“You dare summon tower staff on a whim?” the familiar man oozed with contempt. “The guild has its influence, but there are limits. You must know your limits.”

  I recognize this. It’s the giant guild office in the Central City dungeon where I accidentally tried to deliver that courier package. It’s exactly the same. It’s also completely empty save for the familiar man and some new big one standing on the far side of the large room. He wears the same standard guild uniform I’ve seen many times. He’s also very, very old.

  “It is no idle whim, honorable Linus,” the uniformed man patiently soothed. “It is a matter of grave importance. Is it true that your preparations are complete?”

  The familiar man… no, he’s certainly this Linus. If I focus on him, I can tell that it’s true. Linus shows an even deeper disdain on his face at the guild staff’s question. Underneath, he feels surprised. No one should know other than his long, loyal team.

  “You lower yourselves keeping spies like some petty townsman.”

  “We have no need of spies, sir,” the guild quickly corrected, still maintaining the constantly deescalating tone. “Many far more discrete methods are available in our rich coffers. Recall, the people highly value our points for a reason.”

  “Your points are as worthless and empty as your words,” Linus instantly retorted, bordering on enraged. “One of my people permanently lost his life using your cursed scout’s record of Anatoly’s inner domain. Is that the kind of quality that your points buy?”

  “We regret any errors in the record, sir,” the guild sadly replied. “However, that cursed scout also lost his life. That missive was his last, great act. A gift of love, heroically offered to all humanity left on Kyklos.”

  “Cease the pathetic chatter. I’ve climbed far too high to believe worthless guild excuses any longer. What do you want?”

  “A simple favor. We request that you host a gathering of all the town lords and their critical staff. They must be informed of your brave accomplishment before any further action. You must properly re-light Kyklos’ flame as its new hope. It’s been so long since anyone has reached this height.”

  “You wish for me to ignite a raging, out of control fire within that snake pit?” Linus shouted, furious. “They will never submit to such a thing.”

  “Yes, they will certainly doubt your motives. You will pledge your hospitality as a guarantee.”

  “Of course, save their backs from secreted knives by greatly exposing my own,” Linus sardonically replied, a growing exhaustion coloring his demeanor before turning serious. “Are you trying to knock me off my rung, guildmaster?”

  “We would never, sir. It is our utmost purpose to support you. Our charter forbids otherwise.”

  “And if I say no?” Linus whispered through tightly ground teeth.

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  “The City Lord’s grace has already been received, sir,” the guildmaster responded with bright, sparkling eyes and a kind, encouraging smile. “He consents.”

  Turning away, Linus finally allows his countenance to fall in defeat. His previous strength and bravado gone, he stares outside towards the tower in the distance, a subtle melancholy replacing everything. There’s a window there with a pleasant view. Also, nearby is a large enough banquet room to host that unruly mob. A beautiful place to spend the night waiting. After all, it will take staff until morning to gather them all. Everything else will be otherwise blocked until the meeting ends, and sleep is for those lower on the ladder.

  “It will be as you say,” he clearly calls out into the cavernous room, simultaneously lifting his right hand into the air.

  Instincts roar as my voracious focus forces the scene to slow. Linus’ eyes are fiercely lit, precisely staring at that far away open window in the tower. Somehow, it’s as though he sees the inside as clearly as if standing there. However, his eyes aren’t being powered in the brutish fashion to which I have become accustomed. It’s significantly more complicated, as if all of the individual pieces are treated differently. They all come together in concert for a far, far greater effect. A wonderful symphony!

  Does that mean that my eyes are just the start? There’s more? More specific pieces. Wait, he’s also simultaneously channeling to more than one place. How is that possible? I’ve never tried to do both my hands and eyes at the same time. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to me! Somehow, I’m certain that I’d clumsily fail even if I tried. How strange.

  Allowing the scene to progress slightly further, I force it to slow again. His rising hand cuts through the surrounding spacial energies like a knife. Or, no. It’s not his hand. His finger? No, no, it’s what his finger transforms and projects. It’s a kind of tether, very similar to the slime’s. However, this one is long, straight, hard, and sharp. It needs to cut and not sense, after all.

  Quickly moving my focus over to the tear, I’m still so amazed by its phenomenal beauty. At how perfectly it folds open like a carefully designed, blooming flower. Constantly swirling energies congeal on the edges, keeping the tear from collapsing back in on itself. It’s a balance. A perfect balance. How much must one practice this song to balance everything so perfectly every time?

  By chance, the faintest of lights steals my attention as it briefly eclipses the gaping tear. My focus reflexively shifts to the new toy, eager to vacuum it in along with all the other new treasures. However, the little light’s gone. I rapidly shift my focus around the surrounding space, rummaging for the lost prize. Given how slow everything has become, how did I lose it? What happened?

  Urgently searching deeper and deeper, I sense another brief display farther off in my periphery. Locking it in my sights, I force time even slower. Slower. Slower! Even in the dream, I feel real pain as a consequence of my directed energies. My focus zooming in on the tiny, insignificant spec, I finally see something. It’s a pocket! He has a spacial pocket anchored to himself, faithfully following his every move, and carrying who knows what incredible valuables inside.

  How did I miss this until now? The pockets of the porters and professional merchants transports wandering the dungeons were always easily observed. Always bright like lanterns shining in the dark. How is this one different? It’s so much quieter. The energies are far more contained. Oh, the folds. How clever. They’re used to mask the twisted balance of energies holding it closed.

  I could watch this forever. I could live in this dream. However, the unrelenting pain harshly demands otherwise. Relaxing my focus, I allow the dream to flow naturally again.

  Linus steps through the tear and into the tower. The city sparkles in the nighttime view from the window. It never seems to sleep either, always kept awake by duties, obligations, or some threat to be managed. He barely remembers home anymore. Were the cities there like this one? Did they also demand so much?