“Who are you taking me to see?” Alan asked the three Fate seekers escorting him.

“The Mageseeker. All knowing Dreamcatcher of Hightower Brack. I take everyone worthy of our trust.” Elkire nodded with fervor.

“Alright. Afterward, may I make a request? I have something I’d like to see here… if it still exists,” Alan asked.

“Of course. What can we assist you with? Does this have to do with that captive hiding in your sword?”

“I need to find the estate of Wolfgang Durghowler.”

The three of them exchanged a glance.

“Why ever would you need to go there?” Elkire arced an eyebrow.

“Why not?” Alan raised his own.

“Haunted, bruh,” Tenger said.

“Bruh?” Alan laughed.

“I don’t know. Nulge says it a lot. It’s catchy.” Tenger shrugged. “But seriously. You don’t want to go there.”

“I do, actually.”

“What are you, a scout for Mujungo or something?” Irana got in his face.

“No, no. Hell no,” Alan promised. “Elkire’s right. Like I told you in Ojin, one of my closest friends here was stuck in a blade. And his soul was taken from it.”

Alan went on, telling them some bare-bones details he’d hoped would be enough to gain him access to the estate later. In the meantime, they entered a city surrounded by a fortified grey-brick wall. Trumpet players stood at the ready to announce VIP guests atop it, beside ceremonial Archers patrolling its length, resting their ornamented crossbows over their shoulders. Then, inside, enchanters hung out the wooden windows of clay buildings, showing off their glowing wears. Alan had never seen a botanist advertising godlike vision before. Fog-breakers, she called them. To see beyond the thickness and through the shrouded minions seeking to get the jump on warriors.

His neck was craned for most of the walk, brought down only for high-powered warriors strutting by. Eventually, after plenty of ogling, the four of them headed down a squiggly alleyway that reminded Alan of the one time he visited London to see some old-school armor. A Wizard with red irises and black sclera swayed down the path like he was drunk. His fiery orange hair was covered by a beanie-type hat and his staff was made of what looked to be a hardened black flower stem.

“Elkire. You come again for her, don’t you?”

“I do, yes.”

“Mm. With a dark harbinger, I see.” The Wizard attempted to straighten, but his brown robes tugged him nearly off-balance, like invisible little kids were dragging him every which way.

“Yes, you’ve had ill words for most of my allies, Darsine. Yet Mardonnus welcomes us with open arms.”

Darsine showed his fangs – which jarred Alan a bit. “That’s because she has me gatekeeping. Proceed, you Fate chasing imbeciles.”

“Once your dumbass souls drag you out of the way, we’ll be on ours,” Irana growled right back.

“Hmph.” The Wizard stumbled along.

Alan watched him nearly fall over three more times on the way out of the alley, until Tenger grabbed his arm to move on. Once they crossed the magical threshold archway, a small cove of high spires surrounded them. Most notably a clocktower with shifting symbols around its face. A sole ray of light shined upon it, begging them to enter the stairwell.

“Anything I should know before we head up there?” Alan asked.

“It is better you go in blind, so we do not taint her reading of you.” Elkire led the way up a spiral staircase, where light shined through windows every twenty steps. Vines slithered around the stone above, making him think of leafy Green Saro, or perhaps a type he didn’t yet know. He hadn’t had much interaction with a Dreamcatcher before, except for the one Flint contacted a while back. He couldn’t help but wonder what he was in for.

Not to mention… his new weapon – Blood-Vision Edge. It was said to be crafted of a legendary Dreamcatcher’s blood. Is it Mardonnus’ blood?

Uh oh.

“I know those footsteps,” a calm, motherly voice echoed down the stairway. “The Legion of Fate comes to present another before me. Your influence grows, Elkire.”

Stolen novel; please report.

Elkire was the first to make it to the last step, where Alan glimpsed an open circular room overwhelmed by a shiny marble floor and a woman standing with her back to them. Her braided hair nearly swept the floor, cape tied with sticks, and the smell of sap was pungent in Alan’s nostrils, despite the open air of the tower.

She spun slowly with a smile. “Welcome home, Elkire, Tenger, Irana. Your brightness supersedes his darkness.”

Alan sighed.

“Do not fret, newcomer. One cannot expect to slay the Merchant of Five Pearls and step cleanly away from his filth. You wear my sister’s blood on your back, for Ojin’s sake. Harboring souls unending in that blade of yours.” She snapped her tongue. “Had you not possessed the clairvoyant path of a god, I’d consider having you seized and hanged as tribute to Junos.”

Alan tensed. He wanted to turn around and head right back down the stairs, or leap for a slipstream, but the idea of visiting Durger’s estate in hopes to summon him back was too important to flee.

“Alan Right is a friend of the Legion, Madam Mar. I hope you will see him that way too.”

“Mm.” She straightened.

“As you know, we have been struggling just to keep a loose alliance with Five – to keep an eye on Yineera’s Peg. Now we have opportunity to befriend its wielder,” Elkire spoke plainly.

