The group remained still until the creature had been gone long enough for Timbrelle’s Hysteria bar stop filling. The panic thoughts spamming the group chat slowed and eventually ceased.

“I need a drink.” Brandon said, catching a bottle out of the air when it manifested from his inventory. He handed it to Adna and offered Timbrelle an identical bottle. “It isn’t the only one that came by but it was the most powerful, for sure. Broke my god damn arm by pointing at me. Do you know the one with a hawk head? Or the mothman whose body is shadow? That sucker was so damn fast—not like the bird guy. I had to burn seven different ability slots just to lead the moth away. All things considered, bird guy was kinda chill.” He flopped onto the blanket beside them. “I’ve been a dad for half a day and already I’m exhausted.”

”I met the moth guy on the Rigel mountain while looking for Timbrelle. Couldn’t sense me then either.” Adna reported. “Scared the hell out of Morto so I assumed it was something awful. It scares you too, eh?”

“Mortominsla? You know him? That’s… a surprise. I heard that the Rigels lost their famous mountaintop mansion. These things must be why. If you ask me, that’s what they get for stealing my kids. How dare they adopt you.” Brandon seemed ready for a long-winded bitching session when both women stopped him to explain himself.

“What happened to the Rigels?” Timbrelle asked just as Adna said, “Did you say ‘kids’, plural?”

“Yeesh, one at a time. Yes, I said ‘kids’. Don’t fight it. Maybe it’s because you two share a soul but when you came back the interface gave me a second paternal bond. I have an ’Adna’ tab next to the ‘Timbrelle’ tab now. As for the Rigels, I’m not exactly sure. A couple days ago they evacuated the entire estate because dozens of workers had already been killed. I bet they’re planning to hire some Unmade to reclaim the land and exterminate the monsters, but you won’t find any Unmade willing to take those things on. Well, that’s not entirely true—the Player’s Cult organizes a ‘World Boss Raid’ every so often. Thirty-four years ago, they invited the rest of us and we hunted three Kraken in the Green Sea. That was before it turned into a group of deranged loonies; They were just regular loonies back then.” Brandon recalled wistfully. “But yeah. It’s a real shame. The Rigel Duchy is a bit of a mess right now and by ‘bit of a mess’ I mean, ‘a smoldering heap’. I don’t think the coronation is the sole reason they’re in Tellcentra.”

“…Brandon?” Timbrelle ventured after a beat. “I think I waded directly into Kiton politics. But just how badly did I mess up? Dimetrium was destroyed, Rigel has adopted me and come under attack from my creature, while I publicly aligned myself with Nerrus and Jir.”

“Oh…” Adna cut in reluctantly. “I just realized you wouldn’t have heard yet: House Daliega knows you helped Trestovan run away, ruining the Ducal alliance between them and Torseia.”

Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should have told you to avoid nobility the first time I met you in Yost—No. Parentage be damned, I should have taken you away then and risked falling out with your Mentor.” He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Anyway, we’re together now and that’s all that matters. You’ve done well.”

Timbrelle blinked at him. “Didn’t you hear us? I have stepped in one pile of shit after another. That’s not my idea of ‘doing well’.”

“You’re a shit-stepper, I won’t deny that. But have you ever considered the power you’ve amassed? In this world with nobles, royalty, deities, contracts, and alliances, connections are your most valuable asset. Typically, as an Unmade starting out, your only connection would be your mentor. I would then go about introducing you to people and for years you’d shadow me as a semi-indentured servant. On your own you’ve managed to endear the Daliega boy and his partner, the High Priests of both Nerrus and Jir’s congregation, House Rigel, a slew of aurors and Diadna Herself. From what I understand, the Crudwell girl is practically foaming at the mouth to make a deal with you. Not to mention this lady.” He jerked his chin at Adna. “I don’t know what you are to each other, I don’t know if there’s even a word for it. But it’s infinitely more meaningful than anything I could have showed you in that time. You were thrown into the fire and you did well.

“To my knowledge,” he went on, “you haven’t done anything inexcusable. The real problem is that you have been seeing the world as a Kiton. You need to start learning to think like an Unmade. The bar gets so much lower for us. For example: my Mentor used to accept people as payment for jobs—had a whole menagerie by the time he was finally killed. Clients wouldn’t stop offering people to me so now I accept any I’m offered and send them off to a friend in Florenta to help them settle down. That’s how I found my girlfriend Dwendot. You’ll meet her soon so don’t tell her I told you how we met. My point is that Unmade aren’t held to human standards and, for better or worse, we shouldn’t be. We are power personified. When I told you we are beholden to nothing and no one, I meant it. We are forever grateful to the Soul Smith, but even She does not posses the right to command us.”

