Rosemary had spent the last few days with Sunala.

She had spent the first night aboard the Gil-Galad. Talking with Sunala about Elven history and culture. Listened to the music sing on and on. The Enil-galdrim Marching Song came to a close, as a full twenty-one guilds gathered together in one place. Or, at least, parts of guilds, standards still raised on high, but some of the flags only had one or two tents by their flags. Only the elves of those guilds, who had come together to this place, wooed by the marching song as though they were moths to a flame. It had called them, she realized, a common song for all elves to gather under.

But only elves.

As time went on, the talks became less about elves of before and more about the elves of today. Sunala and Rosemary spent the second day of InterGuild watching them, observing them from the deck of the Gil-Galad.

“Look, Rosemary,” Sunala said, “All of us, a scattered people.”

“There's so many,” Rosemary said.

“But not under one banner,” Sunala said, “Not anymore.”

“From what we've been talking about, it seems like they never have been,” Rosemary said, “Not like the metahumans. Elves have always had their separate nations, apart from each other.”

“Yes,” Sunala said, “Perhaps. But still, we are... lesser, now. The elves used to rule the multiverse, Rosemary. Long before the Silver Eye ventured out into the multiverse, the elves were the monarchs of reality. Entire planes of existence, ruled by elves, with nothing but elves within.”

There was something in her voice. Something... strange. As though she were about to reveal a closely held secret.

“We were a great people, once,” Sunala said, “But not anymore.”

She gestured towards the gathering. Of elves in tents, repairing weapons, laughing and jeering at jokes while babbling in Elven languages, sculpting magic pioneered by Elven magicians.

“This is but a microcosm of what we can be, again,” Sunala said, “Imagine the scenes before you, spread across the multiverse. This scene on every world. On every plane, our kind.”

“A place for elves,” Rosemary said, “Even for someone... someone who isn't?”

Sunala gave her that kind smile, her hand reaching for Rosemary’s cheek. Caressing it. Rosemary felt herself become warm.

“Perhaps,” Sunala said, “Some of us are... suspicious, of outsiders such as you.”

“Like Adonal Adaya,” Rosemary said.

“He is a purist,” Sunala said, “To be an elf, one must have Elven blood within their veins, the more the better. The purest of blood are the most divine.”

Rosemary's heart fell.

“...And you?”

“I am not quite so... strict,” Sunala said, “As long as you follow our ways, speak our language, and live our culture, you are Elven. You recognize that we are a higher race, and attempt to ape our greatness. Some like Adaya would hate you for this. But I… I admire you, Rosemary. You have worked very hard, Rosemary. Very hard indeed. I cannot help but love your tenacity.”

Love.

That was what Rosemary heard. The middle of the sentence. Something no one had told her before. That they loved part of her. Not with such sincerity. Not with such gentleness.

“What do I...” she whispered, “What happens now?”

“Now,” Sunala said, “We wait for the clock to strike midnight. For when it does, we shall gather, and the song of Enil-galdrim will play in our hearts as a thundering war.”

***

The first thing Kathen felt was the liquid, smelling and tasting of honey, or tree sap, deluging over his face.

The second was the pain, a dull, throbbing in his nose that warned of far worse agony if he thought on it for too long. The honey being poured over him was blunting his senses, stealing the pain away, suffocating it beneath its viscous mass. He opened his eyes.

Haorando stood over him, the firefly's antennae twitching a bit in the dusk of his children's light. Beside him was Merry, who was looking worriedly down at Kathen. She was in her Delluran Avatar form, her four arms frittering nervously.

“K-Kate?” her voice was a whisper, “Are you alright?”

“Ah, girl of light,” Haorando said, “Give 'im time, catch his breath, catch his wits, an' all.”

She looked completely lost as she nodded, all eight of her holographic eyes slit with worry. Kathen, despite himself, had to smile at that. He opened his mouth, which was caked with honey and dried blood.

“You... You do care.”

“Sh-shut it!” Merry snapped, “Just shut up! You stupid, egotistical oaf!”

Kate's smile fell as he noted how her voice, synthetic as it was, was breaking.

“That bad, huh?” he said.

