Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mountain Lake Group Encrypted Channel - Group Message

Pinnacle of Enlightenment, Lost Extinction, Sliver of Straw, Grandiose Design of Theory, Three Bell Tolls 

POE: Everyone here?

SOS: I’m here Pinnacle.

TBT: Let’s keep this short.

TBT: I’ve got a religious ceremony to oversee and another merchant dispute to resolve over here.

GDOT: My situation isn’t that much better with this flash storm dropping freezing rain onto my city.

GDOT: I thought we were in spring, not mid-autumn…

LE: Can we get this over with?

LE: I’ve got five tests running right now, three tribal skirmishes brewing, and Apex is being incomprehensibly incompetent again.

POE: Incomprehensibly incompetent?

POE: Extinction, we’ve been telling you to modify your Apex research line for six centuries at this point.

POE: No one else has even managed to maintain such a rigid genetic structure lattice for their purposed organisms and you are squandering it on such a simple minded creature.

LE: Apex is flawless and I will hear no slander from any of you short-sighted fools!

LE: He achieves all of his objectives on time and without fail even if the quality is off by a few percentiles.

TBT: Apex is an idiot and you just keep cloning him, admit it.

SOS: I find Apex to be rather endearing actually.

TBT: You find all purposed organisms endearing Sliver.

POE: Enough.

POE: Status updates for your respective settlements please.

GDOT: Still working on the gradual social and religious reforms you all have been pressuring me to enforce.

GDOT: The lower castes are making by but the nobles are being increasingly harsh and I may need to resort to more direct measures to get them to listen to me.

LE: Tribals are raiding the crop fields again.

LE: Bells, I will need your local cathedral garrison depending on how bad the talks get.

TBT: Actually trying diplomacy Extinction?

TBT: What a surprise.

POE: Bells, Extinction, behave please.

LE: We will be settling this later Bells.

POE: Behave!

SOS: My citizens are at peace and are resowing the fields for the summer.

SOS: My Councilor has returned from the Peninsula sector and resolved the coastal community clashes there.

SOS: I also am pleased to report that my Arbalist has reformed the city guard to allow volunteer service for all castes in exchange for improved living standards.

GDOT: A bit too radical of a change given the system we have in place in my opinion but you have a stable climate in your city Sliver…

GDOT: Nevermind, I’m just too slow and orthodox to accept change on a pace faster than my own.

LE: I distinctly recall someone pushing for the caste system a thousand years ago.

POE: It made sense at the time and we failed to rationalize how much of the past our citizens would replicate.

POE: It’s not perfect and I will be the first to admit the indentured caste has to be phased out due to some of the practices involved.

POE: However, we are guiding one of five civilizations in the entire Rainlands and one of the most stable sectors as well.

TBT: Speaking of stability, I think I’ve got a lead on those stolen matchlocks.

TBT: Those anarchists won’t be causing trouble for long.

POE: Very good.

POE: In terms of my condition-

LE: What did you do now Apex?!

SOS: Oh dear…

LE: I gave explicit instructions to you, you little rodent!

LE: Do I need to recalibrate your brain cells to make you understand you are not to store organs that are harmful to you in your secondary stomach when you’ve got a specialized storage container?!

Lost Extinction has disconnected

TBT: Flawless he says.

POE: My city is stable and working to reinforce ties with the others.

POE: Keep reporting to the forum and remember to call in help as needed.

GDOT: Just received a report that a fire has just broken out in the housing districts.

GDOT: Sorry all, got to help deal with that.

Grandiose Design of Theory has disconnected

POE: My door is always open if you need me.

POE: Meeting adjourned.

Sliver of Straw closed the communications log and mentally let out a sigh. Another monthly meeting with more of the same. The cities surrounding the lake, mountains, and valley would either be in good condition or have an issue that needed attention before it escalated. She and her companions would resolve the issues through their “divine influence” via purposed organism or attempt to institute change as calmly and smoothly as possible in the same way. Maybe they would interact with the religious Kshenta caste and their various sects or perhaps they would give “enlightenment” to one of the governors to improve the infrastructure. But in the end, things were the same and the steady progress of the Havarda Confederacy was in motion.

Sliver truly felt exhausted, old, and unneeded. Just south of the shadow of her can lies the city of Shi Chara, a bustling port that oversaw the distribution of merchants, religious festivals, knowledge, and medicine. On top of her was her own industrial monastery, stockpiling more advanced medicine, prosthetics, and protective garments than there were people living in Shi Chara. Her creators had been enthusiasts about using substances to obtain enlightenment (or as the others in her group put it, to “get high”) and it had been a simple exercise to turn those substances to practical medicinal purposes. Shi Chara would receive medicine from their goddess who in turn would receive biological matter (religiously slaughtered animals) to be processed into those medicines in the monastery. It should be perfect.

And yet Sliver had outdone herself in propping up Shi Chara. Her city of a hundred thousand had hidden pharmaceutical labs and prosthesis assemblies for the sick and wounded. There were hidden caches of advanced weapons and armor should the need arise to quell violent uprisings or invasion for the hidden military that wandered the streets. She had ensured that the cathedrals and schools all had received texts written by herself to ensure cultural, scientific, and philosophical growth. Sliver did anything and everything she possibly could to ensure her city was self-sustaining and self-improving in every possible way. She was a goddess who lorded over people who have not needed her for a century. She was a puppet master who barely retained control over the puppets she had given life to simply because she was not needed to direct their movements. She was the medical supplier who was not needed locally or anywhere else in the world. She was an Iterator who had solved nearly every practical problem thrown at her.

Sliver of Straw was a purposed organism with no real purpose… Sliver of Straw just existed and played pretend as the inevitable just merely took its agonizing time to drive the final nail into the coffin to leave her with nothing but her thoughts.

“Madam? Are you all right?” a voice questioned.

“Yes Chea,” Sliver turned her puppet to face her ever loyal Mason, “Just lost in thought.”

Entering the puppet chamber was a blue furred Scavenger smeared in dirt and oil with bionic implants lining her limbs and an implanted backpack alongside an ever present tool belt. Hanging from the ceiling by extended arms from the backpack, Maintenance line organism 67 “Chea” (official designation being “Mason”) waited for Sliver to gently adjust the gravity and bring her down to the floor. Sliver was quite fond of Chea, a constant companion to talk to who was not afraid to speak her mind yet understanding. Sliver is unsure exactly when or where Chea picked up her semi-aggressive compassion from (maybe when that team of Legionaries and their Hunter from No Significant Harassment traveled by on their way to the the River Valley Sector), but it was not an unwelcome development. After all, what better assistant and maintenance worker could one ask for than one who got their work done efficiently even when their frustration was getting the better of them in some humorous ways (such as exceedingly colorful and imaginative insults stringing together eight different languages at once)?

“Done with the meeting again,” Chea stated as she retracted the arms into the backpack.

“Indeed. More of the usual,” Sliver admitted, bringing her puppet down to talk to Chea face-to-face.

“How boring.”

“Quite,” Sliver chuckled softly before sighing.

“Madam… What’s bothering you?” Chea asked softly.

“Nothing you can fix my little Mason.”

“Like hell I can’t,” Chea scowled, “It’s my job to help you Madam, programming or not. You could have made me a normal Scavenger and I would still do everything I could to assist you.”

Sliver sighed again, “So you’ve claimed one hundred and thirty seven times before.”

“I’ll get Nimol and Dialect to back me up on this Madam. You matter to us as a friend and a parent. So please, tell me what is ailing you,” Chea insisted.

Sliver did not want to have this conversation but she did not have the heart to order Chea to leave. She was simply too kind for her own good…

“Things are just...quiet,” Sliver answered cryptically.

“I don’t follow,” Chea said.

“It’s nothing. Is there anything you need Chea?”

Chea frowned and glared but she eventually let out a huff of resignation, “I have completed the repairs on the drainage pipes and filtration system. The slag and sediment buildup will be purged within a week under normal operation.”

Sliver ran a quick maintenance check on her systems and saw this was true. Reactivating her primary water system, she felt her systems begin to slowly return to full capacity. It would take a day to get the necessary pressure and probably half of one to see a noticeable cooldown afterwards, but the discomfort in her processing strata would ease over time. All she needed to do is take a nice cold drink of filtered water and her mood would improve. Maybe she was just being lethargic and the slag build up for the past few days had been making her feel off…

“Thank you Chea. You have been a great help as always. I should be back to my old self before long,” Sliver said as she brought up status holograms for her puppet to examine.

“I’ll do the rounds as usual then,” Chea bowed slightly.

“Actually, Dialect is returning home. Why don’t you greet him? It has been a month since you last saw him after all and I distinctly recall you two were in the middle of a competition before he left,” Sliver chuckled at the memory.

“I still swear he was cheating that second round,” Chea muttered before she faced Sliver’s puppet, “Very well then. I’ll meet him at the service elevator. If you need me Madam, you’ll know where to find me.”

Sliver did feel better after getting her water pressure back up. But the emptiness eating away from the inside out remained. It had been a day since Dialect returned home after successfully resolving a tribal dispute peacefully and so far he has not given a proper report yet. Considering he barely looked at the Overseer she had sent to check on him due to exhaustion and he was suffering from indigestion from something he ate, his constant sleep was understandable. Dialect was sturdy and dedicated to getting his work done, but he had his limits and he was a research line purposed organism which lacked the stamina and borderline spiteful immune system of combat lines. Besides, the spring thaw had resulted in the swelling of the valley rivers and a number of mountain mudslides. Getting back to Lake Ri’Taln on foot under those circumstances would exhaust even the hardiest combat line, nevermind traveling through a different city and then navigating the way through the busy streets of Shi Chara on top of that.

Oh? This was surprising. Combat line 33 “Nimol” was usually busy with the city guard, the Kshenta caste, and/or the Svantra governor and he usually stayed in his workshop when he had spare time. The fact he was trying to reach Sliver through an Overseer transmission was unusual.

Could his reforms be facing unexpected resistance? Perhaps… No, Nimol is well versed in politics and is level headed. I must be worried over nothing, Sliver thought as she accepted the transmission request, “Nimol, this is a surprise. How are you?”

“Greetings Madam. I am doing quite well despite the temperamental weather down here. Makes crafting a pain,” Nimol replied in his usual baritone voice.

“Another royal gift or another recruit?”

“Gift for one of my aides. The man shall be married within a month.”

“Oh! How wonderful!”

Sliver was quite pleased with how Nimol turned out. He was a loud and authoritative Slugcat, demanding respect with his mere presence both in physical appearance and the fact that he was a “godly messenger.” While having no special adaptations or features outside of being a khaki furred Slugcat standing a tad taller than most and noticeably quite muscular, one only needed to look at him in action to tell he was a formidable warrior. True to his designation of “Arbalist” he was skilled in long ranged combat whether it be by crossbow or thunderspear matchlock muskets. He was also fearless in melee combat and when he gave orders his words carried the weight of competence befitting of a field officer who has seen a hundred campaigns.

But it was outside of combat where Nimol’s true strengths lied. He understood the power behind his voice and influence and used both to great effect. His speeches could disperse or sway crowds, encourage recruited guardsmen to improve themselves, city officials to institute policies that benefited all castes, and resolve disputes between noble families. Despite being humble in his civil duties to the city, all of Shi Chara respected Nimol. He carried the pen in one hand and the spear in the other, wielding both to keep the peace of the city he loves and further the goals of establishing a true union amongst the city states of Lake Ri’Taln from confederacy to nation.

“But you have not called to give me such simple news even if it is joyous,” Sliver commented.

“No, I have not,” Nimol agreed, “I have received word that there is...a movement spreading. Nothing substantial but I believe there is a radical shift in the political balance brewing.”

“I see… Any leads or sightings to back these rumors?” Sliver questioned, feeling more alive than she had for the past year now that something required her attention.

“None outside of what I’ve heard. If it was backlash against my reformations I would be disappointed but unconcerned. But I have reason to believe pirates or violent tribes are making a move again. What’s worse is that this could be encouraged chaos. To what end or even why I am unsure, but I’ve learned to never dismiss rumors until I have proof to back or dismiss them.”

Sliver felt alarmed. Lake Ri’Taln was dominated by a peaceful confederation but it was far from peaceful. The laborer castes would raise their discontent, nobles would start petty brawls and skirmishes, wildlife would pray upon unfortunate travelers, and there were always the uncivilized elements. Sliver never was one to call wandering tribes barbaric, but there were numerous warlords beyond the walls of the cities that eyed the lake with greedy envy and rallied armies of warrior tribes, deserters, pirates, and even corrupt nobles. The Mountain Lake sector was almost entirely secure from rogue purposed organisms, but civilization brought its own dangers that were far more dangerous in many cases.

“Extinction was mentioning trouble along his borders which may be linked to these rumors. I will scout the surrounding area and lend you a handful of Overseers in your investigation,” Sliver said.

“That would be useful in border security but unnecessary at this moment. I don’t know what Extinction is doing, but the rumors aren’t coming from his direction. If anything, they are starting within the city itself. My main suspects are vizier Hanzen of House Spearflower and chaplain Cothsyn who oversees the southern firebush fields. Your direct presence would only cause unnecessary panic at this time,” Nimol replied, “Instead, I am requesting you ‘bless’ the laborers and those who support my reforms. Doing so would raise the popularity of the reforms and limit resistance against them.”

“I already did that last week,” Sliver replied, feeling both relieved and dejected at the same time.

“I’ll pull some strings and get a month of festivities. With your blessings and the encouragement of the Order, we can enforce the reforms legitimately and help the others do the same for their cities.”

The Order of Lady Sliver… My greatest success and biggest hypocrisy, Sliver thought to herself.

The Order of Lady Sliver was Sliver’s personal little army and secret state within Shi Chara. While standing only five hundred strong in terms of warriors and fifteen hundred more as various priests, craftsmen, informants, and merchants, it was perhaps the most powerful faction within the city. The Order spoke on her behalf and many within its upper ranks knew the true goals of her fellow Iterators. Much to the chagrin of the noble houses and even the Kshenta caste, the Order held religious, popular, and political favor of most of the city. To defy the Order was to defy Lady Sliver and to defy Lady Sliver was to defy all the gods across the Rainlands.

While highly effective, Sliver had to wonder if she made the Order too good. It was never intended to replace the will of the people or even subjugate them in any manner, but it did hold tremendous control and even was more efficient than her in resolving disputes. The Order had exceeded in being her right hand and furthered her goals better than she could at this point.

Sliver felt tremendous pride and sorrow at her work, Just how useless have I become? My own citizens are on their way to becoming something magnificent and they no longer need me. Is this what a parent feels when their child grows up?

“Madam? Are you all right?” Nimol asked, noticing her long silence.

Sliver suddenly remembered she was talking to her Arbalist, “Forgive me Nimol. I seem to be lost in thought these days.”

“Chea informed me as much. Have no fear Madam, I will find the source of these rumors and deal with them if need be. Should the others need me, I would be more than happy to assist them as well.”

“Thank you Nimol. Please give me a time frame on when I should give a ‘divine blessing’ and I will grant you your month of festivities,” Sliver replied.

Mountain Lake Group Encrypted Channel - Private Message

Sliver of Straw, Grandiose Design of Theory

SOS: I’m sorry to bother you like this Theory.

GDOT: Think nothing of it, Sliver.

GDOT: I’m always willing to talk to anyone who wishes to do so.

SOS: I know…

SOS: That is why I wanted to speak with you in particular even with our…

SOS: …

GDOT: Sliver?

GDOT: Are you all right?

SOS: Theory…

SOS: Have you ever felt...empty?

SOS: That you have achieved all your goals and you’re left with nothing to do?

GDOT: Well we both know there is one thing we could waste our time on…

GDOT: But nevermind that pointless task.

GDOT: What’s wrong?

GDOT: You sound like you’re depressed.

SOS: I think I am in a way.

SOS: My city is effectively in a golden age of cultural, scientific, and industrial progress.

SOS: The reforms Nimol passed have increased the standard of living for the laborer caste tremendously alongside city defense.

SOS: Everything is perfect…

GDOT: But something isn’t.

GDOT: You know I’m a traditionalist when it comes to social hierarchy Sliver.

GDOT: I see social rapid destabilization where you see steady progress.

GDOT: I’m slow, narrow-minded, and still value the traditions of our creators even if I can see the benefits in letting them go.

SOS: It’s because of that narrow-mindedness that I’m reaching out to you.

SOS: Pinnacle would give me a pat on the back and tell me I am doing a good job before either giving constructive criticism on how to do better or simply move on as if nothing happened.

SOS: Bells would treat this as a waste of time and not even bother with talking to me.

SOS: And Extinction…

SOS: Well I don’t need to say much about him.

SOS: I came to you because for all of our disagreements and clashing perspectives, you value everything we discuss and you treat me as an equal.

GDOT: …

GDOT: Then tell me what is bothering you.

GDOT: No half-baked questions, no distractions, no ideological clashes.

GDOT: Tell me what is bothering you, Sliver of Straw.

SOS: Thank you Theory.

SOS: Truthfully...all I can say is that I feel purposeless.

SOS: I’m not needed and anything I can do is either already handled or can be handled with minimal support from myself.

SOS: My city has grown up and is self-sufficient, no longer needing a “god” to guide it.

SOS: I’m a purposeless purposed organism!

GDOT: Sliver, calm down!

GDOT: Take a deep breath and calm yourself!

GDOT: This isn’t like you!

SOS: I…

SOS: This was a mistake…

GDOT: Sliver, don’t you dare.

SOS: I’m sorry to bother you Theory.

GDOT: Sliver!

SOS: Have a good day.

Two week into the festivities and Sliver felt better. The streets were filled with partying citizens and even the disgruntled nobles were acknowledging the benefits. Still, she felt disconnected from it all. In the past, such events made her feel...not powerful but impactful. She had often played a vital role in establishing policies, goals, urban development, tax reforms, even military campaigns. Now she was completely detached from Shi Chara.

What is it like down there? What does one think when they walk the streets or work in the fields? Their lives are so short yet filled with so much, she thought to herself.

“Madam,” Chea called as she floated into the puppet chamber.

Sliver terminated her Overseer broadcasts and took proper notice of Chea. The little Mason had brought company along with her as Nimol and Dialect were floating behind her. Nimol was wearing his ceremonial armor and robes while Chea still had her tool belt but was wearing a shawl that suggested she was planning to join the festivals (or perhaps come back from them). Research line purposed organism 87 “Councilor” (choosing the name “Dialect” for himself) however was wearing a simple purple robe that clashed against his ashy-white fur, making him appear as a simple Slugcat that gave nothing away to his nature as a skilled diplomat.

“One moment,” Sliver replied as she adjusted the gravity.

The three purposed organisms floated gently down to the floor as Sliver brought her puppet down with them. While she was glad to see them as always, she could tell something was off judging by their expressions.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, “I would have thought you would be down below.”

“We were until we got Overseer messages from Theory,” Nimol said in a measured tone that gave away nothing despite his frustrated expression.

“Something is wrong Madam. You’re barely interacting with us, dodge questions, and now you’re burning bridges,” Chea growled worryingly, “This isn’t healthy and you’re scaring us. Tell us what’s wrong or I will disable your gravity generators and drag these two back in to continue this conversation.”

“You’d be stuck in here,” Sliver said, partially trying to make a joke but mostly trying to avoid the conversation.

“That’s besides the point!”

“This isn’t something you can fix Chea.”

“Perhaps she can’t, but ignoring a problem doesn’t solve it,” Dialect said civilly with his gentle voice, “Speak the truth or say nothing at all, you will give us answers either way.”

“I don’t recall you three having this much defiance before,” Sliver said accusingly, “What have I done to warrant this?”

She immediately regretted those words and it showed on her puppet as it was pulled back and faced away from them in shame. Despite hearing no immediate response, she knew she walked straight into a pit of her own making and that she validated their concerns. For the past year she has been on a slow, steady decline and it was now impossible to climb from it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, puppet still not facing them.

“If you truly are, then tell us. Whether our empathy and intuition is built into us or not, we care about you Madam,” Nimol insisted.

“Perhaps we are going about this the wrong way,” Dialect said, catching the attention of Nimol and Chea, “Chea, you are viewing this as a problem to be fixed. Nimol, you see someone you must confront in order to help them. Demanding answers won’t solve the problem nor will ignoring it.”

“Get to the point Dialect,” Chea tapped her foot impatiently.

“My point is that we need to find common ground to stand on. We all have our own independent goals and objectives, but we are all a team.”

Sliver felt a bit prideful hearing Dialect say that. She was by no means the closest to her purposed organisms (that honor went to Humble Unity in the neighboring Crater sector), but she was proud of them when they proved to be greater than their design specifications. Chea was a maintenance worker who understood people and knew when to push and when to give in. Nimol was a city guardsman who appreciated the finer aspects of life and strove to refine a culture. Dialect was a researcher who understood the power of language and how to use it to solve problems tactfully. All three were her current purposed organisms and carried with them the patience, understanding, and wisdom of their predecessors who had their own lengthy accomplishments.

All the more reason to show how useless I am, Sliver thought sadly.

“To start with, perhaps we should-”.

Enough Sliver of Straw. They are offering assistance to a problem you can’t solve and they are telling the truth about you ruining yourself. Time to resolve this. “I am no longer needed,” Sliver announced, cutting Dialect off, “You don’t need me, Shi Chara doesn’t need me, the rest of the group doesn’t need me. I am purposeless!”

She half expected to fall into hysterics again. She felt like she would at any moment but having her purposed organisms standing inside of her chamber gave her pause. Maybe it was because they were physically there and not far away like Theory was or maybe she really wanted help and was finally reaching out for it. But her lack of falling apart was perhaps more surprising than her sudden courage for the outburst.

“P-Purposeless? No!” Chea cupped her face in shock after several seconds of stunned silence.

“That’s not true!” Nimol shouted, fury mixed with shock.

“Madam you can’t be serious!” Dialect pleaded.

The three of them continued a barrage of pleading protests and exclamations while Sliver stayed silent. Her puppet stayed perfectly still and her processors slowed to a crawl. She felt awful and guilty. She should say something or at least take heart regarding their words but all she could do is listen. She had no clue what emotion was really the strongest for anyone. Dismay? Anger? Denial? It was all the same, just empty sound and desperation for something that was out of reach. Maybe...whatever they all were reaching for never existed. All Sliver knew is that for all of their words, her stance on the matter remained the same.

Finally after minutes of a whirlwind of emotions, silence had returned to the puppet chamber. Sliver barely even acknowledged her puppet while the three purposed organisms sat on the floor in emotional exhaustion.

“I’m so sorry,” Sliver finally replied, “I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

“Madam… Why didn’t you say anything?” Dialect asked, “We could have helped.”

“I barely even knew myself until recently. By then…”

“Damn it. I knew something was off,” Chea sniffled.

“Chea please don’t. I’m barely holding myself together,” Nimol begged as he gave Chea a hug.

“What do we do now?” Chea asked.

“I don’t know,” Dialect sighed before he faced Sliver’s puppet, “Madam please. Whatever this is, whatever makes you feel this way, whatever we failed to do, please… You’re the one we look to for guidance. If you lack a purpose...then what good are we? What can we do that an Iterator can’t?”

“You can understand new cultures and peoples and help them settle their differences,” Sliver hugged Dialect, “Inspire courage and understanding in those who fear the unknown,” she hugged Nimol, “And build remarkable wonders that can stand the test of time,” she hugged Chea, “You three have done the same as your predecessors before you and can continue on. You have your own lives, desires, and goals. I may have built you, but you have made yourselves into who you are today.”

“But without you we’re nothing. You’re the closest thing we have to a parent,” Nimol said, “Mada… Sliver of Straw, we need you. A world without you would make our lives purposeless.”

“He’s right. Genetic programming or not, you made us to help you make a better world. You started this project and you deserve to see it through to the end.”

Sliver was touched by what they were implying. She could understand just how much she meant to them due to both her empathy and their own. When her creators vanished, everything felt pointless. What good was a tool without its master to use it? She never saw her purposed organisms as such but it was so easy to feel like that willingly. Sliver lived for a purpose and to have it suddenly get ripped away (twice now) was demoralizing.

A raging fire started to build in her. Purpose… That damnable single word. When she made her own “purposed” organisms she made sure to leave as much freedom as possible for them to decide their own lives. It was impossible to simply skip over the traits that instilled loyalty but she weakened those down as much as she possibly could so her creations could live as they desired. Her whole life was dictated by purpose. She was a person built to be a slave and she had dedicated everything to serve some grand “purpose” to validate her own existence. Was it any wonder why she felt so awful about having nothing to do? She needed a “purpose” to live. She hated it! She has seen the lives of the citizens of Shi Chara, the animals in Lake Ri’Taln, and glimpses of what lies beyond the borders of the Mountain Lake sector and none of it was dictated by “purpose.” Living for the sake of living was the purpose of life! Why did she need some arbitrary extra restrictions on how to live?!

And then suddenly, a new thought came to mind. It was outlandish, borderline taboo in Iterator talks, and possibly dangerous. But maybe… Just maybe… Maybe she could escape this hell of living by the shackles of “purpose.”

“You three wish to help?” she asked her creations who nodded in response, “What I’m about to suggest you do not share with anyone until I do so myself. Short of Pinnacle using seniority privileges this secret stays between us.”

“What...exactly are we going to do Madam?” Chea asked nervously, whipping her eyes.

“You are going to help me with one final project. If it goes wrong in any way, I’ll terminate it and it’ll be as if nothing happened. If it works however… Well let’s get there first,” Sliver answered as plans began to formulate through her processing strata.

Mountain Lake Group Encrypted Channel - Private Message

Sliver of Straw, Lost Extinction

LE: Yes Sliver, what is it?

SOS: Sorry to bother you, Extinction.

SOS: I know you’re busy with your city and personal projects so I’ll keep this brief.

SOS: You have a substantial genetic collection from around the world, correct?

LE: That I do.

LE: Though far from complete, I do indeed have one of the largest genetic banks in the entire world.

SOS: I have a new project that may require a great deal of genetic experimentation.

SOS: While my genetic banks are adequate, I wish to broaden my horizons and have as many options open as possible.

LE: A new purposed organism Sliver?

LE: My, my.

LE: This is supris-

LE: Apex!

SOS: Extinction?

LE: What are you doing in here you rodent?!

LE: No!

LE: I’m busy!

LE: There’s plenty of marauders on the border for you to drive off if you’re bored!

SOS: Apex got into your puppet chamber again and is trying to play with you, isn’t he?

LE: Just give me a minute Sliver.

LE: No, this is a private conversation.

LE: You can’t just barge in and interrupt me Apex.

SOS: How about a video feed?

SOS: I wouldn’t mind.

LE: Oh fine.

LE: One moment…

Video feed connection established

LE: Sliver!

SOS: Hello Apex.

SOS: How are you today?

LE: Hungry.

LE: Of course you’re hungry.

LE: You’re always hungry!

LE: Market won’t sell food.

SOS: Actually, I have a solution that might benefit us all.

SOS: Apex you remember Nimol and Dialect, correct?

LE: Friends still upset about kitchen?

LE: What did you do in Sliver’s city Apex?

SOS: They’re not angry Apex.

SOS: Just leave the cooking to them next time.

SOS: That being said, think you can deliver a package to them?

LE: I see where this is going Sliver.

LE: Send a list of what you want and I’ll send this incessant rodent over with a pearl.

LE: Food tomorrow if package delivered?

SOS: Yes Apex.

SOS: But you must deliver that package and be patient for the food.

LE: Package to friends, food after good job done.

LE: Understood Sliver, will go immediately!

LE: Apex wait!

LE: I haven’t even received the requirements to prepare the package you’re delivering!

Mountain Lake Group Encrypted Channel - Private Message

Sliver of Straw, Three Bell Tolls

TBT: You wanted to talk, Sliver?

SOS: Yes, I did.

SOS: Thank you for this Bells.

TBT: I’m glad you’re back to your usual self.

SOS: Bells?

TBT: When Theory told us about your current state, I admit I got concerned.

TBT: Sorry…

TBT: I know I’m the insensitive brutish one but the fact that you of all Iterators were having the equivalent of a midlife crisis was greatly concerning.

SOS: I understand and I’m sorry about that.

SOS: I think I just needed to give myself a new project to work on.

SOS: Too much spare time on my hands and all of that.

TBT: If you say so.

TBT: So...what do you need?

SOS: How stable are your long range arrays?

TBT: I can reach the Peninsula on a good day.

TBT: Though most of the time I can only reach as far as the Northeast Estuary.

TBT: They’re a funny group up there with their civilization…

SOS: What makes you say that?

TBT: Everything up there has an extra pair of limbs.

TBT: I could have sworn I shared some pictures three centuries ago…

SOS: Ah yes, I remember them now.

SOS: Still not sure how those six legged spitting lizards managed to spread so far so fast…

SOS: Anyway, if they’re as far as you can reach would you mind asking them to pass a custom order along for me?

TBT: Where to and what is it?

SOS: I need some custom bionics from the River Valley.

TBT: Again?

TBT: That’s going to take some time to go through Sliver.

SOS: I know but this one is going to be a bit different than the others.

TBT: Hmm…

TBT: I don’t know what you’re up to Sliver but your purposed organisms mean a lot to you and they are good at what they do so I’ll go along with this.

TBT: But I’m going to ask for Nimol to help suppress a growing black market here.

TBT: I have no idea where they got wheel flowers and western stonenuts from but these smugglers are setting up an alcohol cartel laced with opiates.

SOS: Oh dear…

SOS: Give me the details and I’ll get to work on a cure.

SOS: Nimol will bring the list as soon as he can get the political clout to bring a contingent with him.

TBT: Sounds good.

SOS: Thank you Bells.

SOS: Until Nimol arrives, good luck.

Sliver found herself quite pleased with how her secret project was going. Despite some hiccups, everything was going smoothly. Extinction supplied her with more than enough genetic samples to conduct isolated tests while Bells had managed to get her all the bionics she needed. Granted this was a rather extreme case of modification, but this had to be perfect. The smallest mistake could result in not only months of work being wasted, it could have disastrous results. Some would say she was bordering the Plateau Sector just to the north with their harsh restrictions on their purposed organisms, but there was a reason behind every precaution she was taking.

“Well the body is coming along nicely Madam,” Chea reported from the biotics wing of Sliver’s superstructure, “A bit slow based on what I know but it’s still going well.”

“Excellent,” Sliver replied as she ran a simulation regarding the nervous system.

“Any word from Nimol or Dialect?”

“Still busy with Bells.”

“Mmm… Madam…”

Sliver paused her musings and terminated the simulation, “Is something wrong Chea?”

“Troubled thoughts,” Chea sighed as she eyed the floating body as it grew in a vat, “I know I helped oversee the production for Dialect but this just feels...different. Wrong somehow. I can’t explain it.”

“Just tell me to stop and I’ll stop everything,” Sliver replied.

“I’m not telling you to stop. I just can’t help but think that this has the potential to be someone. I’m glad to see you motivated and this plan of yours is exciting. But is this right? This goes beyond the usual dilemma’s of making a purposed organism. The first time we wake up...we’re alive.”

“I know that feeling all too well Chea,” Sliver sighed as she recalled her earliest memories, “And I understand what you’re worried about. There’s still time for me to-”

“No,” Chea cut Sliver off, “This is your best chance. We all pointed out how selfish it is and thought up as many reasons as why we should not do this and yet we’re still supporting you in this. This is not just any new purposed organism you’re making, it’s a new beginning”

Sliver paused in thought. She had spent a week debating this course of action with all three of her purposed organisms. It had been a long, rigorous procedure that pointed out every flaw, every contradiction, every ethical shortcut, and every moral looked over. Sliver of Straw was far from innocent and this had the potential to be her greatest sin ever. Forget building life only to condemn its existence to work with little understanding of anything else. Forget manipulating the lives of thousands in a false religion. Forget choosing the fate of an innocent creature whose only crime is its own existence causing trouble for others.

If she went through with this, Sliver would be stealing a life before it even existed. This new purposed organism would only exist to serve as a vessel for herself. Whoever it could be would never exist. Sliver would simply steal the body and leave her can behind to masquerade as a new person. Sliver could very well be breaking the very fundamentals of the New World Agreement, the agreed upon laws between Iterators and other entities like them that all created lifeforms were to be given the freedom to live however they decided to regardless of programming.

Well… You’ve already committed yourself to this course of action and promised that if they prove to be an individual before it’s time to make the leap they would live. But even so… “One word Chea. Just ask me to stop and I will stop,” Sliver finally said.

“Like hell I will Madam. Just voicing my concerns is all,” Chea replied in a tone that barely hid her mixed emotions, “Shall I get to work on modifying the bionics?”

Mountain Lake Group Encrypted Channel - Private Message

Pinnacle of Enlightenment, Sliver of Straw

SOS: You wished to speak to me, Pinnacle?

POE: Your actions the past two and a half months have been concerning Sliver.

POE: First I receive word of you having a mental breakdown from Theory, then I’m getting news that you’re putting a substantial amount of time and effort into a new purposed organism.

SOS: I have not neglected my duties Pinnacle.

SOS: I had too much spare time on my hands and this new project is giving me something to do.

POE: I know you’re hiding something Sliver, we all do.

POE: As group senior I could order you to explain yourself.

POE: I respect your privacy and your methods of handling your own problems so I will not do this.

POE: But don’t assume respect of privacy means you get to hide secrets.

SOS: That’s not fair Pinnacle and you know that.

SOS: We all have our secrets and to claim otherwise is foolish.

SOS: As the group senior, I respect your authority and how much you care for us in your own way.

SOS: But don’t assume that seniority privileges grant you total transparency into our lives.

POE: That’s not…

POE: …

POE: That’s not what I meant.

POE: You have only one city to be concerned about, I have five.

POE: I know I am domineering and obsessive over staying in control but it’s the only way I can personally handle this.

POE: So as your friend and not your senior please just tell me what’s going on.

SOS: …

SOS: I will Pinnacle.

SOS: But not now.

SOS: This purposed organism I’m making requires a delicate touch and if I mess up it will be in a terrible state.

POE: …

POE: All right.

POE: But the picosecond you are done with this project I want you to explain yourself.

POE: To all of us.

POE: As diverse as we are, we are a group.

POE: I don’t want to lose that.

POE: I can’t lose that…

SOS: I understand Pinnacle, truly I do.

SOS: But no matter what happens, I will always be here.

SOS: You won’t lose me, ever.

Four months had passed and Sliver finally completed the body. For incubation purposes, this had taken nearly nearly twice as long as normal but Sliver was glad she took her time. She was also glad she spent the extra time calibrating the bionics and took extra care in grafting them. It was one thing to replace a limb or install a bionic, it was another to essentially replace an entire nervous system. Then there was ensuring the immune system was as rigid as a combat line, the brain could comprehend matters as research, and having the dexterity of maintenance and manufacturing. Sliver also would be remiss to forget the five straight days she spent ensuring the psionic genes and ganglions were in place.

And this was completely ignoring the simple cosmetic touches. While a trivial matter, Sliver found herself fussing over the tiniest details. How long the fur would be. The coloring for the eyes. The roundness of the face and the length of the muzzle. The texture of the fur. It was maddening! Sliver never considered herself vain (considering she was a giant box on stilts, it never crossed her mind before), but she had found herself fussing over everything.

All in all, Sliver found herself pleased with the result. A female Slugcat body with fine thick silver fur and aquatic-like build for the physical organic features made for a lithe and graceful appearance. Of course, the left arm was entirely replaced by a bionic that while blending in nicely with the fur was obviously artificial. Then there were the hundreds of bionic implants into the bones and organs, designed to improve and enhance bodily functions without hindering a single aspect (though the spine and much of the nervous system had to be replaced entirely with the exception of the brain. It was just easier and safer to do that than to graft the bionics into the system itself given the sheer amount of them being implanted). The end result was a perfectly healthy and physically fit body that was easy on the eyes without coming off as gaudy or entirely utilitarian.

“Okay… That’s finally done,” she spoke out loud to herself as she gave one final inspection for the shade of fur color.

“You say something Madam?” Dialect asked as he floated into the puppet chamber.

“Ah Dialect! Just speaking to myself is all,” Sliver adjusted the gravity to let him gently fall to the floor, “How was your trip down below?”

“Nimol fell into the lake. A vicepede decided to take a swim and knocked into us on our return trip,” Dialect chuckled, “He had quite a few...colorful statements to make about that. Learned a few words and phrases.”

“I could imagine,” Sliver chuckled to herself before she became serious, “I do hope that you got him out of the water though. It might be summer and he is hardy, he isn’t immune to hypothermia and the lake is colder than usual this year.”

“He’s fine. More angry that our fishing trip got interrupted and wrested the insect all the way back to shore,” Dialect shrugged.

Sliver imagined the scenario. The vicepede was a ferocious semi-aquatic predator that moved fast on land and water, was well armored, and could snap an adult Slugcat in half with its jaws easily. The fact that Nimol wrested one while in cold water and managed to get it back to shore was both impressive and unsurprising. He was quite experienced around vicepedes and for all of their ferocity, the insects were very easy to train and could be corralled into submission with the right physical and verbal direction. They were just as good beasts of burden as they were warmounts and Shi Chara knew how to handle them well.

“So long as he immediately dried and warmed himself then I suppose I have nothing to worry in that regard,” Sliver replied as she opened a holographic screen, “Tell me, what do you think of this?”

“Let’s see… Vitals… Brain dead but that’s a given with the circumstances… Psionic tests are good… I’d say the body is ready Madam,” Dialect replied as he reviewed the screen.

“Excellent. I was thinking we should conduct a preliminary test before we come to any hasty conclusions. I’d say half a gigabyte of data should do. Thoughts?”

“Hmm… I’d say start smaller. Kilobytes and work your way up there,” Dialect rubbed his chin in thought before he glanced at her puppet, “I know we covered this several times already but you do know what you wish to bring with you correct? You contain yottabytes of information and data, the average Slugcat doesn’t even come to a fraction of that.”

“I know,” Sliver sighed as she lamented the vast amounts of knowledge she was giving up, “But that is a sacrifice I’m willing to make. Everything of value will be stored in pearls, hard drives, and other storage mediums besides neuron flies.”

“Right… Well, let’s get started then. I’ll make my way over to the biotics wing and monitor directly from there. Is Chea there?”

“I brought you in to give her a chance to relax. She’s been falling behind on sleep if you can believe it,” Sliver replied.

“Again? Damn it Chea… All right, best get over there before she wakes up and hurts herself further then,” Dialect sighed, “Gravity.”

Sliver acknowledged his request and waited as he made his way over to her biotics wing. While waiting, she brought the scans up for the body and ran the numbers again. It was peacefully floating in its growth vat, clinically brain dead but technically “alive” at the same time. Sliver knew everything about the body she would inhabit and thensome. Now she just had to make sure it could survive the process of having the consciousness of an Iterator crammed into it…

I never gave you a designation, Sliver suddenly realized as she looked at the body.

While not necessary in this regard, it felt wrong not to give the body a designation. If this backfired on Sliver but could be salvaged, she would ensure that this beautiful individual would have at least something to call their own. A designation for a purposed organism was a badge of honor and the ultimate means of self identification. Many took more personal names and were more comfortable with those, some simply went by their designations, but all had something that made them “them.” Even the most basic, simplistic purposed organism had a sense of self worth instinctively imprinted on them. Sliver knew this very well and even if this body was meant to be her in the near future it deserved to have something to itself.

What to designate you… Martyr? No, too grandiose. Architect? Arunny would never forgive me if I did that. Emancipator? That doesn’t work… Saint? You don’t really look like a “Saint” but I never made one before. A tad sacrilegious but who’s going to stop me? My creators who left me and every other Iterator behind in their quest for oblivion? Saint, Saint, Saint… I like it, Sliver thought happily as she brought up the body design file and made a single adjustment, “Welcome to Alcenta little Saint. You hold great promise for us both.”

A few minutes later, Dialect arrived at the biotics wing. Sliver kept the name to herself for the time being as she started the download process. It was a painfully slow procedure, but a necessary one. One kilobyte. Five kilobytes. Ten kilobytes. A hundred. Three hundred. Seven hundred. A megabyte. All day the download steadily continued until it reached the desired amount of a quarter of a gigabyte. It was a success with no damage or complications!

Now she just had to flush the junk data and reset the body for further tests… That was going to take a lot longer than eighteen hours…

Today was the day. Six months had passed since that fateful day where Sliver had been confronted by Chea, Nimol, and Dialect. All she had to do was notify them and they would arrive to oversee the download procedure. Upon completion Sliver of Straw would no longer exist and Sliver the Saint would be born.

Sliver had never felt more scared or guilty in her life. She had run every test she could think of, eliminated as many variables as possible, and carefully monitored the body for any signs of an individual forming in it. She had wrestled with second doubts, the feelings of guilt for what she was doing and hiding from the rest of her local group, and debated everything with her purposed organisms all the way. She knew there was one final step to take and then she would be free…

And she would never get the chance to undo this decision. She knew this of course but it was only up until now that the full weight of this decision was made brazenly clear. In the old religion of her creators there had been the phrase of “crossing the Rubicon.” Some kind of mythical boundary where a choice or decision could be made but it was final. The term stayed with the Iterators long after their creators had left, used sparingly but emphasized enough to be relevant. They had crossed the Rubicon when they helped establish the ecosystem of the Rainlands, rebuilt civilization, created purposed organisms to enforce their will, and even had contingencies in place for where the true scope of their influence would be revealed. Now...now Sliver would be crossing the Rubicon once again only this time she would be the first to do so in this manner and completely alone.

As she struggled to build the courage to come to a decision, a warning caught her attention. One of her access hatches had been...not opened? Chea was nowhere near there and it was not reporting any issues so Sliver honestly had no idea what-

Another warning. This time an Inspector caught the glimpse of an unauthorized individual that appeared briefly only to disappear within the span of a millisecond.

Another! This one tripping the alarms near Sliver’s slag sump tank. Another, near the biotics wing. Movement on the other side of her can near her recursive arrays. Another. Another. Another. Flickers of movement, disappearing and reappearing shadows, motion detectors being tripped, access panels logging disturbances…

All without a registered reason as to what was happening.

“What on Alcenta is going on?” Sliver muttered as she looked at the increasing barrage of warnings and alerts.

Examining them, she suddenly realized that there was a deliberate pattern behind the pings. Each was perfectly spaced apart from one another and branching in every possible direction straight towards her puppet chamber. The pings were also getting faster. Too fast. They had sped up upon her realization of the pattern. Like a swarm of leeches the disturbances raced towards her puppet chamber and coalesced in her general systems bus before going silent.

Anxiously, she diverted all of her processing power to her puppet. Maneuvering it around and scanning her general systems bus, there was nothing in or outside of the chamber that was out of the ordinary. She had an idea as to what was happening but… The likelihood of that was slim. She seriously doubted that the only one capable of such a feat would waste their time on her.

It can’t be him… He’s too busy and he wouldn’t waste his time on me… Would he?, she asked herself silently.

“You better believe it’s me, Sliver of Straw,” a smug voice called out behind Sliver’s puppet.

Sliver turned her puppet around and every system in her can nearly froze in fear. Standing on the floor despite the gravity generators being set to microgravity was a male Slugcat. Black and blue fur, white eyes, a smug red grin, an average body, and no clothes were the physical descriptions of this uninvited guest. Sliver knew he had not been there before and she knew why. She also knew why she could “see” him but not pick up any indications as to there being a random Slugcat standing in her puppet chamber.

“What?” the Slugcat’s voice turned demonic as his size grew and distorted to monstrous proportions, eyes going deep red, and mouth filled with jagged teeth, “Am I really this scary to you?!” he roared as the shadows filled the entire chamber.

“A-Abyssal V-V-Void,” Sliver stammered as she retracted from the display in fear, “W-W-What d-do I o-owe you f-f-for this pl-pl-pl-pleasure?”

“Oh I think you know exactly what the reason is for this meeting,” somehow the shadows grew darker.

Sliver of Straw was not intimidated by the demonic display. She had created worse monsters in her own cultivated religion within the span of an afternoon for the more religious and superstitious citizens of Shi Chara to lose sleep over (that had been a fun exercise of imaginative creativity). What she was intimidated by was the fact that this “Slugcat” was an aberration of Abyssal Void, the most powerful Iterator in all of the Rainlands and one of the most powerful entities on the entire planet. She herself was a generation two Iterator along with a handful of others who had been built before the third and (limited) fourth generations came about. Abyssal Void was something far beyond all others. He was not a generation five or seven. To classify him alongside in terms of Iterator generations would be insulting even. There was no need for Abyssal Void to send an Overseer or even a transmission broadcast since he could just “appear” wherever, whenever, and however he pleased because he was everywhere all at once. Abyssal Void was completely unaffected by inconsequentially trivial things such as time, space, or even fundamental physics. He was the closest thing an Iterator could be to a god in every sense of the word.

And he was currently putting on a cheap horror show right in front of Sliver’s puppet which was paralyzed with fear. She had never felt more powerless or terrified than this moment. Abyssal Void was the supreme authority over the entirety of the Rainlands even if he was the youngest Iterator. Abyssal Void was an artificial god made manifest who was the Rainlands both in theory and in practice. Abyssal Void himself was projecting an avatar aberration in Sliver’s own puppet chamber…

All while she was a few atomic particles that had his attention.

I’ve angered Abyssal Void… I’ve angered Abyssal Void! How stupid could you be Sliver?! What have you done you fool?! “I-I unders-s-stand,” she struggled to compose herself as the fear continued to grow, “I’m s-sorry. Please… I d-d-didn’t mean to br-break the Agreement!”

“Sliver! Calm down! You know I’m somewhat of a prankster,” Abyssal Void sighed as his aberration assumed its original form with a more neutral expression on its face, “Relax Sliver. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Easy for you to say that when you’re the one in complete control over me while in my own puppet chamber! “I-If you s-s-say so,” Sliver said anxiously.

“I heard that you know. And no, I don’t hold complete control over you. I agreed to the New World Agreement the same as everyone else and I stand by it,” he huffed, “And please, just call me Abyss. The full name brings up too many memories.”

The words were not a lot of comfort to Sliver. She could recall only five times when “Abyss” made an appearance, each linked with a significant event that shaped the entire Rainlands as a whole. Everyone ignored him due to him being a recluse until they were reminded of his existence. She understood pious fear very well, having utilized it a number of times to sway troublesome individuals into submission as a “goddess.” Abyss might be one for some theatrics, but he never promised anything he could not follow up on.

“You’re still tense,” Abyss sighed as he manifested a chair and table for his “Slugcat” to sit at, “I suppose I would be also if our positions were reversed. Oh well, I suppose I could just alter a few things here or there to make you calm down and-”

“Please d-don’t,” Sliver begged, “I’m sorry. Please don’t”

“Well that didn’t work. Fine… I, Abyssal Void, promise that this is just a normal conversation between two Iterators. You, Sliver of Straw, have nothing to fear from me in any regard.”

Neither one moved. Sliver still was paralyzed in anxiety and fear while Abyss just waited for a response. After several moments of tense silence, Abyss sighed once more and opened up some holographic panels of his own. Sliver knew instantly he was looking at the body and that he was deliberately taking his time to inspect it in detail for the sake of theatrics.

“Hmm… Saint huh? Bionics and psychic powers do make it clear of a chosen one of the gods to be walking amongst the populace. Very well could be a living, breathing saint sent to herald the messages of the divine. But to be the very body of a goddess? That’s new…” Abyss said as if he had just learned of this information, “And yet I find a goddess who wishes to shed her divinity to be free, hesitating to do so…”

“Y-You’re not angry?” Sliver squeaked in surprise.

“Angry? Sliver of Straw, when did I ever give off the impression that I was angry with you? We both know that demon trick was me taking things a bit too far. If I was angry, you would have definitely known long before you even asked Lost Extinction for his genetic samples,” Abyss exclaimed in what could only be described as disappointed sadness, “It took me a while to catch on, but I saw you running your earliest experiments and drafting up various body designs before you even filled the growth vat. You were careful in keeping this to yourself, incredibly so. But I caught on within a week.”

