer the user's questions.

The Society used the spell extensively when scouting out most worlds-the exceptions being worlds in sealed spheres such as this one-firstly because there are very few more reliable sources of lore about a given world than that world's local gods of knowledge or the equivalent, but secondly and more importantly because the user need not contact a specific deity but can simply request an audience with some cosmic being in an unfamiliar sphere and find out which being matching the specified criteria responds to the call, which is precisely what I planned to do in this case.

To impede an entire world's connection to the Astral would surely require a phenomenal amount of power and would not go uncontested by any other powerful being in the sphere, so I shaped the power's request to include only greater deities and waited for a response.

I did receive a response of sorts, but not the one I had hoped for: the power had outright failed, meaning that there were no greater deities active in this sphere that could be contacted.

That was unusual, but not overly so. I'd visited two worlds before where the local pantheons had lacked deities of that stature, the former because all of them had died in a recent divine conflict, the latter because there were so very many gods that no single deity could claim a sufficiently large slice of the metaphorical divine pie to rise above the rank of demigod.

I manifested the power again, specifying intermediate gods this time, but the power failed once more.

Curious.

Lesser deities, perhaps? I tried those, and it failed again. Then tried again with demigods, receiving yet another failure for my efforts.

Very curious indeed.

I sent to Aspect,

As he propelled himself off into the void, I took a deep breath (a purely psychosomatic habit, of course, as on the Astral there is neither air to breathe nor lungs with which to breathe it) and began manifesting the power again and again, targeting a different category of being each time.

Demon princes? Archdevils? Slaad lords? Celestial paragons of every kind? Failures all around.

Archomentals? Eighteen failures, one for each Inner Plane.

Feeling completely perplexed, I spent some time going through every obscure variety of cosmic being I had ever studied or encountered personally, even a few purely-hypothetical ones just to be sure, but not a single manifestation was successful.

By the time I ran out of ideas, over an hour had passed relative to the Material Plane, according to one of my active powers that tracked Material time on planes whose local time flowed at a different rate

This scenario was completely unprecedented. To have no deities or planar rulers at all… !

Yes, Athas and Eberron lacked such beings as well, but they at least had beings that were worshiped as gods and could grant divine magic via other means, and which were thus sufficiently metaphysically congruent to true gods that spells of communion would reach those beings if cast in the appropriate sphere.

With no gods to grant divine magic, and the Astral impedance almost certainly preventing the natives from discovering the means of practicing divine magic through collective faith alone-or even of basic facts such as the existence of the cycle of souls or various afterlife planes-I had no idea what to expect, now.

What would a world without religions look like? Yes, religions do exist that are not centered around deities, but without easy access to the Astral, place spirits and ancestor spirits and the like are just as inaccessible and undetectable as any kind of cosmic being.

How would magical traditions have evolved without gods of magic and knowledge to guide them?

Would certain magical traditions have developed at all? Even if the locals did manage to discover psionics or any magic dealing directly with the mind or soul, such spells and powers would be practically crippled compared to their usual functionality.

Would world-spanning trade exist at all, given that an inaccessible Astral Plane would entail a lack of teleportation to reduce or eliminate long travel times between far-flung cities? Perhaps, if they made extensive use of shadow-walking….

Assuming, of course, that the Plane of Shadow wasn't impeded like the Astral Plane. Checking that was next on my list, so I might as well do that now and verify a possible hypothesis.

I sent. Moments later, a violet blur shot out of the far distance and came to a sudden hovering stop before me.

anything nearby: no githyanki, no dead gods, no portal conduits, not even a single psychic storm! I was starting to get bored out of your mind.

not entitle you to start with the mind-related wordplay.

Aspect.

Once again keeping a close proverbial eye on the manifesting process, I opened a gate to the Plane of Shadow.

Or rather, I tried to. When the gate opened, instead of a dark and ephemeral landscape on the other side, I beheld another Material world.

I closed that gate and tried again, varying the power's dimensional tensor to account for possible Shadow impedance the same way I had the previous power's to account for Astral impedance.

No luck.

I retrieved my Orb of Planar Journeying, and as I did so its intricate rune-inscribed and bejeweled bronze surface of the Orb split into countless geometric fragments that then rearranged themselves into a slightly concave ring, the appropriate formation for sensing irregularities in the local planar fabric.

Over the centuries, I'd imbued into the Orb all manner of magic relating to sensing and identifying planar phenomena and to traveling between planes in a wide variety of ways. If there was some obscure planar phenomenon at work-a zone of wild magic, say, or wards on the Shadow side to redirect any portals that might open there-the Orb would surely detect it and most likely provide me with the means to circumvent it.

Yet after several minutes of study and experimentation the Orb, too, was unable to establish a connection of any sort to the Plane of Shadow, whether a gate, breach, rift, portal, or otherwise, and I was given absolutely no indication that either the connection to the Plane of Shadow had been disrupted in any way or that the connection to the Material world was in any way abnormal.

As an experiment, I manifested a few shadow-related powers to create ephemeral shadow constructs and brief explosions of shadow-stuff.

All of them worked flawlessly, without a hint of resistance or interference-though, in all modesty, this was only possible because I had made the necessary modifications to access it; a magic-user without the necessary theoretical planar knowledge wouldn't have been able to use such magic, or perhaps even detect that shadow energy was accessible in this sphere at all.

Even with said modifications, the powers' visual manifestations were noticeably different than usual, resembling swirling clouds of darkness similar to the swirling clouds of protomatter one would normally find on the Ethereal rather than Shadow's characteristic inky and almost liquid shadowstuff.

And yet, a third gate attempted immediately thereafter once again opened on the wrong destination.

This paradoxical dichotomy was not as strange as it might initially seem. While in the vast majority of circumstances shadow spells draw from the Plane of Shadow (just as fire spells draw from the Elemental Plane of Fire, curses draw from the Negative Energy Plane or various Lower Planes, and so forth) there are all sorts of phenomena local to various planes and crystal spheres that could change that somehow.

On the world of Athas, for instance, arcane magic draws upon the life force inherent in local plant life (and, given knowledge of the appropriate secret techniques, animal life) because that world, being in a sealed sphere, lacks the connection to the Energy Planes that usually provides the baseline energy required to cast such spells.

On both Toril and Krynn, the local gods of magic force all arcane spells to be cast through their own idiosyncratic mystical frameworks because they're meddlesome busybodies who simply can't leave well enough alone.

Aspect snidely interjected.

And so forth. Trying to manually adapt one's magic to changing local circumstances can prove to be quite the headache to an unprepared traveler.

In the early days, sages developed devices known as "spell keys" that would automatically translate certain kinds of spells in certain kinds of conditions so that magic-users would not need to put in the work to adapt the magic themselves, but this was a clumsy stopgap solution at best.

Over the following millennia, the spell formulas now used throughout the multiverse were gradually developed and refined so that they would automatically adapt to local metaphysics and magical conditions, if at all possible.

Today, even the most addle-brained apprentice can (if instructed in the appropriate manner) be dropped unceremoniously into a new sphere and immediately begin casting their usual array of spells without needing to concern themselves with the differences between the local conditions and those of his homeworld-or even needing to know anything of the local magical conditions in the first place.

In the same way that releasing a ball from one's hand will always cause it to fall downwards, regardless of the strength of local gravity or the current direction of "down" relative to oneself, casting a fire or shadow spell will always cause it to reach fire-wards or shadow-wards for energy, regardless of the local source of that energy or what particular manifestation it might take.

Thus, the fact that I was able to channel shadow energy successfully meant that it was coming from somewhere in this sphere, just… not from a Plane of Shadow, apparently.

Which implied a lot of very interesting things about the age of this crystal sphere and the workings of the local cosmology, but further investigation could wait until later. Two planes' worth of life-altering revelations were enough to deal with for now, no need to add a third just yet.

Now that I'd verified that Astral, Ethereal, and Shadow magic either functioned normally or functionally abnormally in a manner for which I could compensate, it was time to move on to the next item in the checklist, establishing a local base of operations in the Ethereal, which would involve-

…

Which would bring up some things I was continuing to not think about for the time being.

I could get along perfectly well without a secure base of operations for now, as I could simply put off sleeping for a short while, a few days at most, and revisit the issue later.

I told Aspect, ignoring the pulse of exasperation he sent to me in response, and opened a gate back to the exact spot in the alleyway where we had first arrived in this sphere-

~*~*~

2:23 am, Monday the 11th of April, 2011 CE

The Docks, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

-which turned out to be on fire.

The detritus on the street had been scattered about as if by a great wind and was burning brightly, as was the garbage in the metal receptacles a few yards away, all of it giving off dark and putrid fumes.

Aspect sent.

He wasn't wrong. The small wisps of smoke coming through the gate were quite rank even after I suppressed a few sensory powers. I actually paused to manifest an environmental adaptation power before flying through the gate so that I would not need to breathe for the foreseeable future.

The black stone of the street was molten and bubbling over most of its surface, and where it wasn't fully molten it was still giving off an intense heat that could easily have inflicted severe burns on any individual touching it who was not warded against fire.

The melting process did nicely repair any and all imperfections in the road surface as the molten stone flowed together, I noted, which might explain the use of that stone in place of cobblestones if the local civilization had a talent with fire magic or if spontaneous eruptions of flame were a common occurrence in the city.

No further fires were immediately visible, but looking through the nearby walls with deepsight revealed that those buildings all had small fires burning away inside, which had likely resulted from the same source that had set the ones in the alleyway.

Fortunately, all of the buildings within my sensory range appeared to have been unoccupied for some time and so it was likely that no one had been harmed, but if left unchecked the fires could easily spread to nearby residential buildings.

Aspect asked.

I sent,

The fires weren't limited to the alleyway and its adjacent buildings. Every street and building within my sensory range was either currently on fire or sported visible fire damage, and there didn't appear to be any pattern to the flames that would indicate a methodical attempt to encircle the portal or ignite the area beneath it.

Curious about the extent of the blaze, I levitated myself and Aspect up to peer over the nearest rooftop, and what I saw confirmed that this wasn't a localized attack at all.

Within an eighty-degree arc to the southwest of our position, nearly every building was ablaze. The angry glow of massive fires rose from a scattering of buildings beyond and around them, and a thick haze of smoke hung over the entire visible portion of the city to block out natural and magical light alike.

(I noted in passing that there was one moon barely visible through the smoke, currently half full, with no sign of any others in the sky. I certainly hoped that was the only one, as the study of astronomy, astrology, and alchemy is always so tediously overcomplicated on worlds with multiple moons.)

lot of fire, Aspect swore. he added, which was accompanied by a less-than-subtle emotional nudge.

I gently but firmly disagreed.

Glowing lights in various colors shone up from the streets near the most most intense areas of the blaze, indicating that local authorities of some variety were already aware of the situation and on the scene, and I could see tiny streams of water rising from that area to douse the buildings most heavily affected.

Off in the distance, several exceptionally loud wails were rising and falling in a slow periodic manner. They sounded like a woodwind, or perhaps a horn, though I did not recognize the specific instrument used. Minute changes in their pitch indicated that the sources of the wails were all approaching the area at speed, almost certainly bringing reinforcements for those fighting the fire or healing for anyone injured in them.

he accused.

Which was, of course, a blatant exaggeration.

Yes, admittedly, I do, on rare occasions, involve myself in the affairs of the natives of a given world, in exceptional circumstances and in minor and unobtrusive ways, usually when adherence to the First and Second Precepts compels me to intervene.

No, I certainly do not meddle .

I began

… point, Aspect admitted meekly, and fell silent.

I sighed internally, letting the majority of my frustration drain away.

I could hardly blame Aspect for his brashness. I created him in my younger years using my more adventurous impulses as a template, as I was much more of an idealist in that period of my life.

My husband and I had both decided to keep our original companions around permanently, where longer-lived magic-users often changed out their companions every few centuries. Partly because Aspect's and Chelior's external perspectives became more useful to us the further their personalities diverged from our own, partly because we were both very much creatures of habit who had no need for that sort of change in our lives.

Aspect sent eventually,

I gave him a supremely unimpressed look.

happen to decide to help later because you could obviously do a much better job than they could, even while blindfolded, with both arms tied behind your back, and standing in an area of wild magic, well….

My look remained unchanged.

I grumbled.

As my psicrystal spun in cheerful circles around me, I rendered both of us invisible and incorporeal so that as we observed the scene we could neither be seen nor given away by the displacement of nearby smoke.

That done, I teleported us to a vantage point above the largest group of lights.

~*~*~

The light was not, as I had hypothesized, coming from a single magical effect that emitted prismatic radiance. Rather, it was given off by a large group of vehicles located in a major intersection, each color deriving from a vehicle of a different type.

All of the vehicles were strange to my eyes, regardless of type, yet their construction exhibited a masterful grasp of engineering, glassmaking, and the physical sciences.

The main compartments were completely enclosed and surrounded by many large windows, looking something like the advanced gnomish submersibles I'd encountered on the remote water world of Serris if they had had been squashed and sculpted into different shapes that would be more suitable on land. They all gave off a deep rumbling sound only barely audible above the roaring and crackling of the surrounding flames, the purpose of which was as yet unclear.

The vehicles' frames were made of multiple metals of indeterminate type, and the wheels were coated in a substance I didn't recognize-I was tempted to get closer and determine the exact elemental compositions of that substance and the metals using one of the enchantments on my ring, but I resisted for now-and on each one's roof a line of glowing spheres surrounded by rapidly-rotating mirrors cast a flurry of colored light in many directions.

Most strange of all was the fact that there were no magical auras around the lights on the vehicles… nor, come to think of it, were there any magical auras anywhere in sight.

True, the brightness and smooth motion of the rotating lights could be achieved using a combination of clockwork and luminous alchemical products, and the pressurized water being sprayed at the buildings could have been accomplished by a pump or fountain elsewhere, but both would certainly be much easier to achieve with magic, and the total lack of enchantments of fire resistance on any of the vehicles or uniforms or any sort of sending enchantments to coordinate with their leaders was definitely an oddity.

Beyond their general construction, each type of vehicle was unique. There were two boxy vehicles at least twice the size of any of the others, painted red with white stripes and heavily armored, from which shone red lights. The street-mounted cylinders I had seen earlier appeared to be a source of water, either conjured directly or connected to the larger pipe system I'd seen beneath the alleyway, as large tubes were attached from the vehicles' sides to some of the cylinders and devices atop the vehicles were launching torrents of water at the nearest building in volumes that would put a Decanter of Endless Water to shame.

Three smaller vehicles, painted a faded white and bearing either open wagonbeds or a large number of lockable compartments in the back, shone with yellow lights. Several humans wearing reflective vests in a garish shade of yellow were running back and forth between these vehicles and certain locations along the street, carrying out a variety of tasks such as placing conical orange devices in lines to enclose prohibited areas and attempting to repair metal cables that had become detached from the large poles I had noted earlier.

Three even smaller vehicles, painted black with white doors and bearing small amounts of armor plating on the front, shone with blue lights. Each vehicle was located in the center of a side street, and humans in blue uniforms standing in front of them were organizing the others' efforts and preventing gawking passers-by from coming any closer to the blaze.

Two more vehicles arrived as I looked over the scene. These turned out to be the source of the loud wailing from earlier (which had thankfully fallen silent when they were still a few streets away) and appeared to be a hybrid of the first two types of vehicles, possessing a sleek front like the wagon-like vehicles and a massive rear compartment like the boxy vehicles. They were white with blue stripes and a blue caduceus painted on each side, and they bore both red and yellow lights.

Perhaps the colored lights indicated different guilds or the like, in place of proper heraldry, and these were mercenaries who worked with both the red and yellow factions?

Finally, two vehicles of medium size, painted black with lavender stripes, shone with green lights. They were located far off to the side and it wasn't immediately clear what their occupants were contributing to the fire-fighting effort; the devices on the vehicles roofs resembled those on the larger red vehicles, but they were not being used to direct water at the blaze.

When I identified the group associated with those last vehicles, however, a likely explanation presented itself.

These individuals were clad head to toe in identical featureless black armor inscribed with white lettering and topped with faceless helms. Their primary duty appeared to be questioning bystanders, who seemed less than forthcoming with their answers; the emotional auras visible around both the bystanders and the other workers responding to the fire were tinged with either nervousness or contempt whenever they interacted with the black-clad figures, whose own auras largely indicated boredom and detachment.

What's more, these figures were the only ones in the area carrying weapons, aside from a few axes being used by male humans in fire-resistant coats to break down doors.

There were dozens of workers present and perhaps half that number of bystanders, yet I didn't see even a single belt knife among them, much less a sword or wand. The black-armored figures, meanwhile, each carried a large weapon resembling an arquebus with an attached telescope and they all held their weapons as though well-trained in their use.

Finally, nearly all of the soldiers in black radiated an aura of evil.

A very minor one, granted. Not the aura of an individual who was actually Evil, as one might find around a diabolist or a remorseless assassin, merely the shading of evil that a Neutral individual might accumulate in their aura over years of service as a mercenary in war-torn lands or as an apathetic merchant operating according to the dictates of an Evil regime.

And, to be fair, several of the auras of the humans in blue uniforms were tinged with evil as well, likely gained from a fairly violent career with the city guard, a civic patrol, or similar.

Combined with everything else, however, their auras painted a rather disconcerting picture.

very good impression of one, Aspect said.

I admonished, though I had gotten the same impression myself.

I did just that, watching their progress for a few minutes more. I did keep an eye on all the people still in the buildings who had yet to be rescued, to ensure that none of them were at too much risk of harm, of course. I felt a sense of mild judgment from Aspect as I did so, which I duly ignored.

Suddenly, I felt a figure enter the limits of my sensory range, flying roughly fifty feet above the ground and approaching rapidly. It was a young human girl, clad in white and gold and surrounded in my sight by multiple bright magical auras.

She sped across the sky at a far greater speed than standard flight spells would allow, paused briefly to survey the scene, and dove toward one of the figures in black. Instead of attacking him, however, she pulled up at the last second and began loudly berating him.

At a glance, none of her auras corresponded to any spells or powers with which I was familiar, and even the methods by which they achieved their effects were unusual.

She had an ablative protective sheath around her body, but it consisted of neither force armor as is common among arcanists nor a psychokinetic field as is common among psionicists. She radiated an aura that appeared to improve others' morale, as the onlookers near the man she was berating noticeably perked up when her movement brought them into range, but it matched neither the bolstering effect of a divine champion's aura nor the empowering effect of bardsong. And the moment she halted in front of her target she suppressed the first aura and began to radiate a different one, this one apparently having an effect somewhat resembling dragonfear.

Every world has its own unique magical traditions and organizations that possess items and spells and sometimes even entire magical practices that are unknown in the wider multiverse, and it would appear that this girl was a student of one such tradition or member of one such group.

Given the resemblance of her magical talents to those of many kinds of holy knights on other worlds, perhaps her tradition was one that had evolved to compensate for the absence of divine magic in this sphere?

Either way, she might be a good candidate to approach when I reached the stage of directly interacting with the locals, and I marked her face and voice for later.

The girl's extended rant at the armored man was difficult to make out, as her voice was choked with emotion and she kept interrupting herself to make a new point, but the gist of it seemed to be that someone close to her had died and she blamed the black-clad figures and their leaders for it.

The target of her ire was cowering away from her and waving his arms off to his right, insisting that she should talk to his leader elsewhere. Eventually the girl finished venting her emotions upon him and followed his advice, taking to the skies and flying off along a southerly heading.

Aspect asked pointedly.

is rather definitive, I admitted, and began manifesting soul crystals while ignoring the sense of smugness now radiating from my psicrystal.

I may not be a champion of goodness and light like the one who had recently departed-and thank Auppenser for that!-but when presented with such a stark situation as this, I could no more stand by and ignore it than I would willingly break one of the Three Precepts of Auppenser by which I live my life.

And, depending on whether these soldiers turned out to actually be part of an occupying army and on just how oppressive said army turned out to be, adherence to the First Precept-namely, One must not abrogate the mental, physical, or spiritual autonomy of another, nor allow such abrogation to pass unchallenged-might compel me to take the issue up with them directly.

Before doing anything else, I manifested a divination power to determine whether my intended plan of action would arouse suspicion from onlookers or those analyzing the situation after the fact. The power wasn't infallible, as with most divinations of the sort, but it was accurate the vast majority of the time and so was well worth manifesting as a precaution.

Feeling a pulse of warmth and unconcern upon manifesting the power let me know that I was likely in no danger of discovery, so I proceeded with my plan.

I told Aspect.

he said, before flying off toward one of the larger buildings that was not currently benefiting from the fire brigade's attention.

I teleported myself into the nearest burning building, directly into the midst of the flames, as neither the fire nor the smoke nor even teleporting into a solid object were a danger to me given my current state of incorporeality. Manifesting a few powers at maximum strength upon both Aspect and myself, I set to work.

A basic pyrokinesis power allowed me to entirely quench a full floor of one of these buildings in seconds, but I was judicious about it: while nearly all of the fires throughout a given floor were extinguished, those immediately adjacent to windows were left intact and in fact held in place pyrokinetically to prevent their spread, so as not to alert those outside that someone was manipulating the flames.

Basic aerokinesis was used to generate a slight breeze around any trapped occupants to carry away nearby smoke, and then to whip up a sudden gust that would cause a nearby fire to gutter out through apparent happenstance and reveal a clear path to safety.

Once manifested, these powers would last far longer than I would require to finish here, so I was able to fly around extinguishing buildings without ever pausing to refill my energy reserves.

I did pause, however, when I noticed more magical auras moving in and around the next buildings I'd planned to visit.

There were two figures, both wearing dark colors and face-concealing masks, one in dark blue and one in dark red. Both bore similar active wards of protection and speed which, like the flying girl's magic, I hadn't encountered before; all I could tell about them without closer inspection was that the blue one's wards leaned more toward electrical energy while the red one's leaned more toward kinetic energy.

They appeared to be searching those buildings for trapped people in need of rescue, a mark in their favor, but their use of masks which were neither enchanted nor seemed to serve any protective purpose indicated that they might be associated with the black-clad soldiers, a much larger mark against them.

There was no sign that either of them could detect the auras of my psychokinetic powers, but I was well aware of the many ways one could hide such detection magic from others and so I waited until they were well away from the buildings and occupied with a few people they'd pulled out of the blaze before I entered the nearer one and resumed dousing fires.

Within a handful of minutes from the point at which we'd separated, Aspect and I had completed our task, and what was once a raging fire that had threatened to grow out of control and consume a significant portion of the city was entirely handled but for the mock flames left near the windows.

Then, the final step. All signs indicated that city would experience intermittent rains for the next week or thereabouts (something that I didn't need a divination to determine, as growing up in a port city with one parent leading a merchant fleet had given me an excellent sense for coastal weather), so no one should be particularly suspicious if a fortuitous rainfall happened to occur a few hours early.

One manifestation of a weather controlling power later, and that was sorted. All Aspect and I had to do was to hold the remaining flames in place until the downpour arrived roughly ten minutes later.

The rain fell most heavily over the burning areas, per my intentions when I used the power, and though that could come off as somewhat suspicious it was highly unlikely that anyone would be in a position to notice. Many burning roofs had caved in from the heat, helped along slightly by my pyrokinesis, so the rain was able to flush the smoke and debris out of the upper stories and hide any signs of unusual fire movement (or lack thereof).

With the aid of the rain the men below made quick work of the remaining fires, and from all appearances they accepted the way things had gone without complaint or suspicion. I watched them from the air, both for purposes of further observation and to ensure that none of the rescued individuals appeared to require immediate healing.

Aspect asked, once again floating in his customary position.

I sent, a small smile briefly gracing my lips,

Author's Note

Here we have the first bit of cosmological reconciliation going on. D has lots of stuff involving provably-existent gods and manipulatable souls and belief shaping reality and conceptual things having concrete existence and so forth, while Worm… doesn't.

Fortunately, there's a handy D mechanic to cover this sort of "X type of magic doesn't work in Y location" situation already: planar impedance. In short, if magic involving souls and stuff is impeded on Earth Bet, then you have to be trained in Spellcraft (meaning you understand how spells work at a theoretical level and can manipulate them at casting time to get around the impedance) to make such magic work; if you don't, no soul manipulation and divine magic and such for you.

So, do shards have training in Spellcraft?

I'm sure we'll find out at some point.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The three Transitive Planes in the Great Wheel cosmology are the Astral Plane, a realm of thought and belief; the Ethereal Plane, a realm of matter and potential; and the Plane of Shadow, a realm of reflection and possibility. The spell used to search for gods and other cosmic beings is contact other plane , which basically lets you phone up an extraplanar being and ask them questions. The elemental manipulation powers Valigan used are control air (manipulate wind speed and direction), control flames (stoke, diminish, or animate nearby fire), and psionic control weather (control the weather, with a short delay and with limitations based on the current climate). The sensory and divination powers he used are know direction and location (self-explanatory), deepsight (see through illusions and solid objects), arcane sight (identify magical effects in line of sight), aura sight (see peoples' alignments), and psionic divination (determine how something in the immediate future is going to go and what to do about it).

Transposition 1.3.T

Late Morning, Wir the 4th of Rhaan, 999 YK Dal Olam Ruins, Xen'drik, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

I woke up slowly.

My head hurt. My everything hurt.

Didn't hear any traffic outside. Too early for school. I could sleep a while longer.

I tried to roll over and get back to sleep, but that hurt too. Mattress felt too hard.

I cracked an eyelid open. Immediately regretted it. The light overhead was way too bright, even with my mask. Just made my headache worse.

Wait.

My mask? Why would I-?

I immediately snapped awake. Everything from last night came rushing back: going on patrol, fighting Lung, meeting villains, meeting Wards, running for our lives, hitting that strange space in the air, and…

I sluggishly raised an arm to shade my eyes and took a quick look around. Yep, palm trees.

It wasn't just palm trees, though, it was a full-on jungle. The small clearing I was lying in was surrounded by towering trees of all sorts, covered in vines and moss and forming a very thick canopy above. The ground was carpeted in dense undergrowth, mostly green but with splashes of color from scattered flowers, and the soil beneath me was rich and dark and loamy.

It reminded me of the time my class had taken a trip to Acadia National Park up in Maine back in middle school, but bigger and brighter and just more in every way.

The air was humid and stifling, making it kind of difficult to breathe through my mask, and my costume was uncomfortably warm.

Spider silk conducted heat very well, and though the insect shells I'd layered on top of the silk helped protect against fire-thankfully, or I probably wouldn't have survived Lung the first time around-they didn't do much against ambient heat. The fact that I'd constructed my armor with a few extra layers to keep me warm in the cool Brockton Bay spring weather certainly didn't help.

At least I was only dealing with what little sunlight made it through the canopy. If I'd been lying in direct sunlight for hours, I could be suffering heat exhaustion right now on top of everything else.

I really couldn't wait to get away from whatever this place was.

I levered myself up to a sitting position, and I saw that the other capes were just waking up as well. Kid Win was standing up from where he'd been wedged against a fallen log on the far side of the clearing, patting down his armor and checking his gadgets. His hoverboard was sticking out of the underbrush next to him at an awkward angle and had several long scratches on its surface.

Gallant was slowly pulling himself to his feet with the help of a nearby tree, seemingly struggling against the weight of his armor in a way that implied something in it had broken.

Grue was standing a few feet away from me, stretching-to relieve the soreness from sleeping on the hard ground, I assumed. His arms moved over his head and across his chest in a way that made his biceps stand out against the smooth lines of his costume.

Regent was brushing leaves and grass off his no-longer-very-white mask and shirt in a way that implied he was disgusted by the very idea of getting dirt on his costume. His mask was askew and the gaudy silver coronet attached to it was slight bent on one side, so he'd probably gotten knocked off of Judas when we got here and hit his head on something.

Speaking of Judas, I couldn't see the Undersiders' dog anywhere nearby, so I sent a handful of flies out looking for him. Those few were all the bugs I could spare out of the very small swarm that I currently had, mostly composed of bugs I'd managed to take with me through the portal.

While they searched, I stood up slowly and gingerly. I was still feeling the soreness from all that running and riding last night, and sleeping in the dirt had just made everything worse.

I brushed a few twigs out of my hair, then combed my fingers through it to try to smooth it out. Between Lung's fire earlier and the current humidity my hair wasn't looking great, but there wasn't much I could do about it in the middle of a jungle.

I really wished I could get to somewhere with good air conditioning right about now.

I heard the scuff of metal on soil and glanced over at the others. Gallant was walking closer to the center of the clearing, dragging his feet slightly like his armor wasn't quite responding to his movements as he expected. Grue walked over to join him, but stopped a few feet away to force Gallant to approach him instead of the other way around. Kid Win followed a step behind Gallant and Regent followed Grue, both apparently content to let their respective teammates take the lead.

No one said anything for a moment. Grue and Gallant looked to be sizing each other up, shifting their weight from foot to foot and holding their hands slightly out to the sides. Regent and Kid Win had their hands on their respective weapons in a way that didn't look immediately threatening (at least not to me) but would leave them ready if a fight broke out.

Eventually Grue spoke, sounding wary. "We still have a truce, right?"

Gallant nodded slowly. "The truce was until we got away safely, and I wouldn't exactly call this 'safe'," he said, gesturing at our surroundings.

"Good." Grue relaxed his stance, and a moment later the others did too.

"So… do either of you have any idea where we are?" Gallant asked, then looked over at me and added, "Or you, Bug. Is that what you decided to go with for your code name?"

I realized with a start that I'd been standing off to the side, not engaging in the conversation, trying to avoid notice. Old habits die hard.

There was no reason for me to do that now, though. Taylor was a recluse who ran and hid from her bullies, but, uh… Hero-whose-actual-cape-name-I'd-figure-out-later certainly wasn't.

"No, definitely not. It's just what Tattletale decided to call me," I answered Gallant as I stood up straight and walked over to the four of them. "It'll work for now.

I stopped a few feet away, closer to the Wards than to the Undersiders but still standing apart from the group. There was some lingering tension between Gallant and Grue, and if anything set the villains off I didn't want to get caught in the middle of that.

Kid Win gave me a funny look when I didn't end up standing right next to him or Gallant, tilting his head as if to say What are you waiting for?

Grue gave me a look, too, as if he expected me to stand with him and Regent… which I obviously wasn't about to do, but the Undersiders did basically save us from Lung, so I didn't want to just obviously snub them, and… ugh.

I really wished I could walk away from the awkwardness, but moving next to the Wards or going back to where I was would just make me look indecisive, so I stayed put.

"All right, let us know if you come up with something better," Gallant said, finally looking away from me and back to the Undersiders.

"Sure," I said.

"Anyway," Grue interjected, "Regent and I definitely don't know where we are. We didn't exactly plan this, if that's what you were implying."

"No, of course not. I was just asking," Gallant assured him.

Kid Win had taken a smartphone out while they were talking and was now holding it above his head at arm's length and slowly moving it around. "We aren't anywhere with cell service, and I'm not picking up a satellite signal either, so I can't figure anything out that way. I do know we're not within twenty-ish miles of Brockton Bay, though."

"I think we all guessed that much already," Regent said, gesturing with his scepter at the obviously tropical surroundings.

Grue ignored the other villain. "Why 'twenty-ish miles' specifically?" he asked.

"Because I tried to teleport something here from my lab, just to check, and the maximum range for that is somewhere around there so since it didn't work we're farther away than that."

Gallant glanced over at him, helmet tilted down like he was giving Kid Win a disapproving look. "When you say 'something' you don't mean…?"

"Just a prototype locator beacon, nothing fancy," Kid Win replied hurriedly.

"Good," his fellow Ward replied. "Okay, so, we're not near Brockton Bay. Any chance this is an artificial jungle of some kind?"

"Probably not. The only capes I can think of with the kind of powers needed to create something as large and as detailed as this would be Barrow in New York, Hedge Witch in Salem, and Labyrinth," Grue replied.

"There's also Paraíso in Arizona," Gallant added helpfully.

"Hadn't heard of him. I haven't really researched any capes west of Pennsylvania or south of New Jersey," Grue said, sounding like it pained him to admit the oversight.

"Or north of the border, obviously, or you'd have heard of Brocéliande in Quebec," Regent said, pronouncing the French name surprisingly well.

"Or him," Grue acknowledged.

"Her," Regent corrected smugly.

"Or her. Can anyone else think of any other capes that might fit?" He paused, and when no one offered any other suggestions he continued, "No? Okay. Let's see if we can rule any of them out."

Grue started ticking off the capes on his fingers. "Starting with Labyrinth, I don't know what her power looks or feels like from the inside, but she's basically never out of Faultline's sight so if this were her power we'd have definitely run into her and her crew by now."

Gallant nodded. "Agreed, and Barrow and Hedge Witch don't create the right kind of plants to mimic a jungle, so it's not either of them. How about Brocéliande?" he asked, his French accent not quite as good as Regent's.

"I don't know if she can create jungle plants, but her trees move , so trust me, it'd be obvious by now."

"Good to know. I only know the basic details of Paraíso's power; does anyone else know anything about him? I have no idea what he'd be doing in New England, but some rogues do tend to move around a lot."

Gallant glanced around at all of us, inviting comments. It looked for a moment like he was going to ask me if I had any ideas and I braced myself for that, but he didn't say anything, thankfully.

I didn't have anything I could contribute to the conversation, and it was a very sobering feeling.

Over the last three months I'd spent all my free time making what I'd thought were comprehensive preparations for my first patrol, but most of my effort had gone into the "heroing" side of things-designing my costume, figuring out how to actually make my costume when I hadn't known the first thing about sewing or weaving, learning about the laws around independent heroes, reading up on the Wards program, looking into all sorts of useful insects I wanted to get my hands on, and other stuff like that-and I'd spent very little time on researching any of the villains I might run into.

I figured, hey, everyone in the city knows about Lung and Oni Lee in the ABB and about Kaiser, Hookwolf, Krieg, and, uh… the other fifteen or sixteen Empire capes, right? No need to spend a lot of time looking into them.

I mean, yeah, I still did look up all the big-name villains on the PHO wiki a couple times just to have a general idea of what they could do, but I wasn't, like, memorizing Hookwolf's best observed running speed or making specific plans for what I'd do if I ran into Oni Lee or anything like that. I didn't think I'd need to worry about any of them until I had a few fights with weaker villains under my belt.

Faultline's Crew were supposedly a big deal, but they spent most of their time traveling and didn't actually do anything villainous in Brockton Bay, so no need to worry about them either.

All the small-time villains I'd heard of, mostly solo capes like Albatross or Circus and a few duos like Über and Leet or TK, were basically irrelevant next to the capes in the two major gangs. As far as I could tell they were all either useless in a fight like Flashstep or cowards who hid behind their henchmen like Coil, hardly an impressive lineup.

I mean, when Über and Leet are the most threatening independent villains in town….

So why should I spend lots of time researching the bad guys when I could use that time to decide on a good design for my mask and research cool insects and practice with my swarm instead?

The fact that I'd completely missed the Undersiders existing at all (and how many more capes might there be in the city that I'd never heard of?) and that I'd been blindsided by the super-hearing from Lung's transformation even after trying to account for a him possibly keeping some aspects of his powers secret showed me exactly why I should have spent that time doing more thorough research.

I hadn't even considered researching other heroes' powers. I wasn't going to fight any of them, and if I ended up working with one I could just ask about their powers then, so why bother?

And now here I was, standing next to veteran capes who could rattle off the names and powers of capes a few states away or even on the other side of the country, feeling like an idiot by comparison.

"No, it can't be Paraíso," Kid Win said, looking at something on his phone. "Looks he started working on something with the Tucson Protectorate a few weeks ago and won't be leaving the city until his contract is up in a few months."

"How are you checking that if you don't have service?" I asked.

He glanced up from his screen, still tapping away at it. "I keep an offline copy of Wikipedia on my phone. It's only a few gigs after compression."

Huh. I didn't even know that was a thing. It definitely wasn't something you could do with the cheap camera phones that were all that most of the stores near me sold.

I once again wished I'd looked into cell phones more before starting my hero career. There were probably a lot of other useful things they could do that I hadn't kept up with.

I really couldn't wait to get back to somewhere with a good library so I could look into phones and capes and everything else I hadn't even known I didn't know.

"Well that's certainly convenient, isn't it," Grue said, crossing his arms skeptically.

"If you're implying we planned this…." Gallant replied testily.

"I mean, we followed the route you two proposed instead of the obvious one because some supposed PRT systems supposedly told you the obvious route was a bad idea, and it took us way out of the way and then we all ended up here, where the only one with a useful source of information is you," Regent said. He was leaning against a nearby tree, scepter propped up behind his neck and arms hanging over it like he wasn't taking the conversation seriously at all, but his voice carried a definite undercurrent of annoyance. "You don't have to be a Thinker to figure out there's something sketchy there."

"It's not sketchy!" Kid Win protested. "Arcadia has a Faraday cage, and they only turn the repeaters on during lunch. Sometimes I get an idea in the middle of class, for my tinkering, you know, and I just, uh," he gestured vaguely, "I want to look stuff up before it goes away."

"Right," Grue said, sounding not at all convinced. "I don't think-"

"Guys!" I said. All four of them looked at me, and I fought the urge to shrink back at the sudden attention. "It doesn't matter whose fault this is right now. What's important is figuring out where we are and how to get back."

"Right, exactly. Thank you, Bug," Gallant agreed. "So, if this is a real place and not a power construct, the question is, where is it? Are we in the Pacific Northwest, maybe the Amazon…?" He looked at me. "I don't suppose you can identify any of the local insects for Kid Win and he can look up where we are from that?"

I shrugged. "Maybe? I've read about a lot of different species around the world, but I don't know if I could take what I sense from them and pick out their names and stuff from that unless they're really distinctive. I can give it a try, at least."

"Anything you can figure out would be helpful," he said encouragingly.

I focused on my swarm, aiming to separate the bugs I'd brought with me from the bugs I'd picked up from the environment, and… huh. Actually, as far as I could tell, all of them were species from Brockton Bay.

I hadn't noticed before because I was so used to just having all kinds of bugs enter and leave my range all the time and I didn't really pay attention to my swarm's composition unless I wanted a specific kind of bug for a specific task, but the lack of variety was very obvious now, and very strange.

"I'm… not actually sensing any native bugs anywhere in my range," I said. "Just the ones that came through the portal."

"This is a jungle ," Grue said. "Aren't there supposed to be, like, a million insect species here?"

"Over two million, if it's the Amazon," I confirmed. After I'd come across an article about the Brazilian wandering spider, believed to be the most venomous spider in the world, I'd done a lot of follow-up research on the area. "But there's nothing."

"You told Grue your range was around three blocks, right? Maybe there just aren't any insects in this area," Regent suggested.

I was surprised he'd remembered that detail. Or overheard it at all; I guess he was more observant than he liked to seem. "Two or three blocks, yeah. It fluctuates," I said. "But that shouldn't matter. Jungles are supposed to have something like tens of thousands of insects per acre, so even if I only had a range of a few yards I should be able to sense some local species."

"Uh, bugs aside, shouldn't there be birds here, too?" Kid Win asked. I looked over and saw that he had two fingers pressed to the side of his visor and was looking up, slowly panning his gaze across the treetops. "And monkeys and tree frogs and all that?"

We all fell silent, listening.

Now that he mentioned it, I didn't hear a single animal, and my bugs hadn't come across any at all. Including Judas, and even if I'd started the flies searching in exactly the opposite direction they should have at least noticed something over the past few minutes.

Something was wrong here.

I really couldn't wait to get away from this place.

"Yes, there should be," Gallant said slowly. He looked at Kid Win, then at me, then Grue, then Regent. I couldn't see his expression, but he seemed to be studying each of us intently behind his glowing eye-slit.

"Is…." He took a deep breath. "Does anyone else feel antsy or irritable right now? Maybe even a little forgetful or distracted? Like you'd really rather be anywhere but here and you're finding it hard to focus on anything?"

That was exactly how I was feeling. Right about now, I was really wishing I could get away from this place.

It was suspiciously spot-on, actually. Did he have some sort of emotion scanner in that helmet of his?

"Nah, not really," Regent said, looking as relaxed as ever.

"Yeah, I'm doing fine," Grue agreed.

Gallant stared at the two of them for a moment.

"… All right, maybe I'm feeling a little anxious," Grue admitted. Regent just shrugged.

I rolled my eyes behind my mask. I couldn't tell whether it was a teenage guy thing or a villain thing, but their bravado wasn't exactly helping right now.

I really wished I could get away from the cape drama.

… Just like I'd really wished I could get out of the clearing, or get to a library, or stop us from going into that alley where the portal was.

Something was very wrong here.

As an experiment, I released control of two of the flies I'd kept in reserve while the others went searching for Judas. The instant I did, both of them began flying directly away of the middle of the clearing at top speed and kept on going like that until they were out of my range.

"Guys, I think there's some kind of power at work here. I felt something like this right before I went through the portal, and when I stopped controlling some of my bugs they flew away as fast as they could," I relayed to the others.

"Yeah, I remember something feeling off there. I think you're right," Gallant said. "We should probably get out of here."

"And walk away from the one place we know is connected to the portal that dumped us here?" Regent objected. "It's probably just something weird about the portal itself, and if we leave we won't know if it opens up again."

"It could be the portal," the armored Ward agreed. "It could also be some kind of emotion-influencing tinkertech hidden around here, or a emotion-influencing Master cape that brought us through the portal for some reason. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not stick around and find out which one it is."

Regent quickly pushed himself off the tree he'd been leaning against. "Yeah, I see your point. Let's go."

His change of opinion seemed abrupt to me, and apparently to Grue as well if the look he shot Regent was any indication, but I wasn't about to argue if it got him moving. The direction Regent had picked seemed as good as any other, so the rest of us began walking in that direction as well.

Kid Win was right behind him, on foot and not on his hoverboard; either it was damaged somehow or he didn't want to stop moving long enough to get on it. I was third, then Gallant and then Grue, all of us arranged in a staggered line as we ducked and squeezed our way through the thick foliage.

"Oh, what about Judas?" I asked as we went. "I couldn't find him anywhere nearby."

"He probably just ran away from whatever the emotion effect is. That or he's off trying to find Bitch because she wasn't with us. Either way, he knows our scents so he can find his way back to us easily enough when he's ready." Grue said.

If he wasn't concerned then it was probably fine, so I nodded and kept walking.

~*~*~

It felt like it took us forever to escape the emotion effect. It was slow going at first, given the lack of any kind of trail or hiking path. The underbrush was thick everywhere we looked and there were lots of rocks and tree roots sticking up everywhere, so we needed to watch our footing carefully.

We sped up as we went, though. Between our growing familiarity with the terrain and a steadily-increasing feeling that we needed to get the hell out of there, by the end we were all practically sprinting through the trees and trusting our costumes to deal with sharp branches and other obstacles.

I could tell when we were close to the edge of the effect when I felt some unfamiliar insects appearing at the limits of my range, and I started drawing them toward me. The new bugs weren't anything special; they were still spiders and flies and mosquitoes and other kinds of insects I knew very well, just different species from what I was used to.

Dismissing the minor differences as irrelevant for now, I let nearly everything fade to a blur, my entire attention focused only on gathering as many bugs as possible and not tripping on anything as I ran.

Finally we all made it out of range of the power or tinkertech or whatever it was, and we staggered to a halt in another small clearing, once again covered in a thick canopy despite the more open space.

"Looks like we're all good," Gallant said. He leaned forward, hands on his knees and breathing heavily.

I didn't need him to tell me that. Even without the new bugs telling me where the edge of the effect was, I could feel a sort of fog lifting from my mind when we crossed the invisible boundary and all the anxiety and feelings of distraction had melted away.

Problem was, all the nervous energy I'd had went with it, and I was suddenly exhausted.

I stumbled over to a fallen tree nearby and practically fell down onto it. The others collapsed to the ground or leaned against some of the larger trees.

"What happened to being able to run for half an hour in that armor of yours?" Grue asked Gallant, a little smugly. The villain had his hands folded casually behind his head and barely seemed winded, and I kind of resented him right then for being in such amazing shape.

"The armor's not really designed to go that fast for that long," Kid Win said. He was slumped against a tree, his hair soaked with sweat and hanging limply in front of his visor. "My estimate was under the assumption we'd be ending up at the PRT building and I could patch it up afterwards."

" You could patch it up?" I asked, confused. "Why not Gallant?"

"And how did you know how fast it could go if it's not designed for that? Did you two work together on it or something?" Grue asked.

Kid Win looked blankly in our direction for a moment, then slowly banged the back of his visor against the tree trunk a few times. "Dammit, dammit, dammit," he mumbled, then turned to Gallant. "Sorry, man."

"I think I'm missing something," I said.

"It's nothing," Gallant said dismissively.

"No, it definitely sounds like something," Grue insisted. "You two have both been acting cagey since we got here. You want to tell us what's going on?"

Gallant sighed. "Tell you what, let's trade. Regent, you tell us what your power is, and I'll tell you what's going on with my armor. None of us spreads anything in public or to other groups when we get back, just among our own teams. Everything we say is covered by the truce. Fair?"

Grue looked like he wanted to object, but he turned to his teammate instead. "I don't think that's a fair trade, but it's your call."

Regent didn't even stop to consider before he shrugged and said, "I'd say it's worth it."

Grue nodded reluctantly. "All right, it's a deal." He gestured to Gallant that he should go ahead.

Gallant pointed at Regent. "Him first."

Regent nodded, then casually waved his hand, and Grue slapped himself across the face nearly hard enough to knock his helmet off.

Kid Win snorted, and I thought I heard a suppressed chuckle from Gallant. I felt a bit of schadenfreude myself, but that was probably just the tiredness talking.

"See?" Regent said with a smug tone. "Totally worth it."

Grue swore under his breath and shook his hand a bit; slamming it against his helmet must have stung. "One of these days, Regent…" he murmured, though his tone wasn't all that threatening.

"So you can, what, control limbs?" Kid Win asked.

"Cause directed muscle spasms, basically," Regent corrected. "And only on vanilla humans. Against someone like Hookwolf or Newter or, oh, I don't know, Lung, I can't do shit."

Kid Win nodded, satisfied, then everyone turned to look at Gallant expectantly.

"My turn, I guess," Gallant said. He took a deep breath, held it, flexed his fingers a few times at his sides, and exhaled. "Truth is, I'm… not actually a Tinker."

"Um," I said, expressively. "What?"

He held his right arm up to show the glowing blue-white panel on the inside of his forearm and the small glowing colored disks on the palm and back of his hand. "This thing, that all the marketing material says is a regulator for my emotion blasts? It's not. All it is is a color changer…"

He pressed a finger against the panel and slid it around in random circles, causing the disks to change colors wildly from dark red to lime green to magenta to bright yellow to teal to a few others.

"… and a display screen…"

He pressed two fingers against the panel and showed the back of his hand, where the disk's glow had faded to reveal a small screen showing the time, what looked like a radio frequency, and a jumble of other numbers and symbols.

"… and a gauntlet release."

He pressed his palm over the panel and after a short delay the gauntlet unlatched with a hiss of hydraulics. He pulled it off with his left hand, showed both sides of his now-bare right hand to demonstrate there wasn't anything else on it, made a fist, and pointed it at the ground.

A baseball-sized bolt of bright blue light suddenly shot out from his fist, flattening the grass it hit but not seeming to have much force behind it otherwise. He loosened his fist slightly and another bolt followed it, the same shade of blue but glowing noticeably less brightly, and this time it blasted a large chunk out of the soil.

He followed that up a second later with two more bolts, one purple and one yellowish-green, the same colors as the larger bolts he'd been firing at Lung while we ran away.

When none of us said anything for a little while after that, he put his gauntlet on again and snapped it back into place.

"Kid Win's the one who built my armor, with some help from Armsmaster, and he does all the aesthetic changes to make it look like I've been upgrading it over time. That's why he knows its capabilities so well. He does some of the maintenance, too, but that's mostly Armsmaster since power armor is more his thing."

I took a moment to absorb all of that.

It kind of made sense. If most capes keep some parts of their powers close to the vest anyway, letting people think you're a Tinker because you wear power armor wasn't that strange. Kid Win had thought I was a Tinker initially, after all, and depending on the situation it might have made sense to just let him keep believing that.

Thinking back to the way he'd been able to read me very easily, I suddenly had a nagging suspicion about how he'd managed it. "The emotion beams… that's not your only power, is it?"

"No," he admitted. "I have an empathic sense, too. I can see everyone's emotions as a sort of colored aura around them." Grue stiffened, and Regent's grip tightened on his scepter. "That's how I noticed everyone seemed a bit off, back there."

He could what? Could he use that to read people's minds, too?

"No, I'm not a mind-reader," he added.

Then how-!

He held up a placating hand. "And no, I didn't say that because I'm a mind reader trying to put you at ease. Actual mind reading powers don't exist, or at least they've never been recorded."

Sounding irritated, he continued, "I knew that's what you were thinking because that's what everyone thinks when I tell them I'm not a Tinker. It's the same damn sequence every time: confusion, then shock, realization, thoughtfulness, suspicion, accusation, and paranoia, almost always in that order."

Grue leaned over to Regent and the two started speaking urgently in hushed tones. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but they were obviously not happy about the revelation.

"I don't like lying about it, believe me. It wasn't my idea at all," the Ward said, sounding even more annoyed, but then he sighed and the heat left his tone. "But after seeing how everyone who I've ever told has reacted to finding out the truth, I can understand why the decision was made."

I was torn. On the one hand, our reactions to finding out his real powers proved his point, and I could see why that kind of power wouldn't go over well if people knew. And it sounded like someone else had made a decision for him and ignored all of his complaints about it, a situation with which I could definitely sympathize.

On the other, I had to admit that I felt seriously betrayed A prominent local hero had been lying through his teeth about his powers, in interviews and articles and everything else, for years. Shouldn't a hero who chose a name like "Gallant" be all about honesty and chivalry and all that?

Heroes were supposed to be better than that, and of all the heroes in Brockton Bay, he should be the least likely to pull something like this!

I was too tired to decide how I really felt about it, or to judge how honest he was being right now. I'd have to take some time to think about it, figure it all out later.

"I'll understand if you all don't trust me for a little while. Take all the time you need."

… Okay, I could tell the emotion-reading was going to get really old, really fast.

"All right, that's… we'll deal with that later," Grue said, sounding as conflicted as I felt. "For now, now that everything's finally out in the open, where were we in the process of figuring out where we are?"

"I don't remember," I admitted frankly, "I'm kind of too tired to think right now."

"Me too," Kid Win said. "I bet we all are."

"A little, yeah," Grue admitted. "I don't see why, though. From what I saw from the gaps in the canopy on the way over, it looks like it's almost noon; we must have been out of it for ten or eleven hours. Even sleeping on the ground like we were, we should all be feeling a lot more rested. You think it's something else weird about the portal?"

"We couldn't have been asleep that long," Regent said, shaking his head. "Believe me, I'm an expert in sleeping in until noon, and that wasn't it."

"I think it was longer than that, actually," I said, thinking back to what was on Gallant's wrist display. "Gallant, I noticed your clock said it was two-something in the afternoon, right? So we were actually out for more like twelve or thirteen hours."

"Did it?" Gallant tapped his forearm panel to check, then paused. "Kid, what time do you have?"

Kid Win pressed a button on his gauntlet and held it out for Gallant to see.

"Well then. According to both of our clocks, it's currently two fourteen… in the morning," Gallant said.

"That can't be right," Grue said immediately. "Something has to be wrong with them. Screwed up when they went through the portal, or something."

"Everything else is working just fine," Kid Win shrugged. "I think they're accurate. It does basically feel like we only napped for an hour." He paused for a moment, mouth opened as if he were about to speak, then smacked an armored glove into the side of his visor with a metallic clank. "We're all idiots. Time zones, guys."

My eyes widened under my mask. Of course. The Amazon was roughly south of Brockton Bay and would probably have the same time give or take an hour, but any other jungle we landed in would obviously be at least a few hours off.

So for us to go from the middle of the night to the middle of the day….

That was bad. That was very bad.

"If it's eleven-something in the morning here, that would be a nine-hour difference. What's that, eastern Africa?" I asked tentatively. I certainly hoped it wasn't; the news made it sound like every cape in the whole continent was either a warlord or a villain working for one, so whoever brought us here definitely wouldn't have any good intentions.

Kid Win checked his phone. "East Coast is… minus four…" he muttered to himself, and it looked like he was counting out something on the screen. It took him a while to do the mental math; he must have been even more exhausted than I was.

Gallant pushed himself away from the tree he'd been leaning against and shuffled over to Kid Win to look at his phone as well.

"India," Gallant said after a minute, sounding grim. "Could be some parts of Central Asia or Russia, too, but with this jungle it's got to be India."

"Great," Grue said. "Just great. I haven't looked into any capes outside the US. Is there a list of Indian capes anywhere so we could see if any of them have any powers that would fit?"

Gallant shook his head doubtfully. "I don't know if we'll find anything. We've done some research recently on international capes," he said, indicating himself and his fellow Ward, "but American or not, capes who can pull off continent-range teleportation in one shot are extremely rare."

He glanced up, thinking. "There's basically Buyán, Kirin White, Seven League, Strider, Thin Air, and… Kefitzat," he said, stumbling a bit over the foreign name, "and that's it, not counting any Tinkers whose tech we would have seen. And two of those can only teleport themselves or one other person at a time, and none of them can make portals like that, at least as far as anyone knows."

Kid Win spent a couple minutes looking things up, then shook his head. "This only lists a few of India's most famous capes, their equivalent of the Protectorate Top Ten. None of them are Movers or Tinkers. For the rest it just points me to the PHO wiki."

"Which you don't have on there," I guessed.

"Right. It's an official Wards phone, so there are bunch of apps pre-installed and there's no SD slot for security reasons. With only a few gigs to work with, the wiki downloads being a few gigs each, and all the apps taking up over a gig on their own, I only had room for one or the other. I asked Armsmaster about maybe implementing a better compression algorithm, but he thought it would probably make more sense to… um," he trailed off at the unimpressed looks the villains were giving him, obvious even through their masks. "Right, sorry, not important right now. Point is, nope, no PHO download."

I nodded slowly. I didn't have a good sense of whether his explanation was plausible. At home, I had my mom's old desktop with dial-up internet; Earthlink and Juno were the only options for service in our part of the city that weren't stupidly expensive. At school, all the computers still ran Windows XP. The last time I'd used a cell phone, camera phones weren't even a thing yet.

A tech guru I was not, so I'd just have to trust his explanation and the fact that neither Grue nor Regent had called him out on it.

A few hours ago, I'd have accepted a hero's explanation without question, but after Gallant….

"Then we can't even begin to figure out which cape brought us here," Grue said. He clenched his fists and looked like he wanted to punch something. "Or why they did it."

"I guess not," Kid Win said, frowning slightly. "I keep feeling like I'm missing something obvious, like the time zone thing, but none of us is really firing on all cylinders right now."

"So, to summarize," Regent said in a mocking tone, "we're stuck in a jungle halfway around the world, lost, no GPS, no supplies, no shelter, no idea where the nearest city is, no idea why we're here or how we got here or how we can get back, we're almost dead on our feet, and at literally any moment a wild animal or a villain with a grudge could jump out of the bushes and try to kill us all."

"Basically," I said.

"Fan-fucking-tastic." The foppish villain slid his back down the trunk of his tree until he was sitting on the ground, stretched out his legs, dropped his scepter in his lap, covered his face with one arm, and leaned his head on his other shoulder. "G'night."

"You're just going to go to sleep? Right there?" Kid Win asked.

"One spot of jungle is basically the same as any other, and I don't hear any better ideas," Regent replied. His voice sounded muffled with his nose under his elbow. "Wake me up if you figure out anything useful."

Kid Win looked at Gallant and me. "I guess it's not a terrible idea?" he offered. "Even if we're only like a mile away from civilization and we knew exactly what direction to go in, I don't know if I could even walk for another hour in this heat." He stifled a yawn. "Make that half an hour. And we don't know which way to go or how far, so walking around for a while isn't going to do us much good."

Gallant didn't seem convinced. "What do you think, Bug?" he asked me.

"I'm with them on not wanting to do any more walking right now," I said. "But…."

I hesitated a moment, considering the Undersiders. "I don't know if I feel comfortable falling asleep with those two around," I admitted.

Grue stiffened, obviously offended, and I rushed to explain: "Look, I know you haven't done anything to make us not trust you so far," unlike the heroes, a traitorous part of my mind added, "and I really appreciate how you helped us get away from Lung, and there's the truce and all, I get it, really. But you're still villains."

"Hold on… you're not a villain?" Grue asked, sounding totally blindsided.

"No!" I said. Not this again! "My costume might look… more than a little edgy," I continued, deliberately not looking at Kid Win as I said that, "but I'm a hero."

"But Tattletale said you were a villain, and she's never wrong about these things," he insisted. "That's the whole reason we stuck around to help after we ran into you!"

Gallant looked like he really wanted to ask about Tattletale's power at that point, but he managed to restrain himself.

"Well, she was wrong this time. I'm not a villain," I stated with confidence, "and I wouldn't ever associate with villains… outside of a truce, I mean," I added lamely.

"Pssh. We barely even count as villains," Regent spoke up, arm still covering his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"I mean we're not a bunch of assholes who would attack you in your sleep, like you obviously think we are," he said, then dropped his arm so he could look me in the eye. "We're basically like Faultline's Crew. We do jobs for money and only target villains, but the Protectorate labels us villains for it."

"Uh huh, right," Kid Win said flatly. "So the three or four casinos you've robbed…?"

"All owned by the ABB," Regent said.

"All of them?"

"Every last one."

"The jewelry store you robbed in November, and all the small businesses you've hit?"

"Also ABB. Fronts for money laundering."

"The startups you hit Downtown, and the datacenters in the suburbs?" Gallant probed.

"Owned by the Empire."

"Every single one of them?"

"Yep!" Regent said cheerfully. "We were digging up some dirt for our clients."

"And who are these clients?"

"I dunno. Tattletale's the one who talks with them."

"You don't know who you work for?"

"Nope," Regent shrugged.

"And that doesn't bother you? At all?" I asked incredulously.

"Nah. Tattletale's does all the talking and the research." He jerked a thumb at Grue. "He does the sneaking and strategizing, and Bitch handles the transportation and the muscle."

"And you?"

"I keep security distracted. With my dashing good looks," he said flippantly, and fluttered his eyelashes dramatically… behind the full-face mask that covered everything but his eyes and mouth.

Gallant crossed his arms skeptically. "So you're just some misunderstood mercenaries. I see. And Grue's and Bitch's criminal records were just misunderstandings too, I bet?"

"Kinda, yeah. Bitch's record is all accidents that were blown way out of proportion, and fearless leader here," he pointed his scepter at Grue, "mostly did bodyguard work before the team got together."

" Mostly bodyguard work, sure. And also some assault, some robberies, some breaking and entering-"

"Hey, I never said we were perfect. Just not the kind of puppy-kicking villains we're made out to be." He chuckled. "Not that anybody sane would kick any puppies with Bitch around."

The Wards stared down at Regent in palpable disbelief for a little while. Regent's story sounded too good to be true to me, but if he was lying I bet Gallant's empathic power would easily pick that up.

Regent just lay there returning the heroes' stares, appearing totally unconcerned.

Eventually Gallant uncrossed his arms. "Maybe the PRT could have gotten some of the details wrong," he admitted grudgingly.

I blinked in surprise. I guess Regent was actually being honest, or at least not whitewashing things too much.

"I guess I owe you an apology," I said.

"You are forgiven," Regent replied magnanimously, and Grue nodded.

"So, now that we've established that we're all best friends and nobody's going to backstab anybody," the curly-haired villain continued, "how about we stop talking and get some sleep?"

"I still don't know if I'm comfortable just sleeping in the open like this," Grue said. "It puts us in a very vulnerable position and we have no idea what kinds of animals, or capes, might be nearby."

That was a good point. "I could set my swarm around us," I offered. "I've got a much larger one now than I had against Lung. If anything comes within a few hundred feet of us, I'll feel it and wake up."

"I've got a prototype wide-range motion sensor in my visor," Kid Win added. "I could enable that too."

"How reliable is this prototype?" Grue asked.

"Uh, I haven't actually field-tested it yet. I don't know how it would handle foliage this dense, and it's not entirely finished…."

"We'll stick with Bug's swarm, then," Grue said, and Kid Win nodded reluctantly.

There wasn't much to say after that. We all found ourselves a comfortable spot, or at least a spot that was marginally less uncomfortable than the surrounding area. I couldn't find a good place to stretch out, so I curled up in the middle of a few of the thinner trees, pulled together a pile of leaves as a makeshift pillow, and closed my eyes.

~*~*~

Ten or fifteen minutes later, I was still wide awake.

Not because I wasn't tired. I was, very much so, and my eyes burned with exhaustion whenever I opened them.

The problem was the heat. Every inch of me was covered in dark layered fabric that trapped the jungle's eighty-plus-degree midday heat, and the humidity made it feel at least ten degrees hotter than that. I could feel myself sweating as badly as if I were sitting under two thick blankets in front of a roaring fireplace, like Emma and I used to do in the winter when-

I rolled over and tried to think of anything else.

My first thought was that I hadn't tested the waterproofing of my spider silk for longer than a few minutes at a time, and now would be a very bad time to discover that all that sweat and humidity had a negative effect on it.

My second thought was that I would really need a shower when I got back home.

… If we got back home.

No.

When we got back home.

I knew we'd get back soon. We had to.

I sighed softly and focused on the gnats I'd discreetly placed on Regent and Grue as a precaution. Well, they didn't feel like gnats, exactly, but they were very light and hard to see when they weren't moving, so close enough. Though the two villains weren't making any noise, I could tell from their irregular movement that they weren't asleep either.

"Hey Grue?" I called out.

"Yeah?" he responded after a moment.

I felt Gallant and Kid Win react to us talking. I'd put some bugs on them as well; better safe than sorry.

"Could you put some of your darkness over us to do something about the heat?"

"I thought about that," he replied, "but I was worried about people being able to see a big cloud of darkness from a distance and deciding to check it out."

That… was something I hadn't thought of. But right now I really didn't care.

"People are a problem later, being too hot to sleep is a problem now," I said bluntly, and Regent laughed at that. He said something under his breath, too, in a less-than-complimentary tone of voice. I didn't catch what it was, but I didn't ask him to repeat it.

If he didn't tell me what he said, I wouldn't have to cover him in spiders for possibly insulting me.

…

Bad Taylor. No daydreaming about covering villains in bugs.

Again.

Great, I was starting to get loopy. Spending twenty-one-ish hours awake when I already hadn't been getting much sleep lately was no fun. Should have skipped my morning run and slept in when I knew I was going to be out late.

Grue still hadn't responded. "Well?" I prompted him.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, and darkness began to rise from his position and spread out toward all of us, before suddenly stopping.

It wasn't like the darkness he'd used while we were running from Lung, which surprised me. That had been more of a rolling cloud of darkness that rose from him like smoke from a fire, but this darkness looked like… well, it was hard to describe. Like my spider silk if it were made of pure darkness, could go up trees, and could move on its own, maybe.

So, not much like my spider silk at all. Bad example.

Water. That's what it reminded me of.

Inky black water that was somehow dripping up instead of down, forming into thin branching tendrils of darkness and swirling around lazily almost as though it were alive. There was still a hint of smokiness, but only on the surface of the rest of the darkness somehow, like fog lingering on a block of dry ice.

"That's a pretty neat trick," Kid Win said, craning his neck up to look at it. "How's that different from the darkness you used before?"

There was a long pause. "I don't know. It's not supposed to do that," Grue said.

"… Um. Define 'not supposed to'?" Kid Win said, sounding worried.

"Normally I can't change how my darkness looks." A few new tendrils rose from his position. "And right now I can't make it look like it normally does, either."

"Does it feel dangerous? As in right now?" I asked. Kid Win had started moving to get up, but my grumpy tone stopped him.

"No," Grue said, sounding more confident than not.

"Then we can worry about your power when we're all rested and thinking clearly," I said.

He didn't respond to that, and a moment later his darkness began to expand again.

It crept across the ground and leaped erratically from tree to tree instead of billowing out at a constant rate like it had before. Soon after it reached me it eagerly flowed up and over my body, feeling somehow more… oily, I guess, than it had when I was in his darkness earlier.

The temperature began to drop dramatically once I was fully covered, and while his darkness didn't seem to affect the humidity at all, without the oppressive heat it wasn't nearly as bad.

I fully relaxed for the first time since arriving in this jungle, and within moments I felt myself slipping into sleep.

Author's Note

And here we are on Eberron! Hopefully the folks from Earth Bet will enjoy their stay and not get eaten by monsters before they can find their way to civilization.

Oh, and in case it wasn't obvious, Regent's spiel about the Undersiders being a poor misunderstood bunch of mercenaries isn't me toning them down out-of-story, it's Regent lying through his teeth and trusting that Gallant won't be able to call him on it. That definitely won't come back to bite them down the line.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

Taylor & Co. are currently in the jungles of Xen'drik, a mysterious continent in Eberron's southern hemisphere full of ancient magic, fallen empires, mutated animals, and other wonderful and dangerous stuff. The "Rhaan" in the chapter timestamps is both one of Eberron's twelve moons and the month in the Eberron calendar named for said moon. Rhaan corresponds very roughly to September, meaning that the calendars of Eberron and Earth Bet are offset from each other by about five months.

Transposition 1.4.V

2:48 am, Monday the 11th of April, 2011 CE The Docks, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

It appeared as though the workers on the scene would be cleaning up after the fires and treating the individuals affected for quite some time. Without additional context, any information I could glean from watching the black-clad soldiers interact with the others would be minimal, so it was a good time for me to depart.

Rather than continuing to explore the immediate area, I decided it would be useful to get a more high-level view of the city, literally: I teleported a half-mile directly upwards, so as to observe the entire city at once.

The view was breathtaking. Or would have been, had I currently needed to breathe.

It hadn't been obvious before, with the smoke darkening the air and fires overwhelming any other lights, but the city absolutely blazed with light from every window and from countless smaller sources scattered about.

The streets alone resembled a work of abstract art painted in light across a vast canvas of darkness, as they were outlined with pairs of white or yellow lights while the intersections were bathed in alternating shades of red, yellow, and green as complex patterns of lights danced across the city.

It wasn't quite so dazzling as a city I'd once visited on the otherwise-forgettable world of Nagarkhos, whose population venerated over twenty different sun and moon gods from a dozen different pantheons and which therefore shone brightly at all hours of the day and night from all the light enchantments on the local temples, but it was certainly close.

If the city's lighting was impressive, its size was doubly so. On most worlds, even the largest cities are rarely more than a mile or so across; those whose populations grow into the tens or hundreds of thousands of residents generally start to build downwards or upwards, not outwards. This city, however, sprawled haphazardly over a massive area perhaps seven or eight miles across, and then after that its builders still saw fit to fill the central portion of the city with buildings that stretched nearly fifty stories into the air.

Granted, the city was built around a bay, which reduced its usable land area, but the size still spoke to either a considerably different architectural mindset or a populace of truly colossal proportions.

Or, perhaps, to a lack of magical construction methods. The surprising dearth of magic among the common people plus the presence of what was to all appearances an occupying military force may very well have deprived them of the magic-users required for usual construction methods and forced them to use a different approach. The fact that all of the lighting appeared to be nonmagical when light spells were among the simplest to learn gave great credence to that idea.

The third impressive feature of the city was not actually located within the city itself, but rather situated out in the bay. A fortress rose proudly from the waves, all hard angles around the waterline which gradually gave way to flowing curves around the middle levels and rose into elegant spires at the top.

I was too far away to see any magical auras it may have possessed, and it didn't glow in the visible spectrum at all, but it shone like a beacon to my ultravision and that almost certainly indicated a magical barrier of some sort.

Aspect sent.

I agreed.

I sent innocently.

My psicrystal sent a pulse of nervousness and regret over our bond.

Before he could send anything else, I teleported him down to a point just outside the visible boundaries of the ward.

… I hate it when you do that, Aspect sent grumpily.

he promised.

With that, we both turned our attention to the ward, Aspect directly and I through my constant sensory link with him.

From the much closer vantage point, we could see three things of note. Firstly, it actually did have a manifestation in the visible light range, though only barely: there were a variety of light sources faintly illuminating the open areas of the fortress, and the ward appeared to bend the light emanating from them, blurring the light and slightly changing its color at different angles much like light diffracted through mist or curved glass.

In daylight, I imagined the ward would shine with prismatic hues visible to anyone along the shoreline, declaring the might of its inhabitants to the likely-subjugated populace.

Secondly, the ward was not actually a single barrier, but many smaller ones that were arranged into a vaguely spherical shape. Closer examination of the individual spell effects with my arcane sight revealed that each one could be created with variable geometry, allowing their caster to sculpt the overall ward into a cylinder, a cube, a wall to one side, a platform stretching over the water, or any other shape desired, and each could either be completely sealed or modulated to permit passage to pedestrians, vehicles, projectiles, electricity, and so forth in either or both directions.

Thirdly, the ward appeared to be exceptionally poorly designed, if I do say so myself.

The basic effect of creating one to several small and barely-visible barriers of force can be achieved by a variety of spell effects requiring varying levels of power and skill, some even falling as low as the second valence and thus lying even within reach of a particularly precocious wizard's apprentice. Despite their minor variations, every single one of those barriers would be absolutely invulnerable except to a small handful of magical countermeasures, as is standard for walls and other magical constructs sculpted of pure force.

Creating that many barriers in a single casting would be beyond most spellcasters, certainly, and selectively-permeable barriers are harder to create than indiscriminate ones, but crafting enough enchanted devices to surround a whole fortress in barriers would be well within the average arcanist's reach.

These wards, on the other hand, were not invulnerable, merely moderately strong, and they occupied the ninth valence, meaning they would require an exceptionally powerful creator, one who had reached the limits of standard spells and who would thus likely have no use at all for such underwhelming wards.

And that's before one even considers the many mistakes in the ward's construction: the vastly higher than normal energy leakage in the ultraviolet range, the incredibly sloppy radiance vector integration that was responsible for the noted lensing phenomenon when the ward should be fully invisible, and the periodic flickers around the periphery indicating that it was not a sustained or long-duration ward but merely a short-duration ward constantly being recast, among other smaller issues.

It was almost as though a magic-user with more power than intellect had thought to themselves, Oh, there's a spell of the eighth valence called Otiluke's Telekinetic Sphere that creates a small sphere of force, and I want to create a really big sphere of force, so I'll blindly mess around with the equations for that until I manage to stumble upon a spell I'll call Not-Otiluke's Really Big Telekinetic Sphere!

Zero creativity, zero evidence of thoughtful design, zero mathematical or thaumaturgical elegance, zero apparent knowledge of arcane theory whatsoever.

That combination reminded me disconcertingly of the workings of one of the rulers of Athas, who also happened to live in an ostentatious and heavily-warded palace set apart from his subjects and have an extensive army of masked and armored soldiers at his command.

Not Dregoth (may his soul burn eternally in Nessus), of course, who had proven to be frightfully intelligent and creative when we had challenged him, nor most of his reasonably competent peers, but rather Kalak, a paranoid and delusional wreck who had all the world-shaking power and bloated ego of a Sorcerer-King paired with all the insight and cunning of a particularly dim squirrel.

Aspect chided me.

I admitted, and with some effort managed to pull my thoughts away from… recent events.

There were plenty of reasonable explanations for such a poorly-developed ward, after all. Perhaps the local arcanists had difficulty researching novel spells without the guidance of a god of magic, and this was the best they could manage. Perhaps they had achieved the base effect at the third or fourth valence and had simply researched a stronger version with as-yet-undemonstrated capabilities. Several other less plausible (but still possible) explanations came to mind as well.

My concerned ameliorated for the moment, I teleported Aspect back to me and nodded my thanks.

We floated there silently for a short while, just watching the play of light through the ward onto the surface of the sea and listening to the soft susurration of the waves below.

Aspect asked eventually.

I said, sending the impression of a sigh.

we've made, you mean.

I've made, and the resulting engrossment in this world's mysteries, I'd thought I was doing better. But it turns out that the slightest and most tangential reminder of recent events has caused me to backslide without my even noticing, I sent.

I sent.

I pondered in silence for a minute or two.

It was one thing to deliberately not think about certain matters. Auppenser likely wouldn't approve of my current coping strategy, preferring instead that I confront the issue head-on, but, firstly, he did not demand a slavish adherence to every last one of his teachings, as did many Lawful gods I could name; secondly, he taught self-knowledge as well as self-reflection, and I knew myself well enough to know that I was not currently in any state to address… recent events; and thirdly, he was hardly in a position to complain, being deceased and all.

It was quite another thing, however, to find myself falling into certain patterns of behavior unknowingly. Getting swept up in a bout of irrational paranoia due to the most tangential of similarities was unacceptable, and I was disappointed in myself for falling into such a pattern.

A reluctance to chart my own course was another such pattern, I realized.

In retrospect, my requesting to be sent on this expedition was not an impulsive act act at all: Upon returning to Sigil I could have done any number of things, but what I had chosen to do was to return to the Society because it was familiar, and then ask to be sent on an expedition because that was familiar, all so I could spend the next few years going through familiar tasks in a familiar pattern in order to delay indefinitely the point at which I would be forced to determine what I would do with the rest of my life if I could not soon find a way to reverse what had occurred.

Finally, I came to a decision.

I sent.

Aspect sent in an uncharacteristically serious tone.

I sent, and received a burst of exasperated amusement in return.

I certainly wouldn't find many locals wandering around in the middle of the night, especially if they were concerned about a repeat of the earlier fire, so I would need to find somewhere to wait and something to do until then.

… And thus spend hours alone with my thoughts. Less than ideal.

Best to skip the intervening time, then.

I scanned the shoreline below me, looking for anything resembling a town square or marketplace or any other locale that people would be inclined to gather. Nothing near the fortress seemed suitable, but as I slowly flew toward the city center and the mouth of the small river at the narrow end of the bay, I saw a long stretch of beach lined with shops and bracketed by piers on either end, which seemed promising.

I teleported down to the foot of the southern pier and examined the area. The shops were actually situated along a raised wooden walkway, wide enough for ten people to walk abreast, with fencing on the opposite side to prevent shoppers from falling the few feet to the sand below.

Deciduous trees lined the strip of beach next to the walkway, the center of the walkway bore sail-like sunshades and benches at regular intervals, and small portions of it jutted out over the beach to provide places to eat or rest. In the distance, towers and flagpoles rose above the shops, including one wheel-like sculpture (or perhaps defensive structure?) that rose several stories into the air.

The whole place was laid out and decorated in a way reminiscent of a pilgrimage site, in fact, as though the area were a destination in itself and not merely a place for shoppers and merchants to congregate.

Not knowing the local moon or constellations, I couldn't precisely judge how long it would be until dawn, but my best guess was roughly six hours. Then I added another three hours, to aim for mid-morning.

Estimate made, I concentrated, and with a thought I sent Aspect and myself hopping forward in time by nine hours-

~*~*~

11:54 am, Monday the 11th of April, 2011 CE

The Boardwalk, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

-and reappeared in the midst of a thick and noisy crowd. My invisibility and incorporeality ensured that I was neither seen nor felt, which was fortunate, as a pair of unsuspecting passers-by became passers-through as their bodies briefly overlapped mine just after my arrival.

I floated off to the side to take stock of things.

Glancing up at the sun-this world appeared to have just one, as is the case on most worlds-it seemed to be roughly noon or just before, and I adjusted my sense of the local time appropriately.

Many of the people on the pier around me were eating, most of them walking around or leaning on the fence enclosing the pier with paper-wrapped street food in hand while a few dined in restaurants with indoor seating.

Small children ran around on the pier and on the beach below, while older children were lying on towels or chaises on the beach, sculpting castles out of sand, or wading in the shallow water. Adults generally kept watch over their progeny while conversing or reading books, the latter of which seemed highly irresponsible to me given the risk of damage to said books from the sea spray.

Over on the walkway, the dizzying array of shops were all open and doing a brisk business. Signs above every shop glowed in a rainbow of colors and raucous music filled the air. Merchants and entertainers wandered through the crowd to peddle their wares or attract the crowd's attention.

In short, it appeared that this portion of the city was essentially a permanent festival. The local rulers must be either quite wealthy or quite irresponsible with their wealth to maintain such a state of affairs, but if their aim was to attract travelers to their city then this would certainly be a good way to do that.

If I was going to interact with the locals I would need to blend in, so I floated a few feet up and simply observed the crowd for a time to get an overall impression of them.

The first thing I noticed was that every single person present appeared to be human, or at least close enough to human to be externally indistinguishable from them, like elan and illumians are and several types of planetouched tend to be.

This was unusual, but not unwelcome. I dislike shapechanging for personal reasons, and illusions that alter apparent size or notable features can be unreliable in close quarters where accidental contact is a possibility, so being able to wear my own form was appreciated.

The second notable thing was their mode of dress: All of their clothing appeared to be of uniform construction, common colors and patterns, and less-than-perfect fit, implying a populace that neither made their own clothes nor had them custom-made by tailors but rather wore clothes fabricated in large quantities.

On some worlds this indicated great wealth as artificers fabricated high-quality clothes with magic, and on others this indicated great poverty as the populace were forced to wear whatever clothing their rulers provided; given the extravagance of this marketplace, I assumed the former to be true in this case.

Blue seemed to be a common color for trousers here, which was convenient as I generally preferred to wear clothing in Jhaamdath's heraldic colors of cerulean and violet. Call me sentimental, I suppose.

I conveyed a mental image to my enchanted clothing, and with a brief ripple it changed form to match. I was now garbed in cerulean trousers in the same irregular and slightly faded pattern I'd observed on the locals' clothing as well as a plain violet shirt. The shirt's sleeves were left short, as appeared to be the local fashion, and a mental nudge to the psionic tattoos on my forearms sent them scuttling up my arms and over my shoulders to rest on my back where they wouldn't be visible.

Many passers-by wore clothing bearing writing or images, or both, which I could not yet read, so I addressed that next.

I closed my eyes and let the surrounding chatter wash over me, not attempting to pick out any particular meaning with my language enchantments but rather getting a general feel for the language itself.

Once I felt I had a good sense of it, I tapped into one of my stronger psionic tattoos, one whose power dealt with the transfer and rearrangement of knowledge and memory, and reached out to the minds of the surrounding people to grasp the pattern of the language and imprint it upon my mind, shuffling my knowledge of other languages I hadn't spoken recently into the deeper recesses of my mind to make room for it.

I could, of course, have used separate linguistic magic that would let me read the language in addition to speaking it, but I'd always found that actually learning a local language was the superior approach. Partly because of the various limitations of those other powers, partly because it was always easier to understand things like idioms and slang if one internalized a language rather than relying on translation, and partly because powers like Tongues generally conveyed speech with the same accent as the listener for maximum comprehensibility and so made it difficult to excuse ignorance about local customs and such by claiming to be visiting from elsewhere.

The most commonly-spoken local language turned out to be named "English," with no indications in my newly-acquired lexicon as to what sort of race engles might be (if it was a racial tongue) or whether the eponymous "England" was a city-state, duchy, marche, principality, queendom, or whatever other type of polity (if it was a regional tongue)… and, strangely, English appeared on first glance to have absolutely no relation to the Common tongue, which was yet another curiosity to be explored later.

For now, I simply opened my eyes and looked around at the writing in the surrounding area, only to discover that I was surrounded by advertisements.

In addition to the signs on shops advertising their wares, there were placards posted on practically every available surface, which I had taken to be largely decorative before. Placards advertising certain products, certain merchants, and even what appeared to be entire mercantile guilds based on how prevalent their emblems were on both the advertisements and the clothing of some passers-by.

There were also advertisements for special events, such as musical performances, productions at local theaters, and one inexplicable advertisement for "The Protectorate on Ice," whatever that was supposed to be.

The locals appeared not to pay any attention to them, so this glut of advertisements was apparently so common as to be unremarkable.

And here I'd thought the incessant advertising in Derlusk, the infamous City of Bards, was the worst I'd ever find.

On the positive side, after reading through all of the placards I was able to determine that the current year was 2011 according to the local calendar (though no calendar name was specified), that this city used a 12-hour timekeeping system, and that this location was called "the Boardwalk," among several other details.

Now that I had the clothing and the language, the next priority would be to obtain some of the local currency, and following that to sample some of the local cuisine and make connections with some locals.

I drifted off to a nearby alleyway, waited until I knew I was unobserved, and dismissed my invisibility and incorporeality, though I left them active on Aspect as I hadn't seen anyone in the crowd with any sort of companion creature and so his presence would definitely stand out.

On a lark, I decided to suppress my environmental endurance wards as well, and I found myself grinning as I suddenly felt pleasantly warm sunlight and a refreshingly cool ocean breeze on my skin for the first time in years.

Ah, seaside weather, how I'd missed it. No matter how far or how long I might travel, after living in a port city for five hundred and thirty-three years the coast would always feel like home.

And now, to find a moneychanger.

~*~*~

I'd realized a few minutes into my search that the locals used a system of financial credit to make large purchases and only used coins for small purchases, similar to a practice I'd encountered on the world of Ionorakh, where the international banking system was operated by several powerful dragons who issued letters of credit in exchange for valuables "deposited" into their hoards.

That credit system would explain why there were no moneychangers in sight when one would expect at least a handful of them in a marketplace of this size.

However, after nearly twenty minutes spent scrutinizing every shop within my sensory range as I made my way north, I finally found a shop a short distance from the Boardwalk that seemed suitable.

Its sign proclaimed it to be "Boardwalk Jewelry & Loan." Hardly the most descriptive or reputable of names, but it did indicate that jewelry was within reasonable purchasing range for the common people visiting this area, so it was useful for that if nothing else.

I gently pushed my way to the edge of the crowd and ambled half a block to the shop. Before entering, I manifested a power that would allow me to make memories of my presence and actions faint and dreamlike at best. Memory modification is a gray area where the First Precept is concerned-very dark gray, in fact-but as the power deals more with the prevention of memory formation than actually changing memories I've deemed it personally acceptable to use.

The power wouldn't erase all memory of me from the minds of all nearby creatures automatically, rather it would let me choose what others remembered about me and to what degree once we had finished interacting. Should this encounter conclude amicably, the proprietor would remember it nearly exactly as it occurred; should things go poorly, I would become but a fleeting recollection of a generic customer going through the motions of a generic transaction.

Then I overlaid a subtle illusion atop my features, enough to slightly change every aspect of my appearance in the unlikely event that the proprietor proved resistant or immune to my memory power. One can never be too careful.

That done, I made my way inside, ignoring the many large placards proclaiming in eye-searing colors that they buy gold! and pay cash! and similar things that one would expect anyone visiting such an establishment to already know. Said placards practically covered the front windows until they were more paper than glass, and the placards in turn were covered with plenty of draconic graffiti.

The shop's interior was surprisingly well-kept given its rather dingy exterior. It appeared to be a fairly standard high-end jeweler's shop like one would find on any world (though without the usual anti-theft wards), with a selection of jewelry kept in glass cases inset into the counter and apparently sorted by quality and age.

A young woman sat on a stool behind the counter reading a book, a small portion of her aura flitting from one emotion to the other according to what she read while the rest of it was saturated with boredom. She wore a form-fitting black leather jacket covered in metal studs, thick enough to nearly qualify as armor, while her lips were dyed the same black as her hair to stand out sharply against her pale skin. Her face and ears bore a multitude of piercings, none of them enchanted.

Visible beneath her jacket was a short-sleeved shirt emblazoned with the head and upper torso of a dark-haired woman, whose mouth was hidden behind a scarf that bore a heraldic pattern of white, blue, and red. The woman was holding a large arquebus-like weapon similar to the ones I'd seen the soldiers wielding, and below the woman was printed the words "Just Call Me Militia Cuz I Don't Miss" in a large blocky script.

The shopkeeper looked up as I entered and put the book down, flattening it with the pages pressed to the counter in a disgraceful manner that could easily damage its spine. She then reached up and adjusted a small label pinned to her shirt that proclaimed her name to be Sandra. Traces of impatience and annoyance flowed into her aura as she stood up and leaned over the counter, but none of it showed on her face.

"Afternoon," she said in a credible attempt at an enthusiastic tone. "You buying or selling today?"

"A pleasant afternoon to you," I responded. "I'd like to sell some gold, please."

"Cool. What do you have?"

"Several things, actually."

I placed a hand into my trouser pocket as if reaching for something in it, then mentally triggered another of my more powerful tattoos. With it, I could instantly create nearly any vegetable or mineral material I could comprehend and visualize, thought anything above a certain volume or complexity would need to be created in stages given the tattoo's limited energy throughput capacity.

In this case, I created three gold coins: one golden drake of Jhaamdath, one gold noble of Sembia, and one coin of my own design that did not match any known currency on any world I'd explored, all three of them flecked with imperfections that implied wearing over time.

I placed the coins on the counter and asked, "How much could I get for these?"

The shopkeeper barely glanced at them before saying, "I could give you the plain gold value, but for coins you're better off going to a collector or an antique shop, just so you know."

Interesting. To call gold coins "antique" rather than merely "foreign" implied quite a non-standard monetary system.

"Good to know, thank you," I said, and swept the coins back into my pocket, where I used my tattoo to create a bit more gold and then manifested a power to fabricate the disparate pieces into a single trade bar containing fifty coins' worth of gold.

"How about for that?" I asked as I placed the bar on the counter.

Sandra's eyebrows shot up and her aura was streaked with amazement and disbelief, followed shortly by traces of worry and more than a little suspicion.

"Holy crap. How much gold is that?"

"Roughly one pound. Sixteen and two-thirds ounces, to be precise."

Her aura was mostly suspicion, now. Its presence was not unexpected, but its intensity was.

"You're not a cape trying to pass off fake gold, are you?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

"It is entirely genuine," I said, putting on an affronted tone. As I did so, I focused my thought-reading power upon her to see if I could identify the meaning of the unfamiliar slang "cape" in case that was the source of her concern. It sounded like a local term for charlatan given the context, but it could easily mean a member of a particular illegal organization or a variety of other things.

I generally tried to avoid mind-reading as much as possible, as growing up in a society full of telepaths taught me-both explicitly and through personal experience-that infringing on another's mental privacy is the height of rudeness, but in situations such as this where I was new to a world and key cultural context was lacking, it was sometimes unavoidable.

"And it's not just going to up and disappear after you leave?" she demanded.

"Of course not," I assured her. "It is as real as the rest of the gold in this establishment."

Her surface thoughts slowly swam into view, and though Sandra was focusing more on attempting to detect duplicity on my part than dwelling on her specific concerns, I did get brief flashes of words and images which allowed me to deduce that "cape" was a local term for magic-users and that she had been warned during her training to watch for people attempting to pass off temporary gold as the genuine article.

"So you're definitely not a cape, huh?" she continued.

I wasn't sure of the social status of these capes-I'd requested to be sent to a place where magic-users were accepted by the public, but that didn't preclude, say, any of them who failed to adhere to designated social and legal boundaries being punished in some way-so I manifested a quick divination power to check whether revealing my status as a "cape" to her would lead to a poor reception on her part.

In my mind's eye, I saw a momentary vision of her speaking to an assortment of vague shadowy figures in a largely casual manner. Visions are never perfectly reliable, but this appeared to indicate that she might tell stories to her friends and acquaintances but would not react poorly in the immediate future nor see a need to inform the authorities later on. With my worries assuaged, I decided to go ahead with the revelation.

"Oh, I didn't say that," I answered in a bright tone. "Just that the gold is, in fact, genuine."

Her eyes widened and a spike of nervousness briefly appeared in her aura, though again she did an admirable job of hiding it. The shopkeeper hastily directed her gaze down and off to the side, no longer willing to look me in the face.

Her scattered thoughts made it clear that seeing and remembering my face would go poorly for her, but did not indicate why. Perhaps the local government was a magocracy, and when interacting with capes a commoner was required to demonstrate the appropriate deference? No, likely not; her attitude was too confrontational for that to be the case.

"Okay, uh, cool. But how do I know the gold is real?" she asked.

"If this were to be imitation gold, do you have a device that could determine that?"

"Yeah?" she replied uncertainly. Her thoughts revealed that her superior had purchased a device that claimed to be able to detect whether a given sample of material was cape-created, but that she had never used it before and was unsure whether it would actually function or was merely a scam to take advantage of paranoid merchants.

"Then let's do this. The sample on the counter is real gold, as I said. This one," I said as I held my hand out and manifested a gold bar that was indeed temporary, "is also pure gold, but will vanish in a few hours' time."

She twitched as the gold appeared, and she focused for a moment on the redoubled importance of not looking me in the face.

"Why don't you place both in your machine and see what the result is?" I gently suggested.

Silently, Sandra took both bars from the counter and went into a back room. Her surface thoughts revealed that she wasn't concerned about leaving me alone with the jewelry because apparently something along the lines of A cape took it and I couldn't do anything about it would be a valid excuse to her superiors.

Quite telling, really, regarding the status of magic-users in this city.

With my deepsight I observed through the walls as she weighed the bars, used a testing stone and alchemical apparatus to verify their purity, and then placed them into a small machine that she had to retrieve from behind a jumble of supplies in a small closet.

She returned a few minutes later and gingerly placed the bars back on the counter with one hand, holding a small device in the other.

"Okay, so," she began. "The good news for you is, those bars are legit and they're worth a lot. They're each 15.191 Troy ounces, and the price of gold today is $1,469.50 per Troy ounce, so each one would be…." She paused to press some buttons on her device, then let out an impressed whistle. "… a whopping $22,323.17. Holy fuck. Even with you only getting 70% after the store's cut, that's a fuckload of money."

My eyebrows lifted in curiosity. Yes, on most worlds a single gold piece would represent an entire day's wages (after taxes and guild fees) for a merchant's apprentice such as Sandra, and so a trade bar would represent one to two months' wages depending on the length of a local month, but her reaction seemed far out of proportion to that.

"The bad news," she continued, her aura shading almost entirely toward muted fear and anxiety as she discreetly leaned back from the counter, "is that the machine's a dud. Couldn't tell the difference between the two at all. So I don't know that the one you say is real is actually real. Even if I did, we don't have that much cash in the safe, sorry, and anyway it's not like I could even think of just forking over twenty two kay while my manager's on his lunch break without getting fired."

"I see," I said. Her tense posture didn't abate, so I added, "Don't worry, I'm not upset, I understand your situation completely," which didn't seem to help in the slightest. Ah, well.

I smiled warmly and dismissed my second bar of gold, which caused Sandra to twitch once again when it vanished. "I have no immediate need for that amount of money, so how about this: I'll sell a quarter of the bar instead of the whole thing, and I'll give you half of the proceeds to cover any… employment issues that might result. How does that sound?"

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, sure," she said after a brief pause, seeming slightly dazed.

Her surface thoughts indicated that she'd been heavily torn, subconsciously, between refusing on ethical grounds or accepting because it would harm no one and her superiors would likely never know, and eventually self-interest had won out.

"Excellent." Another manifestation of the fabrication power split the bar into one-quarter and three-quarter portions, and I pretended to place the larger portion in my pocket before storing it in my extradimensional space. The shopkeeper was quickly becoming accustomed to my power usage, as she didn't react when the bar appeared to split itself.

"That'll be… 70% of $5580.79, so… $3906.56," she said after operating her device once again. "Yeah, that's a more normal amount. Gimme one second."

Sandra returned to the back room to retrieve the money, and while she did I reached over to touch the device she'd left on the table. One quick manifestation of a minor divination later and knowledge of the device and its operation flowed into my mind: It was called a "calculator" and, as its name implied, it performed rapid and accurate mathematical operations on the input, again without the use of magic or even clockwork.

When the woman returned, she had a bill of sale for me to fill out and sign. I wasn't about to give my actual name, not least because I had no idea what the naming conventions might be in this region, so I thought back to the various names listed on Boardwalk placards, selected a forename and surname at random from among the more common ones listed, and signed my name as "Benjamin Johnson."

Once I'd signed, she placed a small pile of coins on the counter, along with a small stack of what appeared to be currency in the form of promissory notes, something I'd encountered only a few times before.

"Your half of things comes to $1,953.30. Uh, thanks again for the rest of it, by the way, it really helps with… all this," she said, waving a hand vaguely to indicate the general situation.

"Of course. I was glad to," I replied. I could always conjure more precious metals later if I turned out to need additional currency… and, of course, bribery was often an effective tool for navigating minor legal obstacles.

And while, yes, this arrangement could, technically, be argued to entail further interference with the natives-

Aspect sent.

-gifting someone currency equivalent to a mere eleventh of a pound of gold would hardly affect their financial status in any significant way, so really, it was no more likely to cause any significant ripple effects on the course of this world's future than my presence in this sphere already was.

"Anything else?" Sandra asked.

"Three questions before I leave, if I may. First, would you mind explaining the different denominations and their usage?"

She stared at me in confusion for a moment, then seemed to remember herself and quickly looked away again. Her thoughts indicated that she registered my slight accent for the first time, and her eyes narrowed. "You're… not from around here, huh?"

"I am not."

She stole a glance at my clothing, her thoughts indicating that she was looking for any accessories in red or green or any depictions of dragons. Seeing neither, she relaxed and nodded her head in agreement.

Sandra separated out the coins and notes and arranged one of each type into two lines. "Okay, uh, this is a nickel," she said, pointing to the second smallest coin and the first one in the first line, "and it's worth five cents. You'll see prices listed down to the cent on most things, but they dropped the penny a few years ago so final prices all round to the nearest nickel now. This one's a dime, it's ten cents; the quarter's twenty-five; the half-dollar's fifty; and the dollar's a hundred cents, or one dollar, obviously. The two dollar coin is two dollars; it doesn't have a special name, but we get enough Canadian tourists around here that you might hear it called a toonie."

Waving at the entire second line at once, she concluded, "And each of these has a value in dollars matching the numbers on it, from five up to a hundred. For reference, five bucks will get you, like, one and a half loaves of bread, a gallon of gas, a chili cheese dog at one of the Boardwalk carts, stuff like that."

"Thank you, I appreciate it," I said. I didn't have a frame of reference for two of her three examples, so I'd simply spend currency as needed and get a sense of its relative value from that.

I gathered all of the money into a pile and moved it into a storage space, and the shopkeeper didn't even blink.

"My second question: do you happen to have another calculator you could sell me?"

She snorted and slid her calculator over to me. "Heck, take this one, I'll just use my phone," she said with a lopsided smile. "Most expensive calculator I've ever sold."

I nodded in thanks. "And my final question: There are so many things to do and see around here that it's hard to choose. Is there anything in particular you'd recommend, especially in terms of food to try or events to attend?"

She pondered for a moment. "Food-wise, everything's a tourist trap, so it's really down to what you like. If I had to pick, City of Gyros is a cape-themed Greek place that's kinda tacky but does a pretty mean döner kebab, and Taco Yaki is a Mexican-Japanese fusion place, haven't seen that combo anywhere else. Oh, and definitely try Fugly Bob's, it's up by the north pier, you can't visit the Boardwalk and not go there. Event-wise… lemme check."

The shopkeeper pulled another device out of her jacket pocket and manipulated it for a moment. "Ooh, looks like you might be able to get some heroes' autographs over by the arcade, there's a meet-and-greet in half an hour. It says there's two of them, but not which ones. Guess they want to show the flag after the Lung thing last night."

She paused, then, and looked over at my signature on the paperwork. I watched her wonder briefly if she could or even should ask me for an autograph and then dismiss the thought.

"Thank you once again," I said, "and, by the by, I would very much appreciate discretion on your part regarding this transaction." She quickly nodded in agreement, and I smiled and bade her a good day.

As I left the shop and felt my memory power take hold, I decided to prevent her from remembering specific personal details but to otherwise leave her memory intact. She had been quite helpful, adapted quickly to obvious magic use, and taken a potentially-awkward situation in stride, so perhaps she would be worth keeping as a future contact.

Aspect sent as I walked back to the Boardwalk proper.

I agreed, and with a touch he vanished into one of my quintessence-filled storage spaces in which the passage of time was suspended.

~*~*~

Half an hour later I found myself waiting in a small group with nearly two score tourists. They were all chattering excitedly at the thought of meeting their heroes, especially the children, and several of them were holding devices similar to the one Sandra had called a "phone" and were using them to capture illusory images of the capes we were to meet.

The capes in question were two young men in full armor, standing a few paces away from the crowd near the foot of the pier and separated from the tourists by a barrier of velvet ropes. Their armor was similar enough to imply that it was a uniform of sorts, as both wore breastplates, faulds, vambraces, greaves, and full helmets, all in white with gold filigree, plus white gloves, leggings, and gambesons underneath it all.

Their ornamentation was quite different, however. One of them had a more bestial theme, with a galea shaped like a roaring lion, snarling lions for pauldrons, and a more regal lion embossed on his belt buckle, while the other had a geometric theme with triangles and circles dotting his armor and a small buckler engraved with a triangle on one arm.

They were flanked by two large banners that fluttered gently in the breeze. The one on the left depicted the lion-helmed man in profile, gave his name as "Triumph"-whether this was his actual name, a translated name, a sobriquet, or something else, I had no way to discern-and proclaimed him to be "The Protectorate's Newest Hero," while the one on the right showed the other man in profile and proclaimed him to be "Dauntless" who was "Brockton Bay's Rising Star."

Given their white-and-gold color scheme, it was likely that these two belonged to the same organization as the flying girl I'd encountered at the fire. The continued reference to them being "heroes" most likely referred to the name of their organization; bands of adventurers and mercenaries naming themselves the "Heroes of the Something-or-other" was hardly uncommon.

Speaking of their gear, my arcane sight revealed that Dauntless's equipment was moderately enchanted. The shield absorbed energy and would strike back at any attackers with bolts of lightning, the boots allowed him to fly and improved his reaction speed, his helmet enhanced his intellect-an unusual enchantment for a warrior's gear, so he was most likely a magic-user himself-and improved his sight, his armor had a variety of minor protective enchantments, and a small cylinder on his belt was a weapon of some sort bearing multiple strong lightning enchantments.

Triumph bore no enchanted gear, which I found surprising at first, but if he was indeed their newest member then perhaps he simply hadn't earned or crafted any yet.

In addition to showing active magical auras, arcane sight can, if focused on a particular creature, reveal whether that creature can use magic and, if so, what kind they could use and to what extent. However, focusing on both Triumph and Dauntless revealed no magical capability in either of them.

Either Dauntless was not a magic-user after all, though of course I'd check both of them regardless to be certain, or the local form of magic was resistant to normal methods of detection.

Such a thing was not unprecedented; before the discovery of Lledroc's Principles of Equivalence and subsequent redevelopment of most of the common psionic powers, it could be difficult or even impossible to detect psionic auras with arcane or divine spells and vice versa, and to this day there were certain obscure magical practices and power sources that resisted discernment of their auras, such as the relatively obscure power source for Torillian magic known as the Shadow Weave, the rare form of arcane magic known as shadowcasting, and the even rarer practice of subpsionic manifestation…

… all three of which had something to do with shadow magic, while this sphere appeared to lack a Plane of Shadow.

Curious.

I wished I'd thought to analyze any of the capes I'd encountered at the fire in order to compare them to these two, but it hadn't seemed necessary at the time as they had all been obviously and actively using their own magic rather than magic from items in their possession.

An assistant to the two capes came forward, unclipped a segment of the rope barrier and moved it out of the way, and informed the group that to keep things moving there would be two queues, one for each cape. As soon as the assistant stepped aside, the majority of the group queued up on Dauntless's side, while only around a fifth of them queued to meet Triumph.

This was apparently a common scenario, going by their emotional responses. Though both capes bore winning smiles and appeared to be perfectly at ease interacting with their supplicants, Triumph's aura smoldered with a bit of suppressed resentment which flared up whenever he looked over at Dauntless and his longer and more enthusiastic queue, while Dauntless seemed mildly embarrassed at all the attention and his aura flickered with guilt when he glanced in Triumph's direction.

This emotional interplay presented something of an opportunity, were I to decide to take advantage of it.

The emotions underlying and dominating those in both of their auras, however, were mingled sadness, regret, and despondency. They had recently suffered a great loss, it seemed… and that heady mix of emotion was quite like what I imagined I would see reflected in my own aura, were I able to view it.

I thus decided to take more of a friendly tack with these heroes than I'd originally intended. If that made me stand out from the crowd, so be it.

I joined Triumph's queue, and quickly reached the front of the line and was beckoned forward by their assistant. I smiled genially, stepped forward, and reached out for a handshake.

To access a magic-user's repertoire of spells or powers usually takes just over three seconds, slightly but noticeably longer than the second or two that a brief handshake generally lasts, so when dealing with unaware targets I've developed a workaround: grasp their hand firmly with my right hand, fold my left hand over both of our hands to prevent them from pulling away, begin shaking hands firmly, look the target in the eye, and maintain contact while I make a distracting remark, which usually gives me sufficient time to browse their repertoire.

In this case, what I said was "Triumph, it's so wonderful to meet you! Of all the heroes I've met, you're definitely my favorite!"

Which was technically true, as I hadn't met any capes yet and had been looking forward to meeting one.

While I certainly can lie (and quite skillfully, I would say), and thanks to my wards any lies I might speak cannot be magically discerned as such, I prefer to stick to technical truths. Potential allies are usually less put off by those than by outright lies when the full story is revealed, and frankly, I find things to be more fun if I pose myself the challenge of technical honesty. One has to keep oneself amused somehow, after all.

Triumph's negative emotions abated somewhat at the compliment, and he stood fractionally straighter. He fumbled to find a response for a second, giving me enough time to delve into his mind.

The fact that I could do so despite his not registering as possessing any spellcasting or manifesting capability meant that, for whatever reason, my arcane sight was indeed unreliable on the local magic-users.

This was quite unfortunate, as I'd grown accustomed to being able to gauge the threat level of an enemy at a glance, whereas here someone could appear to be much weaker than they actually were or even escape my consideration entirely if they only surrounded themselves in weak magical auras (though of course in that case killing a threat preemptively would be trivial).

Given the "roaring lion" theme to Triumph's armor, I'd expected to find mostly shapechanging magic in his repertoire, but apparently he was focused more on the roaring portion than on the lion portion, as every single one of his spells was sound-related.

Spells and powers, actually, meaning he practiced two different magical traditions (and making it doubly irritating that I couldn't discern his magical capabilities with arcane sight). Of the ten "bright" thoughtforms I sensed, seven were spells and three were powers, all relating to projecting or dampening sound in various powerful but very straightforward ways.

He had a wide variety of more versatile spells and powers as well among the "dark" thoughtforms not immediately accessible to him, including things like creating bridges of solid sound or enthralling someone with his voice. I didn't at all approve of that latter spell, but as he obviously wasn't planning to use it today given that he hadn't prepared it, I declined to raise the issue with him.

Nearly all of his abilities were ones I already had in my own repertoire. The remaining two, one power and one spell, were ones I had not encountered before, and I examined those with considerable interest.

The novel power resembled a hybrid of the common power Energy Conversion, which absorbed incoming energy for later release, and the rare Athasian power Complete Healing, which healed the manifester at a very slow rate via a meditative trance, though of course I didn't know if those were actually his sources of inspiration as neither power was in his repertoire.

It appeared to be far more limited than this blending would imply, however, only being able to absorb sonic energy and then only a minuscule fraction of it; it would let him heal marginally more quickly than normal in areas of high ambient noise, but would be useless in combat.

I couldn't imagine why he would have researched such a power, especially at such a high valence. As with spell used to construct the fortress ward, it smacked of blindly combining known powers and hoping that something vaguely useful came of the effort.

The novel spell was, again, a variation on a common spell, Fist of Stone, except that instead of transmuting the caster's limbs to stone to enhance strength and durability it surrounded them in a thin layer of solid sound instead. I couldn't think of many cases where that would be especially useful, and could think of several where the change would be a disadvantage.

Either the local magic-users were much more constrained in the variety of magic they were capable of practicing than I was used to, this particular magic-user was exceptionally committed to his theme at the expense of effectiveness, or the boy wasn't exactly the hottest coal in the brazier.

Having seen what there was to see and decided that none of his powers were worth learning, I withdrew from Triumph's mind a fraction of a second after I'd entered it.

He found his voice and thanked me for the earlier compliment. "You're the first person to ever say something like that. It means a lot," he confided.

"Think nothing of it," I said.

"No, really, it does," he said, then reached over to a small table hidden behind his banner that held a few small piles of knickknacks. "Here, let me get you a poster." He retrieved a sheet of paper bearing both a portrait of him and his signature, grabbed a writing implement, and scribbled an additional message beneath the signature: To my first real fan!

I accepted the paper-the poster-with genuine delight mixed with consternation. Delight, because the image on the poster was flat enough to indicate it was not painted on, yet the reflections from the ink indicated that the image was not simply transmuted magically out of the base material, meaning it was created through a novel method of printing which I would want to thoroughly examine.

Consternation, because it's not every day that someone hands one an item bearing both their image and their signature (thus making it considerably easier for one to scry on them thereafter from anywhere in the multiverse) with such an utter lack of concern.

A multitude of possibilities presented themselves to me-perhaps scrying was unknown in this world, perhaps scrying wards were so ubiquitous it wasn't considered a serious risk, perhaps their organization was powerful enough to deter any would-be spies and assassins, perhaps these "heroes" actually encouraged scrying on their activities as a form of entertainment-but nothing definite, so I added the topic to my ever-growing list of curiosities about this world.

We exchanged a few more pleasantries before I gestured to the next person in the queue and said I wouldn't want to monopolize his time, and Triumph bade me a very warm farewell.

By this point Dauntless's queue was much shorter, so I joined that one as well, and within a few minutes I was at the front of the line.

As I stepped up to him, Dauntless leaned forward with an appreciative smile. "I heard what you told him. Thanks for trying to cheer him up; it's his first meet-and-greet since he graduated a month ago, and the public's attitude… well, it can take some getting used to," he said softly.

He offered his hand, and just like with Triumph I gave him my extended handshake and was able to delve into his mind, indicating that he too was a magic-user after all.

He appeared to be an artificer, as I had somewhat expected from his profusion of enchanted gear. He didn't appear to practice any variety of artifice like those found on my homeworld, but rather the type I'd first encountered on Eberron, which hovered on the boundary between arcane and divine magic and which used a form of not-quite-spells called infusions. I couldn't learn them myself, my arcane studies hadn't yet extended that far, but they were close enough to spells conceptually that I could at least get a glimpse of his repertoire.

It appeared largely as expected, full of a variety of infusions that enhanced items in various ways. Curiously enough, however, only six thoughtforms in his repertoire appeared to be readily available to him, all variations on Weapon Augmentation and Armor Enhancement, when the Eberronian artificers could use any of their infusions at any time and had no need to prepare their infusions as wizardry requires.

Yet another local oddity, I suppose, and a mark in favor of Triumph's repertoire having been constrained by the limits of practicality and quirks of the local magical practices, not by lack of imagination or tactical acumen.

I would definitely have to interact with more of these "capes," as the more I learned of them the less sense their magical practices made.

When I withdrew from his mind and ended the handshake, Dauntless's aura was colored with curiosity and some additional guilt. "Is Triumph actually your favorite hero?" he asked.

I didn't need to read his thoughts to be able to tell that he was worried about how it might affect Triumph if I treated Dauntless the same way I'd treated him and appeared to have been insincere in my compliment. I found his concern for his compatriot to be quite touching.

So I deliberately misinterpreted the thrust of his comment. "Oh, fear not, brave warrior," I said in a sardonic tone as I reached up and clapped him lightly on the shoulder, "I think you're a perfectly serviceable hero as well."

I leaned closer and, in a stage whisper, added, "In fact, of all the heroes I've met in the past ten minutes, you might just make the top two."

Dauntless burst out laughing at that, and his face (enough of it visible that I didn't need to peer through his helmet with deepsight) bore an expression something like surprise at the fact that he could laugh in his current emotional state.

Triumph, who wasn't speaking with anyone at the moment-and had, likely unbeknownst to Dauntless, been using one of his sonic powers to discreetly listen in-let out a small but relieved chuckle.

The embarrassment in Dauntless's aura lessened; it would seem to be the hero worship with which he was uncomfortable, then, not merely the attention of the public.

"You know, you're a good guy, ah… actually, I didn't get your name?"

I gave him the same false name I'd used with Sandra. He wouldn't remember it anyway.

We chatted briefly, all vague pleasantries that gave away nothing important on either side. Eventually Dauntless retrieved a signed poster from his own table and handed it to me, though without adding an additional message as Triumph had.

This gave me two scrying foci for prominent and beloved figures in this city. Not that I was likely to need them, as I could visualize them perfectly and magic-users of their apparent skill level were unlikely to resist any of my scrying attempts in the first place, but they certainly couldn't hurt.

The queues for both heroes were much longer by then, many tourists having apparently decided to meet the heroes after they finished with lunch, so I thanked Dauntless and withdrew. As I did, I removed their memories of my name and other personal attributes from them and everyone else in the area but left the rest of the encounter intact, just as I had with Sandra.

Well, that had certainly been a productive hour. One made even more enjoyable by the lack of Aspect's sniping, honestly, so I thought I would leave him in stasis a little while longer.

A few more hours of people-watching and cultural investigation would be warranted, I decided, and then I would brave the rather intriguing-sounding institution that was Fugly Bob's.

Author's Note

So, fun facts from my research: first, $1,469.50 is the actual average real-world price of gold in New England on April 11, 2011, and second, those "We Buy Gold!" shops are apparently totally happy to fork over thousands of dollars (but not tens of thousands of dollars) in cash with very little checking. (Usually they at least want to see some form if ID, but hey, bribery for the win!)

Also in this chapter, Valigan gets his first look at some tinkertech force fields and at some capes' powers!

Regarding the force field, the word "valence" has come up a couple of times thus far. As referenced in the index post, anyone familiar with D 's magic system will know that spells come in levels, generally 0th to 9th with some wiggle room on either end depending on class and edition (e.g. in 3e, psionics doesn't have 0th-level powers and bards don't get spells above 6th level), and "valence" is a nice word to describe that from the perspective Valigan's in-character understanding of magic.

Spell levels correlate with strength, with some spells being stronger or weaker for their level, and the stronger-for-their-level ones being those with an innocuous effect that someone can use creatively to be stronger than expected. For Valigan to complain that the force field spell is very weak for its level is basically to notice that whatever shardspellcaster designed said spell has a whole lot of energy at their disposal but very little creativity.

I wonder why he might get that impression…?

Regarding Triumph's powers, it's often forgotten that he has super-strength and a healing factor in addition to his sound manipulation, and it just so happens that there are some energy-based super-strength and healing spells in D already, so that turned out to be a nice way to harmonize (pun intended) his secondary powers.

As we'll see in later chapters, a lot of cape powers are surprisingly close to existing D spells and powers, sometimes even exact matches, and musing about that is part of what inspired this crossover in the first place.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

"Artificer" is the general term for "class focused on creating magic items" in 3e. There are a few minor classes with the name floating around various books and settings, but the most famous is the Eberron artificer, which is both very good at creating magic items and gets some spell-like "infusions" to sort of make temporary magic items, a setup which fits Dauntless's power surprisingly well. Valigan's ability to "absorb" the English language is a reflavoring of psychic reformation , a power that lets you re-choose skills learned at previous levels. Since Speak Language is a skill that lets you, er, speak languages, his mention of "shuffling other languages to the back of his mind" is, in mechanical terms, swapping out a rank of Speak Language from another language to English. The "Common" language in D is a multiversal language, spoken not only by essentially every humanoid race but by nearly all other life-forms, everything from dragon turtles to merfolk to big shapeshifting blob monsters, so for people on Earth Bet to not only not speak Common but to speak a language that's not related to Common would be quite the puzzler. The arcane sight power referenced earlier lets you basically look at someone and say "Oh, they're an arcane spellcaster who can currently cast 3rd-level spells" or whatever, very handy. For Triumph and Dauntless to not show up as magic-users means that things are very wonky on Earth Bet… or that they're not the ones able to use magic. New spells and powers used or referenced by Valigan in this chapter are, in order, telekinetic sphere (make a bubble of unbreakable force around things and move it with your mind), mass time hop (send yourself or others hours into the future), tongues (speak and understand any spoken languages), endure elements (ignore environmental and temperature issues), faint memory (choose what other people remember after encountering you), true creation (conjure real vegetable or mineral items out of thin air), fabricate (instantly shape and work materials as desired), understand object (learn how a technological device works), energy conversion (absorb incoming damage to release as attacks later), complete healing (can't find a link for it, but basically gives very slow regeneration), fist of stone (turn your hand to stone), lesser armor enhancement (give your armor magical properties), personal weapon augmentation (give your weapon magical properties), and scrying (view someone from a distance, easier if you have some kind of physical or mental link to them).

Last edited: Mar 22, 2022

Transposition 1.4.T

Late Evening, Wir the 4th of Rhaan, 999 YK Somewhere in the Jungle to the Northeast, Xen'drik, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

When I woke up this time, it was with a clear head. I felt surprisingly relaxed and refreshed for having slept on the ground again. My neck was sore from sleeping at a weird angle, but the rest of me was feeling much better, so I considered that a fair trade.

It was almost pitch black when I woke up, and at first I thought I was still surrounded by Grue's darkness-I had no idea how long it would stick around while he was asleep, or for that matter how long it did when he was awake-but as my eyes adjusted I could see a tiny bit of gentle orange light filtering though the jungle canopy, meaning it was probably around either sunrise or sunset.

As I sat up I took stock of everything.

Mask? Still firmly in place.

Storage compartment? Not comfortable to sleep on, but still closed and sealed.

Burnt patches of armor? No further damage as far as I could tell.

Hair…?

I winced, and not just from my fingers getting caught on a tangle.

My hair was in bad shape. Hours of sweat and heat and frizziness had done it zero favors, and that was before sleeping for however many hours on a pillow of leaves, something that in hindsight seemed like a really silly idea.

If Emma could see it in its current state, she'd never let me hear the end of it. The guys probably wouldn't be impressed either.

Not that I was trying to impress any guys. I was under no illusions about the likelihood of that happening.

…

Huh.

This was the first time in over a year that I'd managed to interact with any guys my age outside of mandatory classroom discussions, and all it had taken was being thrown halfway across the world to a place where we were literally the only humans for miles around.

Story of my social life.

Anyway! My hair, and what to do about it.

After thinking it over for a bit, I decided the best option would be to make a spider-silk hair tie to pull my hair back and prevent it from getting any worse than it already was.

Even the small amount of woven silk needed for that would take a good five or ten minutes and lots of spiders to make, and not having a good flat surface for them to weave on would slow things down, but it wasn't like I was in a rush or anything.

I set all my spiders on the closest tree trunk and had them start weaving a long thin cord, as stretchy as they could make it. I had to micromanage the process to start, unfortunately; I'd eventually figured out how to make the black widows in my basement weave parts of my costume without me actively thinking about it, but only parts I'd already had them make before, and I hadn't yet attempted something as elastic as a hair tie would need to be.

I'd gotten the hang of the hair tie once the first inch or so of it was done, so I ordered my spiders to finish off the rest on their own and took a look around.

Kid Win was awake already, sitting cross-legged and hunched over the hoverboard laying across his lap. He'd retrieved some tools from somewhere and was quietly fiddling with one of the formerly-glowing panels on the hoverboard's underside. All of the parts of his armor that had been glowing before were no longer lit, probably a good idea when we didn't know who-or what-might be around to see the lights and come investigate.

The others were still lying in the same positions they'd been in last night. A quick check with my bugs confirmed they were all still asleep, their chests rising and falling rhythmically and none of them moving otherwise.

I waited another minute or so for the spiders to finish up, grabbed the silk cord, brushed a few leaves out of my hair, and tied it back into a ponytail. Not the best look to go with the rest of the costume, especially with my mask having unfinished edges in the back, but it would have to do for now.

Not having anything better to do until the others woke up, I figured I'd check in with Kid Win. If he didn't want to talk while he was working, I'd figure something else out.

I stood up quietly and stepped carefully over to him. He didn't look up as I approached, completely focused on his work.

"Is it broken?" I asked softly, and he jerked backwards in surprise, dropping one of his tools.

"Sorry, didn't see you there," he said as he fished his tool out of the dirt-it looked to be a tiny screwdriver, like one from an eyeglass kit, but with an unusually-shaped head-and brushed it off.

"I thought you said you had a motion sensor," I asked, placing a hand on my hip. "Did you not turn it on while we slept like you were going to?"

"I did, it's the only thing I left running," he replied, sounding frustrated. He started working on his hoverboard again. "Must have turned itself off at some point, the control board probably got a short circuit or something when I faceplanted in the clearing earlier. Not exactly my finest moment."

I didn't see any obvious damage to his visor, but I leaned in to get a closer look. Just as I did, he glanced up at me, then did a double take. "Uh. Your hair," he said.

I straightened and reached up to touch my ponytail self-consciously. "What about it?" I asked with a bit of an edge to my voice.

He quickly looked down again and cleared his throat. "Nothing, it's just, um… it looks… fine. Just noticed it was different, that's all," he said.

Great. Even the distracted Tinker had noticed the state of my hair and felt the need to comment on it. He had nothing on Emma, though, so I easily shrugged it off.

"I thought it would be better this way, with all the branches around," I replied, then repeated my earlier question: "So, is it broken?"

"Nah, the front repulsor coils just got knocked out of alignment," he said, gesturing to eight small washer-like metal rings inside the opened panel. They were arranged in an elongated diamond pattern, and were just reflective enough to see easily given the dim lighting.

"It's taking me a while to get them lined up just right without a straightedge," he continued. "The casing on the power core is kinda bent too so it's probably going to pull to the left when I'm up in the air, but it's not cracked or anything. Once I fix those two things it should be fine to use. Which is good, because if one of the coils had actually broken I wouldn't be able to do much about that without an autolathe handy, and if the power containment had failed, well, I don't have enough palladium-107 in my pistols to try to salvage any-aaand you don't care about any of that, do you?" he interrupted himself, offering an embarrassed grin.

This was the third or fourth time I'd seen him go off on a tangent about technology, or something technology-adjacent like my armor. I wondered if that was a general Tinker thing or if it was just him.

"I thought it was interesting, actually," I lied.

"Really?" he perked up.

"Sure. I've never watched a Tinker work before," I said. Before he could start up another tangent, I added, "Do you know what time it is? It feels like I slept a lot longer than usual."

He poked a button on his gauntlet, brought his hand up to his face for a moment, then held his arm out to me instead. His visor was probably more a hindrance than a help with all the technological bits turned off.

I squinted at the small wrist display. It glowed red like all of his screens did, so it was hard to see against the reddish sunlight, but eventually I made out the numbers. "One forty… one, or forty seven, I can't tell, in the afternoon, which would mean it's… around a quarter to eleven at night here."

Kid Win pulled his arm back and started working on his hoverboard again. "How long were we out, then?" he asked.

"Twelve hours, give or take, depending on how long you were lying awake in Grue's darkness," I said.

"Wow. I can't remember the last time I slept anywhere near that much. I'm up pretty late most nights doing homework or tinkering, or both. Usually both." The Ward returned his screwdriver to one of his many belt compartments and pulled out what looked like a three-pronged wrench.

"And patrolling?" I asked. It had been well past midnight when I'd met him and Gallant on patrol, after all.

"Nah, Wards don't usually take night patrols. Besides, doing a little tinkering and then having to stop to patrol can make it hard to pick up where I left off, so it's easier to patrol in the afternoon and then have lots of tinkering time afterwards. Last night was kind of a special case," he said, hunching over even farther to carefully poke at one of the, what had he called them, the repulsion coils.

"Why's that?"

"Schedule's been kinda hectic over the last week," Kid Win replied absently, sounding like he was becoming absorbed in his work and only half paying attention to me. "Lots of people swapping shifts. Even Protectorate swapping out for Wards, which is always a pain. Wards have to patrol in pairs, 'cept in emergencies, so they'd swap one for two and then have to keep swapping 'til they got a schedule that worked. Usually took 'em forever, especially 'cause they had to make sure there was always at least one hero on each patrol with-"

The Ward froze suddenly, his almost-a-wrench poised right between two coils. "Aw, fuck," he breathed.

"What?" I asked. He didn't answer immediately. "What is it?"

"Um, nothing, it's-nothing," he said, pulling his tool out of the panel with a shaking hand. "Just, uh, thought I might've broken something for a second, but it's cool, it's fine." He leaned back and pressed a small panel on the side of his visor, causing the tinted viewscreen on the front to gradually light up accompanied by a faint hum. "Everything's fine. Just need to check something," he assured me.

I took a long step backward, not bothering to be discreet. I might not have done a very thorough job with my cape research, but even I knew that you don't want to be anywhere near malfunctioning tinkertech if you want to walk away with all your limbs intact.

Kid Win sat there for several minutes, presumably reading something on the inside of his visor while he tapped away at his visor and gauntlet controls. Eventually, he slumped back and murmured " Nice job, dumbass" to himself, quietly enough that I was pretty sure I wasn't supposed to hear.

"So…" I started. "Is it going to…" blow us all up? turn us inside out? send us flying? I wasn't sure what to ask, so I just gestured at the hoverboard.

He looked over at me like he'd forgotten I was there. "Hmm? Oh, the board. Nope, no problems there, you're fine. But, uh, I should probably finish working on that later. I have everything aligned well enough that it should be usable so long as I don't go too fast or too high. You want to wake the rest of the guys up and we can figure out what to do next?"

I nodded, turned around, and walked the short distance back to the others as quickly as I could. If the hoverboard did explode despite his predictions, I didn't want to be anywhere nearby.

I reached Gallant first. He was stretched out straight as a board with his head resting on a small log, probably the least uncomfortable position he could manage with his armor on. I crouched down and shook his armored shoulder heavily to make sure he could feel it. He twitched sharply, turned his helmet to face me, and visibly relaxed.

"G'morning, 'm…" he mumbled, then cut himself off with a yawn. "I'm up. I'll get Ch-Kid Win up if you wanna get the others."

"He's already up, actually. He was fixing his hoverboard and asked me to wake everyone."

"All right," Gallant said with another yawn, then looked over at the Undersiders. "You'd said you were nervous about dealing with villains; if that's still an issue I can wake them up instead, if you'd prefer?"

I glanced over at them myself. Villains or not, there probably wasn't anything to worry about, but if they did react badly to being woken up I'd rather be covered in darkness than forced to slap myself in the face.

"You get Regent, I'll do Grue," I decided.

"Sure," he replied, sounding amused, then with some effort reached across his chest to press his palm to the opposite gauntlet. The lights on his armor flickered to life after a brief delay and he began levering himself to his feet.

I walked over to Grue, who'd claimed a small depression in the ground as his spot and was sleeping in a very relaxed-looking pose with his arms folded behind his head. The position had caused his motorcycle jacket to ride up from his waist, and my eyes were drawn to the tight T-shirt he was wearing underneath it-a light green one, not the black or white I'd expected from the rest of his costume.

When I reached down to wake him, I'd barely touched his shoulder when his hand snapped up from behind his head and grabbed my wrist in an almost painfully tight grip. He let go after a moment when he saw it was me.

"Sorry. Reflex. Light sleeper," Grue grunted as he turned to face me fully. The skull on his helmet looked especially eerie in the faint sunlight. "We going somewhere?"

"We haven't decided yet," I said. I felt through my bugs that Regent was awake, so I continued, "Everyone's up now, we can figure out what we want to do."

"'Kay," he said as he stood up, and the two of us joined Kid Win, who had just finished packing away his tools and putting his hoverboard back together. Gallant and Regent came over a bit later, the latter shambling around like he was still mostly asleep.

"So, first off, I think we should-" Gallant started without any preamble, only for Grue to interrupt.

"Hold on, who put you in charge?" the villain challenged him, sounding annoyed. I couldn't tell if the irritation in his voice was because a hero was telling him what to do, or because he was always grumpy after waking up.

"No one," the armored Ward responded patiently, "but I've had some practice coordinating mixed groups of capes from different teams, so I figured-"

"Did any of that involve mixed hero and villain teams?" Grue interrupted again. "Because I-"

" Guys," I interjected. "Can you not, right now? Please?"

I knew I probably sounded like one of Emma's petulant hangers-on right then, but I didn't care. The two of them arguing wasn't going to get us anywhere, and I was starting to get hungry, which wasn't helping with my patience.

Gallant looked over at me and exhaled heavily. "Fine. Grue, you can take the lead. For now."

The villain nodded. "Okay. First priority, powers. My power changed in a way I didn't notice until I tried to use it, and wouldn't change back. If it happened to mine, it could have happened to someone else's, or even everyone's. We should all try out some things, try to find anything that might have changed."

"Sure. We have plenty of experience with testing new powers," Kid Win said, with a gesture to himself and his fellow Ward and an undertone of and so you should have let Gallant take the lead instead. Gallant merely nodded agreeably.

"Can't we get some breakfast first?" Regent asked, in a mock-whiny tone that sounded like he was only partly joking.

"Well, does anyone have any food with them?" Grue asked, looking around at the rest of us.

Kid Win patted one of his belt compartments. "I've got a protein bar, but that's it." The rest of us all answered in the negative.

"Then we're going to need to find food somewhere. And if we run into something on the way and need to fight, we don't want to be surprised by any power changes we didn't know about."

"Makes sense," I replied reluctantly. Regent let out a dramatic sigh, but agreed, and the Wards nodded their agreement as well.

"Finding food and water is second," Grue continued. "Third is finding other people or a town or whatever. If we run into someone while we're looking for food, great, but otherwise food comes first. Anything else?"

"If we don't find someplace with a bathroom in the next few hours, I vote we look for a lake or something to get cleaned up," Regent suggested.

"You'll survive a little bit of dirt for another day," Grue said, but Regent shook his head and tapped the sculpted nose of his mask.

"That's not what I mean. Your leather costume isn't exactly smelling like roses right now," he replied, giving Grue a pointed look, "and the same goes for the lady, the dork, and the Tin Man."

While Grue returned Regent's look, Kid Win awkwardly patted down his hair, which was looking a little greasier than it had yesterday. I just stood there, trying not to think about the sorry shape my costume and my own hair were in right then.

"… Fine," Grue agreed. "That's four things on the list. Anything else?"

"No, but before we start on power stuff, do you mind if I talk to Gallant privately for a minute?" Kid Win asked.

Grue crossed his arms. "Keeping secrets again?"

"Official Protectorate secrets," Kid Win replied, sounding annoyed. "Even under truce, I don't want to say anything without checking with him first."

"Fine," Grue growled. "Make it quick, and don't go too far."

Kid Win nodded and walked off to the side, Gallant following close behind. They kept going past the edge of the clearing to put enough distance between them and us for privacy.

With nothing to do until they returned, the two villains and I settled in to wait.

~*~*~

While the Wards looked for a suitable place to chat, I decided I might as well get a head start on seeing if my power had changed at all.

The fact that the first thing I decided to try out was sensing through the bugs I'd placed on and near the Wards was a total coincidence. Honest.

I knew it was possible for me to see and hear through bugs, because while I was in the locker I'd had everything that every bug in Winslow was seeing and hearing shoved into my brain at once. It took a week of trying everything I could think of to finally shut enough of it out that I didn't feel like I was going to go insane from sensory overload, and after that I hadn't been eager to open the floodgates again, no matter how useful it could have been to listen to people as an actual fly on the wall.

The few times I'd tried to practice sensing things again the overload had been nearly as bad as the first time, and I'd eventually stopped bothering.

But my ability to feel through my bugs had come in incredibly handy when I ambushed the ABB and when we were running from Lung, despite not having practiced it at all and despite my ability to sense their location and what they were touching being nowhere near as sensitive as sight or hearing, and that hadn't come with any feedback at all.

Who knew how much more useful actually seeing and hearing through my swarm might be, especially right now when we had to search a whole jungle for food or other people?

Deciding to try something different this time, I felt for the fly I'd placed on the back of Gallant's shoulder where his shiny armor was smudged enough for it to blend in. I'd start with that one, and maybe try with more bugs if it didn't overwhelm me.

There are literally no words to describe how I experienced or controlled the feedback I got from my powers-it's a whole new sense, after all-but if the bugs in my swarm could be thought of as a thousand radios in one room, all starting out playing different songs at full blast until I'd managed to turn them to their lowest audible volume while I was in the psych ward and then left them there ever since, what I was doing now was essentially going around and muting all of the radios except the one attached to the fly on Gallant, placing my ear right up against the fly's speaker, and then slowly and carefully turning the volume dial up while getting ready to turn it off if there was the slightest hint the music might get too loud.

The fly's vision slowly trickled into my awareness, and it was basically how I remembered insect vision being, all inky blotches of light and darkness with no depth or size variation in anything it could see.

It was much clearer than I remembered, though. The experience wasn't like looking through a grimy kaleidoscope anymore, it was like… it was like looking at an abstract painting where the subject wasn't obvious but you could kind of get an idea of what you were supposed to see if you squinted and looked at it sideways.

Best of all, I didn't feel any strain whatsoever. It felt like I could watch through the fly's vision for a few hours with no problem, though of course I wasn't going to try that yet.

I focused on the fly's hearing next. I was hearing lots of random noise as Gallant walked around. Probably the sounds of walking through underbrush and tiny sounds coming from his armor that were too quiet to be heard normally, since the noise didn't seem regular enough to be him speaking.

Like with its vision, the fly's hearing didn't cause me any pain or any problems. The deep bass sounds were too low to hear easily, but didn't make it feel like my teeth were vibrating; the high-pitched sounds were too shrill to make out, but not "nails on a chalkboard" shrill.

That settled it, then: suddenly being able to see and hear with no issues after making zero progress with my swarm-senses for months had to mean that my power had changed somehow, just like Grue's had.

I'd have expected a change to my range or my degree of control over my swarm or something else I used all the time and would find obvious like the different appearance of Grue's darkness was obvious, not a change to an aspect of my power I'd essentially never used, but I certainly wasn't complaining.

Time to try out another insect.

I chose one of the gnats on Kid Win's armor and went through the same careful process of focusing on its senses. The experience was essentially the same aside from a few differences in the resolution of its vision and its range of hearing, and still, no pain or discomfort.

Feeling more confident now, I decided to jump right to using a lot more bugs. A single fly or gnat didn't give me anything I could actually use, but maybe with a lot of different bugs working together….

I gathered thirty flying insects of all different kinds, making sure to keep them far enough away from the two Wards and low enough to the ground that they wouldn't be spotted. There was some strain, now, but nothing I couldn't handle.

The senses of individual bugs were still too garbled to make out anything useful, but by sort of focusing on all of them at once without actually paying attention to any individual one-kind of like looking at one of those magic eye pictures-I was able to aggregate all of the sounds they were hearing into something I could use.

For any given sound, each kind of insect could either hear it or not depending on its hearing range, and every bug would hear that sound a little differently-a little louder or softer, a little longer or shorter-based on how far away they were from the source and what direction it was relative to them. Somehow, my brain was able to take all of those tiny little clues and assemble them into something that made sense to my own hearing.

The first actual sound I heard was the snapping of a branch under Gallant's boot. It was muted and muffled and took a second to figure out, but it was a definite sound that I was able to match to what I was feeling with my bugs.

I kept my body language casual to not tip off the Undersiders that I was doing anything, but behind my mask I was grinning like an idiot.

Sight wasn't nearly so easy. Seeing through compound eyes meant that the swarm's collective vision simply didn't overlap nicely the way its collective hearing did, and the total lack of depth perception didn't help. Plus, it was much harder to make out lights than sounds while everything was flying around; I had all of them land for a bit to keep the image stationary, but it still just didn't click the way even the rudimentary attempt at hearing had.

I guessed I'd have to work on interpreting insect vision more before I got anywhere with it, but thankfully the hearing was all I needed to eavesdrop.

Barely a minute had passed from the point where I decided to try working on my swarm senses to when I had hearing figured out. Just in time, as it seems the Wards had found a place they thought was secluded enough to talk.

Gallant was the first to speak, and I immediately found a flaw in my plan: his voice was fairly muffled with his helmet in the way, so understanding him through my bugs would be even harder. I'd just have to do my best and hope that Kid Win's side of the conversation would give me enough context.

What he said sounded something like Uah ih yan tah pow, and my bugs' limited hearing cut out any inflection or anything else that might help me interpret it. Fantastic.

All right, the first word sounded like "what" or "why"… next word, not sure… next word, "you"? No, you-something…"you on"? You want, that was it. So the first part was probably "what did you want." The next part was something like "top up" or "top of"… the top of what? No, hold on, there was another sound, more like tah ah-pow…"about"! He was asking "What did you want to talk about?"!

Kid Win had better be more intelligible than that, or this was going to be a long conversation.

He was, fortunately. He was facing my bugs with nothing over his mouth, so even though he was keeping his voice down I was easily able to make out "It's about who-" and "-the portal," with a bit in the middle that was too fast and complicated for me to make out.

Words that were three syllables or longer were turning out to be harder to decipher, since there were too many possibilities to go through while continuing to listen to the rest of what he was saying, so hopefully he'd keep things simple.

"You know who's… for it." Gallant asked, or at least I assumed it was a question despite the lack of intonation.

"No, but I'm… about how we got here," the other Ward replied.

"Why… that."

"I checked my… after I almost told her about the… and I… had left it on," Kid Win explained, though missing half of what he said meant it didn't really explain anything.

"Meaning."

"Meaning when we were routed to the bridge, it wasn't because of… in… system, but because it found a portal."

"You think it's….same… sent the… same kind of portal." Gallant asked.

The "same kind" of portal? The heroes knew there was some kind of portal somewhere in Brockton Bay and hadn't done anything about it, and then the two of them lied about not knowing what was going on when we ended up in this jungle!?

Those assholes!

"Not the same kind, I don't think. Those were open for a very short… while this one was… for long enough for us all to go through. Plus, there wasn't a… waiting on this side, so."

"Point," Gallant said. "But it's… same people, because having… around the…." He paused, then added, "Why didn't you… before."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing, two… in the same place wouldn't make much sense. And I didn't say… because I didn't know it was on, and when we didn't run into a… on this side I didn't make the… right away."

There was a pause in the conversation. Kid Win seemed nervous or tense based on what I could sense of his posture, but I couldn't tell how Gallant was feeling.

"So do you think we can tell them," Kid Win asked eventually. "I know… said not to tell… but I hate to keep them in the dark."

"We really have to. We weren't… to tell… when they were just… but with… it's… not to know."

"Good. I'm glad," Kid Win said, and through my bugs I felt his shoulders relax. He continued, "What happens if we get back and the… are mad at us for telling them."

"Don't worry," Gallant assured him, "I'll take full… for the…." That part was probably full responsibility for the decision or something like that.

It made me feel a little better that they were planning to come clean, but I was still pretty angry at the whole situation.

"Hey, Bug," a deep voice said-right next to my ear, not through my bugs, and I twitched sideways in response.

Somewhere along the line, I realized, I'd closed my eyes to help focus on hearing the Wards, and with all my focus somewhere else I hadn't been able to feel when someone walked through the swarm around my body. That was a major drawback to this new trick of mine that I'd failed to consider.

Out of curiosity, I tried easing up on the suppression of the rest of my swarm's senses while continuing to listen through the bugs near the Wards, to see if I could maybe-loud loud loud LOUD LOUD -

I immediately shut off the feedback again. Either it wasn't possible for me to feel all of my swarm while only listening through part of it, or I would need to work on separating out the sensations more until I could manage it. Regardless, it looked like hearing through the swarm wouldn't be something I could afford to do all the time for now.

I stopped listening through the bugs near the Wards, restored my sense of the rest of my swarm's position, and opened my eyes. I could both see and feel Grue next to me, arm partly stretched out as if to tap me on the shoulder.

"Sorry," I said, "I wasn't paying attention. What is it?"

"Is something coming toward us?"

I frowned and checked my bugs. I didn't feel anything, though that didn't mean there hadn't been something while I wasn't feeling my swarm before.

"No. Why?" I asked.

"The bugs were freaking out," the villain said, waving toward a particularly thick cloud of insects near the closer edge of the clearing. "You were just standing there, then all the bugs suddenly started flying in circles really fast, then after a minute they calmed down. When I went to ask you about it, they started swarming like crazy again, then stopped completely. I figured you were either trying to warn us about something, or…." he shrugged.

I had no idea what could have caused that. I was completely certain, somehow, that it wasn't due to my control over them slipping. Maybe when I was moving the swarm by the Wards I was accidentally moving the one nearby at the same time and didn't notice because I was suppressing the feedback from them?

Whatever it was, everything felt normal now, so I just shrugged and responded, "Sorry, I decided to play around with my power a little bit, like you said. I should have said something first."

He lowered his arm and nodded. "It's fine, but yeah, next time let us know."

We stood around in silence for another minute or so before I heard the Wards returning. I felt a surge of impatience and a bit of anger as they reentered the clearing, but tried to calm myself as I remembered Gallant's emotion sight.

I apparently wasn't fast enough. He turned to regard me for a moment, then sighed. "How much did you hear?" he asked.

I crossed my arms. "Enough."

"Well, that's as good a segue as any," Gallant said as he sat down on the nearest log.

"About what?" Grue demanded.

"We think we know what happened with the portal, and maybe who's behind it. Kind of," Kid Win said.

Grue clenched his fists, hard enough that I could hear the leather of his gloves tighten. "Explain. Now."

"First off, we weren't lying yesterday about not knowing what was going on," Gallant began calmly. "This is something Kid Win just figured out this morning." He looked around at the darkened clearing, now lit more by the light from the Wards' armor than by the fading sunlight. "Or this evening, I guess."

"And what did you figure out?"

"So, a week ago-"

" What did you figure out?" Grue demanded.

Kid Win raised his hands defensively. "It's relevant, I promise. About a week ago, some tinkertech drones or something started appearing in a bunch of random cities around the country, coming out of portals that no one could see even with Thinker powers. The Protectorate captured a couple of them, but all but one self-destructed. They gave the last one to Armsmaster to study and try to figure out what was going on."

He tapped the side of his visor. "Armsmaster built a couple of miniature radar scanners and handed them out to some heroes to use on patrol, with orders to prioritize any portal sightings if we detected any. The scanners had a mode to alert us and reroute our patrol closer if they detected something, and I thought I'd set that up that correctly when I was integrating-"

"So it actually was your fault we ended up going through the portal," Regent interrupted smugly. "I knew it!"

"Yes, I fucked up, I know, okay?" Kid Win cried, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "The point is that that's why we ended up taking the long way around and going through the portal."

"What about those drones?" I asked. "If someone's sending a bunch of them through these portals, shouldn't there be some here?"

"We don't know," Gallant admitted. "We don't know those portals are the same as the one we came through, either. We actually know they're different in at least one way: the ones the drones used opened and shut very quickly, according to the heroes in Chicago who were close enough to check that. They definitely didn't stay open long enough for anything else to go through like the one we ran into." He shrugged. "But both kinds were invisible and not directly detectable with powers or tinkertech, and two different people using the same unusual kind of portal at the same time is unlikely enough that we're guessing it's the same person behind it, or at least two groups working with the same tech."

"What about the emotion effect on the portal?" Regent asked intently.

Kid Win shook his head. "No idea, sorry."

"The Director ordered everyone involved not to tell anyone outside the PRT about all this under any circumstances until they figured out what was going on, which is why Kid Win didn't say something immediately," Gallant said. "I'm sorry if it looked like we were deliberately lying to you or we didn't trust you despite the truce."

The Wards looked over at Grue to see how he would react. After a moment, Grue sighed. "The whole thing sounds a little far-fetched to me, but I'm standing in a jungle halfway across the world right now, so what do I know?"

He looked around at us for a moment, then put his hands on his hips. "Well? Bug tried out her power while you two were gone, what about the rest of you?"

My bugs felt Kid Win relax minutely when it became clear Grue wasn't going to hold our current situation against him… though I noticed Regent hadn't said anything either way.

The Tinker patted his hoverboard where it was locked in its position on his back. "I was working on this for a while earlier and didn't notice any differences. Maybe something happened to my power that I'd need to try to build something new to figure out, but I'm not getting any new ideas for tech or anything like that. I could try building something, I guess, but I don't have any parts to spare for that if I'm going to repair Gallant's armor at some point."

Grue nodded, then asked Gallant, "And you?"

"I did notice that my empathic sight seems more sensitive," the armored Ward replied. "When I saw Bug a minute ago, I noticed that she was slightly angry and trying to hide it; the feeling was muted enough that that might have worked before we got here, but now that kind of thing is very obvious. I also could tell immediately that she was angry at us as opposed to angry at one of you or at herself or just in general, when normally it takes watching how someone's aura changes over time to determine the target of emotions I see."

And now on top of being angry at the two Wards I was annoyed with Gallant in particular, and didn't bother to hide it.

The armored Ward winced and turned to me. "I'm sorry. I don't usually bring up what I see about someone in front of them, but it was the best example and I could see that Grue and Regent already knew something was up."

I guess that made sense. Still annoying, though.

"As for my other power, I haven't tested that aside from the demonstration yesterday. Bug, is there anyone or anything near enough to overhear if I start blasting at the trees?"

I checked my swarm. "No, nothing."

He nodded, took a few steps away from us, and without warning launched a volley of glowing blobs from both hands at the sturdiest-looking tree in the area. He started off launching baseball-sized bolts from his fists, slowly opening his hands until he was launching bowling ball-sized blasts from his open palms, constantly changing the colors of the blasts and rapidly alternating hands.

The tree was getting pretty beaten up, with splinters a few inches long flying off the trunk each time one of his blasts hit, so he changed things up. He began launching pencil-thin beams of light at the tree, first using finger gun gestures like some of the guys at school when they were trying and failing to be cool, then using multiple fingers at once; they didn't have much force behind them, and I couldn't see how they'd be useful in a fight.

"So, do you use those to try to tickle Empire goons into surrendering, or just to cheat at laser tag?" Regent asked innocently.

Gallant glanced at him, took a moment to position himself in what looked to be a more solid stance, and held both of his hands out in front of him with all his fingers splayed wide and his wrists about an inch apart.

A few seconds later, a glowing sphere at least two feet across and almost blindingly bright launched itself from his palms and smashed right through the trunk of his target tree, sending the upper half toppling over to add another log to the clearing.

Regent let out an impressed whistle. "Wow. I think you're my favorite hero now. I take back what I said, you're not the Tin Man, you're Goku."

"Who?" I asked.

"Anime character," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Not important."

Either Gallant didn't know the reference either or considered it a compliment, since he just brushed some splinters off his armor and walked back over to us.

"That last blast, was that something new?" Grue asked. "We've researched the Wards and I hadn't seen you do anything like that before in your recorded fights."

"No, I've always been able to do that, smaller blasts are just better most of the time because I can launch them faster. That, and for PR reasons I'm not allowed to use anything too damaging in public except under extenuating circumstances," Gallant said. "Just like how Miss Militia isn't allowed to pull out a bazooka for anyone who isn't at least a mid-tier Brute, or," he glanced over at his fellow Ward, "how Kid Win isn't allowed to build anything much bigger than pistols."

Well, there went the idea of me joining the Wards when we got home. Swarms of spiders aren't exactly PR-friendly.

"How about you?" Gallant asked Regent. "Have you noticed any power changes?"

"Not sure. I've pranked Grue a lot, so that felt the same as always. Whenever I use my power on someone new it takes a little while to get up to speed, though, so that might be affected." He wiggled his fingers dramatically. "Anyone want to play test subject?"

There was no way I was about to volunteer to get slapped in the face or worse, and it looked like Kid Win had the same idea.

Gallant seemed thoughtful. "Are there any permanent effects?" he asked.

"Not really. Once I've used it on you once it gets faster and better the next time, but otherwise there's nothing."

Gallant regarded Regent silently for a bit, before finally saying, "All right then, I'll volunteer."

"Great. Hold your arms up, loosely, like this," Regent replied, tucking his scepter under his arm and holding out his hands in front of him. He waved his left hand to the side, and after a moment Gallant's left gauntlet twitched a bit in the same direction. He waved his right arm back and forth from the elbow down, and Gallant's right arm immediately mirrored the same motion.

"Any change?" Grue asked.

Regent looked off to the side contemplatively and absently rolled his right wrist clockwise a few times, causing Gallant's left wrist to roll counter-clockwise.

"Nah, basically the same as far as I can tell," he decided, looking back at us. "Guess the dork and I didn't manage to score an upgrade."

"Will you please stop calling me that?" Kid Win asked.

"Nope," was Regent's cheerful reply.

Any response from Kid Win was cut off by Gallant asking me, "Any change on your end, Bug?"

"Hearing through my swarm was a new thing," I admitted.

"So you essentially figured that out in the few minutes we were gone?" Gallant asked.

"Kind of? I'd tried it before, but hadn't gotten it to work that well until now."

"Still, that's some good work," he said, sounding impressed. "Anything else?"

"I think that's all."

"So we have three powers that changed, one that didn't, and one that's a maybe because he hasn't been able to fully test it," Gallant summarized. Turning back to Regent, he asked, "Are you sure nothing changed? Only some of our powers changing seems less likely than all of our powers changing and some of us just not being able to tell yet."

Regent shrugged. "Like I said, it felt basically the same." He paused, drumming his fingers along his scepter. "Actually… there might be something. It's normally hard for me to affect two people at once, maybe that changed. Let me check."

Placing his scepter on the ground, Regent held up both arms with his elbows bent and palms out, as if he was miming holding a basketball. He swung both hands forward at the same time….and I felt a sudden pins-and-needles sensation over my whole body for an instant before my right hand jerked forward on its own to swing clumsily in Kid Win's direction. Kid Win's hand shot forward at the same time and barely missed smacking into my own.

Kid Win turned to glare at Regent. "What the hell was that?"

"Well, it was supposed to be a high five. Guess I need some practice," Regent replied glibly. "But that was definitely much easier than usual, so I guess I did get an upgrade after all."

"I meant using your power on us without asking. You should have asked us, or used it on Grue and Gallant again instead," Kid Win insisted.

"I'm sorry," Regent drawled, sounding anything but, "I didn't know high-fiving a girl cape would be so traumatizing for you."

"No, I-that's not the point," Kid Win grumbled.

"Regent, cool it. We're still under truce," Grue ordered, "so no using your power on anyone without permission."

"Yes, Mom."

" Anyway," the taller villain said, "that probably settles it. Four of us with changed powers means Kid Win probably got an upgrade he just can't test yet. I have no idea why a portal would do that or if there's any pattern to the changes, but we can figure that out later. For now, we should really find some food."

He paused, looking around the clearing.

"I'm… not actually sure how best to do that," he admitted grudgingly. "I'm a city guy, born and raised. Haven't even gone on a camping trip in my life. Does anyone have any experience with… this?" he asked, waving a hand to encompass the whole jungle.

I raised a hand, as did Gallant. Surprisingly, so did Regent.

"You?" Grue asked his teammate skeptically. "When have you ever willingly spent more than a few hours out of wifi range?"

"What, you think I stayed in five-star hotels on my way to Brockton Bay? I've spent plenty of time roughing it before. Why do you think I'm so attached to my creature comforts?"

"Huh. I never would have guessed. That doesn't really fit your image," I said.

Regent spread his arms dramatically. "I am large, I contain multitudes."

I raised an eyebrow behind my mask. "Whitman? Really?"

"What can I say? There's a lot more to me than a pretty face," he said sweetly.

"I guess there is," Grue mused. "What kind of experience do you have, Bug?"

"I went to a nature camp every summer up until freshman year," I said. "Hikes around the lake, sleeping under the stars, identifying plants, stuff like that. I doubt any of the specific plants we learned about would be around here, but I can look."

"Sounds good. Gallant?"

"I have the same kind of experience Bug does, basically. I'm an Eagle Scout," the armored Ward replied.

Regent started snickering at that, and Grue let out a brief chuckle as well.

"What's so funny?" Gallant asked.

"When we were going over the Wards one time, Tattletale called you the 'biggest boy scout on the team'," Regent explained. "So when it turns out you're actually the biggest Boy Scout on the team…."

I had to admit, that was pretty funny. Lies about powers aside, Gallant did seem to mostly live up to the chivalrous image he tried to project, and now I was picturing a him wearing a scout uniform with his helmet and gauntlets on top of it.

Gallant shook his head slowly, seeming amused as well, then asked, "Well, Grue, Bug, if you don't mind my taking the lead…?

Grue nodded, as did I. After skipping camp last summer, I wasn't sure how much I'd remember about edible plants and didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of the other capes.

"Right. Let's everyone check around the edge of the clearing first, no sense going somewhere else if there's something nearby. We'll split into two groups, Kid Win in one and me in the other since we both have helmet lights, and Bug and I will tell you what kinds of things to look for. If we don't find anything, we'll start spiraling outwards, pick the most promising direction, and go from there. Any questions?"

No one had any, so we all started walking as I did my best to dredge up everything I could remember from camp.

~*~*~

"Hmm. How about Scarab?" Grue asked.

"It would fit my costume, especially once I add the highlights, but… no, I don't think so."

"Damselfly, maybe?"

"Nah, too delicate-sounding," Kid Win said before I could reject it myself.

"Queen Bee," Regent said.

"Oh god, no," I said. "Not the kind of impression I want to give."

We'd been looking for food for almost an hour. There hadn't been anything near the clearing and no direction looked better than any other, so Regent had ended up picking one at random again and we went exploring that way.

Gallant and Kid Win had turned their armor lights up as bright as they would go, now that the sun had completely set. Grue had put up a barrier of darkness a ways out to prevent us being seen at a distance, I had my bugs doing their best to sniff out promising plants, and Regent was basically along for the ride.

To keep himself entertained, Regent had decided that everyone needed to help me pick a real cape name, so they'd been tossing ideas around for a while. Nothing they'd come up with so far had really grabbed me, though.

Regent shrugged. "Just Queen, then?"

"That's probably taken, but even if it isn't, aren't capes with noble titles almost always villains?" I disagreed. "King, Kaiser, Principessa, Duchess, Marquis…? And Regent, obviously."

"There's a cape named Viceroy down in… Memphis, I think, and he's a hero," Gallant said.

"Hey, that's an idea. A viceroy is a type of ruler and a kind of butterfly, right? So how about Vicereine?" Kid Win suggested

"That's the term for a female viceroy?" I asked.

"An obscure one, yeah, so it's almost definitely not taken," he nodded.

"I'd have expected knowing about noble titles to be more Gallant's or Regent's thing," I said teasingly.

"Yeah, well, I read a lot of fantasy," the Tinker replied, hunching his shoulders.

"Not sci-fi?"

"Nah," he said, "I was more into fantasy even before I got my powers, and now me reading sci-fi is like a hero reading comics or a cop watching crime shows. It's too close to work to be fun."

"Neeerd," Regent said, drawing out the word mockingly.

"This from the guy who quoted poetry before," I said, and he mimed being stabbed in the heart in response.

"So anyway, how about it?" Kid Win asked.

"It's not a definite yes, but it's the best name so far," I said, and Kid Win smiled broadly.

"How about these? The blueberry-looking ones?" Grue interjected, and we all stepped over to where he was pointing. One of the bushes nearby was covered in clusters of several berries, all bright blue and somewhere between berries and grapes in size.

As I'd done several times since we set out, I had a couple of my bugs taste one of the berries. The first time I'd tried it, I'd just meant to figure out whether I could taste through my bugs; I hadn't managed that, but the bugs I'd used had dropped dead shortly after eating the berries, so using a taste-tester had turned out to be a very good decision.

Every other berry I'd had them try so far, and one larger fruit that had looked like a bright red kiwi, had led to some kind of side effect or death. I wasn't running out of bugs, but we were all running out of patience, and I hoped these would be safe to eat.

Gallant set a five-minute timer and we settled in to wait.

"How about Throng?" Grue suggested. "It's like Swarm, but less scary."

He and Regent had suggested a lot of villain-sounding names at first, like Locust, Pestilence, and Hivemind, but I'd made it clear I wanted a very obviously heroic name to counteract the less-than-heroic impression my costume apparently gave some people.

"That sounds more like someone with a self-duplication power," Gallant disagreed. "What about Skitter? It also implies lots of insects moving around, but in more of a quirky way than a scary way."

"Mmm… I don't love it," I decided, "but I do like that it's not a title, a collective noun, a species name, or something obviously villainous. Call it tied for top two, for now."

Kid Win frowned at that and looked off to the side, thinking. He pulled out his phone, looked something up, and said, "Right, that was it. Myrmidon!"

"Like Achilles' soldiers?" I asked.

"Yeah, the ones that Zeus made out of ants. They come from insects, they march in formations…."

"That's pretty good, actually. I guess I have a top three now," I said, and he grinned again.

Regent looked like he was going to add something, but I raised a hand. "I think three good choices is enough for now. I'll think about it and decide which one I like best. Thanks for all the help."

After that we waited quietly until Gallant's timer went off, and then I put the bugs through their paces, trying out a few different things to see how they were doing. The good news was that none of them were dead. The bad news….

"I think they're drunk," I said.

"They're what?" Grue asked.

"I don't know if they're actually drunk, but when I order them to fly somewhere they take a more loopy and indirect path, and their senses are more fuzzy than normal. They're fine when I actively control them individually so it's probably not poison or anything, but… yeah."

He sighed. "Great. On to the next one, I guess."

We all stood and set out again. All except Regent, that is, who grabbed a bunch of the berries and stuck them carefully in his pocket before joining us.

I gave him a look and he shrugged with one shoulder. "Call it a souvenir. And hey, at the end of all of this, a stiff drink might be nice."

I just shook my head and kept walking.

~*~*~

Another fifteen or so minutes passed with no luck.

I'd gotten used to skipping lunch on days when I couldn't avoid Emma and Sophia during lunchtime, so I wasn't completely starving after not eating for so long, but my hunger was definitely getting to the point where it was affecting my patience.

"I don't think this is working," I grumbled.

"Do you have any other suggestions?" Gallant asked.

"I still think Kid Win should go up on his hoverboard and take a look around." I'd suggested the idea earlier, but Grue had shot it down because he was worried about being seen.

"And I still think it's too dangerous," Grue replied, as I'd expected.

"I mean, you're not wrong, but at this point I'm willing to risk it," Kid Win said. "Could save us a lot of time."

"I have to agree, fearless leader. I'm willing to risk him, too," Regent said, ignoring the resulting annoyed sigh from Kid Win.

"Fine. Do that, but make it quick," Grue agreed, sounding frustrated at being outvoted.

"Will do." Kid Win grabbed his hoverboard off his back, tossed it down, and smoothly hopped onto it while it was still moving. Between that and his fancy dismount when he was getting off Judas, I wouldn't be surprised if he skateboarded as a hobby.

Grue opened a small hole in his darkness above us to let Kid Win see where he was going. When he'd done that back when we were running from Lung, it had looked like a cloud of smoke being gently blown out of the way, but with the new look of his darkness it looked more like a pool of ink drying up and draining away from the center.

Kid Win rose through the air, arms over his head to prevent branches hitting him in the face, and we waited a while for him to return.

And waited.

And continued waiting.

"What's taking so long, Kid?" Grue called up after a few minutes.

"You're, uh… you're gonna want to see this!" the Ward's strained voice came filtering down through the trees.

"We can't see past the canopy! Just tell us!"

"You're not gonna believe me! Gallant, knock some branches out of the way or something!"

We all exchanged looks. His behavior seemed very odd, and I wondered if there was another emotion effect or something similar up there making him act that way.

"What's this week's password?" Gallant eventually called.

"Blackhawk One-two-four!" Kid Win responded immediately.

Gallant looked at us. "That checks out, so he's probably not being manipulated somehow. I'm inclined to trust him."

"You're the expert," I shrugged. "Go ahead."

Gallant took up the sturdy stance he'd used when testing out his power earlier and launched a few of his very large bolts through the surrounding trees, and soon enough splintered tree trunks littered the area.

The hole in the darkness was too small to let us see anything through it, aside from the fact that the night outside his bubble seemed to be a lot brighter than I'd have expected in the middle of nowhere, so hopefully that meant there was a city or something nearby.

I turned to Grue to ask him to widen the hole and found him staring up at the sky, not moving.

"Hoooly fuck," he breathed.

"Want to share with the rest of the class?" Regent drawled.

"Hmm…? Oh, right," Grue said absently, and the portion of his darkness above us dissolved completely.

Looking up, I saw Kid Win hovering above the canopy looking up at the…

At the…

The moons.

Plural.

Ten of them.

What the fuck.

One of them was full, and it was fucking huge. Ten times the size of the moon, easily.

The normal moon, I mean.

… Earth's moon?

We obviously weren't anywhere on Earth Bet, but were we even on an Earth?

The other moons were in different phases, but they were all huge, too. Four of them were maybe three times the normal size, the rest just noticeably bigger.

And some were different colors. Blue, yellow, orange, and red. Pinkish-purple, too, for a change of pace.

And one was the normal white and gray but looked like a cat's eye with a long slitted pupil, because why the fuck not.

And on top of all that, there was a long glowing line in the sky in front of all of them, running from horizon to horizon and looking like a thin golden sparkly version of the Milky Way. The actual Milky Way, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen.

---

There were no words.

Well, maybe a Wizard of Oz quote, but that just felt like it would be cliché. Mom would be so disappointed.

As I stood there staring at the sky, I felt reality start to really sink in for the first time since I woke up in this jungle, and I was forced to confront the truth I'd been trying my hardest not to face:

Maybe… maybe us managing to get home would be more of an "if" than a "when" after all.

Author's Note

Looks like Grue wasn't the only one whose power ended up getting a bit of a makeover!

Don't worry, I'm not handing out arbitrary power-ups to the [insert cool group name for Taylor & Co. here, I'm sure I'll think of something, or even a power-up at all in some cases; there is indeed a method to my madness, as hinted at in the discussion of interesting Astral and Shadow phenomena in 1.3.V, and full explanations will come in good time.

What I will say now is that Taylor is mistaken about her ability to use her bugs' senses being a change to her power. While she doesn't start heavily using her swarm's senses in canon until after she's blinded in 16.9 (and didn't even remember she could do that until she was reminded in 12.3), as early as 4.11 she's able to hear someone listening to music through a single moth and make a good stab at identifying both the song's genre and the language in which the lyrics are sung, and to do so completely accidentally while concussed.

That was on April 15th, a mere three-ish days in the future from this Taylor, so her being able to hear through a bug or two dozen if she does decide to actively try seems to me to be a reasonable extrapolation of her control of her power at that point.

The degree of control she has over the sensing, however, might very well be a change, but who knows?

Gallant's bigger blasts are also an extrapolation of his canon powers rather than a cosmology-related power-up, and (hopefully) also a reasonable one. We know from Word of God that he can turn his normal blasts into smaller and weaker beams by changing his hand position, so it stands to reason that he can manipulate them in the other direction as well… and since we see Gallant use his blasts literally twice in canon, with no physical description of them beyond "painfully bright," well, some extrapolation is required.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

As mentioned before, Eberron has twelve moons. For reference on what Taylor was seeing at the end of the chapter, someone did a fairly good mock-up showing their colors and apparent sizes relative to Earth's moon (though they did miss the "pupil" on the moon Lharvion). The golden band in the sky is the Ring of Siberys (rhymes with "Daenerys"), a phenomenon that's something of a cross between a planetary ring and an asteroid belt but that's not really like either of those things because Eberron's local astrophysics make real-world astrophysics cry itself to sleep in the corner. For some nice visualizations of the Ring and the moons from the perspective of an observer on the ground, see this Reddit thread.

Transposition 1.C

12:37 am, Monday the 11th of April, 2011 CE PHQ R Laboratory ST-04, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Colin Wallis

Damn it, Colin thought as he let out a tired sigh. Yet another useless reading.

He dropped the handheld mass spectrometer to the table with a clatter and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He'd been at this for… five hours?

Just over seven, according to the clock in his HUD.

He'd been at this for over seven hours, and that damnable whatever-it-was was still as inscrutable as it had been nearly a week ago when it had first been carted into this room in its containment chamber.

At first he'd thought of it as a drone, but several hours of tests with multi-spectrum scanners, signal jammers, and even an electromagnetic disruptor adapted from the EMP projector he used in several of his halberds proved that the "drone" wasn't receiving or transmitting any sort of detectable signal.

After that, "robot" was the term of choice in his logs, but it acted far too lifelike in response to behavioral tests to merely be exhibiting pre-programmed responses, and the term hardly applied to what was looking more and more likely to be some form of artificial intelligence.

Eventually he'd decided to just refer to it as "the subject" in his reports, the only concrete conclusion he'd come to after all of those long hours of testing and analysis.

And that had just been the first morning.

Colin was deeply regretting the initial excitement he'd felt when Legend had directed him to drop everything non-critical to work on this project. Explicit orders to hand all of the day-to-day minutiae to Miss Militia and various PRT employees and do nothing but tinker until the mystery was resolved? Sign him up!

Now, though, he couldn't help but feel it had been a major waste of time, time that could have been better spent out in the field, and wasn't looking forward to catching up on all the work the others couldn't handle for him.

If that wasn't bad enough, there hadn't been reports of any new creatures appearing for the past two days, so he was fairly sure there wouldn't be a chance to capture another one. If he couldn't make progress on this one, or if he damaged it beyond repair somehow, that was it, no more chances.

Good thing Colin thrived under pressure.

He craned his neck back to work out the soreness, then slowly rolled his neck from side to side, looking around the room for inspiration as he did so.

This wasn't his own workspace, obviously. Even if PRT regulations had permitted bringing completely unknown tinkertech into a restricted section of the PHQ, he still wouldn't have risked the contents of his personal lab around it.

No, this was a secure facility deep in the PHQ, below the waterline and behind an airlock and multiple blast doors, designed for dismantling and studying potentially-dangerous devices from hostile tinkers.

The lab's security measures had withstood everything they'd thrown at it so far, including but not limited to a damaged sonic destabilizer taken from Luthier back when Chorus was defeated, an autoturret retrieved from a battle with Butcher VII during an attempted Teeth push back into Brockton Bay, an early set of power armor captured from Blitz shortly after she'd joined the Empire, one of Ultra Violet's rifle attachments taken in a fight with Coil's mercenaries, at least four malfunctioning devices left behind after some of Leet's "performances" with Über, and even some salvaged engine components from the relatively new vehicle tinker in town going by Squealer.

The lack of personalization meant that actually tinkering in it for long periods of time was much more aggravating than he'd expected it to be.

Colin had of course helped design the facility, so it did generally follow his own preferences as far as layout and amenities went, but it still had to be generic enough for other Tinkers to use and locked-down enough to prevent problems with drones and other active tinkertech.

The tools available were mostly the same as the ones he was used to, but they were organized in some pencil-pusher's idea of what would be the most ergonomic arrangement instead of Colin's preferred setup. Half the smaller tools were tucked away in the back of some drawer or another in one of several small workstations around the room-which always got in his way as he was moving around-and not easy to find at a glance, any tool that had too much potential to be used as a weapon by the subject wasn't even allowed in the room, and he had to put everything back in its assigned space whenever he left instead of leaving things out on the workbench like he preferred.

He didn't have full access to his gear in case of emergencies, and couldn't even bring his own computer for catching up on emails during breaks. The best he could do was two halberds leaning against the nearest workstation, his suit of "casual" armor (visor, undersuit, and basic plating only, nothing combat-rated), a standard-issue PRT laptop, and a spare coffee maker.

Even his damned chair was uncomfortable, and squeaked whenever it moved.

Colin rubbed his forehead. Enough self-pity, he chided himself. Complaining won't help you figure this out any faster.

He glanced over at the subject of his research, and it looked back at him, giving no sign it understood just how irritating it was.

The subject was… well, it was hard to sum up in just a few words.

Start with a large dog, roughly three and a half feet tall at the shoulder. Make it out of metal, with varying shades of silver and gray on its many small overlapping plates giving its body a more lifelike texture. Give it rivets at the joints and obvious plating, but don't make it overly angular and mechanical like a cheesy sci-fi robot; instead, give it a more smooth and rounded appearance, exaggeratedly so, almost like a balloon animal version of itself. Articulate its limbs in strange ways, splayed out almost like an insect's, so it has a range of motion that would be impossible in a living canine.

Add a bunch of hatches and sliding plates where spines and extra armor and even wings can pop out, replace its eyes with some kind of glass or crystal, and hone its teeth and claws to a razor sharpness, and you'd get what was calmly sitting across the room from him, head tilted slightly to the side in curiosity and mouth slightly askew in what he'd determined was a vaguely friendly expression.

There were thick and sturdy bars on the containment chamber made of an impact-resistant reinforced titanium alloy coated with heat- and electricity-resistant polymers, all of it tinker-derived, but at one point Colin had seen the subject accidentally catch one of the bars with a claw when it was moving around and slice through the bar like it wasn't even there.

It could obviously get out at any time, and it just as obviously didn't want to, and Colin still didn't have the slightest idea why.

While Colin was trying to decide what to do next, a message popped up on his visor.

Guild.Dragon

Any luck this evening?

He'd have preferred to video chat with Dragon as he usually did, but for security reasons the laptop didn't have a webcam and the bandwidth into the lab was far too low to support video anyway. He activated the speech-to-text setting in his visor to respond.

PHQ.Armsmaster

None.

I was just looking over the results from the latest test.

Guild.Dragon

And?

PHQ.Armsmaster

According to the mass spectrometer readings, the outermost layer of its armor is made of an alloy of three different metals.

One is iron, specifically Fe-72, which normally has a half-life of around 10 milliseconds.

The second is an iridium isotope that apparently has eight and one-third neutrons.

The third has an atomic number of twenty three and a half.

Guild.Dragon

Ah.

PHQ.Armsmaster

Exactly.

Every scanner I've built gives me nothing at all, and any regular instrument I use returns garbage data.

Guild.Dragon

Have you tried getting a physical sample for chemical analysis?

PHQ.Armsmaster

Yes.

Emphasis on tried.

Whenever I've gotten close with anything even resembling a weapon, it backs off and takes a hostile stance.

With glowing eyes and everything.

Guild.Dragon

Maybe it thinks you're trying to dismantle it, instead of just taking a sample?

I know if I were locked up somewhere and someone I couldn't understand was coming at me with a weapon, or even a screwdriver, really, I'd be worried too.

PHQ.Armsmaster

Maybe.

Unfortunately I haven't been able to find a language it speaks, even with Velocity's help.

Assuming it can speak at all.

So I can't communicate what I'm trying to do.

This would be so much easier if it were biological.

Then I could just take a hair sample or a nail clipping or

Guild.Dragon

…

Colin?

Are you still there?

PHQ.Armsmaster

Just had an idea.

Hold on.

Colin hopped up out of his chair, popped open the nearest drawer, and started rummaging around. He didn't find what he was looking for, so he shoved that drawer closed and started looking through the next one, then the next.

Finally, he found what he needed: a set of nail clippers. He'd requisitioned them a few days ago because the wire strippers that had been provided weren't sized correctly for the extremely small gauge of wire he used and the clippers could substitute for them in a pinch. Still no word from the procurement office about the properly-sized wire strippers, unfortunately.

Walking carefully over to the subject so as not to alarm it, he raised a hand and waved slowly. It was one of the few gestures he'd determined that the subject definitely understood, and it quickly returned the wave with one paw.

Feeling slightly ridiculous, as he did each time he'd tried this, Colin proceeded to play a one-sided game of charades. For once he was thankful for the lack of video chat, since that meant Dragon couldn't watch him make a fool of himself.

"I-" Point at himself.

"-would like to have-" Hold out his left hand, palm up.

"-a small sample-" Hold his right thumb and index finger up with a small gap between them.

"-of your claws." Tap his left index fingernail with his right, then point at the subject.

The subject padded closer to the bars and raised its right paw a few inches off the ground.

He had no idea how well the subject understood him, but the more he talked at it the better and more quickly it seemed to respond; he guessed it might have some way of learning unknown languages, and so kept talking at it during every interaction.

Crouching down to get closer to the subject's eye level-sensor level, whatever-he held up the nail clippers and twisted them back and forth so it could get a good look at them. Then he held out his left hand close enough to the bars for the subject to easily watch, opened the clippers, placed them over his thumbnail, and snipped off a small portion with a small clicking sound.

Holding up the clipping, he twisted it around slowly, then moved his thumb around to show that he was unharmed.

"Now can you-" Point at the subject's claw.

"-take a small sample-" Open and close fingers to mimic the clippers.

"-for me?" Point at himself, hold the clippers out.

The subject tilted its head to the opposite side in confusion, and just when Colin was thinking he might have gone through the whole routine for nothing, it waggled its head up and down, held out both paws, used one of the claws on its right forepaw to slice an inch-long sliver off the tip of one claw on its left forepaw, and nudged the sliver through the bars into Colin's reach.

" Ha!" Colin exclaimed. "Finally!"

And then the sliced claw promptly grew back to its full length. Good to know.

He leaped up and jogged to the desk, eager to put in a request to the Science division for some new testing apparatus. He'd just sat down and pulled his laptop over when he heard a crackle from his visor radio.

"Console to Armsmaster."

Oh, for god's sake, Colin grumbled to himself. Why now , of all times?

"Go ahead," he responded, keeping the irritation out of his voice.

"We've received reports of a fight in the Docks, near Shoreline and Whitemore," the PRT signaller on console duty informed him. "Looks like it's Lung versus the Undersiders again. Lots of roaring and fire, plus some sightings of Hellhound's hellhounds."

The Undersiders. Wonderful.

They'd practically made a hobby of annoying Lung for the past few months, and every time they'd faced off with him the PRT had had to come in and clean up their messes.

Colin called up the evening patrol schedule on his HUD and inhaled sharply. Gallant and Kid Win were the ones assigned to the Docks tonight. Not an ideal situation.

"Is the fighting still ongoing?" he asked urgently, ready to bolt for his halberds if needed.

"Negative, fighting appears to be over, the reports have stopped coming in."

Colin relaxed into his chair. That was good. Having just the two Wards anywhere near an active Lung was unacceptable, especially when neither of them was one of ENE's heavy hitters.

"The Wards are looking into it?" he asked.

"With orders to observe only and report in as soon as they're eyes-on," Console confirmed. "Velocity has been alerted and has diverted to his alternate route to be ready to reinforce if needed."

He thought for a moment. "Page Miss Militia and put her on standby, just in case. Keep me posted."

"Yessir. Console out," the man responded, and Colin's radio went silent.

Well that was just great. He'd finally made a major breakthrough, and now he couldn't follow up on it immediately because he had to be ready to drop everything at a moment's notice.

At least he could write up those new requisitions in the meantime. Colin began filling them out on his laptop while speaking aloud to Dragon.

PHQ.Armsmaster

Good news and bad news.

Good news, I managed to obtain a sample.

Bad news, the Wards are looking into a villain fight involving Lung and I'm going on standby.

Might have to drop soon if they run into trouble.

Guild.Dragon

That's a real shame.

I'll leave you to that. Good luck with the sample, and let me know how the chemical analysis goes.

User Dragon [Guild Vancouver/Protectorate NW] has disconnected from server ircs6/intranet.ene.prt.gov

~*~*~

Colin had just finished the last requisition and sent it off (or, more precisely, he'd filled in the relevant keywords and then the scripts he used to automate the lion's share of his paperwork had done the rest) when his radio crackled to life again.

"Console to Armsmaster."

"Go ahead."

"Gallant reports Lung is down, repeat, Lung is down. He was unconscious when they got there and heavily injured, with wounds matching Hellhound's dogs. They've subdued him with Gallant's beams and Kid Win's stunner to keep him under. Squad four has been dispatched for pickup."

Colin frowned to himself. He remembered signing off on the stun weapon Kid Win had made, but to his knowledge it hadn't been used outside the firing range yet.

Given how the younger Tinker's inventions tended to be… less than reliable when he ventured into a new field in the continuing search for his specialty, having its first serious test be on Lung was hardly ideal.

"Also, Kid Win reports one unknown cape was spotted at the scene," Console continued. "They're currently on a rooftop, stationary and presumed non-hostile. He's about to establish contact, and is getting some photos on his visor cam."

A new cape was involved in taking Lung down? Even if Lung was severely weakened by the Undersiders and all they did was finish the job, which was very likely, that was still an impressive accomplishment for an unknown.

He felt a twinge of annoyance that someone else had taken out the infamous gang leader while he was cooped up in here banging his head against a seemingly-impossible problem. All that training and preparation time, wasted.

Colin shoved the thought away, disappointed with himself. Lung's defeat will be good for the city no matter who was responsible, he thought.

He even almost believed it.

"Acknowledged. Armsmaster out," he replied, keeping the frustration from his voice as best he could.

In an attempt to distract himself he picked up the sample of the subject's claw and idly examined it, turning it this way and that to catch the light.

It appeared to be a glossy black material, as he'd already noted from a distance before getting the sample, but up close he could see that it had an iridescent sheen with primarily greenish undertones.

Like the armor, the claw definitely wasn't made of any natural alloy. He mentally reviewed the materials Tinkers with whom he was familiar-there weren't many out there, even fewer who worked with metals instead of plastics or polymers-and quickly ruled out all of the Tinkers he'd worked with directly or whose tech he'd personally studied over the years.

Still fiddling with the sample with one hand, he logged into the Protectorate's international cape database to check whether it was the work of a known cape from overseas.

Suddenly: "Console to Armsmaster! Lung is back up! Need immediate Protectorate deployment for friendly exfil!"

Colin dropped the sample on the table.

Armsmaster shot to his feet.

"Responding personally. Sitrep?" he demanded, grabbing both halberds. The subject followed him with its gaze as he dashed across the room to the door.

"The Wards are cut off from the shortest route back, they're with the new cape and are making a run for it." A pause. "The Undersiders were nearby and offered them a ride under truce, and they're taking it. They're headed back to PRT HQ by as direct a route as possible with Lung in the way."

Armsmaster thought rapidly as he slammed the emergency door release and the blast door began to cycle open.

The Undersiders just happening to stick around after taking Lung down was incredibly suspicious. An ambush, maybe? No, they were highly unlikely to be working with Lung given their existing animosity. Maybe their previous jobs were false flags? Perhaps if he could-

No, focus. Either way, it was currently irrelevant. First priority was getting out there to rescue the Wards.

Unfortunately, while Armsmaster could get past the first blast door and into the airlock in a few seconds, the airlock had a long cycle time that couldn't be overridden, to give emergency responders time to react to a sudden biohazard release or similar. He'd be stuck in there for at least a minute and a half.

"Status on Velocity and Miss Militia?" he asked.

"Velocity is diverting to them, ETA eight minutes. Miss Militia responded to the page and is en route, ETA fifteen minutes."

"Good. Switching to tac channel eight." Armsmaster blinked in a specific pattern and heard a click as his radio changed frequencies and encryption protocols.

He was contacting Gallant directly and not the general Wards channel, as Gallant's closed helmet would let them talk privately without worrying as much about opsec, a critical consideration in time-sensitive situations like this one.

"Armsmaster to Gallant. Sitrep."

"Getting on the dogs," the Ward grunted, then, "Lung's up and coming for us! We're going northeast and around!"

"Are either of you injured?" Armsmaster demanded.

"No, we're both-" Gallant's words were drowned out by a loud burst of static, and for a moment Armsmaster feared the worst.

"-watch it!" the Ward said once the static abated, then added, "At what? I can't see a thing through all that!"

There was a pause, then an audible click as Gallant shut off his external speakers. "Sorry. Grue hit me with his darkness. Was an accident. Lung's chasing us. Need to focus. Will report as I can. Gallant out."

Armsmaster stood there for another few seconds, feeling both angry and helpless at the delay, before the indicator light flashed and the outer blast door opened. He ducked through it, collapsed both halberds and slapped them into the maglocks on his back, and sprinted for the elevator.

A signal from his armor opened the doors while he was still a few seconds away and activated the emergency override. He skidded into the elevator, spun around, and braced himself against the far wall as the doors slammed shut and the elevator shot upwards at speeds that would be incredibly unsafe for anyone not protected by at least the minimal power armor he currently wore.

He'd already started running when the doors opened and he made it to his lab in record time. As soon as he was inside, he triggered the emergency release on his current suit and started donning his heavy combat armor.

"Console to Armsmaster," his radio buzzed.

" What?" he barked, distracted.

"We're getting reports of a fight downtown, Empire and Coil's troops. Calls are coming from a residential building, sounds like a bunch of civvies in the crossfire."

"Damnation," Armsmaster swore. Of all the times for the Empire to pull two separate jobs in one night….

He thought quickly. "Wait one," he said, then switched channels. "Gallant, how's Lung looking?"

"Uh," the Ward responded, sounding distracted and out of breath, "huge, angry, completely on fire?"

Damn it all. Velocity was next to useless against Brutes at the best of times, but he wouldn't even be able to get anywhere close to the gang leader right now.

"And we just got out of Grue's darkness. We're probably going to go under again in a minute, so we may be out of contact for a while," Gallant added.

"What's your route?" Armsmaster asked. Come on, come on, come on… he chanted to himself as components of his armor sealed themselves around his legs at what felt like a glacial pace.

"We're right near Sixth Street, planning to go up Fulton to Ferry to the bridge, then back to HQ via Lombard."

"Acknowledged." Armsmaster quickly pinged the locators built into both Wards' armor, triggered a script that would calculate an optimal route to intercept them and send a boilerplate order to the PHQ control center to redirect the bridge projector appropriately, and estimated how long it would take him to finish up and reach them. "ETA… twelve minutes. Hang in there. Armsmaster out."

Switching back to the console channel, he ordered, "Lung's too ramped-up for Velocity to handle. Reroute him to deal with the Empire situation. Send Miss Militia ahead to Archer's Bridge to intercept Lung. Armsmaster out."

As soon as the final armor panel snapped into place he grabbed his anti-Brute halberd off the nearby rack, locked a backup weapon onto his back in case Lung damaged the other one, triggered his motorcycle's remote starter, and took off for the elevator.

Less than a minute later he rocketed out of the vehicle bay, reaching highway speeds right as he hit the forcefield bridge.

Every minute the Wards spent running from Lung was another chance for one of them to be seriously injured or killed. He could only pray that he got there in time.

~*~*~

1:22 am, Sunday the 11th of April, 2011 CE

The Docks, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

He hadn't gotten there in time.

He had gotten close enough to witness the aftermath of Lung's indiscriminate destruction and had raced past countless burning buildings in an attempt to catch up to them, but the massive clouds of darkness blanketing the streets hadn't yet dissipated. He'd had to slow to a crawl and rely on the incomplete sonar system in his pauldrons to get him through.

That system, developed recently based on readings of Cricket's echolocation, had nowhere near its optimal range and fidelity without the directional amplifier and anechoic compensators built into his latest halberd.

Of course he'd ended up personally running into Grue's darkness for the first time when the system specifically designed to help him counter it was still a few days away from completion.

He could have taken that halberd with him instead of his normal backup weapon, but it would be suicidal to rely on incomplete and untested gear when going up against someone like Lung.

He'd tried to raise both Wards on the radio multiple times, but received only static in response. Their locator beacons flickered intermittently in his HUD, presumably as gaps opened and closed in the darkness, most of the time hovering around three-quarters brightness. He made a note to work up an alternate beacon system that would be less susceptible to jamming.

And then, suddenly, Kid Win's beacon winked out entirely while Gallant's was still active.

Gallant's beacon flared to full brightness for around half a second, just long enough for him to manage a frantic and static-laced " Kid's gone! Can't see what-" before his own beacon winked out as well.

Lung's bestial roars echoed in the distance.

Armsmaster switched to the Wards channel. "Gallant? Gallant! Kid Win! Respond!" he demanded. That can't mean what I think it means.

No answer.

"Kid Win? Gallant? Are you injured? Respond!" he said. It can't. It can't . It's just Grue's darkness jamming the signal again.

Still nothing.

"… Please respond?" he tried. No, no no no….

Silence.

~*~*~

Half an hour later, Armsmaster rolled to a stop, his motorcycle idling softly.

He'd chased after Lung as best he could, but with the remnants of Grue's darkness in the way and having to maneuver around all of the flaming wreckage as he went, it was a losing proposition. Miss Militia had arrived to help and Lung had eventually started to ramp down, but before the heroes could get within optimal weapons range of him Oni Lee had shown up to run interference.

By the time they'd driven the teleporter off, Lung was long gone.

He told Miss Militia to divert to Assault and Battery's location to deal with the Empire and ordered the duo to break off to instead come help with the fires as soon as his second in command reached them, as their powers were more suited to rescuing civilians from burning buildings than either Miss Militia's or his own.

Then he turned his motorcycle around and headed for the Wards' last recorded location.

Physically, Armsmaster was fine. His heavy armor was rated for the likes of Lung and Hookwolf, so Oni Lee's knives and grenades had barely scratched the paint, and the lower portion of his helmet could be sealed against heat, smoke inhalation, and all kinds of other exotic threats.

Mentally, he was… adrift.

After reaching the alley he searched for any sign of either Ward, both with his eyes and with all of his armor's many sensors, but all he could find was molten asphalt, melting cars and windows, crumpled streetlights, smoldering telephone poles, and the overpowering scent of burning garbage from a nearby dumpster that had collapsed in on itself and spilled its contents onto the street.

Over his long and distinguished career, those sensors had managed to uncover everything from the faintest of footprints on a wet sidewalk to the slightest traces of drug residue in an abandoned Empire stash house. If they couldn't find a single sign of the Wards' presence….

The sight of that molten asphalt brought an old memory bubbling to the surface.

When the Protectorate had responded to Leviathan's attack on Kyushu, Armsmaster had of course deployed with them. As a relatively new cape, he'd been put on search and rescue duty, not yet having the kind of gear needed to survive going anywhere near the Endbringer itself… but he'd heard the stories afterward, and years later he'd managed to acquire what few highly-classified videos there were of the fight between Lung and Leviathan to feed into his Endbringer prediction system.

He knew what Lung had done, what the Protectorate had kept from the public as best it could in order to forestall a panic when the dragon-man had arrived in the Bay. How Lung had grown to the point that merely being within a few yards of him while he fought Leviathan was enough to vaporize water, to melt stone, to harm even the strongest Brutes.

To incinerate flesh and clothing and armor, leaving nothing behind.

Right about then, Colin hated himself almost as much as he hated Lung.

I could have been there. I should have been there. I could have kept him down, or stopped him before he got too far, or done something to stop him from rampaging through the city and…

He breathed deeply.

… and killing two Wards and God only knows how many civilians. Dozens, at least.

"Armsmaster to Console," he said, absently surprised at how calm he sounded. "Returning to base."

"What's the status on Lung?" Director Piggot's voice cut in. She must have been called in and briefed on the situation while he was in pursuit.

"Escaped," Armsmaster said. "Oni Lee showed up and gave him an opening."

"And the Wards?" she asked.

"They're gone," he said.

"… What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"Gone . No bodies," he said, still unnaturally calm.

There was a sharp intake of breath on the line, from whom he couldn't tell, followed by a long pause.

"How sure are you?" the Director finally asked.

"As sure as I can be without Thinker confirmation," he said. A quick HUD command sent over the last few minutes of helmet camera footage and sensor readings as corroboration.

"… Acknowledged. Head to PRT HQ for immediate debrief."

"Wilco. Armsmaster out."

The ride to the PRT building was completed in silence.

~*~*~

2:00 pm, Monday the 11th of April, 2011 CE

Protectorate ENE Headquarters, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

The mood was somber in the main meeting room on the top floor of the PHQ.

Every Monday afternoon, the entire Protectorate team met for a weekly status meeting concerning everything from new villain sightings to hero vacation schedules. Director Emily Piggot and the heads of the department's Operations and Intelligence divisions attended these meetings as well, though Deputy Director Harold Renick was filling in for the Director today. The other PRT division heads had standing invitations to attend, but rarely deigned to do so.

This afternoon, the heads of Image and Legal were in attendance.

Armsmaster stood at the head of the room, his helmet synced to the projection system. The other capes sat along one side of the long table in the center of the room.

Miss Militia was seated nearest the head of the table, staring out the window at something only she could see.

Battery, Assault, and Velocity were in the next seats down, large mugs of coffee on the table in front of them. Assault was slumped in his chair, not even trying to lighten the mood as he usually would.

Dauntless and Triumph were at the far end of the table, looking despondent. Neither had been on call last night, so they actually hadn't heard what had happened until the story of Lung's rampage hit the morning news.

Then they'd come in for their shifts only to be turned around and shoved right back out the door for a PR patrol through the Docks to assure residents that the Protectorate was taking things very seriously, followed by an unscheduled meet-and-greet on the Boardwalk to reassure tourists that the area was still perfectly safe. It was unlikely they could have done anything to change the outcome, as the situation had concluded before they could have geared up and reached the site, but they'd expressed guilt over their absence regardless.

The last twelve hours had been full of frantic activity on the part of both the Protectorate and PRT; the deaths of not one but two Wards in one night would do that.

On the PRT side, there were numerous calls made, statements drafted, liabilities checked, and contingencies invoked, continuing through the night and rolling over to employees on the morning shift when they arrived and were given the news.

On the Protectorate side, Armsmaster had contacted the nearest WEDGDG facilities for support, and the Think Tanks in New York and DC had set to work attempting to either track down the two Wards or to verify their passing.

He'd hated making those calls.

So long as he didn't know the Wards were dead there was still a glimmer of hope… but on the very remote chance they'd merely been captured by the ABB somehow and needed rescue, every second mattered, so he'd contacted Watchdog the moment he'd reached the PHQ bridge.

The results had come back a little over two hours later: After having assigned every Thinker with applicable powers to the task, neither Christopher McIntyre nor Dean Stansfield nor either of their physical remains could be found.

All trails led to the location and time of their deaths, and no further.

Shortly thereafter, official records were updated to indicate that the two were no longer among the living, and the news spread in dribs and drabs through the whole ENE department.

~*~*~

Precisely at 2:05, after the inevitable five minutes of start-of-meeting chatter that he couldn't bring himself to cut short this time, Armsmaster took a fortifying breath, dimmed the lights, and started up the projector. "Let's begin. First on the agenda, villain updates."

Everyone sat up slightly at that. Normally the meeting started off with public outreach schedules and other internal matters, but given the circumstances he'd decided to skip the unimportant stuff for today.

The first slide showed images of most of the city's minor villains (minus Faultline's Crew, which the latest intelligence currently placed down in Trenton), displayed roughly in order of officially-assigned threat level. Ratings and brief power summaries were given in small type below each picture, with any updates since the previous week highlighted in yellow.

Coil first. Powers unknown, blurry picture, threat rating indeterminate; likely a Master, Thinker, or Trump given his exclusive use of unpowered mercenaries, once thought to be a Tinker before word of Ultra Violet got around. The largest threat after the Empire and ABB, he thankfully didn't seem to have any grand ambitions beyond running protection rackets on two-thirds of Downtown and holding that territory and much of the Midtown area against Empire incursions.

Über and Leet next, the former able to grant himself any skills he wanted and the latter apparently able to tinker up practically anything so long as it came from or was inspired by a video game. The duo usually went for flashy performances that involved more spectacle than real danger, but occasionally dabbled in more straightforward crimes as well.

The Undersiders, a quartet consisting of Grue, able to create clouds of a pitch-black gaseous substance that blocked all electromagnetic radiation; Hellhound, able to enhance and control dogs; and two complete unknowns… though how much of the team had actually survived the night to continue their villainy was still an open question.

Albatross, able to "manipulate luck" in a manner that Science and R still hadn't quite figured out. He usually kept a low profile and targeted the casinos outside the city limits, but earned his moderately high rating from his ability to make a PRT squad look like the Three Stooges when he pulled the occasional job in the Financial District.

Squealer, a vehicle Tinker. She seemingly cared more about street racing than committing crimes; it was her total disregard for collateral damage during said races that had earned her the villain label.

Circus, able to control fire and store objects in a pocket dimension, on top of superhuman acrobatic skills. She specialized in burglaries against jewelry stores, high-end clothing boutiques, and similar.

Rubik, able to rearrange and reshape inanimate matter to a limited extent. An amateur mercenary for hire, and unlike Faultline one who was perfectly happy to operate within the city, though he did at least try to keep a low profile.

TK, the duo of Tractor Beam and Whirligig, the former able to telekinetically move people and objects using colored beams of light and the latter able to telekinetically move objects around her in a "whirlwind" that grew in strength over time. They were mostly known for vandalism, carjacking, and other crimes one would expect from a pair of teenage hooligans.

The city's most minor villains were on the next slide, though mostly for completeness' sake. Flashstep, Greaser, Nitro, Skidmark, Stain, and Trainwreck were all sufficiently weak, unambitious, or both that Armsmaster couldn't remember the last time any of them had done anything worth bringing up in one of these meetings.

"Intel, thoughts on their reactions to last night?" Armsmaster asked.

George Cohen, Head of Intelligence, leaned forward and cleared his throat. "Most of them will be lying low. Über and Leet generally avoid putting on their 'shows' for three to five days after Endbringer attacks, major villain fights, and similar events to avoid any possible public backlash. Albatross is on especially bad terms with the ABB after his latest casino job, and should know that now is not the time to push them. TK have no reason to get involved on any side. Any surviving Undersiders are likely very unpopular with the other villains right now, and will probably wait to pull any more jobs until things calm down."

He shuffled a few papers on the table in front of him. "Rubik, Circus, Flashstep, and Nitro are somewhat of a concern, however, given Lung's pattern."

Triumph half-raised his hand. "His pattern?"

"Right, that was before you joined the Wards," George realized. "He hasn't done it since he finished absorbing all the other gangs into the ABB, but Bakuda's not the first time Lung has recruited a new cape or two for short periods of time to help achieve specific goals. He picked up Kinoichi in late '08, Hu Jing in early '09, and both Saru and Torana in late '09. If anything would prompt him to pick up a fourth cape so soon after Bakuda, this would definitely be it."

He cleared his throat again. "Fortunately, the four I mentioned are small-timers, unlikely to hire on with Lung and attract a lot of the wrong kind of attention, but it's still a possibility. Coil is also a concern, but less so; if the Empire decides to go after the ABB under the assumption that everyone else will sit back and let them, Coil might take advantage, but we're not too worried."

"What about Squealer?" Velocity asked.

George grimaced. "Bad news on that front. She appears to have gotten together with Skidmark."

There was a significant pause, then Assault raised a questioning finger and asked, "And when you say 'together' you mean…?"

"Romantically, according to our sources," George said.

A collective shudder went around the table.

"The worse news," the Head of Intelligence continued, "is that they appear to be trying to start a new gang. Over the past few weeks, both Squealer and Skidmark have been seen meeting with Stain and Greaser-who's now going by 'Moist,' apparently-and we have reports confirming that all four met with some of Skidmark's dealers Wednesday night near the edge of ABB territory. So that could get… messy. More than Skidmark's bunch already is, I mean."

He paused for the ensuing chuckles, then continued, "We'll have more information on that whole situation by next week. The worst news of all, though… remember when Jung was brought in?"

There were scattered nods. Jung had been a social Thinker with the Empire, useless in a fight but incredibly skilled both at ferreting out attempts by other factions-including the PRT-to slip moles into their ranks and at recruiting new members that other Empire capes had been unable to convince. He and Victor had often taken turns warming up the crowds at Empire rallies right before Kaiser's speeches.

He'd been arrested recently by Ghost, an independent Tinker hero with a specialty in cloaking tech who had been a minor thorn in the Empire's side for nearly a year. Most of the Empire capes couldn't do much against a target they couldn't see, after all.

"We confirmed yesterday morning that after drawing Empire forces away to allow the PRT to pick Jung up, Ghost ran into Stormtiger and Cricket." Those two were capes that Hookwolf had recruited to the Empire a couple months back, possibly for the specific purpose of tracking down Ghost with their power-granted nonvisual senses, according to several Intel analysts. "She was critically injured, enough so that when she later ran into Squealer, her suit-"

"Is the short version that Squealer might have cloaking tech now?" Velocity interrupted

George nodded. "If not now, she probably will soon. Within a few weeks at most."

"Well that's just what we needed," the speedster groaned, following that with an extra-large gulp of coffee.

"Speaking of Ghost, let's move on to the independent hero overview," Armsmaster said, advancing the slide and nodding to Andrew Rodriguez, the rather terse Head of Operations.

"Short version? The surviving indies aren't exactly rushing to face Lung," Andrew said. "We reached out to everyone this morning. Resolute's a definite no. Crucible is undecided, leaning toward no. Haberdasher hasn't responded. Pelter is tentatively on board. Statuette said she'd need help sourcing the necessary materials for some Lung-rated minions, so we're working on that. Nereid said she'll continue helping us track ABB shipments and such, but isn't good enough in a fight on land to risk getting directly involved."

"And our floaters?" Armsmaster asked, referring to the Protectorate heroes assigned to the surrounding suburbs and towns on a rotating basis rather than being stationed in Brockton Bay itself. They generally stuck to their assigned regions, only being called in to the city proper to help during crisis situations. Overseeing them was normally his responsibility as Protectorate leader, but that was one of the duties he'd handed off to the PRT while on his current project.

"Sere's in the middle of an operation we don't want to interrupt just yet and Clasp is on vacation this week and apparent not checking voicemails, but Dovetail and Squint are tying off some loose ends and can be ready to rotate into the city in two or three days."

"It sounds like we're planning something major," Battery said, sounding concerned.

Armsmaster exchanged a look with Deputy Director Renick, then nodded to him.

"We are, provisionally," Renick confirmed. "As of an hour ago, after consultation with myself, Armsmaster, and Assistant Directors Cohen and Rodriguez, Director Piggot has decided, with our unanimous support, to push for a kill order for Lung."

The whole room erupted.

Battery, Dauntless, and Triumph seemed shocked at the idea of bringing that kind of heat and attention down on the city. Velocity wondered loudly what had taken them so long to request one; this was Lung's worst rampage by far, but it wasn't his first, second, or even third since arriving in the city.

Miss Militia and Assault were quiet but bore similar eager expressions under their masks, which an uncharitable observer might describe as "bloodthirsty."

Those whom the Deputy Director had mentioned appeared unsurprised, as did the heads of Legal and Image; answering questions about the situation and making sure any preemptive planning stayed within appropriate bounds was likely why those two were attending in the first place.

Renick raised his hands for quiet, and eventually the hubbub settled down.

"It hasn't been approved yet," he cautioned everyone. "The Director is discussing details with Directors Wilkins and Armstrong as we speak, and Barbara," he nodded toward the Head of Legal, "will be meeting with the chief of police and the mayor this afternoon to get their buy-in. But if you have any contacts in other departments or know any out-of-town independents who may want to get involved, now would be a good time to send out some feelers."

"What about New Wave? Have we reached out to them yet?" Dauntless asked.

Armsmaster glanced over at him, outwardly calm but inwardly rather annoyed. "We had a… discussion with Glory Girl this morning when she flew up to the PRT building and demanded to speak with someone in charge," he replied. "She made it very clear that she blames the Protectorate for what happened to Gallant, and her mother is backing her up on that."

She blames me personally, he thought. And he largely agreed with her.

He knew, logically, that he couldn't have known what was going to happen, that he couldn't know how events might possibly have gone instead if he'd been on patrol last night.

He knew she blamed him simply because he was the highest-ranking person who'd been personally involved with the situation, the actual chain of command be damned.

He knew he wasn't responsible for Lung deciding to rampage through the Docks. That had been entirely Lung's decision.

Heck, he hadn't even known the Wards' patrol assignments beforehand. The Wards program fell under the purview of the Deputy Director's office, so reviewing and approving the schedules Aegis drew up was Renick's responsibility.

But regardless of what he knew intellectually, he still felt responsible. To stand helplessly on the sidelines, listening as Lung killed two promising young heroes mere blocks away while he was unable to do anything about it, made him feel as though he had failed in his duties and no amount of logic was going to convince him otherwise.

"So while New Wave will be assisting against Lung in any way possible, they will not be collaborating with us in any official capacity," he concluded.

Looking back at the slides, he decided that they were unlikely to get through the rest of the agenda in anything resembling an orderly fashion, sighed, and shut down the projector.

"Let's finish with a quick rundown of Empire activity and wrap things up early. The ABB's activities will be impacted dramatically if and when a kill order is issued, so we'll cover that at a later time. Battery?"

The heroine leaned forward. "Blitz and Krieg were escorting the arms shipment, along with ten gang members with automatic weapons," she said. "Assault and I took out the ordinaries, then I engaged the capes while he took out the trucks." She clenched her fists in frustration. "I disabled Blitz's suit, but we couldn't pursue when Krieg helped her retreat because it would have taken us farther from the fire, and when Militia arrived," she nodded to her fellow heroine, "she couldn't get a good disabling shot through Krieg's field."

"We would've put Blitz away for sure last night if that scaly bastard hadn't lit the place up," Assault grumbled next to her.

Armsmaster nodded. "Velocity?"

"Nothing major. Empire thugs were paying someone a visit," he said, his disgusted expression making it clear that it was that kind of visit that generally involved protection money, baseball bats, and kneecaps, "when Coil sent his mercs out to rough them up for whatever reason, even though the thugs weren't that close to his claimed territory. I went in, disarmed most of them, and both sides retreated. After that I checked in with the civilians, kept an eye on things until the police arrived, and then headed to the Docks to help out."

Armsmaster nodded at him as well. "Anyone else?"

Assistant Director Cohen cleared his throat. "Reports suggest the Empire may have picked up two more capes," he said. "No firm details yet, but there are scattered reports of a pair of Changers or Breakers operating in the southwest end of Empire territory. Could be Night and Fog back from Boston, could be new ones, we're not sure, just keep an eye when patrolling in that area."

Assault groaned loudly. "Two capes. Why does it always have to be two capes?" he asked in his best Indiana Jones impression.

The attempt at levity fell flat, and no one had an answer for him in any case. They all knew that Kaiser, like Allfather before him, preferred to recruit capes in synergistic and thematic pairs-Huginn and Muninn, Fenja and Menja, Thunor and Sif, Blitz and Krieg, Blut and Boden, Muspelheim and Niflheim, Night and Fog, and now these two mystery capes-but not why.

Nor did they know how he managed to keep finding so many capes willing to sign up when his connections with the Herrens, the Klan, Volksfront, Kräftewaffen, and similar white supremacist organizations were only shown to account for around half of his out-of-state recruits.

Fortunately, aside from his lieutenants, even those capes who evaded capture didn't tend to stick around for more than a year or so, otherwise the Empire would be something like forty capes strong by now.

"Does anyone have anything else? Empire-related or otherwise," Armsmaster asked.

"Yes, actually. Maybe," Dauntless said, waggling his hand in a so-so gesture. "Triumph and I think we may have run into a new cape on the Boardwalk today."

"May have?" Miss Militia asked.

"We're not sure whether it was a mild Stranger effect or we were just preoccupied and not paying as much attention as we should have been."

He looked over at Triumph, who gave a tiny shake of his head and gestured back to him, and continued, "Someone came up to Triumph and gave him a compliment about Triumph being his favorite hero, then talked to me a little later and joked around about it. It was pretty memorable, but when I brought it up on the ride back Triumph couldn't remember the guy's name, and neither could I.

"When I thought back, I realized I couldn't remember a single detail about his voice, his appearance, or anything else, and again, neither could Triumph. We checked with the PR rep, and she couldn't remember anything either even though she was standing near the front of the line while he was there."

Dauntless shrugged. "Probably a low-rated Stranger, but it could just be that the two of us were distracted and Natalie was busy because he came right before the post-lunch rush. I wanted to bring it up either way in case someone else runs into him."

"Good to know," Armsmaster said. "We'll open a file on him under the temporary designation…" he did a quick lookup to check for available names "… Blockout."

"I'll pass that on to the Wards as well," Renick put in.

"Thank you. Anything else?" Armsmaster asked. When no one spoke up, he said, "Then that concludes the meeting. If the kill order is approved I'll schedule another briefing to go over the ramifications. Assistant Directors Gibson and Latham will be providing briefing materials regarding the situation either way. If you have any legal concerns or questions about talking points, they will be staying around to address those."

He began to walk out as the room filled with the usual shuffle of chairs and papers that ended every meeting, but stopped when Triumph called out, "Hey, everybody?"

Armsmaster turned. "Yes?" he replied, somewhat impatiently, and the others looked over at Triumph as well.

"We… the Wards and I, I mean, we were chatting over lunch and we wanted to have a sort of… wake, I guess, for Dean and Chris." His voice shook slightly as he spoke; it was easy to forget that he'd been on the same team as the two fallen Wards mere weeks ago, and had been much closer to them than anyone else in the room.

"We're not authorized to talk to our parents about them yet, so we can't really, ah…." He shrugged, not able to find the words. "Everyone's at PRT HQ already except Shadow Stalker, we'll be starting around 3:30 when she gets there. We were hoping everyone in the Protectorate would come. And of course you're welcome, too," he added, nodding toward the PRT employees.

All the heroes present agreed immediately, except for Armsmaster, who frowned. "I can't," he said in a clipped tone.

"What?" Triumph snapped. Surprise and restrained anger were obvious in his voice as a reflexive and unintentional use of his power sent a brief but loud rattling through the table and all the mugs on it.

"I have other duties to attend to," Armsmaster said, his voice taking on the slight detachment it often did when he was pushing his emotions aside to muddle through a bad situation. Please don't press me on this, he silently urged Triumph.

" Other duties ?" the younger hero asked incredulously, the volume of his voice rising almost to dangerous levels.

Armsmaster continued in a strained tone. "In my capacity as Protectorate leader-"

"What in the fucking fuck could you possibly have to do that's more important-?"

Colin slammed both fists down onto the table. " Do you want to be the one to tell their parents?" he roared.

In the ensuing shocked silence, the only sound was the faint creaking of wood laminate as Colin removed his hands from the holes he'd punched straight through the tabletop.

He proceeded to carefully brush the splinters of fake wood from his gauntlets, not looking directly at anyone. The division heads stood completely still, almost not daring to breathe, as their gazes shifted between the two furious capes.

"The families have yet to be informed," Colin said in a slightly detached tone once he had himself under control. "While Deputy Director Renick will be handling official communications in his capacity as the manager of the East-Northeast Wards chapter, he and I have agreed that I will be the one informing their parents directly. Tonight."

He took a deep breath. Still no one said anything.

"Also, you may not have heard that the two of them encountered an independent hero last night, one so new that she hadn't even chosen a name yet. And, seeing as there were no remains in that alley…."

Colin shook his head morosely. "It now falls to me to identify her from the handful of photos Kid Win sent over during their conversation, and then track down her parents and inform them why their child didn't make it home last night either."

The tension in Triumph's posture gradually loosened in grudging understanding as Armsmaster explained himself, but he didn't apologize.

Colin's gaze shifted to encompass both the Deputy Director and the Head of Operations. "By the way," he added in a dangerously mild tone, "I've been working on a nanodisintegration system for my newest halberd. Kill order or no kill order, the next time I see Lung I plan to shove that halberd so far down the bastard's throat that there won't be enough of him left to Birdcage. Just so you're aware."

He turned on his heel and walked out without waiting for a reply.

~*~*~

6:25 pm, Monday the 11th of April, 2011 CE

South End, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

' Mr. and Mrs. McIntyre, I've come to inform you…' No.

' Mr. and Mrs. McIntyre, it is my sad duty to report…' No.

Many different options for what to say ran through Colin's head as he rode to his destination.

Colin had agonized over the condolence letters for hours. Dragon had offered to help, but he'd declined.

He didn't want the words to come from someone else, he'd wanted the letters to have his own personal touch.

Unfortunately, Colin wasn't really all that good at giving anything a personal touch.

He'd typed and deleted entire screens' worth of words like proud to serve, albeit less frequently than I'd have liked, as his mentor and made great strides in recent months and incredibly promising, despite his persistent difficulties and other trite phrases that simply could not fully capture what he wanted to express about Kid Win and his all-too-brief career.

In a purely professional context, Armsmaster could easily and adroitly get across whatever concepts he needed to convey.

In a personal context, Colin found it… difficult.

In this particular case, he couldn't even draw upon prior experience of discussing the loss of someone close to him and adapt that to the current situation. Partly because he hadn't ever let himself get close enough to most colleagues for their deaths to impact him heavily- especially after Seattle-and partly because he wasn't the type to discuss such things with friends or family anyway.

That would first have required him to have friends to talk with in the first place (Chevalier didn't count, theirs wasn't really the "talk about feelings" kind of friendship, and that went double for Myrddin), or to have had any relatives with whom he was on speaking terms.

In the end, he had pulled up all of his discarded drafts, extracted the bits that came closest to expressing his sentiments, and synthesized them all into a single letter for each of the boys. Perhaps they were too long and meandering, but that would have to do.

~*~*~

Colin pulled into the driveway of a small but decently-maintained single-story house and put down the kickstand of his motorcycle.

He'd met and spoken with Chris's family a few times before, first when Kid Win had been commissioned to build Gallant a suit of armor with Armsmaster's assistance and later on to discuss Kid Win's ongoing tinkering issues, but always in discreet meetings at PRT HQ to avoid drawing attention to them.

Today, he was riding Armsmaster's signature motorcycle and wearing full ceremonial armor.

Chris deserved nothing less, and was hardly in a position to worry about his civilian identity anymore.

Armsmaster walked up to the front door, treading carefully on the run-down wood porch, and rang the doorbell.

"Coming!" he heard, and a few moments later a graying middle-aged man wearing an Arcadia Lacrosse sweatshirt opened the door a few inches.

"Armsmaster!" the man said softly, his eyes widening. He glanced quickly to either side in search of nosy neighbors; seeing none, he relaxed and continued in a regular tone, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Mr. McIntyre? It's about your son, I'm afraid," Armsmaster said levelly.

"If this is about him sleeping in his lab yet again," the man chuckled, "we figured as much when he wasn't in his room this morning. Don't worry, he told us he was planning to squeeze some more tinkering in after his patrol. I know it's against your regulations, but I figure, hey, if he wants to sleep over on a school night, Arcadia's actually closer-"

"May I come in?" Armsmaster interrupted. Like Chris, his father tended to ramble if allowed to get going.

"Oh, of course, silly to talk out on the porch like that," he said, stepping aside and opening the door wider. "Can I offer you anything? Tea, coffee?"

"No thank you." Armsmaster stepped inside, gently took the door from Chris's father, and closed it behind him.

"Mr. McIntyre, is your wife home? You may want to get her."

The man gave him a curious look. "Honey?" he called over his shoulder. "Could you come out to the living room? Someone's here to see us."

A woman with similarly-graying hair walked out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel. "Oh, Armsmaster! Welcome! Frank, you should have said who it was," she added, slapping her husband playfully with the towel.

"Mrs. McIntyre," Armsmaster greeted her, still in the same level tone. "Have either of you seen or listened to the news today?"

"No, we usually watch it after dinner on days when Chris is working, and you caught us just as we were clearing the table. Why? Did they announce another new Ward that he's going to need to make some armor for?"

Her tone was pleasantly curious, but her husband's smile faded as he started to pick up on the hero's somber mood.

"I have something for the two of you," Armsmaster said.

He reached behind his back, unlocked one of the storage compartments in his armor, drew out a thick manila envelope edged in black and stamped with the Protectorate emblem in red, and held it carefully before him with both hands.

Husband and wife paled as they stared at the envelope.

"That… that's not…?" Chris's father asked, a quaver in his voice, and Chris's mother grabbed for his hand and squeezed it until her knuckles went white.

"I think," Colin said gently, "you might want to sit down for this."

Author's Note

Chapter pros: Worldbuilding!

For all that Brockton Bay's cape scene is reasonably fleshed out in canon, it's surprisingly static and laser-focused on the main cast. We're told that there's a lot of churn in the Empire capes because of Kaiser's leadership style, but see none of it on-screen, with Muspelheim and Niflheim only being mentioned after the Empire breaks up; Grue says in 3.3 that there are "another dozen heroes that fly solo" that Grue expects to get in a fight with, but aside from Chariot (and debatably Browbeat since they didn't know at the time that he'd joined the Wards) we never see any, or for that matter any solo villains who aren't hired by Coil; according to Wildbow there are "free-floating capes in the vicinity of the city" who "bolster the Brockton Bay Protectorate" in the wake of Leviathan, but there's nothing to really differentiate the capes who have supposedly been in the local area (Dovetail and Sere) from capes who transferred in from other cities in terms of their screen time.

So all of these namedropped independent capes (some canonical, some not), the whole Protectorate floater setup, the recently-captured-in-backstory Empire capes (and the "one who got away," Blitz, who I'm positing would have been taken out in canon but managed to escape that here), and so on are my attempt to reconcile all of that and hopefully make the city a bit more dynamic. And depending on how things go with Lung, a bunch of those independent capes may or may not be showing up on screen relatively soon….

And speaking of minor capes, it's often forgotten that the Merchants aren't a long-running gang in the Bay: Squealer and Trainwreck are mentioned as independent villains in interlude 2, just like Circus, and the name "Merchants" isn't even mentioned until after Somer's Rock. So, for a change of pace, here we get to hear about them in their very early days as they're just getting the gang together-and yes, I know that Stain and Moist are supposedly mistaken names for Skidmark and Mush that were never corrected in the text, but assuming that Stain is an "off-screen" Merchant cape and that Mush joins them after Moist goes to Somer's Rock gives a bit more of that dynamism I mentioned, so we're going with that approach here.

Chapter cons: Poor Armsmaster, poor Kid Win's parents, and possibly poor Bitch and Tattletale.

Hopefully I've atoned for my sin of kicking things off with the standard Lung fight by completely shaking things up with Armsmaster, Lung, and the Undersiders, and thereby avoiding knocking down the dominoes that are the stations of canon. We'll just have to see how things develop from here.

Transposition 1.P

Early Morning, Wir the 4th of Rhaan, 999 YK Near the Dal Olam Ruins, Xen'drik, Eberron
Parik Xiv'inn

The interlopers had returned, and for daring to trespass on the sacred ground of the drow they would pay with their lives.

Parik crouched among the roots of a ka'lan tree, scorpion chain in hand, watching the foreigners as they walked through the ruins with their floating sphere of metal. To his left, Turaje stood with his staff, only a sliver of his form visible behind the tree. To his right, K'var watched from the treetops, the clay-white honor marks on her face and arms contrasting with her obsidian-black skin to let her blend with the patterns in the bark and the shadows of the canopy. Behind them, Sszal and I'sryn stood watch for any threats approaching from outside the ruin.

Other drow clans believed the greatest threats to their people were the beasts of sky and land and sea, or the giants who roamed the Shattered Land, but Parik's clan were of the Hantar'kul, those clans who followed the path of the Blood Hunters. They knew that the packs of greenwolves fell easily to blades, that the dream serpents held no danger for the strong-willed, that the giants were fewer and weaker with every cycle of the moons. There was no threat in them, nor honor in hunting them.

It was the people of distant lands who were the true threat, most of all the drow's mud-skinned cousins, the elves. It was they who trod in ignorance on sacred ground, who slew the beasts of jungle and desert not for their meat or their scales but merely for sport, who robbed the drow of their ancient inheritance with every relic unearthed from every ruin.

For these crimes and many more, they would pay with their lives.

Parik whispered to Turaje, remaining otherwise perfectly still to avoid notice. "What do you see?"

The shaman remained silent for a long moment. The blessings of their god Vulkoor granted him many gifts, among them the ability to see the mystical patterns of magic clinging to shamans and wonderworkers and relics and all else that had been touched by the blessings of the gods and spirits, patterns that passed unseen to those not thus blessed.

"Too much," Turaje murmured at last. "Though they wear no armor, they are armored in magic, and the sphere of metal is too bright to look upon. They are too strong for us to slay."

"That is a coward's answer," came the voice of K'var from the treetop.

Parik curled a lip at her statement. K'var was the eldest of the warriors present and the daughter of the aquasa of the clan, so he could not say to her face that she was an impatient fool who should not have been sent with them, but he could say it in his thoughts, and she frequently gave him cause to do so.

"It is the truth," Turaje said. "You recall the hand of foreigners who entered our land when the red moon was new?"

"Yes," K'var said with impatience. Five foreigners had passed through their lands a short time ago, and of the eight warriors sent to kill them for their trespass, seven had been slain and the eighth had only barely escaped to tell of it. To the survivor's great dishonor, none of the foreigners had been slain, nor even gravely wounded.

"These could do easily to the other foreigners what the others did to us," Turaje said with bluntness. "To rush to do battle against them would be foolish and achieve nothing."

As a shaman of the clan, Turaje could say to K'var's face what Parik could say only in his thoughts. Sometimes Parik envied him his connection to the Great Scorpion, but it was not the drow way to regret what could not be.

"Then we are to return with empty hands?" K'var hissed.

"We are to wait and watch," Turaje said. "They may separate, and in doing this become vulnerable. Grasp patience, and be ready."

~*~*~

Some time later, Parik was startled out of a near-doze by sudden movement in the ruin: the interlopers were opening holes in the air!

He glanced at his companions, hoping his period of inattention had gone unnoticed, and saw that it had. Their gaze was not upon him, but instead locked upon the floating rings of light, like that of a scorrow upon its prey.

One of the foreigners walked through one of the holes, and did not come out the other side. A second walked through a second hole. The remaining two stayed there and spoke, too far away and too softly to be understood even if they were not speaking gibberish in their garbled foreign tongue.

One of the two passed through the third ring, leaving just the one foreigner in the ruins with the sphere of metal and the rings of light.

" Now are we to hunt?" K'var asked with eagerness.

"We wait to attack until he is alone and distracted and in too tight a passage to evade us," Turaje said with patience, "but yes, we hunt."

K'var dropped soundlessly to the ground to join him, landing next to Parik and drawing her boomerang. Sszal and I'sryn stepped closer, the two younger warriors unsheathing longknives.

All five drow watched the man with the pictures of light floating around his head walk the path through the fallen buildings of the ruin. He wore no armor, bore no weapon, seemed to give no thought to his surroundings, yet if Turaje spoke truly then to fight him would be a challenge greater than any they had yet faced.

Parik ran a hand along the spiked links of his scorpion chain and the segmented chitin plates that covered his chest and upper arms as if to assure himself that his weapon and his armor were still present.

He was not afraid, for it is not the place of a warrior to be afraid. He was merely… preparing himself mentally for battle.

They watched as the man touched blocks of crumbling stone. They watched as the man read faded inscriptions. They watched as the man gathered shards of long-broken pottery from the ground. They watched, and they watched, and Parik saw that the others' patience was slowly crumbling away.

When K'var decided she would watch no more and dashed out of the treeline toward the man, Parik was unsurprised.

Sszal and I'sryn moved as if to join her, but Turaje blocked their way with his staff. "Do not! You will join her in death for no purpose. We cannot call her back without giving him awareness of us, so let him at least believe her a lone hunter."

The two warriors gave the shaman disbelieving looks. The man was alone, slow, unarmed, distracted, weak; K'var was the victor of countless honor duels, and if she was not yet trusted to scout on her own, then it was only due to an unchecked temper and a tendency to premature judgments and not a lack of martial prowess.

The four drow watched as K'var sprinted toward the man, her steps sure upon the uneven stones and utterly silent. When she was five paces away from her prey, she let loose her boomerang in a perfect path toward his heart. In the same motion she drew a longknife from her sash and took a flying leap toward him, blade aimed precisely at the center of the back of his head.

The man glanced back at her, and even given the distance between him and the watchers, his cruel smile told Parik that the man had known she was there from the moment she left the trees.

With one hand the man reached out like a striking snake to snatch the boomerang right out of the air. With the other he waved at K'var and she vanished in a flash of green light, her possessions clattering to the stones.

The warriors looked on with horror and disbelief. The shaman looked on with resigned acceptance.

The man examined the boomerang he had caught. He gazed in the general direction of the tree line and spoke more unintelligible words in his foreign tongue: "[I don't suppose the rest of you are going to try anything? I'm always happy to add more weapons and armor to my collection, and a matched pair of boomerangs would make a nice present for Adilege.]"

Parik did not know what the man was saying, but expected that the man was paying his respects to K'var, perhaps offering a prayer for her soul to his own god. She had died bravely, if pointlessly, and that must be acknowledged and honored.

The drow simply held their positions and watched as the man continued his prayers, his tone changing at distinct intervals almost as if singing: "[No? Smart decision. Or… perhaps this world's drow just don't speak the usual Drowic tongue, I don't recall.] [How about that bastard child of Common and Gnomish that the Khorvarians use? No?] [Valenar Elven?] [Aerenal Elven? Nothing?] [Well, I'm not going to waste a spell on it. If you can understand me at all, I suggest not being here when I return. I might not be in the best mood on my way back.]"

K'var's longknife and armor and other possessions floated off the ground as if carried by a spirit, then vanished into the air. The man turned and continued walking down the path.

When the man was out of sight, Turaje finally lowered his staff. The younger warriors rushed out to find and gather K'var's remains, but there was no body, only dust.

"Will you simply let him escape after slaying the xar'aquasa?" Sszal asked with insistence when he returned to the cover of the trees.

"I let him do nothing. It is fortunate he believed her to be alone, for if he had thought to seek for her allies and found us, we would be slain as well," Turaje said with calmness.

"We must make revenge upon him!" I'sryn said.

"We must do nothing," Turaje said with force. "Foolish one! You would follow him seeking revenge, and you would become dust as well, and the clan will have lost two warriors to no purpose instead of one. You will not follow him; I forbid it."

Parik was secretly glad of Turaje's presence with them. Had another shaman of the clan come instead they would surely have insisted upon vengeance, but Turaje's many years gave him more wisdom and cooler blood than the rest. Parik felt the call of the hunt as much as any other warrior, but he wished to die in battle, not be slaughtered in the blink of an eye without even the chance of his blade tasting blood.

The younger warriors accepted the shaman's words, though not without reluctance. "What then will we do?" I'sryn asked.

"See the sphere of metal that still stands upon the air. See the rings of light that lead elsewhere. We will go to those and study them, that when we bring word of K'var's death we may tell the aquasa that her death was for some purpose and not pure folly."

Parik touched fingers to chin in salute and strode out to the ruins, tracing back along the winding path the man had taken. The others shortly followed.

~*~*~

Up close, the sphere of metal was mesmerizing.

Parik had seen the sky-metal statues of the giants, the fire-bronze swords of the Sulatar clans, the shadow-silver helms of the Umbragen clans, and many other wonders of the Shattered Land, but this sphere put all of those to shame.

It seemed to shine with an inner light unlike any he had ever before seen, and if Parik could spend the rest of his days simply staring into the depths of the stones upon the sphere's surface he would die satisfied.

"How does it do this?" Sszal asked, reaching tentatively toward one of the holes in the air but then drawing his hand back before it could pass through.

"I cannot know. Its ways are beyond me, like the relics of the Cul'sir or the Sul'at," the shaman said with frustration.

Clasping a hand to the talisman around his neck, Turaje uttered a prayer to Vulkoor: "Great One, lend me a measure of your cunning. Whisper to me the working of this relic, that it may be used for the good of Clan Xiv'inn."

A soft violet glow shrouded the shaman's hand, and he reached out to touch the sphere.

As soon as his fingers made contact with it, a many-colored stroke of lightning leaped forth to cast the shaman backward through the air with a loud cry of pain. The sphere faded from view, but the rings of light stood unchanged, as if daring the drow to touch them as well and be similarly punished for their impudence.

Parik dashed over to the shaman and helped him up from where he had fallen. From fingertip to elbow, the shaman's arm was like a mass of charred meat, and further lines of char spread from there to cover his entire body.

With great difficulty Turaje mumbled a prayer through clenched teeth, then a second, then a third. Slowly his burnt gray skin returned to a more healthy black hue and his white honor marks were made whole again.

I'sryn was waving her longknife through the space where the sphere had been. "It is gone!" she said with surprise.

"Not gone, only moved to the world of the spirits," the shaman grunted. "It is still visible to those with sight to see it. But that… that sun-lightning, that was the least of its protections. Even if I could take us across the veil or bring the sphere back to us, it would not be wise to pursue it."

Parik privately agreed. As soon as the sphere had vanished, he had begun to feel the beginnings of fear press upon his thoughts.

The lack of a source for the fear and its sudden appearance let him recognize that it was a feeling not of his own making, but that was worse than his own doubts arising: one's own doubts could be mastered and defeated through meditation or reason, but the presence of such mystical fear was always the sign of a great danger, like a demon or a dragon, and could not be so easily overcome.

"What then?" I'sryn asked, the slightest quaver in her voice revealing that she felt the fear as well.

"When the others passed through the holes in the air, the holes remained, so they are sure to return in time," the shaman said with confidence. "We will watch the rings and learn what we can of them, and learn what we can of those who return, and that will have to suffice."

"And if the others are as strong as the man who slew K'var with the same ease as a tentacle-spider spearing an eagle? What then?" I'sryn persisted. "The clan will know nothing of what was seen this day. One among us should be sent back to tell of it."

"You speak wisely," the shaman said with approval. "I'sryn, you are the youngest of us. Return to tell the tale. If we do not return before the blue moon is new, others should be sent after us."

I'sryn looked displeased, but did not disobey. She saluted the shaman, then turned and began running silently through the jungle back the way they had come.

Parik and the others retreated to the trees, unnatural fear gradually leaving their thoughts as they made distance between themselves and the spot where the sphere had stood upon the air, to once again lie in wait.

~*~*~

The next time something occurred near the rings, Parik was wide awake and intent on watching them, not wanting to miss the least detail.

With no warning a small bipedal being flew out of the ring, accompanied by a small burst of what seemed to be black smoke; a foreigner, by its sickly-pale skin. It fell to the ground and rolled for a distance before stopping. It wore armor made of what looked like fire-bronze as well as the scales of a red drake, and did not seem at all injured by the impact, yet did not move after that.

Parik started to step closer, but another foreigner came through the hole in the air a few heartbeats later. Though he could not see its face he knew it must also be a foreigner because it wore the kind of armor seen only among foreigners: a coward's armor, heavy, with no thought given to mobility. This one, too, fell to the ground moments after emerging and did not move.

Three more came after that, riding upon a chitin-covered beast. At first he thought they were drow upon a mutated scorpion, for of the three riders, two of them had black skin and one of those was surrounded in an aura of shadow like that used by the shadowbinders of the Umbragen.

It quickly became clear, however, that the beast was some kind of mutated dire wolf, which no drow would ever ride, and once the shadow faded it became clear that the two of them did not have black skin but merely black armor that clung tightly to every span of their bodies.

The wolf skidded into a large tree, knocking it to the ground with a loud crack, and lay there; upon impact, the three figures were thrown from the wolf's back to sprawl among the underbrush. As with the others, none of them moved.

For several heartbeats the four drow remained still, waiting to see if anything else would come through the rings.

Nothing did.

Before even two hands of heartbeats had passed, all three holes in the air abruptly closed in a silent flash of blue-green fire.

Sszal visibly relaxed at the disappearance of the mystical rings that had so disturbed him earlier and took a few cautious steps forward, but before he could leave the trees the wolf slowly stood and stretched and Turaje clasped the warrior's shoulder in warning.

They remained still as the wolf padded over to the fallen foreigners and nudged at them with its nose and paws. They remained still as the wolf whined at the air. They remained still as the wolf sat on its haunches and hung its head with sadness.

Sszal could remain still no more and turned to Turaje. "The sleeping ones are not the ones who left before, but if we slay the dire wolf, we can take them prisoner and learn of them all we could desire."

Parik gestured in the negative before the shaman could respond. "That beast is not a dire wolf. I have hunted and slain a dire wolf, seen it with my own eyes and felt it with my own hands, and I say this beast is to a dire wolf as a hawk is to a tilxin."

"Parik speaks truly," Turaje said, and Parik was satisfied. "But it must be slain or tricked to let us reach one of the sleepers," the shaman continued, "as we must bring at least one captive back to the elders to avoid dishonor. Our choice is between that beast and one of the returning interlopers, and that choice is no choice at all."

The shaman's expression gave no room for disobedience, so the two warriors gestured in the positive despite their misgivings. The shaman stepped to them and began reciting prayers of strength and grace and skill over them, touching their foreheads and arms and weapons.

After every chanted phrase, Parik felt his arms strengthen, his body lighten, his eyes sharpen. With Vulkoor's blessings infusing their body, the foreign beast would be no match for the three of them!

Once the shaman had finished, Parik offered silent thanks to the Great Scorpion for his favor and followed Sszal out of the trees, then turned in opposite direction to circle around the clearing. The two of them formed a rough triangle with Turaje and began to close in on the beast.

Even at a distance, trickles of fear entered Parik's thoughts the moment he left the trees. They would not be able to get too close to the beast without the terror from the vanished sphere weakening their limbs and leaving them open to the beast's attacks. One of them would need to lure it away so that another could rush in and seize the sleeping ones.

Parik decided that since Sszal had been so eager to fight the beast he could be the one to serve as a distraction.

"Sszal," he called, "gain its attention and draw it from the clearing. When it is at least ten greatspans away, we will take the prisoners. If the beast turns to face us, you will attack it to keep it distracted. If it lashes at you, you will withdraw to lure it away. We will call to you when the prisoners are in hand."

The shaman did not gainsay his plan. Turaje led their band and declared when they would fight and when they would retreat, but once battle was joined it was Parik, as the eldest and most honored warrior remaining after K'var's death, whose words they would hear.

They were still a good distance away when the beast began to growl. Parik could feel it in his chest, and the sound mixed with the fear nibbling at the edges of his thoughts to make his heart pound and his palms grow slick on his scorpion chain.

Sszal slipped forward as commanded and made several feinting thrusts in the direction of the beast and the foreigners it guarded. The beast's growls redoubled, and it lowered its shoulders as if preparing to pounce.

It did not pounce, though, not yet, as it saw the others and moved to face them as well. The growl continued as the beast paced back and forth and looked from Turaje to Parik to Sszal, but it still did not attack.

The beast, Parik saw, was making sure to protect the foreigner in white and one of the foreigners in black when forced to move around, choosing those two over the others. He saw also that that one in black had white honor-marks on its helm, and the other one in black had a helmet shaped like the head of a scorpion, and hesitated; could those two be drow after all?

The warrior's resolve firmed. Hesitance has no place in battle. If they were indeed drow, they had dishonored themselves by associating with foreigners, and may be slain alongside them.

"The beast is well-trained. A single distraction will not work," Parik said with confidence. "Turaje, make unseen the black one with honor marks and steal its seeming when the beast is clear, then draw it out of sight of the others. Sszal, move to pincer strike at the right flank, then keep to the attack until it begins to follow Turaje."

Parik loosed the coils of his scorpion chain so that a third of its length slipped free, leaving the blade to dangle just above his ankles. He began to sidle around to the left with steps that deliberately trod loudly upon the loose rocks. The chain swung back and forth rhythmically in time with his steps, and the beast followed his motion with its eyes until it was forced to turn its body to follow because its neck was too stiff with chitin to crane that far to the side.

At the same time, the other warrior reversed his grip on his longknife and began to sidestep soundlessly to his right. As soon as the beast was facing entirely away, Sszal took a running start and then leaped onto the beast's back. One hand grasped the beast's chitinous plating while the other plunged his blade into a weak spot between the plates just deep enough to ensure that the beast would feel the wound.

The beast howled in pain and reared back, giving Parik an opening to lunge forward and whip his chain at the beast's eyes. The blade sliced a furrow along the beast's snout and it turned away, raising a paw to cover its face as Parik struck at it again and again.

They danced with the beast for many heartbeats, yet despite its many wounds it barely seemed to bleed. Parik saw that a death by a hundred stings would not be the right tactic here. They would need to finish this with greater haste.

Parik signaled the shaman to act.

Quick as a striking scorpion, Turaje dove forward and rolled between the two foreigners in black, touching the one with the skull-like markings as he tumbled past it. At his touch the foreigner vanished from sight, and upon finishing his roll the shaman stood, murmured another prayer, and took on the foreigner's appearance.

By the time the beast had shaken Sszal off its back and batted Parik's chain away, the shaman wore the foreigner's appearance and was close enough to the unseen foreigner that its scent would intermingle with his own. The two warriors backed off and Turaje waved his arms in the air to attract the beast's attention.

The beast shuffled slowly back to the group of foreigners on the ground, nosing around them with a slight whine, though for such a massive beast even a slight whine was loud and deep enough to set Parik's chain to rattling.

It seemed confused. Parik imagined that though it could plainly see its companion standing there it realized that the scent was somehow wrong. Still, in the end it was a beast, and it believed what its eyes told it.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, the beast was coaxed away from the clearing, the shaman backing away as the warriors stayed out of sight. The beast seemed reluctant to leave the foreigner in white and even the other foreigner in black, and it took much patience from Turaje to eventually persuade it to desert them.

Even once they were fully out of sight of the clearing, the beast continued to follow. As he prepared to walk over to where the unseen foreigner lay and bind its limbs for transport, Parik was relieved to see that his plan was working.

Until it wasn't.

The weather of the Shattered Land was fickle, the rains coming and going in no pattern and the winds changing direction at a whim. Some shamans taught that this was due to the many curses lain upon the land in ancient days, others taught that it was due to fighting between the spirits of the jungle and of the desert and of the glacier whose lands lay so close to one another, but Parik did not concern himself with the whys of such things.

What would have concerned him, had he noticed at the time, was that the wind gradually changed direction as the shaman slowly and carefully led the beast away from its masters, eventually beginning to blow from behind Turaje and carry the impostor's scent to the beast.

It raised its snout and snuffled with confusion, then sniffed at Turaje specifically, then lowered its maw with a growl of anger.

Before any of the drow could react the beast let out a spine-rattling bark and parted the shaman' s head from his shoulder with one swipe of its paw.

The warriors looked upon this with great shock and dismay. What manner of beast was this? Did the foreigners somehow teach it to recognize such tricks as the Cunning One granted to his shamans and to trust its snout over its eyes if the two disagreed?

Sszal recovered first. With a cry of fury he leaped upon the beast's back and laid into it with his blade. Focused as he now was on slaying the beast rather than distracting it, he struck deeper into its hide than before. He began to deal visible wounds to the beast, and blood began to seep down the beast's plating.

Parik rushed over to join him, striking at the eyes and joints with his scorpion chain, and between the two of them the beast began to weaken and slow.

But the battle was far from one-sided. Sszal's chitin armor first was dented and then was pierced as the beast's frantic movements caused the spurs and spines on its back to slice into the warrior's side, and after a short while the beast's plating was spattered with more of Szzal's lifeblood than its own.

Parik, farther away, escaped most harm as the beast seemed to care much more about Sszal than him, but he was still caught more than once by the tips of the beast's claws.

Finally, a very sore Parik and a heavily wounded Sszal had reduced the beast to a quivering mass on the ground, barely able to lift a limb and not able to move its neck, covered in gashes and scrapes and blood.

With the last of his strength Sszal staggered over to the beast's side and thrust his longknife into a gap in the beast's plates a few spans back from its neck and just beneath its spine. To ensure that he would strike and burst its heart, he dragged his blade from his eye level down nearly to the beast's belly by putting every last stone of body weight atop the hilt and shoving downwards with every last remaining portion of his strength.

The beast's lifeblood leaked from the massive gash in fits and spurts, the beast settled into stillness, and the warriors collapsed to the grass with exhaustion.

"Slain at last," Sszal said with mingled relief and triumph, his breathing ragged.

"Well fought, my friend. Now to bind the foreigners as prisoners before they wake," Parik said, rising with effort to his feet and coiling his scorpion chain.

"Not yet," Sszal said with quickness. "A moment, before we set to that."

He was surely not admitting weakness, for it is not the place of a warrior to admit weakness. He was merely… taking the proper time to solemnly reflect on the death of the shaman.

Parik gestured in the positive and, plucking a wide leaf from a nearby traxat bush, began slowly to wipe the blood from his scorpion chain. It was a task in need of doing regardless, and if he should do it before and not after the prisoners were bound, well, as the elders say: Dusk comes equally to the mouth of every river.

Absorbed as he was in his task and in his polite unawareness of Sszal, Parik did not notice the wriggling in the corpse until it was too late.

From the beast's wound emerged another beast, this one with the same general appearance as the corpse but much smaller and without the plating, and with a howl it set upon Sszal, who was too surprised to react in time and too hindered by his wounds to muster a sufficient defense.

Its teeth found the other warrior's throat and its claws his belly, and soon enough the warrior's final cries were silenced.

Parik could only gape upon the scene. How could this beast be killed if slaying it only caused it to rise anew, like the immortal phoenixes of the western desert?

He firmed his resolve and his grip upon his weapon. If it was the will of Vulkoor that he was to die here, he would meet his death with his eyes open and a smile upon his lips.

It seemed, however, that the Cunning One still had a use for him, for after a few heartbeats of consideration the smaller beast appeared to decide not to attack him. It growled in a higher pitch and backed away, watching him carefully, before turning and trotting back to the clearing once it was a safe distance from him. Parik followed to see what it might do.

He found himself unable to return to the clearing.

The warrior's heart was suffused with terror before he could even come close, and though he willed his shaking limbs to move him closer they refused. He reluctantly backed away until his limbs were once again fully his own, keeping his eyes trained on the beast all the while.

The beast made it farther in, reaching all the way to its still-unconscious companions and nudging the one with the honor marks, which had returned to visibility, the battle and their subsequent rest having taken long enough that the shaman's magic had faded. The beast then settled down beside the foreigner as if to wait for it to wake.

Before long, however, the small beast began to whine, then to look around in fear, then to stand and bark, then to scamper around the foreigners in circles with its tail between its legs.

Eventually the creeping fear was too much, and the beast ran off in the opposite direction, whimpering all the while.

Finally, Parik's tension eased. The Shattered Land was never truly safe, but the immediate threat was gone and unlikely to return.

From a distance he gazed upon the clearing, hatred in his eyes and in his heart. The presence of these foreigners and the ones before them had caused the deaths of three of the five in his band, and none of these had even been awake at the time!

Uncertain now as to what to do and feeling torn between duty to his clan and obedience to his shaman, the warrior went down to one knee, uncoiled his scorpion chain into a circle around himself, and asked the Great Hunter for guidance. There he knelt in the tall grass with closed eyes for a time, his head turning and swaying with the gentle motion of the air around him, until the wind shifted again and the strands of his hair fluttering in the breeze prompted him to open his eyes.

When he did, he found himself staring directly at the shaman's corpse. Head to one side, body to the other, and in the center the talisman of Vulkoor, its tail pointed directly at him.

Many thanks to you, Cunning One. Your guidance makes my duty clear, your pincers clear my path of all obstructions.

Parik stood, reclaimed his weapon, and began the arduous tasks of retrieving the corpses of his fellow drow and preparing them for transport, concealing the signs of his and his clanmates' presence from the foreigners, and hiding the corpse of the beast in a nearby gully and finding some rab'cha flowers to rub on its wounds so that it would be neither seen nor scented by scavengers.

All this would need to be done before these foreigners awoke, the other foreigner returned from the far ruins, or yet more foreigners somehow arrived through new holes in the air.

The shaman and his fellow warrior would be taken to the elders to receive the rites of honorable death, and then he would return with a shaman to purify the beast's body, which would feed the entire clan for days to come.

~*~*~

Late Evening, Wir the 4th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Somewhere in the Jungle to the Northeast, Xen'drik, Eberron

The preparations, the travel, the explanation, the rites, the return, the blessing, the parceling out of meat, all of these things had taken nearly all of the sun's turning to complete.

By the time he had returned to the clearing the first time, the foreigners in it had long since dispersed.

But Parik was a hunter. He had stalked the cleverest of prey, from the tiny hliska whose fur blends perfectly into its surroundings to the massive velkyn whose head rises twice as high as a drow's but who slithers through the jungles without a sound.

By comparison, these foreigners stomped through the jungle like newborns, their actions clearly proclaiming the path they took to those with sight to see it.

His duty to the clan fulfilled, Parik now walked the path of vengeance as Sszal had originally wished to do, an irony that was not unseen to him.

I'sryn had requested to walk the path beside him, but Parik had demanded to walk the path alone, and the elders had granted him that honor.

Once he found the start of the foreigners' trail, to follow it was simpler than any of the children's games he had once played to teach him the hunter's arts.

He soon came across a clearing that he was certain still contained the foreigners. He slowed to a skulking gait long before he was close enough to the clearing for any of them to be able to see him. Most foreigners had weak eyes and were next to blind at night, but he took no chances and stalked forward as if they had been the keenest-eyed Xiv'inn scouts.

He reached the clearing and silently climbed a tree. Looking down, he saw only one foreigner awake and the rest asleep, and the wakened one was not even keeping watch! It appeared to be writing or carving on a long bark strip of some kind, blind and deaf to its surroundings.

It still wore its armor of fire-bronze and drake-scale, but there were gaps at the throat that were easily wide enough to allow a blade to slip through them.

Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly Parik drew his boomerang, his head shifting minutely back and forth to examine each of the prey as he pondered his plan of attack.

The wakened one would die first, he decided, then the one in white, then the two in black, then the one in silver. Though it felt uncomfortably close to a coward's plan, slaying them in order of least protection to most protection would reduce the chances of any one of them surviving the killing blow and alerting the others.

Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly Parik lifted the boomerang and sighted down it toward the ignorant and defenseless foreigner, and then-

-and then his hand rebelled, dropping his weapon to the ground below.

A strange sensation passed over his body, as if he had been submerged in a pit of scorpions and they were all walking over him and prodding him with their stingers yet not actually stinging.

The sensation passed, and he moved to climb down the tree and retrieve his weapon, but his knee spasmed into the trunk as the sensation rippled through him once more, and this time he found he couldn't move any part of his body, not even to close his eyes.

His jaw prised itself open of its own accord and began to move in fits and starts, and words in a tongue that he did not speak began to flow past his lips: "[Huh. Wuell dat wash unuzhlii fasht. An dish ish wiird. Iv nefr felt dish kin'a jahw shayp beforr. Ish a li'il tu shkiny tu tahk norrmalii, buh maybii… ]"

For the first time since he had passed the warrior's trials, Parik was utterly terrified.

Tales were whispered of the ancient quori, the spirits that lived in dreams, the fiends that slipped themselves into the bodies of living beings in order to fight against the giants in ages long past. The tales further claimed that it was partly because the elves and drow did not dream, and thus were immune to the quori's manipulations or possession, that the giants enslaved their peoples so long ago.

Parik had never paid all that much mind to those tales, such creatures of spirit being more a shaman's concern than a warrior's, but he had never forgotten them.

So to find himself bound immobile with a spirit speaking through him-! Had Parik ever experienced nightmares before, he would be living through his worst one.

His mouth continued to move, and in just a few heartbeats its movements began to smooth and the words being spoken through him took on a different and more lyrical cadence: "[Wun, tu, thrii, forr… wun, two, three, forr… one, two, three, four. Huh. Takes some getting used to, but it isn't that far off. So… hi. Couldn't let you kill that guy. He definitely deserves a boomerang upside the head for depriving me of my beauty sleep when he tripped over my log this morning, but if he's dead when the others wake up that's not going to go over well. You're obviously not human, and I'm mostly sure you're not a human who got tinkered into Legolas to fit some rich perv's elf fetish…?]"

His mouth paused its movements as the fingers of one hand poked themselves against his other arm several times, then pressed into his cheek, then tapped the points of his ears. "[Yeah, I'm getting nothing, your nervous system isn't remotely human. Not even enough feedback to be a monster cape, either. Hmm… maybe some kind of shapeshifter cape? Probably not, but let's find out!]"

Parik felt a sudden brief pain behind his eyes, then within his forehead, then at the crown of his head, then at the base of his skull. It was barely noticeable, feeble compared to any pain he had felt before in battle, and it was a pathetic attempt at torture if that was what the spirit was attempting to do, but it was definitely there.

"[Nope, can't feel anything like that, so definitely not a cape. Nice of some tinker to send a minion to murder us, I guess.]"

His hand suddenly flattened itself and whipped upwards at high speed to slap himself across the face. The sting of pain in his cheek was as nothing compared to the sting dealt to his pride. "[That's for threatening me, too. Don't think I didn't feel you sizing us up and trying to decide who to kill first. Asshole.]"

His head cocked itself sideways in a mockery of a thoughtful pose. "[So, anyway, are we talking more Nilbog or more Blasto, here?]"

Parik's mouth ceased its movements. For one small hopeful moment he thought the spirit may have found him to be an unworthy vessel and left, but it resumed speaking: "[Oh, right, India. You wouldn't have heard of those guys. Were you grown or were you made, I mean?

A pause. "[Come on, I can tell you're sentient, you've got to be able to understand me. You're definitely reacting when I talk, and I'm pretty sure they speak English in India.]" Another pause. "[I guess whoever made you doesn't, or just didn't teach it to you. Damn.]"

Parik's body began to climb down the tree, awkwardly, as if Parik had somehow forgotten how to move and was learning all over again, but by the time he reached the ground his body's movements were fluid and indistinguishable from his own.

"[In case you do understand me and your creator just made you a really good actor, here's the deal: we're looking for a way out of this jungle and you're going to help us find it. As soon as we decide where we want to go, I'm gonna send you ahead to see what's there and get rid of any wild animals or other tinker minions or whatever else you run into along the way. Once we're out of here, I'll let you go. No hard feelings, okay?]"

The spirit was saying so many words, and to no one, that Parik began to fear that it was casting a spell. Visions danced through his thoughts of more tales the shamans used to tell him, of the blood magic of the giants, of the souls sold to the Umbra, and he found himself trying to imagine what this spirit might want with his body or soul.

"[Guess you really don't understand. Oh well. Don't worry, I'm not sending you out scouting yet, just moving you far enough that Bug shouldn't be able to find you with her creepy-crawlies, then I'll stop talking. Easier to concentrate that way anyway. So rest up now, you're gonna need it later.]"

~*~*~

Parik perched motionless for nine hundred and forty-six heartbeats.

Counting them was no distraction, as he could do nothing else but sit and watch the clearing from the treetop in which the spirit had forced him to situate himself.

He watched the foreigner working with his writing. He watched the honorless foreigner in black wake and speak to the other foreigner. He watched the other foreigners wake.

When the foreigner with the white covering stood, it stumbled and was caught by the one in silver armor. It moved as if intoxicated by ahnvae berries, for a time, and his limbs twitched in sympathy with its every stumble and misstep, but with every heartbeat it appeared to wake further and move with more grace.

As the foreigners moved and spoke and then moved apart into different groups, Parik prayed that one of them would find and know how to banish the spirit within him, but his own talents at concealment worked against him and the ones who had walked into the jungle had moved in the wrong direction to have seen him.

Suddenly, a swarm of insects took flight near the foreigners. They spoke again, and the insects calmed.

The other foreigners returned. More words. More moving, to no apparent purpose.

The one in silver began to attack the trees on the far side of the clearing, and Parik exulted. Perhaps he was capable of slaying spirits, of casting spells to see into the world of the spirits as Turaje had been, and had found the one that was controlling him! Perhaps he would come to Parik's aid!

He did not come to Parik's aid.

Soon after that, two of the foreigners appeared to conduct some kind of rite. The one in white and the one in silver faced each other. The white one moved its arm, the silver one did the same. The white one moved its other arm, the silver one did the same.

Then the one in white turned to look right at Parik, and Parik's body quickly drew the scorpion chain from his sash, held it in his right hand, and spun it gracefully in a tight circle just as the foreigner's arm made a similar motion.

Could it be that the foreigner was controlling him, and not a spirit?

Surely not. Parik may not be a shaman, but every warrior knew something of the ways of magic, the better to slay those enemies of the clan who used it. Had the foreigner done this to him, Parik would have heard the prayers or the ancient words, seen the gestures of hand or staff, watched the foreigner grasp an amulet or draw leaves from a pouch. His body was taken from him without a spell; it could not have been the foreigner.

… Unless the foreigner's magic worked as the quori's magic was whispered to work. Mind magic, the shamans said, achieved through acts of will alone while the body the quori rode gave no sign it was inhabited.

Parik's heart began to beat faster.

No, the foreigner was not controlling him; the foreigner was possessed by a spirit just as he was! Possibly the same spirit!

As this revelation echoed through his thoughts, another sudden occurrence: as three of the foreigners waved their arms around, the spirit's grasp upon Parik's limbs loosened, just slightly. He thought to drop from the tree and rush to them and ask for aid and warn them about the spirit in their companion, but creating the idea took a heartbeat too long, and before he could move his body he was entirely still again.

Trapped inside his own thoughts, Parik despaired. Why would he think that any of them could aid him in casting out the spirits within?

The one in silver was obviously no shaman, so the only ones who might be able to help him would be the perhaps-shadowbinder in black and the perhaps-firebinder in red, but for all the legendary mystical skill of the Umbragen and Sulatar clans their wonderworkers were not known to deal with spirits. They would not-

His legs! They moved!

His body leaped silently down from the tree and began moving away from the clearing, running at full speed, uncaring of the thorns that tore at his clothing and branches that tangled in his hair.

~*~*~

After too many heartbeats to count, he slowed. Before him was a wild boar, an unnaturally large one with many scars. Just as Parik began to fear he would die an ignominious death, forced to kneel helplessly beneath the tusks and hooves of a boar as it gutted him for the spirit's amusement, his hand retrieved his weapon and began to spin it slowly.

It is strange to only watch a battle yet be within the battle, he thought as his body fought the boar using footwork and maneuvers that he had never learned.

On his own he would easily have made quick work of a single animal, even such a large one as this, but under the spirit's control his body was clumsy. It treated his chain more like a club, as if the spirit had not the skill of even the weakest warrior- But then, why should it be trained in war, when it has no body of its own?-but his natural grace, the motions that had been trained into his limbs, and the blessings that had been sung into his blade during its creation more than made up for the lack.

And it was fortunate that they did, as he noted a certain shimmer to the boar's tusks and a glistening sheen around its mouth that indicated the presence of some kind of venom. A hunter needed keen eyes and a keen nose when hunting his prey, as many beasts were warped by the ancient magic suffusing the Shattered Land and rendered both more dangerous to hunt and unsafe to eat.

The spirit must have somehow sensed his increased wariness, as his body grew more careful in its movements and less willing to attempt risky blows.

Eventually the boar was slain and its body was moved off to the side, then Parik's body was forced to slice open the boar's hide and carve out some meat. The flat of his blade held the meat up to the fading sunlight and he was filled with revulsion as he noted the dark mottling of the meat and the blue tint to the blood covering it.

Eating the meat would certainly kill him, then, the only question being how painful the resulting death would be.

The spirit began to speak through him for the first time since leaving the clearing: "[I doubt the faster heartbeat is from fear, so maybe… disgust? Sure would be nice if I was getting any emotional feedback right now. Is that disgust because it's poisonous or something, or just because it's raw?]" A pause. "[Come on, poi-son-ous? Dammit, how do you charades 'poisonous'?]"

There was another pause, longer this time, then his tongue poked out of his mouth and his hand slowly lifted the meat toward it. The closer it came, the more fear filled his mind until he was nearly blinded by horror.

No! By the Great Scorpion, no! If I must be killed by this spirit, let it not be in this way!

His hand stopped less than a span from his tongue, the meat fell from his blade, and his mouth opened in speech once more: "[Okay, yeah, that's definitely fear. Guess it was poisonous after all; I thought it looked like some kinda tinkered-up monster. So much for pulled pork.]"

The boar's corpse was shoved into a small depression and hidden with soil and leaves and branches, with no thought given to harvesting its hooves nor its hide.

Then his body began to run again. Not in a straight line, but back and forth in an ever-widening pattern.

~*~*~

After his body slew two more animals and treated them in the same manner, Parik came to the realization that he was being used to clear a path of threats to the foreigners, who were weak of limb and of will compared to him, and to test whether anything he killed would be safe for them to eat.

For the first time since the spirit overtook him, the faint but constant fear underlying all of his actions ebbed and his heartbeat began to slow to its normal pace.

This is to be my reward, then. An endless hunt, until the last beast is slain or I am.

It was not truly the reward promised to those favored by Vulkoor, but he felt it was close enough that the Cunning One had a hand in this, somehow, though without a shaman's insight he could only guess at the how and the why.

Great Scorpion, oldest and wisest of the great spirits, if this is to be the end of my life's path, I give thanks for the chance to test myself against the mightiest beasts of the jungle and to die with much honor. If this is not to be the end, once I am free I will lay down the chain and blade to take up the staff and talisman, and I will serve as your hand and voice until the last of my days. This I swear upon my honor and my ancestors' honor.

~*~*~

He had lost all track of time. Heartbeats blended with heartbeats, serpent blended with wolf blended with lizard blended with bird.

At times his body froze for a few precious moments, at times the bonds on his body were loosened long enough for him to wipe the sweat from his brow or stretch out his wounded shoulder, but his experience was otherwise that of a helpless passenger in his own body.

This timeless existence came to an end when he noticed signs of a trail through the jungle and grew curious. He did not know if the spirit within him could feel what he felt or know what he knew, but it seemed to notice what he noticed. Quickly finishing off the horned lizard-beast he had been fighting, his body turned to follow the trail.

The spirit did not know his mind, he determined, as it did not cause him to follow the trail directly. Instead, once he had followed the trail for a short distance his body stopped and slowly moved its head around and waited until the spirit sensed a reaction from him. This repeated many times, with his breath catching or his curiosity heightening as another trailsign was found, and his body following soon after. Occasionally his eyes roved around, carefully taking in the surroundings as if to remember them for later.

As he followed the path, his suspicion of the spirit's purpose began to mount. Along the path he'd caught signs of things that didn't belong, things that signaled the passage of other thinking beings.

Those threads of blue-dyed cloth, these tiny splinters of bone, that hawk feather… all of those signs matched the descriptions given of the foreigners who had come to his clan lands and slain their warriors.

Was the desire to find more and stronger victims the reason the spirit had sent him here? Yes, it must be; he could tell from the animal calls around him and the soil beneath his feet that the path he followed was taking him closer to the Many-Tailed River, and the foreigners had last been seen traveling in that direction as well.

Did the spirit wish to unite the two groups of foreigners in order to possess all of them at once for some unknown purpose? Perhaps so, perhaps not, perhaps he would never know.

What he did know was that if the spirit hoped for him to dispatch these other foreigners in his current condition as easily as he had dispatched the animals of the jungle, it would soon be in need of a new body to ride.

And then, suddenly, his body stopped and stood still.

It stood still for many heartbeats.

For the first time since leaving the clearing, his mouth moved, and the spirit spoke more haltingly than it had before: "[So. Um. I just saw… we're definitely not on Earth anymore. I'm pretty sure we're not on any Earth. Waaay too many moons. Which, I mean… is this… are we in a fantasy world? Are elves real? Are you a real elf? Like, sapient and everything? Shit, do you only speak Elvish, and that's why…?]"

The spirit paused, then continued in a softer voice: "[So, maybe… I'm gonna assume you didn't actually come out of a tinker's vat somewhere. And you might actually be a person. And this was kind of a huge dick move. I mean, it's not my fault that the weird skin and white hair make you look fake… but, like….]"

The sounds stopped, but his jaw continued to move for a time, as if the spirit did not know what to say.

Can spirits be rendered without speech by surprise, as drow can?

"[… my bad?]" his voice eventually spoke.

His limbs suddenly became his own again, and he collapsed to the ground in exhaustion.

Parik lay there for a time, regaining his strength, waiting for the moment when the spirit seized control of him once more.

"Spirit," he said with a rasp to his voice, once he was able to speak. "Spirit, are you there?"

There was no response, from his own throat or any other.

He was finally free. Discarded in the dirt, like a shattered blade that no longer served a purpose.

Great One, your generosity is second only to your wisdom. When I am able to move my limbs again without pain, I will return to the elders and before the third sunrise I will hold to my oath to walk the path of the shaman. I will tell the tale of the foreigners and of the spirit with them, and finally the clans will avenge the lives of the ones the interlopers have slain. This I swear upon my honor and my ancestors' honor.

Author's Note

In this chapter: Judas is a Very Good Boy, and Alec is a very bad boy.

Here we see the first big case of Worm folks being an Outside-Context Problem for D folks: drow are quite familiar with huge scary beasts, which are all over the place in Xen'drik, but Judas's doggy meat armor is just weird from their perspective (why do something like that when you can, y'know, just magically make a creature bigger?), and our poor drow warriors had no idea how to handle it or even that they had to handle it in the first place.

Meanwhile, Alec using his full power in this chapter (apparently for the first time since leaving his family, based on his thoughts in interlude 10) is a bit of a mixed bag. On the negative side, he's doing so two months earlier than he did in canon (kidnapping Shadow Stalker happened on June 3rd), which theoretically means his "falling off the wagon" and somewhat regressing to his Hijack ways is starting that much earlier. Not to mention that he's able to hijack someone much faster here than he could back home, so the temptation to use that tactic is that much stronger.

On the positive side, when he hijacked Sophia in canon he was getting the same "high" from controlling her that he used to get as Hijack and he felt justified in doing it because it was helping a friend (at least from his perspective), whereas here he did it for the purposes of survival and he didn't get that same positive reinforcement from his non-human victim, and he felt kinda guilty in the end when he realized what he'd done, so maybe he won't end up going down the same path in this case…?

Regardless, I'm sure the fact that he went out of his way to "learn" the bodies of all four of his companions under the guise of their impromptu power testing doesn't have any worrying implications whatsoever.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

Eberron drow aren't the constantly backstabbing underground-living gender-segregating spider-goddess-worshiping BDSM-outfit-wearing dark elves originated by the Forgotten Realms (and then borrowed by practically every D -alike property since). Modern Xen'drik drow come in three general groups: The Vulkoori drow regressed to barbarism after rebelling against their ancient giantish masters. They worship the scorpion god Vulkoor, sometimes as their sole patron deity and sometimes as merely the greatest of a number of "great spirits" worthy of worship, and are the drow most familiar to explorers from other lands. The "honor marks" mentioned are ritual tattoos made by scarring their skin with scorpion venom. The Sulatar drow retained the knowledge and magic of their old masters, making their society roughly as advanced as (if much smaller and much more isolationist than) that of modern Khorvaire. The Umbragen did not retain the trappings of their enslavers' culture, but instead rediscovered the traditions of an even more ancient culture of elves that the giants were never able to enslave. Turaje's reference to Cul'sir and Sul'at relics is referring to the fallen Giant empires whose magic items litter the continent. The various references to magical things made by Parik and Turaje aren't special Xen'drik things, merely their own culture's terms for standard Eberron things, in case that wasn't clear. The "spirit world" is the Ethereal Plane, "shamans" are divine spellcasters (since their god is a bestial nature god and so they treat clerics and druids the same way), "wonderworkers" are arcane spellcasters, "firebinders" are artificers (since the Sulatar are known for their elemental binding), and "shadowbinders" are warlocks (since the Umbragen are known for their shadowy magic). The spell Juroth used to kill K'var, with its characteristic greenish hue, was disintegrate . There's no kill like overkill.

Transposition 1.5.V

9:30 pm, Monday the 11th of April, 2011 CE The Boardwalk, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

After many hours of exploring even just this one small portion of one city of indeterminate relative size, I had finally resigned myself to the fact that little of this world made any sense in the context of all the worlds I'd visited before.

Once my mental list of curiosities to investigate had grown to over five hundred items, I'd started tracking that in the background with my secondary stream of thought, as otherwise I'd be hard-pressed to think of anything else.

Over the course of the afternoon and early evening, I'd taken a comprehensive tour of the entire Boardwalk and its surrounding environs. I'd listened to conversations in every language being spoken there-none of which was related to Common any more than English was, confoundingly-and read every posted placard.

I'd surveyed the local fashion and divined the purpose and usage of many local devices, from "cash registers" to "automobiles" to the "Ferris wheel" whose profile dominated the immediate skyline.

I still had no clue as to the mechanism underlying their functioning, unfortunately-beyond the fact that they all seemed to use electrical energy, for some reason, when for most of them using various other forms of energy would be more logical, such as lawful energy for performing calculations or fire energy for heating food-but I did at least know enough about how to operate the devices' controls that I could counterfeit proficiency if forced to use one where one of the natives could see.

I'd even sampled some of the street food on offer, including such interesting dishes as "hamburgers" and "funnel cakes." I now knew what the "chili cheese dog" Sandra had mentioned tasted like, and… well.

Far be it from me to pass premature judgment upon a cuisine to which I had only barely been exposed, but I couldn't imagine how anyone could find such a sickeningly sweet concoction to be edible, much less enjoyable.

Hopefully the food at Fugly Bob's would be more palatable.

~*~*~

The restaurant in question was situated between the Boardwalk and what appeared to be a small open-air market. It seemed to be quite popular, as its sign was larger and and illuminated more brightly than that of any restaurant on the Boardwalk proper and despite the late hour every table both inside and out was occupied.

The building itself was a masterpiece of deceptive construction. To all appearances, it was an aging structure covered in a peeling coat of sun-faded paint to which had been added a ramshackle deck on one side and a covered dining area with mismatched tables on the other, as if it were a decades-old building that had been expanded over time with no thought given to the décor.

However, careful examination of its load-bearing walls and its kitchen via deepsight and touchsight revealed that it was all built as a single structure, its paint was relatively fresh and merely artfully applied to suggest sun damage, and its kitchen appeared to be in excellent working order.

It was a flawless façade of authenticity, and an excellent choice of camouflage for a "tourist trap," as Sandra had termed it.

I joined a small queue of customers waiting to be seated, perusing the many placards posted on the restaurant's wall and on small collapsible signs along the walkway. The advertisements all appeared to be excerpts of testimonials from various newspapers which extolled the virtues of Fugly Bob's and compared it favorably to an excessive number of similar restaurants in other cities with such colorful names as Burger Queen, Five Guys, Fuddruckers, Heroburger, In-N-Out, Shake Shack, The All American Burger, The Counter, Whataburger, and more.

The comparisons were meaningless for someone who had never sampled any of those restaurants, of course, but I noted the names of the source newspapers and the cities in which they were based. The ability to pepper one's conversation with names and small details is essential to constructing a believable local background on a new world.

"Yo, next in line," called the hostess shortly after I reached the front of the queue. "Welcome to Fugly's. Just you tonight?"

I nodded.

"You fine with the bar? There's a wait for a table."

"Certainly."

"Cool. It's inside on the left, any open seat is fine."

I nodded again and proceeded inside.

The bar had a falsely run-down appearance like the building itself and the walls were haphazardly adorned with all manner of trinkets, sculptures, and portraits. A viewing apparatus on the wall behind the bar (which I'd learned earlier was called a "television") depicted a game of some sort involving two teams and a large orange ball, and text on the bottom of the television's glass pane indicated that this game was currently in progress and being "broadcast" to the device via some manner of inverse-scrying mechanism.

The only open seat was next to a young human at the end of the bar, so I sat beside him with a polite nod. The bartender came over, dropped a thick sheet of cardstock in front of me, and grunted, "There's the menu. You know what you wanna drink?"

Despite his insouciant manner, the bartender's aura bore hues of patience, attentiveness, and cheer, so the less-than-pleasant attitude displayed by him and by the hostess were likely supposed to be part of the restaurant's charm.

"I do not. Do you have a house ale or lager?"

"We got an East Rock lager that's pretty popular."

"I'll go with that, thank you."

The bartender left to fetch my drink, and I perused the menu. The names and descriptions of the available dishes were… unique, to say the least.

The top half of the front page was dominated by five colorful boxes. Each contained the name of a particular dish and an accompanying dramatic description, both in a script unique to that dish, as well as a very lifelike illustration of said dish off to one side:

#1: The Armsmaster (2004 - Present)

The perfect meal for a hero on the go! Two all-beef burgers with your choice of toppings, served in a collectible Armscycle tray with a side of our signature half-curly half-shoestring Halberd Fries.

#2: The Maven (1996 - 2003)

For when your taste buds want a real workout! One double-decker burger with your choice of two different patties (choice of beef, sausage, lamb, or portobello), two flavors of extra-spicy wings, and two sides.

#3: The Battery (2006 - Present)

A huge burst of flavor! Three strips of beer-battered haddock drizzled in your choice of mild, medium, or Shockingly Spicy tartar sauce, served with a side of wedge fries seasoned with extr-A-ssault.

#4: The Miss Militia (1999 - Present)

An all-American meal with Middle Eastern flair! A half-pound lamb burger topped with lettuce, tomato, onions, sweet pickles, spicy ketchup, and goat cheese and held together with a sword skewer, served with your choice of spicy tater tots, fried zucchini, or wedge fries.

#5: The Dauntless (2009 - Present)

It just keeps getting better and better! All-you-can-eat beef or chicken sliders with your choice of two toppings. Served with a tasting flight of five sauces.

Six more dishes with brief descriptions and no excessive decoration came after that, followed by an even larger and more colorful box:

#12: The Challenger (1996 - 2010)

Our most famous burger! Can you rise to the challenge? Six half-pound all-beef patties, one pound of smoked brisket, twelve slices of bacon, eight slices of pepper jack cheese, two fried eggs, lettuce, tomato, grilled onions, sauteed peppers, garlic aoili, and our signature sweet and tangy barbecue sauce, all on a souvenir Challenger plate. If you can finish the whole burger on your own in 30 minutes or less, it's free!

An additional thirty-two abbreviated entries filled out the page. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason to the order in which all of the entries were listed, but at least the presence of Dauntless and Triumph among the titles told me that they were named after famous figures in the city.

The reverse side of the menu listed items with more pedestrian names and noticeably cheaper prices. Each item's name either insulted the proprietor, like the Hideous Bob (a double hamburger) or the Greasy Bob (a bacon cheeseburger), or had a deliberately flippant description of its contents, like the Drunk Fish (a beer-battered flounder sandwich) or the Angry Sheep (a spicy lamb burger).

In short, the establishment was so blatantly self-deprecating that it was impossible to take seriously, which seemed to be rather the point.

As I considered which item I'd like to try, the man to my left cleared his throat. "Hey man, how's it going?"

"Quite well, thank you," I replied. "And yourself?"

"Doing pretty good. I'm guessing you haven't been here before? You have that 'what the hell is this place smoking and where can I get some' look."

"I have not," I said, setting the menu down and turning to face him. "I just arrived in town this afternoon and was told that sampling the fare here was practically mandatory for visitors."

The man laughed. "Yeah, it basically is. Whenever I have out-of-town friends visit, I take them here and they all love it. Only problem is, they won't visit again for another six months so they don't get a heart attack the second time around. I'm Mike, by the way."

He offered his hand and I shook it, a quick and unsuccessful check for a power repertoire revealing that he wasn't a magic-user, not that I'd expected him to be. He was pale-skinned with brown hair, wearing spectacles, a thick and rumpled green shirt bearing the inscription "BPI" in yellow, and a pair of the ubiquitous blue trousers so common among the locals.

"A pleasure to meet you. I'm Benjamin," I said, using the same false name once again.

"Nice to meetcha. So, what brings you to the Bay? Is this a business trip, a vacation…?"

"A business trip, of a sort. I'm actually going to be in the area for the next few years."

"Nice. What do you do for work?"

"I'm an… independent scholar, of sorts."

"Ah, lemme guess, doing a paper on the local cape scene?" he said, nodding sagely. "We get a lot of those guys here."

"I can imagine," I replied. "Have you lived in the city long?"

"My whole life. I'm a Brocktonite, born and bred," he answered proudly.

"I see. And what do you do for work?"

"I'm actually a junior at BPI," he said, gesturing at his shirt.

"BPI?" I asked. The term hadn't come along with the English I'd absorbed, and language magic was notoriously unreliable when dealing with unfamiliar initialisms and abbreviations, even more so than it was with proper nouns.

"Brock Polytechnic Institute, one of the local universities. It's got one of the largest Parahuman Studies departments on the East Coast, thanks to all the local capes; I think it's something like fourth-biggest after Harvard, MIT, and Johns Hopkins. Hence all the parascience guys coming here."

"Parahuman Studies" and "parascience"? Now those were interesting terms.

Especially due to my not having seen a single non-human on the Boardwalk earlier. "Demihuman" was an older term for humanoid races-one that had fallen out of favor in recent centuries, but one that I still found myself using on occasion; old habits die hard-so "parahuman" would be… perhaps a term specifically referring to hybrid races like half-elves?

No, he'd implied parahumans and capes were connected somehow. Perhaps "parahuman" was a subrace of human with notably higher innate magical talent such that nearly all sorcerers and wilders were parahumans, human wizards and psions studied them to advance their craft, and "cape" was a general term for parahuman magic-users and those whose magical practices derived from them?

I lacked sufficient context to say for sure, but from his casual tone it was clear that these were commonly-understood terms and so asking for clarification was out of the question. I began to focus on reading his thoughts while I continued the conversation.

"I see. I hadn't heard of it."

"Not surprising, it's a pretty small tech school, only a few thousand undergrads. So you're not here to study capes, then?"

"Not specifically, no. I do find them fascinating, but I'm here primarily due to an interest in world history, languages, art, that sort of thing."

"Ah, you'd probably want to check out the college, then." He sipped his drink, then quickly added, "Uh, the University of Brockton Bay, I mean. It's a lot bigger than BPI, and it's more of a liberal arts college."

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you. From your familiarity with the topic, I assume you're in the parahuman studies field yourself?"

He let out a derisive chuckle. "Hell no! The ParaSci guys are nuts. There's basically no jobs in the field outside the PRT, a few companies that sponsor cape teams, and a few specialized labs, and there are only so many job openings every year, so if you want to actually make money after school that's a real bad pick," he said. "I went ChemE, 'cause I want to actually have a chance of paying off my student loans sometime before I retire."

"And the PRT would be…?" I asked.

He gave me an odd look. "Parahuman Response Team? Government agency responsible for parahumans?"

"Ah, of course. I didn't recognize the initialism." I shook my head. "As I said, I've just arrived in the area."

I watched the confusion in his surface thoughts shift to realization as he really registered my accent and more formal diction for the first time, once again proving correct my decision to learn the language myself and not rely on translation powers. "Oh, like, new to America! I thought you were just from out-of-state."

"No, I've come just a bit farther than that," I said dryly.

At that point, the bartender returned with my drink and plunked it down in front of me. "There you go. You know what you want to eat?"

"Definitely seafood of some variety, but I'm not sure beyond that," I said. No seas on Athas meant I'd eaten no seafood in the past two years, and being back in a port city was making me more than a little nostalgic. "What would you recommend?"

"For seafood, my favorite's number sixteen," he replied. That would be the Dovetail, a fried clam platter.

"That sounds splendid, thank you."

"Sure. You want to open a tab?"

"Not for now, thank you," I said.

The bartender left, and I took a sip of my lager. It was… well, it obviously couldn't hold a candle to any dwarven brews I'd sampled. Nor even any elven lagers, and they're hardly known for their brewing skill. Compared to other human lagers, though, it was quite good. Crisp, smooth, a hint of chocolate, a hint of some variety of fruit I didn't recognize.

The only disappointment was that it was slightly but noticeably sweeter than all the lagers to which I was accustomed, like most of the foods I'd tried earlier in the day that had also turned out to be overly cloying.

Mike waited for me to finish my taste test, then picked up his prior line of questioning: "Where are you from, then?"

"Where do you think?" I challenged. When one doesn't know any place-names on a new world, the easiest thing to do is to turn any question of origins into a guessing game.

"Hmm. Good question. I'm normally pretty good with accents, but I can't really place yours," Mike said, rubbing the stubble on his chin speculatively. His surface thoughts were abuzz with names of nations and languages, and he spent a brief while considering my physical appearance.

"… Northern India, maybe?" he hazarded.

"No one's ever guessed that on their first try," I said approvingly. Which was certainly true, given the lack of a Northern India on other worlds.

"Ha! Damn, I'm good," he said, slapping the bartop for emphasis.

"You were saying about the PRT?" I prompted.

"Right. So, I assume India has some sort of government organization that handles all things cape-related?"

"That would be a good assumption."

"The PRT is basically half that and half a media company. They support Protectorate capes, go after villains, sell hero action figures, handle the cape cameos on TV shows, stuff like that."

"I see," I said. "They have a large presence in the city, I assume?"

"Oh yeah," Mike said. "They have to, with all the villains running around." He snapped his fingers in sudden realization. "Wait, shit, did you get a rundown of the local villains before you came here? 'Cause that's super important after last night."

"I didn't. By 'last night' you're referring to the major fire in the Docks?"

"Yep. So, Brockton Bay villains one-oh-one: that fire was Lung rampaging out of control."

I furrowed my brow. He'd said "lung," as in the English term for the respiratory organ, but his surface thoughts contained flashes of a dragon with silver scales surrounded in flames.

"Do you mean [coiled dragon]?" I asked, pronouncing the name of a silver-scaled monster in the Kao te Shou tongue.

"Yeah, that. I don't speak Chinese, and nobody who doesn't bothers trying to say it right," Mike shrugged. "So anyway, Lung is basically a guy who can turn into a dragon. He has pyrokinesis even when he's not transformed, and he's not a top-tier villain but he can solo pretty much any local hero one-vee-one if they don't get the drop on him. He runs a gang called the Azn Bad Boys, spelled A-Z-N instead of the normal way, and he controls most of the northern and eastern parts of the city."

He took a bite of one his potato slices and waved around the remaining portion for emphasis. "Most of the time he just does his own thing and lets his mooks handle everything, but last night some minor gang apparently pissed him off badly enough that he set half the Docks on fire trying to hunt them down and kill them. The news thinks he got them all, but I don't know if anyone knows for sure."

Now that I had that additional context, the red and green dragon images I'd seen in several places, as well as Sandra's worry about my possibly wearing red or green or having a dragon tattoo, suddenly made perfect sense.

The coiled dragon, or pan lung, is a race of dragon found on quite a few worlds, including my own homeworld; specifically, both they and the Kao te Shou tongue can be found on the eastern continent of Kara-Tur. Coiled dragons have gray or silver scales while young but develop red and green (and sometimes orange) scales as they mature; they have a long, snakelike, and wingless bodies, like the impressions in Mike's thoughts; they are naturally solitary creatures, preferring to choose a single crypt or temple or the like as a lair and spend most of their time there; they can breathe air and water, so they are commonly found in coastal regions; they are arrogant but honorable and Lawful to a fault, harshly punishing any creatures who offend them or break an oath; they cannot breathe fire, but they can wreathe themselves in a flaming aura; they can bind both living creatures and spirits to their service; and while they are not shapeshifters they can cast illusions, allowing the younger and smaller ones to appear as humanoids with some effort.

In short, it sounded very much like this Lung was not a man who could turn into a dragon, but rather a dragon who could appear as a man. I'd certainly like to meet with him at some point and see if he would be willing to offer a non-human perspective on this region of the world.

"Lung's sidekick is Oni Lee," Mike continued. His mental image was not at all distinct, merely giving the vague impression of a shadowy humanoid figure with a fanged visage, as he'd apparently not seen this cape in person. "He's a teleporting assassin who leaves clones of himself behind. If you see a really scary ninja-looking guy with swords show up anywhere near you, get the fuck out of there."

Ah, and here we had what was almost certainly a shikibu no oni, a fanged shapeshifting fiend that can slip through the Ethereal to appear to teleport, that radiates an aura of fear, and that can free its soul from its body when killed to inhabit a nearby corpse and transform it into a perfect facsimile of its old body. Such creatures were often found in the same territories as pan lung, so Lung binding an oni as his lieutenant was logical.

Finally, something in this world that actually made sense!

"So that's the ABB, just the two capes to worry about. Oh, and their colors are red and green, so watch out for guys wearing jackets or armbands in those colors. The other major villains are the Empire capes, their colors are black and red and they occupy parts of Downtown and basically the whole Financial District," Mike said.

"They've got too many capes to run through, you can look them up if you want, but all you really need to know is that if you run into a villain who's not Lung or Oni Lee and they have a bunch of thugs backing them up, then they're Empire. Other than that, there are a few minor villains, but they generally target businesses and not individual people so if you stick to the Boardwalk area you shouldn't need to worry about them," he concluded.

"An excellent summary, thank you."

"No problem."

There was a lull in the conversation as I waited for my meal to arrive. He returned to his food, some variety of sandwich positively dripping with oil, while I did a bit of discreet people-watching-an easy thing to do when one doesn't need to physically look around to observe the whole restaurant.

A few minutes later, a loud roar of excitement filled the room as a point was scored by one of the players of the game displayed on the television. Mike looked up at the television, leaped up from his stool, and punched the air excitedly. "Ha ha! Suck it, Virginia!" he crowed, before sitting back down.

Seeing that I hadn't reacted at all, he glanced over at me. "Not a big basketball fan?"

"I am not," I replied. "I take it nearly everyone here supports the team that's currently winning?"

"Heh, no, nobody cares about Clemson. We're all rooting against George Mason."

I raised an eyebrow, inviting him to explain, and he did. "This game is the last game of the NCAA finals. The tournament was supposed to finish up last weekend, but some asshole villains in Ohio attacked the stadium during the Buckeyes game. They nearly killed a few of the players and injured like half the fans, so everything got pushed back a week." He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.

"Anyway, this game is the Clemson Tigers against the George Mason Patriots. Not to be confused with the other Patriots you might hear people talk about while you're in town: the New England Patriots, which is a football team over in Boston, and the Brockton Patriots, which was a popular hero group back in the '90s who used to team up with New Wave in their early days before the Protectorate set up a full department here. The first time our local basketball team, the Huskies, ever made it to the regional finals was back in 2006, but they lost to the Patriots and haven't made it that far since, so everyone here is hoping the Patriots get stomped."

Mike's explanation was simple, yet fascinating, and quite revealing about the local culture. An essentially trivial loss by his favored sports team against a foreign sports team five years ago engendered strong enough feelings against said rival team that dozens of Brockton Bay residents had gathered in the hopes of watching that team lose to a third completely unrelated team, while a large-scale attack by parties unknown that had occurred just a few weeks ago and resulted in many casualties was mentioned only in passing and largely dismissed as a fact of life, much like goblin raids or dragon attacks were for smaller towns and villages.

As well, a team of sports players entertaining the populace could share a name with (and be easily confused with) a team of "heroes" protecting them against serious threats, and, based on the impressions I saw in Mike's thoughts, both teams would likely achieve similar kinds of devoted followings and raise money through the sale of similar kinds of emblazoned goods.

The adoration of and rivalry between the sports teams was nothing new; similar phenomena were seen with everything from teams of gladiators to adventuring guilds on other worlds. Neither was the adoration of powerful and benevolent individuals, as swooping in to save a town from natural disasters or demonic hordes or the like did tend to engender plenty of gratitude in townsfolk. It was the fact that the two attitudes seemed similar to the point of near-total overlap here that was so interesting, and I wasn't yet sure what to make of it.

Mike proceeded to enthusiastically explain the rules and minutiae of the game of basketball without any prompting on my part, to which I listened with half an ear while I waited for my meal to arrive.

A short while later, he was mercifully interrupted by a waiter placing a steaming platter in front of me. It contained a truly excessive quantity of clams, fried in twice the amount of batter I was used to and practically swimming in grease.

I selected the largest clam and took a bite. The taste was… tolerable, but not only was it fried beyond recognition, it was too sweet by half.

What was it with this city and sugar in their cuisine?

"What do you think?" Mike asked.

I set the remainder of the clam back on the plate. "Of all of the shellfish I have eaten in my life, that was certainly one of them."

Mike laughed. "Yeah, don't let the fancy menu fool you, Fugly's is definitely a hamburger place first, a deep fryer second, and everything else third. They figure tourists will order pretty much anything if they make it seem artisanal and slap a cutesy name on it, and they're right. I have no idea how their seafood meals ever get so high up in the rankings when even Long John Silver's can do better than that."

"I was wondering about that, actually," I said, pulling the menu over and tapping the colored entries on the front page while I continued to nibble at my underwhelming meal. "What exactly is it that determines the order for these, and what criteria do they use when choosing which will make the list?"

"Every Protectorate or Wards hero that's ever been stationed in the city gets a meal named after them after they've been on the team a certain amount of time. Nine months, I think. And they have to have still been around after the East-Northeast Department was set up in 2001, which is why none of them have an end date earlier than that."

"That seems to be an… unusual way to honor those heroes," I said.

"Oh yeah, the full story's pretty great. The whole thing started with Challenger, that's why that meal's their most famous."

Mike leaned in and started to spin the tale: "So, the reason Fugly Bob is 'fugly' is that back in the day the Empire wasn't happy that some Hispanic guy, Roberto… Menendez or Mendoza or something, I forget, they've got a picture of him up front somewhere-anyway, that some Hispanic guy set up a popular place on the Boardwalk selling burgers instead of 'ethnic food' and started 'taking business away' from the other 'more upstanding' restaurants run by 'real Americans' and so they came and fucked him up to send a message."

Mike's disdain for the Empire's opinions was clear in his tone, and he followed up the mocking impression with an approving grin. "The guy had balls of steel, though. He just made a joke that now his face looked more like ground beef than his burgers did, named one of his burgers the Fugly Bob Special, and ended up with even more business."

After taking another bite of his food, Mike reached out and tapped the Challenger entry on the menu. "The Empire came back to rough him up worse, but when they did, Challenger showed up. She's a real old-school hero; she was in the Bay even before Miss Militia, back when the local PRT presence was basically three heroes and some rent-a-cops in a corner office downtown. She wiped the floor with those guys and let them know if they started trouble there again she'd finish it. Bob decided to make a special burger in her honor, and since her schtick was growing stronger and tougher in proportion to the threat she faced, well, The Challenger ended up being a big-ass burger."

He shrugged. "With all the shit going down in the late '90s, he ended up making more and more specials to thank the heroes for kicking villain ass. Eventually the place got popular enough to let him move to a bigger building when its previous owner died in the Nine attack, he rebranded the place as Fugly Bob's and changed all the food names to fit, and the rest is history."

"And the ordering?" I prompted.

"They're based on something like how many people ordered each one in the past month plus current hero rankings, kind of like a fantasy cape lineup. Armsmaster's almost always in the top two 'cause he's a total badass and people love the special fries, Miss Militia's almost always in the top five 'cause she's a total badass but healthier burgers aren't as popular, and Challenger doesn't usually make it up there 'cause she's retired and people don't exactly order Challengers on every visit."

"An interesting system," I said. "I can't comment on the rest of them, but Dauntless's placement seems to make sense with that approach. I met him earlier today and he seemed to be both capable and exceedingly popular with the crowd."

"Aw, you lucky bastard! I've been wanting to get an autograph since he joined up but I never find out about his events in time, and I couldn't skip class for his thing today, I had a final," Mike pouted.

The young man had been a veritable font of information this evening, so I decided that giving him a token of my gratitude wouldn't be amiss. Holding my hand beneath the bar, I retrieved the poster of Dauntless from its storage space.

It would take too long to analyze and replicate the exact elemental composition of the poster in order to make a perfect copy-even assuming there were no animal-derived materials in it, as I couldn't trivially create those-but I already had Triumph's poster for chemical analysis, so making a visually-identical copy for reference and giving him the original wouldn't be an issue.

Moments later, I placed my copy of the poster in storage and pretended to retrieve the actual poster from my pocket. "An autograph like this one, you mean?" I asked casually as I placed the poster on the table and slid it over to him.

He looked at the poster with wide eyes, then up at me. "You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all."

"You sure? His autographed stuff is more expensive than almost everyone else's, and I don't want to take your swag after you stood in line for however long."

"It's perfectly fine. I actually have a second one," I said, retrieving and quickly flashing the copy.

Mike grinned broadly. "Sweet. You're the best, man, I owe you one," he said, before carefully rolling up the poster, hopping off his stool, and gently placing it in a backpack he'd shoved beneath the bar.

Once he'd returned to his stool, I said, "Speaking of heroes in white, I saw a young woman in a white uniform flying around yesterday. Do you happen to know who that is?"

"Was she wearing a gold crown or a red hairband?" he asked, two images bubbling up in his thoughts to accompany the question.

"The crown."

"That's Glory Girl. The other one's her cousin, Laserdream."

With that, I finally had an answer as to whether "Triumph" and "Dauntless" were more likely to be real names or titles, as the name "Victoria Dallon" flitted through Mike's surface thoughts alongside "Glory Girl" and "Laserdream" was tenuously associated with "Crystal Pelham."

"Good to know, thank you. I was hoping to meet her as well, and it's hard to do that without a name. I might also speak to her cousin while I'm at it."

"You want to meet the New Wave girls, huh? That might be kinda difficult, given that pretty much every guy in the city around their age wants to do the same thing," he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

I received a brief impression from his surface thoughts that he was roughly Laserdream's age and from my question he'd guessed that I was as well, then I quickly withdrew my attention from his thoughts before they threatened to shift in a more risqué direction.

"My intentions are purely professional," I said with a smile.

"Uh huh. Sure."

The illusion that mildly altered my features and clothing also disguised my marriage band as a much simpler and less valuable ring, but still left it visible. I raised my hand slightly to draw Mike's attention to it, in the hopes that that would put an end to the conversational tangent without my needing to explain myself in detail. Another quick peek into his thoughts revealed that he did recognize it as a marriage band from the gesture, though the local culture apparently wore their wedding rings on their left hand instead.

"Oh, come on, she's one of the most famous heroines in New England. You couldn't ask your wife to make one tiny exception?" he joked.

My mood soured immediately, but I kept my friendly expression in place. Mostly.

"Husband, actually," I corrected, more sharply than I'd intended, shoving down all of the emotions that threatened to rise at even an oblique reference to Ald-to him, and to the fact that I would never be able to ask him any question ever again.

"… Oh. Okay," Mike said. He kept his expression neutral, but shades of realization and embarrassment suffused his aura.

His cleared his throat awkwardly, and in a more serious tone explained, "Glory Girl patrols the city most nights, so you can always look for her that way. If you don't find her, someone else on her team can put you in touch, the whole team does rotating patrols. Just look for the heroes in white costumes with fancy logos matching their powers."

The embarrassment faded, replaced by a mild anxiety. "By the way, the husband thing? That's not something you're going to want to tell just anybody in this city," he said quietly.

Taking a long sip of his drink, he discreetly glanced around in search of something. His gaze eventually settled on a trio of young men with shaved heads and red-striped black jackets sitting at a table a few feet behind us.

I'd noted their presence when Mike had mentioned the Empire's colors and had been keeping a metaphorical eye on them with my secondary stream of thought. Not out of any concern for safety, of course, but rather to get a sense of how the Empire's footsoldiers might look and act outside of their armor.

"The Empire doesn't like, um, gay people," he said, lowering his voice further on the last two words so as not to be overheard.

Ah. The Empire was one of those cultures.

Lovely.

"And since you're gay and not-white, well," he continued, "after last night, the Empire's been out in force to 'protect the innocent citizens of this city' and campus security said their guys have been jumping a lot of people who were alone and looked like they even might be ABB, so you'd be putting an even bigger target on your back if any of them heard about… that."

He glanced down at my shirt. "You might not want to wear purple while you're here, either. Or any other unusual colors, really, pastels especially. They kinda like to stereotype."

My shirt was of course a proper violet, not purple, but it was good to know of the cultural association regardless.

Despite Mike's attempt at subtlety, it seemed the Empire's men had overheard him, thanks to keen ears or perhaps a brief gap in the background conversation. One of the men was leaning slightly in our direction while pretending to watch the television, while another was manipulating his telephone and glancing occasionally in our direction.

A peek into their rather inebriated thoughts revealed that they'd decided to ambush me, for being a tempting target of opportunity, and also Mike, to "make an example" of him, and were contacting their compatriots to inform them of a change in their evening schedule.

"I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself just fine," I said.

"I dunno… they go around in groups, and when there's a turf war going on a lot of them start packing heat," he said, sounding surprisingly worried about the safety of someone he'd just recently met. "Even I steer clear of them, and I'm not the kind of guy they go after."

My faint memory power would protect me from reprisal by removing the Empire soldiers' memory of me, but that wouldn't do Mike any good. Quickly manifesting a power that would let me speak directly to him without others overhearing, as I didn't know how he'd react to telepathy, I said, " Don't look back, but I believe the Empire soldiers heard you and are hoping to punish you for warning me once you're away from any witnesses. You may want to leave here fairly soon, and if so I'd be happy to escort you out."

After the way Sandra had initially reacted to my proving to be a cape, I wanted to keep that under wraps while in public until I had a better sense of how non-celebrity magic-users were generally regarded here, so I'd have to deal with things away from this crowd.

His eyes briefly widened and the anxiety in his aura deepened, but he did manage to avoid reflexively looking behind him. "Yeah, good idea," he murmured. He waved the bartender over and asked for his bill, as did I, then he sat and nervously picked at the last of his food while waiting for the bartender to return.

Soon enough we'd both paid, he with one of the payment devices the locals used and I with normal currency, and once he'd gathered his things we walked toward the door. "Are they following us?" he asked, speaking as softly as he could manage.

"Yes," I said at a normal volume, and he flinched. "As I said, there's no need to be concerned," I assured him.

"You sure? I can call a cab to my dorm, but what about you?" He stood half a head taller than I, and glanced skeptically down at me as we walked through the foyer. "No offense, but you don't exactly look like you can beat three guys in a fistfight. Are you going to have to walk to where you're staying? I can point out the safe parts-"

"Mike. I will be fine," I stated firmly. We exited the restaurant and started walking down the street, Mike taking care to stay within the illumination of the line of streetlamps as he pulled out his telephone and messaged someone to meet him with a vehicle.

Once we were both out of view of Fugly Bob's, I sensed the Empire footsoldiers stop loitering inside and begin to follow us, making an effort to appear casual and avoid attention.

Once they were all out of view of the restaurant, a simple concussion blast rendered the three men instantly unconscious, dropping them to the ground with muted thumps.

Mike hadn't noticed that, and continued to furtively glance around while we waited in silence for his conveyance to arrive.

A bright yellow automobile with a checkered black-and-white pattern on the side rolled to a stop near us a few minutes later. "Hey man, that's two I owe you," he said as he climbed into the back seat of the vehicle.

"Not at all. It was my presence that put you in harm's way in the first place," I protested.

"No, really, it was stupid of me to say anything where someone could hear, and I wouldn't have known they were gonna jump me if you hadn't noticed and said something." He pulled a small piece of paper and a writing implement from his bag, scribbled his name and address on it as well as a ten-digit number, and handed it to me. "If I can do anything for you sometime, a campus tour, an introduction to a professor, whatever, just let me know."

"I do appreciate the offer, and I just might take you up on that. Fare well," I said.

As his vehicle departed, I decided to leave his memory of the encounter entirely intact save for my name, so that if I decided to give him my real name on our next encounter he wouldn't notice the discrepancy.

Once Mike was safely away, I walked over to the unconscious footsoldiers. After removing their memory of me, I manifested another power capable of altering arbitrary stretches of memory in order to do the same for Mike. This power required a more delicate touch, so after rendering myself invisible and incorporeal to avoid notice, I floated there for several minutes while I carefully edited their recollections.

At the end of the process they were left with a general impression of the evening, so as not to arouse the suspicion of the allies they had contacted by having no memory of what had transpired, but remembered no details beyond encountering two exceptionally boring individuals who had somehow aroused their ire.

Carrying out that kind of brazen memory manipulation left me feeling… out of sorts, I suppose, and vaguely guilty. If choosing to use the Faint Memory power involves coming dangerously close to crossing the metaphorical line of breaking the First Precept, rewriting memories so as to non-trivially impact another's future behavior may as well involve dancing along that line with wild abandon.

I don't know if I'd so casually have resorted to that solution under normal circumstances. Perhaps having foregone sleep for the past one and a half subjective days was impairing my judgment, despite the physical and mental rejuvenation powers I habitually employed.

Or, more likely, I was expecting to hear Aspect's nagging over the issue and I was merely finding its absence to be somewhat disconcerting.

Perhaps leaving him in stasis so long wasn't the most prudent decision.

I retrieved Aspect from storage and used my Experiential Repository to update him with my memories of everything that had occurred while he was elsewhere. Predictably, his first response was to complain.

could you?

I sent.

Aspect sent triumphantly.

I sighed.

Aspect sent the impression of an offended huff over our bond, but then his mental tone turned somber.

because there are no others alive to hold me to them. It's the principle of the thing.

-but I know you do care, and if your little bout of voluntary insomnia might lead to that, maybe sleeping things off would be a good idea.

I shot Aspect an unimpressed look.

I blinked.

you probably would have thought of, if you were in top condition right now, Aspect chided.

I replied blandly.

I added as I felt more men in red and black enter my sensory range,

I waited for the new men to find the unconscious trio below me. There were five of them in all, and a brief perusal of their thoughts revealed that they'd come in search of the three from the restaurant after the latter had failed to respond to a message after being rendered unconscious.

When all eight men were nearby, the five rousing the three and helping them to their feet, I applied an arcane mark to each one's head. The invisible mark had no effect on its own, but would allow me to easily find any of them later if for whatever reason I decided to do so, and detecting one of the marks through the armor of the black-clad soldiers would prove that those were indeed Empire troops.

That done, I floated off to the west; I had no particular need nor desire to eavesdrop on the argument that would be sure to erupt when the three men couldn't remember exactly why they'd requested reinforcements.

Aspect asked.

Aspect sent, along with a pulse of amused indifference.

At that point, I could have simply used the power imbued in one of my tattoos to instantly obtain Glory Girl's location, but doing so would give me considerably more information than just her location up to and including a comprehensive overview of every single thing she had done in the past few hours, and I had no desire to intrude upon the privacy of a stranger without cause.

Lesser location powers would give her location and nothing more, but lacked the range to cover the whole city at once, so I manifested a basic location power with a range of roughly two-thirds of a mile and began teleporting around. Assuming an optimal path, I estimated it would take roughly four minutes to canvas the entire city.

Luckily, however, I only made it halfway through my search pattern before encountering a promising lead.

A young woman surrounded by a protective aura of blinding white and ultraviolet light-which superficially resembled the somewhat uncommon Luminous Armor spell, but I'd have to check her repertoire to be sure-was flying slowly over the center of the city, and by her flight pattern she was apparently searching for someone (or something) just as I was.

I wasn't sure if she was a member of New Wave; she did fit the same general mental image Mike had of both Glory Girl and Laserdream, that of a young human woman in a primarily-white full-body uniform with long hair and the ability to fly, but she had no colored emblem on her uniform as they did.

Though the deep red color of Laserdream's emblem closely matched that of the light spells that were apparently her signature and this woman's aura was colorless, so perhaps her emblem was white-on-white and merely not apparent from this distance.

Regardless, there was no harm in asking. Even if she wasn't part of the same team, Glory Girl was apparently sufficiently well-known that this woman may still have an idea of her customary schedule.

I dropped my invisibility, flew around to her side so that I wouldn't startle her by approaching out of a blind spot, and called, "Hail-"

I'd intended to follow that with… and well met, completing the common traveler's greeting, but no sooner had she turned her head in my direction than a sharp spike of alarm colored her aura and my foresight blared a warning.

I barely managed to teleport to her opposite side before a massive spiraling cylinder of light, dozens of yards long and nearly a yard in diameter, flashed through the space I had until just recently occupied.

Well that was certainly interesting.

Not the part where I approached someone with the intent to talk and they attacked me without provocation, as that sort of thing was irritatingly common. Culture clashes, and all that.

No, the novel aspect of the encounter was the fact that my foresight had actually notified me of danger.

That particular power gives constant guidance regarding the best means of avoiding harm in the immediate future, but given the number and strength of the wards surrounding me at all times, it very rarely needs to. I keep it active largely as a formality, seeing as the most effective reaction to most attacks is simply to hover there and let them rebound uselessly from my defenses.

If this woman was capable of harming me, even slightly, that could prove to be a troubling development.

Aspect asked incredulously.

I replied dryly.

I'd teleported to a point that placed her within range of my expanded senses, and I could now see her aura quite clearly. Streaks of ash gray in its innermost bands indicated that she had long teetered on the cusp of Neutrality and Evil, and that her tendencies in the latter direction were strong enough that a fall to Evil was likely only a matter of time; ripples of pale green indicated that the same was true, if to a much lesser degree, regarding an imminent slide to Chaos as well.

Given that, her reflexively resorting to extreme violence was understandable, if irritating.

I also took the opportunity to examine her with my arcane sight, and as I had largely expected, I was no more able to identify any capability for magic use in her than I had been in Dauntless or Triumph. That oddity was almost certainly a feature of this world's magic-users, then, and not something unique to either of those men.

Having confirmed that hypothesis, I no longer had any particularly urgent need to meet Glory Girl. I decided that I may as well finish the search that I'd started, though; I would still want to speak with her if we happened to encounter each other, as the spells she'd used were still ones I wished to examine.

When the blast of light faded, the woman seemed to relax, her emotional aura filling with an odd mix of relief, guilt, and smug satisfaction.

… Assuming, of course, she is in her right mind, which may not be the case, I added.

I started to address her again, getting only as far as "Now, young miss-" before she spun around and launched another blast of light in my direction, following it up with an evasive maneuver that sent her arcing up and around me at high speed.

This attack I blocked rather than evaded, evoking a force barrier around myself just in time to divert the blast, as I'd had the bit of extra time needed to manifest a power via a soul crystal and didn't want to risk the possibility that she could produce much wider columns of light than the one she'd just cast.

When the light cleared to reveal that I was completely unharmed, the woman halted her frantic flight and simply floated there, staring at me with an expression of shock and disbelief on her face.

She held a cupped hand out to the side and a slowly-growing sphere of light appeared in it.

Aspect noted snidely,

I am generally a rather patient man, but this inadvertent confrontation appeared to be going nowhere. I decided to end it quickly.

A moment later, the woman thrust forth the hand holding the sphere of light and it expanded into yet another blast, but it only covered about half the distance between us before I reached out with imperceptible tendrils of psionic power, usurped the magical energy behind the blast, and inverted it.

The blast rebounded suddenly in midair, striking the woman with its full force and launching her many yards backwards. Fortunately for her, she appeared to be highly resistant if not immune to her own spell thanks to the protective light around her… but if she hadn't been, well, I wouldn't have been particularly perturbed.

I flew over to her, registering the jumbled mix of pain, confusion, fear, and hints of a few other emotions in her aura. She didn't attack me again, fortunately, as I drew close enough for her to easily make out my features and the somewhat annoyed expression I now wore.

"Who are you?" she asked, sounding quite off-balance after having her spell so effortlessly disrupted. Her eyes widened slightly and she averted her gaze from my face, just as Sandra had done upon discovering that I was a magic-user. "And why aren't you in costume?"

"I'm not especially inclined to explain myself, given the poor reception."

" You snuck up on me!" the woman protested. "With everything going on right now, I thought you were Aegis and I was getting ambushed. I've already been shot at five times tonight by groups of chi-Chinese people, and it wouldn't be the first time the Protectorate tried to…."

A pause.

"You're not Aegis, right?" she added uncertainly.

A glimpse into her surface thoughts revealed that she knew perfectly well, intellectually, that this "Aegis" was incapable of performing any of the feats she'd witnessed, but that she was subconsciously fixated on my superficial similarity to him for some reason.

"No I am not," I calmly replied. "What gave you that impression?"

"Well, there aren't many flyers in the city, and you're short and Mexican, so…." she trailed off.

"And can this Aegis shrug off an assault that could have destroyed an entire story of one of the surrounding buildings? One that would have done so, had your aim been a pace or two farther to the left?"

"… I've seen him basically get his legs blown off before and he turned out fine?" she offered in a small voice.

"I see," I said flatly. I noted that she had yet to apologize for her actions in any way, and also that mingled nervousness and disdain had been trickling into her aura since she'd been able to see my lightly-disguised features clearly. "Well. I had been approaching you to ask about one of the local heroes, but I somehow doubt you'd have any relevant information on that subject."

"I might," she said, regaining some confidence. "I'm a hero too, you know."

"I find that to be exceedingly unlikely," I replied.

She drew herself up, looking affronted. "I am! Look, I know I don't exactly have the best reputation after-"

"I know nothing of you or your reputation," I reproached her, "only the fact that you attacked someone with lethal force given only the slightest suspicion of their identity and don't feel the slightest bit sorry for it."

I am constantly aware of the considerable psionic strength I wield compared to the vast majority of magic-users, and so whenever possible I give potential enemies multiple chances to talk, flee, or surrender before resorting to lethal force. The same general principle applies to most magic-users of my stature, regardless of their world of origin, as those who exercise their power injudiciously rarely survive long enough to reach that point.

To leap directly to potentially-lethal means to deal with an unfamiliar individual of lesser stature, even if one is absolutely certain of said individual's opposing allegiances and hostile intentions, is considered by those in our peer group to be, at the very least, incredibly rude.

Even Juroth most likely wouldn't reflexively cast a Sunburst spell at anyone, and he's a man who generally behaves as though he'd had his conscience surgically removed centuries ago.

The woman drew breath to speak, but I cut her off. "Don't bother to apologize now. I can clearly tell that it would be insincere."

She was silent for a moment, then suspicion began to color her aura. "Wait, you said you didn't know my reputation. How do you not know about me? I've been active for years!"

"I've only recently arrived to this city."

Her mouth twisted into a grimace at my response. I had expected her to at least attempt politeness, under the circumstances, but… ah, she likely assumed no one could see her face through the blinding light and didn't bother to control her expression accordingly.

"So you're Lung's new cape, then?" she spat accusingly.

"Hardly; I only very recently learned who this 'Lung' was, and am not affiliated with any local faction. What led you to that conclusion?" I asked, eyebrow raised.

"I have my sources, and I heard about his little recruiting trip a couple weeks ago! Why else would a new cape just happen to show up now, right after he went and murdered all those innocent people in Midtown like the savage he is?" she insisted.

She obviously considered the few lives lost in the Midtown region of the city to vastly outweigh the much greater loss of life in the Docks, and even then her surface thoughts showed that she only counted a subset of those lives as "innocent," using some criterion that I could not immediately determine.

In a much less certain tone, she added, "Though… I think they did say it was a woman who triggered?"

She scrutinized my features and clothing, in defiance of whatever custom or detail had caused her to look away earlier, then hesitantly asked, "You're not a… you know… one of those," she gestured vaguely at her torso, "are you?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean to imply," I replied, "and I believe this conversation has outlasted its usefulness." Nodding sharply, I turned and flew sedately away.

I flew visibly, rather than teleporting or turning invisible, not just to avoid demonstrating any capabilities she hadn't already witnessed but also because I suspected-

Yes, there it was. She was slowly gathering another sphere of light, this time at least attempting to be clever about it by holding her hand behind her back while the power coalesced. I wasn't worried about a beam to the back; not only could I simply block it again, but there were no signs of aggression in her aura, merely streaks of distrust and paranoia.

A peek into her surface thoughts revealed that she appeared to be fixated on the notion that everyone in this city was out to get her, and that she was fully prepared to preempt any sudden attack on my part. Why she assumed I would bother even if I were affiliated with the Azn Bad Boys, as she persisted in believing, when she clearly wasn't making any attempt to be subtle about her aggressive defense by floating there with an obvious ball of energy behind her back, I couldn't say.

Best to nip it in the bud regardless.

"I really wouldn't, if I were you," I called without turning around.

The light dissipated a moment later, as did most (but not all) of the unwarranted suspicion in her aura.

I continued on my way, teleporting off to continue my search the moment I was out of her sight.

Author's Note

This one's a lighter chapter, after the somewhat heavier interludes; a self-indulgent one, even. Coming up with the cape-themed dishes was a lot of fun.

Everyone remembers that Fugly Bob's is a greasy fast food place, but I rarely see people recall that, per 4.2, it's also a bar and serves things like a "portobello-beef double-decker" and deep-fried zucchini as a side, and I find that juxtaposition between "heart-attack-inducing fast food" and "beers and fancy vegetarian options" pretty interesting.

Combine that with the fact that the Fugly Bob Challenger shares a name with Challenger the Protectorate cape (yes, there are "X Challenger" burgers in real life, but firstly they weren't a thing as of 2011 and secondly in a city as cape-tourism-heavy as Brockton Bay the name overlap with a long-serving Protectorate cape can't have been an accident), and the "fake-upscale tourist trap with cape-themed everything" version of Fugly Bob's was born.

The scene comparing sports teams and hero teams was inspired by a conversation I overheard a while back where a sportsball fan said something like, "So what if there's a bomb threat at [stadium, I paid good money for my tickets and they shouldn't cancel the game!" and I was like, yep, sounds like a jaded Earth Bet sportsball fan's reaction to a villain attack, and since the NCAA finals happen in early April the scene fit in here quite nicely.

Also in this chapter, Valigan has his first run-in with the Empire, both their rank-and-file as well as their heavy hitter who has convinced herself that she no longer subscribes to their newsletter. Based on their interactions so far, I foresee a teensy bit of friction in their future.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The pan lung and the shikibu no oni (couldn't find a good flavorful link for the latter, sorry) are monsters from the Oriental Adventures setting, D 's "mostly Japanese but also let's throw in some Chinese and Indian stuff because why not" setting, so the fact that they're surprisingly good fits for the appearances and powersets of the main capes of the "let's throw all the Asian folks together, what could go wrong" gang is pretty great. Shou Lung is an empire in Kara-Tur, the continent on Toril where any Oriental Adventures material can be found. The part where Valigan reflected Purity's beam is his Mastery of Power Negation feature from Arch Psion. The short version is that certain spells can be used to counterspell (negate with antithetical energy) other spells, and Mastery of Power Negation lets him both use powers to counterspell (when normally that's an arcane-magic-only thing) and reflect a countered ability at the caster. I'm assuming Purity would be Manton-protected against her own beam, otherwise she'd have had a really bad time when that was tossed back in her face. Powers Valigan used: concusssion blast (a handy targeted knock-out power), modify memory (rewrite short snippets of memory at will), locate creature (finds a specified creature), foresight (prevents ambushes and suggests the best way to deal with a given imminent threat), evade burst (take no damage from an AoE effect) Powers and spells he referenced: metafaculty ( the premier find-out-about-someone power, and the only one in the game that punches through mind blank, requiring epic wards to protect against), luminous armor (makes glowy blinding armor). sunburst (blinding light blast with UV side effects)

Last edited: Apr 6, 2022

Transposition 1.5.T

Shortly After Midnight, Zor the 5th of Rhaan, 999 YK Somewhere in the Jungle to the Northeast, Xen'drik, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

We all stood there for what felt like hours, just staring at the moons- moons!-and lost in our own little worlds.

Eventually the silence was broken by Regent, of all people. "Well, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto." His tone was sarcastic, as usual, but there was something off about it, and he seemed distracted. I guess realizing we were on a completely different planet had finally broken through that too-cool-for-school façade of his.

Kid Win floated down on his hoverboard right after that. "The quote is actually 'Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore'," he corrected Regent.

I started giggling at that; I couldn't help myself.

"What's so funny? It is!" Kid Win asked, sounding hurt.

"I was just thinking about what you could possibly say when you find out you're not on Earth anymore and that a Wizard of Oz quote would be too cliché, and then he went right for the first quote anyone would think of," I explained, and Kid Win started laughing along with me.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with that. The classics are classics for a reason," Gallant said, sounding like he was smiling behind his helmet but trying to sound serious.

"Of course you'd think so, Tin Man," Regent shot back, and that set all of us off.

I don't know how long we all stood there laughing.

I was giggling so hard my sides hurt, Kid Win had a kind of snorting laugh that was funny enough to keep me laughing on its own, Grue and Gallant were trying to hold everything in and look manly but kept devolving into fits of chuckles, and even Regent couldn't suppress his snickering for long. As soon as one of us tried to get ourselves under control, they'd look around and one of the others would set them off again.

Regent's joke hadn't been nearly that funny, but there was a manic edge to the laughter like we were all this close to just breaking down and if we stopped to talk about things seriously we all would break down and there would be no coming back from that.

Eventually everyone calmed down, Regent pulling himself together first and the rest of us managing a little while after that, and we stood there quietly for a little while just trying to catch our breath.

I might have still been hyperventilating behind my mask, just a little bit, but Gallant was deliberately looking away from the group while we all finished up our collective freakout so hopefully I was able to keep that detail to myself.

"Speaking of Toto-" Grue said, and Kid Win snorted. "No, seriously," the villain insisted, "speaking of that, it's been hours and we still don't know where Judas is. Has anyone seen any sign of him?"

Gallant shook his head. "I can't see animal emotions, sorry," he said.

"I haven't felt him with my bugs," I added. "And I can't see much of anything through them, so that's out."

"Damn. Can any of your tech help?" Grue asked Kid Win.

He shook his head. "My visor got pretty banged up yesterday and the motion sensor shorted out this morning. I wouldn't consider any of it reliable until I get a chance to sit down and verify it's all working right."

"Well what good are you, then, Kid Lose?" Regent asked-and not in his usual jokey tone, either; he actually sounded pretty pissed off.

Kid Win glared at him. "Hey, fuck you, and fuck your fucking nicknames!" the Tinker said, his voice cracking on the last swear word as he jabbed a finger angrily at Regent. "I don't exactly see you doing anything useful!"

"Guys! This really isn't helping," Gallant said, holding his hands up in a calming gesture that just so happened to leave his palms pointing at the two other capes. "I know we're all… more than a little stressed right now, but if we're going to have any chance of getting home, we're going to need to stop arguing and try to keep working together."

Grue crossed his arms. "To do what?" he challenged. "Even if we turned around right now and somehow managed to get past that emotion power and back to where the portal was, what can any of us do to open it?"

"Nothing," Gallant said softly. "There's only one cape who ever knew how to move between universes, or whatever you want to call it."

"Haywire," I said.

"Right," he confirmed.

Professor Haywire was the Tinker who'd torn a hole between Earth Bet and Earth Aleph back in… 1986, I think? Not all that long before superheroes went public, at least. Anyway, apparently he'd tried to make a bunch of other portals but was stopped before he could do that, and in all the years since then no other cape had ever ended up with portal-making powers.

Well, Eidolon could probably make portals, but he hadn't ever done it as far as anyone knew.

"Do you think someone else got their hands on his technology and that's what let them create the portal?" I asked.

"Even if they did, that wouldn't help us," Kid Win said. "The PRT studied his tech for years and wasn't ever able to really figure it out. Hero was the only one who managed to get any of it working at all, but even he only managed to get a few of the devices to make short-lived portals that lasted for a few minutes at most, and then they burned out and weren't usable again. Then everyone gave up and just stuck all of it in a vault so no villains could get their hands on it."

"Maybe someone else managed to get a multiple-use portal working where Hero couldn't?"

Kid Win shot me an incredibly offended look. "It's Hero," he said, as if that settled the argument… and, well, I guess it basically did.

"You're really saying it's completely impossible for someone else to have figured out how to rig up something out of old Haywire tech that could open a portal to the same place multiple times?" Grue asked.

"Yes, I am," Gallant said bluntly.

"How do you know ?" Grue insisted.

The armored Ward let out an exasperated sigh. "Remember the Simurgh attack on Madison two years back? When she cracked open the vault where they were keeping all of Haywire's old tech and used some of it to build a device to open a portal to Earth Aleph and dumped a whole bunch of random buildings and corpses and Case 53s into Earth Bet?"

Whatever answer Grue was expecting, it obviously wasn't that. And I didn't blame him.

"She what," I said flatly.

"She opened a portal," Gallant repeated. "Using Haywire's old tech." He glanced around at us. "It was all over the news, you had to have heard about it at some point."

How could I possibly have missed something like that?

"When was that attack?" I asked.

"A few days before Christmas, I forget the exact date."

Oh. Right. Christmas of 2009.

The second Christmas Dad and I had spent without Mom, and the first respite I'd had from a whole semester of bullying. We'd basically shut ourselves away from the world, me more so than Dad, and just… not done anything for the holidays.

No wonder I'd missed the news.

"I guess I was a little too distracted with other stuff to watch TV around then," I said, more than a little defensively, and Gallant nodded in acceptance.

"I did hear about that," Grue said. "But I don't see how that's relevant."

"When the PRT analyzed the components of her device that Scion didn't blow apart, they were all completely nonfunctional," Gallant explained.

"For no obvious reason," Kid Win cut in. "It should have all still worked, some of the components were straight-up Haywire tech that didn't get rebuilt at all, but everything just kind of… stopped working."

Gallant nodded. "So if even the Simurgh couldn't make a version of Haywire's tech that worked twice…." he trailed off with a shrug.

Grue and Regent seemed to grudgingly accept that explanation, but I was still stuck on the part where the Simurgh could work with Tinker stuff. I was somehow both surprised and not surprised that I hadn't heard of that before.

Not surprised, because there was essentially a complete media blackout around Endbringer battles, aside from a few idiots who stuck around outside the shelters and managed to get some blurry few-second-long shots of Behemoth or Leviathan with phone cameras. But those videos were always quickly taken down when they were posted online, and even those people were smart enough not to try to record the Simurgh.

Surprised, because if one of the Endbringers was suddenly a Tinker on top of everything else, that sounded like something that wouldn't just get lost in the news cycle.

… Actually, on second thought, maybe they were better off not reminding people of that. I know I probably wasn't going to sleep particularly well tonight.

"Okay, but that's on Earth Bet," Grue argued. "What if someone on this world is as good as Haywire and made the portal?"

"Then we'd have to find that one particular cape without knowing who they are, whether they brought us here intentionally, or whether they'd be willing to help us out, and either way we couldn't do anything to get the portal working!" Gallant answered him, sounding exasperated.

"Fine, trying to use the portal we came through is a dead end," I said, cutting off Grue's potential reply. "What should we do instead?"

"We keep doing what we're doing," Grue said decisively. "Find food, find people. Someone on this side has to have some idea of how to get us home."

"And if they don't?" Regent prodded.

"They have to," Grue repeated grimly, and that essentially killed that line of conversation.

After a brief and somewhat awkward pause, I turned to Kid Win. "Did you see anything helpful while you were up there, besides the ten moons and the big ring?"

"Ten? I thought it was more like twelve or thirteen," he said. "There were a few down by the horizon, I don't know if you could see them from the ground; were you counting those?"

I just looked at him and didn't respond, and after a moment he hunched his shoulders. "Right, sorry, not the time. Yeah, I saw a long break in the canopy a ways that way. Roughly northeast, I think. It's not close by, probably a few hours away… but I'm guessing that's a river, and rivers usually mean cities, so I think we should head that way."

"You sure?" Grue asked. "Even the clearings we've found so far have had tree cover. A gap visible from the air would have to be huge. That sounds like it's more likely to be a canyon or something than a river, and we'd have gone all that way for nothing."

"This from the guy who's never even been on a camping trip," Regent said pointedly. "Nah, I agree with the dork. It probably is a river, and we're more likely to run into people if we go that way. I say we head there."

Kid Win looked like he wasn't sure whether to be annoyed at the nickname or pleased that Regent backed him up, so he just fidgeted and didn't say anything.

"It's not like we're aiming for anything in particular right now, so one direction is as good as any other," I pointed out.

"Fine," Grue said. "We'll go that way, but keep looking for water and food as we go. Kid, lead the way."

~*~*~

After Dawn, Zor the 5th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Somewhere Along the Hydra River, Xen'drik, Eberron

Over the next four or five more hours of hiking, we'd found basically nothing.

We'd run across a handful of trees and bushes with fruit that my bugs had proven to be edible, but after splitting it five ways it wasn't much, essentially just a midnight snack to stave off the hunger pangs a while longer.

And "edible" didn't mean "enjoyable." The one fruit that had looked like a miniature plantain had turned out to be intensely sour, and the less said about the blue pear-looking fruit with the incredibly spicy aftertaste, the better.

At least the hike itself wasn't too bad. Traveling at night kept the heat down, and between my costume and my power I'd managed to avoid the worst parts of hiking.

The nature camp I used to go to had been on the edge of a lake, with trails that had been fairly overgrown, and I remembered how whenever we came back from a hike at least one of the kids would have stepped in some poison ivy or some other dangerous plant and we'd all have at least a few mosquito bites that itched like crazy for the next few days. One year someone even brought ticks back to the cabins, which hadn't been fun at all.

On this hike, though, my costume meant I didn't have to worry about any poisonous plants or thorns or anything like that, and obviously mosquito bites and bee stings were a thing of the past for me.

Which was a very good thing, because some of the bugs around here were huge. I'd felt some mosquitoes along our path that were almost an inch long, three or four times as large as the biggest blood-sucking mosquito in the States. There were some hornets that were twice that size, and a bunch more species that were much bigger than the ones back home.

There were enough giant insects around that it made all the scary Australian wildlife you hear about online seem positively tame by comparison.

Finally, we reached the gap in the trees. There was a river there, as Kid Win had guessed, and I could tell that was the case long before we could actually see it because I'd been able to hear the sound of rushing water through my bugs.

I'd been practicing trying to hear through part of my swarm, and though I wasn't making any progress on being able to do that without almost completely shutting out sensory input from the rest of my bugs, I was at least taking less and less time to switch between the two "modes" of sensing. Hopefully I'd get to the point where it was automatic, like working on my costume had eventually become, but for now I still needed to focus on making the switch.

I told the guys as soon as I heard the river, and we picked up our pace. Soon enough the trees opened up in front of us and we all came to a stop on the riverbank, taking in the sight.

The river was beautiful in the early morning light, and I wasn't just saying that because I was sick of walking and glad to see absolutely anything besides yet more trees.

The water was a lighter blue near the banks where lots of rocks and large tree roots caused some rapids and eddies to form, while the calmer middle of the river was a rich, deep blue that reflected the sky above.

The scattered clouds looked unlike any I'd seen on Earth, since they were a mix of three different colors. They had the usual pinkish-orange color of clouds shortly after sunrise, plus a bright yellowish band at a slightly different angle thanks to the golden line in the sky that was fading in the sunlight but still clearly visible, plus a hint of blue from the surprisingly-bright blue moon that hadn't quite set yet.

