Part Two:

Veiled

Turns out Priss’ confidence, crossing the border into overconfidence periodically, was well founded this Friday night. She swept through her bracket of the tournament and had a beautiful fight in the finale. Her Lesser Seraphim fought a Fallen Crusader, a variant rare-class familiar. The seraphim lost both its wings, but was able to blind the crusader with its spear of green lightning and finally pierce the armor with an uncommon class armament—a stone ritual dagger. A ritual was imbued into that weapon that sacrificed an unfortunate victim on the rare occasion, or so said the flavor text. Sacrificed to who or what, Terry had no clue; Fate itself perhaps.

Partly through research, partly through experience, Terry knew that the ritual was not just flavor text. It only had a one in eight chance of success. So Priss had thrown the di and gambled for her victory at the height of that fight. That gamble did pay off for her this time. Her winnings as victor of the annual Friday night Fate’s Hand tournament was five card packs from the victor’s chest. It was really just a gallon-sized bucket that Dave had thrown a handful of booster packs into, but Anne, Dave’s girlfriend of six years, had dazzled it up with rhinestones and a colorful tag that read, “Victor’s Chest.” Someone, no one was certain who, had drawn a macho-muscle man, bare-chested, on the side of the bucket with an arrow pointing to it from the colorful tag. It was funny, so nothing was done about it. Terry did remember Priss smiling more often than usual that week, but he didn’t put too much effort into investigating the matter.

The winner of the weekly tournaments was awarded five card packs, so it was odd when Priss returned to Terry at the register counter with a beaming grin and three card packs. “What’s with the three packs? I saw your game in the final on the screen,” Terry asked as he gestured to the monitor next to the register. Since he knew Priss’ Fate’s Hand Mage Name, or username, Prissess (she thought she was clever and made a play on ‘princess’ with her name) he was notified when she had a match that allowed spectating. It was the same for him. His Mage Name, Deck Mage, was on her spectate list so she could also watch his matches. Terry remembered Priss throwing a bit of a fit when she was setting up the account. She “didn’t want a mage name,” she had said. Then went on to say something under her breath that Terry hadn’t caught. Eventually she acquiesced when Terry told her to think of it as a username instead. Mage name was just the lore-friendly title for it.

“It was a great match, wasn’t it?!” Priss answered with enthusiasm while she slide her winnings into her jacket pocket. “I had so much fun watching James’ face when he realized an uncommon armament, a mere stone knife, killed his precious variant crusader!” A nearly evil grin spread across Priss’ face as she continued, “he might not even show up next week due to embarrassment! Wouldn’t that be a relief?”

Terry could empathize with Priss’ dislike for James. He was a bit older than the two of them, military cut blonde hair, and built like a hockey player—a really mean one. Terry thought he saw James at the gym once, when Priss had dragged him there to start, “putting on some muscle so you can at least fight me on a dance floor,” as she so kindly put it. If it had been James he saw, he had been deadlifting at least twice Terry’s weight soaking wet. Had to hand it to James; the mean hockey player look took sincere effort. James had come into Cardstock about a year ago, bought just over seven hundred dollars in Fate’s Hand cards, and became a regular figure on Friday nights. After a month or two he actually became pretty good at the game. He did have a penchant for humanoid familiars that rocked the same mean left wing visage that James himself did, like his Fallen Crusader.

In the early days James tried to stick around Priss and push out anyone else near. Mean hockey players can have crushes on beautiful women, just like anyone else, but sometimes are poor sports about it. Terry is, for all his faults, persistent about his friends—especially Priss. So when James not so subtlety told Terry to scram he just said, “nah,” and walked back to campus with her that evening. The next time it happened James grabbed Terry and pushed him against a brick wall outside of Cardstock’s back entrance. He had a mean grip and ‘patted’ Terry down as he explained in small words why Terry should leave Priss alone.

Priss saw what was happening and took matters into her own hands. She wrenched both of James’ arms behind his back with a strength that should not belong to anyone in her weight class and dragged him out of sight from the bruising Terry. Couple minutes later, Priss came back alone and said it was taken care of. Terry had heard snippets of what was said around the corner, something like, “toy veiled,” was mentioned but Terry was, understandably, in a bit of pain at the time and didn’t think deeply on the matter. Terry didn’t want to pursue the matter, and Priss said she handled it and he trusted her judgement. So nothing came of it. James started showing up on Fridays a couple weeks later and did not interact with the pair at all. Unless in a game of course.

“It was a rewarding game to watch,” Terry affirmed, “though it was a pure RNG win with that stone dagger gamble.”

