 
Alliance

# Triumph of Heroes

# Book Three

# Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1 – Regrouping

Chapter 2 – Strangers

Chapter 3 – Rumblings

Chapter 4 – Helping Out

Chapter 5 – Introspection

Chapter 6 – A Fool's Errand

Chapter 7 – Preparations

Chapter 8 – The First Battle for Monarch

Interlude 1 – A Changed Past

Chapter 9 – Aftermath

Chapter 10 – Warming Up

Chapter 11 – One Step Forward

Chapter 12 –...And Two Steps Back

Chapter 13 – New Life

Chapter 14 – Glowing

Chapter 15 – Allies

Chapter 16 – The Second Battle for Monarch

Interlude 2 – An Uncertain Present

Chapter 17 – Weight

Chapter 18 – Crossing the Line

Chapter 19 – Ghosts

Chapter 20 – Bonds

Chapter 21 – The Dreams of a Monster

Chapter 22 – The Heart of a Monster

Chapter 23 – A Quiet Fury

Chapter 24 – The Third Battle for Monarch, pt. 1

Chapter 25 – The Third Battle for Monarch, pt. 2

Chapter 26 – The Third Battle for Monarch, pt. 3

Interlude 3 – A Hopeful Future

Chapter 27 – The Man Pulling the Strings

Chapter 28 – The Price of Victory

Chapter 29 – Home

Message to the Readers

About the Author

Connections

Character List

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# Introduction

Somewhere in the Plains

Maxillarion lays down in the grass, stretches out his limbs, and takes a deep breath of the afternoon air.

The crystal blue sky draws him in like a yawning abyss; he feels like he could push himself off the ground and drift away. The ground beneath him is warm, but the grass is pleasantly cool. Faint clouds drift by overhead, moved along by some unseen wind. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep. The fresh air feels good in his nose.

A voice calls for his attention. Max opens his eyes and finds himself laying in the ruins of Monarch. He tilts his head back, looking behind him. Gnosis sits a few paces away.

"You know," Max says, looking back at the now-sullen sky, "I was trying to have some time to myself."

"You can have it after you're done working," says Gnosis.

"Aren't we done working? Look at this place." He throws his arm up haphazardly. "I'd say we've earned a break."

"The destruction of Monarch was only a prelude. Careful manipulation is needed for our efforts to reach a crescendo. Are you listening to me?"

"Absolutely," Max says, not listening at all.

"I need you to infiltrate the Hero camp and sow disorder. While you're among them, stay away from Scott Cornot. I feel his abilities may blow your cover."

Max pauses. "You _feel_?"

"I've said before I can't see the future. It's like a burned photograph: I can visualize what it once was, but there are burns at the edges. There are dark spots in my vision that I lack the power to heal."

"Ordering me to go blindly into enemy territory is very unlike you, Gnosis."

"It is a necessity. We must ensure that they open the Nexus without letting them win the war."

"Do what?" Max says. "You _want_ them to open the Nexus?"

"Yes. Sorsaren couldn't open it, but maybe they can. We need to get the Seed first to succeed, but if the Heroes get it before us, all our efforts would have been meaningless."

Max stands, becoming annoyed. "How long do you plan on playing shadow games? Why not get Sorsaren off his ass, annihilate this planet and rip out the core?"

"Did you forget that Sorsaren could not open the Nexus?"

"You're not listening to me. We have an omnipotent monster. We can walk to Monarch, blow a hole through the center, grab the Seed and go home."

"No, we can't. Sorsaren already tried that, remember? And before you say 'just blow up Renea', we can't do that, either. If the Seed is that well-protected, blowing up the planet will only reveal what is shielding the Seed, leaving the three of us in the vacuum of space—an area which at least two of us can't survive in."

"I can survive in space."

"No, you can't. Only the idea of you survives in space. In all instances where you could exist, if you choose to exist in space, you would be dead."

Max tosses his hands up. "Then I'll move to another planet and let Sorsaren blow up this one."

"Your plan is to blow up Renea to reveal a shield around the Seed that he can't penetrate?"

"Sorsaren is omnipotent, does that mean nothing to you? He can do anything. As soon as he breaks the shielding, we all get to go home."

"Ah, so this is about going home. Why are you so eager to go back to the Tower? Haven't you wondered what will happen to us once we return?"

Max goes to respond, but something stops him. Gnosis isn't smiling.

"Our purpose will be fulfilled once we complete our task," he continues. "Do you think he'll suffer to let us live after we've endured such tremendous failure?"

"You're being pessimistic," Max says. "We're not expendable to him."

"Do you have the knowledge to answer that?"

Max looks at Gnosis strangely. "Are you afraid of dying, oh immortal one?"

"I don't know. I've never done it before."

"We all die someday."

"And some of us would rather wait to know what it's like."

Max scoffs. "I've died a few thousand times. I don't get what the big deal is. Hell, you're omniscient, you don't need me to tell you; you already know what your death is going to be."

"I've blocked it," says Gnosis. "I'd rather live and outwit threats, taking the challenge of knowing each day might be my last rather than skirt around my impending death. Either way, I'm sure the end won't be much longer. A war is coming and it won't be easy for us."

"What do you mean? We have Sorsaren. How could it get any easier than that?"

"Because sheer power, if you remember, didn't open the Nexus. We didn't achieve our checkmate. We must change tactics and subtlety is the only thing that will ensure our success. After _that_ , well, it's anyone's guess, isn't it? And while my guess is better than any, there's certainly a margin of error. Will we go back to the Tower? Will I die here on this gods-forsaken rock? What happens to you if I'm killed? These are questions that keep me up at night, questions I'm afraid to answer. I find a strange comfort in that mysterious unknown. In a sense, I find strange comfort in being human."

When Gnosis looks up, Max is gone, and his omniscience won't tell him where he went.

# Chapter One

## Regrouping

In a glade in the Woods

Drew King stares at a still lake in contemplative silence.

He's spent more afternoons sitting at the edge of the water than he can count. It just feels right, even now, to look at the glassy blue surface and fall into a trance. In it, he weighs his options carefully and reflects upon his current situation.

Luke Derringer is gone, his body stolen by an ancient monster and his soul presumably destroyed.

Stanley Lockwood went back in time to fix the past. All was going well until Nysse, the newly ascended god of Insight and the Cosmos, said she could no longer see him. That was weeks ago. Stanley hasn't returned and Nysse still can't find him.

Upset by Stanley's decision to leave and distressed by his disappearance, Bennie Balachie has confined herself to the wilds of the Woods. According to Camellia, at one site she built a Homing Beacon for Stanley to track when he's ready to come home. Drew and Kexal occasionally go out to force her to eat something, but otherwise, she keeps to herself.

Scott Cornot, though growing stronger, is still out of commission from his flight across an entire realm on the back of his telepathy. Jinas, his doctor, says there are signs of serious brain damage, a situation Scott often jokes about.

Camellia Agnelli has mostly been in charge of deciding what to do next, though she hasn't made much progress. It can't be helped; she doesn't have the personality for tactics or intensive planning. The Emissaries haven't stepped in to help and neither has Nysse.

Drew splashes his hand in the water. A world war looms on the horizon with the Nexus now unprotected and all the realm barriers torn down. If he's honest, Drew really wants to hit the panic button and get the hell out of dodge, but he knows too many people are counting on him to help out, so he forces himself to stick around and comes to his lake when things get too real. At the very least, Drew is glad he's not in charge. Responsibility is always easier when it's someone else's problem.

Drew looks at his reflection in the water. He remembers that he's destined to Deiascend and take Cebral's place as god of the Ocean. His heart beats light and hard in his chest and a sickening feeling clogs the back of his throat. The thought of leading an entire realm rests on his shoulders like the weight of an entire planet.

The clear surface shifts just a little bit, but Drew still takes notice. He glances up and spots one of the Emissaries dipping her finger in the water a few feet away. Short brown hair, a sporty face... Jenna, wasn't it?

Jenna looks up. "Oh. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"It's okay, I was just thinking."

"What's on your mind?"

"Too much," Drew says. "I've done nothing but sit around. It feels like there's nothing to do except sit and wait. I feel like I'm being eaten from the inside-out. It's driving me crazy, like I'm forgetting something important and I just know I'm going to remember it at an inopportune time and have a heart attack. And I'm supposed to take Cebral's place and live forever as some important leader? What if I mess up? What do I know about ruling or immortality?"

"I think you need to de-stress," Jenna says. "Life is a huge mental game and if you're not prepared for it, it'll grind you down. And take it from me, immortality isn't all that great."

Drew is silent for a moment. "What was it like to live for so long?"

"It wasn't bad at first," Jenna says. "It took a few decades to realize that I wasn't getting any older. It took about three hundred years for me to really lose it. A lot of my friends had died and all their relatives and kin didn't know who I was. I was becoming alone at an excruciatingly slow pace, like bleeding out from a wound you can't heal. I imagine most of us must have gone completely mad at some point, except Gabriel or Ariana." She sits next to him. "You drift in and out after a while. The days blow by so fast. The little kid you saw in the street market one day is suddenly married with kids, and then you blink and you're attending his funeral. Some centuries you're active and making a difference and some you live like a hermit because nothing matters."

"Centuries..." Drew shakes his head. "I couldn't imagine."

"I wouldn't want you to. It was pure, undiluted torture. If I got too active, Gnosis would send Max to shut me down. For some reason they deemed me important enough to keep around, but I never understood _why_." Jenna sighs. "Anyways, things are different now. I have Roger and my old friends and some new ones too. I haven't felt this free in a long time."

Silence comes between them—a comforting silence, broken only by the soft hum of nature.

"I don't know, Drew," Jenna says softly. "All the things I've been through and all the things _you've_ been through were leading up to this. Our situation, our meeting, this whole conversation... It has to be destined. I've lived too long to believe in anything else. We'll just have to grapple with whatever comes next."

A gentle wind rustles the trees, sending waves rippling across the top of the lake. A few clouds drift by overhead on the pale blue sky. Drew takes a long moment to appreciate the stillness.

"Drew? You still with me?"

He stirs. "Huh?"

"I was asking if you were ready to head back to camp."

"Oh, sure." He pauses. "Hey, Jenna? Do you know how to use a spear?"

"Sure. I know all about weapons."

"Would you mind teaching me?"

"Not at all. Come on"—Jenna offers a hand—"we'll go together."

Kexal allows himself a sigh as he jams the last of the foodstuff into his backpack.

"Going out?" Gabriel says, reclining on a nearby log. "I thought it was Drew's day."

"No, it's mine," Kexal says. "He doesn't do a good job, anyways. He always tells her to 'take her time' and it really gets on my nerves."

"Drew's doing the right thing. Bennie's wounds will take time to heal."

"What wounds? Some guy she liked had to leave for a while and then went missing, yet everyone here is acting like he's had his head lopped off at the shoulders, like his body was dumped on our doorstep." Kexal slings his backpack over his shoulders. "I've seen worse things happen to better men. No one here has any right to complain about someone who went missing by his own foolish decision."

"I suppose it's something you wouldn't understand."

A resentful sting pricks the back of his throat and Kexal half-turns to say something, but he stops, thinking the better of it, and continues on his way. Kexal can feel Gabriel's knowing eyes on the back of his neck but he forces himself to move forward. Aside from Jinas, who might as well be an honorary Hero, Kexal is the only non-Hero in the group. No matter where he goes, it's like everyone is constantly in on a joke that he'll never be able to understand because he's not like them.

He tells himself to worry about camp politics later. Bennie needs to eat and someone has to get her out of her emotional slump. Unfortunately, Bennie doesn't like to stay in one place for very long. Sometimes Kexal finds her near a lake, staring at the glassy surface in silence. Sometimes he finds her daydreaming under the wide branches of a fruit tree. Never once has Kexal seen her use her powers—not since Stanley left. Perhaps she's conserving her energy for the fight ahead. Whenever he brings it up with Drew, Drew changes the subject. Another inside joke, probably. He wouldn't get it.

Kexal pushes a few branches out of the way and makes his way toward the Homing Beacon. Bennie usually comes by to check if Stanley is waiting for her, so it's a good place to start. He steps out of the forest and into the clearing near the Homing Beacon. A white-hot fire burns atop a massive stone pillar, its heat strong enough to be felt even on the ground. At night, one can see the Beacon from almost anywhere in the Woods; it's made for a useful landmark during nighttime expeditions.

As he starts toward the Beacon, his foot catches on something and he stumbles. Kexal whirls around to kick the life out of whatever was in his way but, to his surprise, a very sleepy Bennie Balachie cracks an eye open from the ground and sits up.

"Morning," she yawns.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?"

"Same as yesterday. Still have a little bit of a cough, but otherwise I'm fine."

"Good to hear." Kexal sits down across from her and opens his backpack. "I'm going to guess you haven't eaten yet."

Bennie squints at the sky. "What time is it? I must have slept through breakfast."

"It's mid-afternoon." He pulls out a pan, a salt rock, a striker and his foodstuffs, carefully wrapped in waxy leaves. "Get a fire pit set up. I'm going to get some wood."

Kexal leaves Bennie with the food and goes off to collect firewood. For a moment Bennie considers rolling over and going back to sleep. Maybe that will get him to leave. After all, he's done nothing but bother her about coming back to the camp for the past two weeks and it's beginning to get on her nerves. He talks a lot about being company for her, too, but company is the _last_ thing she's wanted this entire time, unless it's company bringing news that Stanley has come home.

But with a heavy sigh, Bennie clears a small area for Kexal's fire pit and plays around with the striker. She scatters some sparks and watches jealously as they flare to life before dying out in the dirt. Without her powers, she can't even make a spark. She opens her hand and tries to concentrate on making a flame, but nothing comes. She sees Stanley's face in her mind. She sinks into herself.

Kexal returns a few minutes later with a few logs under one arm and a collection of dried branches under the other. Bennie makes no move to help him and Kexal makes no move to ask. It isn't long until Kexal has a small fire ablaze in the fire pit.

"I'm thinking salted wildbeast," Kexal says, unwrapping one of the waxy leaves. "Sound good to you?"

Bennie shrugs noncommittally.

Kexal dumps the hunk of meat on his pan and suspends it over the fire. He dusts off his hands and then stares at Bennie expectantly.

"What?" she snaps.

"I'm just wondering why you're doing this to yourself. You're not eating, you're not exercising, and you're isolating yourself from others. It's bad for you."

"Well, I'm not doing it because it's _good_ for me."

"Then why are you doing it at all? I don't understand. You've got a whole camp of people willing to support you, all of whom care about you and miss you—"

"Miss me? Oh please, like they give a damn."

"Of course they do, you idiot!" Kexal exclaims. "You think they want you to spend all day slinking around the woods feeling sorry for yourself? You think they want you to spend all day in front of a big monolith waiting for Stanley to come back? They need you in the camp. _I_ need you in the camp."

"Losing Stanley changed everything for me," Bennie retorts. "You don't know what it's like, so don't pretend—"

"You know what I think? I think you're too damn lazy to get your act together and you'd rather sit around all day and wait for me to come help like I always do. You're taking advantage of me and Drew and you know it."

Heat swells hot in her chest, but she grits her teeth and ignores him by turning away. Kexal softens.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I know I've been hard on you. We just... We really miss you, that's all." He gets up to leave.

"I'm sorry, too."

Kexal pauses. Bennie is looking at him sadly. He sits down again as Bennie pulls her knees tight to her chest.

"Seeing Stanley again made me really happy," she says. "I'd been thinking about him nonstop and I didn't realize how much I cared about him until I saw him again. When he left, it was like my whole world was taken from me. I can't stop thinking about what could have happened to him. Not knowing is worse than knowing exactly what happened."

"People leave, Bennie. That doesn't mean they won't come back." Kexal turns the meat over. "Listen, if you want to continue to sit around and feel sorry for yourself, that's on you, but I can't guarantee I'll keep coming out to help you. I'm being too much of an enabler."

"You'd leave me alone out here?"

Kexal keeps his eyes locked on the fire. "If I have to."

Bennie is silent for a long time. "I know this isn't good for me," she finally says. "I know I'm a mess. I'm losing my grip on who I am, who I was, everything I learned and gained these past few months. I don't think I can even call myself a Hero anymore and then I start thinking about how I _can't_ go back to camp, not like this. The looks they would give me, crawling back to them with no powers, no confidence, no bravery... I don't know if I could bear it."

"I don't know what to say to that, really."

"Sorry. I know it's too much."

Kexal flips the meat in the pan. "Jinas says you're sick in the brain. I asked him once what that meant, but then he started going off with medical terms and I just didn't get it. If you ask me, I think a swift kick in the ass will get you started again." He chuckles and gets to his feet. "Enjoy your food. Drew will be here tomorrow."

"You're leaving already? Don't you want to talk some more?"

"I can't. I have work to do." Kexal shoulders his backpack and pauses for a second. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Kexal walks off into the forest. An empty feeling settles in Bennie's lower stomach. She turns toward the food Kexal left over the fire and embarrassment rises in her cheeks. That was the first time she'd opened up to someone that deeply and he didn't even get it. She covers her face, berating herself for making such a huge mistake. Of course Kexal wouldn't get it. No one would understand it, would they? A moment of realization creeps up her spine at how helpless she feels.

She glances up at her Homing Beacon and wishes Stanley would come home and tell her things are going to be alright. She looks at the meat in the pan, still sizzling, and curls up next to the fire, exhausted and hurting.

Scott Cornot stretches his arms, yawning. He's just awakened from another one of countless naps. As he gets to his feet and stretches again, his joints pop, letting him know his body is still trying to catch up. Scott cracks his neck and levitates, folding his legs under him so he's sitting cross-legged in mid-air. His head throbs weakly from the effort.

Scott turns as if spinning in a chair. Camellia Agnelli stands across from him with a plate in her hand.

"Are you sure you should be doing that?" she asks.

"In my condition? Hell no. But my brain needs the exercise."

Camellia lifts her plate a little bit. "I brought you some food."

Scott glances over her shoulder; Jinas is storming towards them. Camellia follows his gaze and steps out of his way.

"What are you doing?" Jinas demands. "Why are you sitting up? Are you insane? Do you want to fry your brain?"

"I thought it was already fried," Scott says innocently, still floating.

"There's just no winning with you." Jinas takes Scott's wrist. "How are you feeling today? Any dizziness?"

"No dizziness, but I've got this annoying little sound in my ear..."

"Har har, wise guy. I'm being serious."

"I am too. It's a low hum, like someone running a clothes dryer. Sometimes I can hear voices, too."

Jinas quirks an eyebrow. "Voices? What do they say?"

"Nothing interesting. They just whisper a little bit."

"I see. Interesting."

Camellia clears her throat. Jinas jumps; he hadn't noticed her. "Should I come back later?" she asks. "I brought some food, but if he needs rest..."

"Ah, well—" Jinas steps away. "He should eat, I think that's good. You can talk with him. It might also do him good. Yes, well, excuse me." He hurries away.

Scott chuckles. "He thinks you're cute."

"That's polite of him."

"I think you're cute too, bringing me food like this."

"I thought you were a fan of redheads," Camellia says, handing him the plate. "Remember Fiona? She kept leaving you for that Kyle Redfern guy. I always told you she wasn't good for you, remember?"

"Hey, the heart wants what it wants." Scott takes a bite of his food and coughs. "What is this, toasted bark?"

"I'm not sure. Gabriel keeps saying it's good for your mind. It's a little bland, but not too bad."

Scott sets the plate in his lap and sighs. After a moment, Camellia nudges him. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know."

"Well, talk to me."

"Was your Adversary a bad guy?" Scott asks.

"Yes. Aside from being evil, he really was a bad guy."

"My Adversary wasn't," Scott says. "Salvation was trying to protect the Cemetery. Meanwhile, my patron god Magnus was slaughtering his own people just to get some peace and quiet. He turned everyone against Salvation while he stabbed them in the back. He was legitimately more worried about facing Salvation than facing me."

"Oh," Camellia says, thinking about her meeting with Apalon. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I watched him die," Scott continues. "I watched Magnus die right in front of me. Luke showed up and he just... He just evaporated. The most powerful being I've ever met in my life, gone in a flash. I don't understand it, Camellia. Everything I was told to do during my quest was supposed to reach its peak once I met Magnus. He was supposed to be the cornerstone—a beacon of righteousness and power, and he... He just wasn't." Scott smiles. "It's funny, actually. I hated the idea of meeting him because it was what everyone wanted me to do. All I ever wanted to do was fly around and fight Shades and explore the world with Jinas and Katrina, yet all these people demanded things of me that I didn't want. They were dumping their hopes and dreams on me and expecting me to carry a load I never agreed to carry. I never wanted that. I never wanted to become a ruler or a savior or anything like that. I just wanted to have an adventure."

"You sound like Drew. He never wanted this either."

"Drew's problem is he didn't want the responsibility. I just never wanted to be what everyone told me I was destined to be." He pauses. "What about you?"

She laughs. "I never thought I was suited for any of this."

"And yet here we are. Some world we live in, huh?"

"Yeah, some world."

They sit in silence for a moment.

"Do you ever think about home?" Camellia says.

"Sometimes. I think about Fiona. My mom and my dad. I wish I missed them more than I actually do. In a way it feels like I've finally struck out on my own and this is my new life, that they're still waiting for me on Earth when I'm ready to come home. What about you?"

"I think about my parents. I know they're worried and wondering where I am, and I'll have a lot to tell them once we get home." She pauses. "You know, we've been gone for so long that we might be national news by now."

"Think so?" Scott says. "Well, I wouldn't complain. I've always wanted to be on television."

They fall silent again, not for a lack of conversation, but to give each other space to think.

"I should get more rest," Scott finally says when he can take the silence no longer. "My head is starting to hurt again."

"That's a good idea." Camellia takes Scott's plate from him. "Call me over when you get up, okay? I'll bring you some more food."

Camellia leaves and Scott returns to the ground, reclines, and stretches his limbs. His body is awake, but his mind is tired again. He closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep.

His eyes don't stay closed for long. The sound of someone crashing through the bushes alerts everyone in the camp. The Emissaries form a line, each ready for battle. Camellia peers over their shoulders, curious. Drew, initially practicing with a spear, stops training to see what all the noise is about. Nysse doesn't move from her spot on the ground.

To everyone's surprise, Kexal stumbles into the camp. Disbelief is etched on his face.

"Kexal?" Gabriel lowers his bow. "Warn someone next time you decide to—"

"Guys," he interrupts. "You're not going to believe what I just found."

A nervous man shuffles through the branches. He looks over Kexal's shoulder but doesn't get any closer. On his forehead is the mark of Chaldir, god of ruin and flame.

# Chapter Two

## Strangers

Hero camp, the Woods

Peter, the man Kexal found in the forest, nervously looks around at the faces staring at him and talking over each other. He briefly stutters out his name and is swiftly drowned in questions.

"Where did you come from?" Camellia asks. "How long have you been here?"

"You have the mark of Chaldir," says Roger. "Are you a Hero? How old were you when you were marked? What do you know?"

"What about your friends?" Gabriel interjects. "Do they have marks too? Where are they? Can you take us to them?"

"You've got a camp nearby, right?" Drew insists. "Can you show us? Are there others?"

Peter sputters for words.

"He's overwhelmed," Kexal says, pushing the Heroes back. "Give him some space, will you?"

A few mumbles of discontent ripple through but eventually the group spreads out and waits for Peter to speak.

"Well," Peter says after a moment, "it's definitely good to know you're all alive."

"Why wouldn't we be?" Scott asks.

"Well, there were rumors. People thought you had been killed in Monarch. When Tyram ordered the evacuation of the entire Woods District, I knew something bad was about to happen. I'm just relieved you all made it. The others will be, too."

"What others?" Gabriel asks.

"The survivors of Monarch and those who were in the Woods after Tyram's evacuation order."

"Survivors?" Roger sounds excited. "There are more of you?"

"Of all kinds," Peter says. "Most of us are from the Woods, but people have trickled in over the past few days from other realms. Some, like me, bear the mark of a patron god, but we no longer call ourselves Heroes like we used to. The social status it once brought us was leveled with Monarch. In fact, with our Hero marks being pointless, no one knows who's in charge! That's why I left to find the real Heroes. We need your help. The camp needs people to look up to again. We don't have much, but whatever we have is yours to share."

Gabriel pats Peter on the shoulder. "Give us a minute." He motions to the group and the Heroes and the Emissaries make a small circle off to the side, out of earshot.

"Well?" Drew says. "Think he's telling the truth?"

"I don't know," Camellia says. "He seems sincere, but it's hard to tell."

"Hard to tell?" says Scott. "His mind is screaming for help. He's definitely telling the truth."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm a mind reader. I'm one-hundred percent certain."

"Then let's go for it," says Drew. "We can't just keep sitting around waiting for things to happen to us. We've got to get out there and happen upon the world."

"We should wait until Bennie gets here," Camellia says. "She should be a part of this too."

"She'd want to go immediately," says Scott. "We should follow Peter and see where he leads us."

"I'll second that," Drew nods.

Camellia hesitates for a moment, then delivers a nod of agreement.

The group heads back over to Peter and delivers their formal agreement to come and help. Peter barely contains his excitement, hugging and shaking the hands of everyone present. Kexal leaves quickly, saying over his shoulder that he's going to tell Bennie. Gabriel helps Peter back to his feet after he nearly faints from shaking hands with Nysse.

As they start to pack up camp and get ready to leave, Camellia pulls Drew aside.

"I don't like leaving Bennie out in the cold," she whispers. "She's a Hero too. She deserves to be making decisions with us. Depressed or not, she's still part of the team."

"I know, and I'm with you," Drew says as he packs up his meager belongings. "But it's getting dark and she wasn't here to vote; there's nothing we could have done."

"We could have waited until tomorrow."

"Remember what I said about happening upon the world? This is an opportunity that shouldn't be told to wait. Even if Bennie disagreed, it would have been a three-to-one vote in favor of leaving. If we could go now or later, I'd always choose now." Drew pauses. "Though, I have to admit, I'm not too excited about showing up to a camp full of high expectations."

At Camellia's slight sigh, Drew pats her shoulder. "Look, how about I go find Kexal and Bennie and take them to camp myself? The rest of us can go with Peter."

"Okay, but how will you find us?"

"I'll just ask Peter where the camp is and find my way after I get the other two. If I get lost, Kexal's a tracker. I'm sure he can figure it out."

Kexal pushes into the clearing and finds himself standing at the foot of Bennie's Homing Beacon. A raging flame burns from the top of the marble tower, a feat of engineering Kexal still doesn't understand. How did Bennie build such a marvel by herself, alone, with no marble quarries for citystrides? It must be one of those Hero things everyone expects him to understand, even though they forget he isn't a Hero and that there are things he cannot understand.

Kexal spots Bennie reclining in the grass a few paces away. With her hands knitted behind her head and one leg crossed over the other, she looks surprisingly peaceful for someone dealing with "depression." It sounds like an excuse to justify attention-seeking behavior. He tries to collect his thoughts and approaches her. She sits up slightly when she hears him.

"Hey," she says. "Just in time for sunset."

"Bennie, we need to talk."

"Yeah?" Bennie sits up on her elbows. "Listen, if this is about what I said earlier—"

"A man with Chaldir's mark showed up in camp today."

Bennie sits up in shock. "What?"

"I ran into him on my way back to camp. He got all excited when I said something about his mark and asked me if there were others like him, if they knew anything about the Heroes or the camp he came from. One thing led to another and, well, we're heading off to join his camp."

"What?" Bennie rubs her eyes. "Wait, wait a second... Why didn't anyone come tell me?"

"What do you mean? I came."

"I mean why didn't—"

Bennie cuts herself short. Kexal suddenly feels anger well up inside him.

"I didn't have to come," he says shortly. "I could have left you out of it, but I came because I thought you needed to know."

Bennie stares into empty space, but it's impossible to tell whether she's thinking or still in shock. "They were going to leave without me," she states blankly. "No; they already left me. They even made the decision to change camps without me."

"You're being unrealistic. Look, can't we—"

"What do you know!" Bennie suddenly gets to her feet. "They left me here to rot! I knew it; they don't care about me! They, they—!"

Bennie backs up, becoming increasingly distressed. Kexal slowly gets up, attempting to keep her calm. She tangles her fingers in her hair, then starts laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Kexal tries to calm her down and Bennie shouts at him. Kexal shouts back and soon the two are yelling over each other, neither listening to what the other has to say. They get so close that they could grab handfuls of each other's clothes and come to blows.

But before they can, someone comes crashing through the bushes. Kexal and Bennie whirl around to see Drew King brandishing a large stick. He then visibly relaxes and chucks the stick into the brush.

"Drew?" Bennie says hoarsely, her voice shot.

"You had me worried," he says, laughing. "It sounded like someone was getting killed out here."

Kexal gives Bennie a look. She doesn't acknowledge him.

"I don't understand," she says. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to get you and lead you to our new camp. It's getting dark, so pack up whatever you have and follow me. I know exactly where I'm going."

"You came back for me?"

"Of course! Now come on, daylight is fading."

Drew heads off into the brush. Bennie turns on Kexal, an apology in her eyes.

"Don't bother," he says, annoyed.

"Hey!" Drew shouts from afar. "Are you two coming or not?"

Kexal starts into the trees. Bennie looks around, grabs one or two things she doesn't want to leave behind, and jogs after him.

Peter leads the group into the refugee camp just as the Woods sun sets. He brings the Heroes, Emissaries, and Nysse to the top of a small hill overlooking the camp, a large area lit by torches and cooking pit flames. The camp is split into two halves. In one, the tents are all the same size and are neatly organized in rows and columns. At the sight of one man hobbling through on a crutch, Peter identifies it as the medical camp. The other half of the refugee camp has tents of all types and sizes and the occasional mini house crafted by an ambitious hand. Fires crackle as the refugees make their meals and settle in for the evening.

Peter leads the group down into the camp. They pass through the front of the medical camp and through the quiet street. Thankfully, it looks like not too many people are injured.

"Hey!" Jinas suddenly walks away from the group and enters one of the medical tents. "What on Renea are you doing? Give me that and get out of my way. Who taught you how to practice medicine? Look, if you're going to call yourself a doctor—"

Everyone looks at Scott expectantly, but he dismisses them with a wave.

Peter leads the Heroes through the medical camp and into the main camp. A few people glance up, some of them recognizing the Heroes, and all of them intrigued by the goddess silently following behind them. A small crowd follows them to the front door of a small, unfinished wooden building. Peter turns to address the crowd, but he bites his tongue, unable to word himself.

"We'll only be a moment," Nysse says to the crowd.

Seemingly satisfied, or at least satiated, the crowd disperses. Peter leads the group into the building and closes the door behind them.

"I suppose I'll keep things brief," he says. "As you know, I'm Peter. I'm one of the community leaders for the Ruins faction. Every realm has a faction here: Ocean, Peaks, Cemetery, Plains, Ruins, and even some from the Woods. As I mentioned before, I need your help. We don't know what we're doing out here. Without oracles or the gods to lead us, we're completely lost. You're the only Heroes who successfully returned from your quests, so you're the ideal leaders."

"I wouldn't say that," Gabriel says.

Everyone turns toward Gabriel, suddenly curious.

"Leaders, no—they're not ready. But icons? Absolutely. Think about it. A camp needs two things: hope and leadership. Nysse and the Heroes can provide the hope while the Emissaries provide the leadership."

"Emissaries?" Peter asks, confused.

"The four of us," Gabriel clarifies, gesturing to himself, Roger, Jenna, and Katrina. "We've been around for long enough to know how things should be run. Let the four of us organize the camp while the Heroes prepare for combat and take care of diplomacy."

"Wait," Camellia says. "Diplomacy? Like, public relations?"

"Wait," Scott says. "Combat? Like, the world war?"

" _The_ world war?" Peter echoes, doubly confused.

"And it's likely to occur very soon," says Roger. "Monarch has to be the battleground; no other place on Renea is nearly as important. The city sits at the Nexus, the intersection of all six realms. It is the central hub for Renea's magic, making it an important area both strategically and magically, and with Monarch gone, there will just be huge underground rivers, or leylines, of free magic seeking a host to stabilize them—so, a Hero or an Adversary.'"

Peter wipes his forehead. "Chaldir's beard, I never knew about this."

"Ironically," Gabriel says flatly, "even though we're the ones bringing the war to you, we're also the only ones capable of fighting it. Despite being in the line of fire, this camp is probably the safest place on Renea."

"Well, what would this war entail? Just keeping Monarch out of evil hands?"

"And self-interested hands," Roger says, suddenly standing up. "Excuse me. I have to chase off an eavesdropper." He exits swiftly, his staff in hand.

Peter appears to be thinking. "Monarch is no small farm," he mutters. "And people may be upset about losing their home, but I don't know if they'd... Well, maybe they would, if there was enough incentive."

Gabriel clears his throat, bringing Peter back to reality.

"Anyways, the fact that you are here is enough for me," Peter says, addressing the group. "However, I recognize that this Monarch business comes with you, so I have an idea. If you can lead these people like we agreed, I think you could get them to fight for you, too."

"We could build an army," Scott says, catching on.

"There _is_ a faction from every realm here," Gabriel muses. "While most marked Heroes are weak, they can still learn at least a little magic. If we can get them to hone it, give them some armor, some training..."

"What about finances?" Camellia asks. "Who will pay for the overhead, the soldier's salaries? What about medical expenses? Medicine doesn't make itself. What about—"

"I can handle that," Katrina says. "You young Heroes don't know this, but I have fought in many wars. I know exactly what we'll need and I can get with Jinas as soon as possible to start preparations."

"What about food?" Scott says. "Feeding an army won't be easy."

"I've got it," Gabriel says. "I used to serve in Monarch's court, so logistics is second-nature to me."

"And armor?" Camellia says again. "We can't just throw people into a fight unarmed."

"I can help design armor and weapons," says Jenna. "I was a blacksmith for a couple centuries."

"Centuries?" Peter echoes, triply confused.

Nysse lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, nearly causing him to faint, and suggests they leave them to their work.

As the Heroes and Emissaries continue to ask questions and provide answers, sorting out solutions as soon as a problem arrives, Nysse escorts Peter outside; it is already dark. She politely excuses herself. Seconds later, she can overhear a crowd show up at the building and demand information, leaving Peter to sputter and attempt to relay what is going on.

Nysse walks aimlessly through the camp, thinking, though she knows instinctively she's going to stop walking at an important place. Those still outside their tents or mingling in public areas stare as she passes by. Whispers soon follow, and then footsteps, and soon Nysse has a small, curious crowd of her own. She pays them no mind and follows her footsteps where they take her. A few minutes later, she stands at the edge of the refugee camp. She waits.

Not a second later, the bushes rustle as three haggard people come stumbling through, two males and a female.

"Hello," Nysse says. "You're a little later than I thought you'd be."

"Are you kidding me?" Kexal barks. "If it wasn't for Mr. I Know My Way, we'd have been here an hour ago!"

"But I knew my way!" Drew protests. "I got us here, right? I just got a little lost along the way, that's all!"

"You are lucky that your friends leave more footprints than a Skeleton army in a sea of ash. What would you have done if I wasn't there?"

Bennie, ignoring the bickering, points over Nysse's shoulder. "Please tell me that's not the entire camp."

"No," the goddess answers. "Only a crowd of the curious." She turns toward them, causing the crowd to take an instinctive step back. "Don't be afraid. This is Bennie and Drew, two of the Heroes who succeeded on their quests. They'll be staying with us for a while."

The crowd inches forward. Bennie and Drew share a look. Drew cracks a nervous smile and Bennie mirrors it, and together they step into the camp to meet the refugees halfway.

# Chapter Three

## Rumblings

Somewhere in the Ruins

Riel, King of the Ruins, gazes down at his army in satisfaction.

Near infinite in number, his Skeleton army blackens out the ground of the ashy Ruins. From horizon to horizon his soldiers stand frozen in columns, blue flames flickering here and there from the tiny openings in chest armor. From his vantage on the hill he can almost see the swath of destruction he's left behind, burning villages and outposts and preparing his chosen kingdom for his ascension as Lord of Renea. But to claim such a title, he'll need to conquer every realm and secure Monarch, which has since been destroyed.

Riel's fist closes a little tighter around Acetil, his half-pike, the legendary weapon that belonged to the first Hero of the Plains. A bright gold aura shimmers about his figure as if the Ruins sun were shining from behind him, and his two golden arms and leg gleam in the darkness. He had been marching his army from Palace Center when Monarch was wiped off the map with a blast that blotted out the sun. Whatever did such a feat commands his respect, and as such, demands his attention as a conqueror. He must punish whatever took Monarch from him.

The shift in Renea's leylines haven't gone unnoticed. What had once been a slow, steady stream like a calm underground river is now wild and unchanneled, a roaring current that threatens to spill over its sides and flood the world. The balance of power has changed. The increase in the sheer density of magic at Monarch feels too unstable, too unrestrained. Someone must control it.

"Nekros," he says. "Prepare the army to—"

He catches himself. The absence of his right-hand Skeleton is something he's still trying to get used to. Granted, he could have let Nekros live, but it would be impossible to trust him again, not to mention the inconvenience of making the necromancer walk around with half his body missing.

Riel stretches his arm out over the army. The Skeletons stir, their blue chest flames heating up intensely. Their feet clamp to attention with a sharp sound, and then they move. The steady rhythm of the in-step hivemind rumbles through the ash-covered Ruins like an oncoming thunderstorm. The stamp of their feet brings clouds of ash to the air.

Riel is suddenly aware of someone nearby. He turns, slightly disinterested, and sees his old friend Maxillarion waiting, grinning.

"You know," Max says, "if you keep at this pace, you might reach Monarch by the turn of the century. I hope you're not striving for world domination or anything because you're going to end up in dead last real fast."

"What are you doing here, Max?"

"Just visiting, checking out the sights, thought I'd pop in and see how my best buddy is doing." Max slings his arm over Riel's shoulder. "Also, since I like you, I figured I'd give you the inside scoop on what other people are doing."

"Go on."

"Chaldir is dead," Max says triumphantly. "And so are the rest of the gods."

Riel rubs his chin in thought. "I see," he says after a moment. "That would explain his silence."

"You're not surprised?"

"Only a little bit. What about the Hero? Is she dead, too?"

"Tch, you mean Bennie Balachie?" Max says, annoyed. "No, unfortunately she's sticking around. But that'll change soon, trust me."

"Good," Riel says. "Taking her life will be my privilege, my final rite of passage. Once she's gone, I think I'll feel as if I truly deserve to be the Lord of Renea."

"Didn't you say she wasn't worthy of being your rival?"

"I did say that. However, she is still my Hero. I don't have to respect her skill—only her rank. And until that changes, she will always be a failure in my eyes. Defeating her will fulfill my life's purpose."

"And crushing the hopes and dreams of innocents on your way to become Lord of Renea won't?"

"No. I am not so vain as to believe I can truly crush those things. I may have been once before, but I think now it is important they stay unbroken. Without them, there can be no conflict, and I will not rule over a peaceful world."

Max chuckles. "You Adversaries never cease to amuse me."

Riel turns his head toward the ruins of Monarch, his four sloping horns almost glowing in his golden light, his spear grasped regally in his hand. "This spear was designed to destroy anyone in its path," he says. "It is the weapon of a conqueror and a ruler. More importantly, it chose me as its owner. The choices I have made have led me to this moment, to stand here on the eve of my ascension, and understand that this world will kneel before me with its teeth grit, and no matter how many times it stands up to fight me, I will conqueror it again and again to my heart's content."

"I think I know someone you would get along well with. You ruler types always seem to have a lot to say."

"And we have much more to do."

Riel steps away and walks down the hill to lead his army to Monarch. He doesn't look back.

Max vanishes as if he were never there in the first place.

Stark Pureblood monitors the burning of an impure Plains village with an intense scowl.

His fanatical nomads drag innocents from their houses, killing and maiming and eagerly putting to death any of those foolish enough to beg for mercy. Fires burn all around him, bodies dumped dead or alive into enormous pyres as dawn approaches from the Vast Emptiness. He holds his heavy double-bladed axe on his shoulder and watches the carnage unfold. Thus far, not a single pureblood has been found in the entire village. A disappointment, but at least the bloodshed will energize his clan.

His pilgrimage from deep in the Plains to this village, less than a week's walk from the Greatest Ruins in the World, has brought a beautiful cleansing of the world. Those deemed born pureblood were quickly assimilated into the ranks and those deemed impure were put to death by the pureblood of their own villages. Stark considers it a rite of passage, proof that the new Pureblood nomad is worthy and loyal to the clan. Loyalty is everything. Purebloods without loyalty cannot exist.

His generals report that all is well, that morale within the clan has never been higher, that they are even more eager to fight than they expected. Stark dismisses them graciously. He walks through the village alone, his feet squelching in the mixture of blood, dirt, and gods know what else. The cries of the impure being put to death stir no pity in his heart. Their pleas and screams fall on deaf ears. The roars of fathers watching their daughters butchered, the screams of mothers watching their sons beheaded, the empty shock in the eyes of those who can't accept the horror in front of them—empty noise, nothing more.

Stark pauses for just a moment at the sight of a trembling girl. She stares up at him with her grey-blue eyes, her long brown hair matted with mud and dried blood. Something stirs in him this time, perhaps the memory of a daughter he never had, until he realizes she's the splitting image of the Hero who killed Katan. Fury rises in his throat. He grabs her by the throat and while she screams for mercy, he slams the blade of his axe into her stomach.

Stark kicks the body off his axe and she crumples to the ground, her hands grasping at the giant gash in her abdomen. He watches as the girl struggles to crawl away, fighting to suck in breath until exhaustion wins out, and then her body goes still. The faintest pang of some unknown feeling prods at his heart. He stares at the girl for a few more minutes before finally closing his eyes. Empty noise, nothing more.

Stark finds a seat on a wooden bench in front of an empty house. A man sits down next to him almost immediately—a man with brilliant magenta eyes.

"You again?" Stark says.

"What do you mean 'again'?" Max asks. "Do you mean that this is not the first time you've seen me today, or perhaps you're upset that I've come to visit you after our last meeting, or perhaps you mean that I'm always the bearer of some unfortunate news that you're dreading to hear?"

"I was wondering at the sight of seeing you."

"No, _I_ am the one who should be doing the wondering." Max gestures to the village burning around them. "Goodness me, Stark Pureblood. I knew you were angry, but this is borderline monstrous, don't you think?"

"Yes, absolutely monstrous, but necessary."

"The Plains is your home as much as it is the Hero's. Is destroying your past the only way to rid yourself of the stain she's left on your heart?"

"I'm a week's march from Monarch," Stark says. "I will take that city and I will kill the Hero when she comes for me. She cannot comprehend the lengths I've gone to achieve this victory. I've pillaged, raped, and murdered everything in my path. I have forfeited everything redeemable about myself for my vengeance. I am here, and I will show this world that I cannot be stopped. I will purge this world of everything, just as it took everything from me."

"One wonders if killing everything that makes you _you_ is worth such a monumental campaign."

"It will be. It _must_ be."

"You sound so certain."

Stark says nothing for a long while. Then, "You understand me, don't you, Max?"

"Of course! I'm your friend, Stark. I always have been."

"And you understand the hatred in my heart?"

"Yes, thoroughly. For that wretch Camellia to so brutally murder your adopted son... I couldn't feel anything but hatred for her."

"Then you understand that even the shortest burn of revenge is worth alleviating the pain of my heart. It is a bitter anodyne, but I will swallow it."

"What will you do?"

"I've told you already. I march on Monarch."

"No," Max says. " _After_ the world belongs to you. After every impure soul has been cleansed, after there is nothing left for you to conquer or control. What will you do then? When there is nothing left for you to destroy, what will you hold with your own two hands?" He suddenly pauses, then gets to his feet. "Excuse me, I need to go. I'm urgently needed elsewhere."

Stark says nothing. He merely looks out at the village, the burning flames dancing in his eyes.

Beside him, Max has vanished as if he were never there in the first place.

"Aw, dammit."

Several yards from a shoreline in the Ocean, Fradlr looks up from the far end of his boat to see Karos bent over the bow trying not to heave his guts out again. Unsurprisingly, the Captain's trademark cutlass is gleaming bright blue in his hand, sunlight reflecting off the cold blade. The Eternal Chalice, Cebral's gift to Karos back when they visited Seastorm Grotto, sits motionless in the center of the boat, its starfield liquid surface undisturbed by the rocking of the boat.

Karos spits one last time and slumps back into position. His once powerful body has withered significantly, his hair an unkempt mess falling about his pale, gaunt face. Sharp eyes peer out from baggy sockets, and though the hatred inside them has dimmed, the intensity and determination has only increased.

"Are you going to be okay, Captain?" Fradlr asks.

Karos glares at Fradlr for a moment, then sighs and lets his head drop backward. "Gods, I hope so. I've got too much work to do. I have to get back at that bastard Cochin for stealing my legions, I have to kill Drew King and Roger, I have to retake the Ocean..." He shakes his head. "So much work to do."

"You should put the cutlass away for a while. It's only hurting you."

"I know that. But as much as it's killing me, it's sustaining me." Karos lifts the cutlass up, then shakes his head and jams it back in its sheath. He visibly relaxes, but Fradlr can see the energy drain out of his Captain immediately. "Damn thing," Karos mutters weakly. "Why did I ever let myself get involved with this?"

"You could just throw it overboard."

"And kill myself for no good reason? If I want your opinion, next time I'll just beat it out of you. Keep your mouth shut. And wake me up when I'm not in so much pain."

"Aye, Captain."

They row in silence for a few minutes. Karos sighs again.

"I'm sorry for being bitter," he says.

"Well, it's understandable. You've lost everything you worked your entire life for. Your loyal legions and crew are gone—"

"Fradlr."

"Your ships, all of which are either custom or stolen from the Ocean Navy, have been commandeered by a hated underling—"

"Fraldr."

"You have no strength, no energy, no power to reach your unobtainable goals—"

" _Fradlr_."

"And to top it all off, even though you met your hated enemy, the god of the Ocean himself, he talked you out of your quest for revenge and even gave you a present for stopping by to see him."

"Fradlr!"

"I have to say, Captain, you've had a rough few weeks."

Karos lunges for his companion but barely clears the seat, falling limply on the seat between them and knocking the Eternal Chalice to the floor.

"Damn!" Karos shouts, snatching the chalice from the boat and quickly setting it upright.

But, amazingly, not a drop has been spilled. The starfield liquid remains smooth and undisturbed.

Karos peers into the cup. Fradlr stops rowing and leans over it too, curious. Karos pokes the liquid with a finger and watches as it sinks right in and comes back out without getting wet. As the two of them watch, Karos's finger suddenly thickens, swelling with what can only be called life, becoming the only healthy finger on the hand of a dead man.

Karos and Fradlr share a look.

" _Eternal_ Chalice, huh?" Karos says. "Does he take me for a fool? Did he think I wouldn't find out?"

"Maybe he was expecting you to."

Karos takes the chalice in his hands. "What do you imagine will happen if I drink all of it?"

"Death," Fradlr replies immediately.

"Are you saying that because you want it for yourself?"

"I am saying that because, if that liquid is an elixir of life, drinking all of it will cause your body to outperform life itself. You may morph into some awful gelatinous mass, or become a very tall tree, or a sea monster—"

"Don't be ridiculous." Karos suddenly pauses. "A gelatinous mass, huh? Do you think so?"

"Look what it did to your finger. Might I advise a taste for myself, and then the rest for you in slow sips?"

"So you did want it for yourself!"

"What if it is poisonous to drink?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Karos suddenly hesitates. "Well, unless... I've heard of magic doing stranger things. Alright, fine. Take a drink, but just one."

Karos passes Fradlr the chalice and Fradlr takes a sip. He sets the cup down for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

"Well?" Karos presses.

"Like drinking from a cold, fresh well," Fradlr replies. "I feel indescribable. Captain, you must drink it."

Karos takes the Eternal Chalice and drinks a long, healthy gulp from it. He sets it down, satisfied, and then he's shoved back into the forward of the boat. He arches his back, howling. For a moment Fradlr is terrified, and then he hears Karos laughing, laughing so long and loud and thick that he can only press himself back in fear.

Karos's grip shatters the rim of the boat. The cutlass in its sheath burns so intensely that Fradlr can't look at it directly, lest he go blind. Fradlr shields his eyes, frightened, and then suddenly the boat stops moving and a splash comes from the forward of the boat. Karos has fallen into the sea.

Fradlr leans over the side, hoping to see his Captain, but all he can see is the glimmer of the Ocean sun in the waves. Then a hand explodes from the water and seizes the ship and Fradlr stumbles back as Karos pulls himself back into the boat with one arm. Karos lifts his head up and takes in a heavy, long breath. Fradlr gasps at the sight. Karos feels his face, the skin already peeling, receding. His fingers look pale and bony, almost skeletal.

"So," Karos says, "this is my punishment: a slow transformation into a being of pure magic, unable to live or die. And to think I almost trusted that god and his gifts. Damn you, Cebral! A final laugh to echo down the eons." Karos grins. "New orders. Take me to shore."

"W-What? I mean, aye, Captain!" He grabs the oars. "But what about you? What's happening?"

"The Eternal Chalice is transfusing my life energy into magic. I won't survive without a constant supply of life. But don't you see? I have an entire realm _full_ of life to burn through to keep me alive forever. An entire realm to use... To consume! Now row, damn you!"

A dangerous gleam grows in Karos's eyes. Fradlr hesitates as he rows the new Captain toward land, afraid of what will come once the Scourge sets foot on shore.

"We don't take kindly to strangers around here," the Cemeterian says sternly, holding a pitchfork in front of himself. Three other men look on in nervous silence. "I don't care if you _say_ you're a good guy; we don't like magic users around here, even if they claim they can fix people."

"You are right," Salvation says, magically disguised as an old man in plain garb. "But perhaps, if you were to let me show you what I can do, you would consider giving me a chance. I can fix the sickness. Let me help you."

The Cemeterian gives the old man a hard glare. "I don't trust the look of you. Normal Reneans don't have glimmering white eyes."

"It comes from the power gifted to me by the gods."

"Aw hell," a scrawny man behind the Cemeterian says, "can't we at least try? We've done everything else we can do."

The Cemeterian lets out a heavy sigh, relenting. He gestures for Salvation to follow and he does, leaning falsely on a walking stick for support. Salvation scans the perimeter of the city, watching for threats on the horizon, ready to shape-shift at a moment's notice and call his Shades out in defense of the helpless town. He thinks back on the events of the past few weeks.

A few days after the fall of Monarch, spirits from the Royal Crypt began to appear around the Cemetery, their memory gone as they wandered without purpose, searching for something but never finding it. Misshapen monsters began crawling out of the ground, horrors with many eyes and limbs. Magnus would have never made those; in fact, he would have destroyed every one of them. However, Magnus has not, and though Salvation tries to contact him, the god does not answer.

Worse still, the destruction of Monarch has caused the sickness to triple in virulence and Salvation's search for a cure has been fruitless. Dead litter the Cemetery, giving the realm's namesake a grim irony. Despite his efforts, Salvation could only find one technique that technically worked—a technique he could only perfect by performing it on live Reneans.

The Cemeterian leads Salvation into a room in a grey abandoned building. He pulls a curtain aside and covers his nose with a hand. The smell of the sick and dying permeates the air. Salvation steps inside and the Cemeterian follows.

"If you've really got a cure," the Cemeterian says, "start with my son. Come on, he's over here."

The head Cemeterian stops Salvation in front of a cot bed. A young man lays still under the cover, breathing shallowly. Salvation glances at the bed next to his and sees a dead man in it. He must have died very recently.

"Well?" the Cemeterian snaps. "Get on with it."

"Do you understand what the body is?" Salvation asks, handing the man his walking stick. "The body is a physical vessel for the soul. The soul exists in a plane that cannot normally be seen, touched, or felt, but those with a special blessing from the gods can see it, touch it, and feel it." He takes his jacket off. "What can be seen, touched, and felt can be manipulated—can be moved. So, I'm going to move your son's soul from his body to the dead man's body beside him."

"What?!" the Cemeterian cries. "I don't want my son to live in the body of a corpse! That man died of the sickness, you know!"

"The sickness leaves once a body has died. It may come back, it may not, but either way, he will have a better chance of living in a body that is not currently sick."

"Who the hell do you think you are? I thought you said you could heal the sickness!"

"I said I could fix it," Salvation says evenly. "This sickness is more powerful than me and this is the only solution I've been able to find. My friend, do you want to watch your son die from the sickness or would you like to greet his new face?"

The Cemeterian looks at the dead man, then at his shivering son, and his gaze softens. He yells to the other room, asking the waiting men to go get any healers and medics available. Salvation steps around to the son and looks expectantly at the father, who scowls at him.

"How will I tell the town about this?" the Cemeterian demands. "How will I get them to understand? That man's family, too: how will I tell them that their father, husband, and son is now my son? They don't even know he's died yet. How will they understand any of this?"

"I can't answer those questions," Salvation says. "Those are things you will have to deal with."

The Cemeterian looks briefly at his son, then nods and turns away.

Salvation presses his hands against the chest of the dead man and listens. No soul thrums deep inside, no heartbeat signals life, and the lungs are still. Wherever his soul has gone, it has gone, leaving the body perfectly empty.

Salvation puts his hands on the son's chest and feels a strong soul struggling to hold on to life. If this body dies or if the transfer fails, the son's soul will become irretrievable. Salvation reaches deep inside himself to steel his nerves. The next part is always the worst. Rarely do souls like being touched, and they never like to be moved or tampered with.

Salvation feels his hands sink into the son's chest even though they remain physically on top. He calls to the soul and finds it, cupping his hands around it as if scooping water from a stream. He gently lifts and, as expected, the soul resists and becomes phenomenally heavy, mistaking it for death. Salvation coaxes it softly, stroking the sides, gently tugging and pulling. After a few minutes, the soul relaxes and wiggles loose. Salvation easily lifts it out of the body and holds it in his hands. The soul is invisible yet it's heavy enough to feel. Salvation hovers the soul over the corpse and gently lowers it. The soul stirs uncomfortably but, as if recognizing something that only it can detect, it dips softly into the space between reality and takes residence in the dead man.

"I am finished," Salvation says, letting himself relax.

The dead man balks and arches straight off the bed, eyes wide and pale, fingernails digging into the sheets, lips pulled back. The Cemeterian whirls around and stumbles back in horror.

"You monster!" the Cemeterian cries. "Put that thing out of its misery!"

"That _thing_ is your son," Salvation says gravely.

The Cemeterian goes flying out of the room, crying for help at the top of his lungs.

"Lay back now," Salvation says, placing a gentle hand on the man's chest. "Long, deep breaths."

"I feel funny," the man moans. "My body doesn't feel right."

"Your body has been damaged by the sickness, but there is no sickness in your body now. Rest. The healers are on their way."

He stays with the man for several minutes until the Cemeterian and a whole herd of healers, medics, and one grave digger with a shovel shows up at the door. Salvation stands to greet them.

"He is lucid," Salvation says as the Cemeterian comes around. "If you give him enough medicine and have your healers work diligently, he will make a full recovery."

"Get out," the Cemeterian says coldly. "Your work is done here."

"There are many here I can still fix."

The man grabs Salvation by the collar and throws him toward the door. "I said your work is done here, old man. Take your things and leave this city, and gods help you if I ever see your face again."

Salvation leaves the town in silence, aware that people are watching him. He waits until he is in a patch of trees to shapeshift back into his Shade body. A few Shades immediately come out to greet him.

"Master," one says, swirling around him. "Master, did it go well? Was it successful?"

"It worked," Salvation says.

"I am pleased! Yet, you sound displeased."

"A man there asked many difficult questions that I still don't have good answers to. I wonder if this was something I should have created in the first place."

"You have helped many regain their loved ones."

"But the pattern has always been the same!" Salvation says. "Joy in learning there is a way to save their loved one, fear and anger in learning how, and resentment toward me for doing what they asked. I cannot pretend that I don't think about it. There is still much I don't know about souls, either. Why can't two souls inhabit the same body? What happens if I attempt to make a body house two souls? If I plan to use my technique to help people, I need to refine it."

"Then you will need more test subjects."

"Yes, many more. However, that makes me uncomfortable."

"But if you don't try," the small Shade says, "there will be no one left to save."

Gerrich the Mountain Bandit has had a rough few weeks.

After being left in an empty tavern town at the edge of the Peaks, a massive earthquake split the ground underfoot. When the shaking finally stopped, some nearby rocks were floating in mid-air. The next day, as he searched for his bandit troupe, Gerrich noticed an entire boulder floating overhead. Within a week, sections of mountainsides chiseled off by earthquakes were lazily drifting through the air. It didn't take long for entire mountains to get mysteriously unstuck from the land and lazily wander the skies—which wouldn't have been a problem, until they started falling without warning, setting off _more_ earthquakes, in turn uprooting _more_ rocks, which then became dangerous falling missiles.

But Gerrich doesn't quit. He knows that his bandits are out in the Peaks trying to maintain their order. They wouldn't do something as foolish as break up and scatter at the first sign of danger; he'd taught them better than that. Still, after searching for weeks and finding not even a trace, Gerrich is beginning to get a little annoyed. If he can survive mountains falling on his head every day, everyone else ought to be just fine.

As he rests against a rowanwood tree, Gerrich sees a man making his way up the mountain path. Gerrich pulls his knife and goes motionless. The man trundles forward aimlessly, his eyes unfocused, his clothes ragged. His shoes have been worn through and there are tears at the toes and heel, as if he's been walking for days without end. His clothes show that he's from the Plains, not the Peaks. How the hell did he get all the way out here?

Gerrich uncoils, pouncing and knocking the traveler flat on his back. He holds the knife at the man's throat until he sees clarity finally enter the man's eyes.

"Bandit?" Gerrich demands.

"No."

"Monarchian?"

"No."

"Mountaineer?"

"No."

"Then what are you?"

The man appears to think for a moment. "You could call me an Emissary."

Gerrich drops his knife in shock. "A _what_?"

# Chapter Four

## Helping Out

Refugee Camp, the Woods; one week later

"What are we doing?"

Drew tosses another blanket over his makeshift tent. "What do you mean? We're building tents."

"Exactly," Scott says, sitting comfortably in the roots of a tree. "But why? Shouldn't we be making plans or spying on our enemies? Instead we're sitting here unfolding canvas and putting up..." He scoffs and gestures. "I mean, can you even call that a tent?"

Drew steps back and appraises his handiwork. His shabby tent collapses and the blankets are sent fluttering into the dust.

"Look," Drew says, picking up the tent to try and set it up again, "Gabriel said we're going to need tents for people to live in. I'm just trying to help him out."

"He already has a whole team of people from the Peaks working on it. Also, your tent is in the middle of the woods. Hell, it's almost _outside_ the camp. No one will want to sleep here."

Drew bundles his tent under his arm. "Well, at least I tried to be helpful."

Drew and Scott return the tent to one of Gabriel's designated helpers and begin wandering the camp for something else to do. They run into Camellia moving quickly through the streets.

"Hey Cammy?" Drew asks as she nearly rushes by. "What are you doing right now?"

"Going to get a bandage," she says, presenting her fist. Her knuckles are split and a few are bleeding. "I was training against a tree and I guess I got too into it. You should see the tree, though—or, what's left of it. Did you need something? This kind of hurts."

"Not at all," Scott says suddenly, clapping Drew on the shoulder. "Don't mind us."

Camellia continues on her way without saying goodbye.

"There's an idea," he says. "Training. When was the last time you had a good fight?"

"Like a sparring session?" Drew asks. "It's been a few weeks. But we shouldn't train right now, right? What about helping out around camp? There's a lot of work to be done."

"Don't you remember what Gabriel said? The Emissaries will run things while the Heroes handle diplomacy. We don't have to set up tents or dig trenches. As long as we're here, we're helping. Besides"—Scott steps proudly in front of Drew—"if we want to take back Monarch, we have to be strong, right? We should be training every day. Hell, Camellia is already training so hard she split her knuckles open. Why not follow her example?"

"Well, it would be nice to get some real exercise. Does this place have an arena or something?"

Scott pats him on the shoulder. "Another good idea. Come on, I actually saw the perfect place for training last night."

Scott leads Drew through the camp and out into the woods, far from the prying eyes of the refugees and their peers. Scott stops in a wide clearing under a full green arbor near a small crystal lake. The early afternoon air is a bit warm, but a gentle breeze brushes cool air from the lake: a perfect atmosphere for fighting.

Drew takes off his shirt and tosses it aside.

Scott levitates off the ground and spreads his arms, waiting.

Silence falls upon them. Drew takes a half-step forward, then a half-step to the side. Scott follows his every move.

Drew charges.

Scott darts to the left; Drew pivots and springs forward to close the gap between them. He slows just inches from Scott's face, then is repelled away like a magnet meeting its opposite. Drew drops to his back, rolls, and returns to his feet. A blast shoves him backward, his heels digging into the dirt. Scott floats a dozen paces away, his breathing already labored. He makes no move to advance.

Drew reaches for the lake and a current of water leaps out. It wraps itself around Drew in a protective armor. A liquid trident appears in his hand.

Drew steps forward slowly, purposefully. Scott levitates around him in a slow circle, arms spread but stance low. Drew continues advancing, then starts hopping left and right, changing his stance, feeling out Scott's defenses. When only a few paces are between them, Drew moves.

A psychic blast scatters the water armor, but Drew powers through. Scott winces and chokes, a drop of blood spilling from his nose. Drew springs forward and calls his watery trident into his hands, pulling it back for a spearing blow. Scott throws his hands forward and an unseen force blasts against Drew's attack. They struggle against each other, bodies straining in effort. Scott gives him an inch and Drew shoves through hard.

Scott vanishes from sight and Drew's trident buries itself prong-deep in the dirt. He jerks it free, searching the clearing for signs of an attack. He spots Scott kneeling in front of a tree coughing his lungs up. Drew steps around Scott in a wide circle as his water armor slowly rebuilds itself. Drew's heart pounds in double-time.

Scott lazily floats off the ground and turns around. Drew hesitates for a moment, but Scott makes a brief gesture that he's fine, then dashes in at breakneck speed.

Drew is immediately on the defensive. Each attack causes his water armor to scatter and reform, scatter and reform. He retreats around the edge of the lake. Scott's psychic attacks continue relentlessly, pushing Drew closer to the crystal surface. Drew makes a sloppy attack and Scott dodges easily. An unseen force scoops Drew off his feet and sends him spinning into the lake with a splash.

Drew immediately morphs into water and hides himself among the wavy aquatic flora. He sucks in a deep, long breath and exhales in the form of a slight current. The sunlight filters down through the lake surface like blown glass. For just a few heartbeats, Drew thinks he'll be able to get a strategy put together.

Then he feels a lurch of inertia and the lake floor drops out from under him.

Drew looks around and catches Scott staring up at him from what feels like a thousand miles away. Unease settles in Drew's chest. Scott has put the entire lake in a psychic bubble.

Drew reaches out and finds the edges of the bubble are close and closing fast. He coils into himself and rockets out. Scott sends a barrage of psychic blasts punching through Drew's aquatic body, letting the lake crash back into the basin and splash over him in an aquatic dome. Drew lands hard on the ground and his body morphs into stone. Seeing Scott charging, Drew summons a watery trident above his head and swings down hard. Scott throws his hands up just in time and a psychic force stops the blow cold, colliding in a bright flash of energy.

Drew's feet dig deeper into the soft dirt. The surface of his trident fizzles and bubbles as if boiling.

Scott clenches his teeth harder, blood steadily dripping from his nose. A crater bursts at his feet and pushes outward.

Drew's trident fractures as if its paint is being chipped, and hidden underneath is the purest, clearest silver Scott has ever seen.

A blinding flash sends them flying apart. Drew lands flat and the wind rushes out of him, leaving him gasping for breath. Scott skids back on his heels, teeters for a moment, then tumbles to the ground and drops on his back. He clutches his head, groaning.

Neither one tries to attack again. Drew attempts to sit up but a fierce pain in his side puts him back on the ground. The cold, wet dirt sends a chill through his bones. He finds himself wishing for the shirt he threw somewhere in the bushes.

"Scott?" Drew finally ventures. "You alive?"

"Somehow," comes the shaky reply.

"Good."

Scott pauses. "Hey, can you help me sit up? I don't think I can move."

"Yeah." Drew sucks in a breath and pulls himself up despite the piercing pain in his side. "Yeah, I'm coming."

Drew crawls over to his friend and props Scott up against his own back such that they're leaning against one another.

"I'll admit it," Scott says, "you've got some serious power. I really had to focus to fight you."

"Same here," says Drew. "You're definitely not the crippled guy I thought you were."

"Tell that to Jinas. It'd be good for him to hear someone besides me say it. We making this a regular thing?"

"Absolutely. We should get the girls in on this, too."

Scott laughs. "I think Camellia is way too fast for any of us to fight."

"What makes you say that?"

"You should have seen her arrive at Monarch. She was moving so fast it sounded like a starship dropping out of warp." He winces and touches his temples. "God, my head is killing me. I'm going to pay for this one."

Drew laughs knowingly. Then, across from him, a single, shy head pokes out of the brush, and then a young lady comes out into the open. Judging by her worn clothes, she's from the refugee camp. Drew sits up a little straighter; Scott slumps against him, complaining.

"I'm sorry," the lady says, half staring at the ground and half throwing glances at Drew's bare chest. "We were curious and couldn't help ourselves."

"We?" Drew says. "Who _else_ is here?"

"Who are you talking to?" Scott asks. "What's going on? Let me see."

Drew turns Scott around as, one by one, close to two or three dozen people slowly emerge from the bushes. Drew and Scott find themselves sitting in front of half a platoon of marked Heroes, all of whom have either Magnus's or Cebral's mark on their foreheads.

"That was pretty impressive," says one of Magnus's marked. "I had no idea you could lift an entire lake."

"Or make it into armor," says one of Cebral's marked, agreeing. "I've never seen magic used like that before."

"Truly phenomenal, wasn't it?"

"Most impressive."

"Hey, can you teach me to do something like that?"

"Oh, I'd love to fly someday!"

"Me too! Can you teach us?"

"And me too!"

"And me!"

Drew glances anxiously at Scott, who is smiling widely.

"See?" says Scott. "Who needs tents and trenches, anyways?"

"We need more tents and more trenches," Gabriel says, pouring over the logistics table situated in the center of the small house that he now calls headquarters. "I mean for the love of Kalax, how long does it take to set up a tent or dig a trench? Get a shovel and dig. Put the sticks in the dirt and hang a canvas over it. It's not that hard!"

Camellia clears her throat. "Did you need me for something in particular? Jinas says I should ice down my hand as soon as I can."

"Oh right, you're here. I almost forgot." Gabriel shoves his drawings and schematics to the side, making room on the table for nothing. "I need you to go to Monarch as soon as possible. Now that Stanley's gone, you're the fastest person in the camp. You're also the only Hero I know I can rely on."

"What about Scott?"

"Scott isn't stable enough to make the trip."

"And Drew or Bennie?"

"Not fast enough or all that reliable, really."

Camellia frowns, deciding to not start an argument. "What do you need from Monarch?"

"Nysse was near the city a few moments before Sorsaren destroyed it. In the blast, she lost the emblem of Tetrask, an incredibly powerful artifact that we'll need in the future. She told me it's somewhere in the Plains District, but she doesn't know exactly where. Track it down and bring it back to us."

"What will we use it for?"

"We'll need it in the future."

"Yes, but for what?"

Gabriel sighs. "If I asked you to just not ask that question, would you do that for me?"

"Why can't I ask that?"

"Because I can't answer it right now. Just get the emblem and bring it back as soon as possible. Give it to Nysse and Nysse alone. Don't tell anyone where you went and what you've gone for. Can you do that?"

"I can."

"Good! Thank the gods for you, Cammy. It's nice to have someone reliable around here."

Camellia steps out of the house and is about to head toward the medical camp for some ice when she notices Nysse standing a few feet away, hands clasped expectantly at her waist. She motions for Camellia to follow and walks off into the camp. Camellia sighs and follows at a distance, her bandaged knuckles hot and throbbing. The pair reaches the edge of the tree line and steps outside the perimeter where no one can hear them.

"I'm sorry for taking you out here so suddenly," Nysse says. "It feels like I ask too much of the Heroes these days."

"It's not a problem."

"I'm glad to hear it. I wanted to ask if you've trained with your legendary weapon yet."

"Legendary... Oh, Felterre?" Camellia opens her hand and a grey warhammer appears with a flash of light. "No, just my arms and legs. I hadn't thought about using this because it's so light. It feels natural to me."

"I was hoping you'd train more with it. It might entice the other Heroes to try and obtain theirs. Having all the Heroes with their legendary weapons will give us a greater chance at taking back Monarch."

"Well, almost all the Heroes," Camellia says, thinking about Stanley.

Nysse blinks once, thinking about Luke. "Yes," she says, suddenly distant. "Almost all. That was all I wanted to ask of you. You should hurry along. Your mission is very important."

Camellia heads back into camp and tromps through the streets, deep in thought. She considers packing a bag with some food and camping gear, though roughing it in the wilderness and finding her own way also sounds ruggedly appealing. She also thinks about getting ice for her hand. She's so busy thinking about building a tent from leaves and sticks that she runs right into the chest of a large man standing in a group of marked Heroes. All of them have the mark of Apalon on their forehead.

"Oh," Camellia says. "Excuse me, I didn't see you."

"The Hero!" someone whispers from the crowd. "Ask her! Someone, ask her!"

"Ask me what?"

"Well," the large man says, rubbing his neck, "we just saw some of the marked Ocean and Cemetery Heroes using magic taught to them by their Heroes. We were thinking you could teach us too if you have some time."

Camellia glances at the sky; it's getting dark. "There's a lot to learn and I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

"Hey, I learn fast!" someone yells.

"Me too! Teach us!"

"Yeah, teach us! I want to fly!"

"Stupid, Heroes can't fly!"

"Who's stupid!"

"Okay, okay," Camellia says, trying to keep the curious and insistent crowd at arm's distance. "I'll be happy to train all of you. Just not right now, okay?"

"Then we will prepare ourselves!" the large man shouts. "Shall we run to build endurance? Meditate to build mental strength? Hold rocks in each arm for balance?"

"All of those sound _great_." Camellia worms her way through the crowd. "Please make room, I really need to get going."

The crowd clears around her and Camellia hurries to her own tent. She collects a bag of the essentials—food, supplies for a small camp, and water. By the time she has it all prepared and hoisted over her shoulder, the sky has fully dimmed to dusk. There's no time to ice her hand. If she wants to get to Monarch before nightfall, she'll need to leave immediately. Camellia shakes her head and swiftly exits her tent to find Bennie Balachie standing right in front of her.

"Cammy," Bennie says sharply. "Are you busy?"

"I'm in a big hurry. What do you need?"

"I need someone to talk to."

"Scott and Drew should be around, right? Just talk to them. I have to—"

"No. I really need to talk with _you_."

"I can't right now. I have a really important mission to do for Gabriel."

"What's so important that you can't talk with your best friend for a few minutes?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not? I'm a Hero too, you know. Where are you headed?"

Camellia hesitates, remembering what Gabriel said. "I'm sorry," she says. "I have to go."

Camellia shoulders past Bennie and walks quickly out of the camp. She keeps walking until she reaches a small clearing and can no longer hear the din of the camp. At this distance, the blowback from takeoff should feel like a breeze in the camp. As she tenses down to make a leap into the sky, a collection of voices comes from her right. Drew and Scott move through the trees, a crowd of several dozen people chattering excitedly behind them. Drew waves and trots up to meet her.

"Hey there," he says. "Going camping?"

"No, I'm on a secret mission from Gabriel and I really—"

"Oh? What's the mission?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret anymore, now would it?"

Scott drags himself up to the pair, his knees wobbling. "Hey there. Going camping?"

"Secret mission," Drew says.

"Who asked you? Was I asking you?"

"Are you okay, Scott?" Camellia asks, concerned. "You look pretty pale."

"We spent the last hour training some new recruits," says Drew. "Some of us, and I'm not going to say who, have a lot more endurance than others."

"Again," Scott snaps, "who asked you? She was talking to me. Was she talking to you?"

"You really don't look so good," Camellia says. "You should see a doctor."

"That's where we're headed now," says Drew. "I'm taking him to Jinas after we get our factions settled."

"Factions?"

"Oh, right." Drew turns Camellia at the shoulder and faces her toward the crowd. "Everyone, listen up! This is Camellia, the Hero from the Plains. Camellia, these are my students, the Ocean faction."

"What?" she exclaims. "You're _teaching_ now?"

"I know, right! They were so eager to learn that I couldn't help it. A part of me still can't believe it."

"I never would have—" She starts as if coming out of a dream. "Oh, I've wasted so much time. I really need to get going. If you want to say bye to me, now's your chance. You might not see me for a while."

Drew and Scott each hug Camellia goodbye and then step back to give their friend some space. Camellia takes in a big breath and concentrates on feeling the magic in her legs. There's a loud rush of air and a cloud of dust erupts at her feet as she bolts into the sky. The leaves of the trees whip about wildly in her wake, and then things are quiet. Camellia is gone.

# Chapter Five

## Introspection

Outside Camellia Agnelli's tent

Bennie watches as Camellia hurries off into the camp, eyes on the ground. The idea that she must be doing something truly important bothers her, and it bothers her more when she thinks about how Camellia wouldn't tell her what it is. Distantly, she wonders if Drew and Scott know. Annoyance sets in. Bennie begins walking and goes over the conversation in her head, wondering if she sounded rude or impatient; both possibilities send a hot flash through her body. She balls her hands into fists and tries to clear her head, and after a moment, she's able to calm down.

Bennie forces herself to sit on a crate and think. After Stanley abandoned her, she confined herself to the woods. A few weeks later, instead of being worried about her, her friends abandoned her, too—everyone but Drew, anyways. At least he came back. She tries to feel angry about it, but all she really feels is frustrated. Thinking about Stanley leaving, her loneliness in the Woods, and the lack of compassion from her closest friends fills Bennie with an intense heat. She lets it build inside her until she angrily mutters a curse and one word: useless.

And with that, her frustration fades to melancholy.

Useless? Bennie realizes that she is, indeed, useless. Without access to any of her powers, she's no better than a normal girl with average fitness and battle armor. What sets Bennie Balachie apart from the others, from her friends, if she has no magic to fight with? Bennie looks at her clothes and feels stupid for wearing them, feels stupid for being a Hero, and then she realizes that without her powers, she's no more of a Hero than Kexal, Peter, Jinas, or anyone else. The sickening revelation that she has no right to call herself a Hero stabs her stomach like a foot-long kitchen knife.

Then she begins to think that maybe, like the marked Heroes, that she was never supposed to be a Hero after all. Maybe a mistake was made. Maybe her mark is a symbol indicating that she tried to be a Hero and failed. Maybe her powers went to a true Hero, the real Hero of the Ruins, and she is just another failure in a long string of failures. The idea frightens her; she puts it out of her mind.

Bennie shakes her head: useless. Her first instinct is to run away to the woods and seclude herself, cutting off the Heroes until she is strong enough to impress all of them beyond a doubt. She entertains the thought of training like a monk at the edge of a lake, building her strength one day at a time, but she tells herself it would be fruitless. Even if she really did dedicate all that time to training, by the time she comes back to camp, her friends will have unimaginable power and battle experience—more than she could ever hope to match in solitude. She bristles thinking of them laughing at her, shaking their heads. How foolish of her to come back to the Hero camp without her powers. She's not a Hero; she's a nobody.

Bennie thinks about her friends. She hasn't seen Drew since he brought her to the camp, busy with his work as a healer in the medical camp and an assistant to the Emissaries. He's a Hero, alright. Scott is in and out of the hospital for constantly trying to psychically set up too many tents at once. He's a Hero too, for sure. Camellia is busier than any of them and never has time to chat, not even casually. She's always running around the camp; she even flies, sometimes. She's definitely a Hero. Her friends all have amazing powers and they're all helping the camp in their own unique ways, whereas she has nothing, has done nothing.

Bennie starts when she realizes a small crowd of people have gathered to stare at her. She gets up and hurries away in a random direction, trying not to think about how they were looking at her like a fish in a bowl. She feels like the laughingstock of the camp, always brooding or staring into space or standing around while others smirk, turn away and grin, or shake their heads. Oh, there goes Bennie again, lost in thought. Just ignore her, she's not a real Hero. I hear she doesn't even have powers. Is that Bennie standing in the road again? Some Hero _she_ is. Bennie's brooding by the market today, you want to go see? Not like she can—

"Bennie!"

Bennie jumps, startled. Drew stands a few paces away, Scott leaning on his arm. For a second she thinks he's been injured and that she missed some action until she notices Scott is smiling, apparently having a good time.

"Did you not hear me?" Drew asks, dragging a limping Scott along as he approaches. "I've been trying to call you for a while now."

"Sorry," she says. "I was thinking."

"Don't do it too much," Scott grins. "You might hurt yourself."

The words sting. Bennie turns away with a cough and tries not to look at him.

"Anyways," Drew says, "we were wondering what you usually get up to during the day."

"Oh, I'm"—Bennie fishes for something, anything—"I'm helping Nysse and Kexal. They're running me ragged, so I've been keeping super busy."

"Well, if you ever have time, Scott and I were thinking about doing regular combat training. I think the four of us could really use the practice. It'll prep us for the fights against our Adversaries."

"Training?" Bennie says, eager to be involved. "Sure, absolutely. I've got free time."

"Weren't Nysse and Kexal running you ragged?"

"Oh, it was just a figure of speech. I was just kidding. I'm not so busy."

"Uh huh," says Drew, giving her a weird look. "Well, since you're 'not so busy', you mind helping me find Jinas? Scott blew himself out today."

Bennie tucks herself under Scott's shoulder and lifts him upright. "What kind of training did you do to make yourself like this?"

"I just went hard," Scott says proudly. "I'm going to be feeling every little bruise in the morning and it's going to be awesome."

"Drew didn't heal you after your fight?"

"Huh," Drew says. "I hadn't thought about that."

"Why not? You're a healer, aren't you?"

Scott laughs and jabs a finger at his head. "You think Drew could heal _this_?"

The three of them find Jinas who, once he sees Scott, nearly loses his temper and demands to know what happened. He then cuts them off before they can answer and has a team of medics take Scott to a separate tent. He follows behind them and has two guards stationed at the front before either Drew or Bennie realize what's going on.

Bennie glances at Drew. He has a frown on his face, thinking seriously about something. She wonders, since he's here, if she should talk to him instead of Camellia. She works up her courage and is about to speak when Drew speaks.

"That's right!" he says. "I have to show you something."

Drew leads Bennie to a section of the camp where some enterprising refugees have set up tents and stalls to cook for others in return for goods or tradeable items. Situated at the front of the camp, it's becoming a popular place for people to go to for a hot meal. A few of Drew's marked Heroes from the Ocean faction are standing around in line and they wave to the pair as they approach.

"Bennie, meet my faction," Drew says triumphantly. "I've decided to take them on as my underlings and train them."

"Train them?" Bennie echoes.

"I'm going to make them the fittest fighting force in the entire camp. Scott's doing the same, too. Have you met your faction, yet?"

Bennie stares straight through Drew, through his faction, through the meal tent in front of them. She makes some half-excuse about doing an errand for Kexal and Nysse and how they're really running her ragged and walks away in a daze. Training for their Adversary fights and training marked Heroes? Running off to do secret missions that could make or break the entire war effort? Her friends really do make fantastic Heroes. What has she done recently? Bennie thinks of that dreaded word again. Her heart weighs heavy in her chest.

She stops walking for a moment and leans over a barrel of water, catching her reflection from the light of a nearby torch. The face that stares back at her is alien. Like seeing her face in a mirror after crying, Bennie can't tell if the face is truly hers. The mark of Chaldir burns hot on her forehead and Bennie's cheeks flush. She drags her bangs down to try to hide it, but her hair is too short. Self-consciousness tingles her stomach and Bennie hides her face in shame. She hurries down the street with her eyes on the ground, knocking into people and offering neither apology nor excuse.

Bennie moves until she can't hear much sound anymore, and when she stops, she finds herself at the camp's tree line. Behind her is the warmth of fires, light, and heat. Ahead of her is a cool, dark forest cricketing with life. Her gut reaction is to walk straight forward and keep walking until her body tells her to stop.

Bennie feels her eyes sting. She closes them tight and balls her hands into fists, trying to stay calm. Everything hurts. All she can think about is how useless she feels, and worse still, how training and helping her faction would just make her more like Drew. She's supposed to stand out and be unique, isn't she? Instead she's just another nobody with no ideas and no powers. Useless.

She shakes her head and steps away from the tree line. There's no point in running away. No one will follow her or come after her; no one will even care that she's gone. Bennie walks absently through the camp and tries to think about something to lift her spirits, but all she can think about are plans to make herself seem useful again. She's finally broken out of her stupor when she realizes she's lost in a crowd of unfamiliar faces, most of whom are looking at her, most of whom have Deion's mark on their foreheads. She's wandered into a group of marked Heroes from the Peaks faction. Bennie is about to turn around and head back for her tent when a man steps out, a man with spectacles sitting low on a sharp face.

Bennie pauses, stricken, until she realizes that although he looks similar, the man isn't Stanley.

"Excuse me," the man says, trotting up to her. "I don't mean to bother you, I know you must be busy, but you're the Hero of the Ruins, correct?"

"Yes," she answers, feeling a small glow inside her.

"Thank Deion. My name is Theinan. Do you have a moment to spare? I want to talk to you on behalf of the Peaks faction."

"I... Yes, absolutely. Let's talk right now."

Theinan gestures for Bennie to follow and she does. They end up at a large tent where a few people talk animatedly in front of a fire. The smell of sizzling meat wafts through the air.

"Can I get you something?" Theinan says, grabbing a chair for Bennie to sit in. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? We don't have much, but... Well, we don't have much."

Bennie coughs into her elbow. "I'd love some water."

Theinan has someone get a drink for his guest and quickly sits across from her on a crate. One by one, others join him until over half a dozen marked Peaks Heroes are staring at her intently. Bennie shifts, uncomfortable in the quiet.

"We've been hearing rumors," Theinan says. "Rumors that the Heroes are planning to go back to Monarch and rebuild the city."

Bennie says nothing, trying to give off an air of mysterious aloofness.

"We know that there are evils in this world. In time, they will come for Monarch, too. If the Heroes are willing to risk their lives to take back our home, then we want to help them. We just don't know how we can be helpful. The Peaks faction isn't fast and strong, like the Plains faction. We're not hardy like the Ruins faction. We can't be taught to heal like the Ocean faction or make objects float like the Cemetery faction."

"Well," Bennie says slowly, "what can you do?"

"Most of us can teleport simple small objects, but only in a line of sight."

"What about people?"

"Too difficult, even for the most experienced among us. None of us alone have the magical capacity to move something that complex and get it to a destination intact."

"Is weight a problem too?" Bennie asks.

"Yes, but we're more limited by complexity. I could teleport a piece of wrought iron across the street, but I can't teleport a frog across a room."