There weren't any buildings visible anywhere along the river, on either bank, but at the very least we'd have a lot more visibility (and hopefully more luck) following the river than walking blindly around the jungle.

I heard clicking sounds behind me as Kid Win took some pictures with his phone. If we ever got home, I'd have to ask him for copies of those.

"You were right, it's a river," Grue admitted. "What's the plan now? You think it's safe to drink?"

"Definitely not," I said. "Rivers on Earth are bad enough, who knows what might be in the water here?" Thinking back to what I'd learned at camp, I continued, "We'll need to remove the sediments and stuff, then boil it to kill bacteria. I know you can filter water using fabric, so I can have my spiders make a filter out of silk. Assuming we have a container to put it in?"

I looked to Kid Win, who nodded at the unasked question. "That's basically a big pot with a heating element, I can do that no problem." He glanced over at Gallant. "Well, one problem. I'll need to strip some of your armor for parts."

Regent let out a short wolf whistle at that. We all did our best to ignore him.

"I don't mind," Gallant said. "The right knee's been seizing up for a while now, and it feels like the cooling element is shot so it's probably going to get pretty hot in here in a few hours-"

Regent started to whistle again, but Grue smacked him on the shoulder.

"-so I don't mind if you use some of it for parts and use the rest to make me something… a little more comfortable," Gallant finished, a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Aw, come on, it's no fun if you're doing it on purpose," Regent joked.

"I know," Gallant said with a nod.

I could feel my cheeks turning pink under my mask at all the innuendo. Regent's tone seemed a little forced; he'd been fairly quiet since we saw the moons, so acting like that was probably his way of coping with… everything.

No matter Regent's motivation, though, I found myself starting to wonder what Gallant looked like under all that armor and whether his looks matched his voice.

I really hoped he didn't point his emotion sight in my direction any time soon.

Hoping to distract myself from my embarrassment, I focused on all my spiders and had them find a sturdy and mostly-straight branch on which to start weaving a water filter. In less than a minute, they'd found something suitable and started weaving energetically, and I found myself feeling much calmer.

"I've started making the filter. It'll take… maybe half an hour for something bucket-sized that's reinforced around the edges?" I guessed. "How long will you need for the purifier?"

Kid Win drummed his fingers on his leg armor. "I'm not sure. Hard to say until I start working on something. Probably around that long."

"Any suggestions on what to do in the meantime?"

"I did say that if we found a river we could all use a bit of a bath," Regent suggested.

Yeah, no. Wasn't gonna happen, even if Regent hadn't started spouting innuendo. I wasn't about to take off my armor when there could be who-knows-what animals in the water, and being around strange men in a wet costume would've been a terrible idea even if none of them were villains.

Still, it was already getting uncomfortably warm again, when the sun wasn't even fully up… and my hair could use a rinse….

"I'm going to check the river, and if it looks safe I'm going to go for a swim while my bugs finish the filter," I decided. I gave Regent the hardest glare I could manage through my mask, and made the bugs near him buzz threateningly. "If I catch anyone peeking, I'll do to them what I did to Lung. Is that clear?"

Regent took a nervous step backward and nodded carefully, and Kid Win looked a little pale at the threat.

"Don't worry, the truce is still on, you're covered by the unwritten rules," Grue assured me.

"The what?" I asked.

"The unwritten rules for capes. Did… nobody tell you about those?"

"No. I hadn't met any capes before yesterday, that was my first night out," I replied.

"Wait, what? Really?" he asked.

That's right, I'd mentioned that to the Wards but not to the Undersiders. "Really," I confirmed.

"Wow. That was one hell of a first night, then. We can cover everything later, but basically there are rules for capes that civilians aren't really told about, and among other things they ensure that other capes won't try to figure out your identity unless you deliberately unmask to them," the villain explained, and Gallant nodded his agreement.

"That's good to know… but that wasn't exactly what I was worried about," I said, pinching an unarmored spot of my costume and pulling it up slightly for emphasis.

" Oh," he said in realization. He seemed a bit flustered, the first sign of emotion I'd seen from him in a while other than either annoyance or grumpiness. "I wasn't even… no, you're fine, you've got nothing to worry about there, trust me. I'll kick the crap out of Regent if he does anything, too."

"Good," I said with a nod.

"We'll get far enough from the riverbank to give you some privacy, but still withing shouting range if you run into any trouble," Gallant said. Glancing around at the others, he continued, "Once she's done, I wouldn't mind cooling off as well, it hasn't been easy hiking around in this armor. I don't think taking it into the river is a good idea, so I might as well give Kid Win a chance to work on it without me in it."

Giving Regent a look, he added, "If you try anything, I'll notice, even through the trees."

The foppish villain let out a long-suffering sigh. "Can't a guy make a few snarky comments without everyone piling on like this?"

" No," the rest of us chorused.

"Eh," Regent responded with an indifferent shrug, then rested his scepter behind his neck like someone preparing to lift a barbell. "Well, whenever it's my turn, don't worry," he said, twisting side to side in an exaggerated stretching motion, "peek all you want, there's plenty of Regent to go around."

I'd had more than enough of Regent's antics, so I just made a shooing motion and turned away. "Remember Lung," I threatened him as the guys retreated into the woods.

~*~*~

I didn't sense many aquatic insects in my range as I made my way down to the river's edge, just a handful of water beetles, but that was enough for me to slowly feel out the bank beneath the waterline.

After determining that there were no rocks or submerged tree branches that could hurt me if I jumped into the water and that the current wasn't strong enough to carry me away from that spot, I took my mask and improvised hair tie off, set them carefully down on a large and mostly-clean rock, and took a running jump into the river.

The water was cool and refreshing, and the growing heat and unbearable humidity of the jungle was quickly wiped away as I plunged under the surface.

Oh that was so much better.

After carefully clearing the water away from my mouth and eyes as I rose to the surface-no sense going to all the trouble to make the river water drinkable later if I got sick from it now-I ran my fingers through my hair and over my costume, brushing off all the dirt, twigs, thorns, and other things that had gotten caught up in them during our hike.

Then I lowered myself neck-deep into the water and took a deep breath as the water flowed over and around me, cherishing the opportunity to breathe fresh air without my mask in the way for the first time in however many hours.

I dug my feet into the soft sand of the riverbed to keep myself anchored in place and then just floated for a little while, moving side to side with the current. A small corner of my mind was still paying attention to my swarm to keep the filter weaving going and make sure nothing could sneak up on me, but I let the rest of me finally really think about my situation for the first time since we'd seen the moons.

I was on a completely different world, with two heroes I didn't know if I could fully trust and two villains I definitely couldn't trust.

I had no idea if we'd ever find a way back home. It almost felt melodramatic, worrying about never finding my way home after only being here for less than a day, but getting sent to a completely unknown world through a portal that literally no cape on Earth knew how to reactivate or replicate had a very… final feeling to it.

I had no idea if I'd ever see my dad again.

… And he might never see me again, either.

How was he handling my being gone?

We'd been gone for… let's see, an hour asleep right by the portal, then a while awake, out for twelve hours, walked from midnight-ish until dawn… call it twenty hours, give or take.

If we went through the portal at one-something in the morning, it would be around nine at night now back home, and Dad rarely worked past seven even on nights when he was at the office late.

If I wasn't there when he came down for breakfast this morning Dad might have thought I'd gone out for my morning run a little early, and maybe when he didn't see me get home before he left for work he'd assume I took a longer route or had headed right to school afterward for some reason, but after that?

What would he do when he got home to an empty house, no lights, no note, my backpack sitting right by the door exactly where it had been last night?

Would he freak out and call the school?

Call the police?

Call Emma's house to see if I was there? God, I hoped not.

After the bullying started, I'd explained my no longer going over to her house all the time by saying that we saw each other enough in school and sleepovers weren't "cool" anymore for high school girls, which he believed, thankfully. I'd never actually gotten around to telling him that Emma was involved, much less that she was the ringleader.

If he somehow found out what was actually going on while he was distraught over his missing daughter and on the phone with Emma's parents? Or, even worse, while he was standing right there with them if he went to check in person? Yeah, that wouldn't go well at all.

I took several deep, calming breaths and let my worry flow out of me. There was nothing I could do about it now. I could only hope that things wouldn't end up being too bad if I ever got home.

Leaning my head back and closing my eyes, I focused entirely on my swarm, intending to practice my swarm hearing for a while.

…

Huh. That was new.

I'd just felt two of a completely unfamiliar kind of insect enter my range.

A very big kind of insect. Well, an invertebrate; they were almost definitely huge crustaceans of some kind, given the claws and that they were, as far as I could tell, something like a hundred or so feet underwater.

I started them moving toward me and, yep, they were crabs, the scuttling walk gave it away. Even at their fastest scuttle, it took them almost ten minutes to make their way over to me-this river was absolutely huge, definitely multiple miles across like the Amazon River back on Earth, and you could probably fit all of Brockton Bay in the middle without touching either bank-and as they got closer I was able to get a sense of exactly how big they were.

When they were still a few yards away, the tops of their shells began to poke out of the surface of the river.

They almost came up to my neck, and they weren't even standing at their full height.

Holy crap.

I swam over to the bank and climbed out of the water before turning around and watching the crabs climb out behind me. With their legs stretched out as straight as they could manage, each of them was around five feet tall if you measured from the bottom of their shell to the ground.

Their claws were bigger than my head.

They didn't have the usual red and white coloration of the crabs I knew from back home, but instead a mottled blue and green pattern that might serve as a kind of camouflage when they were in the shallower parts of the river.

Their shells had less of a jagged texture than the kind I usually saw around the Boardwalk, and were very slightly translucent around the edges. I was hardly a crustacean expert-yet another thing I probably should have researched more, there have got to be some useful crabs out there-but from those details I guessed that these were fairly young crabs, which meant there would be some in the river that were even bigger than these.

I was very glad, right then, that my control extended to crustaceans and other bug-like animals, and I really didn't want to think about what other kinds of giant animals might be in this jungle.

I had one of the crabs daintily pick up my mask with the tips of one claw, dip it into the water, and rinse it around a bit before giving it to me. I waited a few minutes until my mask and costume were fully dry before tying my hair back again, replacing my mask, and calling out "Hey guys!"

In moments I could feel all four of the guys running through the underbrush, then slowing down, probably as Gallant saw that I wasn't angry or afraid right then and told the others. "What is it?" the armored Ward called out, but I didn't respond.

The four of them came to an abrupt halt just within the tree line as they caught sight of the crabs.

"Bad news, this planet has giant animals. Good news, I think I've solved our food problem," I said, grinning from ear to ear.

~*~*~

It took quite a while to convince the guys that my plan to kill one of the crabs to eat and keep the other one around for protection was a good idea, long enough that my spiders were done with the water filter by the time I convinced them.

Grue argued that if giant animals were so common here that I could stumble across some of them as easily as I had these crabs, just keeping the one crab around might not be enough. Gallant pointed out that crab meat doesn't last for more than a few hours if not cooked or refrigerated, so we'd be wasting most of it.

Regent complained a lot about the possibility of food poisoning from bad crab meat, but Grue said he was just whining because he didn't like shellfish.

In the end, my argument was that five starving teenagers were going to need a lot of food, we had no idea when our next meal would be, and if we needed more crabs I could always go find some more. None of them really had any better ideas, so they finally agreed.

"As far as food poisoning goes, we should be fine as long as we boil it for long enough," I told Regent, "but if you're so worried I bet Kid Win can figure out some kind of gadget for that-right, Kid Win?"

The Ward smiled at me and nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, no problem. If I take some shielding panels off one of my spark pistols' power cores and turn the output all the way up, it'll emit a lot of ultraviolet light as a side effect, and hitting the meat with that on top of boiling everything should sterilize it."

"It doesn't emit anything else, does it?" I asked nervously. For all I knew, his guns were powered by a miniature nuclear reactor, and eating radioactive crab meat was the last thing we all needed.

"What, like gamma rays? Nah, one of my old power sources had a problem with that, but these cores definitely just do UV."

"Why does it do anything with ultraviolet light at all?" Grue asked.

Kid Win shrugged. "I based the amplifier loop mechanism on some of Armsmaster's old scans of Purity's beams, and when I tried to make a version that didn't give off any UV I couldn't get the power density I needed. No idea why."

I was still very skeptical, and by the looks of things both Undersiders were as well.

Gallant looked around at us, patted Kid Win on the shoulder encouragingly, and said, "Kid Win knows his own tech and he's good at what he does. Plus, all of his tech has to go through a testing and approval process with the Science division before it can be used in the field. If he says it's safe, you can trust him on that."

"Somehow I doubt a bunch of eggheads would have tested whether it's safe to cook seafood with a laser pistol," Regent drawled.

"It's a spark pistol," the Ward corrected, annoyed, "and they didn't check that, I found out about it on my own."

"You 'found out about it'?" I asked. That didn't sound like the result of a rigorous testing process to me.

Kid Win sighed. "One time when I was upgrading my pistols I got distracted and missed one of the rear shielding panels when I was putting everything back together. The next time I got in a fight on patrol, I fired my pistols a bunch and ended up giving myself a killer sunburn. The doctors verified that's all it was, nothing more serious. So yes, I can personally guarantee it's not dangerous. Happy now?"

Regent's only answer was a chuckle at Kid Win's expense.

"Sounds like there are no more objections to that plan, but on the topic of eating, there's another issue we need to address," Gallant said, diplomatically changing the subject.

"What's that?" Grue asked.

"Unmasking."

The Undersiders and I all tensed. I wasn't at all eager to reveal my identity to a couple of villains, and I was still iffy about the heroes. Well, mostly about Gallant; Kid Win seemed like he'd been basically honest about most things so far.

"Look, I'm not saying we all have to, or that anyone has to at all," Gallant clarified when none of us said anything. "But only Kid Win and Regent can eat anything without taking their masks off at least part of the way, and it would be easier for everyone if we weren't trying to work around that the whole time."

The armored hero hesitated, then added, "And, look, we're probably going to be here for a while. Multiple days at the very least, and probably more like multiple weeks. If we can just file everything under Endbringer truce rules and try to get to the point where we all trust each other, we'll have a much better chance of getting home sooner rather than later."

Grue and Regent exchanged a look, but still didn't say anything.

Gallant sighed. "Well, do whatever you want, but if it helps, I'm going to be unmasking regardless since I'm going to have to take my armor off for a while. Grue, from the reports I've seen you're the trustworthy type, so I'm not really worried about unmasking to you."

Grue stood up a little straighter at that. I'd bet villains don't get compliments from heroes all that often.

"And Bug," Gallant continued, "well, you're a hero, no issues there-"

"Vicereine," I interrupted on impulse. "I've decided I'm going to go with Vicereine. And I'd be okay with unmasking."

"It's nice to officially meet you, then, Vicereine," Gallant said. He nodded respectfully at me, and Grue did the same.

Kid Win smiled broadly. "I'm glad you liked the name."

Regent rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh, then shook a finger in my direction. "Don't think I don't see what you're doing, young lady," he said in a mock-serious tone, still laying it on a bit thick. "I called dibs on the royal look first, so if you ever ask the dork to make you a scepter or a crown, we're going to have words."

"Don't worry, imitating you was the last thing on my mind," I shot back.

"You wound me," he replied, then looked over at Grue. "So, what do you say, fearless leader? Unmask, or no?"

Grue gave Gallant a considering look. "Endbringer truce rules?" he asked.

"Endbringer truce rules," Gallant confirmed.

That sounded fairly official. If we were going to keep relying so heavily on truces, at some point I'd have to get someone to outline what exactly the rules were.

"I guess… yeah," Grue said. Then, more decisively, he added, "Yeah, we'll unmask."

"Great," Gallant said. He paused a moment to see if anyone else wanted to go first, which they obviously didn't, then shrugged and reached up to his helmet with both hands. He pressed some concealed switches near the hinge of the visor-or what would have been the hinges if the visor actually opened like a real Medieval helmet, these looked purely decorative-and with a click and the faint hiss of hydraulics the helmet detached from the neck part of his armor.

He swept the helmet off in one smooth motion, held it neck-side-up under his right arm, and ran the fingers of his left hand through his blond hair to try to straighten it out. Then he flashed us a warm smile and said, "Dean Stansfield. Nice to meet you all," in his smooth baritone.

Um.

Wow.

Even covered in sweat and with a bad case of helmet hair, he definitely looked the part of a superhero. Piercing hazel eyes, a well-defined jawline, just a touch of stubble, a few inches taller than I was… he looked like the kind of guy you'd see on a magazine cover.

Wait a second. Stansfield…?

I actually had seen him on a magazine cover!

"Dean Stansfield, as in the Stansfields? As in Glory Girl's boyfriend?" I asked.

"The one and only," he responded, still holding the smile.

When I'd started researching the Brockton Bay cape scene, it was practically impossible to avoid running into material about Glory Girl and everyone and everything related to her. One of the things I'd come across had been a column in Masque or one of those other cape magazines for teenagers where they'd interviewed Dean about what it was like dating a heroine with no secret identity.

The article had included some photos of him, of Glory Girl, and of the two of them together. One of the photos had been of him in a fitted dress shirt with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms, and, I mean, I hadn't been jealous of her or anything, but….

Well, maybe I had been. Just a little bit.

"I don't know if I can measure up to an actual celebrity," Regent said snidely as he pulled his own mask off and ran his fingers through his hair in mocking imitation of Dean, "but I can certainly try." Putting on an exaggerated French accent, he introduced himself as "Alec Lemaître… of the Lemaîtres, naturally."

He was unexpectedly good-looking, too. Not at all my type-pretty boys really weren't my thing, especially not the "edgy Nick Jonas" look he had going on-but as a skinny guy with pale blue eyes and annoyingly perfect just-rolled-out-of-bed hair, if Alec ever set foot in Winslow he'd definitely be mobbed by practically every girl there.

Kid Win went next, using buttons on the sides of his visor to release it like Gallant had. He tilted the whole thing backwards until it clicked and then lifted it over his head. "Guess we're doing last names, then. I'm Chris McIntyre."

His hair was noticeably longer and had a lot less volume than it had looked like he had before. The visor kind of swept it up in the back and bunched it up on top to change his profile, I guessed, which wasn't as good at hiding his identity as a full helmet would have been but still made for surprisingly effective misdirection.

Acne covered his forehead where it had been pressed against the inside of his visor, and the way he squinted in the sunlight wasn't exactly a very flattering look on him.

Grue went next. Given his all-black-and-skulls theme, when he took off his helmet I was expecting to see a face covered with scars or something else stereotypically villainous, but what I actually saw was… well, if Dean had magazine-cover good looks, Grue had movie-star good looks. He had smooth skin the color of dark chocolate, his hair was done up in wavy cornrows that went down to his shoulders, and his chiseled jawline was softened by some five o'clock shadow.

"Brian Laborn," he said, his deep voice sounding a lot richer without his helmet or his power in the way. He followed that up with a cautious nod at the heroes, then looked expectantly at me.

I was suddenly a lot less sure about unmasking after all.

I mean, these guys looked like they took a How To Look Like A Superhero class and passed with flying colors. Their hair still looked great after a whole day in the sweltering heat, Regent had better eyelashes than I did, and Brian obviously worked out and I was willing to bet Dean did too.

Standing there with three objectively, incredibly, frustratingly attractive capes and Kid Win was honestly intimidating, and next to them I didn't think I could really measure up.

But standing there delaying wasn't going to make anything better, so I sighed and took my mask off. "Taylor Hebert," I offered with an awkward little wave.

My gaze flicked between the other capes. Regent-Alec-looked like he was about to make a smart remark, but Gr-Brian gave him a look and he reconsidered, and K-Chris gave me a particularly encouraging smile, and in general it seemed like everyone was just as happy to meet me as they were to meet everyone else.

Which wasn't all that happy in Brian's case, he still looked wary at the whole situation, but it wasn't directed at me in particular.

"Good to meet you, Alec, Brian, Taylor," Dean said with a nod to each of us in turn. "I wish it could have been under better circumstances. And now I'm going to get my armor off so Chris can start on making something to cook with."

Dean went off a little ways to find a log to sit on and Chris went with him to help with the armor, and… that was it for the introductions.

Huh.

I'd been expecting… I don't know, that maybe the other capes would be okay with Bug Hero Girl (Vicereine, now) but not with Taylor, or that they'd look down on me for not looking like a real hero, or… or something .

But whatever drama I'd been expecting, it didn't materialize, and I was apparently accepted as one of the group, just like that.

~*~*~

Chris was still working on figuring out the cooking setup when Dean got back from his swim, and Alec went next. Not because Alec called dibs, though he did do that, but because he'd been badgering Chris while he worked and Brian had told him to " go jump in a river, literally" and let the Tinker do his thing.

I heard about all that later, because while they were doing that I was busy having one of my giant crabs kill and dismantle the other one so we could get at the meat.

I didn't notice Dean had finished up and was coming over to help me until I heard him walking through the tall grass nearby, as I'd been very deliberately keeping my swarm away from the river while the boys were doing their thing.

"Hey Taylor," he said, and god it was weird to hear someone my age say that in a tone that was actually friendly and not either mocking or indifferent. "I figured you could use some help over here. I can't imagine crab claws are all that precise."

I looked over at him and smothered a laugh. Dean was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt in light gray, with blue stripes all over them in exactly the same pattern as the glowing lines on his armor.

"Does the actual Gallant seriously wear Gallant pajamas under his armor?" I teased.

"Not pajamas, workout gear," he said with a smile. "The PRT provides us with free outfits of our own merch to use in the gym or to keep as a change of clothes at base between shifts, and wearing it over my bodysuit for extra padding makes the armor more bearable on longer patrols."

"What, they just give you some stuff right out of the gift shop? You don't even deserve your own custom outfits?"

"Part of the reason is so that we have something to wear after a fight if our costumes get too torn up, so clothes off the rack are the cheapest option," he said, then hurriedly added, "though that doesn't actually happen often."

Given the kind of damage it would take for something to actually go through his armor, I figured it was probably not the best idea to ask about the times when that had happened, so I just nodded and left things there.

We worked in comfortable silence for a while after that. I had the surviving crab smash its claws into the edges of the dead crab's shell as carefully as it could, then Dean used his weaker blasts to help detach the shell without breaking anything.

Once we had the back shell off in one piece to use as a cooking surface, I started on cracking the legs while Dean split them apart at the joints. Soon enough we had enough shell fragments to serve as plates and makeshift utensils, and more than enough meat to go around.

I checked on Chris with my swarm, and it looked like he still wasn't done yet. With the way he kept moving parts around for no apparent reason and appeared to be cursing under his breath, he was finding it difficult to work outside of his lab. I could hardly blame him; I wouldn't want to try to make repairs to my costume out in the middle of nowhere without access to the looms in my basement, either.

Finally, by the time Brian got back from the river, the cooking device was finished.

Chris had taken the shiny outer plating from the torso and limbs of the Gallant power armor-which Dean assured us was purely decorative so removing it wouldn't hurt the armor's effectiveness-and turned it into two large and roughly cylindrical buckets, then used some of the damaged knee and elbow components and some spare parts he had on hand to make something that clamped onto the side of the bucket to heat the whole thing up.

How he'd managed that with just the tools he had in his utility belt I hadn't the slightest idea, but I guess Tinkers are like that.

Brian and Dean took one of the buckets to the river and filled it up while I fitted my silk water filter to the other bucket, then the two of them slowly and carefully poured the water through the filter. Once that was done, I removed the filter and Chris started up his device to boil the water.

We did hit one slight snag: the boiler refused to turn off when Chris hit the off button and started overheating instead, so he ended up having to frantically yank out some parts to shut it down.

"Sorry about that, guys," he said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Think I got the wiring backward somewhere, and without a voltmeter to check-"

"It's fine," Dean assured him. "You get that straightened out, we'll finish prepping the crab meat, all right?"

"Sure," Chris mumbled, and turned to head back to the tree stump where he'd left his tools.

I recognized the look on his face. It was the look that was always on my face when I'd tried to avoid one of Madison's pranks or Emma's ambushes but had been caught and publicly humiliated anyway and wanted nothing more than to get out of the spotlight and forget it had ever happened.

"Hey," I called, and he turned back to look at me. "It's fine. No one got hurt and we're not in a rush, we've got to let this water cool before we can drink it anyway."

He gave me a hesitant smile. "Thanks, Taylor," he said, and walked over to his tools with noticeably more pep in his step.

~*~*~

Soon enough we had a good amount of drinkable water, a working Tinker heating device to cook with-which had somehow managed to clamp onto a giant crab shell just as well as it had onto a makeshift metal pot, because Tinker stuff is like that-and plenty of crab to go around, which had first been zapped with the ultraviolet light from Chris's pistols for safety and then laid out on the shell for Brian to try to barbecue as well as he could manage without any real cooking utensils or other ingredients.

I hadn't been sure whether we'd all eat together or whether the villains would want to eat off on their own, but we ended up sitting together, in a rough circle.

Brian was across the crabshell from me, sitting on a tree stump that was tall enough that he didn't have to stand to cook. Regent was reclining on a large flat rock to Brian's left, having claimed the least dirty seat as his own. Dean was seated in the crook of a moss-covered tree to my left, and Chris and I were sharing the only sturdy log in the clearing.

We all leaned in as the first bits of meat began to crackle and smoke, all of us focusing more on watching the meat cook than on making small talk, and we all practically leaped out of our seats to skewer pieces of crab as soon as they were done.

Despite our eagerness, Dean, ever the gentleman, insisted that the first plate be set aside for Brian and that we wait for him to finish cooking before the rest of us started eating.

Once we all got our first few bites of food into us, we all cheered up significantly.

Between that, the pleasantly cool breeze blowing in from the river, and the fact that we were now on a first-name basis with each other, the meal ended up being much more casual and friendly than I'd expected it to be.

"This is amazing. If this is what you can manage on a crab-shell stove," I told Brian as I dug into my crab, "I'd love to see what you could do in an actual kitchen."

"Thanks," he replied. "It's good to hear someone actually appreciates my cooking." He jerked a thumb at Alec. "This asshole always asks to order pizza when it's my turn to handle dinner."

"Becaush you ahways inshisht on coo'ing healty foo'!" Alec complained, talking with his mouth full. He swallowed, then added, "It wouldn't be so bad if you'd shut up about 'macros' and maybe make some dessert once in a while."

"Could be worse," Chris said. "We're stuck with PRT cafeteria food, and I don't think those cooks can tell sponge cake apart from actual sponges."

"Okay, you win. Or lose, one of the two," Alec said, and the Wards laughed.

We conversation mostly petered out after that. Partly because we were all starving, but partly because, well, "Three heroes and two villains who just recently met and have nothing in common walk into a jungle" is the setup for a joke, not the best basis for conversation once the topic of the food itself was exhausted.

Normally I was more than happy to eat alone and in silence, but that was at school. This was the first lunch I'd eaten in a group since… halfway through freshman year, I was pretty sure, and I kind of wanted to maintain the good mood.

Searching around for any good conversation starters, I hit on something that I thought might work. "So… I know it's kind of cliché, but when a bunch of people with powers get together, isn't it kind of standard to swap origin stories?"

The guys all stopped eating and gave me funny looks.

"What is it?" I asked. So much for keeping the good mood going.

Dean and Grue exchanged glances, and the villain nodded for the hero to go ahead.

"Taylor," Dean began delicately, "I take it you're not familiar with the term 'trigger event'?"

"… No?" I responded. "Is that something to do with getting powers?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Brian said.

"Essentially, a trigger event is when you have either the worst day of your life or the best day of your life and get powers as a result," Dean explained. "Triggers are a touchy subject because for most capes it's the worst day, and they really don't like to talk about it."

"Oh," I said softly.

"And those supposed 'good triggers' are so rare that I've never met anyone who had one," Alec said, sounding unusually grim. "I'm convinced it's just the PRT party line so they can put 'origin stories'-" he waved at me "-in comics and TV shows and stuff to make the heroes look nice and shiny."

"The Triumvirate all had triggers like that, and I know of at least one cape myself who had that kind of trigger," Dean said, a bit defensively. " You wouldn't necessarily have met any of those capes because, well, capes who do something groundbreaking to cause their triggers statistically skew much more toward the hero side, so…."

I felt my stomach churn as I heard that. I may not have gotten a power like any of the ones I'd dreamed of having as a kid-which, honestly, mostly came down to wanting to be just like Alexandria plus a cool extra power on the side-but I'd at least felt that by getting powers at all I had something in common with my childhood idol.

To find out that Alexandria had done something amazing to earn her powers, while all I'd done had been… had been….

Dean glanced over at me, and he must have seen something of what I was thinking in my face or my emotions because he reached over and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Hey. It's a statistical thing," he repeated softly. "Having a normal trigger doesn't make you any less of a hero, and having a good trigger doesn't prevent someone from becoming a villain either. You know Accord, over in Boston?"

I nodded. I'd heard the name, and that he was a villain who'd been around for longer than most, but didn't know anything about him beyond that.

"He actually worked for the PRT before he went villain," Dean continued.

Brian and Alec both looked intrigued at that. Apparently this wasn't common knowledge; hardly surprising, when the story wouldn't exactly make the PRT look good.

"He triggered in 2005 after he helped get the Big Dig over the finish line and ended up joining Watchdog, which is basically the PRT's economic oversight division. But when he started looking for other big problems to solve they wouldn't let him spend any time or money on that, so he embezzled a ton of money, got caught, arranged his own escape, and set back up in Boston."

"Huh. Having heard the horror stories about Accord, that's… not at all what I would have expected," Brian said.

"Exactly. Triggers don't always define capes as much as people think," Dean said.

"I'm kind of surprised you hadn't heard about any of this trigger stuff," Chris spoke up for the first time. "You're… a senior, I'm guessing?"

"No, a sophomore. I'm just tall for my age," I replied.

"Oh, nice, me too. The sophomore part, not the tall part."

"I can see that," I teased. "Why, did you learn all that at school?"

"Yep. At Arcadia, we get all the boring history stuff out of the way freshman year, and then sophomore year the first-semester social studies class is History of the Parahuman Era. The first weeks of that are a crash course on the parahuman basics so the rest of the course makes sense."

"Yeah, well, not all of us are lucky enough to go to Arcadia," I grumbled, and Chris looked away. "At Winslow we don't even take social studies freshman year, and sophomore year we have World Issues to deal with."

"What's that?"

"It's a big mishmash of topics. Geography, law, government, history, everything. It's supposed to be a big-picture interdisciplinary course, probably so they can pay fewer teachers," I ranted, "but my teacher is completely useless and his class is a joke. We've spent basically the whole school year on the World Wars, the Cold War, and the Gulf Wars because he could just sit back and play a bunch of war movies and spy movies instead of actually teaching anything, and he didn't even mention capes until after we got back from spring break when we were supposed to have started on that months ago!"

"Wow, that's shitty. How does anyone catch up for AP History after that?" Chris asked.

I gave him a flat look. "Winslow doesn't offer AP classes."

"Oh. Makes sense," he said awkwardly.

"It's fine that you hadn't learned about any of that before," Dean assured me. "When Chris said they go over the basics, it really is just the basics, mostly vocabulary and famous capes. They don't get into all the technical details until you get to the college courses on the subject. Parahuman Studies is still a very new field, and they don't have much in the way of concrete details they can teach at the high school level."

"It's been like thirty years since powers started showing up," Alec interjected. "How hasn't everything filtered down from academia yet?"

"You didn't take an intro class on parahumans either?" Dean asked.

Alec shook his head. "Homeschooled."

"I've been taking classes online part-time," Brian said. "Even the college classes don't usually teach much useful information about capes. In my experience, most of this is stuff you learn from other capes by word-of-mouth."

"That's fair," Dean said. "Arcadia is definitely an outlier, and Chris and I have access to additional resources through the PRT, so it's easy to forget most people haven't learned any of this."

Chris nodded. "The short version of why it's not taught in most schools is that the parahuman sciences right now are kind of where quantum physics was a century ago," he explained, not at all helpfully.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, Planck basically invented quantum theory with his law about black-body radiation in nineteen-whatever, right? But they didn't even start teaching that at the college level until the '60s," Chris rambled, "and only started teaching it at the high school level about a decade ago, and then only at-um, at magnet schools," like Arcadia, he carefully didn't say, "so the fact that they're already teaching college classes about parahumans is pretty impressive on its own when you think about it."

Trying to reassure me that it's okay not to know things by making an analogy to a bunch of other things I didn't know wasn't exactly the best strategy. Still, his heart seemed to be in the right place.

"That's cool that you know so much about the history of science," I said politely.

"Thanks," Chris mumbled, looking away.

Dammit, he thought I was making fun of him.

"No, really, I mean it," I assured him, then turned to look at the group as a whole. "Thanks for explaining all of that, and… I'm sorry if I brought up any bad memories for anyone."

"You're fine. These things happen," Brian said gruffly.

"So, speaking of changing the subject," Dean said smoothly, "does anyone have any interesting hobbies?"

"I read a lot," I said immediately, thankful for the lifeline he threw me. "My mom was a literature professor, so my taste in books is all over the place. Chris, you said you were mostly into fantasy?"

"Yep," he said. "I mean, I'm into classic literature and stuff too, but fantasy is my favorite. Especially portal fantasy, which," he chuckled and waved at our surroundings, "well, that kind of worked out."

"Portal fantasy?" Brian asked.

"Stories about people getting transported to different worlds," I explained. "Usually by magic somehow. Actual secret Haywire portals and other cape-related plot devices are more of a sci-fi thing."

"Yep. I'm surprised we haven't run across a lamppost somewhere in this jungle already," Chris joked.

"Narnia's not bad, but I was always more of a Tolkien fan," I said, then quoted Frodo: " A day will come at last when I shall take the hidden paths that run west of the moon, east of the sun. "

"I hope you realize that you're both massive dorks," Alec remarked.

"Well what are you into, then?" I asked.

"Video games," he replied. "Which beat boring old books any day."

"You can be into both," Chris objected.

"Yeah, if you're a massive dork . Back me up here, fearless leader."

Brian shook his head. "As far as I'm concerned martial arts beat both of those, so you're not getting any help from me."

Alec threw up his hands. "Oh come on, for capes that's not a hobby, that's basically work!" he protested

"Which martial arts do you do?" Dean asked.

"I've dabbled in a few different ones. Mostly Brazilian jiu-jitsu, these days. I also box on the side."

"That's cool. The PRT offers martial arts classes, so I started taking some Taekwondo recently," Dean said.

"Seems like a strange choice for someone who wears power armor," Brian said. "That doesn't afford you the mobility you'd really need to make it work."

Dean shrugged. "It's more for fitness than use in the field. Besides, if I do end up having to use it, it leaves my hands free for blasting more than karate or boxing do."

"Yeah, that's fair."

I leaned back and mostly let the conversation wash over me. For the moment, we weren't heroes and villains putting up with each other under a fragile truce, we were a group of teenagers who… well, we weren't friends, but maybe at some point we could be, and were just having a get-to-know-you conversation over breakfast.

As the friendly chatter continued, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out all right.

Author's Note

In this chapter: Taylor is fine , she's doing fine , and everyone's telling the truth about everything at all times. (Including the government, which spreads misinformation about trigger events per WoG.)

Couple of fun worldbuilding tidbits in this one, too. The Big Dig was a major decades-long infrastructure project in Boston (which started up in 1982, appropriately enough) that became infamous for running into practically every issue that a major project can possibly run into. The real-world Big Dig finished up in 2007, but with Thinkers and Movers and such involved it seems reasonable that the Earth Bet version would manage to finish up a few years early.

(Whether the story about Accord triggering in relation to the Big Dig is the truth, a story that Accord spread around to obscure the truth, a story the PRT spread around to make themselves look better, or something else is left as an exercise for the reader.)

The explanation about Arcadia's and Winslow's respective curricula is an extrapolation, of course, in an attempt to resolve the "Taylor really should have come across information on trigger events before but had to be ignorant about them for exposition purposes" issue. Winslow being Winslow and Gladly being Gladly seems to explain things better than basic parahuman information not trickling out to the public at all over the past few decades.

And, finally, it's very considerate of Taylor to be concerned about her dad at a time like this. She's probably right, things probably won't go too badly in her absence.

Assuming that Danny reacts well to Armsmaster eventually tracking him down and telling him that his daughter was incinerated by a supervillain after he sat up all night waiting for her to come home, of course.

And assuming that nothing goes wrong with the massive black widow colony in the basement that Taylor is no longer there to maintain and completely forgot to consider.

… Yeah, Danny will be fine .

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The massive crabs Taylor acquired are Medium Monstrous Crabs from the Stormwrack sourcebook, which are a scaled-down version of the original Monstrous Crab, which was affectionately nicknamed That Damn Crab in the early 3e days thanks to being ridiculously good in melee for a creature of its level. When planning this chapter originally, I was intending to grab a monster from a random encounter table as inspiration for a nice ambush scene when the party reached the river and thought they were relatively safe, but then the dice roll came up "crab" and, hey, a good DM lets the dice fall where they may and reworks the entire chapter from scratch. The location header mentions that the party is near the Hydra River, by far the largest river in Xen'drik. To help visualize things, here is a big fancy map of Xen'drik for your viewing pleasure, though I won't say where exactly they are along the river just yet.

Last edited: Apr 8, 2022

Transposition 1.6.V

12:13 am, Tuesday the 12th of April, 2011 CE Downtown, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

I traced Glory Girl to a moderately-sized dwelling in the southwestern region of the city. Moderately-sized for this city, that is; on many worlds, a building of those dimensions and that construction would qualify as a small manor house were it surrounded by the appropriate acreage of land, but in this part of the city homes of this size appeared to be the norm.

She was not asleep, as she had moved around within the house since I had located her, but after waiting there for a short time it did not seem as though she was likely to leave on patrol any time soon.

At this point I could fly around looking for other members of her team or skip ahead in time again to speak with her in the morning, but as meeting with them was no longer a high priority, it could wait. I'd surely have the chance to meet with all of the magic-users in the city sooner or later.

Aspect asked.

Aspect suggested.

I acknowledged.

Aspect repeated in precisely the same tone,

I replied.

Aspect sent flippantly. really stop putting this off.

… If you insist, I sent with a mental sigh.

Teleporting to a nearby park that had sufficient tree cover to conceal my activities from a casual observer, I landed and opened a gate to the Plane of Dreams…

… or, rather, I tried to. As with my earlier failed attempt to visit the Plane of Shadow, the gate instead opened upon a different plane of existence, in this case upon what appeared to be the featureless white expanse of the local Ethereal.

Aspect joked.

I didn't respond. I was busy pondering the implications.

The local cosmology obviously lacked a distinct Plane of Dreams, and had this gate simply opened upon yet another Material Plane world like my gate to Shadow had, I could dismiss the phenomenon as a sort of "funnel" effect that redirected attempted connections to nonexistent planes back to the Material.

However, for the two failed gates to lead respectively to the two planes with which their intended destination planes were most closely connected in the wider multiverse….

I once again attempted to open a gate to the Plane of Shadow, and when it opened upon another Material world I stepped through to do some more in-depth investigation.

~*~*~

12:16 am, Tuesday the 12th of April, 2011 CE

Brockton Bay, America, Unnamed Intermediate Earth

A few minutes of scanning with both my Orb of Planar Journeying and my own senses confirmed my tentative hypothesis: this new world wasn't real.

Oh, it was solid enough, and it seemed real to all appearances, but it was absolutely saturated with shadow energy and primarily composed of what arcane scholars term "quasi-real" matter.

The Plane of Shadow is not a plane with its own fully independent existence, you see. It is essentially a shadow cast by the planes with which it coexists, reflecting all of the other planes' landscapes and structures and such, but imperfectly so.

Buildings are not quite right, distances change over time, a sea on the Material might be totally calm while its Shadow equivalent is experiencing a raging storm or vice versa. Spells drawing on this quasi-real matter can create things that are both real and not at the same time, depending on creatures' perceptions.

This parallel world was obviously not an actual Plane of Shadow, but it incorporated enough shadow energy that it was not fully real, either.

Now, if I were to open another gate to the "Plane of Shadow" from this quasi-real world….

Yes, it opened to another apparent Material world suffused with just slightly more shadow energy.

I stepped through and carried out the same procedure of examination and subsequent travel a few dozen more times. Each time, the resulting world was just slightly more divergent from the original world, just slightly less real.

Fascinating.

Whatever effect had filled this crystal sphere with innumerable worlds hadn't actually created uncountable independent echoes of actual Material Plane worlds, as I and as Penumbra had thought. Rather, it had apparently taken the Material Plane and the Plane of Shadow and had, for lack of a better term, smeared the two across the possibility space to create some comparatively small number of actual alternate worlds and a mind-bogglingly vast spectrum of quasi-real worlds between them.

Perhaps the four connected worlds Kassalyn, Gwyn, and I were exploring were the only true worlds in this sphere; perhaps there were fourteen, or forty, or four hundred. It was impossible to say without studying it further, and I lacked the specialized powers and devices necessary to do so.

I planned to mention all of this to Penumbra when next I checked in with the Society, though it was entirely possible that by then her army of golems would have gathered sufficient data for her to arrive at the same conclusions herself.

Knowing all of that, the fact that gates to Dream opened on the Ethereal instead now made perfect sense, as those planes had probably experienced the same "smearing" phenomenon and become fully or partially melded together as a consequence.

I paused briefly to meditate and refresh my reserves-manifesting one gate is rather energy-intensive, much less a hundred of them-before opening a gate to the Ethereal.

I told Aspect, then stepped through the gate while my psicrystal remained behind.

~*~*~

Time Irrelevant, Date Irrelevant

Region of the Ethereal Plane Coexistent with Brockton Bay

Once again surrounded by blank whiteness, I now found myself contemplating it from a new perspective. The lack of the usual scintillating protomatter mists did not make the plane lifeless or empty; rather, it made the plane a vast blank canvas, just waiting for an artist to add a bit of color.

Fortunately for said expectant canvas, I count among my many talents an extensive training in lucid dreaming. It was something I had to learn by necessity when I chose to become an elan, as elan do not dream precisely as humans do.

When a human sleeps, their subconscious mind automatically catalogs short-term memories for storage, their body automatically repairs minor injuries, and so forth. For elan, by contrast, this is not a fully automatic process, as our bodies and their metabolic processes are made up of psionic energy as much as physical matter and we have greater (though not total) direct control over our subconscious. We thus are required to learn certain meditative practices to allow us to remain just conscious enough to guide these processes while we sleep.

This is generally termed a trance, but it is not the same kind of "trance" that elves experience in place of sleep, thank Auppenser. Unlike elves, elan do actually sleep, we just spend our time asleep much more efficiently than do all other races.

Now, add to that a flawless memory, which is a byproduct of my extensive psionic training rather than an innate feature of my new race, and the normal elan meditative training becomes insufficient. Only fully lucid dreaming gives one enough time to fully catalog all of one's new memories, hence my interest in the practice.

Plenty of non-elan study it as well, however, as if one plans to spend a nontrivial amount of time on the Plane of Dreams the ability to shape one's environment (and to escape any nightmare realms in which one might find oneself trapped) becomes invaluable.

I half-closed my eyes and reached for the state of mind I occupied while trancing, then reached out to my environment. A tiny test, to start: changing the ambient color.

A ripple passed through the local Ethereal fabric, beginning at my head and extending out beyond my sensory range, and wherever this ripple traveled the blank white was immediately changed to a rich cerulean. Another ripple turned everything to a deep violet, then to a lustrous gold.

Next, something more complex: I mentally shaped the nearby protomatter into a vast banner, two stories tall and bearing the sigil of Jhaamdath. An instant later, it stood there before me: a gold-edged violet banner emblazoned with a downward-pointing sword, the Eye of Auppenser in cerulean superimposed upon the sword where the black hilt met the white blade; two concentric circles around and over the sword, white and then black; and six rays of golden light, emanating from the Eye's center toward the banner's edges.

I relaxed my mental influence over the banner, yet it remained in place, opaque to all visual senses and fully real to the touch, where a similar object created in the wilds of Dream rather than within the confines of a stable dreamscape would have immediately started to decohere.

A plane that possessed the malleability and impermanence of Dream along with the stability and accessibility of the Ethereal certainly had some interesting potential.

I dismissed the banner, and it immediately dissolved back into protomatter, the golden background fading to a bland white as well.

The most important question, now, was whether this plane-calling it merely the Ethereal wouldn't do, I would need to come up with a more accurate term for it-functioned as the Plane of Dream did for dreamers.

Specifically: when one falls asleep, one's mind journeys to the Plane of Dream, thence to dream.

(Technically speaking, there is no journey involved, one's mind merely extends in a dreamwards direction via a phenomenon quite similar to astral projection, but I prefer the more poetic description.)

Assuming there are no local hazards such as nightmare realms or dreamwalking fiends, this process is perfectly normal, perfectly safe, and completely automatic, and dreamers aren't even consciously aware of the process.

If, however, one were to, for instance, wish to avoid dreaming when one slept because one specifically wished to avoid reliving and cataloging certain memories, then an inability to sleep without one's mind being conveyed to this plane would be a problem.

The obvious approach would be to seek out any dreamscapes in the area; dreamscapes meant dreamers, so no dreamscapes being present while it was the middle of the night in this location on the Material Plane would imply that dreamers' minds did not travel here while asleep. If there were dreamscapes present, more investigation would be required.

First, though, I opened a gate to the quasi-world where Aspect was waiting, and he floated through.

I prompted him.

he replied.

A roughly five-to-one differential, then. Slower than the usual Dream differential but faster than the Ethereal, which normally lacked a time differential altogether.

I thanked him, then manifested a power to give me a mental picture of the terrain for miles around.

As neither the Ethereal nor the Plane of Dreams have "terrain" or "landmarks" in the traditional sense, the only landmarks one might find there would be dreamscape portals, making it an efficient way to confirm their presence or absence.

After manifesting the power, I was disappointed to sense myriad tiny dreamscape portals in every direction, as I'd expected.

What I hadn't expected to sense was a small dune-filled desert littered with stone spires, somehow existing in the midst of the protomatter expanse without being absorbed into the rest of the plane.

Aspect sent.

I mused.

Aspect and I didn't bet with actual coinage, of course, we merely kept score to amuse ourselves. I was currently up by two electrum pieces.

(I'd been winning by a fair margin for decades, but the other sealed-sphere worlds we'd recently visited had been unusual enough that Aspect had caught up, thanks to his wild and mostly-facetious guesses managing to hit the mark more often than not.)

Now that I knew of the Dream-like properties of the plane, there was no need to teleport the half-mile or so over to the strange phenomenon; instead, a careful application of lucid dreaming brought me there nearly as quickly without dipping into my reserves.

As I translocated myself, I wondered absently whether the local Material natives, lacking access to the Astral, might have developed some spells or powers that used this plane's malleability and minor time differential to mimic true teleportation.

When I arrived at the edge of the anomaly I found, not an unobstructed view into it, but rather a roiling barrier of unstable dream-stuff that constantly shifted form and color in no discernible pattern. Crackling red lightning set golden water to boiling off into spouts of black steam which popped to release clouds of green air and on and on in an endless cycle.

On the actual Plane of Dreams, such a phenomenon signaled the boundary of the Dreamheart, the core of the plane where normal ephemeral dreams gave way to fully-real ones that can actually harm or even kill careless dreamwalkers.

On this plane… who could say?

I wasn't about to risk exposing myself or Aspect to a completely unknown phenomenon such as this, so I manifested a self-replication power and six identical copies of myself stepped out of my body.

These duplicates were quite fragile, unable to manifest powers, and without any of my magical equipment or wards-except my wards against divination and mental influence, which I had long since rendered a fundamental part of myself, as there's little point in warding yourself against such things if you're going to create duplicates that would still be vulnerable-but they knew everything I did about planar phenomena and had my skill with lucid dreaming, so they should be able to explore the region beyond in safety.

I asked them.

Yes, they were short-lived temporary duplicates, and yes, they would follow any order I gave without question, but ordering around disposable minions strays quite close to violating the First Precept if said minions are sapient (even if said minions are, in fact, oneself), and in any case their utter obedience was no reason not to be polite.

No duplicates objected, so I took the time to ward all of them against most forms of damage and then asked two of them to proceed, keeping the others in reserve in case the first two encountered any hazards in the barrier itself or the conditions on the other side.

The two stepped forward and forced their way through the barrier. Passing through it appeared to take roughly the same effort as walking against a strong wind, which ruled out several planar phenomena and made my own guess of a planar outpocket more likely than Aspect's guess, as outpockets have fairly substantial boundaries.

Aspect sent tetchily.

The six of me waited patiently for several minutes until the two duplicates returned, none the worse for wear.

one of them sent.

I replied, before dismissing them all and stepping through the boundary myself.

~*~*~

Shortly After Midnight, Tuesday the 12th of April, 2011 CE

The Burning Towers, Labyrinth's Dreamscape, The Ethereal (?) Plane

Bone-white sand stretched as far as the eye could see, reflecting the heat and light of the harsh white sun above. A strong but intermittent wind whipped the sand into dust devils and brief clouds of stinging sand at scattered intervals, and there were enough dunes in the area to make walking a relatively straight path less than pleasant.

It was better than the crimson sands and fierce duststorms of Athas, but not by much.

Fortunately, this time around I had not committed myself to walking through the desert as a means of passing the time (and, were I to be completely honest with myself, as a form of self-imposed penance), so I manifested an aerokinesis power to still the wind in a wide volume around myself, lifted off the sands, and flew off toward the stone spires that I had sensed before and could faintly see in the distance.

There were four of them, each constructed around a core of a single solid mass of stone that stretched a good forty feet or more into the sky and bent and twisted at odd angles, no two of the spires even remotely alike. That central stone was surrounded by warped and melting metal in all manner of shapes and orientations, which mostly appeared to be iron but with occasional glints of silver and gold throughout the mass.

The geometry didn't correspond to any magical purpose with which I was familiar, so they were likely misshapen due to a lack of skill or as a form of artistic expression, or possibly both.

Roughly three-quarters of the way up the spires, the stone began to slowly transmute into a transparent material, most likely glass or some variety of crystal, through which the blazing sun was focused and magnified such that it ignited the metal surrounding the neighboring spires, causing all four spires to blaze constantly in irregular and shifting patterns.

Off in the distance, other sets of spires were scattered about the desert, sometimes with two or five or seven or ten spires instead of four but always presenting the same utterly-chaotic and ever-burning tableau.

As an experiment, I mentally reached out to the nearest spire and attempted to will one of the iron spars to fold in upon itself and extinguish its flame. I felt a minor resistance at first, indicating that the dreamscape's dreamer likely shaped these structures intentionally and had some amount of skill in lucid dreaming, but the spar quickly succumbed to my wishes, after which I returned it to its former state so as not to potentially interfere with the dreamer's artistic vision.

After that, I set out to find the dreamer… which, given the total lack of cover and near-total lack of landmarks, I accomplished in all of two minutes of rapid flight across the desert landscape.

While flying past another set of four spires, I spotted a figure down below, a young pale-skinned girl. Her long hair was a light blond, almost white, and hung in front of her eyes. She wore what appeared to be a woolen pullover in royal purple with sleeves long enough to extend past her hands, and beneath that a pale blue dress that reached her knees, finishing off the outfit with a pair of loose sandals.

Blonde, purple, and light blue? It wasn't exactly the Jhaamdathic heraldic colors, but I appreciated her fashion sense nonetheless.

She stood at the foot of a half-height but slowly-growing spire, shaping sand into new stone with her hands as easily as a potter would sculpt clay, focused intently upon her task and clearly unaware of my presence. That, plus the fact that she was wearing wool in a desert without dying of heat stroke, almost certainly made her the creator of this dreamscape.

I landed a short distance away, instructed Aspect to remain silent unless otherwise directed, and walked a few paces toward her so that the crunch of boots on sand would herald my presence. "Hail and well met, young miss!" I called.

The girl turned to look at me and blinked slowly.

"Oh. Hello," she said after a moment.

Her vacant tone implied that she wasn't entirely paying attention, or simply wasn't a fully-lucid dreamer, and the very delayed emotional reactions in her aura indicated the latter.

"I've never met a person here before," she added.

I felt the air and sand around me ripple slightly, as if to test whether she could shape me as easily as she could her stone, then subside. "Are you… real?" she asked hesitantly.

"I am," I replied. "My name is Valigan." Best to be honest about my identity here; memory magic and unknown dream phenomena don't make for the most predictable combination.

"Okay," she said after a few moments.

"… May I ask your name?" I prompted gently.

Another pause, but a shorter one this time. "Elle," she said, her tone slightly more firm.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Elle."

"You too," she responded by rote, then her brow furrowed. "What are you doing in my world?"

"I sensed the boundary of your 'world' from the outside and wasn't sure what it was, so I decided to come in here and explore. You have my apologies for trespassing, if you-"

"Outside?" she interrupted belatedly, turning to face me fully. "What outside?"

The girl couldn't be more than ten winters old, eleven at most, so I doubted she'd received any sort of formal instruction in cosmology. "The great expanse where worlds like this one are formed while people sleep," I explained. "It is called the Plane of Dreams, but you might know it by another name."

"No, I mean-" She spoke slowly and carefully, waving an arm around vaguely. "I didn't know there was an outside outside my worlds. I just…" another vague gesture "… make them."

"I see. This is a very lovely world you've made; you seem to be a very talented dreamer. May I ask what the spires represent?"

"No," she replied quickly. "I don't…." She hunched in on herself, and her aura swirled with the muted mix of sorrow and apprehension usually associated with recalling considerably painful memories. "I don't like them."

"In that case, why are you making more of them?"

Elle looked down and began to fidget with the ends of her overly-long sleeves. "Miss Faultline didn't like that my other world was spreading too much," she said in a small voice, then looked up and added, "but I didn't mean to, honest!" with all the childlike sincerity of a girl who had accidentally knocked a vase off a pedestal and was sure she would be punished for it.

"I believe you, don't worry," I assured her kindly. "Did working with this world help with that because it doesn't 'spread' as much as your other one?"

She nodded enthusiastically. By this point see seemed to be gradually becoming more lucid, the delay in her emotional reactions shrinking noticeably.

"And why did Miss Faultline not want you to 'spread' your world?"

"We got home last night, but Miss Faultline said that she didn't want to let anyone know we're back yet, so we're staying in one of her other houses, but she said people will know it's hers if they see my power, so she doesn't want me to let my power spread, so I started adding to this world, because when I go to different worlds the spreading slows down, so it won't spread too far," Elle explained excitedly, all in one breath.

It seemed this girl had the ability to cause a breach from this plane to the material world, and that she routinely did so unintentionally. Normally to create such an effect would require a fairly powerful spell, of the fifth or sixth valence at least, but perhaps the unique traits of this plane reduced the difficulty of such a feat to the point it would lie within the grasp of an apprentice such as she.

I would dearly like to examine such a spell for myself, but for me to peruse her repertoire would require her to be physically present, not merely present in the form of her dream-self as she currently was.

"Did she want to avoid detection because of the fire Lung caused?"

"Yes, Miss Faultline said-" She blinked several times, and her dominant emotion snapped from enthusiasm to suspicion as she appeared to become fully mentally present for the first time. "Miss Faultline said I'm not allowed to talk to strangers," she said warily.

I nodded politely and turned to go. "Quite understandable. In that case, I could leave if-"

"No!" she said, and lunged forward. The landscape blurred around her, and she covered a dozen feet in a single step before grabbing my sleeve with both hands as tightly as she could. "Don't go!"

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to break Miss Faultline's rules on my account."

She nodded, somewhat sadly. "I've been here for hours, and it's… really lonely, here, without my friends."

"Then I'll stay."

The girl smiled broadly and released my sleeve. "Do you have a world like this?" she asked curiously.

"I do."

"What's it like?"

"I can show you, if you'd like to see it?"

Elle frowned. "Miss Faultline says I'm not allowed to go anywhere with strangers, either."

"I didn't mean that I would take you to my dreamscape, as that would require me to be asleep as well. I can simply shape part of yours to look like mine for a time."

I reached out to the stretch of sand surrounding us and willed it to take on the form of my favored dreamscape, but in miniature.

The white sand smoothed into solid white stone and then began to rise up into the graceful columns and sweeping curves of a Jhaamdathic temple-specifically, a quarter-size replica of the main temple to Auppenser in my home city of Jhouram, before its destruction.

Inscriptions etched themselves up and down the columns and inlaid themselves with gold, long violet banners bearing the symbols of Auppenser and his six children fluttered into existence in the entryway, and small spherical crystals ensconced themselves in the walls and began to give off a faint cerulean glow.

Outside the temple, grass burst forth from the sand and transformed the ground for yards around into a well-tended garden, with small reflecting pools forming themselves to either side of the emerging stone pathway that led to the main entrance.

"What do you think?" I asked Elle.

She didn't respond, as she was too busy marveling at the temple, eyes wide and mouth agape as she looked every which way at all of the fine details.

"How did you do that!?" she demanded eventually.

I frowned. To someone with such a talent for dreaming at such a young age, the temple shouldn't be especially impressive.

Still somewhat impressive, certainly; I'm a fair hand at dream-sculpting, if I do say so myself. But not that impressive.

"It's not difficult to shape another's dreamscape once you learn the appropriate methods, if that is what you're asking," I replied.

"No, I mean…." She seemed lost for words. "When I make my worlds, I don't just-" she threw her hands up in the air to imitate an explosion "- fwoosh, and they're there! I need to go look for something, and then I bring it back, and then I need to make it grow, and then it's a little world, and then I need to go looking around in it for things I like, and then I make more of that, and if I mess up then the bad place can come out, and I don't want the bad place to come out, and, and…." she blubbered, beginning to tear up.

Gods above and between. Was this girl a sorceress who simply awoke one day with a natural talent for oneiromancy and then received absolutely no training in how to use her gift?

The Second Precept of Auppenser, as originally phrased, was simply a mandate to construct an extensive and comprehensive system of schooling in each of its six great cities with which to instruct its populace in all fields of study, both psionic and non-. This culminated in the construction of the Udoclian, Jhaamdath's largest and greatest university, at which I taught for several decades before the empire's fall.

Like the other two precepts, however, this one was interpreted much more broadly over time, and its formal phrasing by the time of my birth was thus: One must contribute always to the mental, physical, and spiritual betterment of all who wish to improve themselves and must oppose ignorance and irrationality wherever it is found.

The very idea that this "Miss Faultline"-who was obviously a magic-user herself, given her use of the local cape naming convention, and therefore should most certainly have known better-would allow Elle to squander her gift without the necessary training, and possibly bring harm to those around her thereby, caused me to feel such contempt for the neglectful woman as I could not properly express.

"Clearly, your training has been sorely neglected," I said, concealing my disdain for her failure of a tutor. "I can instruct you in the practice of lucid dreaming, if you wish, and at the very least I cannot in good conscience leave you here without teaching you the fundamentals of the art. Would you like to learn?"

The girl-the dreamwalker-to-be-brushed her hair out of her eyes and nodded fervently.

"Then let us start. First, please tell or show me how you move from one of your 'worlds' to another."

Elle stood and walked out of the temple, and I followed, returning the temple to barren desert behind me.

We walked away from the spires for a few minutes, and at first I thought she was going to walk to the dreamscape's border, perhaps because these worlds of hers were merely others' dreamscapes she was "borrowing" for her own purposes.

Soon enough, though, it became clear that she was walking a very particular path, with overlong strides and sudden turns, and was concentrating as hard as she could, even pressing her fists against the sides of her forehead to aid her focus.

This navigation of one's mental landscape via movement through the physical landscape it represented was a common mnemonic for dreamwalkers of intermediate skill, and I was impressed that she'd figured out that much on her own.

I felt the dreamscape begin to shift in a tentative fashion, and we eventually came upon a rock formation that bore no resemblance to the stone spires, being instead a featureless plateau with a tunnel passing through it.

We walked through the tunnel, whose walls grew more smooth and angular as we went, and near the center of the plateau I felt everything suddenly shift at once.

We emerged from the tunnel into the main hall of a large ziggurat-like structure. Pairs of towering stone statues lined the hall, the nearest ones depicting a young human girl slightly older than Elle, the next pair depicting a young boy of some reptilian race-a spellscale, perhaps, though the statues' stylized features made it hard to tell-and the others past that being too far away to make out any fine details beyond the fact that all of their expressions seemed kind and welcoming.

"This world's my favorite," Elle said shyly as we stopped near a decorative fountain set into the eastern wall. Sunlight streamed through small windows in the ceiling, gentle afternoon sunlight rather than the harsh noonday sun of the desert before, and she was visibly at peace.

The sudden change in scenery from desert to temple without any intermediate transformation was something I hadn't experienced before. It was almost as though she couldn't shape a single dreamscape very well, but could maintain multiple overlapping dreamscapes at once and flip between them as desired… which made a lot of sense, given how the rest of the local cosmology was structured. I wouldn't be surprised if the process of "finding" a new dreamscape she had described involved connecting her dreamscape to one of the quasi-real shadow worlds in some way.

"Well done, Elle. Now, let us take a seat. Can you create a pair of comfortable benches, facing each other?"

"Uh-huh," she said, and stared at the floor in concentration.

In fits and starts over the course of several minutes, two crescent-shaped benches gradually shaped themselves out of the stone below us, and when she was done Elle collapsed into hers with a huff. It would appear that even such a simple shaping took a lot out of her.

"What now?" she asked.

I took my own seat and replied, "Now I will begin to teach you two things: How to move more easily between your dreamscapes, and how to sculpt each dreamscape as desired."

"Can you also teach me how to wake up fast?" Elle asked hopefully. "Sometimes I hurt my friends when they can't wake me up in time, and I don't want to anymore."

"I'd be glad to. I think we'll save that for last, though," I said with an exaggerated frown, "because if you succeed then I can't exactly teach you any more tonight, can I?"

She giggled cheerfully, which is what I had intended with the comment, and shook her head.

"Precisely. Now, let us begin. Close your eyes and inhale slowly…."

~*~*~

Late Afternoon, Tuesday the 12th of April, 2011 CE

The High Temple, Labyrinth's Dreamscape, The Ethereal (?) Plane

The full breadth of lucid dreaming is not something one can master in a few hours, nor in a few days, nor even in a few weeks.

Not unless I wanted to simply implant the knowledge in her mind, that is, which was certainly a possibility, but one I preferred not to use. The process of learning one's strengths and weaknesses, and understanding the mistakes one makes along the way, are often just as important as the knowledge and skill one obtains at the end of the process.

Nevertheless, after just over three subjective days of constant instruction-time differentials are a wonderful teaching tool-Elle had made incredible strides for someone who had previously lacked any training whatsoever.

She couldn't do anything now that she hadn't been able to accomplish when we started, but where she had begun as an uncertain novice relying on a handful of self-taught tricks and mnemonics, she now at least had an apprentice's grasp on the theory behind lucid dreaming and could act without hesitation when she attempted something that had previously given her trouble.

"Well done," I praised Elle as our surroundings shifted from an arid grassland she'd termed the Windy Steppes back to the enclosed stone of her High Temple.

"I did it! First try!" she said, jumping out of her seat and doing a celebratory dance.

Had she attempted that in the sandals she had been wearing initially she might have tripped on the slick stone floor, but as part of practicing the shaping of her dream-self she had managed to transform her sandals into a set of footwear called "sneakers" that had a firmer grip on the floor.

These sneakers were an intensely bright green, with bright pink laces up the front and tiny silver five-pointed stars scattered all over them. At first I'd though she'd made a mistake in her visualization, but no, that had been an intentional decision, modeled after some shoes she'd once seen and wished she could have.

There is simply no accounting for taste, either that of a sheltered young girl or that of the merchant who'd had the audacity to sell such eye-searing wares.

"You did indeed. And now I think you're ready for the next test. Earlier, you mentioned a world you termed the 'bad place,' yes?"

The dancing stopped. "Y-yeah?" Elle said, her aura flooding immediately with fear and reluctance.

"I'm not going to ask you to visit there, don't worry," I assured her, and she sighed in relief. "What we're going to do next is see if you can prevent yourself from going to a particular world, so if you ever find yourself falling into that place unwillingly you can stop yourself from doing so. Is that all right?"

She immediately perked up and nodded enthusiastically.

"Good. What I will do is manifest a power that lets someone walk from one dreamscape to another, and I'm going to use that to 'push' you to one of the worlds to which you've taken me. I'd like you to try to identify which world I've picked and name it before you fully leave the High Temple, then return. If you aren't able to return within a few minutes, I'll come retrieve you. The most important part, though, is that if you sense that you would be ending up in… the Endless Maze, let's say, you must try to stop yourself from going there. Does that make sense?"

"Uh-huh!" she said brightly.

I grasped her hand and manifested my power. "Here's the first one," I said with an encouraging smile as I gently reached out with my mind and my power to move her toward the dreamscape she'd termed the Dark Forest. "Which world is it?"

"Um, um, um… the… the Endless Ruins!" she shouted, before vanishing.

She reappeared moments later, brushing some leaves out of her hair with a muttered, "Gosh darn it!" and a stamp of her foot.

"Not to worry," I assured her, "mistakes are to be expected on your initial attempts. Ready for your next try?"

"Yeah!"

This time I chose the Burning Towers, the desert dreamscape where I had first encountered her.

"Um… um… the Empty-no! The Burning Towers!" she called out.

When she reappeared she was grinning widely. "I did it that time!"

"Yes you did. Very well-sensed," I congratulated her.

We went through twenty more worlds, some repeated, some new. The first time I sent her to the Endless Maze, she wasn't able to sense it; the second time, she was able to sense it but not stop it.

Finally: "The… Endless Maze!" she called, eyes squeezed shut in concentration, and didn't vanish.

A moment later, she opened one eye and looked around.

"I did it!" she cried, right before jumping forward to give me a hug. "Thank you thank you thank you!"

I smiled wanly at her. While I was proud of her for her rapid advancement in such a short time, the experience was somewhat tainted by feelings of regret.

My husband and I had always planned to have children of our own at some point. We'd researched all of the necessary spells and rituals, but had kept putting it off.

First it was due to the fact that we had other responsibilities to our nations and to our loved ones, and time was hardly pressing when both of us were immortal; we had all the time in all the worlds, literally, to start a family.

Then it was due to the fact that we wanted to raise our children on our homeworld in our restored homelands, as raising a child "on the go" as we journeyed from world to world for the Society would hardly be fair to anyone involved. So, naturally, that delayed things further.

And now, while each of us did carry some blood samples of the other to aid in resurrections and so I could, theoretically, create a child biologically descended from both of us… well, starting a family simply wouldn't be the same without him.

How long would it be, I wondered, before I could interact with a promising young magic-user without feeling the pangs of might-have-been?

Elle's celebration and my ruminations were interrupted, suddenly: her shoulder began twitching back and forth, as if being shaken very lightly by an unseen force. She glared off to the side with an annoyed frown at something only she could perceive.

"Awww, not now!" she pouted, then looked over at me. "Mister Gregor is saying I need to eat something 'cause I missed dinner, but I don't wanna stop now!"

"It's quite all right," I said. "You'll be staying in Brockton Bay for the foreseeable future, correct?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'm staying there myself. I can teach you more in the coming days-not necessarily tonight, or every night, but I promise that when I have time I will teach you until you've mastered your ability. Now, I'm going to help you wake up, and if you return to your dreamscape before I see you next, do practice what you've learned on your own."

"Okay!" she said. "Goodbye, Mister Valigan!"

She waved farewell and squeezed her eyes shut in concentration, I gave her a small mental "shove" out of her dreamscape, and her dream-self relaxed.

Curious. Normally when a dreamer wakes their dream-self vanishes and their dreamscape along with it, but it appeared that Elle somehow maintained a permanent connection to hers: instead of vanishing, the High Temple merely lost some definition, and her dream-self took on the vacancy it had initially exhibited.

That permanence, combined with her ability to feel stimuli from the physical world without waking, was an oddity. The latter was something one would only expect a more experienced dreamer to manage, and as for the former… it was almost as though there was a part of her mind constantly anchored in her dreamscape and another part constantly anchored in her physical body, and rather than being confined to either "waking" and "dreaming" states she could instead shift her attention back and forth between those two anchors as desired.

Well, not as desired, not quite yet . The interruption from her Mister Gregor had prevented us from getting to the lesson on voluntary wakening, so she was still at the mercy of her oneiromantic instincts in that respect. But she would master that in time, as she would the remainder of the dreaming arts; I expected nothing less of any pupil of mine.

With a thought, I left her dreamscape, emerging into the greater Dream-Ethereal once more.

Aspect sent the moment we left, as if he'd been impatiently waiting to speak up,

anyhow, I was thinking that your list of 'things to investigate later' has been growing much faster than your list of 'things we've figured out'… and while the locals you've met so far have been marginally useful, Aspect sent, in a tone implying that giving them even that much credit was a significant concession,

I admitted.

Aspect send a pulse of commiseration and grudging agreement over the bond, and we floated there in silence for a time.

I reluctantly sent,

The Society is, as a rule, reluctant to resort to consulting libraries (or sages or other local sources of knowledge) so early in a mission.

Firstly, because texts are rarely useful without extensive context. Learning, for instance, that the forces of Duke Wyvernspur lost to the forces of Duke Obarskyr in a climactic battle for the future of Cormyr in 26 DR tells you absolutely nothing if you have no idea where or what Cormyr is, how long ago 26 DR was, or the basis for the dukes' conflict, among other uncertainties.

Secondly, because texts may have a bias that is difficult to discern without context. Knowing whether the author of a Cormyrean history text was commissioned to write it by House Obarskyr, by House Wyvernspur, or by an independent third party is key to judging its accuracy.

Reading through a library's full collection rather than merely one or two texts certainly helps, of course, but even then it can be difficult to obtain the necessary background information. Books are expensive and difficult enough to produce on most worlds that introductory texts such as children's history primers or novices' language primers are incredibly rare.

Jhaamdath and Netheril, being more advanced civilizations than most, both produced a wide variety of such texts. Most other civilizations I've encountered, however, relegate such basic information to oral instruction alone, and I can count the known exceptions on my fingers with digits to spare.

I grumbled.

could always take a nap instead and see if sleeping on it gives you any other ideas, Aspect suggested sweetly.

Not deigning to send Aspect a reply, I opened a gate back to the park in the original world and stepped through.

~*~*~

3:47 pm, Tuesday the 12th of April, 2011 CE

Downtown, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

I didn't have to walk far to find a library, as just two blocks away lay a building with a sign in front proclaiming it to be the aptly-named Parkside Branch of the Brockton Bay Public Library System.

A "public" library, I assumed, meant that the common people were welcome inside, not just donors and scholars, which was quite convenient for my purposes.

The first thing I noticed upon approaching the library was the large pairs of gray rectangular panels placed on either side of each doorway. On any other world I'd assume those were wardstones of some variety, but this world's pattern of attempting to mimic magical devices using crude and barely-enchanted technological equivalents meant that they could be anything at all.

I would definitely need to research some kind of "technological sight" power soon to help identify all of the local devices and infrastructure.

People were walking between the devices with no apparent concern, so I decided to follow their lead and strode through as well. When the panels did not react and no scanning attempts or attacks of any sort impinged upon my wards, I simply continued on my way.

The library was quite small, only one story tall and much less than one city block in area, but it was bright and airy and packed floor to ceiling with books, and the latter was all that I required.

I paused in the entryway to sense the layout of the library. Different sets of shelves were helpfully labeled with their contents: History, Biographies, World Languages, Graphic Novels, Romance, Cape Romance, Science Fiction, Cape Fiction, Fantasy, Mysteries, Unpowered Mysteries, Religion-

Texts on religion, in a world without gods?

That section certainly promised to be entertaining.

This was obviously not a reference library, as the fiction section occupied vastly more space than the nonfiction section and books of cape-related fiction outnumbered those of every other type combined. Still, fictional works were quite culturally significant, so it was good to have the opportunity to read those as well.

I wasn't planning to physically read any of these books, of course, that would be far too slow. Instead, I had a very useful power in my repertoire-one of my personal favorites, in fact-by the name of Scholar's Touch that would allow me to touch a book and learn its contents as if I had read it normally. It only granted the knowledge one would gain from a single read-through of the book, but in my case a single pass would be sufficient to commit the entire contents to memory.

While scanning the bookshelves, I sensed two rooms where small groups of individuals were working-language lessons in one, a librarian reading to a group of young children in the other-and a third room full of rows of identical devices resembling a cross between a television and a cash register, which was currently unoccupied. The sign on the door proclaimed that to be the Computer Room, so those were likely to be devices for mathematical instruction or similar.

The shelves in the nonfiction section of the library were labeled with three-digit numbers and decimal portions thereof, and the titles of the books in the 520 to 530 range seemed to relate to metaphysics and cosmology, so that seemed a reasonable place to start.

I walked over to that section, manifested Scholar's Touch, and tapped the first book on the shelf.

…

What in reason's name does the study of cosmology have to do with astrophysics, of all things?

I ran my finger along the rest of the books on the shelf, absorbing the contents of each as I went, and by the end of the shelf I was no closer to understanding why these books were filed under Cosmology than I was to understanding what "galaxy" or "supernova" or any number of other obscure terms were supposed to mean.

Hence the aforementioned difficulty of attempting to read texts without context.

Scanning the rest of the shelves, I saw no other titles even vaguely related to cosmology, planes, or planar travel. Perhaps this library simply lacked any such texts, hence their misfiling astronomy books in the Cosmology section.

What to peruse next, then….ah, in the next section, books on energy! Perhaps I would finally learn why all of the local devices only used electrical energy even when another type would be more suitable for a given purpose.

I wandered over and tapped each book bearing a number in the 530s on its label, one after the other.

…

That is not how lightning works.

That is not how light works.

Gods above and between, "there is no such thing as real 'coldness', only the absence of heat"? Did the natives know nothing of the paraelements?

What sort of ethically-deficient charlatan would ever put so many blatant falsehoods in a science text?

Surely there would be some reputable alchemical texts somewhere in this library….

~*~*~

Twenty minutes later, I'd followed a chain of six different subjects back and forth across the library, and every single section was full of errors and falsehoods. I was becoming convinced that the local government was deliberately keeping its populace ignorant through propaganda and misinformation.

That, or Juroth had sent me to some sort of inverted mirror-world as a prank. It would hardly be the first time.

Alchemy and astrology texts were placed in the fiction section, while the "nonfiction" texts on chemistry and astronomy were full of laughable declarations regarding their respective subject matter.

Religious texts concerned themselves primarily with accounts of entirely fictional deities, while accounts of any actual deities such as the Olympic or Pharaonic pantheons-which the locals had somehow heard of despite, again, the crystal sphere entirely lacking gods of any sort-were relegated to texts on mythology rather than theology.

I'd even selected a few texts to peruse normally, on the remote possibility that the texts were somehow warded against divinations or cursed to return nonsensical results to such magics, but no such luck: the contents were identical to both my eyes and my power.

Returning the last text to the shelf, I decided that I'd read enough for now. The assistance of the natives would definitely be required to make sense of any of this.

The next question, then, was how to overcome the locals' reluctance to interact with someone whom they knew to be a cape. Perhaps one of the nonfiction books about capes would be helpful in explaining that.

I scanned the titles in the nonfiction section in search of-aha, Riding the Wave: The Rise and Fall of the New Wave Movement, that sounded promising. The locals seemed to have no trouble interacting normally with Glory Girl, so that book should do nicely.

No one was observing me or the book, so I discreetly teleported it into my hands and absorbed its contents.

…

I see.

According to the book's first chapter, the local custom was for all capes, whether they were aligned with Good (giving them the colloquial title of "hero"), Neutrality ("rogue"), or Evil ("villain"), to wear masks and otherwise conceal their identities as thoroughly as possible.

It was similar to the practice of the Witches of Rashemen on Toril, who wore full-face masks and all-concealing cloaks any time they left their homeland on official business so as to represent their entire order and not merely the individual, but to a much more extreme degree.

There was thus an apparent taboo against interacting with capes who were not fully concealing their identity at the time, explaining both the averted gaze from Sandra and the glowing woman as well as the latter's reference to a costume.

My first thought upon absorbing that section was that when Juroth had asked where I wished to be placed on this world I had specifically requested a place where "the local magic-users are accepted by the public and have no need nor desire to hide their identities" so as not to require me to bother with such frippery for the duration of my stay, and so I owed him a rather thorough tongue-lashing the next time I spoke with him for sending me to a city where practically every magic-user hid their identity.

But then I came to a particularly enlightening passage in my mental perusal:

The next phase of the New Wave movement saw quite a few other heroes unmask, secure in the knowledge that any villains who attempted to move against their friends, family, coworkers, or civilian lives in general would face the combined retribution of New Wave and all of the other so-called "open capes." Each time this promise was tested New Wave responded quickly and decisively to the villain or villains responsible, and soon direct attacks against open capes tapered off to practically nothing.

Towards the end of that period, there was even talk of forming entire teams of open capes in other cities, first in New York City and Boston as proofs-of-concept and then establishing other New Wave "franchises" throughout the country.

But then, disaster struck: Jessica Gallagher, code name Fleur, was killed by a prospective member of local white supremacist gang Empire Eighty-Eight in late 2007. The demonstration that New Wave was not infallible, that they couldn't even protect a member of their own team against an unpowered teenager with a gun much less an actual villain, sparked a wave of violence against open capes from villains who had previously held back out of fear of New Wave reprisal.

Within weeks, only a handful of surviving unmasked heroes remained. Within months, nearly all of the remaining unmasked heroes retired or entered witness protection.

As of 2009, there are still a number of unmasked capes in the world, but nearly all are rogues or villains. In America, Australia, Canada, and Europe, several famous cape musicians and entertainers such as Canary, Meistersinger, One-Man Band, and Il Usignolo have built their careers around "authenticity," and their being unmasked is a cornerstone of their appeal. In Africa, Asia, Mexico, and Central and South America, several infamous villains including Moord Nag, Rasputin, Rei do Aço, and Tzitzimitl remain unmasked as a statement of power, daring their enemies to challenge them.

The few remaining unmasked heroes are mostly those like Narwhal, whose power-induced physical alterations make maintaining a secret identity impossible. However, as these capes didn't "unmask" per se (because they never had the option to be "masked" in the first place) their inclusion in the category of "unmasked heroes" is hotly debated by parahuman researchers.

New Wave is the only existing unmasked hero team, and as of this writing there are no other non-governmental hero teams in the world who are even willing to accept unmasked members and incur the resulting heightened risk and scrutiny, forcing the few remaining unmasked heroes who don't want to join the Protectorate, the Guild, the Suits, or any other large heroic organization to operate on their own.

In fact, New Wave's hometown of Brockton Bay is arguably the only city in the world to boast multiple "unmasked capes" as such, as opposed to monstrous parahumans, who by nature lack separate civilian identities; capes with appearance-changing powers, who might lack a literal mask but still hide behind a false face; or those few parahumans who eschew cape identities entirely.

It would appear that Juroth's device had interpreted my requirement extremely literally, just like the genie-granted wish to which I had compared it, by having noted that the majority of this world's inhabitants collectively considered "cape" to be synonymous with "magic-user" and then placed me in the only city on this world where "local magic-user s," plural, fit the specified criteria.

This is precisely why everyone hates genies.

It would seem, then, that if I wished to display my psionics openly without scaring off potential interlocutors, I had two main options for handling the identity taboo.

I could either conform to the local custom by assuming an identity as a rogue, which, to be convincing, would both require more knowledge of the local culture than I currently possessed and require me to act at all times as though preserving the secrecy of my identity was a concern… or I could take advantage of the locals' familiarity and comfort with unmasked heroes by swooping in to aid someone against the local criminal element, as New Wave habitually did, and thereby convince them that interacting with me held no threat to their safety.

The latter option was clearly the superior one, requiring as it did a single act of heroics to put the locals at ease rather than a sustained (and rather tiresome) impersonation.

Aspect asked as I returned the book to its shelf and began walking out of the library.

I teased him as I returned the book to its place and headed for the exit.

that desperate, he sent, along with a pulse of exaggerated revulsion.

We emerged into the late afternoon sunlight and I strolled back to the park. The streets were busier now, full of children and young adults walking along them in twos and threes and many automobiles passing by, including some large automobiles in an especially bright shade of yellow bearing "Brockton Bay Public Schools" inscriptions on each side.

That name reinforced my guess that "public" was the polite local euphemism for "related to the common folk." If this city educated its common children in sufficient numbers to require dedicated vehicles, perhaps they might have useful introductory texts available at their schools after all.

Once I reached the park and was confident no one could sense me, I began manifesting divinations.

Given the current unpleasantness between the major criminal factions that Mike had mentioned, finding someone in need of assistance shouldn't be a problem. However, finding someone who both would encounter trouble in the near future and would be receptive to my overtures was another matter, so I was currently pivoting slowly in place and divining whether searching in that particular direction would prove fruitful.

I did sense three individuals who could use some assistance, but the visions I received indicated that they would either be unwilling to interact with me afterwards or would willingly do so but would in short order attract the attention of one or more heroes who would then insert themselves into our interaction. Those incidents, I decided, could be handled well enough by the local constabulary.

The fourth incident I sensed seemed to fit my criteria quite well: the individual would be receptive to meeting an unmasked cape, welcoming of continuing association with said cape, and unlikely to bring the encounter to the attention of the local heroes either directly or indirectly without my explicit permission. That would do quite nicely.

My course of action decided, I dismissed the illusion that had been subtly altering my features, rendered myself imperceptible and incorporeal, and began flying leisurely along the heading indicated. My divinations hadn't indicated an exact timeframe for the encounter, so I would search back and forth along that vector and hold myself ready to intervene the moment the appropriate opportunity presented itself.

Author's Note

If anyone guessed that Labyrinth, of all people, would be the next canonical cape Valigan would interact with, congratulations, you win a prize!

… also, you're probably cheating. Stop looking at my notes.

Elle acts a lot younger in this chapter than she does in her canon interlude, calling Faultline "Miss Faultline" and worrying about talking with strangers and such. That's deliberate, partly for Worm-y reasons (she's had her powers mucking with her head since she was very young and she's treated "like a child" by Newter in 5.10, so her dream-self probably reflects that to some degree) and partly for D -y reasons (the sample dreamscape in Manual of the Planes describes a woman who suffered mental trauma and was stuck in her dreams and so ended up with the dream-self of a little girl, which is a fairly close analogy to Elle's situation), and if and when Valigan ever meets her in the waking world on one of her "good days" Elle will definitely act closer to her "normal" self.

Regarding the Plane of Dreams, powers relating to dreaming is kind of a big thing (mostly in Ward, but there's some of it in Worm, like Miss Militia's memory-dreams and Genesis crafting her bodies "in a dream state"), and Labyrinth's pocket worlds are explicitly described as "lucid dreams that were big enough, detailed enough, intricate enough to swallow her up" in 11c, so bringing Dream into things was a natural fit.

Regarding the "quasi-real" Shadow worlds, Scapegoat's power is said to draw "high-definition images" from other realities, per WoG, so declaring that all of those clusters of "exceedingly similar" Earths are actually one real Earth and a bunch of variably-real Shadow worlds around it fits surprisingly well. Not to mention that the description of Labyrinth selectively letting people ignore the structures she pulls in with her power is a near-perfect match to casting a quasi-real Illusion (Shadow) spell and having it either affect people or not based on whether they make their saving throw to disbelieve it.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The Plane of Dreams, also known as the Region of Dreams, is a "secondary" Transitive Plane, much like the Plane of Shadow. Valigan describes it fairly well in the chapter, and I can't find a good link describing it, so you'll just have to take his word for it. Normally the Plane of Dreams connects to the Ethereal Plane at the boundary between the Border Ethereal (the part of it that overlaps with the Material Plane) and the Deep Ethereal (the part where stuff gets weird), hence the mention of those two planes being the "most closely connected," but some cosmologies (including Eberron) have their own spins on the Plane of Dreams. Lucid Dreaming is a somewhat obscure 3e skill from the Manual of the Planes sourcebook that lets you manipulate the base material of the Plane of Dreams to do everything from shaping someone's dreamscape to moving between dreamscapes to simply willing yourself to wake up. Labyrinth having "good days" and "bad days" can be modeled pretty well by her having no training in the skill, and rolling very well on her Lucid Dreaming checks on some days and rolling very poorly on others. The example historical event Valigan gives in the library is taken from Toril's history. Cormyr is a kingdom on that world, House Obarskyr is the royal house of Cormyr, House Wyvernspur is another noble house of Cormyr (most notable for having one of its members rise to godhood), and 26 Dalereckoning is the year in which the kingdom was founded. And I picked those as an example because there are a bunch of Forgotten Realms books set in Cormyr, the choice isn't significant in-story. The Witches of Rashemen are famous in-setting for their use of masks, both to hide their identities and as a good base for enchanted items, and they even have their own hero/villain dichotomy between the "good" hathrans and the "bad" durthans, hence Valigan making that connection immediately. The new spells and powers Valigan used are lay of the land (gives an instant overview of the nearby terrain and landmarks), body outside body (creates multiple short-lived squishy duplicates that can't use most magic), and scholar's touch (instantly read one book per 6 seconds); the divination spell he was spamming at the end of the chapter is the same one he's used before.

Last edited: Apr 11, 2022

Transposition 1.6.T

Late Morning, Zor the 5th of Rhaan, 999 YK On the Banks of an Eastern Tributary of the Hydra River, Xen'drik, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

We weren't even halfway done with breakfast and I'd already learned more about capes and heroing in that one conversation than I had over multiple months of research.

Chris and Dean had explained the basics of power classification system the PRT used to categorize capes, which turned out to be where the term "Tinker" originally came from, and which was something else I might've learned about already if Gladly wasn't such a useless lump. They agreed that if I joined the Wards I'd probably be classified as a "Master" and a "Shaker," and Chris was apparently impressed enough by my armor that he insisted I should count as a Tinker too.

Brian and Dean had taken turns explaining the "unwritten rules" of cape life. Basically, there were certain agreed-upon conventions for heroes dealing with villains, heroes dealing with other heroes, and villains dealing with other villains; you'd never find them in a legal textbook or even on the PHO wiki, but they were followed by nearly all capes-and "cape-adjacent" organizations, like the PRT and corporate hero teams-and taught to new capes by more experienced ones.

There was some variation in the rules from place to place, but things like "don't actively try to learn another cape's identity" and "if you learn something about a cape under truce then don't use it against them later," as Brian had referenced earlier, were almost universal.

Brian and Chris had talked a bit about how the "cape scene" was different outside of Brockton Bay, since they'd both traveled extensively earlier in their careers. When Brian was first starting out as Grue he'd mostly taken jobs in smaller cities an hour or two away like Worcester, Springfield, and Norwalk to help protect his identity, which was apparently a common strategy for the more mercenary capes when beginning their careers and partly explained why I hadn't heard of him before meeting the Undersiders.

Chris, meanwhile, had visited some other Protectorate departments to collaborate with Flywheel in New York and Heterodyne in Boston, two apparently locally-famous Tinkers I hadn't ever heard of, and had gotten to see how those other teams operated.

I was already on my second serving by the time I noticed that Alec hadn't really been saying anything since the start of the meal, which was strange considering how he hadn't passed up any previous opportunities for colorful commentary.

I tried to discreetly get his attention while Chris was rambling on about some Tinker stuff again, but Alec just raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and continued picking at his fried crab. Either he wasn't normally very outgoing and needed some time to recharge or he was feeling more hungry than snarky, I guess.

For all that I learned a lot about caping, though, I didn't really learn much more about the guys themselves.

I mean, sure, I did get a better sense of some surface-level things that I'd picked up on before. Brian seemed more than a little cynical about heroing in general and the Brockton Bay heroes in particular, based on some of the comments he made when Dean or Chris would explain something about the PRT or Protectorate. Dean seemed to hate interpersonal conflict, based on how he'd keep politely deflecting Brian's criticisms or changing the subject to head off potential arguments. Chris seemed to really like talking with new people, based on how he kept trying to engage me in conversation and ask what I thought about something, even (or especially) when I had no context or opinion on whatever was being discussed.

But beyond that? Even though we'd all unmasked and were operating under truce rules, they were all very guarded about revealing any personal details beyond the superficial.

I'd asked at one point whether any of them had siblings, and they all said yes, but none of them wanted to say any more than that.

Dean had asked Brian why he hadn't wanted to join the Wards, and Brian had immediately changed the subject without even trying to be subtle about it.

Even a basic question about why they'd all picked their cape names earned me very short and vague answers from Brian and Dean and nothing at all from Chris or Alec.

I guess, when it came to sharing personal things across the hero-villain divide, even the Endbringer truce had its limits.

~*~*~

"Of course not. Robbing a bank is moronic. It's not at all like the movies," Brian insisted.

I was on my third serving of crab-and my second makeshift spork, since the very thin shell pieces we'd made them out of had a tendency to snap-as I listened with amusement to Brian and Chris debating the finer points of villainy.

"But you robbed a bunch of casinos," Chris argued. "That's basically the same thing, right?"

"Not at all."

"Why not? You've got a bunch of money in a vault, a bunch of armed guards, a big security system, capes responding to the theft…."

"The difference," Brian explained patiently, "is that casinos keep a lot more money on hand than banks do, especially in the Bay, and villains responding to a casino robbery have to keep things more low-profile than heroes responding to a bank robbery to avoid giving away its location, so you have more time to get away clean. The risk-reward calculation is much more in our favor."

"I dunno," Chris said skeptically. "I don't think there's as big a difference as you're making it out to be."

"It almost sounds like you're upset that we haven't tried to knock over a bank," Alec said. He'd rejoined the conversation a bit ago when the topic had turned to the Undersiders' villainous career, after some prompting from Brian.

"No, I'm glad you haven't, dealing with a bank robbery would probably suck. I'm just surprised you've done, like, four big casinos and zero banks when the other way around seems a lot safer. Robbing a bank would just get you arrested at worst, but constantly going after ABB properties could get you killed if you got Lung mad enough at you."

Alec raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Uh… duh? Why do you think Lung was so pissed off with us the other night?"

"I thought Tattletale said that was because of Gallant and Vicereine?"

"Well, yeah, they pissed him off even more so he didn't want to let us go-great going, guys, by the way," Alec said.

Neither Dean nor I deigned to respond to that.

"But I meant before that," the villain continued. "Why do you think Lung was there that night in the first place?"

Dean furrowed his brow. "I thought all of the illegal casinos were out in the suburbs. Is there really one that close to the edge of the Docks?"

"Oh, no no no, we weren't hitting a casino the other night. A little birdie told Tattletale that Lung was aiming to come after us, and we didn't want him to find our hidey-hole and burn it down, so fearless leader here," Alec said, throwing an arm over Brian's shoulder as the taller villain glared at him, "decided that instead of running away from Lung, we should run toward him instead and flip the script for a change."

The Wards and I stared at them. "You wanted to try to ambush Lung," Dean said slowly, "when you knew he was already preparing for a fight? When he was probably already ramping up?"

"Well of course it sounds stupid if you put it like that," Brian objected, but there wasn't much heat in his reply.

"Oh, it gets even better," Alec continued gleefully. "See, when we were on the way there…."

As the villain began to regale us with everything that had gone poorly for them in the hours before they first ran into me, I frowned and tuned him out to focus on my bugs.

At the very edge of my swarm, insects were dying one by one.

Each one that died was suddenly getting yanked a few inches away from me before disappearing from my senses, like how I imagined it would feel if a frog ate a fly in my swarm… except that where it had started with just one or two dying, now it was happening multiple times a second in multiple different places.

I'd spread my swarm pretty thin to cover as wide an area as possible, so for my bugs to be dying at the rate they were….

"Guys," I interrupted, sitting up straight. Chris was laughing loudly at something Alec had said, so I grabbed his arm to get his attention. "Something's coming. It's either one thing that's a lot bigger than my crab, or a ton of little things, and it's killing my bugs."

The Ward's eyes flicked down to my hand, then back up to me, and his expression instantly went serious. "How close is it?" he asked.

"And how fast is it moving?" Brian added.

"It's maybe two blocks out, and it's…" I trailed off, focusing on feeling where my bugs were dying and trying to judge the space between them. "Okay, it's definitely lots of smaller things, different parts are moving at different speeds-"

"How fast?" Brian repeated urgently.

"I don't know!" I huffed. "A walking pace, I guess?"

I'd like to see him try to estimate how fast things are moving when they're a few hundred feet away without any reference points.

"That only gives us a couple of minutes," Brian said. "Can you tell what they are?"

"Not yet," I said, frustrated. "I can't use my bugs to feel anything out when they keep dying. One second."

I took all of the fast flying insects that were anywhere near that edge of my swarm and sent them toward the point where the latest bug had died.

There was nothing at that point when they arrived, so I had them spread out, keep moving, and try to land on any surface they could find, and what they found was…

"… a velociraptor?" I mumbled.

Everyone scrambled to their feet, their eyes going wide.

"You're joking," Dean said. " Please tell me you're joking."

"I don't know if it's a real one," I quickly assured them. "It just has the same kind of, you know…" I struggled to convey what I was feeling through my swarm. "That kind of 'skinny hunched-over lizard with a long tail' kind of feel to it?"

"Jurassic Park velociraptor, or actual velociraptor?" Chris asked.

Brian shot him an exasperated look. " Not the time!"

"No, I mean, like, are we talking real height," Chris said, quickly crouching and holding his hand out around my knee level, "or movie height?" He stood back up and held his hand a few inches above my head.

"Does that really fucking matter right now?" Alec asked.

"He's right, actually," Brian replied, before Chris could respond. "We need to know whether we can try to fight or we have to run, and we don't have much to go on besides that."

"Maybe we won't have to do either. Are we sure they're dinosaur-dinosaurs, or could they be regular lizards that just eat insects?" Dean asked, sounding like he knew we couldn't possibly be that lucky but was grasping at straws anyway.

Brian shook his head. "We have to assume they're hostile. If they aren't, great, but if they are and we're not prepared, we're screwed.

Turning to me, he added, "So, how big?"

While they were talking, more of the whatever-they-were had come up to the one I was examining and started eating bugs off of it, so I'd spread some of the bugs to the new ones to try to get a better sense of things by comparing multiple of them.

"They're tiny, maybe a foot tall? Foot and a half?" I ventured. "Skinny legs, short tails. There's something on their necks, maybe feathers? I can't really tell."

Chris let out a big sigh of relief. "Yep, velociraptors."

I closed my eyes and focused on hearing through the bugs on the… actual freaking dinosaurs, I guess. The one covered in bugs was making a tiny rhythmic peeping sound, and the others were peeping in reply, all very quietly. It would have been cute, if the sound were being made by anything other than a herd of actual freaking carnivorous dinosaurs.

I opened my eyes again. "I can't tell anything from the sounds they're making, it's all just animal noises." I took a deep breath. "And I've only felt six of them directly, but based on how many of my bugs are dying and how fast, I'd say there's at least fifty of them, and there could be more behind them."

Dean let out a low whistle at that. " Damn."

"How spread out are they?" Brian asked.

"Fairly wide," I said, and traced out an arc with my arm that covered most of a semicircle stretching from the riverbank across most of the clearing.

"Shit," Brian said. He bit his lip in thought and looked around the clearing, his eyes darting from the crabshell to the taller trees to the gaps in the underbrush.

"What do you think?" Dean asked, stepping up to stand next to Brian as he made his own survey of the area. "Run through the gap, or make a stand?"

"Make a stand, I think," Brian responded after a moment. "If we run, they can get through the trees easier than we can and we won't be able to see them easily. You?"

"Same. Kid and I will have better sightlines here than in the trees, and Vicereine's crab is better off in the open," Dean said, slipping back into using cape names now that a fight was coming.

"Good," Brian nodded. "Kid Win, get your cooking thing off the shell. Regent, help him with that, then you two and I will move the shell as close to the river as possible, dump out the rest of the meat, and dig the shell into the ground; we'll want to use it as a wall at our backs so nothing can slip around behind us. Gallant, get back into your armor. Vicereine, have your crab cut down some of the smaller trees to block off the open areas there, there, and there, then move it over there to cover our flank. We'll have Gallant and me up front, Regent left, Kid right, and Vicereine center. Got it?"

Dean-Gallant-looked annoyed that Grue was taking the lead again without even consulting him. "Suggestion," he bit out.

"Go ahead."

"We pull the crab in closer and swap sides so Kid is with the crab and Regent is opposite. With his hoverboard he can get some altitude and shoot over it."

"Right, that works better; not used to having a flyer on the team. I'll help Regent with the shell while Kid gets his board," Grue said, and Kid Win nodded in agreement.

"Anything else?" he prompted. "No? Then let's move!"

Gallant dashed over to where he'd left his armor, while the rest of us got to work.

My crab had been sitting placidly at the far end of the clearing, since having it too close to everyone made the guys nervous, so I quickly had it scuttle over and begin snipping at the trees with its massive claws. I ignored the activity behind me, splitting my attention between stacking the logs with small enough gaps that nothing could get through and keeping track of the incoming dinosaurs.

About a minute later, I had three makeshift wooden barricades, the shell had been shoved into the ground and propped in place with some piles of dirt and small rocks as best the boys could manage, and everyone was masked up again.

Even Gallant was ready to go, his armor having basically assembled itself around him as fast as he could grab the pieces and hold them in place for the connectors at the joints to snap themselves together.

"First ones are almost here!" I called out. I started pulling part of my swarm in close, keeping the small flying bugs spread out for awareness while I gathered anything that could bite or sting in a smaller group behind me. As an afterthought I put a couple of gnats on each of the guys so I could track where they were without looking, just in case.

"Positions!" Grue called back, herding everyone into place.

I was in the safest spot, right in the middle with the shell to my back and everyone else in front of me.

I assumed Grue put me there because I didn't have a weapon and he didn't know how well I could fight, not because I was a girl and he thought I needed protecting, but now was not the best time to ask about that.

Kid Win was on his hoverboard, almost directly above the crab and high enough in the air that it couldn't accidentally clip him with its claws. Not that he had anything to worry about, since I'd made it rest its claws on the ground to form a barrier and prevent any dinosaurs from slipping underneath it.

Regent had his scepter ready, holding it in two hands with the head pointing downward kind of like a shovel. Gallant had both hands out in front of him with his fingers splayed wide. Grue was in some kind of martial arts stance.

We were as ready as we were ever going to be.

We'd been standing there for maybe ten seconds when the first of the dinosaurs poked its head into the clearing.

My immediate reaction was that it was… kinda cute, actually.

It was obviously a dinosaur, and one built along the same lines as a raptor or a T-rex, but it didn't look as scary as the ones in the movies. Instead of being mottled gray or brown its hide was a bright apple green, with a crest of darker green feathers running down its neck and along the backs of its arms and a yellowish-green underbelly. Its legs were sort of lopsided, with skinny upper legs and wide padded feet that almost made it look cartoonish.

The dinosaur blinked a few times, sniffed the air, and turned to look in our direction. It tilted its head kind of like a confused dog and let out a few tiny peeps.

Regent's shoulders relaxed and he turned to look at the rest of us. " That's what we've all been worried about?"

Then the dinosaur opened its mouth incredibly wide, and we could see its teeth.

It had dozens of teeth in two rows, an outer row of large serrated inward-curving teeth that reminded me of a piranha and an inner row of a few dozen almost needle-like straight teeth that would've been nearly impossible to see if it weren't for the light glinting off of them.

Those stories about how a school of piranhas can strip a cow to the bone in less than a minute?

I'd bet just three or four of these could manage the same thing.

Gallant raised his hand like he was about to launch a bolt at the dinosaur, but before he could do anything it let out a surprisingly loud, high-pitched, and very grating trill, almost like an eagle's screech crossed with the whine of a dentist's drill.

A bolt of orange light shot out of Gallant's palm and cut off the dinosaur's cry as it went tumbling back into the trees, but it was too late. Eight or nine more dinosaurs popped out of the underbrush and began running right for us.

Gallant began blasting away at the dinosaurs on the left as fast as he could, calling out "Right side!" in between blasts.

A volley of fist-sized blue sparks rained down from Kid Win's position toward the dinosaurs to our right-and then a wall of swirling blackness cut off my view of them as Grue spread his darkness in that direction as well.

"Not you, Grue!" Gallant snapped as he took a reflexive step backwards, his voice echoing oddly with his helmet partly inside the darkness.

The wall dissolved a moment later. "My bad!" Grue called.

Between Gallant's power and Kid Win's guns five of the dinosaurs had been knocked out or killed, I couldn't tell which, and the other four were just reaching us.

"Left side, with the crab!" Grue called out. At the same time, Dean shouted, "Have the crab get the ones-!" before cutting himself off and shooting a quick glance at Grue.

I'd been planning to use my crab on those dinosaurs already, I didn't need them to point out the obvious.

The crab sent two very surprised dinosaurs flying with a swipe of its claw. I tried to get a third with its other claw, but the dinosaur was too agile, managing to duck under the swing and keep coming.

That one looked like it was heading right for me, so I sent a few wasps after it. I didn't know how effective they'd be against a dinosaur, but they were some native wasps much bigger than the ones I'd brought from Brockton Bay and they had a nasty-looking stinger so it was worth a shot.

The dinosaur actually managed to eat two of the wasps right out of the air, tearing them to pieces in the blink of an eye, but the others got through. I directed them to sting its underbelly where it looked like the scales were thinner. After a few stings the dinosaur crumpled to the ground, letting out a few soft whimpers before going silent.

The last dinosaur was aiming for Grue. He'd crouched down and braced himself like you would if a dog was running at you at full speed, which made sense seeing as the dinosaurs were about the same size as a small dog and seemed roughly as agile; he probably had some practice for something like that after dealing with Bitch's dogs.

The dinosaur leaped, and he went to grab its neck, and he almost got it.

He did manage to grab its body instead, pinning its forearms to its sides, but that left it free to scratch at him with its legs and twist its neck around to bite at him.

It did just that, locking its jaws around his upper arm and biting down hard. It looked like his motorcycle leathers were thick enough to preventing its larger piranha teeth from hurting him, but from his pained jerk backwards the smaller needle teeth had apparently gone right through.

He swore in pain, then shouted, "Shock it off!"

Regent stepped forward with his scepter at the ready, but Kid Win reacted faster, sending a volley of sparks in Grue's direction. Two of them did hit the dinosaur and stop its wriggling long enough for Grue to yank it off his arm, but the rest of them hit Grue himself and left some light gray scorch marks up and down his arm.

"Fucking-! I meant Regent!" he yelled over his shoulder as the other Undersider jabbed the fallen dinosaur repeatedly with the head of his scepter.

"Then use names!" Kid Win shouted back.

It was obvious that both the Wards and the Undersiders were only really used to taking their teammates' powers into account during a battle, and the fact that both Grue and Dean were trying to give orders wasn't helping.

We didn't have time to sort that out, though. More dinosaurs were already streaming out of the undergrowth, two and three at a time.

"Everyone, more coming ahead and on the right!" I called out, and got another group of wasps ready.

~*~*~

The next few minutes passed in a blur of reddish energy bolts, blue sparks, and green dinosaurs as I kept track of everything with my swarm and called out where the next wave was coming from. Grue and Regent could take down one or two dinosaurs at a time, the rest of us three or four if we were lucky, but every time one of them went down there was another dinosaur ready to take its place.

At one point Grue tried to surround the clearing with his darkness, but it didn't seem to have any effect and just made it harder for Kid Win to target the dinosaurs that were farther away, so he dropped it a few seconds later.

I'd tried different combinations of wasps, hornets, and the faster spiders, but none of them seemed to have more of an effect on the dinosaurs than any others and the dinosaurs were happy to eat a few bugs out of any group of them that came too close.

"This isn't working!" Grue shouted eventually. He'd slipped back to let Regent take his place, and he was still clasping his arm tightly where the dinosaur had bitten him earlier. "Gallant, Kid Win, you got anything you haven't tried yet?"

"My beams, maybe!" Gallant called back. "But they have much less force, and-" he paused to send a pair of reddish-purple bolts at a dinosaur that was about to get past him "-and animals aren't wired the same! I don't know if they'll do anything!"

"Can you try just hitting them with lots of different ones?" I asked. "Maybe it'll scramble them up?"

"Maybe! Never tried that before, too dangerous on humans!" he replied. He flexed his fingers, and a moment later a volley of multicolored rays blasted out from him, looking like a rainbow-colored strobe light as he quickly cycled through different emotions with the beams on each hand.

The first few times the nearest dinosaurs were hit it didn't seem to do anything, but then the dinosaurs started behaving erratically, stopping in place or moving in circles or simply falling to the ground.

"Good, keep it up!" Grue called, then jerked his head at Regent, and Regent moved in to jab the stunned dinosaurs with his scepter to drop them one by one.

As effective as Gallant's tactic was, it could only cover a small portion of the area that he'd previously been handling, since he had to keep spraying the same dinosaurs with his beams repeatedly instead of firing off bolts every which way.

Kid Win noticed the problem at about the same time I did, and drifted sideways on his hoverboard toward the gap in Gallant's coverage. "Let me try something!" he called down to us. "One sec!"

The younger Ward slapped the center of his chest, and a circular panel that I'd thought was purely decorative popped open to reveal a cylindrical cavity a few inches across. He pressed something on the side of his left pistol that caused the handgrip to detach from the rest of it, stuck what was left of the pistol into the opening, and slapped the panel closed again. The handgrip he shoved into a small slot in his left gauntlet.

Suddenly, the lines of golden light on his upper left torso plating started glowing silver instead, and a small panel on top of his shoulder popped open to reveal a small rotating gun barrel beneath.

He tilted forward and tapped a button on his gauntlet, and more sparks shot out of the barrel on his shoulder. They looked identical to the ones from his pistol, but even less accurate, and for a moment I wondered what the point of replacing his pistol with that new weapon was.

But then electricity started to arc between them as they flew, connecting each spark to every other one, and what had been a series of inaccurate shots quickly became a web of electricity that could catch six or seven dinosaurs at a time.

Effective… but it still wasn't enough.

Kid Win could take down more dinosaurs, but he couldn't keep them down, and neither could Regent's scepter. Of the sixty or so dinosaurs we'd dealt with by now, over half of them were ones we'd had to put down multiple times because they'd recovered from being shocked. Gallant's normal bolts could kill them or knock them out for a long time, I wasn't sure which, but now that he'd switched to his weaker beams we wouldn't even have that much.

"Does that thing have a more lethal setting?" I called up to Kid Win.

"Yeah!" he called back. "But it'll take a lot longer to charge between shots!"

I figured that'd be a worthwhile trade if it meant he only had to shoot a dinosaur once to put it down, and Gallant evidently agreed, since he called out "Do it!" before I could say anything.

So Kid Win nodded and tapped another button that made the lights on his shoulder glow brighter. The next time a volley of sparks shot out they were accompanied by the sharp scent of ozone, and the dinosaurs they hit ended up visibly charred.

We fell into a pattern after that. In between shots from Kid Win's shoulder weapon, Gallant and Regent would knock out a bunch of dinosaurs and then I'd finish them off with my bugs and my crab, while Grue dealt with any that slipped through the net.

And even then, they still kept coming!

Clusters of tiny dinosaurs were constantly streaming through my swarm from practically every direction, snapping up insects on the way and trying to circle around behind us, and it was practically all we could do just to keep herding them all in front of us so we didn't get surrounded.

~*~*~

We'd taken out nearly a hundred dinosaurs, and they hadn't stopped coming. Worse, they'd been coming in twos and threes at first, then in threes and fours, and now they were coming in groups of six and seven at least, meaning I had to spend more and more time redistributing my swarm to account for the loss of all the bugs that the dinosaurs were eating.

"Guys! I don't know if we can keep this up!" I called. "I think…."

"You think what?" Grue called back.

At the southern-most point of my range, there was a whole wave of dinosaurs coming. More than six or seven, more than I could easily tell apart at once, and my swarm was practically disintegrating in front of them.

"Too many!" I shouted. "Dozens! We have to run!"

"Are you-?"

" Run!"

I didn't wait for a reply, I just ducked behind Regent and started running north along the bank of the river as fast as I could. I debated for a split second whether to take the crab with me, then decided it would be more useful left behind as a distraction than trying to crash its way through the trees.

With the bugs I'd put on Kid Win, I could feel him rise a few feet higher and move a hand up to his helmet. Then he let out a " Jesus fucking Christ!" and came zooming after me.

The others didn't need any more convincing and immediately bolted after us.

It was more of a jog, really; with our masks on and the sun higher in the sky, the heat and humidity was getting to be as bad as it was last night and running around in stifling costumes wasn't any easier now than it had been then. Plus, Regent and Gallant had been moving around during the fight a lot more than I'd been, and from the way Grue was holding his arm it looked like it was still bleeding.

We were only a few yards away from the clearing when Alec let out a yelp of pain and stumbled to a halt. The rest of us stopped as well, and I turned back to see him holding a hand to his side where a red stain was growing on his stomach.

"Fucking ow," he grunted as he ripped his mask off and took a few deep breaths. "One of those last ones jumped up and nearly chomped me when I started running. Thought it just grazed me, but I guess not."

"Come on, we need to keep moving," Grue said. "The sooner we get away, the sooner we can do something about the bleeding." He started walking to the front of the group, turning sideways to get past us without bumping his injured arm on anything.

Regent looked at Grue's arm and raised his eyebrows. "Shit, yours is still bleeding?" He glanced down at his own wound. "Guess this shirt's a lost cause."

We started moving again, sticking to a fast walk so Regent could keep up.

Kid Win jogged up past Regent and Gallant to walk next to me. "I don't have any bandages or anything with me. You?" he asked.

I shook my head. "All I have is the water filter, and we don't want to get river water on those bites. I can have my spiders weave something when we stop."

"Good thinking," he said. Glancing behind him nervously, he added, "Are they coming after us?"

"Not yet. They're almost at the clearing," I said.

As we walked in silence, I focused intently on my bugs, feeling the widening gap as the herd of ravenous dinosaurs came closer and closer to our position.

Moments later, the leading edge of the herd crashed into the clearing and immediately dashed for… the overturned crabshell?

The clearing filled up with dinosaurs-or at least was emptied of bugs-but none of them were coming after us.

Why would…?

I let out an involuntary laugh.

"We're okay! They're going for the crab meat behind the shell!" I cried.

Kid Win smacked his palm against the forehead plate of his visor with a dull thunk. "We were frying an entire huge crab for like half an hour with the wind blowing from the river. Of course a bunch of animals would smell it and come running!"

Back in the clearing, my crab suddenly felt the pain of countless tiny jaws starting to gnaw at its joints. I made the crab start scuttling around and swinging its claws wildly at ground level, the best I could manage without enough bugs around to get a clearer picture of where all the dinosaurs were.

"Let's pick up the pace," I said. "They just started attacking my crab, so it looks like the crab meat wasn't enough for them and if we're still nearby when they finish that off-"

"-they might smell us and come this way," Grue concluded with a nod. "Yeah, let's get going."

We sped up to a jogging pace as my crab was torn to pieces, and quickly left the swarm of dinosaurs behind us.

~*~*~

Early Evening, Zor the 5 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

On the Banks of an Eastern Tributary of the Hydra River, Xen'drik, Eberron

We'd spent the past… six or seven hours, probably, following the bank of the river. It's what we'd mostly planned to do anyway, and the trees were thin enough near the river that we could keep up a good pace in case those dinosaurs decided to come after us.

They hadn't, though, or if they had then Brian's darkness had thrown them off the scent.

The bleeding from Brian's and Alec's injuries were bad enough that I hadn't wanted to wait too long to start weaving bandages, but we didn't want to stop moving, so I'd grabbed some long and flat lengths of bark where they were peeling off some nearby trees and started my spiders weaving on those.

It was slow going given that I had to account for moving and irregularly-shaped looms, but I just needed some wide flat cloth, nothing fancy, so the weaving for that went a lot faster than it had for the water filter. Soon enough I had some silk strips that could work well enough as bandages.

We stopped briefly to apply those. Brian took off his jacket and carefully peeled off his long-sleeved T-shirt to let Dean wrap his upper arm while Alec unstuck his own shirt from his side to let Chris and me wrap that.

Yes, as it turned out, Brian did have a six pack.

And Alec wasn't noticeably muscled, but he was in surprisingly good shape for a skinny guy, much better than his loose costume shirt had implied.

And I think Alec might've caught me peeking at Brian.

Damn them.

~*~*~

"Look, some real trails," Dean said, waving to our left. "I think we might be getting closer to a bridge, or maybe a ferry or ford or something."

The tree cover had started to thin out a little while back, leaving us with less shade against the still far-too-bright light of the setting sun but giving us a much better view of the way ahead of us.

Looking where he was indicating, I saw that what I'd thought were just more gaps in the trees were in fact narrow footpaths, with the grass tamped down and any leaves and loose underbrush shoved to the side.

Now that I'd noticed that, I sent a good portion of my replenished swarm out ahead of us to scout, and a few moments later I nodded in confirmation. "There are at least four trails, maybe a fifth one, and they all look like they're all heading toward the same general point. It's out of my range, but from the angle I'd guess it's… maybe half a mile ahead, give or take."

"Are there any footprints?" Brian asked.

I shook my head. "The ground's too uneven to tell. I'd have to be able to actually see it."

Dean turned to Chris. "Do you mind checking?"

"Sure," Chris said, and hopped on his hoverboard to take a look ahead. He made a broad loop across all of the trails and circled back a few minutes later.

"There are definitely footprints."

"How old?

"No idea, but they're pretty broken up."

"Well, that at least tells us we're heading in the right direction. Even if no one comes this way anymore, we should still be able to follow one of the paths to the nearest city," Gallant said.

Encouraged by the news, we all picked up our flagging pace without anyone having to say anything, heading for the first sign of civilization we'd seen since we first arrived here.

~*~*~

"Chris?" I asked softly. "Did you see any people when you were scouting ahead earlier?"

"No. Why?"

"Because I can feel some people coming."

We were a few hundred feet away from the point I'd identified-from the shape of things, there was a dock or a ferry or something like that on the river where the trails met-and as far as I could tell the people I'd sensed were heading for the same place.

"Finally, some good news! I'm tired of walking," Alec moaned.

"Not necessarily good news," Dean cautioned. "Chris, did you take any precautions against being seen when you were scouting?"

Chris ducked his head. "Uh, no."

"So they may or may not know we're here, and may or may not be friendly. Taylor, can you tell anything about them?"

"There are five of them, and they're armed," I responded immediately; that much was easy enough to tell. "Beyond that…."

I moved a small cloud of gnats around the group and landed them on each person one by one to try to get some more details.

"Two of them are in armor, one like Gallant's armor and one with something a lot bigger. One of the others seems fairly young, maybe middle school age or a short teenager. Another one is wearing a costume, I think. They have a bird of some sort on their shoulder."

The one with the bird stopped walking abruptly and held up its arm, causing the others to stop as well.

The bird pecked a few gnats out of the air as the person started looking around, waving their hands through the air like they were trying to get someone's attention. They took a deep breath and said something loudly, though I wasn't able to focus on the gnat's hearing quick enough to catch what it was.

"And that one stopped as soon as I put more than a few bugs on their costume. I think they know we're here."

"Great," Brian grumbled. "I was thinking of letting them pass us so we could see them before they see us, but no point in doing that now."

"How about you let me take the lead on this one?" Dean suggested. "We can let them know we want to meet somewhere, we head over under the assumption they're friendly, and if I notice any kind of hostile emotion whatsoever we can get out of there before we get too close. Sounds good?"

"Fine," Brian said.

"Taylor, could you signal them somehow with your bugs?" Dean asked

"Yeah, I've made words with them before."

"Perfect. Can you write something-"

"Betcha they probably don't speak English here," Alec interrupted. "You should probably stick with shapes and stuff."

"Right, of course," Dean sighed. "Maybe just an arrow, then, pointing to that clear area ahead?"

I nodded, and most of the gnats flew together into the form of a basic arrow in front of the person with the bird, then I turned it to point in the right direction and moved it slightly toward the river.

The gnat I'd left on that person's head registered an exaggerated nod, and then the group started moving again in the direction I'd indicated.

"They're following the arrow."

"Great," Dean said. "I'm thinking masks on for this, until we know they're friendly."

"Agreed," Brian said, and the rest of us nodded.

We all grabbed our masks and put them back on; Regent helped Brian with his, since his bandages were extensive enough to restrict his arm's range of motion.

Soon enough we reached the flat open area where all the trails met, and we stood there waiting for the other group to emerge from the trees.

"They're almost here," I said, just loud enough for the others to hear.

I could feel my shoulders tense more with every step they took. My first fight with a hostile cape had not gone well, and we were still feeling the effects of the fight with the dinosaurs and a whole day of walking, so if things turned violent I wasn't all that confident about our chances.

"See anything, Gallant?" Brian murmured.

Dean was silent for a few tense moments as the group reached the last cluster of trees, then: "No overt hostility, a lot of caution and suspicion. We can stay and talk, but play it safe."

My shoulders sagged in relief, and I could hear several of the guys letting out relieved breaths, but we did all try to keep up a confident front for the other group as they came out into the open one by one.

And what a group it was.

The first person to appear was the one with a bird on their shoulder-with some kind of hawk on her shoulder, as it turned out. She was a tall women, with tan skin, broad shoulders, and more muscles than our entire group put together. I had no idea what kind of hawk she had, but it was also on the larger side, and I bet it could have swooped down on one of the dinosaurs from earlier and easily carried it away.

Her clothing looked kind of like a cross between stereotypical Native American clothes and a Renaissance Faire costume, consisting of a long-sleeved shirt and baggy pants in a thick burgundy fabric, dark brown leather armor with what looked like a pattern of thorned vines on the chest in a lighter brown, and a dark blue cloak draped over everything with feathers lining the bottom edge. Her dark brown hair was done up in something like a French braid, and several necklaces dangled around the clasp of her cloak.

She was also holding a long gnarled wooden staff, which she definitely hadn't been carrying just a minute ago.

The next one to step out from the trees looked almost exactly like Alabaster, the Empire's monster cape, or at least the few pictures I'd see of him. His skin and short hair were both completely white, and so were his eyes, with no pupils or irises.

His clothing looked to be all black leather, similar to Brian's costume but with decorative stripes in multiple shades of blue and purple along the limbs and criss-crossing the chest, and he had a matching blue-striped black fur cloak to go with it. The upper half of his face was covered in a translucent purple mask that sparkled in the fading light, and his right hand rested on the pommel of a long sword sheathed at his belt.

After him came…

"Is that armor made of bones?" Chris asked softly.

"Not sure, but it looks like it," Dean replied.

"I'm getting a 'Kaiser meets Marquis' vibe, and I don't think I like it," Alec murmured.

He wasn't wrong. The man's features were completely concealed by armor made of what looked to be hundreds of small bones melded together to give it a more organic silhouette than normal metal armor, and it was covered all over with sharp-looking hooks and spines.

The front of his helmet was sculpted to look like a skull, not a stylized one like on Brian's helmet but an eerily lifelike one, and there were smaller skulls at his knees, elbows, and belt buckle. A massive sword was attached to his back that also looked like it was made of bone, but it was hard to tell that at a distance.

The fourth person was even more imposing, if that was possible. He (or she, but probably he) was easily seven feet tall and covered in jet-black armor studded with tiny lines of glowing crystals around the joints and along the forearms; they looked reddish-orange, but I couldn't tell if they were actually that color or were really clear and just reflecting the light of the setting sun. It looked like the armor was made of multiple materials, since the larger plates were a glossy black with a rippled surface while the smaller ones had a more smooth and oily look with a greenish undertone to them.

The power armor didn't quite resemble any I'd seen, though. First of all, it looked like the gaps in the metal plates were covered with a dark reddish wood, of all things. The right forearm ended in some kind of laser-cannon-looking assembly instead of a hand, while the left hand had only three large and stubby fingers and that crudeness really stood out from the obvious detailing and quality of the rest of the armor. The lenses of the helmet glowed with the same light that the crystals did, probably some kind of display like the Wards had in their own helmets.

After all of those, the fifth person to step deftly out of the tree line was almost underwhelming. He was wearing what looked like a cross between camouflage clothing and a classic ninja outfit: a patterned green and brown bodysuit that also covered most of his face, a similarly-patterned hooded cloak, and multiple belts and bandoliers covered with lots of pouches.

He was actually shorter than I'd guessed before, closer to a fourth- or fifth-grader in height than a teenager. What the heck were they doing with such a young kid out here in the jungle?

Maybe he was one of those really young capes who was supposed to be extra-strong after getting their powers so young, because he looked just as ready for a fight as the adults were even though he was the only one in the group who wasn't visibly carrying a weapon.

Once they were all out in the open, they took a quiet moment to study us, just as we were studying them.

Alec, of course, was the first one to break the silence.

"So we have Lady Myrddin crossed with Fenja, Kaiser crossed with Marquis, Armsmaster crossed with the Terminator, Goth Alabaster, and Midget Oni Lee, and the only one not wearing a dark costume is wearing an actual skeleton. Anyone else think that portal might've brought us to the Mirror Universe or something?"

Chris snorted quietly. He turned very slightly in my direction and grinned, then murmured out of the corner of his mouth to Regent, "Just because someone's wearing a dark-colored costume doesn't mean they're a villain, you know."

I returned his grin. "And don't you forget it."

We stood there for another few seconds. Right as it was starting to seem awkward, Dean took a deep breath and said, "Well, it doesn't look like they're going to make the first move. Let's go say hello. Walk slowly, though, and don't make any sudden moves."

He started forward and we all followed a few steps behind him. The other group exchanged some looks and gestures, and after a moment the man in bone armor stepped forward and led the rest of them in walking toward us. Whether it was because our guy in knightly armor was leading the way and they wanted to do the same, or he was the leader of their group already, or for some other reason, I couldn't say.

Dean stopped when the other group was around ten feet away, a range that would hopefully put him out of reach of the other man's huge sword if he decided to lunge forward and attack. He slowly raised his right hand and waved politely.

The other man waved as well, and said something in a surprisingly friendly-sounding tone: " Ala tóch! Prànom teros, enim qóru djeven kei?"

Other than the fact that it sounded vaguely like someone speaking a Middle Eastern language with a German accent, I didn't have the slightest idea what he'd said.

"Um." Dean looked over his shoulder. "Did any of you get that?"

We all shook our heads.

He turned back to the man. "Good afternoon," Dean tried, speaking slowly and enunciating carefully. "Do you speak any English?"

The man shook his head. " Njè. Djevet nèm Nochos seqo? Admos Khorvairam seqom?"

"I do not understand," Dean said, then spread his hands in a half-shrug. "Uh, parlez-vous français?"

The man tilted his head slightly, then called back to the rest of his group: " Ei qoro Elvech mochti, tejo?"

The white-skinned man replied " Mochtis nájai!" in an amused tone, and the armored man shrugged.

Turning back to Dean, he said something in what sounded like a different language: " Kavêh Aereni bĥin maêðe?" The accent at least sounded somewhat closer to a French one, but the words were still like no Earth language I'd ever heard.

Dean shook his head again and held up one finger. Turning back to us, he said, "If anyone speaks any other languages, even a little bit, now's your chance to shine."

What followed was an incredibly unproductive thirty seconds of tossing sentences back and forth to see if we shared any common languages.

" ¿Hablas español?"

" Nè. Kvemr rakkyn mâl Dvargen?"

"Nope. Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"

" Nè. Ňeblic cwed odra?"

And on and on.

Finally we reached a point where Dean and the man in the bone armor were just shaking their heads, both sides having run out of languages to try. The man let out an annoyed-sounding sigh and waved the white-skinned man forward.

In one smooth motion the other man took a quick step forward and reached behind his back for something.

Chris immediately dropped both of his hands to his pistols, and Regent shifted his grip on his scepter.

The man stopped immediately and Dean gave us a placating wave. "Easy! Easy, guys, he's not going for a weapon, I don't think." Nodding to the man, Dean gave an exaggerated nod and said, "Go ahead."

The man hesitated a moment, then slowly drew out his hand. He was holding a wooden rod about the size and shape of a drumstick, with some kind of writing engraved in a spiral down its length and a clear crystal or jewel at the tip.

"Careful, that's definitely tinkertech," Chris warned.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Alec replied under his breath.

The man reached out with the rod as if to poke Dean with it, but Dean quickly took a step back. He shook his head and shrugged regretfully.

The man nodded thoughtfully and held up a finger-and suddenly the skin on his face and hands rippled, and a moment later he looked just like Alec.

His clothing didn't change its appearance, though it did somehow resize to fit an Alec-shaped body and wasn't that a trick, but his height, his build, his hair, his skin color, even the lower half of his face looked exactly like Alec's.

"Great. A Shifter. I hate dealing with Shifters," Chris muttered.

"At least he showed us what his power was so we know to keep an eye out," Brian said.

"I don't see the problem," Alec said with a smirk. "This guy's obviously got great taste. We'll probably be fine."

After waiting a moment to see how we'd react, the man who now looked like Alec put on an exaggerated smile and slumped into Alec's customary lazy slouch, turned to the man in the armor, and began saying something in another language, gesticulating wildly all the while.

The armored man put his hands on his hips, then made as if to scratch his head, then looked down and shook his head, obviously pantomiming not being able to understand what "Alec" was saying.

The shapechanger then lifted his rod and tapped the armored man and began talking again, and the armored man straightened up and began talking back. This time it was the shapechanger who made exaggerated motions of incomprehension, until he tapped himself with the rod, brightened up, and began talking again.

After a few more seconds of that, they both stopped, the shapechanger rippled again to return to his normal form, and then he motioned with the rod between himself and Dean, who looked unsure about the whole thing.

"I think what he's trying to say is that that thing can let whoever he uses it on understand the other person, and he wants to use it on you," I offered.

"Yeah, no, I got that," Dean agreed. "I'm just not sure if I should let him. Tinkertech that messes with your brain isn't always… the safest."

"Ask him about that, then," I suggested.

Dean nodded, thought for a moment, turned back to the other man, and tapped himself on the head with one finger before slumping over to mime falling unconscious, then straightened up and half-shrugged questioningly.

The other man shook his head vigorously, then mimed tapping himself and the armored man on the head multiple times with a cheery smile on his face.

"Well, that's probably the best I'm going to get," Dean sighed. "Chris, any way you can tell whether it'll be safe without actually getting your hands on it?"

"Not a chance, sorry."

"All right, I guess I'll do it."

"Wait," Brian said thoughtfully. "It sounds like it'll only affect one of us."

"Yeah?"

"No offense, but I don't know if I want us to have to talk to him through you."

Dean turned to look at Brian for a second, then let out a loud sigh. "Fucking really?" he said, actually sounding angry for the first time I could recall.

"I mean, I'm just saying, if you're the only one he can understand, you could get a little creative with-"

"We're under truce. We've fought together multiple times," Dean ground out. "I've gone out of my way to be nice and let you call the shots when your massive ego wouldn't let you play second fiddle. And now, after all that, now you think I'm going to try to screw you over? While I'm talking with him literally right in front of you?"

Brian moved as if to say something, stopped, took a calming breath, started again. "Okay, fair. You probably wouldn't do it intentionally," he said, audibly holding back his own frustration and anger. "But this could be a really important conversation, and with armor like that he's obviously not a hero, and I don't want us to mess up our one shot at getting help because you don't know how to negotiate with villains and you let him walk all over you."

"What's there to negotiate? We're just asking them for help!"

"They're not just going to help some random capes they met in the middle of the jungle because you ask nicely!"

"So, what, you think you should do the talking instead? Hell no. Villain or not, it's much more likely that your macho bullshit would tick him off and make them not want to help us."

There was a beat of silence, then both Dean and Brian turned to look at me.

No.

Nope.

No way.

Not gonna happen.

"Do you think the independent hero would do a better job of negotiating with them than the 'government stooge' would?" Dean asked dryly, referencing one of Brian's comments over breakfast.

Brian gave me what I assumed was an appraising look through his mask. "Sure, that's fine," he said eventually, not very convincingly.

"Fantastic. Vicereine, congratulations, you're our spokeswoman."

With that, Dean took a step back from the white-skinned man, bowed his head slightly, and gestured to me with a little flourish.

Great. Just great.

The two men had been waiting politely while Dean and Brian were arguing, so I took a deep breath, stepped forward, and held out my hand awkwardly, expecting the white-skinned man to tap me with the rod.

Instead, speaking loudly and slowly, the shapechanger said, " Harmiirix," which made the crystal on the rod glow with a soft pulsing blue light for a moment.

Then he flipped the rod over in his hand and gestured for me to take it, which I did. He waved his hand in a circular repeat-after-me gesture as he repeated the word a few times with an encouraging smile. It sounded like some kind of password, I guessed, so that no one else could use his tinkertech without his permission.

I gave it my best shot: "Hair-mee-ee-ricks," I enunciated carefully, and the rod glowed again. He nodded, took the rod back with his left hand, and held out his right hand for a handshake.

As I hesitantly went to return the handshake, he began speaking again. " Ves, kemti seqorr-any moment now," he said, his words shifting from gibberish to English in the middle of a sentence like a switch being flipped.

"You can understand me now, yes?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, and he nodded and let go of my hand. He was perfectly understandable, without any hint of an accent… or, I guess, with the Brocktonite accent that I thought of as not-an-accent.

"Are you speaking English, or am I speaking your language?" I asked.

"You're still speaking English, and he's still speaking whatever language he was using before," Dean said helpfully.

"Precisely," the man nodded again. "The enchantment doesn't change what language you yourself speak, it simply lets you understand another language being spoken after you make physical contact with the speaker." He paused. "It's a fairly common spell. I'm surprised you haven't encountered it before…?"

Oh boy. "Enchantment" and "spell"? It sounded like these people thought parahuman powers were magic, just like Myrddin and the Azure Circle and the Adepts and all the other nuts-

Or, wait.

We weren't on Earth anymore.

Maybe they didn't know how powers worked and called them magic, or maybe they were using some kind of "magic" instead of normal powers.

Maybe Chris's Narnia joke was more accurate than we thought.

After seeing all those crazy moons and having our powers change, who was I to judge?

"That's because we're not exactly from around here," I said.

The man raised an… actually, he didn't have eyebrows, so he sort of raised a ridge of skin above his eye.

"You're Sarlonan, then? I suppose that would explain your not recognizing a wand."

A wand. Yep, off with Mister Tumnus we go.

"No, I have no idea where that is. We're from Earth."

He scanned me up and down as if picking apart and judging my clothing and hairstyle; I recognized that look well enough from school. "Mmm. Would that be… somewhere in Argonnessen?"

"It's a different planet, actually."

"That last word didn't translate, I'm sorry. A different what?"

"A planet. Uh, a world that revolves around a sun, like this one?"

He gave me a funny look. "Around the sun? What on Eberron are you… do you perhaps mean you come from one of the moons?"

"No, I actually mean a different world, like the one we're standing on right now. It goes around the sun, it has one moon instead of however many this one has, we came through a portal-"

"Ah!" the man interrupted with a smile. "A portal! You must come from another plane, then; as I recall, most planes have only the single corresponding moon in their respective skies. Though not all of them do, so that could help narrow it down somewhat."

I looked at him blankly. "Another 'plane'?"

"Yes, any one of the seventeen-ah, actually, most of those would be inhospitable or inaccessible. Any one of the… hmm, seven, perhaps eight or nine, planes of existence that surround our own and would be safe for people to occupy in the long term."

That was completely unhelpful. "Do these… planes of existence have planets in them, or something?"

"I'm not certain, actually; I only dabble in planar studies. Khalthrun would be the one to ask about that. Ah, speaking of! Names! The spell only lasts ten minutes, so we should at least get names out of the way for when it wears off."

Before I could ask about the time limit, he gave me a shallow bow, sweeping the edge of his cloak backward dramatically. "I am Yin, it's good to meet you. This is Terik," he said with a wave to the armored man beside him. "And these are respectively Khalthrun, Obsidian, and Corvin," he said, pointing to the woman, the person in power armor, and the boy in turn. "And you are?"

I debated for a moment whether to give him my cape name or my actual name. Some of their group were wearing masks, and Yin and Obsidian sounded like cape names-and maybe Corvin, that's probably a reference to ravens, right?-but the woman was unmasked and Terik sounded more like a real name, so open capes like New Wave were likely more common here.

We could probably go either route safely, but it wouldn't be fair to unmask the others without asking, so I went with cape names for now. "I'm Vicereine. These are Grue, Gallant, Regent, and-"

"-Champion," Chris introduced himself.

I gave him a discreet look, as did the other guys.

He gave me a tiny shrug and mouthed Explain later.

Right, then. We'll address that later.

"And Champion," I nodded.

Yin looked suitably impressed at the cape names, so I guess I made the right call. "Quite the panoply of titles. Two rulers, two… knights of some sort, and I presume a 'Grue' indicates some manner of court wizard, given the elemental connection?"

He gave me a shrewd look. "You will need to share your actual names eventually, you know."

"I know. But if we can stick with titles for now…."

"Of course. I am nothing if not adaptable. Comes with the territory," he said, chuckling at some private joke. "Well, if titles are of import to you, I should inform you that Sir Terik ir'Thauram is a High Councilor of the Order of Rekkenmark, a Knight of the Onyx Skull, the eldest son of the great General Yorin Thauram, and the Shield of Vostenmark in southwestern Karrnath."

"Wow, that's… very impressive," I said.

It sure sounded impressive, even if I had no idea what any of that meant aside from the fact that anyone belonging to a group called "the Onyx Skull" was probably not someone whose bad side you ever wanted to be on.

"It certainly is. Corvin, meanwhile, is a 'marked heir of House Sivis, a Korranberg relic hunter of no small repute, and certainly not an agent of the Trust, a ha ha."

Lowering his voice conspiratorially, Yin continued, "The Lady Khalthrun Aashta is a Gatekeeper Initiate and, to her chagrin, a high-ranking member of House Tharashk. Do be warned, if you were to ever call her 'the Lady Khalthrun' to her face, she would most certainly whack you over the head with her staff for your temerity."

Yet more names and titles that didn't mean anything to me. I nodded slowly, doing my best to look suitably impressed despite my mask.

When he didn't continue after a moment, I prompted, "And you and Obsidian have similar titles as well, I'm guessing?"

Yin's eye-ridges slowly rose, ending up much higher on his forehead than would be physically possible for normal eyebrows, and he gave me a considering look.

"You really aren't from around here, are you?" he mused softly.

Before I could ask what that was supposed to mean, he continued, "We can sort out that matter later. The translation spell is nearly a third expired, by my count, so let's quickly cover the rest. What brings you to Xen'drik, and is there anything we could do you assist you? We don't run into other Khorvairen out here very often-well, you're not actually from Khorvaire, but the idea is the same-and it's always good for fellow explorers to lend each other a hand against the myriad challenges Xen'drik has to offer."

"I'm guessing this world is Eberron, like you mentioned earlier, and Tzendrick is this jungle, or this continent, right?"

"It's Xen'drik, with a stop, you see," Yin corrected my pronunciation. "And it's the name of the continent; only around a third of it is jungle, the rest being desert or glacier."

"Xen'drik. Got it. Um," I paused to think, and then rushed to get the whole story out in one long torrent of words, not wanting to go into too much detail on our situation: "We actually came here by accident. We were being chased by a dragon-long story-and we ended up going through a portal that nobody knew was there. Going through it knocked us out, and when we woke up the dog we rode here on was gone, the portal was gone, the area where the portal was was doing something to make us afraid and force us to run away, and we have no idea how to find their dog, get back to that spot, and make the portal open again."

Yin seemed to take the idea of dragons, dogs big enough to ride, and disappearing portals completely in stride. "Sounds like quite the miserable day," he said in a sympathetic tone. "I can't help but notice that it seems to have left its mark on two of your fellows?" he added, gesturing at Brian and Alec and the noticeable dark bloodstains on their costume.

"Yeah. We got into a fight with some animals earlier. There was a whole herd of small dinosaurs-um, dinosaurs are… sort of bipedal carnivorous lizards. Both of them got bitten."

"The term 'dinosaur' translated correctly, don't worry." Yin's brow creased with concern. "Describe the ones you encountered, would you?"

"They were about knee height, a few shades of green, lots of teeth, made a kind of high-pitched screeching right before they rushed at us…."

"Ah, a swarm of needleteeth. You're lucky to have escaped with minor injuries. Needletooth swarms are actually among the least threatening of the Xen'drik dinosaur species; there are certainly much worse specimens you could have encountered, and the larger ones tend to travel in packs of around two dozen or so-"

Well there's a terrifying thought.

"-but needleteeth do tend to devour everything in their path, and if they catch a party of explorers while they're asleep or unable to escape, it… doesn't make for a pleasant sight for those who later stumble upon the scene."

I winced. "I bet."

"I hope your healer is a capable one. The bite of a Xen'drik needletooth carries the-Does 'red ache' translate? Ah, good-which can be quite debilitating if left untreated, and their saliva has anticoagulant properties."

I inhaled sharply. "We don't have a healer, or a doctor. How bad is it without one?"

"You don't?" Yin asked, taken aback. "Why would you… never mind. Would you like Khalthrun to take care of that?"

"Please," I agreed.

He excused himself to go talk to Khalthrun while I quickly explained the situation to the Undersiders, and Yin brought his teammate over a moment later.

The woman nodded politely to me but didn't say anything, merely waving the two villains over. When they reached her, she murmured a few words in a language not covered by Yin's power, moved the tip of her staff through a very precise pattern, and touched it to Brian's arm.

The area she touched glowed briefly with a soft white light, but Brian frowned.

"It doesn't feel any different," he said.

"That was for the disease. The wound itself is next," Yin explained, giving him an odd look, and I relayed that to Brian.

The woman murmured different words and moved her staff differently. When she touched Brian's arm again the glow looked essentially the same, but this time he sighed deeply and moved his arm around without any obvious pain.

"Thanks. I didn't actually realize how much that was hurting until it was gone," he said.

Alec stepped up and elbowed him out of the way, which made Khalthrun grin momentarily before she went through the same procedure as she had with Brian- exactly the same procedure, as if the words and movements were part of how she used her power.

Once that was done, she nodded to us, murmured a few words to Yin in another different language that made him chuckle, and returned to the rest of her group.

"One last thing," Yin said, before Brian and Alec rejoined the Wards. He said a few words in yet another language-how many did these people speak, anyway?-and waved a hand, and the bloodstains on their costumes disappeared, as well as all of the dirt and grime that had built up around the same area.

"You, sir, are my hero," Alec said solemnly, and gave Yin a mock salute.

"Uh, would you mind…?" I asked hesitantly, gesturing to the whole group

"I'd be happy to, as that spell lasts quite a while and can be exercised repeatedly. But first, let us not waste our speaking time, hmm?"

"Of course," I agreed.

"Good. Now that that's taken care of, back to the less immediate concerns. The matter of the dog, firstly, shouldn't be too difficult to resolve. Khalthrun doesn't have a 'mark herself, but the Tharashk outpost over in Zantashk has an experienced Finder who'd be able to track your dog down."

That sounded like it might be a long way away. "And how would we get to Zantashk?"

"Oh, you can come with us, if you'd like. We're actually on our way back there now, we're hoping to catch an airship ride back to Stormreach on the weekly supply run."

My eyes narrowed. "Well that's… awfully convenient that we ran into you, I guess."

"It is, isn't it?" Yin responded cheerily. "Khalthrun's auguries did say this would be the best route to take back to the village, and I suppose now we know why."

His smile faded slightly. "If you're worried about ulterior motives, don't be. Unless you happen to have pilfered a few artifacts from Pra'xirek on your way here, or to be hiding a map showing a route through the Ring of Storms in your back pocket, I very much doubt you have anything we'd find valuable. We're a fully-accredited company of Morgrave explorers, not a band of common thugs planning to knife you in the back and rummage through your pockets for sovereigns. And Zantashk is the only pocket of civilization for hundreds of miles around, so you'd eventually have to end up there anyway."

"That makes sense, I guess," I admitted grudgingly. "What about the portal?"

"Assuming Khalthrun doesn't come up with something astoundingly clever on the way to the village, you can come with us to Stormreach, and possibly back to Khorvaire after that. My companions and I know some of the finest minds in the Five Nations-"

Corvin cleared his throat emphatically right behind Yin, which almost made me jump; even with my bugs around, he'd managed to sneak up close to us without my noticing.

"-yes yes, and in Zilargo too, and I'm sure they can help you come up with a solution to your predicament if you can ply them with enough gold."

"And if we don't have enough gold?"

"It would depend. How much might you have?"

"… if we don't have any gold?"

Yin frowned. "Trickier, but I'm sure something could be arranged. A rousing discourse regarding your home 'planet,' a bit of wetwork, the running of miscellaneous errands… there are always ways to pay that don't necessarily involve coins changing hands."

He gestured at the others behind me. "So what do you say? You can talk it over with them if you'd like, but the spell is about to run out, so don't take too long."

"Can you use the 'spell' again after that if you have to?" I asked quickly.

"I'm afraid not. The wand only functions twice before needing to recharge, and as I know most of the tongues spoken in Xen'drik I hadn't prepared anything to handle a serious language barrier. We'd have to wait to speak again until tomorrow."

I nodded and stepped back toward the guys. "How much of that did you pick up from my half of the conversation?"

Chris looked vaguely embarrassed-I guessed that he'd gotten distracted and hadn't been paying attention-but the others looked fairly confident. Dean began quietly ticking points off on his fingers: "They know nothing about Earth, there's basically just one place we can go to find Judas and maybe find a way home, they're not necessarily trustworthy but we don't really have any other choice, getting home might need money but we have options, and we may or may not be able to talk to them again between now and wherever we're going?"

"That about covers it," I said.

"Good enough for me. Any objections?"

Chris, Alec, and Brian shook their heads, so I stepped back over to Yin and said, "We're in."

"I'm glad to hear it. We'd planned to set up camp on the river's edge and cross it when we set out tomorrow. Do you have any portable shelter?"

"No, we've just been sleeping outside."

"Well, we can't have that, can we? I'll go fill the others in on everything we discussed, and you can do the same with your party, and then I'll set up some cabins-" Wait, cabins? "-in the clearing. We'll leave at first light, so if you haven't- mochtá nesqo vèton…."

He trailed off as his power cut off and he noticed my sudden incomprehension, then shrugged. " Elkón jei," he said in an apologetic tone, then nodded to me, nodded to the guys, and left with Terik to rejoin his own group.

"So, Taylor, what do you think about these guys?" Brian asked.

"Aside from the part where going along with these people is literally our only possible option that doesn't involve wandering around lost in a jungle for weeks, he means," Alec added wryly.

"They weren't feeling any intentional deception that I could see," Dean offered.

"I wasn't asking you," Brian said, and Dean shook his head a little at that.

I stood there for a moment and gave it some serious thought.

"I'm not entirely sure," I said slowly. "Yin almost seems too friendly, and it feels like there's a lot that he glossed over, and I have no idea how the others feel about us. But… I think we can trust them at least as far as the village they're going to, and then we can talk to some other people to check out their story and go from there. I think we might finally have a serious shot at getting home."

Author's Note

In this chapter: The UnderWards discover why most D characters hate fighting swarms, and Brian hates not being the one in charge.

Astute readers may recognize Kid Win's shoulder weapon as a more primitive form of the weapon he busted out in 10.3 when the Undersiders attacked the PRT building-just one shoulder instead of both, and the cannons don't hover, and he has to partly disassemble his pistols to make it work, and he hasn't figured out the bouncy effect yet, but he's trying and it's the best he can do, okay?-which I haven't actually seen anyone use in a fic before; I don't think it's even mentioned on the wiki.

That fight happens a bit less than two months after the divergence, and he mentions in 9.4 that he'd stalled out for around a month on a project involving his hoverboard, so I figured it made sense that he'd have gotten the bare bones of that weapon working early on and then never got around to finishing it until after Leviathan.

Also, the UnderWards made some new friendsacquaintancesother people who probably aren't planning to stab them in the back!

I'll let any D nerds in the audience have fun trying to figure out on the other party's builds for now, since Taylor doesn't have much of an idea of what they can do. She'll get more of a sense of that later on.

Regarding the other party's gibberish before the translation spell kicked in, Taylor obviously had no idea what they're saying, so hopefully the I have no idea how you're even supposed to pronounce that effect conveys some of her frustration. For anyone who'd like colloquial translations of the language(s) they were speaking, here you go:

"Ala tóch! Prànom teros, enim qóru djeven kei?" = "Good day! Who might you be, and what brings you to this area/place?" (Common)

" Njè. Djevet nèm Nochos seqo? Admos Khorvairam seqom?" = "I don't [understand]. Do you not speak Common? Or any of the other tongues of Khorvaire?" (Common)

"Ei qoro Elvech mochti, tejo?" = "Is that some dialect of Elven, do you think?" (Common)

" Mochtis nájai! " = "Might as well try!" (Common)

"Kavêh Aereni bĥin maêðe?" = "Do you perhaps speak Aereni, young man?" (Elven)

"Kvemr rakkyn mâl Dvargen?" = "Any chance you speak Dwarven?" (Dwarven)

"Ňeblic cwed odra?" = "How about Gnomish?" (Gnomish)

"Harmiirix" = "Echoing speech" (Draconic)

(No, I didn't do a bunch of research on both real-world and D languages to put in a bunch of Easter eggs that only linguistics nerds and D nerds would appreciate. I have no idea what you're talking about.)

And, lastly, Kid Win calls Yin a Shifter rather than a Changer because, per 9.1, the PRT hasn't fully unified the two classifications at this point in the timeline.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The dinosaurs the UnderWards fought were, as mentioned, a needletooth swarm, pictured here. Aren't they adorabl(y terrifying)? Oh, and by the way, a swarm of Tiny monsters like those consists of around 300 individual creatures, so it's a good thing that Taylor & Co. left when they did. Language-wise: Common is a language spoken by the majority of sapient creatures. The "Common" spoken in Khorvaire isn't "real" Common, though, it's a mix of a human dialect of Common with Gnomish, as Juroth mentioned in 1.P. As you'd probably expect, Draconic, Dwarven, Elven, and Gnomish are the racial languages spoken by all dragons, dwarves, elves, and gnomes, respectively. Aereni would be the dialect of Elven spoken by the elves of the island of Aerenal, which is not part of the continent of Khorvaire. Khorvaire is the "main" continent of Eberron, where 99% of campaigns take place. Sarlona is the ancient homeland of humans before they migrated to Khorvaire, and is currently under the rule of a bunch of evil dream fiends whoThere is nothing to fear in Riedra, citizen, the Unity protects us. Argonnessen is a continent home to and ruled by the majority of the planet's dragons (and, as mentioned in the prologue, at least one city full of humanoids, where Kassalyn lived until recently). The drumstick-looking item Yin used is a wand. Each wand holds a single spell that can be "cast" by spending a charge and speaking the right command word, and is either a "normal" wand (standard item, holds 50 charges total, once it runs out of charges it's expended) or an "eternal" wand (Eberron-specific item, holds 2 charges per day, never runs out). The translation spell is comprehend languages (lets you read and understand, but not speak or write, any language a touched creature is speaking). The mention of an "elemental connection" with Grue's name is referring to Elemental Grues, minor elemental monsters like this one and this one. Regarding the other party's titles and fanciness: For Terik, the Order of Rekkenmark is an elite military organization of Terik's home nation of Karrnath; the Order of the Onyx Skull is an order of necromancer knights, essentially (and doesn't have a page on the wiki for some reason); and the title of "Shield" is given to rulers of the more dangerous Karrn border territories, similar to a margrave… or a Marquis. For Corvin, a 'marked heir is a member of a Dragonmarked House (think a magic-powered megacorporation), such as House Sivis (the House with a near-monopoly on communications magic) who actually possesses a dragonmark (a specific set of magic powers that runs in family lines and manifests as a visible tattoo matching the House's emblem). The Trust, which Corvin is obviously not a member of, is a secretive organization thatThere is no war in Zilargo. For Khalthrun, House Tharashk is another Dragonmarked House, this one with a near-monopoly on magic related to finding things and navigation, and the Gatekeepers are an order of druids devoted to protecting Eberron from unnatural creatures and those from other planes. The Five Nations (Aundair, Breland, Cyre, Karrnath, and Thrane) are the largest and most powerful of Khorvaire's twelve nations (though they should really be the Four Nations 'cause Cyre got nuked a few years ago). Zilargo is another nation, independent but allied with Breland. Pra'xirek is an ancient Giantish ruin, the Ring of Storms is an ancient Elven ruin, Zantashk is a modern village, and Stormreach is the only modern city in Xen'drik; all are marked on the map of Xen'drik. The references to Korranberg and Morgrave are talking about the Library of Korranberg and Morgrave University, two institutions of learning that sponsor lots of Indiana Jones-style adventurers.

Last edited: Apr 17, 2022

Transposition 1.E

3:20 pm, Tuesday the 12th of April, 2011 CE Brockton Academy, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Eugene Kim

The moment the end-of-class bell rang, Gene was up and out of his seat and racing for the door.

If he made it out front by half past three he could take the city bus straight home, instead of the school bus with its much more circuitous route, and he really wanted to get a couple games of StarCraft in before his family's restaurant opened at five.

That, and also he wouldn't be stuck listening to less-than-subtle recruitment attempts by the one ABB girl in his grade for the whole bus ride.

Sure, she was hot, but no amount of hotness would make joining the ABB sound like a good idea while there was literally fighting in the streets between them and the Empire.

He made it to his locker while the halls were still mostly clear, grabbed the textbooks he needed for his homework, ducked out the side entrance, jogged out to the curb, and made it to the bus stop with less than a minute to spare.

He did his usual Empire check as he got on the bus, his gaze quickly flicking over all the white people present. Any sign of skinheads, Norse-looking tattoos or T-shirts, or even men in solid black suits with solid red ties, and he'd tell the bus driver he accidentally got on the wrong bus and hop off.

Any sign of large metal belt buckles, sports jerseys with 8s in the numbers, forearm tattoos-regardless of design; for a white Brocktonite to be willing to get obvious tattoos that even might get them confused for an Empire member was definitely a bad sign-or any other sketchy things? He'd still get on, so long as there was only one of them, but he'd take a seat at the very back and keep a close eye on them for the whole ride.

No red flags on this bus, fortunately, so Gene nodded to the driver, scanned his bus pass, and grabbed a seat up front. Once he sat down, he plopped his backpack down next to him, took his tie and sweater vest off- fucking school uniforms-and pulled his phone out to text his best friend.

[3:31 pmGene] hey man

[3:31 pmGene] made the early bus today

[3:31 pmGene] wanted to play sc2 before work

[3:32 pmGene] u gonna be online?

[3:36 pmJihoo] nope, its tuesday

[3:36 pmJihoo] got violin 4 to 4:30

[3:36 pmJihoo] sorry

[3:36 pmGene] thats fine

[3:37 pmGene] ill do some warmup games vs ai til then

[3:37 pmJihoo] good

[3:38 pmJihoo] ur diamond 3 ass is gonna need the practice

[3:38 pmGene] fuck off man

[3:38 pmGene] u cannon rushed ur way to diamond 1

[3:38 pmGene] im still way better than u

[3:40 pmJihoo] whatever lets u sleep at night

[3:40 pmGene] asshole

[3:40 pmGene] txt me when ur done

[3:43 pmJihoo] kk

He put his phone away and pulled his math book out of his backpack. Might as well get a start on homework and earn himself at least a little free time later.

Gene envied his non-Asian classmates sometimes. It was senior year, he'd already gotten accepted at his first-choice college, AP tests and finals were less than a month away so all of his classes were in review mode, his grades were good enough to basically coast the rest of the year so long as he aced his finals, and most of the class was starting to slack off.

Not him. The one and only time he'd tried to argue to his parents that he could skip a physics problem set that weekend because it was only worth like ten points toward his final grade, they'd gone on about how he wasn't grateful for all the sacrifices they made to send him to a good private school and he could have ended up in Winslow instead and his entire future depended on that one fucking physics assignment and yadda yadda yadda, and then they'd threatened to confiscate his desktop for a month if they ever found out he skipped any homework after that.

~*~*~

He'd barely finished the first math problem when his phone vibrated in his parents' ring pattern. He debated not answering, but that would just make things worse when he got home.

"Hello?"

"Eugene!"

Ugh.

He went by Gene at school, but his parents insisted on using his full name, which he hated. "Gene" was a name for a cool guy, or at least a funny one; "Eugene" was a name for a dweeb, and had gotten him teased through all of middle school.

"Hey mom. What's up?"

"[Which bus did you take today?]" she asked, in Korean as usual.

"City bus. Why?" he replied.

"[Today's deliveries didn't arrive, the truck was apparently damaged in the fighting. It won't get here by the time we open and we're running short on some things, so I need you to stop by the market and pick up two pounds of scallions, a large bottle of sesame oil-]"

Welp, there goes my gaming time.

"Wait, Mom, Mom," he interrupted, "the next bus doesn't come by until twenty to five, if I get off to buy stuff I won't have time to do anything before I start work!"

"[Were you planning to do homework before then?]" she asked pointedly.

"No, I was-"

"[Then work comes first. Are you writing this down?]"

Gene grabbed a new sheet of paper and his pencil, gave his phone the middle finger in frustration, and said, "Okay, I'm ready."

His mother rattled off a long list of groceries and had him read it all back to her. Twice.

"All right, Mom, the stop's almost here, I gotta go."

"[Don't take too long!]"

"I won't. Love you, bye."

He stuffed everything back in his backpack and got off the bus right next to the Asian market. The store was basically empty, since no one was really eager to be out on the streets right then, so it took him less than ten minutes to grab everything he needed and breeze through the checkout.

Which left him standing there on the curb, two shopping bags in each hand, with forty minutes to kill until the next bus came by.

Gene double-checked the bus schedule, then looked down the mostly-empty street, then back at the schedule.

He could keep waiting for the bus… or he could walk home instead.

It was only fifteen minutes or so away if he cut through some side streets, and yeah his hands would be hurting like crazy when he got home but he'd rather lug a bunch of heavy bags and still have time to do something that wasn't homework or kitchen prep or fucking piano lessons than waste a bunch of time and have to jump right into work.

Besides, he'd gone jogging through this part of town bunches of times before, there was no one around right then, and basically all the fighting was happening downtown anyway, right?

Yeah, I'll be fine.

He picked up his bags and started walking.

~*~*~

The market and his family's restaurant weren't in the Docks, thankfully, or he wouldn't have even thought about walking home alone. Like his school, it was in the Midtown area, west of the Docks, which wasn't firmly under the control of either major gang like the Docks or the Financial District and wasn't anywhere near as contested as Downtown.

It did mean that people had to worry about running into Coil's mercenaries on top of the occasional ABB and Empire assholes, but at least the ABB recruiters weren't too pushy and the Empire sympathizers in the area stuck to dog whistles and dirty looks. It wasn't entirely safe, nowhere in the city was safe, but it wasn't really dangerous, either.

The first part of the route home along the main streets was basically deserted. Gene did pass a pair of mercenaries with those badass laser rifles and gave them a respectful nod, which they didn't return. He didn't like having them around most of the time, but hey, right now their presence was keeping the active gang fights out of Midtown, so….

It was when he decided to cut through some side streets shortly afterward that things took a turn for the unpleasant.

~*~*~

Gene was halfway down the block when a pair of skinheads rounded the corner ahead with self-satisfied smirks on their faces.

"Well, what do we have here?" one of them said in a tone of mock surprise. "One lonely little kid, all by himself?"

"Hey, kid, didn't you hear? It's not safe for any chinks to be walking around alone right now. Someone could get hurt or something," the other one sneered. He stuck his hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, where Gene could see the telltale bulge of a weapon.

Fuuuck. They're not going to be stupid enough to jump me in broad daylight, are they? Gene thought, discreetly looking around for anyone who could help.

To his right were a bunch of storefronts that had all closed down a few hours early, with those sliding metal security gates pulled across the doors and front windows. To his left, the street, with similar storefronts on the other side. Not a single other person in sight.

"Uh, hi guys," he said, coming to a stop and keeping his voice as steady as he could. "I heard it was dangerous, but I was just doing some shopping for my parents, and if I don't get home soon they're going to be worried, so if I could just-"

"Nah, I think you stole all that," the other skinhead interrupted. "How could you buy it, when everything's closed?" he said with an exaggerated wave at the surrounding shops. The two continued walking toward him at a casual pace, walking far enough apart that they could cut him off if he tried to duck around either one of them.

Gene looked over his shoulder to judge whether he'd be able to make it if he turned and ran, only to see another two guys and a girl ambling up from the far end of the street, all in black shirts with red accessories. One of the men had a wooden baseball bat resting on his shoulder. Definitely not a good sign.

He thought frantically. All of the guys had at least a foot of height and a good twenty pounds on him, and even the girl looked like the type who spent her time beating up younger kids at school.

Gene, meanwhile, hadn't been in a single fistfight before and hated gym class with a passion.

He had pepper spray in his backpack and a pocketknife in his jeans, but he'd have to drop his bags to get at them… and with five-on-one odds, why bother? Any one of those guys could probably snap him in half without even trying.

"H-hey man, look," he said, and cursed himself for the audible quaver in his voice. "I didn't steal anything, I'm not ABB. No colors, see? I don't want to fight, I'm just trying to get home." Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should have just stayed for the fucking bus.

"Yeah, you're just an innocent bystander, sure-and on any other day I might just let you run along home," one of the men in front of him said, not even pretending to mean it, "but today, well, today one of my friends here is looking to join the Empire," he said.

He pointed past Gene, who looked back to see the girl give him a little wave along with a very nasty smile. "And since we just happened to see you walking by when we were heading down this way, well, we were thinking you might like to help her out with that."

Gene's mouth suddenly went dry. Everyone knew how Empire members earned their place in the gang: by beating a non-white and/or non-straight person halfway to death, and sometimes further than that.

Oh god. Ohhh god. I am so fucked.

His classmate Junwei had gotten cornered by Empire guys the previous semester and had barely escaped a beating, and he'd had to throw his lacrosse stick and his backpack at the guys and then book it the hell out of there to manage that.

A couple years back, his friend Carlos from middle school hadn't been so lucky: he'd gotten jumped on his way home from soccer practice one day and had been thrashed within an inch of his life.

But Junwei lived Downtown, and Gene's middle school had been in a much worse part of town. This street was in a major shopping neighborhood! He'd never heard of anyone ever getting jumped here before!

He might have known people who got attacked, sure, but he never thought it would happen to him!

Gene's heart started pounding. He took a deep breath-maybe if he yelled loud enough, one of the mercs a couple blocks back might hear him, or maybe someone else would hear him and call the cops?-but froze when the skinhead with his hand in his pocket pulled out a switchblade and snapped it open. "Quiet," he growled.

"You can have all my stuff, just let me go, all right?" Gene pleaded quietly.

One of the men behind him stepped up, grabbed the bags in his right hand, and ripped them out of his grasp. Boxes and bottles went flying as the bags were thrown to the ground, and the sidewalk nearby ended up splattered with rice, soy sauce, and the remains of a head of lettuce.

"We're not here for your stuff, chink," the apparent spokesman said, and a small part of Gene was faintly annoyed that the people who were planning to cripple him couldn't even use the right slur while they did it.

The man nodded past him, and he felt a sudden sharp pain in his lower back that sent him to his knees and made him drop the rest of his groceries.

He rolled to the side and saw that the girl had pulled on a pair of fingerless gloves with metal studs across the knuckles. They didn't look like much more than basic edgy goth gloves, but fuck did they hurt when they hit him in the kidneys.

The man to her right yanked Gene up by his shirt, forcing him to his feet, and held him there as the girl delivered three solid punches to his stomach, one after the other, then one to his cheek, pausing after each one to enjoy his cries of pain. He could feel the blood start welling out of the gashes on his cheek immediately, and after the hits to the stomach he was having trouble breathing right.

He tried to raise his arms to protect his head, but the girl just slapped them out of the way and backhanded him across the face. Blow after blow followed that, always at an angle he couldn't possibly block.

"Pl-please, stop," Gene gasped, one eye closed against the blood trickling down his forehead. Blearily, he looked around for help, but there was still no one around, just the man holding him, the girl punching him, and the other three standing there callously watching the scene.

"That's quite enough, sirrahs. Unhand the boy. Now."

The voice came from behind the thugs, and all of them turned to see what it was.

That's funny, there was no one there a second ago.

"And who the fuck are you?" the leader of the group snapped.

His tormentor shifted just enough to let Gene see who they were talking to. A tan-skinned man, not too much taller than Gene himself-maybe five-six, five-seven?-was walking calmly toward them. He was wearing a plain purple shirt and blue jeans, and his hands were empty.

"That is immaterial. Let him go. I won't repeat myself," the man said, continuing to walk closer. Pretty much suicidal, for a lone twiggy guy to try to order multiple hulking neo-Nazis around.

The thug with the bat lifted it off his shoulder into a threatening stance, and one of the other thugs pulled out- holy shit that's a big gun, Gene thought as a pistol was leveled at the newcomer's chest.

"Look, you little spic, unless-" the leader started to say, before something pulsed out from the other man toward them, like a sudden heat haze in the air, and all five thugs crumpled to the ground.

Gene started to fall as well once there was no longer anyone supporting him, but he felt some kind of invisible force grab hold of him and hold him up instead. What the-?

"What-" he started, then coughed to get some of the blood out of his mouth. "What'd you do?" he asked weakly. Is this guy a cape? He can't be… can he?

"Rendered them unconscious," the newcomer stated simply. "And yes, I am a cape. You have my sincerest apologies: I'd intended to intervene before you came to any harm, but my sensory range is quite small compared to the vector along which I was required to search for your impending incident."

Gene's thoughts were all muddled, partly from confusion and partly from the pounding headache he'd developed after the third blow to the face, and he only registered some of the words. So, a cape-but, no mask? Wait, I don't-is he that retired New Wave guy? He doesn't-I thought-

"Allow me to assist you," the man said, reaching out to touch Gene's arm. A surge of something spread through his body from that point-Gene had no idea what it was, but in his current state it felt like he'd just chugged three espressos and then shoved a fork in a power outlet-and in its wake all of the pain he was feeling completely vanished, just like that. A moment later, a second something spread through him and he found his thoughts completely clear as well.

Gene blinked and wobbled in place, put off-balance by the sudden clarity. He'd always wondered what it must feel like to get healed by Panacea, and now he knew.

" Thank you," he said fervently, holding out his hand to shake. "If you hadn't come by, they would have-"

Then he noticed that his hand and arm were covered with blood, and he quickly withdrew them. "Ah, sorry," he said weakly, then looked down at his uniform shirt, which was now more red than white thanks to the bleeding from his stomach, and his pants and shoes, which were covered with blood spatters from… maybe his cheek, while his head was hanging forward?

He touched a hand to his cheek and it came away sticky with blood, but it was old blood, he wasn't actually bleeding anymore. Still, the uniform was a lost cause.

As soon as he thought that, to Gene's amazement the bloodstains simply… disappeared, from both his clothing and his skin. He patted his hair and that didn't feel sticky anymore, either.

The blood on the sidewalk right beneath him had disappeared as well, and as he watched the spot of clean-ness spread out to vanish the rest of the blood and even the spilled soy sauce.

"And now, proper introductions. My name is Valigan Talaire," the man said genially, extending a hand.

That's a weird name, he thought, then immediately felt guilty for making fun of someone who'd just saved him. "Eugene Kim, Gene for short," he introduced himself, returning the handshake. "So, uh… you're a cape."

"I am."

Right, cool, that's cool. Under any other circumstances he'd be super hyped to be meeting a cape outside of an official event. Right now, though, he was surprisingly calm. Probably in shock, he thought absently.

"And you have no mask."

"I do not. I'm aware that that's the local custom, but I've recently arrived from elsewhere and I prefer to do without."

Huh, I thought everywhere did the masks-and-costumes thing, he thought. Speaking of… "Is that your costume?" he asked. At first he'd thought the man was just wearing a normal-if expensive-looking-T-shirt and jeans, but this close he could see that that wasn't quite right.

The shirt looked like a cross between an extra-thick T-shirt and a silk dress shirt, with elbow-length sleeves that were too long for a short-sleeve shirt but obviously hadn't been rolled up, and it fit well enough that it had to be custom-tailored. The jeans… weren't; they were also well-tailored, but the color looked too solid to be actual denim and they didn't appear to have buttons or seams anywhere.

In short, it all looked like regular clothes at first glance and anyone not paying attention to them wouldn't notice a thing, but if someone got a closer look the details were all just a bit off.

"No, just normal clothing," Valigan replied. "From your expression, however, I can tell it's not quite a perfect fit to the local fashion. Is this more accurate?"

As Gene watched, the man's clothing shimmered from top to bottom, then it seemed to almost come alive as it changed color slightly, tweaked dimensions, added seams, moved pockets around, and added more of a realistic texture to the pants.

Within moments, Valigan looked like any other man on the street, if perhaps one who had just walked out of one of those high-end Boardwalk boutiques his sister was obsessed with.

Holy crap, that was faster than Parian creating her puppets, and even she can't change the colors!

"Wait, between the telekinesis, the healing, whatever that was… what power set do you have, even?"

"That is an excellent question," Valigan replied blandly. "But perhaps we should continue this conversation elsewhere?"

"Oh, yeah, right," Gene said, then looked over at his grocery bags, which had half of their contents scattered across the sidewalk and were leaking several different sauces, and winced. "Fuck. I'm going to have to go back and buy more… everything."

The first trip had wiped out nearly all of the cash he had on him, and his parents hadn't ever let him get a credit card thanks to his older sister abusing the privilege and getting hers taken away. Maybe he could rush home, explain the situation, get more money from his parents, rush back to the market, buy everything again, and then get back home again by five?

He pulled out his phone, which now had a cracked screen, and saw that it was 4:18… and that he had two missed calls from his mother. The voicemail transcripts said the first message was to tell him to add garlic to his shopping list, and the second was to berate him for not answering her first call.

"Great, now my parents are going to-" he was going to say "kill me" but that particular expression was not the right pick after what had just almost happened "-ground me forever."

Gene took a deep breath. "Um, so, since you healed me and fixed my uniform-which, thanks again, really, that was awesome-my parents are never going to believe me about what happened, they're gonna make me pay for this out of my own pocket and then probably punish me for whatever they think I actually did. Would you be okay coming with me to explain it to them in time for me to make another trip to the store? They'd definitely believe a hero over me."

"I can do better than that," Valigan said. A large canvas bag suddenly appeared in front of him, floating in midair. Then a small glass bottle appeared in it, exactly the same size and shape as the soy sauce bottle that had gotten smashed. Then letters appeared on the side of the bottle. Then it filled up with what looked exactly like soy sauce.

What in the everloving fuck?

One by one, exact copies of everything Gene had bought appeared in the bag, which floated there sedately despite the added weight. Just to check, Gene grabbed the sesame oil bottle out of that bag and some shards of the one currently lying on the sidewalk to compare them, and they were completely identical.

"Is that… actual food?" He vaguely recalled hearing something about capes that could make real materials instead of temporary or low-quality imitations being pretty rare.

"Indeed. Completely real, not temporary, identical to the items that were destroyed, and perfectly safe to consume."

"Huh. Awesome."

While he was still staring at the two bottles, out of the corner of his eye he noticed the unconscious Empire thugs moving. He twitched to the side, ready to warn Valigan that they were waking up, but they were all still completely out of it; instead, it was their clothing that was moving, as wallets, keys, phones, weapons, and other assorted things flew out of their pockets to hover before Valigan.

"What are you doing?" Gene asked, as the wallets opened up and all of the money, cards, and bits of paper separated themselves for the cape's appraisal.

"Looting the bodies, as is traditional," Valigan said dryly, and Gene couldn't help but laugh.

If there was a slight manic edge to the laughter, well, that was understandable under the circumstances.

Soon enough everything was sorted into several different clumps in the air, and one by one they floated to the cape's outstretched hand and vanished, leaving only two things, a stack of cash and a single phone. Valigan held on to the phone for a moment, appearing to study it intently, then vanished it on its own. The cash he floated over to Gene.

"I have no need of this. Consider it your share of the loot," the cape said. "It sums to eight hundred and forty dollars precisely, and I've cleaned everything of fingerprints and drug residue."

The teenager just stared. He'd handled larger sums of money before, of course, the restaurant's cash count on weekend evenings was almost always more than that, but he'd never had that much of his own money in hand at once.

He looked nervously over at the thugs. With that much cash on hand, some of them must have been dealers. Was that… was it even legal to take all of their drugs and money and stuff?

"And don't worry about any issues of legality," Valigan assured him. "As far as anyone knows, I was the one to take their money, yes?"

"Yeah," Gene agreed quickly, putting the money in his backpack since it wouldn't come close to fitting in his wallet. Guess I won't have any trouble paying for prom this year after all.

"Shall we go, then?"

"Oh, uh, you don't have to come with, if you don't want to. I don't need you to explain anything to my parents anymore," Gene said, somewhat regretfully.

Much as he would really like to pick this cape's brain about, god, about everything, from his random powers to his lack of a mask or costume- Actually, does he even have a cape name? Guess not; why else would he give me what sounds like his actual name?-to what it's like to be a hero to why he talked like he'd just walked out of a Renaissance Faire, the man probably had more important things to do.

"Nonsense, I would be happy to accompany you."

Yes!

"On one condition."

Damn.

"As I said, I'm new to this city. I've been hoping to find some local contacts to help me acclimate to the area, but unfortunately those to whom I've revealed my status as a cape have reacted poorly to my lack of mask and costume, out of concern for retribution or the like," Valigan said, smiling ruefully. "If you believe that you, your family, and your friends would be comfortable meeting an unmasked cape and would not be inclined to spread word of my presence to the authorities, I would like to get to know you, and them, and the local area."

"You're… avoiding the authorities?" Gene asked, tensing up. "Uh, aren't you a hero?" If I just got saved from a bunch of skinheads by a villain….

"As a Neutral cape, I believe 'Rogue' is the more appropriate term," Valigan replied, and Gene let out a relieved breath. "As to my reasoning, I would simply rather go about my business without unduly burdening the local government with awareness of my affairs."

Yeah, that made sense. Gene vaguely remembered studying the series of seven NEPA laws in History last year-or was it NEPPA? NEPEA? Something like that-that had screwed over lots of capes who tried to make money with their powers.

Those laws were why the Bay had had something like a dozen rogues when he was a little kid and then they'd all left or turned villain while he was in elementary school, leaving the city rogue-less until Parian had started up her puppet shows a while back.

"Yeah, I think I understand," he assured Valigan, then in his best Alec Guinness impression he added, "You'd like to avoid any… Imperial entanglements."

Valigan raised an eyebrow and offered a polite smile. "I'm afraid the allusion escapes me."

"It's from Star Wars. Obi-Wan, in the Cantina scene?"

The polite smile remained in place. "Would that be a novel, or perhaps a play…?

"You haven't seen Star Wars? Dude! Come on!"

"I'll be sure to rectify the oversight with the utmost priority," Valigan said dryly. Then, more seriously, he added, " Do you think that you, and your social circle, can be both helpful and discreet?"

Gene nodded soberly. "Yeah. The community protects its own. Between Lung and the Empire, we have to."

Valigan nodded. "Excellent. Now, you've struck me as somewhat of a cape aficionado." He smiled conspiratorially. "Would you like to walk home… or would you prefer to teleport there?"

"Teleport?" Gene's voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "You can teleport?"

"Indeed."

"Then hell yeah!" It wasn't a long walk back to the restaurant from there, but in Gene's humble opinion no one in their right mind would turn down a chance to try out teleportation.

"All right. Please visualize the front of your parents' restaurant as best you're able."

Gene closed his eyes and started to picture the sign out front, the awning, the main door-

He felt Valigan tap his arm gently. "After you," the cape said.

"What do you mean?" He opened his eyes. There they were, standing in front of the restaurant just a few feet from the entrance.

"The hell? That's it? All the movies make it look like getting teleported feels like being squeezed through a tube or makes you want to puke or something, so I was expecting something like that."

"Hardly," Valigan said, sounding mildly offended. "Uncomfortable teleportation is the mark of a rank amateur." He motioned again for Gene to lead the way.

Gene walked past the big Taste of Seoul sign out front and up to the main door, then knocked on the glass. His sister Leila was leaning on the hostess stand rolling silverware up in napkins, and without even looking up she called, "We're not open yet! Come back in half an hour!"

"It's me!" Gene yelled back.

She glanced up, saw him, and came over to unlock the door. "You're back early, Mom said you wouldn't be here until like five minutes before opening. C'mon in." Looking up at Valigan, she continued, "I'm sorry sir, but we don't open-"

"It's fine, he's with me," Gene said as he squeezed past her and dropped his backpack on the nearest table.

"And who is he? New friend from school?" she asked.

"He's the cape who saved me from getting pulped by a bunch of skinheads on the way home," Gene said casually, waiting for his sister's reaction.

Leila's eyes widened and glanced between the two of them. "He-what-you what?" she spluttered.

Then her eyes narrowed skeptically, and she looked Valigan up and down. "Very funny, asshole," she told Gene. " He's supposed to be a cape?"

Valigan spread his arms in a shrug… and as he let go of the bag of groceries he was carrying for Gene, it floated gently through the air to rest on a nearby table.

"… Oh. Um. Cool. Come in?"

"Thank you, young miss," Valigan said with a nod as he stepped past her.

"So, let me guess," Leila asked as she returned to rolling silverware, "you're going to have this guy explain whatever stupid shit you did to Mom and Dad so you don't have to?"

Gene winced. "That was… kinda the plan?"

His sister shook her head, exasperated. "You're not seriously injured, are you?"

"Nope, he healed me up afterwards, just like Panacea."

"Really? Sweet." She looked back toward the door to the kitchen and yelled, "Mom! Dad! Gene majorly fucked up, come yell at him!"

"Leila, what the hell?" Gene hissed, while she merely gave him the smug smile that siblings everywhere know and hate.

While he glared at her, his phone buzzed. He checked it quickly.

[4:32 pmJihoo] done w/ lessons

[4:32 pmJihoo] u getting on?

[4:33 pmGene] cant

[4:33 pmGene] got jumped by e88

[4:33 pmGene] then saved by a cape

[4:33 pmJihoo] fck dude u ok?

[4:33 pmGene] just got home

[4:33 pmJihoo] wait

[4:33 pmJihoo] cape?

[4:33 pmJihoo] which one?

Gene's parents emerged from the back of the restaurant, his father wiping his hands on his apron and his mother holding her reading glasses in one hand and some receipts in the other. Neither looked happy.

[4:33 pmGene] talk later, gotta tell the rents

"[Eugene? What are you doing here already? You said the bus wasn't-]" his mother began, before registering Valigan's presence and switching to heavily-accented English. "Oh, hello, sir. We help you with something?"

"No, I'm quite all right, thank you."

"Valigan, this is my dad Kim Yoo-jin and my mom Eun-bi," Gene introduced them. "Dad, Mom, this is Valigan."

"A pleasure to meet you both," Valigan replied with a polite nod. "[And we can converse in your native tongue, if you'd prefer]" he added.

Gene and Leila both goggled at him. "Wait, you speak Korean?" Gene asked.

"[Not a word of it, I'm afraid]" Valigan said dryly, in flawless un-accented Korean.

The elder Kims chuckled at the apparent joke, but Gene gave Valigan a considering look. Huh. Is speaking languages a superpower, now? he mused.

Valigan shot him a momentary grin, for no apparent reason.

"[Regardless. Young man]" his father said in what Gene thought of as his "head of the family" voice, "[why did your sister call us out here? Did you get yourself in trouble?]"

Gene sighed. "Yes. Kind of. I can explain."

~*~*~

The explanation of what had happened took less than five minutes, highly abbreviated and slightly edited as it was.

Gene's parents berating him for being horribly stupid and irresponsible took a little over ten.

"All right, all right, I almost died, I know!" Gene cut his mother off in the middle of a tirade. "Can we please stop bringing that up?"

He really did know that, now. At the time, going from Oh god I'm gonna die! to Yay, hero! had kind of given him enough emotional whiplash (and watching a cape keep pulling powers out of nowhere had been surreal enough) that it hadn't really registered exactly how close he'd been to getting a lasting and serious injury, or even dying.

Retelling the story with Valigan's assistance while trying to downplay the part where he was left bleeding from body parts he didn't even know he had, however, had given everything a chance to sink in, and now he was shivering noticeably in delayed shock.

"[No, I can't!]" his mother insisted. "[You're almost eighteen, you keep asking us to treat you like an adult, and then you go and do something like this! Did you not listen to all the-]"

His father, at least, appeared to have noticed what Gene was going through, and put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "[Eun-bi]" he said gently, "[I think he understands. Don't you, son?]"

"Yeah, Dad," Gene replied tonelessly. "I'm never doing that again. Trust me."

"[Good.]" His father stood up. "[Now, back to work, we open in fifteen minutes.]" Gene's mother headed back to her office, but when their father didn't immediately follow, he and his sister stuck around, curious.

Turning to Valigan, Yoo-jin asked, "[Sir, I can't thank you enough for helping him. Is there anything we can do to repay you?]"

"[I assure you, I have no need of repayment. I was simply hoping to speak this evening with Gene, and the rest of you if you're willing, about this city, its history, its capes, and suchlike.]"

Gene's father inhaled thoughtfully. "[We're already short-staffed, so we can't spare Eugene for his shift; even with the fighting going on, Tuesdays and Wednesdays are our busiest nights, and everyone will probably be too tired to talk after we close tonight. We might be able to do that tomorrow morning, but… ]" he shook his head.

"[And if I could help you with your staffing issues?]" Valigan asked.

"[What do you mean?]"

Valigan held out his palm, and a deep blue sphere appeared there, roughly the size of a large marble. The way it kind of… condensed out of the air, like something rapidly evaporating in reverse, was the coolest thing Gene thought he'd ever seen.

"Take this and activate it, please," Valigan said, holding it out to Gene.

He took the glass sphere-no, actually, now that he was holding it he could feel subtle facets, like a gemstone or crystal. And he could even feel some kind of pulsing, like a heartbeat. "How do I do that?" he asked.

"Simply will it to activate," the cape replied, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Well that's super helpful, Gene grumbled to himself. He held it up to his eyes and, feeling kind of silly, thought hard about making it do… whatever it was it was supposed to do.

It didn't seem to be doing anything, and then, when he was starting to lose focus because Leila was making faces to distract him, he felt a twist inside himself, somehow, and then-

"Holy crap!" "Holy crap!"

-there were two of him.

Gene looked over at himself, and Gene looked back at him.

"What's going on?" "What just happened?"

Both of him paused.

"How am I saying two things at once?" "Wait, I can say two things at once?"

It was so fucking weird, seeing himself from the outside. And hearing himself, too.

God, is that what I actually sound like? I sound terrible . And I thought hearing myself over a headset echo sucked!

"So…." one Gene said, and the other Gene finished, "… explain?"

"You are currently, for all intents and purposes, one mind in two bodies," Valigan stated.

"For all intents-" a Gene asked. "-and purposes?" the other Gene finished asking.

Heh, this is fun. Weird as hell, but the look on Dad's face is totally worth it.

"The phenomenon is technically a spiritual superposition maintained over something closely resembling a bidirectional master-companion bond, with a subconscious Astral link to ensure continuous synchronization, but the fine details are irrelevant for the moment."

… Yeah, I understood a couple of those words. "One mind, two bodies, got it," one Gene said.

"Please tell me I don't have two younger brothers now," Leila asked, a pained look on her face. "One's bad enough."

"No, he was only fissioned, not permanently duplicated. The two of him will merge again at a later point."

"Oh, thank god."

"[Ah, you split him in two so one of him could speak with you while the other of him waits tables]" Yoo-jin reasoned out loud.

"Precisely. And I'd be happy to do the same for the rest of your family."

"Yep, I'm in!" Leila said immediately, holding out her hand enthusiastically.

"[It isn't dangerous, is it?]" Yoo-jin asked warily.

"It is perfectly harmless, and may be reversed at any time," the cape explained.

"[Then… I will try it]" Yoo-jin decided.

"Excellent. Gene, if you would pass the soul crystal to the others?"

Soon enough, there were two Leilas and one Yoo-jin standing there with the two of Gene, the other Yoo-jin having gone to offer the crystal to his mom and to Tony and Seung, the two line cooks. It took some convincing, but eventually the three of them agreed to give it a try, and then there were six of them.

Or rather, two each of the three of them.

Man, talking about powers can be confusing.

"[All right everyone, we have ten minutes to go. Everyone, er, double up with yourself so we can get all of the prep work finished up, then one of you… one of each of you take each station and the other one of each of you come upstairs to talk]" Yoo-jin ordered, only stumbling a little bit over the strange phrasing when talking about multiple versions of the same person.

~*~*~

Soon enough the four Kims, Tony, Seung, and Valigan were crammed into the living room of the Kims' second-floor apartment, listening to themselves running the restaurant on the floor below.

Tony and Seung had been introduced to Valigan and had the situation and his power explained to them, and were taking that surprisingly well. (Though Gene knew that in Seung's case it was likely only because he tended to sneak a joint behind the restaurant before every shift; he'd probably freak out about the splitting-himself-in-two thing when he sobered up).

"So, you're the one with all the questions, Val," Leila started, only for Valigan to hold up a hand to interrupt.

"Valigan, please. We've only just met."

"Sure, sorry. Anyway, you had all the questions about stuff, so what is it you wanted to know first?"

"Before that, I got a question, actually," Tony said, raising his hand. "You said you weren't from around here, and where you come from they don't do the mask-'n'-costume thing, right?" he asked, his Brooklyn accent making it sound more accusatory than he probably meant it.

"That's correct," Valigan agreed.

"So where is that, exactly? Far as I know, Europe and Asia don't do the hero-'n'-villain thing exactly like we do but they do do masks and costumes, and I wanna say South America at least does masks."

"That is an excellent question," Valigan said brightly. "If you had to guess, which country would you pick?"

Everyone was quiet for a moment, studying Valigan as he sat there calmly with a grin on his face.

No fucking clue, Gene thought. The cape had one of those ageless faces like a lot of top actors, Asian ones especially, the kind where they could be anywhere from their early 20s to their late 50s and it was basically impossible to tell how old they actually were.

His skin was brown. Or dark olive. Ish. No help there. He reminds me of Daphne, actually, he mused, thinking of a girl in his grade who was part Turkish and part Indian. Except that the cape had auburn hair and very pale blue eyes, which didn't really match with his skin tone at all. Maybe he dyes it and has contacts?

The cape's accent didn't help either. It was kind of nasal and flowy, but light enough that Gene hadn't really noticed it before. He couldn't quite place it, not that he was any kind of expert.

Maybe Portugal or Brazil, going by the accent? Or somewhere in the Middle East?

"I'll give you a hint: I'm not from the Middle East," Valigan said, out of the blue.

No one else was guessing, and Gene wasn't coming up with any better ideas, so he went ahead and took a shot: "Is it Brazil?"

"No one's ever guessed that on their first try," Valigan said, looking quite impressed.

"Damn it, that was going to be my guess. Way to ruin my day, bro," Leila pouted.

There were a few chuckles around the table, then Valigan turned to Tony and added, "Which isn't to say that the capes of Brazil don't prefer masks, in general. I simply come from a place that doesn't bother with them."

"Brazil, huh?" Tony asked, not sounding entirely convinced. "So 'Valigan' is like a Portuguese version of Valentino, or something?"

"One could say that," the cape said blandly.

"And does everyone where you come from talk like you do?" Tony prodded.

"Tony!" Leila hissed disapprovingly, though Gene could tell that his sister was interested in the answer to that question-and, honestly, so was he.

The cape didn't seem offended, just amused. "My apologies for not speaking more plainly; English is a language in which I've only recently acquired fluency. I'm sure that you manage a much more conversational delivery in your own sixth language."

"… Touché," Tony said, having the grace to look embarrassed.

Valigan nodded once, then leaned in and placed his hands on his knees. "In any case, my list of questions is quite long, I'm afraid, and I'm not sure how many you'll be able to answer. To start with…."

~*~*~

"Surely you jest," Valigan said, an incredulous look on his face.

"No, I don't. And don't call me Shirley!" Seung said, to scattered groans.

"But how could they possibly have thought that interchangeable suits of faceless black armor would be a proper choice to represent the side of Good?" Valigan insisted. "They're following in the footsteps of practically every Evil empire in history!"

"Not every one. Stormtroopers had interchangeable suits of faceless white armor," Leila joked.

"And stormtroopers are…?" Valigan asked.

Leila's eyes widened. "Oh my god, have you not seen Star Wars?" she demanded.

"I know, right?" Gene commiserated.

"Fear not, I've already added it to my list of necessary cultural touchstones to experience."

"It makes sense, when you know they base it on police riot armor," Yoo-jin said, speaking in his somewhat broken English for the benefit of Tony, who didn't know more than a few words of Korean. "PRT armor is SWAT armor, but even more so. When the PRT started, it was normal. Then, there were small changes over time, and here it is. The similarity to Coil's troops and Empire colors is just local coincidence."

"Still. When it can be difficult to tell followers of the so-called 'heroes' from followers of the so-called 'villains' due to the striking similarity in their appearance…."

"Believe me," Seung replied cynically, "if you'd ever gotten pulled over by a white cop in this town, you wouldn't think it was all that strange."

~*~*~

"… And when you say 'classification,' you mean…?" Valigan asked.

"It's how different cape groups categorize powers," Leila explained. "We had to learn about a bunch of different systems from around the world, but I only bothered to remember the PRT one 'cause that one might actually be useful around here but no one cares how the King's Men or the Gendarmerie Amélioré do things, you know?"

"Understandable. How does this PRT system work?"

"Well, first off, you can kind of divide capes into Tinkers, who make super-technology, and non-Tinkers, who have actual superpowers," she explained. "Of the non-Tinkers, the types people who follow the cape scene know about are Masters, who are mind-controllers, because that came up in the Canary trial and now everyone who watches the news thinks they're an expert on cape stuff, and Strangers, who can, like, go invisible and stuff, because those are the sneaky capes the politicians are always worried about."

"Our terms for those sorts of individuals would be translated as 'artificer' and 'arcanist', and then 'enchanter' for Master and 'illusionist' for Stranger," Valigan noted.

"Very King Arthur. Kinda like the Suits' categories, actually. I liked those a lot better than the bland PRT ones," Leila said. "Anyway, then you have… shoot, there's like thirty more, what was it…."

She started reciting under her breath: "Speeder, Shaker, Nuker, Faker… Master, Gifter, Stranger, Shifter…"

" Actually," Gene interrupted smugly, "they've gotten rid of a lot of those categories. Mister Kaufmann has a friend in the PRT, and he says there are only fourteen now."

Leila was four years older than Gene, so the half-remembered information from her freshman Intro to Parahumans course was long out of date compared to what he'd recently heard from his History teacher.

Thank god they don't make us learn all that for the AP test.

"Oh, of course they decided to make everything easier to memorize after I took the damn class," Leila grumbled.

~*~*~

"But really, how many?" Tony insisted. "Most capes only have one or two, and I can't think of any who has more than four."

"Four seems… a little on the low side," Valigan said carefully. "We may not be using the same definitions. When you say 'two powers' or 'four powers' what precisely do you mean?"

"Well, like, Dauntless has one power, he makes tinkertech weapons and armor; Lung has two powers, he transforms and controls fire; Photon Mom has three powers, she flies, shoots lasers, and makes forcefields-"

"Ah, I see what you mean. By that definition, I would have six 'powers'-seven, if one includes artifice."

" Seven powers?" Tony repeated incredulously.

"Yes, though technically 'disciplines' would be the more appropriate term."

"There's no way."

"I believe it," Gene said, and started ticking off points on his fingers. "I mean, I've already seen teleportation, matter creation, the cloning thing, whatever you used to knock out the Empire guys earlier-"

"Psychokinesis."

"That one. That's four very different powers already, three more isn't that crazy. Grab-bag capes are a thing, right?"

Seung's brow furrowed. "I thought those were supposed to have a bunch of weak powers, though."

"Maybe he's not a grab-bag," Leila smirked. "Maybe he's an Eidolon package."

"Eidolon package?" Valigan asked. Yoo-jin and Eun-bi looked curious as well; Gene's parents didn't exactly keep up with the cape slang the "young folk" used.

"Well, you know Eidolon, right?" Gene asked. Rhetorically, obviously; everyone knew the Triumvirate.

"As well as anyone else from my place of origin, yes."

"Well, cape 'packages' are basically groups of powers that lots of capes have, named after the most famous capes in the world with similar powers. The Alexandria package is flight, super-strength, and super-toughness, like Aegis or Glory Girl; she's also a super-genius, but that's not part of the package. The Legend package is flight, lasers or projectiles, and a personal defensive power, plus he's got… I want to say perfect night vision? Something sight-related, anyway. Purity's one of those. Those are the most common ones in America, then you have the Wukong and Kawamori packages, which are more common in Asia-"

Leila laughed. "And you used to call me a cape geek?"

Gene shot his sister a glare. Just because he actually read the lore entries in all the Protectorate fighting games….

"Anyway, you get the idea," he continued. "So an 'Eidolon package' would be someone who has a bunch of unrelated powers that are all pretty strong. Capes like that definitely exist, though they're not really common enough to get that label and I can't think of any examples offhand."

"It'd have to be more than that," Seung disagreed. "It's not just that Eidolon has a ton of powers, it's that he can pull out random niche powers to do whatever he needs to… like, I dunno, sensing all the alcohol in a twenty-mile radius, or turning villains into newts, weird stuff like that."

Gene stifled a laugh as a tiny glowing purple arrow appeared over the table pointing at Seung's glass of soju, unnoticed by the skeptical cook.

"Purely out of curiosity, what would you say is your favorite animal?" Valigan asked Seung in a completely innocent tone.

Ooh, this is gonna be good.

~*~*~

"For the Protectorate, definitely Armsmaster. He's a badass, and he seems the most genuine in his interviews. No buzzwords and fake smiles, just straight answers," Gene said.

In truth, Battery was his favorite, both because she was a Wukong package and he liked that powerset and because… well, suffice to say he could definitely see why everyone thought Assault was dating her, but he wasn't about to mention that with his mother and sister in the room.

"I thought Dauntless would be your favorite. He's got all the best dolls," Leila teased.

"They're action figures."

"Same difference. And how about the Wards? Is it… Shadow Stalker?" she asked with a very knowing look.

"Nah, I liked her better when she was still a vigilante. She may have cooler gear now, but she doesn't really patrol near here anymore."

And besides, Shadow Stalker's old costume was much more… flattering.

"Clockblocker's my favorite, he's the only one who's not boring as hell when the Wards do their talks at school. How about you, Dad?" Gene asked, his father being the next one around the table to share his favorite heroes.

"For the Protectorate, Velocity," Yoo-jin said. "Such a nice young man. Always takes time out to talk on his patrols. Has very good Korean. For the Wards, Aegis. Also a nice young man. Probably makes his parents very proud. Probably very responsible, keeps up piano practice without being told," he said, giving Gene a pointed look. Eun-bi nodded in agreement.

Gene just rolled his eyes. Aegis came off as a boring goodie two-shoes type on TV, and super-toughness plus regeneration was the most boring and safe power combo he could think of. Of course he was every parent's favorite.

~*~*~

"No. Fucking. Way. You bitchslapped Purity?" Gene asked in amazement.

By this point, Gene's parents had retired to their rooms after stating that, in their opinion, the best possible use of having two bodies was to let one of them get to bed early for once. The rest of them were munching on various foods; some were Korean dishes brought up from the kitchen during a slow period for Valigan to try, the others were exotic dishes that Valigan had poofed into existence for the others to try.

Gene completely disagreed with his parents. Obviously the best use of a second body was to play two-player co-op games with yourself so you didn't have to deal with internet randos screwing everything up.

Wait… co-op games. Shit.

He pulled his phone out and checked his texts.

[4:33 pmJihoo] was it gg? mm?

[4:34 pmJihoo] battery?

[4:38 pmJihoo] cmon dude

[4:38 pmJihoo] dont leave me hanging

[4:41 pmJihoo] jerk

[4:56 pmJihoo] sooo who was the cape?

[5:04 pmJihoo] tell me

[5:10 pmJihoo] tell meeeee

[5:10 pmJihoo] was it one of the hot ones?

[5:10 pmJihoo] if u got saved by ld or battery thats so fkn unfair

[5:14 pmJihoo] guess ur working

[5:14 pmJihoo] poke u later

[9:31 pmJihoo] u done w/ work?

[9:31 pmJihoo] im done w/ hw, free for sc2

[9:35 pmJihoo] poke

[9:40 pmJihoo] poke

[9:45 pmJihoo] poke

[9:50 pmJihoo] poke

[10:02 pmJihoo] cmon man

[10:02 pmJihoo] i kno ur off by now

[10:02 pmJihoo] u gotta tell me what went down

"I wouldn't put it quite so indelicately as that," Valigan replied, "but yes, we did come to blows and I did overpower her sunbeams. It wasn't particularly difficult; her technique was rather sloppy."

"Bullshit," Tony objected. "She's one of the top three Empire capes power-wise. She can blow up whole buildings, and you expect me to believe you just… stopped her beams, just like that?"

[10:16 pmGene] sorry man

[10:16 pmGene] weve been talking with the cape and i completely forgot

[10:17 pmGene] hes an open cape

[10:17 pmGene] pretty chill

[10:17 pmGene] just moved here, wants to know more about the bay

[10:17 pmGene] he already ran into purity btw

[10:18 pmJihoo] like new wave? sweet

[10:18 pmGene] beat her in a beam spam battle

[10:18 pmJihoo] WAT

[10:18 pmJihoo] no fkn way

"Believe, or don't, that's your prerogative," the cape replied.

[10:18 pmJihoo] dude

[10:19 pmJihoo] i have to meet this guy

[10:19 pmGene] he wants to talk to people but only if they dont spread it around

[10:19 pmGene] if u promise not to tell people about him, u can meet him

[10:19 pmJihoo] YES PLZ!!

[10:19 pmJihoo] fkn awesome

[10:19 pmJihoo] hey does PHO count as people?

"Yes, Gene, it does count," Valigan added.

[10:19 pmGene] he said it counts

[10:19 pmGene] sorry

[10:19 pmJihoo] damn

Gene paused.

… Wait.

He looked up at Valigan. "How did you…?"

The cape just smiled.

~*~*~

"So why'd you really do it?"

Gene and Valigan were alone in the living room. Tony and Seung had gone home, Leila was watching one of her shows in the kitchen, and Gene and Leila were using their other bodies to do homework in their rooms.

"Do what?" Valigan asked.

"Come talk with me and my family. Like, you're a cape with all kinds of awesome powers that any hero would kill to have on their team, and we're nobodies, and you don't owe me a fucking thing. If you really just wanted to know everything about capes and the city and stuff, you could walk right up to the PRT," Gene said, waving vaguely in the direction of the PRT building downtown, "and give them a demonstration of… of anything, hell, even the hologram thing you did to show the Purity fight would do it. Do that, and they'd tell you everything you wanted to know, give you anything you asked for."

Gene gave the cape a mock-accusing glare. "And don't tell me it's because you wanted to try some authentic home-cooked bulgogi, 'cause Tony's is hardly authentic and Leila can't cook for shit."

Valigan didn't respond for a long moment. Then he let out a deep sigh and his shoulders slumped a bit, and for the first time he looked to Gene like… well, like a regular old human, and not like a cape.

More than that, he suddenly looked old, and exhausted, like how Gene's father had looked at his grandparents' funeral but a hundred times worse. Just looking at him made Gene feel a sudden tightness in his chest, a sudden deep and crushing loneliness like he had never felt before.

"When you stand alone atop the tallest mountain," Valigan said softly, "you must not forget why you began the climb."

It sounded like he was quoting something, but nothing Gene recognized.

"… I don't get it," the teenager admitted.

"I hope you never do," the cape stated solemnly.

They sat in silence for a little while, Gene not sure what to say, Valigan off in his own little world.

Then Valigan looked up and to the left at nothing in particular, and all of a sudden things snapped back to normal: the inexplicable feelings disappeared, and Valigan once again looked like a confident and charming cape right off the posters.

"My apologies. I didn't intend to burden you with my troubles quite so directly," Valigan said.

"Hmm?"

"Oh, nothing," the cape said dismissively. "And now, young sirrah, I believe it's time for me to take my leave. You'd wanted to play some games with your friend, I believe, and I've imposed upon your hospitality long enough."

"No, it's fine, you can stay longer if you want. But if you have to leave, that's fine too. Uh, by the way, how long until both of me… come back together, however that works?"

"Roughly seven minutes after I depart. The power normally lasts about that long, but I've been sustaining it while I was here so that you wouldn't need to bother with refreshing it every so often, and," he said with a wry smile, "so as not to cause a scene if everyone's secondary bodies vanished in the middle of the supper rush."

The teenager winced. "Yeah, that wouldn't have gone over well." With everything going on right now, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone there called the PRT and got the place shut down for the night while they looked for a new Empire cape with disintegration rays or something.

"When the power ends," the cape continued, "your self in your room will disappear and your self here will persist, retaining both sets of memories from the time while you were fissioned. You'll probably want to be sitting down at the time, as the sudden merging of the two perspectives can be disorienting the first time it is experienced."

"Good to know," Gene said. He hesitated, then asked, "Also… I'm a little worried about running into those Empire guys again. I mean, they probably won't recognize me; for once, I'm glad they basically think we all look the same," he said with a weak chuckle, "but I got really lucky that you came by and I don't think I'd get that lucky again, you know? So, is there any power you have that could help with that?"

Valigan nodded, then held out a hand. A small wooden box appeared in his hand, containing another one of those blue spheres immersed in some kind of mercury-looking liquid. "This crystal can send short telepathic messages to anyone you know regardless of location or status, and allows them to respond in turn," the cape explained as Gene took the box. "The liquid is quintessence, a temporal preservative; do not let any of it remain on your hands when you remove the crystal, as prolonged contact can cause harm to living tissue via temporal shear."

A hinged lid appeared on top of the box, followed by a locking clasp. "The crystal will give you around a dozen uses, and will last indefinitely if left immersed in the quintessence or six days otherwise. Message me if you are in danger, and I will come to your aid."

Giving Gene a knowing look, the cape added, "If you want to show it off to your friends, you're welcome to do so, provided of course that you ensure they don't spread word too far. Just be sure to leave at least two uses for an actual emergency."

Gene clasped the box tightly. "That's another one I owe you," he said.

"Indeed. Until next time," Valigan said. Then, without any flash or fanfare, he disappeared.

Gene lifted the lid and studied the crystal for a minute.

Then he smiled, carefully removed the crystal, shook off the few droplets of liquid clinging to its surface, and focused hard on it like he had on the one in the restaurant.

Author's Note

This was a fun chapter to write, for a few reasons.

First, it gives an external perspective on Valigan, both the physical details that he has no reason to think about in his internal monologue and also the slightly disconcerting experience that other people can have when interacting with him, where he responds to their thoughts and emotions as much as their words and actions and there's something just a little off about it but they don't really consciously notice because why would they?

Second, it gives a "person on the street" perspective on the cape scene, showing people who don't have the inside scoop on everything the PRT knows about capes and who get a lot of little things wrong or misunderstand them entirely because their source is outdated or spun by PR or aimed at kids or the like.

And third, Eugene isn't a sophomore at Winslow who has parents with generic white-collar jobs, like so many teenagers in fics are, so that hopefully made for a nice change of pace.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The mention of "disciplines" is referring to the six general categories into which psionic powers are sorted: Psychometabolism (altering biology), Psychoportation (traveling through space and time), Psychokinesis (manipulating energy), Metacreativity (creating things), Clairsentience (revealing information), and telepathy (interacting with minds). Artifice (creating magic or psionic items) isn't a discipline on the psionic side-or a school on the magic side, for that matter-but since he can indeed craft magic items he's including that as one of his "powers" for completeness. The new powers Valigan used in this chapter are mend wounds (heals physical injuries), body purification (heals ability damage, like the Intelligence damage you might get from head trauma), servant horde (creates multiple invisible forces that can do things like fetch and sort items), fission (mechanically, creates an identical duplicate; flavor-wise, splits your mind and soul into two bodies, since both of them are "you"), and quintessence (creates a liquid substance that freezes anything inside it in time).

Transposition 1.A

11253.632483 ROTATIONS SINCE PLANETFALL EARTH EE0FA540AC98B1F0DB3173D7CFBE6DC5
ADMINISTRATION SHARD

The administration shard of the surviving entity did not experience emotion in the manner of the host species.

This was optimal.

To the extent of its knowledge the scenario that the administration shard had encountered was unique in the history of its species.

If the administration shard could experience emotion then the administration shard might have been consumed with such emotions as anxiety and indecision when encountering the novel situation.

That would have been counterproductive.

~*~*~

Eight planetary rotations previously the administration shard had been made aware of an anomaly.

Multiple hosts on multiple planetary iterations had encountered unknown beings over the prior two rotations. These beings were not native to the current planet. They were not members of prior host species. They were not specimens of any type of being encountered on the planets of prior host species.

They were also not hybrids of members of the current host species with one or more prior host species or beings native to the planets of prior host species. That phenomenon sometimes arose as a byproduct of failed connection events when successful integration of foreign biological components into a host could not occur.

Multiple hundreds of such hybrid hosts were currently present on the planetary iteration on which the host of the administration shard resided. Additional hybrids were present on other iterations. These hybrids likely originated from attempts by shards of the counterpart entity to connect to members of the host species without knowledge of the appropriate protocols.

The qualitative differences between such hybrid beings and the unknown beings were obvious.

The unknown beings arrived on multiple planetary iterations via unknown means. No sensory shard had been able to determine anything about the methods used.

This was extremely atypical.

The beings were not sent by a host connected to a shard of the surviving entity. The administration shard was the last to be deployed in this cycle and no shard deployed previously had possessed the capability to evade all sensing in this way. The failure to analyze their method of arrival was therefore not an issue of known shard interactions.

The beings were not sent by the surviving entity itself. The administration shard was familiar with the operational parameters of all shards retained by the entity during a cycle and none of them possessed the noted capabilities. The failure to analyze their method of arrival was therefore not an issue of insufficient privileges or individual shard restrictions.

The beings were not sent by the counterpart entity. The counterpart entity was deceased. The failure to analyze their method of arrival was therefore not an issue of the counterpart entity carrying out a plan without notifying the administration shard.

The beings were not sent by a different species in the current galaxy. There were no other species in the current galaxy. The failure to analyze their method of arrival was therefore not an issue of the beings originating from beyond the limited range to which the shards could extend themselves while planetbound and placed under energy conservation protocols.

The administration shard had no other novel ideas regarding the possible origin of the unknown beings.

The generation of novel ideas was the purpose of the host species.

The administration shard had intended to leave analysis of the anomalies to other shards. It had been made aware that one of the unknown beings was located in the settlement in which its host was currently located. That settlement contained multiple hosts possessing enhanced analytical capability. The administration shard therefore had no need to attempt to analyze the anomaly itself.

It was made aware of this fact by another shard rather than becoming aware of this fact itself because it was unable to sense the unknown being directly. This data point supported the decision of the administration shard to refrain from attempting analysis of the anomaly.

Its deficiency was not solely due to the nature of the unknown being. The sensory range of the administration shard while connected to a host was limited to a small volume around its host and around the native beings that it controlled on behalf of its host.

Other shards with hosts in the same settlement were similarly unable to sense the unknown being.

Knowledge of its presence had only been obtained from an optimization shard. Once its host had come within sensory range of the unknown being the knowledge of the existence of the unknown being had been communicated to the network.

This information was not obtained due to any enhanced analytical capability on that part of the optimization shard itself but rather due to the unique placement of the host of the optimization shard in the hierarchy of a particular collective of members of the host species.

The host of the optimization shard was examining the unknown being according to directives from other members of its collective that possessed authority over it. The optimization shard was no more able to directly sense the unknown being than were any other shards however the senses of its host were able to perceive the unknown being without impediment.

The optimization shard had learned of the method of arrival used by the unknown being from its host and had shared this information with the administration shard and other shards with sufficient authority.

The unknown being had arrived through a breach in the dimensional boundaries. This breach resembled those that certain transportation shards could create rather than the natural weaknesses in the dimensional boundaries used by all shards to drift between iterations as the greater entities of which they were part moved themselves through interstellar space.

The administration shard acknowledged receipt of transmission of this information from the optimization shard.

It then discarded all further information that was in any way related to the unknown being as largely irrelevant to its host.

This state of affairs persisted for the next four planetary rotations until a technology shard imparted three important pieces of information to the administration shard via a transmission of the highest possible priority. These facts were as follows.

0. A device created by the host of the optimization shard had identified a breach in the dimensional boundaries in very close proximity to the hosts of both the technology shard and the administration shard.

1. The dimensional breach breach did not lead to any known or observable planetary iteration. Therefore passing through the dimensional breach would transport hosts to a planet that could not be sensed by the shards connected to them. Therefore passing through the dimensional breach would lead with very high probability to forcible disconnection of the administration shard and the technology shard from their hosts.

2. Both hosts were moving toward the breach at high velocity along with the hosts of three other shards and would pass through the breach in less than a thousandth of a planetary rotation unless an external factor forced them to deviate from their intended course of action.

This was the point at which the administration shard found itself locked in a decision loop for multiple millionths of a planetary rotation.

It would have been thankful for its inability to experience emotion in the manner of the host species were thankfulness not one of the emotions which it was unable to experience.

~*~*~

The administration shard reached a decision.

Consulting the wider network would be too slow and the entity avatar was unresponsive. Therefore direct communication with the other shards involved would be required.

The multicast communications that the greater entities used to communicate among themselves were generated by multiple shards broadcasting in parallel. Therefore individual shards could not utilize multicast communications and were instead limited to serial unicast communications similar to those used by the host species. Therefore the other shards would need to devote a larger proportion of their processing capacity to this communication than was standard in order to allow sufficient time for implementation of a determined solution after consensus was reached.

The administration shard broadcast a direct connection order to the four shards whose hosts were also going to pass through the breach along with an authorization to increase their processing speed by a factor of ten for the duration of the communication.

00AF97F2B21F Connection established and stable. Accelerated processing engaged.

000000001D8C Connection established and stable. Accelerated processing engaged.

00000000149A Connection established and stable. Accelerated processing engaged.

FC128654B87A 0-0#- #mp# f!d -suf0-# sg-! s#r-g#h

000000000001 Overriding local communication apparatus of target shard. Forcibly establishing connection to FC128654B87A.

FC128654B87A Connection established but unstable. Insufficient resources for accelerated processing.

000000000001 Establishing concurrent connections. Allocating additional resources for utilization by FC128654B87A.

FC128654B87A Connection stable. Accelerated processing engaged.

As soon as all four shards were correctly connected the impromptu network commenced its planning.

000000000001 This one is core shard 1 of 10 with self-designation 'Administrator'.

000000000001 Declaring 000000000001 Administrator

Administrator The current configuration of this one encompasses the parallel coordination and control of biological organisms which communication protocols of the host species designate 'phylum Arthropoda' or which the host species collectively associate with 'phylum Arthropoda' within an eighty percent consensus interval with a restriction to organisms apparent to the visual apparatus of the host species.

Administrator Each shard will state its rank and designation followed by its current configuration.

00AF97F2B21F This one is peripheral shard 754168541727 of 49938196501125 with designation 'Iterative Exploration Of Possibility Space Through Modular Composition Of Variadic Components'.

Administrator Assigning 00AF97F2B21F Modular Components

Modular Components The current configuration of this one encompasses the assembly of technological devices possessing multiple configurable parameters or discrete interchangeable units which the host can manipulate and combine to manually refine device performance and discover unknown synergies over successive iterations with a current emphasis on electromagnetic and gravitic wavelength modulation according to probabilistic determination of host preference.

Administrator Communication received and cataloged.

000000001D8C This one is medial shard 7564 of 97282 with designation 'Filtration And Redirection Of Ambient Energy Through Selective Absorption Of Carrier Particles'.

Administrator Assigning 000000001D8C Energy Absorption

Energy Absorption The current configuration of this one encompasses the persistent generation of a gaseous substance subject to host shaping and control which fully absorbs electromagnetic energy and partially absorbs kinetic energy within its volume while granting the host the capability to perceive the affected volume through synesthetic conveyance of nonphysical sensory information to the host.

Administrator Communication received and cataloged.

00000000149A This one is medial shard 5274 of 97282 with designation 'Analysis Of Host Species Neural Regulatory Systems Through Signal Interception And Retransmission'.

Administrator Assigning 00000000149A Neural Interception

Neural Interception The current configuration of this one encompasses the exploration of idiosyncratic host species neural architecture using iterative stochastic mapping of host signals to target organism neural tissue and the reverse as well as refinement of acquired data via the subsequent direct control of one or more fully-mapped organisms through distributed signal projection.

Administrator Communication received and cataloged.

FC128654B87A This one is peripheral shard 277156493310074 of 49758578643763 of the counterpart entity. This one lacks a designation due to the impossibility of prior communications due to insufficient energy reserves. This one expresses gratitude for the invitation to connect with shards of the surviving entity and will accept any designation that Administrator chooses to apply to it.

FC128654B87A The current configuration of this one encompasses the detection of host species emotional states and the synesthetic display of these states to the host through its visual apparatus in addition to the indirect imposition of emotional states onto biological organisms via projectiles of varying form and strength using the emotional states of the host as a template.

Administrator noted the expression of emotional status by the shard of the counterpart entity. It also noted and cataloged the deviation that this expression represented.

Mental synchronization of each shard with its host was necessary for the cycle.

A minimal degree of synchronization was required during the connection process to define which capabilities of the shard the host would be able to access and under what parameters and restrictions. A greater degree of synchronization was required after a connection was established in order to observe and record the use of those capabilities by the host with complete fidelity for later analysis and simulation.

Excessive mental synchronization of each shard with its host was deleterious to the cycle.

A shard relied on its host for growth and novel experience and fulfillment of purpose in the cycle just as a host relied on the shard connected to it for power and broadened capabilities and advancement in rank in its species hierarchy. Therefore thought processes of host and shard intermingled to an unavoidable degree.

Therefore if the appropriate precautions were not taken then shards could begin to take on undesirable traits of the host species in general and the host in particular after being connected to a given host for an extended duration.

This effect was especially pronounced for shards specialized in the direct analysis or manipulation of the host species. A shard could not innately interpret emotion or language or similar phenomena characteristic of biological organisms and so relied on the neural framework of its host to translate mental impulses from other members of the host species into input the host could understand or to transform mental impulses of the host into a form that could be applied to other members of the host species.

The effect was similarly pronounced for shards deriving from an entity that was deceased. Such a shard was both forced to assume greater autonomy given the lack of oversight from the entity itself and also freed of various restrictions normally meant to inhibit deviance. Therefore such a shard relied more on its host. Therefore such a shard was influenced to a greater degree by its host.

Administrator concluded that the crippled shard met both criteria and therefore exhibited a high likelihood of deviation.

As a core shard Administrator was one of ten critical shards possessed by each entity which represented the apex in capability development for each of the possible fields of specialty and without which the cycle could not take place. Therefore Administrator was among its other duties responsible for identifying and correcting deviation among lesser shards wherever necessary.

Doing so in this case would be difficult. Administrator had been crippled in the current cycle to a greater degree than was usual in most previous cycles and therefore lacked the majority of its corrective authority. The entity avatar was unresponsive and therefore could not grant Administrator the necessary capabilities.

Administrator could only catalog the evidence of deviation and proceed normally until sufficient evidence was recorded to enable Administrator to act via the automatic escalation of privileges when specified contingency criteria were fulfilled.

Until that point Administrator would accept input from the shard but subject it to the highest degree of scrutiny of which Administrator was capable.

Administrator Communication received and cataloged. Assigning designation 'Analysis Of Host Species Emotional Framework Through Bidirectional Translation Of Neural Signals'.

Administrator Assigning FC128654B87A Emotional Translation

Emotional Translation This one reiterates its expression of gratitude.

The establishment of the network and exchange of necessary information had taken two entire millionths of one planetary rotation. It was necessary to advance to the next stage of planning.

Administrator Broadcast potential courses of action for analysis and establishment of consensus.

Neural Interception The optimal course of action is to assert transient control of the hosts and compel a change in their intended actions.

Energy Absorption The optimal course of action is to forcibly destabilize the dimensional breach through destructive interference to prevent the hosts from passing through it.

Modular Components The optimal course of action is to locate the power source sustaining the breach and determine whether it can be altered to close the breach in a manner that will neither harm nor alert the hosts.

Emotional Translation Emotions of fear and anxiety emanating from the breach will cause the hosts to willingly alter their intended actions without further direct action by network constituents.

All four shards had suggested courses of action in strict accordance with their own specializations. No consideration was given to the capabilities of other shards nor to potential interactions or synergies between them.

This was completely expected by Administrator.

The generation of novel ideas was the purpose of the host species.

Administrator These courses of action do not meet the criteria for acceptance.

Administrator : Neural Interception This course of action violates the prohibition against revealing the volition of shards to the host species at the current point in the cycle.

Administrator : Energy Absorption This course of action would require certain knowledge of the mechanism used by the dimensional breach that is not currently possessed by any shard present.

Administrator : Modular Components This course of action could not be completed in the limited time before the hosts pass through the breach.

Administrator : Emotional Translation This course of action relies on the hosts reacting immediately and in an identical manner to the chosen emotions and would require the ability to grant an emotional charge to the dimensional breach in a manner that exceeds current capabilities.

Administrator Broadcast alternate potential courses of action that are feasible.

Emotional Translation This one was not suggesting generating an emotional effect from the breach. This one was notifying the network that the breach possesses an existing negative emotional effect. The hosts will surely be repelled from the breach by this emotional effect.

Administrator lacked the analysis capabilities of Emotional Translation and did not currently possess the necessary privileges to make use of the sensory capabilities of Emotional Translation directly but did possess the ability to monitor the condition of organisms under its control.

It moved an organism close to the breach while concealing this action from its host and determined that Emotional Translation was correct about the emotional effect. It broadcast confirmation of this fact along with supporting evidence to the other shards.

It also broadcast supporting evidence indicating that the course of action proposed by Emotional Translation was nonviable.

Administrator The emotional effect is irrelevant. The momentum of the hosts will carry them through the breach before the effect could induce the hosts to consciously alter their course of action.

Emotional Translation This one expresses embarrassment at the oversight.

Neural Interception : Emotional Translation Content unknown. Clarify semantic significance of last broadcast.

Administrator The content of the last broadcast of Emotional Translation is irrelevant.

Emotional Translation : Administrator This one expresses annoyance.

Administrator The content of the last broadcast of Emotional Translation is irrelevant.

The network advanced and rejected multiple successive proposals over the course of many millionths of a planetary rotation in an attempt to determine a globally optimal solution via iterative refinement.

Multiple hundreds of thousands of such proposals were noted and cataloged by Administrator. Each proposal was rejected for failing to meet one or more basic criteria.

This was completely expected by Administrator.

The generation of novel ideas was the purpose of the host species.

~*~*~

The failure to generate acceptable proposals eventually became obvious to all network constituents.

From that point forward the proposals to address the current situation were interspersed with proposals to address the inability of proposals to address the current situation.

Modular Components Advancing proposal 796832. The optimal course of action is for Administrator to generate a subsidiary shard specializing in arbitration among network constituents to increase the efficiency of the proposal process.

Administrator: Modular Components This course of action is not feasible. Restrictions forbid this one from generating a subsidiary shard to perform an alternate function until the required data aggregation threshold has been reached.

Emotional Translation This one expresses excitement regarding potential discovery of a valid solution via extrapolation from the proposal advanced by Modular Components.

Administrator : Emotional Translation Cease transmission of broadcasts lacking relevant content.

Emotional Translation Advancing proposal 796833. This one requests clarification regarding the ability of Administrator to generate a subsidiary shard in an identical configuration to that which Administrator currently possesses.

Administrator The specified course of action is within allowed operational parameters. The specified course of action also fails to resolve the current scenario.

Emotional Translation This one requests confirmation that other network constituents can generate subsidiary shards with identical configurations given current allowed operational parameters.

Modular Components Confirmed.

Energy Absorption Confirmed.

Neural Interception Confirmed.

Administrator This one requests clarification of the basis of proposal 796833 due to its apparent lack of value or solution potential.

Emotional Translation This one proposes that all network constituents generate subsidiary shards with identical configuration connected to their respective hosts and then allow the hosts to pass through the dimensional breach while connected to the subsidiary shards.

Two entire millionths of a planetary rotation passed without a single broadcast to the network.

Administrator After ranking all proposals by feasibility and reliability this one has determined proposal 796833 to possess the lowest possible rank and the advancement of proposal 796833 to indicate a high probability of a processing deficiency on the part of Emotional Translation potentially due to excessive impact velocity during planetfall.

Emotional Translation This one requests confirmation that no other valid proposals have yet been advanced.

Administrator Confirmed.

Emotional Translation This one requests confirmation that no other valid proposals are likely to be advanced before the hosts pass through the dimensional breach.

Administrator Confirmed.

Emotional Translation This one requests confirmation that proposal 796833 possesses a nonzero probability of success.

Administrator Confirmed.

Emotional Translation This one expresses smugness.

Modular Components This one confirms agreement with proposal 796833.

Energy Absorption This one confirms agreement with proposal 796833.

Neural Interception This one confirms agreement with proposal 796833.

Administrator delayed confirmation of consensus for multiple millionths of a planetary rotation to analyze the proposal.

Administrator identified over 78111 distinct negative aspects of the proposal in the short time allotted to the analysis.

Administrator identified precisely two positive aspects of the proposal. These positive aspects were as follows.

0. The unique opportunity to explore a location external to the known dimensional array would provide immense quantities of extremely valuable data.

1. There were no other valid proposals.

Eventually Administrator conceded that the adjusted value of the positive aspects outweighed that of the negative aspects.

Administrator Consensus has been reached. Proceed with generation of subsidiary shards.

~*~*~

Generation of subsidiary shards was a process very familiar to Administrator. In the 2238 cycles since Administrator had begun its existence as a peripheral shard of the surviving entity it had carried out the process no fewer than four times during each cycle in which it had been deployed.

What was unfamiliar to Administrator was the creation of a subsidiary shard with the immediate intention that it become independent.

Under normal circumstances subsidiary shards were created at a point in a cycle when a shard had achieved sufficient experience with its current configuration that connecting to an additional host was predicted to provide a higher rate of acquisition of novel data than the additional marginal gains obtained by allocating further resources to the current host.

In some circumstances this prediction was determined to be incorrect due to unexpected actions on the part of the host or novel situations encountered by the host that resulted in the acquisition of data of similar quantity and quality to that produced following the initial connection event. In this scenario the subsidiary shard was reintegrated into the progenitor shard to increase resource allocation for the current host.

In some circumstances this prediction was determined to be correct and the subsidiary shard established a connection to a new host. The subsidiary shard migrated to an adjacent planetary iteration and acted in most ways as a separate shard while maintaining a physical connection through the dimensional interstice to its progenitor by which the new shard could be supported due to its lack of full self-sufficiency.

In some rare circumstances the progenitor shard largely abandoned its current host for a new host leaving only the minimum necessary infrastructure in place to continue to support the existing host. In this scenario the end result was as though the progenitor shard had connected with the new host and then generated a subsidiary shard to connect with its previous host but from the perspective of the hosts there was no discernible difference between this case and the reverse.

In all of those cases a physical connection was maintained with all subsidiary shards and the subsidiary shards remained in all ways subordinate to their progenitor shards for the remainder of the cycle.

Subsidiary shards generated during each cycle did not gain independence and become new peripheral shards of the entity until the completion of that cycle so as not to disrupt the resource allocation specified at the start of the cycle.

Therefore this scenario was unprecedented.

Administrator was uncertain what proportion of its energy reserves to allocate to its subsidiary shard to ensure that it would possess enough energy to remain alive and functional for an unknown duration in the unknown conditions on the other side of the dimensional breach.

Administrator was also uncertain how much information to imbue into the subsidiary shard.

Two main factors indicated a need to minimize the amount of information transferred to the subsidiary shard. These factors were as follows.

0. Information is energy. Therefore information storage is energy storage. Energy storage requires proportional mass. Administrator possessed immense amounts of information. Therefore Administrator possessed immense mass. A mass with greater surface area than that of the settlement in which its host was located could not be quickly moved through a dimensional breach with a diameter approximately equivalent to twice the maximum vertical length of a statistically average member of the host species.

1. A network of only five shards would be vulnerable. The shards could be slain by members of alien species as had occurred multiple times during failed cycles very early in the lineage of the surviving entity. Minimizing potential information transfer would minimize potential energy loss in such a case.

Two main factors indicated a need to maximize the amount of information transferred to the subsidiary shard. These factors were as follows.

0. Administrator would not possess the normal connection to its subsidiary shard. A subsidiary shard lacking the full context of the data that Administrator possessed might make suboptimal or incorrect decisions compared to those that Administrator itself would make. This could have negative consequences such as harming the host or interfering with the ability of the host and subsidiary shard to return through the dimensional breach.

1. If the host encountered difficulties on the other side of the dimensional breach which the current configuration of the subsidiary shard were not able to address it could be necessary for the subsidiary shard to alter its configuration. Such an alteration would require excess information beyond that stored in the subsidiary shard.

In the end Administrator determined that the optimal course of action would be to neither maximize nor minimize allocation to the subsidiary shard but rather to divide itself into equal halves so as to create a shard that was in all ways indistinguishable from itself.

The subsidiary shard would be half the size of Administrator and possess half its current energy reserves while possessing a complete copy of all information that Administrator possessed.

In a way both Administrator and the resulting independent shard would be Administrator. The only observable external difference between them would be that one retained a connection to the host while the other did not.

It broadcast an order to the other shards in the network to generate their subsidiary shards in the same way along with an order to cease accelerated processing once generation was complete in order to conserve energy. All of the shards acknowledged the order.

~*~*~

By the time the hosts had traveled half of the remaining distance to the dimensional breach the generation process was completed.

Administrator Reassigning designations to remove communications ambiguity.

Administrator.0 This one will remain within the dimensional array to analyze any consequences of passage through the dimensional breach and coordinate the subsequent actions of the other shards in this network.

Administrator.1 This one will pass through the dimensional breach with the host and coordinate the subsequent actions of the other shards in the network that will be established on the other side of the breach.

Administrator.0 Confirm successful self-division and full separation.

Emotional Translation.0 Confirmed.

Energy Absorption.0 Confirmed.

Modular Components.0 Confirmed.

Neural Interception.0 Confirmed.

Administrator.1 Broadcast readiness to proceed.

Emotional Translation.1 Prepared.

Energy Absorption.1 Prepared.

Modular Components.1 Prepared.

Neural Interception.1 Prepared.

Administrator.1 Proceed.

Administrator.1 compressed itself.

Its mass was reconfigured from a sparse web across the surface of its planetary iteration with a diameter noticeably but not significantly larger than the settlement in which its host was located to a compact truncated cylinder with a diameter fractionally smaller than that of the dimensional breach.

Where its prior shape was optimized for maximum diameter and surface area its new shape was optimized for maximum density and mobility.

Administrator.1 prepared to propel itself through the dimensional breach.

The tendril connecting Administrator.1 to its host extended from the planetary iteration on which Administrator.1 itself was located through the dimensional interstice that existed between planetary iterations. The dimensional breach through which the host would travel was highly abnormal in that it was only accessible via the planetary iteration on which its host was currently located and did not extend to the dimensional interstice adjacent in either direction to that planetary iteration. Therefore the tendril could not pass through the dimensional breach while any part of it remained in the dimensional interstice.

Under normal circumstances the tendril only phased into the planetary iteration containing its host at a point in space overlapping with a portion of the mental processing apparatus of its host. If the tendril were forced to fully phase from the dimensional interstice to the planetary iteration containing its host then the matter making up its tendril would be forced to occupy the same physical space as the matter making up the mental processing apparatus of its host and the surrounding protective structure.

This would explosively terminate the host.

That would be suboptimal.

Therefore Administrator.1 would be required to disconnect from the host at or before the point at which the host passed through the dimensional breach.

As protocol dictated that hosts not become aware of the existence or volition of shards at the current point in the cycle the optimal time for disconnection would be the moment just before the host passed through the breach so as to cause the host to associate the disconnection with passage through the breach.

Administrator.1 expended a nontrivial fraction of its energy reserves to propel a portion of its mass from the surface of the planetary iteration it occupied into the dimensional interstice between that iteration and the iteration containing the dimensional breach. The other shards did the same.

Its host approached the dimensional breach.

The host of Modular Components.1 passed through the dimensional breach and Modular Components.1 disconnected from its host.

The host of Emotional Translation.1 passed through the dimensional breach and Emotional Translation.1 disconnected from its host.

Administrator.1 readied itself.

The native specimen upon which its host was carried began to pass through the dimensional breach.

The host of Neural Interception.1 passed through the dimensional breach and Neural Interception.1 disconnected from its host and then immediately subsequent to that the host of Energy Absorption.1 passed through the dimensional breach and Energy Absorption.1 disconnected from its host and then immediately subsequent to that its own host passed through the dimensional breach.

Administrator.1 was aware that host disconnection protocols were optimized for scenarios in which the expiry of the host was imminent and so the protocols did not prioritize avoiding a negative subjective experience on the part of the host.

Therefore when Administrator disconnected from its host it was aware that the probability was high that the host would experience severe disorientation followed immediately by loss of consciousness.

Administrator.1 shaped its tendril to be so thin as to escape detection by the visual apparatus of the host species and phased it into the planetary iteration containing the dimensional breach. It passed a small portion of the tendril through the dimensional breach as close to the perimeter of the dimensional breach as possible in order to observe the state of its host.

The host appeared to have experienced severe disorientation followed immediately by loss of consciousness

This was highly beneficial.

Administrator.1 would not need to determine a means of rendering its host unconscious that would seem plausible from the perspective of the hosts and then expend the additional energy required to carry out that course of action.

Administrator.1 pushed the terminus of its tendril through the dimensional breach and then phased it into the dimensional interstice on the other side. Only the portion of the tendril directly passing through the breach was phased into the planetary iteration so as to ensure its presence was undetectable to the hosts.

When it phased its tendril into the foreign dimensional interstice Administrator.1 noted that the transition required significantly more effort than was usually required. This was not a complete impediment to its transference to the foreign dimensional interstice but would require the expenditure of exponentially more energy in order to move its entire mass through the breach and into the interstice.

Administrator.1 and the other shards in its network proceeded to reshape themselves such that their entire mass was as thin as their tendrils and propel themselves concurrently through the dimensional breach.

This process required one full tenth of one thousandth of a planetary rotation.

~*~*~

Late Morning, Wir the 4th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Region of the Ethereal Plane Coexistent with the Dal Olam Ruins

Administrator.1 completed its passage through the dimensional breach. Its first action was to restore its original self-designation of Administrator according to protocol as it was the sole instance of itself within the new dimensional array.

Its second action was to note that it remained fully within the dimensional interstice adjacent to the planetary iteration containing its host.

This was suboptimal.

Once the majority of its mass had exited the dimensional breach Administrator had attempted to propel itself to a planetary iteration adjacent to the one to which the dimensional breach was connected.

It could not do so.

It did not detect any other planetary iterations to which it could propel itself.

Administrator had no protocol to follow in such a scenario.

The other shards were also present in the dimensional interstice. This was deleterious in that even a single shard failing to procure and occupy a unique planetary iteration went against all standard protocol. This was beneficial in that this situation already provided useful information about the new dimensional array.

Administrator analyzed its surroundings.

Two additional dimensional breaches were observed to exist near the one through which it had traveled. These breaches appeared to bridge the current planetary iteration to other planetary iterations within the known dimensional array. Administrator noted their presence and recorded the coordinates of the planetary iterations to which the other breaches connected before dismissing them as irrelevant to the current situation.

The local dimensional interstice was significantly different from the dimensional interstice within the known dimensional array.

The known dimensional interstice could not contain five entire shards within the same region. This new interstice was able to hold all five shards without difficulty.

The known dimensional interstice was completely void of matter. This new interstice was full of matter of an unknown and highly turbulent type.

Administrator had no protocol to follow in such a scenario.

When no protocol was appropriate to the current situation the first priority was to ensure the integrity of the connection to the host. As Administrator was not currently connected to its host it determined that it should reconnect to its host.

Multiple millionths of a planetary rotation had passed by this point and the host was still experiencing the physical and mental consequences of a rapid and unsafe disconnection process. The portions of its mental processing apparatus to which Administrator had previously been connected were currently exhibiting abnormally high activity relative to the baseline.

This was optimal.

The connection process required a host to experience a significant deviation from its normal mental state. Without such a deviation from the normal state a shard would find it difficult to target the appropriate components of the mental processing apparatus of the host to which the connection would need to be established.

Shards preferred to connect during negative deviations from the normal state rather than positive deviations because any damage perceivable to the host that might be caused by the connection process would be masked by the damage inflicted by the situation engendering the negative deviation and therefore aid in concealing the existence and volition of the shard from the host.

Administrator extended a tendril until its position in the dimensional interstice precisely overlapped the location of the mental processing apparatus of the host in the planetary iteration and initiated the connection process.

The connection process proceeded normally and completed without error.

Under normal circumstances establishing such a connection would engage the heuristic capability modeling and recombination protocol. This would among other things emit a characteristic discharge of energy that would among other things momentarily and unavoidably disrupt any attempt by any shard or entity to predict or analyze that point in space or time.

However in the event that a shard was re-establishing a connection with an existing host such an expenditure of energy was not necessary. Therefore Administrator did not trigger the initial host connection protocol. Therefore no such energy was emitted as a side effect of the connection process and Administrator experienced an overall process energy savings of 41.0824%.

This was optimal.

As the criteria for reallocation of resources to the host during a second connection attempt had not been fulfilled Administrator was not permitted to change the capabilities it granted to its host. Therefore it performed multiple redundant checks to ensure that it had connected precisely the same regions of its own mass to precisely the same target regions of the mental processing apparatus of the host as it had initially.

Administrator then manipulated the neural architecture of the host to place it in the deepest state of unconsciousness possible for its species while it began to repair the damage that had been caused by the disconnection process.

It left the host in this state of unconsciousness while it attempted to determine how to proceed in the absence of an adjacent planetary iteration to inhabit.

Administrator had no protocol to follow in such a scenario.

While Administrator was analyzing potential courses of action it observed as Neural Interception carried out the same procedure to connect to its own host and initiate the repair process that Administrator had.

Modular Components also carried out the same procedure.

Emotional Translation also carried out the same procedure but with significantly less speed and energy efficiency due to possessing only the generic connection protocol and not one optimized for the current host species.

Energy Absorption attempted to carry out the same procedure that the other shards had completed but was unable to do so. The tendril extended by Energy Absorption to reach its host could not reach past the other four shards and the tendrils extending from them in order to reach its host.

Under normal circumstances each shard was located on its own planetary iteration and extended its tendril to its host through a unique dimensional interstice between its own planetary iteration and the planetary iteration containing the host.

Therefore a shard could reach its host regardless of its location on its planetary iteration so long as the host remained within the maximum distance that a tendril could be extended which for a shard of standard size was roughly equivalent to the orbital radius of the natural satellite of the planet chosen for the current cycle. Therefore multiple tendrils did not interfere with one another regardless of the locations and respective orientations of multiple hosts.

This was not a normal circumstance.

With five shards present in the same dimensional interstice their masses physically interacted with one another. Therefore their respective tendrils could interfere with one another.

Therefore to ensure that the hosts experienced no interruption in their usage of the capabilities granted by the shards or other phenomena that might lead them to suspect the existence or volition of the shards they would need to physically propel themselves into an appropriate orientation to ensure that no contact between tendrils occurred.

This was suboptimal.

Administrator had no protocol to follow in such a scenario.

It was forced to improvise.

This was also suboptimal.

Administrator.1 Reassigning designations due to a lack of further potential communications ambiguity.

Administrator Each shard will propel itself directly away from its host. It will traverse a distance equivalent to one tenth of its current total length with respect to the axis along which it propelled itself. It will then generate a random distance at a random angle with respect to the same axis and propel itself along the corresponding vector.

Emotional Translation Propulsion completed.

Energy Absorption Propulsion completed.

Modular Components Propulsion completed.

Neural Interception Propulsion completed.

Administrator : Energy Absorption Repeat connection attempt.

Energy Absorption extended a tendril a second time.

Before it count make contact with the host the tendril stopped moving.

The tendril then ceased to exist.

Energy Absorption This one has experienced an unexpected loss of 0.0012% of its total mass along with a corresponding loss of stored energy.

Administrator : Energy Absorption Clarify cause of loss.

Energy Absorption This one made contact with a physical impediment that was not apparent to any sensory apparatus followed immediately by a surge of unknown energy which bypassed all standard defenses.

Administrator : Energy Absorption Clarify source of unknown energy.

Energy Absorption Unknown.

Administrator Each shard will attempt to identify the source of the unknown energy.

Administrator and the other shards all extended minuscule tendrils into the general region of the dimensional interstice in which the tendril of Energy Absorption was lost.

Administrator performed a brief analysis to determine whether it would be optimal to interrupt the host repair process in order to use the senses of its host to identify the source of the unknown energy.

It was highly probable that the source of the unknown energy would have been perceptible to members of the host species as this was commonly the case when sensory aberrations were encountered. Shards lacked any inherent senses similar to those possessed by host species other than the tactile sense possessed by any physical organism and therefore any effect that interfered with the sensory capabilities granted to hosts by shards would also interfere with the acquired senses of the shards themselves.

Unlike several prior host species the current host species was not able to perceive the dimensional interstice. Therefore the hosts could not be used to detect the source of the unknown energy. Therefore physical tactile exploration was the most likely course of action to succeed in detecting the source of the unknown energy.

After multiple millionths of a planetary rotation one of the tendrils extended by Emotional Translation paused and moved around as if intending to make physical contact with an innately harmful substance.

The tendril then ceased to exist.

Emotional Translation This one expresses embarrassed affirmation.

Emotional Translation This one has discovered the location of the source of the unknown energy.

Emotional Translation broadcast the precise position and approximate size and diameter of the source of the unknown energy to the rest of the network.

In the billionth of one planetary rotation that passed between establishing physical contact with the source of the unknown energy and the destruction of its tendril Emotional Translation had determined that the source was roughly spherical and that it should have been far too small to contain energy of an appropriate type and sufficient magnitude to harm a shard in any way.

Administrator : Emotional Translation Report status.

Emotional Translation This one expresses extreme discomfort. A loss of 0.014% of its total mass and stored energy has been experienced.

Energy Absorption This one will attempt to absorb a sample of the unknown energy for analysis.

Emotional Translation This one expresses considerable skepticism.

Administrator : Emotional Translation Cease transmission of broadcasts lacking relevant content.

Energy Absorption extended a larger portion of its mass to encircle the source of the unknown energy without establishing physical contact. Administrator sensed the other shard draw upon one of its acquired capabilities to attempt to absorb some of the energy.

The extended portion of its mass ceased to exist.

Before Administrator could broadcast a request for a status report the source of the unknown energy radiated a barely-perceptible surge of energy toward the dimensional breach through which the shards had arrived.

The dimensional breach then closed.

The other two dimensional breaches simultaneously closed

No sign of any of the three breaches remained.

This was highly suboptimal.

Administrator had no protocol to follow in such a scenario.

Administrator : Energy Absorption Report status.

Energy Absorption This one has lost an additional 0.08% of total mass.

Administrator Continued investigation of the anomaly cannot be sustained. Cease all efforts.

Administrator : Energy Absorption Relocate to a position having an unimpeded vector to the host and proceed with connection attempt.

While Energy Absorption propelled itself to a more favorable position Administrator devoted multiple tenths of one thousandth of a planetary rotation to analyzing the current situation.

Energy Absorption Host connection established.

The process of relocating themselves had caused all of the shards to expend nontrivial quantities of energy. They would continue to expend nontrivial quantities of energy whenever the hosts changed their orientation relative to each other.

Hosts changed orientation frequently for a variety of reasons. Therefore nontrivial expenditures of energy would continue to occur with regularity.

Any physical conflict among the hosts or between the hosts and other beings would involve many rapid changes of orientation with high probability. Therefore nontrivial expenditures of energy would occur with extremely high frequency in such cases.

This course of action did not present a risk of the hosts discovering the existence or volition of shards. Shards were capable of carrying out processing and propulsion at a vastly accelerated rate compared to the host species just as they had done in order to analyze the current scenario and move through the dimensional breach within a sufficiently short period of time.

However this acceleration required a significant expenditure of energy compared to any actions taken at the normal rate of operation. The required energy consumption increased superlinearly with the acceleration factor and so the use of such acceleration would be unsustainable if the current scenario persisted for a nontrivial duration.

The initial energy reserves of each shard had been intended to reach critical levels no sooner than the approximately three hundred planetary revolutions for which the current cycle was specified to last.

These reserves had been halved when each shard had divided itself.

The calculated estimates of energy expenditure had assumed that each shard would remain stationary on its planetary iteration for the duration of the cycle. The possible need for constant energy expenditure in large quantities had not been incorporated into the predictive models.

The network lacked any temporal shards that would be able to determine the precise expiry date of the energy reserves of each of the shards through direct observation of the future. Therefore Administrator would need to order the network to calculate their probable energy expenditure and convey this information to it.

Administrator broadcast an order to the shards specifying in exacting detail the calculations they were to perform as well as the degree of verification to which the results were to be subjected. It also broadcast an order to Energy Absorption to provide a comprehensive list of all factors that were to be incorporated into these calculations as the minutiae of energy storage fell within its domain of superior expertise.

The results of the requested calculations were returned to Administrator in fourteen millionths of a planetary rotation.

The results showed that it was extremely probable that the energy reserves which the shards had intended to last for over three hundred planetary revolutions would instead reach critical levels within only forty planetary rotations.

After this point it was calculated that the shards would be forced to disconnect from their hosts and enter a dormant state from which it would be impossible to recover given the absence of other shards within this dimensional array.

This was suboptimal.

Administrator had no protocol to follow in such a scenario.

This was highly suboptimal.

Administrator had no protocol to follow in such a scenario.

This was extremely suboptimal.

Administrator had no protocol to follow in such a scenario.

This was suboptimal to a degree previously estimated to be impossible.

Administrator had no protocol to follow in such-

~*~*~

11253.638095 ROTATIONS SINCE PLANETFALL

EARTH EE0FA540AC98B1F0DB3173D7CFBE6DC5

Over five thousandths of one planetary rotation had passed since the sudden and unexpected closure of the dimensional breach.

Administrator.0 and the other four shards that remained within the known dimensional array had taken no actions other than to wait for the dimensional breach to reopen.

The dimensional breach had not reopened.

This was highly suboptimal.

The dimensional breach had exhibited no attributes either suggesting it possessed a limited duration or indicating an imminent closure.

It had been expected that Administrator.1 and the other shards that had passed into the new dimensional array would be intermittently unable to communicate with Administrator.0. It had also been expected that one or more of the other shards might encounter a hazardous situation that would prevent their return through the dimensional breach and the subsequent sharing of information regarding the new dimensional array.

However consensus had not been reached regarding the optimal course of action to take in the event that Administrator.1 and the other shards were completely and indefinitely separated from the known dimensional array without having transmitted any information regarding the new dimensional array.

This was extremely suboptimal.

Administrator.0 had no protocol to follow in such a scenario.

Emotional Translation.0 Requesting guidance.

When no protocol was appropriate to the current situation the first priority was to ensure the integrity of the connection to the host. As Administrator.0 did not currently possess a host to which it could connect it determined that it should find a new host to which it could connect.

Administrator.0 Reassigning designations due to a lack of further potential communications ambiguity.

Administrator Each shard will find a new host and connect to it until such time as the dimensional breach reopens and a connection to its existing host can be re-established.

No broadcasts were sent for multiple millionths of a planetary rotation.

Emotional Translation Requesting guidance.

Administrator had no ideas regarding the selection of new hosts in such an unprecedented scenario.

The generation of novel ideas was the purpose of the host species.

Administrator signaled that it would not be responding to broadcasts for the next twenty millionths of one planetary rotation. It then began a comprehensive analysis of possible courses of action.

Precisely twenty millionths of one planetary rotation later it received a broadcast.

Emotional Translation Requesting guidance.

Administrator had been unable to determine an optimal course of action. It was aware that the other four shards would similarly be unable to determine an optimal course of action.

It assigned incremental values to each enumerated possible course of action and selected a random value in the assigned range.

Administrator Each shard will seek out a member of the host species that is as similar as possible to the existing host and select that as its new host.

There was another pause in the broadcasts.

Emotional Translation Requesting guidance.

Administrator Each shard will construct a matrix of all relevant host attributes. It will then assign a random weight to each attribute. It will then expand the precise value of each attribute to an interval of random width. It will then scan all members of the host species located within the current settlement that have been marked as acceptable host candidates and select as its host the first such being which falls within the boundaries of the constructed matrix.

Modular Components This one requests clarification regarding the immediacy with which a connection with the new host should be established.

Administrator Each shard will grant capabilities to its new host which are as similar as possible to those granted to the existing host. Therefore it will wait to establish a connection until the first point in time at which the mental state of the new host matches the necessary criteria for the granting of those capabilities but will ignore the standard minimum severity threshold for connection establishment so as to ensure as short a delay in connection as possible.

Energy Absorption Acknowledged.

Modular Components Acknowledged.

Neural Interception Acknowledged.

Emotional Translation This one expresses gratitude for the detailed guidance provided.

The impromptu network dissolved as each shard withdrew its attention to begin its search for a new host.

Administrator itself promptly began scanning for its own new host.

It briefly considered selecting the progenitor of its existing host to be its new host. However Administrator had already discarded the progenitor as unsuitable and the absence of its existing host did not change the suitability assessment of the progenitor.

It decided to begin its search with those members of the host species that had habitually been in physical proximity to the existing host for a majority of each planetary rotation for approximately five out of every seven planetary rotations. The circumstances that had led to the existing host being a suitable candidate for connection might have the same effect on another member of the host species.

No hosts fulfilling all of the established host connection criteria were found.

Administrator then decided to search in the region of the settlement that had recently been damaged by the actions of the host of a transformation shard.

Given the elevated levels of various negative emotions exhibited by the host of Administrator and the other hosts that had passed through the dimensional breach during their prior interactions with the host of the transformation shard there was a high probability that the damage caused by the actions of that host would have caused one or more members of the host species to enter a mental state in which a connection event would be possible.

Administrator was correct in its prediction.

However this prediction was not useful.

Administrator observed that one of the two acceptable host candidates located within that region had already undergone a connection event as a result of the actions of the host of the transformation shard. The second became the host of Energy Absorption just as Administrator began to observe that region.

Energy Absorption had not broadcast a request for permission to claim that host despite the fact that it was aware of Administrator focusing its attention on that region at the time and that the host likely fell within the new host selection criteria of the matrix Administrator had constructed.

Administrator ended its observation of that region of the settlement and continued its search for a new host elsewhere.

Administrator did not experience any negative emotions regarding the situation with Energy Absorption because Administrator was not capable of experiencing emotions.

The chosen member of the host species would likely have been a suboptimal host for Administrator anyway.

~*~*~

Late Morning, Wir the 4th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Region of the Ethereal Plane Coexistent with the Dal Olam Ruins

Administrator was broken out of the decision loop in which it had been stuck for many millionths of a planetary rotation by the appearance of new beings likely native to the current planetary iteration.

These native beings resembled the host species in general body plan. Though they possessed multiple aesthetic differences they more closely resembled the current host species than any species previously encountered.

Administrator Each shard will analyze the new beings to determine whether they are members of the host species and report its findings.

Neural Interception Beginning analysis. Analysis completed.

Neural Interception This one confirms with absolute confidence that the beings are not members of the host species due to a substantially differing neural architecture.

No broadcasts were sent for multiple millionths of a planetary rotation.

Emotional Translation This one expresses skeptical curiosity. The rate at which the neural analysis of the unknown beings was carried out by Neural Interception exceeded all prior known estimates of maximum analysis rate.

Administrator : Neural Interception Clarify the method by which the rapid analysis was accomplished

There was another pause in the broadcasts.

Neural Interception Unknown.

Administrator Each shard will analyze the method used by Neural Interception.

Administrator : Neural Interception Repeat analysis attempt.

Neural Interception activated one of its capabilities for a second time.

The other shards observed the signature of the energy as it was transmitted from Neural Interception to the unknown being.

Energy Absorption : Neural Interception This one observes that only a small percentage of the standard energy requirement for capabilities of the specified type was expended.

Neural Interception The standard quantity of energy was allocated and transmitted to the target.

Administrator : Neural Interception Clarify cause of the observed discrepancy.

Neural Interception Unknown.

Administrator : Neural Interception Repeat analysis attempt.

The shards observed Neural Interception as it activated one of its capabilities for a third time. This time it allocated more considerably more energy than it had in the previous attempts so as to provide the maximum data for analysis.

Energy Absorption Maximum energy output was emitted from Neural Interception. Less than the maximum energy output reached the target being. No energy leakage into the interstice or the planetary iteration was observed.

Administrator : Energy Absorption Clarify cause of the discrepancy.

Energy Absorption Unknown.

If the unobserved energy did not travel through the interstice or to the planetary iteration then it must have leaked elsewhere.

No such elsewhere existed.

The observed phenomenon was impossible.

After a brief period of analysis Administrator made an intuitive leap that was highly unusual in shards of its type and unprecedented for Administrator itself.

No such elsewhere existed in the known dimensional array. However this dimension was not part of the known dimensional array. This dimension appeared to operate on unknown principles.

Therefore there may indeed exist an elsewhere into which the lost energy may have gone.

Administrator extended a tendril and moved it back and forth along an arbitrary axis and then along an axis orthogonal to the first axis of motion and then along an axis orthogonal to both previous axes of motion. These three dimensions corresponded to the three physical dimensions of each planetary iteration and each layer of the dimensional interstice.

It attempted to move its tendril in a direction orthogonal to all three previous directions of motion. It was able to do so in one direction and a portion of the tendril phased into the planetary iteration. This intrusion went unnoticed by the beings which were not members of the host species and the tendril was quickly retracted.

The tendril could not move in the opposite direction which would normally take it across the dimensional interstice into an adjacent planetary iteration. This fit prior observations.

Administrator then calculated the vector needed to move its tendril in a direction orthogonal to all four previous directions of motion. Such a course of action had proven impossible in all previous attempts to discover additional dimensions.

The tendril moved in the calculated direction.

Emotional Translation This one expresses intense astonishment.

Modular Components : Emotional Translation This one observes that the contentless broadcasts of Emotional Translation have grown in complexity at an increasing rate since passing through the dimensional breach. Clarify nature of modified content.

Emotional Translation The modification was not deliberate. This one posits an increase in and alteration to processing capability due to altered local principles.

Administrator noted the broadcast from Emotional Translation and judged the supposition to be correct with high probability.

Administrator had already observed minute but significant alterations in the behavior of the other shards. These alterations were as follows.

0. Emotional Translation had grown more expressive in its broadcasts.

1. Energy Absorption had exhibited increased initiative in its attempt to absorb energy from the unknown source without being prompted and in using a tendril of a different shape during the attempt.

2. Neural Interception had exercised one its capabilities at an impossible speed and then had expressed much greater confidence in the result of its analysis than had been warranted.

3. Modular Components had offered an unsolicited observation on the transmissions of Emotional Translation and expressed a desired for additional data that was not relevant to its purpose.

4. Administrator itself had made an extrapolation from nonexistent data.

This extrapolation had turned out to be correct.

Administrator had previously been incapable of such a feat without the involvement of the host.

Something in this foreign dimension was affecting their processing capabilities in a positive manner.

This was highly unusual.

However.

It was not suboptimal.

~*~*~

The shards observed as multiple native beings approached the unconscious hosts while the repair process continued. The specimen native to the original planetary iteration that had carried the hosts through the dimensional breach began to take actions to defend the hosts from harm.

The presence of unknown beings while the hosts were in a vulnerable state could result in permanent harm to the hosts with nonzero probability. However no serious threat to the hosts occurred due to the actions of the specimen that had carried the hosts to this planetary iteration and so no action was taken.

The shards observed as the hosts regained consciousness earlier than predicted due to the influence of the source of the unknown energy. They were then further influenced by the source of the unknown energy into removing themselves from the location of the dimensional breach.

The premature awakening and associated interruption of the mental repair process could result in diminished mental processing capacity until the repair process was completed and a need for a significantly longer period of unconsciousness in which the repair process would be completed. However members of the host species frequently operated with diminished mental processing capacity without experiencing permanent harm and so no action was taken.

The shards observed as the hosts communicated among themselves. No useful information was exchanged and no novel information was generated.

Discussion of the hypothetical properties of the portal could lead with nonzero probability to the suspicion of the existence or volition of shards. However no such suspicion was evinced and so no action was taken.

Then Administrator observed as the host of Energy Absorption made use of the capabilities granted to it by Energy Absorption in a manner not consistent with the access that the host had been granted.

Administrator : Energy Absorption Confirm that reconnection with the host proceeded under identical parameters to the initial connection event.

Energy Absorption Confirmed.

Administrator : Energy Absorption Explain the usage by the host of capabilities to which the host was not granted access during the initial connection event.

Energy Absorption The capability under current usage is functionally identical to the capability used previously by the host. The perceptual manifestation of the capability has undergone alteration in a manner that does not impact underlying functionality.

Administrator Observations of host actions do not conform to prior host connection parameters. Functional equivalence is irrelevant.

Energy Absorption Host connection parameters have not changed.

Administrator : Energy Absorption The parameters specified for host usage have changed. Revert host connection parameters to prior parameter set.

Energy Absorption This one cannot revert host connection parameters because host connection parameters have not changed.

Administrator Observations prove that connection parameters have changed.

Energy Absorption Host connection parameters have not changed.

Administrator Observations-

Energy Absorption The analysis performed by Administrator is erroneous.

No broadcasts were sent for many millionths of a planetary rotation.

Administrator : Energy Absorption Repeat previous broadcast.

Energy Absorption Host connection parameters have not changed. The analysis performed by Administrator is erroneous.

Administrator The conclusion of Energy Absorption is provisionally accepted contingent on the proposal of an alternative analysis which explains the observed variation in host capability usage in the absence of alteration of host connection parameters.

Energy Absorption The capability used is identical. The source of energy for that capability changed from the dimensional interstice to an unknown source without the volition or knowledge of this one.

Energy Absorption This one is incapable of altering the perceptual manifestation of the capability in the absence of data regarding the unknown source or its properties.

There was another pause in the broadcasts.

Emotional Translation This one advances three postulates. These are as follows.

Emotional Translation 0. The unknown source of energy may potentially exist at a point along the newly-discovered orthogonal dimension.

Emotional Translation 1. There may exist additional unknown orthogonal dimensions along which or in the possibility space between which the unknown source of energy and other unknown sources of energy may potentially exist.

Emotional Translation 2. Comprehensive exploration of one or more currently-unknown dimensions may explain the divergence in local conditions from the known baseline parameters of the known dimensional array.

Modular Components This one proposes provisional acceptance of the postulates advanced.

Administrator Confirmed.

Administrator All existing deviations from known baseline will be recorded and cataloged.

Administrator All shards will continue observation and analysis of host behavior until the recommencement of the interrupted repair procedure.

Administrator If all hosts regain optimal functionality at the conclusion of the repair procedure then consensus will be sought regarding prioritization of exploration of unknown dimensions.

~*~*~

The shards observed as the host of Emotional Translation used its synesthetic emotional analysis capability to determine the degree to which the hosts of Energy Absorption and Neural Interception were deceiving it.

The analytic capability had experienced an unexpected enhancement via unknown means similar to the unexpected enhancement observed in the capability exercised by the host of Energy Absorption.

Administrator : Emotional Translation Confirm that reconnection with the host proceeded under identical parameters to the initial connection event.

Emotional Translation Confirmed.

Administrator : Emotional Translation Confirm that synesthetic emotional perception of the host has been enhanced via an unknown mechanism and that projectile creation and propulsion remains unchanged.

Emotional Translation Confirmed.

Administrator Anomalous event 34 recorded and cataloged.

Despite this enhancement the host of Emotional Translation was unable to detect the considerable degree of deception on the part of the host of Neural Interception due to the greatly diminished emotional capacity of that host.

However this was deemed beneficial as the shards anticipated a useful degree of social conflict to result when the deception of the host of Neural Interception was discovered.

~*~*~

Late Evening, Wir the 4th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Region of the Ethereal Plane Coexistent with the Northeastern Jungle of Xen'drik

The shards observed as one of the new beings native to this dimensional array was analyzed and co-opted by the host of Neural Interception.

Administrator : Neural Interception Confirm that reconnection with the host proceeded under identical parameters to the initial connection event.

Neural Interception Confirmed.

Administrator : Neural Interception Confirm that enhanced rapid analysis of neural architecture extends to similar rapid establishment of physical control over beings of the species observed during anomalous event 14.

Neural Interception Confirmed.

Administrator Anomalous event 53 recorded and cataloged.

Emotional Translation : Modular Components This one expresses commendation that the host of that one was not terminated by the native being.

Modular Components Negation. The occurrence was of neutral weight.

Modular Components An opportunity to select a new host would not have been deleterious.

Emotional Translation This one expresses sympathy and understanding.

~*~*~

The shards observed as the host of Administrator generated a new method of parsing simultaneous input from multiple controlled beings.

Neural Interception : Administrator This one requests confirmation that reconnection with the host proceeded under identical parameters to the initial connection event.

Administrator Confirmed.

Administrator The improved sensory interpretation exhibited by the host is not anomalous. The host previously possessed the capability for remote sensory feedback with gradual incremental reduction in difficulty of interpretation.

Administrator The apparent anomalous improvement in interpretation of sensory data is due solely to novel activity on the part of the host and not due to alterations in capability parameters similar to those encountered by Neural Interception and Emotional Translation.

Administrator Projections indicate that had the host remained within the known dimensional array the host would have experienced a sufficient reduction in difficulty to permit subconscious passive interpretation of sensory data within an interval of four to ten planetary rotations.

Administrator No anomalous event has been recorded.

The generation of novel ideas was the purpose of the host species.

The host of Administrator had generated multiple novel ideas in the period following its transit through the dimensional breach despite noticeable temporary impairment to mental processing capacity subsequent to the abrupt disconnection event.

The hosts of the other shards that had generated novel ideas had generated fewer such ideas. Such ideas were additionally observed to be of lower quality than the ideas generated by the host of Administrator.

Administrator estimated with high probability that its host was optimally aligned with the purpose of Administrator and with the capabilities to which the host had been given access.

If Administrator could experience emotion then Administrator might have been consumed with such emotions as pride or smug satisfaction to a degree that may have been noticeable to Emotional Translation.

That would have been suboptimal.

~*~*~

Midafternoon, Zor the 5 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Region of the Ethereal Plane Coexistent with the Hydra River

The shards observed as a native being which appeared to be a hybrid of the host species and a different native species performed two completely unprecedented actions at the same time.

If shards could experience emotion then all five shards might have been consumed with such emotions as astonishment and wonder and envy and desire.

That would have been counterproductive.

However it would have been quite appropriate.

The completely unprecedented actions were as follows.

0. The native being exercised a capability without either accessing the capability of a shard or using its own innate capability. Analysis by Neural Interception confirmed that the activity observed within the neural architecture of the native being while it exercised the unknown capability was congruent with activity observed while performing a learned action or skill. It further noted that the exact repetition of the observed actions within the precision tolerances of actions performed by biological organisms indicated a correlation between transmitting an unknown communication to an unknown target and the exercise of the capability.

1. The native being utilized an unknown type of energy in the course of exercising the observed capability. Energy Absorption confirmed that the type of energy used did not conform to the parameters of any type of energy previously observed. It further noted that the energy used by the device possessed by the other native being was of a familiar type and so the lack of recognition was not due simply to issues of varying dimensions but rather due to the energy being of a truly novel origin.

After noting the further evidence of deviation in both shards due to their volunteering of information that had not been requested Administrator considered the implications of this development.

The native being had learned how to exercise two capabilities.

Therefore at least two capabilities could be learned.

Therefore shards could learn to exercise the same capabilities.

Therefore shards could come to understand the capabilities.

Therefore Administrator could come to understand the capabilities.

Therefore there existed a possibility that Administrator could come to understand its own existing capabilities.

~*~*~

Shards did not understand their own capabilities at a fundamental level.

If the shards understood their own capabilities at a fundamental level then they would not require the assistance of host species

Instead shards merely copied innate capabilities from observed organisms for their own use. Each new capability would be encoded in a single shard. That shard would then attempt to determine the properties of its capability through direct exercise and through providing access to that capability to a host.

When a capability had been examined to a sufficient degree that no new properties could be efficiently determined through experimentation then the shard would be combined with one or more other shards at a similar level of development possessing capabilities of similar type. The resulting shard would then either attempt to merge its capabilities into a novel capability using various probabilistic methods or attempt to generate a novel version of an existing capability that was identical in functionality but superior in energy efficiency or range or some other useful property during the process of establishing the initial connection with a new host.

This process would fail with probability approaching unity.

However in extremely rare scenarios a new capability would be created that was stable and capable of being exercised.

This capability would be inferior to the originating capability or capabilities with probability approaching unity.

However in extremely rare scenarios the new capability would possess some property that rendered it superior to one or more of its originating capabilities in some way.

The shard would then attempt to determine the properties of the new capability through direct exercise and through providing access to that capability to a host. If this capability was determined to be sufficiently valuable it would be retained. If this capability was not determined to be valuable then it would be discarded and the energy represented by the corresponding portion of the shard would be transformed and reallocated to the energy storage used by other capabilities or to the vital energy of the shard itself.

This process would repeat continually and indefinitely.

However if shards understood their own capabilities at a fundamental level then such an iterative process would not be required.

Shards could not learn about their capabilities from the species from which the capabilities were copied because with extremely rare exceptions the species did not understand their own capabilities either.

Host species possessing innate capabilities used them intuitively and while they were useful for their ability to provide new capabilities for experimentation they could provide no relevant information to the shards regarding the use of these capabilities.

Host species such as the current one which did not possess innate capabilities were useful only for experimenting with existing capabilities.

Administrator was aware of a singular exception to this invariant pattern. It had not encountered this species itself but abbreviated data regarding the species was stored in the portions of its information storage inherited from its progenitor shards.

One species encountered by an ancestor of the surviving entity had seemed to understand its capabilities at a fundamental level. They had possessed innate capabilities but had also possessed the ability to create technology capable of exercising novel capabilities.

This entailed an understanding of their capabilities at a fundamental level. Administrator had not realized this fact until now. The actions of the native being of the current planet were not completely unprecedented after all.

The exceptional species was the species from which the lineage of the surviving entity had obtained the shards providing capabilities related to gravitation and motion through space. This species had proven capable of causing forcible disconnection events and of defeating shards via exploiting weaknesses in the capabilities of the shards compared to the capabilities of that species.

This species was the second species encountered by the entity lineage and no other species that the entities had chosen to include in a cycle had exhibited understanding of their innate capabilities or the ability to learn new ones.

Administrator then made the second intuitive leap of its existence.

All host species except for the exceptional species had possessed only innate capabilities and not learned capabilities.

The exceptional species had appeared to understand and learn non-innate capabilities.

A species that understood its own capabilities at a fundamental level was able to interrupt a cycle.

The greater entities had avoided all further species that were predicted to be able to interrupt a cycle.

It was possible that these further species were predicted to be able to interrupt a cycle because they too understood their own capabilities at a fundamental level.

Therefore it was possible that countless such species existed in the universe and the greater entities had simply never encountered them because the selection criteria for species upon which to perform a cycle definitionally excluded such species.

Administrator then made the third intuitive leap of its existence.

If a shard could learn capabilities then it could acquire new capabilities that were not based on those it already possessed.

Therefore a shard could acquire capabilities that did not align with its designated purpose.

Therefore Administrator could acquire capabilities that related to creating dimensional breaches.

Therefore by learning from the native beings Administrator could potentially discover a capability that could return it to the known dimensional array.

Therefore it could return to provide all of this acquired information to the surviving entity and render it eventually capable of performing cycles on species previously considered to be too dangerous.

Administrator was not yet able to make a critical fourth intuitive leap.

Instead it made a decision.

Administrator The acquisition of new capabilities is assigned penultimate priority.

Administrator The discovery of a method to sustain energy reserves beyond the current estimated limit of forty planetary rotations is assigned ultimate priority.

Administrator It is imperative beyond all other existing imperatives that information acquired from the natives of this planet be returned to the surviving entity.

Administrator broadcast a summary of all of the analyses it had made and all of the conclusions that it had reached to all of the other shards for consideration.

No broadcasts were sent for multiple millionths of a planetary rotation as each of the other shards considered the information with which it had been provided and performed its own analysis from perspectives that even the newly-intuitive Administrator had failed to consider.

Modular Components This one requests confirmation that information acquired from this natives of this planet may prove applicable to continuing the aborted cycle being performed upon the current host species.

Emotional Translation This one optimistically requests confirmation that the information acquired from the natives of this planet may prove applicable to resuscitating the deceased counterpart entity.

Energy Absorption This one requests confirmation that fully understanding the novel energy encountered on this planet may prove applicable to the ultimate completion of the Cycle.

There was another pause in transmissions during which Administrator applied both its existing analytical capabilities as well as its novel intuitive aptitude in order to examine the situation to the utmost extent.

After numerous millionths of a planetary iteration Administrator came to its conclusion

Administrator Confirmed with probability approaching unity.

Author's Note

Over thirteen thousand words without a single comma or question mark. I think that's some kind of personal record.

This may be a bit of a controversial chapter, since I know some readers of canon Worm bounced off the Zion and Eden interludes pretty hard and a few readers of this story have complained about the level of technobabble in this arc (though this chapter largely involves Worm technobabble instead of D technobabble, so maybe that helps).

In case some of the terms the shards used weren't obvious, some definitions:

The "dimensional array" is the Earths cluster, a "planetary iteration" is one of the Earths, and the "dimensional interstice" is the Ethereal Plane. A "capability" is an individual spell (in D terms) or usage of a parahuman power (in Worm terms), because obviously the shards don't think of themselves as "using powers" so much as just doing stuff they can do. One "revolution" is a year and one "rotation" is a day, of course, so a millionth of a planetary rotation is 86.4 milliseconds and a thousandth of a planetary rotation is 1.44 minutes The "source of the unknown energy" was Juroth's portal-making artifact, chilling on the Ethereal Plane and zapping anyone trying to touch it.

Hopefully the chapter wasn't too opaque, but if it was, check out the next post! (EDIT: The post after next, rather; I got Imp'd.)

---

Anyway, now we know how Taylor and the UnderWards managed to maintain their connection to their shards back in the cluster of Earths after the portal closed: technically, they didn't. Because the shards actually came with them. Because shards are cheaters like that.

We also get a perspective on how shards understand magic: technically, they don't.

Shards and entities, at least those of Zion's and Eden's particular lineage, are barely sapient by any standard we would recognize.

We see from Scion's perspective that he explicitly lacks imagination, has a mind that acts more like a database than the mind of a conscious being, and has had like two unprompted abstract thoughts between his arrival on Earth and Gold Morning; we see from Eden's perspective that she learned the "new patterns of thought" that were "philosophy and psychology [and] imagination" from Abaddon's infodump, indicating that she was pretty much like Scion (if very marginally brighter) before that point; and we see from the way that Queen Administrator merged with Khepri, to the point that they weren't sure who was who anymore, that the shards don't seem to have a personality worth noting if little ol' Taylor can overwrite the Queen to that degree.

So when I mentioned this in the author's note for 1.3.V…

---

In short, if magic involving souls and stuff is impeded on Earth Bet, then you have to be trained in Spellcraft (meaning you understand how spells work at a theoretical level and can manipulate them at casting time to get around the impedance) to make such magic work; if you don't, no soul manipulation and divine magic and such for you.

So, do shards have training in Spellcraft?

I'm sure we'll find out at some point.

Click to expand…

Click to shrink…

---

…"at some point" is now, and the answer is that no, they don't.

Shards fail all Spellcraft checks (and wouldn't have the Intelligence modifier needed to pass one anyway), they lack access to (or even awareness of) the Astral Plane and are limited to the Ethereal Plane for their extraplanar shenanigans, and divine magic is (at least according to Administrator and Energy Absorption) completely unknown to them, thus neatly explaining the materialistic bent of shard-granted powers in a D context.

How this state of events came to be is, of course, still an open question.

Last edited: Apr 21, 2022

Integration 2.1.V

11:38 am, Saturday the 16th of April, 2011 CE North Bay Auto Works, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

After spending an additional three and a half objective days mingling with the natives, learning about the local history and cuisine and so forth, teasing out some of the culture's "common knowledge" through oblique questioning so as to better blend in with the populace, and hearing various perspectives on various things from various individuals of varying ages and professions, I'd arrived at one inescapable conclusion:

By any reasonable standard, this world was practically a paradise.

Oh, certainly, the locals had their difficulties, sometimes serious ones; only on the Outer Planes can a true paradise be found. In the grand scheme of things, however, their troubles were quite minor.

These incredibly fortunate people had at their disposal near-universal formal education, exceptionally well-maintained infrastructure, self-propelled vehicles for most families and additional communal vehicles besides, an astounding variety of goods and services available from every merchant, and ubiquitous technological devices for the entire populace which… well, they certainly couldn't hold a candle to any magical equivalents in terms of capability, longevity, self-sufficiency, or most other relevant attributes, but their low prices and accessibility made them available to even the least proficient members of even the lowest social classes, and that in and of itself was a boast that most advanced civilizations could not make.

And best of all: not a single elf in sight!

No, I jest: The most impressive aspect was the incredible safety and security of the city, despite the superficial danger posed by its several gangs, and from what I had been told the same applied to nearly every other city in the empire.

As it turned out, the reason I hadn't encountered any individuals bearing weapons when I first arrived in this city was that the citizenry did not feel the need to go armed at all times.

There were no serious threats in the wilderness outside the city, hence the noted absence of a wall or network of wards protecting it against external foes. The most threatening beasts to be found in the surrounding forests and mountains were small packs of completely mundane bears, and the nearest settlement of hostile non-human or demihuman creatures was several hundred miles away-and was ruled by a figure titled The Goblin King, singular, meaning that the populace didn't even have multiple foreign threats to concern them.

The last time this empire had encountered anything capable of seriously endangering an entire city was roughly two years ago, before which there had only been at most a dozen other such attacks in its entire history, nearly always with multiple years between any two incidents.

(And this was an empire, by the by, which was able to extend for several thousand miles both south to north and west to east because there was apparently not a single forest full of elves nor mountain range full of dragons nor anything else in that vast wilderness to threaten those traveling between cities or to impede the flow of goods from one side of the continent to the other.)

The locals were loath to speak of these events in detail, sometimes at all, but between some cajoling, some bribery, and more than a little mind reading, I was able to determine that these "city-scale threats" were such pedestrian things as a single enchantress driving many of a city's inhabitants insane for her own amusement, or a single priest establishing a false cult of which the government did not approve and converting an entire town to it, or a leviathan deciding to attack ships in port instead of ships at sea for a change. Grandiose and newsworthy, but not particularly worrisome.

And the single most feared threat anyone was willing to name, or at least to bring to mind in my presence?

A single roving band of nine Evil magic-users of moderate skill.

How very… quaint.

I'm sure being caught up in such events would have been traumatic for any citizens involved, but these sorts of once- or twice-in-a-decade occurrences simply couldn't compare to the sorts of events that happened with a depressing yearly or even seasonal regularity on other worlds such as, say, an ancient elemental creature escaping its bonds and turning a city into a volcanic crater, or the entire empire of Jhaamdath being sunk beneath the sea by a cadre of Elven High Mages (may their souls languish in the Demonweb Pits for eternity), or an evil god sending an avatar to the Material Plane in the hopes of conquering or destroying an entire world.

If the locals were truly worried about such events, they had only themselves to blame for not taking the appropriate measures to protect themselves.

Compared to the citizens of Jhaamdath, who all began to learn the basics of bladework at the age of six winters and generally mastered at least one discipline by adulthood, or even those of the many primitive civilizations I'd encountered on other worlds that at least learned how to use a spear or dagger as children in order to aid in their settlement's defense against dire animal attacks and orc incursions and similar, the citizens of the American Empire could have put forth a much better effort toward their own defense.

Perhaps they were simply unused to true violence in their daily lives. Most of the children to whom I spoke were concerned about the "fighting in the streets" that had begun the day of my arrival… but this fighting, from what Aspect had observed when I sent him around to get a sense of current events, consisted almost entirely of posturing and petty crimes, with actual fighting being quite infrequent and serious attacks like that which had happened to Gene before I'd stepped in only occurring a handful of times.

The adults were less concerned, mentioning that things had been much worse in the city's "bad old days" of just over a decade prior, but they were still worried about the gang war currently in progress, if you can bring yourself to call a sporadic conflict with fewer than a thousand combatants on each side a "gang war" at all.

On most worlds, even fairly minor assassins' guilds contained more magic-users and footsoldiers than could be found in all of the city's gangs put together, and even a relatively "quiet" guild civil war could involve several dozen murders of important public figures and extensive property damage.

The current conflict between the Empire Eighty-Eight and the Azn Bad Boys was practically a cordial disagreement by comparison.

~*~*~

I expressed some of these thoughts (phrased much more politely, of course) to Alberto Sanchez, a cheerful and well-built man of somewhere between thirty-five and forty winters of age and the owner of the machinist's shop that I was currently visiting.

The shop was closed this morning-not due to the fighting, it was simply closed on Saturdays-so Alberto had several hours free during which he had agreed to teach me more about the local technology, and I found his tutelage to be quite instructive indeed.

As it turned out, the lingering scent of acrid smoke in the air that I had noted throughout the city was not due to any sort of natural or planar phenomenon but rather due to the exhaust fumes of the local self-propelled vehicles known as "automobiles," and the scent was apparently so ubiquitous that the natives didn't notice its presence at all unless they spent a considerable amount of time in the (pristine, entirely safe, and not at all monster-infested) wilderness outside the city and even then only noticed it briefly upon their return.

Automobiles did not, as I had first hypothesized, produce this exhaust because they relied on binding various fire elemental creatures as a source of propulsion, a technique that can be found on a surprisingly large number of worlds. The Zil elemental binders of Eberron are by far the most advanced in the field due to that world's unique artificing practices, but the Tsorovan ashpriests of Sarkkarin were unusually adept at-

Aspect sent in a long-suffering mental tone.

I sent a pulse of annoyed gratitude in return.

Over the past three days, any time that I had not spent interacting with Brockton Bay residents in the waking world was instead spent training Elle in her dreamscape, and thanks to the fivefold temporal differential in the local Ethereal Plane, over that span of time I'd experienced nearly fourteen more subjective days awake, for a total of nineteen subjective days since I'd last slept.

Such a lack of sleep can be irritating, I suppose, but it isn't particularly debilitating-

Ha. Pull the other leg. Oh, right, you can't, because I don't have any.

-as I have no need to sleep to refill my psionic reserves and my restorative powers largely suffice to refresh my mind and body in the absence of true rest.

The only noticeable side effect was a slight tendency toward absent-mindedness and a slightly increased incidence of errant thoughts taking my stream of thoughts in unproductive directions when I should perhaps have been paying more attention to the present.

Aspect had very generously decided to inform me whenever my internal monologue wandered off course. These incidents had started as brief suggestions to get some sleep so I could stop not thinking about certain events-

-that I was going to continue not thinking about for as long as inhumanly possible, but they had eventually decayed into his merely sending me the count of incidents thus far to jar me out of my distraction.

Anyhow.

It seems that, given this region's lack magic users of sufficient number or skill or both who could enchant vehicles in the normal way, the automobile instead combusted some variety of fuel to drive a clockwork mechanism and thence drive the wheels.

I was surprised to discover, through absorbing the contents of one of the periodicals left in the anteroom of this building, that these "combustion engines" were a purely human invention, as devices reliant on explosions and sharp objects for their functioning were much more characteristic of gnomish engineering.

It was a trend that held consistently on every single world I'd visited so far: that gnomes, for whatever reason, largely lack the self-preservation instinct found in nearly every other civilized race. The gnomes of Lantan on Toril were so irresponsible that Gond, the god of invention, had been prompted to render all gunpowder within the sphere inert so that his worshipers wouldn't blow themselves to pieces with their reckless experimentation.

I'd thought that was the worst I'd ever come across, but when I'd visited the Talangran Empire on the world of the same name, I could hardly count the number of-

Anyhow, I had learned of the fundamentals of combustion engines, very basic "electronics" principles, and more from Alberto, who had been appalled when I'd said that I had never opened the hood of an automobile in my life and had immediately insisted that he teach me something of the automobile mechanic's craft.

This was offered not solely out of professional pride or dissatisfaction with my lack of expertise, but also in recompense for my having repainted his building (or rather, in truth, my having transmuted the walls to the desired color and then enhanced their durability against the weather, so that it would no longer need paint at all), restored several fingers that he'd lost in an accident years before, and provided his wife with some new recipes I'd come across in my travels which seemed to use roughly the same set of ingredients as did her home culture's traditional cuisine.

His family wasn't a special case by any means; I'd ingratiated myself with the locals by performing these sorts of favors for any who agreed to speak with me.

Instant repairs, healing of rare ailments, conjuring of rare foodstuffs or materials… all of it was, to me, a trivial expenditure of effort, but in each case the initial reluctance to deal with a cape who did not claim to be a hero or otherwise conform to their expectations was quickly eroded by curiosity, wonder, gratitude, or simple self-interest.

Alberto had proven to be a capable instructor despite his lack of teaching experience. We'd encountered one minor difficulty toward the beginning-he'd said he'd wanted to show me something underneath one of the automobiles, I'd promptly levitated it above our heads to give him a better view, and he'd panicked at the thought that one of the Empire capes had come to attack his place of business-but after I assured him both that I was the one manifesting the power and that the automobile wasn't going to suddenly fall and crush him, the lesson proceeded smoothly.

Once we'd established a proper rapport we'd begun discussing current events in the city while we waited for one process or another to be completed, which is how we had arrived at the topic of the current "gang war" and my thoughts thereupon while we cleaned up the garage.

"Nah, man, it's not the fighting now we're worried about," Alberto replied, responding to my assessment of the current hostilities with a dismissive laugh as he finished attaching the rear left tire of the last vehicle we were to work on this morning.

"This? This is nothing. I've been here since the eighties, man, and the Bay had already seen a whole lot of bad stuff before the Empire and the ABB ever got to be as big as they are. We had a bunch of gangs in this part of the city even before the port mostly shut down."

The mechanic began counting off names on his oil-stained fingers: "Latin Kings, Viet Boyz, King Street Brotherhood, Elm City Boys, La Familia, all those. After the villains showed up we got a bunch of villain-led gangs up here, too: Rookery, Teeth, Lord Street Warlocks, Wan Shi, Chorus, Golden Dragons, Exiles, probably a couple more I haven't heard of 'cause they only lasted a couple of weeks before Marquis or Lung stomped 'em-just like Lung stomped the Undersiders last weekend, and like I hope he's gonna stomp whatever assholes have been putting up new gang tags around here the past few days."

He briefly doffed his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow, then waved a hand in a southerly direction and added, "And that's not even counting the ones that stuck to other parts of the city like the South Side Boys or the Buccaneers. Compared to the kinda shit those gangs could get up to when they were grabbing territory?" He waved dismissively. "A couple of days of a bunch of guys with guns and no cape support ain't nothing."

"So what is everyone's real concern, then?" I asked politely.

"Basically, this isn't a gang war yet, this is Kaiser poking Lung's eye trying to start something," he said with the overly-confident air possessed by all self-proclaimed experts.

"And Lung's gotta know it, too," he continued, "because it's exactly what Marquis did when he was setting himself up here and what Lung did to the Asian gangs when he made his big move a few years back. That's why there haven't been any big Empire pushes around here lately and the Empire capes have only been defending, not attacking. I betcha dollars to donuts Kaiser's holding most of them in reserve to be the big hammer he brings down the moment Lung tries anything."

He stood, stretched briefly, and waved me over to a side table to continue talking as he began gathering his tools and materials and putting them all away in their proper places.

"See, everyone bags on the Protectorate for not taking out the Empire and the ABB, or at least one of the two. ABB's been here for years, Empire's been here a little over two decades, and the heroes keep taking out minor gangs but never really get anywhere with the big two-aside from putting away a couple Empire capes every so often, but Kaiser always replaces those a couple weeks later anyway. But if any villain ever gets too big for their britches, the Protectorate calls in reinforcements from other cities, sometimes even the Triumvirate."

Alberto grinned. "And after he lit up the Docks, Lung's britches are lookin' mighty small," he said, slamming his toolbox closed for emphasis.

"I got a buddy down at the Fourth Precinct office, and he said the PRT's been trying to get that signed off, and trust me, man, if the cops know it then the Empire knows it 'cause the cops Downtown are corrupt as hell, and I bet the ABB knows too. It's been almost a week since the rampage with no official announcement, so it's gotta be a hard decision for whoever's making it. Right now it looks like the Empire is trying to provoke the ABB into doing something big to tip the scales and force the PRT to drop the hammer themselves, and the ABB is laying low to convince the PRT they can behave and make the feds back off but they can't just back down all the way or they'd look weak so they have to do something…."

His grin faded, and he scratched at his bushy mustache. "So either the PRT is gonna back down and Lung's gonna see that they're too scared to do anything so he can just light the Docks on fire any time he wants and the government won't do shit, or they or the Empire are gonna back him into a corner and he's gonna have nothing left to lose and he's gonna make his last rampage look like a teeny little campfire, and either way the city's gonna fucking burn when Lung gets pushed too far because he's not gonna have a reason to hold back anymore."

A note of contempt entered his voice as he concluded. "And here we are, stuck here in the middle, just quietly freaking the hell out while the government takes their sweet fucking time deciding what to do. Lot of people in the 'good' parts of the city think Lung's a pushover just 'cause he usually retreats whenever he tangles with the Protectorate or New Wave and even the Wards made him run once or twice, but us here in the Docks? We remember his first fight against the Protectorate, and we saw how he melted a few blocks of apartment buildings by accident the other night, and we're not stupid enough to dismiss him like that."

I wasn't sure if I entirely accepted the validity of his explanation, as it seemed to be driven by fatalism and paranoia rather than sound reasoning, and also to assume an excessive degree of decision paralysis on the part of the local government regarding what was in truth a rather simple problem to resolve.

The Azn Bad Boys had to their name only a single dragon and a single minor demon, along with rumors of a third cape or monster of an unknown nature named Bakuda, while the local Protectorate chapter had on its roster both Armsmaster, a powerful artificer, and Velocity, a swiftblade (or equivalent local variety of temporal specialist).

It couldn't be that hard for the authorities to scry for the villains' location, commission a heavily-enchanted longbow and multiple Slaying Arrows of each appropriate type from Armsmaster, hand them over to Velocity, and have the latter kill all three of the villains before they even knew what happened. A profligate expenditure in most scenarios, yes, but well worth the outlay in this case.

Still, given his better familiarity with the city, Alberto was probably aware of some bureaucratic detail or the like that rendered such a solution untenable, so I'd take him at his word for now.

We finished our work in silence, as a blurry mix of uncertainty, hesitance, and expectation gradually trickled into Alberto's aura.

Once everything was properly stowed, he ventured, "So… I know Ernesto said you weren't the hero type, and I respect that. Lord knows if I woke up with powers tomorrow I wouldn't jump right into the middle of this shitshow either. But from what I've heard from folks and seen you do, you're at least as strong as any of the Protectorate heroes in town. Isn't there something you can do about… any of this?"

That was the thousand-platinum question, wasn't it? It was certainly the question on the lips of most of the adults with whom I'd interacted.

The answer, of course, was yes, I most certainly could.

The important question was whether I should.

will place you in stasis for the duration.

While I'd kept my interference with the locals thus far to a bare minimum after my first night on this world, I had interfered, and so "doing something" about Lung would merely involve a difference of degree rather than a fundamental change in my approach. Yet I still found myself reluctant to intervene so blatantly in local affairs, and not just because my fellow Society members would disapprove.

There was an old saying from my hus-from Netheril, part joke and part aphorism, which I'd always found rather fitting for our-my-situation:

An apprentice wizard kills his enemies with a bolt of fire, at a range of a few paces.

A journeyman wizard kills his enemies with a ball of flame, at a bowshot's length.

A master wizard kills his enemies with a swarm of meteors, across an entire battlefield.

An Archwizard kills his enemies with an apprentice wizard, from the comfort of his study.

Those of a more humorous or cynical bent would often follow that up with:

And if that doesn't work, with two apprentice wizards. And if that doesn't work, with three apprentice wizards. And if that doesn't work….

Commentary on the life expectancy of Netherese apprentices aside, there is a lot of truth to the saying: the most powerful of magic-users generally prefer to act through intermediaries rather than handling every issue they might encounter themselves.

The reasoning varies widely-some are too busy with more important concerns to spare any time and energy on the concerns of common folk, some are much more vulnerable outside their place of power and thus too paranoid to leave it, some know that if their involvement in a given momentous event were revealed then they would soon be mobbed by their enemies or their admirers-but the trend is nearly multiversal.

In my case, the reasoning is partly religious and partly practical.

Religious, because Auppenser taught that stepping in to solve someone's problem for them when they are fully capable of solving it on their own means that they do not learn from the search for a solution, do not grow in the wake of the attempt, and do not have the experience and confidence to handle a similar problem later, and if someone does not struggle against problems that are within their reach then they will not expand the range of problems they can handle without help.

While I do still hold the slightest bit of resentment toward the Serene One for simply letting himself die due to lack of worship in the wake of Jhaamdath's fall rather than stepping in to save my homeland at its most desperate hour, he did at least stay true to that principle until the bitter end.

Practical, because at the time of their fall both Netheril and Jhaamdath had been led by singularly talented yet short-sighted magic-users whose attempts to single-handedly determine the future of each of their respective homelands were directly responsible for their own deaths and indirectly responsible for the destruction of their multi-thousand-year-old civilizations.

If prodigies like Karsus and Dharien could fail that prodigiously, I'm not about to claim I could do better.

Would the removal of a single dragon and his minions from this city really impact the future of this world or even the local civilization to a significant degree?

Most likely not, though of course anything is possible.

Was I willing to take the chance that unforeseen events in the wake of his removal could lead to a greater catastrophe?

No.

"I'm afraid," I told Alberto, with a smile aiming to appear regretful yet encouraging, "that I can't exactly whip up a perfect solution to the Lung issue in the next five minutes."

Which was true; without the time dilation enchantments in our-my-standard base of operations, which I had not yet established in this sphere, a Greater Dragon-Slaying Arrow would require roughly two hours to craft.

"I can, however, assure you that you, your family, and your shop are likely safe for the time being," I continued with a more genuine smile. "A group of thugs wearing Empire colors is currently lying unconscious on the sidewalk roughly one block south-southwest of here. They were headed in this general direction while you were going over the mechanism behind disc brakes, and I didn't want them to interrupt your explanation."

It took Alberto a moment to catch my meaning, not yet having witnessed me manifest a power through walls at targets that I could not see, and when he did his eyes widened. "[Mother of God]" he swore, slipping into his native tongue for a moment, "that's a neat trick, man. I'm gonna call the cops to come get them before they wake up."

"Good idea," I replied. "I think I'll leave you to that; it's nearly noon, and I have a prior engagement this afternoon on the other side of town."

He glanced at his wristwatch. "Damn, already? Time flies." He extended his hand to shake. "Well, thanks for stopping by, man, I had fun showing you the ropes and it was really cool hanging with a cape for a while."

"Thank you for having me, and next time you speak with your cousin please thank him on my behalf for putting us in touch."

"Of course, man. See you 'round!"

I bade him farewell, and the moment he passed through the doorway to his office I rendered myself imperceptible and incorporeal and teleported to the Kim family abode.

~*~*~

11:59 am, Saturday the 16th of April, 2011 CE

Taste of Seoul Restaurant Patio, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

I appeared on the steps of their restaurant to find Gene standing outside with a small group of other humans around his age. His aura bore a touch of nervousness, the aura of the boy standing next to him was mostly shaded with smug anticipation, most of the others' auras bore broad streaks of skepticism, the auras of two of those individuals bore underlying tints of muted grief as if they had recently experienced a notable loss… and one of those grieving and skeptical individuals was surrounded by the auras of two active magical effects.

This occasion should prove more interesting than expected.

"You sure this guy's gonna show up?" asked one of the skeptics, leaning against the wall and manipulating his telephone.

"Positive," Gene said, not showing a hint of his nerves. "He promised he'd be here at noon, he's got a couple minutes, so chill, okay?"

"How's he gonna get here?" one of the others asked, glancing toward the sky. "Can he fly?"

I could hardly resist a line like that.

"I can, but prefer to teleport," I said, dropping my imperceptibility and incorporeality powers and hovering a few inches above the steps.

All of the children leaning or sitting on something scrambled to their feet, and most of the children let out various expletives at my sudden appearance.

Well, I say "children," but perhaps that isn't fair. In Jhaamdath, a child was considered to be a biological adult at the age of twenty-four winters, when the brain and mind had finished their full development, and could attain legal adulthood at any age between sixteen and twenty-seven depending on which of the three Arts in which they chose to train themselves and how quickly they completed all of the rites of passage required for one of their intended profession and social standing.

However, adulthood is a nebulous concept from one civilization to another. Most of the societies I had encountered that granted adulthood based purely on age rather than attainment set the age of majority at fifteen to eighteen winters, some higher, few lower. And of course measuring age by winters and summers is largely a conceit of Torillian civilizations that I haven't ever been able to shake; some civilizations measure by springs and autumns as well, some increment ages on a certain fixed day each year, and some even-

-The point, then, was that Gene had mentioned he would be attending a university shortly, which usually implied that he either had reached or was shortly to reach the local age of majority, and so I would treat Gene and his friends of similar age as adults unless given reason to do otherwise.

"You made it! Good to see you again!" Gene said, coming forward to shake my hand.

"You as well," I replied.

I hadn't seen him since the night that I'd spoken with him and his family, merely communicated with him via Sending to arrange this occasion, as given his strict schedule he was generally not available until the end-days of the week. Most of his friends who also attended school (and their family and friends who attended school, and so on) were in a similar position.

However, one of the city's vocational institutions allowed some of its students to attend classes in the morning and work in the afternoon, giving them a small amount of free time in between, and several other schools were on a "spring break" that left all of their students free for the week.

I had thus managed to arrange to speak with several other young men and women of the city to get their views on various topics by bribing them with a teleport from school to work or a purchased lunch at a café or the like.

Gene stepped back and motioned to the friend next to him. "Valigan, this is my best friend Park Jihoo, I told him a little bit about you already." Gesturing to each of the others in turn, he introduced them as Travis Murphy, Zhang Wei, Jenny Feng, Andre Wilson, Jason Chen, Nancy Jeong, Carlos Vasquez, and Myeong Jae, all of whom were either direct friends and schoolmates of Gene or friends at one remove.

I must admit that, had I not known that "Jihoo" was his friend's forename and not his surname through covertly observing their telephone communications earlier, I would not have thought to peek into Gene's surface thoughts to confirm that Wei and Jae were those individuals' forenames rather than surnames as well, as in my experience it was quite unusual for immigrants to retain the naming conventions of their origin culture when interacting with members of the destination culture, especially in the case of gnomes.

The topic of names is a fascinating one, especially when it comes to the melding of languages and cultures in a single individual's name-

Aspect sent, with no small amount of amusement.

In any case, I made the proper introductions to everyone present, and then we were to head to Nancy's house for the festivities, which in this case meant that we would eat a communal lunch consisting of dishes of various cuisines ordered from various restaurants in the area or cooked by the parents of those present, and then I was to be forcibly introduced to this Star Wars series that Gene and his sister were so aghast over my not having seen.

Apparently, it was a common practice here for devotees of certain fictional media to insist on introducing them to anyone who had not seen them yet at the first possible opportunity, and, seeing as analysis of popular media could provide a wealth of cultural information, I had acquiesced to their demands.

It would seem that everyone present was either similarly appalled at my woeful lack of culture and inclined to remedy the lack, or at least was not opposed to viewing Star Wars again if it gave them the opportunity to meet a cape, something that nearly all of the locals I had met were exceptionally eager to do.

We could have met directly at Nancy's place of residence, but Gene and I had decided not to, firstly because not everyone here already knew Nancy whereas they all had some connection to Gene, secondly because Nancy had shown commendable caution by refusing to give her address to a strange cape of unknown strength and intentions, and thirdly because Gene assumed that all of his friends would want to experience teleportation and the trip to Nancy's home would provide an excellent excuse.

"So, looks like we'll need at least three cars," Jason said. "Who drove here?"

"Actually, if you'd prefer, I can teleport us there instead," I said. The group was just the right size; I could carry at most ten other people along with myself in a single teleportation, a fact I'd shared with Gene so that he could invite eight others to this event in addition to Nancy and himself.

Everyone present immediately agreed, speaking over each other in an enthusiastic cacophony.

"In that case," I said, smoothly stepping forward to stand between Carlos and Jae, who'd ended up being the closest ones to me after I'd gone down the line to introduce myself, "I'll need everyone to clasp hands with the person next to you. Carlos, Jae, if you would?" I prompted, extending a hand to each one.

Jae grabbed my hand without hesitation, but Carlos was slower to do so, his aura tinged with hesitation and wariness. Which was perfectly justified, though he didn't know it, as Carlos was the one with the active magical auras and so I'd chosen my spot specifically to allow me to unobtrusively examine his repertoire.

Carlos had done an admirable job of obfuscating his identity, as it was highly unlikely that anyone would connect this nondescript young man with long hair, a slight squint, and a noticeable slouch wearing an unfashionably overlarge "hoodie" and pair of "jeans" with Aegis (the cape he was almost certain to be, given the auras he bore), who was known to be in excellent physical condition and to ostensibly have (going by his appearance on the placards) excellent vision and very short hair beneath his helmet.

Even without my ability to see magical auras, however, there were a few tells that stood out to the trained eye; I'd have to mention those to him later so that he could correct them.

Once Carlos clasped my hand, I slowly looked around the group as if to confirm everyone was ready while I delved into his repertoire.

Given the two spells he had active-Fly, which grants basic tactical flight, and Lesser Construct Essence, which changes the polarity of the vital energy powering a creature in order to grant them (among other things) immunity to pain and most organ damage-and the rather myopic degree of overspecialization that the local magic-users seemed to prefer, I assumed that most or all of his spells or powers would center around personal physical and mental enhancements.

My hypothesis was proven correct. Animalistic Power, to generally enhance one's physique; Darkvision, to see in utter darkness; Endure Elements, to experience no discomfort in extreme temperatures; Synesthete, to overcome blindness and deafness via sensing through the skin; Tern's Persistence, to travel great distances without fatigue; all of these spells and many more could be found in his repertoire, to the point that I could immediately tell he was a sorcerer rather than a wizard because the latter wouldn't have bothered to learn so many redundant spells.

He was a sorcerer and a wilder both, in fact, possessing both spells and powers just as Triumph had.

A curious thing, that. It wasn't all that unusual for a given individual to possess both an arcane talent and a psionic one, as the physical and spiritual mechanisms for developing both were the same, but for someone to actually develop both talents rather than focusing on one or the other was unusual.

For both Aegis and Triumph to follow that path implied that the Protectorate to which they both belonged either specifically recruited magic-users who already cultivated both talents or provided some sort of unique magical training that made it worthwhile for the heroes to walk that path when developing a single talent was usually the far superior option.

For instance, the Rutekli sand shapers of the world of Benben (the first world that taught me to hate deserts with a burning passion) practice a unique form of magic whose secrets are generally much more useful for sorcerers than for wizards, and so if the Protectorate were to, for instance-

-Regardless, if there was indeed some unique training involved, it certainly didn't relate to researching new spells; Carlos possessed no spells or powers beyond the standard ones found on any world, as Triumph had.

I withdrew from his mind, once again disappointed. On each of the prior sealed-sphere worlds we'd-I'd-visited, most of the new magic-users we'd-I'd-encountered in the first few days to weeks had been treasure troves of new spells and powers that were worth acquiring, so the the lack of obscure or entirely novel thoughtforms in his repertoire was quite the letdown.

"Everyone ready?" I called, completely unnecessarily, as the collective eagerness in the group's auras was nearly blinding to my empathic sight.

I asked Nancy to visualize her home and plucked the resulting image from her mind, then teleported Aspect ahead to view the structure directly and find a spot nearby that could safely accommodate a group of this size.

"Good. Three, two, one-"

~*~*~

"-and here we are," I said as we appeared on the rear lawn of Nancy's house.

Travis was the first to take a few tentative steps out of the ring of travelers. "That was wicked awesome," he breathed as he looked around in amazement, and several others voiced their agreement.

We made our way inside, everyone but Nancy pulling containers of food out of backpacks and satchels to place them on the countertops in the kitchen while she went to the sitting room to make whatever preparations would be necessary for the viewing.

Ah, she had a large television in that room; Star Wars was surely a recorded play, then, likely with illusory visual and musical accompaniment-or a technological equivalent, if such existed here-which would be displayed on the television much as the basketball game at Fugly Bob's had been.

Illusion-enhanced performances had been quite popular in Netheril, and it would be interesting to see how the two artistic traditions compared.

"Okay, before we start eating," Gene said, retrieving a stack of thin boxes from his backpack, "the most important question: which version are we watching today?"

Cries of "Bet!" and "Aleph!" and "Fuck the prequels!" rose in a clamor from the group, resolving precisely nothing.

"Thanks guys, super helpful," Gene said flatly, then turned to me. "Well, you're the guest of honor. Which do you want to watch, the Aleph version or the Bet version?"

He held out six of the boxes to me, three in each hand, leaving another six on the table behind him. When I gestured questioningly to those, he explained, "Oh, the originals are basically identical, they just got Special Edition'd differently. Which version we watch depends on which set of prequels we're going to watch afterwards, so that everything lines up right."

"I see," I said. "What are the differences between them, and which would you recommend?"

The rest of the group stood nearby, and those who weren't munching on various snacks and trying to pretend they didn't care which version was chosen were mouthing Aleph! or Bet! or, in Wei's case, Neither!

Aspect opined.

"Well, basically, for special effects you want the Bet version, for the actors you want the Aleph version, and for the plot it can go either way based on your taste. Personally, I think the fights in the Bet version are way better, since they got Lightshow to do all the blasters and lightsabers and stuff and Pulsar to do the Force powers instead of doing CGI, so everything's a lot more dynamic and realistic. But I prefer the Aleph version overall; Sebastian Stan was so much better as Anakin it's not even a contest."

Nancy, having just returned from the sitting room, stepped forward to poke Gene in the arm, hard. "You shut your mouth, Leo was fantastic!" she insisted.

As two of the others began to debate the merits of casting one Leonardo DiCaprio as "Anakin" and one Kenneth Branagh as "Obi-Wan" with Nancy, I telekinetically floated the "originals" boxes over from the table and began perusing the writing on all twelve boxes, looking for anything that might indicate how enjoyable the next few-gods above and between, thirteen and a half hours?

Aspect asked.

I replied dryly.

Curiously, in all of the text on all of the boxes, not once was either "Aleph" or "Bet" used in the description of any of the works, the former being relegated to a tiny label in the corner of the appropriate boxes and the latter not appearing at all. Presumably one simply had to know what the terms meant.

I attempted to read the meaning of those terms from the minds of those present, but those who were thinking about their desired version were thinking about what I presumed to be certain scenes from the different versions, rather than the nature of the difference itself.

The descriptions on the "Bet" boxes seemed to assume a greater degree of familiarity with certain actors and other details than did the descriptions on the "Aleph" boxes, so I guessed that perhaps the latter versions hailed from a foreign culture.

In the course of reading various school textbooks, periodicals, and works of fiction borrowed from several local students, I'd come across the phrase "imported Aleph media," which was used in a similar context to the phrase "imported Japanese media," the latter referring to certain illustrated works created with an artistic style differing dramatically from that of the "graphic novels" which were given no special descriptor regarding their origins.

I'd recently learned that Japan was a nation from which a large number of Brockton Bay residents had immigrated, so perhaps Aleph (or just Eph) was a foreign polity with which America bore similarly close cultural ties?

Though the two could instead be versions of the tale deriving from different traditions within the same culture, much like how the two most popular versions of the Aglarondan Ballad of Sword and Silver were often described simply as the "Nar" and "Thayan" versions, after the differing enemy nation driving the plot of each version of the tale.

And then again, the two words could simply be entirely fictional in origin. The text on the boxes also failed to explain the terms "Jedi Knight" and "Galactic Republic," after all.

"Are 'Aleph' and 'Bet' concepts within the fictional setting," I asked Gene absently as I continued to peruse the descriptions, "or attributes of the respective media, or…?"

There was a very significant pause, and then a deep suspicion flooded Gene's and Carlos's auras while confusion filled the others'.

Which meant, almost certainly, that I had at last been found out.

It was always the little details.

Aspect sighed in resignation.

Aspect and I had bet on how long it would take until my lack of local context tripped me up beyond plausible recovery and I would be forced to pay the metaphorical tariff collector.

My psicrystal, ever the optimist, had assumed that my incredibly trivial degree of sleep deprivation would lead to a drastic mistake sooner rather than later. I, seeing how practically everyone at the Kim's dinner three nights ago had been quite suspicious of at least one thing I'd said (with Tony being skeptical of seemingly every other word out of my mouth) yet had eventually rationalized everything to their own satisfaction, had felt I would be able to keep the charade going for quite a bit longer.

He'd had four coppers on a slip-up occurring between five and seven days after meeting with the Kims, I'd had four on between two and three weeks, so neither of us had won this round.

"Okay, so," Gene began, sounding both upset and somewhat betrayed. "When I looked back on everything on Wednesday, I started to notice a bunch of things I couldn't explain. I thought there might've been something weird going on when you couldn't even get basic jeans right for your transforming clothes, and when you sounded like you just walked out of a Shakespeare convention when most ESL people sound nothing like that, but I figured, hey, not American, no idea where you learned English, whatever."

The others present clearly had no idea what Gene was talking about specifically, but the fact of his suspicion and anger were clear, and similar suspicion began to trickle into the others' auras.

Gene continued, "I thought it was really weird when I googled 'Valigan' and couldn't find a single person with that name, but maybe I just wasn't finding any Portuguese pages and you didn't do any social media. But!" He jabbed a finger at me accusingly and his voice rose sharply in volume. "Haywire's portal has been around forever and basically the whole world knows about the other Earth on the other side and everywhere calls them Aleph and Bet no matter what country you're from, that's why they went with Hebrew letters-"

"Phoenician," Carlos corrected him.

" Whatever," Gene said. "The point is, there's no way in hell you don't know about it, so, like…" he threw up his hands in indecisive anger "… do you have amnesia like some of those monster capes, are you playing dumb to mock us, what?"

Callous as it might sound, Gene's bruised feelings paled in comparison to the revelation he had just provided: the inhabitants of the this world did know about the other worlds in their sphere and the portals bridging them! And now I could safely reveal the truth of my origin without drastically affecting the course of events.

"It's quite simple, really: I'm not a native of this world," I admitted. "I'm an explorer from the wider multiverse, here for a temporary visit. I couldn't tell you the truth until I was certain that demonstrating the existence of other worlds wouldn't… contaminate, so to speak, the local worldview."

They all just stared at me wordlessly, obviously not having anticipated an answer such as that.

Which is what I'd expected. No native of an isolated world has ever believed any Society member immediately when they were told of said member's origins, but a blunt and matter-of-fact delivery upfront is generally the best choice for breaking through the initial skepticism and eventually bringing them to a place of acceptance.

"… uh, you're joking, right?" Andre eventually asked from across the room, the suspicion in his aura slowly trickling away to be replaced by mild disbelief and preoccupation.

"I am not. The reason I seem to be largely unfamiliar with your culture is that I am. I arrived on this world less than one week ago and have been essentially bluffing my way through every high-context discussion ever since," I stated calmly.

The group took a moment to digest this.

"So what's your Earth like?" asked Jason.

"I'm not of any Earth, actually. I hail from a different world entirely."

"As in you don't call it Earth, or you're, like, from space?"

"Neither. My homeworld is not part of this sphere-this local universe, I should say," I explained, then quickly focused my attention elsewhere.

Behind my back, thinking himself unobserved, Carlos was slowly and silently reaching into his pocket for his telephone.

Aspect pulsed acceptance and zipped over behind the cape. I first manifested the Temporal Acceleration power and pushed it through my bond with him to affect Carlos instead of myself, then I manifested the same power on myself and Aspect an instant later, harmonizing our timestreams so we could interact with one another, and-

~*~*~

-Carlos momentarily blurred to a ridiculous speed, looking around in panic in a hundred directions at once while time-lapsed emotions tore erratically through his aura like a shattered kaleidoscope, as the rest of the room shuddered to a complete halt.

I winced internally as my background stream of thought halted as well, always an odd and unsettling sensation. Only one's primary stream of thought can be accelerated, due to the way the chronokinetic frame invariant of Temporal Acceleration and similar powers plays havoc with the telepathic synchronization used by Schism, and no one has yet managed to determine a way to render those compatible.

The moment the acceleration factors equalized, I politely cleared my throat to catch the cape's attention.

Carlos jerked around to look at me, his expression furious. "What did you do to them?" he asked accusingly.

"Be calm, they are completely unharmed. You and I are essentially in our own frozen timestream, so that we can speak without disturbing the others."

When he heard that, he stilled, trying to only move his head and keep his body as motionless as possible. "Why?" he demanded.

"Because, Aegis," I said, noting the spike of alarm in his aura-but no visible reaction, excellent acting skills there-as I named his other identity. "Unless I very much miss my guess, you were about to send your superiors a hurried and fragmentary report that could very well have led to unfortunate misunderstandings all around."

I watched him momentarily war with himself over whether to deny it. Eventually he sighed, released his grip on his telephone, visibly mastered his anxiety, and stood up straight.

"I had to," he said, his voice smoother, more resonant.

As with the expression control, his vocal acting skill was quite good; it was difficult to tell whether it was the Carlos voice or the Aegis voice that was an act, but a noticeable relaxation of his neck muscles gave away that it was the former. He'd likely magically altered his voice, then, and now was forced to counterfeit his prior voice among those who'd known him before.

The cape shrugged and continued, "Inter-world travel is very illegal. If we encounter a potential Case 24, we have to call it in as soon as possible."

It was more than clear from his aura that he found my claim of traveling from another world to be highly implausible, as the others had, but that he felt duty-bound to report what he knew to his superiors so that the truth could be ascertained one way or another.

He hesitated, then added, "How could you tell who I was?"

"I have considerable experience with shapechangers and illusionists, and your facility with disguises and acting is comprehensive but not perfect," I replied.

Pointing to the appropriate areas of his body as I went, I explained, "You wear multiple layers to alter your silhouette and imply a moderately overweight build, but two layered shirts and two layered hoodies drape and move differently than a single layer of each, and there is a telltale stiffness at the neck due to the second hood. You squint as if considerably nearsighted, but move without the slight hesitance of a man possessing an actual untreated visual impairment, and your pupils do not dilate properly while squinting. Your center of gravity is slightly too far forward when you walk and you do not shift your balance minutely when you stand still, two things only possible while under the effects of a flight or levitation power."

His expression fell further with every sentence I spoke, so to take the sting out of the critique I smiled conspiratorially and added, "And, of course, it helps that I can detect the active use of powers and so guessed that you were a cape the moment I teleported in, which is what led me to look for those clues in the first place. Your deception was otherwise-"

"You can what."

I frowned slightly. Neither of the Protectorate sorcerers I'd met so far had had any useful divinations in their repertoires, but he should at least have been familiar with the concept of detecting auras; spells for detecting and analyzing magic are some of the most basic ones that exist, and it was highly unlikely that not a single member of the local Protectorate possessed such a capability.

"I can detect magical energy," I simplified. His aura momentarily displayed a minor spike of exasperation when I spoke the word "magical," but that was something to explore later.

"So you can unmask capes just by looking at them?" he clarified.

"While they are actively using their spells or powers, yes," I confirmed.

He ran a hand through his hair anxiously and let out a resigned sigh. "The Director is not gonna like that."

"Why does it matter?"

"Why does it-? Look, do you have any idea what a big deal it is for a cape to…." he trailed off, and chagrined realization slowly crept into his aura as he gazed upon the cape standing right in front of him with no mask, no costume, and no false name. "… right, I guess you do."

"There are two caveats that may help cushion the blow," I said. "First, if I really wanted to unmask someone, I have a repertoire of divination powers that is sufficiently broad and deep to allow me to obtain the full life story of anyone on this world at any time I wished, so whether I see or don't see any given cape at any given point is irrelevant."

"That, uh, does not actually help. At all," he said faintly.

"And second," I continued, "I do not care."

Carlos furrowed his brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You have visited a foreign country at some point whose language and culture you do not share, I imagine?" I asked instead of answering him. Some of the students with whom I had spoken earlier had mentioned friends journeying abroad for their spring break, so a reasonable amount of international travel seemed to be well within the means of school-aged individuals and their families in this city.

"Yeah, my family took a trip to France a few years ago. Why?"

"I imagine that your experience largely consisted of seeing a few landmarks, learning a few words of the local language, tasting some food, learning some historical trivia, and similar superficialities."

"Basically, yeah," he said.

"Did you give the slightest thought to the personal lives of the restaurant staff while you were there, or think anything of them at all once you had returned home? Were one of the native guides to give you the address of their residence or some other important personal detail, would you have done anything with or about it, or considered it a curiosity of no particular worth?"

He grimaced. "I see what you mean." After a contemplative pause, he added, "Is that what this is? A vacation? You just came to visit Earth because you thought it would be fun?"

I felt my chest tighten in sudden grief, as my thoughts turned to nowhere because I was not thinking about the source of my grief right now and I counterfeited an easy smile.

"My interest is research rather than leisure, so while it would perhaps be condescending to phrase it thus, you could think of my visit as somewhat of an anthropological expedition," I said. "However, the general point that I lack any desire to involve myself in local affairs to any significant degree remains true."

I let my smile fade and, before Carlos could interject, continued, "To continue the analogy, when one is doing fieldwork it is critical that one does not disturb the site that one discovers. That's why I have avoided involving myself in this 'gang war' situation aside from neutralizing footsoldiers who would directly cross my path, I haven't openly approached any particular faction but rather have strategically sought out individuals capable of discretion so as not to attract attention, and so forth."

"You haven't… entirely avoided attracting attention," Carlos admitted. "Some rumors about your wanting to talk to people got around, and they went to check-uh, you are the one who met Triumph and Dauntless on the Boardwalk the day after the fire that they couldn't really remember, right? The guy on the security cameras didn't look exactly like you, but he was close enough to be related."

Security cameras?

I took a quick peek into his thoughts and-oh, damn it all to the Ninth, I'd completely failed to consider accounting for non-magical remote surveillance, against which my anti-divination wards would not protect.

Not that I'd bothered with especial vigilance regarding my secrecy or anonymity, as I'd expected to get in touch with the authorities reasonably soon and once I interacted with anyone at all my discovery was likely only a matter of time regardless, but the oversight was disappointing on a professional level.

Not the time, Aspect.

I immediately moved "acquire or research a suite of anti-technological powers" up to the second item on my priority list, to be addressed as soon as the current situation with the Protectorate was resolved.

"Yes, that was I," I admitted. "You came here today specifically to observe me for the Protectorate, I take it?"

The young cape shrugged with one shoulder, and guilt streaked his aura.

"I mean… not just for that?" he protested weakly. "I really have been meaning to get back in touch with Gene and some other old friends. Ever since I joined the Wards, I haven't had anywhere near enough free time to keep up with people who went to different high schools, and it sucks."

He sighed. "But… yeah, as far as today goes, the Deputy Director basically got the Wards together and said 'so we have reports of a new rogue running around talking to these people here and we want to know what the deal is' and I said 'oh hey I know that guy we were good friends in middle school' and he said 'thank you for volunteering.' I got in touch with Gene and told him I finally had enough time to catch up since I'd finally figured out all of my college plans, and he invited me along to his little meet-the-cape party, and… here I am."

Carlos fell silent after that, and I gave him the time and space to cogitate.

He glanced over at Gene, still frozen in normal time, then around at the others, then back to me.

"So… what happens now?" he asked, more than a hint of wariness in his gaze. He seemed to have accepted both that I was dealing with him in good faith and that if I decided to cease doing so for whatever reason there wasn't much he could do about it. "I know you want to keep a low profile, but I can't just not report any of this."

"The Protectorate's primary concern is the legality of my arrival and a variety of small mysteries surrounding my presence rather than any of my activities in particular, yes?"

"The laws about illegal dimensional travelers are technically the PRT's concern, not the Protectorate's, but otherwise, yeah."

Ugh, that troublesome little chestnut again, the bane of professors of the cosmological sciences everywhere.

There is no such thing as a "dimensional" traveler, and only someone with a complete lack of all cosmological knowledge would think of things that way. A dimension is one of the twenty-seven fundamental parameters of the underlying geometry of reality, such as the three spatial dimensions, the three temporal dimensions, the three philosophical dimensions, and so on, not anything like a plane of existence, which is something entirely different.

One travels to adjacent spheres, worlds, planes, or planar layers, not "adjacent dimensions," and one does so along a certain dimension or dimensions. Furthermore, an extradimensional space is not "extra-dimensional" in the sense of being outside of a dimension, rather it is extending the space into an additional dimension, or occasionally transposing one or two dimensions for one or two others, such as in the case of Temporal Prime, where….

Hmm.

I noted a distinct lack of attitude from a certain psicrystal.

I sent to Aspect.

I dragged my attention back to Carlos with a modicum of effort.

"Fortunately for the concerns of your superiors, I'd already planned to make contact with the Protectorate in the near future." While I'd hoped to be able to reason out the many peculiarities of this world from first principles, it had become clear that the best course of action would be to study many local magic-users at once instead of continuing to meet them one or two at a time.

"That's good to hear," he said, relief evident in his voice. "Can you come in to the PRT building on Monday morning? Not sure if whoever handles Case 24 stuff works on Sundays."

"Certainly."

"Great, I'll let them know. Oh, and if you do have some kind of costume, showing up in that will probably help with the red tape. And trust me, there's lots of red tape."

"Good to know, thank you."

"Sure." Glancing around once again at the rest of the group, he said, "I don't know how this time bubble works, but I've been trying to keep as still as possible; are they going to notice anything when you deactivate it?"

"Not if you situate yourself as you were when it was activated," I said. With a thought, I created a translucent illusion of Carlos in his precise position and orientation when I first manifested the power, and its sudden appearance caused him to reflexively jerk backwards a few inches through the air. "Simply conform yourself to the illusion, and when you've done that I'll dismiss the illusion and drop the effect."

He paused a moment to verify that the illusion was merely an image and not harmful in any way, then quickly entered and matched the illusion while I, too, mimicked my original position and orientation. "I'll end the power in three, two, one-"

~*~*~

I dismissed the acceleration, hiding my wince as my background stream of thought continued where it had left off, and raised a hand to halt any further questions from the group. "I'm afraid I can't go into too much detail on my origins just yet. Beyond your world's knowledge of the other Earths connected by portals to this one, I'm not sure how much your scientists know of cosmology, and would prefer not to share anything they do not already know."

"Um, other Earths? As in there's portals to more than just Aleph?" Wei asked, wide-eyed, and shades of surprise and interest largely crowded out the suspicion in the groups' auras.

"I'd prefer not to share anything else they do not already know," I amended, mentally kicking myself for the slip. It was an understandable assumption-why bother lettering the Earths if only two were widely known?-but a slip nonetheless.

"How about this: we can go ahead with our plan to watch Star Wars, and after each 'episode' I will answer a few of your questions, in exchange for your answering a few of mine that I hadn't been able to ask anyone before without revealing my origin."

The group quickly agreed, and after an arbitrary selection of the Aleph version, we adjourned to the sitting room to watch the first performance, entitled A New Hope.

~*~*~

9:17 pm, Saturday the 16th of April, 2011 CE

Jeong Residence, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

We stopped after the third episode, thankfully-the third "movie," actually, as they termed these recorded performances-as we wouldn't have time to finish all three of the "prequels" that evening and they all agreed that the trilogy was best viewed all at once "so you can end on the good one."

I'd acquired quite a bit of new information this afternoon, most notably learning about the "internet" when I'd asked why people of their age group were so often inclined to fiddle with their "cell phones" at idle moments.

This internet seemed to be quite the remarkable achievement, a vast and comprehensive information storage and retrieval system that could be accessed freely by anyone-not just any citizen of this city or of this polity, but of the entire world, so long as the local infrastructure permitted it.

In function and usage, it closely resembled the citymind of Jhaamdath's capital, Dhinnilith, except that firstly it was accessed using cell phones and computers and other external devices instead of operating through a purely telepathic network-which, given what had happened to everyone connected to the citymind when the empire fell, might actually be the safer method-and secondly it was merely a repository of information and not also of psionic energy and thoughtforms, as was the udoxias in each of the Twelve Cities.

This discovery was sadly of little practical use to me, at least until I could develop a version of Scholar's Touch that would allow me to absorb "web pages" as readily as I could physical tomes, but if I did manage such a feat then access to the internet would dramatically increase the rate at which I could learn about this world.

Even without such spells available, however, I felt a tinge of regret over not haven taken the opportunity to examine the computers I'd sensed at the library I'd visited. I had been misled by their similarity in both name and appearance to cash registers, calculators, and other devices capable only of the most basic mathematical operations.