“Terence White,” Priss began, oh shit said the wrong thing, “I did not leave my win over such a poor opponent to some random number generator.” Terry was in agreement about not liking James with Priss; mean hockey players go in the penalty box, but he was not a poor opponent from the game Terry had watched. Priss’ seraphim had been in critical condition at the end of that fight. Best not remind her of that, her competitive nature tended to make her aggressive at times like this.

“The odds were in my favor by my design,” she continued saying with that same edge to her voice, oblivious to Terry’s musings, “I doubled the success rate by blinded the target; there is a boost if the target is in a critical state; and divine familiars, like my seraphim, get a reroll on rituals.” After getting that out in the open she looked rather proud of herself. In truth, it was a great strategy. She took one in eight odds and turned it into two chances at one in four odds. The set up for it was a lot of work and you had to draw the proper cards to begin with, but a solid strategy to create during the pressure of a match.

As clever a strategy it was, Terry couldn’t help but rain on her parade, just a bit. “One in four, with a reroll, is still gambling away your certain victory,” Terry teased as he slowly inched away from Priss, “I thought you always told me that the best way to win is to play a hand that is certain to overwhelm your opponent. A puny stone knife is the purest embodiment of overwhelming force your deck has I guess.” She viewed him with suspicion as she narrowed her eyes. A scowl of anger, mostly feigned, probably, covered her features.

“It was not a gamble,” Priss growled as she took a step towards Terry, “now be still like a good boy, and accept your punishment for bring up such unnecessary things like the troublemaker you are.” Terry gave Priss a wink and then ducked beneath the side of the register counter and futilely hid between the display islands of the showroom floor. Priss made a very unlady-like sound, something between a growl and a joyful squeak, and dashed after her troublemaker. A game of cat and mouse began amongst the board games, dice towers, and cardboard cut-outs. Demands for stillness accompanied empty threats and rejections to those kind offers filled the air. These were soon replaced with laughter and empty threats.

Eventually a cough interrupted the pair after Priss got Terry into a headlock. Both looked up at the source, grinning like idiots, and saw Dave, the owner of Cardstock, looking at them with a raised eyebrow. Dave was a man of his mid-thirties that never really grew out of his early twenties. Long, unbound brown hair with roots of gray patching in a few places, framed a clean-shaven face with blue eyes. He was a husky fellow that was wearing an oversized t-shirt that had a tower with a flaming eye printed on the front. One of his old shirts. Dave had started working out after he saw Terry actually showing results from Priss’ training and now he was as well.

Dave looked at the tangled pair for a moment and then spoke with a baritone, Southern voice, “ya’ll are lucky the store closed fifteen minutes ago. Wouldn’ be proper if my employees were fiirtin’ with each other during business hours.” A glint of mirth shown in his eyes as he spoke. Dave liked both Terry and Priss, and was more a friend than employer.

“Employees?” Terry asked, “as in plural?” He tried to look towards Priss while speaking but the headlock he endured did not allow such freedom of movement.

“aww,” bemoaned Priss, “Dave, I was going to figure out some surprise, and or, freak out to fill Terry in on that bit of news.”

Dave ran a hand through his long hair as he chuckled a reply, “knowing you Priss, you’d do something unwarranted to poor Terry here.” He gestured to the still lightly struggling Terry, “and I need both of ya to run this store proper.”

“Oh it’d have been warranted,” Priss replied. She squeezed Terry a bit tighter and then released him with a light tap on his head. “this troublemaker doesn’t know when to keep his trap shut and allow me to bask in the glory of my victories.”

Terry huffed at Priss while rubbing the top of his head. He then looked at his boss and asked, “so you hired Priss, why?”

“Same reasons as you basically, and a few others,” Dave answered, his accent coming in thicker than usual as a yawn escaped him. “She costs me too much in tournament prizes,” he said with mock chagrin, “but, really, she is just as knowledgeable as you about the general stuff here and knows more than you about armament decks. Plus, she has been doing the job already, helping people with their Fate’s Hand decks and strategies; now, at least, she can get paid for it.”

“Yep!” Priss chimed, “and I got a sweet signing bonus.”

“What!?” She got a signing bonus,” Terry cried incredulously, “This is sexism in the workplace. I’m telling your manager about this Dave.”

“Whoa, Whoa,” Dave said with a not so serious placating gesture, “don’t be bringin’ Anne into this. She and Priss will run both of us outta here before we know it.” Light laughter from everyone in the room filled the air for a moment as the banter between them concluded.

