About ten seconds later, I was up and out of the room, skip-jogging down the corridors behind Heshae, who was moving like a woman possessed. There were several puzzled looks from others as we rushed by, but I kept telling myself it had more to do with the novelty of my species than the fact that I was wearing nothing but my undergarments.

We found Duguf in a small alcove, patching up a species that Heshae identified as a “Gaal,” which rhymed with ‘ball’ in her accent. They were squat, with a muscular, bulky body shape and gray-brown skin the color of air-dryed clay. Their head was covered with short, stiff spines that began on their brow line and ended at the base of their neck. Diamond-shaped scutes protruded from the skin on their neck, shoulders, forearms, and jaw, and I suspected they continued down their back. Some of the scutes poking out from the adults showed chipped and worn paint colors that immediately brought to mind nail polish.

True to form, Duguf was wrapping torn strips of cloth around a recently stitched gash in one of the adult’s legs. “That’s Cova’s younger mate,” Heshae said while pointing to the taller, more muscular female of the species. Cova worked with her other mate to reassure her four children, who were watching the proceedings with rapt attention.

As we watched the scene unfold, the teenager of the bunch got up and started—or continued, I couldn’t tell which—an argument with the younger adult being tended to, and my spell began picking things up as soon as I got into range.

“…old enough to take the trial! Just let me go!”

The adult grimaced as they sat up, “The answer is still no. You haven’t even had your first molt—”

“Dragonshit!”

Heshae bent down and spoke with Duguf, who glanced over at me. I awkwardly waved in his direction, but my attention drifted back to the family argument. Neither side wanted to give ground. By some unspoken rule of parenthood, the other two adults peeled away from the horde and guided the teenager back to the other children, where they spoke in quiet tones that I couldn’t hear.

I didn’t need my spells to tell me what that conversation sounded like.

‘Let us handle everything; it’s all going to be alright. We need to keep you safe. You’ll be a much bigger help if you stay here; protect your siblings.’ Yeah, but the word doesn’t work like that. Keep them too safe, and they won’t be able to protect themselves when something real happens.

Heshae put some pressure on my wrist, and I pulled away from the scene to join her and Duguf in their conversation.

“Heshae says that you’re willing to help us," Duguf said, "I’m not happy about having my patients rush out into danger hours after they escape death, but I also do not have the authority to keep them. There is no medical reason why you can’t be discharged, but…”

Duguf waved my wrist over to him with both gloved hands. I obliged on behalf of my wrist, which didn’t have a choice in the matter, and he pressed his thumb into the glass bead adorning it. After a second, it started glowing brighter than before.

His helmet bent upwards to look into my face, and to keep him from developing a crick in his neck, I bent down further so we were closer to being eye-to-eye; after all, he had saved my life.

“…Don’t die," he continued. "I have plenty of questions for you that I can’t get answered if you’re dead.”

I smirked and gave a single nod, “Got it.”

Duguf turned around, checked his work with the Gaal, patted him on the knee, and shuffled down the corridor on the hunt for someone else to treat. The family circled the younger mate, who picked up a heavy cudgel leaning against his makeshift cot and tested the weight. The older kid, who had been so angry, wrapped his arms around them and begged them not to go.

Heshae caught me looking at them and touched my arm, “We need to go, Amelin.”

“…Right.”

We left the makeshift medical area and rushed down a short set of corridors that merged with a larger one: a twenty-foot-diameter tube with small alcoves spaced along the walls and a series of thick braided pipes on the ceiling. In no time, we were back at the crossroads I had viewed in the Gossamer hours before, only now it was a cylindrical chamber roughly forty feet in diameter. It was probably used as a gathering area before the uprising but now acted as the armory for a slave revolt.

Small piles of makeshift weapons and armor, dismantled mechanical devices, barrels of simple weapons, and other detritus littered the area in hastily erected workstations. I could still smell the traces of caustics, esters, alcohols, and combustibles. They must have made explosives, firebombs, and other improvised weaponry. I admired the ingenuity.

Heshae went to a barrel half-filled with staves, selected one, and gave it a few swings.

“You’ll want to arm and armor yourself as best as possible,” she said while lashing cordage to her staff. Once her makeshift strap was complete, she slung it over one shoulder and secured it. “They have projectile weapons, and what little armor we’ve put together should help to deflect the worst of it. We have very few projectile weapons of our own, but they’ve no wizards on their side: with you on ours, that gives us the advantage.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I started to sift through the various piles of items for things I could use and said, “What can you tell me about the people I’m about to be dealing with?”

So, she laid it out. There were about a dozen slaves in engineering being held hostage by the other two overseers: a person called Ulketh, a Firoma, and another called Selema-vass, a Kharaje. As she described the Firoma, I realized their species resembled the charcoal-skinned creature I had briefly seen earlier. She mentioned that they have a series of nasal passages just above their collarbone that they use to breathe while singing. It also gave them a powerful sense of smell, but if those passages were blocked, it would disorient them for a few moments as they attempted to clear the blockage.

I didn’t think I would ever have the opportunity to set up some situation where forcing a sneeze would save my ass, but it was good to know.

