Colhern paced back and forth inside the conversation pit. Holograms illuminated the space around him. His hand trembled as he massaged his beard while his other hand clenched and unclenched at his side. Once Xala stepped off the elevator platform, Colhern’s head whipped over to him. Worry, joy, and fury were neighbors in his expression, “Where were you?!”

  The holograms had all sorts of text and images on them. Streets all over Fae Town were being tracked while the text scrolled by as it gave live updates of local news and events. Xala walked forward, slower than before, as he took in the scene. Colhern was disheveled, uncharacteristically so, as his eyes demanded answers. Xala pursed his lips together, gestured toward the panels of light, and said, “What’s all that?”

  “Huh?” He turned, dismissed the holograms with a few scrambled waves of his hands, and repeated, “Where were you?”

  “Exploring. I wanted to check out those catacombs under the city.”

  A grave expression crossed Colhern’s face. He hoisted himself out of the conversation pit, closed the distance, and took Xala’s hand in his own as he inspected him. “Are you hurt? Did anyone try to sell you anything? Why were you out so long?”

  Xala’s eyes narrowed, “No, yes, and I already answered that. What is this about?”

  Colhern huffed through his nostrils, winced with irritation, held his forehead, and made a baffled chuckle, “Oh, I don’t know, the guy I invited to live with me, the guy I slept with last night, the guy I’m dating, disappears for hours without any follow-up messages? What if something happened to you? What if you were hurt and I had no way to reach you? What happened with that telepathy spell you said you’d use?”

  The telepathy spell Xala suggested as a one-off thing the last time he went “exploring”? He had to admit, Colhern was right to be so inquisitive. Alas, that did not stop his brewing annoyance, “Ajirla, look at me. I am fine. I am an elite wizard. There is no danger for me here.”

  That seemed to throw a wrench in the cogs of Colhern’s rampage of concern. “Wait, you were in the catacombs?” The moment he said it, it dawned on him, “Oh, Xala, don’t tell me you went looking for the cults.”

  “Cult. Faith. Religion. They’re a fairly organized folk, and quite decent.”

  Colhern was stunned, his mouth hung agape, until he threw up his hands and said, “What the fuck?! You went on your own?!”

  Xala frowned as he stared at Colhern. He needed to diffuse. His tone remained level and calm, “Col, where is this coming from?”

  Colhern’s demeanor hesitated before he sucked in some air and said, “I’m right to be worried when my,” he lost the word for what they were. What were they? “I thought you went missing.”

  “Ajirla,” Xala stepped forward, cupped his face, brushed his thumb over his cheek, and said, “I assure you, nothing in this city can harm me. If I go missing, it’s because I chose to. Ok?”

  “Not funny,” he tilted his head into his palm. “But, how can you say that? Also, what happened in the catacombs? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Compared to my homeland, this city is gentle.” A half-truth. “As for the rest of those questions,” Xala told the truth. Mostly. He left out Halifax, Vulcan, and the instructions he convinced the People of Mishcharer to implement. However, the temple, the archives, the catacombs themselves, Xala could not help but go into great detail over. The more he spoke, the more Colhern settled. They moved back to the conversation pit and he listened to his every word with a reverent focus. Then, that final question. Colhern was suitably entertained. If Xala could, he would gladly refuse to answer it. He despised conflict he could not charm someone out of, but liked Colhern too much to scramble his mind. “Col, I didn’t tell you because,”

  The hairs on the back of Xala’s neck stood up. His pupils dilated. Another presence was about to warp into the room. A presence that radiated power. In the corner of the living room, where a circular pad sat, the air collapsed in on itself to birth a rift of clouds breached by sunlight. The clouds parted as a woman stepped through and willed the rift to reseal itself behind her.

  She was a matriarchal version of Colhern with harsh features and a regal posture. Light brown garments flowed around her body. Golden stars and ivy embroidery crawled up her flowy pants and sleeves, tapered off past the joints, but her waist was cynched by a mock-belt of intricate golden waves.