“Mm.” She gently passed into the huddle, past Elkire and Tenger, to Alan. “Where did you attain that staff?” Her eyes glowed green. “Answer carefully.”

Suddenly, the marble floor shifted, carefully moving the others to one corner of the tower, and leaving Alan in the center with Madam Mar.

“When we defeated the Forbidden Merchant, one of the items was this staff. It called to me, so I looted it.”

“Knowing my sister was tortured to have it crafted?” Mar’s eyes widened.

“Knowing it was crafted of blood, yes.”

“Why would you willingly take such a cursed item?” Mar raised her arms, commanding the floor to lift into a dais, where interlocked branches holding the ceiling together untied themselves to let them through.

They were alone now, as a magical umbrella shielded the sunny day, creating a strange nighttime effect around them, where the sun only shined around their feet.

“The Saro blend is something I’m most comfortable with,” Alan spoke evenly, not showing an ounce of fear. The woman had a calming, almost heavenly aura, even if she was trying to scold him.

“You have no Origin Saro,” she said. “Curious.”

“I am a Colorless, Madam.”

“More impossibilities.” She shook her head.

“More? What do you mean?”

“Do you know what it entails to watch over the highest of towers? Vision supreme, young Merchant. I know that you lie.”

Alan was losing his patience. “Mind taking me down from here?”

Madam Mar created a diamond shape with her fingers, and exhaled loudly like she was performing a Haka – the magical force shoving Alan’s marble disc flying backward. It was floating midair – the night umbrella splitting to cover him and her alike.

“Huuu.” Mar exhaled again, sending herself forward on her own platform, twenty feet away from Alan. Her arm motions flowed with purpose, keeping Alan tense. “You are clouded by storms of darkness, teeming with potential. Yet you lie.”

Alan shrugged and drew Blood Edge. “I have no reason to lie to you. Actually, I was hoping to be welcomed here. Would’ve been a nice change of pace. Oh well.”

“Your Saro is ever shifting like an Uvar’s mood. What are you hiding, Merchant?”

“I’m not hiding anything. I’m Colorless.”

“More lies.” Her eyes glowed green as she tightened her fist. “There is clarity somewhere in your fog. Orange. Black. These are the colors that drive you. Yes… you mask your origins to them. How? What are you?”

The hell is she talking about? I use Red and Blue the most.

Vines crawled through the cracks of Alan’s platform to wrap around his ankles. They tightened rapidly to the point of no circulation, annoying Alan to no end. With a pulse of fiery anger, Orange Saro flames burst from his ankle to singe the vines to ash, freeing him of the natural chains instantly. The flame traveled invisibly to Mar’s fist – turning her skin molten orange for an instant before she suffocated it.

“Brack is not known to admit dark tricksters into its fortified walls.” Madam Mar pointed at him.

“Your lackey, Darsine, seemed pretty dark to me,” Alan called back, his voice repeating.

“Huuu!” She exhaled heavily, sending both of their platforms orbiting around one another as they flew past the tower, over the city, and settled at another spire with a yellow-spinning globe at its tip. “Sir Speer, lend me your voltage.” Mar’s fist became wrapped in a gold-plated gauntlet, teeming with Yellow Saro.

Alan wasn’t in the mood for any more tests. He thought he was going to meet someone gentle and welcoming. Not… this. The spectacle was cool, sure, but the endless accusations were getting frustrating.

Is this how you want it, Madam? Fine.

He immediately dove into a sea of deep memories. Cold ones. A winter storm to be precise. Recalling the subzero winds nipping at his fingertips through the gloves, being lost in an abandoned golf course looking for his friends. It wasn’t often a desert-born kid got to experience a trip like that. So the memory was bright. The crystal facets of his pendant all clicked to white – which he commanded.

Fsssh!

As soon as it connected, he loosened the ice to water, causing the electrical gauntlet to spark uncontrollably.

“Fah!” She unsummoned the armor as fast as it wrapped her, keeling forward out of breath. “I see where you go, imposter.” She whipped out a knitted net tied to a stick and waved it like a flag. “Your stray essence tells a story of wasted potential.”

“Okay, Trish,” he muttered under his breath. Though Madam Mar wasn’t the first to accuse him of that. He hoped he’d already shed that skin.

“You wander away from your talents, following others for sport, procrastinating what fate expects of you.” She turned her back to Alan – a yellow glow illuminating over her robes.

“Not anymore, I don’t,” Alan proclaimed, digging carefully for his Vosh coin as if he were grabbing for his six-shooter in a duel.

“Is that so, Alan Right?”

Mar spun with a whip of her fist, unleashing a crescent moon of electricity straight at him.

Bwoff!

Zzzsh!

In a flash, the bubble expanded and reduced the electric blast to sizzling smoke. Alan remained in pose, eyes focused on the frustrated Mageseeker’s. He rewound the protective essence back to a coin and held it forward so Madam Mar would see – even though he preferred close combat, he wouldn’t be bested by some strange sorcerer borrowing Saro from others.