Chapter 10

Nicolas stood at the gates of the town, his chest swelling with pride as he looked upon the 3rd Division lined up in their finest splendor. The swords and spears of the infantry glistened in the sun, while the musket troopers held their polished weapons . The auto rifle men stood a little further back, their guns oiled and gleaming, anticipation written clearly on their faces.

Beside Nicolas stood Bryan, his eyes also bright with pride. He too admired their well-prepared soldiers, with a particular fondness for the small but elite group positioned at the front of the ranks, directly behind himself and Nicolas. These were the Commandos. An elite component of an army, the Commandos were equipped fight under all Order levels. These men were armored in the finest plate, mail, and kevlar. On their backs were axes and swords. At their waists were belts of powder pistols, their chests had submachineguns strapped in. The Commandos were the finest most versatile fighting force this side of an actual Knight. The Commandos stood firm, upright, fully aware of the pride of their position.

As the entire Division stood in attention, they awaited the arrival of the emissary from the Boston Empire. There was a tension here. There was no love lost with the Empire, relations had been fraying a long time. The people of Cincinnatti, the soldiers of the city, had grown proud and strong. They resented this visit, but there was also a fear that it could lead to worse things.

The soldiers squinted into the distance, trying to discern any signs of the shrouded company from the Empire approaching. Suddenly, they saw it – a group of figures speeding across the land, faster than any galloping horse, propelled by the unseen power of the Footfield beneath them. Most likely dispatched from the Boston Empire's vassal state of Chicago, the traveling group was an imposing sight. The soldiers could see the glint of armor and the fluttering of banners, but the full details remained obscured. Nonetheless, they stood firm and prepared to welcome these enigmatic travelers to their town.

As the company drew nearer and nearer, the hum of the Footfield grew louder, creating a palpable sense of anticipation among the onlookers. The soldiers, eager to know more about the newcomers, traded whispered theories and guesses about the Griidlord who was likely driving the field. They knew that it wouldn't be long until the emissaries arrived and the shroud was lifted, revealing not only the colors and sigils of the company, but also the identity of the powerful figure controlling the Footfield that drove them forward. With each passing moment, the energy of the waiting soldiers grew, manifesting in tightly gripped weapons and wary, expectant expressions.

Standing between the 3rd Division and the approaching contingent were the resplendent figures of Brightforge and Arcstone, two mighty warriors clad in their awe-inspiring power armor painted in vibrant shades of orange and black. The shimmering energy of their armor seemed to emit a powerful aura, a testament to their status as pillars of Cincinatti's power and prowess.

Brightforge cut an imposing figure. His tall frame was covered in the ornate power armor, and on his back rested the menacing grip of his glowing sword. Anyone who gazed upon him would immediately recognize a champion, a seasoned warrior whose strength and courage had earned him the deep respect and admiration of his people.

Beside him, Arcstone was gargantuan, the unwavering guardian of the city. With a monstrous blazing shield in hand, his presence alone was enough to instill confidence in those under his protection. Apart from this magnificent shield, Arcstone also carried a short hand-axe at his waist. Together, these two formidable warriors were a perfect embodiment of Cincinatti's force and determination.

Within the varied cities of the land, each held its own unique system of governance. In Cincinatti, the Sword – represented by the imposing figure of Brightforge – was always considered the leader of the city. Upon his selection as Sword, Brightforge was also elected as the premier of Cincinatti, elevating him to a position of great prominence and responsibility. As they waited for the arrival of the emissaries, Brightforge and Arcstone emanated an air of strength and confidence that reverberated through the waiting ranks of the 3rd Division.

The Empire party suddenly slowed down about 500 yards away, and as the Footfield dissipated, they continued their approach at a more normal pace. Nicolas watched them intently, observing the details of their delegation. At the forefront, he could see the Empire Diplomat, adorned in blue, red, and white robes - the unmistakable colors of the Empire. Assisting the Diplomat were several aides, dressed in similar garb.

Behind them marched an impressive array of elite Empire commandos and knights, each one wielding a rare and awe-inspiring glowing power weapon. Their assortment of axes, swords, and spears spoke to their versatile and potent fighting skills, to the wealth the Empire has amassed over decades of dominance uder the Emperor and the Bloodknight.

A short distance away from the main party and standing apart, the figure of a Griidlord became clear. The navy armor with orange trims was a telltale sign of their origin from Chicago. Holding a huge glowing axe, the imposing Griidlord was none other than Taranis Edgecutter. Nicolas was immediately impressed – Edgecutter had an impressive reputation despite the waning talent of the Empire. It was clear that the presence of one of their best Griidlords, alongside the finely-tuned skills and display of weaponry by the Empire Knights and Commandos, was designed to demonstrate a show of force and determination by the Empire. As the party continued its approach, it was a powerful reminder of the might that backed these envoys from the Boston Empire.

Delegations between cities traditionally avoided meeting in the Tower, as it was deemed too risky due to the potential for subterfuge, especially among less friendly city-states. However, cities under the Empire were expected to receive Empire delegations within their Tower as a mark of submission and trust.

When the two parties finally met, Nicolas spotted the Empire Diplomat approaching Brightforge; it was none other than the Governor of Chicago, Cassian Ashford. Ashford was known for his haughty and disrespectful demeanor, and it was clear that he expected to gain entry to the Tower without hesitation.

Cassian Ashford began to speak, addressing the gathered assembly with elaborate greetings on behalf of the Empire. "On this auspicious day, I bring felicitations and warm regards from His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor, the glorious Crown of the North East, and the protector of our realm, may his reign be ever prosperous and enduring," Ashford said, listing off the many honorifics and titles associated with the emperor.

Brightforge, however, responded with a curt greeting: "Thank you, Governor Ashford. Welcome to Cincinatti."

Arcstone couldn't resist adding, in a humorous tone, "Howdy to you all, too!"

Ashford was visibly perturbed. Something like annoyance, or confusion, slipped across his face. But just as quickly it was gone, he composed himself calmly. "Certainly, it is kind of you to greet us at the gates. However, it is time we proceed into the Tower to discuss our business."

Brightforge stood firm. "We appreciate your enthusiasm, but we shall stay here to discuss matters."

