Alan fell to his knees as the portal closed. Lucius… was gone. Add insult to injury, he ripped off his soul from Alan’s blade like a wet band-aid, leaving nothing left tethering them together. He could’ve went anywhere in Ojin. Another realm even. One glance at his map told him he’d already found a way to hide the Pegs from being pinpointed.

He sighed, staring at his own hands, hearing the labored breath of Elkire right behind him.

“Arrest him.” Irana stomped over, furious.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Tenger rushed to stand in front of her. “This man is on our side, spice. He didn’t commit the crime. That much is clear.”

“He led that Stalker right into our home!” Irana pointed, anger growing.

Boom!

All heads turned to see Sinclair’s void spider melting into the stone of his castle grounds, with Madam Mar, Yogi, and Gardstrife standing tall over him.

“Great. Now we’re Junos-damn fugitives too.”

Elkire straightened, putting a hand on Alan’s shoulder. “Rest easy, friends. This is not the first test of our will. We have endured many and will endure more. Seafire – your late gryphon – will be mourned. Thereafter, we trek to her nest of brethren. Ah!” He stopped her before she could protest. “Seafire rode with honor among us, and her family will decide whether we are worthy to ride again.”

Irana clenched her jaw hard, tears making her eyes glassy.

“Alan Right, God Merchant of Strangey Town, Forbidden Merchant of the Shade, future Herald of Ojin. I am… entertained.”

Alan scoffed at Junos’ voice echoing in his head. It was the last thing he wanted to hear after the death of two gryphons and the escape of Lucius. He screwed up. Big. And with that came another realization – his dream of helping groups out in this universe had to be put on hold for a very long time. Because everywhere he turned, darkness followed.

Everywhere.

If it’s not Farante, it’s Hyndole, or Lucius, or the Merchant of Five Pearls, or someone falling from grace around him, dragging everyone else down with him.

“I’m sorry for failing you, Elkire.” Alan rubbed his temples. “I am.”

“Yeah, a lot of good that’s going to do us now, Merchant. Shit!” Irana swept her foot over the stone, spinning away from Tenger’s grasp.

“As reward for this grand show, I bestow you a favor of limits, and the following Title:”

Centurion Merchant of Hightower Brack

Affinity: Defensive and passive abilities are bolstered when this Title is active.

Alan narrowed his eyes, focusing on the prompts as a lightbulb hit him. Would bestowing a Title be within the favor’s limits? he asked Junos.

“So long as the Title is not of rare or unique origin, it would.”

Alan got to his feet with renewed purpose. “Irana, you say you’re fugitives now—”

“We, Merchant. We’re fugitives… if we let that prick live.”

“Irana!” Elkire boomed, appalled. “That is not how the Legion operates.”

“It was in jest, Elkire. Calm those tense asscheeks of yours,” Tenger laughed nervously.

“Sinclair will convene with the tower-watchers and have us detained.” Irana threw up her arms. “No Pegs, no mounts, reputation ruined… just, like, that.” She snapped her fingers.

“Look, all of you.” Alan spun. “I know how bad this looks. Let me at least get you all back to level ground. At least then I can begin repaying my debt to you.” He leapt off the balcony, down to the castle grounds where Yogi, Strife, and Madam Mar still stood over Sinclair stuck on his back.

Alan gave Yogi a quick fist-bump, and Strife an elbow tap. “Good job, gents and lady. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a word with the owner of this land.”

Madam Mar allowed the Void Saro to expel out of her body – starting with her eyes, draining all the way down to her feet and back into the grounds. “He is not a man of reason.”

“I see that. Still, there are qualities about him I can work with.” Alan glanced between Mar and Sinclair.

“Such as?”

“Loyalty between two universes, for one. He harbored a prince of Cerrain, even though he had no obligation to. And, he’s kind.”

“Kind?”

“Yes. He’s not going to detain any of these fine people, including you, Madam, even though we trespassed.”

Sinclair spat a heap of Purple Saro blood. Only now did Alan realize how black his eye was from the pummeling.