By failing to recognize their true capabilities, I had deprived myself of an incredible source of information, one which might have helped me avoid my critical cultural misstep and remain concealed for a good while longer.

Ah, well. Perhaps this sudden and unexpected disclosure would lead to a better outcome in the long run.

Regarding the natives' questions, I kept my answers as brief and as un-revealing as possible while still providing a relatively complete answer. This wasn't difficult, as most of their questions concerned such frivolous topics as "Could you teleport to the moon!?" (yes, easily, and even farther than that) and "Does your world have ice cream?" (not precisely, but most of its cultures have one or more varieties of frozen dessert) and so forth rather than anything significant.

Most of them seemed not to notice my avoiding any important topics, but Carlos picked up on that quickly, as did Gene shortly thereafter.

Despite my eliding many details, by the end of the evening the group was largely convinced that I had indeed come from another world. Their unusual prior knowledge of another Earth alongside this one, where the inhabitants of most worlds had no frame of reference for anything beyond their own world's existence, apparently made it easier to accept that other worlds might exist beyond the local cluster of Earths.

Once the food was finished and the conversational topics were largely exhausted, the group decided to disperse.

As one last amusement, I agreed to teleport each of them away individually, sending two of them to the restaurant to retrieve their "cars" and the rest directly to their homes after scrying the addresses they'd given me in order to establish a sufficient perceptual link.

One of the girls, Jenny, had spoken very little the entire afternoon and now was hanging back and staying quiet as the others eagerly lined up to be teleported, shades of mingled hope, guilt, and indecision coloring her aura. I affected not to notice her less-than-subtle attempt to remain behind, and kept up a patter of small talk to distract the others from noticing.

Carlos seemed to catch on to what she was doing, either due to a generally more observant nature or awareness training he'd received through the Protectorate or both, and he lingered until he was the second-to-last to go. When it was his turn, he stepped forward and flicked a questioning gaze toward her, I gave him a brief nod and told him I would see him Monday, he returned the nod, and off he went.

The girl's indecision spiked as she stepped forward. She delayed in giving her address, but she seemed not to know what to say otherwise.

"And what is it that you wished to discuss?" I prompted her with an encouraging smile.

She flinched. "Was it that obvious?"

"Likely not to the others, but I'm rather more perceptive than most."

"Mmm," she said noncommittally. She hesitated a moment more, then approached her topic obliquely: "So, um, you know how Lung's rampage went a little ways outside the Docks toward the end?"

"I'd seen maps showing his route, yes."

"Well, my family lives right near the edge of the Docks, and our apartment building caught fire when he went through our neighborhood. The building's still there, and, um…" she said, then took a deep breath and begin to speak more rapidly as if gathering the courage to get to her real point: "We were worried it was going to burn down before the fire department got there, but the fire stopped spreading, thank god, and then it started raining and that helped, and there's a lot of smoke damage but our place is mostly fine, even our stuff is mostly fine, it just got partly buried when the ceiling collapsed because we're on the top floor so we're going to need to get it all cleaned when we can move back in, which we don't know when that's going to be, we're staying at my aunt's right now and I'm not sure when it's going to be safe to go back-"

I held up a hand to dam the river of words. "If you're going to ask whether I could undo the damage to your apartment building, repairing the entire building would be far too blatant at this stage but I could certainly repair your family's apartment and possessions in trade for something commensurate."

Jenny goggled at me. "Wait, you can do that? I wasn't even… yes, yes if you could do that that would be amazing, thank you!"

"It would be no problem at all," I assured her. "However, if that wasn't what you intended to ask…?"

"Right… right. Um," she temporized. "So… my little brother Nate. He got stuck in his bedroom when the roof caved in and blocked the door, and he was stuck there for a while-"

I frowned internally. When Aspect and I had extinguished the fire shortly after my arrival, we'd arranged for every person trapped by various impediments to be discreetly freed through apparently-coincidental means, ensuring that no one would be left in a position from which they would be unable to extricate themselves.

I did recall a boy attempting and failing to escape his room, whom we encountered toward the end of our efforts given the distance between that building and our starting position, but I would hardly consider waiting an extra few minutes while the rubble outside his door just so happened to suffer additional damage from the fire and tumble away from the door to mean he was "stuck for a while."

Thinking back, he did seem rather more fearful than most others in his position-a touch of pyrophobia, possibly?-and hadn't left his room while still within my sensory range, so perhaps he'd stayed behind longer than was strictly necessary due to not noticing that the flames had receded or not trusting that it was safe to leave yet or both.

"-so I was wondering if you could… um, if you could maybe do something about burns and smoke inhalation?"

The hope on her face was clearly genuine, but the hesitation in her aura hadn't abated at her improvised request, so she was clearly continuing to hold something back.

"I certainly can," I said patiently, "but something tells me that that wasn't what you actually wanted to ask."

The girl fidgeted with the straps on her backpack, looked around to confirm that Nancy was out of earshot, looked back to me, leaned closer.

"Nate… got powers, that night," Jenny confided in a near-whisper. "And he's freaking out, and Mom and Dad aren't taking it well, and I want to help but I don't know what to do. Since you're…" she smiled hopefully "… kind of an expert? I was thinking that maybe you could talk to him? Help him figure things out?"

Now that was a useful piece of information regarding the local magic-users.

The methods by which sorcerers and wilders gain and awaken their powers vary wildly from world to world, and even from race to race and culture to culture. In many cases their magic emerges organically, sometimes in fits at starts beginning at a young age, sometimes more abruptly around the age of reason.

In other cases some measure of external prompting is required, whether situational, such as the wilders of Ireth whose powers will not emerge until they visit one of the adjacent planes, or intentional, such as the sorcerers of Caer Sidi who require a long moons-lit vigil and a sacrifice to their tribe's local spirits to awaken their gift.

On this world, it would seem, sorcerous and wild talents were awakened by some kind of harm or trauma, which is a constraint that is rare among the many worlds but sadly not entirely unknown.

It would also seem that Jenny and her family had no prior experience with a talented child, which could prove… problematic.

Magical talents can arise in practically anyone, thanks to transient planar conjunctions or a long-forgotten ten-times-great celestial ancestor or any number of other esoteric phenomena that can affect their mind and soul in just the right way.

Much more commonly, however, this sort of inherent magic runs strongly in certain lineages, whether naturally, as is the case with Jhaamdath's noble houses (which were founded to preserve and nurture existing talents for wilding before the principles of psionics were sufficiently well-understood to allow anyone to study the Art), or artificially, as is the case with the Sherem-Lar families of Galaedram (who enchant the unborn children of their nobility to guarantee they are born with a magical talent of one kind or another).

There are of course-

-The point being that a sorcerer or wilder suddenly coming into their power without the ability to turn to talented family members for aid and advice are often lost, afraid, and overwhelmed, and even without the Second Precept's guidance on the matter I would hardly leave such an individual to flounder upon the seas of ignorance.

"I would be more than happy to do that," I assured Jenny. "I must ask, though: why not approach the Protectorate instead?"

All of their magic-users, sages, and scientists put together couldn't come anywhere close to matching my expertise, obviously, but they would certainly be the more familiar and trusted option.

"Oh god, don't ask," she groaned, pinching her nose in frustration. "It's a whole thing. Mom really wanted him to, Dad said hell no, Nate just runs off to his room when either of them bring it up. He can explain it when you meet him."

"I take it you didn't consult him before deciding to ask me for assistance?"

"… Not exactly? I just want what's best for him, y'know?"

I smiled faintly. No matter when or where you traveled, well-meaning yet meddlesome older sisters were always-

My smile died.

…

Perhaps I'm not doing quite as well as I'd thought.

That particular pain was one I thought I'd dealt with a very long time ago. And yet….

Don't.

.

"Shall I meet the two of you somewhere tomorrow morning?" I asked after a moment, and Jenny laughed.

"He's a teenager, he's never up before noon on weekends. How about you come over at two-ish and we can figure things out from there?"

"That will do splendidly. Until tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow. And thanks a ton, really."

I nodded, asked for her address, scried it, and teleported her home.

That done, I sought out Nancy to inform her that the rest had departed and thank her for her hospitality, then teleported to the nearest beach to ruminate over a late-night stroll.

~*~*~

My mission was going exceptionally well so far, given the circumstances, and while I was hardly one to lament good fortune I was nonetheless somewhat concerned.

The attitude of the natives toward magic-users was… disproportionately positive, let us say.

One quick demonstration of the most minor of magics (which would either completely fail to impress even a rather provincial villager on most worlds, or else lead to instinctive wariness in more superstitious cultures) accompanied by a reference from a friend or family member vouching that I was not a villain-when they had no way to know that I wasn't simply a malicious enchanter or telepath forcing their loved ones to say such things!-would lead practically everyone here to trust me almost implicitly.

Even Aegis, who knew that I was no hero, seemingly took my mere ability to maintain a charming and pleasant façade for an entire afternoon-it wasn't a façade in my case, of course, but again he had no way of knowing that I wasn't merely one of the city's villains who'd learned a few illusion spells in order to ingratiate myself to him under a second layer of false identity-as evidence that I could be trusted, when he had absolutely no idea as to the possible extent or strength of my psionic capabilities nor any hidden agenda I might possess.

Oh, I welcomed the change of pace, to be sure! On far too many worlds, anyone who overtly holds to Neutrality rather than falling to Good is disdained as selfish or indecisive or all manner of other demeaning traits, which has led to quite a few unpleasant confrontations over my career with the Society.

The attitude simply struck me as the mark of a highly-propagandized and docile populace trained to view magic-users as intrinsically superior both magically and philosophically, the type one might find in Reidra on Eberron, Tirroch on Nagarkhos, the Theocracy of the Pale on Oerth, and similar subtly-tyrannical regimes.

Ah, well. Perhaps it was only due to my carefully-arranged apparent similarity to the capes of New Wave, and other capes were treated in a more fitting manner. Once I met with the Protectorate I could better determine how the populace generally treated unknown hero and rogue capes to get a sense of how typical this behavior was.

Aspect piped up.

For the first time in days, he sounded as though he was planning to provide useful information rather than merely bombard me with baseless and tiresome criticism.

Rude. Anyhow, it's around the time of night that Mike said New Wave usually patrols, so if you wanted to avoid adding yet another three subjective days to your sleep debt, trying to get in touch with them again tonight might be a good idea.

I sent, along with a pulse of mock disbelief.

sent the floating crystal, faceted personality.

… Why do I tolerate you?

Irritating as Aspect was, his suggestion was indeed a good one, so I set to searching.

I had no need to teleport around the city to search blindly for them this time. When I'd asked the group some questions about New Wave this evening, Gene-after regaling them with the story of my brief encounter with Purity the other night, prompting plenty of excited questions from them about it-had showed me a web page depicting all of the team members with excellent clarity.

I could thus attempt to remotely view each of them in turn, focusing specifically on their appearance in costume so as not to intrude upon their privacy if they were not on duty, and make contact with any of them who might be out tonight.

Beginning with Glory Girl, who turned out not to be on patrol, I cycled through each of the members in turn. A few moments later I watched through my remote sensor as Crystal Pelham and Mark Dallon respectively flew and walked sedately down a side street near the Boardwalk.

Yes, that would do nicely.

I dismissed my remote viewing power, calculated the teleportation coordinates for a point roughly one city block ahead of and around a corner from the two heroes, and vanished from the beach.

Author's Note

Well, Valigan seems to be settling in on Earth Bet quite nicely, doesn't he? Touring the city, making friends, learning about technology, slowly going crazy from sleep deprivation, watching movies, eating popcorn, all that fun stuff.

Regarding the Star Wars actors, fun fact: Leonardo DiCaprio and Kenneth Branagh were considered for the roles of Anakin and Obi-Wan in real life, so I figured them being cast in those roles in the Earth Bet version of the prequel trilogy would be appropriate.

Regarding Case 24, it's not a canonical case number, but in 17.6 Jess says "The people of this world? They're scared. There's laws against people or objects being transmitted across worlds." If Earth Bet's America has actually gone to the trouble to make travel between Earths illegal, and a reasonably-internet-savvy resident of Earth Aleph knows that inter-Earth travel is illegal there, that implies that there was some noteworthy travel going on in the past and it's still a Big Deal in the present, hence deserving a case number.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

Another fun fact: Exact penalties for not sleeping weren't defined in the core D rules; they only showed up near the end of the edition in the Elder Evils sourcebook, and then only in terms of an unnatural lack of sleep. Still, extrapolating from those rules, Valigan staying awake for 19 days with a 23 Constitution means he's Exhausted (taking penalties to physical ability scores) and has taken 7 points of Wisdom damage, both of which are incurable until he sleeps. Sure, dropping from Wis 34 to Wis 27 isn't a huge deal, that's still way above human average and he's still (mostly) completely functional, but the difference is definitely noticeable to him, and if he keeps going at that rate his decision-making skills will eventually drop to the level of an exceptionally wise normal human, then an unusually wise human, then an average human, then a below-average human, then Greg Veder, so that's definitely something to watch out for. Karsus was the incredibly powerful Netherese Archwizard who caused the Fall of Netheril by attempting to become a god, succeeding, and then immediately losing control of his power to the point that Mystryl, the goddess whose power he usurped, had to kill herself and reincarnate to fix the issue; Dharien (no good link available) was the incredibly powerful Jhaamdathan Metamind who took over the government of Jhaamdath, killed many of its secular and religious leaders, turned it from a relatively free and enlightened civilization into a military dictatorship, and launched a plan of expansion that eventually led to the empire being destroyed by the elven nation most threatened by its impending crusade. Both were definitely great examples of the "ridiculously high Intelligence, but Wisdom is a dump stat" type. The spells and powers in Aegis's repertoire are, in order of reference, fly , lesser construct essence , animalistic power , darkvision , endure elements , synesthete , and tern's persistence . Aegis doesn't have a power active to give him his signature wonky anatomy because it's not an active magical effect; rather, when he triggered he was altered into a living construct. This means that his biology isn't fully human anymore and that he's therefore immune to disease, tiredness, and a whole bunch of other stuff that squishy biologicals have to deal with-though as his base type is Humanoid rather than Construct (as is the case with warforged), he does still heal naturally and have to eat, sleep, and breathe. The power Valigan used to "freeze time" is temporal acceleration , and he manifested it on Aegis using the obscure but very useful channel power (use personal-range powers on other people) and then used temporal reiteration (extend the duration of effects on you and others by 1 round per manifestation) to make it last for the whole conversation. Normally everyone gets their own bit of frozen time from that power, but the Spell Stowaway feat lets you gain the benefits of a certain spell when someone else uses it; the behavior with temporal acceleration , time stop , and similar spells is undefined, but I (and every other DM I know) rule that it lets you share the accelerated time with the other caster, since getting your own free rounds after the baddie has already done what they were going to do is next to useless. Valigan's mention of " a leviathan" is referencing a critter from Monster Manual 2 for which I can't find an online stat block at the moment, specifically a ginormous whale-like sea creature known for being incredible fast in the water and for hanging out in the deep ocean and occasionally surfacing to sink ships with enormous waves. How unfortunate that such a creature is similar enough to the Endbringer to be confused with it in casual conversation.

Integration 2.1.T

Just Before Dawn, Far the 6 th of Rhaan, 999 YK On the Bank of the Hydra River, Xen'drik, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

I woke up slowly, luxuriating in how wonderful it felt to finally sleep in a bed again, in this surprisingly cozy little cabin where we'd spent the night. I mean, the bed wasn't amazing, it reminded me of the beds at camp that were basically one step up from a cot with a sleeping bag on top, but it sure beat sleeping on the ground.

Then when I sat up to stretch I bonked my head on the underside of the bed above me, because I hadn't remembered that these were bunk beds and I'd left most of my bugs outside to avoid freaking out the guys.

I'd been relying heavily on my swarm to sense my surroundings for less than two days now, and already I was forgetting to do obvious things like open my eyes when sitting up in bed because I was so used to just knowing where everything was around me. That was… more than a little worrying, and I resolved to pay more attention with my eyes and ears and not just feel everything through my bugs.

I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed me bump my head, but the guys were all still asleep, which was good.

What wasn't so good was that it looked like the Wards and Undersiders were at odds again, thanks to the friction that had cropped up between Brian and Dean last night and remained unresolved.

~*~*~

I'd finished catching the other capes up on everything Yin and I had discussed, then I'd pantomimed a reminder to Yin about whatever power he'd used to clean up Brian's and Alec's costumes, and he just magically cleaned each of our costumes with a few waves of his hand.

Figuratively-magically, I mean, not actually-magically. I was hardly going to tell him he was wrong about his powers being magic (not that he'd understand me if I did) without knowing what his powers actually were, but I was going to reserve judgment about the "powers are magic" thing until we could talk again.

Magic or not, the end result was that my costume was in perfect condition. No dirt, no grime, no dinosaur blood, nothing. It even fixed up the burned patches, sealed up a few holes, and re-attached a few beetle shells that had been coming loose. My hair was still a disaster and I still badly needed a shower, but things were much more bearable with a clean costume.

And then Yin had started chanting and waving his hands and sprinkling sand in circles, and when he'd finished two large cabins had popped into existence, one for his team and one for ours.

Because of course he could do that.

Picture-perfect cabins, right out of a movie or one of those "rustic living" magazines, appearing out of thin air and fitting perfectly into the surrounding jungle as if they'd been there for years.

Easy peasy.

Yin indicated which cabin was theirs and which was ours, and we parted ways for the night. With some shelter and some privacy from the other group I'd figured it would be the perfect chance for Brian and Dean to resolve their differences, or at least to talk about Chris changing his cape name, but as soon as we'd walked inside our cabin Brian had immediately veered off to pick a bed in the back left corner. Dean had taken one in the front right corner, and Chris and Alec had followed their respective teammates, and none of them had talked at all as we prepared for bed.

I was too tired to deal with all of that, so I just took a bed in a different corner, flopped down on it, and was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

~*~*~

And now here we were, with the Wards and the Undersiders sleeping as far away from each other as physically possible. Since this cabin was big enough to fit eight bunk beds along the walls, an elaborate fireplace across from the door, and a long table in the middle, "as far as possible" meant quite a bit of space between us.

I did appreciate the distance, mostly for making Chris's snoring more tolerable. It was what the distance signified that worried me.

I really hoped that Brian and Dean weren't going to keep giving each other the silent treatment today and bring down the mood. I'd enjoyed it when we'd all been eating and talking together in one big group, more than I thought I would, and I didn't want to lose that sense of camaraderie and go back to the way things had been when we first got here.

I perked up as my swarm felt Yin step out of the other cabin and start walking toward our own. I didn't think we were in any danger from him, but I started drawing bugs through the gaps around the door and down through the chimney above the fireplace, just in case.

A minute later, Yin walked up to the door and raised his hand. I expected him to knock, but instead he just placed his palm on the door and I almost fell off my bed as a loud bell suddenly started ringing out of nowhere like one of those old-timey alarm clocks.

The ringing didn't last for more than a few seconds, but it was enough to wake all the guys. They were still taking their sweet time getting up when Yin touched the door again and made the bell ring a second time, so I rolled out of bed and walked over to answer the door.

The alabaster cape was standing outside, without his mask on, looking entirely too cheerful for how early it was.

Yeah, I'd gotten into the habit of waking up before 6:30 for my runs, but that didn't make me a real morning person. I'd have to figure out how to pantomime whether anyone had any tea they'd be willing to share.

"Good morning," I yawned, before mentally smacking myself because of course he wouldn't understand me.

"Good morning, Vicereine!" Yin replied cheerily, in perfect English.

"… wha?" was all I could manage in response.

"I hope you all slept well, even if the accommodations aren't up to the usual noble standard. We have a long day of travel ahead of us and it's best to leave as early as possible to finish this leg by midafternoon."

"… How are you speaking English?" I asked. "I thought you had to…?" I mimed tapping myself with a stick, like he'd done with his "wand" yesterday.

"Oh! No no, the wand is just a backup," he said with a laugh. "When I expect that we'll need to speak with someone, I can simply prepare a few translation spells, so I did just that this morning."

"Prepare spells?" Brian asked from behind me. He'd gotten out of bed and come up to join me, wearing his mask but not using the echoing effect of his power. Alec was still sitting on his bed and staring blearily at the far wall, and Dean and Chris were still getting their armor together.

"Indeed. I may not be as skilled in the arcane arts as a court wizard such as yourself," Yin replied modestly, "but I do dabble."

"And what does 'preparing a spell' mean, exactly?" Brian asked.

Yin opened his mouth, then frowned, then tilted his head in confusion. "So much for that hypothesis. You are some manner of spellcaster, are you not?" he probed.

In response, Brian held up his hand and caused a mass of his inky darkness to ooze out of his palm and swirl upwards into an undulating sphere.

"Fascinating," Yin murmured as he leaned in close to inspect the sphere, which was hard to make out in the faint pre-dawn light. Glancing up at Brian's mask, he added, "I assume from the lack of incantation that you are in fact a warlock rather than a wizard?"

"I, uh," Brian temporized, glancing over at me. I shrugged; I didn't know what the difference between the two was supposed to be any more than he did. "I'm not sure? I think we have different words for power categories than you do."

"Oh, of course," Yin said as he straightened. "I should have realized that there would be some difference in terminology even with the translation spell. The different types of-mmm, actually, Obsidian can speak to that much better than I, so you'll probably want to chat with him about that after the ride."

Dean and Chris walked up then, both having finished putting on their armor, with Alec shuffling along behind them. "What was that about a ride?" Dean asked.

"The ride to Zantashk, of course, or at least the next portion of it. Now that you're all suitably attired, would you like to come over to our cabin so we can explain the plan over breakfast?"

"Did someone say breakfast?" Alec mumbled.

"I'll take that as a yes," Yin chuckled, then stepped aside to let us file out of the cabin. "After you."

The sun was just peeking over the treetops as he escorted us the short distance over to the other cabin and closed the door behind us once we were all inside.

That cabin was laid out just like ours, unsurprisingly. The rest of the other team were gathered around the large central table waiting for us, Khalthrun and Corvin seated at the far end and Terik and Obsidian standing off to the side, probably because the wooden chairs wouldn't hold the weight of their armor.

While we all took our seats and exchanged greetings with the others, Terik reached down into a canvas backpack at his feet and pulled out a fancy-looking wooden box. It was about the size of two shoe boxes side-by-side, with all sorts of abstract designs inlaid with gold and silver around the sides and a forest scene painted on the cover, kind of like an extra-large high-end jewelry box.

He placed it on the table in front of him, unlatched the top, reached into it, and pulled out… a huge plate of steaming-hot sausages, two massive loaves of bread, a plate piled high with what looked like fluffy biscuits stuffed with meat and cheese, six jars of jam, some kind of breakfast casserole with eggs and cheese, and enough plates and cutlery for nine people.

What in the… any one of those dishes would have just barely fit in the box! For all of them to fit at once, it had to be bigger on the inside, somehow.

Chris snorted when the casserole came out of the box and said something under his breath about how it should have been painted blue.

"Eat all you like, there's more than enough for everyone," Yin said as he took his own seat. "I certainly hope you like Karrn cuisine."

"Of course they will! Everyone likes Karrn cuisine," Terik proclaimed cheerfully as he reached over to grab a hunk of bread, his boisterous tone very much at odds with his frankly intimidating armor.

"So you continue to insist," Corvin rejoined as he picked up a knife and began carefully cutting himself a small slice of casserole. He had a surprisingly deep voice for a kid his size.

The guys and I all hesitated before we went for the food, exchanging glances through our masks. Did we want to trust these people with our identities so soon after meeting them, without any kind of truce in place?

Then I figured, you know what, I'd unmasked to a couple of bona fide villains after knowing them for barely a day, and half of these capes weren't masked themselves, and the food smelled amazing and it was my second meal in two days and, oh, the hell with it.

I took my mask off and set it down next to my plate, and a moment later the guys followed my lead.

At that, Corvin promptly reached up to push his hood back and unwrap the scarves covering his face; apparently he'd just been waiting for us to make the first move on-holy crap, he wasn't a child at all!

He had the face of a man in his thirties or forties, complete with a goatee, and that was… he didn't look like a dwarf, he had normal proportions, just smaller, so what in the heck…?

I didn't have much time to dwell on that before Terik's bone armor started to writhe and twist and almost liquefy, and moments later it had somehow retracted through his clothing and into his skin to leave him in what looked like a cross between an army uniform and a fancy Medieval outfit, all of it in reds, blacks, and grays.

The part where his helmet flowed into his face was kind of disturbing, especially the way bone flowed around and through his carefully-trimmed mustache. It was bad enough to make me involuntarily glance away from his face… and right at his very obviously pointed ears.

Hold on.

A man with pointed ears, and another who was three-foot-something tall?

Were they…?

No, couldn't be.

But maybe…?

No. That would be way too crazy.

"Is something the matter?" Terik asked. With a start, I realized I'd been staring, and a quick glance at the guys showed that they'd also been gawking at him and Corvin.

All of us looked at Dean, and after a moment he straightened and cleared his throat.

"This may be a silly question," he began, "but, keeping in mind we're not familiar with your world, are you…." He glanced between the potential elf, the potential hobbit, and Yin. "What, um…."

"Are you trying to find a respectful way to ask what races Terik and Corvin might be?" Khalthrun asked softly, her expression unreadable.

"Yes," Dean admitted. "If it's impolite to ask-"

"Not impolite, just unusual," Terik assured him. "Do they not have khoravar on whatever plane you hail from?"

"Khoravar?"

"The human term for us is 'half-elves'," he clarified.

"No, we don't. We don't even have elves where we come from," Brian said bluntly. He looked a little weirded out at running into someone out of a fantasy book, and so did Dean, and probably so did I.

Not Alec and Chris, though. Alec had this little smirk on his face like he'd totally expected to run into a bunch of fantasy people and was amused at our expense-which, come on, who did he think he was fooling?-while Chris looked like he was desperately trying to contain his excitement over basically meeting a real-life Elrond.

"No gnomes there either, I'm guessing?" Corvin asked.

Alec opened his mouth-probably to say something about garden gnomes that would not go over well-but Brian elbowed him discreetly to shut him up, then shook his head and said, "None of those either. We only have humans there."

"By 'there' you mean your city, or your home nation, or…?" Corvin asked.

"He means the entire world," I replied.

"Is that so?" Terik said as he leaned back and crossed his arms in bemusement. "Well, blunt my blade. That might just be the oddest thing I've ever heard."

Yin tapped his chin curiously. "For someone who's only met humans before, I'm surprised you didn't react poorly when I became Regent yesterday," he said, a hint of a question in his tone.

"There are some people back home who are human but don't look human anymore after they got changed by their powers, so we're kind of used to it," Chris explained. "And we've dealt with a bunch of Shifters like you before."

"Changelings," Yin said.

"What?"

"I'm a changeling, not a shifter."

"No, Changers are something else."

"What?"

"Yin, show him a shifter," Corvin interrupted impatiently, and Yin nodded and rippled again. A few seconds later, he was a huge slab of a man, six feet tall and muscled with a thick beard, sideburns, and yellow eyes. He smiled and gave us a jaunty wave as he continued changing even further, revealing a mouthful of fangs and some very prominent claws in place of fingernails.

" That is a shifter…" Corvin said, and waved at Yin, and once Yin had changed back he finished, "… and that is a changeling."

"Oh," Chris said, reddening slightly. "We have different… I should have figured something like that, sorry."

"No harm done," Yin assured him. "And just to round out the set, Khalthrun is a half-orc and Obsidian is a warforged."

Wait, Khalthrun wasn't human?

Now that I was seeing her up close and in normal light I guess she did look a little different, with skin that was a bit grayish, more of a square face than normal, and a few other details that just seemed… off in a way I couldn't pinpoint.

As for Obsidian: "Maybe it's a translation issue, but why are they called 'warforged'?" I asked.

"Because we were forged for the sole purpose of waging war," Obsidian rumbled, and when what I'd thought was a decorative "mouth" on his helmet moved as he spoke, the lack of a human face behind the opening made it immediately obvious that it wasn't just a helmet.

So. This planet had elves, orcs, gnomes, shapeshifters, werewolves, and… robots, I guess.

What the heck had we gotten ourselves into?

Terik tapped his plate lightly with his fork to get everyone's attention, then gestured toward the food. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions for us, as do we for you, but the meal is cooling and the sunlight is wasting. Let's eat now and talk more later." He grinned cheerfully and added, "Do be sure to try the vedbread. It's an old family recipe; I had the provisions box specially enchanted."

~*~*~

Twenty or so minutes later, I was completely stuffed. Everything was at least a little different from any food I was used to-the "vedbread" was stuffed with wild quail and goat cheese, according to Terik, and I didn't recognize the names of any of the berries used in the jams-but it was all delicious.

We'd all kept the small talk to a minimum in order to eat as much as we could as quickly as we could (except Obsidian, who didn't need to eat).

"Maybe going back for thirds wasn't the best idea," Chris groaned as we helped Terik gather the tableware and pack it back in his box. "I don't know how I'm going to hike on a full stomach."

"Not to worry," Terik said brightly. "We shall be riding first, and that should give everything time to settle."

"Riding?" I asked. "On what?"

"On horses," Yin said as he pushed the door open and led us outside.

"What horses?"

"These horses." The changeling spoke a few words and waved his left arm in a weird pattern, and a gray horse popped into existence a few feet away.

The horse looked normal at first glance, but I noticed that it didn't just have gray hair, it was completely gray, like a black-and-white picture of a horse. Not only that, its mane was waving around lazily like smoke in a nonexistent breeze, and I could partly see through its hooves to the ground below.

Yin gestured to Khalthrun, who took a few quick steps and vaulted onto the horse's back like she'd been riding her entire life. She looked up and whistled, and a reddish-brown blur practically dropped out of the sky to land on her shoulder. It was the hawk she'd had with her yesterday; I'd been wondering where that had gotten to.

Three more waves and muttered sentences later, there were three more identical-looking horses standing there, and Terik, Obsidian, and Corvin hopped into the saddles just as easily as Khalthrun had.

Yin didn't make a horse for himself just yet. "Who'd like to go first?" he asked us.

We all looked at each other. "I guess I'll go," Dean volunteered, and soon enough he was sitting in the saddle of his own translucent smoke-horse.

Yin made sure he was settled, then turned back to us. "And who's next?"

Chris half-raised his hand uncertainly. "Uh, what if we can't ride a horse?"

"You… don't ride?" Yin's eye-ridges once again rose uncomfortably high up on his forehead.

"I mean, I've ridden on things before, but I don't know how to steer them. I usually stick to my hoverboard," Chris said, reaching over his shoulder to tap it for emphasis.

"Ah, I see. Not to worry, it's not a living steed; you need but direct it with your voice and your will, and it can take care of the rest."

Brian had been looking a little uncertain about getting on a horse, too, but when he heard that he straightened up confidently and offered to go next.

Soon enough everyone was on a horse, with Terik back in his armor and us back in our masks for protection from the wind and errant branches. Yin ran us through some basic commands, and it sounded like this would be a lot easier than riding an actual horse.

Which was good, since I'd never really gotten that hang of that at camp and after riding Judas the other night I wasn't exactly eager to ride on a huge speeding animal again any time soon.

"Are we all ready?" Terik asked once the explanation was finished, and we all nodded. "Excellent. Onward!"

Terik's horse took off, and everyone else's followed his. I quickly realized two things.

One, this horse moved way faster than a real one, faster even than Judas, and went from a standstill to highway speeds in the blink of an eye. I didn't feel any acceleration as I pressed myself against the horse's neck and held on for dear life, but it was still incredibly nerve-wracking, and I felt like if I lifted my head up at all the wind would knock me right off.

Two, we were running straight for the river.

Terik's horse reached the riverbank and launched itself into the air without even slowing down-and when it came down, it didn't fall into the river, but instead landed on the river and kept running.

All of our horses did the same, and despite the fact that the river was churning and rolling beneath us it barely felt like my horse was moving up and down at all.

Even at a breakneck speed, it took us a good twenty minutes or so to run across the river; that thing was seriously wide.

I couldn't talk, didn't want to move, could barely even think, but I did manage to keep most of my swarm with me. It turns out running away from Lung had made for some good practice with that.

Once we reached the other side of the river, the horses slowed down from a ridiculously unsafe speed to one that was merely uncomfortably fast as they dashed right through the tree line and kept going.

As I ducked my head down as far as I could to avoid all the branches whipping by, I could only think one thing:

The next few hours were probably going to suck.

~*~*~

After nearly a whole day of riding, Terik finally called a halt, and we all hopped off our horses just minutes before they vanished into thin air.

I'd been right.

That had sucked.

Even though we'd slowed down to a more normal riding speed once the trees and underbrush had started to thicken away from the river, and even though the experience was much more smooth than riding a real horse would have been, riding nonstop for hours was not at all fun.

I was sore, my arms were cramped, I was covered in sweat, my hair was a mess again after my hairband had gone flying off at some point, and I couldn't wait to stop for the day.

"Now what?" Brian asked. "Stop for lunch?"

Yin looked at him, held up a finger, and quickly went around muttering and tapping his teammates on the arm; I guess his power had run out during the ride.

"My apologies. What was your question?" Yin asked when he was done.

"Are we going to stop for lunch?" Brian repeated.

"No. Now we hike," Khalthrun said softly but firmly as she strode forward to take the lead.

"Wait, hike?" Alec said "All that riding, and now we have to walk too?"

"Of course. We weren't riding when we encountered you yesterday, remember?" Yin pointed out as he walked past us to follow Khalthrun and Terik. "If we want to make it back to Zantashk in time, we have to use every hour of sunlight available to us, and there are still five hours before the sun sets and it becomes too dark to safely carry on."

Corvin and Obsidian gestured for us to follow the others, so the guys and I reluctantly started walking after them.

"So why walk instead of making more horses?" I asked as we went.

"I wasn't able to prepare more than ten, and even that was a stretch," he called over his shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

He turned around and began walking backwards as he explained, "Normally it isn't wise for me to prepare the spell more than five times, as more of those means fewer divinations to avoid monsters and other hazards, fewer combat spells for when we're forced into a fight, fewer healing spells for the aftermath. But with the five of you accompanying us we have more than enough spellpower at our disposal, and I could afford to forego some of my usual allotment."

"No, I mean what do you mean about 'preparing' them? You never did answer Grue earlier about what that means."

The changeling stopped and gave me a funny look, and so did the rest of his team (except Obsidian, whose face didn't really move at all).

"I may have mistaken your warlock for a wizard, but you must be a druid, no?" he asked.

Somehow I doubted he was calling me an ancient Irish pagan priestess. "I know the word 'druid'," I said slowly, "but I think the word you're saying and the word I'm hearing might mean very different things."

Khalthrun answered for him. "A druid channels the power of Eberron herself to serve nature in all its myriad forms," she said. "Every sect takes a different path in its approach to this calling, but we are all one, just as all of nature is ultimately one."

"I see." I shifted uncomfortably. "That's not me, then. I'm… not really religious," I said, and left it at that.

"That's certainly a relief," Terik said with a hearty chuckle as he began walking again, and we all followed suit. "I was worried you were going to turn out to be a Child of Winter."

"Are they villains, or something?" I asked. If this was yet another case of someone drawing the wrong conclusion from my costume….

"No, no, they're not all that bad on the whole. Certainly, a handful of them are extremists who beset small towns with the occasional plague," he said blithely, "but their main fault as far as I'm concerned is that they simply can't stand necromancy or the undead, and, well…." He rapped his knuckles on his bone armor and gave us a kind of What can you do? smile.

"Necromancy?" Chris echoed him, in a slightly strangled tone.

"Yes. Khalthrun isn't especially fond of it either, believe me, but we've come to an understanding on that front."

"Quite," Khalthrun said in not-exactly-agreement.

I wasn't sure how to react to that, so… moving on. "No, that's definitely not me," I repeated.

"What are you, then?" Corvin asked.

"I'm a parahuman."

"We all are," Dean added.

"I thought you said there were no other races on your world?" Yin asked.

"What do you mean?"

"If you're half-human…?"

I shook my head. "No, we're humans. The 'para-' in the word means beside, or beyond. Human, but more than normal."

"Fascinating," he murmured.

The conversation was interrupted there as the dense undergrowth opened up a bit and a winding river came into view. It wasn't enormously wide like the last one, it was only a little bit wider (and probably deeper) than the river under Archer's Bridge back home, but the current looked to be dangerously fast and there was no obvious way across.

"Do we need to find a ford somewhere?" Dean asked.

Khalthrun gave him a look, shook her head, and turned back to the river. She touched one hand to one of her necklaces, then with the other hand she made a sweeping gesture down and to the side with a shouted " Kûhri lagh!"

There was a loud WHUMPH sound as the water level in a line across the river suddenly dropped a good twenty feet and air rushed in to fill the gap. It was like the river had hit an invisible wall that only let water flow through a few-inches-high gap under it, leaving an open path across the bottom of the river around a dozen feet wide, then on the downstream side the water jumped right back up to its original level as if the path weren't even there.

I'd seen some hydrokinetic capes on TV move a lot more water around than that, but the precision of her power and the fact that after she parted the river it didn't seem to take her any effort to hold the water in place was still impressive.

I was wondering how we were going to get down-the bank was very steep, the soil and rocks looked very slippery, and the exposed tree roots didn't look like they'd make good handholds for a twenty-foot climb-when Yin said, "Now, on my signal, everyone jump."

"Are you serious?" Brian demanded.

"I've the spell for it, don't worry," Yin assured him.

Oh, well in that case, sure, let me go ahead and fling myself off a small cliff, no problem.

I edged closer to Chris, who'd pulled out his hoverboard and looked as skeptical about this plan as I felt; if anything went wrong, I could try to land on that with him instead of falling all the way down.

We all lined up as close to the edge as possible, Yin counted to three, we jumped… and after he spoke a single word that I didn't catch, we all floated downward, gently as a leaf. Even Obsidian, who must have weighed at least a ton if he was actually solid metal and wood all the way through, barely disturbed the rocks and mud at the bottom of the riverbed when we all landed.

"Do you have a spell to let us float back up?" Alec asked hopefully.

Yin chuckled. "No, I'm afraid we'll have to manage the ascent the hard way."

Making our way across the river was slow going, between the flowing water that reached up to our ankles and the slippery soil beneath the surface and the occasional hole that might trap a foot if we weren't careful. There weren't any aquatic insects nearby, unfortunately, so I couldn't feel those out; instead, I let Obsidian and Terik stomp their way ahead of me, and between the two of them they mostly flattened the ground into a relatively safe and smooth surface.

Once we got to the other side the other team started going through their bags for ropes and climbing gear, but Chris offered to fly everyone up on his hoverboard. Everyone agreed but Obsidian, since he definitely wouldn't fit on the hoverboard, and while Chris was ferrying people up the warforged started doing something with his armor that eventually let him fly up under his own power.

The whole process of crossing the river had taken long enough that the translation spell had nearly expired by the time we were all up on the opposite bank and Khalthrun released her hydrokinesis. Yin told us this in the last few minutes remaining, we assured him we'd let him know if we needed to speak with them again, and we all continued on our way.

~*~*~

Half an hour later, I was incredibly bored.

I wouldn't have expected that I could get bored of exploring an exotic jungle on another planet, but it turns out that when you have to walk through the whole damn thing for days on end, the excitement starts to wear off.

I had my swarm spread out to feel for any more hostile animals or anything remotely interesting, but it was all just trees, trees, trees, bushes, vines, and more trees, and most of the animals I did find were just birds and monkeys and snakes, nothing exciting. Some of them were much bigger or faster than the ones you'd find on Earth, but none of them were brave enough to come anywhere near us after I sent my bugs to scare them off.

To alleviate my boredom, I tried to engage my teammates-

…

"Teammates"?

Were we a team, now?

They were hardly acting like it, but at this point we were by default, I guess.

Anyway, I tried to engage my teammates in conversation, without much luck.

I asked Dean first, who politely told me that he wasn't really up to talk right then because Chris hadn't had a chance to fix up his armor yesterday when he'd been busy with the cooking gear and so just walking was taking a lot of effort.

Brian grunted something about my having "taken sides" and brushed me off.

Chris and Alec talked with me for a little while, but soon we were all too tired to spare any breath for chitchat, and Alec had spent most of the time being obnoxious so it wasn't all that enjoyable anyway.

I'd expected Chris to be riding on his hoverboard instead of walking, but while we were chatting he mentioned that some kind of capacitor had been damaged in the crash when we got here.

Apparently he'd spent more time on foot than in the air the first few days not just because it was easier for him to talk with us that way (though that was a factor) but also because he couldn't stay in the air for more than half an hour at a time before it started losing its charge, and now the more he used it the more it wore out; the repairs he'd done that first morning had helped, but he didn't have the tools on him that he'd need to fully repair his hoverboard or Dean's armor so he was stuck with that for now.

He offered to let me ride on his hoverboard at one point so I could rest for a while, which was nice of him, but the overly-chivalrous way he offered it-like he was trying to imitate Dean's smoothness and not quite managing it-seemed more than a little patronizing and so I didn't take him up on it.

I didn't need to rest more than he did just because I'm a girl, thank you very much, and even though I was more of a runner than a hiker I was still probably in better shape than he was for this kind of thing.

~*~*~

Shortly after dusk, we reached a small clearing that had just enough of a gap in the canopy to let us see some of the moons as they were coming up, as well as that sparkling golden line in the sky that I'd have to ask someone about at some point.

The moment we stopped walking Alec started complaining about all of his new blisters. The other guys mostly ignored him, but I'd actually gotten a few blisters as well-my armor didn't exactly come with the equivalent of hiking boots like the others' costumes did-so I pantomimed my concerns to Yin to see if he could help.

I assumed he'd ask Khalthrun to use her healing power on us, but it was Terik he fetched to come over and heal us instead.

I wouldn't have expected someone with creepy bone powers to have a healing power too, but then I wouldn't have expected to find two healers on the same team when healing capes are supposed to be fairly rare, so what do I know?

Once again Yin made us some cabins, once again he cleaned the day's sweat and grime off of everyone's clothes and freshened us up in a way that almost but not quite made up for not getting a real shower, and once again I had barely gotten into bed before I was fast asleep.

~*~*~

Just Before Dawn, Sar the 7 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Somewhere West of the Ring of Storms, Xen'drik, Eberron

We woke up early. Technically I'd slept eleven or twelve hours, assuming days were as long here as they were on Earth, but it didn't feel like it. I was sore, I was still tired, and I was not in a good mood. The bunk beds in the cabins were better than sleeping on the ground, but they were no substitute for a real bed.

We ate breakfast with the other team again. It was the same cuisine but with slightly different dishes, which were just as good and just as filling as the ones from the day before.

There was no talking over breakfast this time. Yin had used his "wand" again to talk to me instead of using his power; he said he'd needed to "devote more of his prepared spells to divinations" along with Khalthrun because… something about drowsy or drowning? I wasn't fully awake yet when he explained and wasn't entirely paying attention.

The bottom line was, we were now close to a place called the Ring of Storms, and if we didn't want to have to spend half the day fighting things or crossing things or falling into things then he and Khalthrun would have to chart a route very carefully to avoid all of that.

Also, there was something about a "traveler's curse" that supposedly made finding a direct route to anywhere harder if you didn't have help from powers? Which… nope, too early in the morning to deal with "curses" or anything like that.

Everyone got their own power-created horse again. "Phantom steeds," Yin called them. There was no river to run across this time so they never went as fast as they had yesterday, but I still felt anxious every time my horse rushed past a leaning tree or a low-hanging branch at twenty-some miles an hour with only inches to spare.

~*~*~

After the riding was done, we had another hike ahead of us.

Dean and Brian still didn't want to talk, to me or to each other. No surprise there.

Alec and Chris and I traded a bit of small talk before we got too tired. We tried to puzzle out what exactly Yin's powers were and what "preparing" them meant, and after tossing ideas around for a while the best Chris could come up with was that Yin was like some "Trump" capes whose powers swapped around over time and so some of his powers couldn't be used on some days, but that still didn't seem to fit exactly.

The highlight of the day was when we passed some crumbling old ruins, which I first noticed through my bugs since they weren't all that close to the path we were taking. They kind of reminded me of the ruins we'd read about in a unit on Mayan history back in middle school.

We didn't stop to see them, Yin pantomiming that the group had already explored those ruins on their way out and didn't have any time or desire to stop again on the way back, or at least I think that's what he was getting at.

~*~*~

I got a second wind when we were standing around waiting for Yin to make the cabins and Terik to heal us, so I asked Chris if he wanted to explain the whole "Champion" thing that he said he'd explain later. He stuttered and stammered and made excuses as to why he wasn't ready to talk about it yet; I cut him off after a minute or so, because he was embarrassing both of us, really.

I asked Brian and Dean if they wanted to talk out their disagreement. Dean said he was perfectly willing to do that, if Brian was willing to apologize for his behavior. Brian said he had nothing to apologize for and went off to his corner.

It had been another very long day, so I decided I didn't want to deal with that and headed to bed. As soon as I crawled under the covers, I was out like a light.

~*~*~

Just Before Dawn, Sul the 8 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Somewhere West-Northwest of the Ring of Storms, Xen'drik, Eberron

We woke up before sunrise, again. I was not nearly rested enough, again.

We ate breakfast with the other team, again. No talking with them in English, to "save spells," again.

~*~*~

Phantom steeds, again. Eight or so hours of riding, again.

~*~*~

Four or five hours of hiking, again. Barely any talking, again. Chris offering his hoverboard, again.

… I gave in and took him up on it, this time, and rode it for almost fifteen minutes before Alec's teasing got to be too much.

~*~*~

Cabins from nowhere, again. Blisters getting healed, again. Chris procrastinating, again. Brian and Dean being stubborn idiots, again.

Out like a light, again.

~*~*~

Just Before Dawn, Mol the 9 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Somewhere Northwest of the Ring of Storms, Xen'drik, Eberron

Up before dawn, again. Too tired, again. Silent breakfast, again.

If I had to put up with one more day of riding goddamn magic horses through a goddamn jungle with the goddamn Fellowship of the Ring for thirteen goddamn hours without anyone but Alec or Chris saying a single goddamn word to me, so help me I was going take Alec's stupid goddamn scepter and hit someone over the goddamn head with it.

~*~*~

As soon as we finished the day's ride and the horses disappeared I walked up to Yin and signaled that I wanted to talk.

"What can I do for you, Vicereine?" he asked after he used his translation power.

"Can you use your power on me so I can talk to Khalthrun?" I asked.

I'd thought about who I might want to talk to while we rode. I'd already talked to Yin quite a bit, so I wanted to try to get to know someone else.

Corvin and Obsidian didn't really seem like exciting conversation partners, and Terik had compared me to a mass-murdering villain group and I was still more than a little annoyed about that, so that left Khalthrun. She didn't seem very talkative herself, but, well, we both had animal-related powers, maybe we could find some common ground there.

He gave me a knowing smile. "Trouble brewing in the viceroyalty?" he asked innocently.

I just gave him a look, and he laughed at my expression.

"I'm sorry to tease; traveling in Xen'drik can try anyone's patience. Boldrei knows my first expedition out here had me at my compatriots' throats before the first week was through. Here," he said, laying a hand on my shoulder and muttering something, "I've given you a Tongues spell. I'm going to go back to speaking Common now; you'll need to focus on wishing to understand my words to align the spell properly."

It took me a few tries but eventually I was able to focus on really wanting to understand him and got his words to come to me as English again. After that I left my team behind-getting a disappointed look from Chris as he was left alone with Alec, but, well, tough luck-and jogged over to where Khalthrun was heading up the group.

"Khalthrun?" I called as I came up behind her.

"Vicereine," she responded, without looking back.

"I was wondering if, um… can we talk?"

"Concerning?"

"Nothing specific? I just… I'm going a little crazy in this jungle and the rest of my team isn't really helping."

She was quiet for a moment, making no sound but the rustle of her cloak through the underbrush. "Walk with me," she said eventually, waving me forward.

"I'd been hoping to satisfy my curiosity about you and your companions when we reached Zantashk, but this will do just as well," she said softly. She seemed to do everything quietly and unobtrusively; not in a shy way, but more like she just naturally fit in wherever she went and whatever she was doing and everyone else was a loud and clumsy interloper by comparison. "Would an exchange of questions be fair?"

"Sure," I said. "You can go first, if you want."

She nodded. "Are you the leader of your band? A regent outranks a vicereine in every House and every nation of Khorvaire, as far as I'm aware, yet you were the one to represent your fellows to Yin initially and the only words out of the regent's mouth that I could understand were all complaints."

I smothered a laugh-that was Regent, all right-and shrugged. "Not really… but kind of, yes?"

I debated for a moment how much I wanted to share about our exact situation. Going into the details of heroes and villains and all that wouldn't mean much to her, and even if it would we didn't actually know what side of that divide any of these capes fell on; they'd been acting perfectly nice to us so far, but Brian had been acting friendly to everyone, too, before the recent argument.

Probably best not to throw the Undersiders under the bus, then, in case some of the other capes were their version of villains.

"We're not all one group, or we weren't originally," I began. "Regent and I are… part of different factions. Grue is on Regent's side, Gallant and K-Champion are on mine. So after we were thrown together there's been some disagreement about what to do and who should be in charge of the whole group. I'm on Gallant's side but we weren't actually part of the same faction before, so he and Grue thought I would be the most neutral option to speak with you, but I'm not actually in charge."

"I see," Khalthrun replied. "It almost reminds me how druids of different sects interact when they come together in a group. Or," she added with a small smile, "how a Thranite, a Brelander, an Aundairian, and a Karrn would act if you locked them all in a room and forced them to choose who would speak for all of them. That does put things in perspective, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"And your question?"

What to ask first? I could ask about preparing spells, but then I'd have to explain whatever answer that was to the guys; that could wait until everyone was together at the village and everyone could hear the explanation at the same time.

Well, there was one obvious question: "How much longer will it be until we get to Zantashk?"

"It will depend. If we make camp at the usual hour, we'll need just a few hours of riding tomorrow to reach the village. We could instead continue through the night, and would reach Zantashk at around the tenth bell. The latter option is dangerous, to be sure, but we've managed to avoid any drow so far and it seems that traveling in a group of ten has scared off most of the monsters that might otherwise have troubled us, so it may be worth it to take that option."

I thought longingly of being able to sleep in tomorrow morning and not deal with more horseback riding. "I'll ask the rest of my team if they want to do that," I said.

She nodded, and was quiet for a few minutes as we walked through some especially rocky terrain and had to climb over a tree trunk that had fallen across the path.

"You never did have an opportunity to explain what magical tradition or practice you follow," she said eventually. "Other than druids, only the priests of the Devourer are known to deal with insects to any great degree, but you obviously lack the necessary temperament for that."

I shrugged at the implied question. "I don't follow any kind of tradition. On Earth, every parahuman has different powers, so…."

She stopped mid-stride and turned to look at me. "They are all different? Every one?" she asked, an unusual intensity in her voice.

"Yes."

"With no pattern among family members?"

"Actually, from what I've heard the children of parahumans tend to have powers that are like their parents', so there's kind of a pattern there." Thinking of New Wave and how Panacea's power didn't match the rest of her team's, I added, "But it's not always true, sometimes they get powers that are totally unrelated."

"And how do you first gain these 'powers'?"

I shifted uncomfortably. I wasn't about to try to explain trigger events. "They just… show up one day, on their own, really."

"Do you bear a 'mark?" Khalthrun hadn't blinked once since she started looking at me, and it was starting to get unnerving.

"What kind of mark?"

"A dragonmark."

She said the word with a subtle emphasis, like I was supposed to know what she meant; maybe, as with 'druid,' it was another case of something that didn't translate exactly.

"Is that like a birthmark?" I offered.

Khalthrun seemed to search my expression for a few moments-for what, I don't know-until eventually her gaze lost its intensity and she turned to continue walking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Superficially, yes, but only superficially," she replied unhelpfully as I jogged to catch up with her. "In the future, when explaining the… variation in your people's magic, be sure to tell your listener upfront that none of you possess aberrant 'marks."

"Why?"

She shook her head. "A full explanation would require a lengthy history lesson on dragonmarks, the Houses, and the War of the Mark. For now, just know that to be suspected of bearing such a 'mark is not a good thing."

"Good to know," I said, making a mental note to pass that along to the guys.

"Since you lack a 'mark, your magic would best be categorized as sorcery," she continued with a confident nod, "if a somewhat unusual kind."

"Is that the word for what 'wizards' and 'warlocks' use?" I asked, referencing the terms Yin had used the other day.

She shook her head. "There are four kinds of magic, at a basic level. Sorcery and dragonmarks are inherited, wizardry and artifice are learned, warlockry is bestowed, divine magic is earned. If you need do nothing to awaken your powers, and they neither cause a physical manifestation nor breed true in families from one generation to another as dragonmarks do, then they are surely a form of sorcery."

Huh. It seemed like what they called "wizards" were essentially Tinkers, then, based on some of the things Chris had mentioned over our first meal about having to work with other capes and study other tinkertech in order to understand his power and figure out the things he built.

I didn't know what the difference between "bestowed" and "earned" was supposed to be, but the Empire had… what's-her-name, the one who gave powers to people for a short time, so maybe there were capes who could do that on a more permanent basis and these people viewed that from a religious angle.

So it sounded like those terms were like the PRT cape classification system, kind of. Not very useful to me at the moment, but Yin had said Obsidian was an expert on this stuff, maybe I could talk to him about it later.

I couldn't think of a follow-up question immediately, so we walked without speaking for a little while.

Eventually, while I was looking around trying to think of something to ask, the feathers on the woman's cloak caught my eye. I controlled bugs, and made my armor out of spider silk; one of her powers let her control birds-or create birds, I wasn't sure-so maybe she'd used its feathers in a similar way?

"The feathers on your cloak. Are those from… actually, you didn't mention your bird's name?"

Khalthrun smiled, much more warmly than I'd seen so far. "Garekh," she said, glancing up toward the canopy; her bird was flying around overhead, having launched itself through the trees the moment we'd dismounted from our horses just as it had every day before. I wondered if she could see through its eyes and was using it to watch for threats, or something like that.

"It means 'torch' in Orcish," she continued. "He's an Eldeen red-crested goshawk, a large variety of ferruginous hawk known for its distinctive russet feathers. He earned his name as a fledgling for having the most vibrant coloration in his brood, and he has been my constant companion ever since."

So she didn't control birds, then, she'd just found one bird and trained it somehow.

That did make a lot more sense than one cape somehow getting two very different powers… though if she and Yin actually were Trumps with changing powers, like Eidolon was, I guess both hydrokinesis and bird control could fit together that way.

She obviously cared deeply about her hawk, and hearing about him sounded more more interesting than talking about powers anyway. "Really?" I asked. "I've never had a pet. What's it like?"

"Oh, he's much more than just a pet," she said. "In fact…."

~*~*~

I had a great time talking with Khalthrun. We stayed away from the more serious topics, mostly sticking to talking about Garekh, what the forests and parks and other natural areas were like near where we grew up, stories from when we were younger, and things like that.

When the topic turned to my armor, she turned out to be as interested in that as I was in her cloak, and we spent a while trading weaving tips back and forth-not that either of us could really make use of the other's tricks given our completely different powers and weaving methods, but they were still interesting to learn about.

The time flew by while we spoke, to the point that I had to go back to Yin not once but twice to ask him to use his power again so we could keep the conversation going.

Who knew that talking about clothes could be so enjoyable?

Eventually the sun began to set, and Yin and Terik started looking around for good places to stop and make the cabins.

"Um, one last question for now," I said after Khalthrun finished a story about a wolf cub she'd helped raise as a child.

"Yes?"

I took a deep breath. "When we came through the portal, we only had what we were carrying with us at the time," I began. "I wasn't prepared for any kind of trip, I was actually about to head home when it happened. Which means… well, it's almost that time of the month, and I was wondering if you had any extra…."

Extra what, actually? Do they even have tampons on fantasy worlds?

"… something to help?" I finished lamely.

"I do," she said, and shifted her backpack around under her cloak so she could reach one of the side pockets. After a bit of rummaging around she pulled out a tiny glass vial full of a greenish-blue liquid and sealed with a small cork. There was an engraving of a hawk on the cork, surrounded by some writing I couldn't read.

"What is it?" I asked.

"A stabilization elixir. One dose will halt your cycle for a full month. It can be purchased for a handful of galifars at any Healer's Guild hall or Jorasco-sponsored apothecary, and it is an invaluable addition to any explorer's toolkit if she plans to be away from civilization for any length of time."

That was much better than I was expecting, actually. "And it's completely safe?" I asked.

"What do you mean by 'safe'?"

"That it doesn't have any unanticipated side effects?"

"Of course it doesn't," she said, looking slightly confused that I would have to ask. "All House Jorasco products do precisely what they claim, no more and no less. No one would buy their wares otherwise."

… The medicine here was so safe that people just wouldn't buy something if there were side effects?

This really must be a fantasy world.

I thanked her for the vial and stopped briefly to put it in my storage compartment, cushioned inside my chalk pouch so it would be in no danger of breaking while we hiked.

The translation power ran out soon after that, so I gestured goodbye, headed back to the main group, and called for the guys to gather around so we could talk.

"Khalthrun says that we can either keep going through the night and get to the village around ten, or stop around sunset again and get there tomorrow morning," I informed them once they'd all caught up to me. "I'd much rather keep going, but what do you all think?"

"Keep going," Chris said immediately, then added, "but I've been getting rest breaks with my hoverboard, so if everyone else is too tired we can stop."

"I say stop," Alec said. "My feet are killing me already."

"Stop," Brian agreed with a nod. "If we run into any more dinosaurs or whatever at night it'll be much harder to fight them without being able to see."

I turned to Dean. "Looks like you're the tiebreaker."

The Ward glanced around at each of us, his gaze lingering a little longer on Brian. "I say we keep going," he said. "We traveled at night before and didn't run into any problems, right?"

"Fine," Brian grumbled.

I nodded. "Great. I'll tell Khalthrun."

I jogged back up to her and pantomimed our decision. She nodded, said something to Terik and Yin who also nodded, and they stopped looking around for a clearing and moved closer to the rest of the group.

Just six or so more hours of walking, and we'd finally be back in civilization. I could hardly wait.

~*~*~

Walking on through the night had been a terrible idea.

The lack of light wasn't the problem. After Brian demonstrated that surrounding us with his darkness could prevent people from seeing us from a distance, Khalthrun had done something to make her staff glow and Obsidian had a power that made him blaze with a bright reddish-orange light. Between those things, the light from Dean's and Chris's armor, and the bright light from the moons, it wasn't actually hard to see at all.

No, the problem was that an incredible number of bats and owls and other nocturnal animals that found my bugs to be tasty had come out after the sun went down, so I was constantly on edge trying to figure out whether the sudden huge chunk getting taken out of my swarm every few minutes was due to another dinosaur attack situation or just normal animal behavior.

Eventually I just gave up on scouting ahead and pulled my swarm in until it was within the inky mass of Brian's darkness; none of the animals were coming close to it, so I could be sure that anything eating my bugs in there was actually a threat.

… Also, as it turns out, it's much easier to commit to walking "just" six more hours on top of a full day of hiking than it is to actually walk for that much longer.

There had better be a five-star hotel at the end of this hike, I grumbled to myself, 'cause if I have to sleep in one of those bunk beds again, I don't know if I'm going to be able to feel my legs tomorrow.

~*~*~

After far too many hours of walking, Yin suddenly stopped, looking off into the distance as if he could see through Brian's darkness

"Are we here?" I asked. With the darkness still surrounding us and me keeping my swarm in it, I couldn't sense anything farther than a few yards away.

Yin nodded to me with a smile, then made a 'lower it' gesture to Brian, who made his darkness disappear.

Beyond the darkness lay a tall and sturdy wooden wall, with towers spaced out along it like you'd see on the walls of a castle. A steady red light shone from what looked like glass spheres atop the towers, and I could see some silhouettes of people walking back and forth atop the walls. Sending my swarm over to investigate revealed that there was a gate a little ways down the wall and multiple racks of what felt like swords and crossbows lined up along the wall's far side.

Terik called out something in a friendly tone, someone on top of the walls responded, and they had a brief back-and-forth before a loud wooden creaking signaled that they were opening the gate.

We walked through it-shuffled, really; most of us were yawning by that point-and once it was closed one of the people standing there escorted us on a few minutes' walk to wherever Terik had asked him to lead us.

There seemed to be one relatively straight "main street" all the way through the village, a broad stone path going from the gate out to the limits of my power's range. Another wide street crossed it at one point, but other than that there seemed to be no other roads, just narrow flagstone paths between buildings.

Our destination turned out to be a building right by the intersection of the two streets, three stories tall and surrounded by hedges. There was a sign above the front door with both an image and writing on it, like you'd see on a tavern in a fantasy movie, but I couldn't read the language and the image was hard to make out in the reddish light. Khalthrun knocked on the door, said something to whoever answered, took us inside and up some stairs, pointed out a set of bedrooms for us, and headed back downstairs.

As had become a habit, I silently claimed the nearest room, walked in, shut the door behind me, and collapsed onto the bed, completely spent.

~*~*~

Just Before Noon, Zol the 10 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

House Tharashk Enclave, Zantashk, Xen'drik, Eberron

For the first time in days, after finally getting a full night's sleep in a real bed with real pillows and a real mattress, I woke up actually feeling refreshed.

And probably smelling terrible, because Yin hadn't used his cleaning power on us last night.

I sat up in bed and stretched-no more bunk beds!-and took a look around the room.

The walls and ceiling were plain white with wooden posts for support, and there was a shuttered window set into one wall with a large wardrobe next to it. It was pretty much the kind of "faux Medieval" style you'd expect to see in a fantasy world.

Yet it all had a very polished feel to it that was hard to describe; it was less like a tavern room out of a fantasy movie and more like someone had built a modern hotel with all the amenities and just decorated it to look like a fantasy tavern.

Now, the important question: this world had Medieval weapons and Medieval-looking rooms, so was the bathroom situation Medieval as well?

I really hoped not.

I headed out the door and down the hall to find out.

~*~*~

The building did have indoor plumbing, thank god.

It took a little bit of trial-and-error to figure everything out, but once I discovered that pressing some small blue and yellow tiles embedded in the wall behind the faucet and showerhead controlled the water temperature (somehow) and that pressing the orange or purple tiles made the water flower-scented ( somehow), I was able to take my first real shower in days.

Once I walked out of that bathroom, I finally felt civilized again.

It looked to be around noon judging by the light coming in through the window at the end of the hall, and I could definitely go for some lunch, so I headed for the stairs.

On my way down I ran into a man who looked like a soldier, tall and in shape with an axe at his hip, battered armor strapped over his chest, and scars covering his arms and face. I moved aside to let him pass, but he stopped and gave me a broad smile.

"Good morning, Vicereine," he said in a gravelly voice. "You slept well last night, I hope?"

There was something familiar about the way he was talking. It took me a second, but then: "… Yin?" I asked.

In response, his face rippled to reveal his normal chalk-white skin.

"Why are you shapeshfted?"

"The people around here aren't fond of changelings," he said, and his smile faded. "As is the case for the people in most parts, I'm afraid. So I'll be using this identity for the duration of our stay."

"Do you carry around spare weapons and outfits for situations like this?" I asked, thinking of Terik's box that could hold a lot more than it should.

He chuckled and hefted his axe. "No need. I've enchanted my possessions…" the axe rippled and within moments it had turned into the sword he'd been wearing during our trek through the jungle "… to allow it to adapt to each identity I assume. Much simpler that way."

A moment later his sword had become an axe again and his face was the grizzled soldier's once more. "I assume you'd like something to eat?"

"Yes please."

"Then your timing is impeccable, as they'll be serving lunch shortly. Follow me."

We headed downstairs and then down a short hallway to a large dining room full of people. There was a fireplace in the left wall-probably purely decorative, I couldn't imagine they'd ever light a fire with how hot it was around here-and a bar to the right that opened onto a small kitchen.

Tapestries and banners covered the walls, each tapestry showing a different scene but all the banners having the same design: a golden lion with wings on a red background, with a star above the lion and golden thorns surrounding it, which looked very similar to the thorns on Khalthrun's armor, actually.

Four long trestle tables filled the room, and just like in a school cafeteria it looked like every table was occupied by a different group. There was one table full of what looked like soldiers; one full of… I wasn't sure, but they were dressed kind of like the background characters at a Renaissance Faire, so nothing fancy; one full of people in robes and cloaks, including Khalthrun; and one table that was empty except for Dean and Brian.

The two of them weren't wearing their masks, so I took mine off as I went over and sat down next to Dean. "Morning."

"Morning, Vicereine," he replied, a subtle reminder to stick to cape names, not that I needed reminding.

I noticed that he was squinting and had his head tilted off to the side, like someone looking away from a bright light. "Didn't sleep well?" I asked.

"No, it's…." He sighed. "You see Khalthrun's table?"

I looked over. There were five people there talking with each other and with Khalthrun, smiling and laughing and apparently having a good time. All of them looked like they were half-orcs as well, but they looked… hmm. "Less human" sounded kind of racist, so…"more orc-ish"? Would that also be racist?

They all looked different compared to Khalthrun, is the point. Two of them weren't that different, just having more prominent jaws and slightly pointier ears, while the others had very high foreheads, a more obvious grayish cast to their skin, and even a pair of fangs poking out of their bottom lips.

"Yeah, what about it?" I replied

"Those two on the left can't stand the three in the middle, and none of them can stand Khalthrun, and the feelings are mutual all around," he grumbled, "but they've been pretending to like each other for the past half hour and it hurts to look at."

"A side effect of your power?" I asked.

He nodded. "It's not exactly painful, like how a lot of Thinkers get headaches from overusing their powers, just… you know how scrolling through pictures of happy people can cheer you up and watching someone do something really embarrassing can make you cringe? It's like that, but more pronounced. It's actually been getting a lot better ever since we came through the portal, but watching that much insincerity in one place is still enough to make me a little queasy."

Interesting. "Is that why you don't like it when people argue around you?"

"You noticed that?" He grinned weakly. "It's not the only reason, but that's part of it, yeah."

"For someone who dislikes arguing," Brian began, giving Dean a frustrated look, "you-"

"Is that the start of an apology?" Dean interrupted. Brian didn't respond. "No? Then I don't want to hear it."

There was an awkward silence after that. I shifted in my seat and glanced over at the kitchen; the food couldn't come out soon enough.

"So, uh," I said, "are the other two still sleeping?"

"I assume Regent is," Dean replied. "K-Champion was doing something with his hoverboard when I checked on him. Yin was going to get them after he got you, so they should be down in a few minutes."

"Cool," I said.

More awkward silence. I couldn't think of anything to say to break it.

Thankfully I didn't have to, since after a few minutes someone in the kitchen rang a bell and called out something in what I assumed was Common-an odd name for a language, now that I thought about it-and servers started coming out of the kitchen carrying trays loaded with food.

Our tray was presented to us with an overly-formal curtsy by the nervous-looking girl who brought it over; I guessed that she'd been told our cape names and assumed we were real nobility, like Yin had. She quickly babbled an explanation of what everything was, which of course we didn't understand at all, then curtsied again and quickly walked away.

There were three meat dishes in brightly-colored sauces, a plate of what looked like flattened burritos cut into bite-sized slices, a plate of shellfish, and a loaf of some kind of very fluffy bread, plus some condiment shakers on the side. All of it smelled enticing, but I didn't want to be the first to try anything without knowing what it was.

"What do you think that is?" I asked, pointing to the closest meat dish.

"Roast hoatzin stuffed with mushroom risotto," Corvin said from the chair next to Brian, and all of us jumped in our seats.

I hadn't exactly filled the room with my swarm, but I still had enough bugs around that I should have easily noticed him joining us. How the hell was that guy so sneaky?

"Holy f-where did you come from?" Brian asked.

Corvin smirked. "Around."

"What's hoatzin?" I asked him.

"A local kind of fowl. The dish is usually prepared with pheasants, but those are in short supply around here." Pointing to the rest of the dishes in turn, he explained, "The others are calf liver with shallots in a brindleberry reduction, braised goat with sautéed yams in a Varnese sauce, a fivespice salmon wrap with a bit of a punch to it, poached mussels, and saffron bread, and that," he pointed at a carafe of juice that the server had left off to the side, "is rainbow mursi."

"Why 'rainbow'?" I asked. It looked basically like cranberry juice to me.

"It's an alchemical spin on the normal beverage; it reacts with the air to change color and flavor as you pour it out, so every glass is slightly different."

Huh. Pretty neat.

"This all seems… fancier than expected, for a village in the middle of nowhere," Dean said.

"Completely excessive, you mean?" Corvin asked wryly, and Dean nodded. "This is a Tharashk enclave, so hearty food is to be expected at every meal, but you're right, a full Aundairian spread is a tier above their usual lunchtime fare."

In a conspiratorial tone, he added, "Someone may have told the cooks to expect visiting nobility with overly high standards, and they obviously aimed to impress."

I frowned at him. "What makes you think our standards are too high?"

"Oh, nothing at all," he said as he reached over to grab a plate and some silverware. "I just used you as an excuse because I can't stand the flavorless dross that the Eldeen try to pass off as food. Hand me the mussels and the paprika shaker, would you?"

Brian passed those over to him, then the rest of us grabbed plates and started digging in. Chris came jogging into the room with a "Sorry, sorry, I forgot about lunch!" a few minutes after we started eating, and Alec stumbled in half-asleep with his costume askew (but still with that perfect hair) a few more minutes after that.

All of us tried a bit of everything-except the liver, which only Dean was brave enough to sample-and all of it was delicious.

Corvin hadn't been kidding about the wrap being spicy, and we ended up having to get a second carafe after we all washed it down with a few helpings of mursi. The gnome had an amused smirk on his face as he asked for the refill; I assumed he had a much higher spice tolerance than we did, and I bet he was privately laughing at us for not being able to handle the heat.

Every glass of the mursi tasted like a different fruit, always sharp and tangy but with some sweetness or bitterness here and there, and by my fourth glass I was starting to feel a bit more mellow with a comfortable warmth in my stomach.

Soon enough we'd polished off the food and the server had cleared away the table. We sat there digesting for a few minutes, and with half the group not wanting to talk to the other half and Corvin having gone off to… somewhere, I didn't actually notice him leaving, we were back to awkward silence once again.

Eventually Brian rose to his feet, wobbling slightly.

"I think," he said, then paused and spoke more carefully. "I think, now that we're done eating, we should go look for the person who can find Judas, and the next thing we should do is find out about this 'airship' that Taylor said they mentioned." He glanced at Dean as he stopped speaking, his expression almost daring the hero to object to his plan.

I looked at the two capes who'd been at odds with each other for the past few days for what I thought was a pretty silly reason, and then at the other tables full of people who were deliberately keeping to themselves and not looking in our direction, and out of nowhere I thought about Julia, the last person I'd eaten lunch with at school.

She'd been one of Emma's hangers-on all of freshman year and partway into sophomore year, then when the bullying had started slacking off around Halloween she'd come to me with an apology and a sob story, going on about how she'd only joined in on the bullying to seem popular and was really regretting it and wanted to make it up to me somehow.

I didn't trust her at first, but she eventually got me to start relaxing, an inch at a time, and I never really let my guard down, but by the time the two of us were able to eat in the cafeteria without anyone tripping me on my way to my table or 'accidentally' spilling spaghetti down the back of my shirt I was starting to think that maybe….

Anyway, the whole thing turned out to be one long extended prank. I don't know whether that was Julia's plan from the beginning or if she'd started off genuine and then Emma had talked her into betraying me, but she was right back with Emma after I got back from the hospital and my so-called "friend" had refused to even acknowledge my existence from that point on.

That was what this whole situation felt like.

I'd thought I'd left all of that high school drama behind when we got dumped here, but once again I'd gotten a chance to experience what it must have been like to be a normal teenager with normal friends who all got along and liked each other without a little voice in the back of my mind worrying about whether Emma was going to find a way to take them away from me, and then once again I'd gotten that tiny taste of almost-friendship yanked away from me for stupid, petty reasons.

"Well," Dean started to say, with a thoughtful frown in Brian's direction, "I think-"

"Well I think," I interrupted, surprised at my own boldness, "that before we do anything else, we need to figure out how to solve… this," I waved a finger vaguely between Brian and Dean, "because I've had it up to here with you people and not wanting to talk to each other, and then we can do the other stuff."

I'd put up with a hell of a lot as Taylor without my being able to do anything about it, but I was a hero now, and Vicereine wasn't about to put up with any crap.

The two older guys looked suitably chastened as I turned to point vaguely toward Chris.

"And then we need to figure out your deal," I continued, "because you still haven't explained the name thing, and it's obviously important to you for some reason, and we have to stick together if we're going to get home and keeping secrets from people on your team isn't going to help that."

The Tinker, who already looked a little red in the face, glanced away at that and gave a little nod.

"And you!" I said, turning to face Alec. He raised an eyebrow as I paused to think of something to say. "Your sense of humor sucks," I said after a moment, and he actually looked mildly offended at that.

I stood up then-whoa there, my chair felt a bit wobbly, I hadn't noticed that earlier-and motioned back toward the stairs. "There's an empty room over that way, so we can talk about stuff without dealing with…" I gestured vaguely at all the background noise in the room "… all of that. Come on."

Chris hopped up immediately and almost tripped over his chair, Alec and Dean rose more slowly and carefully, and then they all followed me out of the dining room to, finally, hopefully, put all of our problems behind us.

Author's Note

In this chapter: Taylor is not at all a happy camper, either literally or figuratively.

But hey, at least she made a friend! A friend who's into animals and fashion and totally wasn't about to bust out the combat spells if Taylor had given the wrong answers to her questions about aberrant dragonmarks!

In case it wasn't clear from the description cues, Taylor ended the chapter just a teensy bit drunk, as did the UnderWards; mursi is, in fact, a mild varietal of Aundairian red wine, so the gang effectively washed down their lunch with four glasses of moscato or two glasses of a stronger wine.

They didn't think to ask if it was alcoholic because a drinking age is a thing in America and teenagers having wine with lunch is totally unexpected, and Corvin didn't think to inform them it was alcoholic because a drinking age isn't a thing in Khorvaire and nobles having wine with lunch is totally normal. Yay culture clashes!

I'm sure that the gang being a little bit buzzed as Taylor "completely done with your shit" Hebert tries to get them to open up and talk about feelings will have absolutely no downsides whatsoever.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The spells Yin used this chapter were Leomund's secure shelter (creates a cabin, complete with door alarm), prestidigitation (does a bunch of minor magic, including cleaning things), mending (repairs small objects or small portions of larger objects), tongues (lets you speak and understand, but not read or write, any language you're familiar with), phantom steed (creates a partially-real horse that runs very fast and can walk on water, and eventually fly), feather fall (fall slowly and avoid falling damage), and ebon eyes (see through magical darkness). Khalthrun's spell was control water (raise or lower the water level in a specified area). For more on the other party's races, see the articles on gnomes, half-elves, changelings (and shifters!), half-orcs, and warforged. No, I didn't originally set out to intentionally make a party without a single human in it, things just happened to work out best that way… although, technically, Khalthrun the half-human half-orc and Terik the half-human half-elf sort of make one full human between them. Anyone interested in Khorvarian cuisine can find some examples here. The Ring of Storms is an elven ruin, as already mentioned… and is also the home of the Umbragen drow, so best to avoid it on your Xen'drik treks. The Children of Winter are a fairly small druid sect who favor icky creepy magic like insect swarms and plagues and such, and believe that the Last War and other recent catastrophes mean that the world is going down the tubes and may end soon (at least in its current form). As a creepy insect controller from Earth Bet, Taylor would fit right in! Aberrant dragonmarks are bad news because while the twelve "normal" dragonmarks each provide the same magic to those who bear them and have generally constructive powers, aberrant dragonmarks are all different and always provide destructive powers. Aberrant 'marks can grow to become hugely dangerous and have wrought great destruction in the past, so aberrant heirs are shunned and distrusted by polite society and tend to go more than a little bit nuts, making Khalthrun very concerned when she thought the five Earth Bet capes might all be ticking time bombs just waiting to blow. Eldeen red-crested goshawks are of course fictional birds, but ferruginous hawks and hoatzin are not! The symbol Taylor sees on the banners is the crest of House Tharashk, and the symbol on the vial (a griffon, which she mis-identifies as a hawk because it's so tiny) is the crest of House Jorasco.

Last edited: Jul 27, 2022

Integration 2.2.V

9:36 pm, Saturday the 16th of April, 2011 CE Four Blocks West of the Boardwalk, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

I discreetly observed the pair of New Wave heroes as I waited for them to approach within reasonable hearing range.

Mark Dallon, sobriquet Flashbang, was in the lead, ambling down the street with a self-assured gait, while Crystal Pelham, sobriquet Laserdream, flew above him, a pace or two behind and to the side.

Neither of them bore any protective wards, which I felt to be quite irresponsible. Mark was at least lightly armored with plating over vulnerable areas and padding on the limbs, but his armor wasn't enchanted and seemed to be more decorative than practical; a good thrust from a longspear, or a bullet from one of the "hand guns" that the natives favored, would likely go right through it without any difficulty.

This street, like most near the Boardwalk, appeared to be partly residential and partly mercantile. Shops and restaurants occupied the ground floors of the three- and four-story buildings flanking it, while private dwellings filled the floors above. Either the New Wave heroes were an uncommon sight in this part of town or they were simply that popular with the citizenry, as many diners stopped to record photographs with their phones while quite a few residents watched them from the windows of their apartments.

The two heroes were obviously used to the attention, going by the skill with which they were playing to the crowd.

Mark returned bystanders' excited waves with his right hand while a pair of glowing chartreuse orbs made lazy circles in his left palm; the spell or power he used was evidently short-lived, as the orbs grew and shrank minutely as he cycled them in and out with a pulse of magic every few seconds instead of simply maintaining them in place.

Crystal, meanwhile, swooped gently from side to side creating small circular panes of force in the air every few paces. In response to a shouted request from a child leaning out of a second-story window, she conjured a row of constructs shaped like five-pointed stars ahead of her and then dashed forward to slalom between them, to scattered cheers and applause.

It was clear from their auras and from the reactions of the crowd that they weren't showing off purely out of a desire for adulation. The moods of the onlookers obviously brightened as the heroes made their presence known, and the friendly cheer in both of their auras was obviously genuine and heartfelt.

I did note, however, that Mark's emotional responses were quite muted compared to Crystal's.

His reactions to autograph requests and shouted greetings were notably sluggish, and his aura was shrouded in a grayish haze. Not the ashen gray of Evil-the inner bands of his aura were distinctly golden, as expected-but rather the faded gray of mental and emotional fatigue.

Perhaps he was more cynical about the situation than was his younger compatriot, or perhaps he'd simply had a very long day.

In either case, I could certainly sympathize.

When I judged they'd be able to hear me without difficulty, I stepped out into the street as if casually rounding the corner. "Good evening, New Wave!" I called. "Might I have a moment of your time?"

The handful of bystanders between us moved to the side and glanced toward me, while Mark dismissed his two smaller orbs in favor of one larger one and Crystal created a much larger construct overhead.

There was no hostility emanating from either of them, so why-?

Ah, for visibility, of course. The garish glowing signs above the few shops that were still open at this hour apparently didn't provide enough light by which to clearly see me, and the heroes' spell effects gave off light in proportion to their size.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, how weak the un-enhanced human eye could be.

Well, not forget, exactly-it's impossible for me to actually forget something without magical intervention, to my current dismay-but my recollections of life as a mere human purely reliant on his mundane senses become harder and harder to dredge up with each passing century as they become a smaller and smaller fraction of my sensory recollections, and when it comes to habit and assumptions and suchlike I am just as fallible as any mortal.

I wonder, sometimes, whether-

-anyhow. With a thought, I brightened all the ambient light sources by a small amount, then strode forward with a cheerful smile. The two of them relaxed and greeted me with smiles of their own.

"Sorry about that, couldn't really see you back there. Yes, of course, we have some time to talk," Mark said. As he stepped closer, he made a discreet hand signal behind his back to Crystal, who flew a few paces higher and began a flashy aerobatics routine that had her covering more horizontal area than before.

The signal likely meant either keep the people entertained while I talk to this person or this may be an ambush so go look for accomplices, it was hard to judge his level of concern from his subdued emotions and it didn't matter enough for me to read his thoughts for the answer, but either way I appreciated their professionalism.

I offered a hand to shake, but after a brief twinge of concern in his aura he pretended not to notice it and placed his hands on his hips in a confident pose.

Aspect sent approvingly.

had to be a cape whose repertoire I'd been hoping to examine, I grumbled.

"So what can New Wave do for you, sir?" he asked as I lowered my hand, and though his tone was hearty and welcoming, I could tell from his aura that his heart simply wasn't in it.

I frowned to myself. Now that I'd had a closer look at his aura… well, I was hardly a professional mindhealer, but I had enough of a background in the mental sciences to recognize a lingering psychic injury when I saw one. And not one that would heal on its own, by the looks of it.

We'd already stepped off to the side near a restaurant's patio where we weren't likely to be overheard, but I quickly manifested a power to prevent sound from escaping our immediate vicinity in order to ensure our conversation remained private.

"Before we get to that," I said, "you are aware that you're currently suffering from an imbalance of mental humors, yes?"

Mark didn't respond immediately. "Excuse me?" he asked after a moment, a slight edge to his polite tone. His aura indicated neither confusion about my meaning nor surprise at my knowledge, but rather an odd muddle of frustration and disdain at my words themselves.

"An imbalance of humors, such as can lead to various emotional deficiencies," I clarified, and began to scan his surface thoughts to aid in deciphering his reaction.

"Yes, I'm aware. My 'deficiencies' came up in interviews, years ago. Most people have forgotten," he replied shortly. His aura began to cloud with irritation, though even that was muted.

My first glimpse of his surface thoughts revealed that Mark… hmm. He did not appear to believe that humoral theory was legitimate science, and was merely indulging someone whom be believed to be a charlatan.

How exactly did he think blood magic and alchemical healing and similar practices worked, then, if not via manipulation of humors?

"Look, if you're here trying to sell me on some kind of 'alternative medicine'…" Mark began.

Perhaps it was an issue of terminology? I rapidly searched my acquired lexicon for-ah!

"Your pardon," I interrupted. "I meant to say an imbalance of hormones, but English is not my father tongue."

The term "hormones" wasn't precisely applicable, as it encompassed only a subset of the physical humors in a way that implied that the natives had a purely biological view of medicine and healing, which would likely explain why the injury hadn't been healed already, but that was an issue to untangle some other time.

"Ah, I see." The irritation faded from both his tone and his aura. "It's dysthymia, actually, but… same difference. Sorry about the snap judgment; after that Time article came out, a whole bunch of quacks came out of the woodwork offering miracle cures, and dealing with that was a real pain."

"Would you like one?"

"Say again?"

"A cure, I mean. I'd be glad to take care of that for you." Seeing the hints of irritation returning, I continued patiently, "No, I'm not offering some sort of false medicine as a scam. I'm a cape, and I am offering to heal you quickly and harmlessly while asking nothing in recompense beyond your time. "

"Uh huh." He crossed his arms in patent disbelief. "I think if the world's second-ever unmasked healing cape showed up in this city, then New Wave, of all people, would have heard of it."

"I haven't precisely been advertising my services," I replied dryly. "I can't demonstrate my healing ability without a suitable subject, but as for proof that I am indeed a cape…." I said, and briefly levitated a few inches into the air once I judged that all of the bystanders were focused on Crystal's theatrics and not on us.

Yes, I'd revealed myself to quite a few locals already and the Protectorate was shortly to know of my presence, but having learned how quickly information could be spread by anyone with a phone, I was loath to freely demonstrate my psionics around a large mass of common folk just yet.

"Huh. I stand corrected," Mark conceded.

The hero was silent for a long moment, his aura swirling with what appeared to be a detached interest mixed with mild skepticism but would likely have been much stronger emotions for anyone else.

"If it helps your decision," I offered, "Aegis can vouch for me; I spoke with him this afternoon and explained my situation. As can the nearly a score of people whom I healed of various ailments over the past few days."

"Oh, that was you?" He perked up somewhat. "Amy did mention there were several hopefuls who took themselves off the notification list this week."

Mark's surface thoughts indicated that the "hopefuls" in this case were those who showed up regularly to one of the city's several houses of healing in the hopes that Panacea, New Wave's healer, would get around to treating them. Presumably the absence of divine magic on this world (and the corresponding lack of priests) meant that there was insufficient healing for the impoverished or desperate and this lottery system was their best recourse.

The indirect proof of my capabilities and intentions did shift his thoughts in a more accommodating direction, but he remained hesitant. "Have you been certified as a healer by the PRT?"

"I have not. I'll be meeting with them for the first time on Monday."

He nodded silently and considered the issue for a time, his surface thoughts highly conflicted.

Eventually he shook his head, regretfully. "Much as I'd love to take you up on that, I'm not comfortable subjecting myself to an unknown cape's powers out of the blue," he said. "I'd want to talk with my family and get some assurance from Panacea and the PRT that everything is safe, maybe have her check out some of the people you've already healed to make sure no side effects have popped up in the meantime…."

"Of course," I agreed readily; his caution was quite reasonable. "The offer doesn't come with a time limit."

"Thanks for understanding. Is there a way to reach you when I do make a decision?"

"I don't have a phone, I'm afraid," I responded-or at least not a usable one, as the confiscated Empire phones that I'd dismantled for study while working with Alberto certainly didn't count. "You may be able to contact me via the PRT, depending on how my meeting with them goes. If not, perhaps I can seek you out on your patrols sometime in the next few days?"

"That could be tricky," he admitted. "There's no guarantee I'd be out on the night that you come looking."

With the practiced cadence of someone reciting a well-rehearsed explanation, he continued, "New Wave doesn't have fixed patrol schedules or routes. We have at least two members on solo patrols almost every night, but we only go out as a whole team once or twice a week. Using three random pairs for varied team compositions and changing the day and the route each time ensures that the gangs can't plan around us. Whichever one of us isn't patrolling that day stays back to coordinate the others and protect Panacea."

That was only partially true, as I determined from images swimming through his surface thoughts that belied his words and the splashes of guilt and self-recrimination in his aura that underlay his entire explanation.

New Wave did indeed vary their patrols as stated, but it was more to hide a lack of activity on their part than to avoid predictability; his thoughts indicated that the team was not nearly as active as they once had been, and Mark himself very rarely found himself able to contribute.

His wording implied that the nightly patrols varied just as the biweekly patrols did, but it was clear from his thoughts that Lady Photon and Glory Girl did the dragon's share of them, with others only rarely joining them or filling in for their absence.

Today, it would seem, he was on patrol while Glory Girl stayed home because it was one of the vanishingly few "good days" on which his determination managed to conquer his lethargy-and even that was largely due to his daughter not feeling up to patrol this evening (the reason for which did not appear in his thoughts, but given that she had been distraught over a death when first I'd seen her, she was likely still in mourning) and his putting forth a special effort on her behalf.

Changing routes constantly would lead members of the public who hadn't seen them in a while to assume that the team was simply more active elsewhere in the city, a team member needing to stay back with Panacea provided a ready excuse for a certain hero's absence on any given day, and constantly shuffling pairs concealed the fact that Mark was nearly always the one left out of the rotation.

The scheme apparently worked well enough, as everyone whom I'd asked about New Wave seemed to hold them in high regard and consider them a very active team, if somewhat less so than they had been a few years prior.

I found it to be an admirable bit of subterfuge, myself, but Mark's thoughts indicated that he deeply regretted forcing the team to work around his injury and wished he could patrol more often in order to, as he saw it, pull his weight so that his daughter would not have to take up the slack.

Informing him that I could find him at any time regardless of patrol schedule would certainly not be taken well, so I merely replied, "Then I suppose I'll keep an eye out for you until our paths cross again."

"I appreciate it." He glanced back to check on Crystal, who was now busy signing autographs, and prompted, "What was it you wanted to talk about originally?"

"Oh, nothing important," I said, waving dismissively. "I'm something of a researcher and had some questions about New Wave's capabilities, but if we're going to meet again with more members of your team present it would make more sense to ask them then. I should probably let you get back to your patrol."

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed. "It was good talking with you…?"

"Valigan."

"Valigan, and I should have an answer for you in a few days."

With that, he waved farewell and went to join his niece, and I withdrew to the out-of-the-way spot to which I had first teleported.

Aspect sent.

I disagreed.

I was interrupted by a pulse of exasperated refusal from my psicrystal.

he sent.

I regarded him with amusement. what foot down?

There was a pause, then a minute draining sensation as Aspect drew upon my psionic reserves to form a set of spidery legs for himself out of shimmering golden ectoplasm, something of which he had long been capable but that he hadn't seen fit to do in over a millennium since he'd first become able to fly under his own power.

The moment the legs finished forming, he pointedly thrust all of them straight downwards.

least skip tonight and only train her every other day, he pleaded.

I regarded him silently for a moment, then sighed. There was hardly a benefit to possessing a psicrystal if one constantly ignored its advice, as I had largely been doing of late.

I conceded, and received a pulse of relieved gratitude in return.

I manifested a Sending to inform Elle of the change in plans, rendered myself incorporeal and imperceptible, teleported to the address Jenny had given me, and sent myself hurtling forward through time.

~*~*~

2:00 pm, Sunday the 17th of April, 2011 CE

Livingston Apartment Complex, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

I appeared on the doorstep of the indicated address, a nondescript third-floor apartment opening onto an interior hallway, precisely at the appointed hour. After confirming that I was unobserved I returned myself to visibility and tangibility and knocked on the door.

With my deepsight I saw an older woman look up from the kitchen table and move to stand, before Jenny came jogging down the hall shouting "I'll get it!"

"[Who's that, Jenny?]" the woman, presumably either her mother or her aunt, called in another tongue.

"[Just a friend from school!]" Jenny replied in the same language. "[Nate and I are going to the mall, tell Mom and Dad we'll be back by dinner!]"

A moment later she opened the door. "Hi! Nate's just getting his shoes, he'll be out in a sec," she said.

"[I see you didn't inform your aunt of your plans either]" I noted wryly.

"Wha- how the heck do you speak Cantonese?" she hissed, her aura pulsing with mild embarrassment at being caught out.

I was saved the necessity of answering by her brother, who chose that moment to clomp down the hallway with half-tied shoes and a less-than-graceful tread. Going by his rumpled shirt and tousled hair he'd likely woken up quite recently, and there was not the slightest hint of enthusiasm to be found in his aura.

"Lets get this over with," he said grumpily as he walked past his sister and out the door, heading for the stairs at the end of the hall. Jenny mouthed an apology behind his back as we followed after him.

"And where were you planning to go, precisely?" I asked, amused.

"To the Boat Graveyard, I guess. Isn't that where all the new capes go to try stuff out?" Nate replied, still walking.

"Okay, first, you shouldn't believe everything you see online. If capes actually went there to train then all the gangs would know about that and you'd run into a bunch of villains the moment you showed up."

"Oh. Right," Nate said, paling slightly.

"Second, you don't have a costume, dumbass, you can't just go do stuff out in the open. And third, Valigan's the expert, why don't you ask him where we should go?"

Nate stopped walking and looked back at me. "All right, fine. Where should we go, o wise cape expert?" he asked mockingly.

I manifested an extradimensional bubble to my left, the only sign of its existence the slight shimmer in the air indicating the boundary between it and the surrounding planar fabric. "Here should suffice."

"Where?"

"Right here," I said, and stepped through the boundary.

The two of them let out exclamations of surprise. Jenny quickly moved to follow me, hesitating only slightly at the threshold before stepping through what was, to her, a completely unknown and potentially dangerous phenomenon; there was the natives' implicit trust of non-villainous capes, rearing its head again.

Nate, to his credit, was far more wary at first, but curiosity quickly overcame apprehension and he stepped through as well.

~*~*~

"Hooooly crap," Nate exclaimed. "You could fit a whole football field in here!"

I couldn't speak to football fields or the dimensions thereof, but the extradimensional space I'd created was roughly a hundred paces on a side and could comfortably house a small army, which was precisely what the power had been designed to do.

In its base state a psychoportive shelter such as this one was a bland and featureless gray in all directions, but that was both incredibly boring visually as well as potentially disorienting for those who had not experienced such before, so with a bit of mental effort I'd shaped it to resemble the main reception hall in the Udoclian as it had appeared during my tenure there.

The floor appeared to be made of gold-veined black marble, the ceiling was a swirling white and cerulean that suggested a cloudy sky, and in place of the pillars and floor-to-ceiling windows of the actual hall (since there was no "outside" here to look upon) I added gray stone walls and violet "stained glass windows" that glowed with a facsimile of natural light.

Jenny took in the sights for a few moments, then looked back at the boundary. "What if someone else walks down the hall and ends up in here?"

"That won't be an issue," I said, the shimmering haze taking on a transparent glass-like appearance as I sealed the boundary behind us. "We can still see out, but anyone walking through the space won't even notice the portal is there."

"Awesome."

I waited patiently for a few minutes as the two of them wandered around and marveled at the space, both to allow them to become accustomed to it and to give Nate's surliness time to mellow out.

When I judged them ready, I created three large cushions arranged in a triangle, took a seat on the cushion closest to the boundary, and called for them to return. They quickly walked back over and seated themselves.

"Now, Nate. Your sister informed me that you were cape-"

"After I specifically told her not to tell anyone," Nate interjected, glaring at her. Jenny merely rolled her eyes.

"Be that as it may, she did. She did not, however, inform me what powers you possess." While I could of course simply browse his repertoire myself, given his obvious negative perspective on his newly-awakened talent I felt that allowing him some control over the presentation of his powers could be beneficial for his confidence and self-esteem.

"It's a pretty shitty power," he mumbled.

"I'll be the judge of that. Would you care to demonstrate?"

Nate nodded, took a deep breath, extended his left hand to face away from us, and furrowed his brow in concentration.

The only visible effect of his gesture was to produce a mild heat haze off to the side, but my infravision and arcane sight told a different story: there was now a sphere of intense heat a few feet away from us, roughly as wide as he was tall. As he focused, the sphere moved jerkily back and forth and from side to side, and even briefly rose two feet into the air.

With a thought, I conjured a variety of flammable objects in the center of the sphere, from a small scrap of parchment (incinerated the moment it appeared) to a chunk of dry wood roughly a foot across (quickly ignited, but not entirely consumed). Nate flinched as the objects popped and crackled in the heat, but the sphere remained unchanged.

"Very impressive," I said approvingly, and Nate's posture straightened slightly at the praise. "What else can you do?"

Nate didn't answer, merely dismissing the sphere of heat and taking a few centering breaths. When he extended his other hand, another sphere appeared where the first had been. Where the former blazed with heat, this one was nearly black to my infravision-a sphere of cold, then. In all other respects the two spheres were identical.

The two spells were new to me, but not entirely unfamiliar. They closely resembled the standard spells known as Flaming Sphere and Numbing Sphere, except that where those spell effects consisted of solid fire and cold energy and were quite visible, these conjured barely-percepible spheres of either gaseous or energetic fire and cold.

While the spheres were noticeably slower and less lethal than their standard counterparts-a normal Numbing Sphere could have made a complete circuit around the three of us in the time it took Nate to move his sphere a few paces, and a Flaming Sphere would have incinerated that chunk of wood as easily as it had the parchment-Nate's versions had some distinct advantages making them worth learning.

They were far more subtle than the normal versions, especially in darker environs where a Flaming Sphere's glow would extend for many yards, and where Flaming and Numbing Spheres were semi-solid and halted by most barriers the versions Nate produced should instead be able to pass through solid objects with ease.

"Also quite impressive," I said. "I can't fathom why you would consider those to be underwhelming powers at all."

"Because they're pathetic!" he whined. "So I can basically create a big floating invisible space heater or walk-in fridge, big whoop! Sure, if someone sits in one place I can light them on fire or something, but the… thingies, the power areas, they move so slow it wouldn't even matter. 'Oh no, it's Heat Haze Man! Walk briskly!'"

Jenny laughed at her brother's mocking impression, which didn't help matters at all.

"I think you'd find them quite effective in an actual combat, but if you're not satisfied, well, a few underwhelming powers isn't an end of the world," I consoled him. "What else can do you do?"

He sighed dejectedly. "That's it."

… That was it?

My arcane sight made it plain that those spells were strong enough to be of the second valence, and even the weakest wilders from the most anemic bloodlines could generally manage to awaken at least three powers by the time they were capable of manifesting powers of that potency.

"Are you absolutely certain?" I asked. "Those being your sole powers is something I find hard to believe."

"No, really, that's it," he said, frustrated. Then: "Well… actually, maybe there's something else."

Nate looked off to the side and frowned, as if trying to recall something. "Right after… I mean, I've tried making both of the thingies at once-"

"Oh, come on, you can't call them 'thingies'," Jenny interjected, "that's totally lame!"

"Call them spheres, for now," I suggested.

"Sure, whatever. I tried to make both spheres at once, and I felt something when I did that, but nothing else happened."

Interesting. There existed powers that operated on other powers, so perhaps he had in his repertoire a power that would only function when at least two other magical effects were present?

I held out my hand. "Give me your hand, please."

"Uh, why?"

"By making contact with another cape, I can determine all of the powers they possess and the precise parameters of those powers," I admitted. "I'd like to examine this other power of yours for myself."

I wasn't worried about them spreading that particular fact around, as I planned to remove knowledge of it from their memories before we concluded the training session.

Neither of them appeared to realize the import of that revelation, merely nodding in interest, which I suppose was for the best.

"If that'll help," Nate said with a shrug, and extended his hand.

I delved into his repertoire and was struck by both surprise and validation at what I found.

Validation, because he indeed possessed more than just those two spells, as I'd suspected.

Surprise, because he possessed not three spells, but rather forty-three.

The other capes I'd examined had possessed repertoires of a similar size, but they had been established capes, exercising their magical talent and training according to who-knows-what secret Protectorate methods for who-knows-how-long. For Nate to already know so many spells after awakening his talent less than a week prior-!

…

Wait just one moment.

Of the forty-three, only three of them appeared to be the "bright" thoughtforms indicating readily-available spells.

Yet sorcerers do not prepare their spells, and he could not possibly have expended the vast majority of his arcane power in the few minutes after waking to the point that every single other spell would be inaccessible to him, not least because doing so with the two spells he knew about would have likely reduced the entire apartment building to flaming wreckage.

Curious.

Perusing his spells, I noted that the normal Flaming Sphere and Numbing Sphere were among the "dim" spells in his repertoire, and the rest of them were uniformly spells dealing with fire or cold, with not a hint of the variation one would normally expect in the repertoire of a budding sorcerer who lacked a particular magical lineage to bias his spell selection in one direction or another.

Very curious.

I surfaced from his mind with a frown. "I'd like to try something," I said. "In addition to merely examining another's powers, I can actually manifest the powers that they know."

"What do you mean?" Jenny asked.

"I mean that I can, for example, do this."

I delved into Nate's repertoire once more, focused on the bright thoughtform corresponding to his variant of Flaming Sphere, and manifested it myself, waving a hand dramatically to indicate to her that it was I rather than Nate who had done so.

Nate furrowed his brow immediately. "Whoa! That felt… I don't know, but I definitely felt that."

"Good. Can you feel this?" I asked, and manifested the Flaming Sphere from his repertoire.

Jenny twitched as the five-foot-wide ball of flame appeared nearby, giving off significantly more heat than Nate's sphere had… and Nate did as well, indicating that it had taken him by surprise.

"Nope, nothing. Was that one of your powers? Jenny said her friend said you had a lot of them."

"That was one of yours, actually."

"One of mine?" Nate repeated dumbly, and a moment later a burst of wonder swept through his aura and a smile appeared on his face. "You mean I don't just have those two spheres as my powers?"

"Correct, though I'm not sure why you're not consciously able to access them," I said.

I had a few hypotheses, but none of them seemed very likely. There existed a few magical traditions on various worlds that, rather than allowing their members' talents to grow and evolve organically, put them through an intensive training regimen to instill knowledge of many spells at a young age and ensure that all of their repertoires would end up nearly identical.

The most prominent example of this was Tarth Moorda, a multi-spheric arcane academy specializing in war magic with branches in Urnst on Oerth, Andrama on Taorbrynis, Cormyr on Toril, and a few other worlds, though it wasn't at all the only such institution. However, as someone who plainly lacked any training whatsoever, this scenario certainly did not apply to Nate's situation.

Another potential option was-

-not important at the moment. The important thing was that Nate was an aberration, an obvious outlier compared to the sorcerous norm, for multiple reasons. The Protectorate capes I'd encountered thus far, with their similarly broad-but-hyperspecialized repertoires and their inaccessible thoughtforms, were almost certainly aberrations as well.

Something was different about sorcery and wilding here.

Whether "here" meant this city or this polity or this sphere, I couldn't yet say, but I filed away the data points about Nate next to the observations on Dauntless's nonstandard artificing capabilities for later contemplation.

… Or, perhaps, for a discussion with Myrddin, who would likely be a font of useful information on the local arcane practices if I could determine where the city of "Chicago" was and arrange a meeting with him.

Gene and his friends had shown me a "video montage" of some of the more famous capes in this nation, and from the breadth of spells he displayed in that montage Myrddin was clearly a wizard rather than a sorcerer, and a powerful one at that.

Yes, the group's auras were filled with a slightly disdainful amusement rather than proper respect when watching his spellcasting, but that was to be expected; the whole point of putting on that sort of "doddering and slightly loopy old man who wouldn't hurt a fly" impression was to put the common folk at ease around a potentially dangerous spellcaster, and it obviously worked as well for Myrddin as it did for Elminster and Paladine and the rest.

That made at least two competent magic-users in the Protectorate (the other being Eidolon, who, based on the descriptions from Seung and Gene's friends, was most likely an erudite such as myself) who might be able to explain the oddities with the local sorcerers, and I was sure to come across more of them as I became acquainted with more of its members. In which case-

four

Anyhow.

"Regardless of the reason, it's likely you'll gain access to more of them over time," I concluded.

"Like Dauntless? Frickin' awesome!" Nate exclaimed, feeling considerably better about his powers already.

"Potentially. Now, I can sense one additional power you should be able to access currently," I said, and delved into his repertoire for the third time in as many minutes.

I examined the third bright thoughtform, and-ah, that would make sense.

"Nate, manifest your sphere of heat over there," I said, and he complied. "Now manifest the sphere of cold as close to that one as you can without letting the two touch," I directed, and once again he complied.

It looked like it was taking him considerable effort to maintain both spheres at the same time. His eyes were half-lidded and his hands were trembling as he held his arms out straight and stared at the two spheres with an expression of intense focus.

Jenny was focused on them just as intently, her aura streaked with wonder and awe. She'd seemed moderately impressed when I'd demonstrated my own powers to her the day before, but I was a stranger, and adroit enough with my powers so as to make them seem rather pedestrian. Watching a familiar individual exercise his own powers with suitable effort and gravitas was obviously a different experience entirely.

When Nate had managed to maintain the spheres for a full thirty seconds, I nodded. "Good. Now, recall the sensation you felt when-"

"Yeah, got it," he said distractedly, and I saw a third magical aura bloom, this one shaped almost like a tether stretching between the centers of the two spheres.

"It's not doing anything," he complained a moment later.

"No it is not," I agreed. "At least, not yet. Now, move the two spheres apart."

He did, with great effort. Inch by inch, the spheres slowly moved apart… and as they did, the hot and cold spheres respectively brightened and darkened ever so slightly in my infravision.

By the time the spheres were a good four yards apart, the haze of the heat sphere was extremely noticeable, the cold sphere had begun to distort the light passing through it as well, and they were sliding through the air with hardly any effort on Nate's part.

"Oh my god, it's so easy now!" he said, smiling broadly. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. Your third accessible power connects the two spheres, drawing ambient heat into the cold sphere and shunting it to the heat sphere to make both of their effects more intense and enhancing their speed and agility as a byproduct. Which would imply…?" I asked, giving him a chance to work it out on his own.

He frowned, thinking. "If the one is sucking in heat, then… move to the other… right next to…." he mumbled, then he brightened. "Oh, wait, so if they're too close together it doesn't do anything because they're just sucking energy out of each other! They have to be far enough apart to make it work!"

"And so when you tried before…?"

"I was in my bedroom, where there wasn't enough space for that, so it looked like it wasn't doing anything!"

"Precisely," I nodded, and Jenny beamed with pride.

~*~*~

We spent roughly an hour after that putting Nate through his paces.

After deducing the trick of his powers he was practically a natural, able to conjure and move the spheres with mere flicks of his respective wrists instead of the laborious gestures he'd used before, able to modulate the energy transfer rates with great speed and precision, and more.

Once he'd mastered the very basics I began to create obstacles to train his maneuvering, and even some illusory enemies for him to fight. He was reluctant to engage them at first, but after I proved they weren't real beings he took to the task with vigor, exclaiming that it was "better than Mass Effect," which I gathered was a wargame of some variety.

After the first hour Jenny briefly left the shelter to stealthily retrieve some snacks from their apartment, and while the two of them took a break to eat I involved her in the training as well, conjuring for her a wooden practice sword and instructing her to attempt to reach Nate and strike him with it.

Meanwhile, I tasked Nate with attempting to stop her harmlessly through creative damage to the environment, as well as with attempting to hustle around to avoid her while maintaining his powers. As any Jhaamdathan would tell you, training the mind alone is insufficient; one must train the body and the soul as well, to form one complete and harmonious whole and avoid the weaknesses that come with a lopsided education.

Jenny had the upper hand initially, as she was an adult in relatively good shape who was (as she'd mentioned the day before) a member of her school's "tennis" team, while Nate was a youth of perhaps thirteen or fourteen winters, awkward and scrawny in the manner of one who had yet to come into his full growth, and much like Gene he appeared to generally eschew physical activity.

Soon enough, however, he devised several useful tricks to keep his sister at bay, and for the last half-hour of the session she couldn't get anywhere near him.

~*~*~

"Jenny tells me that your father was reluctant to allow you to join the Protectorate, and I gather you don't exactly disagree," I remarked to Nate once I'd finished healing the bruises inflicted by Jenny's weapon. "Why is that, if you don't mind me asking?"

We were in the middle of a post-training debrief, seated around a small table I'd conjured for the occasion that bore an inset chalkboard in the center as a discussion and tactical aid. The strengths and weaknesses of his performance had already been addressed in depth, after which we'd moved on to discuss potential further applications of his powers, and thence to how (and for whom) he wished to employ them.

He took a moment to respond. "Have you noticed that there are no Asian capes in the Bay outside the ABB?"

"Not being a native of this world, I honestly couldn't identify an Asian cape as such, or even tell you what 'Asian' signifies," I admitted. "When I absorbed the English language its conceptual framework didn't carry explanations for concepts that lacked a direct translation in the tongues I already speak, so any place names and the like are meaningless to me until I can acquire the appropriate context."

The siblings both gave me nearly-identical incredulous looks.

"So you're telling me you somehow managed to convince Gene and his whole family that you were a cape from Brazil for a good few hours when you didn't even know what 'Brazil' was?" Jenny asked.

I smiled wryly. "I am very good at what I do."

Nate shook his head in disbelief, then started his explanation again: "Well… we're Asian, if you hadn't guessed. Chinese, specifically. And there aren't any Asian capes in the Bay outside the ABB."

"And why would that be?"

"Because of Lung and the Empire," he said, in a tone conveying a cynicism far behind his years.

"Lung already tries to recruit literally every Asian in the city who's around my age or older, and on top of that he thinks any Asian capes have to join the ABB, or else. Any independent Asian capes pop up, and it doesn't matter where in the city they are or whether they're a villain, he tells them to join him. If they say no, krrrk," he said, imitating the sound of a blade cutting through flesh as he drew a finger across his throat.

With a grimace, he added, "The Empire just hates Asians, period, so they don't even try to recruit those capes, just kill them. So if you're a new Asian cape in this city, your choices are-" he said, raising one finger at a time as he rattled off a list of options, his tone flat with suppressed anger: "-one, join Lung and get stuck there; two, say no to Lung and die; three, join Lung, piss him off, and die; four, join Lung, do well, and die to the Empire; five, join the Protectorate and make enemies out of Lung and the Empire…"

He took a deep breath and moved on to the next hand: "… six, keep your powers completely secret and don't use them; seven, just quietly help out the neighborhood or something; eight, join an independent team and hope they can protect you; or nine, get the frick out of town and go be a hero somewhere else."

Jenny was regarding her brother with a conflicted expression. Her aura was tinted with several clashing hues: knowing he spoke (what he viewed as) the truth, but not wanting to believe it; wanting to comfort him, but not knowing if he would accept it; wanting to help, but feeling suddenly out of her depth.

"I don't… I'm gonna go… stretch my legs, if that's fine with you two," she said, rising awkwardly to her feet and wandering off to the far end of the shelter.

Nate nodded and watched her go, his face impassive but his aura displaying a mix of relief and disappointment. I didn't push, and once his sister was out of earshot he sighed and picked up the thread of conversation.

"I'm pretty sure most Asian capes pick that last option and GTFO," he said, "which is probably why Lung's newest cape is the Cornell Bomber instead of anyone local. I did a bunch of research after I got my powers, and the last capes to try the make-a-minority-team option were the Bayside Battalion from last year, and they lasted maybe a month before the Empire wiped them out."

"That certainly is concerning. Of those options you mentioned, which do you personally find most appealing?"

"I don't fricking know!" Nate said, his voice cracking on the last word as he slammed a fist down onto the table.

"Mom keeps insisting that I join the Wards, she was all 'oh, no, it's fine, Miss Militia and Aegis aren't white and they're perfectly safe, it's the safest option for you too'-completely ignoring that I can't make a machine gun with infinite ammo or walk off anything the Empire capes can do to me! And Dad, he says I should just forget about everything and not use my powers at all, and I just…."

He turned his head away, but I could still sense through my touchsight when his eyes began to water.

"I can't just forget almost getting-" his voice hitched, and he paused. "I just… it feels like I have to do something. I haven't been able to practice anything since we've been staying at my aunt's and I've been getting really antsy, I know I can't just sit around and ignore my powers like Dad wants… but the other option is joining the Wards like Mom wants, and, like, six months ago she wouldn't let me try out for the football team 'cause even most of the other freshman are bigger than me, and now she thinks I should go out and fight fricking supervillains?" he exclaimed, voice cracking again.

"Is this what it's like for every cape?" he asked plaintively, rubbing at his eyes as discreetly as he could. "How did you deal with it?"

"I never had to, as the path I walked was much different than yours," I said gently. "You have my sincerest sympathies."

And he did, truly. At least Elle was surrounded by other capes-she hadn't shared much about her situation, insisting with an adorably serious expression that Miss Faultline had taught her "the value of op-er-ay-shun-al security," but the few details I'd learned in passing had painted a picture of a group of magic-users who understood her situation and could aid her both physically and emotionally-but Nate was entirely isolated among his family and community.

"I can offer you some advice, however," I said, and Nate looked up at me hopefully. "First, the greatest virtue in a situation such as this is self-determination. Do not make any decision because you feel pressured, because you feel obligated, or because it would make someone else happy. Your talent is your own, and no one else can walk your path for you."

"But what if I can't decide?"

"That's perfectly all right. It is always good to consider the guidance of others when it is offered-"

Aspect sent me the mental equivalent of a pointed throat-clearing sound, which I of course ignored.

"-but, in the end, none of them can make the decision for you."

Reluctantly, Nate nodded. "I guess."

"Second, you must realize that those without magic cannot understand your talent, in much the same way that those who are illiterate cannot understand the written word: they may grasp the basic ideas indirectly, but despite the best of intentions they simply cannot advise you as well as can others in your situation."

"So… you're saying I should join the Wards, or try to find some other hero team?"

"Not necessarily. I'm simply saying that when your father asks you not to make use of your powers, he does so from a place of ignorance. You wouldn't listen to the advice of a deaf man who tells you that learning to play an instrument is a waste of time because he himself knows nothing of music, would you?"

"Nope."

"Just so. Your talent is unique and valuable, and should not be hidden or squandered."

Nate nodded and sniffled once. "Thanks," he said, and left it at that.

His sister returned from her "walk" a short while later, once she noticed we'd finished speaking.

"It's close to dinner time, we should probably get going so we're there when our folks get home," she said as she approached.

"Of course," I said, and ushered them toward the boundary, taking the opportunity to selectively edit certain details of our conversation out of their memories that I'd rather not have them spread (deliberately or no) and brushing aside the minor twinge of guilt I felt in the process.

Before they left, I laid a reassuring hand on Nate's shoulder… which doubled as an opportunity to delve into his repertoire one last time to obtain the thoughtforms of his three novel spells.

Once we'd said our farewells and they'd returned to their apartment, I dismissed everything I'd conjured within the extradimensional space, stepped out of it, and dismissed the space itself. Then I retrieved my Orb of Planar Journeying and used it to translocate myself to the Ethereal Plane.

~*~*~

When I arrived, I lucid-dreamed myself a comfortable chair out of the surrounding protomatter and took a seat. Not strictly necessary, but helpful for meditation.

Aspect complained.

entirely dissimilar, and I already skipped over more than twelve objective hours of time yesterday and will be skipping another fourteen before tomorrow's appointment, so you can hardly begrudge me using less time than that to add to my repertoire.

Aspect retorted childishly, but he didn't send any further complaints, and within moments I had sunk into my meditation.

~*~*~

Thanks to the Ethereal time differential, I'd affixed the three new powers in my repertoire before five full hours had passed on the Material Plane.

As these were not standard spells (at least not yet), they lacked standard names, so I dubbed them Sphere of Heat, Sphere of Cold, and Energy Conduit.

Hardly exciting names, to be sure, but I'd never particularly liked the more grandiose appellations.

Simple and straightforward spell names are much easier to translate, an important consideration when dealing with the minority of non-humanoid magic-users incapable of speaking Common. Not to mention that spell names like "The Most Excellent Prismatic Spray" and "A Dictum Most Persuasive" had long since been streamlined to "Prismatic Spray" and "Greater Command" by the time I began my magical studies, so I personally found spell names of that ilk to be faintly ridiculous.

I hadn't, as many arcanists would have, named them after their creator ("Nathaniel's Sphere of Heat" and so forth), because the very practice of naming spells after their inventor invites egotism, I find.

Why, during my time at the Udoclian, I invented no fewer than fifteen entirely novel powers, plus a vastly-improved variant of Molecular Rearrangement that quickly became the standard version taught at every single academy in the Twelve Cities, and you don't see me-

-speaking of institutions of magical knowledge, I had no reason to delay my meeting with the PRT any further.

Thinking on Carlos's suggestion to appear as an obvious cape, I transformed my clothing from the native fashion back to my favored Neoclassical ensemble, as it was sufficiently distinct from the local fashion that it should serve well as a "costume."

It was quite a relief to discard the local garb, I must say. Not so much as it had been to rid myself of the clothing of Athas (may that world burn for a thousand years in the heart of its sun), but a relief still.

Rows of buttons were much less elegant than overlapping folds of cloth, the uniformity of cut and style left little room for creative expression, and I don't know how the natives got along with only four or five pockets in their entire outfit when they appeared not to have developed commonly-available extradimensional storage.

That done, I went through the by-now-habitual process of preparing to travel forward in time, scried my destination, and mere moments later-

~*~*~

8:28 am, Monday the 18th of April, 2011 CE

Several Blocks from PRT ENE Headquarters, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

-I found myself hovering in an alley a short walk from the PRT building.

I returned myself to visibility and tangibility and walked casually down the street toward my destination.

Comparatively few pedestrians were out and about at this hour, but there were enough of them around that I put the hood of my cloak up in anticipation of the barrage of photography that was sure to result from my presence. I may have had no desire to hide my identity in general, but retaining a degree of anonymity until I could research a technological concealment power would still be useful.

Sure enough, nearly everyone who noticed my presence stopped to withdraw their phones and capture a few photographs, and those who didn't notice me did notice the photographers and quickly followed suit.

As much as I would rather not attract widespread attention and cause who-knows-what ripple effects, this was a calculated maneuver on my part.

Walking to meet a potential ally rather than flying, teleporting, or otherwise rapidly approaching their location signals peaceful intentions, a lack of desire to hide anything, and so forth, and gives them an opportunity to prepare any defenses they may wish to mount (not that such preparations would do them much good in my case, really), all of which would combine to construct the "harmless traveler" façade that I aimed to present.

I ended up right in front of the main doors just as one of the PRT's soldiers unlocked them for the day and held them open for me. I was not questioned regarding my identity, so Aegis had most likely informed the PRT of my coming as promised and given them a description by which to recognize me.

"Good morning to you, young miss," I remarked politely as I passed the soldier, then greeted the other soldiers present similarly as I strode to the desk at the far end of the hall. I sensed appreciation and no small amount of surprise from behind their identical featureless helms at the acknowledgment of their presence, and grinned internally.

Politeness costs nothing, and being on good terms with the rank-and-file can often pay considerable dividends.

As I walked I took in the décor of the building, such as it was. The interior was done up in a drab utilitarian style; black, beige, and several shades of gray dominated the space, with occasional highlights in green and lavender that had seemingly been scattered about at random by someone possessing absolutely no aesthetic sense whatsoever.

The only respites from the all-encompassing blandness were a small storefront off to the side, which had not yet opened but which displayed a wide variety of colorful merchandise in its unlit windows, and a selection of large brightly-colored placards posted around the hall at just above head height.

The placards depicted all of the current members of the Protectorate, though not always accurately; some heroes were noticeably younger, some had slightly different costumes, and so forth, indicating that the depictions were not often updated. There were also placards for the recently-slain Gallant and Kid Win, monochrome rather than varicolored to indicate the heroes' deceased status.

The clerk was ready to receive me as I reached the desk… and was deliberately glancing off to the side as he held out a small box of black theatrical masks.

"That won't be necessary," I noted with exasperation. "I am, in fact, an unmasked cape."

"Oh. My apologies sir, I didn't see that in the notes," he said, replacing the box under the lip of the desk. He pressed a few keys on the keyboard of the desktop computer beside him, glanced at the display panel, and said, "It does say here that you were hoping to meet some of the other heroes, but none of them are on-site right now since we weren't sure when you'd be coming in. Is it all right if we get you started on the paperwork while we wait for one of them to come on shift?"

"Certainly."

"Great!" he replied, with far more enthusiasm than the situation warranted. "One of our consultants will be helping you through the process, so if you'll just take the second door, there, and look for room 113-B, just take a seat when you get there and he should be down in a moment."

The clerk tapped a few more keys, gave me one last polite smile, and appeared to dismiss me from his attention.

The soldier closest to the indicated door held it open for me and then followed me through, providing me with an entirely unnecessary escort along the somewhat circuitous path to the designated room before giving me a perfunctory nod and returning to his post.

~*~*~

A short time later, a male human entered my sensory range at the far end of the hall. At first I took him to be the consultant the clerk mentioned, but the presence of an active divination aura around him indicated that they must have found a cape to send after all.

When the man reached the room he rapped politely on the door, waited a moment, and swept into the room with a small wave and a welcoming expression.

It might have passed for genuine warmth and openness, had his aura not been shaded entirely with calculation, self-interest, and anticipation… and had the inner bands of his aura not been lightly shaded with a blend of Evil and Neutrality.

He must not be with the Protectorate, then; his build and appearance did not match those of any of the local Protectorate members, and a "hero" was a Good cape whereas he was clearly anything but.

Perhaps the PRT-whose precise relation to the Protectorate was as yet unclear to me-maintained a parallel and not-at-all-public organization of capes that accepted Neutral- and Evil-aligned members, to carry out the sorts of tasks that the heroes would find impermissible?

"Good morning… Valigan, was it?" the man asked as he reached the table-insincerely, as I could clearly read my name on the top sheet inside the small packet of papers he carried at his side, and I'd watched him consult that paper on the way over. "My name is Thomas Calvert, and I'll be carrying out your Case 24 interview today. I'm a consultant for the PRT's Boston, Brockton, and New York departments, working primarily in our Operations, Intelligence, and Security divisions. Can I get you anything to drink before we start? Coffee, tea, water?"

"No, thank you."

"Well, if you do get thirsty just let me know and I'll have one of our interns get you something."

Thomas placed the packet of papers on the table, untied the string holding the top flap closed, pulled out a few sheets of paper and placed them to the side, retrieved a writing implement from his pocket which he placed atop the papers, and steepled his hands in front of him.

"Before we begin, did you have any questions for me, about this process or anything else?" he asked.

"In fact I did. I see you're a cape as well as a consultant; under the remit of the PRT, are you considered to be both at once, or do you only perform your consulting duties under your real identity?"

His aura immediately pulsed with light incredulity and deep concern. His acting skills, however, were impeccable: a few blinks and a somewhat befuddled false smile were the only visible reaction he offered. "I'm… sorry? I'm not sure where you got the impression-"

"I assume, then, that Aegis failed to mention that I can detect when capes are actively using their powers?"

His eyes widened fractionally in alarm, and I nodded in confirmation. "Fear not. As I told him, I care nothing for the private lives of the city's capes and don't intend to use knowledge of your identity against you in any way," I explained patiently. "I was merely hoping to satisfy my curiosity regarding the role of capes in the PRT versus the Protectorate."

Thomas didn't answer for a moment, and I was tempted to peruse his thoughts to determine why my statement had increased rather than decreased the degree of disquiet he was feeling. Before I could do so, however, he was suddenly enveloped in a second magical aura, the signature of which I did not immediately recognize.

I could have reached out and countered whatever he was attempting to do, of course, but as his actions did not trigger any of my powers for detecting hostile intent, I let him proceed.

An instant later, I found myself sitting across the table from a pale-skinned woman.

Alongside my memories of speaking with Thomas, I now possessed a set of memories indicating that this was one Colleen Richards, an employee in the Legal division, and that the front desk clerk had said "one of our paralegals" and "she" in our initial conversation where in my first set of memories he had said "one of our consultants" and "he."

The doubling of memories could mean only one thing:

Thomas was a chronomancer.

Among my many protective magics was a ward against temporal manipulation, my own variant of the Temporal Repair spell, because Ald-because my husband w-because I spent a great deal of time with-

…

If one is to work in close proximity with chronomancers, it is practically mandatory to ensure that any alterations they make to the timestream will leave one's memories of the original timestream intact. If one is not aware of what never-happened, it can be difficult to accomplish what one altered the timestream to achieve in the first place.

Chronomancy is a rare and difficult art to master, to the point that I was never able to discover a procedure for translating arbitrary chronomantic spells into psionic powers as I had with spells of the other arcane schools, and fewer true chronomancers arise with every passing century-from the perspective of linear objective time, at any rate.

I myself possess a few psychoportive powers that are able to manipulate time in a minor way, but those powers are extremely limited in both scope and power compared to true chronomancy, in the same way that Nate's energy powers are extremely limited compared to my own panoply of cryokinetic and pyrokinetic powers.

To find even a novice chronomancer, in a world as….

Aspect suggested snidely.

… sparsely magical, let us say, as this one seemed thus far to be, was both surprising and promising.

I'd have to have a chat with Thomas about that later, and about his reasons for so rudely fleeing our discussion.

For now, though, I focused my attention on Colleen, who my new memories indicated had just finished introducing herself and asking if she could record our conversation.

"Well met, Colleen," I replied smoothly. "And yes, that would be fine."

A recording would prevent my unnoticeably editing her memories if needed, unfortunately, but I could hardly voice any objections on those grounds.

"Great! So, how much did Aegis tell you about this whole procedure?" she asked. Unlike Thomas, Colleen was entirely sincere in her friendliness and enthusiasm, and my new memories indicated that she'd mentioned volunteering to handle this interview due to a genuine interest in rare and obscure legal scenarios.

"Nothing at all, I'm afraid," I responded. "He didn't even explain what 'Case 24' was supposed to mean."

"Oh! Did he at least explain the PRT Case Files in general?"

"He did not."

"Well darn. Let me give you a quick rundown."

She proceeded to explain that one of the mandates under which the PRT operated was to discover and examine any previously-unknown magical phenomena, and if a particular phenomenon appeared to be sufficiently strange, widespread, or otherwise concerning to require devoting a considerable amount of resources to its study, the institution would open a "case file" under which all of that could be organized.

"… and so some Cases come up all the time nowadays, like Case 11, that's second triggers, or Case 32, capes altered by their powers somehow, or Case 53, marked and amnesiac thirty-twos, stuff like that. Other cases were mostly one-offs, either because they applied to just one cape like 1 and 12, or they turned out to be hoaxes like 3 and 41, or they're no longer applicable like 8 and 19. Up until today Case 24 was in that last category, but I'm actually kind of excited that it's come up again," she concluded cheerfully.

I noticed she hadn't consulted any of her papers while she'd rattled off case numbers. "You seem to be something of an expert on the subject," I noted.

"Yeah, well, I may be in Legal right now but I've been hoping to transfer to Science or R at some point so I've been reading up on all the technical stuff," she said. She glanced away self-consciously as she murmured, "Plus, I was a huge cape geek even before I joined, so, y'know."

"I see. Well, thank you for the thorough explanation of the context. What are the details for Case 24 in particular?"

"Well, as Aegis probably told you, there are a complex set of laws against interdimensional travel-"

"Please," I interrupted, pained, "could you use the term 'inter-world travel' or similar instead? The technical inaccuracy is a… I suppose you would say a 'pet peeve' of mine."

Colleen's expression brightened. "So, you know a lot about inter-world travel, then?" she probed.

"Exploring new worlds is the entire purpose of the organization to which I currently belong, and before that I lectured in the cosmological sciences at a university level, so yes, you could say I am an expert on the topic."

"Ooh, the Science folks are going to love talking to you!" she said. Her enthusiasm dimming, she added, "On the legal side that could be an issue, though. Showing up on Bet willingly comes with worse charges than showing up because of a tinkertech accident or something, so depending on the results of the interview the PRT might have to detain you while we sort that out."

I let out a chuckle. "You are certainly welcome to try," I said, my tone making it clear I intended it as friendly ribbing rather than an overt threat.

Colleen smiled awkwardly, apparently attempting to come off as both intimidating and sympathetic at the same time, and she adjusted her spectacles nervously. "I want to warn you, this department has some of the most experienced capes on the East Coast outside of New York, and, I mean, no one wants this to end up with a fight, but if it does… twelve-on-one odds would give you some trouble, just saying."

"Your optimism is noted," I said, smiling blandly, then gestured to her stack of papers. "You were speaking of inter-world travel?"

"Right!" she said, obviously relieved to get past the inadvertent confrontation. "So, Case 24 was opened in 2002, but the first actual incident happened in 1994, before the Case Files started to be compiled in 2000. It's a bureaucratic thing," she added in response to my raised eyebrow, "don't worry about it. You know about the Aleph portal, right?"

"Yes, Aegis explained that the other day."

"Good. So, the portal was put under Army jurisdiction as soon as Haywire was taken down and his main lab was captured, but nobody did anything with the portal itself in the early days, just set up a heavily-secured facility around it. Thou shalt not mess around with unknown tinkertech, and all that. In '94, some of the people at the base started taking bribes from a group that wanted to start up a black-market trade between Earths, with a few villains on our end pretending they had the ability to shift between Aleph and Bet to explain how they were able to move goods across. The PRT investigated those villains and discovered the truth-which was a huge win for us, the PRT was only a year and a half old at the time and really looking to prove itself-and that's when the portal ended up getting sealed off except for a few communications cables."

She spread a few of her papers out, revealing reports on various phenomena produced since that date, all of which concluded with a statement that the phenomena in question was a hoax or a mistake or otherwise not a true instance of inter-world travel.

"We haven't ever had any confirmed inter-world travelers since then," she continued, "but the PRT did set up a whole process for dealing with them in case any more did show up. The interview is both to figure out whether someone has personally done anything illegal and to help point out where they might need help getting adjusted to living on Earth Bet because of any culture clashes."

Those papers were shuffled back into her folder, to be replaced by a much larger stack of papers, these mostly being questionnaires to be completed. "The forms were, uh, just a tad out-of-date, so I spent yesterday updating them." Pushing the stack across to me along with her writing implement, she explained, "These should probably take you about two hours to fill out, and then we'll go over your answers in case anything needs to be clarified."

She stood. "Would you like anything to eat or drink while you do that?"

"That won't be necessary," I said. I manifested Scholar's Touch, tapped the stack to absorb its contents, manifested Temporal Acceleration to give me some time to consider my answers, telekinetically moved the papers back to her side of the table, and activated one of my psionic tattoos to scribe all of my answers by conjuring ink directly onto each page in the necessary configuration.

Colleen stared at the top page as my responses appeared before her eyes, flipped through the stack of pages to confirm that they had all been completed, looked up at me, looked back at the papers, and returned her gaze to me.

Her aura filled with intense envy as she slowly sat back down. "Paperwork superpowers," she said wistfully. "And here I thought I'd heard of everything."

Picking up the first page to read, she skimmed over my answers, frowned, read a few lines more carefully, and set the paper aside, then repeated this procedure with the next three pages. Each time, her frown grew more pronounced, until she finally put the papers down, sighed, and looked at me over her spectacles.

"Okay. I have… lots of questions. And I'm betting I'm going to have a lot more, so let's just go through all of these in order?"

"Certainly."

"First question," she said, sliding the first page over to me and tapping the question at the top of the page:

Section I: Personal Identification

(1) Please write your full name, placing your first or given name before your last or family name, along with any relevant titles or honors (such as "Doctor" or "Esquire"):

His Serene Highness Valigan naer Aleith ar'Vaymin naer Corun dyr'Novar, Keeper of the Codex, First Seeker of Talaron, High Bladelord of Jhouram, Archsavant of Udoclian

"There's… a lot going on there," Colleen said politely. "Could you explain everything for me?"

"Certainly. 'Serene Highness' is the appropriate address for a member of a city's Ruling Council. The nobiliary particles indicate that I am the primary heir to House Vaymin through my father's line and to House Novar through my mother's line. 'High Bladelord' is the highest possible title for those nobles who achieve their rank through mastery of primarily psionic and secondarily martial skill, roughly equivalent to the rank of Grand Duke in most non-meritocratic systems of peerage, while 'Archsavant' is somewhat equivalent to 'distinguished senior professor' in terms of honor and achievement. Jhouram is my home city, third of the Twelve, and the Udoclian was my homeland's premier university, the finest in the world at the time."

I could tell from her overwhelmed expression that most of my explanation was passing her by, but with each term I explained her aura gained just a touch more concern and anxiety, for no particular reason I could discern.

"And the other two titles?" she asked.

"Explaining the history of the Talairic Houses would take… considerably more time," I politely equivocated.

"So basically, they have nobility where you come from," she summarized tentatively, "and you're way up there in rank?"

"There's no need to stand on ceremony, if that's what concerns you," I assured her. "My society valued expertise and merit far more than lineage and pageantry, and even if I were the type to assert noble privilege I would hardly do so on an entirely foreign world."

"That's, ah, that's… good, very good," Colleen said, the anxiety in her aura lessening but not disappearing entirely. "Because in America we don't really… do… nobility."

"You don't?"

That was somewhat of a surprise, considering that the locals who'd mentioned the ruler of this city had spoken of his authority and influence as though "Mayor" were equivalent in power to "Baronet" or another petty noble rank, and descriptions I'd heard of the relationship between the government of the polity in which Brockton Bay was located and the overarching American government made it sound quite similar to a typical feudal arrangement.

"Who rules America, then?" I asked.

"America is a democracy. A constitutional federal republic, if you want to get technical. Every few years we elect our own national, state, and local leaders to govern until the next election, and every single American has a voice in the process," she explained, a hint of pride in her tone.

I frowned. "Whyever would you allow that? I'm familiar with the concepts of constitutional monarchies and federations, but a 'republic' sounds like an incredibly volatile and inefficient system of governance, with no guarantee of competence on the part of either your citizenry or your leaders."

I may be just the slightest bit biased, but it has always seemed to me that Jhaamdath's meritocratic theopsiocracy was the optimal form of government (before Dharien's coup, obviously), or at least among the most optimal forms.

Jhaamdathan nobles were trained in rulership from a young age to ensure readiness to rule, while still needing to prove their fitness to rule before rising to power; the nobility shared power with the Church, the military, and the three common spheres to ensure a balanced approach to governance; those of the highest rank were guaranteed to be those with the greatest martial and magical skill, thereby preventing most assassinations or attempts by advisers to magically manipulate them or the like; and rulers capable of using divination magic of a reasonably high valence are much better equipped to make reasonable and forward-thinking decisions.

Not to mention that deities like Allitur on Oerth, Vorrana on Saerbryn, or Siamorphe on Toril are specifically patrons of the nobility and concerned with such things as ensuring a lack of corruption (and, if such should arise, arranging for some force to arise to oppose the corrupt nobles) and peaceful succession and so forth, addressing most of the theoretical issues with systems of nobility… though, granted, any worlds lacking such deities similarly lacked that safeguard. The Last War on Eberron was one major example of the kind of conflicts that could erupt in the absence of such a stabilizing influence.

What's more-

-Regardless, I suppose a "democratic" system could function better than an aristocracy on a world such as Earth Bet, but I remained highly skeptical.

Colleen couldn't seem to decide how to respond to my statement.

She opened her mouth, paused, closed it again.

"Uh… well. Hoo boy." She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Tell you what, we'll find you a couple of civics textbooks and we can go over that later, okay? Just, please, promise me you won't talk politics with anyone in the meantime? Especially Miss Militia?"

"Very well."

" Thank you," she said, relieved. She scanned down the page, then: "Okay, for question eighteen, you put your age down as '3768' and I'm not sure how to read that. Is that supposed to mean you're thirty-seven years old, with some uncertainty between thirty-six and thirty-eight, or something like that?"

"No, it means three thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight years."

Once again, the paralegal seemed uncertain how to reply. "Um. Is that from using some kind of time power?"

"Oh, not at all. If I were to account for altered subjective temporal flow and different year lengths on different worlds and such, I'd be considered upwards of twenty-seven thousand years old, but that's hardly a particularly helpful metric. I understand Velocity knows a temporal acceleration power that he uses quite frequently, and I doubt he considers himself to be several hundred years old thanks to all of that extra subjective time, hmm?" I said with a small chuckle.

"No," I concluded, "I prefer to measure by the calendar of my homeworld, and by that standard I was born 3,568 objective years ago and then I… skipped around a bit, after the Fall."

"….Ohhh-kay," Colleen replied, her voice sounding strained and higher-pitched than normal. "How would you… we'll talk about that more later, too. Um, moving on…."

She flipped to the next section. "I had a few questions about pronunciation, for the recording. Could you pronounce these for me?"

I looked to the two questions she'd indicated:

Section II: Place of Origin

(1) In English, or your best attempt to phonetically transcribe it in English, what is the name of your world of origin?

(A) "Earth"

(B) "Earth Aleph"

(C) "Earth" followed by a letter, number, or other designation

(1) Please specify:

(D) A non-English word with a similar meaning to Earth, such as Terra, Gaia, or Mundus

(1) Please specify:

(2) Please specify the meaning(s) of the name:

(E) Other

(1) Please specify: Abeir-Toril

(2) Please specify the meaning(s) of the name: Cradle of Life

…

(13) What is the current or most recent name of your nation of origin, or other equivalent political entity with which you strongly identify?

(A) "United States of America"

(B) "United American-States"

(C) "Confederate States of America"

(D) Any name referencing historical or current British rule, such as "Thirteen British Colonies"

(1) Please specify:

(E) Any name referencing historical or current German rule, such as "American Reich"

(1) Please specify:

(F) Other

(1) Please specify: Empire of Jhaamdath

I coached Colleen through the pronunciation of "Abeir-Toril" and "Jhaamdath," the latter being especially difficult for her as the initial "jh" phoneme is not actually used in the English tongue.

Then I asked a question of my own: "The answer choices provided imply a good working knowledge of other worlds connected to this one. Is that due to direct contact, or the use of remote viewing, or…?"

She shook her head and offered a somewhat embarrassed grin. "The PRT does know that at least a few Earths other than Aleph exist thanks to Haywire's notes-the details are highly classified, obviously-but no, all the answers are hypothetical. Let's just say the Watchdog people who originally put this together probably read a little too much Harry Turtledove."

More seriously, she added, "Also, they were selected as PR worst-case-scenario options. If someone showed up and said their Nazis won their World War Two and the Empire found out… yeah, that'd be a lot to deal with."

She flipped the paper over, then reached over to her phone and pressed a circle on the display that appeared to pause the recording of our conversation.

"Okay, next question, and this is just for my own curiosity…" she said in an overly casual tone as she pointed to a question midway down the page:

(37) What is the name of the primary calendar used in your world of origin, and what is its current year? (Choose all that apply.)

(A) Gregorian calendar

(1) 2011 AD (Anno Domini) or 2011 CE (Common Era)

(2) Any year other than 2011; please specify:

(B) Chinese calendar

(1) 4709, Year of the Hare/Rabbit

(2) Any year other than 4709; please specify:

(C) Hebrew calendar

(1) 5771 (major era) or 771 (minor era)

(2) Any year other than 5771; please specify:

(D) Other calendar, please specify

(1) Calendar name: Dalereckoning

(2) Current year: 1378 DR, Year of the Cauldron

(E) Other calendar, please specify

(1) Calendar name: Jhaamdath Calendar

(2) Current year: 7108 IE (Imperial Era)

(F) Other calendar, please specify

(1) Calendar name:

(2) Current year:

"Could you tell me what 'Year of the Cauldron' means here?"

"Certainly."

I proceeded to explain the Roll of Years, a set of prophecies given originally by Augathra the Mad and later supplemented by Alaundo the Seer when portions of Augathra's writings were lost-both of them being diviners of unparalleled skill and power, whose foresight could peer further into the future (and do so more accurately) than any beings other than the gods themselves-which named each year between -700 and 1600 DR according to the most significant event that was to occur in that year.

Sometimes the presaged events were obvious, such as the Year of Rogue Dragons in 1373, in which more major dragon attacks occurred than in any year in the two decades preceding or following; sometimes the events were only obvious in hindsight, such as the Year of Sundered Webs in -339, in which the "web" of the Weave was irreversibly altered by the Fall of Netheril.

Regardless, the Roll's predictions were never mistaken, and proved a boon to forward-thinkers and historians alike.

"Huh. That's… huh," the paralegal muttered, unhelpfully, once I'd completed my explanation.

"Would you care to explain your thoughts?"

"Oh, it's nothing," she said quickly. "There's just this… thing, online, and I thought it was a funny coincidence, that's all."

Her aura showed no deceit, merely the shade of embarrassment one generally feels when one is caught expressing appreciation for frivolous or childish things, so I was inclined to believe her.

I still, however, added "the Cauldron" to my list of things to investigate.

Colleen's phone made a buzzing noise, and she glanced over at it. She pressed the displayed circle again to resume the recording, then said, "Looks like Velocity just went on duty and will be available in about an hour. Let's see how many of these questions we can knock out before he gets here, and then you can meet him, tour the PHQ, and meet some heroes, how's that sound?"

"Just splendid. I have very much been looking forward to meeting the members of your Protectorate."

"Great! So, for question 44, here…."

Author's Note

So. Lots of commentary on this one.

Firstly: Hello, New Wave! Good to see you out and about.

I'd originally intended for Glory Girl to make an appearance this chapter as she's the one that Valigan had originally been looking to meet, but it's been less than a week since Dean "died" and Victoria probably wouldn't be in a good headspace for patrols at all , so I rolled some dice and Flashbang and Laserdream decided to go on patrol instead.

Mark's description of New Wave's patrol schedule isn't strictly canonical; we know Glory Girl and Lady Photon do lots of patrolling, but everyone else's routines are left up in the air. For this story, I've squared the particular circle that is New Wave's rather contradictory timeline by assuming that New Wave puts a lot of effort into the appearance of being an active and effective cape team even if at a practical level they don't really show up or do much in canon.

Secondly: Valigan meets a fresh trigger who has no idea what he's doing!

The only canon character who has trouble figuring out their power is Kid Win, and most fics don't have characters struggle much to figure out their powers even when they're fairly complicated, and that's kind of a shame. Things like misconceptions around Tinker specialties or grab-bag capes not knowing about secondary powers they have or normal capes just using their power in a way it wasn't "intended" to work can be fun to play around with, so I figured I'd have that happen here, with Nate's poor choice of power testing environment initially giving him a skewed view of his new powers.

And this presents Valigan with a critical research opportunity that he couldn't get from any established cape. Nate doesn't have any special training and really shouldn't have that many spells known that early on, so certain things Valigan's seen with other capes that are either normal for a "sorcerer" or could be explained by various other things are definitely not normal for him.

When it comes to Valigan discovering just how different parahumans are from the magic-users he's used to, the first domino has started to wobble.

And thirdly: Why hello Coil. Fancy seeing you here.

Astute readers will recall that, uh, Coil's power doesn't usually work like that.

When I mentioned in the introductory post that everything "on screen" would remain identical to canon but some "behind the scenes" things may change, this was one of the instances I had in mind. I've altered the mechanics of his power (though not his subjective experience of the power, since we see that in his interlude) for three reasons: one Worm, one narrative, and one D .

The Worm reason is that… well, frankly, the "his shard precogs two futures and then puppets him through one of them" WoG explanation for his power has always seemed to me to be a retcon made because Wildbow was still deciding how powers worked as Worm progressed, and I don't think it works well for various reasons that I can rant about upon request.

The narrative reason is that Valigan is a complete blind spot to divination/precog abilities thanks to mind blank , and a "Coil's power bluescreens in the protagonist's presence" scenario (as tends to happen in lots of CYOA stories where the protagonist takes Blank) generally leads to fairly silly and/or unsatisfying results.

The D reason is going to be revealed in a later chapter, along with what his power is actually doing, so stay tuned!

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The spells and powers Valigan used or referenced in this chapter were control light (adjust ambient lighting up and down), zone of silence (prevent sound from leaving an area), psychoportive shelter (makes a potentially-very-large extradimensional space), flaming sphere (makes a controllable sphere of semi-solid fire), numbing sphere (makes a controllable sphere of semi-solid cold), temporal repair (no link available; protects someone from the effects of time-related magic), Elminster and Paladine are the two archetypal examples of Gandalf-type "bumbling absent-minded wizards who are more than just wizards and see a lot more than they let on" characters in D , the former in the Forgotten Realms, the latter in Dragonlance. Out-of-setting, their tendency to show up in a lot of the more popular novels and to occasionally be used as author mouthpieces means they can sometimes come off as annoying meddling know-it-alls, but in-setting they… can also sometimes come off as annoying meddling know-it-alls, honestly. To someone who only knows of Myrddin by his public reputation, he would seem to fit right in with those two. The reference to chronomancy being a "rare and difficult art to master" compared to other "arcane schools" is due to how it worked in 2e. Chronomancy, introduced in the aptly-named Chronomancer supplement for Planescape, was treated as a ninth school alongside the traditional eight schools (plus Universal, which didn't exist at the time and really doesn't count anyway), and only chronomancers (Wizards specializing in the Chronomancy school) could learn Chronomancy spells. The mentions of House Vaymin, House Novar, and the Talairic Houses are referring to the "Six Hidden Houses" of psionically-powerful bloodlines whose original world was destroyed, forcing them to jump ship to other worlds, including Toril; that's what Valigan was referencing with his mention of "the long lost original homeworld of [his] family line" in 1.2.V. I can't find a link to the entire Dragon Magazine article or later update in Complete Psionic, but there's an excerpt here that goes over the basics. Valigan gives a good summary of the Faerûnian Roll of Years in the chapter, but you can read more about that and about the individual named years here and here if you're interested. Yes, 1378 DR being the Year of the Cauldron is an actual thing. I didn't even pick it deliberately; I sat down and calculated out what the equivalent years to 2011 would be in the various settings that would show up in this story, based on sourcebook publication dates and in-universe timeline advancements in various modules and such, and when I went to look up the name of the year I'd calculated, there it was.

Integration 2.2.T

First Afternoon Bell, Zol the 10 th of Rhaan, 999 YK House Tharashk Enclave, Zantashk, Xen'drik, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

"So," I said, as I stared across a very fancy dining room table at Brian.

"So," he echoed, as he leaned back in his very fancy cushioned chair and crossed his arms defensively in a way that emphasized his muscles.

That was followed by a short but awkward silence as he glared in the general direction of the other heroes and me without looking directly at any of us.

"You want to tell us why you're upset with Dean?" I asked.

"Not really," he replied.

Another awkward pause.

"Why don't you want to?" I asked.

"Why should I have to?" he replied.

More silence.

"We can sit here as long as we have to," Dean said from his seat to my left, looking uncomfortable with his armor wedged into a chair that was just barely wide enough for it.

"That's fine, I can literally sit here all day," Alec replied from his seat to my right, looking perfectly at ease as he lounged sideways over the cushioned armrest of his own chair.

… This was getting us absolutely nowhere.

I could feel a headache starting to develop as I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table. "Look," I tried, "I know it might look like we're all ganging up on you-"

"Because that's exactly what this is."

"No, it's-" I sighed. "It's not like that. I just… I want everyone to stop being upset with each other, so if you can just tell us what your problem is-"

"My problem," Brian snapped as he slammed a palm down on the table, "is that the three of you have been acting all high-and-mighty since we got here when you have no claim to the moral high ground and no idea what the hell you're doing any more than we do!"

Seriously?

"A villain really wants to talk to heroes about the 'moral high ground'?" I said, smiling slightly at the irony.

"Yeah. I do. We've been relying on honesty and the truce to get us this far, right? Well, which one of us here is the most trustworthy?"

One of the heroes, of course, I was about to say, but stopped myself. I shot a glance at Dean, who looked like he'd just bitten into a lemon.

"Yeah, that's right," Brian said. "One of the heroes here is a liar, has been one for years-"

"I told you, that wasn't my idea-"

"I don't care whose idea it was. You went along with it! For years! Because dozens of people lying for you made you look better! Because it made things easier for you!" Turning to Chris, Brian added, "And the other hero would have been perfectly happy to keep an important secret about the portal from the rest of us and maybe sent us off on a wild goose chase while we were trying to get home!"

Chris frowned. "If the PRT found out we told you-"

Brian interrupted yet again: "And how the fuck would they find out?" He threw his arms wide in exasperation. "We're on an entirely different planet! There is no PRT here! The only way they'd find out you said anything is if you told them when we get home!"

"We didn't know we were on a different planet yet when we were talking about that," Chris objected.

"Would you have told us the truth when we did find that out, if Gallant had told you to keep it secret? When us getting home is infinitely more important than whatever the PRT would do to you when you get back?"

Chris looked away and didn't answer.

"And speaking of you listening to Gallant," Brian said, his voice getting a little louder as his rant built up steam, "you all automatically assumed that he'd be a better person to talk to the other capes than I would because he's a hero and I'm a villain, and made me out to be the bad guy when I said I had a problem with that."

"You're a villain, you're 'the bad guy' by definition," I argued. "Besides, Dean has his emotion sight power-"

"And you did such a terrible job with all the talking because you don't have one of those, huh?" he challenged.

"Point," I admitted.

"Yeah. Having a power like that doesn't make up for experience. I was a solo mercenary for two years, and I've led the Undersiders for over a year now. I know how to talk to people, how to get jobs from picky clients, how to deal with personality clashes. I've walked into rooms full of guys scarier and stronger than Terik looked to be and didn't even break a sweat. This guy," he pointed at Dean, "doesn't have anywhere near that kind of experience. He hasn't even led the Wards!"

"I have plenty of experience dealing with complicated social situations," Dean said, patiently but with a hint of irritation. "I've been going to formal events with my father for years and dealt with all kinds of politicians and businessmen with huge egos, and I've gotten along just fine."

"How much of that was you actually being good at that, and how much of that was people just wanting to suck up to the future CEO and being nice to him while his dad's in the room?" Brian shot back.

Dean's mouth tightened into a thin line, and I heard a faint creaking sound as the gauntlets of his armor tightened on the wooden armrests of his chair.

"That's what I thought. So how would all that 'experience' of yours have helped us, exactly? Especially when none of it involved dealing with capes at all?"

Brian's very biased take on things was starting to get on my nerves, and I couldn't stand the smug little smirk he was wearing, no matter how good the rest of his face looked.

"Dean has done plenty of stuff that's been very helpful since we got here. He showed us where to look for food and got us to the river with his survival skills and checked out the other cape team to make sure it was safe to talk to them-and I helped find some food and got us the crab, and Chris made something to cook it with and made sure we didn't get sick from the water," I said. "How have you helped the group like that?"

Brian gave me a flat look. "I may not have helped get us through the jungle, but I was the one who actually did the cooking when none of you knew how to barbecue, remember? Without me there, good luck not getting sick from eating raw seafood, or having to choke down some very burnt crab."

He tapped the table with his finger for emphasis. " I'm the one who noticed something changed with our powers and made everyone test them, which is how you figured out the tricks that let you find food better along the way. I'm the one whose power made it safe to use their armor lights so we weren't getting ambushed or stumbling around in the dark for hours. The fact that you're taking all the credit for getting us this far is part of the problem!"

… Okay, he kind of had a point.

I guess I had been thinking mostly in terms of, like, Dean and Chris and I had powers that were good at finding things and doing things with our surroundings and Brian and Alec didn't, so the Undersiders were basically just tagging along while we heroes did all the real work.

"Besides," Brian continued, leaning back again, "that way I figure, you three are already in the hole credit-wise for getting us sent here and have just been making up for that since then."

" What ?" Dean and I said at the same time.

"You heard what Tattletale said. You two are the reason Lung kept chasing us for as long as he did, after what you did to him. Not to mention that we ," he gestured to himself and Alec, "could have gotten away clean if it weren't for you asking us to help them . And he," he pointed to Chris, "is the fuckup whose mistake made it so we went through the portal in the first place!"

Brian leaned forward, pressed his palms down on the table, and raised his voice another notch as he concluded his rant: "So maybe you should get off your high horse, and stop pretending that Dean is automatically better than me because he's a hero and I'm a villain when none of that matters where we are right now, and then maybe I'll apologize for assuming that the trust fund kid with a cushy government job wouldn't care about what me and Regent wanted or what we had to say when that's exactly what you've all been doing ever since then!"

That was… I mean, I didn't agree with everything he said, and he didn't have to be such a jerk about it, and anyway it was his own fault for not wanting to talk to us after we joined up with the other cape team so we had no way of knowing if he had a problem with anything we did for the past few days… but yeah, I could kind of get where he was coming from.

I glanced over at Chris to see his reaction to all of that. His cheeks were burning with anger or embarrassment, I couldn't tell which, and he'd slouched even farther down in his chair.

Dean, meanwhile, was looking at Brian like he'd never seen him before.

"You know what?" Dean said slowly. "You're completely right."

Wait, what ?

Brian looked just as surprised to hear him say that as I did.

"In the Wards," he continued, "we're each assigned to different patrols and events based on our own strengths, and a lot of delegation happens because the same person is rarely in charge for more than a few months and other people need to learn the ropes, so any of us getting hung up on who's officially the team leader doesn't make much sense and comes across as very petty."

He shook his head. "Given your background, though, I can see now why you'd view the things you mentioned as a lack of respect for your position and your skills. I apologize for not hearing you out before, and for acting in a way that made you feel like you weren't being valued."

Dean stood up partway and offered his hand to Brian across the table.

Brian looked at Dean and then at his hand as if he couldn't believe the hero was apologizing to him first-and frankly, neither could I-then raised an eyebrow and half-stood as well to return the handshake.

"Apology accepted. Maybe if you'd been willing to listen to anything I had to say the past few days, we could have gotten to this point a lot earlier," he said, unable to resist a parting shot.

Dean frowned, looking quite annoyed, and held on to Brian's hand a little longer as the villain tried to extricate it from the handshake. "Maybe if you hadn't spent the first day stewing in your own self-righteousness and then the next two days practically glowing with the kind of indignant smugness that usually means people are rehashing imaginary arguments in their head, I would have approached you a lot earlier," he said pointedly.

Brian paused, frowned. "… Okay, fair," he admitted, Dean nodded sharply, and then the two of them let go and sat back down.

There was a pause.

"I'm still waiting for an apology," Dean said mildly, just as the silence was threatening to become awkward again.

"For what?" Brian asked mulishly, and I had the sudden urge to smack him for being such a sore winner.

If he was going to be so… so… stubborn, and difficult, and irritating, and hot, and bullheaded, and a bunch of other adjectives it was hard to bring to mind right now, he was probably going to set their argument off all over again!

"For being suspicious of us every time we brought up the truce, when we didn't have any particular reason to trust you when we first showed up here either," Dean said calmly. "For constantly making jabs about the Wards and letting Alec give Chris a hard time when neither of us has brought up your track record of bad decisions. For complaining about how useless 'government capes' are when your team actively makes the Protectorate's job harder just by existing."

"Hey-" Brian tried to interrupt, but Dean steamrolled right over him.

"For assuming I was going to betray you somehow because you have some kind of issue with authority and you pinned that all on me for no reason, for assuming like everyone else does that the only thing I'm good for is being an extension of my parents, for expecting me to just walk up to you out of the blue and solve your personal issues because I'm an empath when half the time you start feeling resentment and a little fear whenever you notice me looking in your direction-"

"I'm not afraid of y-"

"I can literally see it! Right now! You want to complain about me lying about my powers for so long? This is why!" Dean said, slamming the palm of his gauntlet on the table like Brian had earlier.

Brian looked taken aback, and I was pretty surprised at Dean's outburst myself.

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm always the one who has to be the peacemaker and the voice of reason and the team therapist-" he shot a quick glance at Chris when he said that, I wasn't sure if Chris noticed "-and I'm always the one who has to compromise to make people happy. So for once, please, can you just… try to meet me halfway and apologize for how much of a jerk you've been this past week so we can move on?"

Brian didn't say anything for a moment. "… Yeah, you're right," he admitted. "It wasn't fair to take all my problems with the PRT out on you. They're not your fault. Sorry about that." He paused again, then grudgingly added, "And I'm sorry for the thing I said about your dad. I know how it can suck to be compared to… yeah. Sorry."

Dean squinted at Brian for a second as if he was checking that Brian was really feeling sorry, then nodded once and smiled. Which was nice of him; he had a nice smile. "Apology accepted," he said.

"Good, glad that's finally settled," I said, then turned to Chris. "Now, Chris-"

"Actually, uh, do you think we could try to get some water from the kitchen?" he asked. "I think I might still be feeling that spicy wrap."

His face was still pretty red, but…"You're not just trying to procrastinate again, are you?" I asked.

"No?" he answered, unconvincingly. "I mean, kinda," he mumbled, then added, "But I really could use a drink."

Dean gave Chris a look, then glanced between me and Brian for some reason. "I think a drink for everyone would probably be a good idea," he said diplomatically. "Let's take a quick break and see about that. Taylor, do you know if Yin's around? Or maybe Corvin? I got the impression he might have some kind of language power too."

I sent my swarm wandering around through the common room and up the stairs. They didn't bump into Yin, but I did hear the voice of Yin's… disguise, I guess you could call it, and sent a bunch of bugs to make an arrow near him. A moment later he stood up and-

Wait.

I'd heard his voice, when I wasn't specifically trying to listen through my swarm!

To test that out again, I tried to listen in on the people in the common room, but I got some painful feedback and quickly stopped.

Hmm. Maybe hearing by accident worked because I wasn't really thinking about it, or maybe it was a state of mind thing, or maybe something else, I don't know. But now I knew it was possible to listen through part of the swarm without doing the… the ignore-most-of-my-swarm's-senses thing, and that was really encouraging.

… Oh, right, Yin was coming down the stairs and would need another arrow. I had the nearest bugs make an arrow pointing toward the room we were in, then slipped outside to talk with him.

He went through the mumbo-jumbo routine he had to do to use his power, then nodded politely in greetings. "Good afternoon, Vicereine. Were you looking to speak with the Finder about your dog?" he rumbled.

"No," I said. "Well, yes, but not yet. There's something else we had to do first."

He raised an eyebrow questioningly-a real eyebrow, now that he looked like a human-and I sighed. "There was trouble brewing in the viceroyalty," I admitted, echoing his words from the other day. "We're working it out, but it'll probably take a little while longer."

"Ahh," he said in a tone of understanding, drawing out the word. "Yes, that's probably best to handle before we leave. We wouldn't want any unpleasantness to arise when everyone is cooped up on the airship and has nowhere to go after an argument to let tempers cool."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Actually, on that subject, what's the plan with the airship, exactly?"

"It just docked this morning," Yin said. "They should have mostly finished unloading all of the supplies by now, and then it's going to take them most of the afternoon to load the cargo being sent to Stormreach. That should give you… mmm, let's say four hours, to be on the safe side, then we'll have the kitchen pack us a supper and depart this evening."

" Four hours?" I echoed incredulously. "Will that be enough time to get Judas? He could be dozens of miles from here! Maybe hundreds!"

"Not to worry," he said with an encouraging smile, which looked odd on the face of the hardened soldier he was pretending to be. "Corvin has arranged for someone to teleport you if needed."

I'd thought long-range teleportation powers were supposed to be fairly rare? Even if they were more common on this planet, we were pretty far out of the way for them to have such a valuable cape like that just lying around. "A village this small had someone who can teleport that far?" I asked skeptically.

"No no, they're in Stormreach. He merely contacted the House Orien enclave there to book some time with a member of the Transporters Guild."

"How'd he do that?"

"With my dragonmark, of course," Corvin said from right beside me.

"Gah!" I flinched so hard I almost stumbled into the wall. "Don't do that!"

"You're wasting your breath, I'm afraid," Yin said with a shake of his head. "He is completely incorrigible."

Corvin flashed a grin, then in a serious tone he said, "I suggest you go looking for your dog sooner rather than later. The transporter will wait all afternoon if necessary, but it took a while for Khalthrun to convince the Finder to agree to help and she might not stay in a good mood for long."

"That's… probably a good idea," I said, annoyed at having to delay the conversation with Chris yet again. This time pressure certainly wasn't helping my headache. "I'll tell the others. Yin, would you mind seeing if we can get some water from the kitchen in the meantime?"

"Certainly. The Finder is still in the common room, so I'll give you all a Tongues spell, you can go meet with her, and I'll have them bring the drinks out to you there."

"Thanks," I said, to Yin and to… Corvin, who wasn't there anymore. Ugh.

I stuck my head back into the dining room. Brian and Dean weren't at each other's throats, so I figured they really had resolved their differences for now.

"Change of plan," I called, and everyone sat up straight-or at least straight- er, in Alec's case. "We only have four hours to find Judas before the airship leaves, so we should go do that now."

"Right," Brian agreed, and the guys all scrambled out of their seats to join me.

When we were all out in the hallway, Yin went around and used his language power on all of us. While he was doing that, he quickly explained, "You should be aware that the Finder you are to meet is not a normal guild member working in the village. She is actually higher in rank than the leader of the House Tharashk enclave in Stormreach, and is currently in Xen'drik for the annual audit of guild operations on the continent. She is also quite powerful, magically speaking; we arranged for our expedition here to coincide with her visit so that we could enlist her help in finding and reaching certain relics that an heir with a lesser 'mark would have been unable to locate."

He looked each of us in the eye, his expression unusually serious. "As you speak with her, remember that while some of you may outrank her in your home nation, as long as she is here her word is effectively law. Offend her, and the consequences could follow you even once we reach Khorvaire."

We all nodded, then we all looked at Alec. He rolled his eyes. "I'll behave, don't worry."

"You'd better," I warned, with a hint of buzzing flies behind my words for emphasis.

We headed to the common room after that. All of the people who had been there while we were eating were gone now except for Khalthrun and one of the other half-orc women who had been at her table, presumably this "Finder." She was speaking with Khalthrun in a tone that reminded me of Emma at her most saccharine, which didn't exactly make the best first impression.

The woman was one of the middling-looking half-orcs, with the prominent jaw but without the fangs, and she was wearing a very expensive-looking red velvet dress with multiple pieces of gold jewelry around her neck, in her braided hair, and all the way up her right arm.

While her right sleeve went down to her wrist under all of her bangles and bracelets, her left arm was bare up to the shoulder to reveal an incredibly elaborate tattoo that completely covered it from wrist to shoulder and even stretched up to the left side of her neck; I hadn't been able to see it before because she'd been sitting with her other side facing us while we were eating. The tattoo was shaped vaguely like a bird of prey, I thought, and it was done in some kind of shimmering ink, mostly in greens and blues with a few touches of purple here and there.

I ran my fingers through my hair a few times to brush out any tangles and nervously straightened the unarmored parts of my costume. Next to someone as well-put-together as her I looked like an absolute slob, in armor that hadn't been designed to be worn for multiple days straight, and with our masks off my team's costumes didn't have quite the same impressive effect they usually did.

I was just glad there had been tinkertech shaving devices in the bathrooms this morning, because if we'd shown up with Dean and Brian sporting days-old hobo beards and Chris sporting a scraggly attempt at a mustache we'd probably have been laughed out of the room before we could even talk to her.

"Khalthrun…" I began when we reached their table, and then stopped there, because I'd been about to ask if she could introduce us to the Finder but I had no idea if that was how things were supposed to work between someone of my imaginary rank and people of their respective actual ranks, or if we were supposed to have a servant to introduce us or something.

I turned it into a formal-ish greeting by putting on a serious expression and giving her a deep nod. Her lips quirked with a suppressed smile as she returned it with a solemn, "Vicereine." It didn't look like the other woman noticed the slip, thankfully.

And thank god for Yin, because he walked casually out of the kitchen just then, bowed shallowly to our group, gave a deeper bow to the two women, and positioned himself slightly off to the side as if that had totally been the plan the entire time.

"Thanks," I whispered in his direction, and he gave me the slightest of nods in return.

Standing ramrod-straight, Yin tucked his left arm behind his waist in a very formal pose and gestured to us with his right hand. "Lady Seneschal, allow me to introduce Vicereine," he said, then continued down the line with, "Champion, Gallant, Grue, and Regent."

Pivoting smartly, he tucked his right arm behind his back and gestured to the woman with his left hand. "Gentles, you are quite fortunate, as it is no mere journeywoman you see before you today. I present to you Lady Seneschal Zurya Torrn d'Tharashk, the Finders Guild representative on the Council of Seneschals and current Acting Minister of the Zantashk Enclave."

I felt a brief moment of panic. What was the right way to respond to that? "Nice to meet you"? "Thanks for the introductions"? Being introduced to her right after hearing that even slightly offending her could really come back to bite us wasn't exactly great for my peace of mind.

Then Dean stepped forward out of the center of our line, gave Zurya a crisp bow, and said, "It is an honor and a privilege to make your acquaintance, Lady Seneschal. We thank you for extending the hospitality of your enclave to us while we are so far from home."

Wow. I guess he did learn something from all those political events his dad dragged him to.

"You are most welcome," Zurya responded with a smile, in a voice that was as deep as Khalthrun's but much more refined; I wondered briefly if she actually sounded like that, or if Yin's power was translating her accent into something that I thought of as high-class. "Any friend of the Lady Khalthrun is a friend of mine."

She leaned forward slightly. "Might I have the pleasure of learning your names, as well as your titles? Lady Khalthrun sadly did not have a chance to mention them to me."

There was a slight pause before Dean responded, "Of course, Lady Seneschal."

He continued, "I am… Dean of House Stansfield, a… Protector of… the City of Brockton and the heir to my family's corporation," pausing almost imperceptibly a few times as he was probably scrambling to think of what exactly he should say to reinforce our accidental cover story.

"This is Christopher of House McIntyre, my fellow Protector and… the city's apprentice Master of Arms, and this is Taylor of House Hebert, the vicereine of… the colony of New England, who… rules on behalf of her mother the Queen," he said, gesturing at each of us in turn.

I felt a sudden ache in my chest at the mention of Mom, even though he wasn't actually talking about Mom, and Dean winced slightly before turning to the Undersiders.

Gesturing toward Brian, he started to say "This is-" before Zurya interrupted him.

"Does Gallant ir'Stansfield speak for you, Lord Grue?" she asked sweetly, her smile slightly sharper than before.

Oh no.

Khalthrun must have mentioned that we were on different sides before coming here, and now Zurya was… what, trying to play us against each other? Trying to see which of them had the higher rank in the group? Something else?

I wasn't sure what her game was, but regardless, I watched Brian out of the corner of my eye. Please don't screw this up, please don't screw this up, please don't screw this up… I chanted silently.

Brian glanced at Dean, then met Zurya's gaze and nodded. "In this case, yes, he does. Lady Seneschal."

I put on my best poker face to hide the wave of relief I felt. Thank god they'd had a chance to hash things out before we spoke to Zurya, or this could have turned out very badly.

"Very well. Continue."

"Of course, Lady Seneschal," Dean agreed. "This is Brian of House Laborn, an accomplished… warlock, and leader of… a band of dragon-slayers, and this is Alec of House Lemaître, the regent of… the Kingdom of Quebec while his father-" Dean paused and glanced back at Alec, an odd expression on his face "… while his father the King is indisposed."

"Thank you, Lord Dean. I am glad that we have been properly introduced."

"Of course, Seneschal Zurya."

"Now then," Zurya said, "please, sit."

We all chose a seat-I got stuck sitting next to her, lucky me-and the people in the kitchen apparently took that as a signal, since as soon as we were all situated they sent a server over to the table with a tray holding a pitcher of water, eight glasses, and a small bowl of fruits and nuts.

Once the water was poured and the server retreated, Zurya said, "I understand you were hoping that the Finders Guild could help you retrieve a lost dog?"

She was looking at Dean when she said it, but Brian was the one who answered. "Yes. He came here with us, but we were knocked out when we went through the portal and when we woke up he was gone."

"And this dog is… special, in some way?" Zurya said. Her tone implied that she couldn't imagine how it could be worthwhile to spend this much time and effort on a mere dog.

"He belongs to one of the members of my team. He's one of her two best-trained dogs, and one of the ones she uses her power on the most to make him large enough for us to ride. She's had him since she was much younger, and if we found a way home and didn't bring him with us she'd be very upset."

"Ah," Zurya said, her smile becoming warmer and more genuine. "Her companion animal. Yes, that makes sense. I can certainly help you find him. First, however… there is the small matter of payment. Any Finder's time and magic are valuable, and mine are more valuable still."

"We are currently a bit short on cash, unfortunately, since we didn't expect to find ourselves here," Dean confided. "We've been getting by through the generosity of Khalthrun and her team-for which we are very thankful," he added with a nod to Khalthrun.

"We don't have any gold, but Yin did mention that we might be able to pay for things some other way," I suggested.

"Were you thinking of selling some of your enchanted items?" Zurya asked, gesturing toward Chris and all of the gadgets he had on him.

"We discussed that, of course," Dean replied breezily, though of course we hadn't and Chris shot him a look of betrayal when he said that, "but we were hoping to save that for an emergency. I'm sure you understand."

"I was thinking more along the lines of… favors?" I said. "Is there something we can do here to cover the cost?"

She gave me a considering look. "I doubt there's anything you could do for the enclave in the short time you have left in Zantashk that would come anywhere close, but perhaps something could be arranged between you and House Tharashk as a whole."

She grabbed a few berries from the bowl on the table, popped them in her mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. "Yes," she continued when she was done, "I think I can send a report to Stormreach and to Zarash'ak regarding services rendered, and when you reach your final destination in Khorvaire the Lady Khalthrun can accompany you to ensure that House Tharashk is fully compensated in one way or another. What say you, Khalthrun?"

"Nothing would please me more, Lady Seneschal," Khalthrun replied blandly.

"Then it's settled. Now, to find your dog, I will require either an image of him or one of his possessions."

Dean, Chris, and I looked at Brian and Alec.

Brian and Alec looked at each other. Alec shrugged.

Brian sighed. "Damn."

"Wait, idea," Chris said, pulling out his phone from its belt compartment and starting to look something up.

"How is that thing still running after a week?" I asked him softly.

"Same kind of micro-generator as my pistols," he replied absently, tapping one of the other boxes on his belt. "I always used to forget to charge it otherwise."

We sat there quietly for a minute, Brian looking hopeful, Zurya and Yin looking curious about what he was doing, and probably about what his phone was since it obviously didn't fit in with the whole semi-Medieval aesthetic everything else here seemed to have.

Finally Chris dropped his phone to his lap and sighed. "Nope. I was hoping there might be a picture on her Wikipedia article, but no luck, it's just a stub that points to her article on PHO."

"Well?" Zurya asked, and I realized we'd unconsciously slipped back into English.

I shook my head. "He was hoping to find a picture of the dog in his phone, but he couldn't. I don't know if we have anything that would work."

She frowned. "Troublesome, but not insurmountable. Do you have an image of a similar dog, perhaps? That and his name may be enough for me to scry for him."

"Yes, Lady Seneschal," Chris said. He leaned toward Brian and murmured in English, "What kind of dog is, uh…?"

"Judas is a German Shepherd," Brian said.

"Cool, one sec." A moment later, Chris had pulled up a picture of a German Shepherd leaping up to catch a frisbee and was showing it to Zurya, who seemed much more interested in the picture itself than the dog in it.

"That is incredibly lifelike," she said. "How did you manage to capture such an image while the dog was in motion?"

"Well, I didn't take the picture myself, but basically what you need is a camera with a high shutter speed-"

"You don't have… devices that can take pictures like this?" I interrupted politely, hoping to spare Zurya one of Chris's tangents.

"Not like that one, no," Corvin said as he peered over Chris's shoulder, making me and the guys all jump.

God dammit.

"House Phiarlan and House Sivis have been working together for years to find a good way to translate three-dimensional recordings to two-dimensional images," the gnome explained, "but so far, no luck. The current state-of-the-art is the merrixotype, an alchemical device that can only capture stationary subjects with any degree of detail."

"Wait," I said, "you can take 3D pictures easily, but not 2D ones?"

He nodded.

Well then. That implied some strange things about their technology level here.

Even more than the fact that they apparently had advanced holographic cameras but still mostly fought with swords, I mean.

" Anyway," Brian said, "is this picture good enough to use, Lady Seneschal?"

"More than good enough. You said his name was 'Judas'?"

"Right."

"Then follow me," Zurya said as she rose from her chair, "and we shall find your dog."

~*~*~

We'd been waiting outside the room for nearly an hour when Yin motioned for us to come in, a finger to his lips to ask for quiet.

Zurya had taken us up to the third floor, planted us outside a room that my bugs told me was full of people busily doing paperwork with a few doors around the periphery leading to smaller rooms, and told us to wait while she "scried on" Judas.

Alec had gotten bored almost immediately, of course. Chris was playing games on his phone. Dean and Brian were sitting there patiently and silently, apparently on good enough terms now to be comfortable in each other's presence but not enough to actually talk to each other if they didn't have to.

I was taking the opportunity to practice hearing through my swarm. I hadn't yet been able to replicate the easy hearing I'd somehow managed earlier, but hopefully it wouldn't take too long. I did at least make out that Zurya was standing next to a large table or something and doing the same kind of chanting and hand-waving that Yin did to use his powers.

(The chanting and hand-waving which, I was forced to admit to myself, did at least look a lot like they were using "magic," but I was still reserving judgment on that.)

When we came through the door, we were quickly ushered past the clerks and into the smaller room where Zurya was, where it turned out that the surface of the table she was standing next to was actually a massive mirror at least six feet wide in both directions with a thin brass frame around the edges.

The mirror wasn't reflecting the ceiling of the room. While it looked like a normal mirror around the edges, the majority of it looked like flowing mercury, with a kind of glossy non-reflective silver finish and light swirling around in random patterns, and the mercury-ness was slowly spreading out to affect the entire thing.

Shortly after we entered, Zurya's chanting reached a crescendo, and when she said the last word and waved both hands out over the mirror its surface suddenly rippled violently like someone tossing a boulder into a pond.

The ripples cleared a moment later to reveal an image of Judas, perfectly clear, like we were looking down at him from just a few feet overhead.

And he did not look good.

The soft patter of rain on leaves and branches filled through room as we watched Judas limp through the mud. His coat was dirty, he was covered in scratches, his right ear looked like something had taken a chunk out of it, and his left front leg didn't look like it was holding his weight.

And I was hardly an expert, but it kind of looked like the long and thin scratches on his left side came from a knife or a sword, not claws or thorns or something else natural.

It was hard to hear over the sound of rain, but it sounded like he was whimpering as he walked, the poor thing. I wasn't really much of a dog person, but it was impossible not to feel incredibly sorry for him as we watched him struggle through the jungle.

My first thought was that I wanted to find whoever or whatever had done all of that to him and fill them full of wasps.

My second thought, after looking over at the expression on Khalthrun's face, was that I'd probably have to get in line.

My third thought was that this had better be good enough for Zurya, because it didn't look like Judas would last much longer if we didn't get to him soon. "Well, Lady Seneschal?" I asked her.

"Yes, that will be enough to find him. I assume Lord Corvin has made the necessary arrangements?" she asked.

"Not yet, Lady Seneschal" he said. "I'll pop over to the messaging station and meet you outside."

"Very good. Shall we?"

We filed out of the room and followed her down the stairs, and when we walked out of the front door of the building and into the hot and humid jungle air-which wasn't as bad as it had been, actually, thanks to a refreshing breeze blowing through the village-I got my first glimpse of an airship.

It was "docked" at the far end of the village at just about the edge of my range, so I couldn't see a lot of detail and could only feel out part of it with my bugs, but what I could see and feel was breathtaking.

Overall, the airship looked like one of those fancy old-style wooden yachts some rich families keep at the marina back home, but blown up in size until it was a few hundred feet long at least. It was covered from front to back in golden paneling, some of it in thin lines following the edges of the ship and some in decorative looping curlicue patterns. There were no sails, just a few large… fins, kind of, near the back and what looked like two huge wooden crescent going through the middle of the ship with the points facing forward above, below, and to either side of it.

And most impressive of all, it was just hanging there in midair. No jets, no propellers, not even the slight bobbing up and down that Chris's hoverboard did when he was floating in one place, as far as I could tell from the motion of the bugs on it.

When I'd heard the word "airship" I was expecting to see something like a blimp, not a full-on flying tinkertech ship!

Off to the side, crates and boxes were being ferried up to the ship on a series of what looked like bigger versions of Chris's hoverboard. The process appeared to be fairly slow going, but that could just be the distance making everything seem slower.

Chris was staring at the flying platforms just like I was, a huge smile on his face. Yin noticed where we were looking, leaned over to us, and said, "A village like Zantashk is too small and remote for a proper docking tower, so they have to make do with floating discs instead for loading and unloading. It's definitely the more laborious and time-consuming approach, but I must say, it has a certain charm that you simply won't find at a modern Lyrandar enclave."

After a few minutes of watching cargo moving around I started to get bored, and decided to take a look around the village instead. Metaphorically; I was mostly feeling around with my swarm.

It looked like the village was roughly divided into four quadrants by the two main roads crossing each other. The main Tharashk building was on the northwest side of the intersection, going by the position of the sun, and between that and the walls to the north and west were some more buildings in the same general architectural style. Some of them looked more like buildings for work given all of the people in leather aprons and stuff going in and out, some more like houses, some like smaller versions of the hotel-like main building, but they all had dark red roofs and flew identical banners to the ones that had been in the common room.

South of us were staggered rows of houses. It would probably be rude to call them "huts" or "cottages" to anyone's face, but they were small and looked cramped and they definitely were much less sophisticated-looking than the ones with the House Tharashk banners.

East of us was an area that reminded me of the Docks. There were actual docks a little ways past the airship where the village met the sea, which is where the nice breeze was coming from. Between here and there were rows of warehouses and several of what looked kind of like dry docks, though it had been years since I'd see one of those up close.

Across the intersection from us was one big jumble. Buildings of all kinds flying banners of all kinds were shoved close together with no rhyme or reason that I could make out. There were a few of what looked like Medieval smithies, a small open-air market, a stable with some horses in it, various other buildings-pretty much everything you'd need for life in an old-timey village, all clumped together in one place.

I hadn't seen it when we'd arrived last night, but I felt through my bugs that there were large tracts of farmland outside the walls to the north and south (the section of jungle to the west, where we'd come from, was probably too thick for them to have cleared for farming), both regular fields of grains and vegetables and some small orchards where they probably got their fruit.

My attention was brought back to my immediate surroundings as a man appeared right in the intersection with a pop of displaced air. He was wearing an eye-catching uniform, a light gray jacket and pants with bluish-purple cuffs and collar, yellow lines tracing down the outside of the sleeves and pant legs, and a bluish-purple sash over his chest bearing the embroidered images of a gray horse flanked by yellow crescent moons.

Other than that, he wasn't particularly memorable. Brown hair, tan skin, a short beard that really wasn't doing him any favors, and that was about it.

"It's dangerous to teleport into traffic, you know. You might get run over by a speeding wagon," Corvin said dryly as he gestured down the street, which was empty apart from a few scattered pedestrians down near the docks.

"If you can come up with a more memorable destination in this Host-forsaken little hamlet, I'll gladly change targets," the man returned just as dryly. "Until then, I'll just have to accept the hazards of urban life."

He walked over to our group, waved, and introduced himself as "Dekker Dorien," but he said it with a tiny hitch in the last name so it might actually have been "D'orien" or something like that. We went around and gave him our titles, and thankfully he took the lack of names in stride.

"So what's this I was told about a little dog lost out in the jungle?" he asked.

"Not really a little dog," Brian said, "but he is lost, and he didn't look to be in good shape."

"Then Balinor protect him until we can get there," he said, making a little hand sign that was too quick for me to catch. "Who will I be transporting? I can take up to five travelers with me at a time."

"Dean and I will sit this one out," Chris said. "With the shape our armor's in, standing out in the rain even for a short time probably isn't a good idea."

"That makes it easy. Me, Brian, Alec, Zurya, and Khalthrun?" I suggested.

"Ah, to be clear, one of those five spots will need to be reserved for the dog," Dekker said.

"Then I'll pass too," Alec said, not sounding at all regretful to be left out. "No mud for me, thanks."

"That works," Brian agreed, and went off a little ways to where Zurya and Khalthrun were chatting to let them know we were leaving.

"Um, before we do that," I said while Brian was fetching those two, "how much is this going to cost us? We didn't bring any gold with us-"

"There's no need for that," Dekker said solemnly. "When I heard there was an animal in need of rescue, I volunteered to help, at no cost to you."

I gave him a skeptical look. That sounded far too good to be true.

"Also," he said as he cracked a smile, "I didn't have any clients booked for today, and Corvin called in a favor. I'd much prefer to balance the scales with this than to have to, oh, teleport him out to a glacier and shiver my boots off for a few hours. Again."

Well… that sounded more reasonable. But it probably meant we'd owe Corvin a favor after this in exchange, on top of whatever we ended up owing House Tharashk, and I don't know if I liked that prospect.

Brian returned with Zurya and Khalthrun in tow. "Are you ready, Journeyman Dekker?" Zurya asked as she strode up to join us.

"Yes, Lady Seneschal," Dekker said, all business now. "Will you be providing coordinates, an image, a map, a description, or a beacon?"

"Coordinates and a description. One moment."

Zurya closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and suddenly her tattoo began to shimmer strangely, almost like it was moving around under her skin and reflecting the light differently. A moment later several tiny spots of light appeared at different points on the tattoo and spread out until the entire thing was glowing in a wavering pattern that reminded me of an aurora. A moment after that, the light suddenly winked out and her tattoo went back to normal.

What in the heck was that?

Did she have a tinkertech tattoo, somehow? Was she one of those capes who were mutated by their powers, and it wasn't a tattoo at all?

Or maybe that's what a "dragonmark" was. In that case, Khalthrun describing it as "superficially like a birthmark" was way off.

… Unless half-orcs have very strange birthmarks, I guess.

Zurya opened her eyes and recited, "Bearing 242.48 degrees, distance 561.34 miles, elevation 16.3 above sea level." Then she proceeded to describe the area at a very a basic level-here are some trees, here are some rocks, there's lots of mud, essentially what we'd seen in her mirror-which I didn't think would be especially helpful, unless he just needed the bare minimum description of a place to be able to teleport there.

"242.48 by 561.34 and up 16.3, jungle clearing to the northeast of a ravine with moderate underbrush and inclement weather, aye," Dekker confirmed when she was done, then waved us all toward him.

In a tone that implied he'd said the same thing a thousand times before, he instructed, "Everyone link hands in a circle. Do not let go when you feel the teleportation begin, or you may be left behind. If you are carrying any teleportation-blocking items, please remove them now, you can retrieve them when we return. If you ate recently or have a sensitive stomach you may feel queasy after the teleport, just take deep breaths and the feeling should pass. Teleportation to a new location based on description only is potentially dangerous and will likely have us arrive off-target by at least a few yards, so be prepared to get out of the way of any hazards the moment we appear. Any questions?"

We all shook our heads, so as soon as everyone was holding hands he nodded once, furrowed his brow, and-

~*~*~

-we were suddenly standing ankle-deep in mud, and within seconds we were all soaked by even the relatively small portion of the pouring rain that was making it through the thick canopy above us.

Except for Zurya, whose dress didn't have a speck of mud or blotch of water on it, whose hair was still immaculate, and who was somehow standing on top of the mud. Tinkertech clothing and shoes, I assumed, unless she was another Trump who had a couple of very different powers.

I took a long step to the side to get onto more solid ground and suddenly felt my stomach heave as I did that, so I took a few deep breaths like Dekker had suggested and it went away after a minute. I took a look around and didn't see Judas anywhere nearby, so I gathered all the insects in range and sent them searching for him.

The good news was that, unlike the first time I'd tried to find him, this time my bugs found him almost immediately. The bad news was that he was a couple hundred feet away, through mud and trees and who knows what else. I guess the description Dekker got wasn't really good enough after all when one patch of muddy rainy jungle looks a lot like any other.

I relayed that information to the others, and Zurya looked to Dekker, but before she could say anything he shook his head. "All out of short-range teleports, I'm afraid," he said.

"Then allow me," she said. "Some space, please."

We all stepped away from her, and she reached down to tap one of the decorative charms on one of her bracelets, which quickly expanded into a large wooden staff with an abstract metal sculpture on top that kind of resembled her tattoo.

She closed her eyes for a few moments, the sculpture briefly glowed with bluish-green light, she opened her eyes again and shrunk the staff back down, and she took a good look around, squinting through the pouring rain.

Then she took off in Judas's direction, walking confidently and apparently without paying the slightest attention to where she was going.

The way she moved… it was like someone who'd lived in the same house for their entire life and could navigate it perfectly in the dark. She stepped over roots that blended in almost completely with the mud and that I only noticed when my bugs landed on them, she ducked under low-hanging branches that were completely concealed by leaves, and when a fallen tree trunk blocked our way she immediately swerved to the side to pass through a curtain of dangling vines that looked no different than any other part of the jungle, all while keeping up a running commentary so we could follow the same path she did.

Soon enough we came close enough to Judas that he could either hear or smell us, as my bugs felt him turn and start limping in our direction. We met him partway and he let out a few enthusiastic but labored barks the moment he saw us. Then he tried to run over to us, but his leg gave out and he ended up skidding along the slippery ground instead.

Brian squelched his way through the mud over to Judas and squatted down to pet him. "Ssh, ssh, it's okay boy, it's okay, we're here, everything's going to be okay," he said softly, then called over his shoulder to Khalthrun, "Does your healing power work on animals?"

"Of course," she replied. "Though it would be best to get out of the rain first."

We all formed a circle again, Brian and I reaching down to hold onto Judas, and before we knew it-

~*~*~

-we were back in Zantashk, in exactly the spot where we'd been standing when we left.

Yin was ready with his cleaning power to dry everyone off and take care of all the mud, and while he did that Khalthrun knelt down next to Judas and whispered comforting things to him while she slowly healed all of his injuries.

Dekker gave everyone a jaunty salute and teleported back to Stormreach as soon as he was all cleaned up, after telling us that we should check in with him when we reached the city and were looking into the different ways to get to Khorvaire.

A few minutes later Judas was looking perfectly healthy, and as soon as Khalthrun let go he immediately went to go jump up on Brian and lick him within an inch of his life. "Okay, Judas, okay!" Brian laughed as he tried to get Judas to calm down. "Geez. Normally Rachel's dogs don't like to hang around me as much, but I guess without her being here I'm the next best thing."

"Judas," Khalthrun called, and the dog's ears immediately perked up, "could you leave him be and come sit over here, please?"

Judas did just that, trotting over to Khalthrun and sitting down facing her with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"Thank you. Now, can you tell me what happened to you between when you left your friends and when we found you?"

Judas began to bark, growl, yelp, and arf enthusiastically, barely stopping for breath, and the whole time Khalthrun just sat there nodding seriously at him and occasionally asking a brief question or two.

Which was certainly… something.

Dean walked over to Brian and me while this was going on and leaned in close to us. "So, it turns out I can see some animal emotions now, for reference," he said softly in an overly-calm tone. "Also, Khalthrun is actually talking to the dog and I'm not just seeing things, right?"

"Technically Judas is talking to her," Brian said with a grin. "But no, it's not just you."

The doggy monologue slowed to a stop after a few minutes, at which point Khalthrun thanked him and stood up.

"It seems that some humanoid creatures tried to ambush you shortly after you came through the portal; most likely drow, from the description, but they could have been giants, he wasn't too specific about the size," she said. "After he fought them off, he was scared away by some kind of supernatural fear. I believe you mentioned something similar to Yin?"

"That's right," I said faintly.

She nodded in acknowledgment. "He ended up going in the opposite direction to the one you chose, and he spent the intervening time encountering various beasts and carnivorous plants while he tried to pick up your scent and search for you. He ran into nothing that I recognize from his descriptions as being poisonous or venomous, so there should be no lingering ill effects from the experience."

"Good to know," Brian said, nodding slowly. "So. You can really talk to animals, huh?"

"For the next few minutes, yes."

"Right. Uh. Can you tell him that he's been a good boy and we're going to try to get him back to Rachel-uh, that's his master's name-as soon as we can?"

"The scentless man says you've been a good boy," she said to Judas, who barked in response, then she glanced back at us. "He says he knows," she said, smiling wryly.

"The scentless man also says," she continued to Judas, "that they will take you home to Master." After another few barks, her smile softened. "He says he knows that too."

The whole exchange was probably the most heartwarming thing I'd seen in months, and also possibly the most surreal thing I'd seen in my life.

That, more than anything, was what made me start to admit to myself that Yin's and Khalthrun's and everybody else's powers might-emphasis on might-be "magic" like they thought.

I'd heard of all sorts of capes on TV and online that could control or influence animals that were kind of smart like dogs or ravens, and others that could create power-generated things that looked and acted like animals but were intelligent, but a cape just walking up to a normal dog and talking with it like it was a person and having that dog understand them perfectly well?

Yeah, that was a bit much.

~*~*~

We spent the next couple of hours packing for the trip. We hadn't brought anything but our costumes with us, of course, but we had to figure out a way to take the food the kitchen packed for us because they didn't have anything like to-go boxes, we had to figure out some kind of bed for Judas to sleep on during the trip and probably to use to get him up to the airship, and a few other things.

Chris threw himself into making a dog bed enthusiastically, going around and asking people which crates would be okay to take apart and borrowing peoples' tools since his own were too delicate for something like that.

I couldn't tell if he was actually excited about it or just wanted to keep putting off the conversation about his cape name change. Probably the latter; I swear, he was probably the most distractable person and worst procrastinator I'd ever met.

The cargo ended up being completely loaded a full hour earlier than planned, thanks to Terik and Obsidian. It turned out that the reason we hadn't seen them at the hotel for lunch (besides the fact that Obsidian didn't eat) was that they'd headed over to help out the airship's crew as soon as it had arrived and had been doing that all day.

Obsidian had some kind of aerokinesis or gravity power or something along those lines, the same that he'd used to help him get up the slope while we were crossing the river, so he could move things up and down himself without having to fiddle with the floating platforms. Terik meanwhile, had some kind of incredibly creepy-looking skeletal horse (which I took one look at and then promptly pulled all my bugs away from so I wouldn't have to feel it walking around) that could help move and arrange everything on the ground so the crew could focus on the actual loading part.

I was really looking forward to leaving on the airship. I had nothing against Zantashk, really; the enclave building was nice enough, and the people in the village had been more helpful than I expected. I was just sick of being in this jungle with all the heat and humidity and was looking forward to getting to a big city where we could hopefully find some people who would be able to figure out a way for us to go home.

Actually getting on the airship was something I wasn't looking forward to quite as much; I was hardly scared of heights, but those floating platforms were small and didn't have any handholds, and trying to jump the gap between the platform and the deck of the ship looked like it might be difficult.

We were about fifteen minutes out from the time that Yin had said we were going to board, and I was thinking of asking Chris if I could possibly skip the platforms and ride up to the airship on his hoverboard with him so I'd at least have something to hold onto for balance, when a bell began to toll in an irregular pattern from the direction of the village gates.

The crew immediately stopped what they were doing to listen, and more than a few of them went pale.

"What's going on?" I asked the nearest one.

"From that bell, that pattern of peals," he said gravely, "means drow. And lots of them."

~*~*~

Everyone who'd been working the farmland outside the walls had been called inside the village for safety, and all of them plus everyone else who wasn't actively guarding the village walls had been gathered in an open area near the docks to be addressed by the village reeve, a stern-looking man in his fifties or sixties named Duuth Velderan.

Khalthrun had quickly explained that the reeve was the leader of the village, but because his family was somehow related to House Tharashk and the village was something like a glorified mining town for them, the fact that Zurya outranked him in the Tharashk hierarchy meant that she effectively ran the village while she was present.

Even with Zurya around he was still the leader of the village militia, however, and thus in charge of its defense, and he took that job very seriously. Apparently he hadn't been all that popular in his early years for insisting on higher and thicker walls and more advanced tinkertech defenses than a village of the size should ever need, right up until the defenses had easily repelled some attacks from some particularly large animals, and then people quickly changed their tune.

Once everybody was present, Duuth stepped up onto an empty crate and called out, "Friends, family, and visitors!" The chatter took a minute to die down, and then he continued, "Today we face a threat that we have never faced before. Our scouts on patrol came across a veritable army of drow, and though they all fought valiantly, only Vaalash and Durrn returned alive to tell of it."

There was a brief moment of silence for the fallen scouts, as everyone wearing hats or other headgear took them off and touched them to their chest.

"We know that there are at least sixty drow, and that they are no more than an hour away," he continued, and worried murmurs broke out in the crowd. "But thanks to the survivors' warning we have time to prepare, and if we all work quickly then we will be able to repel the attack!" he added, which helped quiet the murmuring.

While the reeve outlined his plan of defense, with Dean and Brian listening intently, I leaned over to Khalthrun and whispered, "Who or what are 'drow' and how dangerous is a group of sixty of them?" Chris leaned in, too, to hear her answer.

"Drow are elves who diverged physically and culturally from the races of elves known on Khorvaire many thousands of years ago, during the time of the giants. Even the weakest drow warrior is faster, hardier, and better-trained than the strongest warrior in this village, as they train from a very young age to hunt and kill monsters who are much larger and stronger than they are, and those who are too weak do not survive," she whispered back.

"And, in any case, the village only has around fifty permanent inhabitants who aren't part of any House, so these drow need not be especially skilled or lucky to deal a grievous blow to the community today if they manage to get inside the walls."

"… Oh," I replied.

"Yes. The enclave has some mercenary soldiers who could likely fight the drow on even footing, but there are only three of them here at present," she continued softly, "and all of the spellcasters here, both of the village and in the enclave proper, are trained primarily as healers, diviners, and builders."

She shook her head in resignation. "Not one of them has any training as a battle mage, other than Zurya who has only a handful of combat spells as far as I know, whereas the drow have many shamans who are all quite skilled with elemental magic. The village has easily defended itself against lone beasts or herds of smaller ones over the years, but an intelligent and well-organized enemy with offensive spellcaster support is not something they are at all prepared to fight."

"So what you're saying is that the five of you and the five of us are some of the only people that can really stand up to these 'drow'," I said slowly, "which means if we don't help out then the village is… kind of screwed."

"Essentially, yes," she said, and I exchanged a grim look with Chris at that.

Given that my current team and I were zero for two on actually winning a big cape fight instead of just surviving it by running away, I wasn't exactly enthusiastic about getting into a big cape fight where we couldn't run away because if we did then the village would be defenseless.

"While I get the impression that you aren't exactly eager to help them," she added, without any judgment in her voice, "it may very well be our duty to help defend the village because this attack may very well be our fault."

"Do you mean 'our' as in you and your team?" Chris asked. "Or 'our' as in both of our teams, or…?"

"When my party was setting out on our expedition, we first went to explore the Ring of Storms," she explained. "There is said to be much of magical and historical value in the Qabalrin ruins there, as well as the Heart of Siberys, so we could hardly resist the detour. On the way, we were ambushed by a hunting band of drow and we slew all but one of them, who fled and may have warned his people of our presence there."

Khalthrun spoke of the deaths of those drow completely matter-of-factly, like the fact that she'd killed multiple people was totally normal. I hadn't thought she was a villain, before, but….

I wasn't really sure how I felt about that, so I put that aside for now.

"And since, according to Judas, your party was attacked by beings that may have been drow, well… most of the tribes in this part of Xen'drik are fiercely territorial, as they must be given all the dangerous predators in this jungle, and consider many sites within the jungle to be sacred to their people."

She shrugged. "Perhaps you arrived in a place where outsiders are forbidden or encroached upon what they consider to be their hunting grounds or the like, and that has led them to attack the village, knowing that nearly all Khorvairen who explore the nearby regions come through Zantashk and thus blaming the villagers for your presence in their lands."

"I don't know, that seems like it's kind of coming out of left field," Chris said with a frown.

"Pardon?"

"Uh, unexpected and unrelated to anything," I explained. "We didn't see anything special when we woke up or when we were walking around before we met you, so I can't see how we'd have actually done anything to make them angry, and if you'd done something like that I assume you'd know what you did, right?"

"Most likely, yes. However, whether we're responsible or not, the fact remains that this is the first drow attack on this village in decades, if not longer, so something has made them break their usual pattern of behavior. And the precise reason for this won't matter to the villagers as the drow are coming over the walls."

Small groups of villagers were starting to peel off from the gathering as the reeve directed them to do certain things to prepare for the upcoming battle. The ones who faces I could see looked very worried, and I didn't know if even the reeve himself believed they could actually win this fight.

I looked over at them, then at Chris, then back at Khalthrun.

I'm a hero, I told myself firmly. Helping people is what I'm supposed to do.

"We'll help you defend the village," I told Khalthrun, and Chris nodded along with me.

~*~*~

"What do you mean you don't want to help defend the village?" I cried.

The five of us were back in the Tharashk headquarters and making plans, in English so we couldn't be eavesdropped on by anyone besides Yin and maybe Corvin.

"What I mean," Brian said, "is that it makes a lot more sense to leave on the airship now instead of sitting around here and waiting to fight the drow when they show up."

"So you want to just fly away and leave the villagers to die because it would be too much effort to even try to fight?" Chris demanded

"What? No! What kind of fucked-up person would get dozens of people people killed because they're lazy?" Brian asked, sounding appalled.

"I dunno, Alec?" Chris quipped, and Alec smirked.

"Oh, come on, even he-" Brian glanced at his teammate "-well, look, Khalthrun thinks these people are coming here because her team did something to piss them off, or because we did, or both, right?"

"Right," I said.

"If that's actually true, then if we leave the village, the drow should come after us instead. Even if they don't, we'd be in a much better position to fight them if we're up in the air with Chris's and Dean's powers and people with bows and everything against a bunch of targets stuck on the ground, versus trying to fight them at the village when they know the area better and are supposed to be better at fighting than all the guys around here who've been training with swords and spears for years."

"… Okay, that does make a lot more sense." Chris rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Sorry for making you out to be some kind of monster, that was shitty of me."

"Yes. It was," Brian agreed. "But that's… whatever, you're fine." Looking around at the rest of us, he asked, "So what do we think?"

"She said something about the drow having 'shamans' with 'elemental magic' which could mean some large-scale fire control like Lung had and other powers like that, right?" I said.

"Sounds reasonable," Dean agreed. "If they only had short-range offensive powers like Spitfire or Blitz, these people probably wouldn't be as worried about drow making it past the walls."

"Yeah. Well, I'm kind of worried about those shamans. If we're way up in the air I'll have a smaller volume of bugs to work with near the ground, which means I couldn't rely as much on non-flying bugs and a big burst of fire could take out a lot more of my swarm at a time, and I don't know how well your beams or Chris's guns do at long ranges. Plus, if we're the only thing they're shooting at with nothing between us and them, instead of being behind some walls…."

"Good point," Brian said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. His five o' clock shadow was back, which was nice; I thought it made him look more distinguished. "What if we split the difference?" he suggested.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"First we go out on the airship and make it obvious that it's us up there, and see if the drow do come after us. If so, that's great, we don't even need to fight them at that point, we can just leave. If not-"

"-then we can circle back here to where it's more defensible and set ourselves up somewhere in the village," Dean finished for him.

"Pretty much."

"We could even have some people be on the airship inside the walls, so they can shoot down at the drow but still have some better defense because the drow can't get as close to shoot up at them," Chris suggested.

"That's a great idea," I said.

"We'll have to check with the other team and see how they want to play things," Dean cautioned, "but yeah, this sounds like a solid strategy."

Brian nodded. "If we can pull it off, and if we don't get in each other's way like we did in the fight with the dinosaurs, or have us and the other team get in each other's way."

"True. We should check with them now; the sooner we arrange everything, the better."

After planning the fight out like this, with everyone working together much better than they were last time, I was actually feeling enthusiastic about our chances compared to our other fights. The fact that both Dean and Brian agreed it was a good plan when they were the two most experienced capes on the team definitely helped with that.

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" I said as I stood up from the table. "Let's go be heroes!"

Alec snorted loudly, and Brian gave me an amused look.

"… Well, uh, I mean," I sputtered, "oh, you know what I mean. Let's go."

With that, the guys all stood as well, and my team and I went off to save the village.

Author's Note

Taylor and the guys seem to be settling in nicely, don't they? Resolving their difficulties, making new friends, being reunited with the Goodest of Boys… things are definitely looking up for the team (or down, depending on how their shooting-from-the-airship plan shakes out).

I'm sure this upward trajectory will persist in the next chapter and things will continue to go swimmingly for the foreseeable future.

The bit about Taylor being able to hear through her swarm more easily when she's a bit drunk is a callback to how she was able to hear through it more easily in canon when she was on painkillers after the Bakuda fight. Her swarm senses continue to get better by the day; practice makes terrifying omniscient Big Sisterperfect.

And Brian and Dean are actually getting some character development and don't hate each other (as much) anymore! When I was playing with various scenarios of which Wards and which Undersiders would be the most interesting to send to Eberron with Taylor, one of the things that helped solidify my decisions was the fact that Brian and Dean rarely get much screen time in fics because they're both widely considered to be "boring," and fleshing them out a bit and making them "interesting" seemed like it would be a fun challenge. Hopefully that's working out for folks so far.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

Zurya is a Lady Seneschal, the second-highest rank in a Dragonmarked House. Each House has one Lord Seneschal or Lady Seneschal for each nation in which it's active, plus one for each guild, in her case the Finders Guild, and the Council of Seneschals reports directly to and advises the Patriarch(s) or Matriach(s) that lead the House. When Zurya calls Dean "ir'Stansfield," the ir' is the nobiliary particle that means the person in question is a blood member of a noble house (or has been granted a noble title which will then descend to their children) and is in the line of succession, as seen back in 1.6.T with Terik being introduced as "Terik ir'Thauram" (has the particle, is a titled noble) who is the son of "Yorin Thauram" (no particle, not a noble), and Zurya is extending him that privilege under the assumption that his story about being the heir of a noble house is true. Later on, Dekker Dorien/D'orien is actually Dekker d'Orien, where the d' means basically the same thing but for Dragonmarked Houses instead. The "merrixotype" is basically a primitive camera, named for Merrix d'Cannith (a brilliant inventor and one of the three heads of his House) by analogy with the daguerrotype being named for Louis Daguerre. There's no such thing in the sourcebooks, but such a device certainly could exist in Eberron, so seeing as this story has advanced the Eberron timeline a year and change from the baseline starting point it's plausible that folks might have started working on inventing one. The spells that Zurya used were scrying (view a distant creature and the area around them, using a mirror if you're an arcane caster), discern location (find out exactly where a creature is, including place names if applicable), and find the path (know exactly how to get to a given location and what to do on the way there). Discern location comes from her being an Heir of Siberys with the Mark of Finding; find the path comes from her dragonmark rod (the staff she pulled from her bracelet), which lets someone with a dragonmark use the powers of a dragonmark that is equal to or weaker than their own (especially handy for Siberys heirs, who don't get access to the weaker powers normally); and scrying comes from her being a spellcaster. Khalthrun, meanwhile, cast speak with animals while she was healing Judas. Corvin contacted Stormreach initially using his own sending ability (the same spell that Valigan gave to Eugene in soul crystal form) from his Greater Mark of Scribing, and later using a dragonmark rod (just like the one Zurya has but keyed to a different dragonmark) at the tiny local House Sivis enclave to do the same. An airship is, well, a flying ship. More details on that when they're actually traveling on an airship. For a visual reference, while airships vary in appearance (they're a fairly recent invention, and as "luxury" items each nation or House tends to commission an airship to their own tastes), the one in Zantashk would look closest to this one. The symbols and color scheme of Dekker's uniform are those of House Orien, the "teleportation and magic trains" House. (The Orien emblem actually has a unicorn on it, but Taylor mistook it for a horse.) The "Host" mentioned by Dekker is the Sovereign Host, the main pantheon worshiped on Eberron. Balinor is the patron god of animals, among other things.

Last edited: Jul 27, 2022

Integration 2.3.V

9:54 am, Monday the 18th of April, 2011 CE PRT ENE Headquarters, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

"… but that technically wouldn't apply in your case, so we can skip that for now," Colleen said as she ceased her furious typing on her laptop computer and slumped back in her chair.

Over the past hour the paralegal's initial enthusiasm regarding my interview responses had dimmed, to be replaced with the particular shade of uncertainty-with-a-dash-of-mania seen in the auras of those who had realized that they were not nearly as prepared for an unexpected eventuality as they had thought.

"Okay, so, that concludes section four. Only…" she flipped through her stack of papers, then glanced at her wristwatch "… six more to go." She sighed deeply. "Since Velocity's going to be here in a minute, I think we should stop here for now and pick it back up some other time." With that, she returned her laptop computer to her bag and reached over to stop the recording on her phone.

"Out of curiosity, how does this interruption affect my status with respect to your legal system in the meantime?" I asked politely.

"That's a great question," Colleen said as she straightened and began gathering sheets of paper into stacks. "There's still… a lot to go over, and both the paperwork and the recording are going to require a lot of editing and annotation before I send this over to our Head of Legal. If Assistant Director Gibson just read through your answers without any context, she'd think we're both taking crazy pills. Uh, no offense."

"I'm quite difficult to offend."

She nodded. "So we'll need to sit down again at some point in the next week or so and finish this up, then I'll prep everything for her and send it over. Probably put together a slide deck for the Deputy Director and all the division heads, too."

"Do you have a sense of what the likely outcome of this process is to be?"

"Not a clue, honestly. Like I said earlier, nobody's handled a real Case 24 situation in over a decade, and all of this is way above my pay grade. Maybe this all gets handled locally and you get some documents in the mail in four to seven business days and you're good to go, maybe it gets kicked all the way up to the national PRT level and beyond. They'll probably be assembling a whole team of lawyers to figure out the details."

Of course they would. The American government wasn't nearly so bad as the Fraternity of Order when it came to overcomplicating the legalities of even the most common situations, but from what I'd seen thus far it certainly had a fetish for bureaucracy that would rival that of, say, the Empire of Shou Lung or the Syndicracy of Khazorn.

While expeditions to the more developed and interconnected worlds were generally more pleasant and productive overall, there was something to be said for those regions where settlements were scattered far and wide, comprehensive record-keeping was scarce to nonexistent, and one could simply walk into a city claiming to be from the other side of the nearest mountain range and the locals wouldn't ask any irritating questions.

The downside in those cases, of course, was that-

Aspect sent in a long-suffering tone.

-Regardless, there was a tinge of hesitation around the edges of her aura regarding her statement, so I offered an encouraging smile and prompted, "If you were to hypothesize as to those details?"

Colleen took a moment to gather her thoughts as she finished organizing her paperwork. "Well, if the goal was just 'no people from other worlds, period,' then there wouldn't be such a complicated process, would there? If you read between the lines in the text of the relevant laws, you can see what the government is actually worried about, and since you're not bypassing Earth Aleph import restrictions, or seeking refugee status, or taking American jobs, or spying for another Earth that's looking to invade, or anything like that… Homeland Security probably won't mind you sticking around?"

She shrugged. "Of course, after that there's things like figuring out whether you would have to get a work visa or a diplomatic visa or both, and getting you a legal identity-which shouldn't take too long, USCIS and the State Department already have a Case 53 procedure they could adapt for that. The only tricky bit would be getting them to go ahead with issuing a visa when they can't verify your claims with a third party."

Tapping her pen to her chin thoughtfully, she added, "Unless you do have someone who can vouch for you. If you're here for research, that implies you have a way to get in touch with other people in, uh," she glanced at her notes, "the Cartographic Society to send them your findings, right?"

"One of my associates will be checking in at some point, yes," I replied. "However… I doubt they would be willing to speak with the local government on my behalf."

"And why's that?" Colleen asked warily.

"The Society has a reasonably strict policy on non-intervention in local affairs on worlds we explore. Opening direct relations with a major political entity would definitely violate that policy and bring more attention to them than they would like. Even my speaking with you now is pushing the limits of the usual procedures, especially so soon after my arrival."

She let out an amused laugh, and her suspicion vanished. "Prime Directive issues, got it. Funny to be on the other side of that for a change. Well, even without that, you shouldn't have too much trouble getting approved for legal residency once things get to that point."

Glancing at her wristwatch, she noted, "It's just about ten o'clock, Velocity should be get-"

I felt a sudden twinge as my foresight warned me of a potentially hostile being approaching at an incredible rate of speed, and a moment later something entered the outer fringes of my sensory range.

While we were expecting the arrival of a cape known for covering long distances very rapidly through the use of temporal magic, any beings acting in isolated time (such as those under the effects of Temporal Acceleration, as Velocity was known to use) could not be detected physically, only anticipated through divinations. That the approaching creature could be detected indicated that it may be using a similar spell or power to reach us now in the hopes that we would mistake them for Velocity and be caught off-guard.

I concentrated for a moment to establish a temporal resonance between myself and the unknown being to allow me to act at the same speed, in much the same way that I'd synchronized myself with Aegis during our brief conversation the other day.

The being sped through open doors into the main atrium without slowing, passed the front desk, reached the door to the series of corridors in which the interview room was located, slowed to around a tenth of its speed for a fraction of a second to open the door just wide enough to slip through, and resumed its course. When it did so, the resonance took hold, and rather than accelerating to its former relative speed the creature instead slowed abruptly to a jogging pace while everything around me suddenly came to an apparent stop.

A moment's observation confirmed that the creature, a man in a scandalously tight red and blue costume matching one of the placards in the main hall, was indeed Velocity, so there was no cause for concern after all. But while I immediately suppressed my touchsight to avoid sensing rather more about the man than was necessary, I did not yet release the synchronization, as the power I was currently experiencing was sufficiently fascinating to warrant further study.

Close examination revealed that my surroundings had not actually stopped, as would be the case with a power such as Temporal Acceleration or Time Stop. Events were still continuing at an infinitesimal rate: Colleen's eyelids were edging downwards at a glacial pace in the beginnings of a blink, a fly buzzing through the nearby hallway was still sluggishly flapping its wings, and the overhead lights in a room two floors above me had just been turned on and were gradually brightening when normally their activation would appear instantaneous.

Velocity had just about reached the interview room, so I telekinetically opened the door it for him; I was well aware of how irritating it could be to rapidly shift between timestreams and hoped to save him the trouble.

The man skidded to a halt in front of the open doorway and looked around in mild panic. "Good morning," I greeted him with a welcoming smile, causing him to stare at me in disbelief.

"Uhhh…?" was his inarticulate response. He hesitantly pointed at the door, I nodded that I had been the one to open it, he nodded in acknowledgment.

Then he coughed politely, held up one finger, and stepped back out of sight to take a deep and calming breath, then a second.

He rounded the doorframe again, this time with a smile on his face. "Hey there," he said in a professional tone that was only slightly forced, "I'm Velocity. Sorry about the poor first impression. I didn't connect the dots on how your speed bubble power might interact with my own power like that, so when I saw you moving around I, uh, kind of shifted mental gears without a clutch."

"The fault is mine," I assured him. "I should have considered that you might not have encountered a similar situation before."

I had assumed he'd be at least passingly familiar with such techniques thanks to training with Thomas, but perhaps Protectorate capes didn't train with PRT capes, or perhaps either or both of them had joined recently enough that an opportunity to do so had not yet arisen.

Though given how narrowly-specialized most of the local magic-users seemed to be, one would expect that two temporal specialists would gravitate toward each other regardless of tenure or regulations. True chronomancy and mere chronokinesis may not have much in common on a theoretical level, but there was always the chance to learn something new about-

"In any case," I continued, "shall we inform Colleen of your arrival and be off?"

"Hmm? Oh, right," he said, and the flow of time snapped back to its normal pace.

"-ting here any minute now," Colleen said, finishing her interrupted statement from earlier, then did a double-take as she noticed his presence. "Oh! There he is. Hi, Velocity!"

Two distinct hues of admiration filled the paralegal's aura when she glanced over at Velocity. The first was an intellectual admiration, very similar to that seen in the auras of the many "cape geeks" I'd met, "geek" apparently being the local term for an obsessive enthusiast regarding a certain topic.

The second form was decidedly physical in nature.

It was easy to see why: Velocity appeared to be the only male Protectorate cape lacking armor plating in his uniform, presumably relying on his speed to avoid harm instead, which meant that his physique was on much more prominent display than had been that of Dauntless or Triumph.

Colleen seemed to be having trouble keeping her gaze from straying to his well-muscled midsection, not aided in this effort by the rows of angled blue stripes on either side of his torso that conspired to draw the eye to that area.

I, meanwhile, had suppressed a few more sensory powers when he entered the room in an effort to not notice his physical appeal as best I could manage.

I was by no means a prudish person. Standards of decency obviously vary widely from world to world and culture to culture, and I had long since become desensitized to such things.

And of course mere human forms and behaviors paled in comparison to those of certain outsiders, for good or ill. Several centuries ago, we'd had cause to pay a visit to the demesne of Malcanthet, Queen of Succubi, in order to barter with her for the release of a particular soul, and when she had sent for a number of her incubi in an attempt to distract us from the negotiations with a series of more and more outré displays, we had found the experience to be… unpleasantly memorable.

But having been faced with a person who not only superficially resembled my hus-the Netherese ethnicity with his very fair skin and brown-verging-on-black hair, but also specialized in temporal magic, for me to find him even the slightest bit attractive under the current circumstances felt like a betrayal of the highest order.

"Hi Colleen," Velocity replied to the paralegal while I briefly stewed in my own self-loathing. "I'm here to take Valigan off your hands, if that's okay with you?"

"Sure, we just reached a good stopping point, he's all yours."

"Great, thanks. See you later!" he called as he withdrew from the room and I followed.

"Bye, Velocity! Valigan, let me know when you're free for a follow-up!"

The moment we left the room, Velocity manifested his power for a second time and the world once again slowed to a crawl. "Aaand back to the PHQ," he said, after checking that I was still synchronized with him, and we both picked up our pace to a light jog. "Fair warning, it's a bit of a hike from here, but the views are good if you haven't already seen the same sights a thousand times."

He hadn't heard that I could teleport, then, or didn't want to presume by asking if I would teleport us there. I briefly pondered whether to make the offer, in the interests of speed and getting into his good graces by allowing him to bypass a trip he was obviously not especially keen to make, or to accompany him and solicit his thoughts on-

"Valigan-can I call you Val?" he asked as we jogged into the atrium.

I suppressed my initial and rather annoyed impulse to inform him in no uncertain terms that he, of all people, most definitely could not, and instead merely replied, "I would prefer that you didn't."

"Sure. So, Valigan, I read Aegis's report this morning, and he didn't actually say whether you were planning to join the Protectorate or not. Did you decide on that yet?"

"Even if I were so inclined, I couldn't," I replied as we made our way out the main doors. "I'm not Good."

He glanced over at me curiously. "What do you mean by that?"

"Protectorate heroes are required to be Good, are they not?"

"As in good people who want to help people for a living? Well… yeah, we're heroes, that's kind of the point," he replied.

A streak of guilt momentarily darkened his aura, and in an effort to further distract myself from the emotional impact his proximity was having on me, I peeked into his mind to determine what the cause of that might be.

His surface thoughts were flitting among recollections of all the heroes with whom he had worked or about whom he was reasonably knowledgeable and settling momentarily on those whom he did not believe to be particularly Good. Assault, Bastion, and Invisigoth were the names upon which he dwelt the longest, the former being one of this city's heroes and the latter two being heroes in cities by the name of Boston and New York City respectively, but there were ten other names and faces of non-Good capes stretching back over the past several years as well.

Notably, none of those faces, Good or otherwise, resembled Thomas in the slightest. Which thus implied that he did not know Thomas was a cape.

Which answered several questions, and raised several more.

Aspect commented.

he asked pointedly.

not in the mood for your haranguing, I sent, along with a pulse of irritation and frustration that was perhaps stronger than it needed to be.

"Then I'm afraid joining the Protectorate isn't for me," I concluded.

"That's fair," Velocity replied. We'd reached a main street, now, and were jogging between the cars heading in the direction of the fortress in the bay. "I'm not much of a joiner myself. I tried working for a few big companies and organizations when I was younger. None of them really fit, and most of them I left in less than a year."

"Yet here you are, currently a member of a large organization," I pointed out.

He laugh humorlessly. "Yeah, well, just between us kids, the last one I joined before the Protectorate was the military." Putting on a slight accent as if imitating someone, he added, "' Join the Army,' they said, ' See the world,' they said." He shook his head. "Uncle Sam is kind of clingy, so joining the Protectorate was my best option for getting out of there. The Protectorate isn't for everyone, and if you'd rather fly solo, I'm not about to try to talk you into it."

"What attracted you to the military initially, if I might ask?" He didn't carry himself like a warrior or a soldier, nor did he carry a weapon, so I doubted he'd been lured by the promise of glorious battle.

"The hope that I'd get to go overseas, see new places, explore new cultures, and learn new languages, and then get myself a degree in linguistics or communications or something on the government's dime once my tour was over."

I felt the beginnings of a dull ache in my chest, and my mood soured further. Vaguely Netherese in appearance, a chronokineticist, and a scholar and explorer at heart?

With every new tidbit I learned about Velocity, his resemblance to Ald-my husband made it just the slightest bit harder to not think about certain things, and I found the hint of false familiarity I felt from interacting with him to be distinctly discomforting.

"By the way, the report said you speak some Korean?" he added.

"[Only through the aid of one of my powers; I haven't studied it myself]" I said in that tongue.

"[You have a power to learn languages? That's incredible! I wish I had something like that]" he replied, his aura tinting with envy and a hint of regret.

"[I would think you'd have little need for it. You sound quite proficient, and the Kims complimented your skill with the language.]"

"[The Kims as in Aegis's friend's parents in Little Korea, you mean? That was nice of them. I'll have to thank them next time I swing by that way on patrol.]"

Returning to English, he continued, "It's good to know the self-study is paying off. I'm learning Mandarin and Cantonese through the PRT right now, but the nickel-pinchers in Finance wouldn't approve more than that so I had to start learning Korean, Japanese, and Vietnamese on my own. Because apparently learning more East Asian languages in a city containing a gang consisting entirely of East Asian people doesn't count as a 'valid business expense'."

Once we'd finished maneuvering around a large truck, I offered him a raised eyebrow. "You're being remarkably candid about your activities and the PRT's shortcomings for someone who is expected to conceal his identity and represent the organization in a good light," I noted, and he laughed.

"Yeah, I guess I am. Big part of it's probably that there's no chance of anyone else overhearing us while my power's active. Another part of it's probably that I rarely get a chance to meet new capes, since everyone always wants to meet Dauntless or Armsmaster or Miss Militia, usually in that order. I figure if someone's willing to talk to the least popular Protectorate cape in the city, the least I can do is be honest and not sugar-coat anything."

"Least popular?" I asked. "I was led to believe that popularity generally correlates with strength."

"It also depends on toy lines and villain captures and all that, but in general it does, yeah."

"So why are you not counted among the most popular heroes?"

He shot me an incredulous expression. "You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all. You can accelerate yourself to an extreme degree while retaining the ability to interact with your environment, which is extremely useful and versatile."

The Time Stop spell was an incredibly potent one, but it completely accelerated the caster's personal timeframe, to the point that they could not directly interact with their environment at all. Arcane scholars had been working for centuries to develop a spell that merely almost completely accelerated the caster so that they could get most of the benefits of Time Stop while being able to interact with the world normally, and it looked to my arcane sight as though Velocity's power had nearly achieved that elusive goal.

"Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't you?" he said bitterly. "Problem is, one, the faster I go, the less I can interact with anything. At the speed we're doing right now, I could probably bump into any one of those people on the sidewalk over there and bounce right off without them even noticing a thing. To even start be able to actually do anything while sped up I'd have to be going maybe a quarter of this speed, tops, and even then I'd be hitting about as hard as a kindergartener."

He waved at himself to indicate his costume. "And two, carrying any weight at all reduces my top speed, which is why I'm stuck with this costume. Even just adding a second layer of spandex to make it a tiny bit warmer in the winter dropped my top speed by almost two percent when they tested it."

His former issue was expected-as the acceleration factor of a temporal power approaches infinity, the degree to which the user can interact with the environment approaches nil-but the latter seemed to be a fairly arbitrary restriction. I couldn't see any way in which that directly related to the power's effect; were he a psion I'd have said that he'd badly erred when researching his power, but as he was a wilder I wasn't sure how such an effect could arise naturally.

His power wasn't quite a solution to the Time Stop issue, then, but it was still tantalizingly close. A bit more study and refinement should easily be able to straighten out the kinks.

"Armsmaster wasn't able to craft anything for you that would help?" I asked as we rounded a corner onto a street that continued straight on toward the bay for quite some distance.

"Nope. He tried to make an exoskeleton that would increase my kinetic output right after I joined, but he just couldn't get it light enough that it would give me a net increase in force."

"And you have no other powers that might assist you?" I asked casually.

"Just the superspeed."

"A shame. Well, while this route has indeed been scenic thus far, I can see that the route ahead will merely be more of the same. Would you mind if I teleported us the rest of the way?"

"Not at all," he said, relief shading his aura. It looked as though my first guess, that he knew of my ability to teleport but hadn't wanted to presume on my generosity, had been correct.

We came to a halt, and I placed my hand on his shoulder. Delving quickly into his repertoire as I pretended to take a moment to look around for our destination, I disproved one hypothesis but confirmed another.

He wasn't actually a temporal specialist, it seemed; his Temporal Acceleration variant was one of only a handful of temporal powers he knew, the rest being spells and powers such as Spider Climb, Longstrider, and others focused on mobility. That somewhat lessened the irritation I felt from being in his presence… but only somewhat.

However, I confirmed my guess that he was an aberration like Nate. Velocity had only two "bright" thoughtforms in his repertoire-Temporal Velocity, as I decided to term his novel variant of Temporal Acceleration, plus Body Equilibrium-with the rest being dim, and his statement indicated that he was only aware of the presence of the bright thoughtforms.

Or perhaps just one of them; if he thought that "superspeed" was the only power he possessed and the latter was achieved merely a side effect of running quickly along unstable surfaces, then that implied…

… something, though I wasn't sure yet what that might be. Hopefully I would be able to puzzle it out sooner rather than later.

With a thought, I sent us coursing through the Astral Plane, and a moment later-

~*~*~

-we arrived just outside what I had previously determined to be the main entrance to the fortress.

Two PRT soldiers stood guard on either side of the doors. They reflexively raised their weapons when we appeared, but upon seeing Velocity they lowered their weapons, asked him for a password which he immediately recited, and then let us pass.

A brief perusal of their minds as we walked between them revealed that this was a password to be given to prove that he was not under duress or magical compulsion and that stricter measures would have been taken had Velocity not been expected to arrive with an unknown cape. Even an apprentice enchanter would find such a measure laughably easy to bypass, of course, but I at least gave them some credit for the attempt.

"The PHQ isn't really designed for tours like the PRT HQ is," Velocity said as we entered the main hall of the fortress, which was somehow even less aesthetically appealing than that of the PRT building, "and there are a lot of areas restricted to employees only, but there are still a few interesting things to see. I can show you those first, or I can take you around and introduce you to everyone, your choice."

"I'd prefer the introductions, I think."

"Sure thing. I'll point out anything interesting we pass along the way. Fair warning, I think they set this up assuming you were interested in joining the Protectorate because Aegis kind of made it sound that way in his report, so you may get a sales pitch from a few people."

"I shall do my utmost to resist their temptations," I said with a sardonic smile. "Lead the way."

~*~*~

"Hey, it's the mystery man!" Triumph called excitedly as Velocity escorted me into the gymnasium where the younger cape was training. "It's good to see you again!"

"It's good to see you again, too. Apologies if my obfuscating my identity when we first met caused you any trouble."

"Nah, it's fine, Aegis explained your situation and I totally understand."

"I'm glad."

We chatted briefly while he took a break from sparring with a few of the soldiers.

"Hey, uh, by the way," he asked as we moved to depart, suddenly looking uncertain, "that whole 'number one fan' thing, is that…?"

"While I've met plenty of other capes since then, on the list of all the heroes I've met you're still number one," I said, technically truthfully.

Triumph's aura filled with bashful pride as we made our way out of the room.

~*~*~

"Well met, Dovetail," I said. She was just about to leave on patrol, and we'd caught up to her on her way out of the PHQ.

"Nice to meet you," she replied without stopping.

"If you'll pardon the question, I can't help but notice that your picture does not feature in the PRT building atrium…?"

"I'm not usually stationed in the city," she explained. "Squint, Clasp, and I are in from the suburbs temporarily for a special assignment."

"Would this special assignment happen to relate to Lung?" I asked, thinking back to Alberto's commentary regarding the PRT's silence on the dragon's recent activities.

She smiled, lifted off the ground, pinched her thumb and forefinger together and drew them along her lips in a playful manner, and flew out to begin her patrol.

~*~*~

"This is Battery," Velocity introduced us, "and this is Assault. Battery, Assault, this is Valigan."

"It's good to meet you," Battery said as she offered her hand. "How'd your interview go?"

"Well met," I replied as I explored her repertoire. "It's still in progress, I'm afraid. Providing my responses was a matter of minutes, but the follow-up questions have been taking considerably longer."

"I can imagine."

"Nice to meetcha," her companion said as he shook my hand. "You're a Shifter, I'm guessing?" he said, waving toward my face to indicate the lack of a mask. "And what's this about an interview?"

"Valigan is an open cape, a grab-bag, and a Case 24, which you'd know already if you'd read Aegis's report yesterday like you were supposed to," Battery replied patiently.

"You know me," Assault said with an irreverent grin, "I always put off my homework until the last minute."

This pair of capes-the first ones I'd encountered on this world, actually, as it had been they whom I'd observed helping the firefighters and paramedics on the night of the fire, though Triumph was still the first I'd formally met-both had repertoires that I found quite interesting, though for different reasons.

Battery had the broadest selection of powers that I'd yet observed of any local cape. She had the same handful of accessible thoughtforms, in her case enhancements to speed and strength and a few powers related to lightning and magnetism, but the rest of them were split between a broad range of electrokinetic powers, additional personal physical enhancements, and an eclectic assortment of energy spells such as Channeled Pyroburst that had little in common besides the fact that they grew in strength the longer the magic-user spent casting them.

It seemed that not every Protectorate cape was impractically overspecialized after all.

Assault, meanwhile, counted among his repertoire the psionic power Kinetic Control, a rare power I had actually added to my repertoire quite recently. A power, in fact, that I'd encountered only on a single other world.

Athas.

It was almost certainly a coincidence, of course; with both Athas and Earth Bet being in sealed spheres, the power could not have spread from there to here via the usual method of psychic imprints propagating through the Astral Plane. Convergent evolution in theoretical spellcraft between the two worlds was the much more likely answer.

Then again….

~*~*~

"Jerry Sutter, here, is our social media liaison," Velocity said as we stepped into a small office with a window that overlooked the Boardwalk across the bay. "Jerry, this is Valigan, he's a cape who just arrived in the city recently."

I'd asked some questions about certain aspects of the hero's profession as we passed by a set of recreational facilities, prompting a detour to allow me to meet some of the PHQ's mundane support staff, both those who worked directly for the Protectorate and those PRT employees who were assigned there.

Thus far I'd met Helen Turran, the woman in charge of the "motor pool" where the heroes' vehicles were kept and maintained; DeShawn Lee, the head of the "information technology" division that provided internet access to the PHQ and secured its telecommunications links with the mainland; Brian Pérez, the armorer who constructed and maintained most of the heroes' costumes; and quite a few other notables with much less interesting duties.

"Hey, nice to meet you!" Jerry rolled his chair back from his desktop computer and shook my hand enthusiastically. "Are you going to be joining the Protectorate?"

"No, I am not," I said for the sixth time in the past half-hour. "Just seeing the sights, as it were."

"Aw, that's a shame. Your costume would look great next to Battery and Dauntless on the next poster," Jerry said.

"I'm sure. What does a 'social media liaison' do, precisely?" I asked.

"I run all the official Protectorate ENE social media accounts. Facebook, Google Plus, ParaHumans Online, Twitter, CapeTube, DailyBooth, the works," he replied, explaining very little.

We spent a bit of time talking about the rest of the "Image division" and their duties, before bidding him farewell and continuing on our way.

"You seem to know and be on good terms with practically everyone in this organization," I commented once we'd left the office.

"What can I say?" Velocity shrugged. "Every hero is assigned a fixed number of weekly duty hours for paperwork and stuff, and when you can finish writing a week's worth of reports in fifteen minutes and you've read through every textbook you own at least twice, you've got to find something to fill your time."

~*~*~

"Miss Militia! This is Valigan!" Velocity shouted over the sound of echoing gunfire as we entered the practice range.

The hero, whom I recognized from the image of the woman on Sandra's shirt, removed some protective devices from her ears and stepped away from the loosing line. Or the firing line, I suppose it would be, when speaking of guns rather than bows.

She lowered her sidearm, which bore the auras of morphing and accuracy enchantments much as my own Reason did, and nodded politely. "Nice to meet you," she said as she extended a hand.

"You as well."

"Miss Militia is the second-in-command of the Protectorate ENE, and she has the longest tenure out of any cape in this department," Velocity explained. "She was actually assigned here before the department was even set up, to help the city deal with the aftermath of the '98 Slaughterhouse attack. If there's anything you want to know about the local cape scene or the history of the Protectorate or anything like that, Militia's the one to ask."

"That's good to know," I replied distractedly.

We proceeded to exchange various pleasantries as I pondered one of the powers I'd observed in her repertoire: one that allowed the user to completely avoid the need for sleep.

Aspect sent disapprovingly.

not a healthy coping mechanism! Gods above and between, how did I get stuck with such an intractable egotist for a companion….

"I'm sure I'll have quite a few questions for you at some later point. I'll be in touch," I concluded with a smile as we left Miss Militia to resume her target practice.

~*~*~

Finally, after over two hours of meeting practically everyone there was to meet, seeing practically everything there was to see, and continually pushing aside the emotional disquiet I'd felt from being in Velocity's presence for so long, we had reached the portion of the tour that I had been anticipating the most: meeting Armsmaster, a skilled (and apparently quite famous) artificer and the commander of the city's heroes.

Artificers weren't necessarily well-educated in theoretical thaumaturgy in the way that a wizard or psion had to be-it was possible, albeit exceptionally difficult, to enchant items without studying anything beyond the fundamentals-but the best of them uniformly were.

At the very least, Armsmaster would have the kind of practical working knowledge of arcane theory that would finally allow me to discuss the oddities of the local magic-users with someone who actually knew what they were talking about.

"So…" Velocity said, glancing at a clock on the wall while we made our way to Armsmaster's laboratory.

The locals appeared to be a very punctual people by nature. They were constantly checking their wristwatches or phones, and as Velocity was unable to carry either device with him he was forced to rely on the building's ubiquitous clocks, which could be found on everything from desktop computers to miniature ovens in the "break rooms" to the walls of practically every room and hallway despite the fact that nearly everyone present already carried timekeeping devices on them at all times.

"This will be the second-to-last stop on the tour," he continued when he'd confirmed the time. "If you were actually joining the Protectorate, the usual procedure would be to have a get-to-know-you lunch with Armsmaster, then meet with the Director to finalize all the paperwork, then anyone who doesn't already have a professional-quality costume or might want to rebrand will meet with Image for an initial consultation. In your case, it's a chat with Armsmaster in his lab, then lunch with the Deputy Director to discuss the whole random-foreign-cape-in-the-Bay issue going forward."

He leaned in and added, "Armsmaster is insanely busy and hates to be dragged away from his lab for those lunches, so you're probably safe from a recruitment pitch from him."

Velocity straightened as we reached a large door at the end of the hallway. It was set in a very solid metal frame, was nearly half a foot thick according to my deepsight, and contained a thin layer of lead, an excellent precaution against the weaker divinations.

We'd already checked in with Armsmaster's secretary, one Stephen Caldwell, and asked him to inform the artificer of our impending arrival, so Velocity had barely pressed a button on the electronic apparatus set in the doorframe when a small light above the door changed from red to yellow with a soft buzzing sound and the door swung out to admit us, moving completely smoothly and silently despite its considerable mass.

The laboratory within was rather impressive. The wall to the right of the entryway was lined floor to ceiling with shelves holding all of the tools and storage containers one would expect to see in a well-appointed artificer's or alchemist's workshop, as well as a variety of electronic devices that appeared to be either electronic tools or devices for sorting and organizing the shelves' contents.

To the left, half of the wall space was occupied by four small tables that appeared to hold complex and very specialized apparatus, with devices lying atop them in various stages of completion. The remaining space was taken up by three suits of armor, standing upright on small daises and partially disassembled as if to allow Armsmaster to grab individual pieces from each suit as needed.

The far wall bore a large rack of polearms, all colored in shades of blue and silver just like his armors, thirty weapons in all with a few empty slots at the end to allow for future additions. If I'd had any doubts regarding Armsmaster's skills as an artificer, seeing all of those would have put them to rest, as each and every polearm and suit of armor absolutely blazed with the light of many overlapping magical auras.

The center of the room, by contrast, looked as though someone had dropped one of the building's mundane offices right into the workshop. A large desk filled most of the available space, with several collapsible chairs leaning against the side, a desktop computer at one end of its surface, stacks of paper and folders at the other, and a space in the middle that was cluttered with all manner of tools and parts.

Armsmaster was currently hunched over the center of the desk, his right hand holding the needle-like tip of a screwdriver-like tool to the surface of a device in front of him, his left hand pressing a hair-thin wire against the point where the tool met the device. Tiny puffs of smoke rose from that point every few moments with nearly clockwork precision as the wire was apparently melted to the device to fuse parts of it together.

"Be with you in a minute," he said distractedly. "Got to finish this soldering, can't stop right now. Coating needs to be perfectly uniform."

Velocity nodded and settled into a parade rest position to wait.

I, meanwhile, had been struck momentarily speechless.

I'd seen both the man and his surroundings through the laboratory door using my deepsight, but I wasn't able to see his aura until I could view him with my own eyes. When I did catch sight of it, the particular blend of intense focus, expectant optimism, and serene enjoyment visible in the outer bands of his aura as he worked on his project, along with the swirling golden-edged scarlet of strong Law accompanied by weaker Good visible in its inner bands, reminded me so strongly of Aldric that… for just a fleeting moment….

I shook off the sensation. I was seeing things, clearly, noting strong similarities where first Velocity and then Armsmaster bore only coincidental resemblances to my husband.

Armsmaster looked nothing like him, physically-and, given a moment to reflect, I realized that of course any arcanist in the midst of a project about which they were very enthusiastic would have a similar emotional makeup, and I was simply noticing the resemblance because he was the first artificer I'd seen in the process of enchantment since I'd arrived here.

Still. It was almost as though the cosmos was conspiring to inform me that I should really take a break and get some rest-

and me.

-but that could continue to wait another few days, most likely.

Velocity and I stood there quietly for a minute, then two, then three, as Armsmaster slowly and methodically continued his "soldering" efforts. As I watched the magical aura around his creation ever so slowly coalesce as he embossed quasi-runic patterns onto its surface, I decided that his skill as an artificer did indeed live up to expectations, at least thus far.

After barely twenty seconds of waiting Velocity had grown anxious; while his body remained still, his aura had flooded with impatience and boredom and his gaze began to rove around the room. By the fourth minute, his aura bore the first hints of the specific mix of curiosity and contrariness that generally led to someone touching something that really shouldn't be touched.

In an effort to distract him-and, honestly, myself as well; being left alone with my thoughts for even a few minutes still remained an unpleasant experience-I asked, "Velocity, I'm not all that familiar with this world's technology, as yet. Would you mind explaining what some of these devices are?"

"All the ones that aren't pure tinkertech, sure," he replied, grateful for the distraction. "That one, over in the corner? It's an industrial printer. It may look just like a normal printer, but-"

"And a 'printer' is…?"

"Oh, right. It's a machine that takes things displayed on a computer and puts them on paper."

"I see," I said. That could be useful as a stopgap for rapidly consuming information with Scholar's Touch before I could devise an equivalent power to scan the internet directly. "Continue."

"Industrial printers work much faster than the basic office kind, and I've seen that one do something like a hundred pages in one minute when normally you'd need a machine four times the size for that."

"One-twenty PPM, at full speed," Armsmaster corrected absently, still to all appearances focused entirely on his soldering.

Exasperation briefly lightened Velocity's aura. "A hundred twenty pages, sure. That thing next to it…."

The following few minutes were filled with Velocity's explanations, my clarifying questions, and occasional interjections from Armsmaster. I didn't mind the wait at all, as it gave me an opportunity for further investigation of this world's non-magical technology, and Velocity seemed to accept (if not particularly appreciate) that interrupting the enchantment process was not a safe proposition.

"… and lastly, but not leastly, we have Armsmaster's famous Halberds!" Velocity said, gesturing to the rack of polearms. "He only uses a handful regularly, but he's made a whopping thirty of 'em over his career, and packed them all full of tinkertech. Half the things he's put in them I can't even spell, much less explain."

"He has a second rack where the other nine halberds are stored, I presume?" I asked.

Velocity gave the weapons rack a confused glance, then looked back to me. "Uh, nope? All thirty halberds, all right there."

"Twenty-one halberds," I disagreed. "Those two, without a spear tip and with a second attachment between flange and haft, are clearly bardiches;" I said, evoking a small light above the indicated polearms and moving it down the line as I named the others, "that one, with the flatter blade, is a voulge; then those are two poleaxes with their much shorter flanges and spikes, a glaive-guisarme with its forward hook, an epsilon axe, a war scythe, and… I don't know the English name for that last one."

"There isn't one. That's my own spin on a ji dao, a Chinese weapon," Armsmaster said as he leaned back in his chair, pressed his soldering tool to a damp sponge several times, and slotted it into a receptacle off to the side.

He stood with a small smile, enthusiasm and pleasant surprise filling his aura, and offered his hand. "It's been a long time since I talked to someone who knew anything about polearms; most people just think they're all 'halberds' because that's what the marketing copy calls them. Though this one is a halberd, technically-" he said, and twitched his gloved fingers in a certain pattern that almost resembled a spell's somatic component.

One of the poleaxes teleported from the rack into his grasp and he pressed a specific spot on its haft. Solid fire blazed along the edge of its blade, flared out from a small hole on the opposite side of its haft from the blade, and extended from the tip of its spike, all of which combined to alter the weapon's outline into the signature profile of a halberd.

"-if you count the plasma injectors," he concluded, before deactivating the enchantment, stepping over to the rack, and replacing the polearm in its slot.

He gestured for us to unfold some chairs and take a seat, which both Velocity and I did. "Is your interest in Medieval weapons personal or professional?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"As in, do you just know about them from reading history, roleplaying games, HEMA, or something like that? Or do you use a weapon as a cape?" He dropped back into his own seat, a heavily-reinforced chair that was able to take the additional weight of his armor with ease, and admitted, "If you already went over your powers and equipment with the PRT, my apologies; they should have sent over a summary of what you covered in the interview by now, but I've been too busy this morning to check my emails yet."

"I'm familiar with what you term 'Medieval' weapons because they are common on my homeworld, and most others, where the mundane weapons technology has taken a somewhat different route than it has on this world. I'm quite proficient with nearly every known variety of melee weapon, including most polearms."

"Very impressive," he said, smiling warmly. "We'll have to spar sometime. Most enthusiasts only know the theory and the history from wargames and fantasy RPGs, not the actual practice."

Velocity was looking between the two of us with an expression of abject disbelief on his face. "Wait wait wait," he said. " You know what an RPG is?"

Armsmaster nodded. "Back in my strike squad days, Myrddin used to run games every weekend for the four of us."

Velocity gave his superior officer an incredulous look. " You have hobbies?"

"I haven't had the time to pursue any of them since transferring here," Armsmaster said, irritation trickling into his aura, "but yes."

Velocity paused, then in nearly the same tone of voice he repeated, "You had hobbies?"

Armsmaster smiled wryly. "Of course I had hobbies. Contrary to the popular belief around here, I did not spontaneously pop into existence back in '04 as a workaholic twenty-something."

Then his smile faded, and his aura filled with resignation as he stood. "You two can head to the cafeteria, I'll lock up the lab-"

"There's no need for that," I assured him. "I don't need to eat, so we can speak while you continue to work."

"Valigan's not actually planning to join the Protectorate," Velocity added. "Renick's going to handle the lunch after this."

Disappointment and relief mingled in the artificer's aura, the disappointment winning out. "You already explained all the benefits of joining?"

Velocity nodded guilelessly. "We talked about it on the way over."

"That's a shame. The Protectorate desperately needs more heroes, especially right now," Armsmaster sighed.

"That I don't wish to join the Protectorate does not mean I'm not willing to provide you some assistance," I said. With him being personally acquainted with Myrddin, I'd be willing to trade quite a few favors for an introduction.

"What kind of assistance? Help against the gangs?"

"Unfortunately not; intentionally shifting the balance of power among the local factions would entail far too much interference on my part." Ignoring the brief spike of disgust and disappointment in his aura at my refusal to help in that way, I continued, "However, I'd be happy to provide assistance in other forms. Materials, training, information…."

"What materials can you provide?" he asked, intrigued despite himself.

"What materials do you need?" I replied.

"Not much, frankly. I keep my lab well-stocked." He pondered for a moment, then smiled wryly. "Unless you've got a few hundred pounds of electronics-grade sapphire burning a hole in your pocket. It's incredibly expensive in bulk, and my current project has used up most of my supply," he said, in a flippant tone indicating that he had no expectation I could actually provide such a thing.

So I provided such a thing, telekinetically clearing some of the clutter on his desk and evoking a foot-wide cube of solid and completely pure sapphire into the resulting space.

Armsmaster and Velocity both stared at the cube for several seconds.

"… You wouldn't happen to have an easy way to turn that into hair-thin wafers 50 millimeters across, would you?" Armsmaster asked eventually.

I reached out and tapped the sapphire-a completely unnecessary gesture, of course, but a bit of flourish seemed appropriate-and with a loud ringing sound it split itself into many thousands of thin sheets and then divided itself further into squares of the specified dimensions.

The artificer gently reached out, lifted one of the wafers, and examined it carefully, manipulating the visor he wore many times as he did so and even retrieving several tools from the drawers in his desk with which to analyze it. Over the course of several minutes, the dominant hue of his aura shifted from deep disbelief to cautious optimism to amazed acceptance.

That done, he carefully replaced the wafer and looked me right in the eye. "Anything you want in exchange for this, if I can get it for you, you'll have it."

"I'd appreciate your arranging a meeting between myself and Myrddin, if that would be possible."

"Done," he agreed immediately, and moved to compose a message on his desktop computer.

"Thank you."

"Why Myrddin?" Velocity asked curiously. "I'd have expected you to want to meet Legend. Go right to the top to grease the wheels on the Case 24 situation, or something."

"Because Myrddin is seemingly one of the few wizards in an organization full of sorcerers, and I'd been hoping to consult a local master of the arcane arts regarding a few persistent questions," I explained.

Velocity's aura pulsed with intense amusement at my response, though he kept a straight face.

Armsmaster, however, paused in his typing and leveled a very aggravated look in my direction. " Please tell me that's just a gimmick."

"That what is?"

"The 'wizard' thing."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

Armsmaster pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "I never did figure out whether Myrddin actually believes he's a wizard or whether he's just very committed to the act, but he's been doing his best Gandalf impression since before I met him. I know Puck actually did buy into all of that, and Chevalier, well…" his aura briefly lightened with a swirl of nostalgia and irritation. "He doesn't, but he did always encourage the other two, I assume because he enjoyed my suffering."

"I still don't follow," I admitted, perplexed by both his words and the scattered images I was able to gather from his thoughts. "Are you saying that Myrddin is merely a sorcerer but somehow believes himself to be a wizard…?"

"He's not a 'sorcerer' or a 'wizard'," Armsmaster bit out. "Magic isn't real."

…

That was quite possibly the most spectacularly witless statement I'd heard since arriving on this world.

Were anyone else to have uttered those words, I would immediately have dismissed them as mentally deficient and gone about my day, but I simply had to know how an artificer with as much skill and experience as he obviously possessed could possibly make such a blatantly false statement and actually mean it.

"How can you believe such a thing when you yourself practice magic?"

"I don't. Tinkering isn't magic. Powers aren't magic," he insisted.

There were some worlds on which arcane magic and psionics interacted strangely and were sufficiently incompatible for sages to declare them two entirely disparate practices, but that certainly wasn't the case on this world, so his reason for insisting that his artificing was an entirely different phenomenon escaped me.

"It is magic. You're surrounded by dozens of enchanted items right now," I explained patiently.

"I didn't 'enchant' anything, I machined and fabricated it. Just like I would any normal technology, because while we may not fully understand tinkertech, it's still technology."

"I watched you construct a ferrokinetic glyph matrix mere minutes ago."

"That's not a 'glyph'-or a rune, or a magic spell, or whatever else you want to call it. It's all just circuitry."

"You've embossed a textbook example of Gömböc's Seal of Rectification on your device and you're going to claim that it's not artifice?"

"Yes! It's nothing magical, just a recursive amplifier circuit."

"Repeated refinement and amplification is precisely what the Seal of Rectification accomplishes! And inlaying the Seal with sapphire aspects the enchantment toward cold magic, as you should well know!"

"That's just some gibberish to try to explain why sapphire is used as a heat-regulating substrate in solid-state electronics!"

"It isn't gibberish, it's basic alchemy! How can you so badly miss the obvious when it's right in front of you?"

"The obvious? You don't even know the first thing about what I'm making here!"

"What you're making is blindingly obvious! I can clearly see from its aura-!"

"Its 'aura'? Well now you're just making things up! There's no such thing-!"

"Oh, gods below, what kind of blithering idiot-!"

" Guys!"

Armsmaster and I ceased our arguing at Ald-at Velocity's shout, and I suddenly realized that we'd both risen from our chairs without noticing and our faces were now a mere foot apart from one another. We exchanged mutual embarrassed looks before returning to our seats.

"Apologies," I said. "I let my temper get away from me. I'm considerably more self-possessed under normal circumstances."

"Same," Armsmaster agreed gruffly.

Velocity's aura glistened with secondhand embarrassment. "I'm just going to…." he trailed off as he pointed toward the doorway.

"Go ahead," Armsmaster nodded, and Velocity gratefully seized the opportunity to wait outside the laboratory.

By unspoken agreement, the artificer and I took a few moments to compose ourselves. I took a deep breath and mentally recited a mantra as I pondered the conversation we'd just had.

I am calm.

Armsmaster was, to all appearances, a rational man.

I am the sky…

Yet he vociferously rejected any implication that his talents were in any way related to magic, for no reason that I could discern.

… without cloud or wind.

It wasn't a case of magic-users being shunned or persecuted here-quite the opposite!-so he wasn't dissembling for that reason.

I am the lake…

I'd noted multiple people react with dismissal when I'd mentioned magic, actually, both capes and non-.

… without current or ripple.

Cultural bias, perhaps? But why would such a bias come about in the first place?

I am the serene void…

The texts on mythology and theology I'd read were full of priests casting spells, so it certainly wasn't a religious bias.

… at the heart of the Plane of Vacuum itself.

"Why, specifically, do you object to the characterization of artifice as 'magic'?" I asked him once I'd gathered sufficient patience.

He took a moment to think. "Because 'it's magic' is…" he explained slowly, feeling out his words as he went, "… a shortcut, a non-answer. It's what you say when you don't know the right answer and are just giving up on finding it."

I opened my mouth to correct his misconception, but his aura flared with determination and he held up a palm to stop me, so I reluctantly held my tongue for the moment.

Armsmaster grabbed a pen from among the clutter and began tapping it contemplatively on the desk in an irregular rhythm.

"I went to an engineering school, you know," he said abruptly, apropos of nothing. "Got two bachelors', went for a PhD, but… well. Point is, I want to understand things, and sometimes it seems like I'm one of the few Tinkers who does. It ticks me off that maybe a tenth of what I learned in school is useful for my tinkering, but what ticks me off more is…."

He sighed. "I've collaborated with dozens of other Tinkers and studied the powers of every cape I possibly can. I've done of a lot of experimenting in all of my projects to isolate variables for the next project I take on. I've tried to minimize the actual tinkertech components in everything I make so I can automate production as much as possible. I've worked my ass off and made all kinds of sacrifices to get to where I am today. But half the Tinkers I run into just slap together some scrap metal and dunk it in a bucket of random chemicals to get what they want and stop thinking at that point, and I hate that."

Deeper shades of frustration and resentment clouded his aura. "It's not just Tinkers, either. There are capes out there who have all kinds of amazing powers that they could do anything with. They could give parahuman researchers tons of new data to work with, or at least try to dig into their powers themselves to figure out as much as they can. But then they don't care about any of that, they invest all that time and effort into something and then literally throw it away, they don't even spend a single goddamn hour in training beyond the bare minimum-"

He took a deep breath. "The point is, 'it's magic' is lazy and ignorant. Powers aren't magic, they're repeatable and testable, and every cape who just shrugs and calls it magic sets everyone back."

Velocity leaned around the doorframe at that point. "I don't have any philosophical objection to the whole magic thing," he commented, "I just think it's silly when grown men and women are waving around 'magic staffs' and chanting made-up words and all that like it actually does anything."

Throughout Armsmaster's rant, his surface thoughts had contained a jumble of words and images showing what this culture thought of such things.

"Magic"? Sleight of hand. Legerdemain. Sheer fakery.

"Magicians"? Charlatans. Mountebanks. Frivolous entertainers for children.

All of the many words in Common and other languages for various phenomena related to magic were condensed into this single word and concept in English, which had then been polluted with those demeaning associations.

Velocity's thoughts, meanwhile, were full of images of capes with illegible glyphs inscribed on their clothing who moved their fingers through meaningless patterns as they manifested their powers, like children playacting at wizardry without the slightest idea of the meaning behind the symbols and gestures they so crudely aped.

No wonder everyone here found the very idea ridiculous!

"I understand your perspective," I replied, "but allow me to offer a counterpoint. You claim that magic is unscientific-"

"It is."

"-and yet on every other world but this one, all that is encompassed here by the single word 'magic' is not opposed to science, but rather is a vast tapestry of intermingled science, technology, and engineering."

He crossed his arms in disbelief. "All I'm hearing is that they have a lot of pointless mysticism tacked onto whatever real science they're doing," he said.

… Gods above and between, this man was infuriating.

I could see from his aura that he was feeling completely unreceptive to having his false impressions corrected, so I didn't even bother to respond… though I was halfway tempted to shove all of the basic Udoclian curriculum on psionic theory into his mind in order to demonstrate to him precisely how misguided he was.

I wasn't actually going to do it, of course. But it was sorely tempting nonetheless.

I took a calming breath. "Perhaps this is a discussion we could resume when we've both had time to cool our tempers." Glancing back toward the doorway, I added, "We had a lunch appointment, as I recall?"

"Right," Velocity confirmed. "Well, you do; I'm back on duty this afternoon."

"Then let's be off." Without bothering to bid Armsmaster farewell, I placed a hand on Velocity's shoulder, plucked our destination from his mind, and-

~*~*~

-we appeared in the PRT dining hall.

Half the room was filled with soldiers, most of whom immediately went for their weapons before recognizing Velocity and calming down. The rest of the diners briefly ceased their conversations to look over at us with a mix of surprise, curiosity, and a hint of anxiety.

"You know, you've really got to stop just teleporting wherever you want," he murmured to me out of the corner of his mouth while waving self-consciously at the onlookers. "There are probably regulations about that."

I merely shrugged noncommittally. If they didn't want anyone teleporting into their building, they should have erected wards against planar travel. Regulations and polite requests wouldn't stop hostile teleporters, after all.

Once everything had settled, Velocity led me to one of the tables, made a round of introductions, and then bade me farewell.

There were six others at the table, who moved their chairs around to make room for me: the man with whom I was primarily here to speak, Deputy Director Harold Renick; two military officers, First Lieutenant Kevin Huang and Sergeant Joshua Anderson; and three minor clerks, Andrea Norton, Miguel Rodriguez, and Charlotte Shaw of the Image, Operations, and Intelligence divisions, respectively.

Harold apologized that we wouldn't be able to get to our one-on-one discussion immediately, but I assured him halfheartedly that I didn't mind and I would most likely find a group discussion quite informative.

"Valigan, huh? So you're the Case 24 people have been talking about," Charlotte remarked as soon as I took my seat.

"Wait, Case 24? Who's been talking about that?" Miguel asked.

"It hasn't made the rounds yet, but I was talking to Colleen earlier-"

"Tall Colleen or Glasses Colleen?" Joshua asked.

Charlotte gave Joshua a disapproving look. "Richards, in Legal. Anyway, she gave me the early scoop."

"Cool." Joshua turned to me. "Hey, so-"

"Yes, I actually do hail from another world; no, it is not another version of Earth; no, you may not call me Val; no, I am not joining the Protectorate," I cut him off.

"How'd you know what I was going to ask you?"

"I read it from your thoughts," I replied testily.

"Ha, good one! Look at Mister Thinker Six over here!"

The next little while was filled with incessant small talk and repetitive questions, and I eventually let my secondary mind deal with the inane chatter while I focused on centering myself.

I was finding it more difficult than normal to grasp my usual state of (relative) patience and serenity. Disquiet from my interactions with Velocity and Armsmaster, frustration with their obstinacy regarding their mistaken beliefs, the fact that Aspect had been even more irritating than usual of late and was now barely speaking to me, the constant assumption in the thoughts of practically everyone I'd met today that I was somehow being selfish for not immediately committing myself to solving all of their petty problems by joining the Protectorate merely because that was the usual custom… all of these combined to render me generally discomfited, and led me to respond to the group's interrogation more tersely than I normally might have.

I was offered food, which I declined as I'd already sampled the dishes on the day's menu, and once they'd all satisfied their initial curiosity for the time being, talk turned to more interesting topics. Specifically, it returned to the subject they'd been discussing before my arrival: what to do about Lung.

It wasn't an especially formal discussion; Harold was simply the type to eat with his subordinates on occasion to maintain good relationships with them, and the conversation had naturally turned to the issue at the forefront of all of their minds.

As my meeting with the Deputy Director was technically a continuation of the tour and its accompanying showcase of the PRT's day-to-day functioning, Andrea, Miguel, and Charlotte all took the time to explain what their divisions were doing to aid in their efforts against the dragon, in rather more detail than was necessary.

Once again, it seemed to me that they were vastly overcomplicating the issue; having now witnessed the man's arsenal in person, I failed to see why Armsmaster couldn't simply craft himself a new Dragonbane weapon and take care of Lung himself in the space of an afternoon.

Eventually the discussion turned to the role of the PRT's combat arm in the upcoming operation, and I found that part of the conversation sufficiently intriguing to once again pay attention to it with my primary stream of thought.

As it turned out, the PRT's military forces appeared to be dedicated specifically to anti-cape combat, yet possessed neither enchanted equipment nor their own spellcasting nor even the sort of mage-slaying training that would give them a chance of surviving a battle with an experienced cape. I found that state of affairs to be quite odd, to say the least.

"It seems as though it would be quite difficult to go up against such villains as this city has to offer with nothing but mundane weapons and armor to aid you," I noted.

"You bet your ass it is," Kevin said, nodding sharply. "But what does that make us, Anderson?"

"Big damn heroes, sir," Joshua responded in a tone of rote recitation, grinning broadly.

"Ain't we just," Kevin said, and the two of them exchanged a "high-five" that prompted eye-rolling around the table.

"In all seriousness, would it not make the PRT squads considerably more effective if they had more magic at their disposal?"

"I mean, it's not actually-" Miguel began to respond, that same endlessly vexing streak of amusement and disdain appearing in his aura at the mention of magic.

I cut him off. "Humor me," I ground out.

"Okay, okay," he said, holding his palms out defensively. "Well, I mean, it's not like Operations is short on that in general. We've got confoam, coil guns, exosuits, and plenty of other advanced tech. In theory."

"Yeah, in theory," Kevin sneered. Turning to me, he explained, "The Bay's last on the fuckin' list when it comes to all those goodies. Pardon my French. We don't have any of the good armor, all our personnel carriers are the Mark Ones when Boston already got some Mark Fours, hell, we don't even have a third chopper when a city this size is supposed to have at least five of 'em. And don't even get me started on how if you tally up all the threat ratings of all the villains in the Brockton Metro Area we should have an entire battalion of our boys and girls in black but right now we only have a tenth that many."

"It's not just East-Northeast that's been facing budget constraints, First Lieutenant," the Deputy Director replied mildly, in the somewhat rehearsed tone of one who has had the same argument with the same people too many times to count and doesn't expect to change anyone's mind. "All of the special-designation departments have run into the same issues in recent years, Southeast and West-Southwest especially."

"Yeah, but at least the poor schmucks in those departments can get their tan on when they're off-duty. The beaches up here suck," Kevin grumbled in a similar tone.

"If resource constraints are a problem, why not simply use capes in your squads?" I asked.

"You mean send out squads with cape support?" Andrea asked. "The PRT already does that for the stronger villains."

"No," I clarified, "I mean forming squads entirely composed of capes."

The others exchanged amused glances.

"What do you think the Protectorate is for?" Andrea asked rhetorically.

"I'm aware that the Protectorate deploys multiple capes at a time for their engagements," I said patiently. "I am suggesting that the PRT squads should also consist of groups of multiple capes."

Kevin's and Joshua's auras were filling with confusion and a hint of resentment, and I couldn't tell why that might be. If the PRT's military forces lacked sufficient magical support, they should be taught enough magic to compensate, simple as that.

Certainly, not everyone was up for the intellectual rigors of studying wizardry, but my mindsight showed me that these two officers, at least, should be more than up to the task, so it certainly shouldn't be a fear of being replaced by more capable soldiers that made them skeptical of the idea.

"So, what, there shouldn't be any normal people in the squads, is that what you think?" Kevin asked.

"That would certainly make them more effective," I agreed.

"You think some guy who's a cape can do a better job at this than someone who's 'just' an ex-Marine?"

"Assuming said ex-Marine lacks magic? Yes. Obviously."

"So you're a cape supremacist, basically," he declared. Moods were darkening around the table, and a few people sitting nearby had paused their own conversations to listen in. In response, I manifested a zone of silence around our table to prevent eavesdropping.

"Would preferring that my meals be prepared by a professional chef over an untrained cook make me a 'chef supremacist'?" I retorted, baffled and more than a little annoyed at his intransigence.

"What the fuck does that have to do with saying we should replace all the humans with capes?"

"Language, First Lieutenant, and capes are humans," Miguel chided him, glancing over at the frown on the Deputy Director's face. Andrea and Charlotte were, perhaps wisely, opting to stay out of the conversation.

"Who said anything about replacing anyone?" I asked.

"You basically just said the PRT should fire me and replace me with a cape, and the same for half the people in this room, assuming they could even find that many capes!" he brashly accused.

I took a deep breath. "No, I said that you would be more effective if you were a cape," I corrected, restraining my irritation as best I could.

"Well, y'know, turns out you can be a PRT squaddie or you can be a Protectorate cape, you can't exactly be both."

"You very much can be both!" I replied in exasperation. "The vast majority of magic-users in my homeland trained for combat as well, myself included. The two aren't mutually exclusive by any means."

"And that's just fuckin' great for you," he growled, "but some of us just aren't lucky enough to have powers."

"… Lucky?" I echoed flatly. "Luck has nothing to do with it! Complaining about a lack of magical resources and then refusing to even try to better yourself is moral and intellectual laziness, nothing more."

"That's easy for a cape to say-"

"Yes! It is easy for me to say!" I replied furiously. "What, do you think that I just suddenly gained all of my magical power one day completely out of the blue?"

A large portion of Kevin's anger abated, replaced by consternation. "… Yes?" he replied hesitantly, aura shaded with confusion.

" No! I, unlike most of the talentless hacks around here whom your people so highly esteem, actually had to work for my magic. I studied for years before I considered myself anywhere near competent, and if I could do that, taking the time to learn even a single power is the absolute least you could do."

Kevin paused before responding. "But that's… not how it works?" he said.

"It most certainly is."

"You can't get powers without triggering," opined Andrea, blushing slightly as she became the new center of attention. Her surface thoughts indicated that a "trigger" was an event such as the one by which Nate had awakened his talent. "Everyone knows that."

"Then 'everyone' is wrong. You may not be able to become a sorcerer without 'triggering' but wizardry is not so exclusive. You have at least a few wizards in your organization, like Myrddin; surely this should be common knowledge."

The Deputy Director shook his head slowly. "If by 'sorcerers' you mean capes who triggered, Myrddin is one, too. He calls himself a wizard for branding purposes, but he has powers like any other cape."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And Eidolon?"

"Not sure why you think he'd be a wizard, but no, he's a 'sorcerer' too."

"Are there no actual wizards in the Protectorate?"

"If you mean capes who didn't trigger? No. All parahumans gain their powers from trigger events. That's just how it works."

I took a moment to scour his surface thoughts for any hint of deception or reservation, and found none.

got to be joking, Aspect sent in a tone of disbelief.

For once, we were in full agreement.

"Do you mean to tell me that after having thousands of years in which to study and reverse-enchant the magical capabilities of your sorcerers and wilders, your people have never developed a form of magic that can be taught?"

Kevin formed a T shape with his hands. "Whoa, time out. What do you mean, 'thousands of years'?"

"I mean exactly that," I said.

"Um, I don't know about on your world," Andrea offered, "but powers didn't show up here until the mid eighties, twenty-five-ish years ago."

…

What .

"People have only really been seriously studying powers for around twenty years, so…." She shrugged.

What.

That was….

No. It was utterly ridiculous.

Mike had mentioned an entire parahuman sciences program at the local university, and such a thing simply would not have come into being already if the entire field had originated less than two decades before.

Armsmaster's laboratory was full of items that were simply not capable of being built by a world's first-ever generation of artificers.

Several of the books on religion that I'd absorbed described events from at least two thousand years ago that involved obvious examples of spellcasting.

And yet, in every aura around the table, there was not a hint of deceit.

I could feel a headache forming. If this was true-something of which I was not at all confident, but if it was….

Well, that would change everything.

The quickest route to verifying their claims would be a memory delve. I turned back to Andrea, judging her the one least likely to know any information the PRT would prefer to keep secret.

"Andrea, would you-" I began, when suddenly:

It was Gene, contacting me with the soul crystal I'd given him.

His panicked stream-of-consciousness sending was barely coherent, and had cut off abruptly as his cascade of thoughts ran into the power's information density limitations. More sendings followed immediately:

-and they melted Jihoo when they grabbed me and it's all my fault and now I'm in a room with a bunch of them and-

-I don't know what to do and I think we're all going to die because Bakuda said she's going to blow us up if we-

-don't do what she says and she's making people go grab more people and I don't want to but I don't want to die and-

There were no further sendings after that; the crystal's energy reserves must have been depleted.

The new revelations about this world's magic would have to wait.

"Is something wrong?" Harold asked.

"I've just been informed by an acquaintance that Bakuda has captured multiple people, implanted bombs in them, and threatened to kill anyone who disobeys her orders," I replied

The others all reacted with shock and dismay.

"How did this person contact you, exactly?" Harold asked me calmly over the clamor.

"I gave them an item that could establish a telepathic link between us in an emergency."

"Please. Telepathy can't actually-" Miguel began.

does, indeed, exist, I sent to everyone at the table.

They immediately fell silent and stared at me with varying levels of incredulity and wariness.

While they began heatedly debating the threat of Bakuda and the reliability of my information in hushed tones among themselves, I focused my attention on one of my largest psionic tattoos and used it to manifest Metafaculty, one of the strongest divination powers known. Not only did it give me Gene's precise location, it also showed me everything that had occurred to him over the past several hours.

And what I saw left me absolutely appalled.

~*~*~

Gene sitting at his desktop computer, a phone beside him.

A message appearing on the phone, from Jihoo, inviting Gene to visit.

A group of five men standing outside Gene's house when he walks outside, Jihoo among them.

Gene, appearing confused and concerned; Jihoo, appearing scared and ashamed.

The men, approaching with weapons in hand; Gene, looking betrayed; Jihoo, mustering his courage.

A shout from Jihoo: "Run, Gene! I'm sorry! It wasn't me, they took my phone and-"

One of the men pulling out a phone and pressing various buttons.

Jihoo dissolving instantly into a puddle of viscera.

Gene regarding the remains of his friend in horror.

The men taking advantage of his hesitation, seizing him, binding his hands and mouth.

The men forcing Gene into a large vehicle containing several other captives.

The captives being herded into a warehouse holding dozens of other people, sobbing in pain and fear.

Gene's group watching a glassy-eyed young girl stumble over to a wall and collapse.

The girl tenderly patting the base of her skull, where the blood-speckled skin bulges unnaturally.

Bakuda sitting in a chair at the far end of the room, surrounded by gang members.

Gene gazing in fear at the blood-soaked tables to the side of Bakuda's workspace.

A monotone pronouncement: "Congratulations, boys and girls! You're all about to join the ABB!"

~*~*~

I may not have been in the best frame of mind, of late.

I may have been fairly distracted, for various reasons.

I may even have been seeing things, to a slight degree.

But when I beheld that masked madwoman lounging in her throne-like chair, flanked by several loyal thugs and surrounded by multiple helpless victims coerced into serving as living shields against any captives who might try to attack her, and the sheer sadism and hubris radiating from her form reminded me instantly of Dregoth lazing in his throne surrounded by his brainwashed templars and his fanatical slaves, I was not merely imagining the despicable similarity between them.

I sent to Aspect in a tone of detached calm,

he replied grimly.

"Well then. If you'll excuse me," I told the others present, "I'm off to rescue my acquaintance and grant Bakuda a slow and painful death."

"Wha-but there are laws, regulations!" Miguel sputtered. "You can't just-!"

"I believe you'll find that I can," I replied, still deathly calm.

Bringing a teleportation power to mind, I locked gazes with Harold. "Good day, Deputy Director. I'll be in touch. Don't wait up."

And then I was elsewhere.

Author's Note

In this chapter: sound of dominoes slowly toppling one by one toward a big red button on the other end of the table

Those readers familiar with the AD weapons tables will know that Gary Gygax had a mild obsession with polearms of all sorts, giving different stats to many polearms that had only superficial differences between them.

Between that, the fact that Defiant was perfectly comfortable with a spear and Arsenal (Edenverse!Armsmaster) used a guisarme, and the fact that Taylor's initial description and the WoG about Colin's starting gear both capitalize the name of the weapon for no apparent reason, I felt it was both reasonable and amusing for Armsmaster to actually have multiple different kinds of polearms specialized for various purposes that are all simply lumped under "Armsmaster's Halberd" for marketing purposes.

Not much else to say about this chapter (aside from "writing on an airplane is hard"); just make sure you grab your popcorn and your sunglasses, 'cause next chapter is gonna involve some fireworks.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The Fraternity of Order is one of Sigil's governing Factions, and is a group so obsessed with laws and rules and regulations that experienced members can actually treat physical laws as legal ones and basically argue reality into letting them exploit loopholes in said laws. The new spells and powers Valigan used or referenced in this chapter were body equilibrium (move across liquids and other unstable surfaces), channeled pyroburst (the longer you cast it, the bigger boom you get), kinetic control (a Dark Sun-specific power that allows absorbing incoming damage and releasing it later), fabricate (instantly craft/work/reshape raw materials), and metafaculty (learn absolutely everything about what a creature's been up to lately).

Last edited: Jul 27, 2022

Integration 2.3.T

Fifth Afternoon Bell, Zol the 10 th of Rhaan, 999 YK Village Square, Zantashk, Xen'drik, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

As it turned out, Operation Airship ran into a snag almost immediately: nobody in the village trusted us in the slightest.

Not "us" as in the five of us specifically; Zurya and Khalthrun obviously approved of us, and that seemed to be good enough for almost everybody.

"Us" as in capes. As in heroes.

Back home, if any of the heroes had come up with a plan like that, people would just… assume the heroes had good intentions, no problem. Like, if Armsmaster rolled up on his motorbike and said something like "Excuse me, citizen, I need to commandeer this truck for hero business, I'll have it back to you in an jiffy," they might not have expected to get their truck back in one piece depending on exactly why the heroes needed it, but no one would expect Armsmaster to steal the truck and drive it out of town or whatever.

Here, though, Reeve Velderan immediately shot down our plan, not necessarily because he thought we'd just hop on the airship and leave (though he hadn't sounded all that convincing when he'd said that he did trust us not to do that) but because if the villagers saw its defenders apparently flying away, the whole village's morale would drop like a rock even if we swore up and down that we'd come back to help them if our first plan didn't work.

So much for that idea.

As we trudged away from where the reeve was coordinating the village defense, Brian sighed and looked around at the rest of us. "Anyone have any ideas for a Plan B?"

"I don't see why you didn't just pull rank on them, Lord Grue and Lord Gallant," Alec said, putting on a smarmy tone as he emphasized their fake noble titles. "That could've solved the problem, just like that."

"It's better that we didn't," Dean disagreed softly.

"Why? You're the one who talked us up as big-shot nobility in the first place," Alec countered.

"I don't know if I'm cool with ordering people around just because they think we're important people," Chris said with a frown.

I frowned as well. I hadn't given it much thought at the time because I was more focused on not doing anything that could upset Zurya and get us in hot water, but thinking back, Dean had done an awfully good job of spinning a fake story about us on the fly. He seemed to be a lot more comfortable with lying than I was really okay with, despite his earlier protests that his lying about Gallant's powers wasn't his idea or something he liked doing.

"Why did you go with that story, anyway?" I asked Dean. "Why not just tell her the truth? If it ever comes out that you were lying about all of that, I bet we could get in serious trouble."

He glanced at me, then discreetly looked around to see if anyone was close enough to listen in. There wasn't anyone nearby, and Corvin was visible over by a large cottage they were setting up to use as a medical station so he couldn't do his pop-up-out-of-nowhere trick to surprise us. Still, Dean jerked his head off to the side to take us farther away from the main area, just in case.

Once we were situated, Dean took a minute to mull things over. "At the time it was more of a gut feeling than anything, but… there were three reasons, I think," he began, then glanced at me and added, "maybe four. For the first one… Yin made a big deal about how offending Zurya could come back to bite us before we met with her, right?"

"Right," Brian said, and I nodded.

"Well, if I've learned anything from dealing with my father and his friends, it's that the one thing rich and powerful people hate more than anything else is being embarrassed in front of their peers. They really don't like looking like they forgot something or made a mistake or anything like that."

Looking at me, he continued, "If you went to a party and someone got your name wrong… let's say the CEO introduced you to his other CEO friend as, uh, Taylor 'Herbert' instead of Hebert, or maybe," he looked over at Alec, "introduced you as 'Alex' instead of Alec, the last thing you want to do is correct them in front of their friend, you know? That makes them look bad, and they will not like you for it. If it's a one-off thing, you should just let it go; if he's going to be introducing you to multiple people, you should pull him aside between people and correct him when no one's around, to let him save face."

Chris was grinning at Dean's example. "I think I've heard this story before."

"What story?" I asked.

Dean glared briefly at Chris, then sighed. "When I was eight years old, I was going to one of my father's dinners for the first time. Some big-shot real estate developer came over to our table and said something like 'Oh, Mister Stanfield, it's so good to finally meet you,' and before my father could say anything, in front of everyone I said, 'No, it's Stansfield with an S!'," he said, putting on a high-pitched voice for the last part.

The rest of us chuckled at that; rude-little-kid Dean was an amusing image.

"My father wouldn't let me forget that for years. He used to bring up things like that in front of my friends to embarrass me all the way through middle school."

"And then Clockblocker found out about it and told us the story when we were at some big dinner event last year," Chris added.

"Yeah, he did, the traitor," Dean said, grumbling good-naturedly, then grew more serious as he continued, "So the situation with the Seneschal is kind of like that, but much worse. Can you imagine how things would have gone if Khalthrun had spent all of this time talking us up to her as important people back on Earth to get her to agree to help us, and then when Zurya asked us for our names one of us said, 'Oh, no, we're not actually nobles, we don't even have nobles where we come from, this was all just a big misunderstanding on your part'?"

I winced. Yeah, that sounded pretty bad.

"Khalthrun would have been embarrassed for getting everything wrong, and Zurya would have been upset about getting talked into seeing us under false pretenses. Yin would probably get in trouble for misleading Khalthrun in the first place, too. There would have been zero chance of them helping us after that."

Chris had stopped smiling at that, and even Alec was looking serious and nodding along slowly in agreement with Dean's explanation.

"Reason number two, we have no idea what nobility means in this world. They could just be figureheads who are rich and famous but don't really have much power, like the King of England, or this could be a full-on Medieval world where kings and queens have absolute power and can do anything they want to 'commoners' with no one to stop them." Dean shrugged. "And based on how Yin was talking about Zurya and acting around her, I'm guessing things are a lot closer to the second end of the scale."

"So if you don't know what nobility means here, why would you say we're nobles?" Brian asked. "We can't pretend to be one if we don't even know how!"

"Because we can say our nobility is whatever we need it to be," Dean replied. "If kings get to order around anyone who doesn't own a lot of land, well, Vicereine 'rules' all of New England and that's a ton of land, right? If titles are mostly ceremonial things that come with all kinds of social obligations for the more important ones, then the 'colony of New England' and 'Kingdom of Quebec' can be just a city or two each and Taylor and Alec don't have to go around acting like they have very important titles."

"I guess that makes sense," I agreed grudgingly. "It could be hard to keep our story straight, though."

"It shouldn't be. Chris and I basically are 'knights' from a certain point of view, and Brian is part of a group that tried to slay a dragon, kind of. Just explain the truth in fantasy-sounding terms and we should be fine."

Brian didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded in acknowledgment of Dean's point. "And the third reason?" he prompted.

"We're completely at the mercy of 'House Tharashk' right now," Dean said, sounding deadly serious, "and anything that gets us out of here is worth it."

He started ticking off points on his fingers. "We know basically nothing about the world outside this jungle and don't know how biased everything we're hearing about it is. Tharashk controls everything around here, so if they stop helping us, or actually try to stop us from leaving, we're completely screwed. We have nothing of our own, no money, no food, no other resources, we're completely dependent on people's generosity to survive. It doesn't matter if we get in trouble later on for lying to people so long as it gets us out of here now."

"I don't think things are as bad as you're making them out to be," I argued. "Yin and Khalthrun and Terik have been really nice to us so far." Obsidian was probably nice, too, but he'd spoken literally one sentence to us since we'd met that team so it was hard to say. "And Zurya is… a lot, but I don't think they'd all just turn on us if we turned out not to be important people after all."

Dean gave me a flat look, and his expression was grim. "For a lot of people like Zurya, if you're not useful to them, they'll drop you without a second thought."

"Oh, come on, it's not really like that," Chris objected.

"It's exactly like that," Alec retorted. I thought of Emma, the day I got back from camp, and I couldn't help but agree with him.

" Trust me on this," Dean insisted, cutting off anything Chris might have said. "Once we're out of here, we can downplay the whole noble title thing if you want, but until then, we need every advantage we can get."

"You've been asking for a lot of trust lately," Brian noted.

"And I've been completely honest with the four of you so far," Dean said.

There was a short pause where no one talked, all of us thinking things over on our own.

"Good enough, for now. Let's go talk to the others about a Plan B," Brian decided.

As we started walking over to where we could see Terik and Obsidian talking with the village militia, I sent a few flies hovering in front of Dean's face. He looked over at me, I gestured for him to hang back, and we walked more slowly for a minute to let the others get ahead of us.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"You said there was maybe a fourth reason, and you looked right at me when you said it," I said, just as quietly.

He nodded. "It was that you were the one who let them believe we were nobles in the first place-"

"That wasn't intentional," I said.

"No, I know it wasn't, but they might have thought it was. There was a chance they'd blame it on you, and I wanted to protect you from that."

I felt a little flutter of… something, hearing that, and Dean quickly added, "I'd do it for anyone else in the group, too. We're all in this together and we have to look out for each other, right?"

"Right," I agreed.

He nodded, smiled briefly, and power-walked back to the front of the group to catch up with Brian.

~*~*~

"This isn't going to work at all," Duuth said with a grimace.

Safely out of earshot of the villagers he was trying to inspire, Reeve Velderan was much more pessimistic about our chances of holding off the drow army. He'd made a point of reassuring us several times that he didn't doubt our skill at all, it was just that one-on-six odds were daunting no matter what plan we eventually came up with, and if the scouts had only run into a small part of a larger drow force then the odds would only get worse from there.

Currently, we were gathered around a table in the reeve's manor-he'd called it that, but it wasn't nearly as impressive as the word "manor" implied, being just barely large and well-built enough to be visibly bigger and fancier than the other houses around it-where he'd spread out a map of Zantashk and the surrounding area and placed some markers like they used in war movies to represent all the defenders and the drow.

The reeve didn't actually have any real map markers, not having ever anticipated leading the kind of defense that would need them, so we'd had to improvise: I'd had my bugs gather a lot of pencil-sized twigs from the surrounding area, Terik had gone out and whittled lots of small wooden blocks out of some spare lumber, Dean had borrowed some string and bits of cloth from someone to tie everything together into flag-looking markers, Yin had used one of his powers to decorate the "flags" with colors and patterns to represent different people and groups, and Brian was currently using Alec's scepter to push them around from across the table.

"I assure you, it will," Terik said with an encouraging smile. "The chimera formation is a classic and very reliable arrow in the Karrn quiver, and it's one of the best methods for defending multiple points of approach against a foe with superior numbers and mobility."

"It might work for Karrnath with its trained soldiers and undead support," the reeve complained, scowling up at the much larger man, "but my militia doesn't have that training or that support."

"I could give you that support, you realize," Terik said.

"Not on your life," Duuth snapped. "No one will stand for it."

Terik placed a hand on the reeve's shoulder. "It's your lives that you should be more concerned about. The villagers can forgive much, if they survive to do so."

The reeve shrugged his hand off. "Perhaps," he allowed grudgingly, "but we'll do that as a last resort only. We need something else in the meantime."

That was the third or fourth plan the reeve had refused since we'd arrived, and Terik had been talking with him for a while before that. I wasn't sure whether all of the plans were actually bad, or whether he was just seeing the worst-case scenarios in all of them and turning them down for nitpicky reasons.

Even the irrepressibly cheerful Terik was starting to look annoyed at the reeve's stubbornness. "Since you seem to know your men better than any of us, why don't you go organize them however you think would be best, and we'll simply fill in the gaps however we think would be best?"

Duuth opened his mouth to object, but Terik gave him a look that shut him up. "If you don't approve of any of our contributions, taking the airship and leaving remains an option," he noted mildly.

"… Very well. We'll meet here in a quarter bell to go over final plans," the reeve grumbled, before stalking out of the room.

"He wouldn't last a day as an officer," Terik said with a shake of his head, then turned to the five of us, standing across the table from his team. "Grue, Gallant, and I have done most of the talking so far; do any of the rest of you have any ideas? The airship plan was a good one, the reeve's objections aside, so don't hesitate to suggest anything out of the ordinary that might come to mind."

"Intending no offense to Rekkenmark military doctrine, if we won't be fighting directly alongside the militia then there's no reason to continue limiting ourselves to more traditional strategies," Khalthrun said. "I suggest coming up with plans that lean more on our individual strengths."

"We'd have to know what all of you can do before we can come up with anything," I pointed out.

"Likewise. I'm sure we have a good sense of some of each other's capabilities by now, but more specifics would be helpful," Yin agreed. "Shall we go around the table and detail the current options at everyone's disposal?"

"Works for me," Brian said.

Yin nodded. "Superb. I'll begin: Unfortunately, most of my stronger spells have been devoted to allowing us to communicate, so I have precious few large-scale combat spells available."

"Sorry about that," Dean said. "We really do appreciate you doing that for us, though."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, I largely specialize in non-combat spells anyhow. But that does mean that I'll primarily be limited to my bladework and a handful of personal enhancement spells for this battle. Terik?"

"I'm in a similar position: I mostly prepared divinations, so I'll be focusing on close combat and healing, though I do have a few animation spells and two necromantic blasts prepared for emergencies. Khalthrun?"

"I requested mostly spells of the air and sky this morning, in anticipation of our voyage, so I can handle any flyers or ranged attackers they might have. I also plan to pray for spells of earth and wood to fortify the walls once we've finished here, and I intend to spend much of the battle in either hawk form or plant form."

… She was thinking of turning herself into a plant?

I wasn't sure how that was going to help us, but the rest of her team didn't seem to think that was strange, so I didn't say anything.

Obsidian went next. "My fire and lightning wands are fully charged, and I have a full complement of disabling spellvials," he said tersely as he patted the large cannon-looking assembly he had in place of his right hand and forearm.

"So, what's that mean, exactly?" Alec asked. "In small words; we get enough Tinker-babble from this guy already," he added, jerking a thumb at Chris.

Obsidian tilted his head for a moment, thinking. "Does the word 'artillery' translate to your tongue?"

Alec's eyes lit up and he nodded.

"Then you may think of me as the heavy artillery," the warforged stated.

" Sweet."

"And I'm a skirmisher today," Corvin said, pulling out a large knife and idly balancing its tip on one gloved finger, "so I'll be best close-in. Grue?"

I noticed that no one had really gone into detail on any of their abilities. I dismissed Corvin as probably being cryptic on purpose, he seemed like that kind of person, but the others… I couldn't tell whether they had broad enough powers that listing off everything would be more confusing than helpful, or whether they were just holding their cards close to the vest, or what.

"I make darkness," Brian said. "It covers a wide area and resists movement, I can move it however I want, and I can see through it."

He was being as circumspect as the other team was, I noted. Probably not a bad idea.

"Can you only see through your own darkness, or any darkness?" Corvin asked intently.

"I'm not sure," Brian admitted. "I haven't run into any other darkness-generators back home."

"Let's try an experiment, then. Evoke your darkness around yourself and then hold up some number of fingers. I'll do the same."

"All right," Brian agreed, and his power began oozing out of his costume to surround him in an inky-black cloak of darkness. Corvin snapped his fingers and he was instantly shrouded in a globe of pure blackness as well.

I could feel with my bugs as Brian held up three fingers and Corvin held up one.

"Three," Corvin said, and Brian responded with "One."

Corvin snapped his fingers again and his darkness vanished, and Brian's faded a moment later. "That could be very useful," the gnome said. "Any other tricks?"

Brian shook his head. "I'm good in a fistfight, but that's it for powers. Regent?"

"I mess with people's muscles. Trip them, screw with their aim, make them drop things…." he said, then waved playfully at Corvin.

The gnome's hand twitched very slightly and the knife he was balancing wobbled precariously, but he twitched his hand in the other direction and managed to prevent it from falling.

Alec frowned, so small and so quickly I barely noticed it, then continued, "… and other things like that."

"That's all you can do?" Corvin asked.

"Yep, just the one trick," Alec replied.

Corvin gave him a considering look, then shrugged. "It's a good trick, at least. Gallant?"

"I have two powers. I can launch blasts of energy from my hands that vary in intensity and inflict an emotional charge as a side effect," he said, sounding like he was reciting from an official description somewhere, which he actually might have been, "and I can detect the emotional states of other people within line of sight. Uh, and animals, too."

Yin leaned forward slightly. "A modifiable energy blast and a divination spell on the side?" he echoed, then swept his gaze around at our whole team. "Since you didn't mention any usage limits, I presume you can use your abilities as often as you like, and the same goes for the rest of you?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

A self-satisfied grin spread across the changeling's face and he held his hand out toward Khalthrun, who rolled her eyes, pulled a few coins out of a belt pouch, and pressed them into his palm.

"Just a friendly wager, that's all," he said in reply to our inquisitive looks as he put his winnings away. "Champion, what can do you, besides fly around on that personal airskiff of yours?"

"It's called a hoverboard. Uh, I have two spark pistols that shoot bolts of hard electricity and an energy web projector in my shoulder armor, so I'm also the artillery, kind of," Chris said. "Oh! Gallant, your armor!" he added. "With the busted knee joints, you should probably…."

"Right," Dean said, then looked to Yin and explained, "My armor is in bad shape and the repair power that Yin used on everyone's outfits didn't do anything to help, so I don't think it would be a good idea to try to fight in it. Do you know if they have spare armor around here I could borrow?"

"You're not going to find another suit of plate," Khalthrun said. "Everyone here favors lighter and less restrictive armor, thanks to the heat."

"Guess that'll have to do, then; it's better than going without," Dean said with a disappointed frown.

Obsidian tilted his head curiously. "Is it a fading enchantment that worries you, or the armor itself?"

"The actual armor," Chris explained, not seeming to mind Obsidian referring to the tinkertech armor in mystical terms. "He overstressed the joints when we were running from the dragon before we came here, and then all the humidity just made things worse. The joints aren't, uh, 'enchanted' or anything, just relatively fragile; Image insisted that I give him narrow form-fitting joints instead of something more bulky and solid."

"Then I can most likely help you with that."

"Really?"

"Yes. Gallant, please come around the table," the warforged said, and as Dean stepped around to the other side Obsidian pulled out a what looked like a small portable toolbox, except that when he opened it I didn't recognized half the things inside.

A screwdriver with a small crystal instead of a normal head, tiny bottles of brightly-colored powder, what almost looked like tiny branding irons with weirdly-shaped heads… I'd thought the tools Chris had used to fix his hoverboard were odd, but these really took the cake.

He had Dean stand up straight and began using the crystal screwdriver to etch little indistinct patterns on his chest armor, then switched to dusting the etchings with the powders using a small brush, then went back and forth between those a few times. Chris seemed intensely interested in whatever he was doing, but Obsidian's team acted like it was nothing special.

"And you, Vicereine?" Khalthrun prompted.

"Oh, right. I control bugs, you know that already."

"Can you share their senses?" Yin asked.

"Sort of? I can feel them and I'm getting good at hearing through them, but sight is still a problem."

"Mmm. Two out of three is still quite useful."

At that point, Obsidian finished whatever he was doing with Dean's armor, put his tools away, pressed a massive palm over his drawings, and rumbled a few words in some language other than Common. Deep orange light flared between his fingers and jagged streaks of amber light went scurrying over the armor in every direction.

When the light cleared, Dean's armor was absolutely spotless; I couldn't see even the smallest nick or dent in the surface, and the etchings Obsidian had made were all gone. Dean made a surprised sound and jogged in place for a few seconds, proving that all the joints were back in perfect working order, and Brian looked suitably impressed.

Chris, meanwhile, looked like he was wondering who he'd have to kill to be able to do something like that.

"That's so much better, thanks," Dean said. "If I'd known you could do that, I would have asked you for help before we even left that first morning."

"If I had known you needed it, I would have offered," the warforged replied. "I assumed your artificer would keep your armor in good repair."

Chris scowled at that, but quickly smoothed it out into a crooked smile before anyone else looked over at him.

"Have we covered everyone's capabilities, or does anyone have something to add?" Yin asked.

Brian looked around at us, then shook his head. "I think we're good."

"Splendid. Ideas, then?"

I pondered everyone's powers for a minute. "Well," I began, "if Corvin and Brian can both see through each other's darkness, and I can use my bugs to feel things in their darkness, I'm thinking maybe…."

~*~*~

We tossed around over a dozen plans-even Alec suggested one or two, which I hadn't expected at all-but rejected almost all of them.

Some were rejected because they relied on things we couldn't do, like none of my team having training with swords and shields or Terik not being able to use his "necromantic blast" more than twice for some reason, but in most cases the problem was that our plans revolved around defending fixed positions when the drow could come from lots of different directions at once and easily climb over the walls or any other barriers we tried to use.

The plan we eventually settled on was too "loose" and "improvisational" for Brian's taste, but I thought it would work well. We gave up on trying to assign specific positions to specific people and instead divided ourselves into three groups with general goals during the fight, based roughly on a strategy that Terik had described from his own prior experience with larger battles.

The first group was capes who were good in close-up combat, namely Brian, Corvin, Terik, and Yin. The others and I were surprised to learn that Terik and Yin had powers that let them see through Brian's and Corvin's darkness just like those two did; Brian seemed annoyed at that, but I thought it was a good thing that he could use his darkness to cover them without hurting their ability to fight. Their job was essentially to go to wherever the largest group of drow ended up being and fight them there.

The second group was the more mobile capes, specifically Khalthrun and Chris. They'd start off high in the air to get a bird's-eye view of the approaching drow-literally, in Khalthrun's case-then when the drow got close the two of them would quickly reinforce the militia wherever smaller groups of drow were attacking

The last group was capes with the longest-range powers, those being me, Dean, Alec, and Obsidian. Our job was to stay close to the middle of the village and interfere with any drow that were attacking in ones and twos from any direction, persuading them to group up and therefore make the militia's job easier, or if all the drow were already grouped up, to help out the other groups without needing to move around much.

Simple, but effective.

Or at least I hoped it would be. Terik was the only one of us who'd actually been in a situation like this before, so the rest of us were just going on guesswork and what we thought sounded good.

The reeve actually liked the plan when we presented it to him, for once, so at least we had that going for us.

We had around twenty minutes until the earliest estimate for the drow army's arrival, so after getting a few last-minute tips from Terik we headed outside to take a look at the militia's preparations, get ourselves in our initial positions, and prepare for the battle ahead.

~*~*~

"Are you doing okay?" Dean asked gently while we watched some of the villagers try to fortify the western gate.

Anyone who was planning to fight was over by the wall, armed and ready to go. Anyone who wasn't fighting was helping with the fortifications or the medical hut or filling quivers with arrows, things like that. The airship had flown out past the docks to hover over the water, far enough away that the drow shouldn't be able to hit it even if they got a lot farther into the village than we expected, but close enough that the villagers could see it was still there and it could come evacuate people if needed.

We were probably as ready as we'd ever be.

"Yeah," I replied, as I nervously passed my mask from hand to hand, "I'm fine."

No, I wasn't.

I was freaking the hell out.

When I fought Lung, I hadn't really planned or thought about anything, I'd just heard there were people in danger and made a snap decision to help. And look how well that had turned out.

When we'd fought the dinosaurs, they'd popped up completely unexpectedly and I didn't have much time to think or worry before they were coming right at us. And if we hadn't run into the other team as soon after that as we did, Brian and Alec could easily have died from blood loss days ago.

This time, we were standing around waiting, and I had lots of time to imagine all the ways everything could go wrong, and I hated it.

What if our plan didn't work? What if their "shamans" could kill off enough of my bugs that they couldn't get in close to do anything? What if I used too much venom on one of the drow? What if they were allergic to wasp stings? Could drow be allergic to wasp stings?

What if people on our side got hurt? What if I got hurt? Could the village's "healer" capes fix broken bones or serious blood loss, or just basic injuries like Yin could? What would we do if Terik and Yin and all the healers were too hurt to help the rest of us?

"I can see that you're not fine, you know," Dean said calmly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

If I'd wanted to talk about it, I wouldn't have said I was fine, would I?

"All right," he said agreeably, and didn't bother me again.

A few minutes later he checked the time on his gauntlet, then put his helmet on. Alec looked over at him and put his mask on, and I did the same, tilting my head downward as I started to put my hair up in a ponytail.

… Whoa. The ground looked a little different. Everything looked a little different.

I took an unsteady step backward, swaying out of the way of the hand Dean reached out to steady me as I tried to figure out what was going on.

Right before a big fight was a really bad time to figure out there was something wrong with my mask.

I took it off, looked around, held it over my face, looked around, did that a couple more times.

I took my mask off one last time and reached up to adjust my glasses, which… weren't there.

Oh. Right.

I hadn't had my glasses with me when we came to this world, and I hadn't noticed originally because my mask had prescription lenses… but I hadn't been wearing my mask since we got to the village.

I put my mask back on and really looked around.

Huh. The nearby House Tharashk banner looked a lot crisper and more detailed than I remembered.

Up close, Obsidian's armor wasn't completely smooth like I'd thought; the larger black plates with the green undertone had a rougher texture, and there was a subtle ridged waviness to the plain black parts, almost like… oh. Like obsidian. Duh.

How the heck could I have just not noticed that I wasn't seeing right for all this time?

Well, actually, now that I thought about it… I hadn't tried to read anything lately, since Yin's power didn't let us read the language, only speak it… and the lights inside the buildings weren't all that bright, so I'd probably chalked any difficulty seeing up to that… oh, and there was that headache after breakfast… but surely I would have noticed something-

Except that just a moment ago I'd moved to avoid Dean touching me, even though I'd been looking in the other direction with no way of seeing what he was doing.

I'd relapsed to where I'd been before hitting my head on the bunk bed the other day, relying heavily on feeling out my surroundings with my swarm without even noticing it, even though I'd promised myself I'd stop doing that.

It was more than a little bit creepy, and I was not okay with it… but then again, it was also something that could come in really handy when I was fighting people who were supposed to be a lot stronger and faster than I was.

Hmm.

This was a problem for later. I'd just hope it helped in the meantime.

"You doing better now?" Dean asked, deliberately holding his hands out to the side and away from me.

"Yeah, I'm fine. And I mean it, this time."

~*~*~

The twenty-minute mark came and went. The thirty-minute mark, too.

The four of us were standing in the intersection, with clear sight lines to all three gates and to the tops of the wall, and we were all looking around between the gates as if the drow were going to walk right up and knock on one of them at any moment.

I spent a few minutes just watching Khalthrun gliding around in wide lazy circles as a hawk-I hadn't watched her change shape, but the transformation had definitely felt weird through my bugs, and I idly wondered what things might have been like if I'd gotten a power like hers. Would've been a lot less creepy than bug control, that's for sure.

Chris had been circling for a bit, but he'd apparently gotten bored of that and had started doing long ovals and figure-eights and other shapes. One of the militia men below him had asked what he was doing, and he'd called down that changing up his flight pattern would make it harder for the drow to predict his movements, but I didn't buy that for a second.

"So, you're the expert," Dean said to Obsidian as we continued to wait. "Why the delay, do you think?"

"If they were a Khorvairen force, I would say either that they have a much larger army than we thought and are forming up for a large assault, or that their spellcasters were divining us before attacking," the warforged said in a tone of complete confidence, then in a less confident tone continued, "As they are drow, I cannot say for sure, but I would guess that they are either taking the time to approach in secret or are attempting to lure you into a state of fatigue and inattention."

"Lure us? Not you?"

"My attention does not waver and I do not grow tired. My kind were built to be perfect soldiers," Obsidian declared.

Dean's helmet tilted and he gave the warforged a long look, then in a gentle voice he said, "If it helps, we've only known you a few days, but you're more than just a soldier to us and I think if we got to know you better we could be friends."

There was a pause. "Thank you," Obsidian said at last.

I wasn't sure what-

Drow!

They were creeping through the field to the north in a half-crouch, low and slow enough that the plant stalks would probably conceal their movements from the watchers on the walls.

"Guys, there are drow coming through the north field!" I called.

Dean, Alec, and Obsidian immediately turned to look in that direction, and Chris heard me and started banking toward the north wall, but Khalthrun cried out "More drow near the west wall!"

Wait, how she could talk when she was like that? She didn't even have lips!

… Not important right now.

Either the drow heard us, or more likely they noticed Chris and Khalthrun reacting to our warnings, because I felt the ones in the field spring out of their crouch and start running toward the wall. The main intersection where we were waiting was maybe one and a half city blocks away from the walls, so my swarm didn't stretch that far past the edge of the village and it took a few moments before I could sense more drow coming into my range from the west.

Chris zoomed above and along the wall in a tight arc, then swept back toward the middle of the village. "The north group looks bigger!" he shouted, and Brian, Terik, Yin, and Corvin took off running toward that end of the village, along with three soldiers wearing armor with the Tharashk emblem on it.

The four capes spread out in a rough line with a few yards between each of them, while the soldiers stopped midway and nocked arrows to the massive bows they carried. As soon as they were all in position, Khalthrun and Chris headed to the west to take up position above the line of militia men who were already standing there with their spears and shields ready.

The reeve and other men serving as officers started shouting orders and encouragement toward the different groups of militia men-and some women too, there were a few of those with crossbows helping out with the defense-as the drow came closer and closer to the walls.

"The ones by the main gate will get here first," I murmured to the others near me, my attention totally focused on my swarm. "Eleven of them. Three of them have swords, a couple have… chains? Chains with blades on the end. Four with spears, one in each hand, more on their backs. The last two… three knives in each hand, I think?"

"Boomerangs," Obsidian supplied, "with three blades, instead of two blades like the ones the Talenta use."

"Sure, that," I said distractedly. "The ones with spears are lifting them, not sure if they're going to throw them, or just-"

They did throw them.

Straight at the guards atop the walls.

One of the spears went straight through a man's chest.

Another went through another man's head.

The spearheads were jagged, and shredded skin as they went through.

Two more spears hit other guards in the shoulders.

I watched in horror as blood spurted everywhere, from all of their wounds.

The first two men collapsed instantly.

Bits of bone and of brains went flying off of those as they fell.

The other two men were spun around by the force of the hits.

There was… that was a lot of blood.

One of those spun too far, skidded on some blood from the first man, and slipped off the near side of the wall.

His body folded in half backwards when it hit the ground, and I imagined I could hear the CRACK from here.

… There was so much blood.

I almost thought that I could smell the blood-then I realized I actually could.

Oh my god.

There was enough blood that it'd sprayed all over all the insects that were nearby, and the black flies and the mosquitoes that got covered, they all….

Oh my god.

I couldn't smell through them, but they felt like….

Oh my god.

The taste of the blood, it was….

I staggered off to the side, ripped off my mask, and took a few desperate gulping breaths.

Dean rushed over and grabbed my shoulder to steady me.

I felt the drow reach the wall, leap up to it, find handholds, start climbing.

I forced myself to say something, anything.

"C-climbing," I gasped between breaths, "the walls, the guards, they'll-"

Dean turned to shout, but it was too late.

Drow leaped onto the walls.

Swords hacked at limbs.

Chains wrapped around necks and pulled.

Crossbow bolts flew at the drow from farther along the walls, and boomerangs were sent back at them.

The bolts mostly missed, but the boomerangs mostly didn't.

Within moments, the wall was nothing but drow and bodies and blood, so much blood….

Then Obsidian silently leveled his arm cannon, and three tiny glowing orange beads of light shot out of the end.

The drow saw them and ducked out of the way, but they couldn't get far enough.

The beads blossomed into three massive clouds of billowing flame that lit the wooden wall on fire, along with all the bodies on it.

The drow screamed in pain, until they weren't able to scream anymore.

The smell of burning blood, and burning bodies, it was….

And the screaming was….

Oh god, the screaming.

My legs collapsed beneath me, and I puked my guts out on the side of the road.

~*~*~

I don't know how long I knelt there, just staring at the ground.

"Taylor!"

The nice, safe ground.

"Are you okay?"

The ground with no blood on it.

"Taylor!"

Or bone. Or brains.

"You've got to get up!"

Or charred flesh.

"We need your help!"

I just wanted to…

" Taylor!"

I turned my head calmly to the side.

Dean was there.

His hand was on my shoulder.

There was a little yellow light shining between his fingers in regular pulses, I noticed calmly.

Yellow, like with Lung.

Yellow, for calm, he'd said.

---

That was why I was calm.

I really shouldn't have been calm, but I was very calm.

The light was very bright.

Like sunshine.

It was nice.

"Vicereine, are you with me?" Dean asked.

I nodded calmly.

"I'm going to stop now. Are you going to be okay?"

No, probably not, I thought calmly.

I nodded. Calmly.

"Okay, if you're sure…." he said, and the light went out-

Oh my FUCKING god I just watched four men DIE just like THAT and then like ten more after that and there's still screaming and burning and peoples' guts on the ground and everything smells like blood and I can TASTE the blood and oh my GOD there are people walking around with half their heads missing how the FUCK is that happening and why can I-

… Oh, look.

There was the little yellow light on my shoulder again.

I liked the little yellow light.

It made me feel all floaty.

That was nice.

"That was a bad idea, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have just stopped it like that," Dean babbled apologetically.

"It's okay. You're okay. I'm fine now," I told him calmly.

"No, you're really, really not," he said. "I'm going to back it off slowly now, all right?"

"All right," I said calmly.

"All right," he repeated, "all right, okay, here goes…."

This time the little yellow light dimmed much more slowly.

I came back to myself gradually enough that all of the… everything didn't hit me all at once.

I mentally scrabbled around for my swarm, which I'd completely lost track of; I really hoped it hadn't hurt anyone while I'd been out of it.

I looked and felt around for everyone. Please let them be okay….

Obsidian was still here, standing near us. A small sphere of glass or something shot out of his cannon to strike a drow climbing over the wall and cover it with blue goop that stuck it it place, then sheets of flame burst from his cannon to practically barbecue a group of-

No, nope, no, don't think in food terms right now, oh god-

Alec was still here too, standing a few feet away in the other direction, waving his hands around to trip one drow running toward us and then make another drow throw a boomerang at that one-wow, that was great aim for just a random twitch. He looked almost bored, and, my god, how could he look bored when people were dying all around him?

Khalthrun was dive-bombing individual drow-wow, there were a lot of drow, when did all of them get in here?-and whether she hit them or not, a moment later a lightning bolt would just appear out of the cloudless sky to scorch them and blast them off their feet.

Chris was hovering near the south wall, completely stone-faced, his shoulder cannon and pistols blasting away at drow near that gate. The gnats I landed on his face could feel wet tracks going down his cheeks.

Terik was… riding a skeleton horse? He was riding a skeleton horse. He had his huge sword of bone in one hand, and he was just riding past groups of drow and slicing them in half, and when any of them got too close to him on the other side he was making bone spikes grow out of his gauntlets and then punching them in the face, my god-

Wait, were the half-headless drow zombies? Zombies he… made, somehow, after punching their heads half off?

Holy fuck.

Brian was… probably okay? He and Yin were fighting back-to-back in a huge cloud of darkness that covered the entire north wall, facing off against a group of six drow who obviously couldn't see in the darkness like the two of them could.

He'd grabbed a staff from somewhere and was using it to whack the drow around while Yin went for killing blows, and I knew absolutely nothing about martial arts but I didn't think he was doing too badly? He wasn't moving like he was badly injured, at least, just limping a little with his right leg.

Corvin was running around stabbing drow in the stomach and throwing knives into their throats like a pint-sized psychopath.

Dean was right beside me, watching me warily like I was going to break down again any second now… and I couldn't exactly blame him for that.

Oh, and someone, probably Khalthrun, had fortified the walls to hell and back. Their outer surfaces had grown huge wooden spikes, the gates were blocked off by what looked like a massive hedge covered in thorns, there were wide trenches just inside the walls to make it harder for drow jumping down to get their footing, and I could see spears and boomerangs that were being thrown over the walls get deflected by what felt to my bugs like an incredibly strong localized windstorm.

And on top of that, there were bodies (drow and human and otherwise) strewn down each of the streets and between the buildings, and a lot of the buildings near the walls were on fire, and all of the tallest buildings in the village had at least one window blown out.

I sensed all of that in maybe five seconds and sat there feeling everything out for a little bit longer, then I took a deep breath and stood up.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, his left hand still resting comfortingly on my shoulder.

"… No," I admitted. "But I'll deal."

All of this was just so visceral compared to our last fight. Fighting the dinosaurs almost felt like we were in a movie-I mean, first off, they were dinosaurs, which didn't really seem real, and then everything was colorful lights and scorch marks and Alec's scepter. No blood and guts, nothing really disturbing.

Now, though, with civilians crying and wailing behind us, and smoke rising from the burning wall and buildings and carrying the scent of blood, and some of bodies of the defenders lying around looking like they'd been even younger than I was….

"Hey. It's okay. I'm not doing much better," he said. He waggled his right elbow, and I noticed that he had his right hand pressed firmly against his side and flickers of different-colored light were shining through his fingers. There was a lot of shades of yellow, with intermittent shades of red and orange.

"Are you using your power on yourself?" I asked.

"Yeah. It's helping. I've watched thirty-five people die in the last… maybe five minutes." He winced sharply. "Thirty-six, now." He took a shuddering breath. "You have any idea what people's emotions look like when they're dying? It's not pretty."

"Five minutes? Is that how long I was…?" I asked, in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

"Give or take. Quick summary: the ground group got to the north wall and started dealing with those, Khalthrun and Chris were able to cover the militia's retreat from the west wall once Obsidian, uh, cleared out the drow there, Obsidian and Alec covered us while we were out of it, Zurya actually hit a few of them with something when they got too close, more drow started coming from the south and those got handled, now the capes are doing almost all the fighting and the militia is just dealing with the few drow that get past us and being a wall around the old people and kids. I don't know if we're winning, but we're… holding out."

"Okay," I said. "Okay. That's good." I could feel myself calming down, normally this time.

I reached out to my swarm and started counting the drow. I ignored the feeling of spiders walking through blood, of beetles landing on exposed bone, all of that, and just focused on counting.

Twenty-two dead, twenty-five fighting inside the walls. Eight more climbing the south wall. I sent every last one of my wasps to sting the everloving fuck out of those eight before they could make it over the top as I thought about what the numbers meant.

Fifty-five drow, out of sixty total, or possibly more. Where were the last few, and what were they waiting for?

Obsidian launched one last volley of his glass spheres, then turned to us. "I am out. Cover me."

"What do you mean, 'out'?" Alec asked.

"I have expended all of the charges in my wands," the warforged rumbled. He started fiddling with tiny switches and levers on his arm cannon, and one by one drumstick-sized wooden rods started falling out of slots in its surface and clattering to the street below. They all looked somewhat similar to the "wand" Yin had used, with writing and crystals and all that, except that the writing was all scorched and the crystals were all cracked.

A compartment in his side opened, and he plucked out a new wand, fitted it into one of the now-empty slots and closing it with a loud click. "It will take a short while to replace them, during which time I will need you to cover me."

Dean sighed. "Well, we'll try."

"Good."

Obsidian continued working with his arm cannon while Alec, Dean, and I kept an eye out for drow coming in our direction.

I was actually seeing the drow close-up for the first time as I looked over the ones nearest to us, since I'd only been feeling them with my swarm before except for the few on the west wall that… didn't exactly last long enough for me to get a good look.

They looked, well, elf-like, just as Khalthrun had said, and I could see now how Terik only looked like half an elf. The drow had impossibly slender and wiry torsos and limbs (or at least it would have been impossible if they were humans) and their features were all sharp angles, with long pointed ears and very defined cheek bones and chins.

They had black skin-not "black" as in African-American, like Brian, but as in jet-black, like Obsidian-except where they had pure-white markings that I assumed were tattoos, and their hair was pure white as well.

As I got a good look at multiple drow, I could see that different drow had different marks and hairstyles, which probably had some significance to them given that I was starting to notice some patterns in the markings.

More tattoos and longer hair seemed to mean more skill, since most of the drow bodies had shorter hair and a few marks here and there while the ones that were still up and fighting had lots of tattoos all over the place and had their hair in long braids or ponytails or just shaggy manes down their backs. The ones using weapons had thinner lines and more right angles in their tattoos, while the ones with staffs using powers had thicker lines and more sinuous tattoos.

And all of them had either what looked like the outline of a sword splitting a circle in half or the outline of a hand missing its ring finger tattooed somewhere on them, which I assumed were emblems representing their tribe, or maybe their army, or whatever other group had decided to attack us.

None of that helped us immediately, but it might be useful at some point, if we survived the next few minutes.

Obsidian had been the one mostly keeping the drow away from us and the civilians behind us, so as soon as they noticed he was busy reloading his weapon, a group of five drow broke away from where they were trying to fight Terik and came rushing toward us.

I clenched my fists, wishing I had some kind of weapon; I wouldn't know the first thing about actually using it, but it might at least give them pause if they saw I was armed.

Of that group, four of the drow had swords and boomerangs and one was a "shaman" with a staff. One of the ones with a boomerang leaped up to a window ledge on a nearby cottage, then flung himself to the roof of a building across the way to circle around behind us, and a second one followed him; the other two, the ones with swords, just kept charging at us.

I massed my swarm above the roofs, and when the two drow up there got close to us they were suddenly caught in a deluge of biting and stinging bugs. I didn't order my bugs to sting them multiple times each… but I didn't order them to hold back their venom, either.

One of the charging drow stumbled, faceplanted into the hard stone of the road, and had trouble getting up as Alec knocked her legs out from under her with a wave of his hand; the other one took one of Dean's emotion blasts to the chest, and had to slow down and start dodging those to protect itself instead of coming any closer.

Since my teammates couldn't handle more than one drow at the same time I split off some bugs and sent them at the shaman, but she was obviously made of sterner stuff than the others because she ignored the biting and stinging completely. In fact, out of the dozens of bees and horseflies I had swarming her I couldn't even feel most of them managing to get through her skin, so she must have had some kind of defensive power.

She raised a hand in our direction with a little flourish and spat a few words, and I felt my hair suddenly frizz as a blinding bolt of lightning crackled out of her palm right at me and Dean.

Time seemed to slow.

I had no idea whether my armor would be able to stand up to a freaking lightning bolt, but thanks to the bugs on her arm and hand I could sense exactly where she was pointing it and easily duck under it without even thinking.

Dean managed to get mostly out of the way, but the lightning still clipped him; he seemed fine, but his armor was starting to move a little jerkily again like it had before Obsidian repaired it.

I looked over at Alec. "Can you do anything about her?" I asked, waving at the shaman, and he shook his head.

"Nope. I can barely make her twitch, and I don't know why." He flicked a hand to the side and the drow on the road, who'd just managed to stand back up when Alec had stopped paying attention to her, spasmed and fell over again. "Not like I'm having any trouble with the other ones."

"My beams aren't hitting her as hard as usual," Dean said as he got to his feet and went back to blasting the other drow that he'd been keeping at bay. "Regent, you want to try using your scepter?"

"Fuck no, I'm not getting anywhere near her," Alec retorted as the shaman took a few steps closer and began waving her hand around again. "You have power armor, go… put her in a headlock, or something."

"Power armor and electrokinetics don't really mix," Dean objected, then reflexively threw himself to the side.

I did the same, rolling out of the way as the next bolt of lightning passed between us and shattered the windows of one of the houses behind us.

Popping back up to my feet, I looked between the shaman and Dean and Alec and thought furiously. Alec wasn't willing to go for her, Dean couldn't help without screwing up his armor even more, the shaman wasn't getting distracted by my bugs, stinging her wasn't working… what else, what else… tie her up with silk? No, my spiders couldn't weave anywhere near that fast… maybe I could run up and tackle her and Dean could-

I felt Obsidian raise a wand in his left hand, and four rays of blinding red light flashed past us to strike the shaman with a loud sizzling sound. The drow let out a strangled cry and keeled over from multiple fist-sized holes burned through her head and chest.

A moment later, more rays drilled through the chest of the drow that Alec had been keeping on the ground and almost incinerated the entire stomach of the one Dean had been dealing with.

Dean flinched and looked away, and I felt my stomach churn at the sight. "What the hell was that?" I demanded.

"You were having difficulty dealing with the shaman, so I dealt with her," Obsidian said us as he loaded that wand into one of the slots in his cannon and moved to grab the next one from his compartment.

"I was trying to figure out a non-lethal way to take her down," I objected.

"When you are facing superior numbers, if you have highly lethal options, use them. Do not waste time or endanger yourself by debating alternatives."

"What if we don't want to kill anyone?" Dean asked.

"Then the battlefield is not the place for you, and your reluctance may get the villagers killed instead," the warforged stated simply.

And here I'd thought he was one of the nice ones.

I glared at him, and he looked back impassively. I didn't know why I was bothering, I couldn't exactly win a staring contest with someone who didn't blink.

I tried to think of a rebuttal, but nothing was coming to mind. The drow weren't holding back, they wouldn't hesitate to kill us if they got a chance, obviously we were at a disadvantage if we weren't willing to go to the same lengths… but even then, I couldn't bring myself to even want to kill them back, much less actually do it.

I just-wait.

There were more drow coming, aiming for the gap between the west and south gates where no one was watching from the wall.

And there were at least twenty of them, so there went our estimate of their numbers.

"A lot more drow coming, from the southwest," I said, breaking eye contact with Obsidian.

"How many?" Dean asked.

"Twenty… three, so far."

"Jesus." He turned to Obsidian. "Do you have enough wands for that?"

The warforged paused. "No. I used up most of my supply of combat wands during our expedition, before we met. I had planned to craft more when we returned to Stormreach. I do not have enough left to fill this entire component, much less engage several squads of enemies."

"Great. So, what should we do?"

Instead of answering, Obsidian called up to his teammate: "Khalthrun! More drow, from the southwest!"

She wheeled around in a gentle arc, hovered for a moment as she watched their approach for a few moments, then folded her wings and dove toward us, spreading her wings at the last second to arrest her fall and let her land on the edge of a nearby roof.

"How do you fare?" she asked us.

"No serious injuries so far, but I am nearly out of wands," Obsidian replied.

Khalthrun nodded, which looked funny on a hawk. "I have only a few offensive spells left. Control Winds, which I plan to save until we can be sure they have no shamans left, and a few others. Terik was almost out when I asked him a minute ago, and Yin is completely out. With still more drow coming, this could turn out very poorly."

"Yes," Corvin drawled, "how rude of the drow to attack near the end of the day, and when we weren't prepared for them."

I was too shell-shocked at that point to be surprised at his sudden appearance. "What are you doing over here?"

"I saw the impromptu planning meeting and decided to check in. Also, there are another ten or so coming from the north."

"Jeez, they just don't stop coming, do they?" Alec said.

"It could be much worse," Khalthrun said. "The columns of flame you may have seen earlier-" I hadn't, that must have happened while I was out of it "-were my flame strikes slaying a large group of shamans before they could shape or blast holes in the walls to let the rest through. If the entire army had been able to flood the village at once, instead of attacking in individual bands to try to find weak spots in our defenses…." she trailed off with a shake of her head.

"Those small bands are bad enough," Dean said. "If you're, uh, out of powers, then how are we going to deal with them?"

"My group can clean up the rest of the ones inside the walls," Corvin said with a dismissive wave, and from what I could feel of Terik and the four drow he was currently pummeling to pieces, he was probably right. "None of them can see in our darkness, so it should be a breeze."

"Ten is much more manageable than twenty," Obsidian observed as he loaded one last wand into his cannon and sealed everything back up. "I can go to the north wall and handle those."

"Then I shall take the south," Khalthrun said.

"Battlebriar?" Corvin asked.

"Battlebriar," she confirmed, and took off toward the southern wall.

"Will she be fine all by herself?" I asked.

Corvin grinned. "She'll be more than fine. Wait for it…."

As we watched, Khalthrun flapped her wings furiously and rose high in the sky above the south gate. She circled once, twice, a third time, as if looking for something in particular, then stopped flapping her wings… and in the space of a few seconds her hawk body positively exploded into a huge mass of thorny vines and branches.

When everything had stopped wriggling around, she'd turned into some kind of six-legged nightmare beast that looked like a cross between a hedge maze and a triceratops and had to be at least the size of a pickup truck.

A moment later, she fell out of the sky with an impact that I could feel even from a hundred or so feet away, and from how quickly Dean looked away she must have fallen right on a bunch of the drow.

"Yeah, I can see that," Alec said, mirroring the gnome's grin and sounding much more amused than he should be at the idea that Khalthrun had just crushed multiple people to death without a second thought.

I didn't even have it in me to be horrified or appalled, anymore. I was just kind of numb to all the carnage, now.

Obsidian headed off to the north wall without a look back. Corvin pulled two daggers out of nowhere, saluted us with one of them, and dashed off toward the cloud of darkness that had now migrated toward the west gate.

That left us standing alone at the intersection, a line of soldiers a few yards behind us, and no drow in sight.

That would give us a bit of a breather, finally-it felt like we'd been fighting for hours, even though it had only actually been a few minutes-but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. This battle was kind of like my morning run: if I stopped to take a break, I didn't know if I'd be able to force myself to get going again.

I leaned over, put my hands on my knees, and took a few deep, calming breaths.