“Dave!” a female voice sounded from the stairwell that led to the apartment upstairs, “get up here and help me chop up these potatoes.” It was Anne, Dave’s girlfriend. They had been living in the apartment above Cardstock since before Terry and Priss met them. “Be right ther’!” Dave called back up the stairs he was now standing next to. Before heading up he looked back at the duo, “I don’t have a spare set of keys for the place yet, so you love birds will have to share Terry’s for now.”

“We are not love birds!” retorted Priss. She then nearly whispered, “I refuse to be associated with fowl of any kind.”

“Alright, whatever you say Priss,” Dave replied, “just take Terry’s keys when you open for now. Now if ya’ll will excuse me, my dear and darling Anne requests my presence.”

“Be careful Dave,” shouted Terry, “she probably has a knife!”

Dave chuckled as he started up the stairs, then stopped on the third step, turned, and stuck his head out the doorframe leading to the stairwell, “Terry, why don’t ya come early tomorrow. There is something Anne and I want to talk to ya about. Even make ya breakfast.”

“Can do Dave,” Terry answered, “what about Priss? Could make it a regular business meeting.”

“Love to, but can’t,” Priss interjected, “got family business basically all day tomorrow. If I’m lucky, I’ll be out by late afternoon and might swing by if Terry is still around.” With that said the duo offered their farewells and Dave told to try and stay warm on their walks home. After turning off the ‘open’ sign and locking the door to Cardstock, Priss and Terry bundled up in their winter garb and began walking to the other side of town over snow covered sidewalks.

Terry’s apartment was on the other side of town and took nearly an hour to walk there. Sean, Terry’s brother and former roommate, would sometimes drive Terry to work, but that arrangement was no longer available so he had to walk the distance twice a day. It was a commute he grew to enjoy though. He was able to walk through Fallsbend’s campus and the city park on his way to the apartment. This also allowed him to share half or so of the distance with Priss as she walked back to her dorm on campus. Even walks in winter, when the weather was below freezing by a fair margin, were pleasant with her.

Priss wore a green scarf that wrapped around her face like a mask while Terry wore an orange-black ski jacket that was zipped up all the way for a similar effect. The pair traversed the snow covered sidewalks shoulder to shoulder in silence. The cold took away most will for playful jibes as the effort could be spent on more productive activities—like staying warm. Halfway to campus Terry did think of something to ask Priss. “You know, you never explained why you only got three packs of cards for your prize,” he said through a cadence of chattering teeth. Priss looked over at him and he saw frost settled in her eyebrows and on the hem of her scarf.

“I would have,” she responded with absolutely no chattering to her teeth,” but someone had to scurry away and hide like a mouse.” She paused as they stopped at a crosswalk and watched an antique gasoline truck, a monster of both size and sound, rumble past them amongst the comparatively silent electric vehicles before continuing. “Then Dave interrupted, and it slipped my mind.”

“Soo,” Terry elongated the word turned sound, “are you going to tell me about it now?”

“Hell no, too cold right now,” responded Priss not sounding cold at all. “Tell you what, why don’t you stay in my dorm tonight? I don’t like the idea of you walking to your apartment alone in this cold.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Terry blustered through more teeth chattering, “it’s not like I’ll be attacked by monsters or anything on my way through the park.”

“Ya,” Priss said with a weak chuckle, “more likely for the cold to get to you than monsters.” A couple more minutes of silence went by as the pair continued their journey across town. As they forded another snowy crosswalk the main entrance to Fallsbend University came into view. Old brick buildings neighbored newer, block buildings to create a tapestry of edifices that revealed the history of the campus on a canvass of snow. Or it showed the administration’s unwillingness to renovate existing buildings. Either or really. The main sign declaring you arrived on campus had an artificial waterfall next to it. It was not operational due to the season, but it did inspire the designed response in newcomers during the warmer months. Both Priss and Terry were beyond that point by now. It was just an oversized and expensive lawn ornament to them.

Once they passed the derelict waterfall Priss spoke up again in hope of convincing Terry, “Come’on Terry, You are going to freeze your cute butt walking all the way to your apartment. Promise to keep you warm and the monsters away.”

Terry sighed in exacerbation as he looked over at her, “and what will your roommate have to say about a guy being there? You know how she thinks about those things. And how exactly do you know my butt is cute?”