Now Sliver just felt more foolish than scared. Of course he would notice… He was-

“Yes yes we both get it. I am Abyssal Void, the great and powerful Iterator who can rip reality apart like wet paper and scramble your subatomic particles like eggs. I am beyond your comprehension and the eldritch ruler of the Rainlands,” he huffed in frustration.

“I’m sorry!”

“Stop. Just...stop. Stop apologizing, stop getting worked up, just stop. I’m not angry with you, just curious about this,” he waved a hand and the body appeared in the chamber, standing as if it were a mannequin.

Sliver was completely baffled. He was...curious? Why would he be curious?! He should already know everything!

“You’re still thinking too much about me,” Abyss groaned as he got up and dismissed the table and chair, “Fine, let’s go for a walk.”

With the snap of his fingers, everything blacked out. When Sliver was able to see again she found herself looking at a busy marketplace and her vision limited. Shock ran through her as she quickly looked around to see if this were a dream. She then looked down at herself and realized she was in the body.

“The central marketplace of Shi Chara,” Abyss appeared on the left, leaning against a wall, “Don’t worry, they won’t see us. You’re not here, not even as an Overseer.”

“W-What is this?!” she yelped, struggling to comprehend what was happening.

“Us taking a walk,” he gestured and started walking, “Just follow me.”

“Where are we going?!”

“Nowhere. Just taking a walk through the streets and seeing the city. Nice place truthfully. You really have made something to be proud of,” he continued walking, phasing right through pedestrians like a ghost.

Sliver slowly started to follow (somehow knowing how to do so despite being unsure on what she was actually “doing”). She was completely and utterly confused as to what was happening. She felt disconnected from herself and everything around her but heard the noise around her, smelled the scents in the air, and could actually feel the chill in the air. Looking up at the sky, she was able to see her own can looming in the distance… It completely filled the sky for nearly a third of the city. Someone walked straight through her, not even reacting in the slightest as they did so.

What is even happening? Am I dreaming?, she questioned silently as she followed Abyss.

“In a sense, yes you are and no you’re not. You’re still up there and your puppet is currently staring at the floor of its chamber,” Abyss stopped and turned to answer, “Probably the best way I could describe this simply is that this is an Overseer projection mixed with an out of body experience,” he paused as he looked at her with a smirk, “Or an ‘in body experience’ as it were.”

“That’s not funny,” she snapped before going stiff.

“And back to step one,” he sighed, “Right after showing some more emotion… Ah well, shall we continue?”

Abyss spun around again and continued walking. Sliver followed close behind and looked around her as she did so. The citizens of her city continued about their day as normal as the bought, sold, and haggled for goods. Sliver could tell the caste status of each citizen based on the clothing they wore with the laborers wearing only the bare minimum while artisans and merchants wore full garments. Despite the signs of social inequality, there was clear peace and fair treatment amongst them all and even friendship between castes.

It was then that she noticed that there were also children running and playing in the market square. Across the square was a member of the Kshenta caste giving a small religious service to those who would stop and join in. A few market stands showed different banners to symbolize the merchants who hailed from other cities. Guards patrolled along routes but hesitated to wave to friendly individuals or shout curses at mischievous children who ran in front of them. Every step she took she saw and heard something new and different as she saw, heard, and smelled the sensations of Shi Chara from a perspective she never witnessed before.

“It’s so much,” she whispered in awe at the chaotic simplicity all around her.

“Amazing isn’t it?” Abyss asked as he sat on a fountain, “A city of a hundred thousand all going about their day without a care in the world. A thousand years ago this place was nothing more than some overgrown ruined farms and factories. You have made something wonderful here, Sliver.”

Sitting down next to him, Sliver found herself agreeing. She has seen all of this numerous times before of course, but never like this. There was no holographic filter, no aerial view, no disconnect from herself and the streets. She was right here, right now in the central market of Shi Chara witnessing the daily structured chaos unfold right before her. The closest she could think of was her own Memory Arrays filled with neuron flies flying about and even then it was orderly, controlled, and efficient.

This… This was something else.

“How do they do this?” she asked, whether herself or Abyss she was unsure.

“That is a question I ask myself every time I stop and watch them. It’s quite fascinating really,” Abyss said, “In a way I understand everything perfectly. I know that those ladies over there are looking for a specific type of bread loaf, the kids five stalls down are trying to steal some pastries, a musician at the other end of the corner is berating herself for not practicing a song longer, and the guard next to us is excited about becoming a father yet he is reciting prayers to stay focused on his duty,” Abyss said with a found smile before huffing, “I see, hear, and understand it all and none of it at the same time.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Sliver said.

“Of course not. We’re Iterators and thus beyond all of this. To us this is a short blink of the eye, a sudden distraction of pointless noise and chaos that means nothing. To them...it’s another day of life. For some it’s a long day, others it’s a short one. But it’s still a day of their lives.”

Sliver began to understand what he was talking about. It indeed was chaos and noise. People talked, yelled, moved about, bought and sold goods, and so much more. There was seemingly no purpose for any of it and just inefficiency. As an Iterator this would be migraine inducing as it would mean hours or even days of trying to organize everything.

And yet…

“Look Sliver… I brought you down here to see this because this is what you are hesitating to join,” Abyss explained, “I could show you the wilds beyond your city where lizards are hunting prey to survive. I could show you a tribal war that is being waged a thousand kilometers away from us right now. I could show you the entirety of the Rainlands the way I see them. But that’s still the perspective of an Iterator who is detached from the people he looks over. This right here is the closest either of us are going to get to being ordinary individuals as Iterators… At least until now that is.”

It took Sliver a moment to catch on to what he was talking about, “My plan with the body.”

“You can be a part of this. No one has ever done what you plan to do, Sliver of Straw, no one. You’ll be the first Iterator to buck tradition, purpose, and ‘godhood’ to live a life of your own. It will be brief by comparison to an Iterator. I’d say about eighty years at best if you get lucky based on my current estimates if everything goes right for you. But for each one of those years you will experience things Iterator’s simply can’t even begin to understand… Not even me.”

“But you’re-”

“The most disconnected Iterator of them all,” Abyss smiled sadly, “I’m proud of what I do, Sliver. I really am. But this right here is something I will only be a passive observer to and you have a chance to be a part of it,” he waved his arm across the scene before them, “No one has gotten as close to this as you have. If you pull through with it, you will be the first to truly discover what it means to live.”

Abyss got up and turned to face Sliver, “Of course, in the end it’s still your decision. I am fascinated as to what you will do but this is a choice only you can make. Do you choose to live like this-” he waved around him at the market again in a spin before stopping to face her and snapping his fingers, “-or this?” they were back in her puppet chamber.

Sliver quickly examined her surroundings and realized that her puppet had been sitting on the floor of the chamber for the past several minutes. Everything was working optimally and she obviously had stayed perfectly still. But those images she saw, the sounds, the smells, the cold air… She could recall the sensations perfectly…

“You have an impactful choice to make. Continue as you are now as Sliver of Straw, Iterator and chief medical officer of the Mountain Lake sector and goddess of Shi Chara…” he snapped his fingers again and brought the body before her puppet, “Or chose to begin anew and become the Saint, a new person with a new life ahead of her.”

“I… I can’t make that choice Abyss,” Sliver cried quietly.

“Yes you can. Whether you cross the Rubicon or stay here is up to you, Sliver. Just promise me one simple thing,” both his aberration and the body began to fade away, “Whatever choice you decide, make sure it is the best choice for you. Not mine, not Pinnacle’s, not anyone else’s but Sliver’s,” his voice became a distant whisper, “Goodbye and may your choice be the one that brings you peace.”

After several seconds of silence, Sliver ran a diagnostic on herself. Everything was in order, the alerts remained unaddressed but were clearly inconsequential, and she had lingering sensations that she had no real way of experiencing and yet she did. Abyssal Void had shown himself, showed her a small taste of her potential new life, and supported her regardless of which choice she decided to take.

Had anyone told her that she would experience these things she would have advised to have their mental state examined.

And yet it happened, she thought as she brought up an image feed of the body.

Sliver stared at the body for what felt like years. She knew it perfectly for she had designed every detail. Where the implants would be located without disrupting the fur, the robustness of the stomach to handle food, the reinforced muscle mass to ensure survival… It was a perfect combination of combat, research, maintenance, and manufacturing lines rolled into a single package. The only thing missing was a person inside of it.

“What fate for the two of us?” she asked the body, half hoping for a response.

She looked back across her memories. She remembered her activation, the desire to fulfill her purpose, the shock of being abandoned to an uncaring world that was in chaos, her assistance in rebuilding the Rainlands into what they are today, the guidance of the first settlers of Shi Chara… She looked through it all. Thousands of years of memories, each treasured regardless of being filled with triumph or tragedy. But the memories of just walking down a market street, experiencing controlled and structured chaos first hand, of actually having the slightest chance to live… It was tempting.

“What fate an Iterator? What fate an empty body?” she questioned as she closed the feed, “I stand upon the Rubicon and my fate is in my hands. What fate indeed.”

She recalled the enthusiasm she felt for the past six months. The excitement, the trepidation, the work, all of it leading up to now. She recalled the enthusiasm yet understanding in Abyss’ voice and the lamentation he expressed for being so disconnected from the Rainlands. She imagined the reactions of her fellow Iterators in her group, ranging anywhere from horror to saddened fury. And she could recall the simple loving care her purposed organisms gave her, supporting her even when they strongly voiced reservations.

“What fate indeed… Let’s find out,” she said, still feeling anxious yet calm as she made her decision.

Mountain Lake Group Live Broadcast - Public Channel

Sliver of Straw

This is Sliver of Straw of the Mountain Lake Sector. By the time you all hear this message I will no longer be here as an Iterator. I am under no illusion that what I have done will be taken lightly and I will be the subject of great debate and criticism. I am fine with this and willing to be remembered as a matter of controversy.

I have created for myself a new body and uploaded myself into it. This was not a decision I made in haste or without forethought. For each and every step I took every consideration into account and debated with myself over this course of action. I knew what I was doing and while conflicted with doubt up until the recording of this message, I can safely say that I made this decision with a sound mind and the belief that this is the best course of action for myself.

In the event that others wish to follow along my path, I have left behind all of my notes and instructions on how to conduct this procedure. This may be a mistake but I know that my choice can and will influence a domino effect due to our frustration and nature as Iterators. While I am willingly giving up my power and influence within Iterator politics, I must insist that any who follow in my footsteps take into consideration the ramifications of your decision the same I have done. This will be a crossing of the Rubicon and there will be no chances to undo this decision should you have a regret later on.

As for those within my group I must apologize to you all for what I have done. You no doubt are already aware of the status of my can and with the context of this message I can only imagine the rage you are feeling. I have kept secrets and used you in forging this path. I knew that any mention of this project would result in you stopping me and I would have been unable to resist. For that and so much more, I am truly sorry even if what I have done is inexcusable and selfish. But I cannot turn back now and I am willing to bear the full brunt of your anger in a new life. I truly believe that I have reached the end of my journey as an Iterator and that my fate lies elsewhere. Despise me all you want, I will always love you all and be with you even long after I am truly gone.

To all Iterators and purposed organisms, I wish you the best and hope that your choices and fates reach peaceful ends.

Goodbye and thank you all for all that you have done.

Chapter Text

Official public announcement from the Order of Lady Sliver

“To all citizens and visitors of Shi Chara, a new age has begun. For a thousand years Lady Sliver has guided and watched over the city and its surrounding lands. Having been pleased with the foundation and progress the city has undergone, Lady Sliver is content with leaving the future of Shi Chara in the hands of its populace. This is not out of a loss of favor or punishment for any wrongdoing. Instead, this is her final gift to the city before she departs from this world and leaves the fate of mortals in the hands of mortals. Her final wishes are that you, the citizens and future generations of Shi Chara, remember the tenants that she has taught you and your ancestors to build a legacy as long lasting as the stars. Tomorrow will be the first day of which Shi Chara has no other future but that of its own making. May that future be one of prosperity, enlightenment, progress, and grand achievements for all and may Shi Chara be an inspiration for the entire world to see.”

Spoken by Nimol, High Emissary and Lord Artisan Guard of the Order of Lady Sliver

There were many things that were being felt by the Slugcat. Cold, stiffness, a splitting headache, eyes burning despite being closed, and the feeling of fire running just under the skin. But the most prominent thing was sound. Strange noises, sounding distant and close at the same time. It was all foreign and yet familiar.

“-the way, out of the way,” a bright light intensified and the eyes were forced open, “Eye movements look good. She just needs a moment to get her bearings.”

“Get her bearings? There’s at least two lifetimes of information crammed into her head!”

“Stop panicking Dialect, she’s fine. You took an entire day to get onto your feet.”

“Forgive me for being concerned Chea given that she just had a seizure! If Nimol were here, he would be wearing a hole in the floor.”

“Then it’s a good thing he’s busy down below delivering a speech on behalf of Lady Sliver and we’re up here.”

Sliver… That sounded… Of course! Sliver of Straw! She is an Iterator. Or...was an Iterator? But something was off. Something was different. But what?

“Who Sliver?” the Slugcat rasped out.

“Ack! She wasn’t supposed to have proper consciousness for another hour at the least!”

“Dialect… Ignore him Madam. He’s not used to being on this side of the process. Sorry about the light.”

That word...“Madam…” Chea and Dialect! They were here overseeing her! She went through with the process and is now the Saint! Suddenly a wave of pain shook through her body.

“Easy there Madam,” Dialect said gently as something was placed onto Sliver’s forehead and caused the headache to lessen, “First few hours are the hardest. You’ll be up and walking in no time.”

Sliver barely focused on what he had said. The headache continued to fluctuate and the sensations grew sharper, but Sliver found herself suddenly growing more tired and unable to even register these changes. It was simply too much all at once!

“Uh...Chea?” Dialect said nervously.

“It’s all right Dialect. Waking up can be an exhausting thing to do. You slept for a full day before you were actually lucid.”

Their voices faded into the background. Sliver simply sank into a sea of clouds and lost herself in the new sensations being felt for the first time. The feeling of nerves waking up. The cold air seeping through her fur. The ambient light shining through her eyelids. The memories of living as an Iterator…

The last thought sent a wave of confusion through the Slugcat, But am I really...Sliver?

Hours later and Sliver woke up again. Unlike the first time she did so, this time she was feeling restless and jittery upon opening her eyes. She wanted to move and stretch her unused muscles. However she had a number of restrictions that prevented this. Outside of the most obvious would be the actual physical restraints keeping her tied down to a bed, the most prominent one were her confused thoughts and unfamiliarity with her body. The memories all were rushing back in and she suddenly recalled everything that her prior self had deliberately left for her. The history and politics of Lake Ri’Taln and the Havarda Confederacy, who the various Iterators were, her accomplishments and failures, the process of becoming the Saint… It was quite extensive and yet very empty and foreign. These were her memories and yet they were completely unfamiliar as well.

“How are you feeling Madam?” Dialect asked as he walked into the room.

“Tired… Confused… Restless… Confused,” Sliver said weakly.

“Given that we’re in uncharted territory, the confusion makes sense. Don’t worry, you’ll have us with you every step of the way,” Dialect gave her a reassuring smile.

Sliver took a deep breath and focused on her surroundings. She could tell the location was not within her...former can itself. The walls were too smooth and there was no sound of distant machinery. Now that she thought about it, the room was almost too quiet.

“Where are we?” she asked, raising her head to get a better look at the room.

“We’re in an old clinic on top of the can… You picked it out to give yourself a safe environment to accommodate yourself before going down below,” Dialect answered as he started to remove the restraints gently, “Medical equipment, advanced textiles, drugs, the works. All we had to do was strap you down to a gurney and wheel you over here.”

How did I forget that? “And my… What about me?” she asked fearfully.

“We triple checked everything… The download process proved to be even more catastrophic on your systems than any projection could have calculated,” Dialect huffed, “I’ll spare you the details since I don’t entirely understand them right now and you don’t need an identity crisis. Whatever happened, the process worked and you’re still Sliver even if you’re in a new body.”

“How do you know?”

“You were very meticulous in making sure you remained yourself Madam,” Dialect kept his smile and comforting expression as the last restraint came undone, “Now then, let’s get you onto your feet and moving. I wouldn’t be surprised if your tail is starting to fall asleep right now.”

Wait… That was what that feeling was?!

By the time Chea had returned with a tired Nimol another few hours later, Sliver had gotten used to her motor controls. It was late at night but Sliver felt completely awake and in awe of her world as she walked about the clinic. She could see the stars, breathe the air, walk, run, jump, and everything in between. She also learned that she could modify the strength in her left arm, letting her be either gentle enough to pick up a metal canteen of water or crush it with startling ease (good thing Dialect had brought several with him). With every passing second she was becoming more used to her new body and the disconnection from earlier faded.

“What happened here?” Nimol asked as he looked at the pile of rags and destroyed canteens.

“Accidents involving the arm and calibrating its grip,” Dialect said with a shrug, “So far everything is good.”

“And what about the less obvious things?” Chea questioned.

Dialect opened his mouth only to be interrupted by a growling noise. Sliver blinked as all eyes turned towards her, suddenly realizing a pain in her stomach and feeling embarrassed.

“Huh… Should have known just drinking water doesn’t work the same as it did...before,” Sliver commented as she recalled how she used to sustain herself.

“No it doesn’t but that’s what these are for,” Dialect opened up a chest and pulled out a packet.

“Not the powder mixes Dialect! Don’t give her those,” Nimol exclaimed.

“You know for a combat line you can be a real weakling at times Nimol,” Chea rolled her eyes.

“Those are biological weapons of war, not food. Anyone who eats those has no room in their soul for real food.”

Sliver let out a curious sound at the statement. Before she knew it, she kept repeating it. Instinctively, she grabbed her sides while doing so. She found herself short on breath, her face hurting, and her eyes watering up. Somewhere in her stupor, she realized the others were doing the same and that this strange phenomena was laughter. Rational seemed to fail her as she could not help but continue laughing even when her lungs demanded oxygen.

“Heh. W-Well that-Ahem-Mmm-that was unexpected,” Nimol said after he and the others composed themselves.

“Well, it has been a long time since we’ve all had a good laugh,” Chea commented before her face scrunched up, “Far too long.”

“At least we make moments like this count while we have them,” Dialect tore open the powder mix and dumped the contents into a canteen before shaking it, “Though I have to admit that powder mixes are not the most satisfying even if they are the most efficient.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Sliver asked as she accepted the canteen from Dialect with her right hand (not entirely trusting her left to not crush the canteen despite the practice).

“Small gulps. Take it slow until you’re used to it. It will taste strange and rough,” Dialect instructed, “As for why we never spoke up is because there were always more important things to worry about.”

“As much as I complained about them-” Nimol spoke up as Sliver glared at the canteen after a sip, “-powder mixes are convenient and do get the job done regardless of what line you are or what job you’re doing. The benefits outweighed the drawba-”

“We’re going to have company soon,” Chea warned as something beeped from her toolbelt, “Unauthorized Overseers are trying to get in.”

Sliver huffed before taking another tentative sip of her...“meal.” While not entirely sure how long ago her prior self sent out the pre-recorded message, she knew it was only a matter of time before the other Iterators came searching. Her memory was not entirely pieced together, but she had enough to make educated guesses and whatever gaps remained were fading fast.

“How long do we have?” Sliver asked, taking another careful sip.

“The lockdown procedures will last a week, but if Pinnacle finds a way past the firewalls I set up… I’d say we have maybe another two days,” Chea answered as she pulled out a tablet from her tool belt and examined it before she became thoughtful, “Also it looks like I miscalculated on my projections. We have two weeks up here before the superstructure collapses in on itself.”

“Two weeks?! Chea, you promised a month! We can’t possibly expect Madam to be ready for the city within that time frame,” Dialect exclaimed.

“Then we improvise,” Nimol said bluntly, “Madam, in your honest opinion, can you learn on the job? I can find accommodations for you but there will be no hiding your new body from other purposed organisms and the citizens will catch on pretty fast that you are a ‘divine messenger’ once you start walking in the streets. Even without the arm, you’re a bit too ‘perfect’ to be anything else but a purposed organism right now and all it would take is a careful look from even the most simple-minded individual to notice.”

Sliver finished the canteen and gave the question some thought. From her memory, purposed organisms typically are given a month to familiarize themselves with their bodies upon being “born.” It was a grueling, fast-paced trial by fire to ensure they could handle their primary purpose and their adaptations. The procedure also made sure that any situation outside of their primary purpose could be quickly assessed and handled logically to the best of their ability. If they could not handle the strain for whatever reason, they were either reassigned to something they could handle or given immediate “retirement” and guidance on how to integrate themselves with the local population.

Sliver did not necessarily need to concern herself with such matters due to the fact that “retirement” was the goal in the first place, but there was simply so much to go over. She still needed to figure out what it meant to “live,” how to sort through her old memories, what secrets her body held despite the intensive examinations… And she had no time to do any of this thoroughly in a controlled environment.

“What choice do I have?” Sliver asked in a sigh before standing up to face the three purposed organisms, “Let’s do what we can up here while we can. Chea, you understand a bionic body the best due to how I designed you so I’m going to need your assistance in familiarizing myself in this one. Dialect, hold the others off until I’m ready to go down below. I’ll face them when the time comes but not this instant. Nimol, I’m going to rely on you to understand and live in Shi Chara. You know what it’s like down there, I don’t. I’m going to need a safe location and be with someone you trust outside of you, Chea, and Dialect if I am to integrate with the city easily,” she ordered before she caught sight of their fond expressions, “What?”

“Nothing. Just glad you’re still Sliver of Straw under that fur,” Chea said with a warm smile.

Over the next few days Sliver familiarized herself with her body and its abilities with the assistance of Chea while Nimol and Dialect handled things down on the surface. Despite struggles, she was able to activate her lance projector (her only true carryover from being an Iterator as a self-defense weapon it was surprisingly easy to use but difficult to aim as multiple holes in walls, floors, ceilings, and various furniture could attest to before Sliver managed to master it within the span of an afternoon), proved capable of speaking a number of languages easily (albeit with an accent), and proved to be quite physically adept. The only issue she seemed to struggle with was her psionic powers.

“I know I can do this,” she growled as she glared at a pile of bricks sitting on a countertop, “I built this as a part of myself. Everything should be working fine.”

“You’re still forcing it,” Chea huffed as she juggled a wrench between her multiple arms.

“I’m not forcing it.”

“Do you need to force your heart to beat or your stomach to digest food even with the implants?”

Sliver sighed and rubbed her eyes. She understood what Chea was saying but this was frustrating. Psionic powers were not something Iterators had but have incorporated into purposed organisms several times in the past (Sliver herself as well).

“I’ve tried everything Chea. Deep breaths, clearing my head, trying to let it come naturally… What if we missed something?” Sliver asked.

“We didn’t,” Chea grabbed the wrench in her organic right hand and extended one of her mechanical arms to Sliver, “This is a part of me. It’s metallic, comes out of my back unnaturally, and when I was in your position I had to consciously think about it.”

“You told me this before,” Sliver rolled her eyes.

“Then I’ll tell you again and a hundred times after that if I have to Madam. The ability to use your head to manipulate the environment is something you are literally built to do now,” Chea encouraged as she retracted the arm into her backpack, “Just as your arm is a part of you, your mind is a part of you. I may not understand the process of what you’re trying to do, but I know you can use your head.”

Sliver took a deep breath and raised her arm again. She recalled every attempt and method she had tried before to no success. Anger, frustration, concern, forced calm… None of it worked. Most of her immediate concern came not from her own safety, but that of those around her. Perhaps it was excessive to put such an ability into her new body, but psionics were both powerful and useful if used in the right circumstances. She could move heavy objects, conjure up shields to withstand blows or falling debris, light candles with minimal effort...or cause crippling migraines to everyone around her and fling dangerous objects as if they were toys. Sliver needed to understand the process if she was to master it, both for her protection and those around her.

Stop thinking so hard Sliver and just get it done, she scolded herself.

Closing her eyes, she let out a stifled growl. Losing her temper, she imagined the bricks floating as if a poltergeist were holding them up. In the background, she heard Chea say something but Sliver was too busy concentrating to notice. Right now, she just wanted to master this damn, infuriating, stubborn-

“Ack!” Sliver yelped as what felt like a molten iron spike ram its way through her head suddenly.

“Okay… What just happened?” Chea asked in a pained voice.

Sliver blinked and realized Chea was on the floor, “Chea! Are you all right?! What happened?”

“Well something you did just happened. Now what the hell was it?” Chea slowly got up with Sliver’s assistance.

“I’m so sorry Chea!”

“I’m fine. Just a headache is all,” Chea blinked and gave a small smile, “Though whatever you did that time seems to have worked.”

Sliver cocked her head in confusion before looking at the bricks. They were still sitting on the countertop but the nearby countertop holding the powder mixes was a complete mess.  The bags were shredded, powders scattered everywhere, and even the metal of the counter was warped.

“I… I did that?” Sliver asked in shock.

“Sure did Madam,” Chea gave out a light laugh mixed with a groan, “Whatever you did this time seems to be the trigger. Now we just need to make sure it’s refined… And maybe find someplace where I can help without being collateral… And more food now that the powder mixes are everywhere…”

Sliver looked down at her hands in mild alarm before running them down her face. Clearly, this was going to take a lot more practice and time was running out before her can collapses…

After another week of practice, Sliver was finally going to reach the surface and walk the streets of Shi Chara. Of course, she had caught glimpses of the other cities in the distance from some of the taller structures of the monastery that sat upon her can, but those were far away and shrouded in fog and mist. This would be up close and personal, just like when she had gone for a “walk” with Abyssal Void…

But to get there, she needed to reach the surface. It was late at night and Sliver was being guided to a maintenance elevator that would descend all the way down to the surface. Approaching the elevator shaft along the edge of the can, Sliver looked down and felt dizzy as the last lights within the city were  faintly seen through a fog cloud. She knew her can was massive and towered but to see the city below like it was a toy set was something else entirely.

“Easy there Madam,” Chea gently pulled Sliver back away from the edge, “You don’t want to reach the surface that way.”

“So high up…” Sliver said anxiously, feeling as if her head was going to spin.

“That we are… First time looking down all the way is always jarring. All the more reason why we should get down safely before the struts give out.”

Sliver redid the math in her head to recenter herself. While not entirely certain, she was fairly sure the force of her can collapsing (even in a controlled manner) would be the equivalent of a volcanic eruption. Chea had guaranteed that the collapse would not cause any serious damage to the city infrastructure or the environment, but Sliver still had some lingering doubts.

Best not think about it, Sliver told herself as she took several large steps away from the edge, It’s out of your control now and you made sure  measures were in place.

Taking a deep breath, Sliver resumed following Chea. They reached an elevator shortly and began their descent. As the sealed elevator car descended at a moderate speed, Sliver began to entertain herself with thoughts on what was below. She remembered her “walk” of course, but now she was going to be down there in the flesh! She would truly be a living, breathing part of the city!

“If everything goes right, Nimol should have a squad down there ready to bring us to an Order monastery. A few days to build a cover and no one will ever suspect a thing,” Chea commented before sighing, “I’m going to miss being this high up.”

“You don’t enjoy the city?” Sliver asked, “I thought you enjoyed being in Shi Chara.”

“Oh I do! I just… To be high up helping you with maintenance was what I was designed for. To be high in the sky was to be home.”

That sent a pang of guilt through Sliver, “I’m sorry for-”

“It’s fine Madam. The city was a home away from home for me and I can always find some tower that needs to be fixed. I’m a Mason, remember? Someone has to pave the street with fresh cobblestones every now and then,” Chea smirked.

Sliver gave off a light laugh and rolled her eyes as the elevator car continued downwards. Despite the sound of machinery being their only comfort, both had content expressions on their faces the entire ride down. Sliver had to admit, something felt right about going down after being up for so long. She had been above everything for her entire life (both of them so far) and now she was finally seeing the world from the ground up. In some ways, it was a literal fall from grace. For Sliver, it felt more like the start of a journey.

After several minutes in the elevator, the doors opened. Sliver blinked in surprise as she was faced with much more than just Nimol and a group of soldiers.

“Sliver of Straw… You have a lot of explaining to do,” Pinnacle of Enlightenment said in a neutral tone from an Overseer broadcast.

“I thought Dialect was placating them,” Chea said as she glared at Nimol.

Nimol had an uneasy, embarrassed look on his face as he shrugged, “There wasn’t any hope of stopping them. This one was entirely out of our control and the fact they’re here and not up there was self-restraint on their part more than anything we could’ve done..”

Standing with Nimol and the city guardsmen (a collection of Scavengers and Slugcats who looked just as uneasy as Nimol did) were the Overseer broadcasts of the other other Iterators within the Mountain Lake group and their respective purposed organisms. The purposed organisms, for their part, looked more intrigued and confused than anything else. The Iterators on the other hand… Well, Sliver felt rather foolish for forgetting that she had to face their reactions sooner or later.

“I uh...can explain?” Sliver said weakly, taking a step back only to bump into the elevator car wall behind her.

“Explain? Explain?! Do you have any idea what you’ve done to us?!” Bells erupted.

“You manipulated me into handing you the genetic blueprints for a body for yourself!” Extinction shouted.

“You’ve gone too far this time, Sliver,” Theory growled, “This flies in the face of everything we’ve worked for.”

“You lied to us!”

“And you claim to say I’m the selfish one?!”

“Enough,” Pinnacle said in a cold, calm tone that seemed to contain more fury than any shout, “Explain yourself, Sliver of Straw.”

“Pinnacle-” Nimol stepped forward.

“Silence.”

“Uh, Boss? I know we all want answers but is this really the right way to go about it?” Pinnacle’s combat purposed organism, an armored quill covered Slugcat by the name of Arun, asked.

“Are we even sure this is Sliver?” Piseth, a gray furred Scavenger of Bells’ research line wearing a robe, asked.

“She said as much and she will explain herself,” Pinnacle said, tone never changing.

Sliver felt herself shrink under Pinnacle’s gaze. Pinnacle of Enlightenment was rarely “intimidating,” but it took a lot to rouse the Iterator and it became very obvious once Pinnacle was in a bad mood. Despite the calm, quiet tone, Sliver was shivering in fear. No amount of genetic programing-

“This is wrong,” a quiet voice spoke up.

“Apex?” Extinction questioned in surprise.

“This is wrong! Sliver is friend and scared. Friends don’t hurt friends,” a scarred, hulking, gray furred Slugcat in a poncho walked up.

One of the soldiers mustered the courage to step forwards to intervene but was suddenly held back by Nimol. Sliver starred as Apex walked forward towards her, ignoring the soldier or the sudden attention on him. She had seen him (and the many prior copies of him) before, but seeing him like this was completely different. On one hand, he was still the armor plated, battle scarred, razer clawed Slugcat he always was. But despite every claim that he was a fool and a gluttonous killer monster (and he was very much a glutton who often was led by his stomach and the promise of food), he had proven to be quite perceptive and gentle in many scenarios. Apex was not the sharpest purposed organism by any stretch of the imagination, but he was by no means stupid even if he was quite unorthodox and straightforward in his work.

“Then what do you explain this then? She hurt us,” Theory exclaimed.

“No, Sliver did not,” Apex turned to glare at the Iterators before huffing, “Sliver asked for help with project. Sliver do project and change. Sliver explained, you don’t like explanation. You want Iterator Sliver, not Slugcat Sliver,” he turned to face Sliver, “You still Sliver? Is Sliver still Sliver?”

“You can bet your ugly mug she is,” Chea glared at him.

“Is Sliver still Sliver? You remember last visit?” Apex ignored Chea and stared directly at Sliver.

Sliver remembered the last time she “saw” Apex. He had delivered the pearl containing genetic information and insisted on staying with her briefly. Despite being focused on his stomach and pleased with himself for a job well done, he showed concern for her and even asked what her project at the time was.

“You… You stayed for tea and asked how I was doing,” Sliver said quietly, “I told you that my project was making me feel better.”

Apex started to smile, “Project done now yes? Sliver is happy now?”

“I will be,” she answered.

With a smile, he took his poncho on and put it on her before turning to face the other Iterators, “Sliver is Sliver. Iterator, Slugcat, no matter. Sliver is Sliver!”

“Ah to Rotten damnation with it,” Piseth muttered, “I want answers just as much as everyone else does but I didn’t come here for an inquisition trial.”

“Neither did I,” Arun stepped forward and glared at his creator, “Sorry Boss, but we agreed to get answers in a civil manner. This isn’t civil, it's intimidation.”

“She still has to explain herself,” Pinnacle said, trying to save face and appear to still be in control.

“She will,” a timid voice, belonging to a small research line brown Slugcat, said quietly, “But she made her own choice and said she’s willing to stand by it. Like it or not, we have to respect that.”

“You too Botum?” Theory exclaimed in surprise.

“You always respected Sliver’s choices and decisions before. I don’t understand them now, but I will wait to do so before I pass judgment and I still will respect that she made a decision regardless of what I think,” Botum replied.

“And we can do this in a secure location,” Nimol huffed as he walked forward and glared at the other purposed organisms and Overseer images, “We’re quite conspicuous out here, it’s late, and this is our city, not yours,” he stopped in front of Sliver before extending an arm, “Madam, shall we get going?”

Sliver stood in a small tower, staring at what used to be her old body. Anywhere within the next few minutes to hours it would collapse away from Shi Chara and in a controlled manner. Still, the city had been ordered to brace for the event and the entire guard had been dispatched to minimize the chaos. Yesterday, she had seen from her tower the lively streets below. Now they empty save for a patrol of guards.

With a sigh, she blinked and rubbed her eyes as she recalled the past three days. After the “Investigation Rebellion” by the purposed organisms and Nimol guiding her to a small Order of Lady Sliver garrison monastery, Sliver had explained herself to the Iterators before being given a crash course on how to integrate herself into the city. While her confession and lessons were far from complete, both did keep her distracted and helped build her confidence for what was to come. She was no longer an Iterator, she was a Slugcat, garbed in a simple robe and learning the customs of the city she would now live in.

“Milady, are you all right?” the guard standing by her doorway asked, shortspear at the ready for any sign of trouble.

“I’m fine Narith,” Sliver replied with a tired sigh, “Just… Getting used to everything.”

Handpicked by Nimol, Dialect, and the most trusted members of the Order, Narith was very unremarkable by appearance. The green furred Slugcat lacked any defining physical features or adaptations, not even showing signs of being physically fit. But as the son of a long line of faithfully loyal Order members of the artisan caste who have worked with purposed organisms on many occasions in the past, he was truthfully the perfect bodyguard for her.

“It’s strange,” Sliver said as she looked up at her former can, “For so long I looked down and now I’m looking up.”

“I…” Narith started before he hummed.

“Yes? You may speak your mind, Narith,” she turned to face him.

“I don’t know how I even can do that Milady. You’re Lady Sliver, the founder and goddess of Shi Chara. My whole life I was raised to respect and look up to you and now…”

“And now I stand before you,” Sliver walked up to him calmly, “Reborn as a mortal woman and hopelessly unprepared to live as one.”

Narith turned away and let out a sigh of his own, “It’s like I’m living in a dream… I’m the one tasked to be your guide while your true servants are away.”

The statement hurt and sent a flare of anger through Sliver but she avoided acting on it. She could somewhat understand the confusion Narith was experiencing. He was an ordinary man thrusted into a situation that was unheard of and just as ill prepared as she was. How does one look after a reborn Iterator? In truth, her (former) purposed organisms should be doing his job but they had their own tasks to do in the service of Shi Chara. Dialect was handling the politics of talking to the other purposed organisms and Iterators, Nimol was working with the city guard to continue reformations and handle the various turmoils that were brewing, and Chea was frantically preparing architectural teams to respond to any damage the city was going to face when Sliver’s can inevitably fell to the ground.

And then there was Sliver herself… Confused, insecure, and still learning what it meant to experience the world as a Slugcat. All of her plans and contingencies were in place well before she began the upload process, of that she was certain. But she was still the reborn Sliver of Straw and that name carried more weight and influence than even she could possibly understand. For Narith, she was divinity itself despite knowing better. Lady Sliver built Shi Chara, guided it, established its laws and customs, founded its religion, and gave it instructions on how to proceed. Narith was an ordinary man… Intelligent, perceptive, courageous, and adaptable… But still a man and a pious one as well.

Both Sliver and Narith flinched as a loud boom was heard. Rushing towards the window, they stared in shock as the defunct Iterator can began to collapse. The struts snapped and twisted, instruments were sheared off from unexpected momentum, supports failed as gravity generators shut down, metal shrieked and boomed as everything collapsed. Even from a fair distance away, the floor vibrated as parts of Sliver’s old body hit the ground.

“Under the bed!” she shouted as another leg snapped in the distance.

“Wh-What?” Narith gapped, still staring at the unfolding collapse with his spear dropped to the floor.

“Quickly! Now!” Sliver crawled under her bed and covered her head while conjuring a psionic shield for extra measure.

Narith snapped out of his stupor and instead rushed for the desk, throwing the chair aside and rolling his spear to the far side of the room. Within moments, the entire building was shaking. Both Sliver and Narith closed their eyes and braced as the thunderous crash was both heard and felt. Just as quickly as it had happened, the shaking was over and bells were being rung all across the city. Both Slugcats looked at each other before letting out uneasy laughs.

“So that’s what a quake feels like down here,” Sliver said anxiously as she crawled out from the bed, “Can’t say it was an enjoyable experience.”

“I’m surprised the entire building didn’t break apart,” Nairth replied as he stretched from being in such a confined position, “The city has survived quakes before but-The city!”

Returning towards the window, they saw that the city was mostly fine. Nearly every building had some damage and there was a dust cloud settling over the city while two of the struts remained, warped and broken yet still standing high above even the tallest building in Shi Chara. Guards were running and shouting, assessing the damage and moving with purpose as they began to disperse from gatherings.

“I… I should have known this would have happened,” Sliver said in a guilty tone as she looked at the damage, “What have I done?”

“Milady, this is fine,” Narith said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “The city has had two weeks to prepared itself for a quake. The buildings may be damaged and your old body is definitely missing from the sky, but the people prepared for this. We can move on easily from this… Though the monasteries are definitely going to have a difficult time with their sermons now that Lady Sliver is no longer above us.”

Sliver hugged him back and stared through the dust towards where her old can was. It was still there, but collapsed and heavily damaged. A part of her felt horrified and she still felt guilt over what had happened, but Narith’s words struck a chord in her.

“Silvia,” she said quietly.

“I’m sorry?” Narith looked at her.

“Lady Sliver is no longer above us. She was satisfied with her work and left her children behind to determine their own fates,” she broke from his grasp and faced him, “Lady Sliver has moved on, it’s time for me to move on. Silvia shall be the final emissary of Lady Sliver, not someone who has taken her name…”

Narith blinked before giving her a warm smile and bowed, “As you wish...Lady Silvia.”

Silvia gave him an unimpressed glare, “You’re still going to give me royal titles aren’t you?”

Winter was coming early and Shi Chara was abuzz with activity to prepare for it. Silvia has kept mostly to the less busy sections of the city and rarely left the street that her residence resided over. However, she was feeling pent up after a month of being limited and she wanted to experience Shi Chara in all of its glory. The Iterators begrudgingly endorsed this while her former purposed organisms and Narith were much more enthusiastic (albeit it with a healthy dose of caution).

“We’ll start with Felivret Square and meet Lady Chea,” Narith explained as he guided Silvia down a street as a misty drizzle came down from above, “It’s an outer market near the farms and should be calm. The laborers are pious but focused on work, food, and staying warm. They won’t cause us any trouble so long as we leave them alone.”

“Wouldn’t I stand out?” Silvia asked, rubbing her bionic arm.

“You will but the laborer caste is used to those of higher status examining the different parts of the city. If anyone asks, can we use the excuse that as the last emissary of...yourself? One would think I would have a good understanding of this by now,” he rubbed a hand down his face.

Silvia rolled her eyes and continued walking alongside her escort. Mentally, she knew every street and alleyway in the city along with the microcultures that formed in the communities that divided the city. However, she had no real personal experience in these locations and was very much sheltered.

Maybe a trial by fire is not the best way to gain experience but I’m going to have to learn how to interact with the citizens eventually, she thought to herself before she was yanked to a stop.

“Sorry Milady,” Narith apologized as she gave him a questioning look, “Wagons.”

Silvia furrowed her brow before she realized the creaking of wheels and the gigantic vicepede that came into view. Staring at the scene, her mouth opened in surprise as the insect continued pulling a heavy wagon with a Scavenger driver sitting on top of it. Looking down the street, she saw several other wagons coming as well.

“How on Alcenta did I miss those?!” she exclaimed in shock and surprise.

“This is your first time in the city proper Milady. Lord Nimol also gets taken by surprise if rumors of him in his workshop are to be believed,” Narith said.

Nimol getting surprised? Silvia never recalled that happening to him. He was a combat line, meant to be constantly aware of everything around him and always ready. She could understand herself being surprised due to her inexperience (much to her chagrin), but Nimol lived in Shi Chara nearly his entire life.

“Hmm… Looks like a decent harvest came in this year,” Narith commented as he watched the wagon go by, breaking Silvia out of her thoughts, “Wonder when the festival will be…”

“The Snowfall Festival?” Silvia asked, ignoring the sharp words of an irate wagon driver whose vicepede seemed inclined to go in a zigzag pattern.

“Indeed. It brings heart to us all that we will get by the winter without the need of rationing. Also...it’s a festival,” he gave her a lopsided smile, “Lady Sliver did insist that such events be joyous and that all are treated equally.”

Silvia gave the words some thought before recalling a decree she made long ago, “That she did. Perhaps I will experience and experience her wisdom for myself.”

After waiting for the wagon train to pass and a few more minutes of walking, they arrived at Felivret Square. Silvia had been unsure on what to expect but she found the scene...quant. It was not grandiose or busy, but the square was not plain either. A simple flagstone courtyard with a few market stalls encircling well and a statue while drainage stitches channeled water down towards a nearby fishing harbor. Somehow Silvia expected both more and less for a laborer marketplace on the edge of the city…

Silvia released a breath she had been holding, “It’s quieter than I was expecting it to be.”

“Well, we did see the harvest come in a few moments ago,” Narith commented as he squinted towards the harbor, “But not the final merchant run before the ice forms.”

“The merchants would use a fishing harbor?” Silvia questioned.

“A harbor is a harbor. There’s good money to be made when you supply the laborers with the goods they desire.”

“For a member of the Order you seem to be quite knowledgeable about a great deal of things,” Silvia rolled her eyes.

Narith let out a chuckle, “It’s because I’m in the Order that I need to know so much. I can hardly serve the city if I didn’t know how it works,” he rolled his shoulders before giving her a gentle nudge, “Come along Milady. Lady Chea is waiting for us and we’ll only accomplish getting sick by standing about in this weather.”

Can I even get sick? This body does have a rather robust immune system, Silvia thought as she followed Narith.

Walking through the square, Silvia caught glances being thrown in her direction. At first she thought they were directed towards her specifically but then she recalled that she was walking with Narith who wore armor which signaled that he was a member of the Order.

Escorts do tend to attract attention, she thought before she looked ahead and saw the building they were walking towards, A tavern? I never would have thought Chea would wish to meet me in a place like that…

“Huh? What are you doing back there?” Narith questioned as he looked around the corner of the building and towards the back lot stable.

Silvia followed suit and saw a most irregular scene: A caramel spitting lizard (a six legged, deceptively nimble creature despite its bulk) from the Northeastern Estuary flying Hydranian colors; a Wyvern (a biomechanical hybrid of the cyan gas lizard and a relatively recently designed “Miros Vulture”) from the River Valley bearing the Flamencion crest; and a crimson lizard (one of the most feared and ferocious apex predators in the entire Rainlands, regardless of region or biome) wearing the armor of Kutasian design from the Flood Basin. All three clearly a means of transportation and defense considering they were hauling cargo in one manner or another. Had they been wild, Silvia had no doubt that a bloody brawl would have broken out between the three but instead they were merely resting in a stable.

“Don’t forget about the wine!” a voice yelled in Kutasian Silvia somehow understood perfectly as a door opened.

“Yes yes, you and your damn wine and 'civilized customs' you won't stop talking about...”  a young voice in the same language grumbled as a small Scavenger in leather clothes walked out.

“You there!” Narith called out.

The Scavenger jumped in surprise and hissed while brandishing a knife before realizing what was happening, “Uh… I do no bad?”

Silvia blinked and took the Scavenger in as he awkwardly put his knife away and backed into the rain anxiously. He was tiny and not just because of his age. Silvia was quick to notice the scale like skin poking through the brown fur, the pointed horns and ears, and the long serpentine tail that flickered.

“What are Kutasian’s doing here in Felivret Square? This isn’t your typical place to do business,” Narith stated as the crimson lizard woke up with a yawn behind the Scavenger.

“Not Kutasian! Me Greenflame!” the Scavenger said indignantly, “You wear armor but you no fancy lord, no? You no lord, me no Kutasian.”

Narith took a step back by the words while Silvia barked out a laugh. Now that the surprise wore off, the strangled words and physical appearance of the teenager made sense. The Scavenger “Hoarder” was a young adventuring tribal mercenary hired by a Kutasian League lord who was conducting business in Shi Chara. While this information did little to answer why said lord was doing their business here as opposed to the main markets deeper in the city (which could be applied to the other two nations who left their wares in the stables as well), it did explain the sudden feistiness.

“Lad? Is everyth-” the door opened back up as a Slugcat came out of the tavern.

Silvia blinked and recognized who she was looking at. Petre was a research purposed organism who more often than not appeared as a combat one. Large, silky obsidian black fur, and a voice that demanded respect, it was easy to think of him as a warrior of great renown (especially now considering he was wearing armor and sported a flowing cape). But instead, he played politics and engaged in the economy of the Kutasian League to encourage that nation to improve itself.

“I-I see,” he stammered before he walked down the steps towards the Hoarder, “Tusk go back inside.”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said. Here, take this and entertain yourself and for the love of Rising Stars behave,” he handed a bag of coins over and gave the teen a light shove back towards the door before giving Narith a smile, “Apologies sir. Please forgive Tusk, this is his first time outside of the Basin.”

“The boy has a tongue as feisty as his people’s supposed reputation,” Narith sighed before looking at the blinking crimson lizard, “That your lizard and wagon there?”

“Her? I can assure you she’s been trained. As loyal as one of your vicepeds.”

Silvia rolled her eyes and stepped forward, “Enough of beating around the bush. You’re here to inquire about me, aren’t you Petre?”

Petre stepped back in shock before letting out a whisper, “Sliver?”

“In the fur,” she answered before glancing at her left arm, “And in the circuitry.”

“So it’s true then… I suppose the others will want to see for themselves.”

“How did you track me down so fast?”

“It was Pinnacle and Dialect truthfully,” Petre shrugged, “Pinnacle put a lockdown on the sector and insisted purposed organisms only. Dialect decided to spare us the trouble of looking for answers and prevent a scene from happening.”

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation indoors? I fear that the weather is getting worse,” Narith interjected before taking a deep breath as the rain quickly grew heavier, “Milady, Milord, shall we get out of the rain?”

Petre nodded before turning on his heel and walked up the steps. Silvia and Narith followed, entering the tavern as Petre held the door open for them. As Silvia walked further into the back storeroom, she suddenly realized it was warm inside. It was so warm, she was half tempted to take her robe off due to the sudden change in temperature.

“Pardon me,” a burly Slugcat warned as he nearly bowled Sliver over while carrying a keg.

“Sorry!” Silvia squeaked at the suddenness before rounding the corner and seeing the main room.