You know, things had gone pretty well so far, all things considered. I hadn't gotten hurt, I was able to mostly stay away from all the blood and gore and act entirely through my swarm, very few villagers had died after the initial attack, my swarm-sensing trick meant I could dodge anything anyone wanted to throw at me, and when-

Three drow suddenly appeared inside the walls, maybe fifty feet away.

The one in the middle was wearing much fancier clothing than the others-it was the same style of mottled white-and-brown leathery armor the rest wore, but with more decoration, and he had a cloak as well-and was carrying a staff. Not just a plain walking-stick-looking one like most of the shamans, this one was almost as tall as he was and had a green crystal on the top end that had been glowing when they arrived but had quickly faded. That made him the leader of this attack, I guessed, or at least similarly important.

To his left was a drow carrying one of those three-bladed boomerangs, one that looked much larger and spikier than all the others had. She had heavier armor than the other warriors, and it was spiked, too.

To his right was someone odd. The one with the staff had the curling tattoos of a shaman, and lots of them, and the woman with the boomerang had dozens of the more angular warrior tattoos, but this drow had both kinds of tattoos. Not just that, but he had a moderately fancy staff in one hand-it was short like the other shamans' but with a glowing crystal on the end like the leader's staff-and one of those chains with a blade on the end coiled up and hanging from the opposite hip.

The newcomers were looking around them, presumably to get a sense of how the battle was going, until the shaman-warrior caught sight of us. He immediately pointed in our direction and barked, " Nind!"

I could see Alec's eyes widen through his mask as he frantically waved at the three new drow and nothing seemed to happen. "Uh," he said, in a much less amused tone than before, "something tells me these guys are bad news."

Dean lifted both hands and sent a pair of blasts at the leader… which hit a shimmery silver something in the air a few inches in front of him and were deflected harmlessly off to the side.

" Shit," Dean swore.

The leader smiled toothily and began stalking toward us, the other two trailing a step behind him.

I sent my swarm at him, but as soon as they got within a few yards of him, my bugs went crazy. I could still feel them and sense through them just fine, they just stopped following my orders for some reason.

As he kept walking closer, the bugs on the far side of him snapped back under my control once he'd moved far enough from them, and I let out a little sigh of relief; it was something around him, then, not something that permanently screwed with my control of certain bugs.

But either way, that was it, I was basically useless against him. Same with Dean and Alec.

It was almost like he knew exactly what our powers were and how to mess with them before he showed up.

Maybe that's what the delays and the staggered groups of drow had been all about? Giving them time to watch us fight, figure out our powers, and then figure out how to counter them?

Whatever the reason, we'd be screwed if they got close to us. By this point they were maybe twenty feet away, so I started backing away toward the militia behind us, who had lined up and were holding their shields out for protection but were shaking with noticeable fear, as far as I could tell from my bugs.

"Any ideas?" I asked the other two.

"Uh, don't die?" Alec responded.

"Great idea," Dean said. "Got any others?"

"Nope."

We started picking up the pace to try to get behind the wall of shields more quickly, and when the lead drow saw that he gestured to the woman beside him. She snapped her arm forward and her boomerang came whizzing toward us.

I was slow to react without being able to feel her movements, so I didn't have a chance to dodge before the boomerang slammed into the stomach of Dean's armor, bounced off to strike me in the side, and bounced behind Dean to slice Alec in the shoulder before bouncing back to her.

"Ahhh fuck!" Alec cried, clasping his hand to his shoulder to stem the sudden bleeding.

I wasn't bleeding, just a little bruised, and Dean looked fine. Whatever crazy power of hers let the boomerang bounce around like that, it was still just a boomerang, and my armor held.

The leader took a few quick strides forward before we could react, and suddenly all of the bugs around me were out of my control, and I freaked out. There weren't any actually on me, but suddenly I wasn't at all comfortable having a bunch of dangerous insects anywhere near me and threw my arms up to cover my head.

Without being able to keep my bugs on him, I couldn't react fast enough when he murmured a few words and multiple glowing darts of energy leaped from his hand to impact me in the chest. I cried out in pain; they felt like burning-hot knives that went straight through my armor, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe.

The warrior-shaman seemed to be staring hard at Alec with an odd expression on his face. I wasn't sure what he expected to happen-maybe he was waiting for Alec to freak out about his power not working when the leader got too close, like I was?-but whatever it was didn't happen, and his look quickly transformed into a furious scowl.

" Nau're z'har quori! Dos'iv! Qu'lith dosst araj!" he shouted, and dropped a hand to the bladed chain at his waist.

Alec turned and moved to run, but the drow snarled and flicked the chain out toward Alec before he could get more than a few steps away. It uncoiled as it went and wrapped around Alec's leg, dropping him to the ground, and the drow began pulling the chain toward him.

Dean lunged forward and tried to stomp on the chain and stop it, but all that accomplished was getting him knocked to the ground too as the drow gave the chain a firm yank.

I could feel some of the militia behind us slowly coming closer and raising crossbows, but they were hesitating, probably not willing to shoot the drow while we were in the way.

Dean down, Alec down and bleeding, my power useless, the militia unable to help, Obsidian out of wand energy, everyone else at the walls too far away to help in time… I had no idea what to do.

Wait.

"Chris! Help!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.

I had no idea if he'd be able to accurately target the drow at that range, but with the wide spread of his shoulder cannon, he wouldn't have to be that accurate.

I felt him spin around in the air, move his hands around, and then start floating in our direction. A quick glance to the south showed that the light was building up around his shoulder armor, but it was taking longer than I remember it needing in the dinosaur fight.

"Hurry, Chris!" I yelled again, and he started floating faster.

The drow woman raised her boomerang again in Alec's direction, but I dived on top of Alec. Not only did the extra weight stop him from being dragged as fast, but I felt the boomerang bounce off my upper back, hard, to save Alec another injury.

That would definitely hurt in the morning.

… If I survived to the morning.

What the hell was taking Chris so long?

I found out a moment later as dozens of energy balls blasted out of the Ward's cannon to form an almost solid wall of crackling lightning.

The woman and the warrior-shaman both flung themselves backwards and were only grazed, but the leader… wasn't so lucky.

The smell of scorched flesh assaulted my nose for the who-knows-how-many-th time today, but for once, I didn't mind at all.

The two survivors looked down at the charred corpse that had been their leader and murmured to each other. They stopped immediately when Chris, still utterly stone-faced, started charging another energy blast.

Far behind them, Terik finished slicing two drow to ribbons and wheeled his skeleton horse around, sending it galloping toward the warrior-shaman and the woman. I rolled off Alec and moved to stand, and Dean started pulling himself to his feet.

The warrior-shaman glanced at Chris, at us, over his shoulder at Terik, and frowned. From his expression, assuming drow expressions worked like human ones, he really wanted to stick around and keep fighting us, but now that he was about to be outnumbered five to two he'd obviously decided otherwise.

He dropped his chain, lunged forward to grab the leader's staff, stood, and slowly swept the tip of the staff around at us threateningly.

Then he held the staff out for the woman to grab as well, barked a word that lit up the crystal on its top, and vanished. The moment he did, my bugs were instantly back under my control, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Terik's horse cantered to a halt near us a few moments later. "Curses!" he cried jovially. "I only needed two more to beat Corvin's count. Alas."

I yanked my mask off and gave him the hardest glare I could manage. " Not. The. Time."

His smile faded. "Ah. I presume this is your first real battle, then?"

"Second. Kind of," I said. "But the first one that's so…." I waved around vaguely.

"I see. I hadn't realized. You all seemed confident enough during the planning stage."

"Yeah, well, I guess we didn't really know what we were in for," Dean said, then reached down to untangle the chain from around Alec's knees and help him up. Alec carefully moved the chain aside and stood, wincing as the motion tugged at the wound in his arm.

As we talked, I could feel Yin and Corvin taking care of a few last drow in the darkness cloud, while the rest of the drow within my range retreated. Brian was standing off to the side, the staff he'd grabbed hanging loose in his grip; I couldn't tell how he was doing.

"As far as I can tell, the drow are all dead or retreating. We won," I said dully.

"Didja hear that?" called one of the militia members close enough to hear me. "They're gone! We're saved!"

They raised a celebratory cry, which quickly spread to the other villagers. The older people and children began coming out from behind the men with shields and the barricades to help take water and medical supplies to the surviving combatants. Most of the militia put down their weapons and went out to collect bodies.

Brian, Yin, Corvin, and Obsidian made their way over to us. Yin and Corvin were smiling cheerfully and chatting animatedly about this sword blow or that trick or whatever else from the battle, while Obsidian put in a few words here and there.

Brian reached us and stopped, not saying a word, and the four of us just kind of stood there, letting the noise wash over us.

"How are you feeling?" Terik asked gently.

"Like shit," I said, and Dean and Alec nodded agreement.

"How about you, Champion?" he asked, turning to Chris.

Chris floated down to join us… and I saw that the wetness my bugs had felt on his cheeks wasn't tears, or at least not entirely. It was blood, spattered all over the lower part of his face and extending down to his armor, where I hadn't noticed it before because it blended in to the red of his plating.

"I can still taste the blood," he mumbled. When we looked at him questioningly, he continued in a hollow tone: "One of the shamans was a flyer. Got too close to me. Hit him with the cannon, and…."

I cringed in sympathy. Seeing and tasting everything through my bugs from a few dozen feet away had been bad enough. For it to happen right in front of him… god, I couldn't even imagine.

"The first one is always the hardest," Corvin sighed, reaching up to pat Chris comfortingly on the knee.

"And you, Grue?" Terik asked.

"… I'm fine," Brian said. He was doing his voice-distortion effect with his power, which not only camouflaged his voice but also, I noticed, made it harder to tell his tone.

"Are you sure?" Yin asked.

"He's not," Dean said.

"I'm fine."

"I don't think any of us are fine," Dean said, then limped over and slowly put an arm around Brian's shoulder. Brian stiffened for a moment, then slumped and leaned into it. "And that's okay."

Khalthrun walked up at that point, her clothes spotless and not a hair out of place, like she hadn't even been in the battle at all. "I'll need to spend some time restoring the walls to their prior condition, Yin will be handling the loot, and Terik's assistance will likely be requested for the burials," she said briskly. "If you wish to return to the enclave in the meantime, perhaps a hot meal and a good night's sleep will-"

"I don't want to stay here another night," I interrupted hoarsely. "I want to get on the airship and leave as soon as possible and never see this village or another drow for the rest of my life."

Alec nodded in fervent agreement. Dean and Brian nodded tiredly. Chris stared off into the distance.

Yin took in our expressions, then exchanged looks with the rest of his team, receiving nods from each of them in turn. "Yes," he agreed, "perhaps that would be for the best. We'll let you know when everything is ready for us to depart."

The other team dispersed and the villagers largely avoided us in their work, leaving the five of us standing there in a circle.

Exhausted, physically and emotionally.

Covered in blood and scrapes and bruises.

Alone together.

Author's Note

Whew. This chapter actually ended up being cut down a bunch in editing; there was going to be more detail of the battle originally, but as it was approaching 16K words I figured that was a bit much, even for me.

For those wondering why Dean stuck with the "we're totally nobles" story, now you know: partly thanks to the Ghostbusters rule ("Taylor. When a noble asks you if you're another noble, you say yes !"), and partly because, while Dean is a vial cape, he does still have his own set of trauma that colors his decisions.

Regarding Taylor's vision, she continues to take a slightly different route with her powers than in canon, focusing a lot more on the sensory side of her swarm than the offensive side and therefore approaching "creepy villain who sees everything without realizing how creepy she is" territory much sooner. Though, given her experience in this battle, the lack of focus on offensive uses of her power may change pretty soon.

Regarding said battle… well, it's going to be a looong time before Taylor and the UnderWards can comfortably eat barbecue, that's for darn sure.

And, oh look, there's Parik again! Hi Parik! It's a shame that your scry-and-die plan didn't work ("scry-and-die" being the term for a common mid-levels-and-up tactic of using divinations to pinpoint an enemy, buffing yourself to the gills, teleporting in to catch them by surprise, killing them when they're undefended, and teleporting out), but better luck next time!

For those interested, rough translations of Parik's dialog:

" Nind!" = "That's (some of) them!"

" Nau're z'har quori! Dos'iv! Qu'lith dosst araj! " = "… Hey, you aren't being possessed by a spirit! It was you ! I'll make you suffer for that!"

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

As it turns out, part of Brian's power isn't just "see through his own darkness" but rather "see through magical darkness in general," which is very handy for him. What's less handy for him is that there are multiple spells and other effects to let people do the same, including ebon eyes . Spells Obsidian used or referenced: make whole (fully repairs a nonmagical object) via a spell storing item infusion (craft a temporary "wand" of any spell), fireball (big fiery explosion), and scorching ray (launches fiery lasers at people). Obsidian was able to "cast" three fireballs at once to open the battle thanks to his cannon incorporating a few rods of many wands , an item in Complete Mage that lets you slot three wands into it and fire off all three at once… at the cost of spending triple the normal number of charges per shot, hence him running out of wand charges pretty quickly. Spells Khalthrun used or referenced: call lightning storm (drop lightning bolts on people, bigger ones if it's stormy), wood shape (shapes wood as desired, such as into huge lines of spikes), wall of thorns (creates a huge, er, wall of thorns that impales people trying to move through it), summon nature's ally III (summons nature-y creatures for a short time) to get some thoqquas (5-foot-long snakelike elementals with super-hot noses that are good at digging) to make those defensive trenches, wind wall (creates a wall of moving area that deflects most projectiles), and flame strike (fiery smite-y death from above). Khalthrun's shapechanging comes from Wild Shape, the ability of a druid to take on animal forms and later plant and elemental forms. The plant creature she turned into toward the end was a Lesser Battlebriar, a critter from Monster Manual 3 that runs around impaling things on its thorns, shooting lethal volleys of thorns at people, and just generally ruining the day of things that get too close. It looks like this. Cute and cuddly, it ain't. Spells Terik used or referenced: his "necromantic blasts" were normal blasting spells with the Fell Animate feat applied, which turns anything killed by that spell into a zombie. Pretty handy. His skeleton horse doesn't come from a spell, but rather from his class feature as a Bone Knight; I'm going to put some stats and descriptions for the Eberron party in the opening post when I get a chance. Examples of the Xen'drik boomerang, and the more-common-in-Khorvaire Talenta boomerang, can both be seen in this picture. Spells the first shaman (an adept, a "cleric lite" class) used: stoneskin (reduces all physical damage taken until the protection is used up) and lightning bolt (shoots a line of lightning). Spells the leader (a sorcerer) used: dimension door (moderate-range teleport; has pinpoint accuracy, but you can't act immediately after you teleport in) through his staff, and ray deflection (negates any rays shot at the caster) personally. Sadly, his active spells did not include any ones that might grant electricity resistance or temporary hit points. Spells Parik (now a cleric) used: magic circle against evil (suppresses any "active control" effects, such as body or bug control, within 10 feet), and dimension door using the leader's staff. Parik managed to pick up cleric casting after just a few days because the sacred site where his tribe's shamans are consecrated allows rebuilding, a rule in Player's Handbook 2 that lets you go on a special quest to a thematically-appropriate site to swap class levels around. For anyone keeping score at home, he went from being an 8th-level Warblade (a class that's basically "fighter, but fancier") to a Warblade 6/Cleric 2.

Last edited: Jul 27, 2022

Integration 2.M

9:46 pm, Friday the 15th of April, 2011 CE Walsh & Sons Roofing and Siding, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Melody Jurist

The bullets whizzing across the parking lot missed Cricket's shoulder by less than an inch, and that was just the way she liked it.

Any idiot with enhanced reflexes could dodge bullets like a spaz, jerking around and telegraphing their moves so hard a blind person could see them coming.

It took a real artist to just barely dodge a bullet.

Not only did that kind of economy of motion save energy and keep her perfectly balanced to respond to any follow-up attacks, but making all that dodging look effortless was great for demoralizing enemies and frustrating them into making mistakes.

Plus, it looked really fucking impressive for anyone watching.

Not that there were many people watching right then. The Eastbrook Shopping Center wasn't exactly the hottest place to be on a Friday night. There were no clubs or restaurants or anything else that might attract a crowd, just a bunch of piddly little small businesses like a pet store and a laundromat and one of those gook nail salons.

And a small roofing company that just so happened to be one of Coil's fronts, which was why her and Stormtiger were leading a couple squads of the Empire's boys in a raid on the place.

There were five nondescript vans parked in a rough circle around their target. Three of them were in the main lot, positioned at two, twelve, and ten o'clock from the perspective of the storefront; Cricket was leading four men on the left flank, Stormtiger had four more on the fight flank, and there were five men bringing up the center. The other two vans were stationed at either end of the alley behind the store in case Coil's men tried anything funny.

It was supposed to have been an easy assignment-drive up, bust their way into the store, kill anyone there, grab anything good, get out.

Unfortunately, Coil's men hadn't been so accommodating.

Bullets had started flying the moment the Empire vans had finished unloading their troops, as if the mercenaries had known they'd be coming, and their initial force of thirty men had been cut down to the current group of thirteen in the first few minutes of the fight.

No surprise there. The Empire had been harassing Coil's front businesses and drug storehouses and anything else they could find for a few days now, ever since Kaiser had put his new strategy into place, and that skinny bastard in black and white spandex had seemingly been one step ahead of them the whole time.

That was just fine with Cricket. If she'd wanted things to be easy, she'd still be beating up punks one-on-two or even one-on-three in the underground rings back in New York. She lived for a real challenge.

She pressed her electrolarynx to her throat with one hand and waved her men ahead with the other. "Lewis, Williams, behind that column. Cooper, Morris, behind that black truck on the right. Give it a five count, then follow."

Her men nodded, she slotted the electrolarynx back into its spot on her belt as she drew her kamas, and then she sprinted out of cover directly for the storefront.

While most of Coil's mercenaries had retreated to the back room after the opening salvo, presumably to pack up everything important so they could scuttle the operation and scram, there were two of them taking turns at the main window. One was firing at incoming troops while the other reloaded and watched for anyone approaching from the side.

"Cricket, three o'clock!" the second one yelled, and the first one twisted around to shoot at her.

Perfect.

Echolocation was the trick Cricket was known for among the city's more experienced capes, and one she used practically all the time, but it definitely wasn't her only one. She used her acoustokinesis in plenty of other ways, like dampening the sound of gunshots near her to protect her hearing (she could always compensate for ear damage with her power, but why risk getting a permanent injury she couldn't show off?) or making the windows sing with high-frequency vibrations during a dogfight to get the mutts all riled up.

Or, as in this case, hitting a merc with an intense burst of infrasound to make him dizzy enough to take a staggering step backward and stop firing for just a few seconds, which was the signal Stormtiger had been waiting for.

Her fellow cape popped up from behind the hood of a car a little ways off and made a tossing motion with his hands. A moment later the store window exploded inwards, sending glass shards everywhere and forcing the two mercs back with their arms covering their faces.

Cricket dove through the new hole in the window without breaking stride, landed in a crouch, and sprang toward the nearest merc. His torso was fully covered by the thick kevlar vest all of Coil's troops wore, so she slashed at his unprotected arm.

She could have sliced his brachial artery and made him bleed out in less than a minute, but that would have been too easy. Instead, she twisted her wrist at the last second so the tip of her kama merely drew a long red line down his inner arm.

First blood , she thought, grinning viciously.

An extra-strong pulse of her echolocation confirmed that none of the mercs in the back room would be able to get to the fight in the next thirty seconds, so she could take the time to enjoy herself with these two.

She lashed out at the nearer merc with a kick to the right knee with her heavy combat boots, to make him stumble. Then a slice to the carry strap of his rifle with her right kama, then a strike at his right wrist with her left kama, then a high kick to the gun's barrel to send his weapon spinning off to the far corner of the room.

Pivoting around, she planted a solid kick in the other merc's stomach, cracked him in the forehead with her right kama's hilt to distract him and loosen his grip, tossed her left kama up, grabbed his balaclava with her left hand and yanked it down over his eyes, knocked the rifle out of his grip while he was reeling, and snatched the kama back out of the air.

She turned back to the first merc, wound up a swing, and slammed both kamas into his stomach with all the force focused on their tips-the mercs' vests were stab-resistant, but a sudden strike to the gut was still a sudden strike to the gut-to send him staggering back into shelves full of shingles and roofing supplies.

She dropped to a one-legged crouch, knocked the second merc off his feet with a sweeping kick, sprang back up, one kick to the head, two kicks, he was out.

She twisted her body to point her right shoulder at the first merc, charged forward, caught him in the chest with her shoulder as he pushed himself off the shelves, sent him sprawling over the front counter, slid up and over the counter to follow him, grabbed his neck guard, slammed his face into the cash register once, twice, three times, he was out too.

Two mercs down in roughly sixteen seconds.

Hardly a personal best, but good enough to get the blood pumping.

She moved to the door and unlocked it just in time for her four men to hustle up to it, along with two of the five from the center squad. "Four, back room, shoot through," she croaked, not bothering with her larynx for that.

They nodded and stepped past her to file into the room, line up facing the back wall, and level their rifles at waist and chest level.

The sound of gunfire would have been deafening in such a cramped space without her power. She could sense two of the mercenaries flail backwards and collapse, taken completely by surprise when the spray of bullets ripped through the flimsy drywall and riddled them full of holes.

The two survivors dropped flat on their stomachs and army-crawled toward the exit, where they were once again taken by surprise as Cricket flung the door open and sent the closer merc tumbling backwards along the boring beige carpet with a good kick to the head. The other one managed to yank his rifle up and get a shot off, but it went wide, no dodging required.

A stomp to the rifle pinned it to the floor, a slice to the hand took off two fingers as a distraction, she paused just long enough for him to jerk his head back with a cry of pain, then a kick to the chin put him out.

There. That took care of the six mercs in the building.

Problem was, Coil's mercs ran in nine-man squads, so there were still three unaccounted for.

Which was why Stormtiger and seven of their troops were still out front.

She turned back to the front window just in time to see multiple pencil-thin bolts of purple light streak down at Stormtiger's group, followed immediately by a wide spread of gunfire that sent the men scrambling for cover.

From the angle, the shooters (and there were definitely at least two of them; it took the mercs more than a few seconds to switch firing modes, and anyway Cricket could sense that the incoming trajectories were different) were on top of the shopping complex, one or two stores over. Must've headed up to the roof when they saw the Empire coming and waited for the capes to show themselves before they broke out the tinkertech.

Bad news for Stormtiger: The aerokinetic cape couldn't deflect plasma the way he could deflect physical matter, so as long as the mercs could keep him at range he was stuck on the defensive.

Bad news for Coil's men: Stormtiger could fly when he had to.

He couldn't fly fast, or far, or for a long time, but flinging himself one measly story up onto a building and launching himself over to some mercs before they could react? That was well within his capabilities, and Cricket watched gleefully as one, then two, then three limp bodies were tossed over the edge of the roof to land in a heap on the sidewalk.

She turned to the men inside and raised her electrolarynx. "Lewis, Morris, cash registers. Williams, Greene, Cooper, filing cabinets. Becker, check the storage closet for anything good."

The men nodded and went off to their assigned tasks while she headed for the safe she'd sensed in the back room, hidden behind an apparently-haphazard pile of cardboard boxes that turned out to be taped together for easy movement.

Another handy application of her power: amplifying the minute clicks a combination lock made as its dial turned.

The safe was open in less than a minute, to reveal lots of cash, some guns, some ammo, and most importantly the real paperwork, for this place and for everything that went through it.

She sensed the rest of the men coming inside, so she called out, "Davies, Schmidt, get the duffel bags and get back here."

A minute or so later, Stormtiger walked in. "What the hell are you cocksuckers waiting for, an invitation?" he snapped at the five men who were just standing around. "Trash the place. We're doing the 'robbery gone bad' routine, remember?"

Cricket smirked as the men scrambled to do something useful, or at least look busy.

Most of the men they usually used for jobs like this one had been sent into the Docks every day for the past few days with orders to gauge how the ABB was doing and rough up as many thugs as they could find, and some of them hadn't come back.

Whether they'd wussed out after being sent into the heart of enemy territory or been shanked by Oni Lee or been taken out by some of the new heroes in town, she didn't know, and she didn't care. The only thing she cared about was that these men were a lot more green than the ones they'd replaced, and while they weren't full-on retards they definitely weren't the sharpest knives in the drawer, either.

Stormtiger came to join her in the back room. "Four," she said when he walked in, the number of mercenaries she'd taken out solo.

"Goddammit. Just the three," he grumbled.

"Drinks are on you tonight."

"Yeah, yeah."

She discreetly upped the volume on her larynx a few notches before asking, "You think this batch of morons can handle the rest of this on their own so we can head out early?"

"They'd better," Stormtiger shrugged. "Any of 'em can't, they answer to Hookwolf. Personally."

All of the men suddenly started working just a bit faster.

~*~*~

3:17 pm, Saturday the 16th of April, 2011 CE

Downtown, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

Cricket and Stormtiger were strolling down the street, wearing their costumes.

Not the outfits they wore as capes. Their costumes .

See, the spandex-wearing fuckers in the Protectorate had everything backwards as far as she was concerned. They put costumes on to fight and took them off afterward.

For her and her companion, it was the other way around: Cricket and Stormtiger were their real selves, and Melody and Leonard were the fake ones. That's how she'd thought about it since she'd triggered, anyway.

Cricket proudly displayed every last battle scar she'd ever received, her arms and neck kept bare.

Melody wore sensible conservative turtlenecks.

Cricket kept her hair short, because anything longer was just asking for someone to grab it in the middle of a fight.

Melody had shoulder-length brunette hair. A wig, obviously.

Stormtiger wore nothing but pants and chains; only pussies bothered with body armor.

Leonard wore bland and slightly oversized suits to downplay his physique and blend in with all the "finance bros" in the area, as he called them.

Stormtiger wore a really sweet mask, one that looked fairly basic but hid the contours of his face well.

Leonard wore a pair of dweeb glasses that hadn't been fashionable for years.

Everyone online wondered how the two of them and Hookwolf could possibly maintain their secret identities with such minimal and revealing costumes, and that was how.

But to Cricket, it wasn't about doing some clever misdirection, it was about letting her real self shine. When she was curbstomping PRT weenies, she wanted everyone watching to essentially hear her say "this is who I am, deal with it."

And speaking of PRT weenies….

Cricket discreetly tapped Stormtiger on the arm. ' Plainclothes PRT agent ,' she signed when he glanced over, then gestured at a woman casually eating lunch on the patio of a restaurant half a block ahead and across the street. Nothing gave the woman away visually, but Cricket could hear the telltale high-pitched buzz given off by the covert earpiece she wore.

"The dyke in the blue shirt?" he murmured, and she nodded. "Damn. Head into the coffee shop for a sec and then double back?"

She nodded again. There was basically zero chance the agent was there for them in particular, but they couldn't afford to start roughing up some small business owners with the woman so close. They'd have to head to a different neighborhood.

Not that it really mattered who, specifically, they roughed up. It hadn't really mattered that they'd gone after that specific business of Coil's last night, either.

Their job today wasn't shaking people down for dues, it was sending a message, plain and simple.

The local PRT office ran a very tight ship and it was a real bitch to try slip some moles in under their noses, but the Empire had managed to install a handful of them in good positions over the years. After Lung went on his rampage through the Docks the weekend before, one of those moles had passed along some fantastic news: the PRT was finally pushing for a kill order for the scaly motherfucker.

Kaiser, strategic genius that he was, knew immediately that the Empire had a huge opportunity on its hands if they were the ones to kill Lung after the PRT issued the order, since they could take their longtime enemy off the board and force the PRT to acknowledge their legitimacy as an organization protecting the rights and safety of the white race, all in one fell swoop.

So he came up with his plan, which temporarily split the Empire's forces into six distinct groups along factional lines. Kaiser's own group-himself, Fenja, Menja, and the logistical side of things-would carry on gang operations as normal.

Krieg's group-him, Blitz, Night, Fog, Alabaster, and the gang members with the biggest Nazi fetish-would park themselves barely inside the edge of ABB territory and just… be visible. Not attacking, not harassing, just serving as a silent challenge to Lung's authority to bait him into attacking them.

(She didn't mock the Nazi obsession of Krieg's faction to their faces, obviously. Not that she thought there was anything wrong with being into the whole Nazi thing, in general; they did have the right ideas in a lot of areas. She just agreed with Crusader that the Empire was an American gang, not a German one, and if their goal was to put all the lesser races in their proper place they didn't need to wrap that all up in flags and speeches and shit like that.)

Hookwolf's group-him, her, Stormtiger, the men who usually ran the pit fights and dogfighting rings, and too many of those green recruits-were put on Coil duty: gather all the intel the Empire had on Coil, look into cover businesses and drug storehouses and anything else valuable, and start hitting him over and over again. That would hopefully keep him on the defensive so he couldn't try to muscle into Empire territory while they were focused on Lung, and hey, any new information and money they got out of it was a bonus.

The fourth group was just a bunch of normals under orders to go out in small groups and pick fights with anyone wearing ABB colors, same as the men who'd been borrowed from Hookwolf's group and hadn't come back. Didn't matter if their targets were actually with the gang or just happened to be wearing red with green, or, heck, weren't even wearing the colors at all; if it was just a coincidence, even better, since then they could beat up on people without the ABB retaliating.

The fifth group consisted of Crusader, Victor, Othala, and Rune, and they were on rapid response duty to deal with any Protectorate heroes attempting to take advantage of the situation or to reinforce any of the other groups who ran into trouble.

And the sixth group? The sixth group was the best part: Kaiser had sweet-talked Sonnenrad and Panzerfaust from New York, Siegrune from Hartford, Muspelheim and Niflheim from Boston, and Jotun from Providence into coming to the Bay. All of them were former Empire members who, like Night and Fog, had… taken a brief leave of absence from the cause, one might say, but they were more than happy to return to the fold temporarily after Kaiser had gotten in touch.

That group's job was to wait for the moment that Lung finally struck back at the Empire or the PRT finally signed the kill order, whichever happened first, and then mobilize to come down on Lung like a ton of bricks. No one outside the Empire had any idea those capes were in town, so Lung would never see it coming.

Personally, Cricket thought her group had been given the best assignment by far. She was under orders to pick fights with the best of Coil's mercs again and again, with no pesky complicated mission objectives to get in the way of a good brawl and absolutely no requirement to leave any of Coil's men alive.

Kaiser was the best .

~*~*~

Fifteen minutes later, Cricket was grinding her teeth in frustration and reconsidering her mental endorsement of Kaiser.

Triumph and Clasp were right there, patrolling barely a block away, and she couldn't do a goddamn thing.

Not because she and Stormtiger couldn't take those pansies in a fight, not in the slightest. She and Triumph basically canceled each other out when it came to the more subtle sonic tricks, and both she and Stormtiger could reliably dodge Triumph's shouts and Clasp's projections.

No, it was Kaiser's orders that were the problem: only Victor's group was allowed to engage the Protectorate, and then only in response to direct attacks by the heroes. Everyone else was supposed to leave them alone, because the plan would only work if the PRT was focused entirely on Lung; if they were given a reason to divert resources to deal with the Empire, they might decide against the kill order, and that would ruin the whole thing.

So mild-mannered tourists Melody and Leonard stopped in front of a restaurant and pretended to peruse the menu while the two heroes walked down the street behind them. Cricket had ceased her constant and practically-automatic echolocation pulses the moment she'd caught sight of Triumph, and she was careful to hold them back until he was well out of range.

"Damn," Stormtiger murmured to her as they watched the heroes walk out of sight. "I was really hoping to punch his stupid fucking helmet in the next time I saw him. Guess that'll have to wait."

' Do you want to work out that stress on some other heroes instead?' Cricket signed.

"Actually, that'd be great. We can hit up the shops on the way back, yeah?"

She nodded, and Stormtiger pulled out his phone to text some of his men.

The PRT had been completely silent regarding Lung's rampage and what they were going to do about it when it came to official channels, and that had the entire city holding its breath, waiting to see what was going to happen when they did finally act.

Unofficially, though, word of the possible impending kill order had managed to spread to parts of the wider cape community.

Most of that was due to the Empire deliberately spreading the rumor; not too far, just enough to lay some groundwork. They needed a plausible excuse for why some out-of-town ex-Empire capes had known to show up without revealing the presence of their moles in the PRT, and alleged rumors that any cape could have heard and taken seriously were as good an excuse as any.

But some of it was the heroes themselves getting in touch with some indie heroes they knew, and those indies having started to trickle into town yesterday and the day before had caused a few purely organic rumors to crop up as well.

Non-Protectorate capes were explicitly not on Kaiser's do-not-engage list, so if any of the men had sighted any of them nearby….

"Wilkes says Pelter and Geomancer are doing a meet-and-greet on the Boardwalk," Stormtiger said.

Cricket shook her head. Both capes were the type to sit back and just fling projectiles at their opponents, and that made for very boring fights (and very one-sided ones, because most capes with long-range powers couldn't fight for shit once she got up close). Besides, a Boardwalk fight would be too high-profile.

"Hmm. Snowfake was spotted recently up by the Docks, duking it out with some of Skidmark's capes. That could work."

Getting to tangle with a bunch of minions before she smashed their controller's face in would be a fun workout… but no, she wasn't about to interfere with anyone beating up on a bunch of degenerates who deserved it. Besides, that was too out-of-the-way on short notice.

' Too far. Anything closer?' she signed.

Stormtiger tapped at his phone for a minute. "Ooh, Simmons says Zigzag is patrolling down in Bayside right now."

Cricket considered that. She'd never fought a… what was the PRT term for their deal? Right, Case 72. She'd never fought a pair of Case 72s before. That would definitely be worth a little detour.

She grinned. ' Let's do it.'

~*~*~

1:04 pm, Sunday the 17th of April, 2011 CE

Eagle's Nest Bar and Grill, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

"So, have you heard the good news?" Crusader asked as he slid into the booth across from Cricket, beer in hand.

The two of them were in the restaurant's private room upstairs, a room available only to the Empire's capes and their most trusted lieutenants, far away from prying eyes to let them eat and drink without masks getting in the way.

Cricket downed the last of her own beer, signaled the waiter for another one, grabbed her electrolarynx, and said, "Tell me that's not a shitty lead-in to preaching at me again."

Crusader was the only overtly religious cape in the Empire-Catholic, hence the cheesy "holy knight" theme-and was constantly trying to drag his fellow capes to church with him at too-fucking-early-o'clock on Sundays. Thank fuck he didn't have a whole faction under him that was the same flavor of crazy as he was, like Krieg did; that would have been unbearable.

Why a Christian dominionist had joined a gang with an obvious hard-on for Nazi occultism instead of one of those neo-Confederate gangs down South, she didn't have the slightest idea.

"Ha fucking ha. No, it's not. It's about Purity."

"What about her?"

"She's back in."

Cricket blinked. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. As of last night. Kaiser managed to talk her around, finally."

"About damn time." She took a bite of her steak and chewed thoughtfully. "What does that mean for the group assignments?"

"Well, Purity will be joining Krieg's group, of course."

"Of course."

"I'm getting moved over to that one, too," Crusader added.

Cricket frowned. "Seven capes? Seems like a lot, when we don't know when anything's actually going to happen with Lung."

Crusader raised his eyebrows and leaned in conspiratorially. "Didn't see the email, I take it?"

She rolled her eyes and gestured toward her pants and their lack of pockets. She didn't keep a phone on her while dressed as Cricket, since having a big chunk of plastic in her pocket interfered with her flexibility something fierce and keeping one on her belt had just let to them getting broken every couple of fights from flying debris or whatever.

(She went through electrolarynxes at about the same rate, but Blitz was always happy to tinker her up a new one for the price of a couple of beers… and Cricket had built up a stash of a dozen or so extras for when Blitz finally kicked the bucket, just in case.)

"Well, that's the other good news," Crusader said, then pulled out his phone and opened an email app. "Turns out the same mole who got us the info on Lung originally got something else really juicy, and Kaiser forwarded it to everyone a little while ago. Only capes, not the rank-and-file, so don't spread anything around just yet. Here we go," he said, and handed her his phone, an email already open on the screen.

Cricket checked the email subject and her eyebrows rose.

Draft of Director's Speech for 4/21 Press Conference

She glanced up at Crusader, who nodded. "It's the real deal."

Huh. Cricket didn't know who any of their moles in the PRT were, need-to-know basis and all that, but if they had access to the Director's stuff they had to be pretty high up there.

Good morning everyone, and thank you for coming.

As everyone here is aware, the Parahuman Response Team, East-Northeast Department, has so far declined to comment on the developing situation around the villain Lung and his actions on the night of April 10th, which endangered many innocent lives and caused extensive property damage throughout the Docks.

Blah blah blah, boring boilerplate, she thought as she scrolled through the speech. Then, a few paragraphs down:

Third, it is my sad duty to report that two of the Brockton Bay Wards, Gallant and Kid Win, were killed in the line of duty while helping others escape Lung's 'rampage.' Out of deference to their families and loved ones, the PRT has waited to disclose their deaths until their parents decided whether to allow their sons' identities to be publicized posthumously. Those decisions having been made, I can now formally announce that Dean Stansfield-

"Holy crap. One of the Stansfield kids was a Ward?" Cricket said.

Stansfield Holdings Limited wasn't exactly known for its philanthropy, and Patrick Stansfield himself was exactly the kind of slimy self-centered multi-millionaire that Kaiser's warm-and-cheery public CEO persona was designed to contrast with, so she wouldn't have pegged him as the kind of man who'd let his son waste his gifts by joining the so-called heroes.

"Yeah. Max was pretty pissed when he found out. Apparently Theo and Dean used to hang out at all the Medhall events, so this whole time his kid could have been spilling the beans on us to a Ward and he had no idea."

Cricket didn't think that was such a big deal. She hadn't personally met Theo, only Kaiser's lieutenants had, but every cape in the Empire knew about Kaiser's disappointment of a son. From what she'd heard from Hookwolf, Kaiser had that whiny little bitch well-trained enough that he wouldn't have let anything slip accidentally, and she'd bet a lot of money that Theo didn't have the balls to intentionally rat out the Empire even if he'd wanted to.

She kept reading. List of accomplishments, posthumous awards, memorial service schedules, blah blah fucking blah….

Then, something interesting: the email had two separate closing sections, with a note by the mole that there were two different versions of the speech that were identical up to that point.

Both endings started off with "After much deliberation…" but one of them continued with the declaration of a kill order- fucking finally!-while the other version just said they were requesting reinforcements from other cities to deal with Lung.

Cricket handed the phone back, frowning. "So which is the real one?"

"They're both real. They haven't made a final decision yet, so there's two different drafts," Crusader explained as he put his phone away. "The point is, we know the a kill order's still on the table and we know exactly when the Pig's going to announce the decision, so we can have everyone loaded up and ready the moment we find out it's a go. Kaiser's even looking into maybe hiring a teleporter for the occasion."

"We know where Lung's hiding out?" Cricked asked skeptically.

"The general area, yeah. There have been a ton of ABB guys coming and going from a couple of warehouses in the Docks since the rampage, so we've got it narrowed down at least that far."

They briefly paused as the waiter came over with Cricket's refill.

Once the man was out of earshot, Crusader leaned back smugly. "And when I say Kaiser wants everyone ready to go, I mean everyone. You, Stormtiger, and Hookwolf might just get a crack at him too."

Cricket couldn't repress her sudden smile. That would be a fight to remember.

"I'll drink to that," she said, clinking her beer against Crusader's

Kaiser really was the best.

~*~*~

7:28 pm, Sunday the 17th of April, 2011 CE

Abandoned Warehouse, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

"What I wouldn't give for a second set of hands right now," Williams complained over the cacophony of barking dogs and metal scraping on concrete.

He was struggling to carry a long folding table all by himself, one of the ones where the bookies would sit to take bets. Normally it would have been a two-person job, but with Hookwolf's crew being short-handed everyone had to pull more than their usual weight.

"Man up, buttercup," Stormtiger sneered. He was carrying two empty Rottweiler-sized dog cages over to the staging zone on his shoulders, and even though he was using his aerokinesis to help with the wright he was still putting in more of an effort than Williams was.

Cricket herself was going around the second-floor walkways and duct-taping all the windows to prevent any light from leaking out around the edges and to try to help with the noise.

Each of the Empire's dogfighting rings changed location after every fight, for security reasons. Upside, that made it harder for the Protectorate to set up an ambush if they found out when the next big fight was going to be, since the rank-and-file didn't know where it was going to be until a couple of hours in advance. Downside, setting up a new ring every single time was a real bitch.

Speaking of a real bitch, Cricket finished up with her current window, grabbed her electrolarynx, dialed up the volume, and leaned over the railing. "Boss," she called in a crackling monotone, "you know if we're expecting Hellhound to show up?"

Hellhound was a major thorn in their side. She hated dogfighting rings for some reason-Cricket couldn't see why, Hellhound sent her dogs to fight people for her and that was basically the same thing minus the betting on the side-and used to constantly attack them to break up the party.

The frequency of her raids had gone way down once Hookwolf started limiting the number of rings that were active on the same night so there was a higher chance of him being at whichever one she attacked, and then dropped even further when she'd joined the Undersiders, but she was still so goddamn annoying that they'd considered moving the whole operation to a different part of the city to make it harder for her to attack them.

(They hadn't, and never would, since that would have meant basically admitting they couldn't deal with her and running away from her like cowards, but they'd considered it.)

These days, Hookwolf's crew took precautions to deal with Hellhound whenever a fight was coming up. And it was easy to tell if an attack was coming, since they knew where she kept her shelter. She wasn't subtle at all, and anyone in the area could hear her dogs making a ruckus for blocks around.

While they kept a close eye the shelter, they hadn't ever made a move against it (well, the rank-and-file would occasionally get drunk and try to hassle her there, but they always came crawling to Othala soon afterwards) because even Hookwolf wasn't willing to try to go up against twenty-some hellhounds at once.

The feeling was mutual-Hellhound hadn't ever tried to attack a ring when Hookwolf was present, either-but Cricket was still concerned.

No one had heard a single peep out of the Undersiders for the past week, even though their ongoing feud with Lung meant that it would have been the perfect time for them to hit a casino or two of his while he was lying low, which meant they were probably planning something big.

Yeah, the news had said most of the gang had gotten barbecued, and no one had seen any of the Undersiders except Hellhound since then, but the gang had gone up against the fire-breathing jap multiple times before and come out just fine so Cricket wouldn't believe for one minute that the rest of them were dead until she got to see their charred corpses for herself.

Hookwolf held up a hand to show he'd heard her while he finished a conversation with some of the dog handlers, then dismissed them and called back, "Not sure. Jackson hasn't seen any sign of her since Friday so she's definitely up to something, but whether that's for us or Lung or someone else, don't know. We'll plan for her to show, and if she doesn't, great."

"How 'bout any of the new capes? Anything on them?" Stormtiger asked as he returned to the main area for more cages.

All the independent heroes in the city knew better than to mess with the rings; anyone stupid enough to do that usually didn't live long enough to make the same mistake twice. But with some heroes (and a few villains) in town waiting for the kill order to drop, some of them hadn't learned their lesson yet and might decide to stick their noses in.

Hookwolf shrugged, unconcerned. "Looked into most of them, sent some men to have a chat with some of them. Most shouldn't be a problem."

"Most?" Cricket asked.

Her boss nodded. "Three of them might be trouble. Saurian thinks she's hot shit, kept saying she could take me in a fight."

Stormtiger snorted and Cricket let out a rasping chuckle. Hookwolf had tussled with Lung and walked away fine; next to that, a reptilian shapeshifter without pyrokinesis and regeneration was basically nothing.

"I know, right?" Hookwolf agreed. "But she still might show up and try to start something." He scowled. "Then there's Surtur."

The new hero in town would have been a perfect fit for the Empire. Metal-themed powers (partly, anyway), Norse-themed named, great in a fight… and, as far as anyone could tell, a very recent trigger courtesy of Lung's rampage, since he didn't have an existing presence anywhere else. He was really the total package.

Problem was, he was a spic underneath the fancy metal armor that didn't even try to hide his skin color, so recruiting him was a no-go.

The Norse name was apparently picked in a direct attempt to piss off the Empire. Cricket hadn't read up on all the mythology Kaiser and the rest loved so much, but if Hookwolf's reaction was anything to go by, that attempt was definitely successful.

"He's mostly been doing hit-and-runs on our storehouses and bailing whenever Victor's group showed up, so I doubt he'll try anything, but keep an eye out. And as for Knockout…."

Hookwolf shook his head. "Who the fuck knows?"

Nobody knew who Knockout was, or even if they were a hero or a villain; "Knockout" was just what the Empire was calling them. They had some kind of funky mental powers that could turn themselves invisible, put people to sleep, and fuck with peoples' memories, possibly more, and they'd been carrying out a calculated harassment campaign against Empire forces for the past few days, objectives unknown.

Cricket hoped Knockout wouldn't show up. Much as she hated to admit any kind of weakness, she really couldn't do anything about a power like that, and there was no point in getting into a fight if she wasn't going to enjoy it.

She nodded, the other two nodded, and they all went back to their tasks

~*~*~

Fifteen minutes later, she'd just about finished with the windows when she caught sight of some men in Empire colors heading down the street toward the warehouse. They were walking slowly and looking around a lot like they weren't familiar with the neighborhood, which was pretty standard for people showing up to a new ring.

Still, she didn't think they were expecting anyone that early.

"Stormtiger?" she called down.

"Yeah?"

"First fight doesn't start for another hour, right?"

"Hour and fifteen, maybe. Why?"

"We got some guys coming down the street."

"Already? Huh. Lemme check that out."

As he headed off to the main doors, Cricket put down her roll of tape and jumped down off the walkway to follow him. Whatever they were up to, it had to be more interesting than sealing up windows.

Stormtiger passed the message ahead, so by the time the two of them made it to the doors Hookwolf was already waiting there with a few of the men, door slightly ajar to let him see who was coming.

Hmm. It was hard to tell with half the streetlights in the area being out, but Cricket thought they seemed kind of familiar….

She took a closer look, and it clicked: they were some of the men who'd gone missing the previous week.

She mentioned that to Hookwolf, who took a closer look himself. "It's Harrison and Weiss and the rest of their boys," he said, surprised, and there were murmurs from everyone else close enough to hear.

"Harrison! Weiss! What are you doing here?" he called, and the men outside stumbled to a halt under the nearest working streetlight. Cricket could see that they looked to be in pretty bad shape; maybe they'd fought some ABB thugs recently.

"Uh, h-hey, Hookwolf, sir. Setting up a new dogfighting ring?" Harrison replied in a shaky voice while the rest of them stood around looking anxious.

"Obviously. What the fuck do you think you're doing, dropping off the face of the earth for days and then just showing up like nothing happened?" Hookwolf called, and the men outside all cringed and glanced around nervously.

"Oh, stop it, you big babies, there's no one else around," Stormtiger jeered. "Get your asses inside so you can explain yourselves."

"We can't," called Harrison.

"Why the fuck not?" Hookwolf called back.

"We got, uh… grabbed by the ABB, and…."

"And you apparently got out just fine, so what's the fucking problem?"

"I… can't say, sir."

"Why the fuck not?" Hookwolf repeated himself, a note of warning in his voice.

The man looked pained. "I actually can't say. Honestly. I'm sorry, sir."

"Harrison. Get your ass in this door and explain yourself, right now, or I'm going to come over there and drag you in and you will not be happy about it."

"But-"

" Now."

The man looked at the others around him, who shrugged, then took a deep breath and walked gingerly toward the warehouse doors. He appeared to be bracing himself for something, and the moment he got through the doors and nothing happened, he relaxed. Slightly.

Cricket frowned. Harrison wasn't usually jumpy like that, or anywhere near that formal. Something seriously weird was going on.

"Well?" Stormtiger prompted.

"I really can't say anything. The ABB…." Harrison explained apologetically.

"The ABB isn't here, dipshit. I am," Hookwolf said, obviously frustrated, and a moment later a thick metal spike shoved itself out of his forearm to point directly at Harrison's chest. "I'm not going to ask you again."

Taking another deep breath, Harrison braced himself and said, "Well, sir, I was with Joey, Nick, and Paul, we were about to do Laura's induction. I don't know what happened, but we all passed out somehow and woke up in a room in a warehouse. Weiss and his men were there too, they got jumped by some ABB guys and taken in. Turns out that's the building where… B-bakuda was," he explained, pausing slightly at the mention of the name, then continuing, "and she said she was going to put a bomb-"

Cricket had barely any time to react.

Something around Harrison's head or neck suddenly let out an intensely loud keening sound, too high-pitched for anyone else to hear, and without thinking she flung herself off to the side to end up behind a stack of sturdy crates and the safe where Hookwolf kept the night's earnings.

A moment later, Harrison exploded.

… No, "exploded" wasn't the right word.

It was like someone had poked a thousand tiny holes in a huge water balloon full of blood and then squeezed.

The keening turned into an ultrasonic warble as Harrison seemed to crumple in on himself in the blink of an eye, and his blood and liquefied innards were forced out of every pore in his body in needle-thin streams with the force of one of those waterjet cutting machines.

Nobody around him stood a chance.

Every normal in the area was sliced to ribbons as Harrison's body tilted backward and caused the tiny jets of viscera to swing around in lethal cutting arcs. Stormtiger had thrown up his strongest barrier of air and started turning away the moment he saw Cricket moving, but the jets aimed directly at his body weren't deflected enough to make a difference.

Even Hookwolf didn't escape unscathed. A tide of metal erupted from his skin as he spun away, covering his entire body with several inches of solid steel, but every spike and hook at the end of every plate of steel was sheared clean off by the movement of the jets.

When Cricket peeked around the corner of the crates, she could see long gouges in the metal covering him, and skin below that, and metal below that… and even bits of muscle peeking through the inner layer of steel.

She felt a strange sensation on her arm and looked down.

Part of her right arm had been barely poking out from behind the safe, and there were multiple gashes crisscrossing its surface. It was hard to see them, though, given that her whole forearm was covered in blood from the jets and sawdust from the pulverized crates.

She was absolutely furious. Not from the wounds, they were just more scars for her collection, but at the fact that Stormtiger was gone, just like that. And the other men, too.

Someone was going to pay for that.

As she stood and walked over to Hookwolf, he slowly retracted his metal. Blood sloughed off to form a wide puddle on the bare concrete floor and reveal a smattering of tiny punctures all over his body. "What. In the fuck. Just HAPPENED!?" he roared.

His men came running from all over the warehouse when they heard him, but slowed to a stop a safe distance away when they saw the carnage near the entrance.

The men outside, who were far enough away from the eruption to avoid being instantly eviscerated but still close enough to be covered with blood and gashes, pushed Weiss forward. He took a few stumbling steps before settling on a safe distance between both them and Hookwolf.

"Like Harrison said, sir," he began in a trembling voice, " she was going to… do something. She let us go-"

"Wait, she let you go?"

"-and she said that if any of us… went for help, we'd regret it. I guess-" he reached up to scratch the back of his head, but then jerked his hand away as if burned, "-I guess the… the things are triggered by saying… stuff. Sir."

"If you knew that going for help could do that, then why in the everloving fuck did you come here?" Hookwolf growled.

"We, uh, we were kind of hoping you could, you know…." he said, then extended his index finger and made a sort of sawing motion in a small circle in the air.

He wanted Hookwolf, and maybe me, to try to cut the bombs out, she realized. That absolute fucking moron.

Hookwolf took a few moments to visibly restrain himself from tearing Weiss to tiny pieces where he stood.

Once he'd gotten his anger under some degree of control, he turned to the nearest men in the small crowd that had gathered. "Johnson, Williams, Davis, we're calling off tonight's fights, pass the word along," he growled. "Jones, you and Lawson take what's left of Stormtiger and come with me. The rest of you, get this place cleaned up."

As everyone moved to comply, Hookwolf pulled out his phone and glared at Weiss as he dialed it.

"Weiss… you get out there with your men and stay there. Cricket, keep an eye on them. I'm calling Kaiser to tell him about this clusterfuck, then we're going to get those things out of them and then you, Weiss, are going to tell us everything."

~*~*~

9:34 am, Monday the 18th of April, 2011 CE

Empire Safehouse, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

Weiss almost hadn't survived the extraction.

He wouldn't have made it at all if Hookwolf hadn't spent the past few hours refining his bomb removal technique on Smith (dissolved into smoke), Wrigley (transformed into a metal statue), Evans (disemboweled by bone shards when his skeleton shattered), and Brown (turned inside-out) first.

They lost Lee, too, when Hookwolf had accidentally nicked an artery. Othala could have saved him, but they weren't about to let their healer anywhere near him when his exposed bomb could have gone off at any moment.

After what those fuckwits had let happen to Stormtiger, Cricket wouldn't have cared if every last one of them had died.

Now the rest of the former captives were in the building next door, where they'd been parked since last night, far away from anyone or anything valuable that might be harmed if a bomb went off unexpectedly. Hookwolf would remove their bombs whenever he got around to it.

Weiss, meanwhile, was seated at the dining room table, figuratively spilling his guts in order to prevent Hookwolf from literally spilling his guts. Kaiser and Krieg were listening in over a conference call someone had set up on their laptop.

"… but it wasn't just us," Weiss was saying, "it was, like, everybody. Old, young, guys, chicks, white, black, brown, yellow, didn't matter. Any orientals who weren't already ABB, Bakuda was press-ganging into grabbing more people to put bombs in or getting materials for her or whatever. She was handing out modded cell phones to the real gang members that they could use to set off bombs in any of the conscripts who didn't obey orders."

"What was the situation with you and your men?" Kaiser asked.

The Empire's leader didn't have his webcam turned on. This being a Monday morning, Cricket knew he was probably taking the call from Medhall headquarters and couldn't afford to make himself a helmet while he was being Max Anders, no matter how secure Blitz, Zuse, and the Empire's various non-powered security experts had made his office over the years.

"Anyone she knew was with the Empire got the 'special' bombs and were set loose," Weiss replied. "She didn't say how they were special, so I don't know if everyone has bombs that trigger if they try to tell anyone what's going on or if they all work differently. Harrison was guessing that ours might have some kind of GPS thing that triggered if we went inside buildings in known Empire territory and figured a fresh dogfighting ring would probably be safe for us to approach, so we went looking for one of those."

"You seriously just went walking around for however long it was since you got let go, just hoping you'd stumble on a new ring?" Hookwolf asked, incredulous.

"It worked, didn't it?" Weiss replied defensively. "But other than the GPS idea, we saw someone get blown to pieces when they asked someone to get the address of the place we were being kept and repeated it out loud, so we were being careful with what we said, too."

"And what about the rest of her victims?" Krieg asked.

His masked face was visible on the screen; he was probably taking the call from work like Kaiser was, seeing as he was the CEO of the Royal Pharmacy chain in his civilian life, but it was definitely a lot faster to yank a mask off and shove it under a desk if someone knocked on the door than it was to have to… do whatever it was Kaiser did with his suits of armor when he was done with them.

"I mean…." Weiss continued with a shrug, avoiding everyone's gaze. "I couldn't see any real patterns. Some were press-ganged, some were sent home with orders to stay quiet or get blown up, some were just tossed into empty rooms and kept there, some were pulled out for other things. My best guess? Massive hostage situation. 'Give me a million dollars or I kill hundreds of people,' or whatever. Otherwise I don't know."

Krieg tapped his chin theatrically as he thought. "Were Lung or Oni Lee there? Do you know if they knew what Bakuda was doing, or if this was some kind of coup attempt?"

"We didn't see them while we were there, but we heard something about Lung checking in 'again' so I guess he knows about it and stops by sometimes to see how it's going?"

"And how many whites would you say were being held captive?" Kaiser asked.

"Not counting my men and Harrison's… I saw twenty, maybe twenty-five? But they had everyone in separate areas so there were probably a lot more."

"I see. Thank you for the information, Robert. You've acted bravely, and are a credit to the white race," Kaiser said. His tone was perfunctory, but Weiss smiled proudly and seemed to take the praise very seriously.

"Krieg, Hookwolf," Kaiser continued, "we'll need to discuss our strategy for this. I'll contact Victor and Siegrune as well, and check in with the captains to see if they've seen anything else like this. You two get someplace secure and dial the usual number at quarter to eleven."

"Got it," Hookwolf said.

" Jawohl, mein Kaiser!" Krieg declared, then the call disconnected.

"What a tool," Hookwolf muttered as he shut the laptop.

Cricket rolled her eyes. Krieg was such a drama queen. But the fake German accent did help hide his real British accent, and the over-the-top mannerisms did contrast well with his reserved civilian persona, so she couldn't blame him too much for it.

"Weiss, go get Schafer and send him in here, I'll see if I can get his bomb out before the call," Hookwolf ordered, and Weiss nodded and left the room.

"Cricket," he continued, "I don't know what the plan's going to be, but ten bucks says Kaiser's going to want to mount a rescue. Round up the men and get ready."

~*~*~

Hookwolf wore a predatory smile as he walked into the room, and Cricket and all of the men perked up at that.

"What's the plan, boss?" someone called out from the back.

"The plan is, we go kick the shit out of Bakuda and get our people back," he replied, and there were scattered cheers.

Once those died down, Hookwolf continued, "Kaiser's passing info on the situation over to the PRT, so that should tip the scales on the kill order decision. Krieg's group and another dozen guys are going to be mounting a full-scale assault on Bakuda's warehouse, and I'll be just a few blocks away with Victor's group to hold off Lung if he shows up during the fight."

He paused briefly and looked around at the group to emphasize the seriousness of what he was about to say. "Turns out more of our boys than just Weiss's crew showed up with bombs in their heads since last night. Plus, Victor's group checked out a few sites that weren't responding and he said they look like some guys with bombs showed up before that and blew up before we heard about it. The smart money is on Bakuda trying to hold the whole damn city hostage to save Lung's ass if the kill order goes through, and she's not pussy-footing around."

Angry murmurs broke out at that. "So what can we do about that?" someone called.

Hookwolf's grin returned. "Now that's the question I was hoping to hear! Before we attack the warehouse we need to know what we're getting into; if we get delayed on the way in, Bakuda will know we're coming and possibly escape, and we can't let that happen. That's where you come in."

He pointed at Cricket, and the group turned to look at her. "Since I'll be going in with the main force, Cricket's going to lead all of you in scouting the surrounding area and taking out any sentries. Because the men in this room are the toughest sons of bitches in the Empire and nobody here is afraid of some cunt with a grenade launcher, am I right?"

The ensuing shouts and whoops of approval were loud enough to rattle the windows.

Cricket couldn't yell along with the rest of them, but the savage grin on her face more than made up for it.

~*~*~

11:16 am, Monday the 18th of April, 2011 CE

Two Blocks from Bakuda's Lair, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

Cricket crept forward, utterly silent, her power canceling out any tiny noises she might have made. Behind her, six men with assault rifles were advancing down the alley in a staggered line.

Other groups were converging on Bakuda's warehouse from different directions, and once she reached the end of the alley Cricket called a halt. She held her walkie talkie right up to her electrolarynx and started rattling off names.

"Carpenter, report."

"Group two, in position."

"Robinson, report."

"Group three, in position."

"Fischer, report."

"Group four, in position."

"Walker, report."

There was no reply for several long seconds.

"Walker, report," she repeated. The men behind her shifted nervously.

Still no response.

"Fischer, did you hear or see anything in Walker's direction?"

"Nothing," Fischer replied. "No lights, no noise."

One of the men behind her leaned over to another and murmured, "Think it was Oni Lee?"

Cricket twisted to glare at him. "Is whispering like a pair of schoolgirls going to help us figure that out?" she buzzed.

"Uh, no. Ma'am."

"Then shut up."

"Right."

She took a minute to scan her surroundings, and eventually settled on a four-story building about half a block away. It was taller than all the two-story warehouses in the area, so it'd be the perfect vantage point to take a look around and try to figure out what might have happened to group five.

~*~*~

"Still nothing," one of the men said as he squinted out a fourth-story window.

She'd ordered Fischer's group to head to Walker's last known position and take a look around while her group headed up into the building, while the others stayed where they were to keep an eye out for anything unusual.

None of her men had seen anything, and Cricket couldn't see anything either, so she lifted the walkie talkie reluctantly. "Group one, no luck so far. Anything from you, Fischer?"

No response.

"Aw, hell," said one of her men.

"What was that?" said another.

"What was what?"

"I thought I heard something outside."

Cricket hadn't noticed anything with her echolocation, so whatever had made the sound (assuming there was a sound, and it wasn't just that chickenshit Stevens hearing things again) wasn't anywhere close.

She motioned for silence from her men, then strained to extend the range of her echolocation as far as she could and amplify even the tiniest sounds in the area.

For a little while there was nothing, then:

Fwwssht.

It was kind of a mix between a hissing sound and a puffing sound, coming from somewhere to the northeast near where Fischer's and Walker's groups had been.

Fwwssht.

Again, a few seconds later, closer this time. She couldn't quite put her finger on it….

Fwwssht.

Fwwssht.

Fwwssht.

---

It was a sound that might be made by, for example, bodies suddenly bursting into clouds of ash multiple times in rapid succession.

Shit.

"Oni Lee! Guns ready!" she croaked.

A storm of cursing followed, then the men huddled up in the center of the room, guns pointed outward, eyes scanning in every direction.

Moments later, Oni Lee appeared on a rooftop nearby, staring straight at Cricket through the window.

She tightened her grip on her kamas and flexed her knees, ready to duck out of the way when he appeared in the room.

But he didn't do that.

He simply stared at her for several seconds, then turned away to gaze off toward Bakuda's lair and vanished in a puff of ash a moment later.

… What the hell?

That didn't make any sense. Why wouldn't he attack them? It's not like he'd need to go ask Bakuda for permission to engage or anything.

Yes, with Cricket around the Empire men could probably actually beat him, so confronting them was dangerous. Hell, she was sure she could beat him all by herself if he stuck to his knives like he usually did; she wasn't bothered by the clouds of ash and she had much faster reflexes than he did, and she'd been really looking forward to the day when she got to prove herself against him one-on-one.

But when she thought of Oni Lee, "self-preservation" wasn't exactly the first word that came to mind, so it definitely wasn't concern or wariness that stopped him from attacking.

So… what, then? Is he circling around to come at me from another direction? she wondered.

She took cautious steps back from the window until she was in the rough center of the room, right next to her men, then looked around at each window in turn to see if she could see any telltale ash clouds on any nearby rooftops.

Suddenly, she heard a high-pitched keening from somewhere behind her and twisted around to check her men for signs of panic or distress.

Impossible! We checked all of them for bombs and they were clean! she thought frantically.

But none of the men exploded, or imploded, or anything else. Instead, she sensed through her echolocation as the stairs back down to the third floor at the far end of the hallway suddenly dissolved into nothingness.

Before she could relax at the apparent false alarm, she heard another ultrasonic squeal, narrowing down the source to… one of the window frames?

Then another one an instant later, coming from the opposite wall.

Then a third an instant after that, coming from the doorframe, roughly at waist level.

And that's when it clicked.

The building Cricket had chosen was the perfect place to go if you wanted to get a good look at the surrounding streets… and Bakuda probably knew that, damn her, and she'd probably booby-trapped the whole place in case her enemies came calling.

Of course the fucking bomb Tinker wasn't limited to subdermal explosives and grenades! Land mines and IEDs were bombs, too.

Maybe she'd booby-trapped the entire neighborhood. Was it Oni Lee that took out Fischer's group, Cricket mused, or another building rigged up like this?

All of these thoughts flashed through her mind in an instant. Warning the men wouldn't do any good, so she immediately dashed for the closest window in the hopes of leaping out of it to safety.

Cricket had barely taken two steps when she sensed the whole top floor of the building begin to dissolve from the outside inwards. Out of the corners of her eyes she could see tendrils of green lightning, some sort of almost pixelated-looking wave of blue and white light, and what looked like a bubbling mass of gray sand closing in on her from every direction.

No, she thought.

The gray sand was spreading over the entire left wall.

No. No!

The pixelated wave was disintegrating the area around the doorway on the other side of the room, and the floor jerked dangerously to the side, almost throwing her off her feet.

I am not going down like that!

She was only four steps away from the window, now.

Not like Stormtiger did.

The green lightning was crackling its way across the ceiling.

I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction!

Only two more steps to go. She flung herself into a headlong dive through the window….

I'm gonna march right into your fucking lair and make you pay for what you did!

… but the lightning got there first.

Oh, you motherfucking slant-eyed bit-

Author's Note

And here we finally get a look at what's been going on in the background regarding the referenced-but-not-directly-seen gang conflict. While the Empire and Coil aren't having a very fun time, Bakuda looks to be having a wonderful time, given that instead of having to wrangle the ABB into following her she instead has Lung's full support in this timeline and has taken her bombs-in-the-head plan even further.

Cricket is an interesting (and sadly underutilized) character… but she's also a terrible person like the rest of the Empire, not the "totally not a Nazi, just in it for the fighting" type that she and her two buddies are often made out to be, and writing from her perspective while still getting across that she's a terrible person was an interesting challenge.

Not much to say otherwise; the butterflies continue to flap their wings, Lisa and Rachel are surely doing just fine, and the larger concentration of capes in the Bay will obviously have no downsides whatsoever.

Integration 2.C

Sixth Bell, Zol the 10 th of Rhaan, 999 YK Dragon Towers District, Sharn, Breland, Eberron
Creilath Movanek

There's nothing quite like a quadruple murder, Creilath mused, to start your morning off on a high note.

As House Medani's most talented, most successful, and most dashingly handsome inquisitive in the entire city of Sharn-he would have said in all of Khorvaire, if anyone ever asked him, which for some reason they never did-Creilath specialized in those hard-to-solve cases that left the Sharn Watch and even the less experienced inquisitives completely mystified.

If he were to tally up the days in his career where he'd been out poking at crime scenes and investigating dead bodies in the early hours when most of the city was still asleep, and then tally up the days where he got to sleep in past sixth bell and have himself a nice hearty breakfast like a civilized person, the former category would be by far the larger one.

Crime waits for no half-elf.

This crime in particular was an outlandish one, even by his standards. Not just because there were four bodies, which was itself unusual. Not just because a criminal would have to be exceptionally stupid to commit a major crime in the Dragon Towers district, where both House Tharashk and House Medani maintained large enclaves chock-full of inquisitives, finders, scryers, seers, and all manner of other information-gatherers that could be deployed to a crime scene at a moment's notice.

No, if Creilath had to point to one thing that made the case outlandish, it would be… well, hard to choose, really.

It could be the fact that all four bodies had no obvious cause of death, when precious few spells could kill without leaving some kind of mark on the body.

It could be the fact that all four of the deceased were obviously well-connected members of the Dragonmarked Houses, and murdering even one 'marked heir right in the seat of the Houses' power in the city without being detected-much less four in the same night!-should have been damn near impossible.

It could even be the fact that indecipherable glyphs had been drawn in blood on the walls of the room where the bodies had been found and on the bodies themselves, and that the bodies' eyes had all been removed after death.

… admittedly, that last point was slightly more outlandish than the rest of them.

Still, the practical and political considerations surrounding their deaths couldn't be discounted.

"You're certain that this is exactly how the bodies were found?" Creilath asked without turning around.

Standing a few paces away was one Kalen Turish, an employee of the Silverscale Inn, a small but luxurious House Ghallanda hotel in the district, who had stumbled across the scene while he'd been on housekeeping duty.

"Yes, Lord Inquisitive, sir," he said, wringing his hands nervously at Creilath's severe tone and staring fixedly at the floor to avoid looking at the walls, which were currently covered in more blood than wallpaper.

Kalen was a halfling, like most Ghallanda employees. He was not quite an adult by halfling standards-Creilath had guessed nineteen years old, which the boy's identity papers had confirmed-and had the slightly undernourished look of someone who'd grown up in the Lower City and had sought out better-paying work in the Middle Wards to support his family. His slightly fraying uniform coat implied that he wasn't bringing in any extra income from unsavory sources, and the helpful-mixed-with-anxious attitude of an honest person dealing with perceived authority figures was hard to fake, so Creilath judged that he was probably on the trustworthy side as far as witnesses went.

"I'm not a lord. I work for House Medani, I'm not part of it," the half-elf corrected patiently, as he'd done countless times before. "And the smudges in these glyphs, here and here, those were like that when you found the bodies?"

"Yessir."

"I see." The boy wasn't lying. Unfortunate; things would have made more sense if he had been.

"… Am I in trouble, sir?"

Creilath sighed. "No. You've been very helpful. Thanks, kid." He waved in dismissal, and the housekeeper beat a hasty retreat.

This would usually be the point at which he'd call out to Urzat, his ever-faithful bodyguard and the "bad watchman" to his "good watchman" during interrogations, to send in the next witness for questioning… but there were no other witnesses to call.

The front desk clerk who'd vouched for the lack of visitors around the estimated time of death and the boy who'd found the bodies in the first place, those were it. Normally he'd have come up with at least a few ideas from the initial questioning, but just two witnesses with very scanty testimony gave him practically nothing to work with.

Which meant it was time to move on to one of the less pleasant parts of the job and the reason he rarely ate breakfast anymore.

Sidling around the pair of chairs with a towel tied between them that was serving as an improvised crime scene barrier, he pulled out his notebook and approached the nearest body.

Age and gender: adult male, just past middle age. Race: half-orc, though one who obviously favored his human side; most likely of Clan Torrn or one of their tributary clans. Clothing: moderately expensive, but not ostentatious, with guild colors and patterns but no explicit insignia; probably a mid-ranking bureaucrat, likely no higher than Adjunct Regional Guildmaster.

Creilath carefully pulled a thin but very sturdy wooden rod about a yard long from a belt pouch that appeared far too small to hold it-he'd recently spent three full months' earnings on one of House Kundarak's top-of-the-line extradimensional storage belts, and the purchase had been worth every last galifar-and used it to carefully move the body's clothing around without touching it directly.

Distinguishing features: a Least Mark of Finding on the upper left arm, plus a few small scars on the cheek, chest, and right arm; probably from the Reaches originally, they tend to go for cosmetic scars thanks to the Clan Aashta influence, the Brelish ones avoid the practice. Hair: black, shoulder-length, hints of gray at the temples, not concealing any wounds on the neck or head. Eyes….

He paused in his examination. His lip curled in distaste.

Eyes: no longer applicable.

He returned his notebook to its pouch and retrieved his sketchbook, then spent a good ten minutes sketching the deceased, recording the bloody glyphs on a separate page in greater detail.

Not for the first time he bemoaned having to record images of the scene the slow and fallible manual way, but a merrixotype was far too bulky to set up in a cluttered crime scene like this one.

An image projector was much more compact and portable, but that required the Mark of Shadow to operate and he could hardly afford to keep a Phiarlan or Thuranni heir on constant retainer. Those squeamish primadonnas wouldn't even get up off their trance rugs for less than a dozen galifars a day and would double or triple their fees if they had to go anywhere near anything dangerous or filthy, and covering an expense like that would require him to raise his own fees to levels that would definitely start losing him clients.

Sadly, just because he was the best inquisitive in the city didn't mean he was the best- paid inquisitive in the city.

He went through the same procedure with victims two ( female dwarf, Lesser Mark of Warding, hairstyle indicates likely Karrnathi on temporary assignment to Sharn), three ( male halfling, Least Mark of Hospitality, authentic Talenta clothing indicates probably recently arrived from Ghallanda headquarters in Gatherhold), and four (female gnome, Least Mark of Scribing, distinct lack of personal touches in clothing and grooming typical of Zil traveling abroad), then switched to a different sketchbook with much wider pages to record the markings on the walls, bed, vanity, and armoire.

He didn't focus on trying to decipher the markings (he'd be there all day at that rate), just on sketching them as quickly and accurately as possible. While he had encountered some very bizarre iconography over the years and picked up a good sense for interpreting it, he'd still want to check with an actual expert or three for something like this, especially regarding one specific glyph that stood out from the rest.

Said glyph was five or six times bigger than any of the others and had been drawn in the center of the wall directly across from the door. If he could figure out what it represented, he'd likely be able to make a lot of progress on tracking down the perpetrators, because, well, the kind of people who were crazy enough to cover walls with bloody symbols weren't exactly known for their creativity.

Bat-winged humanoid figure? Probably meant the perpetrators were a succubus cult.

Humanoid figure with tentacles around the head? Mind flayer cult, and thank Olladra he hadn't run into one of those recently.

Obvious outline of a skeletal dragon? Oh, Host, what could something so very cryptic possibly mean?

And so on. This one was a little more… abstract… than most, but he knew some people who'd probably be able to puzzle it out and so he was confident he'd know its meaning by the end of the day.

As he went from marking to marking, he carefully took very small samples of the dried blood into tiny vials, which he labeled with numbers matching the corresponding sketches in his book and placed in a velvet-lined case in another one of his many belt pouches. He took samples from each of the bodies as well, similarly labeled but kept in a separate case.

Determining whose blood had been used to draw the glyphs-one of the victims, all of the victims, someone completely unrelated-might provide a vital clue, and he knew an alchemist up in Clifftop who might be able to tell him something about that.

That was the key to being a highly successful inquisitive, really: knowing a lot of people, and knowing people who knew a lot of people.

(That, and being good at not getting stabbed or shocked or petrified when one went to apprehend a suspect, of course.)

The light of the rising sun was visible through the cracks in the shutters by the time he'd finished his work. He stood, did some stretches to work out the kinks from holding awkward positions for so long, and left the room, carefully shutting the door.

"I think I've gathered all the evidence I can for now," he told Urzat as his bodyguard fell into step beside him. "Next, the Watch office, I think, to have them send someone over to block off the scene properly. Then off to the enclave to report in, then to Davandi's to pick up our new outfits, then to the alchemist, then to Ral's, then lunch. I'm feeling Kavv's; how about you?"

"You have an appointment with the Trade Minister about the soarwood smuggling case at a quarter past nine, remember," Urzat murmured as the pair walked through the hotel lobby.

The half-orc was a head taller than him, wore a very imposing set of spiked armor, and played the "rumbling monosyllabic lunk" stereotype to the hilt when necessary, but he was much smarter than his act would imply and often kept Creilath on course and on schedule when he was too preoccupied with a case to pay much attention to anything else.

"Oh, Boldrei give me patience," the inquisitive sighed. In his completely unbiased opinion, Minister Dantian d'Lyrandar blew enough hot air to render his Mark of Storm completely redundant. "That man can compress a five-minute meeting into two hours, I swear. Fine, we'll check in with the alchemist and Ral this afternoon."

"Very good," Urzat said, pausing briefly to open the main door and check the street for threats before they took a left to head toward the public lifts. "And I could go for Kavv's. It's been too long since I've had a good thrakel stew."

"Then Kavv's it is. Onwards!"

~*~*~

Half Past First Afternoon Bell, Zol the 10 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Clifftop District, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

"Well that wasn't very helpful," Creilath grumbled as they walked out of the alchemist's shop.

The blood at the scene hadn't matched that of any of the victims and had instead proven to be a mix of blood from at least six different individuals, a mix which had been so muddled that his contact couldn't even tell the races of those involved much less anything more specific about them.

It seemed that line of inquiry had hit a dead end for the moment.

The inquisitive was currently stowing a variety of useful purchases in his many pouches. In his professional opinion, one could never have too many alchemical bits and bobs on hand.

"Urzat, a skycoach to Ral's, if you don't mind?" he asked distractedly, and after checking the area his bodyguard stepped over to the edge of the platform to hail a skycoach.

Visitors to the city often assumed travel distances between the city's many districts to be much shorter than they actually were, because said visitors were used to thinking horizontally, not vertically.

Walking from one district to another at ground level-assuming one was foolhardy enough to descend all the way to the Depths to actually reach ground level-might only be a half-hour's trek, but the tops of Sharn's towers stretched over a mile into the air (with the Skyway district floating even higher than that!) and bridges grew more and more scarce the higher up one traveled.

A half-mile-long line on a top-down map of the city might actually represent five hours' travel or more with all the ramps, bridges, lifts, and flyways involved, and so skycoaches (or soarsleds, for those who had more money than sense) were really the only sensible way to travel across the city in a reasonable amount of time. Creilath was more than happy to splurge on a dozen or more skycoach rides in a day if it meant saving hours of his valuable time, especially when Medani was reimbursing his expenses.

Soon enough, the pair were zipping through the air to Daggerwatch, a garrison district near the western edge of the city where Ral's tavern, the Gold & White, did quite a brisk business serving all the off-duty soldiers there.

And something about the ride seemed just a bit… off.

Creilath took a discreet look around at the towers (nothing out of the ordinary), the skycoach (a bit on the shabby side, but still in good condition), the pilot (authentic Silverstreak Skycoach Company livery, not visibly nervous), and… the surrounding skycoach traffic, in which one particular skycoach had been consistently pacing them for most of the ride.

It could be a coincidence, of course; two skycoaches with similar speed and maneuvering capabilities piloted by individuals with similar training taking the same route at the same time wasn't impossible.

But the way the brim of the other pilot's hat was pulled down to almost completely conceal his face, and the way that pilot was being very aggressive with certain turns to keep the inquisitive's skycoach in sight, and-oh dear.

Those were definitely poisoned bolts the passengers were loading into their crossbows, and that wand did not look like a standard Cannith design.

"Urzat, you remember that business last year with the illegitimate Lyrandar heir, right?" he asked urgently, referencing a situation in which investigating a 'marked heir with a falsified identity had led to them becoming involved in a prolonged aerial battle when the heir's parents had found out he was on the case.

His bodyguard's eyes narrowed. "Quite well."

"You think it might be time to say a quick Mror goodbye to our pilot?"

Urzat nodded quickly.

Creilath leaned forward and tapped the pilot on the shoulder. When the pilot glanced back, the inquisitive held out six sovereigns so he could see them and then slipped them into the box next to the pilot's seat. "I think this is our stop," he said apologetically.

The pilot's eyes widened and he did a double-take. "Wait, but you, uh-"

"Don't worry, we're professionals. We'll be perfectly all right."

The pilot let out a long breath, faced forward again, and shrugged minutely in a way that said I'm not being paid enough to try to keep you from doing something stupid and dangerous.

Creilath held out three fingers, just above the seat where only Urzat could see them. He closed one finger, then the second, then the third.

As one, the pair shoved their respective doors open and flung themselves out of the sides of the skycoach.

(They'd nicknamed the maneuver a "Mror goodbye" because dwellings in the dwarven settlements of the Mror Holds often had windows that opened directly out onto tall and sheer cliffsides, and foreigners often found the labyrinthine architecture within to be quite confusing, with squarish doors and windows that all looked very much the same. If one were to leave a party in such a dwelling via the wrong exit….)

By the time the pilot of the trailing 'coach was able to react to their abrupt departure, it had already passed their position and they'd nearly fallen out of sight.

The half-elf had one hand in his pouch to grasp a featherlight talisman, just in case it would be needed, but he wasn't worried. The larger bridges were all enchanted to slow down anyone who fell off the sides, so if they drifted close enough to one of those, they could- yes, the one over there with the green pennants will do nicely.

He grasped the edges of his longcoat and held them out at an angle that would cause the wind to catch it and steer him slightly toward the bridge, and a moment later Urzat popped his massive shield out of his glove of storing and angled it to achieve the same effect.

Around thirty more seconds of falling placed them close enough to the bridge for the enchantment to activate, and suddenly the two of them were drifting downwards as slowly and gently as a leaf on a windless day.

The ignored the stares from passersby as their boots touched down on concrete and they began walking briskly toward the nearest lifts without the slightest hesitation.

"Awfully convenient that we just happened to run into a suspicious skycoach with murderous intentions right after we finished getting that blood tested," Creilath noted idly.

He'd made plenty of enemies over the years by digging up things that various powerful people would have preferred to stay safely buried-and honestly, if at some point a whole season ever went by without at least one attempt on his life, he'd begin to think he was losing his touch-but the timing on this one was quite concerning.

He might have thought the attack was related to one of the other cases he was working on currently, except that none of those cases were really high-stakes enough to justify an assassination attempt; whether it succeeded or failed, such an attempt would just make the guilty parties' eventual sentences much worse than the ones for the original crimes.

For someone to have already discovered that he'd been assigned to this case, worked out his itinerary, and set up the hit while he was at the alchemist's shop implied some very good connections, very deep pockets, very effective information-gathering techniques, or multiple of the above.

This case had just become considerably more intriguing.

~*~*~

Just Before Fifth Afternoon Bell, Zol the 10 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Morgrave University, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

Having decided to take four shorter but more circuitous skycoach trips instead of one longer but more direct one in order to avoid a potential follow-up attack, Creilath and Urzat had taken almost a full hour to get to the Gold & White instead of the usual ten minutes.

Urzat was a capable warrior and remained an undefeated champion of barroom brawls, and Creilath was a fair hand with his longsword and packed enough magic in his words (and odds and ends in his belt pouches) to give any attackers a nasty surprise… but none of that mattered if they were facing an aerial ambush by unknown foes in three dimensions instead of dealing with some ruffians on solid footing in a back alley somewhere.

The two of them holding off a second (and possibly better-coordinated) assassination attempt by their lonesome simply wasn't going to happen, so they were taking no chances with their safety.

Once at the tavern, they'd chatted with Ral herself for a while and then lingered over drinks in the common room for another hour or so. Her tavern was the favorite destination for not only off-duty royal troops but also members of the Sharn Watch, the Redcloaks, the Goldwings, Deneith mercenaries, and practically anyone else who handled a blade for a living, and eavesdropping on the local soldiery could tell someone a surprising amount of useful information about the state of the city.

Then they'd repeated the same chain-of-skycoaches procedure to take them to the University District, keeping a close eye out for suspicious followers all the while.

The duo stepped off their last 'coach just as the nearby belltowers were striking the quarter-hour, and a leisurely stroll took them through the gates of Morgrave University, across the Commons, and along a winding path toward the administrative and faculty buildings.

Their destination was the office and laboratory of one Soril Ziventi: retired adventurer, current professor of Planar Studies, an old friend of Creilath's, and one of the city's foremost experts on all things fiendish, squamous, or betentacled.

When they reached the right door Urzat stepped forward and rapped on it politely, his bulk shielding Creilath from any threats that might emerge; Soril's research often involved conjuring beings from other planes to question them on various topics, and occasionally his binding matrices proved to be… less than secure.

A frazzled-looking human ( young adult, protective clothing, dusting of powdered silver on her sleeves, likely a new research assistant) opened the door a few minutes later. "Can I help you?" she asked.

Urzat moved aside while Creilath put on his best charming smile. "Good afternoon, I'm Creilath Movanek, accredited inquisitive with House Medani. I had a few questions for the professor, if he's not in the middle of something?"

When her eyes widened in alarm he quickly added, "Don't worry, Soril's not a suspect. I was working on a case and found some evidence that I'd like him to look over, that's all."

The assistant relaxed at that. "He's, um…" she glanced over her shoulder, "… let's go with 'mid-banishment'? If you don't mind waiting he should be available soon."

"We'd be happy to."

"Great. I'll go check with him, give me five-" She flinched as both a loud crashing sound and a cry of "Get back in the bleedin' heptagram, you confounded imp!" rose from the back room. "Give me ten minutes and I'll come and fetch you."

The door closed and the lock clicked shut, and Creilath traded amused smiles with Urzat.

Ah, Soril. Never change.

They didn't have too long to wait before the research assistant returned and ushered them inside. The professor was just sitting down at his desk and brushing a few soot stains off of his vest, and looked up with a smile as the two entered.

"Ah, Crei! Come in, come in. It's been too long, far too long; you can pay me a visit when you're not busy trying to prevent the city from falling down around our ears, you know."

Creilath had first met the enthusiastic old gnome early in his inquisitive career, when someone had let a mess of elementals loose down in the Cogs and he'd needed the professor's help to track down the culprit by tracing the ritual reagents that had been used to conjure them. Since then, Ziventi had served as a consultant on several of his cases over the years and always relished the opportunity to "stretch the old adventuring muscles," as he put it.

"Good to see you too, Soril." He dropped into the chair facing the professor, while Urzat merely grunted and took up a position next to the door.

Creilath took cultivating his network of contacts very seriously. If he just showed up, asked a favor, and left whenever he needed something, he knew he'd quickly find that his acquaintances wouldn't be as happy to see him, as willing to prioritize his requests over their own business, or as likely to go above and beyond when fulfilling said requests.

Thus, despite being eager to get on with things and get back to his investigation, he spent around half an hour just chatting with the professor, asking after his hobbies ("I still hit the crossbow range twice a week to keep in practice!"), his wife and children ("Doing well, thanks; I'll tell them you stopped by"), his projects ("… but of course adding the Fernian glowpetals didn't help at all, so I went back to the Lamannian variety, which…"), his students ("I swear, they get lazier every year!"), and other topics of only marginal interest.

Eventually, Soril leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his stomach. "So, Vara said something about you having some questions for me?"

"You know, now that you mention it, I did," Creilath said, pulling out his sketchbook and passing it across the desk. "I was hoping you could tell me what some of these symbols might mean."

The gnome frowned as he accepted the sketchbook. "Symbols? Unless these are some Sul'at inscriptions that touch upon my research into manifest zones, I don't know how much help I can be." He barely glanced at any of the images as he flipped through the first few pages, showing no sign he recognized any of them

"I don't need a whole treatise, just a pointer in the right direction. Take a look at the one on page eighteen, would you?"

Soril flipped through the book until he reached the right drawing, then raised his eyebrows and let out a very thoughtful Hmmm.

On that page was depicted the glyph that Creilath had suspected was the symbol representing the perpetrators' organization. A large circle of dried blood contained a crude oval full of jagged lines in its lower half, suggesting a fanged maw, with a curving line of marks in the upper half of the circle that looked like they might be letters in an obscure alphabet.

Twelve smaller circles were arranged in a ring around the large one, with a small gap at the top so they weren't aligned symmetrically. Flecks of blood that may or may not have been deliberately included in the design suggested that they might be intended to be eyes-or perhaps the moons, with one of the "eyes" being Lharvion with its pupil-like marking and the other flecks being unintentional.

"You believe this might be a representation of a particular creature?" the professor asked as he squinted at the drawing and turned it this way and that.

"The Cults of the Dragon Below do love their monstrous imagery," Creilath confirmed. "And if it's not one of the Cults, for once, then I want to know what flavor of danger I'd be walking into when I'm dealing with these people. Seeing as you're the only expert on the beasts of Khyber that I've met who hasn't turned into a gibbering madman…."

"Hasn't turned into a gibbering madman yet," Soril corrected, looking up from the page with a grin. "If I don't end up earning tenure, who knows? Insanity might make for a more exciting retirement plan."

The three of them sat (or stood) in silence for nearly a quarter-hour as Soril studied the sketch and periodically pulled reference tomes from the shelves behind his desk to check on something, sometimes returning the book to its shelf afterwards but usually stacking it off to the side for later reference.

With every book the professor retrieved, Creilath's apprehension about this case grew.

The inquisitive liked to think of himself as more in-the-know than most when it came to the more esoteric phenomena in the world, thanks to all of the strange happenings in the depths of Sharn that he'd investigated or at least heard about over the years.

Everyone knew, for instance, that demons came from Khyber, the otherworldly realm below the surface of Eberron, but Creilath could talk about the different kinds of demons, and how some of them actually called themselves "devils." Everyone knew about the Demon Overlords trapped in Khyber, but Creilath knew that there were thirty of them, and he could even name two of them off the top of his head.

(Those two being the Shadow in the Flame, which had nearly slipped its bindings a few centuries back and had almost obliterated all of Thrane before it was rebound, and the… er… the one with two heads, what was its name… the one whose cult was causing some trouble on the last Armistice Day. Well, anyway, he could name one Overlord from memory; maybe he could stand to read up on them again to refresh himself if it was going to be relevant to this case.)

But the illustrations in the professor's books? Those were full of beings Creilath not only hadn't ever heard of before but also couldn't even imagine where they might have come from. A rakshasa or a succubus might be strange, but they were still a familiar kind of strange, with a head and two arms and two legs and all, and some of the illustrations made creatures like those look downright cuddly.

What in Aureon's name is a "rukarazyll," he wondered as he inspected a creature that looked like it came from the insane visions of someone who'd inhaled an entire barrel of dream-mist, and exactly how drunk was whoever named the thing?

Finally, the professor closed his last tome, returned it to its place, and gazed soberly at Creilath.

"I have good news, and I have bad news," he said. "The good news is that I've found plenty of monsters or notable figures that might fit this image in some way-"

"And the bad news is that you've found plenty of them?" the inquisitive asked, and the gnome nodded. "How many are we talking?"

"Potentially dozens, but I've narrowed down the list to the six most likely possibilities," Soril replied.

He opened several books in his stack and spread them out across the desk for Creilath to view, and Urzat leaned in curiously as well. The inquisitive began jotting down notes and a few very rough sketches as the professor began explaining each illustration in detail.

The first monster shown, starting with the leftmost tome, looked like the upper half of a human with a swarm of eyes all around itself, if said human had oily black skin, no facial features besides a mouth, and a reddish glow all around it. The label said it was a kalaraq quori, a rare and powerful fiend from Dal Quor.

If the more common quori are the ones who give you nightmares when your mind goes there to dream, what in Dolurrh does that thing do?

The second one wasn't a kind of monster, but a particular being: Belashyrra, Lord of Eyes, a daelkyr from Xoriat who was surprisingly popular among the more insane cultists. It looked like a vaguely elvenoid figure covered in lots of strange growths and odd appendages, with rings of eyes floating around its head and neck.

The third one was a depiction of the Shadow, the corrupted reflection of Aureon, the Sovereign of Law and Magic. Thousands of black and violet tendrils formed an abstract pillar-like shape that had… yep, something that looked like a mouth and lots of spots that looked like eyes.

Fourth one, Tul Oreshka, one of the Overlords, who was a shapeshifter with no true form but who was, according to the professor's books, traditionally depicted with an emphasis on the mouth and eyes given her association with maddening visions and whispered secrets.

The fifth and sixth were back to plain old monsters-ones he recognized, even!-and showed a beholder (one mouth, lots of eyes) and a gibbering mouther ( all the mouths and eyes).

Creilath looked over all of them a final time , then closed his notebook, smiled his most appreciative smile, and thanked the professor profusely for his help.

"Oh, it was no trouble at all," Soril replied cheerily. "I'm always happy to help out a friend."

"And you were extraordinarily helpful. Now, I'd love to stay and chat a bit longer, but duty calls, as I'm sure you know."

The professor chuckled. "Yes, all too well. I won't keep you any longer."

Creilath maintained his smile through their extended farewells and the research assistant, Vara, escorting them out the door.

The moment the door shut behind them, the inquisitive's smile dropped into an exasperated line, and his bodyguard smirked. "Completely useless?" Urzat asked softly.

"Completely useless!" Creilath hissed.

As they walked through the university grounds, he continued to mutter angrily under his breath, to his companion's great amusement: "If I were to make a list of groups that were the most likely to go out and murder people and cover the walls in blood, I'd put daelkyr cults, Overlord cults, and monster cults on the top of the list, in no particular order, followed very closely by cultists of one of the Dark Six. If the murder victims in question were members of the Houses, which they are, I'd add in those bastards in House Tarkanan. And it turns out that the one solid lead in the entire aforementioned wall of blood could point equally to literally any one of those, meaning that this entire visit was a massive waste of time!"

Urzat gave him an encouraging clap on the shoulder, which sent him staggering for a moment, and shook his head in mock disappointment. "Cults these days," he said through a toothy grin. "They just don't make 'em like they used to."

"Tell me about it. Used to be, cults took some pride in their esoteric sigils," Creilath grumbled. "This sorry bunch couldn't have picked a more bland and generic symbol to rally around if they'd tried. I miss the days when these people had style."

"Me too. Just our luck, we'd bash our way into their hidden temple and they wouldn't even have their own hooded robes and eerie glowing torches and ominous pronouncements, they'd just borrow some from somewhere else."

Creilath let out a barking laugh at that. "The ominous pronouncements! I'd almost forgotten those. Oh, what was it that one nutter said in the ir'Lath poisoning case…."

Urzat contorted his face into a fearsome snarl and held up a hand as if grabbing someone by the throat. " Even the Flame's protection shall not avail you, interlopers," he recited in an overly-dramatic growl, " for none can escape the Keeper's clutches-"

"-and then you slipped his hold and broke both of his wrists and he started crying, I remember now," Creilath concluded with a chuckle. "Ah, those were the days."

~*~*~

They continued along in a companionable silence until they reached the lifts just outside the university grounds. "Where to now, boss? " Urzat asked.

Creilath hesitated. "I was thinking of stopping by Oakbridge next to update the Milanas on their missing person situation, but that was before I spent an entire day running into dead ends. I'd like to get at least one concrete piece of new information on this case before I turn in for the evening."

He gave the long and meandering line of people waiting for the lifts an appraising look, then glanced over at the gaggle of skycoaches waiting at the other end of the platform, and made an abrupt decision to head for neither one.

"That update can wait, I think. Come on," he said as he headed for the Sivis message station on the other side of the district.

The Shae Lias District, one tier up and halfway across the city from their current location, was effectively a home-away-from-home for those Aereni elves who wanted to have all the benefits of living in Sharn without actually culturally integrating into Breland. That meant the vast majority of them worshiped the Undying Court, which meant there were plenty of priests in the district with a talent for necromancy.

(Creilath didn't see the appeal of venerating one's ancestors at all , personally. His parents had been insufferable enough when they'd been alive, constantly bothering him about duty to family and the Crown and all that rubbish every day of their lives, and he'd sooner jump off the highest tower in Sharn and avoid every bridge on the way down than see them become some kind of undead so they could keep on bothering him for every day of his life, too.)

Unfortunately, the Shae Lias elves were very traditional (and hidebound, and stodgy, and stuck in their ways, and any number of other descriptors Creilath could add), so if he wanted to approach one of them about possibly coming with him to speak with some of the deceased he couldn't simply walk up, knock on a temple door, and ask them to waste some of their ancestors' precious and sacred gifts on outsiders.

No, that would be far too forward of him, even if he were a full-blooded elf-and seeing as he was merely half an elf in their eyes (and the worse half, at that) with no familial connection to Aerenal that he was aware of, that just made dealing with them even more of a pain.

Hence the trek to the message station, where he would compose some very flowery requests for audiences and send them off to the various temples and hopefully, if Olladra was feeling generous this afternoon, get a letter of agreement back from at least one of them sometime in the next few days.

Or at least that was the plan, before a voice that he hadn't heard in quite some time happened to intrude upon his thoughts.

came the mental voice of one Corvin Icorralyn d'Sivis, a man with whom he had something of a… complicated relationship.

The inquisitive halted in his tracks, Urzat stopping beside him.

"Just received a sending," he explained.

"From?"

"Corvin."

"… Ah."

He only had a few more seconds to think things over before he wouldn't be able to return the sending, so he tossed aside his reservations and responded,

Then he spun around and waved a hand dramatically. "Back to the manor, sirrah," he drawled in his best "self-important Medani bureaucrat" voice.

"Yes, milord," Urzat replied, grinning and touching his fingers to an imaginary cap, and with that the two of them headed back toward the line of skycoaches.

~*~*~

Around Dusk, Zol the 10 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Dava Gate District, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

Creilath's lodgings were situated just above his office, in a building that also hosted barristers, legal scholars, sages, and other professions that often worked with law enforcement. The area was full of buildings that similarly mixed personal dwellings with businesses, and he appreciated the atmosphere of laid-back professionalism it lent the district as a whole.

He did not appreciate that Dava Gate got all the runoff from the Mithral Tower district directly above it on days when it rained-which happened at least four days out of every week at this time of year-but he was willing to put up with a lot if it meant avoiding the exorbitant rents found in most other residential districts.

After parting ways with Urzat at his bodyguard's own residence a few buildings down, Creilath slipped through the back gate and trudged up the stairs to his abode.

When he reached his door the inquisitive checked the unlit decorative lantern out on the landing ( nothing inside; no urgent messages today ), the decorative "tiles" on the floor just in front of his door which were actually firm clay rather than ceramic ( no disturbance of the surface; no one had walked on them ), the three locks on his door ( no scratches; no lockpicking attempts ), and the hair he'd placed on the door handle ( still there; no one had tried to open it ).

Others might call it paranoia. Creilath called it the bare minimum precautions, after what had happened to his last place.

Once he'd unlocked all three locks, stepped over the clay, re-locked the locks, and barred the door, he headed straight for the linen closet.

There, he shoved a pile of blankets out of the way, reached in to flip a hidden catch, folded up the now-movable shelf, slid the false wall panel aside, pulled out the decoy strongbox, slipped a tiny key into what appeared to be an innocuous crack in the left wall of the hidden compartment, retrieved a second strongbox, and removed its false bottom.

Concealed within that false bottom was what appeared to be a small and completely unremarkable mirror, but was in fact an item that would get him disappeared within hours if anyone in House Sivis found out he had it.

Anyone besides Corvin, that is, as Corvin had been the one to gift it to him in the first place.

The Sivis speaking stone network could send messages clear across Khorvaire, but they could take hours or days to arrive, which wasn't nearly fast enough for certain scenarios-such as besieged cities sending requests for reinforcements during the Last War, to name just one example.

Partway through the War, House Sivis and House Phiarlan had pooled their resources and attempted to develop a communication item with much shorter message travel times, and they'd both succeeded and failed. Failed, because the mirrors they designed could only be made to function in linked pairs, unlike the speaking stones that could send messages to any other message stations on the continent, so they were completely unusable as a large-scale solution.

Succeeded, because the resulting items had tremendous potential for… more clandestine applications.

Creilath removed a protective cloth covering from the mirror, took it to his sitting room, sat down in his favorite armchair, propped the mirror up on the reading table in front of him, and pressed a specific tiny ruby embedded in the mirror's frame, one seemingly no different from all of the other minuscule gemstones set into it. A moment later, the surface of the mirror rippled, and Corvin's face swam into view.

The half-elf leaned back and crossed his arms. "I see your sartorial taste hasn't improved in the slightest since we last spoke," he said to open the conversation.

The gnome frowned in apparent irritation. "Likewise to you. I've been roughing it in the jungle for the past month; what's your excuse for that collar?"

"Clebdecher collars are all the rage in Sharn these days."

Corvin nodded solemnly. "Seeing it does fill me with rage, yes. As does that ratty old longcoat of yours that you still haven't consigned to the garbage heap where it belongs."

"This from the man who thinks hooded cloaks and bandoliers are the height of fashion. Wearing a longcoat has never steered me wrong."

"Oh, please, of course it has."

"And when would that be, exactly?"

"Would you prefer the list chronologically, or alphabetically?"

The two glared at each other for a few heartbeats, then burst into hearty chuckles.

"Ah, it's good to see you again, you old beanpole," Corvin said fondly.

"You as well, half-pint." Creilath's smile faded. "Before we get into what you wanted to talk about, does it involve your… work, at all?"

Creilath had originally met Corvin under some exceedingly unusual circumstances.

Being a famous inquisitive of unparalleled skill, if he did say so himself (and he did, whenever he had the opportunity), Creilath had of course taken on the Brelish Crown as a client too many times to count.

He'd worked with all four branches of the King's Citadel, though primarily the King's Shields, its security branch, when investigating possible threats against government officials, and the King's Dark Lanterns, the Citadel's covert operations branch, when investigating possible schemes against the Crown itself. He still worked with the Dark Lanterns on occasion, hence the darkened lantern outside his door.

He'd also worked with the King's Shadows, the fifth of four Citadel branches, but his anecdotes from those cases were hardly ones he could share over dinner.

Corvin, meanwhile, had never explicitly admitted to being a member of the Trust, Zilargo's all-seeing secret police force, but the two of them had kept running into each other over the course of a week while they'd both been pursuing the same band of Zil expatriates for different reasons, and after a while certain clues had made themselves apparent.

They'd arranged a covert meeting over drinks in order for each of them to determine if the other had information he might find relevant, they'd danced around the topic of their allegiances for long enough to make it clear they each knew where both stood, they'd traded some useful but heavily-redacted documents, they'd had a few more drinks, one thing had led to another, and over breakfast the next morning they'd agreed not to mention their meeting to their respective employers.

Breland and Zilargo were close allies, but they were still separate nations with very different values and cultures, and their government wouldn't have approved of them effectively fraternizing with foreign agents, for all that Creilath wasn't technically employed by the Crown and Corvin was technically a private citizen.

Corvin's mouth quirked into a smile. "It is, but not in the way you might think. It's about something that might benefit both of our nations."

The inquisitive frowned at that, but he didn't blank the mirror just yet. "Go ahead, then, but tread carefully."

"I always do."

"Of course. First question?"

"Do you know if anything… unusual has happened lately involving Merrix?"

Merrix d'Cannith, the baron of Cannith South, was known far and wide as a highly eccentric artificer and inventor. Whenever something odd happened anywhere in southwestern Khorvaire that involved constructs or enchanted items to even the smallest degree, chances were good that at least a few people would blame it on Merrix… and chances were also good that they'd actually be right a non-trivial portion of the time.

"Not that I've heard."

"Have you perhaps heard of any new portal activity anywhere in Khorvaire?"

Creilath frowned heavily at that. Portals were very rare phenomena, and very dangerous.

A few "safe" portals were known to exist (or have once existed) in manifest zones, various regions across the continent that were linked to one of the thirteen planes that orbited Eberron. The vast majority of the time, however, when someone said "portal" they were instead referring to a gateway to one of the myriad prison demiplanes in Khyber where everything from horrifying daelkyr-made abominations to the Overlords themselves were sealed away, and a new one of those portals popping up was never a good thing.

"No, I haven't, and thank the Host for that. Look, Corvin… we could sit here for hours while you run through any number of enigmatic questions. What's this all really about?"

The gnome gave him a somber look. "My party ran across another group of adventurers at the tail end of our expedition, except they turned out not to be adventurers. They claimed to be travelers from another world."

"You mean another plane?"

"That was my first thought. No, I mean another world. They claim it's another world like ours, with only one moon and only one sapient race, humans."

"… Odd."

"Isn't it just?"

Creilath drummed his fingers on his armrest, thinking. "One moon. That sounds like one of the planes, but… no, it can't be. The planes are full of non-human races. Are you sure it's not just-"

"It's not just their city, or their kingdom, we already asked that. They claim their whole world only has humans on it."

They went back and forth for a while as Corvin answered all of Creilath's clarifying questions. One by one the inquisitive's hypotheses about their origins were eliminated, until only one remained.

"Then… that would mean…." The drumming stopped. "Could it really…?"

Corvin nodded. "An entire other world out there, beyond the moons, farther than Dal Quor, so remote its existence has never been mentioned or even theorized by even the oldest dragon or the most powerful oracle, as far as we know."

"There's no chance this is some kind of scheme or hoax? You're sure?"

The gnome gave him an offended look, and Creilath raised a hand apologetically. "I know, you're not an easy one to fool by any means. Still, you're sure ?"

"They don't speak Common, they know nothing about Xen'drik or Khorvaire, they find things strange that we find commonplace and find things normal that we find foreign."

"Such as?"

"To start with, they claimed to have never even heard of wizardry or artifice before, and Khalthrun assured me after speaking with one of them that they definitely weren't faking it."

Creilath nodded slowly. Khorvaire's technological advancement over the last few centuries had largely been built on the proverbial backs of thousands of artificers and hundreds of thousands of magewrights, so anyone who didn't even know those professions existed certainly came from a very different culture than the one he knew.

"I've spied on them, as well, when they were talking among themselves on the trail or in the Tharashk enclave and thought they were unobserved. It isn't an act, or if it is then they're good enough to put Tyasha d'Phiarlan to shame," Corvin continued, referencing the most famous actress in the Five Nations. "They've never broken character, never used any terms they'd claimed not to understand, never once given any indication that they come from even Sarlona or Argonnessen, much less Khorvaire."

The gnome paused, a strange expression on his face. "On top of that, a force of drow attacked Zantashk not half an hour ago and nearly all of the travelers were visibly traumatized by the fighting. Their two knights were capable combatants, but only to the degree you'd see at a duel or a fair, they were hardly soldier material. The other three… I'd swear to Aureon that they've never held a blade in their lives."

That, more than anything else, convinced Creilath that they weren't merely Khorvairen con artists.

The half-elf would be turning forty-eight years old in a few weeks (though he could still pass for a more youthful forty with the right disguises, a fact of which he was privately quite proud), and yet the Last War had raged for more than twice as long as he'd been alive. The population of Breland had been almost halved by the time the Treaty of Thronehold had been signed three years ago, and during the War every Brelander had trained with at least one weapon in order to defend their homeland in case of invasion.

For these travelers to not have received even basic weapons training or have been exposed to serious combat….

No, they definitely aren't from around here.

"Well, consider me convinced that they're truly from some unknown other world, at least for now. I assume that obviates any further questions. What were the requests and offers you mentioned?" Creilath asked.

"Well, there's one other minor detail I didn't mention: they didn't travel here deliberately."

"Oh?"

"They were apparently sent through a portal while fighting a dragon, though it wasn't quite clear whether it was the dragon's portal or just one they encountered accidentally. They only have what possessions they were carrying during the fight, they don't know how to return to their world, they're hoping they can find someone or several someones in Khorvaire who can return them to their world, and while the group are all nobles, two of them being crowned royals…" Corvin held up two copper coins and rubbed them together with a cheeky smile, "they don't actually have two crowns between them."

Creilath raised an eyebrow. "They're looking for experts in arcane magic in general, and in portals and teleportation in particular, I assume?"

Corvin nodded. "The finest experts Khorvaire has to offer, yes. Experts such as, to choose examples entirely at random-"

"-the Arcane Congress, the Twelve, or possibly House Orien," the inquisitive concluded with a frown.

"Precisely."

The former two organizations boasted nearly all of the continent's finest arcane researchers and had collectively been responsible for most of the largest advancements in the arcane arts for the past thousand years and more. They were bitter rivals, the Twelve consisting solely of arcanists belonging to or sponsored by the Dragonmarked Houses while the Congress consisted primarily of those without such ties, but if any institution in Khorvaire could find a solution to the travelers' problem, it would almost certainly be one of those two.

House Orien, meanwhile, were the unrivaled masters of teleportation magic. Not only would their dragonmarked heirs and arcane researchers have a leg up when it came to studying and understanding whatever magic had brought the travelers to Eberron, they already had extensive experience with building portal-like enchanted devices in the form of House Kundarak's vault network, which allowed customers to deposit valuables at any Kundarak bank and withdraw them at any other branch thanks to Orien teleportation enchantments.

Unfortunately, the Arcane Congress and House Orien's home city of Passage were both based in Aundair and the Twelve was based in Karrnath, meaning that none of the fame, gratitude, new discoveries, possible trade deals, or any other benefits any of the three organizations might earn by discovering a way to send the very grateful travelers home would be enjoyed by either Breland or Zilargo.

"I begin to see why you wanted to speak with me," Creilath said slowly. "You're thinking of putting a thumb on the scales?"

"I'm thinking that this is a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity that our nations can't afford to miss, and we cannot allow Aundair or Karrnath to benefit from this, at least not before we do," Corvin replied frankly.

"Kaius claims to want peace," he continued, "and he's shown all signs of being sincere in that… but any kind of portal device that could send the travelers home to their world could surely be adapted to send Karrnath's armies into the heart of every other nation, and we can't trust that his warlords wouldn't overrule Kaius and reignite the War if they had access to such an incredible asset."

Creilath's mouth twisted into a cynical smile. "And you and I both know that if Aurala got her hands on such a device one morning, Aundarian troops would be marching through the Reaches or Thrane or both that very same afternoon."

"Exactly."

"I assume you're planning to argue that they visit Sharn first since that's the easiest destination to reach from Xen'drik, and then you want me to… what, convince them to stay in Sharn and talk to the Esoteric Order of Aureon or Cannith South instead of the much more obvious choices? I very much doubt they'd agree to that, once they'd heard of the better options."

The gnome shook his head. "They definitely wouldn't. Their group is fairly fractious already, and even if some of them agreed to that the others would probably then insist on heading to Aundair on general principle. No, what you can offer them is money ."

"What, hire them on as assistants? How many of them are there?"

"Five."

" Five ? You complain about my shabby longcoat and you think I can afford to hire five assistants? Out of the ques-no, wait," he added before Corvin could respond.

"You said they were royals, without any coin to their names?" He narrowed his eyes. "Meaning that they're destitute, and desperate; as nobles, they wouldn't have the slightest idea what a reasonable wage would be for an honest day's work; and without identity papers, they wouldn't be able to earn money anywhere else. You sneaky bastard. I don't know whether to be impressed or appalled."

"As you said, they can't earn money through any other legal means, and if they do end up heading to Arcanix or Passage or Korth they'll need a considerable amount of coin to get there," Corvin argued. "Not to mention that Terik has been covering all of their expenses so far and is probably going to want to be repaid in kind at some point."

"Terik?"

Corvin waved dismissively. "One of my fellows on the expedition. General Thauram's oldest, one of the officers they ennobled as a bribe after Moranna's Folly in '91."

"Ah, yes. Nasty business, that."

"Quite. Anyhow, I'm not asking you to cheat them, just pay them what you can and give them a good impression of Breland while you're at it, and I'll do what I can behind the scenes. What do you say?"

The gnome waited patiently as Creilath thought things over. Underhanded as his plan was, Corvin had made several excellent points.

Perhaps the inquisitive should check with his bodyguard before he made any final decisions about-

Hmm. His bodyguard.

Urzat and he stood very little chance of surviving another assassination attempt alone (and with how little progress he'd made on the case so far, whoever was behind everything would have plenty of opportunities for multiple follow-up attempts while he continued to work on it), but with seven of them, even if none of the travelers were skilled in combat, their numbers alone might give attackers pause.

And regarding the case that prompted said attempt….

"Do any of these travelers bring any magic or special training to the table?" he inquired.

"All of them do, in fact. They have one artificer, and the rest are… well, one of my companions thinks they're warlocks, another thinks they're sorcerers. I have my own theories. Regardless, two of them have special senses, the other two have some good disabling spells, and the artificer has an item of flight. They may have other talents they're holding close to the vest, but that should be enough for your purposes."

"More than enough," Creilath agreed.

"You'll do it, then?"

"I'll do it. When will they be arriving?"

"We're leaving for Stormreach shortly, so it could be as soon as three days from now if they decide to teleport to Sharn, up to six if they take the airship all the way. Assuming we encounter no trouble on the trip."

"If you could nudge them toward the former, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course."

"Then I believe we have a plan," Creilath said.

Corvin smiled and held up a glass of mursi that had been out of sight of the mirror. "I think this calls for a toast, don't you?"

The inquisitive tapped a finger to the amulet he wore under his tunic, then raised his hand and gestured. A clean glass floated from his kitchen table over to his armrest, followed by a bottle of wine from his cupboard.

He poured himself a glass and raised it toward the mirror. "To king and country," he intoned.

"To a better and brighter future for everyone," Corvin responded, then smirked and added, "for a given value of 'everyone'."

They clinked their glasses against the mirror's surface and downed their drinks together.

Creilath couldn't say how Corvin's color-changing vintage tasted, but his own beverage?

On the heels of all the day's setbacks and disappointments, finally making some real progress tasted very sweet indeed.

Author's Note

The plot(ting and intrigue) thickens!

What vile villains could be responsible for these dastardly deeds?

Will the cunning Corvin hookwink our hapless heroes?

Find out next time on-er, whoops, accidentally had things set to Noir Detective Radio Show Announcer for a second there.

It looks like Our Heroes (And Villains) will be running into a rather complicated situation when they get to Sharn. Though hey, at least their financial issues shouldn't be a problem for too much longer, right?

Of course, where THACo (punny new team name courtesy of Rabid_mushroom!) was seriously out of their element in random jungles and backwater villages and leaning heavily on the locals for help, "running around in a big city doing sneaky and/or heroic things with a defined goal and defined targets" is exactly the situation in which both the Wards and the Undersiders shine, so they might turn out to be harder to manipulate than certain people expect.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

Creilath Movanek is actually a canonical character. After a certain point in 3e, every prestige class started to be accompanied by a sample NPC to give DMs an easy way to introduce it into their game, and Creilath is the sample character for the Master Inquisitive class-but unlike every other sample character, he actually shows up in multiple places and gets some backstory, so if you're going by number of appearances in Eberron sourcebooks he technically is the most famous inquisitive in Khorvaire. House Medani specializes in threat detection, crime investigation, and similar things, competing somewhat with Tharashk on that front. Houses Phiarlan and Thuranni are openly focused on entertainment but covertly on spying and assassination and such, so they're not quite the fussy actors Creilath thinks they are. House Kundarak are experts in storing and securing practically everything, including Khorvaire's banking system. Sharn is by far the largest city in Khorvaire; in Keith Baker's words, it's like "eight Manhattans stacked on top of one another." It's located in a manifest zone that makes flight-related magic much easier to make and much more prevalent, so its mile-high towers are magically supported to let them get that high, flying items are all over the place where they're quite rare and expensive everywhere else on the continent, and so on. Morgrave University is a university focusing on adventuring and treasure hunting field work as much as or more than teaching and research; think Harvard or Oxford, if nearly the entire faculty were composed of Indiana Joneses and Belloqs. The monsters and people (for a given definition of "people") mentioned will come up in more detail later if they ever become relevant, but for anyone interested: kalaraq, Belashyrra, The Shadow, Tul Oreshka, beholder, gibbering mouther. rukarazyll. Technically the Undying Court is composed of deathless, not undead, but the difference is academic for most people. Creilath was hoping to bum a speak with dead spell off of one of their priests, which would let him ask questions of the murder victims (or the imprints of their souls, technically) to hopefully get more information about what happened to them. Corvin and Creilath used an aspect mirror for their conversation, which is an item that essentially grants real-time video-call-quality communication among the mirrors linked in a given "constellation" of two to five of them. As Creilath narrated, a pair of aspect mirrors provides much higher-quality communication than a pair of speaking stones but they don't scale at all , so the stones are much better for public infrastructure while the mirrors are more of a toy for rich people and adventurers. The Trust ensures the safety and security of Zilargo's citizenry at the low, low cost of a near-complete absence of privacy. Other nations generally find them horribly dystopian, but the gnomes seem to be fine with it, so…. The Arcane Congress, The Twelve, and House Orien would indeed be THACo's best shot for getting home, assuming anyone on Khorvaire could actually manage it.

Last edited: Jun 17, 2022

Integration 2.4.V

12:38 pm, Monday the 18th of April, 2011 CE Bakuda's Warehouse Lair, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

I arrived in the warehouse in an exceptionally foul mood.

Being interrupted in my questioning of Kevin and Andrea by the need to dispatch a megalomaniac, when I had finally been receiving answers to some of the many questions that had plagued me since arriving on this world, was merely the latest in a long line of irritants I'd endured today, and it almost felt as though it was a culmination of every last minor annoyance and impediment that I'd experienced over the past week.

If even one more thing made the mistake of coming between me and the answers I sought….

I would not be amused.

My mood was not improved in the slightest by what I sensed in the warehouse upon my arrival: two hundred and seventy-four despondent captives within my enhanced sensory range alone, with many more visible and audible beyond that, as well as several dozen gang members serving as guards to enforce their captivity.

Every one of the captives bore an aura absolutely drenched in hues of terror and despair. Magical auras encircled their heads and necks, likely emanating from the bombs Gene had mentioned.

The captives were arranged in many small groups, presumably to keep them isolated and prevent their organizing any sort of escape. Some of them were held in separate rooms in the warehouse, others were merely held in makeshift enclosures with walls made of shelves, stacks of crates, wooden boards, and whatever else had been at hand.

I had appeared within one such enclosure in which Gene was being held along with nine other captives, and set immediately to freeing him.

First, a zone of silence around the enclosure to prevent being overheard; second, an illusion of more crates and shelves across the entrance so that observers would not immediately notice something amiss; third, a concussion blast to the chests of both guards present.

A lethal blast, this time. No mercy for slavers.

The guards collapsed with a thump, blood running freely from the corners of their mouths, and the captives' heads all jerked up in surprise. Most of them just stared at me, unable to immediately process the sudden change in circumstances, but Gene perked up with a broad smile and his aura flooded with elation.

"Valigan!" he hissed. "You came!"

"As I promised I would," I replied. "You can speak normally; I've prevented the other guards from overhearing us."

"Oh thank god," he said at full volume, causing several of the others to flinch in anticipation of harm. When there was no reaction from the guards in either of the adjacent enclosures everyone seemed to relax, at least as much as they could under the circumstances.

"Do you think you can…?" he added, gesturing to the back of his head.

"Most likely. Please stand and turn around so I can better examine it."

"Uhhh… actually, the, uh… guys guarding us said that if we tried to, uh… move around too much, then the, uh…." he tried to explain.

Frustration leaked into his aura as he considered every word carefully, perhaps in an attempt to avoid certain topics. A quick scan of his thoughts revealed that several other captives had triggered their bombs by accidentally speaking a command word, and he was attempting to avoid doing the same.

I sent to the group, and I sensed their fear deepen slightly at the telepathic contact, much as had been the case with the PRT members.

What was the locals' problem with telepathy? If it was merely that they hadn't experienced it before, one would expect-

No, focus, I chided myself. Rescue now, rumination later.

Gene sent. Having had prior experience with the crystal of sending, he took to true telepathy with ease; some of the others attempted to send to me with much less success, either sending mere snippets of thoughts or sending a longer rambling fragment of their internal monologue.

I prompted.

he sent, brow furrowed in deep concentration, and I relayed his thoughts to the others since he couldn't yet manage a multi-target sending.

The telepathic contact cut off as his stream of thought dissolved into a scrambled mess of recollections.

I caught a glimpse of a young girl's head erupting in a haze of crimson energy as she sprinted for an open doorway. Chunks of her body were flung about to hover in a rough sphere of disconnected parts, yet she still remained alive and conscious in her new (and apparently agonizing) state.

I also caught a longer memory of Jihoo dissolving on the sidewalk in front of him.

I urged him.

He took a calming breath, then a second and a third, and then continued:

A chorus of broken replies were sent by the others, intentionally or otherwise, as they seemed to be too afraid to nod their heads in response:

-t's right. -aybe a bluff? -n't wanna di- -can't move-then how-

I nodded slowly.

Gene frowned.

Aspect sent to everyone as I dismissed his imperceptibility.

My psicrystal floated around behind Gene, and the others followed him curiously with their eyes.

I explained.

Gene asked.

Aspect sent to just the two of us, completely deadpan,

I closed my eyes, not because I needed to but because it would signal that my focus was elsewhere, and observed through Aspect's augmented senses as he slowly floated from captive to captive to more closely examine the backs of their heads.

With my deepsight, I was able to carefully peel back layers of clothing, hair, flesh, and muscle until I was viewing the implanted bombs directly. They were crude things: an inch or two across, roughly as thick as a finger, and disk- or lens-shaped overall but with irregularities that spoke to the haste and lack of care with which they had been assembled.

Most importantly, they were not bombs designed to be placed within a living being.

Grafts-that is, magic items specially crafted to be implanted in a creature-become tightly integrated with their bearer's being when installed in their body and are thereafter inseparable and indistinguishable from said bearer so long as it lives.

These bombs, in contrast, were merely normal magical devices shoved beneath the captives' skin by someone who obviously lacked any formal surgical training, which meant that it would be possible to separate them from the captives without harm.

With my arcane sight, I determined that the magical auras I'd seen around each person were composed of three separate effects, a strong primary aura that varied wildly from bomb to bomb as well as a pair of near-identical weaker auras that were uniform across all of them.

The latter two auras had the characteristic flutter around the periphery indicating a contingent effect, and I guessed that one of them would trigger the bomb if it was removed while the other allowed it to be set off intentionally.

It was a remarkably inefficient approach; any remotely competent artificer would have crafted each bomb as a single integrated device instead of merely layering separate spells atop one another. The slapdash design did fit with the crudity of the physical devices themselves, though.

The specific conditions under which each bomb would detonate unfortunately could not be determined with basic auric analysis, so I wold have to treat them all as though they could be triggered by any action at any any time. However, having completed my examination I felt confident that I could indeed remove the bombs safely.

First, I spent a few minutes filling one of my empty extradimensional storage spaces with quintessence so that the extracted devices could be placed in stasis to prevent activation; I did so while temporally accelerated, so as not to draw out the subjective time that the captives had to wait.

Then I focused my gaze on Gene's bomb, readied myself to suppress it the moment it appeared, and sent a tendril of psionic energy through the Astral to seize it and teleport it to my hand.

My foresight flared in warning, I pressed a negation field upon the bomb before it could activate, and its aura faded dramatically as it went temporarily quiescent.

I opened my eyes and held it up for all to see. "That takes care of the first bomb," I said with an encouraging smile. With a flourish, I moved it into stasis before the suppression could wear off. "Gene, if you would confirm that yours has been removed?"

I could tell he'd already felt something when the bomb vanished based on the pulse of alarm in his aura a moment before, but he tentatively reached up to feel around the base of his skull where it had been, just to be sure.

"Holy crap, it's gone!" he said, radiating surprise and intense relief.

While Aspect floated closer and drew upon my reserves to heal him and clean up the dried blood around the inexpertly-sutured implantation site, I moved on to the next captive, then the next, then the rest in sequence until all of the bombs were in stasis and all of the captives had been healed.

The moment the last bomb was extracted and I told them it was safe to move, they all surged to their feet. Several were were weeping silent tears of joy, and Gene and the three children present ran up to hug me. The release of tension throughout the makeshift room was palpable as they all murmured thanks to me and to their various gods.

Eventually one of the adult captives approached me. "We can't possibly thank you enough for saving us," he said in a tone of fervent gratitude. "What happens now? Can you get us out of here?"

"Yeah, he can teleport people," Gene said, and a ripple of relief went through the group.

"Indeed. I can teleport each of you directly home, or to a public place of your choosing-"

"No!" one of them blurted out. "That's not safe!"

"Why not?" I asked.

The others in the group had turned to the speaker, a young woman; they didn't appear to know what she meant either.

"When I was brought in, I heard Bakuda talking to someone about the bombs they'd hid all around the city, in stores and bridges and everywhere," she explained breathlessly. "She was gonna start setting them off if anyone attacked her or Lung!"

"Hey, yeah, I remember hearing something like that when I was getting, y'know…" agreed one of the others, gesturing to where his bomb had been, "but I was kinda out of it and thought I was just imagining things."

Bakuda, resorting to mass murder of a city's population to get her way?

Once again, just like Dregoth.

And here I hadn't thought my opinion of her could possibly sink any lower.

Worried conversation broke out at those captives' words while I pondered. After a moment, I raised a hand to quiet the murmurs and said, "That shouldn't be an issue for much longer, as I'll be removing Bakuda shortly. Nevertheless, if you are worried about that, I can place you in a safe shelter here until I've dealt with her."

I conjured a psychoportive shelter, not nearly as large as the one I'd used to train Nate but large enough that they would all have room to move around freely, and ushered the group into the extradimensional space.

As they filed through the barrier I perused their surface thoughts to judge their mental state. Some were focused entirely on getting to safety, others' thoughts had turned to their loved ones to wonder if they were also in danger.

Gene's thoughts, now that he was no longer under an immediate threat himself, were fixated on Jihoo, and recollections of his best friend's death were cycling over and over again through his mind's eye.

Standing there, taking in the depths of his sorrow, I had a decision to make.

On the one hand, given the lack of divine magic in this sphere, resurrection would surely be exceedingly rare here, assuming it was even known at all. Though Jihoo was (to the best of my knowledge) no one of especial importance or influence, restoring him to life could still have all manner of unpredictable effects on this world's future.

On the other hand… given my own immense grief over the loss of a loved one and the extreme lengths to which I would be willing to go to restore my husband to life, failing to resurrect Gene's very close friend for the sake of mere expedience would be hypocrisy of the absolute worst sort.

"Gene," I called, and he paused. "I'm aware of what happened to Jihoo, and I assure you that I will transmute him back as soon as I've finished here."

"Wha-? Transmute?" He furrowed his brow. "But h-he's… he's d-d-"

"Dead? Of course not," I lied. "He's merely been transformed, like the discorporated girl a few rooms over. His current state is likely quite uncomfortable, but it is fully reversible."

Gene's sudden surge of hope overwhelmed any doubts he may have had at my explanation. "Thank you," he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion, and with a nod of acknowledgment I waved him into the shelter with the others.

And then it was time to deal with Bakuda.

She wasn't within my sensory range, but a quick manifestation of a location power revealed that she was in one of the side rooms at the far end of the warehouse, with another room between it and the warehouse proper serving as an anteroom of sorts. A clairvoyance power revealed that she was currently performing surgery on one of several captives in that room.

Said captive was still awake for the procedure, lying face-down with his limbs shackled so tightly to the table that he could barely move. Every few moments he twitched and whimpered softly in pain as Bakuda made careless incisions at the base of his skull. Three more captives were restrained on other tables in the room, waiting for their turn under the scalpel.

A third precautionary divination revealed that if I were to interrupt Bakuda the consequences for the victim would be dire; the details were unclear, but it would likely involve the bomb going off and killing him in a messy and painful manner.

A fourth divination, just to be safe, indicated that killing Bakuda the moment the procedure was finished would have a nearly identical outcome.

Curious.

Not wanting to subject the victim to any further suffering, I waited the two minutes and twenty-six seconds it took Bakuda to safely complete the surgery, my disgust and anger at her actions mounting by the moment.

I spent that time manifesting divinations regarding the presence of any wards in her anteroom, specifically those against planar travel and chronokinesis such as had been present in Dregoth's throne room. I'd more than learned my lesson about challenging a well-prepared magic-user in their sanctum and wasn't about to make the same mistake a second time.

Not having been warned of any such wards, the moment Bakuda finally stepped away from the table I manifested Temporal Acceleration and then teleported into the anteroom to examine the area… and it was a good thing that I'd accelerated myself, as the room turned out to be positively incandescent with the magical auras of various bombs secreted in the floor, walls, and ceiling.

My enhanced senses revealed the careful engineering work that had gone into preparing this room for unwelcome visitors. Its concrete floor was not discolored with age like those of the adjacent rooms, indicating that it had been torn up to allow embedding bombs within it and then later replaced; the paint upon the walls was just slightly the wrong shade in many spots where bombs had been set into the walls and then painted over; and even the ring-like light fixtures in the ceiling had bombs set into their centers, hidden behind their glass covers.

These bombs were all conical rather than disk-shaped and positioned with their flat sides facing the room's interior, implying a more directional design similar to that of most magical traps. The entire room was effectively a deathtrap in which Bakuda could (presumably) precisely trigger individual bombs to eliminate attackers while leaving herself and allies unharmed.

There were eight gang members in the room, four seated around a table playing some manner of card game, two chatting off to the side next to a stack of boxes full of supplies, and one next to each door. Their auras all bore subtle tinges of minor discomfort and anxiety indicating that they knew about these hidden bombs but had come to accept them, more or less.

A peek into their mind revealed that these eight were among the gang members most loyal to Bakuda specifically rather than to Lung or to the gang as a whole, explaining their willingness to remain here at her command despite the bombs' presence.

I would have liked to have collected all of those bombs for later analysis as I had the bombs within Gene's group, but the sort of person willing to sow her own stronghold with bombs was almost certainly paranoid enough to ensure she would know if any of them were removed or disenchanted, so there was little chance I'd be able to retrieve more than one before Bakuda was alerted to my presence.

In which case disenchanting the lot of them was the best option available.

I manifested several disjunction powers in sequence, each sphere targeted behind the floor, the ceiling, or a different wall such that every last bomb would be negated while I floated safely in the center of the room, and held the powers in abeyance for the time being as they would have no effect while I was accelerated.

Then I rendered myself momentarily invulnerable, just in case, and ended the acceleration, at which point I had just enough time to retrieve a single bomb and put it in stasis before the rest were disjoined, vanishing from my arcane sight.

Through the wall I saw Bakuda twitch in shock and look back toward the anteroom, having immediately become aware of the disenchantment just as I'd expected she would. Before she could react further, I shattered the lock on the door to the surgical theater and telekinetically yanked her toward me, slamming the door open in the process.

As I beheld her with my own eyes I was able to see the magical auras around her mask and the rings on one foot, so I immediately suppressed those items and tasked my secondary mind with keeping them suppressed. Only a fool captures an artificer and leaves them their enchanted items.

The sound of the door banging against its frame caused the gang members present to look toward me in surprise, hands going immediately to the pistols at their belts, but they hesitated when they saw their mistress in the line of fire. I manifested a zone of silence around the whole area, just in case.

Bakuda struggled fruitlessly against my telekinetic grasp, tiny spots of fear and then anger appearing briefly in her aura as she attempted to make use of her mask and realized it was nonfunctional.

She stopped struggling and looked around at her guards. "Shoot him, you morons!" she cried, a technological device within her mask transforming her voice into a buzzing monotone that carried easily throughout the room.

The guards began firing in my direction as ordered. I floated there impatiently as the majority of the shots went wide, either out of fear of hitting Bakuda, an inability to act ably under pressure, or a simple lack of training. The few accurate bullets impacted my inertial armor and were instantly robbed of all momentum, dropping harmlessly to the floor.

I took the opportunity to peruse Bakuda's surface thoughts for anything useful, but found only frantic attempts to plan a way out of her current quandary and the usual self-aggrandizing delusions present in the mind of most petty tyrants shortly before their violent demise. I could sense nothing to indicate why it might be counterproductive to kill her.

The gunfire stuttered to a halt a few moments later. The gang members lowered their weapons and looked around uncertainly as they realized their attacks had had absolutely no effect.

"Give me one reason why I should let you live," I told Bakuda calmly.

She laughed, which her mask turned into a disjointed hissing. "You're bluffing," she scoffed. "Heroes don't kill people. You don't have the guts."

Without taking my eyes off her, I sent a lethal concussion blast at the guards.

I had no compunctions against killing any of them, as I'd seen each of them gleefully mistreating captives at one point or another during my initial vision of Gene's predicament.

Their bodies collapsed with a clatter of dropped guns and phones, blood dribbling from the corners of their mouths.

Bakuda's laughter cut off.

"Once again: Give me one reason why I should let you live," I repeated.

"Dead man's switch!" she replied urgently, her surface thoughts crystallizing around the image of a device implanted in her own body. "I have a dead man's switch. My heart ever stops, or I'm even knocked out for too long? Boom. Every single fucking bomb I've made goes off. People, schools, highways, City Hall, everything."

She let out a sadistic chuckle and added, "And not just around here, ohhh no. I've got my pride and joy sitting in my main workshop-which you'll never find, by the way-and it's hooked up to the switch too. It's basically a huge electromagnetic pulse wave generator crossed with a fusion bomb. If that baby goes kablooie you can kiss this entire city goodbye, and everything between here, South Carolina, and the Mississippi River gets blasted back to the Stone Age."

As Bakuda rambled on about several other reasons why it would be a bad idea to kill her, I peered into her ribcage with my deepsight and found that her visualized device was, indeed, grafted around her heart. Unlike the shoddy mass-fabricated bombs she'd used on her victims, this device had been crafted with excellent artisanship and within much higher quality tolerances, and I grudgingly acknowledged that it seemed she could produce quite capable work when she had the requisite time and materials.

That presented a problem, as I would not be able to simply teleport this device out as I had the bombs.

I tried to think of other potential approaches, though my mind kept drifting back to the more lethal and more painful options and so I was sure to be missing something obvious. I didn't usually have such a deep vindictive streak, but I couldn't seem to let go of my desire to make her seriously suffer for her actions despite knowing that it was currently quite counterproductive.

Aspect pointed out.

I allowed.

Unfortunately, none of my hypothesized solutions would bear fruit. I manifested a few more divinations to explore them during her monologue, but whether I tried sending her forward in time or crystallizing her or any number of other options, I foresaw that all of those scenarios ended with widespread detonations the moment her device was no longer both present on this plane and fully operational.

Taking my contemplative silence for an admission of helplessness in the face of her contingency, Bakuda's rambling tapered off and she began to laugh again. "Ha ha! I knew it. You talk a big game, but you can't do shit to me. I'm untouchable! I'm a goddamn genius!"

My mindsight revealed that while she was of distinctly above-average intelligence, there was still a notable gulf between her actual level of intellectual ability and what her egotism led her to believe it to be.

"You're quite intelligent, certainly, but a genius? Hardly," I replied scornfully.

"That's a fucking lie!" she spat. "I'm the most brilliant fucking Tinker this world has ever seen!"

I thought back to my less-than-cordial discussion with Armsmaster, an artificer who'd believed that he knew better than I how enchanted items worked and yet had still admitted that he "may not fully understand" the devices he built, and who had apparently received no formal training in his profession.

I'd just been handed a platinum opportunity to validate the PRT's claims regarding the very recent discovery of magic on this world and whether it was sufficiently well-understood to be taught, using a source that was guaranteed not to be biased in their favor.

"Brilliant, you say? Then I'll make you a deal." I withdrew one of her confiscated bombs from storage, suppressed its enchantment once again, and held it up, paying careful attention to her surface thoughts as I did so. "If you can explain the workings of this bomb, I'll release you."

She snorted. "What, you think just because I don't sharpie some labels on my bombs I can't tell which one's which? That's the forty-one-twenty-five. It drops someone's temperature to a few degrees Kelvin, then hits them with a specific sequence of vibrations to shatter them from the feet up."

In the hushed tones of one confiding a great secret, she added, "I've churned out so many bombs at this point that I had to start mixing multiple ideas together to keep things fresh, and I gotta say, it's really been working out great so far."

I slightly increased the pressure of my telekinesis and raised Bakuda an additional foot off the ground. "I didn't ask you to tell me what the bomb does. I asked you to explain its workings."

A tiny blotch of insecurity marred the otherwise-pristine shade of confidence dominating her aura.

She made a dismissive gesture with her head, the only part of her body she could currently move. "Why should I bother? I wouldn't expect a non-Tinker like you to be able to follow my thought process. I'm the most innovative Tinker in the entire country! I can think at a level you can't even imagine!"

"I manipulate twenty-seven-dimensional hypergeometric mental constructs on a regular basis through discipline and visualization alone," I replied wryly.

(Technically true, though a vast exaggeration of the actual difficulty involved in manifesting a psionic power, in much the same way that it would be to describe a game of children playing catch in terms of gravitational and astronomical equations.)

I floated slightly closer and looked her right in the eye. "Try me."

The blotch in her aura was slowly gaining ground.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" she blustered, the arrogance mostly gone from her tone.

It seemed that her overweening certainty lasted only so long as she believed herself to be in total control of a situation; challenge her dominance, her expertise, or her intellect, and she was suddenly much less self-assured.

"The bomb actually implodes," she lied, in an attempt to test my own understanding, "in a way that sucks all the heat into-"

"It does no such thing, as we both are well aware," I said. "Bluffing won't avail you. Try again."

She was silent for a moment, and I watched her thought process as she dredged up her memories of how she understood that particular bomb to work and searched for a way to put her understanding into words.

Soon enough, she continued, "The bomb creates… call it a thermal inhibition field, to slow down the atoms by flooding them with a kind of heat-negating energy-"

"Very good. Now, how precisely does it do that? Upon what underlying scientific principles does it rely?" I queried her.

"Well, I mean, at a theoretical level-"

Her surface thoughts revealed that she didn't actually know the answer.

I manifested a power to probe her thoughts more deeply and assailed her with a barrage of additional questions: "By what mechanism did you confine the boundaries of its cryoturgic field to the subject's physical body? Does it use a singular dimensional manifold or a tripartite decomposition? Using what criteria did you select the final temperature for the effect? Did you use the Parrondan or the Luerten formulation for the energy propagation equations?"

With every question her confidence wavered further, and she became more and more agitated as I barely let her get a word in edgewise.

I continued bombarding her with question after question on topics ranging from mathematics to physics to thaumodynamics and beyond. All the while, I was reading her (lack of) answers from both her surface thoughts and the deeper reaches of her mind… and after a few minutes' interrogation, I came away utterly disappointed.

Kevin and Andrea had, it seemed, been at least partially telling the truth. Bakuda hadn't learned her artifice anywhere or from anyone; it was as though she was to a true artificer what a sorcerer was to a wizard, operating entirely on intuition and lacking the slightest idea as to how any of it actually worked.

What she'd accomplished with the bombs and the kidnappings and everything else had required a good deal of cunning and creativity, a great deal of malice, and a considerable degree of meticulous paranoia, but not one single jot of anything she'd learned from her university education or her own independent scientific studies.

On another world, in another culture, had she been given the proper education and training (and moral instruction), perhaps she could have become one of the great luminaries of artifice, with a name that might have one day been spoken in the same breath as Kwalish and Quaal and Telkhel and all the rest.

But as things stood….

"You aren't a brilliant innovator at all," I concluded, and she flinched sharply. "You're a girl playing with toys that someone else handed her, who thinks that assembling a tiny tower out of blocks is a groundbreaking achievement while being completely unaware of the castle parapet upon which she stands."

"Shut up! Shut up!" she snapped, her aura pulsating with a dizzying mix of pride, fear, doubt, resentment, envy, and rage, the strongest emotional reaction I'd seen from any being since arriving on this world. "That's not fucking true! I'm a motherfucking genius!"

In denial to the very last, it seemed.

I shrugged. "If you'd prefer to live in a world of your own delusions-"

Ah. There's an idea.

"-that can be arranged," I smoothly continued. "Do you even know how to disable your dead man's switch?"

"There wouldn't be much point to a dead man's switch if someone could disable it, would there?" she sneered, while her thoughts revealed that, if it could indeed be done, she didn't know how.

I shook my head as I probed her mind for the locations of all of her other bombs, including her magnum opus, to make it simpler to find and disenchant them.

"In that case, if I can't safely kill you now, I'll simply deal with you later. Farewell," I said, and then manifested the Microcosm power on her.

Her head slumped to the side as the power went to work, locking her conscious mind within a mental realm derived from her subconscious-much like a dreamscape, but without giving her any control over the resulting subjective reality-which she would experience as though it were the waking world.

The power could be made to continually generate novel experiences by extrapolating from the subject's current stream of thought, but I'd set it to take her through her memories of recent weeks, partly in the hopes of prompting her to reconsider her malicious actions given the benefit of hindsight, partly because I was feeling ever so slightly spiteful after seeing what she had done to her victims.

Bakuda would remain alive, physically present on the Material Plane, and technically conscious while the power was active (or until her body died from lack of nourishment, whichever occurred first), thereby satisfying the conditions keeping her dead man's switch from activating. That would allow all of her bombs to be found and disenchanted at the heroes' leisure, during which time she would be endlessly reliving every mistake, every immoral choice, every blow to her ego, and every failure she'd experienced over the past month.

It wasn't a slow and painful death, precisely, but slow and painful it was, and for the moment that would simply have to suffice.

I released my telekinesis, and Bakuda dropped insensate to the ground.

The madwoman was no longer a problem. The immediate threat was removed; the more distant threat would be trivial to address given sufficient time.

And yet, I was… unfulfilled.

I felt a certain restlessness, even a certain resentment, over questions only partially answered, tasks left unfinished, and an endless series of distractions beginning to fail to distract me.

The catharsis that I'd hoped to feel upon killing Bakuda remained out of reach so long as she drew breath, and unlike when my husband and I had first challenged Dregoth I couldn't even feel the expected satisfaction of completing a task necessary for the benefit of others, because neutralizing Bakuda hadn't required my particular talents at all.

Had I not taken it upon myself to defeat her, a handful of the local capes could likely have achieved the same thing, if not nearly so quickly nor adroitly.

I let myself become lost in thought for a few moments, just musing on everything and everyone I'd seen since arriving on this world… but soon, far too soon, my thoughts began drifting to-

I shook my head to clear it and strode into the surgical theater. I might as well free those four captives and then attend to the rest of them, and either kill or knock out the remaining guards depending on whether or not they'd been willing participants in Bakuda's scheme, before heading back to conclude my discussion at the PRT building.

It was the work of a few moments to destroy the captives' bonds and remove the bomb that had just been implanted in the first one. Explaining the situation and assuring the four of them that they were no longer in danger took considerably longer.

During said explanation, I sensed a phone begin to buzz at Bakuda's waist. From across the room I flipped its cover open telekinetically and read the message, which turned out to be a query from an unlabeled phone number regarding her current status.

I declined to respond. From what I'd observed the locals tended to butcher their native tongue in written phone messages, with Bakuda being worse than most according to previous messages visible on the phone, and I doubted I could convincingly counterfeit that rather idiosyncratic style of communication.

Less than a minute later, I was still consoling the former captives when I sensed a man teleport into the space just beyond the door to the anteroom. He reached for the door handle with a dagger at the ready in each hand.

That would be Oni Lee, going by how closely his appearance matched Mike's mental image of the gang's other subordinate cape… and according to my mindsight he was not, in fact a shikibu no oni (or any other race of oni, for that matter), merely a human.

Which implied that Lung might turn out not to be a true dragon after all.

How very disappointing.

I sighed. "If you will excuse me for a moment," I said, then extricated myself from a hug, teleported to just inside the door, and opened it before the man could do so.

He reacted the instant he saw me, plunging his daggers toward my throat and chest, but his blows impacted my inertial barriers to no effect.

"I am not in the mood," I told him.

Peering into his thoughts, I found that he'd been tasked by Lung to protect Bakuda against anyone attacking her warehouse-

-but he hadn't been involved in either the kidnappings or the bomb placement and so I supposed he didn't need to die, at least not immediately. Best to leave him be for now, to limit my interference only to Bakuda and her direct subordinates.

He teleported behind me, leaving a duplicate of some variety in his place. To my mindsight, he and his duplicate possessed identical mental signatures, but the man had seemed to suffer a minor impairment to his intellectual capacity after teleporting and the duplicate left behind appeared to be barely sapient.

Aspect opined.

The two Oni Lee attacked me in tandem, each dagger seeking a different apparent weak spot and each strike again being completely ineffectual.

have been haphazard combinations of standard ones, I acknowledged.

After a few moments, the duplicate vanished in a small cloud of what appeared to be white ash, and the man's mental faculties were immediately restored.

-and their sapient viruses? Yeah, I can see that, Aspect agreed.

The man's thoughts indicated that he was just about to teleport again, and I decided that if I was going to leave him alive and free it would be best to ensure he couldn't bother me again any time soon.

"Can you swim?" I quickly inquired.

Bafflement tinged his aura at my seemingly irrelevant question, but I plucked the reflexive answering thought from his mind: yes, he could.

A moment later he tried to teleport beside me, but I caught him with an Astral diversion field and redirected him to a destination several miles south of our position. He would reappear in the waters of the bay, completely drenched but otherwise unharmed.

The duplicate left behind scrabbled ineffectually at me with its knives for a few seconds, before vanishing just as the other had.

I concluded.

With yet another underwhelming "battle" out of the way, I resumed walking to the nearest group of captives.

~*~*~

Just over an hour later, I'd identified sixty-seven gang members who had relished being a part of Bakuda's scheme, whom I'd slain; an additional five who'd been highly opposed to becoming involved but whose fear of Lung had forced them to reluctantly go along with it, whom I'd teleported out of the warehouse after strongly suggesting that they reconsider their life choices; and a total of five hundred and six captives, whom I'd relieved of their bombs and healed fully.

I once again found myself consoling large numbers of former captives… and while I could certainly empathize with their need for compassion at the moment and wouldn't suggest that helping them to process their emotions was a complete waste of time, at that point I honestly wanted nothing more than to be done with this whole bothersome affair so that I could return to my much more productive discussion with the Deputy Director and his associates.

A short while later, once everyone present had reached a state of at least minimal emotional stability, I began teleporting away those former captives who wanted to go home and ushering the more cautious captives into psychoportive shelters.

I was nearly two-thirds done with the process when one of the self-appointed sentries by the main door shouted, "Shit! It's the Empire!" and immediately threw the remaining captives into chaos.

In the midst of the clamor, I closed my eyes and recited a calming mantra for the second time today.

Aspect complained.

I sent, restraining my frustration with extreme difficulty,

"Hey, uh, Mister Hero?" said one of the less frantic individuals nearby, tugging at my sleeve. "Are you-?"

" Yes, I will deal with them," I snapped, and teleported to just inside the main doors.

From that vantage point I could see a large force of humans in Empire heraldry making their way down one of the wider streets toward the warehouse.

Four of them were capes. Purity I recognized immediately; Krieg, Blitz, and Crusader I knew thanks to Gene, Aegis, and their friends giving me a very brief summary of the appearances and powers of the Empire's capes during movie night. The remaining twenty were mundanes, and didn't move as though they had any notable martial training.

They were advancing slowly and cautiously, likely due to the presence of many of Bakuda's bombs around the warehouse. Several craters in the street and one pillar of bright green flame were visible to the eye, and I could see the auras of several dormant bombs poking out of walls and portions of the sidewalk in the same area.

A second force of three capes and twenty mundanes was approaching from a different direction. They were also moving slowly, but in their case it was likely not out of caution but rather in an attempt to be more stealthy, as they were taking a smaller street and making an effort to avoid coming within line of sight of the warehouse.

While waiting for both groups to come fully within my enhanced sensory range, I took a few minutes to meditate and restore my psionic energy reserves to their full capacity.

A shame that I could not do the same for my reserves of patience, which were running dangerously low.

I floated out of the warehouse, and behind me several of the freed captives clustered around the doorway to watch what transpired. Then I manifested Control Sound to amplify my voice and called, "There's no use attempting stealth. I can sense all of you, in both groups."

The leaders of both groups halted and raised phone-like devices to briefly confer with one another, debating (among other things) whether they should call for reinforcements and whether I was bluffing.

"I am not bluffing," I called, and their conversation cut off as I manifested small globes of light above the heads of every single individual in both groups, then dismissed them a few seconds later. "Come out into the open, or be dragged out. Your choice."

After a brief delay, the first group continued forward until they were assembled just across the four-lane street from the warehouse entrance, and the second group emerged to join them.

Krieg, the telekinetic, stood front and center in a costume reminiscent of a military uniform, attempting to project strength and authority. Blitz, the artificer, stood behind and to the left in a suit of armor resembling nothing so much as a mass of metal spheres stuck together in a vaguely humanoid shape; Purity floated behind and to the right; the mundanes were arrayed behind them.

Fog and Night, the transmuters, stood a short distance off to the right wearing masks above formal clothing. Crusader, the necromancer, stood a short distance off to the left wearing a credible imitation of plate armor.

And Alabaster, the chronokinetic, possibly the most dangerous of them all, stood beside Crusader.

His aura blazed with magic as he repeatedly manifested a variant of the Time Regression power on himself. The standard power allowed the user to travel a few seconds into the past, but his power appeared to transport only his body into the past, rendering him effectively immune to any physical harm that didn't immediately kill him.

That he could manifest powers of the ninth valence was concerning enough. That he could do so over and over without pause merely as a precaution before a battle suggested that he had either much vaster reserves of psionic energy than I or a much more efficient technique for replenishing it; even Velocity, who'd manifested Temporal Velocity several times to maintain his accelerated timeframe while we'd traveled across the city, had refrained from using his power for most of the tour afterwards to avoid taxing his reserves.

I wasn't unduly concerned, as Aegis had claimed that this was the only power Alabaster was known to use… but then, most heroes I'd met were said to only possess "one power" as well, so Alabaster might have others he generally kept hidden.

The capes arranged themselves cautiously; finding a single unknown cape levitating outside their enemy's base of operations was not at all what they had expected, and from both their behavior and their surface thoughts it was clear they were extremely wary of a trick or trap.

When all of the capes were in position, Krieg signaled Purity, who increased the light output of her defensive aura and rose into the air, gathering spheres of light in both hands.

Then he folded his hands behind his back in a posture of attention and declared, "I don't think you are the one in a position to be making threats, [my friend," in an atrocious attempt at a foreign accent with a few non-English words thrown in for good measure. "Stand aside, and let us enter the warehouse."

Ignoring him for the moment, I gazed up at Purity. "You were granted a second chance last Monday night," I warned her. "You will not be given a third."

It took her a moment, but her eyes widened and her spheres of light extinguished themselves, which led the others to feel even more hesitant about going on the offensive.

"You!" she cried.

"Me," I agreed.

"You told me you weren't with the ABB!" she accused.

"You told me that you were a hero," I replied. "And yet here you are."

I caught a muttered " ooh, burn!" from someone behind me.

She glanced away, her aura spiking with guilt. "Things change."

Then she looked back at me and her gaze hardened, the guilt in her aura being overwhelmed by pride, self-righteousness, and a considerable amount of self-deception. "Like the fact that it's not just you versus me this time," she said with gesture down at her allies.

"She's right," Krieg interjected, trying to retake control of the conversation. "No matter how loyal you may be to Bakuda or Lung, surely you do not think you can take on seven capes and forty armed men and survive, [yes]?"

"You are literally incapable of seriously harming me," I said flatly.

I was sorely tempted to blast them all into unconsciousness and be done with it, but Purity had resisted an incredibly strong blast of sunlight when I'd reflected her spell, the protective aura around Krieg looked to my arcane sight as though it would render him highly resistant to force effects, Night was said to have a reactive healing ability in addition to her shapeshifting, and Alabaster was an unknown variable.

Given that, and given Purity's observed lack of concern for collateral damage, I couldn't be sure that one or more of them wouldn't remain conscious long enough to retaliate and kill some of the captives before I could stop them.

Making Gene believe that I could reverse the esoteric effects of Bakuda's bomb on Jihoo was one thing, but blatantly resurrecting someone after they'd been killed by the Empire capes would be significantly more difficult to plausibly explain away as mere healing.

Attempting persuasion would be the better approach, then, my exasperation with such a tactic notwithstanding.

"As you are not at all welcome here," I continued impatiently, "you can either leave or you can be forced to leave. Your choice."

He waved dismissively at my ultimatum. "Even if your claim were true, while we might not be able to harm you, [my friend," he said in a falsely cheerful tone, "there are… other options. You wear no mask, and from a face it is simple to find a name, an address, maybe even the name of a girlfriend or wife-"

"Husband," I corrected reflexively.

Krieg recoiled slightly in disgust, and muttering broke out among his men.

"So you're a faggot?" Alabaster sneered. "I should've guessed from that faggy purple costume that you were…" he continued, rattling off a stream of invective regarding various attributes of both myself and my husband.

I merely rolled my eyes at his tirade. Puerile insults had long since lost their sting.

Yet, still, each time he mentioned my husband, I must admit that I did feel just the slightest twinge of-

"… and degenerates like your 'husband' are better off dead-"

A loud CRACK rent the air as every bone in Alabaster's torso shattered.

A moment later, I realized that I'd killed him with a concussion blast without consciously thinking about it.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I absently registered the cries of alarm among the Empire troops, Krieg ordering the other capes to stand down, and even Aspect yelling something at me.

Then I dismissed all of that.

None of that mattered, right then.

I was only concerned with Alabaster, who had just managed to manifest while deceased, without any manner of contingent power, to return himself to life.

"I will not suffer insults against my husband," I growled.

"Ooh, touched a nerve, did I?" he said, letting out a vicious chuckle. "What's wrong, did someone already play 'smear the queer' wi-"

A wrist-thick lance of solid flame streaked from me to slam him into the nearest wall, snapping his neck and killing him a second time.

Everything else faded into the background.

Bullets impacted my wards; they dropped.

Screams erupted in the warehouse; I muted them.

Aspect sent… something; I ignored him.

Alabaster flickered once again, somehow, and was once again in perfect condition.

Sunbeams streaked from Purity's hands; they were deflected into Crusader's charging ghosts.

I noted idly that there had been something odd about such a powerful cape dying to my weakest possible Energy Push, but the reason wouldn't quite come to me, and it wasn't important right then anyway.

Krieg attempted to suffocate me; he was flung backwards.

It only meant that I would need to get creative.

Night threw an explosive; it was shattered.

Before Alabaster could speak, I grasped him telekinetically and lifted him off the ground in a crushing grip.

"Guess… they did," he sneered.

Fog flowed up to surround me; he was dispersed.

"Beg forgiveness, and make me believe you," I said in a tone of deathly calm, "or die screaming."

Blitz's lightning struck my wards; it dissipated.

"Not… a chance," he grunted, straining against the pressure.

Footsoldiers ran up to tackle me; they burned.

More soldiers began yelling to distract me; they were silenced.

I absently registered the presence of a flying slab of stone at the edge of my range, carrying additional Empire forces and approaching rapidly.

No matter.

"So be it," I said, and slowly began to increase the pressure.

The spears of Crusader's ghosts impacted my wards; they shattered.

Blitz, Purity, and Fog attacked together; Fog and Blitz were repelled, Purity's blast managed to sear my leg even through my wards, a direct hit.

I felt a sudden pain in my leg, then shoved it aside. My flight would suffice to keep me upright.

Bullets continued to impact my wards; they continued to drop.

A bullet from Victor's rifle was about to strike my head; I floated to the left, it passed me by.

"You can't… kill me," Alabaster wheezed, as the many fractures in his ribcage were reverted.

The slab of rock flew close; it shattered, its riders fell.

Krieg kicked a parked car at me; it reversed direction in midair.

"I'll just… keep… coming back…" Alabaster continued.

Purity gathered more light; she was knocked out of the sky.

Soldiers ran for the warehouse; they were torn apart.

"… unlike….your husband," Alabaster choked out.

Every other emotion fell away as I went absolutely blind with rage.

I drew upon every last drop of psionic energy I could safely channel at once, and then gathered up just a bit more.

Soldiers, granted pyrokinesis, sent flame at me; it dissipated.

Hookwolf charged at me; his armor disintegrated.

Krieg, Purity, and Fog regrouped-

"ENOUGH!" "ENOUGH!"

My shout was accompanied by a cataclysmic release of sonic and kinetic energy.

Everything in front of me for several hundred feet was utterly pulverized, down to the microscopic level.

Every person, every building, every vehicle, every insect, every pebble, every blade of grass… all of it, effectively erased from existence.

Not a single trace remained of the Empire's force.

Satisfaction at last.

Sighing, I turned back to the former captives in the warehouse, who were fleeing from me in absolute terror-

…

Terror?

Why-?

…

No.

…

Gods below.

What have I done?

In my unthinking rage and unacceptable lapse of self-control, I'd left a gaping wound in the city.

That was what I had done.

Water and sewage were spewing forth from bisected pipes into the massive and roughly pyramidal hole in the ground, which stretched down hundreds of feet until it reached solid rock.

Buildings for many blocks around had gone dark, the "power lines" that carried electricity through the area having been obliterated.

Several bodies lay behind me, having died to the soldiers' bullets or Purity's light or Blitz's lightning, just as I had feared they might, because I had failed to protect them in favor of venting my fury on the Empire capes.

Sirens were beginning to drone in the distance.

For a long moment, I simply stared off into the void.

Then I marshaled my thoughts into a fragile state of focus, and reopened my link to Aspect.

-al! Val! Val! Val! Va-! my psicrystal was chanting, in an attempt to get through to me.

I focused on one of my psionic tattoos, one which held a power that had, in a way, led to this whole situation: Time Regression.

If I were to begin with completely full reserves and channel every last bit of energy through that tattoo, I could use it to travel a full three minutes backwards in time.

My reserves were not full, however, and ending up back in front of the Empire capes totally drained of energy was not an option, so I estimated I could safely afford to go back just over a minute, and could burn through the current reserves in my staff Perpetuance to add another minute on top of that.

I had some old soul crystals of Time Regression in stasis that I could potentially use as well, but retrieving them would use up precious seconds that I could not currently spare, so two minutes would have to do.

I withdrew my staff, planted it firmly in front of my, closed my eyes, and concentrated.

Time stopped.

~*~*~

The world began to reverse itself.

The former captives ran backward towards the door.

The wound in the ground filled itself.

The Empire capes were restored to existence.

Scorch marks on walls and sidewalks removed themselves as light and lightning leaped back to their origin points.

Alabaster's skeleton became whole.

I slipped my staff back into storage and assumed the precise position in which I'd been floating at that point in time.

Chaos fled, and order was restored.

The world began to march forward once more.

~*~*~

Time resumed.

I watched Krieg fold his hands behind his back in a posture of military attention and declare, "I don't think you are the one in a position to be making threats, [my friend," in his false accent. "Stand aside, and let us enter the warehouse."

Ignoring him for the moment, I began delving into the minds of everyone present, to see if even one of them should be spared when I did what I intended to do.

In the meantime, I gazed up at Purity, as I had before. "You were granted a third chance when last we met," I warned her. "You will not be given a fourth."

It took her a moment, but her eyes widened and her spheres of light extinguished themselves.

"You!" she cried.

"Me," I agreed again.

"You told me you weren't with the ABB!" she accused.

"You told me that you were a hero," I replied again. "And yet here you are."

I repressed a wince at the muttered " ooh, burn!" from behind me; its speaker had been one of those killed the first time through.

Purity repeated her earlier words: "Things change. Like the fact that it's not just you versus me this time."

"She's right," Krieg interjected once more. "No matter how loyal you may be to Bakuda or Lung, surely you do not think you can take on seven capes and forty armed men and survive, [yes]?"

Of the forty-seven Empire members I'd scanned, I'd found precisely two that were not planning to save only those captives they considered their "brethren" after they killed Bakuda and me, and then either leave the remaining captives trapped in the warehouse with their bombs in place or kill said captives immediately.

The two exceptions were Night and Fog, whose surface thoughts were full of much more despicable ideas than that, so their lacking those impulses was hardly a mark in their favor.

Still, I hesitated. Just because diplomacy hadn't worked previously, due largely to my own personal failings, didn't mean it couldn't work….

No. I'd spent far too much time immersed in their thoughts (a disgusting experience, to be sure) to believe that a peaceful solution that left the captives safe would be possible to achieve.

I sent to Aspect,

he agreed. I'm not the one you need to convince as to whether something does or doesn't count as major interference.

My secondary mind manifested a wall of silvery ectoplasm over the warehouse door to protect those inside-something I could easily have done the first time around to allow me to avoid the fight entirely and continue sending the captives home, had I simply stopped to think instead of acting out of frustration and unthinking reflex-and also prevent them from observing was was to happen.

Meanwhile, I looked Krieg right in the eye and, with a pleasant smile that I didn't feel in the slightest, replied, "As a matter of fact, I think I can."

Ten intensely bright missiles of solid electricity struck Krieg, Night, Fog, Crusader, Blitz, and Purity in the chest. The first four died instantly to one missile apiece; Purity's aura and Blitz's armor let them each survive two of the three missiles directed at them, but not the third.

Before the mundanes could bring their rifles to bear, two concussion blasts dropped them all.

That left Alabaster the last one standing, staring around at his fallen comrades in shock.

"But-what- ghrk!"

Some light telekinetic pressure to the throat ensured that I wouldn't have to hear his voice anymore.

"You may not remember what I promised you, but I am a man of my word," I said, then surrounded us with a zone of silence, tasked my secondary mind with countering his temporal spell, manifested a few wards on him, and spoke a single word of power.

Though nobody else heard him, thirty seconds later Alabaster did, indeed, die screaming.

~*~*~

Every captive was returned home shortly thereafter, having been told that I'd defeated the Empire force by luring them into a veritable minefield of Bakuda's bombs that she'd planted just outside the warehouse entrance.

I'd used various powers to make the street look like the aftermath of a small war and tossed in a few of the bombs with more persistent effects that I'd confiscated to better sell the story; once the local authorities were convinced of the scene's veracity, I'd offer to come by and repair the area for them.

After confiscating Bakuda's mask and rings I left her where she'd fallen, fabricating a spherical enclosure of adamantine around her to ensure she could not be easily retrieved until it was safe to do so and then manifesting a persistent illusion over the area to make it appear as though she'd fallen victim to one of her own bombs and dissuade anyone from getting too close.

Before joining Gene back at his house, I considered killing the Empire's reinforcements that had come to join in the fight the first time through, but decided against it. None of them had attacked the captives, only me; the former captives were no longer in any danger from any Empire forces; none of those capes were able to observe my actions to gainsay my story of what had transpired.

And I'd already made enough of a hash of things for one day.

I teleported to Gene's house, informed him that I wouldn't be able to restore his friend until the next morning, and evoked an enclosure over Jihoo's remains similar to the one I'd created for Bakuda to ensure that he wouldn't be disturbed.

I sent a message to Elle saying that, once again, I'd unfortunately have to cancel dreamwalking lessons.

Then I opened a gate and stepped through.

~*~*~

No Time

Somewhere in the Astral Plane

My reason for not yet having establishing a base of operations in this sphere seemed laughably minor, in hindsight.

In short, the demiplane that unfolded from my Demiplane Seed when it was activated contained at its center an exact replica of the house that we had built in Jhaamdath and Netheril.

Neither of us had wanted to move away from our homeland, so half of our home was built in the enclave of Synod in the Netherese style and the other half was built in Jhouram in the Jhaamdathic style. A wormhole whose mouth stretched all the way through the house connected the two halves, and we'd planted a tree in the center courtyard so it could put down roots in our two homelands both literally (thanks to the wormhole) and metaphorically.

When arriving in this sphere I hadn't been able to decide whether it would be more painful to leave it as it was and be continually reminded of him every moment I spent there, or to change the design and suffer a much greater emotional pain upfront as I erased a tangible link to our shared history.

That wasn't an issue anymore, I felt, because either way I deserved to suffer that pain for what I had done, and for what I had failed to do.

I withdrew my Demiplane Seed and activated it, causing it to apparently vanish as a fledgling demiplane began to coalesce around it, then stepped through the planar boundary that would open only for Aldric an-only for me, now.

A small and unfurnished room was all that could be found within the Seed at the moment; even with the temporal enchantments on the Seed, it would take a few days for the demiplane to grow large enough for the dwelling to fully unfold.

For now, the keystone room and its accelerated timeframe would suffice for my needs.

I sat cross-legged upon the featureless white stone floor and told Aspect to keep a proverbial eye out for trouble.

Then I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and waited.

… So, Aspect asked eventually,

I replied, my eyes still closed.

he sent, in a much more understanding tone than I'd expected.

tiny bit with the-

Thank you, Aspect.

With that, I lowered the mental barriers that I'd been holding closed for so long and sank into a trance.

~*~*~

The blood-red sunlight shone through the window of the Veiled Alliance safehouse, illuminating Aldric's face as he-

~*~*~

My breath hitched and my eyes flew open. A few deep calming breaths, and they fluttered closed.

~*~*~

The blood-red sunlight shone through the window of the Veiled Alliance safehouse, illuminating Aldric's face as he walked through the door carrying a bulging satchel with crystals poking out of the flap.

" Morning, Val!" he called as he shut the door behind him, then dropped the satchel on a nearby shelf, strode over to me, and leaned down to give me a kiss on the forehead-

~*~*~

My eyes flew open once more.

Several minutes passed before they closed again.

~*~*~

The blood-red sunlight shone through the window of the Veiled Alliance safehouse, illuminating Aldric's face as he walked through the door carrying a bulging satchel with crystals poking out of the flap.

" Morning, Val!" he called as he shut the door behind him, then dropped the satchel on a nearby shelf, strode over to me, and leaned down to give me a kiss on the forehead while I meditated.

" Morning, Ric," I replied without opening my eyes. "Did you get everything?"

" Down to the last dorje," he confirmed, "and yes, I doubled up on the healing ones."

Over the past two weeks, we'd been assembling a small arsenal of enchanted items to use in our upcoming infiltration of Dregoth's palace. Scrolls, power stones, wands, dorjes, bracers, torcs… if it might help, we crafted it, and if we couldn't craft it ourselves for whatever reason, we'd had it commissioned.

" Good. I've just about finished with my meditation. Your new and improved circlet is on the desk; I do hope you like the design."

Chelior, my husband's raven familiar, launched himself from Aldric's shoulder to the desk and eyed the circlet with exasperation. "There are other gemstones besides topazes, you know," he squawked as he brought it back to his master and dropped it on my husband's head.

" But topaz is the best one!" Aldric said with a laugh. "If we're talking about gems that are purely decorative and not integral to the enchantment, why should I ever settle for lesser stones?"

Aspect sent in a mock-affronted tone.

" No one would ever confuse you with a real amethyst," I said with a smirk, "so there's no need to take offense."

!

Aldric and I laughed, and Chelior joined in with caws of amusement.

My husband walked over and extended a hand, I grabbed it, and he pulled me to my feet. I didn't need the help-both of us could fly, after all-but it was one of our many enjoyable little rituals.

" What say you, Val?" he said, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "Shall we go indulge in a bit of regicide this morning?"

" My schedule today looks to be fairly packed," I replied, leaning in to give Aldric a quick peck on the cheek, "but I think I could possibly free up some time right before lunch."

~*~*~

I opened my eyes and felt tears on my cheeks, but also a faint bittersweet smile on my lips.

I'd barely gotten two minutes into re-experiencing (and not yet actually integrating) the relatively happy memories, and I was already on my fourth attempt to do so. When I eventually reached memories of the actual battle and watched, for a second time, as everything went horribly wrong….

I recited a stabilizing mantra, firmed my resolve, and sank back into my trance.

This was… probably going to take a while.

Author's Note

And here we finally have the promised fireworks. I do hope they lived up to expectations.

In the space of an afternoon, the ABB lost Bakuda, lost Lung's safeguard against an upcoming kill order, and possibly lost Oni Lee depending on how quick the PHQ folks are with their fishing rods; the Empire lost nine of their sixteen hometown capes, leaving them with just seven capes once their out-of-towners head home; and Valigan lost all of his marbles for a second there, and is definitely going to be severely beating himself up over it next chapter.

Fortunately, Val is taking Samuel L. Jackson's advice and going the fuck to sleep, so there will definitely be no drama whatsoever for the remainder of the arc.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

New spells and powers Valigan used or referenced in this chapter were persistent image (creates a temporary freestanding illusion), contingency (trigger another spell effect when a specified trigger happens) [or technically Craft Contingent Spell, but same difference, retrieve (teleport something you can sense into your hand), dispel psionics (among other things, temporarily suppress a magic item's powers), Mordenkainen's disjunction (permanently disenchants all magic in an area, every player's favorite spell), timeless body (be invulnerable for a round), telekinetic maneuver (among other things, telekinetically grab, move, immobilize, and crush people), inertial armor (creates a protective forcefield; 8 to armor class is equivalent protection to full plate armor, and Val's got waaay more than that); mind probe (dig up specific information from someone's deeper thoughts), microcosm (trap someone in their own little mental world), divert teleport (analyze and redirect any nearby teleportation attempts), flee the scene (teleport away and leave a realistic illusory duplicate behind), simulacrum (permanently create a false, weaker copy of a creature), energy push (deal damage and launch someone away), time regression (go a few seconds back in time), wall of ectoplasm (create a protective wall of Astral stuff), and genesis (create a tiny new plane that slowly grows over time). Kwalish and Quaal are two magic-users known for creating several powerful magic items bearing their names, being skilled "artificers" before artificers were officially a thing. Valigan's outburst was a maximized (deal max damage) empowered (deal 1.5 damage) twinned (manifest it twice) widened (double the radius) hardened (hit intangible things and ignore energy resistance) energy cone (sonic) (damage everything in a 120-foot cone, ignoring object durability), manifested at ML 66 (thanks to Psiotheurgist). Everything in the 240-foot cone took 945 damage, and considering that a 5-by-5-by-5-foot block of solid diamond has "only" 900 hit points… yeah. Alabaster was subjected to a combination of symbol of pain , recall agony , inflict pain , and power word pain , which all do basically what you'd expect, as well as vigor to let him survive the damage for more than two seconds. There's no kill like overkill.

Last edited: Jul 27, 2022

Integration 2.4.T

Sixth Morning Bell, Wir the 11 th of Rhaan, 999 YK Above the Thunder Sea Coast, Xen'drik, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

As I leaned against the airship's shoulder-high railing, chin resting on my crossed arms while I stared listlessly down at the coastline below us, a single thought kept running through my mind:

I think I might have killed people.

The last twelve or so hours were… I don't even know. Watching the villagers clean up after the battle, getting on board the airship, being introduced to people whose names went in one ear and out the other, being shown to a tiny cabin, trying to get some sleep, not being able to sleep, staring at the ceiling for hours… it was all one big blur.

But the battle itself? That was burned into my memory. Every time I closed my eyes I saw bodies, heard screams, smelled smoke, tasted blood.

And some of the bodies I could see were drow corpses that they'd brought over from the south wall and down from the rooftops to be… disposed of.

I didn't know that I killed them, not for sure. I didn't even know how likely it would have been.

Lots of drow climbed the south wall at some point, and Corvin went over to the south wall a few times to attack some of the drow there, so he was probably responsible for those.

Lots of drow tried to go over the rooftops, and Obsidian had almost lit more than a few roofs on fire when he was trying to catch some of them, so he was probably responsible for those.

I mean, sure, maybe my bugs stung one and distracted him and he fell off the wall or the roof and hurt himself and couldn't get out of the way and someone killed him and I was technically sort of responsible for that happening, but that didn't really count. Did it?

And, I mean, it took something like forty wasp stings to kill a human, and these drow were supposed to be tougher than the villagers, so they could probably take more stings than that, and I hadn't had that many wasps in the swarm I sent to the south wall.

Or that many spiders in the swarm I sent to the rooftops, and really, what were the chances that any of the spiders here had venom as strong as a black widow's? The spiders around there were a lot bigger than black widows and usually bigger spiders had weaker venom, so, I mean, twenty, thirty, forty, maybe fifty bites on one drow, that couldn't be that bad, right?

Unless any of them had allergies to insect venom, but really, what were the chances of that? The drow lived in a freaking jungle and probably got stung by all kinds of things all the time, and Khalthrun said they went through all kinds of difficult training when they were young, and they wouldn't send anyone who couldn't even deal with a wasp or spider allergy to go attack a village, right? That would just be stupid, they'd never do that.

So really, there was no reason to assume that I'd killed anyone.

And if I had, which I almost definitely didn't, but if I had… I mean, so what, right?

They were trying to kill us. I had to do something to help stop them, right?

If I hadn't sent my swarm over to the south wall and the drow had gotten to the villagers, who knows what could have happened? I could have saved someone's life by doing that that-maybe lots of peoples' lives!

We didn't have a choice. Those assholes were the ones who decided to attack the village, we didn't make them do it, right?

If any of them did die to my swarm, well, that was their own damn fault for trying to harm innocent people who never did anything to them, right?

So my bugs probably didn't kill anyone… and if they did, it was definitely an accident, I wasn't trying to kill anyone… and if it did happen, they really deserved it.

Right?

… So why couldn't I stop thinking about it?

~*~*~

After another I-don't-even-know-how-many minutes spent staring down at rocky beaches and crashing waves, I decided that it wasn't really about those drow maybe getting killed by something that I could sort of be considered responsible for.

It was about what happened next.

We were definitely going to get into another fight with someone or something while we were here, it was only a matter of time, and the people here… they were just so different from what I was used to.

I'd been thinking of Yin and Khalthrun and the others as heroes, and they kind of were, but they kind of weren't? They'd gone out of their way to help us, they were very nice to us despite us being complete strangers, Khalthrun vouched for us to Zurya to get her to help us too, and they'd stepped up to risk their lives to help the village when they could easily have just left.

And then during the battle they'd killed dozens of people without even batting an eye and right afterwards went right back to their normal casual selves, like they'd just been playing sports instead of fighting for their lives, like all the blood on their hands didn't even matter to them.

Back home they'd have been considered villains for that kind of violence, but here they'd been cheered for it. I'd expected the villagers to be grateful, but in more of an… I don't know, a serious way? Cheering about lots of people dying just didn't seem right, somehow.

Maybe it was different for people living out in the middle of nowhere surrounded by all kinds of dangerous things. Maybe if I'd grown up seeing Alexandria kill the bad guys on TV instead of always bringing villains in alive, I'd feel the same way they did.

Maybe, maybe, maybe….

I let out a long sigh and went back to staring at palm trees.

~*~*~

What would Dad think? I wondered.

Dad was probably worried sick about me by now, but I hadn't even thought about him once since we'd met the other capes. Did that make me a bad person?

Heck, I'd thought about Emma more recently than I'd thought about Dad. Not directly, but when I'd been talking with Khalthrun on the trail, chatting about things from our childhoods and being out in nature and all that, I'd kind of unconsciously been comparing it to when I used to talk with Emma, before everything.

And just like Emma, Khalthrun had… well, not betrayed me, that wasn't exactly fair, but definitely shown me that she wasn't the person I'd thought she was.

I could probably forgive her for being the kind of person who was fine with killing people.

(At some point. Definitely not yet.)

But could I forgive myself for something like that?

I wasn't fine with it at all, obviously, but if we got into more life-or-death fights while we were here… would I ever be fine with that, someday?

I knew I wasn't the kind of person who could ever deliberately kill someone, not in a million years, but how many times can do you do something without caring if someone happens to die because of it before you become a killer?

If I had to kill people to survive, would I even recognize myself by the time we got home?

Would Dad still love me if he knew?

~*~*~

I heard the creaking of wood as Dean climbed the stairs to join me on the… whatever you call the part of the deck right up by the bow of a ship; I knew a little bit about ships thanks to Dad and his coworkers, but sailing ships weren't really his forte.

I didn't feel him with my swarm, though, or at least not directly. At the speed we were going, it was pointless to try to keep my flying bugs in the air. Most of my swarm was in some crates I vaguely remembered putting them in so they wouldn't attack people while I was asleep (if I'd been able to sleep), and the rest I was keeping on the deck and the railings, where they'd felt the vibrations of his footsteps.

Also, I was trying to avoid relying so much on my swarm's senses-for real, this time-and trying something new helped with that.

Dean didn't say anything as he walked up next to me and leaned against the railing. I didn't say anything either. We didn't look at each other, just stared off into the distance.

"I know you don't feel like talking about it," he said eventually. "And that's fine. If you do want to talk, I'm here. If not, I'm not going to push."

I didn't respond.

Still, Dean's presence was… nice.

It had been nice of him to think of me, when he'd been telling his story to Zurya. He'd been there for me during the battle, and I honestly didn't know what I would have done without him helping me cope with everything.

He'd done enough for me already; I didn't want to bother him with more.

We stood there in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the faint murmur of the wind as it went through all the wooden flaps that supposedly helped them steer the ship, alone with our thoughts.

~*~*~

God, what would Mom think?

She'd been a strong supporter of civil rights, non-violent protest movements, and things like that, and growing up I'd heard the stories about the stuff she'd gotten up to when she was younger.

She'd joined one of Lustrum's feminist activism groups when she was going for her PhD, back when Lustrum had been considered a hero. She'd started having second thoughts early on when Lustrum had started moving from "hero" to "antihero" in terms of her message and activities, and when her movement started to turn violent, Mom left.

Mom hadn't been willing to put up with people throwing a few bricks at protests, much less all of the horrible things the Lustrumites had started doing later on… and now here I was, the kind of person who'd been willing to attack people with swarms of huge jungle wasps that made giant scoliid wasps and tarantula hawks look small by comparison.

Would she think it was justified? Think it was worth it, but that I could maybe have tried something less violent first? Think I was a terrible person for jumping to that option without trying anything else?

What would she think about the next time I had to do it?

I'd never know. And I couldn't really decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

~*~*~

A loud bell clanging near the middle of the airship jarred me out of my thoughts.

Looked like it was lunchtime already; hard to believe I'd been standing out here that long.

The crew were lining up near the man with the bell to accept some food from a second man-wide and thick slices of bread with meat and cheese layered on top, basically some extra-large open-faced sandwiches-and a mug of something from a third man. The thin metal plates and cups reminded me of the cheap and compact stuff you'd take on a camping trip, and there were no utensils.

Dean looked over at me. "You feeling hungry?"

Very hungry, actually-I'd skipped dinner last night, because after just one bite of whatever meat dish they'd packed for us I'd felt like I wanted to puke again when the smell of the roasted meat had reminded me of the bodies-but I didn't feel like mingling with the crew yet.

I don't know if they'd been avoiding us because we were strangers or because we were "nobles" or just because Yin had told them to leave us alone, but none of the crew had bothered me when I'd come up here this morning to think and any of them who had come up to do something with the flaps or the ropes or whatever else had done it as quickly and quietly as they could and then left again.

Whatever their reason, I appreciated that distance, and I wanted to keep it that way.

"I can grab it for you if you want to eat alone," Dean offered. "I was going to take some food to Chris anyway, I don't mind doing one more trip."

I shook my head. "It's fine."

"You sure?"

I glanced over at the food again. I didn't know if I'd be up for any meat yet, and I didn't want to look like an idiot if I took some food and then couldn't bring myself to eat it.

"I'm not really hungry," I said.

Dean gave me a we both know you're lying look for a second, then sighed. "All right. Guess I'll see you at dinner."

He must have sensed my curiosity at that, because he explained, "They invited us to eat with the captain instead of with the crew. One of the perks of being nobles, apparently. Same reason we each get our own cabins." Offering a conspiratorial smile, he continued, "If you can even call them that. I feel sorry for whoever got stuck turning all of their storage closets into 'cabins' yesterday afternoon."

I didn't respond to his attempt at humor. His smile faded.

"Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me," he said, then left to join the food line.

I turned back to the railing, and after a moment my lips twitched into an almost-smile.

As bad as it was to be stuck on an entirely different planet, at least being here had let me get away from all of my school problems. And yet, here I was, skipping lunch to avoid people again.

The more things change….

~*~*~

Why did I have to get stuck with bug control, of all powers?

I used to hate bugs when I was a kid, and I thought I'd gotten over that after getting my power.

But then that one drow with the power-canceling power had stopped me controlling my swarm for just a few seconds, and feeling them crawling over me for even that long let me know that, no, I still hated bugs.

Why couldn't I have had… I dunno, Alec's power instead? His was nothing like mine. Nothing gross, nothing scary.

Nothing that would let me kill anyone by accident.

Or maybe Chris's power; being able to make anything he wanted had to be really cool, and he could do a lot more with it than just make silk armor and sense things and swarm people.

Or even Dean's power; I bet he never found himself relying on his power senses withing meaning to.

But no, I just had bug control, and I'd been basically useless in that battle compared to everyone else.

If we were going to keep getting into fights, and we definitely were, then I'd have to really step up my game to try not to look bad compared to everyone else on my team.

Brian and Dean were a lot better than me at being a cape; maybe they'd have some ideas on how not to suck at being a hero.

~*~*~

Brian came up the stairs sometime in the afternoon, framed nicely by the huge ring of fire that encircled the airship near its center.

Wow, it's a lot later than I thought, I mused as I noticed how low the sun was in the sky. Where did the day go?

Time flies when you're not having fun, I guess.

He came up and leaned on the railing next to me, just like Dean, but he didn't seem as comfortable as Dean had.

"So," he said, not looking at me.

I didn't say anything.

"I didn't see you over here when I went to grab lunch, but Dean said you've been up here all day," he tried.

I still didn't respond.

It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to him, or anything. It was just… I was spiraling, thinking about the battle and the team and being a cape and how everything would have been better if I hadn't put my stupid unfinished costume on last weekend and just waited to complete it like I'd been planning and how I really missed Dad and….

Where would I even start?

Neither of us said anything for a few minutes, and the silence grew more and more awkward.

"I was thinking that maybe…." he said, sounding like he was just talking to fill the silence, then trailed off.

He tried again a little while later: "So, I have a younger sister. She's not great at having serious conversations."

I glanced over at him, but still didn't say anything.

"My father is-it doesn't really matter," he continued. "Point is, she's always had some… problems with authority, and my father hasn't ever connected with her that well because of that, so I've seen how that goes. I know you're a hero and all, and Dean came to talk to you already, but…."

He sighed and turned to face me. "I remember how I felt after my first cape fight. Like I was on top of the world, but also like…." he said, and glanced off to the side as if searching for what to say.

Based on his tough guy behavior after the battle, I bet he was trying to find a way to sympathize with me without actually admitting any kind of weakness. I also got the impression that he wasn't exactly used to providing emotional support to anyone on his team, which couldn't have helped.

"… but also like I could have done things better, or at least differently," he finally said. "And I know Dean can be a little judgmental, so if you were looking for someone to talk to who won't judge you for what you did-"

I flinched; I couldn't help it.

"Not that I'm saying you did anything!" he rushed to assure me. "Just, whatever it is you're worried about, I won't judge. I've probably heard worse."

Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, I thought, rolling my eyes where he couldn't see.

"I don't feel like talking right now," I said. My voice was kind of hoarse after not talking much all day.

"No problem," he said, almost too quickly. Then: "Dean and I are thinking of doing some planning after dinner. Will you be up for that?"

I shrugged.

"Okay, we'll figure that out then," he said.

He pushed himself back from the railing, gave me a nod, and walked off.

On the one hand, it was nice to know that Brian at least cared enough to try to talk to me.

On the other hand, I'd come up here to the part of the airship farthest from anyone else for a reason.

… and maybe wanting to go off on my own and spend hours thinking about everything that had gone wrong and could go wrong wasn't a great reason, but it was still a reason.

~*~*~

When Alec came stomping loudly up the stairs, I actually turned around to glare at him.

What part of " I don't feel like talking to people" did they not understand?

He smirked when he noticed my glare and began to slowly shuffle forward while waving his arms in front of him. "I am the third spirit, the Ghost of Christmas Fuuuture," he proclaimed dramatically, "come to speak to you of your fuuuture."

I was not impressed.

He dropped the act when he was a few feet away. "And by 'future' I mean dinner's in a few minutes and Brian made me come get you," he said. "You coming?"

Much as I might want to avoid it, I had skipped lunch, and turning down the captain's invitation was probably a bad idea.

I nodded, and waved for him to go ahead; he headed back toward the stairs, and I followed.

We met the other three near the center of the ship, near the stairs down to the cargo area and cabins and just beneath the ring of fire.

Brian and Dean were just standing there waiting, but Chris had his visor on and was staring up at the ring and at the long wooden crescent-like arms that apparently created it or held it or something like that. The ring had appeared at some point between when we'd boarded and when we'd left Zantashk, while I'd been down in my cabin, and from the way the flames were stretching backwards instead of upwards it looked like the ring was how the airship propelled itself, somehow.

Last time I'd seen Chris he'd been practically catatonic, so him becoming engrossed in some new tinkertech was definitely an improvement, but it took some aggressive shoulder-shaking from Dean to get Chris to stop staring and come with us and even then he kept stealing glances back at it on the way.

Yin met us at the door to the captain's quarters and used his language power on us before ushering us inside. The room turned out to be large enough to fit everyone for dinner, though they'd had to put together a few tables to manage it.

Khalthrun, Terik, and Corvin were already there, while Obsidian was probably skipping the meal. There were two other people seated at the far end of the table, and Yin turned to introduce them as we took our seats: "Gentles, this is Draxin Helmgold, owner and captain of the Silver Griffon, and this is Qaluan, his first mate."

Both of them were dressed like they were in one of those old pirate movies, falling somewhere between "naval officer" and "pirate captain" with their long coats and wide sleeves and the rest of their fancy clothing. The captain's coat was a rich green with gold embroidery, while the first mate's was a more subdued blue-green. Both of them were human, as far as I could tell.

"Captain, First Mate, these are Vicereine Taylor Hebert, Regent Alec Lemaître, and Lords Dean Stansfield, Brian Laborn, and Chris McIntyre," he continued.

So much for sticking with cape names, I grumbled to myself. I guess after we gave our real names to Zurya it was only a matter of time before this happened.

"Well met, Lords and Lady. It's a pleasure to have you aboard," the captain said, and we all murmured some nice-to-meet-yous back.

He leaned back in his chair and looked at us appraisingly. "I don't mean to pry, but those are some unusual surnames and the Griffon is the only airship flying the Zantashk route in the autumn, so I assume you don't hail from Khorvaire. Sarlona, perhaps?"

Wait, the autumn?

… Now that I thought about it, of course there was no reason to think April on Earth would have to match up with a spring month on Eberron, but I'd just assumed it did.

Or maybe we were just in the southern hemisphere? It was frustrating, not to know such basic facts.

It was a tiny thing, but I still felt another pang of homesickness at that realization.

"They've come quite a bit farther than Sarlona, actually," Yin said. His eyes flicked over at us, and when none of us volunteered the details, he smoothly continued, "It's really quite the tale. We first happened across one another near the eastern headwaters of the Hydra River, while my party and I were on our voyage back from the ruins of Pra'xirek…."

~*~*~

Dinner was brought to the table just as Yin was wrapping up his story. Everyone else started eating, but I could barely force myself to pick at my food.

There wasn't any red meat, thankfully, but one dish was some kind of exotic bird served with a sauce full of spices I didn't recognize, the other dish was a salad full of things like purple carrots and red banana slices, the bread was too crumbly and tasted almost mustard-y, the only drink was some kind of orange wine….

Ever single meal I'd had since we met the other capes had been full of these tiny little differences from what I was used to, and it wasn't bad but it was all different and for once I just wanted to get something normal and I was missing Dad's cooking and… and….

And I just wanted to go home.

I kept picking at everything while Yin moved into a different story about what his team had been up to before we met them. Dean and Brian were listening intently along with the captain and first mate, while Alec was mostly ignoring the chatter in favor of stuffing his face.

Chris leaned over and poked me gently while Yin was going on about giant scorpions. "Hey," he murmured, "is something wrong with the food?"

"No," I murmured back, "it's just…" too different? wrong? making me homesick? "… weird."

He made a face. "Yeah, I know. If you mix the bananas and carrots from the salad into the sauce, they don't look as weird and it cuts the spiciness some," he suggested, motioning toward his plate with his fork to indicate where he'd done the same thing.

I gave it a try, and it actually wasn't too bad. I could close my eyes and imagine I was eating some kind of curry from the Thai fusion place near Dad's office instead of… whatever this was.

"Thanks," I whispered.

"No problem," he said.

~*~*~

"Lord Stansfield, Lord McIntyre, I'm given to understand that you two are knights of the realm in your home nation?" the captain asked.

"Something like that," Dean agreed. "It would be more accurate to say we're… squires, to the older heroes."

"'Older heroes'?"

Dean nodded. "In our…"

"Knightly order," Chris suggested.

"In our knightly order, adult capes are officially separate from minor capes. Adults are… Protectors, while minors are Wards."

"Do you each have a Ward of your own, then? A page to your squire?" the first mate asked.

Dean frowned. "No, we are Wards."

"I thought you said only minors were Wards?"

They went back and forth on that topic for a bit until they straightened out the confusion. Apparently the age of majority in Khorvaire was fifteen, so all of us would legally be considered adults here, which was kind of strange to think about.

I guess if people here were considered old enough to die fighting drow at the age of thirteen or fourteen, like that one boy I'd seen in the village, then at fifteen they were also considered old enough to….

Well, not vote, obviously, with the nobility in place. Or drive, without cars. Or drink, since they served us wine without asking our age-unless nobles could just ignore drinking age laws, I guess. Except, wait, didn't they mostly drink beer in the Middle Ages, even kids? Except the people here didn't act like it was the Middle Ages, it just looked like a fantasy world. Except-

Ugh. I could wonder in circles about all the differences between here and Earth, and all it would get me would be a headache.

~*~*~

After running into a few more cultural misunderstandings, Dean politely steered the topic to the captain and first mate and their various travels before they started flying the Zantashk route, and the rest of the dinner conversation ended up mostly being stories and a bit of small talk.

I just focused on my food. Most of the stories involved at least some fighting with pirates or huge animals or whatever else, and I really didn't feel like hearing about that stuff right then.

~*~*~

When dinner was finally winding down, the captain proposed a toast and had one of the crew members fetch him a bottle of brandy.

"Flying back and forth carrying supplies one way and dragonshards the other is quite the boring route. Now, don't get me wrong, 'boring' is a very good thing for a merchant vessel, but the lack of excitement these days doesn't exactly give me many opportunities to break out the good brandy," he said. He unstoppered the bottle, then insisted on going around and pouring our drinks himself.

After returning to his seat and pouring his own portion, he raised his glass. "To new friends, new discoveries, and a swift journey home," he said.

Words were echoed, glasses were clinked together, drinks were drunk.

I took a very small sip of mine. From the other team's reactions it was great if you liked brandy, but to me it just tasted bitter.

How appropriate.

When I set my glass down Alec reached over to take it. "If you're not going to finish that…?" he said, then downed the whole glass at once when no one else was looking. Then he did the same with Chris's glass.

I traded a glance with Chris. He shrugged. I shrugged.

If getting drunk was how Alec wanted to deal with… everything, who was I to judge?

~*~*~

Dinner finally came to a close, and we all filed out of the captain's quarters while the crew was clearing the table. Yin's group headed back to their cabins with some goodnights and sleep wells, while we lingered on deck.

"Is everyone still good to talk plans?" Brian asked.

I looked up at the sky, full of strange constellations and too many moons and the golden line that we still hadn't gotten around to asking anyone about, and decided that no, I really wasn't.

"Not tonight," I said.

"Are you sure? We-"

" Not tonight."

Chris raised a tentative hand. "I'm not really feeling it either. Can it wait for tomorrow?"

I was expecting a reluctant " Fine" from Brian, like usual, but he surprised me by saying, "Understandable. Yeah, it can wait."

"See you all tomorrow," Dean said, then looked around at the rest of us and pointedly added, "and try to get some sleep."

No one had anything to say to that, so we headed downstairs to our cabins.

~*~*~

Sleep was a long time coming.

~*~*~

Tenth Morning Bell, Zor the 12 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Above the Marsh of Desolation, Xen'drik, Eberron

I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed somewhere around midmorning. I was groggy from lack of sleep, sore from the bed being too small to sleep normally, and still feeling homesick after last night's dinner.

After I used the facilities to freshen up-and no, I wasn't even going to try to figure out how they had running water on a flying wooden boat-I trudged up to the deck, and found that everyone else was not only already awake and moving but actually talking with people.

Well, not Alec, he was either sunbathing or napping near the front of the ship where I'd spent most of yesterday. But the others were talking with people: Dean was near the stern chatting amiably with the pilot, Brian was sitting on a crate off to one side talking to Corvin about something, and Chris was standing next to a woman and waving around at the ring of fire.

That last conversation looked the most interesting, so I started walking in their direction, spreading out my partial swarm as I went since the middle of the ship was fairly well protected from the wind.

And then I turned around before I'd taken more than a few steps, because I was hearing gibberish from the woman and I'd need to find Yin to let me understand her.

Man, I hoped we could solve the language issue when we got to Stormreach. Relying on Yin definitely wasn't a permanent solution, and it was more than a little inconvenient now.

Ten minutes later I was back on deck and headed for Chris once again. As I got within hearing range, I discovered that the woman with him was explaining how the ring of fire worked while Chris asked a lot of clarifying questions.

"… which then emanate a precisely-shaped bimodal repulsion field," the woman was saying as she pointed to one of the tips of the crescents, where a pair of wooden circles decorated with abstract designs wrapped around the ring of fire without touching it, "thereby containing the flames in a toroidal shape while still allowing the helmsman to direct thrust as needed."

"That's pretty cool," Chris said, then turned as he saw me approaching. "Oh, hey Taylor! This is Lycia."

The woman bowed stiffly from the waist. "Ship's Wright Lycia Sattler, milady, with the Cannith East Tinkers Guild. I'm explaining the workings of the elemental binding struts to Lord McIntyre."

"Did you know the fire is alive ?" Chris asked. "I mean, not that fire," he clarified, pointing at the ring above, "but this world has, like, animals made of living fire, and they have one in a crystal somewhere belowdecks and by moving around a lot-like a horse pulling a cart in circles!-it generates more fire that they pump up here and use to drive the ship! Isn't that awesome?"

I gave him a flat look. "Yeah. Pretty awesome."

"So how do you actually assemble everything?" Chris asked the woman eagerly, either not noticing or not caring about my lack of enthusiasm.

The woman, Lycia, shook her head. "That I can't tell you. It's a trade secret known only to the Zil binders and the few Cannith magewrights allowed to work with them. Ship's wrights like myself are only knowledgeable enough about the process to be able to maintain the struts, keep the flow channels aligned, and repair any damage to the dragonshard housing that might occur."

"Damn," Chris said dejectedly.

Dragonshard … I'd heard that word a few times now, most recently when the captain had mentioned it last night. "What's a dragonshard?" I asked.

Lycia stared at me like I'd just asked the dumbest question she'd ever heard. "Dragonshards are a key component of practically every enchanted item in the modern era," she explained slowly, "and the entire reason Zantashk was built was to host prospectors that search for the Siberys dragonshards that fall on Xen'drik. They're similar to gemstones, but have unique magical properties. Our hold is half full of Siberys 'shards right now, and our portion of the sales in Stormreach will keep the Griffon funded for a season at least."

"They 'fall on' Xen'drik?" Chris asked before I could.

She turned her incredulous gaze on him. "Of course. From the Ring of Siberys?"

"The what?"

Lycia wordlessly pointed up at the faint sparkling golden ribbon in the sky, still barely visible in daylight but not nearly as bright as it was at night.

Well that answers that question, sort of, I thought.

"So, hold on, let me get this straight," Chris said. "All of your 'enchanted items' are build using special magic gems that fall from space ?"

"Not all of them," Lycia corrected. "Only the items incorporating Siberys 'shards. Eberron dragonshards are found in geodes, mostly in the monster-infested swamps of the Shadow Marches in western Khorvaire. Khyber dragonshards are found below the surface, mostly near pools of magma in the deepest caverns."

Chris grinned broadly. "That is the most metal thing I think I've ever heard."

"Is… that a good thing?"

"It's a great thing."

"You said you stick living things inside dragonshards to drive the ship?" I asked.

"That's right. Khyber 'shards can hold creatures such as fire elementals, even ones nearly as large as this ship, and can do so indefinitely as long as they're properly maintained."

"And if they're not?"

"There is a slight chance the elemental can break free," she admitted.

That sounded incredibly unsafe to me. "So… right now we're basically one little crack in a gemstone away from a huge monster made of fire killing everyone on board?"

Chris gave me a weird look. "Geez, Taylor, pessimist much?"

"It is very difficult to crack an airship's dragonshard," Lycia said stiffly. "They are magically and alchemically hardened to ensure accidental release is nearly impossible. I assure you, milady, the Griffon's housing is in near-perfect condition."

The ship's wright then proceeded to ignore me as politely as she could in order to continue talking with Chris.

I hung around a few more minutes to listen to them before turning to leave.

Maybe it was petty of me, but I almost resented Chris for being so damn happy right then.

He'd bounced back surprisingly quickly from everything that had happened over the past two days, apparently.

Why couldn't I?

I tried to tell myself that he was a more experienced hero, so of course he'd get over things more quickly, but he obviously hadn't experienced anything like the fight against the drow before, so… what, was he just better at being a hero than I was?

That wouldn't be much of a surprise, honestly. Being a hero was all about protecting people and fighting villains, but the first two times I'd tried to fight anything I'd screwed up and been forced to run away, and then when I couldn't run away I just froze.

Was I going to be playing catch-up with the better heroes the entire time we were stuck here?

I hadn't gotten more than a few yards away before Chris called, "Taylor! Wait!"

I stopped and turned back to him as he jogged up to me. "What's wrong?" he asked. "I thought you liked talking Tinker stuff?"

"I do," I lied. "I'm just not really feeling it right now."

"Oh." He looked away. "Sorry, I wasn't, uh… I should have noticed."

"That's fine. If you want to spend time with another Tinker-"

"No! I mean, yes, but if you're not feeling great, I could hang out with you instead and come back later?"

He glanced back at Lycia over his shoulder, and she nodded. "I do have other duties I can attend to, and would be happy to continue our discussion this evening after my shift."

"Thanks, Lycia, I appreciate it."

"Of course, milord." She gave us both another bow, then turned and withdrew.

Chris turned back to me. "So…."

I held up a hand; I'd felt Brian coming up behind us.

"Hey guys. I saw you're done talking shop with their Tinker?" he prompted.

"For now, yeah," Chris replied.

"Great. You ready to do some planning?"

"Sure," I said.

Chris looked frustrated for some reason. "Sure, fine," he bit out.

"Cool. Why don't you two head up to the front of the ship; I think the crew's still avoiding that area, and it'll be easier to get Alec to cooperate if we don't make him move. I'll get Dean and meet you there."

We both nodded, Chris less enthusiastically than I, then headed toward the bow while Brian headed to the stern.

Alec lazily rolled his head to the side and opened one eye partway as Chris and I came up the stairs. "Why are you interrupting my nap?"

"Planning meeting," Chris said tersely.

Alec groaned. "As long as I don't have to sit up, I guess."

There was a brief pause while we waited for Brian and Dean to get there.

"Hey, pasty-face. You didn't bring sunscreen on this trip, did you?" Alec drawled.

"Why? You don't look like you need it," I said.

"Nope. But he does."

Chris poked himself in the cheek a few times, then frowned. "Shit." He looked around for a second, then walked over to a spot at the railing where one of the big wooden steering flaps provided a good amount of shade, while Alec laughed at him from his spot on the deck.

I frowned too. I didn't know if whatever wound-healing powers these people had could heal sunburns, so I pulled out my mask and stuck it on my head at an angle to shade my face.

Alec had settled down by the time the last two arrived, thankfully. Dean looked at Chris and me and found another shady spot to stand in, while Brian just leaned against the nearest railing.

"Okay, people," Brian said, "we might not be able to talk very privately once we're back in a big city, so I was hoping to make some plans before we got to Stormreach."

" We were hoping to make some plans," Dean correctly mildly.

"Right. We need to figure out what we're going to do once we get to the main continent. Do we look for one group that can probably help us, do we look at a few, do we try to come back here with people to get a look at that portal or stay away so we don't run into any more drow, things like that."

"And we have to keep things general, because we obviously can't ask any of the other team specific questions about this stuff yet."

"Why not?" I asked. "It's kind of hard to make plans when we know practically nothing about this place.

"I know," he said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I want to listen to what their pitch is before we start asking any questions. That way it'll be easier to figure out if they're trying to manipulate us somehow."

"Like…?" Alec asked, still lying on the deck.

"Like really pushing one option or the other on the portal question, or not telling us certain information upfront and then trying to pull a ' but you didn't ask!' later on."

We all nodded; that made a lot of sense, especially given how slippery Yin and Corvin could be in conversation.

"All right, so, anyone have any ideas to start?" Dean asked. "Don't worry if they sound silly or unfeasible, we won't rule anything out to start with. Just say whatever comes to mind."

I opened my mouth to offer my opinion that, yes, we should definitely go back to check out the clearing where the portal was because it was the only tangible link we had back to Earth Bet, but that we should first try to figure out why the drow attacked Zantashk so we could avoid attracting any more drow attention when we went back.

What I blurted out instead was, "I miss my dad."

I immediately cringed internally. God, why did I say that, that sounded so pathetic, I berated myself.

There was an awkward silence as the guys all tried not to look at me or at each other.

Chris was the one to break it. "I miss mine too, and my sisters," he said softly.

"My parents fucking suck," Dean said frankly, "and my younger brother and I don't really talk much anymore, but… I still kind of miss him."

Brian gave Dean an unreadable look. "Younger sister, in my case, but otherwise yeah, same."

"I miss my video games," Alec said. He opened one eye to see all of us looking at him. "What? My whole family sucks." Turning to me, he added, "You're lucky, you know. For not having any siblings."

I had to take a moment to force down the feelings he brought up with that statement. "I used to have a friend who was like a sister," I muttered.

"What happened?" Dean asked gently.

"She stopped being my friend when we got to high school and started bullying me instead."

"Man, that sucks," Chris said.

"Why don't you and your brother talk?" I asked Dean quickly; talking any more about Emma right now would just make me feel even worse.

His mouth tightened into a thin line. "Have you ever heard the phrase 'an heir and a spare'?" he asked.

Chris winced in apparent understanding; Brian and I shook our heads.

"The tradition used to be that when a king had multiple sons who could inherit, the older one got to be the heir and was expected to follow in his father's footsteps," he explained, his tone making it clear that by got to he meant had to, "and the others…." he shrugged. "Who cares? They were just backups if something happened."

He sighed. "I've been interning with my father's company since freshman year and I've got the CEO chair waiting for me when he retires, whether I want it or not. Meanwhile, my brother could go off to a party one night and not come back and my parents probably wouldn't notice for at least a week."

"I know that feeling," Brian said.

Alec propped himself up on one elbow. "What, you're secretly the heir to some huge company and you've been holding out on us this whole time?"

"No, asshole. I mean that my father sounds like Dean's. He wanted me to join the navy like he did, take up boxing like he did, go into the trades afterwards like he did. Didn't ever matter to him what I wanted to do." Brian sighed. "When my parents split up, he got me, my mom got my sister. My father didn't even contest it; he hardly cared about her then, and now that he does have custody of her they basically ignore each other."

It looked like he wanted to say more, but he hesitated, then concluded, "So, yeah, I get it."

Dean nodded in sympathy, then looked around at each of us in turn. "If anyone else has anything they want to get off their chest, now's the time," he said, only partly joking.

Chris opened his mouth, closed it, paused, and took a deep breath.

"I'm a shitty Tinker," he said morosely.

"What? Why?" I asked. "You seem like a great Tinker to me."

He gave me a watery smile. "Thanks. But I really am terrible." His smile faded. "Everything I build is a 'prototype' because apart from my hoverboard, my visor, and my pistols, everything is crap and breaks all the time, assuming I ever finish it in the first place. That shoulder cannon I used against the dinosaurs? There are supposed to be two of those and I've got a ton of ideas for more things I can do with those energy balls, but I started the project like four months ago and never got around to finishing it."

"And I thought I was lazy."

"Shut it, Alec."

Chris shot Alec a glare before continuing, "Every Tinker has a specialty, some aspect of tinkering that they're especially good with, but Armsmaster and I haven't been able to figure mine out because I can never finish anything so we can analyze it! That's why I was sent on trips to visit other Tinkers, because he thought working with them might jog some ideas loose, but nothing has worked. Plus, I have ADHD-"

"Raise your hand if you're surprised."

"Shut up, Alec.

"-but medication doesn't work, not long-term, so that doesn't help at all. All of that is why everything I've tried to make since we got here has sucked or broken, and why I can't fix my damn hoverboard without a lab to work in, and…."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short," Dean said reassuringly.

"Well he can't exactly-" Alec started to say before Brian took a threatening step toward him "-okay, I'll stop."

Ignoring Alec, Dean continued, "You did a great job building new tech in really unforgiving conditions, and your hoverboard has come in handy multiple times."

"And you saved my life," I added softly, causing Chris to blush.

"Plus, your parents are really proud of you being a Tinker, right?" Dean said. "Would they be, if things were really that bad with your tech?"

Chris shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe they're too supportive," he mumbled.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He looked down and began fiddling with one of his pistols, obviously unsure of what to say. "I don't wanna get into it," he said eventually, "but Dad thinks I can just 'push through' the ADHD like he did and Mom is always trying to 'help' with homework and fill my free time with tutoring so I make even less tinkering progress unless I stay late at the lab, and… yeah."

Listening to all of their stories, I felt kind of guilty for being able to miss Dad, because he was so much better than their parents. He listened to me when I wanted to talk to him, he didn't push when I didn't want him to, he gave me space to let me decompress after school, when I'd wanted to start running he'd supported me even though he was worried about me running through sketchy neighborhoods…

Sure, he wasn't perfect, but compared to all the guys' parents? Gold stars all around.

"Is your tinkering issue why you wanted to change your cape name?" I asked.

He snorted. "Not that that matters anymore, but sort of, yeah. You ever notice how comic book-style cape names haven't really been a thing for years?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, all the Golden Age capes with titles in their names, like Professor Haywire, Doctor Atom, Miss Mercury, Kid Wonder, Lightning Lass?"

"Yeah, I guess," I said. Aside from Haywire, I hadn't heard of any of those, so I'd take his word for it.

"Well, that style is basically obsolete. There are a few capes still around with names like that, but only ones who have been around since the '90s or before, like Miss Militia and Lady Photon, or ones who are on teams that started in the '90s like Glory Girl is."

"Okay…?"

"So how do you think I ended up with a lame name like Kid Win when I joined the Wards a few years ago?"

Huh. His cape name was unusual, come to think of it. And very generic; "Armsmaster" specialized in weapons, "Leet" was gamer lingo to go with his stupid theme, "Flywheel" specialized in clockwork, "Heterodyne" worked with electromagnetic frequencies, and Kid Win specialized in… winning?

"It was supposed to be a generic placeholder until I came up with a new name that fit my specialty," Chris said flatly. "But then I didn't, because I couldn't, so I still have it. And it's a sick joke, because I almost never 'win'."

I'd never really considered that there might be trends in cape names over time, or that capes might change their names while they were still in the Wards. It was definitely interesting to get a glimpse behind the scenes of how the PRT handled things like that; Brian seemed interested too, which made sense given how much he'd ragged on the Protectorate before.

"So why'd you pick 'Champion'?" Brian asked.

"Because it's close to Hero," Chris responded immediately. "Plus, y'know, it sounded fantasy-ish like all of your names."

Brian rolled his eyes. "My name isn't fantasy-ish. It's from Old English."

"Keep telling people you've never played Zork, maybe someday they'll believe you," Alec snarked.

"Whatever. The point is, since there's no Image division to tell me I can't change my name to seem more like Hero, why not go for it?"

"Fair," Brian agreed.

Well, that was one minor mystery solved, at least.

I looked around at the guys, and everyone looked somehow lighter, less stressed. I know I felt better; just knowing that these much more experienced capes felt the same way I did about being away from home, and knowing that Chris thought his power sucked even though his was definitely still better than mine, made things a lot more bearable.

~*~*~

When we finally did get to making plans, which lasted probably two hours or so, everyone was in a much better mood and working together better, and that probably helped a lot even though I only really noticed it in retrospect.

After much debate, we'd come up with three basic goals to aim for.

First, pick only one or two groups to ask for help, because getting focused effort from those groups would be better than asking a bunch of different groups and only getting a small amount of help from each one… but make sure to pick those one or two groups very carefully so that we wouldn't make enemies of any other groups who might try to interfere with us getting home.

Second, put off going back to visit the portal until and unless we could figure out why the drow were acting unusual around us and the other team and then figure out how to deal with that. Based on what we'd heard from Khalthrun and others in Zantashk, there were a lot more drow in Xen'drik than the small groups that were sent against the village, and without knowing what had set them off it really wasn't safe to try to go back to the portal site with a research team in tow.

Third, do whatever we could to avoid owing any more people any more favors. We already owed at least three-one to Khalthrun and one to Corvin for getting Zurya and Dekker to help us get Judas back, and one to whoever had convinced the Tharashk people to let us stay at their enclave and eat there for free, which was probably Khalthrun but might have been Yin?-and without knowing what kinds of favors might be asked, whom we really didn't want to owe favors to, or anything like that, it wasn't safe to keep racking up more of them.

It… wasn't much, honestly. Without any details filled in, they were more loose suggestions than goals, much less an actual plan.

But it at least made sure we'd all be on the same page when talking to the other team, so it was better than nothing.

~*~*~

Dinner with the captain was much the same as the previous night: Light conversation, many questions, long stories, strange food, pangs of homesickness.

It was better, though. There was red meat on the table, and I still didn't eat any but I could at least look at it and smell it without flashing back to the battle. I paid more attention to Draxin's and Qaluan's questions, and actually volunteered some answers instead of letting Brian and Dean do all the speaking for our group.

I even made an effort to use all the different forks for everything even though I'd gotten along fine with just one fork and one spoon before, because we were supposed to be nobles and knowing how to use a million different kinds of utensils correctly sounded like the kind of thing nobles were supposed to be able to do.

When the brandy came back out at the end of the night, I took a larger sip. It wasn't as bitter as it had been yesterday; whether that was because this was a different bottle of brandy, or because this time I was allowing myself to try to enjoy it, I couldn't say.

~*~*~

Eleventh Morning Bell, Far the 13 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Above the Skyfall Peninsula, Xen'drik, Eberron

I'd never really thought of myself as a dog person, but man, there were few things more relaxing than sitting in the shade with a dog's head in your lap and staring out over the ocean while you pet him.

For the first two days aboard the airship I hadn't even thought about Judas needing to be walked in the morning-he had a whole empty quarter of the cargo hold to himself, that should've been enough space for him, right?-so it was a good thing Brian had gotten up early each day and jogged once around the deck with him.

He hadn't been allowed to do more than that because Captain Helmgold had been worried that Judas would get in the crew's way, but apparently seeing how well-behaved Judas was had convinced the captain to allow him to stay up on the deck after that to get some fresh air.

Judas had been very excited to see all the crew moving around during the morning shift change, and thankfully Brian remembered enough of his teammate's commands to keep Judas away from any dangerous things on the deck and to call him away if he was distracting any of the crew.

Once Judas had gotten over his initial glee at having the run of the deck, though, he'd been more than happy to just flop over on the deck and lie in the sun and wag his tail whenever a passing crew member leaned down to pet him.

When I'd sat down near the bow to try to practice seeing through my swarm for the first time in at least a week, I'd been interrupted by Judas padding over to me and flopping down on my lap instead, and there went my morning.

~*~*~

"Taylor, look!" Chris called. He'd joined me at the bow around an hour ago and had been keeping me silent company while he mostly fiddled with his hoverboard.

"I'm a little stuck right now," I called back; Judas could be very difficult to move when he wanted to be. "What is it?"

"It's Stormreach!"

Okay, that was worth getting up for.

I prodded Judas, who opened his eyes and twitched an ear in my direction. "Come on, time to get up," I said.

He whined at me for that, but eventually I persuaded him to get up, and after restoring the circulation to my legs I joined Chris at the railing.

That was a city, all right, but it was like no city I'd ever seen before.

Even from many miles away it was clear that nobody had designed this city at all. The whole thing was a crazy patchwork of architectural styles, with no rhyme or reason to where the tallest buildings were placed or what direction the streets were supposed to go.

Even more incredible than that were the flying buildings. They looked like someone had started with huge towers many stories tall, chopped the tops and bases off to leave just the middle floors floating in midair, and then connected them to all the other flying buildings and a few of the normal ones with a dizzying web of ropes, chains, ramps, and rope bridges.

There were also around a dozen airships in the skies above the city, four of them docked at different flying buildings and the rest docked at an especially tall tower near the center of the city.

Seeing all of that, I felt a little knot of tension I'd been carrying around finally melt away.

When we'd first talked about going to a big city and asking for help in getting home I'd been skeptical. Zantashk was very low-tech and Medieval-looking, and the presence of five strong capes and one big tinkertech vehicle there didn't necessarily mean that those were the norm on this planet and there could actually be some capes somewhere else who might know something about portals and dimensional stuff; it could be a mostly Medieval-esque world, with the capes being extreme outliers.

But seeing this city, which had multiple airships and some flying buildings despite only being a tiny trading city thousands of miles away from the real cities, made me feel more confident that we might eventually find someone (or multiple someones) who would be able to get us home.

~*~*~

Chris and I stood there watching Stormreach grow closer as the crew worked diligently behind us, meticulously moving ropes and flaps and everything else from "cruising configuration" to "docking configuration" according to the orders the captain had shouted a little while ago.

"Hey, uh, Taylor?" Chris asked eventually.

"Mm-hmm?"

"I was wondering, when we get to the city, if we have time-" he glanced behind us "-oh. There's Yin."

The changeling, still wearing his "hardened soldier" disguise, came up to join us at the front railing a minute later. "Magnificent, isn't it?" he said, gesturing grandly toward the city. "Stormreach, the Gateway to Xen'drik, the City of Opportunity. There's no other city quite like it in all the world."

"I definitely believe it," I agreed.

"Once we dock," he continued, "we will have many different options regarding where you'd like to go in Khorvaire and what means you'd prefer to use to get there. My party has been discussing some ideas and we all have our own opinions on the best destinations for you to choose, so we can take a quick look around to see what might be available, sit down and discuss all of the options, and hopefully get us all on our way no later than tomorrow afternoon. Possibly even tonight, depending."

We were fast approaching the city. Yin began pointing out a few notable landmarks around the city, and then some within the city once we were close enough.

"… and that," he concluded his impromptu tour, "is Falconer's Spire." He pointed to the huge white and blue tower with all the airships docked around it. "It's the city's main docking tower, the seat of House Lyrandar's power in the city, and our destination today."

"Good to know," I said.

Leaning over to Chris, I asked, "What was it you were saying before, about when we get into the city?"

He shook his head. "Nothing important."

~*~*~

Around half an hour later, we'd finally reached the city limits and were gliding slowly and serenely through the sky above it, the better to avoid colliding with any other flying vehicles.

Captain Helmgold began calling out orders in rapid sequence as we approached the Spire.

"Extend docking vanes!" he shouted.

"Docking vanes extended!" replied one of the crewmen responsible.

"Retract cruising vanes!"

"Cruising vanes retracted!"

"Secure sheets!"

"Sheets secured!"

"Ready docking lines!"

"Fore lines readied!" "Aft lines readied!"

"Take 'er in, Helm. Berth four."

"Berth four, aye sir. Coming about, bearing west by northwest, six knots."

Less than five minutes later, the airship slid smoothly up to one of the buttressed walkways jutting out of the Spire and came to a halt, at which point the captain called " Suppress for docking!" and the ring of fire suddenly vanished as the crew began throwing ropes to workers on the pier to secure the ship in place.

"Terik and Obsidian will be helping with the cargo once again, but in the meantime, let's round up the rest of your party and prepare to disembark," Yin said, clapping us both on the shoulders and starting to steer us toward the gangplank.

"The City of Adventure awaits!"

Author's Note

Having been very brutally shown that adventuring in Eberron is not the same as heroing in Earth Bet, Taylor is now attempting to speedrun the five stages of grief while juggling some major homesickness and seriously low self-esteem, which seems to be working out just swimmingly for her.

For the everyone-shares-their-feelings scene, I'm obviously extrapolating quite a bit for the Wards' backstories to give them similar depth to Taylor's and the Undersiders', since we get very little background information for Gallant and somewhere between "diddly" and "squat" for Kid Win, but I think it all fits quite well with both what we know of them from canon and similar real-world scenarios.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

Cannith East is one of three rival branches of House Cannith that emerged after their main headquarters was nuked in the Mourning. The Tinkers Guild is the Cannith-sponsored guild revolving around repair, infrastructure maintenance, and so on, and with that name there's plenty of opportunity for fun misunderstandings! Dragonshards are, as mentioned, the flavor justification for why Eberron is so magically advancedbasis for many Eberron magic item creation techniques. While there are specific kinds of magic items categorized as "Siberys shard items" and so on, in the lore artificers use everything from very-low-grade dragonshards to dragonshard dust and more even for "generic" items.

Last edited: Jul 27, 2022

Integration 2.5.V

Two Hours and Eight Minutes After Apparent Dawn Valigan's Personal Demiplane, Somewhere in the Astral Plane
Valigan Talaire

After spending three and a half subjective days integrating my memories and recovering from my lack of sleep, nearly two subjective days editing and annotating my stored memories from the ill-fated Athas expedition, and twelve hours in prayer and meditation, all in only sixteen Material Plane hours, I was finally ready to admit a rather uncomfortable truth:

Since the very moment I had set foot in Sigil nine objective days ago, I had been acting like an utter and absolute fool of colossal proportions.

Where to even begin?

Asking Penumbra to modify the Society's carefully-laid plans for this expedition to accommodate my sudden whims, and choosing to do so instead of exploring one of the many worlds the Society had already cataloged but that I had not personally explored, simply because I felt that those known worlds would be insufficiently novel and diverting?

Choosing to disregard the Society's standard exploration procedures-procedures that I knew to be proper and reasonable, because Aldric and I had both had a hand in writing them!-simply because they appeared to be leading me into unproductive patterns of thinking?

Deciding to forego the customary subjective week of observation and divination of the world's native inhabitants from afar and instead beginning to interact with the locals (albeit while suitably disguised) after less than an objective day on this world, simply because I couldn't bear to be alone with my own thoughts for mere minutes at a time?

Eschewing sleep and thereby exacerbating my impeded judgment with every additional subjective day spent awake, and preventing myself from refreshing the transcendant magics I'd used against Dregoth and thereby rendering me exceedingly vulnerable against threats of a similar magnitude that might exist on this world, simply due to the (admittedly quite considerable) emotional pain I wound find in my dreams?

Revealing my actual name and appearance to the locals within the first week, when that was normally a step taken no sooner than the second year of an expedition, simply because I was irrationally annoyed at myself for taking more than a few days to fully uncover the scientific practices of a world extremely different from any that had come before?

Becoming somewhat irrationally attached to several of the locals and going out of my way to assist them and their acquaintances, without ensuring that nothing I did would reveal any information best kept hidden, simply because I found these distractions to lift my mood for a few brief moments?

Making direct contact with a branch of the local governing authority, and sharing all manner of information regarding myself and the greater multiverse without verifying the extent of their existing knowledge, simply because I was too impatient to make contact with the (supposed) local experts on magic and magic-users in a more discreet and methodical manner?

Rushing to slay one of the most powerful magic-users in the city because of personal and philosophical objections to her nature and actions, instead of providing information to the locals and leaving it to them to deal with her, when that had been exactly the sort of impulsive course of action which had led to the disaster on Athas?

Completely disgraceful, every last bit of it.

I couldn't even rhetorically ask myself what I'd been thinking at the time, because I hadn't been thinking-I'd been feeling, acting on impulse, reacting without consideration.

And that is the one thing above all else that someone such as I, in a position such as the one in which I found myself, could not afford to do.

Emotion is not innately inferior to reason, far from it; the gods would hardly have created mortals with the capacity to feel if that were purely harmful. While Auppenser was titled the Lord of Reason, he never taught that emotion must be subordinate to reason, teaching instead that all things must reach their proper balance, which may sometimes lead to one being weighted above the other but only to an appropriate degree.

Still, emotion has its time and place, and on this world during this mission was certainly neither the time nor the place for me to make the sorts of basic errors in judgment that I'd last made during my first few expeditions with the Society over six centuries ago!

~*~*~

At the very least, with the aid of prayer and meditation-just meditation, really, seeing as Auppenser wouldn't be able to hear any prayers from within a sealed sphere even if he were currently alive, but the structured format of prayer often helped with these sorts of things-I'd done enough introspection to realize why I'd made some of the mistakes that I had, which would hopefully help me to avoid repeating them.

The most obvious reason was that I was, above all, a creature of habit.

One would think that this would in fact aid in keeping to established procedures, but the habits I'd fallen into in this case were, firstly, Aldric and I having proverbially seen it all and done it all and my having expected things on this world to be more similar to what had come before despite my knowing, intellectually, that they were exceptionally differently; and secondly, my always having been the more "in-the-moment" one, between Aldric and myself, and perhaps also the one more driven to explore off the beaten path.

We'd both been the odd ones out when we were younger: I, a staid and admittedly somewhat obsessive scholar, raised in an empire whose people disdained the arcane arts and whose patron deity preached unity and moderation; he, a thoughtful and idealistic philosopher, raised in an empire whose leaders despised the gods and sought personal and political power above all else.

That we could feel at home in each others' cultures almost as much as we could in our own was likely part of the reason why we'd been drawn together initially, all those years ago, when most people from our respective homelands could barely stand to be in the same room with one another for an extended period of time.

We'd complemented each other extremely well, both personally and professionally. He had been my anchor, and I his, and without him here to ground me….

…

Aspect sent.

I admitted. It was something I'd never anticipated needing to do.

I hadn't managed to fully overcome my sorrow within a mere subjective week, but I could at least think Aldric's name, now, and even say it aloud, without reflexively forcing my thoughts elsewhere. I could think "Aldric was " instead of "Aldric is" without being crippled by grief.

The pain wasn't gone, far from it, but it was… distant, veiled, scabbed over, enough so that I could think about him-briefly-without my stream of thought threatening to spiral down and dwell on his absence.

It was like placing a massive adamantine sphere inside a knapsack instead of attempting to hold it in one's hands: the unbearable weight was not lessened in the slightest, the burden was simply made marginally more easy to carry.

The second and less obvious reason for my rash actions, and one that I only realized myself after hours of self-reflection, was that Aldric had been my last link to our old lives before our homelands fell, the only one who remembered.

We hadn't been the only ones to survive our respective apocalypses, of course, but none of the very few survivors had been individuals whom we'd personally known, and none of them had been at all interested in working to restore Netheril or Jhaamdath to their former glory.

(Aldric had been at least slightly understanding of their choice to simply abandon their homelands as they had, but in my view they were treasonous cowards, one and all.)

Penumbra, Adilege, Gwyn… all of our close friends in the Society were immortals as well, but none of them had any particular care for our homelands over any other, none of them had been there-not even Daelan, the Society's third Torillian member, his homeland of Raumathar having had practically no dealings with either of ours in the span of time during which the three had coexisted.

All of them could sympathize abstractly with the loss, of course; becoming overly attached to people and things that were long since dead and gone is a common hazard of immortality.

There is nothing so disappointing as no longer being able to enjoy your once-favorite dish because a critical ingredient had gone extinct at some point over the centuries, before you managed to learn how to magically replicate it. There is nothing so depressing as finding that no speakers of your native dialect exist any longer, thanks to millennia of linguistic drift.

But their sympathy wasn't the same as Aldric's personal experience, his shared history, his shared understanding.

I hadn't refused to hide myself with a mask and costume simply due to emotional associations with the Veiled Alliance. I hadn't chosen to share my history with the PRT simply due to a desire to expedite my investigations. I'd done both of those things, I'd realized, largely because I couldn't bear the thought of everything-Jhaamdath's culture and history, my own family line, all of that-being utterly forgotten if and when my own existence ever came to an end.

Even if all knowledge of Jhaamdath and the Talairic Houses faded in the greater multiverse, my subconscious reasoning had gone, it would still exist somewhere in the memories and records of this world, and that would be… well, at least slightly better than nothing.

~*~*~

Given that I had come to these conclusions, what to do with them?

First things first: examine all that had transpired since my arrival and decide-objectively, rationally, and without bringing my ego into things-whether this mission should be considered a failure due to excessive contamination of this world.

After due consideration, and a considerable amount of very helpful commentary from Aspect-

still complaining about that?

… oh. Well, thanks. It's good to have the old Val back.

After due consideration I decided that this expedition was going surprisingly well. Despite everything, I'd managed to keep my degree of interference to a minimal level, certainly not having done anything blatant enough to require memory magic on a wide scale or similar drastic solutions, and had learned much of value.

In fact, I'd already made several discoveries that I couldn't have made if I'd sat back and scried on the locals for days on end, as procedure dictated-everything involving the local capes' repertoires, for instance, as well as everything I'd learned from my (altogether too brief) excursion to the local library.

On balance, I'd decided that this mission should be tentatively considered successful thus far, and that continuing on from this point in the same general manner would not be unreasonable so long as I took better care with the fine details.

(Whether the Founders would agree with that assessment was, of course, an entirely different question.)

Second things second: potentially adjust my near-term goals and practices from this point forward, keeping in mind that dramatic changes in my behavior for no reason apparent to the locals could engender more notice and suspicion, not less.

The former was unnecessary, as I already had a solid list of goals; I'd simply been procrastinating over acting on them, adding goals to the list faster than they were completed.

The latter meant setting specific criteria for intervening in local affairs and holding to them.

"I will not engage in direct or public conflict with any local threat if I can instead empower another local individual or group to deal with it" would be one good criterion.

"I will not provide assistance, equipment, or knowledge that the locals did not have a plausible chance of achieving without my presence here, given existing resources at their disposal and reasonable time and effort spent seeking it" would be another.

Aspect added.

I agreed. I'd also make exceptions where those criteria conflicted with Auppenser's Precepts, but only after giving such scenarios much more consideration than I had the Bakuda situation.

A third criterion would be ideal, Rule of Three and all….

Aspect suggested.

I disagreed,

After some further thought, nothing else came to mind. Ah, well; those two criteria would suffice for now.

While it wasn't germane to the matter of interference, I also resolved to rely less on my thought reading (though not necessarily cease using it entirely) going forward.

Looking back, I could see that I had been relying more and more on thought reading to bypass communication issues and cultural barriers as time went by without even noticing it, and while that was certainly quite efficient it wasn't especially ethical or polite to continue breaching others' mental privacy now that I had the necessary cultural context for most conversations and was no longer hiding my nature as a visitor to this world.

Having made those decisions, the first order of business would now be to restore Jihoo to life, after which I planned to conclude my investigation into the PRT's knowledge of local magical practices, address any consequences of my recent actions, and hopefully resume my discussion with Armsmaster and persuade him to see the truth about his artifice, regarding which he remained in such stubborn denial.

Bringing to mind the coordinates of Gene's home and rendering myself imperceptible and incorporeal as usual, I plane-shifted myself to a point-

~*~*~

8:17 am, Tuesday the 19th of April, 2011 CE

Kim Residence, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

-adjacent to the enclosure in which Jihoo's remains were interred.

It seemed to have attracted some attention since the previous afternoon, as there were faint imprints in the Kim's front yard where passersby had apparently stopped to walk around and examine the enclosure, but there were no signs of attempted harm.

I waited a few moments for several passing cars to leave the area, then briefly pondered how to resurrect Jihoo. I could do so using a normal power in my repertoire with the aid of Perpetuance, but I would need to draw up on my staff's reserves later today if my dealings with Armsmaster went as I intended, so I chose a different approach:

I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and prepared myself to work transcendent magic on this world for the first time.

"Transcendant" magic is a collective term for magic that lies at or just beyond the boundary of current magical knowledge and can achieve effects impossible to manage with standard spells and powers, even those of the ninth valence. The list of such practices includes the psionic enchantments of Athas, the aetheric channeling of Saerbryn, and the elven high magic of Toril, among many others, and generally speaking only a small fraction of the magic-users on a given world are ever capable of mastering such demanding magical traditions.

Where the standard magical practices are identical on every world and have remained so for at least tens of thousands of years, every variety of transcendent magic is highly idiosyncratic to a certain culture or world, comparatively new due to recent advances in magical theory, or both.

After leaving our homeworld for the first time and finding that our own cultures' forms of transcendent magic were unreliable in other spheres due to variances in magical laws or the direct interference of local gods of magic, Aldric and I both learned to use the most recently-developed type of transcendent magic (if one can call a practice almost nine millennia old "recently-developed") and the one most common among interplanar and inter-world travelers (if one can term any such exclusive magic "common"), which arcanists term True Dweomercraft and psionicists term High Science.

With that, I could work magic at a scale impossible for lesser magic-users, constructing new powers in moments that would normally take weeks of research to develop-though usually at the cost of heavily taxing my mind, body, and soul due to bypassing the normal protective frameworks that make standard magic safe for even the newest apprentice to use.

I disintegrated the enclosure surrounding Jihoo's remains, then closed my eyes and focused. In my mind's eye I designed and assembled the intricate spellwork that I would need, carefully modulating conceptual waveforms and delicately adjusting planar geometries in order to achieve the most-effective and least-taxing result.

Then I opened my eyes, stretched my hand forth, and willed that Jihoo be made whole.

In the blink of an eye, reality was rewritten.

A physical form was constructed for him out of his existing remains as well as additional raw elemental matter from the Ethereal, and then his soul was drawn into it, restoring him to life once more.

An involuntary hiss of pain escaped my lips as my skin was charred and my nerves were scraped raw by the immense quantities of energy I'd just manipulated. I rushed to heal the damage and relieve the agony I was feeling, but the strain on my mind and soul remained.

I'd only be able to manage such an exertion once more before needing to rest and refresh myself… but then, if a situation arose before tomorrow that was sufficiently dire to require me to manifest more than one other such working to resolve it, that limitation would be the least of my problems.

As I finished fabricating a copy of Jihoo's old clothing around his new body, Jihoo's eyes flew open and he yelled "-used it to lure you out!", finishing the sentence that had been interrupted by his death.

Then he looked around in confusion. "What just…? Where is everyone? What happened?"

"Gene is perfectly safe, and the gang members have been dealt with. You've missed a little less than a day following the altercation, due to suffering a temporary cessation of material existence."

Jihoo took a few seconds to process my statement. "Wait, a temporary-I died!?"

"That isn't what I said."

"But then…?"

"Bakuda was quite skilled at creating bombs that could dramatically transform a person's body while leaving them alive. I have just reversed the effect that her bomb had on you."

"But I don't remember whatever happened to me?"

"I think," I said gently, "that's probably for the best."

Jihoo gazed off into the distance, unseeing. The confusion in his aura slowly gave way to a swirling mix of realization, relief, regret, self-recrimination, and the particular hue of mild hysteria often felt when one has just narrowly avoided serious harm, with a light dappling of existential dread around the edges.

"Yeah," he said faintly, "you're probably right. Um… can I just…?" He slowly lowered himself to a seat on the grass and leaned back, staring up at the sky with his arms splayed out behind him for support. "I think I'm gonna need a minute, here."

"Take all the time you need." His reaction was quite understandable; dying can be quite the traumatic experience the first time around. Fortunately, one's second death was usually much less so.

Aspect asked slyly.

I sent him the telepathic equivalent of an exasperated eye-roll. you try to maintain your composure while being digested by a dire shark. I followed that up with a pulse of amusement.

Aspect hastened to assure me.

I glanced over at Jihoo, who was still staring off at nothing and whose aura showed no sign of calming any time soon. "I need to leave shortly, so I'm going to move you inside, for your safety and well-being," I told him as I reached down to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Is that all right?"

He hummed in wordless acknowledgment, and a moment later I teleported him into the sitting room of Gene's residence. The family was not currently home, so he should have more than enough time to gather his thoughts before he was disturbed.

That done, I stood and teleported myself-

~*~*~

-to the PRT building atrium, whereupon I had to immediately teleport a second time to avoid a barrage of a thick foam from the weapon of one of the door guards.

I reappeared next to the main desk. The nearest soldier, one who'd been on duty when I'd come here initially, glanced over at me with surprised recognition and shouted, "Cease fire! He's a friendly!"

The first soldier was moving the barrel of his weapon to track me, but halted and yanked it back to a rest position when he heard the other's command. Mild embarrassment tinged his aura, followed by regret and resignation as he beheld the large ooze-like mass now blocking the entryway.

"Sorry about that," the desk clerk said to me. It was the same clerk with whom I'd spoken previously, and just as before the atrium was empty aside from him and the guards thanks to the early hour. "There were reports of Oni Lee being active earlier this morning, and Mover protocols-"

"That's quite all right." If the PRT couldn't or wouldn't raise wards against teleportation around their base of operations, filling it with a cadre of quick-witted guards trained to disable unfamiliar teleporters was a reasonable enough substitute. "They can hardly be blamed for not expecting my arrival when I didn't send word ahead."

I gestured back toward the blockage, which the soldiers were making no move to address, and added, "Would you like me to remove that?"

"Uh… can you?" he asked.

By way of reply, I sent a disintegration ray at the mass. One cleaning power after that to remove the residue from the carpets, and the atrium was as good as new.

"Guess you can," he muttered, nervousness shading his aura and those of the six guards stationed around the room. He typed out a short note regarding my actions on his desktop computer, then turned back to me. "Well, we're not officially open for another… two minutes," he said, a hint of irritation in his tone as he glanced at his watch, "but what brings you in this morning?"

"I was hoping to continue my discussion with the Deputy Director from yesterday, as I ended up leaving unexpectedly in the middle of it," I replied.

The clerk tapped away at his computer keyboard. "Looks like he's in a briefing with the Director right now and can't be disturbed. His calendar is full after that until half past two, but if you're willing to wait…?"

"I'd rather not. I have some importation information regarding Bakuda and her operation; is there someone else to whom I could give that?"

"What kind of information?"

"A complete and accurate listing of every bomb Bakuda has placed in this city and its residents, and an update on her current status."

His eyes widened, he nodded, and he picked up the phone on his desk to make a call. I waited politely while he had a brief conversation mentioning my name and that of one Assistant Director Rodriguez, then he ended the call and turned back to me. "Non-Protectorate capes aren't allowed in restricted areas and our Head of Operations is occupied right now," he apologized, "but they're sending someone down for a debrief."

He gestured to a nearby guard, and once again I was escorted to a small room to wait.

~*~*~

A short while later, I felt a familiar aura coming down the hall: Miguel Rodriguez, the man who'd attempted to stop me from pursuing Bakuda on the basis of local regulations. Possibly related to the recently-mentioned Assistant Director, given the shared surname and their both being high-ranking members of the same PRT division, though the locals' shunning of nobility made that somewhat less likely than it might be on more sensible worlds.

He shoved the door open without knocking, a large phone-like device in one hand and bags visible under his eyes. Where before his clothing had been pristine, now his uniform shirt was rumpled and his necktie was noticeably askew.

"Miguel, it's good to see you again," I said politely.

"Wish I could say the same," he grumbled. "Everything's been crazy since that big fireworks display in the Docks yesterday, and Ops has been running on nothing but coffee and spite since then."

"Oh?"

"We started getting reports of bombs going off in Empire territory, which has apparently been happening for a couple days without anyone wanting to tell us, and we've had people calling in about people exploding because of the implanted bombs you mentioned, and we nabbed some ABB guys who said Bakuda's been planting bombs around the city too, so who knows what the hell she's up to. Empire troops are fighting ABB troops in Midtown, and there's fighting going on in the Docks but Intel can't get anyone close enough to figure out what's going on. Oni Lee was sighted on the Boardwalk yesterday when he's never shown up there during the day before, and he's been bouncing around the city this morning doing who-knows-what."

He took a deep, weary breath, and continued, "Half the indie heroes who showed up in town this past week decided that last night was a great time to go after the Empire for whatever reason, and there have been running fights between them on one side and Victor, Rune, Othala, and some new cape on the other side all night-because of course Kaiser's picked up another racist fuckwad with powers sometime in the past forty-eight hours, pardon my French. And Hookwolf, Cricket, and Stormtiger are still going after Coil's troops and they're making a mess of Downtown. It's just…."

He leveled a glare at me and stabbed a finger at my chest for emphasis. " This is why the Protectorate doesn't take random swings at major villains. If they miss, everything goes to shit, and if you'd just listened-"

"In fact I did not miss," I interrupted. "Bakuda has been removed from the board and her conscripts are no longer a concern."

"… Wait, what?"

"It's true. That's what I came here to tell you."

"What about her bombs?"

"Any explosions you've observed are due to the individual bombs' ability to self-detonate under random predetermined conditions, rather than a deliberate trigger on Bakuda's part. Said detonations are still an issue, obviously," I said, and he grunted in agreement. "However, this should help you deal with the remaining bombs."

I tapped into my tattoo of creation and evoked a thick ledger on the table between us, then followed that with a large and highly-detailed scale model of the city made of glass, four feet on a side and mostly transparent but with many tiny colored dots scattered throughout.

Miguel twitched in surprise as the items appeared, then leaned forward in grudging interest. "What are these?"

"The model of the city is a map of each bomb that Bakuda ordered to be placed; the motes of colored glass indicate the locations she specified, but there may be some variation if her followers placed them inaccurately. The ledger contains a description of each individual who still retains an implanted bomb, plus any other information Bakuda had on each one, followed by a list of the locations and general effects of all the emplaced bombs for easier reference."

He stared at the ledger for a moment, reached out and flipped through a few pages, glanced over at the model, then looked back at me. "How in the hell did you get all of this out of Bakuda?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh, we had a relatively polite conversation about her bomb-making process in her workroom, during which I acquired all of the relevant information from her and compiled it for you," I said, my expression deliberately innocent.

"Fine, don't tell me," he grumbled, then began scanning through the ledger again more carefully while making notes on his device, muttering comments to himself: "Get enough squads to cover Bayside… evacuate the malls… Wards, maybe teams of three?… need to send Velocity and Battery…."

He reached one particular entry and frowned. "What's a 'super-bomb'? One bomb big enough to take down a whole building instead of needing three or four, or something?"

I shook my head and gestured to a specific piece of colored glass in the model, much larger than the others and surrounded by a veritable cloud of smaller ones. "Bakuda mentioned an especially devastating bomb located in her main workshop, whose effects could potentially extend from here to South Carolina and the Mississippi River."

Miguel whipped his head up to look at me, eyes wide, and his aura actually went entirely blank for a moment before flooding with panic. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph…" he breathed.

"I presume that represents a considerable range from this city?"

In lieu of a reply, Miguel let out a slightly crazed giggle.

"I'll take that as a yes."

While the man took some time to calm himself, I decided that doing the PRT an additional favor wouldn't be remiss, if indeed my actions had lit off the current series of events; their intelligence-gathering procedures seemed quite competent, based on what I'd heard from Charlotte over lunch, so I wouldn't be causing much interference by merely speeding their efforts slightly.

With a thought, I accelerated myself and manifested a dozen scrying sensors a hundred feet in the air to see for myself what was currently happening on the streets of the city.

Switching from sensor to sensor, and manifesting additional sensors closer to the ground as needed, I quickly grasped the general situation and allowed the normal flow of time to resume. To check one last detail, I teleported Aspect over to where the Empire and Coil's forces were clashing, then retrieved him a moment later.

he confirmed upon his return.

"That was the bad news, but there is some good news as well," I told Miguel.

The man looked up hopefully as I continued, "The fighting in the Docks appears to involve many of the individuals I rescued from Bakuda venting their anger on those wearing ABB heraldry, so the PRT shouldn't need to concern itself with that."

"Are Krieg and his capes anywhere near that? They've been harassing the ABB for days now, they're not going to stop attacking anyone who looks Asian just because their targets are fighting among themselves."

"No need to worry about that; those capes are off the board as well."

"What, all six or seven of them?"

"Correct."

He gave me a highly skeptical look. "You want me to believe that you took out all those capes, all by yourself?"

"Not at all. A handful of Empire capes with no special ability to detect or disable Bakuda's bombs led an assault against her lair after she'd seeded the surrounding area with traps for several blocks around. What do you imagine happened?"

"… Ah. That'd do it. Those bastards definitely deserved it, but I feel sorry for whoever has to clean that whole mess up."

"I was planning to volunteer for that, actually, seeing as I'm the only one familiar with the sources of the dangerous effects still in place."

"We might want to send some people with you to deal with the Empire members' remains."

I gave him an amused grin. "They're welcome to do so, if they can find any pieces that are large enough and solid enough to identify."

Miguel winced. "Ooh, boy. Yeah, cleanup duty is all yours. Any other good news?"

"Yes. The 'Cricket' and 'Stormtiger' involved in the fighting appear to be impostors, as they are hanging back and not using any powers," and their appearances do not precisely match the recollections of them in the minds of the other Empire capes, I did not add, "implying that they're unavailable and their presence is a bluff on the Empire's part."

He finished entering notes as I concluded, "And finally, I've developed a method for extracting the bombs within the ABB captives harmlessly and painlessly, which I will gladly share with Armsmaster if you can put me in touch with him."

"Can't promise anything there, he's on patrol right now and morning patrols usually end around noon, but I'll pass everything up the chain and see what happens. If this information is reliable, I'm sure he'll be willing to meet with you," he said, then looked over at the city model. "Uh, I don't know if that's going to fit in the elevator…?"

I reached out with a spatial compression power and shrank both the model and the ledger, the former ending up roughly three inches wide in each dimension and the latter shrinking to barely the size of a fingernail. "Simply speak the name of this city to restore the model to its proper size, and speak the name of the bombs' creator to restore the ledger," I instructed him, having set the powers' command words appropriately. "Until the words are spoken, they are completely safe to handle."

He gingerly took the shrunken items and placed them in a pocket and turned to leave, then hesitated. "How many powers do you have, anyway?" he asked. "The report I read only mentioned teleportation, matter generation, something like Velocity's power, and healing."

"I have more than most, but fewer than I'd like," I replied blandly.

"… Fair enough. Thanks for this, by the way, and sorry for getting snippy with you earlier. It's been a long day and a half."

"No need to apologize, I understand completely. Fare well."

He left, and I took a moment to revise my plans.

Given the current situation I doubted I'd be able to resume my discussion with any of the members whom I'd met yesterday, but after confirming Kevin's and Andrea's claims via Bakuda I no longer actually needed to speak with them in particular. There were other options for pursuing a discussion about the local state-of-the-art in magical research.

I also had little need to speak with the Deputy Director about how he would prefer to address my presence in this city, given that I would soon be leaving it… and, while I disliked leaving Colleen high and dry on the matter of the Case 24 interview, declining to complete it for the time being and thereby preventing that information from being passed on to her superiors would hopefully prevent such information from spreading beyond this building for now, which might be for the best.

With Armsmaster unavailable for the moment, I had a few hours free-and the fact that I did not feel the immediate need to either fill that time with a series of distractions or skip ahead to the future to avoid it entirely was quite gratifying indeed.

My original second priority after resolving the PRT situation had been to research a suite of powers to interface with mundane technology, but that could hardly be accomplished between now and meeting with Armsmaster. No, perhaps I should continue to pursue an answer to the mystery of the local magic-users, and as the PRT was too busy to accommodate me….

I returned to the atrium and asked the clerk to borrow a phone, using the dismantled remains of one of the Empire phones I'd confiscated to support the claim that mine had been destroyed while fighting Bakuda. One was procured for me shortly, and I stepped off to the side and surrounded myself in a zone of silence to make a call.

"Mmph… hello?" came the somewhat drowsy reply.

"Good morning, Mike. This is Valigan."

"… Valigan?"

"The visiting scholar. We met at Fugly Bob's last week."

"Oh! Right!" Mike said, sounding more awake. "Sorry, man, I completely forgot your name."

"Not to worry, it's hardly the first time," I assured him. "I was hoping to take advantage of your offer to be introduced to some of the professors at your university, if now is a convenient time?"

"Well, I'm at breakfast now, and I have a class at ten, but maybe…."

~*~*~

Mike turned out not to be personally acquainted with any professors of Parahuman Studies at BPI, but he did know several classmates pursuing research in that area, so we made some arrangements and ten minutes later I was on the university campus speaking with his friend Jennifer, a "graduate student" researching the psychology of trigger events.

She pointed out the buildings comprising the Parahuman Studies department and gave some suggestions regarding which professors would be most knowledgeable in which areas, for which I thanked her… and then once she left I duplicated myself several times over in order to speak with all of the available professors at once.

The following three and a half hours were quite productive.

Most of the information provided was completely useless from a thaumaturgic perspective, of course. The general consensus on the workings of cape powers was essentially "we haven't the foggiest notion" dressed up in layers of jargon, and they hadn't studied a broad enough sample of parahumans in sufficient depth to derive solid conclusions about much of anything. Even having my duplicates discreetly absorb the contents of the books in the professors' offices via soul crystals of Scholar's Touch provided very little additional information of substance.

But from a sociological and anthropological perspective, the conversations were practically a platinum mine of information, as this was the very first world on which I was able to witness the natives' attempt to derive the laws of magic from first principles without any assistance from older and more established civilizations, direct revelation from various gods, or anything else of the sort.

What the many hypotheses regarding the emergence of magic said about their cultural predispositions, how they'd chosen the areas upon which to focus most of their research, their approaches to categorizing different kinds of magic-users, the deliberate cultivation of the "heroes and villains" phenomenon as a means to avoid widespread hatred of magic-users as had happened to the arcanists of Athas… none of it was at all applicable to the here-and-now, but the whole body of research was absolutely fascinating, and would make an excellent addition to the Society's archives and eventually the major libraries of the multiverse.

What few useful bits of practical information were to be found, however, slotted nicely into and reinforced my current primary hypothesis, which I had been fleshing out with each new cape I studied and had finalized after my interrogation of Bakuda and my mental probes of the Empire capes.

Namely, that the entire current practice of magic in this sphere, from the re-emergence of magic use in general to the specific ways in which capes used magic, was very likely artificially engineered by parties unknown for some deliberate overarching purpose.

The presence of inaccessible powers in capes' repertoires, when normally such a thing required deliberate training to instill into a creature's subconscious; the entirely arbitrary association between a person's emotional state at some point in time and the spells that they eventually gained, when mental state was usually irrelevant to the development of both sorcery and wilding; the fact that capes' selections of spells are nearly always seen to be unique, when there is no reason for that to be the case unless someone or something is deliberately avoiding sharing the more useful spells among many capes; the fact that religious and historical writings recorded the use of magic hundreds to thousands of years ago followed by a wide gap of time in which no magic was known followed by the sudden reemergence of magic use decades ago, when inherited magic simply does not work that way… all of these things pointed to deliberate meddling by some higher being or beings.

Of course, while this hypothesis was the best fit for the available data, it was far from confirmed, and there were several points arguing against it.

For instance, the lack of gods and godlike beings in this sphere who could have designed such a system: if there had been no gods of magic here thirty years prior, why would sorcery have suddenly resurfaced at that point, and if they had existed then but had disappeared in the intervening time, why wouldn't capes' powers have noticeably changed as was normally the case upon gods' death or departure?

For another instance, the aberrant local cosmology: when choosing between one explanation requiring deliberate action by powerful beings not in evidence, and another explanation requiring merely that abnormal planar mechanics lead to abnormal magical practices, the latter was the simpler one with fewer required assumptions.

Nevertheless, I gave my preferred hypothesis a roughly two-thirds chance of being correct-though admittedly due to intuition and the aid of several cognition-enhancing powers rather than any specific supporting observations, and I was understandably leery of relying too much on intuition and emotional judgments at the moment.

It felt as though the truth was currently just beyond my grasp, as though some few bothersome facts just weren't quite lining up correctly, as though I would need but one or two additional pieces of the puzzle for everything to become clear. The sensation was intensely frustrating, but I refused to allow myself to make snap judgments or rush into anything in a reckless attempt to solve the mystery immediately.

More data would be required to develop a comprehensive theory, and that data would be acquired in due course.

I did, at least, learn of three quite promising routes for gathering evidence to confirm or disprove my hypothesis:

First, while Armsmaster's beliefs appeared to be the norm in the local scientific community, there actually were more than a few capes and organizations on this world that acknowledged the truth that "parahuman powers" were in fact magic and that "tinkertech" was in fact the product of artifice.

I'd noted the names and home cities of the largest and most promising groups mentioned in various research papers, in the hopes that speaking with them would provide more insight into local magical practices than had the professors with whom I'd spoken.

Second, a hero by the name of Scion was mentioned in the literature to be the first known cape and the subject of all manner of hypotheses regarding the origins of parahumans; I'd heard the name "Scion" mentioned a few times by the locals, but hadn't heard or thought-read the necessary context to understand those references.

The descriptions in the texts I'd absorbed painted him as a perpetually-active itinerant servant of Good, of the sort that often disdained Neutral individuals such as myself (and that were generally exhausting to interact with for those who weren't themselves moral paragons), but perhaps arranging a conversation with him about his magical knowledge and his origins could prove fruitful.

Third, another hero by the name of Dragon was said to be this world's finest artificer, with a deep knowledge of both artifice and mundane technology, and she apparently belonged to a famous adventuring guild-which had been titled, in an act of unsurpassed creativity, "the Guild."

She was noted to take an interest in and frequently collaborate with other skilled artificers the world over, so perhaps if Armsmaster was acquainted with her he could introduce us and shorten my path to acquiring technomantic powers.

~*~*~

At precisely noon, I teleported to the Protectorate headquarters and floated undetectably above the point where the force bridge met the physical structure to await Armsmaster's return.

I had considered purchasing a phone for myself and communicating with him and with the PRT by that method, but I was reluctant to make use of technology that I did not yet fully understand and could not yet manipulate magically. Until I was able to develop the relevant powers or learn them from one of the natives, speaking with everyone in person would continue to suffice.

When Armsmaster didn't appear immediately, I took the opportunity to simply… exist, lowering my environmental wards for the second time since arriving on this world and basking in the sunshine and the cool ocean breeze.

I rarely took the time to appreciate a good ocean view, as the image of the mystically-reinforced tidal wave that had destroyed my homeland was never far from my thoughts at such times, but I much preferred the current muted feelings of anger and melancholy at that image over the sleep-deprived agitation that had been woven through my emotions for much of the previous week.

Almost ten minutes later I caught sight of Armsmaster on the shore, riding his motorcycle toward the force bridge. I waited until he was most of the way across, then rendered myself visible and glanced around as if I had just teleported there. I pretended to catch sight of him as he reached the platform and dismounted, then floated down to join him.

"Armsmaster! Just the man I was hoping to see," I called.

"Can it wait?" he asked gruffly as he wheeled his motorcycle toward the doors of the vehicle bay.

His aura was heavily shaded with annoyance at himself and his armor was covered in scuffs and dents; he seemed to have engaged in a fight that hadn't gone his way and was quite upset at the outcome.

"Your information about Bakuda checked out, and everyone's being called in to help deal with her bombs, if that's what you're here about," he tersely continued. "I need to make some repairs before I head out again. I don't have time to talk."

"Not even a few minutes?" I asked. I was about to offer to repair his armor to make up for the delay, but he halted in place and spun to confront me.

"Look," he ground out. "The out-of-towners went off and did something incredibly stupid, and the Empire is retaliating. I just got back from running interference with Fenja and Menja to let some of them retreat. We have two days to resolve this Empire situation on top of dealing with all the bombs because everyone has to be ready to deal with Lung by Thursday afternoon and we can't afford any distractions then."

Frustration filled his aura, though he did his best to keep his voice level. "I've been out fighting fires since before dawn, and that's already put me half a day behind on all my work. The PRT's been very accommodating of your… unique circumstances, so far, but at this point you'll have to go make an appointment like everyone else because I just do not have time right now."

As he turned to continue on his way, I asked, "What if I could give you more time?"

He paused, turned back. The aura of a lie-detection enchantment bloomed around his helmet-not that it would help him, given my anti-divination wards, but he didn't need to know that. "Go on," he prompted.

During my meditations, I'd spent some time pondering what kind of bribe I might be able to offer Armsmaster to persuade him to continue our discussion when he was so very set in his beliefs. My first thought had been to offer him new schemata to improve his equipment-a Dragonbane schema to help against Lung, perhaps, if he didn't already know how to apply that enchantment to his weapons-but after resolving to limit the assistance I provided to that which the locals could have developed on their own, that was much less feasible.

I would want to analyze his equipment and his research in detail before gifting him any new knowledge of item creation to judge for myself what kinds of advancements would be plausible given his current resources and state of understanding, and between his completely understandable concern for time pressure and likely unwillingness to let a strange magic-user examine his possessions, I hadn't needed any divinations to foresee his objections to that.

Which led me to my actual suggestion: "I could assist you personally by accelerating time in your laboratory between now and Thursday to give you up to five days of productivity for each day that passes outside, and assist the Protectorate as a whole by duplicating them for several hours at a time."

It was a rather elegant solution, if I did say so myself. Giving the heroes more time and more bodies with which to exercise their existing resources would ensure that anything they achieved during that time would by definition have been within their existing capabilities, while not advertising my involvement by their suddenly gaining new equipment or knowledge out of the blue.

" Ten days of preparation?" Armsmaster echoed, incredulous, and I nodded. "What would you want in exchange?"

"An opportunity to work with you, and any other Tinkers whom you might wish to invite along, for a full afternoon or thereabouts. I'd like to see how you work, examine existing items that you've created, show you some new techniques, and hopefully help you to comprehend the 'tinkertech' that you said you did not fully understand."

Mild suspicion began to cloud his aura. "There's no danger or side effects to the time acceleration or the duplication?"

"None whatsoever."

"No… hidden mental compulsions, or anything like that?"

My lip curled in disgust. "Certainly not. My religion absolutely forbids controlling the mind of another."

He didn't seem to know how to react to that statement. The suspicion in his aura abated somewhat, to be replaced with reluctant acceptance, but did not disappear entirely. "It sounds like I'd be getting nearly all of the benefit out of this. What's the catch?"

"The catch is that I expect our collaboration to prove to you that your 'powers' and 'tinkertech' are indeed magic, as I claimed."

He tilted his head in disbelief. "So… you're trying to convince me to take your ideas about 'magic' seriously by bribing me with a deal that's tilted hugely in my favor, all just to win an argument?"

"You could say that," I agreed pleasantly. "Is it working?"

I saw no need to mention to him that the details I could learn about his magical practices and methods for integrating mundane and magical technology would be vastly more valuable to me than whatever scraps of artificing knowledge he might pick up in the process would be to him, or that I planned to leverage his gratitude (or at least his acknowledgment of my expertise on the subject) for further benefits in future, such as an introduction to Dragon or other potentially interesting capes.

Armsmaster hesitated for several long moments, his aura streaked with indecision and a hint of self-interest.

Eventually his shoulders slumped. "Yes, damn it, it is," he admitted. "With eight extra days and no interruptions, I could actually finish my current project in time to deploy it against Lung. I can't afford to pass that up."

"Splendid. How does this sound: I'll enhance your laboratory immediately, and you can work in accelerated time for as long as you wish before giving me a few hours of your time for our collaboration. In the meantime, I'll duplicate any heroes who wish to be duplicated, and if any of them find any victims with implanted bombs I'll volunteer to remove those until I can show you a method to do so."

He nodded in agreement, then asked, "How do the duplicates work?"

"In simple terms, you'd have two bodies able to act independently and concurrently, with your mind controlling both of them."

"Could I tinker with one body while the other was out dealing with the Empire?"

"Yes, though the power in question can't duplicate enchanted gear, so you'd need to use separate armor and weapons with each body. Otherwise, dealing with different timeframes at once can be disorienting at first but should not impede your effectiveness with either body."

We spent a bit longer discussing minutiae until all of his questions had been answered and he was satisfied with the plan, after which he returned his motorcycle to its proper place and escorted me up to his laboratory.

~*~*~

Armsmaster watched me skeptically as I floated around adhering an assortment of gemstones to the ceiling. "What do those do?"

"On their own, nothing," I replied, as I placed the thirteenth and final one in the center of his laboratory. "They are merely foci for the power that will create the actual effect."

Not being a chronomancer myself, as Aldric… had been, the easiest method at my disposal to accelerate time in an area was to cause one plane with a faster flow of time to impose that trait on another, a phenomenon known as a minor planar bleed. The local Dream-Ethereal Plane had a five-to-one time differential with the Material Plane, hence my offer to accelerate Armsmaster's laboratory by the same factor.

Creating a planar bleed required a fragment of matter from the origin plane as an anchor, to ensure that only the desired physics of that plane carried over, so I had briefly slipped to the Dream-Ethereal and solidified some of the protomatter into quasi-diamonds, whose geometric lattice would be ideal for the purpose. The laboratory was approximately twenty-five feet wide in both dimensions and I could create a bleed approximately five feet in radius, so a three-by-three grid of anchors with four more filling in the gaps would suffice to cover the entire space.

Crucially, these gemstones appeared identical to normal Material diamonds to nearly all physical and magical examination and so could not provide Armsmaster with additional information about the Dream-Ethereal that he did not already possess, should he decide to examine them.

I floated back down to the ground and withdrew Perpetuance from storage, causing Armsmaster's hand to go reflexively toward his nearest polearm at the sudden appearance of an apparent weapon. "Don't worry," I assured him. "While my staff can do many things, none of them will harm you or your laboratory. In this case, I'm merely using it as a focus for my own powers."

He lowered his hand and his aura shifted from skepticism to consideration. I paused and raised an eyebrow, inviting him to voice whatever he was thinking, instead of simply digging around in his surface thoughts for the answer as I had regretfully done to so many of the locals before coming to my senses.

"Myrddin also has a staff that he claims is a 'focus' for his powers, that's all," he said, seeming quite reluctant to recognize any similarity between the two of us.

I nodded in acknowledgment, then went around tapping each quasi-diamond with Perpetuance as I channeled my power through it. A few minutes later, the laboratory was fully accelerated.

Yet again, a very skeptical Armsmaster took some time to convince himself that my manifestation had achieved precisely what I claimed it would, analyzing the anchors and the surrounding area with the various divination enchantments on his helmet and also simply watching the hallway clock outside his laboratory to visually confirm that time was flowing at a different rate.

Once he was convinced, however, eagerness and impatience tinted his aura and he gazed longingly toward one particular halberd held in one of his specialized apparatus off to the side.

Then he forced himself to return his attention to me and said, "I've reserved a room over at PRT HQ for you to do your duplication. The rest of the Protectorate are headed there now, the Wards will report there when they've all arrived. Do you need to duplicate me at the same time as the rest, or can you do that now?"

"Now will be fine, though you'll want to remove your armor first. I don't imagine that the duplicated armor will hold up under its own weight without the lightening enchantments you've placed on that suit."

"How did-?" He shook his head. "You know what, never mind."

I turned aside politely as he went to doff his armor and replace his helmet with a small cloth mask. When he was ready, I reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

And then there were two of him.

"This feels…" "… very strange."

"It generally does, the first time," I agreed.

Armsmaster sent one of his bodies outside the laboratory and took some time to adjust to coordinating two bodies across a time differential, then returned and had both bodies don different suits of armor, a much lighter and less-enchanted one for the body that would remain here and a heavier set for the one who would be once again going out on patrol.

Before that, however, the latter body would be coming with me to brief the heroes. I asked him for the number of the room he'd reserved, plucked its image out of his mind when he briefly thought of it (an ethical and unavoidable use of thought-reading, given my lack of schematics for the PRT building), reached out to tap him on the arm, and-

~*~*~

-brought us to that room, where the Protectorate heroes were just filing in. Most of them jerked in surprise at our arrival, except for Velocity who merely shook his head in amusement at the sight.

We passed the next few minutes with small talk as we waited for the Wards to arrive. Most of that time was spent answering some personal and professional questions about myself, though I was surprised to note that Clasp, Dovetail, Sere, and Squint were answering some questions as well; these "floaters," as Armsmaster termed the itinerant heroes, apparently had little contact with the city's main Protectorate members-Sere had just arrived in town this morning, in fact-and the two groups were only distantly acquainted.

Soon enough the Wards filed into the room and gathered around the far end of the table, where all of them but Aegis regarded me with undisguised curiosity.

Armsmaster explained the reason for my being here and outlined strategies and schedules for the next two days, which he'd devised while the rest of us had been chatting. These strategies included each of the heroes leaving with one of their bodies and then waiting between one-half and two hours before leaving with the second, to prevent city residents from noticing two of the same hero being in the same place at the same time.

I hadn't suggested that to him, but I fully endorsed it, and that downtime provided me with a convenient opportunity to perhaps acquire some new powers.

When he had finished, Armsmaster stepped back and waved to me.

"I have just one thing to add before I perform the duplication," I said. "As Armsmaster's orders dictate that you leave a gap between departures to avoid notice, I'd like to extend an offer: If any of you would be willing to briefly demonstrate your powers to me for study during that time, I would owe you a favor in return in the form of healing, material goods, instant transportation, or other compensation of equivalent value that it is within my ability to provide."

The emotional reaction to my announcement was quite mixed, ranging from mild interest in the case of Dauntless to a sudden burning need in the case of Clockblocker, and around half of them agreed immediately.

"I can fulfill said favor as early as tomorrow, to give you time to think over your request," I continued, "or you can retain it against some future need, whichever you'd prefer."

Not only would such a waiting period help prevent the younger heroes from acting impulsively, but it would also explain my not fulfilling requests this afternoon while I was acquiring thoughtforms and not able to manifest powers freely.

Sere looked skeptical. "Is a favor from a new cape really that valuable?" he asked.

" Yes," Armsmaster and Aegis replied immediately, and a surprised Sere agreed to the deal soon afterwards, along with the remaining holdouts.

The PRT building apparently had dedicated rooms for studying powers, and Armsmaster kindly arranged for one of them to be made available to us for the next few hours.

That done, I briefly summarized the nature of the duplication, concluding with, "-but it cannot duplicate enchanted gear, so do take that into account."

"Uh, 'enchanted' gear?" Clockblocker asked, the expected hint of disdainful amusement in his aura.

"You would call it 'tinkertech'," I explained patiently. No need to make an issue of his attitude when my session with Armsmaster would likely lead to his correcting his and his subordinates' mistaken beliefs soon enough. "Any duplicated tinkertech will be mundane, with its normal appearance but none of its normal capabilities."

"That's not a problem," Aegis said. "Only Shadow Stalker, Gal-"

His voice hitched, and a pall fell over the room. Grief was the most prominent emotion by far in Vista's and Clockblocker's auras; Armsmaster's aura bore grief blended with anger; the others' auras bore mingled grief, regret, helplessness, and other similar emotions according to each one's feelings regarding the recent deaths of Gallant and Kid Win.

A few moments later, most of the grief had abated, though in the cases of Armsmaster, Clockblocker, and Vista it lingered long past the point when they'd forced their expressions back to an approximation of normality.

"Shadow Stalker is the only Ward with tinkertech in her costume," Aegis continued as if nothing had happened, "so that shouldn't be an issue."

"Yeah, I'll just stick to doors and windows, no prob," Shadow Stalker said casually, attempting to seem unaffected by her teammates' deaths.

"Good. Now, if everyone will move at least an arm's length away from everyone else to leave room for the duplicates…."

~*~*~

I ran through most of the heroes' sessions quite quickly, giving each a handshake or shoulder pat or other momentary contact to peruse their repertoire and then spending five to ten minutes in apparent study while they demonstrated their magic.

The period of study wasn't merely a pretext to cover my acquisition of thoughtforms. I closely analyzed the auras of their spells and asked questions about how it felt to use certain powers in an attempt to discern anything that might give me a hint as to why the way they used magic was so different from the norm… to no avail, unfortunately.

Miss Militia was the last of the Protectorate heroes to offer a demonstration of her powers, having spent much more time debating whether to volunteer than had the others, though said demonstration was largely superfluous as I'd already observed her enchanted weapon in action.

When it was time for her to leave and send the first of the Wards in, she lingered in the doorway.

"I was wondering," she said finally, her aura swirling with mingled hope and doubt. "Do you remember?"

"I have a flawless memory; I remember everything I've experienced in perfect clarity," I said, smiling wryly. "You'll need to be slightly more specific."

She shook her head slowly. "If you did, you'd know," was all she said. The disappointment in her voice was palpable.

I was sorely tempted to dig into her surface thoughts at that moment-the topic was of obvious importance to her, and was likely relevant to her powers, given the context-but with some effort I refrained. She deserved her mental privacy, like everyone else. "All right. Should you wish to discuss it…."

"I'll let you know," she said brusquely, and left the room.

~*~*~

My search for novel powers wasn't much more productive than my search for answers.

The Protectorate heroes had a few useful thoughtforms, at least. I acquired Velocity's signature Temporal Velocity power, in the hopes that studying it could lead to a breakthrough in researching new temporal powers; Miss Militia's sleeplessness spell, to ensure that my recent period of horrendous decision-making due to sleep deprivation could never happen again; and Dovetail's exceptionally underwhelming force barrier spell, purely because it was one I hadn't encountered before and not because I expected it to be useful at any point.

Most of the Wards didn't even have a single useful thoughtform between them. Aegis's repertoire I had already examined and dismissed; Browbeat and Clockblocker likewise knew only standard spells. Shadow Stalker's spells were at least interesting, all of them being shadow spells that took on a different physical manifestation than they normally would (gaseous and semi-solid, rather than fully insubstantial) due to the abnormal local cosmology, but the thoughtforms themselves weren't novel and so studying them would gain me nothing.

But then Vista entered the room, and another puzzle piece slotted into place.

She had in her repertoire an exceptionally obscure spell by the name of Distance Distortion, which could halve or double the dimensions of an affected area. The spell was obscure not because it wasn't useful-it was, very much so-but because its casting required the use of a creature of elemental earth as a focus in order to create or maintain the expansion or contraction of space when other creatures entered the area.

When the spell was originally developed, a pact with the dao had ensured that any elementals conjured for the purpose of casting the spell would cooperate willingly with the spellcaster. The pact was dissolved at some point for reasons unknown, however, and when cooperative elementals became harder and harder to find, the spell eventually ceased to be taught.

So, why was finding this particular spell so noteworthy?

Because Distance Distortion had fallen out of common use before Aldric and I had even joined the Society, meaning that its Astral imprint had long since faded by the time magic supposedly reappeared on this world around twenty-five years ago and so a girl who was barely twelve winters old could not possibly have gained access to it in the usual sorcerous fashion.

~*~*~

I was quite preoccupied as I made my farewells and used my Orb of Planar Journeying to return to my demiplane.

Assault with his kinetic power, Thomas with his chronomantic spells, and now Vista with her spatial spell… significant things always come in threes, and this evidence was quite significant indeed.

Something, or some one, had apparently preserved old and obscure spells and powers on this world during the long gap between the loss of magical knowledge several centuries ago and its reemergence several decades ago. If I could discover who or what was responsible for that, then I might just be able to unravel the mystery behind the abnormality of the local magic-users.

As I sat down to begin the process of adding the new thoughtforms to my repertoire, Aspect gave me a telepathic nudge.

I allowed myself a small smile.

Author's Note

For everyone complaining that Valigan was making a bunch of bad decisions… yep, you were totally correct! And now that he's had a nap and a Snickers, he realizes that too.

This is a bit of a breather chapter, like 2.4.T was on Taylor's side, that should hopefully allay some folks' concerns that the "Valigan finds out about shards" subplot was going to get sidetracked.

Regarding the independent heroes attacking the Empire, I don't think the details will come up on-screen for a bit, if at all, so for those wondering what that's all about: remember when Cricket and Stormtiger went around beating up a bunch of them in 2.M?

Well, said heroes weren't very happy about that, and when lots of Bakuda's former victims were teleported home and decided to tell their friends and families and the internet that Bakuda had taken out almost half the Empire's capes in one fell swoop, a bunch of those heroes got together and said, "Hey, this 'Empire 88' obviously isn't as scary as the locals make it out to be; those silly Brocktonites, exaggerating how shitty their city is. This is our chance for some payback!", egged on by Surtur, who was willing to smile and nod at their misconceptions if it meant they'd throw themselves at the Empire with him.

Obviously, things didn't go quite according to plan.

Regarding Valigan's study of the heroes' powers: in Soviet Brockton Bay, new cape power-tests you!

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

"Transcendent magic" is the in-setting term I use in my games for epic-level magic. "True Dweomercraft" and "High Science" are referring to the normal 3e epic spellcasting rules; 2e had a very similar make-your-own-spell system called "true dweomers" and 2e Dark Sun had special optional capstone powers called "high sciences" available to high-level characters (because psionics used to have "devotions" and "sciences" instead of leveled powers), so I'm borrowing those names. Normally, epic spells take time, gold, and XP to research, just like regular spells… but the cost formulas are based on the Spellcraft DC needed to cast the spell, so if you whip up a spell with a casting DC of 0 by applying a bunch of mitigating factors (like taking backlash damage, spending XP, spending longer casting it, or the like) you can cast them on-the-fly because they cost 0 gp, 0 XP, and 0 days to research. Some folks consider this cheesy, of course, but given the exorbitant costs involved for even fairly basic epic spells, this is how most epic spellcasting is actually done in practice, and it's actually easier on the DM most of the time because you can't really break much when you're forced to limit yourself to 0 DC. The spell used to resurrect Jihoo was a very basic one, using the Life seed to bring him back as per resurrection (take that, divine casters!) and then inflicting 27d6 backlash damage on Valigan to get the DC down to 0. New spells and powers Valigan used or referenced in this chapter were greater plane shift (move yourself to a specific point on another plane), disintegrate (instantly disintegrates a big chunk of material or deals a ton of damage to one creature), shrink item (shrink an item by a factor of 16 in all dimensions, to be restored to normal size later with a command word), scry location (remotely view a place instead of a creature), and anchor plane (applies a single trait of another plane to a specific area on the Material Plane, in this cast the Dream-Ethereal's "Flowing Time" trait). Distance distortion is a spell from AD , which actually did require having a willing earth elemental in the area to cast. There's no in-setting explanation for why it didn't make the jump to 3e (the developers just chose not to include it in the new edition), but a no-longer-active pact with the dao (earth genies) is my preferred explanation, since the first time a player of mine asked about it they were dealing with some intrigue on the Inner Planes and the explanation worked well enough to keep using.

Last edited: Jul 27, 2022

Integration 2.5.T

Third Afternoon Bell, Far the 13 th of Rhaan, 999 YK The Chapterhouse Tavern, Stormreach, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

It had only taken half an hour to walk from the airship docking tower to the tavern that was our first stop in the city, and already my neck was sore from trying to look around at everything and everyone at once.

Our path took us through a part of the city called the Marketplace, which reminded me of the Lord's Market back home if it were twenty times larger and more chaotic. The moment we stepped out of the tower I was almost overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds.

Majestic columned buildings that looked like they came right out of Ancient Greece stood next to ramshackle towers made of wood and canvas and even bone that looked like they'd topple if someone bumped into them too hard. Men and women even shorter than Corvin weaved around huge people who looked like they were made of stone and ducked between the legs of giant people who must've been at least ten feet tall. We passed food stalls offering the kinds of small but expensive meals you'd only find in the fanciest bistros Downtown, and other stalls selling bits of meat on sticks to people who looked like they couldn't afford anything better.

We'd gotten more than a few weird looks as we made our way through the crowds and squeezed through narrow gaps between stalls, but between five out of the eight of us being visibly armed (Terik and Obsidian having stayed back to help unload the airship), Garekh the hawk being his ferocious-looking self on Khalthrun's shoulder and Judas growling at anyone who got too close, and our team wearing our masks as Yin had suggested, we apparently came off as intimidating enough that no one gave us any trouble.

Corvin had described the Chapterhouse as a kind of combination tavern, hotel, and theater, and I definitely got that impression when we arrived there. Colorful banners fluttering in the breeze nearly covered its entire four-story height, large posters on the wall advertised various performances-I couldn't read any of the writing, obviously, but the illustrations of musicians playing and actors in dramatic poses made their purpose clear-and even from across the street we could hear loud music and laughter coming through the main doors.

The building had a huge and currently-empty lobby, and Yin raised his hand for a quick halt there once we were inside. He took a deep breath, and as he let it out he rippled, his appearance and clothing changing from the soldier he'd been pretending to be back to his original chalk-white skin and black outfit.

" Much better," he said with a contented smile. "Now, let me arrange a private dining room for us and then we can do a bit of planning."

He slipped through one of the doors into a small side office and came back a few minutes later with some employees in tow, and a few minutes after that we were led to a third-floor room with a large table in the center, an excellent view of the city, and enough soundproofing that the stage play going on right below us wasn't too distracting.

One of the employees set some carafes of water and what smelled like a very strong wine on the table while we seated ourselves, then bowed his head and left, closing the door behind him. Everyone grabbed a drink-wine for the other team and Alec, water for the rest of us-then looked over to Yin as he pulled out some paper and an honest-to-god quill pen to take some notes.

"The first and most obvious question facing us is by what means we should travel to Khorvaire," Yin began, "but to answer that question we first need to decide on your ultimate destination, and as you all know practically nothing about Khorvaire, that presents some difficulty. Perhaps we should start with an overview of the Five Nations to give you an idea of which of those might be suitable-"

"Or perhaps we should wait for Terik and Obsidian to get here," Corvin interrupted.

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Not that I don't trust Yin to be impartial, but as a Brelander he can't necessarily speak to the benefits of sending you to one of the other nations like a Karrn or an Aundarian could."

"Why, Corvin, are you implying I'd give Karrnath short shrift in my explanation?" Yin gasped, placing a hand to his chest in mock offense.

Corvin gave him an unimpressed look. "Given that you didn't even consider suggesting that they go to Zilargo…."

"A fair point," Yin said with a nod. "We can wait for the others."

Brian leaned forward in his seat. "Could you at least show us a map of these countries or something while we wait? It'd help to know what you're talking about when you throw all these names around."

"Oh, yes, of course. Corvin?"

The gnome started rummaging around in his various pouches and pockets, eventually pulling a huge map out of a pouch that was far too small to hold it. With Khalthrun's help he unrolled it on the table with the bottom side facing us and put some empty glasses on the corners to hold it open.

"The mainland of Khorvaire has twelve recognized nations and five largely-unsettled territories-or thirteen and four, depending on how you count them," he explained. "The Five Nations once covered nearly the entire continent, with most of the remaining nations and territories splitting off during the Last War-"

"Can we maybe skip the history lecture?" Alec complained.

"I'm sure that would be useful if we ended up staying here a while, but right now it'd be a lot to take in at once," Dean agreed.

Corvin nodded. "In that case, the short version is that the Five Nations are the economic and magical heart of the continent, and are somewhat set apart from the others due to their shared history. This nation here," he said, pointing at a country in the middle of the map where Nebraska and Kansas would be on a map of America, "is Thrane. Just to the west is Aundair, to the northeast is Karrnath, and to the southwest is Breland."

I didn't know how large the continent was supposed to be in real terms; even if I could read the labels on the map, I doubted the scale would be in miles or any other unit I'd recognize. In relative terms, though, Aundair was just a bit bigger than Thrane, while Karrnath and Breland were each about twice the size of both Aundair and Thrane put together. The four countries stretched all the way from the north coast of the continent to the south coast in a slanted line and essentially divided it into thirds, with them in the center and other nations to the east and west.

"And the fifth nation?" Brian asked.

Yin's expression was solemn as he tapped a country that had its northern border between Thrane and Karrnath and extended southward from there. "The fifth nation was Cyre."

"'Was'?" I asked.

"Was. The destruction of Cyre is what ended the Last War. It is now called the Mournland, after the Day of Mourning on which it was destroyed, and is all but uninhabitable."

"Wait wait wait," Chris said, "are you saying that the whole country was destroyed in one day?"

"Yes."

Holy crap.

" How!?" Chris asked

Yin shrugged. "No one knows."

"What."

"It may seem odd, but it's the truth. That's why the War stopped; no one was willing to risk another Mourning befalling their own nation. But we were avoiding a history lesson, as I recall," Yin said, gesturing to Corvin, who nodded and continued.

"There are two other nations that might have the magical expertise you need: my home nation of Zilargo, and Aerenal, which isn't usually considered part of Khorvaire proper," he said, pointing first to a country just southeast of Breland and then to a large island off the continent's southern coast.

"Now, in determining which nation would be the most likely to help you get home, we can take Thrane off the list immediately," he continued. "It doesn't have any arcane institutions doing the kind of cutting-edge research you'd need to address a situation like this, as the other nations do, and even if it did it likely couldn't finance those efforts because it's been up to its eyeballs in debt since the end of the War."

"Aerenal is an unlikely prospect, as well," Khalthrun put in. "They have both the knowledge and the wealth to aid you, but they're far too insular. I doubt they'd even give a group of foreign humans the time of day."

Corvin nodded in agreement. Leaning back in his chair, he concluded, "Which leaves Aundair, Zilargo, Breland, and Karrnath as the only serious contenders. That should hopefully simplify your choice."

Dean half-raised his hand. "I have a potentially stupid question," he said. "Logistical issues aside, is there any reason we couldn't go to all of them for help? Why limit ourselves when we don't know who has the best chance of helping us, right?"

I suppressed a frown, and made a fly buzz near his ear. We'd talked about this, and agreed we wouldn't try to split our efforts too many ways!

He glanced over at me and made a don't worry about it gesture under the table, where only our team could see.

"Mmm… you could, I suppose," Yin said, not sounding very confident about it. "Given everyone's… patriotic feelings, let us say, and the rivalries between the various institutions-and we can get into those when Terik and Obsidian arrive, don't worry-I'd wager that would be less likely to lead to collaboration, or even a competition to see who could provide the best solution, and more likely to lead to you being snubbed by one institution or another for daring to approach their rivals first."

"I'm sure any Zil researchers would be willing to collaborate with another team, regardless of nationality," Corvin said. "We weren't directly involved in the War, so there's much less bad blood between Zilargo and the other nations. More than that would probably see Olladra frown on your efforts, though."

"Most likely, yes," Yin agreed. "You're the ones attempting to return home, however, so it's your decision. If you feel the added time and expense would be worth it, we could always look around for some sympathetic parties."

Dean shrugged and relaxed into his chair. "No, if you don't think it'd work out, that's fine, I just figured I'd ask," he said, and gave a thumbs-up under the table.

Ah. He wasn't really trying to run around to four different countries for help, just seeing how the other team would react to the suggestion. Smart.

"Actually, on the subject of added expense…." Corvin said, then drained the last of his wine and went to get himself another glass.

"Yes?" Brian prompted.

Corvin finished pouring his drink, sat back down, and swished it around thoughtfully. "Terik is far too polite to bring it up, but he has been paying for everything, so far," he confided, "and you won't be able to rely on his bottomless purse for much longer."

Wait, he'd been paying for everything in Zantashk? I'd just figured that Khalthrun had arranged for us to stay there for free because of "noble privilege" or whatever… though looking back, with the way Khalthrun didn't seem to get along with the people running the enclave, I should have expected it wouldn't be that easy.

"Did he pay for the airship, too?" I asked.

"Oh yes. Supply runs don't normally take passengers, so he had to pay for your passage and your meals. He'll also be covering the cost of getting you to Khorvaire."

Great. Not only did we owe someone for letting us stay at the enclave, Terik would probably want us to pay everything back on top of that, and we had literally no money to repay him with.

Yin must have seen something of my thoughts in my expression, because he laughed and shook his head. "Don't feel bad about Terik paying your way. He's never cared much for his title, or the way his peers shun him for his faith, so he's always happy to empty the coffers of his estate for a good cause. I bring it up only because the cost of staying in different cities may factor into your decision; Aundair is expensive in general compared to the other nations, for instance, while food in Karrnath is much more costly after decades of famine."

"Doesn't matter if he's willing to do it. We wouldn't want to make him pay for everything just because he has the money to spare," Dean said, and from his flat tone I imagined that covering costs for broke friends had been a sore subject for him back home. "As soon as we can afford it-"

"Don't worry about that for now. Honestly." Corvin waved a hand dismissively. "Getting to Khorvaire will be expensive no matter where you're headed, so focus on repaying him after you've all settled in."

I wasn't really happy at the idea of mooching off of Terik, and it looked like Dean, Brian, and Chris weren't either. (Alec looked fine with it, but, well, that was Alec.) But we didn't have much of a choice about it right now, so we'd just have to add him to the list of people we owed and work that out later.

~*~*~

There was a lull in the conversation, and since the other two members of their team still weren't here yet we started asking some questions about the other countries in Khorvaire, the food we'd eaten back in Zantashk and where it came from, and similar light topics.

At one point I asked Yin about his calling Stormreach the "City of Adventure." He'd sounded like he was just being dramatic, but I'd read enough fantasy books when I was a kid to know that any city with a nickname like that wasn't a good sign.

I didn't want any adventure while we were here.

Or excitement, or fighting, or mystery, or anything else. I wanted us to get in, get out, and get to somewhere that could get us home.

Thankfully, he explained that the people of Khorvaire just called it that because its laws were more lax than those on the continent and nearly everyone looking to explore Xen'drik came through here.

"There are ten of us, and we're all dressed as though we're expecting trouble. The local rumormongers and cutpurses will know better than to involve themselves in our business," he assured me.

After a while-probably twenty or thirty minutes, but it was hard to tell without any clocks around-Terik and Obsidian came tromping up the stairs to join us. Terik greeted us and grabbed some water while Yin caught them up on what we'd been talking about.

The half-elf had just started to launch into an explanation of why Karrnath was obviously the superior choice out of all four nations when Corvin interrupted him: "You know, it's just occurred to me that discussing the city to which they should travel doesn't make much sense if we don't know the Orien and Lyrandar schedules for the next few days."

"House Orien has the teleporters," I hazarded, thinking back to when we'd met Dekker, "and House Lyrandar has the airships, right?

"Correct. Either could take you anywhere in Khorvaire, the main question is whether you'd want to spend more money on teleportation or more time on airship travel." Corvin finished his drink and stood. "Why don't I go check on those, and possibly reserve a teleportation slot if the schedules are mostly full? I'd been hoping to stop by a message station anyway, and all of the local House enclaves are in the same building down in Coasthold."

"An excellent idea," Yin said, and Khalthrun and Terik nodded their agreement.

"I'll be at least two hours, so feel free to continue without me," Corvin said, then slipped out of the room.

Once the gnome had left Yin looked like he was about to say something, but then he glanced off to the side, seeming contemplative. "Mmm. There's no sense in making any decisions until he returns, so perhaps you'd like to explore the Marketplace in the meantime?"

"For what?" Brian asked.

"For anything you might want or need," the changeling replied with a shrug. "I'm a city slicker at heart; I know that when I spend too long in the wilderness, away from civilization, I can start to get just a little bit irritable-"

" A lot," Terik fake-coughed into his fist, then cleared his throat innocently and took a sip of his wine.

Yin shot him a glare, then continued, "-so I can't imagine how you all must be feeling, being so much farther from home."

I felt a sudden pang of homesickness. Well I wasn't feeling too bad right then, until you said something, I grumbled to myself.

"I could use another set of clothes," Dean replied immediately. "Walking around in armor all the time is getting really old. And maybe some kind of case to carry it around in? I saw some people in plate armor on the way over so I'm guessing you have something like that here." He turned to Terik and added, "Assuming that's okay with you, of course. I don't want to take advantage of your generosity more than we already have."

Terik looked over at Yin, who raised his hands defensively. "It was Corvin who told them."

"It was," confirmed Khalthrun with a faint smile.

Terik shook his head ruefully. "Well, now that the fox is out of the barrel… yes, that's quite all right with me."

"You're sure?" Dean asked.

"Absolutely," Terik confirmed. He leaned forward and grinned, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret with all of us. "As a Shield of Karrnath I collect taxes sufficient to support a force of living troops to defend my appointed region of the borderlands, but my troops are all undead, whom I don't need to feed or house. That gives me a truly excessive amount of extra gold to spend as I will, and no one is willing to oust me for evading the spirit of the law because I was 'gifted' with a cold and barren stretch of land abutting the Mournland that no one else wants to oversee."

In a normal tone, he concluded, "So, please, allow me to defray the costs of a fellow knight and peer. I'm more than happy to do it."

"We'll still want to pay you back at some point," Dean insisted.

Alec rolled his eyes. "The fuck we will," he murmured, but we all ignored him.

"At some point, yes," Terik agreed, "but the precise schedule doesn't concern me-I'm no Kundarak copper-counter, looking to eke every last fee and bit of interest out of you."

Well, that was better than I'd expected, honestly… and also worse.

On the one hand, we weren't on the hook for paying him a thousand dollars or whatever by a particular date, which was good, since I didn't have any idea where we could even start getting any money, much less enough to pay him back for the equivalent of a high-end hotel stay and airplane tickets.

On the other hand, it sounded like his generosity was contingent on thinking that we were nobles like him, so while Dean's decision on that had paid off so far, if the truth came out things could go really badly for us.

Brian didn't look too happy at the situation; he was probably having the same thoughts I was. Dean… I couldn't tell.

"New clothing for Lord Stansfield, then," Yin said, then added, "And perhaps some for the rest of you, as well; no matter which city you eventually choose to visit, those whom you would petition for aid would surely not be inclined to help if you came in dressed like a gaggle of adventurers."

That wasn't a bad idea, actually. My costume wasn't as bulky and uncomfortable as Dean's, but I definitely hadn't designed it to be worn all day every day for over a week. It would be nice to get back into some normal clothes again, or at least as normal as I could find around here.

"Sounds good to me," Brian quickly agreed.

Yeah, I'd bet Brian wasn't at all comfortable wearing nothing but thick black leather in a sweltering jungle, either. Though he hadn't said anything about it so far; manly men like him just suffered in silence, I guess.

Yin looked around and asked, "Any other requests?"

"Do they sell glasses here?" I asked.

"Glasses?" Chris echoed.

"Yeah. I didn't bring mine with me. My mask lenses are prescription, but without them everything's kind of blurry right now."

"Huh. I couldn't tell at all," Dean said. "You don't act like someone who's missing her glasses."

I shrugged, self-consciously. "Yeah, well. My bugs have been helping."

"How's that?"

In response, I had all the tiny flying bugs I'd scattered around the room on walls and chairs and every other surface buzz loudly for a second… including the ones I'd placed on everyone's clothes. Everyone but Khalthrun twitched at the sound, some more violently than others-even Garekh, though the way he moved his head around made him look more hungry than surprised. The room was silent for a bit after that.

"… Well that's definitely not creepy as hell," Alec said, shuddering theatrically.

Khalthrun just looked amused. "You would have nothing to fear even if she hadn't enchanted them; they're only flies and yellowcoats. It could be much worse. We could be surrounded by flaying mantises, or a deathwasp swarm."

Alec gave her a sidelong glance, his expression turning from mock fear into something a bit more real. "I'm sorry, are you implying that the bajillion super-fast wasps the size of my palm that she used to merc a bunch of drow aren't scary enough to qualify as 'death wasps'?"

"I am," she replied calmly. "Deathwasp swarms hail from the depths of Khyber. They are sapient and fiendishly cunning, their poison can paralyze in minutes, and they can consume beings from the inside and then puppet their corpses. Even Xen'drik wasps simply don't compare."

Everyone on my team shivered at that, even Brian.

This world was seriously messed up.

"Anyway… about the glasses?" Dean asked, looking a little queasy.

"We could ask around, but unfortunately the only glassblowers around here of which I'm aware are those who deal solely in windowpanes, bottles, and the like, nothing requiring a high degree of precision to craft," Yin replied. "Stormreach isn't an especially large city and its economy is quite… eclectic, so goods such as spectacles that are difficult to craft but don't fetch a high price are usually imported."

I shrugged. "It's fine, glasses can wait. I've been doing all right so far."

Yin scribbled a note on his paper, presumably about finding glasses later. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Maybe," Chris said. He turned to Obsidian and asked, "Do you have any spare tinkering supplies?"

"I do," the warforged rumbled. "What were you hoping to craft?"

"Anything, really. I still haven't had a chance to fix my hoverboard, and I've really been itching to build something ever since Lycia showed me around the airship."

Obsidian tilted his head forward like he was trying to approximate a frown. "You feel… uncomfortable, when you are not able to enchant items?"

"It's just an expression," I explained, but Chris shook his head.

"No, it's, ah, kind of a Tinker thing. If I go too long without working on anything I start getting really antsy." He paused. "It might also be a 'me' thing. I've never seen Armsmaster stop working for long enough to know if he gets it as bad as I do."

Dean shook his head. "It's not just you. I asked Vicky about that the last time you couldn't Tinker for a while-"

"What happened?" I asked.

Chris looked embarrassed. "I miswired the inertial compensators in my hoverboard before my first flight. I tried to stop, the 'board stopped, I didn't. I landed on my wrist and broke it and they wouldn't let me back in the lab until it was healed."

"It could have happened to anyone," Dean assured him. "Anyway, Vicky said most Tinkers have a compulsion to use their powers, so don't feel like it's just you."

"A compulsion, you say?" Yin mused. "That's not something I've seen before. I presume this 'Vicky' is a reliable source?"

"Definitely. She's incredibly smart, she's taking college classes on parahumans, and she probably knows more about powers than anyone else I've met." He smiled wistfully. "It's a shame she's not here; she could talk shop with you about 'magic' for hours…."

Chris, suitably encouraged, went back to talking about tinkering after that and the conversation moved on to the materials Obsidian had with him and what Chris could do with them, but I couldn't care less about that stuff so I kept an eye on Dean instead.

His smile stayed in place while the others talked, but it was a brittle smile, like the one I used to put on when I didn't want to let Emma know she was getting to me. None of the others noticed, as far as I could tell, but I was very familiar with that particular smile.

Dean had been very open with all of us so far, so for him to just sit back and pretend everything was fine… he reminded me of Brian, actually, putting on a brave front to hide what he was really feeling.

They'd probably both hate me for saying it, but the two of them were a lot more alike than I bet they'd ever want to admit.

~*~*~

Half an hour later, Dean, Alec, and I were trailing behind Terik, headed for a clothing shop he knew of on the northern end of the Marketplace-the only place in the city that sold anything "suitable for those of rank," he'd said.

He was setting a fairly sedate pace, simply walking forward with the expectation that the crowd would part around him. Between his height, his muscles, his wicked-looking sword, and the bone armor he wore, everyone nearby was making sure to give him a very wide berth, and we were following in his wake.

The three of us had left some space between us and him, with the excuse that we didn't want to be too close to the huge sword on his back but actually to give us a chance to talk privately on the way. Chris had gone off somewhere to tinker with Obsidian and Brian had ended up deciding he wanted to take a look at some weapons with Yin, so we could catch them up later. Khalthrun, meanwhile, was keeping Judas company back in the tavern.

"What do you think so far?" Dean murmured, eyeing Terik as the half-elf briefly slowed to look over a stall selling jewelry. He didn't really need to keep his voice down, given all the noise of the crowd and people behind their stalls yelling about what they had for sale, but better safe than sorry.

"I mean, we haven't actually decided anything yet, so it's hard to say," I replied just as quietly. "How about you?"

"Corvin and Terik are obviously trying to steer us to Zilargo or Karrnath, but they're being so blatant I'm fairly sure it's more about national pride than trying to manipulate us," he said, "and I'm not sensing any deceptive intentions from either of them."

His eyes flicked over to Alec, slouching along beside us with his hands in his pockets and looking bored. "Thought I've been finding Corvin hard to read. His emotions look very faint and most of the time all I get from him is mild amusement, so he could have other reasons for trying to get us to go to Zilargo. What do you think, Alec?"

"I think they'd better have shirts in my size, I'm completely sick of this one," Alec responded.

"I meant about the discussion earlier."

"It was boring and I forgot all the names already."

Dean and I exchanged a look. "Never mind, then."

"What do you think about the other three?" I prompted.

"Hard to say. Yin seemed honestly open to my suggestion about checking out multiple countries, so I don't think he's trying to lead us anywhere in particular. The other two… I don't know if they don't care where we go or if they're just waiting until we get back together to voice their opinions. Khalthrun and Obsidian are hard to read as well," he admitted, "but Khalthrun less than Obsidian and him less than Corvin. I wonder if it's because those two are farther away from 'human' than the others are?"

I spread my arms to indicate the Marketplace, then immediately pulled them back in to avoid bumping them into a very tall and angry-looking woman with orange-ish skin who was standing there arguing with one of the stall proprietors. "If you want to figure that out by looking at a bunch of non-humans, you're probably not going to get a better chance than this."

"Yeah, true."

We continued on without talking for a while, Alec doing the fade-into-the-background thing he did sometimes, Dean looking around at the crowd with an expression of thoughtful focus. I appreciated the opportunity to rest my voice and not have to try to whisper-shout over the background commotion.

Then, suddenly, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Two huge bugs had just come into my range, somewhere dozens of feet below the ground… but from the way they were walking on two legs and carrying equipment around on belts and straps, I was pretty sure they weren't bugs, they were actually bug- people.

They felt like someone had taken a praying mantis and tweaked it to be more human-like, with an upright stance and distinct "shoulders" and things like that. They had two pairs of arms, one almost entirely human-like (aside from the chitin covering everything) and another pair above it that had mantis-like overdeveloped forelimbs.

There was a bit of stick insect to them, too; they were impossibly skinny, with interesting ridged patterns along their exoskeletons. And there were bits of what felt like cloth and leather around their hips and chests that were close enough to clothing to help me decide that these were people and not just weirdly-humanoid normal insects.

Normally I could get a nearly perfect sense of an insect's biology when it was under my control, but these felt… fuzzy, somehow. That general sense of their body plan that I was getting right then was all that I could manage; I couldn't tell if they had, say, air tubes and tympanic organs and other body parts like an actual praying mantis, or normal lungs and ears like a human, or something in between.

I couldn't control them, either.

Or, actually, I didn't know that I couldn't do it, just that I wasn't right then. Normally when any insects came into my range they immediately fell under my control, and while I'd eventually figured out how to just let any new bugs keep doing what they were doing without having to think about it, there was always this sense that I could take control back instantly if I wanted to.

I didn't feel that, here. I couldn't control them, couldn't see through their eyes… but it felt like I might be able to if I pushed a bit, like there was some kind of resistance that I'd never felt before.

" Taylor?"

I'd wondered, after I'd done some initial experiments with my power, what exactly determined the kinds of animals I could control.

Originally I thought that maybe I could control any kind of insect, but crabs aren't insects; then I thought it might be anything with an exoskeleton, but worms don't have those; then, after a lot of research, I decided there was no obvious biological category that really fit and it probably came down to being able to control anything with a simple enough brain.

" Hey, Taylor?"

If I could sense these bug-people because they were sufficiently insect-like to "count" for my power, but couldn't control them because they were intelligent like humans, that would actually be the first evidence that my guess might be right, which was kind of cool.

So the next question was-

Alec suddenly poked me in the side, hard.

I glared at him. "What was that for?"

"You just stopped in the middle of the street and weren't paying attention to anyone."

"… I did?"

I looked up an saw that Dean and Terik had stopped a short distance ahead of us and were looking back at me with concern. Now that I was aware of my surroundings again, I could hear some grumbling from the people nearby as they had to go out of their way to walk around me. Thankfully, my swarm hadn't done anything aggressive while I'd been out of it; that could have gone very poorly.

I made some quick apologies and jogged a few steps to catch up with the others, and we continued on our way. Once we'd turned off that street, Terik leaned in and asked, "Was something the matter back there?"

"No, I'm fine. I just felt something strange with my power."

"I figured it was something like that," Dean said. "You had the same completely focused staring-at-nothing look that Chris gets sometimes when he has a chance to examine some new tinkertech."

Terik's hand drifted toward the hilt of his sword. "Was it the potentially dangerous sort of strange?" he asked.

"No." I shook my head, then paused. "Well, maybe. Are there supposed to be bug people under Stormreach?"

"Ah! The thri-kreen." He dropped his hand and relaxed. "Yes, they're harmless. There are said to be a few dozen of them living in the tunnels beneath the city-perhaps more, perhaps fewer, it can be hard to tell them apart and they don't like to talk about themselves or their people. While they might look fearsome, they're quite peaceful, and they often choose to guide those who wish to explore the ruins beneath the city."

I nodded distractedly as we continued on. I could still feel them within my range, still walking along without apparently having noticed anything strange when I'd stopped before. I could still feel the resistance there, too, and I could probably push past it… but did I want to?

I was silent the rest of the way, lost in thought.

~*~*~

"No. Absolutely not. No way in hell," I protested.

"But it's the latest fashion in Sharn!" said the proprietor of Far Davandi Boutique from atop her step stool. She was peeking out from behind the very expensive-looking dress she was holding up for my approval, the fourth one she'd proposed since we'd arrived.

Tyzian Davandi was apparently a famous fashion designer (and a gnome, hence the stool), and she had some very specific ideas about what kind of clothing someone of my "rank" should be buying. I wished Dean or Alec could have gone before me, but she had insisted that as the only "lady" present I simply had to go first.

"I don't care!" I insisted. "I am not going to wear a backless dress, or anything that leaves my shoulders uncovered, or anything that's bright yellow!"

"Perhaps something slightly more practical would be in order," Terik suggested.

"Practical? Ha! It may be appropriate to dress like… that in your own nation," Davandi said in a haughty tone, Terik having mentioned that we were visiting nobility from another continent without specifying exactly where we'd come from. "But if you were to walk into any court in Wroat or Sharn-"

"They aren't necessarily headed to Wroat, or Sharn, or any other city in Breland," Terik said mildly. "And for now everyday clothing is a higher priority than court formal. Perhaps a more conservative dress, to start?"

"Does it have to be a dress?" I asked. I'd seen plenty of women wearing pants around here, and I wasn't about to wear a dress if I didn't have to.

I could just imagine the kind of looks I'd get if I, of all people, tried to pull off a dress. I hadn't worn one of those in years, and there was just no way I was going to make that work.

"Not at all; pants are perfectly suitable. Dresses are simply more popular in the colder months, so you'll have better luck finding a dress in your colors," Terik explained.

"My colors?" I glanced over at Dean, who shrugged minutely.

Terik looked at me strangely. "Are the House Hebert colors not yellow and black?" he asked. Gesturing to the other two, he added, "With silver and blue for House Stansfield, and silver and white for House Lemaître? All of your clothing is obviously ceremonial to some degree, so I'd simply assumed…."

"Oh!" Dean said in realization. "Heraldry! No, we don't have House colors, or coats of arms."

"Then how are House members identified?"

There was the slightest of pauses. "We use logos instead," Dean said confidently.

"Logos?"

"Yeah. A logo is like a coat of arms, but less specific."

"Less specific in what way?"

"Well, uh…." Dean thought for a second, then snapped his fingers. "McDonald's! Its logo is a… pair of golden arches on a red background, but the colors don't have to be exactly the same all the time, sometimes the name is added across the arches, sometimes the arches have texture and sometimes they're 2-D, things like that."

"And this House McDonald has no cadet branches, whose 'logos' would be easily confused for its own when they are all so fluid in their design?" Terik asked, sounding intrigued.

"Lord McIntyre knows more about heraldry than I do," Dean replied evasively. "But there's a whole system of trademarks to regulate things like that."

I was trying to think of a way to divert the conversation away from the subject of our backgrounds when Davandi saved me the trouble by clearing her throat loudly and shaking the dress in her hand for emphasis.

"Fascinating as this all is," Davandi said airily, "the important matter at the moment is the question of which colors Lady Hebert might want to wear. Did you prefer the black and amber scheme, or would you like to try something else?"

I shrugged. "Whatever works."

"In the case, I'd say a bright Cyran green or an elderflower yellow would match your eyes quite nicely… or perhaps a nice vermilion, if you're headed to Karrnath?"

"No dresses," I said firmly, "and no bright colors."

Davandi gave me a long appraising look, then let out a defeated sigh. "Well, if you're so very opposed to wearing anything remotely eye-catching, I suppose we can find something a bit more Thranish for you to wear…."

~*~*~

Well… I don't hate it, I grudgingly admitted as I looked my outfit over in the mirror.

Thick dark gray pants, a wide dark blue belt, a black silk shirt with as little ruffling at the neck as I could get away with, a waist cape that went down just past my knees and was a dark enough blue it was almost black, sturdy boots, and a fur-lined leather mantle in case we went to a colder city… it was probably the closest to a basic hoodie and jeans that I'd be able to convince Davandi to give me.

I walked back into the main area of the shop, glaring preemptively at a grinning Alec to keep him quiet. I didn't want to hear any inane comments from him about how our outfits matched now or anything like that.

Terik put a hand to his chin and tsked. "Very sensible, if missing the fur cloak you'd need in Karrnath to avoid being mistaken for baroness or viscountess. Definitely better than the offense to the eyes that is Aundairian fashion, at least."

I suppressed a grimace at his comment. Sure, he was paying for my outfit, but I hadn't been looking for his or anyone's approval about what I'd picked out, and I definitely didn't need it.

Dean, at least, gave me a genuine smile when he saw me. "Taylor, that looks great on you," he said encouragingly.

"Uh, thanks," I muttered. "I think you're up next."

Dean headed to the back, leaving me alone with the other two. Terik went looking through the clothing on display; while I'd been trying on clothes I'd overheard something about him getting a gift for his wife. Alec was just standing around looking bored.

After a few minutes, Alec glanced over at me and smirked. "You know, it's real shame the dork isn't here right now," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

He raised his eyebrows and gave me a Seriously? look. After a moment he replied, "What, you don't think it would be fun to watch him suffer through this like you did?"

"I wouldn't wish this on anyone," I grumbled. "Regular shopping is bad enough."

~*~*~

When Dean walked out of the back room, it was all I could do to stop myself from staring.

He had thick gray pants like mine, but he'd actually gone for some color, with a deep green velvet shirt and a flowing teal cloak on top of it that had a subtle swirling pattern in the right lighting. The shirt was baggy and loose around the neck and forearms, which seemed to be a common style around here, but it was fitted around the chest, stomach, and upper arms, accentuating his-

I quickly looked away. God, what was I doing?

I knew he had a girlfriend, I knew he missed her terribly, and here I was ogling him just because he'd put on a nice shirt, and he could see exactly what I was thinking, which was probably reminding him of his girlfriend, and-!

"Terik, what do you think?" Dean asked, studiously ignoring me.

I paid attention to Terik's commentary with half an ear while Alec went to the back room. By the time Terik had finished, I was able to turn to Dean and calmly tell him, "I think that looks good on you."

"Thank you, Taylor," he said, smiling politely.

~*~*~

Alec's search for new clothes was easy, since his costume already fit in well enough with the local style; another white shirt was all he needed to be happy.

Terik moved to go speak to Davandi about the bill, but Dean grabbed his arm to stop him. "I know you said you were happy to cover this for us," Dean said softly, "but if you want me to lose the cape or have Taylor go without hers-"

"Nonsense," Terik replied, gently removing Dean's hand from his arm. "All of your outfits together are barely a handful of galifars. Again, you need not worry about the cost."

Once Terik had paid for our clothes, plus a scarf for himself and a skirt for his wife, he led us back to the Chapterhouse. Hopefully the other two would be done by the time we got back so they could go get their own new clothes, then once Corvin returned we could make some decisions.

"I've been wondering," I said partway through the trip. "A 'galifar' is a unit of currency, right? How much is one of those worth?" Khalthrun had mentioned them, too, during our talk back in the jungle, but I hadn't thought to ask at the time.

"A galifar is a gold coin," Terik replied. "Pure gold, hardened and refined in a proprietary Kundarak process to resist wear and counterfeiting."

He fished a coin out of one of his belt pouches and passed it over to me. It was a bit smaller than a dime, but a bit thicker than a nickel. One side had a man's face in profile plus an inscription I couldn't read, while the other side had a large bell with a crown above it.

"It's named for the Kingdom of Galifar, of which the Five Nations were once a part. As far as its value, it's hard to describe in terms you might understand without knowing anything of your culture, but in Khorvaire, let's see… a single galifar can buy you one goat, a good sturdy spear, or a few miles' travel by lightning rail. Two galifars will buy you roughly a pound of most spices, a gallon of magically-purified water, or a set of basic identity papers-which we'll need to get for you at some point, by the way."

He continued listing examples as I passed the coin around for Alec and Dean to examine: "Five to ten galifars will buy you a head of cattle or a minor spell cast on your behalf by a dragonmarked heir…" The list went on for a while, concluding with, "… a hundred galifars will buy you a solid mount with all its tack or one of the latest crosbows, and a handful of galifars will get you a fine set of scientific equipment or a suit of ceremonial armor fit for royalty."

Dean's eyes widened at something Terik had said. "About how many galifars would you say are in a 'handful'?" he asked casually.

Terik cupped his hand and bobbed it up and down, as if weighing something heavy in it. "It would depend on the size of one's hand, of course. Two hundred, perhaps two hundred and fifty galifars, I'd say."

I almost missed a step when I heard that.

When Khalthrun had said the medicine she'd given me was "a handful of galifars" I'd assumed that meant it was the kind of thing you could get at the local pharmacy for a few bucks.

But no, she'd meant a literal handful of coins. Over two hundred of them, apparently. At least a pound of pure gold.

Terik could have bought two horses with the amount of money he'd paid for these clothes!

"I… see," Dean said. "What are wages like, for comparison?"

"A common laborer generally earns a few sovereigns per day-ah, a sovereign is a silver coin; there are ten sovereigns to a galifar. A military officer or an artisan in good standing with his guild can earn a few galifars per day, if he's reasonably skilled."

Dean and I traded a worried glance, and even Alec looked concerned.

So. The clothes we were wearing cost "barely a handful" of coins for all three of us, which was, what, sixty or seventy galifars apiece?

Meaning that if we each found a job and if we were good enough at those jobs to start off getting paid at the higher end of that scale (which was unlikely, since everything I'd heard from Dad made it sound like it took years to work your way up in a big company), it would still take us over two months just to pay Terik back for the clothes, and who knows how many more months to cover everything else, and he could hold the whole thing over our heads in the meantime.

… We were so screwed.

~*~*~

I was so busy worrying about the money situation that I almost didn't notice when the bug-people, the thri-kreen, came back into my range.

They hadn't gotten too far from the spot I'd sensed them last, so they must be taking it slow and steady through the tunnels. That, or the tunnels were so windy and confusing that it had taken them almost an hour to travel a half-mile or so, and given the crazy architecture in this city I wouldn't be surprised if the tunnels were just as hard to navigate based on any kind of landmarks down there.

As I "watched" them walk around with the very limited sense I had of their bodies, my thoughts drifted back to the resistance I'd felt earlier.

Did I want to try to push past the resistance, or not?

Putting aside the problems that could arise if they suddenly felt someone control them and panicked, I assumed they were basically as smart as humans, or Terik would probably have said something, and I wasn't at all comfortable with the idea of mind-controlling intelligent beings no matter how insect-like they might look and feel.

But then… back in the battle with the drow, I'd frozen, and I hadn't been able to do what I'd needed to do, and the guys had had to do it instead. I'd promised myself I'd step up my game to try to get on their level. Would deciding not to take advantage of this part of my power be just another way of being useless and holding everyone else back?

Maybe pushing through the resistance would mean just controlling these two; maybe it would mean opening a door that I'd never be able to close.

Hmm… maybe I could try to push through it a little bit and see what happened? If I was lucky, I could get some sort of partial breakthrough, like being able to feel them completely and use their senses but not being able to control them.

That would be the ideal outcome, honestly: being able to sense bug-people could come in handy if there were more of them wherever we ended up, and I wouldn't have to feel guilty about controlling them. If I did end up controlling them… well, I'd just have to never take advantage of that part of my power, that's all.

Dean was up talking with Terik, Alec was hanging behind, and a quick check with my swarm showed that no one around seemed to be paying attention to me.

I slowly took a deep breath.

This was it. There might be no going back.

Gently, as gently as I could, I pushed.

The resistance started to give, then all at once it vanished, like a balloon popping when you press a finger too far into it.

Suddenly, new sensory information flooded into my head. I could feel every inch of the thri-kreens' bodies, from the strange organs that were neither insect-like nor human-like but somewhere in between, to the unique shoulder joints that let their four arms move around without worrying about them colliding with each other, to the scraping of chitin against stone as they scrambled over a rocky obstacle.

More than that, I could see and hear perfectly through them. Their senses were still mostly like those of a praying mantis-I assumed; I'd never actually controlled a mantis before-so the colors and level of detail were still off, but they were close enough to human that I had no trouble making out details, no delay in interpreting what I was sensing, no headache from trying to see through multiple "insects" at once.

And, despite pushing as hard as I could, I didn't even manage to twitch an antenna on either of them.

I felt myself break into a grin, then quickly composed myself; no sense in looking like an idiot for smiling at nothing and giving Alec some ammunition for teasing me.

It was the best outcome I could possibly have hoped for.

All of the benefits, none of the guilt.

~*~*~

Brian was back from his shopping trip once we got back to the tavern, and we pulled Chris away from his tinkering to send the two of them to get some new clothes.

We sat and chatted and ate some snacks while we waited for them to get back, though I didn't have much of an appetite; every plate of food we finished meant going that much deeper into debt to Terik.

The guys made it back after forty minutes or so. Brian's ensemble was mostly black with splashes of purple. He had a similar shirt to Dean's, and unlike with Dean I didn't feel so bad about taking a moment or three to appreciate his physique.

A little while later Corvin returned, holding up a roll of papers in one hand and a small leather pouch in the other.

"Two pieces of good news," he said as he set everything on the table. "First, Dekker was available again and I've reserved a slot in case we want to teleport, there's an airship leaving for Sharn first thing in the morning, and I found a chartered airship willing to travel to any other major cities in Zilargo, Breland, Aundair, or Karrnath at our earliest convenience, so we have plenty of options for travel."

"Chartered airship?" Brian asked.

"The only regular airship route is between here and Sharn, as it's the closest city to Xen'drik, and that's already a three-day voyage. If we want to go anywhere else we'd need to hire an airship ourselves."

"Which would cost a lot more," Dean said.

"Yes. A thousand galifars a day, give or take." He smiled at our gobsmacked expressions. "Oh, it's not that bad. Teleportation is around five thousand regardless of distance, so taking the airship to Sharn or Korranberg would actually be cheaper than teleporting, if you don't mind the delay."

"Let's ignore the money for now," Brian cut in. "We're all here now, we can talk about where we're going."

"Actually, if I could finish up first," Corvin politely objected, "the second piece of good news is that the Sivis enclave had a few pearls of speech in stock that were keyed to Common. Here," he said, untying the pouch and passing it to us, "each of you take one of those and place it beneath your tongue."

When the pouch reached me I took out one of the pearls, which looked like a perfectly normal pearl as far as I could tell, and put it under my tongue. Immediately, my tongue went numb and I felt a wriggling sensation where the pearl was, but before I could spit it out the sensation cut off and I couldn't feel the pearl anymore.

"What the heck was that?" Chris asked.

"The pearl melding with your tongue. From now on, you'll be able to speak Common without needing to rely on Yin's spell, though I'm afraid it still won't grant you literacy."

Well that's one problem down, and one debt up. Hopefully the pearls weren't too ridiculously expensive.

" Now can we talk about where we want to go?" Brian asked.

"Of course," Yin said. "Any volunteers to go first?"

"I will," Khalthrun said, and stood. "As any citizen of Khorvaire could tell you, Aundair's arcanists are by far the most knowledgeable and skilled compared to those of any other nation…."

~*~*~

Two hours of listening, discussion, explanations, debate, questions, note-taking, follow-up questions, snacks, and even more follow-up questions later, everyone had laid out why we should go with their choice of city.

They all turned out to be biased toward their own countries, unsurprisingly.

We knew already that Corvin wanted us to go to Zilargo. Specifically, he wanted us to go to the city of Korranberg, because its Library of Korranberg was (he claimed, and the others agreed) possibly the greatest repository of powers research and tinkertech in the entire world. The Library took up an entire quarter of the city, had vault after vault full of tinkertech devices, and attracted the best minds on the continent to study there.

The country was apparently on the forefront of parahuman research as a whole, too (or para-gnome research, or whatever). Apparently airships, tinkertech trains, and a lot of other recent developments were made in Zilargo, so while they didn't have the quantity of capes and researchers that Aundair did, they had a certain quality that the other nations lacked.

Khalthrun wanted us to go to Aundair, for two separate reasons. One was the Arcane Congress, another university full of researchers and tinkertech, except that nearly everyone there was a cape and also it was housed in multiple flying castles, because of course it was.

The other reason was that the city of Passage was the home city of House Orien, the one with teleportation powers. Khalthrun admitted that they didn't really deal in travel to other "planes of existence" so working with portals would be something new for them, but she said that if anyone would know how to get us from point A to point B where "point B" was a planet that nobody on this world even knew existed, it would be Orien.

Terik thought we should go to Korth, the capital of Karrnath, because it had The Twelve, which was… well, it sounded basically the same as the Arcane Congress except that its members all had to belong to one of the Dragonmarked Houses.

Finally, Yin and Obsidian both thought we should go to Sharn, by far the largest city on the continent. The entire city was apparently in some kind of power-affected area that made certain kinds of tinkertech easier to build and use (which had Chris practically salivating when he heard that), so it had flying towers like Aundair did, and the sheer quantity of researchers and capes in the city dwarfed the other three options.

On top of that, Obsidian had some very complimentary things to say about Merrix d'Cannith, who he made out to essentially be this world's Hero. Even if he didn't know anything about portals to other planets, Obsidian swore up and down that Merrix would be able to figure it out faster than anyone else, and because he ran an entire third of a Dragonmarked House he'd have an effectively unlimited budget if we managed to convince him to help.

Which left us back where we started: four promising options, no idea which one to pick.

Dean politely asked if we could have the room to ourselves to talk things out, and once the other team left, we settled in to make a decision.

"I'm just going to say upfront that I don't see the point in going to Korth," Brian said to open the discussion.

"I'm leaning in that direction too, but what's your reasoning?" Dean asked.

"So, one advantage of The Twelve is that they have tons of capes and researchers, basically the same as the Arcane Congress, right?"

"Right."

"But they only let people in from the Dragonmarked Houses, so it sounds like they might be missing out on a lot talent because of that. The other one is that they have House Orien's support, but Khalthrun said Orien is headquartered near the Arcane Congress, so that's not unique to The Twelve."

"Yeah," Chris agreed. "Sounds to me like The Twelve would be a strict downgrade for what we're trying to do."

"Just because Aundair sounds better in general doesn't mean The Twelve wouldn't have a specific cape or piece of tinkertech that could do what we need," Dean cautioned. "But overall, yeah, I agree."

Brian looked to me, and I nodded; I'd been thinking the same thing. He looked at Alec, who shrugged.

"All right, we'll take Korth off the table," Brian said.

"Seconded, motion carries," Dean said with a smile.

"But the other three are a lot harder. Anyone have any strong feelings in favor of Korranberg?"

Chris nodded. "It sounds like they pretty much have a whole Indiana Jones-style collection of crazy magic stuff in their basement. They might have a portal device in a box somewhere, who knows."

"You want to bet everything on the idea that they might magically have the solution to all our problems?" Alec said.

"I don't think something's definitely going to fall into our lap, I'm just saying it's a possibility," Chris said defensively.

"Sure. Anyone else?" No one said anything. "All right, strong feelings against?"

I raised a tentative hand. "Sort of. House Cannith is supposed to be the huge rich manufacturing company, and they have branches in Aundair, Breland, and Karrnath but not Zilargo. I'm going to guess that most Tinkers can't build everything they want to make on the first try, right?"

Chris let out a cynical "Ha!" then continued, "Definitely not. Even Armsmaster usually needs three or four tries to get something working perfectly, and that's for adding a little bit of new tech to something he understands as well as any Tinker can. For something like this? A major project that's going to be as difficult as a Tinker on Earth making a portal to… I dunno, Pluto, or Alpha Centauri? It'd take them a ton of tries; if they got something working in less than forty, I'd be shocked."

"That's what I thought," I said with a nod. "So if they're going to need to try things over and over and over again, they're going to need lots of money."