  She walked forward and the energy in the room bowed to her. The very atmosphere swarmed and collected around her like moths to a light. Her eyes were Colhern’s, purple-blue and iridescent, but they were aged beyond her years. Not a speck of makeup concealed her wizzened features as her lips pulled taut at the sight of Xala. When her eyes landed on him, he felt like he was in an interrogation chair with a swinging, suffocating light over his head.

  “Hey, mama!” Colhern beamed as he waved her over. “What’re you doing here?”

  The moment Colhern addressed her, her taut lips became a bright smile and her demeanor exuded warmth. However, the currents of energy around her remained at her beck and call like brutally trained soldiers. Her voice was deep and rich as she said, “Is it wrong to visit my son when I please?” Her eyebrows rose as she looked at Colhern’s posture, who immediately corrected his slouch when she noticed, and continued, “I wanted to check in and see what you were doing. I heard through the grapevine you had a good fight yesterday.”

  “Yeah, it was a draw but we both gave it our best. Though, that wasn’t the best part of my day.” He put his arm around Xala’s shoulders, “I spent most of my time with Xala. Mama, meet Xala, my ajirla.”

  Xala felt a tingle go up and down his spine. The way Colhern said that word dismissed any notions and worries about what they actually were. He was his ajirla, and he was his. Simple. Xala liked that simplicity. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He bowed his head respectfully.

  Again, that swinging light appeared above his head. Her attention, when given to him, grabbed hold of that lamp and shoved it into his face. “Ajirla. Hmph. Sounds eastern. Call me Desna.” She walked down into the pit and sat across from the couple, crossed her legs, and rolled her shoulders back. “Colhern, would you get us some refreshments? Let me speak in peace with your new friend.”

  Colhern’s bicep tensed behind Xala’s head before he nodded, smiled, and got up, “Sure, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  When Colhern disappeared into the kitchen, Desna and Xala just watched each other for a moment. Desna’s interrogation never ended, while Xala’s bulwark nonchalance in the face of it remained. She broke the silence, “Where are you from, Xala?”

  “Ikarn, a small island on the far outskirts of Okra.”

  “Is that where you learned magic?” His nod satisfied her. “My son likes you. His aura practically sings while he’s around you.”

  She was a Diviner. No wonder her gaze felt so confrontational and tangible. It literally was to those sensitive enough. “That’s nice to hear, thank you.”

  “But yours is obscured. Concealed. Those who have no aura are either soulless, or learned how to hide them. You do not strike me as soulless. Far from it. Meanwhile, I doubt there is a single mage on Ikarn who could have taught you that technique.”

  Xala did not move. She was good. If he placed Vulcan in front of her, he wondered if she would sniff him out. Auras were the symptoms of souls inside of mortal vessels, in that they emanated from their hosts a field of resonances. Auras are invisible to the naked eye, but to born Diviners and those with the right spells? A person could become known in their entirety with a look.

  Xala’s disguised soul was wrapped in many layers of illusions and cyphers. He did not know the extent of her diagnosis of his aura, but he was relieved that she did not immediately attack him. She likely would have if she could.

  “I am mostly self-taught. I first experimented on my own aura to hide from the masters. I was trying to create a chameleon spell that would change my appearance at will. I developed my spell from the wrong foundations, and ended up with this,” he gestured to the air around him, his aura. “Only a few people have ever noticed.”

  All true. Originally, his fleshy disguise was exclusively cosmetic. After he was sniffed out by the Master, he developed many new ways to conceal himself.

  “You are very lucky you did not fracture your own soul in its tampering. That is a severely novice mistake. Though, I am not surprised. Even the way magic flows around you is homebrew. It knows it is in the presence of a master, and yet you are young. You may be a born prodigy, but your skill is far out of your reach. At least, it should be. Why?”

  Xala could not lie. “I was in a Temporal Prison.”

  Desna leaned forward, rested her elbows on her knees, and scrutinized him even further. “Why?”

  “I do not know.”

  That gave her pause, but not for long. “Temporal Prisons create environments meant to rehabiliate and punish those within for what they have done. What was yours?”

  “Nothing. It was a black void. I had to create my own environments.”

  Her stoicism cracked with concern for a split second. “You do not know who did that to you?”

  “No.”

  “If you did, what would you do?”

