Author's Notes:

Transferring of snips from notes to the spreadsheet is nearing its conclusion, but unfortunately it's been stalled due to real life (work, plus… I got a girlfriend now woot!). So… whew! There's a lot—and I mean a lot—of content to sift through. There are a ton of ideas and story threads to go through in Aimless, and the last thing I want to happen is produce a disorganized mess. Still, it'll be good to finally slap a timestamp on each snip and rearrange the whole thing according to an optimal posting order.

Timestamp key: "D" for days, "W" for weeks, "M" for months, "Y" for years, "EM" for early morning, "LM" for late morning, "EA" for early afternoon, "LA" for late afternoon, "EE" for early evening, "LN" for late night, and "AD" for all day. Note that the Realms follows the sexagesimal system for keeping time, just like Earth. (In other words, 60 seconds per minute and 60 minutes per hour.) The timestamp is relative to Joshua's arrival in Warfang. That is to say, Day Zero begins at the end of the 19th chapter.

Snip category key: There are four categories of snips. "Settling In", "City Life", "Beyond the Wall", and "The Journey Home". All four represent parallel storylines that take place within Aimless, and other than "Settling In", each snip category has at least two subtypes. Those subtypes aren't listed due to potential spoilers.

The OC Corvold belongs to djax80.

Enjoy.

City Life – Threads of Gold

Chapter 25: Clothes Make the Man

"Naked people have little or no influence on society."

- Mark Twain

[2D/EM]

The center of the Allied Territories, Warfang was both the cradle of political power in the continent of Markazia and an impenetrable stronghold famous for its massive and domineering walls. Reinforced with magic and the supposed "blessings of the Ancestors", they towered impractically high. So high, they could be seen from the eastern side of Blackstone Mountains.

At least on a sunny day, a cheetah recalled.

It wasn't called the City of Dragons for nothing. Before the War, those gargantuan reptiles ruled this place for centuries. They outnumbered every other species living here, even the Moles who built this city in the first place, and they knew it. It was said dragonkind received special treatment in this city, discriminated favorably at expense of the others, for they alone could fly and wield the elements that formed the very lands everyone walked.

The Moles never cared. They made them for the winged lizards and they were perfectly happy slaving to the dragons' every need and desire back then, just as they were today. The others tolerated this inequality for hundreds of years without question. After all, the Dragons were typically approachable and generous to those who assisted them.

This city changed after the War, the cheetah pondered. Dragonkind now teetered close to extinction. Having been systematically hunted by the Dark Master, the Ape King, and the Terror of the Skies, they now numbered less than 100,000 individuals, excluding the snobs from Skylands. The so-called "City of Dragons" enjoyed the greatest degree of species diversity it's ever had in generations, a wonderful era of peace and promises of prosperity, under the rule of the Guardians and the Saviors of the Realms.

All of them were dragons. The irony didn't escape him.

If only these lizards were humble enough to at least recognize the precarious state of their species. The Huntress should shoot such humility straight into their hearts. They needed the supposedly "lesser species" more than ever.

Looking at how all the Dragon Squires guarding the Warfang Temple glared at the cheetah, he might as well have shot his arrow in the dark. He almost recoiled at the palpable suspicion thrown his way. So many of them! And so close to Talonpoint Keep. They were fidgeting, and the cheetah could see their enchanted armors twitch. They were anxious for action.

Or they were just nervous.

After all, the feline had brought a wheelbarrow overflowing with so much cloth and rags and fabrics the guards could probably smell them from hundreds of wingspans away.

The Huntress help him! None of them bothered to inspect the stinking goods. They shoved him away the instant he approached. Blocked his path with their sturdy bodies and their giant wings. A brown dragon growled and threatened to use the earth to overturn his cart and bury him under its "rotten contents". These people were ruthless! He needed to get this delivery done right away, or he wouldn't make it back in time to pick up the children from the academy. If he dawdled here too long, the kids would suffer without lunch for at least an hour, even if he took the speedways.

…And that assumed he could actually find a Dragon who'd willingly allow an insignificant cheetah like him on their back like a common horse.

"Corvold!" someone called his name. "Corvold!"

A leopard clad in armor appeared on the hill up ahead. He bounded gracefully down the slope, sprinting straight to the gate. The Dragon Squires recognized a member of their own guard and opened a clear path for this newcomer.

"I am so sorry!" apologized the guard. Corvold recognized the armor. Crystals and runes adorned its pieces, adding mysterious qualities to the metal he knew at once was among Talonpoint Keep's finest materials. "I completely forgot they tightened security after we brought in the furless ape on Torsha. I didn't mean to keep you waiting. I thought they'd let you through Talonpoint Gate as usual."

"Well they didn't," Corvold grumbled. "How could you forget about this, Copeland? You're assigned here!"

The leopard bowed his head obsequiously. His eyes shut from embarrassment. "I'm really sorry. The past two days were a logistics nightmare for everyone."

"I don't care. Damn it, glittery tom. You know my reddish fur naturally arouses suspicion!" He crossed his arms. His ears twitched when he frowned. "You had a couple days, so you could've done something about it!"

Copeland yawned before he could give Corvold a reply. Seeing this, the cheetah cut his friend off. "You haven't had much sleep have you?"

"No. Been awake for 39 hours straight since yesterday."

"What happened?"

"Aahh," The leopard started to reply, only to jolt when he remembered something. "Hold on. Let's discuss this while we walk? This way, I'm sure you can return to your district before the academy dismisses your kids."

Satisfied at the polite suggestion, Corvold strolled to his barrow and picked it up. He made sure all the clothing remained right where they were. "Good. I hope you haven't forgotten how far Mudline District is."

"Northeast Warfang, yes? Don't worry, I'll make sure you leave the Temple on dragonback."

The Dragon Squires obstructed the path ahead of them once more. This time a redscale dragon nearing the end of his adolescence—a couple heads taller than either feline—padded forward. "Copeland," he said, "We can't let your friend through until we inspect his belongings." He hid a grimace, perhaps thinking of the insufferable stench emanating from the wheelbarrow. "Just standard operating protocol."

They wanted to inspect it now? After making him wait for thirty minutes? An outraged Corvold resisted the urge to shove his foot onto the dragon's muzzle.

