“No…”

“Oh, come on,” repeated Arson for the dozenth time.

“No Arson, I’m not taking you to the most dangerous place in the city.”

“From what I have gathered it is the least dangerous place in the city, it is filled with sparking abandoned books, it can’t be that bad.”

“Books are the most dangerous things created underneath the heavens. There is a reason that the council confiscates them and throws them into the depths of the library without even actually entering the bloody building Arson.”

The pair had been arguing for the majority of the evening. Neither one had a reasonable argument. As one had both an illogical and irrational fear of books, Stream; while the other had a unrivaled and insatiable thirst for knowledge that couldn’t be defended without memories, or justifiable reasoning, Arson.

They stood facing off on the roof of Camilla’s family's shop, with Camilla sitting nearby trying to play mediator. The young DragonKin had given up however, and now playfully kicked her feet off the side of the building.

“Hey, you never explained how you knew how to get up here so easily,” asked Camilla for the third time that evening; the young female honestly taken by the view. Surprised she’d never taken the opportunity to climb onto the roof herself having had lived their her entire life.

“Not now, Camilla,” roared Stream, still staring down Arson.

“Yeah, not now Camilla, your stalker of a love interest doesn’t want you to know that he comes up here when he misses you,” roared Arson.

“Awe, that’s sweet,” said Camilla, waving at a group of her acquaintances as they strode by on the street below. Both of the young males gave her a strange look, before Stream shrugged and Arson’s brow furrowed.

“Are all females that crazy here,” whispered Arson in question.

“What do you mean, aren't they all that crazy everywhere?”

Both started to laugh, stopping when Arson caught a crossbow bolt, an inch from his temple, and Stream looked down to see a bolt lodged in his thigh.

“Ow, what in the bloody maiden’s sparks was that for?!”

Stream yanked the bolt free, and Arson chuckled heartily, only to look down and see a bolt in his own thigh.

“Geez you two are made for each other, I didn’t even hear her fire that last one…,” Arson said looking toward Stream in surprise. His friend once more shrugging at him.

“I installed the silencer you designed for me, you idiot. Thank you by the way…!”

“No problem,” grunted Arson, ripping the bolt free of his leg.

Arson crumbled the bolt in his hand, and as he bled he couldn’t help but notice his red blood was glimmering with a slight golden tinge. He wiped at the small hole, and not but a few blinks later his skin was completely healed, the bolt leaving not a blemish on his body.

That is odd…

He couldn’t help but acknowledge how different his body was from what was seen as normal, especially by the citizens of the City of Palaces. This made him wonder just how powerful his body had been prior to the loss of his memories.

Anastasia often tried to remind him about the details of his life, but Arson could tell she had grown seemingly saddened by his loss. Arson felt by her teasing that her attitude in his direction had once been far more controversial, or adversarial, but now that she had nothing to pick at, the fun had been lost for the AI.

Just keep running, Arson… Just keep… Arson trailed off mentally, not knowing where the thought had come from. He had to force himself back into the moment, an odd sensation of being needed elsewhere threatening to overwhelm him.

Breathe Arson, you're fine… Just keep running…

“What is going on with you, Stream? Are you mad at me for something? I can understand you not entering the library, but not even showing me where it is, doesn’t that seem unreasonable to you?”

Arson felt an urge to get to the library at any cost, but couldn’t place a direct reason as to why he felt that way no matter how hard he thought on the matter. He didn’t know if he was being irrational, but in this instance he felt he wasn’t.

You don’t need to use a heavy hand with Stream, he’s just trying to keep you.. alive, safe? No, that doesn’t feel right either…

“What, no… I mean…”

Stream’s gaze drifted toward Camilla, and back toward Arson, and Arson’s brow furrowed further, noticing the glance.

“What, did I overstep with Camilla and her family? If that’s it, Stream, I’m sorry, I mean I asked your dad where the best place to have weapons built was and he pointed me here, he said the BlueFlames have made all of your family’s weapons, I just thought—“

Arson stopped when Stream waved a dismissive hand through the air in front of himself.

“No… I will admit that it was difficult to see you be able to casually speak with her parents, but after seeing this,” Stream said, lifting the armored weapon Arson had built for him.

“I understood completely, they are a family of builders, and as jealous of your talents as I am, I can’t hold that against you.”

Arson nodded slowly, not truly knowing what to say.

“So if it isn’t anything I did with Camilla or her family, what is it? I know we haven’t known each other long but I honestly figured my request would be a simple ask for a friend.”

