Ethan’s wonder and enthusiasm didn’t fade, despite the two hours it took to reach the nearest boarding platform to Corvale. He didn’t even mind hearing that it would take even longer for the mobile city to reach their platform, as it allowed him to witness the most remarkable sight of his life.

The walking city had eight, gargantuan stone legs, like a crustacean or arachnid, which meant that four were always in contact with the ground. One of his guards remarked that it was necessary to keep the city stable and level as it moved. “Wouldn’t even spill your drink,” one had promised.

Surprisingly, the group had become talkative as they neared their home. Whether it was the relief at their journey nearing its end, or Ethan’s childlike enthusiasm toward their remarkable city, they had plenty to say.

“It was a gift from the Kingdom’s first Champion,” a guard told him. Ethan couldn’t be sure, but he thought it was the blonde man he’d seen without his helmet. “She had an unusual combination of Familiars. Stone and earth tend to do the same things, but she made it work. She came back to celebrate here, and made this before she left.”

“So it’s not a real creature?” Ethan asked.

“Magical construct. There’s more than a few beasts of this size in the legends, but not many of ‘em would consent to hauling around a city for a few thousand years.”

“Why’d she do it? Is this…giant art?”

The man laughed softly, “In a way, yes. Champions like to leave their mark, and they tend to develop a dramatic flare. But there’s a lot more. Awful pain to attack a moving city, especially with limited ground forces.”

“Is it worth it?” Ethan asked. “It has to be a nightmare to keep the city supplied.”

The knight shrugged. “There’s challenges, but the city stops at a few platforms each day, and merchants coordinate their deliveries. The belly of the construct is also filled with dark farms, and factories. Not quite self-sufficient, but close enough.”

“Enough talk,” Valanor barked, riding up to the wagon. “Get ready to move, the bridge is nearly here.” Ethan looked back at the city, surprised as it was still some distance away. When he spotted the titanic drawbridge lowering, it made sense.

His excitement to be on the wondrous crab-city grew, and a grin spread across his face. “This is going to be remarkable,” he said.

***

“This is a tremendous let down,” he muttered, as the iron cell door slammed shut. True, there were windows, and the dungeon was well-lit, but he didn’t really want to have to look for the bright side of prison. He hadn’t even been able to see the city proper, as his wagon was led down around the outside of the wall.

“Though it would do you some good to rot down here for a while, I’ll likely be back soon,” Valanor said from the other side of the metal bars. “We must inform the King of the Hunt–” he paused, looking at the gathered prisoners in the other cells, then started over. “The King will address your crimes soon enough,” he said, then leaned forward.

“One of my knights will be posted outside your cell. For their own sake, tell no one what happened in the mountain. Anyone you tell will likely share your fate.” With that, he marched away, leaving Ethan alone in the cell. As promised, one of his previous guards took up watch, leaning against the wall across from him.

The prison was carved directly into the earth and rock beneath the city, and sunlight from the many barred windows cast the dreary place in warm tones. There was no privacy, as the cells backed against stone, and the chambers were separated by more bars. You could see all the way to the end of prison in either direction.

Ethan noted a hole for obvious but depressing purposes, as well as a pile of soiled straw meant to work as a bed. The smell was bad, but not much worse than any of a number of his experiences at the hospital. He noticed the emaciated faces of the other prisoners staring at him with envy and irritation, and realized most cells this size held four people or more.

Sighing, he went and sat on the small ledge of rock that passed for a bench, and leaned back, the reality of the situation threatening to tear through the veneer of positivity he’d been hiding behind for the last two days. It wasn’t long before a voice caught his attention, however.

“Oi, look at that. He’s a Bonded, no wonder he has his own cell,” a neighboring prisoner muttered. Glancing down, Ethan realized his Bond Runes were visible, and adjusted his shirt to cover them a little better.

“Only got two though,” another voice said. “Hey, new guy! What powers you got?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ethan replied, “can’t use them.” In truth, he was a little curious himself. The Mad system was still locked, and he hadn’t had a chance to see what abilities he’d received from his new, forbidden Familiar.

“What types though?” A third prisoner asked. “I remember talking to my friends about that when I was a lad. Which types we wanted, and what we’d manifest.”

“As if you ever had a chance of gettin’ Bonded,” the first prisoner said. He was missing his left eye, and using a filthy strip of cloth as an eyepatch.