Copeland produced a badge from the satchel he carried on his waist. Corvold couldn't see the exact insignia or emblem emboldened on the piece of metal, but whatever it was neutered the guard's movements. "No need. Just for this visit, Corvold is an exception to the rule." He demonstrated the badge for every guard to see, and even the red cheetah himself caught a glimpse of purple, black, and gold. "But don't worry. The wheelbarrow only contains old clothes from his orphanage."

The redscale blanched. "Yuck! Ancestors, who would be crazy enough to wear these stinky rags? They smell like a dragon diver that just came out of a full cloaca."

"The furless ape would," Copeland replied. "He made an urgent request for clothing yesterday, with Lady Cynder's full approval." He gestured towards Corvold with a sneer on his snout. "Luckily, my friend here had some old clothes ready for the gar—for donation."

Corvold felt the pause that followed. Every Dragon Squire at the gate wore a dumbfounded expression for so long, he did not think the moment all of them howled in laughter in unison would come. The guards immediately stood aside, while the lone redscale bowed his head. "Oh. Then we have no problem. You may pass, cheetah." He grinned at Corvold. "It would be our pleasure."

The two of them passed Talonpoint Gate together and, with their powerful legs, easily ascended the hill. From there, the path branched into two. One went to the left and down, to the intimidating castle of Talonpoint Keep. The other headed right, dipping a little before rising up and up along the massive mountain that housed the Temple and its underground rooms. The dirt path ended right where it met the White Steps, the highest stairway in all of Warfang. A beautiful sight to behold… until one had to climb it.

Corvold grumbled at the thought of all the non-dragons walking up so many steps. They would be so exhausted, by the time they reached the top it would look like they were all groveling before the dragons, the flying lords and masters of the Realms. Arrogant lizards. This was one of the worst things he detested about the Temple. Thankfully the feline species were blessed with strong legs.

Corvold lifted up the cart and followed Copeland the very second after he took in the view. "So, the other day you said the Guardians assigned you with important guard duty."

"Figured out I'm guarding the furless ape, have you?"

"The forest is abundant with footprints and droppings." A cryptic answer, but the idiom would be familiar to any warrior from the Valley.

Copeland did not disappoint. "Still as sharp as ever, huh?" He quipped. "You always did have a knack for discerning patterns."

Corvold went straight for the heart. "How is it? I heard Apes are extremely difficult to keep as prisoners."

The leopard soldier laughed. "Ha! Not this one. Joshua is the most docile Ape I've ever seen. Stays inside his room, doesn't make noise, doesn't vandalize the furniture, hasn't threatened us at all since we threw him in there, and—Great Hunt—did I mention he never made a single attempt at escape?"

He couldn't believe that last one. "Wasn't he put in an unused room in the residential area?"

"Yes! Any Ape worth his shabby hide would have salivated at that. No locks, no reinforced doors, and empty corridors with civilian dragons living in the lower floors. If it had been anyone else, I wouldn't even be talking to you today. He went out by himself once, in early morning Retorsha. Just to wake Seriphos up and take him to the lavatorium. The old greenscale's still baffled about it!"

"…Hmm, it sounds like the furless ape wants to stay in Warfang."

"Could be. Lady Cynder and Master Volteer are personally backing him. I heard he saved Lady Cynder's life from a conspiracy planned by a Guardian Candidate."

He disregarded the last sentence. That was old news, and for most people, old news was worthless. "Why? Almost everyone wants him dead."

"Including us, his own guards," Copeland admitted without shame. This Joshua was lucky he had soldiers from Talonpoint Keep guarding him. They were known for their adherence to very high standards of professional conduct. Even if everyone who watched over the furless ape abhorred him and wished for his torturous death every hour, they would still perform their duty as instructed and to the letter. "Anyway, they think the human is better left alive."

"Human?"

"It's what the furless ape calls his kind."

Probably the name of his subspecies, Corvold mentally filed. "Is the favor of the child prodigy that important? I've heard mewlings she can use master-level techniques, multiple times over."

"Yes, but that's not all. Joshua's power is worth studying. Master Volteer called it an Element, if I remember correctly."

Corvold had heard the stories. It sounded incredulous. The human was said to have completely negated the other Elements with his power alone. He could produce a white cloud so potent it instantly turned any hapless victim into a corpse. He shot out beams of light that did just the same. One strike from his fist supposedly could cause a flash of light and make a seasoned warrior fall, floundering in pain and cut off from the world. Corvold even recalled a rumor persisting in the taverns, describing a frightening ability to turn invisible or drain the life and mana out of anyone he touches. Supposedly.

"Is that truly an Element?" Corvold asked, just as they arrived at the White Steps. "I've never heard of Dragons performing the same things he did on Torsha afternoon."

Copeland stared back at him. "I wouldn't know. I'm not a Dragon." He gestured to a platform and a set of ropes next to the staircase. "Hey, aren't you going to set your cart down?"

"Sorry. Was lost in thought." Thankfully, the Dragons accounted for travelers' belongings when they used the Temple. Visitors burdened with bags or other heavy objects would place their items on this platform, tie it down, and have it brought up by either pulleys or, if they were willing to pay coins, the efforts of an greenscale. "The lenient treatment of the Ape is surprising. Is Joshua's background even clear? Why did he come to Warfang to begin with?"

"I can't tell you," said the leopard. He raised a paw to his chest. "Honor-bound, remember?"

The cheetah frowned. "Hmph! Obviously Talonpoint's Code is more important than childhood friends."

"Huntress shoot you, Corvold!" Copeland stopped climbing the steps and glowered down at him. "Why do you keep bringing that up? Isn't it enough that I set this up? You'll be seeing the furless ape for yourself! I vouched for you, damn gib."

Corvold raised his hands in peaceful surrender. "I'm sorry! I'm grateful for the opportunity, I really am. But I cannot help it. I'm—

"An orphan master who sidelines as a reliable information broker every Valorem, I know. Your commissions finance almost a third of my income. But I told you before, I can't—I won't compromise my honor."

"Please, Copeland," the cheetah requested. "The red cycle's ending next week, and my profits haven't been at their best this month. My landlord—

"All right! All right!" conceded the armored leopard. He turned and resumed the hike up. "I shouldn't even mention this." He shook his head, before hesitantly speaking, "Okay, the Guardians have a hearing scheduled for next Meredy. They hope we can clear up some of the mysteries surrounding the human."

Copeland stomped his boot. "But that's all I'm going to say about this! Talonpoint's Code forbids me from revealing anything else."

