They say if you act a role long enough, it becomes a reality. I can confirm. This is perhaps the most insidious and soul-destroying aspect of spy craft.

  -Redacted

  Sakra Krii'ari ka Norgard stood atop the frosted hillside overlooking the campsite. The soldiers were complaining, which was a good sign. About the cold. About the wet. About the fact that they were facing elusive burrowing monsters. Really, the subject of their complaints didn't seem to matter much. By Sakra's experience, it was when soldiers stopped complaining that things were really taking a turn for the worse.

  The Ranger contingent gathered in a loose circle a ways off from the main camp. Their newest member stood smack dab in the middle of the ritual. Silas' father's eyes were closed, with his hands clasped behind his back and his head tilted as far as it would go.

  Arcane power thrummed in the air as the seven Rangers channeled their wills. A tall spear of mana rose above their heads, its tip hovering a handspan above the frozen earth as if to threaten the very land itself. Seven stabilizing columns jutted out from a bulbous arbor that supported the main shaft and slowly rotated the entire construct to the Rangers' wills.

  Even as she watched, three arcane fins unfurled like spring flowers above the great construct. Hair-like tendrils trembled within the great sails, reflecting the microscopic, arcane perturbations occurring in the area. In the Fabric, as the driders would speak of it.

  "Clear!" Ranger Illudra called in a strong, clear voice, causing the encamped soldiers to instinctively duck and curse.

  Medlas's will flared, and the massive piledriver rocketed into the earth. A subsonic detonation radiated outwards, washing over Sakra like a hungry predator intent on snuffing out her will. She casually redirected the pulse, weathering the storm with practiced ease. The amount of complaining and cursing among the soldiers spiked, however.

  Sakra had to admit. For a farmer, Medlas had power.

  "Report," Sakra said, moving to join the exhausted rangers.

  "Class three spawner detected, my lady," Ranger Illudra saluted crisply. "Located north-northeast. Twenty miles. Though there is a lot of noise in the reading."

  "A horde?"

  "Possible, my lady. That or the trees themselves woke from their slumber."

  That drew a snort of amusement from the Rangers as they collected themselves and moved off. Sakra returned their lazy salutes. She gestured for Medlas to wait a moment as she looked up at the collapsing ritual. Hours of work faded away in minutes, its purpose complete. Her skin prickled. It always felt so wasteful to her, but that was the arcane for you.

  "Lady?" Medlas asked, but she raised a finger to indicate patience. She remounted the hill overlooking the campsite and roared out the orders. Move out. Ten minutes. Hard march.

  Prepare to suffer.

  This time, chuckles joined the light-hearted cursing as tents were rapidly bundled and exo-suit buckles tightened. Sakra allowed herself a faint smile as she watched her company.

  She was getting better at this. The whole 'people liking her' thing.

  "Run with me," Sakra told Medlas as she settled into a comfortable jog. Her bimetallic exo-suit legs crunched through the snow with ease, driving her forward at a pace that ate up the miles. Ever the stoic one, Medlas chose simply to join her, rather than ask again.

  "How are you acclimating to Ranger life?" Sakra asked after a mile of travel.

  Medlas shrugged. "It suits me."

  "I'm glad," Sakra said. "I'm worried Lira hates Chikarun more every time we do this."

  "It's not that," Medlas shook his head. "She is worried about Silas. As usual."

  “Oh?” Sakra blinked. Silas seemed to be growing well enough. Then again, Lira probably didn’t approve of their planned lessons for him. Like it or not, Silas needed to learn proper etiquette soon, and getting used to giving orders to the servants would help. A personal maid would make that easier. Instead of saying any of that, Sakra simply asked, “Why is she worried?”

  "He is not like other kids," Medlas shrugged again. "Even worse than Akira in some ways. Plus, there is the whole street kid thing." Sakra gave him a questioning look. He gestured vaguely. "Lira doesn't like how he is copying Morag. She thinks it's a dishonorable occupation."

  Sakra couldn't help it; she smiled. "Copying Morag? Where did she get that? You know Morag is not going to teach either of the kids anything until they turn ten?"

  "I guess he could have learned it in a book," Medlas replied calmly. Despite the heavy exertion of the scanning ritual, he seemed to be having no trouble at all maintaining the brisk run. A good fit for the Rangers.

  Their conversation drifted aimlessly, eventually settling on silence. Then they arrived at a spot within a mile of the target. She nodded to Medlas, then jogged up to Ranger Illudra.

  "Short-range scan, please."

  Ranger Illudra nodded, and her will flared. A miniaturized version of the tandem scan ritual spawned above their heads. Ten minutes later, the mana pulse raced out.

  "Over the ridgeline. No ancients detected," Ranger Illudra hesitated. "The signal is fuzzy."

  Sakra's eyes narrowed, but she gave the Ranger a brief nod. She turned to the gathered soldiers. "Alright, fifteen-minute break! Captains! On me!"

  The four squad captains jogged over, and the five of them briefly reviewed strategy. There wasn't much to say. They'd done this before, and everyone knew what to do. Armor was donned, and straps were tightened. Before long, the soldiers were rested, and the contingent set out once more.

  They jogged down a steep slope, finding themselves in a chilled valley that had greedily collected the cold winter air. A thin creek meandered through the vale, and the ground was a packed soil rather than hard rock. The change could be heard in the way the soldiers' metallic exo-boots thumped instead of clicked.

  "Contact!" A cry rose from the front.