“Unless your elven ears got cut short, he’s right,” agreed the second. This one had fiery red hair, matted with mud.

“We was just having fun as kids!” the third prisoner insisted, his missing teeth slurring his words. “Kids can still dream. Tell me you never chose your types while staring at the stars and I’ll call you a liar!”

“He’s got you there,” the redhead chuckled. “But they’re called ‘affinities’. I always thought ice and fire had a poetic flare to it. Mix in something for speed, maybe manifest ax, if I was lucky.”

“Ice and fire don’t do well together,” eyepatch said with derision. “You get nothing but attacks from one, nothing but defense from the other, you’ll be hopping back and forth like an idiot.”

“Lots of people do that!” redhead insisted.

“Lots of people are idiots,” eyepatch insisted. “You need a balance, or you’ll be second rate. It’s why all them knights have to use the same combinations.”

“He’s right,” toothless said. “I knew a guy who came to my village once when I was young. He had steel, stone, and ice.”

“Sounds unkillable,” redhead remarked. “Must have had shield too, with all those defense affinities.

“Exactly,” toothless agreed. “He couldn’t kill a damn thing. Thought he was so smart, but he couldn’t even get past Dawn Rank. He was just a damned turtle, and no one would fight with him. That’s why he came to the village, looking for work.”

“Idiots, see?” eyepatch said triumphantly. “When I was living down by the port I saw a double fire. Don’t know what his third Bond was, but he used a staff.”

“I bet he had no trouble killing things,” redhead said.

“Depends what you mean by trouble. I’m sure he had spells enough to drop an army, but he was a wreck. His body was nothing but scars, and he was missing a leg. All attack, no defense. He was on his way to the Church when I saw him, using that staff as a crutch.”

“That’d be the end of him, then,” toothless said. “You're not a hunter no more after losing that much of yourself.”

“Well then, what about you?” eyepatch asked, turning to Ethan. “You figured out your third type yet?”

“What are the first two?” toothless added eagerly.

Ethan had been caught up by the discussion, but saw his guard shift and give him a pointed look at the question. “I’ve got fire,” he said, thinking that was a safe answer. Not willing to miss the opportunity, however, he decided to throw in some honestly. “My other Bond is dimension. I’m not sure what my third should be.”

The prisoners looked at one another, finally the redhead spoke. “Never heard of that one. Sounds exotic though. Exotic types are usually utility stuff. Move around faster, make your weapons sharper, that sort.”

“Mixed with fire? That’s all ranged attacks, then. Explosions and the like,” toothless said, scratching his prisoner's beard.

“You probably want another ranged type,” eyepatch said sagely. “Find a poison, or nature type, they usually do the trick. Might manifest bow then, if you’re lucky.”

“That works,” redhead agreed. “Bow might be your best bet. You don’t wanna risk getting close and long range abilities, you’ll be a worthless generalist then.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“Hunters guild will still take him,” toothless said. “But he’ll be guarding caravans or something till he’s old and gray.”

Manifest bow? Ethan thought. The men had used that term a couple of times, but he didn’t understand it. At first he thought it was just the weapon you choose to suit your abilities, but they kept mentioning luck, and chances. He wanted to ask, but figured it would derail the conversation if he admitted to knowing so little about Bonds. From the way they were speaking, Familiars were far more rare than he realized.

Ethan was planning out how to talk around the problem, when the guard clanged an armored fist against the bars. He gestured, and Ethan obediently came forward. “You’re gambling with their lives right now,” the man whispered. “Say another word and I’ll have to tell First Shield Valanor that they’re compromised. Please don’t make me do that.”

The man’s earnest request caught Ethan by surprise, and reminded him that he could get these men killed with a stray word. The stakes weren’t worth the scraps he might learn. Ethan gave a curt nod, which the knight returned. As he walked back, the knight slammed the bars again. “No talking!” he commanded, and the rest of the prisoners retreated to the backs of their cells.

As the sun was beginning to set, Ethan eyed the bug-covered pile of straw, and let out a sigh. Sitting back against the stone wall once more, he let his mind drift, wondering how he could turn this insane situation around.

***

The sound of his cell opening woke Ethan up, and he groaned at the new and interesting pains that came with sleeping against a jagged wall. The sun was rising outside the prison windows, the early rays reflecting off of Valanor’s obsidian armor, and he squinted against the brightness.