  “Kill them.”

  Desna let the silence simmer, her thoughts unknowable behind her Sphinx-like visage, until her lips curved upward. She leaned back, spread her arm over the top of the couch, and nodded approvingly, “As you should. Such cruelty cannot go unpunished, regardless of what you did to receive it. How long was it set for?”

  “Roughly four-hundred years.”

  “Four-hundred times you must kill your jailer, then.”

  “Oh, now you’re just reading my mind.”

  They both chuckled before she nodded and said, “Colhern was right to let you into his home. You remind me of the mongoose my grandmother kept around our villa to scare away the snakes. He is not very good at finding such people. You are a new kind of person for him.”

  “He is the same way for me. I am not used to someone so,”

  “Soft?” Her tone had a slight bite to it.

  Xala smiled, countering her disapproval, “Yes. It is nice.”

  She sucked on her teeth, glanced toward the kitchen, and said, “No one in our family was born without power. He was an enigma to us. But, I instilled discipline where I could. Though,” she shrugged, “I know I spent less time with him than his sisters. I was easier on him. But,” she scanned the large suite, “he does well enough, for his condition.”

  “Do you live somewhere nicer?”

  She laughed, “Colhern owns this suite. I own the building. Among others.”

  “Well, it is the nicest place I’ve ever laid my head.” Xala brushed his hand along the couch cushion. The texture grinded against his skin as he passed over the rough but soft cotton. A thought popped into his head. One he hesitated to ask. He wondered if Desna would disapprove of his boldness. Then again, they did just agree on killing someone, so he likely had leeway. “You are powerful. In many ways. What keeps you in Fae Town? What keeps you, someone who can be anything and anywhere, underneath a city that hates all of us?”

  “I was a Knight. Our lineage goes back to the first Feltkanites. The Malrens have been on the frontlines and in the command tents of Feltkan’s armies since the Moors. We are legendary for our feats against the enemies of Feltkan and Merces. Our family House were the apex battlemages and weapon masters of the Knight Class, such that nothing in this city, militarily, happened without us. My mother helped create the infrastructure for the military Feltkan now has. She wanted to create something called a Silver Dome, a vast network of automated sensors that could detect a threat and instantly signal it to every other part of the city so they could react to the threat simultaneously. She accomplished her dream, and died a proud woman when I was in my twenties. After she died, we got to test it against a Lich Lord of Illamoor. Cathraxix Jestellian. She was completely insane, and incredibly powerful. Not much was known about her, especially compared to the other Lich Lords who love to agrandize themselves and publish their every thought, but she had gone mad and brought with her enough arcane firepower and undead legions to test our less magically inclined forces.

  “We annihilated her. I got to claim her head myself. There are few things more dangerous than a Lich, but one who has completely lost their grip on reality? Oh,” she chuckled to herself, “That was a battle I will take with me to my death.” Her expression slowly fell as she continued, “Then, Qua’Anna used the opportunity to ensure the death of my career. Hundreds of civilians died. Tens of thousands would have died without the Silver Dome and my strategy, but that did not matter. By then, the majority of families in the Knight Class were nulls. We were black sheep. We were sustained by our lineage and centuries of excellence. Jealous Families, our rivals, banded together and helped the Council seize our lands and properties as punishment for my alleged failures. We were given two choices. Join Qua’Anna’s Personal Guard, or leave. I refused to bow my head to that bitch. But I also refused to leave Feltkan entirely. This is my home. My status within it may have changed, but,” she smirked, “In Fae Town, I might as well be a Queen. I refused to live in the way they demanded for me. A wretch.” She shook her head. “Nobility is born, and cannot be taken away. It is a state of mind no one can cleave from you or steal from you. My girls were born before our exile, and Colhern after. He maintains the most,” she searched for the right word, “Commoner traits. He is a man of the people. He made me realize there was virtue in that.

  “Thus, I stay. I am not bound financially or physically to this city, but I refuse to abandon it. Just because the powers that be have decided I am not welcome, that does not mean they can kick me out of my own home.” She smirked. “They did, but I do not view that as permanent. Not at all.”

