The sound of lacravida hooves on stone echoed up the plateau trail, dry, rhythmic, and deliberate. The noise bounced between the red cliff walls like a metronome, steady as a heartbeat. Above, the sky stretched cloudless and pale, bleached white at the edges like an overexposed print. The sun hadn’t yet reached its peak, but it already pressed down on the group like a weight. Dust clung to everything, and the arid breeze that stirred the air brought no comfort, only the taste of salt and rust.

  Inelius moved at the front of the party, his boots scraping grit as he navigated the switchbacks. Behind him came Veolo, focused and silent, then Violet, who moved with a kind of economical grace. Amalia brought up the rear, her breathing audible now, labored but controlled.

  “Do you think your wheezing will start echoing soon?” Violet called over her shoulder without turning.

  Amalia’s breath hitched with a chuckle. “Honestly? I’m surprised it took this long for anyone to say something.”

  Inelius glanced back briefly. Amalia trekked along with Riza’s massive sniper cannon, NMW, strapped to her back, as well as a handful of the giant slugs it used for ammo. Nearly as long as Amalia was tall, its reinforced plating gleamed under the sun, black with neon blue lines glowing from whatever powered the damn thing. She carried it like a challenge along with the rifle she normally carried, her body straining against the weight but never quite yielding to it.

  “Did you lose a bet?” Veolo asked. “Or piss her off or something?”

  “Training,” Amalia said, breathing hard but smiling. “Gotta be able to carry it around without struggling if I’m ever going to shoot it.”

  Veolo raised a brow. “And Riza agreed to let you use it?”

  Amalia shook her head, a flash of amusement in her eyes. “Sort of. She said I have to prove to her that I’m even capable of using it first. But she doesn’t want to shoot it right now either way, or be nearby if we shoot it. Says the shockwaves could mess with the baby.”

  “Ahh,” Inelius said as he walked along. “That makes sense.”

  Amalia shrugged, still grinning. “So…” a breath, “just gotta,” a breath, “get used to carrying it,” breath, “around.”

  She took the last step up the incline she had been climbing and took a huge breath. “Whew!”

  “You seem to be handling it well enough,” Violet muttered, resuming her pace.

  “I can’t feel my back anymore,” Amalia replied sweetly.

  Inelius allowed himself the faintest smile. The rhythm of hoofbeats and footfalls continued behind him, climbing higher along the ridge. Somewhere ahead, through the warped air above the sandstone rise, was the abandoned relay tower their patrol was meant to check, and the growing concern that it was being used for more than shelter.

  He rolled out his shoulders and pressed forward. The environment on Mol’eyne didn’t care what weight they carried.

  Thirty days, Garrin had told them.

  The Resolute Wind had left the star system yesterday, the massive ship slowly shrinking into a dot before disappearing from sight completely as it left the atmosphere. Commander Garrin had barely been able to convince Aurania to not reject the mission outright.

  “I have a really solid lead on something that could help out Nox,” Garrin had said as the ship approached the planet. “There are some promising ruins in the next system over, but I’m awaiting confirmation of their exact location.”

  “Well why the hell don’t we go help look?” Aurania questioned him.

  “Because there are three separate worlds in the star system, and the ruins could be anywhere on any of the planets. To my knowledge, none of the worlds are even really occupied.”

  That made Aurania understand.

  “Our ship isn’t equipped to live out of, especially for so many of us.”

  “Exactly,” Garrin said. “The Resolute Wind has orders to undergo maintenance, we have to head the opposite direction from where you'll need to go. Worst case scenario, I get word of where the ruins are, send them to you, and you take enough supplies for a short trip over there.”

  That had been the end of it. They could do a lot of good here while they waited. Them, and the several thousand other LU personnel that had been sent out to various towns across the planet.

  Mol’eyne stretched around them in every direction, dry, brittle, and cracked. Primarily settled by lazarco, d’moria, and a modest population of shorn, the area they had been assigned to was home to ranches, livestock, and little technology. LU bureaucrats called it a success story in progress, one of the most recent additions to the Liberty Union. The locals just called it what it was: hard.