Bennie scratches her head, thinking. "Artillery, maybe? I don't know, I'd have to talk with Katrina. I'm sure she'd—"

"Artillery?" Theinan says, enunciating the word very carefully. "What is that?"

"It's artillery. Cannons, catapults, mortar guns... That kind of thing."

"I'm not familiar. What is artillery used for?"

"You're serious?" Bennie says, chuckling. "Does no one know what—"

Bennie suddenly gets to her feet as the revelation hits her: no one knows what artillery is! But she does, and more importantly, she's the only one who knows that fact. Warfare on Renea must have stalled with the presence of both the gods and magic. Maybe technology never advanced past the sword, shield, and spear. If that's true, then the implementation of artillery will drastically swing the war in favor of the Heroes. After all, how can an enemy fight against a technology they don't understand? This is it; this is her contribution. This is what she's been waiting for. Happiness swells in her chest, excitement pooling inside her until she can't even breathe. Bennie Balachie, the tactical mastermind, the genius, the Hero—!

Bennie goes limp and collapses to the ground.

Five minutes later, her eyes fly open and she sits straight up. Hands immediately press on her back and shoulders and arms, supporting her weight. A sea of worried faces surrounds her, most of them marked Peaks Heroes. Bennie tries to sort out her hazy memory.

"Theinan..." she starts. "I was talking to Theinan."

"I'm here," he says, coming to her side. "You passed out in the middle of our conversation. I sent out some friends to get help as soon as you were down. The minute we mentioned your name—"

"Is she awake?" comes a loud voice. "Move it! I said move it! Make a lane!"

Kexal shoves himself through the crowd. Bennie looks at him, surprised.

"Where have you been?" she asks. "I haven't seen you in days."

"Busy. Nysse has been running me ragged." Kexal sits at her side. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Theinan and a few other people disperse the crowd to give the two some space.

"I don't know. I was talking to Theinan about..." She hesitates, unwilling to disclose her discovery. "About something I don't remember, and then I think I passed out."

"Do you want to go the medical camp and get checked up?"

"No, I think I'm okay." Bennie grabs his shoulder and uses him to pull herself to her feet. "I think I just stood up a little fast. I got too excited."

"You sure? I don't think people pass out from excitement that often."

"I'll be okay."

"I think you ought to check in with Jinas, just to be safe."

"Kexal, I said I'm fine."

He stares for a moment longer, then shakes his head. "You worry me."

"Why?"

"Because you push yourself too hard."

Bennie laughs. "Not as hard as Scott."

"Not a good comparison. Scott is pushing himself into a grave."

Bennie goes to respond when suddenly a ragged cough rips through her. She gasps, leaning over her knees to catch her breath. She coughs once more, harder, and then stands and pats her chest.

"Sheesh," she says, amused. "I should cut down to two packs a day."

Kexal stares at her and says, "We need to bring you to a doctor."

"For the last time, I'm fine." She slaps him on the shoulder. "You hungry? Come on, let's go eat."

Bennie kicks her boots in the dust and starts off for the front of the camp at a light jog. Kexal watches Bennie with a sharp eye, then follows her from a distance.

Stanley Lockwood shudders awake.

He's aware that he's lying flat on his back, but everywhere he looks is a blank white; it's impossible to orient himself. He closes his eyes and feels the ground with his hands: hard and flat, like stone. That helps a little bit. He slowly gets to his feet and breathes in distinctly familiar ice-cold air. He wonders where he's tasted it before. He opens his eyes and looks around, but there is nothing except pure whiteness in every direction, save for a small shadow at his feet. A glance upward reveals no source of light, either.

Stanley shuffles forward, his feet sweeping the ground in slow circles to ensure no sudden pitfalls await him. The air remains constantly cold but no urge to shiver comes. In fact, the only sensation he feels is the cold in his lungs and the ground on his feet. His clothes hang touchless on his body and each step feels like he could suddenly lose his attachment to the ground.

Then, in the distance, he spots something strange: a small whirlwind of pink flower petals twirling slowly in place, no taller or wider than a doorway. A faint pearlescent white glimmer beckons from inside. He approaches it, curious, and reaches out to touch it.

His fingers pass through the petals and warmth spreads up his arm. His hand passes through the pearlescent shimmer and he feels something tapping on his skin—rain. In this world of sensory deprivation, the rain feels bizarrely out of place. Stanley steps fully inside and gingerly passes through what he can only assume is a portal. It takes a moment for the world to clear.

It is night and, as he suspected, it is raining. In front of him is a familiar house on a familiar street, but several things are wrong. Two cars are in the driveway instead of one. Laughter comes from inside, along with music; someone is throwing a party. Two unknown people dance with each other near the window, one man and one woman. They laugh and hold one another and spin. It must be a celebration.

He glances at the name on the mailbox and a chill runs up his spine: Lockwood. He looks back at the window. The woman is gone for the moment, but the man is looking out into the yard, a glass in his hand, and the man looks exactly like Stanley—no, that man _is_ Stanley.

The Hero stares for what feels like an hour until the other Stanley leaves the window and disappears. Stanley looks over his shoulder at the doorway behind him, indicated only by a slight shimmer in the rain. It beckons to him, promising to show him more secrets. Stanley walks back to the door, passes through its archway and disappears.

# Chapter Six

## A Fool's Errand

Scott Cornot's tent, refugee camp; the next day

"Artillery, huh?" Gabriel says, glancing through some papers on a clipboard. "Explain that one to me again, because in all my years of living on this planet, and believe me, there have been plenty—"

"Again," Bennie says for the fifth time, "all you do is teleport giant rocks over enemy lines to do massive damage. That's all it is! You take heavy objects and put them over your enemy's heads. Do you really not get it? Do you not see how good it can be? I'd thought you'd be over the moon about this!"

"Sure, if I understood the technology better. How does the Peaks faction intend to aim their projectiles? What's stopping them from dropping rocks on our own troops? Won't people just get out of the way from enormous falling rocks? Why not use magic instead?"

"You're just arguing on technicalities."

"I need to know the technology isn't going to backfire."

"Aren't you an Earth genius?" Scott says, sitting up from his cot. "Shouldn't you know all about artillery and tactics?"

"Sit down," Drew says. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"I'm not an Earth genius. I just know about the planet and knew enough trivia to start adventuring with Stanley, but that was a long time ago." Gabriel sighs. "I don't know, Bennie. Artillery seems like a good idea, but we have better alternatives that already work for us. Besides, I was planning to use the Peaks faction as supply runners."

"You were _planning_?" Bennie says. "And just who put _you_ in charge?"

"Well, unless anyone else here has several thousand years of logistic experience they want to tell me about, I would say my credentials did."

"You know"—Scott sits up again—"he's got a point, here. Maybe magic defeats the entire purpose of artillery. It can do things we couldn't dream of doing on Earth."

"While fighting hand-to-hand is kind of exciting," Drew says, "why go to all that trouble if you could just crush your enemies with rocks? Saves you a lot of trouble."

Scott gives him a look. "How come you're not on our side?"

"There are sides?" Drew says.

"Yes! Well, no, but why aren't you supporting me? No one on Renea has used artillery before. This could change the war!"

"We don't even know what warfare of this size will be like," Gabriel interrupts, flicking through his papers again. "Until we know the extent of the fighting, let's just keep things simple."

"You are _not_ the only say in this," Bennie growls. "I demand to put it to vote."

"Camellia isn't here."

"I wasn't there when everyone decided to vote on joining Peter's camp. What makes this any different?"

Gabriel sighs. "There are four of us here. What happens if there's a tie?"

"There won't be. If you're _for_ trying artillery in combat, hold up a finger. If you're _against_ , hold up two."

Drew and Bennie hold up one finger. Scott and Gabriel hold up two.

"Scott!" she exclaims. "Seriously?"

"I have to stick with my gut on this," he says. "I think magic will be a much bigger factor than artillery could ever be." Scott turns to Drew. "I'm surprised about you. I thought you'd be all gung-ho about fighting face-to-face with your enemies."

"I guess?" Drew says, confused. "I just think artillery is going to be more useful—might not be as interesting, but it is useful."

"Just doesn't seem like you at all."

"What are you trying to say?"

"That you're being difficult just for the sake of being difficult."

"Yeah?" Drew steps closer. "And what if I'm not? You want to settle this at the lake?"

"Alright, enough." Gabriel slaps his clipboard down on the table he was leaning on. "I know we're all stressed and worried about how to best fight the war, but there's no reason to fight with each other. Artillery, magic, infantry... Whether we care about saving lives or taking them, people are going to die soon. This is not going to be a fun time for anyone, so we need to stay focused on each other. We're a team. There are no sides here."

"Whatever," Bennie says, shouldering her way out of the tent. "I've said what I needed to say."

Drew looks briefly at Scott, then runs out after her.

A clatter comes from outside, followed by a small commotion. Gabriel and Scott peek out the front to see Drew leaning down to help Bennie to her feet, but she pushes him away and shakily continues walking. Drew still follows her, his arms spread to catch her in case she falls again.

Jinas comes around the corner and steps into Scott's tent. He bumps into Gabriel and goes to reprimand him for being in a Hero tent without permission, then realizes who he's talking to and says nothing. He does ask Gabriel to leave so he can do a check-up on Scott and Gabriel collects his clipboard and exits back into the medical camp.

Inside Scott's tent, Jinas presses his hands to Scott's back and instructs him to breathe deeply. The Hero complies, but his mind is elsewhere. He stews in silence until he can bear it no longer.

"Jinas," he suddenly says. "What do you think about Bennie?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I've noticed some weird things going on recently. I was wondering if you did, too."

"What have you noticed?"

"She just seems different. Kexal told me she fainted and had a coughing fit yesterday and so far she hasn't told any of us."

"Oh, so he told you too, huh?"

"He didn't know who else to tell. What's going on with her?"

"Well her fatigue, avoidance of basic exertion, and sudden fainting spells are all signs of weak blood flow, so I thought she may have a heart condition, but the coughing didn't fit my theory. I'm not sure what's going on."

"Has she come to you for help?"

"Of course not. Apparently, according to everyone in this camp, I'm _your_ doctor and I can't be troubled to deal with anyone else. Unless she comes to me, I can't force her to accept medical aid. I just hope she doesn't go out and do something stupid." Jinas lightly pats Scott on the back. "Okay, you can go now. Your vitals look good. How's the head?"

"A little shaky and I'm still hearing things, but not as often anymore." Scott pauses. "Hey, Jinas. Thank you."

"It's my job to keep you healthy. And it's your job to keep yourself out of this tent, understand? Take it easy for a while."

Jinas leaves Scott's tent. Scott lays back down in the cot for a few minutes before thinking about Camellia's busted knuckles and her training. He glances over at the table and tries to lift it with his mind, but a headache splits him from ear to ear as soon as he tries. He rests his head against his pillow and breathes. Voices whisper softly in his ear.

Not too far away, Bennie sits on an empty crate, stewing in her thoughts so heavily that she barely notices Drew sitting right next to her, quietly waiting for her to talk to him. All she can think about is how ridiculous Gabriel acted. Artillery is perfect, especially if the fighting is mostly done by infantry. Magic or not, not many lines will remain unbroken when boulders start falling in their midst. The conversation did nothing but confirm her suspicion that the others don't see her as a Hero anymore. Ideas or not, she's still a joke to them.

Bennie doesn't blame them, but that doesn't stop her resentment toward it. The way she treated her companions in the past was inexcusable. There has to be some way to make it right with them, to make them see her as a Hero again. Coming up with battle plans or new strategies clearly isn't enough. Even apologizing for her behavior won't change the way they see her now. There has to be something she can do... There's always something.

She takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and hops down from the crate. Drew looks at her curiously but decides it's best to let her be alone for a while.

As Bennie walks to clear her head, she hears some people talking excitedly. She almost passes by them without stopping until one of them mentions Riel, the Skeleton King. She slows to listen.

"...and he was going right for Monarch, truthfully. I think his arrival will be the flash point everyone's been talking about. We should be preparing!"

"You don't think Riel will come _here_ , do you?"

"Don't be such a Jittery Josan," a third voice reassures the second. "The Skeleton King has no business in the Woods. Besides, we have Heroes. We're safe here."

"Not if they're fighting in Monarch."

"How do you know the Skeletons are going to Monarch anyways?" someone suddenly says with a laugh. "Did you have another late-night fever dream?"

"A scout told me!" the first person cries, much to the laughter of his companions. "He told me that Riel's army was only a day's march from Monarch and that we should get ready for battle. Everyone else has been training and working, so don't you think we ought to prepare ourselves, too? For example, I've been making arrows—"

"If you're that worried, talk to the Heroes about it!" a voice ridicules, amused. "Preparing arrows, don't make me laugh!"

The group continues to talk loudly over each other, each insisting the other is wrong and that their own plan of action is correct. Bennie reflects for a few moments, aware that maybe Gabriel's disagreement wasn't anything personal after all. Still, with artillery presumably off the table unless she organizes it herself, and since one day doesn't leave much time to practice, Bennie decides to shelve her idea for another time. She'll need another idea to prove to everyone that she's worthy of being a Hero again.

And just like that, Bennie's mind hatches a plan before she's even consciously aware it's happening. The pieces fall into place too quick to be put into words, the images flashing through her head and setting themselves up like dominos in a perfectly straight line. Determination sets itself on her face. She runs off to get prepared.

A man watches her from the shade of a tree. He allows himself a small grin before vanishing in a shimmer of magenta light. Not a heartbeat later, Roger bolts through the area with his staff in hand, searching for a man who no longer exists.

That evening, while all is quiet in the medical camp and Scott is calmly meditating in his designated tent, a blast of air breaks the silence like a wind hurled from the mountains. A loud commotion immediately follows, accompanied by the sound of people chattering and feet pounding in the dirt. Scott is quick to leave his tent and rush to the scene. He arrives before Bennie or Drew to a crowd of people circled around something. He announces himself and pushes his way to the center.

Camellia Agnelli kneels in the dirt sucking in large gulps of air. Her battle-worn deep blue robes are speckled with dirt and blood.

"Camellia?" he says, surprised. "What's going on?"

She looks up at him. Her eyes are intense and hard.

Yesterday...

Camellia arrives in the center of Monarch shortly after leaving the Woods.

Sorsaren's magic—repulsive, metallic, pungent—lingers in the air like a slowly drifting cloud of miasma. She instinctively holds her breath and covers her nose and mouth against the stinging sensation. The monster's blast has created a perfect circle of ruins in the center of the city. Monarch must have crashed to the ground in a spectacular cacophony of noise not long afterwards; not a single building remains upright.

She leaves the choking center and finds clean air in the Plains District. She sets up camp and sleeps soundlessly until the sunrise wakes her. Her hand throbs under her bandages. She sighs, realizing she forgot to bring fresh bandages in her rush, and rips a few strips from the cuff of her pants. She has a quick breakfast and leaves her camp to start searching. Used to the drone of the refugee camp, the barren quietness is unsettling.

Camellia goes to the edge of the city and loops around back toward the Woods, curious, and finds a peculiar sight in front of her. At the edge of the Woods on the outskirts of Monarch, where the lush grass and distant tree line and bountiful flowers stretch wide to her left, the Plains suddenly stretches wide to her right, flowing golden hills and crested wheatgrass blowing in the breeze. There is no fade in to one or the other; the Plains suddenly ends where the Woods begins, and the Woods suddenly ends where the Plains begins.

Camellia looks at the Plains and an immense fondness falls over her. Madame Redna and her hospitable nomads. The shuttered lantern in the Underground. The gold-furred huntbeast with its four incisors and pupilless white eyes. Ariana. She feels a strange warmth in her chest, like she's just come home after a long time away. Distantly, she wonders if going back to Earth will feel the same.

She smiles to herself; Earth feels like a distant memory now. Her parents, her friends, the rest of her family—all so distant. She's adjusted well to living on Renea. She thinks about Sunset Hill and the truths Apalon told her about this world, about the meaning of the Heroes. A weight settles on her shoulders at the thought of his absence, about her impending Deiascension. Someday that will be her out in the Plains, protecting the livelihood of her realm for eons, being spotted on the horizon by the lucky few who will tell the tale for the rest of their lives. The thought of being responsible for protecting so many people worries her, but she doesn't let the thought sit for long. She came here to do a job.

She turns back toward Monarch and heads into the ruined city. Picking through the rubble will take a long time, but Gabriel said the emblem was in the Plains District, so at least her search area isn't very large. She suddenly thinks about how much food she brought, how much water she'll need, and realizes she'll need to go back to the camp to resupply.

Camellia wanders through hollowed-out buildings and down shattered roads for the rest of the day, mentally mapping the area. Every now and then, she feels the faint sting of yellow magic on her nose or in her throat and she quickly changes direction. As she walks, it takes her a moment to grasp the gaping silence of the place. The city has been stripped of its voice, leaving an emptiness in its place that swallows everything. Camellia walks as softly as she can to avoid disturbing it, aware that she hasn't spoken a word in almost a day.

By the time the sun begins to set, Camellia decides she's seen enough for the day. She heads back to her camp and starts a fire. As she waits for her small evening meal to cook, she sits on the edge of a blackened stone block and leans back on her hands. The sky is already purple with the oncoming night and the silvery moon hangs overhead, less taunting now than it once was. Sorsaren's magic wafts across her nose, smelling like burnt copper wires, and she shifts slightly, hoping the smoke from the fire will drown it out. Camellia rubs her arms. The world around her is growing cold and dark.

Then, she notices someone standing opposite.

She half-jumps, startled, and then is immediately on her feet when she recognizes the face of Stark Pureblood.

Something heavy tackles into her from behind and she's pinned to the ground, knees and legs and fists in her back and on her legs and arms. Someone drives her faces into the dirt, then yanks her up by her hair. Two thick legs approach her with a heavy axe dragging behind.

Instincts she never knew about kick in. She thrashes wildly, unthinking, as the sound of the axe dragging in the dirt gets closer. Someone laughs. Her arms are tightly wrenched behind her back, shoved up to her shoulders. The axe is in her face now. The tip touches the side of her neck, then comes off the ground and lifts up out of her field of view. Camellia's heart pounds in her throat.

She screams and the ground drops out from under her.

Carrying the weight of at least half a dozen men, she rockets into the sky. One by one they fall off of her and drop to the distant ground. Camellia rises faster and faster, fleeing above the city until the air gets so light she chokes and dives back down to breathe, and then she sees the Plains District is crawling with torches, campfires, and Pureblood nomads. She feels the phantom sensation of all those hands and bodies all over her and she clutches her arms across herself. Home. She needs to go home, right now.

Camellia blasts to the edge of the city in a violent rush of exploding air. She doesn't dare look back, lest the fanatics are right behind her, lest Stark Pureblood's axe is mere inches from her throat.

# Chapter Seven

## Preparations

Refugee camp, the Woods; evening

Camellia tugs the blanket around her shoulders a little tighter. Bennie, Scott, Drew, Nysse, and Gabriel have all gathered in Scott's tent to hear her report. She starts slowly, stuttering through her words, and skips the part about her brush with Stark. She confirms that the Purebloods are in Monarch already, and when Gabriel announces that his scouts confirmed that Riel will arrive at the city tomorrow, everyone goes silent for a few minutes.

"This is it, isn't it?"

Everyone looks at Drew, who spoke.

"The fighting is going to start soon, right?"

"If we assume Riel and Stark will fight over Monarch, then yes," says Gabriel. "And I'd bet good money that they'll fight tooth and nail for that city. It won't be an easy fight for us."

"Then let them fight each other," says Bennie, drawing the attention of the group. "Let Riel and Stark wear each other down, then charge in when they're weakened. If we're lucky, we might take the city and beat both armies."

"We don't have enough manpower to do that," says Gabriel. "Riel's army is a nearly countless hivemind and Stark's clan is full of well-trained, vicious fighters. A better plan is to let one army completely succeed and pick a fight with the weakened winner. We don't want to fight two armies at once."

"But we could wipe out both Stark and Riel at once!"

"Or we could just let them kill each other."

"Where's the heroism in that!"

"Where's the heroism in getting all of our people killed? You _do_ remember that they haven't been training for very long and are basically a volunteer army, right? What do you think will happen if we bring back more dead bodies than alive? How many people do you think will volunteer for round two?"

Bennie feels anger rise in her throat, but she swallows it and looks away.

"Ultimately," Gabriel continues, "the armies themselves aren't the problem. As long as the Adversaries continue to live, the war could go on until it's just the Adversaries contesting for control over Monarch in an infinite loop, unable to die yet having nothing else to live for. You Heroes need to focus on defeating your Adversaries and leave the rest of the army to us."

"It's our army too," Bennie suddenly retorts. "I don't like how you're acting like some general sitting in the background orchestrating some master plans behind our back. The Heroes will be taking all the heat if you screw up, so—"

"I won't screw up," Gabriel says firmly. "Nor will Jenna, Roger, or Katrina. I said before to leave this stuff to the Emissaries; that's why we're here. Defeating your Adversary requires all your effort and is much more challenging than coordinating an army."

"Oh, like you would know."

"Bennie," Nysse says sharply. "Hold your tongue."

Bennie turns to Nysse and sees a warning in the goddess's eyes—not a threat, merely a warning. Bennie clenches her jaw and tries to calm her temper. Just then, the tent flap opens and Katrina and Jenna step inside. Gabriel brings them up to speed.

"We'll need at least a day to outfit people," says Jenna. "I've been making armor and weapons with the Ruins and Peaks factions. I think they've got a good system down, finally."

"Group training has been successful, too," says Katrina. "They're still green but the fundamentals are there. It won't be pretty, but it won't be a bloodbath. A day for rest would be nice."

"And a day to brief everyone," says Gabriel, finishing the thought. "That gives Riel and Stark a chance to beat each other silly for a day, and then we can swoop in and clear out the victor while Bennie and Camellia fight their Adversaries."

Katrina turns. "Bennie, Riel will be waiting for you. You don't have your powers right now, so are you sure going to the fight at all is a good idea?"

Bennie nods. "I need to be there. Everyone else is going and I won't be left behind."

"Camellia"—Katrina turns again—"Stark will be there, too. Are you ready to face him?"

"I don't know."

"This isn't something you say 'I don't know' to."

"Well, I really don't know," Camellia says. "He could kill me, couldn't he?"

"Then kill him first."

"I've never killed anyone before."

"You'll have to do it sometime. Might as well start with Stark."

"What if I convince him to surrender?"

Katrina laughs off the idea.

"It's getting late," Nysse says, rising. "Tomorrow is an important day for everyone. Let's rest up and be ready to work by sunrise."

Nysse leaves first and Gabriel, Jenna, and Katrina follow. Camellia, Scott, and Drew sit around the tent and listen to each other breathe. Drew tries to catch Camellia's eyes, but she stares at the far side of the tent in contemplative silence. He gives Scott a look, who shrugs and looks at Bennie. She hasn't said a word in at least five minutes.

A sickly sense of unease falls over them as the situation truly sets in. Scott bathes in adrenalin he imagines his ancestors must have felt before charging into their own battles and wars in a time long since passed. It feels proper, like a rite of passage to becoming a real man. Drew, on the other hand, tries not to think too much about what tomorrow may bring; it makes him nauseous. Camellia goes over what Katrina said, wondering if she can convince Stark Pureblood to lay down his weapons and walk away. Something tells her it won't be that easy. Bennie thinks over her plan, uncomfortable in the silence.

"Does everyone have something they can fight with?" Camellia suddenly asks, remembering Nysse's request. "Specifically, a legendary weapon."

"You mean like Excalibur?" Drew says. "I mean, I found a pretty cool stick once, but—"

"No. I mean this." Camellia opens her hands and a grey warhammer appears in a ribbon of light. The other Heroes suddenly sit up straighter. "Does everyone have something like this?"

"Where the hell did you get that?" Drew asks.

"I learned how to summon it during my quest to find Apalon. Nysse asked me to show you so it would encourage you to get your own as soon as possible. I don't think—" She hesitates. "I don't think you should fight your Adversary before you have it."

Bennie chews her lip but says nothing.

"How come?"

"It's too much of an advantage to _not_ have. I just wanted to show everyone, that's all."

Bennie finally huffs. "Let's call it for tonight," she says. "I want to get some food."

"Oh, me too," says Drew. "I could eat."

"You guys go ahead without me," says Scott. "I'll catch up in a second."

Camellia, Bennie, and Drew leave Scott's tent. The minute they're gone, Scott covers his ears with his hands and tries to breathe. Voices whisper softly in his head.

Monarch; the next day

Stark Pureblood is enjoying his quiet afternoon when a nomad bursts into his tent, blubbering and stuttering and so pale that Stark almost mistakes him for a ghost. He doesn't listen to the report; he knows what a nomad messenger will tell him. Stark grabs double-bladed axe with a mean snarl. So, the Heroes intend to strike while his pants were down, did they? Well unfortunately for them, Stark Pureblood is never caught without a belt.

As he exits his tent, he finds his immediate camp in complete disarray. If it isn't someone shouting about the dead rising from their graves, it's someone complaining that everyone should stop shouting about the dead rising from their graves. Stark frowns. His new right-hand man, Jorpag, is nowhere to be found. Useless as always. Katan would have already had the camp under control and reports from every sector.

Katan. Rage boils in Stark's belly. He stomps out of the camp and into the city, listening for sounds of an army's footfalls. With luck he'll find the Hero army and set terms before the battle—terms which he, of course, plans on violating as soon as the fighting starts.

Stark follows the sound of thundering footsteps to the center of the city, relatively close to where his camp is set. The air is much denser there, hard to breathe and toxic, and perfect for training the lungs. Stark taps his axe on his shoulder in restless anticipation as he enters the large central area where the star fell on Monarch, and then he halts hard in his tracks. Standing in front of him is a line of skeleton men dressed in armor, brandishing their weapons, their eerie red eyes glowing in their empty sockets—certainly not the Heroic line he had been expecting.

The line parts and out steps a taller skeleton with four curving horns and a red and gold cape buttoned around his shoulders. The leader, no doubt. The skeleton starts forward, a long half-pike in his hand, and Stark looks at it suspiciously. He can't place where he knows the weapon from, but it looks familiar.

The skeleton man stops just far enough away that it forces Stark to walk up to meet him. Stark approaches with his fingers drumming on the handle of his axe. They stand apart from each other for a moment, as if daring the other to speak first. Eventually, the skeleton looks over Stark's shoulder.

"Are you with the Heroes?" it asks.

"Of course not. Are you?"

"No, I am not."

"Then who are you and why the hell are you in my city?"

The skeleton makes a noise like a harsh laugh. "I am Riel, the Skeleton King, ruler of the Ruins and future Lord of Renea. I have marched my army here to claim that which is mine—that which, it appears, you've wrongly decided is yours, whoever you may be."

"Stark Pureblood, leader of the Pureblood clan."

"A noble name befitting a warlord. Still, you claim to own that which is not yours, and so I will take it from you by force."

"You're here for war, then?"

"Of course. That's why you're here, isn't it? That's why we're _all_ here."

Stark chews the inside of his cheek. "State your terms."

"What for? Even if I set them, you would violate them as soon as the fighting begins. I was a tyrant in life, like you. I am still a tyrant in undeath."

Stark pauses. "Five minutes to relay my orders."

Riel nods.

Stark turns and starts to walk away when he feels a chill up his spine. He instinctively ducks to the right and the shaft of a half-pike buries itself in the dirt in front of him. Stark rolls away and gets to his feet to see Riel plucking the spear from the ground.

Stark sighs. For once, he'll have to trust his generals to coordinate a fight without him. Behind him, the Skeleton army branches off and funnels into the city like a stream of ants.

"Acetil," Riel says, holding the weapon in a golden hand. "The half-pike of the first Hero of the Plains. With this, I will conquer the entire world."

Something dawns in Stark's memory. Now he remembers why the half-pike looks familiar; it's the same spear he had as a boy, the spear which was stolen from him and started his hatred of the gods. Darkness long buried rises inside him.

Stark is upon him in an instant.

Startled, Riel throws up Acetil in defense and blocks a blow powerful enough to shatter the ground beneath him. Riel shoves him back and Stark stumbles and then launches himself forward again. His axe flashes like a streak of white lightning, so fast the air whistles in its wake. Riel keeps himself just out of reach with the length of his spear, waiting for Stark to slow before he attempts a counter.

But Stark keeps coming. His attacks increase in speed. His legs push him farther, covering more ground, and Riel finds it increasingly difficult to keep out of Stark's range. But he knows he has to keep waiting. Stark will tire as the city's yellow miasma creeps into his bones, drips into his blood, fills up his lungs. He only has to wait. He just has to keep waiting.

A blur of white leaves a scratch across Riel's chest plate.

A flash knocks Acetil out of Riel's hands.

Something glances across his face, carving a chip into his cheek bone.

Riel steps into Stark's range and blasts the nomad in the chest with gold magic.

Stark reels back, his assault finally halted. He stumbles and plants his axe firmly in the ground, leaning on it heavily. He breathes deep and short; his eyes are tinted yellow. Riel double-checks his own magical aura, ensuring the yellow magic hasn't started affecting him yet.

"Tired already?" Stark jeers as he pulls his axe back. "I'm not even warmed up."

Riel doesn't answer him. He stretches a hand to the side and Acetil pops into his grip.

Stark launches an attack and Riel steps around to parry. They trade blows back and forth, metal ringing against magic, each strike of axe against spear sending a ripple across the ground. Riel keeps his pace steady and attacks only when necessary, forcing Stark to come to him. Stark falls into the rhythm with eager abandon, twisting his body unnaturally to throw swings from the hip, behind the knee, even from behind his back. He loses himself in a flow state and becomes aware only of his desire to cleave Riel's tiny blue life flame in two.

Riel knocks Stark away and sends a wide beam of magic after him. Stark shields his body with the flat of his axe and takes the attack head-on. Riel strides across the battlefield, sending intermittent blasts in Stark's direction to keep him pinned. When he's half a pace away, Riel rears back and thrusts his spear forward. Stark slips to the side and a stream of magic misses him by a hair.

Stark whips his axe directly into Riel's golden arm. The king merely glances at the axe as it bounces away, knocking Stark off balance. He sweeps Acetil behind his back, catches it in his other hand, and levels it at Stark. Once more the nomad rolls to the side to avoid taking a direct hit.

Stark starts to move forward, but his knees fail him. He falters, driving his axe into the ground for support. His bones ache from the strain of his weight. His lungs gasp from trying to filter out the poisonous magic. Was the air always this thick?

Riel approaches, his spear drawn back for a final strike.

The tip shoots toward his face. Stark stares it down, unflinching.

The blow stops just short of his nose.

A black aura covers Riel's arm and spear, binding him in place. There is now an opening; Stark forces himself to stand and fight. His body cries out in agony as he forces himself to his feet and draws his axe back. He roars and swings it down hard, intent on finishing the fight for good.

A black aura forms around Stark's arm and stops the blow a mere inch from the Skeleton King.

Stark grinds his legs into the ground and shoves with all his inhuman might, but the aura has him trapped. He can't even budge.

"Interesting," Riel says, observing the darkness covering his own arm. "I can't even use my magic."

Riel relaxes and the black aura instantly fades, allowing him to pull his arm back away from Stark. Stark heaves a hard, resigned sigh and relaxes his arm. His own black aura fades as well, leaving his arm free to move. His axe drops and he leans on it for support, exhausted.

"Not your doing, I take it," Riel says.

"Don't be ridiculous," Stark manages.

"If we can't kill each other, there's no point in fighting."

"Hah! So you forfeit the city?"

"Don't be a fool. I'll still be wiping out your army and taking the city for myself."

Stark snorts. "You can try."

The nomad limps away, holding his side and cursing as he drags his axe behind him. The Skeleton King watches him impassively, then allows himself to feel worry. The black aura that stopped his blow neutralized not only his own gold magic but the yellow poison in the entire area. Whatever or whoever stopped their fight, its strength rivals the beast that destroyed Monarch.

Refugee camp, the Woods

The hustle and bustle of a camp preparing to march to war has replaced the quiet din of daily life. Hammers fall on anvils, preparing the last pieces of armor and weaponry. People sit in groups stripping thin trees into spear shafts, arrows, and javelins. New soldiers stream in and out of tents, fitting themselves for leather, chain mail, boots, and helmets.

"We should be okay with the heavy armor," Katrina says, walking with a few people from different factions. "It won't rain tomorrow, so if people fall, they won't be weighed down in the mud with all the metal they're wearing."

"And against the Purebloods?" one of them asks.

"We're predicting Riel quashes them but be prepared to have people retreat if necessary. The last thing we want is to fight in heavy armor against lightning-fast nomads."

She dismisses her group when she sees Gabriel coming up to her. He takes her aside to discuss logistics and Scott and Jinas pass them by.

"You're really not going to Monarch?" says Scott.

"I'm not," says Jinas, "and again, nothing you can say will change my mind."

"But you're _always_ with me. You've been with me since day one. You've saved me more times than I can count. You should be with me on the battlefield like you've always been. What if I get sick or injured? You're the only one who knows how to take care of me."

Jinas turns and stops Scott with a finger to his chest. "You're a Hero. You're strong with or without me there. I have other people I need to take care of now. If you have to come back to me on a stretcher, and I know you won't because you're stronger than that, then I'll fix you up like I always have."

Scott looks at him for a moment before shaking his head and leaving. Jinas heads off in the opposite direction. Camellia and Drew pass him, absorbed in conversation.

"You've got to talk to me," Drew insists. "Something is bothering you, isn't it?"

Camellia tries to ignore him.

"Come on"—Drew grabs her by the arm—"we're all under stress here. If it's just that, then I understand."

Camellia gently takes her arm back. "It's just stress. I have a lot of things to think about right now."

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

"If you want to be worried about someone, worry about Bennie. She's been acting strange all day."

"Well, she has to fight her Adversary soon. I think she's just stressed, like you."

Someone whistles shrilly. Camellia and Drew look to see Gabriel coming up to them with a clipboard in his hands.

"Just finished the marching order," Gabriel says. "Scott and Roger are with the Cemetery faction. Drew, you and Jenna are with the Ocean faction. Katrina and Bennie are with the Ruins faction. Camellia, you've got the Plains faction and I'm leading the Peaks faction. Katrina's gone to relay the orders to the factions and I'm off to tell Bennie and Scott about the plan."

"Are we still meeting in Scott's tent tonight?" Drew asks.

"Yes. We'll go over the final plans and then tomorrow we'll march on the city. Are you nervous?"

"No," Camellia and Drew say in unison.

Gabriel scoffs. "Yeah, right. It's good to be nervous. Fear will keep you alive when pride will get you killed."

That night, the Heroes and the Emissaries gather in Scott's tent. Nysse, as always, is present but sits quietly to the side, monitoring the discussion.

"As you can see," Gabriel says, pointing to his maps, "there are several open fields around the city. I've told our faction leaders to retreat there if there's a problem since reinforcements will be there to cover their escape. We'll be doing a lot of fighting in the ruins, so be mindful of ambushes, especially from the Skeletons. I think the nomads will be easier to fight since they're used to open fields of combat. Whatever you do, avoid the city's center; Sorsaren's magic is too dense there and you could get seriously injured or even killed from overexposure." He looks pointedly at the Heroes. "Above all, remember why you're there. Only fight your Adversary— _only_ yours, not someone else's for any reason, even to save their life. They may still pull out a miracle. Run away from anything if it gets too dangerous. You have a lot more to lose than anyone else in this fight. If any one of you dies before defeating your Adversary, the whole world is doomed."

Bennie coughs nervously.

"Don't be too worried," says Nysse. "I will signal an army-wide retreat if necessary."

"Reminder," Katrina says. "We're here to help you. If you get injured while fighting, you need to come find one of us. Forget your pride. Your lives are too important to risk losing to a stray blade."

"Any questions?" Gabriel asks.

"Just one," says Drew. "Why isn't Nysse fighting? Couldn't she just wipe the armies out for us?"

"I will fight when it's my time to fight," the goddess answers. "I am training and conserving my energy until then."

"What do you mean 'training'? Can't you just show up and wipe them off the map?"

"I'm not confident in my ability to control my strength yet."

"That's the best part! We can just unleash you like an unhinged superweapon; they'll never expect it."

"Well," Gabriel says tersely, "given her track record, I wouldn't trust her to use powers she doesn't know how to handle."

Nysse tightens a little, but she says nothing. Drew drops the idea.

"Anything else?" he asks. "Are you all nervous?"

"No," the Heroes say in unison.

Gabriel snorts. "Yeah, right. Let's call it a night. We'll see each other tomorrow morning. Form up before the sun rises; it's a long march to the city."

Gabriel rolls up his papers and leaves, followed by Jenna, Roger, and Katrina. Nysse stands and the Heroes all look at her expectantly, waiting. She looks at them for a moment, then silently leaves the tent. The Heroes all look at each other and, finding nothing else to say, exit Scott's tent one by one. Once the tent is empty, Scott lays his hands on the table and breathes slowly, his limbs shaking. Voices whisper softly in his ear.

The next morning, the Heroes assemble at the front of the camp. The factions have organized themselves into five battalions: Plains and Ruins at the front, Cemetery and Ocean behind them, and Peaks in the back. Each Hero in turn takes their place at the front of their battalion. Camellia and Bennie look at each other for a second, unsure of what to do. Katrina motions for them to start walking and they do. The footsteps of five battalions follow behind them on the march toward Monarch.

# Chapter Eight

## The First Battle for Monarch

Out in the Woods

On the long march, Roger and Scott catch up on each other's quests, bonding over the similarities and learning from the differences. Camellia leads the Plains faction silently, still thinking about facing Stark. Katrina, dressed in battle armor with her legendary sword strapped to her side, stares ahead with fiery eyes as she leads the Ruins faction forward; Bennie follows at her side, her mind occupied. Drew and Jenna lead their faction and chatter excitedly. Each member of the faction behind them has slings filled with water strapped to their backs. Bringing up the rear are the Woods faction and the reserves led by Gabriel and Nysse, the latter of whom came to observe the fighting. They walk without speaking.

Around noon, a scouting party from the Plains faction returns and relays that Monarch is only an hour away. They report that the nomads are suffering severe losses and the Skeletons have covered the city like ants. Katrina halts the march and starts yelling out orders—orders which are echoed down the lines of each faction battalion until all have heard. Then, on her signal, the factions split off in practiced formations for the last hour march into the city. Drew and Scott stick with their factions and Jenna and Roger stick with their Heroes. Gabriel, Nysse, and Katrina meet separately from the army and beckon for Camellia and Bennie to join.

Bennie grabs Camellia's arm before they reach the others. "Hey," she says softly. "I just wanted to tell you good luck, Cammy."

"Oh, thank you."

"This'll be the last time we get to talk for a while, huh?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"Well then"—Bennie sticks out a formal hand—"it's been an honor."

Camellia smiles, amused. She takes Bennie's hand in hers. "Good luck, Bennie. Now come on, they're waiting for us."

Camellia and Bennie trot up to the waiting trio.

"This is it," Gabriel says to Camellia. "I know we've asked a million times now, but are you ready?"

"As ready as I can be," says Camellia.

"You need to be alert at all times," Nysse says, grabbing most everyone's attention. "This fight could be the fight of your life and you'll need all your strength, wits, and raw force of will to come out on top. Don't pull any punches. You're fighting for your own life and the lives of others. Understood?"

"Yes," Camellia answers. "Understood."

"Bennie," Katrina says, turning. "Did you plan on staying here or—"

Katrina freezes. Bennie is gone. Everyone looks around for a second, but Bennie is nowhere to be seen.

"She was right behind me," Katrina says, confused. "I swear she was right there. Where the hell—where did she go? Does anyone see her?"

"Maybe she left for the reserves," says Gabriel. "It's not like she needs to be here for this."

"You know damn well that isn't what she did. What is she thinking? We need to find her."

"Why are you panicking? She's a Hero. She can take care of herself."

"And how do you know she's not running straight into battle to fight Riel?"

"Why on Renea would she do that? That would be suicide. You have to trust her."

"Are you saying I don't trust her?"

"I didn't say that."

"I think what you meant to say was—"

"Can we stop?" Camellia interjects, annoyed. "If it's such a big concern, I'll go find her right now."

" _You_ "—Gabriel puts a firm hand on Camellia's shoulder—"are going to do nothing. Katrina will find Bennie; that's her job. What's your job?"

"To fight and defeat Stark Pureblood."

"Then go do that."

"And don't forget to find the emblem," Nysse says. "Try to look near the farthest edge of the Plains District."

"Why didn't you tell me that the last time I came out here?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't find it when you left."

Camellia goes to say something, but she thinks the better of it and leaves at full speed. Katrina and Gabriel take off parallel to each other.

Nysse stands alone in the forest for a moment. Dread falls over her heart as if she's being watched by a ravenous animal, but she doesn't turn around, nor does she acknowledge the feeling. She straightens her back, poising herself like the goddess she is before moving toward Monarch.

Monarch's ruins are destitute and shattered in the noonday sun. The once colorful districts have been drained to pale grey and dark scorch marks burn the ground in all directions. Bodies and shards of armor are strung across the misshapen rocks and rubble; the Pureblood nomads and Skeletons must have been fighting for over a day straight.

A company from the Plains faction spots enemies first: skeletons covered in metal armor, deathless red eyes glowing in their eye sockets, faint blue flames flickering in their chest cavities. They engage instantly, charging into Monarch's ruins and leaving no place for the enemy to retreat. The Skeletons turn as one to meet their foes, expressing neither surprise nor disorder. The faction attacks at the blue flames in the Skeletons' chests, aware of the weakness, and the Skeletons bring their shields a little closer. Nearby, a company from the Ruins faction runs into Pureblood stragglers, who attack viciously. Within minutes, the echo of war resounds across the city.

Camellia stays hidden, watching the fighting and searching for any sign of Bennie. She notices a Plains company struggling against a thick group of Skeletons. One of her troops extends his attack beyond the line and gets his throat slashed open for his mistake; she can't hold back a loud gasp. The Skeletons advance and chop down a second, then a third. Camellia runs forward to help.

"Don't!" A Plains man at the back of the line lunges out to grab her and push her away. It's the same man who stopped her earlier, before she left for Monarch. "What are you doing? Let us fight these men. This is why _we_ are here."

"But—" Camellia points stupidly. "I... You need—"

"Yes! But it is blood spilled to reclaim our home. This is our fight, not yours! You must fight and defeat their leader! Go, hurry! You are the only one we can rely on!"

He shoves her away forcibly. As she watches, another man is pulled away screaming, swords digging into his flesh. He cries out as his comrades, holding a disciplined line, crash into the Skeleton formation to drag him free. Camellia wrenches her eyes closed and runs away. As she leaves, she can hear the wounded calling for help. She runs until the din of battle no longer reaches her ears, until she's back in the Plains District.

She looks at her shaking hands: not a drop of blood on them. She clenches her fists. How many people will die today in her place? She hadn't thought about it too much, letting Gabriel and the other Emissaries take over the minutia of the war effort. This must have been planned, must have been deliberately designed to ensure the Heroes did only what was necessary. How could she stand by and let people die for her cause so selflessly? The Emissaries must have made that decision early on. Is that mercy, or is it puppeteering?

Angry, Camellia tunes and strikes a large boulder in its center, splintering it into several pieces. She sucks in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of the white-hot coldness in her injured knuckles; she's ripped her scabs open.

In the quiet, Camellia calms down enough to realize she has to find the emblem and get it to Nysse. She recalls the places she's already searched and moves out to the farthest edge of the Plains District. Once she sees the familiar crested wheatgrass, she turns around and starts searching. It only takes her a second to go on autopilot and only a few more to get so frustrated she stops searching altogether and sits in the dirt, annoyed. The Plains District is an enormous section of the city, and with ruins all over the place and Nysse's vague directions, there's no way she'll be able to find something as small as—

Something catches her eye. Sticking just out of a pile of dirt and rubble is something shaped like a disk. Camellia looks at it in disbelief, thinking the impossible.

She crawls over to it and cleans the rubble and dirt away by hand. It takes a few minutes for the disk-shaped object to finally come loose, and when it does, she finds it attached to the remains of a long string; it must have been a necklace of some sort. She turns it over and rubs the dirt from its surface, revealing a strange symbol. The disk glows with energy in her hands, responding to her touch. She traces the symbol slowly and unfamiliar magic sprints up her arm.

As Camellia turns and starts to get up, she sees a thick pair of legs standing across from her. Fear blooms in her stomach. She looks up.

Stark Pureblood stares back at her, fingers drumming steadily on the handle of his axe.

Camellia slowly gets to her feet and stuffs the emblem in her pocket. Her Adversary's body is covered in scars, signs of countless fierce battles that he didn't escape from unharmed. The air is tense and heavy, as if he's on a chain that's about to snap in two.

Stark drops the head of his axe hard on the ground and clamps his hands over the handle. "Do you have anything you want to say to me before I kill you?"

"Why do you want to kill me?"

"Bold question," Stark growls. "You are all I hate and loathe in this world. Your people have no concept of good and evil. They understand nothing about you, yet they blindly follow you because you were proclaimed to be 'good'. You were the one chosen by the gods to be their savior, leader, and protector, and because the gods say so, it must be so. You call that 'good'? You call living under the boot of an omnipotent force 'freedom'? I call that servitude. Enslavement. Being subject to their whims is cruelty."

"Why do you think it's cruelty?" Camellia says carefully, trying to defuse the situation.

"I learned that some people, even when freed from their shackles, still look to the gods for strength. They pray, they worship, they light candles to beings who couldn't care less about them. I grew to hate those people just like I grew to hate the gods for cruelly enslaving them. But there were some who saw things my way. They shared my ideals and I proudly called them my kin. They, too, resented the gods and the people who worship them and those chosen to represent them—those accursed Heroes, with their arrogance and pompousness because they were chosen by some indifferent deity. We wanted to end the madness. The cycle had to be broken. Stark Pureblood was born to kill those tainted by the gods. Only I have the eyes to see a true Pureblood. And _you_ are the filthiest wretch I have ever seen."

"I didn't ask to become Apalon's Hero, you know," Camellia says. "All I ever wanted was an adventure. I never wanted to be a leader or an icon or anything like that."

"You can't choose your destiny. If people want you to be a Hero for them, then that's what you are in their eyes."

"I suppose you can't control how people see you."

"Then now you understand why I want to kill you. For everything you stand for, for blindly following the path given to you, for killing my son, Katan..."

"Katan?"

"Quiet," Stark spits. "You don't deserve to have his name grace your lips. You killed him in cold blood the night you stole Ariana."

"Oh, the man in the tent," Camellia says, remembering. "I didn't kill him."

"What did you say?"

"I said didn't kill him. In fact, I tried to save him after Max attacked us."

"Who in the gods damned Renea is Max?"

"He's the man with magenta eyes."

Stark says nothing. Camellia notices the look in his eyes and decides to keep the conversation moving away from his hatred for her.

"You've met him, haven't you?" she continues. "He must have come to you as a convenient helper, like he did for me."

"Shut up. Let me think." Stark grits his teeth. "I... No. You're lying to me. Why would I believe you? You're my hated enemy—"

"I don't have to be. I'm telling you the truth on my word as a Hero. I didn't kill him. I tried to save him."

Stark grits his teeth. He won't look Camellia in the eye.

"We don't have to do this, you know. I understand we have different beliefs, different backgrounds, different ways of looking at the world, but this?" Camellia gestures at the ruins. "This is not your fault, nor is it mine. We don't have to be a part of this fight. You and I can just walk away. We can still try to make something of ourselves. You're a great leader, Stark. Imagine what you could do for this world if you tried to lead it instead of destroy it."

Stark still won't meet her eyes.

"I am sorry you lost Katan and I wish I could help you stop hurting. I can tell you this for sure: we can be something greater _together_. I can't promise you a perfect world, but I promise you I'll always try to make the world a better place, because at the end of the day, I think that's all we really want—both of us." She approaches and offers a hand.

Camellia slips back as Stark's axe rips through the air. His eyes are wild and unfocused.

"You're trying to trick me..." he breathes, his body shaking. "Trying to make a fool out of me..."

Stark's grip tightens so hard around his axe that Camellia hears the handle groan. He leaps forward and Camellia dips smoothly out of the way. Stark smashes his axe into the ground, upsetting a nearby concrete wall on top of him. A moment later, the debris shifts and Stark shoves himself free. A howl of fury escapes his throat.

Camellia puts her hands up in defense. She steels herself as her Adversary charges forward.

Scott Cornot sits in the shadow of a concrete wall and massages his throbbing temples. He distantly wonders when the order to retreat will be given, if ever. He wants to go home and rest and try to ignore the voices in his head. They're different this time. Anguished, scared, and sometimes angry. Some crying for help, some shrieking in agony. Like the cacophony of a busy street they tumble over each other in his mind, wrestling for the spotlight, demanding to be heard. Scott covers his ears with his hands in an attempt to concentrate, but they only get louder.

"Scott!" One of his soldiers trots up to him. "There you are! The Skeletons are right on our tail. We're kiting them over to a nearby Ruins company for back-up. You with us?"

Scott chews the inside of his cheek, pressing his hands hard against his ears. One of the voices just became so loud it feels like it's splitting his skull open with a pickaxe.

"Come on, Hero! Are you going or not?"

Scott waves his hand, trying to gesture that he'll be along shortly. The soldier runs back to his group. The pressure in Scott's head recedes gradually but the voices still shout over each other. Every part of him feels like it's being stabbed with needles. The voices get worse. Halfway to a panic attack, Scott lifts himself into the air and floats up high above Monarch until he can see the entire city. The voices become softer. Scott takes his hands off his ears. It feels like he can breathe again.

He looks down at Monarch and marvels at the scale of the battle. Individual companies from each faction group together, attacking and retreating and attacking again. He notices the voices he hears changes depending on where he looks. In some areas they're almost silent, but in others they're loud as ever. In one area, he hears the seething of a voice lost totally to rage. In another, and surprisingly the only area, he hears a single voice engaging in easy-going chatter. Scott focuses on the voice, isolating it, and jumps when he feels a shiver go through him.

Suddenly, a faint purple thread bursts from his chest and jets into the city. A spark shoots back up the thread moments later as if signaling the completion of some connection. Scott looks at it stupidly for a second, instinctively aware that this is something only he can see, then grabs it and gives it a tug.

Down in Monarch, a healer from the Ocean faction heaves a loud, heavy gasp. He drops to one knee and clutches his chest. There is no pain—just a sudden, frightening coldness washing through him.

Scott gasps at the realization and instantly lets go. The purple thread fades into nothing and the easy-going voice is replaced by a slightly frightened and confused voice. It dawns on Scott that those voices aren't just voices after all.

Scott's grip closes around something that wasn't there before. He glances over. An enormous three-bladed scythe rests weightlessly in his hand.

Riel himself walks curiously through the city, a golden aura emanating from his body. His fierce presence blazes like a proud sun, deterring any from engaging him in combat. The butt of his spear taps in rhythm with his steps and two Skeleton spearmen walk behind him. As he walks, he feels himself drawn to a certain place in the city. He doesn't try to figure out where it is or why he's drawn there. He simply follow his instincts.

When he reaches the spot he felt drawn to, he finds himself standing in a clearing between several buildings. A single fire burns in the center of the street. Too many places to hide in; it feels like a trap. However, before he can turn to leave, someone steps out from a building and faces him boldly across the fire.

"Hello," Bennie says loudly. "Good to see you again, Riel."

"I wasn't expecting to see _you_ so soon." Riel approaches. "You'll have to accept my apology for what happened in the Ruins. I should have fought you fairly and honestly. A king is prone to hubris like anyone else. Now that Nekros is gone, we can have the duel we were always destined to have. Did you bring a weapon? A sword, perhaps?"

"Well, I thought about it, but I figured I'd get more use out of this than anything else." She hoists up a morning star she'd been hiding behind her back.

"Are you joking?" Riel says, looking at the weapon.

"I'm serious. I'm going to enjoy smashing your bones with this."

"As you please." Riel unbuttons his cape and allows his two spearmen to take it from his shoulders. A golden crown appears above his curving horns. "Are you going to attack, or shall I do the honors?"

"Just don't move," Bennie says. "You're exactly where I want you."

She hurls something into the fire between them and it explodes in Riel's face, covering his body in angry orange flames. He stumbles back and brushes it off; tongues of wet fire drop to the ground, squirming madly in the dust before going out. Riel looks around. Bennie has disappeared.

"Chemistry lesson," she calls from somewhere nearby. "Strong alcohol makes a great fire accelerant. I hope you're taking notes!"

Something crashes into him from the side and flames burst all over him, sticking like a thick jelly. Riel whips around and a piercing blast from his spear burns a hole through an empty building. Bennie is still nowhere to be seen.

"You plan on beating me with toys?" Riel says, trying to spot her in the concrete maze.

"Toys?" Bennie says, still hidden. "What toys? This is a carefully thought-out strategy."

"Hiding in the shadows like a scared child is your strategy?"

"If I win, who cares how I did it?"

Riel grits his teeth. He should have expected more from a failure of a Hero. Hatred rises in his chest. He brings Acetil down hard, sending out a shockwave that shakes the ruins in every direction. He hears someone fall and land on the ground nearby and immediately runs toward it.

Bennie leaps out from behind her cover, her morning star at the ready. Riel thrusts with his spear and it glances off her shoulder armor. She retaliates with a wild swing, burying her weapon in Riel's skull. Bennie stumbles with the inertia of her attack. Riel punches her in the belly and a burst of light sends her sailing into the air. She lands hard on her back in the dirt. Riel yanks the weapon from his face and throws it to her side.

"You were supposed to be something _more_ than this." Riel drags the tip of Acetil through the dirt as he approaches, carving a bright scar across the ground. "You were supposed to be my ultimate challenge, the final boss of my grand campaign, the last barrier I had to tear down with my own two hands. But look at you! Fighting me with trickery instead of head-on. Some Adversary you turned out to be. You're a failure as a Hero. You were never capable of being my rival."

Bennie gets to her knees, the morning star clutched tightly in her hand.

"You are a disgrace to the grand heroism of the Hero-Adversary conflict." Riel lays the side of Acetil against her face. "Do you think I'm going to let you live?"

"Of course not," Bennie says. "That's why I came prepared."

She hurls a handful of ash into Riel's face. As he reflexively stumbles back, Bennie bashes Riel's one good knee with her weapon, knocking him off balance. She smashes him in the side of the head and he slips to the ground, Acetil vanishing in a ribbon of light. Riel immediately returns to his feet, though his only remaining natural leg is shattered at the kneecap. He rips his leg off at the hip and summons Acetil. A new leg made of golden light spawns, matching his other three limbs.

And Bennie is gone again.

Riel almost rears back to destroy the entire clearing, but then he pauses. Something isn't right. Why does she bother fighting this way when she has access to vast stores of pyrokinetic power? She will never beat him in a battle of attrition. Why isn't she using any magic?

Something breaks against his head. A thick, gooey liquid drips down his face and sticks to his bones. After a second, it flares up and harsh, ugly black smoke streams off his body. Riel takes a scoop of the mixture in his hand and stares at it.

"Hope you can survive some heat," Bennie says from somewhere out of view. "That little trick is called napalm, and it's not something you can just brush off. It'll burn you until you're—"

Riel slams the butt of Acetil on the ground. A shockwave of gold magic expels the napalm from his body.

"Is this your plan, then?" Riel says, still thinking. "Wear me down in a battle of attrition while you hide like a coward? Attack me with toys while you hold back your true power?"

"You're not worthy of seeing my true power."

"You won't face me directly? Then why should I continue to fight this battle?"

There's no response.

He snaps his fingers and the two Skeleton spearmen approach, buttoning his cape around his shoulders. "I guess I'll go kill your friends instead. After all, they are powerless to stop me. Maybe seeing their heads on a pike will give you the courage to face me."

"Wait!" Bennie leaps out from her cover, morning star in hand. Riel looks at her disinterestedly. "Don't hurt them," she says. "This fight is between you and me."

"Yes, it is now."

Riel lunges forward, leaving no time to hide.

Bennie curls to the side and Acetil glances off her armor again, showering the ground with sparks. She shoves him away with the morning star and tries to duck behind a concrete block. Riel charges at her and uproots her concrete cover with one arm. He stabs his spear at Bennie's chest. She catches it under her arm and tries to hip-throw Riel to the side. He dismisses the spear, takes the momentum from her throw and whips a kick into the side of her face. Bennie reels from the blow, a hand grasping where the magical limb burned her.

Acetil drops back into Riel's hands but Bennie is quick enough to kick dirt into his face. She grasps her morning star and steps forward, swinging it with all her might.

Riel tilts his spear to block. Bennie's weapon meets the spear and shatters into a million pieces.

Riel trips Bennie at the knee and knocks her to the ground.

As she scrambles up, Riel's foot shoots into her gut and flips her on her back. She has just enough time to see the glinting head of Riel's spear come flying at her face. She rolls to the side and Acetil buries itself completely in the dirt. Riel yanks it free and Bennie shakily gets to her feet, blood pounding in her ears like overamped bass drums.

Then, her breathing hitches.

Bennie grabs at her chest, confused for a second. She furrows her brow and tries to breathe in, but her throat closes and her lungs collapse flat against her rib cage. She opens her mouth to gasp for breath, her eyes bulging. Her chest tingles as if tiny aphids are eating holes in it. She drops to her knees, choking.

Riel, still in a defensive position, waits.

Bennie slams her fist on her chest. Then she does it again. And again. Panic closes around her throat. She tries not to start thrashing.

Riel lowers his stance, curious. When she wheezes and coughs, finally, blood splatters all over the ground. Bennie looks up, her head bobbing. She makes a half-gurgle, then tenses up and starts clutching at her throat again. She sounds like she's drowning.

Riel smashes the butt of his spear directly into her forehead. Bennie sprawls on the ground, gasping and choking. Then she starts thrashing and kicking, wheezing for breath that simply won't come.

Bennie digs a hand into the dirt and struggles to crawl away, desperate to suck in strained gulps of air. Riel drops his foot on her head and grinds her face into the dirt.

" _This_ is the Hero of the Ruins?" Riel says, his eyes blazing with golden light. "I was right about you; you really aren't a Hero, after all. I'll have no qualms about killing you."

Bennie digs her fingers into the dirt. Frustrated tears pool in her eyes.

Riel cocks his spear back for the final blow.

Something blasts into him from the side. He stumbles away and quickly rights himself.

When he looks back, he sees an armored warrior standing protectively over Bennie, a flawless sword in her hand.

Leaning against a crumbling wall, Camellia wipes the blood from the corner of her mouth.

She aches everywhere, purple bruises and scrapes decorating her body. Her hands shake from adrenalin and fatigue. Distantly, she can hear Stark's axe scraping along the ground. He isn't slowing down. If anything, as the fight continues he's becoming more energized.

Camellia tries to calm her thundering heart. She needs to materialize Felterre, her legendary grey warhammer, and with Stark around she'll only get one chance. She prays he can't sense the rich gold magic pooling in her chest.

She senses danger approaching fast.

Camellia tucks into herself and shoves off on the balls of her feet. The wall behind her splits in two, the gleaming head of a double-bladed axe cleaving its way to the ground. Stark Pureblood howls like a wild animal as he shoves the rubble aside and lunges toward her.

Camellia puts her hands up, palms facing her opponent. She carefully parries Stark's attacks, gently directing the blows away from her body. Once or twice she stops the blow completely just to test his resolve, but Stark is quick to adapt and continue his assault. Her hands begin to hurt despite the gold magic reinforcing them. She devotes all her focus on tracking his movements, staying just out of his grab range.

Stark grips the axe with both hands, rearing to the side for a brutal swing.

Camellia jumps back and his axe blasts into a wall of concrete, rubble careening across the landscape.

Camellia feels something odd on her stomach. She looks down. A thin red line peeks from her ripped clothes. Panicked, she rips the shirt open and sees that the wound is only skin-deep. She touches it gingerly. Images of a much worse fate fill her with dread.

She flicks her eyes up. Stark has stopped attacking. His eyes are on the pale of Camellia's stomach and the thin red line slicing across it.

Camellia knows she should run away, but she can't convince herself to leave. She has to make a stand. She draws in a deep breath. Warm gold magic rises up from the ground through her heels, climbing her legs, pooling in her stomach, spreading throughout her body. She exhales slowly, the gold magic condensing in her palms.

Camellia glows incredibly bright, then fades.

Felterre, her legendary warhammer, rests in her hands.

Camellia hoists the weightless weapon and takes a stance, shaking from exhaustion.

Stark is upon her in an instant.

Camellia twists Felterre into position, blocking the strike. The force from Stark's axe knocks her backward; sparks scatter across the ground. Camellia lands softly. Stark is already moving again. Camellia ducks underneath his sideswipe and slams the head of her hammer into Stark's back. He staggers forward, then supports himself on his axe, gritting his teeth.

He turns and charges wildly. Camellia blocks each attack with care, waiting. Stark's attacks grow stronger and faster. Camellia starts dodging more, blocking only when necessary. She feels her arms and legs going numb from exertion.

Their weapons clash, they break, and Camellia's knees buckle. She falls. Stark leaps into the air for an overhead slash and Camellia pushes herself aside just in time, the blow missing her by an inch. He turns and whips the axe upward, spraying dust into her eyes. Camellia fumbles to her feet and barely gets her hammer up in time to block an unseen strike. The attack knocks her into a concrete wall.

Stark slugs her hard in the stomach, blasting the wind out of her lungs. He then grabs her head and smashes it against the concrete for good measure. Stars burst in her vision. Camellia goes limp and drops to the ground, Felterre dissipating in a magical mist.

Stark grabs her by the hair, rips her to her feet, and pins her neck to the wall with the shaft of his axe. Camellia chokes and gropes for the handle blindly.

"Do you know what I see?" he says. "I see a weak Hero brought to heel. I see terror and fear. This is your last moment alive. You are going to die here."

Camellia realizes he's within striking distance.

Gold magic shoots up her arm and she jets her fist into Stark's solar plexus.

He gasps, dropping his axe and falling to one knee. Camellia slumps to the ground.

Stark wheezes loudly, unable to catch his breath, his torso tingling like it's been hit by lightning. Camellia stands as if possessed, her eyes unfocused and glazed over. Felterre appears in her hands and she takes a defensive stance.

"Good," he seethes, blood dripping from his smiling mouth. "Just like this."

"I don't want to hurt you," she whispers, unaware of exactly where he is.

"You bitch." Stark is laughing. "How dare you show me mercy after everything I've told you."

Stark forces himself to his feet. His eyes are as hazy as hers.

"I won't let this stand," he growls, lifting his axe off the ground. "I refuse to bow my head."

Stark grasps his axe with both hands and raises it high over his head.

Camellia feels herself prepare to strike.

Stark steps in and brings his axe down.

Camellia moves to the side, hooks the axe with the head of her hammer, and wrenches it into the sky. In her next movement she spins into Stark's range and drives her fist into his chest with everything she has. Her arms rips straight through to his back, sending muscle and blood spraying across the ruins.

Stark Pureblood is dead before he hits the ground.

Drew pats down his tenth heal of the day. The man touches where his old wounds used to be and thanks him profusely. His nearby companion helps the man to his feet and escorts him back toward the Woods where the reinforcements are waiting. Healed or not, he'll need to rest before he's ready to fight again.

Drew gets up and dusts off his hands. As one of the least critical Heroes of the first fight, he's taken to staying in the back lines and healing those who could make it back to him. He dispersed his healers into the city a long time ago and, so far, no one has reported any casualties from the Ocean faction. That brings him a small sense of relief.

"Drew!" Jenna hurries up to him. "Have you seen Katrina anywhere?"

"Who?" he says instantly. "Oh, her. No, why?"

"She's gone missing and I can feel her energy going off the charts. She has to be fighting someone ridiculously powerful and I can only think it's Riel. We'd better get our asses over there if we want her to get out of this alive."

"What? Wasn't Bennie supposed to take care of him?"

"You want to ask me dumb questions for the next hour or do you want to get moving? Katrina's life is in danger, now come on!"

Drew calls to his two helpers and tells them to get two more healers each and follow him. However, the healers look at him stupidly and don't move, something strange is in their eyes. He almost stops and says something when Jenna yells for him to hurry up, and then he shakes his head and follows her, resolving to lecture them later. As he follows Jenna, he can feel the air become thick and acrid. Something awful is burning nearby. He's also struck by the sudden, stark quiet. Isn't a war going on? Where is the sound of fighting?

Suddenly, Jenna stops and holds her arm out in front of Drew. A loud boom splits the air and something blasts through a line of buildings in front of them, settling in a heap in a large impact crater. When the dust clears, he can see Katrina laying in the center wheezing her lungs out, her helmet cracked and her chain mail torn. She's cradling an unmoving Bennie in her arms.

Drew pushes blindly past Jenna. He pulls water from the bag on his back and kneels at Katrina's side, trying to decide where to start. Her armor's been shredded and she's injured nearly all over. Bennie shivers in Katrina's arms, making horrible sounds as she breathes in and out. Every few seconds she spasms and seems to come alive, grabbing at her throat and choking, only to settle back down, exhausted.

"Stay with me," he says absently, his hands hovering over empty space. He doesn't know where to begin. "Stay with me. I can fix this, no problem."

Katrina whispers something unintelligible. Her head lolls to the side.

"Hey." Drew lightly slaps her on the cheek. "Stay with me."

"We need Gabriel," Jenna says, feeling first for Katrina's pulse, then Bennie's. "They're both in bad condition. I can barely feel Bennie's heartbeat."

"...my sword," says Katrina. "Where's my sword?"

Drew looks at Katrina's right arm. Her hand is firmly wrapped around Ghaldin's pommel, but her elbow is popped out of joint. Drew's stomach turns. He shapes a spiral of water around her elbow and squeezes, popping the bone back into place. Katrina winces at the pain and tries to stay still as the heal begins.

Then, she pushes him away and jams the tip of her sword into the ground.

"Hey!" Jenna exclaims, pushing down on Katrina's chest. "Sit still. You've taken too much damage."

Katrina lifts her sword, pointing behind them.

Drew turns and is on his feet as soon as he sees his opponent. A skeletal creature with four sloping horns and a magical crown of gold stands before him, a brilliant golden spear in his right hand and a red cape over his shoulders. Drew and Jenna step in front of Katrina.

"We have to get Bennie out of here," says Jenna. "Drew, take her and start running."

"What?" says Drew. "That's Bennie's Adversary! You'll be killed if you fight him."

"As long as you two live, what happens to us doesn't matter." Jenna pushes him toward Katrina. "Go. Hurry."

Drew runs over to Bennie and Katrina. He hoists Bennie up and throws her over his shoulders fireman-style, then starts off at a slow jog away from the scene.

Jenna looks at Riel, expecting him to attack.

"Let her run," Riel says indifferently. "She's done nothing but run since I've met her. Now that one—" Riel points his spear at Katrina as she struggles to her feet. "I like her. She fights like a real Hero. I won't let her escape so easily."

"You should leave," Jenna says to her injured friend. "You're hurt and I can handle this."

Katrina nods and starts to limp away.

Riel steps forward to stop her and suddenly finds himself waist-deep in muddy earth. He looks up at the woman in front of him, who stares him down in a combat stance.

"I'm Jenna," she says. "You won't mind if I cover her escape, do you?"

Scott stares at his scythe in disbelief for a long time. Three polished silver blades glimmer in the midday sunlight. The jet-black shaft is scrawled in strange markings as if it's meant to light up from inside. Though it looks like it should weigh at least a hundred pounds, it weighs no more than a paperclip. Scott swipes it through the air and a sharp whistle follows its wake. He knows its name just by looking at it: Segensa.

He looks down at Monarch and listens to the voices of the nomads and the people fighting to take back their city. All at once he's aware of the scope of it, the magnitude of this fight, and what's more is he can _feel_ all of it—every person's breathing, heartbeat, and inner monologue. He closes his eyes and feels many strings sprouting from his chest and branching out to each individual voice. Some strings are repulsed by some unknown barrier; he lets them be. He feels an immense power swell in his head. He has control over everything now.

Scott tightens his chest and pulls every string taut at once. All at once across the entire city, nomads and Reneans stop fighting mid-swing. The voices in Scott's head go silent for the first time in a long time. He takes his scythe and rubs the sharp of the blade along a string, shaving a little off the top. The nomad at the other end shivers.

Scott breathes in deep. Finally, some peace and quiet.

Then, a string snaps in two.

Scott's heart skips a beat before a searing pain rips through his chest. Down in Monarch, a Skeleton soldier rips its sword out of a motionless nomad and moves on to another frozen victim.

More strings begin snapping. More Skeleton start plunging their swords into the helpless. More people start dying, both nomads and Reneans, and Scott can feel all of it.

He immediately tries to release the strings, but something is holding them tight. People are latching on to them for dear life, a lifeline that at the same time is paralyzing them in place, and he can't pull them back or even slacken them. He tries to reach out to the Skeletons with more strings and control them, but they have nothing to control. He reaches out for the other Heroes and the Emissaries, hoping he can drag them into the fray, but he can't connect to them; they've been blocked. He's stuck frozen while people are butchered right in front of him.

Scott grabs his head and tries to control his thoughts through the screams. It feels like his entire spirit is coming apart. He has to do something. He can't release the strings, he can't slacken them, he can't fight off an entire army at once—

Scott looks at the scythe in his hand. It's his only choice.

He raises it above the strings and starts cutting through them.

People start dying instantly and all their pain and fright streams into him.

He throws his scythe to the side. It fades into thin air and disappears. Scott rockets back down to Renea and slams into the dirt. He curls up into a ball, shivering. The voices in his head scream unendingly.

Footsteps. Someone is running past him—someone who can get help.

"Please," Scott calls out. "Please, is someone there?"

"What is it?" a man's voice says as he runs over. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"I need help." Scott grabs the man's leg, shaking. "Please, you have to help me!"

"Oh"—Max kneels in Scott's face—"I guess I can lend a hand."

Max lays a hand on Scott's head and Scott feels every sense in his body dull at once, as if he's just been given an enormous sedative. He passes out seconds later.

"Good," Max says gently, pulling out a silvery knife. "Now we're starting to enjoy a ragtime tune."

He suddenly jumps away and a bolt of black magic blasts the spot where he used to be. Roger comes flying out of the Ruins, launching bolt after bolt from his black staff. Gabriel follows close behind, notching and loosing magical arrows that explode on contact and leave vines thrashing for something to hold. Max grunts in annoyance and vanishes as if he never existed in the first place.

"Damn bastard," Roger swears. "He got away."

"As long as he's gone," Gabriel says, checking Scott's pulse. "Thank the gods, he's alive. Max didn't finish him off. Let's move. We have to get Scott back to camp or we could lose him."

"Gods, not him too. Bennie's in bad enough shape as is."

Roger helps Gabriel throw Scott over his own shoulders. Suddenly, light bursts over the Woods District. It flares bright green for a moment, then tapers off to a deep red and dwindles into nothingness. Nysse is calling for an army-wide retreat.

Riel the Skeleton King kicks the lifeless body of his enemy off his spear. Jenna, wasn't it? She wasn't nearly as strong as Katrina. Still, she died like a Hero should: protecting the people they care about. He can't fault her for that.

From the two nearby Skeleton spearmen, Riel learns that the entire Hero army is retreating. The remaining Pureblood nomads are scattered throughout the city, fleeing for whatever realm is closest. Instinctively, Riel knows that Stark Pureblood must be dead, and at that moment an intense feeling rises from the ground and pours into his bones. The leylines are calling him.

The great rivers of magic surging beneath Renea cross at the world's Nexus, blending into a rainbow of all colors brilliant and gloomy, bright and dark, fierce and mellow. Riel follows their guidance until he passes into a thick cloud of yellow fog. The two Skeleton spearmen behind him stumble, then collapse into a pile of sizzling, melting bones. He ignores them and marches until he reaches the Nexus, the spot where the six realms meet. Energy surges up from beneath him. He probes down and feels an infinite depth waiting to greet him.

Riel lifts his hands. The ground lifts with him, taking him above the ruins and the yellow fog until he can see the entire city. From his vantage above the ground, he can see the wide circle created by the blast that destroyed Monarch. Each district's trademark color has faded to dull shades of grey as if the very life of the city has been drained. Riel allows himself a moment of awe in the face of such destruction. He wonders if he will ever cross paths with the monster who brought down Monarch in a single, effortless blow.

Riel stretches out his mind, feeling the expanse of his city fill him to the brim. He feels every stone, every street, every building as if it were a part of his own beating heart. Riel lifts his spear to the sky, triumphant.

# Interlude One

## A Changed Past

Earth

In a quiet home on a quiet street during a gentle rain shower, a telephone rings. Camellia Agnelli gets up from her desk and hurries to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey, you!" She settles into an armchair. "What's going on? How's work?"

"Things are going well. Owen won't get off my back about filing the quarterly, so it's just another Friday. Anyways, I wanted to call and see how you were feeling."

"The doctor said it's just a stomach bug, apparently, not the flu like you thought. He thinks I should keep a mask on for a few days and avoid other people just in case. It's just that time of the year, I guess."

"Yeah, I suppose it is."

A moment's pause.

"So tonight," Camellia says, "I was thinking we could continue our scrapbook. We haven't worked on it in a while and since I found our old high school yearbook today, it made me a little motivated."

"Our yearbook?" The voice sounds curious. "What were you doing looking around for that old thing? I thought you had an exam tomorrow."

"I needed a break, so I started cleaning and accidentally found it." Camellia walks over to her desk and sits in her chair, flipping open the yearbook. "I saw you in the frisbee club photo. I was thinking about cutting you out of it for our scrapbook, but those shorts don't look good on you at all. You really should have worn pants."

"It was _high school_ ," the voice laughs. "What did I know about fashion?"

"It's okay. You still look handsome."

"Oh. Thank you." The voice is caught off-guard; Camellia grins.

"Will you be late tonight?" she asks. "Want me to make you something and leave it in the fridge for when you get home?"

"You don't have to trouble yourself. I can pick up something on the way home."

"I'd rather you eat healthy. It's bad enough you work a job where you sit around most of the day; you don't need to add a poor diet on top of that."

"The stress from equity investing is burning through more calories than I can count, I can assure you."

"Babe."

A long sigh—not of annoyance, but of gratitude. "Okay, as you wish. Fix me something nice."

"If you get home before seven, I'll give you something a little extra."

"Oh? What would that be?"

Camellia giggles. "Get home and find out."

"You temptress," the voice says, amused. "Okay, I have to get back to work now. I'll see you when I get home."

"Okay. Bye, Stanley."

Camellia hangs up the phone and gets back to her studies.

"Good afternoon, Mr. King."

Drew shoots to his feet. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant."

"At ease, please. Take a seat."

"Yes, sir." Drew settles back into his chair.

Lieutenant Bradley flips open a small folder and spreads some files across the wooden table between them. He picks through the papers, first inspecting one page and then reaching for another. Drew bites the inside of his cheek and tries not to leap across the table and demand an answer. He's waited a long time for this day. He can afford to wait just a few more minutes.

Bradley exhales. "Well, your written exam was average. You usually don't see that very often."

"Yes, sir. I think I would have done better if I'd taken the mechanical exam instead of the technical."

"I see."

Drew balls his fingers into a fist, cracking his knuckles, then unballs it and does it again. The lieutenant continues to flip through the various papers for a few more minutes.

"Your physical score isn't bad, though. Not cream-of-the-crop, but definitely considerable." He looks up. "Did you train?"

"Yes, sir. Thoroughly."

"Be honest. There's no need to lie."

"I trained off and on. I tried to focus more on the written exam. I wasn't particularly worried about the physical exam."

"I see." Lieutenant Bradley collects the papers and returns them to the folder. "Which branch were you interested in, again?"

"Army, sir."

"Army. Right." Bradley tries not to make a face, considering he's wearing a Navy uniform. "I'll have to talk it over with the Army recruiter and see what they think. I don't have much else for you today, Mr. King. Just keep your cell phone nearby. You'll be hearing from one of us in a couple days."

Lieutenant Bradley gets to his feet. Drew is quick to follow. Bradley gives him a weird look.

"You _know_ you're not in the military right now, right?" he says.

"Yes, sir."

"Then why do you stand?"

"To show my respect for you, sir."

"I see." Bradley gestures to the door behind him. "Go on home. We'll be in touch."

Drew leaves the office and stands outside in the midsummer afternoon heat. He checks the time: just after 3 o'clock. If he starts jogging there now, the Balachie Flower Shop should still be open when he arrives. No doubt Bennie will get upset with how sweaty he'll be. It _is_ a five mile jog, after all, but any training is good training.

Drew arrives a few minutes short of 4 o'clock, just before the shop closes. Bennie's mom waves to him from the counter and Bennie's dad is too busy socializing with a regular customer to see him come in. Drew finds a bench near some arrangements and drops into it. He fans himself in the cool breeze wisping from a nearby.

"You're late." Bennie stands in front of Drew, her fists on her hips. "You were supposed to be here at 3:30 so I didn't have to close today."

"Sorry," Drew says, trying to catch his breath. "I ran as fast as I could."

"You only live a few minutes away."

"There was a lot of traffic?"

Bennie laughs. "And you didn't take a shortcut?"

Drew shrugs noncommittally.

"Drew, if you're going to be late on date night, I'd appreciate a phone call next time, alright?"

"Sure. I'm sorry, I had—" He catches himself. "I had something going on."

"Like what?"

Drew avoids her eyes and half-clears his throat. Bennie catches on.

"Oh," she says a little flatly. "At the recruiter's office again?"

"I was just there to talk with the lieutenant about my exam results: mostly average with a good score on the physical." He pauses. "I also heard that he'd be passing my results on to the recruiter."

"I see."

"He said to wait for a phone call in the next couple days. I'll know by then."

"That's nice."

"I'm kind of nervous. I didn't do very good on the written exam, but apparently it was enough to pass."

"Yeah? That's good."

Drew sighs. "Bennie, come on. We've talked about this before. Me joining the services won't change anything between us."

"Yeah I mean, if you want to get sent overseas to have your legs blown off, by all means—"

"Come on," Drew says softly. He pats the spot next to him on the bench and Bennie reluctantly sits. She doesn't look him in the eye. "You know," he continues, "there's a chance I won't get sent overseas, either. A lot of people stay in the country and work at the domestic bases."

"And what, I'm supposed to just move across the country with you?" Bennie folds her arms. "I have a job and a life here. I'm not going to just drop it."

"I didn't say you had to. I'm saying that we won't be that far apart. We'll be able to keep in touch easily. After basic, I can call you every day if you want to hear my voice."

Bennie shakes her head, still not looking his way.

"Tell you what," he says, patting her shoulder. "It's date night. Let's go someplace to take your mind off things. Want to go to that pinball arcade on South Street?"

Bennie's ears perk up a little bit.

"They have an open bar after seven."

Bennie smiles. She looks at Drew, finally, and pushes him playfully. "I hate that you know what I like."

A woman comes around the corner. "Bennie," she says. "We're closing up shop. Go help your father."

"Okay, mom. Sorry Drew, I'll only be a second and then we can go."

Bennie gets up and runs off to help her dad. Drew leans back and relaxes, then notices that Mrs. Balachie is still standing in the aisle.

"You know," she says carefully, "Bennie talks about you all the time."

"Oh." Drew braces for a lecture on how he needs to be protective of Bennie. "I'm glad."

"I am, too. She's always been a little energetic, but she's really blossomed with you. I'm really glad that you two remained good friends after high school."

"Me too, ma'am."

"You stay safe tonight, okay? And call me if you need to be driven home."

"Yes, ma'am. I will."

When Mrs. Balachie leaves, Drew feels something odd in his chest. He remembers high school and is suddenly struck with how far away it seems now. Distantly he thinks of John's old card shop, the frisbee team, the loud football games on Friday nights, and when he thinks of his pending recruitment to the armed services, his own meager job, and that rent is due next Monday, he is suddenly aware of the stark dichotomy between the two. He suddenly feels older than he thinks he should be, as if he's a teenager trying to fit into his dad's business suit which is two sizes too large. He can't recall exactly when or how his life started changing so quickly, but everything he remembers from the past feels like a distant memory. He can barely remember what it felt like to get together with his friends and play games in John's shop. He hasn't heard from them in a long time, probably since high school. Maybe he should—

"Hey!" Bennie yells, coming around the corner. "Dad told me to get lost since it's date night. What are you waiting for? Let's go play some pinball!"

Bennie takes Drew by the hand and drags him to his feet. Drew merely lets himself be taken away, and though he thinks for a few more moments, he eventually realizes the warmth of Bennie's hand in his is worth more than the worries in his mind. He embraces the moment he's in, running side by side with his best friend, forgetting his troubles and wishing that time would stretch on forever so these dreamlike evenings would never end.

"Hey." Scott pops his head around the corner. "You almost ready? We'll be late if we don't leave now."

"Huh? I've been ready for ten minutes. I was waiting on you."

"But I was waiting on you this whole time."

"I guess we're just waiting on each other, then."

Scott laughs and comes around the corner. Fiona, his fiancé, stares at him with a playful smile on her face. He takes her in his arms and kisses her forehead.

"You driving?" she asks.

"Sure," he says, "we can take my car this time."

The pair leaves the apartment and gets into Scott's car. Scott puts it into reverse, leaves the apartment complex, and gets onto the main road.

"I hear he's got a new bit this week," Scott says. "I'm hoping it involves a rabbit and a big top hat."

"Scott, he's a standup comedian, not a magician."

"But it's so like Luke to do a magic act in the middle of comedy. He's the only one I can think of who'd innovate like that."

"Imagine what he could do with an education. He's a smart guy and I hate to see him scraping for pennies in dive bars."

"You kidding me? Luke doesn't need college to be successful. He's going to be like a huge breakout star someday and it'll happen when everyone least expects it. You just can't find his talent anywhere, not to mention his work ethic, so while he's here and struggling to break out, I want to be there for him."

"I do like his set, you know."

"Huh? I know. I didn't think you didn't."

"I just don't want you to think I think poorly of him."

They drive in silence until they reach the bar where Luke is set to perform. They head inside, find a table off to the side, and listen to the current comedian do his bit. Luke should be coming up next. The crowd is about the size Scott expected it to be: somewhere around thirty people, some showing up for drinks, some showing up for the comedy. He recognizes a few faces from Luke's previous shows.

The comedian finishes his bit and the moderator comes on stage to thank him and introduce Luke as the next act. Scott orders a full glass of straight whiskey. Fiona gives him a look.

Luke Derringer hops up on stage. He's dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and a plain red tie. Fiona pinches her forehead, praying he doesn't pull out a top hat and a deck of cards.

"Hey folks," Luke says, smiling so wide his teeth are glowing. "Thanks for coming out. I've been to a bar or two in my time, but this is my first time here. Great crowd, good looking crowd. Tell you the truth, I'm a little scared of bars now. See, just last week I was at this bar down the road..."

Luke launches right into his bit, stepping around the stage and interacting with the crowd. Scott downs his whiskey in one gulp, clenches his teeth against the burn, then orders a second. Fiona knits her hands together and leans on her chin. Luke's act isn't as bad as it used to be; the jokes are more polished than she remembers. He gets quite a few chuckles and one round of applause in the middle. For his wrap-up, he makes a joke about being more of a "song and dance" man than a comedian and puts the mic on the stand. People applaud his performance politely, but enthusiastically. The moderator comes up to thank him for the act and introduce the next one.