  Xala smiled. She would be a perfect leader for his movement. She would be beyond perfect. Colhern was a good face, but she was credible. The fact that the people of the surface had allowed her removal from government was evidence that they were susceptible to fear and propaganda. In what world can a hero of the city be reduced to a villainous urchin worthy of the space beneath their feet? Only one where the people of Feltkan were docile, or one where they were threatened by the tip of a soldier’s sword at every turn. Both could be true in Feltkan.

  “Temporary? Why do you say that?”

  Desna smirked, “I, like my mothers before me, am building a legacy for my children to inherit. If I never see the inside of our ancestral home again, then my children will, or else their children. I work from a bottom-up approach, in that I will rise back to the surface of my own accord.”

  “I like it. I do not know the specifics of your plan, but,” he turned his head toward the doorways that led to the balcony, toward the rest of Fae Town, “I have been here for only a few days, and I already wish to see the people of Fae Town rise with you. This place is an affront to me. An obscenity.”

  “Well said, Xala. Well said.”

  He smiled, “Thank you. Though, your son does not seem so revolutionarily inclined.”

  “Hah, I wouldn’t say I’m a revolutionary, either, but there are too many whose potential is wasted here. As for Colhern, he is one who rides the current, not against it. He understands much, but decides little. It is up to us opinionated folk to stir up people like him.” She chuckled, sighed, and said, “He is like his father. A pure soul, but pure souls rarely do the dirty work. That is a task for our kind.”

  “Agreed.”

  They were both invokers of their own kind. Xala enjoyed coordinated chaos. Desna was a woman of militaristic talent, who could probably even force him to march in a line. Xala pondered the ways they agreed, the ways she would align so perfectly with his schemes. He could see it in his mind’s eye; Desna Malren, former Knight, at the front lines of a revolution that would flip all of Feltkan upside down. The mages of Fae Town would rise up, inhabit the towers now held by nulls, and thrive with no equals. He imagined the magocracy that Desna could usher. The absolute beauty of rule by magic.

  “You two playing nice?” Colhern’s voice chimed as he walked out of the kitchen with a tray in hand.

  Colhern. Where would he fall in that schema? At first, he had offered himself up as the face of revolution. Though, Brook ruined those ambitions. Colhern, however, would not fare well in a magocratic state. That caused Xala’s mind to whirr. How could he incorporate him? How could he make Colhern feel safe, welcomed, and included? As much as Xala wished to flip Feltkan right-side up, he had to consider Colhern. Funny. As a teenager, when he first encountered the dichotomy between Prodigies, Dims, and Nulls, he considered the latter suboids. They were worthless except for making subpar servants. They were grunt laborers who were less useful than undead.

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  When he aged out of that bigotry, he still held vestiges of that ignorance. He always devalued nulls in general. He did not view them as a servant-class, even if the Empire did, but he certainly did not view them equally.

  Now, he was unsure. What were the concrete beliefs he held regarding nulls? Clearly, he was more than happy to sleep with one. But was that him taking advantage of a lesser being? Did he view Colhern as a lesser being? No. Of course not. But, if Colhern were a prodigy, like Xala, would he love him more?

  Did Xala love Colhern?

  He certainly liked his presence. He liked his personality. He liked his face. He liked his body, especially when pressed against his own. Colhern made him feel safe. Colhern made him feel cherished. Even when Colhern worried about him, Xala felt appreciated and desired.

  Perhaps Xala did not understand love.

  “Hah, you could learn much from this young man,” Desna beckoned Colhern over to her side of the couch, which he obeyed diligently as he set down the tray of drinks, fruits, and jerky. Desna immediately plucked a glass of gin and a handful of dried meat for herself, bit off a chunk, swigged a swallow, and downed it all with a grunt of satisfaction. She leaned over her knees, gestured toward Xala with her glass, and said, “Tell me, revolutionary, how would you make the people rise up? How would you make them realize their potential?”

  Xala reached for a dried date, munched on it, washed it down with some water, and answered, “People require hope. When all the forces of power convene against a population, the only way they can thrive is with hope. However, hope alone is an ideal. A misunderstanding of reality. He who hopes for a better tomorrow, without fearing what tomorrow could become, is a man without a fire under himself. People require fires in order to understand why a fresh, cool breeze is important. Utopia may be impossible, but the hope that it is possible will be enough to make a man dream of a better tomorrow while he is flayed today.”

