“What are you doing, looking to get married, you slip of a boy!!!! Barely out of your teens,” the old woman said.

“I turned twenty-two last month,” replied the young redheaded man.

“What I said,” the old woman continued, undeterred. She extended her left hand expansively, indicating the wide vista spread before them. “You should be out there, doing shit. Seeing places.” Her voice dropped. “Meeting people. Preferably nice young women.”

“Granma!! You know I can’t.”

Seeing the contrite expression on his face, her voice softened. “Take an old soul’s advice. Live life to the fullest before settling down with a young girl like Clara.”

“What if that young girl like Clara then wants to do shit and see places?”

She let out a derisive snort. “In that case, you clearly weren’t thinking with the good sense Aimin gave you. Marry a girl too much like yourself, and you’re in for an unhappy marriage. Too different and it won’t last the decade,” she said. “Most happy marriages are about balance and compromise. Lust peters out after a while.” A bit of edge entered her voice. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Guilting a boy into marriage. Shameless!!”

By anyone, she clearly meant this Clara girl, or more likely, her parents.

The old woman suddenly gave a start. “I’m not gonna be a great granma anytime soon, am I?” She looked more aghast than the young man.

“No,” the grandson replied, sounding unsure whether to be pleased or not at the prospect. “Were you and granpa happy?” His attempt at trying to change the topic was as transparent as his clear blue eyes, highly unusual among Aiminians, though his thick southern accent indicated he was one. The southerners tended to emphasize the vowels more, making the language sweeter on the ears.

“We were, Aimin bless his soul in the Eternal Halls. He was kind and understanding.”

The young redhead looked taken aback. “He was?”

That statement earned him a good long glare. “He understood me when most didn’t. That’s all that counts to me.”

“Fair,” replied the young man, mind lost elsewhere. Even from a distance, it was clear that he was looking at his own relationship with this Clara girl in a new light.

“Impractical, with his head lost in the clouds. Couldn’t find his own boots without me,” said his grandmother, wiping the tears pooling in her eyes.

On her wrinkled face was a radiant smile with a mix of sadness and memory – memory of happy moments shared over decades.

The young man, who had apparently inherited some of his grandfather’s finer qualities, looked far off into the overcast sky. “May his soul find peace and happiness in the World of Wonders.”

At this point, they finally noticed the two travelers trailing them.

James kicked his horse into a canter, settling in behind their cart, with Arjun walking beside him.

“Good day.”

Slap.

“Damned mosquitoes. How the hell can anybody do anything constructive in this Aimin-cursed country?” muttered a familiar voice.

Slap. Slap.

Five days out of Agnipur, Arjun woke up to what had become an almost daily ritual; James cursing the all-pervading insects.

“And a good morning to you too.” Arjun yawned, rolling in his sleeping bag. “You don’t seem to be someone who spends too much time indoors.”

“I don’t,” James replied balefully.

Slap.

“Well then, in Aiminia, outdoors and mosquitoes, especially during the Monsoon, are inseparable.”

“Don’t I know it!! Ran out of Sholsilven bark. Had planned to restock in Agnipur, but the Dualgods had other ideas.”

Sholsilven bark, imported from the aditarun country of Maha Aranya, when burned, produced a subtle smell which deterred mosquitoes and other insects. Most people couldn’t afford even a pound of the stuff, though Arjun wasn’t surprised the Cleric could.

“Perhaps it’s for the best. There’s only so much space in there anyway,” Arjun said, gesturing toward James’ sturdy leather rucksack.

“Had to discard my old trusted dimension bag just before entering Agnipur. Wasn’t soon enough. I suspect that’s how they caught my scent again. Didn’t think it was within their capabilities.”

The Cleric wasn’t ruing his choice, but Arjun was, since those bags had always fascinated him. Created by aditarun Artificers, they used sigil-induced passive Enfolding to increase Space. Further thoughts ground to a halt when he noticed that James had changed his hair color and skin-tone, making them darker.

“Any particular reason you’d want to alter your appearance? How did you manage to match your skin-tone with the hair color?”

James gave a nonchalant shrug. “Just the effects of a Potion, to throw the Guards off. A very expensive but highly effective Potion.”

Arjun felt the Cleric was lying even though his kernel signature indicated he wasn’t. As his gaze shifted to meet the Cleric’s, he was also certain James had sensed that Arjun had caught the lie even though he shouldn’t be able to. Apart from tightening his signature, he showed no reaction, and so Arjun tried to break the ice with another, hopefully less contentious, question.

