“You should stay in your lane, Lucius,” Alan said. “There’s no deal that earns your expedited freedom. You hand the Pegs over and you serve the sentence that the Fate Chasers have already agreed. No negotiation.”

“Is that so?” Lucius clanked his chains against the bars of his magical prison.

“It is. You’re too dangerous to be let out during such a delicate time. It’s a shame too. We could’ve tackled this war together. Made a home for when those of our Origins pass.”

Lucius eyed the Fate Chasers, then landed his gaze back on Alan. “You’re the only one in this room who believes in such folly.”

Alan felt the dread prickling his skin. Thinking of the gryphons Lucius burned at Brack, his willingness to sacrifice Durger. This was no friend.

“Everyone in this room recognizes our Origins may cease to exist if Jaeger takes over this universe.” Alan gritted his teeth. “He will contract scouts in every corner of our Origins, enslaving all. Relevant and otherwise.”

Lucius scoffed. “And what of your allied gods? What’s to stop them from doing the same? Let’s not forget, Alan Right, it was Mujungo who brought you here.”

More anger rushed through his veins. The thoughts of Trish no longer calmed him into serene Green—maybe because she was no longer a distant memory.

Lucius jammed his shackles against the bars, jolting Alan to attention. “You know in your heart none of the deities can be trusted. They are stubborn and drunk with power. All of you know it.” He pointed to the Chasers. “You must believe my stunt at the stables was not something I enjoyed. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I do apologize.”

Alan reached his hand through the bars and clenched hard around Lucius’ neck. “Enough with your apologies. Enough with your games. Speak plainly or not at all.”

Deep Red Saro flowed around his arm, combining with dreadful Black. Alan saw that same Red he did when training with Afarus, only without the calming Green or blessed Yellow to temper him. He was sure of it now—reuniting with Trish had broken his serenity. His Saro was flying out of control.

He clenched harder around Lucius’ muscular neck, a part of him so badly wanting to squeeze the life out of him for what he’d done—betrayal over and over and over. Until finally, when Lucius squeezed both hands around Alan’s arms for him to stop, he did.

Lucius coughed, holding his throat. “Hm—” he coughed again. “Maybe there’s a little bit of god in you, Alan. That rigidness. Loss of empathy.” He flashed an angered smile. “Remember your first day in Strangey? You’re the one who changed. Not me.”

“This is your last chance. Where are the Pegs?” Alan said evenly.

Lucius shook his head. “My terms stand, Fate Chasers. Overthrow Alan and make the deal. Then we all go home.”

Elkire drew his flagged spear and stuck the point inches from Lucius’ neck. “Talk of treason in Token will not be tolerated, Stalker. You will rot until you are ready to speak.”

Alan arced an eyebrow, eyes still plastered on Lucius. He was trying to calm himself the old-fashioned way—breathing techniques. No one boiled his blood like Lucius did. Especially now, when stakes were raising by the day.

“Let’s go, Elkire. We’ll visit him again once he’s had more time to slip further and further away from his precious Luness,” Alan hissed, turning his back on the prince.

Boom!

Lucius slammed on the bars so hard the rest of the ice around the bars cracked, falling dramatically to the floor. “I’m going home, Alan. One way or another.”

Alan walked out of the prison with the main Fate Chasers at his back. “Give it time. We will get your Pegs back.”

“I have no doubt.” Elkire puffed his chest, pointing his ornate spear to the sun. “For now, let us concentrate on keeping these interconnected realms intact.”

Alan nodded, pulling out his map. “Once you’ve rested in a bath of serenity Green—”

“There is no rest for Fate.” Elkire flipped his spear into the holster on his back.

“Token demands it. I can’t have you falling out of the sky from fatigue. We could all do well to take a page out of Flint’s book. Celebrate the small wins, rest after a hard journey. Only then, take Tenger and travel west.” Alan pointed to the map. “I need the strip of orange and blue fog scouted. We have to know if armies are farming those territories, and the count.”

“It will be done, noble Alan.” Elkire held his fist to his chest.

“Have Irana and Flint escort Nastaf to my throne by nightfall. In the interim, I need to get war protocols in order. There’s so much to learn.”

“Indeed. It’s like being spawned here all over again. I’ve got the scars to prove it.” He showcased his torn-up arm.

“It means everything that you’re at my side, Elk. It gives us of Unlikely Guds a fighting chance.” Alan held up Ara’s feather so she’d come scoop him up and latched onto her talon for a swift exit.