A hearing about Joshua? Corvold conjectured this would pertain to his origins. That his background would be the first topic made sense to him. All the Councilors would attend this, he was certain. Hmm… if memory served him right, there should be an Atlawa merchant in Wellbore District who needed a financier for his next venture beyond the wall. Connecting him to Moneybags would shower plenty of coin in his direction, enough to pay the rent for the next two red cycles. "It's fine, old friend!" Corvold clapped his hands together and bowed. "It's fine. Praise the Huntress! This is a great gift you've given me. It will be very useful."

"You owe me," he emphasized. "Don't forget that."

"I won't. I swear on the spoils of the Great Hunt."

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.

.

The Terror of the Skies herself waited for the two cats at the top of the White Steps, where the path led to an archway that welcomed all visitors to a field roughly two hundred paces wide. From what Corvold could see, the Dragons used this as one of the many VTOL points in the Temple. Those who weren't using the clearing for its intended function could be found gathering near the corners. He could see several groups of people lounging there. Many of them were dragons, but some were moles and the less frequently seen felines and gnorcs.

The red cheetah's jaw dropped upon seeing one of the Saviors. Great Hunt, he had forgotten how enormous the adult dragons were. For a dragoness nearing the end of her adolescence, she already stood at least two heads taller than him.

"Ah! Lady Cynder!" Copeland genuflected before Cynder. "I am surprised to see you here, Your Grace. Is there anything this humble servant can do for you?"

"Copeland, stand up and stop with the formalities," Cynder said. "You know how Spyro and I feel about them."

From the corner of his eye, Corvold saw four moles tirelessly working on the levers that lifted his barrow up the mountain.

Meanwhile, Copeland complied with Cynder's response and straightened his back. He stretched. "All right then." His voice lost its elegance and reverted to normal. His back cracked. "Ahhhh! Much better." The leopard raised his paw in greeting. "Sorry about that. You know I have to follow those stupid rules when someone could be watching."

The Savior sighed. "Yes," she empathized with him. Her voice was soft and meek, but Corvold heard the strength lying beneath its tenderness. "I know what you mean. If you ask me, there's no point to all these formal dragon dung. Proper decorum is an enormous waste of time, honestly."

"Tell that to the Councilors. They're the ones insisting on all this... tradition."

"Believe me, we tried." Cynder turned to Corvold. "So who's this?" she asked. Cynder's viridian gaze inspected the cheetah from top to bottom as she approached.

Corvold heard the blackscale hum to herself. Her gaze intensified just as he eluded eye contact to accept the cart from the kind moles who brought it up from the ground. "Thank you," he muttered and slipped a shining coin in one of their paws. "Here, a little token of appreciation for your work."

"This is Corvold," Copeland introduced him.

Corvold knew the customary greeting by heart. "Clear skies," he intoned. He'd been around enough dragons to know how to enunciate it properly.

Cynder smiled. "Steady winds." She turned to Copeland, "And?"

"He runs a small orphanage in Mudline District. I reached out to him after I heard Joshua complaining about the tattered rags he's wearing, see if he had anything up for donation."

"I see. Isn't Mudline District a bit far? How do you two know each other?"

"We grew up together in the Valley."

"We're more than just childhood friends," Corvold clarified, "I learned how to hunt and survive in the wilds with Copeland in the same group, so we've been through a lot."

"I understand. Hardships bring people closer better than anything else," Cynder said. "I know that better than anyone," She chuckled to herself, momentarily lost in thought.

The dragoness brought her muzzle closer to Corvold, nostrils inhaling the scent of his red fur. He took a step back, feeling uncomfortable from the way she invaded his personal space. She still had this inquisitive look in her eyes. "Cynder, forgive me for saying this, but you're, y-you are…"

She backed off instantly. "Corvold, was it? I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Have we met before? You seem familiar."

Her question dredged memories of the past. They were carved in blood and violence, from a time the orphan master would rather forget. "To tell you the truth…"

A demonic dragoness stood tall before the red cheetah. Glowing eyes gazed down and exuded premonitions of death, disdain, and a perverse sense of pride. She saw through his heavy cloak, aware of all the weapons concealed underneath.

"…we have. But you were still the Terror of the Skies when I last spoke to you."

Copeland's astonished gape could never compare to Cynder's. Her eyes dilated instantly. Her wings flared at the same time she jerked back. An awkward silence—a very awkward silence immediately descended. Her gaze switched repeatedly between the two felines. She stumbled, having lost both her composure and her eloquence. "Ummmmm, uuuhhhhhh…" She hemmed and hawed. The blackscale couldn't find a way to gracefully emerge from this. "I, I don't, errr, I, I-I'm, I'm—

"Hahahaha!" Corvold's laughter stopped her prattling. The cheetah laughed hard enough to draw the curious gazes of the few dragons relaxing in the corners of the clearing. Cynder's muzzle dropped as another round of laughter rung out from the cheetah's mouth, "HAHAHAHAHA!"

The Savior deadpanned, "Are you done?" There was no mistaking the flat tone in her voice. It indicated how much she felt insulted.

Corvold walked forward and patted her shoulders. A bold move, perhaps above his station, considering they just met. "Relax, Cynder," he said, "Those days are long gone. I know you're not the same dragon."

His words relaxed her. He felt the tension disappearing from her posture. "Then why did you laugh?" she asked.

He smiled, walking back to his barrow. "I found your reaction comical. Why wouldn't I laugh?"

She frowned. "That wasn't funny."

He said, "It was for me. Did you really think I was one of your 'haters'? Only an idiot wouldn't see the difference between you and the Terror of the Skies. It's as vast as fire and ice!"

"There are a lot of those idiots out there."

"True. I like to think I'm not one of them."

"I hope so," she said. "You don't sound like one, but, you are a bit of a jerk." Cynder brought her muzzle to his luggage. "So these are the clothes you're donating to Joshua?" she asked before Corvold could reply. One whiff of the old rags it contained sent her recoiling from the stench. "Ancestors, these smell horrible. Blegh!"

"But they're clean!" Corvold replied. "Isn't that what's important?"

Besides, fermented urine did not smell good to begin with. Clothes soaked in it stank worse than the Huntress's dirt-trodden paw. Laundry was such an abhorrent chore. Despite all the terrible things anyone's ever said about it, though, nobody would ever dispute its ability to remove stains, brighten colors, or soften tough animal skins.

Cynder gave him a tolerant, acquiescing expression. "Ugggh, i-if you say so. I hope Joshua won't complain too much about it."