  Desna laughed around her pork, swallowed, and said, “The calculus of power. Are you a fan of Usha Mosmadadi?”

  Xala attended her lectures. She had a brilliant mind. He incorporated her own ideas into his sacking and deconstruction of Crimsire’s political ecosystem, and thus led to its collapse into barbarity before the city walls were sieged by Morl’s forces. “She is a classic who cannot be ignored. Does Trymora take her teachings to heart?”

  “Somewhat. Trymora prefers the words of her own philosophers, who were inspired by Okra’s. They dress up the quotes of Okran intellectuals in their own words, to paraphrase. But,” she smirked as she glanced toward Colhern, “Schools never taught that truth, the plagiarism of it all, even when I was a girl.”

  Colhern’s smile was weak. Xala suppressed a laugh. It was clear Colhern did not care about their conversation about philosophers, nor did he know what they were talking about. He just nodded and agreed. “I figured you two would get along,” he muttered as he bit into a plum and tried to make himself small and unnoticed.

  “Now, tell me about your arcane schooling. You claimed yourself self-taught, but that cannot be the whole truth. You would have died, if that were the case for your whole life.”

  “I’ve had a few mentors, but they were particularly rough. They gave no second chances, and believed that if you could not master something in a day, you were less-than. As a child, I wandered the wilderness and saw the magic inherent in all life,” alongside a cohort of undead babysitters, “Then, my first Master found me and taught me how to hone my abilities,” as far as they had to know, Master meant teacher, “After him, I was taught by battlemages. They accelerated my learning and helped me synthesize spells faster than any opponent, so that I would never falter in the heat of the moment,” his favorite teachers. The ones who actually considered him worth their time. “Afterward, books and grimoires became my greatest source of inspiration. However, allthroughout that time, I created my own spells. Magic, to me, are like building blocks. When you know the foundations, only your imagination limits you.”

  Desna nodded along, sucked on her teeth, and chuckled, “Formidable indeed. I can only imagine you in a duel.”

  Xala’s smile was sheepish, “I don’t care to boast.” He wondered if he could kill her.

  “Hah,” she nudged Colhern’s arm with an elbow, “The humble are always the deadliest. Nothing to prove. Just, pure sport.” She leaned forward and addressed Xala more seriously. “Is it a sport, to you, Xala?”

  Gone was the matriarchal empress, returned was the Sphinx. Xala understood her shift to be riddled in nature. She sought an answer that would bring her great delight. Would that desired answer be a lie or the truth? Would she rejoice in the truth? Her prior statement invited Xala’s lethality to bristle and boast.

  Xala dipped his head downward ever so slightly, averted his gaze, feigned a moment of ponderous pause, and raised his posture to address her. His eye contact did not falter once it connected with her predatory watch. “Defeating someone is not a sport, to me. It is the duel itself. The push and pull. Whether they die or not is causality. Unimportant. The struggle is what I find most,” he genuinely paused to find the right word. His eyes shifted, his tongue rolled around behind his teeth, and he gave name to whatever emotions he could in a whirlwind of them, “flavorful.”

  The Sphinx across from him did not move. She did not deviate. She remained still, like the Awarian Tigress lurking behind the brush, before her joy pounced across her face. “My thoughts exactly!” She ate some more jerky and said, “You must let me see you duel.”

  Xala smiled. “I am afraid I have not dueled a trained mage in a long time. I worry I will be rusty.”

  “You were ready to take me down the moment I entered the room.”

  Colhern visibly gulped as he watched the two interact. Xala could hear how fast his heartbeat was. Every inch of his body was tense, but he also seemed delighted. Who wouldn’t be at the sight of their mother and ajirla getting along? Alas, Colhern could also tell when two individuals were sizing each other up. He saw it every day in the Arena’s barracks.

  Xala’s smile faltered as he nodded and said, “Rusty and paranoid. What worse case is there for a combatant?”