“That's the problem, Arson…” Stream said sighing and closing his eyes as he tilted his head skyward.

“I haven’t known you long and you feel like you’ve been a part of my life forever, like your my brother, and now your asking me to take you to the most dangerous place in our society.”

“Stream, you, from what I have come to understand, have been forced to fight against near god like beings, monsters so powerful that they could wipe away this entire city by simply passing by, what could be so dangerous about a place full of books?”

“It’s not that simple, and I have never fought a Prime directly, only the Elders are capable of that, and it takes all of them to fight just one, anyone gathered beside the Elders helps by slaying the countless beasts that follow the Primes. What you are asking me to do is take you into the bloody layer of the Prime that is potentially more dangerous than all the rest,” explained Stream, opening his eyes to stare down Arson.

“There is a Prime in the library, that’s weird… Would have expected them all to be in the distortions around the city.”

“They are, all except one,” Stream said, crossing his arms.

“So you can’t take me because you think I’ll either die, make things worse with the Primes, or both…”

Stream nodded.

“There are Seven Primes, the Seven Bodied Monarch, in the library, the OakPanther in the jungle distortion we visited, the Maker of Silence in the crypts at the edges of town, the elemental Giant in the abandoned temple of the Maiden, Legion in the Fields of Battle Distortion, The Celestial Dragon in the Hive of Bones, where I believe you came from, from what you’ve told me, and the Armor of Reaper at the center of the Flying Palace that appears above the city in the darkest moment of each night, none of which any of us could survive a battle with.”

Arson had never known that some of the fabled Primes were so close to the City of Palaces, nor did he like the flare of power that seemed to roil from the depths of his own shadow when Stream mentioned the Armor of Reaper. The words alone filled Arson with a sense of longing that even eclipsed the urge to reunite with the connections that tugged at his soul.

“Well that changes things, but how are we supposed to defend against the Primes while seemingly being surrounded by them all,” Arson asked truly confused, and even more convinced that they would fail.”

To Arson’s surprise, Stream lifted a hand, and pointed at Arson.

“What, me, what do you think I am a god, or something? I’m weaker than you by all accounts without my memories, and you and your dad took those apples or whatever, so what do you expect me to do?

Stream looked momentarily shocked by Arson’s knowledge of the apples, turning his head away as he thought of how to respond. Arson began to pace, his mind racing at the thought that his friend believed that he could be any type of catalyst to defeat any of the titanic entities that were the Primes.

“My father said that when he fed you the Ambrosia Apple that he felt the same energy rushing through your body as the Primes themselves, he believes that you are maybe even the one we have all been waiting for, the one who will free all of the lost races from this plane… from this prison we call a city…”

Arson stopped pacing, looking between Camilla, who rose to face them both, and Stream.

“You can’t be serious, you're absolutely kidding me, right?”

“Not trying to interrupt you two, but as members of the council, my parents kinda think the same thing, Arson... heard them arguing about it last night while looking over the weapon you made for Stream,” said Camilla.

“What, not you too, you can’t believe that I’m—“

“Why not,” started Camilla, cutting Arson off.

“You literally came out of nowhere, you fight like a sparking demon from what rumors say, and to be honest how easily you built that weapon isn’t normal. I mean we do get the random Cultivator in the planes every now and then, but none like you Arson, not even close.”

“Guys,” Arson said while chuckling at the absurdity of what was being said to him.

“Having a few skills doesn’t make you a champion or savior. In fact from what my bloody watch tells me, I help run a bloody dump outside this place, a junkyard full of people's trash, tell them Anna,” Arson said lifting his watch. The AI spun into existence, and smiled.

“Are you sure, Arson?”

Arson nodded, but never expected the words that came from the AI’s lips.

“Arson of Omni, is the only son to the queen of crime, a Cultivator and legacy holder of the System given title, Heir Apparent to Mother of all nature, and potential future queen of Maelstrom. He is also the Last born son to Draphen LightLord, the remaining living DragonKing in the realms below the heavens. He does indeed run a dump given to him by his mother,” started Anastasia, Arson gesturing to his watch as if his point had been proven by the AI. However Anastasia continued, and both the people before him grew more and more convinced by the breath.