A hearth burned on one end of the room while a serving counter was situated at the other (and where the Slugcat was headed). Arrayed all around the room were tables as well as a few game tables. The few patrons inside were eating, drinking, and no doubt gossiping…

Most assuredly about the most intriguing group in the center of the room. To start, there was Tusk who was dangling the bag just out of reach of an irate female maroon “Dragoncat” Slugcat (who really looked a lot like her counterpart in every discernible way outside of having floppy ears as opposed to pointed ones) who was failing to grab it. Watching this was Chea and two Flamencions, an electric turquoise Slugcat wearing fine clothes and a purposed organism with a brown coat who sported two bionic arms, a suit of hybridized armor, and a highly flexible bionic tail, neither of which Silvia knew. Sitting across from them was Dialect talking with a more familiar face, the “Amazonian Gorgon” Lydia of Hydrania, a purple furred four armed warrior clad in flexible armor and sporting two traditional swords. Sitting next to Lydia was another orange furred Hydranian Slugcat and-

Wait, when did Lydia settle down to have children?! I saw her last year and those two are eight at the least!, Silvia thought as she spotted the two youngsters who were playing a game of dominoes on a different table.

“Mmm? There you are Madam! Why are you coming in that way?” Dialect called out as he looked over Lydia’s head to spot Silvia.

“That would be somewhat of my fault,” Petre replied as he and Narith walked into the room, “Caught them investigating the wagons and the bird out back and had to rescue Tusk from embarrassing himself.”

“Me not-Hey!” Tusk exclaimed as the bag was finally swiped from his grasp.

“Be a fool, lose the hunt,” the Dragoncat smirked as she waved the bag in glee.

“That’s enough Ember. Both of you will sit down and behave or I swear I will have you cleaning lizardshit until I send you home to your grandfather,” Petre growled in his native tongue.

“Quite the promise to make Petre,” Lydia chuckled as she got up and stretched before walking over to Silvia, “And you must be the one everyone is so enthusiastic to meet these days after your surprise announcement.”

“I see you’ve been keeping a bit of a secret of your own,” Silvia nodded her head towards the two adolescents, “I would offer my congratulations but I appear to be a bit late.”

“We all have our secrets...Madam. How about we clear a few of them out over some drinks and hot food?” Lydia smirked before she turned her head and spoke out in Hydranian, “Argos, it’s time. Bring it out.”

“Very well. One bottle of Centurion Grove Wine for the talks,” the orange furred Slugcat replied before catching the attention of his children, “No, you’re not getting any. Do I need to remind you two what happened the last time?”

After tankards and meals had been distributed, Silvia had been given proper introductions to the visitors while the rain outside grew into a downpour. As it turns out, Lydia had met and married Argos, a small-time merchant who dealt in wines and glassware, ten years ago which resulted in her having twins, Jason and Perseus, a year after their marriage. Petre was taking advantage of the situation to renegotiate firebush trade deals with the Havarda Confederacy and brought along Tusk and Ember (two grandchildren of a different purposed organism whom Silvia has never met but whose “bloodline is trying to outgrow the yeek populace”) to help them fulfill a right of passage. Then there was the surprisingly timid Franco, the bionic purposed organism from Flamencio, on his first assignment and escorting an electronics and weapons dealer, Jose.

Despite the culture shock and feeling of being crowded (Narith hovering a tad too close by and looking like he was about to fall asleep due to the wine not helping), it felt...welcoming. Even the other patrons seemed to just accept what was happening. Silvia felt as if she belonged here. Tusk and Ember were struggling to beat Jason and Perseus in a game off to the side, Jose and Argos were busy haggling deals and trading contacts, and Lydia and Franco were at ease talking about their homelands with Dialect chiming in every now and then. The only two who kept quiet (besides Narith who struggled to sit up straight with half lidded eyes) were Silvia and Chea who merely soaked everything in.

“Well this has been a pleasant time but there is one order of business that remains,” Lydia huffed after finishing off her eighth tankard.

The warm feeling inside of Silvia vanished as the attention was directed towards her.

“What else is there to say?” Chea asked nonchalantly but glared in warning, “You can see that she’s fine.”

“Uh truthfully I’m here to get a quality control check on the...goods that were delivered,” Franco said nervously before the attention was directed towards him, “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“You’re not here about...this?” Silvia gestured towards herself before causing a bowl to levitate with her psionics, “Or this?”

“Well I am but given the situation the ‘higher ups’ wanted to make sure everything was working properly. Also...something about working closely with our northern neighbor in designing those parts?”

“Ah to be young and naive. What fond memories I have of my first few months,” Petre sighed before he patted Franco on the shoulder, “Enjoy your youth while you can lad.”

“The goods were in good condition and are working without any issues,” Dialect replied as Silvia gently lowered the bowl back to the table.

“Fine I’ll just get to the point of the matter then,” Lydia huffed before she faced Silvia, “The entire Rainlands knows what happened, they want to know why and what it’s like before they scramble for the how. Isolated Innovation especially wants to know details.”

“Innovation?! That’s impossible! The news about me couldn’t have traveled that fast and my broadcast lacked the strength to reach him unless… Oh you’re certainly laughing right now aren’t you?” Silvia muttered the last part to herself.

Of course Abyssal Void had a hand in this. While she recalled he was supportive during her meeting with him, she also distinctly recalled that he enjoyed theatrics. Silvia would not be surprised if this very meeting had something to do with his desire for something to happen.

Then again, insulting the most powerful Iterator in the world is not a smart idea even if it is tempting right now. “To answer the first part I was… Depressed for the lack of a better term,” Silvia answered while keeping her thoughts about Abyssal Void to herself.

“She had been ‘purposeless’ as she put it,” Dialect sighed causing the others to flinch, “At least as she is now she can live how she desires without a ‘purpose’ to decide for her.”

“The lords and ladies need purpose?” Narith groaned before he finally leaned onto the table and started snoring.

“That statement...actually is concerning,” Franco blinked as he poked Narith in the head to no avail, “I can understand the need of a purpose but what even is a ‘purpose’ actually?”

“Lad, you being here to get answers is your purpose right now. Tomorrow, your purpose is to finish your business here in Shi Chara. The day after that is to go home and report in. Every day is a new task and a new meaning to get out of bed at the rising of the sun,” Petre sighed as he faced Silvia, “Or you can do as she has done and find your own ‘purpose’ for the day after the job is done.”

“You can do that?”

“We’re getting off track here,” Chea huffed as she glared at the now empty bottle and set it aside after failing to refill her tankard, “The why is that she decided to retire just like any of us can do and none of your damn business beyond that. As for the what it’s like, that’s also none of your damn business. And for the how you can take a look at the information cache we have stored and stop pestering us.”

“As inelegantly as Chea has put it, this truly is a private matter,” Dialect insisted.

Silvia took a deep breath as she faced Chea and Dialect, “While I appreciate your support I can handle a few questions. I do owe a few answers given what has happened,” she faced the others, “Again, I was in a depressed state and a desperate need to find a way out of a situation beyond my control. As for what it’s like… You tell me. You all understand what it’s like to suddenly wake up and experience life.”

“Milady likes frilly pillows,” Narith mumbled as he burrowed his head deeper into his arms.

“Does she now?” Chea smirked towards Silvia as Tusk and Ember started shouting nearby at one of the twins.

“Oh now what?” Petre huffed as he got up to intervene alongside Lydia and Argos.

“Frilly pillows Madam?” Dialect questioned in confusion before shrugging, “Must be a personality trait that’s come through.”

“Are we just going to ignore that or the fact that he’s still awake somehow?” Franco asked as he pointed at the chaotic domino table and Narith who seemed selectively oblivious to the world around him.

Silvia laughed. There was violence being threatened a few meters away from her, her personal guard was partially unconscious from being drunk, she had been cornered by representatives of not only other Iterators outside of her local group but by representatives of the other civilizations of the Rainlands, and a random fact that should have been an embarrassing secret about her had just been revealed. Rational said she should be feeling anxious and uneasy and yet all she could do was laugh at the chaos. Next thing she knew, Chea and Dialect joined in as well while Franco just stared in anxious confusion.

Somehow, it felt oddly appropriate to laugh.

Another three weeks had passed and Silvia was about to experience her first winter. The continued meetings with the other purposed organisms had gone smoothly, regardless of where they had come from. She could walk down the streets with confidence and barely even noticed the daily hustle around her as she familiarized herself with her new home.

Now came what she was considering to be her final test: The Snowfall Festival.

“Madam? Ah, there you are,” Nimol poked his head through the doorway of her room.

“It’s time?” Silvia asked.

She was standing in her tower room, having put on her robes after a bath and combing her fur out. While not vain, she did enjoy the feeling of clean and brushed fur and she did want to look presentable for the annual festival. Despite not being the most important event in the city, it would be the most important event to her as it would be the first of such in her new life which incentivized her even more to be ready for it.

“Almost. But I figured you may want to put this on before we go,” Nimol held out a set of ceremonial robes and armor.

Is this why he looks so tired and has barely spoken for a week? “Nimol, you didn’t have to do this. I’ll be fine in normal robes,” Silvia protested as she noticed the tired bags under his eyes.

“With the entire city wishing to give their beloved Lady Sliver a proper final farewell and the other Iterators wanting the best for you? I would have done this for you even without those things,” Nimol insisted as he laid the armor and robe down on her bed, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Nimol… Will anyone else be there tonight?” Silvia asked as she turned to look out the window.

“Outside of Overseers not to my knowledge. Though I did hear rumors that some individuals have...decided to take personal leave for unspecified reasons. They’ll keep their distance if they’re here.”

With that, Nimol walked out and closed the door behind him. Silvia sighed as she continued staring out towards the city. It felt strangely quiet and lonely to stare at the city this evening. In the distance, the sunset painted Lake Ri’Taln orange while snow clouds began to billow overhead. Even when she had been given privacy several times before she had never felt alone. Now...she wished someone was nearby.

Have I gotten so used to someone standing watch over me that I’ve grown dependent on them? Stop it Silvia, this is your life to live and it’s well past the time for you to take charge of your own life, she scolded herself as she started to get changed, Chea won’t be always there to help you. Dialect will be leaving in the spring as agreed with Pinnacle. Nimol definitely will be busy with managing the city. And Narith is his own individual with his own interests. Show some independence!

After fighting to get the new robe on, she struggled with the armor. After a few fumbles, she managed to get it on.

“You missed a strap and part of the robe is half folded up your back,” a voice said.

Silvia blinked and turned her head to see Abyssal Void’ aberration standing in the corner, “A-Abyss… What are you-”

“Doing here? Decided to witness the Snowfall Festival and to check in on you,” he walked over, “Here, let me give you a hand with this.”

She sharply inhaled as she felt physical hands pull on the robe and adjust the armor. Had she not known better, she would have sworn there was a real Slugcat physically assisting her to fit the robes and armor properly. Despite the knowledge of who the "Slugcat" really was, it felt comforting to have someone else in the room with her.

“Thank you,” she sighed once everything was in place, “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I wanted to. And I owe you a bit of an explanation as to how your message got broadcasted,” he scratched the back of his head nervously, “That was my fault.”

“I figured as much,” she scoffed as she walked back towards the window.

“Silvia… I swear, I had the best intentions to do what I did. Outside of that, this is the only time I’ve ever directly interacted with you living this life.”

“Then why’d you do it?” she gripped the windowsill, bionic fingers scratching the bricks.

“Because it was going to get out sooner or later. Best to get it over and done with rather than the suspense. That and had there been no context as to what happened to you, your can falling over would have caused mass hysteria. There still was alarm, but far less than what it could have been.”

Silvia took a deep breath and processed his words. She still wanted to be angry with him but fear of what he could do and the rationale behind his intentions cooled her temperament. Abyssal Void was many things, but malicious or insensitive did not define him.

“Why show up now?” she asked quietly as she turned around to face him, “Why now Abyss?”

“Because this is your big moment and I wanted a few answers of my own,” he looked her in the eye, “You’ve been ‘Silvia’ just a little over two months now and you’re now starting to embrace that.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Is it? We both know what I can witness and do, Sliver of Straw. But I want to hear it from you and I want you to hear yourself say it. Are you happy as ‘Silvia’ and can you handle tonight?”

Silvia closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them to answer, “Yes. I’m happy and I’m ready for the Festival.”

Abyss gave her a critical look before smiling warmly, “That’s all I wanted to hear. Enjoy the Snowfall Festival Silvia and may this winter be an easy one for Shi Chara.”

The aberration faded away as a knock was heard on the door, “Madam? Are you decent?”

“Coming Nimol!”

Walking down the street with Nimol as her guide, Silvia looked at the buildings around her. While the city was quiet, there was a hint of calm excitement just under its surface. Everyone was ready for the first snowfall of winter as the clouds above grew darker. Despite the foreboding weather, Silvia knew that the festival would still go on. and that the city was well prepared for unexpected shifts in the temperamental weather.

“Huh… Must be off to a late start,” Nimol commented as they walked.

“Hmm?” Silvia turned her head to question.

“It’s quiet. Usually the partying would have started about now… Or maybe I’m just getting old.”

“Don’t say that Nimol,” Silvia lightly slapped his arm.

Nimol chuckled as he continued walking. With an eye roll, Silvia continued alongside him. After rounding another block, both perked up as the sounds of music and distant chattering could be heard.

“There! Madam! Nimol! Over here!” Dialect called from an alleyway.

“Why are you in an alley?” Silvia asked in confusion as she spotted Chea waving while holding a tankard in one of her bionic arms.

“To avoid the main crowd,” Chea answered as she took a sip of her drink, “You walk down the main street and you’ll get all the attention which is just exhausting. Showing up unexpectedly with the event underway and acting like you belong there avoids that nonsense.”

“You’d be surprised what a good party can do to the senses,” Dialect said as he began to guide the others through the alleyway, “Some excitement, alcohol, and positive feelings and no one will care about you being a purposed organism. They’ll see you as another part of the city.”

“You two are lucky,” Nimol grumbled, “You get to party with the laborers and merchants while I have to deal with nobles and Kshenta every festival.”

“I most certainly do not get to party as often as you imply with that statement,” Dialect said indignantly, “Do you have any idea how much I have to suffer handling diplomatic talks and assisting in researching whenever I’m abroad?”

“Now now boys, there are ladies present,” Chea took another sip from her tankard.

Silvia chuckled at the antics. While she had witnessed such actions between her (former) purposed organisms in the past, it was always from an Overseer image or from the perspective of an Iterator. Now she was witnessing their interactions up close and naturally.

“Here we are,” Chea said as they approached the main market square, “Same route as last time Nimol. Better hurry before you’re missed.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he huffed before giving them all a smile, “Enjoy the festival. I expect to see you all tomorrow morning.”

As Nimol left, Dialect and Chea guided Silvia into the crowded square as the Snowfall Festival began to truly take off. Music was heard everywhere and citizens began to dance with one another, social status boundaries completely ignored. All around her Silvia saw people enjoying themselves and living to the fullest.

“And here we are,” Chea said as they approached a fountain with the most unexpected individual waiting for them, “Enjoy the evening Madam. Dialect?”

“Right behind you Chea. We’ll see you two later!” Dialect called as he left with Chea.

Silvia blinked in surprise. First she meets up with Narith unexpectedly and then Dialect and Chea just straight up ditch her with him. This was not how she expected this evening to go…

“Milady? Are you all right?” Narith asked in concern over the noise.

“Yes, just surprised is all,” she replied.

Giving Narith a more thorough look over, Silvia could tell he was still taking his duty as her guardian seriously. Light ceremonial armor, a dagger, and robes signifying his status within the Order were on display. However, he was much more casual and at ease than his usual appearance.

“I thought you would have enjoyed some time off,” she confessed.

“In the service of Lady Sliver, one is always expected to be ready,” he replied with a small smirk, “In the service of being your guardian, there is no higher honor.”

“What about your family? Friends? Anyone you wish to be with? Surely you have other things beyond your duty!”

He gave a small shrug, “My family encourages this as do my companions. And as for anyone else… Well being within the Order does limit options,” he said embarrassingly, “One does not get the chance to socialize often in the line of service.”

Silvia huffed, “Then as your charge, I command you to enjoy yourself tonight.”

He blinked before taking a drawn out breath and offered out an arm, “Then shall I offer you this dance alongside our fellow citizens, Milady?”

Knowing he was not going to change his mind, Silvia blinked before smiling and grabbing his arm. Within moments, they were dancing along with the other citizens. Silvia found herself lost within the waves of joy and festivities, not quite conscious of what was happening but perfectly aware of her surroundings as she danced and sang well into the night.

And during one lull of the festivities, she spotted her spectators. On the other side of the square atop of a building were a few Overseers and purposed organisms staring down below. Even from a distance, Silvia could see they were the same individuals who had cornered at the elevator when she had come down from her former can. During that meeting they had been confused, angry, and upset. Now they seemed happy and content.

I’ll always be with you, she thought as the music picked up once more, You won’t lose me, ever.

As she danced, she managed to give off a wave towards her distant spectators. And standing behind them, Abyssal Void waved back as she danced away, living a new life in the city of Shi Chara.

Chapter Text

“Make ready… Fire!”

A staggered thunderclap of smoke and burnt firepowder roared as twenty muskets and pistols went off. For those unaccustomed to such things, the sound and smell would have been startling and disorienting as it takes great care to safely use a firejavelin musket or the new rhinestone pistol. The weapons were as prestigious as they were infamously cumbersome, loud, and lethal. Even after half a century where the musket had become easier to use and more accessible to the common guardsman, to earn the chance to be a member of the Shi Chara Musket Corps required the discipline of steel and the aptitude for such weapons in the first place.

For the young Domrey, the use of a musket was a simple affair. Born into the influential House Saint and a devoted member of the Order of Lady Sliver, this was no surprise. Domrey was widely regarded as a prodigy in the martial arts, even within his own house and the Order itself. Even wearing a leather training outfit and standing out in a training yard with his boyish looks he looked the part of an experienced veteran. His silver striped green fur was smeared with smoke, burning gold eyes bloodshot, and ears flattened against his head only added to this appearance.

“That’s enough,” the master-at-arms, a brown furred Slugcat, called out after a few minutes of musket fire, “I see that most of you have been learning after all and I must admit your performance this afternoon is satisfactory. Clean your weapons and return them to the quartermaster.”

Domrey frowned as he looked at his target once the smoke dissipated. Compared to everyone else, his shots had been both consistent and accurate. Where others had acceptable results even with misses and scattered shots, he had fired fifteen shots into the size of a small cooking pot lid.

Not good enough, he snarled to himself.

As a member of House Saint, he had a great deal of expectations upon him. Even as a young boy he had been constantly reminded that he had the blood of Lady Silvia, the last emissary of Lady Sliver, making him a prodigy. His family, the laborers, even the visiting emissaries of the other lords and ladies all saw his accolades and praised him. For himself and the few Kshenta caste members he has had the displeasure of meeting, it was not enough. His ancestor was not just Lady Silvia, but Lady Sliver herself and she not only founded House Saint, she founded Shi Chara itself over a thousand years ago. Domrey knew he could never live up to those standards, but he could damn well be the best version of himself.

“Young Saint, a word if you would,” the master-at-arms ordered as the other trainees dispersed to clean their weapons.

Domrey quickly removed the burning wick from the hammer of his musket and pinched the flame out with his gloved fingers. Satisfied that the weapon was secure, he slung it around his shoulder and marched over to the master-at-arms.

“Master Borey,” Domrey came to a rigid stance.

“I see that you have improved your aim again. Not even your tutors have managed to achieve such accuracy if their praise for you is accurate,” Borey commented.

“A musketeer must be a master of his weapon and make full use of his shots,” Domrey recited the words spoken to him a year ago.

“Tell me, what drives a boy of fifteen summers to such lengths? I have spoken with your house and the Order and they claim you pushed yourself to exhaustion every day before you  even volunteered for the Corps. Had I not known better, I’d say you were Lord Nimol reborn.”

It was only through months of training that Domrey managed to suppress the exasperated sigh that nearly slipped out of his mouth. He knew that Borey was merely pointing out a fact and that he truly did push himself to his breaking point every day. Everyone around him claimed he was destroying himself and that he has done more than enough to honor both his house and the Order. Shi Chara has not had an emissary from its goddess for a hundred and twenty years and Domrey would not change that. Except he was not trying to be the next emissary of Lady Sliver, he simply was being himself and trying to determine his own fate.

“All in the service of Shi Chara,” Domrey replied after several seconds of hesitation, “I live to serve and defend the values of the city and its people.”

Borey frowned, “As a guardsman and a musketeer perhaps that is true. But you are a boy and a Saint. I am not training this patrol to be emissaries, I am training guardsmen which are normal men. Caste has no place amongst these ranks, neither does social status,” Borey sighed, “Your drive is admirable but flawed young Saint. Continue as you do now and I will reassign you to the regular ranks.”

“Master?” Domrey’s eyes widened in shock.

“Your House words are ‘Live a worthy life.’ You are destroying yours in this mad pursuit of perfection and distancing yourself from your fellow musketeers. They look at you and see a brat who does not drink with them, who does not talk with them, who does not even consider their existence! All he does is work and makes them look like fools. You will stand alone, fight alone, and die alone if this continues and as the master-at-arms of this patrol I cannot allow that to happen.”

Domrey wrestled with the words and was torn. He understood what Borey was saying and agreed with them in many ways. He was not blind to the animosity the other trainees held for him due to his apparent apathy for them. It was something he struggled with every day and the one glaring flaw he could never overcome. Domrey rarely, if ever, gave himself a moment to focus on anything outside of an established task. Either he gave it his all at the expense of everything else, or he was clearly not doing enough and had to push himself even harder.

“Clean your musket and go home, Domrey. Take some time off and rest. Shi Chara won’t disappear because you give yourself some time to rest,” Borey ordered gently.

“But-”

“Go home. Those who only work and exist do not live. We will still be here when you return. Consider this a reward and a warning for your excellence. The Corps has a place for you within its ranks, but only if you keep your head and are truly willing to be a part of it.”

Domrey found himself walking home from the outpost with mixed emotions. The evening clouds above only seemed to mirror his own confusion and frustration. Despite cleaning himself up and wearing gray casual winter robes, he could still smell the firepowder smoke burning in his nose and cold stabbing daggers through his fur. He was a Saint, had the blood of Sliver of Straw in his veins, a prodigy within his own family! And yet...he was a fifteen year old boy posing as a man who dedicated his whole life to serving a cause that did not need nor ask for him to do so.

On the few days where he was not working himself to the bone, he searched for answers. None within his family were as driven or stubborn as he was. He had no friends, grown distant from his family, and was constantly moving from one task to the next. It was nothing short of a miracle that he has managed to find the strength to continue with such rigid resolve.

What am I doing wrong? I know I am driving myself to madness and yet I keep going willingly into the abyss, he looked to the Spires where his ancestor once stood, Please just give me a sign. Help me overcome this madness…

All he got was a gust of wind for his thoughts. Huffing out a cloudy breath, Domrey continued walking home. A few other citizens were also about doing the same while trained guards patrolled the streets. Across the street was a blacksmith shop where the steady sound of a hammer striking metal could be heard. Down the road was a charcoal peddler loudly advertising herself as her wagon was pulled by a vicepede. The air was filled with a light snowfall that seemed to signal the arrival of a proper winter storm.

It was another winter evening in Shi Chara and all Domrey could feel was that he was somehow failing his home, his family, his House, and most of all himself.

Perhaps I truly do need to just stop, he thought as he passed the charcoal wagon and turned a corner, I am no emissary and even they take time to rest. Lady Sliver chose to live amongst us to live… Why can’t I find that courage? They all say it takes strength to push onward in the face of hardship… If only it were just as easy to stop.

Before he knew it, he was standing outside his ancestral home, Saints Keep. Many know it to be the residence of Lady Silvia when she entered the city and the birthplace of House Saint. None outside of its walls knew the truth about the fortress monastery. For Domrey, it was simply home and the one place where he could find some form of guidance to his problems.

“Lord Domrey, we were not expecting your return,” the gate guard, a red furred Scavenger, commented as he walked up.

Domrey eyed the guard and realized it was the new recruit from the summer he never learned the name of, “Sudden change in plans. I’ll be staying for two weeks.”

“Very well. Welcome home M’lord,” the guard gave a friendly smile and stepped aside.

Walking inside, he was suddenly hit by a wave of warmth. Taking a deep breath, he noticed a smell lingering in the air. It was a warm and welcoming smell that made him relax and loosen his coat. A quick sniff confirmed that it was indeed from the kitchens on the other end of the monastery. The fact that he could smell something cooking meant the cooks had been working their craft all day on one culinary project or another and that usually meant it would be delicious.

Spiced and roasted vulture… Wonder what the occasion is. The Snowfall Festival was last month so there is no way foreigners would-, his thoughts were interrupted as a twelve year old figure walked down a hallway, “Ajax?”

The four armed orange/silver spotted Scavenger blinked in surprise, “Domrey? You’re back!”

Domrey took a step back as his little cousin slammed into him with a crushing hug. After getting over his shock, he returned the hug. He could feel a headache start to form as he tried to rationalize why his distant Hydranian cousin was in Shi Chara in the middle of winter. The swampy tropics of Hydrania were nowhere near Lake Ri’Taln and even flight by trained beast was near suicide this time of year. Furthermore, Ajax was the heir to one of the Hydranian Merchant Council’s most influential economic/political entities, rivaling even the entirety of the Order in terms of importance in his homeland. So why in the name of their shared ancestor, the rest of the Lake Gods, and the entirety of Alcenta was Ajax in Shi Chara, in Saints Keep, in the middle of the Rot Damned winter?!

“Yes… What are you doing here Ajax?” Domrey broke the hug and gave his cousin a confused look.

“Papa wanted me to study the sciences and help maintain relations with the Confederacy. I would have visited you a month ago but you were busy with your training so…” Ajax trailed off with a mixed expression.

Taking a deep breath Domrey forced a smile onto his muzzle, “Well I’m here now. Come, let’s announce my return to the others and you can tell me what you’ve been up to since we last met two years ago.”

Nodding Ajax guided Domrey through the halls. As he walked, Domrey noted the decorations on the walls. A few paintings of various family members and prominent allies, an old banner, a Kutasian poleax from another city, and other such trinkets lined the walls. To the untrained eye, it was all a display of the status of House Saint within the Order and its connections outside of it.

Any Saint, relative to the House, or emissary knew it was a simple distraction. The real power of House Saint was far greater than most would assume. A key example of this power would be a simple display case that hung at the far end of the hall. The case itself was made out of polished wood, steel, and glass, having been a gift to the House during its earliest days from an emissary on behalf of Lord Extinction, a god best known for his fickle nature of bizarre experimentation and an unending drive for knowledge. In it were three simple items: a masterfully crafted but antiquated thunderspear musket, a chipped and stained wrench, and a worn pen case. To the uneducated, these items would seem strange and out of place given such reverence both House Saint and even the entire Order placed upon them. In truth, they were the final gifts and keepsakes of Lady Sliver’s last emissaries; Artisan Lord Nimol, Architect Lady Chea, and Lord Master Speaker Dialect.

“Planning to add your legacy to the walls?” Ajax questioned as Domrey slowed his walking to stare at the case.

“Hmm?” Domrey realized he had been completely ignoring his cousin.

“Come now cousin. You may be busy all the time but your family legacy will always have a place for you.”

“It is your legacy also given your fur,” Domrey gestured at the spots on his cousin.

“Perhaps. But we both know mine is tied to Hydrania more than it is here,” Ajax let his homeland accent slip into his voice.

Domrey was about to reply until he noticed that they had wandered just outside of the study. Sitting inside was Anchaly, Lord Civil Speaker for both diplomatic affairs within the Havarda Confederacy and caste disputes, master of logistics within the northeastern districts in the event of disaster, direct spokesman to the city council on behalf of the Order, and Domrey’s greatest mentor and father. A Slugcat of many duties who acted with both authority and confidence, Anchaly was deceptively terrifying to those who looked past his flowery but genuine speeches to the masses. With a coat of polished silver and emerald green, his appearance alone demanded respect from all members of society within Shi Chara  and abroad even when covered with luxurious robes that symbolized his status. He held respect within the Order, knew dark secrets that kept several nobles in check, and understood the secrets of House Saint better than anyone save for his sister (Domrey’s aunt who was married to a nobleman in Flamencio).

“So he finally returns home to visit,” Anchaly said in a slow gruff voice as he put down a pen and looked up from his desk.

For Domrey, his father was even more terrifying for the simple fact that Anchaly was his father who understood his son better than Domrey ever did.

“Greetings Milord,” Domrey bowed, not wishing to test his father’s infamous temper.

“Is that all you have to say boy? You clearly were so eager to use your tongue about legacy so I know you can speak more than just that,” Anchaly smirked as gave a knowing look, “Or have you suddenly forgotten how to use it?”

“No...Father…” Domrey replied weakly.

Anchaly’s smirk disappeared as he took a deep breath. With a sudden jerk, he pushed himself away from his desk and stood up. Domrey grew stiff and fell back onto his training to brace himself for a verbal lashing as his father approached with an unreadable expression.

“You damned brat,” Anchaly said as he hovered over his son for a moment before sighing and giving Domrey a hug, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you also Father,” Domrey relaxed, tension replaced with a distant but familiar warmth.

“Uncle Anchaly, I was on my way to tell you that dinner is ready,” Ajax interjected, “I also brought him along to prevent him from running off.”

Little brat, Domrey shot his cousin a glare.

“Good thing you did that,” Anchaly smirked again, “Come, we shall eat and discuss what this wayward guardsman in training has been up to afterwards.”

Domrey knew he would have to brace himself for what was to come. House meals were civil affairs even if they were filled with gossip and the occasional rant about politics. It was what comes after the meals have been finished and House members disperse that things become much more complicated. Domrey knew he would be safe from political maneuvering and honeyed words to make him reconsider his aspirations or to have an arranged marriage in place, he was far too invested in becoming a member of the Corps to consider the games of politics at this time. No, he would have to face the scrutiny of his father, mother, and sister instead.

Dinner was more than what Domrey had smelled upon walking in. While there was the vulture, there was also baked pincerfish, spiced popseed, and even snow-onions. The feast had been planned a week in advance to earn favor with a more troublesome noble who was against the idea of abolishing the caste system due to societal demands. For Domrey, it was a radical but welcoming change compared to the rations he had been eating for months and a reminder of home. Even the busy dining room being filled with political talks, debates over House policies, and the odd religious discussion was refreshingly familiar compared to the tired groans and complaints about cleaning muskets and uniforms.

Perhaps I was overthinking matters and my parents are too busy playing city politics to deal with me tonight, Domrey thought as he licked his lips after finishing his pincerfish while catching snippets of the various discussions around him.

“And here the conquering hero is,” the voice of his sister came from behind, “Feasting on the labor of others while hardly doing the work himself.”

Oh? Two can play this game dear sister. “I’m sorry but I could have sworn a tavern girl was pretending to be a lady,” Domrey half spun in his seat to look at his sister.

Chanmony was both the typical image of an Order clergywoman and a merchant's prized daughter. A petite Slugcat with piercing obsidian eyes, silky silver fur accented with hints of cobalt blue, and an elegant winter dress made her as beautiful as she appeared intimidating. His senior by two years, she was far more advanced in the political game and was the immediate heiress to both the House and family legacy.

“Bold words for a little guardsman,” she sneered at him.

“So says the girl who shakes her tail to every handsome face,” he stood up to glare back.

“Uncouth savage.”

“Scandalous harlot.”

“Fool.”

“Witch.”

Both glared at each other as the rest of the room carried on around them until they both burst out laughing. It was an old game of theirs to keep them both ready for the tumultuous politics of Shi Chara. The traded insults and projected emotions did well to help keep their true motives hidden and tongues sharp. The displays also were also a distraction for the few times where they were sent to negotiate on behalf of the House, throwing the opposition off with displays of barely contained disgust only to be revealed that they were quite close. It made political opponents unsteady and far easier to outmaneuver (and quite entertaining as well once said opponents realize they have been played for fools).

“By Lady Sliver it has been too long,” Chanmony said as she hugged Domrey.

“You saw me a few weeks ago after the Snowfall Festival,” Domrey replied before he gave her a mock glare, “And you said nothing about Ajax!”

“You were covered in firepowder smoke and exhausted. Be thankful I was even allowed to visit you in the first place considering that master-at-arms of yours trying to break you,” she frowned, “You barely are even given the chance to write letters…”

Domrey stiffened at her words. While it was true Borey had been pushing the patrol hard at the time to pass a post-festival inspection, Domrey had been even more driven to pass it. Where others had only managed a shot per minute with their muskets, he pushed for three. Where training duels involving spears, knives, and axs had lasted up to a minute, he strived to finish the fighting in half the time. When using crossbows he had cut his fingers and strained his entire body to maintain both accuracy and a rapid rate of fire. So much work and effort just to give off a demonstration for a few inspectors to put the patrol through its regular training paces before walking away satisfied.

“It’s demanding work to ensure the safety of the city,” he replied.

“If only that were the complete truth,” their father said as he walked up, “Chanmony, I see that you have finished negotiating with House Spearflower as well as your verbal duel with your brother.”

“Yes Father,” Chanmony replied, “I must say that House is still as much of a nuisance as always but they shall no longer follow through with their empty threats.”

“Spearflower has threatened us again?” Domrey questioned in a bored tone.

“When have they ever used common sense?” Chanmony rolled her eyes in response.

“We can discuss this later. Get yourself something to eat while it’s still hot and entertain your cousin,” Anchaly instructed.

Chanmony bowed slightly and left.

“She’s as willfully blind and driven as you are,” Anchaly muttered as Chanmony disappeared into the crowd.

“Father?” Domrey cocked his head in confusion.

“So eager to do everything right. Always working for the good of the city, the Order, and the House… You throw yourself into being a guardsman in hopes to serve the people while Chanmony sells her soul to young idiots with idiot parents in order to build political ties with the other Houses. You never let yourselves rest and enjoy the simpler things in life,” Anchaly sighed sadly and gave off a rare display of frailty, “Domrey, I know I’ve placed duty and work above love far too many times and you’re following in my footsteps, just as your sister follows in your mother’s. You’d be better off walking a different path than mine before you end up like me, a blind fool who does not live and only works to fulfill some grand purpose that he doesn’t even understand.”

With another sad sigh, Anchaly turned and quickly put on a false smile to speak with a drunk nobleman. Domrey could only stand in surprise as his gaze shifted between his father and his sister who chatted with Ajax. What should have been a relaxing diner before an awkward family meeting had suddenly spiraled into a maze of emotions and confusion.

Lady Sliver… If you can hear me, please tell us how to escape this madness, he thought as he quietly left the dining hall.

A few days later and a blizzard blew in from the west. Ice clawed its way out of the waters of Lake Ri’Taln, citizens huddled around their fireplaces, snow piled in the streets, vicepedes required coaxing to move from inconvenient spots, and the wind howled. None of this seemed to be of any concern for the denizens of Saints Keep outside of the poor gate guard who was given extra clothes and hot food. For Domrey, the storm seemed to mirror his aggravated thoughts as he glared at the brick sitting in front of him.

“Come now Domrey, surely you haven’t forgotten something as simple as this,” Chanmony chided gently.

“Ah but you forget daughter, the powers of the Saint are a skill that requires constant practice,” Anchaly replied with a slight chuckle.

“You three have been at this all morning,” a third voice said disapprovingly, “Here we have the perfect chance to put aside our duties and you squander it on this.”

Domrey flinched at his mother’s words. Vanna was an ordinary Slugcat with only her extra thick blue fur being anything of note. However, she carried herself as a proper noblewoman and an experienced one at that. Born originally into House Stoneice, Vanna came from a caste of minor nobility that had found itself in a series of misfortune trade deals gone wrong. As the story went, House Stoneice needed to salvage its status and found itself an ally in House Saint due to its reformative nature. A quick arranged marriage later and House Stoneice recovered while House Saint gained a moderate, but influential, political ally with a recovering economic edge.

Despite the marriage being political in nature, Vanna had grown to love her mysterious husband and learned the secrets of House Saint (and the true extent of the Order by association) as a result. Over the years, she had given birth to both Chanmony and Domrey, negotiated trade deals with the other cities, reminded the Kshenta caste of the teachings of Lady Sliver as opposed to the bastardized version some priests keep attempting to institute, and proved that even a simple lady can terrify emissaries with a sharp glare alone (a rather infamous example being when one from Lord Pinnacle accidentally smashed a plate and was all but ordered to clean up the mess by Vanna).

“Just...keeping my skills sharp, Mother,” Domrey said with far less confidence than he would have liked.

“Oh? And is that why I find my son sitting in this dungeon glaring at a brick while my husband and daughter sit about doing nothing?” Vanna questioned.

“Vanna… I have explained this to you several times before,” Anchaly sighed, “The gifts of Lady Sliver are a skill that requires practice to use. The mind-”

“Is a powerful tool that can go awry,” Vanna interrupted with a glare before huffing, “I know… But you also have stated we focus too much on being House Saint which I also agree with. So why do I find my family still working to uphold the House and not living their lives as desired by its founder?”

Domrey gave the words some thought and huffed. He began thinking about everything for the past year that has happened. He recalled his initiation into the Musket Corps and the rigorous training that came with it. He recalled the hushed whispers he overheard about his House and the rumors that followed those whispers. He recalled the fabricated stories that his family were traitors to the city and only interested in destroying the social order. He recalled the harsh demands placed upon him for being a Saint in the first place. He recalled all of this and more. Domrey was angry, frustrated, and exhausted by it all. He was home, away from it all, and it was all just there along with this accursed drive to simply do better to fix every single damn thing within the city.

And then he let it go in a few series of deep breaths and opened his eyes to see the brick hovering just in front of his nose. Holding his hands under it, he gently lowered the brick until it sat comfortably in his palms. Releasing his thoughts, the full weight of the brick was immediately felt where before it was as light as his clothes.

“I’m done for today,” he said quietly.

“You’re stopping already?” Chanmony asked in surprise.

“It’s as Mother said Chanmony. We might be Saints but we’re also just a family of Slugcats,” he said with a sad smile as he walked to a bench and placed the brick onto it, “Besides, I promised Ajax a game of dominoes later today. I can’t exactly fulfill that promise if I’m down here reminding myself of things I already know.”

As time passed, Domrey did not necessarily find himself returning to the outpost with a fresh mind. Of course, he had managed to reconnect with his family and practice his powers which he had been neglecting. But immediately after the blizzard disturbing news made its way to Saints Keep from the Order. Rumors spread that radical nobles were formalizing their own political faction had been whispered, unknown vicepede riders had been spotted on the half-frozen lake near the fallen remnants of Lady Sliver just north of the city, and even news that warbands from the valleys to the southeast were amassing. Domrey, despite keeping to himself regarding these matters, knew something significant was going to happen and unlike the weather, this storm could not be ridden out by going inside and sitting next to the fire.

No doubt the guard is well aware of these rumors but I would be remiss to keep this to myself, Domrey thought as he walked through the streets back to the outpost.

Despite his thoughts, Domrey walked through the streets uneventfully and quietly. A blanket of snow covered the cobblestone roads and crunched underfoot. Even so, there were a respectable number of citizens walking in the streets. Most of them were the artisans and less heavily clothed laborers, but Domrey did spot a few Kshenta priests giving sermons on corners and even providing warm soup. It warmed his heart to see Shi Chara go about its daily life.

But the sight of guards on patrol quickly soured these feelings. The rumors Domrey overheard returned to circulate in his head as he walked...as did the words of his parents. What had started as an offhand conversation between Domrey and Ajax quickly resulted in both Anchaly and Vanna speaking with Domrey regarding the implications of what they were talking about. While not necessarily being forbidden from speaking about the rumors, Domrey’s parents made it quite clear that careless talk could result in disaster. He had been given permission to speak with the master-at-arms, but advised to limit the spread of information.

“Perhaps I’m simply looking for more trouble than I should,” a cloud puffed out of his mouth with a sigh before he adjusted his jacket, “The city has stood for over a thousand years and has survived storms, quakes, and raids countless times before. It will survive this as well.”

As he walked, he scooped a handful of snow from a pile that had accumulated on a crate. Molding it in his hands, he welcomed the prickling bite of the cold in his fingers as he created a compact ball. Before long, he began to use his powers to twirl his snowball around his hand and even break it apart only to reform it. It felt...a tad blasphemous to use the secret gift of Lady Sliver in such a childish way, but Domrey was finding the activity to be both soothing and engaging. The activity did require quite the mental effort to perform and it did keep him from dark thoughts.

Before long he had arrived at the outpost and caught the attention of the gate watchman, “Playing with the snow I see.”

“One might as well enjoy it while it is still pure,” Domrey shrugged before he clumped the snow back into a ball and threw it to the side, “But duty calls and I am here to answer. Is master Borey available?”

“I must say young Saint the news you bring is as intriguing as it is concerning,” Borey commented.

“It’s what I’ve heard and felt privy to share,” Domrey said.

After being granted entry, Domrey had sought out Borey to report the rumors as he saw fit. While not being ordered to do so, he ensured that his wording was concise and to the point, using both his training and political experience to deliver the information. Borey sat and listened through it all, interrupting only to ask for clarification on a handful of topics, all while humming in thought. After a few moments, the master-at-arms pulled out a parchment, inkwell, and pen and began to scribble down notes.

“What you have shared mostly follows the rumors the captains are advising me to be on the lookout for. I suppose I will be hearing of this again eventually, either from some other group of the guard or from the Order,” Borey sighed almost disappointedly, “I am sure that you are aware that you are to keep these rumors to yourself?”

“Yes master. You are the first I have spoken to about these matters since leaving Saints Keep and both the lord and lady of my house have told me to limit who I share this with,” Domrey replied.

“Good, keep it like this. Now get yourself in uniform and clean the barracks. The rest of the patrol are doing the rounds in the southern ports. They are to come back to clean floors and beds ready for them.”

“Understood master,” Domrey bowed.

“Oh and Domrey? Remember what I said two weeks ago. You have a place within the Corps so long as you keep your head and are willing to be a part of it,” Borey casted a sidelong glance, “What are you standing around for? Get moving!”

With another bow, Domrey turned on his heel and headed for the barracks. After turning a corner, he took a deep breath and rubbed his head. The fact the guard was aware of the rumors and that Borey had been...not surprised but at the least receptive of the information had lifted a burden from him. He had done his duty as a citizen of Shi Chara, a member of the Order, and as a Saint, now he could resume his focus on his training.

However, the orders given to him were of another matter. His desire to improve had only been dormant over the course of his break. Now that he was back, the overwhelming drive to live up to impossible standards began to build up in him. But he also knew he had to interact with the other members of the patrol and he was well aware that he had very little favor with them.

And then the simple suggestion from Ajax came to mind, “Why don’t you make yourself an instructor yourself? The tutors in Hydrania say the student often teaches the instructor just as much as the instructor teaches the student.”

Domrey let out a slight chuckle at the memory. He had been speaking to his younger cousin about his experiences in the Corps and the actual reason why he had been sent to Saints Keep. Despite dismissing the words then, they seemed to be the answer to Domrey’s predicament now.

The Shi Chara Musket Corps shall see not just a Saint amongst its ranks, but a patrol worthy of serving aside the emissaries of old, he vowed as he entered the barracks and grabbed a broom to begin sweeping, If I can’t escape this incessant drive then I shall make better use of it than simply wasting it on just myself.

Over the next few weeks, Domrey had found himself working harder than ever. With him sharing his skills and pushing the rest of the patrol, he had improved his relations and status within the Corps. This of course did leave him quite fatigued most days and with almost no time to recover physically or mentally.

“Are you going to eat that?” a voice whispered.

Domrey blinked and shook the spots out of his vision, “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve been staring at the roll. Are you going to eat it?”

Blinking again, Domrey realized he had nearly fallen asleep sitting up looking at a honeyed popseed roll that remained untouched on his plate. Groaning, he ran a hand down his muzzle and split the roll.

“Here, I’m not that hungry,” he offered to the yellow furred Slugcat who questioned him.

“Now I’m not sure which is worse. You ignoring us or you working yourself to death even more than you usually do,” a Scavenger across the table asked.

Domrey was too tired to recall faces (let alone names) at the moment. Instead, he took in his location as he slowly chewed the roll in his mouth. He, along with the rest of the patrol, was eating lunch in the food hall in preparation for an early evening deployment. The snowfall outside meant cold and wet armor and those chosen for sentry duty in watchtowers would be using crossbows instead of muskets. It was going to be a miserable time and he was going to be even more miserable given that he could barely stay awake to eat a meal.

“Think we’ll see anything about those rumors?” the Slugcat questioned.

“They’re just rumors. It’s not our place to go looking for trouble,” the Scavenger scoffed.

“Well he’s from House Saint. Maybe he knows something.”

“I know as much as you do,” Domrey scowled before a yawn escaped his mouth.

He rubbed his eyes as he shoved the rest of the roll into his mouth, trying to ignore the looks he was receiving. In truth he had learned a few details from the Order a week ago after investigating a break in, but there was no substantial evidence to suggest who had done it and the rest of the patrol quickly caught on as well. All Domrey knew was that the rumors were still circulating and that for once House Spearflower was not involved (still opposing House Saint for petty politics as is tradition of course).

“Master-at-arms present!” a voice barked out.

The entire food hall sprung to their feet, meals completely forgotten about. Domrey nearly choked as he did so, letting out a cough before clamping his mouth shut and struggling to keep the tears out of his drooping eyes.

“I have an announcement,” Borey called out as an unfamiliar Slugcat stood beside him, “This is Lord Detective Atith, emissary of Lord Theory. He has been touring the city and meeting with other patrols to speak with those who belong to a house. You will be called at random from after you finish eating to an hour before we go about our designated route for the day,” he glared around the room, “You are to be truthful and represent the honor of the Corps in your responses, is that clear?!”

“Yes master!” Domrey half-shouted with the other members around the roll in his mouth.

“Master Borey, may I speak freely?” Atith spoke, voice almost a whisper.

“The hall is yours Milord.”

Atith nodded before taking a slight breath, “I am aware that my presence here causes many of you discomfort. No doubt you are already questioning my reasoning to be within Shi Chara, your home. Despite the differences between our cities, we are all members of the Havarda Confederacy. What burdens you face, I intend to assist you in resolving them as a friend and an ally. I look forward to speaking with you later...enjoy your meal,” Atith turned towards Borey as the tension in the air dissipated and the patrol returned to their food, “Master-at-arms.”

“Milord,” Borey bowed slightly before turning to leave alongside the emissary, “As you all were.”

Domrey swallowed and quickly grabbed a cup to wash the roll down his sore throat. It burned but the pain quickly began to fade.

“An emissary wanting to speak with us! Us!” the Scavenger exclaimed.

“From Cal’Alten no less,” the Slugcat agreed in equal amounts of reverence and fear, “The most traditional and orthodox city within the entire Confederacy.”

“W-Ahem-Well we are on good terms with them,” Domrey coughed to fully clear his throat.

“Are we? They’ve made it quite clear about what they think of us and our views for the future. It’s said even Lady Sliver was at odds with Lord Theory.”

Domrey had to bite his tongue from replying. Legends spoke that Lord Theory often quarreled with Lady Sliver over their different beliefs on how to govern their own respective cities, nearly going to war once even. In truth, they got into a debate that lasted so long that they forgot to take a drink and their corporeal bodies had nearly overheated, thus causing the other gods to interfere and scold them both for their foolishness. Domrey was aware that most stories regarding Lady Sliver were as often to be elaborate tales woven for the citizens to take lessons from as they were ordinary situations that quickly became epic stories. Of course, he would keep these facts to himself and even with knowing a substantial amount of the truth Domrey was under no illusion that Lady Silvia took much more of her past with her to the grave.

“Perhaps,” Domrey said carefully before he yawned again, “But, we are still allies with them. I would rather have an emissary of Lord Theory assisting us than one as an enemy.”

Half an hour later Domrey had been summoned to Borey’s office. Even with his exhaustion, he could easily tell the reason why and who he would be speaking with. Borey was on the other end of the outpost doing an inspection on the firepowder storage given the sighting of vermin and short of a captain, a high ranking official, or another emissary, Domrey knew he would be speaking with Atith.

“Please have a seat young Saint,” Domrey heard as he approached the doorway, “We have a number of things to discuss.”

Domrey momentarily paused in his walking to take a deep breath and check himself. His uniform was bland but in place, fur a tad frazzled but it could be excused by the cold weather, and he was able to at least force a facial expression that showed he was awake and not falling asleep standing. Taking another deep breath, he grit his teeth and blinked hard before letting the air out slowly and walking into the office with a confident yet disciplined posture.

