First

Home at War

“I must admit sir, this was not at all what I expected to be my first assignment.” The Urthani woman says with a strange look only vaguely visible on her face under the fur. Her neck is incredibly thick compared to most, placing her as a Spear Urthani and very dangerous to anyone within a fair distance of herself.

“Well strange situations result in calls for skills that one would not normally expect.” Harold replies as he watches the trooper set up the easal, canvas and start preparing paints even as they examine the image of the oil painting that depicted The Weeping Crescent and it’s wielder.

The Haffria had elaborated on exactly who the woman was. Her bio-mother, the woman her mind was cloned from her treated her as a daughter. Halth’Su’Cara. Apparently Su’Cara was a title for red weapon wielders.

“It’s a very... interesting portrait. But the style means I’m going to need a lot of white. They’re clearly using white paint rather than just leaving the canvas bare, which is fine.” She says before chuckling. “Be the best you can be, well looks like I’ll be the best painter and soldier I can be.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harold says. “Now from what I understand, you’re going to sketch me out first than fit it in. So for the sketch, we can take a picture of me with a different knife of similar dimensions and-”

“Oh no no sir. I use a faster style. It... It lets me capture a moment more... not cleanly, nor clearly. But completely. Let’s me put more feeling into things.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, with cameras everywhere in the modern day artistic skill is really needed. If I wanted to give an oil rendering of something I or really anyone that knows how to work a basic search function on a communicator or console could have a picture of something converted to an oil style in minutes at most. Seconds if they don’t have to search for the program. Actually getting an image of something isn’t hard. So you have to put in something else. Feeling, passion, emotion and impression.”

“I see. However, while this is interesting, this is a commissioned piece. Additional pay on top of you being on deployment for this and that pay as well. We need at the least one very technical very obvious and not embellished image.”

“Then you’ve given me a bad example. This piece shows the blade trailing a dark smoke that tells of despair and pain. The example is an emotive piece.”

“Not so much. Now, we are within multiple layers of protective films and barriers. You have also, truly left behind all recording devices?”

“Yes.” She answers and he nods before reaching for the sheath on the nearby table. He opens it and draws out the blade. “Oh... Oh that... sir!”

“Yes, as you can see, the only stylization in that smoke is the impression of movement it gives.”

“It’s not that sir! Your markings! Your eyes! I hadn’t even noticed them before! I can see them now and... oh my... oh dear...”

“Yes?”

“You’re... gorgeous.”

“Ah that. Yes, I unfortunately am.”

“Unfortunately?”

“This is a familial trait. Coupled with a supernatural gift of stealth that causes people to overlook us. I’m sure that you have the imagination to grasp at the implications of a family with relatively little political or martial power being so unfortunately attractive.”

“Oh... the stealth sounds like a goddess given gift in that light.”

“It may very well be, it is fuelled by the same energies we’re tiptoeing around. Which lets us know it can be used delicately enough to not just break recording technology, but we’re nowhere near that skilful with it’s use yet.”

“Oh... Hmm... I think two portraits would be best with this. Let me do the impressionist one first and then I can use a picture of you with a normal knife to make the technical portrait. The impressionist one will let me add the unusual traits of the knife and your own...” She gestures around her face. “everything. Is this alright?”

“So long as we can communicate what we have as clearly as we can to our allies, then it’s fine. We’re working around the limitations of failing technology.”

“Out of curiosity is this sort of power just in these weapons and your family?”

“Oh no, we’ve found several families with these kinds of blessings each one is very different and it’s not just in humans. If you’ve heard of Matriarch syndrome them you know about possibly one of the most common of these strange abilities. We also have soldiers who can perceive anyone the same way they’re perceiving him and another with flawlessly accurate knowledge of anything he’s carrying or holding. And like my own gifts, they pass through the family line.”

“Wow... and the knife... it’s not exuding Axiom.”

“No, it’s not. And what it is bleeding out will brick any scanner used on it.” Harold says.

“I see...”

“A great deal apparently. Normally most people don’t notice my eyes or markings. Or even my general good looks. Holding the knife has exposed me.”

“It only showed up when you held the knife.”

“Interesting. Very interesting. If it was interfering with my stealth then why wasn’t this spotted earlier? I was plainly in the sight of others when I was last holding it unsheathed.” Harold ponders out loud. “Now, how would you like to do this?”

“Just, as comfortable as you can be as I do this. It’s been a bit since I did a portrait. And as I said, I’ll do the emotive version and then a precise version following it.”

“Excellent.”

“Now sir, hold the blade in front of you in some way and look my way. I want your face and those markings n this too.”

“Of course, quick question though.” Harold asks as she sets up her pants, looks him up and down and mixes a couple to darken her brown a little.

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you request any brushes?”

“Oh... I make my brushes. Out of my own fur.” She says and between the sharp claws of an Urthani now dances a thin length of metal with a bit of sheer white fur on it. She brings out five of them. Three have pointed tips and are large, medium and quite small. Two have square tips, one is medium sized and the other quite small too.

Harolds muses with the knife and then clearly holds it by the edge of the blade and the end of the handle. Showing that it cannot cut him as he holds the blade.

“... Glare at me.” She tells him and he narrows his eyes and she openly gasps and starts to paint quickly and glancing up and down constantly as she paints faster and faster, bringing out more and more paint as she starts switching the brushes and quickly cleaning things, switching things and then going back. Small bits of paint go flying to the side and then she starts clearly using her own claws as part of the process and then after a few minutes steps back and stares.

“Is it done?” Harold asks.

“Uh... can you... can you put the knife down please?” She asks and he sets the knife down on the table. She looks at him again and then back to the painting.

“Soldier, what’s going on?”

“I... I think I saw too much.” She says and he walks over to look at the painting.

The knife is a swirling miasma of black surrounding a silver blade, his uniform and frame are almost plain, but his eyes are a burning font of white fire. The markings in his face trail off to the edges of the portrait and there are eyes behind him. Eyes in mildly diagonal sequences of three and with no pupils.

“Oh... you saw the Hargath.”

“Hargath sir?”

“Astral Hargath, the Engine Nuzzlers are actually able to physically move into the Od, you’re seeing the energy from the Od and seeing some of the little buggers.”

“Oh. Oh it’s just some form of Axiom and Astral Hargath, I was scaring myself nearly senseless.” She says.

“Yeah, so long as you don’t actually try to use Od energy, they can’t hurt you.”

“Hurt me? They’re harmless!”

“On this side, yes. Yes they are. In the Od... no. They are the guardians at the gate. Endless, ravenous and unrelenting.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a good thing. Imagine if this kind of energy was just casually used. The only things they don’t attack are those that they can’t detect, or those they can’t bite. Meaning beings with a natural grasp of Ode and the Primals who actually use some of it to help sustain themselves. Although I’m not sure if it does or does not count as natural use.”

“Speaking of Primals sir... is HE coming?” She asks.

“Yes. But Lakron comes from a very long distance and from the wrong direction for our fleet to have him as part of it. We’ll see him and his on the front once the jaws of our fleets close entirely to crush the enemy.”

“Is he close enough to teleport to the monster and just end it?”

“Give me a moment, I’m trying to recall where all the forces are...” Harold notes. “He is... about ninety six hours, or four days and maybe some change before he joins up with Undaunted Forces that have Garden Ships with them. But the problem is, if that thing gets too close to us we have to send the gardens away and evacuate all sorcerers to prevent uncontrolled infestation. If that happens, then there’s no way to bring him in.”

“Oh... okay. Uh sir?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve met him right?”

“I have. And several other Primals, I even helped make one.”

“Oh... yes... her... Saint Redblade... The Stories about you are...”

“I’m still a person.” He says and she looks to the portrait, then back to him. “Surely I don’t look like that all the time. The knife did that.”

“No... it just exposed it... Sir... are you a Primal?”

“No.”

“But you... you’re more than a human.”

“No, I’m not. I’m part of a large demographic, each with identical changes. Granted it’s a clone line, but you can’t clone Primals. It comes out a random demographic with the Primal’s features. But not as a Primal. You can clone me, they have cloned me and I myself am a clone. I am also aging at a standard rate and possess none of the absolutely mind bending durability and strength of a Primal. To say nothing of the lack of other possible enhancements, a Primal has a whole suite of them, I just possess one. Perhaps two, but that is a family ttrait more akin to Matriarch Syndrome. Am I a little more than most humans? Yes. But nowhere near to the level of Lord Skitterway and what Primal Urthanis will one day follow him compared to yourself.”

“Then what are you?”

“A preview.”

“A preview?”

“If you had been born modified as you are now, with your proboscis enhancement and self confidence. It would have been decades before Emmanual ascended, but you would be in the same situation as I am in now. You would be a single step, maybe two steps ahead. The rest is training, equipment and sheer stubborn will.” Harold explains.

“... If you say so sir.”

“Do you have what you need to make the second portrait?”

“Perhaps a picture of you looking normal? I’m going to struggle HARD to not see you with your eyes blazing with power when I think of you from here on out.”

“Oh, of course. The important part is the knife though, it’s accurate and in the same style as the original portrait we were sent.”

“Good. I’m glad we’ve finished this then.” He says before heading back to the table and sheathing the knife again.

“Is that thing really so nasty for technology? It feels weird to not have my communicator in arm’s reach or to not be on camera.”

“Oh yeah, if you have a camera, scanner or similar piece of tech you’re willing to lose then you can give this thing a once over and see just how brutal it is on any and all tech. One of the major reasons we need to understand this thing is how to put a damn filter on it so we don’t accidentally murder our Synth Soldiers or Cyborgs.”

“Yikes. I’ve got cousins with enhanced eyes, the thought of seeing something that just breaks the eye on it’s own is spooky.” She notes.

“I can imagine. Now once again so there’s no miscommunication do you require any more paints, equipment or the like for the next portrait?”

“I just need the picture sir, thank you. This is... a rare opportunity to stretch my talents. I do appreciate this.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with finding further use your gifts.”

First Last

Mert had never really been impressed by humans.

Like any new addition to the ranks of space-faring sapient species, their technology ranged from "woefully obsolete" through "laughably bad" all the way to "downright dangerous to use" and they still had remnants of the pre-contact exceptionalism of most primitive societies.

They talked about their "indomitable spirit" and half-jokingly referred to themselves as "the orcs of the galaxy" because they happened to be able to work and fight for longer, in worse conditions, than most. As if that was anything to brag about.

They also loved to explain, at length, just how much they had been dreaming of making new friends among the stars. That was at least a reasonable thing for them to want, Mert was forced to admit, but it wasn't exactly unusual or brilliant, either. Anyone with a functioning brain hoped that space wasn't full of militant xenophobes.

So when Mert was informed that a new policy meant he had to carve time out of his already busy schedule as Chief of Engineering to teach a jumped-up monkey how to maintain a fold-space drive without accidentally smearing the ship (and, perforce, Mert) across a volume measured in cubic light-spans, he was not pleased.

Tim, as the human "engineer" was apparently called, was easy enough to get along with, but Mert was perpetually frustrated.

Tim wanted to know everything about how fold-space drives worked,
and why they worked that way,
and where (and how) they were built,
and how to disassemble one,
and how to put one back together,
and how to fix one if something went wrong.

But he didn't know any of those things yet, and knowing them was supposed to come before you were allowed to call yourself an engineer.

Every time Mert explained something, Tim would need three more explanations of the principles underpinning the first answer. It felt like he was trying to get a six-year university education at the same time as he was working his apprenticeship, except that even a first-year at university knew more than Tim did about almost everything.

It didn't help that half the time Mert spent lecturing him, Tim would be staring off into space and doodling something on his tablet instead of taking proper notes.

Mert had signed off on an entire crop of apprentices, taken on a second crop, and signed off on them as well, before Tim was reaching anything approaching a level of knowledge and skill that would make Mert feel confident recommending him for a job that did not involve constant, unrelenting supervision.

When one of the third crop screwed up, Tim "eyeballed" a last-beat correction that resulted in the ship exiting fold-space with a slagged drive and a real-space momentum vector that would slam it into a planet in a span of spans, as opposed to the ship's atoms being distributed roughly equally across the entirety of the star system they had been traveling to.

Mert would later insist that the three cracked teeth he suffered that day came from banging his head when the ship made its awkward "landing" and not from clenching his jaw to keep from strangling Tim then and there.

It was in the aftermath of the crash that Tim started to win Mert over. It didn't happen all at once, of course. But he was gradually forced to admit that it was possible the chattering monkey that the company had made his responsibility might not be a complete idiot.

After consulting with the captain, Mert himself, and a fellow human with an interest in history, Tim enlisted the maintenance division's assistance and turned the slagged drive into a primitive form of FTL communication which would use the ship's reactor to create modulated pulses in fold-space. The drive and reactor would probably both have imploded if Tim's machine had tried to go beyond creating those short pulses, but it didn't need to.

Tim didn't have any schematics for his abominable creation. It's entirely possible the device was the first of its kind. It was crude and ugly and would probably destroy what remained of the ship if it was left active for long periods of time - just what Mert had expected of human technology. But all of his instruments told him that, nevertheless, it was working.

With rescue now a real possibility, discussions turned to how everyone was going to survive long enough for help to arrive.

There were several species employed aboard, but the ship had come to a stop in something that, if not a desert, was close enough that nobody had a better word for it. There was vegetation and animal life, but not a lot of it, and if there was any water it seemed like it was busy being part of those local life forms. Temperatures during the day were too hot for most of the crew - during the night, they were too cold.

The range of hostile conditions meant it was unsafe at one time of day or another for nearly every species to be caught outside for more than a span. Every species but one.

The gravity was close enough to what the humans had grown up with, and there was about the right amount of oxygen in the air. They had sunscreen, and they turned spare bedding into cold weather clothes. The possibility of local animals being hostile came up, but Tim assured everyone that he had an idea.

Mert was not comforted by the fact that all of the other humans were instinctively wary of any idea proposed by a human engineer.

Tim got to work again, and cobbled together... something.

It was probably a weapon, Mert decided, based on the general shape and the fact that the power pack pressure-taped to its side contained enough stored energy to act as a bulkhead breaching charge if it were handled wrongly enough.

Everyone demanded a demonstration before they would let him build more than one prototype, so Tim climbed onto the ship's hull, took aim through primitive sights, and fired.

When he did, Mert understood why Tim had taken the precaution of packing cloth into his ears, and then putting earmuffs on as well. Whatever the weapon fired had been quite abruptly accelerated to several times the speed of sound in the local atmosphere, and the resultant pressure wave was almost painful, even from a fair distance away.

Quite understandably, every one of the local animals that had come to indulge their curiosity about the big shiny egg that had fallen out of the sky immediately bolted for safety. Well, except for the one Tim had shot, which had a hole that was roughly the size of Mert's smallest toe-claw in one side of its chest, but as wide as his leg on the other side.

"What in the hells is wrong with you?!" Mert shouted.

And then he climbed up onto the hull, yanked the earmuffs off, and shouted it again. But of course Tim was just grinning at him like the idiot he was.

"I thought so! Remember a couple of years ago, you were telling me about how the conducting rails are made to ultra-high specs in order to power the drive without deforming from carrying so much current on them? And I forget when, but I definitely recall you telling me that the reactor shield is made up of these little round tiles that are ferromagnetic, and the field presses them into place to block radiation any time the reactor is spun up, automatic-like? So I said to myself: Tim, I said, I bet you could make a sweet rail gun out of those things. And it totally worked! It didn't blow up or melt all over my hands, not even a little bit!"

"Your entire species is crazy. How could you possibly have known that it would function?" Mert was furious - this kind of irresponsible attitude was exactly why he hated being the one expected to teach a human how to handle a position where not allowing technology to kill anyone was kind of the whole point.

"I had a good working theory! That's how technology moves forward. If nobody is willing to be the first to try it, nobody ever tries it. And if nobody ever tries it, you'll never have any proof of whether it works or not." Maybe Tim had a point, loath as Mert was to admit it.

"Besides, rail guns are awesome!" Then again, maybe not.

For the rest of his career, "a good working theory" was one of Mert's favorite ways of mocking an apprentice when they hadn't done the math and their proposed solution was something incredibly stupid which could potentially kill everyone on the ship.

Four human crew members received a rail gun for personal defense, although they were warned not to use them unless necessary, because Tim would only say that "they won't kill the user within the first eight shots, probably."

Mert noticed that in a combination of optimism (that the weapon would operate for so long) and pessimism (that they might be necessary) Tim handed out twenty of the reactor shield "slugs" to each of his fellow humans.

The four braved the desert, a week at a time, bringing back everything from the local equivalent of the prickly pear to tightly sealed storage crates of cloudy water they had filtered through a spare pair of socks to alien critters that they had reportedly "walked to death" because they didn't trust Tim's rifles enough to hunt with them.

If they needed a new tool, Tim would pull out his tablet of sketches and find some part of the ship that he could scavenge to accomplish the desired effect.

A portable water purifier. Compasses and surveying gear. Low-powered hover sledges made out of cargo handling trucks to carry the recovered "spoils" across both sandy and rocky terrain. Solar panels to recharge the hover sledges' batteries.

Anything that wasn't a functioning fold-space drive, Tim seemed to be able to put together with a welding torch, a roll of pressure tape, and some part of the ship he had learned about during the endless hours of Mert's meticulous explanations.

They went out into the wastes again and again, keeping the crew from starving, until one day the ship's local EM comm receiver stuttered to life, announcing the arrival of a ship whose human crew members had refused to shut up about "morse code in a fold-space anomaly" and demanded that their captain divert course and see if it really was someone's attempt at a distress call.

As they were shutting down Tim's makeshift beacon and preparing to head back to civilization, Mert finally asked something that had been on his mind recently.

"Hey... if you were smart enough to design all those things from your sketches, why did you never object when I would berate you? I can't recall how many times I yelled at you to pay more attention, to go back to school and learn the basics, to never stop thinking until you had worked out every consequence of your actions. Didn't that ever bother you?"

Tim seemed surprised by the question.

"That was how I knew that you were the right person to learn from. I absolutely didn't know how to do the job when I first arrived. When you're bending space-time into a pretzel to travel across light-years in a matter of days, I wouldn't have trusted any Chief Engineer willing to go easy on a newbie that doesn't know what the hell they're doing."

When Tim finished his six-year contract and went home, Mert was almost sorry to see him go.

That feeling lasted right up until he heard that Tim had been immediately hired as a professor to teach fold-space drive engineering to a bunch of humans that were even younger and more excitable than he was. Just thinking about a whole generation of gangly little Tims dreaming up new abominations to build using the modern technologies that they suddenly had access to was enough to make him cold all over.

That was humans for you, Mert thought to himself. Only they could manage to be so dangerously ignorant and yet dangerously clever at the same time.

Previous

First | Website (more chapters available)

++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Eighty-four,” he replied with gusto. The elderly man looked a lot younger than that. He wore a t-shirt with an image of some Lunar crater and the words “get off my lawn” in high impact font right in the center.

“Eighty-four, wow!” Salma said, shaking his hand gently. His grip was a lot stronger than she expected too, especially from a moonie. There was evidently something to the common assumption that people aged better here than back on Earth. “You don’t look a day over forty, sir!”

“Aha, thank you, Madam President. But I have to warn you, I’m no longer eligible to vote on Earth since I renounced my citizenship—”

Prime Minister Farid introduced him. “This is one of our original founders, Lieutenant Commander Scott Clover.”

“Wow. One of the founders of the original Lunar Alliance?” she asked, posing with a smile as the official photographers did their jobs. Hopefully this guy wasn’t some crazy terrorist during the war or something…

“Of the Lunar colony!” Scott corrected.

“Of the—” She did a double take. “From the—”

He beamed back at her. “Artemis-26 mission. 2038. Extraction module commander, at your service.”

For a moment she was at a loss for words. “Um… wow. That’s—” She recovered quickly and gave him a gentle pat on the back. “Hey NASA, we found him! After all these years!”

He laughed an old man’s laugh at her joke, with a rasp from regolith-induced asthma that was too advanced for them to get rid of. “They needed someone to stay, just to see if we could… So I stayed around. And stayed. But I never thought I would live to see this day.”

“For whatever reason you did it, I’m honored to meet you, astronaut.”

Scott turned and saluted Julia as well. “Commodore.”

Which wasn’t technically against protocol, especially in front of the flags. Earth’s national militaries generally did salute Union spacers, but she clearly wasn’t expecting it from an 84-year-old veteran who retired from his service nearly half a century ago. She hurried to return his gesture, then shook his hand. “Lieutenant Commander Clover.”

Scott smiled slyly. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you too.”

“Thank you, uh… sir.”

“We get the news here. The attack on the colony. You didn’t let the slimy aliens walk all over us,” he said. “Good work showing them what we’re made of.”

Julia managed to keep her face straight. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

The ceremony carried on around them. More handshakes, more camera flashes. Scott’s gaze drifted past the crowd to the dark curve of the Lunar horizon beyond the window. Julia noticed the change in his face. The pride had drained away, replaced by something quieter. “You alright?” she asked softly.

“You know, most folks,” he said. “Most folks don’t realize how much history hides beneath this colony. How much sacrifice, how much risk it all was from the beginning…”

“Only someone like you would know,” she replied.

“As would you. A colonist. Not like…” The elderly astronaut looked around at the room before his eyes settled back on her. “You’re a real colonist. A real explorer.”

She shrugged, unsure what to say.

He let off a dry chuckle as he changed the subject. “You ever heard of the Challenger disaster back in 1986?”

“The space shuttle that broke apart?”

He nodded slowly. “Seven spacers. It broke up in the atmosphere, just seconds into its final flight.”

“They showed a video of it in training, back in Pearl. Something about the boosters.”

“Exactly right. Eroded O-rings from its right solid rocket booster failed, causing an explosion in the liquid hydrogen tank.” His voice sharpened, almost clinical now, as if recalling a preflight briefing from decades ago. “The spacecraft disintegrated at Mach Two into a thousand pieces. In Mission Control, down in Houston, Flight Director Greene locked the doors. Fourteen kilometers above his head, the remnants of the Challenger rained down, but the main cabin pod remained intact. It had briefly sustained a few dozen gravities of acceleration in the explosion, but the crew were still alive. Conscious.”

Scott paused, eyes distant. “Three out of four emergency air supplies recovered were manually switched on, including for the pilot by someone behind him. Pilot Smith attempted to restart power to the cabin with the switches on his right hand electrical panel. There was nothing any of them could have done, but from all available evidence, the crew members tried to work the problem for another two minutes and forty-five seconds until their final impact with the ocean… Most people find that horrifying.”

“Falling in a broken pod, and with nothing you can do but wait for death,” Julia breathed. “That is utterly horrifying.”

He gave a tired half-smile. “Until my accident, I thought so too.”

“Your accident? Oh, right, I think I remember something about that too…”

“Ahaha. They made a couple movies about it. I didn’t think it was that special, but I’m not going to complain…”

“Oh! Yes! I saw one of them, Two Fingers From Death.”

“That wasn’t the good one… They got it all wrong. My late wife didn’t mind being played by Rita Marshall, but that wasn’t how it happened…”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Nearly half a century ago

The rover hummed beneath Scott as it crawled across the edge of the Serenity basin, its tires leaving perfect tracks in the regolith behind him. The thin dust lifted around the wheels and fell right back down in gentle arcs.

He had been out for most of the day already.

Samples packed. Little bags of rocks snugly fit in the webbed compartment on the back of his rover. Pictures taken. Sensor readings logged. Check.

This was not what he thought he’d be doing. Scott had signed up in another world. He was trained for another mission. The final send-off of the International Space Station. That was going to be the capstone of his career. After that, he’d expected his future missions to be endless habitability studies on whichever commercial low orbit space station NASA was going to pick to replace it.

The Artemis program expansion changed all that. It changed everything.

When the orbital scanner on Artemis II found a greater amount of Helium-3 on the surface of the moon than everyone expected, the world reacted like one of those moments where a parent would pat their child on the head for discovering a new pattern in the cloud. Good job, NASA. Very cool. A pilot program for in-situ resource utilization? How much money would it be? Yikes. Why don’t we table that for now? Let’s talk about it after the next election cycle.

The massive and continuing energy shortages of the 20’s made people desperate. And when people were desperate, governments became desperate. New solutions had to be explored. The fusion breakthroughs opened the doors of possibility, and with them, the doors of power. When people put two and two together, it was not often Congress authorized a discretionary funding figure twelve times what the department requested at the start of the fiscal year, and NASA wasn’t inclined to say no. With more funding came a larger mission scope. The Artemis program was originally funded for five missions, then ten missions, then thirty missions. There were rumblings in Washington about a whole new department to manage future lunar activities.

That was how Scott found himself on the Artemis rosters. It required additional training. But he was an astronaut. He was always training anyway.

As it turned out, he didn’t need most of it. In classic NASA fashion, the mission had been over-designed. Which was fine as far as he was concerned. Much better to be overprepared than to be underprepared. Here, his job was to follow a checklist of well-written instructions that accounted for every possibility and contingency. The only reason they didn’t just send robots instead of people was because space exploration was one of those human endeavors where the excitement and danger of failure were part of the point.

That was a fun thought.

They did send robots too. But people like him were here to smile for pictures so that NASA could go begging for more money in Washington, to send more robots.

This was… objectively boring work. And yet, oddly enough, nobody in his position had ever voiced a complaint about that.

Bump.

Scott’s teeth rattled as his rover’s deformable wheels skipped across a gap he didn’t see, jarring him back to the present. There was something about the gray expanse that made it hard to concentrate. He’d only had half a cup of coffee earlier this morning. No more than that was allowed; that was part of some experiment, and the terms stipulated exactly half a cup, no more no less.

At least the day was almost over, in more ways than one. He’d been up for ten hours, which meant that the work day was almost over. And as he stared up at the curved black sky with the sun on the horizon, the lunar day was almost over too.

Bump.

Mildly rough terrain. He jotted that down on his mission tablet.

It took him another five minutes to reach his last mission marker. Replaced a consumable part on some machinery digging into the regolith. It was so new that they were making adjustments to it even as they loaded it onto the mission package. Scott hadn’t been fully trained on it, but he’d been trained to follow instructions. The process went through without a hitch.

Right as he mounted back on his rover to turn back towards the hab modules, he saw something flash in the distance.

A glint.

Scott froze.

This was something that happened from time to time. From the days of Apollo, astronauts had reported seeing streaks of flashing lights and shapes in the distance. It was caused by cosmic rays hitting sensory cones in the human eye. Not real.

He blinked his eyes and looked again.

What the hell?

He blinked again.

The glint was still there.

For a second, he thought it was a reflection from his own headlights. He swiveled them left, then right, then back again. The glint came again from the lip of a dark crevice at the bottom of a shallow, distant crater.

No way…

That was in the mission brief. Such a possibility existed. It’d been known that it existed.

Water.

Permafrost in the lunar regolith. It’d been found elsewhere on the moon, but nowhere near the Serenity Basin which most of the new Artemis missions had been marked for. The implications were obvious.

Water is life. Water is a bigger colony. Water is more money for more missions.

It couldn’t be. Probably wasn’t. But if it was…

For a fleeting moment, the thought crossed his mind that the sensible thing was to mark the coordinates and come back tomorrow. But… the hallucination could be gone tomorrow.

Scott stared at the crater.

At the mission clock.

Back at the crater.

The glint was still there.

“Yeah,” he muttered to himself. “Plenty of time.”

He turned the rover towards the crater, into its mouth, and then down the slope.

At first, it was fine. The tires crunched over the hard-packed dust. His headlights spilled across ridges and little rocks in a thousand shades of gray. The crater wall rose behind him, blocking more and more of the sun, and the light dropped away faster than he expected.

Then faster.

Which was fine.

He had a flashlight on his rover, a flashlight in his toolkit, a flashlight on his wrist, and a flashlight on his helmet. Carried them all the way from Earth, might as well put them to good use.

The light from behind him cut out completely, and Scott finally got a sense of how dark things could truly get on the moon.

Lunar darkness.

It’d been a major concern to NASA. All of the Apollo missions had been full daytime missions. Up until now, the Artemis missions were either orbital or day missions as well. But at some point, people needed to be able to live on the moon, and that meant living in the dark.

His headlights should have helped. They didn’t. They turned the dust in front of him into a white sheet wall and everything beyond it into ink. He switched on the auxiliary lamps. Then his wrist light. Then the helmet light.

It didn’t help much.

He slowed his rover. Or at least he tried. He hit the brakes.

For one long, stupid second, Scott didn’t understand what had happened. The front wheels dipped, and the rover lurched. He saw loose regolith flowing beside him like gray water.

The wheels locked.

That didn’t help.

The rover slid. It spun sideways, the lightweight metal joints groaning as it did. His suit picked up the vibration through the seat and his boots and his bones.

He glanced at the ground, and he realized that it wasn’t just his rover. The whole ground was moving now, a layer of dust and gravel giving way beneath his seat, carrying him down into the crater.

Something big shifted in the darkness above, his helmet light reflecting the presence of its shadow directly into his eyes.

A boulder the size of a bus.

A goddamn bus rolling towards his rover in slow motion.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Previous

The ship had long gone. His tether had detached and despite their efforts, the crew could not save him. 

He was left to die in the AM Nebula. He found it funny that this place of creation was named after one of the most hate-filled villains in literature, but he hadn’t actually read the story and wasn’t one to judge.

It wouldn’t be long now until his suits oxygen was out, and the filtration system would kick in. He had run out of oxygen on worlds with atmospheres filled with methane, and left with nothing more than a mild headache. Stand on any world with poisonous air, and the filtration system will turn it into breathable air. An overlooked marvel of this modern-age. 

A faint odor of garlic kept hitting his nose. He tried to remember the last time he had eaten something with garlic, but was interrupted when his wrist monitor beeped. A quick glance showed him 1.6% remained of his oxygen. He took a deep breath. Maybe he should conserve his air, but it didn’t matter now. There was nothing to be done. He felt scared 37 minutes ago when the last light from the ships rear thrusters disappeared into the blackness, but he felt something else now. Something… odd…

He looked up at the star nursery surrounding him. They had flown deep into the midst of the crowded particles of cosmic dust. Their mission had been to travel to the heart of the cloud and gather samples for the scientist back on Tartan V. A remote research station where they could “safely” work to recreate a star. His job was to operate the exterior “net.” A house sized particle catcher that would allow the researchers to analyze just what makes a star. He thought they already knew what made a star, but the job paid really well and he was good at it. So he didn’t complain.

There had been concerns about if the ship could handle being this far into the cloud, but they were ordered to go anyway.

The mechanical lever that opened and held aloft the net had gotten stuck while folding back in. As he approached to troubleshoot, the damn thing dislodged and shot back open. The force of which tore his tether from the railing and launched him hundreds of feet away.

He screamed and fought to get his suits thrusters to right him, but by the time they did, the ship was so small in his view, the tip of his pinky could cover it.

He tried to return on his own but in the chaos, he had depleted his fuel.

They moved to retrieve him, but the cloud was too thick and was reeking hell on the ships systems.

His heart dropped into his stomach when he heard the captain give the order to turn around. The damage to the ship had made their chances of making it back safely slim. 

He begged them to come back. Yelling and pleading until he heard them shut off his comms. Leaving him alone in the unfeeling void of space.

That was 40 minutes ago. 

He wondered what had happened in that window that made him so calm. 

He chuckled to himself—BEEP-BEEP—BEEP-BEEP. .7% now. The filtration system was silent as to not disrupt communications, but it had a mild vibration to it. He felt that familiar hum against his back as it powered on.

He took another deep breath.

No one had ever been in the situation he was in before. Nebula’s were mostly hydrogen, helium, tiny bits of oxygen, iron, and nitrogen, but they could never plan for the cosmic dust. No one knew what it was. They knew it was there, but that’s about it. 

He felt his mind start to race. Once that dust entered the system it could rip apart his suit, or tear open his lungs, or hell, maybe just blow his heart up.

Whatever happened, he hoped it was quick.

He blinked as that .1% turned to zero, and the filtration system took over.

He closed his eyes and held his breath. That didn’t stop the smell of garlic from invading his nose once again.

He tried to shake the smell away but the tidal wave of dread made him bite his lip to keep from screaming. 

His body begged for him to open his mouth and breathe in.

His entire being trembled as it felt like the weight of this horrifying reality was being set back on him.

Totally alone. More alone than any human had ever been he imagined. And this imagining terrified him even more. 

He could feel his face changing color. His lungs screaming for him to just suck in and let the dust kill him. 

The pain became so excruciating that he could no longer bear it. He opened his mouth forced the air out of his lungs.

As soon as he inhaled, he opened his eyes to find himself nestled between the four walls of a living room.

Golden sunlight from the summer sunset poured in through the windows.

He knew those curtains. He knew that old willow tree in the front yard.

He looked about and saw pictures on the wall of him, his mom, dad, and two sisters.

His fear dissipated at the sight of his childhood dog, Wendy, asleep on the couch. She must be eight or nine. The hair on her face had started to shift from the dark black to silver and white.

He knelt down before her. Careful not to startle her. He reached out and gently stroked the top of her head. 

Her eyes flickered open. Found him. He heard her tail thump against the couch. Felt her tongue give him two quick licks on his face, before she rolled onto her back. Inviting him to give her belly rubs.

He pressed his forehead to hers. Softly running his hand up and down her chest and stomach. Remembering all the times he’d laid his head onto her, and fallen asleep to the sound of her heartbeat.

In the kitchen, he hears the familiar sound of a wooden stirring spoon rubbing against a metal pot.

He smiles as his mother calls his name for dinner.

The smell of garlic filling his nose.

{Shared early on Patreon}
~~~

I checked the area around my feet before opening the door to the engine room. It was habit at this point, but there’s definitely nowhere worse for a cat to sneak into on a spaceship, except maybe an unoccupied cockpit. Thankfully, Telly was more interested in the cat walkways we’d set up on other parts of the ship. I’d made sure we didn’t install any of those around here; no point in tempting that famous cat curiosity.

Human curiosity, though, that was encouraged. Today was another session of cross-training, when I got to learn the basics of other roles on the ship along with my own. I was a big fan. And not just because that meant we were all less likely to die horribly if something happened to Mimi and no one else knew what the various warning lights meant.

Probably it would be fine. But it always paid to take precautions. And anyways, I was eager to learn about all the bits and bobs. Some of it was wildly different from Earth technology.

Today it was weirdly quiet too, because we were parked at the moment. As I shut the door, I studied the way sounds really echoed down here when the flight engines were turned off. Lots of space for noises to bounce between panels and wires and things with weird names.

I called, “Knock knock,” wondering how deep in the guts of the ship Mimi was at the moment. He’d probably hear me easily in all this silence.

“Coming,” rumbled Mimi’s gravely voice from somewhere nearby. Could have been anywhere, really. There were lots of hidey-hole options for a mechanic who looked like an octopus.

I looked around, wondering where he’d crawl out from, only to be surprised when a door slid open at knee level. Right, I hadn’t forgotten that was there at all. And I definitely hadn’t felt dumb when I’d first realized that the little thing I’d taken for a storage cabinet was actually the doorway to Mimi’s bedroom.

He scrambled out, all toothpaste-green tentacles and rough voice. “‘Morning.” The room behind him was hard to see from this angle, but it looked well-lit, and I caught sight of what passed for a chair among Strongarms. It looked like a cat bed. I opened my mouth for small talk, but Mimi asked, “Do you think hard water would work as a murder weapon?”

“What?” I asked. “Why?”

Mimi flipped a tentacle to smack the little door-closing button. “For a story. Wanna have an interesting murder weapon in this one.”

I had so many questions. “You write murder mysteries?” Somehow it had never really occurred to me to wonder how he spent his time when not tightening valves and whatever.

“Sure,” he said easily, tentacle-walking further into the engine room. “It’s just another sort of puzzle, and the ones I’ve read are fun. Started writing new ones a while ago — with accurate star drive descriptions — and branched out from there.”

I followed, smiling. “Was somebody else doing it wrong?”

“So wrong,” he grumbled. “My first plot may not have been all that original, but by the deep currents, it was at least correct.”

“Good! As it should be.”

“Yep. Now I’m planning one that I want to hinge on some sort of uncommon technology, or something otherwise unexpected. Thought maybe that Waterwill stuff could work, though I mostly see it used for soft things.”

“Hm, yeah,” I agreed. “Maybe the villain could suffocate somebody with the shopping bag version?”

“Eh, maybe. Not exactly glamorous.”

“Does it have to be?”

“No,” Mimi admitted. “But it’s also not unglamorous enough to be interesting. I’ll keep working on it. Anyways, we were going to go over troubleshooting today. What would you check first if the engines weren’t putting out enough thrust?”

I thought back to the basics he’d gone over before. “The diagnostic screen.”

“Right. What do you do if that screen is blank?”

“Ooh. Swear and panic?”

Mimi chuckled at that. “Sure, then you check the power cord for the screen, since one type of overheated decoupling can affect both things. Yes, it’s stupid, but at least there’s an easy fix.”

“That’s good.”

“Sure is. Right over here.”

He showed me where to find the safety mechanism that solved one problem by creating another, and went over what to do about it. I jotted down notes on my phone. My memory was pretty good, but I just knew that if this ever came up, I was going to want to have the steps written down to be sure.

From there we moved on to other hypothetical problems and what to do about them, sticking with issues that could easily be solved by someone who lacked his years of training. Some disasters would end in a distress call and/or an outside professional, but that’s life sometimes.

As I looked through a nest of wires for corrosion, I asked, “Have you written a murder mystery where the driver of the rescue tow is the villain?”

“Nah. Too obvious,” Mimi said as he sorted through tools. “And those folks go through an intense certification process, at least in all the parts of space I’m familiar with. There are records of where they go, so they’re unlikely to get away with anything nefarious.”

“Makes sense.”

“The traveling fuel sellers though, they’re too obvious because there’s no one tracking them at all. They get a bad rap because plenty of them really are fronts for banditry, preying on desperate folks who sprung a leak or didn’t think ahead.”

“Oh. That’s unfortunate.”

“Yep. Makes for good material about bounty hunters, though. I thought about writing some pure action stuff, but it just seems simplistic,” Mimi said, picking a tool and clambering up onto a curved bit of engine housing to tighten bolts. He pointed at one for my benefit. “These tend to work loose from the vibrations eventually, but the panel has to be removable, so we don’t want to replace them with rivets.”

“Gotcha.”

“And like I was saying, the mystery of it all is the fun part,” he said, returning to the topic. “That’s why I start with the solution, then work backward to cover it up with as many layers of clues and decoys as possible. I’ll have to do some research into obscure tech for this one. Maybe something with holograms.”

In my wire-inspecting, I recognized the spot where I’d helped hold a wire in place with chewed gum once. That made me think of something now. “What if it just looks like a technological thing, but the real answer is something really simple?”

Mimi tightened another bolt. “Like what?”

“Well, when you said ‘hard water,’ the first thing I thought of was ice,” I admitted. “What if the murder weapon melted? Is that overdone? It’s one of those silly ideas for murder mysteries where I’m from.”

“Hmm.” He moved higher, sounding thoughtful. “That’s not a bad thought, though I was aiming for something a little more complicated. I was hoping to frame it as a mystical thing where someone makes a big deal of cursing an organization, and they keep dying with no witnesses to see what’s actually doing it. Not a stab-the-victim-then-run situation; the villain would be caught if it was a close up murder each time.”

“Well,” I said, “Do the victims have to be in a locked room, or can there be a window?”

“Not one that somebody could stab through.”

“But maybe they could throw a chunk of ice really hard?”

Mimi looked at me. “That would have to be thrown really hard to kill them on impact.”

I shrugged and held up a fist. “Human baseball players can throw something this size as fast as a landspeeder. A chunk of solid ice like that could definitely kill somebody, then leave just a puddle. Like a killer hailstone with precise aim.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Hmm. That is pretty absurd. Definitely unexpected if I set things up to seem like there’s either a mystical or a technological explanation.”

I grinned. “The villain claims it’s magic, the investigator is sure it’s exotic holograms that someone figured out how to turn solid, when really it’s just somebody with a good throwing arm and a grudge?”

“The readers wouldn’t see that coming.”

“Much like the victims!”

Mimi laughed, a gravelly chuckle. “I’ll have to leave the villain’s species unclear at first, so no one thinks of that absurd human throwing ability.”

“Could be an assassin,” I suggested. “With hilariously low-tech killing methods. Though if they’ve done this before, someone would probably remember.”

“Could be a different character with a secondary grudge,” Mimi said, pausing to think it through with some of the bolts still waiting. “Maybe the primary villain roped them into it. Or they both want the victims dead, and they’re not working together at all!”

“Lots of possibilities!” I said.

“That would be pretty funny if the one claiming to curse them really had no idea why they’re actually dying.”

“There’s a classic story on Earth where the twist ending is that all of the suspects did it,” I told him. “They all stabbed him at different points in the night, because they all had reasons to hate him.”

Mimi pointed a tentacle at me. “That I like.”

“Yeah, it’s really clever. The investigator ends up covering for them too, because he realizes they all have good reasons for it. He blames it on some random stranger who’s long gone. It’s a nice secondary twist at the end.”

“Very nice,” Mimi agreed. “I’ll have to see if I can wrangle something similarly surprising. Maybe some side distraction with multiple explanations for the water.”

“Magical goo or technological goo?”

He shrugged several tentacles. “Waterwill tech, or some unknown biological process. And sure, magical goo.”

“Ooh, maybe the victims keep exotic animals, like a fish tank full of slimy things. The investigation could think something escaped from there.”

“When really it’s someone outside the window with a bucket of ice.” Mimi smiled and went back to tightening bolts. “Definitely onto something here.”

I grinned. “I’d love to read it when you’re finished!”

“I’ll let you know. For now, lemme show you another thing here.” He finished with the bolts and climbed over to a small display screen, pushing back a stray cord that kept falling in front of it. He grumbled, “Keep forgetting to fix that. Just a little spacer right there would hold it.” He pressed it back into a narrow space, which it fell back out of.

I dug a tiny foam ball out of a pocket. “Will this work?”

“What’s this?” Mimi said, picking it up with a test squeeze.

“Cat toy.”

“Of course it is.” Mimi lifted the cord again and shoved the ball under it, which held it in place perfectly. “Mark down another victory for low-tech solutions.”

I grinned. “And this one won’t melt all over the engine!”

“Oh, it had better not. That would be horrendous.”

“We can leave the melting for the murder mysteries.”

“Absolutely.”