“It’s time,” Valanor said, gesturing down the hall. Ethan nodded, regretting the sudden neck motion immediately, wincing in pain as he forced himself to stand. He still felt strange, but not debilitated beyond the bruising and terrible night’s sleep. He dutifully followed the shield-knight down the hall, the latest guard only a step behind.

They took a different path than on the way into the prison, and soon they were climbing a seemingly endless set of stairs, slowly winding their way up through the moving city. Eventually they passed a set of massive, guarded doors, which led to a hallway that clearly belonged to a different building.

The stone walls were well-worn, but well kept, and tapestries and other works of art were visible everywhere. The floors were carpeted and pristine, which made Ethan feel uncomfortable about his own filthy appearance. When they suddenly cut down a hallway which led to bathing rooms, he couldn’t hide his relief.

“Clean yourself, then change those ridiculous clothes,” Valanor said, stepping back into the hall. The other guard stayed, pointing at a tall, standing tub in the corner which had steam rising from it. The room was otherwise unremarkable, with clean white walls, a few tables, and a collection of towels.

Ethan stripped off the remains of his climbing clothes, not sorry to see them go as they disappeared into what he assumed was a trash basket. He gratefully lowered himself into the metal tub a moment later, scrubbing gently at the countless small cuts that covered him.

By some miracle they didn’t seem infected, and he briefly considered that the bacteria on this world might be different. He hoped that wasn’t true for diseases, as a ‘War of the Worlds’ situation wouldn’t be an ideal end to his journey. That end was foremost in his mind as he scrubbed himself clean, using the provided soap to remove as much of the dirt as possible.

Ethan didn’t have anywhere close to enough information to plan his way out the situation he was walking into. But he knew his wits needed to be sharp, and he had to project an aura of confidence and competence that a filthy, bloody fool in short-shorts just couldn’t pull off.

Soon he was pulling on the plain gray shirt, and blessedly normal looking dark pants. He’d yet to see how the upper crust of society dressed, and the very real possibility of stockings and puffy breeches had been weighing on him. The provided boots were less than comfortable, but should be good enough for dying in…or pulling off a miracle. The day could go either way.

He only took the time to briefly look in a foggy mirror before leaving. His dirty blonde hair was pushed back, the way he did it in the hospital, and his three day beard was right in that sweet spot before the ‘homeless drifter’ look set in. Seeing himself with tattoos was a bit weird, but only the ones on his temple and throat were visible unless he rolled up his sleeve.

Apollo’s bow and arrow were the exception, but that particular Rune had appeared faded since he’d woken up on the wagon. A mystery for future Ethan, he thought, if he’s alive, he’ll enjoy the challenge.

Leaving the room and following Valanor up into the palace proper, Ethan wondered if any of his countless heroic ancestors had ever known this far ahead of time how likely they were to be killed. Certainly most of the soldiers had known it was a possibility, and more than enough Bishops had died on the battlefield.

Still, he was surprised by how calm he was. Whether it was denial, or simply the fact that every moment had felt like borrowed time since he first fell from that mountain in the Rockies, he couldn’t say. Either way, he smiled as they finally made it to the throne room. If you know what’s coming, no matter how bad, may as well smile at it. Because screw them.

“Wise, wise, words,” he whispered.

“All I said was ‘don’t act the fool’, but perhaps no one’s ever told you that before,” Valanor said from beside him. “Bow when I bow, don’t speak unless directly commanded to, and don’t be stupid enough to lie. Everyone will know.”

“Follow those simple rules and live?” Ethan asked sarcastically.

“Follow those rules and die with some honor,” Valanor replied.

“Ooh, what a treat,” Ethan laughed. The knight shook his head in disappointment, then went back to staring ahead at the curtain which blocked the entrance. There were a few more painful minutes of waiting before someone called out their names from inside, and Valanor pushed him forward.

The throne room was expansive, with a ceiling easily forty feet up, covered in fascinating art. Mostly depictions of battles, each one showing a crowned warrior slaying some type of stylized monster.

When he finally looked back down, he saw that there were only two ways in and out of the room. The other was a door on the far side of the thrones, but massive windows lined the wall, letting in the sun from one side.