  “Paranoia is good,” she countered as she leaned back, took another sip of her gin as if it were juice, and said, “Rust can be dissolved. Polished. Something you have been doing since the moment you entered Feltkan. You’ve been busy, with all those spells you’ve been casting, no?”

  She could detect the remnants of arcane energy that surrounded him? When mages cast spells, they release energy into the atmosphere that leaves a trace of that spell. Every spell has a signature, just like every spell has its own unique runic and scriptic components, the sigils and glyphs that float around the caster as they use a spell. The art of tracing magic itself is a difficult endeavor for non-Diviners, requiring arcane foci and rituals. Diviners like Desna could detect spells far more easily, but even the best still required some level of casting to detect anything beyond an hour since the spell was cast.

  But Desna accurately detected days worth of casting on Xala.

  Which meant she could almost certainly detect the Dark Arts that clung to him like morning dew or a thin layer of cold-sweat. He had employed blood magic and necromancy only a few hours ago. Her kind were beyond rare, if she could see all that.

  Rarer still if she could see all that and not immediately attack.

  Xala felt the nerves in his flesh tingle. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. His jaw clenched. Xala knew the feeling all too well. He felt this way every time Morl touched him. Thus, he knew how to calm such things. He focused on Desna’s eyes. In them, he saw the violet and mauve and cerulean colors swirl around her pitch pupil. He studied the moisture that reflected the lights in the room. He traced her waterline. He even measured the space between her eyelashes. Then, once he gathered every observation necessary, he imagined how he would use those eyes to live in her flesh.

  Once the idea of becoming her crossed his mind, his whole body settled. Calmed. She no longer threatened him.

  “Your powers are exceptional. I only wish I could hold a candle to such insight.”

  Desna’s smirk remained, but it morphed into something more approving yet dismissive. She had also declared him a non-threat. “We must speak again. I enjoy you, Xala.” She still approved of him, somehow.

  “And I you, Desna.”

  She nodded, rose from her seat, and looked down at her son, “Colhern, treat this one well. He is sure to multiply your wealth.” Her finger swiped the side of her nose and pointed down at him, “Is that understood?”

  “Yes, mama.” He smiled weakly. “Where are you going?”

  “Work. I just wanted to stop by while there was a lull. Remain clean.” She nodded affirmatively, stepped out of the conversation pit, and made her way back to the teleporter. She was gone the instant she stepped into the circle.

  With the typhoon gone, a fresh breeze wafted in from the outside and passed over the duo like the plunge after a baptism by fire.

  They both let out synced sighs of relief. Colhern hopped across the space to sit next to Xala and nudged him in the side, “Gotta say, I’ve never seen my mother act that way with anyone. I think you passed.”

  Xala’s head landed on Colhern’s shoulder as he closed his eyes and said, “I hope so.”

  Desna concerned him. The things she said were intimidating enough, but what was left unsaid bothered Xala. Could she tell the nature of his magic? Could she tell the nature of him? If so, why say nothing? What use did she see in him to let him go on?

  Colhern wrapped an arm around Xala, pulled them both into the cushions, and kissed the top of his head, “Aw, you’re kind of cute when you’re worried.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Hehe, there’s my favorite version of you. Flustered and bothered.”

  Xala submerged his pink cheeks below his clothes as he pushed his head into Colhern’s face to make him stop talking. That just led to Colhern assaulting Xala’s scalp and forehead with a flurry of retaliatory kisses. Xala could not help his laughter as he gave up his fight and let Colhern kiss his way down Xala’s face, coaxed him out of his fabric burrow, and let their lips connect.

  When their lips touched, Xala’s nerves felt like fuses that all detonated the gunpowder fireworks in his brain. He melted into the sensation, into Colhern, and let the other man guide their sensual dance. His touch was warm. Xala craved that warmth above all else. He craved it more than the fires of rebellion, the torching of palaces, the martyring of rulers. When he was in Colhern’s arms, he was at his mercy.