Ashford hesitated. He could press the matter. But as much as the people here feared war with the Empire, the Empire itself was in no hurry to worsen relations. "Very well. It is, indeed, a fine day. One spends so much time cooped up in towers; it might be nice to enjoy some time in the fresh air. We shall have our meeting here."

With a snap of his fingers, Ashford gave a signal, and a table, chairs, and a light lunch emerged from the crowd of warriors behind him. They were carried by scurrying assistants, who efficiently arranged the items for the meeting. Nicolas watched Brightforge with concern. He was pushing Ashford. In times past, refusing entry to the Tower like this would have resulted in war or severe punishments. He reasoned that Ashford must be aware of the Empire's waning hold on Cincinnati and was likely apprehensive about their ability to suppress the city's growing martial forces, backed by their powerful Griidlords.

Brightforge accepted a chair and gracefully seated himself, removing his helmet to reveal a handsome, cocky face that reflected his formidable reputation. He casually picked at the grapes provided to him. Arcstone, however, chose to remain standing, his vigilant eyes never leaving the visitors from the Empire.

Silence settled over the gathering, and the atmosphere grew tense as Brightforge and Arcstone allowed the silence to continue, giving the Empire envoys the opportunity to introduce the purpose of their meeting.

Eventually, Ashford broke the silence, saying, "We have come to understand that Cincinnati has recently captured a wild orb. Strangely enough, the Empire was not informed of this achievement, nor have we received the 50 Flows in tithe that is owed to us as per the agreement of vassalage."

Brightforge responded firmly, "As we have told the Empire before, we no longer accept its dominion."

Arcstone couldn't help but chuckle at the exchange. Ashford, seeming unfazed, leaned in. "It is not uncommon for vassal cities to make such bold declarations," he said, "often without truly considering the consequences. This may be the first actual act of defiance we have seen from Cincinnati, withholding Flows that are the Emperor's by law, by your city's own commitments, but I am confident that you do not genuinely mean to challenge the supremacy of the Empire."

Brightforge spoke calmly in response, "We stand by our words. The orb is ours, the Flows are ours, and more importantly, this city is for the people of Cincinnati, not the Empire."

Arcstone concurred, though with a gleeful mix of humor and profanity. "That's right. The people of Cincinnati ain't bowing to the Empire's whims anymore."

Throughout the discussion, Taranis Edgecutter eyed the duo with an air of aloof disinterest. Nicolas could clearly jugde that Edgecutter would be outmatched by both Brightforge and Arcstone, not to mention the watchful presence of the Scepter, who was undoubtedly observing the proceedings from the nearby Tower.

Ashford, leaning in even closer, spoke in a low, urgent voice. "This is madness. Consider the facts: you have fine Griidlords here in Cincinnati, and your army is impressive. Yet both are dwarfed by the Emperor's forces, which command dozens of Griidlords. Cincinnati would be devoured in a conflict. You must not let pride blind you. Think of your people and the long history your city has as part of the Empire."

Brightforge responded in a hushed tone, "There are whispers that the New York Kingdoms are ready to break away from the Empire. Their departure would mean ten fewer Suits for the Empire and the opening of a second front. The Empire has been preoccupied with keeping those inner territories in check."

Ashford retorted, "Should Cincinnati set such a precedent, you would face the full might of the Empire. We would make an example of this rebellion to discourage others. As for New York, the people there are utterly loyal. They love the Emperor, whereas the Two Kings of New York are loathed by the population. Don't be misled by idle whispers."

Brightforge couldn't help but interject with an eloquent and humorous diversion. "Well, if loyalty in New York is unshakeable, perhaps the Empire can focus its efforts on improving its own cities, no?"

Arcstone followed up, adding a cruder repetition of the sentiment. "Yeah. Y'all should remember that charity begins at home, don't ya think?"

Ashford's face paled slightly, realizing the difficulty in convincing the defiant leaders to give in. He shifted tactics and offered a revised vassal agreement. "Considering that Cincinnati captured a Wild Orb and did all the work, perhaps the Empire could accept a lesser tribute for the time being. Let us say, 40 Flows?"

But Brightforge didn't budge; instead, he responded with a veiled barb. "Or, perhaps, the Emperor could use a single Flow to help the needy and hungry in the crumbling cities of the Empire. I think the people of Cincinnati would understand if we made a donation like that, considering the plight of the poor in the glorious Empire"

Arcstone chimed in, "Ain't no shortage of needy folks there, Governor."

Ashford's anger grew with each retort. "The Empire has raised countless people out of poverty. By managing the Griid, providing law and order, and creating an era of unprecedented peace, we have achieved a stable and prosperous society!"

Arcstone shot back, "By robbing people of their freedom, you mean."

Brightforge added, "Please, Governor. Peace at the edge of a sword is not real peace."

At this, Ashford stood up, his face red with rage. "If you refuse to accept peace at the edge of a sword, then prepare to feel the edge itself! Your failure to pay the Flows means war, Brightforge! We will not tolerate such insubordination!"

Chapter 11

The next days passed and Clive grew accustomed to being in this reality. It would have been overstating it to say that he accepted that he had traveled through space and time to this place, but a part of him rationalized the need to at least cover his bases. He would attempt to survive here, to find a place, while never ceasing his hope to wake from whatever fit had really planted him here.

Much of his time was spent walking with Jarway in the gardens. The conversations with Jarway were long and filled with information about the world he now inhabited. He started to find he enjoyed these walks. The man was intelligent and inquisitive. As unbelievable as it all was, the impossibility of his situation was starting to lose its initial shock.

During his time in this new world, Clive had grown quite fond of Aerilyn. She was an attractive young woman, with an enchanting presence that made it hard to resist spending time with her. While CLive couldn't deny her soft beauty, it was the softness of her person that drew him to her. She had an incredible warmth and genuine kindness that made it easy pass time with her. She was a strange comfort as he tried to come to grips with his existence here.

Clive was still consumed, thinking of his life back in the 21st century and the people he had left behind. His heart ached at the thought of his friends and family who would now be long dead. In some ways, he was grateful that he had been a single man with no wife or children to mourn their loss. The heartache would have been almost unbearable.