“The hell I am!” Sinclair struggled to his elbows. “And trespassed? Look around you. The damage you caused, the Healers I’ll have to hire, hah, this is a full blown assault, which you lot will be paying the price for!”

Alan nodded for his minions and Madam Mar to leave them alone. “I’ll be fine.” He waited until the footsteps were far enough away, then extended his hand to the castle lord. His face was long like a new moon, eyes sunken as if he’d been up all night. Well, the eye that wasn’t black, anyway. His skin was sallow. It was obvious this man spent his time in the dark parts of his castle, and judging by his decision to shield Lucius, he was sorely missing a sense of purpose.

Sinclair debated whether to take Alan’s hand, and after a scoff, he did. “You’re not getting out of this one, Merchant. If you decide to try something fast, I have a runner ready to give word to every tower-watcher in the realm. I—”

“Sinclair, please,” Alan cut him off. “I’m only trying to make things right. Our qualms weren’t with you.”

“A little late for that. You must pay for your crimes, like I paid for mine,” he said sarcastically.

“What crime did you commit?” Alan began the walk away from the Legion, noting the massive indents from the void spider tussling with Madam’s bird and his minions.

Sinclair scoffed. “I’m not getting into that with you.”

“Then why are you walking with me, lord? Were my assumptions about you wrong?” Alan challenged. “I mean, if it isn’t clear that I’m trying to understand someone clearly misjudged, then I’ll go rejoin my party and accept my fate.”

They strolled in silence, Alan refusing to say anything more. The ball was in Sinclair’s court now – stay in ‘exile’ or take the olive branch.

“Her name was Seena.” Sinclair stopped at a wooden door leading to a bulbous tower, and waved a hand to ignite screeching Purple Saro that eroded the door open.

Alan was hesitant to enter but didn’t dare back away now.

“Burned by a Purple Saro dragon, almost beyond recognition. Traditional Healers failed to reverse the corrosion. Her friends, betrothed, everyone who revered this woman was at a loss, and in that desperation, they came to me.”

“A master of the void?” Alan surmised.

“Ha! Master. There is no such reverence in my line of work.”

They trekked down a spiral staircase – Sinclair grabbing a torch on the way.

“Nevertheless, one must understand the ways of the void in order to shape it,” Sinclair went on. His words made Alan think of the creature he attacked within, the castle he possessed, his enhanced knights. “Where everyone saw tragedy in Seena’s fate, I saw opportunity. Though I dared not act on it. I am no monster as everyone thinks.”

Alan wasn’t so sure. “And those knights we fought?”

“Prisoners of the realm. Exiles. Fighters who could no longer portal to Ojin and prefer to live out their days with augmented powers rather than rotting in a cell. The gods may not favor me, Merchant, but I am not without friends in Hightower.”

“And Seena?”

Sinclair pursed his lips. “Seena…” He trailed off, looking to the high ceiling. “I peeled back the void corrosion like an onion, to give her betrothed what he sought – her flesh form, or what was left of it anyway. Red lines split open the skin on her face. Her eyelids burned clean off. Bloodshot eyes ever-staring, and vocal chords burnt to withering threads. Yet she was still there. Just not enough for those who once loved her.”

Alan half-expected to be led into some perverted lair, but the next gate led to an armory of strange metals. Gauntlets, boots, breastplates, all with pulsing vein-like augments.

“They blamed me for her fate,” Sinclair’s voice scratched. “Said I was in cahoots with the blessed necromancers, propping her up like a lifeless puppet.” He ran his fingers over the stone wall. “No matter how many times I proved she was still there, no one would listen. Her friends cursed me as a mad caster. Her betrothed prayed to Junos for my demise – begging for him to open a portal to the dragon’s den… with me chained at the other side.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Jeez.” Alan scratched the back of his head.

“It was only a matter of time before I was exiled and cut of my riches. In exchange? They offered me a corroded castle cut off from civilization to represent my void heart.”

Alan bowed his head, feeling for the guy. “And her fate?”

“Death by broken heart.”

“Damn.” Alan turned away.

