From the warmth of an eternal night-garden, to the unforgiving cold of the material plane. This time the cold hit like I had jumped into a frozen lake. Even the wind sounded different. The night-garden had a softness to it's wind, but the frozen plane's wind was unrelenting. How was it that two settings that were so different existed at the same time?

Pulling the frigid air into my lungs, I looked at the reason I had gone to the night-garden.

Zachariah stood close to me, his brows knitted. His skin was clammy and his breathing was rapid, as if he had just sprinted from here to Purgatory and back. As our eyes met, I saw it then. The resolve mixed with something else I couldn't quite place. What was it? Fear? Anxiety? Disbelief at his own damned stupidity?

Even though I heard it straight from Death's mouth, I couldn't help but look at his neck for his Mark, or the scar a used Mark usually left.

The skin was clean and unmarred.

I looked back up at his face. Reading my thoughts as usual, he nodded. It was true. Zachariah may have been the only Deified in history to return his Mark. The full gravity of what he had just done hit in waves as the silence stretched and stretched between us. I couldn't decide if it was for the best, or if Zachariah had just made things a thousand times worse.

It was one thing to throw a flippant comment at a God every now and again. It was another thing entirely to spurn the gift of a God. To throw it right back into their face and say you didn't want it. They were beings of Olde.

Not just old, but Olde.

It was an insult of the highest order to refuse a gift from a one of Olde. I didn't want to know what that meant, especially given Death's loss of her usual impassive mask. And now, looking at Zachariah, I could see he was thinking the same exact thing.

Despite all that, I found myself shaking my head at him again. The corner of my mouth lifted in a shit-eating grin. It was the grin you wore when you played high-stakes poker, and the game was on its last hand. There was no folding, and the next hand decided if you took the pot or walked home with empty pockets. The only thing you could do was waiter for the dealer to lay them down, and hope to the Far Shore that you counted your cards right.

"I thought pissing off the Gods was my thing," I said in mock accusation. The corner of Zachariah's mouth lifted in a subtle smile as if to say, I can't let you have all the fun.

"Can one of you explain yourselves before I start yelling at someone?" came the familiar posh voice. Myra was on her feet now, clapping dust from her skirts. She focused on a particularly smudged section of the fine blue fabric.

"Just look at this! This dress is made of silk I'll have you know! You're supposed to be sparring with each other, not me."

As if that's the most pressing concern.

"Fuck, I forgot you were here, Myra. It was kind of nice," I shot back as I looked at her. She scowled openly now as she pushed an auburn lock out of her eyes.

"And I've had a whole hour without hearing you talk or use vulgar language. It was definitely nice!" she countered, though I saw a small smirk pulling at her lips. In response, I busied myself looking around animatedly for several seconds.

"Miss Rowena, what are you doing? Have you finally lost what little sanity you have?" Myra asked, crossing her arms over a generous chest. Zachariah leaned against the wall, sighing as we resumed our normal banter.

"I'm looking for a fuck to give," I said, sighing tragically, "And I'm not finding one."

Laughing, Myra began to clap slowly and mockingly.

"Well done. You must have been waiting a long time to use that one. I'm happy for you," Myra replied acidly as her hands settled on her hips, "Now can we please go inside? While the two of you have been wrestling in the dirt, some of us have been getting important things done."

Zachariah and I exchanged looks before following her inside.

*******

"This gun makes no sense," Myra said, waving at the imposing weapon. It sat on the table with a dark and metallic gleam. Myra had several notes and books spread on the table in neat piles. There were even sketches of Elemancer tattoos on curled sheets of paper.

"Myra, what is all of this?" I asked hesitantly. I knew Levi had loaned Myra his school books, but the information here far exceeded what I would expect in a normal education. Myra had even made little annotations in the margins of the books, and were those spectacles I saw folded at the far corner of the table?.

"I told you I was working my way through Levi's books," she said evasively, glancing at one of her notes. I walked to where one of the books laid and picked it up. The pages were riddled with symbols and Kaze markings far more complex than I had ever seen. Turning the book gently, I glanced at the cover title, Advanced Elemancy Magic As of the Turn of The Century.

"I doubt they teach Advanced Runic Kaze at Levi's finishing school, Myra," I said dryly. Before I could blink, Myra snatched the book from my hand, snapping it shut and tucking it under her arm.

Stolen story; please report.

"Careful with that! Your hands are filthy," Myra barked, opening it again at a bookmark, scanning the page, and then tracing a specific marking on the Elemancy gun. I put my hand over the barrel where she was tracing it. Myra stilled, avoiding my gaze.

"These books are yours, aren't they?" I asked, stooping so Myra's eyes met my own.

"Why does that matter?" Myra asked with a sharper edge to her voice. In that moment, I looked at Zachariah, who lifted a single shoulder in a shrug. At that point, I decided to let the matter drop since Myra clearly didn't want to talk about it. Loosing a breath through my nose, I gestured to the gun.

"What doesn't make sense?" I asked. Rolling her eyes, she looked back at the crystal on the flame part of the gun.

"Elemancers control the magic by absorbing the energy of that element! If crystals could do the same exact thing, then humans would have used them a long time ago. Why now?" Myra asked. Zachariah and I looked at one another over her shoulder, surprised. She had a point.