“Always wondered; isn’t concealment impossible when you’re among Clerics? How do you even spy on them when one look at you would make it abundantly clear you’re a Manipulator?”

“You’re making several assumptions here,” James began in his lecture-room voice, “some or all of which may be false.” He spread the fingers of his right hand, ticking them off one by one. “If they expect to see a Manipulator who they don’t know by face, then possessing an Awakened Heart Chakra is actually a boon. Secondly, even if they expect someone mundane, there are nowadays ways to temporarily hide your kernel signature.”

“What?!!! How?”

“Potions that less than half a dozen souls in Sindria can concoct.” A pause followed. “There are other, less effective methods as well.”

The revelation brought back some painful memories. “The man….” Arjun swallowed the lump in his throat. “The aditarun man I’d killed. He was somehow able to hide his Chakras.”

“But you could tell he was hiding them?”

“Yes.”

“Shrouding Vest.” James grimaced. “Nasty invention that damages your kernel signature, turning the flow of kernel turbulent, and as a result, users lack control and precision.”

Arjun thought back to his fight, and the burning question it had left him with. Could the explanation be something as mundane as lack of control? His gut insisted otherwise, but he was often guilty of looking for mysteries where there were none. “And the Potions?”

“Potions usually work better than vests, as long as you don’t do any active Manipulation. Or Enfolding. Clerics with keen essence senses can still detect the underlying signature, if the Potion user lacks proper control over his or her kernel signature.”

“But, they’re still harmful to the user?”

“Nowhere near as much as vests, but yes. Prolonged use will still leave your Chakras crippled.”

“Potions can’t be made to work on a permanent basis?”

“No. Not that we know of. They also have some severe side effects unrelated to Manipulation. It takes an absurdly strong constitution to handle repeated use. The only saving grace is that even a small vial of the stuff costs a king’s ransom. And that’s never going to change.” The Cleric shook his head. “Having said that, even a decade ago, concealing any Chakra was considered a pipe-dream, until some Aimin-touched Alchemist from the Trade Cities figured it out.”

“If you can dream it, you can do it,” Arjun said, nodding to himself, eliciting a grunt of amusement from the Cleric. “Speaking of dreams, can you make some please? I don’t think I’m fully awake yet.”

Less than quarter bell later, James handed him a cup of coffee, which even after only drinking it for four days, Arjun had developed an instant and intense liking. Most people in Aiminia prefer tea.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Ah.” Arjun took a long relishing sip, then exhaled, feeling the stiffness from sleeping in the ground and riding a horse for five days straight slowly melt away. “Ahh, this is the stuff dreams are made of.” He took another sip. “Why do you think most merchants in Aiminia have almost no access to coffee? It’s not as if people would be reluctant to buy it.”

“Arunia produces ninety percent of all the coffee in Sindria. They have a trade monopoly. As a result, only the rich can afford it in Aiminia. Not much chance of the situation improving anytime soon, either.” James paused. “There is a possibility of imminent conflict with Aiminia.”

“How imminent and why?” Arjun pressed, alarmed at the prospect of war between two of the three greatest empires in Sindria. Such a calamity would ravage both lands, uprooting millions of lives in the process.

James looked at him searchingly. “All in good time, kid.” He then got to his feet. “I’m going hunting. Be back within the bell. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Arjun was perplexed. In their limited time together, he’d come to realize, that particular phrase was James’ way of saying he didn’t trust Arjun.

He shook his head. Actually, that wasn’t accurate. It wasn’t distrust. It was more a case of judgment reserved for later time – which, as a clandestine Cleric operating in foreign and possibly hostile country, was undoubtedly prudent. Not that he’d told Arjun anything about the nature of his job. He’d drawn that inference himself. And, when unable to bear his curiosity any longer, he’d asked James about it, the Battle Cleric had just snorted, as good as a nod of assent from a reticent person like him.

After doing some light yoga, which reminded him of his parents, Arjun’s feelings of dread and worry resurfaced. Hoping to distract himself, he decided to practice the new hand-to-hand combat forms that James had shown him yesterday. Intense physical exercise was always an excellent way to ward off melancholy. But inevitably, his father’s voice sounded in his ears, drilled into his heart by way of repetition: Meditation – feel the kernel flow within yourself. Practice – work ceaselessly and daily on suitable forms of Manipulation, battle-styles or exercise techniques to get a feel for the flow of essence outside your body. And finally, Time – to accumulate kernel and solidify your gains and insights. Three paths to improving your Chakras, making them denser, thereby increasing the passive benefits, while also increasing the likelihood of opening others.