Priss laughed dryly, not wanting too much cold air to infiltrate her lungs, and then lean against him as she answered, “Christie went home for the weekend, probably to do laundry or something, so she won’t have anything in particular to say. And, I’ve seen enough of you without most of your clothes on that I figure my imagination is pretty spot on.” Terry averted his eyes in embarrassment and then jumped with a small yelp and a light smack connected with the aforementioned region of his body. True laughter barked from beneath Priss’ scarf mask as she curled both her arms around his and held him snuggly. She remembered the first time she had such a show. Terry had been adorably awkward back then. Well, more awkward than he was now.

~

Two weeks had passed since Freshman Orientation at Fallsbend University. The early morning air hinted at an unbearable warmth that would invade the weekend. The closet dormitory that Priss shared with her new roommate, Christie, would be unlivable as far as she was concerned. Perhaps her father would take her somewhere temperate for the family business trip over the weekend. She had had packed a week’s worth of clothes for each temperature range since she hadn’t been told where they were going. Father was picking her up later that afternoon, so, in the meantime, Priss had long overdue plans for this morning.

It had taken a bit of sleuthing, but Priss eventually figured out where her new friend lived. Elk’s Lodge Dormitory, room 514. Apparently this part of campus, where all the old dorms were, was collectively referred to as ‘The Camp’ by the students. Something about the buildings’ names being woodland creatures and hunting. She didn’t really pay attention to the overeager, and hungry-eyed, upper classman who she got to explain it to her. She zoned out after she heard what she needed to know.

As Priss approach The Camp, the thought on why she was off to pay a visit to this new friend—Terry. Yeah, he was cute, but the lack of confidence he had certainly didn’t offer much in the way of social charm. She had been warned to keep an eye on the veiled and unveiled ones while on campus. Then she met Terry. Terry had the presence of an unveiled, Priss could easily sense it, and so could the so called witches from the sorority stand. However, he didn’t seem to have any idea of her approach, nor did he make any move to defend himself once he was aware of her presence. Any member of the Hidden World, martial, mage, or monster would have done that much at least.

All he did was freeze up and stutter a bit. Ok, maybe that lack-of-confidence innocence helps him be a little cute. Like a puppy. The whole overfriendly act she put on then, which worked, was to throw off someone far more dangerous than Terry turned out to be. Someone as dangerous as Terry’s presence, and the apparent nonchalance towards her own aura, led one to believe. Whatever Terry is, it isn’t an unveiled. He is just an innocent and ignorant veiled, and a cute one. Priss did inform her father about Terry though. He would want to know about an unknown mage in the area. Her father made it a mission to keep a jailer’s gaze on all of them after all.

As Priss walked up the fifth and final flight of stairs a thin wave of mana washed over her. She had been trained to prepare for a fight when she felt that. Meant a mage or a monster was searching the area. Gathering energy from her qi pool, Priss leapt the final seven steps in a single bound. At the landing she crouched into a defensive stance and eyed the door in front of her. Pale green flickers of light surrounded her fists and her calves as she circulated her qi throughout her body. Before she finished preparing, a dark skinned young man burst through the door onto the landing. He wore blue basketball shorts, a white tank-top, and had a shaved head. His entire right arm was covered in a tattoo-sleeve. To Priss, that meant he was more than a little dangerous.

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“I know for a fact no martials belong to this building,” the tattooed young man stated, “declare yourself and your business then scram.” There was mistrust and even a little menace in his narrowed eyes. Priss swore she saw one of his tattoos quivering. Not good. Without a veil prepared she wasn’t allowed to do much. Not that the guy in front of her had such rules of qualms. Most of the mages she met outside of her father’s associates held the boundary of the Hidden World and the Veiled World loosely.

With the intent of not starting a fight that would upset her father at best, and level the building at worst, Priss her palms up in a placating gesture and said, “be at peace. I was unaware this was one of your kind’s domain. I had no intention of intruding.”

“And what exactly do you mean by, ‘your kind?’” he asked with a hostile glare.

“huh,” a sigh left Priss as she slow gestured to his tattooed arm, “you’re manafested. Even trying to insinuate I was being racist is childish. I don’t see a group mark on you, where do you belong?”

“You martial types are all the same; treat us mages like we are diseased,” spat out the mage, “my mana is focused, not ‘manafested,’ That term is just as biased and narrow-minded as if you were making racist comments.”

“I’m not here to debate semantics or the valid threat magic has to the veil between worlds when on this side with you,” Pris retorted, “now answer my question.”

“I have no need to answer your question,” quipped the mage, “you are acting as entitled and demanding as any martial I’ve met or heard about.”

“Says the one who brought the powers of monsters to the Veiled World.”