Copeland interjected, "You'll be disappointed then," he grumbled. "The furless ape is a vicious whiner."

"If any of you touch Joshua," she glared at the leopard. "Volteer and I will find out. We're fully aware how you all feel about him."

The guard raised his hands in surrender. Sweet, placating surrender. It almost hurt Corvold's heart to see his childhood friend sucking up to the dragoness like this. "We won't hurt your guest, Cynder. Talonpoint guards are better than that. You can trust us."

Corvold cleared his throat and drew their attention. "It doesn't matter if the furless ape complains all he wants. He's in rags, isn't he? Clothed in strange, high-quality fabric, but rags all the same. He has no choice but to accept these."

Copeland chuckled, "You certainly have a point there."

"At least Joshua cares about his appearance," Cynder said. "The Apes generally don't bother with these things."

The cheetah started pushing his cart to the massive structure of rock and metal protruding from the very mountain itself. "Shall we move along then?" Corvold glanced at the shining sun and the faint green moon in the sky. He was going to be late if they kept talking like this. "I have a schedule to keep."

Cynder offered, "Copeland can take this to Joshua, or I can have someone else do it. I wouldn't want to impose—

Corvold waved it off. "And miss out on seeing the kid who's been stirring up the entire city since he got here? I won't have another chance like this again. For all I know, all the mewlings about him are true!"

"I understand," she said. "There's so much noise about him in the airstreams... I wouldn't give this up either, I think, if I was in your place."

"It's only been two days," Corvold said. "And he did come here in a very, uh, upsetting fashion."

"If you insist, but I'm warning you, you'll probably be disappointed."

"It's better to be disappointed in reality than getting lost in wasteful musings."

The blackscale stepped back from them. She unfurled her wings. They were a beautiful magenta.

Copeland asked her, "Are you leaving, Cynder?"

"Yes. I'll go on ahead and tell Seriphos and the others about your visit. I'd accompany the two of you, but Spyro will be looking for me soon."

"Are you headed somewhere?"

"Dragonberry Cove," Cynder smiled moments before taking off into the sky. Corvold and Copeland watched her slender figure soar elegantly to one of the Temple's entrances, with speed. She landed at an open port near the very top and slipped into the depths of the structure.

"Let's go," Copeland said. "We've got a little more ways before we reach the stairs to the living quarters."

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.

Compared to the hike up the White Steps, they walked briskly through the small forest. Copeland brought him to a paved pathway. Wide enough for two adult dragons to fit, it ended with another arch and a wall stretching both sides deep into the brush. Three gnorcs stood guard, their posture stoic but eyes attentive. Corvold felt their eyes ogling him as he followed Copeland past them, glaring down from above. Tall and imposing.

The forest cleared the instant they went under the stone portal. Corvold's paws registered a flat slope. Slightly hilly, but more or less suitable for the beautiful, rolling garden that he and Copeland sauntered into. Eyes darting to and fro, the red cheetah glimpsed moles tending to the shrubbery and plant life. They dug into the soil. They plucked tiny pests the size of his claws from the plants.

A series of pedestal planters ran along the path they walked, dividing two lanes right across the middle. They passed by a mole scattering a powdery mixture into each one, claws caked a lush brown from digging into his satchel of fertilizer. Corvold sniffed and recognized the musty scent of dragon dung along with a compound of ingredients that neutralized what would usually be an overwhelmingly repulsive odor. He swore upon the Huntress, if they weren't using lizard excrement he could've made a fortune exporting this to Tall Plains.

The orphan master found a female atlawa kneeling next to a patch of ornamental trees. He could see her planting a new addition to the group. A dragon child accompanied her, ready with a handheld pail and a bucket of water. Obviously this was one of the many errands young dragons were assigned to handle as young students and fresh apprentices.

Despite the teams of people tending to the upkeep of Warfang Temple's famous botanic gardens, their numbers couldn't compare to the visitors lounging about. Atlawa and mole children played games on the cut, well-nourished grass. Dragons rested on the spotless podia, taking advantage of the bumps, folds, and ridges carved into them, each cleverly crafted for maximum comfort. Gnorcs off-duty leaned on the decorative columns supporting the shades they loitered around. Rhynocs sat on the stone benches, admiring the sight of people going about their business. Mammals he saw less often in this part of Warfang—bears, wolves, and felines—were strolling through the gardens in a leisure pace.

Truly a marvelous sight to behold.

But ultimately one dominated by dragonkind. Mirroring the state of Warfang itself, the dragons became more numerous and the garden more ornate as Corvold and Copeland approached the large structure in the center. Many of the reptiles were adolescents, but he spotted a few adults among them. Most adults were either content staying indoors or out on the field, keeping the Allied Territories safe from bandits or the Apes.

Still, this did not bother the cheetah. Dragonkind was congregating in this city, seeing it a beacon of recovery for their species. That they teetered on extinction—relative to their population count in the past—was a trivial detail when hundreds, maybe thousands, were moving into Warfang year over year, as word of the Dark Master's death spread across Markazia.

"The gardens are mainly used for leisure or recreation," Copeland echoed his thoughts. Corvold jolted back, avoiding four prepubescent dragons playing a game of boop. A stupid game with dangerous variants. "You find more dragons the closer you get to the Temple itself. In the end, they're enjoying the same way all the other species do." And he was right. Four dragonesses slept peacefully as they bathed in the sunlight. A family of four were eating together as one group. A couple of young adults—barely in their 40s—meandered slowly, enjoying their own company with their tails curled around each other. "Difference is, this section of the gardens has clearings for bigger social events or VTOL access."

"That explains why more dragons are over here."

"Correct."

Corvold's gaze caught the life-sized statue of an adult redscale, its orange eyes casting an unreadable gaze down upon them. His expression was one associated with concern and guidance. His posture, that of a benevolent leader who cared for those he collaborated with. The orphan master noted the lifelike impression of the statue's muzzle, even from a distance. Enormous effort was spent ensuring the statue remained true to life. Whoever painted the statue clearly possessed remarkable talent. If he squinted hard enough, Corvold could see the individual birthmarks and other distinguishable markings on the stone body. There wasn't any mistaking the lattices and rows of orchids and flowers and lilies meticulously laid out in a design that could only be described as grand. As magnificent.

It was the most beautiful space in the botanic gardens. That dragon must have been quite the war hero or esteemed ancestor, to have been immortalized this way. But Copeland did not bring Corvold near here. They weren't here to be tourists.