Fiona elbows Scott, who has just ordered his fourth glass of whiskey and is trying to hold himself together. She waves Luke down, who was on his way to the bar himself, and Luke slides into a chair at their table.

"Hey guys," he says, grinning. "You made it out again, huh?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Fiona says.

Luke turns to Scott and does a double-take. "Has he been drinking?"

"As soon as he sat down. Straight whiskeys your whole bit."

"Really?" Luke pats Scott on the arm. "Hey man, hey. How many did you have?"

"Too many," Scott mumbles, his head on the table. "I thought you were gonna choke."

"Sorry, Luke," Fiona says. "You know Scott only drinks when he gets nervous."

Luke laughs. "Dude, have some confidence in me! You know, I almost did a magic act tonight, something to shake things up and see how I can blend it with my comedy. Ran out of jokes about mirrors pretty fast, though. I guess it didn't 'reflect' my act very well."

Scott sloppily shoves Luke in the arm.

"I thought your bit was fine," says Fiona. "Better than your old ones, for sure."

"Aw come on dude, lay some real criticism on me. I can't be a comedy legend without getting my bits shredded once or twice."

"Well..." Fiona looks at Scott, hiccupping with his forehead on the table and an untouched glass of whiskey next to him. "Maybe I'll call you later. I think I need to get Scott home."

"I don't need to go home." Scott sits up and grabs at the glass. "In fact, I'm gonna get up there and do a bit myself. I have a great joke. I ever tell you the one about the horse tamer and the grapefruit?"

"Okay, enough out of you." Fiona lightly pries the drink from Scott's hand.

"You really are a lightweight," Luke chuckles.

"This right here?" Scott throws an arm around Fiona. "This is what you need, Luke. You need a good woman in your life. Someone who'll take care of you when you're down, someone who'll..." He trails off for a moment. "Someone who'll, you know, be there for you when you're down! All of the old crew has paired off already. What's stopping you?"

"Scott," Fiona scolds. "Don't put him on the spot like that."

"Ah it's alright," Luke reassures her. "I'm just picky, that's all. I have my eyes open, though."

Fiona, knowing Luke's taste, scans the crowd and picks her out of the regulars almost immediately: straight brown hair down to just past her shoulders, a freckled nose like she was dusted with a pepper shaker, and a pair of pretty little eyes. She notices Fiona staring and averts her gaze somewhere else, pretending like she wasn't looking curiously at the comedian and his friends.

"Then open them _wider_ ," Scott says, pointing a sloppy accusatory finger at his friend. "I won't have you dying a single man."

"Alright, get up. I'm taking you home." Fiona forces Scott out of his chair. "Always good to see you, Luke. When's your next gig?"

"I'll text Scott the time and place. I never know where I'll turn up next. Great to see you guys! Thanks for coming out to support me."

"Hey, Luke!" Scott leans over Fiona and waves at him. "You wanna get the old crew back together sometime? We could—"

Scott turns to the side and wretches in the dirt. Fiona pats his back comfortingly and leads him into the parking lot as the door closes behind them.

Luke chuckles and settles into his chair. He thinks for a few minutes about his high school days and the friends he hasn't seen in a while. It might be good to catch up sometime soon.

"Yeah," he says to himself. "A reunion sounds like fun."

# Chapter Nine

## Aftermath

Refugee camp, the Woods; late evening

The camp has been thrown into hell.

People scramble through the streets, everyone in a desperate hurry to help the wounded, see the Heroes, or hear news about the battle. Patients cry out for water and relief from their pain, some unaware of their missing limbs or that they don't have long to live. Healers and doctors scramble madly from tent to tent, fatigue hanging on their heavy eyes. Mud and blood mix together in the streets in a frothy mess. It all feels like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare.

Scott lays motionless in his usual cot in his designated tent. He mumbles incoherently, conscious but not quite awake. Two dedicated healers stand nearby with their hands over his head, water swirling coolly in mid-air. One of Jinas's chief doctors watches over them and nervously drums his fingers on his arm.

Drew, sitting on a cot nearby, bites harder into his thumb. Both Bennie and Scott are severely injured, Luke is gone, Stanley is lost, and Camellia hasn't come back. As of current, he's the only active and capable Hero. He tries not to think about how much responsibility that entails.

Jinas throws the tent flap aside and hurries in. His face is dirtied and his hair is slicked with sweat, but his eyes are intense and energized.

"Status," he snaps.

"He's coming to," one of the healers says. "We'll need another few minutes."

"Whoever did this was powerful," says the chief doctor, consulting with Jinas. "He was only put to sleep, but it's a very deep sleep. I don't think there was any trauma to the brain. If there's a god of luck, he's watching over all of us."

"Some of us, not all of us. Keep things under control until I'm back. I have to clean up a few more people." He leaves through the flap in a hurry, shouting for someone to get him a surgical bag.

Just as the flap falls into place, it immediately rips open and Gabriel storms into the room. He glances at Drew, then motions for him to follow him outside. Drew glances at the two healers who give him a reassuring nod and he follows Gabriel out of the tent and into the street.

"I just got confirmation," Gabriel says, drawing Drew close. "Stark Pureblood is dead. The nomads are out of the war."

Drew lets out a sigh of relief. Finally, some good news. "What about Camellia?"

"Still missing. I don't know if she's alive or dead, but we'll find her. We have to."

"And Katrina?"

"She's really beaten up, but she'll pull through if she gets enough rest. The real issue is Jenna. She stayed behind to cover Katrina's retreat and hasn't been seen since. I hate to assume the worst, but..."

He trails off when he sees the chief doctor and two healers exit Scott's tent looking tired but satisfied. Gabriel and Drew head back into the tent for more privacy. Scott stirs in his cot but doesn't sit up.

"It's not all good news," Gabriel continues, sitting on the edge of the adjacent cot. "We lost a lot of good fighters right at the end when both armies suddenly froze in place. I don't know what caused it, but it was enough to cripple morale. People are already starting to talk about Monarch being a lost cause, especially since a lot of people saw Bennie and Scott get carted into tents."

"What, I'm not good enough for them?" Drew jokes.

Gabriel offers a smile, but nothing more. They sit in silence for a few minutes until someone yawns loudly and starts moving. Scott is waking up.

"Hey," he says sleepily, looking up at Drew and Gabriel as they crowd around his bedside. "What's the deal? I was having a great dream and someone woke me out of it."

"Max put you to sleep," Gabriel explains. "If we hadn't pulled you out, you might have slept for weeks. Maybe months."

Scott sighs and settles back into his bed. "A sleep like that doesn't sound so bad."

Gabriel nudges Drew in the arm. "Keep him awake. I'll go get Jinas."

After he leaves, Drew tells Scott all he knows about the outcome of the battle, namely Stark's demise, Camellia's absence, and Jenna's apparent death. At that point Scott sits up and comes out of his drowsiness, eager to know if they captured Monarch.

"Not completely," Drew says. "Something happened which caused our army to lock up in place and a lot of people got killed. The Skeletons forced us to retreat and they have control of the city now. Morale is low, too. Bennie's laid up in a tent somewhere getting treated and you're—"

"Just fine," Scott interjects. He gets out of his cot and plants his legs firmly on the ground. To his and Drew's surprise, his knees don't buckle. "See?" he says confidently. "A little sleep won't kill me."

The tent flap flies open again and Jinas steps into the room, water dripping from up to his elbows and blood splashed across his shirt. He glances briefly at Drew, then at Scott. "How are you feeling?"

Scott goes to make a joke, then notices the intensity in his doctor's eyes. "I'm feeling strong."

"Good. Drew, I need you. We're going to Bennie's tent."

"Is everything alright?" Drew asks.

"No, unfortunately, and I need the two strongest healers I have. Scott, stay here and rest. I was informed your brain was flooded with magenta magic. I don't need to tell you the effects that may have on your psyche, do I?"

"I want to see Bennie, too," Scott protests. "Why am I getting left out?"

"Because she's in critical condition. I don't even want to bring Drew along, but Gabriel insisted he be there until he could come himself. He's taking care of Katrina now. She just slipped into shock."

"Shock? What happened to _her_?"

"I don't have time to explain. Drew, let's go. We need to hurry."

Jinas leaves the tent quickly. Drew gives Scott a pained look, then runs after Jinas.

Scott sits down at the edge of his cot and holds his head in one hand. Distantly, he can hear people groaning in pain and he knows that he's the one responsible. Voices chatter incessantly in his ear. He closes into himself tight and hard, retracting within until the only voice he can hear is the one in his head. A coldness like death washes through him, and when he finally uncoils, he can't hear the voices anymore.

Jinas and Drew enter Bennie's tent. They dismiss the idle healer staff who, until now, wasn't sure what to treat and is thankful to be sent out to do actual work. Jinas pulls the sheet off her cot and removes her underclothes, exposing her skin.

"Hold on," Drew says, turning away in embarrassment. "Is there a reason she's naked?"

"I need to inspect her internal organs and I can't do that through layers of cloth. If you're going to be a prude about this, I suggest you leave. Gabriel will be more than enough help when he gets here."

Drew sighs and forces himself to turn back around. Jinas directs him to tend to the minor wounds on her legs and arms while he tries to diagnose the cause of her unconsciousness. Bennie chokes every few seconds; Drew tenses in anticipation each time her breath starts to hitch.

As Drew heals up Bennie's scraped up limbs, Jinas checks her pulse, then feels her throat, then checks four areas around her heart. Seemingly unsatisfied, puts his ear on her upper chest. He's motionless for a moment, then he presses down a little harder. His eyes go wide in disbelief. He immediately moves to the other side and presses his ear to her upper chest for a few moments.

"Tetrask damn me," he swears. "Stop whatever you're doing and help me flip her over."

Drew and Jinas gently turn Bennie on her stomach and rest her head between the edge of the cot and a medical cart. Jinas pushes Drew aside and checks both sides of her back.

"Her lungs," Jinas says. "It's her lungs."

"What about her lungs?" Drew asks.

"It sounds like she's trying to breathe with two dry, torn paper bags. Or like she has something _inside_ her lungs. I can't explain it any better other than her lungs are severely damaged."

"What do you think it is?"

"I'm not sure. I've never seen anything like this before."

"Well, isn't there a textbook or something for this? Don't you have a ton of those lying around?"

"Respiratory problems are exceedingly rare on Renea. I can only think of two or so passages from my texts and those were only brief overviews. The real problem is I can't treat her if I don't know what caused this. Lungs are very sensitive."

"Can I have a look?"

"Be my guest."

Drew unslings his water skin and stretches his hands over Bennie's back. A pool of water settles coolly over her and Drew breathes, trying to focus on her lungs. He finds them and starts to fix it, then realizes he's staring at a puzzle that has over million different pieces. It isn't like fixing an arm or minor scrape or even a major gash where he knows how to knit skin, bone, and blood vessels together. He's staring at a complex branch of many individual branches, each so delicate that even a small amount of magic could irreparably damage it, and after only a few moments of just trying to _understand_ what he's looking at, Drew gets so overwhelmed that he drops his magic completely, splashing water all over Bennie, the cot, and the ground.

Jinas waits for him to say something. Drew looks at him helplessly and sits in a chair, silent.

"Let's think critically," Jinas says after a second. "What could do this to her?"

"Magic?" Drew offers.

"Possibly, but not likely. Usually when magic does damage to a body, it leaves residue that even I can feel and I didn't feel any of that in Bennie. It has to be something external, something only she went through."

A light comes on in Drew's mind. "What about the ash from the Ruins?"

Jinas looks at him expectantly.

"Bennie was the only one of us who was exposed to ash for a long period of time. On Earth, you can get respiratory diseases from breathing in ash for too long. I don't know if Reneans have that problem, but given how many people have been living in the Ruins without you knowing anything about this—"

"Then it's possible our bodies are more different than we thought," Jinas continues. "True, we use cloth and fabric to prevent large amounts of ash from entering our mouths and lungs, but not once has anyone suffered a condition from the ash itself. Maybe we're built to filter the ash, though I couldn't say for sure, but if you view us as two separate species it wouldn't be a far-fetched conclusion. I mean"—Jinas grabs him by the shirt—"listen to this. I've never heard this from a Renean before."

Drew holds his breath and places an ear on Bennie's upper back and listens. As she breathes, he hears a dull wheeze and a dry rattle come from inside her.

"That's scary," he says, moving to the other side. "It sounds like she's breathing sand."

"Unfortunately, theorizing what Bennie is afflicted with doesn't solve our problem. This is like treating someone with a one-in-a-billion heart defect, or someone with an extremely rare genetic illness. Cases of those things, if any at all, are so few and far between that conventional wisdom is meaningless in the face of the problem."

"Can Gabriel do anything for her?"

"We won't know until he gets here, but I wouldn't put all your hopes on him. Even magic has its limits. Come on, let's get her dressed before he gets here."

Drew and Jinas change Bennie into a cloth gown, turn her on her back and cover her with a few blankets to prevent her from getting a chill. Jinas then steps out for a few moments to talk with his associate doctors, leaving Drew and Bennie alone. Drew brushes a strand of hair out of Bennie's eyes and tucks it behind her ears. She stirs. He can't remember her ever looking so fragile.

Gabriel pops into the tent a few minutes later with Jinas only half a stride behind giving him a quick briefing of the situation. The three of them gather around Bennie's bed. She breathes in slow, shallow draws, coughing occasionally. Drew thinks of a diphtheria documentary he watched a long time ago and tries not to feel queasy.

"Well?" Drew says, glancing at Gabriel. "What do you think?"

"Let me see what I can do."

Gabriel places both hands on Bennie's sternum as if preparing for CPR. A gentle green glow flows from his hands and he closes his eyes. Drew fidgets nervously.

After only a few seconds, Gabriel rescinds his hands. His face is grim.

"The good news is she's alive," he says. "The bad news is... Well, there's a lot of very soft things that have been shredded to pieces. I'll do what I can, but I can't fix everything. I'm really only delaying the inevitable."

"Inevitable?" Drew says worriedly. "The inevitable what?"

"Unless we can pull off a miracle," Gabriel says, "the damage to her lungs has put her life on the clock. Again, I'll do what I can, but don't get your hopes up. I can only fix so much."

Gabriel lays his hands on Bennie again and green light fills the tent. With it comes the smell of flowers and fresh water and sunny air, the scent of chopped wood and grass and the citrusy tang of oranges. Bennie appears to settle comfortably as her breathing becomes deep and easy. Gabriel eventually takes his hands away and steps back from the bed.

"We should let her rest," he says. "That will help her more than getting her dependent on my magic."

"Oh, she'll be fine," Drew says with a grin. "Just look at how peaceful she looks while she's sleeping. She'll pull through just fine, right?"

"Drew," Jinas says softly. "It's important that you manage your expectations."

Drew turns to say something, but he finds himself at a loss for words when neither Gabriel nor Jinas will meet his eyes. Suddenly possessed by an indescribable feeling, Drew pushes past them and leaves Bennie's tent.

The next morning, somewhere near the refugee camp

A boom echoes through the trees, sending birds fleeing for the skies. The sentries patrolling the perimeter of the refugee camp give the sound a quick regard but, seeing no immediate danger, don't raise the alarms. The morning continues with a sweet softness contrasted only by intermittent groans of pain coming from the medical camp.

Out in the Woods, Camellia Agnelli steadies herself on the firm bark of a tree. Her heart beats softly between her ears and along the inside of her wrist. Her vision is speckled like the static on a television screen, perhaps from too much blood rushing to her head, or too little. Dimly, she knows she's injured. She hazards a step forward and the ground rushes up to support her. The world teeters from left to right.

She only moves when she has enough energy to make it from one tree to the next. She hears rustling in the bushes, birds in the trees, branches snapping from wildlife running along the ground; faintly, Camellia knows today is a beautiful day. She rests for a moment, leaning against a tree with a tangle of roots. It feels like her head is about to float off her shoulders. A sickly sense of unease sends her stomach upside down. She sucks in a breath and tells herself she's going to be fine. She takes another step.

Camellia turns to one side and wretches in the dirt.

She slinks to the ground against the sloping roots and breathes loudly, raggedly, coughing open-mouthed into the air. Everything hurts. Her head pounds. Her throat aches for water. Her stomach tightens, churning up her insides. She rests her head against the tree, winces immediately, then leans forward to avoid touching the back of her head. The warm Woods sun bathes the grass and dirt in yellow light.

Camellia suddenly starts. She doesn't know how long she was out for, but the sun is now more intense. On the other side of the clearing, an enormous frog basks in the sunlight, its back covered in a colorful arrangement of many different flowers. It flexes its throat pouch slowly, seemingly unaware of Camellia's presence. The Hero slowly climbs to her feet and, seeing that the creature bears her no ill will, walks past it quietly.

She reaches the refugee camp a little after noon. A small crowd of people mingle about the entrance, talking with those on patrol. She stares at the throng for a few seconds in confusion, and after a few minutes, other people begin to stare at her and mutter. Camellia unthinkingly runs a hand along the back of her head and winces. It hurts to touch the spot where Stark slammed her into the wall. She looks down at her clothes: tattered, torn, and sloppy. She feels like a real refugee.

Two sentries recognize her and usher her into the camp, shielding her from curious eyes. Once they return to their positions, Camellia stares at the medical camp before her and doesn't know what to do next. All the tents look familiar but she doesn't know which one is hers. She looks around for a few seconds, unsure of where to walk or what to do next. Doctors and assistants pass by her in a hurry, leaving her no chance to ask them questions.

Then, while Jinas is hurrying on his way to the front of the camp with his clipboard in hand, he runs right into the stationary Camellia. He looks up to apologize, then realizes who he's looking at, then realizes that the missing Hero has returned. Jinas appraises her clothes, her posture, and her gaze.

"You're late," he says. "Gabriel has been worried sick."

Camellia stares at him blankly. Words refuse to properly form in her head. Should she ask for water? For food? For help? Jinas catches on rather quickly.

"Tech," he snaps, catching a nearby assistant by surprise. "Clear the tent next to Scott's: fresh cot, fresh sheets, and some food and drink. Water, lots of water. And put a sign out front that says, 'Quarantine – No Entry.'"

"Quarantine?" the tech asks stupidly. "Is it a pandemic?"

"Get _moving_ , tech!"

The assistant leaves in an eager hurry, the fear of some unknown contagious disease chasing him away. Jinas steps up beside Camellia and takes her gently by the hand.

"Come with me," he says. "Tell me what happened and where you've been."

As they walk through the medical camp, Jinas asks her questions and Camellia manages a few words. Yes. No. Just a little bit. My head. A wall. Jinas pieces together the story on his own and tells her he needs to talk to her more to help her get better. Camellia doesn't reply. She feels like she's going to be sick again.

Jinas and Camellia arrive at a tent adjacent to Scott's which is being prepared at an astonishing speed. The assistant is finishing up a quarantine sign in neat Renean letters when Jinas guides Camellia inside and instructs the tech that they're not to be disturbed. Jinas sits Camellia on the cot and closes the tent flap securely. When he turns back around, he finds her at a medical table pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher. Her hands shake unevenly, spilling water all over the place. He quickly helps her get her drink and brings her back to the cot.

While she sips her water, Jinas gingerly inspects the back of her head. By some incredible miracle, her skull isn't fractured in any major capacity. The wound is wide but not deep and has been clotted enough with her hair that most of the bleeding has stopped. Jinas sifts Camellia's long hair through his fingers. Most of it will have to come off so he can clean and dress her injury as well as diagnose any neck or brain damage. She'll have to deal with the pain.

He works up the courage to tell Camellia what he has to do to bandage her injury. She merely nods. Jinas searches the in-tent medical bag for scissors and thinning shears and, finding a clean pair, immediately sets about his work. Camellia flinches once or twice, clenching her hands tightly around her glass without shattering it. A few minutes later and Camellia's long hair has been cut short and strewn about the floor. Jinas goes back to her head wound with a metal straight razor blade, shaves around it, picks the wound clean of hair—much to her flinching—and dresses it with medicine and bandages. He puts cushioning gauze on top of the bandages and wraps her shaved head safely with long strips of white bandages. When he finally steps back to admire his handiwork, he can't stifle a small laugh.

"What is it?" she asks, the first words in almost an hour.

"Nothing. You just look like someone pulled your brain out."

Camellia touches her head self-consciously.

"I need to ask you some questions before we finish but let me clean myself up first." Jinas turns away to wash his hands in a basin. "Does it hurt?"

Camellia shakes her head. Then, realizing he can't see her, adds, "No."

"Not even a little bit?"

"It does a little bit."

"It's okay if it does," Jinas assures her, drying his hands on a clean towel. "I can treat that. Any dizziness?"

"Yes."

"Nausea?"

"Yes."

"Have you gotten sick at all today?"

"Yes."

"It's okay, I know how to treat that, too. What I'm going to do is let you rest for a little while. Here—these are some medicines that you'll be taking to help the pain. Rest for now. After you've eaten later and got some strength back, I'll get with Gabriel to see what he can do."

"I'm sleepy, Jinas."

"That's fine. Lay your head down and tell me if it hurts."

Camellia lays back on the cot and gingerly rests her head against the pillow. Despite the faint throbbing of her wound against the bandages, it doesn't hurt too bad. She looks at Jinas and gives a small nod.

"I'm pretty sure you have a concussion," he continues, "so I'm going to post trusted guards outside who will check on you every half-hour. Whatever you do, don't try to come find me. I'll get you a bell or something if you need something immediately. If you need anything, you can trust those guys."

"Okay."

"I'll also talk to Roger and see if I can get him to put some seals up around your tent. It'll block out the noise and help you sleep easier." He pauses, thinking. "I should probably get him to do that for Scott, too."

Camellia shifts uncomfortably, then digs into her pocket and pulls out the emblem she found in Monarch. "Do you know what this is?" she asks.

Jinas jumps at the sight but tries to remain calm. "Yes," he says. "It's a very important artifact."

"I don't want it. Can you take it for me?"

Jinas looks hesitantly at the emblem, remembering the curse, and then decides if he doesn't have the gods' blessing by now the whole war is doomed anyways. He takes the emblem from her hand and resolves to give it to Nysse as soon as possible.

"I don't like these clothes," Camellia says, looking at her torn-up outfit. "Can I shower, too?"

"I'll get a tailor and a doctor in here to give you a bath immediately. Can you wait for just a few minutes?"

"Okay."

Jinas leaves the tent and gathers twelve trusted members of the Plains faction, instructing them on guarding Camellia and how their shifts should be divided. Once he dismisses them, he hurriedly gathers a female doctor and a tailor and sends them to Camellia's tent, ensuring that they know about the guards who are stationed there. He passes off some minor duties to his other doctors and has just enough time to remember that he has to get the emblem to Nysse when Gabriel nearly knocks him over.

"Jinas!" Gabriel shouts. "Thank the gods I found you. Come with me. We need you immediately."

"Not now," he says, shoving Gabriel to the side. "I have to deliver something important to—"

"This is more important. Bennie is waking up."

Jinas stuffs the emblem back into his pocket and hurries off toward Bennie's tent without protest.

# Chapter Ten

## Warming Up

Bennie Balachie stirs. Her chest feels heavy and she takes in a strained, difficult breath. Her head hurts. Her body aches all over. Though she can feel all her limbs, she knows she doesn't have an ounce of energy to move them. As she tries to open her eyes, her body presses back and tries to shut itself down and go to sleep. Bennie forces herself to stay awake and tries to identify her surroundings. A canvas overhead. Blankets over her chest and legs. She can hear people arguing in the distance.

Her chest tightens abruptly and she coughs, hard and dry. The voices stop immediately and faces gather around her. Drew is the first person she sees clearly. Scott stands next to him fidgeting. Two other men stand on her other side, muttering to each other: Gabriel and Jinas. Nysse sits at the foot of the bed, her gaze directed somewhere else.

Drew reaches out and gingerly touches her hand. His hands are warm. She sleepily grips his hand in hers; Drew yelps, quickly pulling away.

"Hey," she mumbles. "You were warm."

"She speaks!" Scott says, catching Gabriel's and Jinas's attention. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm cold." Bennie looks around. "Was I out for long?"

"For a few days."

"I feel heavy."

"You're just tired," Jinas says, taking her temperature with the back of his hand. "Like Scott said, you've been out for a few days. You'll be back to normal soon."

Drew suddenly looks visibly uncomfortable. Gabriel gives Jinas a serious look.

"Just tell her," Drew says after a bitter pause.

Bennie shifts her head, looking first at Scott and Drew and then at Gabriel and Jinas.

"You have severe tissue damage to your lungs," Jinas says. "I've had Gabriel do what he can, but it's not looking good. You... You might want to think very carefully about how you choose to engage in combat."

Bennie blinks, searching for words. Her lungs suddenly tingle as if aphids are eating through them. "How?" she finally asks.

"The ash," says Drew. "You were the only one of us who went through the Ruins."

"But Jenna, and Kexal—"

"Working theory is that we have different anatomies," Jinas explains. "The gods likely designed Reneans to have lungs that can filter ash, especially since the ashclouds from the Ruins regularly blow into Monarch. Scott says you guys can't do that. Since you were the only one from Earth that traveled in the Ruins, you're the only one who could have gotten complications from it."

"Am I going to die?"

The words shock everyone. Bennie looks around expectantly, but no one says anything.

"With my help," Jinas finally says, "and with Gabriel's magic, I think you'll live a long, healthy life. You'll have to make a lot of adjustments, but I think you'll be okay. I can treat you."

Gabriel slightly grits his teeth, but he doesn't say anything to the contrary. Bennie catches it but doesn't press. She then notices Camellia isn't in the room.

"Hey..." Bennie looks at Drew. "Where's Cammy?"

"She's injured," says Gabriel. "She wasn't well enough to come visit you, unfortunately. She fought a very difficult battle against Stark Pureblood."

"She won, right?"

"Yes. The nomads are out of the war, but now Riel controls Monarch. We're going to have a tough time taking the city back from him."

"You'll have to rest first," Jinas interjects.

Gabriel nods. "Agreed. The most important thing right now is to make sure you rest and get your strength back. Taking Monarch back is a futile effort without you fighting as hard as you can."

"Oh," Bennie says quietly, suddenly feeling a little too important. "I can try."

Nysse, silent until now, slides off the bed, catching everyone's attention. She looks at Bennie for a moment as if trying to remember something important to say, then turns and leaves the tent without another word. Bennie watches her leave, then is aware she's dressed in only a cloth gown under her sheets. She tries not to feel self-conscious around the four men, all of whom are standing awfully close to her bed.

"Who's the best swordsman in the camp?" she says.

"Katrina," Gabriel says without missing a beat. "Undoubtedly, Katrina. Why?"

"After I rest for a while, can you ask her to come teach me the sword? That's going to be my legendary weapon."

"You know you don't get to pick your weapon, right?"

"I just have this feeling that mine has to be a sword, and I want to know what I'm doing before I summon it. I know I won't be a master overnight, but right now I'm not strong enough to beat Riel on my own. If I'm at least familiar with my legendary weapon, maybe once I get the actual thing it won't feel heavy and weird in my hands."

"It's not really heavy," Scott says. "It's light as air, actually."

Gabriel suddenly turns. "How do you know that?"

"Oh, right." Scott extends his hand and Segensa, his triple-bladed scythe, appears from a ribbon of purple light. "I got this at Monarch. I just never showed any of you."

"Never showed—! You get the most powerful, most important weapon you can possibly have and you just 'never showed' us?" Gabriel turns on Drew. "What about you? Do you have any legendary weapons sitting around you want to tell us about?"

Drew laughs. "Not that I know of."

"I need everyone to listen," Gabriel says seriously. "Your legendary weapon is the penultimate step before ascending to godhood. It is the single greatest achievement you can have while mortal. If every Hero in this camp had their legendary weapon, we would have easily prevented that slaughter."

"What slaughter?" Bennie asks.

"At the end of the battle, both our army and the nomad army suddenly couldn't move. People likened it to being paralyzed by the fear of the unknown, and as a result, the Skeleton army got free reign to rip through our ranks. If everyone was at their peak, we could have stopped them."

"What do you think caused it?" Scott asks nervously.

"My investigation is ongoing. I'm going to find out what caused it and I'm going to make sure it never happens again. We can't take that kind of damage to our ranks or our morale; it nearly crippled us. I'm not blaming any of you for what happened. I just want to emphasize that having the Heroes in peak physical form is imperative for winning the war. We need to be able to defeat any enemy, visible or invisible, and your weapons are a part of that."

"Hey Scott." Drew motions at him. "Toss me that scythe. I want to see how heavy it is."

Scott passes Segensa to Drew, who twirls it around and hefts it once or twice.

"Wow," he says after a minute, tossing the scythe back, "you weren't kidding. It feels like I'm not holding anything at all."

"That so?" Gabriel summons his green bow in a flash of light. "Here, catch." He tosses it at Drew, who catches the bow and drops straight to the ground under its weight.

"Heavy!" he wheezes. " _Heavy!_ "

"Like trying to carry a mountain, right? These weapons are finnicky. To your friends, they will feel nearly weightless. To your enemies, it will feel like being slammed with a meteor." Gabriel dismisses his bow and looks down grimly at Drew, who is splayed out on the floor. "Strangely, the weapon is what ultimately determines friend and foe. I've tried to figure out why, but I guess some secrets are meant to remain lost forever."

"Pain," Drew groans from the floor. "I think my ribs are broken."

"Oh you're fine, you sissy." Scott taps Drew with his foot. "Don't be upset that Gabriel's weapon thinks you're the enemy."

Drew grabs Scott by the ankle and pulls him to the ground. The two begin wrestling each other immediately.

"Bennie." Gabriel comes over to her side and she instinctively gathers the sheets up a little bit. "I know I just hyped up the Heroes being at peak physical strength, and I know you want to jump out of bed and start training immediately, but your number one priority should be getting better. All the training in the world won't do you any good if you don't rest enough for your body to heal up completely."

" _Can_ I heal completely?"

"With a little bit of luck, sure. Anything is possible."

Bennie sees the lie in his eyes. She looks at Drew and Scott and, ensuring they're both too occupied to care, she beckons Gabriel close to her. Gabriel leans in.

"Be honest," she whispers. "How bad is it, really?"

"You're at a very advanced stage," he answers quietly. "I wouldn't think about doing any kind of running, if that's what you're planning."

"How long?"

"It's a little hard to tell—"

"How long, Gabriel."

Gabriel sighs slowly. "Two, maybe three months before your lungs start shutting down completely. At that point, there won't be anything we can do."

Bennie closes her eyes tightly. Gabriel says a small apology and walks away.

"Hey," Bennie suddenly says. "You boys still there?"

Scott and Drew look up from their wrestling match.

"Either of you know where my armor is?"

"Why would you want that?" Scott says. "Fat lot of good it did you against Riel."

Drew elbows Scott in the ribs.

"Find it for me, will you please? Oh, and my armor rack. And leave it somewhere in the tent where I can see it."

"You're already going to train?"

"Not until I've rested, but until then, it'll be a great motivator. I'll need some place to train, too."

"We could build an arena," Drew suggests. "Could be a good place to try out our powers, maybe spar."

Scott elbows Drew in the ribs and calls him a suck-up.

"Smart," says Bennie. "The four of us can all practice together."

"We can talk about it later, if you like. You look like you're about to pass out at any time."

"Yeah, I am pretty tired. Are you two gonna stay in here or what?"

"We'll let you sleep," Scott says, getting to his feet. "Don't worry about all the arena and war stuff. We've got it handled until you're back on your feet."

Bennie smiles as Scott and Drew wave good-bye and leave the tent. Once she's left alone, Bennie's smile fades. She lays back in her bed and stares at the ceiling of her tent for a few long seconds. The world goes glassy. She cries as softly as she can.

Bennie is out of her bed and on her feet a few days later. Jinas clears her for light exercise and informs every Hero and Emissary about her condition, specifying that any deviation from her normal behavior is to be reported immediately.

The next morning, Bennie gets Scott and Drew together and takes them outside the camp, insisting they follow her. They do so, and after an hour's walk into the Woods, Bennie pulls to a stop at the foot of a tall marble obelisk: the Homing Beacon she made for Stanley many weeks ago.

"You brought us out here for that?" Drew says, shielding his face from the heat of the perpetual flames. "I could have climbed a tree and seen it just fine."

"I didn't bring you out here to look at it," says Bennie, leaning against a tree. "I brought you out here to help me destroy it."

"Seriously?" Scott asks. "You really want this thing taken down?"

"Yes, I do, and I'm too weak to do it myself."

"Why? Isn't this—"

"I know what it is," Bennie says, "and I want it taken down. Will you help me or not?"

Drew and Scott exchange a confused look but decide it's not worth pressing. Bennie directs Scott first, telling him how she built the obelisk and how to dismantle it in pieces without causing it to topple and set fire to the Woods. It takes Scott an hour of concentrated psychic effort to take the Homing Beacon apart.

Bennie then tells Drew that he'll need to extinguish the flame using magical water, citing that she made the flame using an incredible amount of magic. Drew has Scott telekinetically move the piece holding the fire to another part of the forest next to a clear, still lake. Drew slips into the lake and disappears without breaking the surface, and then the lake surges up and embraces the piece and drags it into the depths. Minutes pass with the fire burning under water, then it dims, then it peters out. The lake ejects the piece violently and Drew crawls out of the waves, exhausted.

"Bennie," he wheezes, "if you ever ask me to deal with that much concentrated magic again, I'll laugh in your face."

Bennie touches the cold piece of her Homing Beacon distantly, then walks away from it without another word. Scott helps Drew to his feet and the pair follows Bennie back into the Woods. Scott asks her what she wants to do with the remaining pieces of the Homing Beacon, but she doesn't answer, lost in thought. When they get back to the refugee camp, Bennie suddenly stops atop a hill overlooking the camp. Drew and Scott stop with her.

"You know what we need?" Bennie turns; her eyes are bright with innovation. "We need a fence."

"A fence?" Drew echoes.

"It's too easy to get in and out of the camp. Enemies could easily lay an ambush or walk right in and start hurting people. We have all these trees around here, so why don't we get the camp together and build a fence? It'll be a communal effort that'll boost morale and promote a feeling of teamwork. We can help, too. It'll be great PR."

"Are you alright, Bennie?" Scott asks.

"I'm fine. In fact, I feel great. Why?"

"I don't know, I thought you'd be... Slower? I thought you'd be taking it easy for a while."

"I'll take it easy when I feel tired. Right now, I feel like I'm on fire. Now, what do you think about the fence idea?"

An hour later, Bennie has a small team draw up plans for the fence and run them by Gabriel, who swiftly approves the building plan and begins assigning tasks. Drew passes by later with plans for an arena and Gabriel is all too excited to start work immediately. Word spreads quickly through the camp and, despite the massive loss of people at the end of the first battle, people are eager to do something other than sit around and wait to fight or die again. Some scoff at the ideas, grumbling about "useless busywork" and a lack of overall direction in the war effort.

A little while later, Bennie's vigor starts to leave her for the day. It's late in the afternoon and she's resting in a chair when she's approached by Nysse. The goddess bows her head slightly as she approaches. Bennie feels relaxation and a tinge of awe as Nysse sits in the chair next to her. Neither of them says anything for a moment: Bennie because of fatigue, and Nysse because she knows Bennie will speak first.

"Being sick sucks," she finally says. "I feel like a queen in the morning and a sack of potatoes by lunch." She coughs a few times into her arm. "At least I have Drew and Scott to help me out."

"How does it feel to be back on your feet?" Nysse asks.

"It feels like I'm actually being useful again. Right now, that's all I can ask." Bennie looks over curiously. "Are you wearing a necklace?"

Nysse pulls the string around her neck and pulls out a disc-shaped object looped through her necklace string. "This is the emblem of Tetrask," she explains. "I was his oracle before he died. It was very important to me that I get this back and Camellia was able to do it for me."

"Oh, good. I'm glad to hear it." Bennie hesitates for a moment. "Hey, can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure."

"I tore down my Homing Beacon today."

"May I ask why?"

"I'm not really sure, myself. I just woke up this morning and thought, 'You know what? Today's the day. Let's get out there and tear it down.' I didn't expect to actually do it, but now that I have, I feel... I feel free. Like I've closed a long unfinished book for the first time."

"Why did you decide to tell me?"

"I couldn't share it with anyone else. If Jinas would let me see Camellia I'd go talk to her, but... And not that I trust her any more than you, because I certainly trust you, it's—" She rubs the back of her head. "I'm messing this all up. I just want you to feel included in the things I do. I don't want you to feel lonely."

Nysse smiles gently. "Do I seem lonely to you?"

"Every time I look at you, I think you must feel like you're on another planet."

Nysse's smile fades. She looks out into the distance, silent.

"See? Just like that." Bennie pokes the goddess in the face. "You keep making that face and it's so damn lonely. I want you to feel like you can talk to us. We're all going to be gods someday too, you know. You'll have to look forward to an eternity of Scott and Drew arguing like an old married couple. I'll have to deal with kids always hugging my legs to see if I'm warmer than normal people. But every day, we'll all get up and get to see the sun rise together and feel the wind in our face and taste the fresh morning air. So there's no need to look so lonely with all of that to look forward to, okay?"

Nysse takes Bennie's hand and the Hero nearly jumps out of her seat from contact with overwhelming cosmic energy. "Thank you," Nysse says softly. "Your words are really too kind." She pauses for a moment, almost hesitating, then says, "Do you mind if I tell _you_ a secret?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"I think this war may kill me."

Bennie sits up a little straighter. Nysse averts her eyes to the ground.

"I have this recurring vision," she says. "Not really a vision, I suppose. It's more an instinct, but not a gut feeling, as if the knowledge is being passed to me clairvoyantly. This particular insight has been haunting me ever since I became aware there would be a world war. Sometime in the future, something essential inside me will break and it will all but destroy my will to live on. I dream about it some nights. I hold my heart in one hand and my soul in another and I have to offer one to a flat, merciless anvil upon which I know a hammer will fall and crush it completely. I'm paralyzed at the choice and each time I wake up before I see what decision I make."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Nysse doesn't get the chance to reply. Feet come pounding down the path ahead—urgent feet with a message on their heels. Bennie tries to stand but Nysse grips her hand, urging her to rest. Scott comes running at them at a full sprint and Drew is not far behind.

"Guys," Scott wheezes, clomping to a stop. "The fence... We were building the... Oh man, you're not going to believe this."

"You're not," Drew pants, coming up next to him, "you're not going to... oh god, my heart... I need to sit down..."

"What's happening?" Bennie says. "What's wrong?"

"We were working on the fence when people started coming," says Scott, leaning over his knees. "Just a few small groups. But they said they weren't alone. There are more survivors from Monarch, and some of them heard about what we're doing. They're traveling with people from the realms, those that weren't caught in Sorsaren's blast and those that survived whatever mess each Adversary left behind, and they're looking for the camp. They've been keeping together all this time and now they're coming this way, coming to join our cause." Scott stands up straighter and takes in a deep breath. "People are coming, and they're coming to help us take back Monarch."

# Chapter Eleven

## One Step Forward

One week later...

"Camellia?" Jinas says, pushing the tent flap aside. "Are you awake?"

"I am," Camellia says politely, halfway into a deep squat. "Let me finish this set."

Camellia finishes her last few squats, gingerly wipes her forehead and neck with a towel, then sits on the floor. Jinas plants himself in a chair, flips open his Camellia notebook, and asks her some basic questions: who she is, how old she is, what does she remember doing yesterday, what has she done so far today. He then moves into his usual medical questioning which she passes with no issues.

"You're doing well so far," Jinas says, closing his notebook. "I think I'm almost ready to clear you to start walking around outside again. Does that sound good?"

Camellia thinks for a moment, then says, "I'd like to stay in this tent for a while longer, actually."

"I'm not kicking you out. I'm just opening the door in case you want to leave."

"I understand that. I'd like the door to stay closed for now."

"Any particular reason you don't want to go outside?"

Something flashes in her eyes, but it quickly dulls. "No," she answers. "I just want to do some more training on my own. I want to be strong when I decide to leave."

"When will that be?"

"I don't know."

Jinas waits for her to elaborate, but when it becomes clear she doesn't have anything else to say, he resolves to study his notes and come talk to her again another time. He leaves her tent and gives the "Quarantine – No Entry" sign a strained look. He pulls himself away and fishes in his bag for his newest notebook on Scott as he pulls Scott's tent flap aside, conveniently located directly beside Camellia's.

He enters to find Scott entertaining not one, not two, but _six_ new camp arrivals, mostly female, and all wearing cheap knockoffs of Scott's own outfit. It takes Scott a few seconds to realize Jinas has arrived since he's too busy telekinetically juggling his cot, sheets, and pillow as entertainment for his guests.

"Hey!" Scott finally yells when he spots his doctor. "Look who decided to show up to the party! Jinas, meet the gang. Gang, meet Jinas. Hey, did you know I'm actually one of the most popular Heroes? Look! Some of them haven't even been here for a week and they're already groupies!"

"Fascinating," Jinas says curtly, setting his bag down.

"I don't think I can keep holding these parties if more people start showing up. Say Jinas, do you think I should make a tent solely for my fan club? A celebrity has to expand and improve, after all!"

"Excuse me," Jinas says, peeling a girl's hand from somewhere on Scott's body it shouldn't be, "but I don't think you should be striving for celebrity status at this point in time. You have other things you should be focusing on."

"You're jealous. You want a babe, don't you? I can get you one, you know. I'm really popular now. Which one of you girls wants to show Jinas how the Scott Squad parties?"

"Not right now. It's time for your check-up."

"Is it really? Alright, alright. Get lost, gang. We'll hang out again later."

The groupies file out in a slightly disgruntled manner, but they brighten a little when Scott gives them an encouraging thumbs-up. Scott sits on the edge of his bed and runs a hand through his hair. Jinas pulls up a chair.

"You alright?"

"Hm?" Scott brightens. "Oh yeah, no problems with me. I'm good, really."

"Scott. Are you alright?"

His smile fades, and then he knits his hands together. "Just okay," he says. "Been having a tough time sleeping these past few nights, but that's all, really."

"What's been keeping you awake?"

"Nightmares."

"Want to tell me about them?"

Scott hesitates. "How strict is your doctor-patient privilege?"

"That depends," Jinas laughs. "Are your nightmares about things that can radically change the war?"

Scott thinks about his dreams, reliving the memory of all those people he allowed to be butchered because he made everyone stop fighting just to get the voices in his mind to be quiet. "No," he finally lies. "I just feel embarrassed about sharing them."

"Well, instead of sharing them verbally," Jinas suggests, "how about you write them down in a journal? You may sort them out yourself and not need my help at all. You can find common themes in dreams which will help you realize you're dreaming, and from there all kinds of possibilities can open up. Does that sound good?"

"I guess I wouldn't mind."

"Then let's try that and see how you feel after a few weeks. I'll make sure to get you a journal and something to write with." Jinas makes a note in his notebook. "So, that aside. What are you feeling right now?"

"Tired. Like I said, I haven't been sleeping well."

"What are you _feeling_ , Scott?"

It takes him a long moment to answer. "Overwhelmed."

"Why do you feel overwhelmed?"

"It's..." Scott rubs the back of his neck. "It's the pressure," he lies again. "New people, you know? I want to make sure everyone is happy and morale is high. We'll need it to win the war."

"I think all these new people are stressing your brain out. You're still very fragile, you know."

"I'm not fragile," Scott retorts almost instantly.

"As your doctor, and as your friend, I must insist that what you just said is totally wrong." At Scott's indignant frown, Jinas sighs and climbs up next to Scott on the bed. "Look, I can promise you this: you're under a lot more stress than you think. Stress to succeed, to always appear normal, to have no weaknesses, to support the camp at all times... I get it, really. I do it all the time while struggling with being a quarter the age of most other doctors here. You can trust me when I say that I understand the Scott who exists outside this tent is different than the one who exists in here. And in _here_." Jinas pats Scott on the chest for emphasis. "When you're with me, no matter what you're going through, you're my only family. I need you to understand you can open up to me about things that bother you, even if it feels like you're complaining."

Scott laces his fingers together and stares at the floor. "I appreciate that, Jinas."

"You have to start talking to me instead of always holding things inside. It'll eat away at you like an acid until there's nothing left."

"It's just..." Scott shakes his head. "Some days I wish I wasn't me. Some days I wish I was just a regular guy again. Maybe then I wouldn't have made so many mistakes."

"That's good. That's a start." Jinas pats him on the back. "What else you got?"

"Some days I wish I had a girlfriend."

"I can't help you there."

"Neither can I, apparently."

The two share a laugh together. Scott takes a second to appreciate the moment, unable to recall the last time he was able to just sit with Jinas and joke around. He remembers his quest in the Cemetery, Jinas's incessant nagging and insistence that extended use of his powers would damage his brain, and close combat with many different Shades. It feels so long ago.

It's then that he notices a faint, invisible purple string trying to bridge the gap between himself and Jinas. Scott sucks in a sharp breath and forces it to disappear, leaving a tingle in his chest and a lump of anxiety in his stomach. He doesn't notice Jinas looking at him strangely.

"Hey Scott," Jinas says, catching his attention. "Can I ask a favor?"

"What? Oh, sure."

"Camellia is trying to isolate herself from the camp under the guise of 'training', or something. I know she's just scared of going outside and getting hurt again. Problem is, I don't think I can convince her to start interacting with people. You're her friend. Can you visit her every now and then, try and get her to warm up to people again? I know her part in the war is done, but I don't want to have to deal with a reclusive Hero when our PR is so important." He hesitates. "Also, on a personal note, it would be nice to see her smile again."

"Oh, sure. I don't mind. What do I do about the guards and the quarantine sign?"

"I'll go talk to them." Jinas hops off the cot.

"What?" Scott gets up too. "You're leaving right now?"

"Yes?" Jinas says quizzically. "Is something wrong?"

"No... No, I'll just save it for next time. Get me that journal?"

"I will, but right now I have to attend to other business. Seriously, visit Camellia anytime. She needs it."

Jinas leaves the tent. Scott collapses back on his cot and presses a hand over his thundering heart. He listens to the bustle coming from the people outside working and mingling and helping where they can. The sounds of the injured from the first battle has mostly gone now, replaced by eager voices and rejuvenated spirits. He nods once to motivate himself and shoves himself off his cot and steps boldly into the street. Aside from the regular sounds of people talking and moving about, no voices whisper in his ears. No purple strings reach out from him to them, or vice versa. He lets out his breath, relieved.

Scott glances at his tent, particularly his "Head Doctors Only" sign—one which he still isn't sure is an intentional joke or not—and then glances at Camellia's quarantine sign. He allows himself to frown and get a little worked up. If he can go outside with measured difficulty and if Bennie can walk around with the condition of her lungs, then damn it, Camellia should be outside, too. Scott marches over to Camellia's tent and throws the flap aside, uncaring.

Camellia, midway through a sit-up with a training outfit on, stares blankly at him when he enters. Scott blinks but doesn't turn away.

"Hey," he says gruffly. "Working out?"

"Yes," she replies. "The sign says No Entry, you know."

"Jinas told me I could ignore it."

It's Camellia's turn to blink. She then continues doing sit-ups. Scott looks around the room for something to make conversation with, but her tent is almost identical to his own. There's not much to talk about.

"Is there something you need?" Camellia asks suddenly.

"Oh, uh..." Scott fishes for words. "Just came by to say hello. I wanted to see what you're doing."

"I'm doing a workout. I want to get stronger."

"I see."

Camellia doesn't continue the conversation. Scott claps his hands together, searching for a way to restart it.

"Hey," he says brightly. "You want to get lunch together or something?"

"Lunch is brought here so I don't leave the tent." Camellia pauses at the peak of a sit-up. "If you're going to stay, please close the tent. I'm not presentable right now."

"Right, sorry." Scott lets the flap fall behind him. "Mind if I join you?"

"You want to work out with me?"

"Oh, no, I meant for lunch. But I can work out with you after that, if you'd like."

Camellia thinks for a moment, then nods.

Bennie Balachie wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. The past week has been an uphill climb mentally, but she's managed to work up enough physical strength to start training again. She has passed all Jinas's physical tests and has had no relapses or major coughing fits to speak of. Every so often she'll need to sit down and catch her breath, or she'll cough a little too hard, or she'll start wheezing and need to stop training for the day, but other than that, she feels fit and strong for the first time in what feels like forever. It feels good to be exercising again.

Katrina stands a short distance away with her legendary sword planted tip-first in the dirt, a hand clasped over the hilt. Her other arm is in a sling and bandages stick out from her training clothes. The two of them are running swordsmanship drills in Drew's unfinished arena. In a few days, the arena will have training dummies, ground rings for combat practice, a track, official spectator stands, and more, but for now it's just a mostly empty field. Drew passes by occasionally to see the build status and adjust his plans, but currently, the only people using the arena are Katrina, Bennie, and a few interested spectators on their lunch break.

"Alright," Bennie says, lifting her training sword out of the dirt, her stamina refueled. "I'm ready."

Katrina twirls her sword over into her right hand and takes a defensive stance, the blade pointed toward her opponent with both hands out in front of her body. Bennie takes a neutral stance, one with the blade held across her body with both hands, right hand on bottom.

"Right shoulder," Katrina says. "Quick stroke."

Katrina nods and Bennie steps into the motion and swings her sword.

Katrina swiftly blocks and the _clang_ knocks Bennie off-balance. She falls flatly in the dirt.

"Less flailing," Katrina says while Bennie recovers. She turns and cuts the air several times. "See? Like this. Make it flow. Feel the movement with your body, not with your arms. Again: right shoulder, quick stroke."

Bennie returns to her neutral stance, steps into the motion and swings her sword.

Katrina blocks and this time Bennie only stumbles a little. She digs her outside foot into the dirt and finds purchase, holding her blade tight against Katrina's.

"Good," Katrina nods. "That's better. Where would you go from here?"

"I would..." Bennie steps in close and forces their swords to cross higher. "Maybe do something like that? Then from here, I could grab them."

"That's an option. However—"

Katrina presses a knee into the side of Bennie's lead leg and drops her sword hard across the Hero's body, sending Bennie tumbling to the ground. When Bennie looks up, the point of a sword is at her neck. Embarrassment and frustration flush her cheeks.

"Remember, if you land on the ground, you're dead." Katrina takes her sword back and gestures. "Get up. We'll do it again."

"Was that really necessary?" Bennie coughs as she stands.

"Yes, it was. You asked me to teach you swordsmanship, so I'm teaching you swordsmanship. These techniques will keep you alive."

Bennie scoffs and raises her sword.

"You don't believe me?"

"No, I do. I just don't see how."

"That will come with practice and experience."

"Then give me some practice and experience. To hell with theory. Let's spar already."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"It's a good way to learn, isn't it?"

"Yes, but only if you have a good foundation. You started training only a few days ago. Your fundamentals aren't—"

"Oh, just let me swing at you already." Bennie taps Katrina's sword with her own. "Come on, en garde."

Katrina gets into a defensive stance. Bennie immediately jabs with her sword.

Katrina knocks the poke away and taps Bennie's shoulder with the flat of her blade. Bennie pulls back then jabs again. Katrina brushes it aside, steps around and slaps her on the thigh this time, casually walking away with her sword on her shoulder.

Bennie turns and takes a step forward as she swings. Katrina parries lazily. Bennie attacks again, but Katrina knocks her sword into the dirt. Frustrated, Bennie picks up her sword and swings straight up. Katrina steps around the blade and knocks Bennie in the chest with the pommel of her sword, sending the Hero stumbling away and landing flat on her rear.

Bennie slowly gets to her feet, arms shaking.

"Come on," Katrina says. "Use your head when you spar."

Bennie tightly grips her sword, annoyed. A sense of urgency rises from her stomach up to her shoulders. She sucks in a deep breath to stay focused and the air rattles drily in her chest. She chokes back a cough.

She leaps into the air with her sword cocked back, bridging the gap between them.

Katrina calmly dips to the side.

But Bennie doesn't follow through immediately.

She lands in the dirt and twists toward Katrina, her sword in both hands, and after sliding her foot forward she drives her whole body into a hail Mary blow right at Katrina's head.

The blade hits a mark and Bennie drives through with everything she has. The momentum carries her forward and Bennie spins, falling face-first into the dirt.

She lays still for a moment, adrenalin thundering in her veins.

Bennie gets to her hands and knees. Laying a short distance away is her training sword, the blade in pieces and scattered across the ground.

Katrina squats in front of her. "What are you doing?"

Bennie blinks, unsure of what to say.

"Better question: what is it _we're_ doing?"

"I thought we were training."

"We are. More importantly, we're just sparring. Don't try to take my head off."

"I'm sorry, I got carried away."

Katrina helps Bennie to her feet.

"Clean up and take the rest of the day off," Katrina says. "Rest is just as important as training, if not more important for you."

"But I feel good. I can keep going."

"We've been at this for almost an hour now. It's time to rest. We'll go back to drills tomorrow. If you want, we can try sparring again when your fundamentals are intact."

"I need this training," Bennie insists. "Riel is getting stronger every day. If I don't know how to handle myself when I face him, it'll—" She hesitates. "It'll be worse than last time."

"And that's why we are training. I know you want to hop right into the fray and start swinging like you're an invincible juggernaut, but all of history's greatest swordsmen always started by training until their bones cracked, and then they rested. You _need_ your fundamentals first, not to mention the physical endurance to sustain yourself in a prolonged fight. Gods, I'd almost forgotten how exhausting fighting is. I could use a break myself." Katrina dismisses her legendary sword and it vanishes in a flash of red lightning.

"And what if we have to go to Monarch tomorrow?" Bennie presses. "What if Riel has raised another army? Am I even close to being ready for that? No! I need to train harder, just like you said. Now come on, let's go again."

Katrina pats her on the shoulder. "Rest. We'll resume training tomorrow."

Katrina walks away without waiting for a rebuttal. Bennie shakes her head, disappointed, then turns to survey the arena. The spectators have cleared out, leaving her alone in the field. She looks dismally at the remnants of her training sword and decides it would be best if she tried to keep the arena clean for when others start to use it.

Bennie clears her throat and starts collecting the pieces one by one. Halfway through she clears her throat again, and then again, unable to get rid of a little tickle. She coughs once, lightly, and then forces herself to cough to get rid of it and finds herself locked in a coughing fit. She sinks to her knees, choking and coughing, her throat tight and her ears hot from the strain on her head. She slams her fist into her chest and feels something come loose which she spits on to the ground in the form of small, discolored lumps.

Bennie wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and sees blood. She wipes it away, hoping no one else saw, and gets to her feet and quickly leaves the arena. The remnants of her broken sword lie uncollected on the ground.

The next morning...

Scott sits up quickly, his hands tangled tightly in his bedsheets. His neck and spine trill incessantly with fear. He takes several long, heavy breaths and forces himself to calm down. Just nightmares. They weren't real. Look around your tent and ground yourself. Scott leans forward, resting his arms on his knees as he wakes up. After a few minutes, he forces himself out of bed.

Scott washes his face in his basin and stares at himself in the mirror. If someone were to look at him from far away, they would say he's in good health, but perhaps in need of a haircut and a shave. Up close, their analysis would begin to differ. They would notice the fear in his eyes, the dilated pupils, the brow lines from long hours of intense concentration and nighttime struggle.

Scott slowly gets into his Heroic outfit and tries to convince himself he has an appetite. Breakfast will taste like ash in his mouth, but he needs the calories. He combs his hair, gives himself a thumbs-up to boost his spirits, and leaves the tent to face the day. The sun is already harsh and hot; Scott immediately shields his eyes and wishes he could go back inside.

Scott walks a few steps down the road and slows next to Camellia's tent. He thinks about his nightmares and feels a shiver crawl up his spine. Jinas is probably too busy to help with a problem as small as nightmares, but he knows Camellia will listen. Scott approaches and brushes her tent flap a few times over, an innovative way of knocking. Movement can be heard inside.

"Yes?" Camellia says through the canvas.

"It's me," Scott says. "I was thinking about getting some breakfast if you want to join."

"No, thank you. I have breakfast already."

Scott nods, forgetting for the moment that she can't see him.

"But," she says hesitantly, "I have some extra, if you don't mind sharing."

Scott pulls the canvas aside and immediately gets himself out of the sunlight.

Camellia steps back to make room for him, then steps away as he takes off his coat; he's already sweating. Scott crumples to the floor and lays flat on his back, spreading his arms and legs wide. A few seconds later, Camellia floats above him, leaning her chin on her fist.

"Rough night?" Camellia asks.

"Nightmares," Scott says. "I'm sorry. I don't have the appetite for breakfast."

"That's okay. I don't really have one, either."

"Headaches?"

"And nausea. It's slowly getting easier to deal with, but it still happens sometimes."

"Hey, I can talk to you about stuff, right? And you're not going to judge me or anything?"

"No, I won't judge you."

Scott hesitates, thinking about the first battle. "Have you ever screwed up in a major way and wondered if you could ever be forgiven for it?"

Camellia rubs her chin in thought, levitating slightly higher. "I'm sure I have, but I don't remember anything specific."

"Well, I screwed up. I made a huge mistake and I don't know if I could ever ask for forgiveness for it."

"How come?"

"It was just too damaging. I'm scared about what would happen if I faced it."

"Do you really think some mistakes are unforgivable?"

Scott goes to answer, but he stops. Camellia's face is very carefully guarded. Her question isn't a prompt; it's a challenge.

"I don't know," he finally confesses.

"Would you forgive someone else if they made the same mistake?"

"Well, yeah—"

"Then why don't you think you'd be forgiven, too?"

"Because I don't deserve it."

Scott feels a dizziness bloom in his stomach and realizes he accidentally spoke without filtering his thoughts. He waits to see if Camellia retaliates, but she doesn't. She waits patiently for him to speak, and he does.

"If it were anyone else but me," Scott continues, "they would deserve forgiveness. It's just a little mistake. But I shouldn't make those mistakes. I should be better than that."

"Better than _them_ , or better than _that_?"

"Better than doing what I did."

"Scott." Camellia floats down and grabs his face in her hands. "What happened is your business. However, I can say that the longer you feel guilty about this, the worse you'll feel. If you don't think you're worthy of asking forgiveness, fine, but at least forgive yourself for the mistake. And maybe think about apologizing to whoever you hurt."

Scott feels something loosen in his chest, a heavy knot which has been tied for a long time. Camellia's serious eyes, the subtle golden halo radiating from her head, the intensity in her voice—when did she become so strong and beautiful? Scott feels the urge to confess what he did rising in his throat. He can trust her, right?

It's then that he notices an invisible purple string connecting them together.

Scott immediately locks up. The incident in Monarch comes back to the forefront of his memory. He quickly averts his eyes and tries to think about his nightmares, but they hide themselves in the oneiric wasteland from which they emerged. Sensing his discomfort, Camellia floats away from him, and as she leaves, the purple string disappears. Scott lets out a sigh of relief, but with it comes a strange sense of disappointment. It takes him a moment to realize the disappointment he feels is not his own, but Camellia's. He looks over at his friend, but she doesn't meet his eyes. After a few moments of silence, Scott gets up and leaves the tent. Camellia doesn't stop him.

# Chapter Twelve

##...And Two Steps Back

One week later; refugee camp work yard, evening

"Alright," Drew says, wiping the sweat from his brow. "This is the last one. Got it in you?"

"You kidding?" Scott says. "I can do this all day."

Drew and Scott behold their last task of the day. A set of logs cured together with a powerful glue lies flat on the ground—the last of the two doors for the refugee camp's front gate. Planks of extra wood are nailed into the back for extra support. With this last piece, the refugee camp will have a full perimeter fence and three working gates with sentry platforms over each.

Drew moves to the top of the door and prepares to lift it perpendicular to the ground. He nods to Scott, squats deep, and pushes upward with all his might. Scott's eyes light up and the door shoves easily off the ground and stabilizes. Scott breathes evenly as he slowly works it into position at the camp's front entrance. A group of men stand nearby with Drew, helping Scott guide the door effectively. Once the door has been lined up with the newly-smithed hinges, the team hammers bolts into the support beams on the back. Drew shouts for Scott to let it go. Scott rescinds his magic and the door settles with a creak. He settles to the ground to catch his breath.

"Now that's work," Drew says, sitting next to him. "Don't let anyone say we didn't put in elbow grease with the rest of the crowd."

"We?" Scott grins. "I did most of the lifting."

"Using cheater powers doesn't count as lifting."

Drew and Scott take a moment to appreciate the finished product. The work crew has returned to the inner part of the work yard to get in line for the food stalls. In another hour, night will come to the camp. For the moment, the Woods are quiet save for the distant rustling of leaves in a faraway wind.

Scott feels something tickle in the back of his mind. He furrows his brow and looks over his shoulder at the dusky tree line. As he gets to his feet and walks toward the trees, Drew asks him if everything is okay. Scott doesn't feel the need to answer. He stops just short of entering the Woods and peers into the darkness.

A familiar presence needles him and Scott bolts upright. Salvation is coming. Magic pools in Scott's stomach, in his hands. Wasn't he supposed to stay in the Cemetery? Scott's head swims with thoughts of fighting the Master of Shades for dominion over Monarch. His stomach drops down to his knees as he remembers the first battle's slaughter. Voice begin to chitter in his ear.

"Whoa," Drew says, steadying Scott with both arms. "You want to sit down?"

"I'm fine," Scott insists shakily.

"Yeah, right. Come on, let's get back to camp."

Drew forces Scott away from the trees and walks him back toward the refugee camp. The voices grow in volume. Scott tries to block them out but they become louder. He looks in horror at the new front gate, burning orange with evening fires and glowing like the entrance to Hell. Purple strings reach out from the mouth of the gate, paralyzing him.

"Scott, you're heavy. Can you at least try to use the legs God gave you?"

When Scott doesn't answer, Drew sweeps Scott's legs out from under him and carries him through the front gate. The voices grow to a loud din and Scott covers his ears, shaking.

"Stop squirming, will you? You're hard enough to carry already."

"Voices..." Scott scans the area with a panicked gaze. "The voices..."

Drew stops for a moment near the work yard where every worker in the camp has come to assemble for food and every single person is connected to Scott by a purple string that only Scott can see. Scott feels his jaw lock up and his throat close. He's going to be sick.

"Hey"—Drew shakes Scott a little—"you okay?"

Scott looks up and sees a bright purple thread connecting him to Drew.

The ground shifts underfoot and a column of blue light pierces the sky.

Drew is shoved to the ground and he skids in the dirt. He quickly gets to his feet. Scott floats in the air above the work yard, his body cloaked in a crackling, dangerous blue aura.

"Hey!" Drew yells. "What the hell are you doing?"

Scott doesn't answer immediately. He covers his ears with his hands, his eyes wild.

Drew quickly glances around; people are beginning to crowd, though hesitantly, to see what the commotion is about. He tries to think of a plan while Scott's aura becomes brighter. Magic weighs heavily in the air.

"Hey," Drew tries, a little softer this time. "How about you come down from up there? You're scaring people."

Scott chokes and shakes his head.

Drew motions for the crowd to back away. Some people start to push others back and keep them away from the situation. Those at the back of the crowd leave the work yard, annoyed at being unable to see anything good.

A pulse of magic knocks Drew flat on the ground and scatters the crowd. Drew watches them flee in a panic as he gets to his feet. Scott clutches his head and curls into himself, shaking. A second pulse of magic, stronger this time, knocks over work benches and uproots tents across the yard. Now those in the food stalls and the remaining workers begin to run, some fleeing over the fence while others shove their way into the refugee camp. Drew looks around. A nearby water keg, its contents emptied on the ground, gives him an idea. He draws the water from the ground, whips it into a tight ball and shoots it directly at Scott. The bullet strikes him square in the face and Scott tumbles out of the air. Surprised at Scott's defenselessness, Drew hesitates for a second before lunging across the gap.

Scott slams into the ground before Drew can catch him, and when the dust clears, he isn't moving. Drew slides up on his knees and puts his palm under Scott's nose: he's still breathing. He takes off his shirt and puts it under Scott's head.

"Coming through!" screeches a tiny voice. "Stand aside, I am his doctor!"

Drew looks up as Jinas runs over. The doctor slings a first aid bag over his small shoulders and pops it open.

"What happened," Jinas demands, turning Scott on his side and going for his wrist. "All the details, everything you can remember."

"I don't know, he just started going crazy," Drew says. "We were putting up the front gate door and relaxing when he got up and walked toward the forest and started shaking. I thought he was just tired, so I helped him back to the camp and then he lost it. I had to knock him out before he got someone hurt."

"Where exactly did you hit him? How many times?"

"Just once, right here." Drew points to Scott's face. Jinas tentatively probes the bone structure.

"Hairline fractures," he says bitterly. "How did he land? Did he hit his head or his neck?"

"I couldn't tell. He just fell all at once."

Jinas heaves a distressed sigh. "Where is Gabriel when you need him?"

"I'm here!" yells Gabriel, shouldering through a new crowd which has come back to see the aftermath. "I came as soon as I—Chaldir's beard, what happened to the work yard? Did a tornado come through?"

"Scott had a breakdown," Jinas explains. "He's unconscious and I don't know if he landed on his head. Hairline fractures on his zygomatic and maxilla. I need to get him to his tent right away. Gabriel, you carry him. Drew, clear a path."

Gabriel lifts Scott over his shoulders and Drew moves ahead to part the crowd. The curious onlookers try to talk to Drew and Jinas, asking them what happened, asking them if Scott is going to be okay. Drew always answers that he doesn't know and isn't sure. Jinas says nothing.

Once Gabriel nears Scott's tent, the two stationed guards move forward to stop the crowd from pressing any further. Drew and Jinas are allowed to pass, but before they do, Drew hears rumors starting to spread through the crowd. He debates turning around to stop the gossip until he hears Gabriel grunt and lay Scott down on his cot. Drew quickly heads inside. Jinas paces back and forth at the head of the bed.

"Tell me again," Jinas says, rubbing his neck. "All the details. We need to know what set Scott off."

Drew once again tells him the story of the afternoon: setting up the front gate, Scott walking away, carrying him back into the camp, and then the inexplicable outburst.

"Had to be something in the trees," Gabriel says. "I'll have some scouts check the perimeter for anything suspicious."

"I'll need you to check his head," Jinas says. "He may have some internal damage."

" _Some_?" Drew chuckles, drawing their stares. "It's probably nothing but soup in there."

"I'm sorry, is this funny to you?"

"Why are you two so worried? So, Scott took a bit of a fall. No big deal. He'll be fine in a day like he always is. Just let him sleep it off."

No one says anything for a moment. Then, Jinas says, "We can take it from here. You can leave now, Drew."

"You don't need my help?"

"You've done enough already!" Jinas shouts. "Get out!"

Drew looks at the doctor a little strangely, then leaves the tent and closes the tent flap behind him. Inside the tent, Gabriel leans on a table and looks across at Jinas. "What do you think?"

"I think Scott is hiding something from me."

"Oh, bold assumption."

"How is it bold? I have a stack of notebooks about him as tall as my waist sitting in my tent. I would have been able to predict a breakdown of this size if he was perfectly truthful with me. I _should_ have been able to predict this. He trusts me and I wasn't able to..."

Jinas goes quiet. Gabriel is struck by how young he looks.

"Scott is all I have left," Jinas says. "He's already unstable despite everything I'm doing for him. It seems like bad luck just follows at his heels, nipping and biting with every step he takes. He's bound to trip sooner or later, but I fear one day he won't be able to get back up."

Gabriel can't think of a reply.

One hour later

"...so in any case," Drew says, "that's been my evening."

"Jeez," Bennie says, chomping down on a piece of hard-crusted bread. "I knew Scott was going to crack someday, but I didn't think it'd be so soon. Maybe way, way down the road when we're all gods, you know?"

Drew laughs a little nervously at the thought. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

"You know what I've been thinking about recently?"

"No, what?"

"We never got to do our promised duel. You, me, Camellia, and Stanley all made a promise to fight each other to see who was the strongest, remember? It's kind of silly looking back on it, but I like to think we had good ideas back then."

"Me too. I miss adventuring."

"Who do you think the strongest is now? Of those here, I mean."

"Camellia," Drew says without missing a beat. "I really don't think any of us can beat her."

"I could," Bennie pouts.

Drew laughs good-naturedly. "Maybe in your dreams."

"Well I could certainly beat _you_."

"Oh? Is that a challenge I hear, Ms. Balachie?"

"Maybe it is, Mr. King. You chicken?"

"Now you've hurt my pride. It's on."

Bennie and Drew jostle each other on the way to the arena. Drew lights the lamps and torches around the perimeter while Bennie fetches training swords for them to practice with. She doesn't come back for a few minutes, and when she finally does reappear, she's coughing softly and trying to hide it. Drew gives her a nervous look but decides not to press her to reconsider, especially after Bennie yells at him to stop standing around with his head in the clouds and get in the arena for a fight.

"You know," Drew says, swinging his sword in a circular loop, "they called me the Sandy Swordsman back in high school."

"Really?" Bennie replies. "I remember them calling you Punching Bag and Lunch Meat."

"If you want to call this off before I get serious, I won't blame you."

"Oh, shut up and hit me."

With a shrug, Drew jumps forward and swings his sword like a baseball bat. Bennie parries it easily and slaps him in the shoulder. Drew drops his sword, surprised.

"What?" Bennie jeers, holding her sword casually over her shoulder. "Didn't believe I had actual skills?"

"Of course not; I thought you were all hot air."

They spar intermittently, never exchanging more than five or six back-and-forth blows at a time. They skirt around each other, dust spraying from the shifts and slides of their feet in the dirt and sand. Drew notices quickly that Bennie focuses only on countering. She remains on the defensive and fends off his attacks as they come, never aggressing except to get him to react or press the advantage. Drew tries to measure his attacks so they're hard enough to train with, but not hard enough to hurt, and he listens intently to Bennie's breathing. When she's wheezing loud enough to hear even when he's standing several paces away, Drew dramatically plants the tip of his sword in the dirt and sinks to his knees.

"You've bested me," he declares, faking his fatigue. "I know when I'm beat."

"Oh... Yeah?" Bennie wheezes, unable to fake her fatigue. "I guess"—she coughs—"I guess you learned your lesson."

"I need some water."

"You're... the water guy. You... figure it out." Bennie gestures vaguely at the stands. "I'm gonna..."

She devolves into a harsh, violent coughing fit, and Drew runs over to make sure she's okay. Bennie waves him off, saying something about water before continuing to cough. She spits on the ground and Drew tries not to look even though he can smell blood. He hurries away and finds two large wooden barrels situated on the other side of the supply shed, both filled up with clear water. He grabs a bucket, fills it full, snags a ladle and runs back toward the arena. Bennie sits on the bottom row of the stands with her arms and head over her knees.

As he approaches, he's relieved to hear that her breathing isn't as ragged anymore. She doesn't appear to be coughing, either. Drew clears his throat; Bennie looks up as he puts the bucket at her feet and hands her the ladle.

"Just one ladle?" she says. "Are we sharing?"

"I can go get another one."

"No, it's no problem. Take a load off."

Drew sits next to his friend and reclines, resting his warm muscles. Bennie slurps loudly from the ladle, then softly, suddenly remembering she's not alone. She passes it to Drew who takes a quiet sip. The arena stretches beyond them, the perimeter lined with a small wooden fence and periodic torch posts which cast flickering pools of orange firelight on the ground. The Renean night sky, speckled with tiny pinpricks of light, stretches above them with an infinite clearness. For the first time, Drew realizes he doesn't know any of the constellations. He's about to start making some up when Bennie pushes herself to her feet.

"Well?" Bennie asks. "Ready for round two?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I need the practice."

"I don't think that's a good idea. Don't pretend like you weren't about to collapse a few minutes ago."

"Oh, I'm fine," Bennie insists, steadying herself on the barrier between the stands and the arena. "I just had a small coughing fit. I've been good all day. Now come on."

"You know, if I was sick like you, I wouldn't be training as hard."

"And that's why no one will remember your name."

Drew can't help but laugh. "Yeah," he says, "that's the Bennie I remember."

"Sorry it took me so long to get back," Bennie says with a grin.

"Doesn't matter to me. You're here, you're getting stronger, and you're not going anywhere soon."

Bennie's smile fades. She twiddles her fingers. "Well..." she says softly. "Well, I..."

"Hey!" Gabriel exclaims brightly, coming around the corner of the arena and startling them both. "What's going on? I heard some commotion coming from the arena and thought I'd investigate."

"Where the hell did you come from?" Bennie demands.

"Weren't you helping with Scott?" Drew asks, annoyed at being interrupted.

"Scott who? Oh, him. Scott's fine, probably."

"Probably? Well is he awake? Why didn't anyone come get me?"

"Yes, he's awake," says Gabriel. "But I wouldn't say he's doing fine. He's in pain and there's something going on that he won't tell us about."

"Something like what?"

"Well, if I knew that, I wouldn't be wondering about it, would I? He certainly won't talk to me and he's not talking to Jinas, either. Yes, it's a real predicament we've found ourselves in. In any case, either of you interested in getting him to open up? I really want to know what's going on."

Drew and Bennie exchange a glance. Something feels off.

"I'll think about it," Drew finally says, just to get Gabriel to stop staring expectantly.

"I really appreciate that," Gabriel says. He suddenly throws a look over his shoulder. "Right, I've gotta run. You two stay out of trouble, okay?"

Gabriel hurries around the far corner of the arena and barely gets out of sight when Roger comes flying around the opposite corner of the stands with his staff in hand. He runs up to Bennie and Drew and then stops cold. The blue scar on his face glints in the dim light.

"Hey Roger," Drew says. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," he replies, not even glancing at him. He slowly turns his head, scanning the area. "Just fine."

"Is everything okay?"

"Something in this camp has been bothering me for weeks now. I chased it here, but now it's gone." Roger catches the look in Drew's eyes. "I'm not crazy. I've been crazy; I know when I'm feeling things that aren't real. This is real—more importantly, this is dangerous."

"It is?" Bennie says, worried.

"Yes, it is. I need to keep investigating. Excuse me."

"Hey!" Drew gets up as Roger starts to walk away. At the man's expectant stare, Drew fishes for something to say. "How are you doing?" he tries. "Are you, you know, okay? About Jenna and everything."

Roger's face hardens immediately. "I'll be fine when Riel is dead," he says tersely. "Now, again, if you'll excuse me."

He walks off without another word. Bennie stares after him, concerned, but Drew waves his hand dismissively.

"He's just chasing ghosts," Drew says. "Just let him be. Losing Jenna is still heavy on him right now."

"I guess." Bennie pauses. "Are you really going to go talk to Scott?"

"No way, at least not tonight. I want him to rest for a bit." Drew picks up their water bucket, now empty. "You hungry? I could use some fuel."

"I'm going to clean up first. Go on without me."

Bennie gets to her feet and heads into the Woods to clean up in the river, coughing into her elbow. Drew looks up at the sky; it smells like rain is coming. He quickly heads for the marketplace to get something to eat before the stalls get too busy.

Later that night; Scott's tent, refugee camp, the Woods

"Scott?" Camellia says softly, pushing the tent flap aside. "Are you awake?"

Scott weakly sits up and raises a hand. "Hey. Is that rain I hear?"

"It just started a few minutes ago. I thought I'd come visit you before it gets bad." Camellia brings a chair to the head of the bed. "Is everything okay?"

"I just had a rough evening."

"What do you mean?"

"Just a little breakdown. It's nothing to worry about, honest. I'll be fine by tomorrow."

"A breakdown?" Camellia says. "No one came to tell _me_ about it."

"They probably didn't want to bother you. It really is nothing. I'm feeling better already."

"I would have come earlier if I'd known. I want to be with you when you're hurting."

"Hah, me? Hurting? I'm not hurting. I'm just a little tired."

"Is that true?"

Scott stares at her for a second, then sighs. His expression is heavy.

Camellia scoots closer to her friend. "What's going on?"

"I don't know if I... I don't want you to think less of me."

"I won't. Is everything okay?"

"No," Scott whispers. "No, it's not. I'm not okay. I'm not okay at all."

Camellia waits for him to continue.

"It's my head," he confesses. "For months I've been hearing these voices in chattering in my ear. Sometimes they're shouting, sometimes they're just whispering, but they're always there, and when they get too overwhelming I'm reminded of what happened last time I went to Monarch and I start to panic. Even when I think I've shut them out, if I let my guard down for a second, they start up again and they're always so loud and painful. I wish I could turn them off for good. It goes away when I sleep, but then I..." Scott closes his eyes, shutting out the thought.

"What is it?"

"I don't want to scare you."

"What parts of it would scare me?"

"All of it."

Camellia is silent for a few moments. She gingerly reaches out and touches Scott on the arm, drawing his attention. "I know you don't want to talk about what's hurting you, but you're my friend. Being friends means sharing personal stuff sometimes, even when it's scary—especially when it's scary."

Scott takes a steadying breath. "When I sleep, sometimes I get nightmares. Those are worse than the voices, worse than anything. In my nightmares I'm trapped in this empty void, like a dreamless sleep, except I can tell I exist even though there's nothing there. Every few seconds I'm realizing over and over that I exist, and every few minutes I realize the void is totally empty except for me, and then I forget and remember it again and it just goes on forever, like I'm trapped in this world of oblivion where even my consciousness can't exist. I panic and try to scream or cry or something but I'm just trapped and I can't breathe and can't move or think and all around me there's just _nothing_ —"

"Scott." A hand presses into his shoulder. "Please open your eyes."

He opens his eyes. Everything in the tent is floating in mid-air, even his cot and sheets. Even Camellia.

Scott recoils and everything drops back to the ground, clattering into disarray. He closes his eyes and covers his ears with both hands, shaking. Camellia drifts slowly back to the ground. She takes a few moments to reset the tables, equipment, and chairs before taking a seat near Scott again.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," he whispers. "If it wasn't for me, things would still be okay."

"What do you mean?"

Scott hesitates. The need to confess rises into his throat. Camellia looks at him with soft, patient eyes.

"I didn't..." He swallows hard. "I didn't mean to hurt those people. I just wanted the voices to stop, just for a little bit. I just wanted it to be quiet again. I was so tired of hearing the voices, so I reached out and made everyone stop moving, stop fighting. Then they held on to me and they wouldn't let go, like I was their only hope for redemption, and when the killing started, I had to suffer with them. Why me? Why would they choose to cling to me? They were all so scared. I couldn't..."

Camellia reaches out and holds Scott's hand comfortingly. Scott takes in a breath.

"I felt them die," he says. "I felt pain when they were stabbed, fear when they screamed. I could _feel_ their spirits fading away. One of them didn't die immediately and bled out voiceless in the dirt, and I was just frozen, unable to think, feeling this man bleed out as if I myself were bleeding out. I felt my head go dizzy and my body grow cold and weak. So many voices and all of them were screaming so loud. When we got back from the city, I tried to tell myself I'd done something good, that when the nomads were killed, an evil in this world was forever extinguished. In reality, those nomads were no different from us. They were real, misguided people just looking for something to believe in when indifferent gods turned their backs on them. What makes them any different from us? They bleed and cry and laugh just like we do. I can still hear them screaming for help, for mercy, for someone to come save them, but none of them realized I was holding them hostage. I wanted to let them go, but they wouldn't stop screaming. They just kept holding on to me and begging for help and I... I couldn't..."

Scott trails off and holds his head with one hand. A bright purple thread stretches between him and Camellia. He looks at it worriedly, but instead of hearing voices, all he hears is the gentle rhythm of Camellia's heartbeat. He looks up at her and for the first time he really sees her understanding eyes, her radiant skin, the kindness of her face. The distant patter of rain highlights the faint golden halo around her head. A moment of realization comes over him and a feeling like the breath of life swells into his lungs. His throat catches.

"It's okay," Camellia whispers. "You don't have to be alone."

Scott feels something in his heart come undone and bubble to the surface. He doesn't try to stop it.

It rains for a long time.

# Chapter Thirteen

## New Life

Near the refugee camp marketplace, the Woods

Gabriel has been having quite a pleasant night.

He's hidden several sacks of foodstuffs and watched as an angry manager yelled at his new clerk for making such a colossal mistake. He's tricked a drunk man to go back to his tent and beat his son for not being grateful and helping the Heroes, even though his son is barely a teenager and twisted his knee two days ago running a message for Nysse. He then convinced a merchant that his wife was looking for him, leaving his stall open just long enough for a group of ambitious boys to plunder the entire stock. The greed in their eyes was delectable. The look on the merchant's face when he returned was priceless.

He's been very careful about keeping himself hidden, using only his words to accomplish some light entertainment. He's slightly annoyed by his limits, but that only makes the game more exciting. People seem eager to trust and believe him whenever he talks, so the real trick becomes how can he best manipulate trust and authority and keep his composure all at the same time? When he thinks about it that way, his limits becomes a trivial consideration. Sitting at a table enjoying the cool forest air, Gabriel thinks the night can't get any better—until, that is, he spots Kexal brooding alone at a table.

In that dark storm cloud around Kexal's head, Gabriel sees the opportunity to stir up something incredible. He approaches without a word and slides into the seat opposite. It takes a minute for Kexal to look up.

"Oh, hey Gabriel." He wipes his face, trying to mask his intense expression. "I didn't hear you come over."

"Looking kind of blue there," Gabriel says, leaning on a fist. "What's on your mind?"

"Just thinking."

"Thinking about Bennie again, huh?"

Kexal doesn't reply for a second. "Yeah," he finally says. "I miss being around her. She's been so busy lately it feels like we haven't talked in months."

"It's hard being away from someone you're close to, isn't it? I understand."

"Do you?"

"Of course. I was separated from my spiritmate for millennia. Loneliness is something I can always sympathize with."

"Let me ask you something." Kexal looks around, then leans in. "You know I've got a thing for Bennie, right?"

Gabriel grins widely. "I do now."

"Well, I've been thinking, and I really want to try to be with her. I know she's available. Do you think I have a shot?"

"Nope."

"What?"

"As in nope, no way. As in you don't have a chance in hell."

"Oh." Kexal is caught off-guard. "You don't think so?"

"Oh, wait, were you serious?"

"Of course I was serious! I wouldn't joke about that."

Gabriel barks a loud, sharp laugh. "Oh man, you really are pathetic."

Kexal's ears redden. "What?"

"Do I think you have a shot with Bennie? No. You're one of the weakest, angriest little boys I've ever met. What woman would love a man with a short temper and an inability to show that he cares? You realize, of course, I'm talking about you. What woman in her right mind would fall for _you_?"

"What's your problem, you son of a bitch?"

"Oh, am I upsetting you? You think you're so above reproach that you can sit here in silent anger because a woman won't spend time with you? That's just pathetic. You have no idea how spineless you are. You must view yourself as so righteous and above reproach, fighting a one-man war against your secret fears and anxieties, hoping to get the girl at the end of the day because that's what the shining knight in armor always gets, isn't it? You're a damn coward. What have you done to prove yourself a man? What have you done to show your worth to her? You're just a powerless insect in a world full of astonishingly powerful gods, constantly outclassed at every turn, never improving yourself or playing to your strengths, and your solution is to pretend you're above it all and that you have a shot with one of the most powerful Heroes currently living? Laughable. If you were to kill yourself right now, even the worms wouldn't touch you."