Her description of the Kharaje gave me the impression of a moth person: a little taller than I was, hourglass-shaped, covered in short fur, antennae, vestigial wings, and very graceful. Then she started talking about how they could manipulate the striations in their fur to make people more amenable to their suggestions, and the room felt a bit warmer than it did a moment before.

Note to self: steer clear of the moth people.

My rummaging yielded promising results: I found a few sheets of paper, a flat metal billet, some stout cordage, and a palm-sized waterskin half-full with water. After another minute or so, I came away with a satchel that would hold the odds and ends I had collected. A half-minute later, I found a cylindrical lantern that vaguely smelled like mildew when I twisted it to light it and a lighter the size and shape of a pocket watch.

Light and fire—having those things in my corner was a game changer. I was now officially dangerous. Well, more dangerous.

I grabbed a brace of daggers, then grabbed a second pair on impulse. Even if I didn’t hit my target, throwing pointy things at people usually makes them get out of the way, and I wanted spares just in case. Once I started trying to strap the makeshift sheaths to where my belt typically was, I realized the apparent garment malfunction.

“Heshae, where are my clothes? I didn’t see them in the infirmary before we left.”

She paused for a second and looked at me as I fumbled about half-naked before giving a mollified reply, “Oh! Apologies, one moment.”

Heshae dug around in her backpack and handed me a set of long brown and charcoal-grey clothes, which made me sigh in relief.

My Conduit’s robes were bite-resistant, claw-resistant, thermally dampened, and relatively flexible in all the right ways, keeping me protected and mobile simultaneously. They had also been augmented with ablative shield enchantments that could help in a pinch. They wouldn’t deflect hardlight shots, kinetics, or anything resembling serious Domain-type firepower, but they’d keep me from the worst until I could get to cover.

Heshae’s statement that their enemies didn’t have “wizards” was reassuring, but I wasn’t positive that we were talking about the same thing when we said “wizard.” The last thing I wanted to do was stumble into an encounter with someone who could take me out with sanguinarium, fleshcrafted bone darts, a bolt of fire, or a billion other innate magical abilities. One of those things that she didn't consider to be a wizard’s spell but could still end me good and quick. In my experience, you don’t need to be a full-fledged magic user to have a trick and know how to use it.

She wandered over to me and looked at the assortment of pieces that made up my Conduit’s robes with more than a passing interest before she said in a quiet voice, “You never explained why you were so keen on getting involved. Most of my companions were under the impression it would take a significant amount of persuasion to get you to aid us. I was prepared and empowered to offer almost anything, you know.”

I stuffed another palm-sized waterskin into my satchel and cinched it to my belt—it never hurts to have extras.

“You know, my mom asked me the same question when I said I was going through Conduit training—the whole ‘why are you getting involved’ thing. She wanted me to assist her with her little pet projects, and she wanted me safe.”

My memory flashed back to the infirmary as I adjusted my undersuit, checked my engram, and turned around to face her.

“I became a Conduit because I had to try. Our people had lost so much already; there was no way I could let my people lose more. You spend enough time on the ragged edge surviving with others, you stop thinking of yourself and start thinking of the people around you. Same thing applies here.”

She nodded and handed me the upper cowling to the gear, which I graciously accepted. “I suspected it was something like that.”

“Once I was a Conduit, I wanted to show my people that we could come back from the brink, that we could rebuild. That’s why I took my skills and became a Pathfinder: to help show my people the way forward.”

“Plus,” I said, “I don’t have it in me to sit out a fight. How does the saying go? ‘I do it because I can, and nobody else will?’ Something like that. I won’t find my way home if we’re all captured by who or whatever comes to collect. I’ll probably be dead. But that’s not really the reason why.”

Without consciously thinking about it, I had started triple-checking my gear like I was back in the Warren, preparing for another excursion into the wastes. I imagined the Waycasters conjuring the exit portal just up ahead while I was briefed on the location, stuffing maps and sketches into my backpack. I imagined the telltale thrum of the waygate opening and being made stable, and then nearly felt the elastic feeling of stretching and relaxing as I stepped through the gate to a new place.

I remembered seeing the ruins of our world and imagining what it would look like someday: bright and green and full of life. I remembered that feeling of joy when I saw tangible results: more people returning to the Warren, transitioning from surviving day-by-day to living for something.

I clenched my jaw, and stopped worrying about whether I should trust Heshae. At some point, you have to trust someone.

“I guess the real reason why I’m going to go out there and risk my ass again is because I’m a Conduit and a Pathfinder, and the job doesn’t stop because I’m stuck out in the middle of nowhere, missing from my people, lost beyond reckoning. My job is more important out here. I’m going to find a way through this shitty situation and into a better one because I can. Because kids like the one in the infirmary deserve to see their parents tomorrow.”

“After that? I’ll get the answers I need and find my people.”

I hadn’t thought about half of that before I started talking. Heshae’s face went from nodding in understanding to nodding in agreement, and then I watched her face change as if she had just seen something she hadn’t seen in a long time.

Before we left the room, she touched my shoulder and said, “I think you may be a lovely person, Amelin.”

I chuckled, and my green eyes met her gold ones. I said, “You’re just saying that because you don’t know what I’m capable of yet.”