~~~

And Now, The Links:

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Masterlist of stories

Each story is cross-posted to Tumblr and HumansAreSpaceOrcs

My website, for:
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*other writing and links

Humans are Weird – Lost and Found

Original Post: https://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-lost-and-found

The warm angle of the front porch really wasn’t supposed to be a lounging site. Human feet trod quickly past the site, their focus on getting into the house, or getting out into the busy little community making the site theoretically dangerous for species who didn’t want to get stepped on. The ground limestone foundation had been pressed with tessellated patterns that were visually pleasing and kept the clumsy bipeds safe from slipping and throwing their falling gate out of pattern, but it tasted of nothing save the dust that collected in the groves. However if you had healthy scutes and sturdy scales, underlayed by reasonably dense bones, and an attractive layer of fat, well what did it matter if a human stepped on you? Just keep your snout safely tucked in the curve of your foreleg and at the cost of a few non-repentant apologies you had the whole morning to bask in the local sunlight.

If the grain scattered very, very well in your direction, one of the local domestic animals came and judged you a fitting headrest and came and basked with you. Sift, stretched out a claw and ‘scritiched’ the creature under its chin. It gave a grunt and the motion dislodged a small cloud of warning pheromones from its collar. Sift made a mental note to ask what its species designation was. It wasn’t a ‘cat’. Those creatures, despite being perfectly ideal for keeping local vermin off of grain stocks were rated as far too dangerous to exist in mixed colonies. Sift thought this was a bit of over caution, but it had been agreed to by the humans. This might be a ‘dog’ but the species had so much variety, supposedly going back long before the humans mastered genetic manipulation that it was hard to tell if a given mammal fell into that category. It had fur to be certain, and it was very dependent on human interaction.

The door of the dwelling swung open, knocking against the hip of the creature and it gave a mild huff of annoyance as it heaved its mass, up and away from the door. Mary stepped out, holding the little one on her hip, Sift felt a surge of now familiar admiration of the usefulness of the baby holding ledge humans had built in. Mary’s other hand held a container of the domestic creature’s food, a mix of grain and animal fat that it particularly enjoyed and it began to cavort around Mary’s feet while Mary scanned the ground with growing perplexity. She began examining the shelving with a wrinkled face and Sift lifted up her head and idly licked her teeth.

“Rooting around for something?” she asked.

Mary started and glanced down at her in surprise.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” she said, shifting the little one who was focused on drinking water out of a soft cup.

“Here I am,” Sift commented, wondering not for the first time exactly how human vision worked. “What are you looking for?”

“The food bowl for Snuffles,” Mary said indicating the animal who had decided to sit down and tremble with eagerness until its food was forthcoming.

Sift rolled over and lifted her snout to sniff with dramatic emphasis. Then she swung her tail to indicate a door set low and subtly into the wall of the structure.

“I smell the grain and rancid fat in here,” she said with a yawn.

Mary’s face creased in a frown and she set the little one down. Instantly it ran, smacking its fat little feet against the porch, to vigorously pet the creature. Snuffles started back with a wince, and then braced itself to accept the affection. Mary used her now free hand to open the door and pull out the container.

“How-” she started to ask, but the little human made a dash at the food bowl, hands eagerly out, and Snuffles sat back with a resigned sigh.

Mary snatched the little one up and scolded the very unrepentant child.

“We don’t steal Snuffles’s food!” she said.

Snuffles got back up and began happily rooting through the food.

“No one would have put the bowl in the utility access point,” Mary observed out loud.

“It has very small human handprints on the side,” Sift pointed out.

Mary squinted down at the bowl and blinked in surprise before turning her attention to her offspring.

“Why would you do that, you chubby little chonker?” she demanded, pinching the jiggling rolls of fat on the little human’s thighs?

The little one giggled and smacked her face. Mary with clear effort turned her laugh into a frown and captured the chubby little arm in a hand.

“We don’t smack Mommy,” she said in what was trying to be a firm tone.

Sift gurgled in amusement.

“But why?” the adult human demanded.

“The little one does see you putting bowls in similar storage places on a regular basis,” Sift pointed out.

Mary blinked down at her in startled thought until the little one used his other hand to reach up and smack her, and she had to repeat the gentle discipline. Human hatchlings, apparently hated being restrained, at least this one did. Once that was done Mary gave a rueful smile down at Sift.

“I guess you are right,” she admitted. “I’ll have to remember that little trick until he gets bored of it.”

Sift blinked up at the human as she went back in the house. The two of them had spent many long hours discussing human learning patterns. Mary was well aware of the fact that all sapient creatures learned by mimicking their elders to one degree or another, that this was the core of the universal concept of ‘play’. Yet it seemed that she had forgotten it. Sift yawned and flipped over, stretching her hind-claws against the texture of the porch. This might be yet another manifestation of ‘baby brain’ that Mary talked so much about. Or it might be something worth noting in her research journal. At the moment Snuffles was done eating, the sun was still at the perfect napping angle, and human architecture consistently made delightful sunning nooks.

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This story is based on an actual email I sent to a professor at a leading university. I haven't received a response (and don't expect to) but I hope it made her laugh at the audacity and stupidity of it. I'll post a version of the letter after the story.

----------------

He considered himself fairly normal. Not average in every way, but pretty ordinary. Then he got thinking. Human averages are based on ranges, normalised data points and dozens of other things. Humans derive meaning from these things, yet don't have a singular "centre point" for it all. So he nominated himself.

He wrote an email. Stupid, ludicrous, partly insane. But it made him laugh and he tracked down a researcher at a national university, and sent her an email. Not because he wanted to be famous, or that he thought he was exceptional. Quite the opposite: he led a brutally normal life. He should be the baseline.

The scientific world rejoiced. They now had someone to base everything on. He became the crux of all humanity, at least for his generation. But scientists could now definitively point to a person and calculate standard deviations based on him.

It became known as the Gacy standard, after his audacious self-nomination.

The original Baseline Human considered nominating Nicolas Cage instead, but he realised very quickly that all other humans would be negative steps from Mr Cage. Nobody could compete with such a glorious standard. How many castles do you own?!

Every generation after his would then deliver thousands of other nominations for the new 'baseline'. A whole committee was set up to review the submissions and decide who would be The One. Not because of either normalcy or eccentricity. But just to have a reference point for all other genetic, behavioural and cultural variations. Mostly the winning applicant would be decided by lottery.

--

In 2084, aliens arrived. They weren't immediately aggressive; rather, they wanted to know about humanity before deciding what to do with them.

Diplomats and ambassadors spoke at length about the virtues of humanity. The more they said, the less the aliens cared.

--

Then the Baseline Human was trotted out.

Brenda Jones was a middle-manager at a manufacturing plant. She was competent, friendly and reasonably healthy. She wasn't going to win prizes in a beauty competition, but conversely she didn't have a face that resembled an old foot.

She was also terribly embarrassed by the whole thing. She didn't nominate herself. Her kids did it as a joke.

Her first meeting with the aliens was... weird.

Alien: "We wish to understand humanity."

Brenda: "Right."

Alien: "You are the representative specimen?"

Brenda: "Apparently."

Alien: "What are your notable achievements?"

Brenda: "I once reversed a trailer on the first attempt."

The aliens were confused. Diplomats – human and alien – were mortified.

But then the aliens asked about humanity. Families. Annoyances. Work. All the mundane stuff that fills our lives.

And Brenda was the perfect representative. She spoke about her experiences. She talked about her life at home, in the office and at the shops. The aliens were transfixed by the mundanity of it all, but what Brenda had brought to the table was an ordinary life that spoke about the vast majority of human existence.

The aliens started to shift their attitude from "placating weasel-words" to "basically decent".

The invasion was cancelled before it even begun.

Thanks Brenda.

Thanks Baseline Human.

----------------

Here's the original email. It's been a couple of weeks, and I have not received a response. I suspect one will never come.

Dear Professor,

I am writing to submit, for consideration, a simple proposition: I am the baseline human for my generation.

By “baseline”, I do not mean that I am statistically average in every measurable respect, nor that other humans are abnormal. Rather, I propose that every generation should have a single canonical reference human against which normal biological, behavioural, linguistic and cultural variation may be understood.

Science routinely uses reference ranges, reference genomes, control groups, standard conditions and baseline measurements. What appears to be missing is the logical endpoint of that practice: a baseline person.

I therefore nominate myself.

My position is as follows:

Humans vary enormously, but variation implies a frame of reference. A population average is not itself a person, and a synthetic reference genome is not a human being. If we are prepared to speak of typical ranges, standard values and reference states, it seems reasonable to ask whether one extant individual may serve as a living canonical implementation of Homo sapiens for a defined period.

I accept that this proposition may be difficult to prove. However, I note that it is equally difficult to disprove.

Any attempt to reject my status on the basis that no single human can serve as a baseline appears to assume the very point under dispute. Likewise, peer review may present an unavoidable methodological problem, as all reviewers would necessarily be derivative humans assessing the validity of the reference human.

I therefore suggest the following interim classification:

Human Reference Standard: Generation 1977

Canonical specimen: [my name]

Status of all others: valid phenotypic and behavioural variants

I would be grateful if you could advise whether there is an appropriate field, committee, reference-standard framework, or sufficiently bored academic who might be willing to consider the proposition.

I am entirely serious in the sense that I genuinely wish to know what happens when this idea is presented to science.

At worst, I expect it may provide brief amusement.

At best, it may expose a previously neglected question in the philosophy of biological reference standards.

Kind regards,

[my name]

Baseline Human, Generation 1977

"Their lines are shattered. Press the advantage!" The War Chief raised his ceremonial sword, pointing at the large screen, where the coalition fleet was visibly losing its cohesion. He could feel the end drawing near, after years of this grueling back-and-forth. Despite his forces outnumbering and outgunning the inners, they managed to stall his advance and turn the war that should have been a quick and rather one-sided affair by now, into an absolute slog and exercise in frustration for him. Finally, he would crush the backbone of their armada before they could scatter into the void.

The flagship's captain turned to him. "My Lord, they are extending their flanks. It seems they are hoping for a repeat of last time. Despite the apparent chaos at the center, they managed to cycle out their most damaged capital ships to the back. I believe..."

But the War Chief did not wait for his subordinate to finish. "I see what they are doing. We won't have a repeat of that embarrassing display here! Send a message to charge the stellar lance! Target the planet and make it obvious! We shall see how eager they are to abandon billions of their citizens to their fate."

There were a few glances exchanged among the command crew. But none dared to question the orders of their supreme leader. It was not as if there did not exist, mountains of corpses already, on both sides. But despite their hatred and disdain for the inners, and their soft, cowardly ways, as well as the hunger for revenge, the prospect of wiping out a civilian population of that size gave even them a pause. There was a world of difference between killing an enemy in a fight, and butchering the defenseless.

It would take time for the coalition fleet to realize what was happening. The War Chief could wait a few hours more. Either they would turn in a desperate attempt to stop what he was about to do, and he would finally crush their main force. Or their display of cowardice would shatter the unity of the inner's pathetic little banding together, this alliance of weaklings and deluded fanatics putting their faith in myths and neglectful precursors. He wished he could look into those arrogant, self-assured eyes and optics again, to ask. "Where are your gods now? Want to tell me again how you are the chosen people destined to rule this galaxy?" As he pointed a giant gun at them that could wipe them out in one stroke, together with the world they were standing on.

"Energy spike!" The report came with a tone that made it clear this was not the result of their weapon firing. Not that the War Chief ordered them to fire in the first place. So naturally, he turned to the officers monitoring the sensor readings. "Where?" Before he could continue, there was a flash of light, blinding everyone in the control center.

It was not just that they were blinded. The crew all shared the same experience of disorientation, being deaf and blind, as well as not being sure which way was up for a few seconds. They needed a minute to even remember who they were and what they were doing here after the experience. Only once they managed to collect themselves did they realize that they were no longer alone.

The guards were the first to react, and it took a bit of shouting on the part of the War Chief to stop them from blowing holes into the command center's equipment as they were firing on the figure floating in the middle of it. "Stop shooting, you idiots! Have you not noticed already how it goes through them after the first burst?! It must be a hologram." He actually doubted that, but it was the best explanation that would satisfy the rest of his crew for the moment. Well, before they would remember that, likely anyone capable of projecting a hologram into this command center could just as easily flood it with deadly radiation. The other thing that worried him, besides the figure floating and glowing, was how they looked. There was something eerily familiar about them. "Who... what the heck are you, and why are you here?" He shifted sideways from the figure, like a predator looking for the best angle to pounce.

The figure spoke in a voice that did not seem like a transmission of any kind, but as if they stood there. Addressing the crew in their native tongue. "I am certain you already figured out the why, War Chief Kranona. I am here to stop you! The who? You can address me as Alex. The what, as you already suspect. I am human."

-x-

You could hear nothing but the cracking of sparks from the damaged equipment, and the occasional beep from one of the instruments still working. The room was frozen, and everyone, either openly stared at the glowing figure in the middle, or at least kept an eye on it from the side.

The War Chief was the first to speak after the revelation. "Ha! The gods of inners finally show themselves? A bit late to the party, are we?" His words were meant more for his crew, rather than the being or projection or whatever the thing in front of him was. A show of confidence, where he himself could not afford to give away his doubts and fears. He had to suppress the urge to raise his pistol and empty the magazine into the apparition, knowing full well it would just add to the embarrassment after his guards tried that already. "Excuse us, if we don't throw ourselves at your feet and beg for forgiveness. Because I don't buy it!"

The figure spoke again, still with perfect Raphali instead of the broken imitation of the language that universal translators did, or the heavy accent and distortions of other species learning their language. And took the relaxed voice of someone talking about the weather, but with a cheeky undertone. "Didn't think you would. Nobody ever does, really. They all have their own expectations, with a heavenly choir and a booming voice from a giant, idealized version of their own species. Might have something to do with the false impressions created by the overly enthusiastic reverence of our children. No matter how many times we tell them that we are not gods. Only older. More powerful. Ascended. In a generation or two, they replace our memory with perfect idols of something else, and the message with the thing they wanted to hear. But right here, right now? For all intents and purposes, from your perspective. That difference between us and gods? It is a technicality."

The being flicked its fingers, and existence itself turned inside out. The War Chief could barely find his footing again as artificial gravity stopped for a bit, and then turned back on again as the indicators for being on emergency power came on. He could only listen to his officers trying to restore order. There were shouts demanding reports, status updates about the state of navigation, how the stars disappeared, how they could not see the rest of the fleet, or the enemy, or anything at all. The ship lost main power, and was apparently drifting in an empty void.

"Now that everyone is in their own timeout box, let's talk!" The voice came from the side of the main command chair.

"Wait!" The War Chief had to raise his hand to stop his guards from trying to shoot the human again. Who was no longer glowing with that golden light, or floating. It just looked like any other living being, one similar to the Raphali themselves. Sharing the basic upright tetrapod shape didn't mean much. It was one of the most common configurations that evolution tended to gravitate towards. And mammal analogues were not exactly rare either. But now, as he looked at it, he was trying to visualize what its skeleton would look like. Also, their current predicament reminded him of certain mysteries in astronomy. Really, he was getting to a number of disturbing conclusions. But before he could voice any of them, there was the matter of addressing the apparently all-powerful being on his bridge who had just cast him and his crew into a void lacking any stars. "All right, Mr not-a-god, except might as well be. What do you want? Unless it is just to see us insects squirm as you are pointing the magnifying glass at us."

"Isn't it obvious? We, and by that I mean myself and the rest of the humans still watching over this galaxy, want you to stop murdering each other on an industrial scale!" Alex put his hands on his hips, looking at the Raphali War Chief as if scolding an unruly child. That the base human form was also quite a bit taller than a normal Raphali, did not help with dispelling that image.

Kranona, for his part, didn't feel like bowing to this interloper. Regardless if he believed that they could end him and his entire civilization, and his species, with one snap of a finger. Heck, just because they transported his ship to somewhere else, did not mean he believed the rest of it. But he was not going to demand a demonstration of their power. That was not his main issue. "Picked one heck of a time to jump in. Is it the murdering which is the problem, or just the scale of it? What am I asking? Either way. I think everyone, even our enemies would have the same question then. Why now? Why not earlier? I don't know, the start of the war, or the incidents leading up to it? Or any other war before this one?"

"That is funny coming from you." The human crossed his arms. "Sorry, did I say funny? I meant tragic, and extremely hypocritical." He grimaced. He did not need to say it. The term mass murderer would hang in the air.

The War Chief was having none of this, and was now showing his teeth. "Oh sorry, I don't have the luxury of wishing my problems away! Of snapping my fingers to make our enemies go poof."

"That this would be your go-to solution is part of the problem." Alex mused.

"No, the problem is you!" Kranona pointed at the human. "What right do you have? After watching and doing nothing. To come in and demand that we stop because it is starting to look ugly? For us it has been ugly for a very long time already. And when we finally manage to rise up, push back. You come in and demand that we stand down? Where was that sentiment when the boots were on the feet of the inners, and stomping on our heads? Oh right, that is the real problem, isn't it? They are your children, not us! Would it have killed you not-gods, to occasionally rein in your spoiled brats when they misbehaved? No, you only intervene when the consequences of their actions come back to bite them!"

"You are having a rather one-sided view of the matter." The human frowned.

"I take your word for it, Mr all-knowing. Who should not be called god, just be treated like one. Do you have any idea how it is to be on the receiving end? To be small, afraid and hurting? Every other day, mourning loved ones you could not protect, one after the other? How could you, from your throne or heavenly tower or whatever it is you supposedly watch from?" He waved dismissively. "Now, either do what you did to the Grevosians as you are planning, or begone and let us finish what we started."

The human raised an eyebrow. "We are not actually omniscient. And I am impressed that you even know about them. Or that name."

"Our astronomers have long worked on the mystery of the seemingly nonsensical trajectory of various objects in our galaxy, as if there had been some major gravity wells that just up and disappeared at some point. There were also legends of course, along with some archeological findings, rare as they might have been. We actually had scouts travel far enough to catch the light from those stars that someone or something just removed nearly a hundred thousand years ago. Seeing what just happened to my ship, and likely our entire fleet, it was not hard to put two and two together."

"And yet you still went forward with your war."

"The known history of the galaxy did not exactly hint at you still being around, or if you were, that you would care for anyone being wiped out." Kranona seemed to calm down, like a condemned man ready for his execution.

"For your information, it might have been a long time ago, but we did experience being small and frightened, and angry at the universe for it. Like I said, we are ascended. We certainly did not start out as powerful beings capable of crushing the Milky Way's civilizations with a thought. And we are not doing this now just to save our children, as you say. This is just as much for your benefit." The human's voice was softer, almost sweet in a way.

But this all just served to stoke the fire in the War Chief. "Ha! Our benefit? If you want to do something for us, step aside and let us finish what we started!"

The answer came in a tone that picked up a certain sharpness to it again. "You think you are the first ones on this path? Of endless escalation and turning your grievances into justification for horrific deeds that just fuel the exact same thing on the other side? Oh no, they bombed a colony. Time to do a genocide, I guess. Their leaders were arrogant assholes, that means every single member of that species should die, right? Even, no, especially the ones that had nothing to do with it, because how dare they keep living their lives, not even knowing what was going on a hundred light-years away?"

"What? That is not..." Kranona tried to interject.

"I am not talking about what you did right now!" The human raised a finger. "I am fully aware, by the way, that you had no intention of actually firing that stellar lance you aimed at Silago. But your subordinates were not aware, and all it would have taken for them to carry out what they believed to be your will is a sudden shift on the battlefield, and bit of trouble with communications, after say, an EMP strike close to your flagship by a stealth unit you were not aware of."

The War Chief did not say a word, only stared at the human.

"I can see that I don't need to tell you. That wiping out an entire world like that would have galvanized support for the Coalition from neutral parties. Ensuring that the war would go on far longer, with an ever-increasing death toll and no clear victor until both sides were weakened enough for certain third parties to see both your people and the inner worlds coalition as juicy meat ripe for harvest. We aren't actually omniscient. We cannot see the future or anything, but we have damn good analytics for the likely course of events when something holds our attention." He paused for a second, but there was no interruption from Kranona, Alex continued. "So you see, that is one reason why we picked this exact time to intervene. Specifically to talk to both of you at a time when you still actually have a choice without needing us to jump in. The other is, to stop you from making the same mistakes we did."

"The mistakes, you did?" Okay, this was new. The War Chief could only utter those words, and watch this supposed godly being display something like, actual regret?

"I am not talking about the Grevosians either. They were utterly incapable of regarding other advanced life as anything other than a threat that had to be wiped out. It was, not really their fault or choice. Fortunately for them and the rest of the galaxy, by then we were as we are now, and we simply put them with their stars and worlds into a pocket dimension where they can live out their existence. But on the road before our ascension..." He paused for a second. "We were on the back foot for so long, crushed under the heels of others, just like your people were. After we turned the tables, it was easy to justify the growing train of horrors, to ensure our safety and that none of it ever happened to us again, or so we told ourselves. Only we kept finding new enemies whose reactions to our atrocities against the fleeing remnants of our last set of adversaries were all the evidence we needed of their wickedness. By the time we stopped to really look at what we did, it was like waking from a nightmare of our own making. We caused more misery and death across the galaxy than a mere mortal mind could ever actually comprehend. But we certainly started to, as our final awakening started, which is why most of us decided to rather commit suicide than to have a perfect vision and memory of every life we snuffed out on our way. Tell me, would you really want your people to go down the same route?" There wasn't any malice or anger in the tone of Alex, but they might as well have been lightning and thunder in the background.

Kranona just kept staring at the human for a while, only breaking the awkward silence after he was entirely sure they had finished. "Can we go back to you just being the shitty, neglectful, but otherwise goodie-two-shoes gods of the inners? I kinda liked that setup better."

"So would I, but once your eyes are opened, you cannot go back to the blissful ignorance of your past self. Now I can already see the question in your eyes. That one of a sovereign who is fully aware that no ruler rules alone, and they are only in power as long as they do what their people, or well, at least their key supporters, expect of him. Worry not, for the time we were talking, your title of being your people's voice, wasn't just a metaphor." The human turned away, as if ready to walk out, even if there wasn't really anywhere to go in that direction.

War Chief Kranona felt like a complete mess right now, his thoughts racing. He felt a presence lift from him, something he wasn't even really aware of until it was gone. Just now, he realized that he had not been entirely himself since they were transported into this void. It was his personality and his voice, all right, but just now did he realize the truth of the human's last words to him. Well, the last words if he let them go without at least one of the many questions in his mind being answered. "Wait, there is one more thing!"

"Make it quick." Alex turned around.

"Your shape. It is, familiar. Is it just a coincidence? An extreme case of convergent evolution, that something from our past looks so much like you?"

"Ah, that!" The human smiled. "See, that is the thing. The inners are called our children, because we mostly looked after them while we still believed that direct guidance would be the best way. But our species did not emerge here. The cradle our ancestors abandoned is still in the inner rim. I think you know it well. We did not really expect another intelligent species to rise from it, to be honest. Not from the state it was left in. We are... sorry, for what it's worth." And with that, they were gone.

The War Chief remained without a word until one of his subordinates addressed him. They were asking for instructions. The stars were back, so were the other ships as the various communications came in. There was little argument against the retreat order. Nobody was quick to admit the experience they had. So the War Chief himself questioned some of his key personnel in full view of everyone. It was quickly made apparent that they all remembered the same thing, and being in their ruler's head for the duration of it. There was no arguing about it, even if some raised the idea that perhaps they and the War Chief had their minds altered to force this decision. It was quickly dismissed as a pointless perspective. By that logic, who knew if not their entire civilization wasn't brainwashed then? By the time they finished talking, the Raphalian armada was done reorganizing itself and started to jump away.

Kranona kept sitting in his throne, the command chair of his flagship, staring into nothing in particular. "Fine, we will let your spoiled adopted brats live, stupid godly cousin."

Royal Road
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[Record Retrieved]

[Current Displayed Record – Research Division, Engineering Technologist, Allegra Addolorata]

Allegra cursed this stupid universe when yet another cog skyrocketed itself out of its proper socket.

Up, up it went, before pitifully losing steam and flopping down onto the spotless floor like a gambler’s dice, joining another of its companions for the solace of cool, ventilated air and a mechanical interpretation of a wooden floor.

For a moment, she considered just giving up, just accepting things as they were and letting the universe swallow her whole until there was nothing left of her to be found.

Only for a moment.

With a sigh accumulated from too many hours spent tinkering with an uncooperative tool, she snatched the two rebels and heated them under a multipurpose lamp, pulling them out once what few bacteria left clinging on for dear life – if there were even any – had been thoroughly eradicated. Clicking open a compartment, she unkindly shoved them back into their proper spots with all the finesse of someone who had done it a thousand times.

Check. Double-check. Triple-check.

Alright, everything seemed to be in order now.

Perhaps she should try one last model testing. It would be prudent to know how exactly the machine would act up, and it surely would, before she presented their latest progress to the director.

After all, it was their latest advancement in the brand-new scientific field of magitech.

Ugh, that word still felt so wrong to say. Especially when it kept getting embedded between paragraphs of technical jargon in reports.

She pressed the start button on the bulky tool and directed its searching sensors towards an artifact that had been confirmed magical.

/Calculating… Calculating…/

/50% Magic Output. Baseline Detected./

Ah, all good then.

She shut off the device and carefully placed the artifact back into its sealed container, cold, professional hands carrying with them a faint tremble upon feeling the weight of that heavy souvenir.

The fact that it shone so brilliantly even with the barrier that was her gloves spoke volumes of its power.

A gift by the Griffins.

Both a token of their friendship and a test of their might.

She still remembered the day it had been presented – could not forget, even if there hadn’t been a hundred paranoid recordings etching the moment in streams of data and pixels.

Two griffins had carried opposite ends of a dead horse, a unicorn presumably, judging by the long, sharp horn adorning its head. In the middle of this unconventional cushion, draped with an elaborate carpet – that more so resembled an idea of a saddle – there lay a small nugget of gold, molded into the shape of a feather.

The head griffin, apparently the queen, had plucked the nugget between two claws, the touch making the gold shine like a firework trapped in time, and presented it to their Commander.

“A present.” She had murmured with a honeyed voice, the sweetness clashing with her cold glare. “To welcome you to Aurum.”

To this day, there were far too many video clips circulating in staff group chats and temporarily-constructed planet-bound forums, all centred around their Commander’s plainly reluctant acceptance of the artifact.

The moment it fell upon his hand, it glowed.

Glowed brighter than when it had shone in the paw of a queen. Glowed brighter than the bulbs of light illuminating their homes. Glowed as though it intended to rival the sun in its intensity, nearly blinding all those who beheld it.

The cheers from the griffins were thunderous.

It was a test, the queen had explained later through a mouthful of cooked beef. The nugget of gold had been enchanted with a clever rune, a spell designed to reveal the worthy and the unworthy.

When questioned later on the metrics of the ‘worth’ of an individual, she had laughed, hooked beak glistening with the red of oil.

“If they could beat an average griffin, of course!” She chuckled. “A very simple trick, really. Just a measurement of the magic potential thrumming within a living being.”

The griffins had found that the humans were a worthy foe who could very well beat them in a fight.

A magic fight.

The Commander said nothing more and only sipped his coffee in silence.

That was weeks ago.

The artifact had been delivered to Allegra’s division, with strict instructions to study but not tamper, for they were still unaware of what magic truly was.

And lack of knowledge to humanity was a danger they had forgotten, an insult to the endless number of libraries filled over eons. It was both a tease alluring them with promises of answers and a derision lined like thorns of a rose.

Knowledge was humanity’s virtue and vice, and one they couldn’t bear to be without. They were a species who had fought their way off their planet by strapping themselves to rockets and hoping it wouldn’t explode along the way. They were a species who leapt out of their star system and ventured towards empty space because they would rather die in a hollow, forgotten void than live not knowing the sensation.

They threw themselves into black holes, trusted stars not to swallow their holiday resorts, and built living monuments just beyond the edge of the universe, for no other reason than to prove they could.

Humanity had believed themselves to Know all that was pivotal to know.

And yet, here was magic, proving them wrong.

So, humanity would treat magic the same they’d treated other paradoxes.

Brute-force pursuit.

Or at least Allegra was trying.

Integrating magic into their technological inventions when she hadn’t a single clue how mana worked, or what it even was, had been a decidedly unpleasant and trying experience. Half-baked theories and hypotheses created during sleep-deprived hallucinations were the backbone of this latest piece of work, and it was by a thin stroke of luck the team had managed to come up with something half-way usable.

She got up from her chair and stretched, limbs numb after a long morning of intense sitting.

“Hey, [REDACTED]!” She called out to her current assigned partner, one hand already cleaning up the work table and another hanging onto the tool with indescribable care. “I’m going to hand in my report to the director now. And I was thinking this little baby’s finally ready for professional inspection. You mind if I hold onto it for a while? We can continue working out the kinks later today.”

After receiving a distracted affirmative – the other was likely preoccupied with their chart of magic particles that may or may not exist and the reconstruction of their entire understanding of atoms and the universe – she grabbed her tablet, which bent around her wrist to form a light, transparent bracelet, and secured her hold on their prized invention.

It was beautiful, if beauty was defined by impossibilities.

By any other metric, it was one ugly piece of work.

A long pole, one end drastically heavier than the other, making the whole device decidedly unwieldy. The lesser end had been curved, a design choice for an easy grip and probably to allow the device to hang onto something instead of simply getting tossed upon any random surface.

By contrast, the weighty end was a large box that wasn’t really a box, decorated with so many extra bits and bobs it only crudely resembled a rectangle, bombarded with small additions after the initial design that could not fit into the actual insides of the device.

And if the outside was ugly, it only got worse when one dared to take a peek at the inner workings: a crowd of cogs and screws and bars and tightly concealed chambers that housed dangerous chemicals. Its only saving grace was the actual most important parts of the tool – the screen that should relay information and the sensors that should receive it.

Otherwise, it was nasty, terrible, and would make Umbriel German natives cry at the complete and utter inefficiency of it all.

Good enough for a first try.

Allegra steadied her grip, stepped forward to the door, and watched the identity scanner come to life.

After registering her authority, it opened.

Allegra stepped outside.

And crunched the dirt of their newest base on the Griffin homeworld.

Their sun was a burning inferno, scorching their landscapes into fine specks of desert sand and jagged rocks. Harsh mountains and ravines existed as though they scorned the notion of life itself, molded and shaped by nature in impossible geometry. Only creatures of flight stood much of a chance in this unforgiving world, if they did not perish from the heat first.

This was one of the two terrains predominantly found in the realm.

The other was the one the humans landed on.

A barren wasteland with eternal winter, where snow never melted and ice only learnt to cut sharper every dawn. Supposedly, it was a part of the territory of yet another Griffin nation, the Kingdom of the Lowplains.

They occupied a large stretch of land spanning wide and far, dotted by bushes pretending to be trees and critters that understood the value of staying unseen. Despite it being their home, hardly any griffin lived out in the cold, preferring to stick to the warmer edges of their kingdom, which also just so happened to be their major cities. It was partly why they bore no ill will towards the humans stumbling upon what had been theirs.

After all, there was no griffin to disturb, for no sane sentient being would subject themselves to the torture of the dangerous weather and little prey.

So, the humans immediately set up their base out of ready-made terraforming-a-planet starter packages, built a double-digit number of portable heaters, and fashioned fortifications strong enough to make a city under siege salivate with envy.

With consent from the natives, of course.

Initially, the griffins had questions – inevitable ones – attempting to glean the when, how, and why in one welcome banquet. Human diplomats answered politely, just the way they were taught to: right now, flying a ship, because they had been attacked.

All very simple and delivered with a tone meant for discussing traffic jams, a nifty little trick the griffins had yet to master, if the shock that shaped their faces in response to the last answer was any indication.

Apparently, despite being on the exact same planet, this kingdom had no idea their biggest rival had enacted a scheme to invade Earth and ‘force a dance out of a rock’, or so they had phrased it. They weren’t exactly disgusted, nor did they condemn the act, but one fact remained concrete.

They didn’t know.

And fortunately, the millennia-old adage of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ rang true, even with alien species, so the griffins hadn’t pressed and accepted their arrival with open arms- uh, wings.

Humanity got lucky, because the longer story was far – far – too interesting for diplomacy.

First, there had been the chase.

The moment the griffin armada had been thoroughly demolished by two flabbergasted, very much regretting-all-their-life-choices humans, Earth saw her chance and snatched it.

They were all too aware of their place in the realms, how little they knew, and how much of a target they had unknowingly presented themselves as.

For whatever reason, the coalition of realms formed long ago through promises and oaths lost to time and space had turned their cold, ideologically-driven eyes towards humanity. The new species had captured their interest, and that wasn’t a good thing in a universe that had been characterized by a skewed morality and, frankly, a horrifying way of life, by human standards.

Humanity knew nothing.

And humanity needed to Know.

So, they’d followed, putting their latest (emphasis on the latest, Venus would not be pulling a fast one on Earth again) camouflage technology to the test.

Massive ships, cloaked in darkness, flickering with tiny lights that blended with distant stars. They had been accounted for distance and speed, to still when they needed to and to animate in a blink of an eye – appropriately. Noise did not travel across space, but it was thoroughly dampened all the same, for magic might hide tricks they couldn’t trust.

These warships were ready, with teams primed for take-off, remnants and scars of a fresh galactic war that hadn’t time to scab just yet.

And they followed, bracing themselves for another.

The griffin ships were pitiful and frustrating in their pitifulness. In their frenzy, whatever had united the fleet crumbled, leaving the tiny number to flounder like lambs slated for slaughter. They all raced back in the same direction, presumably to their homeworld, but with varying speeds: some moving so quickly they were only a blur of motion, others so sluggish their Commander had worried they’d turn back and have another go at Earth.

Even if their little magic tricks did not work, the griffins might very well try ramming their ships straight to the surface. The shields would most probably take care of it, but picking up space debris was a tedious task and promoted bad prospects for commerce.

After making a decision within a moment’s notice, the fleet split up into smaller, but still relatively large groups; a few chased the rapidly speeding ships, but a couple more, including Allegra’s, stayed behind to watch the straggling ships.

It turned out to be the correct decision, as those ships evidently had no intention of following their brethren.