  "Engage," Sakra called calmly, then she pointed behind her. "Rangers, stay back."

  The Rangers gave easy nods and slowed as the rest of the soldiers accelerated. Sakra led the charge, and seconds later, she spotted the first monster. It was an insectoid, almost ant-like in proportions, with odd, muscular striations running down its armored spine. A formican variant, leaning more toward ant than beetle.

  Sakra flared her will, and the enchantments imbued in her armor burned with waste mana. Her steps grew lighter as she accelerated a half step ahead of First Squad. A half dozen wrist-thick strands of force erupted from her core, knotting themselves at dizzying speeds into a deeply familiar pattern.

  Fire erupted around her, a cone of annihilation that sparked and snarled like a cornered wolf. Then her boot blurred, and Sakra blasted into the beast. Her gauntlet crashed into its face. Chitin and cartilage crunched. Its antennae smoldered, but that was the least of its worries as Sakra drove it into the earth.

  She bounced up a second later. Her squad eviscerated the remains of the formican, while the other soldiers charged deeper into the vale. Six more formicans died, emitting nothing more than soft clicking as their bodies broke and burned under the might of her loyal soldiers.

  "Scouts report!" Sakra roared, jumping onto a nearby boulder to review the battle. There were surprisingly few of the monsters. Too few. Something wasn't right.

  Before a scout could rush to her, or even before she figured out what was wrong, a deep bellow sounded from where the Rangers stood. She—and half of her soldiers—spun. A pair of elite formicans had erupted from the earth, right beneath the Rangers. One of the hardened scouts fell under the gnashing mandibles, soon followed by another.

  Ranger Illudra screamed, a blinding whip of plasma lashing out and severing one of the formicans in half. In the same moment, Medlas roared like a wounded bison, and a raw, unfiltered wave of force lifted everyone—including the other rangers—and tossed them in every direction.

  Sakra jumped, shattering the stone beneath her feet. She flew through the air, channeling a fire lance mid-flight. The packed and frozen earth beneath her roiled like a living thing as more formicans dug into the fray. The monsters erupted from the ground a second later, their beetle-like armored bodies crashing to the earth as they accelerated toward the downed Rangers.

  But Third Squad had stayed just far back enough to participate in the threat. They charged as one, a quarter splitting off to care for the fallen Rangers as the bulk of the formation pincered the formican charge.

  Sakra's fire lance impaled another elite, and its dying flails knocked down another formican just as a pissed off looking Illudra bisected what remained with her plasma whip. Second squad and Fourth squad joined a minute later.

  And just like that, all the beasts were dead.

  "Casualty check! Sound off!" Sakra barked, jogging over to the two fallen Rangers.

  "Ranger Hayes—double leg wound, still mobile," the first injured Ranger said. A drider. Two of his eight legs were raised gingerly off the ground.

  "It bit my ass!" the injured alten Ranger cried a second after. "Who does that? Aww, and it ruined my... Damnit, my wife's going to be pissed."

  A round of relieved chuckles spread over the gathering soldiers as the tension popped like a soap bubble. A few soldiers poked fun at the two unfortunate Rangers. Sakra left them to handle themselves, confident in her captains' abilities to handle the situation. She waved down Illudra and First Squad Captain Indulas. They joined her a few strides away, and Ranger Illudra immediately started scanning for the spawner. The uninjured Rangers likewise peeled off to search manually.

  "That was an ambush," Captain Indulas snapped without preamble.

  "Don't take it personally," Sakra said calmly. "After battle report."

  "The men did well," Captain Indulas said grudgingly. "Though I thought there'd be more of 'em."

  Sakra nodded silently in agreement and waited patiently for Illudra to finish her spell. Before she did, two of the Ranger scouts raced back.

  "Eggs! My lady, we found eggs," the alten Ranger said, skidding to a stop in front of them.

  Captain Indulas immediately belted out a long and loud series of curses.

  Sakra frowned at her First Captain. "Eggs?"

  "Yes, my lady. Three dozen. Buried."

  Sakra rolled her jaw as she carefully kept her auric expression under control. Captain Indulas was a little less reserved, spinning around and marching off a few strides before angrily storming back. Thankfully, a quick glance at him calmed him down. It wouldn't do to agitate the men for no reason.

  "And the spawner, Illudra?"

  Ranger Illudra didn't respond for several long seconds. A second—more powerful—pulse rippled out from her scanning construct. Then a third.

  "Gone," Illudra said calmly. Her scanning construct dissipated as she turned her full attention to the command group. "It was here earlier. Either it was destroyed. Or it was moved."

  Sakra took a slow, calming breath. Her expression a serene pond.

  "Dragons above..." Captain Indulas groaned, palming his face. "This is as bad as the yawm incident. No... worse. These are bugs."

  "In that case, we prepare for the worst." Sakra ignored her Captain's whinging. "We assume the spawner has been moved, and these formican are intelligent. The ambush certainly affirms that assessment. Do you have a direction for us, Ranger Illudra?"

  "I'll get on it immediately, my lady," Ranger Illudra snapped a crisp salute, then jogged off. The two Rangers who'd found the eggs followed fast on her heels.

  "Captain. We rest another fifteen, then we move out. There was a ridge three miles back that would serve as an excellent beacon placement for the Ranger's tandem scan. Ready the squads. Make sure they are aware of the situation."

  "Yes, my lady," Captain Indulas saluted. He turned and moved off.