“I seen worse, I have,” Haorando said.

“You should have seen the look in that metahuman's eyes,” Merry said.

“I did,” Kathen said, “Right before, you know, all that.”

“Like an animal's,” Merry said, “So vicious, so victorious.”

“I can't blame him,” Kathen said, “Fighting's primal. We're like... beasts.”

The pain was receding. Kathen made to rise, but Haorando's front legs pushed him down.

“Ah, you be lyin' down,” the firefly said, “Rest for another moment, now. My magic potion, it be workin' your way into your body, an' all. Doesn't take a few seconds.”

The book. Kathen's heart fell.

“Fine,” he said. He rested his head against the damp earth, grass tickling at his ears, “Merry, the metahuman, he took the book?”

“Yeah,” Merry said, “Look, Kate, maybe it's not worth it.”

“Not worth it?” Kathen's voice was quiet. He could feel anger welling in his chest.

“Joseph Zheng did a number on you,” Merry said, “I don't want you to die. Antular wouldn't want you to go hurting yourself either-”

“Damn Antular!”

The AI flinched. Kathen stood up, knocking Haorando's legs away.

“I'm here because of Antular!” Kathen snarled, “To save him! I'm not just... just going to lie down and let him go! He means too much to me for that! If he goes, he goes raging against the night!”

“But Antular-”

“I don't care!”

And Kathen rose to his feet, his hands balled into fists, feeling his entire body shaking. The pain was coming back, a ferocious roaring in his nose, which was definitely broken. Maybe a bit more than that. But he was glad. The pain meant he was alive, that there were things worth fighting for.

Merry was retreating back, trying to make herself feel small, seemingly pinned beneath Kathen's glare. He hated it when she did that.

Hated, a bit, that he was taking his anger out on her. Kathen's shoulders sagged.

There were things worth fighting for, but it wasn't worth hurting her. Not when it was outside of her control.

“I just don't want to lose him,” Kathen whispered, “I'm sorry, Merry. I shouldn't have yelled.”

He reached down, offering the AI a hand. After a moment, Merry took it, dissolving into his palm, re-entering his implant.

“Sorry to you, too,” Kathen said to Haorando, “You didn't have to do that, with the potion. You could have just left me there.”

“Ah, you bein' hurt, an' all,” Haorando said, “Can't abide by that. That Joseph Zheng, he be a cruel one. Ruined my shelf, he did.”

The firefly pointed with his stick at the knocked-down shelf, which the metahuman had smashed during the battle. Books had flown every which way, and now they lay scattered on the ground. Kathen nodded.

“My fault, too,” he said, “I should have walked away as soon as I saw you. Shouldn't have involved you in all that. You... You were using it, weren't you?”

“To store a few of my books, yes,” Haorando said, “But never you mind, never you think. Can find a new shelf...”

Kathen moved over to the shelf, considered the damage.

“I can push it back up,” he said.

“Kate, no,” Merry said, “Your injuries-”

“Joseph Zheng broke my face, not my arms,” Kathen said, “Not my legs.”

He surveyed the broken shelf for a few moments, taking it in, running through his head the best position to take. Then, he knelt down, fingers wrapping up against the shelf's edge. The muscles in his arm bulged as he began to lift.

“Don't have to be doin' that,” the firefly said, “Haorando, he can go findin' another shelf.”

But Kathen didn't answer, his jaw set and a vein popping in his head as he lifted the shelf back up. God, it was heavier than it looked. But he managed to get the shelf propped up enough that he could put his body against it, twisting ‘round so he had his back against it, his shoulder blades stabbing into the shelf as he pushed. The shelf, once more, stood upright. Its middle shelves had been smashed by Joseph Zheng's fist, and many of the roots had snapped as it had fallen.

But it could be used. Could have books on it, once more.

Kathen looked around.

“Okay,” he said, “Let's gather the books.”

“You don't be needin'-”

“I don't care,” Kathen said, “Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, I'm going to help you put this back together, best I can. We can salvage what's left. It's the least I can do.”