  Inelius reached the crest of the plateau and paused, letting the others catch up. The ridge opened into a wide expanse of scorched brushland, baked flat beneath the rising sun. Scattered outcroppings of ochre rock jutted from the ground like fossilized bones, and in the distance, the remnants of an old relay tower sagged at the edge of a cracked basin, its spine warped from heat and neglect. A dust devil spun lazy circles in the distance, whipping up old plastic and sand like ghosts with nowhere left to haunt.

  This was the edge of nowhere.

  “Alright ladies, hydrate or die.” Inelius said, his tone relaxed but commanding. “Veolo, tell me what we're doing next.”

  Aurania had put him in charge of the three women for a small scouting mission. He was to keep testing and instructing Veolo in leadership drills along the way. He had fun with it, but she was doing well.

  Veolo stepped forward, adjusting the strap of her pack and squinting at the distant tower. Her silver hair clung damply to the back of her neck, a few strands fluttering in the dry wind.

  “We approach in a three-point arc,” she said, lifting her hand to gesture toward the layout. “I’ll take point east, Amalia takes west. Violet anchors the center with you. Locals think it's being used as a hideout, so…”

  She let that trail off, glancing at Inelius.

  He nodded once, approving. “Keep going.”

  “Once one of us gets visual, radio the others for further instruction. We're here to scout, not fight, so only engage if attacked first.”

  Veolo looked around at the others, expression sharp but not overbearing. She was trying to strike the balance Aurania had told her to practice, command presence without barking.

  “Simple enough,” Violet said, offering a faint nod.

  Inelius let a moment pass. The wind gusted again, scattering dry seeds from some gnarled bush clinging to a patch of dirt between the stones.

  He turned to Veolo. “Good plan. Any other day, I'd say it's perfect.” He let the point hang there for a moment.

  “But…?” Veolo asked after a moment.

  He slowly turned to look at Amalia. “Remember to adapt to changing circumstances.”

  Amalia had her head tilted back, dumping water in and around her mouth. She looked down and saw the rest of them staring. “What?”

  Inelius turned back to Veolo. “You're used to Amalia's battlefield advantage of chaos and quickness. I'm hoping to keep out of any firefights on this one, but if we do have to fight…” he raised his brow.

  “Amalia is a chaos slug,” Veolo finished, nodding as she understood.

  “Hey!” Amalia said, less offended than she was pretending to sound.

  “Copy,” Veolo continued. “Amalia with Inelius, Violet goes west.”

  He gave her a slight nod for confirmation. “Let’s move. We regroup at the base if anything looks off. Keep your comms low-volume.”

  Veolo peeled off quickly, skirting the ridge with that careful gait the lacravida all seemed to possess, weight forward, ready to pivot. Violet followed a moment later, slipping between two boulders without a word, her silhouette gone in seconds.

  Amalia exhaled dramatically once they were out of earshot. “I'm so proud of her, she's doing such a good job.”

  He smiled back at her. “She really is.” After a few moments, he added, “What's your plan if one of us needs to be carried back?”

  Her eyes flicked around as she contemplated the question. “I can handle the weight,” she said finally.

  Inelius shrugged with a look that said, ‘If you say so.’ Then he pulled his pack off his shoulders, took his water bottle out, and tossed the pack to Amalia.

  She caught it and slung it up onto her back with the rest of what she was carrying. She halfway looked like she might cry, but she never complained.

  Inelius took a big drink of water and then clipped the bottle on his belt. “Come on.”

  They set off toward the tower, slower than he preferred but faster than he expected.

  Amalia grunted a bit, adjusting to the new loadout as they started moving down a narrow path carved into the edge of the basin. The trail was brittle and uneven, but her hoof placement was deliberate, surprisingly light for someone hauling so much weight.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, the wind scraping across the rock like sandpaper. The landscape felt too still, like something had paused, waiting to be noticed.

  “Hey,” Amalia said eventually, keeping her voice low, “What's your read on this Venlin character?”

