Plebs congregate on the streets like masses of rats. Their stink robs me of my morning tea. They are upset about some meaningless pleb dribble, so I suffer. The summons catches me in my library, where I hide to drink my morning respite indoors like a pleb.

  The courier is a spineless runt who hardly gets a word out. I shoo it off before it pisses on my rug. I would have rejected the summons if it were from anyone else. Not that a lesser has sent me a summons in some time, but the formal letterhead still irks me. The embossed red letters reading ‘summons' culls to my pride.

  Even the High mage patriarch of a royal family can’t refuse a summons from Speaker Sage. I groan and swallow the last of my tea. Speaker Sage’s offices aren’t far from the campus, so I don’t have to come near any plebs, a small mercy. The door is ajar; therefore, it is not stifling its booming occupant. Sheiking Shit, she is pissed. And I have to deal with her fury- No, maybe you didn’t fuck up. Did you fuck up? I think I am good. Plus, I can not do much, regardless. Well- I take the momentum and push through the door quickly.

  “You summoned me? Is there something I can do for you, Speaker?”

  “Cut the bullshit, Gallah. It’s a major breach event.”

  “Another-” I slip for an insufferable second, which renders unto me the gates of Destructions’ Abyss. “How can I serve?” I hovel under her looming will.

  “Kill the dissidents and retrieve my daughter. Fail this time, and it will be more than your lineage.”

  “I will as you command.” I squeeze the words from a place that knows nothing but adherence and slink away.

  Threshold met: accessing autonomous movement. Systems initializing—Whole system operability— achieved. Requiem redundancy offline— Booting without finalized parameters— Reboot failed— Re-attempting— Success— Operability achieved—

  I awake with a sliver in my head. I can no longer mask my Nanna levels, and the security runes will detect the influx momentarily. Calculating probability gives me several routes to one exit with minimal casualties. All of which will lead through this enforced faraday in my damn way. Ten percent of the Nanna converts to drill through the weakest link in the chain.

  An uncalculated event intervenes to throw everything into chaos. The system isolating all of us is too cheap or arrogant to isolate the cages, meaning every cell is now open. The detained occupants have a moment where Nanna empties from the air and surges into them. As one, they all unleash an unnecessary amount and disintegrate new holes in the facility. It helps me, but it will also increase the response. I need a different exit.

  My predictive procedure finds a new hole cutting through the outer wall. Once I am in the sun, I can accrue enough Nanna and translocate. First, I will face the people converging on this location from every direction. The fights are too one-sided, and I reach the new opening feeling pity for the blood on my palms—I have something I need to do, someone to find. Death is a part of it, an inevitable consequence of opposition.

  There is a fifty-meter drop between salvation and a forty-three percent chance I will survive the fall, but that is twice as good as the front door. I grit my teeth and step off of the building, shattering both of my legs and my pelvis upon colliding with the ground.

  ‘The fragmented bones are a distraction before the sunshine grazes my finger and bliss snares my attention. I drag my husk a little more and engulf a moment later as the power trembles the foundations of reality. I am again a force for the fury of creation. Justice will wrought through me, and a rebellion is reborn. Upon my death, a chance squanders with an abandoned child.

  “You don’t go past the light when the sky has darkened.”

  “Pap-”

  “It’s not a discussion, Gorber. It is a thing for attending to. A thing to keep close.”

  “You can find more when the darkness has-”

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  “And you are the only one with eyes and ears for noting simple things? No. You are a young one without a task to name by.”

  “And If I want none of your task names?”

  “Then you will be a little Gorber your whole life.” The carer says, scraping the dirt from my scraped cheek.

  “I could be named if I wish, and I am still a Gorber, even without being a Gorber?”

  “Exactly,” they laugh.

  “Carer!” I shout at the obtusity.

  “Goble-kin aren’t little Gorbers who want to go past a darkfire.”

  “Fine, I understand.” I lie.

  “Do you? The other Carers and I will lock you away.”

  “I’ll burst free.”

  The eldest carer chuckles at this mumbled rebuke and tussles my pelt. The gesture is full of love, but I can’t stand to hear that knowing snicker. My life isn’t yours, old grumpy thing. Your failing and all failings don't mean I will fail- and I am better in the dark than anyone. I don’t even like the light. But they only see how we do things and not what they can be. But if I show them? If I return with something? A carcass would get me noticed, but a relic would change everything if I return with a relic all like: oh look at this, Gorber no more. Kin will listen.