The firefly was quiet at that, an antenna twitching. Kathen began gathering up the books scattered on the forest floor and handed them to the firefly. Haorando, after a few moments, began taking them in hand, re-sorting them back onto the shelf.

It was a job that took a few minutes. Time that could have been spent recovering. Licking wounds. Beginning the hunt once more, what was quickly becoming more than a game for the Dyriptium of Karn.

But Kathen instead worked to retrieve all of the books. Helped Haorando sort them, reached up to the higher shelves for the firefly, where he stored a few of the books he didn't like.

“I don't like them, but some folk do,” Haorando explained, “So I keep them, in case folks be wantin' them.”

“But you have them high up so you don't have to see them,” Kathen said, smiling.

“Exactly. Great minds, they be thinkin' alike,” Haorando let out a chittering laugh, “You get it, Kate.”

The entire time, Merry took stock of Kathen's physical condition. He ignored her, working to put the books back, because none of what she was saying was good. His nose was busted. His body was exhausted. He hadn't eaten in hours. Hadn't had any water. He was, as she put it, on fumes.

“Kate,” Merry said, “I... I want to say it again, alright? Please don't get mad.”

“I won't,” Kathen said.

“You're in no shape to fight Joseph Zheng again.”

“I know.”

He and Haorando finished putting the last book up on the shelf. Then, Kathen turned and walked over to pick up one last item off the ground.

His plasma pistol.

“You're still going through with this,” Merry said.

“I am.”

“Even though he could have killed you.”

“But he didn't,” Kathen said, “Did he?”

He smiled.

“He didn't,” Merry admitted, “I talked to him. He sounded... civilized.”

“I'm sure he did,” Kathen said, “Many of his kind are.”

“He said that he was... sorry. That we could talk to his guild about medical costs. The Amber Foundation, he said.”

Amber Foundation. That guild with the talking head. The one with the rude metahuman – Shimmer, Kathen remembered. Well, that explained a lot.

He was quiet, as he holstered the pistol.

“So that's it, then,” Haorando said, “You're goin' for that book again.”

“I am,” Kathen said.

“Plenty of books around you.”

“But not the right one,” Kathen said.

The firefly nodded sagely.

“You huntin' for that there Joseph Zheng, eh?”

“I am,” Kathen said.

“You done me a good turn,” Haorando said, “I be doin' one for you, now.”

“You already did,” Kathen said.

“I saw a stranger on the road, decided to be the Good Samaritan,” Haorando said, “There be no charge, healin' someone. But I owe you, me an' mine.”

He gestured, and the smaller fireflies began to scatter.

“My children, they be knowin' the wood,” Haorando said, “They will guide you. Follow them, and they will see you true.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“I-” Kathen stammered, “I- Thank you. I don't know what to say.”

“Thank you, Kate,” Haorando said, “You did not have to do that. You could have left. Left ol' Haorando an' his books. But you didn't. You did more than most folk do for me in a lifetime.”

The fireflies began glimmering in the distance. Star-shaped guides in the dark night.

“You be followin' them,” Haorando said, “And quickly! Joseph Zheng is a hawk, swift and cunning. Best be watchin' your step.”

“I will,” Kathen said, “And thank you. Again.”

He smiled, before moving off, following the trail of fireflies. Back to Joseph Zheng.

***

Joseph's walk was slow. Exhausted. His entire body ached from the effort of facing off against Kathen. His side throbbed, the broken rib still crying out for some sort of relief. But it would not come, as he stumbled out of the dark forest and into InterGuild. A few curious eyes looked his way, but for the most part people ignored him. Fights happened in the forest. Sometimes you went in with beef, sometimes you didn't come out.

He could hear music in the distance. Flutes and pipes and guitars and drums of all shapes, playing out a familiar tune. It was that marching song from when they first arrived at InterGuild, the Elven one. He wondered if Rosemary was around.

He began walking closer to the sound of music. The source of the songs came from a campsite, a big one. Dozens of flags flying high, each one different, a miasma of color and symbol, indicating the various guilds that made up that gathering. He could see crowds of elves, moving in time to the music, bobbing and weaving. Fires had been lit, hot orange that blazed independent of wood or tinder. They merely floated in place, like specters.