As the days burned up and time sped forward, Clive began to accept his new life more fully. He still had moments of disbelief and sadness, but they were growing fewer and farther between. The people of this strange, technological and seemingly magical world were warm and welcoming, and Clive found solace in their company.

Clive sat in the garden, waiting. The plants and flowers around him seemed both familiar and alien, much like everything else in this strange world. He couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and nerves at the prospect of meeting a Griidlord. Jarway believed that Clive's past knowledge might shed some light on the mysteries of the Griid, and perhaps even be of benefit to the city.

Of course, Jarway had also warned Clive that the power dynamics between the city leaders and the priests could be delicate. The priests protected their knowledge fiercely, and any perceived interference from an outsider could lead to dangerous tensions. It was essential that Clive tread carefully.

That was why he was waiting to meet Caelin Hearthguard, Denver's Arrow, and younger brother of the captain of the Tower guard. Caelin was sheathed in the armor of a Griidlord, and this meeting could provide a discrete opportunity for Clive to test his understanding of the technology. It was also hoped that by aligning himself with someone well-respected and established within the city hierarchy, Clive could gain acceptance and build trust.

Finally, Caelin arrived, striding down the garden path with an air of confidence and disconnection, helmeted head lingering on the beautiful topiaries. He was an impressive figure, tall and well-built.

As Caelin approached, Clive couldn't help but marvel at the impressive sight before him. The armored figure wore a suit of orange with navy trim, and glowing lights adorned various points on the armor, creating an awe-inspiring aura. There was no hiss of actuators, only a gentle hum that suggested great power contained within. The armor was sleek and form-fitting in some places, while in others it fanned out into larger shoulder guards and plates.

Caelin's voice came through the visor, lighthearted and apologetic. "I'm so sorry for my tardiness. I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

Caught off guard by the humble tone, Clive replied, "Oh, it's no problem at all. I didn't have anything pressing to do."

As he spoke, Caelin reached for his helmet, which seemed to deform slightly as he removed it. With a sincere expression on his face, he insisted once more, "I truly apologize. You are someone very special, sent by the Prophet, and everyone has been talking about it. With all the time Jarway has been spending with you, I should have been more punctual."

Clive assured him, "Please, think no more of it."

Caelin smiled, almost shyly, "Elder Jarway told me to come to you, that you might have an opportunity to inspect my armor, to see if your arcane wisdom might be applied to its understanding. Please understand, that while I am willing, I might be a little uncomfortable. It is strange and unusual to let another interact with a Griidlord's armor, save for priests and pods. You might say this is a little intimate for my liking, but, I don't grudge you the opportunity."

Curious, Clive asked, "Pods?"

Caelin seemed surprised, "Yes, the structures in the tower where we go to heal our suits when they're damaged or we're tired. Jarway said you knew very little, but I didn't realize how little, given your supposed wisdom."

Clive confessed, "My knowledge is based on progenitor tech – I'm not familiar with what exists today. Jarway wants to see if I can apply that knowledge to what is used now."

Caelin, awestruck, replied, "Progenitor tech? You mean what came before the suits, before the Oracle?"

Clive felt the urge to ask about the Oracle, but he decided not to derail the current conversation. The opportunity to get up close with the armor was too compelling.

As Clive began to carefully examine Caelin's armor, he couldn't help but be amazed by the intricacies and advanced technology that allowed for such a seamless integration of form and function. He glanced back and forth between Caelin and the armor, searching for any connections to the progenitor tech he was familiar with.

"Can I take a closer look at some of the connections and panels?" Clive asked hesitantly, knowing how personal the armor was to the Griidlord.

Caelin nodded, clearly putting great trust in Clive. "Of course."

As Clive moved in closer, studying the various connections and wiring, he began to realize that some elements did feel familiar – the energy sources, the materials used in the armor's construction, and even some of the systems that functioned to make it a cohesive unit. It was clear that the technology had advanced considerably since his time but, at its core, there were aspects that stemmed from the progenitor tech he had known.

While inspecting a section of the armor's back, Clive found much of it familiar. It was many generations more evolved than what he had been working with in his time, but the essential components of the Order manipulation circuits were familiar to him. As he continued, though, he noticed an unfamiliar piece. It appeared to be a small, glowing crystal embedded within the suit. He asked Caelin, "Can you tell me about this crystal? Its function is unknown to me."

Caelin looked down at his armor, his face betraying a hint of unease.

"That's the Oracle's Eye," he he said, "It's what allows the Griidlords to communicate directly with the Oracle. It connects us to the Tower. It's the source of each suit's Flows, and the unique abilities that some suits possess. It's sacred, I don't even like discussing it, to be honest. Even the priests and the Griidlords don't understand how it works. I think the Oracle said something about it, long ago, in the early days of Towers and Griid-suits."

Clive couldn't help but express his amazement as he continued to inspect the armor. "The technology used here is... really something... The Order circuits aside, the material of the suit is... it's like something out of a movie. How does it just... morph like that?"

Caelin replied, "Your guess is as good as mine. Probably a lot better, in fact! I just know I love my suit, I wouldn't be complete without it."

Clive staightened up, his fascination with the tech emboldened him and he found himself saying, "May I see your helmet, perhaps hold it for a moment?"

Caelin hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, but handed the helmet over to Clive nonetheless. As Clive held the helmet in his hands, he noticed that it was a single, unbroken piece, save for the speaker, visor gaps, and other sensory apparatus.

"I couldn't help but notice when you took the helmet off," Clive remarked, "it seemed to deform and unfold itself, fitting your face like a second skin. How is that possible, considering there are no visible joints or seams?"

Caelin responded with a light-hearted chuckle, "Well, I'm a warrior, not a priest. My understanding of the armor's inner workings is limited."

Clive tentatively reached out to touch Caelin's arm, looking for permission from the Griidlord with his questioning eyes. Caelin nodded, allowing Clive to examine further. The armor felt like metal, but it wasn't cold to the touch. Armored plates were thick and solid, while the joints were thin and more like skin.

Curious, Clive asked, "How do you put the whole suit on? I don't see any seams or joints that would open."