  "And captain?" Sakra called after him. He paused, half turning with a questioning twist to his aura. She fixed him with an even look. "I will not tolerate racism in my corp. No matter how accurate. Is that understood?"

  "Ahh, yeah. Sorry 'bout that," Indulas gave a shallow bow, then jogged off.

  He would do it again. That was fine. She was perfectly content to rebuke him again when it became necessary. He was a good captain and did his job better than most. She needed more men like him, not less. Especially given these rather... disturbing events. First, that unreasonably dangerous ancient silver-backed dreadnaught four years ago, and now this? It was almost like the fates were doing it on purpose.

  One of the biggest benefits of being a kid was having copious amounts of free time. Oh, sure, daycare was a drag, but it didn't take that much of the day. Especially since I was still maintaining a biphasic sleeping schedule for my midnight training. The rest of my waking hours were spent doing... whatever I wanted.

  And tonight I was determined to figure out Momo's secrets.

  I slipped out of my bed and removed my greatest creation. A lockpick carved from the toughest bone I could get my hands on, using micro razors formed of pure mana and grit. It possessed a woven strengthening frame capable of accepting my mana and reinforcing the delicate prong by an order of magnitude if I so desired. Additionally, I'd woven a fuzzy corona of sub-thaum strands that provided a rudimentary sense of touch when I was powering the tool.

  It was a masterpiece.

  And I'd been practicing.

  I slipped out of my bedroom, my bare feet perfectly silent on the flagstones, and made my way to the basement. Momo's inner sanctum was located there, not that it had been easy to find. The drider had the ability to vanish without a trace, and identifying his office had been a long and frustrating case of trial and error. Mostly error.

  I passed the servant kitchens and the dining hall into the back of the courtyard. There, I slipped through the large gate leading to the basement and walked down the stairs that could support eight men standing abreast.

  The stairs ended in a massive chamber. It was truly enormous. At least twenty-five football fields packed next to each other. The size of the space was deceptive, though, since hundreds of massive supporting pillars and lightweight separating walls subdivided the space into rooms. Regardless, it could hold and shelter much of Chikarun's population during a crisis. How comfortable they would be sort of depended on how willing they were to cram together. For example, people could theoretically sleep in the prodigious food storage areas. Or the extensive lavatories.

  Which was what gave me the idea.

  I ran to the third bathroom within the underground bunker. The one that was missing the taste of dust. Where the magic in the air was a touch too clean.

  I pressed on the slightly scuffed third tile on the wall, and a solid click sounded. Then the whole wall opened outward on soundless hinges to reveal an ominous black door.

  I grinned.

  The door was eerily dark, without a single speck of mana visible behind it. It appeared to swallow the mana in the air. Different from the oddity Lord Domas had demonstrated the other day, but it gave me the same unusual vibe.

  I approached the door, every sense primed to the maximum. When I got within a step of the door, I faintly saw the shimmering threads of some insanely complicated spell imbued into the door.

  I wasn't worried, though. The one thing that I learned about magic in my five years here was that it was impossible to create mana batteries. No storage, in other words. Which meant that whatever function the enchantment had was entirely passive.

  That didn't mean I had to be careless, though.

  I pressed my chest against the keyhole and then expanded my aura. It was hard, but I'd been practicing. My aura stretched to encompass the keyhole—and just as it always did—it turned the mana inside to treacle. I then additionally clamped down with my will to further prevent any movement in the spell. Once I was satisfied that everything was safe, I gently inserted my lockpick into the keyhole.

  Honestly, it took an embarrassing amount of time. Nearly half an hour of feeling out and memorizing the shape of the lock's internals through my pick's feedback function. The fact that it was all in my aura helped to a degree, but it was still unreasonably difficult. Eventually, the mechanism unlocked with a soft click.

  The door swung silently outwards to reveal a fairly plain office. Bookshelves lined the walls, containing records and various other paraphernalia. And books.

  Bingo.

  I stepped inside, mind already racing with what I'd find within those tomes. Grimoires? Spell formulas. Novel spell matrices? Or even that impossible technique that Domas and clearly Momo were both—.

  Pain slammed into my clavicle. My body jerked backward as a finger-thick spike of black iron, set at thigh height for an adult, punched through my shoulder and burst out the other side. My gaze snapped to the disguised lever arm hidden inside the doorframe. Not a touch of mana radiated from it. The thing was entirely mundane. Levers and gears and sharpened, cruel steel.

  I coughed, struggling to register what had just happened. I lifted my arm, but instead of moving, it just twitched. I stared at it blankly, suddenly noticing how the edges of my vision were darkening. No. It was worse than that. My mylira. My arcane eye was darkening too. The constant comforting glow I'd grown used to faded as my muscles locked. Meanwhile, a powerful tingling took over my extremities.

  Poison...

  My mind retreated, feeling distant and ghost-like as the pain registered. My senses walked away, leaving me alone in a black void. Nothing worked except for a dull sense of my core. I focused on the sensation, imagining the bright ball of light as I jerkily moved it through the comforting routine I'd perfected over years. It was harder than usual.

  I was scared.

  Hours seemed to pass as the pain went from blinding to merely torturous, and yet despite having a mouth, I could not scream. I waited in that limbo for forever. Unable to move. Unable to call for help. Thoughts of death and regret consuming me.

  Noise. A warm touch. Rough hands. Pain. Motion. Freezing wind. Was I outside? Shouting. Cool sheets. Pain. I was lying on a bed. Rough hands again. Forcing my mouth open. Bitter brackish liquid. Then again, this time tasting like dirt. Pain. I choked. I shook. The paralysis faded. Light returned, blurry and with too many shapes. I felt so weak. So cold.