  Inelius didn’t answer right away. He just scanned the tower’s silhouette ahead. “I’m not sure,” he said finally. “Haven’t had more than the one quick interaction with the guy. Dresses fancy enough I guess.”

  “I kinda like it,” Amalia answered, stepping over a small boulder. “A well dressed lazarco? Mm, yeah I can work with that.”

  “Oh yeah?” Inelius cocked one brow at her. “He’s got so many rings on though.”

  “Well yeah, you guys have so many fingers. You could pull off some nice jewelry.”

  Inelius laughed a little. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They dropped into the shallow basin, where the air shifted. It was still hot, but heavier now, somehow. The relay tower stood crooked ahead, its steel ribs jutting into the sky like broken teeth. Something had scorched the base recently. Black marks streaked across one side of the plating, and a trail of disturbed gravel led around the far edge.

  “Visual,” Violet’s voice came in quiet over the comms.

  “Go ahead,” Inelius answered.

  “There’s a small compound built around the tower,” Violet said. “Counting at least 15-20 bodies moving around in there.”

  “Yeah, let’s not fight that,” Inelius said. “Veolo? How’s it looking from your side?”

  “One sec,” she answered. “Getting a better vantage point.”

  Inelius shifted his weight to one leg and took a look around, scanning their perimeter for movement. After confirming no threats, he casually reached down and picked up a small rock.

  “Think you can deflect this without touching it?” he teased Amalia.

  “Maybe if I try really hard. But I don’t think I’d look good with glowing white hair.”

  He chuckled and dropped the rock. “Fair enough.”

  “Alright,” Veolo said. “I can see Violet from where I’m at, and there’s another handful of bodies hanging out behind the building where she can’t see. If there’s anymore inside, I’d say we’re looking at upwards of 30. Looks to be mostly shorn, but I do see a couple lazarco around as well.”

  “Dayum,” Inelius said more to himself than anyone else.

  “How should we proceed?” Veolo asked.

  Inelius tightened his brow and looked at Amalia for a moment. Then he keyed up his comm and said, “I don’t know, you tell me.”

  She took a few moments before responding. “We’ve got a solid count on how many there are. Their gear doesn’t look any more advanced than what we’ve already seen on the planet, most likely scavenged. We pull out for now, report back to that Marshall and assess from there.”

  “Excellent work,” Inelius told her. “Regroup back where we split up, I want out of this dust bowl.

  He turned to Amalia and held out a hand. “Here, give me my pack back.”

  She took a couple steps backward. “What? No, I can carry it just fine. I need the endurance training.”

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Yeah, but you move slower and I want to get back before Garrin picks us up.”

  She took a few more steps back. “Nuh uh. You can have it back if you can catch me.” She turned and started semi-jogging back the way they came.

  He just chuckled a little and walked after her.

  By the time they made it back to the town outskirts, the sun had dropped enough to cast long shadows across the dry roads. The path wound between splintered fences and half-buried cable runs, the cracked soil beneath them giving way to a rough, gravel-packed thoroughfare.

  Boadicea wasn’t much to look at. The buildings were a patchwork of recycled metal, sun-warped wood, and LU-issue prefab paneling, some still bearing faded serial numbers. Most stood no higher than two stories, leaning in quiet protest against the wind. One building had a fresh coat of red paint, maybe trying to look new, but it peeled at the corners like a bad disguise.

  Livestock roamed loose across some of the outer lots, lean, sun-darkened creatures that looked like hybrids between cows, goats, and something armored. A few kids chased them lazily with long sticks, shouting in a mix of local dialect and broken Terr-English. Every structure buzzed with flies or groaned under the weight of disrepair. It wasn’t lawless, but it had a long way to go before Inelius would call it ‘comfortable.’

  As they moved deeper into town, heads started turning.

  Locals watched from shaded porches and low-hanging awnings, their eyes narrowing or widening depending on their various opinions of what they saw. Some nodded in the polite, performative way that said “I know you’re LU, but I don’t like it.” Others just stared, openly, hungrily, especially at Amalia and Violet, whose lacravida attire showed off more skin and curves than anyone in town knew how to process. The planet was too hot for them to don the full armor they had been using over the past several months, so they had reverted to what they were used to wearing on Nox: armor plates, airy robes, and little else.