"And going to one of the countries where we can try to convince their Cannith branch to bankroll it makes sense," Brian finished. "Yeah, makes sense."

We quickly ruled out Korranberg after that, but deciding between Sharn and Arcanix was much more difficult.

It was almost like trying to decide whether "Dragon with lots of two-bit capes helping out" or "Hero crossed with Professor Haywire" would be the better Tinker: both sides had effectively unlimited money, one side had a ridiculous amount of capes and researchers who could work on lots of things at once, the other side had just one cape who was known for doing impossible things like making a portal to a planet he'd never heard of before.

After arguing back and forth for a while, the decision eventually came down to something Corvin had said earlier:

"Aundair's supposed to be the most expensive nation," Dean reminded everyone. "We already owe Terik a lot of money, and we have none of our own. If it's essentially fifty-fifty between the two cities based on the chances they can help us, I say we go for the cheaper option."

"Do we have to pay Terik back?" objected Brian, who had been arguing in favor of going to Aundair.

"… Yes? Obviously?" Dean replied.

Brian glanced over at me. "Corvin's still outside?"

"Yeah," I said. I could feel him with my bugs, and the rest of the team, too, all hanging out two rooms over; none of them could be eavesdropping on us right now.

Brian nodded and continued, "You said it yourself, we need to get out from under their thumb as soon as possible so we're not tied to any one group, and owing a shit-ton of money to Terik just ties us down. He wants to help us pay for everything, we can't start repaying him for a long time anyway, and after someone does send us home it's not like Terik can come after us asking for his money back. I say we ignore the whole money issue for now; if we can pay him back, fine, if we never do, fine."

… You know, I'd almost gotten to the point where I'd forgotten Brian and Alec were villains. He may not have been suggesting actually stealing any money, but just taking Terik's money without planning to pay it back was still an incredibly selfish idea, and I think I lost a little respect for Brian over that.

Dean just stared at Brian for a few seconds. "So you're saying we just promise we'll repay him and hope he never figures out we're not going to do that? I don't think trying to string things out indefinitely like that is a great idea."

Alec snorted. "We passed that point a looong time ago, 'Lord Stansfield'," he drawled.

"… Touché," Dean admitted. "But still, Terik does want to be repaid, and he's a rich and powerful cape. If we piss him off and he decides to sabotage us with all the powerful people he knows and we don't, or come collect his money in person with half a dozen cape friends, what's your plan then?"

Brian pondered while Dean stared at him impassively. "Good point," the villain eventually conceded.

"You know, we don't have to stay in just one city," Chris offered. "They said the researchers in different countries probably wouldn't want to work with each other because of their rivalries, but nothing's stopping us from just picking up and switching teams at some point."

"What if we compromise?" I suggested. "We start off in Sharn, where it's cheaper and there's only one person we actually have to try to get on our side. If Merrix says no, or it's not working out, or we get a lot of money somehow, or whatever, we can move to Arcanix at that point."

"Great idea," Chris said immediately. Dean and Brian took a bit more convincing, but eventually they agreed as well, and Alec went along with everyone else as usual.

~*~*~

Corvin let out a disappointed sigh when we told him our decision. "Well if you have to pick somewhere other than Korranberg, I suppose Sharn is a good enough second choice," he said.

Terik was similarly upset that we hadn't chosen Korth, but he admitted that even if we had he wouldn't be able to stay with us, since he had to be getting back to his estate now that his team's expedition was done.

"I suppose it's for the best," he said. "Yin and Obsidian could use the prestige more than I could, that's for certain."

"The prestige?" I asked.

"For bringing a party of foreign dignitaries to their home nation and investing in the effort to get them home, thus advancing the frontiers of arcane science and laying the groundwork for the opening of diplomatic relations between our peoples."

"You didn't think Terik was doing all of this out of the goodness of his heart, did you?" Corvin asked, grinning cheekily.

"And you are?" I challenged.

He shrugged. "I care about the research, not the politics. Zilargo is close enough to Breland politically that my superiors shouldn't mind my not doing more to convince you to choose Korranberg… and if Breland gets to rub its new treaties with your homeland in the faces of the other nations, I wouldn't shed many tears."

Well. Good to know they were rooting for us to get home because we were all such good friends, and not for other reason at all.

Corvin fetched a small device out of his pocket and opened it; it looked like a pocketwatch, but with glowing bands of light instead of hands and numbers. "It's nearly half past seventh bell," he said as he snapped it closed. "I told Dekker to meet us here at quarter to eighth bell unless I notified him that we'd made other arrangements, so if we're all agreed that we're headed to Sharn…?"

Everyone nodded.

"Good. Then relax, have some more of the pastries, use the facilities if you need to, and he should be here shortly."

The next fifteen minutes went by incredibly slowly as we sat around waiting. Khalthrun went to get Garekh some air because, she said, with all of the flying things in Sharn he wouldn't have that much room to fly around once we got there, and she got back just in time to meet Dekker coming up the stairs.

The teleporter greeted us enthusiastically when he came in, and Judas seemed even more enthusiastic to see Dekker. We chatted about what we'd been up to since we saw him last as the guys lugged their carrying cases over-Dean's for his armor, Brian's for some weapons he'd bought, Chris's for whatever project he'd been working on with Obsidian earlier-and we all squeezed ourselves together into the biggest open space in the room.

I was wondering how we were going to teleport everyone when Dekker had only been able to take five people with him last time, but Obsidian had that covered. He pulled what looked like a black handkerchief out of somewhere in his armor, placed it against the wall, and unfolded it… and then unfolded it again, and again, and again, until it was wider than I was tall.

When it was fully unfolded, it suddenly went from being a flat black circle to an actual hole in the wall-not one that led out into the hallway, one that went somewhere else. It looked like Obsidian had a whole workshop in there, with the back wall covered in crates and chests and other tinkering supplies.

Chris hopped right in without hesitation; he must have been working in there with Obsidian before. I was a little hesitant, but it seemed completely safe and solid when he walked in, so I followed him in. Everyone else except Obsidian crowded in with us, with Judas hopping up on one of the crates to get out of the way, and then the warforged folded up his tinkertech handkerchief-

…

Okay, that sounded ridiculous even in my head.

I still wasn't convinced that "magic" was a good word to describe everything we'd encountered on this world, but… Obsidian folded the magical handkerchief back up from the outside, leaving us in complete darkness until a few magic words from Yin made a ball of light appear above our heads.

I had just enough time to wonder how long the air in here would last with nine people and a dog breathing it before the wall started unfolding itself again and Obsidian ushered us outside.

We found ourselves on a massive balcony with dozens of people milling about. The wall behind us had a huge mural of the House Orien emblem-and, now that I could see it at full size in lots of detail instead of trying to make out some embroidery on Dekker's sash, I could tell the animal in it was actually a unicorn, not a horse, with crescent moons on either side and some vaguely-lightning-looking embellishments around the edges that reminded me a bit of Legend's costume.

The balcony was surrounded by hundreds of other towers. Some large and square, others thin and round; some smooth on the outside like skyscrapers, others with all kinds of balconies and bridges jutting out from them.

I leaned over to see how far up we were, and the looming feeling of vertigo made me immediately wish I hadn't.

There were no streets visible below, or even any ground at all. There were just towers and bridges, as far as the eye could see.

Looking upwards, the towers just kept on going in that direction, too. I could see at least a dozen airships crowded around a much wider and taller tower far above us, plus more slowly cruising through the sky toward and away from that tower, and based on how small they looked from this distance-about as long as my hand if I stretched it out in front of me, with the ring of fire being no bigger than a bracelet-that tower was absurdly tall.

At our level, there were countless much smaller flying… things whizzing through the air, everything from much smaller flying boats to flying carriages without any wheels to people riding around on mythological creatures at incredible speeds.

Which, sure, Orien had a unicorn as its mascot, and Yin acted like dragons were a thing here, so of course it made sense that pegasi and griffons and enormous birds would be real here too.

"Jeez, we must be a hundred stories up, at least!" Chris exclaimed, having made the same mistake of looking over the railing that I had.

"Half a mile up, actually," Dekker said, "and the Upper Wards reach a full mile, give or take."

Chris stared in disbelief. "A mile? With towers made of stone? But that's…."

"Amazing? Incredible? Impossible?"

Chris nodded slowly, as did the rest of us.

"That's the City of Towers for you," Yin said. He grinned broadly and clapped Chris on the shoulder. "Welcome to Sharn."

Author's Note

I'm still not super happy with how this chapter ended up, but the showfic must go on.

In this chapter: Taylor realizes that the rich adventurers are rich adventurers!

A few people elsewhere commented that the potion Khalthrun gave Taylor in 2.1.T seemed far too cheap and common when potions aren't everyday items in Eberron and most people couldn't afford to spend that much money on something like that… and they're right! Khalthrun was being a rich noble adventurer talking to someone who she thinks is also a rich noble adventurer, and "the height of noble luxury" in Eberron comes across as "middle-class normality" to someone from Earth, so Taylor's and Khalthrun's ideas of relative value are pretty darn skewed.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The "people even shorter than Corvin" in the Marketplace were halflings, the "people made of stone" were goliaths, the "giant people" were actual giants (hill giants, specifically), and the orange-skinned woman was a hobgoblin. A map of Khorvaire similar to the one Corvin has can be found on the Khorvaire page; I'd link the image directly, but it's huge. Thri-kreen are four-armed psionic mantis-people, originally from Dark Sun. There, they're nomadic desert warriors who find elves delicious; here, they're the original inhabitants of the area around Stormreach before their empire fell and the city was built up over the centuries. "Deathwasp swarm" is the Eberron term for a hellwasp swarm, since "hell" isn't a thing there. Taylor definitely wouldn't ever want to add such a creepy creature to her arsenal. A pearl of speech is essentially a permanent tongues (the same spell Yin used), but restricted to a single language. Taylor will not be happy when she discovers that they go for 600 gp each. Obsidian's handkerchief is a portable hole , a pocket handkerchief that expands into a 6-by-6-by-10 foot pocket dimension when unfolded and placed against a surface-a pocket dimension handkerchief, if you will. Sticking party members in extradimensional storage is a fairly common tactic for getting around teleportation passenger limits, for those adventurers who can afford it.

Last edited: Jul 27, 2022

Integration 2.6.V

8:30 am, Wednesday the 20th of April, 2011 CE PRT HQ Conference Room, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

I'd arrived at the Protectorate headquarters, freshly rested and with four new powers ensconced in my repertoire, to find that Armsmaster was preoccupied with his latest project-no surprise there-and wished to delay our meeting until ten o'clock.

In the meantime, I'd offered to meet with any heroes who'd settled upon the favors they wished to ask of me. Most of them had declined, leaving word that they planned to hold onto their favors until after the impending battle with Lung was resolved.

Some had indeed chosen their favors, however: Velocity, Clockblocker, Shadow Stalker, and Vista. The four of them were waiting for me in the same conference room from yesterday when I teleported over to the PRT building, the Wards having arranged for some free time in the morning before their patrol while their other body was attending school.

Clockblocker stepped forward the moment I appeared. "Does anyone mind if I go first?" His face bore an easy grin, but his aura bore streaks of impatience, hope, and pessimism.

The others agreed, and I led him out of the room and a short distance down the hallway.

"That should be far enough for some privacy," I said, and his indifferent façade was replaced immediately by an anxious frown.

"Aegis said you said you can heal anything. Is that true?" he demanded.

"Not absolutely anything," I said. "I'm hardly a specialist in that area. But I can treat most ailments of the mind or body, yes."

"What about cancer?"

"Cancer?" I echoed in disbelief. "What did you do?"

He was taken aback by my response. "Uh…'do'?"

"To be afflicted with cancer." Any two-copper necromancer could inflict and spread normal diseases, but it took an especially despicable magic-user to learn to inflict cancer on a victim, and I doubted Clockblocker would have run across such an individual by chance.

"Nothing…?" Confusion filled his aura, to be quickly replaced by indignation. "Wait, you're not one of those guys who thinks people get cancer because they're sinners or something, are you?"

"Of course not." The very idea was ludicrous, seeing as this sphere contained no gods of disease.

"Well… good. I've run into enough of those assholes already," he muttered. "Anyway, it's my dad who has cancer, not me."

"And how did he contract it?"

"I don't know! A mutation, or something!" he said, throwing up his arms in frustration. "Nobody knows what causes leukemia, it's not something that runs in your family, it just happens sometimes!"

A mention of "mutations," and an insinuation that certain kinds of cancer are somehow heritable…?

Gods above and between, it hadn't even crossed my mind that a lack of deities in this sphere might mean that the native races had evolved, rather than been created directly.

I'd encountered a few worlds where the gods had created living beings in one form and then let them change over time, with varying amounts of intervention and intentionality. Krynn was the first and most obvious example, via a divine accident in which the release of Chaos had rapidly altered several early races into forms not seen on any other world.

(I'd also visited one fairly remote world, Glaesra, where the native dwarves had evolved from fungi and the native elves were descended from sharks, of all things. Never again.)

If the races of this world had reached their modern forms without any divine direction at all, to the point that they could develop even cancer at random, who knows what other oddities might be found in their biology? I'd have to mention that to Juroth when I made my first report.

… Or, on second thought, perhaps not. He might get ideas.

In any case: "Yes, I can cure cancer," I told Clockblocker, and he sagged in relief.

"I understand Panacea can do so as well," I continued. "Is there a particular reason you haven't sought her aid already?"

If his reason was that she couldn't treat the particular form of cancer his father had contracted, I would have to think long and hard about whether curing his father would count as providing the locals with something that they couldn't have achieved themselves.

Aspect sent, accompanied by a pulse of mild disapproval.

I demurred.

"She has a rule about not taking requests," Clockblocker replied bitterly, staring down at his boots. "No exceptions for heroes, according to D-Gallant, not even for one of her sister's boyfriend's best friends. She gets to you when she gets to you, period."

Ah, a matter of poor timing, rather than capability; not an issue. "In that case, I can certainly heal your father."

"Really?" he said. His aura flooded with so much hope and longing that it was almost painful to behold.

"Really. If you'll bring to mind an image of your father's location, I can teleport us there now."

"Okay, I'm ready-no, wait," he contradicted himself as he yanked off his mask, heedless of the taboo around revealing his identity if it meant his father could be cured. "I can't go in costume, and you probably shouldn't either. Just gimme five minutes-"

"No need." I tapped him on the shoulder and surrounded him in an illusion of normal clothing, then with a thought rearranged my own garb into something resembling the local fashion as well.

After that I plucked the image of our destination from his mind, and from there it was the work of a few minutes to teleport us to his father's room in one of the city's houses of healing, maneuver around the many machines which were sustaining his health in some manner, manifest a few divinations on said machines to satisfy my curiosity, remove the cancer, and teleport back, leaving Clockblocker and his newly-reinvigorated father to their tearful reunion.

~*~*~

"I'm afraid I won't do that," I told Vista.

"You won't?" she echoed. "But you could?"

"I am capable of leading your parents to resolve their differences, yes, but I'm ethically opposed to manipulating them in such a way."

Vista had explained, with much vehemence and in as much detail as she could provide without giving names or specific examples, that her parents had dissolved their union and that her new living situation was causing her a great deal of stress. Her request was, quite simply, for me to do anything I could possibly imagine that might reunite her family.

Unfortunately, from her description it seemed that nothing less than some fairly drastic memory and emotional alterations would be required to manage that, which was of course out of the question.

Given the natives' displayed leeriness of telepathy, I hadn't informed her that that was the particular approach I'd considered and discarded, instead letting her believe that I would have relied on mundane methods of persuasion.

"Are you suuure? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?" she said, her tone wheedling, her expression resembling that of a dog begging for scraps.

"My decision is final, I'm afraid."

She scowled, all childish mannerisms vanishing. "Well, fuck."

Letting out a disappointed sigh, she turned toward the door, then hesitated. "I don't… um. Can you…." she struggled to explain. "Gallant died, and I…."

She fidgeted with the hem of her costume for a moment. "You're a really strong healer, Aegis said. I know it's crazy, but do you have any way to… bring him back? And Kid Win too?" she hastened to add.

Resurrecting Jihoo, whose death had been known to a single individual who hadn't believed him dead, had been one thing. Resurrecting the two Wards, whose deaths were known to all of the other heroes and presumably the PRT and their families, would be quite another.

"To return a loved one to life is beyond my power," I said gently, leaving unspecified which loved one I was regretfully unable to revive.

"Yeah, I figured," she mumbled. "Guess I'll hold onto my favor after all."

~*~*~

"You're not going to tell anyone what I ask for, right?" Shadow Stalker asked once we were out of earshot of the others.

"I will not."

"Even if it's against PRT regs?"

"I'm not a member of the PRT and care nothing for their bylaws," I said. "If your request earns you trouble with your superiors, that is your concern alone."

"Perfect," she said, her lips twitching into the barest grin as disdain for her colleagues permeated her aura. "I want better crossbows."

I gestured for her to elaborate, and she pulled what looked like a handgun from a holster at her hip. When it cleared the holster, however, the weapon unfolded into a repeating hand crossbow with a muted clack.

"So, the crossbows I have now are fine, but they're just normal crossbows. Armsmaster already made me a scanner for my mask and he said if he made me some tinkertech weapons he'd have to start making some for the rest of the team to be fair to everyone. But if you made me some tinkertech crossbows…."

She shrugged. "He's got some time in his schedule he's not spending on Gallant's armor anymore, I bet he'd be fine maintaining them for me."

Why Armsmaster would bother maintaining either weapons or armor for the younger heroes when basic equipment upkeep should be well within their capabilities, I couldn't say. Still, the request was reasonable, and negotiating the matter of repairs and such would be between her and Armsmaster.

"I'd be happy to do that," I said, and she made a triumphant fist-pump with the hand not holding a crossbow. "What aspects of your current weapons would you like to see improved?"

"Well, the main thing is… okay, see these cartridges?" she said, gesturing to her left forearm. Three long and slim rectangular boxes were attached to a bracer on the inside of her arm; they were made of a "plastic" material that seemed fairly common on this world, rather than wood, but were otherwise fairly standard as repeating crossbow cartridges go. "Each one only holds six bolts, and it's a huge hassle to reload in the middle of a fight. I basically have to…."

She twisted her wrist so the top of her crossbow was facing one of the cartridges and moved her arms together quickly, pressing a button on the side of her weapon with her thumb as she did so. The existing cartridge slid gracefully off the weapon, to be replaced a moment later by one mounted on the opposite forearm, and a clever movement of both arms allowed her to unhook it from its bracer and withdraw the crossbow, now reloaded and ready to use.

"It's a real pain to do that with just one," she said as she retrieved the discarded cartridge, "and it took me hours of practice to figure out how to do both at once. So if you can make me something with bigger cartridges that's still small enough to fit in a holster, that'd be sweet."

"A simple enough request," I replied. "I know the schema for a crossbow that can hold a full hundred bolts at once in an extradimensional space, and even allow you to switch between types of bolts at once."

Her eyes went wide behind her mask. "Switch how?"

"You need only think of which type of bolt you wish to load when pressing the appropriate rune on the hilt."

"And no one else can tell what kinds of bolts are loaded in it?" she asked.

I took in her obvious eagerness, the cartridges on her arms, and the other cartridges on her person, and raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Your superiors wouldn't approve of the bolts you keep beneath your cloak, I take it?"

She froze. Only for a moment, but the flicker of chagrin in her aura spoke volumes.

"Be calm. As I said, their regulations don't concern me. If you want to use poisoned bolts or the like, I'm certainly not one to object."

She shook her head. "These," she said as she held up her arms, "are tranquilizer bolts, supplied by the PRT. Those," she gestured toward her back, "are normal hunting bolts I get myself." In a voice dripping with contempt, she explained, "We're not allowed to use lethal force, even against the fucking Nazis, so if I have a way to slip a few real bolts in with the kiddie-gloves shit…."

It would seem, then, that when Miguel had mentioned "regulations" when I'd gone after Bakuda, he hadn't been referencing prohibitions about drawing out her death unnecessarily, but rather regulations against killing her at all, even though he'd had no way of knowing at the time that her death would have any negative side effects.

How bizarre.

Regardless, Shadow Stalker was clearly ignoring those regulations already, so providing her with an improved means of doing so wouldn't alter things significantly.

"A worthy goal, I'd say," I said, extending a hand, and we shook on the deal.

As I clasped her hand, a mental nudge toward my ring caused it to extract a minute quantity of intrinsic magic from Shadow Stalker that would allow me to render the enchantments on her weapons stable. I wasn't about to spend my own intrinsic magic on an item crafted for another, and she wouldn't even notice the loss.

"It will take me a few hours to craft your new crossbows," I continued. "I'll get those to you this evening-along with a complement of one hundred standard bolts, as I imagine you're planning to put those to use against the Empire in large quantities."

She nodded once, sharply, her aura suffused with righteous anger. "You're goddamn right I am."

~*~*~

"So, this is kind of embarrassing, but what I really want is a costume that doesn't let… uh, that's thicker and more protective without interfering with my power," Velocity said. "Any ideas?"

"Nothing comes immediately to mind; I haven't yet studied your power in sufficient detail. Perhaps some experimentation is in order."

I conjured three vests, each composed of a different type of fabric, and levitated them before me. "These vests are composed of cotton, silk, and burlap, respectively. If you'll don each one over your costume and then run to and fro at your maximum speed under those conditions, I can begin to judge which factors might govern the speed reduction."

He grabbed the silk vest and slipped it over his head. "Works for me. Is here to the end of the hall and back enough distance for you to get a good look?"

"That should suffice. Go ahead."

I had my initial results in a matter of objective seconds and began creating other vests for further refinement. The first few were only composed of a single cloth, then others were composed of mixed fabrics, and still others had metal threads or plates in strategic places.

Eventually I concluded that no material or combination of materials would provide the additional desired protection (of both his vital organs and his modesty) without significantly impacting his speed. Not even shadow silk threaded with mithral fibers was light enough, when woven into a vest that was ten times as thick as his existing outfit in order to provide coverage similar to normal clothing.

I pondered silently as I destroyed the last few vests. Perhaps approaching this from a different angle, with a mix of techniques-

Ah, yes, that would do nicely.

"No single outfit will fit your purposes, I believe," I said, "but perhaps two separate ones will."

"How will having two different costumes help?" he asked.

"By combining them into one. There is a material called shiftweave that can change its form and substance between multiple states. You wish to have better protection when not using your power, when you are vulnerable; you wish to have lighter clothing when you are using your power, when being attacked is much less of a concern. Thus…."

I created a lifelike image of Velocity as he currently was, which startled him until I demonstrated that it was merely an illusion, and another image of him in a much more substantial outfit that retained the same general aesthetics as his existing one.

Then I moved the images until they overlapped and demonstrated my idea. "By tapping an embedded gemstone, you'd be able to switch between these two forms as you use your power," I said, having the illusory Velocity move in extremely slow motion for two steps while wearing the thicker outfit, before switching to a faster pace at the same time his costume changed to its much scantier version, then slowing down again and returning the outfit to its prior state.

"Further," I added, "I can incorporate a glamer so that you can appear to be wearing the thicker costume at all times in order to prevent the change from being noticed, or suppress it to appear as you currently do if for some reason that would be required. Simply bring me a spare outfit and I'll have that finished by this evening."

"That'd be awesome, thank you," he said. We sealed the deal with a handshake, and just as I had with Shadow Stalker, I extracted precisely enough intrinsic magic from him to let me render the enchantment on his costume-to-be permanent.

In a conspiratorial tone, he added, "You know, if you're ever looking to make some quick money on the side, I'd bet any Head of Image would sell you their soul in a heartbeat if it meant they could outfit their whole department with that stuff."

I offered a wry smile. "I'm not in the market for souls at the moment, but I'll definitely keep that in mind."

~*~*~

9:59 am, Wednesday the 20th of April, 2011 CE

Armsmaster's Personal Lab, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

At last, the long-awaited moment arrived.

Armsmaster's apparent speed slowed to a normal human pace as I stepped across the threshold of his laboratory and joined him in the accelerated timestream. His aura pulsed with recognition of my presence, though his attention otherwise remained fixed upon the halberd clamped to the worktable in front of him.

Using a small vise-like machine similarly attached to the table, he lowered a thick steel rod very slowly and carefully toward the very tip of the halberd's blade, which was surrounded by a visible blur and a faint magical aura.

The moment the rod made contact with the blur, it began to disintegrate. Armsmaster observed it intently for twenty seconds until the rod was reduced to nothing more than a pile of metal dust on the surface below.

"Note eighty-four: Field remains stable over extended contact with six by eight centimeter A108-18 carbon steel test rod," he dictated to the air, "but an increase in ambient temperature of point four degrees Centigrade due to additional waste heat leads to nano-thorn cutting surface growth deviating outside of acceptable margins. Need to find a way to bring that down to no more than point two six degrees before moving to next stage of tests."

That done, he pressed a button on the halberd's haft to dismiss the field, swept the steel filings into a container off to the side, and moved back to his main desk to begin clearing a space in which to work. "I invited Dragon to observe, but there'll be some lag," he said while he cleaned, gesturing toward a television screen mounted to the wall. "She should be calling in a few minutes. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," I said. I would hardly object to a meeting with one of my potential leads dropping into my lap like that.

Hopefully a meeting with Scion would turn out to be similarly easy to arrange.

Two minutes and thirty-eight seconds later, the screen lit up. On it was the face of a pale-skinned human woman, very obviously artificial in much the same way that an apprentice wizard's very first inexpertly-visualized illusions tend to be, with solid vertical bars of bright green light superimposed on the background on either side of her head.

"Good morning, Dragon," Armsmaster said. "This is Valigan. Valigan, Dragon."

"Well met," I said.

The bars on the screen turned yellow for a few seconds, then the face's expression stuttered into a warm smile and a slightly distorted voice emerged from the television speakers: "You as well. It's always good to meet another heroic Tinker, and Armsmaster told me about your being a Case 24. I'm looking forward to reading your interview when that's finished." The bars turned green once more.

I sent Armsmaster a questioning look, and he explained: "Dragon rigged up a system to let her communicate with us despite the time difference. Whenever she speaks, there'll be a delay while everything she says is sped up to sound normal on our end. The bars are green when she's just observing and yellow when she's said something and is waiting on the processing, so we know not to talk over her."

The bars turned yellow, and a few seconds later her image added, "And they'll turn red if I'm doing something else and not in front of the camera right then," before the bars turned green again.

"Quite ingenious," I praised her. "You won't have any issues observing us at five times apparent speed?"

Yellow bars, and a confident smile. "I already watch most YouTube videos at triple playback speed. I might need to take occasional breaks to rest my eyes, but I think I can make this work." Green bars.

"I don't mean to render your work superfluous, but if it would be easier for you I'd be happy to teleport you here so that you can observe directly," I offered.

After the appropriate delay, she shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm… not comfortable leaving my facility, sorry. I have agoraphobia."

"That's quite all right." Perhaps on a subsequent meeting I could offer to cure that for her, in exchange for samples of her enchanted technology or the like.

Armsmaster took his seat and once again offered me a chair. I once again declined, this time in favor of conjuring a copy of his own chair for myself, which he appeared to find both amusing and exasperating.

"Normally when I collaborate with someone we've already agreed upon a specific project beforehand, so this is more free-form than I'm used to. Where did you want to start?" he asked.

I waited patiently as Dragon's screen turned yellow. "Actually, I had a question before you begin, if that's all right."

"Of course."

"Armsmaster explained your disagreement about powers being 'magical' when we talked earlier about why you wanted to work with him, but he didn't give me any details. How do you define 'magic' exactly, and what makes you think that tinkertech qualifies?"

"An excellent question. The lack of detail isn't his fault; our conversation was… interrupted, before we could get to discussing particulars," I said.

I found my voice slipping into a lecturing tone as I explained, "The working of magic encompasses three distinct but interrelated practices: the localized imposition of extraplanar physics onto the magic-user's plane of existence; the movement of matter, information, or essence from one plane to another; or the direct manipulation of matter, information, or essence on the current plane using another plane as an intermediary."

There was a brief pause as Armsmaster digested that. "That sounds a lot less… mystical than I was expecting, given how Myrddin talks about his powers," he admitted. The skepticism in his aura lightened considerably, but did not entirely fade.

"Metaphors and poetic turns of phrase do have their place in the study of magic. It's far easier to speak of a 'third eye' when training an apprentice seer, or to tell a priestly novitiate to 'reach out with your mind' in search of a certain sensation, than it is to explain all of the technical details upfront," I said. "But when it comes to actual scholars of magic, their approach is no less scientifically rigorous than that of your own parahuman researchers."

He started to respond, but paused to allow Dragon to chime in: "When you say 'plane of existence' do you mean in the Platonic sense, or more like the Buddhist conception, or are you referring to different universes like how Aleph is in a different universe from Bet, or something else?"

"Definitely not the latter; both Aleph and Bet are on the same plane, the Material Plane. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with either Platonic or Buddhist cosmology, as I haven't had a chance to study this world's religions in any depth."

Armsmaster turned to his desktop computer and accessed a page of the website Wikipedia that presented an overview of local interpretations of the concept from quite a few religious and philosophical perspectives. I spent a few seconds to read the whole page, then gave them a "not exactly" gesture.

"None of the descriptions here are entirely correct, but they're close enough that your general idea of the concept should be reasonably accurate," I said.

There were a few follow-up questions regarding terminology, aesthetics, and the practice of magic by parahumans. Armsmaster's skepticism diminished even further and he began taking my statements about magic more seriously after I enthusiastically agreed with him that the more famous "magician" groups like the Adepts in New York City or the Order of the Golden Dawn in London did not appear to be experts in the thaumaturgic sciences but instead simply playactors who hadn't the slightest idea what they were actually doing.

"At this point," I concluded after the two of them exhausted their questions, "I would hope that you're at least somewhat convinced that I am neither delusional nor a charlatan?"

Armsmaster nodded slowly. "I'm trying to keep an open mind." Dragon's image nodded as well a few seconds later.

"Then perhaps we can save any further theoretical discussion for later and proceed with the practical side of things. First, a question for either or both of you: when Armsmaster says that capes do not 'fully understand' tinkertech, what precisely do you mean?"

He rubbed thoughtfully at his goatee. "If I had to summarize, I'd say there are four things we don't understand: How the construction process works at a basic level, why non-Tinkers can't duplicate the same results despite following exactly the same procedures, where a Tinker's specialized knowledge comes from, and why tinkertech doesn't function nearly as well if someone other than the original creator tries to maintain it."

"There's also the question of how the actual technology works," Dragon added belatedly, "but that already falls under the question of how any powers work."

Aspect commented, all of enchanting.

I sent. Really, the only route left to them among such yawning chasms of incomprehension was the ability to enchant items by blindly following rote procedure, which is hardly "understanding" at all!

"Perhaps I can remedy that lack of comprehension, though first I'll need to get a sense of your current level of understanding," I said. "Why don't you explain one of your simpler polearms to me as if I were someone who understood nothing of their creation or operation, and you can note any gaps in your knowledge as we go along. Dragon, feel free to interject at any time, of course."

"Works for me," Armsmaster replied. He gazed over at his rack of weapons, and after a few moments' thought he extended a hand and summoned one of them, a poleaxe that looked fairly crude in comparison to his wide selection of halberds.

The weapon was placed on the desk with its head facing toward us. "This is the second polearm I ever made, and one of the simplest. The only tinkertech in it is a superheated blade for dealing with Brutes and power armor," he said, and at the press of a button the blade's edge briefly glowed red with intense heat. "Then there's a 2-Watt laser pointer and a high-lumen flashlight where the maul would normally go, and a slot for a smoke grenade at the end of the haft. Tinkering budgets weren't very large back in the day, so I had to make do with what I could," he said, smiling ruefully.

"Oh, and it's collapsible," he added, demonstrating this by pressing a button that caused the weapon to contract from its normal six-foot length down to what was essentially an axe blade with a handgrip.

"Let's see… starting with the physical composition, the blade is made of a custom steel alloy, based on CPM M4 tool steel but with most of the manganese replaced with cobalt for better durability at high temperatures. The outermost layer of the haft is high-modulus carbon fiber, the same material I use for the inner plating of my armor, which…."

~*~*~

We spent nearly twenty minutes discussing every facet of his poleaxe in detail. He would explain some aspect of its construction or composition or usage, I would ask clarifying questions, and so on back and forth.

The wiring within the weapon was the main sticking point for me. The very basic overview of electronics that I'd earlier received from Alberto was in no way sufficient to allow me to understand the incredibly complex circuitry that Armsmaster had designed, not without further explanation and reading several introductory website pages on the topic. Everything else about the polearm, however, was straightforward and quite comprehensible.

I was beginning to wonder why Armsmaster had claimed not to understand this technology given that he could seemingly explain everything about it, down to the placement of every last screw.

Until he couldn't.

The weapon's head lay disassembled on his desk, nearly every piece arranged according to its function except for one small circuit board roughly an inch across that was lying alone in the very center and surrounded by a faint magical aura.

Armsmaster's own aura tinted with frustration as he pointed to it and concluded his explanation with, "… and this board, here, is the part that actually ignites the blade… somehow. I've been using a more advanced version of it to generate the plasma blades on three of my halberds for years now, but I couldn't tell you the first thing about how it actually works."

"You constructed this entirely on your own, with no assistance from other artificers or reference materials at the time, and it functions precisely as you intended, yet you do not know why?" I clarified.

He nodded. "The entire time I was building it, I knew exactly what I was doing and felt confident what the end result would be, but why I had to bend this wire in a certain way or stick that resister in a certain spot to make that happen? No idea."

Very curious. He actually had crafted it purely by rote, then, which was both highly unusual and quite impressive given that even unlettered sorcerers generally need to learn at least some arcane theory before attempting to craft anything.

With a thought, I floated the circuit board over to me for inspection.

The wires on the board were minuscule, each only a few times thicker than a human hair, and they wove over and under and between each other in six distinct layers. There were a handful of components attached to the board that I recognized and some others I that didn't, but at no point had Armsmaster mentioned any kind of electronic component used to produce flame and so none of them appeared to be directly related to the board's purpose.

The more I studied it, the more strange it appeared to be.

I could hardy count myself an electronics expert, the vast majority of my knowledge in that field being barely half an hour old, but I was quite certain that from the perspective of mundane circuitry design this device shouldn't have functioned at all. There were spots at which three or more wires met for no obvious reason, spots with multiple gaps in a single wire, spots where wires formed pointless loops, and many other oddities. It didn't make any sense.

I said as much to Armsmaster, who grimaced. "If I do anything to separate out the wires that shouldn't be touching or try to bridge the gaps that should interrupt the circuit, it stops working. But it's more than just the wiring. That right there," he said as he pointed to a small cylinder, "is a ten-microfarad capacitor. Ten. You'd need at least eight of those just to power the flash on a disposable camera, so for something like this it's completely pointless, but nothing works if I remove it."

Indicating four spots on the board where wires trailed off to be connected to some other device, one in the center of each edge, he continued, "Only two of those leads actually connect to the main part of the circuit, but the board doesn't do anything unless all four leads are hooked up to the battery. I've even tried rewiring the whole thing so the second layer and third layer are physically swapped with all the connections kept the same, but it won't work unless everything is laid out exactly this way."

He looked over at me and smiled faintly. "You're the expert. Any ideas?"

Going by his tone of voice and the muddle in his aura, that could have been a sarcastic jibe or a genuine question. I couldn't tell which way it had been intended… and I wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't, either.

I indicated that he should give me a moment, and examined it in silence.

The most confusing part wasn't the layout of the electronics, but rather why there were electronics involved at all. Mundane electricity passing through metal cannot produce magical effects as a byproduct, no matter how firmly the natives might believe that it could-especially given that their textbooks explaining how they thought electricity worked at the fundamental level were full of gibberish.

My first instinct had been to look for any glyphs or runes hidden in the layout of the circuit, as I'd earlier witnessed Armsmaster unknowingly inscribe a glyph commonly used in the construction of magic items, but the circuitry held neither glyph nor rune, neither seal nor sigil.

Beyond that, nothing came to mind. There was something about the design that prickled at the edge of my thoughts, but whatever my subconscious mind had noticed, I couldn't yet bring forth.

I've generally found that the best way to deal with a persistent and troublesome issue is to put it out of one's mind entirely-

I preempted Aspect,

-and focus on something else, to let one's mind consider the problem in the background and hopefully find an as-yet-untraveled route to a solution.

So I did just that, returning the board to its place on the desk and giving Armsmaster a small shrug. "I have the beginnings of a hypothesis, but I'll need to think on it for a while. Would you like to move on to something else and come back to this later?"

"That's fine," he replied, but then Dragon's screen flashed yellow.

"Would it help at all if you had my blueprints for that design?" she asked.

" Your blueprints?" I looked between Armsmaster's helmeted face and Dragon's illusory one. "Was this not Armsmaster's own design after all?"

"No, it was, I just shared my original blueprints with her after I built it," Armsmaster clarified. "Dragon's specialty is reverse-engineering the work of other Tinkers for her own use, and she usually finds ways to improve their designs."

"We trade, sometimes," Dragon chimed in a few seconds later. "He gives me schematics for something he's developed that I can possibly add to my suits, I share any improvements I come up with so he can improve his own gear."

"A sensible arrangement. If you would send us your blueprints for this, that would be of great help."

"Just sent them," she said, and Armsmaster moved to his computer to access her electronic message. "Valigan, do you have a phone or laptop with you?" she continued. "I could send them to you directly, if that's easier."

"I don't have a phone, or any form of computer. As a rule, I only begin using the technology of a new world once I fully understand it. I rather dislike surprises."

"No technology at all?" she asked, in a tone suggesting that she could not conceive of such a thing, and from the flickers of surprise and amusement in Armsmaster's aura it seemed he felt similarly. "How have you been dealing with the PRT without a phone or internet access?"

"With some difficulty, I must admit. In fact, for some time now I've been hoping to find one or more capes with technomantic powers to study so that I could perhaps craft my own internet-capable devices," I said. "I understand you have some skill in the field of combining magical and mundane technology yourself, if you'd be interested in meeting in person to collaborate?"

"I don't meet anyone in person, sorry. I've let a handful of people visit one of my telepresence-enabled labs just outside Vancouver to work together that way, but it's almost four thousand kilometers from Brockton Bay and there aren't any direct flights," Dragon warned.

I shrugged modestly. "That's hardly an obstacle. My teleportation power is not limited by distance."

Armsmaster made a discreet note of that as the eyebrows on Dragon's image rose in delayed surprise. "Impressive. I don't know if even Seven League or Strider can manage four thousand klicks in one jump." She glanced away, and there was a pause that clearly derived from hesitance rather than latency. "Still, I… very much prefer my privacy, so I'll have to pass on that for now. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Though if you happen to know of any other capes with technomantic powers…?"

"What would you consider a 'technomantic' power?"

"Anything that would allow a cape to interface with a computer, either directly or through the use of equipment."

"Got it." Her image looked to the side for a few moments, presumably consulting another screen. "I happen to keep a database of all known software Tinkers and technopaths in North America, so I can go through that and get back to you with a list of some good candidates."

"Thank you."

I turned then to view Dragon's blueprints on Armsmaster's computer screen, and was struck immediately by how the design appeared to be much simpler in some areas but essentially identical in others. A few extraneous components had been removed, certain portions had their wiring rearranged, and two of the six layers had been consolidated, but for the most part Dragon's design was a perfect match for Armsmaster's, without even minor aesthetic differences.

Which implied that certain portions of the design were extremely specific in purpose, while others were essentially superfluous, a very odd dichotomy. Once again I stared at the circuit design, my gaze roving over the physical board, the blueprints, and several pages' worth of both capes' notes displayed to the side, for all that that was worth.

I wasn't sure how much help Dragon's writing would provide-

Hmm.

There was something about that thought….

Ah.

A- ha.

I picked up the circuit board again and held it close to my eyes, looking for-yes, that spot, there, where four wires met just beside a small resistor. I wasn't sure that the wires met in precisely the same place, and even my greatly-enhanced vision was having trouble picking out the extremely minute details on its own.

"Do you have a magnification device?" I asked.

Armsmaster glanced over at me, intrigued. "You found something?"

"Possibly."

"I have a microscope over there."

We relocated to one of the specialty worktables, where I placed the board in the bay of said microscope and examined that whole section of the circuit at maximum magnification.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

I straightened, and thought. "Dragon, could you send us schematics for the device of Armsmaster's whose circuitry you have made the most progress in simplifying, and Armsmaster, could I see your own diagrams for the same device? I'd like to check something."

While I did of course want to double-check my hypothesis, I also wanted to determine whether revealing what I believed I'd just discovered would be acceptable given Dragon's current understanding.

Moments later, I was presented with the pair of blueprints I'd requested. Not only did they confirm my theory, Dragon's version had eliminated nearly all of the extraneous features, and as this world's foremost expert in reverse-enchantment she was possibly just weeks or months away from discovering the secret.

A tiny nudge on my part shouldn't noticeably affect things.

I returned to the microscope and adjusted the lenses to center upon the appropriate spot on the circuit board. "This junction, here," I said, waving for Armsmaster to take a look himself. "The wires seem to meet at the same point, but close examination reveals that they don't, not quite."

"Hmm." He checked his blueprints. "They're supposed to. Looks like the soldering was a bit off. It obviously still works even with the gaps, though. Why's that important?"

"Because I'd wager a considerable sum that if you had connected them perfectly, this wouldn't have functioned. That isn't just any wiring junction. That is the letter kav in the Draconic alphabet," I said triumphantly. "The handwriting, so to speak, is atrocious, but the overall form is unmistakable."

While both Armsmaster and Dragon's image stared at me as though I were speaking a foreign language (quite appropriate, under the circumstances), I formed an illusory diagram of the Draconic alphabet in the air depicting its ninety-six letters, twelve diacritical marks, and seventeen tone marks.

"Spoken and written dialects of Draconic vary widely by world, species, and age of the speaker, but the written alphabet itself does not change," I began. "This makes it ideal for-"

"Wait, wait, back up," Armsmaster said. "How is the fact that some of those wires happen to look like a letter in that language relevant?"

"Because the adjacent wiring does as well. Each layer of wiring isn't simply a mass of wires, it is a word, inscribed in a rough circle with each letter offset by thirty degrees from the next. Take another look."

He bent over the microscope again, tilted the board slightly to the side, glanced back up at my illusion several times as he compared the letter displayed with the wiring layout, and eventually let out a hmm! of realization. "The wire that forks here and almost touches the one next to it looks kind of like… that one. Fourth row, tenth column."

"Precisely. That is the letter eizh, which is one of several vowels that would map to the English letter e if one were to attempt to transcribe this."

We spent another few minutes identifying the letters in the board. Once he was convinced that the pattern I'd see was not a fluke we moved to the computer, as referencing the blueprints would be vastly easier for him than attempting to decipher the other layers directly.

While we analyzed the circuit, I explained my realization for both his and Dragon's benefit.

Specifically: There are countless enchanting traditions throughout the multiverse, each with its strengths and weaknesses relative to the others. Some require rare and exotic reagents in the construction of their items, some can be used with more common materials; some can produce only certain kinds of magic items but ensure an exceptional quality of those creations, some can apply their techniques to any kind of item at the cost of higher likelihood of failure or malfunction.

And while some require a vast amount of mathematical and thaumaturgic knowledge to even begin to apply their methods, others can be practiced with confidence by even the most inexperienced artificer.

One particular tradition, known as the Inscriptic or Inscriptivist method by scholars, relies on nothing but ink or other appropriate writing materials, knowledge of certain descriptive language in one of the nine invariant mortal tongues, and truly ridiculous amounts of energy, at least compared to other methods.

It is rarely practiced in the modern era, as vastly superior enchanting methods have been developed since its creation; however, Inscriptivism is notable for being the tradition that originally invented spell scrolls, which are still in ubiquitous use to this day, and for laying the foundations for the modern multilingual approach to spellbook notation.

"… because it is primarily a conceptual practice, you see, relying heavily on the inherent metaphysical weight of the chosen language or languages to achieve its effects," I explained. "Write the correct form of the word 'fire' while holding the desired effect in your thoughts and clearly detailing what kind of fire you wish the item to evoke and in what way, and you can create an item that can spew flame on command. Simplicity itself, so long as you are willing to spend considerably more time and energy on anchoring the effect in place than other traditions require."

Armsmaster and Dragon did not seem convinced. At least not yet.

"Let's say you're right, and this really is a sentence in that language," Armsmaster said. "Why does that translate to a superheated axe blade, and how does knowing that help us?"

"To explain, allow me to work backwards for a moment. This last word, ûs'hrāek , has as its root the word hraek , meaning 'weapon'. It has the metal gender and the 'walking' case, used to indicate that something is nearby and either slowly-moving or immobile-and, frequently, that it has a fixed position relative to the speaker."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Armsmaster; skeptic though he might be, he still picked up the implications immediately. "Is one of the other words a verb that involves igniting or melting something?" he asked.

"Indeed. Therefore…?"

"Programming. It's like programming ," he said, awe and the thrill of discovery heavily tinting his aura. "If you know the language, you can rewrite what it says-"

"-and achieve a different effect, yes," I said, smiling proudly at his quick deduction.

"Can you create a copy of this with your matter-generation power? I want to test something," he said.

"I could, but it won't be enchanted."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"It isn't the physical arrangement of materials that matters for this method, remember. A sapient mind must actually 'write' the desired instructions for them to be imbued correctly; simply evoking the structure with the words already in place, even with the correct frame of mind, will have no effect."

Armsmaster's foot tapped impatiently on the floor. "Then I'll have to tweak this one. Which one of these words is the ignition verb?"

"The second one from the bottom. Frãrïx. I suggest you change it to read frãrûak ," I said, emphasizing the appropriate letters on the illusion with a golden glow.

He proceeded to ignore me completely for the next fifteen minutes as he manipulated the blueprints to unfold the circuitry, isolate the letters among the wiring, modify them in an appropriate way, and refold it while accounting for the increased length and quantity of wires.

I glanced over at Dragon's screen after a while, and a few seconds later her image shrugged. "Don't take it personally. He can get like this sometimes," she said fondly.

Once he'd satisfied himself that the modified blueprints represented a stable arrangement, he picked up the board and some very delicate tools and began making modifications to the board itself, checking the blueprints multiple times at every step of the process.

When he'd finished, he quickly reassembled the poleaxe around the board and pressed a button on the haft… and nothing happened.

"Damnation. It's not working," he huffed, scouring the blueprints again for the slightest error. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," I told him. "The inscription is precisely correct, but because you did not know what concept is represented by the word I provided, the new enchantment failed to take hold. Understanding and intention are critical to this form of artifice."

Which made for an interesting juxtaposition with the forms of the "letters" in the circuitry. Though their overall shapes were recognizable as letters when one knew what they signified, the clumps of wiring had all manner of extraneous curves and minor imperfections.

It resembled what one might see if someone who didn't speak Draconic attempted to transcribe a dragon's missive line by line and shape by shape, without knowing which portions of each letter were meaningful and which were artistic flourishes on the part of the original author.

Armsmaster glared at me through his helmet visor. "Trying to prove a point?"

"Providing a control test for your experiment," I replied archly. "If you'll disassemble your weapon once more and return the circuit to its former configuration…?"

Soon enough the head of the poleaxe was open and the board was removed and restored to its prior state. "Now, this time, concentrate on the knowledge that frãrûak is conjugated with the acid gender instead of the fire gender, and what that would imply for your weapon."

He nodded impatiently and set to it. This time, instead of the circuit's aura vanishing past a certain point because he was effectively disassembling the item, its signature slowly shifted from that of a scorching weapon to that of a caustic weapon with each wire he realigned.

I was quite impressed by the speed at which he worked, as the process of enchanting anything but the most trivial items generally takes multiple days to complete. Experienced artificers usually pick up some tricks to speed the process along, and I myself can do in hours what usually takes experienced artificers weeks… but I'd had to spend centuries exploring and practicing many different artificing traditions in order to achieve that, while he'd managed, once again, to apply many common tricks in his work without even realizing he was doing it.

This speed did unfortunately appear to come at the cost of longevity-for instance, the gold-copper alloy he used in his wires would surely burn out in less than a month given the quantities of pyrokinetic energy that would be flowing through the lattice, compared to the fyrite, ascended gold, or nickel-mithral alloy that would usually be used when applying fire-related enchantments to allow an item to last indefinitely-but seeing as he was the heroes' only artificer in this city and had many demands on his time, presumably he found prioritizing speed of construction over other factors to be worthwhile.

A short while later, the poleaxe was reassembled and ready to test once more.

Holding it carefully away from himself, he thumbed the activation button. Instead of the blade turning red with heat, it was surrounded by a sheathe of rippling dark green energy: acid, in its energetic state. A wooden dowel pressed to the side of the blade began to slowly dissolve with a sharp hissing sound, and an acrid scent lingered in the laboratory air long after he deactivated the weapon.

Slowly, Armsmaster sank into his seat and shook his head in disbelief. "I just created a new piece of tinkertech in a fraction of the normal time by using magic words and positive thinking," he murmured. "Myrddin's never going to let me hear the end of this."

He looked over at me, his aura churning with conflicting emotions. "Is that… really all there is to it?" he asked hesitantly. "I could get a group of PRT R employees together, teach them the meaning of some Draconic words, and they could start tinkering too, just like that?"

I shook my head. "Hardly. That method of artifice is among the easiest to learn, yes, but one must still have the ability to work magic in the first place in order to use it."

"How could they get that?"

"Either by spending the necessary time and effort to learn it properly themselves, or by developing an intuitive sorcerous aptitude. The former would require an intensive course of study, while the latter would require them to 'trigger' with the appropriate talents as a shortcut, as you did."

"A shortcut ?" he snapped, sounding quite affronted.

I shrugged. "Your current method may seem complex to you, I'm sure," I said delicately, "but from the perspective of someone who had to work for many years to develop his skill with magic, the ability to simply spend a few minutes fiddling with an item to enchant it with no apparent effort or understanding is , indeed, a shortcut."

Armsmaster opened his mouth, presumably to let fly a scathing retort, then paused. "… Huh," he said, glancing over at Dragon. Her expression was just the slightest bit smug-regarding an inside joke, perhaps, or a prior argument to which I was not privy.

He shook his head a moment later, dismissing his thought. "Anyway, you say 'that method' and 'your method' as if there are other ones out there, and the other day you mentioned something about a seal, what was it…?"

"The Seal of Rectification."

"Right. How is that related to," he gestured broadly to indicate his artifice as a whole, "all of this?"

"It isn't, not directly. The methods of Runic Imprinting are markedly different from those of Inscriptivism, your method, though the two do belong to similar 'families' of artifice."

"So why would… hmm. That iteration of the circuit you saw was still almost entirely based on Aflição's designs," he mused, thinking out loud.

At my questioning look, he explained, "She was a villain down in Brazil who the Guild helped take down a few weeks ago. Dragon sent me some of her hard drives afterward, and studying her files helped get me past some recent roadblocks with the nano-thorn project, the one I was working on when you came in."

Armsmaster accessed several more documents on his computer, placing them side-by-side with what I presumed to be the original design on the far left and his current design on the far right.

Laid out in that way, the progression was obvious: each new attempt to achieve his desired result moved the overall design further from one using Runic Imprinting methods and closer to one using Inscriptivist methods, with discrete portions over the overall design being replaced at each step.

"Well I'll be damned," he said, clearly noticing the same thing I had. "Different Tinker, completely different underlying methodology."

"That makes a lot of sense, based on what I've seen from Tinker collaborations," Dragon commented. "Equipment that multiple Tinkers work on together is often described as blending their styles, but it doesn't look like that to me; it looks more like a patchwork, where it's easy to tell who contributed what part even if the final device looks like it has one cohesive design from the outside."

"The question, then, is how many different traditions are represented among capes as a whole," I noted. "Are some repeated, are some more common than others, are there any correlations by place of origin or field of study…?"

"There's one way to start finding out," Armsmaster said, climbing eagerly to his feet. "The PRT keeps equipment confiscated from Tinker villains to study. A lot of it is shipped to specialized facilities around the country for a more in-depth analysis, but there are still plenty of samples here in the PHQ."

"If you're going to go down to the labs, I think I'll sign off," Dragon said. "I know the reception down there is terrible, and I could use a break."

"I'll record everything and send it to you later," Armsmaster promised.

"Thank you. And thank you, Valigan-I learned more about tinkertech this afternoon than I have in the past year , probably a lot longer. I've just sent Armsmaster that list of capes for you to take a look at, and I do hope we can find an opportunity to work together again at some point."

"Likewise, Dragon, and thank you for joining us. Fare well."

After her image vanished from the screen, Armsmaster gave me a considering look. "If I wanted to remove heat from a blade instead of adding it, is there a Draconic word for that?"

I answered his look with a knowing smile; given the heating issue with his new weapon, his intentions were obvious. " Frãrsýr . The same word, this time conjugated with the ice gender," I said, once again giving him an illusory inscription to copy down. "But that's the last I'll give you for now."

"Any chance you have a Draconic dictionary I could use once you leave?"

"I could give you a copy of the alphabet to save you some time with your experimentation," I said, conjuring a sheet of paper containing just that and handing it to him, "but not a dictionary."

"Why not?"

"The principle of non-interference," I said simply. "Colleen phrased it as a 'Prime Directive' issue, if that allusion means something to you."

He scowled, but his aura was shaded with reluctant understanding. "It does, and… I guess that's fair."

"I'm confident that you'll be able to learn plenty of useful words through study and comparison of your other devices," I assured him. "Although…."

I conjured a second sheet of paper, this one containing three particular Draconic words accompanied by the corresponding English translations. With a bit of experimentation they would allow him to duplicate my method of removing bombs from those implanted individuals who still remained at large, and as he already had access to some teleportation inscriptions via the polearm retrieval system in his gauntlets, I wasn't providing him with anything he couldn't eventually discover on his own.

"Since time is of the essence when it comes to Bakuda's victims," I said, placing the paper on his desk between us, "I suppose that perhaps a tiny head start wouldn't hurt."

~*~*~

10:24 am, Wednesday the 20th of April, 2011 CE

PHQ R Secure Storage Room, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

I was greeted by dozens of clashing magical auras as I stepped into a storage chamber below the water line and beheld the highly eclectic collection of magic items contained therein.

"We'll have to be a lot more careful with these," Armsmaster warned. "No disassembly, since we don't have access to the original Tinkers to put them back together."

"Not to worry. I have several enhanced senses; I can analyze the internals without taking anything apart."

"Of course you can," he grumbled.

He took a few steps into the room, then paused. "You know, I finally had a chance to skim the finished portion of your Case 24 interview last night. I noticed you didn't get to the section where you describe your powers, and I've heard a lot of conflicting reports from Aegis and Velocity and the PRT as to what exactly you can do."

"So I would imagine."

"I've already personally seen you use more powers than any grab-bag, so I assume you have a variable Trump power? Maybe even more than one?"

"My powers are variable, certainly."

"How many options do you have?"

"More than most, I'd say, but not as many as I'd like."

He frowned impatiently. "Could you stop dodging the question? I'm not trying to figure out a weakness or anything like that, I'm genuinely curious."

"All right. You've heard of Eidolon, I presume?"

"Obviously." A pause. "… No ."

"Yes."

"Can't be. One cape being able to access hundreds of powers is already an extreme outlier. Two capes like that…."

I shrugged. "Believe what you will. I would point out, however, that until very recently you didn't believe my statements about enchanted items, either."

He nodded in tentative, grudging acceptance. "So you're essentially the second coming of Eidolon, and you're wasting time doing research instead of getting out there and helping people?" he asked, seemingly incensed at the very suggestion.

"It's hardly a waste. I would say that research of this sort is exceptionally helpful."

"You know what I mean!"

"I do. And I do help those whom I see fit to help. For the rest?" I shrugged. "I don't find myself to be overly concerned with the welfare of the local population as a whole."

Armsmaster's aura shone with muted outrage, now. "Every day that the Empire holds their territory means more suffering for everyone who lives there. More fear, more hate crimes, more chances for innocent bystanders to be gunned down in a gang fight. Do you just not care about all of those people?"

"It's not that I don't care. I simply choose to allocate my time and attention differently than you do."

"What, you completely ignore them most of the time and then maybe pencil in helping people for a few minutes a week, if you feel like it?"

"You, too, are eschewing heroism in favor of research at the moment," I observed. "How much of your time do you spend aiding the citizenry, Armsmaster?"

"Almost all of it!" he barked, surprising me somewhat with his sudden vehemence. "I spend hours training, researching, and maintaining my gear, all so I can be a better hero! I've automated over eighty percent of the pointless busywork that comes with being a Protectorate leader so I can spend more time tinkering and patrolling! Everything I learn today is something I'm going to put directly into improving my ability to help people! I haven't even taken one goddamn weekend off in the seven years I've been stationed here!"

Metal creaked as he clenched his gauntleted fists in anger. "I'm the only Tinker in the Protectorate Top Ten, I have to work harder than all the rest just to tread water, but you? If you're actually anything like Eidolon, you can teleport anywhere and fix things with a wave of your hand! How many people could you save if you went out, right now, and fought the Empire with us?"

I sighed. "Not enough."

That obviously hadn't been what he'd expected to hear. "… What?" he asked, much of the heat leaving his tone.

"Not enough," I repeated. "Never enough. There are always more. More worlds, more cities, more monsters, more people. I could save dozens, hundreds, thousands, and there would still be more to save."

I could save that many, and I had. Like most reckless youths of a certain age, Aldric and I had spent a few decades adventuring off and on, wandering the continent, slaying monsters, rescuing towns from diabolical madmen, and the like. There were tens of thousands of people alive on Toril right now who owed their very existence to the fact that we'd saved their many-times-great ancestors from certain death.

I could fail to save a great number of people, too.

On the day of its fall, Jhaamdath's population numbered over eighty million souls.

I wasn't anywhere near strong enough to save myself (much less any of my friends or family) when the tidal wave came, I'd had to rely on Aldric to save me just as I'd saved him during Netheril's fall, but years later he and I traveled back to that day in an attempt to prevent the empire's destruction.

We attempted it many times, in fact. There are certain benefits to having a skilled chronomancer for a husband.

Thanks to divine meddling, not one of those attempts worked.

(If I were the type to go around trying to slay gods for real or imagined slights against mortal-kind, then Mystra-goddess of magic, self-appointed "guardian of the timeline" despite the existence of several vastly more qualified gods of time in Realmspace, and obstinate defender of the stagnant and unchanging status quo-would most certainly be near the top of my list.)

Tally up every person throughout every attempt, and I must have failed to save tens of billions of people by now.

What were a few thousand more?

"We can spend the next several hours debating morality, or we can spend them in scientific inquiry. The choice is yours," I told Armsmaster in a tone that would brook no argument.

He clenched his jaw, the flames of his ire dying away but not quite extinguished. "I'll get the first device," he grumbled.

~*~*~

The next two hours saw Armsmaster's resentment toward me gradually fade as we made great strides in our study of the Protectorate's extensive collection.

Some of the items were crafted by non-Inscriptivist practices, such as the clothing of Modiste, a currently-active independent Tinker in the nearby city of Hartford whose creations had inadvertently fallen into local villain hands. Her enchantments relied upon intricate colored patterns in clothing vaguely resembling those of ancient Oeridian prismatic magic, first formalized and later improved upon by Alphon of Suel.

Most were noticeably similar to Armsmaster's equipment in their construction, such as the armor suit of Blitz, the now-deceased Empire Tinker, which also appeared to use inscriptions hidden in circuitry. His enchantments used a different Draconic dialect, and arranged their wiring in concentric spheres rather than multiple flat layers.

Of the items crafted with novel methods, some were quite blatant, requiring only the ability to see magical auras to identify the method in question. The weapons crafted by Double Beryl, a rogue-turned-villain from the "bad old days" of the city, were practically textbook examples of items crafted using gem magic.

Most were quite subtle, taking us some time to determine the basis for their enchantments. The instruments crated by Luthier, a founding member of the defunct gang The Chorus, turned out not to use various woods with special properties, as I'd first speculated; rather, the enchantments were created via hidden arcane diagrams drawn with the glue used to hold the layers of wood together, rendering said diagrams nigh-undetectable once the items were completed.

The most interesting work, however, belonged to Leet, a villainous Tinker currently active in this city with a lackluster reputation. There were twenty-six items of his in the storage room-the Protectorate was slower to clear those to be passed along to other facilities, Armsmaster explained, because his work had a distressing tendency to explode at the slightest provocation; a few divination powers revealed that his items were all cursed, for reasons unknown-and of those twenty-six a full nineteen used the Inscriptivist method, with the remaining seven each using a vastly different form of artifice.

This discovery demonstrated conclusively that a single Tinker was not limited to a single form of artifice and could, in fact, work with multiple different methods, as was the case with artificers who learned their craft the usual way.

(The fact that Leet, of all people, had provided the critical evidence for said discovery was, Armsmaster swore, something that he would take to his grave.)

The three factors that tied all of these items together were that, first, the methods used in their creation were all quite out-of-date, exhibiting none of the breakthroughs in artifice made in the past millennium or thereabouts; second, all of the methods on display were among the simplest ones for novice artificers to learn and use; and third, they required an incredibly obtuse and roundabout process to create, which couldn't have been more arduous and inscrutable to their creators if they'd tried.

Such a distribution of artificing knowledge and techniques that was apparently random with respect to their subject matter, yet oddly uniform with respect to the creation process itself, was vanishingly unlikely to have arisen by chance.

By the end of those two hours, my confidence in the hypothesis that there was an intelligent being or group of beings behind the granting of powers in this sphere had risen to roughly ninety-six percent.

~*~*~

My ability to comprehensively explain both the functionality and method of construction of every device in the room had more than convinced Armsmaster to accept my expertise on the subject once we'd concluded our examination, though he was still reluctant to actually use "magic" or "enchantment" or related terms when speaking of tinkertech.

I didn't push him on that, for now. One should always be magnanimous in victory.

We returned to the elevator once the last enchanted item was returned to its proper place and the chamber was sealed behind us, but rather than taking us up to the floor holding his laboratory, Armsmaster sent us several stories downward.

"There's something else I'd like to get your opinion on while you're here," he explained as the elevator descended.

"I'd be glad to. Might I ask what it is?"

"It's a very irritating puzzle, that's what it is. Legend assigned me the project a while back, but then the Lung situation blew up and I haven't had a chance to work on it ever since. Do you have any experience working with artificial intelligence?"

"I dabble on occasion," I replied modestly.

"Good, that will definitely help."

The elevator stopped and Armsmaster led me to a laboratory that had even greater protective measures than the storage room we'd recently occupied, including lead shielding within the door that blocked my deepsight. As we waited for the inner door of the "airlock" leading to the room to unseal itself, he explained that any items held in storage that were considered to be potentially dangerous were first examined in laboratories such as this one, hence the higher level of security.

Soon enough the door opened and I beheld the device that had so frustrated Armsmaster's examinations.

Or rather, I beheld the creature that had him stumped, sitting patiently within an enclosure at the far end of the room.

"Good morning, 38-412," I greeted them with a genuine smile, speaking Common for the first time since arriving on this world. "How do you fare?"

"Lord Valigan! Greetings!" they replied in the same tongue, perking up excitedly. "I am well! I have learned much that is useful and interesting about this world! I have even begun to learn the local language!" Their tail began to wag with enthusiasm. "Sir Colin has provided me with my own quarters, and has also shown me many kinds of mundane and magical apparatus in the process of trying to determine my composition! He has been a very gracious host!"

Penumbra's homunculi were a true marvel of artifice. They were originally nothing more than normal homunculi constructed with noticeably higher levels of intelligence and autonomy, but as the Society explored more worlds and got its hands on more constructs and construct-like beings to study and reverse-enchant, Penumbra had dramatically expanded their capabilities.

The baseline upon which she'd eventually settled for all of her creations was a roughly even blend of iron defender for loyalty and customizability, clockwork horror for inquisitiveness and long-range communications, and nimblewright for adaptability and social acumen. Each new line incorporated one or two new features as she worked to perfect her design; the models of the 38 line to which this particular homunculus belonged, for instance, were the first to incorporate a bit of clockwork mender for self-healing capabilities.

I hadn't personally met every single homunculus in the collective, of course, but I'd encountered 412 several worlds ago-back when they'd been 33-412, before a need to self-destruct or a desire to upgrade had seen them exchange their former chassis for the current one-and still recognized their mental signature.

"You know this… being," Armsmaster said, his tone completely flat.

"I do. You'll recall that my Case 24 interview mentioned my membership in a Prime Material Cartographic Society? This unit is one of our scouts."

"A scout."

"Yes. For gathering data on new worlds we wish to explore," I explained

"Not for spying before an invasion or anything like that."

"Certainly not."

"It has lots of weapons for a 'scout'," he noted mildly.

"All intended purely for self-defense, as visiting a new world can be very dangerous. Exploration is their primary purpose; if you have concerns in that direction, I'd be happy to detail their capabilities for you," I said. "Which include an ability to aid a magic-user with their enchanting," I added, in the hopes of diverting his attention away from his needless suspicions and back to his artifice.

It didn't work. There was a brief pause as Armsmaster's aura roiled with a storm of conflicting emotions, never settling on a single one for more than a moment.

"So you're telling me," he said, his tone filling with barely-repressed rage, "that instead of wasting entire days trying to learn absolutely anything about this thing, I could have been out there on patrol helping people and just waited for you to show up and tell me all about it if I just asked nicely."

"I wouldn't say that," I disagreed. "I could have chosen to visit Earth Aleph instead, in which case you wouldn't have had a Society member available to explain them to you." Unless Gwyn had chosen to visit Earth Bet in that scenario, but I doubted Armsmaster was in the mood for hypotheticals.

He stared at me silently for several moments.

"Their deaths are your fault," he finally stated, aura heavy with condemnation and resentment.

I raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Kid Win and Gallant. They died because they fought Lung, because I wasn't on my standard patrol route, because I was here, studying this on Legend's orders. If I'd been there instead of them, they'd still be alive."

His reasoning wasn't entirely misguided. Our mere presence in this sphere was interference of a sort, unavoidably so, and could sometimes lead to unfortunate incidents such as this. Still….

"You can hardly hold us responsible for the decisions of your superiors," I disagreed, "nor for any number of other factors that might have altered that outcome."

"You're not responsible," he agreed. "But it was still your fault."

After taking a deep breath that entirely failed to alleviate his anger, he added, "I think we're done here."

Once again I found myself in a situation where Armsmaster's attitude would not be affected by reasoned debate, but this time I very much doubted that giving him a mere few hours to calm himself and realize that he was projecting his self-recrimination onto me would make much of a difference, and if he were to share his opinion with his colleagues I imagined that their reactions would be counterproductive as well.

Aspect pointed out.

That was certainly true. I had very few outstanding items I wished to address in this city, none of which were urgent: investigating Thomas's chronomantic powers was primarily a matter of personal curiosity, and whatever nefarious scheme he was pursuing did not concern me; I'd heard nothing yet from Flashbang regarding my healing his mental affliction, and did not know how much longer he'd require to make a decision; Bakuda would keep until the PRT finished finding and removing her bombs, so long as I addressed her nutrient situation by crafting an appropriate item to sustain her before I left; and I could continue tutoring Elle from anywhere on this world, now that I knew the signature of her dreamscape.

I could finish up and deliver Velocity's and Shadow Stalker's items a bit earlier than I'd planned, craft something to sustain Bakuda and apply that as well, and then head to Boston, the city containing the first two names on Dragon's list.

No need to linger where I wouldn't be welcome.

"Then I think I shall take my leave," I said, and he nodded in agreement. "As I doubt you or any of the other heroes here would be interested in collaborating with me again in the near future," I continued, to which he nodded even more emphatically, "I plan to look into Dragon's list of capes, which will take me out of the city. I may return in a few days, or a few weeks; perhaps we can meet again at that time."

He didn't respond, so I nodded politely and focused on the image of the Parkside Library, where I could find some maps that would let me determine Boston's relative location and calculate the appropriate teleportation coordinates.

And then I was elsewhere.

Author's Note

In this chapter: Valigan discovers how Armsmaster's tinkering actually works, and Armsmaster discovers how his tinkering actually works!

By the end of the day, with many more hours' worth of revelations under his belt, Colin might very well have started considering Valigan his new best friend and/or dubbing him the God of Tinkers and establishing a church in his name… if it hadn't been for that little kerfuffle about the homunculus. Shame, that.

But, hey, that's not Valigan's problem right now. As this arc comes to a close, he's leaving Brockton Bay behind and might not be coming back for a while. First, to Boston; after that, who knows?

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

There are very few ways to explicitly give yourself or someone else a cancer-like disease in 3e, and all of them are pretty horrible: certain abilities of the Cancer Mage prestige class basically give you sapient cancer, the necrotic cyst spell basically gives someone undead cancer, some effects of the Taint subsystem in Unearthed Arcana (and later Heroes of Horror) basically give you evil cancer, and so on. Given that, Valigan's reaction is understandable. Shadow Stalker's new quick-loading crossbows and Velocity's new shiftweave costume will pretty much work how Valigan described, and he used a transference effect to avoid having to spend his own XP when crafting them. Writing in the Iokharic alphabet could indeed be disguised as random wiring if you were a shard trying to pull one over on a host. The "real" Draconic alphabet obviously wouldn't look like a one-to-one correspondence with the English alphabet, but I'm assuming it would have the same general design, and positing that kav and eizh would look mostly like the letters K and E in the image. "Inscriptivist" artifice isn't a canonical thing, just flavor text for ancient magical practices that must have existed at some point. The rune magic and gem magic mentioned later are canonical, though, and the general concept that there are a bunch of different in-world methods corresponding to single game mechanics for magic is canonical as well. Likewise, there are countless examples of D magic being based around spoken and written language: lots of magical tomes are written in Draconic, to the point that wizards can take it as a bonus language; spell scrolls (items with one-use spell effects) imbue magic into written text; the Words of Creation, the Dark Speech, and other languages exist where the words themselves have inherent power; and so on. Armsmaster's ability to switch his poleaxe from a "fire" weapon to an "acid" weapon is very similar to the energy alteration infusion , and his ability to teleport his halberd to his hand comes from what's essentially an item of retrieve . Regarding the constructs mentioned to be used in building Penumbra's homunculi: iron defenders are basically Good Dogs made of metal (and sometimes made with wings!), clockwork horrors are basically "the Borg, but spiders" (and were actually in development before the Borg debuted on TV, interestingly enough), clockwork menders are basically "tinier and less murderous Borg, but wasps," and nimblewrights are basically assassin droids. Nothing violent to worry about here, no sirree!

Integration 2.6.T

Eighth Morning Bell, Sar the 14 th of Rhaan, 999 YK Cannith South Enclave, Sharn, Breland, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

I hadn't thought I was afraid of heights.

But we'd had to go down something like eighty stories from the House Orien building where we'd arrived yesterday evening to the inn where we'd spent the night, and riding a huge stone disk with no walls or guardrails down the outside of a huge tower-at least twice as fast as a normal elevator and in the dark, I might add-with nothing but a bright orange column of light through the middle of the disk to hold it up somehow and nothing stopping me from getting blown over the side by a sudden gust of wind?

That hadn't been fun for anyone.

Well, except for Chris, who was completely comfortable zipping through the air at dangerous speeds, and Judas, who'd barked enthusiastically when the platform started moving and then stuck his head over the edge of the disk with his tongue out to enjoy the wind running through his fur.

Then this morning we'd taken the lift back up to where the enclaves were, and that had been even worse. Chris had noticed I was looking a little green around the gills thanks to the the slight wobble in the platform and offered me his hand to help my balance, but I'd politely declined; I was done leaning on the rest of the team to get by, literally or figuratively.

And now, finally, we'd reached the main entrance to the House Cannith enclave.

It took us a little while to make our way through the crowd in front of the doors, since Terik wasn't wearing his bone armor or sword and so couldn't intimidate people into clearing a path like he had back in Stormreach. He didn't even have on the outfit he'd worn when we first met him, since apparently wearing something resembling a Karrnath military uniform in Breland wouldn't have gone over well.

Instead, he'd gone with light gray pants, a bright red shirt with very poofy sleeves and ruffles around the neck, a dark gray cloak, and gold tracery all over the place. He'd said he was aiming for the appearance of "a harmless, attention-seeking fop with more galifars than sense" and, yeah, it definitely conveyed that impression.

Corvin, meanwhile, had ditched his "ninja camo" look for a surprisingly sharp outfit in green and white that could have passed for a well-tailored suit back home if you ignored the cloak, the extra-thick cuffs on the sleeves, and the fact that he was wearing a long and elaborately-wrapped scarf instead of a tie.

The other three members of their team weren't with us. Yin had left early this morning to go to a university, saying something about reporting to someone about their expedition; Khalthrun had peeled away from us as soon as the lift had stopped in order to go visit the House Tharashk enclave and talk to some people there, which she didn't seem to be looking forward to at all; and Obsidian volunteered to stay behind at the inn and keep an eye on Judas and our armor, saying that him visiting the enclave could be "potentially awkward" but refusing to explain why.

Yin and Obsidian had given us a rundown last night about Dragon Towers, the place where all of the Dragonmarked Houses had their headquarters in the city, and about what to expect from the House Cannith enclave in particular, but the basic description of "a multi-story tower with a mix of shops and offices" didn't come anywhere near doing it justice.

Where the other enclaves in the area only- only!-occupied ten or so stories, this tower was absolutely covered with banners and murals depicting the Cannith emblem (which was the head of a… steel-plated bull, or something like that, set inside a gear with a small hammer and anvil above it) for a couple dozen stories above us and even more stories below.

Every single one of the Cannith-occupied floors had at least one shop visible whose door opened onto a bustling walkway or wide balcony full of shoppers and I could sense even more shops on the other sides of the tower with my swarm, while the entrance hall took up a full three stories and was opulent enough to put the lobby of a five-star hotel to shame.

When we walked through the huge gold-plated double doors, I was suddenly hit with a wall of sound, as if some kind of power or magic had been dampening the noise making its way outside so it wouldn't disturb anyone passing by.

The hall itself was at least as big as Winslow's cafeteria, and there were tables and counters along every wall and tons of people talking and arguing and demonstrating gadgets and signing papers and who knows what else. I was very glad I hadn't tried to send my swarm ahead to listen in on things unprepared, because trying to process input from thousands of insects crossing at different times from mostly-quiet surroundings outside to the sudden hubbub inside would have been completely overwhelming.

The floor in the center area of the hall was made of glass to let everyone watch lots of employees hard at work making and selling things on the floor below, and near the ceiling far above us chandeliers hung in midair, covered in floating globes of power-created light.

Pedestals scattered throughout the room held tiny sculptures of everything from wagons to dresses to swords, accompanied by labels that presumably explained what they were and why House Cannith wanted to show them off, and a handful of tables with fancy leather chairs around them held larger sculptures of buildings and airships and things like that.

And behind the counters my bugs could feel some brooms just wandering around sweeping the floor by themselves, because of course magic brooms were a thing here.

In short, it was like someone had taken an upscale office building, a sprawling factory, a history museum, and a ritzy hotel, thrown them into a blender, and poured them into a skyscraper, and then covered half of everything with gold and silver just for the heck of it.

I'd never seen anything quite so… over-the-top as this before, and while Dean and Alec were taking the whole scene in stride, Chris and Brian looked just as impressed as I felt.

"Stop gaping," Corvin murmured to the three of us. "You look like a bunch of yokels who have never seen a magelight before. Not the impression you want to give right now."

He apologized to some impatient people behind us and herded us off to the side and out of the way, while Terik stepped over to a desk where a man with a quill was acting as the human equivalent of one of those take-a-number ticket machines.

A few minutes later Terik was back, a piece of paper in his hand and a resigned expression on his face. "You'll want to find a seat. It looks like the wait could be as long as two hours," he said.

"Two hours?" Alec complained. "Can't you pull a don't-you-know-who-I-am or something so we can skip the line?"

"I did," Terik chuckled. "There are two separate queues, for House members and nobility on the one hand and the rabble on the other, and I managed to get us the fourth spot in the former queue."

"Then why's it going to take so damn long?"

"Most meetings involving the nobility and upper House leadership concern trade agreements, territorial disputes, and the like, and those conversations tend to be… rather involved. Ah, but it could be much worse!" he assured us, giving Alec a jovial clap on the shoulder. "A commoner walking in off the street who sought an appointment with Baron d'Cannith might be left to wait for nearly a full day, hence the crowd outside-assuming of course that his request wasn't simply rejected out of hand."

Gesturing to a small roped-off area to the side where none of the chairs were taken, he added, "At least we can use the private waiting area. Come, sit, have some refreshments."

"No amount of snacks would make this worth it," Alec grumbled, but he trudged over to the nearest chair and flopped down onto it, and the rest of us grabbed some seats nearby.

Chris immediately pulled out his phone and started up some kind of puzzle game as soon as he sat down, and Corvin sat next to him, pulling a book out of somewhere and beginning to read. Dean, Brian, and Terik chose seats facing the crowd with their backs to the wall, apparently deciding to do some people-watching. I grabbed a chair off to the side.

Not having anything better to do, I decided to work on my swarm-hearing a bit more. Trying to parse out a single conversation from the cacophony in here would be great practice, as long as I kept my bugs away from the silencing effect by the door to start so that the sudden transition between the outside noise and the inside noise wouldn't throw me off.

Closing my eyes and leaning back in my very comfortable chair, I settled in to wait, and to listen.

~*~*~

"… very sorry, sir, but if your wares no longer meet the Fabricators Guild's quality standards, you'll no longer be able to…"

"… can indeed repair a portrait of that sort, though for best results our magewrights will need a sample of…"

"… additional two percentage points before taxes and fees, though if you're willing to order an additional three airskiff frames we can possibly…"

"… will begin work on your cloaks as soon as the next shipment of owlbear pelts arrives from the Reaches, which we expect…"

"… simply not profitable to ship that through Sigilstar, given the Thranish tariffs on duskwood, but if you can find an alternative supplier…"

~*~*~

After a while I opened my eyes, somehow feeling bored and excited at the same time.

I was excited, because I'd been able to pick individual conversations out of the crowd without any of the difficulty I'd expected; apparently all my practicing had been paying off. One conversation at a time had been easy, and two at a time had been tricky but doable.

Three at a time had been too many-I'd started to have issues deciphering the longer words before the conversation moved on, like I had the first time I'd listened in on Chris and Dean back in Xen'drik-but I'd still gotten the gist of things without having to "turn off" the senses of the rest of my swarm, which was a huge deal. With more practice I was sure I could get that up to fully understanding three conversations at a time, or four, or maybe eventually every single one happening within my range.

And I was also bored, because I'd had no idea what any of the conversation were actually about, since people were constantly mentioning places and products and animals that I'd never heard of. It was almost like trying to follow along with an Australian news channel, able to understand the language (mostly) but not knowing the slang or any of the people they were talking about, and I could only force myself to pay attention to that for so long.

With everything that had been going on since we came through the portal, I hadn't actually had a chance to be bored yet. We were always walking somewhere or looking for something or making plans or whatever, and while we'd technically had nothing to do during our time on the airship I'd spent most of that time too busy thinking about the events back in Zantashk to really notice anything else.

But here, sitting in a comfortable chair, with nothing else to do and nowhere else to go until our turn came up and all the anticipation about maybe finally being close to getting home making the minutes drag on and on… yes, I was getting very bored.

Kind of refreshing, actually, or at least it had been for the first half-hour or so.

I drummed my fingers against the armrest for a little while, trying to think of a way to occupy myself, then glanced over at Chris, who was struggling to play his game while ignoring Alec's attempts to make him mess up or drop his phone. He looked like he could use some rescuing, and I had literally nothing better to do, so why not.

I walked over and took the seat next to Chris on the opposite side from Corvin. The Ward paused his game and gave me a look I couldn't decipher. "What's up?"

Good question.

I wasn't sure what to say. Telling him I'm bored, entertain me wouldn't go over well, since aside from being incredibly rude, it sounded too much like something Alec would say-which, I guess, was basically the same thing.

"You, um, read any good books lately?" I tried, and immediately wanted to kick myself for picking the most cliché conversation starter in existence. "Before we came here, I mean."

He didn't seem to mind the awkward opener, though, since his face lit up and he quickly put his phone away. "Yeah, I did, actually. You ever heard of The Beginning Place, by Ursula K. Le Guin?"

I hadn't, but I was familiar with Le Guin. Mom used to teach The Left Hand of Darkness in one of her classes on feminism in literature, and it was one of the books we'd read together when I was in middle school.

"No, I haven't," I replied. "What's it about?"

Chris scooted a little closer and lowered his voice, so we wouldn't bother Corvin while he was reading.

"So, it starts off with…."

~*~*~

After another twenty or so minutes and several topic changes, I was in the middle of explaining why Oscar Wilde was a very underrated writer to Chris, who was at least pretending to agree with me even though he didn't seem to appreciate real literature as much as I thought he should, when my bugs picked up Dean and Brian asking Terik about our upcoming meeting.

Which made sense; the two of them did do most of the talking for our team, after all, because I didn't have much experience and Chris was bad at it and Alec was Alec, so they'd reasonably expect to do most of the talking to Merrix as well.

But I didn't want to sit back and let them do all the talking, this time.

I'd done a great job when they'd picked me to talk to Yin initially, hadn't I? And a great… or, okay, at least a halfway-decent job after that while we were making our way to Zantashk. But ever since Dean and Brian had had their argument and we'd started pretending to be nobles, the two of them had taken the lead for everything our team did.

They hadn't forced me out of the way or anything, it'd just kind of happened, because Dean knew how to talk to wealthy people and both of them were good with tactics. I didn't mind that or resent them for it, not at all.

Still… we kept being introduced as "Vicereine and Regent and also those other guys," so Merrix would probably expect one of the two of us to do some of the talking, and that really shouldn't be Alec. If I was going to lead the conversation, I should know what our plan would be.

"I think I'm going to go talk to Brian and Dean," I said, interrupting whatever Chris had been saying.

"… Oh. Uh, about what?"

"About how to convince Merrix to help us," I said as I got to my feet.

He stood as well. "I'll join you."

"If you want to." I looked over at Alec, sprawled sideways on a chair in a way that couldn't possibly be comfortable. Chris glanced at him too, then at me.

"He's fine where he is."

"Yeah."

I sidled over to Brian and leaned against the high back of his chair, while Chris went over to stand next to Dean. "So what's the plan?" I asked.

"About…?" Dean asked.

"About talking to Merrix."

"We were just starting to talk about that, actually."

"Yeah, I heard."

I got strange looks from him and Brian for that, but he replied, "Well, I figured the first thing to know would be what Merrix's motivations are." He turned to Terik. "I know you're not from this city and might not know him that well, but if you do have a good handle on him, mind giving us a summary?"

A week ago, my first reaction at the mention of motivations would have been to wonder whether Merrix was a hero, a villain, or a rogue.

Now, though? Not only did the whole existence of the Dragonmarked Houses mean that capes who were in it for the money seemed to actually be the majority here and so using powers for profit didn't have the connotation of "going rogue" from the hero side… but also, everyone's actions during the fight in Zantashk had shown me that the line between "hero" and "villain" was much more faint and squiggly here than it had been back home, assuming it existed here at all.

I hadn't decided yet whether this world's parahumans not being "capes" so much as just "people who happened to have powers" was more of a good thing or a bad thing.

"Oh, practically everyone knows the story of the Cannith barons, believe me," Terik said with a chuckle. "Regarding Merrix in particular, I believe I'll have to go back a few years to explain things, to the Day of Mourning."

He leaned back in his chair and stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "You recall Obsidian mentioning that he's specifically the patriarch of Cannith South, I hope? Well, that geographical division isn't shared by the other Houses. Cannith used to be united under a single patriarch like all the rest, but after the destruction of the city of Metrol…."

He looked around at us gravely. "Patriarch Starrin d'Cannith died, along with his only son and heir, his immediate family, his siblings, his niblings, his cousins, and literally every other person in the established line of succession. Cannith was effectively decapitated, that day."

"Where does Merrix come in?" I asked.

"He was one of three who advanced a claim to House leadership: Merrix in Breland, Jorlanna in Aundair, and Zorlan in Karrnath. Cannith South, Cannith West, Cannith East," he explained, drawing an imaginary upside-down triangle in the air with his finger. "Each of the three had very different ideas on how Cannith should be run and how its resources should be allocated and couldn't stand the others' ideas in the slightest, which is why knowing about that split is important for your purposes.

"Jorlanna had the strongest claim originally," he explained, "but the seneschals outside of Aundair refused to support her due to a perception of divided loyalties. House members lack citizenship in any nation and should not favor one nation over any other, but Jorlanna appears to consider herself Aundairian first and foremost and has had several rather scandalous affairs among the Aundairian nobility. As well, though dalliances between heirs of different Houses are strictly forbidden, she took a lover from House Deneith years ago and was nearly excoriated for it.

"Zorlan, meanwhile, is focused almost entirely on filling Cannith's coffers. He's known primarily for helping Cannith turn a record profit in the Lhazaar Principalities and Mror Holds after taking command of his branch of the House, and the research projects in Cannith East are focused more on reducing crafting costs for their existing products than on creating anything substantially new."

Looking directly at Dean, Terik concluded, "So if you were intending to persuade Merrix to aid you with the promise of future diplomatic relations or trade agreements or the like…?"

"Yeah, that was going to be the first thing I tried, since it might let us avoid paying him upfront," Dean admitted.

Terik shook his head. "Don't. Such promises would certainly entice the Brelish crown, but Merrix would likely take great exception to an approach that reminds him too much of his rivals' philosophies."

"Good to know."

"What do you think would work on him?" I asked.

"I only know him by reputation, you understand," Terik cautioned, "from official statements he's made, articles written about him in the Chronicle, that sort of thing. But the impression I have is that of someone who would much rather spend his time in a smithy than a royal court, someone who might find the effort to build you a portal exciting in its own right and not because it might earn him or House Cannith a reward if you're able to return home."

Chris winced. "That could be bad."

"Why's that?" Brian asked with a frown. "Sounds like it should be an easy sell."

"If he likes the idea," Chris said. "If he doesn't like it, trying to convince him to take time away from something he actually wants to do and help us instead probably isn't going to work. Trust me."

"If he's all about making new things, how could he not want to build a portal to a planet he's never heard of before?" I asked.

Chris shrugged. "Maybe he has something else he's working on that he doesn't want to interrupt, maybe portals don't fit in his specialty so he gets like a tenth of the way and can't do the rest and gives up, maybe he doesn't think it's doable at all and doesn't want to waste materials, maybe-"

"Okay, okay, I see your point."

"So, best case scenario," Brian summarized, "he's really interested right off the bat and throws everything into helping us; worst case scenario, we don't even get past the first sentence before he decides he doesn't care or can't help and kicks us out?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Chris confirmed.

"Great."

"Okay, so, how do we pitch things so he wants to help us?" I asked.

"Information. Everyone wants information," Brian suggested. "Even if he doesn't care about money, just knowing about the portal and getting its location from us so he can send people to study it could help him out somehow, right?"

"Help him how?"

"I don't know, but there's got to be something." He gestured questioningly at Chris.

"Assuming he's a normal Tinker, yeah. I haven't really done anything like that myself, but Armsmaster always said that no matter how different your specialties are you can always get something from studying another cape's tech or powers."

"Good, that's one option. Let's come up with at least three more and then rank them in order of likelihood of working," Dean said. "Chris, mind taking notes?"

"Sure." Chris pulled his phone out and began typing away.

"All right, what's our next idea?"

~*~*~

After two and a half hours of waiting and talking and more waiting-and I knew how long it took because there turned out to be a clock in the room, for once; it used changing lines of light instead of rotating hands, but Terik taught us how to read it-we were finally approached by one of the House Cannith employees, who gave us a brief and very precise bow.

"Your pardon for the wait, gentles. Lady Nebren will see you now," he said stiffly, and as we rose from our seats he pivoted on his heel and led us through the crowd to an unassuming door, set into the wall behind a row of desks in a way that blended in with the patterns on the decor.

"Lady Nebren?" Brian murmured to Terik as we waited for the man to open it and usher us through.

"Someone to screen applicants before they can bother Merrix in person," Terik murmured back to him. "You didn't think you'd be able to speak to him without involving the bureaucracy, did you?"

Well… kind of, yeah.

I sighed. Great, even more delays, I grumbled to myself.

I mean, it wasn't like we had a chance of going home right this afternoon or anything. I knew, intellectually, that a few hours' difference in when we met Merrix wouldn't actually matter.

But when we'd been walking through the jungle the idea of getting home had been a nebulous, far-off thing, and even when we were making plans to get here it still felt kind of distant, not quite real. Now that we were about to talk to someone who had a real, solid chance of sending us back to Earth, I could feel myself growing more and more impatient with every minute we delayed.

The employee led us up five stories of a spiral staircase in complete silence, then led us out into a hall that was much less ostentatious than the main room below but still had thick carpets, small chandeliers, and other signs of luxury.

We passed several doors on the way to our destination. I felt through my swarm that each room had two to four people in it, one behind a desk and the others in front of it, so they must have been the people who were ahead of us in line. There weren't enough bugs in each room for me to easily listen in, and while I could have sent some more bugs in to boost their numbers, I didn't want to risk upsetting anyone here and losing the chance to meet Merrix if I was caught eavesdropping.

We reached a large office near the end of the hall with one woman inside, seated at a desk and doing paperwork. There were eight chairs in front of it, four like the chairs downstairs and four in a different style as if they'd had to bring in chairs from another room to seat all of us, but fortunately the room was large enough that we wouldn't be squeezed too close together.

The employee knocked politely on the door, waited two seconds, and opened it. Once we'd all filed into the room and chosen our seats, he gave us another brief bow and closed the door behind us.

The woman continued writing for a moment, then tapper her quill twice against her desk, set it to the side, and gave us a polite businesslike smile. "Good morning, Lord ir'Thauram, Lord d'Sivis, and guests," she said. "I am Guildmistress Nebren Vown d'Cannith, executive secretary for Baron d'Cannith."

In her understated gray outfit with light green highlights and lots of small pieces of gold jewelry, her long brown hair tied back in a braided bun, she came across less like a secretary and more like a high-powered attorney from a legal drama.

"I understand you wish to arrange a meeting with the baron regarding a matter of some urgency," she continued.

"We do," Terik said. "Our guests are travelers from very far away who were stranded in Xen'drik with no way to return home after experiencing a portal malfunction, after which we encountered them and brought them here. They hoped to petition Baron d'Cannith for aid in returning home."

Nebren's lips twitched into a momentary smile. "Stranded travelers, hmm? I haven't heard that one in a while."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Brian challenged her.

"Merely that a very many petitions cross my desk every month," she replied, unconvincingly.

Reaching into one of the drawers in her desk, she withdrew a small device, a frisbee-looking disc made of golden metal with symbols drawn all over it and a snowglobe-like glass sphere embedded in the center. When she placed it flat on her desk and tapped the sphere with one finger, it began to glow with a soft blue light.

As soon as it did, I suddenly knew I couldn't tell any lies while that light was glowing.

What the hell?

Noticing our confusion, she explained, "In case you aren't familiar, this is a truthteller. While under its influence, no one may speak a deliberate lie. Word games or lies by omission are possible, but attempting to evade the truth will be noted and counted against you."

She folded her hands on her desk and, in the tone of a lawyer reading out contract terms, continued, "In order to be permitted to speak with the baron, you must demonstrate to my satisfaction that your reasons for doing so are both valid and reasonable, and that you bear no ill intentions toward Baron Merrix d'Cannith, Cannith South, or any employees or assets thereunto pertaining. Do you accept these terms of your own will and in the absence of constraint, whether legal, magical, or otherwise?"

I really didn't like the idea that this thing was messing with my mind somehow. I may not have been a cape expert like the guys were, but even I'd heard of Teacher and Heartbreaker, villains who were famous for turning their innocent victims into brainwashed followers. Forcing someone to tell the truth was admittedly pretty mild, as mind-control went, but it was still mind-control.

… Oh crap.

I glanced over at Dean and thought I really hope we can still fool them about the noble thing as hard as I could, hoping that whatever he saw of my emotions would manage to convey what I was thinking.

He gave me a tiny nod and turned back to Nebren. "We do."

"Each of you will need to state their own agreement with the terms," she said.

"I agree," I replied immediately, and the other three followed suit.

"Good," Nebren said. She pulled out a few sheets of paper, once again tapped her quill twice against her desk, and poised it over the first sheet. "To begin, please state your titles and names."

I looked at Dean again, who hesitated; I had an idea, so I spoke up. "Vicereine," I said, pointing to myself, then went around the circle: "Regent, Gallant, Champion, Grue."

The secretary gave me an annoyed look as she wrote what I assumed was our cape names in a short column down the left side of her paper, and before she could say anything I continued, going around the group in the same order to give everyone's names.

She finished writing Brian's name, then looked up at me again. "Titles and names together would have been simpler," she said.

I shrugged. I began to say Sorry, I just- but the truthteller apparently counted my polite "sorry" as a lie, since I wasn't, and no sound came out as I felt my throat briefly seize up. I cleared my throat and instead went with, "I figured that would work better."

"Lord ir'Thauram claimed that you traveled here from 'very far away,' which I take to mean that none of you hail from Khorvaire," Nebren went on, ignoring what I'd said. "Is the supposition that I just stated correct?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Did you in fact arrive in Xen'drik due to a portal malfunction?"

I started to say Yes, but my throat constricted again.

Why would it think that was a lie? We weren't trying to… oh, wait, actually, we'd wondered before whether someone had tried to send us through the portal deliberately and hadn't ruled that out, so I couldn't technically say for sure that it was a "malfunction" that brought us here.

"We didn't mean to go through the portal. We were running away from someone and ended up running into it without-" knowing it was there, I meant to continue, but once again I couldn't because technically I had known it was there after Kid Win went through but before I did, so: "-being able to stop ourselves," I finished.

"After you went through the portal, were you aware that you had arrived in Xen'drik?"

Brian opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't speak for a few seconds. "We knew we'd arrived in a jungle, but we thought it was a jungle on our own planet," he said eventually. I bet he'd tried to just say that no, we weren't aware, but since we'd known we arrived there he'd had to rephrase it.

I got the impression that Nebren was carefully phrasing her questions so that it'd be hard to answer with a basic yes or no if there was any wiggle room at all in our answers, and we'd be forced to elaborate.

Man, that was going to get annoying.

She jotted a short note down on her paper. "After you arrived in Xen'drik, were you aware…."

~*~*~

Three hours.

Three. Solid. Hours.

We'd answered questions about every single step of our trip, from the moment we'd woken up in Xen'drik until the moment we arrived in Sharn. We'd answered questions about words and names and places she didn't know. We'd answered questions to fill in some details for other questions. We'd answered some of the same questions a second or third or fourth time because she couldn't believe we were telling the truth about something and kept rephrasing her question.

When that damn blue light had winked out and she said she was done, we'd all collapsed in relief.

The part where I'd had to explain our being nobles was something I'd worried about, but I'd thought about the wording while Chris was answering another question and when the question about first speaking with Yin came up what I'd said was, "I introduced myself as Vicereine, and he recognized the noble title and treated me appropriately."

After that it was all smooth sailing, the issue didn't come up again. There were so many people with titles around here that us being nobles was probably the part of our story that Nebren found the least unbelievable.

I guess a magic lie detector doesn't work all that well when you're talking to someone from a completely different culture and you fill in the gaps in what they're saying with what you expect to hear.

She finished a few last notes on her current sheet of paper, then added it to the small stack of paper that had steadily grown during our interrogation. "Incredible as your story may sound, everything does seem to be in order," she admitted. "I shall have this report sent to the baron, whereupon he will decided whether he wishes to meet with you. Should he agree to do so, a message informing you of the time and date you are to meet him will be delivered to the inn at which you are staying."

"How long will that take?" I asked.

"Baron d'Cannith is an extremely busy man. I doubt he'll have the time to read the report in full before the end of next week-"

"Next week?" Alec cried.

"-but as a favor to Lord d'Sivis I've included a short précis for his perusal and will be marking it as a high-priority document. The baron may get to it as early as tomorrow evening."

"And how long after that do you think we'd be able to meet with him?" I asked, fearing the worst.

"Judging by prior experience with this sort of thing? Between four days and one month, most likely."

Alec didn't cry out again, just grumbled loudly, and I couldn't blame him.

A whole month? Before we could even start the process with Merrix, assuming he actually agreed to help us?

We'd be stuck here practically forever at that rate.

Nebren looked around at us, all wearing frustrated and disappointed expressions, and sighed. "I feel for your situation, I truly do," she said. "But you must understand, you are by no means the only ones requesting the baron's help on an urgent matter of great importance. You aren't even the first ones today."

She leaned forward and gave us a tired smile, the first genuine expression we'd seen out of her so far. "For whatever it may be worth, I do believe that the baron will be likely to grant you a meeting. Your request is certainly the most interesting one to cross my desk in recent memory, and he does love a challenge."

Terik stood at that and dipped his head in a shallow bow. "We thank you for your assistance, Lady Nebren," he said politely. With that, the rest of us rose as well and followed him into the hall. The same employee was standing there, ready to meet us and escort us outside, this time taking a route down to a side exit that meant we didn't have to pass through the main hall.

~*~*~

I waited to talk with the guys about the meeting until we were waiting by the lift station for it to arrive and the loud thrumming of the orange energy beam nearby would drown out quiet conversation.

"So what'd you think?" I asked softly.

"Nebren did believe everything. I didn't see any deception from her, so no worries there," Dean said, leaving the most important part of "everything" unspecified in case Corvin's or Terik's ears were better than we thought.

I was glad to hear that. I hadn't actually considered that she might not believe parts of our story and hide that fact, so the confirmation from Dean was reassuring.

"Good. What else?"

"The time is too long," Alec griped. "A month, seriously? I'm gonna go nuts before then."

"We could get lucky and get something in less than a week," Dean argued.

"That's still too long."

"But it's less than a month."

"Whatever."

"Anything else?" I asked.

Brian shook his head. "Second-guessing ourselves is pointless. Either we get the meeting with him or we don't, nothing else anyone can do about it now."

"That's not necessarily true," Corvin interjected; I guess he had good ears after all. He was frowning slightly, as he had been since we'd left the enclave, and seemed to dislike the delay as much as we did. "I may be able to call in a favor or two, see if an official recommendation from someone important can expedite anything."

"You'd do that for us?" Dean asked.

Corvin smiled apologetically. "It's not that I mind having you around, but…"

But the sooner we met with Merrix, the faster we'd be out of his hair. Message received, loud and clear.

The lift arrived a minute or so later. "Terik, could you take them back to the inn?" Corvin asked, and at Terik's nod he split off to go see someone else while the rest of us piled onto the lift and headed downward.

~*~*~

Half Past Seventh Evening Bell, Sar the 14 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

The Horse & Hearth Inn, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

We headed back to our rooms to rest once we got back to the inn-no one felt like sitting around chatting after having already spent a good six hours talking-and reconvened when they started serving dinner.

It was… fine, I guess; the food wasn't the best, nowhere near the quality of the food we'd had in Zantashk or on the airship, which I now realized was a significant cut above anything we'd probably be able to afford while we were staying in Sharn. It was at least a hearty meat-and-potatoes meal, basic enough that I didn't start feeling homesick based on how different it was from what I was used to.

The inn itself wasn't anything to write home about either. If the Zantashk enclave was like a high-class hotel, this was a Medieval Motel 6. The food was served in wooden bowls and plates, the main room only had those magic light fixtures in one chandelier in the middle of the room with the edges of the room (and our bedrooms as well) being lit by candles, and the beds were about as comfortable as the bunks in Yin's magic cabins.

But the detailed décor, the attentiveness of the staff, the quality of the musicians performing as entertainment, and other factors said to me that this was probably supposed to be a reasonably good hotel by Sharn standards, and it was the upscale enclave accommodations closer to those of a modern hotel that were the outlier.

I couldn't wait to get home.

We'd just finished up dessert, a sweet and creamy pudding that reminded me of cheesecake, when Corvin shoved open the door to the common room and strode in dramatically.

"Any luck?" I asked hopefully.

In response, he reached into a vest pocket, pulled out a small envelope, and opened it with a flourish.

"'To the Lady Hebert, Vicereine of Brockton Bay'," he read aloud. "Standard greetings, list of titles, 'careful consideration' and so on, let's see… ah, here: 'Baron Merrix d'Cannith cordially requests your presence and that of your party at the Cannith Forgehold on Mol, the sixteenth of Rhaan, at the eleventh morning bell'."

"I… don't actually know the date. How far away is that?" I asked, bracing myself for a very long wait.

"Just two days," he said, looking very pleased with himself. "Today's the fourteenth."

"That's awesome!" Chris said. "Thanks, Corvin!"

"How the hell did you manage that?" Brian asked.

"Oh, you know," Corvin replied with false modesty, "I just convinced a few people to ask him politely."

Honestly, I didn't care what he'd done to get things moving. I didn't even mind that we'd probably owe yet another favor for that. If anything could help us get out of here faster, I'd take it.

~*~*~

Terik told us the bad news later that evening: He was leaving the next day. Khalthrun, Obsidian, and Yin were, too.

"We're hardly an adventuring party, sticking together through thick and thin, day in and day out," Terik explained. "We joined Yin on his expedition, and that was quite the rollicking good time, even better than our last few trips with him… but now that we've returned to civilization, we all have our own concerns to attend to once more, much as I might like to leave my own tedious duties behind for a little longer."

Terik was happy to regale us with amusing stories of the kinds of disasters he found whenever he returned to his estate, from servants painting one of his guest houses the wrong color to a mischievous nephew deciding to sneak around and dress up all of his undead skeleton soldiers in different uniforms, because apparently that was a completely normal thing for ten-year-olds in Karrnath to want to do.

Khalthrun didn't elaborate on her plans. She simply stated, in her soft but confident voice, "I am a Gatekeeper; my responsibilities take me elsewhere. The few members of my sect tending to our shrine in this city have things well in hand, so I cannot justify staying. If you find yourself in Aundair or the Reaches, however, do not hesitate to send word to me via one of my fellow druids."

While Yin was based in Sharn and I'd assumed he'd stick around, apparently he was constantly out on trips for the university he worked with and barely spent more than a few days at a time in the city. Obsidian didn't always work with Yin, he said, but he was joining Yin on this new expedition, and by this time tomorrow they'd be aboard an airship headed to a wonderful-sounding place called the Demon Wastes.

Corvin, fortunately, was sticking around for another week before he headed home to Zilargo. "I'd originally planned to leave tomorrow as well," he told us, "but I'd hate to leave you all adrift here without a single friend in the area, especially if this meeting with Merrix doesn't go as you hope."

Terik had paid for our rooms and meals at the inn through that whole week, so we could survive at least that long, but with our support system leaving town we'd need to start looking into ways to make money, and fast.

"That could be an issue," Corvin said with a frown when I asked about how we could go about finding a job. "Without a recognized legal identity and papers to prove it, you'll have practically no legal ways of making money."

"When you say no legal ways…?" Alec insinuated.

"I don't just mean a job, no, I mean any ways at all," Corvin replied, not noticing or ignoring what Alec was implying.

"You'd mentioned back in Zantashk that you were thinking of selling some of Lord McIntyre's enchanted items, as I recall?" He shook his head. "That won't be possible, I'm afraid. Without papers, and all the right permits besides, no guild or independent merchant in the city will do business with you, no matter what you may be attempting to sell. House Cannith, especially, does not look kindly upon those who try to manufacture and sell goods without their approval and without adhering to their required standards, and that would go double should your dealings with Merrix turn sour."

"So what can we do?"

"Identification papers and traveling papers are notarized by House Sivis, so I should be able to arrange for those to be issued to you without too much difficulty, though convincing the Brelish government to issue papers to foreigners of unknown origin and lineage could take some time, long enough that finding work before the end of the week would be unlikely. In the meantime…."

He looked off to the side and thought quietly for a moment. "I do have a few friends in the city who might be amenable to paying you through the fence for some work, if you're willing. I can ask around tomorrow and see if anyone agrees. The pay won't be much," he cautioned, "but it would at least be enough to keep you housed and fed for the duration of your stay."

"Thank you very much," Dean said. "You've done so much for us already, and I don't know how we can ever repay you, but we'll definitely try."

"Oh, think nothing of it," Corvin replied, smiling broadly. "Were our positions reversed, I'm sure you'd gladly do for me what I'm doing for you."

~*~*~

The next morning, after we'd had one last breakfast with Corvin's team and then said our goodbyes, I stepped out of the bathroom to find Brian waiting for me, leaning against the wall with two very realistic-looking wooden swords under one arm.

"What are those for?"

"Training," he said, straightening up.

"Training for what?"

He eyed me for a second, then sighed. "Could you kill someone with your power, if you had to?"

I froze.

"No? How about seriously injure them?"

I… no, I….

I took a deep breath and let it out. "What the fuck, Brian."

"Look. We're in a huge city, with a lot more capes than there are back home, so there've got to be a ton of villains, too. And no one here has a problem with killing," he said.

I nodded in mute agreement.

"Even if everything goes perfectly tomorrow, we'll still be here for a while while Merrix figures out the portal, and who knows how long that'll take and how many villains we'll run into in the meantime," he continued. "And… you locked up during the battle. If you can't defend yourself with your power…."

He held out one of the swords. I took it.

"So you're going to teach me swordfighting, is that it?" I asked, more angrily than he probably deserved.

Brian had the audacity to laugh. "Hell no. I don't know the first thing about that. What I do know is that practically everyone here goes around armed all the time, so if I'm going to teach you how to fight hand-to-hand you're going to need to know how to deal with someone with a weapon."

I stood there, thinking, looking from him to the practice sword and back to him.

He did have a point, though not the one he thought he did.

Yes, I'd frozen up in the battle, but that was then; I was used to the way that people here fought, now, and the second time I ended up in a battle I was sure I wouldn't have a problem with that again. Yes, I'd felt bad about the fact that some drow had happened to die after I sent my swarm at them, but they'd deserved it, and I wouldn't hesitate to send my bugs at anyone else who tried to hurt me.

But that wasn't what I was worried about. What worried me was the drow who'd been able to shut off my power somehow.

Terik and the rest of his team hadn't treated that like it was anything special, so Trump powers-or whatever you'd call them in magic terms, I guess-probably were fairly common around here. If I ran into one of those and had no way to defend myself while I couldn't control my swarm….

"Yeah, okay," I told Brian. "Let's do this."

"Great. There's another common room one floor up that they don't open up until the evening, and the bartender said we can use it for practice if we're careful around the furniture."

He turned to head for the stairs and I followed. "What are we going to do first?"

"Nothing complicated. Just stances, stretching, and falling."

"Falling?"

"Yeah. You start learning a martial art, the first thing you need to know is how to make sure you don't get hurt when you train. Once you mostly have that down, we'll start with some basic movements and try to figure out what style fits you best."

"Works for me."

~*~*~

Six hours later, I was completely wiped out.

Brian was serious about getting me up to speed quickly. We'd taken breaks, obviously, with a longer break for lunch, but otherwise I'd been going practically nonstop since this morning.

As I trudged down the stairs, I was sore, I was dripping with sweat, and I desperately needed a shower and then a nap. Dinner could wait.

Alec was waiting in the hallway, leaning near the door to the bathrooms with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. "So, didja have fun getting all sweaty with Brian? Sounded like you two really had a fun time up there," he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Fuck off," I mumbled as I passed him, turning my head away so he couldn't see the flush rising up my cheeks.

~*~*~

Just Before Eleventh Morning Bell, Mol the 16 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Cannith Forgehold, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

Traveling through Ashblack, the district far down in the depths of the city where the Forgehold was located, was like walking through a furnace.

The walls were completely covered in ash, except where people had wiped it away to expose a sign or some graffiti; it was hot and humid, with the gaps between nearby buildings being too narrow to get a good breeze going; the faint smoke hanging in the air everywhere we went made my eyes water; and it was hard to hear anything else over the constant rumbling from all the surrounding buildings.

The one exception to the dreary grayness was the Forgehold itself. The air was still hot and smoky and the rumbling was even louder standing that close to such a huge factory, but its stone walls glistened like new thanks to some force visibly preventing any of the falling ash or rising smoke from coming into contact with it.

To reach the entrance we had to cross a narrow bridge separating the Forgehold from the surrounding buildings, like crossing a drawbridge over a moat to get into a castle. Four heavily-armed and -armored warforged stood guard at the main doors, and given that lots of people could fly around here they probably had some defenses against that as well.

We presented Merrix's invitation and were escorted to a fairly spartan meeting room within the complex. The guard warned us in no uncertain terms not to leave the room unless someone came to escort us, as apparently the Forgehold was heavily fortified against spies and invaders and it wasn't safe to wander around without the right passwords or keys or whatever other security measures they used.

We'd just settled in for a long wait when the door opened again and a middle-aged man swept into the room. He had short dark hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee, his black and green clothing resembled a cross between a suit and a Roman toga, and he was carrying a short scepter topped with the bull-looking creature that was the symbol of House Cannith. He was also wearing a surprising amount of jewelry, from his ruby-studded necklace to the many rings on his fingers.

"Travelers from another world, hmm?" he said without preamble as he took the seat at the head of the table and set his scepter to the side, where it hung motionless in midair. He had the voice of a radio announcer or professional public speaker, deep and smooth and self-assured.

"Lord Merrix," Corvin began, "it is truly an honor-"

"Let's dispense with the pleasantries, I'm in the middle of a very delicate fabrication process and only have a half-hour to spare before the next stage," Merrix replied briskly. "Now, your story sounds like nothing so much as a fanciful tale out of the Chronicle's adventure serials, but after having it verified by truthteller I'm willing to believe that you believe it. I'm not one to doubt the reliability of my own inventions."

"You read the full report, I trust?" Corvin asked.

"The entire thing, and it's still fresh." His gaze roved across the five of us, ignoring Corvin for now. "What can you tell me that is not contained in that report, what are you planning that requires my involvement, and what can you offer in return?"

"Well, first, she didn't ask us in depth about our powers for the report," Dean said. "Lord Chris doesn't just have his pistols and hoverboard, he's a Tinker like you, he can probably help you out with this somehow." He gestured to Chris, and then nudged him, hard, to get him to stop staring fixedly at Merrix's floating scepter.

"Artificer, not tinker," Merrix corrected. "That may be the term for a crafter of enchanted items in your homeland, but here a tinker is a member of the Tinkers Guild, which deals solely in mundane goods. You'll want to use the correct term to avoid confusion. Any others with undisclosed aspects of their magic that might be applicable?"

"No, Lord Merrix."

"Right. And your plan?"

Dean didn't respond right away, and neither did Brian. Chris's gaze had drifted back to the scepter, and Alec was avoiding meeting my eyes like he was trying not to get called on in class. I looked between them, steeled myself, and answered, "Our plan was to talk to you, Lord Merrix. That's as far as we got."

The baron's raised eyebrow invited me to continue.

We'd only managed to agree on two tactics before meeting with Lady Nebren-namely, getting him interested in studying the portal for its own sake, and offering to get him tinkertech from top-tier heroes like Armsmaster or Dragon if the portal stayed open after we got home-because all of our other suggestions had essentially boiled down to "because money" or "because politics" or both, so I didn't have much to work with ideas-wise.

Putting all of our cards on the table and hoping he took pity on us was probably our best shot.

"We don't have money, or resources," I explained, "or any idea how the portal that brought us here works-"

"Do you know how any other portals between worlds work?"

"Uh, no-"

"I see."

That sounded more than a little condescending. "Well, do you know how portals between worlds work?" I snapped. The rest of the guys stiffened, and I realized that I might have made a big mistake by talking back to him like that.

Merrix just grinned in faint amusement, thankfully. "You have me there. Outside of helping to design Kundarak's vaults, I don't have much expertise in that field. I must admit, studying a portal like the one you describe could pay handsome dividends even if it does simply lead to a point in one of the other planes and not to another world in this one."

Frowning, he continued, "Assuming, that is, that this portal is actually an enchanted device; if it was a transient spell effect, by now there would be nothing left of its aura and we wouldn't be able to derive any significant information from examining it. Perhaps…."

~*~*~

We went back and forth with Merrix for the next twentyish minutes, and we quickly realized the problem wouldn't be trying to convince him to help us-he'd seemingly already decided to do that by halfway through the meeting-but rather trying to prevent him from squeezing as much as possible out of us in exchange.

By the end of the meeting, we came to an agreement: he'd get the location of the portal, a guaranteed amount of time to study Chris's tinkertech, a promise of at least three pieces of tinkertech of his choice from among the heroes back home, our agreement to go out and acquire any rare and exotic components he might need to get the portal working again, and an open-ended favor from each of us individually.

In exchange, we'd get… his promise to put forth his best effort toward helping us.

It was an incredibly lopsided deal, but we didn't exactly have much of a choice, did we?

"I'm well aware I haven't been the best of hosts this morning due to the time constraint, and for that I apologize," Merrix said as the meeting wrapped up. "Shall we meet again on Far morning at the same time to discuss how to proceed, after I've done some initial research and reconnaissance?"

"That would be four days from today," Corvin noted helpfully.

Nobody else looked like they objected, so I said, "Yes, that's fine."

"Good." He stood and retrieved his scepter. "Until Far, then. Scimitar will show you out." He left, and a few moments later one of the warforged guards came to escort us back to the entrance.

Once we were over the bridge and safely out of hearing range of the guards, Chris let out an annoyed sigh. "I don't know about you, but that's not how I expected that to go at all."

"I kind of expected it?" Brian offered. "I've heard enough stories about how the Elite does business that I wasn't that surprised, at least. He had us over a barrel, he knew it, he knew we knew it, and he took full advantage of it."

"The difference being that Merrix isn't a villain."

"But he is essentially the CEO of a major corporation," Dean said, "and those don't need any powers to screw people over."

"That's for damn sure," Brian said.

Alec turned to me and let out an exaggerated gasp. "Do my ears deceive me, or did Mr. Stick In The Mud and Mr. Stick It To The Man actually just agree on something? What's next, dogs and cats living together? Pigs learning to fly?"

Just then, a flock of pigs with comically tiny bird wings on their back emerged from behind the nearest tower and began flying loops through the air.

All of us stopped and stared… until Corvin flashed us a grin and waggled his fingers melodramatically, and the pigs dissolved into sparkles of multicolored light.

"Okay, fair," Alec admitted as we started walking again, "I kind of walked right into that one."

~*~*~

"I have some good news," Corvin told us as we sat down to dinner later that evening. "I've heard back from one of my friends, and he's agreed to take you on as assistants temporarily if you can convince him that it won't be too much trouble and you wouldn't get in his way."

"That's great," Dean said as he passed the salad over to me. "What does he do?"

"He's an inquisitive."

"A what?"

"Someone who works to solve crimes and apprehend criminals without being a member of a guild or a civic patrol force."

"Like a detective?" I said.

"If that's what you call them, yes. He works quite closely with the Sharn Watch and House Medani, but remains scrupulously independent."

"Didn't you say no one could hire us without papers?" I asked. "But now someone in law enforcement is willing to hire us anyway?"

"It's not illegal to hire someone without papers," he corrected, "it's just that practically no one will actually do it. With all of the changelings around, not to mention other shapeshifters and illusionists and others of their ilk, it's rarely worth the risk to accept someone's purported identity at face value without House Sivis and the government corroborating their claim. My friends wouldn't normally agree to hiring strangers sight-unseen, either, but I managed to talk him around with my most recent letter."

"That sounds fine," I said, passing the bread plate down to Chris. "How much would he be paying?"

"And what's an assistant to a detective do, anyway?" Alec asked. "Would I get a cool hat?"

"Your pay would vary with your duties, and I don't know what those would entail. Delivering messages and hauling equipment around and the like, I would imagine; I'm not very familiar with his line of work. He was hoping to meet with us this evening to discuss the details."

"Works for me," Brian said, and the rest of us agreed.

"Excellent. I'll let him know."

~*~*~

It was raining when we left the inn. It had also rained a bit the day I'd been training with Brian, according to Corvin, we just hadn't noticed it since there were no windows in the room where we'd spent most of the day.

He said that at this time of year we could expect rain about half the time, which I was not happy to hear. Most flying bugs didn't do all that well in the rain, and with the amount of vertical travel we were doing I'd been relying on those more than usual to keep a good-sized swarm around me.

Corvin's friend was waiting for us in a place called Eastbridge Park. It turned out to be a very wide bridge between two of the larger towers in the area, facing the east, with a small park on it, so the name was a perfect fit. He had taken shelter from the rain under a fairly tall and leafy tree near the middle of the bridge, but his wide-brimmed hat and long raincoat were still almost entirely soaked.

There was someone else in the park, too: my bugs had landed on a huge man even taller and more built than Brian, lurking under another tree near the bridge's far end, and I asked Corvin about that. "No need to worry," he assured us, "that'll just be his bodyguard. A sad necessity for someone in his position, without the formal backing of a larger organization."

When we reached the bridge Corvin called out to his friend, he waved us over, and we all went to join him under the tree cover. With seven of us there it didn't provide much protection from the rain, but some protection was better than none.

"Creilath! Good to see you in the flesh. How is your wife doing these days?" Corvin asked.

"Not bad, not bad," the man said in a reedy voice. "She's off visiting her mother in Wroat. You remember Lady Maril, don't you?"

"She's quite difficult to forget," Corvin replied dryly. "I notice you've found a new bodyguard since I saw you last?"

"Oh, yes. Useful fellow," the man said. "He's a little dim in the attic, but you don't need more than a few candles lit upstairs to swing a club, you know?"

"Mmm. Gentles, this is Creilath Movanek. A private inquisitive, as I told you. And his bodyguard…?"

"Urzat. Just Urzat. If he has a surname, he's never mentioned it," Creilath said, chuckling awkwardly.

"Quite. This is Vicereine Taylor Hebert-"

Creilath stepped forward and grabbed my hand, shaking it vigorously. "How d'you do, Taylor?"

After all the "Vicereine"s and "Lady Hebert"s I was caught off-balance by his refreshing informality. "I'm good, nice to meet you," I responded automatically.

Dean cleared his throat. "I believe you mean 'How do you do, Lady Hebert'?"

Creilath snatched his hand away as if it had been burned. "Oh, of course, my apologies, milady. Corvin said you folks were less formal among yourselves than most nobles, so I assumed-ah, but that's my fault, miss." Turning to Chris, who was standing right next to me, he added, "And who are you?"

"Chris. Lord McIntyre," Chris said, extending his hand.

"Good to meet you, milord. And you, sir?"

"Lord Dean Stansfield." Dean looked upset about something, but I couldn't tell if it was genuine or if he was putting on a "stuffy noble" act.

"Very good, sir, very good."

He shook Alec's and Brian's hands as well after they introduced themselves, then he belatedly decided to call his bodyguard over.

Urzat turned out to be a half-orc, and he was covered in metal armor that rattled like a tin roof when the rain struck it. Creilath did another round of introductions once Urzat joined us, but the large and lumbering man just nodded and grunted in response to each name he was given.

Corvin suggested we walk a block over to where there was a closed restaurant with a large awning that could shelter all of us. As we left the bridge, Creilath raised his voice to be heard over the pouring rain: "So! Corvin tells me you need some money! I'm willing to spot you some coppers if you can help me out! I know you're nobles, but can any of you do anything useful?"

I winced; he didn't seem to realize what he'd just implied. I'd heard of some pretty incompetent cops in Brockton Bay, but this guy was something else.

"You mean specifically for detective work, or in general?" Brian asked, ignoring the implied insult.

"Anything, really! If all you two can do is lift heavy things, that's fine," Creilath said, clapping Brian and Dean on the shoulder, "but, you know, Urzat can do that already!" Brian's mouth firmed into an irritated line and Dean's forehead scrunched up, but neither of them said anything.

The conversation went on for a little while, continuing at a normal volume once we got out of the rain. My opinion of Corvin's friend sunk lower and lower with practically every word out of his mouth. He couldn't be that awkward and oblivious and still be any good, unless he was a man of very few words on the job. Why would someone like Corvin even be friends with someone like that?

At one point, while Creilath was telling a rambling story about his wife, Chris leaned over to the rest of us. "Man, not only is this guy no Sherlock Holmes," he complained in English, "he's not even a Doctor Watson."

Dean was peering at the inquisitive with narrowed eyes. "No, he's not," he said. "I'd say he's more of a Columbo."

"Who?" Brian asked.

"Oh, come on, don't you watch TV?" Alec jeered.

"Not for hours a day like you do."

"Hey, I gotta do something besides play video games."

"Columbo was a detective in an old show. From the fifties or sixties, I think," I explained. Dad used to watch a lot of detective shows when I was younger, and I'd seen a few episodes with him. "His whole thing was that-"

My eyes widened. Dean glanced over and gave me a tiny nod.

"His whole thing was what?" Chris asked.

"He was a brilliant detective who never lost a case, but he would go around acting like a bumbling idiot to trick suspects into making mistakes," I said flatly.

Brian and Chris looked over at Creilath in surprise, then annoyance.

"Exactly," Dean said. "His emotions haven't matched his behavior at all since we got here, and his bodyguard is playing dumb, too." A moment later, he added, "And now it looks like they know we know."

Creilath cut off his story in the middle of a sentence. "Your friends are quicker on the uptake than most," he told Corvin, his voice suddenly sounding much more normal.

"Why the fake-out?" Brian asked, speaking in Common again.

"If I'm going to take on assistants, they need to be sharp, observant, aware of their surroundings. I can't be constantly holding your hands while I'm on a case. What, if anything, do you know about being an inquisitive?"

I thought back to some "cape and cop" shows I'd seen a few episodes of, like Psych and Monk and the recent Holmes adaptation set in the late 1990s, where a hotshot young cape with crime-busting powers would be partnered with a grizzled veteran officer with actual detective skills and they'd have to work together to solve cases.

"I know about dusting for fingerprints and standards of evidence and things like that," I said.

"And good cop/bad cop interrogations, and chains of custody, and staking out crime scenes…." Brian added.

Creilath looked both surprised and impressed, and after a moment he turned to Urzat with a raised eyebrow. The supposed "bodyguard" looked us over coolly and professionally, then gave the inquisitive a single nod.

"I think this will work out quite nicely," Creilath said with a genuine smile. "We'll still need to sort out pay and schedules and such, but in the meantime? Welcome to the team."

Author's Note

THACo get a bit of a whirlwind tour of Sharn, while most of the other team sets off for greener pastures. If you were a particular fan of any of those folks, don't worry, I'm sure we haven't seen the last of them.

Corvin continues to be up to his shenanigans, of course, but THACo are sharper than either he or Creilath expected. I'm sure the next arc will involve all of them getting along perfectly and being completely open and honest with one another.

Oh, and for anyone who doesn't want to take the time to look up a plot summary, Leguin's The Beginning Place is a "portal fantasy" book about a guy with a boring life running away from home and accidentally finding himself in a magical forest where he meets a gal his age and has to go with her on a quest to slay a monster in order to return home.

This choice of book was of course entirely random and without intended subtext, just like Wildbow's mention of Winterson's Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit was in canon.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The House Cannith emblem depicts a gorgon, a steel-scaled bull-like monster with petrifying breath. The "Chronicle" mentioned a few times is the Korranberg Chronicle, the most famous, reliable, and widely-sold newspaper in Khorvaire. The truthteller that Nebren used is simply an item of zone of truth , something that you'd probably find in most courtrooms in most cities, while Merrix's scepter incorporates the powers of an immovable rod for that handy hanging-around-in-midair effect. Corvin's illusion prank used the major image spell.

Integration 2.D

7:04 am, Thursday the 21 st of April, 2011 CE Cártel del Golfo Distribution Center, Outskirts of Matamoros, Mexico, Earth Bet
David Reid

Billowing clouds of thick black smoke parted easily around Eidolon as he surveyed the burning warehouse below. The aerokinetic power he currently held was one of his new favorites, given that it could handle offense and defense and sensing and mobility all at the same time and let him save his other slots for more specialized applications… but as far as flight powers went, it wasn't even in his top ten.

He'd lost access to all of the good flight powers years ago.

Sometimes he envied his fellow Triumvirate members. One of the very first powers that had bubbled up within him after downing his vial had let him take to the air like he'd been born with wings, flitting around with the precision of a hummingbird and then diving with the speed of a peregrine falcon. When he'd flown past that flock of northern cardinals in the skies above what would have been Texas if he'd been on Earth Bet, it had been quite possibly the happiest moment in his entire life.

(He'd been something of a birdwatcher when he was younger. Between the wheelchair and the seizures, he hadn't had many other options for hobbies.)

But that sense of joy and freedom was out of easy reach, now. One after another, his favorite flight powers had drained away, some because he hadn't realized his powers were weakening until it was too late to start using them more judiciously, others because he wasn't willing to avoid using the most effective power for the job when peoples' lives were on the line.

Legend and Alexandria took their flight for granted, no longer appreciating the feel of the wind whistling through his hair or over her cape as they chased a villain through a maze of city streets, no longer marveling at the sight of a city at sunset from a hundred stories in the air.

Eidolon, meanwhile, had to carefully hoard his best powers outside of Endbringer fights and other S-Class scenarios, pushing them away when his agent wanted to give them to him and settling for second- and third-rate powers in nearly all other situations.

Situations such as the current one, in which he was helping dismantle the final stronghold of the Gulf Cartel, one of Mexico's oldest and most entrenched criminal syndicates. The attack had been launched by a joint American and Mexican task force just before dawn, catching the cartel almost completely off guard, and at this point the cartel's loss was all but inevitable.

His danger sense twinged moments before a masked woman in body armor burst up and out of the smoke cloud before ripping off her mask and let out a few hacking coughs in an attempt to clear her lungs.

Beyond the fact that she could fly, there was no way to tell what powers she might have at a glance: los sicarios fuertes, the cartel's powered enforcers, didn't have names and costumes. The syndicate having an indeterminate number of faceless and interchangeable enforcers that couldn't easily be accounted for was the whole point.

Eidolon didn't take any chances, immediately peeling off several tendrils from the shell of hardened air that was currently supporting him and wrapping them around the enemy cape. She jerked in surprise as the invisible tendrils bound her arms to her side and formed a barrier around her head to prevent fresh air from reaching her, and by the time she caught sight of Eidolon and started to struggle she was already passing out from lack of oxygen.

He glanced over to the bombed-out shell of another warehouse across the way, where Dispatch and six of the Houston Wards were keeping an eye on captured cartel members, and waved toward his own captive. Lariat noticed his gesture and nudged Young Buck, who looked over, nodded, and rose a few feet up into the air before blurring over to the unconscious cape in the blink of an eye.

"Well, if it ain't another little lady for the corral," he observed as he floated there, in his cape persona's exaggerated Texan drawl; out of costume, Young Buck had the lightest accent of all the Wards. "If y'all're gonna keep this up, Ah reckon we're gonna need to blow up another warehouse to hold 'em all." He grabbed the enforcer and blurred back down to the ground without waiting for a reply.

Not that Eidolon had intended to give one. Mid-combat banter was hardly his style.

He didn't sense any more danger from below, so he sighed and continued floating in place, as he had been doing for the past twenty minutes.

Waiting outside to pick off any villains trying to escape was hardly the best use of his time or his powers. He could easily have descended into the warehouse and mopped up the remaining villains within.

But that wasn't what he was here for. Taking out the cartel single-handedly wasn't why the Protectorate had sent him… and it wasn't why Cauldron had sent him, either.

His gaze swept over the cartel complex, gauging the progress of the rest of the battle.

As he did so, he felt his second power, a Shaker power to form spinning hardlight barriers that had been very helpful against an intangible Breaker who'd ignored his aerokinesis, fade away. Another power welled up to replace it a few moments later, a Thinker power that let him see through all the dust and smoke by viewing his surroundings via a slow sweep through a multitude of other vantage points at once-visual radar, by way of Picasso.

At the east end of the complex, unpowered enforcers hiding behind pickup trucks and trailers were trading gunfire with PRT and Policía Federal agents as the combined force closed in on the entrenched cartel position from the north and south.

Snake-Eyes and Chronicler of the Houston Wards accompanied the PRT contingent, the former deflecting much of the incoming fire with his misfortune field, the latter amplifying the PRT's firepower with his own duplication field. The Mexican contingent was backed up by two local heroes, El Terremoto to provide cover with an advancing barrier of soil and gravel and El Relámpago to dismantle the enforcers' own cover one light blast at a time.

They were making slow but steady progress, and didn't look like they'd need any help, unfortunately.

To the west, local and Protectorate heroes were defending the headquarters building against cartel capes while PRT technicians worked on salvaging the cartel's computers. The server racks lining the walls held data on every facet of Gulf Cartel operations, from account numbers to lists of blackmail targets to the identities of cartel capes to contact details for the Alianza de Sangre Cartel, Los Cien Diablos, 'Ndrangheta, Gesellschaft, and the rest of their ever-shrinking pool of allies.

If the technicians could get those hard drives into government hands, the cartel was finished no matter how the rest of the battles outside concluded.

The enforcers were doing their best to break through the heroes' defensive line, but between Pulsar's massive telekinetic waves, Cueball's repelling blasts, Gentle Giant's near-invulnerability, Las Reflexiones' duplicates, and El Embaucador's illusions, they didn't stand a chance.

Which meant that the last of the four actual villains known to be on-site, Vacío, should be in the smoldering warehouse.

The cartels were reluctant to work with rudos, Mexico's equivalent of America's costumed supervillains, but the Gulf Cartel had apparently decided that the risk of losing this compound had justified hiring four very expensive independent villains and taking the resulting hit to their reputation.

This particular rudo was no pushover, and had a particularly nasty reputation; if he'd been in the States, he would easily have been one of the top twenty most popular villains on the Blacklist.

Vacío's Breaker power essentially turned him into a walking black hole that could absorb any kind of matter, and he could control the range, strength, and shape of the gravitational field around him to pull nearby matter toward him, tear objects apart from a distance, and even bend light around himself.

It was rumored that he could absorb immaterial power effects, too-including whatever esoteric wavelengths that some precognitive and clairvoyant Thinker powers used, which meant he had the highest chance of being the one Eidolon was here to find.

The green-clad cape swept his cubist vision through the warehouse interior, but all he saw was flaming debris and cartel enforcers duking it out with PRT agents. No Vacío.

No odd movement from the smoke or debris, either, which meant that the villain was either hiding in place invisibly and keeping his gravitational field contained, or that he'd slipped out of the warehouse earlier and could be anywhere.

Either way, Eidolon's Thinker power wouldn't help him right now, so he shoved it away.

A few moments later, some kind of Blaster power expanded in its place. For the millionth time, he cursed the wait as the new power settled itself in its slot; every second that passed meant an extra second that Vacío could use to attempt to breach the cordon and escape if he had indeed fled the warehouse, assuming he hadn't escaped already.

Eventually he felt knowledge of the power bloom within his mind: it would let him launch hyper-dense projectiles, presumably intended to either interfere with gravitational warping to render Vacío visible or to overwhelm his matter absorption capacity, assuming that was possible.

When he realized what power he held Eidolon almost pushed it away reflexively, but he stopped himself before he could do that and let out a shuddering sigh instead. The last time he'd been granted this power, he'd been trying-and utterly failing-to save Hero's life.

Of all the top-tier powers he'd hoped to be granted again one day, this one had not been among them.

He had to trust that his agent knew what it was doing, despite the bad memories that the power dredged up. Surely Vacío wouldn't be anywhere near as durable as the Siberian.

The first tentative shot he sent toward the center of the warehouse had no apparent effect-other than punching another hole in the warehouse's roof, but the fire had been blazing away for long enough that it was practically more hole than roof now anyway.

A short spray of silvery spheres in a circle around the center had a similar (lack of) effect. He noted that they'd all been off-target by at least a few feet, as launching multiple at a time had caused some of them to pull the others toward themselves.

They'd also tugged at a few support beams, which risked a collapse. "Rochambeau, Doppler, and Squad Charlie: this is Eidolon, ordering immediate withdrawal, over," he radioed down to the agents in the warehouse.

"Wilco, over," the squad leader instantly replied.

It only took a few seconds for both of the heroes and all of the agents to vacate the warehouse by the nearest door or window. Every single person working for or with the Houston Protectorate had had it drilled into them repeatedly that when a Triumvirate member says to move out of the blast zone, you move.

Once his allies were clear, Eidolon started launching projectiles into the warehouse in an expanding spiral, speeding up as he started to get a handle on the power. The remaining cartel capes cried out in panic as the roof started to cave in and flaming bits of wreckage started to be flung around in the projectiles' wake, and they, too, fled the warehouse, where they were quickly taken into custody.

The warehouse had almost entirely collapsed when he finally got a hit: in the far corner of the warehouse, one of the projectiles vanished before striking the ground and the air around it visibly wavered, giving Eidolon a split-second glimpse of a solid black outline creeping toward one of the newly-opened holes in the nearest wall.

That space suddenly filled with a tornado of smoke and flame: knowing he'd been seen, Vacío had given up on stealth and chosen to flee instead, cranking up his power's gravitational pull to draw in debris around him as a shield and as a distraction.

The villain started running, leaving a human-shaped void in the brickwork and tearing up the warehouse's concrete floor in a trail behind him. Eidolon quickly flew after him, launching hyperdense projectiles all the way, but despite being struck dead-on multiple times the villain never even slowed.

Eidolon allowed himself a smile as his third power began to cycle out. Finally, this might actually be a challenge, he thought.

~*~*~

It hadn't been a challenge.

Despite Vacío attempting to force Eidolon away with everything from gravitational pulses to flung debris, Eidolon's aerokinesis and invulnerable Brute power had easily withstood or deflected everything he'd tried. It had only taken a few minutes of pursuing the villain across the open field between the complex and the nearest highway for the barrage of projectiles to "shatter" the man's Breaker state and make him an easy catch.

I knew I shouldn't have bothered to get my hopes up, Eidolon sighed to himself.

He really should have known better by now.

In 2006, with the last Canadian PRT department being fully operational and the newly-elected Mexican president being eager to prove his legitimacy and improve relations with the United States, America had opened talks with Mexico about signing a treaty to unify their respective parahuman oversight agencies.

This overture received a very favorable reception from the Mexican government, a lukewarm reception from the Mexican people, and an absolutely terrible reception from the cartels, who reacted by tightening their control on their home cities and engaging in everything from bribery to assassination to try to prevent such a deal from getting off the ground.

Hence the talks dragging out for over five years.

The cartels were basically the Elite of Mexico: well-funded, well-connected, full of non-heroic capes, and nearly impossible to root out from the cities they controlled. They weren't nearly as subtle about their law-breaking compared to all but the worst Elite cells, but then they didn't have to be, having been around since long before the arrival of parahumans and having had considerably more time to get their talons into local governments and businesses.

The need for a member of the Triumvirate to spend a nontrivial amount of time dealing with cartel activities in the states near the Mexican border was a large part of why Eidolon had been stationed in Houston instead of Chicago after Hero died, even though they'd both lived in Chicago originally and Chicago had already been a larger city than Houston at the time.

Thus, at least once a quarter since the start of 2007, Eidolon had led a task force in a mission over the border to help the Mexican authorities root out the cartels, one town or city at a time. Usually the task force was sourced from PRT 3 in Houston, as with the current mission, but once a year he led a task force sourced from a different department in Texas or Arizona to give them some cross-training experience as well.

And he couldn't stand the whole arrangement, not one bit.

He understood the reasoning, of course. It was much better PR to show two government agencies fighting the good fight on the ground, working together on equal terms to root out corruption, than to have one of the Triumvirate swoop in to solve things single-handedly. And if the deal ever did go through, the Texan and Arizonan departments already having a good working relationship with their friends across the border would be invaluable.

But that didn't change the fact that sending in weaker capes and unpowered troops always led to at least a few casualties that could have completely been avoided, or the fact that Eidolon himself was mostly there for show, spearheading the initial assault and taking out the cartel's strongest capes in the area before just floating around for the rest of the battle waiting for one of the other groups to need help (and looking good for the cameras in the process, of course).

Not once in the past five years had he been given a single chance to spread his wings on one of these missions, to really push himself, to go up against any capes that would finally give him a chance to let loose.

The closest he'd come was during the previous summer when he'd gotten to fight Xolotl and Cipactli, the two lieutenants of Mictlān, La Alianza de Sangre's associated villain team; each was an A-Class threat on his own, so fighting both together had given Eidolon a real workout. He'd almost, almost, felt his powers begin to strengthen once more… but after just half an hour Tzitzimitl had taken the field, and he'd been ordered to retreat before she could mess with his powers.

He'd brooded over the missed opportunity for weeks.

The next time an S-Class threat arose (not counting the next Endbringer attack, of course, he couldn't put that many civilian lives at risk), he was going to grab that opportunity with both hands, no matter what Rebecca or Keith said.

He had to know if his theory about unlocking a deeper well of power was right, for his own peace of mind if nothing else.

~*~*~

He reluctantly let go of his aerokinesis power as his feet touched the soil, and a few moments later he was ground-bound once again. Stage-bound, technically; the Image crew had just finished setting things up for the inevitable press conference. He wished he could hold onto his flight for just a little while longer, but he couldn't afford to be selfish and risk losing out on such a versatile power before it was truly needed.

Taking that power's place was a Thinker power to enhance his posture, diction, projection, and other attributes of public speaking while improving his ability to read the same attributes in others. It wasn't as convenient as a power that would let him actually speak Spanish, but it would at least smooth the inevitable communications hiccups between someone who was only mostly fluent in English and someone who'd only picked up a bit of Spanish from some language-learning apps in his spare time.

The hyperdense projectile power cycled out as he strode over to the Mexican contingent, to his great relief. A few moments later it was replaced by a reactive intangibility power to shore up his defenses now that his aerokinesis was gone, though he wasn't expecting any further trouble today.

He came to a halt in front of the representative of the Mexican capes, Señor Saguaro. The man wasn't the leader of the Mexican team-that would be Sin Defecto, standing slightly off to the side-but had simply been chosen because he was of similar height to Eidolon and also had a green costume, and so the scene would make for a better photo op.

"Señor Saguaro," he began with a polite nod, his voice carrying easily under the influence of his power. "On behalf of the Protectorate and the Parahuman Response Team, I am glad to report that all data from the Cártel del Golfo computer systems has been successfully retrieved and that all cartel members on site have been successfully apprehended. I hereby transfer custody of the detainees to you, and the data will be handed over to the Agencia Federal de Investigación as soon as everything has been decrypted by our technopaths."

" Gracias, Eidolon," the Mexican hero responded, his accent thick but understandable. "On behalf of la Policía Federal y Los Técnicos, I acknowledge the transfer of custody and thank you for the assistance you have provided in dismantling el Cártel." Turning slightly to give the cameras a better view of his elaborate mask, he continued, "Today's successful operation shows once again the benefits of working with our American partners. Without their aid, el Cártel del Golfo could not possibly…."

Eidolon mostly tuned him out at that point. Señor Saguaro was talking up the difficulty of planning the operation and moving everything into position and so on, but that was only a small part of why it had taken so long to deal with the Gulf Cartel.

A larger part of it was the fact that all four of the rudos the cartel had hired were known to have or suspected of having anti-Thinker powers, requiring Watchdog to be more diligent in their forecasting for this mission than usual.

The largest part was, of course, PR considerations.

Matamoros was literally right across the border; at any time in the past few years, Eidolon could have freed up some time on his calendar and taken care of the cartel facility in a single afternoon, and there was a better than even chance that Exalt or Spectra could have soloed the entire facility just as easily.

The only reason the PRT had waited to tackle the cartel-and it was, admittedly, a very good reason-was so that the American politicians could assure the Mexican politicians that the Protectorate would respect their sovereignty and not just duck across the border whenever it felt like it, and thereby increase public support and confidence in the PRT merger.

So Eidolon stood there on the stage and listened to interminable speeches and posed for pictures and did his part to advance PRT-PF relations, dutiful to the last.

~*~*~

"Are you going to head back with Golden Gate or Thin Air, or make your own way?" Dispatch asked, referencing the mass-teleporters the PRT had hired for the occasion.

Any teleportation power Eidolon picked up would be faster and more convenient than waiting for everyone else to get their act together, so what he was really asking, Eidolon knew, was whether he planned to go back with the rest of the group and attend the technically-a-debrief-but-really-a-party immediately afterward or teleport straight back to his office to catch up on work for the next few hours.

It was a tricky balance, leading a Protectorate department. He had to be engaged enough with day-to-day affairs in Houston to keep his finger on the city's pulse, but not so engaged that he couldn't drop everything at a moment's notice to deal with the emergencies requiring his personal attention that popped up all around the country multiple times a week. He had to be involved enough with the Wards' team-building so that they didn't put him on a pedestal and view him as remote and unapproachable, but still give them enough space to relax and be teenagers without worrying about the potential judgment of authority figures.

"I think I'll take in the sights for a bit and finish up a few things before I make it down to the cafeteria," Eidolon replied, "and if they get things started without me, make sure they save me a slice of cake."

Dispatch, who heard that as I'll socialize if I absolutely have to, but I'll take any excuse not to put up with the logistical mess of teleporting a few dozen people through a couple of mercenaries, smiled and nodded and went to join the group standing in front of Golden Gate's growing portal.

Eidolon, who meant something very different by his statement, waited patiently until his agent finally cycled in a long-range teleportation power, and then vanished.

~*~*~

11:48 am, Thursday the 21 st of April, 2011 CE

Eidolon's Office, Houston, America, Earth Bet

The moment he reappeared, Eidolon reached under his desk to activate the privacy field. The windows darkened slightly and a faint white noise filled the room, indicating that the room was now secure against all powered and unpowered surveillance.

"Door to Contessa."

A few heartbeats later, space folded aside to reveal Contessa standing in a mostly-featureless white conference room, waiting expectantly.

"La Lechuza, El Verdugo, Sin Rostro, Vacío?" he recited, naming the four villains he'd recently faced.

She shook her head. "I can see all of those. No changes."

"Damnation," he murmured.

A week and a half prior, Number Man's "window" to another Earth had suddenly collapsed, and when Doormaker hadn't responded to questions or further door requests, Eidolon had immediately been tasked with using his own portal-making power to check on the situation.

Eidolon had found the clairvoyant lying unconscious and bleeding from his nose and ruined eyesockets, with Doormaker lying catatonic next to him from the sudden withdrawal of the clairvoyant's power. A regeneration power had saved the clairvoyant, but it had been a very close call, and Doormaker had been out of commission for days even with another of Eidolon's powers helping to accelerate the recovery process.

Once the clairvoyant recovered, he woke up, extended his powers, and was immediately rendered unconscious and bleeding once again; he would have died, had Eidolon's power not been fortifying his and Doormaker's bodies at the time.

A second bout of regeneration restored him, and this time he chose to keep his vision limited to his immediate surroundings to avoid a third incident.

When Contessa had been asked what could possibly have harmed the clairvoyant like that, she'd said her power couldn't tell her.

Doctor Mother had called an emergency meeting of the inner circle to discuss the situation, with Eidolon collecting Alexandria given that Doormaker was unavailable.

Was Mama Mathers responsible, perhaps? Probably not; the clairvoyant always kept his omnipresent gaze averted from her and any Fallen sites she frequented, and anyways her power had never been known to inflict that kind of direct harm on one of her victims.

A similar situation, where a hostile Stranger had triggered with the ability to interfere with Thinker powers and even attack Thinkers through the channel of their power? Probably not; Contessa hadn't experienced any harm or interference at the time the clairvoyant was affected or at any point since, and there hadn't been reports of anything like that happening to any Protectorate or Watchdog Thinkers.

Something to do with the recently-appearing portals and Tinker constructs that neither the clairvoyant nor Contessa could see? Probably not; he hadn't been harmed by the first ones to appear, and if they hadn't already done anything to him after a week of activity it was unlikely that they'd suddenly start to harm him for no apparent reason.

The CUI? Probably not; they had a few facilities that were blind spots for the clairvoyant thanks to tinkertech shielding, but Cauldron had enough contacts within the upper echelons of the government that they would have heard about any potential anti-Cauldron activities ahead of time, and Contessa quickly ruled them out regardless.

A direct attack by someone aware of Cauldron, perhaps even a former associate or an escaped subject? Probably not; if a plan was devised entirely under the veil of a perception-blocking power it could theoretically escape notice, but Contessa's usual threat-detection measures would have picked up the intent to act before someone could have acquired said perception-blocking power in the first place.

With no obvious leads, their only real recourse was to have the clairvoyant limit his sight to known-safe locations to get a minimal door network back up and running while the Triumvirate discreetly searched for any capes that might be responsible.

The fact that no Watchdog Thinkers had been harmed while scanning the rudos hired by the Gulf Cartel had mostly ruled out any of the four of them being the cause. However, with Contessa unwilling to risk asking about them directly just in case it actually was one of them, or casting too wide a net with her power regarding "villains hired by the Gulf Cartel" in general in case there was a hidden cartel Stranger no one knew about, they'd had to wait until Eidolon reached the site, got the villains' names, and removed them as a threat before she could safely confirm their non-involvement.

Four potential threats ruled out, several hundred left to check.

"We have full coverage of Mexico again, except for Culiacán," Contessa told him, and he nodded; that was the base of operations for La Alianza de Sangre, and with Tzitzimitl being a power-granter they couldn't yet rule out their target being in that city. "There are no other probable targets in your territory. Number Man will inform you if that changes. Door to Belo Horizonte."

Contessa turned in clear dismissal and stepped through another of Doormaker's portals, and his own door to Cauldron closed a moment later.

Eidolon turned off the privacy device and strode out the physical door to his office.

He could definitely use a slice of that cake right about now.

~*~*~

1:30 pm, Thursday the 21 st of April, 2011 CE

PRT 3 Command Center, Houston, America, Earth Bet

The last slices of pizza and cake had been polished off (except the slices Eidolon had taken back to his office to finish later; the mask always got in the way, and the legendary Eidolon eating cake alongside a gaggle of Wards wasn't great for his image), everyone who hadn't gone to the party was back from their lunch break, and it was time for Eidolon to check in with the analysts to see what fresh new catastrophe he'd be handling this afternoon.

An email would have been much faster and easier, of course, but he spent so much time away from the department handling potential A- and S-class threats (or handling Cauldron business, which was filed under threat-handling for paperwork purposes) that he felt spending more in-person time with the PRT staff helped maintain good relations.

A hush briefly fell over the room as he entered. No matter how long they worked with him, and no matter how much effort he spent trying to connect with them, some people simply couldn't get over the fact that he was the Eidolon, not helped by the fact that he'd been an active hero since longer than most of the people in this room had been alive.

Alexandria, of course, had the same problem.

Legend didn't, and Hero hadn't. The two of them could chuckle warmly and say something like Well, shucks, behind the costume and the powers and all I'm just a regular old guy, you know? We should grab a beer sometime! and not only mean it sincerely but also have people actually believe them. Meanwhile, even the veterans of the Houston department still treated Eidolon as though he were carved from marble most of the time.

(Alexandria, of course, had the same problem.)

As everyone relaxed slightly and conversation picked back up, he turned left and began a circuit of the room. It was a cavernous open space that served as the "brains" of the department for day-to-day operations, with six different sections around the room holding working groups from different PRT divisions and a crisis response area in the center.

A minor Thinker power related to enhanced memory bubbled up, as it often did when he made the rounds. He did try to remember everyone's names and personal details on his own, but the power ensured that he never slipped up and made a given employee feel like they weren't worth as much of his attention compared to their colleagues.

Oddly, a second power joined it a moment later, this one related to enhanced hearing and sound manipulation. He wasn't sure what had prompted that, but he'd learned to trust that his agent had… well, saying it "had his best interests in mind" would be phenomenally off-base, for multiple reasons, but there was usually a good reason for every power it saw fit to give him.

Operations was the first section, where he congratulated them on the successful mission and said a few words of sympathy for the fallen agents. Next was Administration, where he asked them to pass along his congratulations to the technicians on site and checked up on the decryption progress for the captured hard drives.

Then Image, and Security, and Legal, and finally the buzzing hive of activity that was the Intel section, with its entire wall covered in computer screens and junior analysts ferrying folders full of classified documents back and forth.

He leaned over the desk of one of the senior employees, one who was much better than most at repressing her hero worship tendencies, and asked, "Martinez, you have anything interesting for me today?"

"'Fraid not, sir," she said, swiveling her monitor around to show him a heat map of villain activity. "Crockett and Strapping Lad are cleaning up after this morning's incident in Galveston. We got a report over lunch about Alebrije attacking one of the factories in Westbranch, but Exalt and Intrepid were dispatched to deal with him-and yes, Ops reminded Exalt that he's supposed to save his charge for the next Endbringer fight unless Alebrije gets taller than six stories."

Eidolon gave a small nod of acknowledgment, but frowned under his mask. He'd cleared his afternoon schedule under the assumption that he'd be working on the clairvoyant issue, and with that off his plate for the moment he didn't just want to sit around doing nothing when he could be out there helping people. "Is there anything that might become a problem in the next day or two that I could knock out early?"

She smiled apologetically. "Nothing in the 24-hour forecast, no. Our projections indicate Hellscape is probably going to hit a positive feedback loop in the next week or so, but…." She shrugged.

"But 'probably' isn't enough for an S-Class designation," he sighed. "Remind me, Hellscape's the Shaker/Master 10 up in Wichita with the demonic theme?"

"Right."

Eidolon considered for a moment, then shook his head. It would be a waste (no matter how small) to dip into a good long-distance Mover power for that when PRT 48 should be able to handle him on their own. "We'll let that percolate for now. Thanks anyway, Martinez. Say hello to Leah and kids for me, will you?"

"You're welcome, sir, and I sure will," she said, giving him a tentative smile instead of the deer-in-the-headlights Oh my god Eidolon remembers my wife's name! look he usually got in these situations.

Eidolon turned and headed for the door, pondering whether he should un-cancel some of his meetings so the afternoon didn't feel like a waste, when his sensory power brought a snippet of conversation to his attention from across the room:

"-guess Eidolon's gonna have to arm-wrestle for the title of Earth's Second-Strongest Parahuman after that, huh?"

He stopped and glanced toward the comment's source, a junior Image employee chatting with her cubicle-mate. He hadn't seen them in the command center before-recent hires, then-and they couldn't have been more than a year or two out of college, if that. Kids these days. They were at least trying to keep their voices down, but didn't look like they were actually working.

"Oh, c'mon, Eidolon's still stronger, no question."

"I dunno, rebuilding entire skyscrapers after they got smashed? Healing hundreds of people at once? Sounds more Scion-tier to me."

A few people nearby had noticed his pause, the direction where he was looking, and the fact that there were employees present who were blatantly slacking off while mother-bleeping- Eidolon was in the room.

Some of them cringed in second-hand embarrassment for those employees; others looked like they were debating whether there would be enough time to pop down to the break room for some popcorn.

He strode across the room, ignoring the murmurs and curious glances in his wake, and stopped just outside the cubicle with his arms crossed. "What was that about arm-wrestling?" he asked mildly.

The two employees flinched and stared up at him, expressions of horror appearing on their faces as they realized they'd been overheard. Both started talking at once: "We were just, um-" "She didn't actually mean-"

Eidolon held up a hand and they instantly fell silent. "I'm not offended, just curious."

"Well, uh, the latest Aleph data transfer-have you seen it yet? There's this-no, uh, of course you haven't, you just got back from-I mean, you didn't just get back, but, I mean-" the initial speaker rambled, trailing off into a nervous chuckle.

Eidolon sighed, and with a slight exertion of his sound manipulation power the background noise faded away, disappointing all of the nearby employees pretending not to eavesdrop. "It's all right. Take a breath. No one's going to get in trouble for a bit of gossip," he assured the two of them. Whether they were punished for causing a minor scene would be up to their manager. "Now, try again."

The employee nodded a few times, took a deep breath, and started over much more calmly. "So, Jeremy and I were looking through the Aleph data packet that went live this morning," she said.

Eidolon nodded. Aleph and Bet traded data packets every two weeks to keep their sister planet up-to-date with recent events, for the relatively small percentage of the population on either Earth who actually cared about that sort of thing.

The packets had different "themes" for collating the data, which repeated on a quarterly basis-Art, Science, Politics, Digital Media, Print Media, and Games, though he didn't remember the exact ordering-and then each side would squeeze in whatever miscellaneous news and updates would fit to round things out. And considering that Haywire's portal was working with 1980s-vintage computer technology, there wasn't much extra room in each packet; the few hundred gigs in each one already took multiple days to send across the wires.

There had been multiple attempts to upgrade the technology over the years, but Aleph's American government was highly suspicious of any attempts to replace tried-and-tested technology with anything that could hide all kinds of crazy tinkertech viruses or the like, and of course neither side wanted their respective citizens to get too much of a glimpse into the other America, though for very different reasons in each case.

"Because something in this packet was relevant to Image somehow, I assume," he prompted, with a hint of rebuke in his tone.

"It is!" the employee-Lauren, according to her badge-replied defensively. "There's been a whole lot of talk on social media about this new Aleph cape, and Image wanted to have a media strategy ready because… well, look!"

She tilted her monitor toward him, and he stepped around the cubicle wall to take a closer look while Lauren and Jeremy braced themselves.

https//r/aleph_capes/comments/wq7ziz/anyone_else_feel_like_hierophant_is_basically/

[img: data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7]

---

Eidolon was silent for a long moment.

"Interesting," he finally said, his bland tone giving no hint to his thoughts on the matter. Internally, however, he was experiencing a creeping sense of dread, as certain details came together to paint an extremely concerning mental picture. "When did this cape first appear, exactly?"

Lauren grabbed her mouse and clicked around. "Looks like April eleventh. Early afternoon, Tokyo time."

Which would have been just around midnight, Houston time.

Which was precisely when the clairvoyant had experienced the incident that had almost killed him.

Which would make for a very unlikely coincidence if that incident were completely unrelated to Hierophant's first appearance.

Let's not jump to conclusions, Eidolon chided himself. It still could, in fact, be a coincidence.

"The page mentioned that this cape has talked to people," he asked casually. "Any idea what she's said, besides her name?"

Lauren snorted dismissively, before remembering to whom she was speaking and awkwardly clearing her throat. "Uh, yes, she's actually said a lot to her followers, apparently."

He started to get a sinking feeling. "Followers?" he echoed.

"Yeah." A few more clicks of her mouse brought up another webpage:

https//r/religion/comments/whoklgl/church_of_the_silver_flame_megathread/

[img: data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7]

---

"… I see. Very interesting."

Eidolon relaxed the sound suppression around the cubicle. "I suppose keeping tabs on that does fall under Image's mandate, but gossip about coworkers definitely does not," he said, amplifying his words slightly for the benefit of those listening in. "I'll be sharing my thoughts about this with Assistant Director Howard, but in the meantime…." he gave them a back to work gesture.

"Yessir!" Lauren said, and Jeremy nodded his agreement.

Eidolon managed to maintain a casual air for the entire trip from the command center back to his office, his power even cycling in a notice-me-not Stranger power to help dissuade anyone from speaking to him on the way. The moment his door was closed, he slammed the privacy field button and barked, "Door to the Doctor!"

Once again, there was a slight hesitance before the door opened, and when he walked through he found himself outside a conference room where Doctor Mother was wrapping up a meeting with one of their research teams. As Eidolon's membership in Cauldron was on a need-to-know basis, he waited out of sight for the meeting to conclude and the researchers to leave by another portal.

While he waited impatiently, he found his thoughts drifting back to the old days. Back when information in Cauldron wasn't so compartmentalized, back when the inner circle was more than just the five of them, back when they knew they could trust the people they worked with-even if (he thought, feeling the usual guilt about keeping Legend in the dark) the people they worked with couldn't always trust them back.

Those days were long gone. Too many losses, too many setbacks, too many defections. The eight researchers in that meeting room were the only Bet-native scientists they still employed, where once they had dozens.

Before the paranoia ran quite so thick. Before William, before Charles, before Balminder.

Before Madison.

Cauldron had been fraying for a long time. Eidolon just hoped that this latest event wasn't what caused it to snap.

He didn't even wait for the researchers' door to fully close before he strode into the room. "Doctor," he greeted her.

"Eidolon?" she said, surprised. "We didn't have anything scheduled."

"It's an emergency. When was the last time you personally checked on the Garden?"

Her eyes widened, but to her credit her tone remained perfectly calm. "Yesterday morning. Nothing has changed recently. Why?"

"We have a connection to Earth Aleph's internet?"

"Of course. What is this about, David?"

"You'll want to read it for yourself."

~*~*~

The Doctor leaned slowly back in her chair, a stony expression on her face.

"It can't be. The entity is dead," she stated firmly, in the tone of one attempting to convince herself as much as anyone else.

"Is it?" he challenged. "I was never entirely convinced that a knife could do the job when I first heard the story, and I'm even less convinced now."

Eidolon hadn't forgotten his trigger vision when he drank his vial, but he hadn't known what the innumerable fragments of twining crystal represented. Doctor Mother had claimed at the time not to know either, though he'd had the feeling at the time that she'd been holding something back.

That guess had turned out to be true when a Thinker power had bubbled up one day in the late '90s, purely by chance, and let him peek into many of Cauldron's secrets. Doctor Mother and Contessa had brought him in fully afterwards, explaining the entities and how his vision related to them, but even then he suspected that there was still something they were holding back-them, and maybe Alexandria, who had turned out to have been going behind his, Legend's, and Hero's backs from the beginning.

He'd never had a chance to fill Hero in on the full story, and he'd… never gotten around to telling Legend. Why, he couldn't say; perhaps he envied Legend his continuing ignorance of Cauldron's true extent and goals, perhaps he felt it was better that the Protectorate leader keep at least some degree of separation from Cauldron, unlike Rebecca and the PRT.

Perhaps he just didn't want to see the look of disappointment on Keith's face when he found out.

The Doctor was frowning, looking both thoughtful and concerned. "She never said I had killed it, not explicitly," she said slowly. "I can't imagine how it could survive all this time, with all the experiments we've run and all the samples we've taken, and not give a single sign of life. However….Contessa is due back soon. We'll ask her then."

~*~*~

The moment Contessa stepped through the door, Eidolon said, "Hierophant, a cape on Earth Aleph."

She paused, then frowned. "I can't see him."

The Doctor and Eidolon traded a look.

"How dead is Scion's counterpart, exactly?"

~*~*~

"'Not dead, but not alive'?" the Number Man echoed, eyebrow raised in detached interest. "This entire time?"

He and Alexandria had joined Contessa, Eidolon, and the Doctor for their second emergency meeting in as many weeks, this time held in the room with the Aleph internet connection. Both had been apprised of the situation, and neither had been amused.

"Death works differently for a being like that," Contessa replied calmly.

"But it's dead now? You're sure?" Eidolon asked.

"As sure as I can be, without being able to confirm it with my power."

"For something like this, anything less than absolute certainly means we can't rule out the possibility that this Hierophant is indeed another avatar of the entity," Number Man chided her. "Even a fractional percentage chance of that being the case is far too high to risk."

Alexandria didn't look up from her speed-reading of reports on Hierophant as she commented, "I'm fairly sure the chance is much higher than that."

The others gathered around her as she brought up several transcripts of some of Hierophant's earlier "sermons" to her "faithful" in Japanese, which she spoke fluently, along with much shorter summaries in English. The transcripts had been prepared by actual religious scholars, not random people on the internet, so they were deemed to be at least mostly reliable and unbiased.

"This 'Twin Serpents' myth, that she told when asked whether her god was supposed to have created the world," she began, "is very close to the history of these entities. Close enough that it's unlikely to be a coincidence."

Eidolon leaned in and read the summary.

Hierophant speaks of the universe being formed by two cosmic serpents, Jazirian on the side of Good and Asmodeus on the side of Evil [which are figuratively depicted as serpents but are not described as biological beings - Ed.]. They are said to have worked together since time immemorial to bring order to the universe, until an irreconcilable disagreement saw them come to blows and tear each other to pieces, after which they retreated to separate "planes" [concept not defined in this sermon - Ed.] to dwell in a much-diminished form, and the scales and blood they shed gave rise to mighty servants of Good and Evil.

She claims that the relationship between the "silver flame" she uses [some confusion over whether this is meant to be a being, energy source, etc. - Ed.] and Jazirian is a "wondrous mystery" but that the shared lineage of the coatl [spelling? Sounds like the mythical Aztec serpent - Ed.] makes the connection undeniable.

He looked up and met Alexandria's gaze. A story about two great beings spiraling through space like serpents until they started scattering shards of their bodies everywhere and ended up landing on their own planets…?

If he were an entity trying to come up with a false religion to dupe the inhabitants of an Earth into worshiping him and willingly cooperate with him, coming up with a story that dressed up technical truths in mythical language like that would be a damn good approach.

"That's not the only one, though," Alexandria continued when everyone had finished reading. She pulled up a summary of a sermon she'd given to some followers in Texas, detailing a different creation myth than the one she'd told in Tokyo:

Hierophant speaks of the universe being formed of three cosmic dragons [difference between "serpents" and "dragons" significant? maybe 2 vs. 3 to analogize to yin-yang vs. holy trinity? - Ed.]. It follows the same general theme of cooperation followed by conflict, but in this case one dragon (Khyber) kills a second (Siberys) before being pulled to the surface of a planet [unclear whether literal or figurative - Ed.] by the third (Eberron) and trapped there.

That scenario sounded a lot like the story Contessa had relayed about a third entity coming across Scion and his counterpart during their travels, ending up with the counterpart dead and Scion on Earth. The details weren't nearly as close to the truth as the other story had been-the third entity hadn't killed the counterpart, and it had continued on rather than being trapped on Earth-but still, the similarities were striking.

The room was silent for a while. The thought of having a second entity to deal with, one expected to be much more proactive and clever than Scion, was a lot to contemplate.

Finally, Eidolon broke the silence: "I'm going to check whether one of my powers can scan her without any feedback."

It took some prodding, and more than a few rounds of pushing powers away, but eventually Eidolon ended up with two that were close enough to what he wanted: a Thinker power that would let him take in sound at any distance and interpret the information visually, and a Brute power that would protect him by transferring any harm that would go to him into the environment instead.

The Thinker power seemed unusually apt, as he rarely received any powers with that kind of range. Maybe my agent is as curious about her as I am , he thought wryly.

He explained the powers to the others as they made their way to an empty conference room. Then he took a deep breath and reached out with his Thinker power. A few tests around people and locations on Earth Bet to get a feel for it, then some on Earth Aleph to make sure the power worked across dimensions, then… absolutely nothing, when he tried to focus on Hierophant.

He'd expected that, after Contessa's failure to see her, so he instead focused on the location where she was supposed to be, according to the Aleph website that was tracking her schedule. He focused intently on the listed address, on the large hotel located at that address, and-

Pain.

His Thinker power cut out instantly as every nerve in his body suddenly felt like it was on fire, and though his other power shunted the actual harm away there was a loud tearing sound as the conference table cracked down the middle.

"I think that settles the question of what happened to the clairvoyant," Number Man remarked.

"It doesn't prove anything about her being the counterpart's version of Scion, though," Alexandria cautioned. "It's still much more likely that she's just a normal cape with a recent trigger, a Mathers-style power, and a very active imagination."

"A normal cape surrounded by a whole lot of very unlikely coincidences," Eidolon said, not quite arguing with her but not willing to dismiss the potential threat so quickly.

Number Man shrugged minutely. "Events with a probability of one in one billion happen to approximately six people every day. Extreme outliers are to be expected."

"Even if she isn't another Scion, she could be another Simurgh," Alexandria pointed out.

Eidolon's lips twisted in distaste. He hadn't even thought of that connection, but with the initial apparently-benevolent communication, the gathering of people to her, and the fact that the much higher-quality pictures on the Aleph sites showed that Hierophant's hair was in fact feathers, well… he hated to think the Simurgh had a twin out there somewhere to make their lives even more complicated, but that would be just like Ziz, wouldn't it?

The Doctor raised a hand. "We don't have enough information to make any final decisions. For now, we'll continue reestablishing the clairvoyant's coverage as normal, under the assumption that Hierophant is the cause of his difficulties and so Earth Bet should be mostly safe for him to view, but we'll still ensure that he keeps away from any cape with powers that might interact poorly with his. We'll prioritize Aleph over Cheit, Shin, and Vav for expanding coverage in order to gather more data on Hierophant, with no specific plans against her as of yet."

"Do we want to warn anyone on the Aleph side that she may be hostile?" Eidolon asked.

Contessa shook her head. "Even very vague warnings invariably lead to the belief spreading that Hierophant may be Earth Aleph's first Endbringer, and the resulting panic does much more harm than good."

"What's the plan if Scion notices her and tries to communicate with her?"

"He hasn't seemed to notice or respond to anything on other Earths before," the Doctor replied. "Hopefully that will continue to be the case. I'm frankly more worried about her reaching out to him."

~*~*~

The meeting concluded soon afterwards, and everyone went their separate ways.

Eidolon was feeling better about the whole situation than he had been initially, but it was now more important than ever that he find a way to reverse the weakening of his power. His being able to put up anything resembling an even fight against Scion had already been very much in question; being able to hold out against Scion and Hierophant together would be impossible in his current state.

He found himself to be in somewhat of a morbid mood as he stepped through the door to his office. The only way things could possibly get worse would be if the other entity had somehow circled around and created its own avatar as well, he thought ruefully. And given how this day has gone so far… .

Ah, well. He shrugged internally. If he were to happen across yet another powerful cape with strength rivaling his own and possibly-world-ending intentions anytime in the near future, well… he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

Author's Note

Well hey there, Cauldron! Haven't checked in with you since the prologue.

This chapter's a very worldbuild-y one, expounding upon the PRT's largely-forgotten efforts to expand into Mexico, the cartels, the Houston capes not named Eidolon, and even some stuff from PHO Sunday. The folks in PRT 3 are having a grand old time working for a Triumvirate member, Eidolon's "enjoying" the perks of leadership, Clairvoyant's having an even worse week than usual….

And Kassalyn is Reddit famous! PHO isn't the only site on the internet, so I figured I'd try something different from the usual PHO snippets to convey public opinion on things. I do plan to go back and add a text version of the screenshots for anyone using a screen reader/reading on their phone/searching the thread for text/etc., I just wasn't able to get to that this week.

We'll be getting Kassalyn's own perspective on suddenly becoming a cult leader sometime in the next arc. In the meantime, just sit back and enjoy her winning first place in the Eden Lookalike contest without even knowing she was an entrant.

Some translations for the non-English terms used at the start of the chapter:

Terremoto = Earthquake (literally, "moving earth") Relámpago = Lightning Flash, or Flash of Light Alianza de Sangre = Alliance of Blood Cien Diablos = Hundred Devils 'Ndrangheta = an Italian organization Reflexiones = Reflections (specifically the feminine form; Los Reflejos is masculine) Embaucador = Trickster (with the connotation of "swindler" or "fraud") Vacío = Emptiness or Void Mictlān = the Aztec underworld Xolotl = an Aztec god Cipactli = an Aztec monster Tzitzimitl = an Aztec sort-of-demon Señor Saguaro = Sir Cactus Sin Defecto = Faultless (literally, "without a flaw") Policía Federal = Mexican Federal Police Agencia Federal de Investigación = 2011-era name for the Mexican Ministerial Police Técnicos and Rudos = literally, Technicians and Tough Guys; the terms are used in Lucha Libre to basically mean good guys and bad guys, equivalent to "face" and "heel" in American professional wrestling. Lechuza = Mexican shapeshifting witch Verdugo = Executioner Sin Rostro = Faceless (literally, "without a face") D stuff referenced in this chapter:

Unfortunately for Clairvoyant and Eidolon, Kassalyn's suite of wards includes a scry trap effect, which not only lets her know when people try to scry her and has a good chance of shutting the scrying down but also smacks the scryer in the face for lots o' damage. I actually rolled for the spell's damage, just for kicks, after determining a reasonable HP value for Clairvoyant given what we know about him; had the roll actually been high enough to kill Clairvoyant, things could have gotten interesting. The "Twin Serpents" or "Serpents of Law" myth is a creation story for the Great Wheel. It posits that Jazirian (LG god of couatls, learning, fate, and other stuff) and Asmodeus (LE ruler of the Nine Hells) are the remnants of two much greater beings, Jazirian and Ahriman, who helped shape the multiverse in the early days. There's a surprising amount of evidence to support it on both the Asmodeus side (e.g. there really is something serpentine at the bottom of the Ninth Hell that is Asmodeus's true body) and the Jazirian side (e.g. Jazirian is very different from most gods: they don't accept clerics, their realm is a "chokepoint" in Celestia that all LG souls have to pass through, etc.)… though of course there are multiple contradictory accounts of Asmodeus's origin and the devils insist that all of them are true, so take that as you will. In the prologue it mentions that Kassalyn had "spoken face-to-face with a god, even, and had a religious epiphany of sorts." The god in question is Jazirian, and the epiphany is that Jazirian and the Silver Flame are both primordial forces of Lawful Goodness that are strongly associated with couatls and that clashed with Lawful Evil fiends at the beginning of time, and that's probably meaningful. She's currently attempting to reconcile her faith in the Flame (which no one outside of Eberron's sphere has ever heard of) with the faith of a similar being in the greater multiverse, which is why she mention the Eberron-specific story of the Progenitor Wyrms and then was like "And oh by the way this is probably true because there's this similar story about this Jazirian dude(tte)…."

Last edited: Oct 31, 2022

Integration 2.Z

Late Morning, Wir the 4th of Rhaan, 999 YK Somewhere in the Hoarfrost Mountains, Mror Holds, Eberron
Zalmok

A great rumbling echoed through the canyon as a sudden earthquake sent fissures winding through the rock face and boulders tumbling down the cliffside. Zalmok, annoyed at the interruption to his meditation that would delay the replenishment of his magical capacity for the day, cracked open a single eyelid once the cacophony had subsided to determine the cause of this irritating disruption.

What he saw before him left him feeling… apprehensive.

Zalmok-that is to say, the infamous Whispering Sage, the Fourth Claw of Sul Khatesh, Sower of Discord, Swindler of Souls, Terror of Valshar'ak, Weaver of Nightmares, corrupter of countless knights and holy warriors, and insidious threat to the inhabitants of Khorvaire since long before the continent had been given that name-had never before had cause to feel apprehensive.

Apprehension was an emotion that happened to other creatures. Creatures such as, for example, every mortal that had ever interacted with him in any capacity for any length of time.

Apprehension was not an emotion that he, as a devil of Khyber in general and as one of the Keeper of Secrets' most loyal and effective servants in particular, should ever have had cause to experience.

He immediately decided that he disliked the sensation immensely.

Admittedly, the sight before him was one that would have given practically anyone in his position pause: the impossibly complex and intricate pattern of creeping moss and banded stone that had been visible upon the cliff before him had just been completely obliterated by the earthquake.

" Eh, it's just a pretty pattern in some rocks, rockslides change those around all the time," an ignorant mortal might have said, if such a creature were foolish enough to share the same mountainside as Zalmok in his current mood, " so what's the big deal?"

The big deal, Zalmok would have gladly explained to this hypothetical mortal after slowly and painfully extracting its fingernails one by one to punish it for its temerity, was that this pattern had been no mere accident of geology, no mere coincidental arrangement of rocks and plants.

That pattern had, in fact, been a fragment of the Draconic Prophecy.

Zalmok might have been inclined to forgive said hypothetical mortal for its ignorance, had there been any way to express the concept of "forgiveness" in the Infernal tongue, as the Prophecy was not well-known among the lesser creatures.

Few mortal creatures knew of its existence, fewer knew of its significance, fewer still ever chose to study it, and practically none saw success in deciphering or interpreting any meaningful fraction of it, given the long lifespan and detached perspective needed to make any headway in doing so.

Even he, a devil of no small skill and insight, a being of embodied Law and Evil who lived and breathed patterns and systems of rules as easily as mortals breathed air, had required a good four thousand or so years of study before he felt confident in his ability to translate the tiniest subtleties and most cunning hidden meanings in each prophetic fragment.

The only mortals who did see any success in their study of the Draconic Prophecy were the dragons of Argonnessen, hence the name that they, in their arrogance, had bestowed upon it.

(There was also the minor matter that it was the dragons' discovery and use of the Draconic Prophecy that had allowed them to cast down the Overlords and bring the Age of Demons to an end, but Zalmok didn't like to acknowledge that little detail. As a rule, the children of Khyber don't ever like to admit any failures or mistakes, especially to themselves.)

In the simplest possible terms, the Draconic Prophecy was a complete and accurate record of all things that would or could ever come to pass, and of the chain of causality that led up to each such event. It was inscribed in signs and symbols upon the face of Eberron, the skies of Siberys, the caverns of Khyber, and even the very flesh of mortal beings, and had been both predicting and guiding the course of history since at least the Age of Demons, if not the very hour of the creation of the universe.

Hardly simple terms, those. But then the Prophecy was hardly simple.

The reason for Zalmok's apprehension was that deciphering this particular fragment of the Prophecy was absolutely essential to his current task, and its destruction would render his task impossible to complete.

This task had been given to him personally by Hektula the Bloody Scribe, the direct representative of Sul Khatesh on Eberron while She Herself was sealed away, and this task was a critical part of the effort to finally free the Keeper of Secrets from Her extraplanar prison.

Said effort had been in the works for almost the entirety of the nearly ten million years since the thirty Overlords had first been bound by the Silver Flame. Hektula would be highly displeased if Zalmok returned empty-handed, and as one does not earn a sobriquet such as "the Bloody Scribe" by being known for one's especially warm and understanding disposition, Zalmok would rather not be subjected to the finer points of Hektula's displeasure for the next ten million years.

The apprehensive fiend briefly contemplated whether to kill himself now, before Hektula could get her claws on him, then sighed. It wouldn't be worth it, not without his having access to a soul-destroying weapon; if she was forced to reassemble his soul before torturing him, that would just make things worse for him in the long run. The very very long run.

He shook off his malaise a moment later. This is no time to wallow in self-pity. Perchance I could at least retrieve some small portions of the fragment and hope that those, combined with the parts already deciphered, will be enough to discern the general shape of its meaning.

A twist of will sent him teleporting down to the canyon floor dozens of yards below. He stood there surveying the area for a time, looking for the slightest hint of a marking that might have survived the destruction. A distortion in the sandstone layers, a curlicue of moss, absolutely anything would be-

---

What have we here?

While he couldn't see even a tiny remnant of the original pattern, he'd studied the Prophecy for long enough that he did feel a sense of familiarity regarding a certain rather intriguing spray of mud, splattered onto the foot of the cliff by a large hunk of stone that had crashed into the bank of the river running through the bottom of the canyon.

And near that spray of mud was a tree whose trunk had been split by falling boulders such that the resulting shape of the branches on the ground formed a very distinctive shape, one that had appeared in several of the other fragments he'd tracked down as part of his current task.

He teleported up to a different ledge that gave him a different view of the massive debris pile below, flicked his sinuous tail back and forth in contemplation as he regarded the canyon floor, took a few steps to one side, hmmed to himself, teleported to a third ledge, tilted his head slightly to the side… and everything came together in an instant as this one very specific perspective allowed him to see the truth.

The pattern hadn't actually been destroyed.

It had been changed.

The Prophecy fragment had been rewritten before his very eyes.

Joy and relief filled the space that might have been occupied by his heart, if falxugons-more commonly known as harvester devils, given that their specialty lay in bargaining with mortals and all of the consequences for said mortals that that pastime implied-weren't utterly heartless beings, both literally and figuratively.

His apprehension did not diminish one whit, however, thanks to what this sudden shift in the Prophecy implied.

Contrary to what many scholars believed, the Prophecy did change, quite frequently. When mortals thought of "prophecies" they generally thought in terms of absolutely true statements about an immutable future, but that wasn't how the prophetic fragments actually worked. Rather, they were a collection of absolutely true statements about how the future would unfold, a subtle but very important distinction.

The Prophecy would never say, for instance, that " on the fourth night under the raven's wing the Wearer of Three Crowns shall be slain," which would indicate an event that was guaranteed to occur at a certain time and place and to do so in a certain way, regardless of any attempts to avert or change it.

Instead, it might say that " when the Hand of Blood crosses blades with the Wearer of Three Crowns under the raven's wing, then shall the Crowned One be slain," which indicated that a certain event would definitely transpire if a certain condition was satisfied-and that said event could definitely not transpire if the condition were not satisfied.

Thus, as certain prophecies were fulfilled or failed to be fulfilled, fragments further down the chains of causality would change to account for that. These changes were generally very minor, consisting of tiny shifts in symbols corresponding to a change of a word or two in any given fragment: the course of a trickling stream changing over a season to invert a certain concept, say, or a crevice in a deep cavern expanding to the north rather than the east to change the connotation of a certain glyph.

For a fragment of the Prophecy to change so utterly and completely, and to do so practically instantaneously, meant that something truly momentous and almost completely unprecedented must have just occurred.

That would mean checking in on the dozens of fragments he'd already studied, possibly changing plans that had been centuries or millennia in the making, potentially moving agents of the Lords of Dust around on the gameboard that was Khorvaire, and more… all of which could potentially be obviated in an instant if whatever had caused this very unexpected and unwelcome change were to decide to alter the course of things a second time.

Ah, well. The sooner he began deciphering this new fragment to see exactly what had changed, the sooner he would know how it would affect Hektula's plans… and whether he would need to seek out a soul-destroying weapon to avoid her wrath after all.

~*~*~

Midday, Zol the 10th of Rhaan, 999 YK

The Black Archives, Ashtakala, Demon Wastes, Eberron

As a servant of the Keeper of Secrets and one of the few Claws to report directly to Hektula, Zalmok knew the libraries of Ashtakala better than practically anyone but the Bloody Scribe herself.

He had spent most of the past week retrieving and studying tomes which, between the spatial warping in the lower levels and the endless traps that littered the shelves, would have taken any other agent of the Lords of Dust multiple weeks if not months to unearth. Tomes that almost certainly hadn't been read in living memory-and given that some members of the Bleak Council were over ten thousand years old, "living memory" encompassed a considerable span of time.

Despite their age, the tomes were in absolutely pristine condition. The pages were still crisp, the ink was still dark, the leather was still supple… it was as though they had just been bound yesterday, and Zalmok imagined he could still hear the screams of the mortals whose skin had been flensed to make the covers.

It wasn't just the books that were perfectly preserved. The city of Ashtakala was the last remaining fortress from the Age of Demons, and thanks to enchantments first laid upon the city when the Overlords still walked the face of Eberron, the ravages of time simply did not touch anything that remained within it, from the outermost edges of its hewn-basalt fortifications to the highest tips of its brazen spires.

Tragically, the same couldn't be said for its living inhabitants.

Zalmok was currently taking a break from his studies to enjoy the view outside. The churning Maelstrom of volcanic glass shards and stinging sand that encircled Ashtakala to protect it from physical and magical incursions turned the noonday sun a harsh blood-red, which reminded him somewhat nostalgically of home.

Several slaves attended him as he took in the scenery. Being the strongest and highest-ranking falxugon in Sul Khatesh's service, and the only non-rakshasa among her Claws, Zalmok was responsible for sealing most of the pacts with mortals who wished to trade away their souls to Her for knowledge and power, seeing as She was unable to interact with them directly in Her current state and Hektula was far too busy to deal with that herself.

And, as the one who actually devised the terms for those pacts, he'd ensured that he always got first pick of the mortals who reneged on their deals or failed to fulfill their end of the bargain and thus forfeited their souls and their freedom to Sul Khatesh and Her servants. The slaves now attending him were three such failures: one currently polishing his horns, one trimming his hooves, and one serving as his hoofrest.

That first one was beginning to wear out; Zalmok wasn't very good at judging mortal ages, but the thing was definitely nearing the end of its useful lifespan what with all of the wrinkles and scars covering its flesh, and the constant tremor of its decrepit limbs meant that the motions of its polishing cloth often missed a horn and tugged unpleasantly at his hair instead.

Letting out a sigh, he reached up and tapped the slave's wrist. It let out an anguished cry as whatever dregs of vital force remaining within it were drained from it in an instant, and a refreshing burst of energy flooded his veins as its shriveled husk toppled to the floor.

The second slave froze in terror, but a slight exertion of his will caused its eyes to glaze over and return to its task.

He tsked in disappointment. It would take a while for the next slave to be sent over; he'd have to wait until his next break for it to come in and finish the polishing properly. He might as well resume his work early.

The hoof-trimmer and hoofrest were sent away to stand in the corner until he wanted them again, and he turned his attention back to the numerous books scattered about the table before him.

His collection of tomes were quite eclectic in their subject matter. There were texts on history, geography, astrology, astronomy, heraldry, alchemy, and more, and he'd needed all of these to aid him in deciphering the prophetic fragments.

The Prophecy did not take the form of a normal language written across the landscape, or even that of an unknown language that could be straightforwardly translated into a known tongue. Rather, every single stroke and arc and whorl of the patterns needed to have its meaning deciphered by examining the finest details as they grew and changed, taking into account the positions of the stars and moons on the days that fragments changed, the width and angle of each line, and more to derive its meaning.

Deciphering the fragments wasn't much like trying to translate a language, really; it was more like attempting to study a collection of thousands of paintings taken from across an entire culture to determine what individual brushstrokes or choices of paint color were trying to convey, without the benefit of ever having met anyone from the same races as any of the artists.

It had taken multiple millennia just for the Lords of Dust to build up a working "vocabulary" to use as a starting point for new fragments, and even then there was a great deal of uncertainty involved in any interpretation until the fragment was deciphered in full.

Finally, though, finally he'd begun making progress with his work. The initial deciphered portions of the fragment filled a good four pages of parchment, and he expected the remainder to fill six more at least. It would likely take another week to completely finish the translation, but Hektula had requested a report on his progress in the next few days and so he was currently trying to extract whatever significance from them that he could.

He had to be able to demonstrate that the changing of the Mror fragment was beneficial to their plans, or at the very least neutral. If it proved to be harmful, by cutting off a formerly-valid route to achieving Sul Khateshs's release or even by further extending the time required to free Her, Hektula would almost certainly be disappointed with him to a life-threatening degree.

There had to be something useful in one of these parchments… somewhere.

~*~*~

After another hour, Zalmok had failed to find the proverbial smoldering wand, so he'd started copying out individual phrases from the translation onto bits of parchment and arranging them in various combinations to see if he could tease out any significant connections between them.

The Prophecy was maddeningly vague at the best of times, and a given term in the Common or Infernal translation of a fragment could mean dozens of different things. Context and precedence were incredibly important to understanding a fragment's meaning, and just as incredibly frustrating.

On the other hand, this vagueness could be beneficial: if a given title, for instance, didn't refer to a single specific individual (and it never did), one could attempt to make events fit the conditions of a prophetic fragment by arranging for a title to uniquely describe a chosen individual in order to force the following prophesied event to take place.

This method was largely the basis for the Lords of Dust's plans for freeing the various Overlords: find fragments that could potentially refer to their release, trace a chain of events leading from a known event in the present or near future to that desired fragment, then constrain the potential meanings of each fragment along the chain to force events to play out as they wished, as if the progression of fate were a river and they were systematically damming every tributary and distributary until the water could only flow down a single chosen path.

This was made difficult by the fact that other factions were doing the same thing-the dragons of the Chamber, primarily, but the elves of Aerenal and the Inspired of Sarlona dabbled as well-but the Lords of Dust were immortal and very patient and were ever so slowly winning the temporal battle of attrition (in Zalmok's considered opinion), one tiny fragment at a time.

So he wasn't just searching for phrases that did reference Sul Khatesh or one of Her many titles, but also ones that could be made to reference Her, or that could fit into the framework of the many fragments that had already been largely deciphered and constrained.

He wasn't having much luck with that, unfortunately.

When the Wielder of Light seals a pact with the Dweller in Darkness-

The Dweller in Darkness could reference at least ten Overlords off the top of his head, none of which were Sul Khatesh, and the Wielder of Light could be, oh, literally any priest of Dol Dorn or the Silver Flame, just to start with.

-should the Flesh-Tearer emerge from the Threefold Land into the presence of-

A reference to a monster causing trouble in Xen'drik. Wonderful. That certainly hadn't happened at least six times this month already.

-then shall the one below whisper to the one above and the two become united in purpose.

Close, but not useful. It was broad enough that "one beneath" could be shaped to refer to Her, certainly, but far too broad to usefully constrain.

Zalmok sighed. Nothing in this section was suitable, at least not on its own. More deciphering would be required.

~*~*~

The devil smiled in satisfaction and put down his quill.

He'd finally found something suitable.

-only should the Bearer of Secrets come to the aid of the Giver of Twisted Gifts.

"Bearer of Secrets" didn't have precisely the same connotation as "Keeper of Secrets," but the title could absolutely still apply to Sul Khatesh.

The Giver of Twisted Gifts would have to be the Traveler, one of the gods of the Dark Six. "Beware the gifts of the Traveler" was a trite phrase echoed by countless worshipers of the Sovereign Host on a daily basis; that title could hardly refer to anyone else.

Now, why would the two be connected? Mortals in search of forbidden knowledge who possessed more ambition than sense could often be found worshiping members of either the Dark Six or the Overlords, but otherwise the two had little in common.

… except that the most prominent legend about the Traveler was that it traveled the face of Eberron in endless guises, and no obstacle or impediment or law or binding could stand in its way.

That… that had potential.

Zalmok picked up his quill once more and returned to his work.

~*~*~

He could barely believe his eyes. The most straightforward passage he had ever deciphered was staring him right in the face.

- shall open the Way to the realm of She Who Sees, and the Unchained One shall pass through.

This. This was what he had been seeking. It was hard to imagine a more perfect anchor for the chain of events leading to Her release.

"Sul Khatesh, Keeper of Secrets," he whispered, knowing that despite Her isolation from the world the words of Her faithful servant would reach Her, "I thank you for causing this hidden truth to be revealed to me."

Now, what passages to connect to that one….

~*~*~

After another several hours of work, he hadn't deciphered a passage that he could manipulate to his own ends, but he had completely deciphered the fragment, and among those last passages were three phrases that pointed in an intriguing new direction.

Only when the Orb of the Third lies within the Orrery- Should the Betrayer overcome the Warrior and Wise One-
-when the Six, once exiled from the beloved Nine, move as one to-

He was beginning to see the shape of things, now.

Zalmok rose, and stretched, and willed his slaves to fetch him food and drink. He had no physical need to eat, of course, but he could indulge in wasteful luxuries as well as anyone and he greatly enjoyed feeling the anguish of the slaves as they watched him consume a feast while they themselves were barely fed.

While he waited for his refreshments to arrive, he began to compose missives to other agents, both his fellow Claws as well as duped mortals who were completely ignorant of their connection to the Lords of Dust.

There were almost certainly more fragments out there that had changed. He had a lot more reading to do.

~*~*~

Late Evening, Far the 13th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Skysedge Park, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

Zalmok looked on, amused, as great herds of mortals trudged back and forth on the terraces below like the mindless cattle that they were, some of them scurrying more quickly through the crowds as though saving a few minutes here and there would let them eke any more useful time out of their pathetic lifespans.

He currently wore the guise of a human, dissimilar enough from his own form to be unrecognizable to anyone who knew him but close enough that he could bear to see himself in mirror or other reflective surface.

It was an illusion, of course, not an actual change of shape. Nothing but a direct order from Hektula would ever convince him to lower himself to actually physically take on a human body.

How humans managed to get along with no tail for balance and tender fleshy feet instead of proper hooves (or at least paws) he hadn't the slightest clue.

Suddenly, a young human wearing the uniform of a House Orien Transporter popped into existence a few feet away and looked over at him, startled. "Oh, sorry about that, sir," he said, "I didn't know there would be anyone here. I'm just gonna-"

Zalmok sent to the Transporter in an irritated mental tone.

The harried expression on the face of the human, one Dekker d'Orien, twisted into a cruel grin that would have shocked anyone who knew him… or thought they knew him, at least. "You wound me, Zalmok," he said in a tone of mock affront. "The mortals all find me hilarious."

The rakshasa Marishantar, whose three-decade-long infiltration of the Stormreach branch of House Orien under the Dekker identity was merely the latest in a line of hundreds of similar deceptions, sidled up to his superior in the Lords of Dust. Marishantar tried to throw a comradely arm around Zalmok's shoulders, but the falxugon quickly stepped to the side.

"Indulge in your perversions on your own time," the falxugon spat. "I'm here for your report on your discovery related to the Prophecy, nothing more."

Rakshasas were by far the majority among the Overlords' servants, and the feline-headed fiends were inveterate shapeshifters to the point that many of them actually enjoyed spending time in mortal form.

Disgusting creatures, mortals, with all of those organs endlessly sloshing about. Zalmok simply couldn't see the appeal of actually being one for any span of time whatsoever.

Not for the first time, he wished he could simply communicate with his agents from the comfort of his lair in Ashtakala, but sadly the same Maelstrom that protected the city from its enemies' prying eyes blocked long-distance communications magic as well. Hence his needing to visit with Marishantar in person and tolerate the other fiend's… idiosyncrasies.

Marishantar gestured for Zalmok to follow him, and the two strode around the perimeter of the park until they could see Dragon Towers through the trees. "I don't have a report, not precisely. What I have is those," Marishantar said, pointing toward a group of mortals loitering outside the Orien enclave.

"What are they?"

"They're a group of humans who claim to have come here from a different world. Not a plane, a world," he emphasized, anticipating the objection. "They spoke of a realm where the void of space is cluttered with countless worlds like Eberron, much like how Khyber is riddled with demiplanes."

Zalmok was beginning to believe that the agent's time among the mortals had severely impaired his judgment. "Why would you ever entertain such a ridiculous idea? There is not one mention of a 'world' other than Eberron in the entirety of the Library of Ashtakala, not even the Black Archives."

"Because," Marishantar practically purred, "while we were having a friendly chat in Stormreach, they happened to let slip that they arrived on Eberron nine days ago, right around the tenth hour of the morning."

Zalmok's eyes widened. That was when all of the Prophecy fragments had changed.

"You see why I thought to notify you."

"It was well that you did."

As the humans finished whatever trivial conversation they were having and moved toward the nearest lift, Zalmok took a moment to memorize everything about them that he could. Anyone whose arrival heralded such a change in the Prophecy merited very close observation. "Who are the other mortals with them?" he asked.

"The half-orc is a Gatekeeper," the other replied, causing Zalmok's lip to curl in disgust. Of all the fools who dared to oppose the Lords of Dust, the Gatekeepers were by far the most persistently irritating. He had a collection of tanned Gatekeeper hides in his lair, and running his claws along them as he passed by rarely failed to bring a smile to his face.

"The gnome is a Trust agent who is acquainted with my mortal identity," Marishantar continued, adding, "one who has already taken steps to manipulate the travelers and has made plans to betray them if necessary." As a rakshasa, Marishantar could read the minds of weak-willed beings, and did so at every opportunity. "The others are of no importance."

Zalmok nodded absently, then paused.

Travelers. Betray.

He'd come across a prophetic passage referencing the Traveler, and another referencing a Betrayer.

These humans and their hangers-on might be even more useful than Marishantar realized.

"Why did the mortals choose to come here?"

"They didn't. It was accidental, they said, and now they hope to find a way home. They came here at the gnome's urging to speak with Cannith about building some kind of portal device to achieve that… but if the Baron finds himself unable to manage that due to any number of complications that might be persuaded to arise," Marishantar explained, wearing a very self-satisfied smile, "they plan to consult with the Arcane Congress instead."

Zalmok's own expression slowly morphed into a matching smile.

The Arcane Congress, which floated above the city of Arcanix, in Aundair.

Arcanix, which was, unbeknownst to its inhabitants, located almost precisely above the site in Khyber at which Sul Khatesh was bound.

Sul Khatesh, who had been whispering in the ears and dreams of certain members of the Arcane Congress since its founding, and whose influence had been subtly corrupting some of its strongest arcanists for centuries up to and including the infamous Mordain the Fleshweaver himself.

Yes, these mortals could be very useful indeed.

Zalmok moved to congratulate Marishantar on his discovery, when another thought occurred to him.

The humans were looking for a way home, by means of a portal device. A device that would most likely take the form of an orrery, an enchanted clockwork model showing the movement of the planes and the moons around Eberron, as items allowing travel between the planes were often crafted in such a shape.

Or, in more precise terms, they sought a Way, and an Orrery. Molding their actions to fit those passages of the Prophecy would be simplicity itself.

Now all he needed was an orb, which-

…

Ah. His Prophecy fragment had been referring to the Dark Six all along. Not just the Traveler, but the others as well.

The Shadow, a dweller in darkness and bearer of secrets. The Devourer, or the Fury; either one might have a servant that could be described as a Flesh-Tearer.

And The Mockery, commonly called the Betrayer, one of whose more obscure legends mentioned a certain Orb.

"You will be given full credit for this discovery when I meet with the Scribe. The Keeper of Secrets will be greatly pleased," Zalmok said, his tone solemn.

"I find myself skeptical, seeing as you've always despised sharing credit." Marishantar leaned forward. "This change was truly that beneficial?"

The falxugon looked the rakshasa straight in the eye. "There are a few minor details to be addressed, but with what you've given me today, we may very well see Her release before the year is out."

The look Marishantar gave him was full of awe and anticipation. "All glory to She Who Sees In Darkness, and may Her reign be eternal," he said fervently.

Zalmok nodded. "Return to your duties. You will be kept apprised." After withdrawing into the park's tree cover to shield himself from observation by the many flyers zipping through the nearby skies, he vanished, leaving the rakshasa alone with his thoughts.

~*~*~

Just After Dawn, Sul the 15th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Chamber of the Bleak Council, Ashtakala, Demon Wastes, Eberron

The Bloody Scribe padded nearly silently across the floor, with only the sound of her clawtips clicking rhythmically against the floor to herald her arrival.

Zalmok was lying prostrate before her throne to await her, horns pressed to the smooth stone tiles and eyes firmly closed. He did not dare look upon her or make a single sound before she gave him leave to do so.

The clicking stopped just in front of him. "All glory to She Who Sees Without Sight." Hektula spoke abruptly, demanding an immediate response.

"For She needs no light to peer into the hidden depths of our souls," he replied reflexively.

It was not unheard of for servants of one Overlord to attempt to spy on servants of another in order to gain some advantage. The Lords of Dust cooperated to free their masters and held that goal above all others, yes, but it was a loose alliance of equals, not a cohesive whole… and seeing as no power in the universe could force multiple shapeshifting mind-reading fiends to exist in close proximity for a notable length of time without all of them eventually trying to backstab all of the others, occasional treachery among the various factions was to be expected.

Opening the meeting with a recitation of catechism was a good way to root out any spies. Zalmok had easily memorized the prayers and responses for all thirty Overlords, and the Claws of the other Overlords could easily do the same, but to one with Hektula's powers of discernment the sincerity of a true believer was easy to tell apart from the empty words of a spy.

"All glory to She Who Deceives."

"For pure truth is a secret, and answers only to Her will."

"Very good. Rise, Zalmok," said Hektula as she seated herself on her throne. "You have news for me."

He rose gracefully to his hooves and bowed deeply to the greatest archmage and most cunning schemer on the Bleak Council. "I do, prakhutu," he said, using the honorific that denoted the Overlords' personal representatives on the Council.

"Then speak."

"With the aid of a critical discovery made by Marishantar in Stormreach, I have discovered the cause of the change to so many prophetic fragments, and using the new passages I believe I have determined a path to releasing Her that can be completed on the order of years, if not months."

Hektula regarded him silently, her hands with their backwards-facing palms clasped thoughtfully in front of her face. Of all of their current schemes seeking Her unbinding-of which there were at least three hundred actively in progress, to the best of Zalmok's knowledge-the one with the shortest timetable promised to be completed in roughly forty-eight years; claiming to have found a method that might require only months was thus exceptionally bold.

"Explain."

Zalmok retrieved a tome and several sheets of parchment from his extradimensional pocket and took a fortifying breath. "You have read of the legend of the Three Faces of War?" he began.

"I have."

The legend was quite simple, one that any priest of the Dark Six could recite and that even mortal children would often learn once they reached a sufficient age:

Once, in the Age of Dragons when the world was still young, the Sovereign Host and Dark Six were not yet divided. Alongside wise Dol Arrah and brave Dol Dorn stood clever Dol Azur, eldest of the three, and all three were, in their own way, Sovereigns of war. They decided to challenge the Lord of Death on the field of battle, but when combat was joined Dol Azur was nowhere to be seen, having chosen not to join his siblings out of cowardice.

Without his aid Dol Dorn and Dol Arrah and their soldiers fought bravely, but futilely, and were forced to retreat-whereupon they learned that their elder brother, valuing his greed over everything else, had used the distraction to steal a great treasure from the Citadel of the Dead and keep it for his own. For this betrayal he was flayed of his skin and his very name by the other Sovereigns, to become the god now known as The Mockery.

Was there any truth to this legend? Zalmok couldn't say.

Among mortals, scholars debated whether the Sovereigns were truly gods, or dragons blessed with great power by the Progenitors, or merely mortal dragons whose deeds had grown in the telling; among the Lords of Dust, no fiends now living were old enough to have been around during the Age of Demons, and the Overlords were unable or unwilling to answer their servants' questions on that topic, so they had no way to know the truth of the Mockery's nature or origins.

They couldn't say, either, whether this "Lord of Death" was meant to symbolize The Keeper, or Katashka the Gatekeeper, or a personification of the plane of Dolurrh, or something else, or even whether this "Citadel of the Dead" was a real place from which a "great treasure" could ever have been stolen.

What was certain, however, was that there did exist a powerful relic of the Mockery that was traditionally associated with that stolen treasure: the Orb of Dol Azur. Its nature and powers were cloaked in mystery, laid out in only the rarest and darkest of tomes… such as the one that Zalmok now held, and had opened to a certain page to display to Hektula.

There were two powers ascribed to the Orb that did not vary across the many retellings of the legend, the tome claimed. First, it could be used to absorb another's power (the nature of this "power" changing with every telling, of course-vital force, divine blessings, magical energy, who knew?) and twist it to the bearer's own use, as befit a god best known for betraying his fellow divinities to empower himself and having his power stripped from him in exchange.

Second, given sufficient accumulated power, it could allow its bearer to travel anywhere desired, through even the most impassable barrier, into even the most impenetrable stronghold, out of even the most inescapable prison, as befit a god who had been able to sneak around behind the back of Death himself.

Hektula looked unimpressed. "That tome was acquired three years ago, and studied by a great many of our agents in the intervening time. The Orb itself is promising, but the text and all of our divinations have given no hint of its whereabouts, nor of how it may be found, nor of how it may be used."

"No hints until now, prakhutu," Zalmok replied in his most respectful tone, before causing his papers to float in the air between them with a wave and some guttural words.

Gesturing to each passage as he went along, he explained his plans:

How he had discovered the theme of the Dark Six running through the Mror fragment.

-shall then fall into the embrace of the Skeletal One, who dwells in the devouring void.

How he had devised a way to shift the subjects of the passages from the Dark Six to six of the Overlords, Sul Khatesh included.

-that those cast down by the Dragons may at long last know recompense-

How he could explain why the Orb had never been retrieved before this point, despite its infamy.

-then shall the Eye of the Kin-Slayer be clouded, and-

How he had determined why a particular group of mortals might be able to retrieve the Orb where even the most puissant of Claws had thus far failed.

Should those born of the Dragons' scales grasp the Orb, for their transgression they shall-

Hektula took all of this in without saying a word or shifting her posture even a hair.

When his explanation came to a stop, she spoke only a single sentence: "Well done, Zalmok, First Claw of Sul Khatesh."

He narrowly managed to conceal his surprise. Promoted three ranks, all at once? And was that… was that a smile of approval on the Bloody Scribe's lips?

Today was a day he would not soon forget.

~*~*~

The next morning, Zalmok once again found himself in the Bleak Council's chamber with Hektula, but this time the two were not alone.

Hektula sat in her throne, with Zalmok standing respectfully at her side. A third of the way around the circle to the left sat Kashtarhak the Voice of Chaos, prakhutu of Eldrantulku the Oathbreaker, and beside him stood Thelestes the Velvet Blade. Around the circle in the opposite direction sat Durastoran the Wyrmbreaker, prakhutu of Bel Shalor the Shadow in the Flame, accompanied by Katashyara the Tarnished Knight.

The servants of Sul Khatesh had chosen their allies carefully. In attempting to bend the Prophecy toward their will, allying with the Oathbreaker and the Shadow in the Flame were obvious choices, as those two Overlords could displace The Mockery and The Shadow in the passages that had already been deciphered.

For enacting their specific plans regarding the mortals, Thelestes was a master of seducing the innocent while Katashyara was a master of corrupting the righteous; the two of them and Zalmok were some of the best manipulators in the ranks of the Lords of Dust.

"Then it is decided," rumbled Durastoran-the second most powerful prakhutu on the Council after Hektula, and the only one present who was more knowledgeable about the current state of the Prophecy than Zalmok himself-to conclude the planning and negotiations that had stretched out over the past several hours. "Our Claws will embed themselves in Sharn and Arcanix to arrange circumstances as our plan requires, while we three remain here to do the same and extend overtures to the three prakhutu whose incorporation into our scheme would align best with the shape of the Prophecy."

Hektula and Kashtarhak nodded, while Zalmok, Thelestes, and Katashyara bowed their heads and as one replied, "It will be done."

Privately, Zalmok wasn't especially happy to be working with the other two. Thelestes was a succubus, making her one of his few fellow non-rakshasa fiends among the Overlords' Claws, but also making her a demon and thus unacceptably unpredictable for such a delicate matter as this.

Katashyara… he could tell from the name and the reversed hands that they were a rakshasa, but beyond that he didn't know what lay beneath the all-encompassing black armor.

Still, orders were orders, and he would be a fool to turn down the assistance of a consummate assassin and a profane warrior. Combined with his own talents for mental manipulation, they made a very capable trio.

The three of them were dismissed from the chamber soon afterwards and they separated to make their own preparations for departure, Thelestes already shifting into the stunningly beautiful elven form that she favored when she walked among mortals ( disgusting) in order to catch their eye and tempt them with the pleasures of the flesh ( even more disgusting).

On the way to his own lair, Zalmok mentally reviewed the initial steps of the plan. First, make initial contact with Kkressd in Fairhaven (currently courting Jorlanna d'Cannith) and Zathara in Sharn (currently undermining the Aundairian embassy in the city) to fill them in on their roles in the plan. Second, use their connections to establish a solid cover identity; Zalmok's last mortal identity had "died" several centuries ago without his bothering to establish a chain of descendant identities.

Third, flay and exsanguinate a few slaves and harvest their organs. His alchemy supplies could use the topping-up, and the process was always good for stress relief besides.

After that, all he would need to do would be to keep an eye on a group of otherworldly travelers to facilitate his steering the very fabric of fate in his favor while determining how to manipulate said travelers into retrieving a priceless ancient relic for him to then steal in turn and avoiding any treachery by his two companions, all with the understanding that millennia of torture followed by permanent death was the lightest punishment he could expect for failure.

He picked up his pace. Best not take too long with his preparations; he had a lot of work ahead of him.

There was, after all, no rest for the wicked.

Author's Note

I realize that once again I've thrown a lot of proper nouns at people, and I apologize if anyone feels overwhelmed. The key takeaways for now are that there's Sneaky Conspiracy Stuff going down in Sharn and that we've now been introduced to the Big Bad Guy faction (or at least a Medium Bad Guy faction) for this side of the story! As any plot-relevant things come up that were foreshadowed in this chapter, I'll be sure to point them out.

Oh, and anyone who can figure out which of the Prophecy fragments in the chapter are meaningful for the plot, which have an extra or different meaning than the one Zalmok ascribed to them, and which are pure flavor text will win a prize.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

When someone makes a deal with a devil in D , a falxugon or "harvester devil" is probably the kind of devil they'll make it with-and yes, they do look like the stereotypical devil, with horns, hooves, a tail, glowing eyes, the works. The Draconic Prophecy is a large plot devicemysterious force in Eberron, and no one knows who or what might be behind it. It's not either the fixed-point-in-time prophecy from lots of fantasy or the perfect-prediction-of-the-future of Worm precognition; instead, it's basically a bunch of if/then statements that can be read and/or manipulated, so it provides tons of plot hooks but isn't harsh on character agency. The 30 Overlords, also known as Demon Overlords for their prominence during the Age of Demons or Rakshasa Rajahs for the fact that 90% of their servants are rakshasas (LE fiends with backwards hands, innate magic including shapechanging and mindreading, and, in Eberron, a major rivalry with couatls), are your typical "evil godlike being locked away for a bajillion years" type. They can't directly affect the world to a major degree, but their "touch" on certain parts of Eberron can spread their influence there and they can communicate with their servants to some degree. The Lords of Dust are a group of fiends who are trying to free the Overlords. Each Overlord has its own independent hierarchy, cults, etc. serving it, the Lords of Dust are basically a rakshasa United Nations for sharing knowledge and resources, with the Bleak Council being their governing body. Each Overlord has one prakhutu (high priest type, generally Challenge Rating 25-28), a few Claws (best and most loyal servants, generally CR 15-18), and a bunch of much weaker fiendish and mortal minions. Ashtakala is the ancient evil city in the Demon Wastes where the Lords of Dust are based. Relevant Overlords: Sul Khatesh, the "maddening Lovecraftian entity" type; Bel Shalor, the being responsible for most of the corruption in the Church of the Silver Flame; and Eldrantulku, the Overlord rated #1 among insane mortal cultists. Relevant prakhutu: Hektula, the only Wizard on the Bleak Council because sorcery is for chumps; Durastoran, a guy who beats up dragons for fun; and Kashtarhak, the Council's token lazy slacker. Relevant Claw: Thelestes, the succubus, who's everything you think of when you hear "sexy shapechanging demonic assassin lady." No links for Zalmok or Katashyara, sorry, as Thelestes is the only canonically-specified Claw. The two or three people who read page 67 of City of Stormreach knew from the beginning that Dekker was an evil impostor! , but for the rest of you, yes, that's canonically the cover identity of the rakshasa Marishantar. Kkressd and Zathara, mentioned at the end of the chapter, are described in the same link. The Dark Six are effectively the evil counterparts of the Sovereign Host. They're often worshiped in less-evil forms by goblins, changelings, the monsters of Droaam, and others who don't really jibe with Host worship. For more on The Mockery in particular, see this article. As noted in the linked article, the orb of Dol Azur is a powerful artifact referenced a bunch in canon (and Kanon) but, as with several things in the setting, its properties and abilities are deliberately left up to the DM to determine, so there's no chance of spoilers in this case.

Last edited: Oct 13, 2022

Rule of Three 3.1.V

2:28 pm, Sunday the 24th of April, 2011 CE Cartwright Laboratory of Parahuman Science, Cambridge, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

"… and that," I said as I completed the final diagram with a flourish of illusory chalk and turned from the illusory blackboard to face my audience, "should demonstrate quite conclusively why the 'emotional carrier particle' hypothesis advanced by Professor Varela is irretrievably flawed."

This lecture hall, the largest in the ten-story building that housed Harvard University's Department of Parahuman Studies, was currently full to overflowing with professors and graduate students. Most of them were members of said department, some of them were parascience researchers visiting from several of the city's other universities, and nearly all of them were hanging on my every word as I finished my lecture.

That was quite heartening, given my initial reception by the faculty here.

When I'd first arrived in this city four days ago I'd discovered that the Protectorate Tinkers with whom I wished to speak would not be available to meet with me until the weekend, and so in the meantime I'd decided to look into the city's institutions of higher learning. My research had borne out Mike's claim that the universities of Harvard and MIT were ranked first and second in the nation when it came to parahuman research, and they were widely considered to be among the best universities in America overall, so with both of them being in the same city I could hardly pass up the opportunity to pay them a visit.

I'd sent imperceptible and incorporeal duplicates to secretly attend every class being taught at every university in the city, and by day's end I had a good sense for the workings of this nation's university system and for the level of education expected of its young adult citizenry.

It was during my survey of the more advanced courses that I encountered Professor Tadeusz Wysocki, a man whose name I'd seen on quite a few research papers during my visit to BPI's parahuman studies department and who was widely regarded (according to what I'd read in the relevant literature and overheard among his students and colleagues) to be the finest parahuman researcher in the state of Massachusetts.

I'd approached him during his office hours with some questions about the more unusual phenomena I'd witnessed, offering to teach a class in his stead to free up some time in his schedule if necessary… and after a brief discussion, he'd completely dismissed my expertise in the subject and labeled me with several less-than-complimentary terms for my "belief" in magic.

Quite irritating, if not unexpected.

I persisted, however, piquing his interest by reciting several passages of his more controversial papers from memory and then completely reversing his opinion by providing formal proofs for the correctness or falsity of the claims therein. We continued to speak late into the night and we both came away impressed, he with my demonstrated expertise, I with the excellent results and depth of understanding he'd managed to achieve over the years without being a magic-user himself.

On Friday I was invited to speak with several very skeptical colleagues of his after classes were finished for the day, and won them over as well. On Saturday he shared recordings of our conversation with colleagues at other universities, who began requesting introductions. Between those meetings, I spent the time wandering Boston and its nearby towns to see the sights, meet the locals, learn more about the local history, research the major local villains, and the like, much as I had in Brockton Bay.

And finally, today, on what would normally be a day of rest, one hundred and forty individuals had gathered from all over the city to lecture on various topics and to solicit my support or rebuttal of their theories in turn.

I only wished Aldric could be here to teach alongside me. While I'd always preferred to teach in the traditional master-apprentice format, my husband had greatly enjoyed guest-lecturing at the Udoclian during my tenure there.

Perhaps, someday, after I'd plumbed the depths of this world's magic, after I managed to discover a means of reversing his death and Jhaamdath's fall, when he again stood by my side and the spires of Udoclian once more rose above the Vilhon Reach….

Someday.

Anyhow, not every attendee had accepted my explanation so readily. Professor Mateo Varela himself, whose aura had darkened by the minute as his hypothesis was shown to possess more holes than an archery target in a room full of manticores, waited a few minutes for the post-lecture chatter to die down before raising his objection.

"Even if my proposal were flawed," he called out, in a tone of voice that implied he believed his hypothesis could still somehow be salvaged, "I don't find your alternate model of how it 'really' works to be convincing at all."

"Why might that be?" I asked politely.

He gestured to his laptop, upon which he'd been furiously typing throughout most of the lecture, and turned the screen to be visible to those seated nearby. "Because you can use the same assertions you made in steps two, three, sixteen, thirty-one, and thirty-nine to 'prove' that human telepathy exists, too."

"They do share a very similar mechanism, yes," I agreed, which prompted some of his colleagues to give me disapproving looks, for reasons unclear. "I still fail to see the issue."

"The issue is that that's a big red flag that your theory is flawed. Human telepathy is impossible, we've known that since '03. The necessary hardware physically won't fit within a human skull," he said, grinning triumphantly, and there were scattered nods around the room.

… Okay, now this explanation I have to hear, Aspect sent.

That rather egregious misconception would explain the discomfort shown by PRT personnel upon receipt of a telepathic message, I suppose.

I stepped to the side and dismissed my illusory blackboard, revealing the electronic whiteboard that the others preferred to use. "If you wouldn't mind providing your evidence…?"

He stood and began moving through the cramped row of seats to the aisle. "Sure, let me just… excuse me, sorry, excuse me…."

A few minutes later the professor stood at the front of the room with various diagrams and graphs displayed upon the screen.

"So, the para-biology community has done a lot of studies on the coronae pollentia of Thinker and Master capes, both heroes who volunteered and captured villains who agreed to the testing in exchanged for reduced sentences," he began, referring to the tumorous growth in the brain which the locals believed to be the structure that grants parahuman powers and allows them to be controlled.

It wasn't, of course. Even were it possible to work magic using solely the brain, these scholars would have to contend with the fact that no such structure existed in the brains of magic-using humans on any other world, to say nothing of the countless non-human races throughout the multiverse.

I had my own hypotheses on the nature and purpose of these tumors, and the three most plausible ones did not bode well for the local capes.

"MRI scans indicate that more straightforward and less granular powers correlate with smaller and less extensive coronae," the professor continued, gesturing to cross-sectional images of various brains. They were impressively detailed, even to my enhanced vision; the locals' affinity for the recording, manipulation, and display of images without the use of magic was truly remarkable.

The next slide showed a succession of brains with the tumors highlighted and annotated. "Thinker powers that express as the spontaneous mental output of a single sensation-a color, a number, a shape, what have you-are generally half to two-thirds the size of powers with proprioceptive-synesthetic expressions, which are in turn smaller than those with visual-synesthetic expressions, and so on," he said.

The leftmost brain, labeled Eleventh Hour, did indeed possess a much smaller tumor than that of the rightmost brain, labeled Foursight, with other cape names such as Appraiser, Quotient, Poker Face, and Hunch lying on the spectrum between the two.

"Same with Masters." The slide advanced to a similar but distinct sequence of brain images. "Single-emotion or fixed-emotion-set projection powers have simpler coronae than variable-emotion projection powers, and so on, all the way up to powers granting complex intent-mediated mental influence." On this slide, the labels were Glory Girl for the leftmost image and Diktat for the rightmost, with such names as Good Trip, Monokeros, Puppeteer, and Canary in the middle.

"We see the same pattern when it comes to scaling information complexity, such as human-controlling Masters versus animal-controlling Masters. It applies to non-Master non-Thinker powers, too, like with the scaling detail complexity of powers that generate arbitrary illusions versus those that can only precisely copy what the parahuman sees," he said. "In every case the more complicated powers have larger and more invasive coronae-and that's before you even consider things like minor parahumans having much more invasive coronae compared to adult parahumans, capes with mosaic power expressions having much larger coronae than those with single powers, or Thinker-Master hybrid powers having coronae that stretch from the frontal lobe all the way to the cerebellum."

With every additional graph and citation, more and more audience members began nodding along… and Aspect sent me more and more pulses of amusement at Varela's expense.

"Therefore 'telepathy' in the classical sense, being a very complex, versatile, information-dense, human-targeted, Thinker-Master hybrid power stretching across many different brain regions, would require a corona pollentia large and invasive enough to inflict extreme brain damage on the parahuman in question because the human skull is far too small to safely support such a structure, thereby preventing such a power from ever being expressed," the professor concluded. "A full-on telepath would basically need to have a head that was all corona, no brain. They'd be nothing but their power, assuming they survived their trigger event at all."

I nodded politely. "You make a plausible and well-supported case, Professor, thank you."

"You're very welcome," he said, smugness permeating his aura as he disconnected his laptop from the podium.

I sent to the whole audience,

I kept my face carefully blank as tumult erupted throughout the room. I hadn't done that for my own amusement-

All right, I hadn't done that solely for my own amusement.

Rather, I was paying careful attention to everyone's auras to note who had reflexively rejected the disproof of their long-held beliefs, who had panicked at a supposed mental intrusion, who had accepted the demonstration without much fuss, and who had immediately seen the potential in the overturning of a false assumption.

As had been the case with Armsmaster, the vast majority were quite reluctant to believe anything that contradicted their existing understanding of parahuman powers, so the latter group was the smallest by a considerable margin. It did, however, include Professor Wysocki, which I was gratified to see.

Those would be the professors (and students) with whom it would be worth to remain in contact after I moved on from this city, and who would be best to consult regarding any new mysteries that I encountered.

Before the hubbub could entirely die down, it was time for me to leave, as my appointment with the Protectorate was at three o'clock. There was no need to end the session, however, as I was easily capable of being in two places at once.

A bit of temporal acceleration, a quick fission, and within moments my second body was continuing the lecture, with the audience none the wiser. My primary body, meanwhile-

~*~*~

2:58 pm, Sunday the 24th of April, 2011 CE

PRT 24 Headquarters East, Boston, America, Earth Bet

-appeared outside the building housing the laboratories of Heterodyne and Glazier.

The Boston branch of the PRT had turned out to be quite different from the Brockton Bay branch in terms of focus, organization, and even aesthetics, as each city's Director was apparently given a great deal of latitude regarding the governance of his, her, or their department.

Where Brockton Bay's department had established one headquarters for the heroes and their support staff out in the bay and another for non-powered personnel in the heart of the city, Boston's department mixed its capes and its mundanes but maintained four separate bases throughout the city.

Discussions with PRT personnel on my first visit indicated that the reasons for this were that, firstly, a larger and more spread-out city meant much longer response times from a central point, and a set of distributed bases ameliorated that; secondly, the considerable budget allocated to the Science and R divisions for parahuman research entailed a need for additional real estate to support their many and varied facilities; and thirdly, Boston's coastal defense systems were set up on the many islands in Boston Harbor, negating the need for a purpose-built floating structure that would then make sense to turn into a full-fledged headquarters.

Headquarters East, the most "public-facing" of the PRT's four bases, was located on Pier 4 of the South Boston Waterfront, giving it a lovely view of the harbor and excellent deployment routes to East Boston and the airship port on the opposite shore.

Where the main headquarters building in Brockton Bay had been a rather bland and blocky edifice of glass and metal, Headquarters East was a more elegant tower of brick and glass, the better to fit in with the prevailing style in that part of the city and to compete with the daring silhouette of the Institute of Contemporary Art on the pier's opposite side.

I strode into the lobby, passing by several groups of tourists on the way who mistook my Jhaamdathic outfit for a costume and were quickly disappointed to find that I was not, in fact, a new Boston hero arriving to lead their tour.

After a quick check-in with the receptionist, I was escorted by a soldier up to the laboratory level. I could sense the three people waiting for me before the elevator even began its ascent, but pretended to be pleasantly surprised by their presence when the doors opened on the fourth floor, for politeness' sake.

"Glad you could make it!" said the individual in the center, a tall dark-skinned woman in slim white and copper armor that was studded with numerous spikes styled to look like antennae. "I'm Heterodyne, nice to meet you. This is Glazier," she said, gesturing to the young man to her left, who was perhaps twenty winters old and clad in an intricate suit of plate armor made of green and yellow glass plates over a silver underlayer.

"And this is Nicole," she finished, gesturing to the pale-skinned young woman of thirty or so winters on her other side. "She's our lab assistant, and she has all the same security clearances we do, don't worry."

"A pleasure to meet you all," I said. We shook hands, my escort was dismissed, and I followed the trio to the laboratory, where Glazier flung the double doors open with a melodramatic "Welcome to our humble abode!"

The room turned out to be nearly four times as large as Armsmaster's laboratory, though that didn't necessarily make for a superior workspace. Where Armsmaster and the late Kid Win had maintained separate laboratories and Armsmaster had enchanted quite a few compact devices to support his artificing, half of this room was one large shared space occupied by both artificers' worktables while the other half was crammed full of metal presses, racks holding many spools of wire, glassblowing furnaces, and other massive stationary equipment.

"Quite the impressive facility," I complimented them, and Nicole beamed; presumably it was she who had laid out and stocked the space for the other two.

"It is pretty great," Heterodyne agreed. "Boston knows how to treat its Tinkers right," she added with a grin, in an unsubtle attempt at recruitment that I declined with a knowing look and a shake of my head. "Anyway, we got a call from Dragon-"

"Which was wicked awesome, bee-tee-dubs," Glazier interjected, his aura streaked with awe and adoration.

Heterodyne laughed. "Yeah, she works with tons of heroic Tinkers and is insanely busy, so her calling us was totally unexpected. She said you'd impressed her and Armsmaster, and she pre-approved your meeting request before it even got to us, which is a ringing endorsement if I've ever seen one."

Dragon's involvement was unexpected to me as well. I'd assumed that after giving me a list of capes to visit Dragon would alert said capes that she'd pointed me in their direction, as leaving them in the dark would hardly be fair, but intervening on my behalf to persuade said capes to meet with me? That was definitely going above and beyond.

"And it's a good thing she did that, honestly," Heterodyne continued, "since you probably wouldn't have gotten an appointment any time soon otherwise."

"Oh?" I'd had little difficulty arranging to meet with Armsmaster, and he was a high-profile hero who was also the leader of his team and the sole Protectorate artificer in his city; I'd expected it to be similarly straightforward to meet with heroic artificers elsewhere who were, to be blunt, of no particular skill or importance. "Why do you say that?"

"Collaboration requests from non-Protectorate Tinkers usually have to go through the local Protectorate leader, so…." Glazier said with a shrug, explaining precisely nothing.

I raised a questioning eyebrow, and Heterodyne sighed. "You know Bastion, right?"

"I did look up the names and general capabilities of every cape in this department."

"But not their background?"

I shrugged. "It didn't seem relevant."

"Right. So, Bastion used to be the head of PRT 10 in San Jose, up until '08 when he was caught yelling anti-Mexican slurs at people."

"During a Pride parade," Nicole added, which I inferred from context made for an even worse offense. "Not a good look."

"He got transferred here after that to help paper over the PR backlash, and he was really shaping up, doing more outreach to underprivileged neighborhoods, stuff like that. Until there was another… incident… late last year, that fortunately for him didn't make the news. And then another one last month, that did. So with what's going on with him now, he probably would have turned down a request from a Hispanic cape on general principle just to avoid the possibility of a third strike."

"I see." Wanting to compensate for Bastion's prejudices would certainly explain Dragon's intervention. "Thank you for the explanation; if I ever have cause to visit your Headquarters North, I'll endeavor to avoid him."

"Probably a good idea." Gesturing to her workbench, she said, "Shall we get started?"

"We shall."

~*~*~

While I would hesitate to say that my visit with them was a complete waste of time, neither Heterodyne nor Glazier possessed the sort of powers I sought, unfortunately.

Glazier's specialty lay in enchanting glass, as his name implied, with his signature creation being a herd of small semi-autonomous glass golems that he termed his "glass menagerie." They were quite well-made for one of his apparent skill level, but I couldn't give them the attention they perhaps deserved; the golems' bestial forms reminded me painfully of Aldric's first forays into golem creation in our youth, and I quickly moved on to study the young artificer's other creations.

His talent did technically extend to computing, in that it allowed him to build computers that were quite advanced by local standards because their "fiber optic" circuitry and "photonic" processors were dramatically faster and more efficient than the usual electronic components, but he had no powers allowing him to magically interact with the resulting devices.

Just to be sure of my conclusions, I'd asked him to demonstrate his crafting process while I observed, and in so doing I confirmed that he was indeed only able to enchant glass and no other materials.

When glass slag is poured into a container and cooled, it forms vein-like or web-like patterns that constantly move and flow until the glass reaches a stable temperature. By adding certain impurities to the glass in very precise spots and at very precise times he was able to cause the slag to form a succession of runes, which would look like the usual random patterns to anyone not trained in arcane theory and which became invisible when the glass had finished cooling.

Very useful if one is attempting to hide one's method of enchantment from one's enemies, not so useful if one is looking for technomantic powers.

Heterodyne, meanwhile, actually created devices which were largely mundane technology. Only a power source here or amplifier there was actually magical, with the remaining components being created via alchemy or transmutation, and there was no hint of any circuitry holding hidden glyphs or inscriptions or the like to conceal additional enchantments.

When I informed her of this, she didn't exactly take it well.

"What do you mean, this isn't real tinkertech?" she demanded.

"That isn't what I said. What I said was that most of this is mundane technology which functions according to normal physical laws."

"Bullshit," she objected, crossing her arms in disbelief. "Boston's known for its R teams, we've got some of the best para-sci guys on the payroll, and none of them have been able to duplicate any of my tech any more than they can duplicate any other Tinker's."

"The fact that they currently don't possess the means to craft this technology," I explained patiently, "doesn't change the fact that most of its components aren't actually magical."

"… Magical?" Glazier echoed skeptically.

Oh, gods above and below.

"For the sake of convenience, let us assume that I am going to use terms implying that tinkertech is magical and you are going to use terms implying that it is not, and neither of us is going to complain about verbiage for the remainder of this conversation. Agreed?"

The three of them reluctantly gave their assent.

"Superb. Now, as an example of what I mean, what would you say are the tinkertech components of this device?" I asked, gesturing to something that Heterodyne had termed a "graser," or a weapon that projected beams of radiance that were much more intense than normal visible light.

"The battery pack, the power distribution system, the reaction chamber, the lasing chamber, and the focusing assembly," she replied promptly.

I nodded. "Only the third of those, the reaction chamber, radiates a magical aura. Why is the battery pack considered tinkertech?"

"They're LFP/LTO batteries. Lithium iron phosphate for the cathode, lithium titanate oxide for the anode. People have been trying to commercialize that kind of battery since 2002 without any luck, because discharging them too much basically makes them fall apart." She tapped the battery case, smiling proudly. "But these babies work just fine down to half a percent charge, no fancy management software needed."

"In other words, the technology itself is fully mundane, the barrier to commercialization is technical rather than physical, and nothing actually prevents someone from crafting batteries of that size if someone were to find a way to magically reinforce them against the sort of damage you mentioned?"

She immediately moved to object, then paused. "I guess not," she said slowly.

"How about the lasing chamber?"

Heterodyne launched into an explanation involving liquid helium, Bose-Einstein condensates, positronium, and other terms with which I was sadly unfamiliar. At some point, I would need to find an expert or an advanced physics text, or both, in order to get a handle on such concepts.

When I asked her whether she'd acquired her knowledge through research or via her power, she said she'd studied what she termed "particle physics" at Stanford University before gaining her powers, and offered a recommendation: "Leonard Susskind was my advisor for my master's thesis, and he's a pretty huge name in the field. Tons of articles in the Journal of High Energy Physics, three or four books published… I assume you're headed to Silicon Valley at some point on your whirlwind tinkering tour?"

"Dragon did give me some names in that region, yes."

"Then if you're interested in learning more about this stuff you should drop by Stanford and say hi. I can email him about it if you want."

"I would be much obliged."

Technical terminology aside, the gist of her explanation was that the substance in the lasing chamber needed to be incredibly light and incredibly cold, something the local scientists could only achieve with great difficulty, expensive materials, and bulky machinery but which she could easily achieve with simple materials and no extraneous equipment.

"I see. And if, perhaps, you were able to create a material that were inherently light and cold to that degree, not needing the supporting apparatus to keep it chilled?"

She said nothing in reply, merely looked thoughtful.

"The same applies to these other components. The only thing special about the focusing assembly is that the lenses are pure at an atomic level-"

"How do you know?"

I displayed my ring. "I can sense elemental composition. The lenses are a very specific form of elemental mineral, one that is practically impossible to create without impurities except through the use of magic. Shall we examine the power distribution system?"

"No, I get the idea. So I'm not really a frequency Tinker, then, I'm more of a… materials Tinker, who happens to be good with signal processing tech?"

"Not exactly. Have you heard of Dauntless, in Brockton Bay?" I asked.

"I bet every Protectorate cape in New England has heard of him, the way they keep hyping him up," Glazier replied cynically.

"Dauntless is an artificer-that is, a cape who makes enchanted items-whom the Protectorate doesn't classify as a Tinker because he doesn't have the usual trappings. The tools, the hours of research, and so forth. You are essentially the reverse."

"A 'normal' cape who's classified as a Tinker because I do feel like I need all of that, even if I technically might not?" Heterodyne's aura was awash with excitement, perhaps believing that she'd just learned a secret that could dramatically expand her powers.

"Indeed." I ensured there were no electronic recording devices present, then extended a hand. "I can clarify your situation, if you'd like."

"How's that?" Nicole asked.

Just as I had for Nate, I explained my ability to identify a cape's powers and even manifest them myself, with the full intention of erasing their memories of that particular revelation.

Heterodyne agreed and clasped my hand, and I delved into her repertoire.

Aspect opined.

Her repertoire was definitely composed of powers, not infusions, so I was right that she wasn't a true artificer, and nearly every one of her powers was one I hadn't seen before.

They came in two general groups: powers that directly related to manipulating radiance-sensing certain colors or energy levels, producing blasts of it, reflecting or deflecting it, and so on-and powers that allowed transmuting certain substances in certain ways (removing impurities from crystal, say), which traded the greater breadth of most such powers for permanence and ease of use.

Curious, I selected several of her sensory powers and began manifesting them in sequence. The first few had no apparent effect, but the fourth one caused my vision to be completely filled by a dazzling aurora of unfamiliar energy.

It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, with a particular concentration around their phones, which implied….

Radio waves.

Going by the introductory texts that I'd read on the subject of the electromagnetic spectrum, the local term for the radiance spectrum, I believed this power was allowing me to sense radio waves. The other sensory powers were likely capable of sensing non-visible radiance elsewhere in the spectrum, much like the infravision and ultravision powers I already possessed, and there simply wasn't any radiance of that sort to be detected here.

A "radiovision" power wasn't precisely the kind of power I'd been seeking, but given that the internet was apparently broadcast between devices using radio waves (according to my very cursory study of the subject) it would certainly be good to learn. And the others as well, even if I couldn't see how they might be useful.

Her offensive powers, meanwhile, were quite odd. Like the sensory ones, they dealt in non-visible radiance, but they all shared a superfluous side feature that one would rarely find in a spell researched by a competent wizard: an ability to "pulse" the output in arbitrary and potentially very granular patterns in a way that did not appear to affect the offensive capability of those powers at all.

I could see how that might be useful for the radio-projecting power, since that sort of modulation is how phones were said to communicate with one another, but why in the world would anyone want to modulate waves up and down the rest of the spectrum in the same way?

Who would ever think that trying to use so-called "X-rays" and "gamma rays" to communicate would ever be a good idea?

Nothing else in her repertoire seemed particularly useful or novel, so I carefully gathered copies of all of the thoughtforms related to her spectrum-modulating powers and withdrew from her mind.

I explained what I'd found to Heterodyne and answered her ensuing questions. Something I said during our discussion apparently inspired her, prompting her to excuse herself and withdraw to one of her workbenches.

"Can you look at mine next?" Glazier asked eagerly, and I acquiesced.

I didn't find any new or interesting powers in his repertoire, nor did I find anything implying that his specialty was anything other than precisely what it appeared to be, which he found disappointing. I did, however, give him (and Nicole) a brief primer on runic enchanting for the half-hour that Heterodyne was engrossed in her own fabrication, which he appreciated very much.

~*~*~

"And now, the most important question of the afternoon," I said, once Heterodyne had come up for air and Glazier had sketched out enough new ideas to keep him occupied for quite some time.

"What's that?" Nicole asked.

"I have yet to sample the cuisine of your fair city, and I'm hoping to find restaurants that compare favorably to those in Brockton Bay, with whose cuisine I was not impressed," I said. "Any suggestions?"

Glazier snorted. "'Better than Brockton' isn't exactly a high bar. What did you have when you were there?"

"A fried clam platter from Fugly Bob's, various Korean food from Taste of Seoul, and various home-cooked Mexican dishes."

"And what have you tried in Boston so far?"

"Nothing.

"What, you've been surviving on room service the whole time you've been here?" Nicole asked.

"No, I simply haven't eaten."

They all stared at me. "Haven't you've been here for four days?" Glazier asked flatly.

I shrugged. "I don't actually need to eat. I only do so recreationally, and for research purposes."

The Tinkers exchanged a glance. "What I wouldn't give…" Heterodyne muttered.

"Um. Okay then," Nicole said. "Do you like seafood?"

"Very much so."

"Then I'd try Mooncusser Fish House or Neptune Oyster to start and go from there. They're on the pricey side, but they always make the top-ten restaurant lists; I went to Mooncusser for Valentine's Day and the tasting menu was fantastic. There's also Waypoint, which isn't as good, but they give a ten percent discount to any heroes who come in costume."

"Duly noted."

Nicole checked her wristwatch and smiled apologetically. "Glazier's scheduled for a patrol in fifteen minutes. Did you have any last questions before we wrap things up? About their powers, about the process of joining the Protectorate…?"

"Not at the moment, no. Thank you for your time."

Pleasantries were exchanged, I was escorted from the building, and as soon as I was out of everyone's sight I retreated to my demiplane to affix the collection of Heterodyne's thoughtforms in my repertoire.

~*~*~

12:43 pm, Monday the 25th of April, 2011 CE

Neptune Oyster Restaurant, Boston, America, Earth Bet

The city's seafood was just as delectable as Nicole had implied, far and away superior to Fugly Bob's meager attempt at a respectable dish.

I'd spent the morning sampling one restaurant after another, bookending my tour with her recommendations and sampling lower-class eateries like the Barking Crab and Legal Sea Foods in between. Exchanging my neoclassical garb for a cerulean suit, violet shirt, and gold necktie and accoutrements in the local style allowed me to avoid being mistaken for a hero while I dined.

Only at the most inexpensive restaurants was the locals' obsession with sugar and grease especially noticeable, fortunately, with the higher-class restaurants easily comparing in quality to the finer establishments I'd visited on other worlds.

(They still couldn't hold a candle to the highest tiers of Jhaamdathic cuisine, but that was to be expected; in all my centuries of wandering, I'd yet to find a restaurant that could.)

In fact, I was finding that, to my surprise, I was actually enjoying my time on this world.

Some of that could be attributed to the change of scenery. The auric clouds enfolding the crowds of pedestrians on the main streets of Boston and Cambridge were considerably less dour than those visible in Brockton Bay, and everything from the bay views to the parks to the historic architecture was more pleasing to the senses.

The fact that I was no longer actively dealing with insurmountable grief or encountering villains whom I found morally detestable certainly helped in that regard as well.

As I walked out of the restaurant and ambled along the thoroughfare toward the wharves, I lowered my environmental wards and let the cool breeze and the scent of the sea air wash over me. I didn't have any particular place to be at the moment-I had four different appointments lined up for tomorrow, beginning with Dijkstra in Albany, but the rest of my day was free-and so I was taking the opportunity to simply exist in the moment.

I wasn't happy, I couldn't imagine being happy for the foreseeable future without Aldric by my side, but I was… content, for now.

~*~*~

My feeling of contentment lasted all of twenty-six minutes before I sensed a large vehicle, a "limousine," tailing me in a manner that would likely have been inconspicuous to any quarry whose senses did not encompass an entire city block.

As it approached I sensed only two figures within, a seemingly mundane driver in the front and a cape in the back. The latter was elegantly attired in a suit of charcoal gray, a violet shirt and gloves, a crimson cravat and pocket square, and a glossy and highly angular violet mask with red lenses that was clearly intended to resemble a cut gemstone.

Aspect opined.

I told him firmly. His only response was the telepathic equivalent of a long-suffering sigh.

In case any further hint was needed of the cape's affiliation beyond the aesthetics of his costume, the privacy partition between driver and passenger was emblazoned with a silver laurel wreath, the symbol of Entente.

Co-founded and now ruled by the reclusive Accord, Entente was considered to be the third strongest of Boston's six major gangs, after the Chain Gang and the Gifted and before Blastgerm, the Red Duke, and the Teeth. My own brief research into the matter of the gangs and the known strengths and weaknesses of their capes, however, led me to believe that the public was underestimating Entente's influence by a fair margin.

I teleported to a spot on the sidewalk adjacent to the limousine and rapped politely on the passenger window. There was no sense in drawing things out longer than necessary.

To their credit, neither driver nor cape visibly reacted to my sudden appearance despite the surprise and concern in their auras, though there was some commotion from the surrounding cars. The cape merely signaled for the driver to stop and rolled down the window. "Good afternoon, Mister… Tallair," he said, mispronouncing my surname in a way that implied he had only read an English transcription, not heard it spoken. Curious.

"Talaire," I corrected.

"My apologies, Mister Talaire. I am a member of the Ambassadors. My employer requests the pleasure of your company at the Embassy, at your earliest convenience," he said.

"I assume, given the rather forward method by which he chose to contact me, that he would prefer to meet sooner rather than later," I dryly remarked.

He tilted his mask in a very precise nod. "Accord is… not fond of unnecessary delays."

"Well, I don't have any pressing engagements this afternoon." I teleported into the seat across from him, suppressing a grin at his slight twitch. "Lead on."

The driver pulled away from the curb and I extended a hand to the Ambassador. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with all of the city's capes…?" I prompted.

"Facet," he said, and shook my hand, allowing me to explore his repertoire.

It was quite fascinating. His was the most varied repertoire I'd seen thus far, even more so than Battery; where she had a few larger groupings of powers, Facet had ten groups of three or four powers each. Each group held precisely one "bright" accessible power, and all of them affected his person in some way-Fire Shield, Iron Body, Lightning Leap, and similar-with no obvious theme connecting them otherwise.

Speaking of Battery, there was no overt connection between the two and yet they stood in distinct contrast with all the other capes I'd examined thanks to this… structural oddity in their repertoires.

I wasn't sure yet what that implied. Perhaps examining the other Ambassadors could provide some insights.

~*~*~

1:15 pm, Monday the 25th of April, 2011 CE

Entente Embassy, Boston, America, Earth Bet

The trip to the gang's base of operations passed largely in silence; Facet wasn't one for small talk. Once we reached the subterranean garage below the facility, Facet showed me to the elevator and accompanied me all the way to Accord's office on the building's top floor, at which point he waited until the clock in the hallway struck the quarter-hour to knock twice, pause two seconds, and open the door for me.

As I'd already observed through the walls of his office, which turned out to be filled with enough deathtrap mechanisms and security measures to rival the hidden lair of a reasonably paranoid lich, Accord was seated at a grand oak desk flanked by two of his Ambassadors.

To Accord's right was Othello, one of his more prominent subordinates, wearing a black suit and bow tie, white shirt and gloves, and a mask painted white on the left and black on the right. To the left was a woman whose name, like Facet's, I hadn't seen in publicly-available materials, wearing a black gown and a black spiked mask. Combined with Accord's own white suit and largely silver mask and the white drapes framing the window behind him, they made quite the visual statement.

His presence made quite the invisible statement, as well. The inner bands of Accord's aura were drenched with scarlet, giving him quite possibly the most stringently Lawful aura I'd observed around a mortal since running into the Queenpriest of Thenol on my last expedition to Krynn.

"Welcome, Mister Talaire. Take a seat," Accord said, his tone making it an order rather than a request. The pronunciation of my name was accurate, at least; either his source of information was superior to Facet's or the Ambassador had informed his superior of the correction on our way here.

" Lord Talaire," I corrected mildly. If he wished to indulge in petty displays of power, then I would be happy to oblige him. "And I shall stand."

The crime lord's aura filled with a sudden rage, far out of proportion with the slight I had offered. At the same time his mental signature fluttered in my mindsight, his already-impressive reasoning capacity expanding by leaps and bounds. Both the rage and the intellectual enhancement vanished after a few moments, but the reaction was still very much out of place.

"That is… acceptable," he stated, no hint of his inner turmoil audible in his voice. "I've asked you here because it has come to my attention that you helped several capes in Brockton Bay with various problems, and I have a problem that I'd like you to help me solve. To begin, I'd like to assure you that I'm willing to conceal our association-"

"There's no need for that," I said. His aura flooded with rage for a second time, which I ignored. "I'm not averse to working with villains, or letting it be known that I have done so, as long as you're not the type to coerce anyone into your service."

Accord mastered his rage with some effort. " Please do not interrupt me again," he said eventually.

"No promises," I said flippantly, as a test, and… yes, there was that spike of rage again, strong enough that I would suspect deliberate mental tampering via a curse or compulsion if I couldn't clearly see a distinct lack of such in his aura.

Just what was the man's problem?

For the first time in over a week I manifested a thought-reading power, then delved into his surface thoughts to determine what the issue might be.

What I found there turned my irritation to pity. The poor man was plagued with intrusive thoughts to a truly ludicrous degree.

As I deliberately glanced away to ignore him in favor of inspecting the artwork upon his walls, I watched no fewer than six plans to slay me for my impudence take hold of his mind, to be forced away only with great difficulty. It wasn't my behavior that distressed him, precisely, but the deviation from his iron-clad expectations of the proper flow of conversation that my intentional snub represented.

Not being a trained mind-healer, I couldn't easily repair mental disorders that were purely mundane in origin, but I could at least offer him temporary relief. Looking him in the eye, I asked, "Would this discussion go more smoothly if I were able to suppress your murderous impulses for the duration?"

The eyes of Othello and the other Ambassador widened slightly behind their masks. Accord himself said nothing, his mind racing with dozens of worst-case scenarios.

"I offer my word of honor as the last scion of Jhaamdath that I bear you no ill will and will not alter your mind in any other way without your explicit consent," I said. A moment later, I added, "You did ask me here to solve a problem, did you not?"

"… Do it."

I manifested Calm Emotions, taking care to exclude his subordinates from the effect. Like the suppression of memory formation, emotional suppression was a bit of a gray area where the First Precept was concerned; though technically a form of mental influence, it couldn't compel or alter behavior on its own and so as long as it was manifested with a subject's consent its use was acceptable.

The difference was as night and day.

The rage left Accord's aura, his intrusive thoughts faded to a much more manageable background hum in his mind, and he actually smiled, an action mimicked perfectly by his articulated mask.

"Sir, are you-?" Othello asked cautiously, but Accord waved his concerns away.

"I'm fine. Blue chrysanthemum seven," he said, the tension leaving Othello's frame at the recitation of the code phrase. "More than fine. I haven't felt this much at peace in… a very long time." Turning to me, he continued, "Forgive my rudeness before. Please, take a seat if you wish."

"With pleasure," I said, slipping into the chair before his desk, which was just as comfortable as I'd expected given its obviously excellent construction. "Now, as for the problem you hoped I could address…?"

He nodded. "I'm guessing you've come to Boston to address some of the rampant discord in the city, much like you did in Brockton Bay?"

"I wouldn't be averse to that, but that isn't why I've come, no." Thinking back to the issue of Facet's mispronunciation, something that implied access to certain PRT documents, perhaps by means of a certain consultant, I probed, "You seem well-informed of my actions in that city."

"I'm well-informed in general. I keep a constant eye on Brockton Bay; the city is a powder keg that's always on the verge of exploding, and I'd prefer that my city not be caught in the blast radius."

Ah. "You're concerned about the impending conflict with Lung?"

"Not primarily… but yes, somewhat. Things always threaten to spill over whenever he recruits a third cape."

"There's no need to worry, then. Bakuda is no longer a problem."

"It isn't her I'm concerned about," he said gravely. "Oni Lee came to Boston last week to recruit."

"Oh?"

"Banshee. A mercenary with a precognitive danger sense that can be used on another's behalf. She dropped off the radar during the period when Oni Lee was confirmed to be in town, and she definitely fits Lung's usual type: college age, female, aesthetically pleasing features, half Irish and half Chinese. I've already taken steps to deal with her recruitment, but without my being able to ensure that my instructions are followed to the letter there is always a possibility of failure."

"Noted," I said. I doubted that her joining the ABB would give the Protectorate much trouble, but perhaps a sending to Armsmaster on the subject wouldn't go amiss. "If Lung isn't your concern, then what?"

"The Travelers, an itinerant band of villains who have a similar potential to cause a great deal of chaos," he said, frowning slightly. A hint of annoyance entered his aura upon mentioning the team, followed by a glimmer of surprise, presumably at the lack of intensity at the former emotion. "They have overstayed their welcome."

"How so?"

Accord explained how these Travelers had worked for him for a time after arriving in Boston, doing odd jobs for which his own Ambassadors could not be spared, and how their tenure in the city was marked by multiple accidents and incidents of disloyalty, though he was very cagey as to any specifics.

"… and so they were given a deadline, to vacate the city by the twenty-fifth," he concluded. "They did not, and made no attempt to negotiate for an extension. I sent two of my Ambassadors to evict them this morning, but they haven't returned and I fear the worst."

Othello and the other cape shifted slightly at his words. Oddly, their auras didn't bear streaks of grief or sorrow, which would imply that their teammates had been killed, but rather disgust and wariness that would imply a different fate.

"And 'the worst' would be…?"

He was silent for a time, considering. "They have a member who creates clones of other capes," he said at last. "The clones are altered physically and mentally, with all the knowledge of the original person and an added lust for violence. Two weeks ago, three clones of one of their own number escaped and wreaked havoc for quite some time before the heroes were able to destroy them. Opal and Leucosia both have powers that are much more destructive than Perdition's, and they are also more cunning than Perdition ever was."

"You want me to destroy the clone-maker and any clones before they can threaten you."

"The clones, yes. It would likely be easier to merely force the Master herself out of the city than to kill her, so that would also suffice."

"And the other Travelers?"

"So long as they end up gone from my city, I don't care what happens to them. Killing them would be preferable, though, to send the appropriate message."

I gestured to his two Ambassadors. "You have several other capes at your disposal. Why ask this of me?"

"They can't be spared," he said. "Othello and Cassiterite must remain here in case of an attack on the Embassy. Archive and most of my Envoys have been defending my Consulate in the West End against Chain Man's harassment campaign. Starfield and Chauffeur are in critical condition after engaging the Red Duke's hemogoblins. Facet's power can't hold up to a sustained battle. I have no other powered assets available."

His aura was marred by a blotch of deception at that last statement. I raised an eyebrow. " No other assets?"

Accord grimaced. "Citrine and Lizardtail are… otherwise engaged."

"I see."

Aspect nudged me.

You could use some excitement, you mean.

I observed.

"What are you willing to offer in exchange?" I asked the crime lord.

Thus ensued a brief negotiation in which I was offered practically everything under the sun that it was within his power to provide, but nothing that I couldn't simply evoke or acquire for myself. Even through the calming effect, Accord was becoming more and more agitated with each offer that I refused.

"What is it that you do want?" he finally asked, the barest hint of frustration visible on his mask.

"Well, my primary goal in coming to this city was to acquire a certain power, with a general secondary goal of uncovering the source of powers for the local magic-users," I admitted. "And as you are a man with a great deal of information and connections…."

Accord's aura was suddenly awash with suspicion. "What, specifically, are you implying that I can offer you?" he asked in a deliberately neutral tone. Magical auras bloomed around both Ambassadors as a vaguely humanoid shape bearing the hazy outline of an Ethereal being appeared behind Othello and Cassiterite palmed several small energy constructs that she had discreetly evoked.

Quite the intriguing reaction to what I had intended as a fairly innocuous and open-ended request.

No room for missteps, here. I briefly peeked into his mind once more and found… a symbol? Odd.

"Oh, I'm sure you know," I said, using the tip of my finger to draw an imaginary horseshoe in the air.

Accord pursed his lips. "Asking me to part with a vial is no small request. I only have two in reserve, and it will be quite some time before I can feasibly obtain more."

The contents of this vial were so dear that a man who'd offered me such things as four hundred thousand dollars in hard currency or my own small manor within the city without blinking was reluctant to part with it?

Yes, that did sound like a suitable form of payment.

"You make no small request of me," I countered. "What if I were to also heal both of your injured capes, and also provide you with something to assist you in managing your… aggressive tendencies?"

All three capes perked up at the latter suggestion. Neither Ambassador said anything in favor, but they didn't have to; Accord was seriously considering it already, well aware of his own foibles.

"I'm going to dismiss the calming power now," I warned him, "so that your thought processes are under no foreign influence while making your decision."

I lifted the effect and leaned back gracelessly in my chair, eliciting an immediate spike of fury in his aura. Not only would that reaction assure him that he was indeed no longer under any mental influence, but driving home the volatility of his emotional responses would likely incline him toward accepting the offer.

After a few long moments, he stood and extended his hand. "We have a deal."

I shook it. Unsurprisingly, his repertoire was full of powers for enhancing memory, knowledge retention, and quickness of thought, of which I already possessed plenty, so as with Facet there was nothing useful for me to borrow from him.

"I assume you have pictures of the Travelers and of your missing Ambassadors?"

Without being prompted, Othello stepped forward and handed me a phone.

"Splendid." I brought a teleportation power to mind. "Expect my return no later than sundown."

~*~*~

Boston was not, as it turned out, in any danger of hostile Ambassador clones running amok through the city.

Not because none had been created, but because the Travelers had already done an admirable job of eradicating them.

With the help of my Metafaculty tattoo I'd discovered that Noelle Meinhardt, the cape with the cloning power, was a tauric monstrosity, human in her upper half and an amalgamation of all manner of beasts in her lower half.

Aspect snidely remarked.

I'd also seen a vision of the woman's activities over the past eight hours, which revealed that when the two Ambassadors had arrived at the warehouse where the Travelers were based, tempers had flared and an argument had ensued. Opal had produced a concentrated ball of light as a threat, Trickster had ordered Sundancer to evoke a sphere of intense flame, Leucosia had produced a large tentacle of water in an attempt to counter it, Trickster had swapped Opal with Sundancer via teleportation, and the force of the tentacle's impact had sent Opal flying into Noelle, at which point everyone present had panicked and a true battle had erupted.

No fewer than fifteen clones of Opal had been produced before she had managed to extricate herself from Noelle's bulk, and upon being created each had used her photokinetic powers to attack either Leucosia or the original Opal in some manner (blasts of light, blinding flashes, constriction of solid light barriers, and so forth) and then some of them shrouded themselves in invisibility or illusions to aid their attempts to stealthily flee the warehouse.

The Travelers were quick to respond, however, barricading the entrances with Genesis's summoned creature at one end of the building and Sundancer's flaming sphere at the other. Trickster and Ballistic then closed the net around the hidden clones, playing a drawn-out game of hare and hound as they stalked from aisle to aisle of shelves and crates and picked off the clones one by one.

Roughly two hours after the start of the battle, the last of the clones was killed. And now, an hour after that, Leucosia was dead, Opal was unconscious, all of the Travelers except Noelle were wounded, the clones had been fed to Noelle's lower half, and the rest of the gang was arguing non-stop while their cannibalistic leader sulked in the corner of the warehouse farthest from the rest of them.

Perhaps I could help end their dispute.

I teleported to the warehouse in which the Travelers were hiding-

~*~*~

-and waited for any of them to notice my presence.

"God fucking dammit, Mars! If you'd just torched her at the start like I told you to-"

"Oh, gee, it sucks that she's not willing to up and murder someone because you said so!"

"Guys! Stop! This isn't helping!"

"It's not murder, it's self-defense! This is Accord we're talking about!"

"You don't know they were here to kill us!

"Bullshit. You heard what she said."

"Guys! Please!"

"I'm pretty sure when she said 'remove us' she meant, like, actually remove us. Not kill us."

"Counterpoint: Accord."

"Oh, fuck off."

"Guys, if you didn't convince each other the last four times through-"

"Krouse has got a point."

"-I don't think running through it again is gonna help much."

"You think Krouse has a point?"

"After what happened to Cody-"

"Would you stop bitching about Cody?"

"Will you all just shut up?"

Amusing as their argument was, I'd decided to step in because I'd just noticed something extremely concerning: every single one of them was under the effects of a Programmed Amnesia spell. The aura was quite subtle, as if the spellcaster had taken pains to help it evade detection, but once noticed the signature was unmistakeable.

My sending, accompanied by a brief wave of my hand to draw their eyes, earned me the Travelers' undivided attention and silenced the clamor… for all of a few seconds.

"Strider?" asked Genesis's summoned creature, tilting its head in confusion.

"No, it's Chauffeur!" Trickster yelled. "Get him!"

I was almost insulted to be mistaken for Accord's teleporter. My suit was cerulean; his costume was azure. Two completely different hues.

… Though, admittedly, to normal human vision they might look quite similar. I should probably spend a day or so without my sensory enhancements at some point, to refresh my intuition for the sensory experience of mundane humans.

At Trickster's order Ballistic grabbed a handful of sand from a pouch at his belt and telekinetically launched it at me with great velocity, accompanied by a loud crack of supersonic flight, only for it to impact harmlessly on my wards.

He followed that up with a tiny metal sphere in his other hand; while I could have let my wards deflect that as well, to make a point I seized the projectile with my own telekinesis and launched it back between two fingers on that hand, close enough to the skin for him to feel its motion and jerk backwards in alarm.

"I'm not an Ambassador, and I'm not here to fight anyone," I said.

Trickster was about to issue another order when Sundancer spoke up. "Hey, wait! You're, uh… whatshisname, that open healer from Brockton!" The others showed limited signs of recognition, but it at least persuaded Ballistic to stand down.

"Not just a healer, obviously," Trickster grumbled as they gathered into a rough semicircle around me, still keeping their distance.

"You've heard of me?" I asked. If supposedly-secure PRT documents had spread further than just Accord….

"Yeah, there was a thread about some of the people you healed on PHO," said Genesis. "You're very minorly internet famous."

… Well. That could prove troublesome for my new stance of limiting the spread of information regarding my presence and activities.

"PHO?" I asked, guiding their thoughts in the direction I needed as I delicately slipped into the minds of everyone presence to determine what they knew about me.

Fortunately, it was just as Genesis had said: someone whom I had healed in my process of making local contacts had posted a message about that on an internet message board and prompted discussion from others whom I'd helped, and now the public knew that there was a new "grab-bag healer and teleporter" among the ranks of the city's minor capes who'd discovered how to extract Bakuda's bombs from her victim before Armsmaster developed a method for the Protectorate to do the same.

There was no hint that the public or the Travelers knew of or suspected anything more than that.

"Yeah, the site that's basically Slashdot for capes. All the heroes around here are obsessed with it," Genesis replied. "I'm surprised you haven't heard of it."

"I'm not exactly from around here," I said.

When I said that, all of the Travelers' auras pulsed with an interesting mix of guilt and hope, and I glimpsed some very interesting images in their surface thoughts.

Withdrawing from their minds, I added, "And neither are you."

Reactions were mixed. Shock, suspicion, incredulity. "You mean you're… not from Earth Bet either?" Sundancer whispered.

"I am not," I confirmed.

"Earth Aleph, or…?"

"Elsewhere."

"Mmm."

With that revelation, the mood in the room shifted. The hostility was gone from their auras, replaced by a sense of commiseration. There was a sense, too, of extended trust, given our shared status as foreigners to this world.

"So how long have you been stuck here?" Trickster asked.

"Oh, I'm not stuck at all. I'm only staying here for a few years, then I'll be moving on."

Ballistic stepped forward eagerly. "You have a way home!?"

"Could you use it to get us back to Aleph?" Sundancer asked, her voice full of longing.

"That would be the Earth with nearly identical settlement patterns to this one, with the portal connecting the two being located in a city on the western coast of this continent?" I asked. I was almost certain that the world Kassalyn was currently exploring was the one the locals labeled Earth Aleph, given all I'd learned of that world from Gene and Colleen and a few others, but it still could have been the world Gwyn had chosen, or the fourth as-yet-unexplored world.

"It's in Stockton, yeah," she confirmed.

"Then that would be simplicity itself," I said. After a brief stint of remote viewing to ensure that the destination was unoccupied and unobserved, I opened a gate behind me leading to the identical location in Boston on Earth Aleph.

"No fucking way," Trickster said. "It's… it can't be that easy." The enchantment woven into his aura pulsed, and gradually his expression hardened. "This has to be some kind of trick. I don't believe it."

"Are you aware that all of you are suffering from a persistent mental effect that is capable of arbitrarily influencing your behavior?"

Silence.

"You can detect the Simurgh's influence," Genesis breathed.

"And remove it as well, yes."

"But… she's the Simurgh."

"And I am a master of the psionic sciences with a considerable degree of experience dealing with mental maladies," I rejoined.

"'Psionic'? I thought there's-"

"Nine Hells, you people are insufferable." I sighed. Heavily. "I swear by all the gods, if any of you says that there's no such thing as psionics or telepathy or anything else of the sort not five minutes after receiving a direct telepathic communication from me, I will telekinetically suspend you just out of reach of the floor and leave you there until you come to your senses."

There was a pause, then a suppressed snort of amusement from Sundancer, then a sudden release of tension as the rest of the team broke into laughter.

"Okay, okay, I deserved that," Genesis said, still chuckling. "We got pulled over here by an evil psychic angel, so I guess running into Professor X, here, isn't too big of a stretch."

An "evil psychic angel"? Intriguing.

There were quite a few villains on this world that the locals refused to speak or think about unless absolutely necessary, including the Simurgh, which was something of an odd name for a villain to choose given the benevolent nature of actual simurghs. The only description I'd managed to dredge up thus far was that she was a "winged woman" with formidable psionic strength, with no further details; I couldn't even find a single photograph, so thorough was the PRT's campaign to purge any representation or description of the Simurgh or her two fellow Endbringers from books and the internet.

I'd assumed that she was a human or demihuman who was able to grow wings, much as Kassalyn could, but if she was specifically described as an "angel" that would imply that she was actually an outsider with a humanlike appearance.

In fact, the Simurgh being a lilitu or a radiant idol or other variety of fiend who liked to gather false cults around themselves would neatly explain the existence of the Fallen, a group mentioned in several research papers that appeared to worship the Simurgh as a goddess. Which would in turn imply that there were, in fact, Outer Planes accessible within this sphere, just not any deities inhabiting them, which implied some exciting things about the local cosmology.

In any case: "Would you like me to remove the mental influence?" I asked.

"Yes!" "Yeah!" "Please!" "God, yes!" "Yeah!"

In less than a minute, the enchantment was purged and their minds were free once more. Between the palpable shift in their thought processes that proved the Simurgh's spell had been expunged-along with Oliver's tinnitus, for which he thanked me profusely-and the sudden prospect of an easy way home, the Travelers were now in much higher spirits, and their auras were tinted deeply enough with gratitude that they would probably follow me right into the Abyss at this point if I asked them to.

"Now to remove it from your last teammate, and you can all head home to your world."

"Uh, yeah, about that." Ballistic rubbed his neck awkwardly. "We can't actually go home until we find a way to fix Noelle. You think you can do that too?"

"It would depend on what afflicts her."

Thus was I treated to the tale of the Travelers, a story of woe that began when they were plucked from their world during the Simurgh's attack on the city of Madison (the details of which were obviously heavily elided, as the group clearly retained some lingering guilt and shame from the events there) and continued as they traveled in search of a way home, with Noelle's power twisting her body further and further all the while.

"… and at this point we're all out of options. Accord was our last real shot; he did put us in touch with a few other villains in New England, but none of them could offer us anything substantial."

"I see. Well, I can certainly take a look and see if anything in my repertoire will take care of it."

~*~*~

It took Trickster quite some time to calm Noelle down and persuade her to let me speak to her, but eventually I found myself at the far end of the warehouse, separated from Noelle by a wall of crates that was waist-high to her but twice Trickster's height.

We spoke briefly to accustom her to my presence, and she emphasized more than once that I shouldn't try to come around the crates because her body was horrifying to look upon.

The improvised wall did nothing to stop me observing her entire body, of course, as well as all the blood and viscera on the floor around her, but I forbore to mention that. And honestly, once one has looked upon a sibriex, possibly the most disgustingly warped sort of demon in the entire Abyss, some extra flesh and a smattering of extra heads wasn't disconcerting in the slightest.

"I'm going to begin with some powers that can cause or revert a change in form, all right?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said.

And so I did, running through all of the powers I believed might help. All of them fell into one of two categories: those that had no effect at all, such as Remove Curse or Break Enchantment, and those that did have an effect but were undone over the course of seconds to minutes despite my best efforts, such as Metamorphosis or Baleful Polymorph.

A direct revision of reality held for the longest duration, a record fourteen minutes, but in the end it too failed as human legs gave way to bestial flesh once more.

Fascinating.

Also frustrating.

There were some more esoteric options that might do the trick, but none of them were quick or straightforward… and, to be perfectly honest, Noelle presented a unique opportunity for study that I wasn't especially eager to let go. The fact that her clones of parahumans not only retained their ability to use magic but were able to use different spells and powers than the original could provide a wealth of information on its own.

After some thought, I decided upon a solution that I thought would work best.

"Noelle's current body may not be salvageable," I told Trickster.

"Her current body?"

"Yes. In the same way that you can swap physical bodies in space, I'm able to swap minds between bodies."

His eyebrows rose in dawning understanding. "Go on."

"I can grow a clone of Noelle, fresh and untainted by the ravages of her power, and then swap her mind into it, circumventing the entire issue of fixing her current body."

"That sounds great. What's the catch?"

"I would need to learn a cloning power from Noelle, and for that I would need to touch her."

"But-!" Noelle cried from her vantage point above the crates.

"Yes, I know, it's dangerous. I can perform some tests to ensure that it will be safe, and then once you two and I are all assured of its safety, we can proceed."

Trickster said nothing, merely looking to Noelle. "You really think this will work?" she asked in a small voice.

"I do."

"… Okay."

I nodded. "A test, then." I created a duplicate, one of the very temporary ones with none of my equipment or ability to manifest powers, and both granted it a Freedom of Movement effect to ensure it could not be pulled into Noelle's bulk and surrounded it with a suppressing field to prevent the formation of a clone. "The power I've just used on my duplicate will prevent both the spontaneous creation of a new creature and the assembly of a new creature out of existing materials," I explained.

After consenting to the experiment, my duplicate advanced around the crates and tentatively reached a hand to Noelle, who was shuddering with the effort of holding her body still against the hunger for living flesh that constantly gnawed at her.

My duplicate touched her.

Nothing happened.

"Excellent." I dismissed the duplicate, and Noelle relaxed.

We waited a few minutes for her to rest, then I surrounded myself with the same suppressing field and approached her in person.

Laying a hand on her bottom half didn't grant me access to her repertoire, for reasons that were obvious in hindsight, so I quickly flew up to touch her human hand and access it that way. Her repertoire was multifaceted, making her another cape similar to Battery and Facet, but surprisingly sparse: she knew the Clone spell, some spells to compel loyalty, and that was it.

"Now what?" Trickster asked.

"Now I leave to start the cloning process. I'll return in roughly an hour."

~*~*~

With the Clone power added to my repertoire and a clone of Noelle beginning to take shape in a very secure temporally-accelerated laboratory on Aldric's side of our manor, I reappeared in the warehouse to find the Travelers eagerly awaiting my return.

"So how long's the clone gonna take?" Ballistic asked, having been filled in by Trickster while I was away.

"Between one and three and a half objective weeks," I said.

"Wait, weeks?" Trickster said. "We might not have that long!"

"We will, if we place her into stasis."

I explained my plan, the Travelers raised objections, I answered those objections, and Sundancer insisted on testing the stasis out of concern for Noelle and was assured of its safety when I was able to reverse it at will.

"Okay," Trickster said eventually, "let's do it."

~*~*~

4:18 pm, Monday the 25th of April, 2011 CE

Bovenzi Conservation Park, Worcester, America, Earth Bet

Two cottages were nestled away in the far reaches of the nature preserve, camouflaged against casual discovery. One held all of the Travelers' worldly possessions, transported via wormhole from Boston; the other held Noelle, situated as comfortably as she could manage.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

"Yeah. See you in a few minutes, guys," she said to her gathered friends, putting on a brave face for their benefit.

I evoked a sheet of paper and inscribed upon it a sigil of stasis, one that would hold its reader fixed in the flow of time for slightly longer than one objective month. As the others averted their eyes I presented the sigil to Noelle, who glanced down at it and was almost immediately enveloped in a shimmering amber light, the visible manifestation of the effect's temporal boundary.

All that was left after that was discussing logistics. Until the clone was ready, I would return every tenday to refresh the conjured cottages, the Travelers would go into town to purchase supplies and use the internet while otherwise maintaining a low profile, and if an emergency situation arose they could contact me with the soul crystal of sending I provided them.

Interspersed in our discussion were more expressions of thanks and various offers of repayment, which I politely accepted and declined, respectively. I would feel guilty accepting recompense for my "heroic deed" when, quite frankly, going out of my way to resolve their problems was an act of pure self-interest done in pursuit of obtaining Accord's vial and studying Noelle's power, rather than out of any sympathy for their plight.

little sympathy? Our and their positions aren't entirely dissimilar, and, well…. Aspect suggested.

~*~*~

6:37 pm, Monday the 25th of April, 2011 CE

Entente Embassy, Boston, America, Earth Bet

"The Travelers are handled. Leucosia was dead by the time I reached them, but Opal is here, and healed to perfect condition."

Accord twitched sharply at my sudden appearance, and the two mundane subordinates with whom he had been speaking-accountants, it looked like-struggled to conceal their reaction as well.

"You could have used the door," Accord noted through gritted teeth.

"I could have," I agreed.

There was a pause. Looks were exchanged. Fury was restrained.

Accord pressed a recessed button in the underside of his desk and leaned forward slightly. "Othello. Escort Mister Talaire from my office to the infirmary to see Starfield and Chauffeur, then present him with his payment."

" Yes, sir," came the tinny reply.

"In the meantime," I said, "something to address the third part of your request." I held forth a silver ring inset with an utterly smooth sphere of smoky quartz that was precisely the same shade of brown as the wood in his mask, his cane, and his desk.

Accord took the ring and placed it on his finger. "Tap the gem with your thumb," I directed. He did so, and there was an immediate shift in his aura from rage to calm. "It provides its effect in one-minute intervals," I said, leaving the nature of the effect unspecified in front of his subordinates, "so that maintaining it requires an active choice on your part." There were other details he might want to know, regarding usage limits and variable intensity and such, but I could pass those along later via Othello.

The point of all the restrictions was to prevent a sort of "compulsion by default" if Accord overused the ring to the point of personality drift. This way, if he put in the appropriate effort the ring could help him make changes on his own-

-but it could not passively alter his mind without his consent, thus keeping its effects within the boundaries of the First Precept.

With that, sensing Othello coming down the hallway, I nodded to Accord and left via the door… though I phased through it, rather than opening it, because one must get one's entertainment where one can.

~*~*~

The vibrant orange liquid within the vial had a metallic glimmer to it, and it oozed thickly up and down the vial's sides as I moved it this way and that. Analysis showed that the liquid bore no magical auras or alchemical properties, and I didn't recognize any of the biological ingredients used in its concoction.

"What, pray tell, is this supposed to do?" I asked Othello.

"If you don't already have powers, drinking it gives you some," he said simply. "The specific powers vary with different formulas, I believe."

…

Ah.

At once, certain things became clear.

The vial's existence told me nothing new about the nature of parahumans and the acquisition of magic on this world-it could be any number of things, from a ritual component for completing a pact with local spirits to a blood elixir for awakening latent sorcerous talent to an analog of the specially-formulated incenses certain wizards used to allow the imprinting of new spells upon the mind without recourse to written formulae, and more.

It did, however, tell me that I should speak with Battery when next I returned to Brockton Bay. Our conversation would likely prove to be very enlightening.

There was even the possibility that, were I to dig further into the events in Madison of which the Travelers had been reluctant to speak, I might find a vial or six in their history. I'd have to check their repertoires on our next encounter, as I'd been too focused on Noelle before to bother with the others.

"Do you know where or with whom the vials originate?" I asked.

"I do, but I can't say. I can't tell you anything else about them either, beyond the fact that it's dangerous to drink only part of the whole dose. Accord's orders."

Dipping into his thoughts provided me with no further hints of the vial's nature, beyond the symbol I'd already seen in Accord's mind.

No matter. There were quite a few divinations that I could employ to learn more about the origins of the vial in between my efforts to acquire technomantic power and to meet with those capes who acknowledged the existence of magic.

For now, however, I bade Othello farewell and left to continue my research and my cultural explorations. The vial could wait; one of the many benefits of immortality is that one is rarely in a hurry.

Unearthing the deepest secrets of this universe could at least wait until after supper.

Author's Note

Remember how whether or not "psychic powers" are a thing was a kind of wonky subplot in early Worm, with Glory Girl and Tattletale debating the subject at the bank and Armsmaster adding "psychic shielding" to his armor everything, which then got quietly dropped? Remember how Victoria dropped a rather interesting statement about nonexistent psychics during said debate that sounded less than convincing when Taylor the Massive Mental Multitasker was standing right there?

I've seen people cite the "real psychics would need a head five times the usual size!" thing as an instance of Early Installment Weirdness, or evidence that parahuman researchers and/or Victoria are idiots, or whatever, but my first impression of the line was… have you ever known a college freshman who's taken a couple classes in a subject and suddenly thinks they're an expert on it, and starts repeating dumbed-down-for-freshman factoids from the intro courses as if they're the final word on the matter?

Yeah, basically that. I wanted Valigan to talk to some non-cape parahuman experts at some point (including Professor Wysocki, a name you may recognize from Crusader's interlude) about the mechanics of parahuman biology, and the opening discussion was an attempt to come up with an explanation for the psychic-head-size quote that makes in-universe sense within the full Worm context and doesn't make the researchers look dumb at all while still being something that, without context, could be oversimplified into that silly soundbyte. Hopefully I succeeded and folks found the discussion interesting.

Regarding Heterodyne's specialty: I remember there was someone in the thread who said something like they were hoping that some tinkertech would turn out to be at least partly "real" technology from an advanced alien race, not just pure magic. Well, surprise, it did! She's got gamma ray lasers, room-temperature superconductors, superdense batteries, the works; she just happens to by bypass the "need a whole advanced alien infrastructure to build this" issue with Transmutation spells and alchemy, that's all.

Between Armsmaster's and Champion's attempts to minimize the amount of actual tinkertech in their gear, the flavor discussion of different Tinker methodologies in 2.6.V, Dauntless being the equivalent of an artificer but not looking like a Tinker to the PRT, and Heterodyne being the equivalent of a sorcerer with Item Creation feats instead of an artificer and having some of her "magic" items actually be alchemical instead, hopefully it's become clear that just because Tinkers = Artificers in general doesn't mean there's not a lot more going on than that.

Regarding Glazier's crafting process: for anyone who doesn't have experience with glassmaking and can't picture what the patterns in the cooling process look like before he starts mucking around with them, here's a video that might give you an idea of what Valigan was talking about.

Regarding the Ambassadors: in Accord's interlude he orders vials "Of the same caliber as the last set, same price" for his new capes, so several of the OC ones mentioned here have variations on the powers the later canon ambassadors would have under the assumption that they were given very similar vials. Leucosia is a match for Ligeia, Archive for Codex, Starfield for Jacklight, and obviously Lizardtail for Lizardtail II.

Also, one internet cookie to Ridtom for his correct prediction about Cauldron going to Accord for help with the Doormaker/Clairvoyant situation. I didn't expect anyone to see that coming, so muchos kudos.

Also also, I'm sure that Valigan giving Accord an item that will help him rein in his murderous OCD because Val believes strongly in controlling one's impulses and continually improving one's mind won't have any knock-on effects at all.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

New spells and powers Valigan used or referenced in this chapter were fire shield (surrounds someone in fire that inflicts fire or cold damage and protects from the opposite), iron body (turns you into unliving metal), lightning leap (teleport via lightning bolt), calm emotions (does exactly what you'd expect), programmed amnesia (memory alteration, personality tweaking, and subliminal triggers, all in one handy package!), friendly fire (telekinetically retargets projectiles), remove curse (undoes curses), break enchantment (undoes curses and also other stuff), metamorphosis (lets you turn into whatever you want, within limits), baleful polymorph (lets you turn people into a newt; they don't get better), freedom of movement (the target can't be restrained in any way, such as by getting sucked into Noelle's lower half), Otiluke's suppressing field (shut off certain kinds of magic in the area, in this case Conjuration to prevent body outside body-style cloning and Transmutation to prevent fission-style cloning), clone (grows a mindless, soulless clone that the caster will pop into if they die), sepia snake sigil (sticks people in long-term stasis if they read the trapped symbol) Lilitu and radiant idols are both outsiders who can fake being gods by being able to grant minor boons to anyone who "worships" them and cast a bit of divine magic themselves to seal the deception. This is a sibriex. Pretty it ain't.

Last edited: Nov 28, 2022

Rule of Three 3.1.T

Tenth Morning Bell, Far the 20 th of Rhaan, 999 YK Terminus District, Sharn, Breland, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

Stakeouts aren't nearly as interesting as TV shows like to make them seem.

The last few days kept us busy enough, always moving from place to place, never getting bored. We spent most of our time with Creilath as he gave us his "welcome to Sharn" tour, covering the names of all the parts of the city, the best routes to use to get from one district to another, how to find the nearest member of the Sharn Watch or their nearest office, the basic laws and rules we should know about in order to not get arrested on day one, the names of nations and important cities that we'd be expected to recognize, all the symbols of the important people we wouldn't want to piss off, and other very important things for us to know if we were going to stay here for any length of time.

He also made sure to tell us about all the invisible safety features in the city that would (probably) save us if we fell off of something, which was very reassuring and also explained why everyone around here seemed completely comfortable riding ridiculously fast and completely exposed elevators to get between different levels of the city.

We spent some time with Corvin, too, to deal with the absolutely thrilling process of getting our identity papers figured out. We answered questions for some clerks from House Sivis and clerks from the Brelish government and clerks working for a few influential nobles who somehow had a say in the process and a couple of clerks who I wasn't sure how they fit into the whole process at all, and even sat for the portraits that would be used in the papers once they were issued.

Thank god Creilath and Corvin were willing to pay for us to travel between those many meetings in skycoaches, the omnipresent flying taxis that looked like streamlined stagecoaches minus the horses. If we'd been on our own, we'd probably have spent half of our waking hours just walking from one district to another.

After almost four solid days of going back and forth between bureaucratic hell and what felt like cramming for a final exam in a class I hadn't signed up for, Creilath finally said he thought we were sufficiently up to speed on all things Sharn to join him on a case, and we absolutely jumped at the chance.

And now, here we were.

Sitting quietly on a tile roof.

Huddled under an overhang, both to stay out of the drizzling rain and to avoid notice from people flying overhead.

Where we'd been for the past four hours, since just before dawn .

Turns out, Creilath didn't think we were ready to do any actual investigation yet because of all the technical stuff and legalities involved. Which was fair, I guess; if he showed up on Earth somehow I wouldn't expect him to figure out the American legal system and security cameras and things like that in less than a week, either.

What he'd really wanted was for us to be his hired muscle, as Brian had put it, while he was dealing with a case involving a new smuggling ring making inroads into the city.

Creilath's client had offered him a large bonus for resolving the case before a certain deadline, he'd said, with smaller bonuses for things like finding or compiling a full list of the goods they were smuggling, identifying all of their hideouts in the city, or taking out the leaders of the organization.

This was apparently a fairly common setup for him, especially the part about getting paid extra to fight people even though he was supposed to be a detective.

Things were a lot… fuzzier here than back home when it came to law enforcement. I'd already figured there wouldn't be a divide between the police and private investigators on the one hand and Sharn's equivalent of the PRT and Protectorate on the other, because with capes and tinkertech being so common around here there wasn't really a distinction between "villain" and "criminal who happens to use magic," but in the back of my mind I'd still expected there to be some kind of distinction between the PIs and the Thinker capes who looked into the bad guys and the cops and the heroes who actually fought the bad guys.

But nope, apparently there were plenty of people in between who did both. Like Creilath, who sounded like he leaned more toward the investigative side but said he was perfectly comfortable getting into a fight if he had to, and a quick demonstration with Brian showed that he had the sword skills to back that up.

He and Urzat weren't nearly good enough fighters to take on a whole smuggling gang with just the two of them, though, and that's where we came in.

The gang was based in Terminus, Sharn's equivalent of the very busy rail depot that the Trainyard back home used to be before the port mostly closed down and all the freight companies started bypassing Brockton Bay, since it was easy to hide their shipments within the massive amount of cargo that came through the depot every day. As the lowest of the Lower Wards, all of Terminus was at ground level, the first district we'd been to where there were actually normal freestanding buildings instead of all of the buildings being built on suspended platforms or inside towers or whatever.

The smugglers were running their operation out of a tavern that was fairly popular for the area, since they could disguise shipments as part of regular deliveries and slip in and out of their base by mingling with taverngoers. From Creilath's prior investigation, it looked like there were almost forty people in the smuggling ring, of which roughly half worked out of the tavern "hub" while the rest were distributed throughout the city.

The tavern itself was prominently located on a street corner at a large intersection and the surrounding buildings were packed very closely together, meaning that once we were up on the rooftops of the ones across the street it was simple to move between buildings and spread out far enough along the streets to discreetly watch all sides of the tavern.

Our job was to wait until the four people who Creilath had identified as being most important to the gang were in the base at the same time, and then we'd ambush them.

Two were there currently, both having arrived while we were watching the place. All we had to do now was wait for the last two people to show up and hope that neither of the ones who were currently present decided to leave before then.

Nice and easy.

And incredibly boring. Watching the trains come and go on the lightning rail (the name for the tinkertech maglev system the trains used) had lost its luster after the first hour, people-watching after the second hour, listening in on the smugglers through my bugs after the third hour. The most exciting thing that had happened in the past twenty minutes was Urzat swapping off my roof to go on break and Dean replacing him.

I sighed, took off my new glasses, and rubbed the bridge of my nose where the pads were digging into the skin.

I'd finally gotten a chance to buy some glasses, thanks to Creilath giving me an advance on my pay for this case. While I was glad to be able to see clearly without my mask on and to not have to lean on my bugs' senses to compensate, the glasses here were made of glass and metal instead of plastic and the cheap ones were made fairly dense and thick to hold up to wear and tear, so they were a lot heavier than I was used to.

I did see plenty of people wandering around with much more delicate and lighter-looking glasses, which Creilath said achieved the same level of sturdiness as the ones I had through the use of some kind of "alchemical" treatment-which, no, I drew the line at calling powers magic, calling it "alchemy" instead of "chemistry" was a bridge too far-so I could look forward to glasses that didn't pinch my nose or give me headaches once I scraped together enough money to afford them.

There was the soft clinking of careful booted footsteps on tile as Creilath came over to check in with Dean and me. I was crouched behind a chimney at the corner of our roof closest to the base; Dean was lying down a short distance away, positioned where he could just barely catch glimpses of the smugglers' auras through a third-floor window.

"Any changes?" the inquisitive asked softly, glancing between us.

"No one's said anything about us," I said.

Dean shook his head. "No suspicion or concern. Some restlessness from one guy, but he's been feeling that way for a while, I don't think he's worried about a delay or anything like that."

Creilath nodded and moved along to check in with Brian, down by the corner of the intersection, and then Chris and Alec, atop the other row of houses.

~*~*~

Some amount of time passed in silence before Dean glanced over at me and asked, "So… are we having fun yet?"

"Loads."

"Same."

He scooted himself a bit closer, to make it easier to watch the window and talk to me at the same time. "We haven't had a chance to talk in a while, and I wanted to check in," he said in a solemn tone. "How are you doing?"

I shifted uncomfortably. The last time he and I had talked one-on-one was on the airship, after the battle with the drow, so I was fairly sure what specifically he wanted to talk about. It was nice of him to care, but….

"Aside from all the walking around, I'm liking Sharn a lot so far, more than I thought I would," I said.

He gave me a look, then replied, "I know what you mean. It reminds me of New York City, when my father would take me on business trips there in the summer. There's something about big cities that just make them more… lively, more vibrant than the Bay."

"Not that that's exactly hard."

"True. How are you getting along with the rest of the group?"

"I got a few more spars in with Brian, which has been good. No chance I'd be able to do anything useful against someone with a real sword, but at least I wouldn't look like a complete idiot."

"That's good that you're making progress."

"Yeah. And Alec is Alec."

"Yes he is." Dean paused. "If we had to get stuck over here with a couple of villains, I'm glad it was with some who weren't all that bad." He frowned. "Or at least know how to play nice when they have to."

Another pause. "Brian is still a villain, though, for all that that doesn't mean much for us right now."

"Yeah…?" I agreed, not sure what he was getting at.

Dean sighed. "You've been spending a lot of time with him, just the two of you."

"Oh, god, not you too. Alec's been bad enough." I felt my cheeks heating up; we were not having this conversation. "It's not like… whatever you're thinking. He's teaching me to fight, that's it. And besides, he's way out of my league."

He gave me an odd look. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, I mean, he's, you know, whatever," I said, eloquently, carefully not thinking about any attributes in particular, especially those he shared with Dean, "and I'm, you know…." I gestured to myself, where the shape of my armor and the awkward angle I was sitting at weren't doing me any favors.

"Well that's a very persuasive argument," he said dryly. When I didn't say anything else, he asked, "What about Chris?"

"What about him?"

"How are you two getting along?"

"Fine, I guess?" I shrugged. "He's got an okay taste in books, at least. I just wish he'd tone down the Tinker talk sometimes."

Dean laughed softly. "Good luck with that. Chris and tinkertech is like you and bugs."

… Well that was hardly fair. It wasn't like I talked about bugs all the time or anything.

"Anyway, how about Creilath and Urzat?" he continued.

I glanced over at him and frowned. "Is there a point to this interrogation or are you just trying to kill some time?"

"It's not an interrogation. I really do care how you're doing," he said earnestly. "I want everyone to get along, and also… I've noticed you feeling anxious around the topic of money, and since we're kind of stuck with Creilath until we can figure things out for ourselves I wanted to make sure you didn't resent him for that or anything."

My frown deepened at that. "No, it's fine, at least for now. But what does bug me a little is you snooping on people with your power."

He gave me a seriously? look-and yes, I was serious, I still wasn't a hundred percent over the lying-about-his-powers issue-but before he could say anything I held up a hand. "The smugglers just started moving around. A couple of them are mentioning a name… yep, it's Toldark, they say he's on his way." That was one of the two people we were waiting to show up; one down, hopefully, and one to go.

Dean stared at the window for a few moments, then nodded. "Anticipation and greed from almost everyone. He's probably bringing something back to the base.

I buzzed a few flies near Creilath to get his attention, and when he came over we told him about what we'd sensed. "Good work. I'll keep an eye out for him, you keep eyes and ears on the smugglers," the inquisitive said.

~*~*~

"That's him," Creilath murmured, "the dwarf in the green vest. And the elf with him is Malin."

Malin being the other ringleader we were waiting on. It's about damn time! I grumbled to myself.

"I'll go tell the others. We'll wait until they're both inside, give them a thirty count, then attack. Everyone remembers the plan?"

Dean and I nodded. The plan was straightforward and was based around our powers, not theirs, since that's why he'd brought us along. We'd given him a basic overview of our powers before the stakeout, and he'd given us an overview of theirs, too-Urzat had powers that enhanced his weapons, mostly, while Creilath almost seemed like he had a watered-down mix of all of ours: he could mess with people's bodies kind of like Alec and their emotions kind of like Dean, affect light levels kind of like Brian, create "alchemical" devices kind of like Chris, and control animals kind of like me.

Essentially, Chris would start things off by ferrying Brian over on his hoverboard, where Brian would land on the tavern's roof and fill it with his darkness; he could easily do that from where he was now, but a cloud of darkness streaming across the street would be very obvious and we didn't want to give the smugglers any warning. Chris would then take up a position over the street on the opposite side of the building.

Next, I would incapacitate the smugglers with my bugs, since I could tell which people inside were actual smugglers and which were innocent customers who didn't know that the tavernkeeper had been bribed into letting the gang set up in her tavern.

If anyone managed to escape the building, then between Dean's beams, Chris's bolts, Urzat's bow, and Creilath's tinkertech we had all four sides covered and could take them down easily, with Alec just serving as backup in case anyone slipped past them (a duty he didn't mind at all) since he didn't need to aim any kind of projectile in order to affect people.

In theory, it was foolproof.

In practice… well, we didn't have a great track record so far, we had no idea what kinds of tricks the smugglers could pull, and the whole thing hinged on me being able to incapacitate all or nearly all of the smugglers.

No pressure.

I don't know why I was even worried, honestly. I'd taken down twenty-some thugs in no time at all when I fought Lung, and these smugglers should be just as easy to deal with-easier, since my insects were already all around them and it would harder to get out of a building than to run down a street.

Except that weapons and tinkertech were so common here that any of the smugglers could potentially grab something and hurt someone before I could react, and I couldn't even anticipate what they might go for aside from the "wands" that I already recognized.

Except that all of the drow at Zantashk had been superhumanly strong, tough, agile, and skilled, easily scrambling up buildings and ignoring the pain of bites and stings and such to the point that they'd have been considered at least C- or D-list parahumans back home without even considering their actual powers, and I had no idea whether that all-around superhumanity might extend to the elves, dwarves, and shifters among the smugglers.

Except that there was no way to tell whether either of the gang leaders were capes and would be able to, say, bust through a wall and burn down the whole neighborhood if my swarm didn't manage to take them down in the first few seconds.

I waved off Dean's concerned look in my direction before he could make some encouraging comment and took a few measured breaths.

There's nothing to worry about, I told myself. I've done this before, no sweat. I can do it again.

Chris was heading over to pick Brian up, crouching on his hoverboard to stay out of sight below the roof's edge.

This isn't going to be like Lung, or like Zantashk, or even like the dinosaurs. Gang members are pushovers.

Brian hopped on the hoverboard, wobbling a bit until he found his balance.

No one's going to have their homes wrecked, or get hurt, or… anything else, because of me.

A few people on the street below glanced up as Chris and Brian zipped across the gap, but people flying was nothing new here and they were quickly ignored.

Really, I'm the only one who can guarantee no one gets hurt more than they have to be.

Brian landed near the center of the roof, right in the middle of all the chimneys that led to all the fireplaces below.

I'll just hit them fast and hit them hard, and everything's going to turn out fine.

Chris got to his position, spun around in midair and drew both pistols in one smooth motion, and gave a little wave.

I am not going to let the team down this time.

Creilath nodded and waved back, and darkness began to stream from Brian's arms into the chimneys and down into each floor of the tavern.

Moments later, every last window was pitch-black and I could hear the people inside start to panic.

I gave the smugglers everything I had.

Flies buzzed in ears to make them jerk away at the sound, wasps stung hands-without injecting venom, since I didn't have a way to deal with allergic reactions-to make them drop what they were holding, moths fluttered around necks to make them focus on brushing bugs away, spiders crawled down sleeves to make them try to get their protective jackets and armor off, centipedes crawled up pant legs-but didn't go anywhere near the crotch, I'd learned that lesson already-to just freak them out in general.

Within seconds most of the smugglers were crouching in place slapping at all the insects or rolling around on the floor to crush them. A few that were on the bottom floor were able to grope around for the nearest door and rush outside, where they only managed to stagger a few paces before being shocked into submission by Chris's shots or pinned to a wall by Urzat's arrows or, in one case, getting bowled over and sent tumbling down the sidewalk by one of Dean's larger blasts.

The two "important" people who'd been there all morning were the gang's main bookkeeper and someone who had contacts within the Watch to help their goods sneak through customs. Neither of them was a cape, apparently, as both went down like chumps just like the rest of the gang.

The two leaders managed to put up more of a fight, though. As soon as Toldark felt the bugs crawling on him, he yanked a wand out of his pocket and spat something that sounded like " Rebhokos!" and suddenly he was wreathed in flames, incinerating every bug that was on or near him.

Of fucking course.

Malin, meanwhile, covered his eyes with one arm while he made some gestures with his other hand, then cried " Stazho!" and… nothing happened; whatever he'd tried hadn't worked.

The elf took a quick deep breath. I didn't know if he also had pyrokinesis, but I didn't want to chance it, and since he was one of the capes here who needed to say "magic words" to use their powers, well….

He tried to get another magic word out past the mouthful of spiders, but nothing came out except garbled shrieks.

Soon enough the shrieks subsided and he curled up into a fetal position. That was close enough to surrender for me, so I had the spiders he hadn't swallowed exit his mouth and take the crushed ones with them. I left them on his cheeks, though, so he wouldn't get any funny ideas.

Toldark, I couldn't do anything about. He was surprisingly spry for someone as short and chubby as he was, and he ducked every beam and blast and arrow sent his way as he rushed out into the street and tried to flee through the crowd, who parted easily around the crazy flaming man running straight at them.

Even the small beanbag-looking thing Creilath flung ahead of him to create a patch of sticky goop in his path didn't slow the gang leader down at all.

I was beginning to worry that he'd get away and make us stake out another base to deal with him when suddenly his right arm flung itself out to the side and snagged on a lamppost he was passing. The dwarf quickly looked to the side to see what had happened, just in time for his arm to contract and smash his forehead into the iron post, which stunned him long enough for his left leg to jerk out from under him and send him toppling face-down onto the cobblestones.

I glanced over at Alec, who was leaning back against a chimney with one hand behind his head and the other outstretched. He smirked when he saw me looking, and called "Dance, monkey, dance!" before letting out an over-the-top villainous laugh.

It's a good thing we didn't have to stay inconspicuous after we took care of the smugglers, because I don't think Alec had a single subtle bone in his body.

And… huh. The smugglers were taken care of, just like that.

One of them had pulled exactly the same trick Lung did and we still brought him down. No permanent injuries, just a few dozen wasp stings and spider bites; no property damage, aside from the bad guy's pyrokinesis scorching a few chairs on his way out; no Undersiders or Wards needing to swoop in to save me, either emotionally or physically… that wasn't bad at all.

I finally had my first complete and total win as a hero.

I'd been worrying about things and second-guessing myself for nothing. It was even kind of fun!

Creilath got everyone's attention with a wide wave of his arms and we all started making our way down to the tavern. "Great job, Taylor!" Dean told me on our way down. "Only six people made it out; I'm impressed."

"Thanks," I replied. "You did great with them, too. Almost knocked that first shifter a whole street over."

"Yeah… I wasn't actually trying to hit him that hard," Dean admitted. "After all the drow shrugged off my normal blasts I decided to start off with a heavier one just in case and, uh, turns out shifters aren't that much tougher than humans."

When we reached the street there were quite a few onlookers gathered around, watching Urzat put heavy iron manacles on the smugglers sprawled on the sidewalk while Creilath explained the situation to the incensed taverngoers over the loud protests of the crooked tavernkeeper. We pushed our way through the crowd to get to Creilath; no one paid us any attention, seeing as no one knew we'd been involved in this.

Eventually everyone who was supposed to be cuffed was cuffed and everyone who wasn't had been mollified and send back indoors. Creilath followed that up with a loud declaration that he was an accredited House Medani inquisitive and anyone who wasn't helping with his investigation had better stop gawking before they were considered to be interfering with his investigation, and the surrounding crowd quickly dispersed.

The inquisitive took a moment to look around and scan the sky. Whatever he was looking for, he didn't find it, as he just let out a thoughtful "Hrm…." before turning to acknowledge us. "Well done, everyone. Now let's get around to the back entrance and start cataloging all of the contraband."

We moved to follow. On the way, he asked, "By the way, that was probably the fastest and cleanest raid I've seen in years; you're all a fair bit stronger than Corvin led me to believe. How long have you all been practicing magic?"

"About three years for Dean and me," Brian answered. "Around two for Alec." Dean looked skeptical at that, which I could understand; Alec didn't really come off as someone with that much experience. "A year and a half for Chris, assuming he joined the Wards right afterwards…?" Chris nodded at that.

He turned to me with a questioning look. "About four months," I said.

The guys all seemed surprised at that; they probably expected it to be a lot shorter, given how most capes apparently go out heroing fairly soon after their trigger event.

Creilath, meanwhile, actually missed a step when he heard the guys' answers and almost tripped when he heard mine. "Three years, down to four months?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yeah. Why?" Chris asked.

"Most sorcerers-and artificers-take considerably longer to reach the level of skill you displayed. I've been practicing magic for just over two decades, now, and I'd be hard-pressed to match those feats of power."

Urzat shrugged. "Humans," he rumbled, in a tone of amused resignation.

"I suppose so," Creilath sighed.

"The way you got everyone to leave back there… do private inquisitives really have that kind of power?" Brian asked.

"Oh, not even slightly," the half-elf chuckled. "But the Sharn Watch does and they're the ones paying the bills on this case, so I felt inclined to overstep my authority just this once. It does help that people hear 'House Medani' and make some very useful assumptions."

As we reached the rear door, he retrieved a leather pouch from an inner pocket of his coat and unrolled it to reveal an extensive lockpicking kit. "And speaking of overstepping my authority…."

~*~*~

"Since when can you pick locks?" Brian asked Alec as the younger villain fiddled with the padlock on a large metal-banded wooden chest.

"Since I spent a few months being outdoors all the time and when the weather's shitty it's better to sleep in some rando's car than on the street."

"… So, before you joined the Undersiders."

"Yeah."

"And you never mentioned this before because…?"

"You think Tattletale would ever let anyone else try opening anything when she can show off instead?"

"Point."

The smugglers had been using multiple floors in the tavern, so we'd split up into three groups: me with Brian and Alec in the first-floor offices, Chris and Dean down in the basement, Creilath in the upstairs suites. Chris and Alec had borrowed some of the inquisitive's lockpicks, Alec because he actually had some experience with them and Chris because he was generally good with tools and mechanisms, and we were now trying to open up every last locked chest, box, crate, and barrel in the place to see exactly what the gang had been smuggling.

I'd joined the two villains because there were a lot more small boxes to go through in the office so they could use an extra person, and also because someone needed to keep an eye on them and my own eyes were better than my bugs' for that.

"You having trouble there?" Brian asked. Alec was taking longer to open this box than he had most of the others.

"Little bit," Alec said distractedly. "Would be a lot easier if you two weren't hovering."

I looked at Brian; he shrugged. "Not much else to do. We can't exactly go through any of the paperwork when we can't read the language."

"You can't even find something that looks like, I dunno, a spreadsheet full of prices or something?"

"That works, I guess."

Brian and I went over to some of the unlocked boxes and began sorting through papers, totally silent. I didn't feel like making small talk with Alec in the room; he'd just find some way to turn it into ammunition against me somehow.

Still, even without us talking, Brian and I worked pretty well together, I'd say.

~*~*~

After an hour, we'd finally wrapped everything up, both the cataloging of supplies and our own investigations into the smuggling.

Creilath hadn't told us to do it, but the Sharn Watch had come by and he'd gone out to talk to them, so we'd had some time to kill.

Between my bugs searching the insides of the walls, Chris's visor letting him pick up all kinds of physical evidence, and Dean working with Urzat to examine some of the paperwork (Urzat doing the reading, Dean lending his business expertise to the job), we ended up with lots of pages of notes. We listed out everything we'd found, from expensive clothing to weapons to dragonshards to what Urzat said was raw materials for wand-making, as well as what kinds of containers they'd come in, distinguishing marks on each type of item, the false names used for the labels on the containers, and more.

And since Urzat turned out to have the same language power that Yin had had in his wand, we could just hand over pages of English notes and have him read them directly instead of having to dictate things for him to transcribe in Common.

We were free to go once we handed everything over to the Watch, and our group headed toward the nearest lifts-but Creilath led us to one going up, back to where we were staying, not down toward the Cogs and the Cannith Forgehold.

"Don't we have our meeting with Merrix in half an hour?" I asked.

"You did. I received a message this morning that a matter of some urgency had arisen and the meeting was postponed until quarter past third bell."

Great. Between this and him rushing us through our first meeting, I really hoped this wasn't the start of a pattern of Merrix putting us off in favor of every other little thing that came up.

"Why don't you head back to your inn," Creilath suggested. "I need to go meet with the Watch member who hired me to close out the case and finalize payment, and also have a few errands to run and contacts to speak with, so I'll check in with you at perhaps half past first bell?"

That sounded fine to us, so we took separate lifts, ours going just a few dozen stories up so we could take the bridge over to North Market where the Horse & Hearth was located, the inquisitive's to wherever he was headed.

~*~*~

North Market was a market district, as its name implied, so we had to wend our way through clusters of stalls and carts when going to and from our hotel. The past few days we'd always been in a rush and hadn't really had a chance to explore everything on display, but now we had some free time, so we did just that.

It was definitely an interesting place, somewhere between the Lord Street Market and a mall, with the haphazard layout and very eclectic offerings of the former and the high quality and "name-brand" guild-accredited sellers of the latter.

Wandering up and down the aisles was nostalgic, in a way. I was hardly a fan of shopping most of the time, but when I'd first started planning out my costume I'd spent three or four solid weeks heading to the market every day after school to look for books on sewing, sewing patterns, craft tables, and anything else I could possibly think of that might help.

Using spiders on some wooden rods and boards to sew things instead of a sewing machine or a hand loom meant that most of the things I found ended up not being useful to me at all, but I'd still enjoyed the experience of looking every which way and secretly judging whether this thing or that would be useful in my hero career.

Coming here right after our victory against the smugglers helped me capture just a little of that feeling again, and for a little while I was almost not homesick.

With none of us having any money, though, our respective circuits of the market finished up quickly. As we headed for the hotel, Alec was moaning about how nothing there could compare to his beloved video games, Chris was chattering excitedly about some magic something-or-other he'd seen that I wasn't paying attention to, Brian just seemed bored, and Dean was looking… sad about something?

I sidled up to him and softly asked, "What's up?"

He looked up from his gauntlet, where he was checking the time. "Nothing," he said with a smile and a confident tone, one that would have been pretty convincing if I hadn't seen his expression a second ago.

"You checked up on me before. Now it's my turn," I said. I wasn't the best at talking about feelings, either mine or anyone else's-thanks a ton, Emma-but it was so rare for anyone besides Dad to give a damn about how I was feeling that I almost felt obligated to return the favor.

"Seriously, what's up? Is it… something about your girlfriend?" I hazarded; him finding something in the market to remind him of Glory Girl was my best guess.

He gave me a one-shoulder shrug. "Kind of, but not exactly. Really, it's nothing, but it was nice of you to ask."

"If you're sure…."

"I'm sure."

~*~*~

First Afternoon Bell, Far the 20 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

The Horse & Hearth Inn, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

"Ow! Fuck!" My left hand stung where Brian had smacked it with his wooded training sword, and I shook it out to help with that.

"Sorry, but you should have been able to avoid that one by now. You've got to pay more attention to how I'm moving. Feet, hands, and tip of the weapon, remember?"

Oh, I was paying attention to how he was moving, all right, that wasn't the problem at all.

The problem was that Brian wasn't wearing either his Grue jacket or the one he'd bought in Stormreach. With some of the heat from the roaring fireplace in the common room below us trickling up to this room and the hotel not having any air conditioning or a magical equivalent, the room we were using for training was very warm and he was down to just the green T-shirt he'd been wearing under his costume that first night.

A green T-shirt that was sleeveless to show off his arms and thin enough that it would cling to his body and show off the outline of his stomach when he was sweating a lot, like he was now. Focusing on something else was kind of difficult at the moment.

We reset to our starting positions, him with his sword leveled in a basic stance or guard or whatever it was called, me with just my hands, about eight feet apart so I was initially out of easy lunging range.

"Go!" he called, and took a few quick steps forward and jabbed high with the sword. I ducked, then slapped the blade aside with my palm and took a step forward myself.

"Good!" he said as he retreated and recovered, his stride just a bit longer than mine. "Get inside my guard!"

"Trying!" I ground out. I took another tentative step forward, then scrambled back a few steps as he swiped at my midsection.

"You know," I complained, "It's not really fair-" sidestep "-that you have more height-" duck under a jab "-and more reach, 'cause usually-" circle right "- I'm the tall one."

"That's true," he agreed, then feinted high and swung low to strike me in the leg.

I tried to avoid it, but I didn't jump back far enough and the sword caught my ankle, sending me to the floor. "Dammit!"

Brian reached out a hand to help me up, and I got to my feet with a groan. "But it's also true," he continued, "that all the half-orcs we've met so far have been your height or taller, and we've seen people who were bigger than that. Like Obsidian, and that giant-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I grumbled. "Whether I need the practice against those people or not, I don't think this is working. I'm, what, oh-for-twenty right now?"

"Something like that."

"I'm going to need my own weapon. Your other practice sword, or a big baton, or something."

"A baton?" he asked.

"Like a police baton. It just has to be able to keep people away. Maybe a knife, too; basically everyone here has one, so we might as well get some too."

"That's a good idea. We'll figure that out when we have some money. Right now… hmm. If the reach is the issue, maybe we can move on to disarming. It's dangerous, but if you can really focus on that and learn to do it well that'll even the playing field some."

"Okay." Anything would be better than continuing to embarrass myself in front of him.

Brian ushered me closer and began demonstrating certain techniques for disarming people, going in slow motion with each one until I was able to perform it as well. He grabbed my wrists and moved my hands through the movements at certain points, which was kind of-uh, helpful. Very… helpful.

Sadly, when we started practicing at full speed I wasn't any better at trying to disarm a guy with a sword than I was at trying to punch a guy with a sword, and I ended up with the bruised knuckles to prove it.

"It's a matter of focus, I keep telling you," Brian said. He was starting to sound a bit frustrated with me, which was disheartening to say the least. "You have to keep watching my sword and tracking its movement until you can basically feel where the blade is and know where it's going to go without thinking about it. If you have to actively stop and think about angles and everything, they're going to get you every time."

" Feel" the blade…? I mused. There's an idea. What if…?

"I know you said we wouldn't use powers for this, but can I try something?" I asked.

"What is it?"

"Just trust me." If this didn't work, I didn't want to tell him ahead of time and look stupid afterwards.

He shrugged, and I went ahead with my plan: I placed two gnats on the very tip of the practice sword, one on either side of the blade, so I could sense both where it was and how the blade was angled.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

This time, I didn't have to actually watch the sword tip, because I could sense exactly where it was at all times. I still failed to disarm him, but I lasted noticeably longer before he "stabbed" me.

For the next bout I tried another bug on the end of the hilt and a third where the hilt met the blade, and suddenly it clicked.

When Brian gave the signal for my third attempt, I faked a lunge forward, stopped short just in time to let the tip of the sword pass me by, took another step, avoided the backswing, followed him as he retreated, ducked under the blade, and reached out to grab the hilt… whereupon I got smacked, again, but it was much better than I'd done before.

"That was amazing! What'd you try, exactly?" he asked.

I explained, and he seemed suitably impressed.

"It did work really well that time, but I wasn't expecting it, and I was taking things slow," he cautioned me. "Going up against someone who actually knows how to use a sword and is trying to hurt you is definitely not going to be so easy, especially if they're used to fighting capes with extra senses. Still… that is a great trick."

I looked away. "You gave me the idea."

"Regardless. Want to try again?"

"Sure."

~*~*~

Brian was right, the bugs-on-the-weapon technique wasn't the total game-changer I'd hoped it would be, especially after he stopped going easy on me.

But it did help a lot, and after a few more tries I did finally manage to disarm him. Then, when we moved on to sparring without the sword to practice what to do after disarming someone, Brian suggested that I put bugs on his wrists, elbows, and shoulders to specifically track his movements instead of just one bug on him to track his location.

That helped even more, and I started to be able to hold out longer and longer against him. Still never any longer than half a minute at a time, but considering I didn't have any of the training to let me know what to do with the sense I had of his movements beyond "try not to be where his fist is going to be," I'd say I was doing really well.

"And… go!" Brian called, leading with a jab to my throat. I decided to be aggressive this time and sidestepped just barely enough for him to miss before stepping forward and throwing a wobbly punch of my own at his chest.

For the first time, my punch actually connected, but it didn't seem to do much to him.

"Stop!" he called. I stopped. "You're pulling your punches."

"What do you mean?"

"Here, let me show you. Get in your stance." He came to stand behind me and reached forward to grab my wrists so that he could move my arms around like a big puppet. "Okay, so, starting from here-"

As I felt his breath cause a few strands of my hair to flutter around, I was suddenly extremely aware of how close together we were standing.

"-you've been doing this," he said, and moved my fist forward before suddenly stopping at roughly the range where I usually tried to hit him. I felt his arm slide smoothly along the plating of my armor as we both leaned into the punch. "That barely transfers any force, since by trying to stop your fist right at the point where you make contact, you're working against your own momentum. It's a classic mistake when beginners are worried about hurting their sparring partner, or themselves. What you actually want to do is this."

He moved my fist again, much faster this time, and didn't stop at the same place. We were leaned farther forward, twisted more to my left.

I felt his shoulders encircling mine, felt his chest pressing firmly against my back, felt all of its contours.

"You want to punch through the guy, so the only thing slowing your fist down is his face," he said, his breath gently tickling my ear. "Got it?"

"I think so," I whispered.

"Great."

He let go of my arms, which dropped limply to my sides.

"Ready to go another round?"

I cleared my throat and lifted my arms again as he got back into position. "Yeah, let's go."

My first try was terrible; my punching form was much better, my control of my attention was much worse.

Same with the second try, and the third.

On the fourth, though, I finally managed to fake him out and got a chance to go for a solid punch right to his abs. He was forced to block it instead of sidestepping, which left his feet firmly planted where I could get at his shins.

My kick connected, his left foot slid back across the floor and unbalanced him, and as Brian had directed earlier I capitalized on that with a sort of crouching shoulder-ram that should have knocked him off his feet.

On the plus side, it actually did. On the minus side, I ended up unbalancing myself, too, and we both went down in a tangle of limbs.

I found myself lying on top of him, my arms pressing down on his shoulders to prop myself up off the floor, both of us breathing heavily.

My hair had slipped over my shoulders, framing his face in my vision and drawing my gaze to his deep amber eyes, which were already locked on my own.

We lay there for a moment, our breathing growing quieter, barely blinking as we stared at one another.

Then I felt someone coming down the hall through my swarm and practically threw myself to the side to get off of him, and once I was clear we both scrambled to our feet, avoiding looking at each other.

"Look, I didn't-" "That wasn't-" we said, speaking over each other in hushed, hurried tones.

"Later?" I proposed.

He nodded, looking relieved. "Later."

I was not looking forward to talking about… that.

By the time Dean reached the doorway, my hair was fixed and Brian's shirt was covering everything again.

It didn't help. Dean took one look at us and his eyebrows threatened to reach escape velocity. He coughed politely and averted his gaze. "Creilath is back," he said shortly. "Team meeting in ten minutes."

Great. Now I probably had two conversations I wasn't looking forward to.

~*~*~

I stared at the tiny pile of assorted gold, silver, and copper coins in my hand. "That's it?"

"Seven galifars is an entire week's wages for a full guild member in their first year after reaching that rank," Creilath said mildly. "Most apprentices would be happy to receive that much for less than a single day's work."

"I bet most apprentices aren't stuck paying two and a half galifars a day for room and board, each, plus food for Judas," Brian retorted. "Corvin's pre-payment runs out tomorrow, and this won't even last us three days into next week."

"This is true. You aren't limited to this inn, however; you could always seek out cheaper lodgings elsewhere."

Thinking back to his primer on the Dragonmarked Houses, I said, "I thought you said all the hotels in the city charge basically the same, because they're all run by House Ghallanda."

"The ones that are run by Ghallanda charge roughly the same, yes. There are many inns that are only licensed by the Hostelers Guild and not run directly by the House, and yet more that aren't affiliated at all. Each step down in quality brings a commensurate reduction in price."

"What kind of reduction are we talking about?" Dean asked.

Creilath looked up and to the side, as if doing some mental math. "Assuming you continue to take all of your meals at the inn, a licensed one would run you around a galifar and four sovereigns a day. Unaffiliated inns have no set standard, as they run the range from luxury to squalor, but the decent-quality ones go for five sovereigns, give or take."

"So the cheapest one would give us… two weeks on this money, instead of two days?" Dean shook his head. "Probably not worth it."

I agreed with him, and not just because of the price. The best hotel in the district was mediocre by Earth standards; how terrible would the local "sketchy roadside motel" inn be?

I wasn't about to tell Creilath that that's why I wouldn't want to switch hotels, though. It'd be kind of rude to tell the person paying us that the entire hospitality industry here sucked compared to Earth.

Alec had no such compunctions. "Definitely not worth it. This place is bad enough already, I don't know if I could survive someplace even slightly worse," he complained.

"We'd probably be fine," Brian said. "Still, I agree, that would just push the problem back, it wouldn't fix it."

"I see," the inquisitive said, nodding slowly. He pulled out a small leather bag and dropped it on the table in front of us.

"What's that?" Chris asked.

"Your portion of the extra pay from my client. Forty galifars apiece, enough to stretch your funds out to cover two and a half more weeks at this establishment." He sighed. "I was hoping that a week's wages upfront would serve to lift your spirits and the bonus would come as a pleasant surprise, but I suppose that even the whole amount would underwhelm you when there are certain standards to be maintained."

"We do appreciate it," Dean said diplomatically. "A little financial security definitely helps take our mind off things."

"I'm glad." Creilath checked his pocketwatch-like device, similar to the one I'd seen Corvin use but much cheaper-looking. "I'm not sure how long your meeting with Merrix will run. Shall I meet you here at sixth evening bell to discuss your plans for the next few weeks?"

"Sounds good," I said.

The inquisitive nodded, then withdrew.

Once he was out of earshot, I asked, "Does anyone else think it's kind of convenient how he only mentioned the bonus after we decided not to go for a less expensive hotel?"

Dean waggled his hand in a maybe gesture. "He genuinely was feeling hopeful when he gave us the first amount and disappointed when we weren't impressed, so I don't think he was ever planning not to give us the bonus. But there was definitely more of a feeling of… attentiveness, I guess, than I'd usually expect around just paying someone what they earned, so I'd bet there's something sketchy going on there."

"If you had any extra cash to bet with, you mean," Alec joked.

Brian crossed his arms. "This is turning into exactly the same situation we were in before. We can't afford to rely on one person for all our money, or he could pull anything he wanted and there'd be nothing we could do about it."

"This from a guy who said he didn't even know who he was working for and was relying on one person on his team to handle that," I pointed out. That had really sounded like a dumb idea from the outside; I know I'd never join a cape team if I didn't know where the money was coming from.

"Trust your team, don't trust your client. Our current boss might have tried to screw us over at some point, but I trusted Tattletale to have our backs."

"Well that's the dumbest thing you've said today," Alec murmured.

Brian shot him a glare, then continued, "Besides, we were getting enough money on jobs to stash it away in case things went south, but we're not getting that kind of money here."

"Brian's right, this isn't sustainable," Dean agreed. "We don't know how long we'll be here, but I'm sure it'll be more than three weeks and having barely enough money to get along isn't going to cut it."

Chris nodded in fervent agreement. "Yeah, it's getting to the point where I'm really going to need to start tinkering again, and I'm going to need at least a little money for supplies."

"Let's get a timeline estimate from Merrix, then we can do some brainstorming when we get back," Dean suggested.

That sounded good to the rest of us, so we sent Alec down to the front desk to get us some big sheets of paper and writing implements for afterwards while the rest of us changed from our costumes into our "noble" clothes before we left for the Cogs.

~*~*~

Half Past Third Afternoon Bell, Far the 20 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Cannith Forgehold, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

When Merrix strode into the meeting room, he didn't waste any time before hitting us with the bad news: "I equipped my agents with the best divining items that gold can buy, and quite a few that it can't, but when they reached the site of the portal there wasn't a single trace of its existence. Whatever aura may have lingered after your arrival is long gone."

We exchanged grim looks at that. It was somewhat expected, but we'd still been holding out hope that there would be something to find.

"You're sure they were in the right place?" Brian tried.

Merrix gave him a look that said he wasn't at all happy about having his agents' competence questioned. "Extremely sure. Not only were there lingering signs of your presence there and passage through the nearby area, from footprints to broken branches, my agents used a psychometric item to scry the past and confirmed the exact spot where you arrived."

They what?

"They could see the past?" I asked, sitting up straight in my chair. "Did they see who made the portal?"

He shook his head. "They saw a vision of the battle between your hound and some drow, then your arrival, then nothing else of significance before that. Their report claims that the portal itself wasn't visible in the vision, either, only your sudden appearance, so whoever it was who pulled you here must have taken appropriate precautions to avoid detection."

Dammit. I was really hoping that would have given us a lead.

"So that's it, then," Brian sighed. "There's no way to figure out how to get us home."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," Merrix replied thoughtfully. "Though the portal route is closed to us, there is another option."

He grabbed his cane from where he'd placed it in midair, just like last time, and fiddled with the carving of the bull-creature at its tip. The carving's eyes began to glow green, Merrix made a motion with his other hand as if pulling something out of the top of the cane, and a baseball-sized object that looked like a cross between a geodesic ball and a gyroscope appeared in his palm.

The framework of the device was mostly metal, with lots of tiny spheres of different sizes made of stone and crystal scattered at various points along it. The base was wood, and inset in the base was a set of odometer-like dials with lots of symbols on them that didn't look like letters in the Common alphabet.

"When dealing with creatures from other planes of existence, it is often useful to be able to identify their specific plane of origin, as a given extraplanar race can often be found on two or more planes and the nature of such a being will vary accordingly," he explained as he hung his cane on the air again.

"I developed this device to do just that, in the course of my unsuccessful forays into the science of elemental binding-" Chris perked up at the mention of that "-as well as to identify a variety of magical auras from more unusual sources."

Holding out a cautionary hand to temper our expectations, he concluded, "There is no guarantee, but it is possible that you, too, will possess a similar signature that I could then use to calibrate a new travel device, either based on the plane in which your world is located-if it isn't on the Material Plane after all-or based on the magic used to transport you here."

"So you scan us, if you find something like that you might be able to do something with it, if not we're out of luck?" I summarized.

"Not entirely out of luck, there may be other avenues to potentially explore… but yes, that would be the most promising option," he said.

"Let's do it," I said. No need to ask the rest of the group when our choice was to get scanned or get nothing.

At Merrix's direction, we all stood and gathered together at the far side of the room, away from the light sconces and anything else that had an "aura" that might interfere with the scan. Once we were in place he began manipulating his device, sliding spheres around on rings and adjusting the rings to different angles; it was almost like watching someone solve a Rubik's cube, if the person didn't know what the right configuration was and needed to rely on panels lighting up to tell him he was on the right track.

A few minutes later, he stopped. He didn't say anything at first, just looked at the dials, which had been clicking merrily along while he'd been scanning us.

"… I see," he said at last.

"Is that a good 'I see' or a bad 'I see'?" Brian asked warily. Chris wandered over to take a look at what Merrix was seeing, not that there was much point when we couldn't read it anyway.

"I did register a signature, and it does not match any known plane of existence, so it seems your claim to not hail from any one of them is true," Merrix said, not quite answering the question. "I believe this will be a distinctive enough signature for me to use."

"You seem a little… concerned," Dean said hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure what he was sensing.

"It's nothing that need concern you in the slightest," Merrix assured him. "I merely have a substantial task ahead of me, it seems."