They circled around this memorial and ascended a set of wide stairs carved right out of the rock. They led up to an opening into the great structure in the very center of Warfang. Corvold was worried his wheelbarrow would have been a problem, but a passing rhynoc guard carried it for him upon Copeland's request. The guard cared very little for the stinging urine-like smell or the inconvenience. Otherwise, he wouldn't have snatched the wheelbarrow from his paws and lifted it on his shoulders.

"That'll save a lot of time," Corvold said. "Thank you, Copeland."

"No problem," said the leopard. "It's the least I can do." He entered the first hole going into the rock. A large, open doorway big enough for even adult dragons to walk through comfortably. "This way. Joshua's on the fourth level."

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The living quarters of Warfang Temple was plain. Possessing none of the glamour or the elegance of the Temple's exterior, the halls had a surprisingly modest charm to it. Aside from the luminescent firestones and activated mana crystals placed in overhead lamps, corridor torches, and other placeholders, the corridors lacked decorations. Compound piers lined the hallway, their simplistic design reminding the cheetah of his orphanage.

With the living quarters properly sized for adult dragons, Corvold had difficulty grasping the sheer size of each level especially when the outer and inner corridors looped. Rooms and the occasional lavatorium were carved straight out of the rock, separated by sliding doors made from exotic wood. There were three sets of stairs, Copeland informed him, spanning all five levels.

Adolescents and younger occupied the first two floors. They were the most curious of all the residents here. Many gazed at him inquisitively as he passed, advertising his red fur and unusually tall stature for all to see. He could see in their body language this desire to rush over and ask questions like the annoying children they all were. Thank the Huntress for Copeland. His imposing presence stopped them.

The next two levels were allocated for adults. However, there were only so much with rooms in the Temple that the third level still operated at half capacity. Considering how many dragon lounges lived in city districts close to Warfang's center, Corvold surmised that residence in the Temple itself was a privilege given only to individuals whose position required special arrangements.

Like Joshua Renalia himself.

The rhynoc dropped Corvold's cart and left the moment they made it to the fourth level. How rude! He departed before Corvold could reprimand him about treating his equipment carefully, or thank him for taking the time to help. "Leave it be," Copeland said. "C'mon, he's a few turns from here, past the lavatorium at the corner."

He and Corvold had long ceased talking. The cheetah just wanted to get this over with. The faster they did, the sooner he'd be in the speedway, returning to Mudline on dragonback. Soon enough, after the third or fourth—or fifth?—turn from the stairwell, they entered a dead-end corridor that had only one room at the other side…

Watched over by three guards. Two adult dragons and one gnorc. While the yellowscale and the gnorc were nonchalant at Corvold's appearance, the greenscale glared at the cheetah the instant their eyes met.

"So you're the orphan master?" Evidently Cynder had long passed her message. In contrast to her amiable demeanor, the guard before him did not speak so much as he snarled at the cheetah.

"Yes," he said with a respectful bow. "That's me. I've brought clothing—

The dragon cut him off, "I don't trust you." He straightened his posture and held his head high. He flared his wings a little, and Corvold felt the stone beneath his feet vibrate. "Try anything, little cat, and I will make sure you'll—

"Great Hunt, Seriphos! Just stop it!" Copeland interrupted him. "Corvold's my childhood friend. We're packmates! You don't need to scare him."

The defense was enough. Seriphos relaxed instantly. He grumbled, "I was warning him, Copeland."

"With threats?"

"Intimidation is an excellent method of dissuasion," he said. "You know this."

Grunting, Copeland turned to Corvold. "I'm sorry. Seriphos takes his role very seriously."

"Because I have to," the Earth dragon replied. "I'm a Dragon Knight of Talonpoint," he pronounced like it would justify his attempt at intimidating the cheetah.

A wing slapped Seriphos on the back of his head. "Ancestors! Why don't you just loosen up already?" The Electric dragon chastised him. "The furless ape's the perfect prisoner. He's happy where he is, he plays by our rules, and he clearly doesn't want us worrying about him. Remember last night?"

Corvold did not hear the greenscale's reply. "He's an overzealous one for sure," he said to Copeland. "But it's all right, he didn't have an effect on me."

"Are you sure? I can report this to Lady Cynder if you want."

"Positive," he answered. Seriphos' pitiful attempt at intimidating him paled in comparison to staring down the Terror of the Skies in all her vicious glory. "It's nothing. Just leave it alone. Can we get on with this now? We're wasting time here."

"Sure."

Copeland approached the sliding door. Before reaching for it, he stomped on Seriphos' foot. The dragon yelled in pain. "That's for insulting my friend," he scolded. "I'm one of those 'little cats' too, in case you forgot."

"I am sorry!" the Dragon Knight said. "When I get into character, I really get into it."

Copeland's voice was flat. "Right. Sure you do." He rapped on the door three times. "Joshua!" he said. "I'm coming in. The clothes you requested are here. A friend of mine brought them over."

"Oh thank f*cking God!" Corvold heard a muffled voice from inside. "About time! I was requesting for this shit ever since you all, like, threw me in here."

The leopard slid the door open without waiting for his permission. It struck the doorway; a solid thump echoed behind Corvold. Copeland beckoned him inside. A cue for the cheetah to go in and put his donations on display. Time to see the furless ape for himself.

Corvold wheeled his cart inside without any expectation whatsoever. He had heard many mewlings about Warfang's controversial guest before coming here. Each originated from a great diversity of sources.

Survivors from the Eastern Gate spread narratives of his fearsome power. Tales of primary witnesses who were rendered senseless and blind to the world, or worse, saw a part of their body turned instantly into rotting flesh. The warriors or the citizens who retreated from fear huddled together in taverns, attempting to make sense of his identity-his true nature-over hot meals and a cold brew. Whispers here and there called him a creature of darkness, a monster of such great evil that he enthralled a little girl in his masquerade. He rained white death upon all the valiant warriors who faced him in combat, at least until he found a few more pairs of dragon wings to cower behind. Other speculations were more... realistic, in Corvold's opinion. He was a foreign spy, they said. Boiled alive until most of his hair fell off, turned hideous to generate public sympathy. The poor child accompanying him was just a victim, an utter fool who believed his lies.

And what did Corvold personally think?

.

.

.

A hunter must always adapt to changing circumstances if he needed to survive the Great Hunt.