  "Silas! Silas! Look at me, baby. Look at me!" Mom's blurry face resolved in my vision. "You're okay. It's okay. I've got you."

  I wasn't sure I believed her. My body responded on autopilot.

  "Mama!" I burst into tears. Limp hands struggling to find her warmth. A spike of agony shot through my shoulder. It only made me cry harder. "It hurts... It hurts..."

  "Shh, stay still, Silas. Hold still. We are going to bandage you up. Everything is going to be okay. Just focus on my voice and nothing else, alright. Can you do that for me?"

  The rough hands were back. They touched my shoulder and made the pain infinitely worse. I flinched, trembling violently as I tried my hardest to hold Mom's gaze. She caressed my face, whispering sweet reassurances on repeat as I twitched and cried as things happened to my shoulder.

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  Then blessedly—mercifully—a dull fuzziness that I recognized as painkillers blurred into my thoughts. Oh... was that the liquid from before? I curled into Mom's stomach. Trying to just breathe.

  The fierce furor of moments prior quieted as everyone in the room relaxed.

  "How..." Mom said, drawing the word out in a manner that made my tail curl in fear. Clearly, it did something similar to the occupants of the room, as a dead silence resounded. "Did my son. Find his way. Into your. TORTURE CHAMBER?"

  Mom's aura boiled around me. Sheets of mana enveloped my small frame, sinking into my aura and somehow melding with my core currents. Her will was everywhere, impossibly strong and furious, and yet the rage couldn't seem to reach me. I was protected in the cocoon of safety as the residents of the room suffered her full wrath.

  "I assure you, Madam Lira. There is no conceivable way Silas could have found, let alone entered, that room. It is impossible," Morag's voice spoke from somewhere in the room.

  "Well, Master Morag. Clearly not impossible. My son did. So conceive it!"

  "It's impossible," Morag snapped back. Iron entered his tone. "Those chambers are warded. The skills required to even detect the entrance, let alone..." Morag abruptly trailed off. Then, as if trying to convince himself, he softly said. "Silas is not at that level."

  "Have you perhaps considered that my son has routinely and repeatedly thrown off your crude predictions of his abilities. So... Master Morag. Once again, I ask. Why are there lethal traps in the castle where my son could walk?"

  "They're not leth—"

  "Morag!" Lord Domas' commanding voice snapped out. "Not the time."

  Morag's eight spider legs clicked rhythmically in a spiral as he adjusted his stance. He sighed.

  "Perhaps we can ask Silas what—"

  "No!" Mom snapped. Her arms tightening around me. "You do not get to talk to him. You speak to me. And only me."

  Morag sighed again. "At least allow me to apologize. I care for him as well."

  Mom's aura rippled like an agitated rattlesnake, but she said nothing. She shifted, and I got the impression she was having a silent stare-down with someone else in the room.

  This was wrong. This was all wrong. I floated within my bubbly cocoon of mom's effervescent mana. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog the painkillers had saturated my brain with. I bumped my forehead into Mom's stomach, struggling to come up for air and speak.

  "Hey, hey, hey," Mom gently throttled me with her braid. "Feeling better, sweetheart? Does it hurt?"

  "I—" I mumbled, finding Morag's dark form in the room. He looked even more gaunt than usual. Old. As if the last few hours had aged him. "I jus' wanted to learn your magic."

  Morag's brows drew down, and he squatted beside the bed. His eight legs formed a bulwark around his thin chest as he rested his elbows on his knees.

  "I know, Silas, and I'm sorry," Morag sighed. He extended a finger and touched the tip of my dorsal braid before retreating. "You should never have been able to find that place. I don't even know how you did it."

  "Wasn't hard," I mumbled. I was slurring my words. "There wasn't enough mana in the air."

  "Not enough..." Morag trailed off, blinking as if reconsidering his entire security scheme. "I see. I'll have to fix that. But Silas. Do you understand now why you have to be patient? Some things are dangerous. Especially magic. You're not ready yet. But when you are older, I promise I will teach you everything I know."

  "Uhkay," I mumbled. That sounded wrong for some reason. Magic wasn't dangerous. Sharp spikes of metal were dangerous. Poison was dangerous. But the world was spinning, and I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. My toes were tingling, and my tongue felt numb. How many painkillers did they give me? It felt like a straight injection of ketamine. All swirly colors and off-kilter. "Uhm sowwy... Fer bee-in allin the wong pacess..."

  Morag's jaw clenched, and four of his six eyes closed as if he was in physical pain.

  "I'm sowwy tooo mama... I didn't mean ta get huut."

  "Shhhh, Silas, Shhh," Mom caressed my cheek. "Never apologize for being curious. That is a wonderful and beautiful thing, and I never want you to stifle that."

  "It's not your fault, kiddo," Momo said. "It's mine. I should have known better. Should have known you'd find a way to push my understanding of magic and stealth. You've only been doing it for years." He chuckled bitterly.

  "Uhm," I blinked blearily. Suddenly, I found my head resting against my mom's chest with no recollection of putting it there.

  "It's no one's fault," Mom decreed softly, though I couldn't tell if she said that for my benefit or the old spy's. "This was just an accident, and we should all be happy that Silas survived the ordeal. Now, everyone out. Silas needs to rest, and we are just crowding him. Come on, out, out, out. You too, Lord Domas. Just because you are a lord doesn't mean..."