“Behind every monster, there is harsh story.” Sinclair unlocked the gate and held up his torch to showcase his projects. “Seeing Lucius reminded me of a better world… For me, anyway. I’d give everything to fall back to Cerrain. Though I’m not as foolish as those Fate Chasers you surround yourself with. Pegs of Fate, bah. Waste of a whole second life to get back to a failed first.”

“Well, I guess I won’t be convincing you to join them,” Alan said, and they both laughed.

“You are alright, Merchant.” He held out his hand, Purple Saro corroding his glove enough for Alan to shake his flesh. “Sinclair Duwalt, exile of Hightower Brack.”

“Alan Right, cursed Merchant of Strangey Town,” he said half-jokingly.

“Perhaps I will let you flee from these grounds. But the others will pay. Mardonnus has a long-standing history of being a stickler bitch to anyone not falling squarely into her trials. Anyone who follows her should suffer the same fate.”

Alan walked up to a breastplate embossed with crossed shimmering swords. The purple light moved back and forth hypnotically, like waves. “Masterful work, Sinclair, even if you’ll deny it.” He dared to touch the armor, feeling a surge of energy once skin brushed against metal.

“Careful. That piece will swallow you if not careful.” Sinclair folded his arms.

“If the rest of my weapons haven’t already, I think I’ll be alright.” Alan stared at the sword engravings, falling into a momentary trance. Turns out, they were remnants of real weapons imbued by the void. He saw a white-haired man bowing, presenting both blades covered in embroidered cloth… for a young Sinclair to take.

He wasn’t always hated.

Alan wrinkled his nose when he returned. “What do you seek, Sinclair? Respect? Forgiveness?”

“The latter would assume I did something to forgive,” he scowled.

“Societies can be fickle when a belief takes hold,” Alan agreed. “I was accused of being a god scout on the first day of my second life. But there was one who believed in me – who shielded me from stones.” He turned to Sinclair. “Maybe I can be that for you.”

“How do you mean?”

“I can turn Junos’ gaze toward you… Perhaps even get you a new Title. It wouldn’t be anything you don’t deserve. Rather, the recognition that you do.”

“Hmph.” Sinclair paced away. “Thank you, Alan.”

“For what? We haven’t made any agreements—”

“For not questioning whether my story of Seena was true.”

Alan didn’t reveal that his trances already pieced together Sinclair’s character, but instead let the organic trust flow.

“How would you turn Junos’ eye?” he asked.

“Let me worry about that. Say I can do it. In return, you forget this… miscommunication… ever happened.” Alan could tell Sinclair was holding back a smirk. Judging by his words to Madam Mar on their way to the castle – this is all Sinclair has wanted for a long time. “And. I want this.” He motioned to the breastplate. When Sinclair didn’t rashly protest, he knew it was on the table. “Don’t let this magnificent piece rot in a cellar. Let me wear it, as an ambassador to your craftsmanship, and our new friendship.”

Sinclair hooted at that. “You’ll have to show payment first.”

Alright, Junos, you’re up. Please grant this man a favorable Title that he doesn’t yet possess, so my friends can be freed from this mishap.

“It will be done, Alan Right.”

“I will grant Sinclair Duwalt the Title: Forger of the Unheard, for his respectable work and to clear his name of misunderstanding. Then we will consider our business adjourned, until the next time you decide to provide such premium entertainment.”

Don’t go away just yet, Alan responded to the prompt in his head. I’ll need a portal out of here, and in return, I… have a proposition.

“Hmm. Intriguing. Perhaps I will answer thy call.”

Alan cleared his throat after blinking the prompts out of his vision. “You should be receiving a promising message shortly.”

Sinclair held his chin while scanning blankly ahead, then his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “By the gods, Alan.” His smile could not be stopped, tears leaking from his eyes. He wanted this more than Alan knew. “For so long I’ve been discarded. Finally, after all these years. Ugh.” He balled his fists. “Now the tower-watcher of high moon will see – I will be owed a grand apology.”

He walked past Alan to the armor on the wall. His hands glowed purple, activating the armor to contort off its casing. Metal ridges unhooked and folded open, allowing him to take it down.

“All is forgiven, as agreed.”

Alan sighed with relief. “That’s good to hear.”