"Gabriel, I'm warning you—"

"It makes me laugh how hard you 'try' when all you do is fail. You're destroying yourself for a woman who will never love you as much as you love her. Did you hear me? Bennie doesn't care about spending time with you. She doesn't think about you at all. She only _tolerates_ you, and only because it's her social obligation to do so. Do you think that just because you helped her on her quest that you have some claim to her? I guarantee that if she had her way, you wouldn't be here anymore. You would be back in the Ruins leeching off the good faith of others like the parasite you are. She can't stand the sight of you. She balks at the very idea of talking to you. You do nothing but repulse her, so don't kid yourself. Don't pretend you have some moral high ground, some claim to this girl, that she owes you anything more than a sharp glare. It's _you_ who's ruined her life and brought her nothing but misery and grief. Don't you remember? You were the one who brought her right to the feet of the Skeleton King when she was at her weakest and she nearly died because of it. You harassed her when she was trying to mend a broken heart. She lost the man she loved; she needed time alone, needed someone to show her love and gentle support, and your brilliant solution was to _force_ her to be with people? Please; the only thing you've ever cared about is yourself. All you've done is pine for someone who clearly doesn't want you in her life. Do I think you have a shot? No. Bennie will _never_ love you. She will always hate you because you, as a person, are fundamentally broken inside and you will never be fixed."

Kexal glowers at Gabriel in furious silence.

"And," Gabriel says, leaning in, "because I know it's all you really want from her anyways, I'll tell you a little secret: she hates the idea of laying with you more than anything else."

Kexal shoots to his feet and pistol-punches Gabriel in the face, knocking the man out of his chair. Kexal storms away without even glancing over his shoulder.

Gabriel touches his nose and wipes away a small bit of blood. That felt good, even if he got too into it. Roger will be coming soon. Small wisps of magenta magic swirl around his head, shimmering in the low market light. As a light rain begins to fall, he simply vanishes as if he were never there in the first place.

Roger comes running into the marketplace and stops at the overturned chair. He looks around slowly, listening. Nothing beyond the sounds of the night reaches his ears; nothing remains of the ghost he was chasing. It looks to be another dead end. However, just when he's about to leave, he senses a faint trail of magic leaving the marketplace. Roger sets the chair upright and follows the trail.

Kexal paces in a loop around a collection of tents and supply crates, going over the verbal lashing in his head. Who the hell does he think he is? That bastard. One punch wasn't good enough for him. Next time he'll be getting a whole suite of punches delivered, first class.

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, some things Gabriel said were true. He brought her right to Riel and nearly got her killed. He forced her to rejoin their group when more time alone might have helped her get better. He hasn't been improving himself or utilizing his strengths at all. Damn him, why did he have to be right about anything? Does Bennie hate him after all? Is that why he hasn't been seeing her recently? Kexal runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. He's never wanted to see someone and not see someone so much in his entire life.

Kexal stuffs his hands in his pockets and shakes the light rain out of his hair; it doesn't look like it'll stop anytime soon. He heads toward one of the camp's side gates, intent on taking a walk to get his mind off things. On his way through the camp, someone shouts out his name, grabbing his attention.

"Hey, Kexal!" Drew is waving at him. "We're going to get a few drinks. Want to come with?"

Kexal goes to reply but stops when he sees Gabriel standing near Drew. Something screws into his stomach and he shakes his head, muttering something as he leaves. Drew and Gabriel exchange a glance but decide not to push him.

"Please," a tiny voice breathes, jogging up behind the pair. "Please, walk slower. I've been moving all day."

"Are you sure you can drink?" Drew asks, patting Jinas on the back. "You're a little young, aren't you?"

"What's age got to do with it? I'm perfectly healthy."

"No drinking age restrictions here," says Gabriel. "Besides, do you think anyone cares about policing drinking habits during the end of the world?"

Drew doesn't get to reply. Roger comes barreling around the corner and screeches to a stop in front of them.

"Hey," he pants. "Did anyone come by here?"

"Yeah, Kexal did. Why?"

"Kexal!" Roger yells as he disappears into the distance. "Kexal, we need to talk!"

A little later

"Rotten rain," Gabriel says, slamming his glass of Green on the table. "Good for making the plants grow, bad for everything else. We can't train in muddy fields, you know. I wish it would just go away already."

"Geez," Drew chuckles, "I didn't know you could get so drunk off one glass of alcohol."

"Listen"—Gabriel points his glass at Drew, sloshing some of the drink on the tabletop—"I've been stone cold sober for centuries. Probably. I have drinks here and there, or on more than one occasion, or every so often—Hey, don't give me that look. I'm not some no-name drunk in the Peaks taverns, you know."

"And yet here you are, wasted off just one glass."

"This is my _third_. Could be my second. My fourth? Jinas, how many have I had?"

"I haven't been paying attention," Jinas replies, "but I can definitely tell you're tipsy. Maybe you should slow down."

"Ah, don't be a wet blanket. I'm gonna show you how we drink in the Woods."

Gabriel pauses with his glass to his mouth when he notices Roger approaching the table. The man takes Gabriel's drink from his hand, downs the rest of it in one long swig, and slaps it triumphantly on the table.

" _That_ ," he says pointedly, "is how we drink in the Ocean."

"Show off," Gabriel grumbles, getting up to get his glass refilled. Roger lets out a contented sigh as he settles into Gabriel's empty chair.

"You're looking pleased," Drew says casually. "Have a good evening?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I did. After weeks of searching, I finally discovered what's been bothering me for so long. I just need one more thing to be certain."

Gabriel comes back with his glass and, finding no more available chairs, walks away to get an extra. Roger scrutinizes him carefully.

"Hey," he asks. "Has Gabriel been with you two all night?"

"He was with Katrina earlier and was working with Nysse before that," Drew answers, sipping at his drink.

"He also helped me tend to Scott's wounds," Jinas adds. He half-chuckles, surprised at how normal that sentence has become.

"I knew it," Roger mutters. "Drew, tell all the Heroes and Emissaries you see from now on that I'm holding a critically important meeting tomorrow night. Attendance is mandatory."

"Can't you just run your own errands?"

"I will be, but I want you talking to people and reminding them too."

"Camellia is still under quarantine," Jinas says. "But if it is very urgent, you can go in by yourself and tell her what you need to."

"Or you could release her for a night," Roger suggests. "It'll just be us, no one else."

"Camellia can't handle more than one person at a time right now. She'll simply shut down, or worse, she'll just leave. She stays in her tent until I clear her."

"Are those seals I put up still active?"

"Yes. I check them every night. In fact, it's about time to go check them if you want to come with me."

"Sure. I wanted to ask you about a few things..."

Jinas and Roger get up and start talking as they walk away. Gabriel shows up a half-second later with an extra chair he no longer needs. He slaps it into the table and flops back into his old seat with a sigh.

"So much for drinking," Gabriel says, sipping the foam off his glass of Green. "This was supposed to be a party."

"Well, there's still me and you," Drew says. "We could go get into trouble somewhere. Want to go hide some supplies and see who gets yelled at?"

"Don't tempt me. I'm almost drunk enough to agree."

"Gabriel?" a new voice exclaims. Drew turns to see Katrina a few feet away, her hands on her hips. "Are you drinking?"

"What, me?" Gabriel looks at his glass, then casually slides it toward Drew. "No way. All his idea."

"Oh, you _are_! What's worse, you're drinking without me!" Katrina digs an arm under Gabriel's and forces him to his feet. "Come on, it's late and I haven't had drinks either."

"Why don't we stay?" Gabriel says. "We could always use more people. I'll go get Nysse and Scott. It'll be like a party!"

"Because _you_ have work to do tomorrow and Drew doesn't know how to deal with you when you're drunk. Now let's go."

"Oh!" Drew gets to his feet as Katrina drags Gabriel away. "Roger's having a mandatory meeting tomorrow night! Heroes and Emissaries only."

Katrina motions that she got the message. Gabriel slouches on her shoulder, saying something incomprehensible. It takes Drew a moment to realize he's alone at a table with almost two full glasses of a very strong alcohol that he isn't going to drink. It's also getting late and the fatigue from the day is finally starting to set in. He stands, stretches his back and heads toward his tent. As he rounds the last corner, he spots a light on in Bennie's tent. He passes it unthinkingly then, remembering Roger's meeting, turns back.

"Hey Bennie?" he calls, brushing the front of her tent with his hand. "You up?"

Bennie pops her head out, her hair a little damp. "Oh, hey, come in. You'll have to forgive the mess, I'm reorganizing things."

The inside of Bennie's tent is, as Drew expected, less than tidy. A few personal effects lay strewn about the floor and the gemstone lamp hanging from a stand in the corner of the room flickers weakly; it needs to be changed soon. Her armor hangs on a sturdy armor stand, though it could use a good polishing. Aside from that, however, her tent is remarkably similar to his own: a real bed with a pillow and blankets, a small mirror, a four-legged desk with a chair, and a wooden trunk for personal effects. Drew takes a seat in her desk chair.

"Okay"—Bennie hops up onto her bed—"so, before you say anything, is it bad news?"

"Why would it be bad news?"

"I'm just trying to manage my expectations."

Drew feels a hot flash go through him. He shakes it off. "Roger's having a meeting tomorrow night," he says. "He wants all Heroes and Emissaries to attend."

"Is Camellia going?"

"Jinas was saying something about a quarantine. I was drinking so I didn't pay too much attention."

Bennie coughs a few times. "Is he still on about that? He pulled me out of 'quarantine' after only a few days of rest. It's not like Camellia is going through anything worse than what I did."

"Well, it _is_ head trauma. Maybe there's some protocol we don't know about."

"Still, I should be able to see my friend anytime I want to. I hear Scott is visiting her all the time now. Seems like someone is playing favorites."

"If Jinas were playing favorites, wouldn't you be on his list? I'm the only one who hasn't been in a medical tent for longer than a few minutes."

"I guess. Hey, consider yourself lucky. People in the medical camp love to hover around the Heroes. It's so weird being treated like an alien."

"By all accounts, we are aliens."

"It still feels weird." Bennie pauses. "So, meeting tomorrow?"

"Yep. That's all I had to say." Drew gets to his feet and starts to leave. "It's late, so I'm going to call it a night. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Hey, Drew?"

He pauses at her tent flap. "Yeah?"

"Do you ever feel stressed?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know." Bennie fidgets. "Stressed. Worn out. Like a lot of people are expecting a lot from you and you don't know if you can do everything for everyone at once."

"Sometimes." Drew takes a seat in her desk chair again. "I feel like I'm always busy with something. My faction wants me to train them, Gabriel wants me to help plan our war strategies, and people are always wanting to talk to me and ask me questions and spend time with me. I know it comes with being a Hero, but it feels like I never have time to relax and unwind anymore. You?"

"Well... I don't know, I think getting tired when we sparred worried me more than I thought. I thought I was getting stronger but now I'm not so sure. What if I'm not getting stronger at all? Then I started thinking about training my faction and how I'll have to fight Riel soon and I just..." She shakes her head.

"Hey." Drew stands and opens his arms. "Come here."

Bennie gets off her bed and buries herself in his arms. Drew strokes her head soothingly.

"You'll be okay," he says. "It's okay to feel stressed. Just remember that we've all got your back, no matter what."

"Thanks," Bennie murmurs, her face buried in his shoulder.

Drew runs his fingers through Bennie's hair. "Man, your hair is really long."

"Yeah," she says, pulling back, "I'm thinking I should get a haircut."

"Nah, it's cute like this. If you put it in a ponytail, it'd look even cuter."

Bennie huffs and Drew chuckles. Still embraced, they begin to really look at each other. Drew feels his heart begin to pound. Bennie blinks softly, scanning the look on Drew's face. She knows it. She's seen it before. After a few seconds of silence, Drew impulsively leans in and kisses her.

They kiss for only a moment, and when Drew pulls away, Bennie is staring up at him intensely. Drew chuckles nervously. Bennie half-steps away. Drew almost pulls her back, but then realizes she has the front of his shirt gripped in her hand. Bennie leads him slowly toward her bed, slowly sits on the edge, then sharply tugs Drew by the scuff of his shirt. Drew stumbles forward and sprawls his arms out; Bennie drops flat on her back, pinned. Bennie starts fervently undoing the buttons on Drew's shirt. Slightly stupefied, Drew stares down at Bennie while he watches her fumble with his shirt and sleeves. He looks at her furrowed brow, her soft lips, the eager smolder in her eyes as his heart thunders in his ears.

Bennie finally pulls Drew's shirt off and tosses it to the floor. She stares at the sun-tanned skin and the lithe muscle on his stomach and chest. It isn't until her burning gaze reaches his face that she realizes he's staring right at her. Bennie looks away for a moment, embarrassed, then meets his gaze again. He hasn't looked away.

Drew moves down and kisses her again, longingly, deeply. As one hand traces her face and the other slides up her nightgown, the gemstone lamp in the corner of the room flickers once, twice, and then goes out.

Bennie lazily breathes in as her body starts to wake up. Her lungs suck in the air like frayed bellows. It takes her a moment to realize she's awake and another moment to realize today is a training day. Bennie lets out a long sigh and rolls over to slide out of bed.

Instead, she bumps her face into Drew King's shoulder. Her heart skips a beat. He stirs slightly, then rolls away from Bennie, his shoulders and upper back riddled with red scratch marks. Slight embarrassment prods her brain at the memory of last night. She decides to let him sleep for a bit longer before waking and sneaking him out. Bennie slips out of the other side of the bed and heads to her armor stand to change, coughing lightly into her elbow. She glances in her mirror and reaches up to scratch her nose.

Sparks immediately jump from her skin.

Bennie jumps, then leans back in. A trick of the light? She scratches at her nose again.

Sparks burst into the air.

Bennie rubs her fingers together and tongues of flame froth between her fingers. She opens her hand and a ball of fire forms almost instantly.

Bennie bolts into the street not a heartbeat later.

She tosses the tent flap aside and feels herself come completely undone. Heat waves radiate from her body, tossing her hair and billowing her nightgown. The heat transforms into sparks, and with a sharp, resounding _click_ , Bennie's body bursts into white-hot flames, blackening the ground.

She inspects her arms, her hands, her legs. She can feel the warmth and power surging through her as if it never left, as if it had been long slumbering until finally waking up. Bennie breathes in and lets out a long, low breath, and the flames swell in response. Distantly, she hears someone yelling for water.

She tenses her muscles and pools energy in her stomach. She instantly feels the familiar rush of adrenalin and tension take hold of her body. Bennie lets the pressure build and build until her body can't restrain it anymore. She lets out a primal scream and a pillar of flames blazes into the sky. The magic relentlessly rips through her veins until she's too overwhelmed to maintain control. The fire peters out in a swirling puff and she collapses flat on her back, exhausted and giddy.

# Chapter Fourteen

## Glowing

Refugee camp, Hero headquarters; morning

"You nearly burned down the entire camp."

"I know! Isn't it great?" Bennie passes little fireballs between her hands. "Look at this! Look at them go!"

"Bennie, please." Gabriel plants a hand on her shoulder, then pulls away; her armor is scalding hot. "I'm happy you have your powers again, but you caused a lot of damage—"

"Right, right, the damage, of course." Bennie's hair surges upwards like fire, then settles, then surges upwards again. She giggles. "I missed doing that."

"You know," Nysse says, catching Gabriel's attention, "Drew is already patching the damaged tents anyways. I'm sure once she gets used to her powers again, she'll go make a real apology. Right, Bennie?"

"Look!" Bennie makes a fiery circle in the air and holds it out for them to see. "Anyone want to start a circus?"

Gabriel gives Nysse a look. She doesn't appear fazed.

"Bennie," he says. "Can you promise me you won't go burning things down or starting fires all over the place? No one in the camp knows you lost your powers in the first place. Suddenly setting things on fire will cause people to start asking questions. Try to lay low for a little while, okay?"

"Oh _sure_ , you can count on me! Oh, I should go see Katrina. She'll be so excited!"

Bennie flits out of the tent with a spring in her step. Gabriel sighs and drops into his chair, staring glumly at a table cluttered with logistical papers and battle formations. Nysse waits for him to speak.

"How?" Gabriel finally asks. He looks up at Nysse. "Why? Of all the times this could have happened, why now?"

"She has been training very hard these past few weeks."

"Then it should have happened during training, not after she just woke up."

"Maybe resting helped her reach a breakthrough. I hope you didn't believe she was going to pick up a sword and suddenly start shooting fireballs again."

"You don't need to be sarcastic."

"And you don't need to be suspicious."

"What do you want me to say, Nysse? Do you want me to just ignore something that screams 'how convenient'? What if she loses her powers again, or what if someone else loses theirs? We need to know exactly what triggered it so we can understand it."

"I don't think you realize how huge this is for Bennie. When was the last time you saw her this happy? You ought to focus on the good, and if you're really unable to contain your suspicion, why not just ask her?"

"Bennie has been struggling with this for _months_ , and just one day she wakes up fine? That's a huge red flag to me. What caused this, why, and could it be repeated if necessary? These powers could only be temporary. What if she charges headlong into Monarch, loses her powers, and gets herself killed? What if someone else loses their powers? I have to know. It's my job to plan around anything, even if I can't prevent everything."

"I understand. But please try to be excited about this."

Nysse leaves the tent. Gabriel turns his attention back to his table. The pages blur into each other and the once crisp soldier formations look like a garbled mess of lines and circles. The pictures reach his eyes, but he might as well be looking at blank paper. As he pushes himself away to take a walk to clear his head, someone throws the tent flap aside. Roger stands on the threshold.

"We've got a problem."

Gabriel sighs. "What is it?"

"Don't worry, I'm taking care of it. If you see any of the Heroes or Emissaries, tell them we have a meeting tonight. It's critically important."

"Aren't you going to tell me what the problem is?"

"And spoil the surprise?"

"Roger, I've got a lot to do tonight. I still haven't figured out what caused our army to stop fighting en masse last time we went to Monarch. There's also been reports of thievery that I have to address. And you heard about Bennie, right? I'm going to be busy all today trying to figure out how she just suddenly woke up and had her powers back."

"As long as you're at the meeting."

Roger leaves the tent. Gabriel leans on his hand. After brooding in silence for a few minutes, he drags his papers close and starts burying himself in work.

The training arena, refugee camp; late morning

"...so instead of trying to overwhelm Riel with strong attacks, why don't I try to hit him with counters?"

"I see," Katrina mutters absently. "Use your legs a little more when you strike."

"Because think about it"—Bennie steps in and smacks the wooden training dummy with her sword—"I can't outlast him even if I was healthy. But maybe by countering and making the most of _his_ openings instead of relying on matching brute strength with raw strength... Hey, you're not even listening to me!"

"I'm thinking. Drive your hips into your swings."

Bennie huffs and sticks the tip of her sword in the dirt. Katrina sighs.

"It's a commendable idea," she begins slowly, "but I think your time is better spent on conditioning your body and practicing your basics."

"I have to bring something _more_ to the fight. I'll get ruined if I don't."

"You're not going to quit on this, are you?"

"I can't beat Riel with basic blocks, slashes, and thrusts. He's a sword-wielding legend. Hell, you fought him yourself—you know exactly what I'm talking about! Just the basics isn't enough. I need something unique."

"You do have something unique: you have your powers."

"Riel has powers too. _And_ he has Charlie's spear, and an army, and control of Monarch, and—"

"If that's what you're so focused on, why do you care about learning counters? With everything he has, he could kill you in a single shot and not even blink."

"If that's true, why do you care about teaching me all these basic techniques?"

"Because this training may save your life."

"So you don't believe I'm going to beat him?"

"I didn't say that."

"You said the training would save my life. You never said it would help me win."

"You should be ready for anything," she says. "I want you to do well and succeed, but I recognize there's a very real chance you won't. I'll teach you some counters if you really want to learn them, but I think the best thing to do is condition and drill the basics. You have your powers now. You should be practicing with them, too."

"Why not teach me something new?" Bennie says. "You're old enough that you've got to know some forbidden instant-death techniques, right? The more techniques I know, the better prepared I'll be!"

"You're thinking about this all wrong. The fundamentals will carry you much farther than you think." Katrina pats her on the shoulder. "I'm taking a break. When I get back, we'll do a few more drills and then practice with your powers."

Katrina leaves Bennie without letting her reply. Bennie goes back to training on the wooden figurine. She visualizes Riel in its place, practices parrying his attacks and countering. She gets so into her training that she loses herself in the motions and starts thinking absently. Having her powers back means more than just being able to fight in the war; it means being a truly active part of the community again. It means gaining back some of the respect she's lost from her friends. Most importantly, it means she's finally useful again, has finally pushed past a towering mental block, has proven that she's worth something.

Bennie halts her sword mid-swing, the blade a few inches from the dummy's throat. Parts of the wood are burned from where her strikes landed. She feels her lungs bellow in hard, heavy swells. How much time has passed? Bennie coughs harshly and clears her throat, spitting lumps into the dirt. She rests her sword on the ground and sits at the dummy's feet, leaning against the wooden stake holding it in the ground.

Her hand goes to her heart and a fluttering warmth greets her. She breathes in and lets her head fall back against the stake. Through a break in the leaves and branches, Bennie can see a deep blue sky brushed with clouds. Nothing breaks the stillness. It feels good to be alone.

Bennie looks up when she hears footsteps approaching. She's surprised to see Drew coming her way; Katrina must still be on break. She gets to her feet.

"Hey," Drew calls, waving to her. "You busy?"

"Not at all. What's up?"

"Just wanted to tell you the tents are all patched up. No one has any hard feelings about it, though they're asking a lot of questions. It's probably best if you go talk to them sometime."

"Oh, alright. I can do that."

Drew doesn't reply right away. He looks around nonchalantly as if trying to work up the courage to say something. Bennie coughs, suddenly self-conscious.

"So..." Drew rubs the back of his neck. "Are we good?"

"What?"

"You know, us. Are we still okay?"

"Why wouldn't we be?"

"Well, I was a little forward yesterday. I just didn't know if you, well..."

It takes Bennie a moment to process what he's saying, and then she snickers. "In case you forgot," Bennie says, " _I_ was the one who was a little forward."

Drew chuckles. "Yeah, just a little."

"Don't worry about it. We're definitely cool."

They look at each other in awkward, goofy silence for a few seconds. Drew clears his throat.

"You know I wouldn't have done that with just anyone, right?" he says.

"Me neither," Bennie replies.

"I just wanted you to know that you're important to me and the things we share are special. Not just last night, but when we talk, when we spar, when we eat together. You're... You mean a lot to me. That's what I'm trying to say."

"Oh my. Are you confessing, Mr. King?"

"I don't know, maybe?"

"Well..." Bennie fidgets. "Well, if you are, it's kind of cute."

They're interrupted as Katrina approaches them from behind. "Morning, Drew," she says. "Here to do some training?"

"Just stopping through," says Drew. "You know about the meeting tonight?"

"Yes. Gabriel won't shut up about it."

"Good. It's supposed to be something very important." Drew turns to Bennie. "See you tonight?"

Bennie perks up. "Oh?"

Drew looks at her for a second, then catches what she meant. "For dinner," he says, trying not to glance at Katrina.

"Oh," Bennie says, catching his hint. "Sure, yeah. Dinner works."

"And the meeting, too. Don't forget the meeting."

"Yeah, I'll be there."

Drew walks away from the two girls at a pace so deliberately average Bennie can tell he's trying not to break out into a run. When he's out of sight, Katrina puts her fists on her hips.

"Men. You never know what's going on in their head, but it's always something dumb or fantastic."

"Don't men say the same thing about us?"

"Yes, but the difference is we only think in the fantastic. You rested? Ready to continue?"

"Yeah," Bennie says, distracted. "Yeah, I think so."

"Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Well..." Bennie huffs. "Do you still remember all the people you've met over the years?"

"Only the most important ones. Gabriel, for example; he and I grew up in Monarch together. While I've lost those early memories, I still remember how he made me feel. A hundred millennium is a long, long time, but you never forget those you love the most."

"Are you ever worried the people you love are going to forget you when you're gone?"

Katrina says nothing for a moment. "Yes. I think about it often."

"I do too."

Katrina searches Bennie's face for a moment, then pulls out her sword and faces the training dummy. "Cross-body chop, like this. Step in, turn your hips, and swing."

Bennie falls into the motions of swordsmanship. Her lungs burn with effort as she trains. She tries to keep her mind focused on seeing Drew again, but lingering at the back of her mind is the idea that she needs to talk to him about something critically important.

# Chapter Fifteen

## Allies

Scott's personal tent; mid-afternoon

Scott feels himself come awake. Dimly, he wonders if he's moved at all since last night.

The voices start immediately. Light chatter, like being in a crowded room, but he can't understand anything that's being said. Some voices are sharp, some are elated, and some are concerned. He half-moves his hand up to cover his ears, then thinks the better of it. He pulls himself upright and glances around the room. Jinas is asleep in the chair next to him, a blanket draped over his body.

Scott massages the tingles from his legs and climbs out of bed. He stretches, bends, twists and turns. It feels good to move. Jinas stirs a few minutes later.

"Oh, hey," Scott says when Jinas's eyes peel open. "Did I wake you?"

"Not really," the young doctor replies groggily, tossing the blanket on Scott's bed. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Hard as a rock, like I was in an empty void all night."

"Good." Jinas takes Scott's pulse. "Any dizziness or nausea?"

"No more than normal."

"The reason I ask is because I don't know if you fell on your head or not. Do you remember what happened?"

Scott reflects on his breakdown. "Yes, I do."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not much to say, really. I think the stress just finally hit me when I wasn't expecting it."

"And it had nothing to do with anything you saw or felt near the Woods?"

"Unless you consider cute little forest creatures 'stressful', then no," Scott laughs.

"I hope you understand why I'm asking. If this is a symptom of an underlying condition, it's not a problem; I can treat it. But I need to know what I'm dealing with, understand?"

"Listen." Scott slings a brotherly arm over Jinas's shoulders. "It's not the first time I've had a _small_ stress induced breakdown. Did Gabriel check my head already?"

"Yes, he did."

"And?"

"He said you were fine."

"There you go!" Scott claps him on the back. "No harm done. We can safely file this as an isolated incident and move on."

Jinas looks at him skeptically. "I'm trying to watch out for you, Scott. You don't need to hide things from me."

"If I was hiding something, you'd be the first to know. Now come on, let's go eat. I haven't had a proper meal in—"

On their way out, someone barrels straight into Scott's tent, knocking Jinas to the ground with him in a squirming, fitful tangle of limbs. Scott quickly helps them to their feet as their visitor, a young male sentry, babbles erratically in a strange tongue. Jinas has to forcibly interrupt him in what sounds like the same language just to get him to calm down.

"Reporting from the fence line," the man says breathlessly. "Oh gods, there were so many of them! I couldn't believe my eyes. I ran into camp as fast as I could. I'm terribly sorry for intruding, I know there were strict orders to only let doctors and other Heroes inside, but—"

"Please calm down," Jinas insists. "Take a breath before you pass out. What's going on?"

"Shades! Crawling through the boroughs and branches like a swarm of insects. Gods, there were so many of them—"

"About damn time!" Scott exclaims, shoving past them both.

The front of the camp is a mess of people panicking and crowding around to look at the trees from between the logs making up the wooden fence. The front gate has been slammed closed and barred. Once Scott arrives, people move out of the way to let him get to the sentry platform above the gate. A Hero, they whisper: surely a Hero will dispel this unexpected attack. But only one? Where are the rest of the Heroes? Why aren't they here yet?

Scott looks over the sealed front gates and scouts the distant tree line where black, amorphous shapes flicker in and out of the trees. The voices in his head become a cacophonous roar at his appearance, making him flinch. A large Shade with a soft pink Glow emerges from the trees, its skeletal face stoic. It drifts forward and stops halfway between the tree line and the front gates. Scott stares at it, confused; despite the pink Glow, it's not Salvation. He levitates off the platform and floats to a stop a few paces away from the Shade. A moment of quiet passes between them as they assess each other.

"I am a messenger of the Master," the Shade finally says. "Will you come with me?"

"Where are we going?"

"To speak with the Master."

"Are you going to attack the camp?"

"No. The Master has no intention of harming anyone."

"And he couldn't come to meet me himself?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know," the Shade answers. "I am his messenger, nothing more."

Scott throws a look back at the camp. Two nervous sentries peek over the edge of their platform, spears poking up like saplings. There's no sense in convincing them to relax.

Scott sniffs once, loudly, and follows the creature into the woods. As he passes into the shadows of the trees, lesser Shades materialize to stare and whisper in their soft, whispering tongue. They draw away from the camp, following the messenger and the Hero deeper into the Woods.

They reach a clearing and the messenger Shade slips between two tree trunks, vanishing into darkness. Scott is immediately on guard. He swiftly summons Segensa, his triple-bladed scythe. The darkness around him grows restless.

"I can assure you," Salvation says, emerging from thin air, "that summoning such a weapon is unnecessary."

The Master of Shades is the same as he was when Scott last saw him: a hulking, enormous humanoid with a hood of shadows and a cloak of darkness. The pink Glow that once marked Salvation as the Master of Shades is nowhere to be seen, replaced with brilliant white light streaming from a break in his chest. An intense, sinister face peers out of the black hood, white light streaming from his eyes, nose, between his sharp, interlocking teeth, but his face bears no malice.

"What are you doing here?" Scott says after a moment, keeping Segensa ready. "I thought we agreed to peace."

"We did, and I intend to keep that peace. I'm not here to fight. I'm here to help, and to seek help."

Scott hesitates. Salvation knits his hands at his waist and waits. After a few more moments, Scott dismisses his scythe.

"What happened?" Scott asks.

"After you entered the Crypt, I found and defeated Retribution. Not long after, the leylines began experiencing perturbations. You know about the fall of Monarch, don't you? That event has had drastic effects worldwide. The Cemetery has become the realm of nightmares. Monstrous Shades, misshapen and mindless, burst from the ground and drain the life and magic from anything they touch. The Cemeterians, who I had finally begun to establish an uneasy cooperation with after Monarch, are fleeing to anywhere that will take them, but alas, it is not just the Cemetery that suffers. Windstorms and lightning devastate the Plains, and something there is erasing whole sections of the realm without a trace. Mountains now float in the Peaks and regularly fall to the ground, rewriting the landscape with enormous earthquakes. The Ocean has been struck with the rod of death; I am too afraid to peer into the dark rain and fogbanks blanketing that place. The Ruins have been set ablaze and wild ashstorms ravage every corner of the realm. It seems that the Woods is the only haven left on Renea."

"Why just the Woods?"

"It has the weakest leylines, untouched for decades. It is the only place not experiencing abnormal disturbances. Thus, it is the ideal place for refugees to flee to, as you no doubt have seen. Many people have been coming to you, haven't they?"

"Yes, they have."

Salvation sighs, a motion that moves his entire body. "I know I'm not the help you were hoping for. If I had my way, I would not be here either, but the damage being done to Renea—and most importantly, to my Cemetery—is too extensive for me to handle on my own. I worry this leyline trouble will create another Retribution, or worse yet, bring the old one back from where I banished it. I fear it would be unbeatable."

"Salvation, if I told you how many unbeatable enemies I've had to hear about in the past few months, I don't think you'd say that so lightly."

"But it is the truth. Its ambition may not rival that of Riel, nor its wrath that of Stark's, but Retribution would have an army stronger than both of theirs combined, an army made entirely out of the monsters plaguing the Cemetery. That in itself should be cause for consideration, and if my senses do not deceive me—and they don't, as I have checked the camp myself—you are wanting for experienced soldiers. Reneans are strong, but my Shades are even stronger."

"You want an alliance?"

"Yes. That's why I'm here."

"And what do you get from all this?"

"Peace of mind. I help you take Monarch and steady the leylines. My Cemetery returns to normal and I return there with no questions asked."

"And how do I know this isn't a ploy for you to get your hands on Monarch and all the leylines at once? Then _you'd_ be unbeatable."

"Even if I desired that power, you would be just as capable of accessing the leylines as me. It would be an apocalyptic, violent battle for a piece of land I do not care about. I have always, and will always, care only about my Cemetery. As of now, I need help to take it back, and you need help to take back Monarch."

Scott thinks for a moment. "Damn," he says. "I really don't think I can argue with that."

"I've been thinking about any reservations you may have ever since I left the Cemetery."

"I'll have to talk it through with the others. I also don't think I'll be able to let you into camp. I don't have any issues with it, but people won't understand."

"I have no qualms about staying in the forest," Salvation says. "I do ask, however, should we agree to a partnership, that you include me in your meetings. I cannot help if I don't know what part I play in the whole. Let me know what the group consensus is."

Scott leaves the clearing. The same Shade who brought him to Salvation appears from behind a tree to lead him back to the camp. Once they're at the tree line, the Shade stops, motions for Scott to continue without him, and dips back into the forest. Scott stares at the imposing fence circling the refugee camp, taking careful notice of the increased number of guards walking the perimeter, scanning the trees, preparing spears and arrows. He lets out a sigh. At least he only has to really convince a few people.

Scott makes his way back into camp, gently but firmly fending off curious people who want to know what the Shades want. He tells everyone, especially the guards, that the Shades aren't here to attack them. He receives "uh huh" and "oh yeah?" and "damn fool probably hit his head" from nearly everyone he talks to, but the majority takes him on his word and doesn't press any further.

Scott catches himself meandering back to his tent and almost decides to head toward the headquarters tent, but then he sees Camellia's tent. The voices fade into a dull din until only one remains prominent. Scott gingerly brushes her tent flap and announces himself. Camellia opens the flap a second later.

"Hey," he says, grinning. "Our Salvation is here."

"Oh. Did we need saving?"

"Well, no, but—" Scott waves his hand. "Forget it, bad joke. Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Scott enters Camellia's tent and flops on her cot. Camellia floats in the air and levitates above him, resting her face in her hands. They look at each other for a few seconds until Scott starts laughing.

"You lost," she says. "What do I win?"

"I'll treat you to lunch."

"I'll hold you to that."

Scott sobers up a little before speaking again. "I wanted to say thank you for what you did for me. And thank you for keeping my secret safe."

"Well, if I was you, I'd want that kept secret, too. So I don't mind at all."

"I'm trying to get better about it. I didn't tell you, but there are these strings that connect me to other people—to their souls. Or spirits, or hearts, or whatever you want to call it. I can see them only if I'm listening intently."

"Is there a string between us right now?"

"Yes. It's very strong."

"And what do you hear?"

Scott listens for a second. "Your heart is saying 'I love Scott Cornot.'"

Camellia smiles. "Good one."

"Really though, yours doesn't say much. It's very quiet and still, like it's always at peace. Right now all I hear is your heartbeat."

"That's a little unnerving."

"Not for me. Compared to how I usually hear voices ranging from whispers to screams, steady rhythms are a godsend. I love listening to you." Scott hesitates. "You know, before, I was trying to cut myself off as hard as I could. It made hearing the voices again even worse. I'm trying to embrace them more, trying to accept it as a natural part of my life. I don't think I'll ever be perfectly okay with it, but... Well, I'm trying."

"Will you be going back to Monarch?"

"I have to. Bennie is going to need a lot of help holding off the Skeletons while she fights Riel. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was just thinking, if you didn't want to go back, I would stay here with you. Jinas says until I've fully healed that I have a free pass out of fighting, especially since Stark isn't around anymore."

"Thanks, Camellia. But I think Monarch is where I need to be when the trumpet sounds."

A comfortable quiet passes between them. The steady thump of Camellia's heart overshadows the other, distant voices in Scott's ears. He could fall asleep very easily.

"Do you want to go flying with me someday?" she asks after a while. "When I'm better, we can go look at the Woods together. It's been a while since I've been outside and I miss the wind in my hair." She runs a hand through her buzzed sides. "Well, what's left of it. I miss my long hair."

"But your short hair makes you look kind of cute."

"Kind of?"

"Super cute," he hastily corrects. " _Ultra_ cute."

That gets a giggle from Camellia. She rotates and turns herself so that their faces are upside-down to each other. "I'm sorry you're in pain. But I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Spending time with friends makes it hurt a little less."

"I'm glad to hear that." She suddenly perks up. "Oh. There's this big meeting tonight that Heroes and Emissaries need to attend. Did Roger tell you? Will you be there?"

"Of course. Are you coming too?"

"No. Jinas says I need more time to rest. Roger already told me what I need to know."

"Is it going to be a good meeting or a bad one?"

"There's no need to be impatient. Just wait and see."

Scott looks at her for a few seconds, then says, "Lunch?"

"Yes," Camellia says softly. "I would like that."

Hero Headquarters, early evening

Gabriel rubs his hands together and surveys the gathered crowd seated at his logistics table. Katrina, Roger, Nysse, Bennie, and Drew have gathered in the headquarters tent with him, per Roger's earlier request. Camellia is still in quarantine and Scott is late. They've been waiting for almost half an hour.

"Still not going to tell us anything?" Gabriel finally says at Roger. "Do we really have to wait for Scott?"

"I will wait until _everyone_ is here," Roger insists. "And no one is allowed to leave until I've finished saying what I have to say."

"Can't you give us a hint or something?" Drew asks.

"Not until everyone is assembled."

"Hey!" Scott yells, stumbling into the main tent. "Sorry I'm—oh wow, everyone's here—sorry I'm late, but it's okay, you guys don't have to worry. Our Salvation is here!"

"Scott," Drew warns, "if you make that joke one more time, I might actually kill you."

Bennie covers her laughter with her hand.

Roger gives him a long, hard stare, then gestures for him to come into the group. Scott sits next to Drew with Bennie on Drew's other side.

"Well," Roger begins, "I wish I had called us here to share good news. I've been tracking something for a few weeks now and today I finally got all the evidence I need. The camp has been infiltrated by Max. I first got suspicious a few days after we came to the refugee camp when I could feel his presence shifting through the trees. My suspicions have been growing for a while and they culminated today, where I chased Drew around the camp for almost an hour."

"What?" Drew protests. "This is the first time I've seen you in—"

"I know," Roger interrupts. "You wouldn't have run if I suddenly started chasing you, but 'Drew' did. I didn't manage to catch him, but I did manage to finally corner him; he was forced to vanish. That was all I needed to see. I don't know how long Max has been creeping around the camp, nor how much damage he's done, nor how much he knows, but for the rest of this war, we'll have to be on the lookout for people behaving strangely, even if they're close. _Especially_ if they're close. Also, side note: Gabriel, you need to talk to Kexal. Max did something awful to him and he said he'll only talk to you about it."

"Gnosis must already know about this," says Katrina. "He'll probably adjust his plans accordingly. Hell, they might be listening in right now."

"I'm counting on it. The point of this meeting isn't to plan against them—in fact, that's impossible—nor is it to hide something from Gnosis. The point is to let them know we're wise to their tricks. No matter what new plan they make up, they know we're on to them. We have the upper hand at all times as long as we keep a sharp eye on what we say, and to who. The three of us who are safest are Scott, Nysse, and myself. I can smell his magic, Scott can read anyone's mind faster than I can read a book, and even Max would think twice about crossing a god." Roger looks around. "Any questions?"

"Yeah." Scott raises his hand. "Can I talk about Salvation really quick?"

"Why would you choose now of all times to talk about religion?"

"My _Adversary_ ," he retorts. "I've already told Drew and Bennie that Salvation showed up outside the camp earlier today. He wants to help us."

"We know," Gabriel says. "Nysse told us he would come."

"What! Why didn't you say anything?"

"You never asked."

"I didn't know when," Nysse says. "Only that he would, eventually."

Katrina leans over the table. "I want to talk to you about him," she says, motioning to Scott. "But we can do that after the meeting."

"If we're on the subject of questions, _I'd_ like to know a little more about Bennie's powers." Gabriel turns toward her. "Look, we're all ecstatic you got them back—could you stop lighting your hair on fire for a second and listen? I want to know what you think triggered them to come back in case we have to repeat it."

"We're getting off topic," Roger says.

"Let me have this." Gabriel faces Bennie expectantly. "Let's hear it. How did you get your powers back so suddenly?"

"I'd guess the training." Bennie coughs roughly into her elbow. "Training and rest. I feel stronger now than I did when I first came here."

"Awfully convenient that they just showed up one morning."

"Well, like I said, I think the rest helped. I don't think they would have shown up when I'm exhausted from training. Maybe it just sort of clicked this morning? I don't know; I'm just happy they're back."

Gabriel doesn't back down. Bennie matches his gaze.

Nysse stares at them both for a moment, then says, "She's telling the truth."

Gabriel gives Nysse a look, then shrugs and drops his suspicions.

"Back to the _reason we're here_ ," Roger says. "Max can poison your mind and erode your mental fortitude. If you think you're starting to get influenced or you think you've made contact, find me immediately. I'm the only one familiar enough with Max's magic to strip it out of you."

"What if you get poisoned?" Drew asks.

"Not possible. I'm too sensitive to magenta magic to miss even a single part per billion in the air, and even if I did get poisoned, I know how to pull it out." He looks around. "Any other objections?"

"Just one," Bennie says. "Does anyone object to going to the market before they close? I'm getting hungry and it's getting late."

"Is no one going to take this seriously?" Roger grumbles.

"There, there," Gabriel says, patting his friend on the shoulder. "We know you've put a ton of effort into this and we're all grateful, but you _did_ plan this right around dinner time. How about we get some food? I know just the place."

Gabriel leads a stoic Roger out of the tent, peppering him with promises of a delectable meal. Katrina and Scott follow them, already intensely discussing something about Salvation. Nysse gracefully collects herself and starts to leave. Bennie hesitates, glancing first at Drew, who appears to be deep in thought. She gets to her feet and catches Nysse on her sleeve just before she exits.

"Hey, Nysse?"

The goddess turns, curious.

"About earlier, I..." Bennie rubs the back of her neck. "Well, about my powers. It's... Well, about what you said, I don't think—"

"You were telling the truth. You _are_ happy they're back." She gives Bennie a warm, knowing smile and takes her leave.

Bennie looks over her shoulder. Drew, still rubbing his chin in thought, glances once at her then goes back to rubbing his chin. Bennie snorts, amused; that faker!

"Hey." Bennie sits next to him. "Deep in thought?"

"I just can't decide what to eat tonight," Drew says honestly. "You didn't happen to have a preference, did you?"

"I don't." She hesitates. "Listen, about what I said earlier. It wasn't just the training and the rest. In fact, both of those combined wasn't enough. If it wasn't for you and Scott and Camellia, well, who knows where I'd be? I really think that you being my friend, staying with me all this time, never telling me I should quit or anything... And uh, yeah, last night too. You definitely helped me."

Drew scoffs. "Please, I did most of the work."

Bennie gasps and shoves him at the shoulder. That earns a laugh from Drew, prompting a laugh from her, too.

"Hey," he says after a moment. "Is it alright if I give you something? It's not much, but I was just thinking about it and, well..."

Drew fishes into his pocket and brings out a small shell necklace. The centerpiece is a long spiral shell polished to a pearly white. Bennie looks at it in amazement for a second.

"Did you make this?"

"Well, yeah, everything except the clasp. I had a few shells that I really liked from the Ocean and then I found that nice spiral one in the river near camp. I was wondering what I would use them for, so I figured, a necklace for Bennie would be nice. Something important from me for someone even more important."

Bennie looks at the necklace for a few seconds until Drew clears his throat expectantly. Bennie pulls her hair up and turns around. Drew brings the necklace over her head and rests it lightly on her collarbone, then clasps it in the back. The cold shells feel nice on her skin.

Bennie fingers the spiral shell centerpiece. "Thank you," she says softly. "I really like it."

"I figured you would."

Bennie turns around to meet his eyes and feels her heart start to sink. Drew's smile is absolutely radiant, and inside, she feels an intense warmth that she hasn't felt in months. There's no doubting her feelings, but she knows something important that he doesn't. Her lungs billow like punctured sails in her chest. Drew softens, catching the look in her eyes.

"What is it?" he says.

"There's something important we need to talk about."

He straightens himself in his chair, preparing to listen.

"I'm..." Bennie finds herself struggling to match his gaze. "I'm not..."

They're interrupted when the ground rumbles violently underfoot.

Drew grabs Bennie securely and they hold each other tight until the rumbles subside. Drew is quick to dash around her and leave the tent. Bennie watches him go, then decides that this conversation can wait until after Riel's been dealt with. She hurries outside.

The camp has been upset, but not destroyed. Tents and stalls have been overturned, but the bigger issue is the massive source of energy blazing from the distant city of Monarch; it feels like she's standing in Chaldir's throne room again. A red pillar of light stretches up from the city's location, piercing the night sky. Drew stares at it in stark amazement with Nysse standing beside him. Bennie runs up next to them.

"What the hell is that?" Drew asks.

"Riel," Nysse says, the red light reflecting in her starfield eyes. "The leylines are starting to bend to his will. In a few more weeks, he'll be strong enough to control them completely."

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Yes, it does." Nysse looks at Drew and Bennie as the red light fades. "Gather your factions. Tomorrow we prepare for our return to the city."

# Chapter Sixteen

## The Second Battle for Monarch

Refugee camp, the Woods

Word spreads quickly about the red light that came from Monarch. The Heroes announce that they're ready to go back to the city and take the fight to the Skeleton King and his army. Some people are a little nervous, mostly the new trainees, but the veterans from the first battle are eager for revenge. The night concludes with drinking and spirited roughhousing.

The next day, the camp readies itself for war. Though Gabriel expresses his concerns about spending a whole day preparing when most of the armor and weapons have been made, Katrina insists on a day's worth of preparation at minimum. Battle strategies are rehearsed. Soldiers spar and practice last-minute weapon techniques on each other, critiquing approaches and theorizing. And, of course, at least one trainee is spooked by a veteran rattling an empty suit of armor menacingly. When night falls, the camp is quiet and a little tense. The thought of that piercing red light keeps many awake.

The following morning, the Hero army is assembled in their respective factions before sunrise. Each faction has grown to at least one-and-a-half times its original size, with some doubling. Mixed in with marked Heroes are regular Reneans, most of them refugees from other realms. The news that they'll be fighting alongside Shades has some soldiers whispering among each other. A sickly sense of unease blankets the area. The more anxious soldiers nervously scan the tree line, making them easy prey for veterans seeking a good laugh. Still, the ranks are calmer than they were before the first battle; Katrina's discipline is paying off.

Drew yawns. "Who are we waiting on again?"

"Bennie and Katrina," Scott clarifies for the second time. "And will you quit yawning already? It's making me anxious."

"Wow, someone's mopey this morning."

"I got told last night that if we don't immediately kill a skeleton monster drunk with magical power he got from soaking up planet energy, the world is going to end. Why aren't _you_ mopey?"

Drew yawns again. "Too tired."

Scott folds his arms, annoyed. Gabriel approaches them from the side, dressed in the elegant but armored clothes he wore to the first battle; Roger follows behind. "Everything good up here?"

"As good as we can be," says Scott. "I told Salvation our plans yesterday, so he'll be following on our flanks. I didn't want the soldiers to get spooked on accident."

"They'll be fine," says another voice, this one soft yet profound.

Drew, Scott, Roger and Gabriel turn to see Nysse standing a few paces away. A wide berth has been cleared in the army's ranks behind her, evidence of her passing through. She's still dressed in her oracle clothes, but as she moves forward to meet them, unseen metal can be heard clinking together. Drew is the first to venture his assumption.

"Are you coming with us?"

"Yes, but only in case things go wrong."

"The fact that you're here in the first place makes me think something _will_ go wrong."

Nysse shrugs noncommittally.

"Do you intend on fighting?" Gabriel asks, eyeing her suspiciously.

"As I said before, no, I don't intend on fighting." She pats the armor under her clothes fondly. "But it never hurts to have some protection, even as a goddess."

"Speaking of that," says Drew, "since Scott already made peace with his Adversary, couldn't he Deiascend and become a god? Having another one around would really boost our strength."

"Unfortunately no, but only due to the instability of the leylines. They must be under control before you can Deiascend. If you aren't properly rooted, an attempt at Deiascension will cause the leylines to burn you from the inside out."

Drew chuckles nervously. "I'm suddenly having second thoughts about becoming a god."

"Have anyone seen Katrina or Bennie yet?" Gabriel asks impatiently. "We're losing time."

"I saw them this morning," Nysse replies, looking suddenly at the tree line. "They'll be along shortly. I spoke to Jinas, too: Camellia is definitely staying put. He wasn't able to clear her for combat."

"Do you mind leading the Plains faction, then? I'm taking the Peaks faction again and everyone else has their own realms to deal with."

"I don't mind."

"Okay, good. Let's get to our positions. As soon as Bennie arrives, we're leaving."

Gabriel, Roger, and Nysse all leave for their respective factions: Peaks, Cemetery, and Plains. Drew stands in front of the Ocean faction for a little bit and makes small talk with some of the faction members. Scott keeps reaching his hands up as if to scratch his ears only to put his hands back at his sides. Drew is about to ask him what he's doing when a murmur rises from the army at his back and Bennie and Katrina approach the front.

Katrina's dark red armor has been polished and cleaned. She carries no sword, though she holds a red metal helmet at her hip in one armored hand. Bennie strides ahead of her faction mentor, a sword at her side and a helmet also at her hip. Her eyes are set and defiant and her hair is tied up neatly in a ponytail. Her armor, like Katrina's, is spot-free, dent-free, and has been polished until it shines. Bennie pauses for a moment in front of Drew; he can see the edge of her shell necklace around the back of her neck.

"I didn't know you had a helmet," Scott says suddenly.

"We had one made for her," Katrina answers. "But that ponytail is going to have to come undone."

"Absolutely not," Bennie says seriously. "It stays up."

"It's your funeral." Katrina steps toward the Ruins faction. "When you're ready, come get me and we'll start the march. Don't make me wait too long."

"Hey Bennie," Scott says. "What do you get if you cross a lake with a leaky boat?"

"I don't know."

"About halfway."

Bennie cracks a smile. "Very funny. I'm trying to stay serious, here. This is a big day for us."

"I know, I know. I just couldn't stand the tension."

The conversation doesn't start back up. Scott looks between Drew and Bennie and sees a powerful purple thread connecting them. He makes some half-hearted excuse about checking up on the Shades and leaves to give them privacy. Finally, Drew and Bennie are alone, just out of earshot of the factions at their back.

"You don't have to worry," Bennie says. "I fire-proofed your necklace last night."

"Oh, good. I'm glad."

Bennie hesitates for a second, then stretches out a hand. "Stay safe."

"Oh, uh, yeah." He grips her hand. "You, too."

Bennie looks at their handshake for a moment, then quickly kisses Drew on the cheek. She runs off to join Katrina at her faction and Drew, after watching her for a moment, hurries over to take command of the Ocean faction. Katrina then loudly commands a forward march, and with her and Bennie leading the way, the army once more begins the slow slog toward the ruins of Monarch.

No sooner are they a few minutes away from the camp when Scott feels a pinprick in the base of his skull. He glances around to see shadows weaving through the trees. The pinprick comes a little harder than last time. He makes a brief excuse to Roger and trots off into the woods alone. The swarming Shades quickly give way to Salvation, materializing from the darkness like a lighthouse in a storm. They walk together toward Monarch, keeping pace with the army.

"Everything alright?" Scott asks.

"I have concerns," Salvation says. "I wished to air them with you before we arrived at the city."

"If this is about Riel, you really should be talking to Bennie."

"No. This is about Retribution."

Scott gives him a look. "I thought you said you banished it."

"Indeed, I did, but over the past few weeks, I've noticed that the white leyline is particularly active in the Cemetery. It could be nothing, perhaps a fluctuation caused by Riel, but still I worry."

"About what?"

"I used white magic to seal and banish Retribution. If the leyline is active in the Cemetery, it likely means Retribution has broken its seal, which will mean a mountain of hard work for the two of us."

"Isn't it only after you?" Scott catches himself. "Oh, right. You're next to our camp."

"I am sorry that I didn't tell you earlier, but I worried that if I told you earlier, it would cause a panic. Retribution won't go far from the Cemetery; that realm is all that Shade has ever known. However, if I am in Monarch, it will come for me with a vengeance."

"So? It's just a Shade."

"In the short time I was away, Retribution managed to turn many Shades to its side. With no more Shades to turn, it will likely pick up the monsters that are now plaguing the Cemetery. If _that_ is true, we will not be the only ones who will have difficulties. The Renean army is not ready to fight monsters spawned by unstable leylines and my Shades can only do so much."

"But all of this is only if Retribution has broken its seal."

"Yes, but I would count on it rather than against it."

Scott is silent for a moment. "How sure are you about this? Like, quantitatively."

"Ninety-two percent."

"And the other eight?"

"The other eight hopes that the leyline is just Riel experimenting with the magic of the planet." Salvation lightly pushes Scott away. "Go be with your comrades. When we arrive, I will strike the Skeleton army with all my might."

Scott returns to the front of the Cemetery faction and makes up another excuse to the stoic frown of Roger. They walk in silence for the rest of the morning march. Drew makes jokes with the front squad of his faction to set their minds at ease. Bennie and Katrina talk strategy and swordsmanship. For a moment, Salvation is visible to Bennie as he passes through a break in the trees; she gives him a small wave and he returns it. Nysse answers the eager questions fielded from nearly everyone in the Plains faction, though she keeps trailing off and looking at the trees. Gabriel marches at the back with the reserve troops.

Around noon, the Hero army arrives at the edge of the Woods and the border of Monarch. With the army resting behind them, Drew, Bennie, and Scott peer out through the last of the trees at the shattered ruins before them. Thick red clouds have collected over the city, shading the rocks and rubble in a dour light. The faint sound of metal clinking on metal reaches their ears. Tiny balls of blue flame sift through the midday darkness and fill the place with a distinct eeriness. The Skeleton army is the only force occupying the city.

After watching for a few minutes longer, the three of them get up and inform the army to prepare to advance. Scott waves a signal out to Salvation, who goes to ready his Shades. As Bennie positions herself in front of the Ruins faction, she can hear the veterans telling the newer soldiers to aim for the blue flames. She breathes out once, slowly, then undoes her ponytail and dons her helmet. It's time.

On Katrina's order, just after the six suns have peaked over the city—a barely visible phenomenon through the cloud cover—the refugee army and their Heroes creep out softly from the trees, weapons and shields and armor at the ready. Gabriel and Roger disperse quickly into Monarch, quiet and alone. Drew, Bennie, and Scott stay hidden in the ranks of the soldiers as they near the city's borders. Katrina stays near the Ruins faction.

Riel's power burns like a star from the center of Monarch; the familiar, strong magic resonates in Bennie's chest. Behind them, at the tree line leading into the Woods, Nysse sits in the grass and watches the advance. The reserve units stay hidden in the trees behind her.

The Skeletons, as always, are unsurprised by the sudden roar and charge of entire squads of Renean men and women appearing like ghosts from the tall grass, rocks, and ruins. They merely turn to face their foes and fight. Armed with the knowledge of their weak point, the Plains and Ruins factions crash sword-and-tooth with the waiting Skeletons. The Peaks faction launches boulders over the city, bombarding the enemy. The Ocean faction swamps the front lines with watery attacks and drags wounded soldiers back while the Cemetery District attacks from the flanks.

A screech pierces the din of battle and the sky blackens as a swarm of Shades erupts from the Woods. A second, louder sound like a crack of thunder follows it as Salvation dive-bombs into the city. He raises up to his full height and sweeps away whole lines with white and pink magic. Other Shades melt into the Skeleton lines. In minutes the vast Skeleton army is fighting off both Shades and Reneans and taking crushing losses.

As the battle lines fracture and fighting splits off into segmented groups, Scott stays hidden, moving invisibly from one fight to the next. When he sees someone in trouble, he summons his scythe with one hand and repels the attackers with the other, only staying long enough to cover their escape before melting into thin air and hiding again.

Drew finds himself monitoring more than participating. The military training is paying off as the veterans hold the line and the new soldiers fight without fleeing. By some miracle, not a lot of people are being killed. Those escaping with injuries are quickly patched by a nearby Healer, leaving him with nothing to do. For fun, he picks a fight with a Skeleton soldier literally on its last leg, though he quickly runs after four more show up.

Bennie, conserving her power and sneaking around the major fights, doesn't even unsheathe her sword. She has one goal for this battle: kill Riel. All else is secondary, save for her own safety. She focuses on the massive hub of magic looming at the center of the city and moves toward it. It doesn't take long for the sounds of battle to dim and the air to thicken with yellow magic. She eventually stops walking and supports herself against a nearby wall. Her lungs burn as if she's breathing acid.

Doubts bite at the edges of her mind. Vivid memories of her first failure make her pause many times, remembering the panic she felt as her lungs collapsed on her. Will this time be any different? Riel has only grown stronger whereas all she has is a few sword tricks. If he were so inclined, Riel could destroy her in a single shot, couldn't he? Isn't it all hopeless? Isn't it all for naught? If she makes even one mistake, loses concentration for even a moment, has a coughing fit, or even gets a little winded, it will all be over. She will have lost the war.

Bennie exhales slowly, embracing her fears.

She shakily steps forward, the air around her heating up, scorching, burning. The acrid yellow fog curls around the flames surging off Bennie's body, unable to pierce the intense heat. The dirt and sand crystallize into glass as she stalks forward, her heart thundering in her jaw. Bennie grips her necklace, courage building in her chest. She's come too far to turn back now. She's here for a reason.

Bennie reaches the center of Monarch alone, Sorsaren's yellow miasma burning like a gas around her, creating a corona of bright blue flame, and as she unsheathes her sword, fire bursts out from the sheath, revealing a bright red blade with a spiked handle. She points Ruferi, her legendary sword, at the peak of a towering throne where Riel the Skeleton King sits in regal majesty.

A few moments later, Riel rises from his throne and begins to descend.

"Scott!" Drew yells. "I know you're there!"

Scott materializes from thin air. "What is it?"

"I'm bored."

"Bored!" Scott cries. "We're fighting a damn war right now!"

"I know, and it's so boring! Do you know how many people I've gotten to patch up so far? Zero. Count em, _zero_!"

"That's amazing! Why are you upset about that?"

"I'm not upset. I just want a piece of the action."

Scott begins to turn invisible.

"Oh no you don't!" Drew seizes him by the arm. "You and I are going to the infantry zones together and we're going to get up to our elbows in guts and bile."

"I'd really rather not, thank you."

"Come on, it's not like we can die here."

"I wouldn't be too sure. A sword to the chest is still a killing blow."

"Oh, like these guys have any chance of hurting us."

"Says the guy who ran from five Skeletons earlier."

"Hey." Drew points at him. "In my defense, they were very big Skeletons."

"Look," Scott says. "Riel is the only one we have to worry about right now and, from what I can tell, Bennie is already on her way to fight him. Our jobs should be to not get killed and stay out of sight."

"Or"—Drew puts a conspiratorial arm around Scott's shoulders—"or, you can pull your own weight and fight in the pits side by side with your pal old Drew."

"Nothing about that sounds fun to me."

"Oh come on, are you really going to slink around in the shadows for the next four hours? Don't you want to bust out that sweet scythe and see what it can really do?"

"Well..."

"Just for a few minutes, and if you don't like it, you can go back to playing hide-and-seek. Promise."

Scott sighs and nods, admitting it would be nice to use his weapon for once. Drew guides him toward a fight that has just started to pick up between an isolated Plains squad and a large group of Skeletons. Drew is the first to attack, morphing himself into solid rock and barreling straight into the line. A cheer erupts from the Plains faction. Scott leaps over them and summons Segensa as he comes down. The scythe twirls and sweeps easily, each slash ripping the blue flame straight out of a Skeleton's chest. Scott feels the flame linger on his scythe for a few moments before dissipating and, distantly, he wonders about their true nature. The thought leaves his mind as he falls into a rhythm with his weightless scythe. At one point he's back-to-back with Drew and fighting as freely as if he were dancing. Scott laughs aloud, enjoying himself. Combat isn't so bad.

A familiar sensation pricks the back of his mind.

Scott stops mid-swing and glances over his shoulder. Darkness looms from the corner of a shadowed building. Once again, the sensation pricks the back of his mind. Scott looks back around him and sees Drew confidently tackling Skeletons to the ground while the Plains squad fights off the few remaining stragglers. They'll be fine without him. Scott turns invisible and glides over to the darkened building. Salvation materializes from the shadows.

"We have an issue," the Shade says. "Retribution is here."

"Is that a play-on-words or...?"

"It means the Shade I personally banished has indeed made it back to Renea and is charging toward Monarch with an army of misshapen monsters at its back. It'll come for me first, and then it will come for you, and then it will consume the city."

"I guess that ninety-two percent certainty was right after all."

"Normally I am pleased to be right, but now, I don't think I should be."

"Want to fight it together?"

"Yes. I was going to propose the same thing." Salvation gestures to the side and a few Shades with the pink Glow melt out of the shadow of the building. "I will bring back-up, just in case. Will you bring Drew?"

"No amount of healing will fix what'll happen to me if Retribution gets inside my head."

"Then let us move," he says. "If we want to keep Retribution away from the main army, we should meet it in the Cemetery District."

Scott nods and flies upward until he's high above Monarch. Out in the Cemetery, he can see a collective mass moving toward the city. Scott measures his breathing carefully as he flies down to meet it, Salvation and a posse of Shades right behind him.

Riel rises from his concrete throne. Far below, burning bright and hot in a cloak of red fire, Bennie Balachie stands pointing a glowing sword directly at him. An intense, resolute gaze is burned onto her face. He feels the boiling depths of the leylines under his feet. He feels no fear. Riel descends from his throne.

Bennie approaches the throne of her own volition, leaving a trail of scorched dirt and crystal sand behind her. When she reaches the bottom step of the throne, Riel is waiting for her. A crown of gold magic floats above his four sloping horns and a red and gold cape hangs loosely over his shoulders. Both of his arms and his legs glimmer like solid gold. His blank, expressionless skull betrays neither emotion nor intent. Bennie waits a long time for him to speak, an animated yellow smog curling around them.

"You finally made it," he says. "I've been waiting for you for a long time."

Bennie doesn't say anything.

"Are you still weak?"

"Yes," Bennie answers. "But I came here to fight you anyways, and this time I'll win. No—in truth, I don't care whether I win or I lose. I'm here to prove that I'm really a Hero."

The confession bites into her harder than she wants to admit. Riel waits for her to continue.

"We've all suffered because of me," she says. "I need to prove to myself that I'm not useless. I need to show everyone that I'm strong. If I'm really a Hero, then there's no way you can beat me. There's no way I'll lose to you."

Riel is silent. Then, "Good. I will fight an honest opponent."

He takes off his cape and throws it to the side. Acetil, his legendary spear, drops smoothly into his hands.

Bennie moves into a guard stance with Ruferi, her legendary sword.

"Give me everything you have," Riel says. "I want to understand how dedicated you are to proving yourself."

He bursts forward, crossing their weapons high and shoving himself in Bennie's face. Bennie digs her feet into the ground.

"And then I will kill you with one overwhelmingly powerful blow," he continues, eyes blazing. "I will call all the strength of the leylines forth and obliterate you completely. In your last moment, you will understand that you never had a chance in the first place."

Bennie drives her knee into Riel's lead leg and drops her sword across his body, throwing the king flat on his back. She points the tip of her sword down at him in defiance.

"Get up," she says. "And shut the hell up."

Riel gets to his feet and steps back into a neutral space out of Bennie's range. He folds Acetil against the underside of his arm and sweeps it behind his back, waiting.

Bennie steps back several dozen paces, holds Ruferi in long point guard, and breathes slowly. Her arms shake from the adrenalin pounding in her head. A dull hum vibrates the ground at her feet. Suddenly, she's aware of an enormous flow of energy beneath her, slowly rumbling and toiling like an undersea current: the leylines. She picks out a second current, a third, a fourth, but there are many more to be found, and each one feels like its own separate entity, all so powerful and deep that Bennie is unable to count them all. They yawn upward, stretching for the center of Monarch, collecting where Riel stands. His energy expands exponentially, mirroring the size of the red light she saw from camp. Something is coming. Something is—

A blur of yellow side-swipes her sword and Bennie instinctively steps around opposite. Riel's spear slashes down and slams where she stood a moment ago, discharging golden magic into the dirt. She barely has time to get her guard up before her arm and sword are jammed into her ribs. Riel crosses their weapons at the middle and shoves, sending Bennie back.

Riel goes for a thrust. Bennie slips to the side and regains her footing. Riel pivots, slamming the shaft into Bennie's awkward middle guard. As she reels from the strike, he trips her at the knee and she lands on the ground. Riel pulls back to deliver a killing blow.

Bennie cocoons herself in flames and bursts them in all directions, knocking Riel back and disrupting his flow.

Bennie smoothly jumps to her feet. She swings her sword like a baseball bat and a ribbon of flame rips through the air, striking Riel dead in the chest. He skitters back, disappearing into the choking yellow mist. In that brief respite, Bennie feels her lungs quiver. She breathes deep to calm them. Riel then reappears, charging straight at her.

She moves aside and brings her knee up, sending a stream of fire into Riel's face. His spear whips across his body and clangs against her guard, harmlessly shoving her back. Once more Riel attacks with Acetil, and once more Bennie counters with Ruferi. Bennie finds herself getting into an intense flow of moving and attacking. She never goes on the offense, staying with her fundamental swordplay and countering with her powers. Riel grows increasingly frustrated and attacks more forcefully.

Seeing an opportunity, Bennie steps through and smashes Riel in the face with the sharp of her blade as he drives the flat of Acetil's shaft into her belly. The blows kick them both back, driving Bennie stumbling and collapsing into the dirt with her sword clanging awkwardly into to the side. She grabs her sword and climbs to her feet. Riel's skull has been splintered across the nose and eye. Magic quickly fills in the wound, leaving a vein of gold rippling across his face.

Bennie feels something rise up from her abdomen and she throws up. She stares down at the bile and blood for a second, then coughs and wipes her face. Her heart pounds hot and fast in her temples.

She can feel the leylines stretching up again. Riel's body burns brilliantly. She dives to the side and an enormous beam of rainbow magic blazes past her, shredding through the rubble and continuing into the ruins beyond.

Bennie has just enough time to get up to realize another blast is on its way; she doesn't have enough time to dodge. Bennie drops to one knee, drives her sword into the ground and braces herself against it. Her flames shift forward, generating a fiery shield in front of her.

The rainbow beam hits Bennie's shield and her sword face instantly cracks from the pressure. Her guard won't hold for long. Bennie slowly starts turning herself sideways, rotating the shield with her, and when she thinks she has clearance, Bennie leaps away, dragging Ruferi with her, and the edge of Riel's rainbow beam clips her and drives her sideways into the edge of a concrete building, knocking the wind completely out of her lungs.

Bennie writhes in the dirt in agony, desperate for air. When it finally comes, it tastes like poison, and she devolves into a coughing fit. Her fire aura slowly rebuilds itself, burning the toxic air away. She coughs hard, veins throbbing on her forehead as she grabs at her throat. The fit clears and she spits blood.

Bennie grabs her sword and looks for Riel. She finds the Skeleton King striding toward her. His rainbow aura swirls with a blend of brilliant colors and hues, but his golden crown shines brighter than anything else. She gingerly feels for the leylines; they're still connected to Riel.

As Bennie gets to her feet, Riel actually pauses. She stares at him for a few seconds, then brings her sword into long point guard and waits. Riel looks at her carefully; her arms are shaking.

Riel is suddenly in front of Bennie. She brings her sword up and blocks his attacks, dancing around the flurry. Riel presses and Bennie defends. Riel brings his spear back and swings for all he's worth and Bennie simply ducks under it, then slides in and drives the pommel of her sword into his chest. He steps back and looks down at his shattered sternum.

He dismisses Acetil and fires a beam of magic from his open palm.

Bennie rolls to the side. Riel fires again, then again, then puts both hands together and fires an enormous blaze of rainbow magic. Bennie guards across her arm and sinks down to ground herself, her fire aura sweeping forth to block the magic. Riel moves closer, the beam growing in intensity. Bennie's aura starts to crack.

She screams and kicks off to the side, narrowly avoiding the blast. She dashes forth and swings hard at Riel. The Skeleton King blocks the sword with his arm and drives his knee into Bennie's stomach. Her world lurches, then something hard smashes her in the face. She feels the ground drop out from under her, then abruptly come up to meet her. She chokes.

Bennie rolls to her side and grinds a fist in the dirt. Blood leaks from her mouth in a steady trickle. She summons her sword and uses it as a brace, slowly getting to her feet. Her lungs tingle like tiny aphids are eating through them. She spits blood out of her mouth, unable to stop it from welling up.

Riel waits patiently a few paces away. He doesn't attempt to attack.

Bennie sucks in a breath and coughs as she exhales. The leylines churn like a frothy sea at her feet, but the sheer magnitude of the underground rivers is beyond anything she's ever felt before. Even if she could find the red and orange leylines and draw out the full power of both, Riel is able to nearly control every leyline at once. He would easily overwhelm her. How the hell is he controlling something so powerful?

In that moment, Bennie realizes her only option, and Riel's only weakness.

Bennie looks at her sword. The flat of the blade is cracked and the sword is bent at the center. She prays that it'll hold for just a few seconds. Bennie throws Ruferi on her shoulder and slowly approaches the Skeleton King. Blood pounds in her neck and temples. She can feel her lungs straining to keep up with the adrenalin in her veins. Underneath them, all the leylines stretch up toward her, connecting with her body.

When she finally reaches Riel, he moves, summoning Acetil and pulling it back with both hands for a devastating strike. Bennie turns such that her left shoulder is pointed toward her foe, her feet spread apart, Ruferi slung up over her shoulders and behind her head in a position Katrina called the woman's guard. Rainbow colors glint in the air around her as she stares down her Adversary.

Riel steps into his attack.

Bennie steps through and swings with everything she's got.

Their weapons collide, sending a shockwave rippling through Monarch and reverberating into every district. Battles stop mid-swing, disturbed by the immense force. Rainbow pearlescent magic explodes from both combatants. Riel quickly draws out everything he can control and pushes forward. This should be enough to force Bennie back. She can't control it like he can. She has no chance against his might.

But Bennie takes a step forward and pushes him back instead.

Riel falters. She couldn't be controlling the leylines. It's not possible.

And, as he looks at her, he realizes she isn't controlling anything.

Bennie has opened herself totally to every leyline churning under Renea, letting herself become a conduit for the immeasurable planetary energy. Rainbow colors crackle in her eyes, snake past her face, split her skin to reveal a torrent of rainbow magic flowing underneath. Her hair, whipping wildly in the struggle, is awash with every color.

Riel briefly considers the risk, then opens himself up as well, trying to draw as much of the leylines into himself as he can, but it's too late. There's too much power flowing through his Adversary. Bennie pushes harder, letting out a primal yell. Riel glances first at their weapons, then at Bennie. A mirthless laugh escapes him.

Acetil cracks, then breaks.

Riel doesn't bother dodging. He disconnects from the leylines and takes the full brunt of the blast.

The world goes white.

Bennie and Riel face each other in that frozen moment, and together they share a mutual feeling only he and Bennie could ever understand.

As Bennie follows through, the energy coursing through her body carries through her strike, vaporizing Riel and obliterating the district behind him. The blast shakes the city to its core, covering all of Monarch in an enormous cloud of dust.

The leylines recede, their job finished, and they return to their quiet thrumming in the darkness underground. Bennie Balachie stands alone in the center of Monarch, triumphant.

She lets out a slow sigh and plants her sword in the ground, supporting her weight on the hilt with both hands. She can feel her heartbeat throb all over her body. There's a split in the clouds above her, evidence of her clash with Riel. She smiles, exhausted, as a sense of real accomplishment roots itself in her chest.

Bennie sinks to her knees and coughs weakly. Her legs have lost all strength. She holds on to her sword and tries to stand, then gives up. There's no point in moving right now. Maybe in a little bit, after she's rested.

Bennie stretches out on the ground and looks up at the gorgeous, deep blue sky above her. She really won. She finally did something worth talking about—something worth remembering. They'll remember today, won't they? They'll remember the Hero named Bennie Balachie.

Her lungs deflate and they don't rise again.

The monsters from the Cemetery reach Monarch faster than anyone anticipated.

Enormous, glossy beasts with extra appendages, eyes on their arms, and mouths screaming and crying out in agony climb into the city. Misshapen humanoids with black eyes and twisted heads crawl across the ground like spiders. Shapeless Shades blob over one another, collapsing on rocks and dissolving them in their amorphous bodies. Behind the advancing mass, far in the distance and shadowed like a mountain on the horizon, is an enormous jellyfish-like creature with three prominent yellow eyes. It drones like an incessant beehive, unthinking, drifting senselessly. A tall skeletal Shade with a distinct, vibrant yellow Glow and a pool of black dust misting about its feet leads the charge.

The Plains faction is the first to clash with the monsters and a retreat order is called after the monsters smash through the line and rip apart the infantry. The Peaks faction launches debris and boulders into the Cemetery monsters, but even when their bodies are broken, the creatures slink forward and continue to advance, spilling poison and black goo and corrupted magic all over the ground. The worst of them all is the mountainous jellyfish on the horizon, creeping ever closer, always droning, drifting, inhuman. The sound it makes drives the Plains infantry to madness and some throw themselves at the monsters in desperation. The infantry breaks, and then scatters, and suddenly both the Plains and Peaks factions are in a panicked retreat. A bowman prepares to launch a flaming arrow into the sky to signal for reinforcements, but Gabriel appears without warning and grabs his bow.

"There's no point in fighting right now!" he yells. "Move back! Retreat!"

Out in the Woods and Ruins Districts, the Ruins faction has successfully dominated the Skeleton soldiers. The blue flames in the Skeletons' chest began to fade some time ago. Some crumple to the ground before they can be destroyed, a lifeless pile of bones covered in plate metal. The battle against Riel, it appears, has been successful.

As Katrina scans the battlefield, a man from the Plains faction comes running up to her and quickly relays the news about the monsters in the Cemetery. Katrina feels a disquieting sense of unease and her mind goes to Scott. She thanks the runner and orders a full retreat of the entire Ruins faction. The tired soldiers are eager to comply, and they retreat with a sense of pride in their chests.

Drew, annoyed at being abandoned by Scott, stomps through the Plains District in search of his elusive friend. He takes note of the screams coming from the Cemetery and decides that, at last, he's found the action he's been looking for. As he runs toward it, he catches a posse of Shades flying toward it as well, Scott suspended in-between. Drew follows him at a run.

Scott, Salvation, and a group of Shades land in the thick of the Cemetery monsters, all of whom go crazy the minute Scott puts his feet on the ground. They chant in rhythm, writhing and bashing the ground and glopping up and down, screaming for the one who brought them all to this place—screaming for Retribution.

The skeletal Shade appears from the ranks of the monsters. A sickly sense of unease blankets the area and Scott feels a familiar prickle in the back of his head. Salvation puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. Scott didn't even realize he was shaking.

"Your friends are bigger this time," Salvation calls.

"Of course," Retribution replies. "As my power grows, so must theirs."

"What are you here for?"

"To finish the job you couldn't, and then to finish you. You have guts to leave the Hero alive; there are rules, you know. You can't just ignore them. Breaking the rules is grounds for termination."

"On whose authority?"

"The rule maker's. I've seen the lengths he goes to in order to create a fair, balanced environment. All must be tested."

"Kalonius," Salvation warns. "You remember what happened last time you faced me. I'm stronger than last time, with more help. Scott is here too."

"He is exactly why I'm here. As I said, according to the rules set out by the rule maker, all must be tested." It levels a finger at Scott. "And I will be your test today. Of course, I can't have you using any materials to cheat, so I'll be removing them now."

Retribution snaps a finger and white chains spring from the ground to seize Salvation and his Shades. Salvation is the only one who can struggle while the others thrash helplessly as they're dragged into a portal beneath their feet. When Retribution realizes the Master won't go quietly, it grows annoyed and gestures. Three misshapen horrors grab Salvation and push him down into the ground. Scott starts to move, but he forces himself to stop. Salvation can take care of himself. There is a more pressing issue at hand.

A commotion comes from behind him and a familiar voice shouts a profanity. He sighs as a humanoid creature with five arms dumps Drew into the circle where Scott and Retribution are facing one another.

"Well, well," Drew says, getting to his feet. "If it isn't my old friend, Scott Cornot. You going to bail on me again this time, too?"

"Drew," Scott says. "Now is really not a good time."

"Oh, sorry. Should I leave you and your new best friend alone so you can get comfy?"

Scott throws a pleading look at Retribution. "Doesn't this count as cheating?"

"There's no test where having Drew King at your side constitutes cheating."

"Hey!" Drew exclaims. "I resent that!"

"Just stand over there." Scott points to the side. "Trust me, you don't want any part of this."

"I haven't had any action all day! I want every piece I can get."

"No, you don't," Retribution and Scott say in unison.

Drew grumbles something and stands off to the side near some unnatural ten-foot-tall monster with five eyes and seven mouths whispering in broken Renean. "How's it going?" he tries. The eyes all flick toward him for a moment, then flick back toward the scene in front of them.

Scott summons Segensa, his triple-bladed scythe, and holds it in a guard across his chest. Retribution rockets upward with a banshee scream. Scott follows his foe into the air.

They clash in a burst of yellow and blue magic, scattering white sparks in the air. Retribution slips to the side and Scott slashes with his scythe, cutting through the evade. The Shade sends out a psychic pulse. Scott shields his mind and takes the damage to his body instead. The blow knocks him out of the sky.

Scott and Retribution clash again, this time on the ground. They exchange attacks then break apart. Retribution dashes away and Scott dashes in. The Shade sweeps the area with a yellow blast and Scott leaps over it. He comes down hard with Segensa and misses Retribution by a hair.

Scott and the Shade clash for a final time. Their magical auras grow to a zenith as they shove against each other. Retribution falters for just a moment and Scott capitalizes, sweeping the Shade at the feet and blasting forward with his shoulder. Retribution stumbles and throws a wild beam. Scott weaves easily underneath and smacks the Shade with the butt of his weapon. Retribution falls back-first to the ground. Scott poses over it, Segensa pulled back for a baseball swing.

"You're not so tough," Scott says.

"Interesting," Retribution says blankly. "Neither are you."

"What?"

Scott gasps. The familiar prickle in his mind rips wide open. He drops to his knees and clutches his skull. Voices of all volumes scream in his ear. Magic explodes from his body, tossing rocks and rubble into a tornado. The Cemetery creatures scatter, squealing and shrieking, and Retribution gets to its feet. The blaze of magic coming from Scott's body doesn't even faze it.

"My head!" Scott shrieks, kicking uselessly in the dirt. "Oh God, my head is coming apart!"

Retribution pauses over Scott's body, then turns and looks to the side. Drew King stands frozen in place.

"Well?" it says in a voice so clear it takes Drew a moment to realize Retribution is speaking directly to him. "Aren't you going to help? Isn't this the action you wanted?"

Drew can't reply. He's acutely aware of the hair on his arms and legs standing up. Scott cries out in agony. Drew looks away and tries not to cover his ears. When he dares to look back, he finds himself face-to-face with a massive skeletal Shade.

Drew feels something punch into his stomach. He stumbles away and runs for his life.

Nysse gets to her feet. The reserve soldiers stir at the sight.

"We have a visitor," she says without turning around. "Please come help him."

Seconds later, Charlie comes blasting out of the city at top speed, a discarded suit of red armor cradled in his arms.

He screeches to a halt a few steps in front of Nysse, steps forward a few times, then collapses to the ground. Three soldiers immediately step forward to help him sit against a tree. His face is ragged, his skin is splitting, and his eyes are tinted yellow. Nysse sits next to him and lays a gentle hand on his knee. Charlie looks at her weakly, then passes her Bennie's armor. She touches it distantly, her starfield eyes glistening with an emotion she can't hide.

"I tried to reach her in time," he says. "By the time I reached her, she'd already... This was all I could get. It was all that's left."

Nysse pulls a shell necklace out of Bennie's armor and holds it up to the light. She looks at it silently, then pockets it.

Charlie settles at her side. Nysse looks out at the ruins of Monarch. A monstrous jellyfish behemoth lingers on the far side of the city, parallaxed to the size of a mountain, incessantly droning, appendages drifting senselessly. A small trickle of people fleeing from Monarch indicates a retreat has been called.

"I'm sorry about Ariana," Nysse says.

"I am, too. But while I was away, I found a friend who helped put things in perspective."

"He'll be late, won't he?"

"Yes. He had to take the long way around, but Gerrich is fast. He'll be here in no time." He chuckles drily. "Well, one can hope so, anyways."

Nysse says nothing, her gaze trained on the Cemetery District.

Retribution slowly circles around the muttering, shivering Scott Cornot. It can't help but feel like a little gloating is in order. Not only has it done what Salvation should have done months ago, but it's also captured said traitor and bound him with the same spell he used to send Retribution to the Vast Emptiness. If Retribution got paid in irony, it'd be filthy rich.

It picks up Scott by the head, an entire skeletal hand branching around Scott's skull and to the base of his neck. Scott twitches limply in its grip. His eyes are unfocused. Retribution smiles, its shadowy face forcefully spreading apart to reveal its teeth. It could kill Scott right here, or it could take him back to the Emptiness and torture him for a while. Both sound like wonderful treats.

Retribution doesn't get the chance to think much more, because suddenly its arm is cleaved at the elbow and Scott is caught in the embrace of a red-armored warrior. It's impossible to tell who's under the helmet. A flash of lightning bolts down from the sky and Retribution is thrown backwards. When the Shade can see again, both the red warrior and Salvation, Master of Shades, stand in the center of the clearing. Scott is draped limply in Salvation's arms.

"You should have changed the spell," Salvation says. "Breaking my own seal was child's play."

"Leaving so soon?" Retribution says. "We have so much to settle." Retribution motions and shapeless creatures begin to crawl out from dark spaces and shattered buildings.

"You go," the warrior whispers to Salvation. "I can hold them off long enough for you to escape."

"That leaves you here alone."

"I can handle myself."

"Not against all of them."

"I will be fine."

"Katrina." Salvation's voice is soft. "You know what will happen if you stay."

No response comes from the stoic red helmet.

Salvation says nothing for a moment. Then, with Scott in his arms, he floats up into the air.

Retribution snaps his fingers. The creatures lunge toward the sky.

Katrina plunges her sword into the ground and a fountain of lightning burst from the hilt, caging the monsters within and shielding Salvation from their advance. The monsters claw fiercely at the lightning bars only to get electrocuted and disintegrated. Retribution watches Salvation's form disappear toward the Woods. It turns toward Katrina with an angry glare. She stands alone, her sword securely planted in the ground, unmovable.

"You're going to die here," Retribution seethes, his Glow intensifying. "And when Salvation and Scott come back, I'll be sure to taunt them with your mangled body."

Katrina faces him directly. She takes up a fighting stance and waits.

Retribution yells an order and the monsters all close in at once.

Katrina dispels them with a burst of red electricity.

Retribution charges right at her.

Katrina whips a lasso of lightning from her palms, lashes Retribution tight, and slings it to the ground. She jumps above him, her fist crackling with power, and just as she comes down, she's tackled away by a tentacled beast. Retribution struggles to free itself while Katrina fights back the ever-enclosing circle of horrors.

