Alan coined both of his minions back into his bag and trekked to the very end of Sinclair’s castle bridge. Madam Mar zoomed off in the other direction with the Legion of Fate, leaving Alan alone to stare at the sunset. He wanted to take a minute before calling to the god of Hightower Brack, because the day felt like ten wrapped in one.

“Lucius, you sly prick.” He tossed a rock into the ocean far below him. “Those people didn’t deserve that. I didn’t deserve that.”

He huffed, letting the warm breeze wash over him like a calming bath. His new tattered cloak flapped around while his void-style breastplate clinked with every slight movement. If nothing else, he looked the part now – a Merchant Warrior.

Junos. About that portal…

“Yes, Merchant. I am listening to your proposition.”

Well, are you aware that Jaeger is circumventing rules of the universe in an attempt to wage war?

“It is odd to speak of such things with a mortal. Yet, speak of them, we will. Yes, I am aware. Though my knowledge of Hightower Brack and Ojin reigns supreme, I am subject to hearsay of the other realms through scouts.”

Well, I can assure you I’m being tailed by Hyndole – right hand of Jaeger. He uses nefarious means to intercept my progress in Ojin, and now I think I understand why. If gods have a clear view of the war realm, it makes sense why he would keep his distance.

“Hearsay and out-of-focus conspiracies are not in my purview of high-entertainment, I’m afraid.”

Understood. But what if it’s your realm Jaeger targets next?

“Then the tower-watchers will see it coming, and defend accordingly, to the highest degree.”

With respect, Junos, your warriors had a hard time putting out a stable-fire. Alan scratched at the brick rail overlooking the ocean, wondering if that was a step too far. I’ve witnessed Hyndole lure a stampede of void minions straight into Strangey Town. You should prepare your warriors for unthinkable events such as that one.

“I do not particularly enjoy defense preparation… waiting… the sort. It bores me to oblivion.”

Alan wondered if all the realm gods were mad. Mujungo loved to watch people humiliate themselves, Junos was like a child seeking endless entertainment, and Jaeger wanted to take over the universe. Was there no saving grace here?

“However, a being in my position is not devoid of responsibility. I appreciate your forewarning.”

Alan found a smidge of hope in those last words.

I would be honored to deliver any messages you have to other gods as I travel between realms.

“Hmm. If war is waged by Jaeger, Renios, Nartaque, I will open my portals for aid. You bring that message to your gods, Alan Right, and I expect reciprocation in the name of good-faith alliance.”

Alan smiled and nodded. It will be done, Junos. Now, about that portal… Can you get me close to the gryphon’s nest of Reshen-du in Ojin?

“Gauwruck is the closest I may port you, without disturbing the fog.”

Alan whipped out his map, tracing how far it was from the nest. I’ll take it! Thank you, Junos!

“I hope to be entertained by you again, soon, Alan Right. Farewell.”

A diagonal portal formed right over the balcony, shooting out grey fog. At least Alan knew he wouldn’t be in for any crazy minions upon landing. With a long breath, he took in the scenery one last time before climbing the balcony ledge and hopping through.

Alan reformed in Ojin, with a small circumference of clear air surrounded by smoke. He was excited to rekindle with Durger properly now that he was alone, so he unsheathed his Soul Collector and flowed a tad of anger through it.

Immediately, a fully formed six-foot-five bearded silhouette materialized from the blade.

“Well now, this is an experience. I haven’t had control of limbs in what feels like an eternity, Sir Alan.”

Alan took his first steps forward, testing the blade. “I won’t be traveling blind any longer. Times were dark without you, friend.”

“It was a terrible feeling, to be raked from that calm dagger and yanked into a dark puddle of angry souls. But it is good that we found each other again. What’s better, turns out Sir Ooman was in the dagger too – just locked away from my eyes. I feel his presence again… somewhere.”

“That’s great!” Alan patted his shoulder, releasing a puff of dark smoke. “I’ll have to concentrate on the little pup and get him out here too.”

“Careful, Alan. You see what the Black has done to your friend – it would tear me in two to see you suffer the same fate.”

“Wait, are you saying Lucius isn’t acting under his own free will?”

“It’s complicated. I’ve seen good warriors slowly fall under the influence of their own dark thoughts. To exercise in the Black, is to invite that very darkness. I’ve felt it every time I forged a dark weapon.”

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“I feel very much under control though, Durger.” Alan swiped at some shrubbery on the way forward.