Timbrelle fought back tears at hearing she’d done well. There had been more to the conversation after he’d said it, but her brain could think of little else. Was she truly that unstable that a kind word would send her into wracking sobs? She eyed her “Hysteria” bar inching forward nearly imperceptibly.

Yeah. Timbrelle rolled her quickly watering eyes at herself. She was that unstable.

***

After fifteen minutes of uninterrupted ugly crying, Timbrelle sat on the blanket in the hollow of Adna’s side, lending her warmth to the room-temperature woman stretching sleepily. Though Timbrelle spent her time sorting the toxic fruit out of their pile, her focus remained on the tree line. She couldn’t feel the creature moving in the darkness. Not now. No longer being able to track its proximity felt like the red point of a sniper’s scope drifting between her eyes. She would have no idea she was being targeted until it was too late. Having her back so exposed to the forest made her itch.

“You ok, Timbo? You’re hyperventilating a bit.” Adna patted her forearm as she was wont to do. They both knew the patting wouldn’t stop until Timbrelle assured Adna that she was ok.

She gave the woman a sheepish look. “I’ve just got the scaries a bit. I don’t like being here without knowing where that thing is. That’s all.”

“‘Scaries’ are good, remember? It charges your—” Brandon shouted from where he was wading in the pond, bent over to snatch fish. “Aw… I scared them all off. Well, dammit. …Anyway, if you fill your charge bar and don’t want to use the ability just yet, you can save it as something called an ‘ability slot’. I have dozens from Tellushra fulfilling my requirements.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

”But it’s different for everyone, right? So what’s your requirement?” Timbrelle asked.

“Kills.” He answered with a sudden melancholy. “Speaking of which, I got eight more by raiding Dimetrium yesterday. I’ve never had quite so many opportunities to murder people as I have in Tellushra’s service. I used to go months hoarding a single ability slot and now… Kitos changes us. It’s all a part of the tutorial, I guess.” he shrugged.

“What is the ‘Tutorial’?” Adna asked, admiring Timbrelle’s shiny braids fresh from the Unmaking.

Another shrug. “I have no idea how to complete it. People either die before finishing it, or you finish it by dying. I don’t know. No one does. The Players Cult says that once you beat the tutorial, you get to ‘start the real game’. They have some crazy theories but any Earther’s theory will sound just as crazy. Personally, I bet we will be reincarnated as regular Kitons. I had a friend who thought we’d return to Earth after we die—I genuinely hope he made it back. But there’s no way of knowing because everyone from Earth is summoned from the same day. November twenty-second, twenty-eighteen. Something must be significant about that day because no Unmade has been pulled from a different one.”

“I don’t remember any of my many deaths but that sounds close to my final memories.” Timbrelle affirmed.

He came wading out of the pond and summoned a new pair of boots. “How are you doing, Adna? Has the rigor mortis subsided? It isn’t listed in your bio anymore.”

Adna responded by cracking her neck in a long line of pops. “Much better. I bet I could walk comfortably now.”

“Then let’s not waste time. My map says we’re about half a mile from the road if we keep moving East. The masked creature moved West an hour ago and the Mothman went South-West twenty minutes prior. Hawk boy is MIA but very slow so keep your eyes open.”

Brandon’s map showed the barest geographical features like the pond and main road but Timbrelle’s had been fleshed out in elaborate detail gathered from months trapped in the forest. Notable trees were scattered across the map in shades that denoted their familiarity. Brandon spent the hike explaining various tips and tricks for the interface. He’d amassed a number of them. They learned during this exploratory period that while Adna could now access the interface at will, the two shared an inventory, friend list and map. By the time they found the road, Timbrelle and Adna had grown comfortable speaking through the chat. Once it was established, they decided to keep a channel open at all times, reminding Timbrelle of her nights gaming with friends back on Earth.

Having acted as a guide for the group, Timbrelle had to admit that she was entirely unfamiliar with crossing the forest via road. Her expertise on poisonous plants and practiced ease in navigating the thorny trees was no longer necessary on such an established path. The once terrifying forest was quickly transmuting into a backdrop for their conversations as they walked through it like tourists. Every few minutes she would stop to gather berries and seasonal fruit that had sustained her through her incarceration. They munched pleasantly on their spoils until coming across a considerable caravan.

“Hail and well-met.” Brandon called to the lead driver, throwing a wink at Timbrelle and mouthing watch. “May we travel together?”

“Adventurers?” He grumbled to himself through a loosely braided beard. After removing a set of well-worn earplugs, the driver sized them up. “Y’all normal or do you need the hand-dancing? It’s a shame what happened and all but it don’t mean I should need to prance my fingers in the air like I’m an invalid too.”