  I awoke to agony. In my shoulder, but also in my chest. I wasn't good with pain, but I somehow managed not to scream.

  I clamped down on the pain with my mind and my will. My core currents slowed dramatically, thrumming ponderously through my mana channels at a quarter of my natural cycling rate. It formed a distance between me and my body. Probably not healthy, but it allowed me to clobber my tired mind into reviewing the events that led me here.

  I retraced every step, every choice. From what Mom said afterward to Morag's 'opinion' of magic.

  None of it explained why I felt so rotten inside.

  None of the adults blamed me for this. They blamed Morag. Hell, even Morag blamed Morag. He was probably still beating himself up for what happened; obsessively retuning the security measures he'd placed around the castle.

  It all made a perfect sort of twisted sense. He was the adult. I was just a kid—barely a kindergartener—and in no way responsible for my actions.

  The pain in my chest spiked.

  Suddenly, a deep loathing filled me. A crushing, all-consuming disappointment. In myself. In my actions. Wasn't I an adult? And yet, my actions spoke otherwise. I acted the bored child. Petulant and thoughtless and even now trying to come up with excuses to hide behind: 'For years everyone treated me like a child, so why shouldn't I act like one?'

  In that moment, I hated myself.

  Here I was, lying injured in bed from a stupid mistake I'd made, and others were taking the blame for it. Even worse, I'd allowed it. Me and my stupid lies. Always lies. Years and years of them stacked on top of each other until I didn't know who I was anymore.

  "I'm sorry," I whispered to no one.

  I didn't know who I was apologizing to. My room was dark. A slumbering lump rose and fell slowly in a cot beside my bed. It was Mom. I recognized her aura.

  Except, I did know who I was apologizing to. It wasn't Mom or Morag. Or the staff I probably scared half to death as I was carried out of the castle's basement. I was apologizing to myself. To the small, precious part of me that knew right from wrong and was screaming bloody murder that all this was wrong.

  "I can do better," I whispered to the ceiling in English, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. I firmed my jaw, releasing my hold over my core currents and embracing the sharp ache in my shoulder. "I can be better."

  My mind grew strangely empty. The pain in my chest didn't quite vanish, but I felt it recede. I would be better. I would throw off the years of conditioning and acting practice that led to this failure.

  I was an adult. I kept saying that to myself. Using that to justify how I was oh-so-superior to everyone else. 'I was an adult'. Ridiculous. I'd forgotten what the word meant.

  But that didn't mean I couldn't remind myself.

  This would never happen again, and not only because I wouldn't let it. This world had painkillers, but their grasp of medicine was rudimentary at best. There were no healing spells. I didn't even know if such a thing was mechanistically possible given how mana functioned.

  My shoulder would heal, but not easily. And probably not cleanly. Hopefully, I would regain all function, but the wound would scar.

  Good.

  I needed the reminder.

  Three days I suffered trapped to my bed. The first few days were the worst, but after that boredom's insidious teeth grew sharper than my injury. I curbed the impulse to complain, forcing myself to be patient and quiet and let my body heal.

  I was spared from daycare, for which I was subtly grateful. It wasn't just the tedium or my current condition. I worried that the childish environment would strain my new resolve. I needn't have worried, to be honest, I couldn't stop thinking about my mistake.

  I had few visitors. Mom was a constant companion, and she did an admirable job of entertaining us both. Dad was still gone with Sakra on the campaign, so it was just us two most of the time.

  To my surprise, Morag joined us every evening and occasionally visited during the day. The gruff drider never showed any indication that my lack of mobility bothered him, and he deflected any question related to the security measures of his private office.

  He was more than willing to play games of magic with me, however, often spending multiple hours and never showing any sign of flagging. My favorite game wasn't really a game. More of an art competition crossed with charades.

  The way it worked was we had to convey some concept to the other person using only our will. Momo said the game was a training tool for diplomats who needed to communicate with species incapable of speaking. Apparently, the last time our kingdom had needed such a thing was with an oceanic species.

  Not mermaids, sadly. Some kind of deep-sea cthulhu-esque mass of eyeballs known as an ailing.

  Anyway.

  There was only so much time I could spend cooped up in a room, so on the fourth day, I had the brilliant idea of visiting Lord Domas in his court. Though if I was being honest, I had an ulterior motive beyond boredom for the change in scenery. I wanted to see an adult do adult things, which sounded pathetic, but I was in a pathetic kind of mood.

  Lord Domas was glad to include me as long as I remained quiet. That was an easy promise to make. I absolutely had no intention of intervening in the slightest. And so, I promptly found myself sitting—slightly off to the side—as the Lord held court.

  I watched, and I listened. I didn't speak or offer my thoughts as Lord Domas handled the various problems brought to him by the plaintiffs. There was apparently a water problem. And this drider called Jameson tried to sell rotten meat at market. It grounded me, and I found myself relaxing. Within the orderly walls of the courtroom, my resolution to be 'adult' no longer felt so distant.

  Unfortunately, as soon as I became comfortable, I was immediately bothered by an observation: The majority of the criminal cases brought to the Lord were against yawm. Most were theft of some variety, but there were a few cases of violence.

  That piqued my interest, so at breakfast I asked Mom.

  "How come so many of the bad guys are yawm?" I asked.

  What? Did you think I would suddenly change all of my mannerisms just because of my resolution? Don't be ridiculous. Mom would freak.