Soon, Arjun lost himself in the forms, and when he finally stopped, he realized, from the position of the red star Surya, that almost two bells had passed and James had not only come back from hunting, but he’d already skinned, steamed, and cooked the deer meat. He scolded himself for being so unaware of his surroundings.

Following a simple lunch consisting of chapati and deer meat curry, Arjun decided to get some answers concerning his own past out of James, just as his father had suggested. The Cleric had rebuffed Arjun’s efforts thus far saying it wasn’t time yet, but he’d stayed awake half of last night speculating about one horrible scenario after another. Truth could hardly be any worse.

“How did you know my parents?” Arjun asked in a firm voice that demanded answers. He’d decided not to beat about the bush. The Battle Cleric, as far as he could ascertain from observing him, preferred directness from people, perhaps because in his job he met so few with that quality.

James looked up from the small notebook he was scribbling in. Tilting his head, the Battle Cleric glanced upward at the overcast sky, expression thoughtful.

“Met your mother through your father. Dhrelin, or Siman if you prefer. He and I go way back. We were Novices together at the Uni, as some of us fondly call the University. Then, cadres in the same cabal, and finally, Battle Clerics,” he said, trying to find a more comfortable position while reclining against a large jackfruit tree, one of many in the grove where they’d set up camp late last night.

Arjun was too shocked for words. “What?” he eventually managed to blurt out. “My father was a Battle Cleric from the University? But…but that would mean he’s Arunian,” he sputtered.

“Contrary to popular belief, even Aiminians are allowed to enroll in the University, although admittedly, that doesn’t happen often. Your father was born an Aiminian.”

James it seemed wasn’t going to hold back anymore, at least not about Arjun’s own family, so with his Heart Chakra churning with anxiety, he asked, “What about Ma? She was Aiminian too?”

“Yes, your mother was born and bred in Aiminia. She went to the Clerics’ Academy in Aimingar, though.”

Mention of the Academy seemed to dredge up painful memories for James, as his eyes, only for the briefest of moments, became distant. And almost haunted. So Arjun decided to pursue another avenue and ask the question he’d been leading up to. It was a question he’d asked his father in vain countless times before.

“How exactly did my biological father and my brother die?”

“Don’t know exactly. Wasn’t there.”

James was still holding things back, but Arjun decided not to press the issue, at least not immediately.

“Your mother still thinks the baby’s alive, doesn’t she?”

Shoulders slumped, Arjun looked down in apprehension, trying to hold back tears. Every time he’d had this conversation with someone, it ended with that person quietly avoiding him thereafter, be it old friend or new acquaintance. As if associating with him, someone whose Ma had the Dread Disease as well as Power Madness, would taint them somehow.

But this time, it was different.

A gentle voice stopped the welling tears. “What she went through, it’s a miracle she survived. You must take heart from that.”

Arjun gave a mechanical nod, sensing the Cleric’s sincerity. It would, of course, help if he knew what she went through in the first place.

“Some people have to grow up and learn to face the world without any parents to show them the ropes. You’ve had many wonderful moments with them both, and will have many more, hopefully. And Dhrelin loves you more than life itself.”

“I know. As do I. But, I must at least know who he was, my biological father. If he’s not my biological father.” Arjun searched the Cleric with his eyes. And mind. “Is he?”

James shrugged. “He is if he says so.”

“He said he’s unsure. Which is true. But he’s hiding something. About my past. I must know.”

To Know. A tiny fragment of the dream still remained, embedded deep within his mind.

“An understandable sentiment.”

“My mother should know for sure, of course. But even when lucid, her memories are scattered.”

“Curse of Power Madness. Nonlinear time. Or memory. Often both.”

“Do you know? What happened before I turned seven?”

“No. Siman never explained the details. And I didn’t ask. Even later.”

Arjun deflated. He’d never been more disappointed with an honest answer.

“Will I ever be able to heal my mother one day? At the University, they must know of ways to undo the damage to her Crown,” he asked after a while.