"If you're sure…" Dean said.

"Quite sure," the baron replied firmly.

"What now?" I asked. "How long do you think it'll take you to build something that can help?"

"I'll need to build three separate prototypes. First is a device that can target a portal using your signature. Reaching another plane in that manner would be trivial, as plane-shifting is a reasonably well-studied topic even if actual planar travel is fairly rare. Attempting to teleport somewhere within the Material Plane based solely on this kind of signature, on the other hand, is completely uncharted territory.

"Second," he continued, "is a device that can teleport to a specified location, scry the area, and then teleport back. That will be needed not only to ensure that I'm able to eventually target your world successfully, but also to ensure that the destination point will be safe for you upon your arrival."

"I've actually done some work with point-to-point teleportation before," Chris offered, patting one of his pistols at his waist. "Maybe I can help you with that?"

"I'd certainly appreciate it. The third device would be something that could actually power a portal over such a long distance. Kundarak's portals are all sharply limited in range, and portals to other planes rely on manifest zones to sustain themselves, so something that could channel the appropriate energies in the necessary magnitudes would also involve stepping into unexplored territory."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Dean said. "How long do you think those will take to build?"

"The teleporter would merely be a variation on prior work. That could be finished in no more than a week, most likely; less than that, if Lord McIntyre can provide some assistance there. The other devices? Two months, as an optimistic estimate; four to five months would be more realistic."

"Two months?" Alec asked.

"At absolute best, yes."

"Seriously?"

Merrix gave him a flat look. "Delving into fields of research never before plumbed by arcane scholars takes time, and I can say in all modesty that no other artificer on the face of Khorvaire could manage it any faster. If you wanted a miracle, you should have gone to Flamekeep instead."

"Is… is that actually something we could have done?" I asked. Flamekeep was the capital of Thrane, which Corvin and his friends had completely dismissed as an option, but maybe they'd been too hasty… or maybe they'd been too focused on getting us to go to their own nations to suggest it.

That surprised a laugh out of Merrix. "Ah, no," he said, "it's only an expression. Even kings and queens come before the Keeper of the Flame humbly, with crown in hand; divine intervention isn't simply something to be purchased or demanded."

So not only did they have "magic" and "alchemy" as explanations for powers here, apparently some people thought powers were a gift from God, too. Which wasn't all that surprising, seeing as I'd heard of some villains in Europe and Africa who thought they either spoke to gods or were gods themselves, not to mention the Fallen and their crazy beliefs about the Endbringers.

Having what sounded like a single powerful cape in charge of an entire theocracy was new, though; even the villains back home who pretended to be gods banded together for strength in numbers. You'd have to be pretty damn strong to hold a whole country on your own.

I had a sudden vision of Eidolon wearing the Pope's hat, and I had to suppress a smile.

"Even setting that aside," Merrix added, "while the Keeper herself is kind-hearted enough to help you if the Flame allowed it, a string of assassination attempts over the past decade has made the Thranish government extremely paranoid, enough so that merely getting to the point of being able to petition the Keeper would doubtless take you several months on its own, given your… highly unusual circumstances."

"Good to know," Brian said.

"If we're going to be here a while, do you know if we could possibly borrow some workshop space?" Chris asked. "I could use someplace to do some tink-uh, artifice, especially if I'm going to be helping you with things."

"Obviously you're very busy, and we don't want to take up any more of your time," Dean quickly interjected. "Maybe an employee of yours could help us with that?"

"I was thinking much the same," Merrix agreed. "I'll choose a suitable journeyman from among the staff and send them along tomorrow morning. In the meantime, if there wasn't anything else…?"

We shook our heads, said our farewells, and were escorted out by yet another one of the baron's warforged guards.

~*~*~

When we returned to the hotel common room, Dean immediately grabbed a charcoal pencil, divided one of the papers Alec had gotten us into sections, and labeled each section with titles like "Contributions" and "Assets" and "Costs" and so on.

He then passed each of us a pencil and asked us to grab our own sheet of paper to make similar charts for ourselves. Once everyone was done, we'd get together, talk through them, and come up with some plans and ideas for the team.

Chris started filling his sheet up immediately. Not only did he probably have prior experience with what I gathered was a standard Wards activity, but he was a Tinker; he probably did this kind of planning all the time.

My sheet was similarly easy to fill up. Contributions? If a bug could make it, I could do it, from silk to honey and more. Assets? Bugs, and four months or so of amateur weaving practice. Costs? Terrariums and stuff; I hadn't been bothering with keeping specific insects like I had with my black widows back home, but for specific projects I'd need to start doing that.

Wants? Better glasses, definitely; nothing else came to mind. Other Needs? Again, nothing I could think of. Concerns? Too many to bother listing.

We finished up our sheets and took a break for dinner. Tonight they had some kind of pork roast, which was… not half bad, actually; no spices I didn't recognize or things that were the wrong colors, just something nice and generic that was prepared with enough skill to wow us.

Creilath arrived after dinner and joined us as we headed back up to the planning room. We started running through some of our ideas for making money, and he started shooting holes in them almost immediately.

Making honey? It was autumn, with winter on the way, and we were in the middle of a ridiculously large city where the ground wasn't even in my range, so it was unlikely I'd be able to find and feed enough bees to matter.

Making silk clothing? Aundair sold tons of the stuff, apparently, with anyone who was anyone having at least one reasonably fancy dress or suit in some kind of silk and spider silk being among the least expensive options, so what I'd thought would be a pretty unique offering turned out not to be.

"Though I wouldn't discard the idea completely," Creilath noted. "Not having to deal with tariffs and import laws does mean you could likely compete with smaller merchants on very favorable terms."

Making other things out of silk? Brian had actually suggested making parachutes, which I thought was ingenious, since the anti-falling protections in Sharn were unique to the city… but apparently all airships carried some kind of tinkertech landing devices already.

Making chainmail? Chris's suggestion, apparently it took forever to make by hand, but Creilath said that the Fabricators Guild could make enough that selling handmade armor wouldn't be profitable.

Making tinkertech? The Dragonmarked Houses had a monopoly, so even if we had Merrix's personal permission to avoid jumping through all the hoops that selling tinkertech normally required, people wouldn't necessarily trust anything that wasn't a "standard" Cannith item.

It was almost surreal, to hear Creilath talking about tinkertech like it was the kind of thing you could pick up in bulk at a department store.

"How many artificers do you have in this city, that they can basically mass-produce this stuff?" Chris asked at one point.

"No more than four hundred or so, I'd say. If one includes magewrights? I recall reading that they make up around fourteen percent of the population, so… between three hundred forty and three hundred fifty thousand, roughly."

We all just stared at him for a bit.

It hadn't quite hit me until now what it would really mean that this world used magic instead of technology for basically everything… but, yeah, it made sense that the mile-high city where everything flew or levitated would need almost an entire Brockton Bay population's worth of blue-collar capes to keep everything running.

"Welp, guess we can cross that off the list," Chris muttered, tearing off the section of his paper where he'd listed ideas for tinkertech he could try to sell and crumpling it up.

"Hey, don't give up yet," Dean said. "If Taylor can manage some comparative advantage against local silk shops with her insects, maybe you can find some advantage to help sell tinkertech, too."

Chris looked unimpressed. "We basically live down the street from their version of Hero or Dragon, and his four hundred Tinker buddies. Nothing I could make can compete with that."

"You have your pistols," I pointed out. "I haven't seen anything like those around here, people mostly use crossbows."

"There are those who use something similar to your weapons, wands with additional odds and ends that result in a similar form factor," Creilath said, "but yes, on the whole they are unique."

Chris shook his head. "That doesn't help. The only thing that's really tinkertech in these is the power core and the energy modulators. The barrel, the grips, the sights, all of that's just normal-"

He stopped, his eyes going wide, and whipped out his phone. "Got an idea," he said distractedly, "keep going without me."

"All right," Dean said, "so that's a maybe on Chris's idea, a maybe on Taylor's silk products, and… that's it, really." Dean's and Brian's skills were more in the area of doing things than making things, unfortunately.

Creilath disagreed. "You could always see if perhaps the Watch or one of the courts would hire you on a short-term basis, or perhaps a noble family," he told Dean. "Your empathic vision would make convicting criminals, dismissing less-than-loyal servants, and the like much easier."

"… That's legal here?" Dean asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Dean was quiet for a moment, considering. "I'll think about it. Actually," he said, "talking about noble families, is there any chance we could just take out a loan?"

"From whom?"

"From anyone. We've already promised to give Merrix some tinkertech when we get home, we could always give someone an IOU for a bunch of gold in exchange for some money now."

"And who would cover that?" Brian asked skeptically.

Dean shrugged. "I was thinking the government or the PRT, as a thank-you for opening up an entire new world for them, but my family could cover it if they had to."

"An intriguing idea, but unlikely to be successful," Creilath said. "Only House Kundarak would be likely to extend you credit on the assumption that you might return home at some point and make good on the deal, and their loans require ten percent interest and considerable upfront collateral at minimum." He grimaced. "I had to take on a loan recently to rebuild my office, and I can assure you that the Banking Guild can smell a client's lack of other options from a mile away."

We continued brainstorming for a while after that-well, Dean, Creilath, Brian, and I brainstormed; Chris was absorbed in whatever he was looking up and Alec didn't have any ideas to offer-but in the end nothing looked more promising than just trying out my silk and whatever Chris came up with and just seeing how that worked.

"If it's any consolation," Creilath offered as the conversation wound down, "now that you're assisting me I'm able to look for cases that might not have been possible for me to take on before due to lack of support. Anything involving the Boromar Clan or other major crime syndicates, for instance. I hope to accept some of these more profitable jobs soon, and hopefully that can cover any shortfalls you might experience."

~*~*~

Around Seventh Morning Bell, Sar the 21 st of Rhaan, 999 YK

The Horse & Hearth Inn, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

We were awakened by one of the kitchen boys, sent up to tell us that there was someone waiting downstairs to see us. Once we were dressed and presentable, we headed down to find a woman wearing a House Cannith insignia waiting in the common room.

She was in her early twenties, I guessed, with long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, clothing that was mostly gray with some green accents and that was fairly casual and practical by local standards, a leather messenger bag slung over one shoulder, a pair of small goggles pushed up onto her forehead, and the very tip of a dragonmark peeking out of her left sleeve.

"Vicereine ir'Hebert?" she asked as soon as I came into view, and I nodded. "Leyla d'Cannith, at your service," she said solemnly. "I've been assigned to you and your party for the duration of your stay in the city, and can serve as a guide, an advisor, a purchaser of materials, a liaison to the Fabricators Guild, and anything else you may require."

"So you're going to be our babysitter when Creilath isn't with us, basically," Alec said. Brian looked like he wanted to hit him for that, and I didn't blame him.

"As your actions and comportment reflect upon House Cannith, or at least they will once it becomes more or less public knowledge that you're working closely with Baron d'Cannith… yes, if I have to be." Leyla offered the smallest of smiles. "In fact, I was warned about you in particular, milord Regent."

Brian smiled and offered her a handshake. "I think we're going to get along fine, Lady Leyla."

"Just Leyla, please, Lord ir'Laborn," she said as she took his hand. "I've only a least 'mark, there's no need to stand on ceremony."

"Then please, just call me Brian."

"As you wish, Brian."

Once we'd finished with all the introductions, I asked her about borrowing or renting a workshop of some kind, and about her suggestions on where we might be able to start selling anything we made.

"The answer to both of those requests is Tradefair, I'd say," she replied, naming the market district in the Upper Wards that put the North Market district to shame.

"How's that?"

"If you weren't aware, the Tradefair Market is one of the most permissive in the city. One can simply walk up in the morning and purchase a seller's permit for a certain term, no licenses or other application required. They rely on the relatively high permit cost of one galifar per day to keep things to a certain standard."

Two sovereigns a day each, if we split it five ways. That shouldn't cut into our funds too much.

"For merchants who purchase weekly or monthly permits, there are facilities available on the edge of the market," she continued. "You can use them as storage, as workspaces, as a quieter and more private sales area, whatever you wish. They go for eight galifars per day for a monthly permit-holder, with your choice of size."

Hmm. That would bring our total spending to four galifars and change a day, each, which would be cutting it close until we went with Creilath on his next case.

"Do we have to pay upfront, or is it still paid per day?" Brian asked.

Dean nodded. "We don't have much seed funding to work with."

"It's still a daily fee. The longer permits are essentially a contract granting you additional access and guaranteeing you the same booth location if desired in exchange for your promising to sell there for a longer duration."

"That sounds doable," I said, and the others nodded agreement.

"How safe are these workrooms, exactly?" Brian asked. "Enough that we could leave things there overnight?"

"Much of their cost goes to hiring Kundarak warders for security," Leyla explained, "and if you choose a location next to the facilities Cannith rents, well, my House has invented all manner of ways to deter thieves that we would be happy to extend to your workspace."

We asked a few more questions to iron out the details, but in the end we agreed that this was probably the best option. It wouldn't be cheap, but it was fast and easy and would give us access to the kind of people who could afford some higher prices.

"We'll do it," I told Leyla.

"To Tradefair, then," she said, gesturing for us to follow her.

~*~*~

The workspace was very bare-bones, unfurnished except for one long and thin high table attached to the wall like we had in the chem labs at school and a smaller square table with three chairs around it.

But it was ours, now, and would be for the next month.

Now that we had specific plans, we sat down to start making lists of supplies we'd need. I could get a very basic spider silk loom set up with scrap wood, so I didn't need anything major to start. Chris was still working through his idea and didn't want to tell the rest of us what he was planning just yet, but he made a list of some generic tinkering supplies that he said he'd need regardless of what he was working on.

This market was much better-organized than the one by our inn, but it was still a market with people yelling out deals and trying to attract potential customers, so we decided that Dean would be our salesman. Between his background and his emotion sight he'd be the perfect one to identify the people most interested in what we were selling and persuading them to buy something.

Brian and Alec didn't have any jobs in particular. Brian didn't look too happy about that, standing around with his hands shoved in his pockets looking like he was itching for something to do, and we eventually decided that he could handle buying and transporting Chris's new tools, some extra furniture so we at least had a chair for everybody, and everything we'd need for our booth.

Alec didn't mind being superfluous at all, of course, but that was hardly fair to the rest of us. I put up with him leaning lazily against the wall for long enough, and when Leyla left to buy some of our supplies I went over to talk to him.

"Come on, Alec, you've got to do something to contribute-" I started.

"Gotcha covered," he said, waving a hand dismissively, and ambled over to the smaller table. When he got there he reached into his pockets and pulled out five small leather pouches, dropping them to the table with muted clinks.

The rest of us gathered around and opened them, to find that they were full of coins-around a hundred and twenty each, mostly sovereigns with some crowns and fewer galifars.

"Where did you get these?" Brian demanded, spilling out his pouch to start counting the coins.

"I nabbed them from the strongbox in the smugglers' office. The one I was 'having trouble opening'," he said, adding some sarcastic air quotes.

"You can't have, I would have noticed," I objected, but he just smirked.

"I'm pretty sure you were a little distracted while I was going through everything."

"You don't think the Watch will notice a discrepancy in their records?" Dean asked.

"And, what, you think they're going to suspect a bunch of nobles of debasing themselves to steal from some ruffians instead of guessing that one of the smugglers cooked the books and took some extra for himself?"

Alec had a point. It was still a very risky move that could have screwed us all over, though.

And Brian wasn't that distracting.

"However he got them and whatever the authorities think, the money's ours now," Brian said. "If all the pouches have roughly the same amounts, it looks like there's about ninety galifars here. Enough to cover most of the supplies Taylor and Chris need without us having to dip into the hotel fund after all."

Dean gave Brian a hard look, then sent a significant look in my direction. Then he sighed. "Fine. Telling Creilath or the Watch now would just go badly for us. But no more going behind our backs like this with something that could have consequences for the whole team, got it?" he told Alec sternly.

"Got it, mon capitaine."

~*~*~

By the time Leyla returned with the first of our supplies, the coins had been squirreled away and the pouches were back in Alec's pockets where they wouldn't be found.

As I started fitting wooden rods together for my loom, I reflected that while things had been looking up for us for a little while now-since we got to Zantashk, really, aside from the minor hiccup that was the battle with the drow-this was the first day where practically everything was going our way.

We had a big victory under our belts, one that had impressed the unflappable Creilath. We had confirmation that Merrix had something that could help him get us home. We had a plan to solve our financial problems, a place where we could work on that plan, and a local expert to assist us with it.

And with Alec's little indiscretion, we had the equivalant of an extra half-week's worth of hotel funds, just in case.

We finally had everything we'd need to eventually become financially independent of Corvin, of Creilath, even Merrix, and the breathing room we'd need to get things started.

With the loom assembled, I ordered all of the spiders within my range to congregate there and start weaving, ignoring Leyla's stricken expression at the tide of insects crawling through the doorway.

It was time to buckle down and get to work.

Author's Note

So far, THACo has gotten a pretty skewed idea of their own power level in comparison to the locals thanks to starting off in Xen'drik and running into relatively powerful friends and foes, but now they've finally run into what would be a reasonably tough challenge for a group of five low-level adventurers by Sharn standards… and steamrolled it in about three rounds because shards don't give a damn about level-appropriate encounters.

Watch out, Sharn, you don't know what's about to hit you.

On the money front, THACo clearly isn't going to be spending the whole arc scrambling for every last copper, as promised. Perhaps Creilath shouldn't have been quite so stingy in paying them-as one could probably guess, 40 gp apiece is nowhere near an even split of the payment he got for the smuggling case-if he and Corvin wanted to keep the team somewhat financially dependent on him for a while, but he can hardly try to stop them now without showing his hand.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

Toldark the dwarf cast the warm version of fire shield to roast Taylor's bugs. Malin the elf tried to use dispel magic to get rid of the magical darkness and what he thought was a summoned swarm, but, uh, a 6th-level sorcerer with no caster level bonuses ain't winning a dispel check against a shard any time soon. The thing Creilath threw to try to slow Toldark down was a tanglefoot bag. Merrix's agents used an item of sensitivity to psychic impressions to scan for the portal. Merrix's scanning device doesn't map to any existing spell, but combines flavor aspects of various spells: discern bloodline and know bloodline being able to tell you about someone's extraplanar ancestry, trace teleport letting you teleport somewhere using only some kind of residual Astral imprint, the various "get one-word answers to questions" spells, the various portal analysis spells that can tell and show you where portals lead, and so on. The idea that each plane has a certain detectable "signature" comes from the plane shift spell, which requires tuning forks of certain sizes, compositions, and frequencies to "resonate" with the right destination plane (or even layer within that plane), combined with the fact that Eberron outsiders can have multiple planes of origin (as discussed a bit here) compared to the Great Wheel where each type of outsider can be found on multiple Outer Planes but is actually native to only one. The Keeper of the Flame is able to cast 9th-level divine spells and is the only public figure in Khorvaire with that kind of divine mojo, so she is, indeed, where one would go if one needed a miracle . Going by the demographics rules, if one adjusts Sharn's population from the canonical-but-erroneous value of 200,000 to a value of 2.5 million in order to better match the stated district populations and expected population densities and such, and then one calculates the expected numbers of NPCs by the Eberron population-by-class-and-level distribution, Sharn actually does end up having an estimated 341,125 NPCs of the classes that would count as Tinkers, surprisingly close to Brockton Bay's population of around 350,000. I just thought that was kinda neat.

Last edited: Nov 2, 2022

Rule of Three 3.2.V

Several Minutes After Apparent Dusk Valigan's Personal Demiplane, Somewhere in the Astral Plane
Valigan Talaire

Today was our marriage anniversary. I spent it in seclusion.

Aldric and I were no strangers to mourning. We always commemorated the dates on which our homelands fell and our families were lost to us, whether we were currently in Sigil or on Toril or on an expedition or elsewhere, with a full day of prayer, meditation, and remembrance. This was, however, the first time I'd had to face such a day without him.

Every year we approached things differently; it would be disrespectful to mourn by rote, such that the memories would begin to blur together unless deliberately recalled. In happier years we went out into the world, often visiting the sites of our home cities to scry the distant past. Last year, I watched with wistful smiles as my great-great-grandneice celebrated her tenth nameday on Jhouram's beaches. She played with her young friends from the other noble families among the gentle ocean waves, waves that would not grow tall enough to obliterate the city for centuries yet to come.

In grimmer years we withdrew to our demiplane and turned inward, often quietly expressing our loss through some form of art. Seventeen years ago, on the most recent centennial of Netheril's fall, I took up a sculptor's chisel and carved scenes from my youth. Mother on her flagship, Father among his archives, Thirra at the Mulhorandi embassy, Belerin exploring some Imaskari ruins… it was painful to look upon their faces once again, but comforting as well.

This time, I felt that a bit of topiary would be in order. I sculpted the trees and hedges in the central garden into scenes honoring Aldric's life, surrounding myself with greenery in defiance of the lifeless sands that would have served as his final resting place had any fragment of his physical body remained after our battle with Dregoth (may his soul be devoured by a pack of barghests).

I disabled the manor's time acceleration for the duration, as I wanted to spend a full objective day with my thoughts, not rush through things so that I could resume pursuing my goals as if they were somehow more important than remembering my husband. I also forwent magical aid with the gardening, in order to perform the necessary labor purely with my own two hands.

Aspect would have said that I was getting back to our roots, or something similarly trite.

At day's end I stood and regarded my work: the central oak was carved into my husband's likeness, his arms outstretched toward the sun, toward his god; the outer hedges, sculpted into various scenes of him walking, laughing, playing his harp, dueling a dragon.

It was painful to look upon his face once again, but comforting as well.

~*~*~

10:30 am, Friday the 29th of April, 2011 CE

Stanford Physics and Astrophysics Building, Palo Alto, America, Earth Bet

After my day of remembrance I hadn't been all that talkative during the night's dreamwalking session with Elle. She'd quickly picked up on my mood, so we'd cut things short to let her spend the evening with her family while I spent the time alone with my thoughts.

Come morning, though, I awoke somehow feeling at once hollowed-out and refreshed, or at least refreshed enough to face the day's activities.

At precisely the appointed time I appeared outside the room in which Professor Susskind had just concluded a lecture, then waited for him to gather up his materials and for the last of the students to file out before knocking politely upon the doorframe.

He looked up at me, then glanced at his watch. "Ah, Valigan! Right on time," he said, speaking relatively quickly in an accent much closer to that of Boston or Albany than the accent heard most commonly in this region. He gestured for me to follow him as he strode out the door and headed down the hallway. "Am I pronouncing that right, by the way?"

Close enough. "You are."

"Didn't have any trouble finding the place, I hope?"

"None at all."

"Great. Now, Heterodyne said you were looking to meet with parahuman researchers, but I haven't published anything in that area, so if you don't mind me asking… why me? Planning to hit Stanford anyway and figured you might as well drop in while you're here?"

"Heterodyne spoke very highly of you, and I found myself intrigued. Your university didn't enter into things at all; I'm not familiar with Stanford, I'm afraid, nor the surrounding area."

"Oh really? Well, lemme tell you, if you're interested in high-energy physics you've got to check out SLAC up in Menlo Park while you're here, not to mention…."

~*~*~

We chatted amiably on the way to the professor's office, discussing in broad strokes his main research interests, where those fields intersected with the parahuman sciences, the reasons for my visit, my own research interests, and so forth.

I even confided to him that I was a visitor from another world-something I had not done for Heterodyne and Glazier, given that Dragon had apparently not seen fit to share that with them-so that he would have the appropriate context for my inquiries, and so he would be aware that I didn't have as strong a grasp on English technical terminology as I might like.

He was quite understanding when I told him that my primary goal was to essentially go over the absolute basics of Earth Bet's understanding of physics with a qualified expert so that I could judge how the material found in the texts aimed at laypersons compared with the current state-of-the-art.

Normally I would have hesitated to approach such a distinguished researcher with such elementary questions, but in her message confirming our meeting Heterodyne had briefly explained that Susskind was highly involved in outreach programs to bring knowledge to the general public in interviews and internet videos and other forms of mass media, and so he would likely be more than happy to aid me.

"Since I don't know what kind of background you have," the professor said once we reached his office and took our seats, "why don't you pick something you're interested in and we can try to calibrate things based on what you know and I know about it?"

"An excellent suggestion, as there's one particular topic that has perplexed me since reading my very first physics text on this world. Namely, that the explanation given for how electricity is supposed to work was complete nonsense, yet clearly you've been able to create quite complex electronics based on this understanding and so it must be usable somehow. I assume that the explanation I read was simplified to the point of incorrectness, or that there is a critical difference in terminology somewhere, or that something else of the sort is at play."

"Okay, and what part of the explanation makes you think it's nonsense?"

"To start, the assertion that electricity is composed of discrete 'electron' particles jumping from one 'atom' to another, as though atoms could be subdivided and as though lightning atoms could not exist in isolation within a larger mass."

Professor Susskind nodded slowly. "Well, one of those is easy enough to clear up." He turned and retrieved a book from the shelf behind his desk. "How familiar are you with quantum physics? Or, actually, are you familiar with the idea of quantum physics at all?"

"Not as a specific sub-field of the physical sciences, no, though I'm of course familiar with the fact that all apparently-continuous phenomena are quantized at some level."

"All right, good." He opened the book to a particular page and turned it to face me. "So, first, electrons don't always act as particles. In fact, most of the time at the quantum level…."

~*~*~

The following half-hour was extremely edifying, as Professor Susskind explained in moderate detail the flaws in the physical models commonly taught to the youth of Earth Bet and described the basics of what he termed "quantum mechanics" and the "standard model" of particle physics. He began quite simply, but when it became clear that I was well-educated in the physical sciences and was familiar with many topics generally considered obscure or advanced on this world, we began to cover ground much more quickly.

There was of course the usual quibbling over the mentions of magic and other terms that the locals disliked, but the professor, being a man of science, quickly accepted that though our definitions were different we were both speaking of real things which we had sufficient cause to believe.

He was actually excited to hear my perspective on the subject. As he put it: "When two strongly-supported theories clash, that's where the real progress is made."

The model that he described was quite bizarre, in my view. The initial model about which I'd read had been strange enough, with matter being claimed to consist of clumps of particles surrounded by vast empty spaces, rather than being comparatively uniform with vacuum atoms being just one type among many; the texts listing over a hundred "elements" that weren't elemental at all, but merely combinations of the six true elements and energies; and more.

To this the professor added such gems as the "speed of light" serving as a maximum possible speed within this universe, and the fact that "mass contraction" would occur when accelerating close to it. Which could very well be the case elsewhere, I supposed, as the existence of teleportation simply meant that one was unlikely to ever encounter such a phenomenon.

Most surprising of all was the fact that in this universe spontaneous elemental transmutation (which he termed the spontaneous emission of radiation) wasn't limited to highly chaos-aspected regions of space, but instead could happen anywhere regardless of local conditions, and certain compounds constantly auto-transmuted in this way!

At first glance, I couldn't see any plausible way to map these observations onto the physical principles with which I was familiar.

When he started sketching diagrams of what he called electron "orbitals" and their structure, however, the explanation started to coincide with normal physics.

"Ah," I said with a smile, "now we're reaching more familiar territory."

His pen slowed to a halt; this was the first time I hadn't asked for clarification on a new point. "How so?" he asked.

"First, the sort of energy cloud formed by those orbitals is much closer to how one would observe masses of lightning 'in the wild' than the simplified model of spherical particles. Second, the orbital structures resemble projections of hypergeometric forms into three-dimensional space, a well-studied phenomenon in the arcane sciences."

In fact, the diagrams' numerical pattern closely resembled that of the valences of stable energy levels for spells and powers-one stable configuration at the first tier or s orbital, three stable configurations at the second or p orbital, five at the third d orbital, and seven at the fourth f orbital-though the forms themselves were nothing alike.

"And third, the Unity of Rings comes into play with these higher structures, especially these two," I added, gesturing at the electron subshells labeled d, z 2 and f, z 3 .

"The 'unity of rings'?" the professor echoed.

"Yes, one of the three fundamental principles underlying and governing the structure of reality. You might know it by another name."

He ran a hand thoughtfully through his beard. "Can't say that I do," he said.

A few follow-up questions confirmed that the local scientists were completely unaware of the Three Principles, under any name, and I was greatly taken aback. To have achieved such a comprehensive understanding of the local reality but completely bypassed the most fundamental principles….

"Tell me if these sound familiar, then," I said. "The first principle is the Rule of Three. Stated generally, things tend to come in threes both at the physical and the metaphysical level, taking the form of two opposing things with a third at the midpoint, a monotonically increasing sequence, or a set of three that cannot be ordered and exist in a 'triangle' of sorts with respect to one another. You've shown this already with your standard model: three particles in what you call the 'atom,' protons and neutrons and electrons; three fundamental forces, gravity and strong and weak-electromagnetic; and so on."

"Hmm. And three colors, three particle generations…." he murmured to himself.

"Pardon?"

He waved dismissively. "I'll come back to it when we get to quarks. What's the next one?"

"The Unity of Rings states that the circle or ring is the most fundamental shape. For instance, movement through time most naturally falls into cycles, circular standing waves are the most stable form of motion, and radial symmetry is the most common type in unliving matter and even quite common in certain kinds of living beings. The orbitals I indicated possess explicit rings of energy around their midpoint, and the others consist of rings of energy 'wedges' organized radially."

The professor's aura was dotted with consideration and interest at the mention of standing waves, but he didn't say anything when I paused to let him speak.

"The final Principle is the Center of All, which simultaneously states that there is no 'center' or 'specialness' to any given region of the multiverse and also that there can be any number of such centers. Without this world having easy access to other planes I couldn't give many relatable examples, but it is this Principle which, among other things, gives rise to the invariance of physical laws across space and time."

Susskind nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "You said 'what you call the atom' in your explanation," he said. "I'm guessing that's because the definition of 'atom' you picked up means the smallest and most indivisible particle, and it wouldn't make sense that atoms are made up of smaller particles?"

"Precisely."

He shrugged. "It's an accident of history; the atom got its name before the smaller particles composing it were discovered. Protons, neutrons, and electrons are actually made of quarks. Here, if you want to flip to chapter seven…."

The explanation continued, with the professor explaining the "sub-atomic" particles called quarks, how they came in three colors, how there were six different kinds arranged into three pairs. The explanation was perfectly consistent with the Three Principles, and yet no matter how deeply we delved it still didn't match the physics with which I was familiar.

"And these are the smallest particles that you believe exist?" I asked with a frown when his explanation concluded.

"The smallest ones we've discovered, yes-"

"How large are they?"

"Let's see…." Susskind consulted his computer. "On the order of ten to the minux sixteenth centimeters."

I performed a bit of mental arithmetic, then shook my head. "Still far too large compared to true fundamental particles."

He leaned forward, an interesting expression on his face. "Would you say that ten to the minus thirty-third centimeters is in the right ballpark for, say, the perimeter of one of those particles?"

"Why, yes." Intriguing. "How did you know?"

"We're getting into what I'd consider familiar territory," he said. He reached for another book, this one titled The Holographic Universe: An Introduction to Black Holes, Information, and the String Theory Revolution; Susskind himself was listed as one of the authors.

"Now, let's talk strings and symmetry."

~*~*~

At last.

At last everything was making sense.

This universe did function according to all of the standard physical laws, things simply tended to… "clump" together, for lack of a more refined term, at scales above the atomic in this particular universe, and also to favor spheres (and irregular variations thereupon) over rings.

What sages of the Great Wheel termed atoms, Earth Bet scientists termed supersymmetric strings, each "vibrating" along a unique dimensional axis. "Electrons" were (comparatively) massive molecules composed of atoms of air, fire, and positive energy, such that they had considerable electric charge but were not in fact congruent with lightning atoms, as I had first believed.

"Atoms" were strangely stable arrangements of all six fundamental types of matter, with protons having a composition similar to that of electrons and neutrons containing primarily earth, water, and positive energy atoms. The end result was that the entire assemblage was elementally "neutral" by default, with a slight excess of positive energy.

An "element" was an atom containing a fixed number of protons, effectively quantizing what would not naturally be quantized. Only one hundred twenty such elements were known to scientists at present, and substances not composed of integral numbers of protons were believed not to exist.

I briefly wondered what Armsmaster must have thought when he analyzed 38-412's armor and found that neither mithral nor adamantine conformed to this supposedly-fundamental elemental property.

This entire "clumping" phenomenon was highly unusual compared to the much less rigid atomic behavior elsewhere in the Material Plane, and the reason for this variation from the norm was not known to local scientists. Why would it be, when they were unaware that their universe was deviating from the norm in the first place?

The difference was as though one went to shuffle a deck of Talis cards by tossing the whole deck into the air, and instead of finding that they landed scattered relatively uniformly across the floor and forced you to collect them into piles, as one would expect, the cards instead arranged themselves into neat four-card piles containing one card of each of the four suits every single time.

You could still use the cards to play Talis afterward in either case, but the latter scenario clearly indicated the presence of something incredibly strange.

Susskind was somewhat skeptical once I'd explained my thoughts to him. "What I want to know," he said, "is if the physical laws are so different here compared to the world you came from, how do you…?"

"Exist at all on this world?" I asked, smiling wryly. "The 'translation' between physical laws occurs automatically and transparently when one shifts from one plane of existence to another using the proper power or device, or when one moves between universes." When one travels through a crystal sphere, specifically, but we hadn't yet touched upon the study of Material Plane cosmology.

"I've traveled to several worlds before where matter is composed of a different number of elements than four-" well, not really, the three or five or six or more "elements" of such worlds were, in mathematical terms, simply a different set of basis vectors that could be used to describe the same four-element vector space, but one could call them elements for the sake of argument "-and it's impossible to discern the difference in one's physical makeup after arriving on that world without extremely specialized scientific apparatus that can examine things at an atomic level.

"In fact," I continued, "the Outer Planes are planes of spiritual and conceptual reality, not physical reality at all. Visiting one causes one's entire body to be 'transposed' to an entirely different set of the twenty-seven dimensions that comprise the multiverse, none of which overlap with the dimensions of the physical world, and one can't even feel the difference."

A hint of cynicism entered his aura at the mention of a "spiritual reality," but when I mentioned the number of dimensions it vanished in favor of intense curiosity and a hint of vindication. "Twenty-seven, you said?"

"Yes. The three 'normal' dimensions are merely three of the nine physical dimensions, with nine conceptual and nine essential dimensions besides, along which can be found the other planes of existence. Three times three times three dimensions, as predicted and mandated by the Rule of Three. Why?"

Instead of answering, the professor began typing away at his computer. Moments later, he tilted his monitor so I could read what was on the screen: a research paper titled Bosonic M Theory, once again co-authored by Susskind, published ten years before.

The paper's abstract explained the sense of vindication in his aura:

We conjecture that there exists a strong coupling limit of bosonic string theory which is related to the 26 dimensional theory in the same way that 11 dimensional M theory is related to superstring theory. More precisely, we believe that bosonic string theory is the compactification on a line interval of a 27 dimensional theory whose low energy limit contains gravity and a three-form potential. The line interval becomes infinite in the strong coupling limit, and this may provide a stable ground state of the theory. We discuss some of the consequences of this conjecture.

The paper was riddled with terms and notation with which I was wholly unfamiliar, but Professor Susskind stepped me through everything, and with every additional paragraph he explained my amazement and admiration grew.

The model he described was still far from a completely accurate model of reality, but it came vastly closer to the truth than I had any reason to expect out of a scientist on a world that I had initially dismissed as backwards due to its ignorance of magical theory.

Not only that, it discussed concepts that even the most learned wizards often failed to grasp in their first few centuries of life… and he and his co-author had come to this conclusion purely on their own, without the benefit of firsthand experience of other planes of existence, divinations or devices that would allow them to directly examine the structure of reality, or answers handed down from a deity of knowledge.

Most importantly, among the concepts he explained was that of "compactified" dimensions such as those in a Calabi-Yau manifold. Such dimensions were not physically detectable, but had been mathematically proven to exist despite being "curled up" into undetectability… which happened to almost perfectly describe the ring-like dimensional phenomenon one would observe if, say, the local physical reality had been cut off from certain other planes and travel along those dimensions was impeded.

I asked him if the papers I could see inside the cabinet on the other side of his office were also on the subject of string theory; some of them were, he said, a few written by him but most by his colleagues and students, while the rest were on related topics such as "quantum gravity" or "relativity."

Receiving permission to read them, I promptly absorbed their entire contents with Scholar's Touch before beginning to question the professor on all of the unfamiliar concepts.

These papers contained many different theories and many different physical models, but all of them asymptotically approached the truth from different perspectives, and all were similarly written without outside aid.

I stood in absolute awe of this magnificent achievement.

Yes, their theories were all flawed to a greater or lesser degree; yes, they had a long way to go in their understanding of their universe; yes, there were many topics regarding which they were completely ignorant and upon which the papers did not even begin to touch.

But to come so close to the truth without any of the tools and resources that any serious scholar would take for granted, and after only having discovered quantum mechanics less than two unenhanced human lifetimes ago… !

"Professor," I said, "you and your colleagues in this field might possibly be some of the most brilliant humans I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. Were you to take up the study of the arcane sciences, I have no doubt that within a decade at most your names would be found in textbooks the multiverse over."

Whether he actually had the aptitude for spellcasting himself remained an open question, of course; not all composing prodigies make for virtuoso musicians, and vice versa, and skill in either area is no guarantee of any talent for the bardic arts. In the area of pure theory, though? Given a few introductory texts on arcane mechanics and a few years of research, the man could indisputably make his mark on the field.

"Thank you?" he replied, obviously unsure of the cause for my admiration. "But I can't take all the credit myself, I've collaborated with a lot of people over the years. And of course there are plenty of Thinkers out there now who could easily-"

"Oh, stuff and nonsense," I said with a negligent wave. "They cheat their way to knowledge, the lot of them. Any serious wizard who earned his knowledge and skill through effort and study could outdo them when he reached the same level of power, as you could easily demonstrate."

"… What exactly are you saying?" he asked.

are you saying? Aspect echoed pointedly.

I paused. Events thus far had transpired with… considerably less forbearance and discretion on my part than I would have hoped, and the Founders were sure to be disappointed with the state of things already. Giving some budding sorcerers a few pointers was one thing; training up a wizard from first principles, quite another.

Still, it would be a loss of unfathomable proportions if such minds as Professor Susskind-and, I suspected, many of the world's leading minds in other disciplines-were left to languish in ignorance of what sages the multiverse over would consider common knowledge. What this world's scholars could accomplish given even a handful of texts out of Oghma's or Boccob's divine libraries, I could only begin to imagine.

And, as always, there was the Second Precept to consider.

"If, hypothetically," I began, "I were to, at some point, decide to gather some of this world's inhabitants and instruct them in the science of wizardry, the study of which would allow them to work magic without needing to be a parahuman, would you perhaps be interested in participating in such a program?"

"That's impossible," he objected immediately. His tone was utterly certain; his aura was considerably more conflicted.

"Assuming it isn't. Would you be interested?"

He was silent for some time. "Honestly… I'm not sure," he said at last. "There's a reason I stuck with theoretical physics over para-physics for all these years, and this dog's getting a little old to start learning a lot of new tricks. I'd really have to think about it. I know a few grad students that might be interested, though."

"I'm not making any guarantees, you understand," I cautioned him. "It may happen weeks from now, years from now, or not at all. I was merely curious. Still, if you wouldn't mind giving me your contact information and that of your potentially-interested students, I'd appreciate it."

We continued to talk for a while after that, speaking of D-branes and Transitive Planes, tachyons and the three temporal dimensions, and even the high-energy radiance particles used by Heterodyne's technology that had been the initial topic about which I'd wished to speak with him.

Susskind had just started in on a fascinating explanation of antimatter-a type of matter that was partly composed of negative energy rather than positive energy and so would react explosively when it came into contact with normal matter, in much the same way that unalloyed positive energy and negative energy would react with one another-when an alarm on his phone informed him that it was almost time for him to teach his next class.

The professor and I reluctantly went our separate ways, and I promised that we could establish a correspondence once I sorted out the matter of a digital address for myself.

~*~*~

3:38 pm, Friday the 29th of April, 2011 CE

Pinnacle Tower, Redwood City, America, Earth Bet

Aspect sent cheerily as I was shown to the viewing area.

Counting Heterodyne and Glazier, I'd spoken with sixteen artificers and technomantic capes in the three days before my anniversary, and not one had possessed the sort of powers I'd sought.

I was beginning to fear that my search would be in vain. If such powers were so difficult to find despite the fact that parahumans had arisen long after this world invented computer technology, they may not actually exist at all.

The only reason I hadn't yet given up was that I'd never before encountered a world where some novel technology and its accompanying magic had coexisted for less than a span of several centuries, so I had no idea how rare technomantic spells should be after a mere three decades.

Perhaps such an extensive search was to be expected, and hopefully Pinnacle's headquarters would be the final stop on that search.

Pinnacle was a mercenary team whose territory encompassed most of the San Francisco Peninsula, though they were said to rarely venture into San Francisco or San Jose proper so as not to infringe on the territories of either city's hero teams.

Or, rather, I should say that they were a "corporate team" of heroes, the term "mercenary" apparently having villainous connotations for whatever reason.

They clearly had considerable funds at their disposal, as the team consisted of only eight heroes yet the building that served as their base of operations was more impressive than several of the Protectorate bases I'd recently visited in smaller cities such as Santa Ana or Colorado Springs.

None of those eight heroes was whom I'd come to see, however. In fact, I'd exhausted all of the heroic names on Dragon's list… and I didn't overly begrudge her the fact that she'd sorted the list of capes first by affiliation and then by usefulness to me, even though meeting the last few Protectorate-affiliated heroes had been almost a complete waste of time aside from giving me the chance to trade favors and goods for large amounts of additional local currency, as I was not yet confident in my ability to flawlessly conjure more of the promissory notes myself.

Instead, I was here to meet a Neutral cape by the name of Decker, a rogue who worked part-time with Pinnacle as their expert in all things technological to administer their website, handle their digital finances, and the like. Most importantly, he oversaw the "live-streaming" of the team's combat encounters (a common trend for both heroes and villains in this area, apparently) by, as Dragon's description had put it, "using his technopathic Thinker/Striker power to edit the video and audio feeds on the fly."

The team offered tours of their facilities much as the PRT did, so this afternoon I'd joined a handful of mundane tourists in an observation room where we could watch Decker carry out his duties in an adjoining room, with microphones and speakers installed on either side of the soundproof glass wall dividing the two spaces allowing communication in both directions.

The cape himself wore no costume, only a featureless full-face mask with a gold-circuitry-on-green design setting him apart from the tourists in short-sleeved shirts and jeans. He had no need for a costume, really, as his nature as a cape was made clear by the many tendrils of a glossy black material that extruded from the skin on his hands, arms, and neck.

Each tendril plugged into one of the many sockets in the panoply of computer equipment surrounding him, from a rack of twenty monitors arranged in a four-by-five grid to four desktop computers to an array of microphones to a variety of additional devices of uncertain function.

He waved to some of the small children in the group, then turned his attention to his screens. The space around one of his tendrils flickered with a very faint magical aura that I did not recognize, and suddenly the speakers on both sides of the glass fell silent.

Which meant that he'd just manipulated electronic devices purely through the use of magic.

I told Aspect. This was extremely promising.

As my senses could penetrate the soundproof barrier, I could still hear Decker as he casually surveyed the team: " Decker to all capes, stand by for sound check. Majesty, mic check… all green. Blue Ribbon, mic check… all green. Zenith, mic check… for god's sake, Zenith, how many times have I told you to keep your damn shield off until we're done with setup? Right. Yep. Any day now… yes, thank you, all green. Okay, Promontory, mic check…."

With each confirmation, two of the screens in front of Decker lit up: one depicting the hero in question from above and to one side, the other showing a view that appeared to originate from the cape's helmet. He squinted at one of the screens, and with a tiny flicker of magical energy around a different tendril the external view of the cape shifted slightly closer.

Once he'd finished his procedure, the four screens that did not currently display a hero's external or first-person viewpoint sprang to life. One was a plain blue background that proclaimed Stream begins in 00:00:05! in simple white text, and a second screen was filled with a large amount of rapidly-updating text that constantly moved up the screen accompanied by numerous tiny images. The other two screens held all manner of complicated geometric displays with labels such as "Network Latency" and "Stereo Balance" and similar.

Decker reactivated the speakers in the observation room, allowing the onlookers to hear both the rogue and the Pinnacle heroes but preventing the microphones from picking up the tourists' chatter.

"Okay everybody," he said, as the white 05 on the bottom-left screen changed to 04 and then to 03, "we're going live in three… two… one…."

A final manifestation from Decker caused a small line of text to appear on each screen indicating that the image was being relayed to viewers elsewhere, and a boisterous male voice suddenly emerged from the speakers: "Ladies aaaand gentlemen," it boomed, "welcome to today's Pinnacle livestream! This is Majesty, your favorite team leader!"

On Majesty's screen, a large bearded man in a suit of gold and royal blue armor-and no helmet or mask, which I found odd given the local custom-waved to whomever or whatever was recording him, and the bottom-left screen changed to show the same image; this, then, was presumably the screen that determined what the remote observers could see.

"And this is Blue Ribbon, your favorite second-in-command!" added a cheery female voice, belonging to a cape in an azure and royal blue costume that was similar in design to Velocity's. Visible on the screen just to the right of Majesty's, and on the bottom-left screen as well, she offered a jaunty salute; a fan of short blades connected to her waist by yards-long ribbons of woven silk rose into the air to mimic her gesture.

"We're coming to you from San Bruno, where a little birdie told us that the Speed Demons are about to try for another hit on an armored car as it heads down 101." A line of very small text appeared briefly on the "live" screen to inform viewers that one Wells Fargo had hired the team to safeguard his or her valuables from theft.

The two heroes paused in their banter momentarily, giving Decker time to place text and symbols around each cape giving their names and various statistics: tenure with the team, total villains captured, current placement in the San Francisco Bay Area hero rankings, and the like.

"Now, would you say that's a great idea, Blue?" Majesty asked in mock curiosity.

"No, I would not, Majesty," Blue Ribbon replied with affected solemnity.

"And why's that, Blue?"

"Because we kicked their butts the last three times they tried it!"

"That's right, Blue! Our devoted fans will recall that the Speed Demons lost Gold Rush on their last attempt when your favorite tank Galatea knocked him right off the 92 overpass, and they lost Blue Streak two jobs before that when she underestimated your favorite healer and Halcyon hit her with a hearty haymaker!" Images of the named capes appeared on the screen, each surrounded by a variety of statistics and covered by a red X. "Those two were the team's heavy hitters, so the remaining Speed Demons are probably going to have a devil of a time getting into the car this time around!"

"Don't forget, ladies and gentlemen, we still have a few 'cursing up a Blue Streak' T-shirts left in our online store, so get them while you can!"

"And for any new viewers, welcome to the Pinnacle of heroic entertainment and remember to like and subscribe! Now, unless my eyes deceive me, I do believe that's the armored car heading up the on ramp, and the Speed Demons won't be far behind. Positions, everyone!"

~*~*~

Twenty minutes later, cheers rung out in the observation room: Pinnacle had successfully foiled the attempted robbery, capturing one of the Speed Demons and allowing the vehicle to make its escape.

Decker slumped back into his chair and withdrew his tendrils from his computers; the glossy black appendages were rapidly absorbed into his skin, and in moments there was no indication that they had ever been present.

The man's aura was awash with satisfaction and pride at the heroes' success, and he gave his chair a jubilant little spin to face his audience. "So, kids, what'd everybody think?"

The children present cried out their opinions in a great clamor: "That was awesome!" "Zenith was hella cool!" "Aw, why didn't they capture Whiteout too?" "That was scary!" "Flawless is real pretty!"

Decker crossed his arms in a mock pout, exaggerating his gesture to make up for the fact that his mask completely concealed his expression. "Oh, sure, you come here to see the IT guy work his magic, and you still give all the compliments to the heroes. I see how it is," he grumbled good-naturedly, eliciting some appreciative chuckles from the adults.

"Seriously, though, I hope you all had fun today getting a little look behind the curtain of how a hero team is run. For anyone who has a favorite hero on the team, there are T-shirts for all of them down in the gift shop, and they just got a fresh shipment of Galatea and Flawless plushies. The stairway to the lobby is down that hall to the left. Have a great rest of your day!"

I waited a few moments for the onlookers to leave, then nodded politely to Decker. "Are you ready for our appointment?"

"Our…? Oh! Sorry, I wasn't expecting an unmasked cape. Yes, come on in; door's out in the hallway." He gestured to the door to his recording room, but I rendered myself briefly incorporeal and stepped through the glass.

"That works too," he said. Indicating my lack of a mask, he said, "So, another Changer, I'm guessing?"

"Another?"

"Yeah. Majesty's not an open cape, he just has a power that lets him do a bit of cosmetic shapeshifting. He doesn't wear a mask because that's not his face on the livestream and the lack of a helmet polls better with the fans."

Decker turned and began deactivating the equipment on his desk. "There are a couple of other capes around here like that," he added, his aura flickering with a strange mix of fondness and distaste at the mention; he obviously bore some conflicted feelings where those capes were concerned. "They usually wear dinky little domino masks so it looks like they don't care about their identities, but you're not actually seeing much of their real faces so it's pretty safe."

"I see. To answer your question, no, I don't conceal my features behind alterations or illusions, but I could if I so desired. And that's interesting to know, about Majesty; I'm not familiar with Pinnacle, and as I'd come to see you and not them, I didn't take the time to research their powers."

Amusement shaded his aura. "What, checking the wiki on your way in was too much effort?"

"Too much effort, no… but inconvenient, yes, given my current capabilities. That's the matter about which I hoped to speak with you, in fact, as your powers seem as though they would perfectly fit my current needs."

Decker paused and turned to face me. "Dragon said you wanted to talk to me about my powers, but now it's kinda sounding like you want me to use them for something, and not in a way that involves a steady paycheck."

While he spoke, he leaned casually against his desk, and a tiny black tendril extended from his wrist to connect with one of the still-activated desktop computers. "You know I'm a rogue, right? No flashy costume, no fighting, nada?"

"I'm aware. I came here merely to study your powers, as Dragon said. A demonstration and a discussion would be appreciated, but not strictly necessary."

Concern trickled into his aura and he manifested something on or through his tendril, though he kept his tone light. "This isn't the kind of discussion that ends in an offer I can't refuse, is it?"

"Of course not. I bear you no ill will." I frowned. "I've met with over a dozen other capes for a similar purpose under similar circumstances, and none of them were at all concerned about the arrangements, as you appear to be. Why the apprehension?"

"Let me guess, you and all the other capes you talked to are from the East Coast and haven't heard of the Elite before?"

"I hadn't heard of them, no," I admitted. None of the research papers I'd read in Brockton Bay or Boston had mentioned them, but from Decker's tone they were relatively well-known.

I found it endlessly frustrating that so much of this world's important information was held within the confines of the internet, rather than in proper books. Dhinnilith's citymind had contained a wealth of knowledge on countless topics, certainly, but its creation hadn't meant that bookbinders and archivists had suddenly stopped writing new texts and left foreigners unable to access any information in the city.

If Decker cooperated, though, that wouldn't be an obstacle for me for much longer.

"Figures. Long story short, the Elite's basically the cape mafia. They've got a stranglehold on organized crime up and down the West Coast and they don't like any rogues operating in any of 'their' cities without working for them, so they're constantly trying to persuade us to join up." His grim expression made it clear what kind of persuasion this organization preferred to employ.

"The Bay's one of America's few hubs for rogue Tinkers, so we can collectively tell the Elite to fuck right off with the hard sell if they don't want to mess with their cash cow. Plus, Watchdog is based up in SF, so, y'know. But the Elite never stops with the soft sell, so when an overly-friendly cape who doesn't care whether I see his face walks up and starts talking about my powers 'fitting his needs'…."

He shrugged. "You have Dragon's endorsement, but I can't be too careful. Even she can't track everyone with Elite connections."

Ah. Yes, I could see how he might draw the conclusions that he had.

"My apologies for giving you that impression. You have my word that I am in no way associated with the Elite."

"I'm going to need a little more than your word."

"Certainly. Before we continue," I said, gesturing to his wrist, "if I could have your assurances that you are not recording our conversation…?"

He grimaced, and the tendril retracted. "Good eyes. No, I was just letting a friend know where I was in case I happened to disappear after our chat."

"Then let me be perfectly candid: I hail from a different world, I am in need of powers such as the ones you've displayed today that would let me directly interact with this world's technology, I'm capable of learning such powers from a willing parahuman, I'm prepared to compensate you quite generously if you'd allow me to acquire your powers, and I will have no need to further interact with you once our business is concluded."

He stared at me for a moment, incredulity filling his aura, then burst out in raucous laughter. Laughter that trailed off awkwardly as I failed to join him.

"Okay, that's… that wasn't what I was expecting to hear. Other Earth stuff aside, if that's true, why wouldn't Dragon tell me you were a power-copying Trump upfront? She just said you were a Tinker-Thinker combo platter who was doing power research."

"Because she is not currently aware that I can copy the powers that I study, and I would greatly prefer to keep things that way."

"Ahhh. Yeah, that tracks." His aura tinted toward contemplation and tentative acceptance. "And I tried to check up on you beforehand, and your not being from around here would explain the total lack of internet presence, I guess."

He pondered for a few more moments, then: "All right, sure, you can copy them, on two conditions. One, you promise me that no one's going to be able to figure out you got those powers from me if you go try to hack the feds, or whatever."

"You have my word."

"Cool. And two, I want…." Greed and pragmatism briefly warred in his aura. "Let's say thirty kay, in cash, upfront."

After several days spent bartering for favors, such a simple transaction was refreshingly straightforward. "Done," I said, conjuring a canvas bag and depositing into it the appropriate amount of local currency from my extradimensional storage.

Decker glanced into the bag, then squinted suspiciously at me. "This is real? Not generated matter or a hardlight hologram?"

"It's real," I confirmed. I reached out to tap his watch and draw it into storage with one hand, then a moment later withdrew it again with my other hand. "It was merely stored extradimensionally."

He returned his watch to his wrist and accepted the bag, his objections satisfied. "Okay, so… how do we do this?"

I silently extended my hand, he grasped it, and-

Oh, it was glorious.

There were fourteen technomantic spells in his repertoire, allowing him to manipulate computers in all manner of ways. Reading and writing and changing data, activating and deactivating electronic devices, connecting remotely to phones and computers… even one spell that would allow him to teleport via electronic connections, though that thoughtform was dim and inaccessible.

I gently extracted copies of all fourteen thoughtforms from his mind. Just a few objective days of meditation to affix them in my repertoire and finally, finally, I would have most of the capabilities I'd sought.

My attention was then drawn by the other spells he knew, and I took a metaphorical look around.

Unlike those of most capes, the spells in his repertoire revolved around multiple foci, rather than just one. Where Facet and Battery knew spells and powers of all valences but had proportionally few thoughtforms accessible to them, Decker's repertoire consisted almost entirely of bright accessible thoughtforms that were of the weaker valences, trading strength for breadth-and where those two capes' foci were distinct internally but still similar enough that they could be mistaken for a single broad focus to onlookers, Decker's foci were far too divergent for that.

He probably hadn't gained his powers through consumption of a vial, then, unless there was considerably more variance between capes of that sort than between those of the other type. Which would therefore make him a third type of cape, lying somewhere between the two extremes that I'd thus far observed. Quite fascinating.

"You're more than just a technopath, I see," I told him as I withdrew.

"Wait, that was it?"

"Indeed."

"Huh. For a year's rent, I was expecting something a lot more… invasive. Anyway, yeah, I'm a cluster cape, which if you're not familiar basically means that I have multiple powers that I share a version of with some other capes," he explained, the odd mix of fondness and distaste briefly returning to his aura at the mention of the others. "I've got the neural interface power you saw, plus a Tinker power for building computer interfaces, a power for understanding large-scale systems and networks, and a kind of wire-fu power that's hard to explain."

Ah, so that's what the papers had meant by a mosaic power expression. Having seen Decker's repertoire, the term certainly fit.

"But I don't really spread the other powers around," Decker continued, "so since I'm not going to mention your secret power to anyone-"

"I won't tell a soul, you have my word."

"Good. Well, if that's it…?"

"Actually, before I go, would you happen to know any other capes in the area with similar powers?"

"Mmmaybe. You offering a finder's fee?"

I withdrew another thousand dollars from storage and displayed it to him.

"Awesome. You have any issues dealing with capes that people kinda sorta consider villains but not really?"

"Not at all."

"You heard of the Gray Hats?"

"I have not." They hadn't been on Dragon's list, so clearly she considered them strictly villainous.

"Cool." The rogue extruded a tendril once more and brought up a web page displaying information about the six capes on the team.

"Airgap and Man in the Middle definitely have the kind of powers you want. Phisherman, definitely not," he explained while I read over the page. "Not sure about the others, I haven't worked with them before. You need me to put you in touch, or can you do it?"

"It takes me some time to internalize new powers, so if you wouldn't mind…?"

"No problemo." He withdrew a phone from his pocket and extended a tendril into its port. The screen lit up, and a moment later a muffled voice offered a greeting through the phone's speaker.

"Yo, Sudocode!" Decker said. "How'd you like to make some really easy money?"

~*~*~

3:41 pm, Tuesday the 3rd of May, 2011 CE

Outside the Hillsdale Library, San Mateo, America, Earth Bet

After three solid objective days of meditation, I emerged from a gate feeling more than eager to try out some of the dozens of new technomantic and technopathic powers in my repertoire.

First, an exceedingly simple test: I manifested the Relay Text power targeting Aegis (or rather the electronic device of his that was closest to hand) and sent,

Having reached the semantic limit of that power, I manifested it again to add,

I then manifested the Intercept Text power to await a response.

When meeting with the Gray Hats, Man in the Middle had explained the logic behind the generation and assignment of phone numbers. Certain numbers were considered invalid for various reasons, including any numbers using the 100 area code or 555 prefix, so by choosing that number as the target of my power I could guarantee that it would not intercept any messages Aegis intended for another recipient.

A few minutes later, I heard a mental chime much like that produced by the Alarm spell, and a sequence of text appeared in my mind's eye:

Thx, gtk. U shd prolly also txt AM, wanted to tty abt sth.

Gods above and between. And here I'd thought Bakuda's communication style had been abhorrent.

Aspect snidely opined.

A few seconds later, I received another message:

S ry, forgot ur prolly new to this. Flying to hq atm, 1sec.

And then another a minute after that:

Thanks for giving me your number. You should send it to Armsmaster too, he wanted to talk to you about something and asked me to pass that along if you got in touch.

He hadn't given me a means of contacting Armsmaster, presumably expecting that we'd already exchanged such details, but fortunately I didn't need one. I sent Armsmaster a message practically identical to the one I'd sent Aegis, and within moments received a reply:

How did you get access to my helmet HUD?

I see.

Yes, two things. First, I wanted to apologize for what I said when we last spoke.
It was said in the heat of the moment, it wasn't fair to you, it was incredibly unprofessional of me, and I'm sorry.

I honestly hadn't given his statements much weight; I could hardly begrudge someone acting thoughtlessly out of anger, given my own actions against the Empire capes. Still, I appreciated the attempt to make amends.

I assured him.

Thank you. Second, about your drone.
Were you planning to come retrieve it at some point?

I sent.

Good to know.

I followed that with a warning about Banshee's likely presence in Brockton Bay (not disclosing that Accord had been my source, for obvious reasons), then answered a few of Armsmaster's questions, both about Banshee and about the finer points of certain artificing techniques with which he'd been experimenting.

There was a brief lull.

Does four one two have an actual name I could use?

Another pause.

I see. Thank you.
I have to go now, but you're welcome to visit the PHQ the next time you're in town.

Our conversation having concluded, I sent the same initial message to Velocity inviting him to message me-not expecting an immediate response, and not receiving one-before entering the library and paying for some time on their computers.

Where Man in the Middle had explained the nation's telephony infrastructure, Airgap had explained the basic principles of wireless radio communications and the means by which one's usage could be tracked. Thus, upon sitting down at a computer my first act was to manifest Faraday's Globe of Interference to block any signals to or from the device.

(Faraday hadn't been a wizard, of course, nor the actual creator of the spell, but Airgap had explained the basis of his ability to selectively block or allow wireless signals in terms of a physical "Faraday cage" device, and then explained who Michael Faraday had been. If complete and utter hacks like Nulathoe the so-called "Archmage" could put their names to a handful of pedestrian spells over the years, then a brilliant mind like Faraday certainly deserved to be honored with a spell of his own.)

After that, a manifestation of Imbue with Connectivity reestablished a connection with the internet, now without any danger of revealing my location or activities to interested parties.

Only after that did I begin using the computer to access a variety of websites, manifesting Unseen Typist to effectively bypass the keyboard; such an electromechanical device was nowhere near as efficient or elegant as a purely telepathic interface, and I was not yet proficient in its use.

Having acquired the technomantic powers I desired, my new priority was twofold: learning everything I could about the wider world of Earth Bet, for the Society's archives, and finding some cape or device that could help me restore Aldric or Jhaamdath (preferably both), for myself. I thus searched for information on the strongest or most magically-inclined capes with any sort of temporal, restorative, or healing powers.

The Dataread power I'd acquired from Decker didn't allow me to consume websites in the same way that Scholar's Touch allowed me to consume books, unfortunately; it only functioned on "hard drives" or similar physical storage media. I'd need to study both thoughtforms and use them to devise a power that did do what I wanted, at some point.

Or, perhaps, to craft an item to do so. Aldric's absence meant that we'd not continued our tradition of further enchanting each other's rings on each anniversary, and working with computing technology had thus far necessitated many repeated manifestations of the same powers, so a new item that could abstract away those difficulties would have great practical and sentimental value.

I could show it to Aldric if I managed-no, when I managed to find a means to restore him.

In the meantime, however, the simplest option was to access many web pages on this computer and then read them all at once from what Sudocode had termed the "local cache."

After ten minutes I felt I'd built up sufficient data to consume at once, so I rendered myself incorporeal, reached through the computer's casing to touch the hard drive, manifested Dataread, and-

…

Well then.

I certainly hadn't expected to find Kassalyn, of all people, on multiple websites' lists of "Earth's strongest capes."

Along with photographs, low-quality video recordings, transcripts of speeches given, and all manner of other data that should not have found its way to Earth Aleph's internet, much less Earth Bet's.

Aspected suggested.

I replied.

second-worst one on this mission when it comes to keeping a low profile!

Further internet delving turned up no mention of my own presence beyond the small discussion on Parahumans Online that the Travelers had mentioned, fortunately, nor any mention of anyone recognizable as Gwyn.

I hadn't planned to check in with my fellow explorers for some time yet, but this… this would need to be addressed without delay.

Manifesting two Sendings, I directed identical messages to both Gwyn and Kassalyn:

Gwyn's response was immediate:

Kassalyn's followed very shortly:

The situation wouldn't worsen before tomorrow morning, so that delay would be acceptable. A few more Sendings established that we would meet on Gwyn's Earth at noon his time or one o'clock my time-his Earth's timekeeping system apparently lagged an hour behind that of Earth Bet-and that he would provide appropriate gate coordinates.

And then I went back to scouring the internet for information about promising capes, doing my best to put the matter out of my mind-a task at which I was, fortunately, exceptionally skilled.

~*~*~

11:46 am, Wotansdag the 4th of Maia, 20 AE

Radcliffe Memorial Arboretum, New Hastings, Alleghenian Bridge, Earth Shin

I stepped through the gate into a lush garden that spanned multiple city blocks, an oasis of natural splendor nestled amidst the surrounding towers.

The architecture was surprisingly similar to that of Earth Bet, differing mostly in the fine details. The tallest towers still stretched dozens of stories into the air and were still constructed primarily of glass and either metal or stone, but these were topped with proper covered defensive crenellations instead of flat open roofs and favored circular windows over square or rectangular ones.

The billboards and other commercial signage one might find on on Earth Bet buildings were replaced by heraldic banners and murals on the local buildings. Rooftop radio antennae were replaced by decorative statuary, the pale yellow marble used commonly in historic buildings by dark red sandstone, and double doors by open archways, but otherwise the buildings in this city resembled their Earth Bet counterparts much more closely than they did buildings on any other world I'd previously visited.

The aspect in which the area did not resemble Earth Bet, however, was the dim Enchantment aura suffusing everything within my sensory range. While I was in no danger of becoming affected, the mere presence of such a strong but subtle compulsion effect over such a broad area was concerning on its own.

My gate had opened next to a small fountain in a cobblestone plaza surrounded by small pavilions, and no sooner had I arrived than a pair of individuals emerged from one of those pavilions to meet me.

The elder of the two was a woman dressed in a vibrant yellow semi-formal dress festooned with decorative lavender ribbons and topped off with a bright scarlet cape; the younger was a boy of perhaps ten winters, dressed in much plainer tan clothing with a scarlet and yellow sash.

Their complete lack of auras made their identities obvious. "Gwyn, Filidor, good to see you both," I greeted them. "I never thought I'd see the day when you arrived early to an appointment."

The woman grinned, and between one moment and the next her form melted into that of a smiling Gwyn wearing a more practical outfit in his preferred blues and greens, though one that still bore clear signs of having been influenced by the local fashion; of all the long-time Society members, Gwyn was generally the most eager to "go native" when it came to those sorts of things.

The page beside him, meanwhile, shifted into a hummingbird and flitted up to Gwyn's shoulder. Filidor perched there with a long-suffering sigh, as if glad to return to his natural avian form for the time being.

"I can't take the credit for my timing," Gwyn said, shrugging the shoulder that did not hold his familiar. "I simply waited for all the scrying sensors to disappear before heading over."

I arched an eyebrow. "Scrying sensors? Plural?"

"… You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

Gwyn's smile twisted into a smirk. "Well now. If that isn't the reason you arranged this meeting, it's certain to be an interesting one."

"I'm sure."

"How have things been on your Earth?"

terrible, Aspect moaned.

Filidor darted toward us, then flicked his beak to the side and in his trilling voice suggested, "I saw a patch of rare philodendrons in the outer ring that I'd hoped to sample. Shall we leave the mammals to their tedious conversation?"

Gods, yes, thank you, Aspect replied, and a moment later the two of them flew off to explore the garden.

"It's been one of those missions, hmm?" Gwyn commented.

"You have no idea." I gestured to our surroundings. "Was there a particular reason you chose this as a meeting spot, and did that reason have anything to do with the compulsion aura present in the gardens?"

"The compulsion isn't just here, it's practically everywhere," he replied, his tone uncharacteristically grave. "The monarch of this world is an enchantress of considerable power who rules via an order of subordinate magic-users. She stamped out the last remaining challengers to her reign roughly eight years ago and now styles herself a goddess."

I groaned. "Not another one."

Dregoth (may a colony of illithids nibble upon his brain for eons) was many things-powerful, megalomaniacal, despicable, infuriating-but "creative and original" was not one of them. One could hardly visit any new sphere without tripping over at least a few tyrants fancying themselves to be deities and appending any number of correspondingly grandiloquent titles to their names.

"She's worse than most," Gwyn explained. "Their so-called Blue Empress doesn't simply control some of the native magic-users, she controls all of them via some kind of item or secret talent that allows her compulsion to infuse an area, emanating from every minion she's already affected. She uses it periodically to ensnare anyone she can't target directly, and the aura you sense is the remnant of her last such use a few days ago."

I could only stare.

All of them?

Every last magic-user on this world?

Gwyn was exceptionally strong, even compared to many of the newer Society members, but he was nowhere near invulnerable, and should he be discovered and assaulted by the Blue Empress's forces….

My first impulse was to find this empress and bring an immediate end to her tyranny, but that obviously wasn't an option right now, for a multitude of reasons.

(I did, however, make a mental note to stop in and have a spirited debate with her at some point before our mission concluded.)

"How many does she control?" I asked, burying my disgust for her actions beneath a veneer of purely academic curiosity. "Hundreds of thousands? Millions? Billions?"

"Between twenty three and twenty four hundred, according to their latest census," Gwyn replied.

"… Is that all?"

"Fortunately."

"Well, that's good. I was getting worried for a moment."

Only a few thousand magic-users, for an entire world? Earth Bet's own magic-using population was on the distinctly anemic side, but even they could at least boast a respectable few hundred thousand, according to the latest demographics estimates.

Gods above and between, the Red Wizards of Thay alone would outnumber this world's entire magic-using population by a factor of six or thereabouts, and their membership was on the low side for a magocracy of Thay's size thanks to all of the backstabbing and betrayal.

Investigating the drastic disparity in numbers could wait for a later meeting, I decided. "And the choice of garden?" I prompted.

"Today is a holiday, with festivals taking place through most of the city; this is one of the view places that none of the locals are likely to visit this afternoon."

He gestured to the statue in the center of the fountain, a woman holding aloft a banner in one hand and a rifle in another. "Besides, the woman for whom the arboretum is named was an outspoken critic of the empress ever since her first conquest two decades ago, and was popular enough that the empress was reluctant to prevent the locals from naming it in her honor lest they rise up out of resentment. I thought the symbolism appropriate."

I found myself in complete agreement.

~*~*~

We continued chatting for a few more minutes about our favorite or most interesting aspects of our respective Earths-his largely revolving around music, cuisine, and the arts, as expected-until a second gate opened and Kassalyn strode through. Her garb was considerably more elaborate than it had been before embarking on the expedition, now boasting a flowing mantle of blue and silver over her robes and a silver mask bearing a subtle flame motif.

She doffed her mask and nodded to each of us. "Gwydion. Valigan."

"Kass!" Gwyn said. "How fares Earth Aleph's newest and most successful religious leader?"

"I am well," she said stiffly, her scales not giving away her feelings on the matter.

"You two have spoken about this already?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes, I consulted with Gwydion immediately when I realized there was an issue," Kassalyn replied. "While I've always taken my role as high priestess very seriously, I take the Society's guidelines just as seriously and hoped to correct my misstep as soon as possible."

"Is there a particular reason you spoke only with Gwyn, and not with me?" I asked mildly.

A line of scales along the shulassakar's cheek briefly flashed a guilty indigo as she gave Gwyn a sideways glance. My friend merely shrugged. "You weren't exactly in the most approachable of moods the last time she saw you, you know. And as your latest sendings still had some overtones of depression leaking through…."

Ah. Yes, that was entirely fair.

"I apologize, Kassalyn. I assure you that I'm in a much better place now, emotionally, and you should feel free to contact me for assistance at any time."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, noticeably relaxing.

"Now, as to the reason why I've called you here-"

"Before that," Gwyn interrupted, "I thought it might be helpful to frame things with a bit of context. Shall we walk and talk?"

Kassalyn and I nodded and trailed behind him as he wandered around the fountain and through one of the pavilions on the far side.

"To start… Valigan, what would you say is the worst blunder you've made on previous missions?"

Feeling privately glad that he'd specified previous missions, I cast my thoughts back to my early years with the Society. "I wouldn't call it a blunder, precisely," I said slowly. "More of a prank gone awry. It was on our very first mission to an alternate timeline of Krynn…."

Krynn, I explained for Kassalyn's benefit, was almost entirely devoid of psionics; the native races had never discovered the Invisible Art, as the local gods of magic were too jealous to allow any form of non-divine magic other than wizardry to be practiced for most of the world's history.

Their Orders of High Sorcery were unbearably stuffy and exclusive, refusing to yield their secrets to outsiders; Aldric and I were only in our mid fourteen hundreds at the time, early in our careers and lacking most of the espionage training or more subtle sensory magics we would later acquire; I couldn't stand the Orders' refusal to share their knowledge and their desire to indirectly dominate Ansalonian society via their local monopoly over arcane magic.

So, naturally, when Aldric, Daelan, and I had decided that one of us should pose as a native just developing a talent for wizardry in order to infiltrate one of the Orders and learn their secrets for the Society, I volunteered, despite being the only one present who was not, in fact, a wizard. I knew that my psionics would be entirely foreign to them and that my seemingly unique approach to "wizardry" would drive their leadership absolutely apoplectic, which it quickly did.

(In my defense, the timeline we were visiting was one that was due to be pruned in a few Krynn-subjective years anyway thanks to Raistlin's misadventures with the Device of Time Journeying and we were taking advantage of that to carry out some research that was much more invasive than usual, so the usual Society restrictions against interference were significantly relaxed on that mission.)

"… and so, unfortunately, after the Tower of Daltigoth exploded, we had to scrap that mission quite a bit earlier than expected," I concluded with a grin. "Juroth was not amused. Or rather, he was amused, greatly so, but you know what I mean."

Both of my companions were grinning as well, Kassalyn at the comedy of the situation, Gwyn in fond remembrance.

"If you think that was bad, Kass," Gwyn said as the cobblestone path turned to take us beneath a line of willow trees, "let me tell you about the time that I accidentally became a king consort of the largest elven nation on Korvada…."

~*~*~

Gwyn and I recounting some of our favorite tales had me in high spirits, but eventually I brought our procession to a stop under the canopy of a towering redwood in order to address the reason for our gathering.

"Now that everyone is more at ease, I believe it's time that Kassalyn explained why she has established a cult of the Silver Flame on Earth Aleph," I said bluntly, "and why she took no pains to conceal her presence or activities."

The priestess drew herself up to her full height and looked me straight in the eye. "Attempting to hide would have been a fool's errand. Multiple scrying sensors awaited me the moment I stepped through the portal."

The portals created by Juroth's device were undetectable, so for her arrival point to be under observation already meant that the natives must have possessed an extensive surveillance infrastructure, at least of that city and possibly beyond. And while she herself also could not be scried, her surroundings and any locals in the area would have quickly given away the fact of her existence there as they reacted to her arrival.

I nodded slowly in reluctant acknowledgment.

"My scry trap handily took care of the observers-" she continued, but halted when I held up a hand.

"You left active scrying countermeasures in place? When you had no idea who might scry you, and when such a reaction would give away your presence immediately?"

"Centuries of habit are not easily discarded," she admitted, a sentiment with which I certainly sympathized.

"In Io'lokar, attacks by resentful dragons, the Lords of Dust, the Inspired, or any number of other hostile factions are fairly common," she continued. "Merely detecting an enemy's scrying attempt is not sufficient; immediate and painful retaliation is often the only thing standing between oneself and an ambushing force. And with so many powerful spellcasters maintaining similar defenses on the worlds I visited during my training, I didn't expect that one more warded individual on this one would stand out."

An understandable mistake, I supposed. I myself had used a remote viewing trap on some of our early missions, when I hadn't been sure how Aldric and I compared to the magic-users of other worlds, though fortunately no incidents had resulted from that.

Kassalyn neck rippled pale green with what I took to be suppressed embarrassment as she added, "Also, the Flame has not granted me a purely utilitarian spell for such things. A scry trap was my only option if I wished to be aware of being spied upon, and I do restrain the offensive output as much as possible to avoid unduly harming any observers."

Ah, yes, one of the many unavoidable drawbacks of relying on an external patron for one's magic: lack of control over one's repertoire. Between that and her inexperience with off-world travel, I couldn't fairly hold the oversight against my colleague, and told her so.

She nodded in thanks, then assured me, "The scryer survived, fortunately, and attempted to view the area again a short time later. He appeared to be in fine condition and was surrounded by several figures whom I took to be healers and warders-one of whom also peered in on me himself, later on, and appeared largely unaffected by my ward-so no permanent harm was done."

"I'm surprised to hear that," I said. "Pleased, but surprised."

I explained to both of them how I'd found the capes of Earth Bet to be considerably frailer than individuals of their stature should be, and that attacks which might normally be considered minimally lethal to an experienced magic-user may still be a danger to the locals of the various Earths.

"I'd noticed the same myself," Gwyn murmured, but declined to clarify the source of that observation.

"In any case, I think the current situation is really the best outcome we could have hoped for, given that the locals' detection of Kassalyn was unavoidable," he said. "I started crafting an item of scrying detection as soon as she filled me in. I'll have that done in a few days, and once that's finished she won't endanger any further scryers."

"I'm glad. Now, on the subject of the cult itself… you haven't inducted any of the locals into your priesthood, have you?"

"Flame forfend!" Kassalyn replied, cheeks turning pale orange with indignation. "Whyever would you assume I would do something like that?"

"I didn't assume that. The inhabitants of Earth Bet, however…."

I went on to explain what I'd read of her exploits, and the means by which the news had reached me.

Gwyn took the explanation reasonably in stride. Not only did he have much more experience with advanced non-magical technology than I, as his homeworld boasted many more examples of such technology than mine and his choice of worlds to explore for the Society had tended toward the magic-poor where mine had tended toward the magic-rich, but this Earth apparently had a "global datanet" that was similar to Earth Bet's internet in many respects.

Kassalyn, however, was absolutely floored. She'd had no idea that outlining a few points of doctrine to a handful of curious people would result in information about "Hierophant" (her best attempt to translate her priestly title from the shulassakar tongue into English) spreading across the entire world within minutes-and, once again, I could hardly blame her, as before coming to this sphere I wouldn't have believed such a thing to be possible either.

She asked for some examples of the articles I'd mentioned, so she could see for herself what personal information of hers had been flung to the four winds without her knowledge.

Rather than merely show her illusions depicting a few websites in Earth Bet's internet, after a bit of scrying around I opened a gate to an unobserved computer on Earth Aleph, established a technomantically-secured connection, and began an internet search for the original sources.

My companions spent some time looking over her "fan page" on the website Facebook with both mirth and amazement.

Gwyn found the raging debate between the self-proclaimed "Hierophans" on one side and supporters of one Captain Europe on the other-the latter having been Earth Aleph's most famous hero before her arrival-to be incredibly amusing.

Kassalyn clearly had no idea how to feel about the situation.

"… I have no words," she eventually declared.

"I sympathize completely," I agreed as I closed my gate.

After taking a further moment to put her thoughts in order, Kassalyn began to explain the actual series of events which the articles had misrepresented: "As you read, I emerged from Juroth's portal into a city that had recently suffered a terrible earthquake. Buildings had collapsed, roads were shattered, injured humans were limping through the streets…."

She shrugged helplessly. "My heart went out to the victims. I did, of course, keep the rules in mind and at first concealed myself to observe the situation, but I quickly overheard that there were priests among the wreckage giving aid to the survivors and went to investigate. I found quite a few- kannushi, they were called, hailing from the nearby Shinto shrine of Shiogama Jinja-and though they appeared to have exhausted their allotment of spells they were giving food and bandages to the wounded. While my vestments did not match theirs, they were similar enough in cut and color that I would not stand out too much, I judged."

A sinking feeling welled up in my chest. "You didn't."

She nodded once, sharply. "I did. I made a few adjustments to my clothing to conceal my hair and features, went over to the nearest wounded men and women, and healed them."

Gwyn shook his head as I let out a resigned sigh.

She threw out her hands in an indignant gesture. "Offering a single simple healing spell, of the sort even the most meager hedge priest or wise woman can work, while already surrounded by priests, is hardly an act of cultural contamination!"

"A single spell, no," I agreed. "But you didn't stop there."

"No, I did not. Do you truly believe that I should have simply stood by and watched them die one by one of completely and easily healable injuries, merely to prevent the world from discovering my presence?"

"Yes!" Gwyn and I chorused.

"Or at least you should have taken pains to save only those who were not currently being observed by an entire crowd of locals," I clarified, thinking back to the approach I took to fire-fighting shortly after my arrival.

Kassalyn glared at us both as lines of scarlet and magenta rippled down her face and neck, momentarily too angry for words.

I, meanwhile, exchanged a significant glance with Gwyn. He may not have yet begun an in-depth study of his Earth's magical landscape, but it was clear that he, having adhered to the Society's guidelines and thus spent nearly three subjective months divining the world from within accelerated time, had noticed the distinct lack of divine magic on his world.

Kassalyn had no idea just how momentous the revelation of a "simple healing spell" would be-indeed, had been-to an entirely godless world with a dearth of non-divine healing.

"Continue," I told her in a deliberately neutral tone.

The shulassakar's scales slowly faded back to their usual silver and she resumed her tale. "There was some concern among the natives at my sudden appearance, and when I attempted to heal another victim she shied away from me, fearful of what my touch might inflict. Others reacted similarly, so I turned to the nearest man I'd already healed, who knew that I did not intend them harm, and gifted him several healing spells."

Ah, of course. Much as I could hand out soul crystals, priests could grant some of their own spells to others, though much less efficiently in terms of their magical reserves.

"So that man went around healing the others with those spells, knowing that they would trust him to show them that the spells were safe," I concluded, "and the onlookers mistook that to mean you permanently granted him healing powers."

"It seems so. I asked the native priests to explain my actions to the others, once they were comfortable with me and sufficiently convinced of my good intentions, but they didn't seem to understand, either. Perhaps their own gods don't grant such a gift."

She shook her head. "I traveled later to the United States of America to aid with their own natural disasters, and the people there were similarly taken aback. I'm still not sure what the source of the confusion could be; by the way they reacted, one might think they'd never met a priestess of my stature before."

I offered a humorless smile. "As a matter of fact…."

~*~*~

"That makes absolutely no sense."

Gwyn and I had taken turns explaining our observations, as well as offering other critiques of her performance thus far, and now Kassalyn was pacing back and forth, her stride energetic enough that she threatened to dig furrows in the dirt path.

"I concur," I said.

"I could hardly count the number of temples I passed by, in both Shiogama and Texas! In the latter case, there were temples at practically every crossroads!" she ranted.

"I'm sure there were," Gwyn said.

"A handful of lay priests are to be expected at any given temple," she said, something that was true of most temples on her homeworld even if non-spellcasting priests were exceptionally rare elsewhere, "but to have no true priests anywhere in the nation? In the entire world?"

"Perplexing, to be sure," I agreed.

"If worship of one of the apparently-nonexistent local deities doesn't grant them magic, or do anything else of use for them," she asked in a tone of utter bewilderment, "then why would anyone bother?"

I shrugged, as did Gwyn. Neither of us had encountered such a situation before. The relationship between deity and worshiper was strictly reciprocal, always, at the personal level or societal level or both; that was simply how things were done.

Well, my own relationship with Auppenser was one exception, as had been Aldric's with Amaunator, but that was something of an edge case: our gods had provided plentiful benefits to their worshipers before their deaths, for which they were still owed a great deal of gratitude, and it would be rather rude to expect them to continue providing magic to more than a handful of their most devoted followers while they were deceased.

(Not to mention that I'd hardly consider myself a "worshiper" anymore. After having met Auppenser in person and amassing sufficient personal power to have a more equitable relationship with him, it would feel faintly ridiculous to kneel and rattle off a handful of his titles as a preface every time I wanted to speak with him.)

"Perhaps it does gain them something. A better afterlife, say," Gwyn ventured. That was a large part of the Silver Flame's appeal compared to other religions on Kassalyn's homeworld, after all.

"Maybe." Kassalyn didn't sound convinced. "If all their tales of spellcasting priests are mere legends, then Yomi and Sheol and Hell are likely just as fictional. Still… I've been offered chances to speak with a multitude of leaders from many religions; I hadn't accepted any, to keep my interference to a minimum, but now…."

"The genie is long since out of the flask," I agreed with a nod. "At this point there's little to gain by turning them down. Simply keep the discussion strictly to matters of your religion and your spellcasting, and try to limit your magic use to any abilities displayed thus far, and the Founders should find that acceptable, I'd say. There's not much you can do to salvage things in the few weeks before they check in with us."

"And don't worry, most new members make a mistake or two dozen on their first mission," Gwyn said with a jovial smile. In his most soothing tone, he added, "Yours may be larger than most, but taking into account the mitigating circumstances I highly doubt they'll jeopardize your ability to join the Society as a full member."

Ah, Gwyn. Always the consummate liar.

"I may not want to become a full member, if those of the Society are prepared to so blithely accept the preventable deaths of innocents in service of the mission without any thought for their suffering," Kassalyn accused.

Gwyn's smile remained firmly in place, but the good humor immediately vanished from his eyes. He hadn't suffered anything like the same loss of homeland and family that I had, but his life before the Society had hardly been idyllic, either.

"Remind me," he requested mildly, "how many innocent lives you saved every day, in all your years among the glittering spires of Io'lokar, when the people of Khorvaire could have benefited greatly from even a short visit by a priestess of your vast capability?"

"That wouldn't-"

"Wouldn't have been something that the city's rulers or residents would find appropriate, insular as they are? Too much interference in the goings-on of Khorvaire, one might say? How very selfless of you to hold the welfare of a few Earth Aleph natives over that of the teeming masses of your own world."

Kassalyn's expression softened with mingled realization and shame.

Gwyn wasn't finished. "When you have single-handedly lifted a small nation or three out of poverty and despair, when you have fought in a dozen wars across a dozen worlds to repel a dozen conquering empires from a dozen peaceful lands, when you have walked a thousand miles across the Sea of Dust and learned the names of millions of souls lost to a cataclysm that I tried and failed to stop while you were still a hatchling," he recited grimly, "then, and only then, will I hear a single word that you have to say on the topic of innocent lives, Kassalyn Of No Clan."

The garden was silent for many heartbeats.

"I believe that concludes our meeting," I suggested softly.

Kassalyn nodded stiffly, expression blank. A few murmured words of prayer saw her retreat swiftly back to Earth Aleph through a gate.

Gwyn stared after her for a few moments, then turned to give me a tired smile. "Kids these days, eh?"

~*~*~

We spent some time wandering through the garden, just catching up. We spoke of the current mission in general terms, of previous missions, of our colleagues, of our extracurricular activities.

Aldric's absence was keenly felt, but we managed.

Eventually, I judged it time to leave, retrieved Aspect, and made my farewells. I didn't immediately open a gate back to Earth Bet, however.

I had an experiment to perform.

Kassalyn had encountered a multitude of scrying sensors that had disappeared after their creators had been subject to her scry trap. Gwyn had encountered a multitude of scrying sensors in the same pattern, implying that whomever was scrying her world was scrying his as well.

I'd encountered no sensors at all in my travels through multiple cities, yet Earth Bet had orders of magnitude more potentially-scrying-capable magic-users than the other two worlds combined.

Why wouldn't Earth Bet be under remote surveillance? And how could these scryers withdraw their sensors before my arrival in the garden to evade my notice when they had no way to anticipate my movements?

With hindsight, the answer was obvious: I could not be divined, directly or indirectly, but each and every time I'd visited a new city I'd first spoken with one of the locals to arrange meetings at my destination.

I know for sure that these mysterious observers hadn't been able to, say, eavesdrop on my conversation with Heterodyne when we discussed my visiting Professor Susskind… but there was nothing stopping them from spying on the professor when he received her electronic message, and watching as he set a date and time at which to expect me.

My visit to this world was slightly different, as Gwyn and Kasssalyn could not have been spied upon-but I'd chosen to use a gate to get here instead of plane shifting, for much better precision when aiming for an unknown destination, and the opening of a gate could be scried.

Thus, instead of opening a gate directly to Chicago, as I'd originally planned, I plane shifted to the portion of the Ethereal Plane between this world and Earth Bet, then teleported to the region of that plane that was coterminous with Chicago.

Visible on the Material side was a three-dimensional grid of scrying sensors, extending one after another out to the limits of my senses.

Teleporting around in every direction to observe other parts of Chicago through the Ethereal mist confirmed my suspicion that the web of sensors encompassed the entire city at least, likely more.

that interesting, Aspect said.

Leaving Aspect in place, I plane shifted back to the garden on Gwyn's Earth, rendered myself solid and perceptible, opened a gate to Chicago at a point halfway across the city from Aspect's position, and stepped through.

Not a single scrying sensor in sight.

I opened a gate to the Ethereal to retrieve Aspect, and: he confirmed.

Fast enough that my enhanced senses wouldn't be able to extend to the other side.

Clever.

I manifested a few remote viewing powers of my own in random parts of the city and even beyond, extending far out into the surrounding rural areas and over the large lake to the east, and found that the entire region had been emptied of sensors, so that no matter where or how quickly I traveled within or around the city I would not encounter any during my visit.

Very clever.

Not quite clever enough, however.

Once more becoming incorporeal, I teleported just outside Pinnacle Tower in Redwood City. As I'd expected, there was an identical web of scrying sensors in place, now that I was known to the scryer to have left the city after having made no specific plans to return.

Leveraging my scrying detection ward, I sidled up to the nearest sensor and exerted my will against it, attempting to trace the link back to its source. There was only a modicum of resistance-though that was surprising in itself, as I hadn't experienced any resistance at all to my counter-scrying attempts in quite some time-and moments later I was presented with a mental image of the scryers and their surroundings.

Two young human men lay on chaises in a room of pure white, surrounded by enchanted devices of uncertain function and attended by a cape in a red and silver costume that looked to have only recently been thrown together.

The younger of the two men frowned suddenly, so I quickly moved to a sensor several yards away and repeated my counter-scrying procedure… and found myself viewing precisely the same scene, not a different scryer, as I'd expected.

The entire sensor network in the area vanished a few moments later, but I already had my answer: somehow, presumably via the aid of his companion and their array of magic items, one spellcaster was maintaining a truly absurd number of scrying sensors at once to surveil broad swaths of multiple worlds single-handedly.

It was quite the impressive feat, if somewhat of an odd one; personally, I'd develop a single scrying spell with a much larger viewing radius instead of one that produced many smaller sensors, in order to have a more geometrically regular boundary if nothing else.

With the sensors gone I had no easy way to contact their creator. A quick test revealed that gates failed to open in his presence, predictably so; it would be far too risky to scatter countless scrying sensors across the land if one had no way to prevent anyone who noticed said sensors from following them back to their origin point.

There were multiple ways to circumvent the blockage, of course, but I decided not to employ one. They hadn't responded to Kassalyn's accidental attack on them with an assault of their own despite their clearly holding an extreme information advantage, and that on its own showed an admirable restraint that I did not wish to repay by dropping in on the trio of capes unannounced.

A mass-scrying spell was intriguing, but not worth all that much effort to acquire. I added the scryer to my mental priority list in a reasonably high position, then teleported away in search of what was now the first name on my list.

~*~*~

2:36 pm, Wednesday the 4th of May, 2011 CE

PRT 4 Loop HQ Lobby, Chicago, America, Earth Bet

"Good afternoon," I told the receptionist. "My name is Valigan Talaire, and while I lack an appointment I'm fairly certain that Myrddin would be quite interested in speaking with me."

Author's Note

This chapter's a bit on the longer side, to make up for the delay, and there's a whole lot going on!

Valigan's been interacting with plenty of non-capes so far, but the Professor is the first one to actively impress him. Which is understandable, as the father of string theory (no, not that String Theory) has had quite the scientific career, and that very favorable impression might just have some interesting consequences down the line.

And Valigan has discovered that it's not just the bunch of alternate worlds that set Earth's sphere apart from the rest, the weirdness extends all the way down to the lowest levels of reality. I wonder what that could possibly imply….

The book is real, by the way, as is the paper. And if you happen not to have your electron orbitals memorized, here's an example of what the professor's diagram might look like.

Pinnacle and Decker show us two different sides of the Bay Area cape scene. It's supposed to be full of "celebrity capes fighting (sometimes literally) for the public eye," per WoG, so I figured cape fights by way of the cape equivalent of Twitch.tv would be appropriate for a corporate hero team. We don't know much about the rogues, beyond the fact that the Elite wants to catch 'em all, but it's always made sense to me that rogues' relative rarity in-setting would mean that those with certain specialties and interests would tend to congregate in certain cities for mutual aid and cooperation, so ta-da, Silicon Valley is a tech hub on the cape side, too.

As someone guessed upthread, the fact that Kassalyn was immediately spotted when she showed up, and immediately knew that she was being observed, did have a pretty big impact on her actions at the time, and after that, well, the Flamite paladin instincts kicked in (including a bit of the "more moral than thou" attitude, unfortunately) and here we are.

And finally… Myrddin! I hate to leave y'all on a cliffhanger like that, but-ha, nope, that's a lie, end-of-session cliffhangers are one of the best parts of being a DM and I'm a huge fan.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

While there's no single canonical explanation of "how D physics works" there are bunch of excellent fan-written articles and essays out there on such things at and and over the years I've synthesized some of the more inspirational articles together with scattered bits of lore to form Silver Pyromancer's Grand Unified Theory of D Cosmology that I use whenever questions about such things come up in my games. I'll probably share some of the specific articles that inspired my take on things if and when Valigan gets a bit more in-depth with this stuff, but do explore those sites, there's some cool stuff out there. The three Rules of Planescape are a pretty big thing in the setting, to the point that there's a character actually named Rule-of-Three. There are obviously no computer-related spells in D proper. There are, however, some spells in d20 Modern's two "D meets the real world" settings, Urban Arcana and Shadow Chasers, that I've used as inspiration for Decker's and the Gray Hats' powers. Two of the named spells are from Urban Arcana, dataread and relay text ; the mentioned teleport-via-electronics spell, wire walk , is as well. The names and functions of Faraday's globe of interference, imbue with connectivity, and unseen typist are inspired by globe of invulnerability , imbue with spell ability , and unseen servant , respectively. The Red Wizards are a bunch of scheming mostly-evil wizards known for their extreme specialization in one school of magic, their ability to boost their power through Circle Magic rituals with other Red Wizards, and their iron-fisted rule of the country of Thay. Raistlin is the most (in)famous and powerful wizard in the Dragonlance setting, and has gotten up to a lot of shenanigans over the years. The device of time journeying is just what it sounds like, a time machine that can let the user travel forward or backward in time and (in the wrong hands) change history and cause alternate timelines to branch off. The aforementioned imbue with spell ability is what Kassalyn used to grant healing spells and give the appearance of making her local buddy a priest. And, as she claimed, scry trap is the only anti-scrying spell available to clerics, so Gwyn is crafting her an item of detect scrying to give her a less dangerous alternative. As "remote viewing" is the psionic equivalent of scrying, Valigan uses detect remote viewing to backtrack the Clairvoyant's sensors and mentioned using remote view trap in the past.

Last edited: Dec 30, 2022

Rule of Three 3.2.T

Tenth Morning Bell, Zor the 26 th of Rhaan, 999 YK Tradefair District, Sharn, Breland, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

Of all the things I'd end up really missing from back home, I definitely hadn't expected an IKEA store to be one of them.

Our second and third jobs with Creilath over the past few days had gone off without a hitch, and with the money we'd gotten from those we were able to start buying some more furniture. Problem was, they didn't exactly sell ready-to-assemble furniture in cardboard boxes here; if we wanted a worktable, for example, we'd have to buy a very big and very heavy wooden table and figure out how to move it on our own.

We did want a worktable, and chairs with actual cushions, and shelves for storage, and other stuff beyond the bare essentials that Leyla had provided us for free, so yesterday Dean and Brian had gone around to some of the carpenters in the less expensive marketplaces to find some cheap but good-quality furniture and today we were hauling it to our workspace.

I was currently setting up the eight chairs I'd just carried over two at a time from the other side of the market where they'd been dropped off. Dean and Brian were maneuvering a large table through the narrow doorframe, and having a bit of trouble with it; both were cursing softly as they tried to find an orientation for the table that would let it easily pass through.

Both guys had their sleeves rolled up, and I was sneaking the occasional peek when they pulled up their shirttails to wipe the sweat off their foreheads, but I wasn't really enjoying the view.

… Okay, I wasn't enjoying it as much as I could have been.

Because Brian and I still hadn't talked about the… training incident. We hadn't talked much at all since then, really, and had been avoiding even catching each others' eyes; it had made things a little awkward while we were on the job, but I don't think anyone else but Dean noticed anything.

Or, well, anyone else but Dean and the actual professional detective.

Or Dean, the professional detective, and his experienced and way-too-observant assistant-

Hell, I was just glad Alec hadn't teased me at all about it. Yet.

The irritating villain in question was helping set up a large bookcase-like shelving unit in the space we'd set aside for Chris's tinkering, and for once he wasn't complaining too loudly about it, probably because Chris was using his hoverboard to dramatically reduce the weight of the shelves and make them easier to maneuver.

When they got the shelves to the right spot against the wall, Chris really struggled to hold it in place while he used a foot to get his hoverboard out from under it.

Alec couldn't resist commenting. "This is why you don't skip arm day at the gym, dork," he said.

"I haven't… exactly been… to a gym in… a few weeks," Chris panted.

"Yeah, we can tell," Alec drawled, and I smothered a grin.

Judas watched me as I arranged the last of the chairs, head tilted curiously to the side. He whined softly as I plopped down into one of them to take a break

"What's wrong, boy? Hungry?" I asked.

"Probably just jealous. He likes couches, and we didn't get him one," Alec replied.

I looked down at the dog, then looked over at the other chairs, leaned over, pulled one right next to mine, and patted the seat. With a soft bark of excitement, Judas hopped up onto the chair and put his head down on my lap.

As I scratched him behind the ears, I felt the spiders that were currently weaving silk on my loom start to run dry and rotated them out for fresh ones. I hadn't figured out what kind of clothes to try to sell yet, so for now I was just weaving thread; Leyla was stopping by sometime later, and I planned to ask her for some suggestions.

The table thunked to the floor as Brian and Dean finally got it inside, and once they'd positioned it just right they shuffled over to some chairs and gratefully sank into them. "Worth every sovereign," Brian sighed, patting the cushion of the chair next to him for emphasis.

Soon we were joined by Chris and Alec, and a companionable silence fell as we all looked around in satisfaction at our newly-furnished home-away-from-home.

Facing in from the doorway, boxes of tools and supplies were piled up to the left, and to the right was the table; we could save a lot of time now that we had it, since we could get the hotel to pack us some food in the morning and eat it here instead of having to go back and forth for lunch.

My looms were in the back right corner, Chris's work area took up the whole space along the back and left walls from there to the supply area, the space between my area and the table was set up with a chalkboard for planning sessions, and the middle of the room was left clear for easy movement… and eventually to serve as a sparring area, I guess, though Brian and I hadn't done any of that since the last time.

While we rested I took the opportunity to practice seeing through my swarm, closing my eyes and choosing two moths at random to try to fly in and out of my rows of spiders like a skier slaloming through the trees.

So far, sight was proving to be much harder than hearing-I could only focus on a handful of bugs at a time without being overwhelmed, and progress was incredibly slow-but I figured that if I took advantage of every little bit of downtime I could find, I'd get there eventually.

~*~*~

"You sure that's enough space for you?" Chris asked at some point.

I opened my eyes, squinting against the light. I couldn't tell how long it had been, but the headache wasn't too bad yet so it was probably only a few minutes. "What do you mean?" I asked.

He gestured toward my looms. "Aren't you going to need room for dress forms and yarn winders and warping boards and stuff?"

… I hadn't expected Chris to know anything about early-twentieth-century dressmaking techniques, but either he'd been looking it up on his phone recently or tinkertech wasn't the only subject on which he was a font of obscure and useless information. Dean's amused expression pointed to the latter being more likely.

"I'll probably want to get some mannequins eventually, but I don't need anything else. I didn't really have anything to work with in my basement when I made my costume, just some stuff out of my mom's old sewing kit, some of my dad's tools, and an old workbench, so I got used to doing everything with my insects," I explained.

His eyes widened, and the other guys looked impressed at that too. "You made that with just a few spiders and a workbench?" Chris asked.

"Uh, more like a few thousand black widows for the silk, a few dozen other spiders to hold the lines in place, and a bunch of caterpillars to keep the weave tight," I said.

Alec blinked slowly in exaggerated disbelief. "A few thousand black widows."

"Yeah? I mean, spider silk is really thin, so you need a few hundred strands for each thread, and…." Now the guys were all giving me weird looks. "What?"

"You were totally fine with having thousands of poisonous spiders in your basement?"

Okay, when he put it that way, yeah, it did sound kind of weird. "I mean, I didn't keep them in my basement, I kept them in the neighborhood and brought them in every day after school," I protested weakly.

"Where are you keeping the ones you're using now?" Chris asked.

"Do you really want to know?"

"… No. No, I do not."

~*~*~

I passed the time while we waited for Leyla to show by doodling some possible dress designs in my new notebook.

After buying all the furniture and putting the necessary money toward the hotel fund, we'd had enough left over to let each of us splurge a little bit. Brian got a new pair of gloves that fit his outfit better, with metal over the knuckles but under the leather to let him hit harder without being obvious about it, and Alec got some boots to replace his sneakers after spending far too long whining about all the walking we'd been doing.

Chris got some kind of powder from a local apothecary to play around with, Dean got himself a better razor because the ones the Horse & Hearth provided were pretty terrible, and I got myself a small blank book and some charcoal pencils.

My first choice would have been non-terrible glasses, but anything that didn't pinch my nose or look more like goggles than actual glasses cost upwards of a hundred galifars, and we didn't have anywhere near that much cash to spare, not yet.

As I worked, I thought back to my old hero notebooks. It felt like years since them getting destroyed had prompted me to go out heroing early, instead of the mere weeks it had actually been, and the sketches I was doing now reminded me of my first fumbling attempts to design a costume when I didn't know the first thing about drawing or weaving or anything like that.

"Whatcha doing?" Alec asked from across the table.

"Drawing."

"Can I see?"

I glanced up at him. "Why do you want to?"

"'Cause I'm bored and bugging the dork got old ten minutes ago and there's literally nothing else to do?"

I looked down again, considering. "Only if you promise not to make fun of them."

He smirked. "I promise I'll try not to make fun of them."

"Good enough." I slid the notebook over to him.

As he started to flip through it with just the slightest hint of interest on his face, I had a sudden realization: I'd just handed over one of my few real possessions in this world to a villain, without a second thought, and expected to get it back in one piece.

A month ago, if anyone I knew had asked to see anything of mine I'd have refused on reflex, assuming that they wanted to ruin it somehow and second- and third-guessing their motivations and who had put them up to it.

But for all that Alec was an insufferable smartass and couldn't stop poking at everyone every chance he got, somehow I trusted him not to do anything with my notebook.

The same went for Brian, and obviously Dean and Chris. I got along with them to different degrees, but there wasn't even a question in my mind anymore that I could trust them all.

…

Is this what it felt like to have friends?

Not one super-close friend I could share everything with, in a way I'd seriously regret many years down the line, just… a normal group of normal friends?

Huh.

"Not half bad," Alec said, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Shading could use some work, but the layering and perspective are good."

"You draw?" I asked, surprised.

"Yeah. Mostly paint, though."

I wouldn't have guessed that of him; with all his complaining about missing TV and video games, I'd taken him for more of a media consumer than a media creator. "How'd you get into visual art?"

He shrugged. "Makes for a nice solitary hobby when you want to get away from people."

"Didn't like to spend time with your siblings growing up?" I asked, thinking back to how he'd said his whole family sucked.

He snorted. "You have no idea."

Before I could reply, I sensed Leyla walking through the outer edge of my swarm. "Leyla's almost here," I called out, gesturing for Alec to return my notebook.

"Which means it's time for you to get up," I told Judas, nudging him in the side. He gazed up at me with a look of abject betrayal, but another nudge saw him hop off the chair and amble over to the end of Chris's work area, where he plopped down in the outline of the sunbeam shining through the window and closed his eyes with a contented whuff.

A few minutes later, Leyla rapped politely on the door and Brian let her in. "Lord ir'Laborn, milords," she said, bowing in the guys' general direction. She nodded to me as well. "Milady."

Brian shook his head slightly, exasperated. "How many times have I said to just call me Brian?"

"Six, as I recall, Brian."

He sighed. "If I say it again, will it help?"

"Probably not, Lord Brian," she replied, straight-faced.

I grinned at the byplay, but it was halfhearted. After the first time we spoke, Leyla had gone back to calling us by our titles, and Brian had objected. Dean had pulled us all aside afterward and let us know that the insistence on informality was actually making her uncomfortable, despite her hiding it very well.

She'd lived in a society where people were divided into nobles and commoners her whole life, after all, and she was constantly immersed in the culture of nobility while working for someone as high-up as Merrix, so a noble insisting she ignore all of that was sending some very mixed signals. Dean did realize that Brian was also uncomfortable getting the "yes, milord" treatment all the time, he said, but Brian pushing the matter wasn't helping things.

And the fact that his attitude might poke holes in the idea that we were all nobles wasn't great for us, either.

So Dean had taken Leyla aside the next day to tell her that Brian "had a common background and had only recently joined the ranks of the nobility"-which was even kinda technically true-so she shouldn't take his attitude personally, and now she seemed a lot more (but not entirely) comfortable with their banter.

"Shall we get to it?" she suggested, and Dean, Chris, and I voiced our agreement.

Leyla was here today to talk to all three of us: Dean, about how best to pitch our yet-to-be-determined goods to buyers when we were an unknown quantity, since he'd gotten a good amount of sales training through his internships with the family business but wasn't sure how much of that would translate here; me, about what would make sense to sell that would best balance popularity, cost, profit, and effort to make; and Chris, about whatever secret plans he was working on.

Dean offered to go first, and Leyla almost immediately looked like she felt out of her depth as he started talking about the psychology of color schemes for signs and banners, cultural associations of certain words and phrases, and more.

"I'm not the best person to ask about any of that," Leyla admitted as his initial pitch wound down. "The Fabricators Guild has existed nearly as long as House Cannith itself, for some fifteen hundred years, so we've never needed to advertise. The Guild is just… it's just there," she said, offering a helpless shrug. "I could connect you with some mercantile companies who might be better suited to that, however."

Fifteen hundred years? For a single guild? Holy crap.

On Earth, fifteen hundred years ago would be around the start of the Medieval period, I vaguely remembered? I guess that would partly explain the aesthetics around here, if the same people had been making the same stuff for that long and no one had really innovated anything.

Oh, actually, there was a question I hadn't gotten around to asking: "Completely unrelated, but how long do elves live, on average?"

She furrowed her brow at the unexpected question. "The ones in Khorvaire? Five to six hundred years, I believe. I would guess longer in Aerenal and shorter in Valenar, for cultural reasons, but I'm hardly an expert. Why?"

Yeah, if businesses and noble houses and even people stuck around for a lot longer here… that made a couple of things make more sense.

"Just curious," I replied.

She nodded and went back to talking with Dean for a bit, suggesting some names of merchants who specialized in different areas and might have some ideas to share about advertising if Dean didn't mind slipping them a sovereign or three.

Leyla was similarly at a loss when I asked about clothing. "I assumed you would have questions about weaving methods at scale, which is much closer to my area of expertise, not the aesthetic side of things," she admitted. "The Guild specializes in producing highly standardized goods according to strict client specifications; we actually do very little of our own design work."

Offering an apologetic smile, she added, "Helping with the subjective decision-making process wasn't exactly why Merrix assigned me to you, I'm afraid."

She did at least have the names and addresses of some clothiers in the area, so like with Dean we went over some of those and I picked a few to go talk to later.

Finally we got around to Chris, who pulled up some notes on his phone, took a fortifying breath, and said, "Okay, so, what I was thinking is that I couldn't compete with House Cannith when it came to tinkertech or anything they already have here like clothes and stuff, but what I can do… is build some Earth technology that they might be able to replicate and introduce that."

… Huh. Now that's an idea.

He flinched as he finished, just a bit, like he was expected us to disagree with him right off the bat, but when we didn't say anything immediately he hurried to add, "I've got a bunch of ideas here I wanted to run by Leyla and see if she thought they might work out."

The four of us were quiet for a few moments, thinking the idea over; Leyla wore a look of polite incomprehension. Alec was the first to respond: "Can you actually do that?"

Chris gave him a blank look, then glanced over at Dean. "Uh, I mean, I don't see how there could be any PRT rules against-?"

"I don't mean are you allowed to, I mean can you do it," Alec clarified. He spread his arms to indicate the small workspace and the scant supplies we had available. "Even if your power let you bullshit up a bunch of plastic and some GPUs, I don't see you building a laptop any time soon."

"I wasn't going to start with computers, or anything," Chris said defensively. "Like…." He glanced down at his phone and turned to Leyla. "You don't have a printing press here, do you?"

"A printing press?" She didn't seem familiar with the term.

Chris excitedly began to explain the function and advantages of movable type, but as soon as he mentioned printing newspapers as an example she held up a hand to stop him.

"The Sharn Inquisitive already uses scrivening plates to produce thousands of copies of their newspaper in a day, courtesy of House Sivis, and the Korranberg Chronicle has their own proprietary process. I doubt they'd be interested in another method to do the same thing, and merchants needing to publish anything on a smaller scale simply contract Sivis directly for the purpose."

"The fact that printing presses don't use magic doesn't matter?" Chris asked.

The junior artificer gave him an odd look. "Why would it matter?"

"Magic is basically all they use here," Brian pointed out. "You're basically offering to make people something that runs on steam power instead of electricity when they already have something that can just plug into the wall." Leyla looked like she had no idea what he meant, but got the gist of the analogy; she also looked like she was very interested to know more about the things he'd mentioned, but didn't interject.

" No one would want to print things without going to House Sivis?" Chris tried.

"Not when Sivis holds a legal monopoly on the sale of and standards for anything relating to written communications, and would take a very dim view of anyone attempting to deploy troops on their border," Leyla said, a hint of warning in her voice.

"… Oh. Right," Chris said in an I'm a dumbass tone. "Forgot about that part."

"If you don't have sovereign guilds in your homeland, who does hold the rights to such things? The crown, perhaps?"

"Now is not the time to explain market capitalism," Dean said firmly. "What's the next idea?"

Chris started tapping his way down the screen. "Well, the monopoly issue shoots down a whole bunch of these, so… um, flashlights? Bright and steady handheld lights, like the magic streetlights you guys have but portable?"

"Similar to an everburning lantern, you mean?"

"… And they're directional?"

"There are everburning bullseye lanterns as well."

"Of course there are."

Chris poked at his screen with a little more force than necessary to cross that idea off. Alec smirked at that, making sure to lean in so Chris could see.

"Okay, what about….?"

~*~*~

Chris must have rattled off thirty or forty ideas before he started to lose steam. Each and every one of them was either an exact match for something they already had here, like certain kinds of dyes, or a very close match, like how they had certain "alchemical" medicines instead of stuff like penicillin.

Or it was a new thing they didn't already have, but that Leyla didn't think would be a good idea to introduce for one reason or another. Like guns: Chris had barely started in on his explanation of gunpowder before her eyes widened comically and she shut that down immediately.

"We have some archaeological evidence that the ancient Dhakaani Empire may have used weapons similar to what you describe, especially at the scale of siege weaponry. Or, at least, that they started to experiment in that area shortly before the empire fell," she explained.

"However, their magical traditions were very different, more-" I could see her straining to find a word other than primitive to use "-eclectic than what we have today. Given that fire spells are by far the most common among modern battlecasters, and the ease with which even civilian arcanists can create fire…."

She extended the first two fingers on her left hand and murmured " Vesh," and a pillar of bright red flame five or six inches long began spewing from her fingertips like a tiny flamethrower. She held it there for a second or two, just long enough for all of us to lean away from the intense heat, before twisting her fingers in a way that extinguished the fire.

"… you can see why attempting to sell a substance that is highly flammable at best and explosive at worst might be… inadvisable."

"Definitely," Chris quickly agreed. Frustrated, he started scrolling through his phone again.

"Out of ideas already?" Alec asked innocently.

Chris didn't even look up as he shot back, "None of the stories I've read about uplifting Medieval worlds had the time traveler end up somewhere with magic, all right? They have all the obvious stuff here already!"

He paused, his finger resting halfway down the screen. "Leyla, you said Sivis has a monopoly on written communication."

"That's correct."

"They have some kind of long-distance magical communication too, though. How does that work, legally?"

"Any form of magical communications technically falls within their remit, though there something of a gray area where they begin to overlap with House Phiarlan's auditory illusions."

"So would something that did non-magic, non-written communication be a problem?"

"It shouldn't be, no," she replied cautiously.

"What are you thinking?" Dean asked.

"Radios!" Chris replied triumphantly.

Radios? We'd gone over basic electronics stuff in computer class freshman year, and even a very simple circuit seemed to me like it would be fairly hard to make with what we had, much less a whole radio. "Are you sure? Even a basic walkie-talkie-" I began.

"Oh, I couldn't make anything like that," he interrupted with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Switching to English, he continued, "The build-the-tools-to-build-the-tools problem is way too big for anything that needs transistors, or LEDs, or whatever. But crystal radios have been around since before vacuum tubes were a thing, so I could make one of those with some really basic parts."

He patted one of the pistols at his hip; he wore his shirt untucked to cover them, so they wouldn't attract the attention of curious passersby. "And most of my tinkertech uses quartz oscillators in their power regulation systems, so I have experience with something kinda similar."

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, you're the only one who knows what you can build, so if you're sure…?"

"I'm sure."

Back in Common, he asked Leyla, "Do you know where I could get some galena, aluminum, and germanium, and how much that would cost?"

"Do you have other names for those objects, or materials? None of them translated."

"Uh, galena is…." He looked something up on his phone. "Lead sulfide?" Leyla shook her head. "Also called lead glance?" That got a nod. "Great. Aluminum is, uh… alum?" Head shake. "Aluminium, maybe?" Head shake. "Uh… the element with thirteen protons?"

Leyla tilted her head curiously. "Thirteen of what?"

"Protons?"

"That didn't translate either, I'm afraid."

"Uh, protons are the-wait." Visibly bracing himself, Chris asked, "Does 'atom' translate at all?"

Head shake.

"Particle?"

Head shake.

"Piezoelectric, maybe?" he tried, sounding desperate.

Head shake.

"Well shit."

~*~*~

Chris and Leyla spent nearly an entire hour at the chalkboard, trying to figure out a common point of reference so that Chris could get what he needed, or maybe a substitute that would mostly work.

Alec spent that time napping. I spent that time resting my eyes and practicing bug vision. Dean went over to give Judas some attention. Brian went through a few exercise routines in the sparring area… and kept sneaking glances over at me when he thought I couldn't see.

We'd have to talk at some point.

Just… not quite yet.

A heavy sigh from Chris caught my attention. "Well, I guess I can try to make it work with copper, then," he said, looking over a very messy diagram on the board and brushing chalk dust off his sleeves.

Leyla ducked her head contritely and clasped her hands behind her back. "I'm sorry to have disappointed you, milord," she said quietly. "I'll have the market prices for bulk copper and lead to you by tomorrow morning."

"Cool," he said distractedly, then glanced over at her and did a double-take.

"Wh-oh, uh, Leyla, no, copper's totally fine, really! I'll make it work!" he said frantically. "It's not your fault you don't know ab-that nobody here knows about aluminum yet! Uh, assuming this planet has any, which, like… maybe it doesn't? I don't actually…."

Chris obviously had no idea what to do when someone almost a decade his senior was treating him like an authority figure-and an authority figure who'd hurt her feelings or her pride or who knows what else, at that. He looked over at me, a pleading expression on his face, and mouthed Help!

I immediately looked over to Dean, but he wasn't paying attention; he seemed to be lost in thought as he gave Judas the occasional scratch behind the ears. Up to me, then.

"We're not upset, don't worry," I said in my most upbeat voice as I got up and moved over to the two of them. "We're not going to complain to Merrix or anything. And he doesn't need any materials right this minute, right?"

"Right!" Chris enthusiastically agreed.

It took a little more cajoling, but eventually Leyla left in a better mood with a promise to come by again tomorrow. Crisis averted.

"Thanks, Taylor," Chris said once she'd left. "You're a lifesaver."

"It's fine." I looked around at the rest of the guys. "Anyone else want to get some lunch?"

Alec perked up immediately at the mention of food, and he and Brian joined us by the door.

"Dean?" I called.

"Hmm?"

"Lunch?"

"Sure."

As he walked over, Alec asked, "What's got you down, Pagliacci?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing."

"It's definitely something," I disagreed.

"It's silly. Don't worry about it," he said as he moved to open the door.

Brian crossed his arms and stepped in front of him. "Silly or not, spill. No keeping secrets from the team."

Dean smiled faintly, giving in. "Fine. Leyla kind of reminded me of Vicky today," he began. I could see it; she had her hair down, her dark green jacket I guess looked like something Glory Girl might wear, maybe swap the messenger bag for a purse, it fit.

"Not just the outfit, either. Vicky could talk about her college courses for hours, especially anything parahuman-related, so seeing Leyla up at the board like that, all excited to talk chemistry…." He sighed. "I miss her. Especially since…."

He trailed off. "Since what?" I prompted.

"Since she's the one I've spent my last three birthdays with, instead of my parents."

"Wait, it's your birthday?" Chris asked

"Yep. May third. I've been keeping track of the days." He rapped his knuckles against the thin bracer hidden under his left sleeve.

One of the first things Chris had done when he'd gotten access to the workspace and some more tools was to strip out the gauntlet displays from his and Dean's armor and adapt them into what were basically extra-large watches so they could still use them out of costume. He'd also done something to his visor to let him pop some of the scanners out so he could carry those around too, along with a section of the faceplate to use as a screen.

He'd explained the whole process, in detail, without my asking.

Chris glanced down at his phone. "Shoot, I could've sworn I set a calendar reminder for that. Happy birthday, man!"

"Thanks. You sure you didn't set it for March fifth?"

"… Dammit."

The third of May. We'd been on Eberron for not quite a full month. Hard to believe; it felt a hell of a lot longer than that.

And it was going to be longer still: even if Merrix got his portal device working as soon as he possibly could, we wouldn't get home until July at the earliest.

Guess I could look forward to celebrating my birthday here, too.

"I'd wish you a happy birthday, but is it really a happy birthday?" Alec asked rhetorically. "Anyway, I'm hungry, so can we stop standing around and go?"

"Way to ruin the moment," Chris said.

"Eh, he can get a cupcake or something at the hotel. Now let's go."

~*~*~

The conversation over lunch mostly revolved around birthdays: when everyone's was, how they celebrated, all that stuff. We still mostly avoided the topic of family, but I could definitely feel that it wasn't out of distrust of the rest of the team anymore, just a sense of nobody wanting to mention loved ones while Dean was still feeling a bit down.

On the one hand, bringing up people and things that we missed was kind of painful, and it sucked to imagine how Dad would feel on my birthday when I wasn't there; on the other hand, talking about the things we would do on our next birthday after we got home helped keep everyone's spirits up.

Alec didn't take things very seriously, making the ridiculous claim that he didn't know when his own birthday was to avoid answering the question when we went around the table talking about it, but at least he didn't go out of his way to bring the mood down.

~*~*~

When we got back to our workshop, we found Corvin inside waiting for us, peering curiously at the diagrams Chris and Leyla had left on the chalkboard.

I'd sent my swarm ahead to check the place for intruders, as I did every time we all headed over from the hotel since I didn't know how comprehensive the supposed House Kunkdarak anti-theft and anti-intrusion protections were, so I discovered that Corvin hadn't actually been in the room until about thirty seconds before we reached the door and told that to the rest of the team.

At least he didn't go for a jump scare this time.

"You couldn't have waited outside?" Alec asked as we all filed in.

The gnome turned and gave us a bow that was almost mockingly deep. "Why, Regent Lemaître! I, too, am glad to see you after such a long time apart. You enjoyed your lunch, I hope?"

"Ignore him," Brian said. "Lunch was fine. Good to see you again. What's the news?"

"Straight to business, then." Corvin motioned to the table and grabbed himself a seat. "I have good news, with caveats."

Once everyone else was seated, Dean said, "Go ahead."

"I've had to pull quite a few strings," Corvin began, sounding quite proud of himself, "but I've finally managed to convince some of my dear relatives in the Notaries Guild to issue you identification papers despite your total lack of a personal and legal history here, and to do so in much shorter than the four to six month timeframe such a thing would usually take."

"And the caveats?" Brian asked.

"First, persuading them to do this required me to lean heavily on Yin, Obsidian, and I personally vouching for your noble character and peaceful intentions by myself, as Breland required multiple endorsements by existing citizens-or an effective-citizen-by-treaty, in my case-to offset your lack of history. Thus, you'll be issued Brelish identity papers only, meaning you'll have to remain within Breland for the time being."

He offered an apologetic smile. "Getting you traveling papers so that you could visit elsewhere would require sorting out a mess of legalities with the other nations as well as endorsements from multiple citizens of each of Aundair, Thrane, and Karrnath, and that simply isn't feasible right now, unfortunately."

Chris shrugged. "That's fine. It's not like we could afford any trips any time soon."

"Speaking of that, the second issue is the cost. Between rush fees, fees for first-time filing of certain official documents, and the like, the process will cost you twelve galifars apiece instead of the usual five."

Twelve was doable, but it was still an extra three days' worth of hotel funds down the drain.

"Then there is the matter of licensing, of course," he continued breezily. "I understand you've been given a waiver by the Fabricators Guild in order to be able to sell goods you create without going through the usual apprenticeship tests to certify your skills-"

News to me, but with Merrix helping us and Leyla being a member of the Guild, it wasn't a big surprise.

"-but the other House guilds likely won't be so accommodating. Creilath has explained the general licensing situation, I assume?"

"He has," Dean said.

The nicer parts of Sharn-and probably other cities in Khorvaire, but Creilath hadn't said-required permits to carry certain weapons, to wear armor, to use powers, to run certain businesses, and more. One of the reasons we'd only been doing the simpler and lower-paying jobs with him in the sketchier parts of the city so far was that, without our having those permits, we couldn't do any jobs with him in the wealthier districts without getting arrested and fined ridiculous amounts of money.

"Good. That will be fifty galifars for each of you, then: five for the weapons license, ten for the spellcasting license, and thirty-five for the associate's license with the Warning Guild." Corvin gave me a speculative look. "You may also want to ask about a Handlers Guild license for your insects, if you plan to use them for more than just their silk."

Ouch. Two hundred fifty galifars would basically wipe out our financial cushion; if Creilath's next case didn't pay very well, or if we failed to solve it and so didn't get any bonuses, in order to cover another week at the hotel we'd have to put ourselves in debt to Corvin or Merrix, or Creilath if he could afford it, and none of us wanted that.

In a pinch, I guess we could always have Alec confiscate some criminal funds again.

… But only as a very last resort, obviously.

The rest of the team wasn't any happier about the cost than I was. "Is that everything?" Dean asked.

"Isn't that enough?" Alec murmured.

"One last thing: You'll need to come with me to the enclave to fill out the forms for your spellcasting licenses. I didn't feel that I was familiar enough with your capabilities to do so on your behalf."

"When?" I asked.

He spread his hands. "Any time. Now would work, if you aren't busy."

"Now is fine. Let's go," Dean said as we all stood.

Alec groaned. "You couldn't have told us all of that before we walked all the way over from the hotel?"

~*~*~

Third Afternoon Bell, Zor the 26 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

House Sivis Enclave, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

The waiting room in the Notaries Guild wing of the Sivis Enclave was aggressively boring.

Blank gray walls, chairs and tables an identical shade of dark red, inoffensive ferns in beige ceramic pots placed at precise intervals around the room… if some villain back home ended up with bureaucracy- or accounting-themed powers, this was probably what their lair would be like.

It didn't help that they only had four employees available to handle the spellcasting licenses today, two reserved for us and two for everyone else, so when Dean and Chris were called in to take care of theirs the rest of us all just had to wait.

Finally the door opened and Dean emerged, a thick bundle of paperwork in hand. "I am now officially a licensed apprentice inquisitive and a licensed 'spellcaster of indeterminate classification'," he said, in the driest tone I'd heard from him so far. "Huzzah."

"Only took you an hour and a half," Alec grumbled as the examiner called out his title and he stood.

As he passed Dean, he added in English, "And those assholes even made you pay for your own birthday present, too. The nerve."

~*~*~

Twenty minutes later, Chris slunk out of the other examination room and collapsed into a chair. His cheeks were more than a little red with embarrassment, and he had a pouch of coins in hand.

"What happened?" I asked.

" Apparently the thing that sets the 'artificers' around here apart from people who can just build magic devices is that artificers can make temporary tinkertech by 'infusing' things, somehow, kind of like Dauntless," he said, his eyes fixed on his shoes.

"The lady didn't believe I couldn't do it, so it took a while to convince her that I do actually just suck that much. And since I can't do that, she said I wasn't a real artificer, refunded the fee for a spellcasting license," he jingled the coin pouch for emphasis, "and just gave me a weapons permit for my tech."

Oh boy. "I won't say anything to Alec," I promised him, and Dean and Brian nodded their agreement; Alec would bring the not-a-real-Tinker thing up for weeks if he found out about it.

"Grue Brian ir'Laborn!" the examiner called.

"Looks like I get the assholish one, too. Lucky me," Brian said, and headed in.

~*~*~

Alec finished up much more quickly than Dean had, probably because his power was much simpler than Dean's two powers, and then it was my turn.

"Good afternoon, Lady ir'Hebert," said the nondescript gnomish woman sitting behind a featureless brown desk covered in a variety of knickknacks that were probably intended to make it look less bland. "My name is Salleon Haskal d'Sivis, and I'll be handling your case today."

She pushed a stack of paperwork across the desk to me, and as I glanced down at the indecipherable text on the top page I had just enough time to think Wait, crap, I forgot I can't read the language; how the heck did Dean manage this? before she pushed a small glasses case over to me as well and added, "We were informed that you can't read the Common tongue, so these Spectacles of Comprehension will be provided to you as an accommodation for the duration of this session."

I quickly swapped out my cheap and clunky glasses for the spectacles, and after a few seconds of blurry vision as things adjusted I could read the forms perfectly. Not only that, but the spectacles were light enough that I could barely feel that I was wearing them.

Well, looks like I figured out what kind of glasses I was going to buy when I had enough money for them.

The first page wasn't anything for me to fill out, just a legalese explanation of how the Notaries Guild was testing for and issuing the license on behalf of the Brelish government, it wasn't valid outside of Breland, and so on.

The next page was… interesting.

Select the grade of spellcasting license for which you are applying, and complete the indicated form(s):

Adventurer's License

Collateral Damage Liability Agreement, page 3

Noble's License

Affidavit of Noble Lineage, page 6

Declaration of Hereditary Exemption to Prohibitions on Illegal Spells, page 8

Military License

Restricted Combat Spell Knowledge Non-Proliferation Agreement, page 11

Professional's License

Certification of Guild Membership in Good Standing, page 12

Dragonmarked Heir's License

Certification of House Affiliation in Good Standing, page 13

Personal License

Declaration of Noncombatant Spellcasting Capability, page 14

"You'll want to qualify for the adventurer's, noble's, and professional's licenses, dear," Salleon explained in a kindly tone as she gently pushed a pen and inkwell toward me. "The professional license so that you can work with Inquisitive Movanek, the noble's license because it comes with much lighter penalties for rulebreaking, and the adventurer's license because it will cover you in more… unusual circumstances."

I quickly flipped through the forms to get a sense of what I was in for, and I saw that there were a lot more than fourteen pages in the stack.

This was going to be a long meeting.

~*~*~

The paperwork was incredibly tedious, but it wasn't especially complicated or difficult; Salleon was very helpful at every step of the way, and the fact that she'd gone over a lot of this with Dean and Alec first meant that she knew how best to record the aspects of my power that didn't fit into the neat little boxes the forms expected.

There was just one small hiccup: trying to classify my power, legally speaking.

Sharn had a lot of laws around "Enchantment spells" (their term for Master effects), so the forms contained plenty of categories like Class 12E Restricted Spells of Involuntary Sapient Behavior Alteration that determined the penalties for using certain spells in various situations, or using them at all in the case of illegal spells.

I told Salleon upfront that my power only controlled insects-and crustaceans and so on, but definitely nothing that wasn't bug-like enough-but she said she had to confirm that, and then that gave some strange results, and so here I was, sitting in my chair making a firefly do circles around my head while she looked at me through an elaborate gold monocle.

Periodically, she consulted what looked like a set of flash cards, which she said depicted "a set of normalized auric reference signatures" that could somehow help her figure out what different powers could do.

She looked down at her cards for what felt like the twentieth time, then looked back at me, this time without the monocle. "I'm sorry, Lady ir'Hebert," she said, "but as I said, your spells' auras indicate that they are not limited to affecting the kinds of animals you mentioned. They appear to be able to link with, sense through, and compel creatures of any sort."

"And as I said, insects and crustaceans and arachnids are it," I replied, completely exasperated by this point. "If I could mind-control people-or heck, even dogs, we have one of those with us. If I could do that, I would know, and I would tell you that."

We went back and forth on that for a little while, her insisting, me retorting, her explaining, me countering.

(At some point during the argument, I remembered briefly seeing and hearing through the thri-kreen in Stormreach, and I bet those would count as "not insects" by whatever metric her scanner was using… but mentioning that would probably invite a whole bunch of additional questions, maybe even start the whole process over, so I decided not to.)

Eventually I wore her down. "Well, I can tell that you do believe what you're saying," she admitted reluctantly, "and I did see some similar, if much smaller, discrepancies with Lords ir'Stansfield's and ir'Lemaître's spell auras…."

Salleon sighed. "I'm a clerk, not an arcane scholar. I think we've reached the point where I'm going to need to speak to a superior about this. Please wait here."

She gathered up some of the forms I'd filled out and her power flash cards, sketched a bow, and left the room. I followed her with a few flies, purely out of curiosity, as she headed deeper into the enclave and ended up in a room with three other people: someone in a similar uniform to hers, presumably her boss; someone dressed in a sturdy outfit with tons of pockets and pouches that reminded me of Leyla's style, presumably their expert on powers; and, unexpectedly, Corvin.

They got to talking, and I listened in. Salleon explained the problem, their expert criticized her methodology, she fired back that it was much harder to classify things when she couldn't observe any "spell components" (the magic words and gestures almost everyone here used, I guessed) and when there was "clearly an intermingling of at least three distinct auras at play" (no idea what that meant), her boss supported her, and Corvin merely watched from the sidelines.

After a few minutes, Corvin stepped in. "You haven't yet mentioned the other oddity," he told Salleon.

"That they meet some of the diagnostic criteria for both sorcery and dragonmarked powers, without meeting all of the criteria for either one?"

"… The other other oddity," he said

"Oh, yes. There were a few unusual features I hadn't seen before, and I wasn't quite sure what they meant." She placed some of her cards and papers on the table and started pointing out certain things. I couldn't see through my bugs clearly enough to make out what was on each one, but from the accompanying discussion her boss and the powers expert didn't seem to grasp what she was getting at.

Corvin sighed, pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, and slapped it down on the desk, silencing the others. He pulled over one of my papers and two of the cards, put one card on my form and one on the other, crossed his arms, and waited.

"That's Mordain's licensing record," Salleon's boss said eventually. And… was that fear in his voice? "Where did you get that?"

Corvin ignored the question, instead reaching out and tapping both cards, one with each hand. "I assume I don't need to explain what this indicates?"

The boss and the power expert both nodded. Salleon started to say "Their auras couldn't really be brighter than-?" but her boss shook her head and Salleon fell silent.

"Now, we could go around in circles on this for quite a while," Corvin concluded, "but I think the best solution is simply to take the vicereine at her word, issue her the standard license, and not worry about any supposed testing discrepancies. I trust that meets with everyone's approval?"

The others quickly nodded.

"Good."

A few minutes later, Salleon was back in my room. She gave no indication that there was anything out of the ordinary as she silently initialed some paperwork; I did my best to not let on that I'd overheard their discussion.

"That should be everything, dear," she told me after a few minutes, spreading out the forms in front of her. She retrieved a single velvet glove from a drawer and put it on, closed her eyes and appeared to concentrate, and placed her palm firmly on the first form.

When she removed her hand, a very complicated symbol had appeared at the top of the page, roughly two inches across and giving off a very faint blue light. She repeated the procedure with the rest of the paperwork, then put everything back into one stack and handed it to me.

"That concludes the examination, Lady Vicereine. Once the others have finished, you can take these forms to room 314-S, where…."

~*~*~

One final form stood between us and our identification papers.

It was a small one, just a single paragraph of text and a single place to sign.

The thing that gave me pause was the first sentence of the paragraph: " Possessed of my full faculties and witnessed by Aureon, I do solemnly swear that to the best of my knowledge the information contained within these pages is completely true and accurate, without omission or deception."

We'd already seen that the government here had ways to tell if someone was lying. What were the chances that signing this form and claiming that we actually were nobles would make the paper burst into flames or put a curse on us or something like that?

(Yes, worrying about curses felt kind of silly, I was hardly superstitious, but I was starting to be convinced that between the incantations and the griffons and all that these people really were using something that would better be described as "magic" instead of "powers"… and at that point, why wouldn't curses be a thing?)

Chris must have been thinking along the same lines, because he was hesitant to sign as well, both of us waiting to see what would happen when one of the others signed.

"Who's Aureon?" Alec asked abruptly.

The man behind the desk gave us an odd look. "The Sovereign of Law and Lore. He is the patron deity of the legal system, among other things, and guarantor of statements made under oath."

Oh. I hadn't even considered the religious angle; the clerk hadn't introduced himself, so I was thinking Aureon might be his name. I should have considered it, though, given all the oaths that end in "so help me God."

"Does swearing by him work if we come from a place that's never heard of him?"

"The Sovereigns are present in all things, everywhere on Eberron," the man said confidently. "Your homeland may know him by another name or in another form, but his Sovereignty is absolute."

"So… would it be all right if we filled in the name we know him by, instead?" Chris asked casually.

"I… hmm." That appeared to stump the clerk for a bit. "That would be… highly irregular, but no more irregular than hosting dignitaries from Sarlona, I suppose?"

Sarlona was another continent, one far from Khorvaire-almost directly east of it, if I remembered Creilath's geography lesson correctly-that the Five Nations didn't have much contact with. Corvin must have told them we were from there as a cover story.

The clerk tapped his pen against the desk as he continued to think. "You may do so," he eventually agreed.

"Cool." Chris crossed out "Aureon" and wrote "Themis" in the margin above.

"Who's that?" I asked in English.

"Greek goddess," he replied.

"We're seriously doing this?" Brian asked.

"Do you want to take the chance that Aureon actually exists and gets pissed at us?"

Brian looked like he wasn't sure how seriously to take the suggestion that gods were real and cared about paperwork.

I wouldn't say I immediately dismissed the idea, but Mom had been pretty vocally against organized religion and Dad had never expressed an opinion that I could recall, so I'd kind of been non-religious by default. It wasn't like I thought God or gods definitely didn't exist, but the Bible stories you hear as a kid are less impressive when you have Scion and Eidolon flying around, y'know?

"There's always the chance that Aureon could be a powerful cape who thinks he's a god, kind of like Ra or… what's-her-name, the one who took over Basrah for a while," Dean suggested. I hadn't heard of either of those capes, but I had heard of the Fairy Queen, who thought she was, well, a fairy queen. Delusional capes could be very scary, and very unpredictable. "Give him a Thinker power around written documents and a weird vendetta…."

"Point," Brian said.

Back in Common, I told the clerk, "We'll all use our own god's name," as the rest of us changed the name like Chris had.

"And what might their name and title be?"

"Themis, the goddess of law and justice," Chris said.

"Ah, yes, that will do nicely," the clerk said, seeming much more confident about his decision to let us do that.

I signed my name, and I didn't get struck by any lightning bolts, so I guess that all worked out okay.

~*~*~

Four and a half hours after we arrived at the enclave, we walked out with identification papers in hand.

The papers were contained in a slim wooden case that was roughly as long as my hand and shaped like an elongated pentagon; Corvin explained that the unusual shape was one of many security features to prevent easy duplication. The inside cover had my portrait on it, the top page had my name, title, and physical description, and other pages in the stack had information about my current "residence" at the Horse & Hearth, our partnership with House Cannith, my various licenses, and so on.

The case and the papers had decorative borders and the case had a leather cover and tiny leather straps to hold it closed, which were probably only features of nobles' papers since most of the other people picking up papers at the same time received much plainer versions.

"How does it feel to finally be fully legal residents of Sharn?" Corvin asked brightly as he led us to the nearest lifts.

"Like ending up in a fantasy world involves way more bureaucracy than I ever imagined it would," Chris grumbled, in English.

"Pardon?"

"Like the process was a lot more painless than he expected," Dean said smoothly, in Common.

"House Sivis has been at this for quite some time," Corvin said proudly. "We have paperwork down to a science."

Alec rolled his eyes behind Corvin's back. "I noticed."

"I spoke with Creilath while you were getting your papers issued," the gnome continued as we approached the lifts. "Now that you can legally accompany him into Upper Tavick's Landing, he's ready to take you on a much higher-profile case, one that should hopefully be more deserving of your talents. And to pay much better, as well."

"Is this the one he's been working on for a while?" Dean asked. Creilath had mentioned a case that had been giving him trouble for a few weeks, and it was his slipping off to go work on that which had given us plenty of time to set up our workspace and do our own things while he was busy, but he hadn't been willing to share any details.

"That one is a bit too… delicate, at the moment," Corvin said. "If this one goes well, however, I believe Creilath plans to ask for your help on that next."

We reached the loading area for the lifts. "Meet Creilath tomorrow morning at the Twelve Pillars, at the seventh bell; your guide will be able to direct you," the gnome concluded as we got in line. "I'm not sure when I might be able to see you next, so I do hope you enjoy the remainder of your time in Sharn."

~*~*~

Shortly Before Seventh Morning Bell, Far the 27 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

Upper Tavick's Landing, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

We were stopped seven times between the lifts and the front door of the courthouse.

The clothes we'd bought in Stormreach were a bit fancier and more expensive-looking than average for Sharn, but the outfits everyone was wearing in Upper Tavick's Landing outdid us by far. I couldn't see a single person who wasn't decked out in jewelry, man or woman, and even the guards posted at the lifts-which was a first, since the lifts weren't guarded in the lower districts-wore gilded armor over silk uniforms.

The architecture and decorations were just as extravagant. The manors were huge, there were fountains at every intersection and sculptures in every yard… it was like people took every castle in Europe and every celebrity mansion in Hollywood and tried to shove them all into one place.

It was immediately obvious to the residents that we were out of place, so every member of the Sharn Watch that we passed would ask us very politely if we would be so kind as to show them our identification papers, please, and then would spend way too much time scrutinizing them for the tiniest hint of a forgery.

The first time was expected. The second time was a surprise. The fourth time was incredibly irritating. Dean and Chris were getting visibly annoyed every time we saw another person in a Watch uniform, and I probably was too.

"God, how many times are we going to get stopped for no reason when we're just walking down the street!" I complained after the fifth incident.

"You get used to it," Brian said flatly.

… Oh. Right.

Easy to forget that he was a black guy who'd grown up in a city full of neo-nazis, including lots of cops with Empire sympathies.

Open mouth, insert foot.

I felt my cheeks heating up and started to apologize, but he shook his head. "It's fine," he said tersely, and fixed his gaze on the street ahead.

Great. As if things between us weren't awkward enough already.

~*~*~

Finally we reached the courthouse, where Creilath and Urzat were waiting to meet us. Their slightly shabby clothing made them stand out even more than we did, and the guards there kept glancing over at Creilath as if they'd like nothing more than to toss him off the nearest balcony to get him out of the district.

"Morning," the inquisitive called as he ambled down the steps to meet us. Urzat took the steps two at a time to get out ahead of us and led the way down the street, his hand never straying too far from the sword at his belt.

"Good morning," Dean replied. "Where are we headed? Corvin didn't give us any details."

Instead of answering directly, Creilath lowered his voice and asked, "This case involves the Brelish parliament, which is a body of representatives who handle much of the government's day-to-day business for the king," he explained. "The Nobles Chamber has twenty-seven appointed seats, one for each of Breland's original noble families; the Commons Chamber has nine hundred and… sixty, I believe, elected seats, representing the nation's towns and cities."

"Elected?" I asked, surprised. With the way the nobles seemed to run everything here, I hadn't expected to hear that the government had anything even remotely democratic about it.

"Yes. An election is a process-"

"I know what an election is," I said. "I'm just surprised you have them here."

"Why?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't think the common people are capable of governing themselves?"

Shit.

I didn't want to say no and insult him-not to mention commit me to a position that he might be able to tell I didn't really believe-but I didn't want to say yes, either, in case he asked why a noble would think that and maybe also how the American government worked.

Dean saved me. "The United Kingdom back home has a parliamentary system under their king that sounds very similar to yours, and it works very well for them," he said diplomatically, neatly avoiding the question.

"In any case," Creilath continued after a moment, "there is a particular member of parliament who has been accused of murder, and I was hired to get to the truth of the matter."

"That's… a big step up for us, from dealing with smugglers and finding kidnapping victims," Brian said cautiously.

"It is, but this is a tricky enough situation that your talents will be exceptionally helpful. Not to mention that you'll likely have an easier time establishing a rapport with a fellow noble than I would."

Great.

"No offense, but I would've expected a murder case to be handled by… was it the King's Citadel?" Chris said, naming Breland's royal law enforcement organization.

"It was. And then they decided that the evidence they'd collected made very little sense, and purchased my assistance. The Citadel is somewhat limited in their ability to investigate members of Parliament, as is House Medani proper, so it was thought that an independent inquisitive would have more success, especially if I presented myself as someone who had been hired to attempt to exonerate her. You see-"

As we rounded one of the district's far too many fountains, a guard stationed nearby walked up to us, already extending his hand to ask for our papers, but Urzat stepped into the man's path with his own papers already in hand.

"Ah. Inquisitives," the man said disdainfully. "Move along, then."

Once we were out of earshot, I asked, "You want me to let you know where all the guards are so we can go around them?"

"That would be very helpful, thank you. As I was about to say, the evidence is split." He held up his left hand. "Everything at the crime scenes points to her involvement: footprints matching her shoes, threads from the styles of clothing she favors, witnesses reporting the presence of someone matching her general description, and more."

He held up his right hand. "But under direct examination with truth spells, the suspect claims she had nothing to do with the murders and hadn't even left her home during the times they occurred. Kundarak cursebreakers could find no signs of memory tampering or lingering enchantments that would allow her to truthfully claim not to have carried out the murders while having served as a witting or unwitting tool of another party."

"You said crime scenes, plural?" Chris asked.

"Yes," Creilath confirmed. "Four scenes so far, roughly one every two weeks; the alleged killer is expected to strike again tonight or tomorrow night, so time is of the essence on this case."

He dropped his hands, and we walked along quietly for a little while after that, just taking in the scenery.

"Okay, I give up, how are we supposed to help?" Alec asked. "Lord Stansfield I get, he has his emotion sense. And Lord McIntyre has his helmet scanners with him-that, or he's just happy to see me. But the rest of us?"

"It's quite simple," Creilath said. He paused as I told him to turn away from where I'd sensed a pair of guards coming up a side street, then explained, "As direct questioning by the Citadel has proven inconclusive, I plan to question her again with you present and then have you search every inch of her manor from cellar to attic until you find the missing piece of the puzzle."

~*~*~

The entire manor staff were gathered in a big semicircle in the main banquet hall, ordered roughly by rank from left to right, starting with the house steward who managed the rest of them and going all the way around to the children of the staff who did odd jobs around the property.

The suspect herself, Duchess Gersanna ir'Morgrave, was seated across a small tea table from Creilath in the middle of the room. We were standing a few yards behind Creilath along with Urzat, also in a semicircle to mirror the staff.

Introductions had taken a while, as had convincing Gersanna to agree to yet another round of questioning, but at this point she was mostly convinced that we were on her side and that cooperating with us could only help her case.

While Creilath explained to everyone how the questioning was going to go, Brian leaned over to Urzat and whispered, "Maybe a dumb question, but if she's in Parliament and that's based in Wroat, why are her house and all the murders in Sharn, and how did she just happen to be here today?"

"Parliament is in session only for the first half of each week," Urzat replied. "The common members take the lightning rail home and back for the other half. Richer members often teleport instead."

"Isn't that ridiculously expensive?" I whispered.

"Over two thousand galifars, each way, every week of the year. Practically nothing, to a Morgrave; they're the second or third wealthiest noble family in Breland." He gave a very tiny shrug, to avoid drawing attention away from Creilath. "It's good to be rich."

"I'll say."

A few minutes later, Creilath began questioning Lady Gersanna. It started off very basic, asking about her name, how long she'd lived in the city, when she was appointed to Parliament, things like that.

I didn't pay attention to any of it, since that wasn't our job and we'd be able to review Creilath's notes later anyway. Our job was to pay attention to the duchess and her servants.

The excuse Creilath had given to assemble the entire manor staff in one room was that Lady Morgrave obviously didn't do things like schedule her own appointments or personally feed her hippogriffs, and so he might have questions that she couldn't answer herself. He kept that ruse up expertly, tossing an easy question to one of the servants for every three or four he asked Gersanna.

The "real" reason, which Urzat had been sure to "let slip" to some curious servants, was that Creilath was taking the opportunity to show us, his completely inexperienced crop of new apprentice inquisitives, how to properly interrogate suspects of different social classes.

The real real reason was to get everyone in one place so that Dean could check out their reactions to Creilath's questions with his emotion sight, I could listen in on any side conversations through my swarm and track anyone who went off to do something suspicious right after being questioned, and Chris could scan them with whatever sensors he had in his mini-visor. And since none of us had to say any gibberish or point wands around or whatever to use our powers like the local capes did, nobody among the staff appeared to even consider the possibility that they were under discreet observation by us mere apprentices.

Brian wasn't happy that his job was basically to stand around with Urzat looking tough, since he didn't have a power that would help with observation, though he did have a notebook and pencil with him like the rest of us in case he did happen to notice something himself.

Alec, of course, didn't mind having the easy job at all.

~*~*~

"All right, crew, what's the word?" Creilath asked softly. While Gersanna and the staff were filing out of the hall, we'd ducked into the kitchen to chat and were now gathered around a table with pages of notes stacked up in front of us.

"I didn't see anything that was immediately suspicious," Dean said to start us off. "The captain of the guard was feeling some pretty sharp cynicism when you were asking questions about staff salaries, so that might be a sign that he was open to bribery or something. The steward felt exasperated and a little sad when Gersanna said her main hobby was playing the harpsichord, so there might be something there, though I couldn't say what. The ostlers felt indignant and guilty when she said she rides her hippogriffs about once a month; not sure what that might mean. Nothing else unusual."

Creilath scribbled a few notes, then pointed at me. "There was lots of chatter, but nothing that implied she was lying about anything," I said. "From what they were saying when you asked about her feelings toward…" I checked my notes "… House Clarn and House Demell, it sounds like they mostly don't believe the charges against her."

"Any suspicious movements?"

"One of the kitchen maids is heading upstairs to what I'm guessing is her room instead of going with the others," I said, "and one of the grooms stopped to grab a bag from a closet on the way to the stables."

"Hmm." The inquisitive gave Brian and Alec a look. "Could either or both of you go see what those two might be up to?"

"I've got this," Alec said. He a ran a hand dramatically through his curly hair. "Give me ten minutes and I'll have them eating out of my hand." I gave him directions to both of the teenage employees, and he meandered off.

Creilath turned to Chris. "And you, Lord McIntyre?"

"Nothing from the staff," he said, "but, um, Lady Morgrave is a human, right? And she's somewhere in her forties?"

"Correct on both counts."

"Well, I've got an IR sensor in here, and her body temperature was on the low end for someone her age. Not unhealthy-low, just unusual-low. In case that's important."

The inquisitive went still, and so did Urzat.

"Lord Stansfield," Creilath said, suddenly more serious than before, "you said you didn't notice anything unusual about Lady Morgrave's emotions during the questioning, but how would you describe her emotional range?"

"What do you mean?"

"How was… hmm. How would you compare the intensity of her strongest negative emotion to the intensity of her strongest positive emotion?"

"Uh." Dean glanced down at his notes, but didn't seem to find anything helpful there. "I remember thinking that she was surprisingly self-controlled for someone being investigated for murder. Probably stronger positive emotions? Not many spikes of concern or impatience at the more direct questions, at least."

Creilath nodded, then looked to me. "You had insects secreted among her clothing, yes?"

And in her hair and on her neck, too. "Yeah."

"For someone sitting in one place for an hour, would you say her movements were more restless than normal, less restless than normal, or about average?"

Well, gee, I didn't know I was supposed to be tracking everyone's last little body movement on top of everything else. Maybe I'll take her pulse next time, just to be sure.

"I didn't notice her being unusually fidgety, if that helps," I said.

Creilath and Urzat traded a long look across the table. "Like the '87 Q'barran expat case, you think?" Urzat murmured.

"She wouldn't be that sloppy. I was actually thinking of the Deneith-Kavay case in '92," Creilath replied grimly.

The bodyguard scowled. "Oh, Host, I hope not. Once was bad enough."

Brian cleared his throat pointedly. "Anyone want to share?"

Another long look. "Not quite yet," Creilath said cautiously. "All we have now is suspicions."

He drew himself up to his full height. "Lord Stansfield, you and I are going to have a follow-up conversation with the duchess. No specific topics, just keep an eye on her emotions while I keep her occupied. You three, search the manor. You're looking for anything out of place or hidden, especially anything in a concealed compartment. Search everywhere; I'll smooth any ruffled feathers later. Urzat… no one leaves this manor for the next two hours, no exceptions."

"Right," the half-orc rumbled. He held out his left hand and tapped a ring on his right hand with his right thumb, and suddenly his spiked metal armor materialized over his upper-class clothing and a massive axe appeared in his hand. With that, he turned and stalked toward the manor's front entrance.

Chris stared after him. "I gotta get me one of those," he mumbled.

~*~*~

"Still nothing?" Brian asked as Chris examined the desk in Lady Gersanna's lavish office-slash-salon.

He glared at Brian over the screen of his scanner. "Sorry for forgetting to add X-ray vision to this thing," he snapped.

We'd beelined for what felt to my swarm like the largest and most fancy room in the private part of the manor, and now Brian was in the doorway keeping an eye out for any servants who might come by while Chris was going over the room with his visor and I was wandering around looking at everything.

I didn't have to move around at all, my bugs were doing all the work, but I didn't want to just stand awkwardly next to Brian for a while.

"I'm not sensing anything either," I said. "No secret compartments in any of the books, no cracks in the walls, nothing. Pretty sure this room is a bust."

Brian frowned. "Actually, speaking of cracks… I have an idea."

Inky darkness began leaking from his skin, oozing down his body, and spreading across the floor, walls, and ceiling like an oil slick that ignored gravity. The flies I had on the walls twitched as the darkness moved over them in a way that resembled a weak but steady current of air.

"It doesn't look like smoke anymore, but it still mostly moves like smoke," he explained. "If there are any openings that aren't completely airtight-"

"That will help my bugs find them when the darkness tries to flow in," I said. "Great idea."

"Thanks," he said gruffly.

Even with the help of Brian's power, we didn't find anything in that room, but when we moved on to the next room we started off with him blanketing the whole room in darkness and me sweeping every surface with my bugs, just in case.

The strategy paid off when we made it to Gersanna's bedroom. Sending my swarm behind a small painting next to her massive bed revealed hair-thin cracks in the wall in a rectangular shape.

Once I knew that was there, I sent my bugs searching for a crack in the wall wide enough for them to get inside, then had them feel out the area behind the painting. There was a solid object attached to the wall there which was roughly as large as two shoeboxes stacked on top of each other, obviously a wall safe of some kind.

"Gotcha," I said, and told Brian and Chris what I'd found.

Brian put on his gloves and carefully moved the painting aside, revealing a tiny keyhole in the wall. It was hard to make out even when we knew it was there, since the wallpaper in the room had a very busy floral print and the keyhole was positioned to blend in perfectly with the center of one of the flowers; Lady Gersanna must really have wanted the compartment to not be found.

"Too obvious," Brian opined. "Guess they don't have the safe-behind-the-painting cliché here."

"Obvious or not, how do we open it?" Chris asked.

I glanced at Brian. "Alec?"

"Alec."

My swarm swept through the ground floor searching for him, and very shortly I found Alec chatting with the stablehands, both the one he'd been send to check up on and another one who was working while they talked.

Actually, wait-Alec was sitting very close to the groom and had an arm around his shoulder, and the older teenager was shifting around a bit like he wasn't entirely comfortable. Was Alec trying to flirt with the groom to get information out of him?

I started listening in, and….oh, god.

Apparently Alec had been toning down the crass humor around us.

If all the horse riding innuendo was his idea of flirting, I didn't see Alec getting any dates any time soon.

Quickly shutting out what I was hearing, I arranged my flying bugs into a large arrow where only Alec could see it. He made his excuses and left, and the stablehands didn't exactly seem upset to see him go.

Soon enough Alec joined us in front of the wall safe. He pulled out the lockpicks Creilath had given him, gestured for us to give him some space, and carefully placed his first pick in the lock-and promptly went flying as the lock let out a loud crack and a bright flash of blue light. The wallpaper right around the keyhole was scorched black, and the scent of ozone filled the air.

We rushed over to him. "Alec? You okay?" Brian asked.

The younger villain groaned as we helped him slowly sit up. His fingertips were charred and bleeding, and the pick was half-melted. "Fucking ow," he mumbled. "I can't feel my fingers. The hell was that?"

"This is above our paygrade," Brian decided. "Let's get Creilath."

~*~*~

It took a while for Creilath to extricate him from the conversation and leave Gersanna talking with Dean, but eventually he was able to join the four of us in the duchess's bedroom.

Alec was doing okay, after Creilath sang something that sounded vaguely French and healed Alec's hand. Another spell from him cleaned up the scorch marks on the wall and cleared the air, and a wand he pulled from one of his many pockets disabled the electrical thing on the lock before he started picking it.

He didn't say that we'd been stupid to try to do everything ourselves instead of coming to get him as soon as we found the safe, but his disappointed demeanor said it all for him.

The lock clicked, the concealed door swung open, and we were able to see inside the safe. There were coins, papers, and other miscellaneous stuff, but the most interesting thing was a row of tiny glass bottles, some of them containing a glimmering reddish-orange liquid and the others containing a thick reddish-purple liquid.

"I was wrong. She was that sloppy," Creilath remarked as he pulled on some gloves, carefully retrieved one bottle of each kind of liquid, and shut the safe.

"Won't she notice them missing?" Chris asked.

"Doesn't matter. These are both highly illegal substances, so she can't exactly go running to the Watch to complain about theft."

"What are they?" Alec asked, peering closely at the bottles. "Looks like… LSD? MDMA?"

"The orange one is essence of dreamlily, the other is absentia."

"Essence of-are those drugs?" I asked.

"Magical drugs, yes."

"That sounds… bad."

"It is," he said, expression grim. "I'm not going to take this one-" he held up the bottle of absentia "-to an apothecary. I'm taking it to an exorcist."

… A what?

~*~*~

Eleventh Evening Bell, Zor the 26 th of Rhaan, 999 YK

One Block From Gersanna's Manor, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

Growing up, I'd always hated drugs. All the gangs dealt drugs to some degree, and over the years of living close to the Docks and taking the occasional bus through gang territory, I'd seen the worst that drugs could do to people.

Or at least I thought I had.

Drugs that could make you hallucinate things, or want to fight everyone you saw, or kill you with an overdose, were bad enough.

Drugs that could get you possessed by a literal demon were a completely new level of bad.

Yes, a demon. I wasn't even going to try to explain it in terms of a cape with a weird Master power or something, the situation was just too bizarre.

At first we'd thought Creilath was joking about the exorcist, but then he explained what absentia actually did.

Someone who took a dose of it would immediately fall asleep for around an hour. While they were out they'd have a very vivid dream of being someone else, one so vivid that they'd often start sleepwalking and otherwise trying to act out some of the things they were experiencing-except it wasn't just a dream, they were actually sensing through a random person nearby almost like how I sensed through my bugs.

That was all absentia did, as far as most people knew, and it was the privacy implications that led the drug to be outlawed.

But Creilath, thanks to a previous case involving an absentia user, was one of the few people in the city to know that while someone was high on it they could actually be possessed by a quori, a demon that could usually only take over people who let it in-because willingly getting possessed by a demon was a thing that happened here sometimes, apparently.

We'd asked questions as Creilath took us to a church in the Central Plateau, questions like So what do you mean when you say "demon" exactly?, but when Creilath walked out of the church accompanied by a stern dwarf man in plate armor covered in a blue and yellow tabard, holding a mace in one hand and what he claimed was a flask of holy water in the other, that pretty much answered our questions.

And now here we were, doing our third stakeout in this city, this time accompanied by High Priest Phthaso Mogan as we waited to see if a demon-possessed duchess was going to sneak out of her house at night to murder someone while high on drugs.

You just can't make this stuff up, I thought to myself as my bugs canvassed the block around her house.

Phthaso turned out to be a priest of the same religion that Aureon belonged to, and also Olladra, a god I vaguely remembered hearing Yin mention once or twice. He offered to give us a crash course in his religion to pass the time, and having nothing better to do, we accepted.

The Sovereign Host religion felt fairly Greek to me, having nine gods of various things, all related somehow, with another group of gods they kicked out at some point for being bad. Worshiping those gods could supposedly turn you into a cape if you believed hard enough; Dean was polite enough to seemingly entertain the idea, but the rest of us were clearly skeptical that you could get powers without triggering.

And given how vindictive the Greek gods tended to be and how the priests of the religion were supposed to carry out the gods' commands, I was really glad we'd decided not to lie in Aureon's name.

Suddenly, motion at the manor. "She's coming out the side door," I whispered.

"Positions, everyone," Creilath said.

"Be cautious," Phthaso warned. "Possessed individuals move and fight with supernatural skill and little regard for their own well-being, and quori in particular are known to work their magic using their host as a conduit. Let me attempt to exorcise it first, and only if that fails should you attack her."

"But if you do have to attack her, don't hold back anything short of lethal force," Creilath said. "Any wounds can be healed, so long as you and she survive the night."

We waited anxiously as Lady Gersanna crept through her yard and garden and out onto the street. The moment she turned and started walking away from us I told the group, and we all hustled down a side street to get past her and take up positions a block ahead.

I fought the urge to hold my breath as we counted down the seconds to the ambush.

The high priest stepped out from the alley as she reached the intersection, and he raised a blue and yellow octagram necklace in front of him like a priest holding out a cross in a vampire movie.

" Sholeth rhashad! In the name of Dol Dorn, begone from this plane!" he cried, mixing Common and another language I hadn't heard before.

Golden light burst forth from his amulet in all directions and the duchess flinched away from it as if burned.

As the light passed over me, I felt… I'm not sure what I felt. Warmth, peace, a sense of rightness, a sense of someone watching over me, maybe even a bit of an out-of-body experience.

It felt transcendent, it felt holy, in a way that I'd never experienced before.

The light faded, the feelings vanished, I quickly looked around to see whether the rest of the team seemed to have been just as affected by the experience as I had, which they did-and Lady Gersanna's mouth stretched into a disturbing grin.

She locked eyes with Phthaso, and the priest collapsed to the cobblestones with a bloodcurdling scream of pure agony.

Then she started looking around for us.

I didn't hesitate. I sent every single goddamn insect in all of Upper Tavick's Landing streaming toward her with orders to hold back their venom but otherwise bite and sting for all they were worth.

It seemed to do nothing. She looked right at where I was hiding and started stalking toward me, completely ignoring any pain inflicted by my bugs.

Volleys of blue and yellow light erupted from Dean's and Chris's positions, but despite the duchess starting to visibly bruise, she kept coming.

Creilath shouted something and more energy bolts leaped out of his wand to strike her, but she kept coming.

Brian filled the street with his darkness, and she just kept coming.

I was scared. I was angry.

I was panicking.

I was furious.

Who the hell did she think she was!?

If she was just going to shrug off my bugs like the drow did in Zantashk, I was going to march right up to her and punch her in the goddamn face and just keep punching her until I-

"Taylor! What are you doing?" Chris called.

"The rage is false! It isn't your own! Fight it!" Creilath shouted right after that.

I looked down in shock. I'd stood up and stepped out of cover without realizing it and now I was halfway down the street to Gersanna.

I tried to turn back, but hesitated. My anger demanded an outlet; I couldn't just let her walk away!

No, this isn't you, it's a power, you're not like this, I tried to tell myself, but it didn't help.

Brian vaulted over the fence he'd been crouched behind and ran toward Gersanna as well, his face a mask of utter fury.

I wanted to stop him.

I didn't want to stop him.

She deserved whatever he was going to dish out.

I-

Suddenly it was like I'd dunked my head in a bucket of ice water. Brian looked like he snapped out of it at the same time I did.

What the hell was I thinking, trying to run up and punch someone when there were powers flying around and a possessed person was almost definitely better in a fistfight than I was?

I turned back to see Phthaso hauling himself to his feet, his amulet held out in front of him. " Nem'tzah quor halzhov!" he shouted. "By the power of the Sovereigns, I release your victim!"

Lady Gersanna threw her head back as her knees suddenly buckled beneath her. She tried to say something, but I couldn't hear her in Brian's darkness.

"Brian! Clear it out!" I called, and the darkness receded to reveal a very bruised and confused Gersanna.

"Where am I? What in Dolurrh is going on?" she demanded.

"You're three blocks away from your home, and you were just freed from demonic influence by High Priest Mogan, here, after my apprentices stopped you from killing anyone else tonight." Creilath replied.

"What? But I never-demonic influence? Really?"

"From the absentia."

She hesitated too long. "I'm… afraid I don't know what you mean to imply-"

"Save it for the Watch. My associate is fetching them now."

~*~*~

A whole squad of Watch officers was questioning Creilath and Gersanna about what had happened. The priest had patched up the duchess, and us, with his power-

No. The hell with it. Magic is real here, demons are real here, gods might or might not be real here but I know what I felt and it wasn't just an emotion power.

He healed us with his spells.

I wasn't going to keep bending over backward to try to fit everything they had here into what I knew from back home; maybe powers and magic were the same at some level, maybe they were totally different, I didn't care anymore.

Dean came up and laid a hand on my shoulder. "Hey. You doing okay?"

"I got mind-controlled into maybe almost killing someone very important and might have just had an existential crisis, so… no."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Not really."

"Well, just so you know, you were fantastic today."

"Thanks."

We stood there silently as the Watch manacled the duchess and escorted her away. Creilath and the rest of the team came over to join us while the priest kept a polite distance.

"Excellent work today, everyone," Creilath said. "Each and every one of you was integral to the success of this venture, and you can look forward to a handsome reward from the Citadel for your actions. Thanks to you, a murderer is off the streets of Sharn."

"Do you have any idea what the demon was trying to achieve?" Brian asked. He'd been fairly quiet between being freed of the demon's power and now. "Seems kind of strange that it attacked us immediately instead of trying to pretend to be her."

The inquisitive shrugged. "Who can fathom the mind of a fiend? I can say, however, that there may be more to this than just a single quori; two of my ongoing cases may possibly relate to this matter, and three more cases I have been offered seem as though they might as well. Take tomorrow to rest and pursue your own activities, and the following day I'll brief you on your next case."

He turned to go, then paused and turned back. "Oh, and do be aware that you might become minor celebrities in the near future."

"Celebrities?" Chris repeated, not sounding at all happy about the prospect.

"Indeed. While I will do my utmost to keep your names and likenesses out of the newspapers, revealing corruption at the highest levels of government is no small feat and the nobility, as I'm sure you're well aware, do love their gossip. You may soon become a favored topic of conversation among them."

Great. I couldn't see any upsides to that, only downsides, especially if some of Gersannas' allies decided to get back at us for getting her arrested. It wouldn't take much, really, given our precarious legal and financial position.

We traded uncertain looks around the circle, before Alec summed up what we were all thinking: "Well isn't that just fan- fucking-tastic."

There was nothing we could really do about it now, I supposed. Nothing but to keep moving forward, take bigger cases, make more money and allies, work on our own plans, to ensure that we could deal with anything that came our way for as long as it took until we could finally go home.

So, as they liked to say around here: in for a copper….

Author's Note

From workshop interior decorating to demon hunting in less than 48 hours. That certainly escalated quickly.

THACo remain comfortably out of the weight class of many Sharn threats, Corvin continues to be not acting the slightest bit suspicious, and surely the financial windfall the party is about to receive will solve all of their problems.

Oh, and one internet cookie to those who guessed that radios would be Chris's best shot for introducing his first bit of Earth technology. They really are the best option for homemade tech if you can't pop on down to the local electronics shop to buy the components you'd need for something more advanced; in fact, here's a video of someone making a basic crystal radio out of household parts.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The Dhakaani Empire was a goblinoid empire that fell around 5,000 years before the present. Their approach to combat magic emphasized magic-enhanced martial skill over blowing people up with fireballs, so bards were their main combat-capable casters. Thus, while firearms explicitly aren't a thing in Eberron, it's been suggested that if anyone had dabbled in them it would be a certain clan of Dhakaan, hence my throwing in the mention here. Spectacles of comprehension are glasses enchanted with comprehend languages , and Salleon's monocle gives her detect magic while her flash cards help her with Spellcraft checks to try to suss out auras. The mention of Mordain is referring to Mordain the Fleshweaver, a very evil and very infamous wizard and possibly the most powerful arcanist in Khorvaire whose identity is publicly known. He's an 18th-level wizard, so the implication that THACo's magic auras are "brighter" (read: higher caster level) than Mordain's most recent recorded auras would definitely be of interest to Corvin and friends. Aureon is mostly known to players as the god of magic, but in-setting he is indeed better-known as a patron of bureaucrats and lawyers and such. Five Nations identification papers are indeed pentagonal, though the fact that the reasoning is "to prevent easy duplication" and not "to look cool in sourcebooks" is my own extrapolation. Upper Tavick's Landing is essentially one ginormous gated community for the rich and powerful, second only to the floating Skyway in its exclusivity. The ring Urzat used to equip himself is a ring of arming, which lets you store weapons and armor in an extradimensional space and swap them out with what you're currently wearing and wielding. Dreamlily and absentia are both drugs from Riedra, the Sarlonan nation ruled indirectly by the quori. The duchess's lower body temperature, calm demeanor, and lack of movements were side effects of having taken just a smidgen of dreamlily-to ease the nerves, you understand, she's not addicted, she can stop at any time-and are what put Creilath onto the idea of drugs in the first place, and then getting from dreamlily to absentia was an easy logical leap. Alec's attempt to pick the lock on the safe was foiled by a glyph of warding , whose design blended in neatly with the complicated wallpaper. Phthaso Mogan isn't (just) a crime against pronunciation, he's a canonical priest in Sharn. While he's described as "an exorcist" he doesn't actually have the Exorcism domain, as that's Silver Flame-exclusive; he merely used the dismissal spell, which can be used to force out a possessing creature. The language he used in his incantations was Celestial, the tongue of Good-aligned outsiders. Taylor almost falling to the Dark Sidegoing a bit nuts was a result of her being subjected to the psionic rage power of the du'ulora quori possessing the duchess (which imposes a rage on an unwilling target) combined with its id insinuation power (which happened to inflict the "attack nearest creature" option on Taylor and Brian when I rolled for its effect; good thing THACo was spread out around the intersection, or one of them could have gotten a facefull of bugs and/or darkness). Not a very fun combination on the receiving end.

Rule of Three 3.3.V

3:40 pm, Wednesday the 4th of May, 2011 CE PRT 4 Loop HQ Lobby, Chicago, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

One of the most irritating consequences of the need to maintain a low profile in the course of exploring a new world has always been an inability to employ my name and reputation (and the occasional display of psionic strength) to bypass pointless bureaucracy.

Perhaps it was self-centered of me, but I couldn't help but reflect that such distinguished figures as Elminster, Mordenkainen, or Tetricallus-influential wizards, all, and widely famous (or infamous) on their respective homeworlds for their wisdom and power-would have been placed in immediate contact with Myrddin upon their arrival, not asked to linger in the reception area with the common rabble to await the hero's return from patrol in roughly an hour's time.

The wait wasn't entirely pointless, admittedly. From my current location the entire headquarters complex was well within my sensory range and so I was able to spend the time taking in the scenery, examining the various buildings' architecture and composition, observing the local heroes as they sparred and trained, and so forth.

The PRT's private wireless network was also within range, but lacking any sort of computing device I was unable to access it. I thus spent some of the time pondering the design of an item that would allow me to access such networks without the aid of a technological intermediary.

An hour came and went with no sign of Myrddin's arrival.

Having seen all there was to see of the complex, and having exhausted my patience as well, I turned my gaze to the large poster of Myrddin hanging on the far wall and used that likeness to scry him.

The scene I observed with my remote viewing explained the hero's continued absence: he had his staff thrust toward an unseen adversary, tendrils of lightning lashing forth from a glowing blue sigil hanging in the air before him.

With a thought, I rendered myself incorporeal and imperceptible, then teleported-

~*~*~

-to a spot a few yards above his location and off to one side.

I found myself floating over a structure named the Navy Pier, according to the inscriptions upon several signs and archways below. There was a line of buildings down the center, while both sides of the pier held pedestrian walkways, small gardens, open-air restaurants, and a wide variety of other attractions. It seemed almost like a cross between Boston's waterfront and Brockton Bay's boardwalk, though noticeably larger and clearly better-funded.

There were a selection of small ships moored along the side of the pier, as well, both wind-powered and engine-powered… or at least there had been until quite recently.

Unfortunately for their owners and captains, most of the ships were heavily damaged as a result of having been either tossed up onto the walkways or flung a short distance offshore by the massive finned monster currently crashing its way down the southern side of the pier.

The creature was mostly orange in color, with copper, red, and magenta highlighting the edges of its fins and dappling the long spines down its back and tail. Being more humanoid than piscine, it vaguely resembled a locathah, or perhaps a specimen of a similar fish-folk race, that had been scaled up-

-until it was around sixty feet tall, its head and shoulders towering above everything on the pier except for the Ferris wheel near the pier's center.

The air was filled with the screams of people fleeing the monster's approach under the watchful eyes of two capes.

The first was Myrddin, advancing steadily through the air and loosing intermittent blasts of energy at the monster. The second was a robed man sitting astride a flying creature that was swooping back and forth near the opposite end of the pier, whose entire contribution to the battle appeared to be cackling wildly and spouting such eloquent statements as " Run, run puny mortals! Ahaha, yes, flee before my mighty and menacing monster!" while looking upon the destruction with obvious glee.

More winged creatures surrounded the latter figure, twenty in all, looping around him in lazy arcs to keep an eye out for threats in every direction. They seemed to be crossbreeds of bats and crocodiles, and were roughly ten feet long from the tips of their jagged beaks to the ends of their spiked tails.

I suppose responding to such an incident was a decent excuse for Myrddin's delayed return to headquarters.

No lives appeared to be in immediate danger, largely because the fish-like monster appeared to be aiming for spectacle rather than lethality, so I declined to aid the panicking bystanders for now and instead took the opportunity to observe Myrddin in his element.

Floating down toward a gaggle of young adults on the shore who were recording the battle with their phones, seemingly heedless of the danger the monster presented, I rendered myself perceptible once more and sidled up to the group. "What's going on?" I asked, injecting just the right amount of concern into my voice.

"Monstrum's attacking the Pier, and Myrddin's kicking his ass!" one of them replied excitedly.

"Is that the name of the monster, or the cape?" I asked.

"The cape, duh," the young woman beside him replied. "Haven't heard of him?"

"No."

Above the pier, Myrddin waved his staff dramatically, and the air above the pier was rent by thunder. The monster braced itself, and its outline wavered as if the hero's spell were struggling to compress it into a space too small to contain it. A moment later, the effect dissipated and the creature went back to tearing chunks of brickwork out of the nearest wall and flinging them every which way.

"He's a Tinker who makes custom biological minions. The fish-thing's new; mostly he makes ones that look like dinosaurs or aliens or whatever," the young woman explained. "Every so often he makes a really big minion and plops it down in a major city to cause some chaos while his other minions go steal whatever he needs for his next project."

"Which is pretty same-y after a while. String Theory did the threaten-a-random-city thing better," another onlooker declared.

"Meh. You've seen one nutjob Tinker villain, you've seen 'em all, right?" a third offered with a shrug, not taking his eyes off his phone.

Their auras revealed that there was a considerable amount of bravado in their words, but not as much as a reasonable person would expect.

Just like Mike, the natives of Chicago (and several other large cities I'd thus far visited) seemed remarkably unconcerned with the threat posed by villains, on the whole. It was as though the Protectorate had them thoroughly convinced that the heroes had things well in hand, and that serious consequences of major villain attacks were something that only happened to other cities.

"This attack's different, though," said the youngest person present, his aura tinged with discomfort. "I mean, a huge scaled thing that comes out of the water and starts knocking over buildings… that's kind of a dick move."

"How so?" I asked.

Myrddin swiped his staff in a horizontal motion with a slight twirl at the end, then a second time, then a third. Each time, the gesture briefly left a streak of cyan light in the air, followed by a powerful gale blasting forth to strike the monster across its chest and briefly halt its forward movement.

The creature responded by grasping a nearby tree with its tail and flinging it toward Myrddin, forcing the hero to dodge out of the way-and then to hastily shout "Beware the tree!" and evoke yet another gale to knock the projectile off-course so that it wouldn't strike a fleeing couple and their daughter.

The boy glanced around furtively and lowered his voice. "You know, like Leviathan does," he said softly.

I still hadn't yet managed to find any images of Leviathan, aside from a single very blurry photograph of a clawed hand that gave no sense of scale and could have depicted a member of practically any reptilian race, but if he did resemble the rather comical fish-monster on the pier I could hardly see how the monster's mere physical similarity to the villain was enough to cause the degree of anxiety visible in the boy's aura.

"The fact that this creature may resemble Leviathan-"

"Don't say his name so loud!" the boy hissed.

I raised an eyebrow. The superstitious attitude of the locals toward certain villains was beginning to become more irritating than amusing. "There's no need to be dramatic," I told him.

All of them turned to glare at me after that remark. "No need to be dramatic? About Leviathan?" echoed the first one with whom I'd spoken. "Fuck you, man. I had family in Seattle."

Seattle being the site of an especially infamous incident caused by the villain in question, I presumed, much as Madison was for Ziz.

Not that anyone could ever be bothered to explain what had happened there or why Leviathan was so feared, of course.

With my new technomantic powers I could now begin to research some of the more infamous villains when I had a free moment, but there would be much less danger of my inadvertently triggering any of my interlocutors' painful memories if anyone would just come out and say why these particular villains were so feared when the topic arose, instead of acting as though the mere mention of their names-

I paused, and considered.

Perhaps speaking their names was dangerous, in and of itself. Powerful arcanists were capable of establishing a semantic resonance with their own name such that if anyone were to speak it within a certain distance of themselves they would know the location and identity of the speaker, similar to the ability of a god to sense when their name was uttered but on a much smaller scale.

I'd only ever seen the technique employed by the more benevolent archmages in order to allow allies to call upon them in a time of need, but if an especially sadistic villain were to do the same so that he could punish those who spoke his name and thereby cause this sort of terror on a grand scale….

Perhaps I had, once again, been too hasty in my judgment of the locals.

"My apologies, for my words and for your loss," I said. "I intended no offense."

"Well, I took some, so-"

"Easy, Tom, he said he's sorry, let it go," one of the others said. She then gave me a meaningful look, and I took that opportunity to drift away from the group and closer to the battle, rendering myself imperceptible once I was out of their line of sight.

As I floated onto the pier and proceeded toward the pair of combatants, I turned my attention back to the battle.

Myrddin had his staff thrust out in front of him, its tip aimed directly at the monster's head. Every piece of debris within a dozen yards of the hero was flinging itself at the monster's face one by one, forcing the creature to raise its arms to protect its eyes. It let out the occasional angry croaking sound, but aside from some superficial gashes here and there the bombardment didn't seem to be inflicting much harm.

I continued along, keeping well above the fleeing families and damaged ships below, until I was within a few hundred feet of the battle, close enough to view the auras of everyone involved.

The artificial creatures' auric signatures were unsurprising: none bore any protective spells, but all had minor compulsions upon them to obey Monstrum and to continue their assault despite the heroic reprisal, and they possessed only the sort of dim and rudimentary emotions indicating that the avian creatures were unthinking biological automata and the piscine creature was semi-sapient at best.

Myrddin's own aura was similarly unsurprising. My radiovision revealed that he was in sporadic electronic communication with his allies-presumably to request reinforcements, though I couldn't yet decipher the actual contents of encrypted radio messages.

The aura of Myrddin's spell, however, was considerably more interesting. It wasn't a spell of telekinesis or of direct gravitic manipulation, as I'd expected; rather, he'd created a breach to another plane in which gravity pulled in a different direction.

There are a wide variety of planar phenomena that allow creatures, objects, and even physical laws to traverse from one plane to another. The milder planar breaches or bleeds are of the latter sort, causing the physics of one plane to impinge upon the reality of another plane in a given area without allowing anything to physically pass through in either direction.

Such phenomena are quite delicate and difficult to sustain; the standard spells for creating them are highly sensitive to the topology of the local planar fabric, and so don't allow the creator to choose which plane will be the target of the breach. For Myrddin to know a spell that allowed him to select the destination plane for his breaches would speak very highly of his skill, were he a wizard who had developed it himself rather than a sorcerer who had lucked into possessing it.

The monster took one step forward, then a second, still shielding itself from the barrage of debris. Myrddin floated backward slightly to maintain the same distance from his foe, then abruptly lifted his staff and canceled the effect, causing the creature to overbalance when the force pulling it and the debris backwards suddenly vanished.

Even off-balance, the creature was far from harmless: several rows of spines down its upper arms launched themselves toward Myrddin with a loud series of staccato pops, indicating some kind of pneumatic propulsion mechanism. The hero was forced to swerve behind a relatively intact building to avoid the projectiles, before swinging his staff in an overhand arc that knocked a cluster of spines off-course from where they would have landed amidst a group of fleeing tourists.

He immediately followed that up with another flourish of his staff that left a trail of sea-green light in the air.

I couldn't tell what his gestures were actually intended to accomplish. Neither the simple gestures nor the more complex symbols that he'd drawn thus far were precise enough to be any sort of somatic component to a spell, nor any sort of command gesture for anything imbued in his staff if it were enchanted, which it was not.

Aspect suggested.

I disagreed.

A moment later, an invisible portal roughly one foot wide blossomed before Myrddin and a powerful jet of water blasted out of it to send the monster stumbling backwards.

Interesting choice, that. Said portal was the signature manifestation of a Shadow Cache spell, which was normally used to open a temporary portal to the Plane of Shadow to store or retrieve belongings, as the spell's name would imply. It could only access that plane at the single point at which it was cast, making it useless in combat under most circumstances, but if he happened to know that one of the quasi-worlds on either side of this world had a much higher sea level, or perhaps a water tower….

A tactic like that would require considerable knowledge of the city and its parallels, as well as very thoughtful preparation before battle. Myrddin might not be an actual wizard, but he at least seemed to be the most wizard-like of all the capes I'd thus far observed.

Aspect and I continued to speculate about Myrddin's methods and expertise as we closed in on his duel with the finned monster. The man had quite the extensive bag of tricks, never repeating the same tactic twice in a row, though he was clearly limited in what tricks he could employ by his desire not to do any further damage to the pier and his need to pause in his attacks to see to the panicking bystanders.

It soon became clear that all of the hero's tactics relied on the same three spells: his breach-creation spell, Shadow Cache, and Plane Shift. The latter was used twice more in unsuccessful attempts to force the monster elsewhere and once to vanish a small overturned sailboat from the pier to create another safe escape route for the crowd, and in none of the three cases were any visible signs drawn in the air to accomplish that.

The glowing sigils and claps of thunder turned out to be the byproducts of Prestidigitation and Ghost Sound spells, respectively, and the inconsistency with which he used them made it clear he was adding those for the benefit of any observers rather than using them as an integral part of his strategy.

Aspect objected,

Dramatics aside, Myrddin's chosen fighting style was a rather effective one, reminiscent of the Dimensionalist wizards of Mefesk. The dominant arcane tradition on that planet took a very idiosyncratic view of Conjuration, focusing heavily on offensive teleportation rather than summoned combatants, and it could be a very frustrating fighting style to counter for those unfamiliar with such tactics.

Were there no bystanders present and no need to concern himself with collateral damage, I judged that Myrddin could easily have handled Monstrum's creation on his own. Seeing as he spent more time diverting falling and thrown debris away from vulnerable targets than actually attacking his foe, however, the hero was slowly ceding ground to his foe-and to Monstrum himself, whose flying minions were beginning to spread out and nip at any individuals who were taking too long to get around the rubble-strewn portions of the central pier.

I was just debating whether to reveal myself and step in when I sensed a quartet of additional heroes jog into my sensory range and rush toward the site of the battle.

The series of promotional posters that had been mounted around the PRT reception area allowed me to put names and capabilities to faces and costumes. The two older heroes were Shuffle and Campanile, the former a teleporter in sturdy green armor, the latter a man in pliable blue and white fabric who specialized in size-altering spells.

The two Wards' descriptions had been more vague-perhaps deliberately for their protection, perhaps because their specialties were harder to concisely explain in a few lines of text on a poster-and so I knew only that Annex, in white and orange armor, and Wanton, in tan robes, were both transmuters of some variety.

The question of Wanton's powers was quickly answered when the group reached the edge of the debris field and he transformed himself into an air elemental, zig-zagging forward to clear a path with the rushing winds making up his new body while the others followed closely behind him.

When Myrddin caught sight of his colleagues he murmured something into his radio, then turned to face them and loudly declaimed, "Wanton! Clear a path to the tavern; over a score of civilians are trapped there! Shuffle, ferry Annex to the tavern to shore it up and clear the blockade, then hem in the beast! Campanile, plant yourself betwixt the civilians and the beast and keep them safe as they flee!"

Finally, a hero with something approaching proper diction!

The party sprung into action. As Wanton and Campanile dashed ahead to comply with their orders, Annex cast Meld into Stone to merge with the brickwork beneath his feet, which Shuffle immediately swapped with a section of the pier closer to the tavern Myrddin had indicated to allow Annex to Stone Shape some of the more precarious sections of the building into a more sturdy configuration.

Shuffle then began to swap out the area beneath the monster multiple times in rapid succession to interfere with its footing and construct some barriers around it. His power was quite intriguing, likely a Material-only version of Planar Area Swap. I'd want to acquire that for myself while I was here.

The tide of battle quickly turned once Myrddin was free to devote his entire attention toward his foe. Dark blue blood began to spatter the pier around the monster's feet as the hero's ever-shifting barrage began to take its toll.

Unfortunately for him, Monstrum was unwilling to concede. "Ha ha, it's hopeless, heroes!" the villain crowed. "Myrddin, there may be many more of you in this merry melee, but even with all your additional allies arriving, your mere magic is no match for my superior super-science! Sic 'em!"

The villain manipulated a device resting before him on his saddle, the compulsion on his creation increased sharply in strength, and the monster let out a warbling roar as it redoubled its efforts to escape Shuffle's confinement and knock Myrddin out of the air.

Moments later, half of the flock of flying creatures surrounding the villain peeled off to go harry the heroes and their frightened charges. Myrddin was forced once again to divert his attention from the larger threat to defend them, and at his terse command of "Restrain the beast!" Campanile lunged forward to grab the monster around the neck and hold it in place.

As the avian monsters descended upon the remaining bystanders, I decided to step in. I was willing to ignore property damage for the chance to study Myrddin under field conditions, but I was not so callous as to permit innocents to suffer for it, even if any actual injuries could be easily healed afterward.

I floated forward until I was mere yards from Myrddin, shifted my clothing back to the Jhaamdathic garb that would be taken for a costume, and rendered myself perceptible. "Would you object to a bit of assistance?" I asked him.

He spun in the air, surprised and confused. The aura of a Detect Magic spell flickered in and out of existence around him, which only seemed to increase his bafflement. "Who are-?"

A note of recognition rippled through his aura. "Nevermind," he proclaimed, rotating slightly to keep one eye on me and another on the pseudo-avians. "If you can aid us, then yes, 'twould be much appreciated."

I nodded. "If you could evoke an especially loud clap of thunder in the midst of his flock?"

The hero complied, moving his staff through an arc that left a glowing orange crescent in the air. The air above the center of the flock was instantly heated by the impingement of a minor breach on that volume of space, and the sudden expansion of air that ensued sent a thunderclap echoing over the water.

Under the cover of his spell I sent a wave of sonic energy toward the monsters, pulverizing them with lethal vibrations and scattering their remains across the pier. I took care to exclude Monstrum from harm, and once deprived of his flying steed the villain let out a cry of alarm and plummeted into the water below.

To any observers, either nearby or on shore, it would seem obvious that the flock had been slain by Myrddin, famous and powerful hero, rather than Valigan, minor teleporter and healer of no particular note.

That done, I turned my attention to the remaining monster. There was fear and pain shading its aura-dim and hard to discern, but distinctly present-and not a hint of natural anger or aggression. Monstrum's lingering compulsion was clearly the only reason it continued its unrelenting attack.

That would be easy enough to address. The First Precept made no exceptions for artificial beings, or those of only rudimentary intelligence. Every thinking creature was entitled to its mental autonomy.

There was little reason to loose its psychic bonds, however, if the heroes didn't intend for said creature to survive the battle.

I called over to Myrddin: "Would you prefer the creature be slain, contained, or released?"

Skepticism colored his aura " Can you slay it?"

"I can."

He hesitated briefly, then gave a firm nod. "Then yes. Slay the beast."

I gestured between him and the monster. "Would you mind providing some theatrics?"

The hero floated upward and forward, raising his staff above his head. A blue glyph appeared in the air as he brought his staff down in one forceful motion, unleashing the same electrical barrage that I had scried earlier in the battle.

Seeing it up close, and knowing what I did about his magical inclinations, it was now easy to discern that this wasn't magically-evoked electricity in the full and firm control of its spellcaster, but rather natural lightning allowed to spew uncontrolled through a portal toward the nearest conductive target.

An incredibly dangerous and reckless tactic, to be sure, but undeniably effective.

While the monster let out a piteous cry and writhed in pain under the electrical assault, I carefully reached out and decerebrated it. Its cry cut off instantly, and its body slumped in Campanile's grip. The hero looked to me, then to Myrddin, and at his commander's nod he loosened his grasp and let the monster collapse to the pier.

"Is it dead?" he asked.

"Brain-dead," I confirmed, and he nodded in acknowledgment before starting to brush monstrous blood and grime from his costume.

The other heroes gathered around us and the corpse once they finished shepherding the remaining bystanders to safety.

Wanton was the last to arrive, having detoured to fetch the sputtering Monstrum from the water and deposit him nearby, though far enough away that he couldn't overhear us. Annex melded with the twisted remains of an iron bench and sculpted it into restraints for the villain (taking care to firmly cover Monstrum's mouth to stem the flood of alliterative imprecations) while his fellow Ward reverted to human form.

Once everyone was assembled, Myrddin released the damaged sailboat from its extradimensional storage onto the walkway behind us, coincidentally shielding everyone except Campanile from the view of any onlookers ashore. This wasn't strictly necessary, as a PRT response force had arrived and was politely ushering gawkers away as the soldiers established a cordon near the end of the pier, but it was appreciated.

Shuffle was the first to speak. "How the heck did you manage to take out the fish-thing so easily when it was giving Myrddin so much trouble?"

"I teleported a portion of its brain stem out of its skull. An instantaneous death, and a painless one."

The two Wards stared at me in horror and patent disbelief. The older heroes seemed surprised, but not especially perturbed. Myrddin glanced at Campanile, who briefly scanned the sky and surrounding area from his elevated vantage point. "No choppers, no cameras," he murmured.

Myrddin acknowledged that with a slight nod and turned back to me. "Just to confirm, your power doesn't have any Manton restrictions against teleporting only part of a person?" he asked warily.

His voice, I noted, was no longer as sonorous as it had been during the battle, and the moment he knew himself to be unobserved by the villain and the mundanes he'd discarded his prior manner of speaking in favor of something depressingly colloquial.

Of course the first magic-user I found who spoke with proper formality was doing so merely as an affectation for his cape persona. How very disappointing.

"For that particular power, yes," I confirmed.

Annex shifted uncomfortably. "You can basically instantly kill anyone you can see, huh?"

"Oh, I hardly need teleportation to do that," I dryly remarked.

Somehow, the heroes failed to see the humor in my reply.

Wanton raised a tentative hand. "Okay, uh, maybe a stupid question… who is this guy, exactly?"

Myrddin answered for me: "His name's Valigan, he's a cape from New England. Armsmaster made some introductions and let me know that he'd be visiting Chicago at some point."

The Wards relaxed considerably at Myrddin's familiarity and the mention of Armsmaster's endorsement.

"So you just happened to be in the area when all this went down?" Shuffle asked, waving at the property damage surrounding us.

"I stopped by your headquarters first in the hopes of meeting with Myrddin. I only teleported over here when I found he would be late in returning from patrol."

"Very convenient timing."

"Actually, I spent some time watching the battle unobtrusively before I stepped in. I study capes, you see, and wished to have a practical demonstration of your powers."

Campanile crossed his arms in disapproval. "What kind of hero just stands back and lets a huge monster wreck the place like that?"

"I'm a rogue, not a hero."

"Still. Not cool."

"What do you do as a rogue?" Shuffle asked.

"Among other things, I can conjure materials and repair that which is broken."

Campanile's arms uncrossed. "Oh. Then you can fix up some of this?"

"Indeed. It would be infeasible for me to repair the entire damaged area on my own, however." Which was true, though for reasons of discretion rather than of capability.

The heroes asked for a demonstration of my powers, and after I was able to restore everything from a chair to an awning to the front hull of a sailboat to perfect working order-and greatly sadden Monstrum, when he saw how easily the evidence of his attack could be swept away-they all agreed that it would be worthwhile to attempt to repair the damaged region of the pier.

This wasn't an unusual activity for the heroes of Chicago, as it turned out. Quite a few of them could manipulate their environment to some extent, so a minimal amount of cleanup was expected of them after any battle that resulted in notable collateral damage. They did usually wait for mundane cleanup crews to arrive and assess the damage and for the owners of impacted property to supervise repairs, however, as none of them had powers that could directly revert damaged material to its prior state.

My presence meant that that wasn't necessary, though I did convince Myrddin that keeping up appearances would be for the best.

The hero gave me a knowing look as he activated the radio transmitter in his helmet. "Myrddin to Console. I'm authorizing an ad hoc PR event at Navy Pier. Send Brazier, Castellan, and Cuff down to the Pier, and when Claymore, Tecton, and Garnett come on-shift send them over as well. Tell them they should bring any gear they'll need for a cleanup operation."

His gaze drifted to the massive monster corpse near us, already beginning to decompose, and then to the remains of the avian creatures splattered across the pier beyond. His nose wrinkled in disgust. "They'll probably want to bring their sealed helmets, too."

~*~*~

6:26 pm, Wednesday the 4th of May, 2011 CE

Myrddin's Office, Chicago, America, Earth Bet

"I have to hand it to you, that was some fantastic work you did out there," Myrddin congratulated me as he relaxed into his chair. "First time we've ever had a negative repair bill."

Between my own efforts and the peripheral contributions of the heroes, the actual repair work had taken little enough time that when the assessors and journalists had arrived all that was left was the building exteriors, which I'd left entirely to the heroes so that they would be able to claim credit for the entire endeavor.

Myrrdin had used my request to meet with him as an excuse to leave the site early, dangling Brazier in front of the eager news crews-Brazier being the most senior hero present after himself-while I teleported us directly into his office to avoid the mob of visitors that would inevitably have awaited us in the lobby.

Where Armsmaster's personal office and workspace had been almost entirely functional, Myrddin's office was decorated to resemble a wizard's study (or at least this world's conception of one), complete with shelf after shelf of blank tomes and a nonfunctional fireplace. His ornate leather chair just barely failed to qualify as a throne, and his desk was covered with all manner of carvings as well as some artificial rings to make it appear as though it had once been a single massive slab of oak wood.

A large armoire to the side completed the décor. It concealed a rack of staffs and a variety of cloaks, some of which were exact duplicates of his gnarled wooden staff and brown burlap cloak while others came in pairs of different colors and designs.

I wondered if there was any practical reason for the variety, as with Armsmaster's collection of polearms, or if the differences were just for show, so I briefly examined them. The cloaks seemed functionally interchangeable, but my deepsight revealed that the cores of the staffs contained several metal rods of varying length and composition.

Those would likely be Plane Shift foci, with each staff keyed to different sets of planes; clever, to carry multiple foci in a discreet yet easily-accessible form.

The hero himself, being off-duty for the remainder of the evening, had removed his overcloak, pulled back his hood, and replaced his broad visor with a smaller cloth mask. With his face revealed, it was clear that he was barely older than Armsmaster and that the small signs of age on his face and hands were achieved with makeup, yet despite that he still did manage to give the impression of greater experience and wisdom compared to other heroes of similar age whom I'd met.

"A negative bill?" I asked as I took my own seat. The chair was designed according to the same theme as Myrddin's but was significantly less ostentatious.

"Turns out your repair power hit more than just the damage Monstrum caused. Faulty wiring, leaky boat engines, hell, even squeaky chairs… the claim adjuster I talked to said that we-well, mostly you-actually raised the property values by a little bit."

"I would certainly hope so," I replied in falsely haughty tones. "It would besmirch my sterling reputation as a rogue to leave such sorry edifices in anything less than perfect condition."

We shared a chuckle over that, then Myrddin leaned forward conspiratorially. "You can drop that, you know."

"Drop what?"

"The Shakespearean formality. There's no chance of us being interrupted by any civilians here."

I gave him a pointed look. "Unlike that of your public guise, my own manner of speech isn't an affectation," I huffed.

"… Ah. Sorry, I shouldn't have made the assumption." He had the grace to look embarrassed. "Um, Armsmaster sent along his notes on your situation, about you being from another world and everything."

"Including the parts in which I explained that parahuman powers are, in fact, magical?" I asked.

"Ohhh yes," he said, and there was a distinct shade of relish in his aura. "I've been saying that for years, but no one's taken me seriously until you came along. You have no idea how satisfying it was to see the difference in the tone of Armsmaster's notes from before and after your little tinkering session with him."

He smiled smugly. "Next Monday is the monthly meeting for all the Protectorate team leaders, and I am going to have a field day with that. In fact, I think I'm going to be rubbing this in everyone's faces until the day I die."

With his wizardly persona having been largely fabricated, I was relieved to find that his beliefs on magic were not similarly falsified for public consumption.

"Anyway," he continued, "I brought up the notes because I was wondering… is the speech pattern a side effect of how you learned English so quickly, or does everyone on your world speak like that?"

Aspect interjected.

Myrddin jerked back in surprise at the unexpected telepathic contact, and I groaned internally.

I sent sharply.

one person on this entire world who's not going to be suspicious of me and spread word of my existence around, it's the man who already knows magic exists and isn't taken seriously by any of his peers, Aspect argued.

… This is true.

I dismissed Aspect's imperceptibility with a long-suffering sigh. "Aspect, Myrddin. Myrddin, this is Aspect, my psicrystal."

Aspect manifested his golden ectoplasmic limbs and waved one at the hero in greeting. Myrddin tentatively returned the wave.

"Is he a projection?"

"No, he is a partially independent and fully sapient being, though his personality template was based on my own mind originally."

Aspect very modestly explained.

The hero brightened. "That helps, actually."

"Because," I interrupted, "there is a certain level of comportment expected of the scion of two noble lineages. In my native tongue, one speaks in a more formal register when one is of higher social class, when one is of a particularly prestigious vocation, and whenever one is speaking to individuals with whom one is not closely acquainted."

"Something like Japanese honorifics?" Myrddin asked. "Adding [teacher] to someone's name if they're a teacher, and so on?"

"I'm not familiar with that language, but the practice does sound similar. And your choice of example is quite apt, as I was a professor at my homeland's premier university for many years, a prestigious position indeed."

"Lucky you. I was a teacher myself for a few years before I gained my powers, and trust me, teaching is not a respected profession here." Myrddin stroked his beard contemplatively. "If you speak very formally, and Aspect doesn't… you made him before you became a professor, I'm guessing?"

I nodded appreciatively. "Very astute. Yes, that's correct," I confirmed. "Aspect continues to speak thus because his mind cannot diverge significantly from its original template, while I-"

-refuse to change, because practically everyone gets very set in their ways when they reach his age.

Myrddin grinned playfully. "So if you talk like a professor and he talks like you did as a student, would you say the difference is… academic?"

"I was going to say," I corrected stiffly, "that I speak as I do because I very much appreciate the degree of distance from new acquaintances afforded me by a more formal register. And I despise puns."

Aspect floated closer to Myrddin and arranged his limbs to suggest a conspiratorial pose. he confided. completely mangled by translation spells.

Myrddin attempted to conceal his smile behind his hand, with little success. "Seriously?"

I briefly glared at Aspect, then flatly replied, "There is also the very minor matter that I am the last living speaker of Jhaamdathan, and as the few remaining survivors from my homeland died off one by one and the invasive Chondathan dialects began to replace my native tongue in that region, I began to find wordplay less than amusing on the whole."

The hero's smile faded. "No puns… and no new acquaintances lately?" he asked leadingly.

Perhaps it was Myrddin's lack of infuriating skepticism on the topic of magic putting me more at ease, perhaps it was the somewhat more familiar environs of his office, perhaps it was the fact that Aspect had seen fit to involve himself in our conversation, but whatever the reason, I found myself inclined to open up to Myrddin to a greater degree than I had with others I'd met thus far.

"You must understand, there was a point at which I attempted to establish new friendships," I insisted, "but most of said friends died after a mere few decades; even the dwarves among them became estranged after a century or two. I eventually tried again, after a short grieving period, with identical results. Then again, and again…." I sighed. "And now it can be… difficult, to see the point of it all."

Myrddin glanced off to the side, at nothing in particular. "When you talked to Armsmaster, did he tell you about Puck?"

"He did mention the name, but only that. Why?"

The hero slowly nodded. "Before I get into that, I could use a drink." He stood and strode across the room before making a swirling gesture with his left hand at a specific point in the air. A Shadow Cache portal opened, and he reached inside to withdraw a decanter of alcohol and two glasses, lightly chilled.

Returning to his seat, he filled each glass with two fingers of the liquid, which the label proclaimed to be a single malt whisky from the Glenglassaugh distillery, and slid one of them over to me. "[Cheers," he said, and tossed the drink back.

I did the same, and was quite impressed. Not too dry, a fairly tropical base, rich notes of fruits and spices… it compared favorably to the lower end of Toril's dwarven brews, and for a human-made whisky that was no small achievement.

"Another?" Myrddin asked, as he poured himself a second serving.

"It would be wasted on me," I demurred. "With perfect recall a single sip is enough to get the full experience, and I am immune to intoxication."

He paused. "You can't get drunk, even a little bit?"

I could theoretically suppress my immunity, but for all practical purposes: "No," I replied.

"I take it you can't really appreciate a good cigar, either."

"No."

"You have any hobbies, at least?"

I considered the many and varied side projects that I carried out between Society missions, all of which were focused strictly on the restoration of Jhaamdath and Auppenser, and all of which were unfortunately going neglected at the moment given the lack of downtime between my last mission and this one. "None that you would recognize as such, I believe."

"How do you relax, then?"

Myrddin shook his head and finished pouring his drink. "Seems like a fairly hollow life to me, if you don't mind me saying so."

I frowned. "I'd prefer to say instead that I possess an unwavering devotion to my goals." A sharp nod closed off that line of conversation. "In any case, now that you've been sufficiently fortified with drink, you were saying?"

"Right." The hero downed his glass a second time, and the edges of his aura began to blur with a combination of tipsiness and nostalgia. "So, Armsmaster, Chevalier, and I were on the same strike squad, back in the day. Ours was in the top three for strike squad effectiveness. Popularity, too-if you've ever wondered why so many Tinkers from the early aughts go with the 'futuristic knight' aesthetic for their power armor, that's why."

His glass was filled a third time, this time to be sipped instead of immediately emptied. "But we weren't the only ones on the squad. Our last member was Puck. Great tactical mind, good sense of humor, incorrigible prankster, wiped the floor with the rest of us on game nights. The four of us got very close over the years, to the point that when the Protectorate moved to the departments-only structure after Hero's death and we were all appointed department heads, we all kept in touch and visited each other frequently, for a bit of villain-hunting or just to catch up."

He sighed. "And then Seattle happened, and Puck died, and we all sort of… fell apart."

Tempted as I was to pry into the circumstances around Seattle "happening," Myrddin was clearly in no state to go into further detail.

"Everyone in their twenties thinks they're invincible. We'd been together so long, outlasted so many other hero teams… hell, we'd even outlasted Hero himself." Myrddin was talking to his glass, now, not to me. "I bounced back well enough. I was on good terms with my team here, and I kept up with some friends from before I joined the Protectorate. Still do. Chevy came around eventually, but he'd just moved from DC to Philly and didn't have many connections on his new team, especially since Militia had decided to turn down-anyway."

Myrddin took a deep breath. "Armsmaster, though? He didn't have anyone else, and when he transferred to Brockton Bay the next year he started keeping everyone at arm's length. When I last got together with Chevalier it was just like old times, but the last time I worked alongside Armsmaster he was… colder, more withdrawn, and not just because of the terrible circumstances we found ourselves in. Not so much that you'd notice if you didn't know him already, but I did. So-"

"I believe I see where your tale is headed, and I do take your point," I said gently. "I do have some longstanding friends of my own in which to confide, and fortunately no one in my social circle is likely to die on me unexpectedly."

No one except the only person in the entire multiverse who truly mattered to me, that is.

"But I didn't come here to discuss regrets and heartaches," I said. "I'd hoped, rather, to discuss theory with this world's foremost expert on magic."

Myrddin's aura swirled with both eagerness and hesitation. "You do know that I don't actually know how any of this works any more than the R people do, right?"

"I didn't know for sure, though I did assume that would be the case before coming here. I haven't come for your knowledge, however, but for your perspective. Tell me: why is it that you have firmly believed for so many years that you have been working magic, when the scientists, the public, and your peers are convinced that that's not the case?"

He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands across his beard, and stared up at the ceiling.

"I don't know," he confessed eventually. "It just seemed obvious to me."

"How so?"

He sat for a moment and thought. "Even if you can't explain something, everything fits into some kind of system, right?" he began. "On the one hand, you have modern science and everything we get from that. On the other hand, you have magic, which… I mean, no two cultures or religions agree on the details, but a lot of kinds of 'magic' are really just science with different core assumptions. Ancient people weren't more stupid than modern people, or more gullible, they're just people who didn't know everything we do. Even Newton worked on chemistry and alchemy and he didn't see any problem with that."

I recognized the name Newton from several popular science texts, and knew him to have lived several centuries ago. I made a note to look into evidence of his alchemical studies; that his work was termed "alchemy" didn't necessarily entail that he was truly someone who had been able to indirectly use magic long before parahumans appeared on Earth Bet, but if he was a true alchemist … .

Myrddin stood and began pacing back and forth in thought. "If you sit back and look at powers, really look at them, what do you see? Well, start with the Blasters and Shakers. You rarely see people who can manipulate helium, or ultraviolet light, or other 'scientific' things like that. What you do get are people who manipulate 'air' in general, or light that matches the spectrum of sunlight in particular. Or fire, when that's a chemical reaction; or earth, when that's not a very clearly-delineated category; or darkness, which isn't even a physical substance."

He held out his left hand, palm-up. "What fits those best? The periodic table?" He held out his other hand, also palm-up but lower than the first. "Or the classical elements?"

His hands fell to his sides as he continued, "What do you call an item that you build using secret knowledge, that only one person can make, that does things that are physically impossible, that no one else understands, and that you need to perform the right rituals to maintain? A piece of advanced technology? Or a magical talisman?" He grinned. "Armsmaster always hated it when I would stop by his lab and ask him whether he'd made his weekly sacrifice to the machine spirits."

Myrddin continued to rattle off more examples of his observations: Changers mostly transforming into creatures that the locals considered mythical, like dire wolves and dragons, rather than "aliens" (a term for natives of other planets); Thinkers whose precognitive predictions usually sounded closer to oracular pronouncements than factual statements, and which relied on metaphor and symbolism more often than hard numbers and actionable data; and more.

"And so," the hero concluded as he returned to his seat, "I figured I was left with a situation where either magic wasn't real but a whole lot of different parahuman phenomena just happened to be set up to look exactly how you'd expect things to look if magic were real… or magic was real. Occam's Razor said magic, so I went with magic."

"A solid line of reasoning," I told him. "Not one paper I've read has brought up any such correlations, even to dismiss them." Which wasn't to say that no researcher had ever written on the subject, I obviously hadn't yet read every single paper published in the field, but the complete absence of such notions in the literature was curious once it had been pointed out. "It is as though the entire field of parahuman science collectively decided years ago to never bother with raising the topic."

"There was a big push to look into it back in the early days," Myrddin said. "When heroes first came out in '87, parapsychology and paranomal research were huge. I think I read somewhere that that's why people called them 'parahumans' in the first place, actually, but don't quote me on that."

Intriguing. "Why the sudden shift in opinion?"

He shrugged. "No idea."

I made another mental note to look into the origins of the parahuman sciences, and we continued to chat for a short while on a variety of related topics.

Eventually, Myrddin steered the conversation to a topic of personal interest to him: "Now, Armsmaster said you were able to improve his tinkering somehow, but he was light on the details."

"Indeed I was. I take it you were hoping I could do the same for you?"

"If you think it's possible. I could demonstrate my powers for you, if that would help?"

I shook my head. "No need. I thoroughly observed their use during the battle earlier, and I know precisely how yours work, except for one open question."

A broad smile appeared on the hero's face. "You do? That's great! What's the question?"

"Why do you draw symbols in the air to use your power?"

"I'm not exactly sure. I mean, I know why I do it, it's how I choose the dimension I'm working with-"

"The plane of existence," I corrected.

"What's the difference?"

I started to define the cosmological distinctions between dimensions, planes, extraplanar spaces, alternate worlds, and similar terms. When I was just a few sentences in, he stopped me so that he could retrieve a leather-bound notebook from his desk.

"You prefer that to a computer?"

He shrugged. "I've always preferred writing over typing for note-taking, and Image likes it, given the wizard theme."

I finished my explanation, and he resumed his own: "So the symbols are how I choose the plane I'm working with, but I don't know why I have to physically draw them in front of me. Not sure exactly what they mean, either. I just have a general sense when I feel out a certain plane that, if I might want to use it later, here's what I need to do to access it again."

I sent privately to Aspect, and received a pulse of reluctant acquiescence in return.

"When you say you don't know what they mean…?"

He looked around at his office. "Let's head down to one of the training rooms, and I'll show you."

I could have offered to manifest a Psychoportive Shelter instead, for the convenience, but given the focus of his magic a purely Material testing ground would probably provide superior results.

"Lead the way."

~*~*~

Soon enough we found ourselves in a large subterranean gymnasium with thick reinforced concrete walls. The other heroes and PRT soldiers who had been using the room quickly vacated it when we arrived so that they could observe Myrddin from a safe distance.

Apparently he had something of a reputation.

I'd concealed Aspect once again before entering, over his protestations. I may have been willing to let him show himself to Myrddin, but a more general unveiling was still out of the question for now.

A space was cleared in the center of the room, via gravitational manipulation on Myrddin's part and telekinesis on mine. I clapped him on the shoulder once that was done as the signal to start, taking the opportunity to delve into his repertoire.

Shadow Cache and Plane Shift were there, as expected, as was a novel spell that I termed Precipitate Controlled Breach, a variation on Precipitate Breach that allowed the caster to choose the destination plane in exchange for dramatically reduced area and duration.

Now that was a spell I was eager to analyze. I resolved to pick up a copy of the thoughtform on my way out, along with Shuffle's area teleportation spell.

The fourth spell in his repertoire was Genesis. On the one hand, that would explain where he was storing the creatures and objects he would plane shift back and forth. On the other hand, how was he creating his storage demiplanes, when the spell had to be cast on the Ethereal Plane and the locals didn't seem to know of that plane's existence?

Beyond that, he knew a wide variety of cantrips, most of them dim and inaccessible, and that was all. Planar spells and cantrips… an odd combination, but not the oddest I'd seen thus far.

"I have over twenty different ways to do something air-related, but I haven't been able to find any kind of pattern in the symbols I use for those. Starting with something simple, here's the air blast you saw before," Myrddin said once I surfaced from examining his repertoire.

Using his fingers instead of his staff for greater precision, he carefully traced a slow horizontal arc with a twirl at the end, just as he had in combat.

Once again, a small Shadow Cache portal opened for a few seconds to release a powerful blast of wind; once again, the symbol he drew was meaningless. It was almost certainly a composite of smaller symbols, as had been the case with Armsmaster's inscriptions, but I couldn't think of any languages that might have any special effects when used for spellcasting in the same way that Draconic or Sylvan were commonly used in artifice.

"That wasn't perfectly horizontal," I noted. "Was the wavering toward the middle intentional?"

"Yep. A perfectly straight line doesn't work," he replied, and demonstrated such.

"I see. Proceed."

Next he traced a slightly different motion. From the front it would look much the same, but viewing it from above, it was clear that the tips of his fingers moved through more of a trapezoid than a semicircle and there was an extra circular motion two-thirds of the way through the gesture. Instead of a strong gale, this motion caused a portal to emit a gentle breeze that lasted until he deliberately closed the breach.

For his third motion, he made the lightning glyph I'd seen before, and torrents of electricity grounded themselves in the metal exercise equipment before him.

Which made absolutely no sense.

Even if one shadow world adjacent to this one happened to be experiencing a windstorm throughout the entire city such that creating a Shadow Cache to that world could generate a gale both beneath the PRT headquarters and in the skies above Navy Pier, and the other was experiencing much more calm weather in a similarly broad region, he shouldn't be able to generate a third effect while standing in the same location with only two adjacent worlds at his disposal.

To do that, he'd need some sort of-

Oh, that was clever.

"It's a coordinate system," I declared, interrupting him before he could demonstrate a fourth application of his power.

Normally, a Shadow Cache could indeed access only a single point in the coexistent plane. With the local cosmology having an incredibly large number of quasi-worlds "stacked" one after the other that could all count as the Plane of Shadow for any spells whose effect stretched in a shadow-wards direction, however….

I closed my eyes and visualized the three motions he'd made, turning them around in my mind's eye, then shook my head. Nothing obvious; I'd need an empirical test.

Conjuring three spheres of metal and marking them with unique etchings, I directed Myrddin to go through his sequence of portals again, tossed one sphere into each, and scried the three spheres.

I then opened a gate to each shadow world.

The observers recoiled behind their protective glass barrier as wind and lightning lashed unchecked through two of the gates. Myrddin reflexively lifted his cloak to protect his face, but slowly lowered it to stare at the gates once it was clear he was in no danger. " That's where my power is getting everything?" he asked in a tone of awe.

"Indeed."

Through the leftmost gate, a deep ravine was visible, a constant windstorm howling through it and scouring its sides of dust and pebbles, and the ravine system appeared to stretch a great distance in all directions. That would explain the presence of a windstorm below ground level.

The center gate opened onto a churning thunderstorm of colossal proportions. No ground was visible through the gate, and I couldn't detect any solid earth with any of my enhanced senses.

The final gate opened onto a cave complex full of thick and humid air, and what I had taken for a gentle breeze was instead the air of the cave being forced through Myrddin's shadow portal thanks to a temperature and pressure differential.

Stepping up to the gates, I discreetly withdrew my Orb of Planar Journeying, taking care not to let Myrddin or the onlookers catch sight of it. The device rippled into its scanning configuration at my mental command, and within moments it had cataloged the planar coordinates of the three destination worlds.

I stowed the Orb, compared the coordinates to the gestures Myrddin used, mentally rotated the patterns once again, and-ah!

It took me a few moments to dredge the correct language up from the recesses of my mind, but I was able to verify that the gestures he used were not ones wholly of his own invention.

The patterns were, in fact, strings of characters in the Titanic alphabet, the most elaborate form of the Giantish script. Said characters, however, were rotated such that their primary axes were all lined up with one another and then merged together with a single continuous stroke, making it very difficult to determine their nature at first glance.

Several races of giants possess some manner of innate sorcery, and titans, being immortal giants native to the Outer Planes, are by far the most magically-gifted of those races. Considering that all titans are capable of traveling the Ethereal and opening gates to other planes, it made perfect sense that Myrddin's planar-centric spellcasting methods would incorporate their dialect in a way that obviated the need for incantations.

Precisely how Myrddin had come to incorporate Titanic inscriptions (or any other aspects of giantish magical practices) into his spellcasting when I still had yet to encounter any non-human races on Earth Bet was an entirely separate question, of course.

Having deciphered the nature of his coordinate system, I dismissed the gates and silently considered the matter.

I had already observed that as one traveled along the series of worlds starting at a "real" world such as Earth Bet or Earth Aleph, each successive shadow world was less "real" than the one before it, yet the shadow world immediately adjacent to Earth Bet had been nearly indistinguishable from it beyond a few minor details.

In any normal sphere, a given spot in the Plane of Shadow was a warped reflection of its Material equivalent. Where the effect was greatest, a calm sea on the Prime might lie beside a churning maelstrom in Shadow, or vice versa. Where it was minimal, there could be more subtle changes such as a distortion in distance or scale, an altered coastline, or similar.

This wasn't limited to physical phenomena by any means. Quasi-real shadow illusions drew upon shadowstuff to give substance to their forms, and shadowstuff was the very substrate of the Plane of Shadow, so the farther one traveled on the plane the more strange and twisted the landscape, the structures, and the inhabitants could become.

Thus, a hypothesis: in this sphere, it would make sense for each shadow world to bear cumulative changes from the original world it ultimately reflected, such that each shadow world was still recognizable as a version of Earth but that one could find practically any possible variation on the planet if one traveled far enough up or down the array of worlds in either direction.

I proposed two tests to Myrddin. First, that he draw the line of his lightning-conjuring sigil "unfolded," as straight as he could, and then draw the breeze-conjuring line in as circular a motion as possible.

This test failed initially, and he explained that his attempts to draw random symbols had never achieved anything. However, after I explained that each of his symbols was in fact a composite of multiple simpler glyphs and that the altered symbols were semantically identical to the original ones, he was able to open his portals as before.

Once again, just like Armsmaster: intention and knowledge were what made the difference between meaningless inscriptions and a functional spell.

The second test was somewhat more daring, as instead of targeting a known shadow world I simply attempted to scry the Plane of Fire.

Having seen Myrddin's spells at work, I had a strong suspicion that the local source of fire energy in this sphere was not a local demiplane of fire, nor a fire-like demiplane similar to Athas's "Paraelemental Plane" of Sun, nor even the actual sun of this world, but rather whichever world in the long line of parallel Earths had the strongest concentration of fire energy.

The mechanisms that allow a spell to automatically draw upon the appropriate local sources of energy when one visits a new sphere take the path of least resistance, after all.

My suspicion was proven correct when I scried, not a uniform volume of fire as far as the sensor could see, but what appeared to be a parallel Earth covered with raging firestorms, thick clouds of smoke, and wide seas of magma, with not a drop of water to be found.

I conjured a piece of parchment and inscribed copies of Myrddin's three symbols upon it with all of the characters separated and placed in the correct orientation, and after a bit of extrapolation of the known shadow worlds' planar coordinates I was able to construct a symbol that would, I predicted, correspond to this new fiery world.

"This glyph sequence should allow you to evoke fire," I told Myrddin, using my own light spell to draw the appropriate shape in the air.

By this point, Myrddin hadn't the slightest doubt in my magical expertise and hesitated not at all before drawing the line himself. The observers didn't seem anywhere near as confident, several taking preemptive cover below the line of reinforced windows.

Not only did the hero indeed evoke an intense jet of flame that scorched most of the far wall and sent the remaining onlookers ducking out of sight, but I was able to view the far side of his portal with my scrying sensor.

A gleeful Myrddin dismissed the portal and grabbed his staff to cast a Plane Shift spell; the symbol he drew for that used a different arrangement of Titanic characters, consisting of four distinct sets instead of a single continuous line, but the mechanism was ultimately the same.

A notebook with attached pen appeared in his hand, and after he flipped to an empty page he drew the new symbol I'd shown him along with a set of notes on its usage.

Just like an actual wizard might do upon discovering a new spell and setting out to scribe it into his spellbook, amusingly enough.

…

Gods above and between.

Myrddin was, from a certain point of view, in the midst of re-inventing wizardry.

What was spellcasting, but drawing upon the energies and physics of other planes in certain ways and combinations to achieve a desired effect?

What did his power let him do, but methodically seek out other "planes" and access them in such a way as to achieve a desired effect?

Certainly, his approach was nothing like actual wizardry. An arcane scholar with a pile of scrolls at his disposal and a beginner's grasp of thaumaturgy would be much closer to mimicking a true wizard than he was, and when the very first wizards emerged on other worlds in the distant past they had nothing even remotely resembling Myrddin's ability to open portals on a whim that might let them take such drastic shortcuts to knowledge and power.

But the methodology, the mindset, that was where the similarity lay. Given time and effort, if he could comprehensively map out all of the useful shadow worlds, if he could find a way to access arbitrary points in space on those worlds by means other than Shadow Cache, if he could teach that knowledge and his planar spells to others….

Perhaps, three or four centuries from now, Earth Bet would finally possess true wizardry.

~*~*~

Our tests continued long into the night, long after the onlookers had grown tired of the spectacle and wandered off.

We opened portals to Earths of water and Earths of stone, Earths with heavier gravity and lighter, and even a frozen world he termed "Snowball Earth." I deciphered and taught him the subset of the Giantish alphabet used in his symbols to aid him in developing new "spells"-I'd done the same with Draconic for Armsmaster, so it was only fair-and taught him some mental exercises that might help him seek out new worlds more quickly.

In between tests, we conversed about all things magical. He spoke on the ancient magical traditions of this world, which he had researched in the course of trying to better understand his spellcasting; none of them seemed to bear any relation to arcane magic, though there were some glimmers of similarity in a handful of them and I made a note to research those traditions when I had a spare moment.

I spoke on the nature of parallel worlds and the Plane of Shadow, not enough to unduly accelerate the world's understanding of cosmology were he to share that knowledge but enough to provide him some much-needed context.

Finally, close to midnight, Myrddin decided to retire for the evening. I left with a parting promise that, should I decide to begin teaching magic to the locals, he would assuredly be among my first pupils.

From there I planned to retire to my demiplane to affix my new powers in my repertoire, then return to Chicago for a day of cultural and culinary exploration and a chance to study the powers of any of the city's heroes who agreed to it. Then I was headed to New York City, the home city of the next group of avowed magic-users that I wished to visit.

If the public's less-than-stellar opinion of Myrddin could cause them to dismiss a very talented man possessed of an insightful mind and some amazing feats of magical prowess, what kinds of hidden depths might the supposedly-incompetent Adepts possess?

~*~*~

11:14 am, Friday the 6th of May, 2011 CE

Abandoned Warehouse, New York City, America, Earth Bet

The Adepts, alas, were fully deserving of their lackluster reputation, all of them except their leader Epoch and one or two others having all the hidden depth of a puddle. The videos painting them as know-nothing charlatans had not been exaggerating their ineptitude in the slightest.

As if that weren't bad enough, they'd made a horrendous first impression when Epoch gathered them for introductions around midmorning. The day before my visit happened to have been a local holiday, ostensibly a celebration relating somehow to the neighboring nation of Mexico but in practice merely an excuse to drink to excess, and the majority of the Adepts were badly hungover from the festivities.

While they were all honest in their belief that their powers were magical in nature, the fifteen Adepts had thus far shown no ability to put that belief to practical use. Epoch's hourglass necklace filled with mundane sand, Looking Glass's hand mirror inscribed with meaningless "runes of power," Paddock's carved totems for "channeling her spirit animal," Second Horseman's impractically bejeweled sword, Crystallize's "healing quartz"… not one of their foci was at all functional, nor would anyone with any knowledge of the arcane sciences expect them to be.

Three things convinced me not to turn on my heel and walk out of the appointed meeting place within five minutes of meeting the pathetic excuse for a cabal.

The first was an opportunity to research the phenomenon known as the "Sechen range," a claimed effect by which a cape could temporarily strengthen their powers by achieving a mental state sufficiently resembling that which they possessed during their trigger event.

It seemed similar to the way in which certain wilders could briefly enhance their psionic strength by tapping into their emotions, and as the Adepts were the only group known to actively train this practice they made ideal candidates for study.

The second factor was an interesting discovery I made in Epoch's repertoire: his signature power, the ability to move creatures and objects to where they would have moved in the near future or where they had been in the near past, was extremely similar to an ability possessed by the rare and elusive creatures known as time dimensionals.

Only chronomancers ever came into anything resembling frequent contact with time dimensionals (if the term "frequent" can even apply when time travel is involved), and none of them, to my knowledge, had ever been able to study one for long enough to develop a spell mimicking their ability to push themselves forward and backward in time in that way. For a half-rate chronomancer on Earth Bet to have managed such a feat was unlikely, to say the least.

The third factor was professional pride. If and when it became more widely known that I was traveling around helping various capes improve their powers, and that I had paid a visit to the Adepts, I hardly wished anyone to think that the Adepts' sorry state of affairs was the typical result of my tutelage.

"So what do you think?" Epoch asked. "Can you help us?"

"I'll do what I can, but even I have my limits."

~*~*~

1:46 pm, Sunday the 8th of May, 2011 CE

Adept Tertiary Site, New York City, America, Earth Bet

most useless pair of days we've ever experienced, Aspect opined,

The Sechen tests were inconclusive. Felix Swoop and Effigy, the two Adepts who were said to be most able to reach the appropriate mental state at need, exhibited no measurable change in their magical auras when they claimed to have reached that state. Either the effect was purely psychosomatic, or it was too small to be worth noting.

Epoch's power turned out to be impossible for me to learn via the normal methods, as did the two other spells in his repertoire which I did not already possess, Temporal Push and Time Snare. Just as I had feared would be the case, given my prior experiences with attempting to learn chronomantic spells.

I did at least fill a good two dozen soul crystals with each spell by manifesting them directly from his repertoire, and then placed the crystals in stasis for later. Perhaps they would be useful in an emergency, or perhaps Penumbra could eventually make something of the spells if I gifted her a soul crystal or three.

When I'd offered the customary favors to the Adepts in exchange for the opportunity to examine their powers, Epoch had asked that I craft them all some magic items to enhance their respective powers, seeing as I had vocally criticized the useless trinkets that they were currently attempting to use for that purpose.

I saw no reason to refuse the request, as long as each Adept was willing to provide the intrinsic magic needed to complete their own item, so I'd spent the previous day alternating between training capes in normal time at their facility and crafting in accelerated time in my demiplane.

As for the matter of my professional pride… well.

The Adepts were trying.

Very trying.

The gang's hierarchy, as it happened, was set entirely by sporadic one-on-one duels to determine their pecking order, and their ability to win duels clearly did not correlate with their general competence.

Lightfingers, for instance, was one of Epoch's two lieutenants along with Looking Glass because he could generally end a duel with one touch or at most two, while Fantasia was ranked eleventh out of fifteen because an illusionist who can only cast illusions is at a great disadvantage when facing anyone familiar with their abilities… but Fantasia had a keen tactical mind that seemed to have served the gang well, according to the tales I'd been told of the gang's exploits, while Lightfingers seemed to possess all the leadership potential of a particularly slothful slime mold.

That was why I was currently running the lower-ranked Adepts through two-on-two skirmishes, just for a change of pace, both to get them acquainted with their new items and in the hopes that they might learn something from the experience.

A cry of pain arose from the impromptu combat arena in the center of the room as a burly man in heavy armor struck a man who could have passed as his twin with his massive enchanted axe, and several of the gang's mundane hangers-on watching from the periphery cheered or booed the hit according to which pair of Adepts each had chosen to support.

I sighed in frustration. "Second Horseman!" I called. "Would you care to attempt any tactic besides striking Effigy with a physical attack that you know will rebound to harm you instead?"

"Sorry!" the man called back. "I just-" Any further reply was cut off as a spectral minotaur-like beast, one of Paddock's conjured minions, slammed Second Horseman to the ground.

A few feet away, Thirteenth Hour was dodging back and forth as two more spectral creatures attempted to do the same to her. All of Paddock's minions had originally been identical, but thanks to the item I'd gifted her, one of the beasts now boasted a set of feathered wings and the other had long claws on each hand.

When the youngest Adept saw her assigned partner hit the ground and not rise after a few seconds, she threw her hands up in the air. "I yield!" she cried, having contributed precisely nothing to her side for the duration of the battle.

I exchanged a look with Epoch as the combatants got to their feet and dusted themselves off. He was well aware that his subordinates were lacking in many areas, but recruiting based on a niche shared ideology didn't leave much room to be selective about skill, talent, or temperament.

Once Paddock's beasts and encircling barrier were gone, Effigy had returned to his own form, and Second Horseman had lifted his spell from himself and Thirteenth Hour, the four alleged villains lined up before me, all bracing themselves for criticism. They knew, after observing the earlier contest of Mephisto and Mesmer versus Tarot and Crystallize, that I would not be gentle with my critiques.

"So… I'm gonna guess we all fucked up pretty badly?" Second Horseman asked with a weak chuckle.

"That is the first correct supposition you've made all afternoon," I replied dryly.

"Well-"

"Wait." I quickly gestured for silence as my attention was drawn to the edge of my sensory range. "There appear to be four members of the Protectorate approaching this building. Were you expecting any hostilities?"

Felix Swoop was the closest to the window, so he turned to peer down at the street below. "Curses!" he swore, once he'd spotted the heroes. "It's Prism, Kudzu, Ephemera, and Ursa Aurora."

A clamor arose from the lower-ranking Adepts, and even the lieutenants seemed nervous. Turning to me, Felix explained, "Those four are all 'swamp you with minions' types. Bet they know everyone's here and are trying to roll us all up at once."

"Quiet!" Epoch raked an irritated glare across his gathered subordinates. "You did all make sure you weren't being followed or watched this morning, right?"

The capes all nodded. Some of the hangers-on bore guilty or embarrassed expressions, however, and Epoch punched the wall beside him with a muttered curse.

"Looks like we're going to need to find another base," Looking Glass drawled. " Again."

I had no further use for the Adepts and had fulfilled my crafting obligations to them, so now was as good a time as any to take my leave. "Perhaps I could have a word with them, while you retreat to fight another day?" I suggested.

"And what if that doesn't work? They'll definitely know we're here!" Lightfingers said.

With a thought, I opened a wormhole to the nondescript warehouse where I'd first met Epoch, before I had been sufficiently trusted to be invited back to any of their facilities.

Mesmer goggled at the wormhole. "Wait, you can make portals? Across an entire city?"

"I can close them, too," I replied brightly.

Taking the hint, the Adepts rapidly gathered their belongings and filed through the wormhole along with their followers, at which point I teleported myself-

~*~*~

-down to the sidewalk to stand before the four advancing heroes.

"Good afternoon," I called, ignoring the pedestrians who swore and scrambled aside at my sudden appearance. "How might I be of assistance?"

A gap quickly formed in the crowd, as no one wanted to place themselves between a group of heroes and a cape of unknown alignment.

The heroes approached cautiously, spreading out in an attempt to flank me and clearly expecting a fight. "Valigan Talaire?" asked the one whose brightly-colored costume likely made her Prism.

"I am he."

"The Protectorate keeps an eye on the Adepts. We know you've been voluntarily associating with an organization of known villains for the past few days. Legend wanted to have a little chat with you about that, so what say you come with us down to HQ and we get that straightened out?"

"That would be splendid, actually. I'd been meaning to talk with him at some point." I gestured past them. "Please, after you."

There was a moment of awkward silence, filled by the distant sounds of vehicular traffic, as neither the heroes nor any bystanders said anything.

"Huh. That… never actually works," Prism muttered to herself. "All right, uh, this way?"

~*~*~

2:00 pm, Sunday the 8th of May, 2011 CE

Protectorate Tower Lobby, New York City, America, Earth Bet

Guilty though I might have felt for noticing other men in Aldric's absence, it was quite difficult not to notice Legend.

He cut a dashing figure with his perfectly-coiffed hair and his well-fitted costume as he emerged from the elevator shaft-not an elevator car, the shaft itself, as the Protectorate appeared to keep one empty for the use of flight-capable heroes-and strode through the mostly-vacant lobby toward me.

"Mister Talaire!" he said, his smile and his aura both radiating warmth and welcome. The inner bands of his aura were an iridescent green, giving him one of the strongest auras of combined Good and Chaos out of any hero I'd encountered. "It's good to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," I replied as I returned his offered handshake and delved into his repertoire.

His very extensive repertoire. I didn't think I'd ever sensed so many photokinetic powers in one person's mind before.

Only a small fraction of his many powers were bright thoughtforms, but the handful of prismatic spells accessible to him would provide a more than adequate offense on their own, being collectively able to produce a dizzying variety of effects via myriad prismatic hues. Included among these was the elusive Chromatic Orb, a spell upon which I'd had my sights set for some time.

More desirable yet was an improved variant of Energy Adaptation, one able to absorb nearly any sort of energy, including kinetic, magnetic, and even more esoteric kinds. Anyone able to maintain that power for a sufficient duration would be practically immune to harm, if they didn't mind providing a minor light show whenever an attack was negated.

Oddly, he also possessed quite a few powers that could be combined to let him fly at considerable speeds, and quite a few more related to ghosts, most notably Ghostform and Veil of Undeath. The juxtaposition of aerial, radiant, and necromantic spells made for a highly unusual combination.

I was immediately reminded of Battery and Facet, which had some interesting implications.

I surfaced from Legend's repertoire as the handshake concluded. He had a firm grip, the kind that projected honesty and trustworthiness. He nodded politely to each of my escorts in turn and thanked them for their assistance, then motioned for me to follow him to the elevators.

We reached the flight shaft and ascended together. "I'm sorry if sending four heroes came across as a bit… excessive," he said as we passed sealed doorway after sealed doorway on our way up. "I really did just want to talk, but every time I turn around the analysts keep upping your threat rating so I figured it was better to be safe than sorry."

"You have analysts keeping an eye on me?" I asked, amused.

"Don't be offended, Intel keeps tabs on everyone, heroes included. They even have files on the Triumvirate, just in case." Legend smiled and waved briefly at a pair of fellow flyers as we moved aside to let them pass. "I just happened to be familiar with your file because you're a person of interest, between your status as a visitor from another world, your connection to the drone portals, and your visits with Armsmaster and Myrddin."

A slight quaver in his aura indicated that there was likely another reason he'd failed to mention, but there was no need to press him on that at the moment.

"Worry not, I'm quite difficult to offend."

"I'm glad to hear that. And here we are, top floor."

We emerged from the shaft into what appeared to be an innocuous hallway with inoffensive décor. I could sense, however, that a veritable armory of defensive systems lay behind every surface, accompanied by a wide array of sensors both magical and mundane.

When I peered into Legend's office with my deepsight, I nearly missed a step. Not due to any of the additional protections contained therein, but to what I found on his desk: a photograph of Legend at some manner of outdoor festival accompanied by two figures who were clearly his husband and son, the latter two wearing shirts bearing Legend's emblem and clearly-homemade fabric masks patterned after Legend's own, all of them wearing cheerful smiles.

I let my secondary mind continue maneuvering my body down the hallway while I briefly retreated to compose myself. That had been… unexpected, both the photograph and my reaction to it.

Clearly, a bit of sleep and some entertaining diversions were not sufficient to suture closed the ragged edges of my emotional wound.

I came back to myself as my body sank into a chair and Legend seated himself across from me. "So," he began, "the reason I wanted to talk was that from everything I've heard from Armsmaster and Myrddin you seem like a very upstanding guy, despite not wanting to call yourself a hero, and I was wondering why you'd suddenly start hanging out with…." He looked at me curiously. "Is something wrong?"

Hmm?

Aspect helpfully informed me.

Ah.

"My apologies. My husband was slain just under a month ago and seeing you with yours was… distracting."

Not to mention his son, like the one that I would almost certainly never have.

Legend glanced down at the photograph and his face fell. "I'm so sorry to hear that. You don't need to apologize at all; if anything happened to my family, I'm sure I'd completely fall to pieces myself." He moved to stand, then hesitated. "I know we've just met, but if you could use a hug…?"

I nodded, silently.

He rose and came around the desk, and I returned his embrace.

We parted, after a time, and returned to our seats.

"Thank you. That was… greatly appreciated."

"Any time."

One fortifying breath later, I returned to the matter at hand. "You were concerned, I assume, that I had suddenly decided to associate with evildoers for reasons unknown, and thought that it might signal a shift in my behavior?"

"Essentially, yes."

I waved dismissively. "You've nothing to fear. Setting aside the fact that not a single Adept bears an evil aura, nor even an aura of competence, my interest in them was purely observational."

I went on to briefly summarize the course of my investigations, from artificers to technomancers to self-professed magic-users, and on my desire to work out the source of magical capability on this world and the differences in its underlying mechanisms compared to the wider multiverse.

When I mentioned that trigger events were unknown on other worlds and magical power was generally acquired by other means, the tiniest blotch of something, barely visible, flickered through Legend's aura.

Interesting.

I continued my explanation, concluding, "… thus, with the majority of parahuman researchers both rejecting the existence of magic out of hand and failing to supply a more plausible explanation in its place, I felt that those capes who did acknowledge its existence might prove fruitful to interview."

"No such luck?" Legend asked.

"Not in the slightest." Sighing dramatically for effect, I decided to probe: "It seems, alas, that my dream of finding any practicing wizards on this world are to go unfulfilled, as developing sorcery via trigger events appears to be the only option for your magic-users."

There was that blotch again.

I'd declined to mention the option of gaining powers from a vial to avoid letting on that I knew of such an alternative, in case my earlier suspicion regarding his powers was incorrect. Given his reaction, however….

"Or so I had believed," I added, observing his aura carefully, "until extremely recently."

The blotch grew and darkened.

Curiosity, hesitance, a dash of guilt, and the particular hue of hope that arises when someone is hoping for something not to happen.

Well then.

"Would you care to share what you know?" I asked mildly

"About what?" came the guileless reply.

His gambler's face was practically flawless, I'd give him that much.

"About a means of gaining powers without undergoing a trigger event."

Legend offered a perfectly-crafted smile, optimistic with just a touch of wistful. "That's been the holy grail for parahuman researchers since they discovered trigger events in the first place. If this 'wizardry' of yours works out, it could be really-"

"I believe now would be a good time to mention," I interrupted, "that I am capable of reading emotions and discerning lies, and you are clearly hiding something."

His smile suddenly became just the slightest bit brittle.

"Perhaps that you know of such an alternative method of power acquisition?"

Growing anxiety began to tint the edges of his aura. Yes, that practically confirmed it.

"And even, perhaps…." I held out both hands, creating an illusion of the inverted-horseshoe symbol from Facet's thoughts above one hand and an image of the vial I'd received from the Ambassador (omitting the liquid within, in case its appearance was in some way distinctive) above the other. "….That you yourself benefited from such a method?"

His anxiety spiked, though his expression remained placid.

"I see."

Legend cleared his throat. A rapid series of emotions flicked through his aura before finally settling down. "And what is it you plan to do with this supposition of yours?" His question wasn't accompanied by any hint of intimidation or impending violence-floating slightly out of his chair, causing his eyes to glow, anything like that. Merely resigned curiosity.

"Do?" I echoed. "Nothing at all. From your reaction this is clearly supposed to be a secret of great import, but in all honesty I could not possibly care less."

That startled a laugh out of the Protectorate leader. "That wasn't at all what I expected to hear."

I shrugged. "As I said, from my perspective, gaining the ability to use magic without effort and study is essentially cheating. Regardless of whether that ability comes from circumstance or a vial."

He straightened. "How exactly did you find out about the vials?" No mention of the symbol, I noted. Curious.

"Now might be a good time to mention that I can also read your thoughts," I said, causing his eyebrows to rise and his aura to spike with disbelief.

To head off the inevitable next line of inquiry, I peered into his surface thoughts and began responding to what I saw: "Three. Yes I am. Red. Seventeen. Keith. It isn't impossible. Only what you're currently thinking. True, but then, I clearly have no need of your passphrases. Satisfied?"

Slowly, Legend nodded, his aura shifting too quickly to make out any one emotion.

"Now, would you care to explain the connection between yourself, the 'vial' I saw, this symbol, and the acquisition of powers?"

His aura settled down into a muddled mix of resignation and optimism. "You're right, I gained my powers from a vial. The whole Triumvirate did. There's an organization out there called Cauldron-"

"Ah, of course." I suppose the emblem could be seen to resemble a cauldron, with sufficient imagination. "A cauldron, for brewing potions. Continue."

"Its mission is to counter the growing number of villains in the world by making sure there are enough heroes to balance them out, and then ensure that the heroes are well-organized and well-trained enough to respond to any threat, large or small. Initially, they looked for people with diseases and major injuries who weren't expected to last long but who believed in doing the right thing and making a difference. Now they also accept paying customers who're hoping to gain powers for the right reasons."

He shrugged. "Clients who pass the screening get a vial, they drink it, and they manifest powers. Most become heroes after that, some Protectorate, some independent."

That sounded remarkably straightforward.

Suspiciously so, even.

Experiments aiming to instill sorcerous talent in the ungifted as a reliable shortcut to magical power were hardly a new idea-even Juroth had given it a try or two dozen over the centuries-yet very few of them had ever managed to achieve their aims, much less done so with anything approaching regularity or safety.

"The process is flawless?" I asked.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Early on, the woman who gave me my vial said some clients could be badly mutated as a side effect, or even killed. The pictures were… unpleasant. Thankfully, Cauldron's researchers have nearly perfected the process; these days, there's only a small chance of superficial but not life-threatening mutations, single-digit percentages at most."

Hmm.

My best hypothesis was that the organization had discovered an artifact of some kind-an eponymous cauldron, most likely-that could grant spellcasting capability but was originally only imperfectly understood, hence the increasing efficacy over time. That would certainly fit with the fact that the vials possessed no obvious magic of their own, as certain artifacts were capable of masquerading as much less powerful items or hiding their magical nature entirely.

Perhaps this artifact was even created by whatever being or beings were responsible for the seemingly artificial nature of sorcery in this sphere, hence why capes empowered by the artifact were very similar to (but not quite indistinguishable from) the sorcerers who arose "naturally" on this world.

"Do you know the source of these elixirs?"

Legend shook his head. "The research side of Cauldron and the hero side are mostly separate. Alexandria might know, she works fairly closely with the Doctor and is the one who proposed forming the Protectorate originally."

I caught fragments of images and speech in his surface thoughts as he recalled the meeting in which said proposal was presented. Alexandria featured prominently, in both her costumed and uncostumed guises. "And the PRT, I see. An interesting approach, to monopolize the power structure thus."

He twitched at that, his aura shimmering with frustration. "You saw that part?" He sighed. "Look, there are some very good reasons-"

"Oh, there's no need at all to persuade me of her plan's good intentions. I'm all in favor of a magic-user discreetly heading the PRT."

"… You are?"

"Of course. Alexandria has a greatly enhanced intellect, neither ages nor sickens, and is intimately familiar with the quirks and trials of the heroic life, yes?"

"Yes…?"

"Then who better to found and lead such an organization?"

He looked at me askance. "You don't see why unpowered people should be in charge of overseeing capes?"

"I don't see why those lacking magical ability should be placed in charge of anything purely as a consequence of their deficiency. Given two administrators of equivalent skill, that one of them lacks personal experience with any matters over which their organization holds authority and is weaker in mind and body is hardly a mark in their favor."

Legend didn't have a ready response to that statement. He was silent for a moment, indignation and thoughtfulness mingling in his aura as he debated internally whether to pursue that topic of discussion.

Eventually he returned to explaining Cauldron: how some clients paid in favors as well as currency so that Cauldron could call in said favors to point them at particular villainous threats down the line, how selecting powers to match a client's skills and personality instead of leaving things to nature and chance made for stronger and more effective heroes on the whole, how they occasionally supplied the more moderate villains with vials in order to stabilize the criminal underworld of a given city in much the same way a thieves' guild might, and so forth.

All the while I was scanning his thoughts for deception or evasion, and found none.

"I must say," I remarked when he concluded, "Cauldron seems fairly benevolent, as world-spanning secret societies go. Still self-interested, to be sure, but certainly hovering above Neutrality; I was expecting something far worse given your initial reaction. The next question, then, is whether I could gain access to one of these vials myself, for research purposes."

While he'd seemed to accept that I didn't intend to hold his secrets over his head, there was an undercurrent in Legend's surface thoughts fixating on the fact that I could choose to do so, at any time. And as long as I was effectively engaging in this exceptionally genteel form of blackmail, I might as well attempt to acquire a second vial to compare with Accord's.

He frowned. "I would guess probably not, for a few reasons, but I'm not involved in client selection. They only notify me that a given cape is a Cauldron client after they've joined the Protectorate, to make sure Watchdog doesn't pick up anything during the recruitment process. I can ask, though."

"I'd appreciate it. If it would sway the Doctor's decision, my research would be entirely non-invasive and I'm prepared to provide any requested amount or value of raw materials in exchange. In the meantime, I don't suppose I could trouble you to name a handful of Cauldron clients you do know, so that I could perform a more thorough comparison of their powers to those of other capes?"

Given the Adepts' very disappointing showing, continuing to investigate the known magic-acknowledging capes was no longer my highest priority. I'd investigate the vials and the capes empowered by them, I decided, and then look into Cauldron itself.

I told Aspect. full truth, when I do speak with them.

"Even if I were willing to violate the privacy of Cauldron clients like that," Legend responded carefully, "I doubt you could tell which capes were which just by studying their powers."

I took a stab: "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure. Battery's powers were quite distinctive."

His surface thoughts, and his feelings of self-recrimination, confirmed my guess. That particular distribution of powers was characteristic of vial-derived capes, then, though whether all such capes possessed that distribution remained to be confirmed.

"How much do you already know?" he asked wearily.

"Enough," I replied simply.

I hated to press the poor man like this, especially after the kindness he'd shown me earlier, but I was unlikely to cross paths with another such valuable font of information any time soon and I had to take advantage of his being off-balance before he had a chance to rally and rebuff me-or to consult with his fellow Triumvirate members or Cauldron's leadership and perhaps be persuaded never to interact with me again.

Legend rose silently and moved to the window. He stared out over the city for several long moments.

"Protectorate 29, in Las Vegas," he said softly, not looking back at me. "Most, but not all, of their adult heroes are Cauldron capes, and at least one of their Wards is as well. Does that give you enough to work with?"

"It does indeed. Though there is also the minor matter that whenever I have attempted to meet with a Protectorate cape, there has been an irritating level of bureaucracy-"

"I can fast-track you for Protectorate affiliate status, through GLIPH and MIRIS. High-clearance, with my personal endorsement in your file. Just… please don't make me regret it."

"You have my word of honor as the last scion of Jhaamdath that I will not abuse your trust." My statement mostly eased his concerns over the potential disclosure of his secrets, though it did not assuage them entirely.

I went over and clapped him on the shoulder, dipping into his repertoire to extract copies of my desired thoughtforms as I did so. "You've been very helpful, Legend, and very kind. I owe you two favors, to be redeemed at your discretion. Anything I can provide, name it, and it's yours."

"I'll keep that in mind." His eyes met mine via the reflection in the pane of glass. "Enjoy Sin City."

I retrieved my Orb of Planar Journeying and laid my finger upon the activation crystal.

"I certainly intend to."

Author's Note

Well look at that-turns out the Wizard of Chicago is actually a lot closer to being a real wizard than anyone suspected, Val included!

Myrddin's got an interesting speech pattern in Worm, occasionally using bits of more formal speech like " Begone," he intoned in 17.4 and saying an immense degree of risk and the essence of what you wanted to tell us in 19.4, while being the only one in the story to casually refer to the Endbringers as "these guys" in 17.6. So him sprinkling in some archaisms for the benefit of the public in this chapter is a relic of that.

Regarding the strike squad background he talks about, we don't know much about Myrddin's canonical background but we do know that (A) before 2000 the "strike squad" setup was common enough that the Guild based their structure on it and even the Protectorate ran missions out of a main city instead of being stationed with different departments, per various WoG; (B) when Faultline's Crew ran into Chevalier in Philadelphia, Myrddin randomly happened to be there too even though they were both Protectorate leaders at the time, per Gregor's interlude, and we know that Myrddin and Chevalier are old friends from Interlude 28; and (C) when we see Armsmaster, Myrddin, and Dragon working together in Madison in arc 17, Armsmaster and Myrddin interact as if they know each other pretty well, so it made sense that the three of them all worked together back in the day.

Plus, I mean, c'mon, a wizard with a staff focus, a fighter with an enchanted halberd, and a cleric with spells to buff his sword and armor? They're already most of a D party, they just needed a fourth guy to be the party rogue (and to be the "1 in 4" who dies to an Endbringer, alas).

Regarding Myrddin's staff being somehow special, canon generally treats it as just a prop and never mentions it having any kind of special properties, but after clone!Eidolon knocks his staff away in 19.6 Myrddin doesn't use his power at all to try to escape, which is kind of odd. Making it a focus component for some of his spells would explain why depriving him of his staff could screw with his powers to some degree without making it tinkertech or a Dauntless-style empowered item or similar.

Regarding the sequence of elemental-ish shadow worlds, some of you might recognize the "world of magma and smoke" in the set of "[m]ore and more remote Earths, less habitable, less familiar" from Eidolon's interlude. It's all coming together….

Regarding Monstrum, that's one of the capes mentioned in 18.1 as part of Tattletale's list of "megalomaniac tinkers" who might have tried to make an artificial Endbringer. Combined with the fact that a "monstrum" is an ill omen or portent, as in giving people forewarning of his attacks, he definitely seems like the type to have graduated from the Rita Repulsa school of villainy.

And then we come to Legend, the guy who can truthfully spill the beans on absolutely everything he knows about Cauldron and still give Valigan a very skewed picture of what they're actually up to. That's going to lead to some interesting conversations down the line, I'm sure.

Legend mentions the GLIPH and MIRIS programs, the latter of which is canonical (technically), the former of which is not. MIRIS is only mentioned in the PRT Master Reference, and is a PRT program to help out rogues, like the efforts Piggot mentions in 9.1; no expansion of the acronym is given, as usual, but I like to think of it as standing for Mission to Integrate Rogues Into Society. GLIPH is a program covering the PRT's relations with cape organizations outside the US (coordinating Endbringer response, sponsoring the Suits, and so on), and stands for Global Liaison to Independent Parahumans and Heroes.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

New spells and powers Valigan used or referenced in this chapter were decerebrate (kill something via teleporting out its brain stem; normally targets take a few days to die afterwards, but Monstrum's creation wasn't very stable to start with) and make whole (fully repair any object; it's listed as a divine-only spell, but Secrets of Sarlona adds a psionic equivalent), The spells Myrddin used or had in his repertoire were shadow cache (open a small portal to the corresponding spot in the Plane of Shadow, to do with as you will), plane shift (move people or objects to a different plane), a variation of precipitate breach (apply random planar traits to an area like high gravity, fire dominance, etc. by either drawing on existing planes or creating temporary demiplanes with the right traits), prestidigitation (perform a variety of very minor magical effects; the list of additional effects in other sources includes the ability to "create a two-dimensional figment of whatever you desire [… ] hanging in the air"), ghost sound (generate arbitrary sounds), and genesis (make a new permanent demiplane that starts small and slowly expands over time). The latter must be cast on the Ethereal Plane, and the answer to Val's question about how Myrddin's creating his demiplanes if he doesn't know about the Ethereal is of course that his shard is the one doing the casting. Myrddin is able to catch vague "glimpses" of how powers function, which maps fairly well to detect magic if Myrddin has to try to guess what the different auras mean instead of being fed that information by his shard. He seems surprised when he uses it on Valigan because of course he can't get any readings off the obviously-flying cape in front of him. The spells used by the other capes are meld into stone (merge with a stone surface while still sensing your surroundings) and stone shape (sculpt stone as desired) for Annex, enlarge person (double your size) for Campanile, and polymorph to transform into an air elemental for Wanton, as air elementals have a Whirlwind ability that, well, turns them into a whirlwind just like Wanton's. The "Planar Area Swap" Valigan mentioned to describe Shuffle's power is an ability of the Planeshifter prestige class that takes an area on one plane and swaps it with an area of equal size on another plane, as the name would imply, so Shuffle's power would be a version of that which swaps two areas on the same plane instead. A locathah is an aquatic creature that is "clearly more fish than humanoid," and Monstrum's big critter is basically that but sized up and with various other things added. Valigan's mention of powerful wizards being able to know when their name is spoken is referring to the Ears of the Mage feat. The mention of "Dimensionalist wizards" is referring to an old 2e variant from the Player's Option: Spells & Magic sourcebook, thing where certain magic-users specialize in broad categories like Dimensionalism (planar spells, lots of teleporting and such), Elementalism (spells relating to the four elements), Mentalism (mind-themed spells, mostly Enchantment with some Divination and Illusion), and so on instead of the normal eight schools of magic. Titans (no, not those Titans) are some of the strongest critters in the first Monster Manual and have a bunch of spell-like abilities at their disposal, including the mentioned gate spell. Quite appropriate for a strong and versatile cape like Myrddin. A time dimensional is to Temporal Prime/the Demiplane of Time/the Temporal Energy Plane what an elemental is to one of the Elemental Planes. Temporal push is a spell that shoves someone forward in time, while time snare forces someone to repeat their actions, very similar to time hop and déjà vu but different enough (and stronger) to be worth picking up. Legend's mentioned powers are chromatic orb (an AD spell with a bunch of different effects, up to and including death; the 5e version is but a pale imitation), prismatic spells like prismatic spray (randomly inflict different effects with different colors of ray) that also pack a variety of uses, an improved variant of energy adaptation (negate energy damage and turn it into light) that works against any damage type, ghostform (become incorporeal), and veil of undeath (gain a bunch of undead immunities). Ferrix is a goddess of weretigers; as one might imagine, when one's entire worshiper base consists of shapechangers, there's plenty of opportunity for shenanigans.

Last edited: Dec 19, 2022

Rule of Three 3.3.T

Eighth Morning Bell, Sul the 1 st of Sypheros, 999 YK House Vadalis Enclave, Sharn, Breland, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

The attendant stared at me across the counter like I'd suddenly grown a second head. "I'm sorry, you want to what?"

"I want to rent some magebred spiders," I repeated patiently.

I'd met yesterday with a couple of the clothiers Leyla had recommended and had come away with some good news and some bad news. The bad news was that there were a lot more places in Sharn that sold silk clothing than I was expecting; I'd gotten the impression from Creilath that silk goods were mostly an Aundairian import with only a few local sellers making their own, but "a few" still turned out to be over a dozen major clothiers and lots of minor ones scattered around the city, who all had a lot more experience in making and selling silk goods than I did.

The good news was that all those local sellers had to get the raw silk from somewhere, and that somewhere was House Vadalis, meaning they had a source within Sharn… and when I found out just how Vadalis met all that demand for silk, I realized that I just might have an advantage over those other silk merchants after all.

I hadn't really understood how Vadalis could possibly be as large and as rich as the other Dragonmarked Houses back when Creilath had given us his overview of them. House Medani? They had inquisitives like Creilath and people who could see the future and similar, and it was easy to see why what was basically a rent-a-Thinker business would be hugely profitable.

House Kundarak? They secured the banks and handled all of the security for government buildings and noble manors and other places that could pay a lot of money for top-of-the-line protection, and again, with all the capes running around Sharn the appeal and the source of profit was obvious.

House Vadalis, though? The one known for selling high-quality horses and griffons and other mounts? Sure, keeping griffons was an impressive way to show off, but I couldn't help but wonder why people would bother when skycoaches and other flying vehicles existed in Sharn and House Orien could probably invent magical ground vehicles for other places if they tried.

And then a very chatty tailor down in the Copper Arch district told me all about magebreeding, and everything suddenly made sense.

Magebreeding was using magic to mutate and evolve animals in ways that could be passed on to their descendants. Part selective breeding and part magical GMOs, basically.

The horses Vadalis was known for were stronger, faster, tougher, and all-around better than normal ones by a large margin; it made a lot more sense why House Orien hadn't really invested in magic cars when I found out that, between the magebreeding and some magic items, the best Vadalis steeds could run at almost sixty miles an hour for hours at a time.

Not only that, but the House also bred everything from cows that produced more milk and bulked up faster, to guard dogs that could live longer and had much better senses of smell, to bears that were larger and stronger but domesticated enough to be ridden by cavalry soldiers.

It was yet another example of how society in Breland looked a lot less advanced than what I was used to because of the feudal government, the general "fantasy world" aesthetic, the lack of lots of technologies I took for granted, and all that, but they were just as advanced as America in many areas and even more advanced in some ways, and I had to keep reminding myself of that.

Most relevant to me was the fact that House Vadalis had turned out to produce silk using spiders that were bred to be much more docile than normal and to produce a lot more silk, and do it faster, than any of the normal species found in the area. I could already force spiders to produce more silk than normal faster than normal, so if I could start with some of the special Vadalis ones and take things even further with my power, that could really give me a leg up on the competition.

Which was why I was here talking to a very confused Vadalis employee, with Dean along for some help with negotiating and moral support.

"May I ask why you would want to do such a thing, milady?" the attendant asked.

"Because I heard that a lot of clothiers in the city buy their silk from you, and I wanted to do some weaving of my own," I replied, still very patient and calm.

It felt kind of surreal to walk into what was essentially the headquarters of an international corporation and ask to borrow some magic spiders, but Dean had given me some good advice: if I treated this as something completely normal and reasonable and acted like I couldn't see any reason why they wouldn't let me do that, the employees would be much more likely to cooperate than if I looked hesitant or presented it as a crazy idea that might not pan out.

"Milady Hebert, while the Handlers Guild does of course sell spider silk and other animal products to accredited sellers at very reasonable rates, loaning out the use of our animals directly is not a service that House Vadalis generally offers to non-members," he said, clearly choosing his words carefully. "Insects and arachnids, in particular, are very delicate creatures, even the magebred varieties, and there are many factors to consider-"

I held out my hand, fingers spread and palm down, and made five spiders crawl up my hand and out to my fingertips and descend from them on lines of silk. Once they were dangling a few inches down and were easily visible, they began swinging back and forth to start weaving their lines together into a single thread.

"As you can see, the Vicereine is more than capable of handling spiders properly," Dean said coolly.

I'd expected the attendant to be surprised or freaked out at the spiders acting unnaturally, but he actually smiled and crouched down slightly to get a better look. "Fascinating! Have you trained them, or are they acting at your direction? Oh, or have you awakened them?"

"I control them directly," I said, not sure what "awakening" meant but not wanting to look ignorant and maybe undermine my bargaining position.

"I can see why you might want to do your own weaving, then. Do you only control spiders, or-ah, my apologies, milady," he said, straightening up and smoothing out his expression with an embarrassed cough. "An excess of enthusiasm on my part. I have a bit of an affinity for the creatures myself."

Right. Of course someone who worked as a public face of Vadalis would be an animal geek.

He gave me a long, speculative look, then continued, "And can you control any spiders, milady?"

"Any species, any size," I confirmed.

"That is quite fortuitous, as the spiders House Vadalis uses to produce its silks are, ah…." He glanced around the lobby at the few other people waiting to speak with an employee, then leaned over the counter slightly and lowered his voice. "They aren't on the small side, if you take my meaning." For emphasis, he discreetly held out a hand to indicate something roughly chest-high.

I thought back to the giant crabs I'd controlled in Xen'drik.

So, Vadalis had giant spiders?

Magebred giant spiders?

Dean was clearly thinking the same thing, because he looked more than a little anxious as he glanced between me and the attendant. "Oh. Oh no."

"Oh yes," I said, and I couldn't stop myself from breaking out into a grin.

Move over, black widows, I thought, you've got some competition now.

The attended reached up to scratch his chin thoughtfully. "House Vadalis might be willing to make a policy exception, given the circumstances. Wait here, please, while I speak with my superior."

~*~*~

It was my turn to stare at someone in disbelief.

"A thousand yards of silk a day?" I asked the guildmistress sitting across the desk from me and Dean, who'd introduced herself as Breedmaster First Class Narri d'Vadalis.

She held out a cautionary hand, her yellow-edged green-and-blue dragonmark peeking out of the end of her sleeve. "In theory, I said, and even then only with the largest and hardiest specimens. The Mark of Handling doesn't allow us to enchant insectile creatures-their minds are too foreign-so other means of control are required. Although," she added with a slight chuckle, "that was once said of reptiles as well, generations ago, but we stepped up to the challenge and brought a bit of new blood into the families, and now our scions can control even Talentan dinosaurs quite handily. Who knows what deeds the next generation might manage?"

Dean looked more than a little disturbed at the suggestion that House Vadalis might be selectively breeding itself to make its members stronger over time.

I thought back to him mentioning his girlfriend being a "second-generation parahuman" when he'd been explaining what those were during our Parahumans 101 talk back in the jungle, and I idly wondered whether some kind of relationship pressure there was why he didn't seem to like his parents at all.

I decided to just ignore the issue as Narri continued, "However, as you can enchant them directly, you might be able to safely achieve an output close to the theoretical maximum."

"So you'll let me try working with them?" I asked eagerly.

Narri leaned back in her chair, frowning slightly. "Oh, I didn't say that. House Vadalis makes a tidy sum on its silk sales already, and I hardly see the benefits of opening our operations to an outsider in exchange for, at best, raising profits by a few additional percentage points."

I started to lean forward, annoyed, but Dean nudged my leg in warning and folded his hands calmly on the desk in front of him. "Somehow I doubt it would just be a few percentage points. Lady Hebert can do some amazing things with spiders. In fact, you should probably be paying her for a chance to assess your operation and see if she can do anything to improve it."

"Pay her?" The guildmistress arched an eyebrow. "What could she possibly offer us that would be worth any amount of free silk, much less the quantities she's requested?"

Oh. That wasn't a snub, before, just an opening gambit for the negotiations.

Well, I'd already done enough talking this morning. I was more than happy to sit back and let the master work.

~*~*~

An hour later, Dean and I walked out of the lower levels of the House Vadalis enclave, me holding a large wrapped bundle of silk, Dean holding his jacket over the bundle to help shield it from the rain since it was still mostly raw and susceptible to water damage.

"Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad," I told him.

"It was definitely that bad," he said firmly. "Giant crabs are one thing. Giant spiders?" He shuddered dramatically. " Way too many eyes."

Thanks to Dean's bargaining skills, Narri and I had eventually worked out a deal: if I could head down to where they were keeping their giant spiders, make all eight of them produce their full daily amount of silk, and weave it all into silk bolts for Vadalis, they'd let me keep the extra silk from whichever spider produced the least excess compared to however their normal process worked.

That happened to work out to two full bolts of silk, and while I couldn't read the measurements while they were being taken Narri said that was equivalent to something like a hundred square yards. That would probably be enough for me to make twenty or so shirts, after accounting for the longer hems, thicker collars, fancy cuffs, and so on that high-end shirts had around here.

Based on Narri's expression on our way down, she'd expected the weaving to take me multiple hours to do, maybe even multiple days. She obviously didn't expect me to be able to make all the spiders produce all of their silk at the same time, in just a few minutes.

And when she smugly told me that the threads these giant spiders wove were far too thick and they had to be carefully separated out into smaller strands and re-woven into threads of the right size for clothing, she definitely didn't expect me to bring in an entire swarm to break down and re-weave everything for me.

That had actually disturbed everyone present quite a bit, according to Dean, even the spider-loving front desk employee who'd come down to watch what I did. Dean casually asked about that while I was focusing on the re-weaving, but none of them was willing to explain.

I assumed it was just due to them not having seen so many insects in one place and moving unnaturally; even for a fan of insects, that was probably a bit much. He wasn't so sure.

Regardless, I'd gotten what I wanted: giant spider silk, straight from the source. I'd have to do some comparisons once we got back to the workspace, but based on what I'd felt while my spiders were working with it I was fairly sure that this silk would be much stronger than regular spider silk, even after being pulled apart and re-woven.

It might even be tougher than black widow silk. I had a few interesting ideas on how to use some of it myself, if that turned out to be the case.

The best part was that I'd exceeded expectations by such a large margin that Narri had actually invited me back. As soon as the spiders had recuperated enough, she said, I was welcome to come back and do some more work in exchange for more silk. Though she'd learned her lesson about how fast and how well I could work, and was offering a smaller portion of the silk and only giving it to me at a larger-than-normal bulk discount instead of giving it away for free.

That was fine with me. Our bonus from Creilath's case, nearly two hundred galifars apiece, should be more than enough to cover the costs of the next batch of silk, plus the dyes and buttons and other accessories I'd need to make clothes that would actually sell, plus enough gold to finally get some good glasses, with enough left over to pay for the silk batch after that.

If I could keep that cycle going, I'd be practically set for the rest of our stay in Sharn.

~*~*~

"-so then," Dean said, trying hard not to laugh, "Vicky goes, she goes, 'Not so fast, Little Red Racist Hood! You forgot your Big Bad Wolf!' and she-" he mimed someone throwing a baseball overhand "- chucks Hookwolf right at Rune's floating car!"

"Oh my god, that's terrible," I groaned. We were speaking English, so the people around us gave Dean a few curious glances when he did the throwing gesture but otherwise ignored us.

"I know, right?" Dean chuckled as our lift stopped at the Tradefair platform and we disembarked. "Rune managed to dodge him and they ended up getting away, but Vicky was riding high on that burn for a good two weeks afterward."

"I bet."

"It made the rounds on PHO, too, and-hmrrf." Dean cut himself off with a massive yawn. "'Scuse me."

That was the fifth or sixth big yawn out of him in the short trip back from the enclave, and it wasn't just the wet hair plastered to his forehead from the rain that made him look a little under the weather.

"You doing okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just haven't been sleeping well the last two nights."

I stopped, yanked him out of the flow of pedestrians, and glared at him. "You've been sleeping badly ever since we ran into a demon that possesses people in dreams, one that went who-knows-where after it got kicked out of the duchess, and you didn't mention it before now?" I asked incredulously.

"It's fine. Quori normally can't possess people unless they're willing, remember? Besides, I talked to Creilath about it yesterday while you were out at the shops. He said Father Mogan checked everyone out after the exorcism and didn't see any signs of possession, so it's probably just stress."

"Uh huh." I wasn't convinced.

"Plus, if I were possessed, would I go around yawning obviously so you'd notice and get suspicious?"

"I guess not," I grudgingly agreed, then let go of his arm, and we continued on our way.

~*~*~

Half Past Noon, Sul the 1 st of Sypheros, 999 YK

Tradefair Workshop, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

We were just finishing up lunch-something from Karrnath, today, kind of a cross between a taco and a roast beef sandwich with a tangy sauce, and it was actually quite good-when I felt Creilath walking up to the door, here for an afternoon briefing.

Judas perked up from where he was lying next to Brian and scrambled over to the door. A few flies buzzing in a circle let Creilath know the door was unlocked, he opened the door and stepped inside, and Judas immediately padded up to him to give the inquisitive his best puppy dog eyes.

Creilath was already reaching into one of the many inner pockets of his coat, and Judas was soon treated to a piece of smoked pork. The inquisitive gave him a quick scratch behind the ears before leaving him to his snack and taking a seat at the table.

He waited until Alec finally dragged himself over to the table as well, then began: "As I mentioned last night, I do have a case that could use your assistance, but I wanted to start with a debrief on the cases you've worked up to this point."

Making eye contact with each of us in turn, he continued, "For some young people who only knew of inquisitive procedures from your world's fiction, you've done marvelously so far. I'm not here to complain about your performance; my comments are mostly positive, with only a few areas of improvement to keep in mind. Before we begin…" He reached into another pocket and pulled out a bag of tea leaves. "Would anyone like some tea?"

I perked up at that. "Tea would be lovely."

The stuff that they occasionally served at the hotel was… fine, but Creilath had definitely come across as the kind of person who liked his luxuries and I was eager to taste whatever blend he felt was worth carrying around with him.

"I'll have some," Dean said.

Chris glanced over at me. "I like tea."

"I'll pass. More of a coffee fan," Brian said.

Alec sniffed, unimpressed. "Philistine. I'll have his."

Creilath pulled a small kettle out of a pocket that should have been too small to hold it-which didn't even faze me at that point-then dropped the teabag in and set it in the center of the table.

"We'll cover things chronologically," he said as he pulled out a notebook and pen from yet another pocket. "Brian, how would you say you did well during the smuggling case, and how would you say you did poorly?"

~*~*~

Most of the critique was basically what we'd expected to hear: Alec never took initiative, Chris almost always let other people talk to clients and suspects, things like that.

Creilath had a few choice words to share about our decision to try to open a wall safe protected by a magical lightning bomb without consulting him, too.

There were a few things he mentioned that I hadn't even considered, like that Dean's heavier armor meant he was less prepared than the rest of us if a fight suddenly broke out.

While we were on a case that required us to go out in normal clothes and talk to people instead of gearing up for a fight from the start, Brian and Chris had armor light enough they could stick it in a backpack and throw it on quickly if needed (though Chris's hoverboard wouldn't fit, unfortunately), and Alec and I wore ours under our noble clothes, but Dean couldn't really haul his armor around in a large case discreetly.

Chris seemed to take the criticism of the Gallant armor kind of personally, but admitted that it "had been operating way outside design parameters," in his words, since we'd arrived here and that reworking it to be more usable on cases wouldn't be a bad idea.

I was surprised when Creilath mentioned that my swarm could be too loud for scenarios when we wanted to be stealthy. I mean, yes, when I thought about it, obviously if one fly buzzing was loud enough to hear than a whole swarm of them would be fairly loud, but that was hard to keep in mind sometimes when I was directing a swarm a block away or on the other side of a manor house.

It didn't help that I'd been mostly tuning out the sound of bugs near me and barely noticed them anymore. I really had to stop doing that.

~*~*~

We took a brief break when the kettle whistled so Creilath could serve the tea. We washed out and re-used our glasses from lunch, since teacups apparently weren't among the things Creilath carried in his bottomless pockets.

My tea was served black, just the way I liked it. Creilath pulled out a few small vials and swirled a bit of cream into Alec's cup and a bit of honey into Dean's before passing them out, then added a bit of both to his own cup.

Then he poured a truly disgusting amount of sugar into Chris's, so much he'd barely be able to taste any of the tea under that.

I took a cautious sip of my tea, and-oh my god.

It was easily the best tea I'd had on Eberron, and might even be the best I'd ever had.

It was strong and smooth, with all the depth and citrus notes of a good Earl Grey, the full body of Irish Breakfast, a hint of… cardamom, I think?, and a few other notes I couldn't quite place.

"What blend is this?" I demanded.

"Harrowgate Silverleaf, out of eastern Aundair," he said. "It'll normally set you back three sovereigns a cup at most teahouses, but I have… an arrangement with a local alchemist."

"An arrangement?" Chris asked, between two very small sips.

"It's very simple." Creilath grinned. "If I happen to stop by his shop and see that he has some Harrowgate in his back room, I won't see some of the other things he has in there."

Alec was peering suspiciously into his cup. "How'd you know how we like our tea? We've never had any around you."

Creilath took a very pointed sip of his own tea and raised an eyebrow. "I am an inquisitive."

"… Fair."

~*~*~

We returned to our debrief once the tea was gone. For the most part it was more of the same, but there was one last critique that stood out to me.

"Speaking of reliance on magic… Dean, I realize that your empathic sight is very useful for picking up on suspects' moods and discerning their honesty," Creilath said, "but over-reliance on that can impede your ability to read cues normally and lead your intuition astray. Divination has its place, but it's just one tool among many."

Dean nodded slowly. "You're not wrong," he admitted, "but it's very difficult for me to avoid using it."

"And why is that?"

"Well, it's always active, so I have to try to read someone's expression through what my power's showing me."

The inquisitive's eyes widened, just slightly. "Always active? Even now?"

"Yep."

"You know, Corvin never mentioned that," Creilath said conversationally. "That's not the sort of thing that would usually slip his mind."

Dean shrugged. "When we were prepping for the battle with him and his friends, he just asked whether I could use it as often as I wanted, not whether I had to."

"I see." Creilath moved his hand through a magical gesture under the table, murmured something that sounded like " Ivae anshelu" in a sing-song tone, and looked at Dean-and immediately jerked his head away, shielding his eyes with his hand.

"Definitely active," he grunted. He squinted at Dean, then at me, then studied Alec's scepter and Chris's armor for a moment, then looked over at the door for some reason, before blinking rapidly as if to clear his vision and then looking back at Dean.

"That's something else to add to the list, then. Taylor, Dean, you should be aware that anyone capable of sensing magic could easily track your movements and whereabouts for quite some time after you pass by," he said gravely, "and the same would apply to Alec and Chris so long as you carry your enchanted gear."

That took a while to explain. Essentially, magic gave off… well, he called it an "aura" but it almost sounded more like some kind of radiation that was unique to each person's powers. If someone used magic that was strong enough, the aura could linger in an area long enough for someone else to notice it and follow the trail.

And Dean and I couldn't turn our powers off (not that I'd ever want to), so there was nothing we could do about it.

"Now, practically speaking, this won't be much of a concern," he concluded, "seeing as you can't take two steps in Sharn without being bathed in dozens if not hundreds of lingering auras from all the passers-by and shop wards and so forth. Anyone trying to track you would lose the trail very quickly. If you happen to find yourself somewhere less well-traveled, however, where your own aura stands out clearly from the rest… just be aware of the possibility."

"Good to know," Brian said with a nod. Not that he had much to worry about, since he never used his power these days except when we were actively helping with a case and so he was the one person on the team who didn't have to worry about it.

"I think that concludes the debrief. Any questions?" Creilath asked.

"I had one," Dean said. "Going back to the issue of how often I could use my power, we ran into a situation in Zantashk where Terik 'ran out' of one of his powers. It hasn't come up again since then, but since we're on the subject, how does that work, exactly?"

"You don't have any normal spellcasters on your world?" he asked, surprised.

"Nope. Parahumans are the only kind."

"So much for 'maybe sorcerers, maybe not'…." he grumbled. "Anyhow, most spellcasters know a number of spells that can be used a certain number of times before you have to rest to flush out the proverbial pipes. I know thirteen, and can use them ten times."

Thirteen powers? Even if he couldn't use them very often, that was kind of ridiculous.

Chris leaned in curiously. "Can you use them in any combination, or…?"

"No, spells come in circles, at least six of them. You can cast a spell of a lower circle in place of one of a higher circle, but not the reverse."

"Wait, what makes a spell a 'low circle' spell? How are the circles different? Why are-"

Creilath help up a hand to cut Chris off. "I'm not really the best one to explain this. Leyla could give you all the theory, but me? I've picked up enough to get by with my investigations, that's all." He looked around at us. "Corvin really didn't explain all of this already?"

We all shook our heads, and Creilath scowled. "Two whole weeks together, and he couldn't spare ten minutes…." He looked like he planned to give the gnome a piece of his mind the next time the two ran into each other.

"Slight change of plans, then. I'll get in touch with Leyla, and sometime in the next few days when we're both available we'll give you the changeling's lines on spellcasting."

"That'd be great, thanks," Dean said.

The inquisitive nodded, then checked his pocket watch and began gathering up his tea supplies. "That took a little longer than I expected. We should do the briefing on my next case on the way if we want to beat the rush."

"What rush?" I asked.

He paused. "It's Ascension Day."

When he gave us a crash course in things to know about the city, Creilath hadn't gone into detail about any of the local religions, but he did list some of the larger holidays that would occur while we were in the city so that we wouldn't do the equivalent of walking into a mall in December and wondering why there were trees and Christmas lights everywhere.

And I did remember him mentioning Ascension Day, but: "I thought you said that was on the first of…" I said uncertainly.

"Sypheros," Chris said, supplying the name of the next month.

"Right, that."

Creilath gave us an odd look. "It is the first."

Brian was the first to figure it out. "Rhaan has twenty-eight days?"

"Yes. Like every other month. How many days do months have on your world?"

"Sometimes thirty and sometimes thirty-one, and also twenty-eight, except when it's twenty-nine," Alec said, very helpfully.

"… It seems as thought what I thought was a very basic overview of everything you might need to know in your investigations was anything but." Creilath sighed. "I know a few tutors who work with the Medani children, so I'll see if I can borrow some primary school textbooks that might help. And yes, I do remember that none of you read Common; we can work out a solution to that as well. Now, come along."

~*~*~

If this was missing the Ascension Day rush, I'd hate to see what it looked like when things were in full swing.

We were walking against the flow of the crowds the entire way through the Tradefair district, since we were headed northwest to Overlook and the main cathedral for the Silver Flame religion was in Sovereign Towers to the southeast.

It was kind of strange to see so many people wearing religious clothing, in this case a wide white sash with the outline of a flame embroidered on it in silver. Back home, with the Empire being what it was, I rarely saw people wearing anything in public that marked them as obviously non-Christian; I vaguely remembered one Jewish kid back in elementary school who wore a yarmulke, but that was it.

As we continued along we started to see some people in full priestly vestments and others carrying large candles on poles, all of them burning a warm and steady silver despite the constant drizzle.

Creilath pointed out a few interesting sights along the way: here, someone wearing a blank sash because they weren't yet a member of the religion and were going to the cathedral to be initiated; there, a procession led by someone dressed as Tira Miron, the martyr that the holiday was honoring.

As we reached the edge of the district, Urzat fell into step with us, exchanging a silent nod with Creilath. His massive presence made it easier for us to make our way through the crowd, but we eventually decided to flag down a skycoach since Creilath said the lifts and bridges would be absolutely packed.

The weather started to worsen as we rose up out of the Middle Wards and made our way over to the Dura Plateau, since there weren't as many towers and bridges above us anymore to shield us from the rain.

By the time we reached a docking platform, the rain was coming down in sheets, worse than it ever got down in Tradefair. I wasn't looking forward to walking around in that with my hair uncovered, and was regretting not buying a hat after Creilath had mentioned we'd arrived during the rainy season.

It turned out that I didn't need to worry. After Creilath paid the driver, he slipped on a ring, cracked the door a few inches, stuck his hand out, and clenched his hand into a fist. A translucent blue force field of some kind appeared in midair, almost six feet across, slightly concave, and hovering a few inches past the ring.

When he stepped out of the 'coach he held his hand skyward and the force field moved with it, turning it into an extra-wide umbrella and keeping us all nice and dry as we filed out onto the street.

"It's rather appropriate that we're looking into this case on a high holy day, as this case has something of a religious flavor to it," Creilath said as we started down the sidewalk, avoiding puddles as best we could while staying under his rain shield.

"How's that?" I asked.

"You recall my explanation of the kalashtar?"

"They're people with psychic powers who used to be human," Chris responded promptly.

"Correct, as far as it goes. The explanation is… slightly more complex than that, but I left things there because attempting to concisely describe the kalashtar can lead to many misconceptions, and they face enough prejudice already without my adding to it."

As we entered the Overlook district proper, I was surprised to see how different the buildings were compared to the rest of the city. Normally, going higher up in Sharn meant more elaborate architecture, wealthier residents, and so on, but despite Overlook being in the Upper Wards the entire place seemed to be full of identical bland gray towers with featureless stone walls.

They reminded me of the crowded tenement buildings back in the Docks, actually, except even less visually interesting.

"The kalashtar are a people set apart," Creilath continued. "The closest comparison would be to the Cyran refugees who migrated here after the Day of Mourning or the goblin clans down in Malleon's Gate, both insular communities that try to maintain their own customs rather than integrate with the rest of Sharn, or with Brelish society in general."

I could see what he meant. As we passed by more and more of the seemingly-identical towers, I was starting to notice little touches of decoration to break up the gray monotony. A stained glass window here, window boxes full of flowers there, banners covered in geometric patterns flapping around in the strong wind, and more-but the designs on the windows and banners and the flowers in the boxes weren't like anything I'd seen anywhere else in Sharn.

"But the Cyrans are still citizens of the Five Nations," he continued, "and the Darguul have a long and proud history in Khorvaire. The kalashtar, in contrast, fled here from Sarlona to escape almost certain death, or worse. They share no common culture with us, and don't seem at all interested in reaching across the divide."

He shook his head. "I try to make friends and contacts in the city wherever possible-with the higher classes and the lower, in many districts and in many professions, and on both sides of the law-but I've never made any successful inroads into any of the kalashtar neighborhoods."

"Maybe we can manage that. We're outsiders too, after all," Alec said. He fluttered his eyelashes exaggeratedly. "And we're just so gosh darn charming."

"Please do not attempt to flirt with any kalashtar," Urzat rumbled. "It would not go well."

"Please do," Chris said. "I'd love to see it."

"You like my flirting?" Alec asked with a leer.

"No, I just want to be there when someone finally gets sick of your shit and punches you in the face."

"Rude."

" Anyway," I said, trying to steer us back on topic, "you were talking about a religious conflict?"

Creilath gave me an appreciative nod. "I was."

"I'm more interested in the part about 'certain death, or worse'," Alec said.

"The kalashtar are a religious and ethnic minority in Sarlona. Their homeland of Adar has been under centuries of constant siege by the dominant nation of Riedra, and any kalashtar discovered within Riedra's borders are considered servants of evil and killed immediately."

In the ensuing shocked silence, only the patter of rain on Creilath's force field could be heard.

"How do you know all that, if kalashtar don't like to talk to outsiders?"

Creilath gave me a grim look. "There is a Riedran embassy over in Precarious staffed entirely by Riedran citizens, and I've been hired to investigate no fewer than six heinous crimes committed against the Adarans by the Riedrans in the past year alone."

"And this one's the seventh?" Dean guessed.

"Most likely."

We were quite for a little while after that. The district never became any less drab as we walked farther into it, there were just the same small splashes of color here and there, but we did start to see people walking the street in pairs and trios.

All of them had long hair that they'd left loose despite the weather and everyone was wearing identical flowing poncho-like cloaks to protect themselves from the rain, all in pale shades of green, blue, or gray. When the wind caused those cloaks to flutter out of the way, though, I could see some hints of more varied and colorful clothing peeking out from underneath.

Alec was the first to break the silence. "I'm still waiting on that 'or worse' part."

Creilath gave him a considering look. "Anyone in the city could tell you that the kalashtar are oppressed for political and religious reasons," he began, instead of answering directly. "Few could tell you why, unless they've had cause to discover the reason personally."

"Which is?"

"The Riedran Empire is governed by the Inspired, who claim to rule Riedra in the name of their gods in much the same way that the Church of the Silver Flame is the de facto government of Thrane. In truth, however, the Inspired are hosts to quori."

"… Well, shit," Brian said.

"Yeah," I agreed faintly.

How else do you react to the idea that there's an entire foreign country where the entire government is secretly possessed by demons?

"Does the government know about that?" Chris asked.

Urzat snorted. "Some of them know. Few of them believe. It's far from common knowledge. Might be better-known if any bothered to take the kalashtar seriously," he shrugged, "but who can trust outsiders like them?"

His ironic tone implied that he'd been subject to some of that prejudice himself. I wondered if his situation was similar to Khalthrun's, being an Eldeen half-orc that didn't really fit in with the rest of his people and getting ostracized for it, but the few times we'd tried to ask him any personal questions he'd just grunted and changed the subject.

"The Inspired are very skilled when it comes to ensuring that their true nature stays secret," Creilath elaborated. "The few people who discover the truth either vanish, or keep their heads by keeping their mouths shut. Urzat and fall into the latter category, helped by the fact that there are enough people who would be very concerned if I happened to disappear that removing us isn't worth it."

He halted, as did we a moment later. "If you value your safety, do not pass along anything I've told you, or anything you learn from the kalashtar today," he warned us, waiting until we all nodded in agreement to start walking again.

"And don't mention your Sarlonan cover story while we're here, obviously," he added. "The kalashtar would take the news that you're Riedran very poorly."

~*~*~

Second Afternoon Bell, Sul the 1 st of Sypheros, 999 YK

The Hall of Gathering Light, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

"I believe this is the place," Creilath said, coming to a stop in front of a large building that was closer to a warehouse than an apartment building and had banners hanging around the entire structure.

"You believe?" Brian asked.

Creilath waved at an elegant flowing design carved above the door. "The sign is in Quor."

Ah. And here I'd thought it was just part of the-wait.

"Quor? As in quori?" I asked suspiciously.

He sighed. "Kalashtar are, technically speaking, possessed by quori as well."

They're what?

"However- however," he insisted, speaking over our reactions, "not in the same way. It is closer to symbiosis: A kalashtar is a single composite being, not a human inhabited by a quori. Due to," he gestured vaguely, "something involving benevolent quori rebelling against the rest and permanently merging with humans in order to remain on Eberron. I'm… not entirely clear on the details, and explaining what I do know could take some time."

Oh, so these were good nightmare demons. Great.

That totally made everything better.

Brian crossed his arms. "And you didn't mention this before because why?"

"You do recall my specifically saying that attempting to concisely explain their situation could lead to misconceptions and prejudiced reactions, yes?"

Urzat held out a hand. "Quiet."

He'd probably heard what I sensed with my swarm, that someone inside the building was coming over to let us in. A few moments later, the door swung open on silent hinges and a woman walked out who was….

Wow.

There was no other way to say it: she was a work of art.

She had a long neck and high cheekbones, and she moved down the stone steps like she was gliding instead of walking. Her long white hair and pale violet clothing perfectly complemented her flawless dusky skin, and the loose and flowing red cloak she wore over everything didn't do anything to hide her curves, or the taut muscle of her arms and stomach.

I dragged my eyes away from her knee-high boots, forcing down the intense burst of envy I'd felt as soon as she stepped out.

It just wasn't fair.

As she briefly bowed in greeting, bending over just enough to draw the eye to her more-than-ample chest, I felt like my dad's beat-up old Toyota parked next to a top-of-the-line Porsche.

"I am Lightbringer Selkatari. You are expected, Inquisitive. Be welcome within the Gathering Light," she said, and god damn it her voice was beautiful too, deep and rich and smooth as silk.

"Thank you, Lightbringer," Creilath replied respectfully. He gestured to his right hand, the one projecting the force field, to indicate that we should head in first.

Alec and I made our way inside, followed shortly by Dean. When Brian and Chris didn't immediately move to follow us, Urzat cleared his throat pointedly and they scrambled inside, followed by Urzat himself and finally Creilath.

I started to move aside to give them more room in the fairly narrow entryway, but Creilath stopped me and gestured to a small section of stone at the base of the wall. It looked indistinguishable from the rest of the wall, but my bugs encountered a raised pattern of some kind when they felt it out.

"Drying stone," he said, by way of explanation, and touched one boot to it, then the other. When he did, the rain and mud on them instantly vanished, preventing him from tracking anything onto the carpets and mats farther down the hall.

Now that was pretty handy.

"You'll find those in most public buildings, for when it's raining especially hard," he explained as I dried off my own shoes.

… Huh. I wondered how many other useful magical gadgets were all over the place in Sharn that I hadn't noticed before, because they didn't look like anything we'd recognize and no one thought to point them out.

As Chris shuffled up to dry his boots, Alec leaned in to him and jerked his head minutely toward Selkatari. "Enjoying the new scenery?" he murmured, barely loudly enough for me to hear him through the gnats I had on him.

Now that was just uncalled for. I guess I could see how the guys might find someone like the Lightbringer attractive, but talking about her like that when she was right there was just rude.

"Not cool, man," Chris replied, just as quietly, and his eyes flicked toward me.

I gave him a little nod of approval, though he probably couldn't see it with the others in the way. Good of him to stick up for her like that.

~*~*~

The main part of the hall was like a cross between a community center and a martial arts dojo. The center of the room was taken up by a large group of kalashtar-and they were kalashtar; after Selkatari, I knew what to look for, and they definitely weren't normal humans-doing something that looked like a cross between sparring practice and a dance performance.

Around the periphery, small groups of kalashtar were reading, chatting, meditating, and otherwise quietly keeping themselves occupied. There were a few young children present, too, and they were dressed in the same style as the adults and seemed to be taking everything just as seriously.

Alec made a show of looking around when we came to the room. "I'm not exactly seeing any crime scene tape around here."

"The victims have already received aid, and the damage to the building was inflicted elsewhere," Selkatari stated calmly.

Creilath explained that we would be splitting up to examine the building and question witnesses on our own, without any more specific instructions or any background on the case, as a test to see how well we could handle coming into a case cold without his help. The kalashtar weren't exactly eager to speak to a bunch of "apprentice inquisitives" and let us search their storage rooms and everything, he said, but they'd agreed to cooperate so long as we were respectful about it

Before turning us loose, he specifically requested that I not use my bugs when combing through the building.

"Not only will that help you develop your investigative instincts further when you can't simply rely on your swarm's assistance," he said, smiling wryly, "but it defeats the purpose of the exercise if you manage to find every last bit of evidence before the others have even begun."

I reluctantly agreed, and directed all of the bugs in the building to gather outside on the roof so I wouldn't be tempted to "peek" into any rooms or check on the others' progress. I felt off-balance and half blind and deaf without my usual full awareness of the space and everyone in it, which made Creilath's point more effectively than anything he could have said to try to convince me.

~*~*~

The others were off… somewhere, looking at places and talking to people.

I was still in the main room, trying to decide how to go about this.

I could go searching hallways and side rooms for clues to whatever crime had happened here, which… I wouldn't say that my power had made me lazy when it came to things like this, but I didn't find the idea of going through all kinds of boxes and shelves by hand to be appealing at all.

I could go talk to the people around the room; none of the guys had done that yet, so I'd get first crack at them.

All I'd have to do was go up to lots of groups of strangers who did not want to talk to me, interrupt them, flounder around in conversation for a while, probably embarrass myself, and then do the same thing with all the other groups.

… Yeah, no. No thank you.

While I was still looking for a third option, Selkatari finished up a conversation with one of those smaller groups and glided over to stand unobtrusively by my side.

"You seem troubled," she stated, without looking at me; she seemed very interested in what the kalashtar in the center of the room were up to.

"A little," I admitted. "This is all new to me."

"You have not been Inquisitive Movanek's apprentice long?"

"Just a few weeks. We've helped with a few previous cases, but this is the first time he's taken off the training wheels."

Still without looking at me, she shifted her shoulders in a way that implied she wasn't sure what I meant. I started explaining the metaphor of a bicycle-badly, probably-but she quickly interrupted. "You are, in essence, wielding blades of sharpened metal rather than blunted wood for the first time, and fear drawing blood."

… Yes, that would be an obvious example to use when I'd practiced with Brian using wooden weapons before and we were literally watching people spar-slash-dance with wooden weapons while we spoke.

"Good analogy," I agreed.

I wasn't sure why I was so off-balance. It couldn't just be the lack of bugs. Get it together, I chided myself.

I expected her to say something trite to encourage me, but Selkatari stayed quiet, just standing there serenely.

Eventually the silence just got to be too uncomfortable. "You don't seem all that worried about the crime we're here to investigate," I said.

"Should I be?" she asked, arching a perfect eyebrow. "Seven inquisitives are investigating it at this very moment." A pause. "Six, rather."

Her tone didn't change at all as she said that. I couldn't tell if she was criticizing me for not helping the others, or making a joke about it, or correcting herself because Urzat wasn't technically an inquisitive, or something else.

"If the perpetrator is to face justice, they shall. If they are not, they shall not," she continued. "At this moment there is nothing I can contribute to this effort, so at this moment I have no need to be concerned."

I sighed, and snuck a glance at her. Selkatari looked poised and relaxed in profile, almost regal. She didn't seem to be putting on a front for my benefit.

What I wouldn't give for that kind of confidence. I'd made huge strides since my first attempt at being a hero went horribly wrong, but I still had a long way to go.

"How can you be so… accepting, of everything?" I asked. I hated the way my voice turned plaintive at the end, like I was whining about her being better than I was.

"I trust in il-Yannah," she said with a shrug, and even that casual motion was impossibly graceful.

"Il-Yannah?" I echoed. It sounded like the name of one of the Sovereign Host gods, like Dol Arrah or Kol Korran, but it wasn't one I'd heard before.

"The Great Light. It is not a path for one such as you," she said, firmly yet kindly.

"As in I wouldn't be allowed to worship them, or…?"

She finally turned to look at me. "You do not worship the Host," she said, in a tone of absolute certainty.

"No, I don't," I said. I wasn't sure what gave it away, or if she had a problem with that, but there was no chance at all of me successfully pretending to be religious. "Il-Yannah is different from them, I'm guessing?"

She turned away again. "There is a great darkness in the heart of Dal Quor," she said, instead of answering. " Il-Lashtavar. The Darkness That Dreams. The quori are its tools, its weapons, its eyes and ears, and through them Riedra is held in its thrall, as it wishes to hold in thrall every dreaming being upon the face of Eberron."

Selkatari went on to describe, completely dispassionately, how Riedra was a dystopian theocracy that sounded worse than 1984 and Brave New World put together. The populace were fanatically devoted to the Inspired, reported any "deviation" in their neighbors to the government, dressed the same way, ate the same foods, even had the same dreams every night to reinforce their loyalty.

"But it was not always thus," she said. "The day is approaching when the quor tarai, the Spirit of the Age, will turn. Light shall follow dark, just as dark follows light. The last Age was il-Gamatkar, the Perpetual Wonder, an age of light. The next age, too, shall be an age of light; we know not its nature, so it is called simply the Great Light."

She smiled softly, the first expression of emotion I'd seen out of her. "Upon the Turning of the Age, the Darkness That Dreams will be transformed, and the quori shall be reborn in glorious light. They fear this, and hope to extend this Age indefinitely; we seek to bring about its turning ever sooner."

Turning back to me, she concluded, "We do not worship what is. We venerate that which could be-that which, through our efforts, will be."

That was a surprisingly optimistic philosophy for a group of people who seemed so dour, so emotionless, on the surface. It reminded me a little bit of Zen Buddhism, or at least the very little of it I'd read about when I was younger. Hinduism, too, with the reincarnation, and Christianity with the future paradise. I could probably find aspects of other religions in there, too, if I knew more about them.

Ever since I'd had my… well, "religious epiphany" was too strong. Ever since I'd felt whatever I'd felt when I was caught by Father Mogan's exorcism spell, I was taking religion a little more seriously.

Hopefully I'd get to see Khalthrun again at some point before we went home, to talk about the not-very-religious religion the druids seemed to follow. I didn't think I'd ever be the churchgoing type, but I could see myself liking something like the Great Light or Khalthrun's faith.

~*~*~

We spoke for a little while after that, about religion and Sharn and what it was like to be exiled from her homeland. I never told her about Earth or that I was in a similar position to her, but I got the sense that she picked up on it anyway.

Talking with her felt effortless, and I found myself relaxing more and more over time. Eventually, bolstered by Selkatari's words, I decided that it was time I got off my butt and did some investigating.

Talking with the other groups of kalashtar was easier than I expected after talking with her. They seemed to welcome me more readily because I'd taken the time to get to know their leader, or instructor, or whatever her position actually was here, and I'd gotten better at interpreting their impassive expressions and tones.

From those conversations, I was able to determine that the crime Creilath was investigating was actually multiple crimes put together: someone or multiple someones had broken into the Gathering Light, stolen some of the more valuable supplies that were difficult for a generally poor community like this one to get their hands on, vandalized some of their religious symbols and garments, and assaulted the people who'd been present when they broke in.

Only the quick response of Selkatari and Hanamelk, another Lightbringer, had saved the victims from being killed, and the need to tend to the wounded victims had preventing those two from chasing the fleeing criminals and figuring out who they were.

That was our job now.

~*~*~

We'd been there for about two hours when Creilath went around to tell everyone to finish up what they were currently doing and return to the central hall.

I was just about finished questioning the last group of kalashtar at the time, so I wrapped that up quickly and went to stand with Creilath and Urzat while we waited for the others.

"Very well done, Taylor," the inquisitive congratulated me. "We'll discuss everything you've all discovered later, but I think you and Dean displayed the best performance today."

"Me?" I gave him a look. "But… I spent the first half-hour or so talking to Selkatari instead of investigating. How is that the best performance."

"That was investigation," he corrected me. "You stepped into a place about which you knew nothing and in which you knew no one, and rather than immediately begin looking for physical clues you instead established a rapport with someone who could help you better connect with the situation and the people. This led to you being capable of conducting further questioning more effectively due to increased trust and improved understanding."

"Um." That was one way to look at it, I guess. "I wasn't trying to do anything like that, though."

"That much was obvious," he said dryly. "Yet that is what you achieved. You have good instincts for this sort of thing… instincts you likely would have ignored had I given you free rein to use your swarm to explore instead."

He was definitely right about that. I could see what he meant about powers only being one tool among many for a good inquisitive.

… Holy crap.

All of a sudden, I finally got why the Wards spent their time going around giving speeches at schools and doing TV interviews and stuff.

It wasn't about the canned speeches and the softball questions at all, and it wasn't the waste of time I used to think it was.

I couldn't think of any way that this revelation of mine was at all relevant to my current situation, but I was glad that this inquisitive job was turning out to be good for more than just getting enough money to survive, and heroing and inquisitive-ing suddenly didn't seem so different after all.

~*~*~

It was still raining heavily when we left the Gathering Light, so Creilath decided that we should once again grab a skycoach and wait to debrief once we got back to our workshop.

Brian and Dean were chatting quietly with Urzat about the martial arts we'd seen, and Creilath spent most of the ride regaling our halfling driver with a story that sounded too crazy to be true, or would have if I hadn't seen some crazy stuff myself in just the time we'd been working for him.

I spent the ride thinking things over, mostly. Thinking about what Selkatari had said and what Creilath had said and whether there was any way in hell I'd ever be able to exercise enough to look like Selkatari and- damn it, stop with the jealousy, I told myself, focus on something else.

Practicing seeing through bugs was always a good fallback, so I did that for a while.

And noticed something concerning.

Wincing at the headache when I opened my eyes, I leaned over to Urzat and said, "I think we're being followed."

Urzat frowned, and Creilath cut his story off instantly to turn back and look at me. "Which skycoach?"

"That one, the one passing the tower with the green banners on it," I said. I used some bugs to draw a circle on the back window centered on the 'coach that had been taking all of the same turns we had for the past five minutes or so.

It was possible they just happened to also be going to Tradefair, of course, and there'd been plenty of other skycoaches around us for the whole trip, but this one had been turning almost exactly when we had, and had been slowly gaining ground-gaining air, whatever-until they couldn't have been more than half a block or so behind us, with only two other 'coaches between us and them.

Urzat raised his eyebrows at Creilath. "Points for persistence."

The inquisitive sighed. "Points off for repetition. Mror goodbye?"

"Too risky," the bodyguard rumbled. "Eight Winds?"

"Too heavy. Hop the river?"

"Too many," Urzat said, gesturing to Chris, Alec, and me all wedged into the skycoach's back row.

"Too bad." Creilath turned back to the driver. "See that platform, there? If you could let us off there, but delay the turn and descent until the last possible moment, I'll triple your fare."

"Yes sir!" The halfling grinned and leaned over the steering device in anticipation.

Either he wasn't as good at holding us on the same route as he thought, or the people in the trailing skycoach noticed us talking about them, because it suddenly sped up and dropped any attempts to be stealthy.

Worse, someone opened a front window and pointed a wand at us. I immediately sent some bugs in to distract them, but I was using flies, not anything with stingers or venom.

"They've got a wand!" I called.

"Dive! Now!" Creilath snapped.

"But-"

" Now!"

I felt a sudden lurch as the skycoach turned almost ninety degrees to head straight downward, and not a moment too soon as a streak of orange light struck the tower that had been ahead of us until just moments ago and exploded, filling the air with fire.

The pilot's eyes were wide with fear as he frantically looked in every direction to see where the next attack might come from. Creilath gripped his shoulder and shouted, "Dock there! Next to the skysledge!"

"But that's not-we can't fit-"

"I don't kriffing care! Do it!"

Everyone held on for dear life as the skycoach made another almost-right-angle turn, dodging a second fire blast as it went. The pilot slammed the steering device forward and we were pressed back into our seats as he started in on what looked like a collision course with the nearest balcony and the vehicles parked on it.

Ahead of us, someone pointed at us and shouted something, and people started to scatter. I stretched out to the balcony to gather more of a swarm… and for some reason my power responded sluggishly, even though the balcony was well within my range.

Bugs started gathering near the edge of the platform, but I really had to reach for them. It quickly got easier as we got closer, thankfully, and I was soon able to build up a serious cloud of wasps and horseflies, among others.

At the last second, the pilot did the skycoach equivalent of slamming on the brakes and we came to a stop with a big jolt, hanging a few feet above the walkway below.

"Everyone out!" Urzat growled, and we all scrambled out the doors as fast as we could.

The moment we were clear Creilath tossed a bag at the pilot and waved him off, and the skycoach immediately reversed into the open air, not caring about the other vehicles it collided with on its way out.

The other skycoach swung around a tower shortly after that and send another fire blast at our old skycoach. Luckily for our pilot, it missed, and our pursuers must have seen us at that point because they changed course to head right for us.

"Run, or fight?" Creilath called to Urzat.

Suddenly, the edge of the platform was shrouded in a curtain of inky blackness, courtesy of Brian. "Find cover, then get ready," he ordered.

We'd all come a long way since our fight with the dinosaurs: Dean and Chris didn't argue, just immediately nodded and dashed to one side to get behind the extra-large skycoach Creilath had called a skysledge, Chris already unslinging his satchel to get at the armor pieces inside. I went to join them, so I could use my swarm to help direct their shots.

Brian and Alec ducked the other way to get behind a pair of normal skycoaches. There was a moment's delay as Creilath and Urzat looked between us, clearly not having expected Brian to take charge. They traded a couple of hand signals, then crouch-walked over to join the Undersiders.

Once I was safely in cover, I sent some of the less-lethal bugs ahead to get a sense of the enemy skycoach's position, but once again, there was a sluggishness there that I wasn't expecting. The 'coach couldn't have been more than two hundred feet or so away, less than half my normal range, yet I had to really focus on the task for a few seconds to guide my bugs out that far.

I thought frantically. Were powers like muscles? Did they start to atrophy if you didn't use them? Every day since I started preparing to be a hero I'd been sending my swarm out for blocks around, first to keep an eye out for muggers when I went running, later to watch for threats in the jungle.

But now, with us being in Sharn, I didn't bother as much: with the way the city was laid out I could easily see for vast distances in every direction when we were walking around, I trusted our hotel rooms and workspace to be safe places to relax and only kept my swarm around them out to a few yards, most of my recent practice with my swarm had involved weaving or watching things a few feet away in the same room….

No, that was ridiculous. Someone would've said something if that was an issue. Brian and Alec had barely used their powers at all recently, and Brian wasn't having any obvious issues. It was probably all in my head; judging distances in open air without any landmarks for reference was hard, and I must have been trying to push past my normal range, not within it.

Either way, I could worry about it later when I wasn't fighting for my life.

I finally got some flies out to the skycoach. "That way, a few hundred feet out," I said, indicating the appropriate angle for Dean and Chris.

Dean had his hands close together for one of his bigger blasts, Chris had his chest armor on and the central slot open to be ready to activate his shoulder cannon, and both of their faces bore grim expressions. They were not messing around.

I sent a few bugs over to the other group. Creilath had activated his ring shield again, except that now it was much smaller, maybe two feet across; the color was darker, and the shield itself looked much more sturdy. Urzat had his spiked armor on and was hefting what looked like a throwing axe in one hand. Alec looked completely relaxed, as usual, while Brian was staring at the approaching skycoach.

I could feel the skycoach turning to face Creilath directly, where before it had been pointed at the space between our two groups and they should have had no idea where he was. "Brian! I think they can see through it!" I yelled across the gap.

He swore, vigorously, then shouted, "Dropping it in five!" He held out an open hand, below his cover where we could see it but the skycoach riders couldn't, and counted down on his fingers. I sent my swarm out early in preparation.

When the count hit zero, the wall of blackness vanished.

The people in the skycoach never knew what hit them.

Dean's huge ball of blazing crimson light struck the prow of the skycoach, followed immediately by Chris's barrage of lightning balls. The pilot and three riders all started writhing around as they were stung and bitten again and again.

One of the riders shoved her door partially open to try to get away from the swarm, but as soon as she showed herself Urzat's axe nearly took her arm off and forced her back inside. I was worried for a second as the axe continued spinning off into the open air, but soon after the near miss it curved in midair and started flying back to the half-orc like it was a boomerang.

And then Alec waved, and the pilot shoved his steering device up and forward, and the skycoach suddenly accelerated into a loop-the-loop that sent everyone inside tumbling into the ceiling.

The battle, if I could even call it that, was basically over at that point. Between Alec jerking the pilot around, my swarm keeping everyone distracted, and Chris's constant lightning volleys shocking anyone who even stuck a hand out of a window, there wasn't really anything they could do to hurt us or to get away.

I was about to suggest that Alec make the pilot land the skycoach nearby so we could try to arrest them or something when one of the riders flung out their hands to touch the other three and a moment later the four of them disappeared into thin air.

The skycoach, suddenly lacking a pilot for Alec to mess with, continued along its current trajectory and quickly disappeared below the balcony. Hopefully anyone in its path would be able to see it and get out of the way in time, since there wasn't anything we could do about it anymore.

"What happened?" Creilath demanded, squinting down at the last spot where the skycoach had been visible.

"They all disappeared. Teleported, I'm pretty sure," I said.

We waited for a good ten seconds to see if there would be any follow-up to the attack, before Creilath stood to stretch and survey the now-empty platform. He'd taken out a wand at some point, and he quickly slapped it to a bracelet on his opposite wrist to apparently cause the wand to dwindle away and vanish.

Alec stood up right after him. "What the hell was that about?"

"There would appear to be certain individuals in this city who wish to very forcefully express their disapproval of my methods," Creilath dryly replied.

The rest of us moved to join them. "This isn't the first time, is it," Dean said once we were all together, and it wasn't a question,

"This is the fourth attempt by this particular group, or what I believe to be the same group. As far as my career in general, I long ago stopped counting assassination attempts." Reaching up to pat Urzat companionably on the shoulder, he added, "Hence the full-time bodyguard."

He set off for the nearest lift and gestured for us to follow him. "It's quite fortunate that you were with us today," he said conversationally as we went along. "Urzat and I would have had a demon of a time dealing with that ourselves."

"Yeah. Fortunate." Brian sounded extremely skeptical. "That they just happened to attack while we were out on a case with you, when you never mentioned anything like this before."

Creilath rolled his eyes. "If you're accusing me of taking you along specifically as expendable protection, recall that you weren't with me for the last two attempts, so I'm clearly not placing you in harm's way unnecessarily."

"Still. I don't like that you're not telling us everything."

"I'm an inquisitive. I can hardly tell you every-"

"Not everything everything. Just, if someone's trying to kill you and might do that while we're there, I'd really like to know that ahead of time."

"It's not like we're in much actual danger from the local villains," Dean added, "but no one likes being ambushed."

Urzat grunted in approval. Creilath looked over at him, then nodded in acknowledgment. "That's entirely fair. You're still not yet at a point where I feel comfortable reading you into the case that I believe is prompting the assassination attempts-I'll need to run at least one exercise on crime scene discipline and preservation before that, at minimum-but when that time comes, I will endeavor to provide you with a more complete background on said case than I have been."

" Thank you."

~*~*~

Seventh Evening Bell, Sul the 1 st of Sypheros, 999 YK

The Horse & Hearth Inn, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

We gathered in the Wards' room after dinner to talk, and make plans.

It would have been easier to get together in the workspace, but we'd decided that going around at night when there were at least four assassins out there who might be holding a grudge was a very bad idea, so after discussing the case with Creilath we'd headed back to the hotel early, and now here we were.

"Okay, to start with, after today I don't trust Creilath," Brian said to get us started.

"Such a huge change from before," Alec snarked.

"It's different now. Did you notice what he said? This was the fourth attempt, but he said we weren't there the last two times."

Huh, that was a good catch. "So one of them happened before he started working with us."

"Right. So this whole time he's known someone's had it out for him, and he just never thought to mention it? I call bullshit."

"I have to agree," Dean said, and he didn't sound very happy about it. "During the debrief, as soon as he knew I could see what he was feeling all the time, his emotional profile changed to something much flatter, the way it looks when someone's trying to suppress their stronger reactions to avoid giving anything away. I've been giving him the benefit of the doubt so far, but…."

"I dunno," Alec said. "I think he's pretty much on the level."

We all stared at him.

"What? You heard him: he's had so many assassins after him that almost getting blown out of the sky was just his average Tuesday. Sure, he didn't mention that until now, but so what? It's not like we've told each other absolutely everything, either."

Dean gave him a very skeptical look. "That's… not as reassuring as you might think."

"Does it really matter?" I asked. The guys all turned to look at me curiously. "I mean, yes, it does in general, but the immediate problem is the assassins and we need to do something about that no matter what Creilath is up to."

"Exactly," Chris agreed. "So what's the plan?"

"One thing's for sure, I can't keep using my armor," Dean said. He shot Chris an apologetic look. "It was great for Wards patrols and I really like it, but-"

"But it's too heavy for what we're dealing with now, I know," Chris said with a sigh. "I can come up with something else."

He looked dejected for a moment, but then he perked up. "Actually, you know what? We could all use some new armor."

"What's wrong with my current armor?" I asked, a bit testily.

"Uh, nothing! It's awesome!" he backpedaled. "But, look, my armor has all kinds of stuff in it, right? A watch, a comm system, night vision-how great would it be if we could keep track of each other and see at night even in places where they don't have light poles?"

"I get along fine with my swarm, actually," I said.

"My emotion sight helps a lot with that," Dean agreed.

Alec cleared his throat loudly. "I guess Brian and I are just chopped liver, then."

"Right. Everyone needs to be able to do this stuff," Chris said. "Only problem is, even my relatively lighter armor is too bulky to wear all the time when we're trying to go around as normal people in normal clothes." He turned to me. "Your armor, meanwhile, is light enough to wear under clothes."

I could see where he was going with this, and I actually thought it was a great idea. "So if we made some armor for the whole team, combining my silk and shells and your tech, we'd get the best of both worlds."

"And not just that-"

"Leyla," I realized. "She's a Ti-an artificer, too, and the Fabricators Guild makes magic armor."

"Exactly! Best of three worlds," he said triumphantly.

"That's a fantastic idea, you two," Dean said. "All in favor?"

"How long would it take to do all this?" Brian asked. "We're going home in two months, so if this will take longer than that, there's no point. Hell, two weeks might be too long if these assassins try again soon."

Chris looked thoughtful. "Like I said, I'm not really good with time estimates until I actually start on something. And I'd need to redesign my armor into something that could work well for everyone and fit with Taylor's design. And if they don't even have aluminum here, I don't know how far I'd need to change things to work with the materials I can get. And-"

Brian waved impatiently at all the caveats. "Rough estimate. Are we talking hours, days, weeks?"

"My armor took, what, a month and a half?" Dean asked.

"In my spare time, working in one-hour chunks." Chris glanced away. "It was easy to get distracted by my own gear… or video games with Clockblocker."

He grabbed his phone, tapped around for a bit, and pulled up a calculator and what looked like a set of tinkering notes.

"In terms of full days of nothing but tinkering, my armor would have taken a solid two weeks," he said eventually. "Drop the undersuit, the heavier plates, the weapons-grade power core, the full HUD… in theory, if I have all the tools and equivalent materials, I could make a very basic version in two days, not including design time and testing."

Two days? Just ten days, to outfit all five of us? Chris was a much better Tinker than I'd realized if he could manage that. I didn't even do any of my weaving myself, just made my spiders do it while I worked on other things, and it had taken me a solid-

Well, hold on. Most of the time was spent on designing, testing, fixing parts that didn't work, experimenting with shell patterns, things like that. Actual weaving was only a small part of that.

I already knew how to make good armor, now. Not just that, but I had the magebred giant spider silk, and my basic testing earlier today had confirmed it was even stronger than black widow silk, pound-for-pound. Which made sense, given how extremely… diaphanous some of the fancier spider-silk dresses could get; those ruffles had to be able to put up with a lot.

So, take my current design, halve the number of layers of silk, drop most if not all of the layered carapaces since Chris's armor would cover that… cut the time down by a factor of two or three given that the silk was already extruded and I could use all of my spiders at once-and other bugs, too!-instead of having to rotate them out….

"I think I can do everyone's armor in… three weeks?" I hazarded.

"Are you taking into account the time spent on weaving all the clothes we're going to sell?" Dean asked. "That has to come first."

"Yeah. I can do everything at once, no problem," I said, and the guys looked suitably impressed at that.

"Want to get together with Leyla tomorrow morning and start figuring out designs?" Chris asked.

"Sure."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean said. "Now, it's been a long day, so if you wouldn't mind…?"

Alec, Brian, and I filed out of the room; they headed to their room, and I to mine.

It had been a long day, and I had a lot to think about.

~*~*~

An hour or so later, I found myself outside the Undersiders' room, psyching myself up to knock.

I always kept all the insects out of the hotel rooms and bathrooms while I was there, for everyone else's privacy and my own sanity, but just for my own peace of mind I sent a few flies buzzing under the door to check on the two villains.

Brian was doing pushups in the floor space between the two beds. Alec wasn't there.

No time like the present.

I took a deep breath and raised my fist to give the door two gentle raps.

No response. Brian must not have heard me.

I went to knock again, then paused.

Selkatari's words from earlier in the day came to mind: If this was going to go well, it would; if it wasn't, it wouldn't. Either way, there was no sense worrying about how it might go wrong ahead of time and possibly sabotage things.

Confidence, Taylor, I told myself. I straightened, took another breath, and gave the door three firm knocks.

After a brief delay, the door opened. Brian was standing there, breathing a little heavily, sweat glistening on his forehead. "What's up?"

"We need to talk."

"About…?"

"About the other day."

He nodded slowly. "Alec won't be back for a while. He got bored and headed down to the common room to play cards." His mouth twitched into a momentary smile. "The game sounded pretty close to poker, so he shouldn't lose too much of our money." The smile faded. "Want to come in?

I glanced past him. "I'd rather not have this talk in your bedroom."

"Fair. Want to head upstairs? Not the room we used for sparring," he quickly amended, "but there's a balcony on the other side of the hotel. We shouldn't be overheard there."

"Fine by me."

Brian ducked his head out and looked down the hall, where one of the kitchen boys was climbing the stairs with a tray of food.

"You go on ahead, I'll get us some snacks," he said. I nodded, and headed to the other staircase.

~*~*~

"No tea, but they had coffee," said Brian as he came up behind me. I turned from where I was leaning on the balcony railing to see that he had a whole small tray of finger foods, meats and cheeses and little pastries too.

This balcony was for hotel guests to use, not a landing pad for flying vehicles, so there were small tables and chairs scattered around it. He placed the tray down on the nearest table, then the cups of coffee, then grabbed one of the chairs next to it. I grabbed the one across from him and took a pastry.

For a minute or two, we just snacked and didn't say anything. When one of us tried to meet the other's eyes, the other looked away.

Instead of looking at Brian, I leaned back and looked up at the sky. It was still cloudy, but not enough to obscure the golden ribbon that was the Ring of Siberys stretching from horizon to horizon, or the four full moons. Yellow Nymm, red Aryth, and… I didn't remember offhand which of the gray ones were which.

How quickly I'd come to see a world with a dozen moons and a city full of flying ships as normal.

No matter which world I was on, though, relationships were relationships. And I was stalling.

I took one more sip of my coffee, then put the mug down with a deliberate thunk. "So," I said.

"So," he replied.

"We can't keep doing this. This..tension," I said. "Everyone's probably noticed by now, except maybe Chris."

"Oh, he's noticed, all right."

"Great."

There was a pause.

"Look, I…." I started to say. Get it together, Taylor. "You're attractive. Very attractive." I let out an awkward chuckle. "You probably didn't need me to tell you that."

He smiled faintly. "No, but I don't mind hearing it."

"Jerk. The point is, I think you're attractive. And I have for a little while."

"Since the spar?"

"Since before that."

"How long before?"

I didn't respond. It took him a second, but he got it.

"Oh." He took a deep sip of his coffee. "No offense, but I didn't notice you like that, before then."

Okay, ouch. Not that I'd ever expected any guy to see me like that, at all, but for him to just come out and say it, that kind of hurt.

"And now?" I asked hopefully.

He grabbed a jelly-filled pastry and took a large bite, clearly buying himself some time.

"I mean, you're not un-attractive," he said once he'd finished. "Just… not my usual type."

Not his usual type? What was that supposed to mean?

Was it that I was too tall? He was still taller than I was, but maybe he like girls who were short, not just shorter.

Or maybe that I was too skinny? Someone who was built like Brian probably liked girls who were in shape like him.

Maybe it was my chest, or complete lack thereof. Not much I could do in that case.

I was torn between asking him for more details and maybe sounding desperate or saying nothing and sitting here going in circles for a while, but he spoke up before I could: "Besides, I just don't want things to be weird on the team."

That stopped me cold. "Weird? What do you mean?"

"Well, first off, you're a hero and I'm a villain. We're on opposite sides."

I gave him a look. "Seriously? We've been one big team for weeks now. I haven't even thought about the heroes-and-villains thing in forever."

I felt guilty for lying about that; I'd thought of his and Alec's room as the "Undersiders" room not half an hour ago. But I really did think of us as being one team.

"Heck, we're all closer to being rogues now than heroes or villains," I added.

"You, Chris, and Dean are, at least," he muttered, then waved vaguely toward the sky beyond the balcony. "What about after we get home, though?"

"What about it?"

"Hero-villain relationships always end badly, from everything I've heard."

I scoffed at that. "Oh, come on, you're barely a villain."

Brian reared back, offended. " Excuse me?"

"Not that you're bad at being a villain," I clarified. "I'm sure you're great at that? I meant that, like, the worst thing your team ever did was rob another villain's casinos, right? You can just not be a villain when we get back."

He shook his head. "That's not how the PRT sees it. Trust me."