“That’s not how it works! If you martials spent any time to study mana flow or even just fucking listen to a mage who has, you’d know that’s not how it works!” The mage took a deep breath after getting that off his chest and continued, “but, I don’t plan on harassing any and all martials I run across at school. It would be best to be known factors to each other at the least. Are you sure no veileds can hear us?”

“Bit late for that concern isn’t it? No, I don’t sense any within range. Don’t you have a spell or something for this? You are mana… a mage after all.”

The glare Priss received from the mage proved he definitely caught her slip of the tongue there. His tattoos began quivering for a moment and Priss fortified her body, preparing for an attack. “Relax,” the mage mockingly said, “it is just what you asked for.” Soon a near invisible blue bubble erupted from his tattooed arm and surrounded them. He then stepped to the side, away from the front of the door to the fifth floor and said, “we are now unheard and unseen by those outside the bubble.” His voice echoed quietly in the bubble. “Please excuse the echo, I haven’t quite figured out how to properly bend space and time to my whim.” This time he wore a nearly feral grin as he spoke. It was a statement made to poke at the concern Priss had voiced earlier. Worst part being she wasn’t certain the mage was joking.

Rather than focus on her growing concerns, Priss kept to the necessary details, “who are you and what is your association?” Priss’ voice also echoed within the bubble. “I am Priscilla Daniels, member of the Crescent Dawn.” The last part was spoken with evident pride while she revealed a golden pin with a stylized rising sun next to a waning moon.

“Ahh,” the mage said, “you’re part of that martial guild with the leashed mages.” Priss bristled hearing that, but before she could say anything he continued, “Priscilla Daniels… ah ha! I thought I heard that name before! Daughter of the Sun is what you’re called. Supposed to be rather skilled for a body builder should the grapevine be believed.”

Priss couldn’t let that comment slide, “body builder!” she shrieked at almost not a whisper, “using qi enhances the body’s existing strengths, not build it up like an oversized bull!”

The mage just smirked at her outburst and said, “and now we’re even for the ‘manafested’ comment. Name is Marcus Eldson. I’m independent, no guild backing or politics.” Priss deflated just a bit with that; he had a point. A lot of associates in Crescent Dawn she and her father worked with called mages the ‘manafested.’ Well, behind their backs and at in the Sun Department of Crescent Dawn. Priss herself wasn’t sure about it all, but apparently her work environment had rubbed off on her more than she knew.

“So what brings you here, oh daughter of the sun?” Marcus asked with feigned reverence.

“I’m here to see a friend,” Priss answered vaguely.

“Like I said earlier, no martials belong to this dorm. I checked.”

“Am I not allowed to have friends outside the martials?”

“actions and policies I’ve seen or heard about tend to drive one to that conclusion.”

“Well, contrary to your misinformed belief, I can, and do, have friends outside of my fellow martials. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go collect one of those friends for breakfast,” and with that said Priss walked out of the spell and it popped like a soap bubble. Once on the fifth floor proper she followed the numbers on the doors as the numerically ascended.

Marcus trotted behind her, muttering something about spell stability, and asked, “who are you looking for? I can help find’em and get you out of here that much faster.” He clearly was ready for Priss to leave and she was just fine with making him uncomfortable with her presence.

“No need, I know where I’m going,” she replied without looking back. As she found room 514 she saw its door was cracked open and she heard humming from the other side. Perfect, Terry was awake. She reached for the door knob as Marcus realized too late what was about to happen.

“Hey that’s my… don’t open tha…” of course, since he was late too realize what Priss intended, tragedy, or comedy, depending on time and perspective, followed.

She swung the door open and spoke in an upbeat tone, “Good morning Terry! Good thing you’re already awake because we’re getting breakfast!” As she said this the scene before her revealed itself. Terry was up, yes indeed. He stood in the middle of the dorm with his hair matted down by water and a towel loosely wrapped around his hips. He stood profile to the doorway, frozen and wide-eyed as he processed the intruder to his safe haven. No shirt clung to him, so Priss could see how thin and lanky Terry was. Yep, breakfast was a great idea. The boy need to add some weight to his frame.

“uhh,” Terry finally began to say but quickly shut his mouth and scrambled as his loose towel began to descend. He caught it before anything scandalous revealed itself, but enough for Priss’ imagination to work with. She didn’t mind the image. He didn’t have the muscle and bulk that the men from the Sun Department and other martials had. That fact made Terry even more appealing to Priss. He wouldn’t have delusions about having to protect her.

“Uhh…” Terry continued with a bewildered expression, “Hi, Priss, what are you doing here?”