  "It's complicated, Silas," Mom responded. "The yawm are... disadvantaged. It means they have a lot of trouble fitting in."

  I knew what disadvantaged meant.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Well... The yawm are a young race. Only about 200 years ago, they spawned in. A lot of people don't like that they were created and not born."

  Huh. Cool. I tilted my head curiously. "Why not?"

  "Well," Mom blinked. I could tell the conversation was uncomfortable for her. "Some people think it's unnatural. Their eyes bother people, and some people think that they are evil because they can't use magic."

  "They can't use magic? Why not?"

  "No, well... yes. They can use internal spells, but it's all instinctive. Like animals."

  "Why—"

  That got me a cuff on the back of my head and a stern order to finish my breakfast. We walked together to the audience chamber, and we sat discreetly. Lord Domas and Milo entered and greeted us pleasantly. Then the first case came in. Once again. It was a yawm.

  Though this time, he was in chains.

  "Again Terialosh?" Lord Domas exclaimed. The purple-skinned yawm looked away. Domas sighed. "What did he do this time?"

  "Burglary, my lord," Milo said.

  "This is the third time, Terialosh. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Lord Domas asked. Terialosh was silent, staring daggers at the floor. Domas sighed. "Fine, I tried to be nice but you leave me no choice. For repeated crimes against my domain and Chikarun's people, I sentence you to fifteen years in prison, where you will work to pay off any debts and damages caused by your crimes."

  Terialosh's head snapped up, and I winced. That seemed harsh compared to the other sentences Domas ordained. He seemed like a mostly friendly and benevolent ruler to my inexperienced eyes, but this seemed fairly draconian. I kept my mouth shut, though.

  "My Lord," Terialosh's hoarse voice emanated from his writhing beard tendrils. "Have mercy..."

  Lord Domas was already shaking his head. "This is mercy. Would you prefer I brand you a thief and remove your hands? This way, you can still serve our community. Next!"

  "Please!" Terialosh screamed. "I have children!"

  Lord Domas raised a hand, and the guards dragging the yawm away paused. "I'm aware of your two daughters, Terialosh. But what of your wife?"

  "She... passed away. Last winter."

  "I see," Lord Domas sighed softly. "My condolences, but that doesn't change your sentence, Terialosh. Milo, what can we do for the children?"

  "The orphanage along the boulevard might be able to accept them, though I will need to check," Milo said. "If I recall correctly, they were struggling with their existing children. We may need to provide the orphanage a stipend to cover the cost of the two children."

  "How large is his debt?" Domas asked. "Perhaps we can transfer some of his earnings to fund his children's housing and schooling until they come of age."

  "That would work neatly, my lord," Milo said, giving a small bow.

  "Excellent! Is that acceptable, Terialosh? Or do you have anything else to say?"

  Terialosh looked between Lord Domas and Milo with his large shoulder-eye. His other eyes rolled in their sockets, giving the distinct impression of panic, though I didn't know enough of yawm to interpret their reactions correctly. His beard writhed, making low hissing noises, before he hung his head. Then, he deliberately shook his head. Defeated.

  Well, shit.

  There goes my resolution to stay quiet.

  I stared at the defeated man kneeling before us. He was a yawm, with alien features and a countenance that even a mother would struggle to love. If she were human, that is. I still found it a little hard to reconcile the alien expressions with a living, breathing person. In fact, I couldn't read his expression at all. Just vague signs of distress that I couldn't be sure I wasn't projecting onto him.

  And yet. I knew how he felt. I unfortunately had some experience with this 'separate the kids from their parents' obsession, this new world seemed to have. I was a victim of it myself, and sure, mine had had a happy ending, but it didn't take much imagination to know that it could have ended poorly.

  Like what was happening before me.

  I could do nothing for him. His situation was Lord Domas' responsibility. But I could do something for his kids. Especially since I was positive I could provide them a better future than an already financially struggling orphanage.

  No child should have to grow up without their parents. In an unfamiliar place among strangers. Especially not if they had recently lost one of said parents. Not even if the other parent happened to be a criminal. In fact, that might make them even more deserving of aid.

  But what to do about it...

  I felt the words bubbling up inside of me. The desire to intervene an almost living thing, but I refused to simply blurt out the first thing that came to mind simply because I wanted to. That wouldn't fix anything and would only serve to have the adults ignore me.

  It wasn't an easy situation, but if I'd learned anything during my thirty-nine years of life spread over two lifespans, it was that there was always a solution.

  And when I put it like that. The answer came to me.

  "I'll take them!"

  My clear, high voice echoed through the audience chamber. The guards escorting Terialosh out the door paused, and Milo's soft scribbling on his clipboard halted. Everyone turned to me, including Mom, who instinctively hushed me.

  I brushed her off.

  "Domas? What if I take the two kids?" I asked, this time phrasing it like a question.

  "Pardon, Silas?" Lord Domas said, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. "What do you mean by take them?"

  "They can work for me. Just like Milo does for you," I shrugged, pretending like it was the simplest thing in the world. "I could pay them. They could come to class with me whenever they want. We could be best friends! It's the best. This way, they are close by, and they can visit their daddy whenever they want."

  Mom placed a hand on my shoulder, and I saw the hesitation in Lord Domas' expression. Of course. I should have figured. Visitation rights probably weren't a priority here. At least not for a repeat criminal like Terialosh.

  My stomach tightened, but not an ounce of my feelings on the matter leaked through my expression. At this point, I was a master at controlling my expression, and all I let through was a calm confidence that I knew would rile up the Lord.