Every opinion, every belief the cheetah had shaped over the past 34 hours were thrown out of his quiver the very second Joshua Renalia entered his gaze.

He looked nothing like the mewlings asserted he did. Certainly, the so-called human did resemble an Ape, but there was nothing else beyond that. The little girl he supposedly enslaved was sleeping in his arms, all cuddled up. The very image was a mockery to everything others made him out to be.

"Oh my god!" he said. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my goooooood!" A smile appeared on his brown ape-ish face. "Those are all for me?"

"Yes," replied the cheetah. "My name is Corvold. Copeland told me about your need for clothes. Luckily for you, I had a few I can spare."

"Awesome. Joshua Renalia, B.T.W. Pleased to meet'cha!"

Corvold didn't respond. He was trying to decipher what exactly "B.T.W." meant. He didn't notice Joshua move to set the child down on the floor. "Okay, Kilat, Joshua's got to do a little 'window shopping', okay? Let me just leave you here for-

The dragoness mewled like an unhappy kitten. "Mmmmmno." Her tail wrapped itself tighter to Joshua's arm. She dug her claws into his bare chest.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!" He hissed, drawing Corvold's attention. "Goddammit, f*ck!" For a moment there, he thought the human was going to drop the little girl or push her off. It was impressive to watch Joshua exercise self-restraint, leave the child alone, and let her cling to him. The love in this gesture alone was unmistakable. How many times had Corvold done the same thing, for his poor and clingy orphans?

"Be that way then," Joshua grumbled. "Damn kid. You'll get a bone-crushing hug tonight." He approached the wheelbarrow for a closer look at the goods. Instantly Corvold noticed Joshua's left arm. It was lifeless, held slack against his side. Joshua probably couldn't move it anymore, he surmised. One of the more permanent souvenirs from the incident two days ago, perhaps?

Still, for somebody placed under room arrest Joshua looked well-fed. The rest of his movements were accompanied with the strength and weight of a healthy person, but they lacked the grace or presence of experience. Corvold's scrutinizing eyes fell on his abdomen. The human's tattered rags couldn't hide the bare skin from his assessing gaze. He saw no signs of malnourishment or disease. No scars from the wounds inflicted on him back at the Gates. No hints at all to a hardened life wherever he came from.

He had to admit, Joshua looked utterly pathetic. How did an adolescent like him survive out in the Markazian wilderness? Even a place as close as Summer Forest or Dry Canyon hid many dangers from the untrained eye; what were nuisances to dragonkind were often deadly to the other species.

Corvold continued to appraise Joshua as he stopped in front of the cart. Luckily for the furless ape, Kilat had fallen asleep propping up her muzzle on his shoulders and upper arm. This gave Joshua the opportunity to hold her down with his chin, lean back to support her weight and bite on her horn to hold her steady while he reached into the pile of clothing with his only working arm. Creative, I'll give him that.

Joshua groaned, "Uuuggggggggh." He held a robe away from his face. "Peeyew! What the f*ck, dude!"

Still a weak, pathetic child whose miraculous luck would run out someday though.

"Is something the matter?"

The furless ape rolled his eyes. Corvold wasn't familiar with the gesture, but it felt disrespectful. Huntress help him restrain the urge to chastise the human like his orphans. "Like, duuuuuuh, man. These clothes—your clothes—I'm sorry, but they smell like they've been soaked in piss for weeks!"

"These are clean," he said. He hoped he said it patiently. Very, patiently.

"No way," Joshua insisted. "No no nooooo way in hell these are f*cking clean!" He brought another piece of garment to his nose and sniffed. "UGH!" He recoiled. "You call this shit clean? Goddammit, you people aren't even trying to hide that urine smell!"

Corvold resisted the urge to snap at him. "That's because it was washed in urine," he said, deadpan.

"What the f*ck, dude!" He tossed the robe back into the wheelbarrow. It didn't entirely fall in. "I'm not gonna wear something somebody peed on! For all I know you did it!"

"...It'd be cheaper that way," Corvold admitted. "But I made sure we only used filtered dragon urine from the—

"Jesus Christ, eew! Why the hell would you do that? That's... f*ck, dude, that's so f*cking gross."

Joshua was acting like a petulant child! Why? Where did this self-entitled attitude come from? Were all humans like this? Did they live in some highly-advanced utopia, where every citizen was coddled and spoiled like kittens for the entirety of their lives?

Corvold quashed his irritation—stopped it from surfacing—but a little of it escaped through one grumbling sigh. "Joshua," and he said his name as slowly and as patiently as he could, "The Chemistry Guild says urine is a strong disinfectant and dragon urine—

"For the last f*cking time, NO! It's bad enough that I have to get a disgusting, goopy tongue bath twice a day—

A half-asleep Kilat exclaimed, "Hey."

Joshua ignored the little girl. "And the last thing I want to do," he continued, "is wear clothes that's been washed in piss. It's so dirty! What, am I gonna wash these by having her pee on it? God, what the hell is wrong with you people? Don't you guys have any soap or somethi—

Corvold cut him off, "Huntress shoot your tongue! Perhaps, for someone like you, accepting our way is the same as a bitter melon in the mouth. But this is how things are done here and it will remain so until someone makes a better alternative. The whining of a spoiled brat won't change anything!"

He's had enough with Joshua's tirade. It betrayed his immaturity. It revealed his misguided priorities. "I was told you needed clothes, and here they are! They'll be much better help to you than those tattered rags you're wearing. Skilled hunters don't refuse good equipment offered to them, else they risk failing the Great Hunt."

Corvold brought his muzzle closer to Joshua's. "Now if you're too stupid to reject these," he growled. "Then go ahead. Tell me you're all right with your furless skin and I'll leave. A hunter is first judged by his gear, after all."

The furless ape squeaked a pathetic "Eep!" and backed away, breaking eye contact. Intimidation shimmered within his viridian gaze. Kilat sensed this. Her eyes snapped open and, in an instant, leapt between the two of them.

"You're scaring him," she said, glowering at the red cheetah. Drowsiness still glazed her eyes. Obviously forced herself awake, that stupid girl.

Corvold ignored the little yellowscale. "So now you hide behind the tail of a child!" He derided. "Just how useless are you? I put in time and effort to give you something you need and now you're rejecting my help on something so trivial!"

He stepped closer. "So what'll it be, kitten? I don't have all day."