They didn’t attack Earth either.

They did something that was arguably worse.

Every one of them followed the same pattern.

At first, observation had been boring. Even with all the glamorous and novel nature of real bona fide aliens, everyone began drawing their attention away from the windows, for the griffins did nothing interesting in particular. Soon, only those who were tasked with the duty were left, silent and watchful, eyes trained for the slightest of change in their habits.

For some time, the griffin’s little regimen continued as usual. A few patrolled the deck, some would fly around in their little magic bubble of air and check the sails, and eventually they would all go back down and disappear inside.

To sleep, perhaps. Or something else.

This egregious, miserable routine went on for so long Allegra and her colleagues began to question if the ship’s camouflage was failing, or if the magic detected what their technology couldn’t have hidden.

And then it began.

A single griffin. Unremarkable. Ordinary. Just another one of the lot.

Was it (he? she?) stopping for a break? Was it leaning on the railing to check for something? Maybe for the fault in their camouflage?

Suddenly, it spread its wings and took off.

It flew. Past the railings. Higher than their sails.

It flew into the darkness of space.

Surely, it must be past their magic bubble of safety, shouldn’t it? Humans may not have been able to see mana, but they knew enough to Know everything the universe gave had a limit of its own.

It was further out now, kept flying and flying and flying. It must have cast some sort of spell on itself, knowing it wouldn’t have survived otherwise.

But maybe it was too confident. Maybe it thought it could outfly death itself. Or maybe it believed it would find something that wasn’t there.

Whatever it was, the spell failed at one point.

They knew, because even with their mana-blind eyes, it was evident.

The griffin grew rigid. Froze mid-flight, wings half-lifted as though they were preparing for wind they would never feel. Blood leaked through its beak and crystallized just as fast, ice claiming and consuming the corpse whole, for that was what it became in the end.

It died.

That should have been the end of it, the end of the entire cursed phenomenon. Already, conspiracy theories had sprung up, delusions and stories of make-believe conjured up by a people who wanted to Know but lacked the context necessary to understand.

And if it was a single freak incident, perhaps that was all the theories would have been: theories. False. Untrue. A story meant for headlines quickly brushed aside and buried beneath law.

But the griffins weren’t done.

Some time later, another griffin stopped patrolling and leaned on the railing. Different position. Different place.

But it looked outwards, the same way the first one did.

Then, it flew.

It flew and flew and flew.

It died.

Another griffin. Oh, it was two this time. Siblings? Lovers? They leaned on each other, their beaks tapping once. Twice, as if they were saying goodbye in a language only they understood.

Then, they flew.

They flew.

They died.

Another griffin.

It died.

Another one.

It died.

Another and another and another.

They all died.

And throughout it all, humanity could only watch behind the safety of tinted glasses and watch as empty space gradually became crowded with dead griffins. Appalled and horrified, they had half-hoped the birds would stop racing towards certain death when their brethren began to replace the stars. Yet, the corpses only seemed to spur them on, with entire groups jumping at the same time at one point.

But every horror came to an end, and the griffins eventually ran out of bodies and souls.

The ships remained suspended in space, no one to man them, no one to steer them. They would have been lost too, a tale swallowed up by the expansion between planets and stars, a crew that would have never been found, scattered and cast in darkness unless an unlucky traveller tripped and smashed their ships against frozen flesh.

Perhaps that was their intention? To be lost and forgotten, rather than face the shame of losing? Or were they plagued by a disease that compelled them, and could that same outbreak spread to other species? Maybe the griffins knew something about space humans didn’t? A leviathan creature inhabiting the deepest, darkest reaches of the abyss?

Whatever it was, the griffins had forfeited their lives and unknowingly handed them over not just to the void, but to the species that inhabited it.

Drones, mechanical hands, and automated systems all carried out their mission objectives with the same cold calculation their owners aspired to have. Ships were gathered and contained for future research purposes. Corpses were isolated and stored in sealed packages, designed both for DNA extraction and to pay what respects the humans could to their nameless invaders.

Once all was said and done, they were anchored to the nearest uninhabited planet – for they were still in human space, though the griffins didn’t seem to have been aware of that fact – and left behind with report transcripts and a warning signed with a corporate flair.

By that point, new ships had arrived, back-ups from Earth should they require them, and from other celestial bodies that came under the official statement of aid but with an undercurrent of desire.

Desire for information they sorely lacked.

Together, the newly bolstered fleet worked out the line of communications, hierarchy, and who the final decision would ultimately fall upon, before increasing their speed to its maximum level and catching up with the ships that continued to tail the saner runners.

Because despite all the dangers and unknown powers magic offered, the one the griffins made use of was undeniably slow.

Or maybe human ships were just fast. Their engines did improve exponentially with all the funding afforded during the wartime economy.

The rest of the chase ended with a conclusion everyone but the griffins saw coming. A sizable number of the ships, kept in orbit (still cloaked, still invisible to the naked eye). The rest, parked onto the surface within the territory of a friendly griffin nation.

And Allegra walked on the ground that wasn’t theirs with the confidence of someone who knew facts could be overridden on a whim, if they so wished it.

She strode on past their neat little rows of cabins, past people hurrying about with the same blasé urgency, and past groups practicing drills. A few of them rested – lucky folks, who found themselves with some time to spare.

They had been a lot more paranoid the first few days. Especially after witnessing what was effectively a mass griffin suicide brought about by suspiciously mysterious causes.

Until their specialists had given them the a-okay, they had explored the place in a fully-kitted out zero-atmosphere-safety-approved (ZASA) suits, freaking out the first few griffins they had made contact with. Only after confirming that there wasn’t going to be a freak epidemic did they finally shed their protection, ready to enjoy the frigid, scorching breeze of Aurum.

They were never truly worried about oxygen, for, curiously enough, every species in every single realm could share the same breathable atmosphere. It was just one of those impossible coincidences – like every single alien resembling and behaving like a creature from their mythos – that had the eggheads back home ripping their hair out in pure confusion.

However, without any real answer, humanity decided to simply accept the impossible and move on.

The Kingdom of the Lowplains welcomed them eagerly, the Kingdom of the Highrocks seemed to be nursing their bruised pride in silence, and the human expedition team desperately needed a mental break.

“Allie! Where are you heading to?”

She turned around and grinned broadly when she saw who had called out. “Just to the central quarter. I need to hand this over and make a progress report…” She paused, eyes trailing the figure before her.

“Another brawl? Really, Gio?”

Giordano Addolorata, the man she’d vowed to be together with under two suns and three moons, smiled the way a boy caught hoarding candy would. His shirt had been haphazardly draped upon his back, sleeves hanging uselessly, while his real arms remained free.

Or as free as they could be when dripping mud. His skin was a wet autumn, doused in sweat and dirt alike, and his cheeks flushed mahogany, the blood beneath still pounding with a rush of adrenaline. “Maybe…” He shrugged, hoping to look nonchalant and only managing to affirm her initial guess.

“And the griffins agreed?”

“My opponent was a returnee, actually.” His face brightened. “Learnt a few new tricks since last time. Kept her wings far, far away from me, so she doesn’t lose within the first few seconds of the match again.”

Despite trying to maintain a stern demeanour, her lips twitched, amusement seeping through. “I still can’t believe your little cheat worked last time. And that she didn’t try to kill you too.”

“Hey now, it was fair game! We agreed on first blood, and I drew first blood.”

“By plucking a feather.”

“Funny how that worked, wasn’t it?” He stretched himself lazily, with all the despicable grace of a cat that got the cream. “Though, to be honest, I think the griffins are just plain bad at this. They didn’t even give me as much of a challenge as old Benny did, and you know he’s about as useful as a fish in combat.”

“You’re really saying that the bloodthirsty, warlike griffins with a culture derived from violence and conquest- are weak fighters?” She did not roll her eyes, but the sentiment was clear. “Gio, seeing you get all egoistical and proud may be cute, but you’ve got to make your descent into narcissism a little more believable than that.”

“I’m not being arrogant, Allie, I swear.” He huffed, a performative little noise conveying exaggerated outrage. “It’s weird fighting them. I- I don’t know how to explain it, but- When you’ve been into enough scraps before, you get this… sense, when your opponent’s holding back.”

“The griffin went easy on you?”

“No, it’s more like- Ugh, let’s talk on the way to the canteen. I’m starved. Your duties aren’t too urgent, are they?”

Her fingers tapped lightly on the precious tool, presently worth more than entire star systems by the value of knowledge alone. The tablet dug into her wrist at the movement, containing progress reports that could undermine and collapse entire regimes should the details be leaked.

Then, she looked back at his eager face, crinkled with an edge of fondness only a relationship carved from gentle love – warm mornings tinged with the scent of freshly baked bread, comforting nights when the shadows stretched too long – could nurture.

“Yeah, I can spare some time.”

“Awesome! C’mon, I heard they’re doing a one-day pizza special! No artichokes, of course.”

He talked her ear off the entire way there, and she simply listened to his random ramblings, humming and gasping when appropriate. Yet, in spite of the aloof exterior she tried to project in the name of professionalism, even she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips and the warmth that bloomed – lovely and true – in the soft, hidden shadows of her heart.

Royal Road
First|Previous|Next
“YOU ALMOST DIED?!”

“Well, I’m sure I wasn’t really in any real danger. Besides, I have this for a reason, don’t I?” At the words, Giordano’s left hand began to whirr faintly, flesh slowly melting into machine, as the fruits of his sacrifice and the gift of human technology began to make itself known.

At least until Allegra smacked it and force-stopped the process, silver metal yielding to make way for skin once more. “Not helping.” She huffed. “What do you mean that stupid bird tried to kill you during the fight?”

“That’s a bit harsh. She didn’t try to kill me per se, it was more like she couldn’t help it. Like I said, not really used to fighting unarmed humans – or armed ones, for that matter.”

“Oh, sure. She really couldn’t help nearly snapping your neck or biting your head. What an upstanding member of the clearly very moral and virtuous griffin society!” Her tone was vitriol, seething with barely-concealed fury. “Look, I know the griffins aren’t used to fighting those that aren’t their own kind. I even understand that friendly duels that don’t end with someone going six feet under are rare for these folks.”

“But that’s just the thing.” He interrupted before she could continue her soon-to-be violent rant. “They are used to fighting plenty of other different kinds of living beings, humanoid ones included. But they’re always so used to going instantly for the killing blow it’s like they’re clumsy, little amateurs again on a battlefield that doesn’t allow bloodshed.”

“So, what? They’re just bumbling under the weight of their own strength?!”

“Exactly!” His outburst startled Allegra, finally shocked out of her own anger-induced stupor. “They’re trying so hard not to accidentally break the rules – that is, killing us, pulling off a limb, and other violent stuff – they don’t even know how to fight properly any more.”

Quiet enveloped the two, the couple entrenched in their own silent thoughts too loud to be voiced in public. The canteen hummed around them without pause, everyone busy with whatever they’d decided to concern themselves with that day and paying little attention to the silent pair leaning against the wall near the counter.

Elsewhere, a table erupted into cheers. Elsewhere, glass cracked after falling from clumsy hands, before the floor cleaned itself just as quickly.

“Huh.” Allegra began at last, hand finding its rougher other half and entwining the fingers together. Giordano obliged with little acknowledgement, as though the gesture was as natural as breathing air. “We’ve really gotten ourselves into one fine mess of a universe, haven’t we?”

A grim chuckle answered her, as Giordano rubbed his face with a pristine hand (Allegra knew how to spot quick-cleansers and towels like a sniper.) and tightened his hold on her with the other, like it was the only anchor that could keep him afloat. “Yeah, griffins aren’t like humans.” He mused. “And I have a suspicion the other aliens are more like the griffins than us too.”

“I almost pity the diplomats. I wonder how all that polite, culturally-sensitive attitude is working out for them when it comes to these killer magpies.”

“Killer magpies?”

“The shoe fits, no? But, hmm. That might be insulting, actually. Magpies are cuter and more beneficial to society.”

Allegra smirked at the laugh she successfully managed to pull out of the other. Giordano looked only mildly scandalized at the comment and turned to the side, like away meant his wheeze could go unseen and the twinkle in his eye could be hidden under a veneer of indifference.

That was when he saw it. Or rather, them.

“Speaking of diplomats.” He nudged her side and she looked in the same direction.

Ah, it appeared as though they had no need to search for an unoccupied table any more.

“Fancy seeing you here, Adam.” Giordano grinned, the pair having barged their way there and jumped onto the free chairs with the confidence of people who invited themselves. “And Bob.”

“Not my name.” ‘Bob’ sighed, the usual rebuttal quick on his tongue before his head could catch up and question the two new arrivals.

“Well, if it isn’t the lovebirds! Heya, you two.” Adam waved lazily, an easy smile plastered on his face as he leaned back in his seat with the idle grace of a feline. “How’s the little bun coming along, Allie?”

Absentmindedly, Allegra rested her hand upon the slightest of bumps on her belly. At the same time, Giordano rested his on her shoulder, a light pressure meant only to provide comfort should it be necessary. A request. A question.

Never a demand, for they both knew the monumental, life-changing young’un slumbering just beneath her palm. It was barely there, invisible to all but the one carrying the burden – the precious weight of breathing in new life to a young soul still sleeping, still napping.

It was not time yet, and the soul lay, unaware that the ones who adored the little being most were waiting with full hearts, overflowing with love, and steady hands, guided by devotion.

“Healthy.” Her voice was light, a whisper that was loud in its softness. “Growing steadily.”

Then, she blinked, and the spell broke, the moment of vulnerability passing as she put back on her harsher persona like a well-beloved sweater. “You asked me this three days ago, Adam. Two days before that too. What makes you think the answer’s going to be any different this time?”

“Now, now, Allie. Let’s not be too hard on the man.” Giordano reprimanded her, but it had been done in a tone so obviously dramatic and flamboyant she immediately caught onto the move he was about to play. “He must be so exhausted from having to mop those floors day in and day out. I can only hope the janitorial life is treating you well, Adam.” He said with a grin so wide it was impossible to take his act as genuine.

But of course, Adam did so anyway, because Giordano had delivered a fatal blow to his career pride, and he should very well respond in kind – a ridiculous back-and-forth that served only as a game among men, and not to be taken too seriously. “Do not mock this wronged man, Addolorata. I was mistakenly punished – punished, I tell you!”

Allegra rolled her eyes and found the gesture reflected back from Bob, who looked equally sick of this theatre that had repeated too many times this week for it to be funny any more.

“You did massacre a substantial portion of the aliens’ population.” He commented mildly.

“It was an accident!” Despite the light tone that accompanied the words, he did look very much distraught at the notion. Allegra could see it in the way his eyes fluttered too much and the way his fist clenched onto nothing.

He may have treated the entire affair rather flippantly, but some scars couldn’t be hidden away so easily.

Bob must have noticed the same thing because he smoothly switched topics, moving on before Adam could further suffer in the hell that was his own mind. “It’s only temporary. I’m sure you’ll be joining Gio out in the field in no time. Though…”

His accent was a sharp kind, but softened with practice, and the soldier-turned-diplomat patted the other’s back that was not quite the steady pound of a comrade-in-arms nor the soothing beat of a counsellor, but somewhere in between. “I have no problem keeping you company in the meantime.”

Adam sighed, dramatically flopping his head onto the table. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been banned from even watching the duels! What’s the point of me being here, if I can’t see some cool xenos?!”

“Counterpoint: laser.” Giordano supplied helpfully.

He scoffed in reply. “I still think it’s unfair. How was I supposed to know an itty-bitty little laser beam was going to be like a nuke to these flimsy excuses of birds? It’s. A. Laser.” The sound of teeth was almost audible behind the words dripping with venom. “And not even the body penetration kind. We just wanted to burn a flipping piece of wood.”

“It is an odd situation.” Bob pondered, fingers tapping the table in an inconceivable rhythm – an ordinary gesture from any other person, but from him: a sign that blared his distress and frustration to those that knew him well. “I wonder if being innately magical makes you especially vulnerable to ordinary everyday weapons. If this is their reaction to a laser, how would they react to something like a…”

He gestured vaguely. “I don’t know, a butter knife?”

“Well, any clues, knucklehead?” Allegra turned to Giordano. “You’re the one who’s been consistently fighting these weird bird-lions.”

He groaned in response. “How am I supposed to know?” There was a rip of something elastic, the music made by a man tearing away the packaging of his dearly-desired sustenance which had just been freshly delivered by an automated system. “Don’t you remember the rules? No magic. No tech. Whoever gets first blood wins. Murder attempt punishable by death.”

“Death?”

“The griffins decided that.”

“… A knife isn’t really tech though.” Allegra grimaced. “Not the good ones, anyway.”

“Apparently, to the griffins, if it comes from the humans, it is tech by default.” He stabbed the pizza with a little too much force, betraying his frustration, before he calmly continued splitting the circular shape into even triangles. “But, if you ask my opinion, something weird’s going on with their little magic translation thing. I don’t… I don’t think they’re really understanding us at times.”

Allegra exchanged a worried glance with the two, both of them seeming to share the same sentiment, Adam with a tinge of intrigue in the concerned tilt of his head, Bob in the frown of his lips and the faster tip-tap of his fingers.

“What do you mean by that, bello?”

“Ugh, I don’t really know how to word it. You remember when the elves requested the complete dictionaries for three languages, and we handed them the physical books for English, Spanish, and Chinese, right?”

“Yeah.” “Obviously.” “I don’t think they would know how to use a tablet anyway…”

“Alright, well. The elves really couldn’t have tried too much to delve into those books and just- maybe did some magic shenanigans that allowed these languages to be understood by the alien realms. Because-” He paused, putting the knife down, pizza temporarily forgotten, a feat that made the three pay full, undivided attention to him.

“The grffins act so off whenever I try to talk about technology or machines or anything of that nature! No surprise, no reaction, just a vague acknowledgement like I just described a particularly nifty spell or something-” He paused. “That’s it.” A murmur of breath. “That’s what it feels like. That’s what the translation’s doing!”

“What? What is it doing, Gio? Stop stalling!”

He looked up from where his head had bent down in concentration and was met with the concerned, slightly wary gazes of the people he trusted most, each of them keeping their lips shut from bursting out a yell at him for taking his sweet time, each giving him his space, his time to think when they must be positively shaking with impatience.

“The translation’s interpreting magic and technology as the same, exact thing.”

Silence.

Allegra stared at him blankly. Adam slammed his head on the table. And Bob…

Bob only looked resigned, like Giordano had uttered a fact too real, and had only cemented its presence by daring to speak what he had feared to say aloud. A truth could have been ignored, if it was only true in one’s heart. A truth could have been ignored, if no one gave a thought to it.

But Giordano had breathed it in, stated it, and spread that truth to the others. And Bob hadn’t stopped him.

Allegra’s tentative voice broke the string of tension that had been gradually tightening with every passing second. “Bob… You’re a diplomat. Is this true? Did you know this?”

He only shrugged. “It was a strong theory.”

“…Well, do you guys plan to do something about it?”

He sighed, slumping into himself, like the weight of the question had grown too unbearable to handle. “We tried to explain the first few days. But well, it’s difficult to claim we don’t have magic and then display said magic, especially when the words don’t translate right.”

“So, they think we’re lying.” Adam concluded.

“Can’t we try to break the magic?” Allegra wondered.

“We could, actually.” Bob stated. “If we focused on those words especially hard – and by that, I mean, keeping the exact definition clear as crystal in your head – the spell sort of fails.”

He pursed his lips. “There’s a kind of buzz, like a lightbulb fizzing out, and they will be able to hear the words as they are. The catch is-” He paused. Inhaled. Exhaled. Then, continued. “There’s no translation. They hear the sound exactly as it is, which means…”

The other three waited expectantly.

“…C’mon, you guys, it’s obvious.” He groaned at the response of many, many shakes of the heads. “We sound like actual animals. And that earns a lot more weird glances from the griffins.”

“I mean, I don’t really see the problem.” Giordano thought out loud. “It shouldn’t take too much to clear up the confusion and inform them of the missing definitions.”

“It shouldn’t, yes.” Bob agreed. “That’s not the issue here. The issue is… we’ve decided not to do that – been instructed not to, actually.”

“Why? Wouldn’t that make future communications a problem?” Allegra mused.

“Perhaps, but the griffins learning that we don’t have mana, and that everything we use is 100% non-magic might just- break them. Especially for a species who had never known or even considered life without magic.”

“Isn’t that a bit… disingenuous?” Adam softly questioned.

He sighed and looked towards the windows, eyes trailing the snowflakes that fell –and never stopped falling. “We’re here to maintain friendly relations, not psychologically torture them, not make them question their entire conception of reality.”

No one said anything, not because the words didn’t come readily, not because the perspectives didn’t brew beneath the surface, because they did.

But the moment was fragile.

Since the moment they had landed on the planet, so many had questioned why they entertained this miserable excuse of an alliance at all.

Allegra had been one of them. She was never one of those who had looked up to the stars with sparkling eyes and a heart that was all-too-plagued by fantastical dreams of otherworldly beings. And this hadn’t changed – in fact, the sentiment had only grown stronger – when the realms made themselves known.

Since first contact, they had proven themselves to be vicious, cruel, and, in Allegra’s opinion, undeserving of a second thought.

Humanity had done fine on its own, and there was no reason why it couldn’t continue to do so. The aliens were only a dangerous distraction, one she wished they could have done away with as quickly as possible.

The most reasonable decision she could think of was to eliminate the threats. Not commit genocide, of course, but at least, they shouldn’t have to entertain this farce of a friendship and pretend there was anything worth saving in this cursed galactic civilization.

But most people weren’t Allegra, and some had a completely opposite viewpoint, deluding themselves into thinking they could make friends with these maniacs and that there was a future where humanity was part of a universe that was less… murdery.

Her beloved was one.

Despite his penchant for physical violence and a love for combat, Giordano had a huge heart. It was one of the things Allegra loved most about him, and also one that gave her the most pain. He gave too much of himself, thought too kindly of others, even if they wouldn’t do the same for him.

He kept trying – kept believing – in a species Allegra had thought to be beyond redemption. And, in this dogged pursuit of belief and trust…

Even Allegra had to relent and admit there could be more to these aliens than crude monsters.

But Giordano only met them during brawls, only connected with the griffins in fights that would only take one bad move to end badly.

Bob was a diplomat, not a soldier, and that made his trust in these beings all the more confounding. He should have seen the ugliest sides of these beings, the punishing nature of their traditions, and known more intimately than most the horrid parts shown only in private.

He and all the other diplomats, some more pragmatic than others.

And that invited the question in everyone’s heads: why pursue the route of friendship with beings that would not hesitate to kill them if the fancy crossed their minds? Why try a path that could only end in failure?

The man bit his lips and answered the most practical of answers to this crucial question. “Besides, the only reason we’re still keeping up this façade of friendship is because of the immensely advantageous cultural program. And we’re getting so much: books of magic, real wands, recorded demonstrations… Of course, it’s easy to forget, but we’re still dealing with a murderous, warlike society who can – and will – kill us on a whim.”

He seemed more like he was trying to convince himself, rather than them.

“So.” He continued. “It’s best to keep some of our cards close to our chests. For both their sakes and ours.”

Their table descended into silence once again, the former warm, bubbly atmosphere dissipating into thin air.

Even if they tried to behave normally, even if they tried to pretend that this was just like home, where Mondays were the worst things about life and work was a game of who could get away with slacking the most-

It wasn’t.

Reality pressed too hard here.

A war crime had been committed, if unintentional, by one of their own.

They lived and walked on a planet curious to see their demise.

They lived among beings who murdered for entertainment and whose motivations and beliefs contrasted so harshly it was a surprise the two existed on the same plane of reality.

In a time like this, one could not dismiss the worries, the unspoken fears.

One could only learn to live with it.

“I suppose that makes sense.” Allegra began gently, trying to ease the conversation back to safer, lighter topics. “Can’t really blame them or their faulty magic, I guess. Even our own tools are still massively inefficacious when it comes to detecting mana.”

“Oh, right!” Giordano chipped in, voice deceptively cheery, looking over at her. “I was wondering about that. By tools, do you mean that janky thing you’re carrying around?”

“Excuse you.” She scoffed. “This ‘janky’ thing is a marvel of scientific innovation, using the latest technological advancements and specifically created for mana and magic-related purposes. We’re calling it MAME.”

Giordano blinked. “…Mummy?”

Adam snorted. Bob facepalmed.

The tension vanished in an instant.

“Zip it, Gio.” Despite the stern tone, Allegra couldn’t help but let a note a relief bleed into the words. “Don’t get any weird ideas. It’s MA. ME. MAna MEter.”  

“You scientists and your weird names.” Adam said breezily and leaned in closer, eyes narrowing at the unwieldy thing. “What does it even do?”

“It’s meant to detect mana and provide accurate numbers and percentages based on environmental data and a new type of measurement. Unfortunately-” She tapped a button and aimed it in the direction of Adam, who stared back, confused.

The machine slowly blinked to life, beeping away. It detected the man and began its operations, numbers cascading on the screen like a digital waterfall.

/Calculating… Calculating…/

/30% Mana Output and Over…/

/50% Mana Output and Over…/

/80% Mana Output and Over…/

/WARNING: DATA OVERLOAD/

/100% Mana Output and oVe RRRrrrrr/

BZZZTTTT!

It shut down with a shrill scream.

Dead.

“It’s not quite there yet…”

Adam blinked, then smirked. “Wow, I’m such a magical being. I’m overflowing with so much magical energy, guys!”

“No wonder your laser wiped out an armada, Addie. It must have sensed your ‘overflowing magic’, mimicked its owner, and went completely nuts.” Giordano laughed.

“For the record, I didn’t even shoot that laser.”

“You were in the vicinity.” Bob smiled.

“Big talk for someone who fainted during first contact and got us all in this mess.”

“Oh my- a man gets poisoned one time.”

Their group devolved into laugher, the fine line of stress breaking and giving away alas to a stupid bit of humour. Allegra blinked away the tears in her eyes, looking fondly at the people that could worry her so much and, yet, ease her throbbing headache in the same breath. They were all so different, all equipped with such drastic perspectives on this same terrible situation… Perspectives that could make her rage and scream in frustation-

And Allegra wouldn’t trade them for the universe.

Yes, even if everything seemed horrible, even if every alien they ever met would only be psychopathic maniacs-

At that moment in time, all was good.

She was happy.

She was in the company of those she loved.

And maybe that was reason enough to keep trying.

Reason enough to keep believing.

Prev | First

Link-Tree

Chapter 158

Nick Smith

Adventurer Level: 18

Human – American

The daemons who had been standing guard outside of the giant hill had been pretty easy to deal with. They'd try to attack me, flinch once they got close enough for the crucifix to hurt them, and get finished off by my sword. However, we'd made a mistake by thinking that the daemons on the outside of the hill were the majority of their forces.

Once the daemons had figured out that they were being attacked, they called an alarm and more daemons began pouring out of the hill. Nineteen or so daemons suddenly became more than thirty, then more than fifty. We were vastly outnumbered, even with the kobolds. Without their help we'd most certainly be dead.

It was a tough fight. I'd briefly seen the daemon commander, but then I was suddenly surrounded by his minions. They pushed through the pain caused by the crucifix to attack me, and I was quickly bogged down fighting them. Daemon after daemon fell to my spells and blade, but it seemed like more and more kept coming.

They managed to push me back, but I fought them off hard enough to be able to escape the press. Doing so bought me a moment of reprieve, which I used to examine the battle. Bakobolds were keeping the daemons at bay, and the kobolds were making good use of their arrows by shooting between the bakobolds.

Then Kirian and Yulk were next to me.

"I don't know if we can take all of them," Kirain said, out of breath.

"We can certainly take most, but I agree that if we try to win the day we'll be forced to retreat," Yulk added.

"What about the kobolds?" I asked.

"They're good fighters, but they've taken some casualties. Retreating now might cause them to lose spirit, and I don't know if they'll get it back," Kirain sighed. "Meanwhile, the daemons will reinforce their position. We likely won't get another chance at this."

"We won't need one," Yulk said. "The commander is out here, so all we need to do is to get Nick into that dungeon. He can fight his way to the portal and open it, then the anyels can reinforce us."

"If they cooperate."

"We have no reason to believe that they won't."

"Let's do it," I cracked my neck. "I just need a hole."

"That's what he said," Kirain chuckled.

Not expecting that kind of joke from a literal noble, Yulk and I turned to give him a shocked look, but he'd already begun to run toward the press. We followed at a jog. The master vampire leapt over one of the bakobolds and into the daemons. Limbs immediately flew into the air, akin to water from a splash.

"We need to get to the entrance!" Yulk shouted.

As far as I knew, the bakobolds were not trained soldiers. They were certainly experienced warriors, though, and seemed to know enough about the ebb and flow of battle to understand what we needed. Pikes and greatswords flashed, daemons were shoved and stabbed, and within a minute we were able to see Kirain and the entrance to the dungeon. One of the bakobolds and two of the kobolds followed us in and stayed at the entrance to keep the daemons at bay.

Kirain, Yulk, and I hurried through the narrow corridors of the dungeon. The layout and construction of the dungeon reminded me of the one outside Talokam, where we'd first encountered Kirain and the kobolds. We occasionally met with some daemonic resistance, but they were far fewer in number than outside and we were able to quickly get rid of them.

"This is oddly nostalgic," Kirain said after we finished off a small group of daemons. "Do all of the dungeons look like this?"

"No," Yulk and I answered in unison.

"Hmm. Do you suppose this one also has a hidden passage to a manor somewhere?"

"Probably not, but that doesn't really matter," I said. "If the portal were at the end of the hidden passage, the people who kept a record of the portal's location wouldn't have known about its relation to this dungeon unless they also knew about the hidden passage. They would've mentioned a hidden passage, and they didn't, so the portal we're looking for is in here somewhere. Tellub tsac!"

The conversation died down as we encountered another group of daemons. Once they were dealt with, we continued down the corridor as quickly as Yulk could manage. Then we fought another couple of daemons, then we continued, then we fought more daemons, then we continued again. Finally, we got to a pair of ornate doors and Kirain impatiently kicked them open.

Three daemons rushed out and tried to attack us, but we quickly took them out and moved into the room. Inside was a crack of sorts, spewing an odd-looking light. It wasn't quite any one color, but it also looked white somehow. It was beautiful, and confusing to look at.

My captivation was cut short by the sound of harsh laughter. Its source was a daemon woman sitting on a grandiose chair. Her skin and plate armor were both bright red, and her horns grew from her forehead as if they had been slicked back with a comb. As her laugh faded, her angular features became more obvious. What was also obvious was that we'd been wrong about who the daemon commander was.

The seat she was on featured precious metals and jewels, but it was primarily made of bones that had definitely come from mortals. Among the elf and orc skulls I saw a couple that could only be human. As I wondered where they could have come from, she rose.

"I didn't actually believe that anyone would be foolish enough to come for this portal," she said. "But here's an unfamiliar orc, an all too familiar vampire, and a human of all things! How could it have possibly survived all this time?"

"I am a MASTER vampire, thank you, and you've got a bone-throne?" Kirain asked with disdain in his voice. "In this day and age? Really?"

"I am far older than either side of your family line," she grinned. "And what can I say? I am Minethri the Manipulator, and I love the classics. Would the orc and human like a chance to introduce themselves before I tear you all apart?"

As she spoke she reached into her throne and retrieved a steel, multi-ended chain-whip. At each end of the whip were barbed blades which looked as if they'd get hooked into any flesh unlucky enough to be struck. The chains clinked menacingly as she unfurled the nasty-looking weapon.

The thought of getting hit by it sent a chill down my spine.

"I am Ni-"

The whip sliced through the air before I could even finish saying my name, but Preternatural Evasion kicked in and saved me. Kirain wasn't as lucky, though, and one of the chains wrapped around his arm and the bladed end bit into his neck. He scowled for a moment, but his expression quickly changed to a grin. The vampire grabbed the chain and pulled.

Minethri stumbled for exactly one step. Kirain's grin disappeared as she yanked the whip back towards her, tearing his arm to ribbons and leaving a gaping hole in his neck. As he fell backwards, two spells quickly made their way toward the daemon.

Wind Spear came from Yulk, Steel Bullet came from me. Wind Spear was deflected with a spin of the whip, but the bullet caught Minethri square in her chest, piercing her armor. She hissed and leapt toward me, once again swinging the whip.

Yulk had wisely retreated a bit, leaving him outside of her range. I dodged the swing as another Wind Spear whistled past me. It struck her in the same spot my bullet had, and further cracked her armor. I aimed for her head and let another Steel Bullet fly.

The daemon's head split apart like a melon, but it reformed before she lost her footing. She grinned at me with newly formed teeth. My stomach sank as I realized that the hole in her chest was also gone.

"It'll take a lot more than tha-"

Kirain tackled her to the ground and began slashing at her face and arms. Her skin crackled and hissed from proximity to his crucifix, but that was the least amount of damage she was suffering. However, Kirain yelled in frustration as it became more and more obvious that she was healing from the wounds just as quickly as he was creating them.

Yulk and I stood by helplessly, waiting for the chance to strike.

"JUST GO!" Kirain shouted as he dug his claws into the daemon's skull. "I'LL TAKE CARE OF THIS!"

Yulk nodded at me, and I made a mad dash for the portal. I tried to ignore the splatting crunches of Minethri's skull repeatedly smashing into the ground as I focused on pouring magic into the portal. Turns out, I didn't have to try very hard.

I'd expected some sort of resistance, but the portal seemed to reach within me and forcibly remove the magic that I offered. My vision grew dark even as the strange light grew brighter, but then it was over and I took a deep, steadying breath. From behind me, I heard the fwoosh of a fire spell igniting and a terrible scream of pain from Kirain.

I turned to see nothing but bones remaining.

Chapter 158.5

Ishimialis

Adventurer Level: N/A

Anyel - Unknowable

The daemons believed that they were being secretive, sly, guileful, yet we knew that they walked amongst the mortals again. How could we not? They couldn't help but exert themselves upon the mortals.

The pain and torment inflicted by the mortals upon one another was distasteful, yet tolerable. The same inflicted by daemons felt absolutely repugnant. Disgusting in ways that mortals could never achieve, for their souls could never hold the same taint.

Yet we were forbidden from interfering unless it was directly requested by the mortals. The wylder had already asked for our interference. We held firm and denied them.

Some of the loathsome false gods had also requested that we aid the mortals. They were denied as well, more vehemently than the wylder had been. It tormented us to know that our precious ones were becoming the victims of daemons, yet that very torment was our penance.

We had sinned. Some of our own had exerted control where they should not have, and that exertion allowed the daemons to spread lies about us. Our sins were trampling over the free will that our creator had granted the mortals and allowing the daemons an opportunity to strike at our reputations.

These were not easily forgivable sins, and without our creator present to chastise us we needed to formulate our own atonement. As such, a covenant was formed. We would no longer interfere with the mortal realm unless we were called upon to do so by at least one mortal.

We notified the mortals of this covenant, yet time was cruel to us both. The cathedrals, dungeons, peaks, and pits that led to Haven all fell into disrepair and the mortals appeared to forget our agreement. We wanted desperately to remind them when the daemons first reappeared in their realm, but that would be interference.

We considered asking the wylder or even the false gods to remind them for us, but without the mortals seeking that knowledge themselves, it would be indirect interference. We had no recourse but to watch and wait as the daemons spied and crept among them, preying on the weak and helpless to satiate their desire to feel. All hope seemed lost, until we felt him.

The last of our creator's creations, named after a saint, was carried by a replacer out from the depths of a human-made hell. He and his were being directed by the usurper, the meddler who caused the world to rebirth, tearing us all from our father. Yet every step he took brought him closer to us.

The false gods, odious though they be, were guiding him to us. Out of the darkness came hope. Hope that we would be able to save the mortals again, following the last command given to us by our beloved creator before the usurper's reign began.

We watched him closely. We wailed when he was injured, cried when he was saddened, laughed when he felt happy. We walked his path with him, hoping that it would bring him to us before it was too late.

The daemons must have felt something, though, because they made their move long before they were entirely ready to. They tore open the portals to the hells and pushed their way through, to torture, to torment, to conquer. The repugnancy was nearly unbearable, so much so that we almost didn't notice when Nicodemus Liam Smith arrived at the end of the path he'd been treading for so long.

Finally, the portal opened, and I was chosen to step through.

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-- --

Blurb:

When a fantasy kingdom needs heroes, they skip the high schoolers and summon hardened Delta Force operators.

Lieutenant Cole Mercer and his team are no strangers to sacrifice. After all, what are four men compared to millions of lives saved from a nuclear disaster? But as they make their last stand against insurgents, they’re unexpectedly pulled into another world—one on the brink of a demonic incursion.

Thrust into Tenria's realm of magic and steam engines, Cole discovers a power beyond anything he'd imagined: magic—a way to finally win without sacrifice, a power fantasy made real by ancient mana and perfected by modern science.

But his new world might not be so different from the old one, and the stakes remain the same: there are people who depend on him more than ever; people he might not be able to save. Cole and his team are but men, facing unimaginable odds. Even so, they may yet prove history's truth: that, at their core, the greatest heroes are always just human. 

-- --

Arcane Exfil Chapter 85: Substrate (2)

-- --

Clearly, chasing decoys one by one was a losing proposition. Cole needed a play that hit the mimic as a whole, not the individual constructs it was throwing at him.

Fortunately, the repeated exposure had given him a structural observation to work with. Every single copy and every single tendril shared the same gelatinous substrate underneath the cosmetic skin – apparent in the way they dissolved and extruded both.

That discovery opened the door to a fairly straightforward solution that Cole was a little embarrassed not to have arrived at sooner. Anybody who’d ever stuck a bowl of Jell-O in the freezer as a kid was already in possession of the key insight: namely that gelatinous matter loses cohesion and becomes brittle once its temperature drops past a certain threshold. In other words, cold was the bane of Clayface and pretty much every other shapeshifter out there.

With that in mind, Cole pulled his wand, planted his feet, and dropped the ambient temperature in a tight ring around his position. Of course, he also made sure to calibrate the spell carefully enough to mess with the gel’s biology without giving himself frostbite in the process.

Rather than dump the siphoned thermal energy into the void, he funneled it into a small barrier at his off hand. Conservation of energy being what it was, parking the heat for later beat venting it outright – especially with another spell almost certainly on the docket.