“However, before you don this armor, you must understand the power it holds. The power of the void.” Both crossed swords on the breastplate blinked to life. “It will become one with you whenever equipped – responding to your instincts, solidifying to block blows, and altering composition to absorb magical blasts, if you can manage its call. And indeed you will. I have no doubt.” He held the breastplate out to Alan. “This one in particular is among my finest creations. You have a good eye, Alan Right.”

Alan admired the piece close up.

“What is your Saro affinity? Certain colors are, how should I say, difficult to mesh with Purple.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Alan surmised. “I’m Colorless.”

Sinclair swallowed hard. “Interesting.”

“Though I’ve never interacted with Purple Saro.”

“Well, it is certainly a learning curve. Might I suggest you begin your training by envisioning times of foreign acceptance. Perhaps a foreign language, a strange trip outside your comfort zone, anything from your Origins where the outcome was different than the expectation. That should be a good jumping off point to melding the armor with your body.”

“I’ll certainly do my best. This armor can’t hurt me, right?” Alan jostled it like he was shaking a cage.

“Contrary to popular uneducated belief, now that you own it, it cannot,” Sinclair assured.

Void-surge Breastplate

Original Saro – Purple

Ability: Pulse-off – Send a plasmatic pulse to counteract harmful force. Applies to physical attacks and Saro-enhanced physical attacks only.

Ability: Reverb – Mimic an incoming Saro projectile to neutralize the blast. Beware, effectiveness decreases based on Saro well depletion.

“Durger, any tips?” Alan focused a bit of Black Saro into the blade on his back.

“Void is out of my reach, I’m afraid, Sir Alan. It is the antithesis of blessed necromancy. But I do think Sinclair’s initial instructions are in line with my basic understanding.”

“Alright, here goes.” Alan ran his finger down the seams of the armor – which broke open like a beast’s teeth.

“Do not fret. It merely senses your connection to Purple and is accepting you with open arms.” Sinclair nodded.

Alan recalled vague figments of an out-of-towner asking for directions back on Earth, then of foreigners coming into his shop back in the day, speaking languages he didn’t understand. Pointing and nodding became the bridge. Those brief thoughts alone turned his pendant color wheel glowing purple. It was getting easier and easier to relate to Saro, and Alan had no complaints about that.

Kerchrt.

As soon as Alan placed the armor over his chest, it compressed shut with a screech, tightening around his body. “Uhh, I don’t like this.” He felt claustrophobic and stiff. If this is what it was like to wear plate-mail, he wasn’t interested. “Sinclair…”

“Hah. Not to worry. It is merely taking a liking to you. Sniffing around, if you will.”

Soon after, the armor loosened to an almost jelly-like state, threading through Alan’s cloth shirt and pooling around his skin. Cold. So cold. He squeezed his eyes shut, until the liquid warmed, and the armor became a form-fitting mesh of metal and organic matter. His chest and arms felt twice their normal size, even though they weren’t at all. Is this the strength that Lucius possessed?

“There, perfect. My brand ambassador.” Sinclair bestowed Alan’s new form with a mirror and a crinkled smile.

It looked cool, Alan couldn’t lie. His cloth rearranged to form a tattered Merchant’s cloak hanging loosely over a pristine void breastplate. The crossed sword logo was brilliantly exposed, and the weapons sticking out of his back started to look like what all those frogs preached, finally.

“A great exchange,” Sinclair beamed, then displayed his new Title overhead. “Now, if you don’t mind, I am ecstatic to pay Madam Mar a visit.”

xxx

Alan emerged from Sinclair’s bulbous tower with a fresh set of void armor and a new friend. The Legion of Fate awaited eagerly on the bridge, surrounded by a group of Sinclair’s void guards, while Yogi and Gardstrife sat at the edge of the castle unbothered, awkwardly holding steaming tea. Alan had no idea where Yogi kept getting it from, but both his minions seemed to be getting along, so he wasn’t about to ask any questions.

Elkire stood abruptly, pointing to the two. “What has the void forger done to you, Alan?” his voice carried through the castle. “Unhand him!” He leapt forward, with three guards trailing at his back.