Kilat snarled at Corvold, but a touch from Joshua immediately silenced her. She whipped her head around. "Joshua?"

The furless ape shook his head. Corvold understood it was a disapproving gesture from the way he shut his eyes and the strange expression on his lips. "But he's doing something! I just wanna protect you!"

Joshua did not say anything. He tugged at Kilat's shoulder.

"But, b-but... Joshuuuuaaaaaa!"

"It's okay," he said, staring at her blue eyes.

Somehow, with just those words, the child prodigy relented, "Oh all right." Then she backed off, exchanging places with him. It testified to the strong bond between them. They only had each other, Corvold theorized. Their relationship mirrored what he had with his precious orphans. He couldn't judge Joshua for this, not at all. Even if he was a poor excuse of a survivor, likely to die within three days out there in the wilds.

Corvold crossed his arms, refusing to let them sway his domineering posture. "Well?"

Joshua stared at him for a few seconds, before he sighed and approached the cart again. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'd be stupid to throw all these away."

He took off what remained of his garments singlehanded. He hurled them to the floor, then ambled over to Corvold's barrow. Joshua's face was expressive, openly cringing at the smell as he raised the new clothes up for closer inspection. Corvold's selection was modest. After all, he was but a simple orphan master, operating in one of the poorer districts of Warfang. Garments normally worn by aristocrats, the affluent, or high-ranking officials were of such high quality that even a merchant in Mudline District would have to apply for a loan from the money bears at Gilded Wings.

What he prepared for Joshua were basic and practical. Tunics and sandals made from low-quality Death Hound leather, shirts and capes woven with fibers of the common bulak plants grown right outside the walls, and trousers patched from old, discarded fabrics. He even threw in one of his old overcoats—Atlawa fur and deer hide. It would serve the furless ape well in the winter months. All six of them.

Corvold eyed the rags by Joshua's feet. "You wouldn't mind if I take a look at your old things?" he asked.

"Nah," he replied. "Though it'd be nice if you know someone who can fix 'em for me."

The cheetah strolled over to Joshua's used clothing. Kilat sidestepped him and joined Joshua, initiating a conversation about the human's frail skin. Corvold left the two alone. He swept the makeshift forest sandals aside and picked up the fabric.

What was once a proper shirt—now a shredded rag from the armpits down—was sewn with a material that looked, no, that felt identical to premium quality bulak fibers. Corvold released a breath of amazement at the cloth's rich color. It was even better than the dyes reserved solely for Warfang's aristocrats in the Elemental Disricts.

He moved on to the discarded trousers. Like the shirt, they were tattered, torn in places, and full of small holes. It was also caked in dirt. Still, the pants appeared fixable. It would take quite a few patches of cloth and some stitching, and the process would significantly degrade their quality, but it would get the job done. At least Joshua wouldn't have to throw this away.

Corvold wasn't a master at this particular craft. Yet, with what little he gained from caring for his orphans, one glance was enough for him to realize this pair of pants were made from a material that simply didn't exist in any region of Markazia. It was a precious thing, and it would be worth analyzing.

Huntress, the incident two days ago was not kind to these valuable fabrics.

The cheetah stared at the clothes in his hand. He pondered over their origins and the many unspoken questions accompanying them.

"I'm not sure if that's possible," Corvold replied. He raised the shirt. "This one's better off thrown or traded away." Then the trousers. "This one needs a bit of patchwork—and from a good seamstress—but the quality will never be as good as it was before. The material doesn't exist here."

Joshua folded up the legs of his donated pants and pulled up the waistline. He needed to jump—it was a few sizes bigger than him. Kilat, who had been sniffing him, backed away when he did. The human took a rope from the wheelbarrow and wrapped it around his waist to keep the baggy thing from falling.

"I don't want to throw any of that away," Joshua said. "And if I need to patch up my joggers like you said, then that's okay with me."

Corvold didn't answer.

Joshua elaborated, to fill the silence. "We have a saying in my culture. It's often said that 'clothes make the man'." He straightened the peasant's tunic over his bulak shirt. Both once worn by Corvold's kids, who had now outgrown them. "That shit you're holding there, it's a part of me. They don't say much other than that I slept very comfortably in my house, but… it's the only thing I have left from my old life."

Corvold replied, "...I see." He gestured at Copeland, who had been observing from the door all this time. "I'll ask around. If I find someone, I'll send them his way."

"I would like that."

Seeing that Joshua had finished, he asked, "So what do you think?"

Kilat cried, "You reek!"

"No need to remind me..." Joshua groaned. He rubbed Kilat's head. She leaned into his hand. "Anyway, smell aside, they fit well. Feels good to have something covering my skin again. Pants are way too baggy, but I can't complain when the old one's full of holes right now."

Joshua crouched and faced the little girl. "How do I look?"

"Normal," she said. "Like the people we saw out there!"

Corvold smirked. "'Clothes make the man', just as you said."

"Thanks," said Joshua. "Again." He took out the other clothing from the barrow and dropped them on the floor. Falling to his knees, the human started folding them up one by one. Corvold conjectured he would store them in one of the empty shelves or drawers that came with this room. "I really appreciate this."

The child smiled. Kilat's smile was wide and lively. It captured her bright enthusiasm. "Yeah! Thanks, mister cheetah! Joshua's really happy about this."

"Was glad to," Corvold responded. "I don't get an opportunity like this very often." He threw the old clothes back at Joshua and retrieved his cart. "I'm sorry, but I better get going. I still have to pick up the children."

Joshua stopped him. "Wait! One last thing. How do I clean these?" he inquired. "Kilat doesn't have to..." he gulped. "She doesn't have to do her thing on them, right?"

Corvold sighed. Having his own dragon around would be better, but he didn't voice this for fear of repeating that nonsense earlier. "No," he reassured him. "Just ask a mole. Or your guards. They'll know what to do."

"Are you sure, dude? Are you absolutely sure about that? I mean, I, I—

"Goodbye."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, I still gotta ask—

The sliding door was shut the second Corvold walked out.

"AH F*CK!" He heard Joshua grumble.

Copeland quipped, "Noisy one, isn't he?"

"Annoying," grunted Seriphos.

Corvold ignored their comments. "Lead the way, Copeland. I need your help getting a ride at the nearest VTOL point."

"Oh, that's right. Come on."

Corvold followed the feline out of the living quarters. He cogitated over the curiosity that was Joshua Renalia. Meeting him had been worth it. Their fifteen minutes of contact dispelled all his preconceived notions.