As soon as he was alone, his brow felt heavy. The amount of budding prompts still plagued him, even after he’d settled many regarding citizenship and war the night before. If he was to scour Ojin, he had to be ready.

Kaw!

Alan waved Ara away once he landed at the foot of his throne. Walking into the beast’s mouth, taking off his void breastplate and fire-hot boots allowed him a moment to breathe. He sat cross-legged in his corner, provoking the war prompts with Neesha’s stone answers at the forefront of his mind.

War is an extension of survival. We want to live free of control and dominance. A chance to strive in Ojin under the universe’s rules is better than under Jaeger’s. Show me what I must do to win.

Alan Right

Title: Merchant Bounty Hunter of the Horde*

Affinity: Mercantile

Saro: Colorless

Status:

*War Ready*

Titles with an asterisk bestow a unique Saro coating that amplifies the wearer’s power to contend against armies in times of war.

Note: Although traveling in large groups is common in times of war and yield benefits in holding Ojin territory and farming Ojin minions, a warrior equipped with a War Title will gain additional Saro coating the more warriors they are up against.

Note: Titles earned in times of peace still apply and fog hierarchies are unchanged. However, it is advised to Title-swap if hostile warriors attack.

Alan blinked away the prompt. “Yeah I know all that already. What else?”

Title: Merchant Bounty Hunter of the Horde*

Perk: Upon defeating hostile warriors with this War Title selected, warrior gains access to the defeated enemy’s realm of pledged items.

Note: Pledged items are of sacred regard that have been sacrificed by warriors and minions to gods over time. For example: The Dagger of Jibberish was pledged to Mujungo by goblins. Items like this are stashed in a god’s private pocket unseen by warriors. The more renown possessed by the defeated enemy, the greater access granted to a god’s pocket. Happy bounty hunting.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Alan shook his head. “I feel like a goddamn pirate thief with these prompts.” He reached for his Soul Collector and swung out Durger for some advice.

His ethereal bearded companion took a heavy seat beside Alan.

“Good to see you, Sir Alan. You’ve made incredible strides,” Durger said.

“You’ve been awfully quiet in there.” Alan motioned to the blade, which made Durger blush so noticeably it even peeked through his shadowy form.

“Well, mm. I have a surprise,” Durger said, then reached his arms toward the blade. “C’mon, boy!”

Arf! Arf!

A tiny dog with curly fur and pushed-back ears puffed into existence, doing a full flip as it rushed toward Durger.

“Sir Ooman!” Alan’s eyes widened.

“Indeed. Hah!” Durger fell back as the dog tackled him, licking his ethereal beard and sending wisps everywhere.

“He sheds even as a soul, huh?” Alan laughed, then tapped the floor. “C’mon, boy.”

The pet’s eyes were dopey-looking and full of life. Arf! He crashed into Alan, who made a show of falling back. He then picked the dog up and stared at him. “I’m so happy for you, Durger. He’s adorable.”

“Been chasing this pup for what feels like a lifetime.” Durger sniffed, wiping his nose.

“I know you have, old friend. I saw it in my visions the very first time I sourced the Dagger of Gibberish. It broke my heart.”

“And you let me blab the whole story to you anyway?” Durger huffed.

“What are friends for? Tell me, how’d you do it? How’d you find ‘im?” Alan scratched behind Ooman’s ear.

“Hm. You might not like this part.” Durger tightened his cross-legged seat.

“Hm?”

“The Soul Collector has been a foggy plane since the moment Lucius drew me into it, Sir Alan. I suspect that’s due to the moderate Black Saro of its wielders. But something happened when you crossed into the Royal Horde, in that tower…”

“Trish,” Alan said.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. As soon as you discovered her, everything cleared up like a passing storm. All of us souls minding our own business were suddenly face to face, with forms as fleshed out as you sitting before me. That’s how I found this little guy burrowing deep into the ground.”

Alan’s brow furrowed. “What does it mean?”

“Hm. I’m not sure, but Afarus has been pacing back and forth since it happened. He keeps talking about a cloudy fate that awaits you.”

“Right. He told me that too back at the inn,” Alan recalled.

Wooosh!

A pulse of black wind formed Afarus leaning on the wall beside Alan, long arm-wraps squiggling to the floor as he folded his arms.