Caelin focused for a moment, and a seam suddenly appeared in the chest, parting slightly to reveal his bare flesh underneath. Clive stared, astounded.

He whispered, to himself more than Caelin, "More than a hundred years of technology advanced after I disappeared, even before this Fall... Could this suit be made of nanobots, working together to form a cohesive unit?"

Caelin, not understanding Clive's musings, concentrated again and willed the suit to close seamlessly.

As the time passed, the two continued their conversation - Clive, the confused and baffled technician, and Caelin, the surprisingly pleasant and self-deprecating super soldier. However, unbeknownst to them, eyes watched from the shadows, analyzing their every move, and dark plans began to take shape.

Chapter 12

Caius Hammerfist treaded silently to the edge of the dense treeline. His suit and form were gigantic, but decades, a century in fact, of wearing the suit had made him a master. He could move with near perfect silence, his movements more graceful than most men could hope to be without their suit. The thick foliage soon gave way to a small rise overlooking a massive factory below. From this vantage point, the structure seemed endless, a massive dome of a plastic -like material. Arches and columns sprang off from each side. A low hum of droned in the air. This facility was always running. It was one of the only of its kind in the world.

To one side, close enough to offer Hammerfist support but far enough to savor the experience of the forest, Thorn Jaxwulf stood enchanted by his surroundings.

The one way Thorn knew of to soothe his endless desires for combat, was to be lost in the senses of the suit. There, among the trees, the gentle whisper of insects, the distant tinkling of bird song, the suit fed his senses. Pumping stimulation directly to his brain, every whisper of breeze, every rustle of leaves, every sunbeam fed into Thorn, holding his attention and keeping his thoughts from darker places.

Thorn looked up at Hammerfist's movement, then turned back to his meditation.

Meanwhile, Hammerfist studied the factory with keen eyes. This was one of the prides of the Pittsburgh territory. Pittsburgh was blessed to possess several such sites, many cities had none. This was a place where weapons were produced, weapons that could not be made by human hands.

"Beautiful," Thorn murmured as he padded up to join his companion. His tone was one of hungry admiration. Long decades ago, before he claimed the suit, or the suit claimed him, he would have dreamed of holding the produce of the structure below. Even now his eyes gazed at it, a factory of war, a shrine to the likes of Thorn Jaxwulf.

"Indeed," Hammerfist said, his voice distant. "So much space she takes up and produces one weapon, what, every few days? But she's worth every square foot, and every soldier's wage it costs to protect her. The Oracle blessed Pittsburgh, Thorn. She always meant us to good things, big things, that's why she gave us the foundries."

Thorn tugged at a handful of leaves, rolling them in his armored fingers and marveling at the contrast between the factory's raw power and the forest's delicate vitality. "The world would be a poorer place without such wonders."

Hammerfist turned to Thorn, his wise eyes set beneath the familiar visage of his gladiator helm, and there was a hard edge to his words. He couldn't tell if Thorn was referencing their factory below, or the nature around them.

A few paces away from Hammerfist and Thorn, the imposing figures of Brightforge and Arcstone stood, clad in their signature orange and black armor — a stark contrast to the black and gold that adorned Thorn and Hammerfist. They had all been standing together, transfixed by the factory below, silent for some time.

Eventually, Hammerfist broke the lull in the conversation. "So, you take a stand against the Empire. A bold move, to be sure. The winner will enjoy the spoils, but the consequences of losing would be far more devastating than any potential gains."

Ever confident, Brightforge met Hammerfist's words with a steady tone. "We won't lose."

Hammerfist couldn't help but smile behind his visor, acknowledging the determination in Brightforge's voice. He was well aware of the long-standing rivalry between their cities, Pittsburgh and Cincinnati. They were so close together that their forces often clashed during the campaign season, creating a fierce enmity.

For years, Cincinnati had remained a player on the field only through the support of the Empire. However, in recent decades, as the Empire's influence waned, Cincinnati managed to rebuild. The arrival of prominent Griidlords like Brightforge had undoubtedly played a major role in shifting the balance.

Hammerfist and Brightforge's paths had crossed many times on the battlefield, their shield and sword trading blows and sparks as they sought victory over one another. In recent years, Hammerfist had found himself retreating more often than vanquishing, but that did nothing to diminish the respect that had grown between them through countless confrontations.

As the four Griidlords stood there, the history of their battles hung heavily in the air, a mixture of both enmity and admiration.

Hammerfist's voice rang strong and clear as he continued the conversation. "For too long, we have been an isolated island of freedom in a sea of the Empire's control. It's encouraging to witness their grip weaken, and I relish the idea of your success."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Beside him, Thorn stared at the Cincy Sword with a palpable hunger, his warrior instincts longing for the thrill of battle. He couldn't deny the prospect of a strong ally, however, and voiced his agreement with Hammerfist, "You know I want a cut at you, Brightforge, it's been too long since I last had a chance. But the idea of the Empire weakening, of having a real chance to bring some hurt to them, that... That would be something."

Brightforge, gestured toward the sprawling factory below. "Perhaps it's time for us to establish a direct trade agreement, then. We have a need to equip a large force with power weapons, but they are so scarce. Pittsburgh, with its foundries dating back to The Before, is fortunate to possess the resources we seek. We are prepared to pay a handsome price."

Thorn and Hammerfist exchanged a glance, recognizing the potential advantages that such an alliance could offer. With the Empire's power dwindling, the time was ripe for forging new bonds and bolstering their strength in numbers.

Though the prospect of fewer battles against their long-standing rivals left both men feeling a pang of something akin to loss, they knew that the changing landscape of their world demanded new strategies. Joining forces with Cincinnati would undoubtedly create a formidable challenge for the Empire's aspirations, and perhaps even turn the tide in favor of those yearning to break free from their oppressive rule.

Hammerfist put up a cautionary hand as he replied, "First of all, let's be clear. I have no authority to commit to anything. I am here to speak, but the final decision must wait for the Choosing to appoint the RustKnight as our Sword. Only then can any agreement be entered into." He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Secondly, I am reluctant to put weapons in the hands of your soldiers, knowing full well that our own people may be on the receiving end of their blows during the campaign season."