“His company, BlackHole Conglomerate is the fastest growing organization in the realm of Maelstrom, which he runs alongside his orphan brothers and sisters, long story, ask me later, and his blood brothers and sisters, the princes and princesses of the entire realm layer. He is also the youngest winner of the Tournament of Scions in the history of the tournament, as well as the disciple of two of the strongest known Ancients in both the realm his mother was born in and the realm he was raised in. The dump that he so casually claims is a place for trash is covering an ancient city created by a race of ascended beings connected to the creations of all realms and even the system itself, he has been to more realms than most people have visited foreign cities, and so much more, but I think you get the point.”

Arson held his hand there frozen, now not knowing what to say, no longer feeling that he had any ground to stand on within the argument.

“Well, I didn’t know all that..”

Anastasia nodded, and sighed, laughing to herself.

“Give it a moment, you’ll forget, but hopefully they won’t and we can get the sparks out of here…” Anastasia said in near grumbled whisper. Arson lifted his head and blinked as the details of his life were stripped, leaving him slightly lost, further back in the conversation than his peers.

“What was I saying?”

Arson looked between the shocked pair on the rooftop of the shop with him, feeling awkward by the dropped jawed expressions of surprise still on their faces.

“Doesn’t matter, Rich Boy, your watch proved you wrong, and after all that I’m not doing anything that puts your life at risk.”

Arson looked down at the smiling Anastasia, and felt the bodiless shrug, tilting his head in the woman’s direction.

“What did you say to them, you're supposed to be on my side,” Arson said staring Anastasia down.

“Don’t worry little buddy, you wouldn’t remember anyway. Just follow your gut, and I’m sure we will end up in that library anyway sooner or later.”

…

Troy paced in front of the cluster of cages that had been bunched up near her own. Matches in the pit had been suspended after her last few victories, which surprisingly enough had ended without a single death.

An incredible number of injuries, but luckily for Troy the suspension resulted in all who helped her being given enough time to recover. She now had a new series of problems however, watching the work teams on the opposing side of the pit develop what she believed would be her death.

More gateways, how are we supposed to survive more gateways, we barely—“ Troy pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning in annoyance as she shut her eyes against a growing headache.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” said a familiar voice behind Troy. She turned to see a fighter that had taken to following her around. The young man didn’t even give her his name, but whenever she turned to see who had her back during her last matches, he was there.

The pit had continued to open all the portals for each and every match since Troy led the enslaved students to victory, and apparently that wasn’t good for business. Troy’s memory was shaky, and she still didn’t know much about Adroit Academy’s Secret Halls, but she had come to learn much about the pit she now called home.

The school was funded by students. The students made money externally in cities outside the Secret Halls, and used a donation system to pay teachers based off a voting system. The teachers that managed to make the ranking board held at the center of the school, were paid, otherwise they worked to gather more students to vote for them.

This system was very brittle in design from what Troy could understand of its inner workings, but she also learned the pit was a huge part of what funded the school as a whole.

More than 50% of what was lost while betting went to pay teachers, and now that the students had begun to feel less of a thrill with each and every match, attendance had started to decline.

By the last match Troy fought, a third of the normally packed stands, were empty. She thought this would lead to a dismantling of the horrific system slowly but surely, but instead...

More portals…

“And leave you runts to die, yeah, that will make me sleep real good at night,” responded Troy.

“Ha, I’m just saying, they're going to keep making it more and more impossible to survive. Why not just get out while you still can?”

“Because I don’t think that is what I’m about,” said Troy, hoping the young man understood her vague responses. She’d mentioned her memory issues prior, but often had trouble trying to share with others within the pit, especially now that the stakes were becoming that much more dangerous.

“You sure you're not just bloody mad, crazy as can be, out of your sparking mind? Is there anything I can say that would help you understand me better?”

“I’m not crazy, I just can’t stand for this. You all are here to learn, not die before you even get a chance.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been given a chance, but you're still here. I can’t tell if you have some sort of hero complex or what, but it makes no sense to me.”

“I just know if he was here, he wouldn’t let this happen, whether or not there were 11, 17, or even 23 portals spitting out demons in every direction, he would fight until you all got a fare chance.”

“Who?”

Troy sighed, the vaguest image off a tall red headed young man flickering through her mind. No facial features clear, just crimson locks blowing in a breeze. She pointed to her temple and sighed.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m going to see this through, and if we survive, maybe I can start getting you all out of here one by one…”

Troy looked back to see the young man smiling at her from his cage. His stare made Troy feel as if he had more to say, but he instead shook his head and stepped back from the bars that enclosed him and laid down.

“Just don’t die, it would be a waste of potential if you did.”

Troy looked back toward the portals and chuckled.

“I would never dream of it.”