Retribution turns to see Katrina sending a barrage of angry red bolts ripping through its army. She slams her fists once, twice into the ground and a dome of energy blasts the creatures away. Some are unlucky enough to get snagged by the lightning bars of her cage. When she sees Retribution is standing, she runs right for him. Annoyance creases its face.

There's a burst of yellow magic, and suddenly Retribution is in front of Katrina and its fist is colliding with her helmet so hard that it cracks the faceplate and sends her spiraling into the air. It fires three quick bursts directly at the helpless warrior, then brings its hands down such that a pillar of yellow magic screams from the sky and blasts her into the ground. Retribution holds it for a few moments longer than necessary, then stops. The Shade approaches the crater and sees Katrina struggling to her feet. The helmet has been broken and her armor is tinted with yellow scratches.

Retribution growls and gestures and its monsters pile over one another to get into the crater. There's squelching and striking and even the snapping of bone and some screams of agony. Retribution smirks, enjoying itself. This moment will suffice for the loss of its two prizes.

After a while, it recalls the creatures and waits. A single hand reaches over the crater and pulls itself to the top. Katrina's armor is cracked, shattered, or outright missing in several places and her left leg is twisted at the knee. She holds her left shoulder, wincing and grunting in pain. Retribution watches, amused, as she pulls herself to her feet and slinks weakly toward her sword.

Katrina grips her sword with one hand. She leans on it, wheezing heavily. The monsters and creatures around her devolve into an excited roar. Retribution drifts toward her, readying magic in its hands. She turns her face toward the sky, hoping to see one last patch of blue. She sees nothing but grey clouds.

Katrina rips her sword out of the ground and holds it proudly overhead. The blade begins to glow plasmonic blue.

Moments later, a blinding explosion rips through the Cemetery District of Monarch.

"Let's move!" Gabriel yells over the explosion, ushering his soldiers out of the city at a full run. "Grab a buddy, no one left behind! Let's go!"

"It doesn't look like the Cemetery monsters are following," Roger observes, running with him. "I think we can make it out of here safely."

"Hey, you! Grab a buddy! Get moving!"

"Guys!" Drew yells, running up alongside them. "Is everyone okay?"

"Only seen you and Roger so far," Gabriel answers. "I thought I saw Scott—"

His voice is drowned out by a deafening, droning foghorn. Far in the Cemetery District, the mountainous jellyfish's three eyes begin glowing with yellow power. Its tentacles slowly lift into the air and it advances toward them.

"Aw screw this, I'm gone!" Drew takes off at a full sprint, disappearing into the crowd.

"Have you seen Katrina?" Gabriel asks, grabbing Roger at the shoulder. "Or Scott?"

"Katrina can take care of herself," Roger says. "I feel Scott near Salvation; they're both traveling fast. Something must have happened. As for Bennie—"

"Ah dammit, I forgot about Bennie!" Gabriel whirls around. "Hey! Has anyone seen Bennie!"

"Forget about her!" someone yells. "Just get the hell out of here!"

Gabriel doesn't have time to argue. He takes one last glance at the jellyfish monster, then runs out of Monarch with the rest of the soldiers.

Retribution briefly reaches out to the leylines and they reach back, accepting it as the newest ruler of Monarch. The Shade cuts off the connection, uninterested. It didn't come here to gain power. Retribution turns to its creatures and monsters and abominations and embraces them as a victor.

# Interlude Two

## An Uncertain Present

Somewhere far from Renea

Drew yawns on his drive over to visit the recruiter's office again. It's become almost a second home to him, much like the Balachie Flower Shop. He glances once or twice at his watch and is always surprised to find that time doesn't move any quicker. It gets a little annoying to see time at a standstill after he starts checking every ten seconds, especially because traffic is jammed ahead of him. Once he gets up to the blockage, he throws a casual glance out his window to see what the holdup was: a nasty car crash, two vehicles on the side with an ambulance and police car whirling their lights. Drew grimaces and tries not to look too closely.

He arrives at the recruiter's office an hour before they close for the weekend. Most of the servicemen and servicewomen have left for the day, save for Lieutenant Bradley and Sergeant Myers. They're in deep conversation with a dad and his son in a private cubicle, so Drew finds himself one of the magazines he's read only two or three times and waits to be called on.

"Hey, Drew." Lieutenant Bradley waves him over while Sergeant Myers escorts the dad and son out. "You're just who I wanted to see, actually. I was going to call you to set up an appointment Monday morning."

"Well, I'm glad I dropped by, sir." Drew adds 'sir' as an afterthought, almost forgetting it with how casual they've become in the past few weeks.

Lieutenant Bradley leads him back over to his own cubicle and sits behind his desk. Drew sits at attention in Bradley's guest chair, waiting patiently while he looks for Drew's file and eventually finds it.

"Drew, I'll play it straight with you today." Bradley knits his fingers together and rests his face on his hands. "We don't want men who are only strong. We want men who are smart and strong—men who can lead when there's the urge to follow, who are willing to adapt under fire and defend their country and their personal morals. Average ain't going to cut it. Considerable isn't going to cut it, either."

"I understand," Drew says, serious.

"Do you think you can get by with average test scores and passable physical fitness?"

"No, sir."

"Do you think that's what the Navy wants out of its soldiers?"

"No, sir."

"You're damn right they don't. Sign a few places in this packet for me."

Drew picks up a pen and glances over the paper Bradley hands to him. "May I ask what I'm signing, sir?"

"That's your enlistment contract."

The pen nearly drops from his hand.

"As it turns out," Bradley says with a sigh, "you weren't smart enough to get into the Navy, which is what I was really pushing for, because it's the best branch. However, the Army still wants you, so I've filled out everything you need based on what you've told me—MOS, branch, name, everything but your personal data. Fill that out, sign where I've marked, and you'll be on inactive duty until we get you a date to ship out to basic."

Drew laughs, giddy. He hastily fills out the sheet everywhere as necessary and signs his name in every highlighted box. When he's finished, he hands the paper over to Lieutenant Bradley and shakes his hand and thanks him so many times that the lieutenant has to ask him to stop. Drew leaves the recruiter's office with a wide grin on his face.

The first thing he does when he gets to his car is call his mom and dad and tell them what happened. They express great joy and pride, congratulating him on choosing to serve. He then starts to call Bennie, but a quick glance at the clock shows him that the shop may still be open. He decides to tell in her person. He puts his car in reverse and floors it out of the parking lot.

"Bennie!" he cries, throwing the door to the Balachie Flower Shop open. "Are you here?"

Contemplative silence greets him, along with the faint hum of Zen music. Drew spots Mr. Balachie, Bennie's dad, arranging a bouquet at the counter. He glances up as Drew approaches.

"Have you seen Bennie?" Drew says breathlessly. "I've got to tell her something."

"She left early with her mom." He gives Drew a strange look. "Is everything alright?"

"I just have something I really need to tell her."

"You could call her."

"I wanted to tell her in person."

"Ah. You got into the services, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did. Army."

"Congratulations, truly."

"Thank you, sir."

Mr. Balachie wilts slightly. He sighs and finishes wrapping the bouquet in paper. When he's done, he pulls up a chair and sits down heavily in it.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about this," Mr. Balachie starts. "What you do with your life is, of course, up to you, but don't forget you've got other people to consider. People like my daughter. Have you thought about what you two are going to do?" When he sees Drew's confusion, Mr. Balachie continues. "Long-distance relationships, speaking from experience, almost never work out, and you best consider yourself on the side of 'almost never' than 'sometimes maybe.' And there's no way you're taking my daughter to a war zone."

"I might not be deployed to a war zone."

"Drew, I like you, but 'might not' is not good enough for me, my wife, or my daughter."

"What, you want me to break up with her?" Drew says, irritated.

"No, but I do think you ought to give serious thought to what you are going to do about Bennie."

"I've tried having this conversation with her before. It's been my dream since I was a kid. I want her to be a part of it because she's important to me, but if it comes down to my dream or her..." Drew sighs. "I don't know what I'll choose. I genuinely don't know what I'll choose."

"It's a very big, very adult decision," Mr. Balachie says. "If 30 years ago someone had shown me a glass ball that had where I am now versus where I could have been if I made different decisions, then offered me a choice between the two... Well, personally, I wouldn't trade what I've got. But maybe you're a different man than me. Maybe if someone showed you two different futures in a glass ball, you'd make the choice I wouldn't."

"I can't help but feel you're encouraging me to turn down the services."

"No, I'm not. I'm saying you might want to look hard at that glass ball and really consider which path will take you where you want to be. There are a lot of decisions we have to make in life—big ones—and this is one of those. Take it from me; I've lived it." Mr. Balachie looks at his wristwatch. "It's time to close up shop, Drew. How about you give Bennie a call when you've thought it over some more? I'm sure she'd appreciate knowing where she stands in your life."

Drew walks out to his car, thinks for five minutes, then opens his cell phone and dials Bennie to see if she's free for a date tomorrow tonight.

The door to the Lockwood home opens softly and closes even softer. Stanley and Camellia stumble into their house together, giggling and shushing each other even though they are alone. Stanley flops onto the couch and stretches out lazily, feeling his long limbs. Camellia half-pushes his legs aside, then drops down on his stomach and lays on his chest. He curls his arm around her reflexively.

"Next time," she says, "we stop at three drinks."

"I'm so drunk," Stanley mutters. "Did we drink the whole bar?"

"Feels like it. That's the most fun I've ever had in college."

"We'll feel it tomorrow."

"I'm sure you're going to be tasting it in a few hours."

Stanley looks at Camellia with amusement in his eyes. "Hey," he says. "I think I'm in love with you."

"I think I'm in love with you, too."

"And I think I made the right decision."

"What decision?"

"The decision to be with you no matter what happens. And, and you know what? Nothing's ever going to separate us, and if it tries, I will tear apart reality to find you again."

"Where's this coming from?"

"I just... I just felt like being more expressive. Is that okay?"

"Sure, it's just a little odd. Someone make you jealous?"

"No! I just thought that you'd want to hear something sweet from me every now and then. You deserve a partner who is more vocal and public with his feelings."

"I suppose. But everyone says 'I love you' a little differently. I like the way you say yours."

"I know, I just..." He closes his eyes. "I just wanted to tell you how I felt."

"I don't mind listening. As long as it's you, I don't mind anything at all."

Camellia grips his hand in hers and offers him a gentle, warm smile. Something clicks in Stanley's mind—something about this moment, this feeling, burns itself into his memory and he knows that years from now he'll still be thinking about it and reliving every moment. His heart swells as if he finally understands something that's been unknowable and untouchable for as long as he can remember. He feels himself soften inside. Stanley holds his Camellia for a long time.

The next morning, before Camellia wakes up, Stanley gets out of bed and dresses quietly. With the weekend in full swing, he won't have to worry about going in to work. He leaves in his car and stops at a friend's shop. He pushes open the door and finds that his friend isn't working today, much to his disappointment, but another familiar coworker is.

"Good morning," Stanley says, catching the man's attention. "I'm a friend of Richard's. I'm here to pick up my order. It's the specialty piece."

"Ah, of course!" says the man behind the counter. "He just finished it yesterday. Your specifications were exceedingly detailed; he's been working on it for nearly a month. And again, I am sorry about the delay."

"Not an issue. I would rather see time invested in good work than wasted on a shoddy job."

The man behind the counter produces Stanley's special order. Stanley inspects it closely and, when he's satisfied, gives the man a nod.

"Very good, sir. I'll get your final paperwork and prepare your receipt. Big night coming up?"

Stanley holds the diamond ring up to the light. "Yes, very much so."

"...and, of course, the little rascal hidden between the Jokers has to be the four of Spades!"

Luke Derringer tosses the face-down card into the air, catches it, and reveals it triumphantly to the man on the stage. The audience behind him confirms the card and politely claps. Luke thanks the member and sends him back down.

"Now, of course, it wouldn't be a magic-comedy act without a parting joke. My grandfather was a big fan of comedy, and he always..."

Luke continues on into his routine, finishes his final joke, and receives a hearty chuckle from the audience for his efforts, followed by applause. Two large men in the back stand and applaud. Luke takes leave of the stage and heads over to the bar to grab his usual drink: a gin and tonic. As he sits at the bar, the two guys from the back come by and sit on either side of him.

"Great act," says one, leaning his burly arms on the table.

"Very well done," says the other, clapping Luke on the shoulder with a meaty hand.

"Hey, thank you," Luke replies, taking his drink from the bartender. "You want an autograph or something? I can even show you a few card tricks if you'd like."

"No, thanks," says the first. "We're here on business. My name is Sergeant Brody. That's Corporal Smithers. We'd like to ask you some questions in private."

"Am I in trouble? Should I call my lawyer?"

"No, that won't be necessary. We'd just like to ask you some questions in private."

"Oh, alright, cool. Let's step outside. Tommy! I'm taking my gin out with me, I'll be back."

Luke and the two police officers take their leave from the bar and stand off to the side. In the light of the moon and the small lamp post in front of the bar, Luke sees that their faces aren't angry, suspicious, or even guarded. Their lips and brows are tight.

"Do you know a Bill and Mary Derringer?" Brody asks out of the blue.

"Oh yeah, they're my parents. Great people, really supportive of my act. They think I'm going to go far someday."

Brody sighs. He gives Smithers a look, then nods.

"We need you to come with us," Smithers says, catching Luke's attention. "They've been in a car accident. We need you to... To verify the bodies."

Luke's gin and tonic falls and shatters on the sidewalk.

# Chapter Seventeen

## Weight

Refugee camp, the Woods

Hours after the second battle in Monarch, with the Woods sun hanging low in the sky, the Hero army shambles into the refugee camp. The injured limp slowly through the medical camp, and every few minutes someone groans in pain or calls out for water. Doctors, medics, and healers move quickly to treat their patients, but the real damage has been done to morale. Nysse carries Bennie's empty armor with a faraway look in her eyes. Drew walks as if in a dream, a small shell necklace gripped firmly in his hand. Gabriel and Roger move forward with their eyes on the ground, unable to meet the hopeful eyes of those who waited in camp. The sky begins to darken as night approaches.

Gabriel pauses in front of Scott's tent; Salvation waits outside. A few seconds later, Jinas throws open Scott's tent flap, a clipboard under his arm.

"Don't ask," Jinas says, shoving past them. "You don't want to know."

Salvation and Gabriel exchange a look, then Salvation flies off to rejoin his Shades in the Woods. Gabriel runs after Jinas and catches him on the arm.

"How bad is it?"

"Didn't I just tell you not to ask?"

"Then tell me what happened."

"It's the same thing that always happens: Scott got into a fight and is suffering the consequences. Salvation managed to stabilize him a little bit, but..." Jinas trails off.

"But what?" Gabriel says. "Are we going to lose him?"

"I don't know."

"Then are we going to get him back?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what _do_ you know?"

"I know I'm going to break this clipboard if you don't stop asking me stupid questions." Jinas takes a steadying breath. "I'm sorry. I just genuinely don't know if Scott is going to be okay. I've never seen him like this before. Even if I did everything in my power, he might not..." Jinas shakes his head.

"Jinas, if you need a break—"

"I don't. I need to keep working. There are other patients to attend to; people are relying on me. I'll be fine, Gabriel."

"Just try to stay positive," Gabriel says. "He's been in similar situations and pulled through. Keep your chin up."

As Jinas flips through his clipboard, Gabriel explains that he's heading into the Woods to look after Charlie, adding that he is in his own tent since the yellow magic in his body is too dangerous to bring into camp. Jinas asks if he can tag along to better understand Charlie's condition; Gabriel agrees, but warns Jinas that his injuries go very far beyond what medicine can help. Jinas then remembers he has to check on Camellia and waves Gabriel ahead. When he looks into her tent, he finds her floating in mid-air, meditating. He'll have to talk to her later.

As Jinas walks to the front gate, he can hear a loud argument ahead of him growing to a crescendo. Jinas arrives to find a chiseled man with one hand in Gabriel's shirt and the other hand balancing an enormous slab of solid marble under his arm. For some reason, Gabriel can't stop smiling and giggling.

"Doc," Gabriel begins as Jinas approaches, "meet Trouble."

"That's not my name," Trouble snaps.

"Fine, fine. Jinas, meet Gerrich. He's an old friend of mine."

"We're not friends."

"Only a true friend would bring us something like this!" Gabriel takes the marble rock from Gerrich's grasp, but it drops straight to the ground in his hands; it's too heavy to lift.

"What are you doing? Don't lift with your back. Give me that." Gerrich picks it up with one hand and throws it back under his arm. "Now explain to me what this is since Charlie never bothered to."

"It's a tool," Gabriel answers. "We'll be using it for something very important in the future."

"Oh, of _course_ you will. That's exactly what Charlie said, and he made me lug this damn thing all the way across the Peaks for him. 'But Gerrich! I'm not strong enough to handle it myself!' What would he have done without me? You Hero-types are all spineless crybabies."

Jinas bristles. "You don't know anything about the Heroes."

"Is that so?" Gerrich lowers himself into Jinas's face. "I spent two years of my life chasing a Hero named Stanley Lockwood, a man who didn't even show up until a few months ago. Before that, I spent 15 years of my life chasing Gabriel, and another 10 before that learning how to hate Heroes, and another 10 before that—"

"Hey Gerrich," Gabriel says, distracting the bandit. "We're actually going to see Charlie right now. You want to come along?"

"Do I want to?" Gerrich somehow becomes even more annoyed. "You bet I'd like to see the man who made me run around Monarch all by myself. I'd like to give him a piece of my mind."

Gerrich dumps the marble slab in the middle of the road and follows Jinas and Gabriel out of the camp and into the Woods. A few curious Shades slip in and out of the leaves, but they don't approach. After a while, the trio comes to a lone tent. Jinas buckles at the sickly sense of unease and nausea that hits him. Gerrich pointedly ignores it. Gabriel takes them into the tent.

Charlie is laying alone in a bed. His face has shrunken and the blood vessels in his eyes have burst, making his sclera a sickly mix of yellow and red. His skin is tinged pale blue and ribbed with ugly, bulbous veins. Charlie doesn't even notice their arrival until Gabriel comes to the head of the bed.

Jinas clears his throat, already feeling heady. "A bit stuffy in here, isn't it?"

"Hey," Gerrich says, coming over to the other side of the bed. "You're a real ass for making me run all the way around Monarch. Get up so I can beat you properly."

"Gerrich," Charlie says weakly. "Is Roger back yet? He said he was getting me some water."

At that moment, Roger comes through the front of the tent with a waterskin in hand. At the sight of the three of them, he nods his head shortly, then offers the water to Charlie. Gabriel and Jinas step outside while Gerrich remains inside.

"I've never seen a condition like that," Jinas says. "I got a headache just standing near him. What happened?"

"Charlie went right to the center of Monarch to save Bennie, right where the yellow magic is thickest. Even if he was exposed for only a short time, Sorsaren's poison eats away at you from the inside. He won't last long."

"Isn't there anything we can do?"

"I asked Salvation, but he said none of his techniques would work. Nysse's stellar magic is supposed to help counteract yellow magic, but I think Charlie is too far gone. It's a miracle he's made it this far, honestly."

Jinas is quiet for a second. "You heard about Bennie?"

"Yes, I did. I liked her a lot, you know."

"I did, too."

Jinas and Gabriel look at each other for a second, each unable to bridge the gap between them. After a few moments, Jinas walks back to his medical camp and tries to bury himself in work.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. But I can't let you in."

"You'll have to," Camellia says innocently. "I'm here on Jinas's orders."

"Jinas said someone would try that," the guard sniffs. "He said he's not giving any orders to anyone. I recognize you're a Hero, ma'am, and I respect you for that, but Jinas says absolutely no one goes into Scott's tent other than him."

"You'd be doing me a big favor if you could let me in. A Hero would be owing you a favor."

"No, sorry."

"What if I promise not to tell?"

"It's about my integrity, ma'am. I can't compromise that."

Camellia huffs, screwing her face up as she thinks. The guard looks at her for a few seconds, seeming to mull something over in his mind.

"But," he says, glancing around carefully, "I am feeling a little"—he coughs—"a little under the weather. I was going to leave my post a few minutes early before the next guy gets here. If there's no one watching the front, well, not my problem if you happen to get inside."

Camellia graciously leaves the guard in peace and stands in the shadow of a few crates. A few hours later, once the sky has darkened completely and the air has cooled, the guard in front of Scott's tent coughs loud enough for her to hear and steps away from the entrance. As soon as he's out of sight, Camellia dashes across the street and grabs the tent flap. She pauses for a second, steeling herself for the worst, then throws it open and enters unannounced.

Scott's tent is a disaster area. Tables, chairs, and all kinds of equipment are floating mid-air. Some things have been torn apart and spread across the tent floor, including the metal frame of Scott's old cot and some sharp surgical equipment. Scott, in a seated position, hovers in mid-air in the middle of the room, slowly spinning like an old bicycle wheel. Camellia looks around for something to catch his attention with, but everything is shredded metal and wood. She instead lightly taps her foot on the ground. Scott stops spinning.

"Before I turn around," Scott says, "if there's no one there, I am going to tear my room apart and find you again. Again."

"It's just me," Camellia says. "You don't have to be worried."

Scott looks over his shoulder. His eyes are indescribably blank, as if he's staring straight into some vast darkness behind her. He turns to face her but remains floating in mid-air.

"Oh. Oh, oh. Good to see you. You, that is. You are good to see to see." Scott lightly slaps himself on both his cheeks. "Sorry. I have a bit of a tick a tick a tick. I get fixated on words. Birds. No, words. I'm trying to stop."

"It's alright. You look good."

"Jinas says I look awful. He says a lot of awful things about me when he thinks I can't hear." Scott points to his ear. "I'm always listening. You have to listen. If you don't listen listen, you don't learn. Learn learn learn." He shakes himself once to stop the tick. Camellia clears her throat.

"May I join you?" she asks.

"Yes, absolutely. Yes. There is plenty of room in the sky for my friends."

Camellia floats off the ground and levitates toward Scott. She sits in mid-air across from him and offers a smile. Scott quirks his head, his eyes flicking across her face in an anxious study.

"Do you think there's a God?" he suddenly asks.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean a real God. Like someone who's always watching over you and who'll help you out in your time of need. Reed."

"I don't see why not."

"I think God exists," Scott continues, unbidden. "I think He's out there watching over us, but I don't think He likes me very much. We're not on speaking terms, you know. I don't talk to Him and He doesn't talk to me. It's a very peculiar relationship."

Camellia is quiet for a minute. "Did you want to talk about God?"

"No. No no no, just wanted your opinion. Opinions are good. Opinion." Scott begins to turn until he's completely upside-down. "How come your voice isn't talking to me?"

"My voice...? You mean this?" Camellia points to her heart, hoping she's close enough to the strings Scott mentioned he could see.

"Yours is the only one that doesn't talk," Scott insists, pointing to where she's pointing. "It says nothing to me. It doesn't curse. It doesn't scream. It doesn't whisper, doesn't cry, doesn't moan, doesn't doesn't—" He claps his hands on the side of his face and turns himself right side up. "You're just quiet all the time. All the time. You only ever speak in tiny thumps, like a little marching drum."

"Well, it was always quiet like that. Don't you remember?"

Scott looks at her without blinking for a few seconds. She can see something clicking away in the back of his mind, and eventually he looks away and his eyes seem to focus on something, coming alive for just a few seconds. "Vaguely," he answers. "Sometimes it's hard to remember thing things. I remember your name, though. It's Camellia. I won't be forgetting that name. Name. Game same lame."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Scott suddenly perks up, his eyes fixing themselves in the distance again. "Someone's coming. Someone who will get you in trouble if you stay."

Camellia thinks of the guard. There's no way the change of shift is arriving already. It's barely been a minute. Is Scott actually listening in to the guard tent all the way on the other side of the camp?

"You have to go." Scott drops to the ground and steadies himself on two legs. "If you stay you're going to get us both in trouble. I don't want any trouble. I have enough troubles. I have to listen to the voices. They're telling me important things. And you, you have to recover. Your head is still damaged. If they yell at you, you're going to hurt yourself." He grabs Camellia and pulls her mid-air toward the tent flap. "Oh your legs are very nice, very nice. Do you work out a lot? Can we work out sometime sometime? It'd be a fun time."

"Hey." Camellia lands and puts a hand on Scott's shoulder, stopping him mid-stride. "I promise things are going to be okay again."

Scott looks at her blankly.

"And if ever you get scared, just... Just come find me. I'll come to you, I promise."

"Heroes don't get scared. Scared scared. Prepared." Scott shakes himself of the tick. "Go on, leave before you get in trouble. Double trouble."

Camellia passes through the tent flap and out into the street. She briefly hears Scott muttering something to himself before he moves away and becomes too hard to hear. She looks at the tent sadly for a few moments before leaving. The rest of the night passes without incident.

The next morning, Gerrich is awakened by the sounds of struggle.

Charlie heaves off his bed and Gerrich is up instantly, ready to fight the assailant. However, he discovers they're alone. Charlie thrashes for a second, then settles back down. He breathes ragged and harsh, shivering and sweating and pale as the full moon.

"Water," Charlie whispers. "Gerrich..."

The bandit sucks in a deep breath of the thick yellow magic blanketing the inside of Charlie's tent before stepping outside. A cool, fresh breeze blows across Gerrich's face and the sun is peeking over the tops of the trees. Breathing the air feels like drinking ice cold river water. With Sorsaren's magic no longer coating his lungs, Gerrich almost feels going for a run. He holds off his impulses and scoops a bucket of water from the barrel placed at the edge of the tree line. When he gets back into the tent, Charlie is a little more lucid. Gerrich hands him the entire bucket.

"Thanks," Charlie says weakly, taking a long, heavy drink. "I've never been so thirsty."

Gerrich nods and says nothing.

"How do I look?"

"You look great."

"Come on, Gerrich."

"You ever cooked a yellow-skin fish?"

"Oh. That bad, huh?"

"With its eyeballs left in."

"That's pretty bad." Charlie looks around his tent. "Gabriel and Roger not here?"

"No. Gabriel's supposed to be here in another hour or so. Roger will come by later tonight."

"Have you been here all night?"

"I haven't left once."

"What? But the magic—"

"I'll decide what kills me," Gerrich says stubbornly.

"I swear, Gerrich, you'll outlast all of us."

"Yes, I will."

Charlie is quiet for a moment. "Can you take me outside?"

"I was told not to touch you under any circumstances."

"Please? Just for a little bit. I want to see the sun."

Gerrich thinks for a second. He abruptly stands and leaves the tent. There's a scrambling and scruffling sound, then the sharp rip of fabric, and then a section of Charlie's tent above the bed is roughly peeled away, exposing him to the budding sunshine. Gerrich drops through the hole and lands on his feet. When he returns to Charlie's side, the man's eyes are closed. A smile is on his face.

"You're not dead, are you?" Gerrich says.

"I didn't realize how much I could miss a breeze," Charlie says. "I feel like I've been suffocating and this is my first time breathing again. It feels good." He looks over. "You'll have to cover that hole when it rains, you know. Gods, I miss rain, too."

"I can dump that bucket of water on you if you like."

Charlie laughs, and that turns into a chest coughing fit that lasts for almost half a minute. He thrusts his body back hard against his bed, clawing at his ribcage helplessly until he's able to breathe again.

"You know," Charlie croaks, "I never thought I would die in a place like this. I always thought I would amount to something greater than another shallow grave in a big, empty forest. There would be statues of me in cities and people would remember my name. Who remembers me now? Who out there can say who Charlie was? I worry that, of all the mistakes I made in my life, the biggest one I ever made was not leaving a legacy behind."

Gerrich scoffs. "You really are vain."

"Aren't you?"

He doesn't reply.

Charlie is silent for a long time. Then, "Thank you for helping me see the sun again."

"You're welcome."

An hour later, Gerrich leaves the tent and informs Jinas that Charlie has died. Gabriel and Roger say that an autopsy would be suicide and request that they dispose of their friend as they please. Jinas gives his consent and hears nothing more about it. He picks up a clipboard and remarks to one of his assistants to note "Charlie died today" in his daily report. It's the first time Charlie is mentioned in the written records, and the last.

Drew King stands outside Nysse's personal tent and inhales slowly. He touches the shell necklace hanging on his collarbone and thinks of Bennie. He knows Nysse has her armor sitting just inside the tent. It's only a few steps away, and he has a good idea of who he'll find hiding behind the curtain.

As he reaches out to enter the tent, the flap pulls aside and Nysse appears, blocking his view of the inside. She steps out slowly and lets the flap fall behind her, blocking his path.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, looking at him expectantly.

"Things are fine," Drew answers, trying not to look at the tent behind her. "Just thought I'd come by and see how you're doing."

"I'm doing fine. Thank you for checking in on me."

"And everything's good over here?"

"As far as I know, yes. Was there anything you needed?"

"Nope! Just checking in, hoping all is going well. I've had this nagging feeling that something suspicious is going on around here, so I just wanted to make sure."

"Suspicious? Have you talked to Roger about it?"

"Oh, no, I don't think that's necessary. I figured you and I could settle this ourselves."

"Oh?" Nysse perks up a little. "Like a little mystery game?"

"Sure, unless you're the one who's hiding something."

"What?"

"I said, unless you're the one who's hiding something."

"What would I be hiding?"

"Oh, come on"—Drew pushes her good-naturedly—"you know exactly what you're hiding. But if you let me look in, I can promise I'll keep the secret."

"What secret?"

"Come on, you know..." Drew looks around, then leans in. "I know Bennie's in there."

Nysse looks at him blankly for a moment. Drew clears his throat when he becomes uncomfortable.

"I just want to stop in and say hi for a second," he says. "I'll be out of your hair before you know it. No one even needs to know I was here."

"Bennie isn't in my tent."

"Say, what's your plan for her, anyways? Are you going to have her stage a surprise attack the next time we go to Monarch, catch everyone off-guard? No, wait, I've got it: you're going to have her appear and save one of us when we're in dire straits."

"I don't have any of those plans."

"Nysse," Drew laughs, "you can drop the act. I know she's in there."

"But she isn't. Bennie died in Monarch."

Drew's grin weakens. "Playing hard to get, huh? I'll respect that. What do I have to do to convince you I can keep it quiet?"

"There's nothing to keep quiet."

"Come on, you can trust me! Just let me see her. I swear on my grave, I won't tell another soul."

"I can't show you someone who's not here."

"Oh, stop talking like that. She's in there. She's just resting so she's ready to fight, but she'll be ready sooner if I heal her up. So, if you'll just let me in—"

"Drew," Nysse says, stopping his advance with a hand to his chest. "She's gone."

"She's _not_ gone." Drew becomes angry. "You don't know that. Get out of my way and I'll show you. I can heal anybody. I'll fix her right up."

"Drew."

"Just let me see her and I can fix her, no problem."

"Bennie isn't in the tent; you know that."

"She's in there!" Drew shouts, knocking her hand away. "She's in there and you're hiding her. Get out of my way. I have to see her."

"There's nothing to see but a single bed and an empty suit of armor."

"You really expect me to believe that? Why don't you drop the act and tell me the truth?"

"It's exactly what everyone's been saying—what I told you myself during the retreat. Bennie died in Monarch after defeating Riel." Nysse hesitates, then adds, "Her lungs were too weak to work anymore. With no way to get oxygen in her blood, she asphyxiated. Her injuries—"

"Shut up," Drew spits, grabbing a fistful of Nysse's clothes in an angry hand. "Stop trying to cover up what really happened. I know she's in your tent. She's just too weak to ever see anyone again, isn't she? You brought her back here to rest in secret until she could fight again. You made up this grand story that she died and carried her armor into camp yourself to make them believe it. You're hiding her in that tent right now and I'm going to see her. Bennie! Can you hear me?"

"Stop this," Nysse says softly. "She's gone and she's not coming back."

"Stop saying that. You're just lying!"

Nysse eyes him for a moment. "If you want to hit me, it's okay. It'll make you feel better."

"Shut up, Nysse."

"It's okay. You can hit me."

"I said shut up."

"Go on, hit me."

Drew closes his eyes, trying to ignore the feeling building in his hands and throat.

"Hit me, Drew."

Drew shoves her backward, then steps through and punches Nysse across the face with all his might.

Nysse's head barely turns.

Drew and Nysse stare at each other for a second. Drew appears to be gearing up for another punch, but something in him is slowly cooling off. He straightens his back and glares over her shoulder, waiting for Bennie to come slinking out of the tent and try to defuse the situation. He waits, and waits, and waits, and when it becomes apparent she isn't coming out, Drew loses his patience.

"We're not finished," he says as he points a finger in Nysse's face. "I don't care how long it takes; I'm going to find out what you did with Bennie. You're not going to hide her forever."

Drew leaves without another word. Nysse reaches up and touches her face; the place where Drew hit her is hot and numb. She moves back into her empty tent to get a better look in her mirror, just in case it bruises.

# Chapter Eighteen

## Crossing the Line

Refugee camp, the Woods

"Scott?" Camellia brushes the front of his unguarded tent. "It's me."

A noise comes from inside. The flap peels aside and Scott grabs Camellia by the elbow and tugs her in. His eyes are wild and distant, just like last time.

"You've got to got to s-stop doing this before you get caught," Scott warns, shaking his finger for emphasis. "People are listening. They're listening for you. You you keep this up and someone is going to find out you're sneaking around and, and and and I won't be able to help. To help. Kelp yelp." He shakes himself and lightly slaps both his cheeks.

"Hey." Camellia lightly grabs his hands. "Stop that. Hurting yourself is only going to make things worse."

"Worse? Things aren't worse. They're they're getting better. Much better." Scott floats off the ground and stretches out in mid-air. "Jinas thinks I'm improving. He says I could be out of this tent by the end of the week. Leek."

Camellia levitates above him and stretches out as well. "Really?"

"Yes. Yes yes. I think I'll chill in here for a bit, though. It's a bit messy, b-but it's my mess." He cracks a smile. "Plus it's nice having you come in here all the time instead of having me come over there. Chair."

"Oh, so you're remembering things a little more now?"

"Yes. Remembering. That's... Yes. You hurt your head. Is it better now?"

"Much better. Jinas says I don't have to be in quarantine anymore. I can even grow my hair back out, if I want to."

Scott's eyes focus on her. "Will you? I really like the short hair."

"I think I will. I miss long hair." She suddenly smiles and taps him playfully on the shoulder. "And look at you, getting ready to leave your tent again. People have been missing you. It'll be a big day for us."

"Yeah. I'm not looking forward to it at all."

"Aren't you excited?"

"I'm not. I know I should be, but I'm not."

Scott averts his gaze. For the moment, he appears to be settling down, but it's obvious there's something he can't work up the courage to say. Camellia waits, knowing it's best not to push him.

"It's these stupid voices," he finally says. "It's like I always have headphones in and someone's playing talk radio and I can't turn down the volume. I really don't even mind the chatter that much; hell, we lived in the city. You remember it's noisy there. It's the volume that really bothers me. They'll just build and build to an awful crescendo and then it's like this roar, a loud roar like I'm in a crowded bar with people who just won't stop yelling. They're..."

Scott clamps his hands over his ears and drops out of the air, crashing heavily to the ground. Camellia flies down immediately to help him.

"I'm fine," Scott says, pushing her hands away. "Fine fine fine fine fine. Just got a little startled." Camellia sits across from him on the floor. He shakes himself and scoots up against his cot. "Not a big deal. This happens... Once an hour? An hour? Or so. It's often. But also not often. I just forgot to time it properly. I should have prepared. It's nothing, really. Really. I'll be fine. Line. Wine."

"I wish I could help."

"I d-don't need help. From you. You. Or anyone else, rather, or doctors. I don't need anything. I'll be fine on my own. It's just voices. I just have to stop being a b-big... A big worrywart about them."

Camellia is quiet for a moment. "Are you hearing a lot of voices right now?"

Scott looks away.

"Are they loud today?"

"Yes," he whispers. "Yes, they're very loud."

"Well, what do you do when they get loud?"

"I try to listen to your voice."

Camellia softens. She takes Scott's hand and pulls him away from the cot. She stretches out on the floor and pulls him across her until his head is over her heart. Scott clutches his hands in Camellia's shirt. They lay in silence for several minutes, Camellia occasionally patting Scott's shoulder or holding his hand and Scott occasionally wincing or tensing up. Eventually he starts to calm down and his breathing steadies. Even his eyes clear up and begin to look alive again. He takes Camellia's hand and puts it on the side of his head; she holds him close to her chest.

"I'm sick of this," he whispers. "It's like this every day. What if this is all I have left to look forward to? What if this is my life now? I don't want it to be like this. I want to be able to listen to the wind in the trees and the crickets on the ground. I'm tired of not being able to hear myself think. I'm tired of hearing these voices all the damn time."

"Does talking about them help?" Camellia asks.

"Sometimes." He pats her comfortingly. "This helps more."

"It must be difficult for you."

"It is."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Well, in the sense you mean, you can't help. No one can. It will follow me forever because of who I am, but I think, deep down, I really want to be okay with it. I want to feel okay again." Scott laughs softly. "This is okay, too. Your heartbeat is very calming."

"It is?"

"Yeah. Your heart's rhythm and strength are very nice. It helps me focus."

Camellia tries not to squirm in self-awareness at the thought of her own heartbeat.

"Hey," Scott says. "Do you ever, you know, get scared?"

"Of what?"

"Of dying."

Camellia smiles knowingly. "Thinking about Bennie?"

"Yeah. It's hard to believe she's actually gone. I thought maybe she'd just gotten lost coming back from Monarch, or maybe she got captured and is still in the city, so I tried really hard to listen for her voice and..."

"And?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That was the first time in weeks where the voices were all dead silent and it scared me. For a second, I almost thought _I_ died. I guess it's crazy what you get used to."

"I've gotten used to not seeing her, so I guess to me, I think of her as if she's taking a vacation somewhere. I know someday it's going to hit me that I'll never see her again, but with everything that's going on, I almost feel like I don't even have time to miss her." Camellia pauses and her voices becomes soft. "I _do_ miss her, though."

Scott suddenly stiffens and tightens his grip on Camellia's clothes.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Sorry," he mutters. "Just got a little overwhelmed."

"The voices again?"

"Always. This is going to keep happening. If you don't want to stay, it's alright."

She hesitates. "You know, whenever you get overwhelmed, I don't mind being here for you. I don't mind you listening to me. All you have to do is let me know and I'll come to you."

"You might as well move into my tent, then."

"I wouldn't mind that."

Scott laughs. "No, there's no need. As long as you're close to me, as long as I can listen to you, I'll be okay. It's nice having someone who can ground me when I'm overwhelmed."

"I don't like it when you're hurting," Camellia says. "I wish there was something I could do for you, even though I know there isn't."

"This helps more than you know. Honestly, come and do this as often as you want. I promise there isn't going to be a time where I don't want to lay with you like this."

"Okay."

After a few minutes of silence, Camellia shifts uncomfortably; her back is beginning to hurt. Scott catches on and sits up so Camellia can get to her feet. She stretches.

"I should go," she says. "I don't want someone to come in unannounced and spoil our time together."

"That's p-probably wise."

"And next time?" She points to his cot. "Next time, we use that instead of the floor."

"That tiny old thing? It's barely big enough for me."

"Then just lay on top of me."

Scott puts a hand over his chest, faking astonishment. "Scandalous!"

Camellia snickers. " _Someone_ is feeling better."

"I am, at least a little bit. Hit fit kit. Dammit, not this again." He wriggles a finger in his ear. "Back to the grind, I guess."

"I'll come by again soon, okay? But it's going to be hard with all this sneaking around we're doing."

"Then we better hope Jinas lets me out by the end of this week."

"I hope you feel better soon."

"Me too. T-Thanks for being here tonight. Now get out of... Of here. Shear tear, dammit!" Scott shakes himself and turns away, muttering something under his breath.

Camellia heads to the tent exit and, just before she leaves, she throws a cursory glance over her shoulder. Scott is sitting on the edge of his bed looking at his hands curiously, his eyes focused and alive. She smiles, relieved, and exits the tent.

One week later

Drew looks at himself in the mirror and rubs the fatigue out of his eyes.

Night after night, a full week's worth of very careful observation has led to this moment. Nysse will be gone until early in the morning; she'll be meeting with the Emissaries all night to discuss their next steps. Her tent is never guarded except when she herself will be out, during which she has only one person guard her tent. Even then, "guard" is an understatement; it's usually a bored teen or an older Renean with nothing better to do, and they're always unarmed.

Drew looks at what he's laid out on the bed, each tool carefully bought, borrowed, or picked up over the course of a few days. Among them are a fixed blade canvas knife, two cloth-wrapped gemstones for light, work gloves, a sewing kit, a bandanna for his mouth, two slings filled with water, and a small Renean confection he picked up that night from his favorite food stall. He knows Bennie will appreciate some food after he's done healing her.

Drew tucks the bandanna into his shirt collar and packs the rest of his tools carefully into a bag. He peeks his head out of the front of his tent. Most of the torches and gemstone lamps have been extinguished, leaving the moon as the primary light source. It's very late now, well into the witching hours of the night, and no one except the perimeter guards should be out. Drew steps lightly into the dark street and moves stealthily.

He encounters only two people on his trek through the camp: a couple sitting together looking up at the moon. He passes behind them without incident and makes his way toward Nysse's tent, located at the far edge of the camp near the back fence line. He stops one street over and deposits his bag behind a crate, just in case he's spotted by someone more important than a guard. Drew cautiously turns the corner.

A burly man with a sword at his side guards the entrance to Nysse's tent. Two lit torches stand on either side of the entrance, lighting the entire area. No chance in sneaking past.

Drew blows a frustrated sigh out his nose. He shoulders his bag. Time for the back-up plan.

Drew approaches and clears his throat, trying to appear friendly. The guard's hand quickly goes for his sword, but once he sees Drew, he relaxes.

"Lot of light for one man," Drew says, smiling. "You throwing a party?"

"No, sir. Just staying vigilant." He hesitates. "Identification, please?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Can you identify yourself?"

"...I'm Drew King."

"Do you have any proof?"

Drew feels his eye twitch. He glances at the guard's water bucket behind him and flicks his hand, pulling the water into the air. He spins it once, twice, then tosses it into the air and douses one of the torches.

"Good enough?"

"Sure. Just wanted to be certain." The guard lights a match and tries to reignite the torch. "Ah, damn. The wood's soaked. I'll have to change it out later."

"Oh no," Drew says drily. "I'm so sorry about that."

"It's no trouble. I've still got the one. In any case, what brings you by? Awfully late for someone to be walking this far away from the main area."

"Nysse sent me. I'm here to collect some things from her tent for her."

"What things?"

"A few writing instruments, some maps, and I think she wanted a pillow."

"Strange. Nysse told me she wouldn't be needing _anything_ from her tent tonight."

"Well, you know how it is: one moment you don't need your waterskin, and the next it's the most important thing in the world. It'll only take me a second. I know exactly what I'm looking for."

"Strange she woke you for this, too," the guard muses. "I'd think she'd pick someone lower on the totem pole for an errand like this."

"And send a possibly untrustworthy set of eyes into the tent of a _goddess_? Nonsense. She needs someone she can trust. That's why I'm here."

The guard gives him a long frown. "I don't know. She said she wouldn't be needing anything."

"Well, here I am. Will you let me in or not?"

"What's in the bag?"

"It's empty. I brought it so I could carry her things easier."

"Do you mind if I inspect it?"

"Seriously?" Drew laughs, hooking his thumb through the strap. "You're making this way harder than it needs to be. I'll just be a second, in and out."

"I can't do that."

"Look, if you'll just let me pass, I promise I'll be out of your hair quickly. You'll barely know I was here!"

"I really can't, Drew. I'm sorry."

"Hey," Drew says, stepping around him, "I'm just trying to do my job."

The guard moves and blocks his path. Drew glances down; the man has his hand on the handle of his sword. He feels his eye start to twitch and heat rises in his arms. The back of his throat sticks like he's just swallowed a spoon of jelly. Drew takes a full second to mentally calm himself down. It's probably not a good idea to start fights with refugees who have nothing to do with his actual mission. Still, he was not expecting someone so stalwart. It's a real annoyance.

"Come on, now," the guard chuckles nervously. "You're not seriously going to make me turn you away by force, are you?"

"Of course not!" Drew laughs, slapping him on the arm. "Hey, come on, I was just giving you a hard time. Look at you, ready to fight if necessary. Good on you. You can relax. Truth be told, we need more guys like you around here. Can you imagine if some random dude tried to walk right into camp under our nose? What's he like? What could he be hiding? You're asking the tough questions and I like that a lot."

"Oh, uh, thank you." His hand doesn't leave the sword.

"Relax already, will you? I'm just here to test you! Just a test. Don't worry, you passed. Have a good night!"

Drew turns and his smile fades to an annoyed frown. He walks back the way he came and stops as soon as he's out of sight and tries not to throw his bag in frustration. He'll have to go to his last resort.

Drew walks back into the camp, cycles around to the far fence line, and follows it through the darkness with his hand. He moves until Nysse's tent is visible again, this time from the back. No guards posted and no one around. Drew tightens his hand on his bag and covers the distance in a few silent bounds. Nysse's tent is posted into the ground in seven locations around the base. He won't be able to just lift the side and slip underneath, nor can he uproot the posts without upsetting the structural integrity of the tent. He has only one option.

Drew opens his bag, tucks his bandanna over his mouth, slips on his work gloves, and pulls out his canvas knife. He'll make a hole just small enough for him to squeeze through in the very corner of the tent. Then, when it's time to leave, he'll patch it with thread he borrowed that near exactly matches the color of the canvas. If anyone finds the patch and raises questions, well, how many times have tents ripped and needed to be repaired? He's perfectly shameless.

Drew carefully crouches near the back corner of the tent and traces a circle along the canvas with his finger, memorizing the size. He puts the tip of the canvas knife on the bottom of the tent and slaps the butt end with his fist. The knife pops straight through the canvas. He wiggles it a little and the canvas peels apart with barely a sound. Drew exhales. No going back, now. He grips his knife and begins to pull up.

Footsteps approach and stop right behind him. A pool of warm orange light falls on his back.

Drew breathes in slowly, wondering if he should spin around and attack with the knife in his hand.

Instead, he slowly gets up and turns around. Nysse and Roger stand a few feet away. Roger holds a torch in his hand.

"Going to unmask yourself?" Roger says sternly. "Or should I do it for you?"

Drew pulls his bandanna down.

"Drew? What the _hell_ are you doing back here?"

"I'm fixing a hole in Nysse's tent."

"By cutting it open?"

"I had to make the hole a certain shape before I could patch it."

"Weird, very weird, because the guard I just talked to told me you were at the front not five minutes ago and were trying to get into the tent rather forcefully."

Drew chuckles. "Okay, I know how this looks—"

"Drew," Nysse snaps angrily, her eyes brightening for a second. "Drop it."

"You drop it," he snaps back. "Roger, are you in on this, too?"

"In on what?"

"You know she's hiding Bennie in the tent. You know she's keeping her hidden because she wants to be the one to get praised when Bennie makes her comeback! You know she's just doing this so she can play Hero."

Roger feels the goddess's presence shift dangerously.

"Watch your words," Nysse says coolly. "I'm not going to tolerate it tonight."

"Oh, give me a break. I've been tolerating your lies for long enough as is. If you have nothing to hide, then just show me already and let me be on my way."

"No. I'm not going to violate my privacy to abate your obsessions. What is in my tent belongs to me and is for my eyes only, and those with whom I choose to share."

"Then share with me!" Drew yells, seizing Nysse by the collar. "Do you have any idea—!"

Nysse's aura lurches forward. Roger lunges past her and pries Drew's hands off Nysse and drags him away from the stormy goddess. He manages to wrestle himself free and pushes him away, insisting he's fine, he's fine. Roger keeps himself between them until he can feel Nysse's aura lose its edge.

"Drew," Nysse says slowly. "This obsession of yours has gone too far. I've let you raise your hand against me twice now, and there won't be a third time."

"Oh? You want to fight?"

"Drew," Roger says sharply. "Don't be foolish."

"Sounds to me like she wants a fight." Drew shoves Roger aside so he's facing Nysse and spreads his arms. "Want to take a swing at me, then? Come on, I'll give you a free shot right now. Go on, hit me with everything you've got. We'll make this a whole _damn fiasco_ since you want it so bad!"

Roger looks nervously between them.

"Come on!" Drew screams. "Hit me!"

Nysse sighs. "I'm not going to hit you. However, I'm not going to let you walk away from this without consequences."

"Oh, what are you going to do, put me in a timeout?"

"No. But I can do much worse."

"Like what?"

"Okay"—Roger finally drives himself between them—"here's what's going to happen. Drew, you're going to walk away right now and cool off. We're not going to say anything to anyone, but you are going to owe Nysse an enormous apology later. If we catch you trying to break in again, I'm going to get all the Heroes and Emissaries together and tell them what you've been doing."

"And then we'll exile you for a week," Nysse says.

"What?" Roger and Drew say in unison, surprised.

"We'll exile you for a week," Nysse reiterates. "You'll stay out of the camp and away from our borders and you'll fend for yourself in the Woods. After you come back, if you try to break in again, I'll double the sentence and we'll do this as long as it takes for you to learn."

Drew scoffs. "You can't do that."

Nysse steps forward menacingly. "Can't I?"

This time, Roger doesn't get between them. He gives Drew a worried look, pleading with him to back down. Drew looks between them and, finding he's unable to meet Nysse's resolute gaze, eventually scowls and makes a weak sound of agreement.

"Don't let me catch you here again," the goddess warns. "Get out of my sight."

Drew stalks off, cursing under his breath. The fire fades from Nysse's eyes as soon as he's gone.

"Was that necessary?" Roger asks gently.

"Very," Nysse replies. "Let's retire to our tents. We've done enough work for tonight."

The next morning, Camellia Agnelli exits her tent to see Roger and Gabriel waiting for her.

"Morning," Gabriel says. "Do you have a few minutes?"

"I was just on my way to breakfast."

"Good. We'll walk with you."

As the trio heads toward the food stalls, Gabriel and Roger walk in the rear and Camellia walks in the front. She almost stops several times, dimly aware that they're whispering behind her back, but she doesn't confront them. She eventually leads them to the food stalls and gets the same breakfast she's been having since she got quarantined. Roger and Gabriel join her at the table, but they aren't eating. Camellia looks at them for a few seconds in silence.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Gabriel asks curiously.

"What's going on?" Camellia asks. "If you have something to tell me, just tell me."

"How's the head?" Roger asks instead.

"It's fine. Now, again, what's going on?"

"Well," Gabriel begins, "since your concussion has now healed, you're officially the fastest person in camp again. We need your help. I want you to gather some intelligence on Karos for me."

"Drew's Adversary? Why him?"

"We haven't heard anything from him this entire war. He hasn't even tried to scout Monarch. We have no idea what's going on down there. Sending you there would also be a good chance to understand our enemy before he comes to the city."

Roger adds, "He also has Jenna's cutlass. Bright blue blade, black handle—impossible to miss. I would very much like to see it returned to me."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Somewhere in the Ocean."

"You want me to search an entire realm for _one_ man?"

"Not man," Gabriel says. "Adversary. I wish I could give you more information than that, but, well, Roger and I figured this could be good for you."

"Good how?"

"We thought that, since you're awake now, you'd want to spend some time out of this stuffy old camp and spread your wings a bit."

"No, not really. I like the camp."

"Think of it like a vacation, then. Take as much time as you want. Relax on the beach, taste some new foods—hell, go island hopping if you want! The Ocean is probably one of the few places untouched by the war. Of course, we'll want as much information about Karos as you can get, but don't feel pressured. Take some time off and enjoy yourself."

"In the middle of the war?" Camellia says, confused.

"Recreation is just as important as training and rest," Roger says. "We're going to be stuck here for a while longer while Scott recovers anyways. Without him, we won't be able to defeat Retribution and take Monarch."

"So I'm supposed to take a vacation while Scott recovers in a sick bed? What about Drew? Is he getting one too? Where are you sending him, five minutes up the road? Last I checked, Drew can't fly to the Ocean, and the nearest vacation spot got shot out of the sky by an omnipotent monster."

"We just think it's best if you got out of the camp for a little while."

"Wasn't this about collecting information on Karos? No, it was about a vacation, right? Or was it always about getting me out of the camp?"

Gabriel chuckles. "Just take a break, Cammy. Go for a swim and unwind. We can handle things here while you're gone."

"I don't want to leave."

"This is a mission for the camp. You're going to take it whether you like it or not."

"Okay, so I'm being forced to go. On my vacation, right? Or am I supposed to collect information on Karos? Or am I supposed to do both while 'stretching my wings' or whatever it is you said?"

Roger kneads the bridge of his nose. Gabriel smiles and averts his gaze, trying to make light of the situation. Camellia looks between them, her suspicions growing.

"Do you two know?" she asks suddenly.

"Know about what?" Roger asks.

"Oh yeah, you definitely know. Go on and tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"You don't have to play stupid. I'll confess if you just tell me."

Gabriel looks at Roger, then sighs. "We know about you and Scott."

Camellia folds her arms and waits for him to continue.

"We know that you've been violating Jinas's quarantine to see him. Whatever you two do is not my business, but unfortunately, breaking the rules is very much my business. Do you know how bad it looks when I get told in confidentiality that a Hero thinks they're above the rules? What's to stop other people from feeling the same? How are these people supposed to follow our rules if their leaders just ignore them?"

"I don't think it's fair to pin that slippery slope on me."

"Fairness isn't the issue here," Gabriel says. "I'm working very hard to administer this camp and with how things are now, I cannot have people breaking the rules. I'm trying to be lenient with you by encouraging you to... Take a vacation for a little bit. Spend as much or as little time as you want away from here. I think you'll come back with a clearer perspective."

"Perspective? About what?"

"About how you could be better spending your time—other than with Scott, of course."

"He needs me."

"He needs rest more than he needs you. Look, I know you and Scott have grown close recently, but Scott is very unstable—"

"Which is why he needs me," Camellia insists. "I can help him. He... His voices. You know about his voices, right?"

"Don't do this to yourself," Roger interrupts. "You can't help him."

"But I can! He said so himself. If you'll just—"

"Camellia," Gabriel says sharply. "I know you want to be here for your friend, and I know Scott may sometimes say things that makes you think you should be there for him, but trust me when I say that there is _nothing_ you can do to make him feel better. We've already got our best healers and doctors working constantly to find a way to completely stabilize him. If his treatment is interrupted too much, it might delay or even halt his progress."

"Oh, so now me leaving the camp is about helping Scott get better."

"Well," Gabriel admits, "that's part of it, but not even close to the whole story. Look, we don't want to get Jinas involved in this if we don't have to, but we can't just let you keep violating Scott's quarantine. I think if you just took a break and got some space away from the camp, you'll come back with a clearer perspective. Do us, and yourself, a favor and just get out for a few days."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really. It's this or we bring the matter to Jinas's attention, and you definitely don't want to quarrel with him about Scott. He's like a big brother to Jinas."

Camellia is quiet for a moment. "Is this punishment?"

"No. We really do need information about Karos, and I really do think you need some time away from Scott and all his troubles. Sometimes it's hard to realize that a world exists beyond your own front door, and once you get back from the Ocean, I think you'll find it easier to not be so involved with everything he has going on upstairs."

"I don't understand why you think being involved in someone's problems is such a bad thing."

"Because I've seen what it does to people," Roger says. "I don't want it to happen to you."

"Oh, and now it's about protecting me. I'm leaving."

Camellia shoves herself away from the table and storms off back to her tent. She throws the flap aside, grabs a bag, and mechanically starts packing for her trip. A little voice inside her demands she stays, just to spite them. Another says she should go and try to collect some information on Karos and be useful. Another says it would be nice to dip in the waves for a few days and just relax. She takes deep, calming breaths and focuses until her mind clears. Yes, she should go on this trip, because if they really need information on Karos, she's the only one who can get it in a reasonable time period. She chooses duty as her primary objective and quickly finishes packing.

Camellia exits the camp and walks into the Woods to find a clearing that she can launch from. She blasts quickly into the sky and doesn't look back.

# Chapter Nineteen

## Ghosts

The Ocean, somewhere near the shore

Camellia drops out of the sky and alights on a bed of cold, grey sand. The air is chilled and a brisk, sharp wind cuts through to her bones. She rubs her arms and tries to get her bearings.

She's landed somewhere outside of Monarch, close enough to smell but neither see nor hear the Ocean. Gnarled rock outcroppings jut upward from the sand like the forgotten ribs of a decayed whale. Long stretches of ploughed sand give evidence that shallow rivers of saltwater once ran through here. The whole realm sits in an eerie stillness only intensified by the chilly air. Camellia spies a pair of shoes nearly covered in sand. They look familiar, but she can't place the memory.

Camellia walks forward into the grey landscape. She looks up, wondering where the bright yellow sun and rich blue sky has gone. Aside from the chill wind, no sound breaks the dead silence. Though she approaches the Ocean and the smell of salt and algae grows more intense, the waves don't get any louder. She ascends a large dune of sand and stares in disbelief at the sight before her.

Huge black islands and shattered ships litter the belly of a still, grey ocean. The water stands idle where it meets the shore, empty and placated like an underground lake, neither current nor gravity disturbing its surface. Chips of rocks crumble off the side of tall grey islands covered in dying trees, splashing into the water. A long, flat island is covered with the remains of an enormous battle; clouds of birds swarm overhead, picking at the carcasses. A black, jagged island emits a steady stream of enigmatic white mist. Two ships silhouetted on the horizon blast at each other, the cannon shots echoing like rumbles of thunder.

Camellia floats off the sand dune and lands at the shoreline. She dips her fingers down and immediately pulls them back; the water is frigid.

A splash comes from nearby. A man stumbles, knee-deep in the water, then falls flat on his face in the shallows. Camellia rushes over to help, soaking her clothes up to her waist in her hurry. She puts an arm around his back and lifts him at the shoulder. He doesn't resist, but he doesn't help her either, forcing Camellia to muscle his weight out of the water and onto the sand. She drops him unceremoniously and leans over her knees, waiting for him to get up.

The man spreads his hands in the sand and pushes himself to his feet. His face is ashen white and his eyes are glazed over with a pale blue film. His skin clings to the bones on his face like a wet cloth, outlining thin spidery veins, crooked teeth, and stringy hair. Seawater spills from his mouth. Camellia gasps, recoiling. The man regards her with empty, unfocused eyes for a few long seconds, and then he turns and limps into the shore.

Camellia watches him go. The man keeps walking, climbing a large sand dune and disappearing behind it. Camellia regards the grey ocean with newfound anxiety, unable to placate the fear that other ghouls may be lurking in its murky depths. She has vivid visions of large shadowy creatures swimming behind her with jaws wide open, sucking her in. Camellia shivers and flies up into the sky, far from the cold unknown of the impenetrable ocean.

From the air, Camellia surveys the area. The only feature she hadn't been able to see from the ground is a collection of houses and shacks crammed against the sand some distance away. A few lights are on in the windows, blurred by the mist blown off the islands. Camellia lets out a sigh of relief—people are still making their way, even in this desolation. She flies toward it. Maybe someone will know something about Karos.

Camellia lands in the center of the ramshackle town. The houses are blanketed in shadows, the roofs slanted as if seen through a kaleidoscope. A chill runs through her bones from the opaque mist. All around her is a stark, menacing silence; not even a breath of wind breaks the air. Though she can't hear or see the ocean, she can smell the salt and can feel its magnitude looming just out of sight, as if the sea is swelling into a great wave that she'll only be able to identify as an enormous black shadow.

Footsteps approach her. A man passes by, his body a grey shape shuffling just out of arm's reach. She remembers the man from the shoreline and shivers. Steeling herself, Camellia walks toward him and stretches out her hand. She jams her hand hard against a concrete wall and gasps. The man has disappeared.

Behind her, a woman passes with a lantern, calling out in a strange tongue. Camellia runs after her, determined to catch her, but the woman stays just out of sight, and soon the lantern peters out and she disappears with it.

Camellia leaps off the ground and climbs hard and fast into the sky. The mist surrounds her on all sides, blocking her vision. She flies until the air frosts over her nostrils and eyelashes. Unable to see through the grey sheet, Camellia descends and touches the ground instantly. She can't tell if she ever left the surface. There's just enough visibility to see that she's back in the center of the town.

No sound. Camellia can't hear her heartbeat. Panic clogs her throat. It's impossible to breathe. She's running, running through the city in desperation for someone, anyone, anything she can cling to. The lights around her blur in a slurry of yellow and repeat themselves ad infinitum. She passes by the same center part of town over and over. Where is everyone? Where is the sea? Is that the great Ocean there, rearing up in the distance like a black mountain?

She lashes out, screaming. Her fist shatters concrete and her kick pulverizes stone. The mist swarms relentlessly, ensnaring her like a fly in a web, choking, engulfing. Camellia summons her warhammer and swings wildly, smashing the ground and anything she can get close to.

And then she stops, exhausted, and sinks to her knees. A woman passes her by with a lantern, calling out in a strange tongue. Someone shuffles past her, just out of reach. She closes her hands over her ears. For a second, she seriously considers if she has enough strength to kill herself.

A moment later, someone gasps. Camellia looks up into the face of a man that, for the moment, looks human. He has a shaved head and a pointed beard. They stare at each other in disbelief for a heartbeat, and then the man begins to cry. He drops to his knees and wraps his thin arms gratefully around her back, burying his face in her shoulder.

"Thank the gods," he weeps softly. "Oh, thank the gods."

Drew scribbles out a few lines on a piece of paper, then crumples the page completely and tosses it aside, adding it to the growing pile on his floor. Another plan that simply won't work. He pulls out another sheet of paper and scratches his face, aware that he needs to shave. There has to be something, anything he can do—some way to convince Nysse to let him into the tent to see Bennie. Begging? No, too obvious. Threatening? As if he could threaten a goddess. Peer pressure? Okay, good start, but she's easily the most popular person in the entire camp. You'd never convince the whole camp to get her to leave, and even if you did, she'd know you started it and hide Bennie before she goes.

Drew groans and crumples up the paper and tosses it over his shoulder. Fighting leviathans was easier than this. He fidgets absently with the small shell necklace hanging around his neck. There has to be a way. There's always a way.

Drew pushes himself away from his desk and leaves his tent. It's the afternoon now and the camp bustles around him. Some are on their way to training, or to smith new armor and weapons, or to enjoy a late lunch. He follows the lunch crowd to the food stalls, orders a favorite he used to eat with Bennie, sits alone at a table and picks absently at his meal, his mind cluttered with thoughts. There has to be a way to get into the tent without being seen or caught. There has to be a way to see Bennie again.

A murmur rises from the market around him. Drew glances up and sees Nysse standing in line at a food stall. Once she has her food, she turns and says hello to the people massing around her. Drew catches her eye for a second. Nysse regards him indifferently, but not cruelly, and then she turns away and leaves the market.

It's then that Drew feels an idea bloom in his head. Bennie would need to eat and drink even if she were in a coma. How did she do it when she was recovering from the first battle? Jinas would know the answer for certain. Drew gets up and starts to walk toward the medical camp.

Out of the corner of his eye, red armor dips in and out of sight.

Drew whirls around. Was it just his eyes playing tricks on him? Was that Bennie? He stands paralyzed for a moment, then moves toward where he saw the armor. People block his way, the lunch crowd beginning to thicken. He forces himself not to shout. Drew calmly makes his way forward. He's already lost track of the red armor, but he knows where it was going.

Drew clears himself of the marketplace and stands in the open street for a second. There—red armor again, disappearing between two tents. Drew follows it and loses it almost immediately. He ventures forward, trusting his instincts, and there! The armor again. Drew lunges out to grab it but it disappears in a sea of people stopping him from falling face-first into a smithy's oven. He turns, listening, and sees the familiar glint turn a corner. He shoves the hands off his chest and shoulders and runs after it. Here, a dead end filled with crates. There, a group of people on their way to the arena for a training session. Was the camp always so busy? Where did all these people come from?

Drew finds himself standing under one of the side gate's archways. Ahead of him is a dirt path that winds into the Woods and disappears. He must have gone past her. She must have turned a corner he didn't see and is now back somewhere in the camp. He'll have to turn back around to find her.

The bushes to his right rustle faintly. Drew sees a shape move out of sight. It has to be her. Drew chases after the shape blindly.

The trees and brush thicken quickly, blocking his path. Drew rips branches aside, scraping his arms and legs on thorny leaves. A glint of red spurs him forward. He trips over a tree root and keeps moving. He yells for Bennie. Something rustles the bushes to his left and he follows it. Then, the bushes to his right. Then, the bushes ahead of him. Drew moves faster and faster, unsure where he's going or where she's leading him. Isn't she going to stop soon? How can she move so fast?

Drew pushes through the underbrush and stops; he's standing in a clearing. Above him, the Woods sun beats down on his face and neck. The sky is a deep blue. Drew looks around in confusion for a few seconds, trying to see where she could have gone. Maybe she's hiding in the bushes and is waiting to surprise him. No, that's not possible. She must have doubled-back, run past him and gone back into the camp. That's the only explanation. There's nowhere else she could have gone. Drew turns around in a fury and starts to run.

He pads a few feet forward, then slows to a stop.

He stares absently at the trees and is unable to find a reason why he should run all the way back to camp. If she was worried about being discovered, he knows Bennie would go straight to Nysse's tent again, and if she was really worried about being discovered, why come out in the first place? She's probably still in the tent, then, and when Drew tries to motivate himself to go back and break in again, his motivation fails him. It has nothing to do with Nysse's warnings. It has nothing to do with the distance to the camp, his physical fatigue, nor the fact that he'll have to deal with however many guards she has stationed there now. He just genuinely cannot find a reason to run back to the tent. But Bennie is in there, isn't she?

Drew feels a darkness beginning to claw at his stomach, an anxiety mounting in his chest. At first he ignores it and tries to think about Bennie, but as he does, he thinks about the chase he just went through, the glinting red armor, and the tent that is waiting for him. The darkness gnaws at his insides until it becomes nearly unbearable. Drew sucks in a breath and decides to entertain the thought just to make it go away.

He can't find a reason to go back to Nysse's tent because Bennie isn't in the tent. She died in Monarch and isn't coming back.

Drew sighs happily and looks up at the trees. There, all out of his system. Nothing to worry about anymore.

Bennie isn't in the tent.

Bennie isn't even in the camp.

She died in Monarch and she's never coming home.

Drew feels a cold flash crawl up his torso and spread into his arms. His hands begin shaking. He closes his eyes and tries to picture Bennie. He thinks of her smile. He thinks of her smell. He thinks of her kiss, the sound of her voice, the way her lips puckered up when she was thinking just a little too hard.

He thinks of her empty tent, her empty bed, the unused armor rack sitting in the corner of her room.

Drew feels an emptiness grow inside him, widening the hole in his heart. He thinks of the empty benches near the arena where they sat together. He thinks of the training dummy they talked next to. He thinks of their favorite food stall and the table they sat at. Every spot they cherished, every moment they shared, every minute of his life from now until his death will be spent without her in it. Bennie isn't in the tent. She never was, nor will she ever be. She died in Monarch. She's gone, and she isn't coming back to him.

Drew staggers over to a tree. He leans against it, then sinks to the ground and holds his head in his hands as the magnitude of his realization washes over him like a wave.

Camellia huddles closer to the dying fire.

The man across from her stares blankly at the flames. They've been sitting like this in the cold, static fog for almost an hour. Every so often, Camellia will see a shape drift through the fog, misshapen and twisted, saying something she can understand but not fully articulate. The silence is broken only by the occasional crackle from the burning driftwood whose smoke she blows away every minute or so. Despite the chill in her bones and the need for something human, she's unable to reach out to her stoic companion or start a conversation.

And then, finally, the man raises his head and says, "Did you come here alone?"

"Yes." Her answer is quick and eager.

"Do people know you are here?"

"Yes."

"Good! Good..." He rubs his arms as if finally feeling the chill of the fog. "You should go back to them, or have them come find you, as soon as you can. It isn't safe here."

Camellia hesitates. "I _am_ in the Ocean, right?"

"Yes—or rather, what remains of it. Not a pretty sight, is it?"

"Well, I was certainly expecting a lot more sunshine."

"Sunshine..." His voice lingers on the word, cherishing the sound. "I've almost forgotten what that feels like."

"What happened here?"

"What happens anywhere the lights go out? Monsters take over."

"I don't understand."

"No, I imagine you wouldn't." The man looks at her for a long time. "You shouldn't have come here."

"I needed to. I have to find someone who knows about Karos."

"What do you need to know?" he asks. "I might be able to tell you some things."

"Do you know if Karos is going to attack Monarch before the end of the war?"

"There's a war going on?"

Camellia stares at him in disbelief. "You didn't know?"

"Ever since the star fell on Monarch, things have been different here. No news comes in and no news goes out. That is Karos's rule."

"Can you tell me about him?"

The man hesitates, then looks over his shoulder. After a moment, he scoots closer to the fire. "Yes," he answers. "I'll tell you everything I know."

Through conversation, Camellia learns the man's name is Fradlr and that he was Karos's right-hand man both before and after the rebellion that overthrew him. Fradlr tells about how Karos was obsessed with the idea that the Ocean should be free and how the gods were tyrants who ruled over everyone else with an iron fist. He tells about how Karos slowly became estranged from his crew and spent long hours in his cabin whispering to himself. When Fradlr begins to talk about the blue cutlass Karos always carries, Camellia interjects.

"Blue," she says. "Are you absolutely certain it's blue?"

"Yes. He says he got it from his mother."

"That's not possible. How could Jenna... Oh, sorry. I'm talking too much."

"It's okay; I don't believe him, either. He's... He's not the Captain I once knew."

"What happened to him?"

Fradlr then tells Camellia about the meeting with Cebral at Seastorm Grotto, about the Eternal Chalice and how the curse of the gods is turning Karos into a being of pure magic.

"In order to stabilize himself," Fradlr explains, "Karos has been hunting down and consuming the souls of the living in order to anchor himself to this world. He feeds constantly. One day he'll come for me too, and I promised him I would follow him to the end of the world, but..." He clutches a hand over his heart. "But I don't want to lose myself. I'm not ready to die."

Camellia is silent for a moment. Then, "You can come with me, if you want."

"He'll come for me."

"And we'll protect you," Camellia says. "Fradlr, you don't know how valuable you are. No one has any information about what Karos has been doing out here except for you. Do you know about the Hero-Adversary relationship?"

"Karos has lectured me on it before, yes."

"Then you know that there's only one person who can stop Karos, and he's in our camp. You know everything about Karos: strengths, weaknesses, habits, everything. You can help us stop him."

Fradlr is silent for a minute or two. "He depended on me," he says. "I was the only one from his crew who didn't turn my back on him. I helped him when he needed me most, and now I'm going to abandon him. I will never be able to face him again. Can you understand my hesitation?"

"I also have someone depending on me. He helped me when I needed it most, and now he's hurting. I want to be there for him just like he was there for me. He needs me. I understand better than anyone else what it feels like to have to leave them behind, even for a moment."

"Then let's not waste any more of your time," Fradlr says, becoming resolute. "Come with me. Once we're back on the beach, you should be able to see the sky again. How long is the journey to your camp?"

"Not long. You'll get on my back and I'll fly us there. Are you okay with that?"

"My legs have nearly never left the deck of a ship. I'm barely comfortable on the ground, much less a citystride above it."

Fradlr leads Camellia out of the fogbank, making impossible turns. Several times Camellia almost stops him, convinced they're going to run straight into a wall or fall into the center fountain. She soon hears sand crunching beneath her feet and the fog lifts to reveal the long, cold beach bordering the massive grey ocean. The fierce combat between the two distant ships has ended, and a piercing blue light emanates from the victor's deck. Camellia pauses to look at it, but at Fradlr's urging, she follows him away from it and into the shore.

Once they've walked far enough that the ocean is out of sight, Camellia has Fradlr hold her bag and climb on to her back. She struggles for a moment to balance the extra weight, then lifts slowly into the sky and begins to rapidly build speed. Fradlr holds on too tightly at first, then relaxes and even laughs a few times. Camellia keeps her focus on remaining aloft.

The pair arrives late at night when the camp has already begun to darken some of the torches. They land in front of the closed main gate and Camellia announces herself to the guards, who wave her through. She picks up Fradlr bridal style and leaps right over the gate. Almost immediately she garners the attention of the late-night workers and medical crew. It's rare to see someone personally escorted into camp by a Hero herself and Camellia tenderly tries to fend off questions about the man with the pointy beard standing next to her. It doesn't take long for Nysse and Roger to arrive, and when Roger sees Fradlr, Nysse has to stop him from lunging in to throw the man to the ground.

"I'm here to help," Fradlr says, hiding behind Camellia. "Roger, I know what you're thinking, but—"

"I know why you're here!" Roger shouts, struggling against Nysse's grasp. "You damn spy! Do you think you can just walk in here after everything you did? I'm not going to stand for this!"

"I promised him our protection," Camellia says tactfully. As she speaks, Gabriel arrives. "You sent me to the Ocean to find information on Karos and I came back with the encyclopedia. Do you want it or not?"

After struggling with Nysse for a few more seconds, Roger calms down. He initially averts his eyes, then squares himself up. He and Fradlr tentatively shake hands and Roger leads him away to help him get settled in the camp.

Gabriel claps Camellia fondly on the shoulder. "When I said to get information, I didn't think you'd go _that_ far."

"It was a sheer coincidence I ran in to him."

"I've lived too long to believe in coincidences." He pauses. "You came back awfully quickly."

"I finished my mission."

"I thought we talked about you taking an extended vacation in the Ocean."

"That wouldn't be a good idea," Camellia says seriously, "and not for the reasons you think. The Ocean hasn't been touched by the war, but it _has_ been touched by something much worse."

Gabriel guides her toward his tent, eager to hear more.

# Chapter Twenty

## Bonds

Nysse's tent, refugee camp, the Woods

The next morning, Nysse wakes up and dresses quietly. She knows today is going to be an important day. She brushes her hair and sets herself up at her desk. She still has a little bit of time to work before her appointment arrives.

About two hours later, Nysse looks up from her papers. Her appointment is arriving now. She gets to her feet and approaches the front of her tent, preparing herself to appear as relaxed and godly as possible. When she pulls the flap aside, Drew King is standing there, his hand outstretched to announce himself.

"Hello, Drew," she says. "Would you like to come in?"

Drew is quiet for a few moments, then he nods his head.

Nysse invites him into her tent and Drew enters. He looks around slowly and his eyes pause on Bennie's armor. It's been put on a stand similar to the one in her old tent. Aside from him and Nysse, no one else is in the tent. She takes a seat at her desk again and offers Drew a seat at her table. He takes the chair silently, almost sullenly. Neither of them speaks for a while, but she knows Drew will speak first. Nysse keeps her hands folded on the table like a professor awaiting the explanation for a flunked final exam. Drew can't meet her eye; he fidgets with a small shell necklace around his neck.

"I owe you an apology," he finally says. "For, uh, my behavior these past few days."

Nysse waits.

"I've been acting like a real jackass and, well, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to break into your tent. I shouldn't have, uh, hit you either, even if you told me I could."

Nysse waits.

"And I shouldn't have said all those things I did. Provoking you, saying you just wanted to play Hero, challenging you to a fight... All bad ideas, and I shouldn't have done them."

"But you did."

He winces at the words. Nysse watches him carefully, waiting for him to start again.

"I just wanted to apologize for everything, that's all."

"Are you sure that's why you came here?"

"Why else would I come here?"

"Why _did_ you come here, Drew?"

"To apologize."

"Why?"

"Because I felt bad about what I did?"

"Why?"

"Because it wasn't right."

"Why did you come here today, Drew?"

"I just told you!"

"Tell me _why_ you came here."

"I just—"

"Why are you here?"

"Because I screwed up!" Drew shouts, slamming a fist on the table.

Finally, the truth. Nysse waits for him to explain.

"I screwed up, okay? I screwed everything up. I screwed up with Scott, I screwed up with Jenna, I screwed up with you... I screw up with everyone I'm close to. I went completely off the deep end and I'm sorry. I was just... I was so convinced you were hiding her in here. I knew it. It had to be true. I wanted it to be."

"Why?"

"Because the alternative was..." Drew tightens his grip on his necklace. "The alternative was not something I was ready to face."

"And you are now?"

Drew can't muster any words.

"So," she says, trying to remain coldly aloof. "You're not here to apologize, then."

"I am. That's why I'm here. I'm sorry, Nysse, for everything. Can you forgive me?"

"Why should I forgive you?"

"Because... Because if you don't forgive me, I don't think I can ever let her go."

That surprises her. Nysse waits.

"You were right," Drew says. "I was obsessed. Completely, utterly obsessed. She had to be here. Where else could she be? The angrier I got, the more I convinced myself that you were hiding her from me. God, I hated you so much. Now all I feel is shame—shame and regret. I can't accept what really happened to her without knowing you've forgiven me for what I've done. Otherwise, every time I look at you, all I'll see is her face. All I'll think about are those days I spent obsessing and hating and scheming and I just can't bear it."

"It hardly seems fair to put all that pressure on me," Nysse says. "Whether you think about Bennie when you look at me is no business of mine."

"Please." Drew slides out of his chair and crawls over to her. He knits his hands together as if praying, tears starting to streak his face. "See? See me begging now? I'm begging you. I need your forgiveness. I can't go on living like this. It's too much to bear."

When she doesn't say anything, Drew collapses at her feet and buries his face in the folds of her dress. She stares down at him for a second, unsure of what to do.

"Please," Drew sobs. "Please, forgive me. You have no idea how much this hurts. I don't want this anymore. I just want to let this go."

Nysse softens. What is she doing, sitting up here on her righteous throne acting cold and impartial? She gets out of her chair and sits on the ground with Drew. When he looks up at her, she takes his arms and puts them around her shoulders and pulls him into a close, warm embrace. He remains stiff for a moment, then encircles his arms around her and holds her tight.

"I'm sorry," he whispers over and over. "I'm sorry."

When Drew calms down, Nysse helps him to his feet and cleans up his face with a washcloth. She forgives him softly, just loud enough that he can hear, but not loud enough that he needs to reply. The tension and tightness in his muscles seems to leave in that moment. Nysse knows their time is drawing to a close, but she makes idle chatter anyways. Drew half-heartedly participates, then stops replying. It's time for him to leave.

"I think I'll go now," he says. "I, uh, have some things I need to take care of."

Nysse puts her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about Bennie. I wish there was something more I could do for you."

"I just... This wasn't supposed to happen, you know? Not to her. Anyone but her."

Drew leaves and Nysse is alone again.

Nysse settles back into her desk chair. Nothing else important will happen to her today. She leafs through her papers aimlessly, the drawings and proceedings falling on blind eyes. She glances over at Bennie's armor, still heavy with yellow magic but slowly clearing up, and watches it glint in the gemstone light for a moment. Stricken by a feeling, Nysse gets up and approaches the armor, inspects it closely, then tilts the armor stand off balance and watches it crash to the ground with a tremendous sound.

Anger rises in her throat and she turns around and slams her fist into her desk, splitting it down the middle. Nysse catches her look in the mirror; her fist is shaking uncontrollably. She breathes in slowly and straightens her back and folds her hands neatly. Poise, professional, and perfect. This is the essence of a goddess. This is how she should be.

Her hands don't stop shaking for a long time.

That afternoon, Camellia stops by Scott's tent. The guard notices her pass by as if she were on her way somewhere else and he gives her their agreed signal: a side-rub of his nose and a cough to the right, signaling that he'll leave and return to his post in a minute's time. Should he have scratched the back of his neck and looked to his left, it would have signaled that now wasn't a good time. Camellia loops around the medical camp and comes back through to find Scott's tent momentarily unguarded. She slips inside unnoticed.

Scott glances up as she enters. He's sitting on his bed doing nothing more than twiddling his thumbs. They look at each other for a few seconds.

"Where'd you go?" Scott asks.

"They sent me away. I didn't have time to come tell you."

"Oh. I was worried you got scared and ran away from camp and weren't going to come back." He hesitates. "Do they know?"

"Roger and Gabriel do, yes. They threatened to get Jinas involved if they caught me again."

"And instead of quitting, you decided to come straight back?"

"Yes."

"Why n-not just ask Jinas if you can visit me?"

"Because I'm having too much fun breaking the rules."

That gets a laugh from Scott. He motions her over and she sits next to him on his bed. "Look at this," he says, and then he motions with his hands as if conducting an orchestra. Everything in the tent begins to levitate off the ground, even his cot. He waves his hands and everything rotates in an easy circle. Camellia glances over at her friend; he's smiling widely.

When Scott sets everything back into its place, Camellia nudges him at the shoulder. "Look at you," she says happily. "Last time you did that, you were shaking so bad I thought you were going to blow the roof off."

"Things have been coming together nicely for me in the past few days. My head feels clearer. I can actually focus on things now and m-most of my ticks are gone. Still have a stutter though."

"It's kind of cute."

"Kind of?"

"Super cute. _Ultra_ cute."

"Very funny." Scott pushes her.

"And the voices?" she asks.

"Still there, but I've begun to learn what I can ignore. They're not bad right now even though they should be since it's daytime, but, well, I don't control them. Maybe everyone's taking a rest day."

"You look very stable."

"Well, I had to adjust after you left the camp. I didn't have anyone to cling to anymore. I think it was for the best. Otherwise, I'd have gotten stuck on you and become too reliant. I'm not ready to put someone through that."

"I wouldn't have minded."

"Trust me. After about a month, you would. But that's not going to happen anymore. With luck, in another week's time, I'll be totally independent."

"Does this mean you won't need me as often?"

"Probably not at all. You can clear our schedule indefinitely if you want." He pauses, noticing the look on her face. "But you can always come visit anytime, really. I'll still have times where I'm overwhelmed and having someone around would be a blessing. I'll always want to listen to your voice."

"I'd like that a lot." Camellia hesitates before continuing. "It was... It was nice to have someone rely on me. Not rely on my powers or my status or anything else, but to rely only on me. It made me feel special."

Scott puts an arm around her. She lays her head on his shoulder.

"You know what we should do?" he says after a second. "We should go flying."

"We should."

"Tonight."

"Tonight?"

"If you've got nothing else going on."

"Well, no, I don't, but how are you going to sneak past the guard?"

Scott gives her a strange look, then turns invisible. Camellia tries not to cough in embarrassment.

"Are you sure you can fly?" she says instead. "I mean, the day before yesterday, you were stuttering and shaking and having all kinds of troubles. Is flying a good idea for you right now?"

"As long as I don't push myself t-too hard. I won't be that stupid, I promise. We can take it slow and enjoy ourselves."

"What time?"

"Just stay awake after the torches start to go out. I'll come get you."

A thump comes from outside the tent. Camellia quickly gets to her feet.

"I have to go," she says. "Someone should be coming by in the next few minutes."

"Oh, okay. I'll just see you tonight."