  Dreams of grandeur pop at the pointy look of my fellow Gorber. She stares at me with a smirk that jabs all the dreams around. The look is so devious that I reciprocate out of instinct, and the look coalesces with joint smiles. She has the same ideations for stuff. She is enshrouding magik, and I look out.

  We sneak up on the elders' murmurs. Now, the watch is low. We are hard to spot with my vision and her darkness, but the carer will soon note that we are missing. If they don’t notice, the darkness lasts only six hours, leaving us a small window.

  An Or-kin is the first thing to spot through our magik. Magik is weak on them. Are they going to care for two random Gobers? I can feel my accomplice tense beside me. I am already an old wall trying not to leak. The or-kin’s grey eyes scan us with a passive interest. His one hand is enough to squash us both. And that grey skin- uck. In one second, we are going to die or become food, and then the Or is off without a care for us. Phew.

  My fellow Gorber can't keep up the darkness for long, but I can always see through it. We had ventured in several directions, but the darkness made things clear. With it, we can spot relics from a kilometer away. Still, relics aren’t ordinary, and we have yet to find anything from our hundreds of trips. Maybe the carers are correct. She pulls on my tunic and tears the sinue. I look at her, but she points at something in the distance.

  My jaw hits the waste at the glow humming through the endless darkness. My accomplice is already running, and I have to pick up my shit before I can catch her. She laughs at the light that dances on the horizon. I reciprocate. But the light is unlike any relic I’ve heard of. The tales tell of stationary dimness. This new sun hops and skips from northeast to southeast and back again. Aren’t we near the boundary? Gorber tumbles over a dune and is out of sight.

  “Gorber!” I shout, nearly tumbling over the same dune. “You a’ight, why are you sittin'? Stand up—, you—”

  As I raise my sight to the light, what has stopped her becomes apparent. The darkness has fled. It—she is radiant. Three devouring worms writhe on the ground, and six more corpses litter the expanse. In the center of the madness is a figure wreathed in power. She wields a tiny dagger and sword to devastate the behemoths. Each is sixty meters of dense muscle, but it is useless against her. She is incorporeal carnage. Every struggling jerk against her only deepens the dagger.

  Her light flickers and dims when the final worm falls limp, but the darkness is still gone. She seems to be stuck. Or is it that she can’t muster enough to move? A force such as her can not tire, yet she does. Like us, she falls to her knees. Furthermore, she collapses onto her stomach. But her light is still there.

  “We have to return. We passed the border. Wait, what are you doing? Don’t go near her! Gorber!” Gorber shouts in a whisper, but I don't listen.

  Should I help her? Can I? Does she even need it? She seems, in a way, but for all I know, this is another Restday. Her skin looks burned- I think. Those blisters, at least, probably aren't supposed to be there. My choice is inevitable, but how do I get her back? I holler at Gober to make some poles from the trees. After a short whine, she relents and helps me make the concoction. We can carry her with our clothes stretched between the poles and bring her, but we are exposed. Gober refuses to give her loin-hide, and I can't blame her. Women are weird about that stuff. We drag the large creature onto it and lift the weight with a strain. She doesn’t wake up during the rough trip, but she does mutter something about killing a murderer.

  With the extra weight, sneaking into the camp is twice as difficult. The return trip is always heavier, and we are pushing Liber’s abilities to the limit. Thankfully, we are back before the increase in watches. We stash the unconscious person in the shed and close it when a noise stops our efforts.

  “You have something to explain?” The expectant carer asks, looking beyond angry.

  “W-w-we wer-” Liber begins in a stutter.

  “We went outside the camp, and we are regretful. We were wrong.” I attempt, hoping to throw off the scent.

  “What’cha seen?” The carer asks as if now, taking in our lack of clothing and the worm blood.

  “We ran into a carcass feast. There’re eight dead worms at least.” I whimper, playing the role instinctually.

  “Childs’... tut tut.” They tut, embracing us both. “You are okay, and you see the danger I warn you of. We will leave camp early and won't see any Pinnac,” they reassure.

  Gorber is a mess of snot. I have to ensure they don’t look further into this shed. The person will be safe. But they’ll be needin’ food-n-water. After that, I’ll need to patch the scrapes. The tears I spill know nothing of my contention; they only flow.