The room was surprisingly empty, with only a few people present, some of whom immediately left through the door he’d just entered. Two Knights stood next to the entrance, another two flanked the thrones, and a stern man and older woman sat to one side, dressed in white robes adorned with the three spirals.

That left the thrones, which Ethan had purposefully avoided looking at until he was ready. There were three, all of the same wooden design, rising up with overly tall backs. They were beautifully crafted and carved with symbols, but not opulent, and the centermost was differentiated only by virtue of being raised a hand taller.

The leftmost was occupied by the prince, who was still wearing his armor, though with the helmet replaced by a simple circlet of gold. The rightmost had to be his sister, as the silver hair and pointed ears were identical, though her face may have favored a different parent. Still she was as beautiful as he was handsome.

The King was the most interesting. His fury was palpable as he stared directly at Ethan, who met his gaze with a steady smile. The man was larger, and thicker than his son, though it looked like muscle under the heavy robes of office, not fat. His crown was larger, but still functional, and likely could have been worn into battle. It was his ears though, that were the surprise, being as round and human as Ethan’s own.

On the wall above them was an enormous picture of what could only be Ethan’s accidental Familiar. It was painted on top of a shield, and wearing a copy of the King’s crown. Well that’s a great sign, Ethan thought, definitely a ‘forgive and forget’ vibe in here.

“King Rothavaro, Princess Ellevaro, Prince Calevaro, allow me to present Ethan Bishop. False-Chosen of Flagras.” Ethan raised an eyebrow. He was already surprised Valanor remembered his name–he’d never used it, but gaining a new and damning title was exciting news. He bowed slightly when Valanor did–there were enough reasons to execute him without adding disrespect.

The King leaned forward on his throne. “Reveal the Bond Rune,” he commanded, and Valanor turned to obey. Ethan caught the man’s good arm however, giving him a death-stare to rival the King’s. Surprisingly, the knight nodded, and backed away, allowing Ethan to unbutton his own shirt, displaying the elaborate symbols without shame.

The King merely nodded. “Bring in the Runemistress!” he bellowed, and a woman was striding through the door in moments. Ethan had to control his reaction, as she was one of the unusual, red-skinned horned beings he’d spotted in the village days earlier. She was shorter than the men had been, but still easily six and a half feet tall, and her long, blue scholar robes didn’t disguise her muscled frame.

She stopped in front of Ethan, looking down at him with a surprisingly warm smile. He smiled back automatically, trying to look at her purple eyes, and not the black horns that curled around her head. “Hello! I’m Runemistress Selina, and I need you to consent to a runic ritual,” she said in a friendly tone.

“Uh, I don’t know what that is,” Ethan replied, his eyes following the countless, tight purple braids that cascaded down her back when she bent forward to inspect his chest.

“Oh! It’ll just reveal a few standard things about you. Most importantly your Familiars, but also your age, race, where you were born, and so forth. It’s a bit invasive, I know, that’s why it requires your assent.”

Oh joy, ‘where I was born’. And I was worried this might not be complicated. “Go right ahead Selina, let’s put it all out there and see what happens.” She seemed surprised by his tone, but her smile didn’t fade. She immediately went to work, drawing out a circle around him in some kind of green chalk, then carefully adding runes.

The throne room was tense and silent as she went about her business–expertly, it seemed–but thankfully it wasn’t a long process. When she’d finished, she took out a crystal from an unseen inventory, then began whispering something Ethan couldn’t understand. After a few moments the crystal began to glow a deep green, and all at once the drawings around him burst into smokeless flames, dissipating almost immediately.

The Runemisstress stared into her crystal for a few moments, then looked up at Ethan. “Oh my,” she said at last.

“What is it?” the King demanded, standing up for the first time. “Does he have the false Bond, or not?”

“Um, sorry, Majesty, there’s just…a lot of information coming from the ritual. Yes, he is Bonded to Flagras but…but, it’s a True Bond, not a forced one. Your Majesty, he’s an actual Chosen.”

Ethan could see everyone in the room struggling to maintain their decorum, but each person still reacted visibly. The prince and princess exchanged shocked glances, and the two robed figures stood up suddenly. Even Valanor retreated a step. Well then, maybe this will go better than I hoped, Ethan thought. Then the King spoke.

“Irrelevant. He took the Bond that was meant for my son. Valanor, execute him immediately and put an end to this farce.”

Oh, never mind, we’re still right on track.