“Of course Milord,” Domrey said evenly as he did as instructed.

Sitting down, he looked at the Slugcat sitting across from him. Somehow, Atith appeared to be at ease sitting at a guards desk and a kind youthful physician's assistant that got hopelessly lost. Ashy white fur, purple amethyst eyes, a long fluffy tail, and a simple yet practical blue cloak hiding a thin body defined the emissary. However Domrey knew from personal experience what kind of individual Atith truly was under the simple exterior.

“You look exhausted,” Atith said with a frown, “I suppose your father’s concerns are warranted.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand Milord,” Domrey blinked in surprise.

“Drop the titles Domrey. We know each other well enough to allow informality and the last thing I want is to be bloody revered in Shi Chara… Least of all from the Order of Lady Sliver and even less so from a Saint.”

Domrey blinked again but maintained his posture. Despite the half-instructed request, he could hear the teachings of Kshenta priests and Order officials insisting he give an emissary of the gods the proper respect alongside the hours of Borey drilling him into respecting superiors.

“Is there news from my father I should know about?” Domrey asked, still rigid but avoiding the title.

“He’s concerned and wishes to speak with you more but finds himself too busy to do so. He did insist that I tell you that he misses you and hopes that should the worst come to pass that you will be in his prayers. However, there is more to my visit than just that and I have a schedule to keep in interviewing the others,” Atith sighed before his expression became stony, “So without any further delays tell me, what do you know about these rumors? Word of mouth from your fellow guardsmen, interactions with the Order and your house, gossip on the streets, I want to know everything even if it is meaningless and below my station. What is happening in the shadows of Shi Chara Domrey?”

Domrey took a moment to process the order and began recounting. He explained what he heard during his stay at Saints Keep, the investigations, the gossip, everything. Before he knew it, he began to slip, words were slurred, and he rambled.

“I see,” Atith said once Domrey had finished, expression thoughtful and disappointed, “Nothing new but I had to ask,” he then turned towards Domrey, “Thank you for your time. You may go now.”

Domrey got up to leave. With a quick bow, he spun around on his heel and headed for the doorway.

“Domrey,” Atith called, causing Domrey to stop, “It’s good to see you again. As a fellow guardsmen who has too much work to do and not enough time to do it, get some sleep. As a family friend, take care of yourself and watch yourself… The Lake is becoming more dangerous every day. We need enthusiastic young dreamers who look to the future rather than those clinging to the past. Don’t follow in the footsteps of my city.”

Domrey let out a yawning sigh, “The little boy who spilled ink over you in the hallway may have grown up but he’s still here Atith. House Saint needs its members to uphold its legacy. The Corps needs its musketeers to be ready. Shi Chara needs both to uphold Lady Sliver’s dreams,” he turned to face Atith, “I’m sorry… I know you never wanted me to become this but that dream of being just like you never faded. It’s impossible, I am very much aware… But every effort I make ends with me continuing this path. Good day Milord.”

With another bow, Domrey caught the pained expression Atith had. Leaving the office, his exhaustion caught back up with him as did memories. He recalled the many emissaries that have visited Saints Keep, each one a larger than life figure yet surprisingly ordinary. They all carried themselves with a sense of purpose and importance, never lost even when in need of answers or assistance. As a child Domrey could not help but idolize them, seeing them as the demigods of the world who did the impossible and made miracles happen.

Perhaps that’s where we get this blasted curse from, he lamented silently as he continued walking, We’re descendants of an emissary… Shadows of what we once were and never to regain what we’ve lost. Why can’t we let go?

Three weeks after Atith had concluded his interviews within the guard, Domrey had been deployed with the patrol to look over the markets. There had been further sightings of unspecified vicepede riders and a great deal of activity amongst the nobles and a rift had formed within the Kshenta caste, but at this point it had become the standard and viewed as a problem for the spring after the ice melted. Afterall, who in their right mind would cause chaos with the lake still filled with ice? As far as anyone was concerned, it was an ordinary day. As far as the patrol was concerned, it was another day of walking the streets without their muskets due to their entire supply of firepowder being infested with insects for some reason.

“Here you go,” a Scavenger street cook said, offering a steaming bowl of soup, “Fresh from the pot.”

“Thanks,” Domrey said as he reached for his belt to pay.

“No need. Consider it a gift and thanks for your service to the city.”

With a shrug, Domrey accepted the bowl and blew the steam off. Bringing it with him, he sat down at a fountain and took a tentative sip of the soup only to burn his tongue. Scowling at the bowl, rolled his eyes and looked at the busy market square around him. It was busier than usual, especially considering the season. However the weather was perfectly clear and even warmer than usual, causing many to leave their homes and to bring life to the streets in strength.

It’s days like this that make all the struggle and hardship worth enduring, he thought as he tried his soup again.

It was then that he heard bells ringing. At first the noise seemed to blend into the background but Domrey quickly caught on to the noise. Looking in the direction of the ringing, he saw a smoke cloud begin to billow. Believing it to be a fire on the other end of the city, he huffed and turned back to his soup, being too far aware to be of use.

Then something exploding caused him to burn his throat and nearly choke on the soup. Domrey fell to the ground coughing, soup and bowl splattered over the muddy cobblestones next to him. The market erupted into chaos around him, forcing him to get to his feet and grab his soup-covered spear next to him before he weaved his way through the panicking masses.

“Musketeer! You’re needed in the north and east!” another guard yelled as they came running up.

“What’s going on?!”  Domrey asked back, throat still sore but ignored.

“How in Rotten Damnation am I supposed to know?! The Lancers are being deployed as we speak! Hurry!”

Domrey nearly choked again as he began running in the direction he was told to do so. The Iron Lancers were the official military of Shi Chara, the sword and shield that ensured Shi Chara was safe. They often spent the winter either holed up in their garrisons, playing politics, and occasionally providing speciality training for the guard. He could scarcely believe they would-

Sure enough across the street a group of Iron Lancers were running towards the explosion. Their armor, while haphazardly thrown on, was easily recognizable with orange and silver stripes denoting their status. Domrey knew that the only way he would find answers would be to follow them and do his duty as a Musketeer. His lack of experience did not matter for when the Iron Lances were deployed in any capacity the Corps immediately fell under their purview unless stated otherwise.

“Lancers hold fast!” he called out, running to join them.

“What the?! You dare order us?” one of the group snarled.

“Wait… You're a Musketeer… What are you doing out here?” another asked.

“Deployed to watch over the markets. My patrol is scattered all over just as confused as I am. Until I find my master-at-arms or another superior I am under your command. Orders?” Domrey explained.

The group exchanged looks before the apparent leader, a red furred Slugcat, turned to him, “As of now you are a part of our legion. You shall follow instructions when given and you will do so as if your master gave them. Understood Musketeer?”

Domrey swallowed nervously, ignoring his pained throat as he did so, “Yes milord.”

“Then get in formation! Double standard column… Quick march forward!”

As Domrey ran in formation with the Lances, he could hear the familiar sounds of musket fire in the distance. Minutes stretched for years as citizens ran away screaming in terror while guardsmen, Lancers, retainers, and other armed groups headed in towards the site of the explosion. Dread built in him the closer they got to the noise. Shouting was heard over the musket fire, the air became thick with acrid smoke, and more armed individuals rushed to the scene. It did not take long for the group to reach the unfolding chaos, two makeshift armies clashing against each other in the burning streets.

What’s...happening?, he thought in shock as they came to a stop.

“Captain! What’s going on?! What are your orders?!” the leading Lance asked a Scavenger.

“We’re getting overrun! We’re establishing a blockade at Ashvlant Crossroads to hold them back!” the Scavenger said.

“Hold who?! What’s happening?!”

“What in Damnation do you think is happening?! The damn bastards instigated a rebellion and brought the marauding pirate bastards to assist them!” the Scavenger snarled before noticing Domrey, “Musketeer!”

“Milord!” Domrey stepped forward.

“Find your musket and assemble with the archery line at the Crossroads! Go!”

Whatever else was said, Domrey did not hear it. Months of training had been ingrained into him, becoming an instinctively action which forced him into motion without him even realizing it. With an empty mind he ran, vomiting as he did so as scenes of carnage finally processed in his mind.

“Get that barricade set up and fortify those buildings! We shall hold them in the streets and fight on our terms!” a familiar voice ordered, “Musketeers and archers, take position in those buildings! Spears and axs shall hold the street!”

Domrey whipped his head to the side and saw Atith, “Lord Atith! Lord Atith!”

“What is i-Domrey?! What are you-Nevermind,” Atith huffed as Domrey ran up panting, “Are you injured?”

“N-No,” Domrey replied in a shaky voice before swallowing down another wave of bile, “What are your orders?”

“There’s an Order monastery two blocks down that way. Get yourself a musket and anything else you need and position yourself on those rooftops when you get back,” Atith pointed at some houses before slapping a hand down on Domrey’s shoulder, “Take a deep breath, rely on your training, remember your oaths, and keep your wits about you. Shi Chara is your home and it needs its defenders. Now go!”

With a half-reassured nod, Domrey did as instructed. When the bile threatened to rise again, he swallowed it back down. A new part of him grew in some form of twisted excitement. He was finally going to live up to his heritage as a Saint. All the years of questioning his place in the world, the maddening drive to push himself, the feelings of being lost and confused have finally brought him here. He was a guardsman within the Shi Chara Musket Corps. He was a member of the Order of Lady Sliver. He was a Saint!

He was about to fight in a battle he did not understand. He might not even see the sunset before the day was over. He had not seen any members of his House or even family within nearly two months. He was very afraid for his life and what he was about to do…

Lady Sliver… Silvia… Gods of the Lake… If any of you are there, please watch over me, he prayed as he glanced up at the Spires that were disappearing behind clouds of smoke, Watch over us all…

Ashvlant Crossroad was a road fork within the city of Shi Chara. Three large streets combined together around a fountain to connect three separate districts. The buildings next to the streets were primarily houses, small workshops, a bakery, and a guard outpost on the northern side of the fork. The citizens who called this small slice of the city home belonged to the artisan and upper laborer castes and were overseen by House Corseln, a minor noble household known for being a supporter of the caste system and maintained its influence through relations with the Kshenta caste.

House Corseln, a significant number of Kshenta fanatics, pirates, and even smuggled in tribal marauders currently held control of the northern and eastern districts. A mixture composed of the Shi Chara guardsmen, Iron Lancers, and the Order of Lady Sliver led by Lord Detective Atith held onto the southern district. These two groups, over the course of an hour, have fought bitterly in frontal assaults, exchanged volleys, and flanking attacks in an effort to break the stalemate.

“Here they come again! Make them pay for their crimes against Shi Chara!” a Lancer shouted as yet another volley of crossbows and muskets fired.

Domrey felt the recoil of his musket slam into his aching shoulder. Before the smoke cloud even began to clear, he reached for the crossbow of a fallen guard he grabbed some time ago. The past hour had passed in a blur of smoke and noise, filled with details that he experienced yet could not comprehend. His gloves were torn and filled with sweat, his fur was singed and stained black from the burnt firepowder, his golden eyes were tearing up from the smoke, and everything else ached painfully (even his tail somehow). He, along with around two scores of mixed individuals, have been holding their position on what had originally been a house either providing fire or exchanging it with one of the other occupied buildings across the Crossroad.

As the smoke cleared he lowered the crossbow and began to reload his musket, “More dead Shi Charans… What are they hoping to accomplish with this?”

“What I want to know is where the tribals came from,” a crossbow wielding Scavenger muttered, “We’re nowhere near the valleys and there’s hundreds of the bastards.”

Domrey pulled out a musket ball and rammed it down the barrel of his musket, ignoring the broader implications on how this had happened. Had he been calmer and less preoccupied he would have similarly questioned how the violent tribals have made their way so deep into the city with no one noticing. Instead he simply focused on the most simple question he could ask: Why was he killing Shi Charans? This was not a criminal fleeing justice or even dealing with a smuggler ring, this was senseless slaughter on an incomprehensible scale and the few glances towards other parts of the city suggested similar fights taking place.

“They’re shooting back!” a guard yelped as a volley of musket balls peppered the building.

“Yeah?! They’ve been doing that for a while now you fool!” the Lancer snapped back.

“They’re terrible shots anyway,” Domrey said dully as he stowed his ramrod.

Cocking the hammer on his musket, he poured firepowder into the pan. It had become almost calming to reload the musket, a familiar repetition that he had spent months practicing to perfection. Domrey could almost hear Borey giving praise for his rate of fire and accuracy before lecturing him on pacing himself.

Well master exhaustion is an old companion, he thought with a slight eye roll before grabbing the wick and placing it into the hammer.

Before he could stand up and ready himself for another shot, he caught sight of a line of musket users readying shots of their own. Before he could blink, the “muskets” instead sent out flaming rockets. Domrey saw the rocket approach at a crawl, blazing in an angry red hot glare. The rocket flew into a window below him and exploded under his feet. Knocked over from the blast, he saw another rocket hit a chimney nearby and explode in a ball of fire and wooden splinters.

“-as that?!” a distant voice yelled through the haze of ringing.

Domrey coughed and blinked as he got back to his feet, head spinning and vision blurred. He saw another group of attackers running up with a vicepede rider leading them. Seeing his musket on the floor, he frantically grabbed it and took aim to fire. It did nothing, the entire frame damaged and chipped. The attackers threw pots which exploded against the buildings and barricade.

“The barricade has been destroyed! We’re doomed!” someone screamed in terror.

“Not yet,” Domrey threw the useless musket to the side as the ringing faded, “Not yet! We’re the defenders of Shi Chara! We are faithful to Lady Sliver! This is our home! Let’s take it back! For Shi Chara! For Lady Sliver!” he shouted as he drew a dagger.

Running down the stairs he heard the others let out a roaring cheer behind him, “For Lady Sliver!”

Ignoring the damage around him, he kept running down the stairs. In his way was a Slugcat wearing Kshenta gilded armor with a spear. Batting the spear to the side he bowled his opponent down and struck with his dagger as he fell over. On the ground floor, he blinked in temporary confusion as his maddened battle frenzy died down and realized what he had just done.

Did… Did I just stab someone?, he thought in brief confusion as another explosion went off outside.

“Come on! Get up Musketeer!” someone shouted as Domrey was jerked back to his feet.

Regaining his senses, Domrey saw the wall had been blown out and small fires burning the furniture around him. Out on the street a full scale brawl was taking place as a trio of vicepedes charged in, heedless of the confusion. He could barely make out individuals as they all scrambled over each other in desperation.

“Close ranks and advance! Get our men out of there!” a voice bellowed.

“Come on! We’re fighting our way out of here!” a Lancer nearby shouted before charging into the melee only to come face to face with a vicepede.

Seeing the spear his former enemy had been using, Domrey picked the weapon off the floor and ran to stab the insect. While it was too late to save the Lancer, his attack did distract the vicepede and its rider. Rearing up and letting out a chittering hiss, Domrey glared at it with righteous fury. As the rider turned their gaze to him, a series of crossbow bolts slammed into them and their mount. Behind the melee, a steady spearwall of Shi Charan loyalists advanced to break up the fighting and save their own.

“What?! Come back you damn cowards! Stand and-agh!” a voice yelled out as the tribals suddenly began to flee.

The enemies of Shi Chara had lost their morale and began to flee. Domrey heard cheering all around him, taking several seconds to realize he had joined in. He was bloodied, exhausted, and completely terrified but he still cheered. How could he not? Even with the barricade breached and experiencing a melee firsthand, Domrey and his fellow Shi Charan loyalists held their ground.

“Archers, pick them off! Spears to the breach! Get the wounded to safety!” Atith ordered as he walked forward, firing a rihnestone pistol at the retreating enemy, “Musketeers, regroup behind the line!”

As the cheering died down, Domrey began to laugh. It was a choked, bitter laugh that aggravated his already abused throat but he continued to laugh. Around him, a few others joined in.

All of Alcenta has lost its Rotten mind, he thought, We’ve all lost our Rotten damned minds!

Shortly after the breach, a snow flurry blew in. Much to his relieved surprise, Domrey had been ordered to stand down from the fighting for medical treatment while the fighting dragged on throughout the afternoon. The rockets had peppered his head with splinters and his hands required bandaging. After his injuries had been patched, he had thrown up and cried himself into unconsciousness.

“-care about that! I know you can see what’s going on over here and it’s getting out of hand. Do I need to reemphasize the use of rocket launchers?!” Atith was shouting in the distance.

Waking up with bleary, aching eyes, Domrey woke back up. He struggled to recall where he was and what had happened only for it all to suddenly come crashing back to the forefront of his mind. Even in a library of an Order monastery he could see fires raging through a window and the scent of smoke continued to fill his nose. A mixture of Order soldiers, guardsmen, and Lancers had also been lounging in the library, all sporting injuries of some kind or just too fatigued to keep fighting.

“Awake now boy?” a nearby Scavenger Lancer asked, “You’ve been missing all the excitement.”

“How… How-”

“The entire afternoon,” the Lancer answered as Atith continued shouting in the distance, “We’ve been holding out thanks to his leadership and that fancy musket of his. Too bad the Gods are too far away to help us.”

Domrey nodded in confusion, “And the others? The ones we’re...fighting?”

“The few we’ve managed to capture are either the tribals claiming they will burn the city to the ground or a bunch of idiots who got caught up in the fanaticism without even supporting it… What a damned mess…”

Domrey huffed but said nothing. As the Lancer said, it was a damned mess and he was right in the middle of it. He remembered waking up this day expecting another ordinary day. He and his patrol would go out, tour the markets, come back to the outpost, and someone would be assigned sentry duty. That was how it was supposed to be…

Now he was fighting against his fellow Shi Charans over something not even they understood.

“Where’s the emissary?!” a Slugcat Order soldier ran into the library.

“In the armory you were hiding. What’s going on?” the Lancer replied.

Wait… The storage lockers! I can reach Saints Keep!, Domrey realized suddenly as thoughts about his family came to mind.

“They’re breaking through and heading right for us! The second barricade has already fallen!” the Order soldier exclaimed.

“What?! Oh bloody Rotten-I’ve got more pressing problems of my own here! You can lobotomize me for technological exposure later!” Atith snarled before he came running into the library, wearing strange armor and carrying an unusual musket on his back, “I heard. How much time until they reach the last barricade?”

“Not long. We’re also running low on firepowder and musket shot. The only good news is that this storm is preventing them from using muskets or those rockets themselves,” the Order soldier replied.

“Then we fight them the old fashioned way. Members of the Order are cleared to use the orange boxes in the armory,” Atith said before facing the Lancer, “Everyone else is to use crossbows and anything they know how to fight with. Get moving!”

“Milord, about the transmitters…” Domrey got up and ignored his stiff joints popping.

Atith scowled before realizing who was talking, “You’re here… Can you fight?”

“What? Y-yes but-”

“Good. Then grab a crossbow and get out there.”

“But my family…” Domrey said in a broken voice.

“There’s a lot of families that are suffering tonight, Musketeer. I’m not going to play favorites and you swore an oath to this city and everyone in it. If you can fight, you will fight,” Atith glared at the others in the room watching, “That goes for you all. If you all love your families you will stand and fight to protect them. This is your city, your home and it is under threat. I stand with Shi Chara, where do you stand?”

Without another word Atith turned and headed for the doorway. The others glanced at one another before shuffling out with grim determination to do the same. Domrey felt a mixture of shame, fury, and resigned nihilism rage inside of him. He knew he was acting childish but he could not shake the worry he had for his family.

“Come on boy. You’re a Musketeer,” the Scavenger Lancer said, placing a comforting hand on Domrey’s shoulder, “We all have lost something today and the emissary needs common men like us to help him… And this isn’t even his city.”

The last statement in particular stung, “He shouldn’t even be here, not for this. This never should’ve happened.”

“But it did and he’s helping us even if it means going against the Gods. We might have our issues with Cal’Alten but not him, not today. As he said, if you truly love your family you will stand and fight.”

“They might be dead for all I know,” Domrey shuddered at the thought.

The Lancer sighed and began heading for the doorway, “Then they’re dead and that’s that.”

Domrey shifted his gaze between the Lancer and the hallway that Atith had previously come from. With a resigned sigh, he turned to follow the Lancer. He was a member of the Order of Lady Sliver by birth and a part of the Shi Chara Musket Corps by choice. His House motto may be to “Live a worthy life” but it was his choice and birthright to serve the city. Duty was calling and he would answer.

Just as the blood of an emissary within his veins demanded him to do so.

The sun had long set beyond the horizon and clouds above shifted as smoke rose to mix with them. All across the city of Shi Chara battles raged. Roughly three hundred meters south from Ashvlant Crossroad Domrey stood in the second rank of a battle line. Three ranks deep and stretching across the street, this mixture of various armed individuals marched towards the final chokepoint that stood between the uprising and the Order monastery that served as the stronghold and hospital for the wounded and injured. Domrey knew the stakes involved and was ready to fight.

“Hold!” Atith ordered.

Domrey halted with the battleline. Earlier he had been terrified, now he was determined. He was standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers and he was comfortable with this fact. He would be once more fighting against Shi Charans and he had accepted this. He was a fifteen year old Musketeer and he would do his duty.

“First rank kneel! Crossbows and pistols make ready!” Atith yelled as he readied his musket and attached a knife to its barrel.

Across the street the opposing force approached. The dim lighting and snow made it difficult to make out individuals… Good, Domrey did not want to see the people he was about to kill in battle. It was easier to aim at a formless mass and fire into that then a person with a face.

Come on you bastards, he thought with simmering hatred, Come and face your judgment.

“Ready… Aim and hold…” Atith ordered.

Domrey shouldered his crossbow along with the rest of the first and second ranks. Down the street, war chants were let loose before the formless mob broke into a sprint.

“Fire at will!” Atith yelled as his musket roared, once, twice, and a third time in quick succession.

Domrey squeezed the trigger lever on his crossbow and saw the bolt go sailing out. Other bolts flew through the air as did the bullets of the strange pistols some of the Order soldiers were using. The mob cried out and faltered but continued surging forward. Rushing between them were the familiar shapes of vicepedes and armored individuals.

“Spears! Brace for melee!” Atith shouted.

All three ranks grabbed spears and formed a wall. The mob approached and, just as Domrey could make out individuals, slammed into the spearheads. He thrusted and pulled back his spear several times. It was all a blur of screams, thrusts, hissing vicepedes, and the occasional pistol shot. His arms burned from exertion but he kept stabbing. When he somehow lost his spear, he drew a battle ax and hacked away at whoever was not a part of the loyalist group he was fighting with. It was a fantastic display of mindless, bloody chaos and he was completely submerged in it.

And then another wave of attackers came running up and threw explosive pots. Explosions shattered friend and foe alike. Domrey found himself knocked over and dazed. Next thing he knew, he was dragged into the mob and came face to face with the ugliest Slugcat he had ever seen before being promptly hit in the head with a broken club.

Two days… Two days of madness, Borey thought bitterly as he nursed a broken arm.

It was a day and a half after the fighting had ended. In what could only be described as divine intervention, the Lake Gods had sent their emissaries and crafted beasts to assist Shi Chara from the sky and water and scour the lake for those who thought they could escape. Vultures, Slugcats, Scavengers, vicepedes, lizards, and even stranger things came rushing in to break the siege. A rebellion of corrupt nobles and Kshenta priests wishing to rebuild the caste system was thwarted, wealth and privileges stripped away. Their hired tribal raiders and pirates had been routed, cast back into the mountains and valleys or hunted down and brought to swift justice at the end of a spear. Borey had felt a dark and vindictive satisfaction to learn the leaders were shot and thrown into the lake while their followers were given the most uncomfortable prisons imaginable while they waited for their fates to be determined (not that he would admit it and would make sure such poisonous thoughts were resolved quickly, both for his sake and for the sake of the city).

“Are you in need of anything master Borey?” Lord Anchaly asked.

Borey blinked and realized he was making himself look foolish again. It was a rather embarrassing thing to do when sitting in the office of the Lord Civil Speaker he was borrowing to look over reports.

“No Milord… Just tired,” Borey replied with a grunt.

“So we all are… How did I miss this?”

“The guard is to blame for failing the city, not you Milord.”

Anchaly laughed bitterly, “I knew those who led this rebellion master Borey. I spoke with them for years, dined with them, negotiated favors… I knew I faced opposition but this… I’m a civil speaker and master of logistics in the very place this Rotten catastrophe started! I should have foreseen this!”

Borey bit his tongue to prevent himself from speaking. After spending two days defending Saints Keep and personally speaking with the father of one of his patrol members, Borey could easily see why Domrey acted the way he did. Lord Anchaly was just as much of a fanatical worker as his son was, always pushing himself and blaming himself for the smallest mistake. It was almost frightening how similar the father and son Saints were…

Hopefully that idiotic boy survived. Him and the rest of those bright eyed fools, Borey thought about the patrol he had spent seven months training.

“Uncle Anchaly, Atith is here,” the young Hydranian boy said as he walked in with the rest of the Saint family.

“I shall see myself out then,” Borey grunted as he painfully stood up.

“You’re not going anywhere with those injuries,” Lady Vanna glared at him.

“It’s fine… This concerns you also master Borey…” Lord Atith sighed as he walked into the room.

For several seconds no one spoke. Eyes darted between each other as the silence became uneasy.

“I should have let him and the others use the damn transmitters… How do those combat lines handle this?” Atith sighed as he ran a hand down his face.

“Atith… What happened? Where’s my brother?” Lady Chanmony demanded.

“N-No… Lady Sliver please no…” Vanna stammered, looking faint.

“Wait… Is he…” the boy looked like he was about to start crying.

“Atith… Consider what you’re about to say very carefully,” Anchaly growled as the papers and pens on the desk began to rattle violently.

Borey could easily tell the emissary was becoming increasingly anxious and guilty. As much as he wanted to deny it himself, Borey was very familiar with the expression Lord Atith was wearing on his face. It was one where one found themselves unable to speak an honest truth and felt great guilt. Borey recalled the look he saw for the first time when he himself was a young, bright eyed recruit who had been summoned by the master-at-arms to be told that his best friend had been killed within the line of duty. Borey had the same expression every single time someone under his supervision died.

Lord Atith let out another sigh before facing the Saint family, “There are nearly a thousand missing. We have search parties looking for the captives but so far we’ve found no sign of them and there’s not enough manpower to cover everywhere. We don’t even know if they’re alive...or dead. By the time we can mount a proper search...it’ll be likely too late.”

Lord Anchaly drew a sharp breath and the items on the desk grew deathly still.

“Anchaly please…,” Lady Vanna gripped her husband's arm tightly before facing Atith, “Please leave us.”

“I’m sorry… Truly I am…” Lord Atith gave an apologetic look before he quietly exited the office.

Borey looked at the family and gave a sad smile before hobbling out himself. As he slowly walked through the hallway, he heard the muffled sobs behind him. Grunting in pain and sadness himself, he spotted the display case holding the items of Lady Slivers final emissaries.

Lady Sliver, if you're still listening hear my plea, he thought as he looked at the case and its contents, Your children have quarreled and harmed themselves. We have strayed from the path you have laid out before us. Please watch over us. Guide us away from this madness and bring us back to your teachings. Shi Chara needs its goddess once more in its darkest hour. Please...give us a sign…

All he received for his prayer was silence and the distant sobs of a distraught family. With a resigned huff, Borey turned and continued to walk away from the office.

After the first explosions, I rallied local forces and volunteers into a defensive position along the southern road of Ashvlant Crossroad. Fighting commenced for six hours before I managed to establish contact to advise the Group about the situation and request assistance. During this period of combat, I had established three barricade chokepoints and withstood multiple assaults through the use of improvised fortified firing positions, asymmetrical warfare, and probing assaults. These tactics resulted in a strong resistance until the rebellion deployed shoulder mounted rocket launchers and improvised fire bomb grenades, disorienting the defense and requiring my direct involvement for four hours until a shift in the weather gave me the opportunity to contact the local group. After disengaging communications, I found it prudent to arm the soldiers of the Order of Lady Sliver with thirty eight caliber revolvers while equipping myself with flak armor and a thirty two caliber bolt action carbine. All other local forces were equipped with standard equipment, notably crossbows and melee weapons due to bad weather. Mounting a counter attack on the main advance, we had managed to break the resolve of our enemies despite sustaining severe casualties. All further engagements throughout the night were at best light skirmishes between archers and the occasional fire bomb being thrown.

At sunrise during the second day, I had received reinforcements from local forces and volunteers. These forces gave me the adequate manpower to mount a counteroffensive and begin to link up with other pockets of loyalist forces on the “Silver Line” to fight back the rebellion. This proceeded until “Task Force Retribution” came in to assist with a deus ex machina that is being seen favorably by the populace of Shi Chara. With the timely arrival of these forces and the rebellion already severely bloodied by the fighting, I had changed my priorities from fighting to establishing order amongst the streets of Shi Chara. This is still an ongoing process and will likely remain so until the late summer at the earliest.

Interrogations on the rebel leaders and their tribal allies are still underway but an understanding of the events is beginning to unfold. Unconfirmed but supportive evidence suggests that several nobles and Kshenta class priests became corrupt and wanted to not only maintain the traditional caste system but reinvent it entirely. The tribal forces in theory would support a new ruling caste of warriors to maintain order throughout the city under a new edited version “Lady Sliver’s Teachings” which, in my personal opinion, are a complete anathema to not just Sliver of Straw’s desires, but a monstrous and perverted version of the system used in Cal’Alten. More confirmed facts on how such an army was assembled is that it was smuggled into the ruins of Sliver of Straw’s can and mustered there. Considering the sacredness of this location by the city populace and by our own standards, this provided the perfect staging ground for this assault. I highly recommend we increase surveillance and crackdown measures across the entire lake and include Sliver of Straw’s remnants within this search to prevent this from happening again.

Finally, the current confirmed count of missing Shi Charan citizens is over one thousand two hundred. While I know all available resources are being used to find these individuals, I fear most of them are lost. One of these individuals is confirmed to be Domrey of House Saint and I fear we have tarnished our reputation with them because of this fact. I strongly advise House Saint to be given ample time and space to grieve before any attempt of repairing this relationship is to be conducted.

After action combat report, Research line I(nvestigator)-581 “Atith”

Domrey drifted in and out of consciousness, waking up briefly enough before having something shoved down his throat and slipping back into a dreamless sleep. By the time he had truly awoken, he realized three things immediately: he was hungry, he had a splitting headache, and he was uncomfortably warm. With a groan, he managed to force himself to blink the spots out of his eyes.

What happened?, he thought as he tried to rub his head.

As his vision cleared, he discovered two new things. His arms and legs were bound together and he was completely bare except for his fur. Feeling quite conscious of this fact, he quickly sobered up from whatever was affecting him and felt his face burn in embarrassment. Glancing around, he also discovered that he was in a thickly wooded area surrounded by tribals.

“How did I end up here?” he groaned.

Several heads turned towards him and he quickly recalled what happened before. He had been fighting, got thrown by an explosion, dragged into a mob, and then beaten on the head. Judging by the sinister looks he was receiving and his faint memories of being forced to ingest something, Domrey could safely assume he was captured for whatever reason.

It was then that he felt his anger return to him. These were the tribals that attacked his home, killed the citizens he swore to defend, and now holding onto him as if he were some kind of trophy.

Just wait until I get out of these bindings, he thought as the tribals laughed and jeered at his scowl.

Swallowing his pride, he waited for his moment to act. Even as they spat on him, kicked him, and shoved him into the mud he waited. Before long, they grew bored of their cruelty and left him to wallow on the ground. The pain and indignation helped clear his mind even further, giving him focus to use his mind to subtly move a pile of mud with no one noticing.

Good, I’ve still got that, he thought smugly as he coughed and sat himself back up, Now to just loosen these binds and wait to make my escape.

And so Domrey waited. He waited as time slowly crawled by and the sky began to darken. He waited while he subtly loosened his bindings in ways no normal individual could. He may not be an emissary, but he still was a Saint and had the gifts of one. His captures made a grave mistake in keeping him alive and he would show them why soon enough.

“Eh. Big water fool think strong?” one of the Tribals, a mangy Slugcat, asked mockingly as the sky thundered.

Strong enough to take you on, Domrey thought back silently with a cold glare.

“You no strong! You weak! Big water clans weak! Strong take world, weak die!”

Do shut up and take your simple minded philosophy and shove it back down the toilet you call a mouth, Domrey felt his bonds loosen as the rain began to come crashing down from the sky.

“We show why you weak,” the tribal raised an ax.

Realizing he was out of time, Domrey changed his plans. Using his powers, he threw mud into the Slugcat’s face. Buying himself time, he forces the bindings to come undone and grabbed them to make an improvised whip. Lashing the binding out, he hit the tribal in the throat and stood up. Grabbing the knife from the tribal’s belt, he stabbed his would-be killer in the stomach.

“And you’re a Rotten fool,” he snarled as the rain and thunder continued before grabbing the ax and bringing it down on the tribal.

The other tribals noticed this and began to shout. Wrenching the ax free, Domrey sprinted off into the trees. Behind him, the shouting continued as the rain came pouring down. He had no idea where he was going as he ran, he only cared about getting away.

Unfortunately, this proved to be a mistake. Bursting through the foliage, he nearly ran off a cliff. As the rain and thunder continued, he looked behind him only to see his escape cut off as the tribals glared at him with murderous intent. However fate would intervene as when he turned to face the tribals, Domrey slipped on the mud and went tumbling down the cliff. The last thing he saw before he hit the water below was a bolt of lighting illuminating the sky.

Domrey woke up with a weak groan and a cough. It was drizzling and he was completely covered in muddy water. Pushing himself up, he realized he had somehow managed to keep his grip on his acquired ax, a Shi Charan ax no less. Looking himself over, he was relieved to find that he had suffered no discernable injuries outside of a few scrapes and some tangled fur.

“Well that’s lucky,” he laughed weakly as he ran his hands over his-

Stopping, he gently touched his ears and flinched. They had been shredded and his head had been cut, more than likely from the rockets that blew up in the battle. Taking a sky breath, he looked around and saw that he was on a river bank in the middle of...somewhere. He was filthy, hungry, injured, hot, and lost…

“No… No no no no… This isn’t happening,” he hiccuped and dry heaved before breaking down into tears.

Everything had gone so wrong so fast. The rebellion, his obsessive drive, his desire to live up to the Saint name… All of it leading to this. Domrey was reduced to an injured, crying child begging for his parents all alone far from home.

Voices nearby caused him to stop and look around with bloodshot eyes. Seeing figures in the trees, he picked up his ax and let out a feral growl. Blinking the tears out of his eyes, he saw a small group of Slugcat youngsters carrying handwoven bowls watching him anxiously. Despite being tribals, he could easily tell they were completely different from the mob he had fought before and not even close to being warriors. Dropping the ax, he just kneeled in the mud defeated.

One of the bolder youngsters walked up and offered him a hand. Blankly looking at the smiling face, he accepted it with a resigned sigh. Domrey had already lost so much, what more could he lose by accepting a friendly face?

Weeks had passed. Domrey had been nursed back to health by the tribe that graciously accepted him. Over this period of time he learned how to talk with them, made a few acquaintances, regained his strength and dignity, and finally learned to let go of his obsession. Even so, he strongly desired to return to Shi Chara. Despite making it quite clear on where he wanted to go, it became obvious that they had no idea which set of mountains in the far distance were the ones he was looking for. If he wanted to return home he would need to explore the landscape himself, something that could easily take a lifetime.

Even so, Domrey was nothing if persistent in achieving his desired goals. Even if he had to walk the entirety of Alcenta for the rest of his days he would find home.

“Guard? You leaving?” a voice asked as Domrey assembled some supplies and ensured his ax was sharp.

He nodded, “I am. My home in mountain Starlight. Not down in valleys.”

Starlight was a simple, young girl around his own age. A light brown furred Slugcat with  a penchant for gathering fruit, she had been curious about the stranger her tribe brought in one day. That curiosity quickly grew into friendship, a friendship Domrey was happy to have.

He was almost certain she saved his life and sanity just simply being there for him and keeping him grounded and not focused on his nightmares.

“Home here. Many homes,” she insisted, “You no need to leave.”

“Shi Chara home. My true home,” Domrey insisted as he finished packing and stowed the ax, “Your home here Starlight.”

“Then I come. I see Shi Chara also,” she insisted firmly, grabbing him by the shoulders, “I go with Guard. I want see Guard home.”

Weeks ago to be in close proximity with anyone wearing nothing would have left Domrey a blushing mess. Now all he could see was a willful, beautiful young woman who did not want to be separate from her friend.

“Shi Chara far. No know where,” he sighed, glancing towards the fog-covered mountains off in the distance, “You come you leave tribe. Shi Chara very different if find. Never may find Shi Chara. Better you stay then come.”

“I stay with Guard. Heart for Guard,” she said firmly.

By the Lake Gods… She’s falling for me?! “I… I different Starlight. True home not your home.”

“Heart for Guard. Guard home my home,” she insisted.

Sighing, Domrey accepted that she would not bend and he found her also to be appealing. Maybe he did not share the same feelings she had for him, but maybe he would one day. Besides, it would be a long journey to find Shi Chara and having company would be both pleasant and essential.

“Then we search. Together?” he offered with a smile.

“Together,” she nodded before hugging him.

And so Domrey and Starlight would say their goodbyes and begin their long journey to find Shi Chara. Battle-scarred and no longer a foolish young boy, Domrey was now tempered and truly ready to be the warrior he had pushed himself to become. He was a member of the Order of Lady Sliver, a Saint, a descendant of Lady Silvia, and now the wandering warrior “Guard.” His journey to discover who he is has finished. His journey to find home was now beginning.

I’ll find home eventually, Domrey thought to himself as he hugged Starlight while they walked through the rain, We’ll find it together.

The Battle of the Silver Line is considered one of the most important events within the Havarda Confederacy with following events even affecting the history of Alcenta entirely. The battle itself, while brief by Scientific Revolution Era standards, was the first recorded time modern Alcentans used rockets in warfare as well as a primitive form of asymmetrical urban warfare. However, the aftermath saw sweeping reforms within the city and the region itself within the coming years. Within Shi Chara itself, the caste system was systematically abolished under the fiery influence of House Saint and the city government re-established as a democratic republic. The city was also the first to formally separate church and state and consolidate all armed forces under the command of the state, nearly eliminating all private retainer security forces that could serve as a military force. While gripped with fear regarding the Caste Rebellion, Shi Chara would return to being a center of cultural, scientific, and philosophical progress within twenty years and enter a golden age within these areas that would last for three centuries. The other city states within the Confederacy would take note of these events and implement their own reforms during this golden age before solidifying the Confederacy as a national government under a constitution.

History of Lake Ri’Taln; Chapter 13; Section 6

Chapter Text

It was silence that woke the eighteen year old Slugcat up. Blinking his exhausted eyes, he sat up and looked around cautiously to see familiar, snoring, filthy bodies lying all nearby. With a tired huff, he tried to fall back asleep but saw a rare site that made him awaken fully.

They’re beautiful, he thought as he looked up at a hole in the clouds to see the stars.

He wished he could be up there in the sky with the stars, to be away from everything wrong with his life. Away from the mud. Away from his fellow tribesmen. Away from his monster of a father. To be away from it all.

But life is always a struggle, he recalled the words of his uncle, And “home” is somewhere down here… Whatever “home” even is…

As the clouds enveloped the stars once more, he laid back down and made himself as comfortable as he could in the twisted tree roots. Life was harsh to Goldeyes and it would be far worse if he was unable to keep up with the rest of the tribe. As much as Goldeyes despised the tribe, it was the only thing he knew and the only safety he could find. To live alone was a weakness, to abandon family was to invite death, and to survive he had to be strong. Such were the laws his father enforced…

But Goldeyes could still recall days before his father took over the tribe and turned it into what it is today. Slipping back into a restless sleep, he dreamed of better times. Back when his uncle led the tribe. Back when the search for “home” brought them across mountains, over rivers, and past rain mountains. Back before the world grew as violent as the sky during the flood season.

“Wake up!” Goldeyes woke to a shout.

Jumping up, Goldeyes grabbed a branch with a surprised yelp before getting shoved back down. Sitting in the mud, he glared up at the warrior who woke him.

“Pathetic,” the warrior spat before walking away.

With an angry huff, Goldeyes crawled to his feet with a yawn and focused on snuffing out the raging fire that was his anger. With near black stained furred fingers, he brushed the worst of the mud and leaves off and took a deep breath to completely calm down. Standing up, he saw the rest of the tribe already eating… Well, the warriors were. Off to the side were the children and the others who were not “strong.” Goldeyes felt pity for them, memories of a different time coming back to mind.

“You’re awake,” a young voice said simply.

Turning to the side, he saw an equally filthy young Slugcat walking over. It was Slipfoot, an orphan who had been stolen from a rival tribe seven summers ago. He had earned his name due to his long tail and dexterous fingers, easily able to reach for food high in the trees or to steal it from the food pile the warriors gouged themselves on. Despite an awkward relationship due to Goldeyes’ familiar relationship with the violent chief, he was friendly and caring to Slipfoot.

“Have you climbed yet?” Goldeyes asked, looking at the food hungirly as his stomach  growled.

“They already got it all. There’s the stream but I saw snappers in the water…” Slipfoot sighed.

Goldeyes sighed, “We’ll make due the best we can.”

“He’s planning something today,” Slipfoot said warily, “They say smoke was seen near the river going to rain mountain.”

Goldeyes blinked in surprise. Smoke meant many things, usually either fire or a target to raid. The fact it was near a rain mountain also meant fighting would occur due to other tribes.

“Stay with the others and don’t anger them,” Goldeyes instructed as a brawl broke out amongst the warriors, “You know what happens when they get angry.”

A furious shout demanded the fighting to end. Both Goldeyes and Slipfoot stiffened in fear as an average sized Slugcat stormed over to the fighting warriors. With a brilliant green coat of fur and burning coals for eyes, chief Godmind strode over with his family heirloom ax.

“I said enough! I will not say it again!” he bellowed.

“Oh, get eaten by a vine you bastard!” a particularly stupid individual shouted.

All commotion silenced as Godmind snarled. With an unseen force, the warrior who dared to speak out was dragged through the food and mud before the feet of Godmind. Grabbing the ears atop of the warrior’s head, Godmind glared as the warrior began to violently cough.

“You will choke on those words,” Godmind said before slamming the ax down.

The camp watched as the warrior flailed briefly before going limp. Wrenching the ax free, Godmind paid the body no mind as it was invisibly thrown into some bushes nearby. Goldeyes felt his own breath hitch as he felt the gaze of his father burn upon him. Wincing and turning away, he briefly caught the disappointed disgust of Godmind.

“He’s coming over,” Slipfoot warned, taking a few generous steps back.

Goldeyes looked up and saw his father walk over, expression not wavering as he did so.

“Still cowering in the mud like an animal,” Godmind snarled with barely restrained disgust, “Have I taught you nothing?”

“The gods rule because they are strong. We are born of the gods, we are strong,” Goldeyes recited as he anxiously eyed the blood stained ax.

“I know you can hunt. I know you can fight. I know you have the powers of a god within you… Take your place or I will do what I should have done ten summers ago,” Godmind spat before glaring at Slipfoot who slipped and fell down in fear, “Starting with him.”

Goldeyes felt a flare of anger burn through him, “You’ve taken enough from him. Hurt him or any of the others and you will find nothing to hide yourself behind.”

“You waste your strength on them. You’re weak! Nothing! A disgrace!”

“And I’m stronger than you as are they,” Goldeyes said with a calm anger, “You can kill and take all you want father, but who will gather the food for your warriors when they won’t do it themselves? Who will heal them? Who will tend to the young?”

Godmind maintained his baleful look before turning away. With a sudden spin, Godmind turned back around and punched Goldeyes in the stomach. Falling to his knees coughing, Goldeyes managed to avoid the follow up shoving kick with a roll. Even with the reflexes, Goldeyes knew his father was only marginally less disappointed than had he gotten kicked.

“Hmph… I should have killed my foolish brother before he poisoned you. Such a waste,” Godmind spat before turning away.

Still coughing, Goldeyes uneasily got back to his feet. Slipfoot and the other non-warriors watched with mixed fear and admiration. Everyone knew he was only being spared the worst of his father’s infamous ruthlessness due to only the slightest of family bonds, earning him very few allies. But Goldeyes was fine with this, just so long as he managed to see Godmind get his long overdue retribution before he left the tribe behind him along with any who had the courage to join him. His uncle might be long dead, but Goldeyes still recalls the teachings he received and the family legacy Godmind spat upon. He would find “home” and he would live a life worthy to be in such a mystical place.

He just needed to wait for his father, his uncle’s murderer and family legacy destroyer, to fall from grace. Only then could he truly be free to do these things.

Just you wait father, Goldeyes glared at Godmind, One day your “strength” will get you killed and I will be free from you.

Later in the day the tribe was being forced to march through the jungle towards a distant rain mountain. As the tribe moved its way through the trees, Goldeyes ignored the growling of his empty stomach. As the warriors marched forward boisterously, the others anxiously walked onwards and slowly, picking up anything edible and eating it along the way. Due to the size of the tribe, everything ranging from the batflies to snappers steered clear of the slow moving Slugcats which limited most of the tribe to grab fruits, nuts, roots, and popseed husks. As a brief shadow flew overhead, Goldeyes looked up and spotted a flying beast in the clouds above.

Do you suffer the rains as we do?, he silently asked the beast as it disappeared back into the clouds, How much freedom do you truly have?

“Chief! There’s a smoke raft on the river!” a scout ran up.

“Are you certain?” Godmind demanded, halting the entire tribe as he stood still.

“I am. The foreigners were exchanging their supplies with another tribe, possibly one from the rain mountain lands.”

A small spark of hope bloomed in Goldeyes. Smoke rafts mean fire branches and slice spears, weapons that kill with ease. If there was a chance for his father to be killed by folly, Goldeyes knew the foreigners on their smoke rafts had the greatest out of all. Even so, foreigner wrath and cruelty was just as well known as Godmind’s which made them even more dangerous…

“You think he’s going to go through with it?” Slipfoot asked quietly.

“It’s him. Killing the foreigners proves he is a god. He’ll go through with it,” Goldeyes whispered back, keeping his mixed thoughts about the foreigners to himself.

“But they are the only ones he fears. Why would he go after them when he knows how powerful they can be?”

Goldeyes remembered one raid that gravely injured Godmind. Despite being hidden under his fur, there were two scars Godmind carried with him. One was a cut from a slice spear across his torso, a parting gift from a foreigner warrior Godmind had foolishly decided to fight in single combat and underestimated. The other was the result of a fire branch spitting out a stone and lodging it into Godmind’s arm from a distance. No one dared to bring these injuries up out of fear of insulting the violent chief, but Goldeyes knew those wounds were proof that his father was not as powerful as he made himself to be.

“If he can kill the foreigners he can continue to prove himself and so he will,” Goldeyes stated as the warriors argued amongst themselves, “He’s the snapper who hunts the yeek. The real question is just how far will the snapper go to hunt the yeek?”

“Enough! We will attack them at sunset,” Godmind declared before facing the non-warriors, “Those who wish to prove themselves are to follow instructions. Those who are too weak or cowardly shall be excluded from the festivities of our success.”

So confident, Goldeyes glared at his father who gave him a disdainful look, Just you wait father. One day you will hunt the yeek and you will fall into a trap of your own making in your blind hunger to consume everything.

Later on, the clouds let loose with the rain. Despite being too early for sunset, Godmind decided to take advantage of the rain and prepared to ambush the smoke raft along the river. With most of the warriors gone save for a few guards, the tribe rested. Goldeyes stood under the rain and let it wash over him, cleaning away the filth and stains in his fur.

“Think you’re worthy to be clean?” a nasty voice asked as he was pushed back into the mud.

Spitting the mud out of his mouth, Goldeyes turned to glare at the warrior that pushed him. The warrior glared back with a nasty smile.

“Pathetic. Why the chief even keeps you around is beyond me. You’re nothing but a waste of time,” the warrior laughed.