“It starts with simple compromises at first. Look here.” Durger displayed his own hands. “My form is growing more detailed every time you evoke me. It is both wonderous and dangerous. A double-edged sword. It means you are becoming more in tune with your anger. What that ultimately means, I cannot say for sure, but I can look at history.”

Alan shook his head, refusing to believe it.

Durger stopped in his tracks to lay his hands over Alan’s shoulders. “Be careful, my friend. That’s all I’m saying.”

Alan locked eyes with Durger, analyzing all the fine details drawn into smoky existence – the greying outlines of his irises struggling to maintain shape, the crow’s-feet speaking to eons of pain, the sincerity in him.

“Alright. I’ll use the blade with caution.”

“Good.” He patted him twice before they began on their way.

Alan took out his map and traced his blinking location – they were heading toward the nest Elkire pointed out, with plenty of valleys and impasses to get through in between. He asked about whether Lucius really released the piece of his soul from the blade, which Durger confirmed he did. They both agreed the prince was cunning, and steadfast to his goal beyond rationality. Where would that lead him, though, if not home to Cerrain?

It was a tough question.

Alan rewound Durger for stints at a time – whenever he had to hunt minions in the grey. Humanoids with bright yellow eyes and decaying skin had horrible reflexes, though Alan soon figured out it was by design. After failing to negotiate, Alan was forced to lop off some limbs. To his surprise, every piece chopped turned into a new version of the humanoid, a little bit hollower than the main.

Sorkin – Durger called them – would only go down by abilities with full-body effects. It forced Alan to sheath his weapons and call forth varying Saro, testing new limits. Orange tidal waves of fire, white tornadoes freezing only when his enemies were caught within the gales, yellow lightning frying every inch of them.

Alan nearly fainted on more than one occasion. Expending pure Saro like that depleted his well faster than he could regenerate. After one blast, his arm fell completely numb. After another – his legs. Apparently, one limitation Colorless wielders suffered was no visible Saro well. It was like a giant blind-spot he had to navigate by instinct. He wished Durger was back where he belonged – in his first dagger – because filtering Black Saro was incredibly limited by comparison. No more relying on him for every little summon. Instead, he began to develop tells for when he reached certain depleting thresholds. A pang near his ribs meant he was pulling too fast. Strain near his neck meant he was overdoing it. He measured the feelings with questions he held onto for after battle.

Enough sectional fog cleared, giving Alan visibility of the road traveled. Once he got the hang of defeating Sorkin, he tested his form-fitted armor, absorbing magical lightning blasts shot from their fanged mouths. It hurt like he’d imagine a bullet would with a vest. The impact was there, pressure too, but the ultimate damage was neutralized upon impact.

“Alan, each defensive strike rips a chunk of Saro from your well.” Durger reformed once the battle was over. “Use it sparingly.”

“Noted.” Alan ran his thumb over the armor, feeling tingles as if he was feeling his own skin. Tender to the touch.

“May I ask what the plan is once you tame these gryphons?”

“Well, I hope to borrow one for myself. I think it will go a long way in paying my debts. Here, look.” He pulled out his map. “We can cut across this entire body of water to get north, where I can fulfill my promise to Yogi.”

“You would rush to relieve yourself of such a dire asset?”

“What good would I be if I held onto his soul with an iron grip? I made him a promise, and I think it will go in line with fighting the Black by keeping them.”

“Noble. Always.”

They trekked onward, over brooks where Alan had to balance on rocks peeking out of the water, careful not to disturb minions living within fat tree trunks – their lanterns blinking through holes. When it became dark in Gauwruck, poisonous spores shot up from anywhere there was soil, eventually gaining mass and reforming into the Sorkin that were earlier slain.

The cycle of life moved quickly here, and it disturbed Alan greatly. He found a path of rocks and high boulders to set up camp within for the night, channeling a bit of frustration into his blade to evoke Durger for some company.

“Mmph. The souls are getting restless in there, Sir Alan.”

“How so?” Alan held his palms over a bundle of sticks to light them aflame.

“They see us conversing and want their chance to walk the Fog of War again.”

Alan pursed his lips.

“One even offered to train you. Says you’re incredibly powerful, but as sloppy as the Cerrain prince.”

Alan hooted at that. “Oh really?”

“Yes. It scares me to let him goad you inside such a dark weapon, but he is a warrior who was rumored to trek the Crimson. Afarus Soh – Bladesmen of the Fog.”