Joseph glanced an eye up. He could just barely make out the clock tower rising in the distance, though his vision sharpened as he let his soul's eyes take a look. It was almost midnight, the two hands warned. Ten minutes to the hour.

God, where had the time gone?

It didn't matter, he told himself. Time didn't matter here. The guilds imposed time here as best they could, tried to force the Flyleaf Forest into something resembling what they called normalcy. But such a thing was impossible. The night was still dark. There were still no stars.

Joseph found himself slumping up against a nearby wagon. His eyes shut as fresh pain washed over him.

“And what have we here?”

He opened his eyes.

Two elves, one in shining, silvery mail, impossibly thin and impossibly tall. The other was wearing plain leather armor and a dark blue cloak, a plasma scar marking her face, twin revolvers holstered at her hips. Both of them glared down at him.

“'Sup,” Joseph said.

“Indeed,” the elf with the revolvers said, “I think you should leave, pal.”

“I'm...” Joseph grimaced, “Give me a second, alright?”

“It's approaching midnight,” the silver-mailed elf said, “I wouldn't want to be here when that happens.”

The music in the campsite was becoming more wild. Delirious. Joseph noted the dark looks on the elves' faces.

“You shouldn't be here, outlander,” the elf with the revolvers drawled, and Joseph noted that she was brushing a lithe hand against one of the handles, “Best you humans leave. There are events transpiring that are beyond your understanding.”

Joseph glanced back at the campsite.

“Looks like a rave,” he said.

The silver-mailed elf’s eyelid twitched.

“Time for you to go,” the one with the revolvers said, “Now.”

“Hey!”

Rosemary hurried out of the campsite, her red cloak flowing behind her. She was wearing a new dress, a woven myriad of roses and lilacs, and her face was painted with a coat of blue. Joseph blinked at her.

“Hey, Rosemary,” he said.

“'Sup, Joe,” she said, before turning to the elves, “Urya, let him be. He's a friend.”

“He is not of our kind,” Urya said.

“I...” Rosemary's eyes flickered between Joseph and the elves, “Alright. Let me talk to him. I'll make sure he doesn't, um, get in.”

Urya, the elf with the scar and the revolvers, glared at Rosemary. Then, she nodded.

“Very well,” she said. She and her companion walked back inside.

Rosemary strode over to Joseph, hands snatching his cheeks as she looked him over.

“God, Joseph,” she said, “Have you been in a fight?”

“Should see the other guy,” Joseph wheezed, “Careful, ribs.”

“God!”

She guided him over to a stump, easing him down carefully, hand searching for the broken rib.

“What's going on in there?” Joseph asked, wincing a bit as she found the break.

“A... ritual,” Rosemary said, “Never mind that.”

“What's with the paint on your face?”

“It's a ritual, Joseph.”

“Ah, that would make sense.”

“Stay here,” Rosemary said, “I'm going to see if I can't get something for your rib. Give me a second.”

She ran off for a second, heading back into the camp proper. Joseph watched the fires dance. The music continue. Some of the elves were howling, loud and unbridled, and he did not need his eagle's vision to see their bestial eyes, the whites piercing through fire and shadow. Lady Sunala's ship, the Gil-Galad, was moored at the edge of the encampment, its ivory hull painted orange by the sheer number of flames. It was almost as though the elves were trying to make their own version of the Inner Sun, imitating a star, trying to banish the dusk.

Rosemary ran out of the campsite, stumbling over a few drunken revelers as she made her way back to Joseph. She clutched a pack in her hand, which she opened to reveal some leaves, which she began to mash into her hand.

“They almost didn't let me take these,” she said, “Said that it was for elves, and elves only.”

“Christ, did you see the way those two back there looked at me?” Joseph said, “You’ve been hanging around some assholes.”

She was quiet for a moment. She bit her lip, casting a glance back at the campground. Then, she turned back ‘round.

“Take your shirt off, Joe,” Rosemary said.

He complied, his face going a bit red as he shrugged off his jacket and his shirt, wincing at the purple bruise around his ribs. Rosemary rubbed the crushed leaves on his wound, and a stinging overtook the throbbing. Joseph grit his teeth.