“Better question is,” Priss replied, “why are you getting dressed yet? Breakfast won’t last forever. Now get a move on, I have a hankering for bacon and cereal.”

“Are you always like this?” he asked.

“You’ll just have to find out in the future. I’ll be around.” An audible groan sounded from the hallway and Priss grinned at it.

“Why don’t you get out so I can change then,” Terry said while gesturing beyond the doorway.

“Damn, was hoping to see more,” Priss teased with a scrunched up expression. After stepping out of the doorway and closing it, Priss looked over at Marcus who was standing nearby.

His arms were crossed and his face was a mixture of frustration and caution. “He’s not a mage from what I can tell,” he said in a quiet tone.

“You tested him?” Priss inquired with curiosity shading her voice. “The witches thought he was a full manafested and I did as well until I kissed him.” Marcus’ face had been twisting into a scowl at the mention of witches and then blanched at the bomb drop from the tail-end of her statement.

Marcus paused then said, “and.. and why did you do that if you thought he was a full mage?”

“Because I am fully confident in defending myself against a ‘mage’ when I’m standing right next to them,” Priss replied with sarcastic emphasis on ‘mage’. She then continued, “plus I knew it would throw the witches off, and making them uncomfortable seemed fun.”

“Taunting a coven, even a young one, should not be done lightly. The backing of a guild like yours cannot protect you from every hex or curse,” Marcus warned. “Regardless of your antics, you proved he is veiled. So why are you here now?”

Priss shrugged as she answered, “maybe he is just a good kisser. Could find out yourself if you want.” Marcus recoiled a bit.

“No. No thanks. Just don’t get in the habit of being around here.” Priss just laughed quietly at that.

~

Terry sighed and steam escaped from his mouth like flames from a dragon as it met the winter air. “Alright, you got me. I wasn’t looking forward to a cold walk alone anyways.” Priss only squeezed his arm in reply and the pair journeyed further onto campus.

Priss’ apartment in the Scholastic Dorm was one of the finer student accommodations on campus. Getting in was a competition of the cumulative GPA among the applicants. Priss, and her roommate, Christie, wouldn’t have gotten in if they were not stellar students. Priss was one of the best students in the physical therapy courses and Christie was an already published English Literature student. Priss had complained to Terry when she had been applying about the ‘on campus involvement’ section. It was expected that students from this dorm are doing extracurricular activities and being a part of the student life. She bemoaned this part because, in her words, “it is utter nonsense that we are expected to have social lives, work, and complete all classwork perfectly just to live in acceptable rooms.” Her complaint made sense to Terry, but he thought that the school probably had a reason for its demands as well.

The housing that Priss and Christie’s hard work and overtaxed schedules earned them was indeed more apartment than dorm. Each had their own bedroom, a living room sat between the two, and a kitchen that had everything aside from an oven. That particular detail rather upset Christie. She enjoyed baking but the lack of an oven stifled that passion. Terry witnessed her attempt to make cookies on the stove when he visited once. The results were cookies burned on the bottom and raw on the top. An abject failure that encouraged Priss to go out and buy some for her depressed roommate.

The apartment was dark and blessedly warm when Priss and Terry entered. Turning on the lights with a tap on her slate, a palm-sized piece of tempered glass that rested on the forearm, Priss entered further into her apartment and began taking off her jacket. “So,” she said as she threw the jacket on a chair, “ready to find out what my signing bonus and winnings from the tournament are?” Terry had taken off his jacket and threw it on top of her’s. He moved into the living room as she asked the question.

“Ah ta-ta,” Priss tisked with a waggling finger, “take your boots off you scoundrel.” Terry glanced and witnessed his boots covered in melting snow; which was soaking into the carpet.

“Yes dear,” Terry sighed with dejection. He stole a look at Priss’ feet and saw that she wasn’t wearing her boots. He hadn’t seen her remove them, the sneaky punk. Once his boots were off and next to Priss’, he joined her at the coffee table.

“Before you show the goods, I have to know why you took the job in the first place Priss,” Terry said once he settled in. “Your schedule is already full with school, work, and your extracurriculars. You even said you don’t need the money from it. So why?”

“No real reason,” Priss answered quickly, “Dave made the point that I’m already there more often than his other employees other than you. Might as well get paid to be there.”

“How are you going to find time for it though?” Terry pressed.

“Easy,” Priss replied, “I’m leaving the martial arts club. I’m one of the better people in it and I really don’t go to the meetings anyways. No fun for me there.” The answer did make sense. Terry liked to joke that Priss was a ninja, but the jest wasn’t far off as far as he was concerned. Priss knew several martial arts that Terry didn’t know the names of and had the physical prowess to put real authority behind the talent.