  Inelius heard one voice mutter “long legs” under their breath as they passed. Another let out a low whistle that was just soft enough to pretend it wasn’t for them. Amalia didn’t react, though he saw her ears flick once, like radar.

  “Friendly place,” she murmured with a smile.

  Inelius didn’t answer. He was already scanning upward.

  At the far end of the main strip, a larger building loomed, three stories tall, with a flat roof and twin solar fans lazily rotating like drunk windmills. It was the only structure in town that looked like someone had maintained it with actual care. The windows were cleaned, the balcony rails freshly welded.

  And there he was.

  Venlin Dread stood on the third-story balcony, loose white shirt billowing in the breeze and rings glinting on all four hands as he leaned against the railing like a man surveying his land. His lazarco hide was black, with red lines accenting in a devilishly attractive manner. He wasn’t alone, two shorn stood near the balcony door behind him, armed and bored.

  He didn’t wave or nod, he just watched the town from on high.

  Inelius squinted up at him and felt the same thing he always did when dealing with decorated politicians in dirty places: the performative ease of someone who let others bleed for his comfort. Inelius was trying hard to not judge the book named Dread by its cover.

  “We reporting in now?” Amalia asked.

  “Not yet,” Inelius said. “Let’s find the others first.”

  They cut across the northern alleyways to avoid more stares. The streets weren’t crowded, but even a few curious onlookers were enough to sour the mood.

  Technically, the team had been assigned to a low-slung outpost on the edge of town, what the locals generously referred to as “The North Wing.” It was an old equipment depot that had been half-heartedly converted into personnel quarters sometime in the last decade. The floors creaked, the lights flickered, and the thin-framed beds had proven completely useless after the first night. Aurania had audibly said, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” when they walked into the building, and after Soren sat on a bed only to snap the frame clean in half, they’d stopped trying.

  The Ghost of Mandachor was parked not far from The North Wing, near a cluster of dried-out storage silos. They had taken the bedding they were offered and set up sleeping arrangements aboard their favorite shuttle. It’s not like they weren’t used to laying in a big pile already. Their ship also had better climate control than the drafty building that reeked of mildew, it just was a little annoying having to juggle their weapons, gear, and bedding depending on the time of day.

  They still planned to use The North Wing for daytime staging, gear prep, and planning, but their weapons and armor never stayed there long. Too many strange eyes in town, too many hands that might get curious.

  Inelius pushed open the depot’s rattling door and stepped inside. The air was a little cooler, but it still smelled like dust, oil, and the faint metallic tang of recycled sweat.

  Brana sat at the back table, elbows braced on a stripped-down stabilizer harness she was repairing. A mostly empty bottle of water sat beside her and a simple handgun was strapped to her thigh.

  “You’re back,” she said without looking up. “Shoot anyone?”

  “Not this time,” Inelius said. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “They just walked back to The Ghost to move gear back in and then I think they’re headed to that local saloon.”

  “Really?” Amalia said in an excited tone.

  “Yeah, Aura said it’s time to introduce themselves to the locals instead of ducking between their glances. I should have this patched in the next 5-10 minutes and then I’ll be over to watch the fireworks.”

  Inelius laughed a little. “So Aura’s practicing that ‘Admiral Marrow’ set of diplomatic skills she’s working on.” He turned to Veolo. “Come on, let’s go drop our gear, I have a feeling you’re going to be needed tonight.”

  Veolo had a look of cool excitement on her face. The girl loved to brawl.

  The sun had started to dip lower by the time they reached The Ghost of Mandachor. The shuttle loomed in its usual quiet defiance, matte-grey hull dulled with a coat of red dust. A few sand-worn storage crates had been stacked to form a makeshift perimeter, and a pair of thermal tarps flapped lazily over the entry ramp like flags in retreat.

  Riza sat on one of the crates, leaned back against the hull with one leg propped and a thick paperback cracked open in one hand. With the other, she absently flipped a dagger the length of a forearm, up, down, catch, spin. The blade glinted in the fading light like it was eager for something to carve.

