A month has come, and a month has gone. Mai has lived her life in the White City, the city of Asan Paril, together with Ishad, even as summer turns to fall.

I watch her now. I, Broken, who has saved her life four times, must watch her, and not intervene. Though I matter not, I must protect her still.

It was yet another ball. Broken danced with Aza, conversing with her, but out of the corner of his eye, his gaze was on Mai.

Mai danced beautifully. She had learned much about such since she had arrived at Asan Paril, and was able to implement what she had learned.

Ishad was with her, and their dance, it seemed to Broken, played out quite perfectly the details of the last month.

Ishad spun Mai, just as Broken, almost unconsciously, did the same with Aza, his mind on other things than the beat of the playing bards.

Ishad spun Mai, as he had spun her for the past month, putting her perceptions of reality on end. It was said that during wartime, promotions could come at a moment’s notice, and, from Belium Tarquin, Ishad had promoted once, twice, a third time, all in the space of a single month.

He had coins now, coin enough that, in a few more days, the purchase of a villa of Ishad’s own would be finalized, and then he would have one, just like Broken’s, only slightly larger.

In the past month, Ishad had forced himself to be acknowledged by the nobles, forced them to realize that he was going to marry their resident princess, whether they liked it or not.

Perhaps three weeks ago, the Lord of the Fourth Paril had tried to arrange a marriage between his eldest son and Maiako, saying that Ishad, as a commoner, had no right to be in a relationship with one with as high a status as the Princess of the Empire.

Ishad had then dealt with the Lord of the Fourth Paril, dealt with him quite handily, and dealt with him without the tiniest amount of Broken’s help.

Broken had a very complex mind. Memories and thoughts were compartmentalized. They had to be, otherwise Broken would confuse himself ever time he did worked on two things at the same time, which was often. Otherwise, Broken would wake up each night, screaming in horror at all the things he remembered.

But Broken felt empty.

He did not have to overthink his feeling.

Feelings were feelings, and contrary to all evidence they could exist.

Broken had never been tested to his breaking point. As he engaged in a more complicated move in the ever-ongoing dance, he realized he knew not how strong he was, how durable.

Broken only knew that whatever he decided to do, he did.

But what was there for him, when there was nothing left?

Broken put that thought aside, and filed it away. He wanted to find an answer to that, and he would, eventually, but that thought was for another time.

For now, as the dance ended, and Ishad and Mai were once again in the immediate presence of their armed guards, four of them, that Tur had deemed to be necessary, Broken no longer had to be there.

Broken no longer had to watch over Mai, unseen.

He bowed to Aza, the very essence of a gentleman, and told her he was sorry, but he had to get going. He had things to do this night, places to be.

Aza nodded, and said she understood, but Broken knew that was lie. Aza was a good person, but on a fundamental level, she could not understand what Broken could possibly need to do that was more important than her.

Broken was her friend, Broken knew Aza knew that. However, Broken also knew Aza didn’t know why he would not take the next step. She didn’t understand why Broken didn’t want to take her, didn’t want to make her his wife, and end her father’s traumatizing search for a husband.

But Broken couldn’t take a wife, not now. He needed to be a loner, so if ever it came time for him to leave, he could.

And now it was time for him to leave, if only for a little while.

Broken gave Aza a good night kiss, which she gratefully accepted, and then he went on his way.

Out into the dark sky Broken walked, from the large villa that had hosted the party.

It was raining this night, and Broken was getting drenched from head to toe, but he cared little. There were more important things than rain.

Other partygoers left the villa in carriages. Broken snuck through back alleys. He had a place to go that most of those who he had been so recently in the company of, would most likely find appalling.

And rain drenched, he now looked fit for where he was to visit.

Asan Paril, like most cities, had more than four Quarters. Oh, when the city had been built, no doubt it had only had four. But now, Quarter was synonymous with section, and Asan Paril had seven of them. The four that had been in the original city plans, plus three more that had been created before the White Walls had been built to encircle the whole thing.

Out of those seven Quarters, the one Broken was off to was one where no self-respecting noble would look at, let alone do business in.

And yet, Broken had business in the seventh of the seven. He had business in the Stone Quarter, so named because its residents had the tendency to throw rocks at nobles who passed their way.

The Stone Quarter was residential, low-income residential, with more than a few pawn shops, and rather more unsavory establishments thrown in. Few who did not live in the Quarter had reason to go there.

But it was to one of those unsavory establishments that Broken was headed.