“Your dark Saro links have grown to unstable levels, Alan. It’s dangerous. And telling.”

Alan hopped to his feet, scaring Sir Ooman out of Durger’s arms and scurrying around his back.

“Tell me plainly. How do you know this isn’t a result of gaining a War Title? According to all these prompts, I’m more powerful from it.”

Afarus shook his head. “Something similar happened to me when I reunited with my love. Only it wasn’t the Black that amplified.”

Alan scoffed. “Are you telling me she’s toxic? That’s something I already know.”

“As I’ve told you both, nothing is clear at this moment. Whether she will aid or descend you into madness, I cannot be the one to say. Origin reunions are often potent in the world of Saro. One of the great unsolved mysterious, If I’m being honest.” Afarus kicked off the wall, letting his oversized sword drag on the throne carpet.

With a clenched fist, Alan vacuumed Afarus’ materialized form back to ethereal, all except his golden eyes. “What does your heart tell you?” Alan asked.

“Oh no.” Afarus tugged enough Saro back to give form to his arms. “This is a decision only you can make. Come on, Durghowler. Let’s enjoy the bright world of the sword before our master loses himself.”

“Comforting,” Alan scoffed.

“Farewell, Alan. I will keep close watch on how war-ready protocols affect your Saro. Call on us when the time is right.” Afarus whooshed back into the blade, leaving Durger and Ooman smiling at him.

“You are a wonder to this universe, Sir Alan. We will be by your side ‘til the end.” Durger held up Ooman so he could lick Alan’s face.

Grayish slivers wafted everywhere again.

“See you soon, friends.” Alan waved, then sighed when they were gone.

Trish poisons me in two lives?

Or does she help?

Alan swiped the Soul Collector from the floor and twisted it every which way. “I can’t dally. Much to know and much to do…”

xxx

The days went by in a blur. Alan took Flint’s advice and delegated as much as he could to those willing to help. The Fate Chasers were a big part of that. From dispute settlement to carrying out scout orders, they held the realm intact while Alan cemented what it meant to be a Token citizen. Mobilizing groups of high-tier warriors formerly from Brack now held Token’s gold-coin insignia on their shoulders.

It made him proud that they’d willingly accepted, but naturally Alan had to keep an eye on them, since some could very well become Junos loyalists. If watching a god strike down his own wasn’t enough to convince them, Alan didn’t know what would. Still, he was hoping Token’s charm would soon win them over.

A week after patrols began, the grand map rolled over his marble desk had a little less fog floating over it. They’d cleared a perimeter carefully, using the Fate Chasers to ensure no scouts or armies were around while they did.

Keeping Token’s portal destinations a secret was essential, since invasion was probable with no god designated to protect the realm. Alan couldn’t let Mother Balooma down.

Flint, Itsy, and Alan spent hours analyzing the map, getting Nastaf’s path to Brack ready so the rescue mission could take hold. Planning. Planning. Planning. All he wanted to do was start setting up Token’s economy and have a flourishing amount of trade take place, but that couldn’t be the priority right now.

Neesha barged in nightly, hugging her Answer Stone and giving Alan a glimpse of what it was like to wield one. Asking it war-based questions evoked specified prompts and notes that Alan hoped would give them an edge. Apparently hiding out among an army could build Saro potency for every minute not found out. Also, egging an enemy army to fight on farmed Ojin territory yielded aura advantages. The potential tactics were endless, and Alan did his best to consume all of it.

That night Trish scaled the mountain Alan’s throne rested upon—using Black Saro techniques to shadow shift—and marched herself into the throne room with Alan and Neesha sitting cross-legged across from one another. Green Saro trickled between their fingertips—flirting, kind of.

“Am I interrupting?” Trish sat herself right beside both of them, causing the Green Saro streams to recoil.

Alan swiped away the prompt and placed the Answer Stone in Neesha’s lap. He couldn’t help but inhale a waft of his ex’s scent. She smelled like outdoors and cherries at the same time. The black shadows that formed under her eyes every time she used Saro were intoxicating, and he could feel his own going haywire inside.

“Obviously. War protocols aren’t a mountain you can climb.” Neesha got to her feet and reached for her oversized robes hanging over the chair.

“Ah, that requires sitting in the king’s ivory tower, huh, princess?” Trish arced an eyebrow.

“Ladies, please,” Alan said, getting to his feet.