Camellia stops at the front of the tent and whistles a short tune. A few seconds later, a tune comes back from the guard posted out front. She moves through the tent flap and disappears. True to Camellia's word, Jinas arrives in the tent a few minutes later to do a routine check-up. Scott can't help but chuckle. When Jinas asks him what's so funny, Scott insists it's nothing.

Later that night, when the medical camp is quiet and the torches have begun to dim, Camellia waits patiently in her tent. It doesn't take long for the tent flap to open and then quickly fall closed as if blown by a wind, and then Scott materializes in front of her. He takes her by the hand, turns invisible again, then slips out of the camp with Camellia in tow. They run together until they're deep into the Woods and far out of sight and earshot.

Scott becomes visible again as they pull to a stop in a wide clearing. He sucks in a deep, satisfied breath. "I missed the outdoors."

"Your tent is technically outdoors."

"It's just not the same when you've got four walls and a roof over your head. You should know. You were stuck in a tent for a long time, too."

"Do you have a flight plan?" Camellia asks as she limbers up.

"Nope. I'm just going to take it easy and cruise."

"I guess I'll follow suit." She's quiet for a second, apparently thinking. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You've always been able to turn invisible, right? Why didn't you go flying sooner?"

"Besides the fact that my mind had turned into scrambled eggs?"

"Yes, besides that."

"I kept thinking about your offer from all those months ago and wanted to wait until I could take you up on it. I could fly anytime I wanted, but I really wanted to fly with _you_."

Camellia hopes the night is dark enough to hide her faint blush.

When Scott affirms that he's ready, Camellia lets out a long breath, takes off at a run, and coasts easily into the air. Scott levitates off the ground and rises to meet her. They pace themselves at first, with Scott moving slowly and lazily over the tops of the trees. When Camellia starts flying in circles around him and looping back and forth between spots, Scott laughs her off and tells her to go enjoy herself. Camellia bursts into the sky so quickly that Scott barely sees her leave.

Scott turns so that his back is facing the Woods and his face is facing the sky, reclining in air as if relaxing in a hammock. The familiar prickle of his powers feels good to use again without it threatening to split him open from the inside. Blue-grey clouds silhouette against the black sky, and for the first time in a while, Scott realizes he can see and count nearly every star. He draws invisible lines between some of them, making up constellations in his head. This one is Jinas standing with his clipboard. That one is Bennie sitting thoughtfully on a box. That other one is his triple-bladed scythe. Scott knits his fingers behind his head and glides smoothly through the night, the wind blowing softly down his shirt.

Up near the bottom of the clouds, Camellia flies with her powers wide open. The wind whips past her face and chills her cheeks as she reaches maximum velocity, then goes into a sharp turn. Her organs all slide away from her motion and she banks into the turn as hard as she can, blazing around in a circle and struggling not to black out against the force. She finally breaks away into a straight, then relaxes and drops out of the air. The ground pulls up to meet her. Air screams past her ears. Camellia holds on, relishing the feeling of being completely out of control. Then, she pulls up hard and skates the edge of the trees at terminal velocity, a shout of ecstasy escaping her throat. She slows speed and rides a warm thermal in lazy spiral up toward the clouds again. She skates across the cool black sky, so close she feels like she could reach out and pluck a star for her own.

The night wanes on. Camellia opens up all her throttles, then relaxes, then opens up all her throttles again. Scott drifts as if in a dream, never moving too quickly, and only once does he see Camellia as she passes by at a blistering pace. The trees whip loudly in her wake and, distantly, he hopes that no one can hear all the noise she's making.

Eventually Scott begins to tire. He lets blue magic pool in his hands for a few seconds, then pulses a signal toward the sky in hopes Camellia will see it. She's at his side only minutes later, and together they make their way back to their clearing and land safely. Her skin is windburned and she's slicked with sweat, but she barely looks tired. Scott tries to convince her to stay, but Camellia refuses, saying she'd rather make sure he gets back to his tent without incident.

They creep back into the camp without getting caught, with Scott slipping past with his invisibility and Camellia dropping down from high in the sky, avoiding the perimeter entirely. Scott escorts Camellia back to her tent, then pauses for a second. He hugs her shortly, thanking her for spending time with him. Camellia pats his back, half-muttering that she's too sweaty to hug him back. They part ways for the night and Scott sleeps straight through until morning.

When he wakes, Scott feels rejuvenated and alive. Even the voices don't bother him that much. He combs his hair, cleans his face, and leaves his tent outright. When the guard expresses his displeasure, Scott tells him to leave him be and strolls toward the work camp for a hearty breakfast. It's quite busy this morning. He finds Camellia eating alone at a table near the front gate and he slides into the seat across from her. She jumps in surprise.

"What are you doing?" she says softly. "If Jinas finds out that you're here, you could get in a lot of trouble."

"Ah, Jinas schminas. It's a beautiful day out and I feel like I could take on the world."

"I'm glad you think so, but it really won't be good if—"

"Hey!" Jinas's sharp voice cuts through the work yard.

Scott and Camellia get to their feet. Gabriel, Nysse, and Roger are right on Jinas's heels, and Jinas looks extremely annoyed. Scott's guard follows behind them at a distance, trying not to meet anyone's eyes. Already a crowd is starting to gather.

"You are in trouble," Jinas yells, "and I mean big-time. You deliberately disobeyed my order to stay and rest!"

"When did that ever stop me before?" Scott says. "I mean, wait, what are you talking about? I've done nothing wrong!"

"And you!" Jinas jabs an accusing finger at Camellia. "I know all about what you two have been doing; Gabriel told me everything on the way here. Have you completely lost your mind? Breaking _my_ quarantine when you know full well that Scott is vulnerable is such... Such a blatant disregard for the rules! Why would you put him in danger like that?"

"If there was ever any danger," Camellia replies coolly, "I would have stopped seeing him."

"Guys!" Drew yells, running in through the front gate. "You have to see this!"

"Well you best believe you aren't going to be seeing him for a while. You don't want to respect my quarantine? Fine. But don't think there won't be consequences for breaking the rules!"

"As I saw it, my friend needed me and I was there for him. I was helping him heal."

"Oh, so you're a healer now! Well color me surprised!"

"Guys?" Drew says.

"And you!" Jinas shouts, grabbing Scott by the arm. "Come with me, you're going right back to the tent and you're staying there until I say you're better."

"How about I decide what's best for me, okay? Get your hands off me."

"You've got a historically terrible track-record of deciding what's best for you, so don't start with me."

"Oh, and you know what's best for me? Want to keep me cooped up in a cage for the rest of my life so you can study me like an insect? Yeah, I know what your voice says when you think I can't hear! I know exactly—"

"Guys, I'm serious! You have to see this!"

"What is it!" Jinas shouts. "What is _so_ important that—"

Suddenly everyone is quiet at the sight before them. A tall, lanky boy stands at the front of the refugee camp, his presence raging like a white-hot fire.

"Hey guys," Luke Derringer says with a grin. "How've you been?"

Luke's eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses face-down in the dirt.

# Chapter Twenty-One

## The Dreams of a Monster

Many months ago

Sorsaren stares out at the ruins of Monarch in silence.

Recounting the eons of his existence, he can't help but marvel at how far the planet has come since he first arrived. The populace was much bigger and stronger then, but these newer, smaller people are much more inventive. The old guard would have never built a floating city where all six realms meet, and they never would have used it as a protective sarcophagus for the Nexus. It was certainly crafty of these Reneans to use an entire city to hide the Seed.

Sorsaren stretches out on the ground lays his head in the warm grass. The sky above him is clear blue. The drifting clouds give the sensation that the whole world is turning, and he feels himself drifting with them, drifting off into space, drifting off to someplace far, far away.

Sorsaren dreams.

"What will you do?" Max says.

"I've told you already," says Stark Pureblood. "I march on Monarch."

"No. _After_ the world belongs to you. After every impure soul has been cleansed, after there is nothing left for you to conquer or control. What will you do then? When there is nothing left for you to destroy, what will you hold with your own two hands?"

"Max!" Gnosis yells from far away. "Get here right now! We have trouble!"

Max gets to his feet and tries not to look annoyed. "Excuse me, I need to go. I'm urgently needed elsewhere."

He's gone before Stark can reply and is simultaneously at Gnosis's side. The man is completely in pieces and Max almost thinks he's just acting until he starts talking.

"This shouldn't be happening," Gnosis says. "This wasn't supposed to happen. He's not supposed to wake up. This isn't supposed to happen. I didn't plan for this. This wasn't supposed to happen!"

"What the hell are you blabbering on about? Get a grip."

"Get a grip?" Gnosis grips Max by the shirt. "How can I get a grip when I—" He sucks in a slow, strong breath, then lets Max go and runs a hand through his hair. "Forget it," he says softly. "It would be best if we just sit for a while. He knows where we are. Sit, please. Just sit."

Max and Gnosis sit in the grass near Gnosis's shoddy tent and an empty fire pit. Gnosis can't prevent himself from biting his fingernails nervously, a habit Max had no idea the man had picked up; he stares at him in disgust until Gnosis catches on and stops. When roughly an hour has passed, Gnosis stands expectantly. Max turns his head in the direction his companion is looking.

Sorsaren walks silently into camp, but something about him is off. He's standing differently, with his legs at odd angles and his shoulders all crooked. He may look like him, but he isn't Sorsaren.

"Good," Gnosis says. "You found us. Are you confused? Worried?"

The man glances between the two of them.

"Would you like to sit? I can explain everything. Any question you want an answer to, I'll have it. I know everything there is to know about everything." He gestures. "Sit, please. Would you like something to drink? You're our _guest_ here."

Gnosis looks directly at Max as if trying to make a point and Max reassesses the man standing in front of him. There's not a hint of malice in his eyes. And where the hell is his spear? Max realizes who he's looking at. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

Luke Derringer sits uncomfortably on the grass. Gnosis hands him a glass of water.

"Doubtless, you have questions," Gnosis says knowingly, seating himself across from Luke, "but if you don't mind, I'd first like to check your memory."

Luke says nothing. He sips at his water.

"Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

"Yeah," Luke says, "I can try. I was... I was in a really big room. It was cold, and bright. I remember feeling something, but I can't really recall what it was. Maybe it was anger? No, happiness. It was really, really strong; I've never felt something like it before. And then I was..."

Gnosis leans forward.

"I think I was standing in another place. It was filled with smoke; I think people were hurt. There was blood, blood and..." Luke closes his eyes to remember. "Someone was laying in the grass nearby. I remember thinking that I knew her, but I can't remember who she was. I think she was hurt. And then I remember being told—no, I remember feeling like I had to go away, that there was someplace important I needed to be, and the next thing I knew I was lying in the grass looking at the sky and everything was quiet. Then I got up and looked around, but there was nothing around me. Just grass and hills and nothing else. I started walking and just followed my own two feet until I found you guys." He looks at the two men sitting across from him. "Just who are you guys, anyway?"

"I'm Gnosis. That's Maxillarion, but you can call him Max. I know this sounds hard to believe, but we're your friends."

"And where exactly am I?"

"You're in the Plains. For now, you're safe."

Max sighs as loudly as he can. Gnosis looks at him sharply.

"Are you going to tell him?" Max says. "Or am I going to do the honors?"

"Don't bring this up now."

"When's a good time to bring it up, then?"

"Bring up what?" Luke says curiously.

"You're dead," Max says. "You died and this is purgatory."

Luke stares at him for a second, then laughs. "Good one."

Max takes out his knife and lunges across the gap between them. Luke has just enough time to exclaim in surprise before Max drives the blade straight through his throat.

Luke kicks him off with surprising strength. He clutches at the hole in his throat, but to his surprise, it isn't bleeding. It doesn't even hurt. He gingerly touches the edges and his stomach turns at the idea of his fingers being where they shouldn't be. Power surges up from inside him and the hole closes quickly. Luke then realizes he didn't even think about needing to breathe.

He looks up to see Max standing over him. He offers Luke a hand, and after a second's consideration, Luke takes it. Max pulls him back to a sitting position, then sits across from him again. No one speaks for a moment or two.

"Well," Luke says, "now I have a lot of questions."

"Don't ask me," Max says nonchalantly, putting his knife away. "Ask the man with all the answers."

Luke turns to Gnosis who is trying his hardest to glare a hole straight through Max's head.

" _Normally_ ," Gnosis begins, "a knife wouldn't even get close to your skin. Your, shall we say, other half, would have obliterated it. It appears he's sleeping right now, though."

"He who? What other half?"

"This is going to be hard to believe, but while you were in that room you mentioned, you accidentally set free an immensely powerful ancient being. It possessed your body, destroying everything that made you human, yet somehow, some part of you managed to weather the storm and stay here. You are, in essence, an eternal being, but you can only be awake while the monster slumbers."

"Monster?" Something darkens Luke's eyes. "That's not possible."

"Don't believe us?" Max says, brandishing his knife. "Want me to stab you again?"

"Okay, so, when you say 'monster', what kind of monster do you mean?"

"The same monster that destroyed the gods many eons ago," Gnosis says.

"That's ridiculous. Tetrask told me... No, that's not true. You're lying."

"I told you I know everything; I don't see a reason to lie to you."

"Oh yeah? What was the model of my dad's car?"

"2002 Chevy Impala. He wanted the Avalanche, but his wife asked him to get something with better gas mileage."

"What was my first job?"

"Stocking books at a library."

"Alright, fine, anyone can do a little research. Tell me this. What was the last thing I did before going to John's shop?"

"You locked yourself in your room and prepared to down a bottle of ibuprofen, but before you did, your phone showed a message from Stanley Lockwood about the debut of a new tabletop roleplaying game. You threw out the pills, took a shower, and walked to the shop under an umbrella."

That startles Luke. He slowly sinks into himself, holding his head. "This isn't happening," he says. "I'm just dreaming."

"Alright, that's it." Max gets up. "I'm going to stab you again."

"Knock it off," Gnosis says, grabbing Max by the arm. "You'll wake him up."

"I'd rather deal with a pissed-off omnipotent monster than a whiny brat."

"Can you blame him? He's just been told he should be dead. Try to extend some empathy."

"Why the hell would I ever do that?"

"Okay, hold on." Luke waves his hand, stopping the argument. "I'm possessed by an all-powerful monster. Okay, I can deal with that. Is there any way for me to get it out?"

"No," says Gnosis.

"Why not?"

"Because it is now more 'you' than you will ever be again. Could you take out your lungs, heart, brain, and nerves and still be alive?"

"Can I still lead a normal life?"

"By your definition of normal, no. Everything that makes you human has been killed."

Luke sucks in a heavy breath, then nods. "Okay, fine. I'll live with it. What about my friends? I made a promise to see them again."

"You can't do that either."

"Why?"

"If you even touch anyone, they could be killed instantly."

"By who?"

"By you, dumbass," Max interrupts. "You think a mortal interacting with an omnipotent being is going to turn out good for anyone involved?"

"Well, then I won't touch them."

"What about the majority of the time when you aren't you?"

"Well, you guys can tell my 'other half' not to just play it cool, right?"

"Luke," Gnosis says with a chuckle, "you're being unreasonable."

"You know what's unreasonable? Waking up in a strange place to strange people and being told that you can't go see your only family in this world because you could kill them!" Luke stands, becoming upset. "I mean, if I'm some all-powerful being, do you think you can stop me from leaving? What if I learn to control it? What if I decide to do whatever the hell I want?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Now who's the one being unreasonable!"

"What do you care about more? Seeing your friends, or ensuring they that live?"

Luke becomes stubborn. "Obviously I'd want them to live."

"Then don't try to see them. Luke, your reaction stems from one thing: you're unable to accept that you should be dead. You _died_. I can't explain how you're still here, but I do know that for the most part, you really aren't here at all. You need to let go of any hope of leading a normal life."

"I can't accept that. I'm... I mean, look at me! I'm still here! I'm still alive, aren't I? Who's to say I can't lead a normal life the way I want it? I can walk, talk, think, feel—aren't I still human?" Luke sighs and drops to the ground. "Why is this happening to me? Oh god, my head hurts..."

"Easy, now," Gnosis says, quickly rushing over to try to soothe him. "You want to stay awake as long as you can, right? Then try to stay calm. Getting upset will only wake him up."

Luke touches his chest, aware that he doesn't have a heartbeat even though he can dimly feel something moving through his veins. It surges hot and bright like magma and, for a second, Luke's body starts to glow. Gnosis and Max take two visible steps back until the light dims.

"I understand this is going to be an adjustment for you," Gnosis says patiently. "I need you to relax and stay near the camp. It will be a while before I know what to do next and I'll need time to think." He looks up, thoughtful. "I think now is a good time. Excuse me."

Gnosis leaves without another word and walks right into the Plains. Max watches him go, and when he's gone, he catches Luke's attention.

"Hey," he says. "Which way does the train travel on a moonlit night?"

"What train?" Luke asks. "I don't know, maybe south?"

Max scowls and walks away.

Luke feels a great fatigue come over, and quickly his brain tells him he should lay down for a little bit and rest. Luke stretches out in the grass and knits his hand behind his head. The sky is a clear blue and a gentle, pleasant breeze flows across his face. He yawns and closes his eyes as sleep washes over him.

Luke dreams.

When Luke wakes up, the sky is cold and grey and fading into night. The grass and hills he remembers have been replaced with hard, grey stone; a conical wind blows through his bones. Luke sits up and takes in his surroundings. Large, toothy mountains zigzag across the horizon. Enormous shadows drift lazily in mid-air. Every so often, there's the distant rumble of thunder followed by the ground quaking beneath his feet.

"You're up."

Max sits across from him. In his hand is a leather strop on which he brushes the edge of his knife. He doesn't even glance at Luke and continues sweeping the blade up and down the leather.

"Where am I?"

"The Peaks."

"Have I been out for very long?"

"A couple of weeks. People are beginning to move."

"People?"

"Yeah. You know, people. Important folks playing ragtime tunes in the flying big band." Max inspects his knife with a critical eye, then shakes his head and goes back to straightening the blade. "People who aren't you or me."

"Can't you be a little more specific?"

"Look"—Max levels the knife at Luke—"I'm not here to baby-sit you. I've got way more important things to do, but I'm being forced to make sure you don't get into trouble, so don't start this relationship off by making me upset."

"Oh, cool."

"What part of that is cool?"

"I mean, if you're here even if you don't want to be, I think that means you care a little about me, right?"

Max leans back and starts sweeping his knife again. "Right."

"I think that's pretty nice of you."

"Mhm."

"Hey, Max?"

"Mhm."

Luke takes in a breath. "Are we like, you know, friends and stuff? Not like you and the monster, but you and me."

"No."

"Oh. Do you want to be?"

Max stops sharpening his knife, apparently thinking.

"Well," Luke continues, "I mean, you and G-man are helping me out, so even if you don't want to be here and don't consider me your friend, I'll consider you my friend anyways." Luke gets to his feet and dusts his hands off. "Alright, see ya around, man."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know. I thought I'd go look around."

"Wouldn't you rather see your friends?"

Luke pauses for a second. He nervously laughs. "Nah, forget about that. G-man said it was too risky."

"What if I told you it wasn't?"

"I... I don't know what to say. How do you know?"

"Because I'm telling the truth, and I can prove it."

"How? Can I really see them again?"

"Now now, don't get so damn excited. You can't touch them, you can't be seen by them, and you can't talk to them. But you can see them."

"I'd like that a lot, Max. Thank you."

"Stop it, I haven't even done anything yet. Do you know how to teleport?"

"Not a clue."

"Don't be stupid," Max says. "You've got Sorsaren inside you. You can do anything you can think of. Now can you teleport or not?"

"Who's Sorsaren?"

"Stop asking questions. I'll meet you in Monarch."

Max vanishes from sight. Luke imagines a comical _pop_ accompanying the disappearance and chuckles. Following Max's instructions, Luke tries to picture himself moving to Monarch and in the moment of him thinking about Mr. John and Scott Cornot and the starfield under the city, he feels his body pull away from him as if dragged by the shirt and he stumbles into the Nexus. Max is waiting for him a few feet away at the place where the six realms meet.

"Where's the city?" Luke asks, looking above at the split sky. "And where's Mr. John? Why is everything so yellow? Hey, wait a second, I recognize that rock! What's going on here?"

"Questions later," Max says. "Friends first. You remember which direction the Woods is in? Good. I'll meet you in front of them."

Max disappears as he never existed in the first place. Luke sighs and tries to picture the Woods. Again he feels his body drag away from him and he lands face-first in the dirt under a small arbor of trees. Behind him is a wide, green grassy plain filled with tiny wildflowers. The sky, though orange, is moving slowly into dusk. Monarch is nowhere to be seen.

Max, already at the Woods, encourages Luke to his feet. They perform several more teleporting-disappearing routines, each one carrying them farther and farther into the forest. After the sixth or seventh, Luke begins to feel nauseous and pauses several times to catch his breath and clear his head. Max always reprimands him for being late.

At long last, Max calls off the teleports. Luke almost vomits in the dirt.

"Listen closely," Max says when Luke has recovered, "because I'll only say this once. You don't know your own strength or the effect you have on others. Just being around you gives me this sickly sense of unease and I've been around you for longer than anyone can imagine, so keep your distance no matter who you see. The last thing we want is to get spotted. Got it?"

"Yeah man, I've got it."

"I'm going to help disguise us and we're going to enter the camp. Don't touch anybody. Don't think about your powers. Don't even breathe."

"Yeah man, I've got it."

"Don't talk to anybody, either. Hell don't even look at anyone for too long! And don't touch or talk to your friends if we see them. They could be in a tent somewhere and the last thing we need is to scare them with two strangers walking in on a very top-secret meeting."

"Yeah man, I've got it already!"

"Don't snap at me. I'm doing this _for_ you."

Luke nods, quiet.

Max gestures forward and the pair starts walking through the forest. A few minutes later, Luke hears people chattering. He and Max emerge into a shoddy camp populated by dingy tents, uneven plots of land, and untrimmed trees. The air is heavy with the smell of sweat and bodies. Max doesn't slow his pace; Luke hurries to catch up. A few people glance up at them and Luke averts his eyes.

Max holds up a hand and Luke stops. Ahead of them, someone leaves a tent and three people follow her out. Luke's heart stops when he sees the familiar face leading them: Nysse.

Max forcibly stops Luke when he steps forward. Luke stares longingly at Nysse as she glides gracefully away from him. Her eyes glow with the brightest starfield he's ever seen, brighter than it ever was when she was an oracle. She pauses for a moment, as if listening for something, and then she continues on her way.

"Man she looks so good," Luke whispers. "You feel her presence? She must be very important."

Max gestures again and they walk over to the tent Nysse just left. Luke and Max press their ears to the canvas and listen, but they can't hear anything.

"Do you think everyone left?" Luke asks softly.

"Keep your voice down. I don't want to scare them away."

"Scare who away?"

"Does everyone have something they can fight with?" a voice suddenly asks. "Specifically, a legendary weapon."

"That's Camellia!" Luke hisses. Max elbows him in the ribs.

"You mean like Excalibur?" another voice says. "I mean, I found a pretty cool stick once, but—"

"And Drew!" he says again. Max elbows him again.

"No. I mean this." The air shudders, but Luke can't see what happened inside. "Does everyone have something like this?"

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"I learned how to summon it during my quest to find Apalon. Nysse asked me to show you so it would encourage you to get your own as soon as possible. I don't think... I don't think you should fight your Adversary before you have it."

"How come?"

"It's too much of an advantage to _not_ have. I just wanted to show everyone, that's all."

Someone huffs loudly. "Let's call it for tonight," she says. "I want to get some food."

"Oh, me too," says another. "I could eat."

"You guys go ahead without me," says a fourth voice. "I'll catch up in a second."

Luke and Max pull away as Bennie, Camellia, and Drew exit the tent. Luke tries not to say anything, but he can't help but wave in their direction as they walk away. When all is quiet, Luke presses his ear back to the canvas and listens, but no sound comes from inside.

"Okay"—Luke suddenly steps back—"hear me out. Why don't I stay here for the night? I can tell them what's happening tomorrow morning. Heck, I could probably go talk to them right now."

"I knew this was a bad idea," Max groans.

"What is it? What did I say?"

"I shouldn't have brought you here. Dammit, Luke. You know why you can't talk to them. I even told you that you couldn't before I brought you out here. If they spot you, they're going to reject you. Do you want that? Do you think you can handle an eternity of knowing your friends rejected you?"

"I'm sorry, Max. I just... I've been on the moon for a while, you know? I still remember the night we all came here from Earth. It was only yesterday for me even if it was eternity for them. Even if they've forgotten all about me, I thought about them every day while I was on the moon. I want to see them again more than anything. I guess it's still hard to wrap my head around the fact that I can't just walk into their lives unannounced." He pauses. "I didn't, you know, kill anybody while I was sleeping, right?"

"No. You did the smart thing and stayed in the Plains, away from people."

"Then why'd I wake up in the Peaks?"

"Sorsaren was looking for something. No, I can't tell you what it is."

"Oh, something's going on—something you don't want to tell me about."

"No, Gnosis doesn't want to tell you. He doesn't think you can handle the blow."

"Well, will you tell me?"

"Sure. You destroyed Monarch, the gods are dead, and the Heroes are about to start a world war over the city you ruined."

Luke stares at him in disbelief.

"You know what," Max sighs, "let's take a walk."

Max walks them out of the camp and into the darkening forest. Luke listens as Max details the destruction of Monarch, the meeting of the Heroes and the refugees, the shadows of war, and the daunting advance of Stark Pureblood and Riel the Skeleton King. By the time Luke is completely caught up with the current state of affairs, the air is cold and the sky is crisp and clear and bloated with the light of the moon.

"This isn't right." Luke slumps against a tree to collect his thoughts. "Like, I know what you're saying _is_ right, but..."

"...But?"

"Well, you're my friend, right? And friends don't lie to each other."

"I have nothing to gain from lying to you about this."

"That's what I mean, you know? That's what's scariest about this. You're telling me that my friends are about to go risk life and limb to fight these super strong bad guys. I didn't even know we _had_ bad guys."

"Adversaries," Max corrects.

"Exactly! You know, when I came here with Scott and we talked to Mr. John, he never mentioned any of this baloney. And speaking of which, where is he? John's supposed to be our oracle and information hub when we need him. And you know what else? I thought this was supposed to be something for us to go do and experience and have fun with, and then we get to test our powers against each other and then we go home at the end! A one-two-three-done kind of deal, you know? When did it become this mess of cities getting blown up and life-or-death combat and war plans and armies?"

"It was like this since the beginning. You just avoided it by going to the moon."

Luke tosses his hands in the air, hopeless.

"Trust me." Max reaches out and squeezes Luke's shoulder. "I know this is new and upsetting for you, but I've been doing this for much longer than you, and I can tell you right now the best thing you can do is watch and wait. Don't interfere with them. Just have patience."

"Max, I don't know if you know me very well, but 'watch and wait' isn't in my pocket dictionary."

"Well, you don't have much a choice, especially if you want your friends to succeed. Just think of it like you're a cop on eternal stakeout; observe and remember everything you can." Max looks over his shoulder. "We ought to get back before someone comes sneaking through the bushes."

Luke hesitates for a moment. "Hey, Max? Thanks for bringing me out here. I know I'm being a little pushy but I _am_ grateful for your help." He yawns long and loud, suddenly exhausted. "I guess I don't get to spend too much time being me, huh?"

"Sorsaren must be antsy about something."

"It's fine. Time actually passes pretty fast when you're unconscious."

Luke Derringer wakes up in the middle of a rainstorm.

With a yelp he scrambles to his feet and looks around for cover. A second later, he realizes his clothes are already soaked completely through and there's no cover to be seen anywhere. Luke grumbles and entertains the thought of punching a hole right through the clouds so he stops getting rained on, and then his body glows brilliantly yellow and blasts a hole through the clouds above him. It continues to rain only a few paces away, but the area around him is illuminated like a spotlight on a stage. The grass at his feet has been scorched to ash and the dirt has crystallized into glass.

Luke looks at his glowing hands in awe and respect. Even though Max and G-man mentioned that Sorsaren held immense power, he never imagined a stray thought would have this much energy behind it. Responsibility settles on his shoulders and with it comes the drive to understand the good he can do with his newfound strength.

He thinks about his friends, the conversation he overheard through the canvas, Camellia's voice and Drew's voice. Camellia was always so nice to him. He finds himself missing her and some unknown feeling takes hold of him as his body pulls away. The scenery changes in a blur from the rainy grassland to the cool, dry Woods. Judging by the sunlight, it must be morning. For a second Luke wonders how he got here when he hears someone groan nearby. He hides himself behind a bush and peeks out carefully.

A few paces away, Camellia Agnelli supports herself against a tree. Luke steps out to greet her, but when he breaks a branch underfoot, panic grips him and he ducks back behind his bush. Camellia doesn't even turn to regard him. Max's warnings ring loudly in his head as he watches his friend in secret. She slowly progresses forward, her footsteps dropping to the ground like lead, and she teeters with each dizzy movement.

Luke follows her at a distance, confused. Camellia isn't the type of person to go walking alone in the forest, and she's definitely not one to get so drunk she can't tell where her feet are. But, as he keeps following her, he notices dark stains on her neck and the back of her clothes. Her blonde hair is massed and knotted at the back of her head. He finally realizes she's injured, and not in the way that a simple bandage or a shot of whiskey would fix.

Anger pools in his stomach. Who did this to her? He knew getting damaged was part of questing for your patron god, but this crosses the line. Head injuries are against the rules, aren't they? There has to be some rule about that. What the hell is going on in this planet? The game was never supposed to be played this way. What happened to adventure and romance?

Camellia rests for a moment at a tree with a tangle of roots at its base. She looks pale. Luke approaches, ready to catch her if she slips and falls.

Camellia turns to the side and vomits into the dirt.

Luke freezes. Camellia drops against the tree, breathing loudly through her sore throat, coughing as her fists clench and unclench helplessly in the dirt. Luke becomes intensely aware of the hot magma thundering in his veins. What other damage could he do if just getting close makes her sick? Luke backs off and watches helplessly as Camellia coughs and twitches and chokes until she passes out cold against the tree, her face a mess and the injury on the back of her head starting to leak again.

"Didn't I warn you?"

Luke looks over his shoulder. Max stands a few feet away.

"I told you not to get close to anyone," he continues. "Now you've made her pass out alone in this forest. What happens if an animal comes to chew up her guts? Will you take responsibility and watch over her until someone happens to stumble on her body? What if she wakes up and sees you? What then?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"You'd better be sorry; she's far more important than you'll ever be. Do you even think before acting? How many times did I tell you to stay the hell away from people? Do you finally see what I was talking about? And this is just when you're near someone. Imagine what happens if you _touch_ them. You're lucky she's not dead right now."

Luke grins nervously. "This isn't real, is it? It can't be."

"Reality is often cold and unforgiving."

"I'm sorry, Max. I didn't... I didn't know."

"And you want to know why you didn't know? Because you don't listen to me when I talk to you, and now you've learned the hard way what I've been trying to hammer into your skull for the past two months."

Luke hangs his head, silent.

"You know I'm hard on you because I care about them too," Max says after a minute.

"You do?"

"Of course. Your friends are my friends because _we're_ friends." Max squeezes his shoulder fondly. "I want you to be happy. Having to watch your friends reject you is too painful and I'm trying to prevent you from experiencing that pain. No one should have to go through that."

Luke seems sad, then he perks up a little. "I can do anything, right?"

"I'd be careful about trying to see just how far you can stretch that, but in theory, yes."

"Then why don't I just give you Sorsaren? I can untangle him from my soul or whatever and _you_ can take his power and use it instead of me, right? Then I can go back to my friends, right?"

Max looks honestly surprised for a moment, but then he looks disturbed and his gaze darts around the forest. He says nothing for a long time.

"Answer something for me," Max says coldly. "Which way does a train travel on a moonlit night?"

"I don't understand the question."

"The answer is 'it depends on the Conductor.' Don't forget that, no matter how long you live. You'll always be on a train that takes you somewhere, and all trains have conductors."

"What about automatic trains?"

Max barks a laugh so genuine that his eyes light up with a brilliant magenta light.

"You really are the dumbest person alive," he laughs. "I like that about you."

Luke grins sheepishly.

"Alright, enough fooling around. Let's go back to the Plains."

"Don't you want my powers?"

"No one in their right mind would want that. Keep them to yourself."

"Well then, what are we going to do about Camellia? Shouldn't we help her?"

"You think I'm going to pick her up and walk her into camp? A _lot_ of questions will be asked about a random stranger bringing a badly injured Hero into the camp after a disastrous attempt to retake Monarch."

"Disastrous?"

"If Camellia is any tell on how good it went, then there's nothing left for me to say."

Luke stares at him hard for a few long seconds. Then, softly, "Who hurt my friend?"

"Let it go, Luke."

"Let it go? Have you ever seen _your_ friend stumble through a forest with a gaping head wound? I need to know who did it."

"Don't worry about it," Max insists. "Camellia took care of him: punched his heart out of his chest."

"Camellia did _what_!" Luke exclaims, incredulous. "Hold on, you can't kill people!"

"Says who? It's just part of the game. It's something every one of them will have to do someday."

"What kind of game is this? What happened to romance and mystery and adventure?"

"Well"—Max throws a conspiratorial arm over Luke's shoulder—"if it makes you feel better, they all died noble deaths."

# Chapter Twenty-Two

## The Heart of a Monster

The Plains

Luke is on his back staring up into a clear night sky.

But how did he get here? Just a second ago, Max had an arm over his shoulder, telling him about the death of something noble. Luke feels the phantom sensation of his arm and shivers. He gets to his feet and the familiar smell of crested wheatgrass and lazy wind chases past his nose. He's back in the Plains.

Luke remembers Camellia. Wasn't she passed out in the forest just seconds ago with an enormous head wound? No, it couldn't have been seconds ago, could it? Sorsaren must have taken back over. How long has he been out this time? What's happened to her since? Despite his questions, no one appears to answer him. For the moment, Luke Derringer is alone, and though he worries for Camellia, he forces himself to accept that his friends will have to take care of her themselves. Luke considers visiting the camp just to see if she's okay, but then he remembers how she looked as she leaned against the tree and decides it would be best to listen to Max's advice for once.

The wide, empty plains are completely silent save for a warm, cascading wind and the whisper of crested wheatgrass. Then, like a wave coming into shore, the sound of crickets chirping rises to his ears. It builds in a gentle crescendo to just above a hum, but after a moment or two, it perishes, and the Plains is silent once more.

And then every blade of grass lights up yellow and orange as the darkened plain before him is covered with the ascension of millions of tiny fireflies. They drift into the air like paper lanterns, flickering and winking and rising into the inky black sky. A warm breeze streams through him, swelling in his lungs, and then he's drifting too, his body floating, his legs dangling toward the ground as the wind carries him toward the pale moon. He turns with the wind, and as his hands stretch out to touch the sky his body turns with him and he takes off into the night.

He knows that he's flying fast, faster than he ever thought possible, but it doesn't feel real. The wind lacerates his eyes, but he feels no urge to blink. The world zips by beneath him yet he can count every firefly, creek, insect, and mound of dirt lumping its head out of the wheatgrass. The Plains blurs into a dead sea of gnarled trees and cold, unfeeling cobblestone. He barely registers it before he's sweeping around large mountains floating in mid-air, and then he's dipping his hand into chilly ocean water, and then he's careening through dense clouds of ash, and then he's skimming treetops and watching animals skitter away into their hiding holes, and then he's back in the Plains where he started, completing a full circuit of the planet in seconds.

Luke hovers above the ground. Was this the power that Gnosis and Max talked about? This speed and reaction, the active cognition of every moment, the feeling that he can stretch his powers on and on forever? Luke feels energy bubbling in his veins like magma, yearning to be unleashed with the carefree joy of a child and the wild rage of an animal. Maybe he'll take a glimpse, nothing more. What could it hurt?

Luke extends his hand and a tiny yellow bulb spawns at his fingertip. It grows to the size of a marble before launching off far over the horizon, and a second later, the sky goes brilliant white. A dome of massive energy rises from the horizon and Luke's first inclination is panic. What if someone sees it? Will there be a shockwave? Can he stop the shockwave? The blast seems much farther away than he initially thought as, to his relief, both the light and explosion fade away with little more than a sharp breeze and a distant rumble.

Luke spreads his hands in front of him in wonder. The energy in him churns hot and eager, ready for more. The whole planet feels fragile and weak. He could hold the entire world in his hands and break it like a walnut. It would be so easy. Crush it into dust.

Luke takes in a long, deep breath and cools himself down. No need to get too excited. There's a lot to learn and experience. Embrace it and let yourself be swept away.

And then he lifts off the ground, ascending higher and higher as the breeze grows colder and colder, his body limp as if being drawn to heaven by the hand of God. The clouds drop beneath him like lint on a distant carpet and soon Luke is so far away that he can see the edges of the other realms. Higher still, and then Luke can see the neighboring realms, and at some peak, he finds he can see all Renea—a sight no larger than the ceiling fan in his bedroom.

Is this truly all there is?

Could such a large world actually be so small?

Luke feels magma boil in his veins. It could all be gone in a moment, this world that took his love, his friends, and even his life. After all, what good would it be for him to continue like this, waking up every few weeks or months or even years? Everyone else would continue without him as they had already, and every time he'd show up to see them, wouldn't they rebuff him? What right would he have to come in and out of their lives whenever he wanted? They would grow to hate him, but to Luke, their meetings would be separated by only a few seconds. In one heartbeat, Drew would be a young man, and then he'd be well into his middle age, and then he'd be an old man. Who could bridge that gap so casually? Is this the fate of all immortal men? Is this the pain that drove them away from lovers, family, friends?

If so, why did he have to care about any of them?

If his friends were so frail that they would live their lives and die in the span of a few hours, what significance did they hold for Luke Derringer? The sleepy planet at his feet fills him with confusion and anger. What impermanence on Renea could fill him with joy? It's true; he has no reason to care about them anymore. He has ascended to a new realm of power. Renea and its troubles and everything that it took from him could all be gone with a pass of his hand.

But what, then, would be left for him? Empty space? The great beyond? What even is out there?

Luke closes his eyes and lets his body unfold.

His arms stretch out of their sockets and melt into pure starlight. His body melts into nebulas and he feels himself drifting across the void surrounding the planet. He instinctively knows that the size he encompasses is enormous, but to him, it only feels like everything else is growing smaller. He wants to grow, to stretch, to feel the full limits of his strength. His finger punctures the edge of the solar system and in the palm of his hand he holds the remnants of dying stars. Onward his body expands until the galaxy has become an overcoat, and then a vest, and then a belt, and then a buckle, and then a marble, and then only dust remains. He passes out of a local supercluster and into the wide universe.

Is this the almighty gravitational pull of a black hole? So easily overlooked, like the tug of a child on your jacket.

Is this the explosive result of the collision between galaxies? It's barely the size of a firecracker.

Is this what the slowdown of entropy feels like? It's not much of a resistance.

Is this the end result of infinity? An endless search for something bigger? The feeling of constantly trying to stretch your arms or fill your belly, never able to reach the edge of satisfaction? This can't be all there is. There has to be more.

Everything grows smaller and smaller while he stays the same.

Luke reaches the edge of the universe where matter simply stops and a wall of emptiness prevents his escape, locking him in like an animal in a cage. There is nothingness beyond—a Vast Emptiness without bound, definition, or comprehension. Luke touches the universe's edge with all his limbs and body and face, like he's in a cardboard box that's just a little too small for him. Is this what imprisonment feels like? Does infinity have an end after all?

And then he realizes something: this is it. This universe is really all there is, and it chokes him. Luke begins to panic. There has to be more, right? The universe _is_ infinity. There has to be more! Where is it? Why can't he touch it?

What kind of game is this?

Is this a cruel joke by an uncaring god?

A bad dream, perhaps.

It's just a nightmare, right?

No. Maybe this _is_ reality.

Reality, after all, is cold and unforgiving.

Maybe I'll just destroy it, then. I'll wipe out this entire universe and push and shove and scream until I find my infinity. Maybe then I'll be satisfied.

Magma boils in his veins.

I could do it. I have all the power in the universe. I could do it and not even think twice. It would be easy. This universe is so small compared to my infinity, to my power. Nysse, I wish you could see this with me. I wish you could grasp the meaning of forever.

Luke suddenly feels his heart pound somewhere far away. Nysse, Camellia, Drew, Bennie, Scott, and Stanley are all back on Renea. They're all still waiting for him to come home, aren't they?

He begins to see things differently. His visits, separated by weeks and months and sometimes years, are not disastrous events at all, but celebratory occasions where his old friends are overjoyed to see him. They welcome him into their homes to catch up and relive the glory days.

Drew is there cradling his baby girl. She's the love of his life.

Bennie is shouting for someone to bring the ale for their guest.

Camellia is hugging him warmly in the way only she can.

Scott and his wife are smiling happily on a riverbed. She lays her head on his shoulder and tells Scott she loves him.

Stanley is peering out from a balcony and watching the sunset, his marble face etched with a stoic peace.

Nysse is there waiting for him, the sun at her back, her hand outstretched, beckoning, smiling.

Is this the happiness he dreamed of?

Isn't that the happiness they deserved?

Yes, that is the dream he had for everyone. That is the forever he wanted. _That_ is his infinity.

Luke compresses into himself. It's time to go home.

Renea welcomes his feet with a gentle kiss. The sun in the Plains is starting to set again. Luke sits in the grass and watches the distant star bathe the realm in a warm orange. Someone has to care for these people, for his friends and Nysse. If he is destined to lead a life eternal, isn't he best suited to watch over everyone? He won't abandon them like the world had abandoned them. No matter what, he will always have their backs.

After the sun starts to saddle the horizon, Luke gets up and heads back to camp. Gnosis and Max are waiting for him, but neither look very happy.

"Are you out of your mind?" Gnosis says angrily. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Luke looks at him, confused.

"That little stunt you pulled ripped a hole through the bottom of Renea and nearly let the gold leyline leak into the Vast Emptiness! Didn't I tell you to try to stay calm?"

"Oh, you mean the explosion. I was just testing my powers."

"You can't do that. No matter what, you absolutely cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"You can't _control_ it, you damn fool! Don't you see what you did with just a smidgen of effort? If you start going around 'testing' things or, gods forbid, trying to visit the Heroes, you'll put this whole mission in danger!"

"Mission?" Luke says. "Dude, do you think I give a damn about your mission? Do you have any idea what I've just seen?"

"Don't do this now. You're not the only one who understands infinity. You're not even the first."

"Well I have to be the first to know what it all means! I need to be caring for the people who are here right now because I'll never get the chance to see them again. Soon they'll be gone and I'll only see them in memories. That gives them meaning, G-man. They have a _real_ mission; they have a purpose. What do I have? I have forever. Anything I do or love or cherish will eventually be gone, but I'll always remain. I need to see them."

"Let me make something very clear to you," Gnosis says calmly. "You are _not_ supposed to be here. You are a guest, not a gift, and if it were up to me, I'd put you to sleep forever. Unfortunately, no one could perform such a feat. You are a glitch, a blip in an otherwise terminally silent system and I'll be damned if I'll let you become a catastrophic anomaly."

"So what's stopping you?" Luke challenges. "You just said no one can put me to sleep. Man, I just learned that no one can even touch me. I have all the power in the universe at my disposal. Hell, I could kill you right now if I wanted to. I wouldn't even have to dirty my fingers with a snap."

"Luke," Max interjects, grabbing him at the shoulder. "You're power-drunk. What's the point of picking a fight with Gnosis? You said yourself that killing is against the rules!"

"Yeah well, there's definitely not a rule about roughing someone up."

"And what about Max?" Gnosis counters. "Will you be roughing him up too when he gets on your nerves?"

"I don't hurt my friends."

"Then don't hurt Gnosis," Max says. "The three of us are a team. Without one, the other two are useless. Just take a walk, will you? Go cool off."

Luke gives Max a seething glare, but eventually he relents and stomps out of camp. Gnosis, a little surprised and relieved, goes to thank Max, but when he sees the changed look on his companion's face, his blood runs cold and he decides to refrain.

"I need you in the Woods," he says instead. "There'll soon be a development within the Hero camp I'd like you to observe."

"What kind of development?"

"I don't know. There are holes in my sight again. The photograph remains burned at the edges. I'm counting on you to give a proper report." Gnosis pauses. "It's kind of exciting, not knowing what happens there. Those black shadows give me the faintest thrill. It makes the game enjoyable again."

"You are the worst person I've ever met."

"And you are jealous that you'll never understand the joys of glimpsing what it's like to be human." Gnosis pats him on the back, as if pushing Max forward. "The Woods, please, and report back when you've observed all you need to observe."

"I don't even know why I bother," Max grumbles as he disappears.

When Luke wakes up, he knows exactly where he is.

His camp has become familiar to him by now. The unused firepit, the shoddy tent, the misshapen log serving as an attempt at seating are all comfortable, homey fixtures. Luke sits up and stretches his arms and back from what felt like a long night of sleeping on the ground. The sun hasn't cracked the horizon yet, but the grey light blanketing the sky signals that sunrise is coming soon. Neither Gnosis nor Maxillarion are anywhere to be found. At the very least, he's not surprised Gnosis is missing, considering the big fight they just had a few minutes ago. He can't work up the strength to feel angry about it, however, and dismisses the fight as a friendly spat.

"You ready to go on a trip?"

And there's Max, never missing a cue. Luke turns to greet him but Max cuts him off.

"Save the pleasantries," he says. "Get to the Hero camp, but don't go directly inside it. You won't want to miss what's about to happen."

"What's about to happen?"

"Well, if you go instead of asking me, you'll see, won't you?"

Conceding the point, Luke thinks of the spot where he found Camellia that one time and feels his body pull away from him as if caught in a sharp riptide. He lands exactly in the spot he envisioned and Max is waiting for him. With a gesture, he leads Luke through the woods toward the camp, but he stops once they're close. He waves for Luke to hide behind a tree, then to peep out at the scene before them.

A whole army has rallied themselves in front of the Hero camp. Scott and Drew mutter to each other until Drew says something Scott doesn't like and Scott folds his arms as a result. Drew seems far more at ease than Scott or the army, who scan the tree line suspiciously while trying to remain in rigid lines. A few of the unprepared are jump-scared by their carefree comrades.

Two men in elegant armor approaches Scott and Drew and they start conversing. When Luke looks to Max to ask a question, he finds that the man has disappeared—typical. He turns back to see Nysse wading through to the front. Luke's heart stops in his chest. As she speaks, she suddenly turns and looks in his direction. Luke quickly hides, and when he looks back, she's already heading for another group of soldiers.

Eventually Bennie and a warrior in red armor show up looking polished and battle-ready, and after a few moments of deliberation, Bennie and Drew are left alone to talk. Luke gasps when Bennie kisses Drew on the cheek; does Stanley know? He resolves to ask her about it when he's able to see her again. Someone loudly yells for a forward march and the army shifts forward, their footfalls thundering loudly in the quiet morning. Luke follows at the edges and stays as far away as possible while still trying to watch Nysse, but every so often she'll look in his direction and he'll have to hide behind a tree and hope that he isn't seen.

Around noontime, the army pulls to a halt and appears to take a break. His friends and a few other people, presumably generals or something, venture off. Luke follows them, still remaining out of eyesight, and almost stumbles clean out of the Woods and into the ruins of Monarch. Thick red clouds billow over the ruined city like the lingering belch of a tall smokestack. Skeletal monstrosities shuffle about, their metal armor clanking together as they patrol. The city looks worse than he remembers.

A few minutes later, the Heroes venture back to the army and lead a stealthy advance that ends in a surprise charge directly into the ranks of their enemies. Luke stares, wide-eyed at their audacity, equal parts proud and frightened. Things have certainly changed since he's been gone.

Luke spots Nysse sitting patiently in the grass at the edge of the Woods. For a second, he considers reaching out or approaching or just throwing something near her to let her know he's there, but something tells him he shouldn't. The last thing he needs is more persuasion to go see his friends. He knows what it could cost them—what it could cost _him_.

"Ah, good. You're learning."

Max again. Luke doesn't turn to greet him.

"So"—Max settles in the grass next to his friend—"what do you think?"

"About?"

"All of this."

"It's incredible. Where do they get their bravery?"

Max doesn't answer immediately. A howl splits the air and dark creatures fall from the sky to join the battle. The pair watches as the fighting devolves from centralized lines to localized groups. Despite the distance, Luke can see the battle in perfect perspective. The bloodshed is a little visceral, though, and he has to clear his throat a few times to maintain his composure.

"Man, this is boring," Max yawns. "Alright, get up. Let's go down and spectate."

"I think I'm good here."

"You don't want to go watch your friends show off their powers? Suit yourself..."

"Wait, wait!" Luke scrambles to his feet. "We can do that?"

"Absolutely, as long as we're quiet and don't interfere. Can you do that?"

"You got it. Quiet as a mouse."

"Who are we spectating first?"

Luke pauses, thinking of the kiss he saw. "Bennie first."

Luke follows Max into the city and through the scattered pits of war. The fighting has gotten worse and Luke turns his face away from people limping with broken limbs and missing body parts. Max takes them to the center of the city. There, Luke finally spots Bennie in a blazing cloak of fire as she converses with a tall skeletal figure with four sloping horns on its head. Max leads them to the top of a shattered building and takes a seat on the ledge to "enjoy the show." Luke sits next to him and Max pats him comfortingly on the shoulder as he tells him a little about Riel and the leylines.

Bennie and Riel start into their fight. Fire clashes with golden magic and weapons glance off the ground. Max leans forward, enraptured. Luke tries to watch, but his eagerness is slowly replaced with a boredom he can't understand. The fight is pretty, but it's almost disappointing. Riel's golden magic is clearly powerful, but it's powerful only in the sense that an ant is powerful for lifting the corpse of a centipede. Bennie stumbles and fumbles around the battlefield, always dodging and guarding and trying to poke a few shots in but never going on the offensive. She vomits more than once and seems to be struggling to even breathe. After seeing the universe, the whole fight seems so meaningless and small. Riel's aura suddenly turns to rainbows and Luke sits up a little straighter, sensing the increase in strength.

"Enjoying the show?" Max says sweetly.

"A little," Luke says. "Is Bennie going to be alright? She looks really sick."

"Oh, she is. But I think you'll find her resolve has been tempered beyond your wildest dreams."

Bennie approaches her enemy. They take up stances, explode with light, and then collide. There are a few seconds of struggle, and then Bennie punches through and vaporizes Riel. The ensuing blast carries through the district behind them, leveling everything in its path.

"Ah," Luke says. "That was a little exciting. That's more what I was expecting."

"Oh my. Were you bored, by chance?"

"Not so much bored as confused, I guess?"

Bennie seems to fall back into the dirt. Luke looks at her for a second, then is aware that he can hear her heart starting to slow. Luke stands; she's dying. His body pulls away from him and he slides into the dirt next to Bennie's motionless body. Her unfocused eyes stare up into the sky, a small smile on her face. A memory of Camellia's face in the Woods jogs in his brain and Luke closes his eyes to shut it out. Help. He has to get her to someone who can help.

Luke scoops Bennie into his arms. She goes rigid and her body melts into ash in his hands.

Her armor clatters to the ground at his knees and, for a second, Luke wonders where she went. He looks at the ash staining his hands and a dim sense of horror sets in.

Max kneels across from Luke and scoops up a handful of ash. His gaze is coldly indifferent. Luke stares at him in a stupefied silence, then turns his gaze down to her now empty armor.

"I killed her," he says dimly. "I killed her, just like you said."

Max suddenly looks over Luke's shoulder and makes a sound of annoyance. "We have to go. Right now."

"I can't leave her, man. I... I have to bring her back. Oh, god..."

"Get up. This time I'm not asking. No interference, remember?"

Max drags Luke to his feet and then takes off. Luke looks emptily over his shoulder and spots the reason for Max's disappearance: a man running toward them from the Peaks District, a cloud of ash kicking up from his feet. For a second, Luke wants to scream so loud the world will collapse in on itself, but he holds himself together. He promised no interference. He has to follow Max's lead. Luke gives Bennie's armor one last look and begrudgingly makes himself scarce.

Luke spends a few minutes looking for Max, but when he can't find him anywhere, he just wanders the city in a daze. He tries to think about Bennie but his mind keeps steering his thoughts elsewhere, unable to entertain the gravity of his actions. Several times he simply stops moving and stares at the road as if turned to stone. When he came to Renea, he was promised action, adventure, and he secretly hoped for romance and victory, just like in the movies and games he had consumed all his life. In the end, the good guys win, and though someone gets hurt along the line, it's never too serious, and people don't die until old age. Wasn't _that_ the reality of the world? What kind of nightmare world is this?

A loud droning noise like the blare of a foghorn interrupts his thoughts. Luke looks around and realizes that mounds of horrific monsters are feverishly crawling past him. One with eleven eyes and four legs glances at him but, as if the monster realizes Luke isn't a threat—or perhaps too large of one—it passes by harmlessly. The others don't even take notice of him. Were these the dark shapes he saw fall from the sky earlier? Where are they all going?

Without warning, something rockets by overhead. Luke spots Scott surrounded by a group of strange black ghosts. His heart jumps in his chest, eager to be near someone who can comfort him. Luke takes off at a run. He rounds a corner not too far away and sees Scott, one large black ghost, and another black ghost with yellow magic pouring from its body having a conversation in the middle of a group of monsters. Luke quickly hides himself behind the corner, remembering his promise to not interfere. A small ruckus breaks out and Luke peers out to see what's happening. The large black ghost has disappeared. Drew King now stands in the clearing, attempting to break into Scott's conversation. After a moment, Drew reluctantly steps out of the clearing and stands near some tall misshapen creature. Scott pulls a triple-bladed scythe out of thin air. Luke perks up a little bit; when did Scott get such a cool weapon?

Scott and the black ghost clash with each other—first in the air, then on the ground, and then by flexing as much of their raw power as they can. Scott comes out on top, forcing the ghost to the ground, and Luke pumps his fist. His excitement fades when Scott collapses with a scream. A whirlwind of magic explodes from Scott's body. The monsters spectating the battle scatter like flies. Scott yells for help, and then starts crying, holding his head so tightly that his fingernails are digging into his skin. Luke begins to panic; Scott is in danger and Drew isn't stepping in to help. Someone has to help him. Luke steps around the corner.

"You promised."

Luke turns. Max stands a few paces away.

"No interference, remember?"

"I wasn't. I was just... I was trying to get a better look."

"Sure, right. I know that you want to help, but you can't. These things are happening for a reason."

"He's in trouble," Luke says, exasperated. "I have to help him. You have to let me."

"What if it's Scott's fate to die here?"

"His _fate_?" Luke suddenly seizes Max by the collar, his eyes blazing. "Don't you talk to me about fate. You want me to believe this is all supposed to mean something? All this... This suffering? Are you even looking at Scott right now? Can't you hear him scream?"

"Yes, I can." Max's voice is flat and icy.

Luke shoves him away. "I'm going in there," he says, resolute. "I'm going to save my best friend."

Max comes around to Luke's face. "Remember what I told you about your friends. They'll reject you if they see you. Do you want to kill him like you killed Bennie? You are dead to this world and dead to them."

Luke glares, but Max doesn't budge. Eventually Luke relents, frustrated, and they wait behind the corner and watch the scene for a few more painful seconds. It appears Drew and the ghost are having a conversation. There's a moment of stillness, and then Drew backs away and runs out of the clearing.

Luke slams his fist on the wall beside him, breaking it in half. The ghost immediately turns toward them. Max disappears before it can lay eyes on him.

"Son of a bitch..." Luke seethes.

"Interesting," Retribution muses, sizing Luke up. "I'd recognize that magic anywhere. You're like me."

Luke approaches. Retribution immediately takes a defensive stance. Luke ignores the Shade and kneels next to Scott's body. He hovers a hand under Scott's nose; he can still feel breath. Scott is still alive, for now.

"I'm going to kill you," he finally whispers. "I'm going to turn you into a pile of ash."

"You can't kill me," Retribution says. "That's against the rules."

Luke lunges and grabs the Shade by the throat. Retribution coughs and scrambles for its neck, suddenly aware of some forgotten, instinctive urge to breathe. Luke drags Retribution close to his face.

"Who's responsible for this?"

Retribution stares at him for a second, confused.

"Who's responsible!" Luke screams, the force of his voice shattering the ground beneath him. "I don't want an Adversary or his sidekicks. I don't want some general in charge of an enemy army. I want the man in charge. I want to know who brought us here. I want to know who plotted this game that's been torturing my friends while I watch helplessly from the sidelines."

"Well," Retribution says, still struggling against the death grip around its neck, "which way does a train travel on a moonlit night?"

Luke drops his grip in shock. "What?"

"Ah"—the Shade rubs its neck gratefully—"I'd thought that'd get your attention."

"Where did you hear that?"

"I asked you a question first. Which way does a train travel on a moonlit night?"

"That depends on the Conductor," Luke replies, remembering what he was told. "Now where did you hear that?"

Retribution suddenly seems disturbed. It backs away slightly and gestures for Luke to leave. "Quickly," it whispers. "Quickly. They're coming."

"I'm not leaving without answers."

"Then talk to Gnosis!" Retribution snaps. "You want the man in charge? Talk to him. Now go, before they see you. The rule maker won't be happy if you interfere."

Luke looks over his shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps and clanking metal. He throws one look at Scott, one look at Retribution, and feels his body reluctantly pull away from him as he teleports out of the city in a rage. He finds himself at the entrance to the Woods, the city at his back. He can hear the thunder of people behind him as they stream out of Monarch. A retreat has been called.

Luke sits in the grass and tries to collect his thoughts. Drew ran away from a battle and left his friend to die. Scott could be dying. Bennie is... He shakes his head, trying to find the positive in the situation. At least Camellia isn't here, unless she died already and he didn't know. And Stanley is—Luke then sits up a little bit. Where _is_ Stanley?

"Max?"

"Yeah," Max says, suddenly at his side.

"Where's Stanley?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. He went back in time to attempt to 'fix the timeline' and that's the last anyone's heard of him."

Luke blinks. "That's it?"

"What more do you want from me? I'm not an oracle."

"So, he didn't get himself killed or anything? He didn't knock his head on concrete, or get stabbed by a rogue blade, or went crazy and—"

"No, he's just missing. Are you alright? You're sounding pretty grim right now."

"Am I _alright_?" Luke says the word with such spite the tree next to him cracks. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"I asked it, didn't I?"

A black ghost comes screaming out of Monarch like a dark bullet and vanishes into the skies above the Woods. Luke gets to his feet, but it's already too far gone.

"Ah," Max muses. "That might have been Salvation. Maybe he's taking Scott to the hospital."

"Where's Camellia?" Luke asks, ignoring him.

"She's safe at camp recovering from her head injury."

Luke places his hand against a tree for support and stares at Monarch with such a fierce intensity that Max thinks he's about to level the city.

"I'm going back in."

"Really?" Max says, incredulous. "What for?"

"I want to make sure everyone retreats safely. I couldn't save Bennie. I couldn't save Scott. This is the least I can do to make up for everything I've failed to do so far." He gives Max a serious look. "You aren't going to stop me."

Max gestures dismissively.

Luke springs from the bushes and runs at an impossible speed into the city. A few seconds later, an enormous explosion rips open the Cemetery District, and for a second Max thinks Luke has lost his temper until he goes there himself and finds Katrina's body at the epicenter of the blast, unmoving in the dirt. Max breathes a sigh of relief and excuses himself from the battle. He's done enough work for one day.

"Go!" Luke cries over his shoulder, clearing a rank of Cemetery monsters with one hand. "Go and retreat, hurry!"

Those in the full retreat are too scared for their lives to question him and run away in fear. Luke rebuffs the monsters until they catch on to the scent of yellow magic and scuttle away in deferential obedience. Luke blitzes through the city and covers retreats until he catches a glimpse of Drew among a group of soldiers. He follows his friend at a distance, relieved he's safe but upset he left Scott in the clutches of that ghost monster.

A deafening drone splits the sky and the large jellyfish creature from the Cemetery drifts closer. Luke faces it, annoyed. It would take only one finger to cut it down to size. He half-readies himself, then remembers he shouldn't even be covering the retreat, and he disgustedly dismisses his stored power.

"Ah dammit, I forgot about Bennie!" someone yells. Luke catches a glimpse of a man searching the dusty retreat frantically. "Hey! Has anyone seen Bennie!"

"Forget about her!" Luke bellows. "Just get the hell out of here!"

He then turns back to the monster, remembering how Bennie felt in his arms. Magma and anger boils in his veins and, for the first time, Luke notices his veins are no longer blue; they're glowing yellow. He comes out of his fury as if exiting a thick fog, aware that the stress may wake up his other half unexpectedly. Luke looks over his shoulder and sees a clear street. The retreat has been successful. There's no point in staying in such a stressful place any longer.

Luke feels his body drag away from him and he lands safely in his camp. Max is sharpening his knife. Gnosis sits patiently in the grass.

"Luke," Gnosis says. "I'm aware that you spoke to Retribution. Is there anything you want to ask me?"

"Yes," Luke says. "But if I get any answers I don't like right now, I really might lose it. I don't think my body can handle the stress."

"I know. I was asking out of politeness."

"I'm going to take time off. I just... I need to think. I need time to process everything that just happened."

Max looks up curiously and stops sharpening.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk?" Gnosis says.

"No!" Luke sucks in a slow breath. "No. I just want to be alone. I'm tired. I've been using too much power and I'm stressed and I really just need to sleep until I can't remember who I am anymore."

Luke walks away from the camp into the heart of the Plains. Gnosis watches him go, then glances at Max. The look on the man's face makes his blood run cold.

Luke Derringer wakes up as soon as he closes his eyes.

The passage of time for him is inconsequentially small. Like coming out of anesthesia, he has no idea how he got here, nor where here even is. The time lapse between the second battle for Monarch and the current day is shorter than a heartbeat. It's like he finished existing in the Plains and began existing again somewhere out in the Cemetery, judging by the twisted trees and cobblestone path.

He remembers Drew and Bennie and Scott. His heart shatters at the image of Bennie's armor lying at his knees. He shakes his head and gets up to walk and take his mind off things. He walks the empty cobblestone path for a few hours and lets his mind drift and his emotions cool. He thinks of what Retribution said and wonders if talking to Gnosis about "the man in charge", if such a person even exists, will produce anything of value. Gnosis has been nothing but restrictive and closed ever since Luke first woke up; maybe Max is the better person to talk to about it, even if he's not omniscient.

As Luke continues to walk and think, he finds himself disturbed by the stark silence in the realm; no Shades, Reneans, insects, or birds are anywhere to be seen. It reminds him of outer space and suddenly, Luke remembers the infinity he tried to leave behind. He looks around at the empty realm and realizes that this is the future that will always await him: no friends, family, or companions will fill the silence with him. There will always be him, only him, forever and ever. Infinity is a long time. He really should appreciate every moment that sums to it.

Luke feels a knot come loose in his chest at this thought. A burden he didn't know he shouldered lifts itself free. Yes, if he only has infinity to look forward to, then he should appreciate every single number that adds to it, beginning with the present. Who cares if he's so powerful a touch will kill his friends? Who cares if, when he falls asleep, a monster wakes up? The monster has yet to lash out or kill vast swathes of people or punch holes in the planet. There's nothing to fear but fear itself, the fear that he _may_ do something terrible in the future. And even if he does, he has an infinite amount of time to seek forgiveness. Even if he's unable to be with those he cares about, even if his role is to be a passive one, a watcher, a protector, then he'll play his role with pride. There couldn't be a better guardian for the people he cares about.

So, why even bother hiding anymore?

Luke feels his body pull away from itself and he lands safely in the Woods. The refugee camp isn't far away. He takes in a deep breath. No more running. It's time to see if his friends believe in the same bonds that he does.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

## A Quiet Fury

Refugee camp, the Woods

Gabriel grabs someone by the shoulders. "Get everyone out of here as fast as you can."

"Is that Luke?" Camellia says. "What's he _doing_ here?"

"Everyone!" Gabriel screams. "Get out of the camp! Get to the trees, the tents, anywhere! Just go!"

The crowd looks at him stupidly, unsure if he's joking.

"Move," Nysse says once. The shockwave of the order nearly drives half the camp to their knees.

Realization sets in and people disperse, first slowly, and then in a muted panic. A few follow Gabriel's instructions and head for the Woods through the side gates, but most of the others run for their tents and try to hide. Nysse shoves Jinas away and tells him to run; he hides himself in Scott's tent and shuts the flap tight. The crowd is still scrambling to get away when Scott finally realizes what's happening. He starts to move toward his unconscious friend.

"Stop!" Roger grabs him by the arm and forcibly throws him back. "Are you insane?"

"That's Luke," Scott says absently. "Hey, hey that's my friend! What's he doing here? Didn't Nysse say he was gone?"

Gabriel steps in front of the Heroes, his legendary bow appearing across his back. "Roger, on me."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking him out."

"What do you mean? Hey, stop! I said stop!" Scott yanks Gabriel backwards as the man attempts to notch an arrow. "Are you crazy?"

"Listen to me!" Gabriel grabs Scott by the shirt. "That thing isn't your friend anymore. We have to get that monster out of the camp right now or he will kill _everyone_ , do you understand me?"

"Gabriel!" Roger shouts. "He's awake!"

Luke pushes himself off the ground and rises to his feet. His body casts an impossible shadow on the ground, too long, too misshapen, and too dark for a man standing in bright morning daylight. Luke holds his head, and then he looks over at the group of Heroes gathered in front of him. His eyes are shrouded in malice.

Gabriel notches and shoots an arrow. It disintegrates a few inches from Luke's nose.

"Yeah," he says softly. "That's him, alright."

Luke takes in a long, deep breath and tilts his head toward the sky. No one else dares to move a muscle. A heavy pressure suffocates the air. Luke examines his hands, top and bottom, and then a pure white spear drops into them out of thin air.

Gabriel notches another arrow. Roger steps forward, his arms cloaked in black magic.

Luke tucks the butt of his spear under his arm and levels the head at the Heroes. The air pressure rises quickly.

There's a flash of yellow light and Gabriel and Roger dodge to either side. Nysse cuts in front of the Heroes and catches the blast in her hands. She's shoved backward into Scott, Camellia, and Drew and the four of them crash to the ground.

Gabriel fires a volley of five arrows at once. They fade before even getting close to Luke.

Roger clenches his fist and black tendrils rip up from the ground. They burn away after touching Luke's body.

Luke turns and slowly sweeps his spear toward Roger, who rolls to the side. As he does, one of the logs making up the fence comes flying toward Luke, cloaked in green magic. Luke pokes it as it comes down and the log bursts into a cloud of sawdust.

Roger and Gabriel charge from either side. Luke whips around. A blazing yellow light blinds the camp as an enormous beam of energy leaves the tip of his spear and shears a hole through the tents, the fence, the trees, and continues off into the distance. A heavy yellow fog blankets in the area. Roger and Gabriel are nowhere to be seen.

Nysse gets to her feet and walks straight toward Luke. He sweeps his spear at her to cut her in two. Nysse grabs the shaft mid-swing, halting the blow, and drives her fist up into Luke's stomach with such force that the air explodes. He barely twitches. Nysse rams her elbow into Luke's face, dropping him flat on his back, his head slapping hard against the ground. He rolls backward and rips his spear straight through her hand, cutting her palm wide open. Galactic blood spills all over the ground; Nysse pins the hand against her chest, staining her clothes.

Luke touches his nose: a small tickle of red blood leaks over his lip. He wipes it on his leg, undisturbed, and raises his spear for another attack.

"That's good enough," someone says. "Let's not get too excited."

Max appears suddenly, clapping Luke on the shoulder. Scott and Drew step protectively in front of Camellia, still dizzied from being knocked to the ground. Roger pushes his way out of some rubble to their right and goes red at the sight of Max.

"You!" Roger bellows, charging in. "I'll kill you!"

Max snaps his fingers. Luke twists and kicks Roger square in the stomach. Roger is sent straight into the fence, his body cracking loudly against the wood. He slumps to the ground, limp.

"As I was saying," Max says, annoyed, "let's not get too excited. We don't want to exhaust ourselves before the final confrontation, do we?"

A sound comes from nearby as Gabriel struggles to his feet. "Why are you here?"

"Necessity. If it wasn't for me, our friend here would have flattened this place. Aren't you going to thank me?"

"And why is _he_ here? It's not possible."

"Oh, he must have felt bad about killing Bennie. He probably came here to apologize."

Drew goes rigid. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," Max says. "Killed her with his own two hands. Burned her body to ash, didn't even leave a scrap for the vultures." A wide grin spreads across his face. "Shame, really. She'd have made a good meal."

Drew lunges forward. Camellia is quick to restrain him.

"That's enough," Nysse says, facing the intruders. "You have what you came for. Don't make any more trouble."

"Oh, fine, since you've been a good sport." Max looks at Luke expectantly. "Shall we retire?"

Luke disappears in a crack of thunder that leaves a smoldering burn on the ground. Max simply vanishes.

Nysse crumples to her knees, starfield blood staining her clothes and dripping on the ground. Camellia throws Drew aside and rushes over.

"It's nothing," she insists as Camellia tears the arm of her shirt to cover the wound. "It's only a cut. I'll survive if I give it time to heal."

"And you'll survive longer if we stop the bleeding." Camellia pauses. "Your hands..."

"Drew!" Gabriel shouts, crouching over Roger. "Give me a hand over here!"

Drew runs past Scott, who stares absently at where Luke used to be. Camellia helps Nysse to her feet and keeps her hands near the shaking goddess; she's lost a lot of blood.

"Scott," Camellia prompts. "Can you lend me a hand?"

Scott puts one of Nysse's arms over his shoulder as the goddess starts to wheeze with effort. Since the commotion has quieted, people have begun to crawl out of their hiding places to see the damage. Camellia tries to keep their eyes away from Nysse, but there are too many people. Someone mutters that this is the end of the world if even gods can bleed. Camellia turns to the source with anger rising fast in her throat, but Scott calls her name and brings her attention back to the weakening goddess. She lets the anger go and carries Nysse into Scott's personal tent.

Inside, Jinas peeks his head out from behind a heavy table. He leaps over it when he sees Nysse's clothes covered in shimmering galactic bloodstains. Scott and Camellia lay Nysse on a cot and Jinas pulls up a side table with medical tools. He shoves them aside.

"What happened," he says, taking Nysse's hand to inspect the wound.

Scott and Camellia explain, taking turns when the other starts to falter for an explanation. It takes more than a few moments to describe exactly what happened.

"The wound is deep," he mutters. "Have Gabriel or Drew taken a look at this yet?"

"They were helping Roger," Scott says. "Which one do you want?"

"Get Drew. The wound is simple but requires a large amount of magic. I don't want to exhaust Gabriel for this."

Scott bolts through the front of the tent and is gone. Camellia stays with Jinas while he washes Nysse's wound.

"What in the..." He scrubs a little harder than he intends, making the goddess wince. "What's wrong with your hands? They're burned."

"Leave them," Nysse grunts. "Nothing you can do."

"I can heal anything if I know what it is."

"It's from yellow magic."

"Ah, I see." Jinas says nothing more.

Once Nysse's hand has stopped bleeding and has been stitched together, Scott returns with Drew in tow. Drew immediately begins healing Nysse's wound, but when he expresses concern about the burns, the goddess tells him not to worry. While Drew works, Scott and Camellia stand to the side and watch. Camellia notices an empty look in Scott's eyes. She nudges him slightly.

"You okay?"

"I just can't make any sense of it," Scott says. "I thought Luke was gone. How could he still be alive?"

"Maybe it was an illusion."

"Couldn't be. I know him too well to get fooled by an illusion. That was definitely Luke."

Camellia gives him a long look. "Something else is bothering you, isn't it?"

"If it was him," Scott begins slowly, "why couldn't I hear his voice? Everyone has a voice—their soul, their spirit, their presence, whatever you want to call it. Luke didn't have one, even before he fainted. I couldn't see any threads connecting to him from anyone, not even from Max."

"Well, did Max have a voice?"

"Yes; you don't want to know what it was saying. The only way to not have a voice is to not have a soul, spirit, presence, whatever. How can a person not have a soul yet be so real that..." Scott shakes his head. "He _has_ to have a voice. It has to be there. Maybe it was just buried too deep for me to hear it."

They stop talking as Drew staggers up to them and rests on the cot, winded. He says that Nysse's wound is closing up quickly but she'll need to rest for a little bit to recover from her blood loss. He remarks grimly that it's not like a transfusion is possible, then trails off with a distracted look in his eye.

"You guys really think he killed Bennie?" he says.

"I doubt it. Why would Luke do such a thing?"

"Because he's gone off the deep end and joined the enemy, that's why."

"I think you're jumping to conclusions. Luke definitely didn't seem to be himself when he woke up. Besides, you're basing your assumption on something a known liar and manipulator told you. You know we can't trust Max. For all we know, he could have said it just to mess with us."

"I don't know how to explain it," Drew says, "but I just knew he was telling the truth."

"Or you're looking for someone to shift the blame to."

"It's a common coping mechanism," Scott agrees.

"Guys, seriously?" Drew exclaims. "Are you seriously this blind? We couldn't recover a body, Bennie's armor is covered in so much yellow magic that Nysse had to isolate it in her own tent, and then Luke randomly shows up on our doorstep after missing for months? Put two and two together, will you?"

"It's still a stretch."

"You just don't want me to be right."

"I really don't," Scott says flatly. "I don't think Luke would kill one of his own friends, nor do I want to think about it if he did. If you want someone to blame for Bennie's death, blame Max."

"Nysse!" Drew says over his shoulder. "Did Luke kill Bennie?"

"Died of her injuries," Nysse says weakly. "Told you that already."

Scott gestures, trying to prove the point. Drew rolls his eyes and pushes his way out of the tent. Camellia goes over to tend to Nysse and Scott leaves his tent. He walks through the medical camp and inspects the damage. A thin yellow fog hangs in the air, choking him as if he were near a smoky campfire. He pushes through to the woods and calls out for Salvation.

The Master of Shades materializes a few seconds later.

"You see what happened?" Scott asks.

"It's hard to miss the maelstrom of power that is the monster." Salvation pauses, then adds, "So, yes, I do know what happened."

"How good at you at sensing presences? Specifically the very, very fine ones."

"You're wanting to know whether I felt another presence within the monster."

"Yes. When Luke first showed up, he looked and sounded normal, and then he suddenly changed into a different person. Both times, I couldn't hear his voice. I don't know if he even has one anymore." Scott smiles sheepishly. "I was thinking, maybe..."

"I couldn't sense anything, no." At the disappointment on Scott's face, Salvation continues. "But I am not as sensitive to souls as you are. It may be possible that some residual part of him is clinging to that thing that inhabits his body, but I wouldn't hold on to that hope. The Luke you knew is very much gone and isn't coming back."

"Okay, okay, hold off on the gloom and doom for a second. Say there's a part of him that's still in there. Do you think we can get it out?"

"I think you're—"

"Because think about it," Scott says. "If we can rip that Luke out of his own body, we might be able to put him in a new one, right?"

"It won't work," Salvation says firmly. "It doesn't work like that."

"What? What doesn't?"

"Oh. You didn't know?"

"Obviously I don't. Now what don't I know?"

Salvation hesitates before answering. "I developed a technique for transplanting souls. Before you get excited, it only works on living beings."

"Luke is still alive. I saw him myself."

"Could you sense his soul?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Then he is dead," Salvation says with finality, "and death is a threshold no one is powerful enough to return from. Ripping a soul out of the realm of the dead is something no one can do, not even Magnus. And don't bother telling me you communicated with the souls of the dead; all to whom you spoke were trapped within the Royal Crypt up until its disappearance."

"Whoa, what? _What_ disappeared?"

"Magnus's death led to the ruination and eventual destruction of the Royal Crypt. All the souls trapped within were left to aimlessly wander the realm, but one by one, they've started to disappear."

"Where did they go?"

"I don't know. Someplace better than here, I'd hope."

Scott thinks of Zyphias, Delra, Ariana, the man on the bench—people he'd met only briefly, but somehow, the thought of them being gone forever leaves an emptiness in his chest. He thinks of Bennie being gone forever, too, and it feels like someone is playing a weird joke on him. One second, when he's least expecting it, he'll see Bennie sitting at a crate and she'll tease him about thinking she was gone, and then they'll have a good laugh. And Luke will be sitting next to her, waving and smiling, and he'll tell a terrible joke that'll make everyone groan.

When Scott blinks, Salvation has left the area. Scott is alone again.

The walk back to camp feels unreal. The leaves are too green—the dirt, too brown. It's impossible to tell if he isn't recognizing anything or if he's recognizing too much, if he's dreaming or if he's suddenly awake with a clear sense of mind. His heartbeat thuds in his throat, his head, and Scott is aware that he's alive and breathing, that even a small cut could open a wound through which he could bleed out, and he shivers and pins his arms and wrists protectively across his chest and ribcage. He hurries through the camp and goes to his tent. Camellia is still taking care of Nysse and she looks up at him as he enters.

When Scott goes to speak, Camellia puts a finger to her lips, then motions: Nysse is sleeping. Camellia takes Scott out of his tent and leads him into her own. Scott sits on the floor, then kicks out his arms and legs and lays flat on his back with a resigned sigh.

"The voices again?" Camellia asks, sitting on her cot.

"No. It's more complicated than that."

"We can talk about it, if you'd like."

Scott pauses. "Do you ever think about death? And not just the concept—I mean dying itself, the idea that someday people will be gone from your life and someday you'll be gone from their's, that there's always going to be an emptiness in your life where they used to be, and someday you'll be the emptiness in someone else's life."

"I guess I think about it sometimes. I've been thinking about it more since Bennie died."

"I have, too. I almost haven't stopped thinking about it."

A momentary silence comes between them.

"I told her a joke before we left, you know," he says. "She looked so serious and I was feeling kind of nervous, so I thought I'd try to cheer her up. That's the last thing I said to her. I thought when we got back to the camp, we'd have a drink or something and recap how the battle went, but I never saw her again. I didn't think that'd be the last time I'd ever see her; it never even occurred to me."

Camellia doesn't reply. She's thinking about the last words she said to Bennie; they hurt more than she wishes to admit.

"I always thought people were such big crybabies when someone died," Scott continues. "I mean, they're dead, right? So what? They're not coming back, so just move on. I guess I didn't understand it until now. Losing someone close to you, someone you saw face-to-face every day... It definitely hurts, just not like how I thought it would. It leaves this lingering hole in your heart that always reminds you of who left, and even if you forget it's there, it's still there waiting for you." He pauses. "I wonder what it felt like at the end."

"For Bennie?"

"Yeah. Do you think she felt scared? Lonely, maybe?"

Camellia tenses a little bit. "I can't speak for Bennie, but if you want to know, I can tell you what it's like."

"How would you know?"

"Because I was there after my battle with Stark."

Scott looks up, curious.

"As you know, I'd taken a serious injury during our fight. I had this dim, panicked sense that I was hurt and everything felt really heavy, like I'd gotten up late on a Saturday. There was this sensation, too, as if I was standing in a dark hallway and something was creeping up behind me, but instead of fear, I felt comforted. It felt like there was something _else_ beyond the threshold that was waiting for me, even calling to me. That's what scared me the most. I was there, Scott. I was at death's door and I was almost tempted into going through it. Sometimes I think about it and I'm afraid to go to sleep. I had no idea at the time, but looking back, I can clearly see how close I was to not making it back alive."

Scott catches the slight quiver in her voice. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to make you upset."

"I don't mind. I like sharing with you." She pauses. "Do you want to talk about Luke?"

"What's there to talk about? Everyone I've talked to says he's dead."

"Do _you_ think he's dead?"

"No," Scott says after a moment. "He's in there somewhere. I just have to wake him up."

Luke Derringer wakes up and winces. His hand gingerly touches his face and sucks in a short, sharp breath; his nose is broken. As he sits up, he finds himself lying in the center of a familiar camp. Max sits a few feet away sharpening his knife.

"How's the nose?" Max asks, looking up only briefly.

"It hurts," Luke says. He wipes a line of blood off his lip. "What happened to me?"

"Exactly what I told you would happen if you went to see your friends again. They panicked when they saw you, and two of _their_ friends attacked. You tried to defend yourself and then Scott, Drew, and Camellia piled on you all at once. In the ensuing scramble, while trying not to hurt them, someone broke your nose. I had to break up the fight and get you home."

"They attacked me?"

"Why do you sound so surprised? I told you this would happen, but you didn't listen to me."

"I mean, it just doesn't sound like something they'd do."

"Sure, if you were normal, but you keep forgetting that you aren't and I'm getting tired of reminding you. Just showing up was enough to cause two people to attack you." Max sticks his knife into the log. "You need to be more careful. Sorsaren's strength is beginning to wear your body down. In time, a broken nose might be the least of your problems."

"Could something worse happen?"

"Who knows? The future is full of possibilities."

A deep frown creases Luke's face. "Why can't I remember anything that happened?"

"Gnosis thought it would be best if you didn't."

Luke gets to his feet. "He erased my memories?"

"Well—"

Luke is already stalking off into the Plains. Max gets to his feet and jogs after him.

"Hey," he calls, "Gnosis is your friend, right? Are you really going to kill a friend?"

"You know what, man?" Luke whirls around. "I don't know what I'm going to do, but it's not going to be pretty. He's done nothing but drag me down with rules and regulations and now he's taken my memories from me. I get that _you_ have to work with him, but I don't. I never had to; I don't know why I've thought so until now. It's ending today, and it's ending right here." Luke shoves past Max and continues searching the open land.

Luke spots a shape moving through the crested wheatgrass and teleports right in front of it. Gnosis stands before him, unsurprised.

"Back from your journey?" he says. "Do you feel rested?"

"Did you do it?" Luke asks sharply. "Did you really erase my memory?"

"I don't see a reason to do that."

Luke grabs Gnosis by the shirt collar. "Don't avoid my questions."

"What exactly did Max tell you?" Gnosis asks, undisturbed. "Did he specifically say that I erased your memories, or did you make that assumption yourself?"

"What difference does it make? You're going to act like you haven't been controlling me and manipulating me to keep me away from my friends this entire time? All those rules and restrictions are just... just smoke and mirrors! You're trying to use me!"

"You wanted to know if I erased your memory, and my answer is no, I didn't."

"You didn't, huh?"

"I didn't erase your memory. You—"

"He's lying," Max says, clapping Luke on the shoulder. "You know he's lying. He's the only one capable of making fake memories."

"Ah," Gnosis says as Luke releases his grip and staggers away, "so you _were_ behind this. I don't know what game you're playing—"

Max scoffs. "A game? Seriously?"