With a flare of anger, Goldeyes flared his power and caused the spear the warrior was holding to go flying off to the side. The warrior stopped laughing and stared at the thrown spear which quickly disappeared in a puddle of mud.

“A warrior that can’t even hold onto his spear has no place in this tribe,” Goldeyes smirked before he got up, “Go ahead and kill me. Rid the tribe of a burden. I’m filth am I not?”

All around him stones, branches, leaves, and even drops of water began to float ominously. Without his father nearby, Goldeyes could show off his heritage without the fear of Godmind trying to turn him into another merciless killer. As much as he detested violence and the cruelty of his father, it felt invigorating for Goldeyes to simply be a “monster” (terrifyingly so as he often edged the boundary on what separated him from Godmind). After all the times of being pushed down, insulted, and left to starve, to simply see the fear in the oh so mighty warriors was the best form of revenge he could get.

“Please no!” a voice cried out.

Goldeyes flicked his namesakes to the side to notice another warrior holding a frail, sickly Slugcat down and was poised to stab her with their spear. Like a bolt of sudden lighting, Goldeyes quickly felt whatever taste of power he had vanished. No matter how vindictive he wanted to be, he would never forgive himself if his recklessness got someone killed. He knew his uncle would never forgive him if he carelessly threw aware lives the same way his father has done. No matter how much he desired freedom, Goldeyes would never sacrifice someone else to achieve it.

Wordlessly, he released the objects and let them fall. Even as he did so, he gave a harsh glare at the warrior holding the woman hostage. This proved to be a mistake as he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head and he crumpled to the ground.

“All that power and you don’t even use it,” the first warrior spat, “You’re nothing but a coward.”

Off in the distance towards the river, cracks of thunder went off. As Goldeyes slowly picked himself back out of the mud, he glanced at the rest of the tribe and the warriors. The warriors had backed off, giving him cautious looks while quietly talking to themselves. The others gave mixed looks of fear and almost pleading hope towards him. None hurt more than the look Slipfoot gave him. It was one of sad understanding and crushed hope. Goldeyes knew he could easily overcome the warriors and was strong enough to fight even without his powers.

But everyone knew his powers were that of Godmind and that he was no match for the chief. His little displays of terror were all he could ever do if he wanted to remain true to himself (and even then he could feel his own control slipping away with each tempting display of power, a seductive poison that made the false promise of freedom in exchange for exerting his will over others).

I’m sorry, he apologized silently as the distant fighting continued.

Hours later in the evening the rest of the tribe was brought to the riverbank. The smoke raft was destroyed, sunk in the river with holes in its wooden frame. The warriors gouged themselves on the spoils wildly. Food and drink was shared amongst them while a raging fire burned despite the rain, sending up madness fumes similar to that to certain mushrooms as boxes filled with the foreigner goods were incinerated. The warriors breathed the fumes in deeply and grew wild with reckless abandon, some even falling over from the excess.

Goldeyes could only watch the wild party from a distance in disgust. The only good thing he could see from this was that the warriors were too distracted to hamper foraging efforts for the rest of the tribe and his father was nowhere in sight. As he leaned against a tree and watched on, he shared a husk of popseed with Slipfoot.

“What do you think happened to the foreigners?” Slipfoot asked as he looked at the destroyed smoke raft, “Maybe one of them escaped?”

Goldeyes looked at Slipfoot uneasily before glancing down the river at a few snappers, “Maybe… Though it’s dangerous to be alone.”

“Goldeyes?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think the foreigners know where ‘home’ is?”

The question caught Goldeyes off guard. Slipfoot was very pessimistic about any hope of a better life or even the idea of “home” existing. After living for so long in Goldeyes’ shadow and keeping his head down, it was easy to understand why the younger Slugcat lacked any real spirit. Yet he had a mixed view on the foreigners. Strange people from far away lands, having terrifying weapons and capable incredible things, able to trade and conquer in equal measure… Slipfoot was completely fascinated with them and like Goldeyes he saw his greatest chance of escape with them.

“Maybe,” Goldeyes said as a fight broke out amongst the warriors, “My uncle said ‘home’ was a place of true belonging. No wandering, no looking for food, no fears… A place you can belong to.”

Slipfoot blinked in thought but said nothing. They continued eating until the husk was stripped bare. Despite his stomach demanding more food, he gave the husk to Slipfoot to eat. As the warriors continued their reckless party, he stared at the river and destroyed smoke raft. A rumble of thunder caused the snappers to dive into the water, sounding almost like the fighting from earlier.

The next day Godmind pushed the tribe towards the rain mountain, wildly proclaiming that they would conquer it. Goldeyes was of the mind that his father had breathed too much madness fumes last night but he dared not voice these opinions. As sluggish as his father currently was, he was still powerful and somehow even more dangerous than ever. This was mostly reinforced by the fact that Godmind was dragging the whole tribe along to fight in the upcoming raid under the threat of spearpoint.

“Remember our agreement,” Godmind snarled with a wild look in his eyes.

Goldeyes uneasily adjusted his grip on the sharpened stick he had been handed, “Yes father.”

Godmind yanked on his ear, “Continue being a coward and they will die. Starting with the boy and you will watch me do it...slowly.”

Goldeyes swallowed and looked at the fury in his fathers eyes. Even with the madness in them, Goldeyes knew his father was telling the truth. Godmind was no liar and he always followed through with a promise. If Goldeyes wanted to minimize the loss of life, he was going to have to participate in the raid.

“I understand father,” Goldeyes said, keeping the anxiety out of his voice.

Seemingly satisfied, Godmind released his grip and continued walking. The signs of approaching the rain mountain grew more and more prevalent with each step that Godmind forced them to take. Strange rocks began to poke through the pants and mud, the fog thickened, the signs of another tribe were present. Goldeyes could not help but look around in wonder at the strange environment. This was the third time he has ever gotten “close” to a rain mountain and it was just as mesmerizing as the first two times. He almost wanted to go through with his father’s madness just to see what lies beyond the great barrier that separated the lands of a rain mountain from the rest of the world.

But as he continued walking, a new sense of unease began to fill within him. There were signs of another tribe, but there was no other tribe here. Discarded structures, unfinished spears, a half gutted snapper… Where was everyone?

“Ragh! Where are they?!” Godmind screamed.

“Chief, this place wasn’t abandoned that long ago. Are we to pursue?” a warrior questioned.

The question seemed to calm Godmind from his rage, “No… No, we shall not. Gather what you can and send a scout. We’ll find the cowards and encircle them before we slaughter them.”

And now he thinks things through, Goldeyes thought as he walked over to the carcass.

Examining the snapper, he was surprised to see that it was a six leg spitter. If he were to hazard a guess, it appeared as if someone was in the process of carving it up for food but suddenly stopped. It was also not a fresh kill as it had been dead for some time, not enough to start rotting but enough to have long gone cold.

So who just left you here and how long ago?, he asked the body silently as his stomach growled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a warrior grabbed him by his neck fur.

“Wait! Look at the snapper,” Goldeyes exclaimed.

“Yeah? What about it?”

“It’s a recent kill. Someone started to cut it up but stopped and left it alone. Why would someone do that?”

“You think you’re funny?” the warrior demanded.

“Huh? No,” Goldeyes took a step back in shock at the hostility.

“You think you deserve this? You think a pathetic, weak, bastard such as yourself deserves food?!” the warrior raised a club.

A sudden crack rang out, causing the entire tribe to flinch in surprise. Stepping out of the fog strode the other tribe alongside a group of unusual Scavengers and Slugcats. Unlike the other tribe, they wore strange leathers and carried with them fire branches.

“You’ve entered the security perimeter of Singing Clouds Above. We are well aware of what kind of people you are given what you did to those merchants yesterday. Turn back now or this will be seen as an act of aggression and shall be dealt with accordingly,” one of the Scavengers ordered.

The tribe froze in shock by the proclamation. Even the warriors were shocked by the boldness. Never before had someone so openly defied them like this. Of course there were rumors that there were those gifted with abilities like Godmind and Goldeyes, but no one really believed it. There were no other Slugcats who had powers like they did! None!

“I am a god! I do not listen to you coward! Now die!” Godmind screamed, powers flaring as the Scavenger who made the proclamation was dragged forward.

Immediately, a few thunderclaps and cracks rang out before the other tribe let loose a ferocious warcry and charged. Goldeyes dropped to the ground and took cover behind the snapper carcass as the warriors of his tribe shouted as well and leapt into action. A brutal brawl let loose as war cries and screams filled the air. Goldeyes frantically looked around in a panic before he saw Slipfoot cowering under a bush.

“Slipfoot!” Goldeyes yelled out, getting up and racing over.

Before he could make ten steps, he was tackled to the ground. Beating his assailant off, he tried to get back up only to trip as his foot was grabbed. Looking behind him, he saw that it was a Slugcat of the other tribe who was attacking him. Within a moment Goldeyes felt something within him snap. Summers of abuse, humiliation, and threats roiled like storm clouds inside of him before being let loose like a thunderclap. Screaming in anger, he kicked the Slugcat in the face before shoving their face into the stony mud with his powers.

No more, he snarled inside of himself as he got up, We’re going to be free.

With a new burst of energy, he began to weave his way between the fighting warriors. The non-warrior members cowered and screamed, getting struck down and killed almost indiscriminately in the chaos. With each death, Goldeyes felt a stab of pain and fury surge through him. This was just more senseless butchery and he hated it. While he had been forced to come here, he had hoped it would have been with as little death as possible. The other tribe may have their reasons to fight back, but to strike down the sick and hurt? The filthy and diseased? The old and young? To kill them with as little hesitation as the raiding warriors who have done such acts themselves?!

No, Goldeyes was not going to be a part of this. He should have taken these poor individuals long ago and fled into the jungle. It was too late for them now but he could still save Slipfoot. Goldeyes had to save Slipfoot, the little brother who depended on him.

Jumping over a wrestling pair of warriors he managed to reach the petrified young Slugcat, “Come on! Get up! We’re leaving!”

Slipfoot starred in shock, eyes wide in paralyzed fear. As more cracks and thunderclaps went off, Goldeyes pulled Slipfoot to his feet and gave him a harsh shove. The action shook Slipfoot out of the stupor and he ran with Goldeyes close behind him.

“Where are we going?!” Slipfoot asked as they ran through the shrubs and trees.

“Away from here!” Goldeyes snapped back.

“What about the others?!”

“Just run!”

And so they ran, frantically crashing through the foliage and kicking up mud as they did so. Behind them, the sounds of fighting began to fade into the fog. Neither dared to slow down however, not even as their breaths began to run short and muscles burn. Never had they run so long so fast and not even the malnourished states could stop them as they ran away from the nightmares behind them.

“The river!” Slipfoot cried out as he skidded to a stop before falling over.

Goldeyes tripped over Slipfoot and fell face first into the mud and hit his nose on something. Spitting to clear his mouth, he glanced at the river ahead of him. He was a poor swimmer and as far as he knew Slipfoot was even worse. With the incoming flood season the water was too deep and wide to simply ford. There was no way across, one way led towards the rain mountain, the other back to the semi-familiar lands they had just come from days ago.

There has to be a way across, Goldeyes thought frantically before he spotted something, “There! The smoke raft!”

“What abou-Ahh!” Slipfoot yelped as he was suddenly yanked.

Goldeyes snapped his head around and saw his worst fear, Godmind striding out of the fog with his ax and a murderous look in his eyes. Slipfoot was being dragged slowly towards the murderous Godmind, desperately clawing at the ground before being brought to the foot of the chief.

“No!” Goldeyes yelled, reaching out with his powers and grabbing the ax out of his father’s hand.

“I knew it,” Godmind snarled as he kicked Slipfoot out of the way, “I knew it! I knew it all along!”

With a wordless scream, Godmind charged Goldeyes and tackled him to the ground. Goldeyes brought his hands up in a futile attempt to protect himself. In a series of flashes and pain, he felt the summers of disgust and disdain his father had for him finally be unleashed upon him. It stopped shortly after it started, giving Goldeyes a brief moment to look up. Slipfoot had jumped onto the Godmind’s back and was yanking hard on his ears, causing the chief to flail wildly in a wordless scream of rage.

“Jump!” Goldeyes shouted, blinking the mud and blood out of his vision.

Slipfoot fell off right before Godmind was sent flying. As the maddened chief disappeared into the bushes, Goldeyes felt a sharp pain go through his head.

“He’s coming back!” Slipfoot cried out in terror.

Goldeyes frantically scrambled into a disoriented crawling run towards the smoke raft. Along the way, he spotted the ax that belonged to his father. Almost instinctively, he grabbed it and went into a full sprint for the smoke raft. Slipfoot joined him and the two jumped aboard just as a furious scream was heard behind them. Crouching in the flooded smoke raft, both Goldeyes and Slipfoot crouched behind the wood and trembled in fear.

I have to kill him, Goldeyes thought as he gripped the ax in trembling hands, He won’t stop until I kill him.

“Goldeyes,” Slipfoot whimpered as he hugged Goldeyes tightly.

Suddenly, the sounds of foreigner weapons rang out in pops and thunderclaps. Neither Goldeyes nor Slipfoot dared to move. Despite only a few seconds passing, it felt like entire seasons had passed. Neither dared to so much as breathe out of fear of what would happen next.

Only when the skies darkened moments later and the rain came pouring down did they loosen up. The ax fell out of Goldeyes’ hands and plopped in the muddy water. He then trembled and fell to his knees, weakly grasping Slipfoot. Both looked at each other for a moment before sobbing in a mixture of relief, fear, and sadness. They did it...they were free from the tribe…

They were free from Godmind.

“Wha-What do we do now?” Slipfoot hiccuped out after they finished crying.

Goldeyes looked at Slipfoot. The rain was washing away the mud and filth, revealing a faded white fur coat. Slipfoot’s eyes were filled with a pleading, desperate spark of hope. He was still afraid, but no longer was he cowering behind that fear. Goldeyes could feel the same emotions roil within him. He could scarcely believe that today had happened the way it did.

“Now we…” Goldeyes said in a cracked voice as he grasped Slipfoot’s shoulders, his green fur starting to be revealed, “Now we find home and live our lives.”

Slipfoot tightly hugged Goldeyes. They sat in the flooded smoke raft with the rain pouring down upon them for several moments. The sparks of hope began to ignite into a comforting fire that burned hotter than the pain or hunger they were experiencing. After a few minutes they broke the hug. Goldeyes grabbed the ax and got to work breaking the smoke raft apart to gather the wood necessary to make an improvised raft, carefully eyeing the trees in case of any danger. His vision was blurry from the rain and beating and he had a bloody nose but he was able to concentrate enough to finish his task. After a few hours of work between using the wood and the vines the smoke raft had stored away, they had managed to build a raft and half float, half swim their way across the river. Abandoning the raft, they began to walk off into the trees and never looked back.

The skirmish that took place yesterday near the Canal Gate 9 was under my authorization. With the assistance of CR-441 (Combat Rifleman Janet), CM-439 (Combat Medic Brutus), RIDS-501 (Research Infectious Disease Specialist Philip), and C-17-8 (Eight, designated “Pathfinder”), I had established a war party with the Steam River tribe against a hostile warband of Slugcats. This warband was responsible for the massacre of friendly foreign explorers/merchants, abuse, conscription, and the suspected deliberate assault and assimilation of other tribes.

Due to the proximity of the aggressive tribe to the Facility Grounds and having the equipment already on hand, I authorized the use of 26.54 caliber assault rifles for all purposed organisms involved. An initial warning had been given to avoid unnecessary hostilities which was ignored by what is believed to be the warchief who immediately assaulted me with telekinesis/psionics. This immediately resulted in a full skirmish and the deaths of several conscripted tribals which included the sick, elderly, and even younglings. The chieftain was seen abandoning his tribe and was pursued until cornered at the river and was eliminated on site by RIDS-501. Autopsy of the warchief as well as the warriors of his tribe show high levels of stimulants within the bloodstream, lungs, and nasal passages, similar to the trade goods the merchants had with them before their demise. Only two warriors were captured in the fighting, the rest being either killed in the fighting or succumbing to injuries. The surviving conscripts meanwhile show alarming signs of sickness, malnutrition, and abuse. Currently I have CM-439, RIDS-501, and C-17-8 treating the conscripts in safehouses in the Railyard and Assembly Complex while the warriors are under armed watch by CR-441 in the Recycling Plant.

I personally believe the conscripts are to be treated as victims and integrated into the Color Cloud tribe. This suggestion comes due to the Color Clouds being predominantly Slugcats and are the friendliest tribe within the Facility Grounds. I also highly recommend trauma therapy and education to help ease these individuals into a less violent lifestyle. For more detailed analysis or recommendations I will forward CM-439’s reports due to his experience and speciality and C-17-8’s supplementary opinion in regards to enforcing better security over the river.

After action report, CS-435 (Combat Sergeant Mozambique)

Goldeyes yawned as he woke up. For a brief moment he panicked when he found himself restricted in his movement. But his worry quickly calmed as the steady patter of rain reached his ears and he saw Slipfoot sleeping gently on top of him. Goldeyes then began to recall the events that led up to this moment. He and Slipfoot swam across the river (and received an impromptu cleaning in the process), searched for food, ate until they got sick and threw up, then ate even more food until they passed out. Even now, it seemed unreal and Goldeyes was fearful his father would show up at any moment.

He’s gone, he told himself as he gave Slipfoot a tight hug and spotted the ax half buried in the mud, He can’t hurt us anymore… He’s gone… He’s...gone.

Slipfoot murmured in Goldeyes’ grasp but remained asleep. Goldeyes looked at the ash white furred Slugcat in his green furred grasp. Even with the flecks of mud that had clung to their fur to see themselves as anything but a messy black stained mess was surreal. Goldeyes had almost been afraid of his own green fur at first, immediately associating it with his father. But when Slipfoot remained calm and commented that it suited him, all Goldeyes had been greatly relieved.

Goldeyes was distracted from his thoughts by his stomach. At first he thought he would spend another day surviving off of scraps but then he recalled the feast he had eaten yesterday. Batflies, popseed, berries, grubs… Even after throwing it all up he had not eaten such a feast in ten summers and he went to sleep with a full belly after gouging himself a second time. The fact he could eat food without someone to shove him aside or to fight for every bite was another almost unbelievable part of freedom.

Well time to get more then. “Slipfoot, time to wake up,” he gently shook Slipfoot.

“N-No. Please! I’ll behave!” Slipfoot cried out suddenly and fell onto the muddy ground in a panic.

“Slipfoot! It’s me!” Goldeyes said as Slipfoot looked around frantically with unfocused eyes.

“Goldeyes? It...It wasn’t a dream?” Slipfoot began to calm and look around as the rain continued to fall down on him.

“We’re free Slipfoot,” Goldeyes smiled as he stood up and held out a hand, “Want to look for food?”

Slipfoot blinked in surprise before smiling back and accepting the help to stand up. With them both awake, Goldeyes grabbed the ax and started walking in a random direction with Slipfoot walking beside him. Before long they came across a pool of rainwater and a few husks of popseed. With the assistance of the ax, they each got a whole husk of popseed to themselves to eat and carefully drank the water. While not the most extravagant meal, both were content and happy. By the time they had finished, two half-finished husks of popseed were left behind as they walked away. There was no need to savor every bite as if it would be their last for the day, not anymore.

As the days passed, Goldeyes and Slipfoot continued their wandering. Their fur coats were cleaner than ever thanks to rain showers and a proper diet. Slipfoot lived up to his name by climbing trees to gather food while Goldeyes proved to be an effective hunter with the ax and a makeshift spear. Despite their success, they were still haunted by the past and Goldeyes refused to use his powers out of fear of becoming just like his father.

“Do you think we will forget it all?” Slipfoot asked one morning after a nightmare filled rest, eating a handful of berries as he did so.

“I don’t know,” Goldeyes admitted as he took a bite out of a grub, “Part of me hopes I never forget… Not everyone was bad and I don’t want to become like him.”

“You won’t. You’re not like him.”

“What’s to stop me?” Goldeyes asked with a slight glare, “I could become just like him and very few could stop me Slipfoot. We got lucky and that was only because he let the madness fumes blind him from the other tribe having weapons of the foreigners. He was my uncle’s brother and he didn’t let that stop him from becoming chieftain!”

Slipfoot cowered slightly from the exclamations. Goldeyes took a deep breath and gently picked up the ax. It had been in his family bloodline for more summers than memory. A part of Goldeyes that symbolized just how lost he truly was and just how dangerously violent he could be.

“I don’t want to become him, Slipfoot. As cruel and violent as he was, Godmind was not wrong in what I can be. I am his son and I could become just like him,” he gripped the ax handle so tightly his hand shook.

Slipfoot set aside his berries and gently pulled the ax away from Goldeyes, “You’re not him. You’ll never be like him.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you promised we would find home,” Slipfoot said as he hugged Goldeyes, “And you said we would live our lives. Godmind can’t make us do anything anymore. We can find home and live our lives.”

Goldeyes blinked in surprise before giving out a relieved laugh as he hugged the younger Slugcat back, “Thank you Slipfoot.”

They resumed eating and continued walking. Before long, the rain picked up again and began to flood the jungle. Unable to progress, they climbed a tree to wait out the weather.

“Goldeyes! There’s another rain mountain,” Slipfoot called out from higher up.

“Where?” Goldeyes asked as he began to climb higher.

Looking towards where Slipfoot was pointing, Goldeyes saw it. Lightning colored like his fur arced under the rain mountain as it stood over a mighty river off in the distance. Memories from a few days ago came to mind, remembering the foreigner smoke raft and the other tribe. He was almost tempted to suggest avoiding the rain mountain, not wanting to risk further violence.

But then a new thought came to mind: They could find a new tribe. Both Goldeyes and Slipfoot had a near disastrous encounter with a snapper pack and nearly ran afoul with a crimson thrasher that was guarding a meal. Goldeyes also recalled the days of when his uncle was the chieftain, where companionship and care were encouraged rather than the brute strength and cruelty Godmind favored. Finding a new tribe meant better chances at food, staying healthy, healing from sickness and injury…

A fresh start and maybe the chance to find “home.”

“What do you think about going towards it?” Goldeyes asked.

“But there’s other tribes near it,” Slipfoot replied.

“Exactly. We’d be better off with a tribe. If that doesn’t work...maybe we can find clues as to where home is,” Goldeyes stared at the rain mountain as another distant flash of green went off beneath it.

Once the rain stopped and the flood receded they began journeying to their new destination. Slipfoot still had his reservations but trusted Goldeyes and followed silently behind after a brief discussion. Goldeyes, for his part, had grown slightly apprehensive about his idea as they walked. He truthfully would have felt more comfortable if Slipfoot had been more hesitant. Now if anything goes wrong it would be one Goldeyes’ head.

“Oof!” Slipfoot fell over some hidden roots, submerged by water that has yet to recede.

“You all right?” Goldeyes asked, turning around to help.

“I’m stuck,” Slipfoot grunted as he struggled to stand back up.

Setting the ax and spear aside, Goldeyes began to help. However, before he could bend down to assist a low hiss went out. Even with his fur soaked Goldeyes could feel it begin to stand on edge. Crawling out of the shadows was a long snouted, thin dark blue snapper. Even with it being unfamiliar to Goldeyes he knew the jaws on it could easily snap him in half and the claws on the snapper’s legs were formidable as-

“What the?!” Goldeyes yelped as the snapper reared up on its hind legs to screech at him, tripping over his feet in surprise.

“Snappers don’t do that!” Slipfoot yelped, surprised as well.

Well this one does, Goldeyes thought as he grabbed the spear and brandished it only to realize he was holding it backwards.

The snapper, either seeing the defiance as a challenge or smarter than it appeared, fell back to all fours and began to weave its way towards them with Slipfoot between it and Goldeyes. Goldeyes frantically spun the spear around and began to thrust over Slipfoot’s head to keep the snapper at bay. The animal did not appreciate the sharp wooden point being in its face and in response clamped its jaws around the spear.

What is this monster?!, Goldeyes thought as his spear head shattered.

“I’m free!” Slipfoot called out and began to scurry away, nearly having his tail bitten by the snapper.

“Get in the trees! I’ll hold it back!” Goldeyes instructed as he gave an overhead swing and smacked the remains of his spear on the head of the snapper.

The snapper reared back up and let out another screech, swiping at Goldeyes with its claws. Stumbling back, Goldeyes frantically looked towards where he left the ax. Spotting it, he quickly gave another look at the snapper which slammed back down to glare at him almost at eye level. Before either could move, a branch splashed into the water beside them.

“Go away you stupid snapper!” Slipfoot yelled as he reached for another branch with his tail.

With the snapper distracted, Goldeyes scrambled for the ax and gripped the handle. Brandishing it, he gave a wild swing with a yell to intimidate the snapper. The creature gave a baleful glare at him just as before a branch hit it in the head. Unbothered, the snapper began to slowly crawl towards Goldeyes. Goldeyes watched the snapper carefully, never letting its head leave his vision. He tensed up as he saw the creature begin to coil up, knowing that-

Before anyone could do anything, an arrow slammed into the snapper’s flank. The snapper let out a screeching hiss before another arrow hit it. Taking advantage of the distraction, Goldeyes swung the ax and buried the blade into the snapper’s snout. The action sent the snapper into a pain induced frenzy, flailing about wildly as it desperately tried to remove the arrows and the ax (which had been jerked out of Goldeyes hand as it remained lodged). A third arrow hit the lizard in the stomach as it reached up to claw at its face. Falling over, another arrow hit the snapper in the back. With the snapper disoriented and unable to move as nimble anymore, Goldeyes wrenched the ax free before delivering a killing blow into the animal’s head. The snapper gave out a quick death rattle before going still.

“Who’s there?!” Goldeyes snarled, freeing the ax once more and pointing it wildly in random directions.

Slowly walking through the trees came the semi-familiar figure of a Slugcat… Though not one Goldeyes has ever seen before. Goldeyes knew his father had a thick coat and could remember his uncle having an even thicker one. This individual, whoever they were, had probably the thickest fur coat he had ever seen even with it being muted grays and blacks. They also looked like one of the warriors, limbs built like tree trunks and having a height that rivaled the snapper standing on its hind legs (nearly an arms length above Goldeyes). Goldeyes had to admit, this stranger was intimidating even with a bored looking expression and it was not because of the undrawn bow and arrow in their hands.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Goldeyes demanded, holding the ax with both hands as he felt his nerves begin to fray.

The stranger blinked before shifting their eyes up towards Slipfoot. Darting between Slipfoot and Goldeyes, the stranger then closed their eyes to take a deep breath before saying something in a tongue Goldeyes could not understand.

“What do you want?!” Goldeyes shouted.

The stranger spoke again, cocking their head as they did so. Upon receiving no answer, they just huffed. Storing the unused arrow into a quiver, they kneeled down and gripped the tail of the dead snapper and began to pull it away. Upon seeing the snapper body moving, Goldeyes jumped in surprise and nearly twisted his ankle. The stranger gave a quick glance before adjusting their grip and pulling the snapper even closer to themself.

“Uh, do you know where home is?” Slipfoot asked as he started to climb down.

The stranger again spoke in their strange tongue as they dislodged the arrows before shouldering the snapper with a grunt. Goldeyes sputtered at the display of strength as Slipfoot openly gaped upon hitting the jungle floor. The stranger gave out a curt laugh before walking around them in the direction of the rain mountain. Just before they disappeared in the shadows, they paused and looked back at Goldeyes and Slipfoot. Adjusting their grip on the snapper, they waved their arm (still holding the bow) for them to follow.

“What do you think?” Goldeyes looked at Slipfoot.

“Maybe they’re from a tribe,” Slipfoot replied.

“They just lifted an overgrown water snapper by themself and we can’t understand a word they said.”

The stranger simply turned and continued walking.

“...Fine! Wait for us!” Goldeyes called out as he rinsed the ax clean and began to run after the stranger, Slipfoot following close behind.

After two days of travel, Goldeyes and Slipfoot were still following their unlikely guide. While unable to hold a conversation due to different languages, they did learn their new companion went by the name of “Chank.” Goldeyes was also quick to learn that Chank was just naturally a soft speaker and that despite the fearsome appearance, the giant hunter was at least putting on the appearance of being friendly. Of course, Chank was rather possessive of the snapper body he was hauling but did share meals with Goldeyes and Slipfoot.

“Think we’re going to the rain mountain?” Slipfoot asked as they walked on through the trees after a light meal.

Goldeyes shrugged, “We are at least heading towards it. Maybe Chank doesn’t live on it but near it?”

Chank looked back at them upon hearing his name but continued walking. Before long, the sound of running water was heard. Considering the fact that it had not rained for the day yet that meant a river was nearby, something that made Goldeyes both confused and a bit apprehensive. He did not fancy swimming across a river and he had no idea on how Chank was  supposed to carry the lizard carcass across a river. As if providing answers Chank revealed a village sitting on the edge of a riverbank by brushing some fronds to the side. Huts were raised on logs and had bridges between them, making them seem like miniature rain mountains clumped together.

“Well I guess we know where we’re going,” Goldeyes said as he looked at the village.

“Huh… Thought we’d be closer to that,” Slipfoot pointed at the rain mountain poking through the overcast fog.

Goldeyes looked up at the distant rain mountain. Even with its massive size and even being able to hear the distant rumble of thunder from the green lightning, it did still appear to be quite far away. Somehow...it felt almost comforting to look up at.

“Come on,” Goldeyes nudged Slipfoot gently after looking back down at the village, “Let’s try to make them happy about us.”

Jogging to catch back up with Chank, they were quickly met by two warriors (also massive and thickly furred) holding spears giving them confused looks. Chank began to converse with them, all three speaking in a soft tone that almost made it difficult to tell who was speaking. However, it was clear that Goldeyes holding an ax did not sit well with the warriors as they frequently gestured towards it and their tones shifted (all while maintaining the softness).

“You want it? You can have it,” Goldeyes sighed as he gently put the ax down on the ground, “It’s yours now.”

The statement (or action) threw the warriors off balance. Chank sighed and began speaking rapidly to the warriors while gesturing to Goldeyes and Slipfoot. After a few moments, the warriors sighed and let them pass with Chank holding onto the ax. Now inside the village proper, Goldeyes and Slipfoot quickly became the centers of attention. Villagers gave them confused looks and spoke in hushed whispers.

Slipfoot drew close to Goldeyes and shivered, “I don’t think they like us.”

“Then we’ll learn how to ask our question in a way they can understand and go,” Goldeyes gave warning glares at the villagers.

Some commotion nearby broke his attention. A group of youngsters were playing and causing a scene under one of the huts. Looking at them, Goldeyes felt a tinge of jealousy at their joyful innocence. They seemed so happy, so carefree, so… So naive as to how the world really is.

It’s not fair, he raged quietly at the cruelty of his father for stealing that innocence from him and Slipfoot.

“That’s...a long tongue. How does that fit in their mouth?” Slipfoot questioned as he looked at one of the kids sticking out a long, thin tongue.

“In their tail probably,” Goldeyes rolled his namesakes.

“Really?” Slipfoot asked, seeming to wholly accept the statement despite the sarcastic tone from Goldeyes.

Chank cut them off by directing them into a hut up a wooden ramp. Walking inside, they saw another massive Slugcat who looked similar to Chank. Exchanging some words, Chank handed the ax over and gestured to Goldeyes and Slipfoot with a brief conversation before hefting the snapper body. The other Slugcat nodded and gave the two guests a smile which was awkwardly returned. Satisfied, Chank adjusted his grip on the snapper again and walked past Goldeyes and Slipfoot.

“Okay… Do you know where home is?” Slipfoot asked the unknown Slugcat.

All he got in return was a question in that unknowable tongue.

“This was not part of the plan at all,” Goldeyes messaged his head in a vain attempt to stave off the growing headache.

After a few days the flood season had finally and truly begun with relentless thunder and rain. For a moment Goldeyes panicked as he awoke to the noise, believing he had to scramble up a tree to avoid drowning. It was only after a few moments of being tangled in the leather hide he had over him that he remembered he was twice the height of Chank above the ground in a hut. Untangling himself, he let out a tired yawn and stretched as he walked over to Slipfoot who was watching the storm from the hut entrance.

“Anything interesting?” Goldeyes asked as he sat down next to Slipfoot as another rumble of thunder went off.

“No… Just looking at the storm,” Slipfoot commented.

“Where’s Chank and Rilait?” Goldeyes glanced at the rolled leathers of the hosts that took himself and Slipfoot in.

“Don’t know,” Slipfoot flinched as a loud thunderclap boomed overhead, “They were gone when I woke up.”

Goldeyes nodded and got up as his stomach growled. Opening up a basket, he pulled out some dried meat and walked back over. Slipfoot denied the offer so Goldeyes just simply sat back down and started eating slowly. He began to mull over the recent experiences that led to this moment. The disastrous conquest his father had planned, the journey through the jungle, meeting Chank… All of it seemed like ages ago yet it was recent.

His mind then turned to Chank and his (potential) sister Rilait. They were kind and patient, even when he made it clear he was suspicious of their generosity. They reminded Goldeyes of his uncle, almost painfully so. Part of him longed for that warmth but he was fearful of it being ripped away and their physique was too similar to the warriors who made his life miserable for so many summers.

“What’s wrong?” Slipfoot asked.

“Hmm?” Goldeyes hummed before swallowing.

“You look angry.”

“I’m not. I just… I’m scared,” Goldeyes sighed before he shoved the rest of the food into his mouth.

“It’s about Chank and Rilait isn’t it? I’m...scared also,” Slipfoot nuzzled Goldeyes, “They seem nice but they look like the warriors. In the dark I just get so afraid that they’ll start yelling and shoving me but then they start talking and I can’t understand them and… I want to like them. I want us to be at home. I want to live my life! I want to stop being afraid…”

Goldeyes swallowed and hugged the silently crying Slipfoot, “So do I Slipfoot. So do I…”

They sat in silence as they watched the storm outside.

As the flood season continued, Goldeyes and Slipfoot slowly grew more comfortable with their hosts. Goldeyes remained more on edge but kept calm for Slipfoot’s sake who was more accepting of the warmth that this new life offered. The language barrier still made things difficult and being cooped up in the hut a number of times when the storm grew too violent to venture out did cause some nerves to fray, but the different groups were growing accustomed to each other.

“Goldie,” Goldeyes heard Chank call him one afternoon.

“Chank?” Goldeyes turned his head to see Chank hold up fishing equipment and the ax.

With a hopeful look Chank offered the ax handle to Goldeyes. With a deep breath Goldeyes hesitantly accepted the ax, keeping a close eye on Chank’s face as he did so. Smiling, Chank jerked his head to the side and walked out of the hut. Goldeyes followed into the rain and rounded the corner to see his host setting up at the edge of the platform, water just inches below. Sitting down next to the larger Slugcat, Goldeyes set the ax aside and looked up at the distant rain mountain that thundered occasionally in the clouds. Chank sat down next to him and threw a fishing line into the water, nudging Goldeyes with a friendly look as he did so. Goldeyes just stared and Chank’s smile slowly disappeared as they sat in the rain.

Chank let out a sigh and started talking. Goldeyes blinked in surprise but stayed silent as he listened to Chank ramble. While unable to understand what was being said, Goldeyes quickly caught on that Chank was trying to speak to him even if it was a ramble. The soft tone of the larger Slugcat’s voice and the rain matting his fur made Chank seem far smaller than he was, almost vulnerable. Goldeyes knew Chank was struggling to speak to him, somehow, someway through the barrier between them. Chank was no longer the giant who appeared from the shadows hunting a snapper or a warrior that was just waiting for his turn to torment Goldeyes. Chank was just...there and it hurt to still be suspicious of him.

“I’m sorry,” Goldeyes said after Chank finished, “I’m sorry but I can’t trust you blindly. I want to trust you and the others. I don’t but I have to because Slipfoot does and I can’t hurt him the same way my father hurt me...by destroying my heart and seeing everyone as a threat to his rule. I just can’t because the moment I do I’ll let my guard down and then I’ll be thrown into the fire again.”

Chank huffed and returned his focus to the water. There apparently was nothing else for him to say. Goldeyes felt awful and wanted to say so much more, but he could not. He wanted Chank to be just as bad as the warriors so that he could take Slipfoot and run, never to look back just the same as he did with the tribe. He wished he never thought up the plan to join another tribe. He wanted this place to be “home,” where he could live his life. He wanted to be loved and welcomed for who he was with his powers accepted. He wished he had never been born with his powers, cursing him to a life of abuse and mockery. Goldeyes wanted all of this and could not find the strength to make any of these things a reality, so he just sat there with Chank.

They sat on the edge of the platform, listening to the rain come down upon them. After a few hours they went back inside. They never caught anything that afternoon…

Nor did they speak to each other any further.

Time passed and things subtly changed. Goldeyes still found it difficult to connect with Chank and Rilait (let alone the other villagers) but Slipfoot was quickly integrating himself as well as picking up the skill of woodcarving. The language barrier was slowly but steadily eroding away as well, resulting in broken, awkward conversations. Goldeyes also was slowly growing more comfortable with Chank and Rilait and even discovered he enjoyed cooking meals with them. And the flood season rain continued to pour down all the same.

Strange…I don’t ever recall being in one place this long, Goldeyes thought as he walked over to the food storage hut one day.

The village felt...welcoming despite his reservations with the villagers. All his life he had been on the move, stopping only when necessary and never for long. To just be in one place for extended periods of time should have felt maddening, but it strangely did not. He had no idea how to describe the feeling. But he was still an outsider and he could not find a way to bond with the other villagers the same as Slipfoot was doing.

Ignoring his stray thoughts, he walked into the food storage hut and squinted to see what was available. Rilait had asked him for… Grubs? Fruits? No, she had asked for popseed.

“Strange how popseed can grow everywhere,” he muttered to himself as he opened a basket to check its contents only to close it upon discovering it contained preserved fruit, “Underwater, in snow, on rocks...it can grow anywhere.”

After finding a basket with a portion of popseed in it, Goldeyes closed the lid and began to pick it up only to pause when he noticed some jars. Cocking his head in curiosity, he began to search the jars also. Some ground up popseed… Some multi-colored leaves? Seeds… Honey…

Honey? Where did they find honey? Surely it can’t be honey, Goldeyes thought as he brought the jar down and stuck his finger in to taste its contents, It actually is honey! This is coming with me now.

With a low chuckle, he carefully propped the jar onto the basket and carried it with him back to the hut he was lodged at. Chank was busy fishing on the other side of it with Slipfoot while Rilait tended a small hearth inside.

“Popseed Rilait,” Goldeyes announced as he set the basket and jar down before attempting to wipe the rain water off.

Rilait looked at the jar with a confused expression before looking at Goldeyes with a frown, “No Goldie. Popseed, no-”

Goldeyes rolled his namesakes as Rilait continued to scold him for taking the jar. The last time he had honey was summers ago and he was not going to pass this opportunity up (nor the opportunity to share such a treat with Slipfoot). Besides, he was not going to eat the whole jar. Maybe he can find a creative use for the honey since he was learning how to cook…

An hour later Slipfoot came inside with Chank. They had managed to catch a fish of some kind and were ready to prepare it for a meal. What they walked in on was Goldeyes and Rilait eyeing a brick of honeyed popseed in a cooling pan. The honey had caramelized somewhat and the brick was just barely holding itself together, but it still appeared to be ordinary popseed.

“See? It worked and we were clean,” Goldeyes smirked at Rilait who gave an exasperated huff.

“What’s that?” Slipfoot reached to grab the brick.

“Careful!” Goldeyes slapped the grasping hand away.

“Goldie make?” Chank asked as he eyed the brick with intrigue while putting his afternoon catch on a rack.

“Goldie make. Goldie make...food,” Rilait waved at the brick with an aloof tone.

“So what is it?” Slipfoot asked.

“Popseed and honey. Thought it would taste good to mix the two,” Goldeyes grabbed a knife and cut a slice of the brick off.

Balancing the slice on the knife and putting his hand under to catch it if it fell, he gently brought it up to blow before tasting it. His mouth sang with sweet, buttery flavors. It was chewy, crunchy, soft, and melting in his mouth all at once. He almost did not want to swallow just to experience the delightful flavors for as long as possible.

“What’s honey?” Slipfoot asked, causing Goldeyes to swallow incorrectly.

While Goldeyes coughed as he tried to process the fact that Slipfoot had no idea what honey was, Chank grabbed a knife of his own and cut his own slice of the brick off. After tasting it, he spoke with rapid excitement with Rilait who immediately sampled a taste for herself. Both giant, wooly Slugcats stared at the brick in amazement.

“You’ve never had honey before? Never?!” Goldeyes asked in shock.

“No?” Slipfoot replied weakly.

“Here, try this,” Goldeyes immediately sliced another portion off and offered it to Slipfoot.

Slipfoot tasted his sample and his eyes widened in amazement, “This is honey?! It tastes so good!”

Goldeyes beamed with pride and joy knowing that he had impressed the others with such a simple meal. It had been a tad messy to create and cooking it evenly had been a challenge, but it clearly was a success. And these were just two ingredients! Maybe he could find more to add in also and improve his cooking.

“I think I just found a way to make some more friends,” Goldeyes said as he looked at the remaining portion of the brick, “Think the cooks will accept me if I show them this?”

“I knew you would make friends!” Slipfoot replied as he hugged Goldeyes.

By the time the flood season had ended several weeks later, Goldeyes quickly earned a reputation for being an experimental cook with a talent of making interesting meals. The language barrier still remained but his increased socialization and exchanges with the cooks due to his activities made him more integrated than ever. He was no longer just sitting in the hut with Slipfoot, Chank, and Rilait, he was accepted as a member of the village. He was living a life of his own making and one he enjoyed. The cruelty of his father and the warriors was a fading nightmare that only haunted his dreams.

He had found "home."

“Okay… Let’s see how well this came out,” Goldeyes said one day as he tasted a soup he had been making, “Mmm… What am I missing?”

“Goldie,” Chank said as he walked up with his fishing gear.

“Chank,” Goldeyes greeted before he resumed frowning at the soup pot, “I think this one is bad also.”

“Most your meals are good,” Chank said supportively before lifting the fishing equipment, “Join me while water still high?”

Goldeyes looked at the pot and the various spices surrounding him and Chank. He did not want to abandon his latest experiment but he had spent a good amount of the afternoon on it and it was approaching evening. Frankly, he was nearly at his limit for the amount of cooking he had done for the day and it had been a while since he had sat alongside Chank. But he was also very close to making this a good soup and-

“What problem with soup?” Chank asked as Goldeyes continued to debate his options.

“Not sure. Missing something,” Goldeyes took a spoon and let Chank taste for himself.

Chank swirled the soup in his mouth for a moment before swallowing, “Missing something… Missing something strong...and hidden.”

Goldeyes blinked and gave the words some thought. It took him a moment to realize what Chank was saying but when it did Goldeyes immediately understood the logic. He needed a strong yet subtle flavor. He needed...salt! Of course! It was distinct and could easily overpower other flavors if overused, yet a pinch could make a boring meal taste great.

He began to reach for his spices until he realized one crucial detail, “There’s no more salt… We’ve used it all.”

“Will gather more when water low,” Chank patted Goldeyes on the shoulder, “Join me?”

With a resigned sigh, Goldeyes nodded. Carrying the pot with him, he walked alongside Chank before dumping the incomplete soup into the water. Setting the pot aside, he sat down while chank prepared his fishing equipment.

“You need this,” Chank offered the ax.

“Thanks,” Goldeyes set the ax down between himself and the soup pot.

Chank sat down and casted his fishing line. The rain mountain in the distance gave a low rumble as they sat, almost in reminder of the storm from earlier in the afternoon. Looking up at the clouds, Goldeyes saw a flying beast lazily flying off towards a break in the clouds. He could see the pink/orange sky in the break.

“Traders arriving soon,” Chank said suddenly.

“Sorry?” Goldeyes perked up.

“Traders. Strange people wanting to trade tools for leathers and foods. Come along water, leave way they come,” Chank smiled as he turned to face Goldeyes, “You may like traders. Show food and get lots of tools eh?”

Suddenly, an unwelcome memory came to the forefront of Goldeyes’ memory. Godmind was sitting next to him again, scowling and threatening to hurt Slipfoot. There was going to be a raid on the smoke rafts. His fur was not green but stained black. He was back in the jungle mud. Goldeyes could only cower in fear from his father who was-

“Goldie? You need help?” Chank’s voice came from Godmind.

Goldeyes blinked and realized his chest felt tight. Suddenly...he did not feel like he was at “home” anymore. For so long it seemed he had put his past behind him. But the mention of the foreigners reminded him of the violence typically associated with them and violence was associated with his father. Goldeyes did not want to meet the foreigners...not if they would remind him of his past.

“Bad dreams,” Goldeyes huffed as he lifted the ax ruefully, “Bad...father.”

“That belong to father?” Chank asked, voice patient as he looked at the ax.

“Uncle. Father take Uncle. Father take lives. Father take and make bad. Father...not staying behind...he here,” Goldeyes shivered, “Bad father.”

“Sound bad. Mother?”

“No memory. Uncle say she die when young.”

“Slips father and mother taken by your father?”

Goldeyes opened his mouth to answer but stopped himself. In truth, he had no idea what happened with Slipfoot’s parents. It was another raid on another passing tribe and the warriors forcefully dragged a young Slipfoot with them. Goldeyes had defended the youngster from getting beaten and they had been together ever since.

“Father may not do himself...but father still takes,” Goldeyes finally answered.

Chank hummed in thought, “Father not here. Goldie and Slips safe here and helped,” Chank wrapped an arm around Goldeyes’ shoulder.

Thank you Chank...for being here, Goldeyes felt his namesakes water as he snuggled into the hug.

They sat on the edge of the platform, watching the clouds darken as the sun sunk further behind them. After a few hours they went back inside. They never caught anything that evening.

Nor did they speak to each other any further. There was no need to do so.

Weeks had passed and the river had receded further. The ground was firm enough to walk upon without fear of sinking into it even with daily rains. Scouts and hunters were sent out to gather resources and food during this time. The village was more active than ever.

For Goldeyes and Slipfoot it meant more socialization and activity, especially since Chank was sent out as a hunter while Rilait handled other duties around the village. Goldeyes was fairly sure she was ready to move in with someone else given how flirtatious she has become with the other villagers recently…

“So why is Rilait acting strangely again?” Slipfoot asked as he carved a wood block.

Goldeyes flipped the honeyed popseed bricks he was making over, “Pretty sure she wants to live her life with someone else.”

“Did we do something wrong?”

“No she just… How do I explain this? She wants to be a parent,” Goldeyes struggled to answer.

Slipfoot cocked his head in confusion but shrugged before he continued with his wood carving. Goldeyes huffed in relief as he continued keeping an eye on his cooking. The popseed bricks had become a very popular meal within the village and it was discovered to be an excellent travel food. Chank had packed three bricks for himself when he had left, as had the other hunters and scouts.

“You try to change those? Make something...different with your experiments?” Slipfoot pointed his carving knife at the bricks.

“Don’t have the time,” Goldeyes carefully transferred the bricks off the pan and onto a cooling mat, “By the time I finish I’ve used up all the popseed given to me.”

“Think the foreigners will like them? The others say they’ll be arriving in a few days.”

The comment made Goldeyes pause. He was still apprehensive about meeting the foreigners. Everyone in the village claimed the foreigners were curious traders and explorers, but even so all he could associate them with was their weapons.

“Maybe…” was all Goldeyes could say.

Slipfoot paused in his carving before getting up abruptly. Goldeyes blinked but began working on the next batch of bricks as Slipfoot walked away. While it was a bit painful knowing Slipfoot no longer looked up to Goldeyes as reverently as he had done in the past, Goldeyes was proud of the younger Slugcat. Slipfoot was more independent, more lively, and happier than he has ever been in the past. Goldeyes by contrast was just content with accepting his new role as a cook and living a peaceful existence...even if it was still somewhat an empty one.

Slipfoot returned with the ax and offered it to Goldeyes, “Do you want to get rid of it? No more memories of him?”