  "Sweety, this isn't—" Mom's quiet rebuke cut off as Lord Domas held up a hand.

  "Well, isn't that an idea?" Lord Domas said slowly. A soft, challenging grin seeped into his aura. A morbid sort of curiosity that was ever present in the man, but rarely got to shine. "Call me intrigued, little Silas. Pray tell me, how do you plan on paying for their services?"

  "That's easy!" I grinned right back. "I've got my allowance!"

  "Which I am paying you," Domas said.

  "You said that it was my money and I can do whatever I want with it!" I shot back. Domas' aura flickered, and I wondered briefly if he regretted allowing me to wheedle such a big allowance from him.

  "True enough, little Silas," Domas curled his dorsal braid with exaggerated thoughtfulness. His amused expression was slowly increasing. The man was enjoying this. "What about housing? Have you thought of that? Even your allowance wouldn't be enough for that."

  "They can sleep in my room!" I declared.

  "Which is also mine," Domas said. Predictably.

  I smirked. "Then they can stay with Granny Popi. She loves me and told me she really misses having kids around."

  "Oh?" Domas was outright grinning now.

  Unfortunately, Mom had other ideas.

  "Hold on, my lord Domas," Mom said. "Perhaps it isn't such a good idea for the children of... this man to be serving in the castle."

  "Mom!" I shot her an aggrieved look, but she silenced me with a sharp poke with her dorsal braid. From the side, I noticed Terialosh's many eyes snap from me to Domas and back in rapid succession.

  "Hmm," Domas nodded with mock seriousness. "Your mother brings up an excellent point. Even if you can provide for them, it isn't practical to employ servants with no training at all. Besides, I don't think you need personal servants in the first place."

  "I totally do!" I pronounced. My expression was calm, but inside I was grinning. They'd fallen right into my trap. "I'm super hurt. See! And Mom has to spend all day with me, so she can't do other stuff. Like her job. If Tery's kids help me, then she can do whatever she wants!"

  Tery's bulbous eyeball twitched at his new nickname. I think he liked it.

  "I enjoy spending time with you," Mom quickly said.

  "I do too," I smiled at her. "But this way you can do it because you want to. Not because you have to."

  That silenced her, and she blinked owlishly at me. It was fun saying things that were vaguely deep as a five-year-old. The adults never expected it.

  I didn't let her recover and turned to Milo. "You'll help me, Milo, right? To teach them?"

  "Of course, master Silas," Milo said politely.

  "See! Milo agrees with me!" I grinned victoriously at Lord Domas, and he finally laughed.

  "Alright, you win, little Silas. You've convinced me. Until further notice, Milo, please have it known that I will be accepting Terialosh's two children as provisional wards of house Norgard, where they will serve and assist young master Silas. Likewise, Silas will work to provide and teach them to the best of his ability."

  "And they get to visit their daddy whenever they want!" I pointed out.

  "Of course," Lord Domas smirked. "Milo? Remind me to revisit this case in a month to see how little Silas is doing. It wouldn't do if he were mistreating the children, now would it?"

  "I won't!" I promised, perhaps with a little too much enthusiasm. My shoulder spasmed, and I flinched.

  "Good," Lord Domas clapped his hands. "Then this matter is settled."

  He dismissed Tery from the audience hall with a calm flick of his wrist. As the yawm man was escorted out, his large shoulder-eye met mine, and his tentacle beard grew unnaturally straight. I took that as a sign of gratitude, though I couldn't be sure.

  Then he was gone, and I was left feeling heavy with responsibility.

  Kemi followed her sister Yuna through the propped-open door. Immediately, the scent of cooking flooded her tendrils, and she blinked her main eye at the four people hunched over stoves preparing what she assumed was breakfast. Her stomach growled.

  "Woooow," Yuna mumbled, her eyes huge as she tugged on Kemi's sleeve.

  Kemi followed her sister's gaze, but couldn't spot the wonder in their surroundings. The polished marble countertops gleamed in that way that meant it was a bad idea to steal from this place. And the staff moved in a way Dad would say was comp-uh-tense. Which was also bad.

  "Do you think..." Yuna murmured, her legs taking her closer to the tables where a wicker basket full of still steaming loaves lay. Actual bread. Just the sight made Kemi's tendrils start to drool.

  "No, Yuna. Let's just stand here. They didn't tell us to do anything," Kemi said. She poked Yuna until she managed to drag her sister into a shadowy corner of the kitchen. Out of the way of the staff. Hopefully, they appreciated it. Not that Yuna did.

  Dad was gone now, and they'd been told to come to the castle because the noble kid 'wanted' them. Kemi repressed a shudder at the thought. She might be eight, but even she knew that attention like that from a noble was bad. Attention was what got Dad taken away in the first place. He told them to be good before he left. So that was what she would do.

  Even if she had to remind Yuna a whole fifty times before she remembered!

  "Ahh, good," a tall drider said. He approached, and Kemi's back instantly went stiff. "You've arrived. Welcome. My name is Milo. I am Norgard's butler. I'll be taking care of you and training you in some of your duties here."

  "Thank you, uhm, master Milo," Kemi said.

  "Just Milo," Milo said, gesturing for them to follow as he led them through the kitchen and into the castle proper. "You only need to refer to the nobles by their title. That is Lord Domas and Lady Sakra. Young master Silas has a unique situation, but master or mister both work. Lord is incorrect, but you may use lordling."