“That, makes sense I guess,” Terry said with hesitance, “as long as you’re ok with it I have nothing to say. It’s your choice after all.”

“Yep, more than alright with it. Now can we move on?”

“Alright, spill it. What bribes did you take?” Terry demanded. Priss sat across from him, smiling as if his accusation was the finest of compliments. The tense discussion forgotten. She said nothing though. An eyebrow raise from Terry and a stifled laugh from Priss finally concluded the standoff.

Taking a breath to recover from her halted humor, Priss spoke, “I ended up getting two packs of Therin’Duel’s Quest.” She placed two sealed packs of Fate’s Hand cards on the coffee table between them. “These are mine,” she continued.

“Naturally,” Terry said with a hint of confusion, “you won them.” Priss forged forward without answering the unspoken question from Terry.

“I happened to draw a treasure of sorts from Victor’s Chest that even Dave didn’t known was there.” Terry waited for the reveal as Priss reached for the hinted, hidden prize. “Now before I show you this,” Priss began to say as she halted her hand below the table, “I want you to know I already decided to give it to you. No arguments. No charity. No refusal. I want none of that from you. It may be useful for you since you sold Gerand.” Priss waited for Terry to respond, refusing to move forward until she heard what she wanted.

“huhhh,” Terry sighed, “alright. I will not do any of the above. Though, I go against my better judgement in this decision.” Priss smirked at that.

“By the way,” Priss said as she began to raise her hand with the prize, “the door is locked. So you can’t escape from my charity.” The door was locked from the inside, so it wasn’t much of a barrier. The message was clear though: she wouldn’t let Terry renege on the verbal contract between them. At least it was more in jest than in threat.

“Consider me trapped and bound,” Terry conceded and then immediately winced as his mind revealed other interpretations of what he just said. With a gleam in her eyes that promised to remind him of that verbal slip up later, Priss finally placed the final pack on the coffee table.

Upon seeing the final card pack, Terry took in a sharp intake of breath. The pack was not much to look at in comparison to the others. The Therin’Duel’s Quest card packs had artwork that displayed a man in ragged, battle-worn metal armor amongst ruins of an unknown temple. No weapons could be seen around him and the man himself looked to be on death’s door. If the art was hinting at anything regarding the new card set lore, it was that the quest was difficult and destructive.

The third card pack was quite plain in comparison. A full black background with an open hand facing skyward. Hovering over the hand was a purple and blue vortex. Like one would think a spiral galaxy to look. At the top of the pack is simply read, “Fate’s Hand,” with no series name. It was an original card pack of Fate’s Hand from when the game launched. An unopened, original pack of Fate’s Hand could be sold for near a thousand dollars. There were really powerful cards in the progenitor series that haven’t been made since. Terry sat stunned, silent as he stared at the treasure before him. He got into Fate’s Hand just as the second card set was released and only bought two original packs before they were vaulted. The cards he got from them allowed him to start building the monster deck he became marginally known for.

“Priss, there’s no wa…” Terry began, but Priss swiftly cut him off.

“Oh no you don’t, the door is locked,” a stern look settled on her features as she glared at Terry. He knew that look. It was her, ‘I’m being stubborn and you should just accept it and move on,’ look. So, instead of moving an unmovable object, Terry changed tactics.

“Why? You never got to open one of these. The cards are just as valuable to you as they are to me. You won them for goodness’ sakes!” Terry was getting pretty revved up by the end of his tirade. Bare emotion might persuade Priss that she was letting a great opportunity slip away from her. Priss just smiled indulgently and sat there listening until Terry quieted.

“You’re right,” she said, “I won them and they would be great cards for anyone really. But, since I won them I get to decide what to do with them. My decision is to give them to you.” Conviction filled her voice as she spoke this last part.

“But, why?” Terry quietly asked as his rebellion began to falter.

“Because I want to. Because I care about you. Because this doesn’t even come close to what you have given me,” Priss answered, voicing wavering as emotion began to color it. This was uncommon for Priss. She was in touch with her emotions, she was cheerful and devious most of the time, but hardly censored displays of other emotions rarely made it past her guard. Such an event of uncommon enough that Terry dropped the topic of the original Fate’s Hand card pack and rushed around the coffee table. Putting an arm around her, he asked in a gentle voice, “What is it that I have given you that is so valuable?”

Priss leaned into him, her face burying into that safe spot where the neck and shoulders meet. “Just about everything important to me,” she replied a bit muffled as she didn’t move her head to respond.