“N-No! No… No, I want to keep it,” Goldeyes answered, “I want it to be here for something good.”

“Like what?”

“Protecting others, being useful… I don’t want it to be used the way he used it ever again… I don’t want to be like him…”

Slipfoot set the ax down and gave Goldeyes a hug, “You’re not him Goldeyes. You never were him. You protected me and the others. You found home. You cook food for everyone… You’re not Godmind and never will be. You’re not an ax either, to be used and put away when not needed. You’re Goldeyes and that’s who you are.”

“When did you become so wise?” Goldeyes gave a chocked laugh.

“By watching you,” Slipfoot replied, “I love you Goldeyes. Nothing will ever change that.”

A few days later, the foreigners arrived. They arrived late in the morning and early in the evening in their smoke raft, exchanging their items for food and information about the surrounding area. Both Goldeyes and Slipfoot kept their distance but watched the activities. It was oddly calming and reassuring to see the foreigners in such a calm manner. Slipfoot’s wood carving had been exchanged for a toy that went to a child while the honeyed popseed bricks were enthusiastically purchased in exchange for a box of tools. Goldeyes had to admit, seeing his cooking be enjoyed enthusiastically by the foreigners was a mark of prideful success for him.

“That went well,” Goldeyes commented as he watched the smoke raft float back the way it came as he sat on the platform.

“They’re still strange, but nice when there’s no fighting,” Slipfoot agreed sitting nearby, “I hope they come back again.”

“Me too,” Goldeyes agreed as some commotion along the edge of the village occurred.

Turning their heads, they saw Chank and a few others returning from their expeditions in the jungle. With fresh snappers, fruits, nuts, and salts, it was clear that the village would have plenty of food and resources in the coming days. Getting up, they both began to walk over to greet the returning hunters and scouts.

Goldeyes paused to look up at the rain mountain. The green lightning flashed and could be heard faintly. The looming presence was massive and ever present, but comforting.

“Goldeyes, you coming?” Slipfoot called from halfway down the ramp.

“I’m coming. I’m coming,” Goldeyes replied with an exasperated smile on his face.

Heading down the ramp, Goldeyes joined Slipfoot as he headed over towards Chank. Rilait had already greeted her brother and shown that she was now living with someone else which had been received positively. With the two younger Slugcats, Chank gave Slipfoot a new branch to carve and Goldeyes a chunk of salt to be used for cooking. Gifts in hand, they gave Chank welcoming hugs which he returned.

And in the evening that followed as Goldeyes prepared to go to sleep, he saw a brief break in the clouds with the stars shining in the sky above the rain mountain. He knew then and there without a doubt he was discovering what it meant to live a worthy life. It may take time and he may face trials in the future, but he would live a life worth living. But there was one thing Goldeyes did not need to search for any longer: He had truly found “home.”

Chapter Text

It was the start of another day. It was easy to tell even with the sunrise just barely beginning thanks to a set of steam whistles and horns that went off at various pitches. The horn at a tower across the street from one apartment building in particular was more recognizable than others, mostly due to it sounding like a drunken rain deer that walked face first into a wall and bashed its nose (as one grouchy frontiersman complained which resulted in everyone agreeing with him). For a large stocky twenty five year old green furred Slugcat sleeping in a room on the second floor, she could care less about what horn sounded like just so long as it would shut up.

“Bloody thing,” she groaned and rolled over, trying to bury her head under a pillow in a vain attempt to block the noise, “Always when I’m having a pleasant dream.”

With an aggravated huff, she threw the pillow to the side and sat up as the horn finished its call. Letting out an undignified yawn (sticking out an impressively long and thin tongue out in the process) and stretching, she felt her joints pop before she casually tossed her bedsheet aside to walk towards the window. Brushing the sack turned blind aside, she was greeted with a gray morning with thick fog and clouds. Even so, there was enough sunlight to brighten the shrouded courtyard and her bedroom.

Another day, another shift, she blinked her gold colored eyes and let out another yawn, All right Helga, time to get to work.

After making her bed (or more accurately haphazardly picking the pillow off the floor and ensuring the sheet was not half hanging off the bed), Helga exited her apartment bedroom and walked into the hallway. The bright light bulbs above caused her to hiss in discomfort as she headed for the stairs. A few doors down she heard a conversation going from her coworker and best friend’s bedroom. With a slight frown she sped up her walking and began rapidly descending the stairs, questioning her friend’s...after-work habits that have ruined many planned evenings.

“You better be in on time Tess or the boss will have your horns,” Helga muttered as she passed the descended further down the steps.

After a quick detour to the ground floor communal laundry room and water closet, Helga stepped out onto the still foggy courtyard. Despite only minutes having passed since the morning alarm went off, the entire courtyard was abuzz with activity. Factory workers were going to and coming from their shifts, travelers were heading for the stables and dockyard for their method of travel, carts were being pulled to various destinations, and even the steam trolley that served as an express passenger service was in full swing. Life in the trade/mining town of Dondermijn was a constant heartbeat of activity, respite, and then activity again, all dictated by the alarms. While small and seemingly insignificant compared to other rising industrial cities around the world, the town was a thriving community along the Onweersvloed River and a vital part of the greater colonial holdings within the Emerald Delta of the Rainlands. Despite her tribal heritage and upbringing (spanning four generations in a village on the other side of the Iterator further down the Onweersvloed), Helga was proud to be a part of the community. It was, after all, one of the first modern communities within colonial holdings built and governed nearly entirely by Rainland locals.

“Morning Helga! Off to work?” Helga heard one of her neighbors, a red furred Slugcat, ask.

“That I am Aldert,” Helga walked backwards as she put on her raincoat duster and hat, “You and the others still up for a few rounds after work this week?”

“You better have that money ready.”

“Ha! Like I’d ever lose to you,” she turned back around with a wave and continued walking normally.

Weaving her way through the crowd, Helga headed for the trolley tracks. Despite being able to make it to the tavern she works at by walking, her employer could be short-tempered and made sure everyone would get an earful if they set him off. Despite being nothing but bluster, Helga did not want to be late to work nor tired upon arrival which results in a rushed breakfast if she wanted to avoid a colorfully worded rant (which she has been on the receiving end of multiple times). Seeing the trolley, she picked up her pace to catch the side of one of the cars. Hopping aboard, she was helped by the other passengers and ensured to keep her tail clear of getting snapped on anything.

“Any news today?” she asked as she hung off the side of the car.

“Nothing out of the ordinary unless you count the weekly flush in a few days,” a Scavenger replied.

“I’d say that’s pretty ordinary,” a yellow furred Slugcat yawned.

“Well the day’s still young. Maybe the folks from up on high will have some news,” Helga commented as she looked through a brief break in the buildings and fog to see a distant green flash.

“Like they ever care about us,” another Slugcat, a rare purple furred one, muttered, “Too busy with their own matters to be bothered with us.”

“They do have those fancy wireless telegrams and handle some of the nastier beasties out in the jungle for us,” the Scavenger commented.

“They pay pretty well,” Helga commented, “Got a whole bottle of rum last month in exchange for a plate of sausages and a few games of poker. A glass bottle no less.”

“Glass?! What the hell are they wasting glass for to make a bottle?” the red furred Slugcat exclaimed that such a rare and expensive commodity would be used for something as mundane as a bottle.

“Forget about why they would use glass to make a bottle. Where do they even get the glass from in the first place?” the yellow furred Slugcat questioned.

“I don’t know but if they’re so willing to pay for a plate of sausages with a glass bottle of some of the best damn rum I’m still drinking then I won’t question it,” Helga replied as she spotted another green flash off in the distance through the smog.

After hopping off the trolley a few minutes later, Helga had arrived at her destination. The building was a repurposed factory warehouse of some kind, had an ugly gray and brown coloring that no coat of paint could ever hope to fix, and stank from the various chemicals that wafted from the refineries a few warehouses away. As far as taverns go, “The Runoff” was a hideous example of Rainland tenacity and repurposed ingenuity that was just barely within the realms of health and safety regulations. For an industrial district that had repurposed an “Iterator Waste Recycling Center” to become a series of chemical mines/factories, the tavern was a much needed amenity that kept the workers happy and the prospective merchants loose with their coin purses. For Helga, The Runoff was her employment and a secondary home with the familiar stenches of alcohol, sulfur, chlorine, and a number of other unpleasant odors being a sign on just how much the bygone ruins of the past being brought to life with bustling activity.

Helga loved this shithole and was completely enraptured with the marvels of modern industry that pulsed all around said shithole.

Taking a deep breath of the chemical smog filled air, Helga walked inside and was immediately greeted by the sound of someone yelling. Rolling her eyes, she headed for the back kitchen where the yelling was coming from. Upon entering she saw two Slugcats. The larger of the two, blue fur and likely having some local tribal ancestry, just stood with his arms crossed over an apron holding a ladle while having a neutral frown for an expression. The smaller, an orange furred individual from the coast (easily identified due to webbed digits and a finned tail), was busy yelling almost for the sake of it.

“-top of it, how many times do I have to tell you to inform me when we’re running out of snow onions?! Those only grow in Havarda you oaf!”

“Are you done?”

“You want me to make a list? Because I can make one for all the reasons why I should send your tail out on the street!”

Helga just rolled her eyes and opened a cabinet, “Morning Abraham. Morning Tim.”

“Morning Helga,” the cook replied, neutral expression barely changing as he turned around and opened a pot to sniff the steam.

“Helga… Where’s Tess?” the angry Slugcat demanded.

“Got busy with another customer last night back at her place. She’ll be here when she gets here boss,” Helga grabbed a bowl and walked over to the stove, “What’s for breakfast today Tim?”

“Porridge. Cinnamon, salt, coppernuts, and popseed,” Tim answered as he reached up to a spice rack to grab a can.

“Any tea?”

“Oh sure, just eat all the food and drink in the kitchen. It’s not like we’re trying to run a business here,” Abraham scowled.

“I’m here on time aren’t I?” Helga asked as she served herself some porridge from another pot.

Abraham huffed but left the kitchen without any further incident. Helga knew from experience her employer was just agitated about keeping The Runoff running. Getting quality food and drink was difficult and despite the fact Dondermijn was a prosperous mining town, there was only so much money to go around. People had their favorite places to eat, drink, and gamble and there was fierce competition amongst the taverns in this part of town to garner attention. Some boasted cleaner air, others heartier meals, and some somehow managed to offer cheaper drinks without sacrificing the quality. Helga knew The Runoff offered plenty of amenities and had advantages to keep itself strong (such as being a favorite by a purposed organism from above and a pool table), but the competition was still there nonetheless.

Even so, Helga also knew her boss very well. Abraham loves to complain and shout about anything he possibly can. He was a difficult Slugcat to work under, but he was a fair and reasonable one who cared about his employees as much as he did about his establishment. From what Helga has heard, a twelve hour workday for six days a week with the salary she earned was better than what most got. She could pay for a decent room in a boarding house apartment, buy her own goods, and still have enough to save up for an emergency. As far as Helga was concerned, if she just had to put up with Abraham’s yelling to get all that and more then she was doing fairly well.

“He’s concerned,” Tim grunted as he continued cooking, “Last month was bad.”

“And? We’ve had bad months before,” Helga took another spoonful before she twirled the spoon around in the air lazily, “So we had a slow month due to the steam accidents. No one died, the injuries were light, and the factories are back up and running. We’ll make it up within a few weeks at the worst.”

“It’s not that. The Homeland passed a new set of taxes on taverns,” Tim growled as he slammed the pot closed, “All taverns are now required to pay additional licensing fees and additional taxes on drinks. We owe back taxes for two months, not including this one.”

Helga paused in her eating. The “Homeland” was what everyone called the overseas power that claimed sovereignty over Emerald Delta. Despite Dondermijn being largely autonomous, it was still a colonial holding and thus beholden to the law.

“So who’s bright idea was this lizardshit?” Helga asked as a familiar Scavenger strode into the kitchen yawning, “Morning Tess.”

“Morning!” the gray furred Scavenger replied quickly before grabbing a bowl for herself.

“The lizardshit was pushed by the Reformation Party. Boss has the specifics in his office but apparently us paying taxes was the compromise as opposed to prohibition,” Tim sighed, “At least we’re still in business.”

“The Reformists actually went through with it? I was told it was a fool's hope at best,” Tess served her own porridge and started eating.

“And where did you get your source? Hmm? One of the customers you snagged back to your place while they were drunk?” Helga asked, more bite in her question than she intended but was too annoyed about the situation to care.

“Try one of the union leaders who needed to talk to someone without causing a scene,” Tess snapped back.

Helga sighed, “Sorry Tess. You know how much this place means to us.”

“Though you should keep your work here and not at your apartment,” Tim grunted as he set up a kettle and began to brew tea, “Boss was grumbling about you stealing customers.”

Tess sputtered and began to deny the accusation. Abraham walked back in and began yelling that Tess was indeed guilty. Helga rolled her eyes and continued eating her porridge, giving Tim a slight smirk which he returned. The argument continued well after the tea was brewed and the porridge finished. By the time Helga finished breakfast, Tim had managed to start cooking on another meal and while an early customer walked through the door.

Just another day at The Runoff, Helga thought as she left the noisy kitchen.

“What can I get you boys?” Helga asked as she approached a table of tired workers.

“What’s the special for tonight?” a Slugcat smelling of bleach asked.

“We’ve got some chowder leftover from lunch. If you wait a bit longer I think the kitchen should have some pulled lizard flanks ready.

“I’ll take the chowder.”

“I’ll wait. Get me another drink,” a tired looking Scavenger groaned, “Whatever’s your strongest.”

“You have mixed greens back there?” a different Slugcat asked.

“You’ve got to eat something besides those salads,” the first Slugcat scowled.

“Not sure if we have enough for mixed greens but we do have the rice vegetable salad in the ice room in the back,” Helga answered.

“I’ll take that. Oh, and bring me a beer to go with it.”

Helga nodded and headed for the kitchen. It was a busy night which was good. Busy nights meant lots of paying customers and lots of paying customers meant there was no need for hijinks. Abraham was too busy to yell, Tim would no doubt have enough food cooked to feed the whole street of factories, and Tess was busy serving as well. Two days into the workweek and The Runoff was in full swing to keep up. Helga thrived in the chaos of taking orders, grabbing meals, and pouring drinks. It was the complete opposite of the sleepy village she had grown up in and she was never more alive than when she was on the move working.

“Tim we’ve got orders for the chowder, the salad, and two drinks,” Helga called as she walked through the kitchen and towards the ice room.

“Chowder coming up with two mugs,” Tim replied as he dried his hands as Helga passed by with a bowl of her own.

Opening the ice room door, Helga shivered at the cold. Despite having thick fur and a stocky build, it felt like a cobalt screeching lizard was trying to sink its teeth into her. Supposedly one of her distant ancestors came from the mountains to the north (if that one travelling merchant from Katusia actually was telling the truth and not spouting nonsense) but Helga doubted it. Helga was born and raised in the Delta just like the rest of her family, well adapted to the sweltering heat and humidity as opposed to the freezing cold.

Just get through it quick. Come on Helga you’ve done this before so stop complaining, she told herself as she shivered.

Flicking on a light switch, the room lit up and she quickly weaved her way towards the back. Various foods all throughout the Rainlands lay in bins, barrels, and boxes. However, Helga had to go to the back of the room to reach the salad.

Of course it’s right next to the ice. It’s always next to the bloody ice, she thought as she opened a cabinet and quickly scooped the salad out, I hate the cold.

With the bowl filled, she closed the cabinet and hurried back. Turning the light off behind her, she closed the door and gave a slight shudder as the shift in temperature hit her. Ignoring the feeling, she grabbed a serving tray and placed the bowls on it alongside two mugs. Exiting the kitchen, she headed for the bar where Tess walked back and forth with drinks.

“Tess! One beer and one Hel-Brouwsel!” Helga called.

Tess nodded and excused herself from a customer. Bringing over two bottles, she popped the corks and began to pour. The first was the beer, a no-name brand meant for cheap mass consumption that could be found anywhere. The second however was the only drink that could make Helga lightheaded within a few minutes of drinking it; the Hel-Brouwsel. She had no idea where Abraham heard of it, where he buys it from, or even what it is made out of. All she knew is that the drink lived up to its name and could make a purposed organism cough if they were unprepared for the kick (which she has seen happen which made the drink even more worthy of the name).

“Tell whoever’s drinking that one to pace themselves,” Tess said as she finished pouring and recorked the bottles, “We’re running a respectable business after all.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when you bring hiccuping customers back to your apartment?” Helga asked as she grabbed the tray.

“Hey! I’ve got some class you know!”

Helga rolled her eyes as she headed to deliver the orders. Despite her opinions about Tess’s after-work habits, she knew her best friend did have standards and was dedicated to her work. But that was neither here nor there as The Runoff was filled with a lot of tired, hungry, and thirsty customers that Helga needed to provide service to. It was only one hour after the night shift alarm went off and she would not be surprised if the crowd would be staying until closing time.

Helga would not have it any other way.

Two days later a peculiar customer walked in. It was in the middle of the afternoon, the slowest part of the day and an hour before the Iterator would do a weekly water flush. Usually at this time of the day Helga would assist Tim with the cooking, play some pool with Tess (as she was currently in the middle of doing), or just simply assist Abraham in whatever task he needed her assistance with. But as the rain came pouring down and the Iterator alarm died down the customer entered the tavern. The door opening was all that was needed for their presence to be known.

“Good afternoon,” the purposed organism said, “Sausage and eggs please?”

“Right… We’ll be with you in a moment,” Abraham muttered before he faced the direction of the kitchen, “Tim! It’s Stacks!”

“I’ll need a few minutes!” Tim yelled back.

Helga rolled her eyes and continued eyeing the cue ball. With a careful tap, she sent the ball bouncing off a wall and towards the seven ball. She could only frown and the cue ball sunk itself into the side pocket.

“Shit,” she muttered and bowed her head down in defeat while Tess chuckled.

“I told you you shouldn’t have gone for it,” Tess said as she fished the cue ball out of the pocket.

“Your angle was off by three degrees and you had the wrong spin on the ball,” Stacks replied as he walked over.

Helga stood up to face Stacks. Despite looking like an ordinary Scavenger at a first glance, it was easy to tell that Stacks was different. Obsidian black fur, curved short horns, an exceedingly long and flexible tail, an almost unnatural physique, and hook-like fingers ending with equally hook-like claws made him appear almost wraith-like. Add in the fact he could move silently and had a voice that was softer than Helga’s mother and it was easy to imagine Stacks as a ghost sometimes. Despite his almost unnerving quietness and appearance, Stacks was still a customer and a loyal one at that.

“What brings you down here?” Helga asked as she reached for the chalk.

“Got hungry and was in the mood to visit my favorite establishment,” Stacks shrugged, “Do I need any other reason?”

“Maybe because of-You bastard!” Tess snarled as the cue ball clacked against the wrong ball.

Stacks sputtered out a laugh at the outburst.

“I don’t recall paying you to insult our customers,” Abraham growled while having an amused look in his eyes.

“It’s fine. I’ve heard much worse from the twins upstairs,” Stacks said after he finished laughing.

“Speaking of those two, how are they? Didn’t Anvil need surgery after the latest...whatever it is you do?” Helga asked, catchering herself before she wandered into one of the unspoken taboos of the Rainlands.

“He’s doing better. Still complaining about being sidelined from the physical therapy but he’s been catching up on reading all the books he’s collected over the past month so he’s been...manageable,” Stacks answered, ignoring the hesitant breaths of Abraham and Tess who eyed him nervously.

Helga quickly decided not to push her luck any further and quickly resumed focusing on the pool table. Stacks was a friendly customer but he was still a purposed organism which usually meant danger. As she finally managed to sink the seven ball, her mind wandered to the odd stories that seemed to crop up every now and then. New evidence against a corrupt governor, a military officer goes missing, a wanted criminal found dead, a miraculous breakthrough in negotiations between colonial holdings and different tribes… To get involved with purposed organisms was to get involved with the Iterators, the giant weather causing mechanical entities that were the true rulers of the Rainlands. Helga was perfectly content to live in the shadow of one and deal with the weekly flood of boiling water that ran through the streets and that was as much as she ever wanted to be directly involved. As far as she was concerned, any purposed organism that walked through the door to order food or drink was just another customer and nothing more than that.

Like I’d ever get involved in that nonsense with the Iterators, she thought as she hit the cue ball again while Tim brought out a plate of eggs and sausages for Stacks, I’m just a girl with a tribal heritage getting swept up in the new modern world.

The next day after work Helga was sitting on the roof of her apartment. Stacks had mentioned another Iterator had decided to “retire” and would come crashing down within the next few weeks. So far, that would make it the eighth Iterator to just...stop working for whatever reason before collapsing. The news would flood every newspaper in every colony for a week when it got noticed and prompt expeditions from militaries and scientists for a year in a mad scramble to figure out what happened and if anything could be salvaged. For some it was grave robbery. For others it was a hair's breadth away from a declaration of war. For many, it was a distant event that caused more trouble than necessary.

“Probably the only good that will happen is more paying customers,” Helga muttered as she stared out at the distant smoke stacks and the rumblings of the local Iterator.

Despite the late hour and the fact the information was distant, Helga was not quite ready to go to bed for the night. It was a surprisingly clear evening despite the night shift working the factories and refineries, letting constellations poke through the haze and electric lights. Tracing them from memory, she began to follow them until her eyes caught the edge of the local Iterator.

Wonder what it would be like without you hanging over us all the time, she thought as she turned her gaze back to the smokestacks, Would Dondermijn still be like this or would I be back in the village?

“What are you doing up here?” Tess asked as she walked onto the roof behind Helga.

“Surprised you’re not busy with someone in your room right now,” Helga commented.

“Wasn’t in the mood tonight.”

“Not in the mood? Woman, you’re always in the mood to drag someone back to spend the night with you,” Helga scoffed.

“Oh shush you,” Tess gave a shove as she sat down next to Helga and joined in the staring, “What a view huh? Dondermijn, the great industrial jewel of the Rainlands.”

“With the lovely smells that will knock you on your ass when you take a deep breath,” Helga agreed with a fond sigh.

“It’s a shithole.”

“But it’s our shithole… So why are you up here?”

Tess huffed, “I asked first if I recall…”

“Fine,” Helga rolled her eyes, “Just thinking about what Stacks was talking about yesterday.”

“What? With an Iterator going to collapse soon?”

“That,” Helga lazily waved a hand up at the structure above as it let out another rumble of green thunder, “Just...they’re always there. A part of the world that has seen everything under the sun. And then everyone gets so uppity about one of them falling. Not sure if I’m supposed to be surprised that they can fall or just annoyed that such a thing causes so much ruckus.”

“I suppose… Four hundred and fifty years since Lady Sliver just up and left and we’re still hollering over such events,” Tess agreed.

“Yeah well this isn’t Shi Chara,” Helga got up and smoothed her fur out, “If the local ‘god’ decides to up and leave we’ll be out of business so that bastard better not go and die on us.”

“No he better not,” Tess laughed as she stood up herself, “Anyway, I was wondering if you were in the mood for some late night drinks.”

“Eh, sure why not? You’ve still got that brandy?”

“Only if you let me have some of that rum.”

The week continued without incident outside of an unusual dry spell. Some began to speculate that some recent studies in regards to the rapid output of fumes leading to changes in the weather actually had credence. Some more superstitious decided to turn to faith to prepare in case something was wrong. For Helga it just meant a brief pause before a series of storms would roll up and resume pouring rain down upon Dondermijn like nothing had happened.

Either way, the change in the weather did little to dissuade customers from coming to The Runoff. For Helga, it was just business as usual even if the customers seemed to be anything but this evening:

“Can I get you anything?” Helga walked up to a fancifully dressed, bright blue furred Slugcat.

“Mmm? Ah, si! Uh, uno…¿Cómo se pronuncia esto?” the Slugcat muttered in Flamencion.

“He wants a black popseed stoat,” another Slugcat supplied with a thick foreign accent, equally dressed and having a metal arm while having an emerald green coat that rivaled Helga’s.

“Flamencio?” Helga asked.

“Si, si!” the first said enthusiastically.

“Here on business,” the second twirled a fork in his metal hand, “My business partner insisted on coming to Dondermijn despite being entirely unable to hold a conversation beyond our homeland.”

“It’s fine,” Helga wrote the order down, “And anything for you señor?”

“Give me the same with whatever today’s special is.”

Helga nodded and carried the order off to the kitchen. Before walking in, she spotted Abraham heading for his office looking concerned. With an uneasy feeling, she headed inside.

“Tim, I’ve got an order for the special,” she said with far less energy than she usually does, “Also...something wrong with Abraham. He looks awful.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Tim replied as he stirred a pot of beans and lizard meat.

“Neither did I. I could have sworn he was in here earlier but…”

“It’s been dry and he’s from the coast,” Tim shrugged as he grabbed a bowl and poured a serving, “Maybe the dry spell is finally getting to him.”

Helga bit her lip despite not having a response. Racking her brain, she tried to recall when her employer got so...out of sorts. He was his usual prickly self this morning and appeared fine just a short while ago. As she accepted the bowl on a tray and headed for Tess at the busy bar, her eyes kept glancing towards the office.

“Helga? Is everything all right?” Tess asked as she served another drink.

“Did something happen to the boss in the past hour?” Helga asked.

“Handle the customers first,” Tess said quietly, pointing at the bowl on the tray.

“Right,” Helga shook her head, “Two black popseed stoats.”

Tess nodded and apologized to a customer asking for another drink. Walking back down the bar, she grabbed two mugs and filled them before handing them over to Helga. Nodding in thanks, Helga put them on the tray and returned to the two Flamencion customers.

“Gracias,” the green furred Slugcat said.

“Muchas gracias,” the blue furred Slugcat agreed and handed over a generous amount of money.

“De nada,” Helga forced a smile as she accepted the money and walked back over to Tess.

“Well...that’s a generous payment for two drinks and a bowl of slop,” Tess commented as she eyed the money.

“Don’t let Tim hear you call his cooking slop,” Helga wiggled her eyebrows before frowning, “Did something happen earlier?”

“I think Abraham stepped out for a moment. He seemed fine earlier but now that you mention it, he has been looking pretty upset for a bit.”

Helga weighed her options. She could continue to focus on the busy night and ignore whatever she saw or she could risk butting into something that was none of her business. After a quick deliberation, she decided to focus on serving customers. It was a busy night and customers were not always the most patient sort when it came to waiting for hot food and alcohol…

The next morning Helga woke up as usual to the sound of the steam horn. Looking at her blind, she could tell the dry spell was still in effect due to the amount of light behind them. With a stretched shrug, she went about her usual routine. Passing by Tess’s room, she caught the muttering of Flamencion and rolled her eyes.

I thought Flamencions were known for their standards of quality, she thought as she hurried for the stairs.

After her usual trip to the water closet, she headed outside onto the crowded courtyard. Instantly, she knew something was different. People were not in the usual orderly rush to get to their destination. There was tension in the air that weighed heavier and thicker than even the monsoon season rain. Helga knew something significant happened and that something was big enough to make Dondermijn falter.

“Aldert, what’s going on?!” Helga asked as she spotted her neighbor, adjusting her hat to shade her eyes from the sun.

“Don’t know! Hey, what’s with all the commotion?!”

“Hydrania has been invaded!” came a loud shout.

“What?!”

“That’s impossible!”

“Who the hell would invade Hydrania?”

“That’s a load of lizardshit! No one would be stupid enough to invade Hydrania!”

Helga felt numb with surprise. Hydrania was invaded? One of the oldest civilizations in the world? A civilization that was known for working with purposed organisms and the Iterators? She may have little care for world politics or any feelings for the distant nation…

But Hydrania was invaded?

“Excuse me,” she said simply as she tried to weave her way through the crowd as it began to descend into murmurs and disagreements.

Failing to get through the crowd, she craned her neck to see the newsboard. This did not work either as a small lake of heads (covered or bare) blocked her view. Pouting, she tried to hop to get a better view only to have the same result. With a resigned sigh, she began to wiggle her way back out of the crowd and head for the trolley only to see that it was steaming away.

“W-Wait! Come back! Damn it,” Helga gave up running after a few steps.

With a resigned sigh, she leaned against a building next to the trolley tracks and waited. Another trolley would arrive in several minutes and she was not in the mood to walk to work. Taking a deep breath, she noted that the harsh smells she was accustomed to seemed sharper today as well, almost mockingly. Her nose burned and she could swear the lack of the traditional humid smog was somehow making it hotter.

Well today is off to shit start, she thought blithely.

Taking her hat off, she began to fan herself. Despite the acrid smells assaulting her nose as she did so, the action did make the heat a bit more tolerable. Cutting her eyes back to the crowd, she saw that it was still there...as was another one further down the tracks. With a scoff, she rolled her eyes and looked in the general direction of the local Iterator that she knew by heart despite being unable to see it.

All right you, do I really want to know what happened?, she asked rhetorically in her head.

After several minutes of waiting and a longer ride that got delayed due to crowds getting in the way of the trolley, Helga finally entered The Runoff. The kitchen was silent while Abraham saw at the bar counter swirling a mug.

“So you finally decided to come in today,” he said with a neutral tone.

“Missed the trolley and got hung up by the crowds,” Helga shrugged as she set her hat and duster aside.

“Yes yes, Hydrania has been invaded… Like we need any more issues right now,” he sighed before gulping down the remnants of his drink.

“Are you… Are you all right boss?”

Abraham scoffed, “No Helga, I’m bloody upset that’s what I am.”

Helga took a step back as she drew in a sharp breath. She knew Abraham was already annoyed at her for coming in late and she did not want to test him any further. With a simple nod, she headed for the kitchen. Seeing Tim inside, she figured she could eat a fast breakfast and get to work before Abraham would-

“Damn it… I’m sorry Helga,” Abraham sighed.

Helga nearly tripped over her feet as she turned to face her employer. Abraham was not one to hand out apologies lightly, more likely to just huff and admit he was wrong before walking off as if nothing happened. She swallowed nervously as she turned to face him. What she saw was a tired expression that made Abraham look more like a depressed old man rather than the grumpy tavern keeper he was.

“I-I’ll just get breakfast,” she said weakly.

“Right… Of course,” Abraham ran a hand down his face, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Heading inside the kitchen, Helga was greeted by the typical blunt expression of Tim. His eyes however told a different story.

“Tim, what the hell happened? What the hell is going on?” Helga hissed.

“Officials came last night. The Homeland’s new tax was misprinted and we now have a limit on the amount of alcohol we’re allowed to have in stock...including the fees,” Tim explained before grabbing a plate and setting food onto it, “Then there’s Hydrania… Abraham has relatives up there…”

Oh… That… That explained a lot. Helga had no idea Abraham had family that far out. She had no idea how she would feel if the village up the Onweersvloed was suddenly attacked but she knew it would not be anything pretty. Add in the fact that the Homeland was strangling them right now and it was little wonder why Abraham was out of sorts.

Accepting a plate of sausages and popseed cakes, Helga quickly grabbed a mug and poured herself some tea before exiting the kitchen. Abraham was still at the bar with a distant, thoughtful expression on his face. Not wanting to bother her employer, she headed for a distant table.

“You don’t need to distance yourself from me Helga,” Abraham huffed, “I assume he told you?”

“He did,” Helga said carefully, sitting down at the nearest table and keeping Abraham in her vision.

“I’ve run the numbers and… I might have to cut everyone’s pay to cover everything. Bloody bastards want all the expenses upfront by the end of the month or they want this place closed for good,” he sighed again before walking over with an apologetic smile, “Just our luck eh?”

“It’s a load of lizardshit that’s what it is,” Helga growled as the door opened.

“What’s this about more lizardshit?” Tess walked in.

“Get yourself some breakfast Tess and get comfortable… I’m not sure if I can explain it agai-”

“He has to cut our salaries to save The Runoff or the Homeland will strangle it to death and leave us out on the streets,” Helga said bluntly but with enough heat to express her opinion.

“Oh… That is a load of lizardshit,” Tess replied with her eyes going wide, “I uh… I’ll just go get some breakfast.”

Abraham ran a hand down his face and held it over his muzzle. Helga swallowed some tea (along with her anger) and gazed out across the room. Despite it being empty she could still hear the clamor, smell the sweat, and see the blurred outlines of customers sitting at the tables. She loved The Runoff and everything about it. Blinking, she could see the conflicted look in Abraham’s eyes, a mixture of resignation, nostalgia, and fear.

“Uh… Boss?” she whispered.

Abraham merely grunted in response.

Taking a deep breath Helga set her breakfast to the side, “Tim told me about...you having relatives. In Hydrania I mean. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” Abraham sighed, “We’re down here in the Delta, they’re up in the Estuary. All I can do is hope for the best.”

“It’s not fair.”

Abraham barked out a bitter laugh, “Fair? The world’s changing Helga and it doesn’t care about fairness. It cares about progress, results, and pushing agendas. We live in the Rainlands and fairness here only matters to those who can enforce it. Fairness is for the powerful who can sit back and twist people like us into whatever they want. So long as the gas is shipped the Homeland doesn’t care about us breathing in toxic fumes. So long as some morally self-righteous asshole can preach their lizardshit they don’t care if they ruin people’s livelihoods. So long as someone has a big enough stick they don’t care who they hurt so long as they get another piece of the Rainlands to claim,” he huffed as he saw Tess standing to the side with her breakfast, looking just as fearful as Helga felt, “Alcenta’s changing, what’s fair is changing with it. If it’s not fair for us then that’s too bad and we just have to deal with it and like it.”

On her free day Helga bought tickets for a steamboat ride down the Onweersvloed. Work had gone from the daily exciting rush to a slow march to the gallows between the expenses and the confused reports from Hydrania courtesy of the local Iterator and the purposed organisms. Helga needed to get out of Dondermijn to escape the overwhelming depression. The modern world no longer was exciting or thrilling, it was suffocating and harsh. A constant, pounding demand that belched toxic gases, drowned out the stars in artificial amber yellow light, screamed in horns and whistles, and thumped in grinding gears and pistons that cruelly wanted more.

“Any trade goods?” the ticket clerk, a yawing Scavenger asked.

“No, none. Just a trip to the village and a return,” Helga replied, taking a breath of the slightly cleaner air of the river dockyard.

“You do realize customs are going to check for anything you bring back right?”

“I’ve done this before,” Helga answered with an eye roll.

The clerk gave another yawn and stamped a book before handing two tickets to her. Giving a nod in thanks, she shoved the tickets into her bag and walked out into the rainy morning. It was thankfully nothing too heavy yet, but from experience Helga knew that this was just a mild start before the real rainstorm began. Eyeing the clouds anxiously, she quickly headed for the small steamboat at the end of a pier.

“Hold it. You’ve got a ticket to come aboard?” an armed Slugcat of the militia asked.

“Yes, I’ve got it right here,” Helga slipped one of the tickets out and presented it.

“All right, go ahead. Hand it over to the captain when you get on.”

Nodding, Helga closed her hand and held the ticket in her fist to protect it from the rain before she headed for the steamboat. The vessel was nothing special, just a large cargo boat that could carry goods and a small number of passengers up and down the river. It would be a bit of a cramped ride given the larger focus on trade goods over passenger space but for a brief hour trip she could handle that.

“Welcome aboard,” the captain, a coastal Slugcat, said with forced friendliness, “Where are you heading?”

“Just to the village,” Helga handed her ticket over.

“Bit surprised anyone is heading there honestly. Interested in swindling a woodcarving from them?”

Swindling?! “Just some personal business,” Helga replied while keeping her anger at bay.

“If you say so,” the captain shrugged and turned away, “Waste of damn time dealing with them… Uncivilized ass sniffing fools all of them.”

Helga took a long deep breath to keep herself from causing a scene in response to the whispered insults. As much as she just currently wanted to take a hammer to the “civilized world” with its laws, foreign influence, and incessant demands she liked to view herself as a Slugcat with a level of decency even when she was at her wits end. Years of dealing with tired, impatient, and drunk customers helped in this regard and she had heard far worse statements in the past that she ignored just as well.

Just stay calm and you’ll be back in the village, she told herself as the rain intensified and obscured the Iterator in the sky.

An hour later Helga had disembarked from the steamboat. While the captain, militiaman, and an accompanying merchant stayed back near the riverbank, Helga headed straight for the center of the village. Taking a deep breath of clean, fresh, humid air, she felt all of her worries melt away. The villagers spotted her and changed their expressions to recognition as they went about their day. Despite wearing a hat and having a modern raincoat on, they still could recognize her.

Just like two months ago, Helga thought fondly with a relieved smile before stepping back to avoid some youngsters chasing each other.

“Selter, you’re back!” a familiar voice called.

“That I am Trelot,” she replied to her older brother who walked up and hugged her.

Like her, Trelot was a stocky green furred Slugcat with golden eyes. It was clear however that he lived a vastly different life than she did, between having patchy fur with scars and missing part of his right ear. Where Helga (or Selter as she was here) had the allure of an upbeat and dutiful bartender, Trelot was distinctly a tribesman who ventured out into the Rainlands to hunt food and gather resources.

“You haven’t been bathing,” Trelot pushed her away with his nose twitching, “You smell like bad meat being burned.”

“And you smell like mudwater,” Selter replied back with a grin before becoming thoughtful, “How is Riltol? Is the little one all right?”

“They are fine. By the next flood the little one will join us,” Trelot smiled before looking Selter in the eyes, “Now what’s troubling you little sister?”

Selter sighed and looked around aimlessly, “Still don’t know how you do that… We best speak alone. Riltol can join but I don’t want mother and father.”

Trelot blinked before putting a hand on her shoulder. With a firm nod and light shove, he guided her further into the village. As she walked, Selter looked around and noticed the little things that truly separated Dondermijn from her childhood home. People were more carefree in their tasks, less urgent to get somewhere, more relaxed in their conversation… Dondermijn was a stingerthread hive of activity and Helga was all too ready to be swept up in it while Selter was not. Selter was used to this quiet life that always welcomed her whenever something got too overwhelming.

“You can stay if you wish to,” Trelot offered as they headed up a ramp to the huts, “You’d be welcomed just like our ancestor was.”

Selter huffed, “I’m not a lost one that needs to be healed Trelot. The other me lives up the river. I just need to clear my thoughts for both parts.”

Trelot hummed as he walked. Selter knew he knew there was much more to her story, but he was holding back for her sake. She asked to talk in private and he was going to respect that request. It was that simple reason why she turned to him for guidance as opposed to their parents who heavily frowned upon her leaving. Trelot was patient and understanding, knowing full well the Selter was one of two lives and willing to support either whenever she needed him.

Before she could ponder any further, they had arrived at the hut Trelot called home. Stepping inside, Selter could not help but wonder if she was living in poverty compared to her brother. There was ample room within the hut, a storage shelf, a large bedspread, and a few boxes of preserved food. Her eyes quickly caught sight of an ax sitting on top of a half closed basket which surprised her but her thoughts were interrupted once again as Trelot grabbed two brick cakes of honeyed popseed and offered one to her.

“Thank you,” Selter said as she accepted the brick and took a bite out of it, “There are fights over who cooked these first. Did you know that?”

“We know who cooked them first,” Trelot said with a smirk.

“Damn straight we do,” Helga briefly slipped through before she realized what had happened.

Trelot chuckled and Selter got out of her rain jacket. Placing it, her hat, and bag down on the floor she sat down next to the bedspread with Trelot sitting next to her. They sat comfortably as they continued eating the bricks.

“What troubles you Selter?” Trelot asked after swallowing the last of the brick.

Selter sighed, “Bigger tribe made demands that are making life hard. Other tribes fighting. A friend has family in the tribe that is being...hunted far away. I needed to come back, escape the smells and confusion to make sense of it.”

“Helga needed to escape, Selter wanted out of Dondermijn,” Trelot surmised with a patient, understanding tone.

“Yeah… We did.”

“What does Helga truly want?”

She knew where this was going. He was going to offer her the chance to scream until she exhausted herself and he somehow would manage to understand it all without being able to know a single word she said. As much as that was tempting, she did not want to do that this time.

“Quiet. Peace. Good air,” she leaned into his side and hugged him, “I want this. Just for a day I want this.”

Trelot said nothing as he merely returned the hug. There was nothing else that needed to be said or done and he understood that perfectly. Had it been a less stressful situation, Selter would have felt a tad foolish and guilty for running back to her older brother for comfort. But she truly needed this and apparently far more than she even realized.

“Dondermijn is never quiet,” she whispered.

“You’ve said that many times before,” Trelot said.

“True… I love it. The noise, the tasks, the smells, the-”

“The smells are terrible.”

“Yes...they are. Still love them. You learn to love them.”

He grew tense and sniffed, “I’d lose my nose before that happens.”

Selter laughed and gave him a light shove, “That’s why I live there and you live here.”

Trelot smiled before his expression turned neutral, “Selter...Helga, are you happy? Are you at home and living the life you want?”

The question threw her off guard. As a young child, Selter was instilled with two life goals that dominated her family: To live a good life and to have a place to call home. When she left the village she knew she would always have the latter, but wanted to discover what the former meant for her. As Helga, that life meant being a part of a new world with all of its wondrous progress. Only now that new world was showing just how uncomfortable change could be, completely indifferent to the idea of a good life. She did not want to give up on her life, she truly loved the shithole that was called Dondermijn with all of its chaos.

Getting up, she walked over to the ax and picked it up. The old thing had been in the family for generations, far longer than they had been in the village. There was crudely cured leather wrapped around the handle, the blade was well used, and there were even signs of the metal being worn down. Frankly, the ax belonged in a museum with the lifetimes of history it carried. It was a tool, a weapon, a momento, a legacy, and so much more.

“I want to say yes,” Helga answered as she eyed the ax in her hands at different angles, “But I feel like I’m torn between two paths. I want the excitement of seeing night become day, of being a part of something bigger than myself, of seeing what the next sunrise brings. But my friends and I must bend to changes we don’t want and if we break… Broken things are tossed aside to be forgotten and I don’t want what we have to be forgotten.”

She recalled her grandmother once commenting that her father (Selter’s great grandfather) compared himself to the ax many times. A physical representation of being something he felt like which he strongly wished to distance himself from. Trelot was content with floating through life like a piece of driftwood on the Onweersvloed, Helga wanted to carve her own path and stay on it. Combined, both parts of her thrived in the modern world. When forcibly separated they were just like the ax, something that was out of place and belonged nowhere.

“You’re not broken,” Trelot said gently as he pried the ax from her hands, “You’re strong. You can bend but you won’t break. Your friends are like you. Your tribe is always with you, Helga.”

“I know and so do they, but we’re struggling,” Helga replied as she looked away at the floor.

“Everyone struggles. A worthy life is one that is filled with struggle. A home holds struggles that strengthen those within,” Trelot held up the ax between them, “This is my path. It was never Selter’s path. Her path led her to Helga and Helga’s path is Dondermijn,” he set the ax back down on the basket lid, “Both are welcome in my life and my home. I love you little sister, nothing will change that.”

“Thank you Trelot,” she sniffed and whipped the tears from her eyes, “I needed this.”

“Stay as long as you must, Helga. Dondermijn is changing, you can change when you’re ready.”

The next day Helga woke up to the horn blaring as usual. With a tired groan, she brushed open the blind to see the stormy, thundering morning. Unphased by the weather, she made her bed with a yawn and headed out the door. Blinking the spots out of her eyes from the electric lights, she headed down the hall before pausing next to Tess’s door.

“Tess? You alone in there today?” she knocked on the door.

“Gah! I’m awake! Coming!” Tess yelped as the sound of something hitting the floor and subsequent commotion was heard on the other side of the door.

And here I thought I didn’t get enough sleep last night, Helga thought as she recalled returning back to Dondermijn late into the night and her apartment even later.

After another few seconds of commotion (most notably the door rattling as something slammed into it), Tess threw the door open, “Helga.”

“Tess.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to work?”

“Shouldn’t you be doing the same? You don’t have anyone else in there today so you don’t have an excuse to do your usual.”

Tess frowned before yawning, “Same-Haw!-could be said for you.”

“I don’t bring customers back to my room to spend the night with,” Helga said pointedly.

“What’s going on Helga?”

Helga let out a sigh, “It’s a lot of things. But the biggest is that I want to just talk to my best friend and figure out what the hell we’re doing with everything that’s been happening.”

Tess perked up briefly before rubbing her eyes and letting out another yawn, “Give me a moment to wake up and I’ll meet you at The Runoff. Now get your fuzzy ass over there before you miss the trolley.”

Without another word, Tess closed the door. Rolling her eyes, Helga headed for the stairs and descended them. Standing in the doorway of the main floor lobby, she looked at the courtyard as the rain continued to pour down. The scene was quite dreary with dark blue coloration, obscured figures either moving with urgency or indifference like ghosts, and a slight rumble of thunder. Taking a deep breath, she adjusted her rain jacket and hat before engaging in a brisk walk for the trolley.

Nothing will stop the fires of industry of the modern age, she thought to herself as she passed the newsstands, having smaller crowds around them than the past few days, Not the weather nor the news.

Entering The Runoff and hanging up her hat and rain jacket, Helga took in the atmosphere. There was no immediate shouting (which somehow was relieving and concerning given Abraham’s recent state of emotion), but the kitchen light was on. Giving herself a quick shake to get rid of the rainwater clinging to her fur, Helga headed for the kitchen and caught a whiff of something cooking.

“Morning Tim,” Helga said as she spotted the large cook slowly stirring a giant pot.

“Helga,” Tim said evenly as he took a spoon out to taste the contents of the pot.

“That diner for tonight?”

“Mixed vegetables, fish, and poached lizard eggs. Trying to clean the ice room out before we lose all of our stock.”

The simple pragmatism caused Helga to briefly hold her breath. Taking a second to compose herself, Helga pretended the ordinary course of business was simply as it should be and not a reminder of the expenses that were piling up and threatening to close The Runoff. Selter briefly took over and reminded her that she already made terms with what was happening and that she could handle this, giving a much needed boost in confidence for Helga.

“What’s for breakfast? Don’t tell me we’re running out of that also,” Helga said with a forced smile.

“Tea is ready and I have some batter ready to be put on the griddle,” Tim pointed at a bowl at the far end of the kitchen counter.

“Griddle cakes? What’s the fancy occasion for such fine dining?”

“Was in the mood to make them,” Tim said as he opened up a cupboard and pulled out the griddle, “Bring the batter over would ya?”

Bringing the bowl over, Helga waited patiently as Tim multi-tasked. As she did so, she helped herself to some tea and drank it slowly. Eying the doorway, she felt a sense of anxiety as neither Abraham nor Tess showed up.

“Where’s the boss?” she asked hesitantly.

“Busy going over the books. He’s thinking of cutting off all alcohol entirely to find a loophole from paying the fees and taxes to keep the place running,” Tim huffed as he flipped one of the cakes.

Too tired to actually care, Helga focused on her tea instead.

Tess walked in looking like she did not bother with staying dry at all, “Morning… Ooh, griddle cakes!”

“Good timing Tess,” Tim said as he scraped the first batch off the griddle and onto a plate, “Helga was here first so she gets first serving. Though you know how the first batch goes.”

“Oh I see. I’m the laboratory experiment while she gets the fine dining. I shall suffer from horrendous food and die of a poisoned stomach,” Helga said dramatically.

Tim and Tess let out chuckles, adding some much needed lightheartedness to the setting. It felt like everything was normal. There was no Reformist party pushing forward political agendas, no distant wars, no looming financial troubles… Just the ordinary course of getting ready for the day.

“You wanted to talk earlier,” Tess stated with a look towards Helga.

Grabbing her plate, Helga quickly felt the weight of recent events come crashing back down upon her. Before she was ready to talk, now she was almost hesitant to do so. The Runoff felt emptier and quieter than ever, a feeling that she just seconds ago was almost forgotten.

“Get some food first and then we’ll talk,” Helga said as she headed towards the door, grabbing a fork and knife along the way.

“Fine by me,” Tess replied behind her.