Trish twisted her lips. “I—took your advice… with Nastaf. I’ve been sitting in on the team’s protocols for the mission and training with one of them. They’re on a whole other level.”

“And Alan is on one far beyond that,” Neesha said, slipping into her shoes at the front throne door. “Which is why he doesn’t have time for handholding.”

Trish swallowed past a lump in her throat. “Handholding, huh? What was that you were doing with your Green Saro then?”

“That’s enough.” Alan felt heat rising to his face.

“No. No. That’s fine. I’ll be out of your hair,” Neesha said with half-closed eyes, then turned her back on the two of them. “We’ll continue war prompts tomorrow, after Nastaf departs on his first rescue mission.”

Alan cursed under his breath when Neesha left. He was right in the middle of a long string of prompt dialogue. If he learned nothing else today, it was that he needed more allies, fast.

“I’m sorry, Alan. I should go.” Trish’s cattiness dissolved with Neesha’s presence. “I was just excited to share Nastaf’s vigor.”

“It’s alright.” Alan paced with his hands on his hips. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither of you did.”

Alan could tell from the corner of his eye that Trish was becoming bashful.

“When we used to hike… it was hard to even walk uphill for a few minutes straight. Now I’m scaling and shadow shifting with one hand. This place can be amazing when you’re not held up in a dark cave.”

“I feel the same way,” Alan said. “My first days here were in a town they call strange. Frogs floating in the air, mountains playing bongos, and the trees talking in the most charming accents. You could imagine my disdain when I showed up naked.”

“Least you remember showing up,” Trish sighed. “When my eyes opened, I was already wrapped in black leather with a curved dagger in hand, facing off against some slithery shade.”

Alan put his hand to his chin. “Do you want the memories you lost back?”

She shrugged. “A lapse in memory is never comfortable. It’s like being blackout drunk the night prior. The hell did I do for those hours? You know?”

“I do. Take out that dagger,” Alan nodded. “I’ll help you out.”

She unsheathed a blade with silver teeth and two black lines running down the edge.

As a trance slowly manifested around Alan’s vision, a boom shook the throne.

Alan and Trish both turned sharply toward the direction of the noise, then sprinted out to see. Ominous wind blew Alan’s hair back, darkening the mood of an otherwise peaceful night. He leapt onto the gryphon statue to get a better look at a source of light in the distance. A tear in the sky awfully resembled a portal, and as he squinted, it was clear a gryphon was struggling to soar through.

“Irana.” Alan ripped his feather out from his pouch and leapt right off the statue—to a mile-long drop—knowing Ara would catch him.

Kaw!

She soared under Alan and gently caught him in his seat. The closer they rushed to meet Irana, the clearer things became—her gryphon’s wing was burnt and her consciousness was fading.

“Grab her off her mount, Ara! She can’t handle extra weight right now,” Alan said.

Kaw!

Ara whipped in a circle, snatched Irana in her claws, and escorted them both to the top of the mountain. Trish slid to her knees once Ara dropped Irana off.

“Alan.” Irana winced. “An army, one mile out from Token’s portal zone. Southeast,” she heaved. “I took the long way back. They didn’t catch me. They didn’t see.” She held her ribs.

“Hold still,” Alan said, summoning Green Saro to his fingertips. To his dismay, the streams weren’t coming. The serene thoughts… weren’t working. “Dammit!” he winced. “Trish, get Neesha.”

She looked at him with apprehension.

“Do it!”

“Alan.” Irana grabbed his arm. “You have to lead them away. Otherwise all our efforts—” she coughed hard.

“I’m getting you a Healer first. Wait here—”

She grabbed his arm. “No time. Portal out right now.”

“I’m not leaving you. We’ll fight on home turf if we have to.” Alan held out his hands again, hoping with Trish gone he could pull those comforting memories again.

No luck.

“Wait here, I’m flying down to get a Healer.” Alan reached for his feather again but this time received a swift slap.

“Listen to me, you slimy Merchant.” Irana grabbed him by the collar, blood leaking out of her mouth. “It’s been an honor to serve. You saved my Brack family. You’re a good man, Alan. I’m happy to admit I was wrong about you.” She coughed again. “W—who knows, maybe in my next life, I’ll wind up back in my Origins… with my real family.” Her breathing grew shallow. “I miss them.”

“No. Stop. Stay with me.” Alan cupped her face, then put his head to her chest. “Irana. The Fate Chasers need you. I need you.”

It was too late.

She was gone.