  And when he realized that, he wanted to pull away. He wanted to abolish the power Colhern held over him. Yet, the moment the thought arrived, it was drowned out by the hand he placed on the small of his back. Xala released a moan, gripped Colhern’s arms, and muttered breathlessly, “Ajirla,”

  Colhern chuckled softly, gave one last kiss, and pulled his face away. Xala grumbled as the warmth of Colhern’s face dissipated, as his smell got further away, but he settled as Colhern brushed a strand of hair away from Xala’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me where you were?”

  He gave up power too quickly. That question pierced his throat and could have sawed his head off. Xala stared up at Colhern, at his inquisitive, serious, saddened face.

  “You never answered that.”

  Xala peeled away from Colhern and sat a few inches away. His lips quivered as he thought about an answer. His mind was mush, his thoughts were scattered, and his arousal was the one to blame. He closed his eyes, sighed, and said, “Way to change the subject.”

  “Yeah, it killed the mood for me when I remembered.”

  Xala frowned, side-eyed Colhern, and relented, “I understand.” He twisted his body on the couch to face Colhern, propped up his head as he rested an arm along the backrest, and said, “What are two people who call each other ajirla called, in Trymora? The way we do?”

  That made Colhern’s lips tug upward in a slightly befuddled smile, “Well, in Trymora, people who call each other dear, the way we do, are typically lovers.”

  “Do you feel that way?”

  “I definitely like you, if that’s what you’re worried about. But, for me to feel anything more, I need honesty.”

  Xala let those words sink in. Could he be honest with Colhern? What did honesty look like? What did it feel like? How could he be honest? In Xala’s experience, honesty worked similarly to lies — the more you did it, the more you had to do it. Lies came so much more naturally. He was good at them. It felt nourishing to develop them. What better way to pass the time than to create conspiracy?

  Alas, such did not feel nourishing when it came to Colhern. Instead, it left him suspended in a void. He was sick of voids and emptiness. Thus, Xala said, “Last night, you were ready to be the face of a revolution. Then, in the span of a minute, you were convinced out of it. So, I left you out of it.”

  Colhern’s face shifted into a few different emotions, including but not limited to regret, irritation, sorrow, confusion, and resentment. He eventually settled on neutrality as he asked with a stern tone, “You’re trying to start a revolution behind my back? While living with me? While sleeping with me?”

  A spotlight made him sweat less as he mauled over Colhern’s words and said, “Uh, well, I had considered it merciful. I considered it a burden you did not want. But,” he gritted his teeth as he tried to find a better way to frame it, sighed, and said, “I suppose that is a way to look at it.”

  “So, when Brook said it was dangerous and crazy, and we agreed to let the issue rest, you went ahead and tried to do it anyway? Completely ignoring us?”

  Xala straightened up and scowled, “I did not ignore them. I realized that none of you wanted to be a part of it, but understood that it was still necessary. You wanted no part in it, but I cannot sit by and watch you all live like this. It is unconscionable. Immoral. What kind of cretin must I be to have the know-how to incite change for a better world, and do nothing?” He tilted his head, “I want to do what I can to make your life, and your friends’ lives, comfortable. I wanted them to be secure, as you wished. Thus, the further you are from what I do, the safer you are.”

  Colhern frowned, “I agreed to not do revolution because it was dangerous for everyone, including my friends. Maybe you wanted to keep us safe, but instead, I got blindfolded. What would have happened when riots broke out, and our lives were in jeopardy? How would you keep us safe then?”

  He had many ways to keep them safe, from protection charms to, possibly and eventually, entire armies of undead dedicated to their safety. Nothing would touch them. Alas, none of those would work to convince Colhern. “You kept tabs on me. I saw those images of the streets. You wanted to keep me safe that way. I would have done the same to protect you. I would use everything at my disposal.”

  After a flash of regret, Colhern’s sternness mellowed. He swallowed and said, “Sorry about that. But, I wasn’t very successful, was I?”

  Xala chuckled slightly, “That means you need more eyes in the sewers.”

  Colhern scoffed, “Most people would say to just not look and trust that you’re ok.”

  Xala shook his head, “Most people are fools. I prefer not to be followed, but I don’t mind if it’s you.”

  Colhern laughed, “You’re a little fucked up. Y’know that, right?”