  Kemi forced herself to memorize that obscure set of rules.

  "Do we get new clothes?" Yuna asked blithely, bouncing along. Kemi winced.

  Milo nodded politely. "Your primary duties will involve assisting with cleaning and attending to young master Silas' needs. Everything necessary for you to complete those tasks will be provided. That includes education, and of course, clothing."

  "What happens if we do something wrong?" Kemi asked stiffly.

  Milo eyed her, causing her tendrils to curl reflexively. He looked polite. Restrained. Which usually just meant dishonest. "No harm will come to you here if you follow instructions."

  Kemi did not find that reassuring in the slightest.

  "This is master Silas' bedchamber. He is currently injured and needs assistance with basic tasks. Are you ready to meet him? He can be a little intense to those unfamiliar with his mannerisms," Milo asked.

  What did that mean?

  Yuna nodded enthusiastically anyway, and Milo gestured for them to wait a moment as he entered the room.

  Yuna took the opportunity to glance up and down the hallway, her tendrils curling in a brilliant smile. Kemi nudged her with an elbow, shooting her an aggrieved look with not one, but two eyes.

  "What?" Yuna pouted. "He's nice."

  "Just don't make them mad, please," Kemi managed to whisper back before Milo's voice called them in.

  The room was richly appointed. Large, with various shelves and items strewn around. A young five-year-old alten kid was lying in the large bed, propped up on the fluffiest set of pillows Kemi had ever seen. His dorsal braid was freakishly thick and long. The three strands were uneven, but that didn't seem to bother him as the appendage rested casually over his bandaged shoulder.

  "Thank you, Milo," Silas said. His voice was surprisingly soft and measured for a kid.

  The boy turned to them with a completely blank expression. He eyed Kemi with dead eyes, and suddenly Kemi realized she couldn't see anything in his expression. Her back stiffened as a primal fear filled her. What did he want with them? Was he a demon? How was—what if she—

  Then his soulless expression shifted to her sister for a second before he seemingly dismissed her like week-old stale bread.

  "Is this Kemi and Yuna?" He asked Milo calmly.

  "He's like a statue that breaths!" Yuna whispered excitedly, tugging on Kemi's sleeve. Kemi knotted her tendrils, too scared to speak.

  The freak's eyes returned to them, and his eyebrow raised delicately. Kemi had no idea what that meant. She was getting no emotions at all from him. "A statue? Huh. Cool. Are you Kemi?"

  "I'm Yuna," Yuna smiled. She walked closer, pausing at the side of the bed. Kemi followed a step behind.

  "I shall leave you to get acquainted." Milo delivered a shallow bow and retreated. The room's door clicked softly as it closed.

  Yuna didn't wait a second longer. "What's wrong with your face?"

  Master Silas blinked three times in rapid succession. "My face?"

  "And your eyes." Yuna nodded eagerly, ignoring Kemi's insistent nudges. "You're like super dead inside."

  Silas blinked again, his lips slowly spreading to reveal his teeth. He mouthed something quietly, which Kemi swore was 'I knew it'. Then he said louder. "Oh, you mean this? Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, this is just how I normally am."

  Suddenly, Silas' eyes beamed with vibrant life. He transitioned from deliriously happy to horrifically sad in the space of a heartbeat, before settling on a faint amusement. Kemi's main eye twitched, the beginning of a tear forming.

  It felt false. The speed of the changes. Like he was doing it on purpose. Which he was.

  Kemi lubricated her tendrils, stepping nervously to stand beside Yuna.

  "Uhm, Master Silas? Did you want us for something? To clean your room... or?"

  Silas blinked again. He was doing that a lot. "Oh, yeah. Sure. That would be appreciated. I can't really move right now." He chuckled. "I mostly grabbed you to... well. You know? It doesn't matter. Let's say I want to learn more about your magic."

  "Our magic?" Yuna asked curiously.

  "Yes."

  "We can't do magic," Kemi responded automatically. "We're yawm."

  "I did hear that." Silas nodded thoughtfully. "Something about how you can only use mana instinctively."

  Like an animal, Kemi filled in the rest of that sentence. She looked away. "Yeah," she said simply.

  "Hmm, I don't believe it."

  Kemi's main eye snapped to the lordling, but no matter how hard she stared, she couldn't parse his thoughts.

  "There. See. You're doing it right now. If that's not mana manipulation, I don't know what is."

  "What are you talking about?" Kemi asked.

  "Your use of magic," master Silas said simply. "It might be instinctive, but you definitely can use it. You're doing something to your big shoulder eye. I'm sure we can figure out how to teach you how to do it intentionally. Your core currents even look fairly strong for a kid."

  "You're a kid too," Kemi scowled, then immediately shrank her tendrils in fear. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

  "All good," Silas carelessly waved away her concern. "I actually wanted to talk about training..."

  Still, as he spoke about the mysterious training routine, his eyes remained hollow. Even the faint shimmer of amusement or excitement he projected failed to reassure her. She knew it was false now. A facade he projected to hide the deep void of emptiness inside of him.

  Kemi swallowed hesitantly and fearfully tried to memorize the long list of things master Silas wanted to do with them. To them, even. She swallowed again. He'd said it was all good. Everything was good. Fine...

  She couldn't shake off the feeling that the young lordling didn't actually mean it.

  try to push Patreon one week ahead. I've maintained an 8k+ words per week pace before, so it's theoretically doable, but I don't want to promise anything I can't deliver. For that reason, the Patreon does not currently promise advance chapters.