“The leaves trick the brain,” she said, “They'll slowly deal with most of the damage. But you should go back to the camp. Have Wakeling look at it.”

“Not yet,” Joseph said, “Got to...”

“Got to what?” Rosemary said, “Joe, I know that look. You want to avoid Wakeling, right?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said.

“But Elenry isn't here, so she's the best shot for you to walk away without any lasting damage.”

“I know,” Joseph said, “But...”

He sighed. Rosemary rolled her eyes, standing back up. The din of the elves was only increasing, the marching song devolving into mere screaming instruments.

“What happened, Joseph?” Rosemary said, “Who'd you get into a spat with?”

Joseph, in reply, held up the Dyriptium of Karn.

“I met my contact,” he said, “And, ah, well...”

And he explained everything that had happened. Tek. Bulg. The bookstore. Kathen, and his own reasons for getting the book. Rosemary merely nodded as he went, and when he finished sighed, and looked away.

“Joseph,” she said, “What you did to Tek? Not... Not cool.”

“He probably found someone else,” Joseph said.

“And if he didn't?”

Joseph let out a huff.

“Yeah, no,” he said, “But...”

He sagged.

“Well, what's up with you?” he asked, “With Sunala.”

“She's, um,” Rosemary turned to him, “Well, I'm here.”

She gestured towards the camp.

“Among the elves.”

“Your people, right?” Joseph said.

He noted her eyes darted away from his face for a second.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice hollow, “Yeah. I am. Sunala's been teaching me about their- our history. She's going on about all of these great Elven figures. How we lived in a golden age.”

“Sounds like Becenti, with Epochia,” Joseph said, smiling.

“It does, doesn't it?” Rosemary said, “You should hear her, Joseph. About the empires the elves built. The planes they conquered. How they-we, lost it all.”

“Right,” Joseph said.

“How we're going to get it back, one day.”

Joseph looked up at her at that.

“How so?” she said.

She gets that, sometimes. When she talks about the future.”

The dancing continued. The cawings. The roars. It was a zoo, over there.

“How the elves will reclaim what's theirs, and all will be well. It's a paradise, Joseph.”

There was a tremor in her voice. As though she were admitting something she shouldn’t be saying. There was…

“I don't know,” Rosemary said, “But she sounded determined. Had a look in her eye, you know?”

There was a fear to her.

“...And what happens to everyone else?” Joseph asked.

Rosemary looked over.

“That's what I was saying,” she said, “I'm... I asked, what about people who... You know, aren't elves. And she said that, so long as you look the part, you're fine. Some of them use science to see if you're an elf – they measure your skull, and the like-”

“Sorry?”

“But as long as you speak their language, and wear their clothes, it would be fine-”

Joseph was quiet at that. Rosemary realized she was rambling, trying to justify something to him. Her hands wringed at her cloak.

“Anyways, Joseph, you should go and apologize to Tek.”

“I...” Joseph sighed, “Rosemary, are you even hearing yourself?”

The wringing froze.

“Rosemary,” Joseph said, “What has Sunala been telling you?”

“History,” she said, “Elven history.”

“Reclaiming what's theirs,” Joseph said, “That you just have to act like an elf, and you're fine.”

He sighed, rubbing his ribs.

“What used to be theirs?” he asked.

“A lot,” Rosemary said.

“Other planes?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“And when did they conquer those planes?”

“They didn’t conquer them,” Rosemary said, “They colonized them. Settled there.”

“Like that changes things,” Joseph said. He had heard of that before.

“It was a long time ago,” Rosemary said. She looked like she was losing her patience, “All of it, Joseph. It used to be theirs.”

“But it wasn't, once upon a time, right?” Joseph said, “Like Londoa.”

“I-” Rosemary said, “You don't understand, Joseph!”

“I wouldn't want to live like an elf,” Joseph said.

“And why not!” Rosemary snapped, “It's great! I've learned so much, about their- our history, our culture, the music we play, the clothes we wear, and-”

“And what happens to everything else?” Joseph asked.