"Why wouldn't it be a game to you?" Gnosis says, irritated. "Let's consider the facts. You've dedicated the past several months to manipulating a teenager for pure sport instead of being patient and waiting for an opportunity to present itself, just like I asked. Because of you, I've had to redraft many, _many_ plans to get the Seed back undetected. We finally get Sorsaren back, the only one capable of physically ripping open the Nexus, and when it turns out he can't open it without destroying the entire planet, your solution is to go wild and rowdy and shred nearly everything that we've worked for! I asked you to subtly observe and sabotage the Heroes, not spark a full insurrection and try to get them to kill one another! And then you decided to trick Luke into thinking he could see his friends again just to torture him! That's right! I know about that too, so don't give me that steely-eyed glare. All this torture and trickery, for what? Why? I've been trying in vain to puzzle it out. Even you should have grown bored by now. Are you taking my sabotage order too far? Have you decided to trick Luke into killing his friends and ending the war early? Have you decided to force Luke to split the planet in half and kill everyone so you can be done with it all? Are you just tired of living? No! Why would you be tired of living when there are people to trick, torture, and abuse? I can't figure it out. My omniscience has never failed me in any endeavor, but try as I might, I can't answer one echoing question: why is Max continuing to disobey my orders?"

"I don't have to answer to you," Max says bitterly.

"You forgot who put me in charge. If you don't answer to me, you'll be answering to him, and we both know he is far less merciful."

"He left us here to rot and it's time you accepted that!"

"Get over yourself. You need to admit that you've been tricking Luke just to satisfy your own twisted desires. Look him in the eyes and tell him the truth, that you're—"

Gnosis doesn't finish his sentence. Max looks in direction of Gnosis's accusatory finger and sees Luke Derringer standing completely still. His presence rages like a brilliant sun. Luke slightly widens his stance and cracks his neck. He blinks long and slow as if waking up from an incredibly long sleep and looks first at Max, and then at Gnosis.

"Were we fighting again?" Sorsaren asks slowly.

"What makes you say something like that?" Gnosis says innocently. "We're all friends here." He grabs Max around the shoulders a little too tightly. "See? Friends."

Sorsaren inhales deeply, seeming to suck the air out of the whole world. "I was having such a pleasant dream. Why did you have to wake me from it?"

"You know what?" Max snaps, shoving Gnosis away and jamming a finger in Sorsaren's face. "Go to hell. Every time you wake up, we have to immediately play nice with each other and I'm frankly sick of it. Ever since these damned kids got here, I've had to put up with more actual frustration than you can imagine. Did you know Gnosis can't see all possibilities anymore? He _didn't know_ that Luke Derringer was going to wake up and he's totally fine with it! By the way, that same Luke Derringer—you know, the one you happened to possess—just got his nose broken by a baby-faced goddess who's not even a thousand years old. An omnipotent monster with a broken nose, and no one cares! Have I been transported to Crazy Town? Am I the only one left who cares about my infinity?"

Sorsaren summons his spear and jabs the tip at Max's throat. "You're getting on my nerves."

"Yeah? What are you going to do about it?"

"I could kill you everywhere you exist and send us both home as a pile of ash. Would you like that?"

Max seems to calm his temper. "No, I wouldn't."

"Then stop getting on my nerves and stop stressing him out when I'm sleeping."

"Fine, fine. Whatever you say."

"Yes," says Sorsaren, smiling slightly. "Whatever I say."

"...and anyways," Scott continues, "that's when Camellia and I started getting more familiar. Jinas must have been too afraid to get involved himself."

"I always wondered about that," Drew says, chewing thoughtfully. "Think he's got a crush on her?"

"Without a doubt."

Scott and Drew sit across from each other in the food marketplace, which has returned to normal operation. The scare with the monster at the front of the camp is over and operations to rebuild the fence and ruined work yard are already under way. The official story is that Luke was one of the abominations from the Cemetery who went rogue and left the city to attack alone. Now dispatched, the danger is gone and life can return to normal.

"Speaking of Jinas," says Drew, "has he cleared you yet? Are you stable enough to be out like this?"

"Well, I'm out, aren't I?"

"You're always breaking the rules, so I never know. You're feeling healthier, then? You definitely look strong."

"I feel good. Better than good, actually. Aside from the occasional tick or stutter, I feel like a new man. It helps to have people who keep me grounded, like Camellia. If it wasn't for her I'd probably still be a mess."

"Think you're ready to go back to Monarch?"

"Oh, probably." Scott stops chewing. "Why?"

"Just asking if you're at that level, that's all."

"Drew, level with me. I know you're not about to tell me you're concerned for my mental health."

Drew looks around as if someone sinister could be listening, then leans in. "I want to take the fight to them this time."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm tired of waiting around for someone to prompt us to go back. Everyone's getting restless with the same training regimen and the same thing day in and day out. Hell, I'm sick of it too. I'm motivated and I'm ready. I want to get this army to Monarch's borders and take it for real this time."

"For real?"

"Absolutely."

"And this has nothing to do with what Max said?"

"Not at all."

Scott sighs. "You know I can read your mind and tell if you're lying, right?"

"Oh? Going to violate my privacy?" Drew jokes.

"Just be honest with me. I don't care what your reasons are as long as you're telling me the truth."

Drew is quiet for a long time. Then, "It's about Bennie."

Scott scoots closer to listen.

"I need to know. I need to know _personally_ whether he did it or not. I know what Nysse said, and I trust her, but I have to hear it for myself. I need to hear him say he didn't do it, or I'll never let it go. I have to see the truth in his eyes."

"What will you do if he did kill her?"

Drew's eyes harden. He doesn't answer immediately. Scott decides it's best to come completely clean.

"I don't know what happened between you two," he says, "but I could tell you and Bennie were very, very close. I can't explain it, but I could physically see the bond between you guys. It was very strong, strong as I've ever seen. I'm just worried that you're not going there to clear your conscience."

"I already told you why I want to go."

"I know you did. But if this is about something more, something you and Bennie shared, I think you should reconsider. As an outsider looking in, I have to tell you: don't go there for the wrong reasons."

"What would be the 'wrong reasons', Scott?"

"Well, if it had been Camellia, I know revenge would be the only thing on my mind. I can see the same in your eyes. Don't get yourself killed over a rumor. If you can promise me that, I'd be happy to go to Monarch again. I know Camellia is itching for a fight, too. Can you promise me you won't do anything stupid?"

Drew sighs. "Fine, I promise." He then adds, "But if I find out Luke killed Bennie, that promise is off the table."

Scott nods, accepting the terms. He'd have made a similar bargain if the situation was reversed. "When do you want to leave for the city?"

"You'll take the army to Monarch next week. I have to go out to the Ocean."

"Isn't Karos out there?"

"Yes, he is. So far he's been hiding and skulking and biding his time, but I have a good idea of how to get him to show his face." Drew grins. "In fact, I've got a plan that'll make him chase me straight to Monarch."

# Chapter Twenty-Four

## The Third Battle for Monarch, pt. 1

Refugee camp, the Woods

"Drew's doing _what_?" Camellia says.

"He's leaving for the Ocean with Roger and Fradlr," Scott says for the second time. "He's going to lure Karos out and bring him to Monarch. While he's doing that, we can finish our training, outfit the troops, do drills—whatever it is we need to do."

"But why so sudden? You just got cleared. Don't you want to rest up some more?"

"I've been doing nothing but resting. I'm ready to take the fight to them for once."

To give Drew enough time to make the trip, Scott doesn't immediately announce the plan to return to Monarch. He gets more involved with his faction and personally critiques their techniques. Camellia instructs the Plains and Ruins factions in hand-to-hand sparring. Rumors start to spread, some wondering if they're getting ready to go back to Monarch rather soon. When about a week has passed, Nysse suddenly stops Camellia and Scott and says that they should leave for Monarch immediately if they wish to arrive before Drew and Karos. Scott and Camellia are swift to pass the news on to the camp and the army mobilizes that day.

The next morning, just like the previous two battles, the army forms up in front of camp before sunrise. There are more veterans now, some bragging about how they fought in the first ever advance to take back Monarch. The army has expanded with the influx of people from every realm and everyone is confident and eager to fight. However, for a long time, Scott and Camellia are the only ones standing in front of them. The soldiers make it obvious they're trying not to stare, but their sidelong glances and attempts at intra-army conversation seems too forced. Gabriel and Nysse show up a few minutes later with Gerrich in tow. Tucked under his arm is an enormous slab of marble which looks far too heavy to lift normally. Scott and Camellia regard them strangely as they approach.

"I know we're late," Nysse says. "I had to convince Gerrich to come here, but now I can tell you all why the codex is so important."

"Finally," Gerrich grumbles, throwing the marble slab in the dirt.

"Scott, I believe you have some things hidden in your jacket pockets. Would you mind getting one for me?"

Confused, Scott fishes into one of his internal pockets and brings out a circular disc: the emblem of Magnus, the one he stole from the Monarch Archives back when he first arrived on Renea. He feels a distant pang of nostalgia. His eyes track from the emblem in his hand to a matching circular slot on the codex, one with the matching symbol of Magnus engraved into its surface. Scott lays the emblem safely in the codex and it fits perfectly, but nothing happens.

"This is why it's important," Nysse says, taking the emblem out and showing everyone. "Don't you get it? _This_ is the key to our victory. Scott, hand the rest of those emblems in your pockets to Gerrich. He'll have to watch them from now on."

Even though Gerrich, Scott, Camellia, and even Gabriel press for further answers, she merely shakes her head and refuses to say anything more. Scott begrudgingly hands the emblems to Gerrich, who takes them with a certain amount of disdain. Everyone then separates to their factions: Camellia to the Plains, Scott to the Cemetery, Gabriel to the combined Woods and Ocean, Gerrich to the Peaks, and Nysse to the Ruins. Scott spots Salvation in the trees. The Shade nods and heads out in front of the army with his Shades following close behind.

Nysse calls a forward march and, for the last time, the Hero army marches toward Monarch.

Fradlr lowers his spyglass and chews his bottom lip.

"Any luck?" Drew calls.

"Only fog, water, and sand." Fradlr climbs down from his perch overlooking the still Ocean. "Are you sure he's coming?"

"Trust me. I whistled the tunes just like Cebral did."

"What tunes?" Roger asks.

"Just trust me," Drew says as he climbs to the top of a pile of rocks. "It should be here any second now, and if Karos has any sort of wits about him, he'll be right behind it. There's no way he'd miss a chance like this. Why, even if he could..."

Drew keeps talking about chances and the future and how Karos will _definitely_ be coming and both Roger and Fradlr eventually tune him out. They leave Drew to his spyglass and what-ifs and stand to the side to talk. After a moment, Drew comes leaping off the rocks and tumbles into the sand.

"It's coming!" Drew says excitedly. "I knew it! It must have been halfway to Seastorm Grotto, that's why it took so long! Didn't I tell you guys to trust me?"

A long, emphatic sound echoes from the Ocean. For a moment nothing happens, and then a mountain rises from the fog, water spilling off its sides. With it comes a massive seaforest and the enormous head of a legendary creature. A thundering _boom_ shakes the ground as one of its legs broaches the shore.

"You..." Roger shouts. "You called a titanshell?"

"And it worked!" Drew says triumphantly, pointing at the legion of ships barreling toward the beast at an impossible speed.

Luke wakes up and finds himself alone. He thinks briefly about what Max said to him, and then thinks about what Gnosis said. How can two people make such conflicting statements? It doesn't make any sense. Something fishy is going on, and he's going to get to the bottom of it, no matter how long it takes.

Luke finds Gnosis roaming the Plains with his hands clasped behind his back, a thoughtful gleam in his cyan eyes. He doesn't turn when Luke approaches, but he does stop walking, still facing away from Luke. He doesn't speak until Max arrives behind them a few moments later.

"The clouds really do hang lower in the Plains," Gnosis says. "As if you could reach out with your hand and pluck them like a tuft of cotton. They move slower, too. They're taking their time—no hurry to get anywhere, no rush about their business." He finally turns and addresses Max directly. "Enviable, don't you think?"

"Did you erase my memories?" Luke asks.

Gnosis sighs. "Does Max have you on this again?"

"Don't do that." Luke attempts to sound angry, but he's only a little annoyed and wants the whole ordeal to be done with. "I asked you a question and I want an answer."

"I gave you an answer already."

"What? Don't pull that with me. Answer my question."

"Do you think I'm lying to you? Have you ever thought to ask if Max is the one who's lying?"

Luke's first instinct is to lash back, shout that Gnosis is lying, that the only reason Gnosis is doing this is because he wants to control Luke's power, but that doesn't make any sense to him. The thought doesn't feel like his own. There's no reason Gnosis would want to control his power; an omniscient being would know about the immense disillusion of being trapped in a finite universe. Hell, Gnosis himself might be disillusioned with the finite amount of knowledge in the universe. What good would lying do, then? It doesn't make sense. Nothing adds up.

"Now you're not answering my questions," Gnosis says. "Have you ever thought that Max might be lying instead of me?"

"Don't you see what he's doing?" Max says in Luke's ear.

The words weigh Luke down like a sedative. A swirl of emotions, colors, images, all in a blur, in a slurry, blurs in his mind. It feels like his heart is going to burst from his chest as if he's remembering a deeply personal moment of epiphany that he buried out of emotional distress. Luke struggles to rip himself out of the whirlwind and Max grabs him at the shoulder. Luke shoves him away and mental clarity instantly comes back.

"He's trying to control you," Max continues, standing to the side. "He's using everything he knows to manipulate you into doing what he wants. Are you blind?"

"Be quiet," Gnosis says. "Let him think."

"I'll ask again," Luke says. "Did you erase my memories?"

"No. That will be my final answer."

Luke nods and looks at the ground for a moment.

"Come on," Max tries. "You're not going to let a simple 'no' turn you away, are you?"

"I'm trying to think, man."

"Trying to think? He's lying to you! Just kill him already! Damn you, are you going to let him talk you out of this? He's dangerous. He's done nothing but lie to you and right now you're on the precipice of something greater than yourself, something that he will stop if you let him manipulate you like this."

"Oh," Gnosis says gravely. "So, this is what you were after. I understand, now. No more holes in the photograph."

"Kill him, Luke. Kill him now or this'll all be for nothing."

Luke looks Gnosis up and down. Even if Gnosis lied about erasing his memories, what difference does it make? His friends still rejected him, or at least part of him. His broken nose is evidence of that. He'll have to find a way for them to accept him as he is, and if he can't, he'll have to settle for being a distant watcher and protector. He'll also have to make amends for hurting them. From that perspective, even if he's destined to have an inactive role, he imagines he'll be able to see Nysse again, and that fills his chest with hope. It's as he once thought to himself: infinity is a long time, so he should appreciate every moment that sums to it.

"I believe you," Luke finally says. "I don't think you erased my memory and I don't think you would lie to me about it. Even if you did, it's all good. I have people I can watch and protect, even if I have to do it from far away. I can make peace with that in the infinity I have left."

Max chuckles drily, marches up to Luke, and puts him in a rear naked choke. Luke half-balks, then his body goes stiff and he thrashes, staring wide-eyed at the sky. Magenta magic erupts from both men.

"Max!" Gnosis yells, running toward them. "Max, don't do this!"

"Don't do what?" Max seethes wickedly. "Don't do what, Gnosis?"

"Get off him!" Gnosis grabs Max's arm and yanks. "Think about what you're doing!"

"They left you," Max hisses, his words like a cold wind. "They abandoned you, attacked you, rejected you. Gnosis lied to you. There is no romance, no love, no mystery, no passion in this world. There is only hatred, bloodshed, and violence, so why hold yourself back? Be free, gods damn you! Be free!"

Gnosis rears back and tackles Max to the ground, wrenching his grip from Luke's throat. By the time he can wrestle Max flat on his back and pin his arms to the ground, Luke is gone. Gnosis franticly searches the Plains, but he already knows he won't find him here.

"What have you done?" Gnosis says absently.

"I've set things in motion," Max says, grinning. "Little doses of poison left dormant in his body, piece by piece, gathering up like rocks on the edge of a hill until a tiny disturbance comes to cause the avalanche. Give it a shove and watch the chaos."

Gnosis starts toward Monarch in a daze. "This is worse than you can imagine," he says. "You've unleashed a cataclysm."

"Exactly." Max hops to his feet. "I can't wait to see what he's going to do."

"You can't control him."

"Who says I want to? I've given Luke what you never could: a choice. Freedom. The desire to bask in his power and actually use it—every last drop of it."

"Everything you told him was a lie."

"Not true! Some of it was the truth."

"We were partners," Gnosis says, incredulous. "We shared a kinship many thousands of years deep, and yet you tried to use him to kill me. What did I do to earn so much spite?"

Max's gaze turns fiery. "You have to ask? The great and omniscient Gnosis has to _ask_?"

"There must have been something I've done to upset you. I just don't know what it is. Please, tell me. Tell me so we can make amends."

"Oh, you are just disgusting, always bleating like a goat about how happy you are that your omniscience is fading. How dare you abandon your eternal gifts for the transient! Who would be excited about infinity compressing into the few? I feel nothing for you! I hope you rot in nothingness while I do what I should have done in the first place and take charge of this nightmare you call a reality. You want to be human? Fine! Die like a human!"

Max rips his silvery knife out of its sheath and plunges it up into Gnosis's chest.

Gnosis gasps and grips Max at the elbow. Max pulls his knife back and kicks Gnosis to the ground. Gnosis grips wildly in the dirt, choking for words. Max squats in front of him and waits until he looks him in the eye. Panic is slashed across Gnosis's face.

"Tell me something, before you die," Max says. "Did you see all of this coming?"

Gnosis stares at him for a long time. He slowly cracks a smile and begins to laugh. Max cuts his throat and leaves Gnosis to drown in his own blood, simply vanishing as if he never existed in the first place.

The Hero army arrives at Monarch an hour before noon. The veterans and the Heroes know the path well by now and make excellent time through the denser parts of the underbrush and brambles in the Woods. The army is allotted time to rest and recover but is warned not to eat too much before preparing for the charge. A distant drone rumbles the air, coming from the enormous jellyfish monster lumbering thoughtlessly through the Cemetery District. Nysse, Gabriel, Camellia, Scott, and Gerrich all get together some distance from the army. Scott explains that Salvation is giving his Shades free reign on the Cemetery abominations and that the Master will be joining Scott personally for the fight against Retribution.

"As will I," Gabriel says suddenly. "I heard from Salvation that Katrina stayed behind to cover your escape from the last battle. Chances are high that Retribution has captured her. After we deal with him, only Karos will remain and I'm confident that Drew will handle him easily."

"Do we have enough infantry to fight both him and the Cemetery monsters?" Camellia asks.

"That'll depend on how well Scott does against Retribution." He glances at Scott and adds, "No pressure."

"I'm used to it," Scott mutters good-naturedly.

"We have two goals today," Gabriel says. "One, crush Retribution hard and fast. Two, hold off whatever Karos is going to throw at us until Drew can land a killing blow. We do that, we've got Monarch back. I won't say this is our last chance, but it's definitely our biggest. Let's not waste it." He looks at Nysse. "I'm guessing you'll be fighting today."

"Yes," she answers, "I will be."

"Need any help?"

"No. I will be fine on my own. Gerrich"—she turns—"how confident are you in your tenacity?"

"I can endure anything that won't kill me."

"Good. I need you to get to the center of the city as fast as possible. Bring the codex."

"Nysse," Camellia says worriedly. "The center is clouded with Sorsaren's magic."

"You think I'll get killed by a _cloud_?" Gerrich says, annoyed. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Nysse nonetheless takes him away so she can instill some stellar magic in his bones. It will be enough to stave off the worst of Sorsaren's poison. She then stays in the trees with the reserve troops as she always has and waits. Camellia takes control of the Ruins and Plains factions and leads them in a stealthy march into the city toward the Cemetery District. Fighting breaks out almost immediately and the Plains faction engulfs the roaming abominations with long polearms, spears, and volleys of arrows. The Ruins faction takes on smaller creatures and turncoat Shades, each marked with a distinctive yellow Glow. The Peaks faction rockets heavy slabs of concrete into some of the larger beasts and into piles of smaller creatures. The Cemetery faction, unable to pick off stragglers from an army that will never rout, flank in from the sides and back and quickly leave once things get dangerous. Salvation's Shades stream down from the sky like black meteors and tear through the enemies with ferocious vigor. With a strong front of veterans, the Ocean faction pulls few fighters out of the battle. Soldiers are either immediately killed or only bruised.

Scott and Gabriel cycle around the main fighting and meet up with Salvation near the shadow of a collapsed building. They start immediately searching through the Cemetery District, but the area seems relatively deserted. Scott announces loudly that he suspected Retribution would come find _them_ , but when repeated announcements in increasing volume doesn't bring the Shade from its hiding place, he eventually gives up. Salvation scouts the skies but comes back a few minutes later empty-handed.

"Well, don't quit," Gabriel says. "Wherever he is, Katrina is sure to be, too."

"Do you really think you'll find Katrina?" Scott asks.

"Of course I do. May I remind you she went missing for a hundred millennium before this? A few weeks is nothing to me." He lightly pushes past Scott to inspect something in the ruins.

"He's awfully optimistic, isn't he?" Scott whispers to a stoic Salvation.

"I think the word you are looking for is 'obsessed'. You are unable to comprehend the purely manic feelings the Emissaries have toward one another. I'm surprised he's so composed." Salvation sighs. "I guess we should look for Katrina, too."

Scott helps them look for a few minutes, then eventually gives up and starts tossing rocks down the street. Maybe something interesting will happen if he does. As if cued, as Scott prepares to toss another rock, Katrina comes around the corner in a battered suit of red armor. They stare at each other in silence for a moment—Katrina supporting herself on the edge of a ruined building, Scott standing like a deer about to be hit by a speeding car.

"Hey!" Scott finally shouts over his shoulder, regaining his senses. "I found—"

Salvation arrives before he can finish the sentence. Gabriel comes tearing around the corner only a few seconds later and he skids to a hard stop next to Scott. Salvation hovers behind them like a massive bodyguard.

"Hey," Katrina says, breathing heavily from exhaustion. "You need a hand, Gabriel?"

"Katrina," Gabriel says absently, starting forward. "Where in the hell have you—"

A hard, shadowy hand clamps down on Gabriel's shoulder. Scott looks over and finds a similar one firmly grasping his own. Salvation looms a little larger behind them, his eyes burning like white coals.

"Gabriel?" Katrina says. "Gabriel?"

Then she comes apart.

She rises into the air as if towed by a hot air balloon, and then her arms and legs split off her body like pieces from a doll. Her head detaches from her neck and she continues to call Gabriel's name over and over—the same tone, the same inflection, echoing like a broken record. She floats in six pieces like the remains of a sacrifice as darkness pools on the ground. Retribution rises from the shadows like an eel leaving its cave.

"You know," it says, "your name was the first thing she said when she woke up. I thought it was so touching and sincere that I imprinted it on her corpse." Retribution reaches up and Katrina's disembodied head comes down to rest in its hand. "Gabriel? Gabriel?" her mouth echoes plainly. Retribution strokes her face lovingly. "Yes, we had a lot of fun together, didn't we? Dismantling her body and putting it back together was a true joy."

"You..." Gabriel steps forward and Salvation yanks him back.

"It wasn't all fun and games, of course. She liked to cry and scream a lot. My creatures didn't like that one bit. I had to feed them her internal organs piece by piece until she stopped thrashing so much. I kept her heart, though. Want to see it? Look." Retribution pulls Katrina's torso down from the sky and reaches down her neck and pulls out a thick, dark red mass. Long veins like cables spill out and collect limply on the ground. "Doesn't it look nice? If I squeeze hard enough, it almost feels like it's still beating."

The Shade squeezes hard and a spray of blood paints the concrete.

"You bastard!" Gabriel shrieks, tearing away from Salvation.

"Wait!" Scott cries.

Salvation takes Scott in both hands and drags him backward, and even as Scott's hand reaches out to grab Gabriel's shoulder or arm or even his shirt, Scott knows he'll never reach.

Retribution lets the head fall out of its hand and land in the dirt. Gabriel howls in a fury and sharp branches spear up from the ground and impale Retribution's body. The Shade pulls itself out of the entanglement with the ease and laziness of smoke.

Gabriel claps his hands together. Two chunks of wood burst from the ground and crush Retribution between their surfaces. A moment later, the wood condenses into pulp and ugly, foul smoke rises from the coffin. Retribution pushes its way through the pulp with a disgusted grimace on its face. Yellow magic drips from its hands and pools on the ground like liquid gold.

Gabriel takes out his bow. Four arrows fly in streaks, whipping dust and pebbles off the street. One strikes its target and Retribution grunts from the force of the blow. Three more arrows, three more hits. Gabriel fires arrow after arrow until it takes a conscious effort to pull the string back.

On the other side of the street, Retribution is pinned to the remains of a crumbling wall. Glowing green arrows stick out of its body like a pincushion, ivy and branches growing from the shafts. The Shade pushes itself off the wall and the arrows fall uselessly in the dirt or remain stuck awkwardly in the stone.

Gabriel doesn't relent. He rushes the Shade, firing as he goes, each bolt charged to fracturing with green magic. Retribution brushes them aside like toys and advances slowly. Gabriel gets right in front of Retribution and fires a fully charged arrow point-blank into the Shade's face. The concussion from the blow snaps Retribution's head back. A moment's pause, then Retribution's claw shoots out and seizes Gabriel by the throat.

Gabriel flies into a panicked rage. He beats on Retribution's face, its arms, chest, slinging his bow and his limbs with everything he's got. He bites into the hand with a frenzy and, when that doesn't work, slams his head into Retribution's over and over until blood paints the street. Retribution waits patiently for Gabriel to exhaust himself, but the man only gets more and more energized. His fingernails crack, then split. Blood drips from the blunt wounds on his forehead. His knuckles are torn and bloodied. His legs are bruised and his shins bleed through his armor.

Retribution closes a second hand around Gabriel's throat and the man tightens up instantly.

There's a strangled gurgle and the veins on Gabriel's face stick out like thick cables.

With a soft _squelch_ , Gabriel's head comes loose from his body. Scott and Retribution meet eyes as the corpse drops into the dust. For just a moment, Scott can almost see a smile on the Shade's face.

Just then, far on the horizon in the Ocean District, a mountain rumbles into view.

# Chapter Twenty-Five

## The Third Battle for Monarch, pt. 2

The Ocean District, Monarch

"I don't think this was such a good idea!" Drew yells over the blasting wind, his fingers dug knuckle-deep in the dirt of the titanshell's forest.

"This was your damn idea!" Roger shouts back, standing easily against the bark of a tree. "A little late for regrets, don't you think?"

"Thank the gods!" Fradlr cries out, his arms wrapped around a tree. "I can see the city!"

The titanshell shifts unnaturally and its enormous head turns slowly. Far in the distance, the jellyfish monster from the Cemetery turns to meet it, its three yellow eyes burning. A bellow erupts from the titanshell and its speed and direction change drastically as it charges the jellyfish.

"Let's go!" Roger grabs Drew and Fradlr by the collars. "Everyone off!"

They follow Roger off the side of the titanshell and plummet straight for the ground. Roger softens their landing with a burst of magic, but they still hit the dirt and bounce. The titanshell barrels directly into the jellyfish and seizes the fleshy creature in its behemoth maw. The jellyfish's tentacles sling wildly in the air, wrapping around the forest and mountain protruding from the other's back as they crash to the ground.

As Drew gets to his feet, he feels the ground rumble with the ceaseless plod of thousands of feet. Over his shoulder, arriving from the Ocean, is a legion of sunken vessels, ghost freighters, and shattered ships towed on the backs of drained, lifeless ghouls who once inhabited the Ocean. Those fit to fight staff the ships and raise war cries as Monarch comes into view. At the center of the sea of ships and slaves is a dilapidated galleon with tattered sails and a penetrating blue aura, and at the center of that aura is Karos the Scourge.

His body stretches upwards unnaturally, his shoulders bent beneath an enormous red cape torn at the edges. His red hat is pulled dangerously over one eye such that the other gleams like a blue star on the darkness of his face. A tangled mass of hair is tied into a ponytail and thrown forward over his right shoulder. Jenna's cutlass, safely tucked in its sheath, gleams bright blue and splotches of light leaks out into the air.

"Fradlr, get into Monarch," Roger says as he gets up. "Get the Ruins and some of the Peaks faction. We'll need close-quarters infantry if we want any chance here. We'll hold them off until you get back."

"You sure?" Fradlr says, eyeing the uncountable number of slaves bearing uncountable number of ships full of ghost pirates on their backs. "That's a huge army to take on by yourself."

"It's not the army I'm worried about."

Fradlr looks grimly at the glowing blue menace on the chief ship, then looks at Drew. "Think you'll be okay?"

"Yeah. He's not so tough."

Roger and Drew watch as Fradlr disappears into the distance.

"Here's what I was thinking," Drew says. "We tag-team him as soon as he shows his face. I'll go in from the left—"

"No," Roger interrupts. "I will face Karos alone."

"Uh, what?"

"He has Jenna's cutlass. It belongs to me, not to him. I will take it from him, and then you may have the honor of killing him."

"Roger, come on. That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"If you get in my way, I will not hesitate to attack you either. This confrontation is a thousand generations in the making. You will not rob me of it."

The rumble of feet on the ground alerts them both. Karos's legions have made it to the edge of the city. Roger gives Drew a fierce look, and Drew backs away. Roger summons his staff and turns to meet his foes.

When his eyes hit the scene before him, a coldness grips his chest. Stretched beyond him is an infinite field of black broken only by tiny speckles of blue light and enormous ships, as if the Ocean itself has swept forward to greet him. As he watches, the slaves near Karos's ship pile on top of each other and make a human ladder. A glowing blue presence steps off the ship and the slaves support it, carrying Karos step-by-step until his feet land on the solid ground. Roger and Karos face each other for the first time in months.

Karos's twin blue eyes shine like vicious sapphires beneath the cover of his captain's hat. Up close, his face has become sharp and grisly. Half of his cheek has melted away to reveal cold white bone and a pale tongue. What is left of his face has pulled itself tight like the head of a drum.

Karos looks down at the ground. "I don't much care for dirt," he says. "It doesn't have the back-and-forth, the to-and-fro, that I love about the Ocean." He glances over his shoulder at the masses behind him. "Beautiful, aren't they?"

"If you want to call it that. How many are there?"

"I lost count around two million. I consumed enough life energy to keep me strong for years to come. That's all that matters." Karos inspects his enemy disinterestedly. "You're looking weak."

"I'm still strong enough to break your teeth."

Karos cracks a thin, ugly smile that shows the teeth through the hole in his face. "I missed that sharp tongue of yours."

Roger says nothing for a moment. "Give me back her cutlass."

"You mean _my_ cutlass?" Karos jingles the sheath at his hip. "You can have it if you can pry it from my fingers."

"That cutlass belonged to my spiritmate. It was never yours to own. I'll take it from you and send you back to the Ocean in damn a pine box— _if_ I leave enough of you to fit in one."

Karos chuckles. "You always knew how to make me smile."

Roger jabs his staff forward and a bolt of black magic leaps forth. A dozen slaves leap from behind Karos and shield him but are scattered with the blast. Roger whips his staff around his head, firing blasts in intermittent intervals, but each time the slaves swell forth from behind the Scourge and lay down their bodies. Roger switches to purple magic and his attacks become jagged and jolting, but the slaves move to counter, taking strikes on their backs, chests, and heads. A pile of bodies grows around them, and all the while Karos stands nonchalantly motionless.

"Damn you!" Roger shouts, throwing his staff to the ground in frustration. "Stop hiding and fight me fairly!"

"Why?" Karos says. "If you want to fight one-on-one, exhaust all my resources."

The weight of all those lingering slaves waiting to get thrown in front of the blade fills Roger with exhaustion. The view of that all-black sea of bodies swells his nose until he feels he might vomit. He tells himself that this is no time for fear. If all he has to do is hurl magic at targets that line up for him and are easily destroyed, it won't be much of a challenge. It will take a long time, but it will end.

He picks up his staff. The slaves lurch toward him.

A blade of black magic rips through them heartlessly. Roger feels no pity. Their souls have long been sucked out of their bodies, leaving only husks populated by a drop or two of twisted magic. Not even blood bursts from their bellies when his magic rips them in half. The slaves are felled in such numbers that reinforcements have to climb an increasing wall of corpses. Soon he can't even see Karos's smug smile.

Roger fights through the fodder earnestly, but conservatively. Each bolt of magic is animalistic and violent yet measured for minimum exertion. Blasting through will all his might would be foolish. He's waited this long for his revenge—he can afford to wait a little longer. Roger's only fear is that Karos will outlast him and then outlast the entire Heroic army by doing nothing but hiding behind his slaves. Nysse is the only one with enough strength to wipe out a fighting force of this size in one shot, but somehow it feels dangerous to gamble on Nysse saving the day. Didn't she say she was going to be fighting in this battle? Just where the hell is she?

Fatigue sets in earlier than Roger hoped it would. His magic becomes less precise. His breathing hitches in his chest. Each step scrapes the ground. For a moment he pauses to catch his breath. When he looks up, he sees Karos crossing the battlefield with his cutlass unsheathed. Finally!

Roger dives at Karos. The Scourge steps back and a wall of slaves comes up to guard him, but Roger is ready. He blasts straight through them and conjures immensely strong black chains, hurling them at his foe. Karos ducks the ones that aim for his head, missing the three that grab his legs and one of his arms. Roger closes his fist tightly and yanks his hand back, pinning Karos in place.

"Now," Roger says, breathing hard. "Fight me fairly."

Karos is suddenly in front of him. He hits Roger with such force that all his blood rushes to out of his head. He dimly feels himself in the air. He hits something hard and firm and bounces, then he lays still in the sand for a measure of time he can't comprehend.

Roger plants his hands on the ground. His vision swims and the sand totters back and forth. He can't catch his breath. A thought says he should stay down and play dead and he almost goes back down. He forces himself to get up. He can feel Karos approaching.

The Scourge grips Roger by the hair and lifts him straight off the ground. Roger groans and clasps his hands over Karos's grip, as if by holding on with his exhausted arms he could abate his pain. Karos's cutlass gleams in his hand like a blue star.

"So," Karos says drily. "How about that fight?

Roger throws a weak hand toward the cutlass and barely gets his fingers on it. Karos rips it away and drives it through Roger's chest. Roger spits up blood and goes limp on the blade.

Karos glances over his shoulder. Drew is advancing. Karos drops Roger off his cutlass and lets his slaves move forth to carry it away. No sense in wasting a good corpse, after all.

Somewhere in the Plains District

Luke presses his hand into a building for support, but the stone melts under his touch and dissolves into a boiling, bubbling brimstone.

He can't remember how long his mind has been swimming with colors and voices. Has it been days? Weeks, maybe? Only a few hours? Seconds? A lifetime? Time feels meaningless. Something inside him has broken and it vibrates with each step he takes. Voices chatter in his ear, voices that don't belong to him and never could, whispering his darkest thoughts and fanning a hatred he know doesn't belong to him. For the first time he wishes that Sorsaren would just wake up and absorb this cacophony in his infinite depth so he doesn't have to suffer.

He remembers Max grabbing him, saying something, and then words began streaming through his mind and they never stopped. Despite the overload of information, Luke can still see the city and feel the rubble and dirt on his knees and hands and in his eyes. The worst are his uncontrollable emotions—frightfully large, and always arriving when there's a brief calm, like the trough of a wave before the crest that blots out the sun. He fights off a wave of hatred for something or someone he can't pinpoint, and then there's a calm, and then he's crying out and weeping long, heavy tears, or laughing until he can't breathe, or crouching fearfully and holding his head in despair.

And all the while he waits for Sorsaren to wake up, begging, pleading that the monster will let him sink into a quiet emptiness.

Who was he trying to be, anyways? Luke pales in the face of the question everyone eventually asks themselves: who am I? But this question doesn't feel like an introspective one. It doesn't feel like it will lead him to a wellspring of self-actualization, reveal to him any great truths about the purpose of his life, or even show him a path to become a better man. The question "Who am I?" is asked in anguish, in desperation for an answer that will identify and stabilize him, but the more he asks, the farther the answer drifts from him. Luke feels an infinite void pressing in from all sides—perfectly black, empty, and silent. Who am I? There is no reply from the darkness.

Camellia is the first to find him. Separated from the Plains faction by abominations from the Cemetery, Camellia escapes their grasp only to feel a sickly sense of unease settle in her heart. Against her better judgment, she follows the feeling through the winding streets, turning her head this way and that as if listening for something, and then she finds Luke Derringer crumpled against a decimated building, his body casting an impossibly long shadow.

Luke notices her immediately. He fights off the long stream of whispers and the tugging feeling of hatred and tries to get to his feet. He stumbles and his hands break his fall. The street splinters under his strength, sending a menacing crack snaking between Camellia's feet and filling it with a seething yellow-magenta poison. Camellia steps back, holding her breath high and tight in her chest. They lock eyes for just a moment and Camellia realizes she can't slip away unnoticed. Luke's gaze pierces straight to her soul. Fear blossoms in her chest. He's going to kill her.

"Please," Luke says. His voice is soft. "Please, don't go."

Camellia turns tightly and shoots into the sky, leaving Luke in a pool of his own miasma. In that moment, all the words drizzling in Luke's mind become sharp and intense, and he lets himself bathe in their agony, screaming.

Camelia lands at the edge of the Woods and crumbles a few strides from the reserve troops. They raise a general holler and attempt to rush to her aid only to stagger and stutter and vomit in their steps. Camellia is entrenched in a sickly aura so thick that none can get closer than a dozen paces. Only Nysse is able to approach and hold Camellia by the hand. Camellia tries to speak but is unable to make more than weak whimpers. Nysse says something, but Camellia can't hear what she said. She curls into herself and shivers, trying desperately to calm down.

Nysse gets to her feet. She regards the city for a few moments in silence, then moves swiftly towards it.

The goddess moves straight through the rubble and ruin and enters the Plains District. The few stray creatures from the Cemetery she encounters give her a wide berth, almost instinctively shrinking away. She follows an increasing sense of discomfort and unease, and as she grows closer to its source, a grim horror grows inside her.

She finds Luke sitting in the street, his right side facing her. She waits for a long time, unable to call out, then approaches until she's a few paces away. After a moment he turns toward her. A massive scar burns on his face, starting from the left side of his forehead and continuing down through his left eye, cheek, and jaw. The scar burns a radiant yellow; hot tears streak his dusty cheeks. He looks at her with a distant, forlorn expression, as if she had been there this whole time and was just about to leave and never return.

"So, it _was_ you after all."

There is silence between them.

"I listened for you," Nysse says. "Every time you visited in secret, every time you were in Monarch or watching us from the trees, I listened for you. I hoped you'd come to me, even though I knew you wouldn't. I missed you even when you were close to me."

"They rejected me." His voice is weak. "One of their own, and they rejected me. They left me to die."

Nysse is quiet.

"Nothing to say?" He gets to his feet, his voice darkening. "No comforting words for me, huh? No chance of telling me it'll all be okay? No soft words of encouragement, kindness, or pity? Don't I deserve to hear those platitudes even if they mean nothing? I was a Hero, wasn't I?"

He stands in front of Nysse now, his presence burning like a hot sun.

"Say something." His voice is clipped; it breaks with emotion. "Damn you, say something! Anything. Please."

Nysse looks at him with an empty, sad expression.

He slaps her across the face with such force the wind from his blow scatters a cloud of dust into the air.

Nysse presses a hand against his chest and twists her body in a violent shove. Luke's body rockets away so fast that the resulting concussion is delayed by a moment. He clatters somewhere far out of sight. Nysse closes her eyes as an unbearable emptiness swallows her from the inside. She slowly moves forward to face her enemy.

Retribution looks disinterestedly at the head resting on its hands and lets it tumble to the ground. Scott stares long and unblinking at Gabriel's beheaded corpse. He sucks in a long, uneasy breath, and his muscles relax. Salvation unhands him cautiously.

"Well," Scott says. "That's one way to make a statement."

"Did it frighten you?" Salvation asks.

"I'm not going to lie. I feel a little dizzier than I remember."

Retribution looms at the end of the road like an obelisk. It doesn't look like it will approach.

"I'll be honest," Scott says after a while. "I don't think I can beat this guy."

"It is not a challenge you'll face alone."

"I don't think Retribution is going to let us tag-team."

"Since when did you let someone else decide things for you? Besides, Retribution hates me far more than it hates you. If anything, I may need you to watch _my_ back."

"Who says I'm not doing that already?"

Salvation makes a sound like a snort in his throat. "Are you prepared?"

"Not at all. Let's get this over with."

Scott launches forward so abruptly that both Salvation and Retribution are caught off-guard. Retribution barely gets a magical barrier up before Scott's triple-bladed scythe, Segensa, shatters clean through it. The traitor Shade zips backward and Scott propels himself after it, murder in his eyes. Three quick swipes all miss their mark, but a blade of blue magic finds purchase and knocks Retribution off balance. Segensa cuts forward and Retribution flattens itself to the ground. The air crackles inches above its face.

Salvation steps into the hole made by his partner and challenges Retribution, driving the traitor into the air. Salvation stops a few paces off the ground and thrusts his hands out. White magic chains lasso Retribution about the neck and arms. Retribution shatters them instantly and retaliates with a wide sweep of yellow magic. Salvation ducks underneath and Scott flies over it, the pair attacking Retribution from both directions.

The traitor throws a magic barrier around itself. Scott sweeps up with Segensa and Salvation slams down on it with both fists. The barrier shatters. Retribution whirls and catches Salvation with a wild hook, sending the Shade spiraling away. Scott catches Retribution about the throat with the sharp end of his scythe, tugs hard, and whips the traitor into a pile of concrete.

Scott lands softly on the ground. He touches his eyes, his head, his ears: no bleeding yet. He leans against Segensa just in case. The concrete ahead of him shifts uncomfortably, then melts away with a sickening _hiss_. Scott puts up a careful barrier to protect himself from the noxious yellow poison.

"Well," Retribution says, climbing out of the rubble, "now that you've—"

Scott lifts and drops an enormous concrete block on the traitor's head. There's another hiss and Retribution bores a hole through the top, emerging with magic dripping off its hands.

"As I was saying," it begins again, "now that—"

Scott lifts and drops a pointed boulder into the hole, crushing the Shade inside. The boulder splinters and Retribution starts to climb out.

Scott slaps his hands together and two flat slabs sandwich Retribution. A second later, the slabs explode into rubble and Retribution flies into the sky.

"As I was saying!" it shrieks. "Now that—"

Salvation screams down from the clouds and dive-bombs the traitor, tackling it into the street and wrestling it in the dirt. Scott points both hands palm-open at the scene and sends wave after wave of psychic energy into the writhing mass. A flash of yellow, then an explosion and Scott is sent flying backwards. He lands safely and skids a few paces before coming to a complete stop. Salvation drops down next to him; part of his shadow cloak has been torn. Scott stares at it in wide-eyed wonder, unaware that such a thing was possible. Retribution emerges from the cloud of dust. Streams of thick yellow magic spill from its mouth and nostrils.

"I don't remember Retribution being this powerful," Salvation says. "Even yellow magic shouldn't be carrying it so far."

The traitor Shade starts to glide toward them.

"I've got a sinking feeling in my chest," Scott says. "I think it's time to use _that_."

"What is 'that'?"

"You know, the secret weapon. A hidden, sealed technique too dangerous to use except in extreme emergencies. I thought you'd have one. Heroes always say something like that before making a big comeback."

"I don't have any secret techniques prepared."

"Me neither."

"Do you have any other ideas?"

"Yeah: hit it until it stops moving."

Retribution spreads its arms, taunting them.

"This thing got any weaknesses?"

"Psychic disruption may work. Can your mind handle it?"

"I can try." Scott glances at the Shade. "You going to be alright?"

"Yes, but don't keep me waiting. Even I have my limits."

Salvation jets forward and meets Retribution arm-to-arm. White magic blends with yellow magic, sending sharp bolts streaking across the ground. The Shades break, then clash again, their claws tangled in each other as they scrape and wrestle viciously. Retribution sneers and shifts its weight, trying to drag Salvation in a circle, but the Master moves with the throw and converts it to a throw of his own, and Retribution finds itself thrown into a wall.

As the traitor gets up, Scott pins it with Segensa's glowing blue blades. Just as he's about to discharge his stored power, Retribution shoves Scott back and flies back toward Salvation. Scott is on Retribution again, this time from the side. The traitor turns, grabs Scott by the throat, and slams him into the ground.

"Don't," Retribution warns, pointing directly at Scott's nose. "I'll deal with you after I deal with him."

Salvation slams Retribution and takes the Shade to the sky. Retribution digs its claws into Salvation, lifts him over its head, and slams the Shade into the ground in a skydrop suplex. Retribution moves back a little, then slides back quickly as a blue bolt of magic crashes into the rubble beyond. A sharp curse from somewhere nearby, and there's Scott holding Segensa like a hunting rifle, the tip sizzling with blue magic.

Retribution starts toward him, but Salvation seizes the traitor about its chest. Scott launches another bolt and this one strikes dead center. Retribution shouts in pain and its body fizzles. It struggles mightily and throws Salvation over its shoulder. Another blast of blue magic sends Retribution reeling, but the third is deflected by a wild swing of the Shade's arms; yellow magic diffuses the blow. The traitor starts toward the Hero, but Salvation hits him with a flash of white magic. Retribution starts toward him instead, but white chains leap from the ground and restrain it in place. Three more direct hits from blue magic. Retribution growls in fury, bends itself forward, and shatters the chains.

Salvation flies directly at the traitor, but Retribution grabs Salvation by the throat and slams him into the ground. It lifts him up and slams him against the ground until a small crater has formed in the street, then slams him once more for good measure. As the Master starts to get up, Retribution opens up its full reserves of yellow magic and engulfs Salvation in the brightest, hottest, strongest beam it can control. When the blast recedes, Salvation remains still for a second, then starts to push himself up. Retribution hammers Salvation with a blast, and when the Master tries to get up again, Retribution hits him again, and again, and again, over and over until Salvation is unable to move.

Retribution turns and glides straight at Scott, blocking blast after blue magical blast, each one growing faster, weaker, and more desperate. Scott swings his scythe in an attempt to cut the Shade in two, but Retribution leaps smoothly over it, grabs Scott by the crown of the head, and puts so much magic into his brain that his ears burst on the street in a red ribbon of blood. A scream pierces the Cemetery District and Scott drops face-first in the dirt, twitching uncontrollably.

"Damn it," Salvation grunts, pushing himself on arms he didn't know could ache with fatigue and pain. "Get up, damn you..."

The Master forces himself out of his crater. Retribution stands with its back facing him, apparently triumphant and gloating. Salvation summons the last vestige of his strength and blasts Retribution with everything he has. The traitor sails away and lands somewhere in the distant rubble.

Salvation turns his attention to the Hero lying in the dirt and gathers the boy gently in his arms. He holds Scott's foaming face in his hands and tries to talk to him, but he's unsuccessful. Salvation probes his mind to find some sliver of sense left, but Scott's mind is totally gone. There is only a loud, shrill noise bouncing around inside his head. Scott's eyes won't focus on anything; nothing he sees is able to bring him out of his reverie. It's impossible to fix.

Salvation lets Scott fall to the ground. The war is over.

# Chapter Twenty-Six

## The Third Battle for Monarch, pt. 3

Or maybe...

An idea sparks in Salvation's mind. He entertains it and, after a moment, realizes there's a chance—a small one, but it's still a chance. As Scott said, it's time to use _that_.

Salvation sighs. This is by far the stupidest thing he's ever done.

He places his hands over Scott's chest. As he expected, Scott's soul is panicking. His mind is fried and his body is killing itself from the stress. Death looms over him. Salvation reaches into the space between reality and gently touches Scott's soul, which recoils instinctively. The Master gently coaxes the soul out of its hollow and, hesitantly, the soul climbs into Salvation's hands. He lifts slowly, gently, and Scott's soul leaves his body, which immediately goes still.

A screech breaks the sky; Retribution is on its way.

Salvation looks at his empty hands. An invisible weight rests there, unable to be damaged, but more delicate than the gentlest flower. It's lighter than he expected.

Salvation takes in a breath and shoves Scott's soul into his own chest.

At first, there is nothing. Then something kicks hard inside him and Salvation can't suppress a grunt. His body strains as if he's on a boat and experiencing both directions of roll in intense waves at the same time. An echo clamors in his ears and then, he hears a voice. It's rife with curses so profane and violent that Salvation barely manages to get a word in to calm it.

"Who the hell is that?" the voice demands. "What's going on? Where am I? Where's—"

"Scott," Salvation manages. "You have to listen because I don't have long. I've transplanted your soul into my body. In a few moments, my soul will leave this world. You'll have to face Retribution on your own."

"What? Hold on—"

"Two souls can't inhabit one body. I'm choosing to give this one to you; it might be the best chance we have. Shape it as you wish and win this one for me." Salvation clenches his claws in the dirt and grits his jaw in a dry grin. "Magnus, you bastard," he chuckles. "I'm giving you an earful once I..."

And then Scott opens his eyes and finds himself staring at long, shadowy claws.

He gasps and scrambles back in shock, but when he realizes the hands are his own, he opens and closes them in wonder. He lets his eyes trace along his new body, long and covered in a shimmering cloak of darkness, with no legs to see or feel, and a sense of discomfort sweeps over him. Scott looks around for something to stabilize himself with and finds his gaze landing on a human body—his own. He stares at it in disbelief, then crawls over to it and turns it on its side. The face is frozen in panic and fear. A sense of incredible surrealism comes over him at just who he's looking at. Did he always look this grimy and thin? Scott gingerly rearranges the face and moves his old body out of sight.

There's a loud boom and Retribution lands a few dozen paces behind him. Scott turns his eyes slightly and his vision swings around behind him, focusing on Retribution. He touches his face and chin absently; it's barely turned an inch.

"Get up," Retribution demands. "I want to finish you quickly."

Scott feels for legs he doesn't have and his body refuses to move. It's as if everything down from the base of his spine has been removed; only the phantom sensation of his legs remains. He tries to imagine he's floating only a few inches off the ground and his body lifts immediately. Scott drifts uneasily as he gets accustomed to the feeling and finally turns himself around.

The sight of Retribution's skeletal eyes and nostrils and chest filled with intense yellow light makes Scott feel self-conscious. He looks down and sees the stark darkness of his own chest, and then he remembers that Salvation always had a bright glow highlighting his face and the hole in his chest. Scott gingerly feels with his hand for that hole and finds it. His fingers slip inside but he feels nothing unusual or invasive—only a hole leading to his insides, of which there is nothing, like a window to an empty storefront. But there should be something to inhabit the void, something of substance, and Scott lets himself breathe in deeply even though he no longer has lungs to fill.

Magic crackles up from the ground and, like a forge, the cavern in his chest ignites with brilliant blue light. Scott's spirit burns hot and the sparks of life fall from his mouth. A heady euphoria fills him to the brim and Scott lets it out in a satisfied, exuberant sigh. This body is different from his own, but it feels made for him nonetheless. It feels strong, if a little battered.

Scott summons Segensa again and looks at it with new eyes. The weapon feels good, better than it ever has before. The strength in his new body swells like the coiled energy of a python. He knows his reserves are drained and Salvation's body has taken a severe beating, but he never imagined it could feel so good to be freed from what he can now only regard as a fleshy prison. It feels like he can do anything.

Retribution looks at Scott without an expression on its face, but Scott can feel that the traitor is unsettled, perhaps even disturbed. There's an aura floating around the Shade like a loose fog and it recoils and squirms unnaturally. Scott grips his scythe and swings it left and right, feeling the weapon almost floating between his hands. Curious, he lifts it and strikes it quickly against the ground. The street shatters under the weight.

"What are you doing with his scythe?" Retribution finally says. Its aura has shifted to worry, bordering on anxiety. "You shouldn't be able to even touch that. Where is he?"

"You don't have to pretend," Scott says. "I know you know what's going on."

"Where is Salvation?" the Shade demands.

"Gone, probably for good. I'm the only one left." Scott looks at the Shade expectantly. "Shall we begin?"

"At your leisure."

Scott's confidence rises. The body may be unfamiliar to him, but his magic and his scythe are not. He saw what happened when Retribution took a few direct hits of blue magic. He wagers two, maybe three more good, strong hits will scare the Shade bad enough to concede defeat or even leave. He'll be able to unleash magic more recklessly now, though he'll have to keep a sharper eye on burnout.

Retribution is upon Scott in a flash. Scott throws his scythe up to block and Retribution clamps its hands on the shaft as they collide. Scott tries to brace on legs he doesn't have and is immediately driven hard into a waiting concrete wall. He sucks in a breath he doesn't need and starts to press the scythe off his chest. It takes a concentrated burst of strength to force the traitor away, but it's easier than it would have been with his old body.

Scott glides forward quickly. Segensa slashes in wild combinations, leaving bleeding cuts in the ground. Retribution ducks around the attacks, not approaching even when there's a large opening. Scott dismisses the scythe and charges in. Retribution takes to the air. Scott follows at top speed, lifting off the ground as if gravity is meaningless. Startled, Retribution is caught in Scott's grip and takes several punches to the face.

Retribution shoves Scott away with a magic barrier. The traitor dives after him and Scott dips out of the way with a maneuverability that surprises them both. Scott, planning quickly, suddenly turns and chases after Retribution. The Shade turns to meet him and they clash. Retribution surprises him by throwing a flurry of punches and extending with a blast of yellow magic that sends Scott crashing to the ground.

Scott gets to his non-existent feet and summons Segensa to brace himself. His body crackles and fizzes as if pop-rocks are going off on every inch of his skin; yellow magic really is anathema to this body. Scott looks up and barely gets Segensa up to block as Retribution tackles into him from the sky. Again Scott tries to brace himself on legs he no longer has and is driven straight into the dirt. Hatred boils in Retribution's eyes, yellow poison seeping from its skeletal features.

Scott presses up with all his might and knocks Retribution away. As he gets up, Retribution charges forward again, but this time Scott tosses Segensa aside and takes the charge in full. He grabs Retribution by the collar, drops straight to the ground, and uses the momentum to send the traitor flying head over cloak and into the dirt behind him.

As Retribution gets up, Scott is upon it and hits the Shade directly in the face with a bolt of blue magic. Retribution cries out in pain and anger and unleashes a wild barrage. Scott slides between them and plants his hands on the Shade's chest, sending a shock of magic directly into it. Retribution balks from the blow and leaps furiously at Scott, grabbing him directly around the neck.

Scott lets himself get grabbed, slips back easily, and slings his powerful arms around Retribution's body, pinning the Shade to him.

"Gotcha," Scott says.

Retribution's aura flares into fear. The Shade thrashes wildly. It's been weakened from the two direct hits of blue magic, but its power is rebuilding quickly. This is as weak as Scott's ever been able to get the Shade. Scott sucks in a deep, strong breath to build his strength and feels it swell in the near infinite bellows of his body.

The hollow in his chest glows brightly and a beam of blue magic rips straight through Retribution and burns through the rubble directly behind them.

The traitor Shade stays stiff for a long moment, then its arms go limp. The light in its eyes and nose and chest dies and all that remains is a dull, shadowy mass. Scott lets the body go and it crumbles into a dusty ash and is scattered by the wind.

Karos unbuttons his captain's coat, exposing the shell of his body to the air. What remains of his torso has shrunk tightly against his ribs and spine; it's impossible to tell if he has any organs left. Through his torn undershirt, long bandages can be seen wound tightly over his ribs, desperate to keep him from falling apart. A deep inhale swells his lungs and he turns his head toward the sky. If he doesn't move too much, he can still smell the Ocean.

Approaching footfalls rouse him from his daydream. Karos briefly thinks about monologuing about fate, destiny, the future and the present and all the strength he stole in his quest for power, but the most he can manage is a sigh. He's got an army of millions at his back and a single man striding toward him, chest puffed up, chip on his shoulder. Come to make terms, maybe? No, it's clear he's here to exchange words, nothing else.

Karos looks at his Adversary. The boy has grown since their first meeting on that island, paralyzed by the smoke and the clamor of battle. His body has thickened. Something heavy strains his eyes. The boy Karos once knew is different from the one who stands before him.

"I hope you're not here to beg for mercy," Karos says. "Not after dragging me all the way out here."

"No. But I am going to kill you."

"That so? Let's test your resolve."

And then Drew is in the air, and a second later he feels the air leave his lungs, and a second later his stomach feels like it's been punched into his spine. He wonders what happened before crashing hard against solid dirt and gasping out for breath.

Drew rolls to his side and tries to get his bearings. Someone is approaching him, but he can't see who. He digs his hands into the ground, summoning all the strength he can muster.

Karos pulls out his cutlass, then steps into a stance and delivers a finishing slash.

His sword clangs against something abruptly, stopping the blow completely, and then his cutlass is wrenched out of his hand and discarded to side. Karos finds himself staring down a silver trident that shimmers with a pearlescent gleam. At the end of it is a shaking Drew King.

Karos gingerly pushes the prongs out of his face and picks up his cutlass. "So," he says casually, sheathing his blade. "I suppose you want to monologue to me about how I'm all that's evil in this world, how you're going to beat me and avenge Roger and prove that you're the strongest Hero of all time."

"Not really," says Drew.

"Really? Nothing about saving the world, being a champion of justice, or challenging your fate?"

"No."

"You _really_ never wanted to be a Hero, did you?"

Drew doesn't reply.

Karos grips the pommel of his sword and slashes at Drew from his hip. Drew jams the cutlass between the prongs of his trident. Karos yanks one way and Drew yanks the other; both weapons strain then audibly crack. Karos releases his grip. Drew whips the cutlass away and Karos tackles him to the ground. They grapple and struggle until Drew throws the Scourge off at his waist.

Karos reaches for his cutlass but Drew hurls his trident, pinning the pommel underneath its prongs. Drew dashes in and Karos locks him into a clinch. They grab fistfuls and slug each other in the face, the belly, the chest. Karos is the first to quit; he grabs and pushes Drew backward with all his might and trips the Hero over the trident behind them. He grips the trident and pulls, trying to free his cutlass, but Drew's weapon is heavier than a mountain.

Drew flies back in, driving his knee into the flat of Karos's temple. Karos stumbles back, clutching his eye socket and swearing. Drew goes for Karos's throat and mounts his Adversary. His arms and hands change into solid rock and he closes his thumbs around Karos's windpipe. His heart pounds in his jaw. Karos grabs Drew by the forearms and the Hero's rock plating instantly cracks. Drew slips his arms out and rolls backward. He rips his trident out of the ground and holds it across his chest for protection.

"Oh," Karos says, sitting up, "don't back off like that. You were doing so well." He reaches out a hand and his cutlass snaps into his palm.

Karos steps forward. Drew jabs his weapon at Karos's legs, driving the man back. Karos circles his opponent slowly. Drew follows Karos with the tip of his trident. It takes a full minute for Karos to decide to burst in and slip under the prongs. Drew steps to the side. He drives his trident through the back of Karos's upper leg. Karos's wild slash misses Drew by a hair.

Drew pulls his trident back and moves out of range. Karos easily gets to his feet, but he keeps his weight on his healthy leg. He looks disinterestedly at the gouges in his hamstring, then sheathes his sword, takes off his coat and rips a sleeve off for a bandage.

"You know," Karos says as he makes a knot at the front of his leg, "I miss bleeding more than I thought I would. When everything in your body gets replaced by magic, I guess only your brain remembers what it's like to have blood." He looks up and takes out his cutlass. "I imagine you'll help me remember, won't you?"

Karos hops forward and slashes with his sword. Drew deflects the sword at full-length and shoots a water bullet straight through Karos's shoulder. Karos swaps the weapon to his other hand and Drew shoots a bullet through that shoulder, too. Karos grips the sword with both hands and charges. Drew shoots bullets through Karos's good leg until the Scourge collapses a half-stride from the tip of the trident.

Karos pushes himself up to his knees slowly, his arms shuddering from the strain of working against his ruined shoulders. He leans back, his legs folded underneath his body. Drew keeps him at the tip of his trident.

"Shoot me," Karos says. "I have millions of bodies."

"But you only have one of these."

Drew digs his trident in and wrenches Karos's cutlass out of his hand. Karos leaps up to grab it and Drew sweeps his tattered legs out from under him. The cutlass lands flat in the dirt and Drew pins it between his trident's prongs.

"You know Karos, you and I are the same." A stream of magic swirls up from the ground around Drew's body. "Death follows us wherever we go, and I for one am sick of it."

As Karos tries to lunge for his sword, Drew shoves down with all his might and Karos's cutlass snaps in half.

Karos balks and lands on his hands and knees. He stares at the shattered weapon in silence, and then his body cranes back unnaturally, his eyes and mouth filling with blue light. A stream of tiny blue wisps belches from his throat; the sky swells with their number as they swarm into the air and vanish like evaporating flames. When the last wisp has left Karos's mouth, blue magic snakes across his body and covers him, expanding until he is only a blue mass of energy.

The energy darkens and cools, and when the light subsides, Karos is gone, and his army crumbles to the ground, taking the ships down with them.

Luke gets to his feet, dimly aware that he's been hit. A slurry of poisonous lava and smoke surrounds his body, though he can't feel any heat. Luke steadies himself and the rocks melt at his touch. He steps out into the street, dizzy, and absently feels the scar that has split the left side of his face. It doesn't feel real.

Nysse arrives a few moments later. Something blooms inside him when he looks at her, but he can't place a finger on the feeling. That's Nysse, isn't it? She was someone important to him. He starts toward her in a trance, his hands up in an offering of peace. Magma boils distantly in his veins.

A flash of light floods his vision and he's sailing through the air. His body impacts senselessly against something hard and cold. He gets up and sees Nysse at the center of a massive pillar of cosmic energy. He feels something primal streaming off her. The thundering in his veins swells in his jowls and pushes into the back of his throat. Luke feels his body pull away from him as orgasmic ecstasy drowns his brain.

Sorsaren's blazing strike misses Nysse's head by an inch. Nysse clocks him with her elbow and thrusts an open palm into his jaw. Sorsaren stumbles away, then lunges in her direction but misses again. Nysse punishes with an uppercut that blasts Sorsaren straight into the clouds.

In the spare moment she has, Nysse inspects her burnt knuckles and elbow. She touches her knuckles to her lips, but her hands don't register the feeling. She holds them there for a long time.

The clouds split and Sorsaren slowly descends from the heavens until he's right in front of her. He levitates silently, waiting for her to make a move.

Nysse sucks in a breath and thrusts a hand forward. Sorsaren slams to the ground and the dirt liquifies on contact. The immense shift in gravity keeps him pinned for a moment, and then he brings himself up to full height, seemingly without effort. Nysse pushes harder, pressing Sorsaren further down and breaking the ground further, but he ignores it. He starts forward.

Nysse relinquishes and bolts in, grabbing Sorsaren by the elbow. She lifts him straight into the air and brings him down with such force the ground caves in for half a mile in every direction.

She picks him up and she does it again, and again, and again.

On the last one, she grabs him with both hands and slings him into Renea as hard as she can.

Sorsaren lands squarely on his feet and drives a fist into Nysse's belly.

The goddess shoots straight back and crashes into a concrete pile. She doesn't immediately get up. She touches her stomach and feels for where she had gotten a hand in place for defense; her clothing remains unburned, her skin untouched. Nysse breathes a sigh of relief.

Sorsaren ascends from the edge of the crater. Nysse gets to her feet as he approaches.

But he doesn't attack immediately.

Luke reaches out and brushes the side of her lip, wiping away cosmic blood. She absently touches her face; there's no burn.

"Nysse," he says softly. "Who did this to you?"

Nysse doesn't answer. She softly takes Luke by the hand, breaks his wrist, and shoulder-throws him into a pile of rubble.

Sorsaren is instantly upon her.

They clash and come to full blows. Their auras blend together, leaving goopy mixes of concentrated magic on the already scarred ground. Nysse presses forward and Sorsaren moves back, defending. And then Sorsaren is on the offense and Nysse has to stop herself from giving up too much ground. She plants her feet firmly in the dirt and fights against Sorsaren's onslaught.

Sorsaren slips between her guard and strikes her in the neck.

Nysse staggers but remains standing.

Sorsaren's invincible fist cracks into the underside of her jaw. Nysse is aware she's in the air and her head spins. She can feel herself going out. She holds on as hard as she can.

The crack of her spine and legs against the ground brings her back, but her lungs have collapsed in her chest. She bucks upward to try to fill them with air. The burns on her body blaze hot and painful.

When Nysse can finally breathe again, Sorsaren is kneeling over her. A white spear with a blue gemstone head sits firmly in his right hand. He slowly lifts his arm over his head for the finishing blow. The blue gemstone fills with yellow light. Nysse looks into Sorsaren's impassable eyes and watches as he brings his arm down.

The blow stops just short of her face.

Luke's grip on the spear is so tight his body is shaking. He gasps from the effort of holding himself back. There is no malice in his eyes. Nysse sits up a little bit and Luke sucks in a breath. They look at each other for a long moment and Nysse finally speaks.

"You know," she whispers, "when you came back to the camp, I was so happy to see you. I had been watching you sneak around in the shadows, and suddenly there you were in front of me. But I couldn't let you hurt the others, so I let you burn my hands. I can't feel anything with them anymore." She reaches out and cups Luke's face in her hands. He leans into her touch and she presses their foreheads together softly. "It isn't fair," she says. "I wanted to hold you like this more than you could ever know."

Luke strains to say something, but nothing comes.

Nysse kisses him softly. "I'm sorry."

She headbutts him with such force the ground shatters beneath her. Luke's body sails into the sky and crashes into a pile of rubble.

Nysse gets to her feet. Luke is unconscious and will remain that way for only a few precious minutes. It's time to put things into action immediately. She feels cosmic energy swell deep in her body and she takes off at a run that crystalizes the ground.

She runs out of the Cemetery District and right into the arms of the Hero army pit-fighting with the Cemetery abominations, most of which just stagger around attacking aimlessly. A piercing bellow in the distance draws her attention, and as she turns, she sees the titanshell pinning a jellyfish monster under its tremendous foot before ripping its head in half. The yellow light in the monster's eyes die and the swarming tentacles go limp.

Camellia flits out of the front lines and hurries over to Nysse like a moth to a flame. The goddess looks at her strangely for a second.

"What are you doing here?"

"Fighting," Camellia replies. "Should I be somewhere else?"

"No, I suppose not. You are hardier than I expected." Nysse lays a hand on her shoulder. "Go to the Ocean District. Get Drew and go to the center of the city as fast as possible."

"The center?" Camellia says. "There's so much poison there. What about Karos? We won't—"

"Then hover over it until I give a signal. Hurry. We have to move quickly."

Nysse squeezes her shoulder and takes off at a run. Behind her, she hears the concussive blast of Camellia taking off. Nysse pumps her legs harder. Each footstep leaves a burning mark in its place. She passes by the spot where Luke lounges, still unconscious, and the air is swollen with fury. He'll be waking up soon. She slows to a stop in the Cemetery District.

"Scott!" Nysse cries. "Scott, are you here? Answer me!"

A howl splits the air and a black shadow erupts from the rubble. It pools in front of Nysse and drags itself up to its full height.

"Oh," she says, recognizing him after a second. "I see. Well, come with me. We're going to the center of the city."

"The center?" Scott says. "What about all that poison?"

"I can hold it off for a while. Now hurry. Camellia and Drew are waiting for us."

Scott decides it would be best not to ask questions. Nysse takes off at such a blistering pace that Scott can only keep up by flying. Nysse moves straight ahead, barreling through rubble and concrete like a juggernaut. Seconds later, the air begins to choke at Scott's non-existent lungs, and he realizes he's losing strength from everywhere on his body at once. When he falters, Nysse grabs him by the claw and pulls him forward.

They reach the scarred center of the city a few moments later. Near the titanic ruins of Riel's throne is a particularly black piece of land; two boot prints and a hole just big enough for a sword are seared into the ground. Scott looks away.

Starfield light fills his vision. Scott shields his eyes as Nysse summons an immense amount of cosmic energy. She presses her hand down slowly and the yellow clouds around them billow outward and away. The air becomes clean and breathable. Scott looks at the ground and feels a distant pang of nostalgia: six different grounds meet at one single point. The tiny point he remembered has widened to a small circle, just enough for a man to stand on without his shoulders sticking out. It's then that he realizes Gerrich is sitting lazily across from them. Under his arm is a slab of marble.

"Have you been waiting long?" Nysse says.

"No," Gerrich answers. "Not that it matters. The poison was good training for my lungs."

Camellia descends from the clouds and lands on the ground, Drew safely on her back. He hops off and wobbles slightly as he lands. Neither miss the enormous shadow looming behind Nysse's back.

"What's Salvation doing here?" Camellia says.

"Ah," Scott says, suddenly self-conscious. "Right. I have some explaining to do."

While Scott explains what happened, Nysse takes the marble slab from Gerrich's arm and places it in the small circle in the ground. Gerrich, curious, leans over the goddess. She holds her hand out impatiently, waiting for something. Gerrich reaches into his pocket and produces the emblem of Cebral, god of the Ocean, which she takes and fixes into its place on the marble slab.

The planet quakes at the insertion as the emblem glows with brilliant power.

"Hey," Drew says, moving over to the Nexus. "What's going on here?"

"The final stage," Nysse replies as Camellia and Scott crowd around her. "Gerrich, the emblems, and quickly. He's waking up."

As each emblem is inserted, the planet shakes and the emblem glows bright and strong: Deion, god of the Peaks; Magnus, god of the Cemetery; Apalon, god of the Plains; Kalax, god of the Woods; Chaldir, god of the Ruins; Cebral, god of the Ocean. All six emblems shine intensely. Only one spot remains in the center.

Nysse reaches around her neck and pulls out the emblem of Tetrask, god of the Cosmos, attached to a string necklace. She traces its face for just a moment, and then she inserts the final emblem into the center of the slab and completes the codex.

The slab sinks slightly into the ground and then rotates, and as it does, the emblems are pushed into each other such that they make a hexagon. The light from each emblem overlaps and spills into a brilliant pool of color and light. The Heroes, Nysse, and Gerrich all back away from the immense outpouring of energy.

"Ah, wonderful timing!" someone shouts triumphantly.

Nysse turns. Max and Sorsaren stand a few paces away. The bright yellow scar on Luke's face has widened and angry yellow veins spiderweb up his throat. He looks around in confusion. Nysse spreads her arms protectively in front of the Heroes as they, too, turn to see who's behind them.

"Gerrich," Nysse says absently. "You should leave."

The bandit is quick to slip away. Max regards him indifferently as he passes.

"I know why you're here," she continues. "I won't let you have whatever it is you came for."

"You know, I planned on asking nicely," says Max. "If I get the Seed from Renea, this can all be over. It could have been over ages ago if you'd have just let us take the Seed when we first got here, but instead, all those old dead gods no one cares about anymore decided to pick a fight. Guess who got stuck as a janitor on extended clean-up duty?" His eyes fill with hatred. "You have been making my job so difficult until now. I don't have any more patience. I'm going to enjoy—"

"Hey guys?" Drew says, leaning over the Nexus. "Any idea what this little black thing is? It kinda looks like..."

"Wait!" Max screams. "Don't touch—"

Drew reaches into the light and he, Camellia, and Scott vanish in a flash of black lightning. A momentary pause, then Nysse faces Max and Luke expectantly.

Max lays a quiet, shaking hand on Luke's shoulder. "Wipe this miserable planet out of existence."

# Interlude Three

## A Hopeful Future

Somewhere far from Renea

"Are you still with me?"

Camellia turns her attention back toward Stanley. He's waiting for an answer.

"Yes," she replies. "Yes, I am."

They continue walking along the quiet street. After an eventful dinner and an impulsive request to walk the city together, Camellia finds it difficult to keep a conversation moving. The topics are all too obvious: the dinner, work, school, the weather... Even the _very_ obvious. As hard as she tries to think of something meaningful to say, she can't think of anything at all. She fidgets with the diamond ring on her finger; it feels heavy and unnatural on her hand. It will take some getting used to.

"You're looking very serious right now," Stanley says.

"Sorry," Camellia replies. "I'm trying to think of something to say, but I guess I don't know." She fidgets with the ring.

Stanley reaches out and knits their hands together. "It's warm, don't you think?"

"It is." She pauses. "Things will be different, huh?"

"Yes, but you don't have to worry. I've thought it all through already. We'll have to file a marriage license and get someone to witness it. There will be a waiting period, but we'll be approved without issue."

"Stanley."

"I'm sure taxes will be different, too. There's also the question of bank accounts, whose name is going on what when we buy a home, whether one or both of us are changing our last names..."

" _Stanley_." Camellia pushes him playfully. "I meant the stuff we don't sign or file for. The fact that I'm your wife-to-be and you're my husband-to-be. Won't we take things more seriously now? Or will things just stay as they are?"

"I don't know. I've never been married before." Stanley thinks for a moment. Then, "Let's move out of the city."

"And go where?"

"Someplace neither of us has been before. Once you finish your degree, we can leave and open a new chapter in our lives, maybe even change states. I can get transferred or maybe find a new job entirely. The finance sector is very big, you know." He pauses. "If you want to leave, that is."

"Well, they say not to do too many big things at once. Let's focus on this first." She squeezes his hand as emphasis. "And take the rest as they come."

"We could start a family, too," he says. "Of course, they'd do better in the suburbs. City schools—"

"Hey." Camellia pushes him again. "One thing at a time."

Stanley pulls to a stop and Camellia follows his gaze across the street. A single cement building with a wide parking lot stands by itself with a dimly lit marquee in the front: John's Cards and Comics. The building's windows are completely dark. A hanging sign in the window says Closed. The doors are chained up and locked tight; they look like they haven't been opened in years.

"When was the last time we saw this place?" Stanley wonders aloud.

"Must have been high school," Camellia says. "It looks abandoned."

"I remember Luke saying that John went out of business a long time ago. I wonder if he still remembers us, wherever he is."

"Speaking of remembering"—Camellia points to the parking lot—"do those faces look familiar to you?"

" _My_ shooting was good?" Drew says, incredulous. "You were the one with the bull's eye on that final round! I don't think I've ever seen a carny so annoyed at someone beating his game twice in one night."

"I couldn't help it," Bennie says, trying to sound modest. "That little girl wanted the bear so badly; I just had to get one for her too."

"What are you going to name yours?"

Bennie lifts her little brown teddy bear and thinks for a moment. "Mr. Fuzzy."

"Really?"

"Hey, no one said _you_ had to like it."

"Oh no, it's a great name!"

Bennie grins at him. "So?" she says sweetly. "Why the big night out? What's the surprise?"

Drew hesitates for just a second too long. Bennie catches on immediately. "Alright, then what's the bad news?"

"There's no _bad news_."

"You call me and take me out on a whim, treat me to dinner and take me out to the carnival at the pier, then want to walk the city with me. I was thinking there would be a surprise, but now I'm guessing you have something bad to tell me; I just wish you hadn't done this on a night that made me very happy."

"I'm trying to tell you there _is no bad news_!"

Bennie stares at him for a second. "Are we breaking up?"

"What? No!"

"Are you going to propose?"

"Well, maybe in the future, but—"

"And you're not pregnant, right?"

Drew runs his hands through his hair. "Why would _I_ be pregnant, I'm—"

He stops when he sees Bennie's tight, smug smile. She has Mr. Fuzzy tucked protectively behind her back and her posture suggests she already knows that Drew is neither pregnant, going to propose, nor is here to break up. The tenderness in her eyes makes it even harder to tell her the truth.

"I got a call from my recruiter," he says slowly. "When I went in today, he had paperwork for me to join the Army."

Bennie's smile fades.

"I went ahead and signed the paperwork. I go to basic in a month and a half."

"And your deployment?" she asks.

"I won't know until after basic."

She scrapes her foot absently against the pavement. "I see."

Neither can muster the strength to say anything.

"I want you to be a part of this," Drew says. "I don't want to shut you out just because I'm pursuing my dream. I want to make this work, whatever it takes."

"It takes you not going away," Bennie says bitterly.

"You know I can't do that."

"Well, I can't just drop everything and go with you! I have a life here: friends, a family, a job! And don't tell me you'll visit every weekend because I know you won't. You'll be busy chasing some... Some military skirt with long legs—"

"Bennie, come on..."

"And what about combat! Shooting people? What if you get shot too? What am I going to do when you're 3000 miles away, wait for a form letter in the mail? 'Dear Ms. Balachie, we regret to inform you that Drew King died today.' Do you have any idea what that would do to me?"

"Bennie—"

"No!" Bennie finally cries. "No, I'm..." She backs away. "I'm not doing this."

She runs. Drew chases, calling her name. His pre-military conditioning pays off as he jogs after her quick bursts of sprints. When she stops to catch her breath, Drew continues to run. Bennie takes random turns at random street corners, sliding through alleys and business parks, and even doubles back a few times. Still he pursues, and it isn't until Bennie screeches to a halt in an abandoned parking lot that he plods to a stop a few feet away and waits. She whirls around, face red, eyes wet and hot, and pulls her arm back, her teddy bear with its little red bow hanging limply by the arm.

"I'll hit you," Bennie threatens. "I swear to God, I will beat you to death with this stupid bear."

"Hey," Drew says softly. "You'll make Mr. Fuzzy cry if you do that."

Bennie makes a sound of distress and hugs Mr. Fuzzy tightly against her chest. Drew slowly approaches her and puts his arms around her, holding her in the small of her back. Bennie lets go of her teddy bear and wraps her arms around Drew, squishing Mr. Fuzzy between them.

"I don't want to lose you," she says. "I'm scared that if you go away, by bullet or by bureaucracy, someone will take you from me."

"No one will ever take me from you."

"You promise?"

"I promise, and if they try, I will tear apart reality to find you again."

They don't speak for a long time.

"You know," Bennie mumbles in his shoulder, "if you're going to go shoot people, you'll have to shoot better than you did at the carnival."

Drew lays his face on her head and says nothing. He looks up and, in front of him, a familiar marquee catches his eye: John's Cards and Comics.

Luke Derringer sits backstage at a local bar, waiting for his turn to get on stage and perform. A few minutes ago, Scott had called him to let him know he and Fiona were going to be there to see his act. There's no escaping now that Luke knows at least two people who care about him will be showing up. It hasn't been more than a day since the police asked him to identify the bodies of his parents. And yet here he is, sitting in another hard chair in another dark, cramped area in the back of a forgettable bar, waiting for his turn to get on stage.

Luke looks at his hands. He just lost both of his parents; why is he even here? But if he isn't going to be here, where else would he be? Moping around in a store, maybe, or sitting in the parking lot of his thinking space with the radio on. That should be him right now, shouldn't it? Luke shakes his head and stands up. He's in no mood to tell jokes.

"And now," a voice blasts from the stage, "give it up for our local funnyman, Luke Derringer!"

The curtains part and Luke strides confidently to the microphone, accepting the humble but sincere applause. Scott and Fiona sit in the front together, wide smiles on their faces. There are more familiar faces in the audience than usual; regulars are starting to increase. Luke takes a moment to inspect the crowd, get a feel for their mood, and launches into his bit.

He doesn't tell them that he wrote another list of jokes today while waiting to hear from his family's lawyer about their estate and wills. He doesn't let the audience know that he edited those new jokes while filling out a check for body storage at the morgue. He hides that, tomorrow, he'll have to face the driver responsible for ramming head-on into his parents, and instead tells a joke about golfing.

On his final joke, as Luke prepares the set-up, he finds himself looking at the audience. Everyone is smiling. Scott hasn't had a single drink to calm his nerves. Even Fiona, normally a little resolute, is leaning in with a smile he hasn't seen in a while. They're here to see him, his act, and this moment belongs only to him.

Luke considers changing his last joke to one about his parent's passing. He wants to tell someone, anyone, about his loss. Maybe one of them would even talk to him after the show.

He closes his eyes for a moment.

He gathers his thoughts.

He thinks of his parents watching him in the front row.

Luke delivers his final joke as he planned and, as he says goodnight, is met with a laughing, standing ovation.

He waves to them with a smile plastered on his face. His motions come out mechanical and empty, as if he's watching a movie of himself. He steps back behind the curtain and into the darkness behind him. Luke exits the bar through the back door. The night is warm and heavy. He leans against the building and stares blankly at the concrete.

At the front end of the bar, Scott pulls Fiona to a stop. "I'm going to go check on him."

"How come?"

"Something's bothering him. I could see it on his face."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Well, if it's nothing, it won't take long. If it's serious, it could be a while. You know how Luke is."

"I do. Call me later and tell me where you are, okay?"

Scott nods. He pecks his fiancé lightly on the cheek and hurries back inside. Another act has already begun on the stage—some guy with a huge afro doing slam poetry—and Luke is neither in the seats nor at the bar. Scott manages to find the emcee and learns that Luke went out back. Scott slips out the front and rounds the building. Luke is pressed flat against the building, silent.

"Something on your mind?" Scott says, catching his attention.

"Nah," Luke says, forcing a smile. "Just thinking about... Girls."

"Girls?"

"Yeah, you know, females. I was thinking it's about time I started dating."

"Oh yeah? Got anyone scoped out?"

"I don't know. Maybe that regular who keeps showing up to my bits."

"The one with the freckles you won't stop gawking at?"

"Maybe."

Silence between them.

"Come on, Luke," Scott sighs. "Friends should be honest with each other. I know you're not back here because you're nervous about talking to a girl."

Luke nods his head, gathering his resolve. "It's my parents," he says. "They died yesterday. Car crash."

"Oh." Scott leans next to Luke. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I have to face the guy responsible tomorrow."

"Have you thought about what you're going to say?"

"What do you even say to someone like that?" Luke says. "Are you supposed to be angry? Do you forgive him right away? Do you just say nothing? I was thinking about it while I was on stage tonight and I couldn't figure out what to do."

"I wouldn't know what to do, either."

"You know what's strange? My parents died yesterday, and I went out this morning to buy a gallon of milk as if nothing had happened. I even used a coupon like it was a regular day, and both my parents are gone forever. But I needed milk for the house, so... I guess we do what we have to do, don't we?"

Scott pats his friend on his shoulder and says nothing.

"There's so many things I didn't ask them, you know? My head hurts with everything I never said or did for them. I never told them I loved them enough and I'm worried they didn't know just how important they were to me. Maybe they'd be able to tell me why all of this is happening. I wish I had answers."

"Well," Scott says slowly, "I was once told that life's not about having all the answers—that sometimes, staying in the dark is the brightest thing to do."

Luke nods and pushes himself off the building. "I think I'm going to go," he says. "I've got things I want to do."

"Nothing drastic, I hope."

"Nah, it's fine. I'm just... I'm driving someplace to think."

"Got room for one more?"

Luke grins. "Yeah, why not. I've been meaning to share it with you anyways."

Luke and Scott walk to Luke's car. Scott pops the passenger door open and slides into the seat as Luke starts the engine.

"Where are we headed?" Scott asks.

"Someplace familiar," Luke says. "Years later and I still can't pull myself away from John's card shop."

"You're right," Stanley says. "They do look familiar. Should we go say hi?"

"Of course," says Camellia.

The pair crosses the quiet street and walks up to the other pair who are busy hugging and saying things in soft voices. Camellia gives Stanley a hesitant look, but the man continues walking and clears his throat politely. Drew and Bennie, surprised, both nearly jump out of their skins.

"Oh my god! Hey!" Bennie exclaims, slinging her arms around Camellia, Mr. Fuzzy nearly flying out of her grip.

"Drew King," Stanley says fondly, meeting his friend's handshake. "How the hell are you?"