The effect manifested within a second. The moisture around him condensed and crystallized in the same instant, materializing a cloud of vapor dotted with glittering ice. The fog sank as quickly as it had appeared, pouring down in a slow-motion waterfall reminiscent of liquid nitrogen.

The mimic, naturally, wasn’t going to extend him the courtesy of waiting its turn like some anime villain. A tendril whipped through the vapor before the chill had even had a chance to propagate, forcing Cole to catch it across his blade in a heavy parry. And yeah, ‘heavy’ wasn’t usually in the lexicon for parrying, but with how long the fight had gone on, the fatigue was unavoidable.

And it wasn’t just the body, either. The headache that had crept in earlier throbbed in earnest now, a low pressure behind the eyes that sharpened the longer he held the cast. Having to sustain this level of physical and magical exertion was just straight-up fucking brutal.

Mercifully, the spell finished before the strain got any worse. The next copy to come at him – a Graves this time – slowed as it crossed the field, moving like it was underwater. Frost spread across the surface, the gel beneath turning cloudy, almost opaque. The three tendrils that lashed in to support it suffered the same fate, all of the mimic’s constructs stiffening by the second.

To its credit, the demon caught on quickly. It yanked the affected limbs back in the same way anyone would jerk a finger off a hot stove. The frozen sections, stripped of their flexibility, fractured at the boundaries and snapped clean off. The remains crashed to the floor like a bag of ice cubes dumped onto pavement.

Cole stomped on the nearest chunk at once, shattering it into fragments hopefully too small and ruined to reabsorb. Two more he crushed the same way, grinding them under his heel with the same petty satisfaction as smushing an annoying-ass bug.

Unfortunately, the aches had started to catch up now, his periphery blurring as tunnel vision set in. Despite that, he still had a bit more kick in him, mostly because he didn’t have to shit out a new spell from scratch.

He drew on the cached heat from earlier and assembled the rocket fireball he’d tried to throw earlier – the one the mimic had so rudely interrupted. With the spell actually completed this time, if a bit underpowered due to mana exhaustion, he shot it downrange.

The demon, presently occupied with amputating its own frozen limbs, barely got a defense up. It threw a wall of its own substrate into the fireball’s path, which was actually pretty damn interesting – because it hadn’t bothered to defend against the rifle rounds earlier.

The spell slammed into the wall, its surface erupting into steam and foam on contact. Meanwhile, the jet itself drove straight through, lancing like a shaped charge punching through armor. The thrust eventually vented out the back, launching boiling spall in a violent, narrow cone. The backspray perforated the demon’s torso along the exit axis, though not so dramatically as a real HEAT round liquefying a vehicle crew.

Cole turned to the others, ready to call out the play, but apparently, he didn’t need to. Every one of them had already worked it out, each shrouded in the same miniature cloud he’d just conjured for himself.

So he pivoted back to the mimic, preparing to dump his mana into one more attack before falling back to replenish his reserves. But before he could even start the cast, it let out a screech that just about split his ears. The closest thing he could compare it to was a fork scraping against a plate, but cranked up about a hundredfold – and even that probably didn’t cut it.

The demon’s shield wall then bubbled and churned across its surface before blowing apart in a sudden release, loosing a volley of blackened needles like a hwacha unloading its full rack.

The windup gave Cole just enough warning to get a barrier up as he broke for the nearest pillar. The projectiles flew across the entire passageway, perforating every unprotected surface like this was some gang shootout. Against his barrier, the needles shattered on impact.

The demon kept the pressure on after that, churning out a steady stream of shards like some fucked-up machine gun emplacement.

The barrier miraculously still held, but given Cole’s present mana reserves, it was only a matter of time before it faltered.

He strained as much magic as he could into both his legs and the barrier – as much as the pounding headache would permit. Hell, just a few more strides and he’d be safe. Alas, proximity to cover couldn’t just conjure mana out of thin air; the barrier failed just a few fucking meters short, leaving him wide open.

Most of the shards pelted him across the back. Each impact stung, but it was hard to tell whether they’d actually penetrated through the armor. Turns out they likely hadn’t, because the moment a cluster bit into his right arm, he learned real quick what penetration actually felt like. And damn, did it sting on a different level.

He barely had time to register that before even more shards caught him in the back of the leg. They must’ve hit the hamstring this time, given the way the limb involuntarily folded out from under him.

He scrambled the last stretch into cover, dragging himself around the pillar just before a line of shards impaled the floor beside him. Only once he’d gotten past the pillar’s edge did he roll onto his left side.

It stung like a bitch in all the places he got hit, enticing him to just yank the needles out. But he knew better than that; removing embedded shit was an invitation to turn a plugged hole into a bleeder, not to mention being unable to actually inspect the injuries. Hell, even the slightest attempt to twist around hurt too damn much to push through.

He sucked air through his teeth. “Agh, fuck.”

He needed somebody else’s hands on this. A scan of the room gave him his options: Ethan and Miles tucked behind a wall to his left, lit up about as bad as he was, with Mack already crouched over them and working. Elina had ridden out the volley behind Graves and Vale, the two Celdornians having caught the shards on a shared barrier of their own.

“Elina,” he gritted out, forcing her name past the pain.

She didn’t waste time asking what for. She threw up a barrier and broke from cover, sprinting the distance to him with the shield angled toward the threat. Having read the move, Vale and Graves opened up on the mimic with a relentless volley of ice and flame. It didn’t bother targeting her – or more like couldn’t, not with the punishment the two of them were dishing out.

Cole put the window to use. Working his good arm free, he fished a mana potion off his belt, thumbed the cork loose one-handed, and drank it down in one go. It’d take a few minutes to fully digest, but even the early trickle was enough to take the worst edge off the headache and push back the gray creeping in at the margins.

Elina reached him a second later. She dropped into a slide and came to rest behind the pillar on her knees, already on the wound before she’d fully settled.

“Leg first,” Cole said. He shifted to give her room at the wound, bracing through the spike of pain.

Elina got to work, easing the first needle out slow enough to keep from tearing anything loose, healing magic threading in behind to seal the wounds.

Cole held his position and let her, fishing a second mana potion off his belt with his good arm and knocking it back.

Behind them, the others kept the Alpha Mimic occupied. Cole couldn’t see it from where he sat, but he could definitely hear the battle rage on – shit blowing up over and over, the demon screeching somewhere under all of it. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel at least a bit useless right now. But somehow, sitting out of the fight bothered him a hell of a lot less than he’d have guessed.

A few needles in, Elina’s hands slowed at the back of his thigh, then stopped altogether. “The barb has set against a great vessel. Were it drawn out now, the blood would not be stayed.”

“Then don’t – don’t pull it.” The words came out faster than the thought behind them, a hundred hours of Mack’s lectures doing the talking. “If it’s pressed up on the vessel, it might be the only thing holding it shut. You pull it, it opens, and back there I can’t – there’s nothing to clamp it against, you get me? Brace the vessel first. Throw a barrier on the wall, something to hold it closed, then ease the barb out once that’s set. Not before.”

“Hold still, then,” she said, already adjusting her grip to do exactly that.

He did as she asked. This one took the longest by a mile, her getting the barrier set into the vessel wall and holding before she’d even dare touch the barb. When it finally came out, it lit the whole leg up, hot and wrong in a way that had him bracing for the floor to go red underneath him.

“Be still,” she said with a soft, gentle smile. “You’ll not bleed out, brave as you are. The wound is well in hand.”

He took her word for it over his leg’s, and sure enough, no flood ever came. The pain dropped off to a dull ache soon after. The rest were nowhere near as bad, thank Christ – just splinters, nothing he couldn’t have dug out himself given the angle and a free hand.

A couple minutes later, she sealed the last of it and sat back.

Cole stood and twisted the leg around to test it. The initial bite of the healing magic aside, Elina’s work had left no residual pain. The leg now basically good as new, Cole peeked around the pillar.

The battle had progressed in their favor since he’d gotten lit up, with the Alpha Mimic down to about half its original mass and on the back foot. Graves and Vale had pushed it back toward the security kiosk, keeping it contained on the sides. Mack finished up his own treatments right about then and rejoined the fight with a slew of fireballs, spamming them like there was no tomorrow.

Cole would’ve called it a done deal, if not for a fresh racket emerging from the concourse they’d come from. All that shouting and stomping had to be the cultists, no doubt having narrowed down the team’s position from the last few minutes of chaotic fighting.

“Elina, with me.” He moved off toward another pillar as he said it, putting a few obstacles between his back and the Alpha Mimic on the way.

Once he’d settled into cover, he pre-aimed the corner and waited. The first orc to round it caught a bullet before it had finished the turn.

The sight of it dropping in the chokepoint split the ones behind it down the middle, half recoiling back behind the corner while the other half, already too committed to stop, spilled forward into the open. That half-second of disorder was all Elina needed to drop another runner before the enemy started firing back in earnest. Revolver rounds cracked off their pillar, with a scatter of shoddy firebolts chasing behind – terribly inaccurate, but thick enough to keep the two of them pinned in cover.

“Mack, stay on the mimic with Graves and Vale,” Cole called over the noise. “Everyone else on the cultists!”

-- --

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XXX

The next morning, after they’d all had a chance to complete their early-day chores and get ready, the five of them set off for one of the dojos Father Toshi had mentioned to them earlier. He’d specifically mentioned one close by that they could check out, and so they’d headed out as a group, intent on seeing it for themselves.

Of course, that was easier said than done, given Carmine’s distracting new look from yesterday. Chase made a point to take up the front of the group along with Victoria purely so his gaze wouldn’t wander over to the former Demon Queen. Hopefully, with time, he’d adjust to her appearance, but for now, he was forcing himself to keep his eyes off her.

“So, what’s the gimmick behind this place, exactly?” Melanie finally asked as the five of them stepped out of the shrine’s grounds and onto the road. “Because you just know that this place has a gimmick behind it.”

“No idea, love,” Heinrich replied. “I don’t believe Father Toshi mentioned any gimmicks to us, either.”

“If I’ve learned anything from traveling with these people, it’s that there’s always some kind of gimmick involved, one way or another.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s nothing we can’t overcome,” Chase said without looking back.

“Wow,” Carmine stated. “Rare moment of optimism from you. Consider me impressed.”

“Hey, come on, I’m optimistic,” Chase argued, still keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Just, you know… not all the time.”

“I rest my case.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Victoria questioned. “I’d really just like to focus on getting somewhere without us being at each other’s throats for once.”

“We’re not at each other’s throats,” Chase pointed out. “We’re just having a conversation.”

“Chase, I’ve seen this play out before. It may not start that way, but it’s going to end that way.”

“Oh, come on, have a little faith,” he emphasized. “We’re all adults here, we ought to be able to talk to each other without wanting to also throttle each other.”

Victoria let out a small grunt, then shook her head. “Fine. But if this ends with you and Carmine shouting at each other, I will thump you both.”

“It’ll be fine,” Chase assured her. “Seriously, now who’s the pessimist?”

Victoria’s only response was to grumble as they all continued on their way.

XXX

About twenty minutes later, they all took their first steps into town. Chase and Carmine were rubbing at matching bumps on their respective heads, but everyone else, at least, seemed quite comfortable and content, if not in outright awe of the sights around them.

“Wow…” Melanie said. “This place looks pretty nice, I won’t lie.”

Chase was inclined to agree. All around them, wooden houses with tile roofs had been erected, with the odd cherry blossom interspersed between them. Pink leaves were blowing in the wind, scattered across the stone walkways below. All around them, people milled about, talking to each other in the language of the Far East. It was a sight Chase had seen many times in the west, though with enough of a foreign and exotic tinge to it that it felt completely different to him, though far from a bad way.

“Alright, then,” Heinrich offered. “Where’s this dojo, anyway?”

“Father Toshi said it was down the street from the market, to the west of the town,” Victoria said. “He told me it was basically impossible to miss – apparently the building is colored differently from the others in town. I guess the people who run the place wanted it to stand out to any prospective challengers.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Carmine conceded. “In the sense that it makes about as much sense as anything else we’ve encountered in the past few years.”

“You mean none?” Chase asked.

“Your words, not mine.”

“Do I need to thump you both again?” Victoria asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, that was hardly an argument,” Chase protested. “That’s barely thumpworthy. At this point, I’m convinced you just took a perverse amount of pleasure in bashing Carmine and I over the head.”

“Maybe so, Chase,” Victoria said. “Maybe so.”

Without another word, she pushed past him, and they all continued on after her.

XXX

It only took them a few more minutes of wandering through town before they all came across the building Father Toshi had mentioned earlier. True to his word, they really couldn’t miss it. No words were exchanged as they approached the dojo, and then stepped inside of it.

The first thing they saw upon entering was a crowd of students seated before a teacher in a large, open room. The students were all dressed in white robes with different-colored belts securing them around their waists, while the teacher – an older man with a shaved head – was dressed in all black, with a black belt around his waist. Chase noted that while several of the students were also wearing black belts, the instructor’s belt additionally had several red lines embroidered on it as well.

As the five of them stepped into the building, the instructor suddenly paused, staring at them. He didn’t seem surprised to see them in the slightest, which put Chase just a bit on-edge. Before he could voice his concerns to his friends, however, the instructor suddenly gave a loud shout in his native tongue, and the students jumped up in unison before turning around to face them. They stood rooted to their spots as the man wearing the black robe stepped past them, approaching Chase’s group.

“Westerners,” he greeted, his tone mostly jovial but with a slight edge to it. “We don’t get many of you in town. What brings you here? Interested in training at our school?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Chase confessed. “But to make a long story very short, yes, we’re all interested in training here.”

“We’re looking to Level our various Skills, mostly,” Victoria emphasized. “Is that something you’re able to assist with?”

“Hm. I would not be a skilled sensei if I was incapable of assisting you,” the man replied. He eyed Chase up and down before finally offering him a hand. “Sensei Ryo.”

“Chase Ironheart,” he replied, taking the man’s hand. “And these are my-”

Before he could finish his introduction, though, Ryo suddenly grabbed him and flipped him over onto his back with a loud yell. Chase came crashing to the ground, wincing as he did so. Before he could fight back, though, he found himself pinned down by Ryo, who wasted no time in putting him in a headlock. The rest of Chase’s companions suddenly tensed and drew their weapons, only to pause when Ryo spoke.

“Oh, yes, you still have much to learn, I can see that,” he said.

Before Chase could begin gasping for breath, though, the black-clad instructor let him go, then jumped to his feet. Chase laid on the ground for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, even as Victoria moved to stand over him.

“You okay, Chase?” she asked. “Does anything hurt?”

“Just my pride,” Chase answered. “That bald old man just laid me out faster than I could make fun of Melanie. And I can make fun of Melanie fast as all fuck.”

“We’re aware,” Melanie said dryly.

Carmine offered him a hand. Chase stared at it for a moment, and she rolled her eyes.

“Come on, you really think I”ll flip you onto your back the way that old man just did?” she asked.

He hesitated. “I mean, if you’re offering-”

Her gaze narrowed. “Just for that, you can get up on your own.”

She pulled her hand back, and Chase shook his head before forcing himself back onto his feet. Sensei Ryo was still standing there, his hands folded in front of his waist.

“Much to learn, indeed,” he commented, shaking his head. “Anyway, if you insist on learning from my school of martial arts, then I will not turn you away. However, you should know that we don’t just admit anyone here.”

“Oh, here we go…” Melanie muttered.

Chase, meanwhile, let out a tired sigh. “Alright, fine. What quest do you need us to do?”

“Oh, no quests,” Sensei Ryo stated. “I can see just from the way you all carry yourselves that you are accomplished adventurers. No, what I propose is more of an entrance exam than anything. I will set each of you up with one of my students who I think is capable of matching your skill level in martial combat, and if your fight impresses me, then I will allow you to begin studying at my school.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Heinrich stated.

“Does it matter how we win our fights?” Victoria questioned.

At that, Sensei Ryo shook his head. “No. In fact, you don’t even need to win. Impressing me will be enough, even if you lose your fight in the process.”

“Alright, then,” Chase agreed. “You have a deal, Sensei. Who are we fighting?”

“Well, since you asked…” Sensei Ryo turned towards Chase and eyed him up and down. “You will fight first. And as for your opponent…” He thought for a moment. “...Homura, you will fight him to begin with.”

To Chase’s surprise, a little girl no older than thirteen suddenly came bounding over towards him from the back of the group. She was just under five feet tall, had her hair done up in pigtails, and had a wide smile on her face. A dark brown belt was affixed around her waist. As Chase stared at her, she gave him a wide, friendly, gap-toothed smile, then took a bow before him. He blinked at the sight of her, then turned towards Sensei Ryo.

“...You’re kidding, right?” he asked.

“Not at all,” came the response. “You could always refuse to fight her, in which case you can then go find another dojo to train at.”

Behind him, Chase heard the rest of his party begin to snicker. He let out a tired sigh even as he drew his sword.

“Well, I’m not usually in the business of hurting children, so I’ll do my best to pull my punches,” Chase promised the teenager standing before him.

“Are you both ready?” Sensei Ryo asked.

“Ready!” Homura chirped.

“Sure, whatever,” Chase replied.

“Okay… begin!”

Chase wasn’t sure what to expect from the girl standing before him. Having once been a precocious teenager who was nonetheless still capable of taking on full-grown adults and winning, he knew better than to fully underestimate his opponents. That only went so far, however; for example, the girl standing before him looked harmless.

He was completely blindsided, then, when she suddenly sped towards him and struck him in the middle of his plate armor with an open-handed strike so intense it sent him skidding backwards about a dozen yards.

XXX

Name: Chase Ironheart

Level: 11

Race: Human

Class: Warrior

Subclass: Swordmaster

Strength: 20 (MAX)

Dexterity: 15

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 18

Charisma: 16

Skills: Master Swordsmanship (Level 10); Booby Trap Mastery (Level 8); Archery (Level 4); Unarmed Mastery (Level 1)

Spells: Rush (Level 7); Muscle (Level 4); Stone Flesh (Level 7); Defying The Odds (Level 2)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Carmine Nolastname

Level: 11

Race: Greater Demon

Class: Arcane Witch

Subclass: Archmage

Strength: 10

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 19

Wisdom: 19

Constitution: 12

Charisma: 8

Skills: Master Spellcasting (Level 10); Summon Familiar (Level 10)

Spells: Magic Dart (Level 7); Magic Scattershot (Level 5); Fire Magic (Level 5); Earth Magic (Level 1)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Melanie Vhaeries

Level: 11

Race: Ascended Human

Class: Necromancer

Subclass: Arch-Lich

Strength: 8

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 18

Wisdom: 16

Constitution: 15

Charisma: 12

Skills: Raise Lesser Undead (Level 10); Raise Greater Undead (Level 3); Unorthodox Weapon User (Level 8); Bone Shatter (Level 1)

Spells: Touch of Death (Level 5); Gravesinger (Level 7); Armor of Bone (Level 3)

Traits: None

Name: Victoria Firelight

Level: 12

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Subclass: Devotee

Strength: 19

Dexterity: 9

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 19

Charisma: 11

Skills: Swordsmanship Mastery (Level 5); Blunt Weapon Mastery (Level 8); Archery Mastery (Level 5)

Spells: Holy Light (Level 6); Ward of the Gods (Level 5); Bane of the Undead (Level 7); Divine Bolt (Level 4)

Traits: None

Name: Heinrich Straten

Level: 17

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Subclass: Oathbreaker

Strength: 20 (MAX)

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 12

Wisdom: 14

Constitution: 20 (MAX)

Charisma: 13

Skills: Swordsmanship Mastery (Level 8); Blunt Weapon Mastery (Level 10)

Spells: Withering Grace (Level 1); Soulrend (Level 1); Umbral Ward (Level 1); Mournful Benediction (Level 1)

Traits: Broken Oath

XXX

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, /u/Ickbard, for all the help with writing this story.

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Thalmin

Had I not known of Earthrealm and its many impossibilities, and its candidate through blood and fire, I would have dismissed this brazen display as one of uppity impudence fueled only by a desperate desire of a newrealm to maintain some form of dignity.

I couldn’t blame those who would choose to walk down this path, of course.

It was only natural after all. 

For who wouldn’t feel a need to defend their sense of pride when the foundations of such were assaulted and eroded in short order? 

In the wake of the vunerian’s demonstrations, one would be hard-pressed to find any shred of self-worth left.

In light of the third dominion of the wars below, even contemporary adjacencies would find themselves lacking.

In the face of these raw and uncompromising symbols of Nexian power, it became natural to fall into despair, to lose all hope, to understand so implicitly how one’s struggles were close to meaningless when put to the test at the bow of an aethraship.

Yet here Emma stood, having decided with a disturbing lack of any doubt that she could challenge this primacy with a display mirroring the vunerian’s own at the start of his whole demonstration.

And as the ‘dust’ eventually settled, and those aethraships remained where they were — untouched by the manaless sights cast by Emma’s ‘drones’ — my confidence in such notions started to waver, if only slightly.

Because just as Ilunor’s attempts to supersede my own sights had no effect on the content of my seer, so too were Emma’s brazen displays nothing but a bold-faced challenge with nary a shred of evidence to reinforce her posturing.

At least, this would have been the case, if it wasn’t for our last journey into Emma’s manaless sight-seer. As within its supposed peaceful demonstrations of Earthrealm’s unconventional grasp of manaless flight came a terrifying realization that had taken root amid the embers of those veil-piercing firespears.

The very objects that had lifted the humans beyond the veil could just as easily be pointed downward. The raw power, the unimaginable speeds, the sheer force that allowed it to perform its task dutifully as a conveyance, could just as easily be repurposed towards more violent ends.

This wasn’t a matter of turning a ploughshare into swords, after all.

It was a question of simply pointing the humble scythe at an approaching foe.

A slow aching eventually took root within my core, accompanied closely by a fangy grin which grew wider with each passing second.

This stood in stark contrast to the incessant whinings of a vunerian scorned, as he spouted arguments in favor of the very decorum he’d himself violated for the purposes of theatrical narrative not moments ago.

And yet, I could not find myself at all bothered by his hypocritical inanity. 

In fact, his incessant whinings simply fanned the flames of a desire to see his world rocked to its core, just as he — and those that had come before him — had done to every newrealm that had graced the halls of this academy.

So I stood, silently and unwaveringly, watching the vunerian monologue himself into a corner which I knew — or at least hoped — he could not crawl out of.

For despite my confidence and biases towards the fact, I still could not shake the feeling of utter impotence those unassailable behemoths hovering above instilled in any who would dare to challenge their primacy. 

Ilunor

Insolence.

Sheer unmitigated hubris. 

Who was she to have mirrored my narrative brilliance?

What’s more, how dare she use those very tactics in an attempt to distort the truth?!

“This… this is a farce of a display, earthrealmer.” I shot back with a huff and a puff. “Your fanciful proclamations, spoken as riddles rather than statements of fact, will not protect you from the reality of the situation.” I paused, giving berth for the earthrealmer to reply.

“I admit, I might have been a bit too daring with that stunt.” She acquiesced, bowing slightly in a suitable fit of apologetics. “But it was, as you have so eloquently stated yourself, narratively poignant.” She continued, garnering no sympathy but only fanning the fires of contempt within my core. “There’s regretfully no real way of integrating our two sight-seers. A shame, really, because now that I think about it… having a manaless faction ported and modified into Lines of Succession would be a heck of a ride.” The coy creature snickered but managed to continue before I could shoot down these frivolous tangents. “In all seriousness, Ilunor, there’s no real way of telling that my weapons could’ve made a dent on your aethraships.” She acknowledged, allowing me to once again puff up my chest. “But by that same logic… there’s nothing that says that this entire scene wouldn’t be that far off from reality either. So there’s only one way of finding out—”

“No, there is not. As there is but one foregone conclusion to your preposterous proposition.” I interjected, having finally had enough of the earthrealmer’s flighty and baseless sentiments. “I will look forward to seeing just how pointless this bluster all was, and when you finally realize how useless these… ambiguous weapons truly are, you will come to understand just how foolish you look in the eyes of any discerning tactician.”

“Which was why I attempted to tentatively bridge that gap by asking you a very pointed question before all this went down.” The earthrealmer promptly responded. “I asked if those bolts of yours were fired at or below the speed of sound. Which, granted, was a point I should’ve pressed further if only to get an answer more conducive to this whole—”

“Get on with it, earthrealmer.” I interjected.

“I refer to my earlier expression — our dragons roar only after the fact. Our wars are waged with ordnance traveling far beyond the speed of sound. These weapons, in turn, are able to strike before you even hear them coming. These are the sorts of projectiles your aethraships will have to contend with, Ilunor. Firespears traveling orders of magnitude faster than the spoken word, constructed of metal, and tipped with a warhead to boot — all hurtling with an irreverent fury towards anything we set our sights on.” The earthrealmer reached for her ‘drone,’ extricating from it her weak and anemic projector, and manifesting above it what was unmistakably a smaller variant of a firespear from weeks ago. “We’ll get to see this, alright. But I thought I might as well give you a bit of a preamble to address my whole fireworks display.” 

“I don’t believe you.” I replied reflexively, arriving at that conclusion without a single ounce of hesitation. 

The reason for this was simple.

And it was one I was quick to point to without any prompting.

“While I acknowledge the existence of your firespears, and the mechanisms in which they are… plausible, even with the encumbrance your manaless predispositions pose, it is by the very nature of their construction that I believe your claims to be a wanton bluff.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“There is a most appreciable distinction separating projects of vanity from that of utility. Even I — a noble of finer disposition stationed far above those sweltering in the manufactoriums — understand that. Just as the mercenary prince has demonstrated, the wars below are contingent on a steady and reliable stream of weapons and their munitions. The firespears you have shown us before were anything but reproducible. They were large, exorbitant affairs requiring the mobilization of labor and resources spanning kingdoms. You would have me believe that such efforts are capable of being reproducible on a scale required of the humble aerial combatant?” I made my position known with a proud huff and a prideful grin, safe in the knowledge that with all the evidence presented, there was no conceivable means by which the earthrealmer could—

“Yes.” Emma responded.

I felt my eyes twitch.

A silence fell across the room, which prompted me to wordlessly call forth an end to my sight-seer, making certain that the last vestiges of its visage would be the aethraships hovering high above us, untouched and unbothered by the ravages of the earthrealmer’s foolish posturing.

“You do realize that I have yet to have addressed the question of efficacy. Whether such weapons could even incur a scratch upon the enchanted paint of my ships.” I met the earthrealmer’s brazen antics with a tit-for-tat rise of my own confidence. “But I digress, let us see first just how common these firespears can really be.” I urged the earthrealmer, prompting her to immediately lead us towards her abode, one which never ceased to both perturb and intrigue in equal measure.

Thacea

War.

It was by most metrics the greatest failing of a just ruler. 

The operative word at play, however, was most.

For as much as I am removed from the notion, and as far as Aetheron was to the ancient and barbaric tendencies of the past, I remain acutely aware of one very uncomfortable truth.

War, or more specifically the mass use of deadly force, was as central to the legitimacy of a realm as matters of birthright, noblesse oblige, and Nexian endorsement ever were.

My reticence on the matter was a result of my own biases, of course. A fact which I readily acknowledged in many a discussion with Emma, for martial endeavors were the least of my concerns when courtly life was a constant battlefield in and of itself. 

Indeed, these martial affairs had long since elicited a latent and admittedly fringe concern I had held when it came to a fundamental yet easily overlooked aspect of Emma’s unconventional nature.

Matters of blood, mana-less nature, and taint-adjacent dispositions aside, it was Emma’s social station that brought with it worrying implications.

The conscious decision for a realm to have sent a military envoy sans the pomp, circumstance, and pageantry of the expected noble titles conjured up images of a realm in its social infancy, having yet to forge civil conventions in favor of a naked reliance on brutish stratocracy. 

I had feared that her martial affiliations were indicative of a realm steeped in the barbarism of a uniquely violent culture — albeit latently so. 

I had found, much to my relief, that this could not have been further from the truth, and that my fitful forays into surface introspection were ultimately baseless.

If anything, Emma’s earnest and caring nature stood at odds with the martial aptitude and rich traditions of her realm.

The greatest example of this being something that had me perplexed, yet no less worried. 

She’d not drawn blood, any blood for that matter, prior to arrival.

What’s more, her first kill — even if entirely justified — had taken a grave toll on her emotional state.

For weeks I’d remained steadfast by her side, granting her a fellow soul to confide in as she had done for me.

It was with this gradual unraveling of her gentle soul that I found myself… baffled by her fascination with these cold and merciless killing artifices.

But that was a matter to be philosophized over at another date.

Because at present, the much more pressing notions of Earthrealm’s martial capacity was to be divulged in their entirety.

And it was here, as we awaited the shrill metallic whines of her sight-seer that we would be transported yet again to a sight so very much familiar — another grassy plain and a group of vaguely elvenform silhouettes obscured in cloth and metal armor of varying designs.

Thalmin

The confines of Emma’s manaless sight-seer were no less uncanny than they had been in our previous informative escapades. 

Yet the familiar sights of greenery and the expected appearance of armsmen — as faceless and featureless as they were — put me at ease far more than either of our earlier manaless tours.

“I thought it’d be prudent to start off on a playing field you guys can most relate to.” Emma began with a confident swagger, walking in front of these helmeted mannequins with an excitable vigor. “So to start, I’d like to make a few personal disclaimers. While I am something of a fantasy buff myself, my forte lies more in the realm of contemporary history. It’s a matter of personal preference, really. Anything post-planetary unification charter and especially everything leading up and post first intrasolar war is more my domain. Anything prior to that, especially the stuff we see here in ancient history, is a tad bit more hazy to me. But I’ll try my best to get things right!” She beamed. 

…

Ancient

…

That one word sent an uneasy shiver throughout my core.

I turned to the soldiers, those knights and armsmen dressed and fitted in a manner scarcely different from my own. 

The implications were too numerous to countenance.

Its ramifications reflected an outlook eerily reminiscent of those forays into Nexian primacy.

Specifically, the notion of immediately being relegated into a position of outright irrelevance.

I needed to confront it.

“Excuse me, Emma, but if I may?” 

I needed answers.

“Yes, Thalmin?” She responded chipperly, a stark contrast to the dark curiosity quickly overtaking me.

“What exactly do you mean when you say ‘ancient’ history?” I questioned pointedly. “Because as far as I can see, this all seems quite contemp—” I stopped myself mid-sentence, finding my mind catching up to those words born out of a false conceit. 

“Ancient… contemporary… modern and obsolete, it’s all relative.” I managed out as I found myself attempting to reconcile the discordant thoughts of two vastly divergent minds. One that had spent 19 years navigating the world as it was, and the other a product of a paradigm-shifting two months spent with the great other.

“You’ve stated before that the weapon you were assigned was nothing if not average.” I pointed at Emma’s sidearm. “That every soldier from Earthrealm, in your time, is equipped with the same arms as yourself.” I repeated, not verbatim but paraphrased from that fateful discussion on the earthrealmer’s… firearm following her first use of it against the null. “Ancient is perhaps as fitting a descriptor as any then—” I chuckled darkly, my eyes finding themselves glancing between the conventionally kitted knight and Emma’s own form. “—when the average armsman of your time is capable of engaging at range with ease, and using the force rivalling that of Nexian guardsmen, with numbers rivalling the combined forces of entire realms.” I finally surmised, coming to grips on my own terms despite the reality of such an assertion being exceedingly difficult to justify.

The part of me that had existed before the Academy, the one that had lived, bled, and suffered through 19 years of a reality so viscerally palpable… nagged at my exceedingly wild claims, urging my present mind to call upon Emma for the burden of truth we were owed.

“And yet here we once again fall for the earthrealmer’s spell.” Ilunor suddenly spoke up, giving my irreverent thoughts a voice through a tutting and shaking his head. “I admit, I was not present for this… discussion on the specific composition of Earthrealm’s armaments. But I for the life of me cannot fathom that any realm, even one as outlandish as Earthrealm, would ever relinquish melee weapons all for the special — and perhaps rare — exception that is our dear cadet’s sidearm!” 

“It isn’t an exception.” All three of us spoke simultaneously, prompting a brief exchange of eye contact before returning our collective gazes to the vunerian in question.

“Then prove it.” Ilunor shot back reflexively. “This shall be an entertaining jaunt, an amuse-bouche to the main course that is your supposed aethraship countermeasures.”

“I concur.” I responded, much to Ilunor’s smug surprise. “While I acknowledge the current state of affairs, it would be… helpful to understand the historical context which led you to this point.”

Emma nodded calmly in her typical lackadaisical fashion.

“Gladly. In that case, I think we can skip the whole song and dance with our footsoldiers and knights… or at least the parts that preceded the advent of firepowder.” Emma offered, gesturing to the men in question.

“As unfortunate as it is to relegate the honored legacies of such warriors to the wayside, I must agree that is indeed a prudent choice.” I acknowledged. “After all, and forgive me if I’m being a bit too forward here, your historical armies are more than likely—”

“Ineffectual.” Ilunor interrupted with a smarmy grin. “They were manaless, correct?”

“Yes.” Emma nodded.

“Which means their weapons — swords, spears, bows, axes, and everything else under His Eternal Gaze — all of them… were unenchanted?”

“Correct, Ilunor.” Emma acknowledged with a breathy sigh.

“So they would have been powerless against even the weakest of newrealms.” Ilunor beamed with an unwarranted glee. “A manaless realm wielding weapons incapable of doing more than stabbing, slashing, and the occasional punch of an arrow.” 

“For much of our history, that was indeed the case.” Emma continued to appease the vunerian’s leading questions, before finally bringing us forward towards an entirely new sight.

We found ourselves within an ornate wooden room, one more resembling an alchemist’s workshop—

“But that all changed when we created a certain… miracle compound.” She gestured towards a group of robed, faceless humans, all scurrying around whilst holding powders, jars, and various other alchemical implements. “In an emperor’s search for immortality — or at least as far as the legends go — his court alchemists inadvertently created a compound which would result in anything but its original intent.” 

The strange powdery concoction in front of the group of robed men abruptly erupted into a fiery flash of light. One that left a few with soot on their robes and a violent fit of coughing for all of their trouble.

It took me a moment, but upon careful analysis of the walls, the furnishings, the calligraphy and—

“Are these the same people who attached firespears beneath a throne in hopes of reaching the heavens?” Thacea spoke first, beating me to the punch. “Wan Hu, I believe it was?”

“Yes.” Emma nodded, once again eliciting a fitful chuckle from the vunerian. “This is where the first powder was lit, the impetus behind every kinetic weapon system we have today short of the next generation of kinetic accelerants.” She paused, tapping the alicorn-killing weapon hidden beneath her gauntlet. “The formula would be improved over time, of course, and its form factor would likewise evolve until we reach the caseless ammunition found in my sidearm today. But what we see here now is in effect the root of all there was to come.”

“And that root was found in alchemy of all things.” Ilunor finally interjected, tutting as he did so. “A magical art.” 

“Yes and no, Ilunor.” Emma responded pointedly. “I only use the term because that was what they were historically referred to. This was a time before our understanding of the natural world had been codified and before modern scientific practices became universal. We attributed much of our observations, as objectively true as they may be, to higher powers and vague notions of superstitions. Alchemy being one such catch-all term for what we would refer today as chemistry.” Emma paused yet again as we honed in on that pile of strange tannish powder. 

“And it was through this simple powder that our kind would see bloodshed on a scale otherwise impossible without it.” Emma spoke, this time with a far more somber lilt to her voice.

“There’s a fundamental gap that exists in any advanced civilization. An invisible one, which, once seen, can never be unseen again. On one side of this gap is a world inextricably bound to the labor of men, where force of power, both constructive and destructive, is ultimately reliant on the mechanical potential of his own strength, along with the strength of whatever other beast he may take under his employ. On the other side is a world liberated from that limitation, a world defined not by the upper limits of the sweat of one’s brow, but liberated by forces which serve to multiply his own will. Everything I’ve shown you prior to this point has been the constructive side of this principle. From our engines of steam and combustion to the unbridled power of our firespears. Granting us prosperity on a scale unimaginable to those that have come before. But today we’ll see the darker chapter of that liberation, as we watch the unshackling of the weapons of war, as limited by the strength of men, to the explosive potential of firepowder.”

My eyes widened as something else fell into place deep within my mind.

One which would be elucidated by none other than Thacea yet again.

“Whilst all others pursued this liberation through means of magic, enchanting weapons and arms, and all manner of war-waging artifice, you accomplished this through a simple, physical reaction.”

“The same principles used in your earliest firespears.” I pondered out loud, garnering a nod from Emma.

“For the purposes of chemically-propelled kinetic weapons, yes. And as you’ll see, the first weapons made using this principle were quite intuitive in their development.” 

The entire scene shifted yet again, but instead of arriving back to those armored knights and armsmen, we were placed amidst the ranks of an aesthetically distinct army. One whose symbols, calligraphy, and attire were very much reminiscent of those responsible for the discovery of firepowder.

“Roughly a century after its creation, sometime in the 10th century, the first military applications of its power would be put to the test on the battlefield. Though not in the way you’d think.” She would be quick to gesture at two distinct weapons, both resembling enchanted arms of some sort. 

The first was an arrow with what appeared to be hemp cloth tied tight around some paper along its shaft. 

The second was an unassuming clay pot, with nary a hint as to its function; though explosive came to mind despite its seemingly benign nature.

“We did not immediately jump to using it as a propellant. In fact, the first few records indicated that it was used for its incendiary—” Emma paused, pointing at the arrow and the gunpowder stowed neatly along its shaft. “—and explosive properties.” She then gestured to the pot, revealing within it a mixture of firepowder and a cloth cord. 

“But it didn’t take long for people to put the two together, especially after the creation of the firelance.” 

The two simple weapons quickly dematerialized, replaced instead by a similarly armored soldier holding… well… a weapon pulled straight from Emma’s blunt vernacular.

It was a lance.

With a simple cylinder attached to its end.

And when put to use—

PHWOOOSH!

—it exploded outwards towards the enemy.

The target in question was peppered with a series of small pieces of debris — stones, scrap metal, and even the burning remains of both the firepowder and its cloth bindings.

It was… rudimentary, primitive, and simple.

Yet it did not replace what was still recognizable formations of melee-based armsmen, nor did it do much to bridge the martial gap.