“As you have for me. What else is going on? What is this about? Something is weighing on you. You usually don’t show this kind of reaction. Talk to me,” Terry consoled as he gently held Priss. A hot tear trailed down his neck as he waited. Pointing out such a thing would be cruel. All Terry should do is quietly sit and let her lean on him. So that is what he did.

Eventually, Priss let go of him and wiped at her eyes as discreetly as she could. They were lined red from the stress of tears so any subterfuge was useless. That wasn’t the point though, she knew that he knew. It was for readjusting herself to continue the conversation. After a breath, Priss spoke, “I… I have a feeling my dad is going to tell me to distance myself from you soon. Told me that you’re not going anywhere in life and that I can do better with my time and attention elsewhere and with people he approves of.” This was both a surprise, but also not terribly unexpected. The revelation was surprise for sure, but Priss’ father’s thoughts regarding Terry were not that big a surprise. He had met Mr. Daniels once before. He was a towering mass of muscle. Mr. Daniels exuded an atmosphere of danger around himself that it made Terry feel like he was standing near the sun. He was the leader of a mercenary company of sorts after all. The man had trained and forged Priss into the well-muscled martial artist that Terry knew. Anyone who trained Priss was bound to be dangerous, and have high expectations apparently.

“I usually don’t give him the time of day when he tells me such things, but he has been adding such much more pressure at work on top of his insistence about this that I’m getting overwhelmed,” Priss confessed.

“Why did you take a second job at Cardstock then? Your dad won’t like your attention split even further if he is hounding you this much,” Terry said as he began piecing together Priss’ predicament.

“Because it is a legitimate reason that he can’t stop, without making a scene, to see you,” Priss answered.

“Oh,” Terry replied intelligently, the puzzle finally showing a complete picture.

“Yea,” Priss agreed as she leaned back into Terry.

“What is it you want?” he asked as he wrapped both arms around her.

“For my dad to mind his own damned business,” Priss hotly complained.

“You don’t have to handle this alone. I will help you,” Terry said with conviction and a gentle smile, “I know I can’t help with the work you do with your father, but I am here for you however else I can be.” Priss’ dad was frightening, but Priss meant more to him than that fear. More than an original pack of Fate’s Hand cards. He would stand with her against the force that was Mr. Daniels with Priss however he could.

Priss weakly smiled and said, “You know work with dad is secret, so not much help there to be had. But…” She didn’t get to finish as Terry interrupted.

“I don’t care about that,” he stated passionately, “Let me support you if you’re going to keep standing up to him like this. You’re doing for me after all; I should stand with you as you do.” Priss sighed and pressed her full weight onto Terry.

“You don’t know what you’re saying Terry. If you knew there wouldn’t be much more to be done. Plus, you’d be in more danger. And not just from dad,” Priss said. Terry knew that Priss and her father worked amongst licensed bad-asses and did secret things that he had no clue about. Details were never given and he stopped asking. Those licensed bad-asses and secret things might put Terry in danger if he supported Priss in her rebellion for keeping him in her life.

“I don’t care. You’re important to me, and that is enough to face the danger,” Terry earnestly stated.

“But you don’t kno…”

“I don’t care,” Terry interrupted again, “if I knew I had to go through monsters and minions to support you I’d still do it.” He looked down at Priss, who was still leaning heavily against his chest, in attempt to convey the conviction for his statement. It must have worked, because she pushed upward and kissed him.

After separating for a breath, Priss stood and offered Terry a hand to do the same. “Alright,” she said as she hauled him to his feet, “I’ll hold you to that. Tomorrow we will talk about it. About everything. For now, let’s go to bed. I’m drained from the day, and that,” Priss widely gestured to the spot they had been sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, “and both of us have to wake up early tomorrow.” Priss then led Terry to her bedroom as a yawn escaped her lips. Terry followed and attempted to stifle a yawn of his own.

Once the door to the bedroom closed the lights of the apartment slowly faded to dark. Quiet soon permeated the apartment as its denizens drifted off to sleep in the arms of the each other. The Fate’s Hand card packs laid on the coffee table, forgotten due to the weight of an emotional conversation. A brief and bright flash of light invaded the room’s darkness. The flare was emitted from the original card pack of Fate’s Hand. Had an observer been present, they may have witnessed the purple and blue spiral on the pack change colors. Its arcane galaxy now shone with an orange and green weave of light throughout it. But no observer was present, and no one noticed the slight tremor of magic that came with the change. At least, no one who had been physically watching the cards.

Part Two End