“Tell me more.” Alan folded his legs beside the campfire.

“Long ago, when I roamed the realms, his name was whispered here and there. They said his travels were… unorthodox. In his paranoia, Afarus refused to clear out any full areas of Ojin, because he had this belief that the fog shielded him from the gods’ eye. While it limited his sight considerably, it blinded the gods completely, according to him. And so he welcomed ambush of any minion, grey to red, deeming it a small price to pay for privacy.”

“Interesting. Is there any merit to his claim?”

Durger shrugged and took a seat across from Alan, his form mimicking the embers trailing away from the fire. “Not sure about his philosophical beliefs, but his combat skills alone would be worth a summon. Perhaps at night, when you’re confined to a rock like this.” He rubbed the floor beneath his fingertips. “Just please, don’t get addicted to the Black.”

“I won’t.”

Alan and Durger meditated by the fire as the old soul coached Alan how to better navigate the depths of his dark blade. It wasn’t all Earthly betrayals and bad memories of Trish. Much to his relief oddly enough, long-term depression worked best to hold the Saro connection. It slowed Alan’s mental state down, allowing him to feel the souls bouncing off one another – fighting for who knew what. The more Alan lingered in one spot, the more details of the soul formed.

Okay, I’m looking for a man with too much hair and a ragged headband. Gold-colored eyes. Patchy beard.

Nope. Nope. Alan moved on to a female warrior with a form-fitted one piece of void armor – only her bare hands and feet showed. Then a hunched man carrying an oversized shield on his back. Who were these people?

When he cycled through every soul twice, he realized that this ‘Mr. Soh’ was nowhere to be found.

“Now do you understand?” a voice whispered into Alan’s mind. “Who do you think taught Lucius of stealth? To fragment his soul? To dive?”

Alan panicked – nearly losing his connection to the blade. He quickly focused on his breathing, remembering he was in control of who came and went. Thinking back to the fight against Farante… Were all of these souls the ones summoned to fight beside him?

He cleared his mind, and it occurred to him the voice was purposely thrown so he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint it. He’d have to rely on feel once again. A soul swirling by his lonesome, unwilling to connect.

This already felt like a test.

As Alan’s sight remained on the blackness, he envisioned the black skeletal dragon Farante fought to obtain the blade.

“Ah, my destroyer,” Afarus spoke his dismay. “A beast who scours the harsh fog, looking for wounded warriors to drag to the depths of the ocean. Cowardly!”

Afarus failed to throw the last word, and Alan’s attention turned like an alerted fox.

Got you.

Alan’s eyes sprung open, and out from the blade poured a soul of ragged cloths, stick-thin arms, and a hairy chest that matched his patchy beard. His eyes were bulbs that sucked the life from the surrounding skin. And when they locked eyes, it was as if he’d stumbled upon a racoon in the middle of the day – something not meant to be seen.

Afarus drew more smoke from the blade himself, enough to form two strikingly long blades dragging at his sides. “A ball of controlled emotion.” His eyes took full shape, while the rest of his body remained a silhouetted shadow. “That’s all you are, Merchant. What do you think you’re doing, venturing in Ojin alone?”

“Apparently taking the same steps as you.” Alan took out a blue essence from his bag and scarfed it down.

“You are no limit-bender. I’ve watched you from many perspectives. You care for the art of the deal and preservation of life more than you do progress.”

“Progress for the sake of progress is only meaningful to others you pave the way for,” Alan said. “I refuse to believe you had no motive before you were eaten. Were you as droll as all the elites on Earth? Just looking for legacy?”

“Fool. I seek to step foot where no other dares. To triumph where others fail.” He clenched his fist, gold eyes lit by the fire. Though his frame was far from intimidating, his confidence almost made up for it.

“I prefer Durger’s company.” Alan waved the man away.

“Then you prefer to be fanned and fed grapes like a good pointless king. I will do no such thing.” Afarus drew his sword and swiped at the flame, cutting reality in half.

A literal slashed line distorted the space between the burning sticks, twisting the flames in unnatural ways, and making Afarus appear stretched in the spot he cut. Then, with another clench of his fist, Afarus reclosed the reality-gap with a boom!

Alan promptly got to his feet, brandishing his sword. “You’re fucking dangerous.”

“Few men are offered the role of god, Alan.” Afarus smirked, drawing a line in the stone with his sword. “And even fewer have the will to reject it.”