As he passed through the unlabeled archway that signified Stone Quarter, he saw a small group lurking in the shadows, dressed in clothing that indicated they were in the middle of bad days, and might never have seen good days in a long, long time.

Broken knew they were muggers, knew that the moment he had laid eyes upon them. They waited for unsuspecting people to make a wrong turn, and then pounced.

In a way, Broken looked like he might be a good target. He wore noble clothing, rain-soaked noble clothing, and everyone knew that if a noble found his way to Stone Quarter alone at night, the odds were not good for him making it out alive.

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Broken was a noble entering Stone Quarter at night. And yet…

The muggers did not so much as approach him, let alone do more. Somehow, amidst the pouring rain, Broken exuded the aura.

For aura was one of the more sensible ways to describe it. Broken walked as one with a mission, as one who was in Stone Quarter with a purpose in mind, and would not stand for others in his way.

A good way to describe his presence was a feeling of, don’t mess with me, and I won’t rip your guts out and make you eat them.

No matter how Broken looked, no matter in what situation, he found himself inevitably accorded with respect.

And so Broken passed the muggers by, as the rain turned the dirt ground into a river.

The streets of Stone Quarter at night looked like caves. There was a sky above Broken’s head, a black, dark sky, and it seemed as if here the sun never shined.

Broken knew the truth, of course, but it pleased his mind to create metaphors.

As he walked through the downpour, a dark, giant shape came down from the sky, and alighted on Broken’s right shoulder.

Broken was not the least bit surprised. It was Claw-Back, and Broken had been expecting her to join him. For without her, his trip would be for naught.

Broken calmly kept walking, noting that none of the street goers had even looked up when Claw-Back had joined him. Their heads were down, and their hoods were up to keep their bodies from the rain. Each walker had their own story, Broken knew. Those stories they were engrossed in, too engrossed to care about Broken’s own.

Broken had scouted out the area before, so he knew exactly where to go, exactly where to walk. Stone Quarter was a maze, but Broken threaded it.

He turned left, down an alley, decrepit even by the standards of Stone Quarter, and opened the door to a small building wedged between two larger ones. It was little more than a stone shack, in truth, but it was ancient.

As Broken walked inside, bells on the door began to ring, announcing his arrival.

Within the stone shack was a shop, of sorts. It might be called by some a magic shop, as all sorts of odd ingredients, devices, and books lined the shelves, and in the center of it all was a massive crystal ball on an ancient wooden stand. The ball’s diameter was perhaps six feet, and it sparkled with an odd light.

Broken, however, who knew the difference between different sorts of magical objects, knew the truth of this building. It was a magic shop, indeed, but it was a magic shop for the black arts.

Broken walked up to the wooden counter, as Claw-Back peered around. There was no one in the room, who could be seen.

And yet Broken was no worried. The witch who ran the store would come.

And a moment later, so she did, coming into Broken’s view, from a back room.

The woman was ordinary as witches went. By the wrinkles on her face as she hobbled to the counter, Broken saw that she was perhaps a hundred. Not the youngest witch he had come across, but not the oldest either.

“Is there something you want, dear?” asked the witch. Her black eyes peered out at Claw-Back, who shifted and hooted at her in annoyance.

“Quite,” said Broken. He looked down at the woman, with such a hunch that it seemed she was bent over double, with such wrinkles so deep it seemed her skin would fall off. And yet, in her own way, she was normal. There were levels.

“I need to use the great crystal,” said Broken, looking back at it as it sat in the middle of the room.

“So you do,” cackled the witch. “So you do. Would you like your fortune told, perchance?”

“The crystal can tell me no such thing,” said Broken. “It is a communication device, nothing more.”

The witch looked taken aback. “One so young as you, knows so much about my arts,” she said. “I thought you were but a lover looking for a potion to have a happy ending.”

“If that were true,” said Broken, “then why would I have this owl?”

Claw-Back shrieked, and the noise reverberated through the wax candles that provided the dim light, and through the plentiful human skulls.

“A trick bird, nothing more,” dismissed the witch. “That is no familiar.”

“And as such, I make no claim at being a warlock,” said Broken. “But my owl is sentient.”

Again, the witch seemed taken aback that Broken knew so much about her craft. She shifted uncomfortably behind the counter. “I am Felixi,” said the witch. “It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of one so knowledgeable.”

“I am known as Broken,” Broken said. “And I still wish to use the great crystal.”

“Who do you wish to talk to?” asked the witch. “A loved one? A brother, perhaps? One such as you would have a brother.”