  She didn’t look up. “No one bleeding,” she said, turning a page. “That’s either good or boring.”

  “We’re pacing ourselves,” Inelius said as he walked past her and up the ramp, dropping his rifle inside the hold.

  Veolo unlatched her shoulder guards and let them fall into the open storage bin with a heavy thunk. “Good book?”

  Riza tilted her head, still not looking away. “It’s about an assassin who falls in love with her target.”

  “Ooooh,” Amalia said, setting NMW down like it was a sleeping child. “Can I read it when I’m on gear guard?”

  Riza smirked faintly, eyes still scanning the page. “You gonna use all my things?” She glanced down at her cannon. “It’s all dusty.”

  Amalia looked bashful for a moment. “I’m sorry, I’ll get it cleaned right up!”

  Riza gave her a warm look, then stopped the girl from moving forward with one of her hooves. She pushed Amalia’s hip, spinning her around and then gave her butt a light kick. “Go play, just clean it before morning please.”

  Inelius pulled off the last of his gear and walked back down the ramp. “We’re heading to the saloon. You need anything?”

  She glanced up at him, eyes sharp as usual. “I’m good. You just missed the rest of them, but you better hurry before the ‘introductions’ are all finished.” She returned to reading her book.

  They set out back into town, the dry wind feeling better without the weight of weapons and armor. Inelius wore simple trousers and a light tunic that breathed. Violet and Amalia were both spilling out of wraps that hung off their necks, down their chests, and around their backs. Simple light belts held a long piece of robe in the front and back of their groins, but their legs, hips, arms, midsections, almost everything was free to the wind.

  Inelius barely noticed anymore.

  Veolo wore a similar waist piece, but her chest wrap was tied tighter to actually hold things in, and she was already wrapping tape around her knuckles as they walked.

  “You’re not intentionally going to start a fight, are you?” he asked.

  “What? No, of course not,” she answered with humor in her voice.

  “She’s just always prepared,” Violet said.

  The girls chatted more as they walked, Amalia said something about Veolo’s figure coming in nicely and hoped her chest wrap failed, it would make a good distraction for whoever she was pounding on.

  The saloon was squat and wide, like someone had built it to withstand storms and then forgot to add charm. A creaking ceiling fan stirred stale air over mismatched tables, and the floor was a patchwork of wood, metal, and someone’s bad attempt at concrete. A haze hung in the air, some mix of dust, tobacco, and whatever passed for liquor in this part of the planet.

  Inelius stepped through the swinging doors and the chatter inside dipped slightly. Handfuls of lazarco, d’moria and shorn sat around tables talking, smoking, and drinking. But when Amalia, Veolo, and Violet followed behind him, that’s when things really slowed.

  A man at the nearest table leaned back in his chair, eyes dragging from Amalia’s large chest to her bare midsection like he was taking inventory. Another nudged his companion, who turned just in time to watch Violet walk past their table. Veolo’s taped fists and lean muscle drew longer stares, some wary, some fascinated. The three of them cut striking silhouettes against the dusty haze of the saloon, all gleaming skin, full curves, and confident eyes.

  Half the reason Aurania had sent them out of town with him today was because most of the locals had never even seen what a lacravida looked like before, let alone met one. They started getting stares the instant they stepped on the planet, and Aurania wanted to feel the situation out before throwing the girls in the middle of it. She wasn’t worried about her team’s well-being, she just didn’t want any of the locals to get killed on their first day.

  They passed a pair of shorn playing cards. One of them stared openly, lips curling into something too slow to be polite. Someone back near the entrance let out a low whistle that was just soft enough to feign deniability. Inelius was hearing and seeing all of it. The girls didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

  Amalia just smiled and walked along. “They’re all so friendly,” she said plenty loud for everyone to hear.

  “There’s no way you’re that dense,” Violet muttered to her.

  “Nah,” she said back. Then she gave her sister a look like she was up to no good.