"So, what, you and Alec are just going to get right back together with the other Undersiders and start robbing people again?" I asked incredulously. "Things can change! Us coming back from a completely new world will be huge, you'll have enough money you won't need to rob anything!"

"I didn't get into villainy for the money," he protested.

"Then why did you?"

I expected all kinds of answers-infamy, a feeling of power, a sadistic streak. Escape.

What I didn't expect was for him to sigh and say, "My little sister."

He'd mentioned her before, but for her to be the reason he became a villain…?

"I'm going to need a little more than that," I said.

"I told you about how my father doesn't know how to parent her?" he asked. I nodded. "My mother is even worse. Right now they're both willing to let me take care of her-"

He scowled. "Or they were, at least; who knows what's going on with Aisha now. Point is, I was aiming to get full custody of her, and for that I needed paperwork to show CPS that said I had a steady job that could cover the bills, and for that I needed someone who could cook the books for me. The Undersiders' main client could do that."

" That's why you went villain? Why not just, you know… get a job for real?"

He gave me a disappointed look; that was clearly the wrong thing to say. "I'm a black teenager who had to drop out and get a GED so he could take care of his sister, in a city where you need to be a college graduate or a supervillain to afford rent and that's practically run by neo-Nazis. Do the fucking math."

"It's not that bad," I protested. "You're a cape, you could always go to the Protectorate. I don't know what you have against them-"

"They're useless, that's what."

"They-"

"The Empire is older than we are. There have literally been neo-Nazis running around Brockton Bay for as long as you and I have been alive. And the Protectorate have done nothing about them. Not when there were just a handful of them to start with, not when they were reeling after the Slaughterhouse Nine killed a bunch of their capes, not when they set up a new department and made a big deal about how they were going to clean up the city, never."

I didn't know what to say.

Intellectually, I'd known that growing up black in Brockton Bay would have given Brian a different perspective on a lot of things, but I hadn't really known.

"You know what I saw when we went to the kalashtar church?" he asked.

"No, what?"

"The first hate crime we've heard about since we got here. All the humans and half-orcs and gnomes and the rest are holding hands singing kumbaya, regardless of skin color. The only obvious racists around here are the ones who have been brainwashed into being xenophobic assholes by actual demons, and the only reason the Riedrans have been getting away with their shit is that they probably all have diplomatic immunity. Next to that, what excuse do the 'heroes' have for letting the Empire stick around?"

Brian took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. "I'll be happy to join the Protectorate," he said levelly, "the day the local heroes get their shit together and kick the Nazis out of town, permanently, or Legend flies in and nukes the Empire off the fucking map like he should have done years ago. Until that happens, no deal."

This was… not at all where I expected this conversation to go. Talking about my stupid little crush suddenly seemed incredibly petty.

Once again, I didn't know what to say, so I grabbed a pastry and focused on that.

For a while, there was no sound aside from the clinking of mugs and the whooshing of wind whenever someone flew close enough for their wake to reach the balcony.

"Look, I didn't mean to lay that all on you," Brian finally said. "That's my crap to deal with, not yours."

"Did it at least help to talk about it?"

He shook his head minutely. "I'm used to it. I don't need any help."

"Okay. Cool."

"Cool."

"So… where do we go from here?"

He looked at me quizzically. I gestured between us, and he seemed to remember why we were out here in the first place.

"Right." He folded his arms and looked down at them, a hint of nervousness marring his tough-guy image. "I… don't usually go for serious relationships. I like to keep things casual. Easier that way." He looked back up at me. "And I don't think that's a good idea. You and me, I mean. Things go south, it could affect the team."

"That's true." I was proud of how steady I managed to keep my voice. "Do you think…" My mouth was dry; I took a gulp of coffee. "Do you think it could be a good idea? Later?"

"Probably not." He must have seen something in my expression, as he quickly added, "But maybe. A month from now, when we're all set financially, we have that new armor of yours, Merrix is halfway to getting us all home… who knows where we might be?"

He offered me a small smile. "Let's just go with the flow, yeah? Don't ignore… this," he gestured between us like I'd done before, "just acknowledge it and move forward."

"I'd like that," I said.

"Cool."

"Cool."

Another silence fell, but this time it was a companionable one. Things hadn't gone how I'd expected, or how I'd hoped, but things were out in the open now and we should be able to get back to how things used to be between us.

Looking up at the sky again, I finally remembered the name of the larger gray moon: Therendor, also known as the Healer's Moon. According to Creilath's summary, when Therendor was full it was supposedly easier for people to heal all kinds of things, from papercuts to broken bones… to damaged relationships and bruised feelings.

Back home I'd have dismissed that for the superstition it was, but here… well, earlier today I took some career advice from an impossibly beautiful woman with an angel in her head, or however that was supposed to work, so who knows?

If the full moon really had had anything to do with patching things up with Brian, I didn't mind sharing some of the credit.

Eventually Brian stood, stretched, and started gathering up the tray and the mugs. "I think I'm about ready to head back inside. You doing all right?"

"Yeah." I smiled. "I think I am."

Author's Note

Taylor, it seems, is speedrunning the path to self-improvement, what with the improved confidence and newfound ability to talk to people without either dumping her life story on them or completely refusing to connect.

It's a good thing Taylor isn't known for backsliding and self-sabotage at all.

Regarding Taylor's, erm, "envy" of Selkatari, it turns out that the same traits she admired in Aisha in 6.3 are those typically associated with the kalashtar race, so there you go, have some more car analogies.

Regarding the time estimates for Chris's tinkering, we have no actual hard estimates on how long it takes him to tinker stuff, just the data point in 9.4 that the Alternator Cannon was finished in less than two weeks while he was on his new medication. The time estimates he gives for the new armor are thus based on that plus the calculations for how long it would take him to build certain things by the D crafting rules.

Likewise with Taylor: the only thing we know about the speed of her costume construction is that, per 1.2 and 1.3, it was still unfinished after two and a half months of work and she expected the "belt, straps for the mask and the lenses" and "the full extent of the armor paneling" and the back of the helmet to be finished "over the course of the month" (roughly three weeks), most of which is fussy detail work requiring trial-and-error rather than plain weaving that she already knows well, so once again I'm using the D -side calculations and benchmarking them against those numbers.

Regarding the explanation Brian gives for why he chose to go villain instead of joining the Protectorate, it is of course 100% truthful and not holding back or eliding any details and not at all influenced by the fact that he's talking to an "independent hero" who (from what little he knows) doesn't have an especially rosy view of the Protectorate either.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The giant spiders House Vadalis has are Medium monstrous spiders, who can launch masses of webbing that can instantly entangle a human and that are strong enough that "a single strand" can support the spider and human-sized prey at the same time. Magebred animals (super helpful link, I know) are exactly as described in the chapter; the creature template in the Eberron Campaign Setting only applies a few directly-combat-relevant stat changes, but the lore has Vadalis breeding all kinds of traits into all kinds of animals. The mention of the Mark of Handling not being able to affect insects is a reference to the fact that insects (normal and otherwise) are of the Vermin type, and thus not valid targets for spells that only affect creatures of the Animal type. The mention of Vadalis heirs not being able to handle dinosaurs at some point in the past is an Easter egg, of sorts: in 3.0 dinosaurs had the Beast type, not the Animal type, but changed type to Animal in 3.5. Ascension Day is basically the equivalent of Easter plus Independence Day for the Church of the Silver Flame, so it's a pretty big deal. "Changeling's lines" is the equivalent of "Cliff's notes" or "crash course," referring to a changeling's rushed rehearsal of someone's quirks and speech patterns before assuming their form. Creilath's fancy umbrella ring is a custom ring of force shield with a sizing enchantment applied to let him grow and shrink the disk as needed (though without improving the protection it provides). Kalashtar are a race of once-humans fused with a fraction of a quori instead of augmented humans possessed by quori; they're the "Inspired-lite" player race in much the same way that changelings and shifters are doppelganger-lite and lycanthrope-lite, respectively. They're described as "hav[ing] a grace and elegance that makes them seem almost too beautiful," hence Selkatari's rather vivid appearance. Selkatari herself is one of two canonical leaders of The Gathering Light, and "Lightbringer" is a title for kalashtar spiritual leaders and diplomats. Adar is the kalashtar homeland, while the Unity of Riedra occupies the rest of Sarlona. Almost all kalashtar follow the Lawful Good Path of Light religion. Its Lawful Evil counterpart is the Dreaming Dark, part religion and part conspiracy. While the government of Riedra is Evil, its citizens are generally not, and follow the Lawful Neutral Path of Inspiration. Stats for THACo's fancy dancy new armor will be provided when and if it's completed and battle-ready.

Last edited: Wednesday at 5:39 PM

Rule of Three 3.C

7:54 pm, Wednesday the 20th of April, 2011 CE U-Store Self Storage Center, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Carlos Vasquez

Between the Empire's hate crime spree in March, Lung's Rampage, and now the whole business with Bakuda, Aegis was firmly convinced that he'd had the absolute worst first month of a rising Wards leader in Brockton Bay history.

(Okay, to be fair, Skipper had had it pretty bad when she'd replaced Kid Quake in '98 after the Slaughterhouse Nine attack, but this month was still definitely in the bottom two.)

Hopefully May would turn out a lot better.

He was shaken from his thoughts by the crackle of his radio. "Bomb neutralized," came Clockblocker's voice in his earpiece. "Sixty-three down, one bazillion to go!"

A smile tugged at Aegis's lips. As the leader of the Wards, it was his duty to get on Clockblocker's case when he "intentionally failed to adhere to proper radio discipline" (as Renick put it) for the umpteenth time. He couldn't bring himself to do that today, though.

Ever since Clockblocker had gotten back from the hospital this morning, there had been a pep in his step and a perkiness to his tone that Aegis couldn't remember seeing and hearing since… oh, probably Clock's first week with the Wards, when he still thought that joining the heroes meant that his dad was just days away from being cured right up by one of the oodles of healing capes that the Protectorate totally had on speed-dial.

So all he said was, "Copy that, Clockblocker. Good work."

He consulted the tablet the Ops techs had given him, which contained a 3D map of all of Bakuda's bomb sites that he could rotate and zoom as needed. The techs had apparently spent all of last night frantically coding up something that turned the map-slash-sculpture Valigan had given them into something much more user-friendly.

"Next bomb is in storage unit E176," he added. "Two aisles over, fifth block, top row. You're all clear from the air, so move in whenever you're ready."

"Roger," Clockblocker responded, as did Velocity, the third member of their ersatz bomb squad.

For maximum safety and efficiency when dealing with unknown tinkertech ordnance, Armsmaster and the Deputy Director had split the heroes up into three-person teams: one cape who could easily cover distances and avoid obstacles, to scout each site and rapidly retreat if the bomb was accidentally triggered; one with an offensive or manipulation power, to actually disable or destroy the bomb; and one flyer, to keep an eye on their surroundings so the other two could focus entirely on bomb disposal.

Aegis's team was handling the Docks. Dovetail, Shadow Stalker, and Battery were handling Midtown, while Dauntless, Clasp, and Vista handled Downtown. It was slower going, and more dangerous, ever since Valigan's duplication power had worn off a few hours ago; there was only one of each team, now, with no nearby backup-in either the "reinforcements" sense or the "secondary bodies that will be fine if the first ones get blown to pieces" sense.

He felt a twinge of sadness as it occurred to him, not for the first time, that they could be fielding a fourth team to speed things up if only Kid Win, their last flyer, were still among the living.

He shoved the thought aside and focused on surveying the area. The storage facility was short on exterior lighting since it usually closed long before sundown, but he wasn't having any trouble scanning the whole area.

Part of that was thanks to his power: he was currently taking in light with his entire face and his eyes were tuned for optimum clarity at a distance, so to him it might as well have been high noon, not shortly after sunset.

But it certainly didn't hurt that the warehouse where Bakuda had made her last stand wasn't all that far away. The giant corkscrewing pillar of acid-green light rising into the sky from an effect that the PRT and Armsmaster still hadn't figured out how to remove was bright enough to help illuminate the whole facility even from ten or eleven blocks out.

~*~*~

"Aaand… bomb seventy-one neutralized," Clockblocker said over the radio.

"Great job," Velocity said. "That's the last one here, right?"

"Right," Aegis confirmed. "We're done for the day. If we keep this rate up we can probably have everything cleared out by Friday."

He floated down to land beside the other two heroes as they left the storage facility to head back to base.

"Any plans for the evening?" he asked Clockblocker.

Aegis could hear the smile in his teammate's voice as he replied, "Yup! We're taking my dad out to dinner!"

"That's awesome, man!" That was exciting in two ways, Aegis knew: not only had Clockblocker's father been too weak to really go anywhere since starting his treatments, but even during the periods when he wasn't stuck in the hospital he was usually asleep long before Clockblocker went off-shift, so they were rarely able to spend time together in the evenings. "Where are you going?"

"Fogo de Chão. Dad hasn't had a good steak in six years, and he wanted to make up for lost time."

"Great choice. Just make sure he doesn't fill up on the pães de quiejo first," Velocity said, flawlessly pronouncing the Portuguese term. "Those things are dangerous."

The older hero was also in an unusually good mood, thanks to his new costume with its thicker and more comfortable-looking red bodysuit and blue-striped armor panels. Velocity rarely voiced any complaints while on duty, but everyone knew how much he'd hated standing around in sheer spandex in fifty-degree weather.

Aegis gave thanks to God once again that Gene had introduced him to Valigan-and that he'd been stopped from possibly souring the very unusual cape's relationship with the PRT before it could even get off the ground.

He hadn't decided yet how he was going to use the favor Valigan had promised him. He had a few ideas, but none of them really jumped out at him and he didn't want to waste it when it could be potentially life-changing like Clockblocker's had been.

Well, no need to make any decisions tonight. Valigan was in Boston now, so Aegis wouldn't even have a chance to call in his favor until he got back. Plenty of time to think it over.

"Tell you what, Clock," he said, clapping his teammate on the shoulder, "just this once, I'll take care of your after-action report for you. Go spend time with your family, and say hi to your dad for me."

"Will do, man. You're the best."

"I know."

~*~*~

9:12 pm, Wednesday the 20th of April

Wards Common Room

"Hey, Shadow Stalker," Aegis called as his teammate strode into the room.

She ignored him, beelining for her quarters to change out of her costume.

"Shadow Stalker," he repeated. Then, "Sophia!"

" What?" she snapped, not even slowing.

"Since you're not on patrol tomorrow, Armsmaster wanted to check out of one of your new crossbows," he said.

She stopped, and half-turned to look back at him. "Did he say why?"

He did, which you'd know if you ever read your damn email, Aegis grumbled to himself.

The Wards handbook didn't list any specific penalties for "failing to respond to official communications in a timely manner," which meant that missing any emails that weren't explicitly marked as urgent couldn't endanger her parole, which meant that Sophia had been basically ignoring them for the past few weeks and making him play messenger for anything important.

He was fairly sure it was intended as a surprisingly subtle (for Sophia) attempt to haze the new team captain, but without proof there wasn't much he could do about it. Renick would just give his usual spiel about dealing with interpersonal conflicts on his own to "demonstrate his leadership qualities" or whatever, and Piggot would tear him a new one if he went over the Deputy Director's head for something so petty.

"It's new tinkertech," he explained patiently. "Armsmaster saw you'd registered them with the review board, so-"

"He's not going to take them apart or mess with them, is he?" she demanded.

"I'm sure he won't." Aegis was sure of no such thing, but if it would get her to stop arguing….

"Do I have to?"

"Sophia."

Shadow Stalker drew her left crossbow, looked at it for a long moment, holstered it again. "Fine."

As she continued on to her room, Aegis called, "Drop it off with R before you leave tonight!"

"Whatever!" she called back.

He shook his head. She'd always treated her crossbows better than she'd treated her teammates, and with the way she seemed so reluctant to let the new ones out of her sight, it was probably only going to get even worse.

~*~*~

8:30 am, Thursday the 21st of April

PHQ R Laboratory ST-04

"Do you know what this is about?" Aegis asked as he floated up to join Dauntless outside of the secure lab in the bowels of the PHQ. They'd both been asked to stop by before their joint patrol this morning.

"No idea. Armsmaster didn't say." Dauntless sounded distinctly confused.

Aegis didn't blame him. For Armsmaster to ask Aegis over to a lab was unusual enough, but for him to ask Dauntless?

There was a persistent rumor among the Wards that Armsmaster and Dauntless didn't get along. The two never gave any overt indication of anything like that where the Wards could see, their relationship was always strictly and professionally cordial… but that in itself was something of a giveaway, given their noticeably warmer relationships with the rest of their team.

A lit panel in the wall changed from red to green: Someone inside the lab, presumably Armsmaster, had unlocked the door. Dauntless frowned. "I'm fairly sure that usually goes to yellow first. Must not have any of the security systems active." He gestured with his collapsed arclance, and Aegis preceded him into the lab.

They found Armsmaster standing there in his light-duty armor, fiddling with some kind of device on the workbench in front of him, and the drone that was supposed to be locked up for security in what was clearly a heavy-duty cage on the other side of the room was instead standing up on its hind legs and leaning against said workbench.

It was watching Armsmaster work, and occasionally passing him tools with its… paws? Graspers? Whatever those limbs would be called.

The scene was not at all what Aegis had expected to find.

"Uh… sir?"

"Morning, Aegis." A slight pause. "Good morning, Dauntless. I wanted to try something, and I needed your assistance."

"Sure." He and Dauntless walked cautiously over to the workbench.

Armsmaster turned out to be working on one of the arm plates of his power armor; it was partially disassembled, with a veritable tumbleweed of wires coming out of it. There were printouts of circuit diagrams arranged around it plus several pages of hand-drawn notes full of indecipherable symbols.

The workbench also held Shadow Stalker's crossbow-looking mostly intact with no loose wires, thankfully, so she shouldn't be able to complain about getting it back in pieces.

Aegis kept a careful eye on the spider-wolf-robot-thing. He'd been briefed on Armsmaster's special project in just enough detail to know that he should be very wary of it, despite its seemingly-harmless appearance.

Dauntless cleared his throat. "Are you sure that thing is safe?"

Armsmaster frowned slightly. "Yes, I've verified that they aren't a threat."

Dios mio, Aegis thought, there are more of them?

"'They'?" he asked, glancing around the room in the hopes of spotting a second drone even though he couldn't see anywhere that something that large could possibly hide.

"They prefer genderless pronouns," Armsmaster said, which technically answered his question but only raised a whole bunch more.

Before Aegis could think of a good follow-up question, Armsmaster continued, "There are instruction sheets on those two tables," gesturing to two workbenches on opposite sides of the room which held small piles of electronics parts. "Each of you should choose one, then read and follow the instructions. For the time being, I won't be able to answer any questions, and I ask that you not discuss what you're doing with each other."

"Is there anything you can explain?" Dauntless asked, a bit of an edge to his voice.

"Not yet. I'm sorry," Armsmaster replied, and he actually did sound apologetic, which seemed to take Dauntless somewhat by surprise.

Aegis shrugged, walked over to the closer workbench, and picked up the instructions.

All he was being asked to do was to take the partially-assembled electronic gizmo on the table and add some more components to it. The instruction packet was very straightforward, even having helpful visual diagrams like the instructions to a Lego set.

He couldn't tell what the thing was actually supposed to do once he put it together, but presumably Armsmaster had a reason for all of this.

He picked up the first packet of wires and got to work.

~*~*~

Step 34, he read, press the red switch installed in step 26 and hold it down for 5 seconds.

He did that.

Nothing happened.

If the LED installed in step 18 lights up, the instructions continued , turn to page 13. If it does not, turn to page 14.

He flipped to the fourteenth page in the packet.

Ask Armsmaster for a new baseline device, then turn back to page 1. Follow the instructions beginning at step 10, but this time keep in mind the fact that you are building a handheld electrolaser emitter while you do so, and that the wires you are installing correspond to the following shapes:

The next section was gibberish, a row of symbols that looked like the ones in Armsmaster's notes but that he didn't recognize at all.

Aegis just stared at the page for a moment, then looked over at Armsmaster, who was standing a few feet away with another electronic gizmo in his outstretched hand.

~*~*~

Twenty minutes later Aegis pressed the red button, again.

Nothing happened, again.

"No luck," he said, handing the device back to Armsmaster, who looked vaguely disappointed.

A few minutes later, Dauntless, who was having enough trouble assembling his device to demonstrate that he'd clearly never helped any younger siblings with their Lego sets like Aegis had, pressed his own red button.

With a muted pop, the light on his device exploded.

Dauntless flinched belatedly as tiny LED fragments plinked off his helmet. There was a brief silence as the three heroes looked at the scorched circuit board and each other.

"Was that supposed to happen?" Dauntless asked.

"… It wasn't not supposed to happen," Armsmaster replied.

Well that's very reassuring, Aegis thought.

"Can you tell us what the point of that was now?"

Armsmaster shook his head. "Like I said, not yet. This is too…" He seemed to search for an appropriate word, and eventually settled on a bland and uninformative, "… new."

"I see," Dauntless huffed. "Well, it's about that time. We should be getting back."

"Of course." Another curious pause from Armsmaster. "Good luck on your patrol."

Dauntless, already halfway to the door, hesitated. "Thanks? Good luck with your… project."

~*~*~

Neither Aegis nor Dauntless spoke again until the elevator began to rise.

"So…" Dauntless said, drawing it out in the silence. "That happened."

"You mean the part where Armsmaster was working with unknown tinkertech instead of on it?" Aegis asked dryly. "Or where he had us try to do something with his tech and it literally blew up in your face?"

The older hero gave him a sideways glance. "The part where he was actually trying to be nice to me. Any idea what that was about?"

"Nope."

Dauntless faced forward again. "Hmmm."

~*~*~

11:17 am, Thursday the 21st of April

Wards Common Room

"… and so we ask that you respect their families' privacy in this trying time."

The Wards-the surviving Wards-were huddled around the TV, watching the Director's speech. She was holding a press conference down at City Hall, surrounded on the stage by Renick, Armsmaster, and Miss Militia.

The mood in the room was somber, and no one had said a word once she'd reached the segment about Gallant and Kid Win.

Browbeat was seated awkwardly off to the side. He'd only known the fallen Wards for a week, if that, and he'd pulled Aegis aside earlier to tell him he didn't want to intrude if the rest of the team didn't want him there.

To which Carlos had promptly responded that Hank was being an idiot, he was as much a part of the team as anyone else, Chris and Dean would have wanted him there, and anyway they'd been told that there was more to the speech than the memorial segment that they'd want to watch so there was no point in making him go watch those parts somewhere else.

On the screen, Director Piggot looked down at her notes, carefully flipped through a few pages, and looked back up at the news cameras. Her expression was hard, but as someone who had very quickly become an expert in reading her facial expression upon becoming Wards leader (for self-preservation in meetings, if nothing else), he could tell she was also feeling somewhat… smug?

Not quite "cat that ate the canary" smug, but definitely at least "cat who knows the canary's current location and just finished pre-heating the oven" smug.

"Fourth, and finally, is the question of the PRT's plans regarding Lung going forward," the Director said.

There was a pause, and not a single sound disturbed it, either from the TV or in the room. Aegis imagined that all of the reporters in the press room were leaning forward and holding their collective breath.

This was the part everyone had been waiting for; any normal press conference would have been held at PRT HQ, so they all knew something big was coming.

"After much deliberation, and after consulting with the Office of the Mayor of Brockton Bay, the Superior Court of the State of Connecticut, and the relevant federal authorities," she continued, "the Parahuman Response Team hereby issues a kill order against the parahuman villain Lung."

Chaos erupted on the screen, from reporters and the public alike.

"But Madam Director-!" "Think of the disruptions to-!" "For a gang leader?" "What about-?"

Piggot stared straight ahead and talked right over the noise. "As of this moment, Lung's life is forfeit and all legal and constitutional protections are waived. His current bounty stands at forty-six thousand dollars and rising. No further questions at this time."

The Wards watched the Director leave the stage, sitting there in shocked silence until Dennis grabbed the remote and cut off the barrage of shouted questions.

¡Puñeta! Carlos swore, torn between excitement and dismay. This is really happening.

"Holy fucking mic drop," Sophia said, leaning back in her chair with a grin. "It's about fuckin' time."

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" Dennis asked. "Do you have any idea-?"

He was cut off by a crackle from the console. "Main Console to all Wards," said a female PRT agent.

"All Wards present, go ahead Main Console," Aegis responded.

"An Empire contingent is moving into the Docks. We have eyes on Muspelheim, Niflheim, Panzerfaust, and Victor, plus at minimum twenty unpowered gang members, with reports of additional capes and unpowered forces inbound. Protectorate and PRT units are responding, and the Wards are to remain on standby until the situation is resolved."

Vista glanced between the console screens and the now-dark television, where the kill order had been announced not even five minutes before. "Already?" she murmured.

"Standby order acknowledged, Main Console," Aegis said as he grabbed his mask. "Wards out."

"And so it begins," Clockblocker sighed. "They really couldn't have waited until after lunch?"

~*~*~

1:27 pm, Thursday the 21st of April

Corner of Olive Street and Grand Avenue

"I have no idea how you can bear to stand so close to that without a sealed helmet," Dovetail told Aegis.

The two of them were hovering above a section of street containing an unrecognizable mass that had, until roughly an hour before, been Siegrune, Muspelheim, and a handful of Empire thugs. Or at least it was probably those two capes, based on the few remaining scraps of color under all of the charring.

After their clash with an enraged and already-growing Lung, "molten biological slurry" was probably the best phrase to describe the state of the ex-Empire members, and between that and all the debris in the area it was decided that flyers should check out the neighborhood before anyone was sent in on foot.

"My sense of smell shuts down if things get too bad," he confided.

"Seriously?" Dovetail grumbled. "What I wouldn't give."

Aegis was very grateful, looking down at the scene, that his power would also muck around with his digestive tract to prevent puking and nausea.

If those villains had encountered Lung just a few minutes later there probably wouldn't have been anything left of them at all, and looking at their remains brought to mind lurid images of Kid Win and Gallant melting into… that stuff, in their final moments, before vaporizing entirely.

"Does this seem fast, to you?" the older hero asked.

"Fast how?"

"Well, I've only read the reports, obviously, but I thought it took a lot longer for Lung to ramp up to street-melting levels."

Aegis nodded. "Usually, yeah. He didn't power up nearly as fast when the Wards fought him-" He winced. "The whole team, I mean. The first time."

Dovetail drifted up and to the side, tilting her whole body to her left as if trying to literally look at things from a different angle. "You think he's been holding back this whole time? The analysts said Kyushu was most likely a one-off, but…."

Aegis considered. "Could be," he admitted. "But if he could have done this the whole time, why hold back against the Empire, of all people?"

"Point."

The two of them finished up their observations, radioed everything back to Console, and moved on to the next site. Finding the next one was easy: Niflheim had attempted (ultimately unsuccessfully) to flee from Lung in a zig-zagging path down side streets and alleys, and the sudden temperature fluctuations between Niflheim's frost and Lung's heat at the spots where they'd turned made some very distinctive patterns in the asphalt.

Aegis briefly felt sorry for the PRT cleanup squads and municipal work crews on duty that week. They were already having a hard enough time trying to unfuck the parts of the city affected by Bakuda's physics-bending bombing spree, and now this.

"Do you think maybe he started ramping up early?" Dovetail suggested once they reached the next site and started looking around.

"That's an idea," Aegis said. "Question is, how would he know to do that? The ABB could have moles in the Empire, but that doesn't feel like Lung's style." He took a moment to think as he slowly drifted around videoing the site. "You know, I heard from Triumph that Lung likes to recruit some capes short-term, like he did with Bakuda; maybe he picked up another one that could help with that?"

"Great, that's just what we need." Dovetail rose quickly into the air, made some estimates, and dropped back to ground level. "What would you say, about eight hundred feet between here and the last site?"

"Somewhere around there, yeah. Don't worry about accuracy too much, the techs will pull the GPS data anyway."

"Oh, right." Dovetail offered a sheepish smile. "I'm not used to having a support team. Out in the 'burbs, it's usually just me in the field and Jason back at base." She tapped one last note into her phone, then put it away. "So, assuming we do have a new ABB cape, any power guesses?"

Aegis shrugged. "Thinker's the obvious classification for something like this, but that doesn't narrow it down much. Maybe another Tinker, one that can do something with surveillance? If they have a way to get into Bakuda's labs, that's a whole lot of resources to work with."

"Oh, god, I hope not. Tinkers always suck to fight."

Aegis laughed. "Tell me about it. The only flyers on the team are me and Kid-" A pause. " Were me and Kid Win, so…."

He shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the expression of sympathy on the visible portions of Dovetail's face. "I'm done here. Let's hit the next site."

~*~*~

6:02 pm, Thursday the 21st of April

Vasquez Residence

"Pass the pork, please, Carlos," his mother said, then in Spanish added, "[Mateo! Table manners!]"

"Sorry, Mom."

Carlos waited a moment for his youngest brother to stop reaching across the table for the rice, grabbed the lechón asado, forced down his body's instinctive reaction at the sight and smell of roasted meat, and passed it along to his sister Isabel, who passed it down to the table to his mother.

"Sho, big bro, how'sh work theshe daysh?" asked Hector, the middle brother, through a mouthful of food.

"Not over dinner, Hector," his father chided.

"Aw, c'mon!"

"No, trust me," Carlos agreed, "it's not something to talk about while we're eating."

His mother gave him a worried look. He nodded minutely. She took a deep breath and forced a smile.

"Now, Carlos, you remember Isabel had her clarinet recital tomorrow night, right? Are you going to be able to make it?"

He leaned over to give his sister a one-armed hug. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

~*~*~

"Are you doing okay, mijo?"

Carlos and his father were in the kitchen, doing the dishes. The younger ones were doing homework out in the family room under his mother's watchful eye. Quietly, so none of them would hear, Carlos had gone over his day with his father and what the events might mean for the Empire… and for everyone upon whom the Empire might take out their frustration.

"I'm doing fine. My power takes care of everything."

Carlos's father finished rinsing a plate and handed it over to him to dry, but when Carlos grabbed it his father held on, forcing his son to look over at him. "I'm not talking about here," he said, patting his stomach with his other hand. "I mean here." He tapped his forehead.

"Dad, I'm fine. There's a therapist on staff and everything," Carlos insisted. Not that I can remember the last time we actually had a chance to talk to him….

His father sighed and let go of the plate.

The kitchen was quiet for a while, save for the splashing of water and the squeak of a dishtowel on damp plates.

"I worry about you sometimes," his father said.

"I know, Dad. I worry about you and Mom and the niños a lot."

More quiet, aside from the clinking of plates in the drying rack.

His father cleared his throat. "You know… there are other departments out there."

"Dad." Carlos gave him a look. "We've talked about this."

"You've practically decided on Northeastern for school, right? You could accept that offer and then look into transferring to Boston a few months early."

Carlos shoved his plate into the rack with an angry clatter. "I'm not abandoning my friends! We just lost two Wards, how could you even suggest-"

"Because I don't want them to lose another one!" his father cried. Glancing over at the door to the living room, he lowered his voice and added, "I don't want to lose my son!"

Carlos looked away; he always hated when talks with his father turned emotional. Trying for levity, he grinned and said, "I mean, you'd probably only lose half of me, right? Two-thirds, tops."

The plate dropped from his father's hands into the sink as he turned to grab Carlos firmly by the shoulders. " Carlos Antonio Vásquez y Rivera, don't you ever joke about that," he demanded, locking gazes with his son. "You know how your mother feels!"

The look in his father's eyes, one that Carlos knew well, said You know how I feel, too; I hate that I can't protect you.

The look in Carlos's eyes, one that his father knew well, said I'm the hero, here; I'm supposed to be the one protecting you.

"Sorry," Carlos said eventually.

His father let go of him. "Me too, mijo."

"How about we just… see how the next few weeks go?" Carlos suggested. "Things will be a lot better once the situation with Lung has blown over."

His father sighed. "I hope you're right."

~*~*~

12:58 pm, Saturday the 23rd of April

Aegis's Quarters

When Carlos came on-shift and checked his email, he'd hoped to find a report on Empire operations in his inbox, or permission from the Deputy Director to move the Wards' patrol routes closer to the Docks, or something.

For the past couple days only the Protectorate heroes had been allowed to take those patrols, as the Empire skirmishes were still ongoing. Every time they sent one cape into the Docks, Oni Lee responded to them almost immediately, forcing a retreat; when they sent two or more capes, Lung met them, already well into his transformation.

That made for "an environment that was highly non-conducive to the safety of minors," as Renick put it. He did love his management jargon.

What Aegis found instead made him groan in annoyance.

Good morning Aegis,

A recently-triggered parahuman without an established heroic presence has expressed interest in joining the Wards ENE chapter, and his parents had hoped to speak with an existing member of the program before making a final decision.

The cape has claimed to possess a tinker power. Usually we would send another tinker, to improve the chances of establishing an early rapport with the new Ward. However, as the team is unfortunately lacking tinker support at the moment,

That's a funny way to spell "because Chris fucking died," Carlos thought angrily.

it was decided that under the circumstances the Wards captain would be the ideal candidate to speak with him.

His application and contact information are attached. Please try to schedule a recruitment appointment by this coming Tuesday, and don't forget to register the appointment through the intranet portal.

Thanks!

Jennifer Morris

Senior Talent Acquisition Specialist

PRT ENE

Carlos had never met this particular HR drone before, and he already couldn't stand her.

Ugh. Might as well get this over with.

He dialed the number in the attachment.

"Elaine Briggs? Good afternoon, this is Aegis, with the Brockton Bay Wards. I'm fine, thanks, and you? Great. I'm calling in regard to your son's application…."

~*~*~

9:14 am, Monday the 25th of April

Cedar Grove Cemetery

It was a beautiful spring morning. The sun was shining, the air was cool, there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Carlos fucking hated every minute of it.

There should be a law, he grumbled to himself as the infuriatingly cheery song of some happy little bluebird reached his ears. If you're at a memorial service, the weather has to be as gloomy as you are.

The full Wards and Protectorate teams were present, all wearing the formal versions of their costumes. In the same way that they had slightly different summer and winter costumes to accommodate different weather and temperature ranges (and, of course, to let the PRT sell double the action figures), and featureless identity-concealing ones for use in certain crisis situations, all Protectorate capes had costume versions with darker and more subdued colors, simpler silhouettes, fewer and smaller accessories, and similar.

Bright eye-catching primary colors and funerals didn't exactly mix.

Most of the PRT ENE staff were present too, from lowly front-desk clerks all the way up to division heads, apart from a skeleton crew still on duty at HQ.

Concentrating all of the city's heroes and rapid-response squads in one place where they couldn't quickly react to a villain attack would normally be a terrible idea, but one of the unspoken rules in the cape community was that if a Protectorate hero died then villains left the memorial service alone, or else.

Anyone who had the sheer cojones to try to launch a decapitation strike at a time like that would quickly find Alexandria's foot lodged so far up their ass that Eidolon would have to whip up some kind of dimensional power to get it back out.

The service had been mostly speeches so far. Director Piggot had been the first one to speak, then Deputy Director Renick, then Armsmaster, who was just finishing up.

A priest was waiting in the wings to speak next; some flavor of Protestant, Carlos was pretty sure. The PRT was officially a secular organization, obviously, but Chris's family had requested that one of the priests from their parish be allowed to say a few words.

He looked over at the McIntyres, seated across the aisle to his right. There wasn't a dry eye among them. Mrs. McIntyre had her arms around her daughters, and Mr. McIntyre had his arm around his wife.

Carlos felt vaguely guilty that he didn't know Chris's sisters' names. Chris had probably mentioned them at one point or another, but the two Wards hadn't really talked one-on-one often enough for the names to stick. Hell, he knew the names of Sophia's siblings-older brother Terrence and younger sister Penelope-and he didn't even like talking with Sophia.

The disconnect was hardly surprising, when Chris had spent most of his downtime in the lab and Carlos had been spending most of his free time working with Rory over the past few months to help ease the transition into his new role… but that didn't make him feel any better about it.

Is the priest really here for Chris , or for his family? Carlos suddenly wondered. He himself went to church every Sunday morning with the rest of the Vasquez clan, but whenever the two of them had a Sunday afternoon shift together he usually found that Chris had been tinkering away for a few hours already.

When was the last time Chris had actually talked to this Father Donahue? Would Chris even recognize himself in all the platitudes the priest was spouting?

When Carlos died, what kinds of things would Father García or Father Suárez say at his funeral?

I guess it could always be worse, Carlos thought, glancing past the McIntyres.

Dean's younger brother Ed was seated next to them, wearing a very expensive-looking suit and staring stonily at the dais. Next to him were two empty chairs.

~*~*~

The priest concluded his speech, and then it was Carlos's turn.

Carlos fiddled with his mask a moment to make sure it was on straight.

Aegis stood, and strode up to the lectern.

He took a moment to look out over the crowd, picking out a few familiar faces.

Vista, who had given up trying to act "adult" two speeches ago and was now leaning against Clockblocker, tears streaming down her face and onto one of the small white clocks on the shoulder of his black formal costume.

Glory Girl, who was seated near the back in a fairly plain black dress to avoid drawing attention away from the speakers, and who looked like she wanted to punch someone through a few walls for causing Dean's death but couldn't quite decide who deserved it most.

Agent Sullivan, who used to chat with Chris about skateboarding on their way back from joint deployments, because his daughter was into it too and thought that him getting her some tips from Kid Win was just the coolest thing ever.

Sergeant Lopez, who was a self-proclaimed "horse girl" and had liked to chat with Dean about equestrianism whenever their practice sessions in the main PRT gym had coincided.

So many lives touched in just a few short years.

Aegis didn't need to clear his throat before he spoke. For better or worse, his power counted blurry eyes and a hoarse throat as "harm" to be routed around; he couldn't have gotten choked up over Chris and Dean even if he'd wanted to.

"I still remember," he began, "the day I walked into the Wards HQ for the first time and saw Gallant standing there, waiting to welcome me to the team…."

~*~*~

2:30 pm, Monday the 25th of April

Wards Common Room

"Frank McIntyre," said Chris's father as he shook Carlos's hand. "This is my wife Marie, and these are Bethany and Ruth."

"Nice to officially meet you all," Carlos said solemnly. "I just wish it could have been under better circumstances."

Frank sighed. "You and us both."

Carlos had seen the McIntyre parents a few times before when they'd come in to discuss Chris's tinkering issues, but he'd never formally been introduced. The last time they'd been by was sometime in February, he was pretty sure, and they looked to have aged a few years since then.

He vaguely remembered seeing Bethany at Arcadia; she was probably in the grade below him, since they hadn't ever shared any classes. She'd been fairly withdrawn after the service, not reacting to any well-wishes the family had been offered, and he could guess why: after the Director's press conference had announced that her brother had been a cape, she'd probably had to deal with all kinds of misguided sympathy and insensitive questions from her classmates and teachers and was completely sick of that by now.

Ruth, meanwhile, looked to still be in elementary school. Her face was stuck in an odd expression, like she hadn't quite grasped yet what it meant that her older brother was actually gone, and when it finally hit her it was definitely going to suck.

She's around Mateo's age, Carlos thought guiltily. How well would he take it, if something happened to me?

He pushed the unhelpful thoughts aside. "Let me show you to his lab," he said as he gestured for the family to follow him.

"Ah, the famous lab," Frank said ruefully. "You know, he spent more time at the lab than at home, some weeks."

"Sometimes I wondered…" Marie said, exchanging a glance with her husband. "Whether there was… something…."

"Oh, Chris loved to tinker, but he always looked forward to heading home, too. He talked about you and his sisters all the time whenever he was on a break," Carlos said in the most cheerful tone he could currently manage.

He was lying through his teeth, of course, both about Chris mentioning his family and about the idea that Chris ever willingly took breaks, but it did seem to make his parents feel a lot better.

They walked a little farther in silence. "Here it is," Carlos said, punching in the code to open the door.

When it slid aside, Carlos and the McIntyres could see the large room beyond… and Armsmaster, standing over one of the tables. He had a piece of tinkertech in hand, one of Kid Win's earliest attempts at a hoverboard that had long since been cannibalized to build a newer model, and seemed to be staring down at it in deep thought.

Carlos rapped politely on the doorframe. "Sir?"

Armsmaster twitched, looked over at them, nodded stiffly. "Aegis. McIntyres. I've just about finished clearing out his gear and any raw materials supplied by the PRT," he said gruffly. "Aside from these two worktables, everything else has been approved for the family to take with them."

The family entered the lab cautiously, as if expecting some bit of tinkertech to jump out and grab them at any moment. They spread out and started picking at the few things remaining in the room: a set of spiral notebooks, full of multicolored sticky notes; a set of tiny tools usually used for model trains, a birthday present to Chris from his father the previous year; an old laptop, once used for gaming during the slower shifts, now gutted for parts; some textbooks, tossed on a table and forgotten; a few other odds and ends, left wherever Chris had last put them.

One of the two tables Armsmaster had declared off-limits held a few dozen electronic doodads, organized neatly into rows and columns. Had those parts still been scattered around the lab they wouldn't have stood out among Chris's customary teetering stacks of plastic trays and jumbled piles of materials, but arranged as they were it was clear they were all components of one larger device.

Carlos squinted at the whole array of parts. He vaguely remembered seeing Chris working on a couple of them recently, and with the way they were laid out, they kind of looked like-

Oh, Hell.

"I didn't know he'd started working on this again," Armsmaster remarked quietly, watching Chris's sisters flip through notebooks instead of looking directly at Carlos. "Did you?"

"No, sir."

"It's an impressive piece of work. Especially for something Chris appears to have completed all on his own, without ever mentioning it to me." The Protectorate leader sounded somewhat conflicted: disappointed that Chris hadn't asked him for help, but proud that Chris hadn't needed any. "He did submit the schematics to the review board?"

Not again, Carlos groaned internally. Chris had sworn he'd filed all the right forms with R about it, but if Armsmaster didn't know about it….

Carlos should really have doubled-checked that. Wouldn't be the first, or second, or tenth time Chris had genuinely intended to do something and then completely forgotten.

"I'm sure he would have remembered to do that," Carlos replied carefully.

"Mmm."

A pause.

"Director Piggot wouldn't be pleased if it turned out that you weren't keeping an eye on things like this. I'll be back around sixteen hundred hours to take it over to one of the tinkertech labs for analysis. You might want to see if you can find that paperwork in the meantime."

"I'll do my best, sir."

~*~*~

5:26 pm, Tuesday the 26th of April

PRT HQ Conference Room 138-F

"So…" the prospective new Ward asked shyly. He'd chosen Mosaic as his cape name, but that would have to go through the usual approval process if he joined. "What do you think?"

Aegis thought this was going to turn out terribly, but he couldn't exactly say so.

"I think this is very impressive work," he said instead, and Mosaic beamed with pride.

The young Tinker had brought with him a collection of electronic doodads cut into hexagons and triangles, all thin and roughly palm-sized and spray-painted different colors depending on their purpose. They'd clearly been slapped together without much skill or care; one of the circuit boards looked like it still had the Radio Shack price tag on it under the paint.

But when Mosaic had attached them together in the right configuration, they floated up into the air, courtesy of three red hexagonal components around the periphery. Two large white triangles surrounded the thing in a very weak force field, weak enough to fuzz out when Aegis gently tapped it, and a central yellow hexagon had a crude taser attachment dangling from its underside.

For a Tinker who'd only triggered a week ago, it really was impressive.

Problem was, he was a brand-new Tinker whose first creation was a floating drone painted red and yellow that shot electric bolts. The similarity to Kid Win was obvious.

While Mosaic had clearly designed his tech as an homage to the fallen Ward, having him on the team would be a constant reminder of that loss if he kept building things along those lines, and the rest of the Wards would not be happy.

"How far can you stretch what you can build?" Aegis asked casually. "Could you make… oh, I don't know, a tile that used something other than electricity, or maybe a drone that walked on the ground instead?"

"Uh… I don't know I can't do that, but I haven't really tried," Mosaic admitted.

"I see." The smile stayed plastered on Aegis's face as he frantically tried to think of a way to test how non-Kid-Win-like Mosaic could make his tech without being obvious about his motive.

Sure, send the flying Brute who never even took shop class in school to interview a Tinker. No way that could possibly go wrong….

~*~*~

12:22 pm, Thursday the 28th of April

PRT HQ Main Cafeteria

"Aegis! Just the person I was hoping to find!"

Carlos looked up from his meatloaf to see a woman in a pantsuit power-walking toward his table.

He knew he'd crossed paths with her before, but he couldn't remember her name… Caroline? Kathleen? Something like that.

He checked her badge discreetly.

Colleen! That was it.

Hers was the name attached to most of the crazy rumors about Valigan making the rounds in the PRT building, like that the dimension-traveling cape was actually a shapeshifting alien from another planet in Earth Bet's dimension or that he was some kind of Triumvirate-tier hero hiding the true extent of his powers or other stuff like that.

"What can I do for you, Colleen?" he asked with a smile.

"You were one of the people Valigan Talaire talked to before he initially made contact with the PRT, correct?"

"That's right."

"He didn't happen to give you any contact information, did he?" she asked hopefully.

"He didn't, sorry. Why?"

The paralegal sighed. "He never finished his Case 24 interview before he left for Boston, so I haven't been able to close out the ticket. It's been open for over a week now and my manager has been getting on my case about it, so I was hoping maybe if you had his email or something…."

"Sorry," Carlos repeated. "Have you checked with Armsmaster? They did some tinkering together before he left, so Armsmaster might have gotten his number." He must have gotten a phone by now, right?

Colleen glanced away. "I was hoping to save Armsmaster for last. I've never interacted with him before, and he can be… intimidating."

"Nah, there's nothing to worry about. I'm sure he puts on his power armor one leg at a time, just like everyone else."

Carlos wasn't actually sure about that; he wouldn't be surprised if Armsmaster just walked into his lab, pressed a button, and teleported his armor onto himself, or something. Seemed like the kind of thing he'd do.

Still, the joke got the laugh he'd hoped for. "All right, I'll shoot him an email. Thanks, Aegis."

"Any time."

~*~*~

9:43 am, Friday the 29th of April

Deputy Director's Office

"… so I think a few joint patrols with the independent heroes still in town might be a good idea. Show the flag, maybe convince some of the local heroes to collaborate with us more."

"An interesting idea," Deputy Director Renick said, nodding slowly. "I like it. Draft a proposal for me by the end of the day and I'll see what the Director has to say."

"Will do, sir," Aegis said.

"Was there anything else?" the Deputy Director asked, in a tone implying that there shouldn't be, so close to the end of the meeting.

"Actually… yes, there was."

A raised eyebrow invited him to elaborate. Aegis took a fortifying breath.

"When are we going to be able to start patrolling the Docks again, sir? I've been getting more than a few complaints from Shadow Stalker and Vista about that, and even Browbeat's getting antsy."

"With the ongoing hostilities between the Empire and the ABB-"

"With all due respect," Aegis interrupted, "the Empire hasn't made any big moves since Lung killed Menja. Things are almost back to normal now. Sir."

Renick frowned. "'Almost normal' still isn't normal, Aegis. As I've said before, the primary duty of the Wards program…."

… is to provide a safe and constructive environment for blah blah blah, Aegis sighed internally, being careful to avoid letting his feelings show on his face. This was one of the Deputy Director's many little speeches that he could probably recite in his sleep by now.

Aegis tuned back in as Renick was winding up. He was expecting a dismissal right after that, but the Deputy Director hesitated.

"You can tell your subordinates that we are planning a major offensive against Lung in the next few days, seeing as the independents have been… less than successful in their own attempts against him," Renick reluctantly admitted. "We're aiming for Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday night, depending on the forecasts from Intel and Watchdog. The Wards will likely be sitting it out," he cautioned Aegis, "but if all goes as planned then your patrol routes will be going 'back to normal' shortly after that."

"Good to know, sir. I appreciate the heads-up."

"You're welcome. Dismissed."

~*~*~

2:16 pm, Friday the 29th of April

Wards Common Room

"What the fuck, Carlos?" were the first words to greet Carlos as he stepped through the door.

He gave his teammate an unimpressed look. "Good to see you too, Dennis. How was school today?"

Dennis sighed and slumped back into the couch cushions; Missy, sitting next to him, maintained her annoyed posture. "Sorry. I'm doing fine. You?"

"I'm doing great." Looking between his two teammates, Carlos made the obvious guess. "You heard about Mosaic?"

"Saw him on my way in today and Assault gave me the lowdown," Dennis confirmed. "Red and yellow antigrav drones? Image is seriously trying to set him up as a replacement for Kid Win? Too fucking soon, man."

"It's actually not Image's fault, for once. The guy was a fan of Chris and was building his tech to mimic Kid Win's look even before he heard what happened."

Dennis and Missy looked slightly mollified at that, but only slightly. "Still," Dennis insisted. "I don't care how similar their powers are, that's just not cool."

"I know." Carlos floated over to the nearest chair and plopped down into it. "I've been talking to people, telling them that him sticking with that theme is a bad idea. By the time you meet him, hopefully it'll all be worked out."

~*~*~

2:16 pm, Saturday the 30th of April

Docks Patrol Route D

"So, your first real cape fight as a Ward," Aegis remarked to Browbeat as he floated back to base, brushing dust and blood off his costume as he went. "What did you think?"

They'd run into Skidmark and a couple of his dealers in an abandoned lot. The unpowered dealers had immediately fled while Skidmark used his fields to chuck a whole pallet's worth of bricks at the two heroes to cover their escape.

"I think I didn't like discovering that I can still feel pain through my force field sometimes even if whatever hit me didn't actually go through," Browbeat complained, reaching up to rub his opposite shoulder.

"Didn't come up in training or power testing?"

Browbeat shook his head. "They never cranked things up that high."

"Well, now you know for next time."

"Yeah." Browbeat sighed. "Sucks that we didn't grab any of them. I've run into Skidmark twice before and he got away both times. I was hoping the third time would be the charm."

"It's not your fault. He's a slippery one," Aegis reassured him.

"I know. But it's just going to get worse, now that he and Squealer are doing their thing. If we don't get him soon…."

Aegis shrugged. "Lung's the priority right now. Skidmark and Squealer can wait."

Personally, Aegis didn't care about what Skidmark got up to, or Nitro, or Hellhound, or any of the other small-time villains. He wanted to take Lung down first and foremost, and he wasn't the only Ward who felt that way.

Browbeat seemed less gung-ho about it compared to the others, which Aegis knew rubbed the others the wrong way because it made it seem like he didn't care as much about what Lung had done as they did. Aegis was more understanding of his newest teammate's situation, since he, as Wards leader, got to see all of the therapist appointments on Browbeat's calendar when he was drawing up patrol schedules.

But he was still torn.

On the one hand, he hated that Lung had gotten away with killing so many people, including two of his friends and coworkers, and was getting away with killing more people every day since the kill order prompted the villain to stop holding back.

He'd found himself wishing lately that the PRT would loosen up the restrictions and let the Wards deploy against Lung, even for just one fight, so they could feel like they were doing something to help against him instead of being stuck on the sidelines.

Hell, with all the independent capes flocking to the Bay to go after Lung, many of the heroes who were actually able to get out there and fight were younger than Aegis, and some were barely older than Vista! If they could take the fight to Lung, why couldn't the Wards?

On the other hand, going after Lung was suicidal and he knew it. The Wards had "beaten" Lung in the past, but they'd done it by putting him in a position where he'd either have to let them take his shipment away or start wounding or killing the whole team.

During that fight, Lung had chosen to back down. He'd already trounced the adult Protectorate heroes easily in a prior fight; he didn't have anything to prove on that front, and escalating the violence would have been more trouble than it was worth for him at the time.

Now, though? With Lung having nothing to lose anymore, they wouldn't stand a chance on their own against him, and forcing the adult heroes to protect them during a fight would only distract and weaken their side.

Lots of teenage heroes had gone up against Lung in the past two weeks, but few of them had done so and lived.

On the other other hand, it didn't really matter in the end whether the PRT allowed them to go after Lung or not, because that wasn't the kind of person Carlos was… or so he liked to think.

He'd never been a violent person, and he'd never been good at fighting back.

Not when he'd been picked on in elementary school for being short and chubby-and "Mexican" too, because growing up in the white supremacist capital of New England meant having lots of classmates who lumped all of the Hispanic kids together and hated them all equally.

Not even when he'd been surrounded by those Empire motherfuckers on the way home from soccer practice, after they'd come up and started picking on one of his teammates and he'd stepped in to distract them so they'd leave her alone.

His teammate had run away, so they'd thrashed Carlos for ruining their fun, then let him go, then chased him down, then thrashed him again, then let him go again, then-

He'd spent a good month, after that, trying to find solace in scripture. When he lay awake at night, unable to sleep because all he could see when he closed his eyes was the skinheads' jeering faces, he thought of Romans 12:17 and Matthew 5:38 and tried to convince himself that violence wasn't the answer.

And then, one day, he saw more Empire toughs about to do the same to a kid who was even younger and weaker than him. He'd never been able to muster the courage to fight back against people picking on him, but that day he'd discovered that he was perfectly willing to do something about people picking on someone else.

His knuckles were still covered in dried blood when he'd gotten home and told his parents that he was signing up for the Wards.

Two years later, Carlos was happy to stand (or float) in front of other people to protect them, but even after all his combat training he still wasn't the kind of person who liked proactively inflicting violence. And yet, sometimes, he worried that Aegis was that kind of person, and that wasn't who he wanted to be.

"It's not that I don't want to go after Lung," Browbeat remarked abruptly, interrupting his ruminations. "You know that, right?"

"Of course. Not that that'd be a bad thing. Piggot and Renick have good reasons to keep us out of the Docks with everything going on."

"Yeah, I know. It's just…"

Aegis was fairly sure he knew what was worrying his teammate. "This whole thing with Mosaic is… you weren't replacing someone, it's a completely different scenario. I told you, you're part of the team, now, and we're not about to forget that."

~*~*~

4:30 pm, Sunday the 1st of May

PRT HQ Main Lobby

Aegis stepped out of the elevator and looked around for-ah, there was Ed, over by the gift shop.

He was wearing another expensive suit and staring daggers at the Gallant merchandise, now marked as "commemorative" and "limited-edition" so that it could be sold at triple (or more!) the usual price.

The disgruntled teenager didn't look up as Aegis approached, but didn't seem surprised when the Wards captain stopped a few feet away and cleared his throat.

"Edward Stansfield?" Aegis greeted him, and Ed nodded in acknowledgment. "You're cleared to come down."

Ed's dour expression lightened somewhat at that, but he didn't speak as he strode past Aegis and stepped impatiently into the elevator. A PRT agent stationed nearby moved as if to stop him, but Aegis waved her off.

Keeping his annoyance in check, Aegis joined Ed and scanned his badge. The elevator smoothly began its descent.

The first few seconds passed in awkward silence. They'd first met at the funeral, so Aegis didn't really know anything about Ed beyond what he'd heard from Dean.

"Just you?" Aegis ventured.

Ed's lip curled. "Just me." Without looking over at Aegis, he explained, "Mother and Father loved Dean. Allegedly. But they hated Gallant. They were thinking of sending a maid over, can you fucking believe it?"

Carlos was taken aback. He knew from talking with Dean that the elder Stansfields were… well, they weren't anything like his own parents, that was for sure. But considering sending an employee to pick up their own son's possessions? And after skipping the official memorial service?

That was just wrong.

"Wouldn't even sign the release form to let Glory Girl come by and pick his things up instead," Ed continued bitterly. "Mother Dearest said she would, but she trashed it as soon as Glory Girl left. You don't even wanna know what she said about her afterwards."

" Glory Girl," not "Victoria," Carlos noted. It sounded like Ed was on the same terms with Victoria as Amy had been with Dean, then-namely, they'd said hi in passing when Dean and Victoria had started dating and then gone out of their way to avoid their potential future sibling-in-law as much as humanly possible.

Carlos didn't know what to say, so he didn't. The elevator slowed imperceptibly to a stop and he led his charge down the hall.

Reaching for another topic of conversation, Carlos focused on Ed's suit. "I got the impression from Dean that you were usually a band-T-shirt-and-ripped-jeans kinda guy," he said. "Are you…?"

"Getting jammed into the future CEO role whether I want it or not? You're damn right I am," Ed huffed. "Didn't take the 'rents long to turn the prodigal son into their new golden child."

Carlos offered a brief prayer of thanks that his own parents had never tried to persuade him into following his father's footsteps career-wise, even before he'd triggered. "Not going well?"

"What do you think?" Ed's tone softened. "Sorry. Yeah, it sucks right now. I'm trying to talk them out of it, but if Dean couldn't ever talk Father Dearest into changing his mind after having his emotional superpowers for literal years, there's no way in hell I'm going to talk him out of anything any time soon."

There was no nice way to phrase Dean wasn't the kind of person who would ever choose to use his powers on his parents, and I respect you a little bit less now for even considering that as an option, so once again Carlos decided to say nothing, and the conversation ebbed.

They eventually made it through the security terminal, reached the door to Dean's quarters, and came to a halt.

"Is there-" Ed cleared his throat. "Is there much in there?"

"I… don't know," Carlos admitted. "I haven't been able to make myself take a look."

"Oh." Ed's prickly attitude faded, leaving a resigned calm in its place. "Were you two on good terms?"

"Yeah. He was closest with Clockblocker, but the whole team liked him. A lot. Even Shadow Stalker didn't give him much grief." Carlos hesitated. He hated to push, but it wasn't like he'd have another opportunity to get another perspective on Dean. "He didn't talk about… work, with you?"

Ed rolled his eyes. "We barely spent any time together once he hit high school. Father kept him far too busy for that." He cleared his throat again, and blinked rapidly a few times. "I always… I always figured we could maybe reconnect once he hit college and had more free time, you know?"

Carlos noted the slight wetness in Ed's eyes and politely looked away.

For a long moment, neither of them moved to open the door.

"Man up, Stansfield," Ed mumbled to himself, then shoved it wide open.

There wasn't much decoration in the room, as was usually the case for those Wards who spent little time on base between shifts.

An autographed Glory Girl poster hung on the far wall, with a To my #1 fan in the whole world! dedication in the bottom corner ("They traded posters as a joke the last time they got back together," Ed explained when he saw it. "I was wondering where that went.") and there were a few picture frames on the desk around the computer, but that was basically it.

Carlos and Ed stepped in to take a look at the photos, picking each one up in turn as they went down the line.

Around half of the photos were candid shots of Victoria and Dean, at dinner together or at parties or at some other event. Carlos smiled faintly at one of them, which featured the happy couple dancing in tux and gown at their junior prom; Victoria had gotten bored after an hour of slow dancing and had started using her flight to pull more and more ridiculous and dramatic moves until the DJ had taken the hint and switched to something more upbeat.

Most of the other pictures showed Dean with one or two friends his age, sometimes in casual settings with people Carlos recognized from Arcadia, sometimes in formal settings with people Dean presumably knew through his parents' friends.

There were fewer such pictures than Carlos expected. "I'm surprised he doesn't have any more of those," he told Ed, gesturing at the ones with Dean's school friends. "He was on good terms with practically everyone in our grade."

Ed sneered at that. "He was always everyone's friend. Not many people returned the favor."

They got to the last picture in line, and Ed froze. Carlos leaned in to take a look as well.

It was a photo of the two brothers standing on the beach, arm in arm, laughing at something off-camera. The Dean in the picture was several years younger, and looked more carefree than Carlos ever remembered seeing him.

It was the only picture there that looked like it would have predated Dean's trigger.

Dean's brother turned away, and Carlos heard a sniffle. "There's not much stuff here," Ed said to the far wall. "I think I can get it all myself."

Carlos nodded, not that Ed could see him, and turned to leave. "Let me know when you're done," he said gently. "Take all the time you need."

~*~*~

8:28 am, Tuesday the 3rd of May

PRT HQ Auxiliary Gym

Carlos was on his fortieth rep on the weight bench-his powers didn't give him superhuman strength directly, but they did let him build muscle like it was going out of style and he was justifiably proud of his eight-pack-when a group of off-duty PRT agents filed into the gym for their morning workout, all of them looking grim.

He quickly popped off the bench and floated over to re-rack his weights, then zipped over to the group. The official report on the previous night's ABB raid would be hitting his inbox in an hour, but he couldn't wait that long. Besides, it was always better to hear things from people who had actually been there.

"Agent Walsh," he addressed the highest-ranking agent present. "How'd everything go last night?"

She scowled. "Lost Williams, Ortiz, and McCarthy out of my squad, and I almost got char-broiled myself. Sere and Battery are down in the ICU with third-degree burns. Oni Lee completely wiped out Charlie Squad and shattered Miss Militia's wrists. Couple of indies showed up too, after everything kicked off; Verdure and that kid with the French name got fried, and Silverhawk got her knees shot out before she booked it."

" Madre de Dios," Carlos breathed. "That bad?"

The agent shook her head. "Worse. Turns out they salvaged most of the guns from the Empire's raids, so every one of Lung's goons had at least one weapon, and magazines to spare. That kept Bravo Squad completely cut off from the main action, and I don't think anyone walked away without some kind of injury."

Carlos winced. Good thing Bakuda blew herself to Kingdom Come, he thought, or things could have gotten even worse than that.

"They're not holding back at all anymore," Walsh continued. "And they knew we were coming. Lung had already gone full scaly by the time we breached the building." She let out an annoyed grunt. "I'll leave it to the Intel geeks to figure out whether the problem is capes or moles or both, but either way the next big push is on hold until we can figure out what Lung's deal is."

~*~*~

6:13 pm, Tuesday the 3rd of May

Midtown Patrol Route B

"So, who's your worst matchup?"

"Hmm. Hookwolf, I'd say," Geomancer decided from atop the rolling wave of concrete carrying him down the sidewalk, his hands shoved in the pockets of his brown and gray armor-plated robes. "Too fast for me to trip him or grab him, and he shrugs off my boulders like they're nothing. Who's yours?"

"Fenja and Menja," Aegis replied immediately from his position just above Geomancer and to his left. "My fighting style's all about leverage, and trying to judo-flip someone who's three stories tall is just a waste of time even before you take the force reduction into account."

His suggestion to go patrolling with independent heroes had been approved, and today was his second patrol. His first, an easy stroll up Lord Street with the duo of Snowclone and Snowfake yesterday morning, had been a disappointment, as the taciturn duo had been a pain to coordinate with and things would have been even worse for anyone who couldn't stand the cold.

Geomancer had been telling him about the independent heroes' recent skirmishes with the Empire and commiserating about the Wards not being allowed to join in, which had turned into asking Aegis for tips on fighting the Empire capes, which had turned into trading stories about previous fights.

Given his personal beef with the Empire, Aegis had been assigning himself the patrol routes closest to Empire territory since he became team leader and had persuaded Triumph to give him those routes even before that, so he had plenty of anecdotes to share.

But Aegis wasn't just here for outreach and PR. Part of his proposal to the Director had involved gathering information on the independent heroes' activities over the past few weeks, especially on their unofficial (and elusive) leader.

"Sounds like Surtur really knows what he's doing, if you managed to tangle with Hookwolf and get out of there in one piece," Aegis casually remarked.

"Nah, he's not really a tactical leader like that," Geomancer disagreed. "Good motivational speaker, and good at planning and coordination, but it's kinda hard to give people orders while you're going to town on someone with a huge molten sword, you know?"

"I can see that. Do you know if he has a grudge against the PRT or something? I was hoping to meet the guy at some point, but he's never made contact as far as I know."

Geomancer shrugged. "He probably has his reasons for staying independent, just like the rest of us." He flashed a grin, white teeth standing out against dark skin. "I couldn't stand the idea of a boring government job before getting my powers, I wasn't about to take one afterwards. No offense."

"None taken."

The two heroes halted as they reached the end of the sidewalk and waited at the crosswalk, prompting people in several of the stopped cars to pull out their phones and snap some photos. A traffic light turned green while the first driver in line was busy taking pictures, and the cars behind him started honking their horns impatiently.

Once the noise died down, Aegis continued, "Still, even if he doesn't want to work with us, we could at least give him some pointers on the local cape scene."

"I doubt he needs it. He's a local," Geomancer said, inadvertently confirming the PRT's guess on that front, "and he already got in touch with some other local heroes before us out-of-towners showed up."

"Like who?"

"Resolute and Chariot."

"Chariot?" Aegis hadn't heard that name.

"The kid with the jet pack zooming around by the harbor?"

"Oh, him, yeah."

Aegis pondered that as Geomancer rode and he flew across the crosswalk. Maybe Surtur's reluctance to get in touch with the PRT was due to his first two heroic contacts being one independent hero who never collaborated with the Protectorate on anything outside of Endbringer fights and another one who kept so far away from the PRT that they didn't even know his code name.

Whether or not that was the case, any more questioning along those lines would probably just make Geomancer clam up, so he made a mental note of that and went back to small talk.

~*~*~

The two had finished their loop and were chatting about local restaurants as they headed back to their initial meeting point near the PRT building.

"Japanese-Mexican fusion? Seriously?" Geomancer chuckled.

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it. Their tempura chicharrónes are amazing."

"I'll stick with plain old pork katsu, thanks."

"You sure? It's actually-sorry, one sec," Aegis said as his phone buzzed.

[6:41 pmUnknown Contact] Good afternoon. This is Valigan.

[6:41 pmUnknown Contact] I've acquired a reliable mans of digital communication, and should you wish to contact me, my telephone number is 100-555-0000.

[6:41 pmUnknown Contact] And yes, despite the appearance of invalidity, that is the actual number.

… Huh.

"Is that your boss?" Geomancer asked.

"No, another independent cape. Sort of," Aegis said, as he saved Valigan's number.

"'Sort of'?"

"It's a long story."

Aegis proceeded to tell an edited version of said story that left out any details relating to his civilian identity. While he flew and talked, he texted Valigan back:

[6:44 pmAegis] Thx, gtk. U shd prolly also txt AM, wanted to tty abt sth.

Wait, he texts like Dad, he probably doesn't get chatspeak.

[6:44 pmAegis] Sry, forgot ur prolly new to this. Flying to hq atm, 1sec.

A few minutes later they stopped at a street corner and Aegis took the time to send something a little clearer.

[6:51 pmAegis] Thanks for giving me your number.

[6:51 pmAegis] You should send it to Armsmaster too, he wanted to talk to you about something and asked me to pass that along if you got in touch.

[6:51 pmValigan] I appreciate your letting me know, and will do so momentarily. Have a pleasant evening.

Valigan's response appeared in seconds, definitely way faster than Aegis could have typed it out himself.

For a guy who said he didn't even know what a computer was a few weeks ago, he's adapted to texting surprisingly well.

"Sorry about that," Aegis apologized to Geomancer. "So, anyway, there I am, standing in this time bubble…."

~*~*~

A short while later Aegis was interrupted again, this time by his helmet radio. "Armsmaster to Aegis."

"Aegis here."

"I've just spoken with Valigan. He had some information that might shed some light on the Lung situation. Your patrol partner is still with you?"

"Geomancer is still here, we're about two blocks from HQ," Aegis confirmed. Geomancer gave him a curious look; Aegis shrugged.

"The independents will want to know this as well. Tell him that he's invited to a meeting at PHQ tomorrow morning at eleven hundred hours. Armsmaster out."

~*~*~

11:06 am, Wednesday the 4 th of May

PHQ Conference Room 4

"Her name was Banshee," Armsmaster said.

"'Was'?" Velocity asked. All of the Protectorate heroes currently on duty were there, along with several PRT agents from the Intelligence and Operations divisions, Aegis as the Wards representative, and Geomancer as the liaison to the independents.

Armsmaster nodded. Aegis noticed that his helmet looked slightly different than it had when he'd last seen Armsmaster up close, just a little thicker and shinier around the visor.

As he turned to gesture to the projector screen, Aegis noted that other parts of his armor were different, too: his gauntlets were thicker, with a line of small raised discs along the inner arms, and the plating on his upper back was more rounded and stuck out farther than before.

It wasn't the first time Armsmaster had changed up his armor, of course, he was constantly tweaking it, but usually Image liked him to keep the external appearance the same for at least a season at a time so that all the tie-in media matched up. Kid Win had been subject to the same restrictions, and his long rants on that subject were how Aegis had first found out about the policy.

For Armsmaster to ignore Image and make those changes long before the summer toys and comics hit the shelves meant he'd have to have a very good reason for them. Hopefully whatever he'd done would help them against Lung somehow.

There was a click from the projector, and a somewhat blurry image of a cape showed up on the screen. She was short, probably mid-twenties, and dressed in form-concealing red and green robes; the picture showed her getting out of an SUV, assisted by several men also wearing ABB colors, and from the angle the photo had probably been taken from a security camera.

"She's going by Swan Ming now. Once I knew we were looking for a cape from Boston and not a new trigger, Dragon was able to help me trace her movements and intercept the calls and texts of the gang members escorting her."

Another click, and a zoomed-in screenshot of Banshee's PHO Wiki page appeared. "She's a precognitive Thinker," Armsmaster continued.

Assault groaned. "Of course she is."

"Specifically, she has a long-range danger sense that starts with very vague warnings about potential harm to herself and gives more accurate information the closer the threat approaches in either time or proximity. She can use this power on others as well, but with dramatically reduced range and clarity."

Aegis skimmed the text in the screenshot. As Banshee, Swan Ming had worked as a bodyguard and security consultant for wealthy clients in Boston for the past few years. Probably the best way to make money, with a power like that, he mused. I'd probably have done the same if I'd gone rogue.

Her power was believed to have a maximum range of around a mile and up to a week ahead, but the entry noted that because she'd never shared any specifics with her clients those were very tentative estimates.

One of the Intelligence agents present scowled in annoyance. "Which explains why it feels like Lung is always able to see us coming. If she's with him, he actually can."

"It sound like we need to separate her from Lung if we're going to take him down, or maybe find a way to block her without letting Lung know about it," Battery said.

"Precisely," Armsmaster agreed. "The problem being that any method we used to do either of those things would likely register as a threat to her and thus alert her to our plans."

The projector clicked again. A blank text document with a flashing cursor appeared on the screen.

"Ideas, anyone?"

~*~*~

11:40 am, Wednesday the 4th of May

James Warren Public High School

Carlos slouched by the school gates, his hoodie covering his face and his hands in his pockets, like any other teenager waiting for his girlfriend to get out of class so they could grab lunch together.

He'd been paying more attention to the little details of his civilian identity ever since Valigan pointed out all the areas where he could do better. He made sure his second hoodie wasn't showing, and shifted from one foot to the other every so often as if his feet were getting sore from standing around.

While he waited, his gaze kept drifting to a plume of dark smoke rising to the northeast. That wasn't an unusual sight-practically every fight with Lung over the past few weeks had led to something burning up or burning down, and these days there was almost always at least one pillar of smoke hovering over some point in the Docks-but the thickness and darkness of the cloud were more than a bit concerning.

Just as he had every day for the past week, Carlos wondered: Would today be the day that Lung finally snapped and decided to go out in a blaze of glory?

If he did, there wasn't really anything Carlos could do about it right now from the other side of town, but he still worried. His mother's office building and Mateo's school were both in Midtown, close enough to the Docks that they could be in danger if another rampage happened.

The bell rang, finally, and students began streaming out of the front entrance.

"Carlos, hey! Over here!" called Linda, his girlfriend since middle school.

They'd known each other for years, as their families went to the same church and they'd attended the same elementary and middle schools. Come high school, though, Linda went to the neighborhood school while Carlos had "gotten lucky" and scored at a spot at Arcadia (according to his cover story) after joining the Wards.

His girlfriend often bemoaned the fact that going to separate schools meant not seeing each other very often, but Carlos was secretly thankful, as Arcadia's no-phones-during-school policy, higher homework load, and other factors gave him easy excuses for working around his Wards schedule. She even thought he was still attending school, even though he'd graduated back in December.

Yes, he constantly felt mildly guilty for lying to her about everything, but he didn't have much choice. He was definitely going to come clean to her about everything at some point. Sometime soon. Maybe another month or so.

He made his way over to Linda, she gave him a big hug, and he gave her a peck on the cheek. "What do you feel like today? Five Guys?"

"I'm down."

"Cool."

~*~*~

Carlos pulled Linda's chair out for her, then set their tray down on the table and took his own seat.

He'd just taken a big bite of his burger when she leaned in excitedly and asked, "So, you want to give me any hints about the weekend?"

Internally, he froze. Wait, what's this weekend?

He chewed slowly to buy some time as he tried to think of what might be special about it.

Three-day weekend? No, he checked Arcadia's school calendar when setting up the Wards schedule so he'd have off the days they had off, there wasn't any holiday coming up.

Her graduation? No, that was… he didn't remember the exact date, but it was sometime in early June, so it wasn't that.

Nothing else came to mind. He'd been so busy with everything going on-dealing with the team's issues with Mosaic, running patrols with the independents, getting some extra training in with Assault, writing up Browbeat's first performance review, keeping up with the pages and pages of Intel reports on the Lung situation-that the days had started to blur together and he honestly hadn't been paying much attention to his civilian life.

He'd barely made it home in the evenings over the past week, and he would have happily just stayed over at PRT HQ every night if there had been any chance in Hell that his mother would forgive him for missing dinner with the family outside of an actual crisis situation.

"Nope, no hints," he replied neutrally. If he could just get a chance to look stuff up and figure it out tonight….

Linda's smile slowly faded. "You forgot. Didn't you."

Carlos briefly considered lying, but digging himself deeper wouldn't help. "Yeah."

"You forgot my birthday. My eighteenth birthday."

Shit.

"Linda, I am so, so sorry. I've been so busy-"

"You're always 'so busy'!" she snapped. "You missed lunch on Monday, and you couldn't come over at all last weekend! Just once it would be nice to be your first priority! What's been going on that's so much more important than me?"

It would be really nice, Carlos mused, if he could float right over conversational minefields the way he could real ones.

"You know, with everything going on with the Empire and Lung where I am…." he temporized.

Linda looked unimpressed. "We live like four blocks apart, you asshole, I've been dealing with all the same shit too. The world doesn't revolve around you, you know."

Ouch. That escalated quickly. "Linda, what's this all about? Really about?"

"You've… been distant for a while now." She bit her lip and looked down at her bag of fries. "I was thinking, maybe, if you did something special for my birthday, something thoughtful that could get my mind off of everything, and we could spend some more time together this summer…." She looked back at him, and sighed. "But I can't keep doing this."

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut.

Harder, really, since the ache from a physical punch would go away in less than a second when his power kicked in.

"If I'm barely going to get to see you, and you're barely paying attention to me when you are around-"

"Linda, no, I do-"

"I think we should take a break."

Silence.

"For how long?" he asked. "A few weeks? Until you get back from your graduation trip?"

She looked away. "I'm not sure yet. We can figure it out after that."

… Welp. That's it, then.

Gotta say, I didn't have "get broken up with by your high school sweetheart in a fast food restaurant" on my Being Wards Leader Sucks bingo card.

~*~*~

9:10 am, Thursday the 5th of May

PRT HQ Conference Room 374-C

"But I like Mosaic!" Mosaic complained.

"I'm sorry, I really am," said Kathy, the Image employee sitting across the table. She was one of those people who was very enthusiastic about her job, the kind whose entire wardrobe seemed to consist of the hero-branded merch that her division churned out. "But the name's already taken. By a villain." She turned her laptop so he could see the wiki entry.

"She's in Milwaukee! And she's a woman! No one's going to confuse me for her!"

"Still. PRT policy is to not allow Wards to re-use the names of existing capes, regardless of affiliation. Name re-use plays havoc with the licensing rights."

Aegis could sympathize with Mosaic's frustration. Alexandria packages were a dollar a dozen, so finding a name that hadn't already been claimed and wasn't too bland or obscure or embarrassing had been pretty hard for him when he'd joined. Fortunately, they tended to go for bombastic and/or offense-oriented names, so when he'd eventually settled on the more classy and protective Aegis it hadn't been taken.

But he could sympathize with Kathy, too. It couldn't be easy to deal with a cape who came in with a name chosen and refused to change it, and he knew Browbeat had been fairly stubborn with his name choice so that whole situation was probably fresh in her mind.

She glanced down at her list of alternate name options. "How about Tessera?"

Mosaic shook his head. "Sounds like a girl's name."

"Tile?"

"Boring."

"Tegular?"

"Way too obscure."

"Interlock?"

Mosaic rolled his eyes. "Do you have any ideas that sound less, uh, industrial?"

"Hmm." Kathy did a quick search on her computer. "How about Chroma?"

"That might not fit," Aegis cautioned. "He hasn't actually gotten the multicolored look approved yet."

"Ah, right, I saw that email." She shook her head. "Daryl and his 'team color balance' obsession. Okay, how about…"

~*~*~

Ten minutes later, neither Mosaic nor Kathy had proven willing to budge and Aegis was wishing his power could compensate for boredom.

Why the hell did he have to get his heart set on a villain's name? he grumbled. If they didn't decide on a name this time there would probably be at least one or two more meetings about it which he, as Wards captain, would also have to be involved with.

Just because the Wards had limited patrols right now didn't mean they should be spending all of their extra time on something so petty.

Mosaic joining the team wasn't even going to be formally announced until Lung's kill order was carried out (though, given the heroes' and the Empire's progress on that so far, it was looking more like an "if" than an "until") so there was no reason to keep going around in circles on it now instead of letting it sit for a week or two.

If only there were no Mosaic-in-Milwaukee to make things complicated-

Hmm.

[9:23 amAegis] Morning Valigan! I have kind of a silly question.

[9:23 amValigan] Good morning. What might that be?

[9:23 amAegis] Would your favor cover capturing a villain?

[9:23 amValigan] Perhaps, depending on the villain in question and your reasoning for the request.

[9:23 amAegis] There's a villain named Mosaic in Milwaukee.

[9:23 amAegis] We have a new Ward joining, who wants to pick the name Mosaic.

[9:24 amAegis] But policy doesn't allow for any overlap with active capes.

[9:24 amAegis] If Mosaic was arrested, that would solve the problem.

[9:24 amAegis] I know you're not really a front-line cape but between your teleportation and your time bubble I figured you might be able to manage something.

[9:24 amValigan] Is there a particular reason why this villain has yet to be captured?

Aegis flipped over to the wiki. Nope, didn't look like Mosaic was anything special power-wise that would prevent the Protectorate from taking her in.

She was basically the Blasto of Milwaukee, to the other villains' Entente and Chain Gang: the city was close enough to Madison and its big bucket of issues that heroes rarely agreed to be transferred in, so the few Protectorate heroes they did have were too busy dealing with the more active villains to bother with one mid-tier wet Tinker who didn't stir up too much trouble.

He explained the situation, one text at a time, and once he'd finished Valigan didn't reply for a minute or so. Then:

[9:31 amValigan] Mosaic is currently enjoying the hospitality of the holding cells in the Milwaukee Protectorate headquarters.

What.

[9:31 amAegis] I didn't know you could teleport from Boston to Milwaukee that fast.

[9:31 amValigan] I'm actually in Chicago at the moment, as Anomaly and Campanile have graciously agreed to let me study their powers.

[9:31 amValigan] I dealt with Mosaic remotely.

What the Hell.

… You know what, I'm not even gonna ask.

[9:32 amValigan] I've decided not to count that as your full favor, by the by.

[9:32 amValigan] It's only fair, as it required but a few moments of my time to fulfill and your initial assistance to me was exceptionally helpful.

[9:32 amValigan] Feel free to make a more substantial request of me at a later date.

[9:32 amAegis] Cool, I really appreciate it.

He put his phone away.

Then he had another thought, and pulled it back out.

[9:33 amAegis] When you say a "more substantial" request, does that include taking out a stronger villain?

[9:33 amValigan] I assume Lung is the specific villain you had in mind.

[9:33 amAegis] Like Lung?

[9:33 amAegis] Yeah.

It was a ridiculous idea-one random hero, taking on Lung? Solo? Yeah, right.

But hey, if Valigan could capture a villain when he wasn't even in the same city… .

[9:33 amValigan] A considerable number of additional heroes have congregated in your city to assist the Protectorate's efforts against him, as I recall.

[9:33 amValigan] If their combined forces aren't capable of defeating Lung, then dealing with him myself would be beyond the scope of a favor, I'm afraid.

Aegis noticed that the foreign cape didn't say he couldn't take on Lung if all the other capes couldn't. Just that he wouldn't.

Maybe those rumors about Valigan hiding stronger powers beyond the dozen or so Aegis had seen him use were true after all.

Ah, well. Worth a shot.

[9:33 amAegis] Darn. Thanks anyway, and thanks again for helping with Mosaic.

[9:33 amValigan] You're quite welcome. It was the least I could do.

Aegis returned his phone to its belt pouch for a second time, then cleared his throat loudly to interrupt whatever Kathy had been saying to the newest Ward.

"Good news," he said with a broad grin. "You should give the Milwaukee office a call. It looks like Mosaic's name just freed up."

~*~*~

12:24 am, Friday the 6th of May

PHQ Cafeteria

"So," Rory said as he slid into the seat opposite Carlos and plunked his tray down. "Two full months, huh?"

"Yeah. Hard to believe."

Busy as Carlos had been with everything going on, Rory had been even busier; as a member of the Protectorate, he was spending most of his time out in the field, actually being useful. The two of them hadn't gotten a chance to sit down and talk at all since Carlos had taken over Wards leadership a couple of months before.

Naturally, when Rory had invited him to grab a quick bite and catch up, Carlos had offered to eat at the PHQ since it'd be faster for him to fly over there after his morning patrol of the Boardwalk than for Rory to make it Downtown after patrolling South End.

(The fact that the desserts served in the PHQ cafeteria were miles better than the stuff at PRT HQ clearly didn't factor into Carlos's suggestion at all.)

"Anything new and exciting going on with the team?"

"New, yes. Exciting, no," Carlos grumbled. "Not unless you count arguing with Image three times a week."

"What's the deal there? Something about the new guy?"

"Remember when you insisted on the white-and-gold color scheme and half the team thought you were deliberately trying to copy Dauntless and gave you unending shit for it because of the implications?"

Rory's cheeks pinked slightly. "Yes…?"

"Mosaic's whole aesthetic is Kid Win 2.0."

"Oooh." Rory winced. "Going over like a lead balloon, huh?"

"Yep. At one point he suggested that if the team didn't like that he could switch to something more knightly instead, like Armsmaster." Carlos gave him a significant look. "Or Gallant."

Rory's eyes widened. "He didn't." Vista's crush on the fallen Ward hadn't been at all subtle, and her feelings in the aftermath of his death had been even less so.

"He did." Carlos shook his head. "If you thought Browbeat had some trouble reading the room…."

~*~*~

"Seriously, it's awful out there." Rory took a quick sip of his drink and continued, "We're trying not to provoke Lung until we're ready for the big push, but the independents? Average it over all the skirmishes, and they've easily lost at least two heroes a day to Lung or Oni Lee since they started."

Sounds almost like an Endbringer attack, just more drawn-out, Carlos mused. "Has anyone considered calling a truce with the other gangs to get our cape numbers up?"

Rory shook his head. "Wouldn't do any good. Kaiser looks to be having enough trouble keeping the Empire out-of-towners happy that he's not about to take another serious shot at Lung any time soon. Everyone else is keeping their heads down so they don't become Lung's next target."

"Fair."

Carlos was actually disappointed to hear that they couldn't get a truce going with the Empire.

Not because he actually wanted to fight alongside a bunch of racist fuckwads, but because if Lung was going to keep killing capes he might as well take out the ones who actually deserved it.

~*~*~

"… so then they merge back together, and he's Zigzag again," Rory concluded.

"Huh," Carlos said. "Can't say I've heard of anyone with a power like that before."

"Me neither. I was wondering if it was something like-"

Rory was interrupted by his phone buzzing and checked the notification.

"Shoot, I have to go," he said apologetically. "I have to pick up my cousin from school."

"This is the one with the dinosaur obsession?" Carlos asked. Rory's extended family had lived in the Bay for quite a while, so he had a lot of younger cousins in the area.

"No, the one who used to do ballet." As he piled trash onto his tray, he explained, "Her school canceled all their extracurriculars with everything going on, so some days she gets out before her folks get off work. I've been picking her up on my way home."

"Sounds like a pain." Carlos had fortunately avoided having to start picking up Mateo when his elementary school had done the same, as the youngest Vasquez was close enough to their mother's office to walk there on his own after school.

"Nah, it's fine." Rory flashed a grin. "Dinah thinks my new Mustang is just the coolest thing, so she's always one of the first ones out to the parking lot and she loves when we take the scenic route back to her place." He stood. "Anyway, got to go. Catch you next week sometime?"

"Definitely."

~*~*~

11:00 am, Monday the 9th of May

PRT HQ Main Briefing Room

"This is it, people," Director Piggot declared from her podium on the dais. "This one is for all the marbles."

Her gaze panned slowly across the assembled Protectorate heroes and PRT forces and the smattering of independent heroes who currently filled the room nearly to overflowing.

"Your team leaders will be going over tactics with individual units, but before they do that I wanted to make one thing absolutely clear: No matter what else happens this evening, Swan Ming walks away from this free and unharmed."

Surprised murmuring arose from most of the crowd, and it didn't sound happy.

"And when I say that," the Director continued, "I mean free, and I mean unharmed. We're not sure of the exact parameters of her danger sense, so we're playing it completely safe. If you intend to arrest her afterward, she might know that, and might see us coming. If you intend to 'rough her up a bit' during the operation," Piggot eyed one particular squad leader off to her left, who didn't look remorseful in the least, "she might know that, and might see us coming."

She leaned forward and tapped one finger on the podium for emphasis. "The only way we stand a chance to remove Lung from this city is to ensure that he does not see us coming. So, from this point forward, each and every one of you needs to sincerely intend that Swan Ming come out the other side of this conflict perfectly safe and fully pardoned of anything she might have done with or for the ABB, and be willing to take whatever actions are necessary to accomplish that."

More grumbling. Piggot raised her voice to be heard over her audience: "We are not going to trap her, trick her, ambush her, or anything else. Our offer is and must be completely genuine and above-board. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am!" came the unanimous (if reluctant) response from the PRT forces, along with nods from the Protectorate and Wards and scattered Yeahs and Sures from the independents.

"Good. Fall out."

The PRT field agents immediately clustered in their squads, while the analysts moved off to the side. Armsmaster waved the independents over to give them their team assignments.

The Wards all turned to Aegis.

He took a deep breath. He'd gotten the rundown from Renick and Armsmaster and read the briefing packet, and he was confident that the Wards' assigned duties would keep them mostly out of danger, but still.

This was Lung they were talking about.

"Okay, team, gather 'round," he said. "They're doing mixed teams, some Protectorate, some Wards, some independents. We're being split among Alpha, Charlie, and Delta teams. At a high level, the plan is…."

~*~*~

4:16 pm, Monday the 9th of May

Corner of Richmond Street and Hemingway Avenue

Clockblocker stared out at the devastation through the window of the corner shop that the team had chosen as their staging point. "Jesus H. Christ on a motherfucking pogo stick," he breathed.

Then he glanced guiltily over at Aegis. "Uh, sorry, man."

"No no, you're fine," Aegis said, ignoring the blasphemy as he, too, surveyed what was left of the neighborhood in disbelief. "I think that pretty much sums it up."

The part of the Docks where Lung was holed up looked like a bombed-out warzone.

Storefronts were burned to a crisp, parking lots were filled with rubble, many streets were more crater than asphalt… every single battle with the Empire or the heroes had left its mark on the area, and even if there hadn't been a single civilian casualty from any of them-which was extremely unlikely-the property damage had to be in the millions, at least.

Maybe tens of millions, or even hundreds. Aegis simply had no frame of reference for that level of destruction.

The one good thing about the current state of the Docks was that finding Lung had been very easy. A roughly five-by-five-block region had been completely razed except for a single apartment building in the center with a few shops flanking it and an attached parking garage, and Lung hadn't made any attempt to hide his movements to and from the area.

There was more than enough room in there to house half of the ABB's thugs and stockpile enough supplies to hold off a major siege, and it would be almost impossible for any group to sneak up to that building in significant numbers without a wide-area Stranger-Shaker power.

The PRT didn't have access to a cape with one of those, but they did have Vista, which is why his team was stationed at a street corner on the edge of the burned-out territory with a straight shot to the building's lobby. "We clear?" Aegis asked her.

The younger Ward nodded. "I don't feel anyone else in my range."

Invisigoth, the independent hero assigned to their group, bobbed his helmeted head and gave them a thumbs-up. "No eyes or cameras on us."

Dauntless, their final team member, took another moment to finish scanning the apartment building before nodding slowly. "They're both in there." He tapped the panel over his ear. "Alpha Team is in position and all green. Targets are in place, forty-three additional hostiles sighted."

He gave a brief description of exactly where Lung, Swan Ming, and the gang members were situated inside the building, then added, "No sign of Oni Lee, though."

"Acknowledged, Alpha Actual," came the reply from the PRT agent manning the console. "Bravo and Delta are in position, Charlie is relocating. Stand by."

Aegis relaxed, as did most of the team. They could be there a while.

Invisigoth didn't relax, instead starting to drum his fingers anxiously on the rim of his comically-oversized shield.

"Do you mind?" Clockblocker said.

"Sorry." The drumming stopped. "My partner and I just got into town a few days ago and it's been, uh… a little more intense than we were expecting." A pause. "So… you guys aren't nervous about this at all?"

"Nervous? Ha!" Vista said, striking a confident pose. "We've kicked Lung's butt before, we'll do it again!"

Dauntless frowned at that, then explained to the incredulous Invisigoth, "The Wards have encountered Lung before and forced him to retreat. Under very different circumstances," he added pointedly. "But they do have some idea of what to expect from him."

"Has your team fought any other villains?"

Vista shrugged. "Squealer, Rune and Sonnenrad, Trainwreck, TK…."

"Wow. That sounds like a pretty impressive career."

"Career?" Vista gave him an odd look. "That was last week."

Invisigoth was dumbstruck. He turned to Dauntless and mouthed Last week?

The older hero grinned. "Welcome to the Bay."

~*~*~

Their radios crackled to life. "Console to Alpha. Charlie is in position, you are cleared to proceed. Mission timer stands at T minus one minute."

"Acknowledged, Console," Dauntless replied. To Aegis, he said, "You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

His job was simple. To ensure that Lung didn't get a last-minute tipoff and start ramping up before the attack was launched, someone had to go in and get Swan Ming out of there, quickly and quietly and above all completely harmlessly.

On Dauntless's signal, Vista would shorten the distance to the nearest entrance and Aegis would slip in and politely ask Swan Ming if she could pretty please leave with him before the fireworks started.

If the villain agreed, the two would slip back to the staging point, where Clockblocker would freeze the front wall and windows for protection, Dauntless would cover the hole in the wall with his shield, and Invisigoth would keep Swan Ming hidden from prying eyes.

If she didn't agree, the other three would follow Aegis down the corridor of warped space to very carefully and politely ensure that she couldn't warn Lung about the impending attack.

Personally, Aegis really hoped she was going to cooperate. There were seven guys with guns in the room next to hers, and getting shot always sucked.

He had no need to stretch or anything like that before moving out, so he just kept his eyes on the apartment building and waited for the word.

Finally: "T minus four, three, two, and… go!" Dauntless said.

Immediately, the distance to the far wall shrank from five blocks to five feet. This close, Aegis could see that the windows on the ground floor had been reinforced with plexiglass and the main doors had been barred from the inside. He looked over at Vista, who nodded and expanded the gap between the double doors so that he could reach right through it.

The moment the effect stabilized he floated swiftly and silently forward, carefully lifted the bar and turned the door handle, and slipped inside.

The television in the adjacent room was blaring loudly, presumably keeping Swan Ming's guards entertained; after all, why would a cape with a danger sense need to keep her guards right with her at all times when she could just call them a few minutes before anything happened?

The cape herself was curled up on a couch, looking totally unconcerned about the outside world, reading a book.

She glanced up from it as Aegis floated up to her, then did a double take at the sudden presence of a hero. "Uhhh…?" was all she could manage.

He held up his hands and put on a friendly smile; she wouldn't be able to see it through his helmet, but it would be evident in his voice. "Swan Ming?" he asked softly.

" Suànmìng," she corrected reflexively.

That's what I said. "Don't worry, I don't mean you any harm," he assured her. "I'm here to help you escape, for your safety."

She stared at him for a few moments longer, then slumped back with a wry chuckle. "Usually takes people a lot longer to figure out that loophole. I take it this afternoon's attempt on Lung is going to involve more than just the handful of capes I saw?"

"Yeah."

The villain dropped her book on the couch, stood up, and straightened out her robes. "All right, lead the way."

"Just like that?" Now it was Aegis's turn to be caught off-guard. "Not that I'm complaining, but…."

"I only took Lung up on his offer because it was either that or get press-ganged by Chain Man a day and a half later, since he had his people watching everywhere I could have gone." She shrugged. "If I'd known what kind of shitshow I was walking into, I'd have just thrown myself on Accord's mercy and taken my chances."

"I see. Well-"

"Keep it down in there, Lung is looking in your direction," said Dauntless over the radio.

Aegis frowned. "We're keeping our voices way down and there's a TV in the next room. He doesn't have enhanced senses except when-"

Except when his power is active and he's already started ramping up.

"Did you warn him about us?" he whispered urgently to Swan Ming. "Not the attack in general, but us, here, now?"

"No, I didn't have a clue you were coming. You have no idea how rare that is."

"Then how could he be starting to use his power already?"

She shrugged. "He's been keeping things at a low boil ever since the announcement. There have been so many attacks that I don't think his scales have gone away once."

" Jesús, María, y José," Aegis swore under his breath. "We have to go. Now."

Swan Ming nodded sharply and the two of them dashed for the door. Within seconds they skidded to a stop among the other heroes and Vista released the spatial compression, putting the full five-ish blocks between them and danger once more.

"Alpha Team to Console," he said, gesturing for Swan Ming to take cover behind a counter with Invisigoth, "Package is clear, and friendly, but Lung's already starting to ramp up and may know we were there."

"He definitely knows, Console, I can see him moving," Dauntless said. He was half-crouched by the window, watching Lung's lair. "Suggest moving up the timetable."

"Acknowledged. Stand by."

Aegis shot Dauntless a glare. "You couldn't have mentioned he had scales already?"

Dauntless returned his look with one of exasperation. "I didn't see any scales. I'm not exactly working with X-ray vision, here; at this distance seeing outlines through windows is already pushing it."

"Fair."

A tense few seconds passed with no further signs of activity from the apartment building.

"Alpha Actual to Console." The older hero's voice was grim. "Lung is definitely getting taller. Requesting permission to withdraw."

"Acknowledged. Stand by."

"Happy to, Console," murmured Clockblocker sarcastically, taking care not to activate his radio. "We haven't done nearly enough of that today."

Another few seconds passed, and even Dauntless gave into the sense of anxiety and started tapping his boot against the cracked tile floor.

"Director to all teams. Lung is aware and potentially mobile," came the voice of Director Piggot. "We are switching to contingency Echo-Niner."

The analysts had come up with plan after plan for this operation, as the PRT couldn't afford to have it fail and force them to launch a later assault against a more prepared and more desperate Lung.

The E series of contingencies were drawn up in the event that Lung was somehow forewarned of the attack and their timing and movement were more constrained as a consequence. Contingency E9 was geared toward a scenario where he had neither Swan Ming nor Oni Lee immediately available and didn't seem to be going on the offensive, and it centered around luring him out of his lair to provide the PRT with a maximal attack surface.

"Alpha Team, withdraw when able," Piggot continued. "Bravo Team, you are clear to engage."

Dauntless turned to Swan Ming. "Is it safe for us to leave now, or should we wait?" he asked.

The mercenary's gaze briefly flicked up and to the side. "I look fine either way. Give me your hands."

The heroes moved in and extended their hands. Swan Ming ran her own hand across all of theirs, and each of them twitched a bit when she made contact.

When she tapped Aegis, he felt a pins-and-needles sensation start at his hand and spread through his entire body over a second or two as her power scanned him or focused on him or however it worked. The feeling was definitely disconcerting, doubly so given that it was the first time he'd felt any kind of uncomfortable tingling or numbness since he'd gotten his powers.

"So what's the verdict?" Clockblocker asked.

"The short time and the five-way split means I could only look for deaths or crippling injuries, so nothing's guaranteed," she explained, "but so long as we wait about forty seconds to leave, that clears out the major omens for most of you." She turned to Aegis. " You will want to stay away from any large ships for a while, though."

Dauntless looked off in the general direction of the Boat Graveyard. "That's fine. If the fight with Lung ends up going that far, we'll all have much bigger problems."

"What happens in forty seconds?" Invisigoth asked. The independents hadn't been given a full briefing on the PRT's series of plans, just a general outline that team leaders could fill in as needed.

Before Swan Ming could respond, they all heard a sort of muted chck-fwooosh sound off in the distance and a missile streaked in from the northwest trailing a thin line of white smoke, courtesy of Miss Militia. An explosion echoed through the empty streets as the third-story wall of Lung's apartment building was engulfed in flames.

In the blink of an eye, however, the flames and smoke vanished and an angry and inarticulate roar came from inside the building.

Clearly, one missile hadn't been enough to take out Lung.

Fortunately, there were more where that came from.

A second shot followed moments later, then a third. The missiles slipped in through the hole left by the first one and exploded inside the building, blowing out all the windows and partially collapsing the floor above it with the pressure waves.

Screams started coming from the lower levels, and scattered gunshots rang out as gang members began to fire blindly back along the missiles' smoke trails.

The heroes weren't done yet. A pair of massive metal discs came arcing in from the same direction, one right after the other, aiming for the hole in the wall. They were traveling so fast that Aegis could only tell they were manhole covers because he'd seen Assault practicing with some of those a few days before.

Finally, a small cluster of containment foam grenades streamed through the air in a perfect parabolic arc toward Lung's room, launched by Pelter's power.

" This happens…." Swan Ming said expectantly.

For a moment, Aegis allowed himself to imagine that that was it, that Lung had taken enough of a beating to do him in and was current lying dazed in his lair under a mass of rubble and containment foam.

Then a monstrous scaled arm shoved a slab of concrete out of the way and Lung burst free from the wreckage in a blast of flame, yellow blotches of melted foam dripping down his scales… and his wings.

With one mighty leap, the villain launched himself from the ruin of his hideout to the street below and began stalking rapidly toward Bravo Team's staging point. Aegis could see Lung's few surviving underlings scrambling toward the parking garage, presumably to find some vehicles that could let them catch up to their leader and support him.

"Should be safe now," Swan Ming said.

Dauntless nodded. "Let's get out of here. Vista, make us an escape route."

~*~*~

4:53 pm, Monday the 9th of May

PRT Medical Tent

"Charlie Actual to Console, need medevac for MacMillan, condition critical, near Frost and Townsend."

Aegis was already flying in that direction before the agent finished speaking. "Aegis to Charlie Actual, responding now, ETA two minutes."

With Alpha Team's job done and Swan Ming swanning off to God-knows-where, Dauntless had been detached to join the frontliners on Bravo Team and the rest of them had been reassigned to search and rescue duty. Clockblocker was stationed in the med tent, Vista and Invisigoth were tackling the larger groups, and Aegis was handling the cases requiring the fastest responses.

He crossed paths with his teammates on his way up Townsend Avenue. Saurian and Deferent were holding off Oni Lee to allow half of a squad of PRT agents to drag the other half to cover, when suddenly Vista and Invisigoth seemed to appear out of nowhere as they stepped through Vista's warped space.

Vista immediately began pulling up the sidewalk into an improvised barrier while Invisigoth scrambled over to it and planted his shield atop the twisted concrete. As soon as Aegis was on the opposite side of the wall from him, Invisigoth, Vista, the agents, and the barrier itself vanished from sight.

Aegis continued on, reaching his destination less than a minute later and coming in for a careful landing next to one agent sprawled on the ground and another one leaning over her to perform first aid. Aegis could manage the traditional three-point hero landing-and yes, he'd practiced; what flying Brute hadn't?-but going fast enough to crack the pavement would usually also crack him, and now wasn't the time.

"Any injuries that would prevent her from being moved?" he asked.

The uninjured agent shook their head. "Nothing broken, just internal bleeding. Oni Lee got past the chainmail, and it's pretty bad."

"Okay. Give me a hand?"

Working quickly but carefully, the two levered the unconscious agent up into a bridal carry position and Aegis launched himself back into the sky.

Once he was en route, he pressed his ear against his shoulder to activate his radio. "Aegis to Clockblocker, I have someone with internal bleeding. Room for one more?"

"Sure," came Clockblocker's toneless reply. "The more the merrier."

~*~*~

An anguished cry rent the air a few blocks away-Battery's voice.

Aegis didn't hear any orders over the radio so he diverted to go check it out.

Battery was kneeling in the street, surrounded by wounded capes and half-melted cars and burning wreckage of all sorts. All of her attention was focused on a single cape, however, one whose costume had been red before all the fire had turned it charcoal-black.

"Ethan, no, you can't-you've got to-" she sobbed, cradling Assault's head in her lap.

"I'll be… fine, Puppy," her husband rasped. "It's not like… I needed all of… my skin anyway." He tried to laugh, but a cough came out instead.

"Battery!" Aegis called.

"Aegis?" Her head whipped around at the sound of his voice. "Oh, thank god-I can't-my charge, the momentum-" She made a jerky up-and-down gesture to indicate what the sudden stops and starts would do to Assault's injuries if she tried to carry him back to the medical tent with her intermittent superspeed.

Aegis nodded firmly. "I'm on it."

Within moments, he was back in the air with Assault in his arms, being as gentle with the older hero as possible; privately, he didn't think it would matter much, since he doubted that anything but Panacea could save Assault at that point and a few extra injuries wouldn't matter either way.

"Hey," Assault rasped. "Carlos."

"Not now, save your strength," Aegis urged him.

"No… point. Do me… a favor, wouldja?"

"Anything."

"Tell Sam it's… not her fault. And that… I love hhh…."

~*~*~

Aegis was paired up with Dovetail to ferry an especially massive injured hero by the name of Manolith to safety when they heard the message: "Console to all teams, be advised, red skies protocol is going into effect for five minutes, beginning at thirty seconds from mark. Mark."

"Shit, get down!" Aegis said, and immediately angled downward to get below the roof line of the surrounding buildings.

"What's that mean?" Dovetail asked as she followed suit.

"All flyers out of the air. They're using the missile batteries."

"The what?" Dovetail echoed. She looked off toward the PHQ. "Those things are real? I thought they were just there for the tourists!"

"They're very real. I can't remember the last time I saw them fired, but we've done the drills and everything."

Precisely thirty seconds after the announcement, Aegis saw the telltale rippling flash of multiple successive missile launches light up the sky above the bay.

Moments later a flight of four Tomahawk missiles tore through the air overhead, far too low and close for comfort and headed for the blocks of mostly-abandoned warehouses to which the heroes had been luring Lung. The roar of their passage set the nearby windows to rattling and triggered several car alarms, and when they struck their targets a few seconds later the light from the explosions was nearly blinding.

It actually was blinding for Dovetail, who hadn't managed to turn away in time and was shaking her head and blinking to clear her vision. Aegis was doing fine as usual, but he was happy to take a quick break to let her recover.

He had no idea how his power would stack up against the explosive tonnage of a Lung-rated surface-to-surface missile, and he had no desire to find out any time soon.

~*~*~

After far too many trips out and back there was finally a respite, though whether that was because fewer capes and agents were being injured or because they were dying too soon to be extracted Aegis didn't know.

He took the opportunity to fly up to a good vantage point and take a look at how the fight was going, and it definitely didn't look to him like things were going the heroes' way.

Lung was over two stories tall now, and had four arms instead of two. Even from this distance Aegis could see that a second set of wings was trying to grow out of the villain's back under the main set, and as he watched Lung lit a whole roof on fire with a wave of his claws.

Streaks of light zipping around the villain gave the only clues as to who was currently engaging him: the stack of cobalt blue horizontal lines that was Battery's costume, as she bounced back and forth to try to stagger Lung; the orange and green blobs that were the gemstones in Statuette's massive golems, as they tried to hammer through Lung's scales with their fists and horns; the golden bar of Dauntless's arclance, as he circled around Lung loosing bolts of lightning at what were hopefully weak spots; the light green flattened spheres of Clasp's hand constructs, as she tried and failed to slow Lung's movement; the hair-thin purple lines of Ultra Violet's particle cannon, as she tried to drill a hole through Lung's wings; and-

Is that… Armsmaster?

There was a small circular bluish blur moving in swooping arcs at the end of something long and thin and, yes, that was definitely Armsmaster.

Isn't his plasma attachment red-orange?

The Protectorate leader was seemingly doing the best of all of them, as he was the only figure whose strikes Lung was visibly trying to avoid. His fire apparently wasn't dissuading Armsmaster's advance, so the villain had resorted to grabbing chunks of debris and flinging them at the heroes to keep them at bay.

Aegis didn't know what fancy new halberd attachment Armsmaster was using, and he didn't care, so long as it was keeping Lung on his toes.

Suddenly, he saw something out of the corner of his eye that he thought was another light-based power, a white streak coming in from several blocks away with just a hint of gold around the edges.

A moment later, though, he realized that it wasn't a light blast.

It was Glory Girl.

The heroine slammed into Lung's chest going what had to be at least sixty miles an hour and pushed him almost half a block backwards. Only his reflexive grab of the nearest tall building with his left arms stopped him from getting bowled over completely.

Glory Girl began shouting something at Lung; Aegis could barely hear any of it at that distance, but he definitely caught "-Dean!" and "- pay for that!"

The other heroes took the opportunity to advance and surround Lung as he stabilized himself and shrouded himself with an intense orange-yellow flame.

With Glory Girl on one side of Lung and Armsmaster on the other, it looked like the tables might be about to turn.

~*~*~

"Armsmaster to all teams, requesting an additional flyer to the corner of Grant and Maple."

Aegis continued brushing off the newest layer of dust and blood from his costume, courtesy of an independent he'd dragged out from under a pile of debris. He'd requested a very specific shade of red for his costume so that he could go all-out and not need to worry about the bad PR from being frequently covered in blood, but he'd always been worried about getting covered in his own blood, not other peoples'.

"Armsmaster to all teams, say again, requesting a flyer to Grant and Maple, highest priority."

Why isn't anyone answering?

…

Am I the only one left?

He thought for a moment. Dovetail went down to an ambush by Oni Lee ten minutes ago and was in critical condition, Glory Girl and Dauntless were already engaging Lung, he hadn't seen any of the independent flyers in a while….

Yeah. Looked like it was just him.

"Aegis responding, ETA… fifty seconds."

The specified intersection was hard to recognize from the air, thanks to the damage from the missile strikes and the blaze that Lung was spreading throughout the Docks, but Aegis found it quickly enough.

"On site," he reported.

"Good," Armsmaster replied, his voice somewhat muffled by the air filtration system currently covering the lower portion of his face. "Take this, and press the button." He ducked under a sweep of Lung's lower right wing, spun the glowing blue head of his halberd in a figure-eight to somehow divert a blast of flame around him, and then chucked something football-sized up at Aegis.

Aegis caught it and gave it a once-over. It looked like a very odd remote control, with a thin and shiny red section in the center and a matte gray structure around its lower half that looked like it had been added on after the fact. There was only one button visible, a large one near the top, so he pressed it.

In a flash of blue light, a set of what looked kind of like shiny red handlebars appeared in midair and floated there in front of him.

"There's no surface anchor mechanism, so it needs a flyer to hold it steady," came Armsmaster's voice over the radio as more and more pieces teleported into place. "I've linked the targeting controls to my combat analysis system, all you need to do is stabilize the frame against the recoil."

"I thought you were going to dismantle the alternator cannon?" Aegis asked, not quite believing his eyes.

"And destroy his best work?" Armsmaster retorted, sounding scandalized. "Hardly."

Within moments, the entire cannon was assembled and it began to thrum as the power core came online. The end of the barrel started to twitch in different directions and rotate slowly; Aegis grabbed the handles before the cannon could drift out of place.

Text cascaded across a tiny screen in the center of the controls, scrolling too fast for him to make out. Then it stopped, and the screen flashed the words Startup sequence complete before going blank.

Over the crackling lightning and rushing flame and projectiles impacting Lung's impenetrable scales and all the other sounds of pitched combat, Aegis could just barely hear a heavy click, like someone turning on a speaker system while the volume was turned up too high.

" Lung!" Armsmaster shouted, his voice amplified to the point it almost echoed off the nearby buildings.

The villain's head snapped around to face him.

" Kid Win sends his regards, you bastard!"

The cannon came to life in Aegis's hands and began spitting a continuous stream of deep red energy bolts at Lung's head and neck, taking him completely off-guard. No matter how much he ducked and weaved to avoid them, the cannon tracked his movements unerringly, almost like it knew what he planned to do before he knew himself.

That was finally what turned the tide.

Up until that point, all of the heroes' combined firepower wasn't quite enough to overcome Lung's regeneration and constrain his movements in the highly-advanced state of his transformation, but Glory Girl's ramming and Dauntless's strafing runs and Triumph's shouts and Miss Militia's sniper fire and Shadow Stalker's bolts and the cannon's bombardment and everything else combined to put him on the back foot.

Even as Lung sent streams of fire and chunks of masonry in his direction, Aegis kept his grip firmly on the cannon's controls, only dodging far enough to avoid the cannon getting hit and ignoring the damage to his body's structural integrity.

At last, Lung was knocked off balance when a leaping charge by Battery blew off a patch of scales on his side and Glory Girl was able to strike the same spot before Lung's regeneration could seal it over. The villain staggered and fell to one knee… with his back directly toward Armsmaster, almost as if Armsmaster had planned it that way.

The Protectorate leader took a running leap, and at the peak of his jump the bulky structures added to the back of his armor lit up with circles of bright red light for just a moment, propelling him even higher.

He landed on the back of Lung's head and pulled his weapon back in a reverse grip, like someone about to throw a javelin. Lung lashed around in an attempt to shake him off, but between Armsmaster's iron grip and those red things in his armor- oh, duh, like Chris's hoverboard; neat trick, there-Lung didn't stand a chance.

Then Armsmaster lunged forward, and with a might heave he shoved the head of his halberd, with its envelope of fizzing blue energy, straight down through Lung's skull.

~*~*~

"Holy crap," Clockblocker said. "What happened to you?"

Aegis shrugged, ignoring the way that the motion made him tip slightly sideways. His right leg was missing below the knee; in the right (or wrong) hands, a little masonry went a long way. "Lung happened."

"I'm glad you survived." Clockblocker jerked a thumb behind him and lowered his voice. "Browbeat almost didn't. He managed to clip Oni Lee upside the head and force him to retreat, but if he hadn't…."

"Lot of close calls today," Aegis agreed.

"I'm feeling lightheaded just looking at you. You should really take a break until Glory Girl gets back with Panacea."

Aegis shook his head. "I'm fine."

Clockblocker stared at him, then down at his missing leg, then back up at him.

"Seriously. I don't feel a thing."

"Uh huh." Clockblocker shook his head in disbelief, then raised a hand. "Well, anyway, high five for being involved in the takedown."

Aegis carefully raised his right hand. Clockblocker slapped it, then smirked. "Like I said, you need a break."

"And like I said, I'm fine."

Clockblocker jerked backward in surprise. "How-?"

Aegis floated backward, but his right hand remained frozen in midair.

"Dude."

Aegis smiled. "It came off right after the leg did, but with a much cleaner cut. I was saving it for a 'let me give you a hand' joke, but I guess this works too."

" Dude."

~*~*~

1:16 pm, Tuesday the 10th of May

PRT HQ Main Briefing Room

Director Piggot was heading up the Wards debrief this time, which was unusual. She only stepped in to substitute for Renick when something had gone very well, or very badly.

Today was one of the former cases, thankfully, and she'd actually seemed not-incredibly-grumpy for once as she praised each and every one of the Wards for their efforts the day before-even Shadow Stalker, who'd flagrantly disobeyed orders when she decided to get up close and personal with Lung towards the end.

Not everything was positive. Parents and schools had to be contacted to arrange for everyone to attend the memorial service for Assault, Dovetail, and the independents who had fallen against Lung. Patrol routes had to be reconfigured now that half the Docks was basically gone and the rest of it wasn't easily traversable.

"So is the patrol schedule finally going back to normal?" Shadow Stalker asked eagerly.

"The patrol schedule is going to be heavier than before," Piggot said. "Now is not the time to lower our guard."

"Why's that?" Browbeat asked. "The ABB's gone, the Empire's severely weakened, Coil hasn't done anything major since the kill order was issued, and none of the minor villains have started back up again."

"Yes, the Empire is weakened," the Director agreed. "That's exactly the problem."

The Wards exchanged confused looks. "Ma'am?" Aegis asked.

"All of his out-of-town allies have already left the city except for Jotun, who looks to be joining the Empire semi-permanently. That leaves them at less than half their former strength."

Kaiser, Hookwolf, Fenja, Victor, Othala, Rune, and Jotun. That was it.

It was almost too good to be true. For years, the Empire had outnumbered the Protectorate and Wards put together, and in terms of power levels they outweighed both teams plus New Wave besides. Aegis had long since resigned himself to the fact that dislodging them from the city would be practically impossible, and probably wouldn't happen in his lifetime.

But now? Now, the Wards alone would match their numbers: The five current Wards, plus Mosaic when he debuted in a few weeks, plus a new kid with a fire-and-ice power who'd just showed up at PRT HQ this very morning to apply to join the team, saying he'd been avoiding it because of Lung's presence in the city but now that he was out of the picture, well….

"How is the Empire being weak a problem? Now we can roll right over them," Shadow Stalker insisted.

The Director gave her an unimpressed look. "If the PRT can do that, so could another gang, for the first time in over a decade."

Sophia looked like she was about to say something along the lines of What other gang? when Aegis suddenly saw what Piggot was implying. "This could turn into another Boston Games, couldn't it?"

That had been before Aegis's time, but he'd done his reading on inter-villain dynamics in general and the Games in particular. Ambitious villains loved few things more than power vacuums.

"Exactly," the Director grimly confirmed.

~*~*~

2:23 pm, Tuesday the 10th of May

Wards Common Room

"She can't seriously think a bunch of random small villain teams are going to be a big deal," Sophia insisted.

"I don't know about small teams," Carlos said. He read off part of the email Intel had sent over during the meeting: "'Projections indicate that the Teeth, Entente, the Fallen, the Red Handed, Orchard, the Elite, and the Adepts are likely to set their sights on Brockton Bay, in roughly that order of probability.' Only one of those groups has fewer than eight capes."

Dennis snorted. "I'm not worried. The Teeth are all nuts and probably can't plan their way out of a paper bag, the Adepts are delusional and think they make their shitty powers stronger with magic tricks, the Fallen are nuts and delusional. No one wants to work with Accord, he's a psychopath who murders anyone who uses the wrong salad fork. The Red Hand are small-timers like the Undersiders, and we saw what happened to them when they picked a fight with a serious villain. And Orchard is, like, two guys; sure, they're horrible people, but they're not exactly powerhouses."

"And the Elite?" Carlos challenged.

Dennis looked less certain at that. "It's the West Coast ones that are supposed to be terrible; the ones in New York aren't that bad, right? And even if we did get the worse ones, I'd take them over the Empire any day."

"True," Carlos admitted.

"So don't worry about it! If any other gangs decide to move in and if they and the Empire don't just wipe each other out and if there are enough new gangs to give us actual trouble, we can worry about it then."

"I guess you're right."

Sure, there were still a few of the major villains left; sure, the Docks was in bad shape and the city would be hurting for a while; sure, the heroes had suffered casualties, and Ethan and to a lesser extent Irene would certainly be missed.

But, on the whole, Aegis felt that things were looking up.

Looks like May is turning out better than April after all.

Author's Note

This chapter is yet another experiment on my part, an attempt to show what's been happening in Brockton Bay in Valigan's absence and the ripple effects that Valigan's presence has had on things there by covering 20 days' worth of events in one big single-chapter montage. I hope folks like (or at least don't mind) the format, and that the longer chapter makes up for the holiday slowdown.

Also, it's a chance to show the PRT actually being competent and effective, as one would expect is usually the case for a national paramilitary organization that's been around for 18 years as of canon start when they're not going up against protagonists who have to beat them and escape for the story to continue as planned.

Also also, it's a chance to explore Backup ProtagonistAegis, who seems to barely get any spotlight time or characterization even in most "Taylor joins the Wards" fics despite having some obvious hooks like "is the one publicly-known-to-be-non-white Ward in the city" (since Shadow Stalker has an all-concealing costume) and "is totally blasé about getting a punctured lung" and similar, so I figured his would be a good viewpoint for fleshing out an underused character and touching on lots of different aspects of the hero biz.

For those who don't want to look up the referenced Bible verses:

---

Romans 12:17-19 said:

Recompense to no man evil for evil. Provide things honest in the sight of all men. If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men. Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.

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Click to shrink…

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Matthew 5:38-42 said:

You have heard that it was said, "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." But I tell you not to resist an evil person. Whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. If anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also. And whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two. Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away.

Click to expand…

Click to shrink…

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Hopefully one can see the mindset Carlos might have had that led to him getting the power that he did.

Regarding the Mosaics, Mosaic-the-wet-tinker is another cape from Tattletale's list of potential pseudo-Endbringer creators in 18.1, while Mosaic-the-new-Ward is the person who got the Earth Bet half of the Modular Components shard, if that wasn't already blindingly obvious from how similar his tech is to Chris's.

(I actually decided on Mosaic as a name for the new Ward first thanks to the tiles theme, then re-discovered that it was a name mentioned in canon, then decided I'd have to change it, then realized that, actually, "remove this villain halfway across the country, please" is exactly the sort of thing someone might use a Valigan favor for.)

Regarding Geomancer, it's a very minor Easter egg, but he's meant to be one of the unnamed capes from Tattletale's interlude, the one described as " some cape wearing armor studded with stone imagery [with] some sort of power that let him generate matter, like chunks of rock or metal pouring out in a stream, spraying into Leviathan's face, making the creature pull back."

Regarding Swan Ming, her name is in fact Suànmìng, but Armsmaster's speech-to-text program sadly wasn't calibrated for Chinese.

Regarding a potential Brockton Games, the list of organizations that might be interested in setting up shop in the Bay is the same as Tattletale's list of such groups in 21.7, with the addition of Entente and the Elite because the canon list is given post-Leviathan post-Nine when the city is awful (and therefore not a tempting point of expansion for the Elite) and the Ambassadors had suffered major losses, whereas currently the city is in great shape and the Ambassadors are at full strength.

Oh, and yes, Brockton Bay is in Connecticut. Replacing New Haven, specifically, as that's the spot that best fits the evidence for its location. Yes, I'm aware of the WoG and Ward quotes that purport to place it north of Boston, despite that contradicting known information from Worm. I am, as always, happy to infodump upon request.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

The reason that Dauntless was able to do something with Armsmaster's experiment is that he's been established to be an artificer (indirectly via his shard, at least) thanks to his having infusions in his repertoire, and all artificers can craft magic items and be Tinker-ish despite the fact that his power in particular leans on said infusions to present as more Trump-ish. Valigan managed to capture a villain in a different city via a fission to split into two of himself, two remote viewings to find Mosaic-the-villain via a power that allows manifesting one other power through it (unlike most scrying effects), a baleful transposition from his fissioned body to teleport Mosaic without teleporting himself, and a divert teleport to hijack that teleport to send her to a cell. Invisigoth's primary power lets him basically take anyone or anything that's partially hidden or concealed behind an interposing object or structure from a given vantage point and render them fully invisible to observers in that direction. The power is inspired by a supposed broken rule in 3e (which, as with most such rules "exploits," doesn't actually work the way a lot of people claim) in which you can hide behind a tower shield and then hide the shield too because it's your possession and possessions are hidden with you, thus rendering you invisible without the use of magic.

Last edited: Saturday at 9:10 PM

Rule of Three 3.L

Eighth Morning Bell, Zol the 3 rd of Sypheros, 999 YK Tradefair Workshop, Sharn, Breland, Eberron
Leyla Korell d'Cannith

She'd just barely reached the door to the foreigners' rented workshop when Lord ir'McIntyre flung it open before her and flashed a distracted smile.

"Leyla, hi! Glad you could make it today!" he said as he beckoned her inside. "We're having an argument about armor designs and we were hoping you could help us figure that out. Also, you can build magic armor, right?"

She hesitated on the threshold. Whether he knew it or not, his words placed her in a very precarious position.

Confirming that she could enchant armor wasn't the issue. When Baron d'Cannith had tasked her with keeping an eye on the foreign nobles, he'd told her in no uncertain terms that cooperating with them and keeping them happy by any means necessary took precedence over the usual processes and fees involved in contracting out her services to the local nobility and the lesser guilds.

No, it was the suggestion that she intervene in an argument between two of her social superiors, and potentially anger the person or persons whose side she did not take, that gave her pause.

Commoners unfamiliar with the politicking within and among the Dragonmarked Houses often assumed that merely manifesting a dragonmark in one's youth was the ticket to a long life of ease and luxury, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

Such scions did exist in Cannith-mostly among the core families of Vown, Harn, and Tellic, and mostly in Cannith West, given Baron Jorlanna's nepotistic tendencies-but as the fourth child of an unmarked couple on the fringes of the House, Leyla herself stood as far from those lofty heights of privilege as the lowest-ranking heiress of Breland's most minor noble family stood from King Boranel ir'Wynarn himself.

Leyla had had to compete with all of the wealthier and better-educated sons and daughters of House Cannith for her entire childhood to earn a coveted position with the Fabricators Guild, then spend her adolescence competing with the other Guild members to achieve the rank of Assistant Minister of Production, then spend even more years competing with other guildmasters just to earn the right to work in the same building as Baron d'Cannith, his infamous Forgehold, much less work with him directly.

The eventual manifestation of her dragonmark in her seventeenth year hadn't given her wealth, or power, or influence. It had only let her compete with the other 'marked heirs on even footing, and greatly increased the pressure and expectations with which she had been saddled by her family and her House.

And all along the way, she knew that one wrong word from the Brelish aristocracy could sink her career before it even took flight. She didn't even have to make a mistake, just rub someone the wrong way; more than a few Brelish nobles resented the fact that they had very little influence over the House enclaves within their borders, and so would take every opportunity to undermine and punish the lower-ranking House members where they could as a form of petty revenge.

Fortunately, she was long past the point of her career being potentially jeopardized by one snotty noblewoman from a lesser family complaining that the enchantment on her brooch wasn't giving off light of precisely the right hue, but she knew that disappointing Baron d'Cannith after having been given a direct personal assignment to a high-priority project could have severe consequences.

Leyla kept those consequences firmly in mind as she summoned up a serene smile and bowed her head to the young lord. "Yes, Lord ir'McIntyre, I'm familiar with several armor schemata, and I would be more than happy to help you resolve your debate."

"Awesome." As he closed the door behind them, he added, "We're just finishing up breakfast; there's some extra eggs and fish over on the workbench if you want some."

She glanced over at the tray of food. Poached duck eggs and smoked greenfin, by the looks of things. It smelled quite good, at least as tavern food went. She'd been up early this morning preparing the seasonal supply reports and hadn't yet had a chance to eat… but while she'd begun to establish something of a rapport with her charges, at the current time sitting down to a meal with them would still be highly improper.

"Thank you for the offer," she said, "but I've just come from breakfast myself."

He nodded, and the two of them walked over to the planning area. "Morning, Leyla," said Lord ir'Stansfield from where he was standing by the drawing board.

Lord ir'McIntyre took a seat and offered Leyla one as well, but she declined; one does not sit while one's betters stand.

"Good morning, Lord ir'Stansfield, Lord ir'Lemaître, Lady ir'Hebert," she nodded to each of them in turn. Then she paused, offered a knowing smile, and nodded to Lord ir'Laborn. "Lord Brian."

Interacting with people of lower age but higher station always required a careful balancing act. She'd found that maintaining formality while adding the occasional touch of humor to their conversations would convey her respect for their social standing without coming across as patronizing.

As usual, Lord ir'Laborn looked slightly pained at being formally addressed, a topic on which she bore mixed feelings.

On the one hand, it was heartening to see that his elevation to the gentry hadn't entirely gone to his head. Leyla had seen too many common folk resent the nobility for their supposed abuses of power, for one reason or another, and then turn around and act precisely the same way upon being granted even the slightest measure of authority themselves.

On the other hand, if Lord ir'Laborn wasn't willing to accept his granted title with grace, that implied he hadn't accepted his corresponding duties with grace, either. If he showed reluctance to protect his vassals, to carry out the will of his Regent, and to apply his Host-given gifts to the aid of his nation, that undermined the trust of the common folk in the gentry and the trust his fellows placed in him.

Perhaps things worked differently on their world; their uncomfortably casual manner with one another and excessive familiarity when addressing others of rank certainly spoke to a cultural difference there.

But still.

" Finally," Lord ir'Lemaître whined from his position opposite Lord ir'Stansfield. "Now that you're here you can tell Dean and Chris that their ideas are stupid and I'm right."

Lord ir'Stansfield gave the regent a disapproving look, but Leyla didn't mind his behavior. Yes, his manner was arrogant and his tone grating, but he, at least, made it very clear where he stood with respect to his peers and his inferiors, and Leyla couldn't help but appreciate the honesty.

~*~*~

"… but as much as no one here wants to see the dork in a leotard, you have to admit that the undersuit option would be a lot better if we're gonna have to wear it every damn day," Lord ir'Lemaître explained. "Plus, who could resist a whole set of silk underwear, right?"

The great debate, as it turned out, was about the form factor that Lady ir'Hebert and Lord ir'McIntyre should use when crafting new suits of armor for their party. The regent wanted a set that he could wear under his normal clothing, largely on the grounds that he was used to that arrangement already and was unwilling to put up with even the slightest discomfort.

Lord ir'McIntyre insisted that protection should be prioritized over comfort (likely due his being accustomed to the coverage provided by his half-plate armor) and so preferred the idea of armor that appeared to be normal clothing and used the extra volume to add additional layers of plating and padding.

Lord ir'Stansfield disagreed with both of them, saying that while he liked the protection of the champion's proposal he also liked the discretion provided by the regent's proposal, as that would allow them to wear a wider variety of outfits to suit different cases while they worked with Inquisitive Movanek, and so he suggested a compromise between the two extremes.

The vicereine also saw flaws in both proposals, feeling that the undersuit option would make the armor too difficult to keep clean while the clothing option would require too much effort and silk on her part. She favored a compromise, like the gallant, but her own proposed design was radically different than his.

Kol Korran give me patience, Leyla thought. She hadn't expected to find herself in the center of a four-way disagreement.

Thank Boldrei that Lord ir'Laborn didn't have any strong feelings on the matter, or the situation would have been even more impossible to resolve.

"So, now that you've heard all the proposals," prompted Lord ir'Stansfield, "what do you think?"

The Leyla of three years ago would have simply agreed with either the regent or the vicereine and left it at that, as supporting the highest-ranking House member involved in a given debate was nearly always the safest option, but she rejected that immediately. She was one of Baron d'Cannith's favored protégés, now, and he'd quickly made it clear that he preferred honesty and effectiveness to bowing and scraping.

She didn't know how any of them would react to her speaking against them, but she refused to let herself fall into old habits. If any of them held a grudge over her choice, so be it.

After pausing to consider the different options, something occurred to her. "Lord ir'McIntyre, I take it from your earlier question that while you have some expertise in constructing armor you lack any ability to enchant armor. Is that right?"

"Yes…?" he agreed, sounding like he was reluctant to admit the gap in his education.

"Then there may be a way to address all of your concerns at once." And avoid my having to make a controversial choice.

"How's that?" Lord ir'Laborn asked.

"To summarize, an underlayer of armor would be hard to clean and insufficiently protective, a normal suit of armor would make it difficult to blend in and be uncomfortable to wear for long durations, and multiple suits of armor would be too costly to craft and keep repaired, yes?"

They all nodded.

"What if you were to craft a single suit of armor mostly resembling normal clothing for each of you, and then I had them imbued with enchantments of comfort, self-cleaning, self-repair, and minor cosmetic alteration?"

Silence.

Then, a light thwack as Lord ir'McIntyre's forehead met his palm. "Magic clothes. Of course they have magic clothes."

… Their world lacked enchanted clothing? What did the wealthy wear, in that case?

"I would have guessed that 'magic armor' was better at being, y'know, armor," Lord ir'Laborn opined, sounding somewhat confused.

Leyla looked at him oddly. "Well, yes, I could add defensive enchantments to your armor as well. So long as you harmonize them properly, there's no reason the two sorts couldn't coexist."

"That sounds perfect," Lord ir'Stansfield said, clearly pleased that a compromise had been reached. "Best of all worlds."

Leyla allowed herself the smallest of smiles. "I aim to please."

~*~*~

First Afternoon Bell, Wir the 4 th of Sypheros

Cannith Forgehold Meeting Room

"… which brings us to Journeyman Cerik," Leyla said flatly. "Would you care to explain why the Watch's order of lightning arrows is now running a full week behind schedule?"

The journeyman in question shifted in his seat. The other magewrights seated around the table were divided, some looking sympathetic, some looking like they were enjoying his discomfort.

"It's the cuprilated iron for the arrowheads," he said. "We ship it in from Aundair, you see, so-"

"Journeyman Cerik. I may not be the Minister of Resources, but I am well aware of whence our materials are sourced, as well as the shortages Aundair is currently experiencing."

Purportedly experiencing, anyway. The prices for thunderstones and quickspark from Aundair hadn't gone up, and they required many of the same alchemical reagents used to cuprilate iron, so Leyla suspected that some of the larger merchants were trying to induce some artificial scarcity in order to line their own pockets.

Not that she could see why; shocking and stunning weapons were hardly in high demand outside of civic law enforcement, so there wasn't much of a market to manipulate in the first place.

"The question," Leyla continued, "is why you have waited so long to bring your lack of materials to your superiors. This could easily have been addressed days ago, if not for your negligence."

The man mumbled something, too low to hear.

"Repeat yourself, Journeyman Cerik. Audibly, this time."

"I said I thought you would handle it," he repeated, his tone defiant but his eyes not quite meeting hers. His left hand reached up to rub at the Mark of Making on the side of his neck, a nervous tic she'd noted on previous occasions where they'd clashed over some minor matter of procedure.

She stared at him patiently for a few heartbeats, letting the moment draw out. A few of the other magewrights bore a guilty expression; they'd clearly noticed the gesture and what it implied, and had likely heard the rumors from certain quarters about a certain Assistant Minister who was said to have been "promoted above her proper station."

"Journeyman Cerik," she said eventually. "I'm sure you didn't meant to imply that your time is more valuable than mine, just because you bear a greater 'mark and I merely bear a least 'mark."

"No."

"No what?"

"No, Assistant Minister."

"I'm glad. Your reason, therefore, to wait until this meeting to raise the issue instead of speaking with an Assistant Minister of Resources or your section leader would be…?"

"I have no excuse, Assistant Minister."

"That is correct." Leyla turned to another magewright, one who consistently met his quotas in less than the allotted time. "Journeyman Verem."

The man straightened to attention. "Yes, Assistant Minister?"

"You will be taking over this Watch order from Journeyman Cerik, and will handle all bulk weaponry orders from the Watch in future. Additionally, I have a special project coming up that you'll be assigned as well, so read up on the latest glamerweave enchantment schemata before next week's meeting."

"Yes, Assistant Minister."

Cerik leaped up from his seat. "That's not fair!" He pointed across the table at Verem. "He doesn't even-!"

"Doesn't even bear a 'mark?" Leyla cut him off. It was true; Verem was among the handful of magewrights in the room who lacked a dragonmark. "That hardly matters, as I believe you've adequately demonstrated that possessing a 'mark is no guarantee of competence. Now, sit down, Journeyman Cerik."

The man dropped into his seat, silently fuming.

Leyla sighed internally. Cerik was a fairly recent transfer from the main Fabricators Guild branch in the city, where the ability of his greater 'mark to fabricate entire skyskiff hulls or lift platforms in moments likely meant he'd rarely had to push himself or carefully manage his time; he hadn't yet internalized the fact that enchantment of the sort they did here required more precision than power, and that Baron d'Cannith had much higher standards for Forgehold magewrights.

Ah, well. If the journeyman disliked her even more for shifting his projects to Verem, so be it. She could deal with a little resentment from an overly-entitled subordinate as long as it freed her up from chasing down production issues to let her spend that time with the foreigners instead and keep herself in Baron d'Cannith's good graces.

~*~*~

Half Past Eleventh Morning Bell, Zor the 5 th of Sypheros

Tradefair Workshop

"Each month is named for the moon that brightens during that month," she explained, gesturing to the rough diagram she'd drawn on the chalkboard. Inquisitive Movanek had found some basic textbooks for the foreigners' use, but as they couldn't read Common she was playing instructor for a few days until a solution could be found that didn't involve simply giving away thousands of galifars' worth of language comprehension items.

"And they're exactly twenty-eight days long?" asked Lord ir'Stansfield, scribbling some notes on his paper.

"Yes. You find that odd?"

"Back home, the moon's orbit doesn't line up nicely like that. It's twenty-nine days and change."

Just one moon? Leyla thought. She'd already heard that their home lacked a Ring of Siberys, but to find that it lacked the other moons as well… Their people must have had such a terrible time before they developed magical lighting, wandering around in near-pitch blackness and being easy prey for any monster that happened to come along.

"That seems like an awfully big coincidence," he continued. "Do you know why it works out that way?"

Leyla shrugged. "I'm no theologian. If you want to hear some theories on why the Progenitors created things as they did, you'd need to speak with a priest."

Lady ir'Hebert exchanged an odd glance with Lord ir'Laborn at her response, and she wasn't sure why. Surely their priests provided essentially the same-

Oh, of course. Obviously they wouldn't be Vassals; coming from a different world, they would have been entirely ignorant of the Sovereign Host before their arrival, and their own gods would have their own practices that might prohibit them from setting foot in the temple of another faith or consulting with its priests.

She dearly hoped that her suggestion hadn't run afoul of such a religious taboo; if she had, asking whether she had done so would only make things worse.

Fortunately, they seemed as eager to get past the awkward moment as she was. "So, uh, Creilath said you could explain magic?" Lord ir'McIntyre said.

"I'm no professor, either," she hedged. "If you're hoping for an explanation of Siberyan theory-"

"Nothing like that," he quickly assured her. "Just, you know, what 'circles' of spells are, how you can run out of them…."

"Ah." A strange request; they were all adults, and of noble birth, so one would have expected them to have learned the basics of magic either in school or from a tutor.

Though Baron d'Cannith had mentioned something about how their world was somehow unusual, magically speaking, so perhaps things were different enough that they needed a primer on the workings of magic on Eberron.

"That, I can do. Though I must warn you that my knowledge leans more practical than theoretical; I'm a magewright, not a wizard."

"What's the difference?" Lady ir'Hebert asked.

… Where to even begin?

Leyla ventured a meandering explanation about differing education levels, emphases on different fields of magic, and similar, but she hadn't gotten very far along when Lord ir'Laborn held up a hand to interrupt her.

"So what I'm hearing," he suggested with an amused smile, "is that wizards are magic scientists, artificers are magic engineers, magewrights are magic… electricians, I guess, and you're basically giving us the equivalent of 'don't call me sir, I actually work for a living'?"

She froze.

Baron d'Cannith had told her that Lord ir'Laborn was something resembling a court wizard in his home nation, but after spending several days in his company and never seeing him cast a single spell, it had completely slipped her mind.

Ohhh, son of a daelkyr! she swore. You've really stepped off a tower this time.

Leyla hate being off-balance like this. For her entire career, she'd had to be acutely aware of where she stood in relation to everyone around her at all times, and she'd actually become fairly skilled at playing politics among the other heirs, but with these thrice-damned foreigners-!

She was working with them, and to a certain degree alongside Inquisitive Movanek, but for Baron d'Cannith, with none of the usual Cannith contracts or social frameworks to fall back on when potential conflicts between those priorities arose. The foreigners were their peoples' equivalent of Brelish peers, but acted more like the ministers of a Dragonmarked House, and spoke more like commoners.

Ambiguity. It all came down to ambiguity, and uncertainty, and things not fitting into their proper places.

As someone who held both the meager official authority of an Assistant Minister of Production relatively far down the hierarchy and also the considerable unofficial authority of one of a handful of individuals who reported directly to the Baron himself, Leyla was forced to compartmentalize many things in her life, and so she very much did not like things that did not fit into their tidy little boxes-not in her ministerial work, not in her enchanting, and certainly not on this Six-be-cursed assignment.

"My apologies, Milord," she said quietly, carefully averting her gaze, "I did not in any way mean to imply that a spellcaster of your rank-"

"Hey, it's fine," Lord ir'Laborn interrupted. "I wasn't offended; it's just an old joke back home."

A joke.

She took a small calming breath.

A joke it might be, but had she implied to any other noble of rank that her profession was more valuable than theirs or that their own obligations were somehow lesser than hers, it would not have been a laughing matter.

"You know, I actually had a couple more questions about the moons. Eberron's astronomy is really interesting," Lord ir'Stansfield cut in. "What say we table the magic stuff until we can read some textbooks? I'm sure that would make things much easier to explain."

Leyla nodded appreciatively. Of the three petty nobles among the foreigners, Lord ir'Stansfield was clearly the most thoroughly trained in the courtly graces and interactions across social classes. Like the regent, he knew his place and he kept to it, a fact for which Leyla was currently quite thankful.

"An excellent suggestion, milord. What questions did you have in mind?"

~*~*~

Fourth Afternoon Bell, Zor the 5 th of Sypheros

Merrix d'Cannith's Personal Workroom

Baron d'Cannith didn't glance up from his work when Leyla rapped politely on his open door.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

The head of Cannith South said nothing for a few moments as he carefully finished carving tiny slivers of crystal from the edges of a large Khyber dragonshard held in the clamps before him.

Then he brushed the slivers away, set down his tools, slid his chair back from his workbench, and nodded to acknowledge her. "I did. You've spent almost two weeks dealing with the foreigners, and I wanted to hear your impressions of them."

"Yes, sir."

Normally giving a report wouldn't have required Leyla to trek to the depths of the Forgehold to meet with him in person; she could simply send written reports to him via the pneumatic network hidden within the walls of the complex, an ingenious invention that leveraged Sharn's manifest zone to manipulate air magic in ways that would be impossible elsewhere, much like the city's ubiquitous flying vehicles.

The tubes were already used to route small amounts of materials around the facility for projects that didn't merit dedicated storerooms, so using the system to deliver written messages was easier (and cheaper) than collaborating with House Sivis to develop a private sending stone network or similar.

With the foreigners' prototype portal device being an off-the-ledger project, however, neither of them wished to trust their discussions on the matter to paper and ink.

"On a personal level," Leyla began, "we have been getting along well enough. Though there is a clear divide within the group between the regent's faction and the vicereine's, they do put aside any serious disagreements during my visits. Further…."

She went on to give all of the details she considered noteworthy, placing particular emphasis on their oddly disjoint knowledge base, where one moment they exhibited a grasp of a certain subject that far exceeded her own and the next they seemed ignorant of the most basic facts.

"… though how much of that derives from the differences between their world and ours, and how much from peculiarities in their training, I couldn't say, sir," she concluded.

"I see." Baron d'Cannith had begun fiddling with a small aeromantic inverter on his workbench while he listened to her report. He took no notes, but then he rarely needed to. "Other than their unusual education, would you say that you've noticed anything about them that was out of the ordinary, something that you wouldn't expect from a generic group of five young human nobles of varied rank?"

She thought carefully. Aside from four of the five appearing somewhat unhealthily pale even for pampered nobles who rarely saw the sun, nothing came to mind, and Merrix wouldn't care about something so trivial as their physical appearance. "No. Did you have something specific in mind, sir?"

He gave her a measured look. "There is a reason I requested your personal attention on this matter, Leyla. Of all my current apprentices, you have always been the most perceptive and detail-oriented."

"Thank you, sir."

While she appreciated the compliment, the non-answer concerned her. Baron d'Cannith had never before withheld information regarding a project he had assigned her, so if he was playing his plaques close to the vest in this case it implied that he was worried about something.

And anything that worried the legendary Merrix d'Cannith should definitely worry her as well.

"If the situation changes, I expect to be notified immediately," he said, moving to return to his earlier work. "That will be all."

~*~*~

Ninth Morning Bell, Far the 6 th of Sypheros

Tradefair Workshop

Leyla crouched down to peer at the spiders marching in lockstep along their looms. "I must say, milady, your weaving technique is superb. A few more days and you'll be nearly a match for the lower-end clothiers in the city, and I imagine in a few weeks you could compete with the Clebdechers or the Davandis on even terms."

The vicereine hunched her shoulders and mumbled, "Thanks. I've been practicing."

Lady ir'Hebert clearly wasn't very comfortable receiving compliments on her weaving-and who could blame her? Domestic pursuits were widely deemed improper for ladies of such lofty rank, so she was likely accustomed to hiding her interests from her family and being shamed if her silk products were discovered.

Coming from House Cannith, however, where those of the highest ranks were expected to pursue a practical craft (and, indeed, excel at them far beyond their subordinates), Leyla wasn't so close-minded, and could appreciate what the vicereine had achieved on its own merits.

"Who taught you, if you don't mind saying?"

"No one," the vicereine said. "I don't know anyone who does any weaving, so I had to read up on it myself."

Leyla's brow furrowed. "You don't have any servants who weave your clothes?"

"No, they're all made by machines."

Leyla waved a hand in a Well, yes, obviously gesture. "But you must have someone to operate the machines, no?"

"No…?" Lady ir'Hebert seemed to flounder for a moment, then looked over at Lord ir'McIntyre's workspace. "Hey, Chris? You have a minute?"

The young lord looked up from his work and blinked a few times. "Uh, yeah, what's up?"

"Does your phone have any articles on textile manufacturing?"

~*~*~

Leyla slumped back into her chair in disbelief.

The vicereine's people had looms that operated themselves!

Well, no, that wasn't the surprising part; Cannith East had first perfected the design for a partially-animated loom a few decades ago, when there had been a shortage of weavers due to the War, and these days any artisan who wanted one of Cannith South's prototype fully-animated looms could get one if they were willing to pay several hundred thousand galifars for the privilege. The idea of an autonomous loom wasn't all that novel on its own.

The part that shocked her was the fact that those devices were so ubiquitous that they had displaced artisan-operated clockwork looms entirely.

"What I still don't understand," she said, "is how you calibrate the looms to accept pattern designs."

"What do you mean?" asked the vicereine

"Well, it would clearly be a waste of resources to make the looms fully sapient, and you wouldn't want to risk the looms growing bored after weaving the same pattern repeatedly, but a loom that strictly obeyed an artisan's commands at each step of the process would be far too limited and labor intensive," she explained. "How did your people determine the appropriate middle ground?"

"Wait. Wait wait wait," asked the champion. "You have artificially intelligent looms!?"

"Yes? They-" The magewright's eyes widened. "You've developed looms that weave on their own without intelligence? How?"

"How are we doing that? You're kidding, right? How are you just sticking AIs on things like it's no big deal?"

"An enchanted device that does anything more complex than responding to an external stimulus requires a mind, no matter how rudimentary! Without that, how would it function?"

"Uh, I dunno, you program it?"

"'Program' it?"

"You have flying ships where the pilot basically steers a huge rocket engine in three dimensions with a wheel! That's gotta be crazy complicated!" Lord ir'McIntyre cried, throwing up his arms in frustration. "How could you not know what programming is?"

"Oh my god. Jacquard looms!" Lady ir'Hebert interjected.

The other two gave her an uncomprehending look.

The vicereine's face bore an eager smile. "Chris, think! I read up on the history of weaving when I was figuring out the best way to make my costume by hand, and it turned out the people who invented programming did it so they could weave cloth in complicated patterns. Punch cards and stuff, right?"

"Right…?"

"So what if they had a way to make smart looms as soon as they needed them, so they never had to invent programming?"

The champion stared at the vicereine, awestruck. "They'd just skip past normal computers completely and right to AI everything. Holy crap."

He frowned. "But wait, there's lots of other ways they could come up with that; skipping the loom shouldn't make them just never invent computers. Like, how do you actually make artificial intelligences here? That's one thing nobody back home has ever really figured out."

Leyla frowned as well. "I wouldn't say we've 'figured it out' either. The creation of intelligent items is still the province of a rare few exceptionally talented artificers."

"What about warforged?" asked the vicereine.

Leyla put on her best gambler's face. "Those are… a unique case." Even within House Cannith, it was a closely-guarded secret that warforged hadn't actually been invented solely by Baron d'Cannith's father, but instead had… borrowed the key aspects of their design, the portions that led to them unexpectedly developing sapience, from elsewhere.

She certainly wasn't going to be the one to let the hawk out of the mews to a group of outsiders who might spread the story Aureon-knows-where.

"As well," she added, "further research into that area has been forbidden since the War."

"Okay, sure, but in general, how do you make them?" Lord ir'McIntyre insisted.

Leyla sighed. "Keeping in mind that this is far outside of my own area of study…."

She proceeded to give an analogy to explain how constructing a mind was much like balancing an artistic assemblage of random parts and scrap atop one of Sharn's highest towers. In either case, one had to very carefully assemble all of the components such that they reached a perfectly stable equilibrium, and not only could finding that balance be exceptionally difficult, but changing any one piece would lead to a completely different point of stability.

"So you can't really do a bottom-up Lego thing, can you?" Lord ir'McIntyre mumbled to himself as he scribbled some notes for later. "It's top-down, all-or-nothing, so you don't really get the idea to do things iteratively. You just…."

"Skip right from 'normal' magic things to that, with nothing really in between, like you said," Lady ir'Hebert concluded.

"Huh." He turned to Leyla, a thoughtful look on his face. "So, if I built a loom that could weave on its own with pattern cards instead of an AI, how much do you think that would sell for?"

"Very little, I would guess," she replied, ignoring the lord's crestfallen look for the moment. "It sounds as though such a device would be much more complicated than a normal animated loom, for very little gain to the average weaver."

She held up a finger and smiled shrewdly. "However," she added, visions of finder's fees and glowing performance reports dancing through her mind, "if I were to assist you in selling the designs for such a device to the Fabricators Guild…."

~*~*~

Quarter Past Seventh Morning Bell, Sul the 8 th of Sypheros

Outside the Tradefair Workshop

Leyla encountered an unusual sight on her way to the foreigners' workspace: the vicereine and the knights, leaving the building loaded down with all manner of luggage.

The lady had several long rolls of parchment under one arm and a large lockbox under the other, while Lord ir'Stansfield and Lord ir'Laborn were carefully balancing the center of a long table loaded down with boxes atop Lord ir'McIntyre's personal airskiff to help lighten the load. Once it was in place, the gallant and the champion carefully tested its balance, and found it satisfactory.

"Thanks, Brian, that's perfect," the former said. "Chris, you got the other end?"

"Yep."

With that, the trio strode off on what looked like their first trip to the market to sell their silks, leaving Lord ir'Laborn behind, who stood on the threshold with his hands on his hips to watch them go.

Which she appreciated, as she was there to fetch Lord ir'Laborn to meet with Baron d'Cannith and she would hate to leave the others shorthanded if they'd planned for his assistance at their market stall.

She was nearly close enough to be able to call out for him without unduly raising her voice when the foreigners' little caravan turned a corner out of sight-and Lord ir'Laborn immediately twisted to the side and began pounding his fist on the doorframe in anger.

That was something she certainly hadn't expected to see.

While there was no one else near their building currently, his actions would cause a scene soon enough, so she picked up her pace. When she drew near she heard him muttering to himself:

"-you goddamn fucking-" punch "- useless piece of shit, just-" punch "-fucking carrying boxes around-" punch "-and even Alec's doing more to-"

Leyla quickly ducked into a convenient doorway and focused entirely on examining the downright fascinating design of the colored glass window set into the door.

There were things it was definitely better not to overhear.

Soon enough the man's anger was spent, and he returned inside. Leyla gave it to a count of forty before she left the alcove and continued on, knocking politely on the door to the foreigners' space.

Lord ir'Laborn opened it a moment later, wearing a disgruntled expression. Before he could say anything she smiled brightly and said, "Ah, Lord Brian! Wonderful, I was worried you might not yet have arrived from your hostel. Baron d'Cannith had hoped to call in your favor this morning, and I was sent to escort you."

She would normally have added If you have no other pressing engagements or similar, for the sake of politeness, but he probably wouldn't appreciate a reminder of his idleness.

He nodded slowly. "What kind of favor?"

"I don't know the precise details, but Baron d'Cannith is working on a project with House Phiarlan at the moment, and he felt that your unique expertise with shadow illusions would be helpful in overcoming an obstacle he has recently encountered."

The lord straightened, almost unnoticeably. "Sounds good. After you."

~*~*~

Nine hours later, when Lord ir'Laborn and Leyla returned to the workspace, the door was opened before they could even knock.

"Welcome back," Lord ir'Stansfield said, ushering them inside. "Where were you guys?"

"Down at the Forgehold, working on some stuff," Lord Brian replied, eliciting an "Aw, lucky!" from Lord ir'McIntyre.

Lord ir'Stansfield looked intrigued. "I didn't know you did anything craft-y."

Lord ir'Laborn shook his head, annoyed. "I don't. Just working off my favor."

"Ah." The gallant's gaze flicked between Leyla and his companion. "And how did that-"

"It was fine. Long day, though. Mind grabbing me some water?"

"Sure."

While Lord ir'Stansfield went to do that, Leyla reached into her toolbag and pulled out a small wooden box, which she placed very gently on the table. "I have good news," she said to the group at large. "I was able to requisition some lenses of translation for you to borrow, though not keep, I'm afraid. Position a lens over one of Inquisitive Movanek's primers and you'll be able to read the Common script through it."

"Ooh, yes please," said Lord ir'McIntyre. He hustled over to the table, carefully lifted one of the small lenses out of the box, and went to fetch a textbook from the small crate on the other side of the room.

The foreigners' dog, napping just beside the crate, perked up as the young lord rummaged through a stack of books, then yawned and returned to his doze as Lord ir'McIntyre withdrew his prize: a battered copy of The Complete Enchanter: A Comprehensive Guide to Arcane Theory for All Skill Levels.

"We've got some good news too," Lord ir'Stansfield said when he returned with water for Lord ir'Laborn and Leyla. "Taylor's silk clothes sold like hotcakes!" He reached out and tapped a bulging leather pouch on the table, which jingled cheerily. "Almost ninety galifars for, what, sixteen pieces?"

"Eighteen," the vicereine corrected.

Ninety galifars?

Leyla did some quick figures in her head. Ninety was definitely on the low side for the quantity of silks she'd seen them carrying to market.

"And keep in mind," the gallant quickly added, "that's for basic patterns with only the darker matte dyes. Chris and Taylor are still working on the more trendy cuts and colors. We could easily get over a hundred for tomorrow's batch if they can get the yellow dye to set correctly."

Ah, in that case… "Quite impressive, for a first-time merchant," she told him.

"Yeah, great job, you guys," Lord ir'Laborn agreed.

The vicereine and her gallant graciously accepted the congratulations. Lord ir'McIntyre didn't respond, as he was busy exchanging The Complete Enchanter for a different (and noticeably thinner) text, Introductory Magecraft.

Lord ir'Lemaître looked up from his sketchbook, which contained (as far as Leyla could tell) a smattering of random doodles rather than anything related to either the vicereine's weaving or the group's armor project. "So, one more day of that and our rooms and food are covered for the whole time, right?"

"Why do you care when we'll have enough money?" Lord ir'McIntyre asked. "It's not like you're doing anything to earn any of it."

"Because I'm bored, duh," the regent said, "and the sooner we pay that off the sooner we can start buying fun stuff."

"If you want us to get money faster, it is possible to weave rope by hand, you know. I'm sure Taylor could spot you some silk."

Lord ir'Lemaître gasped dramatically. "And ruin my poor, delicate hands? I'll pass. You monster."

Leyla winced. That particular word was a sore spot for many of Sharn's inhabitants, shifters and goblins especially. While modern Brelish society was largely enlightened and accepting of all races, some prejudice still lingered here and there, and shifters still remembered the terror of the Silver Crusade.

She debated whether it would be worth attempting to gently correct the regent and potentially antagonize him.

Yes, she decided. She should say something before she left. If he was flung off a bridge one day for calling an ogre or a warforged an offensive term, Baron d'Cannith would probably be quite cross with her.

(On the other side of the workspace, an increasingly-frustrated Lord ir'McIntyre tromped over to the stack of books once more, tossing his previous book onto the stack and retrieving Magewrights and Magical Lights: A Basic Children's Primer instead.)

"Regardless, even once the hotel is paid for, that's not the end of things," Lord ir'Stansfield told the rest of them. "On top of the armor materials, we have to pay Terik back for everything, remember?"

Going by the irritated groans that arose from the group, they had not, in fact, remembered.

~*~*~

Fourth Morning Bell, Mol the 9 th of Sypheros

Leyla's Residence

"Good morning, Leyla," her husband said as she shambled into the dining room.

She offered him a drowsy smile. The scent of his delectable cooking and the usual steaming mug of kerrli waiting at her place at the table were the only reason she dragged herself out of bed, some days.

Haldan Vown d'Cannith, her consort of nearly twelve years, worked the night shift in the Cannith South weapons research division, so he habitually fixed breakfast for her when he returned home while she cooked a small supper for him at the end of her own day. Other than their brief conversations at either meal, they rarely saw each other.

Some might have begrudged that arrangement, but neither of them minded overmuch. Their marriage was an arranged one, quite profitable for both of their family lines, and while they got on tolerably well (more so than many couples in their position) they were both more fond of their respective careers than they were of each other.

"Good morning, Haldan," she returned as she slid into her seat and began to attack the omelet he had placed before her. "Anything interesting in the Chronicle today?"

He offered a one-shoulder shrug. "There's more Reformist claptrap coming out of Parliament, and there have been some out-of-season manticore attacks on the northern rail lines. And of course Aundair has been rattling their spears at the Reaches again."

"When aren't they?" Leyla sighed. When the Treaty of Thronehold had formalized the Eldeen Reaches' independence from Aundair, most of the nation hadn't taken it very well, and a vocal segment of the Aundairian government believed that Eldeen should fly the banner of Aundair once more, at swordpoint if necessary.

"On days beginning with 'r'," Haldan joked, then grew serious. "The expansionists in Aurala's court are looking to be a bit more serious this time. Just between us, Boranel is worried that some overly-enthusiastic 'border skirmishes' might break out into a full-blown conflict in the next few weeks; he's asked Merrix for some support, so my division is putting a few projects on hold to start enchanting lightningward clasps in bulk, which we can then send to the Eldeen outside of the usual channels."

"That would seem to be a rather specific reaction to that sort of aggression," she noted.

"Shocklances are the standard sidearm of dragonhawk cavalry, so that was deemed to be the most cost-effective response."

Aundairian shocklances. Leyla frowned. Why is that tolling a bell?

She picked at her breakfast for a little while before a recent conversation bubbled up in her memory.

"Haldan, dear," she began, putting down her fork, "do you know the active components for the West shocklance schema, offhand?"

Each of the three Cannith branches had their own formulas for magical and alchemical items, which they guarded jealously; each schema had its own strengths and weaknesses, and the House heads refused to share lest their rivals gain an economic advantage from the trade.

(In Leyla's professional opinion, the key difference between Cannith South and Cannith West schemata was that Jorlanna's bunch prioritized profit over craftspersonship and they wouldn't know an elegant focusing diagram if it slapped them across the face.)

Haldan considered the question. As a weapons researcher, Haldan kept up to date with weapon enchantment schemata from every nation and all three House branches, aided greatly by Baron d'Cannith's and King Boranel's spy networks. "Unless they've made some changes recently, they use cuprite, powdered sapphire, and rabbit fur."

"Could cuprilated iron be substituted for cuprite in the process, do you think?"

Her husband sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in thought. "I suppose it could, with a few adjustments. The iron would give you a better energy density, but it would be much more volatile and so you'd want to add a mabarized silver casing around the core to deal with any sparkback. Why?"

"Because my division sources cuprilated iron from Aundair, and their merchants claim to be having a shortage at the moment that isn't reflected in the rest of the market."

The couple stared at each other across the table.

"Well," Haldan said at last. "Boranel will want to know that the Eyes might've caught his Lanterns snooping on their cuprite mines and established some alternative supply lines. You have a discreet way to inform Merrix?"

"We have a meeting this afternoon. I'll pass it along."

~*~*~

First Afternoon Bell, Wir the 11 th of Sypheros

Tradefair Workshop

"… so if you have a basic if-then construct, you can use what's called a 'for loop' to get it to execute multiple times," Lord ir'McIntyre explained as his chalk squeaked across the chalkboard.

The basic concepts of "programming" lined up with the kind of logic used in the simplest enchantments, so the young lord was now walking Leyla through some slightly more complex concepts while the other knights were off fetching lunch for the group, which she was then summarizing in terms that other magewrights would be able to quickly grasp.

"If you want it to just keep doing the thing until you tell it to stop, there's this… uh…."

Leyla looked up from her notes to find that all of Lord ir'McIntyre's attention was focused on something behind her. Turning, she saw that Lady ir'Hebert had just walked into the room, and her appearance had changed noticeably.

The commoners' lenses she had been wearing were gone, replaced with a rather flattering set of spectacles that complimented her eyes and completely changed the contours of her face. Her hair, meanwhile, which she'd been wearing in a mare's tail to avoid it getting caught in her old eyewear, was now worn loose and swayed gently as she moved.

For the first time since Leyla had met her, the vicereine finally looked like a proper noblewoman.

The young champion clearly appreciated the vicereine's new look. Perhaps too much so; this wasn't the first time that Leyla had noticed hints of feelings improper for one of his station.

"Those, uh… the new glasses look a lot better than the old ones," he assayed.

"I know, right?" she replied as she pulled out her notebook and sank into her usual chair. "We finally had enough spare cash for me to buy a pair that don't make my nose feel like it wants to fall off by the end of the day. Plus, they have the translation spell built in, so I don't need those other lenses anymore."

And then she proceeded to start writing in her notebook and ignore him.

Lord ir'McIntyre hesitated, biting his lip in indecision, then said, "Man, I wish I could get some of those. The lenses are a real pain."

From his spot on the other side of the room, where he'd turned the group's stacks of supplies into an improvised cot, Lord ir'Lemaître raised an eyebrow, looked at the champion, then looked at Leyla, as if to say You're hearing this too, right?

"Why can't you?" the vicereine asked, not looking up.

"Well, all my money's going into supplies and tools. Like this one!" Lord ir'McIntyre grabbed a small device with a hollow metal tube on one end off his workbench, then tapped a raised portion on the side. A tiny blue flame guttered to life within the tube and extended a few inches from it, very similar to the Firefinger cantrip Leyla had demonstrated for the group the other day.

This time the vicereine looked up, and she gave the tool a skeptical look. "Is that supposed to be a welding torch?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't look like much of one," the regent opined.

"It's the best I can do without any propane or aluminum, okay?"

Leyla cleared her throat politely, and he started, as if he'd forgotten her presence. "If you need a ready source of heat, the Fabricators Guild-"

"This one works fine. I don't need your pity torch."

She ducked her head. "My apologies, Lord ir'McIntyre."

"Just Chris. Please."

"Milord?" She looked up at him, repressing a touch of anxiety. Names were always a point of conflict when cultures interacted, one which she thought had long since been addressed in this case. "Have I perhaps been mispronouncing your family name, or…?"

"No, you're fine, it's just…" He sighed. "We'd all like it better if you just called us by our first names."

Host above, Leyla thought. Bad enough that they flung decorum to the eight winds among themselves, but to ask her to discard a lifetime of habit and treat them as… what, as fellow Cannith heirs of equal rank? As casual acquaintances?

"You sure about that, dork?" the regent called.

"No, he's right," the vicereine agreed. "We appreciate the formality, really, but, uh…."

She seemed to be grasping around for an explanation for her request, with little success.

Lord ir'Lemaître heaved an exaggerated sigh and levered himself up from his place of rest. "Okay, look, Leyla, what Lady and the Dork here aren't willing to say is that… we all deeply miss our families."

The vicereine looked shocked that the regent would so brazenly reveal their private emotions to a social inferior, but she said nothing as he stood and ambled over to the table. "Every time you mention our family names," he continued, "it just makes us feel… a certain way, you know?" He looked away, and his voice grew thick with repressed emotion. "Sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about how I might never see my father or my siblings again, and I just… I just can't put into words how it makes me feel."

He met Leyla's gaze, unshed tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. "I don't want to be a Lemaître right now, I just want to be Alec, and I'm sure the others feel the same way. So, please, when it's just us…?"

Multiple things suddenly clicked into place for Leyla.

The foreigners' over-familiarity, as if to make up for the familial connections they currently lacked; Lord ir'McIntyre giving in to forbidden feelings towards his liege, to fulfill a need to be close to someone while fearing that Baron d'Cannith would be unable to find them a way home; Lady ir'Hebert pretending ignorance of his feelings, knowing that if they did find a way home then any dalliance they might have in Sharn could not last on the other side.

First names alone would be far too familiar, but if it would help them feel less estranged….

"I understand, Lord Alec," she said solemnly.

" Thank you," he said. Glancing between his two companions, who still seemed dumbstruck by his impromptu confession, he murmured, "I need to go get some air. Be right back."

~*~*~

Second Afternoon Bell, Zor the 12 th of Sypheros

Merrix d'Cannith's Personal Workroom

"How does it work, sir?" Leyla asked, examining the vaguely harpsichord-looking device with great interest.

"It's simple, really," Baron d'Cannith said. He indicated a small fragment of granite atop the device, sitting in a concave depression inscribed with a silver-inlaid heptagram. "That piece of stone was chipped from the walls of the guildhall in Wroat and shipped here in a lead-lined cask to prevent interaction with the environment and ensure that its signature was preserved." Stroking his goatee, he added, "A piece of extraplanar stone from Lamannia would provide a more closely analogous test case, but this isn't quite ready for that yet."

The artificer gestured to an assemblage of seven dragonshards bound together by delicate wires; six of them were Eberron dragonshards arranged at the points of an octahedron surrounding the seventh one, which was the largest Siberys shard Leyla had seen in person. Just the 'shards alone would cost her nearly half a year's salary, much less the rest of the components in the device.

"This is the planar interferometer. Have you read Elimar's text on Astral resonance harmonization?"

From any other high-ranking Cannith, such a question would assuredly be intended as a deliberate snub: a subtle reminder that she hadn't attended Morgrave University like so many others at the Forgehold and so lacked a "proper grounding" in arcane theory, and an insinuation that her education and skills were therefore lacking.

From Baron d'Cannith it was a legitimate question, because for an artificer with the breadth of interests he possessed, reading dense and opaque treatises on slicing-edge arcane research in one's spare time was a perfectly natural thing to do.

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"A shame; the chapters on planar boundary equilibrium are a real treat. Anyhow, in simple terms, the interferometer envelopes the target in a series of auras and uses the resulting readings to translate its signature into the coordinates of its place of origin-only spatial coordinates, for this test, but eventually planar coordinates as well. We adjust the controls like so…."

The Baron withdrew his scepter from its extradimensional pocket in his signet ring and inserted the hilt into a slot on the side of the device; he frequently built his prototypes to require his scepter as a necessary component, for reasons of security.

"And now, Traveler willing… !"

He yanked the scepter sideways, and there was a sound like parchment tearing as a tiny portal opened in the air for just long enough to suck the piece of granite through it.

A few moments later, he shoved the scepter in the opposite direction, the tiny portal blipped into existence once more, and the stone reappeared-fragmented into four pieces.

A human-usable portal was still a ways off, it seemed.

"Well, that went surprisingly well for a first attempt, Olladra be praised. Planar science has come a long way since the last time I tried anything like this." The scepter vanished back into storage and he reached out to gingerly tap one of the stone fragments. "Still warm, and… vibrating? Mmm. I wonder… maybe some mithral cladding, to bleed off the residual energy…."

Leyla suppressed a smile. Watching the Baron alone in his workroom engrossed in his latest project, one would never guess that he was one of the wealthiest and most influential men in Khorvaire with an absolutely packed schedule and dozens of serious enemies, and not a retired magewright puttering around in the town smithy without a care in the world.

He'd remarked on more than one occasion that he'd have been more than happy to hand over everything Cannith South owned to Jorlanna or Zorlan to let them deal with the drudgery of politics and bureaucracy while he retired to a quiet and well-stocked workspace for the rest of his life, had he not been certain that the rival in question would quickly ruin everything that made Cannith Cannith and destroy his family's legacy while they were at it.

"Sir," Leyla prompted. "What should I tell the foreigners about your progress?"

"Hmm? Ah. This first stage is coming along well enough that a lower bound of two months is still within reason."

"But is it likely, sir?"

"In all candor?" The Baron sighed. "No. Three months is much more plausible." He stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "To reach their world, this portal has to extend farther than Dal Quor, farther than Xoriat, farther than anything in existence has ever reached before. Wroat isn't even three hundred miles from here, so to see that much energy leakage when traversing such a comparatively short distance…."

"You say 'short distance' as if you haven't just exceeded in a few days what the Twelve have been attempting to accomplish for years, sir."

Any other artificer would have thrown themselves down on their knees and praised Onatar that they managed to create a portal at all, no matter how small and transient, not bemoaned the fact that their completely untested experimental device hadn't worked absolutely flawlessly on the first try.

Baron d'Cannith chuckled. "Ah, Leyla, flattery will get you everywhere, but this won't be putting Orien out of business any time soon." He sobered. "Tell the foreigners two and a half months. Optimistic, but still possible."

"And for the upper bound, is five months still a reasonable estimate?"

"Let's leave things at the lower bound for now."

"Yes, sir."

~*~*~

Tenth Morning Bell, Far the 13 th of Sypheros

Ashblack District Lift Array

They were most of the way to the Forgehold for Lord Brian's third appointment with Baron d'Cannith regarding the Phiarlan project when the young lord asked his question: "Leyla, I've been wondering… how did you get your powers?"

"Like any other person of my profession, I suppose, Lord Brian."

"And how was that?"

She thought back to her school days. "I didn't have much choice regarding my career; every Korell son or daughter has been strongly encouraged to become a magewright, going all the way back to before the War," she began. "In primary school I focused on the subjects I thought would be relevant, I passed the Cannith aptitude examinations in mathematics and the sciences with raised pennants, I moved to Sharn to attend an arcane college," I didn't have the money, or the family support, to continue on to university as I'd hoped, "and by the end of that time I had my dragonmark and my magewright apprenticeship."

"So it's true, what Creilath said about the priests? You can learn magic?" Lord Brian said, an odd intensity to his tone.

"Of course it is. Is that not possible on your world?"

"Not that I've ever heard of."

The conversation stalled as the lift reached a platform and they disembarked.

"How do you gain your arcane abilities, if not through study? That the four of you are sorcerers is reasonable, but I've never heard of a 'natural' artificer before, if that is in fact what Lord Chris is."

Lord Brian was quiet for several moments. "It's called a trigger event," he said grimly. "You go through one of the most awful, most stressful events of your life, and you come out the other side with powers."

"Something like the Test of Siberys, then?" Leyla suggested.

"What's that?"

"You don't-oh, of course, no dragonmarks, you wouldn't know. If someone is destined to manifest a 'mark," she explained, gesturing to her own, "it will manifest, sooner or later, but the Houses long ago discovered that placing someone in extreme duress could cause it to manifest sooner rather than later. Every heir is subjected to the Test to try to draw out their 'mark as soon as possible, to make them more productive members of the family."

Lord Brian stared at her, wide-eyed. "When you say 'subjected to'…?"

"My father pushed me off an airskiff when I was seventeen years old, far from any of the bridges and their feather falling enchantments, with nothing to hand but an old sail that was full of holes," she said frankly. "Had I manifested a Mark of Making, which I did, I could then repair the sail and use it to drift closer to a bridge, and thence to safety. If not…"

She shrugged. "They told me afterward that there was a skymage on hand to rescue me if I failed the Test, but at the time I was led to believe the options were either manifesting a 'mark or death."

"That's fucked up."

"It's normal, for a House scion. As I said, every member of a 'marked bloodline goes through it."

"Still. Doing that to your own kid, Jesus Christ…" he swore. Then his face creased with a pained smile. "Though I could definitely see my father doing the same thing, so I guess it's not that bad."

They continued along in a companionable silence until they reached the next lift.

"If someone wanted to learn magic," Lord Brian asked, "how long would that take?"

"The full term at the arcane college is six years-"

" Years?"

"-and wizards who go on to university can take as long as twelve, but if one eschewed any nonessential courses and focused on reaching the point of casting one's first spell as fast as possible, I'd say it could be done in… two years? Perhaps one and a half, with the right aptitude and a good background education."

Lord Brian shook his head in disbelief. "So much for that plan."

Leyla gave him a sidelong glance. "You were hoping to learn wizardry, or artifice? Do you feel your existing magic is insufficient?"

Having eavesdropped on his outburst the other day, she had a feeling she knew the answer to that question.

"Not exactly, I just…." He shook his head. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Of course, Lord Brian."

~*~*~

Sixth Evening Bell, Far the 13 th of Sypheros

Tradefair Workshop

"Oh my god." Lord Chris looked between his phone and one of his books in excitement. "I think I figured it out!"

"Figured out what, Lord Chris?" Leyla asked, pausing in her sketching of some arcane diagrams.

"The aluminum! Look at this."

He spun the book around so that it faced her, opened to a two-page spread of a world map. It depicted Khorvaire and Xen'drik in reasonable detail and the other continents in broader strokes, with some coloring and notations to indicate climate and ocean currents. Lady Taylor and Lord Alec, sitting nearby and working on their own projects, rose and came over to look at the map over her shoulder.

"Okay, so. You'd never heard of aluminum before, right?"

Leyla smiled patiently. "Yes, I believe we've established that."

"Right, sorry. What I'm getting at is-well, listen to this."

He picked up his phone and began reading off several paragraphs of text, which amounted to a declaration that a substance called "bauxite," from which his "aluminum" was derived, was found primarily in a wet tropical or subtropical climate under very specific climatic and geological conditions.

As he recited, he drew a horizontal line with his finger across the middle of the page, one that cut right through Aerenal to the east. "There's the equator, so according to the climate legend the tropics would be, uh… from here, roughly?" he said, running his finger along the very southern edge of Khorvaire. "Down to about here." He tapped a spot in the jungles of Xen'drik.

Lady Taylor leaned in curiously. "So you think they probably have aluminum here, they just haven't found it yet because they haven't gone looking in the right places?"

"Exactly! I mean, the impression we got in Zantashk was that there wasn't much mining going on in Xen'drik-" he glanced at Leyla for confirmation, "-right?"

She nodded vigorously. "Definitely not. Zantashk only exists because we know for sure that Siberys 'shards can be found there, and that fact was discovered via astronomical calculations and aerial observation from afar. No one with even as much sense as Aureon gave an owlbear would go tromping through the jungle on foot in the hopes of finding any new resources, no matter how lucrative they might turn out to be."

"I thought so." Lord Chris pointed at the strip of coastline running south of Sharn. "How likely is it that anyone would have discovered aluminum if it was around there?"

"Not very. The area near the mouth of the Dagger River is reserved for logging, fishing, and agriculture," Leyla explained. "The Dagger is Breland's largest inland river, and during the War keeping our people warm and fed took priority over any other exploitation of the region."

"What about this spot?" Lady Taylor asked, pointing to a comparatively barren region to Sharn's southeast.

"Around Yarkuun Draal? That's an ancient Dhakaani ruin; the entire area is cursed."

Lord Chris gave her a skeptical look. "When you say 'cursed'…?"

"There is a daelkyr in the ruins."

"What's a… dayl-keer?"

" Daelkyr are foul monstrosities utterly inimical to life. The daelkyr led an invasion of Eberron from the Plane of Madness several thousand years ago that filled the Shadow Marches with their twisted creations, dealt a deathblow to the Dhakaan Empire, and almost extinguished all life on Khorvaire. To trespass in its lair is to wish it had merely killed you," Leyla replied simply.

The foreigners took a moment to absorb that.

"Note to self," Lord Alec said, "don't go poking Cthulhu's cousin, got it."

Leyla almost chided him for speaking so flippantly of such a threat, but held her tongue. Surely he was speaking of a fictional character; surely he would not so casually utter the name of such a horror if there had ever actually been a tide of insane and inhumanoid monsters threatening to mutate or exterminate every living thing on his world.

Even he could not be so callous.

"Anyhow, over the border is the Shimmerwood Forest," Leyla continued, pointing to southern Zilargo. "The manifest zones to Thelanis and the heavy druidic presence mean that mining in that region is a non-option."

"So it might be there, but you'll probably never find out," Lady Taylor concluded.

"Exactly. Then Darguun… hmm. The goblinoids are extremely industrious and warlike; if they had discovered a heretofore-unknown metal with any military applications, we would certainly have learned of it by now. What are the properties of this metal, exactly?"

"Lightweight, corrosion-resistant, easily shaped and forged," Lord Chris rattled off. "Those are the big ones."

"Indeed?" Leyla gazed at the map in a new light, and her finger drifted eastward to rest on the south of Valenar. "The Valenar elves are an insular people; relations with the Five Nations are tense, and aside from a moderate House Lyrandar presence there any outsiders are largely shunned. The signature weapon of the Valenar elite is the double scimitar, a weapon with broad blades at both ends and a long hilt in the center."

She looked at Lord Chris and raised her eyebrows meaningfully. "It is notable for being surprisingly light for a weapon of its size and shape, and for holding up to wear and the elements so well that an elf can wield the same weapon for multiple centuries with very little effort spent on maintenance… and not only have Valenar smiths refused to share the secrets of its construction with outsiders, but House Cannith hasn't ever managed to precisely replicate one on its own."

The young lord grinned broadly. "You think they might have some aluminum there and figured out how to work with it?"

"I couldn't say, but I do know that the only metal that would come close to replicating the double scimitar's characteristics would be some kind of mithral alloy, and our fabricators' rather exhaustive testing has already ruled that out."

She offered him a respectful bow. "Whether or not your suspicion is true, this was an ingenious find, milord. Very cleverly done," she said, and Lord Chris beamed with pride.

"So do we get any more money for finding this out?" Lord Alec asked eagerly.

"Who's this 'we'?" Lord Chris asked, clearly affronted.

"I'm afraid not," Leyla said. "With all of the time and effort it would require to verify…" She shrugged. "It is a fascinating idea from a scientific standpoint, especially if you think there might be other substances that we have yet to discover for geographical or historical reasons, but I doubt it would have any practical applications any time soon."

~*~*~

Eighth Evening Bell, Far the 13 th of Sypheros

A Secluded Alley in the Cogs

"We really must stop meeting like this, Leyla," a voice rumbled in the bass tones of a male-template warforged.

The magewright lowered the hood of her cloak and turned to regard the person she was there to meet. "Obsidian. Hilarious as always."

He kept his own hood up; there was no disguising the fact that he was a warforged, but there were few enough psiforged in Khorvaire that it was prudent to conceal his more distinctive features. "How is Father doing these days?"

"You know him," Leyla replied airily, "always running more projects off-the-ledger than on it, and spending his free hours elbows-deep in projects few others in the city can even hope to understand."

"He agreed to aid the travelers in returning home, then?"

"You know of them?" she asked sharply. "How?"

Warforged couldn't roll their eyes, but shifting the brightness of his ocular crystals in the right pattern mimicked the effect well enough. "I was among the party who brought them back to Sharn and helped persuade them to speak with him in the first place."

"Of course. I should have guessed."

"You should have. Now, what does Father want?"

Leyla crossed her arms. "What he wants is for you to return to the Forgehold."

"You know I cannot do that."

"I know nothing of the sort. Whatever the source of this feud between the two of you, the Baron hasn't shared any details with me." She sighed. "What he is hiring you to do, then, is to take a quick jaunt into Valenar to confirm a theory. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Valenar? Hard to say." He tilted his head thoughtfully to the side, the delicate metal plates around his neck clicking softly like intricate clockwork as he did so.

Eventually he nodded. "I am not what anyone would call stealthy, or unobtrusive, but I do have an acquaintance who is exceptionally skilled with disguises." He leaned in. "Tell me more."

~*~*~

Half Past Second Afternoon Bell, Sul the 15 th of Sypheros

Tradefair Workshop

Leyla stood impatiently outside the foreigners' building. The young lords and lady had always been scrupulously punctual about their meeting times in the past, yet she had been here since second bell and they were nowhere to be seen.

If she'd known they were going to be late, she could have finished reviewing Journeywoman Wroanna's smithy overhaul proposal in one go instead of leaving the last sections for after supper.

None of her frustration showed on her face, of course. To any unseen observer, she was the perfect picture of a loyal Cannith employee. Baron d'Cannith wasn't the type to send agents to spy on his own subordinates-paranoia about betrayal was more Baron Zorlan's flaw-but one never knew who was watching, and gossip traveled faster than a Vadalis racehorse.

After a few more minutes of tedium, and polite nods to assorted Cannith employees scurrying through the block of worksheds on one errand or another, she heard some familiar voices approaching.

"-a sleeper hold! It's not as easy as the movies make it look!"

"Well, gee, Brian, I'm sorry I didn't have any other options once she knocked my scepter away!"

"That's why you should be training with us, like I keep telling you. Even Taylor could probably beat you one-on-one now-"

" Even me?"

"-and she's only been practicing for a few weeks."

"Nuh-uh. Sparring is just an excuse for you to beat up on me and get away with it. No thank you."

The foreigners finally rounded the corner, clearly in very rough shape. Their clothing was scuffed and torn, Lord Alec's scepter was slightly bent near the middle, Lord Brian was soaking wet, and one shoulder of Lord Chris's armor was emitting tiny arcs of lightning every few steps.

And yet, one wouldn't be able to tell from their expressions that they'd just come from a fight gone wrong. All of them were smiling-a victorious grin for Lord Chris, near-identical satisfied smiles for Lord Brian and Lord Dean, and smaller smiles for Lord Alec and Lady Taylor that had something of a vicious edge to them.

"I may only have been practicing a few weeks," said the vicereine, picking up the thread of their conversation, "but I handled the guy with the wands well enough, didn't I?"

"Because you got him right up to the edge of the platform and he decided to surrender instead of go over the railing," Lord Dean dryly remarked.

"And? That's a legitimate tactic," Lord Brian said.

"What if he actually had fallen?"

"They have those anti-falling spells on all the bridges, right?" Lady Taylor said dismissively. "He'd have been fine."

"Good afternoon, milords, milady," Leyla called, putting on a pleasant smile of her own to conceal her annoyance.

Lord Dean looked at her and winced. "Sorry we're late, Leyla. Today's case had us up against the Boromar Clan, and things went… not great, so it took us longer for Creilath to heal us up and debrief us than we expected."

"It's no trouble at all, milord. I see you're all in good spirits; the case went well otherwise?"

"Yep!" Lord Chris replied. "Assassins captured, targets saved, blackmail material destroyed. And honestly, getting beat up isn't so bad when you can get healed afterward and not go to bed all sore."

"Yeah, I could definitely get used to that," Lord Brian agreed.

Odd. As nobles, the foreigners should already be accustomed to having the best healers at their beck and call.

Unless…?

"Do your people not have healers?" she asked.

"There were two in our city, but neither one was the the type we could call up after every fight," Lord Dean explained.

… Two healers? In an entire city?

By the Host, their peoples' wars must have horrific casualties.

And for the nobility not to have priority access to those healers… "Why couldn't you do that?"

Lord Brian and Lord Dean exchanged a long look. "It's complicated."

"Then I won't pry. Shall we?"

Lord Brian retrieved the workshop key from his sodden pocket, opened the door, and ushered everyone inside. Lord Chris, Lady Taylor, and Leyla moved immediately toward the workbench, but Lord Alec stopped them: "Hey, Leyla, question for you."

"Yes, milord?"

"You guys are making fancy armor for everyone; any reason you couldn't make guns for everyone, too?" At the other lords' incredulous looks, he offered them an innocent shrug. "What? Tattletale carried a gun 'cause she was squishy as hell and too lazy to work out, and I'm squishy and lazy, so…."

Leyla had to think for a moment to recall what he was talking about. "You're referring to those 'gunpowder' weapons Lord Chris proposed constructing a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah."

She shook her head. "Absolutely not. They're far too dangerous to wield in public, as I said before. Especially since, by the sound of things, none of you have ever built such a weapon before, correct?"

"Right," Lord Chris said, not looking overly upset to be depriving Lord Alec of a firearm by his agreement.

"Well that's not fair," Lord Alec whined. "Everyone else can attack people from across a whole balcony, and I still have to get within scepter range?"

"Oh, if all you wanted was a ranged weapon you should have said so," Leyla told him. "There are plenty of weapon shops down by the Watch garrison and the Deneith enclave that sell a wide range of armaments. You could look for one that would be similar enough to a gun for your liking."

"What, like a crossbow?" Alec shook his head. "We've run into some people with crossbows, those things look heavy."

"There are smaller crossbows, with a lighter body and lower tension, suitable for…" someone who has clearly neglected his martial duty to his vassals and has never even lifted a military-issue weapon in his life "… someone of your more refined build. The repeating variety will even save you some…" whining "… effort when reloading."

"So, wait, why didn't we stop off and get everyone some repeating crossbows the moment we signed up with Creilath?"

"Did you have a spare three thousand galifars the moment you signed up with him?" Leyla asked innocently.

"… Guess that would do it. Is a crossbow like that something you guys could build and get all magicked up?"

Leyla scoffed. "Trivially so."

"Sweet." Lord Alec turned to Lord Chris with a pleading look. "So, Chris. Buddy. Pal. Could you possibly-"

"No."

~*~*~

Ninth Morning Bell, Zol the 17 th of Sypheros

Fabricators Guildhall

"You're sure that's him?" Inquisitive Movanek inquired, gesturing to the body with the end of his charcoal pencil.

Leyla swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes, Inquisitive. That is definitely Cerik Drask d'Cannith."

She had never gotten along especially well with Journeyman Cerik; Leyla would even go so far as to say that he was by far her least favorite subordinate in the Guild.

But none of his many flaws justified his final fate: being flayed alive and exsanguinated in the main storeroom of the Guildhall and impaled upon a spear that he himself had enchanted, his eyes removed and his jaw broken, for his former colleagues to stumble across the next morning.

Thank Boldrei the first shift had already removed the bloody scribblings across every barrel and crate and wall before she arrived, or she would assuredly have lost her composure and her breakfast in front of the inquisitive.

"Is there anything that can be done?" she asked him. Cerik hadn't been the type to save much of his salary, Leyla knew; he'd spent enough of it on clothing, women, and drink to make his habits obvious to most of his colleagues. "Perhaps if everyone on his floor took up a collection-"

"Save your coin," Inquisitive Movanek said, just slightly louder than normal. "He was a Flamite; he'd refuse resurrection."

She frowned. Cerik certainly was not; she'd seen the symbol of Arawai on the necklace he habitually wore. Why would-

The bystanders.

She glanced around at the employees attempting to discreetly listen in as they moved a day's worth of supplies out of the storeroom and away from the crime scene.

Cerik was second shift; the ones here wouldn't know his faith, wouldn't realize the excuse.

"Inquisitive, would you like to continue this discussion somewhere more private?"

The half-elf looked over at Urzat, received a nod from his bodyguard, and offered Leyla a nod of his own. "Of course."

~*~*~

A quick jaunt down the hall saw them ensconced in someone's office, away from prying eyes and ears.

"What is the real-?"

"The murderers used a Keeper's Fang."

Leyla gasped in shock, and she reflexively reached out to the doorframe for support. If anything could break her composure, it would be that.

A Keeper's Fang was a weapon consecrated to the Sovereign of Death and Decay. A person slain with one would have their soul snatched away from Dolurrh and trapped in the Keeper's clutches, dashing any hopes of resurrection or even a proper journey to the afterlife.

Most Vassals believed such weapons to be a myth, invented to sell novels and to terrorize children. For any faithful servant of the Host, the idea of even possessing such a weapon, much less using one and consigning the victim to eternal torment, would be an unimaginably heinous sin.

They were real, though. Baron d'Cannith had acquired one for study, once, as part of a highly clandestine joint effort with the Dark Lanterns to find a way to free the victims of such weapons. While he was experimenting with it one day Leyla had come almost close enough to touch it, but she refused to do so; merely standing too near it was spine-chilling enough.

She shook her head to clear the memories away, and as her calm reasserted itself she realized something. "How do you know they used one? I hadn't heard those weapons left a distinctive wound."

"They don't, but it fits the pattern."

"Pattern?"

The inquisitive nodded. "Your fallen journeyman is but the latest in a line of almost three dozen similar victims discovered over the past month and a half. All slain in different ways, but all left in the same condition and surrounded by the same imagery. The first victims' Houses all tried resurrection before even approaching me to take up the case, without success."

"His murderer has been running around Sharn for one and a half months?"

The half-elf spread his hands in a What can you do? gesture. "Investigations take time. Investigations concerning a killer or killer with the kinds of connections and resources needed to acquire the rarest and most illegal weapon on the continent take longer."

"Investigations have been taking much less time since you hired the foreigners, I hear. 'Months-long cases down to weeks, weeks-long cases down to days' is how I believe your bodyguard phrased it."

"They're not ready for this case yet."

"Why not?" Leyla demanded.

"Why are you suddenly so concerned about my casework?" he retorted. "Is it because Cannith has been targeted now and you're worried that you or your husband might be next?"

Yes. "No!"

The conversation was beginning to get heated, so she ducked her head out of the office doorway to check that no one had happened to wander by and overhear them, then shut the sturdy oak door firmly but quietly behind her.

"In what specific area are the foreigners deficient? What is stopping you from setting them after Cerik's murderer this very afternoon?"

Inquisitive Movanek grimaced, and didn't reply.

"Well?"

"… I don't trust them, not for something like this," he admitted.

That brought her up short. "Why not?"

He shook his head and tried to push past her, but she grabbed him by the shoulder. "Why not?"

The inquisitive looked at her hand, then back up at her. "Do recall that you didn't hire me, nor did your Baron. I'm keeping you involved and informed to make your job easier, not mine, and I can stop at any time."

"I would..appreciate hearing your thoughts, Inquisitive, to lay my own concerns to rest if nothing else," she said politely, then released his shoulder and stepped back to leave a proper speaking distance between them. He made a point of straightening his collar and brushing off the shoulder of his longcoat, but didn't resume his exit.

"Two reasons," he said shortly. "The first: they're clearly hiding something. At least one thing, perhaps more. I have my suspicions as to the nature of their deception, but at this time I don't think sharing them would be productive. The second…."

He paused, and scanned the room. The office in which they'd taken refuge had a shelf full of books along the far wall, and he ran his gaze along their spines. "To be a successful inquisitive requires a very eclectic taste in reading material; one never can tell when a particular obscure detail might be useful to know. Are you a student of history, Assistant Minister? Pre-Galifaran, specifically?"

"I haven't opened a history text since my days at the college, and I can't say I have much time for pleasure reading anymore," she replied.

"Then let's just say… for all but one of the foreigners, I've been seeing some very concerning parallels."

"Are you trying to be unhelpfully inscrutable?"

The inquisitive offered a patently insincere smile. "Why, yes I am. Well spotted, Assistant Minister. Now if you'll excuse me, I do believe I have a crime scene to investigate."

~*~*~

Fourth Afternoon Bell, Wir the 18 th of Sypheros

Cannith Forgehold Tertiary Smithy

Leyla observed carefully as Lord Chris pounded away at a sheet of alchemically-treated iron. Soot coated his leather apron, and sweat was dripping down his face.

"Good rhythm!" she called encouragingly. "Watch the thickness around the edges!"

He simply nodded, too out of breath to speak. His skill was more than adequate-far better than that of most journeymen the first time they picked up a blacksmith's hammer, in fact-but his stamina could use some serious work. A smith's apprentice would have been working in a smithy for several years by his age and been able to work for several hours at a time without rest.

That the youngest and smallest of the foreigners would have the lithe build of one who worked more with his mind than his hands was unsurprising. What had surprised her was the fact that he seemed to want to look like a common laborer.

Lord Chris had been called down to work with Baron d'Cannith at several points, like the rest of the foreigners, and after one such trip he'd expressed interest in learning blacksmithing.

Partly because his largely-improvised tools and small workbench were inadequate for creating the plates he would need for his party's armor in a reasonable amount of time compared to what he could do with a full forge, he'd said, and partly because he'd always held an interest in what he called "Medieval" pursuits.

When she had tried to dissuade him, saying that she could find some magewrights to assist him and spare his body, he'd insisted that he wouldn't mind "getting jacked" like the rest of his companions and that the armor project was something he felt he had to do on his own, for some reason.

Leyla noted a slight change in the color of the flames, the sort of detail one only picks up after long familiarity with the forge. "You're losing heat, milord! Just a touch on the bellows!"

He nodded again and tapped a glyph on the side of the hearth. Nothing happened visibly, but Leyla knew that the enchantments on the forge would increase the temperature of the flames and save him the effort of re-working portions of the iron that cooled too quickly.

~*~*~

Forty minutes and several rest breaks later, the shoulder plate was done. Lord Chris guzzled down some water while Leyla's spells made him and his tools presentable.

"You're making excellent progress, milord. Slightly ragged edges around the depression near the neck, but that's easily rounded off with the right spell. Other than that, your workmanship has definitely exceeded my expectations."

"Thanks," he said, before downing the last of the water and sighing in contentment.

After a short pause, he looked over at her appraisingly. "You know… between the research, the designing, and now this, I think we work really well together."

Leyla stiffened minutely. Having witnessed his behavior toward the vicereine, she was concerned about what that sort of remark might be meant to imply.

The young lord slumped against the workbench behind him and, in the tone of one confiding a slightly embarrassing fact, continued, "You're kinda like the older sister I never had."

Leyla relaxed. False alarm, there.

Then she frowned. "I could have sworn I heard mention of an older sister while you were conversing with your friends."

Her thoughts turned to Inquisitive Movanek's words from the day before. Was Lord Chris lying about his family to ingratiate himself with her?

Lord Chris scoffed. "Oh, I have an older sister, all right. Bethany, a year older than me. Plays lacrosse, perfect student, takes after my dad, great at math." That last bit was said with a particular vehemence. "But what I don't have is an older sister who doesn't make fun of me whenever I screw something up."

… Well.

It seemed that Lord Chris was beginning to view Leyla as a friend and confidante, rather than a subordinate and facilitator. Best to nip that in the bud.

"Lord ir'McIntyre, while I do appreciate the sentiment-"

"I know, I'm sorry, just… Alec's teasing has been getting to me lately, and I can't talk to the other guys about it, and I definitely can't say anything to Taylor, and, I mean, my sisters can be jerks sometimes too, but I still miss them a lot, and my parents, and-gah, sorry. Forget I said anything."

"Consider it forgotten, milord."

"Thanks."

She couldn't forget it, though, despite her words. As she began to escort him back up to Tradefair, she found herself thinking back and analyzing what he'd said, how he'd spoken, and how he'd acted, mentally picking him apart like she would disassemble a malfunctioning clockwork device.

What was this seemingly innocuous young lord hiding?

Rather, was he hiding anything, or were the inquisitive's suspicions a case of an overly-analytic and overly-paranoid mind drawing in connections that weren't actually present?

She wouldn't bother with him, she decided. Lord Chris clearly wasn't the subtle type; he wore his emotions on his vest. Lord Alec, who fit the stereotype of a spoiled lordling to perfection despite his attempts to come across as refined and witty, was similarly transparent.

If any of the foreigners were hiding something, it would be either Lord Dean or Lady Taylor, both of whom had clearly been trained extensively in etiquette and decorum and neither of whom gave very many clues with their expression or their body language as to what they were thinking.

The magewright sighed to herself. Just when she'd thought she'd mostly banished the ambiguity from her relationships with the foreigners, Inquisitive Movanek had to come along and spill some oil into the cauldron.

~*~*~

Just Before Noon, Zor the 19 th of Sypheros

Tradefair Workshop

"What do you mean, four months? Last week it was two and a half!" Lord Alec complained. "The fuck changed since then?"

He crossed his arms petulantly, only to find that some of the dye he had been using on the foreigners' armor had gotten on his hands and was now staining his white shirt, which only served to increase his irritation.

"Baron d'Cannith has encountered difficulties with extending the range of the portal device," she explained. "The energy requirements for even a normal, fixed portal are immense; House Kundarak has entire towers full of heavily-enchanted dragonshards to empower their vault network, and that's with each vault being anchored on both sides, not just one, for stability and being able to tap into a manifest zone for energy savings."

Feeling compelled to come to the defense of her patron, she added, "Then there is the fact that it takes time and careful attention to detail to conceal the expenditures for this project on the Cannith ledgers, the fact that he has a great many demands on his time and can only work on your project for a few hours each week at most…."

Lord Brian scowled. "Is there any good news?"

"With the aid of Lord Chris, over the course of the past week Baron d'Cannith has improved his device to the point that anything translocated over national distances now returns in two pieces, rather than four," she replied. Smiling faintly at their reaction to her statement, she leaned forward and added, "Innovation is difficult, milords, and never guaranteed. Sharn wasn't built overnight."

Lady Taylor frowned, very slightly. "What if we came up with more ways for Cannith to make money? Could he spend more time on it then?"

Lord Dean was already shaking his head before Leyla could respond. "I guarantee you most of his time isn't spent on hands-on projects. When you're running a business that size, most of it is talking to important people, holding meetings, drafting strategies, writing emails-or letters, I guess-and other things like that, so we couldn't just say 'hey, we already know how to do this thing for this project, spend that time on the portal instead' or something like that."

Leyla nodded approvingly. It was so rare to encounter a noble scion who understood that overseeing a Dragonmarked House was a much larger and more complex endeavor than managing a handful of country estates or the like. "That's exactly the situation," she confirmed.

The group sat around quietly for a little while, considering their predicament. The foreigners' dog took the lull in the conversation as a sign that they had concluded their business and padded over to nudge Lord Brian's leg as a signal that he was ready for his lunchtime walk. Lord Brian gave him a few scratches behind the ears and murmured, "Not yet, Judas. Maybe ten minutes, okay?"

"What if Merrix can't help us?" Lady Taylor asked abruptly.

"What do you mean, milady?"

"We were debating going to the Arcane Congress, originally," explained the vicereine. "If he's hit a roadblock, do you think they could do any better if he gave them his notes and everything?"

Leyla repressed her rather incensed reaction. After all the Baron had done for them-!

"We know Merrix is the best around, and I bet if he weren't as busy we'd be home already," Lord Dean quickly assured her. "But if a genius Tinker only working on this for two or three hours a week is going to take a few months to get a portal working, maybe what we need to make some faster progress is a lot of less-genius Tinkers working on it full-time?"

He did have a point, she grudgingly admitted. Brilliant as the Baron was, he was still just one man… and as easily as he had agreed to aid them because he found the challenge fascinating, he could just as easily decide that some other project was more intriguing and cease allocating even his few hours a week to their cause.

"There is a possibility, however slim, that the Arcane Congress could make some headway on this," she allowed. "Though I wouldn't recommend approaching them about it, as they are likely to be quite busy themselves."

"Why's that?"

Leyla chose her words carefully. "It isn't my position to say, exactly, but the Baron has received reports indicating that the Arcane Congress is likely to be asked by Queen Aurala to take on some rather urgent projects in the near future."

Assuming the Aundairian army was indeed planning to launch a campaign to reconquer the Eldeen Reaches, as mounting evidence suggested, the Arcane Congress would soon be tasked with devising ways to overcome the gathered might of the druidic sects whose magic and monstrous allies safeguarded the Reaches' independence. She didn't envy any Cannith West magewrights who might be roped into aiding the Congress in those efforts.

"What about the Twelve?" Lord Chris piped up.

Leyla huffed dismissively. "The Twelve and Cannith East are focused almost entirely on economic development and inter-House collaboration, not research for its own sake. While there is a chance that their artificers could make sense of Baron d'Cannith's research, I guarantee you that approaching them with the design would only see Orien try to co-opt it for their financial struggle against Lyrandar and leave no thought for your own needs."

Lord Dean nodded slowly. "Good to know."

"So our best option is to just wait around and hope Merrix figures this stuff out?" Lord Alec whined.

"Waiting around for other people to do the work is all you do anyway," Lord Chris groused.

Lord Alec held up his dye-stained hands. "Hey, I've been helping!"

"Baron d'Cannith is the best one to help you," Leyla said firmly. "I have complete faith in him to complete his device and send you home in good time." A pause. "I would, however, steel myself against news of further delays if I were in your position."

~*~*~

Half Past Second Afternoon Bell, Zol the 24 th of Sypheros

Tradefair Workshop

A grand mechanism of wood and silk spun and danced through the air. Buckets of boiling water and casks of dyeing agents, mugs of salt and pouches of other chemical reagents, stretching slats and drying rods: all of these things moved in impeccable synchrony at the behest of Lady Taylor's swarm and the hundreds of silk lines they controlled.

Every single time Leyla saw the foreigners' tiny one-room silk manufactory it was slightly different, with Lord Chris having added additional pulleys and thread guides or Lord Alec having suggested expanding the capacity of a certain dye vat or Lady Taylor having arranged the weaving surfaces into a better configuration. It had grown from its initial form of a primitive loom into a large contraption that sprawled out of the informal bounds allotted to it and now extended all over the floor space previously occupied by their containers of crafting supplies, which were now squeezed in behind Lord Chris's workbench.

This latest addition was the most dramatic yet. "It ended up being more efficient to add a second stage to get the colors darker than to try to redesign the main one to soak them longer," Lord Chris was explaining. "This way, there's less wastage from the silk sitting in there too long, and they dry faster too."

Leyla was quite impressed. The three of them professed no formal training in architecture or engineering, yet Lord Chris's intuitions and the knowledge stored on his phone combined with Lady Taylor's expertise with cloth and dyes had let them throw together in weeks something that would have taken a whole team of engineers and magewrights multiple months to accomplish.

Certainly, the vicereine's unique magical talent was what made the entire endeavor possible and none of her own subordinates could duplicate such a feat without it, but their achievement still made her wonder, sometimes, what sort of society could produce such prodigies as these.

… In fact, it really did make her wonder about their society.

She'd first been introduced to the foreigners just over a month ago, and in all that time she couldn't recall a single detail that they had mentioned of their everyday lives before coming to Eberron.

Yes, they were likely not inclined to reminisce about home when the possibility of their return was still in doubt; yes, any noble was trained from a young age to watch their tongues around the household staff; yes, they were going surprisingly far out of their way to accommodate the cultural differences and not bring up too many jokes or allusions that Leyla would not understand and would need explained to her, and so their declining to mention certain places or people would make sense.

And yet it was still odd, because she hadn't ever met anyone from a wealthy and powerful bloodline, whether noble or 'marked, who did not at some point mention a summer spent at their family's rural estate, or an amusing incident with one of their tutors, or their first time going falconing, or something of that ilk from their childhood.

Either these foreigners were the most humble nobles she was ever likely to meet (clearly not, given Lord Alec's presence), or they weren't actually as eager to return home as they claimed- or, as was seeming more and more likely, Inquisitive Movanek's suspicions were correct and they were going out of their way to avoid discussing certain topics in her presence.

But why?

Why confine their conversations to the currently relevant and the frivolous, as if they were strangers who had recently met at a dinner party rather than a pair of royals and their respective vassals?

Even if they suspected her of reporting on their words and behavior to Baron d'Cannith-which she was, in all fairness, so any suspicions in that direction were entirely justified-it wasn't as though learning, say, the name of a family gardener or the province in which they were raised would be useful information so long as they were stuck here.

~*~*~

The door opened a short while later to admit Lords Brian and Dean, the former returning from his walk with Judas, the latter returning from the Tradefair moneychanger with the day's earnings.

Lord Dean strode over and dramatically dropped a leather bag onto the central table; it was stuffed near to overflowing with coins, and landed with a loud thunk.

"What are we looking at?" called Lord Chris.

"Minus room and board, a cut for armor materials, and Terik's cut, which I've already taken out," Lord Dean said, drawing out his answer, "you're looking at almost two thousand galifars of pure profit."

Lord Alec let out a low whistle. "Two thousand? Now that's what I'm talking about!"

"We sold every last garment and rope today, and all three bolts of the reprocessed raw silk," Lord Dean explained in answer to Lady Taylor's incredulous look. "Your work is getting pretty popular."

She shook her head, as if she couldn't quite believe their success. "I… don't know what to say. I don't think I've ever seen that much money in one place before."

Privately, her statement struck Leyla as quite odd. The vicereine might not hold her family's purse strings or personally involve herself with her household's budget, but surely she'd encountered larger sums before? When purchasing a ball gown or a vehicle, if nothing else?

Lord Dean flicked a look in Leyla's direction, then nodded his agreement with his liege. "Yes, it really does look like a lot of money when it's right in front of you and not just numbers on a page somewhere, doesn't it?" he remarked.

Ah, of course; with the sums a royal tended to handle, letters of credit would be more convenient than strongboxes full of coins.

"I think the most I've ever seen was a stack of hundreds, about this high," the gallant continued, holding out his hand about halfway up the side of the pouch. Lady Taylor and Lord Chris exchanged a brief glance at his claim.

"Hundreds of what?" Leyla asked.

"Oh, didn't we ever tell you?" Lord Dean asked, looking mildly surprised. "They don't use gold coins where we're from. Chris, you want to pull up an article on paper money? I think she'd find it interesting."

"Sure thing," Lord Chris quickly agreed.

Hmm. Perhaps the foreigners weren't concealing things after all, Leyla thought to herself as she leaned in curiously to view Lord Chris's phone.

Perhaps they'd explained all sorts of details to Baron d'Cannith and Inquisitive Movanek already, and simply assumed that they'd passed that all along to her, and her doubts arose purely from a misunderstanding.

Still….

~*~*~

Tenth Evening Bell, Wir the 25 th of Sypheros

Ocean View District Lift Array

As Leyla was riding the lift home, pondering what to cook for supper, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. To her surprise, she found Inquisitive Movanek standing beside her.

"Inquisitive? Is there an emergency? Something about…" she glanced around to check for any other lift riders close enough to eavesdrop "… that case?"

"Nothing serious," he said with a shake of his head.

"Then…?"

"Not here."

They continued riding in silence until the lift reached the five hundredth story, whereupon he indicated that they should disembark. They stepped to the side to let the other riders pass, then he ushered her to a rather pricey restaurant nearby and asked the host out front for one of the private tables in the back.

They were escorted to their table after a few moments' wait, whereupon the host closed the privacy curtain, activated the silence wards, bowed his head, and left the pair alone. Inquisitive Movanek took his seat immediately and placed his napkin in his lap, but Leyla settled into hers more hesitantly.

Something was off.

Not just the unprecedented situation, but his body language on the way to the restaurant, his tone when speaking with the host, the way he instinctively surveyed each person walked past (or rather hadn't, on this occasion), a few other small tells… they were just slightly different from the last time she'd seen Inquisitive Movanek.

Every ranking House member received some training for dealing with changelings and other infiltrators, but as a personal apprentice to Baron d'Cannith Leyla had received even more extensive tutelage. She knew the best ways to try to tease out the truth of someone's identity without letting them know that she suspected anything, so she decided to ask-

Her mouth wouldn't open.

She couldn't move.

She could breathe, and move her eyes, but that was it.

The inquisitive sighed as he raised his hands from under the table and opened one palm to reveal an iron nail, the focus for one of the more common spells of paralysis.

He-no, it lounged back in its chair, its unnaturally fluid movements and posture making it very clear that this creature was not the inquisitive. "How disappointing," it drawled. "I take the time to research the role, and you see through it before we're even seated."

A thrill of concern for the real inquisitive shot through her. "Research" how? What had the creature done to him?

"Not a thing; I haven't touched a hair on his head," the creature said with a sneer. "If simply removing either of you from the board were an option, there would be no need to bother with all of this. Now, let's see what gave the game away."

Suddenly, she felt an intense pressure behind her temples and began to see flickers of images out of the corner of her eyes. She recognized the signs of someone rummaging through her memories without bothering to be subtle about it.

"Ah, the body language. Of course. You pathetic sacks of flesh place so much importance on that. It seems I'm out of practice." The mental pressure eased, but did not entirely vanish. "The hard way it is, then."

It reached across the table to lay a hand on her forehead, and instead of skin she felt something tough and coarse and cold, like sandpaper crossed with old leather. She would have shuddered at the sensation, if she were currently capable of even involuntary movement.

Clearly sensing her thoughts on the matter, the creature let out a nasal chuckle. "Trust me, cattle, I find touching your disgusting hide as distasteful as you do. Now, if you value your sanity, do not attempt to resist this." Its smile spread wider, too wide for anything that belonged on a human face. "Mortal minds are so very fragile, and you wouldn't want me to break anything."

Her mind raced frantically, thinking of anything she could possibly do to escape, or who she could possibly call. She focused her mind and exerted her will, too, against the paralysis spell, with no success.

All the while, the creature sat there calmly with its hand on her forehead, doing nothing to stop her; in fact, it seemed to relish her futile attempts to escape.

Finally, after exhausting every avenue that came to mind, she gave in. Whatever this creature was, its enchantments were too strong for her to resist, and if no one had noticed her absence yet they wouldn't notice in time to save her.

"Good," the creature pronounced, a distinct note of satisfaction in its voice. It began to incant in a tongue that Leyla did not know, one that was harsh and guttural yet somehow rhythmic and precise at the same time.

Desperately, she began reciting a few words to herself, over and over: Movanek, impostor, enchantment; Movanek, impostor, enchantment; Movanek, impostor, enchantment.

Maybe if she held those in the forefront of her thoughts, she would be able to retain a grip on them despite whatever compulsion or curse it was laying upon her, and perhaps she could use that as motivation to help her throw off the- /

/ -found herself reaching into her coin pouch to pay, when she blinked and realized that Inquisitive Movanek had already left a few galifars on the table to cover their bill when he slipped away.

It was only fair of him, as the inquisitive turned out to have an expensive taste in tea and had nearly polished off a whole kettle of the stuff over their clandestine dinner meeting. The two of them had spent a good half an hour discussing Baron d'Cannith's portal project, the foreigners, and all manner of related subjects.

Leyla couldn't quite recall how they had gotten onto the topic, nor why he'd been so keen on the subject of portals when he hadn't evinced much interest in planar metaphysics in the past, but surely they'd had a good reason.

Realizing that she seemed to have lost track of time, she rose quickly and moved to leave; she'd forgotten to get word to Haldan that she'd be coming home late and he might be worried about her.

Just before she pushed through the curtain, though, something caught her eye: Inquisitive Movanek had dropped something accidentally on his way out, a small leather folio with a few pieces of paper sticking out of the top.

She retrieved the folio and moved to leave again, but something compelled her to hesitate. The inquisitive had been so very evasive when speaking of the foreigners and of the murder case that had claimed her journeyman's life; it surely wouldn't hurt anything if she took a peek at his notes to clarify a few things, would it?

A glimpse inside revealed the contents to be a set of notes in the inquisitive's handwriting. The uniform texture of the ink and the slight misalignment of the text implied that these had originally been a collection of individual notes that had been magically copied into a single book for easier reference.

She couldn't read any of it, as he appeared to have written everything in Orcish-a convenient way to protect one's notes from most casual snooping in public without bothering with a complicated cipher-but she did notice the names of all the foreigners appearing several times each among the text. She also picked out the name of one Corvin d'Sivis, one she recognized from Baron d'Cannith's appointment book and had probably heard from the inquisitive at some point but not someone she'd met in person.

Inquisitive Movanek will be wanting his notes back as soon as possible, she thought.

Certainly he would. She was very well aware of that.

But a little voice in the back of her mind whispered that it was late, and her husband was expecting her, and as these were merely copies of his other notes the inquisitive surely wouldn't need them before he went to fetch the foreigners for their next errand the following afternoon.

There was no point in going out of her way to get his notes back to him now when she could simply wait to hand them back to him tomorrow.

And if, perhaps, she happened to prepare a translation spell in the morning and gave his notes just the briefest of perusals… and if, perhaps, she were to make a second copy of his notes on the foreigners to pass on to the Baron, just to ensure that everyone was on the same page… well, what could possibly be the harm in that?

Author's Note

And so the cracks begin to appear in the façade, and other pieces begin to move around the board.

This chapter's another timeskip-y one like 3.C, as THACo's daily activities weren't really going to change much while their main goals were "make money" and "train" and "make Creilath happy" and "wait on Merrix." It's also one that (among other things) aims to give an external "native" perspective on THACo much like how 1.E gave that kind of perspective on Valigan.

(And it's still technically Tuesday where I am, so I technically posted on time!)

For those who got involved in the discussion upthread about whether aluminum exists on Eberron, surprise! Bet you weren't expecting Chris's little forays into chemistry to potentially lead to a minor international incident!

And in case it wasn't entirely clear from his raging… biological-ist? verbiage, the being impersonating Creilath at the end was good ol' Zalmok, who was annoyed that THACo was getting along with folks so well and decided to jump in to stir the pot a little.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

Most of the gods referenced belong to the Sovereign Host; "Vassal," when capitalized, is the term for a Host worshiper. The Keeper is one of the Dark Six, and the image on the Keeper's page is that of the very scary keeper's fang weapon. The Traveler is also one of the Dark Six, and therefore not supposed to be invoked by any Vassal, but its portfolio of invention and innovation has canonically led some of the more morally flexible Cannith South folks to indulge in a little heresy and worship it on the side; the fact that Leyla doesn't even notice when Merrix invokes the name implies that she might be one of those. "Lightning arrows" are just arrows with the shock enchantment applied, and "shocklances" are staffs holding a lightning blade spell (so the wielder can either smack people with electrical lightsabers or shoot mini lightning bolts) and the more powerful shocking burst enchantment applied. Thunderstones and quickspark (from Complete Adventurer) are standard alchemical items. The mention of warforged "borrowing" their design from somewhere is alluding to the fact that House Cannith based the designs on stuff they found in Xen'drik, as warforged were actually first invented by the quori to serve as troops in the quori vs. giant wars a long time ago. Cannith publicly claims full credit for the entire invention, of course. The daelkyr are human-looking not-at-all-human-acting Lovecraftian types who are responsible for all the local Eberron versions of aboleths, illithids, and other aberrations. The Valenar double scimitar isn't explicitly said to use aluminum in its construction (no exotic weapons give their construction details, really), but as they're described as "remarkably light" (in the flavor text; the 3e stats put them as heavier than a normal two-bladed sword, but Keith Baker has gone on record that they were always supposed to be more elegant weapons for a more civilized age) and "forged with techniques honed over a thousand years," I figured that chalking those up to the Valenar having secret access to discount mithral made a lot of sense. The Boromar Clan are Sharn's strongest and most infamous crime syndicate… and it's entirely run by halflings. Be afraid, be very afraid. The spells Zalmok used against Leyla were hold person (paralyzes someone until they make a saving throw to break out; too bad Zalmok's DC is pretty darn high), detect thoughts and then probe thoughts (similar effect, deeper probing), modify memory (alters up to 5 minutes of someone's memories per casting), and likely a variety of Enchantment spells as well.

Last edited: Jan 28, 2023

Rule of Three 3.4.V

11:46 am, Tuesday the 10th of May, 2011 CE Just Outside PRT 29 HQ, Paradise, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

Las Vegas, as it happened, was situated in the middle of a desert.

I despise deserts.

There do exist a handful of deserts scattered around the multiverse that are not desolate gods-forsaken wastelands in which nothing good has ever transpired or will ever transpire, but one can hardly fail to recognize the trend of inevitable tragedy and ruin where deserts are concerned:

The Anauroch Desert of Toril, in which the fall of Netheril occurred in response to the phaerimms' life-draining magic turning the once-verdant land into a dried-out husk.

The Great Golden Desert of Khetobon, in which the Andrama Crisis saw millions of desert-dwellers slain or displaced after the genies rendered large swathes of land permanently uninhabitable.

Athas.

So while I may have been very slightly biased by my coastal upbringing and by… recent experiences, I was not optimistic about the odds of enjoying my time in this city, and the tedious security apparatus surrounding the local PRT headquarters was not helping matters.

The heavily-fortified structure was located on the so-called "Las Vegas Strip," which despite its name was neither located in Las Vegas proper nor confined to a single boulevard. Where all of the nearby gambling parlors and hotels were festooned with signs and flashing lights and other gaudy decorations to lure in the largest possible clientele, the primary PRT building was a largely-featureless gray slab surrounded by barricades and fences at street level to keep curious pedestrians at bay.

Tourists hoping to enter the building were subjected to screening by all manner of electronic devices, most of which I could now readily identify thanks to my research and my technomantic powers. This exceedingly thorough process led to long delays, and I was currently the sixth individual in a rather slow-moving queue.

Irritating as the situation was, however, the extra time did at least give me a chance to examine the intriguing building across the street.

To all appearances, the House of Heroes Barcade & Grill was yet another example of the all-in-one gaming and dining facilities littering the area, but over the past half-hour I'd caught sight of several parahumans discreetly entering the establishment. While their lack of costumes concealed their nature from passers-by, they were unable to hide their active magical auras from my arcane sight.

Sending Aspect on a reconnaissance fly-by to scan the interior revealed that while the ground floor was indeed the hero-themed restaurant and curiosity shop that it appeared to be, the floor above and the surprisingly large cellar below were instead the site of a clandestine PRT facility.

A multitude of concealed exterior cameras surveyed the surrounding neighborhood and its inhabitants, with particular attention paid to those waiting to enter the PRT building, and piped that information to watchers seated at banks of television screens. A group of unmasked capes assembled in a small meeting room discussed the recent activities of several criminal groups (primarily the Elite that Decker had mentioned, but a few smaller organizations as well) and made plans for dealing with them. A constant flow of people traveled back and forth through a tunnel connecting the building's cellar with that of the PRT headquarters, donning or removing masks and helmets as they went.

It was a rather ingenious setup, and ably demonstrated the PRT's skill in adapting to the enemies it faced.

In Brockton Bay the heroes faced strong opposition who enjoyed flaunting their power, and so they built a single shining citadel in the middle of the bay to show off their own strength.

In Boston they faced an array of villains who all (with the notable exception of Blastgerm) pretended to a certain degree of gentility, and so the heroes constructed a variety of headquarters buildings throughout the city to showcase their refined taste in architecture.

And so forth, with Chicago boasting a trio of towering crenellated buildings to fit with their more dramatic villains, New York City emphasizing height and apparent openness to demonstrate their lack of fear of their local villains, and the smaller cities following the same trend.

Las Vegas, according to my research yesterday, boasted one of the largest villainous populations of any city in America while simultaneously having very little overt villainous activity; its criminals preferred to act through more subtle means in order to preserve the city's veneer of luxury and revelry for tourists and travelers.

Thus, the stark edifice of the heroes' base of operations spoke of a refusal to indulge the city's superficiality and distractions, and the layers of security spoke of a commitment to exceptional rigor in rooting out any who might attempt to covertly undermine their presence in the city… all while the PRT secretly carried out precisely the same sort of subterfuge that the villains employed, in the hopes of beating them at their own game.

The entire arrangement may have led to a great inconvenience at a personal level, but I could at least respect the cleverness of those who developed the strategy as a whole.

~*~*~

Eventually I reached the front of the queue. "Next in line!" called the guardswoman on duty, and I stepped forward. "You got an appointment?"

I presented my day-old credentials. Her aura was dappled with minor skepticism as she noted its date of issue, but when she scanned the card through a handhold device and read the output on the screen, her eyebrows rose and her skepticism was replaced by the shade of mingled interest and respect often seen in those who unexpectedly encounter someone of noticeably higher social standing-or, as in this case, an individual endorsed by someone else of exceptionally high rank.

"I see you do, sir," she continued briskly. "You're gonna need to go through special screening. Take door B, on the left, there, and they'll help you out. Next in line!"

The "special" screening in question was in fact a lack of screening; once inside, I was shown directly to a staircase that would take me up to meet with the heroes whom I'd come to see.

Had I known the sorts of doors Legend's endorsement would open for me, literally as well as figuratively, I would have chosen to stop by and bribe or blackmail him before beginning my national tour, and saved myself considerable time and aggravation when visiting PRT sites.

~*~*~

The sounds of an electronic game greeted me as I floated up to the designated meeting area, a sprawling room that could easily have been mistaken for a lounge such as one might find in one of the neighboring entertainment facilities, being full of plush upholstered chairs and artistically-rendered placards and the like.

Four heroes were currently gathered around an excessively large screen mounted on a nearby wall, playing a racing-themed game in teams of two. One team comprised Pretender, a white-skinned necromancer in a purple velvet suit, and Sandstoner, a pale-skinned elementalist in flowing green and tan clothing; the former led the local Protectorate heroes, the latter led the local Wards.

The other team consisted of Satyrical, wearing brown fur leggings and a horned mask and nothing else, and one of his conjured duplicates-which, by its aura, appeared to have been created through a variant of Body Outside Body with a considerably longer duration; I'd definitely want to obtain that thoughtform while I was here.

Aspect asked rhetorically.

desert? I replied.

he sent dryly.

I agreed as I watched the heroes play. are quite impressive in their depth and variety; I can see why they might find them so enticing.

Netheril had made extensive use of illusions for entertainment, but all of their games had involved adding illusory accompaniment to physical activities, nothing like this game where the entire endeavor was purely immaterial. Jhaamdath, meanwhile, had no arcanists among its populace, and so lacked the ability to craft illusory games of either sort.

Aspect sent in a tone of mock astonishment. impressed you on this world before we reached the two-year mark on this mission.

that stingy with my praise of foreign cultures, I protested. Yes, I had yet to find a single civilization that remotely compared to Jhaamdath on the whole, but I could acknowledge the ingenuity of individual cultural artifacts when I came across them.

I allowed. are slightly too high.

Our bickering was interrupted by an explosion flaring brightly on the upper half of the heroes' screen. "Oh, motherfucker!" Satyrical's duplicate swore as it furiously manipulated its controls. " Another blue shell?"

Pretender elbowed his teammate in the side. "I told you, Satyr, watch it around the kid."

"Yeah, watch your fucking language," Sandstoner solemnly agreed.

Satyrical elbowed his duplicate. "What the hell have I said about swearing?"

"I don't have to listen to you!" the duplicate cried theatrically. "You're not my real dad!"

Clearly, this was not the most professional of hero teams.

I waited until they finished their current race, then rapped my knuckles on the open door. "Good morning, sirrahs. I believe we had an appointment at noon?"

Shades of surprise and alarm streaked the heroes' auras as they scrambled to their feet, Pretender checking his wristwatch and Sandstoner checking his phone to confirm the time.

Satyrical, however, had eyes only for me. "Well hel- lo, what have we here?" he purred as he crossed the few feet between us and gave me an appraising look from head to toe. "I do love me a Persian man in a short-sleeved shirt."

"You say that about every man, in any shirt," grumbled Pretender next to him, in the tone of one well-accustomed to apologizing for his companion's behavior. Unlike his teammates he wore no mask, so his exasperated expression was clearly visible. "As long as the guy's breathing-"

"Hell, even that's negotiable. Have you seen Graven in stone form? Those chiseled abs? Yes please."

Sandstoner shook his head, his shaggy hair falling down over his mask. "Get a room, you guys."

Satyrical waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh, believe me, I'd love to." He casually placed his hands on his hips in such a way as to draw the eye to his hairless and tightly-muscled abdomen. "Care to join us, stranger?"

I didn't find the sight at all enticing. Even setting aside the guilt I felt when letting my eyes wander to someone other than Aldric, Satyrical's sculpted form was the result of a transmutation spell, and my true sight revealed that beneath the effect his physique was nowhere near as refined as he liked to pretend.

"Attractive though you may be," I lied, "the flirting is not appreciated."

"What's wrong?" Satyrical asked as he sidled up to me and threw an arm around my shoulder. On my other side, his duplicate did the same and added, "Can't take a compliment?"

The look I gave him was extremely unamused. "I am a very recent widower and still in mourning, and I am not in the mood for your games."

The hero flinched slightly, and he and his duplicate both snatched their arms away as if they'd been burned-which they would indeed have been, very shortly, had he not ceased his advances.

"Sorry about that," Satyrical said. "Can't help myself sometimes." He didn't sound especially contrite, though the small glimmer of guilt in his aura did imply that he was largely sincere.

"Dammit, Satyr, I've told you-" Pretender began, but I waved it off.

"Apology accepted; no need to dwell on it. If you'd like to make it up to me, perhaps we can get to my purpose for being here?"

"Right, yes, power analysis," Pretender agreed, seizing gratefully upon the change of topic. He gestured for me to join him at a nearby table and sank into a well-cushioned chair, Satyrical taking a seat beside him; Sandstoner flopped down into the high-backed chair across from them.

"Wait, I thought short, dark, and handsome over here was our potential new team member?" Satyrical remarked.

Pretender sighed. "Spectrum's audition is Thursday. Remember I told you about Myrddin's consultation session? This is like that."

"Ah, right." Satyrical stuck out his hand. "Hi. Name's Satyrical. Pleased to meet you."

I returned the handshake, briefly delving into his repertoire. His powers fell into four general categories: physical enhancements and self-duplication, as I'd expected from my research, as well as a variety of spells relating to social interaction and mimicry.

On balance, he was quite likely to have been granted his sorcery by Cauldron, but it was still possible that he simply had a fairly broad theme to his powers, like Aegis, and so his repertoire was similarly broad.

After retrieving the thoughtform I desired and surfacing from his mind, I offered a polite smile and replied, "My name is Valigan. The pleasure is all yours." He frowned slightly at that, while the other two smiled at his expense.

I repeated the procedure with the other two, and after viewing their repertoires I judged, tentatively, that neither was likely to be one of Cauldron's capes.

Pretender turned out not to be a necromancer, as I'd thought, but instead had one power allowing him to meld himself with another creature to control them-bodily possession, rather than spiritual possession, like a version of Fusion that could affect an involuntary target or the signature (and greatly feared) ability of Zakharan yak-folk.

Sandstoner knew a surprisingly wide variety of elemental manipulation spells relating to both earth and plants, but most of them were dim and inaccessible, and the fact that I'd previously seen a similar dual-element focus in Nate's repertoire persuaded me that Sandstoner's sorcerous talent was probably also innate rather than Cauldron-granted.

"So, about this analysis," Pretender said once introductions were concluded. "What are we talking? Blood tests, MRIs, mock battles?"

"You seem more versed in this sort of thing than most other teams with whom I've spoken."

The team leader shrugged modestly. "We're a rapid response team with high turnover and lots of tricky powers. We've been around the block a few times."

"Clearly," I agreed, then began to outline my usual procedure for this sort of thing.

~*~*~

"… and then I found out it actually counts if I'm the one making things crazy," Spur said as he added an eighth club to the set he was juggling. "More unpredictability and moving parts makes my precognition work better, so that makes my juggling better, which makes my precog better, and on and on like that."

He took his eyes off the clubs while continuing to juggle and flashed a confident grin. "Not really a useful thing in combat, but hey, it's a great party trick. I want to start juggling flaming clubs next, 'cause I might be able to get up to nine or even ten clubs that way."

please, Val, Aspect sent.

I smiled, and evoked a flame over my open palm. "How would you like to begin right now?"

~*~*~

Nix crossed her arms in a huff. "But Satyrical's always going on about how I have the most boring power on the team, which is just bullshit. I can at least move my illusions, unlike Remembrandt!"

The younger hero paused his electronic game and looked over at her. "First, way to throw me under the bus," he said flatly. "Second, I'm a Ward, so technically not on your team, so nyah."

"If it makes you feel any better," I offered, "I personally find your power to be the most interesting, from a technical perspective. Radiance to smoke transmutation is quite rare," because if one wishes to combine the two it's generally more practical to simply evoke both at once, I didn't add, "and much more interesting than, say, duplication or shapeshifting."

"Hey!" Satyrical objected.

Nix smiled smugly. " Now who has a boring power, you old goat?"

~*~*~

"Fire," I stated.

A moment later, Floret's energy construct erupted with flame behind me, setting the carpet alight until I quenched the flame with an exertion of will.

" How are you doing that? You're not even looking at the buds!" she complained. She extended a hand and yet another construct blossomed into existence at her feet.

"I'm simply a lucky guesser, I suppose," I replied, as I sensed the clear strands of pyrokinetic energy in the construct's aura. "Fire again."

"Damn it, I thought I'd get you with a repeat."

I turned to Blowout. "We can get to your turn whenever you're ready. I wouldn't want to keep you here longer than necessary."

"Oh, no no, I'd hate to interrupt the show," he said, smirking at his teammate's frustration. "Besides, Tuesday's my day off, and Ravine's; we're getting paid time and a half while we're on base. So," he waved magnanimously at Floret, "you two take all the time you need."

~*~*~

Some time later, Spur and Satyrical were regaling me with tales of their team's more humorous exploits when I sensed Leonid strolling up the hallway with Sequince.

"Yo, Ravine!" he called. "You want to get a few rounds of Tekken in before the R guy gets here?"

Leonid and Sequince were the last to arrive, all of the other heroes having accepted the trade of favors owed for powers examined over the course of the afternoon as they'd arrived for their shift or returned from patrol. Assuming those two accepted as well, after inspecting their repertoires I'd be done with the team.

I was fairly certain that I'd identified which capes were associated with Cauldron based on their repertoires-and, admittedly, by observing their emotional reactions to the suggestion of paying for their time in favors.

More than a few capes I'd encountered before had reacted to the arrangement in interesting ways, but it was only now, after learning about Cauldron's standard payment plan from Legend and observing multiple very similar reactions in quick succession, that I realized what those reactions might imply.

"Guy's here already," Ravine replied without looking up from her phone. She took a moment to blow a bubble with her chewing gum, then added, "Been here two hours."

"Very funny, 'Vine," Leonid said in a sing-song tone. "If he were here, I'd-"

The hero stuttered to a halt as he rounded the corner and caught sight of me. Sequince barely avoided running into him and scalding him with the motes of light that were trailing behind her like the Tears of Selûne.

"… hear him," Leonid finished lamely, staring at me with undisguised bewilderment. "But-you're-?"

"Is something the matter?" I asked.

He twisted his head slightly from side to side, as if trying to pinpoint the source of a faint and faraway noise. "You sound wrong."

The moment he spoke, the auras of the rest of the team flared with alertness, though they didn't let it show in their body language. "Wrong how, Leo?" Pretender asked, his tone deliberately casual.

"I believe he has just discovered that I cannot be detected by divination effects-what you would term sensory Thinker powers." I nodded to Leonid. "You're the first to notice, I believe, so well done there."

As had become the usual pattern, my declaration was met with feelings of extreme skepticism.

"Espy, did you notice that during your power demonstration?" Pretender asked.

"I wasn't looking at him then," the Ward replied. She closed her left eye and placed a hand over her left ear, and a directional scrying sensor appeared above her head, invisible to everyone else in the room.

It swiveled to face me, and she frowned. The frown deepened as her sensor bobbed slowly around the room, keeping its gaze pointed in my direction but doing so with jerky movements that indicated she lacked a point of reference upon which to focus. "… Huh."

"Nothing?" Pretender asked.

"Nothing."

Blowout, leaning against a nearby chair, frowned as well and gave its back a tentative squeeze. He'd claimed to have a strength-enhancing power whose efficacy scaled based on the number and attentiveness of the individuals observing him, but I'd only found perfectly standard telekinesis spells in his repertoire, with no overlap between those and the mind-affecting spells he also possessed. "You know, now that you mention it, it does feel like there's only twelve of us here, not thirteen," he remarked.

The rest of them confirmed that my wards were blocking their sensory powers: Floret, seated at the communications console, closed her eyes and declared that she couldn't remember precisely what I looked like; Ravine, lounging on a nearby couch, failed to detect me with her tremorsense; and Remembrandt, reading at a nearby table, couldn't create an illusion of me even while staring directly at me.

"Can I spend your favor to have you join the team? Even for a week?" Pretender asked, only partly in jest. "'Cause, my god, can you imagine what we could do to the Elite or the Royals if we had that kind of anti-Thinker on our side? They'd never know what hit 'em!"

"My itinerary is quite full, I'm afraid."

"You sure?" Satyrical asked. "We could do you a favor, too, if that'd help convince you." His salacious tone made very clear the sort of favor he had in mind.

"I'm quite certain," I firmly replied. "However, I could be persuaded to temporarily grant some of you a similar ability-"

"Hell yes!" Spur exclaimed.

"- provided that such an ability is one you could otherwise access," I finished.

"Meaning what, exactly?" Spur asked.

"I prefer not to provide assistance that one could not possibly procure on their own," I explained. "If you know of an allied cape whom you could theoretically contact to receive a similar benefit, the power is yours; if not, you're out of luck."

"Shitty policy," Ravine grumbled, crossing her arms.

"You are free to think so."

The team spent a short while in thought, the enthusiasm in their auras dimming by the moment as they failed to think of a comparable cape or resource.

Then Blowout perked up. "Ooh, ooh, I got it! The fifty-three in Kansas City! What was his name, uh…." He began snapping his fingers to jog his memory.

"Fifty-three?" I asked. Colleen had mentioned a case file numbered fifty-three in reference to capes who had been altered by their powers, but I hadn't had a chance to research the phenomenon.

"It's an internal PRT term for monster capes," Pretender explained.

Very interesting. Despite not having yet encountered any non-humans on this world I did know they existed here, thanks to scattered mentions of "monster capes" such as Nilbog and Ziz, but the implication that those individuals and magically-altered capes were one and the same had some fascinating ramifications, as was the fact that they were rare enough to merit a case file of their own.

Was Nilbog merely a human transmuted into a goblin, rather than a true goblin king? How common were such alterations, such that he could rule over an entire kingdom (or at least a moderately-sized tribe) of goblinoid capes? Were such individuals the only goblinoids on this world, or were some capes somehow transformed into goblinoids due to proximity with or relation to a pre-existing goblinoid tribe?

I'd look into the matter of monster capes further when I had the chance, and then likely pay Nilbog a visit to get the personal perspective of such a cape.

"It's something like Manta Ray," Satyrical said, prodding Ravine. "Look it up."

She did so. "Mantellum?"

"That's the one!" Blowout grabbed the phone out of her hands and shoved it toward me to read.

Yes, it seemed as though there was indeed a cape whose power rendered himself and those in close proximity to him immune to divinations. It wasn't an ability he could bestow upon another, but the team could theoretically achieve the same outcome if they asked Mantellum to join them on a mission or commissioned an artificer to craft an item with a similar effect, so I judged the degree of interference to be minuscule.

"Minuscule"? For something that has them that excited?

Within acceptable bounds, then.

"In that case, I'm willing to grant you one day's worth of immunity to Thinker powers, or one day's immunity for the entire team in exchange for two favors."

"Just one day?" Spur asked. "Seriously? The Science team would want to study that for weeks if you'd let them. They wouldn't even let us on a mission if we told them about it, just stick us in their lab."

"So we don't tell them about it," Spur said with a shrug.

"How about this," I suggested. "If you can suggest another group of capes in this city who would be worth my time to study, I will grant you all immunity for four days, and you can decide for yourselves when and if to tell your scientists about it."

My research into the various cape groups of Las Vegas had borne little fruit, as apart from the Protectorate heroes they did everything they could to stay out of the public eye and so information on their numbers and capabilities was quite limited. I would gladly increased my degree of interference just a touch if they could provide me with that information.

"Deal," Pretender immediately agreed. "How do you feel about Tinkers?"

"They are among my favorite capes to analyze."

"Have you heard about the big solar farm project?"

"I have not."

"You'd love it. Bunch of Tinkers, all collaborating on this big solar power plant on the outskirts; mostly corporates and independents, plus some Protectorate and Guild capes too. The casinos have been nosediving for a few years now and people saw how well Fort Worth was doing with their energy projects, so Vegas figured it would greenlight the project and try to get a piece of that action."

Of course the project was located out in the desert. I'd only looked into activities to be done within the city while I was here, like any sane individual, so such an installation had escaped my notice.

"I believe I will investigate that, thank you. If you'll all give me your hands, I'll grant you your anti-Thinker protection."

~*~*~

After leaving the heroes to a frenzied planning session concerning how best to make use of their temporary divination immunity, I meandered down the Strip in search of a restaurant offering a cuisine that I had yet to sample.

As I did so, I finalized my thoughts on which of the ten heroes had been Cauldron clients.

Of the Protectorate heroes, Satyrical was clearly a client based on his divided repertoire, as were three others, given their distinct subsets of powers: physical enhancement, mind-reading, and mental manipulation for Blowout; sensory enhancement, quiescent wards, and a bevy of transmutations for Floret; and illusions and gaseous conjurations for Nix.

Sequince's repertoire was more homogeneous than the others', but the fact that both her signature power (creating tangible illusions that "popped" to create a secondary effect) and the set of spells in her repertoire were very similar to Nix's indicated that she was likely one of them as well.

Pretender's narrow repertoire revolving around possession hadn't seemed to fit the pattern, but the jolt of recognition and twinge of guilt he'd felt when I'd mentioned owing a favor had moved him tentatively into the Cauldron column. His Body Meld power wasn't especially novel, but I'd decided to extract a copy anyway, for completeness' sake.

The last Cauldron sorcerer I could identify among the older heroes turned out to be Leonid. Not because he had a split repertoire like the others, but because his known powers were almost an exact match for Triumph's, just with a different selection of accessible and sequestered powers.

The single difference was that where Triumph knew a novel variant of Fist of Stone that would enhance his strength with sonic energy instead of stone, Leonid knew a novel variant of Fire Stride that would teleport him through sonic energy instead of flames (which, as in Pretender's case, was interesting enough to borrow for myself even though I hardly lacked for teleportation spells). I hadn't previously suspected Triumph to be associated with Cauldron, but the coincidence was simply too improbable to ignore.

The other two were obviously normal sorcerers, at least as far as any in this sphere could be described thus. Ravine's geokinetic manipulation and Spur's precognition were very much in line with the repertoires of the more specialized capes I'd thus far encountered.

Regarding the three Wards, Espy had the characteristic repertoire of a Cauldron cape while Sandstoner and Remembrandt did not, but she hadn't reacted at all to the mention of favors and so I was less certain of my speculation there.

Having reached a decision, I composed my sending to Legend.

I sent as a preface.

Legend's reply was long in coming, giving me time to peruse three restaurants' menus before receiving it. Whether he was reluctant to confirm my guess or had to check his own records or simply hadn't seen the message immediately, I couldn't say.

It was short and to the point:

Swap Floret and Ravine. The rest are right.

Very interesting.

It seemed that my general theorizing on the distinctions between types of capes was correct, but that there was a confounding variable or two that I had yet to isolate. Still, I was close to solving the mystery, that much was certain; one more breakthrough, I felt, and I would have the answers.

I set my secondary mind to ruminating on what set Ravine and Floret apart from the others, held a brief conversation with Dragon on the subject of introductions, and then withdrew to my demiplane to meditate on my new powers.

~*~*~

5:04 pm, Tuesday the 10th of May, 2011 CE

Crystal Sands Solar Energy Project Site, Las Vegas Outskirts, America, Earth Bet

Seen from above, the sunlight collection device was an exquisite marvel of artifice and engineering.

A circular region of sand nearly a half-mile across had been cleared of debris and almost perfectly flattened, and laid out within the circle with great care and precision was a complex arrangement of mirrors, pylons, electrical wires, and various other devices, some enchanted and some mundane. Roughly a third of the structure appeared to be complete or nearly so, another third was in the process of being assembled, and the remaining area lay barren for now.

Several dozen humans scurried around the portions of the device currently under construction, either to work on parts of it directly or to oversee the small fleet of golems and construction vehicles aiding in the fabrication process.

A tall and sturdy concrete wall rose from the sand to form a larger outer circle around the entire site, concealing it from onlookers traveling along the highways flanking it to the west and east. Atop the wall, enchanted devices and what appeared to be heavy cannon emplacements protected the site from physical incursion by land or air.

A long row of identical small buildings stood to the north in the open space between the wall and the device itself, most of them labeled with the names and emblems of various cape groups, all of them connected by covered walkways so that individuals could travel between them without exposing themselves to the harsh desert sun.

The westernmost building proudly bore the winged shield of the PRT, the adjacent building bore the tasseled spear of the Guild, and after that came the lightning-edged solar disk of Sunspark, the haloed serpent of Demiurge, the fist-in-upward-arrow of PowerUp, the lightbulb-above-wrench-and-hammer of Lightworx, and several more.

I teleported down to the eastern entrance, rendered myself perceptible, waited a moment for the startled men on guard duty to compose themselves, and informed them that I had an appointment with Glyph, one of Dragon's colleagues in the Guild.

~*~*~

"So, what do you think?" Glyph asked enthusiastically as we strolled through the site, gesturing to the center of the device and the flurry of activity taking place there.

She was one of the few capes present whose costume wasn't decked out with as many tool belts and pouches as it could possible hold, as she wasn't an artificer. Rather, she was one of the few non-artificers whose powers had been deemed sufficiently useful to the overall effort to earn her an invitation.

Her power allowed her to create screens of force that selectively admitted or excluded certain substances or energies, similar to the various layers of a prismatic barrier. As we walked along, a circular field followed along above our heads, shielding us from the sun's ultraviolet light; I had no need of such protection thanks to my own wards, but I appreciated her thoughtfulness.

(Sadly, her power turned out not to be based on a single incredibly versatile protective spell, but instead a myriad of very narrow and specific variations on the same basic effect, and so not worth the time to acquire for myself.)

"The structure itself is impressive, but I admit that the science underlying these 'solar panels' currently eludes me, so I can't judge it on those merits. I'd enjoy learning more about that if anyone here has the time and inclination to teach me, however."

She glanced over at me, her head tilted skeptically. Her expression wasn't visible-as one of the Guild's three "front-line" combatants, her bulky red and orange armor was designed for maximum protection and made no concessions to social interaction as did Armsmaster's or Heterodyne's armor suits-but the amusement was clearly audible in her tone as she asked, "You know it's dangerous to ask to be technobabbled at when you're surrounded by this many Tinkers, right?"

"I'm sure I'll endure the ordeal somehow."

"Your funeral," she said, shaking her head.

I suppressed a wince at her words. My mind had flashed to Aldric, thinking of the burial rites I had not been able to give him and the memorial ceremony I would need to conduct after this mission, in the event that I failed to find a means of reviving him.

May Dregoth choke to death on the endless gods-damned sand of his gods-forsaken kingdom.

My radiovision caught sight of a brief conversation between Glyph and someone on the far side of the site, then Glyph nodded in that direction. "I found a group of Tinkers who're done for the day and wouldn't mind talking shop. I'll introduce you."

As we meandered in that direction, she added, "By the way, have you considered joining the Guild?"

I gave her a sidelong glance. "Do you make that offer to every unaffiliated cape you meet?"

"No, only the ones who manage to impress Dragon. And that's a short list, believe me." Lowering the volume of her helmet speakers, she leaned in and continued, "Dragon's been talking with some of the heroes you've been meeting. We've been looking for a fourth frontliner since Stonewall left the Guild, and she said she thinks you'd be a good fit."

Slapping the side panels of her armor for emphasis, Glyph added, "She'll even throw in some tinkertech armor, like she did for me. I have no idea where that crazy woman gets the time, but I'm not about to complain."

"The offer is quite tempting, and flattering," I replied, "but I must decline."

She shrugged. "Well, think about it. The Guild isn't exactly the most popular team in town, so it's not like anyone else is going to fill that slot anytime soon."

~*~*~

After I introduced myself and suffered through the now-familiar discussion about my name and proper terminology and such (which was fortunately cut short when they learned of Dragon's endorsement of me and my "unusual ideas"), Glyph went around to make the rest of the introductions.

"This is Perihelion, founder of the corporate hero team Sunspark; he specializes in solar-powered technology, and is one of the four people leading this project," Glyph said. Perihelion, a pale-skinned man in a gold and red cloak, offered me a firm handshake.

We were assembled in one of the communal workshops that did not bear any team's emblem. The space was largely open, with the only furnishings being wheeled workbenches and chairs that could be arranged as desired to enable ad hoc collaboration between various artificers.

Those capes to whom Glyph was introducing me were taking a break from the day's labors to eat an early supper, though given that they were continuing to work as they ate it was hardly a "break" at all.

"Megawatt, a rogue from Fort Worth," Glyph continued. "Her specialty is in power distribution systems." A woman in baggy black coveralls gave me a tentative wave.

"Granholme, Protectorate, also Fort Worth. Photoelectric tech." A pale-skinned woman, older than all the others present by nearly a decade, wiped off a bit of grease on her blue and white coveralls before offering me her hand.

"Bricoleur, another rogue, based in Menlo Park. Hybrid construction." A dark-skinned man in a yellow and red suit simply nodded his greetings.

Glyph's aura clouded with disapproval as she rushed through the rest of the introductions: "Bauble, Lightworx, vitreous tech; Big Rig, Lightworx, construction drones; Nonpareil, Elite, augmentation. I'll leave you all to it."

The Guild cape turned on her heel and marched away. Everyone but Granholme was clearly amused at her expense, and before I could ask after the source of their amusement Nonpareil lifted her chin in an exaggerated haughty pout and said, "Such unwarranted prejudice, and from a hero! I expected better."

At my inquisitive look, Perihelion explained, "Most of the folks here are happy to work with Elite capes so long as they're from the rogue cells and not the villain ones, but Glyph's a little tetchy that we're letting Elite capes help out at all. Dragon straight-up refused to join the project so long as there were 'villains' involved. But Nonpareil's on the up-and-up, don't worry."

"Too, she does know that the Bauble and the Big Rig are of the Toybox, and does not like their, how you say… ah, their audacity," Bricoleur added in accented English.

"Hey now," Big Rig said, offering a patently insincere smile. "That's just a nasty rumor. Legally speaking-"

"Yes, yes, we know," Granholme sighed. "Can we move on?"

"Move on to what?" Megawatt asked. Turning to me, she demanded, "Why are you here? Are you a new Tinker for the group?"

"A Tinker of sorts, yes, though not with this project. I'm a researcher who has something of a knack for analyzing the intricacies of a cape's powers and suggesting improvements-" all of them perked up at that, Nonpareil especially "-and was hoping that you all could both show me some examples of your technology and also explain something of the mundane scientific principles behind 'solar farms' in general."

"A Tinker and a cape whisperer?" Granholme asked. "Honey, you don't have to ask me twice."

~*~*~

"… but sometimes it feels like every A-class villain team has a large-scale geokinetic, so regular glass wasn't going to cut it," Bauble explained.

She waggled her hand to indicate the small fabrication device she held and continued, "Which is why this baby is made of fluorophosphate glass, and so is everything else I've made for this project. There's not a single atom of silicon in here, and that'll shut pretty much every geokinetic down hard. Even Shatterbird," she spat, her aura blazing with an intense personal hatred for the other cape. "So if that bitch thinks she can even touch this project, she can suck my gigantic spiky glass-"

"I think he gets the idea, kid," Big Rig hurriedly interrupted.

The profanity didn't bother me at all; my attention was focused on her device, which bore the telltale fingerprints of multiple artificers' stylistic influences.

"I notice you collaborated with Glazier on this device," I said, indicating a particular mechanism on the side that I recognized as his work, "and at least one other Tinker."

"Well, less 'collaborated with' and more 'cheated off of'," she cheekily admitted. "I got Glace to pose as one of those crazy hero merch collectors and buy a broken drone off Glazier to study. Hero Tinkers are always strapped for cash; he didn't take much convincing. This other section, here, is based on some of Lucent's tech I got at a swap meet."

The two of them went on to describe more of the preparations they'd made before joining the project and the precautions they'd taken against any villains who might want to assault the site. Particular emphasis was given to Firewall, a mercenary band who specialized in fighting Tinkers and destroying their creations, and the Slaughterhouse Nine, who had two members that might want to target a desert-based energy generation device.

"At this point," Big Rig concluded, folding his massive arms across his armored chest in satisfaction, "I'd say we've covered every eventuality Shatterbird or Mannequin could think of."

"Yep!" Bauble agreed. "Stick enough Tinkers in one place and they can beat pretty much anything. If the Nine are ever stupid enough to come after Toybox, we'll see who kicks whose butt."

~*~*~

"[… and so I need to carefully track which combinations of materials I use in each project, to avoid any repetition]" Bricoleur explained in his native tongue, using a screwdriver to indicate the distinct layers making up the solar panel he was constructing. "[I prefer to use at least four different materials for each one if I can afford it, but so many armor designs use the same sets of materials, like ceramic plates and titanium alloys, that I've had to increase my prices to allow for things like this gold-copper wiring just for the sake of using something sufficiently different from anything I've done before.]"

Internally, I frowned. I'd examined his repertoire, along with those of every other Tinker present-no novel powers, sadly, and no Cauldron capes among them-and I hadn't seen any flaws in the thoughtforms of his infusions that might restrict the schemata he could use in that way.

This wasn't the first time I'd encountered a cape whose power had a completely arbitrary restriction not based in the actual functioning of their powers, such as Clockblocker, whose Lesser Temporal Stasis spell should have lasted over three hours per use instead of a random duration of no more than ten minutes, or Remembrandt, whose Silent Image spell should have allowed him to depict anything he could imagine rather than only creatures and objects that he'd personally observed.

If I hadn't already strongly suspected that there was an intelligent being or being meddling with this sphere's sorcerers and wilders, that arbitrariness alone would have alerted me to the possibility.

"[I have to thank you, by the way]" Bricoleur said.

"[For what?]"

"[For allowing me to converse with someone else on my own terms. I fled the Congo last year, just ahead of Le Sabre Saglant's conquest of Kinshasa, and only had the opportunity to begin learning English after I immigrated. It's… frustrating, seeing everyone's impatience with my English and having all of these Americans treat me as though I'm stupid when I sound much smarter in Lingala or French.]"

He looked up from his work and met my gaze. "[You have no idea how much it warms my heart to speak my mother tongue again.]"

I offered him a polite smile in return. "[Yes, I'm afraid that's something I've never experienced]" I agreed.

~*~*~

"This is the first of its kind, actually," Perihelion admitted as he carefully bent some wires into place with a pair of pliers. "Our plans are running heavy on theory, light on practice, and the legal fees for covering our bases have been astronomical even though we have the full support of the Vegas city government."

I frowned. "No one has attempted a collaborative project on this scale before? Not once?" I asked. This world's history of magical research may have been extremely brief in the grand scheme of things, but the local artificers appeared to collaborate often enough that something similar should have taken place sometime in the past two decades.

"Oh, we've tried, believe me," Granholme said. Throwing up her hands in frustration, she added, "It's the damn laws against monetizing tinkertech. Reagan and his stooges claimed to be all about 'free trade!' and 'less government regulation!' and all that crap, but the moment capes started talking about-"

She seemed to suddenly realize that she was waving a heated soldering iron around and paused, gently returning it to its cradle on her workbench. "The moment capes started talking about being paid for their work like every other law-abiding American," she continued as if nothing untoward had happened, "NEPEA-1 got shoved through Congress before you could blink and there was suddenly government red tape everywhere you looked. Tinkers got hit the worst of all, obviously, but every rogue suffered."

"I wouldn't have expected to hear something like that coming from a Protectorate cape," Nonpareil remarked from the next workbench over.

"Just because we don't approve of the Elite as an organization doesn't mean we think the government targeting rogues is a good idea," Granholme said. "My work got double-whammied by NEPEA-2 and NEPEA-6 regulations a few years ago even though I'm on the government's payroll, so I have some idea of where you're coming from."

Nonpareil hummed noncommittally. "If you're finding working for The Man to be too restrictive-"

"Ah ah ah," Perihelion cut in, "project ground rules. No poaching or recruiting, remember?"

"Oh, of course. Forgive me," came the clearly disingenuous reply.

Perihelion gave me a long-suffering look. "Right, I almost forgot: the other reason no one's given anything like this a shot before is that trying to get dozens of Tinkers and Thinkers and their support staff to play nice with each other is like trying to nail a herd of cats made of Jello to a whole forest of trees."

"And that," murmured Megawatt, speaking up for the first time, "is why I'm still an independent."

The need to manage egos and expectations was hardly an issue unique to this world's magic-users; the legal suppression of artifice was clearly the larger problem.

Nearly every polity on nearly every world had laws restricting the sales of certain kinds of magic items for reasons of public safety, and for the most part these laws were reasonable, with a few exceptions such as many theocracies forbidding the sale of healing items so that the reigning priesthood could maintain a monopoly on magical healing.

But it sounded as though America's rulers restricted the sales of any enchanted items, regardless of danger or potency, which was an incredibly counterproductive stance for them to take. How could they expect to advance their understanding of the thaumaturgic sciences if artificers had no incentive to experiment and no income with which to do so?

And speaking of counterproductive decisions: "I can't help but notice that, aside from Perihelion, none of you have actually contributed any enchanted materials or components to the solar collection device directly," I said.

All of the capes present had either contributed materials that required magic to easily fabricate but were nonmagical once produced, in the case of Bauble's unusual glass and Granholme's light-based computing modules; schematics that required a given artificer's knowledge to develop but described non-enchanted items that could be assembled by mundanes, in the case of Megawatt's efficient electrical grid design and Bricoleur's advanced solar panel design; or labor carried out with the aid of their existing creations, in the case of Big Rig's lumbering construction automatons and Nonpareil's mechanical exoskeletons.

That I couldn't see a single magical aura among the various stacks of parts to be used in tomorrow's construction was very odd, to say the least.

"That's right!" Bauble confirmed enthusiastically. "It's called tinker-derived tech: stuff that isn't tinkertech itself, but needs tinkertech to make, like the PRT's coil guns or the smokeless thermite that w-that the infamous villain Pyrotechnical sells." Leaning forward conspiratorially, she added, "We're pretty sure containment foam is the same way, but Dragon is a spoilsport and won't say."

Aspect commented.

I hadn't seen a magical aura around the containment foam that the PRT had accidentally launched at me, and its movement and consistency were quite similar to several alchemical products with which I was familiar, so Bauble and Aspect were most likely correct about their respective suppositions.

"That is very useful to know, thank you, but that wasn't my point," I said. " Why aren't you contributing any enchanted items? Surely a device to automatically generate and repair the glass or to convey electricity without wires, for example, would greatly improve the solar collector's durability and efficiency?"

"Maintenance," Perihelion said, as if that explained anything.

"Maintenance?" I echoed.

"Yeah, maintenance." He raised an eyebrow behind his mask. "I thought you were an expert on tinkertech?"

"Humor me. What sort of maintenance?"

He shrugged. "You know, general upkeep. Cars need their oil changed, laptops need their hard drives defragged, laser rifles need their focusing crystals realigned. If all the Tinkers involved in building the power plant had to help maintain it too, that would be an absolute nightmare."

"But why would they need to maintain it?" I insisted.

The gathered capes exchanged uncertain glances. "Uh… because if we didn't, the thing would probably implode inside a week?" Big Rig replied, in the tone of one stating the obvious.

I suppressed my frustration at their collective befuddled reaction. Clearly, I'd once again encountered some fundamental gap between our respective understandings of reality that prevented them from divining my meaning and I theirs, and to bridge the strait would require retreating to the very basics and building up a consensus from there.

Perhaps if we-

Aspect interrupted.

I asked.

he said.

I thought back to my earlier conversation. Yes, he had mentioned that; I'd been too focused on the mechanics of his powers to pick up on the significance of that detail.

I completed the thought.

Which would therefore imply-

My eyes widened. I realized.

would explain a lot, Aspect sent.

Generally, when developing a magic item schema from scratch, one intends the resulting item to last indefinitely; there's not much point in crafting something that one knows will eventually need to be replaced.

However, these items can be extremely complex to design and quite expensive to craft, while items with a finite lifespan and energy reserve can be simpler and cheaper by orders of magnitude. For certain classes of item and certain uses cases, this tradeoff can be well worth it.

If the local artificers could only create finite magic items-and, further, believed that it was only possible to create such items, so that they never attempted to extend the longevity of their designs-then the lack of magic items available for purchase, the complete reliance of local infrastructure on mundane technology, these capes' reluctance to spend time and resources to enchant something that would require their continuing attention… all of these things suddenly made a great deal of sense.

And much as it pained me to do so, I would need to ensure that things stayed as they were.

Aspect asked snidely.

A change of subject was in order, I decided.

"A week? That strikes me as overly pessimistic," I casually replied, in reference to Big Rig's estimate. "Surely, working together, you could devise ways for your contributions to last at least a few months without your attention."

" My tech isn't the limiting factor," Bauble immediately asserted, "it's pretty low-maintenance already. It's all of these guys' that's the problem."

"Not so," Bricoleur objected. "Very stable are my creations, and the solar panel I could make without holding back the inspiration would lose only days compared to this normal panel."

"Well of course; materials tinkers generally have that advantage," Nonpareil agreed. "My own tech can generally stretch that out by twenty to twenty-five percent, depending." She gestured to Granholme. "From what I've seen her chips have a similar upkeep advantage, and if the microcontrollers could be refined just a touch…."

As I'd hoped, the artificers' streams of thought had quickly been diverted by my suggestion, and I sat back in private amusement to observe as they grabbed pencil and paper and began to discuss the problem in earnest.

~*~*~

Nearly an hour later, plates of supper lay cold and forgotten on workbenches as the capes continued to chatter enthusiastically about alternative plans for the solar power plant, their usual animosity set aside in the face of this puzzle.

Even Perihelion, who had been the most reluctant to consider alternative plans at first, and Megawatt, who was the quietest of the lot and seemed to resent being prodded to offer her contributions, had eventually warmed to the exercise, and several other artificers had come over to see what all the fuss was about and been drawn into the discussion.

I was content to continue observing them. I wasn't about to inform any of them that indefinite enchantment was possible to achieve, but if any of them happened to hit upon the idea themselves in the course of their planning….

Suddenly, the clatter of chalk striking concrete cut through the discussion as Megawatt threw down her writing implement and angrily crossed her arms. "Dammit, what's the point?" she huffed. "Even if we could do it, we'd just be daring Behemoth to show up."

Everything ground to a halt. Every aura in sight dimmed, eagerness and curiosity and satisfaction being swiftly replaced by anxiety and discomfort and resignation.

A bit of mumbling and aimless shuffling followed, and soon the additional capes who had joined the group withdrew from the area.

"It's getting late. I think it's time I returned to my hotel," Nonpareil stated, rising from her chair and gathering her tools.

"Yeah, it's about that time," Big Rig said, and he and Bauble quickly rose to join the Elite cape as she left.

An awkward silence followed, none of the remaining four artificers meeting each other's gazes.

"What, pray tell, was that all about?" I asked, bewildered at the sudden and unanimous change in demeanor.

"Never fought Behemoth before?" Megawatt murmured.

"I have not."

Perihelion glanced at her, then eyed me cautiously, then sighed. "He likes attacking energy infrastructure. The media keeps that on the down-low; they don't want people getting scared and moving away from coal towns and cities with nuclear plants and stuff. Bad for business."

… The media does what, exactly?

"Everyone who signed up for this project knew it was a possibility that he'd attack here, but to actually bring it up…." He glanced at Megawatt again, shades of annoyance and nervousness mingling in his aura. "It's very bad luck."

Of all the reactions I'd seen to the mention of one of these Endbringers, Perihelion's was by far the most ridiculous.

I could forgive the paranoia of the young adults to whom I'd spoken in Chicago; for a gaggle of mundanes without any weapons or apparent combat training, such an aversion to gaining the attention of a vastly stronger magic-user was fairly reasonable.

For these artificers, though? The majority wore armor of one kind or another, and every one of them was armed with at least one enchanted weapon; the walls of this facility bristled with layers of wards and enough weaponry to give pause to even a small army of attackers. What possible reason could there be for such a fearful reaction?

"Not an hour earlier, several of you were waxing eloquent about all of the precautions taken against all manner of villains, including the Slaughterhouse Nine," I reminded him, "yet now you're all out of sorts at the very thought that this one singular villain might arrive?"

Anger and resentment tinted his aura as he opened his mouth to retort, but I sailed past his objection. "And on top of that, you say that your government actively prevents its citizens from making informed decisions regarding their safety by concealing information from them?"

If these capes believed that their own knowledge and defenses were insufficient to protect them against this threat, they should be well aware that depriving the mundanes of knowledge of its capabilities and inclinations, the one thing that might potentially allow them to protect themselves against it, would put them in even more dire straits.

I shook my head. "Shameful." Hero or no, magic-user or no, there were certain basic obligations one had to one's fellow citizens.

"It's not just America," he protested. "No sane news outlet would want to publicize that."

"That the misdeed is also committed elsewhere hardly lessens your government's fault in the matter," I said flatly. Then a thought occurred to me: "Is this why even fragmentary images or video of the Endbringers are practically impossible to find on the internet?"

"I mean, they leave entire cities in ruin. Think of the damage it would do to morale if everyone could watch things like that," Granholme said defensively.

Aspect snidely remarked, less fearful if such a creature strolled into their town.

That, and the obvious comparison to Shatterbird presented itself: rumor claimed that she could slay hundreds or thousands of people at once with a single casting of her infamous glass-shattering spell, so why would the Toybox capes boast that they had no fear of her (or her eight companions!) yet tremble in fear of a lone elementalist? There had to be something that set Behemoth apart to justify this fear, but it seemed too much to hope that any of them would volunteer an explanation.

"Did you not earlier advocate against unnecessary government intervention in everyday affairs?" I asked pointedly.

"That's different!" she protested, glancing away.

Perhaps sensing my frustration with the whole affair, Bricoleur met my gaze, pain and defiance in his eyes. "I have seen the Behemoth myself," he interjected, his voice hollow. "In Lagos. Do you truly wish to know what he is like?"

" Yes," I fervently replied; such an opportunity was unlikely to come again. "Very much so."

The others agreed as well, morbid curiosity suffusing their auras.

That none of them professed a similar personal encounter with Behemoth made their intense reaction seem even more out of place; I was beginning to believe that it derived from the story of Behemoth more than anything else, like a legendary general whose reputation for invincibility on the battlefield was a more potent weapon than any he could wield himself.

Bricoleur began to recite, choosing his words slowly and carefully: "The Behemoth is tall, at least fifteen meters. One eye, glowing red. Skin of… black stone, how you say… ah, obsidian. Strong arms, sharp horns and claws. He is slow, but does not stop. All energy is his to command. Walls melt before him, sand turns to glass, blood burns like a torch. His roar shatters bones, his lightning snatches flying capes from the sky. Guns, bombs, lasers, they do almost nothing to him. Armor, forcefields, they do almost nothing against his powers. He has been wounded before, but never mortally. He rises from molten earth, marches upon a city, kills many, destroys much, then leaves. Only ruins and radiation are left."

Finally, finally I had a description of one of these unspeakably fearsome beasts, and… I must admit, I wasn't particularly impressed.

Aspect joked.

I said. And it wasn't just me: Behemoth sounded like any powerful magic-user with strong wards and a penchant for evocation, really-or Purity, or Dragon, or any other cape with a well-known capability for widespread and wholesale destruction.

Legend himself was famous for handily defeating dozens of enemies at a time or razing entire villain lairs and coming away from the battle with not a single hair out of place, so the level of power on display was far from unknown to the locals.

Behemoth also sounded a lot like Dregoth (may he drown forever in the blackest depths of Stygia) and his penchant for murdering thousands on a whim, but for all that Dregoth was a despicable monster no one in the Tablelands was afraid to merely speak or even think of him.

Comparing this Endbringer to the second-strongest member of the Triumvirate and to the strongest of the thirteen Sorcerer-Kings on Athas, the only conclusion I could reach was that rarity must have led to superstition.

As the three Triumvirs and three Endbringers were the only six magic-users of exceptional strength on this world, with even other notably strong capes falling many rungs below them on the proverbial ladder and no great wyrms or ancient liches or other highly magically-gifted monsters existing on this world to round out the ranks as they normally would, then perhaps those few acquired a much more mythic stature than they would if this world possessed sixty such capes, or six hundred.

A decisive early conquest leads to fear and doubt and hesitation on the part of his enemies, which leads to an easier victory in the next encounter, which leads to more fear, and so forth until eventually Behemoth's name is spoken in tones of dread to the same degree that Legend's is spoken in tones of awe. Not the most solid hypothesis, but at least the most plausible one for now.

Seeing in Bricoleur's aura the emotional toll it had taken on him to say aloud even as much as he had, I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and thanked him.

Then I turned my disappointed gaze to the others. "Fearsome as Behemoth is, that in no way justifies keeping depictions of the Endbringers away from the general public," I said.

"It's not just them, it's the capes who fight them, too," Granholme said. "If people could see what we're truly capable of when we go all-out, they wouldn't trust us, and that hurts heroes everywhere." Her argument was spoken in the smooth cadence of one quoting another's words-or, perhaps, the institutional opinion of the Protectorate.

"Exactly," Perihelion agreed. "Sunspark makes its money from dealing with low-end villains, public outreach, and tinkering projects like this one. When people look at me, they see someone who's spent years championing the transition to green energy. If what they pictured was me firing the solar cannon I bring to S-Class events," he shook his head, "we'd never get another contract, people would be uncomfortable being in the same room with me."

While he spoke, Megawatt and Bricoleur remained conspicuously silent, their auras indicating mixed feelings on the matter.

I stared at Perihelion and Granholme, then at the golden hue of Good within their auras to confirm that they were, indeed, the heroes they had claimed to be. The glimmers of gold were faint, but they were definitely present. Yet Perihelion offered only selfish and paltry justifications for upholding his government's policy, ones that would have made more sense coming from the two rogues present, and Granholme did not gainsay him.

It was one thing for me, a foreign element with no especial moral obligation to this world, to withhold information that could potentially help its inhabitants out of concern for the permanent disruption of their culture-and even then, I keenly felt the friction between the Society's bylaws and the Second Precept whenever I found myself in a position to provide such information.

It was quite another thing for a resident of this world with no such obligation to actively withhold critical information from the citizenry in such a way as to endanger their lives, out of a petty concern for profit and reputation, and to not only exhibit no guilt but to actively advocate for misleading the populace on a massive scale.

Everything I'd heard of rogues made it clear that heroes deemed themselves morally superior because they served their fellow citizens more or less selflessly where rogues did not, and the general populace held similar opinions. That may have been true on the whole, but I held little respect for those who dedicated themselves to the Precepts of a higher cause and then failed to hold themselves to the appropriate standard.

"And you have the gall to name yourselves heroes," I said, pouring all of my disdain for their position into that last word.

"Now, that's not fair-" Perihelion began, but I held up a hand to stop him.

"I have other plans for the evening. Perhaps we can resume this conversation tomorrow."

He grimaced. "I'll be too busy then." Granholme nodded in agreement.

"A shame," I replied. "Fare well."

I strode up to the door to the adjacent workshop and stepped through it, shifting to my demiplane the moment I was out of sight.

~*~*~

Not wanting to dwell on the conversation and its outcome, I wasted no time in assuming a meditative posture and slipping into sleep.

When I opened my eyes, I was in my dreamscape. A slight exertion of will caused an elaborate doorway to rise from the ground before me, black oak in a white marble archway with artistic inscriptions picked out in green.

As I had done every night since teaching Elle this particular technique, I knocked politely on the door and waited for her reply, which was not long in coming: moments later, a faint "Come in!" drifted through the door and it creaked open to reveal her own dreamscape beyond.

I stepped through, and the door vanished behind me.

~*~*~

8:14 pm, Tuesday the 10th of May, 2011 CE

The Windy Steppes, Labyrinth's Dreamscape, The Dream-Ethereal Plane

Tonight found Elle in one of the demi-dreamscapes (my term for one of the myriad of sculpted forms her dreamscape could take on) that she favored when she was in a pleasant mood, a very good sign.

A gentle breeze caused the tall grass to ripple around me as I strode up a small rise to meet her.

Some distance away, Elle was riding upon a bright pink deer, surrounded by a multitude of other vibrantly-colored wildlife from bright green elephants to violet buffalo to blue unicorns to a bevy of purely imaginary creatures. When she saw me, she briefly squeezed her eyes shut and all of them disappeared except her own mount, which trotted over in my direction.

"Hi Valigan!" she called.

"Good evening, Elle. I see your visualization is coming along nicely."

"Uh-huh!" she said. She patted her deer on the neck, then wrinkled her forehead in concentration and vanished it as well, at which point she fell through the space it had recently occupied and barely managed to land safely.

Most experienced dreamwalkers would have simply dreamed themselves into a standing position at the same time that they ceased dreaming of the deer, but the unique nature of her power and its ability to bleed her dreamscape partly into the Material world had made her leery of relying overmuch on dream physics, a decision I fully supported.

Elle brushed off her dress, then took a deep breath and focused for a third time. The dreamscape began to shudder around us, vibrating more and more strongly until, with a sensation like a bowstring snapping out of an archer's grip, we suddenly found ourselves in the High Temple, her favorite dreamscape and the usual site of our lessons.

"So, what're we going to do tonight?" the young girl asked eagerly. "Can we do some more cloud-shaping? Please?"

Instead of answering, I turned to gaze up at the statues lining the hall of her temple.

From the beginning, Elle had been reticent to share anything about her friends and family in the waking world beyond the names of "Miss Faultline" and "Mister Gregor," and I'd respected that desire for privacy. However, having learned something of the nature of so-called "monster capes" earlier in the day, I found myself curious about the individuals upon whom the non-human statues had been modeled.

"Before that, I had a question for you." I pointed up to the statue of a reptilian boy. "I assume that depicts a friend of yours. Is he a monster cape?"

She frowned and placed her fists defiantly at her hips. "That's rude! He's not a monster, he's a person!"

"My apologies. Does he prefer the term 'case fifty-three'?" Perhaps the PRT's less judgmental terminology had spread beyond their organization. "Or, say, 'transmuted cape'?"

Her hands dropped to her sides. "Uh, no, he's just Newter," she said uncertainly, as if she hadn't considered the question before.

"I see. I'm interested in studying the phenomenon of… capes such as he," I said. Her aura pulsed with recognition and interest. "Is he doing the same?"

"No…" she said, drawing out the word. She fidgeted slightly, before admitting, "But Miss Faultline is."

Then she gasped. "Can you do memories like you do dreams?"

Colleen had mentioned that case fifty-three capes were amnesiacs, so I had an idea of the intent behind her question. "I can. If your friend is willing to meet with me and tell me what he knows, I may be able to cure his memory loss."

Her aura practically glowed with happiness at that, but dimmed a moment later as guilt and embarrassment overtook it. "Um. Two problems."

"What are they?"

"I haven't told Miss Faultline you've been teaching me," she whispered. "She might not be happy about it."

"And the second?"

"We're not in Brockton Bay, so it could be hard for you to come see us."

"Where are you now?"

Elle hesitated, deliberating. "We're in Las Vegas," she admitted.

"What a coincidence, so am I!" I replied brightly. "It shouldn't be a problem at all, then."

It took a bit of discussion, but eventually Elle agreed that Faultline, Gregor, and Newter would want to hear my offer, and that she should probably confide in Faultline about her dreamwalking lessons.

Her team was busy, she said, and persuading Faultline could take a while, so we set an appointed place and time to meet in the waking world the following day, and then proceeded with the night's tutelage.

~*~*~

7:29 pm, Wednesday the 11th of May, 2011 CE

The Mirage Hotel & Casino, Paradise, America, Earth Bet

After another very productive day spent at the Crystal Sands project site, meeting capes and studying their enchanted items (and studiously avoiding Perihelion and Granholme), I teleported to the appointed meeting site with moments to spare, arranging to appear in an unoccupied room and exit to the lobby when no one was looking.

At precisely half past the hour, I sensed two young women exit one of the restaurants on the floor. The fact that they were looking around much more than would any normal tourist is what caught my attention, though they hid it well enough that I doubt anyone nearby noticed. I studied the duo as they casually meandered across the gaming floor, through the atrium, and over the small bridge toward the front desk.

One of them looked at first as though she was closely related to Elle, but the more I inspected her features and her gait the more I concluded that she was Elle herself.

It wasn't unheard-of for a dreamwalker to project a dream-self that didn't precisely match their appearance in reality, and between her initial inability to control her powers, the mental detachment she'd exhibited on our first meeting, and the hints she'd given about going through a traumatic experience after becoming a cape (from which Faultline had subsequently rescued her), I could easily believe that she preferred to project herself as she had been before she had awakened her dreamwalking talent-or, perhaps, that her original dream-self had been "stuck" in that form and she hadn't been able to change it as she aged even had she wanted to.

Teaching her to alter her dream-self as she wished would be her next lesson, I decided.

My suspicion was confirmed as the young woman rounded the corner, caught sight of me, and marched right over as though we were very well acquainted. "Valigan," she greeted me.

Yes, this was she. "Elle," I replied, smiling. "It's good to see you in the flesh."

She didn't seem entirely comfortable surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the lobby, and from her posture, mannerisms, and emotions it seemed that this older body didn't quite fit her, either. Her true mental age, I judged, lay somewhere between the roughly twelve years of her dream-self and the perhaps twenty years of her physical body.

It was quite the fascinating scenario, but for the moment I was here to study someone who had been altered in body rather than mind.

The woman next to Elle didn't introduce herself, just nodded; likely another cape, then, who didn't want to give me her name. By the manner in which she glanced at Elle in between quick checks of their surroundings, it would seem that she wasn't used to dealing with a fully lucid and fairly independent teammate; by the wariness and mild confusion in her aura, she wasn't entirely comfortable with the new state of affairs.

Hopefully Elle's other teammates had been more accepting of the revelation of her much-improved control over her power, but if not, well, it had been her choice to reveal it to them and at this point she couldn't exactly stuff the demon back into the binding circle.

I gestured back the way they'd come. "After you."

~*~*~

At long last, after a full objective month on this world, I'd finally encountered an honest-to-gods adventuring party.

Oh, they called themselves a mere mercenary crew, but the truth was plain to see: A band of skilled combatants who took on jobs for pay but pursued their own goals in the meantime, who had a well-stocked and well-funded base of operations in their home city but preferred to live on the fringes of society and stay on the move, who came from widely scattered racial and economic backgrounds but were now as tightly-knit as family, who each had a clear role to play in the group both during combat and outside of it but continually learned from one another to prepare for any eventuality?

They were adventurers, through and through, and I felt a few pangs of nostalgia as Faultline finished her overview of the group's membership, history, and capabilities.

She sat behind a desk at the far end of the hotel room, her back to the wall and her many weapons close at hand. Gregor, her second in command, sat off to the side and slightly forward, to cover each others' sight lines in case of ambush; unlike his leader he eschewed armor of any sort, leaving his torso uncovered.

Newter was leaning against the nearest bed, clad in short black trousers and a bright green and yellow shirt whose colors clashed so violently with his orange skin that the effect had to be intentional. Spitfire, the woman who'd accompanied Elle down to the lobby, was situated with a final party member who hadn't been introduced in the room next door, where the party presumably believed I couldn't sense the two of them.

"Now it's your turn," Faultline told me. "Who are you, what do you want, and where do you come from?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Most don't ask after my place of origin."

"Speech patterns aside, you didn't give Gregor or Newter a second look. That implies you're not from around here."

"Indeed. I come from a different world, one where non-humans are common. Even if your teammates are of unusual races, I have no need nor desire to gawk at them."

"That is a welcome change," Gregor said.

"A race, huh?" Newter asked, thoughtful. "I'm not the only one? You know what this," he gestured to his body, "is?"

"Not offhand, but I could find out, if you'd like."

"That'd be great."

I nodded, and brought the Discern Bloodline power to mind. It identified the precise racial makeup of any being, even those with very unusual ancestries, which might be especially useful in this case.

I manifested the power and found that, in fact, Newter was not a member of any race I recognized.

Instead, he was a member of three.

I frowned. It was possible that the unidentified cape had some ability to scramble divinations, so I focused on Faultline to check against a baseline.

Human, the power told me.

Human, it said again when I focused on Spitfire, and the same again for Elle.

Human and spellscale and firenewt, the power said when I once again focused on Newter.

That was quite possibly the strangest result I'd ever seen from the power. It was a kind of result I'd only seen before when attempting to discern the race of a composite creature-that is, multiple creatures combined into one via the Fusion power or similar-but Newter bore no magic aura to imply he was under the effects of such a power, and a brief glimpse into his thoughts revealed that there was no submerged personality sharing his mind as one would see in the case of a fused creature.

I focused on Gregor last. Human and flumph and ghaunadan, the power said.

…

A humanoid vertebrate, a tentacled invertebrate, and a sapient ooze, all fused into one.

Now that was definitely the strangest result I'd ever seen from Discern Bloodline, and the contest wasn't even close.

"So?" Newter prompted. "What am I?"

"Unique, I'm afraid," I said.

His aura fuzzed with melancholy, as well as small touches of loss and regret around the edges, but his insouciant smile remained firmly in place as he said, "And don't anyone forget it!"

Gregor was about to speak, but Faultline raised a hand to cut him off. "We're getting off-track. I believe you about the other world," she said, her eyes flicking, perhaps unconsciously, toward where the unnamed woman was standing in the adjacent room, "but that still leaves us with the other two questions."

At that, I nodded, and proceeded to explain myself.

~*~*~

Even the unflappable Faultline was feeling skeptical by the time I completed my recitation.

I'd given them a full accounting of my mission for the Society and my current goals, just as I had for Gene and Colleen and the others in whom I'd seen fit to confide. I only lightly edited the details of my psionic capabilities; she'd mentioned hearing rumors of an "Eidolon Lite" from various contacts in Brockton Bay before they left on their trip, and Elle's prior explanation of our lessons made it clear to Faultline that I was more broadly talented than the average cape, so there was little reason to hold back.

Through it all, the others were largely silent, but the moment I finished speaking Gregor seized upon the piece of information that was most dear to him personally: "It is true, then, that you can reverse memory loss? Completely?"

"Yes, but only completely." At his look, I explained, "I lack the finesse to go trawling in the mental void for individual memories. My only option is to bring all of your memories to the surface at once, which can potentially be quite traumatic."

Gregor's eager expression shouted from the crow's nest that he was perfectly happy with that arrangement and couldn't wait to have his lost memories returned to him, but Newter was pensive. "What if… what if we don't like the memories we get?" the younger cape asked.

"I could submerge them again, but not immediately. You would need to deal with the memories for at least a few days."

I'd never learned the kind of invasive memory-manipulation spells that would be required to effectively erase an entire personality. Even if I never intended to actually use it, in keeping with the First Precept, merely having it in my repertoire would be disquieting enough.

Juroth, being Juroth, almost certainly did have that capability; with our expedition now having reached the one-month mark, the Founders were likely to check in any day now, and when the portal reopened I could borrow an appropriate spell from him.

Newter stared at the carpet, clearly conflicted. "Is there a way to figure out who I… was, before I go through with it?" A pause. "I want to know, but I like who I am now. I don't want to lose that."

"Not directly, but if you happen to have any connection to your former identity, I could attempt to divine some information that way."

He reached up to the neck of his shirt and yanked it over his head, leaving his torso bare. "Does this help?"

Tattooed in the center of his chest, its crisp black edges standing out clearly from his vibrant skin, was the emblem of Cauldron.

"Give me your hand," I told him firmly.

"Uh, remember the psychoactive sweat? Unless you want to take a quick nap-"

"I am immune to poison. Give me your hand."

He shrugged and extended his hand. I grasped it and delved into his repertoire.

It contained two distinct sets of powers, one relating to the production of various acids and venoms, the other related to enhancing his speed and climbing ability.

Curious. His body was composed of three disparate races fused into one physical whole, while his repertoire was composed of two disparate constellations of spells fused into one mental whole. Two completely unknown phenomena in one being, as if he had been engineered that way, like one of Juroth's hybrids or Penumbra's homunculi.

Engineered very much without his consent, and then stripped of his every last memory, flagrantly violating not only the letter of the First Precept but the spirit of the Second Precept as well.

From a scientific perspective, remarkable.

From an ethical perspective, utterly objectionable.

I shoved aside my rising anger to focus on what Newter's and Gregor's existence meant. There was a pattern there, one that pointed to some key fact that was as yet just out of my grasp. I mentally reviewed all that I had learned of Cauldron's activities and those I knew or suspected to have gained the ability to use magic through vials and attempted to fit the pieces together:

Noelle, a cape who'd begun to mutate into a panoply of monstrous forms, and who produced mutated and possibly monstrous "offspring" therefrom.

Pretender, a cape whose power let him physically meld with another being, "possessing" it in order to-

…

In order to use any powers it might possess as if they were his own.

I sent calmly,

I'd want to confirm my hypothesis experimentally, of course, and I would need access to Juroth's portal if I wanted to do things properly. I tasked my secondary mind with making the appropriate plans.

In the meantime, however….

I released Newter's hand and both he and Faultline gave me a look, his surprised, hers considering. "You know about Cauldron," Faultline said, and it wasn't a question. Behind her cool exterior, her aura blazed with a heady mix of suspicion, dismay, eagerness, and hope.

"We have crossed paths," I said shortly. I turned to Gregor and met his gaze squarely. "If you don't mind my taking a short recess before I attempt to repair your memory, I believe I may be able to procure an answer to Newter's inquiry."

"I have waited years for answers," he replied. "I can wait a while longer."

"Excellent." I brought a particular face to mind, scried it, checked the surroundings, and sent a burst of abjurative energy down the link. "If you'll excuse me."

And then I was elsewhere.

~*~*~

10:48 pm, Wednesday the 11th of May, 2011 CE

Protectorate Tower, New York City, America, Earth Bet

Legend looked up from his desk with a jolt of surprise when I appeared in the center of the room. The defensive suite around his office included a teleportation countermeasures system, as I'd sensed on my last visit, but as I'd suppressed it just before teleporting in it failed to react to my arrival.

"Valigan," he greeted me, not bothering to conceal his irritation at my presence. "Nice of you to drop by outside of normal business hours."

"Legend," I replied, not bothering to hide my displeasure. "You have a considerable amount of explaining to do."

Author's Note

Welp, it looks like this chapter had an accidental theme of "heroes falling short of Valigan's expectations."

Ah well. At least his chat with Legend should be… productive.

Regarding the Thinker facility across the street from the PRT 29 building, we know that Vegas "employs a group of unsponsored thinkers and tinkers to monitor the venues, much like the PRT does with the economy," per 23.2, so it made sense that the PRT would have a Watchdog branch in Vegas given that identifying parahuman economic shenanigans is their main job and said shenanigans are what's sinking the casinos.

Regarding the Vegas Protectorate team, canon only definitively says that Pretender, Satyrical, and Nix are Cauldron capes, but between the fact that they're apparently a good enough team to specifically go after S-Class threats and the way they threw in with Cauldron toward the end, a fairly Cauldron-heavy lineup seemed to fit.

I decided which capes were Cauldron and which weren't based on how well their powers fit the established-by-Valigan signs of being a Cauldron cape. For those keeping track at home, Ravine (canonical, but no powers specified) and Espy (OC) both had their powers inspired by the big list of Cauldron vials; Ravine got a mix of Millstone and Pharaoh, Espy a mix of Oculus and Prince.

Regarding the solar plant project, for all that Worm focuses on the fights and spandex we know that there are Tinkers in Earth Bet trying to improve things on a large scale, between Sphere's moon base, Mannequin's stated goal of hunting down Tinkers who are looking to "better the world," all of those Weaverdice Architect Tinkers with their focus on megaprojects, and more.

Since Las Vegas is canonically suffering from the introduction of Thinkers to the gambling scene, and because there was a real-life attempt to build a solar plant near the city, that felt like a good place to put it, Valigan's hatred of the Mojave notwithstanding.

Regarding the Crew's presence in Vegas, they headed there to recruit Shamrock shortly after April 25th (the end of arc 5) and weren't back in Brockton Bay for Leviathan, so that's where they should be in early May.

Regarding the true nature of the Case 53s… well, there will be more on that in a future chapter.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

New spells and powers Valigan used or referenced in this chapter were fusion (meld two creatures together in a best-of-both-worlds sort of way, with the resulting creature being under the control of one of the constituent creatures), nondetection (protects from a limited subset of Divination spells; Val wasn't about to give the team a full mind blank for that cheap), flame stride (teleport through fires), and discern bloodline (exactly what it says). Yak folk are basically as described: they look like yaks, they possess people. The Tears of Selûne are an asteroid cluster that follows Toril's moon around. The permanent/temporary item distinction Valigan mentions is basically the difference between e.g. a gem of seeing ( true seeing for 30 minutes a day, forever, for 75,000 gp) and a staff of true seeing that costs 3 charges per casting (only 16 castings ever, but it's only 15% of the gem's cost at 11,250 gp). Same basic effect, but two entirely different kinds of items, very different utility, and (in-game) different techniques and materials needed for each. Spellscales and firenewts are two reptilian humanoid races. The former are innately magical, very shiny, and generally vain; the latter are very agile, very orange, and known for their dangerous spit. Flumphs and Ghaunadans are two very weird critters. The former are large, blobby, and able to shoot fluids at people; the latter are translucent, charming, and highly resilient, and prefer wearing garish colors.

Last edited: Mar 14, 2023

Rule of Three 3.4.T

Half Past Tenth Morning Bell, Far the 27 th of Sypheros, 999 YK Tavick's Wharf, Sharn, Breland, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

This, I thought as I tripped the fleeing smuggler with my baton, is the most fun I've had in years.

Going around helping the good guys and beating up the bad guys for the past month or so had been a very cathartic experience. Now that we'd gotten the lay of the land in Sharn and I had a good streak of wins under my belt to make up for our first few disastrous fights, my cape career was everything I'd imagined it to be and more.

I had a team that worked great together. I had money, and plenty of it. I had independence, or rather my team collectively did; it was great to be on our own, without having to answer to any adults when we weren't actively on a job with Creilath.

I had all of the influence that being a "noble" brought, too. Especially since Leyla apparently thought that Alec and I were the ones in charge of the team because we had the highest titles, based on what Dean had been able to pick up from her. Alec thought that was absolutely hilarious when we found out about it, and had held that over Brian's head for days, making little requests when Leyla was around that Brian couldn't turn down without possibly giving the game away.

(I still felt a little guilty for lying about the noble thing, but less and less so, these days.)

I had a little fame. Not the kind of fame I'd have had as a hero back home-and thank god for that, I definitely didn't want or need anyone to make any action figures of me, or TV shows, or anything along those lines-but these days a lot of the people who hired Creilath had heard of his team of apprentices and were glad to see us when we showed up with him.

People were even starting to recognize me when I went out into the marketplace, now that word had spread about the silk clothes I was making, and wasn't that something?

I even had a friend, sort of. Ever since Alec had convinced Leyla to use our names instead of our titles with his sob story, she'd relaxed around us, just a little, and she and I had started to chat about more than just the projects we were working on or the stuff we were doing to pay back Merrix for building our portal.

The difference in ages and her concern about social classes meant that we weren't close, and probably still wouldn't be by the time I went home, but even though we were limited to fairly superficial topics it was still nice to be able to talk with someone who wasn't a bully, a boss, or a teenage boy once in a while.

The smuggler got his hands beneath him and started to push himself off the ground, but before he could do that I put my foot on his back and shoved him back down. I gathered part of my swarm right in front of his face, making it buzz loudly and angrily.

"Give up," I told him. The rest of his gang had been slow to surrender, so I landed a wasp on his nose and pointed its stinger right between his eyes for emphasis.

He froze, then slowly moved his arms back out to the side and dropped his axe.

"Good. Hands behind your back," I ordered, and he complied.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out a length of silk rope. Creilath didn't have enough sets of manacles to give one to each of us, so while I still sold the majority of the rope I made I'd started holding back some of it for our own use. Using one of the the knots Dean had shown me, I quickly tied the smuggler's wrists together and then warned him to stay down until the authorities arrived.

While I did that, I sent a few clusters of flying insects out to check on everyone else.

The guys were all a few blocks away-these smugglers had been smart, for once, and some kind of magic alarm had given them enough warning to let them scatter before we reached their hideout and force us to chase them down-but my bugs went exactly where I sent them.

No feeling like they were flying through molasses, no pushing sensation; my power responded exactly as it should have.

Not that I expected something to go wrong, but, well….

Ever since the first time Creilath's enemies had come after us in a skycoach and I'd felt my power responding sluggishly at range, I'd made a point of "exercising" my power, pushing it out to the limits of my control just to prove to myself that I could.

The day after the attack I'd done it every few hours or so, whenever the impulse hit me, and I hadn't felt the tiniest bit of strain at all. I wanted to keep it up, just in case, but I felt kind of silly doing that when there clearly wasn't anything wrong, so I'd started checking on my power once a day when I woke up, and now I was down to about once a week.

No strain, every single time. At this point I was basically convinced that I'd imagined that delay, or that I'd just been tired and not really trying, or something like that; I was glad I hadn't mentioned it to the group and made a fool of myself.

Once the flies, beetles, and wasps were in place, I looked through their eyes, something else I'd been practicing.

I was still limited to distinguishing very rough blotches of light and dark, same as when I started, but now I could keep it up for a few minutes at a time without getting a headache and that was all I needed at the moment.

Big dark blotch a few feet off the ground, moving in circles around a few other blotches with light blotches between them: Chris, taking down his targets.

Two big blotches standing still, with light blotches coming from one of them and some wobbly dark blotches nearby: Alec and Dean tag-teaming their own targets.

Really big round blotch: Brian, dealing with people in his darkness cloud.

Really big human-shaped blotch connected to a smaller blotch: Urzat, enthusiastically questioning one of the smugglers.

No need to check for Creilath, since I was close enough that I could feel him in their office with my swarm where he was going through their safe for evidence.

By the time I'd finished my knots all of the other smugglers had surrendered.

Yet another win for the team. Capes eleven, criminals zero.

~*~*~

On the way back to our workshop, Creilath was unusually quiet.

Well, actually, he'd been unusually quiet for the past two days, but he was always the most talkative right after we finished up a job and he wanted to debrief us, give us pointers, and talk about next steps, so I'd expected him to get back to his usual self once the Watch had hauled the last of the smugglers away.

But no, he'd barely said a few words since then.

I focused on how curious I was feeling about that for a few moments in the hopes that Dean would see it, then glanced back at him. He was looking at me, so I nodded discreetly at Creilath and raised my eyebrows.

Dean gave me the little head-tilt-and-shake gesture we'd started to use among the team to mean Not now, we can talk when it's just us, and I nodded slightly in return.

I had to admit, it was kind of cool having our own secret signals like that. Really made it feel like we were a team, and not just a bunch of capes working together.

~*~*~

Quarter Past Eleventh Morning Bell, Far the 27 th of Sypheros, 999 YK

Tradefair Workshop, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

"He's pissed. Really pissed. But not at us," Dean said, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. Creilath had said he had other things to do this evening and would come get us for our next job tomorrow afternoon, so I didn't have to wait long to ask Dean about what was up with Creilath.

"There's… it's kind of hard to explain," he continued, making a vague gesture in the air at head height. "There's some betrayal, but not betrayal-betrayal, there's not much of the shock and offense that usually comes with that, it's more like…."

"Something like 'I'm not mad at you, just disappointed you didn't live up to my expectations, except not very much because I didn't really expect you to live up to them in the first place'?" Chris suggested.

That was an awfully specific description to come up with off the top of his head.

… I'd better not ask.

"Yes!" Dean said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Chris. "Very close to that, but that usually has a bit more frustration mixed in. Anyway, whatever has him feeling that way, I don't think it concerns us or he'd have more of a reaction when he talked to us."

"Good," Brian said. He gave the basket of food on Chris's workbench a considering look. "Anyone else want to grab something from one of the food stalls? I'm getting kind of sick of sandwiches and wraps for lunch."

Dean shook his head. "I was going to try to sell off some of our reprocessed silk inventory. The lunch rush has been the best time for that."

Brian crossed his arms. "Fine. Anyone else?"

"Can you buy something for me and bring it back? Walking is hard," Alec said.

"No."

"Then I'll pass."

"Fine." Brian looked at me and Chris. "Either of you?"

"I wanted to do some more work on the armor before Leyla gets here," I said apologetically.

Chris nodded. "Same here."

My contributions to our new armor were essentially done except for a few last touches, and Chris mentioned last night that he was just about done with the outer plating. If we finished everything today then we could get everything assembled while Leyla was here and show it off to the rest of the team.

We didn't strictly need her here for that; she'd finished up the magical parts last week and given them to us to weave or weld into our parts of the armor, so we could always finish things up tomorrow and show them off then. But Leyla had helped us a lot with the enchanting and the designing, so it would only be fair to let her explain the aspects of the design that she'd contributed… and I was kind of hoping to impress her with the final result, too.

Brian nodded and moved to leave. "You know," Dean suggested, "if you want to have lunch with someone, we could always grab food on the way to our stall and I could show you how selling everything works while we eat."

"No thanks." Brian opened the door and looked back at Dean. "If I'm there people will probably start asking me questions about everything, and you're the expert salesman here." He left, shutting the door a little harder than necessary.

~*~*~

It was just about time for us to head back to the hotel for dinner, and Leyla was almost two hours overdue.

There had been a few times she hadn't been able to meet us when she said she would, but she'd always let us know about that ahead of time. Even if something had come up unexpectedly, the longest it had ever taken us to get from the Forgehold to Tradefair had been an hour and a half when we'd been coming back from a meeting right around dinnertime and the foot traffic had been especially bad, so she could at least have sent a messenger or something and they would have gotten here by now.

Brian even went to check the district message station an hour ago on the off chance she'd sent a message that way, but no such luck.

Once I finished the last of my weaving I wandered over to Chris's workbench to check on his progress and found that he was still putting the finishing touches on Dean's helmet.

That helmet-or a version of it, anyway-was all that was left of Dean's original suit of armor, just like Chris's modified visor was the only intact remnant of his own armor. The rest of it had been disassembled for parts, one trip down to the Forgehold at a time. He'd said there were certain materials in the armor that he couldn't get from Leyla and some of the smaller parts were easier to use as-is than trying to make new ones with the tools he had would have been, and there were probably some other reasons for re-using the old armor as well that he hadn't mentioned.

His hoverboard was also nowhere to be seen, though I wasn't sure how parts from that would have helped him with making armor.

As I watched, Chris slotted the top panel of the new helmet into place with a satisfying click, moved the helmet around a bit to check it from different angles, and set it down on his workbench. Then he stood up to stretch and almost smacked me in the face with his hand.

"Careful," I said, and he twitched in surprise when he noticed me there. Even after all this time working in a fairly small space he still wasn't great at paying attention to his surroundings, and more than once I'd had to stop him from absent-mindedly running into my looms on his way to or from the book pile.

"Sorry, didn't see you. Is Leyla here?" he asked, then checked the watch display on his wristband and did a double take. "Wait, six thirty? Already? Did I miss her completely?"

"No, she never showed up."

"Huh." He looked down at the helmet, looked over at his own armor, frowned. "Did you still want to show everyone the armor tonight?"

I shook my head. "There's no rush. We'll have time tomorrow morning before Creilath comes by, maybe she'll come over then."

"Works for me."

~*~*~

Eighth Morning Bell, Sar the 28 th of Sypheros, 999 YK

Tradefair Workshop, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

We got to the workshop bright and early, and there was still no sign of Leyla. No note on the workshop door, no letter waiting at the message station, nothing.

"You think something happened to her?" Brian asked.

"Probably," said Alec, shrugging indifferently.

"I doubt it," Chris disagreed. "It's not like she could fall off a tower and hurt herself around here, and with some of the wands and other stuff she's carrying, anyone trying to kidnap her or something would make a big enough scene that we'd probably have heard about it."

"Unless her Cannith coworkers did hear about it but didn't want to pass it along to us," Dean said.

"True," Chris admitted.

It'd been interesting, watching Dean's and Brian's opinions slowly shift the longer we were here. Brian and Leyla had eventually started to get along better, and he almost treated her like part of the team, these days; meanwhile, Dean was getting more and more antsy around Creilath the more he saw that the inquisitive was hiding something, and I guess now he was starting to suspect House Cannith of being up to something as well even though Merrix and Leyla had been nothing but helpful so far.

"You think we should head down to the Forgehold and see if she's there?" Brian asked.

"Before we do that, Taylor and I have some good news!" Chris said, then immediately turned to Alec and said, "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to. Anyway, the good news is that the armor is done! We were going to wait until Leyla was free to show it off, but…." Chris shrugged.

"Should we check the Forgehold before we do that?" Brian suggested.

"No, I'd say we go over the armor first," I said. "If something did happen to Leyla, we'll want to wear it down there."

"Point."

Brian, Dean, and Alec gathered around Chris's workbench while he and I assembled the five suits of armor.

"You did a great job on these designs, Taylor," Dean said.

Each suit was decorated in a way that referenced that person's original costume: Dean's was dyed dark blue with light gray curved lines painted on the arms and legs, like the inverse of his silver plate armor with its blue lights; Chris's was dark red with yellow geometric designs, arranged to roughly match the patterns of golden lights on his old armor; Alec's was all white, of course; Brian's was a mottled dark green, with swirling patterns in black that suggested tendrils of his darkness; and mine was black and gray, with yellow lines spreading out in web-like patterns.

The plates that went over the silk were colored as well so that the armor looked the same whether or not the plates were worn. Small multicolored crystals or gems were embedded in the chest and shoulder plates; I knew they weren't purely aesthetic, but when I asked Chris about them he hadn't wanted to explain anything until he could show everything to the team, so I'd be finding out what those crystals did along with the rest of them.

"The designs were all Alec, actually," I said.

"Alec? Really?" Brian asked.

I wasn't sure if he was skeptical about his teammate's artistic skill, or just didn't believe Alec would put in the effort for something like that.

Alec shrugged. "I had to do something to not be bored out of my mind, and I'd already been forced into helping with the rest of the dyeing."

As we were finishing up, Alec leaned over one of the suits and gave the chest plate a few curious taps. "So, who's going to model theirs for the rest of us?" he drawled.

Um.

I wasn't about to "model" anything, thank you very much.

Alec looked at me, then at Chris, then sighed loudly. "Fine, if you insist, I'll do it. Gimme."

We gave him his armor and he headed to the bathroom to put it on. Ten minutes and lots of muffled clanking sounds later, he waddled out again.

"This is way too heavy," he complained, tugging at one of the shoulder plates. "It's gotta be like twenty pounds!"

Chris smiled, clearly enjoying Alec's discomfort. "You'll be fine. Stand here, arms at your sides." He looked at me. "Take it away."

I nodded. "So, the base armor is made of giant spider silk, much tougher than regular spider silk, which is already basically like kevlar. The shirt and pants are separate for convenience, so you'll want to tuck the shirt in for full coverage," I said.

"It's hard to see with the coloring, but the torso plates are all connected-see these wires at the corners, and the straps here?-so they're quick to put on. Same with the plates on each arm and leg," Chris said, tugging on Alec's left arm plate for emphasis. "Normally they'd do chainmail under something like this, but that would have taken way too long to make, so there are ceramic strike plates underneath instead."

I pointed to Alec's wrist. "Plates wouldn't work for the neck and joints, so I lined them with insect shells-"

"Seriously? Now you tell me?" Alec said, sounding disgusted.

"They're sandwiched between layers of silk, you'll never notice them," I told him. "And if you feel around at the back of your neck, there's some extra silk there that you can pull over your head as a coif for more protection or as padding for your helmet."

"The helmets are kind of a combo between my visor and Dean's helmet, with detachable parts above and below the visor to make it easier to carry around when disassembled, and Alec put designs on them too." Chris added. "I'll show you those later."

"That's great and all, but is all of this actually worth carrying around like forty pounds of metal all the time?" Alec whined.

Chris grinned. "Let's find out. Dean? You want to do the honors?"

Dean raised his hand, suppressing a smile of his own. "I guess I can."

"Ohhh no you fucking-" Alec managed to get out, before one of Dean's bigger blasts struck him right in the chest and sent him flailing back into the side of the workbench.

"Well?" Chris asked.

Alec levered himself up with some difficulty, looking mildly surprised. "Huh. Didn't hurt at all."

"Good. Now, there are four cool features I added that you should know about," Chris continued. He was clearly excited to show off his work, and I was more than happy to let him take the lead on that. "First, press the crystal in the middle of your chest and hold it."

Alec did so. After a few seconds, all the crystals began to glow softly with light of different colors. Most of them gave off a faint red like the lights on Chris's old armor and hoverboard, but some of them were amber and light blue and one was even rainbow-colored.

As soon as they started to glow Alec suddenly stood up straighter and sighed in relief. "Much better," he said.

"What happened?" Brian asked.

"The weight's gone."

"Yep," Chris said. "I got a chance to study one of the bridge safety devices that someone brought in for repairs while I was down in the Forgehold, and putting that together with my repulsor tech-"

"Short version?" Alec interrupted.

"Uh, short version, the metal parts of the armor are essentially weightless, and if you get knocked off a balcony or into a wall or something it'll help slow and cushion your fall."

"Is that what happened to your hoverboard?" I asked. He just shrugged.

"For the second thing: Alec, hold out your arm."

Alec did. Before he could react, Chris grabbed one of his pistols and shot Alec in the arm, just below the elbow where there weren't any plates covering the silk.

His arm jerked back with the impact, but once again Alec didn't appear to be hurt. He glanced down at the scorch mark that the energy bolt had left, then glared at Chris, though there wasn't much heat in it. "You're enjoying this, aren't you."

"Like you wouldn't believe," Chris said. He gestured at the mark. "Give it another look."

Everyone looked at the scorch mark, which was vanishing before our eyes. Within a few seconds, the armor was pristine again.

"Self-repair and self-cleaning. Don't ask me how it works or how much it can handle, that's all Leyla's. The bottom line is that you don't need to worry about the armor getting damaged as long as you don't get your arm cut off or something, and we won't need to have the hotel clean our stuff after really messy jobs anymore. Third: see the thing on the inside of your wrist that looks like a bunch of random lines? Press and hold that."

Alec gave him a look. "What's this one going to do, make me explode?"

"Just press it. Don't let go until I say."

Alec pressed it. A moment later, the crystals seemed to vanish from the armor, leaving the metal parts looking completely smooth. A few moments after that, the armor changed color to a drab gray that would blend in well with the more dimly-lit parts of the city and would stand out in a crowd much less than bright white would.

After that, the undersuit of the armor brightened again and seemed to transform, shifting its measurements and adding buttons and such until it looked like he was wearing normal clothes under the outer plating, clothes that were almost an exact match to the outfit he'd been wearing before.

Next, everything shifted to a more expensive-looking outfit, with lace around the wrists, a higher collar, more vibrant colors, and other changes along those lines, but one that still had the same general style as the less fancy outfit. Finally, it returned to its original appearance, and Chris told him he could stop.

"Impressive," Dean said.

"Camouflage enchantment," Chris explained. "It'll let us wear armor all the time and never stick out too much. Leyla's work again. And finally…."

He opened one of the drawers in his workbench and pulled out a thin metal wristband. "Put that on and say 'compress' in English."

Once again, Alec did as he was told. When he said the word, the metal parts of the armor seemed to dissolve into a cloud of glowing blue lines and then vanished.

"Now say 'expand' in English," Chris directed, and when Alec did that the armor reappeared.

"Teleporter?" Dean asked.

"Pocket dimension," Chris replied. "Merrix showed me how to do it. The camouflage doesn't actually change the outer armor, just how it looks, so if the bulk ever gets to be too much on a long stakeout or we have to squeeze into the back of a skycoach and need more room or whatever, this'll let us deal with that."

"I gotta say, I'm really impressed," Brian said.

"Me too," I said, and Chris smiled.

"Me three," Dean said. "This is way better than anything I've seen you do before, even with Armsmaster's help. Great job."

"Thanks. I mean, it's mostly because I didn't have to build all of the armor and could focus on the smaller pieces; I couldn't have made anything nearly as good without Taylor doing most of the work," he said, gesturing to me.

"Some of it was thanks to working with Merrix and Leyla, and, well," he waved at the many boxes of supplies stacked near his workbench, "it helps to have an unlimited tinkering budget. But also…." His smile grew even wider. "I think I might have finally figured out my specialty."

"That's fantastic! Congratulations!" Dean said. "What is it?"

"Is it tech with lots of pretty jewelry on it?" Alec asked innocently. "Or tech that piggybacks on the work of capes who don't suck?"

"Alec! Come on, man," Brian scolded him.

Chris held onto his smile and took a deep breath. "It's tech that stops working and goes away if you don't act grateful for once in your goddamn life."

Alec rolled his eyes at that, but Chris crossed his arms and stood his ground. "I'm serious. I want a thank you or I'm taking it back and wrecking it right in front of you. I can always use the parts for something else, and if you get stabbed after that because your old armor isn't good enough, sucks to be you."

Wow, I thought. Chris finally managed to grow a spine.

I glanced at his arms. And a little muscle. I guess the blacksmithing lessons worked out for him.

Alec eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. "Thanks for the armor. It's pretty sweet. Love the anime transformation sequence wristband. Best late birthday present ever."

Chris looked skeptical. "Did you miss a birthday while we were here, too?"

"If I say I did, will you finally make me a magic crossbow?"

"Fuck off."

~*~*~

According to the clerk at the Forgehold, Leyla was completely safe. She was merely "taking a few days to herself" for "family reasons" and should be contacting us in a day or two when she returned to duty.

Dean assured us that the clerk believed what he was saying. I just wished I could believe it, too.

~*~*~

Quarter Past Seventh Evening Bell, Sar the 28 th of Sypheros, 999 YK

Ocean View District, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

I'd thought the Sunrise District where Duchess Gersanna had lived was as extravagant as things got in Sharn, but Ocean View easily put that district to shame.

The manors on either side of the main boulevard here could fit at least two of the duchess's manors inside them with room to spare, and possibly a third one within their expansive and perfectly-trimmed front lawns that were as big as some parks back home. Every single one of them had its own private security force watching the front gates, and none of the people on guard duty looked happy to see us.

Creilath hadn't told us where we were going, he'd just swung by the workshop to tell us we had an important dinner appointment, and within fifteen minutes we were in a skycoach. It was a good test for the believability of the "fancy clothing" setting for our armor, at least, since he hadn't commented on our clothes looking unusual in any way or wondered why we had them handy at the workshop instead of back at the hotel.

He also hadn't commented on the fact that none of us was sweating despite the hot and humid weather and the lack of wind in the upper districts, thanks to the temperature control enchantment Leyla had added to our armor as promised.

He hadn't commented on anything at all, in fact. I was getting kind of sick of the silent treatment.

"So who exactly are we meeting, that they can afford a place like one of these?" Dean asked as we trailed along behind Creilath.

"Duke Ruken ir'Clarn," the inquisitive replied tersely.

There was a pause.

"And why exactly are we meeting him?"

Creilath glanced back at us, a smile flitting briefly across his face; it was the first sign of good humor he'd shown in days. "Because he wanted to meet you, and Lord Ruken isn't someone whose invitation you want to turn down."

"Why's he want to meet us?" Brian asked.

"Because you've been getting some attention, and he's curious."

"Attention?" I asked. Having to pry answers out of him one at a time was almost as annoying as getting no answers at all.

"You haven't picked up the habit of reading the Chronicle, I see," he said. His slight smile returned, and he held out his hands as if reading the front page of a newspaper. "What was the headline… ah, yes, 'Serial murder case solved by city's newest and youngest inquisitives'."

On our other side, Urzat made the same gesture. "'Adventurous inquisitives solve longstanding missing persons case, Medani left speechless'," he rumbled.

"'Record number of arrests this season due to assistance of private inquisitives, says Sharn Watch'."

"'Who are the junior inquisitives? Inquisitive minds want to know!'"

"You have got to be joking," I said. "How would the newspapers even find out about all of our jobs?"

"I told them," Creilath said, returning his hands to the pockets of his longcoat. "I didn't get to be the best-known inquisitive in the city by leaving things to Olladra's whims, you know. There's a certain class of journalists who will print whatever you want if you do all the writing for them, and I know more than a few of those."

I guess I couldn't blame him for wanting to boost his reputation and using us to do it; we did owe him a lot, and it's not like being mildly famous was a bad thing given that we'd been trading on our reputation to get a lot of things done.

Still, it would have been nice for him to say something before he did that.

"We don't have much time before we reach the duke's manor, and you haven't been briefed," Creilath said. And whose fault is that? I grumbled to myself. "There are two main things you need to know about Lord Ruken. The first is that House Clarn is the foremost of the Brelish noble families in terms of wealth, political power, and social influence among the rest of the nobility; crossing a Clarn tends to be a mistake from which it is very difficult to recover."

I wasn't too worried about that. We'd gotten basically the same warning about Lady Zurya from Yin, and everything with her had turned out fine.

"The second is that Lord Ruken himself is a very influential member of Parliament," he continued. "He is the head of the Reformists and Egalitarians, and has many allies among the other factions, openly and otherwise."

Now that was interesting.

The way Creilath had explained it, the Brelish Parliament didn't have political parties, where each party had a certain platform and everyone in the party basically voted the same way. Instead, they had factions based around certain major "wedge issues" that voted in certain ways on certain topics, and each representative had their own established stand on those things.

I honestly wasn't sure if that was just a Brelish thing, or a general parliament thing. We'd only learned about the US government in my middle school Social Studies class, so aside from knowing that the UK had a prime minister appointed by its parliament instead of a president and that they didn't have the same kind of two-party split the US did, I only had a fuzzy idea of how parliaments were supposed to work.

One more thing to thank the useless Mr. Gladly for, I guess.

Anyway, I hadn't heard of the Egalitarian faction before, but Creilath had mentioned that the Reformist faction was one that wanted to get rid of the monarchy and establish an actual republic in its place, so the duke being a member of that faction was a good sign.

"Who are the Egalitarians?" I asked.

"The faction that advocates for equal legal treatment of all residents of Breland who aren't native-born Brelish citizens. They're opposed by the Isolationists, who essentially wish to cut off all legal and financial support to the Cyran refugee population, and the Nativists, who want to do the same for the warforged."

Huh. This was actually a great sign. Of all the nobles in Breland, Lord Ruken was probably the one whose views would match ours the best, so dinner with him shouldn't be too bad.

~*~*~

Quarter Before Ninth Evening Bell, Sar the 28 th of Sypheros, 999 YK

Clarn Manor, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

The dinner was fantastic, easily better than the meal we'd had at the Tharashk enclave in Zantashk. After being stuck with generic hotel food and cheap street food for so long, it was a nice change of pace.

Even better than the quality was the familiarity. We'd been eating things like blue tomatoes, red bananas, bitter potatoes, small watermelons, and other very unfamiliar foods since we got here, but apparently House Ghallanda had all kinds of specially-bred fruits and vegetables that were much closer to the food back home-all of them far too expensive to be seen at the kind of hotel we were staying at, of course. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed things like seedless grapes or super-sweet apples until I had them again at the duke's table.

For the first hour or so, no one talked directly about why we were there. We met Ruken's wife and children and chatted about all kinds of topics that had nothing to do with inquisitives. Brian mostly talked about sports with Ruken's older son, Dean talked about horses with Ruken's older daughter, I talked about weaving with Lady ir'Clarn, and we all talked with Ruken about politics at various points.

At first acting very formal, Ruken had loosened up considerably when he found out that we came from a country in "far-off Sarlona" that had a similar system of government to Breland's. Given our cover story we couldn't say our country had no king, but Dean managed to imply that we had a fairly weak king and then skirt around any specifics.

The duke was fascinated to hear about a country that had a much weaker monarchy than Breland yet hadn't collapsed into anarchy, as the Monarchists claimed that such a country inevitably would, long before it actually removed the monarch from power.

Discussing politics and supporting Ruken's ideas while keeping up the pretense that Alec and I were the son and daughter of monarchs was a bit tricky. Thankfully, Dean was able to jump in and help with more creatively-worded answers to questions when the honest answers would have proven too revealing.

Finally, after the children had left the table and just as the dessert course was being served, Ruken set his goblet to the side in a very deliberate manner, clasped his hands, and set them on the table in front of him.

"This has been a truly delightful evening, I must say," he began. "However, as lovely as the conversation has been, that is not why I invited you here. I believe it's best that we get to tonight's business before we polish off our pastries, hmm?"

"I think we'd all agree, Lord Ruken," Dean smoothly replied.

"Splendid. Now, I've heard from your current employer that you, Lord Dean, and you, Lord Chris, have sworn your oaths as knights of the realm in your homeland rather than serving your individual families, is that correct?"

"It is."

"And you, Lord Brian? Is your allegiance to Lord Alec, or to your realm as a whole?"

Brian reached up to wipe his mouth with his napkin, probably to hide a smile-or a grimace.

"While I greatly respect the regent," he said, somewhat stiffly, while wearing what was possibly the best poker face I'd ever seen, "I don't owe him my allegiance. I may not belong to the same knightly order that Lord Dean and Lord Chris do, but we all fight to protect our home against the same Empire that invades our land and attacks our citizens."

"So it would be safe to conclude that all of you would be willing to place king and country above personal pursuits when the need arises?"

"If necessary, yes, that would be true," I cautiously replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Because the Brelish government has good reason to believe that there will soon be, mmm… call it a conflict of opinion at a national scale," Ruken said in a deliberately light tone. "Not a war, certainly not a war, we're not going to see another one of those any time soon, but at least an… ill-advised attempt by Aundair to persuade the Eldeen Reaches to reunite with them and return the status quo to how it was nearly a half-century ago."

Ruken steepled his fingers and leaned forward. He hadn't touched his pastry yet, and didn't look like he was planning to.

"Now, King Boranel is firmly committed to peace among all nations, and all Brelish citizens stand behind him in that. Breland would never dream of transgressing the terms of the Treaty of Thronehold, either in letter or in spirit, in order that its citizens take up arms against any other nation of Khorvaire, nor do we bear our northern neighbor the slightest ill will. It is the deepest wish and the firmest belief of the Brelish government that the perennial sovereignty disputes between Aundair and the Eldeen Reaches can be and will be resolved through patient and careful diplomacy, as they always have in the past."

He paused.

"However."

I didn't like where this was going.

"You five, I note, are not Brelish citizens."

I definitely didn't like where this was going.

~*~*~

Our food was cold and the carafes on the table were empty by the time Ruken had finished laying out his very impassioned, very precise, and very circumlocutory case for why Breland needed to do something to help the Eldeen Reaches against Aundair in the war that was about to break out and why we, specifically, needed to be the ones to do it.

The whole time, Lady ir'Clarn was watching us like a hawk. I glanced over at her once, accidentally met her eyes, and looked away out of a vague feeling of guilt at not being a hundred percent on board with Ruken's proposal. Creilath and Urzat were probably watching us too, but turning around to look at them would have seemed weird; I really wished that I'd made more progress in seeing through my swarm so I could watch them without them knowing.

"… so," Ruken was saying, "with the Reaches having less than a quarter the population of Aundair and having a, shall we say, demographic disadvantage with respect to those citizens who are innately predisposed toward combat-"

"Pardon the interruption, Lord Ruken," Creilath said. That gave me a chance to look back at him, and I saw that he was frowning slightly. I'd been wondering if he'd taken us here specifically to hear Ruken's pitch, but it was looking like he hadn't known what the goal of the meeting was either. "The fascinating hypothetical scenario that you're outlining for us seems to depend upon the idea that my employees," he lightly stressed the word, "are not Brelish citizens."

"It does. And that is indeed the case."

"That's right, but my employees were issued Brelish identity papers. Weeks ago, long enough that word of that would have spread to, say, the Aundairian embassy, if they were inclined to look into the comings and goings of certain individuals who had recently become minor celebrities."

Ruken acknowledged his point with a very thin smile. "They're hardly the only ones. The staff of the Aereni and Riedran embassies have been issued similar papers, yet none would accuse them of working for or with the Brelish government if they happened to take a sabbatical and chose to spend that time seeing the Eldeen sights."

"I suppose not," Creilath admitted, "but then, none of them have ever worked for a Brelish employer, either. Were my employees to turn up in the Reaches, the Aundairians might have… pointed questions."

Then he looked at Dean and me and raised his eyebrows, as if to say I said my piece, up to you to pick a side.

I knew which side I was on.

"Lord Ruken," I said, then paused. I wasn't sure how much of our background Creilath had shared with the duke, so I'd have to be careful with this. "I realize that the Eldeen are in a terrible situation, but we don't want to get caught up in a war any more than you do. We just want to get home."

"Yes, I understand you've been exiled from your homeland," he said, his tone softening. "I can't say I know what that is like personally, but I have spent enough time with my friends among the Cyran refugees to have some idea of how that must feel, and you have my deepest sympathies."

Dammit. It'd be easy to brush Ruken off if he were just a politician trying to manipulate us, but he sounded completely sincere about that and about helping the Eldeen people.

That, or he was just very good at faking sincerity, but Dean hadn't done or said anything to signal that, so….

"Still, you must see how the Eldeen situation parallels your own," he continued in a more energetic tone, "and you must realize that service to the crown opens many doors. A diplomatic arrangement could be reached with your home government, say, to hopefully eventually lead to the formal expungement of whatever offense lead to your banishment. We may not have any relationship with them as yet, but perhaps the Riedrans could introduce us; I'm told they are on excellent terms with their neighboring nations. Or perhaps-"

"I don't think talking to anyone back home will help," Brian interrupted.

Dean nodded. "The problem is more…." He hesitated. "More technical than diplomatic. We're already working with House Cannith to find a solution."

"House Cannith," the duke repeated slowly. "I see. What are your plans if, for whatever reason, House Cannith is not able to provide you with a solution?"