While he couldn't exactly confirm whether the human's abilities matched the descriptions of doom, death, and despair, Corvold at least walked away with a better grasp of who the furless ape was.

And it was sad.

Everything about the adolescent pointed to a world unknown. A place beyond all established regions. A realm of countless opportunities. Yet he knew nothing about Markazia, unaware of its people and their ways. In fact, today he demonstrated his functional uselessness. He probably flopped around from one thing to another, like a youngling grasping for anything its fingers brushed. Even if he was as powerful as the myriad witnesses and stories expressed, what use was a power that couldn't be controlled? Joshua didn't have to back away in fright earlier. He wouldn't have had to if he'd been more confident in his ability to fight back, in his life experiences. Already he was allowing the Guardians, the Saviors, and that child prodigy to dictate his actions here in Warfang.

Joshua Renalia would never be in control of his life. Food attracts predators, as the saying goes.

How pitiful.

Truly, truly pitiful. The Huntress should shoot the furless ape dead, out of mercy and kindness.

But who was Corvold to judge him so? For all he knew, this situation was Joshua's Great Hunt. To make a life for himself in the City of Dragons could very well be the greatest and most heaven-defying challenge in his life. Everyone's Great Hunt was different. What was effortless for someone may be impossible for another.

He stared back at the hallways leading to that room. "The next few years will be interesting," Corvold muttered. "I will definitely keep an eye on you…"

Author's Notes:

In the Middle Ages, people rarely washed their clothes, and at the time it was acceptable etiquette to blow their nose on their hands and wipe them on their clothes. Clothes were kept smelling nice with dried flowers or fragrant water. But during those rare times dirty laundry is washed, people would soak them in lye, especially if the clothing was white or off-white. Lye is a strong alkaline solution, valued for its cleaning effects. Urine (sometimes dung) is used as a substitute ingredient, especially in times of financial need.

In 16th century England, urine was so important to the textile industry that specific chamberpots dedicated to its collection with enough casks for one year's worth of piss from 1000 people were shipped all the way to Yorkshire for use as an ingredient in the production of mordant.

Ahhh… medieval life could be so disgusting.

Anyway, replies to reviews.

Somas35. Cool. Well, yeah, hands are full. I've got some friends I can bounce off ideas of, soooo I'm good. One guy even wants to write stories solely for the "City Life" category of snips. Thanks for the offer though!

Fanfiction Scrutinizer. Thanks so much for your comment. I am so happy you think highly of my story. While I write mainly for fun, I also do it to provide good entertainment value. Aimless started off as my attempt to provide a well-written entry to this genre, and knowing how far it got is just incredible. Really couldn't do it without people like y'all supporting my work.

I wish you luck with your story though! We had a really good conversation about it on PM and I thought its first two chapters were promising. I hope you'll keep writing it someday.

Zero fullbuster (guest). Thanks for the review, as usual! Glad you're there.

InfamousVenous. Yeah, the last chapter was really a response to a review I've read on another fic. I mean, it's a question nobody really answers. May as well explore it on my own, since it is a human fic too. I've had trouble writing that, though. Joshua shouldn't completely know how timekeeping works in the Dragon Realms until his fifth week in room arrest. At least here, on week 2, he knows each of the eight days of the week and the fact the Realms runs on a 27-hour day.

Timestamping… really wasn't a new idea. The timestamps were there ever since I started putting my snips onto a spreadsheet. Even back with Glorified Peon #1 I had the beginning of a timeline in place. I just didn't decide to put them on the chapter titles 'til now.

Morning breath spit bath… yeah, totally disgusting right? But that's the point. It's supposed to make you uncomfortable. This is their way of life. Joshua has no choice but to adapt, to accept it. Sure, it's adorable, it's (obviously) antimicrobrial, but it's still ew. XD Though looking at my notes on what the other species do... personally I'd stick to the spit bath.

Djax80. It's going to be a while before shit hits the fan. I've told you as much in my PM to you and I'm saying it again here. XD Oh, and if this was a game, Joshua wouldn't have a mana bar. Ever played Heroes of the Storm? Joshua would have an energy bar instead, corresponding to the amount of mana and/or HP absorbed from friendly or hostile targets. His abilities would play out like an artillery-style anti-mage.

I wonder if you're done thinking about that question that's been dropped in the last chapter.

Lonewolf. Humans can and have acted on instinct too, just so you know ^^

Toadn2011. Thanks for the feedback! I hope you'll continue following Aimless as the story goes on. As for where I'm really going here, the title should have clued you in a long time ago. After the 19th chapter, the storyline splits into four separate threads that run parallel with each other. The real main story here is Joshua's personal quest (to find a way home), but the world doesn't revolve around him and has a life on its own. Aimless will not end even if Joshua finds a way back to Earth.

Bizzleb. Yep, nothing wrong with that. Joshua/Kilat fluff is so cute, though. :3 Now if only I can get people to stop shipping 'em. XD I mean… guys… she's a child. A little girl. I know Joshua's not that much older than she is, but Lordy… XD

V-SxC. Thanks for the feedback. Nothing else to add, huh? D:

Koal (guest). Haha, all right then.

Aguywhogames. You probably got my fic on alert. :P And thanks for the review! Yep, the idea for that came to my head suddenly and I was inspired to write. To answer your question, I'd say it's a combination of both. The implications of such ignorance and/or sense will happen after Joshua is given a bit more freedom, officially or unofficially. ^^

Also, good job catching that "disguised bombshell" in last chapter's notes. :P

Draykat the half-dragon mage. Thanks for the tip. But, uh, the wait was due to the content organization. Not the writing itself. Oh, and since I've gotten myself a significant other last May… you can probably add bonding time with her as another cause of delay. XD

Divine the Withered Soul. Thanks for the review! Haha, the waiting game. EVERYONE hates the waiting game… I'm following some Spyro fics and FSN crossover fics right now that just won't update aaaaaargh.

Joshua did catch that dragon eventually, though. Even if it was by sheer luck.

Folwod. Ehehe spotted that one, didn't you? It's headed in that direction, yes.

A Random Guy (guest). Hello! Thanks for the review! You probably got your "sombra vibe" from the fact she's saying "Boop!" Heh, I bet she will… but then… I don't know. Kilat's electricity just might short out Sombra's gadgets. How else would she cloak, hack, and translocate, right?