“Some historians say that the humble fire lance should be regarded as the ancestor to the firearm. But all agree that this is where that attribution ends, especially given the more discrete and draconian definitions of what constitutes a firearm in later years. However, despite this semantic debate, one thing remains clear — the principles and potential behind this humble technology would be iterated upon. Slowly at first but eventually growing in momentum until two distinct camps emerged.”

Emma snapped her fingers, and once again we found the weapons in front of us shifting, changing.

Though what appeared in front of us was anything but intimidating.

In fact, it looked more like an ornamental vase than anything. And its name was suitably appropriate for its ostentatious design, both of which were strangely and suitably Nexian in nature.

“Historical records describe this as the ‘Long Range Awe Inspiring Cannon.’ Its design would be proven… dubious, but the fundamentals for something far larger were present all the same.” 

With a flourish of her fingers, a crew of armored men would be quick to demonstrate the cannon’s function, loading in firepowder, a projectile, and then attaching a lengthy wick towards its rearmost chamber. 

At which point, following a simple ignition process—

fsssst-BOOOOOMMMMM!

—the unassuming vase exploded. 

Or more accurately, the contents within it did. 

We watched as the ball of metal landed a great distance away, during which my mind could only fathom the sheer usefulness of such a deceptively simple artifice.

Especially given how not a single enchantment had yet been used in its operation.

“Emma…” I began with a breath of giddy excitement.

“Yes, Thalmin?”

“So is this… cannon as simple as casting a tube of metal, with a chamber to contain an explosive element, and an opening for whatever projectile you wish to lob at the enemy?”

Emma paused, allowing that question to linger in the air with dramatic effect.

“Yes, Thalmin.” She nodded slowly, her sets of eyes more than likely locked with my own from behind those red lenses. “That’s all there is to it.”

I felt my heart skip a beat out of the thrill of forbidden love… for a different object of desire. “I see… I see now… Yes…”

However, before I could even begin to fantasize about the derivative potentials of such a weapon, it would be Ilunor who would arrive to douse those forbidden fires of passion.

And as much as I hated to admit it… he did so with a series of very real, very pertinent points of contention. 

“Pray tell, how strong are these metal… tubes, earthrealmer? Because as I see it… I imagine the stresses of containing explosions would lead to fractures and failures in very short order.”

“For primitive and rudimentary ones such as these? You’d be right. Metallurgy back then wasn’t as advanced as it would be later on.”

“Mmhmm, mhmmm. And what of accuracy? Reload time? And other considerations, hmm? Because to me, the demerits of such frankly cumbersome weapons are why we never had the impetus to explore their potential applications. The readily available and far more reliable enchanted counterparts had always outperformed these novelties. Moreover, given the examples you’ve shown thus far, I’d hazard to say that even hand-held variants of such cannons would lack in the speed, finesse, accuracy, and reliability of something as simple as an unenchanted arrow.”

Emma took a moment to regard Ilunor’s arguments just as she manifested something that had taken my imagination by storm.

It was… for lack of a better term, a giant oversized metal barrel, with an opening that you could fit a rotund child in. 

“You’re right in assuming that, Ilunor.” Emma nodded, quickly snapping her fingers once more and changing — much to my dismay — the sight of that oversized cannon into something far more reserved, yet no less fascinating.

It was a miniature cannon attached to the end of a stick, a—

“This was the first ‘true’ firearm. A hand cannon. And even at the time, you’d be hard-pressed to see this thing outperforming a good old-fashioned archer, especially one with years of experience under their belt. It was cumbersome, requiring the user to manually light a fuse at the end of it to actually fire. It was also inaccurate, and sometimes unreliable.”

These accounts were proven uncomfortably true, as the weapon in question would be pitted against an archer… to disastrous results. The former struggled and failed to hit a target several sprints away, whereas the archer had since expended half a quiver’s worth of arrows, having successfully landed each shot on the target in the time the gunman had taken to reload and fire again.

Ilunor grinned at Emma’s apparent acquiescence. 

But that notion wouldn’t be held for long.

“Even some folks back then doubted the practicality of such a technology. But that’s the operative word here, Ilunor. Some. Because where some may see an expensive dead end, others see the future just out of reach.”

She snapped her fingers, replacing that odd miniature cannon with a long wooden stick and barrel. 

“The arquebus, and later the musket. It’s a bit complicated to really hone in on the semantics of the thing. So for the sake of brevity, I’ll lump these smoothbore firearms together. It’s here that we see the art of gunsmithing starting to take on a more recognizable, practical shape. We see an improvement in ergonomics, in range and accuracy, but perhaps most interesting of all… we actually see the birth of a firing mechanism. Whereas before you’d just be lighting a fuse with an external ignition source, now… you had both ignition and fuse loaded in one mechanism.” Emma gestured near the very end of the weapon, close to its trigger and specifically at a spring-operated mechanism.

My eyes lit up as I leaned in closer towards the phantoms of this manaless sight-seer. “So you have a slow-burning match connected to your trigger, which, when activated, will simply spring back on the powder and cause it to fire?” 

“Bingo.” Emma nodded. “It’s deceptively simple, isn’t it?”

“This removes the awkwardness of attempting to light the fuse whilst trying to aim, and streamlines the whole process.” I nodded slowly. 

“But that still doesn’t detract from the pathetic rate of fire.” Ilunor interjected. “Nor do I see a means of this cumbersome weapon superseding both melee and archers—”

Emma snapped her fingers yet again. At which point, we saw a rather… unique formation. One I’d yet to have seen to date.

In front of a line of these gunmen were pikemen. The former had their weapons practically planted into the dirt by means of a simple stick, whilst the latter seemed to be doing their part in keeping cavalry and other such forces away from these ranged gunmen.

“They didn’t just disappear overnight, no. The ‘pike and shot’ were the clearest and most unique example of this trend. The pikes protected the firearms from close assault, while the musketmen provided both the range and power of a gun. However, with even more advancements, we slowly see this formation fading into obscurity, as new firing mechanisms replace the older, less reliable matchlocks.” 

The scene in front of us dematerialized yet again, replacing itself with a group of soldiers increasingly dressed down from cuirasses to what appeared to be brightly colored jackets without any sign of metal armor.

“The introduction of the flintlock removed the unreliability of a burning match. Replacing it instead with a mechanism that created its own spark when the hammer struck the powder. Moreover, this coincided closely with a more efficient means of packaging both powder and ammunition.” She gestured at the phantom’s bandolier. “Soldiers could now simply load in pre-measured charges and lead balls, vastly increasing the rate of fire and the reliability of each shot.”

I nodded with intent, watching as a simple firing demonstration played out in front of us.

However, this still didn’t faze the vunerian, as the nexian merely yawned and shrugged.

“Still far too slow for my tastes, earthrealmer.” He spoke under a dismissive breath, causing Emma to respond with a sigh of her own.

It was at this point that I knew a drastic change was coming, as Emma merely regarded Ilunor with a silent and unwavering stare before snapping her fingers without any preamble.

The scene once more shifted, as we promptly found ourselves on a hill overlooking a formation of troops. Though the soldiers in question clearly weren’t the main attraction.

It was the smaller, blue-jacketed formation of soldiers atop the hill that the sights were focused on. Or more specifically, it was their multi-barrelled cannon which seemed to be at the center of attention.

The earthrealmer was quick to order one of the blue-coated soldiers to remove the metal stack at the top of the artifice for inspection. I immediately recognized it as none other than an older variant of her ‘magazine.’ 

I remained silent as I watched the blue-coated figure removing one of the cartridges from this box, the phantom item hovering in mid-air in front of the vunerian.

“What’s this then? Some paper-wrapped snack?” He snubbed the innocuous object, turning his nose up at it.

“You got one part of that right.” Emma acknowledged with a sigh. “It’s wrapped in paper, but I don’t think you’d enjoy its contents. Because inside is the bullet, the powder acting as its propellant, and the primer. Which means we’ve now evolved past the need to awkwardly load in the propellant and the bullet before priming the gun manually.” 

“And that leads to a marginally faster firing rate, I assume?” Ilunor chuffed. 

“I wouldn’t say marginal, Ilunor. But I guess you can decide that for yourself.” Emma responded, gesturing for the blue-coated soldiers to reattach that magazine to the multi-barreled gun in question.

At which point—

“Fire.”

—a crank was turned.

Bang!

Ilunor reached for his mouth, aiming to sigh. But before he could even make it—

Bang!

—another shot had rung out.

Bang!

Then another.

Bang!

And another.

Bang!

And another…

Soon enough, the fields in front of us were littered with a rate of fire I hadn’t seen since the vorpal chimera fight.

And Ilunor’s response? Well… he seemed uncharacteristically silent, his eyes fixated and completely unable to move away from this hand-cranked…

“Machine-gun, was it?” I offered, reflecting on a conversation we had over the past month.

“Wellllll… technically speaking it's more of a precursor to the first machine gun. It's by definition in its own category, that being a rapid firing multiple barrel firearm. Heck, even its namesake is something of a category — the gatling gun. Courtesy of Mr. Gatling himself.” Emma paused, making sure to fix her gaze on the vunerian. “Suffice it to say, it has all the trappings of a ‘machine gun,’ capable of firing not one, two, three, or four, or even ten rounds per minute. But about 400, according to many records. I know for a fact you experienced this firsthand in our fateful encounter in Sorecar’s workshop. Isn’t that right, Ilunor?” Emma snickered, causing the vunerian to grumble silently in response, his feet tapping incessantly.

The ruffled vunerian lord was about ready to make a rebuttal, but whatever words were forming in his head stalled in his throat. Hesitation painted his features as he witnessed the sheer volume of ammunition ravenously devoured by the rapidly rotating artifice.

“400 rounds a minute… and how many did you say your sidearm was capable of, Emma?” I questioned.

“1200.” Emma spoke plainly. “At max. Though I can tune it to whatever I want, really.”

“That’s—”

“It didn’t take us a thousand years to get to 1200, though. In fact, after the gatling? It took just under a century.”

“Then let’s keep going.” I urged with a swagger in my step and a coy chuckle in my throat; that longing for something new, something novel, burning furiously within my warrior spirit.

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(Author's Note: Hey everyone! I'm back now! Once again I sincerely appreciate everyone's patience last week, and I hope this chapter can make up for that delay haha. I really hope you guys enjoy it!)

(Author's Note 2: Also, there's a new ship art over on the subreddit with a lot of lore attached to it too! You can check it out here Civilian Space Liner Art haha)

[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 191, Chapter 192, and Chapter 193 of this story are already out on there!)]

Hello again, all! That's right, you got 2 chapters 2 days in a row. Amazing, isn't it? Don't worry about me, I'm just really feeling the flow and imagination right now. This one's short, but I think it holds its own among the other chapters. Enjoy! And as always, thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the original universe.

<<PREV | SIDE STORY #7>>

Memory Transcription Subject: Hobel, exhausted nightmare victim

Date (Standardized Human Time): April 16^th, 2242

“The nightmares are all starting the same way now. I don’t even get any warmup time, it’s just straight to the decks of the Rebirth.” I’m lying on the sofa again, at yet another worthless therapy session with my assigned shrink, Dr. Nira.

“Is that significant?” she asks, like she doesn’t already know.

“Of course it’s significant! It’s the place the pre—... Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle hunted me down. Those decks are where I tried to prove that Arxur and humans are the same, and the blasted lizards of today are identical to the raiders of last century.”

“While the Arxur admittedly have done terrible things, it has been several decades since their intergalactic exclusion, and the galaxy as a whole inspected their progress as a safety measure.”

I sigh through my teeth. “You say that, but look away from the humans and their bloody past. Nuclear weaponry, genocide, crusades over silly beliefs, and their planet called Dirt of all things is the entertainment capital of the entire spacefaring civilization!”

“Every species has its own closet of skeletons, as the humans say.” There she goes again with her Terran colloquialisms. Where does she even get these? “Although this is a lovely subject of conversation, talking about dark histories and intraspecies transgressions, I believe you were telling me about your nightmares?”

Grumbling, I continue. “Whatever. The nightmares all start the same way, and they end the same way too.” The shrink instantly perks up just a bit, so I know I’ve probably told her something that’ll keep me wrongfully imprisoned for longer.

“How do your nightmares end?” I knew it. Of course that was the next question out of her mouth.

Silence for a moment as I wrestle with whether or not to tell the suddenly very interested Zurulian. “The human grabs my neck.” I mumble into the cushion next to my face.

“Pardon?”

“The human. Grabs. My neck. And then I’m awake and sweating or trembling or falling out of my cot.” I snap at her. She seems to be nonplussed.

“Any thoughts as to why it always ends there?”

I grunt loudly in anger. “See? This! This is what I hate about being stuck in this prison. You, and your blasted questions that I despise with every part of myself.” I sit up, breathing heavily.

“Mister Hobel, would you like me to have someone come in and remove you, or would you rather leave by yourself?” the doctor asks, just like every other time I do this. She always just summons the guards or I storm out and still get escorted back to my cell anyway. I decide to preserve what little dignity I have left and march myself out of the office. I’m instantly tailed by an officer all the way to my cell, and I’m shut back in.

Frustrated and cranky, I flop onto my cot, but I barely catch myself from faceplanting on the metallic floor. I look around, and I’m back in the same corridor as always on the Cradle’s Rebirth. I swear loudly and repeatedly as all my anger boils over. I scream out into the empty halls, stamping my paws and slamming my fists against the walls.

“I am so [censored] sick of this [censored] ship! Why can’t I just sleep normally?! I just want a [censored] nap without having to run away from two predators WHO ARE ALL THE WAY ON EARTH!”

Still no reaction from the empty metal walkways around me.

“Fine! Let’s just get this whole charade over with. Come and get me, you disgusting killers! Free meal, right here!” I bellow out into the echoing halls. Silence replies, and I turn around in anger… then freeze.

The human’s right there, standing as if he’d been waiting for me. His skin has changed, no longer as icy and pale, the mask unfrosted but just as blank as ever.

“So you finally decided to show up. Well, come on then, let’s get done so I can actually sleep. Grab my neck, let’s go.” I march up to the human, who stares impassively. I’m well within arm’s reach, and I’m eye level with the human’s ribcage. “What are you waiting for?”

I catch a glimpse of movement behind me, and my head whips around to see the Arxur. The amount of blood on it has… changed. It’s no longer drenched and soaked in orange ichor, but only smeared liberally with it. I’m sandwiched between them in the hall, typical predator behavior. Cut off the escape to ensure the catch.

Garbled noise and nonsense slips into my ears like its being poured in like oil. I whip around and look at the human again, the wonderful Mr. Carlyle who’s currently trapped me in here with his wife, the demure Mrs. Carlyle. The sounds… they have cadence, tone, a rising and falling of natural speech. But it’s all utterly incomprehensible, sliding in one of my ears and out the other, leaving no trace of meaning and information.

“W-what?” I stutter out, my skin pebbling in fear, my wool standing on end. I take a step backwards. “You… you spoke.”

The human speaks again, the same syllables and tone and words, I’m sure of it, but I couldn’t remember a single word said for the life of me. The grip of primal fear dug into my chest so hard it hurt. This isn’t right, it’s not. It’s not supposed to speak, it’s meant to chase and tear and kill and trap, not spout gibberish that slides through me with no trace. I turn to run.

Before I even manage to turn, I feel the hand on my neck and I’m back on my cot, sweating and now even more fearful of the terrors that didn’t leave me alone after we parted ways.

To be continued in Side Story #7...

SIDE STORY #7>>

Life had settled in a way I had not entirely expected. Once the storm broke in the morning, Martha hadn’t sent me back to living in the barn. I had what might as well have been a red carpet rolled out. After another serving of sludge, I grabbed my rucksack and started for the door. Martha effortlessly lifted me by it.

“Put it back,” Martha said, holding me up like a limp kitten.

“Okay, okay. I will,” I half pleaded, thrashing like a hooked fish.

“Good. We have to clear snow today.”

She let me down, and I returned my rucksack to the guest room.

Shortly after my release from Martha’s iron grip, I exited the home, freshly showered and with my belly full of slop. Martha greeted me outside.

Martha sat proudly on a riding snow blower, leaned back, tapping a hoof impatiently on the handlebars. It looked like someone had taken a suburban snowblower, put it on tracks, scaled it up for a twelve-foot moose woman, and then decided that still wasn't ridiculous enough. It was bright red, as deep as blood, and looked well cared for, with not a single oil stain. Bold, and in bright neon white on the hood *Bitching Bessie* declared the name of her mighty steed.

"About time. Are you ready?"

"As I can be," I replied, feeling far less nervous about the work than when I arrived. I guess I had adapted enough to her life to expect nothing less than to be her whipped hound.

The morning labor started simply enough. Martha went up and down the orchard rows, pushing snow out from the center of the circular plantings around her home until she reached the outer grid, where she switched from circling her home like a shark to going back and forth like a neurotic wind-up toy.

I watched her go while I did a far less leisurely morning task. Before malevolent Martha dashed off, she had press-ganged me into what felt like I was digging my own grave, mainly because I was digging the yard out of the snow.

Shovel load by shovel load, I dug.

“Start by clearing the porch, then work your way toward the slab to the right of the gate.”

Her words were clear as day in my mind hours later, along with her chastising me for not understanding that by slab, she meant the large open concrete foundation in her yard. I knew right around where it was, delineated by the tops of dozens of cinderblocks stacked along the fence bordering it. Their grey faces poked out of the frost, looking eerily like inky black eyes staring at me from inside small caves.

Nearing them with each row, I found my attention split between them and Martha’s bright red blower off in the distance. I could not help but look. I felt like they were waiting, watching as the snow pile I tossed between us grew larger and larger, biding their time until I could not see them, and they would drag me under to a snowpack grave.

I felt a wave of relief pass over me once I cleared the slab off and I could see all the bricks clear and in their mundane glory.

Once my duty to dig enough snow to bury myself a thousand times over was done, the second phase of Martha’s plan was ready for execution, with me as the sole soldier to see it through. Something she was all too happy to tell me about when she parked the snow blower and dusted herself off.

“Take all of the snow from the fence line and make a mountain near the slab,” Martha commanded, hands on her hips, staring down at my shivering form.

I had to be a little impressed by her yet again. Despite being coated in thick mats of snow and ice, every tuft of her fur and hair weighed down by the rime, Martha acted completely unbothered. Unlike me, who resembled Ralphie from A Christmas Story, she looked more like a mechanic in the summer, only wearing her Carhartt overalls and t-shirt.

“What for?” I asked, my teeth clattering.

“It’s for overflow of sap. I might have a pretty large freezer, but harvesting season lasts nearly a month here, and just do the math that I explained to you.” Martha replied, tapping on the side of her head. 

My eyes went wide once I did the math in my head and realized what she meant. Even at the low end, just her main orchard would produce thousands of gallons of sap. 

“There it is.” Martha smiled, seeing the comprehension in my eyes. And her being such a carrot-and-stick type of woman would not let my revelation sit idle; she had to tell me how far overhead I was. “Yeah, we will be working day in and day out for a while now. Up at dawn, and to bed well after the moon is watching us, because tomorrow, we are going to start boiling.” 

“So after you go inside and warm up, get back out here and start piling it up. I will handle harvesting sap today.” She stepped closer, and the heady scent of her wet fur overwhelmed me, making me forget how cold I was for a moment. 

Maple, musk, smoke, and freshly burned petrol combined in a near-indescribable hurricane as her warm breath wafted past me. She jabbed a thick finger into my chest. “Tomorrow, you aren’t getting out of sap duty, Syrup.” 

I nodded and went to the house. My brief respite in the warmth was painfully short to me, but not long enough for me to get ahead of Martha. By the time I stepped outside, she was loading five-gallon storage containers into the halfway full freezer. 

I was surprised by the containers. Martha didn't use buckets like I had imagined syrup jockeys would. She used square containers, each with a bright red screw-on cap that contrasted with the milky white plastic. 

Why she used them was evident. They stacked well compared to buckets and had little wasted space. Compared to a bucket, she could likely fit a few hundred more gallons into her freezer. It made all manner of sense to me. 

In every industrial kitchen I had ever worked in, when we could use squares for storage, we did. It was so much more space-efficient to stack twenty bricks of cheese than the same amount in wheels. That the same worked here gave me an odd sense of home. 

Despite that home feeling, I'd already tightened my belt by a few notches. I woke up to a twelve-foot-tall moose-kin hammering on my door, and I labored from dawn to dusk; the world still had universal truths. That consistency almost made the little screaming voice in my head shut up while I reached toward my shovel.

Is this really worth some syrup?  I knew what it asked, but it was too easy to ignore when my whole body and soul were so exhausted I could barely focus on the next heave-ho.

More digging, more moving snow. I should be employed by the traffic service at this rate. I could have cleared the little village down the trails—Faye—well before the first cocks crow, with how fast I was going. 

Midday transitioned to afternoon not before my eyes but in little glimpses. It was like my mind kept taking Polaroid snapshots whenever I fell out of the trance that had befallen me. In the first, the sun was at its zenith, and Martha was heading out. In the second, Sol kissed the tops of the nearby maples. By the third, Martha's booming voice announced the end of the workday while red and orange pastels leaked through the shifting maple boughs, the sun having retreated behind distant horizons and waving its final goodbye. I sighed, slamming the shovel into the mountain of snow I had made for Martha to squirrel away containers of sap. 

I looked upon it as proudly as Stan Rogers might have looked at his first sold-out show. Was the mound much in the grand scheme of things? No. But I had made it through grit, perseverance, and my own spit and blood. I had been asked to perform, and when Martha silently approached my flank and patted my shoulder, I knew I had climbed the mountain she demanded of me. 

“Good job, Syrup. That will do.” 

“Thank God,” I replied. 

“Come on, let’s go eat,” she said, taking the shovel from my hand. 

“Fuck. I can eat,” I replied, turning around to follow her toward the house. 

“Good. I can too. So what is for chow?” she asked, looking over her shoulder, eyes dusky, and waiting eagerly for my answer. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You said you wanted to cook.” She turned about and pointed the shovel at me like a sword. “Or were you just getting my hopes up?” 

Fuck, I thought. I had completely forgotten about that. I should have started cooking a few hours ago if I wanted to make something for dinner. I wanted to tell her I would make breakfast, but between her nearly heartbroken eyes and the lingering, unspoken threat that if I didn't cook, it meant another night of slop, I smiled. Putting on that strong, non-exhausted front took all the effort I could muster, dwarfing the tectonic effort to create Mount Motherfucker in her front yard.

“I have to see what you have to cook with,” I replied.

------

So how you all feeling? what do you think Kyle will make? IDK about you but with all this syrup around it is time for breakfast for dinner. Flapjacks, bacon, eggs, the works.

I hope you enjoyed it, and leave a like and comment; it does mean a lot.

-Colin

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Chapter 1-3

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“The Hungry Crown?” I asked for the third time. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“What?” Vaelith asked, swinging her axe and felling a branch that was blocking our path. Leaves scattered across the muddy ground, and the severed branch hit the trail with a wet crack. “It makes sense. I’m hungry for the crown. You make food. It’s perfect!”

“It sounds stupid… How are people going to react to ‘The Hungry Crown’?”

Vaelith shrugged. “Not sure… I’m not human.”

I growled. There was just no reasoning with her.

It had been the better part of a day. The man from the Adventurer’s Guild, who I later learned was named Merren, had registered us and given us the information we desired. We were designated as G-rank adventurers and a G-rank party. The lowest rank. That had infuriated Vaelith, who had then grabbed every single bounty off the board in protest. I’d barely been able to ask where a stingtail was before Vaelith had grabbed me and pulled me away.

From what I learned, I’d already encountered one… in the Thistleburrow Fields. Aptly named a field stingtail, apparently they were the weakest kind, with the mildest venom. Vaelith had pointed out that there was a wanted sign for marshland stingtails, and that we should kill two birds with one stone.

Hard to disagree with that. Looking over the bounties, we had three:

Wanted: Marsh Stingtails

Recently, a group of marsh stingtails has taken to roaming into nearby farmlands, harassing and killing livestock. Bring back ten severed tails and be rewarded 20 copper pieces.

Wanted: Goblins — Grubfang Tribe

A group of goblins calling themselves the Grubfang Tribe has been kidnapping both livestock and human children. All scouts say that they seem to be setting up a sort of ritual in the Venom Reeds. 5 copper pieces per right ear, and 10 copper pieces for any return of the children. 40 if they are alive.

Wanted: Lesser Dragon — Emerald

A lesser dragon, due to the size, has been spotted flying and hunting over the Eastern farmlands. While no people or livestock have been harmed, the guild finds it prudent to get ahead of the inevitable. 150 copper pieces, or silver equivalent, will be paid to the one who brings back the dragon’s head as proof. The head will be returned upon confirmation.

“Well, we aren’t killing a dragon,” I said, “but if we can complete two bounties and get some more materials for my cooking, then we can finally travel to a larger town where we’ll have access to more ingredients.”

Vaelith scoffed. “Your class is a real pain. Do you know that?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I’m well aware.”

***

It was night by the time we reached the edge of the marsh, otherwise known as the Venom Reeds. As the name suggested, the waters and banks were covered with wicked-looking reeds, their fluffy plumes barbed, red, and dripping something that sizzled as it hit the water. The marsh spread out beneath a low ceiling of fog, all black pools and pale mud, with crooked trees clawing up from the muck. The air smelled of rot.

“Should we backtrack and wait until morning?” I asked.

“Shh,” Vaelith warned, dropping low to the ground.

“Danger, danger,” Darwin whispered.

“Even the creature sees… someone else is here.”

“How do you know?”

Vaelith pointed. Where she did, I could see hollow reeds cut finely, as if someone had used some sort of sword to clear the way. The stalks were sliced at clean angles, their wet interiors gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

“Should we follow?”

Vaelith shrugged. “It may be a fight.”

I considered… well; we were there to find and kill goblins as well. Perhaps we’d get lucky and could ambush them in the night.

“Let’s follow,” I said.

Low, we followed the trail of cut reeds. Nearby, in the water, we could see bubbles and the faint shifting on the surface that indicated movement. Bugs assaulted us, whining around our ears and crawling at the edges of my collar. Not even Darwin dared take the bait and give away our location. Eventually, we came upon a clearing.

I stepped past Vaelith. “This is stupid; we haven’t seen a thing—”

Something snagged my leg, and before I knew it, I was upside down, hanging from a gray, gnarled tree by some sort of rope wrapped around my ankle. Blood rushed away from my head, making my mind swim.

“Show yourself,” Vaelith said, turning with her two-handed axe at the ready.

Upside down as I was, I still saw what she did. Behind her, someone had snuck up wearing a dark cloak. They were half her size, holding a bow aimed at her throat. They threw back their hood. It was a man… A half-foot.

“What are you doing here?” the half-foot asked, his voice lower than I would have imagined it to be.

“I could ask you the same, little one,” Vaelith taunted.

The half-foot smiled. “Quite the mouth on you for someone so close to death. Let’s try again… I’m Pipshur, but my friends call me Pip. Now you introduce yourself, demon.”

She growled. “Vaelith,” she said, “and it’s not demon, it’s Princess Vaelith—”

“Can we hurry this up?” I said, still dangling. “I’m getting light-headed.”

“Master!” Darwin said. “I help!”

Sure enough, my companion climbed up the rope and began gnawing at it. His little teeth worked furiously, and his rabbit-like ears twitched with determination. The half-foot man simply stared, bewildered by Darwin’s appearance.

Eventually, the rope snapped, and I fell, landing awkwardly on my back. The air left my lungs in a sad little wheeze. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” I complained.

“If I lower my weapon,” the half-foot man said, “will you lower yours?”

Vaelith nodded. They both lowered.

“Good,” Pip said. “Nice to meet you. Now we can be proper gentlemen—”

Vaelith reached out, grabbed him, and gave him one quick punch in the face. She let him go, and he fell back onto the ground.

“I’m a princess,” she said. “Not a gentleman. Now… nice to meet you.”

“Is she always like this?” Pip asked, holding his nose. Clearly, it had been broken. The half-foot stood and cracked it back into place. “Ah, much better.”

Vaelith smiled softly, but quickly forced back on a frown.

“We’re just adventurers looking to fulfill some bounties,” I said. “Stingtails and goblins, to be precise. You?”

“Same,” Pip replied. “Minus the goblins—I hunt smaller monsters and animals. Things that don’t organize and try to kill me.”

“So you work alone?”

The half-foot nodded.

“And the trap…”

“Meant for ones such as yourself. Well, not you, but bandits or goblins. I have different traps for the little stingtails. I’m a trapper class, if that isn’t obvious. Uncommon too.”

He said the last bit proudly.

I decided to keep the fact that we were Special Grade classes from him.

“I’m a Sovereign class,” Vaelith said. “Special Grade. He’s a Glutton. Also Special.”

I clapped my hand to my forehead.

“Special Grade?” Pip said, half astonished, half nervous. “Both of you?”

I nodded.

“Well then, bite my ass and call me dinner—that is a lot to take in. Still, we shouldn’t linger. How’s this: we stay out of each other’s way, and may the best trapper win?”

“How about we work together?” I suggested. “I’m less worried about the bounty and more about the venom sacs.”

Pip seemed to consider for a moment before shaking his head. “I’ve already done the work… would hardly be fair either way. You’re welcome to the area, but be careful of any traps I laid.”

Vaelith scoffed. “We don’t need ’em, anyway.”

Pip tipped his head. “Then I bid you goodbye,” he said.

As he turned to leave, he stopped. From the twitch of his ear, I assumed he had heard something. Then I heard it too. It sounded like the soft chime of a bell. Familiar and yet… It couldn’t be. Then I heard it again, louder this time. Then again, louder still, this time accompanied by a soft moo.

Then, an even louder one.

And in that moo was nothing but pure panic.

First | Previous | Read on Royal Road

The rest of the journey was a blur of nervous jumps and darting eyes as everyone scanned the lake for movement. No more incidents occurred before the craft finally slid onto the beach. Hinelin, Kilner and Orion jumped out, dragging the airboat fully onto the shore. Hinelin promptly instructed the other two to remove their wet boots and set them aside to dry. He was adamant: no one was to touch the water with bare skin.

Giddeon stared down the shoreline, spotting over a dozen boats scattered along the beach for miles. To avoid collisions, each descent ship had been launched at twenty-minute intervals, with trajectories adjusted to land in different spots. Some teams had beached hours ago.

“What’s the plan, Team Leader?” Orion asked.

“Join up with the others,” Hinelin replied, retrieving a metallic cylinder from his backpack. He twisted off one end, popping out a rolled-up parchment which he unfolded, revealing a map covered in coordinates. His finger jabbed at a large red star. “The rendezvous point is just north of our position. This map is how we navigate the planet. It’s our lifeline now, so no one touches it. Got it?”

The squad nodded in unison.

Hinelin turned to the shortest member of the group. “Vessa, you’re second in command. Get the supplies ready; coordinate who’s carrying what. Orion, you’re the lookout while the rest of us prepare the journey to Base Camp Six.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Kilner murmured. “Base Camp Six?”

Hinelin shrugged, walking past him. “I didn’t name it. Now move, people. We’re losing sunlight.”

“He sounds just like one of those military sergeants from those old movies you stored in your holo,” Johnny commented.

That’s because he is military.

Unsurprisingly, Giddeon was saddled with the heavy gear, while Hinelin and Orion carried only their personal packs. Vessa had justified this with a sweet smile: “In case we get attacked, they need to be free to protect us. You understand, I’m sure.” Though he hated her silver tongue, her logic was sound.

“Your Intelligence is ten—at least to her,” Johnny told him. “Meaning you’re easy to manipulate.”

Shut up.

Running parallel to the beach, the dense jungle stood roughly half a mile inland. Its trees towered hundreds of feet into the air, the tallest reaching a neck-aching four hundred feet or more. While several appeared to be tropical, the majority resembled giant, oversized pines, cedars, oaks, and maples—far larger than any of them had ever seen before.

Uzari whistled quietly as everyone eyed the imposing forest.

“Excited to explore the flora?” Giddeon asked.

“Very,” she replied, her eyes alight as her neck craned back to stare up at the gigantic specimens.

Leaving the airboat behind, the column marched in a loose file across deep, heavy sand. A chorus of chaotic noises bled from the shadows of the forest—hoots, caws, persistent buzzing, and the occasional roar, reminding them they were not alone. After an arduous twenty-minute trek north, they arrived at a flat, open expanse of beach set safely away from the wilderness.

Canvas tents peppered the area. Small, triangular shelters served as personal quarters, while large, covered pavilions designated as medical facilities and food storage dominated sections of the base. A few oversized structures bulged with stacked crates and small metal cages. The entire settlement was strategically positioned, flanked by a clear view of the loch on one side and a wide, barren buffer zone separating the site from the forest.

“The camp is separated by teams,” Hinelin explained, conferring with his map. “The groups are set up a hundred feet apart, in case a fire breaks out. Our section’s here, at the southern end.” He turned to Vessa, pointing to his left. “Have our shelters erected there and transport our rations to the closest food storage pavilion. They’re marked with a red banana—don’t ask me why it’s red. I’ve a team leader’s meeting to get to.”

“Yes sir,” Vessa replied.

As Hinelin walked off, she whirled around to the rest of the squad, a bright smile plastered on her face. “It’s been a long day, and I know most of you are mentally and physically exhausted, but I just want to say one thing. Welcome to Camp Panda!”

“Yay,” Kilner muttered, lazily waving a hand in the air as he walked away. “Camp Panda. Woohoo.”

“I think those cards were rigged,” Orion said, sounding highly skeptical. “Vibane must have picked the name just to mess with us.”

“Wouldn’t Hinelin have chosen it, being the team leader?” Oomah asked as she hefted a bag full of tent components.

Vessa raised her eyebrows. “You think someone like him would willingly choose Panda?” She clapped her hands together sharply. “Let’s get to it. Set up those tents, Aiges! We can do this!”

Everyone dispersed to their respective gear piles, Giddeon included. Selecting a spot secluded from the others, he began to build. Having erected thousands of makeshift shelters during his time on Earth One, the assembly took him no time at all.

Relaxing against his completed tent, he looked around. Except for Redler and Uzari, the entire squad was hopelessly struggling to even unroll their canvas. Several stared at the tent stakes as if they were alien devices. Giddeon chuckled at their complete lack of basic survival skills.

“Now’s the time to score points,” Johnny suggested. “Use that natural-born charisma of yours and help out.”

My AI is telling me how to socialize? The irony.

“It’s good advice. Take it or leave it.”

Giddeon sighed. If he didn’t pitch in, half the squad would be sleeping under the stars by nightfall. Since Uzari was the closest to being finished, he stepped over to assist her first, silently grabbing some canvas she was working around the frame to help her roll it out. Working together, they completed the shelter in short order.

“Thank you,” she said, lowering the entrance flap to completely conceal her quarters. With hands on her hips, she gave the tent a quick nod of approval before swiveling to stare at him. “But this doesn’t make up for what you did.”

He nodded quietly, deciding now was definitely not the time to unpack their overly complicated relationship. “Let’s help the others,” he suggested.

Her eyes lit up. “Just like in Asteria?”

Giddeon glanced across the unfamiliar shores—at the burgeoning cluster of tents, his team, and the alien sky. “In a way, it feels similar, just…elsewhere.”

“I meant helping the party,” she clarified. “Like we did with our guildmates.”

“Yes, that too.” A fleeting memory darkened his expression. “Although not all of them were worth the effort.”

Uzari frowned as she watched him study the others but said nothing more.

“Redler’s almost done,” he observed. “The brother-sister combo look like they’re struggling the most. Let’s start with them.”

They went from person to person, helping them finish their tents. Most gave a curt thank you as acknowledgment, except Kilner. He merely grunted when the assembly was complete, grabbing a large crate of rations before hauling it toward a tent in the distance.

“Sociable fellow,” Giddeon remarked as they watched him trudge off.

“I think he’s like that with everyone,” Uzari replied softly.

“This all seems very militaristic,” Giddeon murmured, looking around at the rapidly expanding Base Camp Six. As more groups stumbled in, large swaths of canvas soon blocked the view of their surroundings. “I don’t like it.”

Uzari gave him a curious look. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s all too organized.” His voice dropped into a hushed murmur. “Like a military operation. Vibane arranged our squads into small platoons: a leader, a technician, a medic, a botanist, a biologist, a soldier or two, and grunts, like me.”

“So, what’s the issue?”

Giddeon frowned, shaking his head. “There’s no captain. No officer in charge. Just individual teams.”

“You seem to know a lot about the military,” Uzari commented.

He stared at the next team over, watching them struggle to raise a tent. “My father, remember?”

Vessa’s voice cut through the camp. “Everyone, gather around!”

Uzari followed Giddeon to join the others, murmuring quietly, “I’d forgotten about that.”

Clambering onto a large crate, Vessa looked at each of them in turn before speaking. “We need a fire, which means we need some of you to gather wood from the forest. Oomah, will you please hand out the axes?”

Oomah brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes. “I’m the medic,” she said, her voice dripping with self-importance. “You should have someone else do that.”

“Everyone pulls their fair share,” Vessa replied calmly, leaping down from her perch. She patted the lid of the container. “I know your position, which is why you’ll handle distribution while the others collect the firewood. Understand?”

Oomah arched one eyebrow but stepped forward anyway. “Fine.”

Vessa handed her a crowbar.

“Thanks,” Oomah muttered, presenting a closed-mouth smile. Shoving the bar beneath the wood, she struggled to pry the lid open.

Hinelin came striding back into camp, pausing to survey the layout. “Good, very good,” he said with a satisfied nod. “I see everything’s set up. You’re preparing to get wood, I take it?”

Vessa nodded. “Just about to.”

The team leader turned to Orion. “I want you going with them. While our AIGES indicates there’s nothing dangerous, we’ve already seen how reliable that is. Consider everything a threat.”

“Any news from the meeting that we should know about?” Eddington asked quietly.

Hinelin cleared his throat. “One of the other teams encountered one of those…naga things, was it called? Except they weren’t as lucky as us. A member was pulled into the lake.” He shook his head grimly. “They never resurfaced.”

A pall fell over the group. The siblings began whispering frantically, while Eddington paced in tight circles, muttering to himself. Redler sat heavily on a crate, her face ashen, looking as though she were ready to pass out.

“Sounds like Vibane didn’t prepare us all that well,” Kilner snorted. “That bonus money should have been triple.”

“Someone’s already gone,” Redler moaned, holding her head. “I knew this was a bad idea. My husband told me not to come…”

“Now, people, that was an unforeseen accident and—” Hinelin began.