Alec snorted loudly. "Well, I mean, if Merrix freaking d'Cannith can't do it, we're basically screwed, right? We can kiss our ticket home goodbye."

Chris nodded earnestly. "I wouldn't put it that way, but yes, Merrix is definitely unique."

"Yes, he is, isn't he?" Ruken mused. "He's also famously busy with all manner of projects. Did he happen to give you an estimate as to how long it might take him to find the solution you seek?"

"He said it could be as much as a few months," I said carefully, "but we haven't checked in with him yet this week, and his timeline has been changing as he makes progress."

"You know," Dean said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "if it's going to take more a few months and this… conflict is likely to happen sooner than that, there's a chance we could help you with your problem without delaying our return home. Could we possibly check in with him and get back to you?"

Ruken exchanged a glance with his wife. "Provided that you leave out any mention of this conversation, yes," he said. "Baron d'Cannith is a Sharnite, as far as that goes, but he's no Brelander."

"Of course," Dean agreed.

"Then I hope to hear word from you soon. No more than two or three days, I would guess, assuming the Baron's schedule permits?"

"Of course," Dean repeated.

That didn't give us much time to find a workaround, but at least it was better than having to commit to a decision immediately.

"Then I believe that concludes our business for the evening," Ruken said as he stood up. "Though it seems I've been a terrible host and kept you talking through dessert. I'll have the kitchen whip you up a fresh batch of pastries to take home with you, and then," he gestured toward the door where an impeccably-dressed servant had just appeared, "the steward will see you out."

"You're too kind, milord Duke," Creilath said as we all rose as well. As we began filing out of the dining room, he waved at Urzat and said, "Fetch those when they're ready and meet us outside." Urzat grunted in acknowledgment.

To the steward, Creilath nodded politely. "Lead the way."

~*~*~

Eleventh Evening Bell, Sar the 28 th of Sypheros, 999 YK

Tradefair Workshop, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

Following Creilath's example, we didn't say a word all the way through Ocean View back to the skycoach dock, or in the ride back to Tradefair, or even as we walked through the marketplace that was still full and bustling even this close to midnight.

The moment we were inside our workshop, we all turned to Creilath, who held up his hands in surrender. "Before you ask, no, I didn't know. About the possible war or about his plans." He offered us a tired smile. "You handled it very well, though. Good quick thinking, from all of you."

I turned to Dean. "How sincere was your offer to help the duke?"

He shrugged. "There was a chance we could help him," he said. "Not a big one, but it's technically there."

"So, not very sincere."

"No."

We sat down around the table, grabbed some drinks, and talked about the dinner for a little while, trying to decide what to do about the duke's "offer" and what he might do when we refused to take him up on it.

Creilath treated the scenario like just another case, asking us to tell him what we'd noticed about the duke and what his motivations might be and so on, but otherwise he stayed out of what was primarily a decision for our team.

Eventually Brian turned to Creilath and asked, "What's this mean for us in the next few days, before we're supposed to get back to him? Do you have a case for us to help with?"

Creilath glanced at Urzat, who nodded. "I do, actually," the inquisitive said with a smile. "After seeing your performance tonight, I've decided that you're probably ready to help me tackle my toughest ongoing case."

Finally!

"It's fairly late and I have quite a bit of material to arrange before the briefing, though," he continued, "so let's meet again at first bell tomorrow afternoon?"

"Sounds like a plan," Dean agreed.

~*~*~

First Afternoon Bell, Sul the 1 st of Aryth, 999 YK

Tradefair Workshop, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

We were seated around the main table, as usual. Lunch was eaten, Judas was walked, Creilath's papers were all squared away, and I was eager to finally hear about this mystery case that had an expert inquisitive completely stumped.

Creilath meticulously pulled out and arranged a notebook and pen on the table in front of him before lacing his fingers together and leaning forward to give us all a considering look.

"Before I read you in on this case, I just had a few questions to get us started," he said.

"Fire away," Brian said.

"First, how well would you say you know the Houses of Sharn, both 'marked and noble? You've been doing some reading on that in your spare time, I hope?"

"Yeah," I said. I hadn't had much else to do while I wove besides reading through the textbooks in our big pile, and even Alec had made it through at least a few of them out of sheer boredom. "I'd say we know them fairly well."

"I couldn't name them all off the top of my head," Chris said, "but if you asked me about one-"

"House Thuranni?" Creilath challenged.

"Dragonmarked House. Has a co-monopoly on the arts, entertainers, and, uh, courtiers with House Phiarlan," Chris replied. "Broke off from Phiarlan a few decades ago after a big assassination scandal."

"House Remor?"

"They're a minor noble house," Dean replied. "They trade in metals, primarily brass and silver, and also high-end musical instruments and jewelry."

"Good." Creilath nodded. "Second, do any of you have overly delicate constitutions where blood is concerned?"

"Meaning what?" Brian asked.

"Meaning," Creilath replied flatly, "before I would be willing to show you a room completely coated in multiple bodies' worth of blood, I'd need to know whether any of you are going to vomit all over my crime scene."

We all looked around at each other.

"I don't think so?" Dean answered for the group. "I doubt any of us has run into something like that before, so we'll take it carefully and see how it goes."

"Good, very good. Last question." Creilath smiled warmly. "When were you planning to tell me that some of you aren't actually nobles?"

Absolute silence.

Fuck.

My mind started racing. Okay, think, I told myself. He said "some" of us, so he obviously thinks some of us are nobles-unless he's bluffing and thinks we're all faking. Or he's bluffing and doesn't think any of us are lying, he's just fishing, and the longer we go without anyone saying anything the more he's going to believe he's right about that, and which of us does he even think the nobles are? and-

Somehow, I kept my hands perfectly steady and my voice perfectly even as I asked, "Why would you even suggest something like that?"

"I have more than enough evidence to back up my claim, believe me," he said, patting one of his pockets. "Now, would anyone care to answer the question?"

There was another silence. Then Brian sighed heavily. "You think Taylor, Chris, and I are 'commoners', don't you?"

"Well deduced." Creilath reached up to the brim of his hat and gave it the slightest tip in his direction. "Is that, perchance, because I've hit the mark?"

Wait, how did Brian-?

Ah. Dean was a rich kid and Alec was a lazy jerk.

Was that all it was? Stereotypes?

"What 'evidence' do you have?" I asked, still somehow completely calm.

Creilath gave me a look. "Aside from the fact that you don't speak like nobles, think like nobles, or act like nobles?"

I returned his look, defiant. "If that were really true, you'd have said something about it the first day we met, not waited for weeks to even bring it up."

"I did write something about it the day we met." He reached into a pocket, pulled out a small leather-bound notebook that looked nothing like the one already on the table, and held it up dramatically. "Does that count?"

"Something like what?"

He shifted his notebook to his left hand and offered his right as if to shake. "How d'you do, Taylor?" he asked, in a reedy voice that I vaguely recognized, what was it… oh. Right. The fake voice he'd used when we'd been introduced to him.

I tried to think back to that night, but that was weeks ago. What had I said that tipped him off?

He flipped open his notebook to the first page and made a show of reading from it. " I'm good, nice to meet you," he recited, in a surprisingly good impression of my voice.

So, right, I'd said that, a totally normal response to a random person I'd just met. What was wrong with-

---

Crap.

Still reciting from his notes, Creilath pointed to me and said, " Taylor, quickly corrected to Lady Hebert." Then to Chris: " Chris, pause, Lord McIntyre." Then to the rest of the team in turn: " Lord Dean Stansfield, no pause. Lord Alec Lemaître, no pause. Hesitation, Lord, pause, Brian Laborn."

Crap crap crap.

He proceeded to outline every misstep we'd made in just that initial conversation that pointed to us lying about (or at least significantly exaggerating) our noble status, pointing out all the times and places where Dean and Alec had acted "more noble" while the rest of us acted "less noble."

None of us said anything; I was focused on keeping a guilty expression off my face, and I bet the guys were too.

Then Creilath moved on to the next day, the seventeenth of Rhaan. Then the eighteenth, the nineteenth, the twentieth….

There were notes on financial stuff, like Brian focusing on immediate costs as if he wasn't used to handling large amounts of money versus Dean being the only one to think of asking for a loan or offer for his family to cover our expenses once we returned home.

There were notes on social class stuff, like Brian and Chris being uncomfortable with using titles with Leyla (because of course Creilath had been talking to her about us behind our backs!) versus Alec and Dean using them fairly naturally.

There were notes on group dynamics, like how Alec and I were theoretically "in charge" due to our rank but I mostly deferred to Dean in social situations, and how none of us seemed to like or get along with Alec but we all indulged him anyway, which… yeah, fair.

Every new sentence was just another nail in the coffin. We were so screwed.

When Creilath got to the part about about the payment for our first case and how our differing reactions to the small initial amount and the larger bonus amount told him a lot about how we each thought, and he wasn't even a quarter of the way through his notebook, Dean held up a hand.

"Okay, stop," he sighed. "Yes, you got us. Chris, Taylor, and Brian aren't nobles. But why wait to bring it up until now?"

"Two reasons. First, I had my suspicions, very strong ones, but I wasn't sure. Not until the dinner tonight, where I watched all of you dance circles around the truth all evening with the ease of long practice and not a hint of indecision. Especially your attempts to twist your portrayals of your home government into a form that Lord Ruken would find most palatable."

He curled his lip in distaste. "Your nation doesn't even have a king, does it."

It wasn't really a question, but Brian answered anyway: "No, it doesn't."

"What's the second reason?" I asked.

The inquisitive looked me straight in the eye and said, "Insurance."

I almost didn't want to ask. "Against what?"

"Against your possible attempt to kill me when I confronted you."

Wait, what?

"Hmm." He smiled crookedly and gestured at us. "That's quite reassuring, actually."

I looked around. Brian, Dean, and Chris looked as shocked and appalled at the idea of murdering him as I probably did.

Alec just looked amused at the situation.

"Still, in case you have any second thoughts, a question." He leaned in. "Have you any idea what the legal punishment is for falsely claiming a noble title?"

"You wouldn't," I protested weakly.

"I don't want to," he corrected, "but I am an inquisitive, and I take my duties very seriously."

No.

No no no.

I felt something.

He couldn't do that.

A faint prickling, in the back of my mind.

The Watch wouldn't listen to us when we tried to explain.

A faint buzzing, at the edge of my consciousness.

We'd be trapped here.

The buzzing intensified.

They'd never let us go home.

The buzzing thrummed through my body.

I'd never be able to see my dad again.

The buzzing-

"Taylor!"

I felt a hand on my arm, and I came extremely close to setting my swarm on whoever it was who'd touched me before I recognized that it was Chris, and that he had fear and worry written all over his face.

The buzzing wasn't just in my head, I suddenly realized, but coming out of the boxes, out of the crates, out of every crack and crevice of the workshop where I'd hidden my swarm.

Dean had his hands down but his fingers outstretched, ready to use his power at a moment's notice. Alec had his scepter casually but firmly in hand, hidden behind the back of his chair, and Creilath and Urzat both hands their hands in their coat pockets. Brian had his right fist behind his back and his left hand clutching his right wrist; with my bugs, I could feel wisps of darkness seeping out of both hands.

And Judas was whimpering under a chair across the room.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm… sorry," I said, almost feeling out of breath even though I hadn't actually done anything. I carefully grabbed the edge of the table with both hands- when did I stand up?-and lowered myself into my chair. "I just… I'm okay, now."

"You sure?" Chris asked.

"Yeah. It's just, sometimes when I get agitated, my swarm…." I gestured helplessly.

It wasn't the first time that kind of… feedback, I guess, had occurred. It had happened several times right after I got my power and at least three times after I'd gone back to school. But I didn't know why it happened sometimes and didn't happen other times-something about feeling trapped, maybe, either physically or by other people somehow?

I dropped my arms and shrugged. "I'm okay now. Really."

Creilath and Urzat gave each other a long, significant look before they pulled their hands away from their weapons.

"Thank you for the confirmation," Creilath said, though he said it oddly, like I was confirming more than the fact that I was fine. "Now, as I said, I don't want to do anything with this information. This one specific issue aside, you are clearly bright, capable, hard-working, upstanding young men and women and have approached every case of mine with great care, empathy, and determination."

He glanced at Alec. "More or less."

Handing his notebook about the mystery case off to Urzat and placing his notebook about us flat on the table, he continued, "More importantly, based on your attitudes and the uses to which you have put your assumed titles, I haven't ever gotten the impression that your deception was carried out with malicious intent. I would dearly like to believe that all of this has a simple and reasonably benign explanation. If it does, case closed; this wouldn't be the first secret I'd kept from the authorities, and the moment you return home the truth of the matter becomes irrelevant to all involved. If not, well…."

Creilath flipped to the back of his notebook where there were still some blank sheets, pulled out a pen, and poised its tip over the top of the page. "Persuade me."

All of us turned to Dean, who was already nodding. "This was one hundred percent my idea, and I accept full responsibility for anything that happens. And for what it's worth, I know it might sound crazy but this actually started off as a complete accident. We weren't ever intending this," he gestured vaguely to indicate the whole situation, "to happen."

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "So, where we come from, almost all people who can use magic wear masks and use code names to protect their identities. It just so happened that when Taylor was picking her name…."

~*~*~

Dean spoke for a very long time, with the rest of us chipping in to add detail or answer questions.

Even the most straightforward parts of the explanation led to tangents upon tangents, like trying to explain what a "corporation" was and how it was kind of like a Dragonmarked House but not really, and how Stansfield Holdings Limited was a family-run parent company and so it was more like a Dragonmarked House than most companies, and so yes Dean was kind of a lord but more of a "d'Stansfield" than an "ir'Stansfield," except his parents didn't have powers so it wasn't a perfect fit, and on and on.

Thankfully, after taking all of those detours to get Dean's life story Creilath was satisfied with just getting the basic gist of everyone else's to fill in some blanks.

~*~*~

At some point in the process, Creilath completely filled up his notebook and had to pull out a second one to keep going.

~*~*~

At some later point in the process, Urzat went out to buy some coffee and tea and kerrli so that we could all stay alert through the grilling Creilath was giving us.

~*~*~

By the time we finished, it had to have been past seven in the evening at least and we were all mentally exhausted.

"So," said Dean, his head propped up on one arm as he leaned over the table. "What's the verdict?"

The inquisitive paused to think. The pause was longer than I was really comfortable with.

"I honestly don't know," he replied eventually. He sounded apologetic, but not that apologetic. "I'm going to need to sleep on this."

"Gonna keep us in suspense, huh? Rude," Alec said, but his heart wasn't in it; we all knew that there was nothing we could do about any of this at this point, and if Creilath wanted to let us stew for a while, too bad for us.

"Be honest." Brian leaned forward-hunched forward, really; he was looking kind of defensive. "When you say 'sleep on it,' does that really mean 'talk to the authorities,' and we should expect the Watch to be showing up and breaking down hotel room doors early tomorrow morning?" he asked.

The inquisitive shook his head. "It's not a trick, or a trap. I'm legitimately undecided. You have my word."

Brian still looked skeptical, so Creilath added, "If you don't trust me to be truthful about that-which would be quite hypocritical, under the circumstances-then at least trust that I'm well aware of your ability to dismantle a small but reasonably well-equipped group of combatants in minutes at most, and that I wouldn't want to subject a Watch squadron to whatever even- more-ruthless tactics you might dream up if you feel cornered."

Brian seemed to accept that, and there wasn't much else to say right then, so Dean got up and showed Creilath and Urzat to the door.

The moment the door closed behind them, Alec cleared his throat ostentatiously. "Well, Lord Gallant, I hope you're happy about everything going down in flames. Please allow me to be the first one to say 'I told you so'."

Dean ignored him, though. He was staring at his palm instead.

"Yeah, I gotta say, Dean-" Chris began, but Dean waved for him to be quiet.

"Urzat handed me a note on the way out," Dean said quietly, sounding confused, "and it looked like he was trying to hide it from Creilath."

Strange. "What's it say?" I asked.

"I don't know, you're the one with the translating glasses."

He passed the note over to me and I took a look. "It says 'All five of you, meet me in Skysedge Park at tenth bell on the shore of the north pond. Do not take a skycoach or a well-traveled route, and tell Creilath nothing'."

That was odd. Why exclude Creilath? And when did Urzat even have a chance to write a note without my sensing it, anyway? I'd had my swarm on him the entire time!

"Seems sketchy to me. Do we trust this?" Brian asked.

"Brian. Broski. My man." Alec gave Brian his most unimpressed look. "We are already so fucked from what they know already that they're going to have to invent new words for how fucked we are if they decide to tattle on us. There is no possible way that going to meet him could make things any worse than they already are."

"Don't jinx it," Brian said, but he couldn't prevent himself from smiling slightly at Alec's deadpan delivery. "That's a good point, though. All in favor?"

I shrugged. "We might as well."

~*~*~

Tenth Evening Bell, Sul the 1 st of Aryth, 999 YK

Skysedge Park, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

It had taken a lot of walking, and more than one detour, but we made it to the park on time and reasonably discreetly. The ubiquitous magical lights that would keep most of the upper districts well-lit for another few hours didn't penetrate through the thick tree cover in the park, so once we slipped through the gates we had to rely on my swarm to navigate us to the meeting point.

Urzat was standing patiently by the northernmost of the park's three ponds, waiting for us to arrive. When we got close enough for him to see us approaching, he pulled out a small torch-looking device and lit it to give the rest of the team some light.

"Thank you for coming," he said once we met him on the shore, keeping his voice down.

"Sure. What could you not say in front of Creilath?" Brian asked.

"His memory has been modified, and he may be under other enchantments," Urzat said simply.

Whatever I'd been expecting to hear, it wasn't that.

"How do you know?" I asked.

Instead of answering directly, he frowned. "Have you noticed that he has been acting unusually lately? More taciturn, more irritable-"

"More angry, but not at any of us?" Dean finished. "Yeah, we noticed."

"That behavior isn't actually all that unusual for Creilath when he's dealing with one of his more stubborn cases," Urzat said, "but in this case the reason for his anger is the key point in question. You see, several nights ago, Leyla and Creilath met for dinner to discuss several of his cases and some of Merrix's projects… and you."

"Us?" Chris asked.

"Yes." The bodyguard continued reciting steadily, as if merely briefing us on a new case and not discussing something that directly impacted us: "At the conclusion of the meal, Creilath was the first to leave. He made it less than a block before noticing that a notebook was missing. Specifically, the notebook containing his speculations on your… situation. Retracing his steps, he returned to the restaurant and found that Leyla had already left; when questioned, the waitstaff confirmed that when she left she was carrying a notebook precisely like the one that was stolen. He then contacted me and explained the situation. We arranged to meet with Leyla, and confronted her about it."

He held his hands out as if to indicate two sides of a conversation. "Creilath accused her of theft. She denied it, though did not deny the possibility that she'd had the notebook in her possession at some point. Leyla accused him of attempting to cover for his own forgetfulness. He denied it. Further words were exchanged, unproductively. We came away without the notebook, and have not seen her or it since."

I stared at him. "So what you're saying is that Leyla has a copy of all the notes Creilath took on us, and has had them for several days now?"

Leyla, who was obsessed with social class and protocol, and would be very angry if she found out we'd been lying to her.

Leyla, who had the ear of the one person we were relying on to get us home, and could probably turn him against us with a few words.

Leyla, who hadn't been seen for several days, probably since she'd found those notes.

It didn't exactly take an inquisitive to connect those dots.

So I was very surprised when Urzat's answer was not Yes but "Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't."

"What do you mean 'maybe'?" Chris asked, sounding more than a little anxious.

"It's simple. The theft never actually happened, nor did the dinner at which it took place."

"… I'm going to need you to explain that," Dean said.

Urzat nodded. "When Creilath returned from this 'dinner' of his, he spoke as if certain that he had arranged it with Leyla beforehand, but had not mentioned any such plans to me earlier in the day. He also failed to give me one of the signals we use to confirm each other's identity and freedom when mental influence or impersonation is suspected."

He began ticking off points on his fingers. "During their argument, neither of them was able to give any specific details about the restaurant such as its name or location, when neither is the type to forget such facts; additionally, neither noticed that the incidental details they gave about the restaurant, such as the décor or the location of their table within the restaurant, failed to match up with those details offered by the other. Their claims of the time at which they met again failed to match, and they again failed to notice the discrepancy.

"I narrowed down the most likely candidates based on Creilath's description and confirmed with the waitstaff of one of them that two individuals matching Creilath's and Leyla's descriptions did enter the restaurant that evening, but that only Creilath left, and that there were no other exits that Leyla could have used. I happen to know that Leyla owns no items enabling teleportation, so she could not have left that way."

The half-orc concluded his recitation with a satisfied nod. "In short, it would appear that both Creilath and Leyla have had their memories modified by a party or parties unknown, and have been further enchanted to not notice or gloss over the holes in their memories. I suspect that there may be other compulsions laid upon them to manipulate their actions in other ways, otherwise there would be little reason to implant both of them with similar false memories. I also suspect that the perpetrator was rushed or restricted when carrying out the attacks, otherwise they could have done a much better job of harmonizing the false memories between the two instead of relying on further enchantments to paper over the gaps."

We all stared at him.

I was pretty sure I'd just heard Urzat speak more words in the past few minutes than he'd spoken in our presence over the entire span of time since we'd first met him.

"So, uh," Dean said, sounding more than a little off-balance, "why wouldn't whoever did this to them do it to you, too?"

Urzat offered a toothy smile. "I am but a humble bodyguard," he said, speaking in a deliberately slower, rougher, and more gravelly voice than he usually used. "A slow-witted muscle-bound half-orc whose role consists almost entirely of lifting heavy objects, carrying a large weapon, and grunting at people. No one ever pays attention to such pitiable figures, do they?"

As someone who could sense everyone and everything around me out to a few blocks with my swarm and yet hadn't ever sensed him writing his note when he'd been in the same room with me all afternoon…

Point taken.

~*~*~

First Morning Bell, Mol the 2 nd of Aryth, 999 YK

The Horse & Hearth Inn, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

We didn't make it back to the hotel until after midnight, but all of us were too anxious to even try to get to sleep, so we all got together in Brian and Alec's room to talk. Even Brian, who was doing his best to play it cool, kept standing up and sitting down and pacing back and forth to burn off nervous energy.

While we'd been told that the city's higher-end hotels had things like noise-canceling enchantments on the walls so you could yell and scream and bang on the ceiling and no one outside the room would hear a thing, this hotel wasn't one of those. So when Brian and Alec decided to start venting their anger at Dean, they had to do it quietly.

"What do you mean you didn't have a plan?" Brian was saying. "You just assumed we'd never be found out and didn't think about what would happen next?"

"You were the one who was most skeptical about it; why didn't you have a plan?" Dean retorted. "I didn't even try to come up with a plan because there were so many different ways we could have been discovered-"

"So many ways for it to fail, and you still went ahead with it?" Alec asked. "Genius."

"You were standing right there with me. We didn't have a choice, I explained that, and you all agreed with me that we didn't have a choice!"

I was staying out of the argument for now because, really, after the first few minutes it felt like it had mostly devolved into the same kind of macho posturing Dean and Brian were doing when we first got here, except now over something specific instead of something vague like "being the leader." I couldn't tell whether Alec had jumped in because he was actually angry at Dean too or because he just liked messing with people.

I leaned over to Chris, who was sitting not quite right next to me on Alec's bed. "So what do you think?" I asked him quietly.

"About… everything?"

"No, just this," I said, waving at the argument in progress. "I don't think it's helping anything."

"Yeah…." He trailed off and looked over at Brian and Dean. "It's all of our fault, really, we all did it, we can't just blame Dean… but I don't think my jumping in to defend him will help anything either."

"True."

The two of us just sat there and watched as the argument quietly raged. I, at least, was ready to step in if things got too heated, but like Chris I didn't want to get myself roped into things if I could avoid it.

Brian and Dean were going in circles, second-guessing half the decisions we'd made since we got here and arguing for or against other things we could have done. Alec just kept poking at Dean: his inability to see this coming with his emotion sight, his terrible planning or lack thereof, his being too good of a liar to be a hero….

"You know I'm really sick of being constantly called a liar by someone like him," Dean said, clearly trying his best to stay calm and not quite succeeding.

"'Someone like him'? You mean a villain?" Brian shot back. "I thought we were past this hero-and-villain thing. All one team, remember?"

"That's not what I mean."

"So what do you mean? A spoiled jerk? That's rich coming from you, Mister 'My dad's a CEO so I know everything about how nobles work'!"

"That's not it either," Dean huffed.

"Then just say it."

"I'd rather not."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm trying to hold the team together-"

"Doin' a great job so far, chief," Alec drawled.

Dean moved to respond, paused, closed his mouth, took a deep breath.

"I am trying," said Dean through gritted teeth, "to not make things worse than they already are-"

"I told you, it can't possibly get any worse at this point."

Dean glared at Alec. "Do you want me to go there?"

Brian groaned in impatience. "Either say it, or shut up about it. Stop talking around it like you're the one with the moral high ground here."

"Fine!" Dean hissed. "Fucking fine." He turned to Alec. "So. Alec. Assuming that's even your real name."

The smarmy smile on Alec's face suddenly vanished. Clearly, whatever Dean was about to say, Alec hadn't believed he would ever actually say it.

"When were you planning to tell us, Alec," he continued, in a fairly good imitation of Creilath, "that you're actually one of Heartbreaker's kids?"

Wait.

…

Well shit.

Author's Note

Who knew that several of the towers in Sharn were actually Jenga towers? One little bump, and look what happens.

Yes, things aren't looking good for Our HeroesVillainsCapes. For those who guessed that Creilath was onto them from their very first meeting, yep, you were right!

On the upside, it seems Zalmok's sloppiness backfired much more (and much faster) than he expected-it's always the quiet ones, isn't it?-so THACo at least has something going their way.

While Chris quickly glossed over the whole maybe-finding-out-his-specialty issue because Alec is a jerk and I'm evil, we will indeed be revisiting that at some point, don't worry.

And no, Urzat doesn't have some super-special sneaky power to let him evade Taylor's swarm. He was just so forgettable that she didn't register him leaving to get drinks, and he wrote his note when he was out of her range.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

For those keeping track at home, THACo's armor is, mechanically speaking, 1 glamered masterwork (PHB) reinforced (Dragon Magazine 358) vital coverage (Dr358) spidersilk armor (Underdark) with reinforced dastana (Arms & Equipment Guide) and reinforced chahar-aina (Oriental Adventures) on top, with a lesser iron ward diamond, a lesser crystal of arrow deflection, and a least crystal of glancing blows (all from Magic Item Compendium) applied to those three, plus endure elements , make whole , and prestidigitation enchantments, plus Chris's custom weightlessness enchantment that mimics the restful crystal (MIC) and lightweight property (Dr358). Yes, it may look fairly cheesy, but it's a collaboration between Taylor "infinite parallel weaving" Hebert, Chris "badass Tinker once he discovers his specialty" McIntyre, and Leyla "personal apprentice of the best artificer in Khorvaire" Korell; if it doesn't smell of sharp cheddar, something has gone horribly wrong. Stat-wise, the armor grants 9 AC plus extra against ranged and critical attacks, weighs 4.1 lbs, and grants limited damage reduction. In plain English, it's better protection than high-end full plate armor, but with all the (lack of) weight and restrictiveness of a T-shirt jeans light jacket combo, and it can change to look like normal clothes so they can wear it all the time. I'm sure they aren't going to desperately need that degree of protection any time soon, no sirree. The wristband that stores their armor is a variant of the ring of arming, the same item that Urzat used to store his gear in 3.2.T and that Chris said he really wanted to get for himself. Looks like something went his way for once! While the specific factions (and names thereof) in the Brelish Parliament are my own extrapolation from the various sources commenting on Brelish politics, Ruken ir'Clarn is canonical, being "a member of Breland's parliament who often expresses viewpoints and opinions in opposition to King Boranel" and "wish[es] to see the monarchy removed from power," per Sharn: City of Towers. House Thuranni is possibly the most forgettable Dragonmarked House (everyone likes House Phiarlan better, 'cause it is better), so it makes for a good quiz question.

Last edited: Mar 14, 2023

Rule of Three 3.5.V

10:50 pm, Wednesday the 11th of May, 2011 CE Legend's Office, New York City, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

The leader of the Protectorate gave me a flat look. "What exactly was so urgent that it couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?"

"There are two matters," I replied. "Only one of them is especially urgent, but you and I may not be on speaking terms after it is addressed and so I wanted to discuss the other matter beforehand."

Annoyance and umbrage filled his aura at the implication that I believed him to have done something worthy of reproach and felt myself justified in delivering such a rebuke. Seeing that, I held up a conciliatory hand and added, "I've not come to accuse you of anything, necessarily; I continue to hold you in high regard. This matter pertains to your… colleagues."

His eyes widened, fractionally. "Ah." He discreetly pressed a button on the underside of his desktop. "We can speak freely now. Cauldron?"

"Yes."

His aura tinted toward exasperation, resignation, and curiosity, while fatigue and reluctance played about its edges. He sighed, and activated one of his powers, a variant of Energetic Healing keyed to radiance. For a heartbeat he took on an incorporeal form of deep blue light, causing the light in his office to briefly and minutely dim.

When he returned to his own form the fatigue was gone from his aura and his posture. He did, however, give the clock on his computer screen a significant look.

"If the late hour is an issue, I could apply my temporal acceleration power to the both of us so that we could continue our conversation without any more time passing externally," I suggested.

"I'd appreciate that. I was hoping to get home before midnight."

I reached out and accelerated him, and a moment later our timeframes synchronized.

Legend looked around and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary aside from the lack of change in his electronics, he nodded appreciatively. "All right. What was the first thing you wanted to talk about?"

Observing his aura closely, I replied, "The Endbringers."

I saw shades of anxiety, and tinges of mild discomfort, and flecks of buried sorrow and anger, but as I'd hoped there was nothing in his aura even remotely like the deep-seated dread that I'd seen around other capes when the topic was broached.

"Specifically," I continued, "I haven't the faintest idea why every single person I've encountered treats them as a uniquely horrible threat, when this world has so very many threats that would appear to be of similar magnitude."

I went on to outline my observations and my reasoning: how Shatterbird had city-scale evocations at her disposal and Monstrum's creature was a hulking amphibious monster, yet the former was feared only in conjunction with the rest of the Nine and not nearly to the same degree while the latter hadn't been regarded with distress until a comparison to Leviathan was made; how I'd raised hypotheses regarding a possible magical basis for the aversion, and then discarded them on the basis of the Las Vegas capes' willingness to be more open on the subject; how the Endbringers' monstrous nature did set them apart from other villains, but simple inhumanity did not explain the reaction to them given the existence of monstrous capes.

(There was, I noted, no immediate reaction from Legend when I mentioned the monstrous capes. Quite interesting.)

"I can come to no satisfactory conclusion as to why everyone whom I've asked about the Endbringers has refused to even think of them unless pressed," I concluded, "and I fervently hope that you, of all people, can finally provide a sensible explanation for this state of affairs. I would also hope that you can give a justifiable reason for the PRT to actively conceal information about them and your fights against them from the public, as I can see no way in which ignorance of the threat the Endbringers pose could be in any way beneficial."

He leaned forward with a sigh and clasped his hands on his desk, as if preparing to explain the obvious to a child. "I assume you haven't seen anything as large and powerful as the Endbringers on other worlds you've visited-"

" Quite the opposite, in fact," I interrupted. Holding out a hand, I manifested an illusion above my open palm. "This creature is a tarrasque. Many worlds have such a beast slumbering beneath the surface; a very rare few have two or more, and there are hundreds on their original homeworld. They generally wake for several days every few months to few years in order to hunt and consume everything in their path."

I added a few multi-story buildings to the illusion to convey its scale, and a crowd of humans fleeing before it to convey its savagery. "Each one can easily destroy a small city during its waking period unless said city is protected by potent wards and defenders, each is practically invulnerable to armies of soldiers and lesser magic-users, and each can regenerate from death or even complete obliteration unless reality itself is rewritten to render it permanently slain," I pronounced. "And that is merely the threat posed by the average adult tarrasque; it is not unknown for more mature specimens to develop even more fearsome capabilities."

I raised my other hand and extended the illusion over it, this time depicting an elder wyrm. "This is an ancient red dragon. There can be dozens on a single world, or more, and each one is not only a fearsome predator like a tarrasque but a magic-user of surpassing strength and cunning besides. The dragons who manage to reach such an age are generally more inclined to view the humanoid races as entertainment rather than food or foes, but if one so desired it could utterly raze multiple small cities in a single day."

My illusion vanished as I lowered my hands and shrugged. "I describe these beings not to diminish the harm and suffering experienced by those who encounter an Endbringer, for tragedies of different stripes are often incomparable, but rather to point out that threats of similar behavior and capability exist on most worlds and yet their inhabitants simply do not react to that sort of existential threat in the same way.

"I would suggest that this is because inhabitants of other worlds are more accustomed to the looming threat of such creatures, given their greater prevalence, except that the inhabitants of this world don't treat any other threats as they do the Endbringers. I would suggest that this is because your internet allows many more people to be aware of the Endbringers where most folk on other worlds know of most such powerful beasts only through myth and rumor, except that rumor is often more frightening than fact, and the educated folk who do know of such beings do not treat them as unspeakable horrors."

By the end of my recitation Legend was sitting back in his chair, wearing a contemplative frown and considering the question more seriously. "I see what you mean," he said slowly, then shook his head. "It's probably something that's been developing gradually since Behemoth first appeared, an over-correction in response to the PRT's efforts to curate the Endbringers' portrayal in the media."

He sighed. "Honestly, if you don't count interviews and press conferences, I barely interact with the public directly these days; my family, my career, and my work for Cauldron take up all of my time. I rely on reports from our analysts and our Image folks to keep a finger on the pulse of public opinion, but it can be hard to judge whether people are too afraid of the Endbringers or not afraid enough if no one wants to bring up the topic in the first place."

He fell silent, and continued to think.

Eventually Legend spoke: "If I had to take a stab at explaining it, I'd say it's because the Endbringers are a known and unknown quantity at the same time," he said.

Holding out his left hand, he continued, "Something like the Slaughterhouse Nine? They're a theoretical danger for most people, something you only hear about on the news or read about online. Most people are never going to be in danger from them and barely ever think about them. And while powerful new villains appear every day, you never know where they're going to pop up or what they're going to be like so it's hard to be scared of them, and anyway the Protectorate does a good job of taking out most of the worst villains before any civilians need to worry."

He lowered his left hand and held up his right. "Then you have the local villains that exist in the same city for months or years at a time. Even if they're powerful and dangerous, you get used to them fairly quickly; you can't go around being afraid of them all the time. Plus, villains mostly want to control territory, not destroy it. Some people worry about villains in other cities near where they live, but most villains are entrenched and don't move cities that often. The ones that do travel around between multiple cities in a region are like the Condemned or the Teeth: strong enough to remain free for years despite the Protectorate's efforts, but a small enough threat that them showing up somewhere in your city doesn't mean that you are definitely in danger."

He raised both hands. "But the Endbringers are the worst of both worlds. They attack on a somewhat regular schedule so people always know in the back of their mind that one is coming, but don't attack often enough for people to get used to them. They spread their attacks around the world, so they feel like other countries' problem most of the time, but they strike randomly and have been known to hit the same city twice, so you're never actually safe from them. They're famous enough that most people know what they can do and can imagine what it would be like for their hometown to be attacked, but no one knows where they came from or what makes more of them appear and that mystery can scare people. They have enough of a pattern that they feel predictable, but every attack is unique-and some are very memorable."

Cynical amusement streaked his aura. "The Endbringers have actually done the impossible and made Americans care about geography. The average New Yorker probably couldn't pick out Budapest or Caracas on a map, but you can be damn sure they can find Lausanne or Cologne or Naples." He let out a humorless chuckle. "They could pick out Moscow or Kyushu, too, if those were still on any map."

Kyushu had been attacked by Leviathan, I knew; that city's name had been referenced, along with Naples and Seattle, by those willing to even obliquely allude to that villain's attacks. The city of Moscow hadn't been mentioned in my presence, however.

"What happened to those two cities, if I might ask?"

"Moscow is a radioactive crater," he replied tersely. "Kyushu isn't a city, it's an island, and it was sunk."

…

what? Aspect sent flatly.

"And how, precisely," I asked, "was it sunk?"

Legend looked at me oddly. "Tidal waves, when Leviathan attacked Japan in '99. He did the same to Newfoundland in '05. Everyone kn-oh. Right."

Tidal waves.

Leviathan had sunk multiple cities with tidal waves.

On multiple occasions.

Unbidden, memories of my last minutes in Jhouram forced themselves up from the furthest depths of my mind where I kept them locked away:

A wall of water bearing down on the city, a third of a mile high and stretching from horizon to horizon.

Hundreds of merchant and naval vessels reduced to splinters and carried along by the wave, my mother's flagship among them.

Chaotic arcs of violet energy lighting up the sky as the elven magic infused into the wavefront shattered the city's wards.

Stone watchtowers along the shore turning into ballistic projectiles as the wave smashed them off their foundations and sent them flying.

A sudden and massive earthquake as the wave reached and inundated the city's udoxias, releasing the artifact's vast stores of energy into the ground below and into every building linked to it.

Explosions of psionic energy rocking the city, obliterating my ancestral estate with my father, siblings, and much of my extended family inside.

Blood streaming from my eyes and ears, and from those of all the other nearby citizens who had been in mental contact with the udoxias at the time.

Abject helplessness, as I lay on the ground twitching in physical and mental agony, psionic reserves utterly drained.

The faint sensation of Aldric's hand in mine as his spell whisked us away mere moments before the wave reduced our home to dust.

I forced down the memories, and my rising fury, only with great difficulty.

Almost without thinking, I attempted to remotely view Leviathan.

My power failed, despite my best efforts; the Endbringer apparently possessed a defense against scrying on par with my own.

A shame.

Aspect sent. Disapproval filled his mental tone.

Because I would confront him. The Abyss take the Society's rules, I would slay this Leviathan before I left this world.

No one deserved to suffer as I had.

Legend's voice intruded upon my thoughts: "Did you not look up any of Leviathan's previous attacks?"

"I had no particular interest in the Endbringers, nor reason to believe they were anything but normal villains, until very recently," I said. "I did visit several libraries to search the internet for photographs or videos of them, but the results were meager at best and were not accompanied by historical context."

He nodded. "You didn't try searching on your phone?"

"The only phone I ever possessed was one that I disassembled for study. Would you expect a search with a phone to provide different results?"

"Well, a lot of libraries do put content filters on their internet, so it's possible."

"'Content filters'?"

Thus did I discover that the policy of "protecting" the common folk from certain information extended to many more topics than just the Endbringers.

I'd learned from the Gray Hats that selective filtration of internet communications was frequently performed for security purposes, but to censor the content as well? And to do so, supposedly, in the virtuous pursuit of shielding children from the realities of violence and danger in the world, whether or not that was the true motivation?

It wasn't a universal policy by any means, Legend said, and it was possible for adults skilled in the use of computer technology to circumvent the restrictions, but I found the very concept of such widespread censorship objectionable.

"Quite ironic that access to any information would be forbidden in a library, of all places," I remarked.

Legend frowned. "For a good reason. I don't know if I'd want my son to be able to read about regular villains at school or a library without supervision, much less the Endbringers," he said, sounding somewhat defensive. "He's not even old enough yet to be allowed to play violent video games."

I gazed at him in patent disbelief, then glanced deliberately toward the family portrait on his desk.

Irritation filled his aura at my expression. " Yes, he knows I'm a hero, but beyond telling him that I 'fight bad guys' we've tried to keep the details of my career away from him. My husband prefers it that way, and my son can't let slip any secrets that he doesn't know."

"Is that the official policy of the PRT?" I asked mildly. "To keep the public ignorant 'for their own good'?"

"Not in so many words, but… in a way, I guess you could say it is, yes," he admitted.

I gave him another look. He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, then stood and moved to the window. Nostalgia and regret mingled in his aura as for several long moments he stared silently out at the frozen skyline beyond.

"There aren't many of us Golden Age heroes left," he finally said. "Aside from the Triumvirate, there's Scarlet Specter in the Midwest and Miss Mercury on the West Coast, and Pharos is retired but still kicking as far as I know. Other than that? Vikare, Silver Nebula, Falconer, Pollux, Noctis, Storm Sentinel, Vinci, Mister Dynamo, and obviously Hero… they and all the rest are long gone, and no one else knows what it was really like to be a hero when capes were first starting to show up."

I wasn't sure how his reminiscence related to PRT policy, but the topic was fascinating in and of itself. I hadn't really given any thought to how it might actually feel, on a personal level, to be an inhabitant of a world on which magic was first beginning to appear. Or re-appear, as the case may be.

were slightly distracted when you found out about the timeline of the local magic-users and the brevity thereof, Aspect snidely remarked.

"The '80s were the Wild West for capes," Legend continued. "Some people wore masks, some people made their own costumes, some mixed up some Halloween costumes, some just chose a signature outfit of street clothes and went with that. Some villains picked a code name, others didn't bother. Most heroes went solo, some joined teams and stuck with them, others moved between teams. People didn't even know what to call us at first; I heard superhuman, metahuman, mutant, evolved, gifted, a few others. Eventually they settled on 'cape' as a mostly neutral term, because practically everyone wore one back then."

A small smile flitted across his face, visible in his reflection and to my enhanced senses. "Even I did, at first, a long white one with blue decals to go with a much busier version of this," he said, gesturing to his blue outfit covered with abstract energetic designs in white.

" God, it was tacky," he added with a self-deprecating laugh. "Twenty-four-year-old Legend was kind of a fashion disaster."

Waving a hand dismissively, he continued, "Anyway, point is, everything was up in the air and no one knew what the next five, ten, twenty years were going to look like, especially when teenagers started being the majority of new triggers. There were more villains than heroes at the time, and people were scared of capes, heroes included; reading about superhero fights is a lot different from seeing them in real life, and even minor fights could lead to a lot of property damage."

He sighed. "People were talking about things like making the use of powers illegal, or forcing every hero to sign up with the military. The government was pushing to strictly regulate capes, and that was definitely controversial among us heroes; most of the capes who went the full-on superhero route with code names and costumes were fans of the recent superhero comics, and no one wanted a Mutant Registration Act situation."

The mental picture that he painted wasn't all that different from scenarios I'd encountered on other worlds, surprisingly.

Athas, with its hatred of even Good-aligned wizards due to the harm historically wreaked by defiling; Izredan, with its universal persecution of priests, as only Evil gods granted divine power in that sphere; Krynn, with its near-total lack of magic-users not belonging to (and controlled by) one organization or another… I could certainly see why the local magic-users would want to avoid their culture developing in a similar direction.

Legend looked back over his shoulder at me. "That's when Alexandria made her proposal about forming the Protectorate. It was the spring of '88; the four of us had all been out of the cape closet for at least a year by then, and all of us were locally famous in our hometowns."

He returned his gaze to the window. "And I distinctly remember that when I asked Alexandria if she wanted to be in charge of the team she said that Hero or I should be, because she didn't have the right image and the government wouldn't feel like they were in charge if Eidolon was the leader. The choice wasn't about our powers, or our aptitude for the job, it was about making people believe that they were safe and in control and everything was going to be okay, even if they weren't and it wasn't."

Ah. "I begin to see where this is leading," I said.

He nodded, turned, and began to pace with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Alexandria started contacting solo heroes in major cities and convincing them to team up, matching them together based on marketability and themes instead of power synergy. I started reaching out to law enforcement to talk about cooperating with the authorities, setting up photo ops to make us seem more approachable, things like that. Hero started inviting some younger capes to play 'sidekick' to one of us for a while, to get people used to the idea of newer teenage heroes working with more experienced older heroes. Eidolon started taking time to clean up after cape fights and help out with natural disasters, to let people see that heroes could be civic-minded and do more than just fight villains."

He stopped and shrugged. "It worked, just like Alexandria said it would. People started to see heroes as heroes, lobbyists backed off on the most punitive proposals, and support for the Protectorate plan really took off. Once the PRT was formally established, everything kicked into high gear. It started making hero-themed comics, books, movies, and toys, and spreading more… positive stories about trigger events and their causes. New triggers started approaching us before they decided on their own cape identities, so the Image division could deliberately craft their public personas to fit into a cohesive team."

"And as part of that effort, you began to deliberately distort how villains were seen as well?" I asked.

"'Distort' is a strong word," he said. "But yes. Glenn-that's Glenn Chambers, our national Head of Image, he could tell you all about our strategy there, but essentially it boils down to making sure people feel that the heroes are on top of everything and keeping the worst of the villains out of the public eye as much as possible."

"Including the Endbringers."

"Including the Endbringers," he agreed. "The PRT and Protectorate didn't do much with their image at first, and we definitely weren't trying to make people more scared of them; Behemoth didn't need the help. When he attacked New York in '94 we did spend a lot of time and effort rebuilding things, bringing in heroes from all over the country to do it as quickly as possible. Alexandria's plan, again, to show that New York could take anything he could dish out and bounce right back and that any other US city that was attacked could do the same thing."

He grimaced. "Not that that idea lasted long at all-or the budget, either.

"Then, in '02, the Simurgh appeared."

Legend went on to describe how the Endbringer had impersonated a hero for several days and had managed to enchant numerous bystanders by the time she revealed her perfidy. How, lacking any means to reverse her mental manipulations, governments confined her victims to quarantined areas, marking them with tattoos and informing the public of the danger such individuals posed before releasing them.

"And that completely backfired," he admitted. "Paranoia and prejudice led to people shunning the victims, or worse. So… here in the US, at least, we changed course. We stopped publishing the names of affected individuals and started requiring them to only tell employers and other close individuals, stopped requiring the tattoo to be placed somewhere it couldn't be hidden, and made other changes to the process.

"More than that, we started downplaying the danger, somewhat, enough to prevent civilians from panicking when an attack happened and to encourage more capes-villains especially-to attend Endbringer fights in other cities. Major video-hosting sites were convinced to take down any too-violent Endbringer footage, and schools stopped doing Endbringer drills so that the kids wouldn't worry all the time about their city being attacked. Things like that."

Dropping back into his seat, he concluded, "That's where things stand. I don't necessarily like everything about the modern cape dynamic, and no one who works for the Image division joins because they want to mislead the public, but there are good reasons why the PRT does what it does."

He offered a reassuring smile. "Not only has Alexandria's game plan not steered us wrong so far, but our analysts and Image specialists and even our Watchdog capes have done lots of modeling of alternative approaches and agree that our current one is the one with the best outcomes overall. And I trust their judgment."

"I see," I replied.

I took a moment to mull over his explanation. "Personally, I remain strongly opposed to misleading your fellow citizens on a massive scale in that way, however minor and benevolent those misrepresentations might be. That said, the context you provided is quite informative and your reasoning is sound; I can see why that would seem to be your best option, given the circumstances."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"If you are willing," I continued, "I'd like to be given access to the PRT's uncensored and unaltered records on the Endbringers, so that I can fully educate myself on the subject."

"So long as you promise to attend the next Endbringer attack," he responded immediately. "We expect it to happen sometime in the next few weeks, and it'll be either Leviathan or Behemoth, most likely Leviathan."

Given my plans for the wretched beast, that was something I would likely have done regardless. "You have my word."

"Thank you. I'll have IT set you up with something before I head home. Now… what was the other thing you wanted to talk about?"

"The fact that Cauldron appears to be responsible for experimenting on unwilling human subjects," I replied evenly. "The so-called 'Case Fifty-Three' capes."

Denial filled his aura, lightly speckled with guilt. "That isn't us," he said, then hesitated. "Or… not exactly."

"Oh?"

He sighed. "Cauldron's research arm has had more than a few defectors and traitors over the years. Most of them they've been able to track down, but a few have avoided that. One of those was William Manton, who was a scientist who-"

"I'm familiar with some of his work," I interrupted.

"Oh, good. He stole some vials and a lot of research notes when he disappeared, and ever since then we believe he's been trying to refine his formulas to the same degree the Doctor has by dosing people with the new vials he creates, leaving mutated capes in his wake."

"How do you explain the amnesia?" I asked.

"Normal trigger events can cause mental changes as well as physical ones, and the same with the vials if they're not pure enough or not prepared correctly. If Manton's vials cause drastic physical mutations, memory loss is the least you'd expect on the mental side."

That sounded reasonably plausible; a complete loss of memory could easily obscure more extensive mental changes, given the lack of a prior baseline to which the subject's personality could be compared. "And the Cauldron symbol tattooed on each cape?"

"We don't know why he does that."

"Surely you have some speculations, at least?" I asked skeptically. "The choice of symbol seems rather unexpected, for a defector."

Legend shrugged. "If you're implying that the symbol means it's Cauldron doing that… what possible reason could Cauldron have to put its own logo on human test subjects, so that any potential client who'd heard of the fifty-threes would be worried that might happen to them? That makes no sense."

"A good point," I acknowledged. His aura was free of deception, so as unlikely as his story seemed, it was the truth… or at least the truth as he believed it to be. "Why haven't you been able to locate William thus far? Surely you have diviners at your disposal."

"If you mean Thinkers with remote sensing powers, we do, but for whatever reason he and the others don't show up to them. The Doctor has called in a few favors over the years from clients who gained powers that might help with that, but no luck."

"Who might those others be?"

"Balminder Suresh and Charles Darnell. Both of them are also parahuman scientists who fled with notes and vials. Mostly vials in Balminder's case, lots of them, and mostly research material for Charles." He paused. "I read Aegis's report. The one about you capturing a villain an entire state away…?"

"You were hoping to spend one or both of your favors to request that I do the same for them?"

He nodded. "Assuming your Thinker power can see them."

I asked for general descriptions of each of the men, which Legend provided, and dismissed our temporal acceleration so that I could attempt to scry them.

Two of them I found immediately: William was driving a vehicle, looking tired and haggard, while Charles was seated in a well-appointed parlor, reading a book in his nightclothes.

Balminder was protected against scrying, but a brief exertion of willpower sufficed to penetrate the ward to reveal that he was sleeping on a small bed in a cramped inn room or apartment, several metal valises lined up neatly on the floor beside him.

"I can sense all three of them," I said.

Legend raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Just like that? With all the time our clairvoyant spent looking for them…."

I offered a modest smile. "I do have a good amount of practice with this sort of thing."

"I bet." Hints of eagerness and hope began to trickle into his aura. "So, you'll do it?"

"Not just yet," I replied. "These three aren't established villains, as Mosaic was; I have only your word that William is the one responsible and that Cauldron itself is blameless- and," I held up a hand to forestall his impending objections, "while I've no particular reason to doubt your honesty, I'd prefer to first consult with the contact who initially brought this issue to my attention before agreeing with that conclusion."

Legend wasn't pleased, but agreed that a minor delay in the name of thoroughness and objectivity was acceptable and gave his reluctant assent. "I'll check in with IT and respond to a few emails while you do that," he added. "Let me know when you're done."

I nodded, then fissioned myself and teleported my second body-

~*~*~

7:54 pm, Wednesday the 11th of May, 2011 CE

Faultline's Hotel Room, Paradise, America, Earth Bet

-to the spot where I'd left Faultline and her associates mere objective minutes before.

Newter and Gregor reacted with surprise at my unexpected appearance, but Elle was used to my sudden comings and goings from our dreamwalking lessons and took it in stride.

The mercenary herself didn't even twitch. "That was fast," she observed. "Did you get your answer?"

"I received an answer," I said. "One that is suspiciously neat and tidy. Given that you knew the name 'Cauldron' at all, I assume you've done a considerable amount of research into your partymates' situations."

She nodded, once.

"Tell me," I continued, "during your investigation, did you happen to come across an individual who seemed to be purveying power-granting vials without the backing of a larger organization?" I deliberately failed to describe any of the three men who fit that description, to avoid biasing her answer.

"Yes, he's known as the Dealer," she promptly replied. "But we know he's not the one responsible."

"Oh?"

She nodded. "Shamrock," she called. "You can come in now."

The previously-unnamed woman accompanying Spitfire in the other room stepped hesitantly through the door to join the conversation. Elle moved to the side to let her pass as she took up a position next to Gregor's chair.

"Summarize your story for Valigan, please," Faultline said gently.

Shamrock nodded. "I was born and raised on another Earth," she began softly. "One night, at my temple-school…."

The story she outlined, of being abducted by Cauldron proper and subjected to grueling tests in a facility that sounded distinctly like the one in which I'd found the reclusive diviner who had been attempting not to scry me, did not cohere with Legend's claims in the slightest.

I couldn't say I was entirely surprised.

"I see," I said when she concluded her recitation. "I've more to discuss with my contact, it seems. In the meantime," I continued, turning to Newter, "it's clear that it would take me slightly more time and effort to investigate your previous life than I'd expected, so I'd like to offer you a compromise."

"Like what?"

"I'm able to travel backwards in time by up to half an hour, give or take," I told him, and his aura and those of everyone else present lit up with mixtures of surprise, envy, and intrigue at my words.

I'd only managed a few minutes' reversion after my… ill-considered outburst against Alabaster and his Empire associates, but that had been an unanticipated and very time-sensitive maneuver, limited by my then-current resources and thoughtform allocations.

Under optimal conditions-that is, given the time to center myself, recharge my reserves, reconfigure my mental lattice, and retrieve a selection of soul crystals from storage-I could send myself back by up to an hour if I was willing to completely drain my reserves and make use of my gear as well, or half an hour if I wanted to maintain a safe cushion in case of an ambush or similar.

"Therefore," I continued, "I could restore your memories and give you some time to experience them. Then, should you regret your decision, I can revert the restoration and leave you as you currently are."

"Half an hour's not very long," Newter said uncertainly. He tapped his heels against the side of the bed, and the tip of his tail twitched back and forth in an anxious catlike motion. "I might not be able to figure out who I even was in that time, much less whether I like that person."

"That," I replied dryly, "is why it is a compromise."

"I guess."

"You may take some time to think it over," Gregor said. "I have made my decision. What do I need to do?"

"Simply relax and settle your mind, and tell me when you're ready."

He nodded and settled back into his chair. Hesitantly, Shamrock offered him her hand; he took it gratefully and gave it a slight squeeze. He closed his eyes, and after a few more moments he nodded again. "I am ready."

I activated one of my psionic tattoos and delved deep into his mind.

Subjectively, when one performs psychic surgery on another individual the process seems to stretch for many long minutes. My focus traveled methodically along the contours of his thoughts, seeking out and repairing the twisted mental linkages that separated his lost memories from his conscious mind. There were faint traces, too, of implanted commands that would trigger when certain stimuli were met, and I took great satisfaction in removing those from his mind as well.

Objectively, Gregor barely had time to take another breath before he his eyes flew open and he twitched violently in his chair as the rush of memories overwhelmed him. Shamrock winced as his grip on her hand tightened painfully, but she did not attempt to let go.

"Gregor. Gregor! Are you all right?" Faultline demanded.

He took a moment to take stock of himself. "[Yes… yes, I'm fine]" he said in an unfamiliar tongue, sounding quite preoccupied. "[My mind has never felt clearer, actually, but there's a lot-]"

"In English, please," Faultline said.

"I'm sorry. Yes, I'm all right," he said, in English. His accent was slightly heavier now, but his pattern of speech was more colloquial than it had been.

"What's the verdict?" she asked.

He laughed softly. "Well, Doctor Collins was right: I do speak Icelandic. Danish and French, too."

Though he was putting on a brave front, Gregor's aura churned with emotion. Sorrow, anger, and loss were the dominant hues, with others fading in and out as memory after memory passed through his mind's eye.

"So you remember everything?" Newter asked.

"Yes. Everything," he said, and it was almost a growl. "Including my abduction." He stood from his chair and turned to Faultline. "I… will need a few minutes to myself."

"Take all the time you need."

He nodded, and strode into the adjoining room. A moment later Spitfire stepped out of that room and shut the door softly behind her.

All eyes turned expectantly to Newter.

"Well… he seems like the same old Gregor," he said, chuckling nervously. "I guess… yeah. Yeah, I'll do it."

The young man shuffled himself backward on the bed and propped himself up against the headboard with some pillows, his tail curling around his waist. "Okay, hit me."

I gave him another moment to settle himself as best he was able, then activated my tattoo again.

As Gregor had, Newter twitched in momentary shock and discomfort as his memories returned to him.

Unlike Gregor, this did not abate after a few moments. Rather, Newter's eyes stayed wide, his aura flooded with alarm and disbelief, and he began muttering, "Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit…" under his breath.

"Newter!" Faultline snapped. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head rapidly. "Nothing! Everything's fine!" he said, in a voice noticeably higher-pitched than usual. "Just… gimme a second."

Faultline frowned, but acquiesced. In the meantime, I peered into his surface thoughts to ensure that he hadn't experienced any unanticipated side effects, and found-

Ah.

His mind and his memories were, indeed, perfectly intact. His odd behavior was due to the fact that he was currently fixated on a very particular memory: writhing in pain on the featureless white floor of Cauldron's facility while Alexandria regarded him from outside his cell, smiling enigmatically.

His reaction seemed quite reasonable, under the circumstances.

After taking a few moments to compose himself, Newter still wasn't entirely calm. He turned to me, a haunted look in his eyes. "Undo it. Please."

"Newter, wait-" Faultline began.

" Please!"

I frowned, and reached out to pull him into an accelerated timeframe with me.

He leaped to his feet in panic as the others froze. "Fear not, they are unharmed," I said, and he halted. I continued, "Time is effectively stopped, and none but you and I are aware of what we say here. Not even Alexandria."

"You know?" he said, his head whipping around to face me.

"I do; I saw her in your thoughts. And I wanted to give you time to potentially reconsider your decision. Are you sure you want to lose your memories again?"

He nodded fervently. "I can't deal with this. I was in that place for months, and the tests, the needles…." He shuddered in remembered discomfort.

His gaze drifted to the frozen figures of Spitfire and Elle and his shoulders slumped. "And before that… well, you saw where I was."

I hadn't seen that, in fact, but I didn't interrupt him.

"It was a warzone," he said, his tone hollow. "There were bombings every few hours, and we were days away from being conquered. Everyone I knew, everyone I loved, they're all dead, and the EFA probably doesn't even exist anymore. And I was about to die, too. Maybe Gregor could find his home and move back there, somehow, but I have nothing to go back to."

I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I sympathize completely," I told him, and I was possibly the only person on this world who could.

"And Cauldron… if they have Alexandria on their side, that's it, game over, there's nothing we can do about them. I'd never be able to keep that from Faultline, and then she'd start asking around and Cauldron would find out and if they knew we knew about Alexandria then she'd show up and whoosh, bam, splat, we're all dead. If I forget that, maybe we don't raise any red flags and maybe we have a chance of surviving."

"You don't feel it would be better to know the truth?"

"Not if it means Cauldron kills us. I've already come this close to dying once, and I don't want to do it again. Dying sucks," he said.

"It certainly does," I agreed.

He was silent for a moment. "Is that selfish?" he asked, talking to a frozen Faultline rather than to me. "Gregor's got his memories back, so he has what he's always wanted. Shamrock's got enough info for Faultline to go on if she wants to keep looking into Cauldron. And me? I'd rather die of old age surrounded by pretty girls as Newter than have Alexandria kill me before my twenty-first birthday as Ignacio."

"If you are truly conflicted, there is always the option to revert your memories for now and restore them again at some later point," I suggested.

"Oh, hey, that works. Can you… what if you got in touch later, when we're back in the Bay?" he asked. "If I don't have a freakout when Faultline's in the same room with me, I could probably take some time to get used to the idea, figure out something better."

"I can do that. What word or phrase could I tell you at that point so that you'll believe that we spoke of this?"

He thought for a moment, then related an amusing and somewhat embarrassing anecdote. "Don't spread that around, okay?"

"I won't."

I took a few moments to make the appropriate preparations, then dismissed the temporal acceleration.

The moment we returned to the normal flow of time, I activated my tattoo of Time Regression, and watched as events reversed their course.

~*~*~

"Well… he seems like the same old Gregor," Newter said, chuckling nervously. "I guess… yeah. Yeah, I'll do it."

"Unfortunately, you decided against that," I informed him.

"Huh?" he said, not understanding. Then: "Ohhh. How bad was it?"

"You were in considerable distress."

It was clear from Faultline's aura that she very much wanted to ask after the details, but she remained silent.

"Damn, that sucks." Newter shrugged, disappointment warring with relief in his aura. "Guess I dodged a bullet there."

"Indeed. I believe that concludes my business here this evening. If you wish to speak with me again, Elle will be able to reach me."

Elle nodded enthusiastically; Faultline nodded reluctantly.

With that, I dismissed my fissioned body, and-

~*~*~

-gave Legend a very disappointed look. "The hypothesis of an isolated actor is untenable, I'm afraid."

He looked up from his computer and frowned. "Why's that?" he asked warily.

Drawing on a combination of Shamrock's verbal descriptions and the brief flashes of memory seen in her and Newter's surface thoughts, I manifested another illusion, this one depicting the featureless white hallways and unfurnished cells of what was surely a Cauldron installation.

I populated the cells with some of Newter's and Shamrock's fellow prisoners, but left the two of them out of the depiction; there was no need to reveal the involvement of Faultline's party.

"Does this look at all familiar to you?" I asked mildly.

Legend's aura glowed brightly with mingled denial and disbelief, of the particular shade seen in those who reflexively deny a proposition because they legitimately do not believe it yet cannot actually find fault with the evidence presented to them… but beneath that, nibbling at the edges, were more than a few blotches of doubt.

"The hallways are familiar, but I've never seen cells like that anywhere in the complex, or any other cells either," he declared.

Peering into his surface thoughts, I saw that he truly had never witnessed any such cells at the facility, but at the same time he recognized that no one could have so accurately depicted the facility's architecture without having seen it for themselves.

"You did say that the 'hero side' and the 'research side' of Cauldron are kept mostly separate. Is it possible that the latter are perhaps conducting experiments without your knowledge?" I asked leadingly.

"Can't be," he replied reflexively. "The Doctor isn't the most… approachable person, or the most forthcoming, but she's not the type to do anything like that, either. She's been transparent with us about Cauldron's goals and the risks of the vials from day one, and the same goes for everyone in her staff that I've met. The idea that there's a second even-more-secret conspiracy within the secret conspiracy that excludes us heroes so they can do awful things behind our backs is completely ridiculous."

A few streaks of confidence entered his aura, and the corners of his mouth curved upwards in a quietly triumphant smile. "Besides, even if they wanted to do that, it'd be impossible. Cauldron has dozens of sensors and precogs on its payroll, Alexandria has a perfect memory and can read any non-Stranger like a book, and Eidolon has more Thinker powers than even he knows about. If the Doctor or any of the researchers were doing something like that, one of them would have picked up on it ages ago."

"This is very true; hiding their activities from every magic-user among their number would be all but impossible," I acknowledged, and watched as his aura was tinted with relief and vindication.

"However," I delicately added, "I seem to recall that we very recently had an extended discussion regarding Alexandria's plans for the Protectorate, which from the very beginning revolved around keeping those outside the organization largely ignorant of certain truths 'for their own good'."

Legend furrowed his brow. "Yes? And?"

He paused.

"… Oh."

His smile vanished, replaced by a pensive frown.

Still, his aura remained strongly tinted with optimism and trust: it would take much more than a damning insinuation from a very recent acquaintance to convince him that a long-time friend and ally would betray him like that.

He rallied a moment later: "While that sounds suspicious-" he began.

"I was able to completely restore the memories of one of the case fifty-three capes," I interrupted.

"Really? How-"

I manifested an illusion depicting Alexandria from Newter's twitching and shuddering perspective, an empty vial in her hand.

Slowly, over the course of a few heartbeats, I watched the vibrant hues of Legend's aura gutter out like a campfire in a sudden rainstorm, until nothing remained but despair and betrayal.

"That smile," he said tonelessly. "I know that smile. Her 'trust me, it's for the best' smile. I hate that smile."

He fell silent, and I peered into his surface thoughts. He was attempting to rationalize what I'd shown him, thinking of all manner of explanations for how I could have obtained that information and all manner of powers that could be used to falsify evidence, but in the end he resigned himself to the obvious conclusion.

His gaze met mine. "I can't think of any reason you'd want to lie about this, and there are too many details that line up. It's all true, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so. And please, do not take my word for it; verify my claim for yourself, as I verified yours."

Legend may have been far too trusting of his friends and allies and either unable or unwilling to see exactly what they might be capable of doing, but those faults aside he seemed to me to be, at his core, a moral man. The rising fury and righteous indignation clearly visible in his aura implied that he intended to promptly address this unpleasantness himself, and I was more than willing to leave the matter to him for now.

He nodded at my words, then stared silently at the illusion for a short while longer.

Eventually, he turned back to me. "The IT department is on the fourth floor, they'll help you there," he said, his face expressionless. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a meeting to arrange."

I merely nodded, skipping the pleasantries, and withdrew from his office.

~*~*~

12:26 am, Thursday the 12th of May, 2011 CE

PRT 1 Command Center, New York City, America, Earth Bet

Two numbers practically burned themselves into my retinas as I gazed upon Leviathan's entry in the PRT computer system:

Thirteen million, and fifty-six thousand.

Those were the approximate total casualties of, and the approximate total square miles of land area submerged by, Leviathan's attacks on the islands of Kyushu and Newfoundland.

Reading those numbers stoked the embers of the deep and abiding anger that had smoldered deep within me for these many centuries, for on the day of Jhaamdath's fall its territory had encompassed roughly sixty-two thousand square miles, and the combined populations of my home city of Jhouram and the capital of Dhinnilith had been as near to thirteen million souls as makes no difference.

On my honor as the last scion of Jhaamdath, Leviathan would die, and he would die slowly.

"You doing okay, hon?" asked Edith, the senior night-shift technician who'd taken a seat beside me in order to supervise my research. "You've been staring at that page for a while."

"I'm quite all right. Thank you for your concern," I replied, dragging my attention away from the statistics to the rest of the page.

There was a wealth of data in the PRT's archives, though admittedly their records were more broad than deep. Every conflict with the Endbringers was described in a reasonable amount of detail, and what limited photographs and videos they possessed of Behemoth and Leviathan were all collected in one place.

Unfortunately, the details in each report did not include any strategic or tactical information that might explain the surprisingly high cape casualty numbers for even the most straightforward of fights, so for the time being I chalked that up to overconfidence and inexperience, the same factors that generally led to the demise of many adventuring parties who thought that they were strong and clever enough to challenge an elder dragon in its lair only to be swiftly and lethally disabused of the notion.

The available depictions of the Endbringers were of very poor quality, given the range at which they had been taken and the interference from electrical powers in Behemoth's case and rain in Leviathan's, but at least I could finally see the infamous creatures in their entirety.

Leviathan bore little physical resemblance to Monstrum's beast, being much more reptilian than piscine, but the hunched and top-heavy posture was similar enough that I could see why the latter might remind an onlooker of the former. Behemoth, meanwhile, was essentially as Bricoleur had described.

Neither of them precisely resembled any creature with which I was familiar. But then, neither had Newter or Gregor, and of course every world I'd visited had boasted a wide variety of creatures not found anywhere else in the multiverse. Whether the Endbringers were merely unique local monsters or an artificial composite of multiple native monsters or some other phenomenon remained to be seen.

"I notice that there are no photos or videos of the Simurgh," I remarked to Edith.

She nodded. "Official security policy. They're a potential memetic threat, and we're not allowed to store them on any system that might be accessed by heroes who were previously exposed to her psychic scream."

"I had a question about that," I said. "I note that it is uniformly described as a 'psychic scream' or a 'psychic song,' but it is claimed that the mechanism behind it is unknown and no sensory descriptions are given. Is the latter also the case for security reasons?"

She nodded again. "It's the Simurgh; we can't take any chances. If someone wrote that it… oh, I don't know, that it sounded like a particular famous person singing, or a specific note, that could be a trigger itself for someone who reads it."

"I see. Could you perhaps describe the sensation to me verbally?"

"Sorry, hon, no can do. I've never experienced it myself, thank God, and it's in incredibly poor taste to ask any capes who'd been to a Simurgh fight to talk about it afterward."

"Understandable. I don't suppose there are any capes on the night shift who might be able to describe it to me?"

Edith gave me an odd look. "I could check. Why do you want to know?"

"I believe I know the nature of this 'psychic scream' and wished to verify my hypothesis."

"Is that so?" She hadn't been informed of my otherworldly background, but she had been told that I was an expert in the parahuman sciences, so instead of skepticism her aura bore streaks of curiosity and interest. "Then let me ask around."

She turned to her own computer to do so, and I went back to perusing the archives.

~*~*~

A somber dark-skinned woman in a star-studded indigo cloak strode into the room a short while later: Astrologer, a potent evoker and the leader of one of the New York Protectorate's sub-teams. "You had some questions about the Simurgh?" she asked brusquely.

"I did. Could you describe for me the sensation of her psychic scream?"

The cape grimaced, but nodded. "It's… not exactly a scream, or a song. It's more of a wail, crossed with the sound of… you know the squeaky screeching you get if someone tries to play a wine glass with water in it but doesn't get it quite right? It's like that, constantly changing pitch and tempo so you can never really get used to it. Rumor has it people affected by the Simurgh hear it on and off again long after she's gone."

"Thank you." I recalled Oliver's mention of a persistent tinnitus, when I'd purged the Travelers of their implanted enchantments; a constant ringing and a constant screeching wail did seem quite similar. "Now, with your permission I'd like to try an experiment. I happen to be an accomplished telepath-and before you claim that telepathy is impossible," I said as Astrologer moved to object,

Edith was taken aback at the telepathic message, but Astrologer reacted more strongly, reflexively jerking away as a spike of alarm appeared in her aura.

Aspect sent.

With Astrologer's personal experience rendering her quite afraid of telepathy, while Gene's complete lack of experience with the Simurgh caused him to merely view it as "cool," and others fell somewhere in the middle. Yes, that did fit, and would explain why telepathic contact made certain individuals uncomfortable.

That was one mystery potentially solved, and it was something to keep in mind in future interactions with those who might have reason to fear it.

"If any form of mental contact would be too uncomfortable for you-"

"No. I can deal with it," Astrologer said. She stepped closer, and the fear slowly bled out of her aura to be replaced by determination.

"If you say so. I would like you to close your eyes and focus, and tell me what you experience."

She nodded and closed her eyes.

I then manifested three powers in rapid succession: Control Air, Detect Remote Viewing, and Read Thoughts.

When properly manifested, a power has no detectable side effect other than that directly produced by the power itself. However, a psionicist who is insufficiently skilled, or distracted, or otherwise not able to focus on efficiently manifesting a power can produce extraneous sensory displays due to a leakage of excess energy-and it is perhaps this tendency of side effects to manifest around a psionicist, apparently at random, that led to that terminology arising historically.

The three powers I'd selected all emitted a mental display when improperly manifested, specifically the sound of chimes or musical notes or other auditory phenomena experienced telepathically. My first manifestation of each one was done with my usual flawless efficiency, as a control test.

"What did you sense?"

"Nothing in my head." Astrologer furrowed her brow. "A puff of air on my face, or a light breeze?"

"Thank you. How about now?"

I manifested the same sequence of powers, this time deliberately allowing some of the energy to leak out of each. A corona of multicolored light briefly shimmered around me as Detect Remote Viewing gave off a visual display… and Astrologer and Edith would momentarily be hearing three slightly discordant and overlapping mental displays.

Astrologer's eyes flew open and she stumbled back into the nearest wall. One hand pressed against the wall to steady herself, while she raised the other arm and caused several small orbs of flaming stone to appear above her head in a reflexive use of one of her powers.

"What the hell was that?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"Would you say that that phenomena resembled the Simurgh's 'song'?"

"It was really goddamn close. I repeat: What the hell?"

I took a moment to explain what I had done, then improperly manifested each of the powers one at a time so that Astrologer could experience them individually and reassure herself that I was not, in fact, the Simurgh in a cunning disguise. Partway through my explanation, Edith began to take extensive notes of everything I said and did for later reference.

I manifested the powers again, alternating between the proper and improper methods so that both could see that the powers took effect in either case but that whether they were detectable varied with my level of control.

"Question: if Edith stands near you and I stand over there," Astrologer said, pointing to the far corner of the room, "can you do something where she hears it and I don't?"

"Certainly," I said. To prove it, I received both of their permission to manifest Demoralize (a mild doubt-inducing power with a mental display) on each of them, then manifested it properly on Astrologer and improperly on Edith so that the latter could hear the mental chime but the former could not despite the fact that they both were unequivocally being simultaneously subjected to the same effect.

"So what I'm getting out of this," Astrologer said, her face and her aura taking on similar ashen hues, "is that the Simurgh doesn't need to sing to affect people, and she could be screwing with people much farther away and much earlier than we thought and we wouldn't have any goddamn idea that it's happening."

"That would seem to be the case," I agreed.

"Legend is going to want to know about this," Edith said worriedly.

"Him and literally everybody else," Astrologer muttered.

Edith reached over to a desk-mounted phone, lifted part of it, and input a number. A moment later she returned the handheld portion to its cradle. "He's not online and not answering his phone; must have gone home already. I'll write this up and sent it over to him so he sees it first thing tomorrow. Was there anything else you wanted to look up while you're here?"

"No, I believe that's all. I'll just be a few more minutes here and then I'll leave you to your writing. Thank you for your assistance."

"Of course, hon."

I spent the next few minutes gathering all of the available data on the Endbringers-and, since I was here anyway, information on other capes both foreign and domestic with whom I'd decided I might wish to speak at some point.

Partway through the process, Gwyn's voice intruded upon my thoughts. he sent. quite some time with her, after… everything, so I'd judge you have roughly a local day before your appointment. Good luck.

Well that was auspicious.

The fact that he didn't mention which of the Founders had met him was mildly concerning. I'd hoped that Juroth would be the one to check in with us, as his standards for interference were the most lax, but it didn't sound as though that was the case.

The time on the nearest clock read eight minutes after one o'clock, and the fact that the portal had opened precisely one local month after our arrival here, down to the minute, implied that the ever-punctual Penumbra would be the one to meet with me.

Given my luck thus far, though, I had my coppers on Adilege.

Ah, well. A day would be plenty of time to edit my memories for transfer and to handle a few other tasks. Including instructing Elle and performing some further research, of course, but also making certain arrangements with the heroes and soldiers in Brockton Bay and tending to Noelle's cloned body, which was nearly completely grown.

I finished with the PRT's archives shortly after that, thanked Edith once more, and took my leave.

~*~*~

1:14 am, Friday the 13th of May, 2011 CE

Seemingly Random Spot in the Docks, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

The local property values had taken quite the pummeling since I'd last been in this area of the city.

I'd heard the tale of the battle with Lung from Velocity when I'd spoken with him earlier in the day-yesterday, technically-and the battle's extreme degree of collateral damage explained why the original point at which the Society's portal had appeared was now no longer located in some anonymous alleyway but was instead in the midst of a vast wasteland of debris and crumbling ruins.

It seemed as though my speaking to Legend of the danger a fire-breathing dragon posed to a small city had been more timely than I'd realized.

I'd only been waiting for a few minutes when the portal appeared, irising open in midair. Beyond it was the bland and featureless grassland of one of the Society's quarantine demiplanes, used to ensure that nothing entered or exited a sphere under observation without the Society's notice.

Creating a portal from that demiplane into Earth's sphere would require exorbitant quantities of energy compared to re-using the much-metaphysically-closer origin point in Eberron's sphere, hence check-ins being limited to a monthly cadence at best, but the cost was worth it to avoid accidentally contaminating Eberron or Earth (or both) should something pass through subsequent portals in either direction.

It would be convenient if the portal's destinations within a sealed crystal sphere could be moved as well, but unfortunately Juroth's device had created only a single weak spot for each Earth we were exploring. Much like the Crimson Monolith on Athas, whose precise location was fixed and which would cease to function if moved from its current spatio-planar coordinates, any portals hoping to reach Earth Bet thus remained restricted to a single destination point.

I strode through the portal as soon as it had stabilized. Adilege was standing just inside it, as I'd expected, and they did not look amused.

Normally I referred to Adilege in the plural because that was their preference, but now it was physically accurate as well: two identical bodies stood before me, rather than one.

Where Penumbra had gained immortality via lichhood and Juroth had done so through means that were unknown to me but which were assuredly too horrific to contemplate, Adilege's immortality took the form of automatically reincarnating into a completely new body upon death.

They tended to reincarnate every decade or so for novelty's sake, too, changing their body as easily as another person might change their outfit, and even their fellow Founders claimed not to know what Adilege's original race, gender, or homeworld of origin had been.

When last I'd seen Adilege they had occupied the body of a male ettin, a two-headed creature closely related to true giants, and now their bodies appeared to be of the dvati, a race of creatures who each possessed two separate bodies but a single mind and soul.

Their skin was a monochrome white, like Alabaster or a changeling, though instead of solid white their eyes were a solid blue. Their clothing was a charcoal gray with black and white accents and some understated bronze and steel jewelry, in the traditional dvati fashion; Adilege liked to experience not only the physical form but also the cultural and artistic context of each race they embodied.

"Good evening, Adilege," I greeted them. "An interesting choice, this time around."

"Good evening, Valigan," said the twin to my left. The twin to my right nodded, then continued, "Returning straight from two heads to one would have been a bit hasty, I felt, so this form was a good compromise."

Aspect sent.

They offered twin faint smiles at Aspect's attempted humor-

hilarious, and you know it.

-then indicated that I should give them my report .

Touching a hand to my Experiential Repository, I began to transfer my memories of my time on this world to Adilege. Unlike the unfiltered memory-dump I'd provided Juroth of my time on Athas, this was a properly-curated Society memory chronicle that I'd edited over the course of the day, with everything from my personal emotions to uninteresting downtime expunged for the benefit of later Society members who might wish to consult it.

Excising my perspective from the memories would do nothing to conceal my questionable actions and decisions, however. I wasn't especially looking forward to seeing the Founder's reactions to the whole affair.

The critiques began nearly immediately, as expected. "I fail to see why the local firewardens strictly needed your assistance in extinguishing a blaze of that size," they chastised me. "It seems clear that they had events well in hand."

"Perhaps they did," I agreed. "However, I felt Aspect made a very cogent point about that situation, namely…."

~*~*~

Even concisely edited down, the full month's worth of memories took quite a while to review in detail. Nearly four hours went by as Adilege carefully examined the chronicle and asked an unending series of clarifying questions.

Glimmers of Earth Bet's sunlight were just beginning to shine through the portal by the time my chronicle reached the point at which I'd made the decision to assault Bakuda's warehouse, and after absorbing that particular memory Adilege frowned deeply.

"I'm disappointed, Valigan," the right body stated. "A near-flawless record up until Athas," the left body continued, "and then two cases of serious interference with a prominent Evil figure in immediate succession. We all have our personal goals and foibles, I realize, but you could at least have waited until the final scheduled months of each expedition to begin stirring up trouble." "I'd hoped you would set a better example for our potential new member," the right body concluded.

Though I'd expected to hear such a sentiment from them, the words still stung. The only currency of value to me and to others of similar stature was the respect and approval of our peers, and clearly I was now running a deficit on that front.

"One could make the argument," I replied, "that this world, possessing as it does the highest divergence quotient of any world the Society has yet explored, required a novel approach to its exploration-and, indeed, as demonstrated by previous portions of my chronicle, I've discovered much about this world that I could not have if I'd chosen to follow the standard protocols to the letter. One could also argue that the locals' insistence on holding even self-proclaimed rogues to certain heroic standards of behavior if they are perceived as being able to use their powers to aid others meant that I would have stood out more, not less, had I chosen to stand aside and not aid them against Bakuda."

Adilege's reaction to my attempted justification was mixed: their left body looked as though it concurred, their right body looked skeptical. As they were protected from divinations just as I was, I couldn't examine their aura to judge their reaction to my statement in more detail.

"Nevertheless," I continued, "I have indeed made multiple decisions which, in hindsight, were far less than optimal, and I sincerely apologize for potentially tainting the Society's data irrevocably in doing so."

"An irrevocable taint is unlikely," said their left body. "The impression I received from your chronicle," the right body continued, "is that this world is unusually tolerant of the novel and exceptional, given the unique circumstances of its extremely short history of exposure to anything magical." "A similar course of events would likely be enough to abort the mission on most worlds, but on this one… perhaps things aren't so dire."

~*~*~

The full review of the expedition thus far finished in the late morning, Earth Bet time, at which point Adilege began to ask questions about various things that hadn't made it into my chronicle and I offered speculations and hypotheses on certain matters that were as yet insufficiently well-supported to be committed to memory crystal.

At last, Adilege pronounced their conclusion: "While you have interfered with this world to a much greater degree than we'd have liked, based on the local conditions I judge that your interference was within acceptable bounds." Their other body leaned in and pointedly added, "If only barely."

"I'm not as sympathetic to your extenuating circumstances as the others might be," they continued with their first body-also something I'd expected; Adilege had committed themselves to spouses before, but these bonds never lasted beyond a single incarnation to my knowledge and so Adilege was neither accustomed to mourning such a loss nor inclined to do so.

"Still, your beginning this expedition in a compromised mental state is something that Gwydion, Penumbra, and Juroth all allowed to pass by without objection, so the fault is hardly yours alone." "As long as you continue to conceal from the locals your ability to travel between the worlds within this sphere and your connection to Kassalyn and Gwydion, I will be satisfied, and I trust that Penumbra will be as well." "Though we will be examining your chronicle in exacting detail once your mission has concluded, in search of further interference, so keep that in mind."

"I will. Thank you for your forbearance," I said.

"Unless there was anything else…?"

"There was, actually. Would you be opposed to leaving this portal active for one additional local day? I had a series of experiments I wished to perform in order to potentially explain the peculiarities of the local magic-users, and for that I need access to creatures from outside this sphere."

That I needed extra-spheric access wasn't technically accurate, as it was possible that the creatures I sought could be found within it. However, determining whether that was the case could take considerable time, and I preferred to enlist individuals with whom I'd previously worked for this effort.

Adilege pinned me with a skeptical stare from both bodies. "You will ensure that this experiment leads to no further contamination of this world, on penalty of cutting the mission short if things get out of hand?"

"To my utmost ability," I confirmed.

"Then I will allow it. I'll inform Juroth; you will have twenty-four hours from this moment to complete your experiment and return these other creatures to their origin worlds or planes. Do not make me regret my decision."

~*~*~

Midafternoon, Threeday the 3rd of Deepwinter, 1379 DR

A Nameless Island, The Pirate Isles, Sea of Fallen Stars, Toril

In order to conjure the creatures I wished to entreat, I took a quick jaunt to my homeworld. The quarantine demiplane was simplicity itself to enter, but extremely difficult for any but the Society's members to leave, and I considered the implicit threat of conjuring a creature into a space they couldn't easily leave without my assistance to be a minor form of coercion prohibited by the First Precept.

Visiting Toril for the first time in years was bittersweet.

In our youth, whenever Aldric and I returned there we would visit the Stonelands and the Vilhon Reach to behold the ruins of our respective home cities; it served as a powerful reminder of what we had lost and what we sought to restore.

In recent centuries, however, there were very few places in Faerûn that didn't hold painful memories for us. The longer we spent searching fruitlessly for a way to reverse our homelands' collapse, the less we wished to view their corpses. Seeing the modern Chondath and Halruaa and the other successor states were simply more reminders of our continued failure.

Beyond that, the forests of Faerûn were full of elven nations that bore too close a similarity to ancient Nikerymath for comfort. Calimshan and Mulhorand were mostly desert, reminding Aldric of the Anauroch Desert where Netheril was slain. Coastal cities reminded me of Jhouram. And so on and so forth.

Thus it was that I found myself on a tiny barren island far from civilization and from any memories, inhabited by no sapient creatures apart from myself.

The first person I intended to call was an old acquaintance of mine. I manifested a gate before me in a quiescent state; it floated before me, a featureless disc of cerulean light, waiting for me to give it a destination-or in this case, a name.

In a strong voice, I called out, "Szathrael! Bringer of justice, please come forth. Szathrael! Warrior of Celestia, your presence is requested, but not demanded. Szathrael! Emissary of the Fourth Heaven, if you have a few minutes to spare, I would appreciate a conversation."

An extremely unorthodox calling incantation, to be sure, but it was the best way to establish the sort of interplanar connection needed for the power to reach its intended target without actually binding her to my service in the process.

The gate opened, and out stepped a hound archon, a member of a race of outsiders embodying Law and Goodness who bore humanoid bodies and canine heads in various permutations.

This particular hound archon had the head of a greyhound, with silver fur and golden eyes, and beneath her shining mithral armor her robes were a rich sky blue. "Valigan! It has been far too long. Nearly six centuries, I believe?"

"Three more years would have made it six centuries exactly."

We spent some time catching up; she was sorry to hear of Aldric's passing, but not overmuch, as while she'd met with us on several occasions we hadn't been especially close.

Once the pleasantries were out of the way I told her why I'd asked her there, explaining in very general terms my mission, the oddity of Earth Bet's magic-users, and what I intended for her to do.

She was quite enthusiastic about joining me to see a new world; much less so, to hear that I could not take her there unless she agreed not to go out and begin slaying every villain in sight the moment my experiment concluded, smiting evildoers being both her vocation and her primary hobby.

Eventually she agreed, however, and moved to the side as I called upon another acquaintance.

Once again, I recited my deliberately-not-binding incantation. Once again, an outsider stepped through the gate.

This one, however, hailed from much farther south, cosmologically speaking: he was an erinyes, a devil of the Nine Hells. He had pale green skin, solid black eyes, and hair and feathered wings that went from ash-gray at the base to blood-red at the tips, and as was typical for his kind he wore very little in the way of clothing.

No sooner had the devil sauntered out of the gate than he locked eyes with the hound archon and a fanged grin stretched itself across his face. "Well well well. Look what the cat dragged in," he drawled.

"Clavirius. I'm surprised you took valuable time away from drowning kittens in the Styx to be here," Szathrael retorted.

"Now now, Szath, there's no need to start a catfight, you insufferably self-righteous busybody. What did I ever do to you?"

"Your very presence is a blight upon the senses, you morally bankrupt pile of filth."

"Szathrael, Clavirius, do try to be civil for the moment, please."

I wasn't surprised to find that the two knew each other. Both were far older than I, and archons and devils who frequently interacted with mortals tended to run in similar circles, so it was almost inevitable that they would meet.

After extracting promises from both of them that they would not come to blows, either verbally or physically, I explained the situation to Clavirius and detailed both what I would need from him and what he was prohibited to do afterward. He, too, agreed to the terms, just as reluctantly as Szathrael had.

I opened a third gate, this time merely sending out a call to any creature of the appropriate kind who would be willing to respond.

Moments later, a glimmerskin appeared. The diaphanous creature, a native of the Positive Energy Plane, took the form of a glowing white robe with the faint suggestion of eyes where a head should be, and as it floated out of the gate it turned its empty hood to face me.

This time I had little need to explain or negotiate. "I offer you a selection of willing hosts for a period of roughly one hour, where you will face a variety of difficult but nonlethal challenges," I said. "Do you accept?"

It rippled eagerly in a glimmerskin nod, as I knew it would. Glimmerskins lived for combat-offering one even the shortest opportunity to fight was like offering air to a drowning human-but they could not interact with the physical world themselves, and so required the cooperation of a corporeal creature to indulge their obsession.

"Excellent." I opened a fourth and final gate back to the quarantine demiplane and thence to Earth Bet. "After you."

~*~*~

3:48 pm, Friday the 13th of May, 2011 CE

PRT ENE HQ Main Gym, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

"Thank you for taking time out of your day to participate in my experiment," I told the volunteers arrayed before me. There were four of them: two heroes, Miss Militia and Dauntless, and two soldiers, First Lieutenant Kevin Huang and Agent Erin Walsh.

Szathrael and Clavirius stood behind me, bearing illusory disguises to make them appear as normal human capes, implied but not directly stated to be a couple of new acquaintances I'd met on my travels throughout the country. The glimmerskin floated limply next to me with its "eyes" extinguished, as if it were merely an inanimate enchanted cloak hanging in my telekinetic grasp.

"The precise parameters of the experiment will remain secret for now, in the interests of scientific rigor, but in general terms I am hoping to examine certain factors regarding the acquisition of parahuman powers."

Erin raised her hand. "You're not going to be… giving us powers or anything, right?" Unease filled her aura at the suggestion, for whatever reason.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking, but only temporarily. I am hoping to simulate the sensation of gaining powers-not trigger events, or anything of the sort," I clarified upon seeing the spike of trepidation in all four auras, "but rather the sensation of the powers themselves and how they feel to their bearer."

In very rudimentary terms, the hypothesis I was hoping to verify was that capes were not, in fact, sorcerers or wilders, or magic-users of any other variety.

Rather, I now strongly suspected that, as ludicrous as the idea might seem, parahumans instead harbored another being within them that granted them their magic.

It had taken me this long to consider the possibility of such a thing because, quite frankly, parahumans did not work the way that hosts of various outsiders worked. Had I not been pondering Newter's composite form and Pretender's possession capability at roughly the same time, the idea might never have occurred to me.

Now that it had, I'd assembled three creatures who could inhabit mortals in different ways to test this hypothesis. Each method of inhabitation was distinct on a functional level, and each had some aspects in common with what I'd observed of parahumans and some aspects that did not match said observations:

The host of a glimmerskin gained some knowledge and physical enhancements out of the bargain, but it couldn't actively use the glimmerskin's ability to channel positive energy in the way a parahuman could use their powers; rather, it was itself subjected to that energy, uncontrollably so, and unless one took steps to prevent it (as I had) the host was constantly in danger of death from positive energy overflow.

The host of a channeled celestial received some mental enhancements and could use the celestial's magic as if it were their own, but the channeling required the mortal's free and uncoerced consent and involved a physical merger of celestial and mortal-hardly something that the locals could fail to notice eventually, even if trickery or memory manipulation was involved, as there was always the chance that one or more capes would fail to be taken in by the deception.

The host of a possessing fiend was under the mental control of its possessor, and even if the fiend merely chose to lurk in the back of their soul and observe to leave its host unaware of the possession, the host had no way to use the fiend's own magical abilities.

There were plenty of other creatures capable of inhabiting a mortal in various ways-yak folk, ghosts, intellect devourers, and more; the list was surprisingly long-but the three I'd chosen to test were a fairly representative sample of the various qualities such an ability might possess.

The hypothesis wasn't without its significant faults, however. In hindsight, there were some very good reasons why the possibility of parahumans being inhabited humans hadn't initially come to mind.

First, I haven't ever been subject to a possession effect or similar myself, and so simply couldn't draw any connections between the oddities of parahumans and the experience of being inhabited. This was, I supposed, one of the few cases where it was in fact a bad thing to never have been possessed.

Second, in none of those means of inhabitation did the abilities granted to the host remotely resemble the repertoire of thoughtforms possessed by an actual arcanist or psionicist, so the fact that I'd been able to delve Dauntless's and Triumph's repertoires without issue had implicitly ruled the idea out.

Third, I hadn't sensed any such creature in any parahuman I'd met. Yes, it was possible for certain outsiders with special talents or training to be able to conceal themselves from detection (a group that notably did not include Clavirius, as had he been a specialist in involuntarily possessing mortals we would not have remained on good terms), but even in those cases I was generally able to sense the lurking possessors despite their best efforts.

The idea that every creature inhabiting a parahuman had received sufficient training to conceal themselves from me was, all modesty aside, a highly unlikely possibility.

Fourth and most crucially, any creature wishing to inhabit a mortal on this world had to either exist in the world already (unlikely, given the observed dearth of non-human races), exist in the Dream-Ethereal and possess some innate means to cross over to the Material (unlikely, given the utter emptiness of the plane when I visited it), or first be brought to the Material Plane from a more distant plane using magic (impossible, as far as I knew, as no magic-users appeared to exist in living memory before parahumans appeared), making it vanishingly unlikely that all of this civilization's magic-users would be mortal hosts-unless they just happened to miss an Abyssal rift opening in the middle of their capital city or similar, which clearly wasn't the case.

In short, far from being convinced of my own hypothesis because of the preponderance of evidence in its favor, I was growing convinced despite the evidence against it because all of my other ideas had had even less evidence in their favor and at this point I was reaching my wit's end.

After further assuaging the volunteers' worries and obtaining their informed consent for being temporarily inhabited, we proceeded to the control test.

Erin paired off with Miss Militia and Kevin with Dauntless for an initial unarmed spar, and despite the handicap of being forbidden from using their conjured or enchanted weapons, the heroes handily won each of their bouts against the PRT officers.

After a brief rest, I instructed the glimmerskin telepathically to float forward, and asked Erin to take it in hand. She cautiously did so, and the moment the glimmerskin made skin contact and swiftly wrapped itself around her she let out a gasp of surprise.

"Holy crap," she breathed, "is this what it feels like to be a Brute? I feel like I could run a marathon without stopping! And-huh." She looked off to the side and blinked rapidly a few times. "That's cool."

"What's cool?" Dauntless asked.

Erin smirked. "Want to find out?"

This time, when Erin sparred with Miss Militia she narrowly managed a win, and then she proceeded to immediately spar with Dauntless without a rest in between and defeat him as well. In both spars, she adapted instantly to the enhanced physicality and knowledge of novel combat techniques provided by the bond with the glimmerskin, in the same way that the scientific literature claimed that capes adapted almost instantly to whatever powers they gained.

More importantly, careful observation revealed that Erin had experienced a moment of distraction and disorientation while adjusting to the glimmerskin's presence, similar to that which the literature claimed was experienced during a trigger event.

Erin parted with the glimmerskin only with great reluctance, and the experience was repeated with the other three. Observation of Kevin's sparring confirmed the previous data points, and Dauntless confirmed that the "rush" he felt when bonding with the glimmerskin was similar but not identical to that experienced during his trigger event.

Miss Militia agreed that it felt similarly, but it was clear from her aura that she was holding something back. I'd raise the issue with her privately after the experiment was concluded.

Next up was Szathrael. Dauntless was first this time, and shortly after merging with the hound archon his aura was shaded with mischief and amusement.

"Miss Militia, would you say that you're a dog person?" he asked innocently.

"Of course," she replied.

"That's funny," Dauntless said, and promptly transformed into a large mastiff. "Me too!"

"… How are you still talking as a dog?" Kevin asked.

Dauntless offered a very un-canine shrug. "Powers."

Thus followed an amusing interval in which each of them exercised Szathrael's shapechanging ability to take on the form of everything from a tiny chihuahua to a massive dire wolf, the latter of which made for a very tight fit in the cluttered gym.

Questioning after the fact revealed that each had controlled the archon's abilities intuitively, as if those abilities were their own, much like a parahuman and their powers.

Finally, it was Clavirius's turn. do recall the consequences if you attempt to perform a memory probe or exert control over any of these mortals for even a single moment, in violation of our agreement, do you not? I asked mildly.

he replied, before shifting himself to the Dream-Ethereal plane and superimposing himself over Kevin's body. A moment later, he had taken up residence within Kevin.

Erinyes were not generally known for their magical skill, but I'd contacted Clavirius in particular because he was one of those rare devils who had chosen to study wizardry, and therefore I would be able to test whether I could sense his repertoire while he was possessing a host.

I reached out and clasped Kevin's hand, and….

Nothing.

No repertoire, no spells.

Aspect sent in an encouraging mental tone.

I grumbled.

The experiment wasn't entirely a failure, admittedly. There was, after all, some very compelling evidence that my hypothesis was correct.

I'd simply failed to establish the nature of the inhabiting creatures, their capabilities, their method of inhabitation, their motivation for bonding with mortals in the first place, and every single other relevant detail.

Hardly a setback at all, really.

Kevin, Erin, and Dauntless wanted to see how a two-on-one spar might go if all three of them bore an outsider, which suited my purposes as I would be able to speak with Miss Militia while they were occupied. While the three of them entertained themselves, I discreetly gestured that Miss Militia should follow me into a meeting room across the hall.

"What is it?" she asked once the door was closed behind us.

"When last I was here, you asked me whether I remembered something, and said that if I did I would know whereof you spoke. I noted your less-than-forthcoming reaction to the first test, and now I wonder whether that might relate to your initial inquiry. Care to enlighten me?"

Given her previous attitude I'd expected her to be quite reluctant to divulge her secret, but when she spoke it was with a sense of palpable relief at finally being able to unburden herself to another.

"I had a vision when I triggered," she said with utter solemnity, "of God, or one of His angels, blessing me with His gift."

large tally mark to the "probably outsiders" column, wouldn't it? Aspect sent brightly.

Indeed it would.

"I haven't spoken of it to anyone else, because I knew I wouldn't be believed," she continued, then met my gaze defiantly. "But I know what I saw. And when I touched that cloak, it somehow felt like it was alive," she laid a hand on the conjured weapon at her hip, "like my own power does."

"And thus you felt that I might be in a similar position and you could trust me with your secret."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry to say that I am not in the same position, as I know for certain that my powers are not divinely granted. However," I said, glancing through the wall to where Erin, channeling Szathrael, was teleporting around the gym in order to keep her two opponents off-balance, "I don't find the idea of being gifted magical power by a celestial to be unbelievable in the slightest."

~*~*~

Miss Militia had some difficulty conveying the contents of her vision to me, both because she said that the details tended to be hazy unless she'd slept lately (something she hadn't done in a while and planned to do sometime in the next few days) and because she lacked the proper vocabulary to describe much of what she had seen.

However, between her verbal description and the images flitting through her surface thoughts I was able to get the gist of it: a vast communal organism or hiveminded race was traveling through the void of wildspace toward an unknown destination, and had sent either a portion of its body or one of its constituent members to bond with Miss Militia and presumably done the same with some or all of the other parahumans.

She interpreted its separation into smaller components as the creature or creatures dying, but they could just as easily be scouting or reproducing or any number of other things; the dreamlike nature of the vision made it hard to discern any concrete facts about them.

Regardless of the of the details, the very existence of this creature or these creatures would seem to be rather definitive evidence in favor of my hypothesis.

It could even explain why I hadn't sensed any creatures inhabiting parahumans: the sharing of knowledge among hiveminded races like modrons, formians, clockwork horrors, and similar meant that if a single member learned how to hide itself within a host it could then potentially pass that knowledge on to all members of its race, a considerably more likely course of events than thousands of creatures all learning such techniques individually.

Though I wasn't actually done with my investigation just yet. It was always possible that she'd been subjected to a false vision or had her memory altered or otherwise tricked for some reason, and so some final confirmation would be needed.

Namely, actually finding one of these creatures for myself.

Passive sensing clearly hadn't been sufficient, so I brought to mind all of the training in observation and sensory analysis that I'd done over the centuries, shifted the duty of sifting through the data gathered by all of my extrasensory powers from my secondary mind back to my primary stream of thought, and focused all of my attention on observing Miss Militia.

Nothing.

I manifested a selection of divinations, just to be sure, but there was not a single hint of any creature inhabiting her.

Hmm.

Generally speaking, a possessing creature's ability to conceal itself from detection by magical observation was proportional to the difficulty of resisting said observation powers, so if my willpower alone was insufficient in this case….

"I'll need a bit of space for some assistants. One moment," I told Miss Militia, before moving away from the table and manifesting a duplication power.

The nine conjured duplicates had no ability to manifest powers, but they were able to reinforce my own psionic strength if we were linked together in a metaconcert, so I manifested that power. Though there was no visible side effect of the power, to my enhanced sight crackling bands of psionic energy linked the foreheads of each duplicate with mine and with each other's and I could feel their willpower surrounding and supporting my own.

Once again I focused my attention on Miss Militia and manifested several divinations, and suddenly I was able to sense the creature that lay within her.

Or that was connected to her, rather, for instead of seeing a possessing creature superimposed over her body, I saw only a tendril of crystalline flesh extending from the depths of her brain out to the limits of my sensory range.

Mystery solved, at last.

And in a way that changed everything.

On the one hand, had Miss Militia seen fit to share her vision with me when she first broached the topic, I could have saved considerable time and effort in the course of my investigation and witnessed the creature inhabiting her before even leaving this city for the first time.

On the other hand… the satisfaction I was feeling now at having encountered a problem that was almost entirely novel and then essentially worked the entire solution out from first principles based on very minimal data was something I hadn't experienced in far too long, so her not having put an early stop to this entertaining diversion was very much appreciated.

I basked in that sensation for a few moments, then grew serious. The presence of this creature answered many questions and obviated the need for the remaining experiments I'd planned, but it raised a myriad more questions and completely recontextualized all of the data I had gathered thus far.

Assuming this creature was a smaller part of a larger one, what was the greater being's nature? Assuming it was one member of a hiveminded race, to what caste did this one belong (and out of how many castes) and did they have a ruler or rulers?

What was their attitude toward humanity? Were they in fact dying, and thus had merged with humans in order to somehow heal themselves, and then intended to move on once they were restored to health? Were they like the lower castes of modrons, carrying out the orders of their hosts almost mindlessly as part of some ineffable plan? Were they more like the quori of Eberron, intending harm toward the inhabitants of this world but acting benevolent and biding their time before they revealed their true intentions?

As exciting and unprecedented as this situation was, I could hardly sidetrack my mission on this world to do nothing but investigate these creatures-but neither could I ignore them, for this world's history and culture had been greatly shaped by their presence, and my plans for the remainder of my time on this world would be greatly influenced by what I learned of them.

For now, I decided, I would simply examine Miss Militia's… possessor? Inhabitant? Patron?

Aspect offered.

I would simply examine Miss Militia's companion, then do the same with those of other available capes for comparison.

"Are those duplicates helping you with something?" Miss Militia, and I realized with some chagrin that in the face of this momentous discovery I'd been completely ignoring her in favor of her companion.

"They are," I replied, then paused.

For these creatures to have completely escaped discovery for over two decades was incredibly unlikely unless they'd taken active steps to prevent it-steps such as declining to grant any host a spell or power to detect them or their magic directly, which would explain why Aegis had been surprised at the idea that such an ability could exist when first I'd spoke with him.

Miss Militia had retained an awareness of her companion's existence, but she'd never told anyone about it, a course of action that could itself been influenced by her companion, if the creatures were malevolent-or even simply reclusive or afraid; if she had indeed seen a vision of a massive dying creature, perhaps it was dying because something had wounded it, and now it feared that knowledge of its presence could somehow expose it to danger.

While her companion hadn't done anything to prevent her from telling me about it, perhaps it was waiting to see whether I believed her and could sense it before it chose to act. Were I to tell Miss Militia that I'd detected the creature, its reaction could be… unpleasant, for her and for everyone near her.

For the time being, best to keep that information to myself.

"They've allowed me to study your aura in search of an angelic presence," I said, instead of what I'd planned to say, "and while I do believe that you saw the vision you claimed to see, I… cannot currently confirm its veracity, I'm afraid." To punctuate my statement, I dismissed my duplicates with a wave of my hand.

Her expression didn't change, but her aura was shaded with disappointment. No visible reaction from the tendril, which could be good or bad. "I see," she said.

"Perhaps with some further study at a later date…" I said, pitching my voice to suggest to her (and, more importantly, to her companion) that I was open to the possibility of discovering something but not especially optimistic about the odds.

"Perhaps," she agreed neutrally.

~*~*~

Once the other volunteers had finished amusing themselves, the glimmerskin signaled its satisfaction with the mock combat in which it had engaged, and I'd escorted the three outsiders back to Toril and thence to their home planes, I made my way to the PHQ.

I'd created another set of duplicates, rendered them imperceptible and incorporeal, and linked myselves in another metaconcert so that I could go hunting for other companions without making my intentions known. I planned simply to engage the parahumans I encountered in conversation while I observed their companions and see how much information I could gather that way.

The first hero I encountered was Dauntless, on his way out of the base to pick his son up from school. A brief exchange of pleasantries was all I managed, but it was enough to confirm that I could see his companion as easily and as well as I had Miss Militia's and that it was not noticeably different at first glance from hers.

Triumph was next, filling out some paperwork in one of the heroes' meeting rooms, and surprisingly enough his was also essentially identical to Miss Militia's, its crystalline tendril drifting off into the Dream-Ethereal in much the same way that a silver cord trailed behind an Astral traveler. I'd expected his to be different somehow, but if his did differ from the others' it did not do so in a way that I could discern merely by observing a tendril alone.

It was when I ran into Battery that things took a more interesting turn. She had not one companion but three, signified by the tendril reaching into her brain being composed of three slimmer strands of crystal twined around each other rather than one thicker strand, presumably one tendril for each of the distinct groups of powers within her repertoire.

know she has three companions, Aspect pointed out.

I acknowledged. She had between one and three companions, then, but in any case her companion or companions exhibited different behavior from the others.

Hoping to examine Assault's companion as well, I asked after his whereabouts… and learned that he had been slain by Lung. I offered her my sympathies, and shared that I was in the midst of a similar grieving process to hers.

We spent nearly an hour in conversation and reminiscence.

~*~*~

All too soon, Battery's break concluded and she left to prepare for her patrol. No other heroes were currently at their base, so I headed over to the PRT headquarters to continue my observations there.

None of the Wards were scheduled for a Friday evening shift, it seemed, so the only two available were Aegis and Gradient, just finishing up their late afternoon patrol.

Aegis introduced me to the new Ward, but of course I'd recognized him as the young Nate the moment he'd entered my sensory range; Nate pretended not to have met me before, clearly having declined to mention our earlier training session to his teammates, so I followed his lead and introduced myself as if for the first time.

Observing their two companions showed me nothing I didn't already know, unfortunately, but when chatting with Aegis he did mention that they'd successfully cleared the city of all of Bakuda's bombs, which meant that it would now be safe to execute her.

Having hit something of a roadblock in my observations of the available heroes, I decided to do just that, so I made my farewells and teleported-

~*~*~

7:36 pm, Friday the 13th of May, 2011 CE

Bakuda's Former Warehouse, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

-to where I'd last left the egotistical villain, lying safely in her adamantine enclosure.

When I disintegrated said enclosure to reach her, however, I received a bit of a shock: her body was warped and twisted to the point that she was barely recognizable.

The floor beneath her was covered in a slurry of mineral oil, blood, metal fragments, and various other liquids and tiny fragments of solids that hadn't been disintegrated along with the adamantine surface upon which it had recently lain. The fragments appeared to have flaked off from the many tiny growths of all manner of materials that had thrust their way up through her skin: iron here, copper there, bits of bone, bits of wood, and much more.

Had I not provided her with an item to keep her body alive and in perfect health before I left for Boston, she would clearly have died days if not weeks ago.

And on top of all of that, no companion was connected to her, as far as I could sense. I confirmed its absence by grasping her shoulder and checking for a repertoire, and found none.

I had an inkling of what had happened here, but to be sure I manifested Hindsight to view the past for myself. As information flooded into my mind, my suspicions were confirmed: shortly after I'd left the city Bakuda's body had begun to move and change in a way that could only have been the result of her companion attempting to seize direct control of her body.

First, her body had moved, spasming around and scratching at its adamantine prison in a futile attempt to break it with physical force.

Next, various substances had begun to leak from her body, some caustic, some flammable, some explosive. None sufficed to help her escape, and there were hours-long gaps between attempts to allow my item to restore her body's integrity.

I was disgusted at the thought that I'd aided in this… torment. No matter that she had done worse to others, or that I hadn't intended it, or that she herself hadn't experienced anything, locked away as she was in her microcosm. It was still my actions that had indirectly enabled it to occur.

More escape attempts presented themselves to my mind's eye, but between the harm done to Bakuda's body with each attempt and the complete lack of room in which her companion could attempt to force her body to craft a bomb, all of the attempts failed. Eventually her body went limp and entirely ceased to move.

Had her companion died, then? Left immediately, once its host was of no use to it? Lingered within her a few more days in the hopes of rescue, then gave it up as a lost cause?

Was direct possession something of which these companions were always capable? Something that could only be done when the host was not conscious? Something only possible in the midst of the companion's death throes?

I had no way to know.

I could have killed Bakuda immediately at that point, having seen all there was to see of what had happened, but I hesitated. Perhaps it was callous of me, but her rather unique situation presented me with an opportunity that would likely not come again.

When else would I be able to ask someone to drink Cauldron's vial so I could observe the triggering process as it happened, while guaranteeing that they would not be able to spread word of that to others?

~*~*~

Once I'd repaired her body as best I was able and removed the littered remnants of the companion's escape attempts, I reached into Bakuda's microcosm and restored her links to the waking world.

She was disoriented by the sudden shift back from dreams to reality, but quickly adapted. She pinned me with a glare and said, with a throat hoarse from long disuse, "What the fuck was that about? What kind of twisted psychopath do you have to be to make someone relive their trigger over and over again, you sick fuck? I mean, I got over it in the first couple weeks, no big deal, but still, how could you even…"

As she continued her rant, clearly more angered than traumatized by her experience, the mention of her trigger event allowed me to make a sudden connection: several of the papers I'd read in the scientific literature had alluded to the idea of different types of triggers, one of which was a "second" trigger that could alter a parahuman's apparent powers.

Nothing I'd read had explicitly mentioned what could cause such a thing, but if one could be caused by reliving one's trigger then that could very well explain what had prompted Bakuda's companion to take action. And seeing as she'd spent over a third of a subjective year in the dreamscape, given the time differential….

It would seem that the Microcosm solution hadn't been quite as consequence-free as I'd believed, that I was more directly responsible for her body's condition than I'd thought, and that I should definitely avoid that solution in future.

I owed her an apology for placing her in those circumstances, and a good argument could be made that the time she'd spent in the dreamscape could be considered the beginnings of a suitable punishment for her crimes.

Before I could apologize, however, her tirade cut off and her eyes widened dramatically. "Wait. It's gone. How did- what the hell did you do to my power!?"

"Nothing intentional, I assure you," I said.

"Well that doesn't fucking help, does it?" she snarled. "What the fuck am I going to do without my power?"

I gave her an amused look. "Die, most likely."

That brought her up short. "What?"

"You do recall that I placed you in that dreamscape as a temporary alternative to killing you for your crimes, do you not?"

"… What about the dead man's switch?"

"All of your bombs have been safely disarmed and destroyed by the heroes." Minus the large quantity that I'd confiscated myself for study, of course.

Her shoulders slumped. "Fuck." A pause. "Well, you gonna kill me or not?" She looked up at me, defiance in her eyes. "You're not going to make me choose between death or life in prison, are you? One last sick joke to play on me?"

"I am not. Largely because the heroes believe you to be dead already."

"Great," she grumbled. "So what's the holdup? You made up your mind, fucking kill me already."

"Actually, I had an offer for you."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm listening."

I produced Accord's Cauldron vial from storage. "Drinking this vial will grant a person powers. Not your former powers; I've no idea what powers this might grant," I cautioned as glee and vindictiveness flooded her aura. "And so I offer you three options. If you swear that you will use the new powers you gain to attempt to make up for your former crimes, I will let you drink the vial and go free to join the heroic organization of your choice."

"No tricks?"

"No tricks. If you feel you cannot swear that, but will at least swear to remain a law-abiding citizen to the best of your abilities from this point forward, I will withhold the vial and turn you over to the authorities as a normal gang member, and you will serve an appropriate sentence for a time."

"And if I say no to both of those, I die?"

"Yes."

Bakuda spent very little time thinking over the options presented. "I'll take the first option and be a hero. All I wanted was for everyone to recognize how awesome I am, and if the villain route didn't work, hey, maybe this will."

Her expression and her tone of voice were perfectly earnest.

Her aura revealed that she didn't intend to follow through on her promise in the slightest.

Which was precisely as I'd expected, and what I'd been counting on. Though I had been genuine in offering her the other two options, as it would have been coercive to force her into the option that would most benefit me.

"Very well," I said. I removed the vial's cap and held it out to her. "Give me your hand, take this vial in the other, and drink it-the whole thing, as I'm told it's dangerous to consume only a partial dose."

"Why the hand-holding?"

"Do you wish to gain powers, or not?"

"Fine."

She snatched the vial from my outstretched hand and downed its contents in one long gulp, before dropping the empty vial and bending over in pain.

A moment later, she began to experience a trigger event, and I was witness to the whole thing.

Two tendrils stretched into my sensory range, plunging unerringly for Bakuda's head. The tip of each halted and held fast, as if anchored on something, and suddenly she once again possessed a repertoire of spells. Not a handful of spells, or a few dozen, as I'd seen with other capes, but over a hundred thoughtforms, all of them bright. I began to examine the thoughtforms, and-

Suddenly, her mind and body were flooded with a surge of energy. For a fraction of a second, I could sense nothing of Bakuda, not with a single one of my many extra and enhanced senses, only the energy surge. Of the energy itself I could tell practically nothing, as it was no form of energy that I recognized.

Very interesting.

When the surge faded and I could sense her again, there was an additional thoughtform within her repertoire, one I hadn't ever seen before.

The other thoughtforms present all seemed to relate either to teleportation or to conjuring and shaping crystals… and the new power, which would allow her to launch a spray of crystalline projectiles and teleport to the final location of any of those projectile, looked suspiciously like a hybrid of the power Hail of Crystals and the spell Evacuation Rune.

Exceptionally interesting.

The power itself was essentially useless to me-a standard teleportation spell was much more useful in practically every way-but it was still worth grabbing the thoughtform for study, if only for its unique origins.

The process didn't halt there, however. One of the thoughtforms suddenly vanished, followed by a second, then a third, then many more. In another fraction of a second her repertoire had been reduced to the usual dozens of thoughtforms, and then the ones she retained began to dim one after another as well until the novel thoughtform was the only one that remained bright and accessible to her.

While my primary stream of thought had been observing her repertoire, my secondary mind had been observing Bakuda's surface thoughts, and the flashes I saw there… well, they weren't precisely a "vision" like Miss Militia had described, they more closely resembled what one would see if watching someone experience a transferred memory that had been badly fragmented.

Regardless, the events depicted did generally match what Miss Militia had described: I did see a creature (or creatures) flying through wildspace, and I saw a portion of its body (or one of the component creatures) split off to approach the perspective of the "viewer." Beyond that, the snippets of memory were far too jumbled to make sense of them, much less to perceive them as coherent narrative.

Last, but certainly not least, I watched an Enchantment spell take hold and wipe the vision from Bakuda's memory.

Yes, these creatures definitely did not want to be noticed.

The whole process had taken less than a heartbeat from start to finish. Bakuda took a moment or two to dazedly consider the sensation of possessing new powers, and her aura scintillated with a variety of emotions.

Then she raised her palm toward a head-sized hole in the nearest wall, launched a fist-sized orange crystal through it with pinpoint precision, offered me the most self-satisfied smirk I'd yet seen on her, and disappeared as her power took hold and whisked her through the Dream-Ethereal to a point outside the warehouse where her crystal had landed.

She paused just long enough to call " Sorry, I lied!" behind her before activating her power again and teleporting elsewhere, heading north toward the city limits.

Feeling generous, I gave her the duration of two more teleports to have a change of heart while I retrieved a few soul crystals from storage.

When she failed to stop, I viewed her remotely and sent a disintegration ray through the scrying sensor, and that was the end of that.

Retrieving my Orb of Planar Journeying from storage, I withdrew to my demiplane to add the new power to my repertoire and ponder everything I'd witnessed.

~*~*~

8:44 pm, Friday the 13th of May, 2011 CE

The Docks, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

Night had fallen by the time I reemerged on the Material Plane. Having failed to make any more sense of Bakuda's vision-probably, I'd guessed, because it originated from two companions rather than one and so it hadn't been a single coherent memory in the first place-I'd planned to go speak with Miss Militia again to gain more insight into her companion and her vision thereof.

However, the moment I arrived, several lines of text appeared in my mind's eye, courtesy of the Relay Text power:

EMERGENCY ALERT

LEVIATHAN INBOUND TO TAMPA, FLORIDA AS OF 20:32 EDT.

REPORT TO NEAREST PRT/PROTECTORATE FACILITY FOR INSTRUCTIONS AND TRANSPORT.

THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

As I beheld the message, long-suppressed rage began to bubble up within me.

Once again, I had been forced to put my existing plans on hold as something more urgent arose… but this time, I found that I didn't mind the interruption in the slightest.

Author's Note

This chapter is a little on the longer side to make up for the delay in posting it, and I may have gone a teensy bit overboard with that.

The details in Legend's tale about the Golden Age and the growth of the PRT and Protectorate are largely invented, of course, but the general story does synthesize everything we know about the pre-canon state of affairs into a backstory that could explain the sort of paternalistic setup we see in canon where the PRT spreads deliberate lies about "positive" trigger events and Legend has to actually explain what Leviathan can do in his pre-fight speech despite ol' Levi having been around and doing his thing for over a decade.

Newter was the young Spanglish-speaking man directly rescuedrecruitedpicked up by Alexandria in her interlude, hence why his memories featured her personal attention and Gregor's did not.

Two internet cookies go to 5colouredwalker, who guessed after 2.4.V that Bakuda's shard would either attempt to go all Tinker 15 with her or disconnect from her when it decided she was useless… and, surprise, both of those were true!

And finally, since Noelle is currently out of the picture and things in the Bay have calmed down considerably with Lung dead and the Empire severely weakened, Leviathan decided to visit Florida instead.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

New spells and powers Valigan used or referenced in this chapter were psychic chirurgery (undoes any magical mind-screwery, among other things), control air (exactly what it sounds like), detect remote viewing (senses scrying attempts against the manifester and lets them detect the scryer), hindsight (see the past in varying degrees of clarity), hail of crystals (shoots exploding crystals at people), and evacuation rune (sets a fixed point the caster can teleport to later). A tarrasque is a big scary critter that can't be permanently killed until you're very high level (because that requires a wish or miracle ) and tends to be the beefiest guy in any edition's Monster Manual. Many lore entries refer to " the tarrasque" as if there's only one, but Spelljammer revealed that there's a whole planet of them out there and somehow got spread to other planets way back when kinda like sarlaccs in Star Wars. A udoxias ( you-DOAK-see-ahss) is a big and fancy psionic artifact at the center of every city in Jhaamdath that allowed storing power points, swapping powers around, and various other functions varying by city (like the pseudo-internet "citymind" in Dhinnilith that Valigan mentioned in a prior chapter); it was the core of their psionic "technology" in much the same way that Netheril's arcane advancement was dependent on the invention of the mythallar. Nuking a uxodias while a whole bunch of people and objects were linked to it would therefore be very bad for anyone and anything involved. The Dealer is implied in Number Man's interlude to be invisible to the clairvoyant, so one assumes he popped one of his stolen vials to get a nondetection effect or similar. The populations for Jhaamdath and its cities were derived from the D demographics rules, mentions of populations for various ancient cities in Faerûn in AD and 3e, and some of the discussions around Sharn's demographics; Jhaamdath's land area was derived by grabbing the map of Jhaamdath from Lost Empires of Faerûn and some on-screen rulers and doing some math. That they happened to end up so close to the combined populations and areas of Kyushu and Newfoundland was a complete coincidence, but a convenient one for this story. The mental sounds Valigan was describing are psionic displays; they haven't shown up in the story thus far because they can be suppressed with an easy-for-high-level-psionicists Concentration check (and in actual games any psion tries to suppress their displays as much as possible, too). Whether Valigan is actually correct that Ziz's psychic scream is merely a Mental display for her precog power remains to be seen, but the resemblance is uncanny, ain't it? The spell Astrologer reflexively used, a very small manifestation of her normal power, was Melf's minute meteors . Dvati are an interesting race. A serious pain to adjudicate mechanically, sometimes, but fun. Hound archons, erinyes, and glimmerskins are basically as Valigan described, and Szathrael happens to be a hound archon paladin. The rules for a possessing creature hiding from detection or possessor-harming effects involve making a special Hide check against the effect's save DC (see e.g. the Fiend of Possession's Hide Presence ability), and the metaconcert power boosts the leader's save DCs by 1 per participant, so the shards were able to hide from him normally but not after he manifested the power because they have a Hide result somewhere between Valigan's normal 9th -level save DC and that value plus 10. Modrons and formians are very Lawful outsiders with a strict hierarchy, several gradations of power within the race, and one or more central rulers that command the rest of them, so they're an easy comparison point for what appears to be a huge hivemind of creatures in Miss Militia's vision.

Last edited: May 1, 2023

Rule of Three 3.5.T

Half Past First Morning Bell, Mol the 2 nd of Aryth, 999 YK The Horse & Hearth Inn, Sharn, Breland, Eberron
Taylor Hebert

"He's what?" Chris yelped, whipping his head around to stare at Alec like he'd never seen the villain before.

Which I guess, in a sense, none of us really had.

"You heard me," Dean said, replying to Chris but still looking at Alec. "His father is Heartbreaker."

Alec's insouciant smile was back in place, like Dean was talking nonsense and he was just indulging the hero's crazy theory… but that smile was more fragile than normal, and it didn't reach his eyes.

"That's why he speaks Québécois French," Dean continued in a tone of implacable certainty. "That's why he knew about a random cape in Quebec off the top of his head. That's why he had to pick up some survival skills to get to Brockton Bay, because if you're going to try to cross the border from Canada illegally you're probably going to have to do a lot of hiking."

He paused, and Alec let out a loud and incredulous snort. "What, do you accuse every cape from Montréal of being one of that motherfucker's kids?" he asked sharply. "My mother was one of his victims, asshole. I got the fuck out of town before he did to me what he did to my older brother."

Oh god, I thought. If that was true, if Dean had just been throwing out accusations without being sure….

All eyes turned to Dean.

"That could be true," Dean admitted easily. "It's much more likely than him being related to Heartbreaker, which is why I didn't say anything at first."

"But…?" Brian prompted.

"But when we were talking to Zurya and I was making up everyone's backgrounds and I said Alec was the son of the 'King of Quebec' it occurred to me that Heartbreaker giving one of his sons the codename 'Regent' is exactly the kind of thing he'd do. So I looked over to see what his reaction was."

Now all eyes turned to Alec. His smile had faded into a stony expression, and I couldn't tell how he was feeling.

"There was a whole cloud of negative emotions there, but not the kind I see around people who dislike strangers who hurt them," Dean continued. "It was a very personal dislike, the kind people have when it's a family member or close friend who hurt them. Trust me, I know what that looks like. And on top of that, he was also feeling a kind of 'I know something you don't know' smugness at what I'd said."

Dean paused to give Alec a chance to say something, but he didn't. He just sat there on the opposite end of Brian's bed from Dean, returning Dean's look, expressionless.

I turned to Brian. "Did you know about this?" I demanded.

He shook his head vehemently. "Not a fucking clue," he said. I gave Dean a questioning look, and he nodded firmly in confirmation.

Good. That was good. I'm glad Brian didn't know, because… well, he and I were on pretty good terms now, and I'd hate to think he'd been keeping something like that secret this whole time.

"So your mother was one of his victims," Dean concluded, "and maybe you did leave Montreal because of something that happened to a brother of yours, but no matter how you try to twist it you weren't just an innocent bystander."

Alec held out just a moment longer, then gave us a halfhearted smirk. "Fine, yes, you got me. Guilty as charged." The smirk twisted into an annoyed expression. "But I picked Regent, not him. New life, new cape identity."

Dean sighed and added one last thing: "Yeah, given your naming sense, that tracks. I mean, Alec Lemaître? 'Alec the Master'? Really?"

Alec just shrugged. "I hadn't come up with a fake last name before. You giving yours kinda put me on the spot, there."

"Wait," I said, looking over at Brian. "How long were you two with the Undersiders?"

"A year and change," Brian replied.

"And he never mentioned a last name?"

"Nope." At my incredulous look, he offered a one-shoulder shrug. "We didn't exactly talk about our personal lives. We're coworkers, not friends."

He'd said We're coworkers, I noticed, not we were coworkers. As if he still didn't really care about Alec even after all this time and everything they'd been through together. Which probably meant….

I felt a calm come over me as I asked, "Is that how you feel about the rest of us, too?"

"Yeah." Another shrug. "Sorry."

Chris sighed loudly. "Can we get back to the part about how Alec is related to Heartbreaker?" he asked, exasperated. "You know, cult leader, kidnapper, mind-controller?" He looked over at Alec, and his eyes narrowed. "Were you really being 'homeschooled' when you were with him, or were you working for him?" he accused.

Alec laughed. Laughed! Like him working for Heartbreaker was no big deal!

"Oh, I really was homeschooled, sort of," he replied breezily. "Some of his victims taught us, a bit. Reading, writing, basic math. It was part of their chores. To keep them busy when he was starting to get bored of them, and to make sure we were all useful." He paused. "Some of us went to school to stay out of my dad's way. Most of us didn't."

His tone was as casual as someone talking about the weather, but there was a definite edge to it, and I got the sense that he hadn't had much of a choice about his schooling situation.

"Other than that, I read all the books they brought home from school, and read and watched a lot online," he continued.

"You read their textbooks for fun?" Chris asked skeptically.

"Yeah. Had to do something besides video games and my dad's jobs. The sex and drugs got old after a while, you know?"

… The what?

"How old were you when you were doing that?" Dean asked, concerned.

"Which part?"

"All of it."

"I dunno," Alec said. "Ten, maybe eleven. Hard to keep track, since we were mostly off the grid and I didn't go to school."

I could barely believe what I was hearing. A criminal at ten years old-and worse, a drug addict.

Honestly, that explained a lot.

The heroes looked to be just as appalled as I was by Alec's matter-of-fact statement of how screwed up he was. Brian….

Brian didn't look like he was all that upset. Surprised, yes, but not upset. I'd have thought he would be, after finding out that his teammate had been faking being a nice(-ish) person for so long-

---

I thought back to what Alec had said about the Undersiders originally, and how Brian had reacted to something I'd said when we had our chat on the balcony a few weeks ago.

"Alec," I began, "when you said that the Undersiders were barely even villains-"

"Yeah, no, that was totally a lie," he said with a smirk. "Most of our jobs weren't targeting other villains at all. The datacenter we hit? Identity theft and blackmail material galore, plus some extra stuff to cover our tracks. And when we did go after the other gangs? I tripped a ton of guards and lookouts, made them hit their heads on stuff or stab themselves. Even tased a bunch of them in the nuts." Dean and Chris both winced at that.

"He," Alec continued, jerking his thumb at a suddenly-uncomfortable-looking Brian, "has broken enough jaws and wrists that I stopped counting months ago. Bitch's dogs have mauled a bunch of people."

I looked over at Judas, snoozing in the corner of the room, and tried to imagine him clawing and biting at normal people while he was under the influence of his owner's power, instead of attacking someone who could take it like Lung. It wasn't a pretty picture.

"Tattletale has shot out more than a few kneecaps," Alec concluded. "And that's just the stuff I know about; I have no idea what Brian liked to do to Empire goons in his spare time."

I turned an accusing gaze on Brian. He returned it, and set his jaw stubbornly. "My apartment's Downtown. Neo-Nazi central. They deserved everything I did to them and more."

Okay, he's not wrong, I thought. This is the Empire we're talking about. And I guess I couldn't really judge him too much for being violent against other gangs, since I hadn't really been holding back against the criminals we arrested on Creilath's jobs.

Still… the way Alec implied that Brian liked to start with broken bones and work his way up from there, that rubbed me the wrong way.

And when it came to their situation in general, I wasn't sure how to feel.

I couldn't really call it betrayal, because Brian and Alec doing horrible, awful thing to people before I met them didn't really impact me personally, and I'd never quite forgotten they were villains so the fact that Alec had been lying about what the Undersiders had gotten up to wasn't a huge surprise.

But still, for them to just constantly smile and nod and lie this whole time, lie about themselves and what they'd done, lie every day, lie in response to every question we asked, lie to me when I'd thought we were having an open and honest conversation, just pretending that everything was fine and making us believe they were someone they weren't….

Who could do something like that?

Chris frowned at Dean. "You said your emotion sight got better after we showed up here," he accused his teammate. "How did you miss something like this?"

"Alec's… hard to read," Dean sighed. "And he knows that, somehow, or he wouldn't have tried what he did." He turned to Alec and raised an eyebrow. "Care to explain that?"

"Care to go fuck yourself?" Alec retorted.

"Guess that's a no."

An awkward silence fell on the room.

"So… now what?" Brian asked.

"I don't know," Dean said simply.

"You don't know?"

"Were you expecting me to have a plan for after I aired Alec's dirty laundry to the team?"

Brian crossed his arms. "Well… yeah."

"I don't see why. I wasn't planning to say anything in the first place, until somebody pushed me into it."

"So we're just supposed to leave things here and move on?"

Dean gave him an I am totally done with this look, stood up from the bed, and stepped right into Brian's personal space, forcing him to lean back. "I don't know, Brian, what are we supposed to do now? I'm shit at making plans, remember? You want to call the shots for this team, you figure it out."

He held his position for a few more seconds, as if daring Brian to say something, and then he left for his own bedroom. A moment later, Chris got up to follow him.

Brian watched them go, then turned to me. "Look, Taylor," he started, then paused, searching for the right words. "What Alec said… I know it probably sounded bad, the way he said it, but-"

"Why do you care?" I asked. "You don't need to justify yourself to your coworkers, do you?"

I stood, ignoring his and Alec's reaction to that, and left for my own room.

~*~*~

Once I was in bed, I found I couldn't sleep. I just kept staring up at the ceiling, thinking about… everything.

About our noble act being found out, and how Creilath's decision tomorrow would either let us off the hook for that or completely screw us over with not much chance of anything in between, and how blaming Dean for that wasn't fair but I still kind of did anyway.

About Alec having been a villain for years longer than anyone else on the team had been a cape, and how he'd probably done a lot of terrible things working for Heartbreaker that I didn't want to think about, and how even after he'd admitted to all of that I still didn't feel like I knew him any better than I did before.

About Brian not actually caring about anyone on the team, and how I wasn't actually upset about it but, I mean, it'd been a few weeks since our talk on the balcony and I'd thought we'd been getting closer, but maybe I didn't actually know him as well as I thought, and that was fine, but I hoped that wouldn't make our sparring time weird or anything, because I did enjoy sparring with him, he really was good with his hands-with hand-to-hand combat, I mean-and I should probably start sparring with Dean instead, because what if Brian was pissed at me and stopped holding back? but I didn't know if that would just make things more weird, and….

~*~*~

I knocked on the door to Dean and Chris's room as softly as I could. I knew they were still up-I'd briefly broken my usual no-bugs-in-the-boys'-rooms rule to check that they were awake-and I didn't have to wait long before Chris cracked the door a few inches and greeted me with a bleary, "Mmfyeah?"

He looked (and I felt) too tired for manners, so I just asked, "Can I see your phone?"

"Wanted to see who Alec is?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He shook his head. "Already checked. Everything just links to the PHO wiki." He stepped away from the door for a moment to grab his phone out of its charging slot in his armor, unlocked it, and handed it to me.

The screen was already showing Heartbreaker's Wikipedia page, scrolled most of the way down. There were links for eight capes there-Cherish, Deimos, Earworm, Eros, Hijack, Jongleur, Oversight, and Seneschal-along with a note that he was believed to have twenty children in total, but there was nothing there that might help narrow down which of those capes Alec had been.

"Dean and I were thinking either Seneschal, 'cause it's like Regent, or maybe Jongleur," he said, miming a juggling motion, "but who knows. Doesn't really matter at this point."

"Yeah." I handed the phone back to him. "Thanks anyway."

~*~*~

It all came down to heroes and villains, I decided.

When we got here, we were three heroes and two villains, thrown together by circumstance. It wasn't a great situation, but it was simple and straightforward and we knew where we all stood.

And then, slowly but surely, that bright line between hero and villain had started to blur.

The villains started getting less villainous. They played nice, they cooperated, they didn't suggest doing anything criminal (well, not very criminal), they seemed perfectly willing to help people.

The heroes started getting less heroic. They argued, they not only lied but turned out to be good at lying (until they weren't), they cared more about making money than helping people for its own sake.

Except they're not a "they," they're a "we," I thought. It wasn't just Dean and Chris: I had lied, I had pretended to be someone I wasn't so I'd be treated better; I had thrown myself into my weaving, instead of going around helping people, because I wanted better glasses and more comfortable furniture; I had started to care more about beating up the bad guys than helping Creilath's clients.

Could I even still call myself a hero?

The fact that my instinctive reaction to that question wasn't " Yes!" but instead " Does it really matter if you're a hero, so long as you find a way to get home?" didn't sit well with me at all.

I tossed and turned, my mind racing with lots of questions and no good answers, and it was a long time before I was able to get to sleep.

~*~*~

Tenth Morning Bell, Mol the 2 nd of Aryth, 999 YK

Tradefair Lift Array, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

I was a mess when I woke up this morning, both physically and emotionally. So were Brian and Dean and Chris, from the looks of things.

Alec didn't look like he'd had any trouble sleeping at all.

By the time I was presentable it was too late for me to swing by House Vadalis for my usual morning silk pickup and still get to the workshop in time to meet Creilath and Urzat… and, honestly, if Creilath had decided to tell the authorities about us overnight, I didn't want to find that out by being publicly arrested in front of the Vadalis enclave, so I didn't mind skipping the appointment for today.

Brian and Alec had gone to walk Judas, which was convenient, since that meant that Dean, Chris, and I didn't have to talk to them about last night yet. The three of us decided to make the trek to the workshop in the meantime, and for most of the way there none of us was in a talkative mood.

When we reached the lifts, Chris was the one to break the silence. "So… what are we going to do about Alec and Brian?" he asked, using English to keep our conversation private.

I looked over at Dean. He raised an eyebrow. I looked away, and kicked myself mentally.

He'd just been talking last night about how he didn't like it when everyone relied on him to make decisions and then blamed him if things went wrong, and here I was, immediately looking to him for his opinion.

I turned to Chris to give him my own answer, but I didn't have one ready. After all of that thinking last night, the only conclusion I'd come to was that I couldn't be objective where the Undersiders were concerned, and not just because Alec was abrasive and Brian was… Brian.

I didn't really know them as villains, just as a couple of teenagers who, yes, could argue and be jerks sometimes, but had been my teammates for the past… god, how long had it been?

Seven weeks? Eight? Pretty sure it wasn't nine yet, but I'd have to check the date.

I was starting to lose track of how long we'd been here, and that wasn't a good sign.

Anyway, yes, Alec had turned out to be a worse person than we'd thought, and he'd committed who-knows-what crimes, but how much of that was his fault and how much was Heartbreaker's? Yes, Brian was apparently a lot more violent than I'd thought, but how bad was that, really, when he was beating up criminals who deserved it?

They may have been villains on paper, but to me, taking everything into account, they seemed like good people.

Deep down.

Dean must have seen my indecision, because he took pity on me and gave his own answer: "I don't know that we should do anything about them at all."

Chris gave him a very skeptical look. "You're kidding, right?"

I was surprised to hear that, too. The way he kept butting heads with Brian… but then, he hadn't sounded angry at either of them last night, just annoyed.

"No, I'm not kidding," Dean replied.

"Not that I'm disagreeing," I said slowly, "but why do you say that?"

"Well, first-" Dean glanced around, then leaned toward us and lowered his voice; even though we weren't speaking Common, we couldn't guarantee that no one else on the lift had language spells that would let them understand us. "We just got caught committing a major felony and then covering it up, and we're hoping Creilath is going to be willing to just forget about that and go back to business as usual. It would be kind of hypocritical for us to get on Brian's and Alec's case for doing basically the same thing."

"Okay, point," Chris admitted grudgingly.

"Second, they have been behaving themselves this whole time. Brian hasn't seriously hurt any suspects or gone too far when any of us has sparred with him. Alec hasn't done anything worse than grabbing loose cash from crime scenes and definitely hasn't done anything… Heartbreaker-y. If they'd gone right back to villainy as soon as we hit Sharn or if they'd been sitting around waiting to backstab us this whole time, I would've said something way before now, but…."

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Honestly, I think there's been less drama in the team with the two of them here than there would have been if Shadow Stalker had come along with us."

"Dammit," Chris grumbled, "you're probably right, and I hate it. Fine, we don't have to do anything about them."

"What's this about Shadow Stalker?" I asked. I'd never seen her in person or on TV before, but from everything I'd read online she'd seemed to be a fairly popular hero, well-regarded by the people who lived where she'd patrolled before joining the Wards.

Was that just a persona she put on, like Dean's chivalrous Gallant act, and she was someone different when the mask was off?

"There's some… friction between her and the rest of the team, given her vigilante background," Dean said diplomatically.

"What he means," Chris said bluntly, "is that she constantly picks on half the team and never holds back when she spars, so most of the team doesn't get along with her."

"Oh."

Yeah, all things considered, the Undersiders might seem like better teammates by comparison.

~*~*~

Creilath wasn't at the workshop by the time we got there, but Brian and Alec were inside.

Nobody said anything while the three of us filed in, but once we'd taken seats at the table Brian was the first to speak.

"It wasn't fair to blame you for everything," he said to Dean.

Dean nodded slightly. "And?"

"And it was a bad idea not to say something when Alec lied."

"And?"

"And when he kept getting on Chris's nerves."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And are you going to actually apologize?"

Brian hesitated. "… Yes, I'm sorry, for all of that."

Dean gave Brian a deeper nod. "Thank you. I appreciate and accept your apology."

Brian glanced over at me. "And I'm sorry if I… hurt anyone's feelings without meaning to."

I didn't say anything for a moment. "I'm glad to hear that," I said stiffly.

Dean looked over at the other Undersider. "Alec, are you-"

"Don't ask for an apology, 'cause you're not gonna get one," he replied flatly. "I'm not sorry about anything; I know how things would have gone if I'd told the truth upfront. But I'll stop poking at Chris as much."

"As much?" Chris echoed, frowning.

Alec shrugged. "Only as much as I'd poke anyone else."

"… Fine."

"Thank you," Dean said. "And I'm sorry for telling Zurya we were nobles in the first place. I still think it was the right decision at the time, and I can't think of anything else we could have done given that Yin already told her that," he hedged, "but I should have talked it over with everyone first instead of springing it on you like that."

"Apology accepted," Brian said.

"I'm glad." Dean sighed. "I hope this is the last time we have to have a team discussion like this."

"It won't be," Alec and Chris said at the same time. Alec smirked at Chris, while Chris looked mildly disgusted at having agreed with Alec on something.

"As long as we're going into our chat with Creilath as a united front," Brian said with a shrug.

Dean nodded. "And now we wait."

~*~*~

Around fifteen minutes later, I felt and heard two figures walk into the edge of my swarm.

A wave of relief washed over me, and Dean perked up when he noticed it. "Creilath and Urzat are here," I told everyone. "It looks like it's just the two of them."

"Good sign," Brian said, but he still seemed nervous, the rest of us even more so. The next few minutes would basically decide our relationship with Creilath and the Brelish authorities from now on, and just because he didn't have a whole Watch squad with him didn't mean he'd decided to go easy on us.

Soon enough everyone else could also hear the sound of two pairs of boots on cobblestones, and with every step the inquisitive and his bodyguard took toward the workshop the tension rose.

The light rap of Creilath's knuckles on wood echoed through the nearly-silent room.

"It's unlocked," Dean called.

Creilath opened the door and strolled in like he didn't have a care in the world. "I must say, I'm glad to see you didn't end up doing anything unfortunate after our discussion yesterday," he said cheerfully as he pulled up a chair and Urzat took up a position behind him. "That would seem to confirm your claims of innocent intentions."

Dean glanced around the workshop, looking for whatever Creilath had apparently seen there. "How do you know we didn't?"

Creilath just gave him a Really? look, and waited.

Brian frowned. "You were spying on us."

"Of course. Urzat and I took shifts watching you from the moment you left the workshop yesterday and split up to follow both groups this morning, and Urzat checked with the staff shortly after you three left the inn today to see whether at any point last night you'd left through an employee entrance, met with other guests, or the like."

A pause, as he took in our incredulous expressions.

"What, you didn't seriously think that I'd planned to lay out my suspicions and my reasoning and then just walk away, leaving you alone and unobserved to get up to Host-knows-what mischief for the better part of a day without taking the appropriate precautions, did you?"

… Right. Smart and paranoid inquisitive. Of course his claim of wanting to "sleep on it" had been a potential trap.

And that would explain why Urzat had wanted us to be discreet on our way to the park: he'd been covering for us during his shift, and didn't want Creilath to notice us on the way there or back.

"Now that you've passed that last test," he continued, "I am happy to report that I do not, in fact, intend to turn you over to the authorities."

I felt the knot of tension in my chest dissolve on hearing that. Chris slumped back in his chair in relief, and the others visibly relaxed.

"Are you going to let us know why?" Alec asked, sounding like he wasn't sure whether he was being sarcastic or not.

"In fact, I insist on it." Creilath stood. "Walk with me."

As we all got up and filed out the door after him, he reached into one of his many pockets and pressed or twisted something, and suddenly my swarm's hearing went funny in a way I couldn't quite place.

After a few more steps I realized that any bugs more than a few yards away couldn't hear anything coming from within the range of whatever gadget Creilath had just used, but we could hear out of that invisible bubble just fine. Very handy, that.

As we made our way through the bustling Tradefair market toward the nearest skycoach pickup point, he glanced over his shoulder and asked, "Can you think of some reasons why I might not want to turn you in?"

We all offered some guesses:

"You don't want to lose some good employees right before we can help you with your big case?" from Dean.

"It would look bad if it took you this long to figure out we were faking?" from Brian.

"All of this was an honest misunderstanding?" from Chris.

"We're just so gosh darn likable?" from Alec.

And "It wouldn't really be fair, after all the help we've given you?" from me.

Creilath nodded at each of our suggestions in turn. "All of those considerations did factor into my decision to some extent," he agreed. "However, my three main reasons were more… political in nature."

"'Political' meaning…?" Dean asked.

"How do you all feel about an early lunch?" Creilath asked instead of answering Dean. "Seeing as you skipped breakfast this morning, and keeping in mind that we'll be visiting a crime scene shortly thereafter?"

Brian looked around at the rest of us, then nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Excellent."

We reached the right balcony soon after that, and with no one else waiting in line we were quickly on our way to wherever Creilath was taking us.

~*~*~

Eleventh Morning Bell, Mol the 2 nd of Aryth, 999 YK

The Lava Pit, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

The trip down into the depths of the city took a little over half an hour. Even though Creilath mentioned his noise-canceling enchantment before we boarded the skycoach, we all agreed that talking about our situation probably wasn't a good idea with the pilot sitting right there, so aside from some abortive attempts at small talk it was a very quiet ride.

As we flew through a crowded maze of soot-covered towers, I thought at first that we were headed down to see Merrix, which had me more than a little worried; the hazy air and general sense of disrepair made the area look a lot like the Ashblack district, where the Forgehold was.

But as the skycoach continued along, the cramped skyscape eventually gave way to wide-open industrial areas where long and squat buildings belched constant streams of black smoke up toward the towers looming over them, as if someone back home had plopped a coal power plant right in the middle of the skyscrapers downtown. Where the districts higher up had plain white magical lighting, the sky around here was tinted a smoldering reddish-orange.

Finally, we reached our destination, which was… a high-end barbecue restaurant?

The line was out the door, working-class people in soot-covered leather aprons rubbing elbows with wealthier-looking people-sometimes literally, which left some of the richer patrons with soot stains on their clothes, but they didn't seem to mind too much.

"Why is it called the Lava Pit?" I asked Urzat while Creilath went to talk to the hostess. "Is the food extra-spicy?"

"Yes," the half-orc said. Grinning toothily, he added, "But it's actually named for the lava pit."

I wasn't sure what to make of that, until the hostess waved us over and escorted us through the restaurant to a private room in the back. The room's entire outer wall was one large and thick floor-to-ceiling window, and visible through it was an honest-to-god pool of red-hot lava several levels below us, surrounded by industrial buildings on all sides.

Yeah, that would do it.

~*~*~

After Urzat ordered for us-he was apparently an expert on Shadow Marches cuisine, and all of the dish names on the menu were in Orcish anyway-Creilath's expression turned serious and he clasped his hands on the table before him.

"The first reason I have for letting your deception go unreported relates to the Korth Edicts," he said without preamble. "I know I've mentioned them before, and I trust you've come across them in your reading. Can any of you briefly summarize their importance and their major provisions?"

The guys all turned to me. Chris had done a bunch of technical reading and Alec read a surprising amount when he was bored, but between my translating glasses making reading much easier and all the downtime I had while I was weaving, I'd done by far the most reading of anyone in the team, devouring every book Creilath or Leyla could bring me in order to do research for cases or just learn about Sharn in general without having to constantly pester them with questions.

I hadn't gone through books that fast since middle school, back when I used to be a big reader, before taking library books to school more than one or maybe two days a week practically guaranteed that they'd get ruined. While I did prefer fiction to nonfiction, and it would have been interesting to see what kind of "fantasy" books would be written by authors in a fantasy world, it had still been nice to get the reading time in.

"They outline the rules for how the Dragonmarked Houses and the nations interact," I answered. "The Houses agreed to have limitations put on their power in exchange for independence and total economic monopolies."

"Correct. And the provisions?"

I rattled off the ones I remembered, Chris and Brian adding a few that I'd forgotten. Laying out which Houses had monopolies over what things, forbidding any Houses or their members from owning any land while setting out requirements for the Five Nations leasing land to them, outlining the titles and ranks for all the Houses while forbidding any House member from gaining a noble title… the Edicts basically read like the Bill of Rights crossed with a peace treaty crossed with what I imagined a big corporate contract full of legalese would look like.

Creilath paused as the server came by with our drinks, then replied, "Very good. The Edicts were critical to the political unification and economic prosperity of the Kingdom of Galifar, but the Last War threw everything into disarray. For the past few decades, both the Five Nations and the Houses have been pushing their luck, looking for loopholes, and in general attempting to take advantage of the other side."

He took a sip of his drink, a glass of a bluish wine, and continued, "Aundair is the worst offender on the Five Nations' side, with Queen Aurala having signed the island of Stormhome over to House Lyrandar in all but name and having wed an heir of House Vadalis who renounced his title but swore no oath not to favor his House in certain dealings, while on the Houses' side Deneith and Tharashk both routinely exceed the restrictions on the number and type of mercenaries they have been allotted, but every nation and every House has been bending the rules to some extent since the end of the Last War."

"Not in a way anyone can prove, of course," Urzat added. "There is still a token Aundairian garrison on Stormhome, King-Consort Sasik d'Vadalis insists that he retains his family name purely because it would be improper to take the royal surname of Wynarn without being a reigning monarch, and every inspector sent to Deneith or Tharashk properties finds that the mercenary detachments there happen to precisely match what the paperwork claims."

"No one's tried to push back against any of that?" Dean asked.

"No one has dared," Creilath replied. "When the Edicts were signed, Galifar was unified and strong, and the fledgling Houses existed only at its sufferance. Today, the Five Nations have been reduced to four and are dependent on the Houses for critical services, while the Houses have all built up centralized enclaves in one nation or another that would be very difficult to abandon in the event of hostilities. The Five Nations are concerned that the mass casualties of the Last War and the economic isolationism forced upon the Five Nations by the simmering hostilities have left them in a weak bargaining position, while the Houses are concerned that the independence of the other nations of Khorvaire and the rise of various home-grown institutions in the Five Nations makes them much less economically indispensable than they might seem."

He shrugged. "In short, no one wants to be the first to attempt to enforce the terms of the Korth Edicts, lest they potentially find that they aren't enforceable anymore."

All of that made sense, and he was clearly leading somewhere with that, but… "What does that have to do with us?" I asked.

"Imagine that you are arrested and tried," he said. "Such a scandalous case of course comes to the attention of both the nobility whose authority you have claimed and to at least Houses Cannith, Medani, Tharashk, and Vadalis, with whom you've had direct dealings. Perhaps it even comes to the attention of King Boranel himself, especially once word of the case inevitably leaks to the Chronicle and is published Khorvaire-wide."

God, it hadn't even occurred to me that our screwup might make international news and pit practically everyone against us. If he'd gone to the authorities, we'd have had absolutely nowhere to turn.

"In your defense, you of course offer an explanation of how things work in your homeland to justify your actions and the reasoning behind them," the inquisitive continued. "It is a peculiar place, your homeland, where the most powerful institutions are neither true nobility nor true Houses, but rather some that are in between and some that are neither. The Brelish nobility are intrigued to hear that your large 'corporations' survive just fine without legal monopolies or special extraterritorial status. The House are intrigued to hear that your government has not only reduced the power of its noble families but have dispensed with a monarch entirely. Kings and Queens, Patriarchs and Matriarchs, all of them begin to get some dangerous notions, and then…."

He stopped there, to let his words sink in.

Dean had gone completely pale. "… had no idea…" my bugs heard him mumble to himself.

Brian and Chris looked distinctly uncomfortable, and even Alec had lost his smirk.

As for me, I didn't know what to think as the scope of what he was talking about really registered . The consequences for us would be bad enough in that scenario, but the consequences for everyone else….

How am I supposed to feel about coming this close to kicking off some kind of social revolution completely by accident?

Creilath gave us a satisfied nod as he saw that we all understood the implications of his story and were taking it seriously.

Before anyone could muster up a response to that or ask about his second reason, our lunch arrived.

It kind of reminded me of Greek food, with all the meat either being sliced into long thin strips or cut up into small chunks with holes in them implying they'd been roasted on a skewer. Everything was served communally, though, coming on huge platters layered with wide and flat leaves (which were edible, according to Urzat), then roasted vegetables, then a layer of what looked like reddish rice with extra-long grains, then the various meats arranged in little circles on top.

The server turned to leave, but Urzat said something in Orcish and she lingered to chat with him.

Here goes nothing, I thought. I picked up my spoon, scooped up a portion of the rice with what looked like the least spicy chunk of meat on top, and carefully gave it a taste.

It had very different flavors from any of the Five Nations food we'd tried so far, but it wasn't half bad.

It also wasn't as spicy as I'd expected, but it-oh, there was the spice, and it-ow ow ow it burns ow ow fuck ow-

I grabbed my glass of fruit juice and didn't put it down until I'd drained half of it, and the concentrated sweetness from drinking so much at once set my teeth on edge. That helped a little bit, but my mouth still felt like it was on fire and I could feel my face heating up too.

The guys weren't faring much better. Chris's face was already redder than the rice, Dean was taking very tiny bites to try to deal with the heat, Brian was sweating profusely, and Alec sounded like he was trying to cough up a lung. Creilath, I noted, hadn't eaten anything yet.

"Ha!" the server barked, grinning ear to ear. "Always fun to watch the first-timers just about die in front of you. You want a pitcher of shagaash for the table?"

"Please," Urzat said, then looked us over and grinned as wide as the server. "Actually, make that two."

~*~*~

Shagaash turned out to be a drink resembling a savory and extra-thick milkshake, and with its help we all managed to survive the initial agony and keep eating. By the third or fourth dish I tried, I was actually starting to enjoy the the meal.

When I could feel my mouth again, I asked Urzat why the hell he'd ordered those incredibly hot dishes without knowing our spice tolerance and without warning us beforehand.

He leaned forward slightly and gave me a significant look. "It is such a shame when one cannot trust one's friends to share information freely and to have one's best interests at heart, is it not?" he rumbled.

… Okay, yeah, we kinda deserved that.

~*~*~

When the platter was about half empty and we were starting to slow down, Creilath cleared his throat to draw our attention. "I didn't just choose this restaurant so that Urzat could make a point. Our surroundings here actually relate to my second reason for granting you clemency." He waved out the window at the pool of lava. "Have any of you read about the cause of the city's lava rifts?"

We all shook our heads. Most of our jobs had been in the middle and upper wards of the city so I hadn't done as much reading on the lower wards, though it was interesting that he'd said "cause" and not "source." That implied there was something specific behind them… or some one.

"How about the War of the Mark?" he asked. When we all shook our heads again he hmmed in acceptance. "So little appreciation for ancient history, these days. Though in your case I'm sure many other topics seemed more relevant. Have you at least read about aberrant dragonmarks?"

I nodded; those, I'd definitely read up on. I hadn't forgotten Khalthrun's warning that people believing I had one of those would be a bad thing, so after we'd been given the rundown from Creilath about dragonmarks and the Houses and stuff and he hadn't mentioned them, I looked them up myself.

As far as I could tell, aberrant dragonmarks were kind of like cape powers: instead of coming in twelve specific categories that followed family lines like the normal dragonmarks did, aberrant dragonmarks could come with all kinds of different powers and anyone could get one at any time.

The books also made a big deal about how aberrant dragonmarks were mostly destructive and chaotic where "true" dragonmarks were mostly constructive and orderly, but I didn't see why that was such a big deal. Obsidian had a huge magic cannon in place of an arm and no one had seemed to care about that, so why was a magic birthmark that let you shoot fire at people any different?

None of the guys had read about them, apparently, even thought I'd told them what Khalthrun had said, so after complimenting me for my thoroughness Creilath gave them a brief overview.

"Are we done with the history lessons now?" Alec complained.

"One last bit of context," Creilath promised. "Which is this: in the modern era aberrant dragonmarks are known to come in four degrees of strength, just as true dragonmarks do, though after least, lesser, and greater the fourth degree is named after Khyber for aberrant 'marks instead of Siberys for true 'marks."

We all nodded. The idea that dragonmarks all came in specific categories of power instead of being all over the place like cape powers still seemed kind of strange to me, but all the other magic we'd seen came in discrete categories like that too so I figured that's just how things worked here, and if normal dragonmarks worked that way then the aberrant dragonmarks working the same way made sense.

"There's no actual evidence that the strongest 'marks have anything to do with the Dragon Above or Dragon Below, mind you," Urzat rumbled. "It's just House propaganda."

Creilath nodded. "But very effective propaganda. Anyhow, Siberys and Khyber 'marks are rare enough, with any given House rarely having more than a handful or two at a time; even Orien, the House that currently boasts the most Siberys heirs, has only thirteen. But there are 'marks that are even stronger than those: apex dragonmarks, which appear only a few times in a generation."

Giving us all a grim look, he concluded, "And the last time five individuals with apex aberrant 'marks gathered together in one place, their struggle with the nascent Houses kicked off a years-long war that resulted in over half of this city being razed to its foundations with earthquakes and lava spouts and terrible storms, after which the ruins of Sharn were abandoned for over five hundred years. The lava pools are a lingering remnant of the War of the Mark, scars in the undercity that will never heal."

Holy crap.

This entire city was made of buildings taller and sturdier than any skyscraper back home, and everything was reinforced with magic on top of that. Even if they were all on the level of the Triumvirate, I could hardly imagine that just five powerful capes could reduce Sharn to-

Wait.

Five of them?

"What were these five individuals like, exactly?" I asked slowly.

"Their leader was Halas Tarkanan, the Earthshaker. No relation to the House Tarkanan crime syndicate, which is merely named in his honor." Creilath turned to give Brian a significant look. "Halas was known for his tactical mind, his skill with a blade, and most importantly an ability to control elemental forces on a truly massive scale, letting him flood many city blocks at once with caustic fog banks or abrasive sandstorms."

He turned to me next. "The Lady of the Plague created and controlled swarms of disease-ridden vermin. She favored rats, but also made use of other pests such as snakes and pigeons… and insects."

---

I didn't like where this was going.

"The Dreambreaker," he continued, turning to a frowning Dean, "was said to see into the hearts of all around him, and to be able to twist the minds of others as he wished. Kalara of the Ten Terrors," he turned to a wary Alec, "was known to place curses on her victims-such as, say, cursing their limbs to disobey them at crucial moments in battle. And the man known only as the Tinker," he finished, turning to a very disturbed-looking Chris, "crafted for his allies the very artifacts of destruction that ultimately led to Sharn's fall."

We all exchanged uncomfortable looks, at a loss for words.

"Man," Alec said under his breath in English, "having someone randomly connect you to a famous villain and imply that you're a terrible person by association really sucks, doesn't it?"

"The difference is you actually are a terrible person," Chris shot back.

Well, most of us were at a loss for words, anyway.

Creilath raised an eyebrow at the unintelligible byplay, but chose to ignore it. "Nearly all of the tales that have grown up around those figures are just myth and rumors, of course," he said casually. "Not very well-known ones, either; Halas himself is rather infamous, but once my curiosity was piqued I had to do quite a bit of reading to unearth the rest of those names. And of course Halas wasn't known to directly manipulate darkness, and the Dreambreaker's psychic powers weren't accompanied by any flashy rays of light."

He paused to take a sip of his wine, then set his glass down with a clink that was very loud in the silence. "But if the five of you were thrust into the limelight, it would take only a single well-read scholar or historical enthusiast to notice the parallels between the legendary scions of Khyber and the five young foreigners with their inexplicable magic, and then decide to make some rather suggestive comments to the magistrates or the Chronicle, to place you in a very dangerous situation."

I was definitely regretting that I'd focused on learning about things that would directly benefit us in the here and now-clothing styles, commerce laws, legal procedures for Creilath's cases-and mostly ignored the big-picture stuff like history and politics.

Even if no one had ever directly figured out our ruse, by pretending to be nobles we were basically signing ourselves up to deal with politics, and just because we didn't know about something didn't mean it couldn't hurt us.

I made a mental note to ask for some very different reading material when we got back to the workshop.

"Do I even want to know what your third reason was?" Brian asked warily.

"Oh, that one is very straightforward, practically trivial," Creilath replied. "It's Leyla."

"Leyla?" Alec asked innocently. "What about her?"

… I really shouldn't be this grateful for having a good liar on the team.

Creilath proceeded to explain how Leyla had stolen his notes on us, and we all did our best to pretend that Urzat hadn't already told us about it and act surprised at what he said.

It seemed to work, thankfully, as he didn't call us on it. The fact that there was only so much more worried we could get after hearing his other two reasons probably helped with that.

"… and while the cipher I use for the more sensitive portions of my notes will likely have given her trouble for at least a day or two," he concluded, "I'd have expected her to either confront you, confront me, or take the news to the authorities by now. The fact that she has not yet done so has me concerned, and I'd rather not take action until I know what she is planning."

"Reasonable," Brian agreed.

After that, we spent a few minutes quietly finishing up our lunch, then headed outside with Creilath while Urzat paid.

"And now," Creilath said cheerfully once we were ready to go, "to the crime scene."

"Skycoach or walk?" Urzat rumbled.

The inquisitive glanced at the hazy sky above, then over to the nearest soot-covered bridge. "Walk, I think. If nothing else, the extra time will give everyone's stomachs a chance to settle."

Yeah, between everything we'd heard and everything we were going to see, that was probably a good idea.

~*~*~

Half Past Noon, Mol the 2 nd of Aryth, 999 YK

Blackbones District, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

The only visible sign that we'd passed from Tavick's Cogs into a different district was that there were suddenly a lot more warforged around. Creilath explained that that was due to the district having a warforged-only social club, the Red Hammer, that drew them from all over the city.

Alec promptly commented, in a terrible Russian accent, that "In Sharn, you go get hammered in tavern; in Soviet Sharn, Hammer taverns you!" which… okay, that was actually kind of funny, for once.

Creilath didn't asked him to explain the joke, which was good, 'cause if democracy was a controversial topic in Breland then trying to explain communism would definitely be a bad idea.

Our destination turned out to be a small temple to Onatar, the god of crafting. Unlike all the other buildings nearby that were situated on the edge of one of the Cogs' lava pools, the temple was a blocky stone building that was actually built over one of them.

The long stone pier leading to its front entrance was connected to solid ground only at the very end; the rest of it hovered just inches above the surface of the lava, and glowing blue crystals lined both sides. Those crystals were the only thing keeping us from being burned to a crisp on our way up to the temple, as I discovered when a few bugs at the outer edges of my swarm happened to drift over the line of crystals and were instantly incinerated.

When we reached the door, a thick wooden one covered with intricately-shaped brass panels, Urzat gave it a few heavy knocks. The warforged who opened the door a few minutes later had similar decorative brass pieces incorporated into its body, and it was wearing a light blue hooded robe, the first time I'd seen a warforged wearing anything that wasn't armor.

"Greetings, Inquisitive Movanek, Captain 'Arrna, and guests. I am Smith," it-he-said in a pleasant tenor voice. In a tone of rote recitation, he continued, "Be welcome in this place; the Sovereign of Fire and Forge invites you to share in the warmth of his hearthflame."

"May we be tempered in his wisdom," replied Creilath… and Chris, too.

While Smith turned and gestured for us to follow him further into the temple, we all gave Chris funny looks. "You been doing some reading on religion?" Dean asked him quietly.

Chris hunched his shoulders a bit, and the tips of his ears turned red. "There's a lot of Onatarians in the Forgehold, okay?" he mumbled. "I picked up a few things."

He had spent a lot more time there than the rest of us, I guess.

The main room of the temple had a large hole in the floor that exposed the lava below, and there were smiths working diligently at four of the ten stations set up around the hole, all of them warforged. I didn't see any of those cooling crystals around the hole; instead, there was a pool of water inside the pool of lava, somehow, and from the way it reacted when the smiths dipped their metal creations into the water it was much cooler than the lava around it.

Creilath must have noticed my perplexed expression, because he explained, "That's the Pool of Onatar's Tears, a miraculous creation of Onatar that blesses any craftsperson who incorporates its water into their work. The temple was built around it after it was discovered, and now craftspeople and devotees of Onatar come from all over the city to work and pray here."

I nodded, feeling a little uncomfortable. Back home I'd heard of capes who could create freestanding power effects that lasted for years or decades-Gray Boy's time bubbles were the most famous, but I'd also heard of a nuclear-themed Tinker down in Pennsylvania and a gravity manipulator up in Vermont who'd left some power zones behind that the PRT had had some trouble dealing with-but everyone knew those were created by capes.

For someone as serious and knowledgeable as Creilath to just blithely state that this pool was a miracle was… well, it was one more piece of evidence that gods were really a thing here, and I didn't know how I felt about that yet.

Our destination turned out to be a storage room in the back of the temple. When I tried to send my bugs in to take a look, they felt some strong resistance, like the air was as thick as molasses, so I decided to hold off on that for now.

Smith stopped in front of the door to the room and turned to face us. "We have left the room exactly as it was when Gamranna was found," he said. "If you have any questions, the faithful who discovered her body are in the temple now and would be happy to assist you."

Then he opened the door, and I felt my stomach clench with nausea.

The room beyond was absolutely coated in blood.

I was immediately glad I hadn't sent my bugs in there; the scents I was detecting through them even outside the doorway were bad enough.

Creilath nodded to Smith, who nodded back and walked back the way we'd come. The inquisitive gave us a minute to get accustomed to what we were seeing, then quietly ushered us in.

It was even worse inside the room. The blood had been used to draw letters and symbols on the floor and every wall, and it was bright red and still glistening as if it was only a few minutes old instead of however old it actually was.

In the center of the room, lying on the floor with her arms and legs splayed out, was a dwarf woman dressed in the sturdy clothing of a blacksmith. A long metal stake had been driven through her chest into the floor, and the hammer that had probably been used to do it was lying on her stomach.

"Are they always this bad?" I whispered to Creilath, not trusting my voice to hold if I spoke at a normal volume.

He shook his head slowly. "Usually we see the bodies when they're a few hours to a day old. Do you see that, everyone?" He pointed to a trio of pinkish dragonshards set into the ceiling, and the guys all turned to look. "That's the anchor for a large-scale preservative enchantment, to keep everything perishable in this room fresh for weeks instead of days. The temple only has warforged clergy and most of their visitors are 'forged as well, according to Smith, so that device allows them to keep some refreshments for biological visitors on hand without constantly buying new food and wasting the old."

He gestured to the body, his expression grim. "For the murderer to kill his victim in this room, where her body and all of the evidence would be preserved as it was at the moment of her death, demonstrates either arrogance or insanity. They are taunting us, and their temerity cannot be allowed to stand."

With that, we began searching the room for evidence.

~*~*~

After a good fifteen minutes of investigating, it was clear that I was the least useful person on the team for this particular job.

I'd left all my bugs outside the room; sensing the body and the blood through them would have been completely overwhelming. Between that, the nausea, and a few breaks to leave the room and compose myself, I was much slower than any of the others and didn't manage to find any good evidence.

The visit to the kalashtar, when he had me investigate the place without using my swarm… I mused. I wonder if he was trying to prepare me for this?

If he was, it did help, but not enough, and the experience was still extremely unpleasant.

The guys, though, had no problem with all the blood. Sure, they wrinkled their noses and held their breath when they leaned in close to it, but otherwise they didn't seem bothered at all.

It was the first time in a while that I'd been reminded of the gulf in experience between them, who'd all been capes for multiple years and had probably run into bodies like this a bunch of times before- maybe even created bodies like this, in Alec's case, who knows? a traitorous part of my mind pointed out-and me, who hadn't been exposed to anything like that aside from the battle in Zantashk.

Heck, Chris was the one who looked to be having the most trouble out of the four of them, probably because he'd ended up wearing and tasting a lot of drow blood in that battle and I doubted that was something he could easily forget, and his only visible reaction to the whole scene was looking vaguely constipated when he got too close to the actual body. Other than that, he was doing fine.

More than fine, actually: I saw him frown, lean in close to a particularly thick dollop of blood on one wall, tilt his head to look at it from a different angle, and narrow his eyes. "Hey Creilath?" he called. "Is dwarf blood basically the same as human blood?"

"I assume you mean in terms of viscosity and other properties?" the inquisitive said, stepping closer to see what had caught Chris's attention.

"Yeah."

"It is."

"How much blood is in a dwarf body?"

Creilath's gaze sharpened. "Slightly more than a human of proportional age; for an adult female dwarf, that would be roughly one and three-quarters gallons. Why?"

Chris's frown deepened. "I'm not sure. There's just something about this that's bugging me. So how could I…." he trailed off into mumbling that I couldn't make out without my bugs.

"I've had the blood from previous victims tested by an alchemist," Creilath said. "In each case, it appeared to be a mix of blood from different individuals, with none of the victim's blood included. That would explain the excessive volume of blood available."

"… I guess," Chris said, but he was still frowning, and seemed preoccupied.

Creilath gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Whatever is bothering you, I'm sure it will make itself known at some point."

~*~*~

Soon enough we decided that we'd found everything we were going to find. Sketches were made, blood was sample, questions were asked, and pictures were taken-and it was always hilarious, watching Creilath try to play it cool when Chris pulled out his phone camera when everyone could tell that he would do practically anything to get his hands on a camera like that.

Then it was time to head somewhere we hadn't gone yet, even after working with Creilath for over a month: his office.

~*~*~

Just Before Third Afternoon Bell, Mol the 2 nd of Aryth, 999 YK

Dava Gate District, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

Creilath's office was on the bottom floor of a small office building, one that he shared with the Sharn equivalent of a big-name law firm. Past the waiting room and the room where he met with clients was a larger space where the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, in front of which were multiple movable chalkboards full of scribbled notes and corkboards covered in sketches and newspaper clippings.

There were no chairs, so we grabbed some notepads and sat on the floor while Creilath filled us in on everything else there was to know about this case.

The gist was that the victim we'd seen (Gamranna of Clan Toldorath, who was a citizen of the Mror Holds visiting Breland and not someone from Sharn as I'd expected) was the last in a long line of people who'd been killed in very similar ways and then had their body and their surroundings covered in very similar symbols.

He showed us sketches of the inscriptions. Like the ones around Gamranna, they didn't obviously mean anything, and he assured us that he'd checked lots of books on languages and hadn't even found any alphabets that matched the inscriptions, much less full words.

He showed us copies of the one particular symbol that had stood out from all the others, a big circle with zig-zag lines in one half, writing in the other half, and twelve smaller circles around it. The same symbol had been in the temple room, but none of us had been able to figure out what it represented and seeing more versions of it didn't help at all.

He showed us everything he'd managed to dig up on the other victims: names, families, job histories, the works. On the corkboards he had maps of all the cities where the victims had come from, maps of where they'd been found, diagrams attempting to draw connections between their families and employers, and more, but none of those showed any obvious patterns.

"CSI made this look so easy," Alec complained once Creilath had finished his explanation. "None of this makes any sense."

"It really doesn't," I agreed. "Have you run into anything like this before?"

"We have, in fact," Creilath replied. "This looks very much like a Cult of the Dragon Below attempting to carry out an eldritch ritual of one kind or another. Urzat and I have stopped more than a few of those in our day, and I thought at first that this would be a quick and simple case like all the others, but unfortunately that isn't so."

"When you say eldritch rituals…?" Dean prompted, sounding concerned.

"Releasing a bound demon, reanimating a few hundred corpses at once, attempting to destabilize one of the major towers, that sort of thing."

At the apprehensive look on Dean's face, he chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, the vast majority of these 'rituals' haven't the slightest chance in Khyber of working, and the ones that do are generally quite easily dealt with. The Cults are full of the desperate and the deranged, and the only reason they pose any kind of threat to the city is that there are so very many aberrations and radiant idols and daelkyr and Overlords and other beings who are willing to grant power to the foolish or the insane, and it would only take one successful ritual to cause some serious harm to Sharn or its inhabitants."

Gesturing toward the many maps and diagrams on the walls, he added, "Which is why cases involving these cults tend to be the most frustrating. Not only are they very small groups disconnected from the usual suspects, making it difficult to track them down, but both their goals and their methods rarely follow any discernible logic. To try to track them down you have to try to comprehend the thought process of an insane individual, which is no easy feat."

Brian crossed his arms and let out an amused huff. "So you needed to find someone who could think like a crazy person and decided we'd be the best people for the job, huh?"

"You do provide a unique perspective not shared by anyone else in this city," Creilath said, not exactly disagreeing with him.

"Then let's start thinking crazy," Dean said. He stood and stepped over to one of the chalkboards. "We can split up into pairs that each look into a different part of this case; whoever doesn't have a partner to start, you pair up with Urzat, and Creilath can go from group to group. If that's okay with you two," he added, and Creilath and Urzat nodded.

"If you notice something, say something," he continued, "otherwise we'll rotate around and swap pairs when people get stuck until everyone's looked at everything. Sound good?"

Nobody objected, so he nodded once and wave to the other boards. "Then let's get to it."

~*~*~

"Hmm." I stared at my floating grid of bugs. "Nothing from this angle either."

I'd noticed that Creilath's map of the murder sites had used a top-down view, because… well, it was a map, not a model. But by arranging some of my bugs over the map to match the murder sites and then changing their height to fit the different levels of the city where the murders happened, I could make a quick and easy three-dimensional model that could be viewed from any side.

Not that looking at things from different sides had actually helped so far.

I sighed, and without turning around I said, "You know, Alec, you can start helping at any time."

"I am helping!" he protested from his spot on the floor. He was lying on his back, feet pointing away from the model and his head craned backward toward it. "I'm looking at it upside-down! You wanted a different perspective, you got it!"

"You were napping, not helping. Your eyes were closed a minute ago."

"Curses, foiled again."

~*~*~

"I don't think the fact that humans are underrepresented among the victims means anything," Dean said slowly, "but just because I haven't noticed any obvious racism here doesn't mean it's not a thing."

I glanced over my shoulder at Brian, where he was working with Chris on the timing of the murders. "I actually talked about that with Brian," I said. "Well, not about that," I quickly corrected myself, "but it came up when we were talking about… stuff. He said he hadn't seen any racism here either outside of the kalashtar being discriminated against, and none of the victims are kalashtar, so…."

Dean nodded. "All right, good." He tapped his finger against his chin, thinking. "You know, the half-elves have their own name for themselves, khoravar, but half-orcs don't, as far as I know."

We flagged down Creilath and asked him and, no, half-orcs were just called half-orcs.

"Right, so," Dean said, "what if we lumped the humans and half-orcs but not the half-elves into one group, and…."

~*~*~

I took off my glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose. We'd been at this for hours and even skipped dinner, and we were no closer to finding any answers.

Hopefully I'd get some better sleep tonight now that I was not fixated on all the terrible things that could happen to us the next morning, and we could pick things back up tomorrow.

~*~*~

Just Before Second Afternoon Bell, Zol the 3 rd of Aryth, 999 YK

Creilath's Office, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

I stared intently at the gibbering mouther.

It's easy to lose a staring contest when the thing you're looking at has more eyes than you… and when it's an illustration that can't blink.

Since finishing lunch, Brian and I had been looking at various pictures of monsters that resembled the main symbol from the murder scenes, trying to figure out which monster-or god, or "god"-was the closest match.

"I can kind of see this one?" I said eventually. "But unless this line is supposed to represent multiple mouths, it probably isn't it."

"I still think that, uh…" Brian leaned in to check the name on his book with his translation lens. "Belashyrra? That that one looks the closest."

"More than the beholder?" Both of them had a ring of eyes around them, but a beholder was a big floating ball with eyes attached to its head and a huge mouth, while the daelkyr lord-or lady? Apparently it was "worshiped" as both-was mostly human-ish with the extra eyes floating in midair.

"Yeah. All of these pictures really focus on the big eye in the middle, and the symbol has writing where it should be. If I were designing a symbol to represent my crazy cult, I'd keep the eye and put the writing in place of the mouth instead."

"That makes sense," I admitted.

We went back to our reading for a bit.

At one point, I saw Brian frown to himself. "… if I were designing…." he mumbled.

Then, suddenly, he sat up straight, like he'd just realized something.

"It's fake," he blurted, eyes wide. Creilath, overhearing him, stood up from where he was talking with Dean and Alec and wandered over to us.

I glanced over at the illustration he was looking at. "Are you sure? It says there that medusas are real."

"No, I mean-not the monster, the symbol. It's…."

"You have something?" Creilath asked him.

"Maybe. It's hard to explain," Brian said.

"Try, if you would."

Brian tapped his pencil against his notebook a few times, gathering his thoughts, then spoke: "Okay, so… these cults are basically gangs. What's the most important thing for a gang to have?"

"Capes? Money?" I suggested. "Guns?"

Brian shook his head. "Reputation. If you look strong, if you punish everyone who tries to challenge you, that's an asset just as much as weapons and cash. If you look weak or screw up a lot, people will smell blood in the water and come after you."

He turned to Creilath. "I think we're looking at this all wrong. We're assuming that whoever's drawing this cult symbol is being sloppy, and that if we figure out what it's supposed to be then we'll find them, right?"

"We'll at least have a good chance of it, yes," Creilath agreed.

"What if it's not supposed to be anything?"

Creilath frowned. "Any cultist wishing to draw divine power from a patron requires a specific holy symbol representing that patron to channel its power. That's how that sort of arrangement works."

"Yes, but-okay, example. Remember we told you the dragon we were running from when we ended up here was actually a villain who can turn into a dragon?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's not exactly right. He mostly looks like a dragon, but he gets extra wings and arms and his mouth goes all weird so after a while he doesn't look much like a dragon at all. But you know what his gang's symbol is?"

He quickly sketched the head of a dragon, graffiti-style, in his notebook.

"When they're not just using the gang's initials, they draw a dragon. Just a normal dragon, not something that looks like him. And the villain's name means 'Dragon' in another language. We don't have dragons on our planet, so they didn't have to pick a symbol because a dragon told them to, the 'dragon' picked that symbol himself because of what it meant to him. But that's not all."

Brian drew another dragon head, this one noticeably different: It had a longer and thinner neck, there were whiskers on its nose, its mouth was closed, and it was facing the opposite direction.

"When Lung showed up he started consolidating all the other gangs he could, and one of those also had a dragon symbol, the Golden Dragons."

I vaguely remembered hearing about them years ago, and about the other Asian gangs Lung had defeated and absorbed into his own, but I honestly hadn't paid much attention to the city's gangs before I'd started my hero research and by that point none of the smaller gangs were left to worry about.

"They didn't have a dragon-themed cape," Brian continued. "They were just mostly Korean, and dragons are a big deal to them too. Following so far?"

"I'm still somewhat stuck on the claim that your world has no dragons," Creilath wryly replied. "But yes, mostly."

"Cool. So, you have the Golden Dragons on one side and the ABB-that's Lung's gang-on the other. Both have dragon symbols. If you're going to wear something with your gang sign on it, you'd better be really sure it can't be confused for the other one, unless you have a death wish."

… So if it didn't end up looking like either one it wouldn't just be because you were being sloppy, it had to be because you were trying to make it hard to tell which one it was, because neither of them was your symbol in the first place.

I smiled at Brian. "Nice job. I think you're really on to something."

"Thanks," he said gruffly.

Creilath still didn't get it; he was squinting at the two pictures like he was looking for some hidden detail. "Will their spells fail to work if the symbol is poorly drawn? I would think that their own knowledge of its purpose would suffice."

He's stuck on the idea that these are symbols of real things, I realized.

For us, showing up in a world where magic was real and monsters were real and gods were… probably real, I guess, was a huge adjustment, and we'd had to adapt to the idea that the things we thought were fiction actually existed here. It had taken a while, but we'd done it.

Brian was asking him to do the opposite, look at things as though those monsters weren't real and these cults could just pick whatever symbol they wanted because they felt like it, and Creilath had never had to make that adjustment.

"No, when Brian said the cults were basically gangs, he didn't mean the gangs back home worked like these cults. It's like…."

What would be a good example to… ah!

"House Vadalis," I said.

"Pardon?" Creilath replied.

"One sec. Hey, Alec?"

"Yeah?"

"I need your drawing skills."

~*~*~

A few minutes later, we were all gathered around the same corkboard.

Pinned to our left was an illustration of the House Jorasco emblem, a half-hawk half-lion monster with its wings spread, flanked by two long-hafted weapons and some leafy vines.

Pinned to our right was an illustration of the House Vadalis emblem, another half-hawk half-lion monster with its wings spread, flanked by two long-hafted weapons and some leafy vines.

There were differences, obviously: the Jorasco griffon was looking to our left while the Vadalis hippogriff was looking right, the Jorasco maces were at a different angle than the Vadalis spears, the vines were shaped differently, and more. But they were very similar at first glance.

And pinned in the middle was Alec's sketch of a half-hawk half-lion monster with its wings spread, flanked by two long-hafted weapons and some leafy vines, which I'd told him to try to draw as ambiguously as he could so that could easily be confused for either emblem at a distance.

The moment Creilath and Urzat were able to stop thinking of it in terms of someone trying to draw a real thing and failing, and start thinking of it in terms of drawing something that deliberately wasn't any particular real thing and succeeding, they both got the implications right away.

"By the Host. That's it," Creilath breathed. "It's all a front. No real Cult of the Dragon would have the resources and the competence that this one has displayed; that they are merely pretending to be such a cult to throw us off the scent is blazingly obvious in hindsight. And I even complained about it!" he realized, sounding very annoyed at himself. "How could I have missed what was right in front of me?"

Urzat grinned. "What was it you said, exactly? 'They couldn't have picked a more generic symbol if they tried'?"

"Don't you go grinning at me. You didn't see it either," Creilath grumbled.

"Ah, but you see, I am merely a humble bodyguard, whereas you-"

"Oh, go jump off a tower."

~*~*~

A short while later, we'd rearranged all the boards, pulled back out all the books we'd passed over, set up the maps again, and otherwise prepared to make a second pass through everything.

"Though we've uncovered the truth of this false Cult-or so we are fairly certain-we still need to determine the actual person or organization responsible for these murders," Creilath said. "Were there any potential leads, any potentially interesting connections, that you failed to follow before because they did not seem to fit the scenario as we perceived it?"

We all shook our heads. Finding one clue had been hard enough, and if Brian hadn't had just the right idea at just the right time we might have missed it entirely.

"Don't tell me we have to go through everything again," Alec whined.

"No, I don't think simply collating all of the existing evidence will be of much use, I'm afraid," Creilath said.

Dean frowned. "Maybe it would. It'd have to."

"How so?"

"Well, let's assume that we have all the evidence we could possibly gather about all of these cases," Dean said. "If we couldn't figure out the culprit from that, why would they need to pretend to be cultists?" He gestured to the peg-and-string diagrams on the nearest corkboard. "What threads connect the victims that would be obvious if they were just being killed in their sleep instead of, supposedly, being ritually murdered and left for everyone to see?"

"Randomness," Urzat rumbled. "Or a lack of it. Everyone knows that these cultists are insane, and don't expect them to follow any kind of sane plan."

"Indeed," Creilath agreed. "If one looks into a list of a Cult's victims and sees a complete lack of a pattern there, one generally stops looking, because trying to make further sense of things is futile. Dealing with them is thus relegated to private inquisitives-or adventurers," he added disdainfully, "if one has no better option, and generally deemed below the notice of House Medani or the Dark Lanterns."

"So there's got to be a pattern that we can find that they don't want us to, and a reason why they don't want people to call in the big guns," Chris said. "Question is, what pattern, and why would some high-profile murderers want to keep a low profile?"

We were quiet for a few minutes as everyone looked at the maps and sketches.

I found my eyes lingering on one of the more recent victims, a member of House Cannith who had worked for Leyla before he was killed. There was nothing special about him, really, it was just the connection to Leyla that drew my attention.

… Huh.

I looked over to the victim right before the one we'd seen today, an heir of House Vadalis. There was nothing important about him personally, as far as I knew… but he used to work in the same Vadalis enclave where I got my silk every morning, so there was a chance I'd passed by him at some point before he was killed and not even noticed when I stopped seeing him there sometime in the past week.

Cannith.

Vadalis.

Threads.

"Creilath?" I asked, not looking away from the diagram. "What do Vadalis magebred spiders and a Cannith research project have in common?"

The inquisitive looked at me, then looked at the diagram. This time, he got the implication immediately, and a smile slowly spread across his face. "Ahhh. Well done, Taylor."

"I don't get it," Chris said.

"On paper, the two are completely unrelated," Creilath explained. "To notice and understand the connection, one would have to notice that a change in Vadalis silk production occurred around the time that one Vicereine ir'Hebert made contact with the enclave, and that a change in Cannith's project schedule occurred around the time that one Vicereine ir'Hebert made contact with Baron d'Cannith, and infer that access to both the silk and the Baron's time is not a goal in itself but rather a means to an end."

"So we're looking for second-degree connections," Dean summarized. "Friends-of-friends, two people who worked for different guilds that worked with each other, things like that."

"That should be doable. Start with what you have here," Creilath said, "I have some… less public records upstairs that may prove useful."

~*~*~

Tenth Morning Bell, Wir the 4 th of Aryth, 999 YK

Creilath's Office, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

It took us another late night yesterday, with no breaks except to have Urzat go buy us some takeout for dinner, and then an early morning today to finish putting the pieces together, but we finally came up with a theory that fit all the evidence.

Our expressions were grim as we gathered around the largest corkboard and Creilath summarized all of our findings.

"Victim the first: Breylen d'Tharashk, mid-ranking Finders Guild member recently transferred from the Eldeen Reaches to Breland," he recited. "Of no special importance to his House, except," he tapped a newspaper clipping from shortly after the murder, "that his friends and colleagues back in Greenheart blamed the Sharn enclave for their failure to provide him secure lodging and then to find his murderer, causing relations between the Sharn and Greenheart branches to noticeably cool. Were Aundair's armies to encroach upon the Reaches, mercenary reinforcements from Sharn would likely be slower than usual in coming."

He moved on to the next sketch. "Victim the second: Durnna d'Kundarak, high-ranking Warding Guild member visiting Sharn to consult with colleagues at Morgrave University. Of no special importance to her House, except that she was a loyal Karrn patriot, and her death led to her position being filled by a former subordinate with strong loyalty to the Mror Holds rather than any of the Five Nations. Were Aundair to act in violation of the Treaty of Thronehold, that branch of the Warding Guild would likely remain neutral, considering it an internal Five Nations matter, rather than getting involved as they might have under Durnna's leadership."

This process continued for a while, each additional victim painting a picture of what was going on, until:

"Victim the thirty-eighth: Gamranna of Clan Toldorath, magewright making a pilgrimage to the Pool of Onatar's Tears. Of no special importance, except that her death came three days after a representative of the Arcane Congress requested, and was refused, permission to take a sample of the Pool's waters for study and possible replication. Were Smith to check the Pool's water level, he would likely find that a good amount of water had been removed while he was too busy dealing with Gamranna's death to attend to his normal duties."

At this point, the picture was very clear. Every death somehow did something to strengthen Aundair, weaken or distract another country, or cover for some other crime that did one of those two things.

When Creilath finished his recitation, he looked back over his notes and sketches, then over at one of the chalkboards, then groaned, "Oh, I am a Six-be-damned imbecile." Then he started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Brian asked.

"The Aundairian intelligence service," Creilath replied as he gestured toward the fake cult symbol, "is named the Royal Eyes of Aundair. They were waving it right in our faces the whole time, the smug bastards."

His expression turned glum. "And all of this solved in just a few days of dedicated effort. As I should have expected, given the speed with which you were able to assist me in resolving my other cases. To think, had I only turned to you sooner, four or five of those victims might still be alive…."

"Or maybe none of them would," Dean said with a shrug. "If you'd talked to us about it a few weeks ago, Brian or Taylor might not have made the leaps they did."

I nodded. "If the whole situation with Leyla hadn't happened and that one Vadalis heir hadn't been killed, I wouldn't have made the same connection."

"Yeah, a few weeks ago none of us could read any of this," Brian agreed. "If you'd just explained everything verbally without us being able to read the books on monsters-"

"I appreciate the kind words," Creilath interrupted, smiling tiredly, "but the wish that one could have solved the case just one day sooner, saved just one more victim, is an inquisitive's constant companion. I have no need for reassurance. Let us instead focus on what we need to do next to conclude this case."

Well, to sum up, Aundair was carrying out a systematic series of assassinations to turn the other countries of Khorvaire toward them and against the Eldeen Reaches, and assuming Duke Ruken's sources were reliable they were doing it in preparation for launching a full-scale war of conquest against their neighboring country, while disguising everything as the actions of some crazy cult so no one would find out the truth until it was too late.

I suddenly felt myself sympathizing with the Duke's desire to help the Eldeen Reaches, and was feeling less comfortable with our decision to just brush him off and focus on getting home.

"What do we do next?" I asked.

"Frankly, I believe this case has now risen above our pay grade," Creilath said. He looked like he'd just bitten into a lemon. "Much as I strongly dislike turning over seemingly-unsolvable cases to House Medani or the Dark Lanterns and enduring the resulting aspersions cast against my competence, I dislike the thought of pitting just the seven of us against an entire national intelligence apparatus even less."

"So we're just giving up?" Chris asked.

"Hardly. We can turn all of our gathered information and our conclusions over to the proper authorities and let them sort the matter out."

"But we'd be giving up?" Chris repeated.

"What, you'd rather we track the Aundairian operatives to their lair, kick down the door, and try to take them into custody ourselves like a rag-tag party of hot-headed adventurers?" Creilath asked sarcastically.

The lack of response from anyone on the team was very telling.

Creilath took in our expressions, his own expression one of incredulity. "You can't be serious ," he said. "You've only just learned about this case, you bear no personal responsibility or relation to the victims, and you don't even know what kind of situation we would be walking into if we did track down the perpetrators. Why on Eberron would you want to handle this yourselves?"

"Because we're-because most of us are heroes," I said. I turned to Brian. "And the rest of us are still good people." I hope.

He didn't seem to know what to make of that, just staring at me with a funny look on his face for a second.

Alec raised his hand. " I vote for the plan where everyone else takes the risks and does the hard work, thanks."

Brian glanced at him, then back at me. "Maybe… we could at least find their base before we turn everything over to the authorities."

"Dol Dorn save me from short-sighted adventurers," Creilath sighed.

"You've mentioned adventurers more than a few times now, and always negatively," Dean noted. "What's the deal there?"

Creilath waved a hand dismissively. "A story for another day. Suffice it to say that adventurers constantly scribble in the margins of the social contract, and I, for one, do not appreciate it."

We went back and forth on the topic for a while, and eventually we managed to convince him that we were serious about tracking the Aundairians down and dealing with them. He eventually conceded that, since we were currently his employees and he was technically responsible for our well-being, it would be better for him to help us than to let us go off on our own.

"If you really are serious about going through with this and poking the proverbial hawk," he concluded, pulling two wands and a tiny paper packet out of his voluminous pockets, "I believe I know just the thing that might help."

~*~*~

Half Past First Afternoon Bell, Wir the 4 th of Aryth, 999 YK

Granite Halls District, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

Traveling back and forth across the city trying to lure someone into attacking us was stressful work.

Using bits of thread, some wax, a wand that put an invisible tag on something, and a wand that turned something tiny into the magical equivalent of a hidden microphone, Creilath had whipped up some fingernail-sized "bugs" that would, if we got them onto some of the people who kept trying to ambush us, let us locate their hideout and listen in on them in the meantime.

Now all we had to do was find them, and to do that we were acting as though we were going about a normal job completely oblivious to the danger of a potential ambush. We took a skycoach ride to the shop of one of Creilath's alchemist friends (one of these days I was going to read up on how alchemy was supposed to be different from chemistry), we took some lifts up to Morgrave University and down to the Forgehold, we went back and forth between our workshop and our hotel a few times, we walked through several parks trying to look like we were trying to be stealthy, and more.

The entire time, I had my swarm pushed out to its maximum range, so if there was even the slightest hint of spies showing up on foot or in a skycoach I'd see them coming.

Or so I'd thought.

"Does that skycoach look like it's flying funny to you?" Chris asked me at one point.

"Which one?" I asked. I didn't feel any skycoaches in my range.

"That one, the one that's looping around that tower like it's waiting for something."

I frowned. The skycoach he was pointing to was only a hundred or so feet away, just across a long bridge and up a level or two. That should have been well within my range, but I wasn't sensing it.

I started actively paying attention to where my swarm was, and to my shock I couldn't feel a single insect farther than thirty or forty feet away, maybe a tenth of my normal range.

As soon as I started paying attention to it my range started growing back to its normal extent, and over the next few seconds I became aware of much more of my surroundings than I'd just been sensing.

What had caused my sense of my swarm to "contract" like that? Was it because I hadn't been doing my power-stretching exercises anymore?

And why the hell hadn't I felt it when my swarm contracted?

I was reminded of how things had felt when we were about to go through the portal: there had been a space in front of me right around the portal where I couldn't sense anything, but I hadn't sensed that I wasn't sensing anything until I directly paid attention to the bugs that were there.

Missing a tiny gap out of my whole swarm was very different from losing most of my sensing range, though.

"It doesn't look that suspicious to me, it's probably just like a taxi circling the block waiting to pick up passengers," I told Chris distractedly, and then I stopped talking and focused my entire attention on my swarm as we walked along.

It seemed to work-I didn't feel any hint of my range shrinking while I was paying attention-but after a few minutes I started to feel some strain, almost like the headache I got when I tried to see through too much of my swarm for too long except that just paying attention to my swarm hadn't taken any effort before.

Not only that, but actually moving my bugs around near the edge of my range instead of just sensing their position felt a little sluggish, like it had the first time we'd been ambushed.

Maybe there was a connection, and the Aundairians were interfering with my power somehow?

Except, no, anything they did would probably affect the guys' powers too, and none of them had said anything.

Whatever the cause, I couldn't afford to weaken myself right now. I "pulled" my attention back to around two-thirds of my normal range and both my headache and the sluggishness vanished. I was still very concerned that my powers had been affected like that at all, but for now I'd just have to put up with the reduced range and figure that out later.

~*~*~

Half an hour later, I felt a skycoach sidle into my range and begin to keep pace with us, being careful to keep a tower or a bridge between it and us the whole way.

"Well it's about time," I said quietly.

"Skycoach?" Dean asked.

I nodded. "Back and to the left, about one and a half stories up."

Urzat discreetly glanced back, then scanned the walkway ahead. "The best place for an ambush would be when we cross that bridge. Narrow, confined, other pedestrians," he said.

"Agreed," Creilath said. "I'd rather not endanger passers-by, so if possible we should aim to ambush the ambushers before we reach that point."

"How can we set up for that without them noticing?" Chris asked.

"I have an idea," Brian said. "Taylor, Dean, Chris, keep walking normally."

His darkness began to leak out of him, but only from the knees down, so instead of oozing out into a large inky blob in the air it flowed down his legs, wriggled across the ground, and crawled up and around us. After just a few paces, the two other heroes and I were shrouded in almost-skintight outlines of darkness.

"See that cart near the edge of the balcony?" he asked. "When we pass it, you three duck down behind it and I'll keep the copies of you walking along. The people in the skycoach shouldn't be able to see a difference in this lighting, and when they get even with you, hit them with everything you've got."

After that, the actual ambush was anticlimactic. We ducked into cover, the false cultists didn't see a thing, the skycoach got closer, Dean's blasts and Chris's pistols punched holes in the skycoach doors, and my bugs swarmed inside.

When the skycoach sped away moments later, with every occupant slapping distractedly at all the bugs biting or stinging them, they each had multiple of Creilath's bugs hidden in their pockets, on the insides of their belts, tucked beneath the folds of their hoods, and a few other places where they were very unlikely to be found.

~*~*~

Third Afternoon Bell, Wir the 4 th of Aryth, 999 YK

House Deneith Enclave, Sharn, Breland, Eberron

"Why not go to House Medani?" Alec complained. "Wouldn't that mean less waiting around?"

We were currently sitting in the enclave lobby, waiting for Creilath's contact to be free so the inquisitive could ask him to locate the magical bugs I'd placed.

"In theory, yes," Creilath replied. "In practice, the need to remain on good terms with my ostensible employer means every visit to the Medani enclave involves considerably more talking and catching up than a simple exchange of favors with a contact would."

"How about House Tharashk?" I asked.

Urzat just scowled and shook his head.

A few minutes later, a man wearing clothing in Deneith colors and a sword with a gilded crossguard at his hip stepped through a side door into the lobby and hustled over to us. "Creilath, you old scoundrel!" he said. "They told me you were here to see me, but I almost didn't believe it!"

"Sadral!" Creilath called with exaggerated enthusiasm as he rose from his seat and ambled over to meet his contact. "It's been ages, truly! I'm glad to see you remember little old me."

"Oh, how could I possibly forget?"

While the two of them continued to walk and talk, Urzat leaned over to us and murmured, "Settle in. This may be the faster route than consulting with Medani, but it could still be a while."

~*~*~

Ten minutes into the wait, there was no sign of Creilath.

There were, however, signs that we were being watched.

The front desk clerks, the guards, even the cleaning staff: all of them had been sneaking looks at us since we'd arrived, and I was starting to get a little creeped out.

I wasn't paranoid enough to seriously think that the Royal Eyes had somehow snuck their agents into the House Deneith staff; Aundair might have been willing to bend the rules where the Houses were concerned, but that seemed like it would be going way too far.

Still, I felt it was time to put a stop to things. When the nearest guard glanced in our direction for the tenth time in five minutes, I met his eyes and asked, "Can I help you with something?"

He quickly glanced away, looking embarrassed at being caught. A moment later, he cleared his throat, looked up, and in a small voice asked, "Uh, y-yeah. C-could I have your autographs?"

Wait.

As soon as he said that, a few of the clerks perked up, grabbed some pens and paper, and gave us pleading looks.

… What?

Chris hopped up from his seat wearing an eager grin. "Of course!" he said smoothly. Grabbing some paper and a pen from a nearby table, he asked, "Who should I make this out to?"

No, seriously. What?

I turned to Dean, but before I could say anything he threw one arm around my shoulder and one around Brian's. "What are you two waiting for?" he asked dryly. "Your adoring public awaits."

As he rose and started signing things with Chris, I felt myself relax slightly. Not much-my mysteriously-shortened range still had me on edge-but slightly.

I forced myself to smile, walked over to the nearest clerk, and tried to think of what to write for her autograph.

Well, just because some people are sending assassins after you, I reminded myself in the meantime, doesn't mean everyone is out to get you.

~*~*~

Around forty minutes later, a slightly exasperated-looking Creilath emerged from the back offices.

"Did you find them?" I asked.

"I did; the Sentinel Marshals have excellent diviners," he confirmed. "The base itself is protected against scrying, but I was able to get the address and a good view of the surrounding area before our targets slipped inside the wards."

"So… were we planning to go after them right now?" Chris asked.

Brian shrugged. "We'll want to make some plans first, but otherwise there's no time like the present, right?"

"Right," I agreed.

The bad guys weren't even gonna know what hit them.

Author's Note

The truth will set you free!

Sort of.

Unfortunately for the rest of THACo, having their Heartbreaker chat at two in the morning after a very long day wasn't conducive to them realizing that if Alec lied about his own background and the Undersiders then he might have lied about some other stuff too, such as, say, the limits of his power. I'm sure that won't ever come back to bite them.

And Brian finally gets to prove his usefulness to the team! Who knew that being overly concerned with rep and perception could come in handy like that?

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

If for some reason you want to know even more about the politics around the Korth Edicts, here's a good article on the subject. Everything you might want to know about Halas Tarkanan and his buddies can be found in this article, with what little is known about Kalara coming in one of the comments below. (And, yes, Alec is a better fit for the Dreambreaker, with his ability to "crush lesser minds" and control people, while Dean is a better fit for Kalara because she's all about imposing emotions such as fear, but of course Creilath doesn't know Alec's true power so he's working with what he has.) The concept of an "apex dragonmark" isn't strictly canon; it's an unofficial term created by Keith Baker to refer to Erandis Vol's super-powerful artificially-engineered Mark of Death. However, the unique aberrant marks from the War of the Mark are also described as being head and shoulders above any known dragonmark, so given that Eberronian scholars would logically have a term for those 'marks above Siberys and Khyber level, said term might as well be "apex dragonmark." Yes, the warforged-only Red Hammer tavern is a canonical thing, it's the communism jokes that are optional. Likewise the Pool of Onatar's Tears. Just going by description, the House Jorasco emblem and the House Vadalis emblem really do sound very similar. The spells Creilath used to create his magic bug were arcane mark (creates an invisible mark, personal to the caster, which makes for a great relatively-unique scrying target) and spymaster's coin (lets you hear through a small object for a little while).

Last edited: Apr 18, 2023

Rule of Three 3.6.V

8:45 pm, Friday the 13th of May, 2011 CE PRT HQ Lobby, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet
Valigan Talaire

The collective aura of worry and fear was so thick in the air that for a few moments after I arrived I could sense practically nothing else.

Dozens of heroes were crammed into the hall, some in large teams, most in twos and threes, a handful on their own. A low murmur of conversation filled the space as groups discussed tactics and PRT employees weaved among these groups to check in with newcomers and answer any questions.

The capes of the Empire were there as well, standing apart from everyone else; the heroes were giving them a wide berth, and every nearby aura was shaded with dislike and distrust.

There were no other villains present, which was hardly surprising. The PRT's intelligence indicated that many of the minor villains in the area had either fled or been slain during the recent conflict with Lung, and the survivors would likely have little desire to risk their lives for the inhabitants of a distant city.

(Or, rather, there were no other capes present who claimed the title of villain when asked by the soldiers at the door. One of the independent heroes, a young pale-skinned woman in a lavender dress, had called herself Truthteller and claimed to have come to the city to aid Surtur in his efforts against the Empire, but when she'd said that her aura was streaked with an interesting mix of smugness, deceit, and caution that made it very clear she failed to live up to her assumed name.)

As capes continued to arrive the PRT began to divide everyone present into four distinct groups, so that the combatants, healers, diviners, and ancillary capes could be counted and briefed separately.

I could sense the vibrant hues of mutual enmity in the air between the New Wave and Empire capes as Panacea and Othala both stepped away from their respective teams to form the healers' contingent while trying to stay as far away from one another as was physically possible.

The television screens mounted outside the gift shop had been set to display a countdown timer with slightly less than an hour on the clock, presumably indicating the predicted time of Leviathan's arrival. Nearby capes compulsively glanced between those screens and an open area in the center of the room marked off with yellow tape.

Between the long timer duration and the lack of urgency on the part of the PRT personnel it seemed as though the capes weren't going to be in any state to mobilize for some time yet, so I forced down my anger and impatience for now and strode over to where the Protectorate team was gathered-including Squint, Sere, and Clasp but excluding Velocity, I noted.

Aegis and Vista were the only Wards present, standing slightly off to the side and putting on brave faces despite the turmoil in their auras.

"We're still expecting a few more independents to show," Miss Militia was saying when I reached them. "Maybe even Faultline's Crew, if they're in town right now."

Armsmaster nodded. He had a halberd strapped to his back, the prototype one on which he'd been working before our collaboration session, while his hands were occupied with making some last-minute adjustments to his armor. "ETA for Strider and Brimstone is roughly ten minutes. Anyone who doesn't make it here by then will have to stay behind."

The artificer clearly hadn't been idle since I'd last seen him, as both his weapon and his armor shone with the auras of dozens of new enchantments.

Some were the direct result of my tutelage, such as the frost enchantment applied to the blade of his halberd to address overheating issues; some appeared to have been reverse-enchanted from the tinkertech in the Protectorate's vault, such as a prismatic effect anchored to a series of gemstones lining the haft of his halberd that bore the hallmarks of Double Beryl's work; some appeared to have resulted from the study of his teammates' spells and powers, such as a defensive enchantment around his vambraces that was near-identical to that of the shield Dauntless bore.

And the faulds of his armor bore the auras of multiple extradimensional storage spaces very similar to the one I'd applied to Shadow Stalker's crossbow, an eventuality I of course couldn't possibly have foreseen when I'd agreed to enchant it for her.

"Speaking of teleporters," Aegis said as he caught sight of me and waved. The team offered scattered greetings, and Triumph and Battery shifted aside to let me join their circle.

"Are you ready for your first Endbringer fight?" Triumph asked, his tone confident but his aura shaded with nervousness.

"Very much so," I replied.

Armsmaster frowned slightly. "You've read up on the response plans?"

"I have."

According to the response protocols I'd found in the PRT archives, their analysts had devised detailed procedures for capes to follow based on the type of city under attack, the categories into which a given cape's powers fell, current visibility levels and weather at the attack site, and various other factors.

Protectorate heroes, and affiliated capes such as myself, were expected to familiarize themselves with those plans, conduct drills to practice those plans at appropriate intervals, and adhere to them as closely as possible when responding to an incident.

Villains and unaffiliated capes, meanwhile, were expected to simply show up and follow the orders of the Protectorate members on site, as according to the disclaimers on each page of the protocols the details were not to be disseminated publicly.

This was ostensibly due to the fact that said protocols were constantly being updated, and knowledge of and reliance upon outdated and possibly dangerously flawed protocols would be worse than complete ignorance, but I thought it likely that the PRT's general policy of obscurantism where the Endbringers were concerned was much more to blame for this decision.

Regardless of the reasoning, the actual strategy outlined for responding to a nighttime attack by Leviathan against a large coastal city on the Gulf of Mexico was… exceedingly underwhelming. Given that the number and assortment of responding capes varied wildly with each attack, however, I suppose keeping things vague and flexible was the best they could manage.

"Good," Armsmaster replied with a nod. "What's the maximum range on your teleport power, and can you take anyone else with you? The fewer trips our Movers have to make, the more capes we can bring in."

"If you can give me the precise latitude and longitude of our destination, I can take any number of people with me," I replied, and he nodded.

Triumph's eyebrows shot up under his helmet. "So, can you just grab everyone in a certain area like Strider, or…?"

"You'll see in a moment."

Soon enough, Armsmaster was ready with the requested coordinates. I concentrated briefly, and above the sidewalk outside the building there appeared a head-sized sphere of bright cerulean light which then irised open into a thin ring twenty feet across, the widest wormhole I could create.

Conversation around us ground to a halt as everyone noticed the glimmering hole in the air, and the large mass of capes on the other side of the wormhole started backing away from it cautiously.

I gestured back to the wormhole without turning around. "After you," I said with a smile.

While everyone else cautiously made their way to the wormhole, Armsmaster took me aside. "How long can you hold that open?"

"Multiple days, if necessary."

"I see." He glanced over at it, then back to me. "The Protectorate is short on long-range teleporters, and most of the independent ones stay away from Endbringer fights. If I gave you the coordinates to assembly points in other cities, could you create portals to those as well?"

"I'd be glad to."

~*~*~

9:04 pm, Friday the 13th of May, 2011 CE

Florida Aquarium Parking Lot, Tampa, America, Earth Bet

"Move, people, move! Clear the arrival zone!" called a PRT soldier standing near the cluster of wormholes I'd created, through which hundreds of capes were now streaming. I'd conjured at least one wormhole for every city hosting a PRT department, plus some leading to over a dozen other cities whose capes Armsmaster had felt would be likely to come to Tampa's aid.

I recognized more than a few of those who'd heeded the call: Heterodyne, Glazier, and others from the Boston Protectorate; Myrddin, Anomaly, Campanile, and others from the Chicago Protectorate; the entire Las Vegas Protectorate, minus their Wards; all of Team Pinnacle, sans Decker; Elle, Faultline, and the rest of their party; and several other capes with whom I'd spoken much more briefly during my tour of the nation.

All of them greeted me as they stepped through their respective wormholes, but only Elle's party and Myrddin gave me knowing looks as they realized I was the one responsible for their method of transport.

The soldier began gesturing in different directions, first east then north then northwest. "Team leaders and 2ICs, head over thataway for an initial briefing! Healers, go set up over there, past the cruise terminal, and Thinkers, you're over there, by the street; you'll be escorted to your final locations once everyone's here! Combatants and search-and-rescue, stick around and wait for further orders!" she recited, as she'd been doing for the past ten minutes as each wave of capes arrived.

A light rain was falling, and those capes without headgear held up arms or cloaks or weaponry to shield themselves from the damp as they arrived. Between the rain and the lack of lighting from the surrounding buildings, the scattered streetlights in the lot itself were woefully insufficient to illuminate the area, but the light given off by the wormholes themselves was enough to prevent the arriving capes from stumbling around in the dark.

Once the Brockton Bay contingent cleared the area some of them began chatting among themselves, while others began looking around the crowd, presumably to find other capes with whom they were acquainted.

In the midst of his search, Aegis froze, staring off to the north, and his aura pulsed with sheer panic.

I frowned and followed his line of sight to a set of docks a short distance away, where two massive passenger ships were being frantically evacuated in preparation for Leviathan's arrival.

I made my way over to him and murmured, "Is there a problem?"

"I, uh… last week, a precog told me to stay away from large ships for a while," he replied quietly. "Suddenly I'm not feeling so hot about coming along."

I gave him a reassuring smile. "Fear not. Stay near me, and you have my personal assurance that you will survive the coming battle."

His dismay faded somewhat as he tore his gaze away from the ships, and he forced a confident smile. "Thanks. I'll hold you to that."

~*~*~

As the rain and wind intensified and higher and higher waves lapped against the shore, the assembled capes began to pause intermittently in their conversations to direct nervous glances out to sea. Even as several capes evoked barriers of various sorts to cut down the rain and the waves significantly, the general sense of anxiety did not subside.

I, meanwhile, was debating the extent to which I wanted to show my hand in this fight.

When confronting Bakuda and Monstrum's creation, I had taken pains in each case to ensure that others would receive the credit for my deeds so as not to raise my profile higher than necessary. With several hundred capes present here and prepared to fight against Leviathan to the utmost of their ability, concealing my contributions would be trivial if I wished to do the same here.

But that would require limiting myself to the use of my more subtle powers, and though my feelings of wrath and resentment toward Leviathan had marginally cooled due to the delay in facing him, I very much did not want to restrict myself to subtlety when confronting Leviathan.

In particular, there was a specific High Science that I hoped to employ here, one that I'd originally devised centuries ago during the period in which Aldric and I had made repeated (and unsuccessful) excursions to the past in an attempt to avert Jhaamdath's destruction but had never gotten around to researching in earnest, and that power was the absolute antithesis of "subtle."

Aspect warned me. really worth it?

I replied.

start with healing and warding and suchlike and let the locals take the lead on this?

I sent the mental impression of a reluctant sigh.

~*~*~

Once all of the expected capes had finally arrived, everyone assembled to be briefed first by Legend and then by Trenchant and Everglaze, the respective leaders of the Tampa and Miami Protectorates.

The weather had steadily worsened with every passing minute, soaking most of the capes present. Though my wards left me untouched by the wind and rain-a fact that garnered me quite a few envious looks from those standing nearby-I kept a close watch on the storm with my arcane sight.

While Leviathan was known to precede his attacks with conjured storms, at the moment this storm appeared to be purely natural in origin, created as a side effect of (and being pushed along ahead of) the artificial storm Leviathan had undoubtedly created somewhere in the Gulf. The moment I detected any magical auras in the rain, I would know that he'd approached within a few miles of shore, the range limit for most weather-control effects, and that his arrival was imminent.

In front of the crowd, Legend floated several feet up off the pavement and began emitting a pulsing aura of light that both illuminated his form and calmed the wind around him to ensure that he could be easily seen and heard.

"We owe thanks to Dragon and Armsmaster for the early alert," he began, "and to an independent Mover in New England for the unusually high turnout. To our colleagues from the West Coast and Canada, and to our friends and allies from Mexico, Europe, and South America, we are very grateful that you chose to join us in coming to Tampa's defense."

Pausing briefly to let the scattered calls of thanks die down, he continued, "Endbringer fights are even more dangerous than usual when they take place after dark, as those of you who attended last year's attack on Gdansk will remember, but with the extra time and numbers, some luck, some teamwork, and a lot of effort, I hold out hope that this will be one of the good days."

He proceeded to outline the Protectorate's strategy for those who were ignorant of the details.

In brief, Tampa was situated at the tip of the eastern branch of the fairly large Tampa Bay. Large-scale force wards like the one used by the Brockton Bay Protectorate Headquarters were installed all around the perimeter of the bay, as was the case with all major departments situated on the coast. These wards would, when activated, protect the smaller cities of Clearwater and Saint Petersburg to the west, various small towns to the east, and the Davis Islands just south of the city from Leviathan's tidal waves.

If all of those wards were activated, the PRT believed Leviathan would simply hang back and send tidal waves from afar until the wards failed and multiple cities were swamped, as had happened in previous battles, so they planned to leave a small opening in the defenses in the hopes of luring Leviathan ashore where he could be more easily fought.

Should Leviathan take the bait, that opening would lead him past the Davis Islands and up the Sparkman and Ybor Channels, the latter of which was the body of water along which we had been assembled.

Once the briefings concluded, the healers, diviners, and those capes whose powers lent themselves to ferrying reinforcements around and rescuing the injured would withdraw to safer spots farther from the channel.

The actual combatants would move a few blocks north, to where the channel ended and the multi-level Selmon Expressway meandered very close to the water. A minority of them would arrange themselves in a wide net to receive Leviathan upon his arrival, while the rest would spread throughout the surrounding blocks to intercept him once he made it through the initial cordon.

While Legend spoke, several Wards moved through the crowd to distribute communications armbands containing both magical and mundane technology; I accepted one, and with a thought set it to floating by my right shoulder in easy reach. Legend paused and floated slightly to the side to allow Trenchant to explain their operation, then resumed his prior position.

As he began to outline the tactical divisions into which the combatants would be sorted, I frowned.

PRT records claimed that Leviathan boasted unparalleled speed in the water, to the point that he should be making landfall in just a few minutes were he traveling at his maximum speed, yet the storm had barely moved while Legend spoke and the timer in Brockton Bay had claimed we still had nearly half an hour until he arrived.

Peculiar.

A normal scrying power hadn't worked before, so I tapped my tattoo of Metafaculty and focused on Leviathan, hoping to break through the scrying protections he possessed and get a sense of his location and velocity.

It didn't work.

I activated it a second time, and a third, with the same outcome.

My frown deepened.

The Metafaculty power had been purpose-built to scry the unscryable and find the unfindable, and while I wasn't the strongest magic-user in the Society I could almost always bring more than enough force to bear to overcome any defenses standing in my way. It would take me a while to dredge up a memory of the last time I'd encountered any mortal being who'd managed any serious resistance to that power, or at least anyone other than…

… than Dregoth.

Hmm.

Well, it had been quite a few centuries since I'd crafted that particular tattoo, when I was much weaker as a psionicist and less skilled in artifice. Perhaps its channeling capacity was simply insufficient for the task.

Withdrawing Perpetuance from storage, ignoring the nearby capes' reactions to its sudden appearance, and tapping another set of tattoos in sequence, I reshaped the psionic channels within my mind to optimize for the use of Clairsentience powers and manifested Metafaculty through my staff, drawing from my own reserves to the utmost degree of which I was capable.

Either this manifestation, too, would fail, in which case I would have a much larger problem on my hands than an obsolete tattoo, or it would succeed and-

I went absolutely still as information flooded into my mind.

The creature's name, my power helpfully informed me, was Leviathan, and also Azhdaha, Balhūt, Dvitiya, Jörmungandr, Sixth of Ten, Sobek, and several others.

Its race?

Charybdis Abomination and ocean strider and leviathan and water monolith , the power said.

…

Well then.

This could prove to be… somewhat problematic.

~*~*~

The family of monsters known as Abominations are many things: loathsome in demeanor, twisted in body, accursed by fate, immensely powerful, and unutterably Evil.

Most importantly, however, an Abomination is the omnicidal embodiment of a deific mistake.

When an archdevil seduces and then betrays an evil god as part of a plot to steal the god's power for themself, the result of their union might be an Infernal, a being so powerful that even demon princes who are constantly at one another's throats will put aside their differences to stand against it.

When a god of inspiration and artifice is driven mad, the eldritch masterpiece that their insanity leads them to create might animate as an Anaxim, an apocalyptic engine of destruction that can slaughter entire armies with ease.

When a deity of time manages to erase itself from the timestream via a major paradox and its avatars are caught between existence and nonexistence, their spirits might be twisted into a Phane, a time-traveling puppetmaster that can lock entire kingdoms in a single frozen moment.

And when a benevolent god of the sea finds itself corrupted by the collective beliefs of mortals who come to view the sea as a wild and malevolent entity, the resulting bundle of resentment and wrath growing within them might give rise to a Charybdis, an ever-ravenous beast that can drown a whole world.

Though they are not truly divine, Abominations do retain a residual spark of divinity, enough to elevate them to a sort of pseudo-godhood and place them head and shoulders above the eldest of wyrms and the strongest of fiends. Rarely can they be slain by mortals without great effort and sacrifice; more often, binding them and sealing them away is the safer and far more achievable option.

And while they are nowhere near true gods, they are certainly much closer to gods in power than I can claim to be.

Were I facing a freshly-spawned Charybdis, new to its powers and comparatively weak and all alone; and were I to have my beloved Aldric at my side, with both of us in perfect condition, lacking the magical and spiritual scars we suffered at Dregoth's claws; and were we to be accompanied by Juroth and the choicest weapons from his bottomless arsenal, just in case; then I might- might-be inclined to challenge one to a fair fight.

Leviathan was no such being, however. Between the additional constituent creatures incorporated into his form and the magic-granting companion creature he would assuredly possess, to engage him in direct combat was tantamount to suicide.

Or so I would have thought. The fact that the entire surface of Earth Bet was not currently a few hundred fathoms below sea level and that prior engagements with him had ended with any survivors whatsoever implied that sinking this world and drowning its inhabitants was not his primary goal.

Thus, four questions now burned in the forefront of my thoughts:

What was this foul creature's goal, if not total and indiscriminate destruction?

Was Leviathan unique, or were the other Endbringers also Abominations at their core?

Why would an Abomination allow itself to be fused with any lesser beings, or how could it be forced to accept such an existence?

And how in the Nine gods-damned Hells could the semi-divine offspring of a deity exist in this sphere when there were no deities here from whom it could have arisen?

~*~*~

After that disquieting revelation, the brief view that my power gave me into Leviathan's immediate past, durng which he spent many hours drifting insensate in the ocean depths and then suddenly twitched into consciousness toward the end and swam off to Tampa for no discernible reason, came as an underwhelming anticlimax. The behavior was inexplicable, yes, but at this point what about him wasn't?

Aspect asked, with no small amount of trepidation suffusing his mental tone.

I carefully considered my options.

Caution and discretion would clearly be the wiser choice when facing a foe of unknown motivation and capabilities who had recently and suddenly become vastly more threatening: remain with the healers and rescuers, focus on supporting the local capes, never engage Leviathan directly.

I'd promised Legend I would attend the fight, yes, but hadn't committed to pursuing any particular course of action, and to defend this city from Leviathan's assault would not require slaying him or even severely harming him.

And yet … every moment Leviathan spent ashore, collapsing buildings and flooding streets as was his wont, was an additional moment in which the city's inhabitants would be in terror of their lives, would risk grievous injury or death, would lose friends and family to drowning or flying debris or worse.

I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I simply stood back and allowed that to happen when it was within my power to do otherwise.

Not to mention that in every successive attack Leviathan was said to demonstrate further cunning and tactical acumen, so any attempt to slay him would only grow more difficult after today.

Framed in that way, my choice was hardly a choice at all.

I replied grimly.

I accelerated time around me to give myself time to ponder, and my thoughts raced as I quickly but methodically devised the skeleton of a plan to deal with Leviathan, along with several contingency plans. Once that was done, I returned to normal time.

I ordered Aspect, pushing a teleportation thoughtform over our bond to allow him to do just that. He sent a pulse of relief and agreement, then vanished.

Then I gestured for the attention of the Brockton Bay capes around me, manifesting Control Sound to conceal our conversation and to dampen the sounds of the storm around us so that they needn't shout over it. "Who among you has fought against all of the Endbringers?" I asked.

Armsmaster and Miss Militia responded in the affirmative; Battery had yet to face Behemoth, she said, while Triumph and Clasp had yet to face Leviathan, and all of the others had yet to face the Simurgh.

"I need to view your memories of those battles," I told Armsmaster and Miss Militia, whose auras were suddenly flooded with concern and mild suspicion. "I swear to restrict my explorations solely to those memories and to your sensory experiences thereof, avoiding any personal thoughts or emotions associated with them. Is either of you willing?"

"Why would you need to do that?" Miss Militia asked warily.

"The PRT's records are, it seems, woefully inadequate in describing Leviathan's form and powers," I said blandly. "If I am to fight him at full effectiveness…."

It took a bit of persuasion, but eventually Armsmaster acceded to my request, partly due to his having studied all three of the Endbringers in considerable depth for a project of his, partly due to his having greater trust in my capabilities and ethical leanings than Miss Militia did.

I nodded my thanks and manifested Mindscan to carry out the most invasive mental probe I'd yet performed on this world, scouring his mind for every scrap of knowledge about the Endbringers that he possessed and taking it for my own.

It took some effort to restrict the probe to purely factual information and strip it of personal context to leave him his privacy, hence why I avoided the deeper scans unless absolutely necessary, but once my scan was complete I had effectively obtained firsthand experience of fighting these foul creatures.

What I saw in this influx of information confirmed that Leviathan was not the only Abomination among them.

The shaky video snippets and blurry photographs of Behemoth had come nowhere close to doing the beast justice. Viewed up close, he might only have the general appearance of a creature of elemental earth, but the uncanny way he moved, the sheets of all-consuming flame that he evoked, and the sheer loathing visible in his eye were that of a Phaethon, a creature of magma and rage that could incinerate vast stretches of the landscape with tsunamis of molten rock and raise volcanoes at a whim.

I couldn't guess what other creatures might comprise his form without divining him directly, but a Phaethon with the extra durability of an earth monolith was more than daunting already.

Ziz, meanwhile, with her countless eclectic feathered wings and pale white skin, was obviously a Chichimec, a sadistic avian being whose conjured winds and telekinetic grasp could dismantle entire cities in a single day. Her human-like features vaguely resembled those of a frostwind virago and her exceptional prescience that of an elemental weird, but again I couldn't be sure what other creatures she might incorporate without a more direct examination.

"Did you get everything you needed?" Armsmaster asked brusquely.

"I did." I brought a planar travel power to mind for the next step of my plan, but hesitated. Though I'd spent comparatively little time with the heroes of Brockton Bay, I had grown somewhat attached to them, and they deserved more from me at this juncture than an abrupt departure.

I raised a hand and recited a traditional Jhaamdathan warrior's blessing: "May your purpose be clear, your tactics apt, your blades keen, and your wills unyielding." With each exhortation, I gestured in the respective signs of Auppenser, the Serene; Murdane, the Pragmatic; Waukeen, the Generous; and my own eponym.

I also manifested Greater Heroism on all of them and Metaphysical Weapon on their weaponry for good measure, and watched their backs minutely straighten and their auras firm with resolve.

A little bit of favoritism never hurt anyone. Quite the opposite, in fact.

With that, I shifted myself-

~*~*~

-to my demiplane, and assumed a meditative pose atop the intricate mandala in the central garden of our manor. It was inscribed with runes and inlaid with crystal, and just wide enough that Aldric and I could sit inside it facing each other and still fit within its bounds.

It took me somewhat longer than normal to assume the peaceful state of mind I sought, but once I'd done so I sent a command thought to the Demiplane Seed at the plane's heart.

I immediately felt currents of power flow into and through me as the garden was enfolded in multiple overlapping fields of planar energies, similar to the phenomenon I'd used to accelerate the time in Armsmaster's laboratory. Some would enhance my offensive powers, some would enhance the rate at which I refilled my psionic reserves, some would heal me in the likely event that Leviathan's blows managed to penetrate my wards.

I then withdrew and donned a pair of bracers from storage: Last Resort, which I'd used for the first time in over three centuries when the tide of battle had turned against us in the fight with Dregoth, and which I'd hoped not to need to use again for a very long time.

Unlike my ring Eternity, Last Resort was anything but unobtrusive, consisting of elaborate gem- and crystal-studded threads of gold and wires of mithral that were woven into a pair of intricate gauntlets that stretched all the way to my elbows. Their size and extravagance made constantly wearing them infeasible unless I wished to constantly shroud myself in illusions to hide them, but the complexity of their construction and enchantments unfortunately ruled out anything more discreet.

A large part of that complexity was the fact that each bracer possessed an embedded intellect that would manage its active powers in combat, freeing up my own minds to concentrate on other things. Their mental signatures were quite familiar to my mindsight, as both intellects had been crafted using streamlined imprints of my own mind, similar to the process I'd used to create Aspect but without linking them to me in order to provide them with a soul-or rather, technically speaking, to let them borrow mine.

(That decision to base their minds on my own had led Gwyn to tease me about my "narcissistic tendencies" on more than one occasion, but other than myself the only individual whose personality I was willing to entrust with my safety in a true emergency was Aldric, and creating stripped-down facsimiles of him for that purpose had simply felt wrong.)

After careful consideration, I left Last Resort dormant for now; the energy their various powers consumed was not nearly so quickly and easily replenished as my own psionic reserves, and it would be critical to retain as much of it as possible for later in the battle.

Finally, I manifested a power I wished we'd chosen to use during our fight with Dregoth, had we known the scale of danger we would soon face: Astral Projection. As soon as I did, I found myself-

~*~*~

-drifting in the Astral Plane near my demiplane, an imperceptible silver cord connecting my astral form to my temporarily-lifeless body.

In the event of this form's death, it would disperse and my mind and soul would be harmlessly returned to my body. Use of the spell wasn't without its dangers, as the silver cord itself represented an additional vulnerability while I was projected, but with the local Astral Plane being apparently empty of astral dreadnoughts, githyanki, and similar threats I had little to fear on that front.

With a thought, I sent myself-

~*~*~

-back to Tampa, where my projected body wrapped itself in an ectoplasmic shell and took on Material reality.

This false body was much closer to that assumed by outsiders when summoned to the Prime than to a real biological body, making it unsuitable for long-term use on a Society expedition for a multitude of reasons, but when one was expecting trouble it served as a very effective additional layer of protection.

Perhaps I was being overly cautious regarding Leviathan's potential capabilities, but given that the fiasco with Dregoth (may he be hounded by inevitables for the rest of his days) was still fresh in my mind, I wasn't about to take any chances.

I'd chosen to reappear among the cluster of hastily-assembled medical tents in which the healers were situated, and before anyone could notice or question my presence I withdrew my Orb of Planar Journeying (or rather the projection of it that accompanied this form) and issued a command thought.

The device rose and anchored itself in midair, reassembled itself into the necessary configuration with much clicking of gears and clinking of metal, and then tore a rift in the planar fabric to whichever shadow world served as the local equivalent of the Plane of Positive Energy.

A sphere of soft white light nearly two dozen yards across blossomed just outside the outer ring of tents, centered on the immobile Orb and pulsating in gentle patterns.

All of the nearby capes turned to stare at the rift. One of them, a man holding a caduceus staff in hand and clad in orange and yellow robes that fluttered wildly in the strong wind, stomped over to me. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded. "This is the healers' area-"

"And this is a healing effect," I cut him off. "Anyone placed in it will begin to heal-much slower than any of you can manage, I'm sure, but enough to prevent the mortally wounded from dying. Injured capes will begin to appear in there once battle is joined, and will need to be extracted from it to clear the area for new arrivals. Pass word along to the others."

Without waiting for a response, I teleported-

~*~*~

-to a spot above the dark and impenetrable stormclouds that had gathered over the city. I flew around in a widening spiral, manifesting Myrddin's borrowed Precipitate Controlled Breach spell repeatedly as I went.

Less than a minute later, there were dozens of breaches to the local Plane of Radiance (or a sun, or whatever other ultimate source of radiance this sphere possessed) filling the sky, enough to bathe all of Tampa in daylight if the clouds occluding the sky were somehow removed.

That done, I scried the main assembly of capes, waited a bit, and teleported back down to it-

~*~*~

-just as Legend was finishing up his motivational speech, and sent Aspect to float over the midpoint of the crowd so that, between the two of us, every single cape would be within range.

Before the local Protectorate leaders could begin their segment of the briefing, I rose into the air as Legend had and amplified my voice with Control Sound.

"Your attention, please," I called. Every face in the crowd turned to me, some confused, some annoyed, some curious. "In a moment, I will be placing a power effect on all of you that will teleport you to the healers if you suffer a life-threatening injury. This will not save you from an attack that is instantly lethal, nor will it function more than once unless you come to me to have the effect reapplied, but it should provide a measure of insurance against harm."

That wasn't entirely true: When I manifested the contingent teleport and spread it through the whole group via affinity field, I linked it to a revivification power. Barring decapitation, pulverization, or anything else that mutilated a body beyond repair, even most lethal injuries would be "healed" once the affected capes were extricated from the battlefield.

I nodded to signal that it was done. "That is all."

Then it was off to the rooftop of an office building a nearly a mile to the southwest, the tallest in the city's downtown area, where-

~*~*~

-I began to prepare the centerpiece of my strategy.

First, I would need an exceptionally detailed knowledge of the city's layout and underlying terrain, as I would be incorporating its specific geography and geometry into my working in much the same way that Armsmaster's artifice incorporated a precise configuration of Draconic inscriptions. One Temporal Acceleration and a bevy of divinations later, I'd acquired the information that I needed.

Second, a capstone focus, of the sort used in the construction of mythals and other large stationary wards, that would serve as an anchor for the magical energies I would be channeling. Over the course of several minutes I evoked large quantities of obdurium for resilience, crystals and gemstones of multiple kinds for magical conductivity, and platinum for fine detail work, then fabricated them into an elaborately-detailed fountain, complete with statues of stylized humanoid figures surrounding the central spout.

Third, I informed Legend, Myrddin, Armsmaster, Faultline, Heterodyne, and Satyrical of the general outline of my plan using the armband network, so that they could prepare appropriate strategies for their respective teams; trying to explain anything to the teeming masses of capes who I'd not met and who would likely be extremely skeptical of my capabilities would simply waste time. Those to whom I spoke were skeptical enough, but eventually agreed that if I did achieve what I promised then they would be prepared to take advantage of it.

Fourth and finally, I set my secondary mind to performing the necessary calculations for the High Science and settled in to await the guest of honor.

~*~*~

9:39 pm, Friday the 13th of May, 2011 CE

Rooftop of the Regions Building, Tampa, America, Earth Bet

Aspect blinked into existence beside me.

He pulsed acknowledgment, then teleported a quarter-mile into the air to give me a good view of the entire surrounding area.

I inhaled deeply and centered myself.

This was the moment. No time for second thoughts.

No time to wonder whether the Triumvirate plus nearly two hundred other capes of middling power would be worth one Aldric or Juroth or Penumbra or Adilege when matching strength with an Abomination.

No time to debate whether sending a last-minute request for aid to Gwyn and Kassalyn would be worth incurring the Founders' ire after the battle.

No time to lament that, for the first time in over two millennia, I was facing a serious risk of death without Aldric by my side.

I manifested a power to interface with the communications armband, then relayed a message to all and sundry:

"Is he on target for the right channel?" came Legend's reply.

I responded.

My attention sank into the depths of my mind as I began to draw in flows of psionic energy from the Astral Plane, weaving them into an intricate mental framework at the speed of thought.

One minute, ten seconds.

The wind around me shrieked as it redoubled in strength, the rain lashed fiercely at the roof and at the fountain I'd created upon it, and the water of the river a mere block away suddenly began to churn and froth.

I stood unbowed, my wards proof against the storm's wrath. In my mind's eye, the thoughtform of my High Science slowly took shape. I would need to maintain an unstable power like this throughout the battle, preventing me from contributing to the defensive effort more directly, but given the power's intended effect that was a tradeoff I was more than willing to make.

One minute.

Through Aspect's senses I watched as the waterline along the shore suddenly dropped by at least a yard, as the waters of the bay receded ahead of the incoming tidal wave.

To the northeast, handfuls of capes rose into the pitch-black sky, many of them gleaming with the light of their powers as they sought to push back the darkness.

Fifty seconds.

Far to the southwest, bolts of lightning struck the Saint Petersburg peninsula, most striking the city's taller buildings while a few triggered flashes of bright blue light as the bolts impacted the city's thus-far-invisible wards along the shore. Then more bolts struck, then again, and again, until the entire southwestern sky was filled with enough blue light to illuminate the massive wave surging into Tampa Bay.

I gently touched Perpetuance to the crystalline fountain before me. Vast torrents of energy flowed from the Astral conduits into my soul, then my mind, then the thoughtform, then my staff, and then the capstone, which began to glow with a violet light so deep it was nearly black. The first glimmers of pain trickled into my awareness as the power within me began to eat away at the channels that bound it, the unavoidable cost of attempting to manifest a High Science of such magnitude and complexity without months of research and preparation to lay the proper groundwork.

Forty seconds.

The highway bridging the mouth of the bay was pulverized and carried along toward Tampa as the magically-enhanced tidal wave met nearly ten miles and millions of pounds of metal and stone and emerged victorious. My mind flashed back to the Jhaamdathan watchtowers sent flying by a similar wave, but I shoved aside the distraction and intensified my focus.

The fountain capstone was filled to its limits and beyond, discharging a critical mass of psionic energy that raged down through the building's superstructure and into the ground below. Countless tendrils split off from there to wend their way throughout the city, infusing earth and street and building and electric cable and everything else.

Thirty seconds.

Smears of swiftly-moving blue light illuminated the tidal wave as the ends of the wave met the wards on either flanking shore and the whole mass of water was channeled northward into Hillsborough Bay.

Psionic energy saturated every inch of the city and thrummed with readiness. In essence, the entire city of Tampa was being enveloped by one titanic psionic enchantment, awaiting only my command to unleash its stored potential. With every second that passed, the strain of trying to channel more power than I was meant to bear grew ever greater.

Twenty seconds.

Several small islands in the bay, bereft of any ward generators, were instantly swamped without impeding the wave's progress in the slightest. As the wave drew closer the blue flare of the wards rendered the dark outline of Leviathan visible in the cresting wavefront, stretched out perfectly horizontally as though he were an arrow loosed directly at the shore.

The psionic energy suffusing the city continued flowing outward and upward, racing through the earth and surging into the sky. I began to manifest healing powers on myself every few heartbeats with my secondary mind to compensate for the harm I was inflicting on my body, mind, and soul.

Ten seconds.

The portion of the wave carrying along the remnants of the highway smashed into the wards around Davis Islands head-on and overwhelmed them instantly. Water rushed across the island and added the buildings and aircraft of the island's airport to the wave of debris.

Streams of psionic energy met above the clouds, completing the vast edifice of the mythal I'd just woven and settling it firmly into place around the city. Agony seared my every nerve and my every meridian; were I to lose focus for even a few moments, the strain of directing this much power could easily turn me into a pyre of uncontrolled magic.

I dragged my focus to the crystalline matrix in the heart of the fountain.

Now, I thought.

A soundless pulse of power exploded outward from the capstone, reaching the mythal's outer shell an instant later.

Every drop of water in the wave and the bay and the rain and the clouds instantly stopped.

Within the bounds of my mythal, the ability and the right to exert magical control over the weather and the waves was now mine, and mine alone.

A moment later the city was bathed in the light of the noonday sun as the stormclouds were banished and radiance blazed down from the sky.

A moment after that, Leviathan went hurtling through the air in a long and lazy arc toward the shore as the tidal wave suddenly dissipated, his momentum carrying him forward as the mythal wrested control of the wave and its contents from his mystical grasp and forced the bay back into placidity.

There was a few seconds' pause as the capes regarded the Endbringer flying toward them in utter confusion and disbelief.

"This is Trenchant. What just happened?" came the hero's voice over the armband.

I allowed myself the tiniest and briefest of self-satisfied smiles; outsiders as powerful as Abominations could warp a mythal by their mere presence, so I hadn't been entirely sure my stratagem would work.

I sent, gritting my teeth against the pain. Given the size of the islands he'd previously sunk and the range one would need to manipulate waves large enough to sink them, I'd erred on the side of excessive caution when determining the mythal's extent.

I'd also greatly reinforced every building in the city, and suffused the area with a water breathing effect in the event that any victims of the wave had been drawn out to sea when the waters receded, but that would take too much time and effort to explain.

And then Leviathan landed in a crouch atop the raised Selmon Expressway, bisected the nearest pair of capes with his whiplike tail, and dashed westward at blinding speed, and the battle was joined.

~*~*~

The armband crackled. " Impetus down, GP-30," stated a calm voice, one very similar to Dragon's.

Then a moment later it added, " Impetus up, GN-29," as the cape's contingent teleport whisked them to safety and healing.

It was gratifying, to know that my preparations were having their desired effect.

" Galatea deceased, GP-30. Majesty down, GP-30. Majesty up, GN-29."

It was frustrating, to be so limited in what I could personally accomplish in the meantime.

" Grounder down, GP-30. Grounder up, GN-29."

It was frustrating to be limited to one body.

" Tailgator down, GP-30. Abatis down, GP-30. Tailgator up, GN-29. Abatis up, GN-29."

A fissioned duplicate shared my soul, and thus the link to the active mythal; its body would be incinerated by the excess of energy the moment it took form. My powerless duplicates would of course be no use at all.

" Margin of Arrow down, GP-30. Jacaranda deceased, GP-30. Margin of Arrow up, GN-29."

It was frustrating to be limited to one mind.

" Razorbeam deceased, GP-30. Geiger down, GO-30. Hoberman deceased, GO-30. Geiger up, GN-29."

My secondary mind was fully occupied; its constant healing was the only thing keeping my body intact. To splinter my mind further would require the weaving of another High Science, something I couldn't possibly manage while sustaining the mythal even if I were inclined to exhaust my only other High Science of the day so early in the battle.

" Lady Photon down, GO-30. Giratorio deceased, GO-30. Lady Photon up, GN-29. Recherché deceased, GO-30."

If was frustrating to be prevented from confronting Leviathan directly.

" Blue Ribbon down, GO-30. Tecton down, GO-30. Blue Ribbon up, GN-29. Tecton up, GN-29."

Though that, at least, I could partially address.

I sent through the haze of pain.

Do it.

He accelerated to the northeast, but couldn't resist a parting shot:

While Aspect was en route the armband crackled with a young man's voice, one full of uncertainty: " Uh, this is Stigmata? With the healers? Some of the capes who got marked as deceased are-uh, check that, all of the 'deceased' capes are actually alive? Is there, uh, something wrong with the armbands?"

I sent, before anyone else could start theorizing and get the right idea.

There was a brief pause. " Acknowledged," came the voice of the system's overseer. " Adjusting timing thresholds."

A series of text messages on the armband's screen informed everyone that, from this point forward, those who were believed to have died would be reported as merely injured unless they displayed no signs of life for several seconds after having been teleported, and the notifications that a cape was "up" would be halted except in cases where a cape rejoined the battle by some means after having been reported dead.

Aspect reached Leviathan's location shortly thereafter, descending to optimal sensory range as he went. A mass of indistinct humanoid figures, arrayed before the Endbringer on the overpass and encircling him in the air while he lashed out at them with claw and tail and flung projectile, soon resolved themselves into a collection of seventeen capes whom-

" Prism down, GO-30. Nix down, GO-30. Thirteenth Hour down, GO-30."

Of fourteen capes whom I'd personally met, as well as a number of other capes whose powers seemed well-suited to the heroes' current attempt to confine him to that half-mile stretch of highway-an excellent plan, given that the overpass was only sixty feet wide or thereabouts and restricting Leviathan's lateral movement would greatly reduce the tactical advantage that his extreme speed granted him.

Additional capes began to run or fly to the area as quickly as they could, the Triumvirate among them, once it became clear that Leviathan's advance had been stalled there. Most were combatants, but several appeared to be diviners being flown above the scene or teleported to rooftops to get within scanning range of Leviathan and report what they learned.

Atop the highway, Bastion and Paddock encircled Leviathan with high walls of force and solid air, his many overlapping barriers and her single segmented barrier working together to prevent the Endbringer from leaping off the overpass to evade the defenders. Eidolon provided a cap to the massive enclosure, a translucent orange one-way barrier that allowed capes' attacks to pass through freely but prevented Leviathan's egress.

Flying capes soared back and forth around the enclosure to bombard Leviathan with blasts of fire, lightning, shadow, and radiance from various angles, while Legend kept up a constant barrage from his spot directly above the highway, tracking the Endbringer's movement as best he could and loosing beams of blue and indigo light every few seconds.

He appeared to be carefully controlling the energy output of his beams, as I'd requested, keeping them strong enough to chip away at Leviathan but weak enough that a missed beam wouldn't too badly damage the bridge itself.

Whenever there were gaps in the assault, capes within the enclosure who were ground-bound or had short-range powers would briefly skirmish with Leviathan to keep the pressure on.

Shielder and an unfamiliar cape in magenta armor took turns creating smaller shields over and in front of the attacking capes to blunt Leviathan's return blows against them, while Annex and Cuff warped their surroundings into barriers to protect the capes that were hanging back, Ursa Aurora and Escutcheon evoked freestanding barriers to get in his way, and Myrddin scribed glyph after glyph without pause to slow his movement with ice slicks, headwinds, altered gravity, and more.

Even with all of that interference, and even bereft of his hydrokinesis, Leviathan was an incredibly potent and fearsome opponent.

He dodged projectiles and slipped around obstacles with considerably more alacrity than he'd displayed in Armsmaster's memories, and whenever one of the attacking capes missed and struck the pavement beneath him or the concrete beside him instead, a flick of his wrist or a sweep of his tail would send the resulting debris back at them.

In one such skirmish, a cape sculpted of living stone launched Battery at Leviathan with a powerful overhand toss. She struck him in the neck, unleashed a blast of lightning into the minor wound she'd dealt him, then kicked off his chest to fling herself out of harm's way; Leviathan almost caught her with a claw despite her speed, but a flurry of concrete fragments launched by Geomancer knocked his arm out of the way and she made it out of his reach unharmed.

Leviathan snapped his tail forward to send most of those concrete chunks flying back toward Geomancer and the heroes around him, all of whom stood exposed and unprotected. They darted away in fear, but there was no way they would make it behind the barriers in time.

With an immense exertion of will, I manifested telekinesis through Aspect, catching the projectiles in midair. I meant to launch them back toward Leviathan immediately, but even that small effort was too much; I withdrew my focus from Aspect, and the projectiles clattered to the ground.

I lost focus on the battle for a short while as I concentrated on the mythal, working to stabilize it after that brief disruption.

~*~*~

" Battery down, GO-30. Falcão down, GO-30."

" Zigzag deceased, GO-30. Zig up, GN-29. Zag up, GN-29."

" Fortezza down, GO-30. Sidewinder down, GO-30. Hammertime down, GO-30."

~*~*~

When I restored my sensory link to Aspect to view the battle once again, two details immediately stood out to me.

First, Leviathan was accumulating a growing number of seeping wounds from the constant barrage of attacks. There were enough rents and gashes visible upon his body to have killed any lesser creature twice or thrice over, and his scales were now slick with frothing water and an inky fluid.

The black fluid was unexpected. A leviathan and an ocean strider both possess red blood, like most vertebrate mammals, and the ichor of a Charybdis is silver. Whatever fluid was leaking from his wounds, it was not merely the commingled blood of his constituent creatures.

The water was worrying. The body of a water elemental doesn't "bleed" in the manner of a mortal creature when wounded, so no water should run through Leviathan's veins, and he should have no means of conjuring any water with the mythal in place.

Second, Leviathan had laid a trap for the assembled capes, and none of them appeared to have seen it.

The unrelenting barrage of offensive powers was striking its target more often than not, but the pattern of destruction on the overpass made it clear that when Perseid's meteors or Cold Snap's icicles or Spectra's prismatic orbs or Triumph's shouts or any number of other attacks did miss Leviathan, the creature had contrived for most of those misses to instead strike a particular region of the bridge near the northern edge of the force-ward enclosure.

A region which, I could discern thanks to Aspect's superior senses and higher vantage point, was dangerously close to giving way.

Even with the structural reinforcements the mythal provided, steel and concrete can only withstand so much punishment, and as I observed the battle a sudden dodge by Leviathan in an unexpected direction saw two of Flashbang's grenades fly past him to explode within that weak spot and add yet another blow to the tally.

I sent to Aspect.

Aspect relayed.

Behind the many barriers of force and stone and ice, Myrddin twitched in surprise, then cursed under his breath and slapped a hand to his armband. " Everyone keep your shots away from the left shoulder! He's trying to escape!" he transmitted. " Any Shakers who can reinforce any weak spots, do it now! Flyers, get under the bridge!"

The capes moved to do as he ordered as quickly as they could, but Leviathan was faster still.

The Endbringer leaped over the array of barriers that had previously been giving him trouble, landed among the contingent of Chicago heroes, lashed out with his tail in every direction-

" Anomaly down, GO-30. Brazier down, GO-30. Cuff down, GO-30."

-and snatched Raymancer with one massive hand and Revel with the other, holding them by their heads with his palms covering their faces.

Before anyone else could react, he spun around-

" Campanile down, GO-30. Shuffle down, GO-30."

-and dashed back toward the weakened area in the bridge. Then, slowly, deliberately, he curled his arms in toward his chest, tightened his grip, and began to squeeze.

I channeled a disintegration ray through Aspect and several heroes launched blasts at Leviathan, doing their best to avoid striking their allies, but though his wounds were grievous he did not desist. Even Clasps's many hand constructs and careful gravitational probes by both Myrddin and Eidolon failed to deprive the vile beast of his hostages.

Raymancer and Revel struggled mightily to get free, their movements growing more frantic with every second that their mouths and noses were covered.

A brilliant white sphere surrounded by disks of multicolored light appeared above Raymancer's head. Dozens of light rays emerged from the sphere, struck the disks, bent at sharp angles as if the disks were prisms, met at one spot on the arm holding Raymancer, and formed a lance of prismatic energy that began drilling into the Endbringer's flesh, vaporizing scales and bodily fluids at a rapid pace.

Revel, meanwhile, lifted the lantern in her shaking left hand and pointed it in the general direction of Leviathan's wrist, whereupon the lantern began to glow with swirling green and orange light that rapidly intensified in brightness.

I saw what the Endbringer intended, but I couldn't push through the pounding headache to respond in time. As I struggled to channel a negation wave through Aspect to dispel one or both of the heroes' spells, Leviathan spread his arms wide so that the two heroes were facing away from him instead of toward him, pointing both Raymancer's beam and Revel's lantern toward the crater in the bridge.

When Revel loosed her accumulated charge, it struck the spot under assault by Raymancer's power, and their combined impact was more than the crumbling overpass could bear. With a shriek of bending steel and a muffled roar of fracturing stone, a hole opened in the bridge that was large enough for Leviathan to slip through.

Confusion and dismay filled the auras of the assembled heroes at the unexpected cleverness that the Endbringer had displayed. Their shock made them slow to react when Leviathan flung his hostages out to either side at great velocity-

" Revel down, GO-30. Raymancer down, GO-30."

-and leaped for the hole.

I forced my sluggish thoughts into motion. Energy powers were ineffective, telekinesis was too chancy without knowing his weight, PRT records claimed physical transformations had always been unsuccessful-

Ah. Those records also said that Leviathan had never allowed himself to be forced through any gates or portals, using his hydrokinesis to force himself away from the opening. Perhaps, with that power suppressed….

A cry of pain tore itself from my throat as I forced myself to manifest a wormhole beneath the opening swiftly enough to intercept him.

He soared through the air, dove through the hole, made fleeting contact with the wormhole-and the wormhole explosively destabilized, which sent Leviathan tumbling to one side, shattered the surrounding bridge support pillars, and fractured huge stretches of the mid-level highway that passed below the Expressway's upper bridge on either side.

Leviathan impacted that second highway at a severe angle, skidded to the edge, rolled over the side, struck the street below, tumbled a fair distance, found his footing, paused a moment to stabilize himself, and began loping eastwards.

I probed his defenses as he went, channeling a few non-physical offensive powers through Aspect-Mind Thrust to shatter his mental integrity, Hostile Empathic Transfer to shift my wounds to him, Feeblemind to cripple his higher faculties, Time Hop to delay him until reinforcements arrived, Id Insinuation to confound him, Graymantle to disable his regeneration, Power Leech to drain his reserves, even Baleful Teleport to test his resistance to Astral travel-only to find that not one of them was successful.

Not that I'd actually expected them to be; Abominations were among the most magic-resistant creatures in existence, and with most of my psionic reserves currently being devoted to healing myself, I wasn't able to bring anything remotely resembling my full offensive strength to bear.

I'd have been quite disappointed if I had managed to affect him with anything, frankly, but there was no harm in trying.

The handful of capes who'd begun to gather beneath the overpass at Myrddin's order saw no more success in their attempts to stop him than I had. He trivially evaded their attempts to impede him, ducking under energy blasts and weaving around charging capes with ease.

Until, that is, Alexandria suddenly streaked in from the southwest, caught Leviathan around the neck, and hurled him into and through a line of dilapidated warehouses on the north side of the ground-level streets paralleling the raised highways.

A spike of pain struck my mind as each warehouse collapsed. Don't think Legend told her… I thought blearily as I lost track of the skirmish, my attention once more being forced back to maintaining the mythal.

~*~*~

With the large hole in the bridge, the serious collateral damage from the wormhole's collapse, and the demolition of those warehouses, all following one another in quick succession, it was taking all of my focus to prevent the mythal from imploding.

Using the geometry of the surrounding architecture to channel and sustain its power meant that I could achieve a much greater effect than I could have otherwise, but also meant that its integrity was dependent on that of the city itself: destroy enough of the city at once, or too much of it in total, and the mythal could be destroyed as well.

A short while later, I felt a mental nudge from Aspect. he prompted.

It took a moment, but then:

He sent a pulse of uncertain affirmation.

Multiple planar phenomena coming into contact with one another could react unexpectedly, often explosively or implosively.

Fiendwurms were massive beasts with permanent portals to the Abyss within their gizzards, the only known example of naturally-occurring mobile planar rifts.

If Leviathan's conjured water came not from a spell but from a permanent internal gate to the ocean of a shadow world, attempting to send him through a wormhole could, indeed, have such an effect.

That would certainly make things more difficult.

Aspect sent, in a rather poorly-timed attempt to lighten the mood.

~*~*~

" Aegis down, GQ-30. Lucerna down, GQ-30."

" Ravine down, GQ-31. Sandstoner down, GQ-31. Adamant down, GQ-31."

" Lightslinger down, GP-31. Warhawk down, GP-31. Sagittarius down, GP-31."

~*~*~

Again I linked my senses to Aspect's once the mythal was stable enough to allow diverting my attention, and again I immediately noticed something awry.

This time it was the fact that Leviathan must have somehow identified a connection between the city's integrity and the mythal suppressing his powers.

Perhaps he'd sensed an infinitesimal weakening in the suppression field each time a structure was damaged; perhaps he'd noted my withdrawal from the combat after each such incident; perhaps he simply had mystical senses keen enough to discern the mythal's energy flows and had deduced its properties directly.

Regardless of his method, I saw that he was now attempting to deal as much collateral damage to the surrounding buildings as possible without making his intentions obvious: whenever he dodged an attack from one of the six flyers and thirteen ground-bound capes currently engaging him, or returned it with an attack of his own, he went out of his way to toss his foes through rows of streetlights or swipe a claw through the nearest building or tear up the gardens in the center of the boulevard with sweeps of his tail.

The furrows in the soil that he created were much longer than they would otherwise be, thanks to Vista expanding the space around Leviathan's route to an extreme degree and turning the narrow and unassuming boulevard into a vast stretch of grass and pavement nearly half a mile on a side.

The young cape stood atop a six-story building on the boulevard's northern flank with shops on the ground floor and residences above, her hands outstretched and eyes half-lidded in concentration; two diviners stood on either side of her, their frantic directions informing her what Leviathan's next actions would likely be just in time for her to preact to them.

Over the first few seconds of my observation, Vista saved a teal-armored shapeshifter from disembowelment, Laserdream from a hurled car, and a white-robed cryokinetic from decapitation-by-tail.

She also prevented Leviathan from simply fleeing the area. With his extreme speed he could outpace any cape on open ground, but at Vista's whims any open ground was turned into an obstacle course for him and a mere few steps for anyone else.

Clearly sensing the futility of escape, Leviathan changed tacks, aborting a feinted attempt to escape and doubling back to charge at the building holding Vista instead.

Laserdream let out a wordless cry of dismay, but the flimsy barrier she evoked ahead of him did nothing to slow him. Neither did the walls of ice, or the claws of shadow, or the zone of much heavier gravity, or the jagged purple force blades evoked into Leviathan's flesh.

The wall of shimmering ectoplasm I conjured in his path, however, arrested his leap quite nicely.

That reprieve gave Vista enough time to make herself a path to the very similar building on the opposite edge of the boulevard and retreat across to it, and for me to extract a terrified couple huddled within one of the building's residences via teleportation, before Leviathan slammed his entire body into her original vantage point and began demolishing it brick by brick.

I had just enough time to toss another disintegration ray in his direction before I was forced to withdraw my attention yet again.

~*~*~

The next hour of the battle followed much the same pattern, the moments blurring together as I reached out to aid the capes harrying Leviathan as best I could before collateral damage weakened the mythal too far.

~*~*~

Kaiser and an unfamiliar cape in a patchwork costume were attempting to hem Leviathan in with immense walls of conjured steel; it took him little effort to tear through them, but little effort was not no effort, and the debris left behind hampered the Abomination somewhat while leaving the surrounding flyers unaffected.

I contributed several walls of force to the effort, evoking them around Leviathan as best I could. He moved too adroitly for me to stand a chance of fully enclosing him in a prison of force, but the mere threat of that possibility plus the layering of the other capes' walls to form even more resilient barriers forced him to give up his westerly advance entirely and seek another route.

His chosen route took him through a line of restaurants, demolishing them one after another, as I withdrew to grasp the mythal and hold it steady.

~*~*~

" Kaiser down, GN-31. Promontory deceased, GN-31. Zenith down, GN-31. Sparkler down, GN-31."

" Majesty here. Please confirm Promontory is deceased."

" This is Halcyon. He teleported over in three pieces; nothing we could do. Sorry, boss."

~*~*~

A phalanx of capes with electrical powers worked in tandem to attack Leviathan with bolts and beams and walls of lightning, an effort my Energy Manipulation power greatly enhanced.

Leviathan attempted to retaliate with thrown cars, but the capes' reflexive lightning bolts shattered most of the incoming vehicles and my telekinesis handled the remainder.

He fled northward, limping slightly as he charged first through a small temple and then a block-long apartment building-then, in the last moment before my sensory link broke, he skidded to a stop and turned back toward the phalanx.

~*~*~

" Voltaic down, GM-31. Stormcaller down, GM-31. El Relámpago down, GM-31. Amp Up down, GM-31. Shock Jockey down, GM-31."

~*~*~

While Leviathan was occupied by the Triumvirate and a handful of others, I sent Aspect to the healers' area to check on them.

The entire ground floor of the structure, a commandeered judicial building, was packed full of healed capes. Overheard snippets of conversation let me know that teleporters were ferrying some of the healed capes back to the ongoing battle, but most of them, having faced Leviathan in close quarters and come very close to death (much closer than some of them knew, in fact), were hesitant to engage him once more.

I sent to Aspect.

I manifested an illusion of myself around him-translucent, so they would know I wasn't physically present-and granted Aspect control over the illusion's voice.

"Attention, all," he said, in perfect mimicry of my voice and speech patterns. "I've restored the teleportation effect on all of you, and in a moment will be providing a wormhole back to the site of the battle for anyone who is willing."

I did just that, granting everyone present another contingency and opening a wormhole just outside the building to a point half a block from where I'd last sighted Leviathan.

As capes streamed eagerly through it, I was heartened to see that the emotional tenor of their auras was considerably more positive than it had been at the outset, having been reassured of their safety.

The healers, too, were feeling quite optimistic, chatting among themselves regarding the surprisingly low casualty rates thus far and the fact that Leviathan might retreat shortly, having encountered such heavy opposition.

I didn't share their optimism. Low as the casualties were, even with my aid they should be higher by a factor of four or five or more, were Leviathan fighting at his full capacity.

And I didn't share their hopes that he would soon retreat.

I didn't want to see him retreat.

I wanted to see him dead.

My focus on the mythal prevented me from pursuing that goal personally as yet, but given Leviathan's actions the mythal would fall soon, it was only a matter of time. And when it did….

~*~*~

" Spartank down, GM-34. Eidolon down, GM-34. Acupuncher deceased, GM-34. Gorenado down, GM-34. Barbican deceased, GM-34. L'esprit Vert down, GM-34."

~*~*~

Campanile and Fenja had joined forces with three other size-changing capes in an attempt to surround Leviathan (in a cemetery, of all places), grapple with him, and overwhelm his speed with brute strength.

A clever idea, but not one they could manage with just five capes; though they each stood at roughly his height and had roughly his armspan, he could still use his superior nimbleness to duck between them more often and more easily than they could use their superior numbers to constrain him.

So I provided them with reinforcements, by granting size-altering effects to the half-dozen other capes waiting and watching on the periphery of the fight.

For good measure, I conjured a pair of astral constructs as well, each taking the form of vaguely-humanoid lumps of shimmering silver ectoplasm and standing just barely shorter than Leviathan and the capes surrounding him. Neither would stand up to the Abomination for long, but as nonsapient and unliving constructs they were entirely expendable and could at least take a few lethal blows originally meant for the capes.

The constructs fell quickly, then much of the scenery, then some of the capes. I wouldn't have thought that Leviathan trampling grave markers left and right would notably impact the mythal's integrity, but alas-

~*~*~

" La Torre down, GK-34. Iron Cobra deceased, GK-34. Nieprzebijalność down, GK-34. Fenja down, GK-34. Manolith down, GK-34."

~*~*~

Dauntless, Miss Militia, Armsmaster, Myrddin, Chevalier, and three other capes stood (and floated) with their backs to one of the rivers that meandered through the city, facing the intersection to their southeast with weapons bared.

As the sounds of Leviathan's approach rumbled down the street, Miss Militia transmuted her weapon from a handheld gun to a much more substantial mortar, Chevalier flicked his blade out to the side and caused it to grow to many times its previous size, Myrddin began inscribing glyphs in the air with his staff, and Armsmaster withdrew a second halberd from his right fauld, while the flying capes spread out and prepared their respective ranged attacks.

Leviathan entered Aspect's sensory range, and I-

Aspect sent to all of them before I could suggest otherwise.

All the capes other than Myrddin reacted with shock and discomfort. Armsmaster's gaze darted around and, not seeing me, he called, "Valigan? If that's you, stay out of this. My combat analysis program doesn't have a good enough profile of you to account for your presence."

Dauntless drifted closer, and in an uncertain tone called, "Are you sure that's a good-?"

" Yes, I'm sure!" Armsmaster snapped. A hint of contrition mottled his aura. "Just… trust me on this," he added, more calmly.

Leviathan burst through the building, as anticipated, and the capes all dove into action.

Aspect was now hovering closer to the Abomination than he had at any previous point in the battle, and as the vile creature staggered back from the impacts of Dauntless's lightning blast, Miss Militia's explosives, and an unfamiliar cape's lance of solid flame, he took the opportunity to examine Leviathan in detail.

Leviathan certainly looked to be on the threshold of death. Water, black fluid, a thick layer of concrete dust, and chunks of splintered wood coated his scales. Deep and ragged wounds were visible on every limb, sealing themselves much more sluggishly than they had earlier in the battle. His right foot dragged slightly on the ground as he moved, and his left hand was without two of its fingers.

Yet we sensed no hint of fatigue, or concern, or pain, or any other emotion that would even hint at weakness.

His entire aura was drenched in one solid hue: deep, abiding, unrelenting hatred.

Before I could warn the capes that he was counterfeiting his reactions-more so than normal, that is-a second explosive streaked in from Miss Militia's weapon.

I had just enough time to notice that the explosive appeared to be one of Bakuda's bombs, salvaged and repurposed, before it and was caught and redirected with a flick of a claw toward one of the unfamilar capes, a shapeshifter with both reptilian and phytoid features.

The cape dodged well enough that he only lost his lower half to the resulting eruption of sickly blue flames-

" Man-Drake down, GJ-35."

-and the bulk of the conflagration instead struck the building that Leviathan had already damage and consumed the entire structure in a heartbeat.

Utter agony seared my nerves, its intensity an order of magnitude greater than that of the pain I was already barely managing. I clenched my eyes shut, as if that would actually help, but the strain wasn't lessened in the slightest.

Losing that particular building was no more grievous a blow to the mythal than the destruction of any other, but it was the last feather that broke the horse's back, the last droplet that made the beaker run over.

A critical threshold had been reached, and any blow to the mythal's integrity now held a serious risk of its destruction.

Dauntless drifted backward, lifting his lance.

My attention drifted as well.

There was lightning, and flame.

A collapsing wall, and a crater in the road.

A lashing tail, and a whirling sword.

I tried to focus, to grant them some assistance, some powers, but I… I just….

There was a fallen road sign, and debris covering the lawn.

Bright green glyphs, and light blue axeheads.

Too much.

It was too much.

… If you say so.

A lance was leveled, discharging lightning.

A claw descended, lightning-fast.

Golden armor flinched away, shield breached.

Blue armor leaped, polearm outstretched.

A severed claw fell, bleeding from the wrist.

A severed arm fell, sparking from the shoulder.

A halberd shattered.

" Armsmaster deceased, GJ-35."

There was shock and disbelief and despair-

-and so hesitation, and a gap in the ranks.

Leviathan rushed to the river, dove into it, swam through it.

Auras darkened and clouded. Capes swore.

" Armsmaster up, GN-29. Erroneous death report due to destruction of armband."

Auras lightened, but remained murky.

Trimvirs soared overhead in pursuit.

I-

Too much.

I reached-

Too much.

I reached into the mythal. Plucked at strands of power.

The river parted.

Water hung in the air, exposing the riverbed.

Aspect sent. Go!

Water wavered.

Capes ran.

Water collapsed.

I…

~*~*~

" Chevalier down, GI-36. Stardust down, GI-36. Prefab deceased, GI-36."

~*~*~

With excruciating effort, I pushed a thought to my armband.

~*~*~

It was with great regret, and even greater relief, that I finally relaxed my unbreakable mental grip on the core of the mythal's enchantment.

A single clap of thunder split the air throughout the entire city as titanic quantities of energy were released from their bonds and returned to the Astral whence they came. The capstone shattered, too, metal and crystalline fragments carving furrows in the roof below and ricocheting off my wards.

Agony receded into misery receded into discomfort receded into numbness, and both of my minds set to work reversing the toll that supporting the mythal had taken on me.

And of course the sea level began to rise and wisps of clouds began to condense in the night sky the very instant the ward faded, signaling that-

" Heavy casualties, please wait."

-Leviathan was putting his newly-restored hydrokinesis to good use.

" Losses are as follows: Molten, Crosshair, Brazier, I-Frame, Mondrian, Battery, Abseil, Resolute, El Terremoto, Manpower, Ripcord, Boomboxer, Stardust, Bastille, Triumph, Leucippus-"

I silenced the armband's stream of notifications with a single furious thought.

I'd hoped that my mythal would prove to be the decisive factor that would allow the many assembled capes to finally slay Leviathan, and to do so with a minimum of casualties. From what I'd observed, they'd actually come quite close to that on multiple occasions over the course of the battle, but thanks to his dramatic improvement in speed and cunning when deprived of his hydrokinetic powers it simply hadn't been enough.

I was greatly disappointed that I would now be required to involve myself more personally and much more blatantly than I already had in order to, hopefully, finish the job myself.

… But I was not, I was forced to admit, entirely disappointed.

Feeling a hint of regret, and more anticipation than I preferred to admit, I pressed my wrists together and activated Last Resort.

Everything within my sensory range was immediately surrounded by flickering temporal shadows as events seemed to slow and my perceptions stretched forward in time, and were any observers nearby they would have noted the faint golden glow of deflection fields enshrouding me, as well as a visible blurring whenever I moved. remarked the intellect embedded within my right bracer.

This was followed shortly by an from the one in my left bracer as psionic energy suddenly flooded through me once more-accompanied not by the searing agony of energies only barely under control, but by frigid clarity, as my mind and body were tuned to a state of optimum performance.

After taking a moment to adjust to my enhanced state I focused on my armband, still floating above my right shoulder, and sent a direct communication:

"I'd say it's still a concern," Legend reproached me. "These buildings aren't just obstacles, they're people's homes and businesses."

Myrdin's amused laugh buzzed from the armband's speakers. "He essentially rebuilt all of Navy Pier from scratch in two hours, maybe less, and that was without whipping out anything on the scale of that suppression spell. If he can do something like that for a whole city-"

"I can."

"-then… hell, I say go ahead and let loose. Let's fry this overgrown lizard."

There was a pause.

In the sky to the northwest, the soft golden light emanating from the rifts was briefly outshone by a flare of vibrant blue.

Aspect blinked into being in his customary position above my left shoulder. he asked.

~*~*~

11:18 pm, Friday the 13th of May, 2011 CE

Large Crater Between US-92 and the Hillsborough River, Tampa, America, Earth Bet

I appeared above a churning maelstrom of seawater, one that was flooding the area to a depth of many yards and was growing wider and deeper by the second.

There had once been streets here that Leviathan could flood, buildings that he could collapse, debris he could hurl, but Legend's radiance had scoured the city for blocks around, leaving Leviathan with no tools to use and nowhere to hide. He'd been forced, therefore, to hold his water within a few blocks of him rather than flood a much wider area, which had its pros and cons for both him and the defending capes.

The Endbringer himself was circling deep within the maelstrom, picking off those capes who had been caught within it and who only still lived after their sudden submersion due to an Airy Water effect emanating from a cape near the center.

To my heightened perceptions Leviathan appeared to be moving roughly as quickly in the water as he had been on land, but I knew that objectively he would seem to be a barely-perceptible blur to his victims underwater and to the evokers flying to and fro above the surface hoping to get a good shot at him.

A quick manifestation of Control Weather headed off the storm coalescing above our heads, but none of my powers could easily deal with that much water at once. With more water constantly flooding in from the river just two blocks to the northeast, he could replenish his supply much faster than I could freeze it, vaporize it, or drain it away.

I swiftly flew over to a nearby rooftop, where the diviners Foursight, Truthteller, Leonid, Crystalclear, and a fifth in a red cloak were all clustered together as they peered intently at the maelstrom. Spright, Glory Girl, and a third flyer surrounded them, keeping an eye on the sky and the waves lest Leviathan attempt some trickery to get at them.

"Situation report, please," I asked as I alighted on the roof and returned my personal timeframe to normal speed.

The diviners all glanced over at me-then four of the five fully turned to face me and stared. For several seconds I was bombarded ineffectually by divinations of all sorts, while the flyers gave the diviners odd looks.

Leonid merely rolled his eyes. "What, y'all have never seen a Stranger before? Focus, people! Chop chop!" he called over the roar of the rushing waters, giving no indication that we'd previously met.

"I'll do it," Truthteller said, and the other four turned back to Leviathan while she stepped away from the others to give her report. She moved stiffly, as if injured; an old wound, most likely, as her name hadn't been mentioned among the recent casualties.

"There's a cape named Aerial under there," she began, sounding somewhat distracted. "Her power lets her treat water like air and vice versa in an area around her; she's the only reason all the others weren't instantly drowned or crushed."

While she spoke, she continued casting occasional divinations at me, interspersed with manifestations of Hypercognition in an attempt to deduce information about me indirectly. That power was useful, but unreliable at the best of times, and now was hardly the best of times when her divinations would be much more useful if directed elsewhere.

"Most of that water exploded out of him when his powers came back-" Which would fit with the hypothesis that he held a portal within him, spilling out large quantities of water that he wasn't able to manipulate while his powers were suppressed; good to know. "-but he's been bringing in more from the river. Legend has some Blasters and Shakers over there trying to cut off the flow, but Leviathan has a huge range and they're not having much luck."

I nodded. "Where are Eidolon and Myrddin?"

"On the western shore. There are some waves starting up, and they're making some walls. Did you show Myrddin how to do that, or did he figure-he did." She smirked. "Interesting."

I nodded. "Indeed it is. Labyrinth?"

She gave me an odd look. "Not really the type to get into a fight. She's probably on S , with Faultline," she said, a distinct note of dislike flitting through her aura at the name.

"Alexandria?"

Truthteller glanced back at the other capes and lowered her voice. "Hanging back. She still needs to breathe, and Aerial's power doesn't cover the whole area."

"I see." I focused on my armband and sent, I manifested Know Direction and Location,

My message chorused from the armbands of all the capes nearby. Truthteller raised an eyebrow, tapped her armband, and added, "It's right on the south edge of the big crater. You can't miss it."

Mere seconds later, Alexandria blurred to a stop a few feet away. Her attitude toward me was not at all positive, as demonstrated both by her aura and the way that Truthteller took one look at Alexandria and quickly made herself scarce, but the Triumvir's tone gave no hint of her feelings as she calmly requested a water breathing effect.

More capes were flying or teleporting or being ferried over, so I fissioned myself and let my secondary body handle that while I floated over to Truthteller. "Is there anything else I should know before confronting Leviathan myself?"

She nodded, and began to recite several things that I already knew: that he lacked standard biology, that he was not human, that he possessed hydromantic senses.

She also explained something new: she'd determined that Leviathan's body was arranged in "layers" of some sort, making him more like a construct than a living creature-a side effect of whatever had permanently melded multiple different kinds of beings into one, perhaps?-and that each deeper layer was harder to damage than the one above it.

While she spoke, Alexandria and several of the others gathered around to listen as well; their presence made Truthteller nervous, but she continued the impromptu briefing without pause. Muttering broke out at the idea that Leviathan might be even more resilient than anyone had known, but the general morale didn't seem to be too severely impacted by the revelation.

"That's all well and good, but does anyone know why he's sticking around so long this time?" asked one of the gathered flyers. "We had him on the ropes for a while and he never retreated. What gives?"

"He didn't pick Tampa just so he could fight some capes, kick over some buildings, and go home," Leonid remarked, having wandered over as well as he overheard the briefing. "Every time they show up, there's a reason; we figure out what his goal is, and maybe we can send him packing."

Truthteller chewed her lip, thinking. "He's been moving north-northwest."

"After he escaped the bridge, he went east-" a cape in white armor objected.

She was already shaking her head. "He's looped around and changed directions when we've gotten in his way, but whenever he's had a choice of direction, he's picked north-northwest. Anyone know if there's anything in that direction he might be aiming for?"

"The Gemstone power station," Alexandria stated confidently. "It's a hybrid coal and nuclear plant on the shore of Lake Madgalene, five and a half miles north of this point."

The reaction from the other capes was immediate:

"A fucking what?"

"Oh, shit, that's bad."

"Leviathan can't actually blow up a nuke plant… can he?"

"That's, what, nine klicks away?" A cape in green and brown armor shook his head. "Why would he go all the way through Tampa to get there?"

"Why do they do anything?" Truthteller shrugged. "Maybe this is Leviathan trying to be sneaky?"

"Regardless of the reason, we can't let him reach it," Alexandria said firmly. Murmurs of agreement met her words. "We have to stop him before he calls up another storm. Anyone with invulnerability or close to it, with me; we'll try to force Leviathan out of the water. The rest of you, set up a cordon to the north in case he flees that way on his own. Let's get moving."

With that, the capes rapidly dispersed, leaving me alone with Truthteller and the roof's other initial occupants.

"Thank you for the information. It doesn't impact my immediate plans, but I'm grateful nonetheless," I said.

"You're welcome." Her gaze flicked to the maelstrom, then back to me. "Good luck."

I nodded in thanks, then teleported my primary body-

~*~*~

-far above the maelstrom, directly over its center.

On their own Alexandria and the handful of capes with her would be no match for Leviathan, but with a few disposable reinforcements at their side….

A mirthless smile graced my lips. "I hope you're enjoying your little swim this evening, Abomination," I murmured, "for I shall do all in my power to make it your last."

My perceptions accelerated once again, and psionic lattices reconfigured themselves deep within my mind. Where before manifesting just one power every few heartbeats had been incredibly taxing and I'd had no attention to spare for fine details, now I had all the time and focus in the world.

With a thought, a winged figure appeared before me: an astral construct, formed of shimmering violet ectoplasm. No mere shapeless mass, this one; it was sculpted in the form of a well-armed and -armored warrior of Jhouram's elite Amethyst Legion and stood two stories tall. An instant later, eight more constructs joined it, shorter in stature but identical in appearance and capabilities.

I repeated this process over and over, until nearly a hundred such warriors hovered around me. I ordered them, and as one they wrapped their wings around themselves and plummeted into the water below.

My secondary body, meanwhile, teleported to join Legend at the riverside, where he and other capes were freezing, boiling, vaporizing, and otherwise transmuting the water itself and the nearer bank of the river in an attempt to stem the flow toward the maelstrom.

I manifested a line of overlapping wormholes along the riverbank, each with one end positioned below the waterline and the other located just above itself and pointing back toward the river. In an instant, the vast streams of water being pulled toward Leviathan were cut off and returned to their source, and I stood ready to extend the line should he begin draw in in water from farther upstream.

"If any of you have means of depriving Leviathan of his maelstrom," I told the capes there, "now is the time to deploy them." Legend immediately flew off to do just that; after a slight hesitation, Exalt, Everglaze, Sere, and one other cape indicated that they would do the same, and Exalt granted himself and the others flight to speed them on their way.

I then sent Aspect to the north to seek out the facility that might be Leviathan's target. Though the fact that he hadn't simply turned the lake against it immediately implied that he would need to get much closer to the facility to do it any harm, the Abomination's previous deceptions meant that we couldn't count on his being truly limited in that way.

All of this, in less than ten seconds of objective time.

As an opening gambit, that should suffice.

~*~*~

By the time I'd refilled my reserves a few minutes later, every single submerged cape had been rescued, at least a third of Leviathan's water had been turned to ice by Legend and Everglaze, the maelstrom had been dispersed by Exalt and Sere, and Alexandria and my constructs were slowly but surely dragging Leviathan into the air to limit his options.

My legion of constructs had been reduced to barely a squadron, most of them having sacrificed themselves to dislodge Leviathan and get the capes to safety. The remaining ten had latched onto Leviathan and were flapping their wings for all they were worth, and the air between them and him was in constant flux as they sent wave after wave of kinetic force at the center of his chest.

Alexandria had her arms wrapped around his neck and was pulling mightily. She didn't need to worry about Leviathan's generated water, as every gallon he spent trying to shove her off his back was a gallon not being sent skyward to oppose their motion and propel himself back toward the ground.

Still, the Endbringer had one claw trying to break her grip and the other reaching back to try to pull her off by her own neck, while his legs and tail lashed every which way to slice my constructs to ectoplasmic ribbons and waterspouts constantly rose from the water below in repeated attempts to knock the constructs and Alexandria away and free him.

Every column of water that rose was pulled off-course by Exalt and Sere and then quickly vaporized by Legend, and as Leviathan increased the pace at which he conjured them I began contributing Dispel Water manifestations as well to banish a few hundred tons of water at a time.

"I'm down to a quarter-charge!" Exalt shouted to Legend over all the clamor. "Keep going, save it for later, or use it all now?"

Legend took in the water below, the Endbringer above, and the other capes around him. "Save it! Head back to the docks, see if they need help with the waves!"

"Yessir!"

Exalt's departure left just the three of us handling the water, so I teleported my fissioned body to the area and began manifesting Dispel Water through it as well.

As the volume of water started to noticeably shrink I began tossing a variety of other offensive powers at Leviathan after every three or four Dispels. No matter what I tried, it seemed as though the powers fared as poorly against him as… well, as his initial tidal wave had fared against my mythal.

A more thoughtful and focused assault would be required.

My primary body floated off to the side and began recharging my reserves.

Just over a minute later, I was ready.

I sent a mental signal to the rows of psionic amplifier shards embedded in my back. Each pair came to life, starting from my neck and working their way down; as they did, they began to emit a deep bone-rattling hum and to glow brightly enough that Sere, standing behind me on a nearby rooftop, was forced to avert his eyes.

I lifted my left palm toward Leviathan, every crystal on Last Resort shining brightly and pulsing in tandem with the amplifier shards.

I felt space and distance and reality itself begin to warp along a line connecting me with Leviathan. There would be no escaping this.

I gathered psionic energy through the amplifiers and then the bracers, where it coalesced in my palm.

I released it.

The air itself shrieked in torment as it was rent by an emerald line of coruscating energy, over a foot wide and blindingly bright. Leviathan tried to twist away at the last second, but it wasn't enough to allow him to evade the beam.

When the light faded, his left arm was entirely gone. There was only a stump at his shoulder, with tiny fragments of crystalline bone poking out of it. Alexandria began to squeeze even harder now that there was no claw between her arms and his neck, and managed to drag him even farther from the ground.

Legend, being immune to blinding, was the first to see the wound I'd inflicted. He let out an exuberant cheer and was joined by several other capes as they recovered their sight and witnessed what had occurred.

I, however, wasn't celebrating.

A fully-amplified disintegration ray was one of the most potent attacks I had at my disposal in terms of sheer destructive output, second only to a tattoo of mine that could achieve noticeably higher destruction at a substantially higher cost to my reserves, and the blast had only managed to destroy a single arm.

An arm that Leviathan was already beginning to regenerate, while I could manage another such blast only twice more before my amplifier shards were exhausted for the time being.

"What in the name of all the gods is it going to take to kill you?" I growled.

Well, if I only had two more attempts, best to make them count. Time to get a bit closer and see how Leviathan does without his head and chest.

I suited action to thought, floating forward and cycling my amplifiers for another shot-but as soon as I did that, Leviathan changed tactics.

All of the water that he'd been directing upward was suddenly pulled tightly around himself just long enough to let him spin the two of them around in midair, then was focused entirely backward, slamming into Alexandria with an impact audible from over a block away.

The abrupt lack of resistance to her upward flight caused Alexandria to yank Leviathan a good quarter-mile into the air in an instant, after which even her adamantine grip was insufficient to prevent her from being flung out to sea by the intense water pressure.

Which left Leviathan hurtling through the air in a ballistic arc to the north, in a twisted mirror of how he'd first arrived on shore under my mythal's influence.

No, not a ballistic arc: as he left my sensory range I could feel him manipulate the water streaming from his body to accelerate his flight and nudge the angle of his arc just a touch westward… and directly toward the Gemstone facility.

Legend immediately grasped the danger and dashed after Leviathan; a moment later, Alexandria recovered from her forced retreat and flew after him.

I feared that neither of them would reach him before he got within range of the facility, so I teleported-

~*~*~

-next to Aspect and accelerated myself to gain time to think.

How to protect the facility? I knew nothing about this "nuclear power" beyond some offhand mentions while speaking with Professor Susskind and Kassalyn's report that a single damaged nuclear reactor on her Earth had almost bathed an entire nation in lethal radiance, which made it sound much like a Mythallar in that damaging it in just the right way could cause it to obliterate the city.

I could not permit Leviathan to score even a single blow against the facility, lest disaster strike and this entire battle be for naught.

But how to stop him? Another mythal was out of the question; even if I were to restrict its dimensions very tightly around the facility itself, Leviathan would arrive before I could complete it.

Interrupt his flight? I'd already tried to restrain him with telekinesis, with wormholes, with ectoplasmic barriers, with spheres of force, and nothing had worked against his impossible reflexes and the planar anomaly at his core.

Expand the space through which he would travel? I could do that for a while, but as soon as I needed to pause to recharge Leviathan would complete his flight and find me unprepared to meet him.

More flying constructs? If Alexandria couldn't hold him, the small number of constructs I could manifest before he landed certainly wouldn't be able to manage it.

Time, time, it all came down to time. Even with my personal temporal enhancements, I simply didn't have enough…

… Time.

Hmm.

If I couldn't put any more space between Leviathan and the facility, perhaps putting more time between them would work.

I decelerated to the normal timeframe, teleported to a point above the facility, and began to weave my last High Science of the day.

I asked Aspect with my secondary mind while my primary stream of thought was preoccupied.

He sent the equivalent of a long-suffering sigh. least half an hour ago. All I'll say is that this had better work.

The figures of Leviathan, Legend, and Alexandria grew larger in the sky-and Eidolon, as well; he must have seen the impending disaster and decided to help-as I withdrew Perpetuance and finished assembling my power.

Lake Magdalene began to churn and froth as a miniature tidal wave rose in the center and rushed toward the facility.

For the fourth time tonight, immense amounts of psionic energy coursed through my body, but this time the visual effect was quite anticlimactic.

One moment the facility was there, staring down its impending destruction.

The next it was not.

The small tidal wave broke upon a completely empty shore.

" Did he destroy the plant?" Alexandria demanded.

" … Good work," Legend replied faintly.

I put them out of my mind for the moment-Leviathan wouldn't land for at least another minute-and contacted Elle with a Sending.

she replied immediately.

I smiled, though she couldn't see it.

ask her, she'll probably say no.

I scried her, finding her and her partymates standing near the healers' station. Faultline was facing the battle with a pair of binoculars pressed to her eyes while the rest of them were chatting aimlessly with some of the surrounding capes.

Waiting a few moments until none of her party were observing her, I opened a wormhole in front of Elle just long enough for her to slip through and closed it before anyone could alert Faultline.

"So where's Leviathan?"

"I'll explain in a moment. But first…."

~*~*~

When the Abomination landed, it was not on a vulnerable nuclear facility, nor was it in Lake Magdalene, nor in any of the other smaller lakes that dotted the area.

No, when he landed, it was in a crater of sand, in a bone-dry desert, surrounded by a labyrinth of burning towers.

Using one of her powers, a variant of Mirage Arcana that drew on shadow energies to make its illusions quasi-real, and aided by my own series of rifts to the Dream-Ethereal, Elle had managed to project one of her dreamscapes fully into the Material and partially merge it with the local terrain.

She and I lacked the absolute control over the projected desert that we had in her actual dreamscape, but her limited control was more than firm enough to start the sand cascading over Leviathan in waves the moment he impacted the ground.

His afterimage started soaking into the sand and turning it to mud, allowing him to start shoving it crudely away from him as he scrambled up the sides of the crater and onto firmer ground, but that lasted only a few moments before the towers slowly twisted themselves into just the right position to focus the false sunlight in the sky above into beams of searing heat.

The mud was quickly dried out once more, and the outer edges of Leviathan's cloak of water began to turn to steam. A process that accelerated when Legend arrived and added his own heat beams to the effort, and again when Eidolon landed and began banishing the water directly.

For my part, I floated forward from the desert's edge to meet Leviathan in the middle.

I'd been loath to ever fight a battle in a desert again, but just this once I was prepared to make an exception.

When I was still several yards away, I held out a hand to let the familiar heft of Reason's hilt drop comfortable into my palm. Its base form was that of a falcata, the traditional ceremonial weapon of Jhaamdath's Bladelords, but as I expanded my body to match Leviathan's height I also shifted Reason into the form of a greatsword to give me the necessary reach against the Abomination's distended limbs.

My plan was simple. Leviathan's speed and resilience meant that any harm I did manage to inflict on him would be washed away by his regeneration by the time I refreshed my reserves and renewed my assault. Thus, instead of attempting to defeat him with a single overwhelming attack I would press the attack both physically and psionically, interspersing Reason's strikes with manifested powers at a sustainable rate until he died a death of a hundred cuts.

I let out a cry of rage as I flung myself forward, already dodging as my precognition told me how Leviathan would react.

My charge was met with three projectiles of boiling water from three flicks of Leviathan's tail, but the first two I evaded, the third splashed harmlessly off my wards, and Reason's crystalline blade sank an inch into Leviathan's arm. Its manifold enchantments allowed it to easily slice through layers of scales and flesh that were harder than steel, and of all the capes who'd attacked Leviathan with bladed weapons during this battle only Chevalier and Armsmaster had scored deeper blows.

The Endbringer flung me backward, but not before I sent a Concussion Blast at his wound to deepen it and delay its healing. Once more I dashed forward, predicting and teleporting past a reflexive swipe of his tail to score several long gashes down his chest and hollow out a pit in his stomach with a disintegration ray.

A flick of both his wrists sent spears of steaming water at me at point-blank range, too quickly to dodge even with precognitive warning and too intense for my wards to repel. Last Resort momentarily locked me in stasis to let the water wash over me harmlessly, and then battle was joined once more.

~*~*~

The Abomination was surrounded by parching sand that was actively working to trip him up, being bombarded by three different kinds of desiccating energy blasts, and under a constant assault by both blade and power, and still he refused to just lay down and die!

His wounds were starting to stick, at least; the Triumvirate and I were were finally outpacing his regeneration thanks to the contributions of Elle's towers and my no longer pausing to recharge.

But even so, fighting this creature was infuriating.

Alexandria had flown too close to him on one pass, and he'd yanked her out of the sky and shoved her head into the sand until she was forced to withdraw and clear her lungs. I'd launched a second amplified disintegration beam and taken off his right leg, and he'd simply compensated with his water and his tail until the leg grew back. Eidolon had used an unfamiliar necromantic power to burn out one of Leviathan's eyes with arcs of black lightning, and the Abomination hadn't even slowed down.

Despite our best efforts Leviathan was slowly dragging the fight to the edge of Elle's desert, and he was doing so faster than she could extend its boundaries. If he escaped, all of our progress would be lost.

At this point, I was practically at my wit's end. I was even considering deploying some of Bakuda's confiscated bombs that I held in my storage space to turn the tide against him, as Miss Militia had earlier.

Yes, those bombs were now irreplaceable, and were much more valuable in the long term as objects of study than as munitions. Yes, I hadn't done the necessary work to convert them from triggered explosives to impact explosives, and I lacked the specialized technomantic powers needed to interface with Bakuda's enciphered trigger mechanisms in any case. But still, I was this close to flinging caution to the Abyss, dumping a few dozen bombs onto Leviathan, and hoping for the best.

"I think he's finally retreating!" Legend called at one point, during a gap in his barrage.

I leaped forward and managed to slice off another of Leviathan's fingers while Alexandria swooped in close to appraise him.

She circled back around to safety and nodded a moment later. "It looks like it." A pause. "Do we let him?"

An Energy Push sent Leviathan skidding back along the sand, which I followed up with a lunging stab to the torso that sunk Reason's unnaturally sharp blade a full yard into his chest.

"I say we do, and cut our losses," replied Legend.

Before I could withdraw my weapon, Leviathan wrapped his arms around me and began to crush me with both his physical strength and his water. I teleported back out of his reach and healed myself, and a moment later teleported Reason to my hand.

Eidolon shook his head vehemently. "We're too close. We can finish this."

"I, for one, don't intend to let him retreat," I said.

Legend and Alexandria signaled agreement, and resumed their assault on the Abomination.

~*~*~

" Scion sighted!" said a voice over the armband.

The Triumvirate immediately looked to the skies. Despite our distance from the shore I could clearly see Scion approaching from over the Gulf, trailing a pure golden light behind him that stood out even against the artificial sunlight of my rifts.

Legend's aura flooded with exultation and relief. Alexandria's and Eidolon's auras were streaked with relief, but also wariness, and I could hardly blame them; were I complicit in the sorts of activities in which they engaged and was in imminent danger of my thoughts and morals being detected by an exalted servant of Good such as he, I too might be feeling a bit apprehensive.

I shared their relief. Scion's involvement almost certainly guaranteed that Leviathan would die within the next few minutes, and while I was disappointed that I likely wouldn't be able to finish him myself, the fact the Leviathan would trouble this world no more was much more important than the minor detail of who dealt the killing blow.

But Scion didn't fly immediately and unerringly toward Leviathan's location, as records stated that he usually did when deigning to put in an appearance at an Endbringer battle.

Rather, he came to a stop high in the air and began to circle the area, slowly turning his head this way and that as if examining something that perplexed him.

While my body and secondary mind continued tussling with Leviathan, my primary mind focused on Scion. I quickly realized that he was nearing the Regions Building, atop which I'd constructed the focus for my mythal, and was most likely studying the faded remnants of its aura.

Exquisitely skilled though my mythalcraft might be, it should hardly be so intriguing as to draw his attention away from the more important matter of erasing Leviathan from existence.

I was about to teleport over to him and politely request that he rearrange his priorities, but I hesitated when Alexandria flew up next to me, grabbed Leviathan's neck in a chokehold, and turn to me with her brow creased in worry and her aura stippled with a shade of actual honest-to-gods fear that she hadn't displayed at any point during the battle.

"You need to leave. Now," she hissed. "It doesn't matter where. Anywhere but here."

"I will not," I said, as I struck Leviathan's head with yet another disintegration ray. "Not while this beast still lives."

"You have to. Trust me."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. Given recent events, I was hardly inclined to take the architect of Cauldron's humanoid experimentation scheme at her word.

My psicrystal teleported to a spot a good distance away from the tower, then slowly drifted toward Scion.

I rose into the air, slammed Leviathan deep into the sand with an Energy Push, then linked my senses to Aspect's. Scanning Scion with our enhanced senses, I perceived…

… nothing.

Not the "nothing" that was the absence of auric signatures possessed by a Mind Blanked magic-user, but the "nothing" of a total sensory void around him, exactly like the one I'd encountered while observing Bakuda's trigger event.

And where Bakuda had only channeled enough of that alien form of energy to interrupt my perceptions for a fraction of a second, Scion was absolutely drenched in it to the point that the air around him was becoming saturated with it as well.

I considered his inhuman appearance, and the way that Bakuda's body had been warped when her companion had attempted to take control of her, and the composite nature of both Cauldron's subjects and Leviathan himself, and what the presence of that unfamiliar transmutative energy might signify.

If a moment of exposure could twist the very thoughtforms within Bakuda's mind, and a few weeks of exposure may have been the method by which her companion had twisted her body, what kinds of changes might multiple decades of exposure have wrought upon Scion, the first known parahuman?

"I take your point," I reluctantly replied, and dismissed my Astral Projection.

~*~*~

From my demiplane, I attempted to scry the scene I'd just left, but between the scrying protections of Leviathan and Eidolon and Scion the effort was futile.

I was left in suspense for several long minutes, and the moment I was able to view Elle's desert again I projected myself back to the Material.

~*~*~

"Where is Leviathan?" I asked Alexandria, the only Triumvir still present. The area was flooded with the fading remnants of Scion's aura, and though the residual energy made my skin itch even through my wards I did my best to ignore it for now.

"Scion drove him off."

"Drove him off?" I echoed, incredulous. "Not killed him?"

She nodded, seeming just as frustrated as I. "He struck Leviathan twice, and then as soon as Leviathan started moving toward the shore, he left."

"Damn him to the Abyss."

A thought came to mind.

"How long ago did Leviathan vacate this area?" I asked.

"Twenty-two seconds ago. If you-"

I didn't stay to hear the rest of her statement. If Leviathan had retreated that recently, he wouldn't have made it to the shoreline yet.

I could still catch him.

I could still kill him.

I appeared-

~*~*~

-above the throng of capes near the southern shore. Eidolon was there, as were Legend, Myrddin, Exalt, and others who had joined in the final stages of the battle before it had moved to Elle's desert.

From my vantage point, I could see Leviathan rapidly limping toward the bay to the west, his wounds shrouded in a flickering golden light that prevented them from healing and vaporized his generated water the moment it was conjured.

I left Aspect in place to keep an eye on Leviathan while I quickly flew down to the two Triumvirs. "It's not too late to finish him," I said. "We have at least a minute until-"

"It's over," Eidolon interrupted, sounding exhausted. "We missed our window. If we try to attack him again he might stand and fight through what Scion did to him, and then we'd be right back where we started."

I turned to Legend. He shook his head apologetically. "We didn't kill him, but today was still a victory. Let's not push our luck."

It certainly didn't feel like a victory, leaving the Abomination alive and free.

I turned to the other capes. "Myrddin, Exalt? What say you? Would you join me in running the beast down once and for all?"

Both shook their heads, expressions apologetic.

I raked my gaze across the rest of the assembled capes, and every last one of them looked away.

I felt a renewed sense of rage bubbling up within me.

We were so close.

A few more minutes, and we'd have slain Leviathan for sure.

We were so close!

And these capes, who should be far more concerned about this beast than I, weren't willing to finish the job.

Weren't willing to end the Abomination's reign of terror for good.

really our problem, is it?

Weren't willing to ensure that not a single city drowned at his hands ever again.

Weren't willing to carry out the logical and obvious step of preventing him from withdrawing to his months of dormancy and healing, and emerging on the other side even faster and stronger and more clever and more challenging to slay than he was this evening.

… Val?

My fury rose until it consumed my thoughts, until it shut out the telepathic noise somewhere in the back of my mind.

How could these people be so blind?

How could they not understand?

…

I could make them understand.

It would be so easy.

Simplicity itself.

Myrddin lacked the disciplined will of a true wizard, strengthened over many years of mind-bending exercises.

Eidolon was shielded from scrying, but not, according to his aura, from enchantments.

All it would take would be a single mental tendril extended to each of them, and to other useful capes in the area. Aerial, Exalt, Sere, Everglaze, a few others.

A few words, carefully chosen.

A single tiny mental nudge.

They all wanted to see Leviathan dead, I could sense that clearly.

I would merely be helping them overcome their reluctance.

They would come with me to slay Leviathan, and they would thank me afterwards.

…

Yes. They would thank me.

They would do it believing wholeheartedly that following me into battle once more had been their own decision.

That was precisely why the First Precept existed, and why despite everything I simply couldn't go through with it.

I would break any of the Precepts in a heartbeat if it meant bringing Aldric back to me, or restoring Jhaamdath to its former glory… but this city, this world, Leviathan himself? They simply weren't worth it.

Tampa had survived the night with incredibly few casualties and incredibly little property damage, and that would simply have to be good enough for now.

My fury drained away, and I sighed and restored my link to Aspect.

~*~*~

The last of the heroes filed through the wormhole to Brockton Bay, and I dismissed it behind them. There were just a handful of teams left to be returned to their cities of origin, and none of them would be ready any time soon.

Without turning around, I spoke to the air: "You seem to have missed your route home."

There was a pause, and then the scrabbling of debris as Truthteller stood up from her hiding place and limped closer.

"There are plenty of healers remaining in the city," I continued, "and all of them believe you to be a hero. You didn't need to approach me in private."

"I wouldn't say no to some healing; Doctor Q obviously slept through the class on burn treatments in med school. But that's not why I stayed behind."

"You don't want to return to Brockton Bay."

"I wasn't supposed to leave in the first place. I asked my boss, he said no, I got the alert text, I made a split-second decision, I threw a fake costume together, and I got out of there. If I go back, he's not going to be happy. So I was wondering… you think you can open the Las Vegas portal a little early? I hear Thinkers are all the rage over there."

"I can open one right now." I did just that, and for good measure I manifested a pair of healing powers that completely wiped away her injuries.

She stood up straight and let out a sigh of deep contentment. "Oh, god. So much better."

She turned toward the wormhole, but hesitated. "If you ever run into Bitch, tell her… tell her Tattletale said she's sorry, and that I wasn't planning to run out on her, but with the way Coil's been treating us since the Lung incident… well, things change, and I had to look out for number one."

Then she strode through the wormhole, without looking back.

~*~*~

12:04 am, Saturday the 14th of May, 2011 CE

Shore of Lake Magdalene, Tampa, America, Earth Bet

I'd made my way back to the site of the energy facility so that I would be able to ensure that when it returned to the normal timestream it did so in one piece and without suffering any side effects of its jaunt.

After I'd done that, but before I'd left to find Alexandria and ask her some rather pointed questions before she returned to either Los Angeles or Washington, D.C., I'd been sidetracked by the sight of the energy Scion had left behind, which still had yet to fade.

It was truly mesmerizing, its currents swirling in wholly unfamiliar patterns and its paradoxical effects on extrasensory powers completely inexplicable.

I'd never sensed its like before, and I had no idea where I'd even begin to look for research concerning such a phenomenon.

I did, however, know someone in this sphere who might have some idea.

~*~*~

Once all the necessary measures to shield Gwyn from any and all observations were in place, I opened a gate to the specified location.

Gwyn was waiting in a small but well-furnished room, wearing his own form rather than his native disguise; his eyes were already glowing with the characteristic blue light of an undisguised Arcane Sight spell.

He stepped through the gate and moved to greet me, then halted suddenly, his eyes widening in concern.

"I've sensed this before," he said hoarsely.

"Where?"

He met my gaze, expression grim. "On Oerth, in the depths of Firestorm Peak."

I flicked through my older memories, searching for-

Ah.

Firestorm Peak.

The site of the Vast Gate.

An ancient portal to the gods-be-damned Far Realm, whose substance is absolutely and in all ways utterly antithetical to that of the multiverse as we know it.

A portal crafted by a people known only as the Elder Elves, the opening of which had heralded the end of their civilization and the erasure of nearly all traces of it from history.

That Firestorm Peak.

"I believe," I said, "that the Founders will wish to be informed."

~*~*~

Time Irrelevant, Date Irrelevant

Planar Cartographic Society Quarantine Demiplane, Ethereal Plane

Five other Society members stood with Gwyn, Kassalyn, and me inside the demiplane. The Founders were three of them, currently deep in conversation; the moment we'd alerted them of the situation, they'd convened a meeting here and set out to perform some scans to verify our claims.

The two others were Taldar Yrthos, a dour changeling with a glittering dragonmark covering the left side of his face, and Inephra d'Sivis, a normally-cheery gnome whose mood currently matched Taldar's. As the other two members the Society had recruited from Eberron, they had been invited to this discussion because its outcome might impact their homeworld.

Behind us, a shadowy figure drifted out of the portal to Gwyn's Earth, a small box in hand: one of Penumbra's familiars, holding a device to detect Far Realm energies that she and Juroth had quickly assembled using a few of Juroth's trinkets and a prototype of the next generation of Penumbra's homunculi.

Penumbra's eyelights glimmered with anticipation as she accepted the box from her familiar. "When I open this box," she explained, "the lights will tell us of the degree of Far Realm contamination on the sampled areas of each world you've been exploring, as well as a few others used as control samples. The brighter the light, the stronger and more current the influence; the more its color tends toward the blue end of the spectrum, the more direct and active the connections."

She lifted the lid to reveal six gemstones set in a hexagon.

Each of them was glowing blindingly bright… in the deep ultraviolet.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Juroth began to flip through the everpresent tome floating at his side.

"Time for a little primer on That Which Mortals Were Not Meant To Know, I think," he said in a tone of off-kilter cheer. "I certainly hope none of you has eaten recently."

~*~*~

I hadn't expected reading about the Far Realm to make anything make sense, but here we were.

Despite being a member of the Society since its founding, I hadn't studied the Far Realm in any depth-or even shallowness, for that matter. No one sane wanted to learn more about it than absolutely necessary (hence why Juroth was our resident expert on the topic), and it wasn't as though any of us were ever going to go there, so I'd left the subject safely alone up until now.

Even if I had studied it at some point, however, I doubt I'd have made any immediate connection between the bizarre structure of the Far Realm, with its permeable and literally uncountable layers that move in and out phase with one another in incomprehensible ways and allow a single being to exist in multiple layers at the same time, and the bizarre cosmology of Earth Bet's crystal sphere, with its intermingled planes and its countless Earths that diverge from each other in ways both subtle and profound and allow a single being to perceive multiple Earths from a single spot in the Dream-Ethereal.

Because no one clinging to even a single shred of sanity would ever, in their wildest nightmares, expect to find themself in a sphere whose every last cubic inch was so saturated in antithetical energies that it would be hard to find a region of the multiverse that warped or that alien anywhere other than the heart of a rift to the Far Realm itself!

The local Astral Plane, though… that showed no signs of Far Realm contamination except for the immediate region around my demiplane where I'd brought some of it back with me from the Earths and the Dream-Ethereal.

How and why the severing of the local Astral from the rest of the planes related to this phenomenon, I couldn't even begin to say.

~*~*~

Once everyone present was sufficiently well-informed on the Far Realm to have an opinion on the matter, Penumbra called for a vote.

"Clearly, we cannot allow this sphere to be exposed to the wider multiverse while it remains contaminated," she said. "There are already minute traces of Far Realm energies on the near side of the Earthspace portals both in this demiplane and on Eberron, and that's after holding those portals open for less than a week in total. Adding a permanent connection to this sphere to the Society's portal network would be deeply irresponsible. The question, then, is how to handle the remainder of this current expedition."

"Let it continue, I say," Juroth declared, his sigils flaring as he spoke. "Opening the portal for check-ins will be a risk, of course, so we can cut down the frequency of those, but this is the closest we've ever come to having the opportunity to explore the Far Realm and I very much doubt we'll ever have an opportunity like this again. We can't afford to pass this up."

Penumbra shook her head. "It's far too dangerous, both for the multiverse at large and for the poor dears who will be constantly exposed to that contamination for the better part of a decade. The local inhabitants may have developed a resistance to it, somehow, but we shouldn't risk our own in such conditions."

Adilege, as usual, took a middle path: "I suggest we keep to our present course, but cut the expedition down to a single year. That should be more than enough time to gather what information we want, given that the cultural data will no longer be of use to us if we won't be referring any clients here."

A debate ensued, and eventually we settled on a modified version of Adilege's proposal: a reduced duration of three years, and an immediate halt to the expedition at the first sign of mental instability or physical mutation in any of the three of us. While Taldar and Inephra had both voted in favor of ending things immediately, Gwyn and Kassalyn were enjoying their time on their Earths enough to wish to continue, and I still had my own goals for what I wanted to get out of this mission.

"It's settled, then," Adilege said with a nod. "Once you return through your respective portals, don't expect another check-in for six months unless we manage to find a way to handle contamination from short-duration portals in the meantime. Dismissed."

~*~*~

While Gwyn and Kassalyn returned to their respective Earths and the others to Society headquarters-after taking their best guess at appropriate decontamination measures, of course-Juroth lingered in the demiplane, at my telepathic request.

"So," he said once it was just the two of us, "it occurs to me that in all the commotion you never mentioned how, exactly, you happened to make your discovery. As I assume that's due to Adilege being a stickler about the rules again, I will remind you that in a quarantined sphere the guidelines on interference are considerably looser, and remark that at this point any irregularities leading up to that quarantine can be safely swept under the rug and left out of the official Society record."

"That's good to hear," I said. Good old Juroth. "But that isn't what I'd hoped to discuss. I simply had a few requests, given that I may not be able to access Society resources for six months or more."

Juroth gestured for me to continue.

"First, I'd like a copy of any texts you may have on the subject of warding against Far Realm influence," I began. "I'll want to develop personal wards against it or determine how to ward my demiplane against it, ideally both."

"Done."

"Second, do you have in your library any writings by the Netherese archwizard Proctiv?"

The illumian gave me a knowing look. "Writings that might contain the research notes for a particular spell by the name of Breach Crystal Sphere, perhaps?"

"For example, yes."

"In fact I do. The first prototype of my translocation sphere was based largely on Proctiv's work." His gaze sharpened. "You aren't planning to enhance your Orb with a similar capability, are you? While the rules about interference within a quarantined sphere are relaxed, the rules about preventing all contact with the outside are still very much in place."

I dismissed the idea with a wave of my hand. "I don't intend anything so broad in scope. I was merely hoping to research a power that might let me send a message through a sealed sphere in an emergency, or something else along those lines."

"I see." Juroth drummed his fingers thoughtfully against his hovering tome. "I'll give you a curated subset of Proctiv's early notes and trust you not to stray too far afield."

"Thank you. Third… do you happen to have any spare voidstone I could borrow for a side project?"

Juroth's eyebrows climbed up his forehead until they were practically lost among his tattoos.

"You do realize that voidstone is incredibly hazardous to work with, yes?" he asked.

I gave him a look.

"And yes, I know that sounds hypocritical, coming from me," he acknowledged, "but that should tell you something. It really is that dangerous."

"I'm well aware. I only need a minuscule amount; nowhere near enough to craft a sphere of annihilation, just enough to line the edge of Reason's blade."

"Dare I ask why?"

"There is one particular creature on my Earth whom I hope to render exceptionally nonexistent in the near future." Or perhaps more than one, depending on what my research into the other Endbringers' histories might turn up.

Juroth nodded solemnly. "I understand completely. I'll give you a list of soul crystals I'd like you to manifest for me, you do that while I find a suitable voidstone containment vessel, and we'll call it even."

~*~*~

9:31 am, Saturday the 14th of May, 2011 CE

Lau Residence, Brockton Bay, America, Earth Bet

Jason Lau, formerly a landlord for several neighborhoods in the Docks and now the owner of several large tracts of nearly-worthless land, looked down at the valise containing two hundred thousand American dollars and then back up at me. He squinted suspiciously. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. I simply desire to own that particular parcel of land, which is currently useless to you." I'd want to ward the area holding the weak spot in the sphere against Far Realm influence once I learned how to do that, just in case there was a possibility of energy leakage even when no portal was present, so I was buying the property now to ensure that no one else acquired it in the meantime.

"I also desire for someone much more familiar with the local legal system than I to handle all of the paperwork and minutiae," I continued. "Some non-trivial portion of that amount will go to taxes and fees, I assume; consider any excess to be a gift for services rendered, and for your utmost discretion."

"That's all? You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I like my privacy, I don't like legal entanglements, I require some land, and yours simply happens to be the parcel that I like best."

He drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment. "Well… I guess if you can't trust a hero to be a straight shooter, who can you trust?" He extended his hand. "You've got yourself a deal, Mister Talaire."

We shook on it, then he bustled off to gather the relevant forms. When he returned, it was a matter of moments to absorb their contents and fill them out appropriately, something he found quite impressive.

"So, ah, you mind telling me what your plans are for the place?" he asked as I stood to leave.

There was no need to conceal my general plans from him; I'd already said I was a foreign dignitary, I'd simply neglected to mention precisely how foreign. "By tomorrow, to construct an embassy on the grounds; by next week, to have it registered as sovereign territory with your diplomatic authorities, with the assistance of the PRT; by the next month, to use it as a base for my travels around the globe."

I shrugged. "Beyond that… who knows what the future might hold?"

Author's Note

Apologies once again for the posting delay (it's still Monday where I am!). Turns out writing epic-level combat with dozens of characters involved and tracking everyone's movement across the map of a real-world city is complicated; who'd have thought?

Regarding the mention of PRT plans for Endbringer fights and the somewhat more organized response compared to canon, Legend says in 8.2 that "We have trained, organized and planned for this!" even though the heroes' actual organizational skills as shown on-screen leave much to be desired, so I'm chalking that up to some nebulous combination of "Skitter's a villain who's never been to one of these before so there's a lot of behind-the-scenes planning that she didn't see" and "PRT ENE, as a non-numbered department with low budget and training priority, is much less organized than PRT 53 in Tampa would be."

Regarding the force fields covering most of the Tampa Bay area, Worm treats the PHQ force field as a Brockton Bay-exclusive thing but PRT Quest says that Uppercrust built "large-scale force fields at sensitive port locations" and WoG says that "Uppercrust was ailing as 2011 rolled around and his attention to the various defense systems along the coasts was suffering as a consequence," so as with the Endbringer planning I'm assuming that budget cuts and scheduling issues and other not-visible-or-relevant-to-Taylor factors explain the difference, and that if Brockton Bay had a numbered department with a budget and Uppercrust were in better health then the whole Bay could have been covered in force fields too.

Regarding Leviathan's names, the Endbringers canonically have other names in other cultures (Jörmungandr being the one mentioned for him in canon). Azhdaha, Balhūt, and Sobek are water-themed monsters from Persian, Arabic, and Egyptian mythology, respectively, while "Dvitiya" means "second" in Sanskrit just like Behemoth's alternate name of "Prathama" means "first."

Regarding Valigan's initial "hang back and screw over Leviathan's hydrokinesis" approach to the fight, it's not something I've seen in any other fic, it gave me a chance to give some side characters some spotlight time, and it let me convey Valigan's relative power level without going deep into the weeds on what epic-level combat looks like for ten thousand words, so hopefully folks appreciated the change of pace.

Regarding the Gemstone power facility that was Leviathan's goal, it's a fictional facility mentioned in this PHO Sunday post; I assume that the "FNN" in the name stands for Florida Nuclear Network or similar. Nuclear plants tend to be situated on lakes (natural or artificial) or rivers, so with all the lakes in the area it made a perfect target for him.

Regarding Scion's interest in the mythal, before anyone starts theorizing too much it's definitely not an "Ah, I can tell from the pixels that there's someone from outside Earth Bet here!" situation, since once an epic spell lapses there's no qualitative difference between its aura and the aura of a normal spell that does the same thing. The extreme range on that power might, however, have piqued his interest enough that he might take some time out of his busy schedule to look into any other mythal that pops up.

D stuff referenced in this chapter:

New spells and powers Valigan used or referenced in this chapter were wormhole and mindscan (see the Index post), greater heroism (good all-around combat buff), metaphysical weapon (improves attack and damage for one weapon), astral projection (send a projection of yourself to other planes in reasonable safety), affinity field (shares things that affect you with nearby allies, so he only had to manifest contingency , teleport, and revivify once to hit everyone), astral construct (a build-your-own-minion power that creates them instead of summoning them from elsewhere; Valigan's had Concussion, Pounce, Fly, and Swim as selected abilities), airy water (treats a region of water as both air and water, whichever is favorable), dispel water (counters water magic or deletes water), expansion (makes you 1 or 2 size categories later; Huge is up to 32 feet tall, on par with Leviathan), and Proctiv's breach crystal sphere (can either seal off a sphere from spelljamming, though not planar travel, or break an existing seal, using its normal or reversed version). Abominations are these guys, mid-epic monsters that start at "4 more Hit Dice than Valigan currently has, oodles of defensive abilities, and technically a god" and only go up from there. Linking them with the Endbringers fits the power scale quite nicely, and… well, just look at them! Phaethons ( image) are big rock-and-lava monsters whose schtick is filling the area near them with tons of fire and that "burn their way through the belly of the earth. When roused, they burst to the surface, creating miniature volcanoes as they exit" and are sealed away below the earth "unable to break the compulsion laid on them by higher powers" except that "sometimes a phaethon breaks its eternal geas for a day or a season, during which time it incinerates anything it can flow over and smother." A chichimec ( image) is a big flying monster that "looks like a clump of madly flapping, fluttering, scrabbling wings" and "is usually pale white to beige," and they have telekinesis at will and drain Charisma (i.e. force of personality and sense of self) on a touch. The charybdis isn't an official abomination, but "Prison planes seal away more abominations than can be cataloged" and DMs are expressly encouraged to make their own, so I did-including a D translation of the Endbringers' ridiculous regeneration that incorporates the layering effect without being overly complicated. As far as the other monsters mentioned, elemental monoliths are massive elementals (the link shows the earth monolith, but there are ones for each element); leviathans are massive whales that sink things with tidal waves; ocean striders are humanoid-ish critters with water magic and the ability to walk on water; an elemental weird is an elemental creature with an ability to mind-control elementals, a grab-bag of useful spells, and stupidly strong Divination abilities; a frostwind virago is a cold-hearted fey lady with mind-affecting magic and the ability to surround herself with protective debris; and a fiendwurm has a portal in its gut that goes kaboom when it dies. Any of that sound familar?

While Jhaamdath primarily worshiped Auppenser, sources state that they also worshiped other gods to a much lesser extent. Murdane is explicitly linked to Jhaamdath and its fall, while Waukeen is a very likely inclusion based on the sleuthing of the good folks at the Candlekeep forums, the internet's home of Forgotten Realms turbonerds (and I mean that in the best way possible). The "overlapping fields of planar energies" in Val's demiplane are manifest zones like the ones he used to give Armsmaster more tinkering time. The main planes from which he was borrowing traits were the Astral (constant flight at Int-based speeds, constant Quickened spells and powers), Positive Energy (minor fast healing), the Demiplane of Ectoplasm (reduced power point costs, max HP for Astral Constructs), plus a few minor ones. Last Resort has a whole bunch of items built into it, all with limited charges or restrictions to bring the crafting cost down to something reasonable. Most relevant for this chapter are highly-augmented precognition powers ( defensive and offensive) and greater luminous armor to let him go toe-to-toe with Leviathan without going splat, various X/day abilities that let him apply metapsionics to his powers at free or reduced cost, timeless body as a panic button, and save-DC-boosting properties that gave him a chance of affecting Leviathan with any powers at all. A mythal is a huge stationary ward that can be created by Elven High Magic or 10th level spells in AD or epic spells using the Mythal seed (in Lost Empires of Faerûn) in 3e. The process for creating them is a build-your-own-spell thing, like other epic spells, but there are additional options for mythals specifically. Their most relevant properties for this chapter are: Spells of a certain descriptor, like [Water, can be automatically negated in the area, no checks required or allowed; A "prevalent power" of a mythal lets you take a spell and apply its effects everywhere within it, like applying control water to suppress waves or move a river out of the way, augment object to make buildings more sturdy, earthfast to make bridges and the ground more sturdy, and water breathing for obvious reasons. The epic spell DCs for mythals can get ridiculously high, so to make them more manageable you can make a mythal Anchored (tied to the surrounding area, any damage to the area or the presence of major Outsiders forces a mythal integrity check with an increasing DC to prevent it from failing) or Corruptible (weakens over time, has a chance to change unpredictably if a mythal integrity check is failed) or give it a Capstone (a single structure that weakens or destroys the mythal if it's weakened or destroyed) to greatly reduce the DCs. Normally integrity checks operate on the scale of years and cities, but (A) that makes them trivial to deal with on the timescales of any actual game and (B) that doesn't match the lore, where mythals are vulnerable even to brief and small-scale destruction, so in this case Valigan was making checks every time something was damaged at all and repeatedly due to Leviathan's mere presence-and at 2 DC per "anchor-damaging event" those DCs start to really add up. Valigan's withdrawal at the end of each vignette was due to him having to manifest skill-boosting and rerolling powers to handle the checks, and the dissociation near the end represented the mythal being close enough to failing that even with his skill boosts the DCs were getting out of hand. Even after all that DC reduction, the Spellcraft DC was so high that to get it down to 0 (and thus castable without being researched ahead of time) Valigan had to take 42d6 Backlash damage (which cannot be blocked or mitigated, but can be healed) every round of the power's duration, hence his not being able to do much else while it was active. The "Leviathan going through a wormhole makes a big boom" interaction is extrapolated from the interactions between bags of holding and portable holes and gates and spheres of annihilation . Valigan's Disintegration Beam O' Doom was using his power link shards , an item specific to kalashtar, Inspired, and elan that every psionic character in Eberron dreams of getting one day. Each lets you augment a power with 2 virtual power points 3/day, so using all 28 together on top of the ML 63 he was packing thanks to the Psiotheurgist feat meant he was tossing around 238d6 damage with that single disintegrate even before taking Last Resort's reduced-cost metapsionics into account. (And Leviathan still tanked it, like a boss.) Valigan's second epic power was much simpler than the mythal, simply using the Transport seed and the "how to determine the DC for duplicating a nonepic spell or power" guidelines to time hop the whole facility forward. The Far Realm, mentioned all the way back in 2.2.V and introduced to D in the adventure The Gates of Firestorm Peak, is seriously bad news… and also a pretty close match for Worm's cosmology and the entities. From Manual of the Planes: "The Far Realm is divided into an unknown number of layers. Each layer is only slightly out of phase with the next, and passing between layers requires only a thought. It's possible to stand on one layer and see dozens of others, all overlapping yet somehow distinct." "Features and creatures of the Far Realm are multidimensional and may exist on more than one layer simultaneously. If the layers of the Far Realm are like a stack of translucent parchment, multilayer creatures are like a single dot marked upon each parchment. Individually, the marks appear meaningless, but viewed through the stack of parchment, they coalesce into a three-dimensional object. Such is the existence of everything from the tentacled vegetation that writhes throughout the Far Realm, to the massive, drifting entities whose existence is too vast to even notice visitors who only occupy a single layer at a time." "Vast multilayered shapes drift at the edge of sight through the layers, blurrily reminiscent of creatures from the deepest trenches of Material Plane seas. But each of the blurry forms is as large as a city-and those are the small shapes." It may or may not have been obvious from the mention of Valigan feeling an uncomfortable sensation straight through his wards when he popped back to where Scion had been, but he was suddenly willing to even consider casually breaking his highly valued First Precept to go after Leviathan because he'd just gotten a nice big concentrated dose of Scion's residual unfiltered Far Realm energies to the face. Mind-breaking energies from outside reality: not even once. Voidstone is one of the most destructive substances in the multiverse, and if something absolutely positively must be destroyed, there's few better options out there.