The days blurred into an indistinct haze of battle and recovery.

  As the weeks passed, we repeated the same process of judiciously choosing our opponents. We won more battles, added more Flows to the treasury. My fellow Griidlords reported further level increases, and I came to appreciate the value of the Synergy skill. In years to come, our Griidlords could become a force to be feared by any city. But I was young, and my focus was not on years in the future but on making that season a success.

  My own leveling had slowed. It took weeks of battle to arrive at level 31. It had been expected, but nonetheless, it was difficult to process the notion that my progression was reaching a flatter part of the curve. It had been a giddy experience, rising so quickly from irrelevant to a point where I could impact the outcomes of battles. I knew I was exceptional in being such a force in my first season of the Falling. But I could barely withstand the deceleration in my progression.

  The greatest frustration lay with Chowwick and the Key Fragments. The Orb we had won from Buffalo did not complete our requirement. Investigating the details in HUD revealed that we were 98 percent of the way to a completed Key. When I discovered this fact, I was not overly worried. I had seen several Orbs with Key Fragments in our first weeks of the Falling; I expected to see many more.

  When I reported to Chowwick that we had not acquired a full Key, his response surprised and alarmed me. He explained that we had met an exceptional number of Orbs with Key Fragments. His mood became dark and regretful for a time. It would soon return to its more familiar boisterous state. Within a few days, he had rediscovered his faith in our destiny. He had resumed believing that I was somehow the lantern that would lead us through the darkness to a better place.

  For a time, I was soothed by his certainty. But as the weeks passed and each captured Orb continued to contain no Key Fragments, my concerns deepened. We had had a good season. By the standards of Boston, we had had a great season. We had acquired more than 100 Flows. The city rejoiced. Balthazar enjoyed unrivaled support in every action he took. The chants of "Blood Prince" followed me through the streets. But as each Orb came and supplied no further fragments, I grew worried. We didn’t need a Key. It was fancy to think we could compete for a locked Orb. But it was something I had promised myself. It was something Chowwick believed in. I couldn’t fathom disappointing him.

  I continued to steal moments with the journal of John the Dispeller. His writing was disjointed and hard to follow. This journal appeared to have been a catch-all for the legendary figure. Pages of strange equations would be broken by journal entries and other plans. There were endless random drawings that I came to believe were without significance but were, in fact, just the idle doodling of a man with few other diversions.

  He made references to terms I knew of from before The Fall, but he spoke of these things with a familiarity that confused me. He spoke of the old United States of America in a way that was so familiar as to lead me to believe he had experienced it firsthand. Despite my initial incredulity at the ridiculousness of the proposition, each new passage only added to my confusion.

  One passage, in particular, held my attention. I went back to it time and again…

  ***

  From the 16th Journal of John the Dispeller

  At the time of my incident, there had been at least 16 other events that I was aware of. Each event was similar to my experience. Not all involved a violation of safety protocols. The first was a lab tech named Clive something-or-other in 2024. After his disappearance, precautions were increased, but occasional accidents continued. The fields generated by the incidents seemed stable, but there was no way to interact with them. Sites were sealed, and work continued. There was speculation that the victims of the incidents would survive, that the intensity of the fields would preserve them completely, indefinitely. I had not believed those theories, though clearly, I was proven wrong by my own experience.

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  It leads me to wonder. I have visited other “Prophets,” seen the fields. They exist even now, more than a thousand years later. I keep wondering if there are others in those fields, others like me, with knowledge of the past. I wonder what dangers they might hold. What harm could someone with true knowledge of this technology do if they emerged into this strange new world?

  But, more than that, I yearn for someone else to emerge from a field. To know someone else from my time. Someone else who can share my experience. There are times when I just yearn to be with someone who can share my trauma, share my loss. There are times when I wonder what I am doing with my quest; there are times when it seems pointless. Why should I interest myself with the fate of a world that bears no similarity to my world, that seems like a drug-induced fantasy?

  But then I realize that this might be all that remains of humanity and that my legacy might be its preservation, its salvation. My life ended with the accident. This is a kind of afterlife. But I can do something with this afterlife. I can save humanity and be part of helping it have a future beyond this madness.

  ***

  I stood on a rise, Chowwick and Magneblade standing behind me. We watched the figure streaking across the landscape. It was an Arrow suit, moving fast even by the standards of the type. I had caught a glimpse of the suit’s colors.

  Magneblade said, “She’s glowing with the Flows she carries. She’s angling this way. Fast as she’s going, we can intercept her. With three of us, it would be a simple matter to kill her and take the Flows.”

  Chowwick looked at me, unsure. His voice was uncertain, “I think we’ll leave this one go, Wilric.”

  Magneblade said, “The glow is strong in this one. She’s returning to her Tower with a small fortune. We can intercept and take her easily, but we need to move fast.”

  I could feel Chowwick’s eyes on me. I watched the streaking figure, blazing across the landscape with wild abandon. I’d watched her before; I knew the glee she took in this wild freedom. I couldn’t find the words to tell them that we couldn’t attack her. I knew the betrayal it was considered to think this way or feel this way. But it was impossible for me to think about crushing that perfect wildflower as she reveled in her power and freedom. I wanted more than anything to bring more Flows back to my city. More than almost anything. But I wouldn’t do this.

  Chowwick said, “I’m tellin’ ya, we leave this one go.”

  Magneblade started to speak, “We owe it to our—”

  He stopped speaking abruptly. They were behind me, and I couldn’t see the look Chowwick directed toward Magneblade, but I could hear its effect in the way Magneblade abruptly stopped speaking.

  Racquel’s racing form churned across the landscape. I watched her, feeling the confusion and conflict that came with this moment. Battling Morningstar had been discordant with my feelings. I had enjoyed the man’s company and support in the past, and yet I had hurt him. It had been made easier by his titanic power. It had been made easier because of how hard it was to harm him.

  Racquel was alone. With the three of us in position to easily ambush her, this felt different. And she had saved my life. And she was… different.

  Her Footfield abruptly faded, and I saw she had stopped. She was hundreds of yards away, but now she was standing, staring at us. She was safe now. She could divert course and flee easily. But as she stared at the three Griidlords on the rise, she must have understood that we could have concealed ourselves, that we could have taken catastrophic action against her. She could see we hadn’t. She could see I hadn’t. I thought I detected an almost imperceptible nod from her before she turned and ignited her Footfield once more, streaking away into the distance.

  Magneblade growled, “That wasn’t right. It was our duty to take her.”

  Chowwick spoke suddenly, not hearing him. “Fucking hell, lads! Would ya look up there!”

  We followed the direction of his pointing finger. There, very high still, descended an Orb. The colors that washed around its smooth surface spoke of a rich prize in Flows.

  More importantly, the black dots that flitted among those colors spoke of the last Key Fragments we would need to access the locked Orbs.

  A Time of Change and Broken Chains.

  far into the story and still not going away!