  “You already knew that.” They both laughed until it tapered off into a chilling stillness. Xala watched Colhern process his emotions, while Xala just wanted to do whatever it took to stay in Colhern’s presence. This man was too good to give up. As each second went by, Xala worried more that he was about to be ousted from Colhern’s life. In such a brief time, he had grown too fond of him. It was a weakness. A weakness he did not want to abandon or lose.

  “Where will you go tonight?”

  “What?”

  “Tonight. Where are you planning on going?”

  Xala could not discern Colhern’s intentions, his face unreadable, but he said, “Northern Fae Town.”

  Colhern winced slightly, “Northside? Really?”

  “Yes. That’s where I need to go next.”

  “You’ve got a plan?”

  “A fairly mapped out one.”

  “Triunity preserve me,” Colhern said, followed by a heavy sigh, looked Xala in the eye, and said, “I’m coming with you.”

  “You’re what?”

  Colhern stood up, rolled his shoulders, helped Xala to his feet, leaned down to kiss Xala’s cheek, and walked off to one of the closed off rooms. He pushed open the panel and revealed an armory. Xala followed behind and stopped at the threshold to take in the different runic-scrawled armors, weapons, and gadgets that hung along the walls and were displayed on racks. He blinked as he felt the energy in the room, the imbuements that slithered and sizzled within the equipment, and glanced toward the painted doorway. He pulled it out to examine the painting, and discovered the intricate linework of Concealment Glyphs embedded in the feathers of a Thunder Bird as it ripped open the guts of a serpent. His fingers glided across the waves of the lake around them and felt the subtle arcana flare up at his touch.

  “You hid an entire arsenal from me,” Xala marveled, smiled gleefully, and glanced inside to find Colhern sizing up different spears and guns to take with them. “I have never been more proud. It was literally hidden behind paper!”

  Colhern winked as he selected a silver-bladed glaive. The blade at the end was ornately designed to look like it was coming out of a tiger’s maw, the tiger’s body being the shaft itself as a long, silver-banded polearm whose butt had the tail curled up to form a small bludgeon. The shaft was made of a greenish metal with dozens of different symbols etched along the length of the blade and pole. They were in a script Xala was unfamiliar with.

  “What do those imbuements do?”

  Colhern chuckled as he said, “When I activate it, it gives me a temporary ward against magical attacks. Should be useful if we’re dealing with Northsiders.” He went on to get some sleek underarmor, a hand-crossbow, and a belt of stones with different animals painted onto each one. “The rest, you’ll have to just wait and see.”

  “Col,” Xala had a hard time resisting the urge to pounce on him and enjoy the rest of the night right then and there. “Gods, it pays to be a modern gladiator.”

  Colhern held his glaive up to feel the weight of it, approved, and walked over to Xala. He gave Xala a sly look as he said, “Alright, we’re going to Northside, I’m going to be your bodyguard, and we’ll do whatever you’ve gotta do together. No more solo-missions. And then, if we survive,” his gaze drifted lower, appraising Xala’s shrouded body, remembered what it looked like without all that fabric, and said, “We can spend all day in bed. Deal?”

  Xala took a deep breath, flexed his fingers, and said, “You have no idea how much I want to take that deal.”

  “But?”

  “Why? Why are you doing this?”

  “You told me you’d take me to the tallest building in Feltkan, closest to the moons, and show me something beautiful. I want to know what that looks like. Also, if anything happened to you, my mother would probably kill me.”

  Xala groaned as he swatted at Colhern’s arm, pursed his lips together, and chuckled, “Dijkra.”

  “Huh? What was that?”

  He shook his head, “There is no Trymoran translation.”

  Colhern smirked, kissed him, and said, “I’m going to pretend that it means ‘very sweet, very handsome, very sexy’.”

  Xala pouted, “Something like that.”

  “Good, that’s what I thought.” He moved past Xala and walked toward the elevator, “C’mon, we’ve gotta get there before the sun goes down. Northside sleeps during the day, so it’s the best time to get inside.”

  Xala sighed, shut the door to the armory behind him, and made his way over. His stride slowed as he said, “A night on top of the world isn’t the only reason you’re doing this, is it?”

  “Nah. But it’s a good one, right?”

  “Yeah. It is.”