“It doesn't-” Rosemary grit her teeth, “They're there for me, Joseph! Sunala's there for me! She said that she can't help but love me, Joseph! No one's ever told me that! No one's been as kind as her, not to me!”

“Not even anyone in the guild?” Joseph shot back.

Rosemary glared at him.

“Speak for yourself, Joe,” she said, “You practically hate us.”

“Not true,” now Joseph was rising, “Not true.”

“You lied to Tek. To his face. You didn't even care about whatever he was doing.”

“I did care,” Joseph said, “This isn't about-”

“Then why'd you leave him, huh?” Rosemary said, “And that other guy! He's trying to save his friend! Trying to save a life! You're killing someone, over a damn book!”

Joseph felt like he had been sucker-punched. He took a step back, nearly tripped over the stump.

“That's the...” Joseph said, “That's the Law of InterGuild. You know it. Nothing personal, right?”

Rosemary was quiet.

“It's all business,” Joseph said, “Right?”

“Not like that,” Rosemary said, “Not like...”

“What's the difference?” Joseph said, “It's like Urash said. When two guilds collide, the stronger one wins out.”

“Urash said that?” Rosemary said.

“Yeah, he did.”

“Would you call him happy?” Rosemary said.

The music quieted a bit. In the distance, a thin, gray-cloaked elf was leaning against the rail of the Gil-Galad. He was looking down upon the crowd, as though about to make a speech.

“Joseph,” Rosemary said, “Urash came to the guild a long time ago. Broon told me. He had a bad business venture, and his family... 'put him away,' they called it. Out into the multiverse. He'll never be able to go back.”

She turned to Joseph.

“I've never seen him smile. Not really. Not one of the genuine ones.”

Joseph sighed. He sat back down on the stump. Held the book in weary hands. Guilt mixed in his heart.

“I just want to go home, man,” he said.

Rosemary didn't answer.

“I just don't feel like anyone's really... I don't know,” Joseph said, “Like, everyone's going on with their lives. They have their own goals. Their own dreams. We're all just banded together because it's convenient.”

“Joseph, that's not true,” Rosemary said.

“After all of that spiel about Sunala, that's all you can say?” Joseph said, “Rosemary. Listen to yourself. Listen to what Sunala says. What's she been telling you?”

A spell of silence washed over the campfire, ending just at Joseph and Rosemary's stump.

“Because if they want to reclaim what's theirs,” Joseph said, “And they know that people won't take that lying down, what's the logical conclusion?”

She was silent.

“And if they conquer those places again, and people don’t look like elves, what are they going to do? To the non-elves?”

Rosemary did not answer. Joseph rose, wincing.

“I'm...” Joseph said, “Maybe you're right. About the book. Maybe I am killing someone. I don't know. Urash said that whatever that Kathen guy was after was a long shot. But I'd do the same thing, in his place. Wouldn't I?”

“Joseph,” Rosemary said, “I'm sorry. For snapping at you like that.”

“You called me out,” Joseph said, “I... Just, be careful, alright? Don't fall in with the wrong crowd.”

God, he sounded like his mom.

He could walk. The pain stung, as opposed to pulse.

“I'm going back to camp,” Joseph said, “To apologize to Tek. I'll see you back there.”

“Right, Joe,” Rosemary said.

She watched him go away. He was practically limping from pain and exhaustion. But she didn't follow him. Instead, Rosemary turned back to the elves.

And when she walked into the crowd, she heard Adonal Adaya's speech. The spell of silence blocked out the screams and jeers of the elves from the rest of InterGuild. She couldn't fully understand everything that Adaya roared – her Elven still wasn't up to par. But she understood a bit of it.

It was a speech about the Verdant Reclamation. Of re-taking the old homelands. The state of the elves of today.

How they were weak, but could be strong. How the other races, they were pollutions. Humans, goblins, all of them.

With each spittled word, she saw her guildmate’s faces. Joseph. Becenti. Nash. Broon. Mallory. Phineas.

What did a world for the elves, and only the elves, have in store for them?