Brightforge was candid, "I can't promise that won't happen. Our lands rest so close, and if history had taught me anything it's that Pittsburgh and Cincinatti will cross swords from time to time. Campaigning is what it is, and our forces must be ready, we can't swear off contesting future Orbs. However, for now, the Flows we give in return would be more than worth it. Keep in mind, as well, that every weapon we receive would also be raised against the Empire, much sooner than they might be pointed at you."

Hammerfist narrowed his eyes, considering the possible outcomes. "Aye, a nice thought, but the Empire is retreating on its own. There's discord in New York, and even Detroit has been talking of revolt. So many variables at play."

This revelation surprised Brightforge, who admitted, "I hadn't heard about Detroit. Rumors perhaps?"

Hammerfist shared the intel he possessed. "The Griidlords in Detroit have been gaining renown, and the might of the city is growing. They still have a long way to go, but with the Empire keeping a wary eye on New York and now actively warring with Cincinnati, Detroit might see an opportunity. Many of their vassals may seek freedom or renegotiate agreements, and client cities further afield from the Empire's reach could do the same. The whole world is watching Cincinnati right now."

Brightforge, always searching for an angle, probed further. "And what of Pittsburgh? You've maintained an uneasy truce with the Empire. Is it time to push back?"

Hammerfist sighed, the weight of the truth burdening his voice. "I would like to, but our successes in recent decades have been middling at best. Our city is not destitute, but our economic and martial prowess pales in comparison to the halcyon days of our past."

Before Brightforge could respond, a sudden onslaught of sensory input bombarded all four Griidlords through their hypersensitive armor. The distant yet unmistakable sound of screams echoed from the factory below, as workers shouted in panic and terror, their voices united in a single, chilling cry of fear.

The four Griidlords, each highly attuned to their armor's specialized senses, stood up straight, their previous conversation forgotten as their instincts took over. They could smell the acrid stench of fear that swept through the factory as chaos reigned.

Thorn, his warrior instincts flaring to life, eagerly voiced the word that echoed in their ears, even as horror-filled screams from below repeated the same chilling word with increasing alarm: "Fiends!"

.

Chapter 13

The garden offered Clive an escape from the new routine he had grown accustomed to. So much time spent in the friendly, if vaguely sinister, company of Jarway. So much time being asked to understand technology that was at least a century more advanced than he understood. The garden was peace and sanctuary when he could come here alone. He could sit, watch the ripples of the fish in the water, space out, staring at the carefully shaped trees and bushes. Listen to the droning of insects, a monotonous hypnosis that took him back to more familiar times and spaces.

As for the smells that graced his nostrils, the garden was a tapestry of fragrances. The lush scents of the soil, earthy and rich, mingled with the aroma of various flowers and blossoms. Every breath Clive took was layered with a complexity that his old life had seldom appreciated or even known.

Clive's thoughts wandered to the future, pondering how he could secure his place and prove his usefulness in Denver. He desperately needed to demonstrate his worth to Jarway, and show that he had valuable skills or knowledge that could earn his keep. There were expectations on him to provide insight into technology from The Before. He talked a big game when this was discussed, but the truth was the the tech was as alien to him as well... as alien tech might be.

Hope still flickered in him. Clive believed his fundamental understanding of Order Fields and computing might set him apart. The priests, form what he could gather, had an understanding of technology that wrapped in ritual. He wasn't allowed near them, Jarway did not want them to become aware of him. But what he picked up in snippets and conversations suggested there priests could operate tech, but had essentially no idea of how it functioned. He hoped his fundamental understanding would make a difference. He hoped the principles and groundwork for the technology of The Before would still apply. He could tell, if he could unlock functions for Jarway, or replace functions of the priests, then there would be a place for him.

In the meantime, while he waited for Caelin, Clive decided he would soak up every detail of this unique and captivating world. He paid close attention to the people, customs, culture, and even the flora and fauna. All of these newly encountered and carefully observed aspects of life would eventually become just as important as his pre-existing skills, and ultimately, would be the tools he'd use to build a stable, secure life in this strange yet beautiful new home.

Suddenly, Clive noticed a strange man standing alongside him. The man was dressed in a cloak, with an odd combination of armor visible beneath it. Chainmail intermingled with Kevlar, and armor plates similar to those of a Griidlord protected his body. The man was armed with an array of weapons; a steel katana sword, a glowing high-tech axe, and an assortment of three pistols that seemed to span from the 18th to the 22nd century.

The first pistol appeared to be a classic flintlock, its wooden grip and brass fittings giving off an air of history and elegance. The second pistol seemed to be from the 20th century, a semi-automatic with smooth curves and a matte black finish. The final pistol was unlike anything Clive had ever seen before, with a sleek, ultramodern design and a surface that seemed to shimmer and change colors as it caught the light.

The man's cool, serene expression hinted at confidence and authority. His handsome face bore a faint smile, as if he knew something Clive didn't. Intrigued by this enigmatic figure, Clive couldn't help but wonder who he was and what his intentions might be.

"Err, hello," Clive stammered, caught off guard by the man's sudden appearance. "I didn't see you there."

The man's voice was calm and tinged with dry humor. "I wasn't here; I just stopped by."

Clive glanced up and down the empty pathway, puzzled by the fact that he hadn't noticed anyone approaching. "My mind must have been elsewhere," he admitted. "I didn't notice your approach."

The stranger offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Clive. I prefer not to be noticed."

Clive furrowed his brow, questioning how the man knew his name, but quickly trailed off as a thought struck him. "How do you know my..." He realized that many people in this world must know the name of the man who had come from The Before.

The man seemed to read Clive's thoughts and replied, "Your reputation precedes you. The whole town speaks of the man who came from The Before, the very day the prophet disappeared. Your legend is already spreading to villages, hamlets, and soon, all the cities will know your story. Many will come to see you, just as I have."

Taken aback, Clive stammered, "You came to see me? I'm not worth the effort, really. I'm just a humble man, lost in time, with nothing to offer. It's not worth the trouble."

The man's smile never faded as he responded, just as dryly, "I'm not so sure about that. Time will tell, but I have a feeling you may prove to be tremendously worth it."