“How do we know the woods are safe?” Oomah blurted, cutting him off.

“That’s why I’m sending Orion along,” Hinelin replied bluntly. “I can guard camp or go in place of him; it makes no difference to me. They assigned me a gun at the meeting.”

Oomah eyed the bolt-action rifle on his back. “You mean that ancient-looking thing?”

Hinelin nodded. “Ancient, but reliable nonetheless.”

“I’m not going in there!” Eddington said resolutely, pointing toward the trees in the distance.

“That’s fine,” Hinelin replied, striding up to a supply crate. Pulling out a foldable shovel he tossed it at Eddington’s feet, pointing toward an empty plot of land. “Start digging a latrine a hundred feet that way.”

He scanned the rest of the crew. “Who else doesn’t want to gather wood?”

“Give me a shovel,” Redler said, stepping forward.

Hinelin handed her a tool, then turned back to Vessa. “Pick three to gather wood. The rest of us will take turns digging.”

“But, why do I have to dig a latrine with…” Oomah began.

Hinelin locked eyes with her. His glare was heavy and cold, causing the nurse’s words to trail off. Oomah’s mouth shut, eyes glued to the ground.

The team leader grunted. “Good to hear everyone’s on board. Vessa?”

“Kilner, Uzari, and…Graks,” Vessa decided, then frowned up at Hinelin. “Where is Graks, by the way?”

“He ate something from the forest yesterday and fell sick,” Hinelin replied. “Medics say he’ll be fine, but they’ve confined him to a medical pavilion for now. They’re being cautious about possible communicable diseases.”

“Graks is a carrier?” Eddington gasped, stepping back. “For what? W-what are his symptoms?”

Hinelin shook his head. “He ate something bad—that’s all they know for now. Since he won’t be joining us for a while, we’ll need someone else to—”

“I’ll go,” Giddeon said, stepping up to Oomah. Taking the crowbar from her hand, he popped open the crate’s lid with a sharp crack, then handed the bar back. “Your job’s done,” he said offhandedly, pulling out three Veridian axes.

Moving over to Kilner and Uzari, he passed each an axe before turning to Hinelin. “Is there a specific place to gather?”

“Yes, actually. They’ve already sent in some hunters to ensure it’s safe.” Hinelin pointed southeast, his eyes sweeping the darkening sky. “Best get a move on. Sun’s dropping, and we need fires before we’re blind.”

“That way it is,” Giddeon said, turning without another word and heading out of camp. As he walked, he projected his thoughts internally.

You’ve been quiet for a while.

“I’m trying to recall this area, but nothing stands out,” Johnny replied. “I’m certain I’ve seen this loch before, though.”

Sounds like your programmer forgot to add the layout to your database.

“Haha, funny,” Johnny muttered.

“Are you any good in a fight?” Kilner asked as he and Uzari caught up to him. Orion trailed behind them with a bored expression.

Giddeon nodded toward Uzari. “Me, or her?”

“Either of you.”

Giddeon gave him a faint smile. “Have you seen my stats? Perfect tens.”

“Yeah,” Kilner grumbled, shaking his head. “Perfect tens…great.” The man looked at Uzari. “And you?”

“I’m trained in several styles of martial arts: jujitsu, kendo, and kenjutsu,” Uzari replied. “Also fencing and archery—though I only did archery for sport. The others were professional.”

Kilner opened his mouth, then closed it, simply nodding.

“What about you, my friend?” Giddeon asked.

Kilner gripped his axe tightly. “I have a penchant for killing things,” he replied cryptically.

Giddeon subtly drifted a few feet away as they walked, guiding Uzari with him. He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. She returned the look.

“It appears we’ve finally met someone more unhinged than you,” Johnny chimed in. “You two should make wonderful friends.”

Like us?

“No, we’re super friends!” Johnny exclaimed.

Giddeon chuckled silently to himself. I still can’t figure you out.

“What’s there to figure out?”

Whether you’re one of Vibane’s experiments, an AIGES chip with a massive database, or just some unforeseen glitch in the system?

“You’d better hope I’m not an experiment,” Johnny replied somberly. “That would mean everything we’ve discussed has been recorded and sent to Vibane.”

Everything prior. The planet blocks transmissions.

“Are you certain of that?”

We have zero communication with the Mother Ship. Hinelin is using a map to get our coordinates. I’ve already tested my holo and it died in seconds. If there were a way to send signals, Ereos would be directing his people down here personally.

“His people?”

Several of the crew are directly employed by him, and I don’t mean as standard Aiges contractors.

“How do you figure?”

I’ll explain later. I’m still trying to come to grips with the fact I’m talking to a glitched-out AI.

“Aww, and I thought we were bonding here,” Johnny said sadly. “What say I—”

A blood-curdling scream erupted from the forest, followed by a long, echoing howl. Everyone froze.

“What was that?” Kilner whispered, his voice strained.

“Some kind of animal,” Uzari whispered back, though she sounded uncertain. “I can’t recall which one, but I’ve heard it before, from Asteria.”

“Wolf,” Giddeon said, his voice low and steady. “A big one.”

Uzari snapped her fingers. “Right. They were all over the starting zones. Just low-level mobs.”

Kilner stared at Giddeon, frowning. “How do you know it’s big?”

Giddeon’s eyes remained rooted on the treeline. “They run in packs on Earth One. The mutated ones are the worst.”

Kilner’s brow furrowed. “Mutated?”

Twigs snapped, and something dashed out of the forest. A man broke from the treeline a hundred feet away, sprinting for his life. Giddeon recognized him as a hunter from another team. As the runner sped across the deep sand, he tripped, rolling violently onto the beach before scrambling back to his feet. Terror was painted across his face as he charged their position.

A beast as large as a bull came crashing out of the undergrowth, sending branches and shattered saplings flying. Feline in shape, it was covered in crimson fur, boasting razor-sharp claws and an elongated maw packed with dagger-like teeth. Instead of two eyes, it bore three—the third perfectly centered on its forehead. Its sharply curved eyes and sleek body pulsed with a sinister, reddish-orange glow, as if a wildfire blazed inside its chest.

“Wh—what the hell is that!” Orion stammered from behind them.

The predator hit the ground with the speed of an avalanche, leaving tracks of scorched, blackened sand in its wake. Before the runner could even scream, it snatched him mid-stride in its massive jaws. Slamming him down, its razor claws ripped through clothes and skin as its maw tore into his torso. The sickening crunch of bones cracking rent the air. The screams stopped instantly. It was over before the air even settled.

“Back up, everyone, back up,” Giddeon hissed. Holding his arms out, he slowly stepped back, pushing Uzari and Kilner with him.

Suddenly, a dark-skinned hunter rushed from the forest and raised his long-barreled rifle, taking aim.

The creature’s ears perked up. Instantly, it dropped the body and rushed toward the new danger. As it closed the distance, it bounded from side to side sporadically, as if it instinctively knew the gun was dangerous.

Crack!

The rifle echoed across the shore. A violent spray of sand shot up next to the beast’s foot as it dodged, the bullet missing by a mere inch. Cursing loudly, the hunter ejected the casing and loaded another round. Before he could lift his rifle back up, the creature was on him. With a powerful swipe, it sent the weapon flying from his hands. The hunter stumbled back, tripping and falling onto the deep sand.

Giddeon’s UI instantly flickered, flashing open the DENIZENARY.

What is all this?

“I filled in the gaps for your AIGES,” Johnny quickly explained. “It’s never recorded a hell beast. None of you have access to cold or holy magic by chance?”

Magic! I don’t have time for this nonsense!

The beast loomed over the fallen hunter, its maw curling upward in imitation of a human smile, watching the sheer fear on his face with morbid pleasure. As the man scrambled back, the creature remained motionless, its three-eyed gaze locked tight on him as its maw opened wide. A bad feeling jabbed Giddeon like a knife in the pit of his stomach.

Giddeon’s eyes darted across the text bleeding into his vision. “Roll!” he screamed, spotting the warning under its Special Abilities.

The hunter immediately threw himself sideways as a cone of searing-hot flames erupted from the beast’s mouth, turning the sand beneath him to molten glass.

Uzari’s fingers bit into his arm. “We have to help him!”

Giddeon glanced at the woman he had spent five long years in Asteria with. Her face was pale with terror. In the same instant, his mind flashed back to Irazu—the brave Lunar Elf who never hesitated to throw herself into danger to rescue others.

But this was not a game. It was real life.

What should we do!

Johnny never hesitated. “Run! Gid, run for your life!”

First | Previous | Read on Royal Road

……145:24Hrs Remaining……

“Whiskey, 4, Victor, 3, Romeo, November,” Sandra said as the call connected. Monica looked around, keeping careful watch outside the cockpit while replacing some damaged panels in the wall. The call connected almost immediately, and Jeremiah’s worried face filled the viewscreen. Sandra immediately raised a finger up, talking quickly. “I probably don’t have too long, so I need to make this quick,” Sandra said. “There’s a group of civilians that are attempting to flee the front lines of the war. They have had to dodge patrols from the Teratakit Empire, the Sons of Blood pirates, and the Terran Federation. Their ship is badly damaged, but we have been able to repair it enough to be space worthy, if only just. We are currently on Walkar III, I do not know where they are headed to, and I will not be able to place a tracker on their ship. However, I am asking for any Ferry personnel in the area to help provide them with safe passage, if not outright offer sanctuary. The ship is a modified Grade 2 Matchgar Hauler, customized for passenger transport rather than cargo hauling and with extra illicit arms and armament for added protection.”

“Are they aware you are asking for protection for them?” Jeremiah asked. He wanted to ask more, a lot more, questions. Sandra could see it in his eyes.

“No,” Sandra said with a small half-smile. “Unfortunately, despite spending the last several days helping them repair their ship, they do not particularly trust me, nor do I hold it against them. This call is most likely being recorded, but nonetheless, these are good people and innocent civilians, and I would hate for all of my hard work to go to waste.”

“We do have several stealth craft nearby,” Jeremiah said, looking over his datapad. “How soon are they planning on leaving?”

“Final repairs will be finished within four hours, and then they plan to take some time to rest. So, I would say no more than 10 hours or less,” Sandra said. “That being said, they are currently wary of Humans as a whole due to the actions of the Terran Federation, so if their point of contact could be a non-Human, that would go a long way towards them accepting some extra security.”

“We can make that timeframe,” Jeremiah nodded. He then hesitated for a moment.

“I’m doing fine, Uncle Jeremiah,” Sandra said, a soft smile on her face. “Better than fine, actually. I’ll have some interesting stories to tell when I get back home.”

“Alright,” Jeremiah said, smiling as well, before raising an eyebrow and looking at Monica working in the doorway.

“Yes, she’s part of the story,” Sandra chuckled. “But later, when I’m home and have the time to tell you.”

“As long as you’re safe,” Jeremiah said. “I know it goes without saying, but be careful out there. Reapers are strong, but we’re not invincible.”

“Yes, sir,” Sandra nodded, giving a salute.

“Alright then, I’ll tell our stealth craft in the area to delay their departure to provide the ship with escorts,” Jeremiah said, going back to business. “And any others that are in the area as well.”

“Thank you,” Sandra said, and the video call cut out, just as Monica dropped a pair of pliers, signaling that someone was coming up the hall.

……141:54Hrs Remaining……

“And she lives,” Marloc crowed as the engines of the ship started rumbling, much to the collective sigh of relief among the crew. “You did good work, little lady.”

“Only because I had help,” Sandra said, shaking her head. “Alone, it would have taken me several weeks to get the ship to this point.”

“Well, without you, we wouldn’t have gotten her to this point at all,” Marloc chuckled. “Mersk is a good mechanic, but he just doesn’t have the training to do big repairs like you did here.”

“I had a good teacher,” Sandra said with a self-depreciating shrug. “I’m still trying to catch up to him.”

“I see,” Marloc said. he then stood up from the pilots seat, opening his arms out wide. “Well, we leave soon, people. So, get some rest, get something to eat, and relax for a bit.” The crew cheered, and Marloc motioned for Sandra to follow him as they began to filter out of the ship. Sandra just shook her head at Monica, who had looked at Sandra curiously.

“So, this teacher of yours,” Marloc said slowly after they were a short distance away from the ship. “Is he part of the fleet you’re part of? Or did you learn elsewhere?”

“He’s part of the fleet,” Sandra said with a nod.

“I see,” Marloc said, obviously thinking as he watches his crew and passengers start bedding down in temporary shelters and beds outside of the ship. “And… your fleet. Are they trustworthy?”

“The best,” Sandra said, a fond smile on her face. “But I may be biased. Without them, I wouldn’t be alive today. Without them, I wouldn’t be who I am today.” Sandra looked up at the stars, as though searching for her home. “But, biased or not, they are who I believe in, more than anyone else, no matter what anyone may say about them.”

Marloc observed Sandra very closely as she spoke. This was no fanatical viewpoint, and it wasn’t just loyalty to her fleet. This was pure trust and love. “I see,” Marloc said with a nod, rubbing his horn as he looked back over his crew. “They sound like good people.”

“They are,” Sandra agreed. She then smirked slightly. “If they ask, just say that Wyvern sent you. They won’t ignore that.” She then laughed as Marloc spluttered slightly before the Mlamcar Captain sighed in defeat, giving Sandra a chagrined smile.

……135:38Hrs Remaining……

“Alright everyone, get loaded up,” Marloc yelled as the crew and passengers began quickly gathering their things and racing into the ship. “You sure you don’t want to come, ladies?” Marloc asked, looking at Sandra and Monica. “It’ll be a little cramped, but we can at least give you a ride.”

“Maybe next time,” Sandra said, shaking her head with a smile. “I still have a Test to finish before going home.”

“And Sandra has promised to show me a lot of interesting things, so I go where she goes,” Monica said cheerfully.

“Too bad,” Marloc said, shaking his head as well before sticking a hand out. “May the Voidmother and Starfather bless your travels.”

“And may the Observer watch over yours, Captain,” Sandra said, grasping Marloc’s hand, giving a firm squeeze. “Also, when you arrive, ask for Moore. It should help smooth things over.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Marloc nodded before releasing Sandra’s hand and holding it out to Monica, who decided to ignore it and instead gave the Mlamcar a hug instead, much to the bemusement to both Sandra and Marloc.

“Hugs are much better, always,” Monica stated as she released Marloc.

“I can’t say I disagree,” Marloc gave a short laugh before walking towards the ship, waving at the two women as he stepped aboard. A moment later, the ship started rising, and in short order had taken off into the sky.

“Come on,” Sandra said, picking her pack up with a sigh. “Let’s see if we can go find a certain annoying lizard.”

“Yay, adventure!” Monica said skipping beside Sandra as they began walking into the desert.

…………………

“Are you sure about this, Captain?” Rok’Tar asked as everyone gave a sigh of relief upon reaching space.

“You saw the video, same as me,” Marloc said, shaking his head. “Did that look like an act to create a trap?”

“Well, no, but you can never be sure with Humans,” Rok’Tar said, his face worried as he looked back towards the cargo hold. “Especially these days.”

“Maybe,” Marloc agreed. “But even among Humans, the Reapers have a reputation. And if we can keep our friends and family safe, I’m willing to bank on that reputation.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Rok’Tar said with a sigh, tapping on the datapad attached to his co-pilot seat. “Want me to hail the fleet? See who escaped and where they are?”

“Please,” Marloc nodded, tapping his own pad. “And I’ll take a leap of faith. Let us see if this frequency she gave us will save us, or damn us.”

……130:21Hrs Remaining……

“There he is,” Sandra said, glaring at So’Ngo as he sat on top of his staff, grinning like a maniac. “I was wondering when you would show up again.”

“What, and influence your decisions on your Test?” So’Ngo said, placing a hand to his chest and feigning injury. “Oh, the humanity, the lack of faith.”

“You’re not even Human, and you’re the closest thing that I know of to a God, so that doesn’t even work for you,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, I know what this is,” Monica said, watching the exchange. “This is dramatizing, yes? Overexaggerating something for the sake of comedy.”

“Absolutely,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes again as So’Ngo dramatically fell off his staff in feigned shock. “Did you know that they were there?”

“I didn’t cause their misfortune, if that’s what you’re implying,” So’Ngo said from where he was still laying in the desert sand, raising up a finger and moving it back and forth.

“Please, the only misfortune you like to inflict is on me with your over-the-top reactions,” Sandra huffed. “I don’t think that little of you. I’m just wondering if you put us here to provide them some help, and let me have a chance to call home for a moment, or if that was just a coincidence.”

“I suppose you’ll have to continue wondering,” So’Ngo said, finally sitting up so that he could give Sandra a mischievous grin.

“Lovely,” Sandra said sardonically. “So, what’s next then? Another death-defying drop onto another weird planet? Discovering another new Race to try and introduce into the galaxy? More people that need help? Or maybe you want me to cull a vicious parasite that’s ravaging an entire planet?”

“Oh, that last one does sound fun, wish I had thought of that,” So’Ngo said, tapping his chin thoughtfully before giving another big grin to Sandra. “But nah, it’s going to be much simpler than that this time.”

“Oh really?” Sandra asked, tilting her head.

“You do remember my original rules of this Test, right?” So’Ngo tsked. “It’s a game of Tag. And you have a bit over five days left to Tag me again.”

“Are you actually going to stay close enough for me to chase you now instead of just popping up for a few seconds before disappearing again?” Sandra asked, rolling her eyes.

“Yup,” So’Ngo said, popping the P. Sandra blinked in surprise before looking at So’Ngo suspiciously. “Is that really so hard to believe?”

“Considering your personality, a bit, yes,” Sandra said.

“You know what, that’s fair,” So’Ngo laughed. “But this time, it’s going to be a sprint for the last stretch of your Test. So, I expect you to keep up with me.”

“I’m not leaving Monica behind,” Sandra said with a frown.

“Nor do I expect you to,” So’Ngo agreed with a nod. “I shall leave Gates open for her to follow that will allow her to keep up, and I will allow you time to rest and ensure that she is safe, though she will probably be safer than you will be. But unless you’re sleeping, I do expect you to be hot on my tail, examining my glorious backside.”

“Ew,” Sandra said, wrinkling her nose.

“Now is the time to truly soar, little Wyvern,” So’Ngo said, that irritating grin getting wider. “Let us see if you’ve become a Dragon.” Sandra stared at So’Ngo for another moment before taking her pack off and handing it to Monica.

“Can you bring this along with you?” Sandra asked, not taking her eyes off of So’Ngo as she twirled her staff. “I don’t think I’ll have enough time to hunt for us while chasing him, so we’re gonna need everything in that pack.”

“Got it,” Monica said seriously, sensing Sandra’s shift.

Sandra nodded as she prepared to move. “Let’s do this, lizard boy,” Sandra said, pulling a bead of iron from her pouch and popping it into her mouth.

“Going all out from the start, audacious and smart,” So’Ngo said, his grin getting almost cartoonishly large. “Then, let the final stretch begin.” He immediately dodged to the side, slipping into a Gate as lightning shot from Sandra’s fingertips, barely missing the not-Dra’Cari before Sandra vanished in a flash of light, chasing after So’Ngo with a teleport.

……125:13Hrs Remaining……

“Jerky,” Sandra said, stopping by Monica just long enough to get a few strips of smoked jerky from her before taking off again, Sandra’s eyes staying forward to keep the red-and-black scales of So’Ngo in her sights, quickly scarfing the meat down as her revolver roared, trying to throw the not-Dra’Cari off long enough for her to catch up.

“Come, now, little Wyvern, that’s just getting boring,” So’Ngo tsked, easily dodging the bullets as they flew by. Sandra just grunted as the revolver began to hum in her hands, and the next shot was just a laser that had So’Ngo laughing as Sandra continued the chase. “Surely you have something more to show me?” So’Ngo teased as he disappeared behind a pile of rocks. Sandra just growled, slipping around the opposite direction and suddenly finding herself in a deep stone craig, sheer cliffs on either side.

“Okay, now we can really move,” Sandra said, and the remaining wire from her bracer launched out, catching onto the side of the cliff and launching her into the air. Sandra quickly flared out her cape, allowing her to glide along the craig as she chased So’Ngo, who was still dodging her bullets and lasers as they moved. Any time Sandra felt she was getting too close to the ground, or felt she was losing speed, she would use her bracer wire to pull herself along, gaining more speed and maintaining her height. “Now, how am I going to get ahead of him?” Sandra muttered to herself, looking around as they left the stone craig.

……113:42Hrs Remaining……

Sandra botched the landing, tumbling for a bit as she tried to come to a stop next to Monica. “Ow,” Sandra said, panting heavily as she lay on the ground for a moment, trying to catch her breath while Monica looked at Sandra in worry.

“Good effort, good effort,” So’Ngo laughed, sitting on a branch nearby. “But now is time to rest, and so rest we shall. Tomorrow is a new day, and a new attempt, so good luck!” So’Ngo fell through a Gate, laughing as he did.

“I am going to fucking kill him,” Sandra muttered as she slowly got back to her feet, wincing a bit at her sore muscles. “Ow.”

“Are you alright?” Monica asked.

“I’m not injured,” Sandra said, giving Monica a weak grin. “Just sore. I haven’t pushed that hard in…well, in longer than I like to admit, so my muscles ache a bit is all. Nothing too be worried over.”

“Okay,” Monica said hesitantly. “Are we resting then?”

“Seems like it,” Sandra sighed. “Let’s set up camp.” Monica nodded, setting down Sandra’s pack and beginning to pull out supplies. Monica insisted on setting up the tent while Sandra got a fire going, saying that it’s better for Sandra to have the easier job so that she can rest, making Sandra sigh in appreciation and amusement at the sandy copy of herself.

“Oh, also, I may have gathered some supplies while you were off chasing So’Ngo,” Monica said, reaching into the pack and pulling out a leather bag with several plants bundled inside of it. “I was able to determine that these are all safe for consumption, even raw, but I don’t really trust myself to cook.” Monica looked at the fire hesitantly.

“Really?” Sandra looked at Monica.

“Well, more like, I’m still not comfortable being that close to the fire,” Monica admitted.

“Fair enough,” Sandra said. “In that case, let’s see about a trick that my Dad told me about. It’s actually been useful a few times during this Test, especially during the early times.”

“A trick?” Monica asked, curious as Sandra dug out a folded piece of leather from the pack.

“He called it rock cooking,” Sandra said, a soft smile on her face as she looked at the folded leather. Sandra shook herself a bit before taking several sticks to hold the leather open into a small pouch. “Handy for when you don’t have any metal utensils, but you have the stomach of a bigger creature.” Sandra then used a pair of sticks to place several larger rock into the fire, letting them heat up as she looked over the plants that Monica had gathered, tasting a few of them to see how they tasted (one caused her tongue to tingle so much that she actually sneezed, causing Monica to laugh in delight), and soon, Sandra was dropping a hot rock into the leather pouch that was filled with strips of jerky and vegetables, causing the soup to hiss and bubble, a fragrant smell wafting across the small camp they had made.

“Oh, that does smell delightful,” Monica said, her tongue flickering in and out a few times in appreciation.

“You found some good stuff to go with our meat,” Sandra agreed, her stomach grumbling at the scent. “Are you holding up alright?”

“What do you mean?” Monica asked, tilting her head at Sandra.

“I mean, keeping up with So’Ngo and I,” Sandra said.

“Oh, that is no trouble at all,” Monica said, shaking her head. “So’Ngo opens a Gate for me if I begin to fall too far behind, and even lets me take the time to examine any oddities I come across. And I do believe that he is ensuring that when I pass through a Gate, I do so away from anything dangerous, so I have had no troubles. More like a leisurely stroll. Food, water, interesting stuff, he makes sure I’m never too far away from anything that can help, and never too close to anything dangerous.”

“Really?” Sandra asked. “So, you didn’t go through the volcano with us then?”

“I believe I saw it from a distance,” Monica said, tapping her chin. “But no, I wasn’t close to it.”

“Huh,” Sandra said as she got a pair of wooden bowls from the pack. “Well, that’s something, I guess. Guess I didn’t expect it from him.”

“He does come across as rather scatterbrained,” Monica said as Sandra began to fill the bowls with soup. “However, I believe that he pays attention to more than he says. And he is very kind.”

“Sure, kind,” Sandra snorted. She looked at her bowl of soup for a minute before sighing and setting it to the side, reaching into her pack for a third bowl. “Only because you’re protecting Monica,” Sandra said into the darkness, glaring at the slight echo of laughter drifting their way.

……105:50Hrs Remaining……

“Here,” Sandra said, using a strip of leather to fashion a belt for Monica, her smaller revolver and its holster on the belt.

“Are you sure?” Monica said, eyeing the revolver as Sandra stood back, nodding in satisfaction.

“As safe as he’s keeping you, it’s never a bad idea to have some backup, just in case,” Sandra said, adjusting the belt slightly. “You said you can’t kill with your sand anymore, so having a lethal option if needed will help make you a bit safer. You know how to use it, right? From my information?”

“Yes, but I haven’t had the training you have had,” Monica said, fingering the revolver slightly.

“Trust your instincts,” Sandra said, setting a hand on Monica’s shoulder. “I wish I had thought of this yesterday. But the training is in the information you got from me. If your body is a perfect copy of mine, then the reflexes are there, and if needed , they’ll come back to protect you. There’s still about 200 rounds in there, which should be more than enough to keep you safe if anything tries to eat you.”

“Okay,” Monica said, though she looked dubious.

“Later, we’ll have a bit more of a talk to see how much you actually know from me,” Sandra chuckled. “But, if only for my own peace of mind, please keep this on you for now.”

“Alright, if it makes you feel better,” Monica nodded.

“Thanks, Monica,” Sandra said. she then turned around to look into the forest, closing her eyes and focusing as Monica picked their pack up. “Now then, let’s see if I can at least knock him off balance today,” Sandra said, her eyes opening again, staring off into the distance with intense focus, her khopesh-staff already humming with it’s blue blade as she vanished in a flash of light.

……98:43Hrs Remaining……

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Sandra growled as she slid into an ice cave after following So’Ngo through a Gate, just missing his tail.

“Tick tock, tick tock, little Wyvern,” So’Ngo laugh as he raced around the corner. “Will you follow the rabbit down the rabbit hole?”

“Okay, now I know you’re pulling from Human media intentionally,” Sandra growled, electricity beginning to spark along her scales as she used it to keep her body warm and moving, despite the cold. So’Ngo just laughed, twirling to the side like a dancer as the wall beside him exploded in ice and rock from Sandra’s shot. He continued to dance as he dodged Sandra’s strikes, her four blades each humming in their deadly arcs to attack So’Ngo as he lead Sandra deeper and deeper into the ice cave, the cold steadily dropping as they moved, causing Sandra to expend more and more effort in order to ensure she didn’t start falling asleep.

……72:51Hrs Remaining……

“Oh, now we are getting somewhere,” So’Ngo praised as a bolt of electricity shot at him from where Sandra’s bullet had hit the sand near So’Ngo. “Imbuing your bullets with lightning? Clever, clever little Wyvern.”

“Well then, let’s see you handle this,” Sandra snarled, firing a circle of electrified bullets in a circle around So’Ngo.

“Clever, clever,” So’Ngo said, nodding in appreciation. He then looked at Sandra, a wide grin on his face that made Sandra groan. “Not quite clever enough, however. You do remember what I said I would use as my third ability, right?” In so saying, So’Ngo raised his hand, and the electricity from all of the bullets shot up before condensing into his hand, a small ball of lightning and plasma shaking to be free.

“At least I finally got you to use it,” Sandra snarled as she left to the side, barely dodging the ball of lightning as So’Ngo threw it at her, a glowing melted hole where she had been sitting.

“Such little imagination,” So’Ngo sighed. “I have told you other ways to utilize your electricity, have I not? I’ve been using it this entire time, this is only the first time I’ve been flashy about it.”

“You absolute ass,” Sandra said, rushing at the black-and-red not-Dra’Cari, her blades humming their deadly song once more as So’Ngo laughed, taking off and making the chase begin again.

……58:43Hrs Remaining……

“Your nerves,” Monica said as she handed Sandra a bowl of soup.

“Come again?” Sandra asked, her eyes blearily looking at Monica as she picked up her spoon.

“You said he was talking about a different way to use your electricity, right?” Monica said, frowning in concentration as she thought, picking up her own bowl of soup.

“Well, yes,” Sandra nodded, moaning in pleasure as she took a sip of the soup.

“Well, you Ones use electricity in your nerves and such in order to think, send signals to move, stuff like that, right?” Monica said, smiling at Sandra’s reaction. “So, what if you used your electricity to increase the speed of those signals, allowing them to move faster?”

Sandra stared at Monica for a moment, a vague memory whispering to her, before Sandra’s eyes widened, her tiredness forgotten. “Fucking hell, I forgot about that,” Sandra said, smacking her head and groaning. “Monica, you’re a genius!”

“Oh, ummm, thank you?” Monica said, watching Sandra with amusement as she quickly scarfed down her soup. “But, this lesson is already in your information, so why did you forget?”

“Because at the time, it simply hurt too much to maintain for longer than a few seconds,” Sandra said, setting her now empty bowl down. “But now? With what Mona did? I can probably do it for longer. And if I can enhance my own nerves with Electric and Metallic Scales, then I can interrupt his nerves with the same electricity and metal.” Sandra crossed her legs and closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she searched for her Reservoir. “Time for some practice. I will get that smug, egotistical, smarmy bastard.”

……48:10Hrs Remaining……

“You good?” Sandra asked as she helped Monica finish packing up camp.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Monica said, though she wobbled on her feet a bit, tired. “I did not realize that not getting sleep would be so…tiring.”

“I tried to warn you,” Sandra said, shaking her head. “You know, I don’t think So’Ngo would mind if you stayed a bit longer and took a nap.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Monica said, shaking her head as she finished packing up the camp. “I want to experience this tiredness in full. It is a new experience, after all, and that means new information.”

“If you say so,” Sandra sighed as she helped Monica put the pack on. “You better keep an extra careful eye on her while we go,” Sandra added, glaring at So’Ngo.

“She will be in no danger at any point,” So’Ngo promised, leaning on his staff.

“Good,” Sandra said, though she still looked at Monica with a worried expression.

“Go, I’ll be fine,” Monica said, her face tired but cheerful. “He promised. And you keep saying he doesn’t lie.”

“Fine,” Sandra said, letting out a deep breath of air. “But if you need a break or anything, you take a break. And let me know if anything feels off at all.”

“Okay,” Monica said. she then thought for a minute before holding out her hand. Sandra raised her hand and put it in Monica’s, confused as a small trickle of sand circled her wrist. “There,” Monica said. “Now I can contact you from wherever you are. The psionic connection between me and the Monica on your wrist will provide communication between us.”

“Alright,” Sandra said with a nod, looking at the sparkling sand on her wrist. “Still, be careful.”

“I will,” Monica said with a nod.

“Okay,” Sandra said, nodding before facing So’Ngo. “Okay. Last stretch.”

“You still have two days left,” So’Ngo said in amusement.

“No, I only have two days left,” Sandra said, drawing her large Reaper Revolver and spinning the cylinder. “So get ready, lizard boy, we are going all day and all night.” She then blinked as So’Ngo started laughing before bumping her head against her staff. “Yes, I heard it as soon as I said it, don’t say a fucking word.”

……43:00Hrs Remaining……

“Die die die diediediedie,” Sandra growled, explosions filling the sandy beach as Sandra continued to fire at So’Ngo with explosive rounds.

“Oh, come on, it’s not every day you propose to me like that,” So’Ngo said, laughing as he kicked a round in the air, causing it to explode in midair. “Look, you’ve even brought fireworks to commemorate the event. A celebration indeed!”

“I am going to kill you,” Sandra promised as the explosive rounds ran out, and Sandra spun the cylinder again. “Forget the Test, I am going to kill you, you smarmy,” smoke exploded near So’Ngo as Sandra fired, “arrogant,” another plume of smoke, “egotistical,” another shot, “ASSHOLE!” a fourth plume of smoke appeared, coating the entire area as electricity crackled in the smoke.

“This again?” So’Ngo sighed, holding his hand out and beginning to collect the electricity that Sandra had infused into the smoke rounds.

“All I needed was a beacon,” Sandra crowed as she fired again, the WP round striking the ball of collected plasma and electricity and exploding in a localized storm of smoke and lightning.

“Oh, now that was indeed clever,” So’Ngo said, fire and smoke licking at his scales as he looked proud. “I dare say you would have even made the Drifters nervous with an attack like that.”

“It’s not over yet,” Sandra said, her khopesh-staff humming its deadly arc towards So’Ngo’s neck, only to be stopped by his staff appearing in front of it, falling out of a Gate with a resounding THUD. “Oh, come on!”

“It appears that I may need to reassess your growth thanks to Mona,” So’ngo mused, tapping his chin as the fires along his scales slowly petered out, leaving charred holes. “Alright then.” So’Ngo suddenly grinned, and Sandra leaped away as DANGERDANGERDANGER began screaming at her. “Let us see your Wings, Daughter of the Dragon, She Who Aims for Dragonhood Herself. How far can your Wings stretch?”

Sandra’s eyes suddenly widened, and her staff barely came up in time to deflect a strike from So’Ngo’s staff, sending her flying across the water, only to disappear in a flash of light.

……35:21Hrs Remaining……

Sandra crouched inside of a rocky crevice, her heart pounding in sheer terror at the ferocity of So’Ngo’s attacks. A rock cracked, and Sandra MOVED, her scales glowing a blue-white light as she pushed her senses and muscles to their absolute limit with electricity, barely avoiding the tip of So’Ngo’s staff as it pierced the stone where she was a fraction of a second ago. “Fucking hell, are you actively trying to kill me now?” Sandra demanded, using the hook on her khopesh-staff to grab a protruding tree to change directions as So’Ngo’s staff pierced the cliffside. So’Ngo didn’t say anything, which made the situation all the more terrifying as Sandra’s Revolver cleared it’s holster, depleted uranium rounds fired to force So’Ngo to move and stop attacking her.

It only partially worked, and So’Ngo swung his staff as he dodged, forcing Sandra to raise her own staff again to deflect the attack and being sent flying in an uncontrolled tumble. “Okay, so how does one kill a literal God?” Sandra muttered to herself as she quickly got to her feet. She didn’t have a chance to think as So’Ngo suddenly fell from the sky, cratering the ground where he landed as Sandra’ used her bracer wire to pull herself out of the way of the strike.

……24:52Hrs Remaining……

Monica threw a small handful of jerky in the air, the only thing she could do to help as Sandra raced by, quickly snatching the jerky as she ran, unable to even say ‘thank you’ as So’Ngo continued his relentless attacks on Sandra.

“There must be something I can do,” Monica said sadly, listening to and feeling the battle between So’Ngo and Sandra. Monica began fingering the revolver that Sandra had loaned her, a nervous habit she had picked up from Sandra’s Information, chewing on her lip as a tree fell in the distance, sending birds flying away in fear and shock, a stray lightning strike creating thunder that startled her for a moment.

“There must be something,” Monica said, still thinking desperately as she began pouring over all the Information she had. As she did, there was one incident that clicked in her head. It was reckless, stupid, and very much against Sandra’s plea for her to stay safe. Then again…

“So’Ngo doesn’t lie,” Monica said, hardening her resolve as she nodded, setting the pack down and drawing the revolver, taking a closer look at it. “Maybe this will work.” She quickly holstered the revolver and laid down, immediately falling asleep, going through all of the Information that she had, attempting to figure out how to use her copied body the most optimal way possible.

……12:33Hrs Remaining……

“Fucking Observers balls on a stick!” Sandra cursed as her glide cape tore, sending her tumbling towards the ground. “Fuck this thing!” Sandra quickly cut the straps holding it to her clothing, barely managing to spin out of the way of So’Ngo’s lightning as it struck the cape, immediately charring it to ash. “Okay, Sandra, you got this,” Sandra said, as she teleported to the ground and immediately began running, eating her last bead of iron just as lightning struck her again. Sandra screamed in pain, though thankfully she was able to reroute the coursing electricity into a nearby tree, causing it to explode, peppering both her and So’Ngo with shards of wood that knocked Sandra off balance and made her trip.

Sandra didn’t fight it as she fell, instead turning the trip into a roll and immediately getting back onto her feet, losing her staff in the process and leaving her with only her bracers and what few rounds she had left in her Reaper Revolver.

“Sandra, come to me,” Sandra suddenly heard in her head.

“A little busy here!” Sandra said, her tail whipping out as So’Ngo got close, and her three blades came out as they began exchanging blows again, mostly with Sandra deflecting or dodging strikes.

“I’m aware,” Monica said. “But I have a plan for you. I am not going to let you fail this Test.”

“Monica, this isn’t safe,” Sandra growled as she was sent flying again. “I think he’s really out for keeps this time!”

“So’Ngo doesn’t lie,” Monica said. “And we’re going to use that to our advantage. We’re going to cheat!”

……6:15Hrs Remaining……

“This is a terrible idea!” Sandra yelled as she struck at So’Ngo with her blades, slipping to the side as a gunshot rang out, knocking So’Ngo off balance as the not-Dra’Cari blocked the shot with his staff.

“No, this is a great idea,” Monica said, quickly skittering away, her scales shifting to match the surrounding trees before she took another shot, missing her shot as So’Ngo dodged the attack.

“This is so not in the spirit of the Test,” Sandra grumbled as she tried to take advantage of the opening, only to squeak in surprise as a bolt of lightning shot past her.

“It’s a fight, and if you’re not cheating, you’re not fighting properly,” Monica said, echoing words that Eric had said many times.

“Hey!” Sandra said, shooting Monica a glance before bringing her arms up to block So’Ngo’s next strike. “I know where you got that from!”

“And right now, it is the most accurate statement,” Monica said, firing quickly at So’Ngo’s side, forcing him to dodge away from Sandra.

“I hate the fact that you’re right,” Sandra muttered, going on the offensive again.

……3:12Hrs Remaining……

CLICK! The revolver in Monica’s hands didn’t fire, the weirdly loud click indicating that she was out of ammo.

“It’s okay, I got this,” Sandra said, her tail moving like a whip, lightning flashing between her and So’Ngo as they continued to fight. “Go get some rest and something to eat!”

“But, you still haven’t Tagged him yet,” Monica said desperately.