  Aurania, Soren, Tamiyo, and Raine were at a large table not far from the bar. Tamiyo and Raine were seated and sipping cautiously from wide mugs. Soren was leaning against the wall with his hands casually in his pockets, none of the chairs were likely built to hold over 700 pounds.

  Aurania was right next to him, leaning against the wall as well with her arms crossed. Her robes draped like royal banners and only barely concealed more than Violet and Amalia’s, but her practiced glare seemed to be warding off most of the looks.

  Brolgar’s voice caught Inelius’ attention as they neared Aurania’s table. He was up at the bar talking with the d’moria serving drinks, but his tone was a couple notches above calm.

  “You call this food?” he blustered out. “I can shit better grub than this, y’should be ashamed t’call yerself d’moria.”

  The bartender answered back in an even thicker drawl and matching tone, but Inelius noted that the two didn’t actually seem to be fighting. He’d watched Brolgar and Brana have similar conversations a handful of times on The Resolute Wind. D’moria just had a tendency to yell at each other in normal conversation.

  “How you guys liking your first day on Mol’eyne?” Soren asked as a greeting. “Cuz I have sand everywhere.”

  “It smells like balls in here,” Violet answered him, her face scrunching up in discomfort. “Sweat and balls.”

  “Sweaty balls?” Raine asked in a playful tone.

  “No,” Amalia played along, “It’s like two distinct stenches. Kinda burns my nose.”

  Inelius looked at Aurania. “So how much fun does it look like we’re going to have here?”

  She looked straight back at him, not quite glaring, more-so happy to have a friendly face to share her anger with. “I might legitimately slap Garrin for leaving us here.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Apparently, there’s only ever been one other lacravida show up in these parts, she’s supposed to be around here somewhere.” Aurania stepped over and picked up Tamiyo’s mug, throwing a gulp into her mouth. She halfway swallowed, then spit it back out onto the floor. “Gods, that shit could strip paint. And I think it’s where the sweaty balls smell is coming from.”

  “Well the scenery is nice enough at least,” Inelius said, then looked at Soren. “In a dry ass way.”

  “I kind of wish I had gone with you,” Soren told him. “Humans are also apparently rare here, so I’ve been getting a bunch of looks too.”

  “Well you are really tall for a human either way,” Inelius said.

  The two CIPHERs were giggling to each other.

  “That’s not even the best part, Babe,” Raine said.

  “Oh?” Inelius crossed his upper arms and raised a brow.

  Soren looked away from him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Tamiyo smiled and tilted her head far enough back to look at him standing behind her. “This joke is following you long after we leave this planet.”

  Inelius, Violet, Veolo, and Amalia all stared, waiting to hear what they were talking about.

  Raine looked at Violet. “You lied to me,” she said with a smile.

  “About…?”

  Raine snorted a little and pointed at Soren with her thumb. “We found a male lacravida.”

  The CIPHERs burst out giggling and soon everyone except Soren was laughing, but he was at least grinning while he hid his face in his palm.

  When the laughter finally died down, Amalia said, “Please, someone explain, I have to know more.”

  “The locals here don’t know anything about humans or lacravida,” Tamiyo said with a huge grin. “We were out earlier surveying the different areas we’ll be helping around town and someone just kind of assumed so we rolled with it before Soren could correct him.”

  “I hate you all,” Soren said, beet red and grinning.

  As the laughter around their table died down, the atmosphere in the saloon slowly started to shift. The locals had been listening in and eyeing them up. One group of four shorn at a nearby table had clearly been talking about them for a while now, their posture loose and their eyes sharper than their words.

  One of them stood up. He wasn’t big, not by lacravida standards, but he had that rough-mouthed swagger that came from being the loudest man in a quiet town. He was maybe in his mid-thirties with a half-buttoned shirt, a drink in his hand that wasn’t his first, and those long wrist-blades all shorn had.

  He made a slow walk over toward the group, half-drunk confidence in every step. His smile was wide and rotting at the edges. He stopped a few feet from their table, eyes locked on Amalia.

  “Now, I know y’all ain’t from around here,” he started, voice raised enough for others to hear. “But damn. You sure know how to dress for the weather.”