In a moment of revulsion, Timbrelle realized he was referring to the deaf language Yostier people had adopted into their culture.

Brandon’s eyebrows slid up his forehead. “Oh damn. I was going to teach a different lesson but this works too.” His arm disappeared up to the elbow in an unseen interface window and returned with a scarlet axe. The colossal weapon hit the forest floor with a resonant thud. The ginger man lifted the weapon in a single hand and placed it on his shoulder where it could be appreciated. The serrated edge rippled beautifully and dripped with blood preserved by the inventory.

Wide-eyes watched from further down the caravan but not a soul dared intervene. The lead driver’s reins squeaked as he wrung them. His eyes darted from the axe to Brandon’s face.

The Unmade leaned in and whispered, “If you notice the crest on each of the wagons in the train, you’ll see these belong to the VBA—a merchant conglomerate out of Destadia. The merchants rent the carts from the VBA and travel protected toll roads freely. Blah, blah, blah. It’s all very boring. All but one little detail: the VBA reimburses any and all loss attributed to Unmade.” He gave the girls an excited and expectant look. “…that’s a good thing! That means It’s not really even stealing if you think about it. You can take anything you need and the big company behind them—you know what? I’ll explain this later.”

The driver shifted in his seat, keeping both hands visible in an effort at compliance. “We don’t want no trouble with the Unmade.” He said.

Brandon’s voice dropped an octave into a predatory rumble. “Good, because I don’t want trouble either. Just horses. Three of them. If you can manage that in, say… four minutes, I’ll let you live.”

The caravan was launched into a flurry of activity to see if the merchants could unhitch and equip the horses with riding saddles in under four minutes. Less than two minutes later they were presented with three frazzled horses. One of which, Brandon “graciously” left behind when Timbrelle climbed in front of Adna. She didn’t know how to ride a horse and she’d be damned if that was how death found her next time. Next time she would be ready and it would probably be final.

“See? Easy.” Brandon said once they were out of earshot, trotting merrily away. “So, when we’re Unmade, our souls are cast into shape. Changing too much after your unmaking can fracture your soul and drive you insane. If you stick to your pre-established morals, you can retain your sanity for longer. For instance: I was a pretty decent dude on Earth. I hardly lied, never stole, never killed anyone—obviously. That has made it infinitely more difficult for me to lie, steal and murder here. I had to find ways to match my actions to my morals. But, there are ways to turn an amoral act into a moral one. I killed those people at Dimetrium to save my kid. In the moment, I signed a contract with Tellushra to save Dwendot. With VBA caravans, it’s even easier. Find the leader and tell them you intend to take one horse but they can claim you took six. If you take one chest of food or goods to resell, tell them to report that you took four. They get reimbursed and you won’t take a morality penalty.”

“…but you didn’t do that.” Timbrelle led.

“Yeah, well, my nature is to rip off bigots. I got lucky that he was a sack of shit and I didn’t need to game the system.” He waved the thought away. “The key is to convince yourself that your solution is moral, but that can be tricky if your morality is already compromised. The Player’s Cult probably sees their pillaging as acceptable, too. It’s a slippery slope, but undeniably better than losing your mind. Keeping a Kiton nearby is a great way to stay grounded, too.”

“I have a bunch of different souls with as many different lives inside me. How the hell am I supposed to stay true to their natures?” Timbrelle asked.

“If I had to guess, the reason you couldn’t be Unmade right away was because you needed to establish a baseline for your franken-soul. It couldn’t be cast into any shape because there was no past to work with. Did the Soul Smith say anything about qualifications you had to meet?” Brandon mused while stroking his horse’s neck affectionately.

“She said I had to establish a claim on the soul. I think Nerrus was trying to do the same thing with those gems He gave you, Adna. Cake removed the one I had and forced Nerrus to take it back.” She said.

Adna’s face remained stoic as she dropped profanities in the private chat. “I hate that guy.” She offered aloud. “But as far as a ‘claim’ goes, could it be your fate ability? That was the last notification you received before starting the Tutorial.”

Brandon hummed a bright note. “That would make sense! Your title ability is determined by your first big event on Kitos but the fate ability is determined over time by your actions. The Soul Smith waited for you to decide who you wanted to be.”

Timbrelle winced at the familiar wording. Just last night she’d told Plimt that she wanted to be the kind of person who would murder someone at her mercy. And, frankly, now she was. Plimt was dead.

Anxiety dug at her mind, scratching one particular thought raw. What exactly did it mean that her final act before the unmaking had been to torture and kill someone?

What had she done to herself?