"What are you trying to say, Myra?" I asked as a shiver crawled up my spine. Zachariah walked to the table then, leaning forward to graze the Kaze markings on the dark metal.

"I'm saying, that these 'crystals' aren't crystals. They can't be. This is what sets Elemancers apart from the rest of the world. How could some naturally occurring 'crystal' do what they could do. That confused me, so I did some investigating," Myra explained picking up the gun in a sudden flourish. On instinct, Zachariah and I ducked at the barrel pointed to each of us in turn.

"Watch it!" I growled, using the back of my hand to redirect the barrel skyward. Myra paused, rolling her eyes.

"Come on. It's not on the Fire setting. It can't hurt you right no--"

"Rule one of guns, Myra. Always treat a firearm like it is loaded and ready to shoot," I said quietly, remembering that first lesson with Sheriff Stone all too well. With a one-armed shrug, Myra pointed to one of the crystals. Following the silent command, with my arm continuing to shove the barrel firmly upward, I leaned in and looked at the supposed crystal.

On it's surface were several smaller markings curved intricately across the small sphere.

"See those?" Myra asked, using her glasses to magnify the markings, "Those markings aren't Kaze. They're not Elemancy magic. It's something different."

Zachariah leaned closer, calmly assessing the tiny scrawl.

"What are they?" he asked quietly, his voice rough. His hand kept returning to the place where his Mark had been on his neck.

"I don't know! That's what I'm saying. I think something about this weapon is...Well, it seems evil for lack of a better word."

Myra lowered the weapon back to the table, though I saw she was careful to not point the barrel at any of us again. She surprised me by pointing suddenly to the kitchen, where Ash stood at the counter. The scarred woman was busy cooking. She hadn't left us since meeting us the Blue Flame, and seemed hesitant to go back to the Pumas. I couldn't blame her. What she did could honestly be considered a betrayal to the hated gang.

"And that one isn't helping at all!" Myra continued, scowling at the blonde newcomer. Ash looked over her shoulder at Myra, a brow lifted.

"Do I need to remind you," she said in her rough speaking voice, "That I'm the reason that you know about the gun's existence to begin with?"

Myra grumbled something under her breath, but sat back down with ramrod posture.

"Anyway, I think we need to know what those symbols are before you use this gun, Miss Rowena. Something about it seems vile. We need to go to the library or somewhere--"

"No need," I said too quietly as I continued to look at the crystal. I hadn't been able to tear my eyes away from it since I saw the the subtle symbols written all over it. The floor seemed to slide from beneath me as I recognized them

I pointed to the crystal again, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I already know. Those are soul bind runes."

I reached toward my back then, rubbing the well-worn skin there. Then skin I always tried to keep covered. It took me a moment to realize that everyone was staring at me, waiting for an explanation.

In answer, I lifted the back part of my armor away so everyone could see the backside of my shoulder. Zachariah hissed as he saw what was there. The same exact markings, nine-hundred and fifty-seven to be exact, laid there in line after line.

Myra, of course, was the first to say something.

"Why are those on your back?"

I closed my eyes for a moment before looking to Zachariah, who own eyes were two pieces of green flame.

"A little 'gift' from Death. For every person I kill, their soul gets bound to mine. It shows up as a Mark on my back," I murmured, pulling my armor to cover the markings again, "She said it was so I could keep track of my kills."

The room was quiet as this settled in. Myra shook her head, retreating a step from me as she did.

"That's...That's..."

"Fucked up?" Ash offered gravely.

"Exactly."

"Anyway," I said, turning to them all in turn before locking gazes with Myra, "You were right. They aren't crystals."

A deep breath.

"This gun is powered by Elemancer souls."

*******

Yared's office door was still open when we arrived. He and Otta were bent over gun components, murmuring quietly to one another. Otta's hands moved with the skill of an artist as he put the pieces together, frowned, and then put them together another way. Yared was the first to look up as we approached, a quiet smile on his face as he saw me.

"Hello little one. Do you need a different size of armor?" he asked, his voice wet. I looked to his desk, and saw not one, but three handkerchiefs full of blood laying on them.

Grinding my jaw, I looked back at his pale complexion. I knew his condition must be progressing.

"No Yared, I'm here to ask a favor," I said, pulling a cloth from my duster coat and offering it to him. In my periphery, I saw Zachariah lay another one on the old man's desk, his face grim. Yared lifted a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"A favor?" he asked simply, though I could see him holding down another cough.

"I need you to find out two things. First is who placed the order for the guns, and the second is where my father got the crystals. Please--" I said, holding a hand to wave away Yared's interruption, "It's really important. Lives are probably on the line. I know it's--"

"Consider it done," Yared cut in. His face went stoic as he looked at me. I leaned on my heels, all attempts to convince him dying on my lips.

"Thank you," I said, pulling him into a hug. He returned it, before holding me at arms length. As I looked at him again, gone was the old man. I could see the soldier he had been.

"If you say lives are on the line, little one, then it will be done," he said, pausing to give a close-lipped cough. Before I could say anything else, he smiled again, patting first me, then Zachariah on the shoulder.

"Keep one another safe while I see what I can do."