“Neither,” said Broken. “I wish to speak to a sage.”

“Sages and witches don’t go together, young one,” said Felixi. “If you know so much, you should know that.”

“I do know,” said Broken. “But I care little. You will use your crystal to contact the sage I wish to speak with,” he said. Broken paused. “Unless, of course, you are afraid.”

“Witches fear nothing, young one,” said Felixi, shuffling out from behind the counter, around to the crystal ball on its stand. As she moved, she asked, “I must wonder, though, what I will get paid.”

“That is a question for a later time,” said Broken.

“Of course,” responded Felixi. She stopped directly in front of the crystal ball, and Broken walked over to stand a little behind her.

Felixi came up to little more than his waist, and Broken was not a tall man.

“What sage do you wish to contact?” asked Felixi, glancing backwards.

“Sage Moonsinger Fen, of Gansu,” said Broken, in a clear voice.

Felixi stared into the crystal, and dropped the cane she had been using to walk with, as her arms spread wide.

“Moonsinger of Gansu,” she cried. “Moonsinger of Fen. Moonsinger of sage. I call upon you!”

The crystal ball, up until now clear, flashed white, and red lightning crackled underneath its surface.

Broken stood calmly as the old, stooped face of Moonsinger Fen emerged. The man recognized Broken at once, behind the witch.

“My Broken lord,” said Moonsinger, “What sort of witch’s spell have you entrapped me in?”

“I wished to talk to you,” said Broken, stepping up. “And, as I am in Asan Paril at the moment, this was the most expedient way.”

“Well, poo,” said Moonsinger. His disembodied head spit the invisible ground, that could not be seen through the crystal. “This is disconcerting.”

“I wish to speak to you about something important,” said Broken, gently guiding the old sage back to his topic.

“What is it?” asked Moonsinger Fen. “You need help with that girl of yours?”

At this, the witch cackled. When Claw-Back shrieked again, she fell silent.

“No,” said Broken. “I have her well in hand. What I need from you is information. This owl here is a Great Black, and she has the ability to sense Nari and Terrasanu. When we arrived at Asan Paril, she sensed a Nari, when I believe she should have sensed a demon. I need you to verify the truth.”

“I’m not sure if my skills extend to that,” said Moonsinger, “but I believe they do. Well, go ahead. Hold her out.”

Felixi got out of the way, as Broken held out his arms, and Claw-Back hopped onto them.

Moonsinger’s face twisted into a frown. “I know nothing in this infinite universe, of course,” he said. “However, I believe I have an answer.”

“What is it?” asked Broken.

“The bird was misled,” said Moonsinger. “She sensed Nari when she should have sensed Terrasanu.” His face pulled back. “Is that all, my lord?”

“Quite,” responded Broken.

Moonsinger’s face pulled back from the surface, then came forward again. “Tell your witch to let me go!” he said, rather annoyed.

Claw-Back stepped back to her shoulder perch, as Broken retreated, to allow Felixi to interface with the crystal.

“Sands of distance, sands of power,” she whispered. “Spread back now, this very hour.”

A great bell rung somewhere in the distance, as red lightning flashed through the crystal again, and Moonsinger’s face faded from view.

When she was done, the witch lowered her arms, picked up her cane from the floor, and turned back to Broken.

“It is time for payment,” said Felixi.

“What would you like?” Broken responded.

“If that bird is truly a Great Black, I would accept it, so that I could study it,” said Felixi.

“I understand,” said Broken. “You wish to learn the secret to make your own. However, Claw-Back is not for sale.”

The owl hooted in acknowledgement.

A crow flew out from one of the shadows of the magic shop, and landed on Felixi’s hand, a dark companion to Claw-Back the owl.

“Ah,” said Broken. “Your familiar.”

“Yes,” said Felixi. “But my payment is more important than my bird.”

“Most witches who have crow familiars turned to the craft because the wished for immortality,” said Broken. “I wonder what you did when you wondered that was a lie.”

Felixi glared at him. “I will live longer than you.”

“But you will die, one day.”

“My payment,” said the witch, aggressively, and for the third time.

“What would you like?” asked Broken. “What would you like that is not the owl?”

“Gold,” said the witch.

“I might have guessed as much,” said Broken. He took out a gold coin, and tossed it to Felixi, who caught the coin with unnatural speed.

As the witch eyed her prize, Broken moved to the door. Before she looked up again, he was gone.

Broken thought about his conversation with Moonsinger. I was right, he thought. As I always am.