  Amalia glanced up at him, smiling like she actually liked what he was saying. “It’s hot.”

  “Sure is,” he said, eyes dragging down her body. “But it gets mighty cold at night, I can make sure you stay warm.”

  “Aww.” She pointed at him and looked back at the group. “Isn’t he sweet?” Then she looked back at him. “I keep pretty warm already, I do appreciate the offer though.”

  Rather than be deterred, the man tried changing targets. He picked Violet.

  “Now you look like you know how to handle yourself, little lady. How’d you like to handle me?”

  She stared back at him, her expression a mix of amusement and boredom. “Do those types of lines actually work around here?”

  “‘Course they do!” He spouted proudly. “Ain’t no woman in town don’t want what I can give them.”

  Inelius had made his way over near Soren. He leaned in and whispered, “A disease?”

  “Alright,” Aurania said loud enough for the entire saloon to pay attention. “I suppose we should get this over with.” She stepped toward the center of the room.

  “You all are going to be seeing a lot of us over the next month, we’re helping the Liberty Union do some basic support around town.”

  Someone in the back said something about wanting to see as much of her as possible, but she ignored it.

  “We’ll also be looking into these raider problems you’ve been having,” Aurania continued. “Now I know this is your home. We don’t mean to be any kind of intrusive, but since most of you seem unfamiliar with our culture, let me give you the highlights. The only thing my girls here like more than fucking is fighting.”

  There were some noises of excitement around the room.

  “Now since I get the distinct impression you all only heard half of what I just said, let me make sure we have an understanding. I don’t give a shit how much you look, we make no apologies for who we are. But we are here to help, and I promise it is in your best interest to treat my girls with respect.” Aurania glared around the room, making sure everyone saw just how big she was.

  For a moment, Inelius’ attention was drawn away by Brana sidling up next to him, apparently she had slipped in the back. She had a long pipe in one hand, and she let a big puff of fragrant smoke out. “What did I miss?”

  “Oh I think you got here just in time,” Inelius said. He reached forward and pulled Raine and Tamiyo’s chairs away from the table. Then he started rubbing Raine’s shoulders.

  Looking back at the entertainment, he saw the loud-mouth drunk shorn swaggering up next to Veolo just as Aurania was getting ready to leave the center of the room.

  “And what if I just want you to suck my dick?” he said, and slapped Veolo’s ass.

  Inelius thought his ears popped, and Tamiyo just let out a small, “ooh noo.”

  Veolo stared back at the man for a moment, her face didn’t even look angry.

  “Just ask,” she said with a shrug.

  Then she put his face through their table.

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  The year is 2057. A few powerful corporations stand astride the remnants of civil society. The rich have gotten richer. The poor have been crushed. Protests rage on the daily, and brutality has become the norm. But, honestly? John Longfellow doesn’t have it so bad. He’s just wrapped up another day at his job, babysitting an autonomous robotic street sweeper, and was about to settle in for an evening of VR gaming. Then comes a night of drinks, a rendezvous with a mysterious woman, and one very bad decision.

  You see, this particular woman happens to be carrying a stolen prototype: The Time Helmet, a fully-immersive virtual reality device in which every second is experienced as a full hour. Time dilation.

  Naturally, John puts it on.

  He wakes up in a vast and ancient medieval fantasy world wielding absurd power. He’s worshipped by the NPCs, but hunted by God-like players. The catch? He can’t log out, so until somebody takes off the helmet, he’s stuck here. And in this place, minutes become days... and days become decades.

  As if things weren’t bad enough, he’s about to find out that his entrance into this world has upset a very delicate balance. He’s been thrust into a deadly game of thrones. And, you know what? He just might have what it takes to win! That is if the ancient powers which run this place don’t tear him apart first.

  WHAT TO EXPECT:

  This is a slow burn Portal Fantasy / Isekai. Simmer down and enjoy the doldrums of dystopian life in the 2050s before bursting into an epic fantasy adventure in later chapters. Prepare yourself for huge twists, action packed battles interspersed with philosophical musings on life, immortality, power, and what it means to be human.