Curious, Clive inquired, "Where do you come from?"

The enigmatic man merely replied, "Nowhere in particular. I'm a traveler, a messenger."

"Like a postman?" Clive ventured, attempting to understand the man's position.

The stranger shook his head. "Not quite. I'm a messenger with a single master. I speak for the Bloodknight."

Clive's eyes widened slightly, some vague awareness of the Bloodknight flickering in his mind. He hesitated, unsure whether to place the figure among the many others that had crossed his path. Finally, he asked, "The Sword of the Boston Empire? The one who disappeared and left the empire to fend for itself?"

The man nodded knowingly. "Yes, 'disappeared' is the right word. But the Bloodknight hasn't truly left; he's simply working towards his own purposes."

"And you're his messenger, bringing word to the tower on his behalf?" Clive probed further.

The man leaned in and extended a hand. Clive shook it, noticing that while the stranger's grip wasn't overly forceful, there was undeniable power in the man's hands. "My name is Trident," the man said, "and the message I bring is for you, not the others in the tower. I don't believe I'm welcome in the Tower."

Clive's eyes darted around, searching for guards and feeling a small twinge of apprehension. "You're here illicitly?" he asked hesitantly.

Trident gave a slight, almost dismissive bobble of his head. "Not explicitly disallowed," he replied, his tone carefree. "Don't worry. There's no danger to you or to me."

"But the guards..." Clive began, concerned for their safety.

Trident waved off his worry. "I'm not concerned about the guards."

Clive shifted uncomfortably. "I'm supposed to be meeting a Griidlord, the Arrow – Caelin Heathguard. He could be here any time."

The messenger merely smiled. "Don't worry about Caelin either, I certainly won't."

Clive's unease was palpable, his breaths coming a little faster and his muscles unconsciously tensing. He looked around uneasily, worrying about who might be watching this interaction. Could he get in trouble for just talking to this man. He had a terrible sensation about this.

Trident seemed to sense his apprehension. The man smiled thinly. "You've been here a few days. Are you growing more comfortable with your surroundings, accepting this reality?"

Clive was taken aback by the question. No one had directly addressed his adjustment to this world so far. Well, maybe Aerilyn had made some inquiry. But the unabashed way the man asked, as though he knew how difficult it was... He hesitated for a moment before answering honestly, "I'm still not certain. It feels like I can't quite believe it. The first couple of days felt like I was hallucinating, and in a way, it still does. But I'm gradually growing more used to the idea. It's just hard to fathom a whole different reality."

His apprehension bubbled beneath the surface. The idea that he was interacting with Trident, and might be seen, made his heart race. This was someone who was potentially breaking rules and stirring up trouble, and he was in the open talking with him. It left Clive feeling tenuous and uncertain of his own position.

Trident nodded thoughtfully before saying, "So, you think this situation is related to the Order field you were working on. Do you have any ideas on how it might have propelled you here?"

Clive explained, growing more animated as he delved into his research, "In my time, while working on these fields, I observed that at high intensities, they distorted time in a non-linear fashion. Slowing it down, perhaps even stopping it in certain cases. But beyond a specific threshold, we weren't able to observe any noticeable effects on time."

Clive was hit for a moment by the realization that the man knew he had been working on an Order field before he blinked into this strange world. How could he know such a thing, who had he told apart from Jarway?

Trident, appearing knowledgeable and deeply interested, added, "Footfields operate on a similar principle. The Prophet they speak of was composed of a stable Order field of great intensity that, we believe, suspended you in time. It wasn't so much time travel as it was a near-perfect stasis. What remains a mystery is what caused the field to collapse."

He paused, adjusting his cloak slightly before continuing, "The interesting part is that the field's collapse seemed to be instantaneous. A partial collapse could've had disastrous consequences - parts of you suddenly aging, biological functions suddenly resuming without oxygen, and many other possible ill effects. You're very fortunate to be here now, seemingly unharmed."

Clive, startled by the man's technical knowledge - the majority of the people here treated Before tech like magic - hesitated and then stammered, "We? Who are 'we'? How do you know all this?"

Trident simply replied, "We are a group of people who, like the Bloodknight, have a deeper understanding of the Griid and its associated properties. We want to expand our knowledge and connect with others who share our goals."

Before Clive could respond, he noticed that Trident seemed to pause suddenly, his expression shifting as if he were listening intently to something unheard. Trident then stood up in a calm, unhurried manner and announced, "Your friend is coming. I should make my exit."

"What about the message? You said you were here to bring me a message" Clive managed to ask before Trident slipped away.

Trident paused and said, "Not much for now, but we will talk again soon. The Bloodknight wants to send you a warning – you are unique and special. You may be able to extract usage from the towers and other devices in ways that the priests can't, or perhaps match their prowess without their difficult alignments and pressures from political forces. People like Jarway and those in Denver will seek to use you to upset the balance of power. In a world where each city is almost indestructible and insurmountable due to the tower fortress at its heart, it's difficult for power to be exerted beyond the borders of each domain. Jarway may pretend to be your friend, just like others who will come to you with words similar to mine. But know this: all of them seek to use you. The Bloodknight is no different, a determined man, famed for cold calculation and callous action, but you may find his goals and treatment align better with yours."

Clive, overwhelmed by the weight of Trident's words, couldn't muster a response. Trident glanced into the distance, and Clive followed his gaze to see Caelin emerging from a hedge-lined path. He looked back, only to find that Trident had simply vanished.

As Caelin approached, Clive tried to process what had just transpired, feeling burdened by this foreboding warning.

A chill ran through Clive's stomach as the prospect of terrible intrigue settled in, just as he was beginning to become accustomed to the idea of being in this strange new land. He looked at Caelin as he approached with a forced smile, trying to hide his disquiet. As his gaze flicked to where Trident had once stood, he found that the man had vanished.

Trying to regain his composure, Clive observed Caelin at a distance. He had his helmet tucked under his arm, and his other hand was being held in an intimate manner by a strapping, muscular man. The two were speaking in hushed tones, their expressions suggesting intimacy and familiarity. They seemed jovial, happy, and were occasionally sharing bursts of laughter as they conversed.