“And you’re tired,” Sandra yelled. “Go, I only have a little bit longer to go!” Monica nodded before scurrying away, her scales unconsciously changing colors to match her surroundings as she raced to the pack. “Alright, let’s finish this properly,” Sandra growled, even as her breath came out heavy and her arms had gone numb hours ago.

Sandra reached into her pouch, pulling out a rather dull bead of metal that, at first glance, seemed like it could be made out of iron, but was actually an amalgamation of metals. It had taken a lot of trial and error for Sandra to find this combination of metals, consisting of aluminum, copper, titanium, and cobalt. Nightclaw had produced a theory that, because Targondians have a cobalt based blood instead of the usual iron or copper-based blood among most other Races, it may have an energizing effect on Sandra when used in combination with her Metallic Scales, despite cobalt’s high toxicity. And there were certainly a few times that only the quick work of Nightclaw remoting the Flying Dutchman’s the medical bay had prevented any serious injury or side-effects to Sandra. But his theory had proven accurate, and when used in combination with other metals, it had an even greater effect, enhancing the properties of other metals. Sandra had asked for this specific bead from Mona before she had left, and Mona had been happy to provide the small bead, though at the same time understandably worried as well.

Sandra ate the bead, and immediately felt energy coursing through her, even as her scales became stronger, more flexible, and lighter, and her glowing scales seemed to get brighter as her electricity found easier pathway to follow to increase her strength and speed. So’Ngo didn’t say anything, but Sandra was certain that there was a small smile on his face when she ate that little bead.

……10min Remaining……

Monica stared in wonder and shock as the glowing form of Sandra was on the chase again, attacking So’Ngo from every direction that she could, electricity sparking from her randomly, starting small fires here and there that immediately went out as if something was pressing down on the fires. The part that truly had Monica surprised, however, was that So’Ngo seemed to be on the defensive rather than the attack, deflecting or blocking more and more of Sandra’s attacks. “Whoa,” Monica said, her eyes wide as she absorbed as much Information from the battle as she could.

……9 Minutes……

Sandra could already feel the bead of metal wearing off, but she refused to slow down, pushing harder and harder as the seconds ticked down. She was so close. She just needed to press more.

……8 Minutes……

Sandra’s left bracer shattered, dissolving into dust that was immediately blown away as Sandra continued to attack So’ngo, her flurry of strikes being stymied at every turn by that annoying staff of his.

……7 Minutes……

Sandra’s right bracer shattered next, the dust particles becoming charged with electricity and causing a massive lightning bolt to shoot from her arm, striking So’Ngo’s staff and forcing the not-Dra’Cari to drop it as his arm went numb.

……6 Minutes……

Her body was starting to flag and give out, she could feel it as her tail bracer exploded into dust, which she used to generate another lightning bolt, forcing So’Ngo to redirect his next attack so that he wasn’t struck.

……5 Minutes……

Her muscles were screaming, but Sandra didn’t care as she pushed, trying to attack from So’ngo’s right side where his numb arm was and his defense was weak.

 ……4 Minutes……

Sandra’s arms gave out first, and she could barely lift them anymore. But she continued attacking, using her tail to strike at So’Ngo, trying to get through his defenses.

……3 Minutes……

Her legs finally gave out, and Sandra collapsed to the ground, panting hard, her thoughts moving sluggishly slow as the last dredges of the bead finally left her system, her tail limp as Sandra lay there, unable to move any longer, her muscles screaming in pain, even as she fought to stay awake.

“No,” Sandra slurred, trying to move her head to look at So’Ngo. “So. Close.”

“Sandra!” Monica cried, rushing over to the collapsed Targondian.

“She’ll be fine, young Monica,” So’Ngo said, leaning down over Sandra and speaking for the first time in nearly two days. “She pushed herself to her limit, and then pushed herself beyond even further than I imagined she would. She’s simply tired and in dire need of some rest.”

“Really?” Monica asked, running her hands over Sandra’s body, trying to find any injuries.

“Really,” So’Ngo said with a nod.

“Okay,” Monica said in a small voice. She then jumped up and gave So’Ngo a hug, pulling him a bit closer to her as she did. “You promise she’ll be alright?”

“I will personally ensure she makes a full recovery,” So’Ngo said, patting Monica on the head. He then frowned before looking down, trying to look around Monica as he felt something on his toe.

“‘I’ally. ‘Ot. ‘Oo. ‘As’ard,” Sandra’s muffled voice said from where she was biting his foot, Monica managing to pull him just close enough for her to reach So’Ngo.

So’Ngo just blinked down at Sandra before throwing his head back and laughing loudly, even as Monica grinned at him. “You, little lady, are a cheater,” So’Ngo said, patting Monica on the head, a wide smile on his face that radiated pride and joy.

“If you’re not cheating, you’re not fighting properly,” Monica repeated, releasing So’Ngo and taking a step back, hands behind her back.

“Indeed, you are very much correct,” So’Ngo said, laughing again as he looked down to see Sandra had passed out, a satisfied smile on her face.

Prologue Previous Next

Appendix

TOC

[Sandra and Eric TOC]

“Is my little sister alright?!” Jessica demanded as she burst into the medical room, Sar’Ma close behind her, a worried look on her face.

“You will keep your voice down in my medical ward, or you will leave,” Nightclaw said crossly, his feathers rustling as he stepped in front of Jessica to stop her from moving any further. “But yes, she is just fine, if exhausted. She’s overused her abilities to an extreme amount, and some of her muscles are more shredded ribbons than proper muscles at this point. But, most importantly, she’s simply exhausted to a concerning degree. All she needs is some rest, and myself, Marakkompo, and Maria will be here to ensure she heals properly and get all the rest she needs. The rest of you will wait until she is conscious before barging in here to see her.” This last part was followed by a harsh stare at Jessica, who gave a sigh of relief and backed up, her hands raised.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Jessica said.

“Apologize by leaving,” Nightclaw said, shaking his head. “Sandra is low risk and in no danger, I have other patients to see to, and the last thing I need in my medical ward are over-excited Reapers causing trouble.”

“Right, sorry, leaving now,” Jessica said, quickly motioning for Sar’Ma to follow as they left the hospital.

“I told you he wasn’t letting anyone see her right now,” Mera said in amusement, her spider-like body shuffling nervously.

“My little sister leaves for her Final Test, being proctored by a weirdo that’s supposedly older than the Drifters, and when she does reappear, she’s unconscious and immediately rushed to the hospital. What else am I supposed to do except worry?” Jessica said, looking back at the hospital, longing and worry etched on her face.

“Maybe relax and remember that Nightclaw is one of the best doctors we have on the Ferry, outclassed only by the Angels and Thrrrrrktinik?” Mera said with a shrug, though she seemed to be trying to convince herself more than Jessica.

“Aren’t the Angels closer to combat medics rather than actual doctors?” Sar’Ma asked, her silver scales reflecting the ambient light. “So, wouldn’t Nightclaw actually be better than them, as a dedicated doctor?”

“Oh, that’s a good point,” Jessica said, blowing a piece of hair out of her face.

…………………

“I thought you said she would be safe,” Jeremiah said, glaring at So’Ngo.

“Actually, I merely said that short of some extremely bad luck or divine intervention, she wouldn’t die,” So’Ngo said, leaning on his staff, but otherwise standing normally. “This was a Test, a Test to see if she learned her lesson, and to see if she is ready to become a Reaper. Safety was never a guarantee. Even your own Tests run a high risk of permanent injury or even death.”

“You-” Jeremiah cut himself off, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly before taking a seat behind his desk, motioning for So’Ngo to take a seat as well, which the Drifter obliged. “You’re completely correct, and I do apologize for my outburst,” Jeremiah finally said. “That was unfair of me.”

“It does hit a little differently when it is a family member, and you cannot Proctor or watch the Test personally,” So’Ngo said, waving the apology off. “You are neither the first nor the last to lash out unreasonably.”

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be better,” Jeremiah said with a heavy sigh. “I’m a Reaper, dammit. Sandra just got in trouble for losing her temper. Seems like I might need to take a few refresher courses myself.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I will not be able to be your punishment,” So’Ngo said with a grin.

“Going somewhere?” Jeremiah asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I have done what I came to do, and had some fun while doing so,” So’Ngo said with a shrug, rolling his staff between his hands. “It’s time for me to move on.”

“I see,” Jeremiah said.

“Oh, do not worry, I am not leaving immediately,” So’Ngo said, flashing Jeremiah that smile again. “I made a promise to sweet Monica to ensure Sandra’s recovery personally, after all. So I will stick around until she has made a full recovery.”

“I see,” Jeremiah said again, keeping his face carefully neutral. “And? How did Sandra do on her Test?”

“She exceeded all of my expectations to an astonishing degree,” So’Ngo said with a happy sigh, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes to revel in the feeling again. “Creativity, quick thinking, combat potential, everything you Reapers look for in a proper Reaper is there in spades. And, I dare say, she has indeed learned her lesson about lashing out. Even in the throughs of her anger, she never lost control, instead keeping a calm mind and creating opportunities to gain the upper hand, and while there were indeed times she was very angry, she was no longer attacking in anger, but rather using the anger to focus herself. I dare say that I do not believe she will ever lash out as she did again, even at me, no matter how annoying the other party is.”

“Well, that’s good then,” Jeremiah gave a sigh of relief.

“She has become a Dragon,” So’Ngo said, his smile shrinking slightly, growing fond and proud. “She’s no mere Wyvern any longer, but a true Dragon. Even there at the end, when she could no longer move, she refused to give up, and instead took the tiniest opportunity that Monica had given her to win.”

“Speaking of Monica, who is she?” Jeremiah asked, trying to mask the feeling of pride he felt for Sandra at So’Ngo’s words.

“She’s the descendent of an old friend of mine,” So’Ngo said, his grin widening again. “Do not worry, Wolf, she is of no threat to you or yours. She is merely a curious child who wishes to learn all she can of the galaxy and bring it back to her people so that they may be ready to join the Galactic Community in due time.”

“This is going to be the Tree Shadows all over again, isn’t it?” Jeremiah groaned, already picturing the mountains of paperwork he’ll have to go through.

“Oh, not at all,” So’Ngo said with a laugh. “Monica and her people, Mona, are already fully sapient, and still remain undiscovered by the Galaxy at large. No, the only thing they are missing is information. They were stuck in an unfortunate cycle, needing to interact with the galaxy in order to finally learn how to join the galaxy, but unable to join the galaxy because they were unable to gain the interactions with the galaxy to learn. They needed one to do the other, but couldn’t do either without doing one first. Monica will be the break in that cycle that they need in order to finally start moving forward again, breaking their stagnation.”

………………….

“What are you?” Marakkompo asked in amazement as he looked through the microscope.

“I am Monica,” Monica said, tilting her head in confusion.

“Problem, Marakkompo?” Nightclaw asked as the door hissed open, admitting the Caramon doctor.

“I’m not sure,” Marakkompo said, adjusting the microscope slightly. “Monica is not like anything that we have on record. By the way, how did it go?”

“Finally managed to get the Void-damned Reapers to leave, promising updates on Sandra,” Nightclaw grumbled. “I swear, they’re more stifling than my own mother was when I was still a chick.”

“It just means they care for Sandra,” Maria chirped cheerfully from where she was sitting next to Monica, her blue and green feathers rustling.

“Still doesn’t mean they get to hover around my patients like parasites that smell an infection,” Nightclaw said, frowning as he looked into the microscope that Marakkompo pushed to him. “Speaking of bugs, that is indeed different. Is your entire body made up of these…tiny creatures?” Under the microscope were hundreds of cell-sized insect looking creatures, and each of them seemed to be either trying to move in the general direction Monica was, or attempting to posture themselves in such a way as to give Nightclaw a better look at them.

“Ummmm, those are Monica, so yes and no,” Monica said, wiggling her head. “Monica is Many, unlike the rest of you who are One. But, also, Monica is One in order to learn about the galaxy at large and bring the Information back to Mona.” Monica frowned a bit, thinking. “It’s hard to explain in language.”

“You’re psionic, yes?” Nightclaw asked. “I believe you mentioned that on your form. So, can you only receive like the Cordan can?”

“Oh, no, I can also Give Information,” Monica said, shaking her head.

“Then why don’t you show me what you are trying to explain,” Nightclaw said. Monica frowned for a minute, thinking, before nodding and standing up from her chair. She then very carefully placed a finger on Nightclaw’s beak, and a small puff of sand appeared, moving into his nostrils before exiting on his next exhale, only to be reabsorbed by Monica’s hand. “Oh, I see I see,” Nightclaw said, nodding as he struggled not to sneeze. “That is very interesting.”

“What?” Marakkompo and Maria asked.

“Essentially, Monica here is like a colony of insects that all share a hive mind,” Nightclaw said, taking another look into the microscope. “The originals, Mona, are purely made from these little, cellular insects, and as such can take on any form that they wish with similar properties to the original form. Monica, on the other hand, has had her DNA, or rather their equivalent of it, mixed with Sandra’s, meaning that her Targondian form is her true body, with all of the requirements that come with it. And while she is still made primarily of these cellular insects, it actually costs her more energy to split apart than to stay put together.” Nightclaw’s talon tapped on the ground. “Or, another way to put it, in Monica’s case at least, it would be like if someone had a complete control of their body to the cellular level, able to control individual cells as they wish, so long as they return to themselves in order to conserve energy.”

“Huh,” Marakkompo said, tapping into his datapad to jot the information down.

“Wait, so, if her DNA is mixed with Sandra’s DNA, does that mean that she’s Sandra’s daughter?” Maria asked. Nightclaw and Marakkompo both froze while Monica looked thoughtful.

“Uh,” Marakkompo said, looking at Nightclaw.

“Well…I suppose that is one way to look at it,” Nightclaw said slowly.

“I do believe that that would be a close approximation of Monica,” Monica said, tapping her chin. “Mona made me with Mona’s Many and Sandra’s One, so I suppose Sandra would be my Mother. Or, Father, actually, since she provided the DNA and Mona made me. But she’s a female while Mona has no gender, so maybe Mother would still work?”

“Thoughts for another time,” Nightclaw said quickly as Maria opened her mouth.

“I know how sex works, Uncle Nightclaw,” Maria said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not a little chick anymore, I’m a teenager, and I’ve been reading your medical texts.”

“Thoughts for another time,” Nightclaw repeated a bit louder, causing Monica to giggle.

………………..

Sandra looked around, the dark but not-dark landscape looking both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, as though she had been there before, but couldn’t quite remember it.

“Hey, kiddo,” Sandra heard a familiar voice from behind her, and Sandra whirled around to see Eric standing there, grinning as he leaned on his khopesh-staff, the dragon head glimmering in the light/not-light.

“Dad!” Sandra exclaimed, rushing forward to tackle him, rubbing her face into his chest as she squeezed as hard as she could. “Dad.”

“Look at you, kiddo,” Eric said, hugging Sandra back just as tightly before pulling away and looking her up and down, pride obvious in his face. “Look at how you’ve grown. You got big.”

“No I didn’t,” Sandra gave a choked laugh. “Targondians don’t get as big as you Humans do.”

“There’s more than one way to grow, kiddo,” Eric laughed, his staff disappearing as he let it go. “And just look at how you’ve grown. You’ve turned into a fine woman, and a fine Reaper. Saving people across the galaxy, and giving homes to those that need one.”

“I…” Sandra looked down in shame. “Not as much as I should have. I just couldn’t do it, Dad. I couldn’t let you go.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Eric said, pulling Sandra back into a hug. “It took me decades to finally let go of my own failures. And that only happened when you came into my life. Through Reaper training, through war, and I still couldn’t let go. But you know what? It’s not letting go that’s the important part.” Eric released Sandra again and knelt in front of her, tapping her chest gently. “It’s continuing to move on, despite what has happened. Hold me close to your heart all you want, Sandra. But don’t let it hold you back anymore. You have a little brother to help grow now, more siblings on their way, and now, a daughter to help nurture and grow.”

“A daughter?” Sandra asked, confused.

“Well, when Mona created Monica, where do you think she got the DNA to make her from?” Eric asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Sandra said, feeling her face get hot. “Ew, ew, no, nope, I did not need to know that. Ew.” Sandra shuddered. “Ew.”

“There’s a reason she was as apologetic as she was,” Eric said, his shoulders shaking as he held back his laughter.

“Makes more sense, but still. Ew,” Sandra said, making a face.

“Don’t hold it against her, she didn’t know better yet,” Eric said.

“Oh, I won’t, but it’s still gross to think about,” Sandra said. “Just, ew. New topic please!”

“Fine, fine,” Eric chuckled. There was suddenly a loud THRUM that seemed to echo from everywhere, and Eric frowned a bit, looking just past Sandra. “Look, just a few more minutes, man. This is my daughter here, let me bask in her glory.” There was a smaller, almost apologetic THRUM that echoed, and Eric just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What was that?” Sandra asked, looking around in alarm.

“Don’t worry about it, just a reminder that my time is basically up,” Eric said. “So’Ngo pulled a few strings to allow this conversation, but even then, it’s still limited.”

“Oh,” Sandra said, looking down, only to squeak as Eric scooped her up into another crushing hug.

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo,” Eric said. “I didn’t get to say it enough when I was alive, but I am proud of you. So go. Enjoy your life. Have fun in the galaxy, help whoever you think you need to help, and let your wings cover the entire galaxy.” Eric smiled as he released Sandra, his cheeks wet as proud tears rolled down his face. “And give So’Ngo a solid thump for me when you wake up, yeah? I’ve got words for him when he shows his face around here again.”

“Will do,” Sandra giggled, basking in Eric’s scent as the world began to fade around them.

……………….

Sandra groaned as she slowly woke up, blinking blearily at the white ceiling.

“And she’s back among the living,” Sandra heard a cheerful and annoyingly familiar voice say. Sandra looked to the side to see So’Ngo there, sitting on top of his staff. “Did you have a nice chat?” Sandra just looked at So’Ngo for a minute before slowly raising a middle finger, eliciting a laugh from the not-Dra’Cari.

“How did you do it?” Sandra asked weakly. “Dad said you pulled a few strings.”

“Ah, that’s my secret,” So’Ngo said with a grin. “Only meant for me and a select few.” He then hesitated for a moment. “I could teach you, if you want.”

“Are you asking me to become your Student again?” Sandra asked, rolling her eyes. “After what you just put me through?”

“I suppose that does make this an awkward time to ask,” So’Ngo chuckled in a self-depreciating way.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sandra said, looking at the wall so that So’Ngo didn’t see the amused smile on her face. “Besides, I’ve got a better idea.”

“Oh?” So’Ngo asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Teach me how to become better person first,” Sandra said, looking back at So’Ngo. “Help me to become someone who won’t lose her way again. Then we can look into learning how to talk to my Dad again.” So’Ngo stared at Sandra for a moment before a massive smile crossed his face, a smile of pure joy, pride, and hope. “If nothing else, I am going to figure out how to punch you into a star.”

“I am sincerely looking forward to it,” So’Ngo laughed. Sandra finally let her smile show as well, giving a small chuckle before wincing and grabbing the small glass of water by her bedside.

“So, how does it feel to have your first ever Student?” Sandra asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

“I just realized I have no idea where to start, or how to teach you properly,” So’Ngo said with a rueful chuckle of his own. “Oh, there’s an idea then,” So’Ngo suddenly snapped. “For your first lesson, you must learn immortality.”

“Seriously?” Sandra asked, looking at So’Ngo incredulously.

“Oh, don’t worry, there are many different ways to achieve immortality,” So’Ngo said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not asking you to become invincible, no one can do that. Not even me. But being able to stop aging? To have an indefinite lifespan? That is easily achievable, especially through universal energies.”

“But, I’ve already learned my three abilities,” Sandra said with a frown.

“Ah, I suppose we must start there,” So’Ngo said with a theatrical sigh. “Alright, Lesson 0.5 then; people can learn more than three abilities with minimal risk, if done properly.”

“What?”

“Think of it like steroids for Humans,” So’Ngo said. “Humans already naturally produce steroids, and introducing steroids with medicine can provide very quick results in making a Human faster or stronger. But introducing those extra steroids in excess can also provide profoundly negative effects on the Human body, including a shortened lifespan. But if they increase their steroids naturally instead of through drugs, they can instead have a long and happy life while still reaping the benefits.”

“So, the way we’re using Magic then is like introducing drugs into our bodies?” Sandra asked.

“Indeed,” So’Ngo said with a nod. “Magic is meant to be learned slowly and naturally. Find your reservoir, learn it, understand it, and let the magic naturally show you what its ability is. What the Galaxy is currently doing is essentially the quick and dirty method, which isn’t necessarily wrong for what their understanding of Universal Energies are, but it’s limiting. One ability every ten years, give or take a few years. If done properly, that’s how long each ability should take, outside of some extenuating circumstances. As it is, bodies now need 20 or 30 years before they’ve settled enough to learn a fourth ability, and that’s if they change their method to take the slow and steady route to learn their fourth ability.”

“So, I’m not gonna get immortality for a while, not if I want to live,” Sandra said.

“In your case, not quite accurate,” So’Ngo said with a smile. “Mona did more then just upgrade your lightning and metal. She reset your body, putting you back together the most optimal way Mona can. You essentially were given a shortcut to learning your fourth and subsequent abilities. IF you do it properly, that is,” So’Ngo added. “So, you can safely search for and begin learning about your fourth reservoir. But let the magic teach you, instead of just asking for what it can provide. Learn, and grow.” So’Ngo then got down from his staff, stretching a bit as Sandra stared at him.

“Why are you being so…reasonable…now?” Sandra asked.

“Playing the Fool has it’s uses, and is a very enjoyable job,” So’Ngo said with a wide grin. “But, as your Teacher, you deserve more than jokes and quick-witted empty words. When you gain your Immortality, in whichever form it comes to you, I’ll come back to give you your second lesson.”

“Leaving already?” Sandra asked, surprised.

“I came here with a purpose, and that purpose has been fulfilled,” So’Ngo said with a shrug. “But, you have given me an added Gift I did not expect. So, I’ll be back, and I’ll keep in contact. But Immortality is one that I cannot teach, as it’s different for everyone. So that is a lesson you must puzzle out yourself before I can teach you more. That being said… Boop!” So’Ngo laughed as he poked Sandra’s nose, causing her to flinch slightly as her back suddenly became very itchy. “A Prize for surprising me, passing my Test, and becoming my Student, young Dragon. Let your Wings spread as far and as wide as you can go!” In so saying, So’Ngo vanished in a flash of light that left Sandra blinking, trying to get the spots out of her eyes.

And why was her back so itchy now?

……End of Part 1……

Prologue Previous Next

Appendix

TOC

[Sandra and Eric TOC]

Royal Road | Book Cover | First | Previous | Next 

Chapter 17: Perspectives After a Month

"CP 1765, August 19. 20 days have passed since landing. Local time: AD 2016, September 6."

"Twenty local day-night cycles have passed since the crash landing — roughly equivalent to 23 days on Lierus. I think I should start keeping a log at regular intervals from now on. Maybe it could serve as a memoir later."

"What happened?"

"\See the 'Xi P's Memory' chapters**"

"This location should be adc-45:3, 86 light-years from Lierus Ait. What a miracle! If someone had told me before that the atmosphere here was breathable, I'd have sent them straight to a mental institution. Yet here I am. The sky survey telescopes should have spotted this ages ago — the oxygen signatures are unmistakable in atmospheric refraction spectra. Too bad the survey for this sector won't arrive for another 25 years. I suppose that's one sliver of hope for rescue... assuming they don't find other habitable planets first."

"In my previous imagination, if we discovered extraterrestrials, they might have body temperatures as high as 200 degrees C, or dwell on deep-sea beds, or even be a massive collective consciousness — anything was possible. But after landing here, it turns out that my previous imagination was a bit too rich. At least, if this isn't an exception, what I see is: On a planet with similar humidity and basic elemental composition, life forms won't differ too greatly. The similarity among beings that can be called 'people' is even higher. With respect to the local inhabitants, if they stood more than 80 metres away from me, I couldn't even tell them apart from us."

"Not only do they resemble us in appearance, but we also share many physiological similarities. We can breathe the same air, inhabit the same lands and share some of the same dietary habits. Bear in mind that they're omnivores — perhaps I should ask Ye Min what it's like to eat plants..."

***

"I've, been here, for a month, now." Xi P tells Min.

When Robinson Crusoe taught English to the native he named Friday on the deserted island, it took three months just to get him to speak a few broken phrases¹. Perhaps that story isn't real, but it illustrates the difficulty of learning a foreign language. Fortunately, Xi P has plenty of free time every day, and it's not 1659 anymore.

Of course, Min only has limited time each weekday and couldn't possibly spend entire days at home tutoring Xi P as Robinson did. But nowadays, one can be one's own teacher. Needless to say, everyone knows how much computers and dictionaries can aid language learning. Robinson Crusoe only used a Bible to teach language and converted a native into a believer — proof of the importance of learning materials.

For now, both parties remained optimistic. Xi P could produce every required syllable, although they often sounded strange. Min genuinely could not wrap his head around it. While it is inevitable that life on a planet with an atmosphere would evolve sound-based communication, why did it have to be this exact way? Not to mention why they also evolved their mouths into a shared passage for both respiration and digestion — though this did offer the practical advantage of being able to 'suck'... If it weren't for the fact that it would be inappropriate, Min would stick an endoscope behind Xi P's tongue to see what it actually looks like in there.

As it turns out, Xi P has pondered similar questions. Min simply shows him an anatomical diagram of the human throat in response.

In any case, they are not in a rush. Since neither Xi P nor Min has been reduced to a pile of pus by alien bacteria, it probably means that extraterrestrial microorganisms aren't really anything to fret over.

During this month together, Min has also become accustomed to referring to Xi P as 'he'. Following a brief discussion, they confirm that both their species require the pairing of two individuals with slightly different genotypes in order to reproduce. Xi P also belongs to the type that does not need to carry the young inside their body. Just one small issue: even when he'd seen other fox-people in photographs and VR videos, they all looked more or less the same to Min…

Regardless, Xi P's words remind Min that it's indeed been a month since Xi P's arrival. Measured precisely to the hour, or even minute — truly a moment worth commemorating. Just as they hoped, no one came to visit them. The internet has also settled back into calm. Neither the Paris Olympics nor the nuclear pulse engine capture the mainstream media's attention anymore. For scientists in specialised fields, the storm driving this technological revolution has only just begun, but for most people, it was merely a foreign technological advancement, soon forgotten. And the local meteorite-hunting groups never show up at Min's house either. Initial concerns over an alien landing now seem like a lot of fuss over nothing.

Once they had made some progress with the language, the two spent a long time eagerly exchanging views on each other's societies and cultures, keen to gain a better understanding of one another. This not only provided language practice, but also satisfied their curiosity about the alien society they had landed on — or what life was like among the fox people.

***

When Xi P finds out what Min thinks of his appearance, he is astonished to say the least.

Being told he looks cute — especially by an alien — is hardly a pleasant experience. At least Xi P doesn't share that preference. He even finds the words somewhat nauseating. He can't quite grasp why Min thinks he looks cute. According to Min's description, he appears "fluffy-looking" with "long ears".

'But why?? A species with little fur and short ears actually prefers long fur and long ears? What kind of logic — or nature — is that?'

Of course, this also suddenly clarifies one reason why Min helped him. He has once scorned the notion of physical appeal, yet he is saved precisely because of it — utterly ironic. What's this? The protagonist is accidentally stranded on an alien planet, only to discover that he is irresistibly charming to the locals, effortlessly wins their hearts? This isn't even space opera anymore; it is...hm...romance novel masquerading as sci-fi?

Truly terrifying.

'How could this aesthetic even develop?' Xi P remains utterly perplexed and adds it to his ever-growing list of Unsolved Alien Mysteries.

***

Min is deeply relieved that he hasn't told Xi P anything about Japanese Kemonomimi (girls with animal ears) or the furry fandom. He had only vaguely described the reason as having "soft fur" and "long ears", avoiding the term "animal ears" altogether. He understands why Xi P found these odd; the human aesthetic for long ears and fluffy fur is indeed peculiar.

Of course, fur comes in different types. Most of the fur on Xi P's face differs from that on his arms, but both are quite nice. In fact, it looks better than much real fox fur, largely because Xi P grooms it meticulously — nearly always combed neatly and kept spotless...

After sharing his thoughts, Min curiously asks Xi P what he thinks of him.

Min's question makes Xi P hesitate slightly. His own perspective on Min's appearance is rather... different to Min's opinion of him. He hadn't intended to bring it up himself, but since Min has asked...

'We're all civilised people,' Xi P reasons to himself, 'and we understand each other's backgrounds. There shouldn't be too much to worry about.'

"...no fur...deformed...hard..."

As Min anticipated, Xi P does not find the lack of fur attractive — it's merely tolerable. As for the ears and knees, his description is "deformed". Min is fairly certain that he didn't intend to use the word "deformed" — he probably meant something similar but less derogatory, but that's the only word that came to mind.

These are nothing to be surprised about. Putting himself in Xi P's shoes, Min understands why the alien holds these views. However, Xi P pauses for a moment and adds another point. He raises his hand, tugging and pulling at his own facial skin while shaking his head.

"This... is terrifying." Xi P states.

"Uh..."

Xi P probably finds human facial expressions overly exaggerated or frightening. Given their limited facial muscles, this reaction is also understandable. Min would probably share a similar impression if he sees someone freely contorting their skin beyond what is considered normal.

Overall, Xi P's verdict on human appearance is "acceptable (tolerable)", since both share similar body plan and neither has a tail. His sense of smell isn't particularly strong either — the human scent isn't troubling him. Though that might just be because Min is the only one around.

In general, Xi P sees Min as humans see little grey aliens. Min comes to this conclusion internally.

Finally, Xi P adds: "Better than hanging out with pigs."

Min needs a moment to process this, and then realises that Xi P truly means no insult — he simply hasn't grasped the nuanced connotations of such comparisons yet. Honestly, with Peppa Pig cartoons airing non-stop on TV, it makes perfect sense he'd misjudge human perceptions of pigs.

***

Regardless, considering they are both aliens to each other, the exchange about their appearances has gone relatively well. However, when the conversation shifts to societies, Min starts to feel a bit uncomfortable.

He hadn't realised that Xi P likes to show off at times like this. Xi P keeps pulling up photos and concept art from his tablet to show Min, which is fine — Min finds these alien-flavoured cityscapes, indoor spaces, and landscapes quite intriguing. But then Xi P insists Min to pull up similar images for comparison, pointing out shortcomings while broadly discussing advanced features and potential improvements. Even though he knows those suggestions are probably valid, Min can't help but feel uncomfortable.

Of course, it is more likely Xi P had simply been bottling things up for too long.

Note 1: Although Robinson Crusoe described it as "the happiest year", he took Friday in under his wing in September. From my understanding this means 12-9=3 months.

Chapter 18: Cities, Space Stations, and Warships

Author's note: If you ever wonder what's wrong with Min mentally... Check this out: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asperger_syndrome

Originally, Min intended to listen attentively. If such an act didn't provoke annoyance in their society, then he can't really blame Xi P for anything. The issue is, Xi P's language skills are still too rudimentary, and Min has to piece together his words through guesswork and context. On top of that, the topic itself is technically complex, so listening to it is a real test of cognitive endurance. After patiently enduring for a while, Min had to ask Xi P to stop to give his brain a moment's rest.

From Xi P's words and the experience playing with his tablet/VR headset these past few days, Min is able to sketch out a mental image of alien cities. They are undeniably sci-fi. In that earlier incident where Xi P deliberately scared him with an alien invasion movie, the city that Min saw would actually count as vintage. While many high-tech structures had been newly built, certain older, difficult-to-demolish sections remained.

Take, for example, the 'traditional' skyscrapers. The skyscrapers in that film were quite boxy in design, many visibly constructed from concrete. However, with the current trend of de-urbanisation in Lierus, newer buildings are increasingly adopting open designs, and the remaining skyscrapers are being built with more suitable new materials — plastic.

The concept of constructing building exteriors almost entirely from plastic isn't new. However, due to strength, pollution, and fire resistance concerns, few such structures exist on Earth. In Lierus, though, some new skyscrapers have already abandoned concrete. The strength, flexibility, reduced costs, and significantly lighter weight have allowed plastic to rapidly erode the market share of traditional building materials.

And as Min observed, this plastic is also quite pretty. Its vibrant, glossy hues make the city appear like a colourful toy from aerial views, with hardly any need for tilt-shift effects. Beyond this, some of the most densely populated megacities boast spectacular infrastructure — volumetric superhighways, multi-level elevated roads and tunnels. Light rail trains weave through every available space, while many vehicles on the roads operate without drivers. Nuclear power plants and facilities resembling solar thermal stations dot industrial zones. Diverse architectural forms featured smooth, open lines. Save for the absence of flying cars, they perfectly match Min's vision of ideal futuristic metropolises.

Moving beyond the city, their space programme is equally impressive. By human standards, their space station is colossal. The photos Xi P showed appeared to have taken by his ship's camera before departure, with the exhaust plume still visible at the bottom of the frame. The station resembled stacked rectangular prisms, topped and bottomed by smooth square pyramids, with the base facing the planet. Although there was no clear reference object, judging by the stairs and handrails visible through the still-closing hatch, the entire structure likely exceeded 150 metres in height and 60 metres in width — potentially larger still when accounting for radiator panels. Its footprint dwarfed that of the International Space Station by more than tenfold.

And this is a relatively solid structure. Its actual volume could be thirty times greater than the frame-like ISS.

'Now this is what a real alien artefact should look like.' Min thought instantly upon seeing the station.

Beyond its vastly larger scale and mature design, it also bore something never seen on human spacecraft: weapons!¹

Min is certain these are weapons. One level featured a ring of turrets encircling the structure, each extending a series of relatively small-calibre barrels. While these cannons may not match the firepower of naval destroyer guns, who can say for sure? After all, this is alien technology — and who knows what would come out of those barrels? Xi P explained that a group of unknown terrorists — or possibly a nation's special forces — had attacked the space station using space-air fighters. Ultimately, the surviving garrison fought back fiercely and eliminated the invading militants, defending the station. To this day, the mastermind behind the attack remains unknown. However, following this incident, a weapons system was rapidly deployed. Considering the space station's strategic position and superior range, no space-aircraft could pose a threat anymore.

It must be said that the description of this battle has a distinctly sci-fi vibe to it. The only thing that might ruin the picture is the physical appearance of the crew.

Xi P also proudly showcased their military vessels — not watercrafts, but interstellar warships! Measuring over 40 metres in length, they were equipped with three cannons/lasers similar to those on the space station, but scaled down. Surprisingly, their design closely resembled classic sci-fi warships: a massive cylinder studded with equipment and radiators. Xi P claims that their original intention was to counter space-air fighters. Comparing these spaceships with the few aircraft capable of direct space entry that humanity possesses² reveals just how thoroughly the aliens had prepared for interstellar warfare. Now, as the weaponry on the space station gradually matures, these vessels have been assigned new missions: installing faster-than-light engines to assist in reconnaissance of neighbouring star systems.

Though these warships are no match in size to waterborne ships, their mere existence reveals the pinnacle of technological advancement — or perhaps, immense financial resources. An alien nation possessing genuine space warships resides not too far (?) from Earth...

Min can't tell if this counts as good news or bad. He can only take solace in the fact that this alien society has not yet discovered Earth — and that they seem reasonably civilised.

Note 1: Soviet Union's Polyus spacecraft was planned to mount a laser weapon but it never launched.

Note 2: Or none, depending on how you define it. Here I use the definition of crossing the Kármán line.

Previous

Part 1

The treasure chest sat on a raised stone platform among gold, broken pottery, and the remains of adventurers who had reached it before them. Four people stood around it with their weapons drawn.

"Well?" the woman holding the torch asked.

"Give me a moment."

The adventurer crouched beside the chest and ran his fingers along its worn fittings. The others gave him room. One watched the passage behind them while he searched for a release that wouldn't leave him among the bones on the floor. He found it. A metallic click echoed through the chamber, and he waited before lifting the lid. Nothing struck him. Inside were coins, jewelry, polished stones, and a small object wrapped in dark cloth.

"Finally," the woman said. "Something worth the trouble."

He unwrapped a golden disk. Concentric rings carried arrangements of symbols around a stone that caught the torchlight. He held it up for her to see.

"What do you think?"

She was looking past his shoulder. Her head turned to the left, snapped back, and turned again.

"I th—"

He lowered the disk.

"I th—"

The flame stopped moving above her torch, although its shadows continued shifting across the walls. The adventurer looked toward the passage. The man guarding it had disappeared. Their fourth companion stood with one foot raised, frozen in the middle of a step. A crack opened in the ceiling. Beyond the stone was a pale, featureless space. He backed away as the gap closed and the chest vanished, then returned with its lid shut. The coins he'd moved were back where he had found them. The woman stretched sideways. Her body broke into angular shapes, recovered, and broke again.

"Help—help—help—"

He dropped the disk. It hung in the air, rotating as pieces separated from its surface. His fingers were disappearing too. He could still feel them when he tried to close his hand. He tried to scream. The chamber vanished before he heard himself, and he vanished with it.

A police cruiser struck a parked car and slid to a stop. Its driver climbed out with his weapon drawn.

"Hands where I can see them!"

The man in the street laughed and extended a hand. The officer fired three times. All three bullets stopped several feet short of the outstretched palm.

"You're going to have to do better than that."

More officers took cover behind vehicles and doorways. The man flicked his fingers, sending the bullets sideways into a brick wall. When another officer raised a weapon, he pulled it out of her hands and sent it clattering across the road. A second cruiser came through the intersection. He lifted it from the pavement and slowly turned it onto its side. Inside, the officers struggled with their restraints. Then the first officer stopped moving. He had been bringing his weapon back up. Now he stood with one arm extended, staring at nothing.

"Hello?"

The officer appeared several feet to the right without taking a step, then returned to his original position. Windows along the street went black. The man looked up at the cruiser he was holding. Its front half was gone. The rest followed, leaving two officers suspended above the road until they disappeared as well. His concentration broke. He turned, trying to find whoever was doing this. An officer ran at him, stopped, and ran at him again from the same place.

"Stop!"

He thrust both hands forward. Pavement tore free and rose between him and the police. For a moment he had control: broken road, scattered vehicles, officers diving behind cover. Then he was standing where he'd been before, watching the pavement rise a second time without any movement of his hands. He looked down. His right arm was missing, although he could feel its fingers moving. Buildings disappeared in sections around him. The sky flickered from daylight to darkness.