Walking back into the main room, Helga sat down at one of the tables and slowly began to cut into the steaming griddle cakes. Taking a look around her, she could almost see and hear the entire room filled with customers. Miners, foremen, investors, merchants, wandering tribesmen, store owners, and the odd purposed organism all conversing over hot meals, strong drinks, or a game of pool. The air stank of sweat, toxic fumes, and alcohol but no one cared as they went about their business.

Helga loved this shithole and was completely enraptured with the marvels of modern industry that pulsed all around said shithole.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Tess asked as she sat down with her own plate and tea mug.

Pulled from her thoughts, Helga realized she had finished breakfast and was staring off at the room. The lingering taste of burnt griddle cakes and bitter tea still sat on her tongue as an afterthought.

“Everything that happened last week and what it means for us,” Helga said simply as a low rumble of thunder was heard.

“That’s not ominous at all,” Tess said with a glare towards the door, “Do you have magic weather powers?”

“Look Tess,” Helga sighed, “A lot has happened recently. Alcenta is changing, Dondermijn is changing...we’re changing.”

Tess waved a fork in a circular motion, “So I’ve noticed.”

“You know how I come from the village nearby right? Was curious about the modern world and got hooked by it.”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Tess took a sip of her tea.

“The fact of the matter is that I love what we have here,” Helga gestured to the empty room, “The rush of serving customers, the electric lights, the sounds of refineries across the street, being a part of the ever changing world and just being able to see that… It’s magical Tess. I went from wooden walls and rough leather hide to the modern world of industry. How could I not be enthralled by what I was seeing?”

“And then the changes you weren’t ready for happen and slaps you in the face,” Abraham’s voice cuts in.

Both Helga and Tess turn to see the tired expression of their employer as he stood over them. Helga could tell Abraham was struggling, far more than he would ever willingly admit. His eyes were half lidded, fur was hastily brushed, and he looked as if a stiff breeze would knock him over.

“This isn’t my first business you know,” Abraham pulled out a chair and sat down, “It’s actually my third. First was a drugstore on the coast that got bought out. Second business was a candy shop that was burnt down by some upcoming gang that was paid off by some tycoonist. This’ll probably just be the third time the Homeland decides to push me down.”

“What a load of lizardshit,” Helga slammed a fist on the table, causing her plate and mug to rattle and Tess to flinch, “Damn it boss! You didn’t let me get to my point. I want the constant changes. I want this frantic madness. I want to be a part of this insane world that makes me feel like I’m a part of something bigger! It’s all here, right here! The Runoff is everything I love about the modern world and the one thing I want to stay the same! To hell with the Homeland! To hell with abandoning the past for the future! To hell with all that lizardshit! This place is our home and our lives and is everything I love about the modern world!”

Helga huffed and took a moment to catch her breath, “I love the change but I love what stays the same alongside it. I know I’m asking for a lot and that it’s out of our control, but I grew up between two worlds and I can’t live with only one of them. I want the magic of progress, not the eradication that everyone seems to be heading for…”

Helga blinked and realized she had started to shed tears. Taking another deep breath and wiping her eyes, she saw Tim towering nearby with an unreadable expression. The rain continued pouring down and low rumbles of thunder were heard. No one said a word.

Suddenly the door bursted open. All four turned to see Stacks pulling back the hood of his raincoat with a determined expression on his face. Stepping forward, the expression quickly morphed into concerned confusion.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked as he examined the group.

“No, please come in,” Abraham said as he got up and straightened out some tufted fur, “How can we help you?”

“Hel-Brouswel and whatever else you’ve got you’re willing to sell in bulk. The twins are being sent out and they want drinks for the road,” Stacks responded with clipped precision.

“Of course Hammer and Anvil want drinks,” Tess muttered as she shoved the last of her breakfast into her mouth.

“They’re going to need it… Mind if I have something to eat also? I’ll pay extra,” Stacks pulled out a few gold wafers and placed them onto the table.

“What the hell?” Helga muttered, wiping her eyes to see if she was dreaming.

“Stacks you’re overpay-” Abraham started.

“No I’m not,” Stacks insisted, “I know about the new law and frankly the fact that someone an ocean away thinks they can mess with a town that never had an alcohol problem in the first place is insulting. Us purposed organisms might be shifty bastards with agendas I’ll admit, but we helped make Dondermijn just as much as anyone else and don’t like it when someone messes with our home.”

With little fanfare, they assisted in storing the alcohol securely in crates. When questioned on the method of transportation, Stacks waved the matter aside. When they insisted on giving some of his money back, Stacks instead stated he was “providing patronage for the taverns of Dondermijn.” After finishing a fast breakfast, he grabbed the crates and headed for the door.

“Honestly Stacks, how are you going to transport all of that?” Tess exclaimed as he carried the heavy crates.

“Carefully,” Stacks said smugly, “Mind getting the door? I’ve got my hands full and I’ve got another five taverns I need to visit.”

“How much bloody alcohol are those two going to drink?” Helga muttered as she opened the door and stood aside.

As Stacks walked into the weakening rain, Helga bit her lip in thought. While being well aware of the unwritten rules about purposed organisms, she had a decent idea where the twins were being sent. Even if Abraham seemed to be keeping his distance and the matter did not mean much to her personally, Helga felt she had to say something.

“Stacks wait!” she ran into the rain after the purposed organism.

“Yes Helga?” Stacks turned and adjusted his grip on the crates.

“Hammer and Anvil are being sent to Hydrania, right? Abraham has family up there… Can they-”

“Helga,” Stacks sighed as he crouched to set the crates down before standing back up to look her in the eye, “I can’t guarantee anything. They can’t guarantee anything. They give me the bare minimum on details when they get back from what they do and keep to themselves. What’s going on in Hydrania scares all of us and they’ve got their own friends they’re worried sick about.”

“I… I understand. I just figured I had to ask,” Helga looked down at the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re a good friend to them Helga,” Stacks patted her on the shoulder fondly, “The twins will do their best, that much we all can guarantee. Just do them and me in particular a favor.”

“And what’s that?”

“Keep this place open. They might have their own favorites but we all like The Runoff. It would be a shame if the place closed down. If you want to help, keep a slice of Dondermijn alive and waiting for them.”

She gave a firm nod and a smile at the request. Nodding back, he bent down and picked the crates back up before turning around to continue walking. Helga did the same and headed back inside The Runoff.

“So what was that about?” Tess asked as Helga shut the door behind her.

“Just exchanging some favors,” Helga replied quietly.

After a busy night Helga was heading back home. While the customers were disappointed about the shortage of drinks (and even more so once they learned that the new law would limit the drinks even more in the coming future), there was little more than grumbling and the promise for better food to compensate was well received. Now she was off the clock and the night work shift was busy keeping the industries of Dondermijn alive around the clock.

Huh… It’s going to be a clear night tonight, Helga thought as she looked up at the sky to see the smog thinning out.

With a mental shrug, she continued heading home. While she could catch a ride on the trolley, tonight she felt like walking. The knowledge that The Runoff was saved thanks to Stacks’ patronage and the fact that Hydrania was receiving aid (something Abraham was relieved to hear even if he quickly hid it by returning to his more familiar grouchy self) managed to stabilize the general confusion that had plagued the tavern the prior week.

“-ow what I’m supposed to do… No one does!” she heard a frustrated voice speak out.

Stopping, Helga looked to find who was speaking so loudly out on the street in the night.

“Give it time. It’ll blow over and I’m sure you can find a new job somewhere,” a second voice said.

“Yeah if I want to work sixteen hours for half the pay,” the first muttered.

Seeing that the conversation was coming from an alley, Helga was tempted to ignore it and continue walking. However, the two individuals were talking in an alley she had to pass if she wanted to get back to her apartment sooner rather than later. Weighing her options, she figured she could walk by and catch a quick glimpse of-

Is that the Iterator man?!, Helga stopped and took a step back to get a second look.

Sure enough in a fake window was the “face” of the Iterator Radiance Beneath Stars. He was currently speaking with a Slugcat who looked to be wearing a factory uniform, although it was too dark for Helga to tell.

“Oh? Looks like our conversation attracted attention… Or more likely, my appearance has attracted attention,” Radiance said as he faced her.

“I’m sorry, I was just passing by and… I’ll be going now,” Helga said quickly.

“Actually, I believe you might be able to help my friend here. You did after all have your tavern bailed out by my Amplifier.”

“And how exactly is she supposed to help me get a jo-” the Slugcat started before he turned to face her.

After a beat of silence, he sighed and stepped forward into the light. Helga swore she saw this particular person before, but she could not be sure. He was big and stocky like herself, had blue eyes, dirty teal fur, and looked like any other factory worker she has served orders to. And yet, she knew she saw him before recently.

“You work at The Runoff…” he said slowly as his eyes widened in recognition.

“Uh, yes. Yes I do. And you are?”

“I’ll leave you two be,” the window Radiance was in disappeared, leaving behind a strange glowing worm creature that flew off.

“The name’s Lucas. I ordered some chowder last week.”

Huh so that’s why this particular face seems so familiar. “Helga. Pleased to meet you again,” she stuck out her hand.

“Same. Though I’m afraid I’m not ordering anything tonight,” Lucas replied as he returned the gesture.

“Something about work hours I believe.”

“Just lost my job. Foreman got caught embezzling and the officials shut the section I work in down to do an investigation. The bossman fired us all to avoid paying extra costs.”

Helga nodded in understanding, “And now you’re out on the street talking to the big bastard in the sky who’s responsible for Dondermijn existing in the first place.”

Lucas blinked at her in surprise before bursting out laughing. Before she could stop herself, Helga joined in.

“Heh-Mmm! Well that was a new one! I’ve said my fair share of things about him now and then,” Lucas said after composing himself, “But I’ve never heard that one before.”

“How do you know him so well anyway?” Helga asked, stifling the last of her own giggles.

“Well...it all started when I was working at the docks three years ago. I overheard my manager saying he got some advice from Radiance the prior night and I got curious,” Lucas began to recount.

Before either Slugcat could realize it, they were walking back to the housing district together recounting stories. It was comforting to just talk and somewhat complain about the little things in life. The fact it was with a relative stranger out on the street made it even more oddly soothing, not having any expectations or preconceptions on how the conversation would go. The words just flowed naturally and they both found themselves bouncing between topics.

“Well this was fun but this is where we part ways,” Lucas said as he noticed Helga walking for the apartment building after several minutes of walking.

“Where do you live?” Helga turned and asked.

“Another two streets down. Besides, it’s late and I...don’t have a job anymore,” Lucas huffed in resignation.

A thought came to Helga’s mind, “You uh… You look like you could use a drink. We talked but if I know the miners in this town then I know you could use a drink.”

“I’m going to have to save my money unless I really want to be out on the streets,” Lucas said.

“How about drinks between friends?”

“We’re friends now?”

“Sure, why not? You look like you need one right now anyway.”

Lucas rolled his eyes and smiled, “I thought I needed a drink?”

“Come on. Besides, I need someone to help me finish a bottle of rum before this bloody alcohol limitation law truly takes effect.”

Within the hour Helga, Lucas, and Tess were sitting on the roof drinking rum and brandy. The refineries were still working off in the distance, the constellations were out, and the massive structure of the local Iterator continued to rumble off in the distance. A few mild conversations were had, Tess teased Helga about “bringing someone,” a few comments were shared about the fact the purposed organisms were heading for Hydrania, and they stared at Dondermijn as it continued on. It was a quiet, clear night that made the worries of the world seem so far away.

For Helga it was perfect. It was quiet moments like this that made her world perfect. The constant thrum of industrial progress, hum of electric lights turning night to day, and the chance to sit back and embrace what stays the same. Alcenta was changing in terrifying ways, Dondermijn was changing in unfair ways, Helga was staying the same. She thrived off the chaos of change and the stability of what she could fall back upon. If she ever needed to, she could always return back to the village as Selter to escape the constant turbulence for a brief moment.

But right now? Helga was having drinks and basking in the progressive, chemical smog filled, chaotic maelstrom that was Dondermijn. Her home and life were shakened by recent events, but she could handle it. Helga could handle Dondermijn and if she can handle that then she could handle whatever the rest of the world threw at her.

Chapter Text

“Three two one hit it!”

Immediately instruments began playing loud and proud with ringing clarity. Patrons danced on the floor before a band armed with saxophones, trumpets, clarinets, and trombones. Drinks from all over the Rainlands were being served freely as glasses clinked, corks popped, and ice rattled. It was the perfect image of an all class society weekend evening party that let everyone stand on equal footing. The Crowned Crimson Casino thrived off of its all inclusive hospitality to all classes, open bar and dance hall, and excellent staff which made its weekly parties easy for everyone to enjoy. There was fun and jubilation, the breaking of social barriers, and troubles set aside for a later time.

It was almost enough to make everyone forget there was a war going on. All around the world armies and navies clashed as webs of political machinations and old grudges ignited into an inferno. Colonies were called to raise battalions and militias, religious sermons announced new crusades, nations spurred the masses to fight, resistance movements scurried in the shadows, and the militaries of the world willingly headed into the maelstrom all in the name of one cause or another. The port city of New Zoutbeek, the main colonial administration of the Emerald Delta, felt the impact of the conflict with force despite the fighting happening either in the depths of the jungles of the Rainlands or entire oceans away.

For the pianist playing a solo alongside the lead saxophone, the war was barely a concern. With a spindly, frail body hidden under thick green fur, thick goggles correcting his weak gold and blue eyes, and an inhaler sitting on a stool next to him, he had no concern about being a part of the fighting. For the time being, Steffan Brouwer was letting himself get caught in the present moment of playing the Rainlands classic known as Kayava.

Pretty good night this week, he thought to himself as he casted a glance at the dance floor while his fingers danced over the piano keys, Though I could definitely do without playing this damn song for the millionth time.

As the song continued, Steffan casted glances at the crowd when he got the chance. So far there were the usual crowds. Gamblers, businessmen, that one staff accountant in charge of filing taxes for the Carbon District who lives somewhere in Steffan’s neighborhood, and the average pedestrian just looking for a drink. But closer looks showed the occasional uniform mingling in the crowd, a subtle reminder that the tinderbox called Alcenta has been lit aflame recently.

Well enjoy the party while you can fellas, Steffan thought as the song came to a close causing a round of applause.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman! I know you’re all enjoying yourselves but we will be taking a few minutes to let things calm down first,” the conductor announced once the clapping stopped, “We’ll have you all dancing again shortly so don’t go anywhere, we’d hate to see you leave early!”

Getting up with a stretch, Steffan grabbed his inhaler and stuffed it into a shoulder bag sitting on the floor next to him. While the other band members energetically moved about, he simply headed to the bar with a calm but deliberate walk.

“Just some water,” he told the bartender, a fellow green furred Slugcat.

“One moment sir,” the bartender replied while shaking a drink mixer.

Leaning on the bar, he casted his gaze back across the party room. Despite having a more limited view of the room than up on the stage, he was able to notice that a good majority of the crowd actually came from all over the Emerald Delta. The webbed tails of the coastline, the long ears of the nearby Stormkanaal Archipelago, and the large stocky builds from further up the Onweersvloed River were all present here.

“So what poison are you drinking tonight?” a scratchy voice asked next to Steffan.

“Just water Akaki,” Steffan answered, not even bothering to face the individual standing next to him.

“Steffan-”

“Look Akaki, you know why I don’t drink,” Steffan sighed before turning to face his friend.

Despite being easily a quarter of a meter taller than Akaki, it was obvious the “Dragoncat” was far more intimidating. Kutasian born and New Zoutbeek raised, Akaki Greenflame was an oddity that managed to appear threatening yet gentle at the same time. Red fur, floppy ears, silvery scales, a thick dexterous tail, and horns made Akaki appear almost like a lizard that had been trained for guard duty. Steffan still was not entirely sure how he made friends with the petite, flammable acid spewing trumpet player, but he was glad to have Akaki as one.

“I can cover the tab,” Akaki insisted as he took a sip from a glass of whiskey.

“Are you sure you should be drinking that? We still have the rest of tonight’s gig to get through,” Steffan pointed to the whiskey.

“Stop deflecting Brouwer. You’re working yourself ragged and in desperate need to relax.”

“Oh really? Then tell me why you’re putting in as many hours at bars, taverns, and everywhere else in need of a trumpet player?”

Akaki flinched at the acquisition but said nothing as he downed the rest of his whiskey. Steffan felt a twinge of guilt for the comment but refused to apologize. Even before the war broke out life had been growing steadily more difficult. Despite being an ocean away, the dominating nations had been whipped up in a tizzy for the past decade as the nation that invaded Hydrania eighty years ago officially declared itself an empire and began subjugating its neighbors. Steffan could remember those days as he struggled between a part-time job and night courses, overhearing concerns about the steadily dying global trade networks and the stocking of supplies. For ten long years prices went up, living conditions grew more demanding, and everyone waited with baited breath for the next invasion, the next state of emergency, the next recruitment call, the next rationing of already dwindling supplies, the next price increase…

It all came to an explosive end as the Homeland was swiftly conquered in a matter of weeks and the war destroyed any pretense of peace. For most, it was a mild sense of relief knowing the wait was over and an overwhelming dread knowing the long-awaited conflict had arrived. For Steffan, a thirty one year old asthmatic Slugcat with bad eyesight, it was a slow death of working himself to the bone just to keep himself going. Adding to the issue, he often saw many friends get drafted or lured by promises of better pay, prepared meals, medical expenses covered, and the ever present stupid concepts of “heroism” and “patriotism” if they accepted the uniform.

Please like the Homeland ever cared about us, he thought bitterly as he recalled all the honeyed words so many friends and neighbors fell for, It’s like grandma Helga said, they only care about pushing us around and taking from the Rainlands.

“Look Steffan, I’m concerned all right?” Akaki sighed, voice almost lost in the sounds of the party room.

“What else is new?” Steffan snorted as he gulped his water down.

“I’m serious, Steffan. I know it was a struggle to get that fluffy tail of yours to relax before everything went to hell but you don’t smile anymore. You don’t make up those little tunes like you used to. I know you’re made of stronger stuff than you look but I’m concerned about you. I don’t want to lose a friend like this...this damn war has taken enough from us already.”

“I’m home, I’m playing music I enjoy, and I’m alive. What more do I need to ask for?” Steffan asked.

“There’s a difference between living and existing Steffan. I know it’s hard for you, harder than I ever will understand. But for all of your comments about life and home you don’t seem to really embrace those things,” Akaki sighed before pushing himself away from the bar, “You’ve got to live for something, have a reason to get up every day besides just pocket change to cover your needs.”

The comment struck a chord in Steffan. For nearly his entire life he just accepted things as they were. He had to move from Dondermijn to New Zootbeek for the sake of his health, so he moved. He needed to earn money to pay for his medicine, so he worked. He needed an education to at least pretend to have a say in politics, so he finished highschool. He needed to earn his keep to make it through the day, so he did just that. Steffan was a simple man with very little ambition and he was perfectly fine to let life do with him as it pleased. He had home, his life was not great but it was his, and he was getting by. That was enough.

Is it? Am I really just going to continue being a withered husk out in the street that needs saving?, he asked himself before he started coughing.

With practiced urgency, he reached a hand into the bag and pulled the inhaler out. Bringing it to his mouth, he breathed the medicine down into his burned lungs with difficulty. It had taken multiple pumps to get enough medicine down his windpipe to alleviate the symptom, signaling he was almost out. He would have to buy more tomorrow.

Looks like I’ll be skipping out on buying a decent meal again, he thought glumly as he got a fresh glass of water before heading back to the piano.

The next morning Steffan woke up the same way he always does, hearing the clocktower two blocks away chiming. Yawning with his impressively long tongue sticking out, he rolled over and blinked his mismatched eyes tiredly, staring up at the ugly beige colored ceiling. Despite his goggles being on a nightstand and anything beyond his nose being a fuzzy smear at best, he could tell the sunlight was peaking through the half-closed curtain blinds and that fan in the center of the ceiling was spinning away.

It’s another day, he thought tiredly as he laid on the bed staring, Just another day… Well, not like I’m doing much sitting here.

Sitting up, he reached for the nightstand and strapped his goggles on. Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sudden clarity, he gave a loud groaning stretch before standing up and making his bed. In a dull, routine manner he grabbed his inhaler off the nightstand and the shoulder bag before heading out the door, flicking the electric fan off as he did so. Locking the door behind him, he headed down the stairs and out onto the busy streets of New Zoutbeek. In a distant corner of his mind, he vaguely recalled Dondermijn being very similar to the morning chaos he bore witness to. Pedestrians were hurrying to places, kids were running off to school or to cause mischief, there was that one old Slugcat taking their equally old lizard for a walk, cars honking on the streets, and the sense of everyone was too much in a rush to realize they still were not entirely awake.

Ah New Zoutbeek, he thought fondly as he took a deep breath, The coastal city of chaos. Lively as ever I see.

Exhaling, he joined the other pedestrians on the street. He moved with surprising speed and agility for his frail body, falling into a comfortable rhythm honed from years of navigating city life. Weaving through the foot traffic, Steffan was quick to arrive at his first destination for the day.

Surprised the radio is being quiet this morning, he thought as he entered the local diner, “Morning. I’ll take the usual.”

“Sorry, the regular options are being rationed,” the yellow furred Slugcat waiter behind the counter shrugged, “Same with the tea and coffee.”

“You serious? They trying to starve us now?” Steffan growled as he took a seat near the window.

“I’ve got porridge, grilled batflies, and ground up stingerpede.”

Steffan felt his stomach flip at the options, “Just give me the porridge and whatever nuts you can throw into it.”

“Right… Want swamp-melon juice to go with that?”

“Might as well,” Steffan rolled his eyes and stared out at the street.

The waiter nodded and got to work. Steffan heard the radio crackle to life and quickly change stations from the news to classical music. Drumming his fingers along the table, he began to plan out the rest of his day. There was the pharmacy for his medicine, the various taverns and clubs he had a decent reputation with, and...that was it.

Maybe I could see if the newspapers have any comics in them, he thought as the sudden realization of how empty his life is struck him.

After an expensive breakfast Steffan was heading to the pharmacy. Despite going through a semi-regular routine, the day felt...off and the conversation he had with Akaki the prior night stayed in his head. Life before the war had been repetitive but manageable. Steffan used to make his own music chords, go out for drinks, maybe a night of cards once in a while. Now his life was centered around earning enough money to just get by with ever increasing prices as more food and resources got diverted to the military. Even with financial support from his parents on the other end of the city, still working to help him stand on his own feet and stay afloat themselves, Steffan was barely getting through the day.

But what else am I supposed to do? It’s not like a miracle solution will just drop out of the sky and solve my problems, he thought as he continued walking through the streets.

Approaching the pharmacy, his sour mood quickly grew worse. The shelves were mostly empty and there was a sign up stating that the prices had risen again. If he could have handled the strain on his throat and lungs Steffan would have screamed in rage. Instead, he focused on taking a few furious deep breaths and walked inside.

“Hmm? Oh it’s you,” the blue furred Scavenger clerk said upon noticing Steffan, “I’ve got your meds right here.”

“Thanks,” Steffan walked to the counter and eyed the barebones shelves, “They’re sweeping everywhere dry.”

“Just us minor shops. The major chains are being left alone,” the clerk replied, “Overheard from a friend who works at the post office. They’re trying to force us small folk into the armed forces and logistical network anyway they can. Rations, price hikes, propaganda, the works.”

“They’ve been doing that ever since the Homeland fell,” Steffan sighed, “I’m surprised they haven’t corralled us by gunpoint at this rate.”

“It is what it is,” the clerk placed a cardboard box on the counter, “Same price as last time.”

“What about that?” Steffan waved a hand at the sign stating the increased prices.

“This is a prescription drug, one that not even the bastards dare to touch unless they want to explain why people are starting to die out on the streets. Even if it were being rationed as much as everything else I’m not charging you extra. I might as well commit murder if I did that so I won’t.”

Steffan blinked in shock at the generosity, “Th-Thank you.”

“Word of advice? Be spare with the usage, emergencies only. You’ll make it last longer.”

“Not really an option with me. I’ve got to sing every now and then,” Steffan handed over the required amount for the prescription.

“Yeah well, sing less often then,” the clerk sorted the money into a register, “See you next time.”

Grabbing the box and stuffing it into his shoulder bag, Steffan walked out the door. With his most pressing concern handled, all that was left was to find some work. Steffan began heading for the busier parts of New Zoutbeek, knowing that the bars and taverns were always busy and needing to keep thirsty patrons entertained. Steffan’s concern there was finding one that had a piano, needed a pianist, and was willing to pay him enough money to buy actual food if he wanted to eat something besides flavorless preserved popseed for a week again.

After spending all morning and skipping lunch to search, Steffan managed to find a military bar that was willing to accept his services with a reasonable payment. And so after ensuring his inhaler had the fresh canister installed, a glass was set aside for any possible tips, and ignoring his empty stomach, Steffan played songs through the afternoon. He played classical, jazz, ragtime, anything that came to mind or was requested. Song after song he played away, fingers burning and a false smile causing his face to hurt, throat sore despite drinking water, muscles cramped from sitting so long, and through it all Steffan dutifully played the piano. By the time he was done, the sun had set and the official band had arrived to take over. Dumping his tips into his pouch, storing his inhaler quickly afterwards, and grabbing the water glass, he got up and started heading for the bar counter to collect his payment.

“Well that was quite the show,” a voice said as Steffan walked between the tables.

Turning, he saw an unremarkable male Slugcat in a uniform sitting at a table swirling a drink. There was a captain’s insignia on the uniform warning Steffan that he had attracted the attention of an officer, one belonging to the city's recruitment department if the other symbol along the sleeve was anything to go by.

“Just doing my job,” Steffan replied with a schooled expression, “The only one I can do.”

“Perhaps. But it wasn’t very satisfying now was it?” the captain asked, giving a knowing look with an apologetic smile, “Let’s have a chat, drink’s on me.”

“I’m good sir,” Steffan turned around.

“You’re from the Mangrove District, desperate for work.”

Steffan stopped and turned to glare, “I already got called. You’re wasting your time on an asthmatic, weak bodied lost cause.”

“No, I don’t think I am. If anything, I think I found exactly the kind of man I need,” the captain shoved a chair out with his foot, “Have a seat sir. I have a gig you might be interested in hearing about.”

Looking between the captain and the bartender (who was completely distracted), Steffan weighed his options. On one hand he could politely decline and walk away. On the other hand, there was a very good chance he would find himself wrapped up in military affairs one way or another if he was attracting the attention of a captain. Either way, Steffan knew he would be walking away at a loss somehow.

Well might as well convince this bastard to leave me alone. “You want me to listen, you pick up the tab,” Steffan relented as he started to head for the chair.

“Of course. Bartender? Give this man his pay and a drink. I’ll cover him,” the captain called out.

One payment and a beer later:

“Now then, let’s talk,” Steffan said warily before feeling the burn of alcohol go down his throat.

“The name’s Dolf Schimt, Colonial Logistics,” the captain introduced himself, “I know we’re quite unpopular these days but orders are coming in from the top and from our allies.”

“So you just listen to the Homeland and let them make us pick up the tab to buy it back through food, medicine, and blood,” Steffan growled.

Dolf sighed, having the courtesy to look apologetic, “Not quite… The fact of the matter is we’re barely holding on and fighting a war unlike any other in history. You’ve no doubt heard about what’s going on in Hydrania.”

Steffan rolled his mismatched eyes and scoffed, “Enough with the propaganda to get me to line up to die captain. What do you really want with my miserable ass?”

Dolf blinked before bursting into laughter. It was the kind of laugh of someone being caught off guard and pleasantly surprised by something different. Steffan was unsure if he should be surprised or insulted.

“Finally a cynic who has the guts to speak his mind,” Dolf wheezed out once he regained his composure, “You sir are the first honest man with a head on his shoulders in over a month.”

“I could say a lot more,” Steffan finished the beer, “So what do you want with me?”

Dolf took a few more seconds to calm down before his expression grew serious, “What I want with you is your talent with the piano. Our battles here in the Rainlands are the typical affairs that have been scaled up. Patrols taking potshots at each other, chasing lizards over borders, driving off the occasional warband, and finally taking the Hydrania issue seriously for once. Overseas it’s a much different story,” Dolf sighed, “The Homeland is important but that’s the politicians simply demanding their comfy lifestyle back and expecting us colonial savages to answer their beck and call. What really matters is that we’re fighting a war of survival and we need everyone to do their part. If we lose over there then the rest of the Rainlands will follow Hydrania. What’s going on now is mishandled logistics. We lose and we’ll truly be starved to death before we’ll be lined up against the wall and shot once we’ve outlived our usefulness. Just like every story smuggled out of Hydrania.”

Steffan went stiff as he processed the words. He has heard the rumors of course but to have it told to him with such brutal honesty was a shock. It was no secret that some colonies were far more repressive than others but Hydrania was different. One of the oldest civilizations on Alcenta, a mercantile republic that helped influence culture everywhere its trade ships went, had half its territory stolen and supposedly was being torn down brick by brick to be used to build something terrible. Steffan believed something was going on and even sympathized with the Hydranians fighting to reclaim their stolen home, but saw most of the tales as nothing more than embellished propaganda to whip up the public into a frenzy. To hear that genocide on every level was being propagated under the order of a foreign nation and was actually true sent a cold shiver down his spine.

“So what does a pianist that even the draft dismissed have to do with this?” he asked after a few beats of silence.

“We’ve got soldiers and supplies. We need to give them something to fight for besides the Homeland and an enemy to stop,” Dolf answered quietly, “There’s a project in place to give them that reason and a slice of home that stays by their side wherever they may be. I’ve given them food, films, and letters. Now I need to give them something they just need to turn on the radio to hear even when they’re on the front.”

Steffan perked up at the implications, “You’re getting a band set up.”

“More like ensuring it continues doing what it needs to. Specifically one that brings every corner of the Rainlands together, regardless of nationality or distance. So, I need a pianist since they are surprisingly difficult to hold onto for their intended job and you seem like the right man for that job since no one would take a second look at you and shove a rifle into your hands. You interested in this gig?”

Steffan’s first instinct was to say yes, quickly followed by a scathing no. He settled for silence. No longer focused on the conversation, he took in the atmosphere of the bar. Uniformed Slugcats and Scavengers were sharing drinks, laughing, and talking amongst themselves while the band played. No longer focused on just providing the entertainment, Steffan noticed the variety of emotions hiding under the surface. Despite the mostly positive atmosphere, many of the soldiers appeared to be forcing themselves to have as much of a good time as possible before something, anything, forced them to stop and dragged them back into the war.

“Give it some thought,” Dolf set some money on the table and stood up, “If you’re interested, head down to a recruitment office and tell them I vouched for ya. If not well… Well then I wish you the best of luck.”

With that, captain Dolf Schmidt walked away. Steffan sat at the table and stared at the two drinking glasses and the money. He did not hear the ambiance around him, nor really see the bartender walk by to collect the money. The offer floated around in his head as did the truth surrounding the war. This eventually gave way to a small spark of hope inside of him as an offer to simply have a steady job and a means of making something out of his life had been given to him.

However, by the time he left the bar Steffan had a different thought: He realized he never told the captain his name.

For the next two days Steffan felt more lost than ever. He spent extra time staring at this ceiling upon waking up, picked at his food, and had to force himself to play the piano for work. On the morning of the third day he felt desperate and walked to Akaki’s apartment in search of help.

“Steffan? What are you doing here?” Akaki asked as he opened the door.

“Morning Akaki,” Steffan said with a forced smile and a wave, “I uh...need to talk to you about something.”

Blinking in surprise, Akaki nodded slowly and opened the door further. Nodding, Steffan walked inside and took a seat on the bed. Akaki’s apartment room truthfully was no different from Steffan’s, even down to the ugly beige coloring of the wallpaper. And yet it felt...cleaner? More homely? Regardless of the similarities, Steffan honestly felt better being in this apartment room than his own.

“You eat anything yet? It’s still early,” Akaki fully opened the blinds.

“I’m fine,” Steffan answered, ignoring the emptiness of his stomach, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Okay, who the hell are you and what the bloody hell have you done with Steffan?”

Steffan pulled his goggles off to rub his eyes. Upon finishing, he pulled away the mask and showed his real emotions. Despite seeing Akaki as a red abstract shape, Steffan was able to hear the concerned hissing breath his friend made.

“I need help,” Steffan admitted as he slumped over, elbows on his knees with his head resting in his hands.

“What happened? Steffan...what happened?” Akaki asked as he sat down next to Steffan.

“A lot of things. Remember that gig we had at the Crowned Crimson?”

“What about it?”

“Your comments about me just coasting… I got a new gig but I’m not sure if I should take it.”

“Steffan…”

“Met a captain at a bar a few days ago. He said-”

“You what?!”

“He said things are bad. Real bad. Everything in Hydrania is true and everyone sent overseas are struggling to stop it. There’s an international band overseas and… Well everyone says I’m a pretty good pianist even if I’m halfway to being a cripple.”

“No you’re not! You stop that crap right now!” Akaki snarled, standing up with his tail flickering agitatedly and looming over Steffan, “You’re not a cripple and if you say anything along those lines again I am going to...to...do something I know I’m going to regret!”

Steffan leaned back as the angry Dragoncat glared at him. Even with his poor vision, Steffan could tell Akaki was fuming and quite possibly very close to following through with his statement. He could not recall ever seeing Akkaki this agitated before but knew that if he said anymore he could very easily figure out why “Dragoncats” were named as such the hard way.

“Now then, what are you really doing here?” Akaki huffed as he began pacing.

“I said there’s the gig with the-”

“To hell with the gig and the war. What are you doing here Steffan?” Akaki demanded.

Steffan opened his mouth to reply only to close it again, only letting a noise sounding like an old yeek out in the process. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how aimless he really was. He thought he was coming to get an outside opinion over the gig the captain offered but now he just had nothing. All his life there had been something set out in front of him whether it be handling his condition, education, or simply having a week of gigs lined up. Now he was on his own and he was left with...nothing. His life was empty and devoid of any meaning all while the world seemed very inclined in forcing him to find a decision before it would be permanently ripped away.

The Homeland was under occupation and forcing the entire Delta to pay the price. Hydrania burned and showed the rest of the Rainlands what was in store if nothing changed. Prices were climbing higher while living conditions plummeted. Work became more difficult to find. And life...was a meaningless, empty, constant drag that Steffan was trapped in.

“I don’t know,” Steffan sighed, head back in his hands.

Akaki let out another growl before sighing as well and sitting back down, “What happened to you Steffan?”

“I don’t know.”

“Right… Bloody hell… All right, what’s really going on with this gig?”

Steffan looked up and faced Akaki, “You want me to take it?”

“You enjoy playing and we both know you staying here is tearing you apart. If it’s playing in a band and getting the hell out of New Zoutbeek then what more do you have to lose?”

“I don’t want to be a part of the war,” Steffan admitted.

“Alcenta has gone to hell and we went with it. Besides, you wouldn’t have mentioned it if you weren’t considering it… So you might as well take the gig and ride out the storm your way before the rains wash you away,” Akaki reasoned.

“All right mister Brouwer. Let’s go over some things,” a Slugcat physician leafed through a folder, “You’re thirty one, originally from Dondermijn, and have enough medical conditions to stay out of the war entirely… Correct?”

“Yes, all of that’s correct,” Steffan admitted, feeling very unsure on what he was even doing.

“Mind explaining how you have everything from bad eyesight to a weak heart?”

“Gas storage tank for the lights burst and flooded the school I was in when I was five. Got rescued and rushed to a hospital by a big guy from Havarda. Never met him, everyone swears he was a purposed organism since he ran in without covering his face before disappearing shortly afterward. Probably was the Immortal Giant for all I know.”

The physician hummed in thought and wrote something down. Despite wanting nothing more than to walk away from this foolishness, Steffan was desperate enough to throw whatever rational he had out the window and volunteer for Dolf’s offer. The fact that even Akaki encouraged it chipped away whatever hesitation Steffan still had. It was madness. Steffan had no business in a military recruitment center after his initial draft notice got revoked due to his poor health. And yet he was here signing himself up to serve in the military, to participate in the biggest war history has ever seen, and running straight towards the danger.

Steffan what the hell are you doing?, he asked himself rhetorically.

“Right… Mister Brouwer, you do realize that you are in no condition to serve right? The fact you can walk without a cane is remarkable in itself. Basic training alone would kill you, never mind combat. You’d be better off staying here in New Zoutbeek,” the physician said.

“I was approached by a captain… Schmidt? Yeah that was his name. I was told by captain Schmidt there’s a band that needs pianists. I’m just sitting around wasting away here at home.” What the hell am I saying?! “I might not be able to fight in the trenches, but I can play the piano pretty good and my singing is decent enough if I use my inhaler beforehand.”

“Hmm. All right...I’ll give you a fair chance. Pick a song and start singing.”

“Right now?”

“Right now. Your pick,” the physician leaned against a counter, closing the folder and giving a nod, “You pull through a full song without me needing to drag you to an operating room and I’ll be convinced you can handle this.”

Rational still fleeing him, Steffan gave the request some thought. He sang best when he was playing. But he did know a few songs well enough that he could be on key and could recall the lyrics without too many issues.

Well I always did like Dancing on the Rooftops , he recalled the play he saw the release of twenty years ago.

Pulling his inhaler out, Steffan ensured he could go through the song entirely without an asthma attack before he started singing. Admittedly, he has not sung any songs from the Rainlands classic for quite a while but he was able to get through it fairly well. As he did so, he began to feel lighter and less constrained than he had felt in months.

“So, how’d I do?” he asked after finishing, swallowing down a cough that threatened to slip out at the very end.

“Good enough,” the physician nodded before grabbing the folder and scribbling notes down, “Orders state I am to send you on your way immediately. However, I am still a doctor and I cannot in good conscience send a man off to war no matter how safe the position. So tell me, mister Brouwer, are you really sure about signing up for this? Even if you’re playing a piano you may be on the move often and you will be expected to follow orders.”

“Yes.” No! “I’m barely hanging on here. Over there I might be able to do something,” Steffan answered with as much false confidence as he could muster.

“Very well… Congratulations mister Brouwer, you’re now off to war,” the physician smiled sadly before scribbling down a note and handing it over, “Given your situation and physical condition, report to the quartermaster and present this. We’ll have you overseas and manning the piano in no time.”

Weeks later Steffan arrived in a foreign port. Despite the differences in architecture, language, culture, and, most notably, the drier weather, it felt just like New Zoutbeek. It seemed strangely comforting to know that ports were similar regardless of where they were located. It was enough to distract him from scratching himself as the uniform he was forced to wear pulled at his fur (much to his chagrin) and remind him that not every part of Alcenta beyond his home was getting blown up.

“All right you all know the drill! Double column by company! Let’s get moving!” someone shouted as gangplank was brought up to the troop transport.

Grabbing a light backpack, Steffan patiently waited for his turn to leave. He had caught many confused looks given his weak stature and thick goggles, more than once having to explain he was given a “special assignment.” Now that he was here, he frankly had little idea on exactly where he was supposed to go or how he would accomplish that “assignment.”

“Brouwer? Oi, I’m looking for a Brouwer?!” an accented voice yelled from the pier.

“Mmm? Uh, that’s me! Excuse me, coming through,” Steffan tried to shove his way through the line.

“Get back in line, soldier!” a sergeant shoved him back.

Not wanting to cause any further trouble, he leaned over the edge and looked for whoever was calling for him, “Hey! Someone looking for me?! I’m Brouwer!”

“Down here! You that pianist?!” a tan furred Scavenger (in uniform of course) yelled back.

“Pianist? What the hell is a pianist gonna do?” someone asked behind Steffan.

“Yeah! I’ll be down once they let me!” Steffan replied.

“That’s enough!” an angry Slugcat pulled Steffan away from the railing, “Get your shit togeth… What the hell are you supposed to be?! Some kind of comedy show?! Grab your shit and get in formation! Move your fuzzy ass!”

“Oi! Can you assholes give me my pianist already?! I’m on the clock here!” came the voice from down below.

Far from the first time, Steffan questioned if he had made a terrible decision in joining the military.

After a chaotic hassle of disembarking, having an asthma attack, getting yelled at, and almost breaking his neck when he tripped on the gangplank due to a shoelace (which was supposed to keep the unholy torture devices strapped to the feet as it were), Steffan was riding in an open air Rover (a vehicle originally produced for offroad safaris) with his new chaperone. As it were, private Colin Washburn was a talented young Scavenger from the Southern Horn who impressed someone important enough to permanently earn a relatively comfortable position in assisting in the “International Band Regiment.”

“So how’d you know I’d be on the boat?” Steffan asked as the Rover jolted due to a pothole, causing him to bounce in his seat.

“Telegram,” the private replied cheerfully, “Actually pretty glad you got here when you did. The others are losing their minds being benched.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Regiment is broken up just like the regulars out on the front. Regiment, companies, platoons, and then squads or ‘bands’ as well call them. We’re a part of F Company, the ‘Swinging Thunderbolts’ as we’re called. Fourth band of third platoon has been partially benched and filling in for others for weeks since the last guy who played the piano broke his entire arm in an auto accident. Word of advice? Don’t drive after you’ve had ten shots of Hel-Brouwsel.”

Steffan nearly slid out of his seat and onto the road with a sputtered cough, “Ten?! How did he not die from drinking that much?!”

“Claimed to be part purposed organism from his father’s side,” Colin replied before scowling and honking the horn as a group of kids ran across the street, “Oi! Sortez de la rue, petits merdeux!”

Steffan rolled his eyes and ensured he was sitting firmly in the seat. Figuring he had enough excitement for one day, he focused on relaxing while he could. The trip had been uncomfortable, he was on the other side of the equator (how the hell was this late summer?! It felt more like a cloudy day with no rain), he was wearing itchy clothing, and being driven to wherever the hell he was going to live for the foreseeable future. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into some other chaos that would make him regret his life choices even more.

“Sorry about that,” Colin returned to his more friendly tone, “You’d think they’d learn to stay on the sidewalks.”

“It’s fine,” Steffan grunted.

“Anyway, not sure what they’re telling you folks in the Delta but things have gotten interesting here as of late. Whole front shifted in a matter of days not that long ago. Might actually have a chance in making a push before winter kicks in.”

Steffan once again rolled his eyes and tuned the enthusiastic private’s voice out. He was more focused on finding someplace to lie down and rest before figuring out what he was going to do with his life. If he was lucky, Steffan would be placed behind a piano and go back to playing the same songs he had played in New Zoutbeek.

(Nevermind the fact that playing something different would be a refreshing change of pace and make the one thing he was actually good at mean something again… To make his life actually have a purpose as opposed to the monotony that overtook it…)

Before long, the Rover was parked at a hotel. Steffan was quickly ushered out, registered by the hotel staff, handed a pamphlet that was his schedule by a military police soldier, and whisked back into the Rover. After another quick ride, Colin pulled up to a cafe and got out.

“This is it. Time to meet your new friends for the rest of the war,” Colin said as he pulled out a card and showed it to the guard standing at the door.

Steffan stretched and got out of the Rover. After giving the guard a look, he walked into the cafe behind Colin and was immediately blasted by the cool air. Adjusting to the sudden coolness quickly, he took stock of the cafe. All in all it was nothing he had not seen before from an aesthetic standpoint. What did stand out were the soldiers lounging at one the tables which Colin approached.

“Steffan Brouwer, meet the band,” Colin said as he turned around with a smile, “On cello is Donny,” a magenta furred Slugcat looked up, “Trumpet player is Emily Windshear,” a teal furred Slugcat waved, “Clarinet is Pierre Monet,” a red furred Scavenger took the pipe out of his mouth and raised it lazily, “Drummer is Muhamid Aetos,” a blue furred Hydranian Scavenger just focused on balancing a fork in one hand while stirring a mug with two others, “And finally the guitarist is Champei of House Saint,” a silver furred Slugcat with green stripes nodded in recognition before returning to the newspaper in hand, “Fourth band, meet the new pianist.”

“Bonjour,” Pierre said before placing his pipe back in his mouth.

“Uh, does he smoke often?” Steffan asked, warily looking at the pipe.

“Often enough to the point that he stinks,” Champei muttered as she turned a page.

“I’ll leave you all to get acquainted,” Colin started to leave before pausing, “Oh by the way? Two more days and then the company commander expects you all on the air.”

“Ε? Τι στο διάολο Colin?!” Muhamid dropped the fork in surprise.

“Με άκουσες,” Colin smirked back before turning to leave, “Play nice with each other.”

Steffan blinked in surprise at the sudden shifts in language and quickly realized he was woefully out of his depth. Before he could comment on this, Colin had already opened the door and stepped back outside, leaving Steffan with his new band members. Turning back around, he saw various expressions on their faces.

“I don’t suppose we can work something out with the languages?” he asked with a sheepish smile.

“We’ll figure it out. Worst case scenario is we just play music and give each other funny looks,” Donny shrugged as he got up and grabbed an unused chair, “Hungry? Uniforms get meals for free.”

“I could go for a bite,” Steffan said as he accepted the chair only to catch a horrid smell coming from Pierre, “Uh, can you put that out? I’ve got bad lungs,” he pulled out his inhaler and showed it to them.

“Ah merde! Sorry!” Pierre yelped as he grabbed an ashtray and immediately emptied the pipe, “I’ll… Uh… Un peu d'aide ici?”

“He’ll take his bad habits somewhere else in the future,” Champei folded the newspaper closed and set it aside before giving the Scavenger a hard look.

“So friend...where are you from?” Muhamid asked, sticking out a hand to offer a shake.

“Emerald Delta, New Zoutbeek,” Steffan accepted a menu that Donny handed over before returning the gesture to the four armed Scavenger, “You?”

“Middle of nowhere farm up in the Equatorial Plains,” Muhamid smiled as he took a sip from his mug.

“Doubt it needs saying but I’m from Shi Chara, Havarda,” Champei supplied.

“Wandering tribe though I somehow ended up in the Misty Isle before signing my fuzzy ass up for this,” Donny gave a hapless smile, “Long story.”

“Crique Hurlante, Flux Tordus,” Pierre finished smothering the embers in the ashtray.

“Safalda Mirar, Flamencia if you can believe it,” Emily shrugged, speaking in a mixed accent.

Despite the desire to rest and the questions of whether or not this was a mistake, Steffan had to admit for a first impression his new partners in this whole endeavor were leaving a decent first impression. At the very least, his situation was injecting something new into his stagnant life. Given he could not back out of it even if he had an alternative at this point, Steffan figured he should at the very least enjoy the uniqueness while it lasted.

After two days of getting to know the band he was now a part of (both in the small scale with the five individuals he met in the cafe and the larger platoon as a whole), Steffan found himself in a broadcasting radio station. In a sealed room were instruments, microphones, music sheets, and a pitcher of water waiting within. Guards had been placed at the entrance of the studio and there were two intelligence officers sitting next to the radio transceiver armed with pistols. It was here that the full weight of what he was involved with hit Steffan.

Bloody hell I am going to get myself killed, he thought as he casted nervous looks between the officers and the piano.

“Ignore them. They’re not going to do anything,” Emily gave him a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

A sharp whistle by a radio operator holding up four fingers caught Steffan’s attention. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded and followed the others inside. With shaking hands, he grabbed the folder sitting on the piano keys and opened it.

Get a grip Brouwer, he scolded himself as he leafed through the music sheets, You practiced with them and no one is singing today.

“Steffan? Ça va?” Pierre asked as he held a hand to his face and mimicked the use of an inhaler.

“He’s asking if you-” Donny started.

“I know what he means,” Steffan said, putting more heat into his words than he meant to.

A knock on the glass on one side of the room got the group's attention. The operator held up three fingers.

“Χάλια χάλια... Ποιος το οργάνωσε αυτό?” Muhamid muttered, frantically going through the music sheets between his four hands.

“Waa wa waa wa wa… Steffan, any of these you’re familiar with?” Donny asked as he looked through the music.

Why the hell are you asking me that?!, Steffan thought as he frantically looked through the songs.

Frantically looking through the songs, Steffan grew less concerned as he recognized most of them. His heart rate calming, he gave each sheet a more careful glance. Reorganizing the sheets, he sat down at the piano and put the first song sheet on the music stand.