Caelin’s eyes met Clive’s, and he flashed him a bright smile as he bid his companion farewell. The intimate goodbye and deep smile exchanged between the two only further affirmed their close bond. Then, Caelin approached Clive with a hint of sheepishness in his grin.

"Apologies once again for my tardiness," Caelin said with a light-hearted chuckle. "I got waylaid."

Clive, still feeling uneasy from his encounter with Trident, tried to focus on the present moment. He found this apparent openness regarding homosexuality rather peculiar in this medieval-styled world he occupied, where he would have thought such things would have been a taboo.

"Is that a special friend of yours?" Clive asked cautiously.

Caelin answered unabashedly, "Yes, that's my lover, Sterling. I just lost track of time with our conversation." Caelin's expression softened, taking on a dreamy quality as if lost in thought.

Feeling a sense of trust and comfort with Caelin, Clive decided to explore the subject further, hoping it wouldn't come across as overstepping. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but is it...accepted here? Two men being together like that?"

Caelin looked genuinely confused by Clive's question. "What do you mean 'accepted'? Of course, Sterling and I are both men, but I don't understand your concern."

Clive elaborated, "Where I come from, or at least in the past from my time, two men together was somewhat taboo. It wasn't something that was appreciated by everyone, and in history, it was often kept secretive or even forbidden."

Caelin's expression of utter perplexity was evident. "That's madness! Why would two men being attracted to each other, or even being in love, be forbidden? I can't believe such a thing. You must be joking, right? What possible reason could there be for such a prohibition? Love is love, what reason under the sky would there be for two men to be prohibited from being together?"

Clive, growing nervous, tried to explain further. "In my time, various religious institutions and churches frowned upon it. It was even illegal in some places and punishable by law."

Caelin looked both amused and confused by Clive's response. "Why would a church concern itself with that? They should focus on their business of understanding the Griid and guiding people in their faith. I still can't believe it - such a silly idea, banning specific kinds of love. Love transcends everything, doesn't it? It shouldn't matter who it's between. And what an odd idea to draw lines around love based on gender. You are a curious fellow, Clive, you truly amuse me."

Clive, amused by Caelin's genuine lack of understanding, decided to change the subject. "Never mind, forget I brought it up. It just defied my expectations to see the two of you enjoying each other's company so freely. But it's good to see love isn't restricted here."

Caelin chuckled, still a bit confused by Clive's preoccupation, but he let it pass. "I can't imagine what that would be like, the strange specifics of those times you speak of. The very notion that some felt the need to restrict love seems humorous, indeed."

As Caelin settled down, Clive found his mind returning to his conversation with Trident. He felt the need to know more about the powerful figure that had cautioned him. "Caelin," Clive asked, "Tiberius, the Sword from the Boston Empire, I've heard him being referred to as the Blood Prince or Bloodknight. Can you tell me the distinction or what lies behind those titles?"

Settling into greater comfort, Caelin placed his helmet on the table and explained, "When Tiberius was the Sword of the Empire, he was known as the Blood Prince. The honorific was earned through his numerous victories and the slaying of many enemies. However, when he left that position, put down The Sword, stopped belonging to the tower, and the Empire, he was no longer a prince and instead became a knight. Royal honorifics are granted only to the rarest and greatest Swords through the eras. The Sword in Kansas, Peregrin Stormblade, has been a revelation since he was chosen. He may well be on the verge of founding a new empire, one that might compete with, or even overcome, the Bostonian Empire. Peregrine has started to be known as the Redking in recent years, and will probably retain that title as long as he serves the Tower in Kansas."

Clive nodded thoughtfully, piecing together this strange new world's traditions. "I see, so when a Griidlord steps down from their position, they gain the title of knight?"

Caelin clarified, "Not exactly. Most Griidlords amass considerable wealth during their tenure, as they gain a portion of the Flows they earn for their tower. Over time, individuals like Tiberius accumulate so many Flows that they become vastly wealthy. With this wealth, they can afford to purchase very rare and powerful artifacts – artifacts that can function in a manner similar to a Suit, affecting Order and Entropy, as well as channeling other, more enigmatic magics that are difficult to understand or master fully. While a man equipped with such artifacts may pale in comparison to a Griidlord, they undoubtedly represent a superhuman entity in the eyes of ordinary people. Capable of remarkable feats which far transcend the norm, a person wielding such powerful artifacts is known as a Knight."

Clive, intrigued, asked, "Are there any such artifacts in Denver?"

Caelin replied, "There are precious few, but some do exist. They are well-guarded in the treasury and, on the rarest of occasions, granted to soldiers for special circumstances or missions."

The idea sparked Clive's curiosity. "I wonder if I could see one, maybe even interact with one. I might learn something valuable."

Caelin laughed, "If anyone else said such a thing, I would tell them it's impossible. But knowing how eager Jarway is to explore your knowledge and capabilities, he might just indulge you and allow it. You never know, stranger things have happened since you arrived here."

Chapter 14

Nicolas strolled through the streets of Denver at dusk, the fading sunlight casting shadows on the familiar architecture of steel, concrete, and plastic buildings. The mixture of old and new, on both the structures and the people, was evident in the way they dressed. A woman walked by wearing a medieval-style bodice with a modern denim skirt, while down the street, a businessman rushed past in what might be recognized as a bastardization of a modern suit, yet sporting a pair of knee-high riding boots.

The smells of hot oil frying battered foods filled the air. The sounds of electronic music spilled from the shops lining the street. A horse and cart could be seen dragging a wagon of barrels of ale from a further sector, sharing the road with couriers on electric scooters, zipping past each other. Electric lights illuminated the taverns, their glowing screens a constant reminder of the ever-present technology the first sector enjoyed.

As Nicolas walked, he mulled over the events of the past few days. It seemed unthinkable, an army of 3,000 un-suited men having a lasting impact on battles between mighty Gridlords. Yet, there they had been, their sheer numbers and bravery a deciding factor in the clash between the Cincinnati and Cleveland Suits. The victory was theirs, and soon, Ebbs as reward.