Each other exchanges salutations, pleasantries, and catching-ups. A few moments of quiet pass between them and there's an unspoken understanding of the situation: Camellia and Stanley on one side of the group, Bennie and Drew on the other. Camellia goes for Stanley's hand and Drew subconsciously goes for Bennie's. They each realize how much older everyone has become in the years since high school.

Seconds later, a car drives up and into the parking lot. The four of them turn, curious, and are all surprised when Scott and Luke get out of the car together. Scott and Luke are equally surprised. There's another few moments of meeting and pleasantries where Scott reveals he's engaged and Luke reveals he's still doing comic acts and is finally gaining traction in the community.

"I thought your show was going on right now," Bennie says. "What brought you out here at this hour?"

"I needed a place to think," Luke explains. "This is where I usually go and this time Scott decided to come with me. What about you guys?"

"Bennie and I had a fight," Drew admits. "I chased her here."

"Stanley proposed tonight," Camellia says. "We were walking when we saw the card shop, and then we saw Drew and Bennie."

"What a coincidence," Scott says.

"Could be destiny," Luke jokes. "You know, any night is a good night for fate."

In the space between time, Stanley Lockwood lets out a sigh of relief. In his hand is a legendary staff made from pure silver; its head is made of an unfurling flower, out of which spills a steady stream of light. Once he learned he was unable to interact with the other side, watching and observing became much easier. He dismisses his legendary staff, Getias, content with what he's seen. The rest is up to the people on the other side.

Something tugs at his chest. It's time to go.

He takes out a tiny red box with rusty silver hinges—a gift from a kind stranger, one he barely remembers. Stanley pops the lid open and pulls out the contents: a single black-and-white photograph showing six people holding each other tight, laughing, smiling. Warmth, friends. Life. He touches the photo fondly.

Stanley looks over as a new break in space-time opens. This one is different from the others. The history it holds isn't the same as the one he knows. In it, a Mountaineer woman is hard at work in her office, her back turned, her face hidden. Stanley closes the red box and approaches. He slips his arm through the rift and lays the red box on the table behind her. He holds his hand there for just a second longer, unwilling to let go, and finally does.

Something tugs at his chest again, hard than last time. Stanley leans into the feeling and is swept away.

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

## The Man Pulling the Strings

In a space which is neither Renea nor Earth

Drew King is the first to arrive in the waiting room.

When the bright light clears and he can see again, he finds himself in a room floored with red carpet and decorated in blues and golds. Expensive mahogany chests and armoires are pushed eloquently against the red and gold walls. Fancy red and gold armchairs sit around an lit fireplace, above which are rows of books of all colors. A long stretch couch, another few chairs, and a footrest are positioned around a long darkwood table. The table is adorned with napkins, plates, cups, forks, knives, and refreshments of all kinds. Cheeses, vegetables with dipping sauces, light sandwiches, fruit medleys, crackers, fresh coffee, hot tea, cold tea, and even citrus-infused water—for a second, Drew doesn't recognize what he's looking at. Then, like flipping a switch, he's suddenly aware of how familiar the room is. He looks down at his clothes, dirty and ragged from the fight with Karos, and finds himself unable to sit on any of the nice couches and chairs.

Drew realizes his fist is closed tightly. He turns it over and opens it palm-up: sitting in his hand is a tiny black die. The dice is black and is speckled with shiny white sparkles like the night sky. There are dot indicators for the sides, numbering one through six, colored in red.

Seconds later, a peal of light fills the room and a storm of shadows collapses on the rug. Scott Cornot has entered the waiting room.

As Scott gets to his feet—or what amounts to his feet—Drew can only look around the room in wonder. Scott observes the room for a second, but when his gaze falls on the table filled with food, he's quick to glide past Drew and pile up a plate and fill several cups.

Camellia Agnelli enters the waiting room next, but she doesn't fall, retaining her nimble footing and stopping behind Drew. From over his shoulder, she marvels at the sight of the clean reds and golds and blues, used to the dirt and bark of the trees in the Woods. Camellia moves past Drew and fills a cup with hot tea. She takes a seat in one of the chairs around the darkwood table and sips quietly.

"Is no one going to say anything?" Drew says against his will.

Scott looks up, a plate in one hand and a cup in the other. Camellia glances up as well.

"Is no one going to ask how we got here? Where is 'here' anyways? What happened to Monarch? Where is everybody?"

Scott looks around the room, then says, "Who knows?"

"Who knows—! Scott, seriously? Aren't you going to ask any questions?"

"Look"—Scott puts his food down—"someone had to bring us here, right? Or maybe we brought ourselves here, I don't know. What I do know is there's a whole spread of food sitting here and I'm famished. I'm going to take a break and gather my thoughts before I start asking questions, namely about that door in the wall."

Drew turns around. The door behind him has no handle; it could have just as easily been painted on to the wall.

"No handle," Drew reports flatly.

"Maybe it only opens from the other side."

"Then how would you get in and out?"

Scott shrugs.

Drew sighs and grabs a plate, knowing he won't get anywhere at this rate. As he reaches for some cheese, a ribbon of pink-white light appears and Stanley Lockwood steps smoothly into the room. Drew, Scott, and Camellia all get to their feet. For a moment, everyone is thinking the obvious, until they see the look of clear confusion on Stanley's face. A moment later, Stanley suddenly notices he's not alone in the room.

"What are you all doing here?" he says, surprised.

"Us?" Camellia says. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I was called here. Where is Scott and Bennie?" Stanley glances at the enormously tall shadow creature standing next to Drew. "And what is _that_?"

"It's Scott," Scott says. "Trust me, it's a long story."

"Well," Stanley says, looking around, "maybe you should tell it. It doesn't appear we're going anywhere soon."

Stanley, Scott, Drew, and Camellia all sit down together around the darkwood table and share their stories with each other. The three Heroes explain what happened after he disappeared, detailing the fights with Stark, Karos, and Retribution. They talk about the camp that formed around them and about what happened to Bennie. Scott explains twice over what happened to him and tries unsuccessfully to shape-shift into his human self. Stanley, though he initially fumbles his words due to everything that was told to him, talks about the time he spent in emptiness and space observing "fantastic sights I cannot put into words", though he avoids revealing what he saw in the other version of Earth. As they talk and catch up, they continue to snack on the refreshments provided for them, and not once does it appear that the refreshments will run out. The hot tea remains hot and the cold tea remains cold. One time, Drew takes a piece of fruit and swears he sees it replace itself on the tray, but he dismisses it as a trick of the light.

When both sides have finished their stories, the air between them becomes awkward and dry. Stanley sits across from his companions, leaning over his knees with his fingers knit together, the darkwood table between them.

"I never thought it would happen to us," he finally says. "It never once occurred to me that we could lose one of our own."

"Everyone nearly lost their lives," Drew says, trying not to touch his necklace. "I guess it was only a matter of time until someone couldn't make it back."

"I'm sorry for abandoning you all. If it had been up to me, I would have come back as soon as I left."

"Why don't you go back, then? We're all still waiting for you."

"Time doesn't work like that."

"I thought you said it did!"

"I didn't know any better."

Drew shakes his head. "What good are you," he mutters.

"Speak up if you have something to say," Stanley challenges.

"I said, what good are you? You left when we needed you most and when you finally do show up, you can't even go back to fix things like you said you could. So, you know what, what good _are_ you? All you've done is be useless and break promises. Why did you even come back anyways? We got by just fine without you."

"Clearly not, seeing as Bennie is dead and Scott no longer has a body."

Drew gets to his feet.

"Both of you, cool it," Scott says, pushing them apart with immensely long arms. "If we're going to be stuck in here for a while, we might as well stop pointing fingers and try to get along. I can't believe I have to act like a dad when there are four adults in the room."

Drew stalks off to the other side of the room and sits in a golden chair, shaking his head. Stanley moves to the unlit fireplace and takes a book off the bookshelf.

"Drew's right," Scott says, settling next to Camellia. "I hate to admit it, but we really did get by just fine without him. Stanley's been gone for so long that our whole dynamic is different now. What do you do when someone hasn't been in your life for a long time, and then they suddenly show back up? How do you adjust to that?"

"I don't know. How do you adjust to anything? It starts out unnatural and weird, and after a while it's simply a part of your routine." She nods to Scott's shadowy form. "Like adjusting to that."

"You know what the weirdest part is?" He holds up a hand. "Having only four fingers."

Camellia looks at him strangely. "I see five."

Scott looks at his own hand and sees that, indeed, his four shadow claws have separated into five slender fingers. Even the slight haze around them has cleared. They're beginning to look human.

Stanley clears his throat from the bookshelf. "Scott," he calls. "A minute in private, please."

Scott glides over to his friend and tries not to stand too close or appear too tall.

"You don't believe in fate, right?" Stanley says.

"At this point, I don't know what to believe in."

"Neither do I. If there is a destiny we all have or share, or if there is nothing ahead of us but the path we make, I don't think I wish to know. Unfortunately, not all our wishes can come true. When the time comes, will you trust me completely?"

"I can try."

"Guys!" Camellia suddenly says, getting to her feet. "The door!"

Drew, Scott, Stanley, and Camellia all crowd around each other and hurry over to the only door in the room. A brass handle is fixed in place where there wasn't one before. Hanging from a single nail in the door face is a wooden sign that reads "MPTS. In Office."

The Heroes look at each other. MPTS: the Man Pulling The Strings. The one responsible for bringing them here, for sending them on their quests, for trapping Stanley outside of time, for poisoning Luke, for killing Bennie—the criminal mastermind, the darkness behind the curtain.

The boys all look to Camellia, silently urging her to take the honor. Camellia reaches out and gingerly places a hand on the knob; it's cool to the touch.

She turns the knob and the door opens quietly.

The room behind the door is not as impressive as the waiting room behind them. The carpet is white short-texture shag. There is a remarkably small minibar set against one wall with three polished, pristine glasses; a fourth is speckled with hard water stains. On the other wall is a well-stocked bookcase with glass doors and brass handles.

A plain darkwood desk is wedged against the wall with the minibar. A simple black office chair, turned away from the door, sits behind it. A computer monitor, keyboard, and mouse are on the side of the desk closest to the bar. A telephone and a desk lamp are on the other end, near the bookshelf. Beyond the desk and the chair is a darkness so dense it feels like a physical presence in the room. It's impossible to tell what, if anything, is beyond it.

The lamp on the desk pops on ceremoniously, shedding a tiny pool of warm yellow light on the desk and floor in front of it. The chair turns around on a swivel, revealing a man in a neat black suit with a velvet black bowtie. His shirt is pressed and white. In his breast pocket is a red flower; its petals spiral hypnotically into themselves, cornering off at impossible angles like a fractal in a whirlpool.

"Well," the man says, "I'd tell you all to take a seat, but I don't have chairs. Ah wait, yes I do. Come on in."

The Heroes find themselves seated comfortably in chairs they don't remember sitting down in. Scott throws a look over his shoulder and finds the door to the waiting room is still open. He's not restrained in the chair in any way. He can leave whenever he wants.

"So!" The man claps his hands together. "Before we begin, you can call me 'Sir.' I am a professional, after all. Who wants to go first? Oh, Camellia wants to start. And better you than that other one who got in here earlier! What an annoying visitor. No manners at all. I had to give them some visions and a little bit of power just to get them out of my office, but it worked out wonderfully. They provided some ample entertainment. I digress, I apologize, go on. I've been wanting to see every one of you in person for a long time now."

Camellia looks at her friends, bewildered.

"Take your time," Sir says. "You've got an infinite amount of it here."

"Well," she begins slowly. "What is this place?"

"This place, my Tower, is a midway transit hub between the two universes I manage; you could call me a conductor of sorts. By the way, can anyone tell me which way the train travels on a moonlit night?"

The Heroes exchange looks.

"I didn't think so. Another time, then." Sir chuckles at the joke. "I see I'm talking too much. I'll let you all ask the questions. Isn't this just exciting! Go on, ask me anything you want to know. I know what you're going to ask but ask it anyways."

Stanley leans in. "When you say you know what we are going to ask..."

"Every question, every chain reaction into your future that you cause by blinking slightly later than you should or changing to a certain position in your seat—I see it. I know what you will ask next, what you said two hours ago, and what your futures will be like."

"Then you must be him," Stanley insists. "You're the man pulling the strings."

"Good heavens, don't give such an ostentatious title to someone who isn't nearly that important. I'm a Manager: Protector of Time and Space. I watch over the Septaverse and Terraverse. If the many, many universes are a great company covering a planet, I'm the manager of exactly two local regions. What is within my power goes up to, but does not exceed, that limitation."

"Are we dreaming?" Scott asks.

"You're always dreaming. But, in the sense you mean, no—you are not dreaming."

"Are we dead?" Drew blurts out.

Sir sucks in a breath as if trying not to spoil the ending to a good movie. "Not yet?" he tries. "You'll die eventually?"

"Why are we here?" says Camellia.

"Ah, the pinnacle question. Why are any of us here? Because we _are._ In your case, for your question, you're here for a very specific reason, but if you don't know why even after coming so far, I don't see why I should tell you. You are smart people, after all. I'm sure you can figure it out."

"Can you bring back the dead?" Drew says suddenly. The air in the room changes; Sir looks at him curiously, and though Drew knows the question is already unspoken, he forces himself to air it. "Can you bring Bennie back to us?"

"Someone wise said it best," Sir replies. "Death is a threshold no one is powerful enough to return from."

The conversation dwindles. None of the Heroes can fish out a question that they don't immediately second-guess or provide an answer for, and after a moment, Sir breaks the monotony by turning to Drew and asking him what is in his pocket.

Drew reaches into his pocket and pulls out the black dice he found earlier. "Do you mean this?"

The dice vanishes in a wisp of white light, catching the Heroes' attention.

"Yes," Sir says. "Thank you for returning that to me."

"What was it?"

"We in the business call it a Seed. It's a way for managers, executives, and conductors of all kind to play the only game that satisfies us: creation, destruction, and rebirth. That was a particularly important Seed that I dropped while making the Septaverse, so I sent in some help to retrieve it—in fact, all of you have met them at one point. They didn't return on time, so I decided to check in on them. I was quite surprised to see that a planet had formed around the Seed and was teeming with life. My help arrived on the planet a little later than I wished, and when they did, well, I'm sure you know the rest." He shrugs. "It made no difference to me. I knew you would get it back for me as soon as I had dropped it, so I just waited and enjoyed the show."

"You knew we would come here?" Drew asks.

Sir nods.

"And you knew about everything we'd have to do to get here? The sacrifices we'd have to make?"

Sir nods again.

Drew stands up, knocking over his chair. Scott is quick to get up and put a restraining hand on Drew's chest.

"You knew all those people would die?" Drew says. "You knew about the war, about the destruction of Monarch, Bennie... And you just let it happen?"

"I did. I knew exactly what would happen in the exact chain of events it happened in. You see, that universe is a garden and I am its caretaker. The events that populate it are like beautiful flowers and trees, made to be loved and nurtured and appreciated. I can pressure the flowers, bend the trees, even cut them all down if I wished. But it is much more interesting to watch it grow on its own."

"You let all those people die!"

"And yet there are numerous more prepared to step into their shoes and write their own stories. Should one flower die, it will be replaced by ten. That is the nature of life."

"You son of a bitch. You could have prevented Bennie's death—"

"Her death is on you four," Sir interrupts. "Bennie didn't die with other groups."

"What are you talking about? What other groups?"

"How many iterations of yourself do you think I'm talking to right now?" Sir asks politely. "How many different versions of you do you think are asking me the same questions, or different ones? One or two, maybe? Two thousand? Ten thousand? How many iterations are the same, and how many are different? Do you think all of these chairs are filled, or are some of them empty? Is it impossible for you to believe that Bennie survived in a world not so different from your own?"

Drew is unable to answer.

"Look," Sir says, addressing the room, "your purpose here isn't to understand the things that I do. Your purpose is something you're all aware of, but none of you will say what it is. Why don't you go into the waiting room and talk it over? I'll still be here when you're ready."

Before anyone can say anything, the Heroes are back in the waiting room. Sir's office no longer has a door handle and the hanging sign now reads "MPTS: In a Meeting." Drew mutters something sharp under his breath and walks off to the other side of the room, slumps into a chair and leans on his hand.

Stanley, Scott, and Camellia stand around for a few moments, each hoping the other will say something. Scott eventually slips away to a different corner of the room and stares at his hands. Camellia decides to sit.

"Why _are_ we here?" she asks. "What's our purpose? We made it this far, so is this the end? Are we here because we completed our adventure?"

"You know," Stanley says, sitting across from her, "we could be here because we have one last choice to make."

"What choice?"

"Well, think about it. None of us could leave Renea up until we were called to this place. Sir took us out of an entire universe, and if he can take us out of one, he should be capable of putting us into another. We have a choice, now. We can go back to Renea, or we can go back to Earth."

Across the room, Drew perks up a little bit. He looks over his shoulder.

"Only the four of us could go back, of course. People would ask questions about Bennie and Luke, but I'm sure he could make it like it never happened—make sure no one remembers they ever existed. We could go home and return to our normal lives before all of this happened."

"But what about Renea?" Camellia says. "The people there are counting on us to come back and finish the war."

"The war _is_ finished," Drew says, seating himself in the chair next to Camellia. "All of our Adversaries have been beaten. We took the Seed from Renea. Nysse is still alive. They have everything they need to succeed. They don't need us anymore."

"I'm guessing you want to go back to Earth?"

"Absolutely."

Camellia looks across at Stanley. "And you?"

"Frankly, I would rather go to Earth, but I understand that our job on Renea is not finished."

Camellia folds her hands together before speaking. "I think we should go back to Renea."

"And do what?" Drew says. "What's down there for us, anyways?"

"Luke's still down there," Scott says firmly, suddenly looming behind the three of them. "And, as I keep trying to remind you all, he's our friend and he's still in there."

"Luke isn't the only reason I would go back," says Camellia. "What about Jinas, Nysse, the legacies and friends we all left behind? What about our mentors? We've carved a history into that place that will never fade away. We owe them an ending to our story."

Drew scoffs. "We don't owe them anything."

"Excuse _me_?" Camellia says, becoming upset. "Those people gave us everything! Food, water, shelter, advice, companionship—people died for us, Drew, and you should know because you patched them up yourself. How dare you say we suddenly don't _owe_ them anything!"

"So what if they gave us everything!" Drew counters angrily. "We never asked them to do any of that for us! Our first and only goal when we came here was to see who among us was the strongest at the end of our quests, remember? We didn't ask them to fight and die for us. We didn't ask them for favors or even for a little bit of help; it was always given freely, without guilt or belief of repayment. We got swept up in a mess we didn't make and now you're arguing we have to go back and clean up the rest of the trash they left behind? This war was never ours to fight. We should be focusing on _going home_ instead. Did you all forget we have homes back on Earth? Friends and family, too?"

"Running away never solved anything."

"Oh, get off your soap box. I'll be damned if I'm going to let any of you dictate to me what I ought to do with my life. We don't deserve any of this."

"Then tell me, what did we deserve?" Camellia demands.

"A chance to choose, like the chance Sir is offering us now. Never once did Mr. John, the gods, or anyone else offer to send us home—not even as a courtesy, just in case we weren't sure. Every single time we learned about a problem, they expected us to fix it even though we didn't cause it. They have done nothing but demand things from us ever since we arrived and we were stupid enough to buy into their sweet lies. Well I've had enough. I'm done helping them and I sure as hell am not going to die for them. I'm done being a savior. I'm going home."

Drew gets up and marches up to Sir's office door. He bangs on it loudly, demanding to be let in. The handle doesn't appear.

"Give it up," Scott says. "I'll bet that door stays closed until all four of us can come to an agreement."

"That isn't going to stop me from trying."

There's a moment's pause. "Are you afraid of dying?" Scott asks.

"What?" Drew exclaims. "That's such a stupid question."

"Then why are you afraid to go back to Renea?"

"I'm not afraid to go back. I just don't think what's waiting for us is worth going back to."

"Then why don't we ask Sir to send us back to Renea so we can finish the story, and when he's seen that it's done, have him send us back to Earth?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not? It's a perfect solution."

"It's _not_ a perfect solution."

"What's not perfect about it? We have a real chance to save Renea and bring Luke back to us. After that, we can all go home to Earth. Don't you think that'd be a fitting end for everyone?"

"Why does it have to be us, anyways?" Drew complains. "You heard what he asked me, right? Just how many 'iterations' of us are there? We could be the ones who decided to go home! Let one of our other selves be the heroes!"

"And what if we're the iteration that decides to be heroes?" Camellia says.

"Do _not_ try to manipulate me into this."

"No one's manipulating you," Scott says. "Look, Camellia and I both agree that we should go back and finish what we got dragged into. We owe the Renean people for how much they've sacrificed for us. We need you, Drew. We're bound to get injured and beat up. We'll need someone who can patch us up, tank damage, and dish it out twice as hard. You're the only one who can help us finish this."

Drew puts his fists on his hips and sighs. "You're really not going to give up on this, are you?"

"No. Think about it. One more fight and it's over. You can go back to Earth with no regrets. The absolute second things are finished, we all go home. I promise."

"Fine," Drew says after a moment. "Fine, let's just get it over with. But as soon as we're done on Renea, I'm going right back to Earth, with or without you guys."

Scott looks at Stanley. "Are you in?"

"Yes," Stanley answers. "I think this is a wise plan."

A soft _click_ penetrates the room. The handle to Sir's office has reappeared.

Drew immediately throws open the door and barges into the room. Stanley follows. Camellia and Scott enter the room together and find Drew already in a heated negotiation with the man on the other side of the desk. Camellia clears her throat, catching their attention.

"I know," Sir says before she can say anything. "I was just assuring Drew that he is able to go home. What about the rest of you? What will you do once your story is complete?"

"I'd like to go home as well," Stanley says. "There isn't anything of value for me on Renea."

"I don't know yet," says Camellia. "I need time to think about it."

"I'd need time to think about it, too," says Scott.

"You two are crazy," Drew says. "Why would you want to stay on Renea?"

Scott laughs. "After everything we've been through, why would you want to go back to Earth?"

The four Heroes gather in front of Sir's desk together and push Scott to the front. He looks down at the man behind the desk, but despite his own size, he feels small and insignificant. The darkness behind the desk yawns into infinity.

"Sir?" Scott says. "How many of our 'iterations' chose to go back to Earth instead?"

Sir smiles. "More than a few. The number would mean nothing to you."

Scott looks at his friends behind him, then says, "Take us to Monarch."

No sooner have the words left his mouth than the four of them are back in the center of Monarch standing across from Nysse, Maxillarion, and Luke Derringer.

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

## The Price of Victory

The Nexus, Monarch

Max lays a quiet, shaking hand on Luke's shoulder. "Wipe this miserable planet out of existence."

Before Luke can move, white light fills his vision and Scott, Camellia, and Drew are standing in front of them again. Max looks at them in bewilderment for a second, and then he realizes what's happened and his gaze becomes icy.

"Welcome back," Max says drily. "Did you meet him?"

"What if we did?" Drew challenges.

"I'm surprised you didn't tell on me. I've been doing some bad things down here."

"Don't flatter yourself," Stanley says as he comes around from the back. A silver staff with an unfurling flower is in his hand. "You aren't that important to us."

"And the prodigal son is back, too! Ah, doesn't this bring back memories? The eight of us, together at last—" Max pauses. "Oh, what's this? There's only seven of us. Where oh where is our dear friend Bennie?"

Drew stiffens. He absently touches his necklace.

"Ah, right, she died, didn't she? I wonder if her death will be in vain. After all, the war is finished, but the real fight is right in front of you." Max pats Luke fondly on the back. "Isn't it, old chum?"

"You keep your mouth shut," Drew threatens.

"They're here to kill you, Luke, just like I said. You're too strong for their likings and now they want to cut you down to size. They betrayed you, remember? Are you going to forget that so easily?"

"Luke—" Scott tries.

"They abandoned you," Max hisses. "Not once did they try to save you from your fate. They abandoned you!" Max turns his ire on the Heroes. "Not once did you think to rescue him from the monster that stole his body. You only thought of yourselves, your petty relationships and romances and powers, selfishly neglecting the one person who needed your love most—well, now you're seeing the result of it, aren't you? Luke doesn't need your friendship. He doesn't need your pity. In fact, he doesn't need you at all!"

Luke turns his gaze on Drew. Sadness swells in his eyes. The scar splitting the left side of his face pulses rhythmically. "Why did you run?" he asks. "You ran away."

Drew tenses up. "I don't—"

"Shut up!" Luke screams, cracking the air around them. "You... You're not the same. Where are the friends I knew? What happened to them? Didn't we all believe in justice and honor and heroism?"

"We still believe in it," Camellia says. "Even now."

"No, no you don't, you're just... I don't know who any of you are anymore. Did you all learn nothing from all those years we spent together? What happened to my old friends? Why can't we just go back to John's shop, back to the way things were? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Luke," Scott says slowly. "We can still go home. We can still call this off and go back to Earth."

"And what difference would that make?" Max says suddenly. "You've shown him your ugly underbelly. There's no going back now. He's never going to forgive you."

Luke steps forward. A flash of light cuts him off and Nysse stands in front of him.

"I won't let you do this," she says. "Step away—"

Luke backhands Nysse, sending her rocketing into the distance. He turns his hand over and inspects it disinterestedly; he can see yellow veins sticking out prominently.

One by one, the Heroes summon their weapons: Scott's triple-bladed scythe, Segensa; Drew's trident, Cylon; Stanley's silver staff, Getias; and Camellia's warhammer, Felterre. Luke lets his hand fall to his side and a white spear drops into his fist. He wipes his eyes once. Stanley, Scott, Drew, and Camellia stand together on one side of the battlefield. Luke stands on the other side, alone.

"Whatever you do," Scott says softly, "don't let him touch you."

"Oh my," Max muses, stepping away. "Looks like we'll get to see who's the strongest after all."

In an instant, Luke is upon them.

In the next, Camellia is upon Max.

She takes him firmly by the cloak and slams him to the ground. "You and I," she says, "are going to have a little talk about Ariana."

"No, thank you." Max melts into the dirt. "I'm happy observing."

Camellia turns and launches her fist into thin air. Max materializes with a pained grunt; his sternum's been fractured. He clutches his chest, trying to breathe.

"I don't have anything to say," Camellia says. "I'm just going to hit you until you stop moving."

"Won't be much of a 'talk about Ariana' then, will it?"

Camellia grabs Max before he can blink out of existence.

Luke sweeps wide with his spear. Drew catches it in the prongs of his trident and pins it to the dirt. Luke pulls violently, uprooting his weapon and throwing Drew off-balance.

Scott moves in, slashing with his scythe. Luke slips back, but Scott whips his weapon around and knocks Luke off his feet. Scott chops down hard, trapping Luke's head between two blades of his scythe.

"Don't move," Scott says. "I don't want to hurt you."

Sorsaren puts two fingers under Scott's scythe and pushes, sending Scott stumbling from the enormous force. Sorsaren is on his feet. He holds his spear under his arm and jabs it straight through Scott's chest—

But Scott isn't there. He's standing a few feet away next to Drew and Stanley.

"Please be careful," Stanley says, holding on to Scott's shadowy arm. "I can only react so fast."

Sorsaren plants the butt of his spear in the ground. "You're making this very difficult," he says. He seems to think for a second, then twirls his spear such that he's pointing the head directly at the ground. "I think I'll just end this planet."

Before anyone can act, Sorsaren whips his head to the side and muscles his spear out of position. "Stop it!" Luke yells, stumbling backward. "Don't—"

Sorsaren cracks his neck, regaining control. He dashes at the three Heroes, spear cocked back. Stanley steps forward, his staff held unthreateningly across his chest.

Sorsaren cranks his body into the swing.

Stanley's staff is suddenly in position. Sorsaren's blow clashes with the polished silver and stops completely. Sorsaren's eyebrows lift in slight surprise.

Stanley's staff is suddenly in Sorsaren's face. The monster's head snaps back, splitting the clouds above them. Stanley drives his staff into Sorsaren's chest and Sorsaren reels from the blow. He stabilizes himself on his spear. His yellow scar is starting to crack across his face. The angry yellow veins in his throat throb with furious intensity.

"Stay close," Stanley says to the two Heroes behind him. "This may get difficult."

Across the center of the city, Camellia punches Max to the ground, picks him up, then punches him back down.

"Hey," Max chuckles through his bleeding teeth. "Do you feel like a hero yet?"

"Stop talking."

Camellia picks him up and shuttles him into a block of rubble. She releases him, summons her hammer, and smashes his body straight through the concrete.

When she turns around, Max is sitting leisurely on a stone.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish here," he says. "You're just wasting your energy."

"You'll run out of places to hide eventually."

"I wouldn't count on that. I'm hiding in the spaces between every atom in the universe."

Camellia hoists her hammer over her shoulder. "Then I guess we're going to be here a while." She steps in and crushes him flat with an overhead slam.

"Tell me something," Max says as he leans casually on her shoulder. "You're going against two infinite beings—and, might I add, you're the person least suited to fight against us. Scott can shatter our minds. Stanley can distort time. Drew could probably talk me into giving up and going home. But you? All you know is 'hit bad enemy with big stick.' So why are you doing this? You're not going to win."

Camellia grabs Max's hand, twists around, and breaks his arm at the elbow.

"See what I mean?" Max says, gesturing with his ruined arm. "Do you really expect to do this forever?"

"No; just until I've repaid you in full for every life you've tampered with." Camellia raises her hammer over her head.

She immediately bends out of the way as Max's silver blade flashes where her throat should be.

"I'm not interested in repaying debts I don't have," Max says. "But since I can tell you're serious, how about I make you a deal? Go play with your friends and leave me to spectate. If you beat Sorsaren, I'll let the four of you go with no consequences."

"You're not in a position to offer deals."

"One time offer. If you decline, I'll have to kill you. It would be a shame for someone like you to die alone."

Camellia drops into a dangerous fighting stance.

Max is there in front of her, but she's moved out of the way, and the knife that was supposed to be in her throat hangs in dead air. Camellia counters with a kick that snaps Max's head backwards. He drops to the dirt, dead, and Camellia slips to the side to avoid the blade of his knife at her back. Max moves in for the kill only to have his chest punched open, and Camellia pauses for a moment before dodging Max's next attack that misses her by a hair.

Sorsaren's spear easily knocks Scott's scythe away, blocks Drew's trident, and deflects an instant-speed attack from Stanley's staff. The three Heroes attack from different angles, coordinating their strikes. Stanley is everywhere at once, skipping through time and dealing immense damage with every hit. Scott constantly weaves in and out of spear range, tripping and upsetting Sorsaren's footing. Drew capitalizes on openings and ties down Sorsaren's spear as often as he can.

Sorsaren suddenly bursts into a fury. The Heroes scatter out of range and beams of yellow magic scream wildly across the landscape. Drew takes shelter behind a jagged block of concrete. Scott glides smoothly around and hides next to him, his face slightly hidden by his hood. Stanley appears across from them, sitting in the dirt.

"I don't know if it's just me," Scott says as a stray beam shaves off the top of their shelter, "but I thought I'd be dead by now."

"I was thinking the same," Drew admits. "For an omnipotent monster, he doesn't hit that hard and he's a lot slower than I thought he'd be."

"Luke's body is falling apart," Stanley says. "He's probably become a grossly inefficient channel for the monster's power. I guess even he can't handle Sorsaren's strength."

When the attacks suddenly stop, Drew peeks over the top of their bunker. Sorsaren is frozen in place, his gaze locked in the distance like a man lost in a daydream.

"Why even fight like this?" Drew says suddenly. "If he's so powerful, why not turn us into dust with a wave of his hand?"

"It's Luke," Scott says. "He's still in there, fighting back."

"It has to be because of Max," Stanley counters. "He's the only one who would get enjoyment out of this."

Drew watches as Sorsaren drops the spear and grabs his head. Luke makes a face of agony. Warm blood leaks from his nose. He falls to his knees, burying his forehead in the dirt. The ground crystallizes at his touch.

"Hey," Drew says. "We have an opening."

Stanley and Scott peer over their concrete shield to watch Luke struggle in the dirt.

"I can finish this," Stanley says suddenly. "I only need to hit him once when he's like this."

"Going in alone is a bad idea," Scott says.

"Of course it is. Just don't join me until I give you the signal."

"You're out of your mind."

"Trust me," he says firmly. "I need you to trust me completely."

"Alright," Scott says after a moment. "I'll look for your signal."

Stanley vaults over the threshold and charges. Luke looks up at the sound and Sorsaren moves swiftly to his feet, his spear snapping to his hand. Stanley and Sorsaren vanish, leaving clouds of dirt in their wake. They reappear in the distance, their weapons clashing, then they're gone, and then they're in another place clashing again. With each clash a thunderous boom cracks the air.

Scott and Drew watch the fight in earnest, even though they're unable to follow the speed. One of their clashes drives Drew to the flat of his back and he scrambles to press himself flat against the ground, shielding his head. Scott gives up on following with his eyes and tries to sense them moving, but the slurry of Sorsaren's oppressive magic makes it impossible.

Stanley suddenly appears alone, holding his side. His clothes are ripped up and he's holding on to a rapidly darkening wound. Then Sorsaren is in front of him and his hand reaches for Stanley's face, but Stanley strikes him with his staff, knocking his hand away. Sorsaren moves in and kicks him in the face. Stanley collapses to one side.

Scott starts to move over the concrete barrier, but Stanley looks up and locks eyes with him. He shakes his head and Scott retreats to safety. Drew peeks over the top to see what's going on.

Sorsaren kicks and stomps Stanley disinterestedly as if he were a rock on a gravel road. Stanley's wound begins bleeding more heavily. His face is pale and exhausted. He crawls away limply, then shoots to his feet and suddenly teleports. Sorsaren follows him instantly, knocking the air out of his stomach with his knee. Stanley crumples, wheezing. He vomits in the dirt and turns himself weakly onto his back side. He weakly holds up his staff in defense. Sorsaren stands over him, his spear hanging threateningly at his side.

Sorsaren whips his spear into Stanley's block and the staff cracks. Another attack, it cracks louder, and with a third, Stanley's staff breaks in half. This time, when Sorsaren reaches for Stanley's face, Stanley can't move. The monster closes his hand and lifts him completely off the ground.

Scott leaps over the concrete, but it's too late. Stanley's body fills with yellow light and he vaporizes into ash.

Sorsaren stays motionless, his arm stretched out like a statue, his spear held at his side. Scott watches as the ashes dissipate soundlessly into the wind.

Luke stirs. He drops the spear and looks at his hand, and then he looks around, and then he looks anxiously at Scott.

Drew screeches past him with his trident pulled back for a strike. Scott shakes himself and charges after his friend.

"Wait," Luke says, backing up with his hands in front of him. "Wait a second—"

Drew cracks Luke in the face with the back of his trident. Luke stumbles, then trips over Scott's scythe. He hits the ground and Drew slams his trident through Luke's arm. Luke cries out and he clutches at the wound. Three blades come crashing down, pinning his head in the dirt. Scott and Drew stand on either side of him.

"Wait," Luke tries again, guarding his face with his free arm. "Please—"

"Take his head off, Scott," Drew growls. "I want to watch it roll."

Sorsaren shoves the weapons away and springs to his feet. Scott and Drew engage him from both sides.

Camellia looks over as something crashes into the dirt next to her. She and Max stop their combat simultaneously, intrigued. Luke lies flat on his back in the dirt, struggling like an overturned turtle. Yellow light splits his distressed face. Luke stops struggling enough to catch his breath, as if his body weighs much more than it should.

"Hey," Max says suddenly. "What are you doing?"

Luke looks over only to get distracted by the sight of Camellia. Something heavy settles in his eyes. He pushes himself up so that he's lying on his side, but his arm buckles and he crumples. Camellia notices the wide wounds on his arm. He's bleeding a lot.

"I'm sorry," Luke whispers. "I didn't mean it. I don't want to hurt you guys; you're my friends." He starts crying. "I don't want to do this. Please make it stop."

Camellia turns a hard eye on Max. "What is he talking about?"

"Beats me," Max says indifferently. "All he's done is get in Sorsaren's way."

"I killed Stanley," Luke blurts. "He's never coming back. I killed him. Bennie, too. I killed them both."

Camellia looks over her shoulder. Scott's body, still in Shade form, lays crumpled on the ground. Drew is bent over him, healing what he can with the water he has. Stanley is nowhere to be seen.

"Are you sure?" she says slowly, trying to stall. "Could he have teleported somewhere or tricked you?"

"Impossible," Max brags. "I would know if he was hiding."

Camellia pointedly ignores him.

"I'm sorry, Cammy," Luke says softly. "I'm sorry. I tried to be good. I tried to do the right thing. Please don't say you hate me. I need you to know I didn't mean it. It wasn't me." Luke extends a weak, desperate hand that falls back in the dust. "Please don't hate me. This isn't me. I would never do this."

Camellia looks down at him. His face has splintered and split like cracked porcelain, and the yellow light coming through the cracks pulses like a heartbeat. Blood and dirt is streaked on his arms, hands, face, his tattered clothes. What was once Luke Derringer is now unrecognizable.

"Please," he begs, trying to reach for her again. "Please don't leave me alone."

Camellia realizes the chance she's been given. For once, there is an enemy in front of her who genuinely doesn't want to fight. Her clothes suddenly feel a little less heavy on her tired limbs and resolve swells in her chest. Camellia walks up to Luke, gets down on one knee, and offers him a hand.

"Come on," she says. "Let me help you up."

Luke reaches out to take her hand.

Max buries his knife hilt-deep in her back.

Camellia shoots straight to her feet and heel-kicks Max away. As her foot comes down to land, she wobbles and stumbles to one knee. She sucks in steady, stressed breaths. Her lungs refuse to fill completely.

Max rips the knife out of her back and kicks her in the side. She crumples on the ground, wheezing.

"Do you know what happens when you bleed?" Max says. "When you bleed, you're losing blood pressure. Your veins are designed to keep that pretty red liquid inside you and there's only so much you can lose before your organs start to suffer. I wonder what you would look like if you were to bleed out every last drop. I wonder if the ground could soak it all up."

Luke claws his fingers in the dirt, his face tight in paralyzed agony. Max regards him for a second, then a grin spreads across his face.

"Get up," Max commands, grabbing Luke by the arm. "I've got a job for you."

Max muscles Luke to his feet and forces him over to Camellia. Luke feels his body move against his will, controlled by long strands of magic thundering through his veins. Max passes him his silvery knife. Luke grips the handle distantly; dread fills his stomach.

Luke flips Camellia over on her back and mounts her over her stomach. Camellia starts flailing. Max immediately places two hands on the side of her head, flooding her senses with the heavy anesthesia of magenta magic, cradling her in his lap. She slowly stills like a dog being put to sleep, though tears pool and streak down her face. Luke feels his arm move the knife and he cuts the fabric of her clothes along her left side, exposing her ribcage. Camellia stares at him in silent, petrified fear.

"Listen," Max coos, pulling the hair out of Camellia's eyes. "You're dying right now. You've felt it before, haven't you? You remember this feeling, this warmth and emptiness like a heavy sleep. You were afraid to step into it last time, weren't you? Don't be afraid. You will only die once."

Luke slowly pushes the knife against the space between Camellia's ribs. He tries to restrain himself, and then his arm slowly pushes the blade in. She bucks straight up against him with a silent scream, her eyes wide, panicked, helpless. She kicks and chokes and struggles for a few seconds, then limply collapses. Her warm blood trickles down Luke's arm.

Max rests her head in the dirt and gets up. Luke stares at Camellia's empty eyes. He doesn't dare direct his gaze to his hands, to the knife. His face slowly tries to mimic hers, tries to feel her pain and burn it into his memory, but all he can manage is a nervous, hysterical smile.

Max spots Drew and Scott in the distance. They've stopped a few dozen paces away, stricken by the sight in front of them.

"Come _on_ ," Max demands impatiently. "We still have two left."

Behind him, Sorsaren slowly gets to his feet.

Drew and Scott stand shoulder-to-shoulder as Sorsaren and Max approach them.

Scott looks down at Drew. Drew looks up at Scott's hooded face. It looks almost human.

Sorsaren and Max stop a couple paces away. There's a moment of tension between them.

"Any last requests?" Max says loudly.

"Any chance of calling this off?" Drew asks.

"Absolutely not."

"Figured I'd ask."

"Well, I did call for last requests."

Scott summons his scythe and holds it at his side.

Drew plants the butt of his trident in the ground in front of him.

"Hey," Drew says suddenly. "I'm sorry I ran away when Retribution had you cornered."

Scott glances at him. "You ran?"

"Yeah."

"Ah, it's alright. I would have run, too."

A long pause between them.

"I'm sorry we didn't spend more time together."

"Yeah, me too."

Sorsaren shoots past Max.

Drew and Scott separate instantly.

Sorsaren dives after Drew. Scott is distracted for just a moment until he sees a knife and arm thrust at him from thin air. He grabs the wrist and finds Max attached to the end of it.

A jolt of magic starts up Scott's arm and he immediately releases his grip. Max holds his position for a moment.

"I'm impressed," he says. "You're pretty sensitive for a Shade."

Scott lunges forward.

Drew dips back, ducking Sorsaren's wide, sweeping attacks. He rolls to the side and then rolls backward, avoiding the spear as it smashes into the ground. Drew springs forward and jabs with his trident, poking in and out of Sorsaren's guard. The successful blows chip away at his body to reveal brilliant yellow light underneath it. Sorsaren becomes frustrated. Drew moves to the side as the spear slices up from the ground, cutting a long crevice into the planet that goes on until it hits the horizon.

Drew pulls water from his reserve pack and deluges Sorsaren's face. The water swirls up in an upside-down whirlpool, preventing the monster from breathing. Sorsaren pauses for a second. Drew takes his trident and runs forward, the tip pointed at the monster's heart.

The water bursts into steam and Sorsaren seizes Drew's trident at the center prong. Drew tries to pull it away, but even when he pulls with all his strength, his trident remains in place. Sorsaren tightens his grip and the center prong snaps in two.

Sorsaren knocks Drew's guard aside and kicks him forcefully in the stomach. Drew sails into the air, wretching, and lands awkwardly on a misshapen concrete block. A sickening _crack_ jolts Luke awake. Drew rolls off to the side, seething with pain.

"Hey," Luke says desperately, running over to him. "Hey, come on, not you too. Get up, please. I didn't mean it."

Drew summons his trident and swings it half-heartedly. The attack bounces flatly off Luke's skin. Luke hovers his hands over Drew's twitching body, unwilling to touch him.

Drew pulls water from his reserve pack and streams it over his body. Another sickening _crack_ and Drew cries out as his bones snap back into place. He rolls on his side, away from Luke. They sit in silence for a few seconds.

"Did you do it?" Drew finally asks. He looks over his shoulder. "Did you kill Bennie?"

Luke looks down at his hands. "Yes," he says. "I did."

"Stanley, too?"

"...Yes."

"And now Camellia."

"Yes. I'm sorry, Drew. I'm still in here, honest—"

"Shut up!" Drew shouts. "God, do you ever shut the hell up? You're so pathetic, always crying about how we betrayed you when we haven't done anything wrong. I didn't sign up to solve your problems and now all of us are paying the price."

"I'm sorry, Drew. I'm just... I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can say."

Drew forces himself on his back. He winces before speaking. "No one ever betrayed you. You arrived late, went to the most isolated place on the planet, and unleashed a monster on yourself. Hell, none of us even knew you were here until you blew up Monarch. Why are you pretending like we betrayed you? We don't even know who you are."

Luke says nothing for a moment. Drew looks at him expectantly.

"Why did you run away?" Luke asks softly. "Scott was going to die, and you left him."

"I made the choice to save myself for a fight that mattered more."

"Scott's sacrifice didn't matter to you?"

"I could either save myself or get both of us killed. I did what anyone else would have done."

"No one else would have done that!" Luke cries. "I never would have run away. I would have died by Scott's side without a second thought because he's my friend."

"Don't you call him your friend with all that blood on your hands. You're nothing but a monster." Drew drives his trident into the ground and he struggles to his feet. "I'm going to kill you now. I'll get revenge for everyone you took from me. I'll make you pay for every last one of them."

Drew suddenly lunges forward and Luke leaps away. Drew charges him head-on, his trident aimed at Luke's throat. Luke tries to swipe the trident away with his hand, but his spear materializes instead, and it moves in a surgically precise arc that cuts straight through Drew's stomach.

Drew falls to his knees, holding his stomach tightly. Luke freezes in shock, and then the indescribable horror settles in and his brain goes into overdrive. He throws his spear aside and kneels in front of Drew, trying to help him gather what's been spilled. Drew stares at the ground in disbelief. Yellow ribbons of light snake out from his wound, piercing through his clothes and spider-webbing across his skin.

"What the hell?" Drew says, hunched over, his arms wound tightly around his belly. "What the hell is your..."

His body fractures, yellow light flooding out from inside him, and then he explodes, his body vaporizing completely. Drew's trident, discarded, fades slowly out of existence; not even a shadow is left in the dirt.

But the blood remains, still fresh, still warm, singeing Luke's nose with its oily, copper odor. Luke looks at his hands; they're stained red. He screams, full and throaty, and digs his fingers so deep into his hair and skin that he starts bleeding himself, and his teeth grit so hard his jaw cracks from the effort. Memories of Earth and Renea and all his friends and family scream in his head. Camellia smiling. Bennie clapping his back. Drew passing him the dice for his roll. Stanley giving him a thumbs up. Scott hugging him with joy. Warmth, friends. Life.

"Get up," Max says suddenly. "You have more work to do."

Luke feels his legs move against his will. His body pulls him up, pulls him forward, and forces him to face a tall, shadow-cloaked figure. The figure is hunched and tired, worn out from battle. Scott is the only one left. Max pats Luke on his shoulder comfortingly.

"Go on," he urges softly. "Finish him off for me."

Luke struggles forward. Scott guards himself with his scythe.

Luke advances slowly until he's standing within striking distance of his old friend. He can see the humanity returning to Scott's shadowed face, but the rest of him is still covered in darkness. Luke struggles to breathe with the infinite adrenalin in his veins. Drew's blood drips off his forehead, off his hands. He can feel the urge to vomit struggling to shove past the all-consuming magic inside him.

"Please," Luke begs weakly. "Please kill me."

Scott says nothing. He doesn't move.

"I'm begging you. I can't live with what I've done. Please, kill me."

Still nothing.

Sorsaren suddenly lunges at Scott's throat.

Scott deflects the attack and slides out of range.

Sorsaren steps in with a swing and Luke wrenches himself to the side, directing the blow sideways and sending a cutting blast of energy sailing into the ruins. Sorsaren steps in and moves instantly. Scott instinctively blocks and the impact of the spear knocks him into the air. He gently alights a few paces away.

Sorsaren is upon him and Scott doesn't have a chance to react. The butt of the spear slams into him heavily, driving the energy out of his body. Sorsaren whips his spear around over his shoulder and slams the flat of the tip into Scott's head. The Hero slams face-first into the ground and drops his scythe, which vanishes in a ribbon of light. A soft, pained groan reaches Sorsaren's ears.

Luke watches as Max steps around him and kicks Scott in the face, turning him over on his back.

"Normally, this wouldn't kill him." Max turns and hands Luke the silvery knife. "But you're _omnipotent_. You can do anything. If you will it, this knife will cut straight through time and space." He leans in close to Luke's ear. "He's the last one. Make him pay for what he's done to you."

Luke looks at the knife in his hands. There are still splotches of Camellia's blood on the handle and Drew's on his palms. His body moves as if in a dream and he mounts Scott at the chest. A large, glowing blue light pulses rhythmically where his sternum should be. Luke raises the knife in the air.

"Ah, there we are."

Scott grabs the purple thread between them. Luke physically stops moving.

"About time," Scott says. "I was starting to get worried." He smiles at Luke. "See? I knew you were in there somewhere."

Luke touches the purple thread absently. At that moment he understands Scott, and more importantly, he understands that Scott understands _him_. Scott never quit. He was always waiting for him to come home.

Luke feels something bloom in the deepest part of his being and he smiles, then chuckles, and then he's laughing so loudly that the air around them trembles. The knife falls from his hand and tears dot his eyes, relief and joy making his body glow brilliantly.

"What are you doing?" Max says, annoyed. "Just kill him already."

Luke goes quiet. Then he slowly turns his head and looks at Max. "Max," he says, grinning. "You're a real son of a bitch."

Max visibly stiffens.

Luke explodes forward, tackling Max to the ground and wrestling him flat.

"Get off of me," Max warns, magenta magic streaming from his hands. "This won't end well for you, I swe—"

"You did this to them," Luke seethes, yellow magic dripping out of his mouth like globes of magma. "I'll make you pay. I'll kill you, all of you, everywhere, and I won't stop until there's nothing left but a nightmare in the dark."

"Get off me!" Max suddenly screams, beating Luke's face with his fist. "I order you to get off me, damn you!"

An intense, blazing aura rages around Luke's body, filling the city with a light brighter than the sun. Scott tries to shield his eyes, but the light penetrates right through. His eyes feel like they're burning out of their sockets.

There's a tremendous sound like the shearing of metal, then a long screech, and then a tremendous silence.

The light recedes and all is dark.

For a second, Scott genuinely thinks he's gone blind.

But when he opens his eyes, he can still see.

Scott finds himself still in the ruins of Monarch. Two bodies lay across from him, both unmoving.

Scott crawls over to Luke.

There is no light in his eyes, in his scars, on his face—no heartbeat in his chest. He stares into infinity like a marble statue. Scott closes Luke's eyelids and pats his friend's shattered face comfortingly.

There's sudden movement to his side. Maxillarion is getting up.

He pushes himself into a sitting position and regards Scott first, and then looks at Luke. He looks disappointed.

Neither of them says anything for a moment.

"You know," Max says, "I killed the smartest man in this universe with my own two hands. I asked him if he had seen it coming and he just laughed in my face. I think he knew all of this was going to happen from the start."

Scott gets to his feet.

"I guess it doesn't matter anyways. Luke burned the omnipresence out of me; I've got nowhere to run. I guess it took all of Sorsaren's strength to accomplish a feat like that. Wherever Luke is now, I'm sure he's damn proud of himself."

Scott summons his scythe.

"I won't admit defeat," Max says. "I won't say good job or congratulations. However, I _will_ thank you for making my life just a little more interesting."

Scott cries out and brings his scythe down. The blades rip into Max's body and drive themselves deep into the ground, pinning him flat. Max grips the staff, sputtering blood across the blades.

"You know what the best part is?" he says with a chuckle. "I won't remember any of you at all."

Max's hands fall from the scythe. His head lolls to the side, his eyes slightly open, a grin splitting his face.

Scott falls back on his haunches. The smell of blood lingers on his nose. He looks at the empty battlefield around him, exhausted, triumphant, and alone.

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

## Home

Refugee camp, the Woods

Scott Cornot wakes up in a familiar tent.

The cot, the wash basin, the mirror above it, the familiar personal effects—all indicators that he's back in his old room in the Woods' medical camp. The flap leading in and out has been left open. Scott sits up a little bit; it smells like rain is coming.

He throws his legs over the side of the cot; he catches himself, suddenly aware that he has regular legs. Scott reaches down and massages them. They feel just as real as his old legs, but he knows they're fake. He can feel magic running through them.

Scott gets out of bed and walks over to the wash basin; it's been filled recently. He splashes some water on his face and runs a hand through his hair—hair, another thing that's come back to him. But it, too, despite the feel and texture, is nothing more than a magical projection. He looks in the mirror and sees his old human face looking back at him. He touches his lips, his jaw. His eyes haven't reverted yet. They're still sharp, intense blue. He practices walking to and from the mirror. It looks natural, even feels natural, but he knows what he sees isn't reality. Even his clothes are fake, but they look real: a purple shirt, black pants, and a black overcoat with a crisp, folded collar.

Something catches his eye in the mirror that he hadn't seen before. Scott approaches his bed and looks down at the small shell necklace sitting on the side table. He lifts it up to the light and inspects it, then brings it over to his mirror and clasps it around his neck. He stares right through his reflection, unblinking.

Scott looks over his shoulder, aware that someone is near the tent. Jinas passes through the flap and half-jumps at the sight of Scott standing.

"Oh," he says. "You're awake. Good, I thought it was one of your groupies again."

"Again?"

"All your old fans want to see you. I got tired of throwing them out, so I just left the flap open. Then they stopped wanting to come. I guess it's more fun to break the rules." Jinas sets something down on the medical table. "Your color is looking good."

Scott looks at him strangely. "Aren't you going to yell at me for getting up when I'm supposed to be resting?"

Jinas hesitates. "Nysse said I should let up on you a little bit."

"Oh, alright."

Jinas busies himself at the medical table with nothing for a few minutes. Scott watches him distantly, aware that Jinas has something to say but is unwilling to start the conversation himself. Eventually Jinas turns with words in his mouth, but at the sight of Scott's intense blue eyes, he falters for a second.

"Look," Jinas finally says. "I just wanted to let you know that things are being taken care of for you. Battle reports are already being filed. However, we need to have a record of everything that occurred for historical preservation, even the things that nobody wants to think about, so I need you to..." He waves his hand dismissively after a moment. "Ah, let's not do this here. Come on, we'll walk around outside."

Jinas walks out the front of the tent. Scott half-follows him with slowed footsteps. He's beginning to relive the battle as if it were a dream he had in the middle of the night. Flashes, images, feelings, smells—all floating just outside of Scott's conscience, vivid yet shrouded in a fog. He tries to remember what his friends look like, but their faces are blurred. When he thinks about the battle, his brain directs his thoughts elsewhere. Disquiet settles inside him.

Scott joins his doctor, then briefly looks over his shoulder into his old tent. The tent flap has fallen closed, blocking off the view inside. They start walking.

The camp is exactly as he remembers it, but so much has changed. The air has a tangible lightness it never had before. The streets, slicked with a light rain which has paused for the moment, seem refreshed and clean. People smile and no despair is hidden behind it. Everyone says hello and waves and seems happy to see him.

As Jinas and Scott walk the camp, they talk of nothing of importance. Jinas comments on general affairs, Scott says hello to passerby, and each remarks of the good smells coming from the market. They pass by the area which used to serve as the arena. It's been roped off with a sign in Renean. Scott lingers at the sign.

"What's this?"

Jinas glances over. "Construction zone. We can look through it later. Come on." He continues walking and Scott follows.

"How did I get back to camp?" he asks. "I can't remember anything very vividly."

"Well," Jinas says, "after the fighting finally quieted down, we were expecting a big parade to come charging out of the city with trumpets and fanfare. Imagine our surprise when Nysse comes limping out alone with a Shade on her back."

"Is she alright?"

"She'll be okay with time. She wanted to see you, but she wouldn't tell me when. She just kept saying 'when he's better', and I never know when that's going to be." Jinas stops walking, then quickly hugs Scott. "Thank you for coming back to me."

He pushes himself away before Scott can return it.

"Anyways, listen," Jinas says, trying to act nonchalant. "We have to talk about something difficult. We want to know what you want to do with Camellia's body. It's the only one that we recovered. We couldn't find anyone else." He pauses. "At least, not in one piece."

"Oh," Scott says.

"We had scouts comb the whole city—couldn't find Roger, Drew, or Luke. We found Gabriel in, um, in two pieces. Katrina was in six." Jinas shivers; Scott can feel the bile rise in his doctor's throat. His brain blots out the imagery, but Scott still remembers what was done to her. "Anyone we couldn't find is missing in action unless you can confirm otherwise," he continues. "I'm sorry to bring this up so suddenly. Dammit, I shouldn't have bothered you with it right now. You should have told me to keep quiet. I'm sorry."

A clamor breaks out a short distance away. Scott glides toward the sound, unaware that he's levitating. Jinas chases after him and they stop at a street lined with tents on both sides. Near the middle of the street, Scott sees the three tents which used to belong to Camellia, Bennie, and Drew. A work crew is carefully moving boxes and in and out of the tents down while two familiar faces supervises the ordeal, one leaning on a cane and one surveying things proudly. Scott tries to remember their names.

"Oh," Jinas says, following Scott's gaze. "Right. Gerrich and Kexal are doing this part of the memorial."

"Memorial? What memorial?"

"Now that the war is over, the refugee community is returning to their realms and starting to lay plans to rebuild Monarch. They don't want to just abandon the camp, so they're repurposing most of it as a memorial to the Heroes, dedicated in honor of everyone who fought and died to put Monarch back in Renean hands. You should see the designs for it; it's beyond impressive. They even have plans to put plaques up at every Heroes' favorite spot, like your tent, Bennie's bathing nook down by the river, and the training dummies near the arena. Most things are going to be kept in their original places, but tents need to be cleaned and personal items of historical significance need to be removed before they're looted." Jinas looks at him for a second. "You okay?"

Scott stares at his friends' tents as their canvases comes down and get packed for cleaning. Workers move the furniture and personal items from inside the tents on to carriages towed by four-legged pack animals. Gerrich occasionally helps with a large or bulky item, though he inevitably goes back to leaning on his cane. Kexal keeps supervising, occasionally reprimanding Gerrich for working too hard. They both spot Scott around the same time and give him a friendly wave.

Scott abruptly walks away. Jinas follows him, unable to get him to stop until Scott reaches the marketplace and drops into a seat. At first people crowd around to see him, but at Jinas's stiff insistence, they leave him alone. It takes a while for Jinas to get Scott to talk again.

"Memorial," Scott echoes emptily. "For what? We failed, Jinas. _I_ failed. I'm the only one who managed to survive and if I'd just... If I'd just done something different, maybe five of us would be here instead of just me. Maybe we could have even saved Luke and brought him back." He shakes his head. "Memorials are meant for heroes, not for some kids who got in way over their heads. If not for us—"

"If not for you," Jinas interjects, "Renea would be dust in the wind."

"If not for us, Monarch wouldn't have been destroyed in the first place."

"You could argue this was set in motion eons before you came here. Don't be so hard on yourself. What you've done is worth celebrating, don't you know that?"

"Yes, I know. I know what we've accomplished. I just... It all seems so meaningless now. So petty and small." He shakes his head. "I guess I'm just a little tired. I'll be fine. I need to get some food in me and wake up a little bit. Can we talk later?"

"Sure. I'll... I'll go find something to do."

Jinas leaves quietly.

When Jinas is out of sight, before Scott has time to think, a man sits down across from him—a man he doesn't recognize but is immediately familiar with at the same time. His clothes have changed from a neat black suit to the camp's typical attire. It makes Scott wonder how many times he's seen Sir in the past and never noticed him.

"You know," Sir says, leaning on his fist, "in the _very_ first iteration, the memorial was your idea."

Scott doesn't say anything for a moment. "They're really gone, aren't they?"

Sir nods.

"It doesn't feel real. It feels like I'll wake up tomorrow and leave my tent and Camellia, Drew, and Stanley will be outside waiting for me. I can feel this emptiness inside which is _telling_ me that they're gone, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm simply taking a day off and that I'll see them tomorrow, but when I think about how they're really gone, how they've been removed from my life and I'll never see them again, I feel this darkness strangle me—this panic that climbs up my throat and chokes me." He touches his chest. "I've never felt this before. I have to feel completely numb just to carry on talking."

"Give it some time. You'll learn to embrace the panic, and then you won't feel numb anymore."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know everything."

Scott turns and watches the camp pass them by. Rain begins to drizzle down in a light mist.

"What happened to Luke and Max?" he asks.

"Luke's body disintegrated. He, like your other friends, will leave no trace on this world. As for Max, well..." Sir reaches a closed hand across the table and opens his palm, revealing three dice. One is cyan, one is magenta, and one is yellow. There are dot indicators for the sides, numbering one through six, colored in black. Sir rescinds his hand.

Scott is quiet. He looks at his own hands for a while. They look and feel alien.

"You finished the story," Sir says. "Congratulations. True to my promise, I can send you back to Earth if you want. You wouldn't remember the time you've spent here, the loss you endured. You'll be home, where you belong. All you need to do is ask."

Something inside him leaps at the opportunity. Scott leans in as if to accept, but then he catches the eye of someone who waves at him, someone whom he recognizes from his Cemetery unit, a soldier he led to battle from the very first march on Monarch. Scott closes his eyes. He remembers Camellia, Drew, Bennie, Stanley, and Luke. The weight of the knowledge that he is the last remnant of Earth settles heavily on his mind, and he pushes it back, not ready to face something of that magnitude. After a moment of contemplation, he seems to come to a decision.

"Thanks for the offer," Scott finally says, "but I think I'll stay here for a while."

"Are you sure? This isn't an offer I'll make twice."

"I'm sure. How could I go home to a world without them?"

"Fundamentally, they're no different. Both places exist without your friends in them."

"There would be living in a dream. Here, at least I know that what I feel is real."

Sir chuckles. "So, you don't want to go home?"

"Maybe it's just the Salvation part in me, but this place feels like home, too. I'm sure these people won't mind if I stay a bit longer."

Sir studies him for a moment, then nods. "I won't try to convince you any further."

"Sir?" Scott steels himself. "Was there any iteration where this didn't happen?"

"I'm not sure. There are still a few who haven't gotten here yet." Sir gets to his feet. "Take care of yourself, Scott. I don't think we'll see each other again."

"Hey, Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Just who are you, anyways?"

Sir smiles knowingly. "I think a better question is, who aren't I?"

Sir steps away from the market and slides into the space between two passersby, disappearing.

Scott traces a slow circle in the wood of his table. He hadn't realized he automatically sat at the one table he and Drew used to sit at all the time. He orders a small meal for himself and eats in silence. The rain continues to drizzle down.

When the sky breaks and the Woods sun heats up the air again, Scott leaves the market. He passes through the medical camp and pauses at the front gates, observing the places on the ground and fence where Sorsaren's magic has left scorch marks. Some of the uprooted logs are still being pulled away. More Renean signs hang around various tents and sections of the giant wooden fence. Distantly, he wonders if everything here will become part of the memorial too, if in another thousand years they'll still be there. The scorch marks will never fade, but the tents and the wooden fence...

He wanders through the front gates and into the Woods, stopping at the spot where Camellia took him on a flight. He floats off the ground a little, reliving the memory as a breeze brushes his cheeks, and then he lands. He continues walking for a little while, and when his legs tire, he rests at the base of a tree in a small clearing. The light from the Woods sun warms his face.

Scott gets up and flies above the tree line to observe the land around him. The Woods are beginning to fill with people again, denoted by more random columns of chimney smoke. Far, far in the distance, Scott can see the shattered, toothy remains of Monarch. A dense yellow haze shrouds the ruins. Dread fills his stomach and he turns away from the sight. He slowly flies back to camp.

When he lands at the front gates, Nysse is waiting for him. A hood is thrown over her head, but bright light glimmers from underneath it. She gestures for Scott to follow and he does wordlessly.

Nysse leads him to a small hill overlooking the camp. She sits and Scott sits next to her. They say nothing to each other for a while, content to observe.

"This world is changing," Nysse says softly.

"You better not tell me war is coming, because I swear to God, I can't handle another one."

A soft laugh. Scott chuckles, relaxing.

"You've all had an effect on Renea," Nysse says. "Your arrival drastically changed the course of history for us. Without you, we wouldn't have gotten here."

"I can't tell if you're complimenting me or not."

"I'm only stating what is." She pauses. "The realms are changing, too. The Ocean is seeing sunshine again. The Peaks have been cut to a quarter of their size. The ashfall in the Ruins has finally stopped. The Plains have been completely reshaped."

"And the Cemetery?" Scott asks, wondering why she stopped.

"The restless souls are no longer being corrupted," Nysse answers. "When Salvation gave himself to you, the other Shades decided to follow his prime directive: protect the Cemetery. In doing so, they uncovered a unique truth. They themselves were only half-soul, much like the corrupted monsters, and their resolved conflict completed a cycle that Magnus himself set in motion thousands of years ago. Learning that was very interesting; it led me to form a theory. A few days ago, I had a vision of Charlie's spirit wandering the Cemetery. He was searching for a long, long time, and then I suddenly saw him holding Ariana's spirit in his arms. They were both smiling as if they'd finally come home, and then they just... Disappeared, faded out of existence. Perhaps that is the nature of life and death: two halves of a soul destined to be born in two different beings who quest their entire lives to find each other, only for it to start anew at the time of their deaths. Sometimes they find each other, sometimes they don't, but they always seek their missing piece." She becomes shy. "Well, who's to say, right? The world is full of possibilities."

Scott looks at her for a moment. He reaches over and gently removes the hood from her face.

A stark burn is seared across her jaw and cheek, stopping at the ridge of her cheekbone. Her skin is scarred up to her eye, but it appears to be healing.

"People are changing too," she continues, not looking at him. "Some of us will move on to lead happy lives with one another's company. Some of us will spend the next several years trying to process what has been taken from us and trying in vain to restore it. Others will shrink away from the world. It will heal with time. All things... All things _should_ heal with time. Some things will not."

Scott doesn't say anything.

"We've lost so much, Scott. I..." Nysse turns her palms up and the sleeves of her robe fall to her elbows, exposing her burned hands and arms. "For the rest of my life, I'll never be able to feel someone's hand in mine. I never be able to feel the contour of their face, the warmth from their lips. This brand on my face will never go away. It will be a permanent reminder of this tragedy. _I'll_ always be a reminder of what happened here, and no matter how much I try, I'll never..."

She inhales and delicately slides her robes back down her arms, covering herself. She wipes her misty eyes. Scott looks at her for a long time, and then he looks at the camp in front of him.

"I can't tell you how," he says, "but I got an offer to go back to Earth, and I declined."

Nysse nods but doesn't speak.

"I think... I think I'll take Magnus's place tomorrow. I'll become a god and Deiascend like we were all supposed to do when we came here. Think you can help me with that?"

"There is no point to that," Nysse replies. "The gods are obsolete faculties for a world that will soon grow to no longer need them. The people won't need you anymore."

"I'm not doing it for them."

"You're willing to give up your chance at a normal life, a peaceful and happy and short one, with friends and family and people who will grow old with you?"

"Yes, I am."

"But why?"

"Because it's the path I want to walk," Scott says. "Sure, I can lead a short, normal life, maybe put the pieces back together, and die when I'm 85, but I don't want that. I..." He leans back on his hands. "I want to walk the surface of this planet for millennia and watch it grow and recover from this war. I want to protect what we fought so hard for. I want to see new civilizations rise, fall, and be reborn. I want to become so wise and knowledgeable that I become indifferent to everything and everyone, and then I want to fall madly in love and give up everything I have for it. I want to _live_ and experience eternity exactly how I want to, because in the end, all I've ever wanted is to live my life my way, and this is the way I choose."

Nysse looks at him, incredulous, and then she laughs. "Never in my life did I think you'd say something like that. I will give you this, Scott: you never cease to surprise me."

Scott throws a fond arm around Nysse and she rests her head on his shoulder. The pair watch the camp bustle about like busy ants and Scott feels a strange stillness come over him. He tries to think of some emotion to name it, some word to capture it, but he can't think of any, and he settles for letting it pass through him and disappear with the wind.

"Nysse," he says. "Is it alright if I listen to your heartbeat every now and then?"

"Are the voices still difficult for you?"

"No, not anymore. But if I'm going to be sticking around for the next few million years, I'd like to have someone to rely on when things get difficult."

"Sure," she says, a small smile on her face. "I don't mind at all."

In another place, in another time

"Oh, let's get a picture together!" Bennie says excitedly. "We haven't seen each other in so long, we're bound to need an update pic, right? Hey!" She spots a man walking down the road and hurriedly flags him down. "Excuse me, sir! Could you take a picture of the six of us?"

"It'd be my pleasure," the man says, jogging over in a black suit and a black velvet bowtie. He takes Bennie's phone and lines up the shot.

There's a flash from the lens. Everyone giggles. The man passes the phone back to Bennie for her review and, when he sees she's pleased, politely excuses himself. The group chitters over the photo, reminiscing about how different they all look compared to high school. Bennie sends it to the cloud and shares it with everyone. They all inspect the picture closely, nodding and smiling.

"Weird," Luke suddenly says. He points at the picture on his phone. "John's sign says he's open, but that's not possible. His store closed years ago."

The six of them check their phones and find the same phenomenon. They then turn in unison and find that John's sign, indeed, shows that he's Open. And not only that—there is light inside the abandoned building. The windows have been cleaned and the metal framing has been polished. Even the chain locking the front door has disappeared.

"Think someone broke in?" Camellia says.

"To an abandoned shop," Scott says, "with six people standing right in front of it, on camera?"

"You never know."

"Sounds like a mystery." Luke breaks out into a wide, crooked grin. "You guys want to investigate?"

"Absolutely," Bennie says without missing a beat.

Luke drags Scott by the arm and they move right into the card shop. The door opens easily. Bennie and Drew follow, and then Camellia and Stanley. They pile into the store and stand at the threshold, marveling at the sight.

The inside of John's shop is exactly as they remember it: an entire wall of collector's baseball cards, trading card games, and battle card games; a shelf with tabletop, casual, party, and roleplaying games; a glass front case showing off the hottest wares; binders, deck boxes, card sleeves, play mats, and boxed sets of dice of all colors all hanging on the wall; plastic card tables with plastic chairs, used but in good condition; and at the back, John's personal office. A light is on in the back.

"Hello?" Luke yells. Scott slaps him on the arm, startled.

Mr. John pops his head out from his office. "Oh," he says. "Hey, guys. Good to see you again. What took you so long?"

"John?" Luke laughs. "What are you doing here? I thought this place was closed!"

"It was, until now. I was doing some preparations for a friend. Speaking of that, you guys all have a moment?" John gestures. "Come back here. I have something I want to show you."

Camellia and Stanley exchange a look, then share a mutual shrug. Bennie nudges Drew forward. Luke and Scott are already halfway across the store.

The group piles into John's office and take seats at his personal game table: a rectangular wooden flattop with seven chairs, three on each side and one at the head. John lugs a huge box over and drops it unceremoniously on the table. He pushes it forward, then pops the top open and pulls out and sets up a large, hexagonal game board with six different areas and a large circle in the center.

"Wait a second," Luke says, getting up. "Wait a second, I know this game! It's not supposed to be out for another two months! John, where did you get this?"

"I'm in good with the creator of the game. He sent me a copy for you guys to try together."

"Sick!"

"Why?" Stanley says suddenly. "We haven't all played a game together for almost four years. Why would he send you a copy specifically for us?"

"I don't know. He said you'd all come back eventually."

"You say that like he knows us."

Scott turns to Mr. John. "What's going on, John? Your shop hasn't been in this lot for years. Why are you here?"

"Well," John says thoughtfully, "I suppose I should say that there is no 'here' in this place."

"And what exactly is this place?"

"Well, this is a place you all built together in a universe not too different from our own: a midway transit stop between two train stations, a place where you could all wait together for the next adventure."

"Why would we do that?"

"Why else?" John laughs. "You wanted to be able to find each other again."

"You're talking in riddles," Camellia says.

"As someone once observed—quite a long time ago, now—it falls under my job description."

The six friends look around the office and each feels a sense genuine mystery. Something special is in the air. They exchange nervous, excited glances. Scott shifts uncomfortably.

"Come on," he says. "This is all to just drum up hype for the game, isn't it?"

Mr. John smiles knowingly, warmly. "Why? Do you want to play?"

"I mean, I'm already here, so why not, right?" Scott looks at the rest of his friends. "How about it? A quick game before we call it a night? We haven't seen each other in so long, we might as well catch up while we play."

Luke shrugs. "I've got nowhere to be."

"Sure," Drew says. "For old time's sake."

"For old time's sake," Bennie nods.

"I'll play," says Camellia.

"I've got time," says Stanley, checking his watch.

"But after this," Scott says, pointing at John, "you're going to tell us everything."

"Yes," John says. "Yes, I will."

There's silence at the table. John looks at them expectantly, but they avoid his gaze, unable to meet it for some reason. They all feel giddy and anxious, as if something monumental is about to happen.

"You know," Luke says, "I think we were brought here tonight for a reason. Meeting you guys in this place, the six of us together again... It has to mean something, right?"

John says nothing. He walks over to the chair at the head of the table, sits in it, and passes two small dice to the player on his right: Bennie Balachie.

Bennie picks up the dice. They're black and are speckled with shiny white sparkles like the night sky. There are dot indicators for the sides, numbering one through six, colored in red. They feel heavy in her hands, as if she's carrying the weight of an entire universe. She lifts her hand and holds it motionless over the board.

"Wait." Bennie suddenly looks up. "What happens when I...?"

"Who knows?" John says with a shrug. "The future is full of possibilities."

Bennie looks at her friends. Each of them gives her a reassuring nod. Then, turning toward the table, she opens her fingers and lets the dice fall from her hands.

Dear Reader,

This section contains spoilers for the main story of this book. I would advise you to finish the book before you read this letter.

As it stands, I've just finished writing the end of Triumph of Heroes book 3. The line you're reading right now is the line I wrote mere minutes after putting the finishing touch on the first draft of this story. I expected to feel some great sense of finality, some feeling of closure and genuine relief like I did with _Advent_ , but I don't. I think that will come later, after the book has been edited.

And now, having thoroughly edited the thing, I can say I indeed feel a strange sense of closure. It's bittersweet and melancholy, unlike the satisfaction you get from finishing a perfect movie or closing the cover of that amazing book. This feeling is how it feels to wave goodbye to a friend you grew up with, knowing that as they board that train for their next adventure, you won't be boarding with them. You may stay connected for a while, but inevitably they will drift from you and you will drift from them. The emotion you feel when you look back on those times, like a rosy nostalgia, will always make you sigh and say fondly, "Ah, those were the golden days. Remember when we did this, or did that? Remember when we got in trouble together for this? Don't you remember all the good times we had?"

Writing a series is not all good times. There were weeks where I sat at the page and was unable to form even a sentence. There were times where I skipped entire sections of continuous writing to work on later parts of the book only to come back later and rewrite them after finishing the sections I finished. It has been a long time coming, this final book of mine. I started this journey in 2014, my senior year of high school. The memories I had made were fresh, then, and I can't help but feel that as I aged, the themes and story aged with me. I almost feel as if I've lost some of the magic and mystery I had when I wrote _Advent_ , but in return, I think I now feel emotions on a deeper level than I ever could back then. I struggled mightily with many scenes in this book, and in the end, I never set out to write what ultimately became a very emotionally draining story. I always wanted to write a story that moved people on a deeper level, and even though it may be draining to read, I always believed it was a sense of emotional connection that causes people to fall in love with a story. I hope I achieved this goal of mine, and if I have, thank you for being with me until now. It truly has been a ride I will never forget.

I will talk briefly about the ending now. If you are reading this before completing the book, I recommend completing the book _in its entirety_ before reading the following section. Otherwise, you may accidentally incur major spoilers and I don't want to hear any complaints from you about this.

I went through many iterations of the ending. In some, all characters made it out alive. In others, only Stanley did, or Scott, but only these characters and never the others. You could say that this story eventually became Scott's story and, because of this, he was the one who survived. Perhaps that was for the best. I already miss those we lost along the way.

I have intentionally left a few things ambiguous to encourage rereading of the story. Most authors will do this but not tell the reader. I will tell you at least one thing: you can tell exactly when Luke visits by looking for a certain phrase that occurs in every scene he's in. Happy hunting.

The disease Bennie ended up contracting is known as acute silicosis. I took a few creative liberties with how it progresses and manifests, but I always made sure the liberties were backed up by medical fact, i.e., she doesn't have brittle bones or liver failure. At first, I thought this was a plot point which was doomed to languish as melodrama, but it actually provided a lot of character growth potential that I was happy to use. As a note of finality, to prevent any hard feelings, Bennie absolutely died of her disease and injures sustained from Riel and the leylines. Sorsaren's touch merely disposed of the body that remained after she was gone.

Finishing this story has been a long time coming. I feel as if I've done something worth mentioning, or perhaps worth congratulating, but nothing worth celebrating. This is a strange thing to characterize. It's almost a moment only I can appreciate, and though I want to share it with others, I think it is unique to the character of the story I've written.

I will waste no more of your time. For those of you who have been with me since the beginning, thank you. For those of you who have just found this book, thank you. For those of you who will someday pick up this series, thank you. I am honored by your eyes and hope you have enjoyed this series.

Samuel Knight

About the Author

Samuel Knight is a man with many stories to tell and a very short lifetime in which to tell them. He enjoys a good Moscato, boxing, and the novel _Kokoro_. On his off days, you can find him playing video games or reading a book. He always attempts to find inspiration in movies, TV shows, anime, novels, and short films. When he does, he jots them down in a notepad and uploads them to his computer for safe keeping, just in case he'll need a bit for a story in a few years.

"If you're not writing, go edit. If you're not editing, go read. If you're not reading, go write."

—Samuel Knight

Connections

Author Facebook page

http://www.facebook.com/sknightenterprises/

Blog

http://samuelknightenterprises.wordpress.com

## Character List

### The Heroes

Bennie Balachie

-A Hero from Earth who apprenticed under Chaldir, god of ruin and flame. A feisty young woman with a head full of good ideas, her mastery of fire is a bottomless resource for all who seek her alliance. She explores her emotions freely, leading to volatility in both life and battle.

Scott Cornot

-A Hero from Earth who apprenticed under Magnus, god of silence and souls. A tough young man with a head built for pushing his way through any obstacle (even if it's in the stupidest way possible), Scott's never-say-die attitude makes him an invaluable ally. He has a fatal weakness to psychic attacks.

Stanley Lockwood

-A Hero from Earth who apprenticed under Deion, god of mountains and time. An intelligent young man with a serious face and unflinching loyalty, his disappearance just weeks before the outbreak of the Renean World War is a serious hindrance to the Heroes and their allies.

Luke Derringer

-A Hero from Earth who apprenticed under Tetrask, god of Armageddon and the cosmos. A little airheaded but honest to a fault, Luke will do anything to keep his friends happy. His body was stolen by Sorsaren and turned into a killing machine.

Drew King

-A Hero from Earth who apprenticed under Cebral, god of architecture and the ocean. Stubborn but full of heart, Drew has gone toe-to-toe with some of the toughest creatures on Renea and survived. He's terrified of leadership, however, and often goes out of his way to shirk responsibility.

Camellia Agnelli

-A Hero from Earth who apprenticed under Apalon, god of sunshine and the wind. Soft-spoken and caring, she thoroughly believes her allies can conquer anything they set their minds to. She often takes on too much work, however, in an attempt to please everyone.

### The Emissaries

Gabriel

-Katrina's spiritmate and the former apprentice of Kalax, god of life and forests. He trained Nysse to adventure after a patron god, but when she lost control of her powers and people were killed, Gabriel abandoned her and hid in the Peaks. He owns the legendary bow Kalisk and has lived for over a hundred millennium.

Charlie

-Ariana's spiritmate and the former apprentice of Apalon, god of sunshine and the wind. He single-handedly stole Kalisk, Gabriel's legendary weapon, from the King of Monarch's elite security forces. Charlie disappeared shortly after hearing about Ariana's death and hasn't been seen since. Former owner of the legendary half-pike Acetil.

Roger

-Jenna's spiritmate and the former apprentice of Magnus, god of silence and souls. A tough man with high expectations, he watched over Drew while the Hero quested to find Cebral. He was ordered to find the Eternal Chalice under penalty of a fate worse than death, leading him into a vicious fight with the monster Ylgarthrun. He owns the black staff Jagnir which was once used by Luke Derringer.

Katrina

-Gabriel's spiritmate and the former apprentice of Chaldir, god of ruin and flame. She has an intimate knowledge of both cartography and warfare and has lived through every event that has ravaged the Cemetery. Katrina is very protective of the Heroes, but she tries not to come across as too stern. She owns the legendary unblemished sword Ghaldin.

Ariana

-Charlie's spiritmate and the former apprentice of Deion, god of mountains and time. She was killed after taking an arrow intended for Camellia. She's the former owner of Casix, a knife capable of cutting the fabric of time.

Jenna

-Roger's spiritmate and the former apprentice of Cebral, god of architecture and the ocean. She adventured with Bennie Balachie in the Ruins and was instrumental in guiding her to the right decisions. She's the former owner of the legendary cutlass Raldin, a weapon now in the hands of Karos the Scourge.

### Friends and Allies

Jinas

-A young boy from the Cemetery who trained himself as a doctor during Scott's quest to find Magnus. Though short on years, he's got enough experience to run his own medical camp.

Kexal

-A scavenger from the Ruins who traveled with Bennie after his forage partner was killed by a Skeleton soldier. Even though he tries to hide it with a coarse exterior, everyone knows he's got a soft spot for Bennie.

Nysse

-The goddess of Insight and the Cosmos, former oracle to Tetrask. Her short romance with Luke Derringer ended in disaster when he set an ancient monster free. She's the only god currently living on Renea and is still getting acclimated to her new powers and position in society.

### Enemies and Adversaries

Riel the Skeleton King

-Bennie's Adversary and reigning King of the Ruins. During a duel with Nekros Mathis the necromancer, he gained ownership of the legendary weapon Acetil and used its power to march his army on Monarch. He quests ruthlessly to become Lord of Renea.

Salvation

-Scott's former Adversary and the Master of Shades. He watches over the Cemetery, the only love and passion of his life. He's one of only three Shades to achieve the white Glow, and the only one to survive.

Retribution

-A Shade who went rogue in a search for its own truths. Its fight against Salvation for control over the Shades ended in its banishment to the Vast Emptiness. However, a fringe group of supporters still stalks the Cemetery, waiting for their master to return.

Gerrich

-Stanley's Adversary and head of the Mountain Bandits. His lifelong goal of revenge was abruptly snuffed out, leaving him confused and hollow inside. He's one of few mortals in history to make it to Pinnacle Monastery and leave alive. His true alliances are unknown.

Karos the Scourge

-Drew's Adversary and the former head of a vast army of pirates. After losing control over his legion, Karos became obsessed with returning to his former glory. His thirst for power takes him to the very edges of his own mortality.

Stark Pureblood

-Camellia's Adversary and the leader of the Pureblood nomads. After losing Katan, his chosen heir to the Pureblood empire, Stark decided to implement his plan for worldwide ethnic cleansing by marching on Monarch himself. He harbors immense hatred toward Camellia for killing Katan, but he doesn't know that Max is the one responsible.

### The Omnis

Gnosis

-An ancient, omniscient being. He prefers to stand behind the curtain and let his companions do the dirty work. He plots in the shadows and waits patiently for his desires to become reality. When Gnosis has his hands in events, everything always goes according to plan.

Maxillarion (Max)

-An ancient, omnipresent being. He's been responsible for more than a few deaths and his shady, underhanded tactics has been a double-edged sword for the Heroes since they arrived on Renea. Though his vague words and constant smile gives off a warm, goofy aura, he is relentlessly cruel and sadistic.

Sorsaren

-An ancient, omnipotent being. His arrival on Renea eons ago ended with the near annihilation of the Renean gods. After Luke Derringer mistakenly released him from his prison, Sorsaren destroyed Monarch and stole his spear from Magnus's Royal Crypt. Left unchecked, not a force in this universe can stop him.

?????

-A very mysterious man with an even more mysterious purpose. Not much is known about him, his alliances, or his motives. He's said to favor the color black.

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