“Relax, Elkire!” Alan held both his arms up.

“Guards, stand down!” Sinclair said.

Madam Mar created a platform, descending to their location with curiosity written all over her face. A puff of dirt cleared to reveal her standing before them with her hands behind her back. “What is the meaning of this?”

“We’ve come to an agreement, Madam Mar, which includes freedom on our part. Sinclair will no longer be pressing charges,” Alan said happily.

Elkire’s face seemed to have short-circuited, because it was frozen in shock.

“Forger of the Unheard?” Mar peered up to the letters shining over Sinclair’s head. “That’s the Title of an unsung hero.”

Sinclair bowed as if graciously accepting an award. “Though the realm did everything in its power to keep Junos away from me, an unlikely Merchant sends his eye my way. Retribution, it seems, is a dish served warm. You are all free to go.”

Mar and Elkire exchanged a glance.

“How, Alan?” Mar asked.

“Junos liked our little spat, apparently. And I offered my acknowledgement to Sinclair. As I understand your god, he wouldn’t have granted him the Title if he didn’t deserve it.”

All eyes shifted to Sinclair.

“Alan, you okay over there?” Tenger called from the bridge.

“I’m fine!” Alan waved.

“So that’s it. We’re free to mourn and rebuild?” Elkire asked, still disbelieving.

“As free as the ocean blue beyond my castle, warrior.” Sinclair bowed his head. “Alan has mentioned your hardships, and we are in agreement – this was a misunderstanding that has been adequately resolved.”

“Well then, I must be going.” Alan held out his hand one last time to shake Sinclair’s. The hard squeeze spoke to Sinclair’s thanks. “I hope your next venture into the cities is well received.”

“It will be, thanks to you.” Sinclair smiled and held his hand up as Alan began walking away – beckoning Elkire and Mar with him.

“Elkire. Stay here and mourn, allow me to begin repaying you by going to the gryphon nest.” Alan eyed him.

“Your armor.” Madam Mar pressed her hand across it.

“I wouldn’t be much of a Merchant if I left emptyhanded.” Alan smirked.

The imprint she left lingered, before zipping away like water. “Strong Saro, my Colorless warrior. May it protect you.”

“Alan, if there is one true revelation this day, it is that you are an ally to the Legion.”

“About that.” He dug into his bag. “Take my Peg. I have no plans to leave anytime soon. Might as well start your rebuilding with Yineera’s.”

Elkire pushed it away. “Clearly that one is cursed. Hold onto it, and we’ll come to you last if we ever gather them all.”

Madam Mar lifted them back to the bridge, where Alan said his goodbyes, vowing to chase Lucius to the ends of the universe to repay what was taken.

Elkire pointed Alan to the sacred nest of gryphons on his map. “Here, bring these with you.” He dropped a few sparkling feathers in Alan’s hand. “Hopefully it will be enough to keep them from clawing your face off.”

“Comforting.” Alan grimaced.

“Indeed.” He smirked. “Take Tengar and Irana with you. The path is starkly dangerous.”

“I learned something too today, Elkire. Anywhere I go, I’ll be putting others in uniquely horrific danger. Whether it be gods tailing me, dark Merchants, or Ojin itself… I’d best be moving on alone for now.” Alan scanned the Legion. “Don’t worry. I’ll train so I can face my foes head on, and without the guilt of dragging others down. I’m sure we’ll meet again.” He rolled up his map.

“Very well.” Elkire snapped his fingers for one of the Wizards to come forward. “At least let us give you a portal back to Ojin.”

“That’s quite alright. I’ll be asking Junos directly for that.”

“You’re an odd duck, you know that?” Tenger tilted his head.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You better hope you find your friend before I do.” Irana cracked her knuckles.

“I do hope that. This way I can consider my debt repaid.” Alan smiled, nodding for Yogi and Gardstrife to head on off with him. “I’ll have a Dreamcatcher message Madam Mar if the gryphons accept me. If not, come pick up my corpse.”

Elkire bark-laughed. “I doubt your story ends in such a lackluster way, Alan Right. When I see you again, we’ll both be better off. Farewell!”