"No. Wait!"

He saw the street from several positions at once. He couldn't move between them. Then there was no street, and no one left to see it.

The battleship's bridge trembled as another broadside crossed its forward displays. Thousands of vessels filled the surrounding space. Near the center of the enemy formation, a capital ship took repeated hits along its hull. Its forward section broke away before secondary explosions consumed the rest. The woman commanding the fleet watched from among the stations. Her first officer brought up the enemy's withdrawal on a smaller display.

"Their center's giving way. Our flanking force is approaching from the rear, and they've committed their reserves here. No sign they've detected us."

"Casualties?"

"Within projections. Their heavier ships are still contesting the approach."

She checked the positions of her forward vessels. They were firing into the gap as the enemy tried to close it. Two more ships disappeared from the opposing line; another turned away.

"We'll have the kingdom sooner than expected," the first officer said.

"Don't celebrate until they've surrendered."

He smiled, and his face stretched across the side of his head. She blinked. His features returned to their proper places, but he was speaking again.

"Our forward formations have estab—"

His body shifted sideways and returned.

"Our forward formations have estab—"

"Officer?"

One of the people at the surrounding stations disappeared. Another was sitting and standing at the same time. On the forward display, the enemy ship whose destruction she'd just watched reappeared intact. Weapons fire hung between the fleets.

"Communications. What's happening?"

The first officer's uniform separated into long strips. She reached for him and put her hand through his shoulder. When she pulled back, her own fingers were beginning to come apart. Hundreds of ships vanished from the display. Those that remained stopped moving. She demanded a status report, but nobody answered. The console passed through her hand when she tried to steady herself against it. The bridge went dark. For an instant she remained there, without a ship or a fleet or anything to touch. Then she was gone.

Vethis was supposed to be paying attention. Instead, he was reading an argument on his tablet. A dispute over preferential treatment in a piloting evaluation had grown to include training records, instructor favoritism, and photographs that supported neither side. He scrolled through another attempt to defend the original accusation and laughed quietly.

"Vethis."

He continued reading.

"Vethis."

The student seated beside him nudged his arm. He looked up. His instructor was staring directly at him.

"Would you care to join us?"

Vethis straightened in his seat.

"I'm here."

"Physically, yes. Your attention appears to be somewhere else."

Several students laughed. Vethis placed his tablet on the desk.

"Sorry, sir."

The instructor regarded him for another moment before returning to the holographic display at the front of the classroom.

"Some of you seem to believe that because you're studying military applications, history is somehow less important than your technical training."

He gestured toward the display. A three-dimensional representation of the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies rotated slowly above the classroom floor.

"That assumption is incorrect. Understanding how our civilization reached its present circumstances is just as important as understanding how to operate the machinery you'll eventually be responsible for."

Vethis settled back into his seat. He preferred classes where he could do something. He was eighty, with the physical appearance of someone about twenty by ancient standards, and still young in a civilization whose biological lives could last tens of thousands of years. His instructors considered him young enough to need reminders that attendance involved more than occupying a chair. Halcyon Defense Industries operated Asterion Military Academy, one of the region's most prestigious schools. Students came from numerous systems to study engineering, operations, logistics, and mecha piloting. Vethis liked the machines. He was less enthusiastic about the history requirement, particularly while an argument was developing without him. He glanced down at his tablet again.

"Vethis."

He looked back up. The instructor hadn't even turned around.

"Put it away."

Vethis sighed and closed the application.

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you."

The holographic display changed. The two galaxies began moving toward one another.

"As we've previously discussed, the formation of Mileda was not an instantaneous event. The merger occurred over an extraordinary period, during which enormous gravitational interactions altered the positions and trajectories of countless stellar objects."

The instructor enlarged a section of the display. A small yellow star appeared beside a representation of a much larger galactic structure.

"One particularly interesting example concerns our civilization's original home system."

Several students looked up.

"Long before the Milky Way and Andromeda completed their merger, humanity's original homeworld had already been consumed by its parent star."

The display changed again. A small blue planet appeared beside the yellow star.

"Earth, as it was known, ceased to exist when the Sun expanded and engulfed the planet. By the time of the galactic merger, the original homeworld was already ancient history."

The instructor rotated the display.

"However, the Sun itself experienced an unusual fate. During the merger, gravitational interactions ejected it from the developing galaxy."

The star moved away from the surrounding stellar formations.

"Rather than remaining within Mileda, it became a rogue star, traveling through the darkness beyond the galaxy."

The instructor enlarged its projected trajectory.

"And its current location is—"

The instructor stopped with one arm extended toward the display. Vethis waited for him to continue. His arm dropped, his knees folded, and he struck the floor hard enough to make the students nearest him jump. Chairs scraped as people got up. One student crouched beside him and turned him onto his back. His eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling.

"Somebody call medical!"

Vethis tried the academy application. Its connection indicator appeared, waited, and disappeared. A conventional call failed too. Around him, others were getting the same result. The yellow star on the classroom display stopped moving, then vanished with the rest of the projection.

"He's not responding!"

Vethis knelt beside the instructor and touched his shoulder. He had seen people faint, but they had still moved a little, breathed, reacted to something. The instructor lay as still as discarded equipment. Someone shouted from the windows. Across the academy grounds, two construction workers hung motionless in their safety harnesses. Tools fell from one man's hands while a colleague tried to reach him. Farther along the unfinished wall, a third worker collapsed. His harness caught him before he fell. Vethis looked from the workers to the instructor. Three people outside and one here, all within seconds. He had no idea how to help any of them.

"We need another teacher," a student said.

Vethis followed him into the corridor.

Students filled the hall, trying to call their families or retrieve work that had disappeared from the academy network. Instructors attempted to send them back to their classrooms while asking one another what had happened. Vethis passed a student holding up an empty holographic display.

"My entire assignment was there."

"Try the local network," somebody told her.

"I am!"

Near the intersection, a boy lowered his tablet. "Nothing works."

Vethis pointed at the ceiling lights.

The boy looked up. "Great. We have lights."

The principal came around the corner at speed, manipulators extended as his floating chassis maneuvered through the crowd. He demanded an explanation and received four at once: their instructor, the workers, medical, the network. He stopped long enough to ask which classroom, then turned toward Vethis's group.

"Has anyone contacted—"

His chassis dropped. It struck the floor with a metallic crack and rolled forward, still carrying the speed of his approach. Students jumped aside. One manipulator caught against the tiles, spinning the body into the base of the lockers. Vethis reached it first. The principal lay on his side with one arm extended. Nothing moved when Vethis called to him. A teacher pushed through and knelt beside the chassis, asking whether anyone had reached medical. Nobody had.

"Outside," she told the students. "Assembly areas. Give us room here."

"What about him?"

"We'll take care of him. Go."

Vethis looked back once on the way out. The teacher was still beside the lockers, trying to get a response.

Outside, instructors gathered their classes while workers climbed toward the people hanging from the unfinished building. Whatever had happened hadn't affected everyone. One rescuer reached a motionless man and began securing him for recovery.

"Why only some of them?" Vethis asked.

The student beside him suggested a network fault, then admitted he didn't know. Vethis checked his own tablet. Local applications still opened, and the connection indicator remained active. His family call wouldn't complete.

A teacher at the entrance raised her voice. "The academy has power. Local systems are functioning. Remain in your assembly areas while we find out what's happened."

The sky flashed orange. Vethis ducked and shielded his eyes. A distant rumble followed, then a second flash, spreading farther across the upper atmosphere. He recognized a planetary shield taking an impact. He had never seen one struck that hard. More impacts came before the light from the first had faded, until he could no longer separate the disturbances. An alarm sounded. Students backed toward the buildings, staring up at the orange sky.

"Shelters!" a teacher shouted. "Inside, now!"

Vethis went with the crowd. At the construction site, workers were abandoning their equipment. Several bodies still hung against the wall. He couldn't tell whether anyone was reaching them before the next impact shook the ground and forced him to catch his balance. Overhead, a bright streak passed through the shields. Fire spread behind it across the sky. The heat reached his exposed skin, and the students in front of him began running harder. There was nowhere useful to fly in that. The shelters were close. He caught the arm of a boy who fell ahead of him, pulled him upright, and sent him toward the entrance.

Then he saw Professor Aetheleth circling a walkway. The compact chassis darted one way, reversed, and nearly struck two students hurrying past.

"Professor!"

Aetheleth stopped. "Vethis?"

"The shelter. Come on."

"The Archive connections are gone. All of them. I can't—"

Another impact broke over their heads. Vethis ducked while the professor started circling again.

"You can work it out inside!"

Aetheleth began to answer. Vethis caught the chassis in both hands and tucked it under his arm.

"VETHIS! I CAN FLY!"

"Then you should've been flying toward the shelter!"

He ran with the professor pinned against his side. An instructor waved the last students through the entrance and down the reinforced passage. Dust fell from the ceiling as another impact shook it. Vethis kept moving until the passage opened into a chamber crowded with students looking for classmates.

"Would you please put me down?" Aetheleth demanded.

"Oh. Right."

The professor rose from beneath his arm, opened his manipulators, and straightened himself.

"You could have asked."

"Would you have come?"

Aetheleth hesitated. "That's beside the point."

He went up toward the ceiling and began circling again. Vethis sat along the wall, legs aching, while the instructors counted the final arrivals. The doors sealed. Another impact shook the chamber, and a young woman near him gripped her tablet with both hands. Her call still wouldn't connect.

An instructor raised her voice over the questions. "We're staying here until we know what's happening. The shelter is equipped for this. We're working on communications."

"The communications aren't the problem," Aetheleth said.

She looked up. "Professor?"

He stopped beneath the ceiling. "I'm connected to the local relays. They answer. There's nothing at the other end. The Archive is gone."

Vethis stood. He thought of the teacher on the floor, the hanging workers, the principal's arm scraping across the tiles.

"The actual Archive?" another student asked. "How?"

"I don't know."

The professor started another circuit. Everyone followed him with their eyes.

"What happens if it's been destroyed?" Vethis asked.

Aetheleth folded his manipulators. "No."

"Professor?"

"Not good. This is very, very not good."

"I'm asking what happens."

"I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE ASKING!"

The shout made several people flinch. Aetheleth stopped, then lowered his voice.

"I know. I don't want to experience this."

Vethis sat down again. His biology professor was older than histories Vethis had barely studied. He'd always had something to say, even when nobody had asked. Now he couldn't bring himself to answer a question. The lights flickered under another impact. A student began crying by the door, and a teacher moved over to sit with her. Vethis looked down at the active connection symbol on his tablet. Nothing loaded. Above him, Aetheleth kept circling. For a while, the only sounds came from the people in the shelter and the impacts overhead. Then the impacts stopped.

At first, Vethis thought he had simply grown accustomed to them. He kept waiting for the next shudder to pass through the floor, for the lights to flicker, for someone to cry out. Nothing came. The ventilation continued its low, steady hum, and in the sudden quiet he could hear students whispering to one another across the chamber.

"Is it over?" someone asked.

Nobody answered. One of the instructors had been checking the shelter's local environmental display. She leaned closer, then called another teacher over.

"Look at this."

"What is it?"

"Atmospheric pressure. Outside. It's falling."

The second teacher stared at the readings. "How quickly?"

"It's still falling."

The information traveled through the shelter faster than either teacher could contain it. Students began talking again, their voices rising as they tried to make sense of the pressure loss and the silence beyond the sealed doors. Vethis looked toward Aetheleth. The professor had stopped circling. He hovered beneath the ceiling, his manipulators drawn close to his chassis. For the first time since Vethis had found him outside, he appeared to be considering something other than the missing Archive connection.

"Professor?" Vethis asked.

Aetheleth slowly descended.

"Those weren't bombs."

Vethis blinked. "What?"

"The impacts. Those weren't bombs."

"Then what was hitting the shields?"

"Ships."

The shelter went quiet again.

A student near the wall gave a nervous laugh. "Ships? You mean somebody flew a fleet into us?"

"No. Today is Family Day. There's a graduation. Families were coming here."

Vethis glanced toward the sealed entrance. He remembered the flashes across the sky, the impacts arriving one after another, the burning streak that had passed through the shield.

"Passenger ships?" he asked.

"Passenger ships. Other incoming traffic, too, I'd imagine." Aetheleth kept his manipulators tightly folded. "They were depending on the Archive for their routes and traffic information. The local relays are still answering, but they have nothing current to pass along."

Vethis looked toward the sealed entrance. "The pilots couldn't stop?"

"Some may have. Those impacts were the ones who didn't."

"But the shields—"

"You saw what came through them."

No one spoke for several seconds.

A student who had been trying to call home lowered her tablet to her lap. "My parents were supposed to arrive today."

Vethis had no answer for her. Neither did Aetheleth. From the local display, the instructor announced that the outside pressure was continuing to fall. She asked the students to remain away from the doors. For once, nobody argued. Vethis thought of the instructor in the classroom. The workers hanging from the unfinished building. The principal rolling across the hallway floor, suddenly silent.

"Professor," he said, "what about the people who fell?"

Aetheleth turned back to him.

"What about them?"

"Why did they just stop? They weren't hit by anything."

"They were droning."

Vethis waited.

"Their bodies were here, but they were operating them from inside the Collective Archive," Aetheleth said. "The instructor, the principal, whoever else was connected that way. When the connection disappeared, there was no one left controlling those bodies."

"Like losing a call?" another student asked.

"No." Aetheleth was quiet for a moment. "Losing a call would mean the person was still there, somewhere, waiting to reconnect."

He lowered a little farther, until he was almost level with Vethis.

"If the Archive has been destroyed, the people who were in it are gone. Those bodies didn't die here. The people operating them died there."

"But you're all right," the student said, looking at his floating chassis.

"I'm here," Aetheleth replied. He tapped the side of his own chassis with a manipulator. "My mind is in this body. The principal's wasn't."

Vethis remembered the principal's outstretched arm scraping across the floor. He had thought the man was injured. He had wondered whether someone could repair him. Now he understood why he had stopped moving.

"What do we do?" the instructor asked.

Aetheleth looked toward the environmental display, then at the students waiting for him to answer.

"Stay in the shelter," he said. "Keep watching the pressure. We don't know what's safe outside."

"And the Archive?" Vethis asked.

The professor did not answer immediately. Beyond the sealed doors, the impacts had stopped. The local systems were still running. The tablets still showed connections that could reach the relays but nothing beyond them. Aetheleth folded his manipulators close to his chassis.

"Today was supposed to be a graduation," he said quietly.

Vethis looked toward the sealed door. He had run inside believing someone was trying to kill them. Beside him, the student whose parents were due to arrive tried her call again.

Continue to Part 2?

Author's Note; If this is at all interesting, I'll focus on this and less on the wh40k crossover stuff. Thank you for your consideration.

The Shepard: Part 1 of 2

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Have you ever noticed how there are large, unpopulated areas out west? Swaths of land that cover hundreds of square miles without a single town, village, house, or road. Sometimes they're in a deep forest, other times in a desert, but almost all are set aside as federal land and are illegal to develop. There are many excuses or reasons for this. Preserving America's natural beauty is one commonly cited reason. But what if I told you there were people out there? Not just a few crazy people who have decided they've had enough of the modern world and want to live off the grid, but entire cities, hidden away from the modern world. Well, I can't say for certain how many such places there are. All I can confirm is that at least one exists, and I've been there.

A few of you might be familiar with the concept of dispersed camping. I'm sure there's a complicated definition, but it really breaks down to camping in the wild rather than using campgrounds. For many people, it's a casual way to explore less-trafficked areas, but a few others go further, spending weeks and/or months exploring the unknown and traveling through sections of wilderness that haven't seen another person in decades, if not centuries.

That used to be me. Every summer, I'd take a few weeks off work, find an uninhabited stretch of land nowhere near any recognized trailheads or campgrounds, and see what I could find. Disconnecting from the world for a while was refreshing and energizing. Or at least, I used to think so.

This time, I chose a section of forest in Montana. I spent days poring over old maps, looking for roads that no longer exist as far as the modern world is concerned. Those are always the best places to start from. Driving out there alone was an adventure, and only possible because of my old Ford Bronco that could make it over paths that could only be called roads under the loosest interpretation of the word. But eventually I made it, and after some orientation so I knew where I was and how to get back there, I set off in hopes of finding something new.

Now, I know many of you are reading this wondering how someone could be so stupid as to go out into the wild like this, knowing that if something went wrong, I could never get a connection, and even if I did, emergency services couldn't reach me, but that's kind of the point. In a world where every day is a competition, where everyone is caught up in an unending fight to the death over a few digital ones and zeros in their bank accounts, this is my chance to prove to myself that I exist outside this game called civilization, that I am enough just by existing. If I can survive by virtue of my own hands and wits, then I can survive another year in the urban jungle I call home.

And really, it's not so bad as many people imagine. You just have to remember the rules for surviving out there. No, this isn't some esoteric list of rules where you have to do ridiculous things in response to even more ridiculous stimuli; it's really just common sense distilled to its most basic elements. First of all, plan ahead. Don't go out there without knowing what you're doing or what dangers you're likely to face. If it's summer, you don't need to worry about snow, but you do have to plan on rain. For example, don't set up camp in areas prone to flash floods. Second, don't rely on tech. Is tech nice? Sure! But if your GPS stops working, you'll be glad you know how to travel with a map and compass. Which leads me to rule number three: always pack the essentials. Bring navigation tools, a headlamp so you can move hands-free in the dark, sun protection, first-aid supplies, a knife, fire starters, shelter, extra food, extra water, and extra clothes. Extra is the key word there. I always plan to take at least half again more than I'll need, and even then I look up local flora and fauna so I know what I can trap or forage in a pinch. Oh, lastly, if something weird or unexpected happens, turn around. You hear something call out to you in a loved one's voice? Turn around. You see a deer stand up on its hind legs? Turn around. And now I'm adding to that list: if you find a random village in the middle of nowhere where there shouldn't be anything of the sort, you turn the fuck around!

Anyway, I suppose I'm dragging this out; after all, you're not here for backpacking lessons or to hear about my little nature hike. You're here to hear about when everything went to shit. So I'll fast-forward to when things started to get interesting, day six, or rather, that night, when I heard the screaming.

Now, any experienced camper can tell you a mountain lion sometimes sounds exactly like a woman screaming. But any experienced camper can also tell you that when you hear that sound, it's best to call it a night and disappear into your tent. It might be a mountain lion. It might be someone who needs help. But it might also be... something else. The deep woods are filled with the corpses of would-be heroes who rush into the darkness at night, and I wasn't going to add to that number. So I kicked dirt over the coals of the fire I'd been tending so they'd still be warm in the morning, then climbed into my tent, assuming I wouldn't have to deal with that particular issue again. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

Just as I was settling in for the night, I heard the unmistakable sound of something bipedal approaching my camp, followed by a voice, an unknown female voice. "Oh, thank mother! Hello? I'm sorry to bother you, but ummm... Could I use your tent for the night?"

Now, I suppose I should have been worried, and I did have my knife in hand, just in case, but at the time I was more annoyed than anything. Occasionally, you did run into things in the deep forest, and they'll try to trick or scare you out of the tent. Why don't they just tear their way in, you ask? I have no idea. Maybe they have rules to follow, or maybe some old magic about what counts as hearth and home holds them at bay, or maybe it's just a game to them. I don't know. All I know is it's best just to pretend you're asleep and ignore them. If you answer, they'll pester you till dawn, and you'll have to pack up and leave all groggy and annoyed, or they'll come back again the next night. And if you open your tent and leave, well, then no one would read about what happened next. So I did what I've always done, and ignored the voice. However, the voice's owner didn't ignore me.

Again, it tried. "Hello? I know it's late, but...I don't want to be out here all alone. I don't want the others to find me."

I had to fight the urge to chuckle. This attempt was just so clumsy it was almost embarrassing. But then, the voice spoke one more time. "Well, if you're not answering, I guess you're not there, so I'll just help myself." Then something that had never happened before happened: it reached out and started unzipping my tent.

Not knowing what to do, I lunged forward, stabbing my knife through the opening in the tent. Whatever was on the other side stepped back and avoided the attack. I had so much momentum that I ended up a half step outside, looking down at a woman who had just fallen on her backside and was looking back up at me, her hands raised in surrender. It was dark out, but between the moon and my night vision, I could tell she was too young to be out here alone, and now she was babbling. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make trouble! But I called out, and you didn't answer! I was just looking for a place to stay the night!"

I frowned and looked down at her. She was in a dress and sneakers. Nothing fancy, but not what you'd wear this deep in a wild forest like the one we were in. She looked more like she was dressed for a day hike than for serious backpacking. Then she repeated something she'd said earlier. "I just don't want to be found by the others!"

At this point, not talking was a moot point, so I asked, "What others?"

That made her squint at me like I was the stupid one, then her eyes widened as she exclaimed. "You're not from the village, are you?"

That made me frown as I answered. "What village? There's no one for dozens, if not hundreds, of miles from here!"

She shook her head. "No! There's a village not far from here! That's where I came from! I got turned around in the forest, and it got dark so quickly I got lost. We're not supposed to be out in the forest after dark! That's when the others can find you!"

I frowned, not liking how this was starting to sound. "You keep saying 'the others.' Who are these 'others' you keep talking about?"

She shivered slightly, though I doubted it was from the chill of the air as she explained. "If the others find you in the forest after dark, they'll kill you! Or worse! Please! Just let me come into the tent! Just for the night! I'll leave in the morning! I swear!"

Not wanting to make more of a scene or attract more attention from the nighttime forest than we already had, I climbed back into my tent, though I hadn't zipped the flap up yet. A moment later, I saw the woman's face through the tent flap as she asked. "Sooo...can I come in?"

I considered my answer carefully before responding. "I am explicitly not inviting you in, nor do I consent to your presence, but I'm also not going to attack anyone so long as they're not a threat to me, regardless of what they choose to do."

She seemed to consider my odd words for a moment before climbing into the tent with me. Technically, this was a two-person tent, since I like to store my gear in there with me to protect it from the elements. But with all my gear and me, there wasn't much room for her to squeeze in. I dragged my gear over, creating a small barrier between us, but it left her only a small spot for her to sit in, not even enough to lie out like I did once I returned to my sleeping bag. But if she thought it was unfair, she didn't complain. She curled up in her little corner all night while I slipped in and out of restless sleep.

-

I awoke the next morning to the sound of my temporary companion opening the tent and stepping outside. Assuming she needed a moment to relieve herself, I took my time getting ready while I fought off the grogginess of a restless night. As I stepped out of the tent, I saw the young woman looking around, confused. In the daylight, I could see she was even younger than I'd thought, probably in her late teens, or maybe early twenties, so basically a kid by my standards. Her outfit was pretty plain: a faded blue dress that looked better than homemade, but not exactly like something you'd see in a storefront these days either. Same with her sneakers. They looked older, like a style or make from decades ago if I was any judge.

As I assessed the girl, it was clear she was getting more and more panicked. Turning away for a moment, I kicked open the coals still warm from the night before and started feeding them dried leaves and sticks to reawaken the fire. As I worked, I decided to poke the bear, so to speak. "Alright, what's the problem now?"

The girl looked back at me, her eyes widening as if she were starting to panic, as she stuttered her answer. "I...I'm not sure which way the village is..."

Reaching up to another pack hanging in the tree, the one holding my food, I decided I might as well ask the question I'd put off, hoping this little problem would solve itself. "What's your name?"

That made her pause, as if the question shocked her into almost thinking. "Ummmm, Sheryl..."

As I sorted through my pack for breakfast supplies, I asked, "Well, Sheryl, how long were you running in the dark before you found my camp?"

She tilted her head, clearly wondering what that had to do with anything, but with no better options, she answered. "I don't know...about an hour? Maybe?"

I nodded and threw a few logs on the fire now that it was catching. "Well, an experienced hiker could make it about three or four miles in that time." I gave another glance at her state of dress before adding, "But let's assume it's closer to one or two miles in your case. How deep in the forest were you when you first got lost?"

Again, she tilted her head, but now that she understood what I meant, she thought a bit more about the question. "I'm not certain, but it couldn't have been too far. Maybe another mile, at most."

I pulled the area map from my pocket and waited for the fire to burn down a little before adding my food. The girl came over and looked over my shoulder as I talked my way through, pointing at the map and making occasional notations with a pencil. "Well, I came from this direction, and there sure as hell wasn't any village back that way, so let's assume it lies somewhere on this two hundred and seventy-degree arc." I moved my hand around as I spoke. "Now, we don't know that you were headed directly away from this mysterious village, so let's assume we need to cover a roughly two-mile width along that arc." Turning back to her, I asked, "How big is this village anyway?"

The girl gave me a blank look, as if she didn't know how to answer. "I don't know. Pretty big?"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes as I reworded my question. "Let's try that again. About how many people live there?"

She brightened a bit. "Oh! I know that! We learned about that back in school!" After proving herself every bit as much a kid as I suspected, she answered quickly. "There's a little over a thousand people currently living in the village!"

That made me stop and blink at her a few times before I responded, my voice betraying my disbelief. "There's a village no one knows exists with over a thousand people hidden deep in the forests of Montana? Are you serious?"

She frowned a little at my question. "Well, we know where it is!"'

I had the urge to point out that she was here with me right now specifically because she didn't know where it was, but I decided that would just make her panic again, so I turned back to my map. "Well, if the village is that big, I don't think we'll have to worry about missing it, so we'll head out to this point and follow this path." I traced the path with my fingers as I spoke. "With a bit of luck, we'll find the place in less than six hours. If not, we'll spread the arc out and try again. Sound good?"

She nodded eagerly as I spoke, a relieved smile crossing her face at finding a solution. With that problem solved, I turned my attention to a more immediate concern. "So, do you want oatmeal or powdered eggs for breakfast?"

-

After packing up camp, we set out to find the girl's mysterious village. Despite me carrying over forty pounds of gear on my back, she struggled to keep up, and we took frequent breaks so she could rest her sore feet, stretching my original six-hour timetable to cover the area I'd mapped out.

Once we reached the end of the area I'd marked out, panic started to creep back into the girl's face. "But, you said..."

I held up my hand to stop her before she could get worked up. "What I said is we'd find the place in the first arc, if we got lucky. We didn't, so that just means we need to widen the search a little and try again. You probably just made better time than I estimated; that's all."

As I dropped my pack, I thought she'd argue further, but she didn't. When I started pulling out trail rations and the water I'd boiled from a stream the day before, she even perked up a little.

As she started eating, I asked the question that had been bothering me as we walked through the forest. "So, why aren't you worried about these 'others' finding you today while we're looking for your village?"

The girl shook her head. "Oh, the others only come out at night. We're perfectly safe during the day."

I looked up. The tree canopy was pretty thick where we were, but plenty of nocturnal beasts and creatures wouldn't come out while the sun was shining, even in a dark forest like this. Some were perfectly innocent, others less so. I decided to dig further. "So these others... Are they human? Like us?"

The girl turned to me, chewing her jerky thoroughly as she thought. "Well... I'm not sure. I've just always been warned not to come out in the forest after dark, because the others will get you if you do! People disappear all the time, and it's because of the others!"

As I took a bite and chewed, I wondered if these "others" were just outsiders, like me. If that was the case, how would they react to me? Should I avoid this village? I looked over at the girl and debated telling her I couldn't find this village and leading her back the way I'd come, but the idea of taking her all that way was almost laughable, not to mention she might just decide to try and keep looking on her own if I did that, which would probably be a death sentence for her. I suppose I could get close enough to the village to get her home, then turn around and hike away from the area as quickly as possible.

Still, that raised the question: what should I do if I really couldn't find this village? It was entirely possible. Strange things happened in deep forests like this one. I turned to the girl, who was calm again, looking around and smiling, as though she hadn't been just about to panic moments ago. This was turning into more of a headache than I'd planned for. I was starting to think I might need a vacation from this vacation before I was done.

-

As we neared the middle of the second arc, the light began to fade. We weren't making good time, largely because of my new charge, who was hobbling along, clearly trying her best not to complain about the blisters that were obviously bothering her. This was the time of day I'd normally start looking for a good camping spot. Keeping an eye out for just that, I tried to soften the blow of us not finding the village today. "So...uh... if it comes down to it...and we can't find the village today, we can try again tomorrow."

The girl turned to me, looking like she was somewhere between breaking down and crying, or giving up, when I suddenly heard a voice in the distance. I couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but it was clear they were yelling. Evidently, the girl heard it too, because she shot up and started yelling back. "I'M HERE!"

She kept yelling as the voices grew closer, and they yelled back. I considered breaking away then and there, but the girl had an iron grip on my arm. Still, I rested my free hand on my knife, just in case, as a group of young men burst into the clearing we were in.

Like the girl, they wore outdated clothing. Unlike the girl, they all carried lit torches. One of them handed his torch to another, ran forward, embraced the girl, and held her tight as he spoke. "Sheryl! I thought we'd lost you!"

Despite the warm reunion, I half expected the rest of the group to turn on me; instead, the other four men did something possibly more disturbing: they turned away from the group, holding up their torches as if looking out into the woods. I also noticed their attention was focused higher than I expected, as though they were looking for something up in the trees.

Finally, the man turned to me, reached out, and shook my hand, conveniently keeping my hand away from the knife at my side. "Thank you for helping Sheryl! I don't know who you are, or how you stayed safe from the others, but you must come to the village tonight! We'll feed you and give you a nice place to sleep, and you can leave in the morning, with a full day ahead of you to get as far away from the other's territory as you can!"

I frowned, looking for any signs of deception as I asked. "So, the other's isn't just your word for outsiders?"

The man's eyes scrunched, his confusion plain as day. If he was acting, I couldn't tell. "What? No! The others aren't outsiders! They're far, far worse than that!"

I was starting to get frustrated. Did these people have an allergy to explaining things in a way that made sense? "Then what are these others?"

The man opened his mouth to explain, but one of his friends interrupted. "We need to leave! Now!"

Something in his tone got everyone moving, and the man with the spare torch handed his to the one I'd been speaking to. As he turned to leave, Sheryl's hand in his, he briefly turned back to me. "Listen, you saved Sheryl, and I'm grateful, but we're out of time. Come back to the village with us if you want to live, or stay and die. It's your choice." With that, he started to leave, dragging Sheryl with him and ignoring her half-hearted protests. The others were still watching the forest as they moved.

Part of me was tempted to take him up on his offer to stay out here on my own, but something about the men's mannerisms as they watched the trees bothered me. They weren't acting; they were genuinely afraid. Something of that fear boiled over to me, and I made up my mind and started after them.

Anyone who's spent time in an old-growth forest can tell you night falls faster there than anywhere else, but this was fast even by my standards. Pretty soon, the torches provided most of the light as we moved, or at least they did until I pulled out my headlamp and switched it on. The sudden, directed light made a few of the men jump. Still, if I had expected them to react strangely to the technology, I would have been disappointed. Instead, they fell back, letting me take the lead since I had the best light source for seeing ahead.

As we moved, the shadows seemed to eat at the edges of the light, making the beam feel narrower and more claustrophobic than usual. I'd be lying if I said this was the first time I'd seen it, but every time I have, things took a darker turn real quick, and this was no exception. In the unsteady light, the tree branches seemed to stretch and writhe, as though they were reaching for us as we moved, catching on our clothes and slowing our progress. If that wasn't unsettling enough, the wind through the forest soon made the shadows sound like they were whispering to us, calling us out for treading where no man is welcome. Telling us that we were going to die, and the only hope of survival was to turn and run back the way we'd come.

Now, I'm experienced enough in forests like this to tell you that when the shadows start whispering, the best move is to ignore them and keep doing what you were already doing. If you listen, you might try to outsmart them by doing the opposite of what they suggest, or you might even do what they say, trying to reverse their reverse psychology. Long story short, you'll end up playing yourself and in a worse state than if you'd simply pressed forward. After all, the shadows wouldn't whisper if you were already doing what they wanted.

With that in mind, I kept moving, and the others followed, though I could hear them whispering among themselves; I couldn't make out what they were saying, but their tones grew increasingly panicked. Not wanting things to fall apart, I turned and muttered, "Just keep moving. Ignore everything else."

I didn't mention that when I turned my head, my light caught movement behind the group. It might have been my tired brain playing tricks on me; I hadn't slept well the night before, after all, but in that moment I saw what looked like a limb of some creature pull back into the shadows behind a tree just behind us. It was only a few feet behind the rearmost person in the group, and if my sleep-deprived eyes were to be believed, that limb would belong to something more than twice the height of most adults.

However, before I could dwell on what I'd seen any further, one of the guys holding a torch spoke up loudly. "Why are we listening to this man? This outsider? At best, he doesn't even know what the others are! At worst, he's working with them! Leading us into their trap!"

I could see the man was working himself up to do something stupid, so I tried to calm him down again. "Hey now. We're all on the same side here. Let's just take a deep breath, calm down, and keep moving. Sitting here isn't going to do any of us any favors."

However, judging by how dilated the guy's eyes were, he was already in full fight-or-flight mode. It was just a question of which way he'd go. For just a moment, everything, the voices, the movement, even the breeze, all stopped. It was as if the forest around us was eagerly anticipating whatever would happen next. Slowly, so as not to draw attention, I slid my hand over my belt to my knife. If he attacked me, I had no doubt the rest would take his side over a stranger's, and I'd be in real trouble real quick. Then the coin dropped as chemicals pumping through the man's brain overrode his higher brain functions and forced him to act. Instantly, the man turned and started to run back the way we'd come. However, he didn't make it more than two steps before we all froze to assess a new threat as his torch lit up from the previously impenetrable shadows.

As important as accurate observations are, in moments like this, it's hard to stay objective long enough to account for exactly what we saw. Still, to the best of my memory, the creature stood roughly ten to twelve feet tall. Its skin resembled a texture between leather and bark, though, at a glance, it seemed unhealthily pale and slimy. It was roughly humanoid in shape, though it was off in all the wrong ways. Its legs had one or two more joints than they should have, one ending in a clawed foot, the other in a hoof. Its arms hung low, and its fingers, of which there were different amounts on each hand, were almost as long as my forearm and scraped the forest floor, even though the creature stood at what I assumed was full height. As we watched, frozen in horror, the creature reached up and scratched its chest, tearing deep furrows in its skin as a black, oozing substance slowly flowed from the wounds, more like sap than blood. In the moment, I thought its face was unlike anything I'd ever seen, but in hindsight, it resembled an aye-aye. If you're not familiar, they're one of those ugly-but-cute animals, native to Madagascar. They've got tight skin stretched over an elongated skull, large bulbous eyes, and fur so wiry and thin it almost looks like it's got mange. This was kinda like that, except horrifying beyond all words, as it leaked more of the blood sap from its eyes and its face was torn apart by a grin, the likes of which I'd only ever seen on some messed-up creep tearing wings off a butterfly on the playground back when I was a kid.

Faster than any of us could react, the creature reached out and grabbed the man who'd turned to run. That seemed to flip a switch in all our heads, and the rest of us turned to run. As we tore through the forest, we were urged to pick up the pace when the unlucky man's voice rose into one of those horrifying screams that tear at your ears like fingernails on a chalkboard while also seeming to exceed human capacity in both volume and pitch.

Pretty soon, the others outpaced me, as they weren't carrying oversized packs on their back. I was just starting to consider dropping the pack when I heard something large tear through the forest behind me, and all thought ceased as everything I had went into pushing myself further and faster than ever before. But like before, the forest seemed to turn hostile as branches reached out again, clawing at my pack, my clothes, and even my eyes. I raised my arms up like a boxer as I ran, trying to keep the branches from blinding me, when a root snagged on my foot and down I went.

Before I could regain my footing, something incredibly heavy tackled me from behind, shoving my face deeper into the forest floor's dirt and mud. A moment later, my body was rocked side to side as it started tearing at my pack. I imagined it biting and clawing it, like some big cat trying to disembowel its prey.

Doing the only thing I could think to do, I grabbed my knife and reached back, slashing at the only target I had: the straps holding the pack to my back. The moment I was free, the pack, and whatever was on it, fell to the side, and I was up and running again. In the distance, I could see the others' torches bobbing as they ran. Without any other plan at the moment, I ran after them, hoping I could somehow outrun whatever was in the forest behind me.

As I ran, I realized people called these monsters the "others," and it occurred to me it wasn't a singular noun, meaning there were more of those things in the forest. That thought came just as I saw a branch, no, an arm, reach out of the forest for me. With my momentum, I couldn't stop or turn, so I did the only thing I could. I dropped and rolled. Popping up and continuing my run, I could now hear multiple large things behind me in the forest, all giving chase. The only thing that kept me focused was that the lights ahead were closer than ever. I remembered the old joke: you don't have to outrun the bear; you only have to outrun your friend, and I pushed myself harder.

Suddenly, I broke the treeline and found myself in a grassy field. Not wild grass like you might find in a meadow, tall and filled with shrubs and wildflowers. Instead, I found myself on what I could only describe as a well-manicured lawn, and up ahead I saw a bunch of buildings. Maybe it was the surprise, or maybe the exhaustion, but I fell again, my momentum carrying me forward as I rolled and slid to a stop, ending face up and looking back toward the forest.

I froze, staring at the forest, expecting the creatures to burst out of the treeline any moment, but that didn't happen. Instead, the motion in the forest seemed to stop, then turn away and shuffle back the way they'd come. Apparently, I had found the impossible mystery village.

Of course, if I'd known then what I know now, I might have gotten up and walked right back into the forest, taking my chances with those creatures. But it's getting late, and I'm getting tired, so I might save the conclusion of my story for part two, which I'll write up on my next day off.

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Definitely a bit late, but this one got a bit away from me. I didn't even intend for there to be two parts, but, well, here we are. Now, I just got done with day five of my 7 day work week, and I want to go to sleep, so I hope you all enjoy this one, and are interested in what's to come. (I havent even gotten to the part this story was originally supposed to be! This all was just the set up!)

If you liked this story and want to see more of my stuff, check out my wiki. It's got all my stories, short and long, which are marked with the appropriate categories and such, just in case you don't like the spooky and/or incomplete series.

As a reminder, you can also find the full trilogy for "Of Men and Dragons," my series, here on Amazon. If you like my work and want to support it, buying a copy and leaving a review really helps a lot!