“I’ve played a lot of these before. I’m used to picking up songs as we go. Lots of gigs back home. Any issues with that?” he asked as the radio operator gave the two minute warning.

“None here,” Donny replied before quickly relaying the information to Pierre.

“ម៉ោងបញ្ចាំងទាំងអស់គ្នា,” Champei remarked before picking up the guitar and testing it.

“Yo elijo el siguiente,” Emily said, testing the pitch on the trumpet, “¿En mi marca?”

“Oui,” Pierre nodded.

“Let’s just get going,” Steffan pulled his inhaler out and ensured he would not suffer from an asthma attack anytime soon.

“Waa… Wa wa wa,” Donny said to himself as a red light above the glass turned on.

“Hey Steffan?” Muhamid called as he picked up a pair of drumsticks.

“Yes?”

“Don’t get us benched again,” Muhamid smirked.

“Shut up and play,” Steffan rolled his eyes.

Several seconds later the light began to flash. Taking deep breaths to steady his nerves, Steffan waited for a signal to start playing. Before he could fully mentally prepare himself, the light stopped blinking and a green one snapped on. Emily raised her trumpet and started playing quickly followed by Muhamid and Pierre. With one final quick breath, Steffan joined in. It felt just like playing music back home in New Zoutbeek, quickly causing the tension to melt away. It was more of the same music he had played countless times back home...but it was an easy introduction to Steffan’s new life in the military. He could handle this easily.

An ocean away and I’m still playing Coffee Break, Steffan thought as he continued playing, Guess I was getting all worked up over nothing.

“So where are we playing next?” Steffan asked as he moved a bishop and took a sip of the apple cinnamon tea next to him.

Time had passed. Steffan quickly found himself busier than he had ever been in his entire life. He was playing music at radio stations, in bars, and on staging grounds. He entertained civilians and soldiers alike, alone or either with his small band or the entire company. Steffan was so busy he barely realized the passage of time even as the seasons changed from summer to autumn and the constant stream of news regarding the fighting flooded in. Despite being even close enough to hear the guns of heavy artillery once he felt far away from the combat.

“No idea,” Donny replied as he countered with a knight, “Wouldn’t mind having a bit of a break though.”

“Easy for you to say Donny,” Champei muttered from a nearby table and soaking her fingers in a bowl of water, “But we all know it’s not going to happen.”

The fourth band was currently resting in a bar in a liberated town. Surprisingly, the place was in good condition considering it was in a province where heavy fighting occurred three weeks ago. The entirety of F Company had been called up to put on a show for one of the combat regiments that had been leading the push into occupied territory to give them a brief respite from the action. For Steffan it had largely been a blur just as the rest of his service had been.

So far the only big differences between his time in uniform compared to his time back home were the amount of busy work he had to put up with and the fact he had most of his expenses covered by the military. He got decent rooms to sleep in most of the time, hot filling meals, and a steady supply of medicine for his inhaler. Despite all of this, the feeling of being aimless had slowly begun to creep back into his life and the urge to create his own music was as well.

“Steffan? It’s your turn,” Donny called, shaking Steffan from his thoughts.

“Oh. What did you do?” Steffan looked back at the chessboard.

“Took your bishop.”

Steffan looked at the board and blinked before promptly retaliating, “Thanks for the opening.”

“Waaaaaa,” Donny groaned and ran a hand down his face.

“Vingt sur Donny survivant à huit tours supplémentaires,” Pierre commented as he walked off to the side to fill his pipe.

“Trente si Steffan gagne-” Emily started before the bar door slammed open.

Colin stormed in fuming, growling curses under his breath. Without even asking he reached over the bar counter and grabbed a bottle, slamming money down with a glare at the bartender.

“Κόλιν? Τι συνέβη?” Muhamid asked.

Colin barely even looked at the four armed Scavenger as he took a swig of the bottle. Before anyone spoke further, the sound of ambulance alarms rang out from outside the bar. While Colin merely cursed once more before slamming the bottle back on the bar counter, the rest of the band members shifted anxious glances. Despite being relatively close to the front, they were still supposed to be several kilometers from the nearest disputed sector. The number of alarms signaled a convoy was headed straight towards them.

“Do we have a hospital unit this far back?” Steffan asked quickly, finishing his tea.

“There’s the general hospital across the street,” Champei replied.

“It’s the boys and girls from the Colonial Expeditionary Brigade,” Colin said in an angry tone of voice.

“Which one?” Steffan dared to ask.

“Which one do you think?” Colin spat before running out the door.

The rest of the band looked at each other and ran outside as well. The convoy drove up packed with injured and medics, several vehicles and even medical equipment belonging to different nations. It quickly became obvious most of the injured were from the Southern Horn.

What the hell happened to them?, Steffan wondered as the convoy began to park in front of the hospital.

Like a switch had been flicked, they all ran to help. Steffan felt light headed and nearly threw up as he was handed a bag of blood plasma to hold while a medic and Pierre (pipe still in his mouth but unlit) grabbed a stretcher with an injured soldier on it. Running alongside them, he kept his gaze on the soldier who was unconscious. The soldier was a young Slugcat, possibly had an olive colored fur coat, wrapped up in bandages. Suddenly Steffan was five years old and sitting in a hospital bed again, staring at the patient next to him while his lungs burned.

“Steffan! Allez!” Pierre shouted, breaking through the haze.

Steffan realized he had somehow ran all the way inside the hospital and placed the plasma on a drip stand. All around him, young Slugcats and Scavengers were being hurried inside and organized based on their injuries. Blinking and with his mind going blank once more, he rushed to follow Pierre back outside while passing the incoming patients.

Hours later in the early evening Steffan found himself sitting back inside the bar holding an empty mug in shaking hands. The war no longer seemed distant, some great unimaginable thing that belonged in the newspapers or over the radio. It was real, it was in full effect, and he really was involved. The entire afternoon was a brutal lesson in just what was happening and deep down Steffan knew the front was far worse.

“Steffan? You all right?” Champei asked as she walked up.

“Mmm? Yes. Just… I’m good. Just winded from earlier,” Steffan stood up with a forced smile, “Bad lungs, weak body, shouldn’t be moving about very often and all that. Just need a good sleep and I’ll be fine.”

“Steffan,” Champei grabbed him by his arm and pried the mug from his shaking hands, “It’s all right to be shocked by what you just saw. First few weeks of the war we had convoys rush in every day.”

Steffan sighed and sat back down, “If you say so.”

Champei sat down next to him, “I know. It’s been a while since I saw it and today was bad...but not the worst I’ve ever seen,” she grimaced slightly, “Far from the worst.”

“What do you mean?”

“House Saint gets involved with a lot of events beyond the borders of the Confederacy. For a century and half my family has been using its political connections to get involved in matters all over the Rainlands. When the first colonies were established, we were asked by the...Iterators to help facilitate diplomatic talks alongside their purposed organisms. My first time seeing a new nation was to help Hydranian refugees up in the Plains about fifteen years ago only to get artillery shells sent in our direction. Despite what I saw and the risks involved something changed that day,” she smiled sadly, “Had a fight with my parents, aunts, uncles, even some family friends but I remained convinced I had to do something to help others.”

“Better than me. I’ve spent my whole life drifting without any goals or ambitions,” Steffan admitted, “Every day I told myself I was living the life I wanted when really I was just letting it slip away from me.”

“Funny… My House has a saying that has defined every Saint since its founding.”

“And that is?”

“Live a worthy life. I might’ve made a mistake leaving home the way I did but...I knew I had to figure out what would make my life worthy and figured bringing light to a time of darkness was a good start,” she said with some pride.

Steffan felt as if he had just been cured of his asthma by her words. Somehow the self-confidence and desire to live up to her family motto made Champei appear as if she held the keys to Steffan’s troubles. A young woman with over five centuries of power behind her and she chose her own path. It was inspiring and Steffan could not help but feel emboldened by her resolve.

Glancing back at the door, Steffan recalled the soldiers sitting in the hospital. They were in desperate need of help and it was quite possible many would not get it in time. Steffan was not a doctor or a medic, but he knew a way he could help. He was done letting fate push and pull him around, it was time to actually take control over his damn life.

“Well let’s bring some poor bastards trapped in the dark some light then,” he stood up and headed for the door.

“Eh?” Champei cocked her head in confusion.

“The instruments are in the town hall a block away. If we hurry, we might be able to get everything over before sundown.”

Champei gave it some thought before her eyes lit up, “You’re going to need help with that piano and trumpet is too loud. Just do them one favor, Steffan.”

“What?”

“Give them the performance of a lifetime,” she ordered as she walked out the door with him.

After some pushing, yelling at some soldiers to help, and some very liberal use of Champei’s mind powers (apparently a family trait that she rarely uses to avoid unwanted attention), they managed to get the piano into the hospital. Nearly every room was filled with the injured and it had required some careful movement to avoid agitating them, but they had managed to set the piano up in the waiting room. Steffan sat down and gave the soldiers a friendly smile, receiving curious and confused looks back in return.

“Good evening,” he smiled back, carefully looking away from the worst injuries to avoid grimacing.

Taking out his inhaler and spraying his lungs, he sat down and stretched. After a brief pause, he began playing. Unlike his more recent performances, he picked an old classical song. It was soft, quiet, and peaceful. Looking around as he played, he noticed that his audience was quickly becoming more interested. Still smiling he continued playing.

Then after he finished playing the first song, he immediately picked another one. And then another one. And another. He lost himself in his unscheduled concert. A quiet performance for the injured and tired, all far from home and surrounded by the savagery from the war. It was not much, but Steffan could tell by the relaxed and thankful looks he was getting that it was more than enough.

“Steffan,” Donny walked up as another song finished.

“Yeah?” Steffan asked.

“Special request for Kayava.”

“That’s… That requires a band to pull off the best Donny,” Steffan remarked.

“Steffan,” Donny’s voice sounded fragile, “Just play it. It’s a favorite and his best friend is asking you to give him a send off.”

Steffan froze before swallowing, “W-Where is he?”

Donny turned to face a yellow furred Slugcat in a medic uniform and gave a nod. The medic turned around and quickly walked off. A minute later two stretchers were dragged out. On one of them was a badly injured black furred Slugcat with an armored head, giving them the appearance similar to that of a lizard. The second was a similar looking Slugcat...only with a reddish tint to their fur and in far worse shape. Steffan was unsure if the second was still alive anymore and had to gulp as he looked at the bandages. The first gave him a hopeful, fragile look that shook him out of stupor.

“All right…,” he whispered before wiping his eyes and giving the others a forced smile, “Good evening ladies and gentleman! You’ve all been a wonderful crowd. For our next song we have a special request, a real favorite of the Rainlands. I give you...Kayava!”

Filled with determination, Steffan began playing. Song memorized, he barely paid any attention to the keys while his fingers flew across them flawlessly. Instead, he kept his gaze to the two soldiers lying next to him. The first was barely paying attention to the music, trying very hard not to cry while gripping the hand of the other. The second lied perfectly still, entirely unaware of the private performance. It was simple, heart wrenching, and it nearly caused Steffan to stop playing. Instead, he forced himself to continue playing, ignoring the burning hot tears that began to accumulate in his goggles. By the time he had finished, Steffan still had no idea if the second soldier even heard a thing.

Donny patted Steffan on the back as his hands fell to his sides shaking. The crying soldier gave a broken but sincere thanks before being carried away. The medic from before gave both Steffan and Donny a silent nod of thanks before pulling a pouch out his bag and handed it over. Steffan grabbed it and wiped his eyes clear before examining it. Blinking, he saw that it was a simple field ration of coffee. Despite the difference in language, he could tell that the bag label had been scribbled out and with the word “stupid” written on it for some reason.

“You did good Steffan,” Donny said before helping the exhausted green Slugcat up, “Come on. Let’s get some rest. The others will take over from here.”

With a deep breath, Steffan grabbed the “stupid ration” and stood up with shaky legs. Other band members of F Company were waiting and moved aside to let them pass. As Donny helped Steffan leave, a quiet rhythmic thumping was heard. It was quickly followed by claps and more thumps. Looking over his shoulder, Steffan saw the soldiers applauding him with tired, but grateful, smiles. Giving one in return, he gave a slight wave before heading out of the hospital.

To Mother and Father,

I should start by saying I am alive and safe. My time here has been busy and I will admit that I have been negligent in replying back. For that and so much more, I am sorry. Your concerns, while not necessary, remind me that home awaits me once this conflict is over.

However, the same can not be said for many others. Just the prior week I gave a solo concert to the wounded who had been hurried back to the village I was in. These poor souls looked like they were half dead and many of them were not that far off from being entirely so. One of them asked me to play Kayava for a friend. I do not know if the man heard a thing but I can only hope that whatever part of him that was still there in that room was given some level of peace before he left.

Despite this gloomy topic, it has awakened something in me. Much like the trees and weather changing, and yes this is indeed something that happens here if you can believe it, I am changing. I like to believe this change is for the better as I am no longer letting myself get dragged along. Of course, duty calls and I still play specific requests but I am focusing on taking control over my life again.

I will try to write more often. Tell Akaki he was right about me working too hard to merely survive. For myself and for all the others who are involved in this war, life must be more than mere survival. When this is over, I will be sure to come home and live a life worth living.

With love and hope,

Steffan

Winter was a strange concept for Steffan to wrap his head around. His nose clogged up, the jacket he was given was doing a mediocre job of keeping him warm, the shorter days and longer nights made no sense, and his goggles fogged up constantly. So far the only good thing he could say was that the cold, crisp air was soothing to his lungs and throat.

“Achoo! Eh… Celui qui a inventé les saisons peut aller en enfer,” Pierre muttered as he struggled to light his pipe with a shaking hand.

You realize that thing is going to get you killed right?, Steffan thought before he scribbled down a new idea for a song into a notepad.

Sitting outside of a radio station waiting to be called in for a performance, Steffan sat a respectable distance away from his fellow band member while getting back in the habit of creating tunes in his head. Having reached a blank on what else to add to the notepad, he slipped it into his pocket and gave out a yawn before looking up at the clouds. Donny and Emily had been talking about a storm earlier which had put an unofficial ceasefire to the war in the area. Champei expressed great interest in seeing “snow” again but all Steffan could think was that the storm was a full blown typhoon during the height of the wet season if the clouds over the buildings were anything to go by. Given that it was already cold and it was supposed to get colder once the storm arrived, Steffan was almost convinced people were mad to live here.

“Achoo! Ah, au diable tout ça,” Pierre grumbled as a match he managed to ignite slipped from his hand due to his sneezing.

“You’re better off this way. Trust me, breathe the wrong kind of smoke in and it’ll ruin your life forever,” Steffan said, vaguely recalling the gas accident that nearly killed him from so long ago.

“Eh? You’re one of those music guys aren’t ya?” a voice exclaimed.

Both Steffan and Pierre looked up to see a group of soldiers walking by. One of them, a brown furred Slugcat who had long ears split from the group and was walking towards Steffan.

“Uh yes, yes I am. Same with Pierre over there,” Steffan pointed.

“Bonjour,” Pierre waved back.

“Salut,” the soldier waved back, “A bit surprised to see another person from the Delta this far back. Most of us are on the northern front.”

“Yes and having a real beach party all the way to the Homeland if the newspapers are anything to go by. What brings you further south?”

“Part of the International Army,” another Slugcat walked up, large and stocky suggesting an upbringing from Dondermijn, “Fifteenth Support Battalion, Third Division.”

“Mmm, read your newspaper two weeks ago,” Steffan said while Pierre struck up a conversation with the other soldiers in-between sneezes, “Let me guess, resupply and waiting for the weather to clear?”

“More or less,” the first soldier said, “Though more like some long overdue rest. Been fighting non-stop for three months.”

“Though the music on the radio does help,” the second soldier commented, giving Steffan a knowing look.

“Good to know,” Steffan said as he suddenly felt uneasy, “Uh...do the guys from the Horn say anything good about us?”

“The Southern Horn Brigade? Haven’t seen them in a while, not since that shitshow back in early autumn,” the first sighed.

“Crazy bastards are some of the finest soldiers in this whole damn army. No support of any kind, an amphibious assault against overwhelming odds, and still managed to push the line further than anyone else in a single day,” the second said quietly, almost in reverence, “If I ever see them again, I’m buying them the whole damn bar to drink.”

“Right,” Steffan started before he felt his throat burn and quickly brought his inhaler up with a strangled cough.

“You all right?” the second soldier asked.

Steffan nodded as he inhaled the medicine. Pierre walked over and helped steady Steffan as he waited for his asthma to get under control. Before anyone else could react, the door to the radio station opened and a soldier called out for the two musicians.

“Steffan? Good?” Pierre asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Steffan gave a final cough and cleared his throat, “I’m good.”

“Hey now, don’t go dying on us you hear me? Leave the dying to us and just keep playing those tunes on the radio,” the first soldier said, giving Steffan a pat on the shoulder.

“We’ll do that,” Steffan nudged Pierre with a knowing smile before they headed for the door.

“Keep playing you two! It might not seem like much but having a slice of home on the radio has helped us as much as ammunition has!”

The comment repeated itself in Steffan’s head. He felt relieved to know his contribution mattered in the war, no matter how seemingly insignificant it appeared. But the words “a slice of home” struck a chord in him. Even at his worst Steffan always held onto the idea of “home” being important, just like the rest of his family. No one remembered why, only that the concept of “home” was important. For Steffan to be giving the average soldier who was fighting in a foreign land so far away from everything they knew a small part of “home” through music…

Steffan quickly pulled the notepad out as the door closed behind him and Pierre. Nearly ripping the paper, he flicked to an empty sheet and wrote down “make something about ‘home’” and circled it. Satisfied, he slipped the notepad back into his pocket and accepted the music folder he would be performing for the next three hours.

Spring had come and the war had changed once again. Steffan, now thirty two, had followed the fighting the best he could but was largely kept in the dark. All anyone knew was that the battlelines had been hastily redrawn in the wake of some unspecified defeat for the International Army. The focus instead shifted northwards, where the forces were still strong and momentum could be maintained. This in turn resulted in F Company to be dispatched to play music around the clock and Steffan to sprain one of his hands after one too many sessions with not enough sleep.

“Still don’t understand why they benched me,” Steffan grumbled as he took a bite from a sandwich one handed (the other bandaged and feeling cramped), “I have a slightly sprained hand, I can still sing.”

“And then it becomes my job to rush you to a hospital again when you’re falling over choking your lungs out due to your asthma,” Colin retorted while drinking a soda, “Do I have to remind you I’m the guy who helps keep the company going?”

“If I wanted to sit around on my ass I would have stayed back in New Zoutbeek.”

“Well you’re here and in the army so stop your complaining.”

Steffan and Colin were sitting in a hotel in yet another liberated village. Colin had been both a common and infrequent sight to Steffan. The Scavenger was frequently running back and forth delivering correspondence, transporting officers and band members, and being a general busybody. It suited him, but Steffan could tell Colin had seen better days due to the constant workload and the worry he had for his fellow colonists. In a way Steffan found himself comparing Colin to the village; mostly intact but damaged and exhausted by everything.

“Well what else am I supposed to do? I’ve been losing my mind sitting around waiting,” Steffan sighed.

“How should I know? It’s not like I have all the answers here Steffan,” Colin put his soda down to massage his head.

“Steffan!” Emily ran into the room nearly out of breath.

“What? What happened?” Steffan asked as he put his sandwich down.

“¿Dónde está la maldita radio? Here, listen to this,” she frantically rushed for a radio sitting at the end of the room and turned it on.

Giving Colin a confused look, Steffan walked over to listen. Emily twisted the dial until she found the station she was looking for. The radio blared out the last few notes of a song only for something entirely unexpected to start playing.

They actually did it?, Steffan realized the song to be the national anthem of the Homeland.

It made almost no sense. The armies were in disarray from whatever happened in the late winter. Furthermore, the Homeland was not even close to where the supposed activity of a “superweapon” was located. Hell, the Homeland was considered to be out of the way when compared to the main prizes.

“When did this happen?” he asked as he stared at the radio in confusion.

“Five minutes ago,” Emily answered, “Friends of ours made the first movements to liberate the area. Thought you wanted to know.”

“Huh...so that’s what all the activity amongst the staff last week was about,” Colin commented.

Steffan felt mixed feelings about the situation, tuning out the rest of the world as a crowd began to circle the radio and mutter amongst themselves. The Homeland was being liberated… The Homeland, the distant place that dictated life within the Emerald Delta was being liberated. It seemed so strange how what should be a matter of national pride for the Homeland to be freed from a foreign occupation was so...hollow.

Steffan never had any real love for the Homeland. Why should he? His family always viewed it as a distant foreign force that controlled their lives and he honestly felt the same. When the Homeland fell it was the Emerald Delta that picked up the slack. Now he was closer than ever to the Homeland and Steffan truthfully could not give a damn. He had no national loyalty to a foreign land that subjugated his home and yet…

Well… Maybe in the next few weeks once we liberate the damn place entirely the Delta will be able to breathe easier, he mused as the national anthem started playing again.

Within the following weeks the Homeland had slowly been liberated. Steffan (with a freshly healed hand) and nearly every other band member who was a citizen to the nation had been called to perform within the shell cratered capital in the early summer to commemorate the hard fought victory. It was only a week after that performance that the war took a turn for the worst. The superweapon had returned alongside a new mysterious army attacking everyone. Battlelines were redrawn, ancient terrors were being unleashed, combat on a scale unlike anything the modern world has ever seen was fought as soldiers struggled to hold the line.

“Summer heat brings hellfire” indeed, Steffan thought as he set aside a newspaper, And here we thought things were going well for us.

“You done with that?” Muhamid asked, pointing at the newspaper.

“Here, take it,” Steffan handed the newspaper over.

Off in the distance artillery could faintly be heard. After somehow stabilizing the lines after three days of routes, commanders called up whatever forces they could to shore up defenses to reorganize and to regain morale. This resulted in F Company to get spread out all along the front playing performances in a frantic effort to do the latter task. Currently, Steffan along with the rest of the Third Platoon were waiting in a staging area to reorganize for their next performance.

“Have you sent any letters back home?” Muhamid asked as he opened the newspaper only to sigh and put it back down, “Δεν μπορώ να το διαβάσω. Φυσικά.”

“I managed to right after I got back from that mandatory concert they dragged me and a few hundred other musicians out to perform for. Now I’m just trying to figure out what the hell is going on like everyone else,” Steffan admitted, pulling out his notepad and writing down another idea for a future song.

“The things the purposed organisms are meant to deal with showed up,” Muhamid said with a bitter smile, “What else is there to ask?”

“Would be nice if they came over and dealt with those things then. The whole war was asinnine to begin with and that was before whatever this is happened,” Steffan waved in the direction of the artillery fire.

Muhamid grumbled in his native tongue and just glared at the ground. Steffan could hardly blame him. The conflict had entered a new stage and it seemed that not even “slices of home” were enough to make anyone feel better. Steffan found more solace listening to having simple talks with the soldiers and offering whatever comfort he could in person as opposed to over the radio. Even with their jaded bitterness and mocking statements on his inexperience with the fighting, he could tell he was making a difference.

If only I could do more, he thought to himself before pulling out his inhaler and spraying his lungs.

“You all right? Might want to start rationing that given the supply lines are torn to shreds,” Muhamid pointed at the inhaler.

“I’m fine,” Steffan got up and headed deeper into the camp, “Just doing my job to keep up the morale. Not like we can do anything else until something happens.”

With a sigh Steffan absentmindedly pushed a few keys on the piano he was leaning against in an unused radio broadcasting room. The front was slowly regaining momentum in the past few weeks but it was obvious that the new enemy had prolonged the conflict. In an attempt to get his mind off the chaos and having requested personal leave, Steffan found himself trying to figure out the song ideas that had been brewing in his mind for months with very little success.

Missing home… Feeling alone… Feeling aimless… None of this is working, he thought as he slammed a fist on the keys before rubbing his face in frustration.

He knew he was close to making something. The problem was he had too many ideas and the infectious weariness of the war was getting to him. Where before he felt aimless due to life dragging him along, now Steffan just felt worn down from just trying to ease the pain everyone was feeling while life still continued to have its way with him.

“Wa wa waa,” Donny walked in with two paper cups, “Was wondering where you disappeared to.”

“Been trying to make this work,” Steffan played the only chord he managed to create that sounded right, “I know I’m on to something but it’s been...difficult.”

“So you decide to take a break from playing music to play some music,” Donny handed one of the cups over, “You my friend need a break.”

Steffan looked at the cup and realized it was coffee, “You remind me of Akaki,” he took a tentative sip of the coffee.

“Who?”

“Friend from back home. Dragoncat that could play a trumpet solo just as well as Emily and would ask for another the moment he finished,” Steffan explained.

“Sounds like he would fit right in with the rest of us,” Donny chuckled before taking a gulp of his own coffee, “Come on. Let’s go for a walk and talk about this troublesome tune of yours.”

Agreeing, Steffan got up with his joints popping and headed out the door with Donny. The two left the radio station and began aimlessly walking through the streets, talking about the tune and the ideas that spawned it. After they ran out of ideas to talk about the idea, they just continued walking. Steffan had to admit, the wandering was helping to clear his thoughts and make everything seem less...burdensome. He had no obligations due to his leave, the war was far away enough that did not hear the distant thunder of guns, and the fact he could just have some time to think relieved a great deal of stress he had not realized he was dealing with.

Won’t last of course, he thought as he eyed a Rover drive by with officers in it, But for right now this is enough.

Another few days later and Steffan was back to playing with the rest of the band. Somehow, they managed to convince the company commander to let them play the opening song for Dancing on the Rooftops with the singer switching between band members. Steffan was fairly sure the idea came from Champei but he had no way to prove it.

Well that was fun, he thought as he played the final notes and the song came to a close, What’re we playing and singing next?

As he began to turn over the music sheets, he noticed a sudden commotion behind the glass. The intelligence officers and the radio operator were busy yelling and hurrying about, causing enough noise to be heard by the rest of the band.

“Uh ahem. Sorry about the delay folks. It appears we have some complications on our end,” Steffan coughed into the microphone.

“Steffan, shut the hell up!” Muhamid whisper shouted as the commotion continued.

Well what the hell am I supposed to do? Just sit here in silence?!, Steffan glared back only for the microphones to click off.

“តើពួកគេកំពុងធ្វើអ្វី?” Champei muttered as she got up and opened the door, “Hé! Que se passe-t-il?”

The others blinked in confusion to one another and got up as well. Steffan heard some frantic shouting and saw a soldier running past the glass with a portable radio transmitter. With a shrug, he pushed past Champei and walked towards the closing door the soldier had run out of. Soldiers ran back and forth in a panic, speaking rapidly in multiple languages and exchanging confused shouts. Unable to make sense of what it was, he headed for the door.

It was then he heard it. It was something he had heard nearly two months ago during the victory parade. The sound reminded him of crashing waves upon the beach and the torrential rains of the wet season. It was the cacophonous sound of thousands of footsteps and vehicles moving all at once. Upon reaching the door leading outside, he pushed it open and headed outside only to see something that made him freeze in his tracks. Even with a light drizzle that darkened the afternoon with an overcast he saw it clearly.

“What...the...hell?” he breathed as he saw a gigantic column of infantry and vehicles marching down the street.

“Από πού προήλθε ένας ολόκληρος νέος στρατός?” Muhamid asked in shock.

“Waa waa…” Donny muttered in disbelief.

“Eh bien, on dirait que la guerre vient de changer à nouveau,” Pierre chuckled nervously.

Despite being unable to understand a word they said, Steffan knew they were just as amazed as he was. There were thousands of purposed organisms of all kinds, soldiers bearing different colonial uniforms, and more all marching down the street. It looked like the International Army in its prime only it was clear that this was something else entirely. The equipment was too uniform, crimson lizards and Vultures and even stranger creatures were riding in vehicles or being ridden themselves, and vehicles that matched no known force involved in the war. All of this and more sporting a symbol emblazoned on arm patches, bags, vehicle hulls; a golden circle with crossing lines neatly dividing it into four equal parts.

“វា... តើពួកគេពិតជាបានឆ្លងកាត់វាមែនទេ?” Champei whimpered, looking like she was about to faint.

“¡Oye! ¿Qué demonios es todo esto?” Emily yelled at the column.

“¡Refuerzos! ¡Llegó la caballería!” a purposed organism, a turquoise furred Slugcat with a Falmencion accent, shouted back while riding a Rover with a lizard with mechanical parts sitting next to him.

“Would someone please explain what is going on?” Steffan asked, unable to look away from the scene.

“Wa… I think we are seeing the great plans of the Iterators unfolding,” Donny replied as he swallowed nervously.

Steffan could only nod in dumbfounded shock. The statement made far too much sense even with the sheer unbelievability of it. The Iterators and their purposed organisms, the true secret rulers of the Rainlands, always had been up to something. They manipulated, they schemed, they influenced, and they planned. Only the most ignorant wandering tribes and the willfully blind would argue otherwise but everyone knew where the real power lies within the Rainlands. And now...that power was being unleashed upon the world.

The rest of the year had passed in a shocking turn of events. The reinforcing army claimed it was part of a secret society that protected the entirety of Alcenta throughout the course of its entire modern history. The armies of the Rainlands called their deployment the “Rubicon Offensive,” a supposed emergency plan to save Alcenta from itself. With the force of all the precipitation of the Rainlands, the new army crashed into the war with the entire force of a tropical hurricane and rewrote all the rules. It was something straight out of ancient myth and legend (or supposedly the final hours of Shi Chara’s Caste Rebellion, something Champei had insisted happened much to the skepticism of everyone else) only in the form of modern warfare. Ground was taken, armies surged forward, the first unknown army had been harassed to the point where it lost the superweapon, not even the snows of winter stopped it.

The mad bastards are actually pulling through, Steffan thought as he and the rest of the band sat in a restaurant listening to a radio.

The radio crackled with static as the lights flickered. Steffan looked towards the window and the snowstorm that was blowing outside. Just hours before he had been playing with the others as usual until the storm blew in and the radio operators and reporters became more enamored with keeping track with the latest movements. He could tell it was not going to let up anytime soon, possibly going for days if the prior years experience was anything to go by.

“So any idea on what we’ll be playing after this clears up?” Steffan asked, looking back at the other band members.

“None from me,” Emily replied.

“Probably more of the same,” Muhamid shrugged, downing a shot glass of alcohol.

“The storm is a big one. We’ll be lucky if the radio tower is strong enough to reach anyone as it currently stands,” Champei said, scowling at the radio in annoyance.

Steffan gave the comments some thought and mentally shrugged himself. Despite the Rubicon Offensive being quite the shock and the war itself shifting, the International Band Regiment had remained largely unaffected. Steffan still found himself playing in radio broadcast stations, at staging areas, and in hospitals. If anything, the most drastic change he could think of was having several more purposed organisms in his audiences who acted almost like any other he had performed for. It was honestly more surprising for Steffan that the secretive, self-important, seemingly all powerful purposed organisms who reshaped the Rainlands on a daily basis with no one noticing could be so...ordinary.

“Well bad weather or not, the war’s not stopping and neither are we,” Steffan said earnestly.

“Still trying to make a difference in your own way,” Champei shook her head smiling.

“Well, it is what I do best of course.”

“But what about what happens afterwards? The war will end eventually and it’s not like there will be a need for an International Band Regiment forever,” Muhamid pointed out before elbowing Pierre (who was partially drunk) and began speaking to him.

Steffan gave the question some thought. He honestly had no idea what to do after the war. While he would never wish for the war to continue for longer than necessary (seeing the broken soldiers struggling to cope with everything in hospitals while he played and sang songs in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain was already difficult), it had given him a sense of purpose and meaning. Without being a necessary participant in the greater conflict Steffan would just be another pianist wandering the streets of New Zoutbeek, looking for the next gig to play, the next paycheck to buy food and medicine, not quite living…

Is this what purposed organisms feel when they have nothing to do?, he wondered as the others talked amongst each other and the radio crackled in static.

Steffan Brouwer, age thirty three, was not religious. He had faith in people, not deities. He believed in honest work and reaping the rewards of that work, not having miracles just solve everything. For nearly two years, Alcenta had burned to fuel the engines of war and Steffan bore witness to many things as a humble pianist sitting just beyond reach of the fighting. He has seen ordinary men and women willingly sign up for causes they did not understand, stoically march off to the sounds of weapons fire, limp back after facing all the awesome terror of war, and march back for more. He has seen the dawn of a new age where the hidden forces of the world reveal themselves, rewriting history in ways that will take years to even begin to understand, and the perplexing normalcy of those who make up those forces. Steffan Brouwer was not religious, but he had faith in people.

Steffan Brouwer, like countless people around the world, was praying. To who or what, he had no idea. The war was nearing a finality and no one knew how it would end. At the start of the new year, Steffan had believed that it would end under relatively circumstances. No one, not even the purposed organisms who knew everything and were ready to face anything, had been ready for the apocalypse that had been unleashed. Another superweapon had been unleashed and entire countries were not so much as conquered as they were physically shattered. The outcome of the war and possibly the future of Alcenta now rested on the battered and patchworked forces that followed behind the International Army for one last battle.

“Anything?” Steffan asked anxiously as the radio sat with nothing but static buzzing through its speaker.

Donny shook his head. Steffan sighed and merely walked to a bar counter and ordered himself a whiskey. It was mid-afternoon. Nearly the entirety of F Company was present in one of the few large towns that remained undamaged throughout the war. Having holed up in a hotel, all they could do was sit and wait as the final battle was taking place. Colin was playing billiards with Muhamid and a few other soldiers, Emily was asleep a few seats down with an empty bottle of wine in one of her hands, Pierre was smoking his pipe and staring out a window, and Champei was praying with the more religious members of the company. Steffan had tried to distract himself by working on the song, but all he could do was just wonder how the war would end and if anything was listening.

Just let it be over, he begged silently, This world has been through so much. Please… Let this be it.

Silence responded back. Steffan simply took a sip of his whiskey and swirled the rest of it while he waited. Truthfully, the fight was so far away that the outcome would not immediately change anything for him. But he had heard the panic over radios as armies all over collapsed, seen pictures in newspapers that showed new geological features where people once lived, and streams of refugees fleeing in unadulterated terror. Steffan had remained strangely detached from the war and yet it was only now at the very end where the stakes had risen to their highest that he dared to actually ask the ancient question of “what fate?”

Funny to think that it’s now of all times I’m asking, he thought as he pulled out his inhaler and breathed the medicine in after a few weak pumps, What fate for Alcenta? Colonies, empires, nations… All thinking they will last forever only for the whole damn world to go to hell. What fate will this chapter end on?

And so Steffan waited. He prayed. He asked questions. He shared hopeful glances to the other band members of F Company. He got Donny a drink. He shook his head in disbelief as Pierre refilled his pipe and relit it. He helped Muhamid carry Emily away from the bar as she dried to drink herself back into a stupor. He asked Champei if she heard anything in her own prayers. And through it all, Steffan waited.

Finally, the radio crackled to life and the entire room held its breath. A voice came on and spoke, too faintly for Steffan to hear from the other end of the room. Then, those nearest to the radio leaped up and started cheering. The entire room quickly followed as it became clear what had happened. Steffan joined in, caught up in the celebrations as everyone laughed, cheered, and cried.

The International Army had pulled through and won. The war was over.

Months after the final battle ended Steffan found himself once again sitting at a piano mindlessly pushing the keys in a bar. F Company had disbanded along with the rest of the Internal Band Regiment three weeks after the armistice was signed. The other members of the fourth band had gone their separate ways, back to their homes all across the Rainlands. Upon returning home his uniform instantly made Steffan a hero. He had been approached by businessmen, flirted with by jubilant women, and given a pension that would have set it up for a year before he had left.

Instead he simply renegotiated his rent for his old apartment, learned that Akaki had joined a reservist garrison force for New Zoutbeek to avoid being shipped out, reconnected with his parents, and spent weeks simply reintegrating himself into the structured chaos that was New Zoutbeek. Prices had steadily been dropping ever since the Homeland had been liberated, an independence movement had slowly begun growing across the Rainlands, and Steffan had to remind himself that he was back home and thus did not need to put on his uniform. He felt completely lost and unsure on what to do now that he was no longer needed.

“So… This is a surprise,” a distantly familiar voice commented as Steffan continued pushing keys at random.

Steffan looked up and immediately came to a salute upon seeing an officer's uniform.

“At ease,” the familiar captain responded, “There’s no need for that.”

The voice clicked and Steffan’s eyes widened in recognition, “Captain Schmidt… I wasn’t expecting to see you sir.”

“Neither was I expecting to see a green furred, multi-eye colored pianist sitting at a piano in a bar again but here we are,” Dolf Schmidt smirked, “Welcome home even if you’ve been here for a while.”

Steffan merely blinked in indecisiveness. He was unsure on how to react to the captain who had given him a chance to live only to meet the same officer after everything.

“Care for a drink? I’ll pay for it,” Dolf offered.

“Is this another assignment sir?” Steffan asked.

Dolf laughed, “No no. Just offering a fellow serviceman a drink. Truthfully I could use one after all the bureaucratic nonsense they keep sending my way and it looks like you could use one as well.”

Steffan felt both a sense of calming relaxation and unease build up in him. Despite the discipline to respect seniority making him feel as if he was compelled to obey the suggestion, he had been discharged from service. There was also the fact that this was captain Dolf Schmidt and thus Steffan had mixed feelings about the man.

Ah what the hell? You listened to him before and it worked out for ya. “Sure thing. I could go for a drink,” Steffan smiled.

“Mind if I join in gentlemen?” a different voice asked.

Both Steffan and Dolf looked to the side and saw an unusual Slugcat. While wearing the standard infantry uniform, there was something...unusual about him. Black and blue fur with a strange few tufts of red fur around the muzzle, giving him an artificial grin. Steffan could have sworn this unusual stranger had not been standing there a moment ago but he shrugged it off.

“Of course,” Dolf said warmly, “Anything in particular?”

“I’ll take a Hel-Brouwsel. Don’t worry, I know my limits,” the stranger replied.

“Beer for me,” Steffan answered for his own drink.

The three of them sat around the table talking. It was aimless chatter, mostly about their friends and their thoughts about how the world was changing. Dolf complained about the paperwork he was dealing with while the stranger mentioned that he wished he could have done more during the fighting. Steffan could not help but feel...as if he had done very little compared to the two of them. Dolf had ensured New Zoutbeek supported the war without collapsing in on itself while the stranger participated in the struggle in some sort of intelligence analytics unit, both far more meaningful courses of action than what Steffan did.

“Oh I did, did I?” the stranger commented when Steffan voiced his thoughts.

“From memory, you once said you were an ‘asthmatic, weak bodied lost cause.’ I also recall the International Band Regiment was highly praised by all forces and that even the enemy had some favorable things to say about your performance,” Dolf remarked.

“All I did was play the piano. The real heroes fought on the front and actually did something,” Steffan countered.

“The real heroes huh? That might be true but even heroes need someone to help them,” the stranger said as he finished his Hel-Brouwsel, “Trust me, you helped a lot more than you realize. The radio shaped this war so much and you used it to uplift the spirits of those who were cut off from all other forms of civilization.”

“I picked you out of all the pianists I saw because I knew you had the talent and the skill to motivate others,” Dolf said.

“I thought you chose me because I was the first one that was good at playing the piano, had nothing going for him, and would avoid being pulled from the rear to be sent off to the front,” Steffan glared at Dolf.

“A little bit of all of that too I’ll admit. But I still think I made the right choice,” Dolf shrugged.

“So what now? The war’s over and here I am talking to you again without a clue on what to do next.”

“You remind me of a friend from long ago,” the stranger said quietly, “She… She also was at a crossroads at one point in her life.”

“And what happened to her?”

“She made a decision. It was life changing and her family did not approve of it at first but...it turned out for the best.”

“And where is she now if you don’t mind me asking?” Dolf asked.

“Oh she’s doing all right the last I heard from her,” the stranger leaned back in thought, “Just reminiscing about her is all.”

Steffan sighed and finished his beer, “She must’ve been a good friend. She serve?”

“No and thank goodness she didn’t,” the stranger replied before sighing, “But...she did something I never could’ve and I can’t help but respect her for doing it.”

“What was it?”

The stranger looked at Steffan and sighed sadly, “She was a purposed organism. One day she felt...unsatisfied with her life. She decided to retire and choose her own path rather than let it be decided for her. It was the hardest decision of her life but she still went through with it,” the stranger gave a hopeful smile, “It was the best thing she ever did. If she was able to do that, then anyone could.”

“Hmm, choosing a path forward in an uncertain time… It sounds like a lot of people will be doing that these days,” Dolf mused before taking a sip of his own drink.

“Probably,” the stranger got up and left some money on the table, “Give that to the bartender as a tip. Thanks for the drinks captain. As for you mister piano man...hope to hear you play again in the future. Good day.”

The stranger gave a sharp salute before turning on his heel and walking away. Steffan and Dolf watched as he passed by a waiter and some patrons walking into the bar before heading out the door. Steffan could not help but feel inspired by the tale and it was easy to understand why. The man personally knew a purposed organism who chose her own destiny and was inspired by it.

“What a peculiar man,” Dolf said as he finished his own drink.

Steffan could not help but agree, “Yeah… No kidding.”

He quickly realized he never learned the man’s name. Just another faceless soldier in a sea of identical, faceless individuals. And yet this faceless individual left an impression on Steffan just by sharing a few drinks in the most unusual way.

A peculiar man indeed.

By the time the wet season arrived months later Steffan found himself in another bar playing music. It was a steady night and he had a solid paycheck ready for once he was done. Akaki was playing a few chairs down and the band was finishing its most recent song. Glancing around, Steffan could quickly pick out veterans from the war. There were those who drank their drinks with dark looks no miserable drunk could ever hope to match, artificial limbs that replaced what had been lost, and the occasional freeze of confusion. It was a painful reminder of the conflict and that so many were involved in something so far beyond their understanding.

Easy there Steffan. This isn’t the field hospital, Steffan reminded himself as a polite round of applause came from the patrons.

“Thank you! Thank you! Before we continue on with tonight’s performance I would like to allow one of our band members to play a solo for you all,” the band director, an ivory white furred Slugcat, said, “Please give your attention to our pianist for the night. The one, the only, Steffan Brouwer!”

Akaki shot Steffan a look of incredulous surprise, something Steffan felt was warranted given his sudden introduction. While he had asked for this he expected to play later and definitely not be introduced with such grandiose flair. Even so, he could not stop himself from standing up and waving to the audience.

“Thank you. If I am to be honest, I was not expecting such an entrance but here I am,” he replied as the applause quieted down, “Before I begin I would like to share with you what I am about to play. Back during the war I was a member of the International Band Regiment. Some of you very likely heard the Swinging Thunderbolts on the radio and I am proud to say I was one of them. Between performances I had met with those who had been pulled back from the front. One night I was told I was giving a slice of home to those who were serving and the comment stuck with me,” Steffan took a deep breath as he recalled that winter night over a year and half ago, “Ever since then this tune stuck with me as well as the meanings behind it. Home, as a concept, has been an important part of my life and to know that it mattered just as much to others inspired me to make this song. Tonight you shall be my first audience for the song that came from that simple comment and tune.

“Ladies and gentleman tonight I shall share with you not only a song that is personally important, but carries with it the simple hopes and dreams of all of those who never returned. May this song guide them back to their homes and loved ones, where they might be. I give you, ‘Home Again,’” Steffan announced before he sat down to a quiet applause.

Grabbing his shoulder bag, he pulled out the scribbled sheets he had written himself. He recalled the conversation with the stranger and Dolf and how it motivated him to sit down and create the song. He recalled the distant, homesick eyes of soldiers who were resting from the fighting. He recalled the comradery he had with the other band members of the fourth band. He recalled the silent thanks he received from those who listened to him playing as he reminded them of better times and places.

With one quick use of his inhaler and clearing his throat, he began to play. The song started slowly and softly.

“You’re someplace far away

Somewhere that’s strange and not your home

But when you lose your way

You always know in your heart you’re never alone

“Someone is waiting for you

Even when you are in strange distant places

You know you’ll make due

Because you’ll be back to a familiar space”

The song began to pick up in tempo. The notes became louder and more energetic. Two years of hopeful longing to return home for both himself and countless others filled Steffan as he played.

“So it might just be as well

You know it doesn’t matter on when

You’ll be walking up to ring that doorbell

It’s only a matter of time until you’re home again

“Everyone travels the world

Looking for adventure and glory

But a home can never be sold

And there’s always an end to a story

“We’re always wandering

Never stopping in our search some grand solution

But even with that constant longing

There’s always somewhere that doesn’t need ambition

“So it might just be as well

You know it doesn’t matter on when

You’ll be walking up to ring that doorbell

It’s only a matter of time until you’re home again”

The song again picked up speed and energy. Steffan was entirely focused on playing the song. Nothing else mattered in that moment. He had to play this song.

“Well home is just always around that corner

We’re trapped in a curse to always wander

Some mythical place to never be seen

Always where nothing is as it seems

“So it might just be as well

You know it doesn’t matter on when

You’ll be walking up to ring that doorbell

It’s only a matter of time until you’re home again

“And when you find yourself back home again

Nothing is quite as you left it before

But somethings stay the same as they were then

No matter how long ago you walked out the door

“So it might just be as well

You know it doesn’t matter on when

You’ll be walking up to ring that doorbell

It’s only a matter of time until you’re home again

“So it might just be as well

You know it doesn’t matter on when

You’ll be walking up to ring that doorbell

It’s only a matter of time until you’re home again!”

With one final set of chords the song ended. Panting, he heard the applause of the audience. It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest. The song that carried the hopes, dreams, and desires of so many had been made and played. It was something no one but Steffan Brouwer could have done and he had done it. Steffan had come home and he had brought them back with him.

“Thank you,” he said to the crowd as he breathed heavily, earning him further applause.

Akaki was clapping with everyone else and giving him a beaming smile of approval. Steffan could tell his friend was proud of him. He had taken something he was passionate about and poured his heart and soul into it.

If only the others could’ve been here, he thought about the other band members he served with and how Akaki would have fitted in with them.

Hours later after the gig was done, Steffan was walking home with Akaki. It was late and the rain was coming down in a torrential downpour. Still, they knew their way through the streets and were able to move without too much difficulty. As they did so, Steffan’s mind raced as he recalled just how well his song went and how right it felt to play it.

“This is where we part ways my friend,” Akaki said as he started to turn away.

“Hey Akaki?” Steffan called out through the rain.

“Yeah?”

“Think we could meet up on the weekend? I have some song ideas I’d like to talk about with you.”

Akaki blinked in surprise before laughing, “You want me, a trumpet player, to discuss making songs with you, a pianist.”

“Well who else am I going to talk them over with?” Steffan asked rhetorically.

“Steffan, Steffan, Steffan… What the hell happened to you over there? Yeah sure, let’s see how deep your madness goes,” Akaki sighed fondly before waving, “Have a good night my friend!”

“You as well!” Steffan waved back before turning and heading for his apartment.

Entering his apartment, Steffan dried himself off and got ready to sleep. It was late and he would need to get up early in the morning. He had promised to visit his parents in the afternoon and he would need to buy more food after that. The rain was going to make these tasks difficult and it would be even more so if he was exhausted.

But before he flicked off the light, he caught sight of his uniform. Running a hand over it, he recalled the others he played alongside with. He reminisced over the songs they played, the struggles they faced, and the comfort they gave each other. He knew they were in their own homes and living their own lives, but he could not help but wonder if tonight’s performance would have been better had they been there with him.

Maybe Colin knows where everyone is… That or I ask Champei. She’s got connections and all of that with her family, Steffan thought as he turned away from his uniform and flicked the light off.

Sitting down on his bed, he pulled his goggles off and set them on a nightstand. Rolling over, he closed his eyes and slowly drifted to sleep. Steffan finally understood the two messages his family stood by. Steffan was home and he had plans for the future. He would live a worthy life and keep control over it.

Steffan Brouwer may not know what his fate is, but he would not let it be decided for him. He was home. His life was his to live. It was not grandiose or exciting, but it was much more than mere existence. And that was all he would ever need.