Through it all, the elves around her cheered. Snarled at certain parts, cursed and spat at others. Ended in a triumphant cheer at Adonal Adaya's conclusion. It felt violent. Dark. A tension buzzed in the air. Swords were raised. Urya, caught up in the moment, pulled out her twin revolvers and fired them off into the air, her scarring looking ugly and fresh in the light of the fire.

And above, Rosemary could see Sunala. Looking down at the crowd, a look of pride on her face.

The noblewoman's eyes blazed.

***

The fireflies glittered in the dark. Kathen followed them. He was exhausted, his entire body aching, every one of his muscles crying out for relief. Fighting like this wasn't good on the body. Wasn't good for the soul, either, but that was the cost of doing guildwork, wasn't it? Haorando's potion was doing its work, repairing the worst of the damage, but once he got the book, Kathen would be returning back to camp.

Damn the lectures. Damn Almogra's cross look. He needed medical attention.

It would all be worth it, he told himself.

Despite the fact that he was facing off against a metahuman, had no support, and was following a trail of fireflies, Kathen could not help but hold onto hope. He had no other choice. Haorando's children danced as Kathen went, reaching far beyond his sight, flashing in time to one another in a strange code. How intelligent were they? Did they merely follow Haorando's orders, using a rudimentary language? Or were they as smart as he, and simply smaller?

These questions buzzed in his mind as the fireflies guided him out of the forest. In the distance, he could see Joseph Zheng. He was talking to a woman – his guildmate, probably. An elf, and she was already heading back towards a camp that her kind had made. Multiple guild banners rose out of the campsite, and it looked as though someone were speaking. But a zone of silence had been erected, most likely some spellwork.

That happened, at times. When guilds did not want their affairs to be overheard. Kathen supposed it was nothing, as he turned back to watch Joseph Zheng. The metahuman was walking, and though he limped slightly, his guildmate seemed to have given him something for the injured rib. No matter.

Kathen pulled out his pistol. Switched off the safety. Took a deep breath, hunkered down and behind a trunk. No chance of Joseph Zheng seeing him now.

One shot, ringing out of the dark. He could make the shot. He had a good enough eye.

One shot, and it would be over. Another metahuman dead. Valm would say it would be no great loss. That dying was a metahuman's lot in life. For sins their ancestors had made.

One shot.

But Joseph had let him live.

That gave him pause. Kathen blinked.

He had said he was sorry it had come down to this.

Others in Pagan Chorus would have taken the shot. He knew that. But he couldn't help but think of the look on Antular's face. How could he explain that, to save his old friend, he had killed another?

Was he killing someone over a damn book?

Kathen sighed. He began to put the pistol away-

Only for a slimy something to wrap around it and pull it from his grip. Kathen spun, watching as a man-sized octopus threw the pistol into the forest, rectangular pupils glaring darts at him.

The last thing Kathen felt before he blacked out was a fist cracking the back of his head.

***

Joseph's rib ached, even after Rosemary's healing salve. To be expected, of course. There was only so much a plant like that could do for him – even a magic one. He winced as he walked, each step bringing up a stabbing sort of pain. But he was used to pain. Used to powering through it. Coach Tristan had always said that, if you could power through pain, you could power through anything. And Joseph had taken that to heart.

He had powered through a lot these past few months, hadn't he?

He smiled at that. Took a second to glance down at the Dyriptium of Karn. After everything, he had done it. Guilt mixed with the triumph, but the triumph remained. Memories swam in his mind, of Anuté and Inweth, and finding a third link to them. He could almost smell the-

Something heavy slammed into his side, throwing him to the ground. He looked up for a brief second at a massive orangutan standing over him. It raised a long, rope-like arm into the air.

And then it came cracking down. Directly onto Joseph's forehead. For a moment, he saw stars. Gritted his teeth, felt like the ape hit just as hard as Mordenaro. He struggled, his entire body pulsing with pain – the orangutan's hit seemed to have broken any effect that Rosemary's plant had done to him. Joseph's circuit began pounding as he glared through the red. Ready to tear this monkey apart.

If he could power through the pain...

“Hmm,” the ape said, with a thick, Cockney accent, “Quite the chin, this one.”

And then the fist came down hard again, wiping away Joseph's world.