“Maybe.” James rubbed his chin. “Haven’t come across anyone who knows the remedy to either the Dread Disease or Power Madness. The damage to the brain and Crown, as far as I know, is irreversible. But a lot of Clerics at the Uni don’t disclose the full extent of their knowledge. And then, there’s the Library. No one has unlocked all its secrets yet.”

Arjun considered for a moment whether asking the next question would be wise…or productive. But his father had advised him to trust James, and while his parents had been stubbornly close-mouthed about the subject, there was a chance that the Battle Cleric might not be.

“What are my parents running from? We moved almost every couple of years, never settling down. You know, don’t you?” he asked, sensing James wasn’t altogether surprised by this revelation.

The Cleric hesitated for a moment, giving him a good long speculative look. Arjun understood what it meant.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I suppose you are.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Most people…have ghosts in their pasts. Your parents have more than their fair share. Some, of their own making.” He looked at Arjun, glance meaningful.

“My brother.”

“Yes. One of those ghosts. But, some of the pursuers, the ones searching for your mother especially, are apparitions of a more materialistic nature, striving to fulfill material goals.”

Arjun blinked. “The Order?” Power Clerics of the Order were known for their ability to appear and disappear at will, hence the colloquial term ‘Apparition.’

James smiled, his eyes containing a hint of approval. Then, those dark eyes turned darker. “Even damaged, her Crown holds too many secrets. She was, after all, a Third Servant. And a fairly high-ranking one at that.”

Arjun nodded for the Cleric to continue. He’d deduced as much years ago.

“As for your father,” James paused, hesitation marring his features. “They hunt him for a different reason. To extract information about his time as a Battle Cleric in one of the most celebrated and short-lived Fists in history. The Gray Fist.”

Arjun stared at the Cleric, slack-jawed.

“How do you…” Seeing the twinkle in James’ dark-brown eyes, Arjun’s light-brown ones widened in shock. “You were one of his Fistmates.”

“Yes.”

“What happened to the other three?”

“They’re dining with Aimin,” James replied, stone-faced.

“Did any of them…have a split chin?”

Adept as he was at hiding his emotions, James couldn’t help but frown in surprise. “No. Why would that be relevant?”

“Just a passing thought,” replied Arjun, doing his utmost to conceal the disappointment in the depths of his Heart. “How did they die?”

The frown drowned in a sea of regret. “The last mission went sour. I was lucky,” James said, sounding anything but pleased. “Barely survived. Dhrelin was captured and locked up in the Blackhold. Waiting to be…interrogated.”

“Then?”

“Then,” the Cleric’s voice turned cold, “he was interrogated.”

Arjun felt faint. “How long?”

“Eight years.”

Arjun swallowed.

“Some secrets can never be unlearned,” warned the Cleric. “Do you still want to know?”

“Yes.”

“He resisted as long as he could. Of course, eventually everyone breaks, though he still managed to cling onto some important secrets. Even learned a few of BrightHeart’s.”

“And Ma?”

“Dhrelin met your mother there. She wanted to defect.”

“She was already there?”

James gave an affirming nod. “She’d been a resident of the Blackhold a good couple of years longer than him. Finally, aided by providence or one of the Fatewardens, they both managed to escape. ” A gentle sigh escaped, one that held an unhealthy dose of self-recrimination. “I don’t know all the details. Was barely clinging onto my life at the time, recovering from a near-fatal gut wound, too weak to even Heal myself.”

“You tried to rescue them, didn’t you?”

“Unsuccessfully, yes. Almost ended up joining them.” A shadow of shame and regret passed over his face. “Without the help of a complete stranger, a Journeyman Healer, I would’ve joined my mates in the Eternal Halls. As for your brother, during the process of escape, Audrey’s younger son, barely three years old…died in a massive explosion that obliterated a good chunk of the Blackhold. In the resulting fire and confusion, your parents fled with you.”

Arjun leaned back against the trunk of a mango tree, trying to absorb everything he’d just learned. More than he’d bargained for. More than he’d expected, though still less than he’d hoped.

Then suddenly, the realization hit. He sat up straighter.

“The mission. The last mission…it was to infiltrate the Blackhold and extract my mother, wasn’t it?”

For a long, drawn out moment, there was no reply. “Yes,” the Cleric eventually said, his emotions shifting between shock, wariness, and most of all, sadness. “The Gray Fist completed its last mission successfully.”

Before either of them could explore the topic further, a massive concentration of essence blinked into existence, no more than a mile away.