As Nicolas passed through the gates into the next sector, he noted the change in scenery. Guards armed with autorifles offered him respectful salutes. As he passed them the street surface turned from blacktop to cobbled stones. The bright electric lamps were replaced with flickering oil lamps, casting a warm, inviting glow. The smells shifted too, from fried foods to the comforting scent of baking bread and the slight tang of burning oil.

The people of this sector were still among the more comfortable in the city. The real estate was still valuable, the elevated Order here still made it more desirable the the outer sector. The clothing was simpler, the latest fashions less observed. The music no longer barked from speakers but came from the hands and lungs of band players. Men and women laughed in the doorways of bars and restaurants.

Through the paved streets and warm lamplight, Nicolas continued his walk, taking in the sights and sounds that surrounded him. It suited him to do so. His mind was heavy with the words of Brightforge, with the man's terrible ambitions and places. From equipping his division as power-weapon specialists, as Griidlord hunters, to the impulsive way he had seemed to initiate all-out war with the Empire. The sights and sounds of the common people going about their lives was a balm, distracting and normal.

Nicolas continued walking, finding the rhythmic sound of his footsteps to be a perfect accompaniment for deep thought. His mind drifted back to the offer Brightforge had made – converting the 3rd into a specialist division, outfitting them with rare power weapons and the talents to face Griidlords in combat. Their mission would be to win Flows, and even with only a small portion of each victory allotted to him, it would be enough to make Nicolas a wealthy man in short order.

The prospect of such wealth and prestige was certainly alluring. Beyond the riches, there would be many honors to be had, perhaps even a noble title, lands to call his own, and a legacy to leave behind. It was a daring, almost unimaginable idea, yet the thought of it sent a thrill of excitement through him.

However, Nicolas couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation deep within. The weight of the responsibility and the ultimate implications of such a division created solely for the purpose of facing Gridlords were not to be taken lightly. To commit to this path would irrevocably change not only his life but the lives of those who would serve beside him in the 3rd. And with great power comes great risks, enemies, and challenges.

As he strolled through the dimly lit streets, Nicolas wrestled with the decision before him – weighing the potential rewards against the cost and grappling with the question haunting every potential leader: could he, and should he, accept such a momentous task?

As dusk deepened into night, Nicolas reached the next gate leading to the third sector. This area represented the sprawling majority of the city, where power lines were nearly nonexistent and oil lamps were a rare sight. Much of the sector lay unlit, and what light could be found emanated from doorways and the occasional tavern. This was a residential area, where people could not afford many luxuries, and some would save their earnings to experience a night in the second sector or even the first, if a well-paying job allowed it.

Nicolas wound his way down narrow side streets, many of which were unpaved, their surfaces merely packed dirt. He navigated the dimly lit paths with practiced ease, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Eventually, he arrived at the door he sought, its windows warmly illuminated by the flickering glow of firelight, candles, and a small oil lamp.

Pausing for a moment, Nicolas took a deep breath, steadying himself before raising his hand and knocking firmly on the door. As he stood, waiting for a response, the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from within trickled out to meet him, a reminder of the life, hopes, and dreams that existed behind even the most unassuming of doors in this sprawling city.

The delighted face of an older woman, a testament to a hard life, greeted Nicolas at the opened door – his mother. "My son, it's so good to see you!" she exclaimed, her eyes brimming with concern. "It's been far too long since you've visited. How are you holding up out there in the army?"

Nicolas reassured her, saying, "I'm doing well, Mother. There's no need to worry. I've been working closely with Brightforge, and we've accomplished a lot."

As he entered, his younger brother, Kris, a strapping lad in his late teens, nearly a man, rushed up to him. "The stories have been spreading all through the neighborhood! They say you captured a wild orb and fought alongside Brightforge himself! They even say you saved his life and battled the Cleveland suits!"

Nicolas laughed and shook his head. He loved to be the big brother, the hero, the soldier. But Kris had a way of idealizing the life, and he wanted nothing less for his brother than a life as a fighter. "There are always legs on such tales, Kris. While I did play a part in capturing the orb, and Brightforge certainly appreciated my help, there was no life-saving involved. We fought together, and that's enough."

Kris's eyes widened. "But how many Flows did you get for capturing the wild orb? I heard there's a huge bounty on it!"

Nicolas replied, "I don't know exactly yet, but it's not Flows we'll be getting, it's Ebbs. Most of it goes to the city, Griidlords get a very small share, and the Troop gets even less. But when I get paid, I'll treat you to a night in the first sector. We'll party like lords for a night."

Kris's face lit up. "Really? Oh, a night in the first sector? Can we see a movie? It's been years! And maybe play some electric games? And try those drinks they serve?"

Nicolas laughed, "Yes, we can see a movie and play some games, but don't get too carried away. Remember, it's only Ebbs, not Flows. There are other places to spend what little we'll get. I'll bet mother wouldn't mind a boost to her nest egg, and maybe getting some work done around here."

Kris guffawed, "No matter where we spend it, it's still a treat!"

Kris returned to his bowl of stew at the table. Nicolas, meanwhile, continued to the fireplace, where his father sat, an old man with a long beard, both of his legs ending at the knees. Nicolas's father was known as Old Nicolas by most, as Nicolas had become so well known and highly regarded.

Nicolas sat down alongside his father. He clasped his handsin front of him. He could feel the warmth emanating from the fire. After the coolness of the night outside it was good to be here, with family. Old Nicolas looked at him. His eyes were sincere, but there was a longing, an envy, that the older man couldn't quite suppress. "Heard about your success, son! Well done! The city needs the likes of you, and I'm very proud of what you're doing."

Nicolas responded, his tone somewhat dismissive, "I'm only doing my job, Father. I'm just trying to help the family."

Old Nicolas slapped his leg nubs and laughed heartily. "Well, this family could use plenty of help! I'm not much good anymore..."

Nicolas sighed, "You did your part, Father. I'm sick of reminding you. You brought honor and wealth to our family. The city should be doing far more to pension soldiers wounded while serving."

Old Nicolas nodded in agreement but then switched gears, asking, "So, what brings you here, son? I wasn't expecting to see you tonight."

Nicolas hesitated for a moment, then spoke up. "I came because I wanted your advice."

His father leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "I'm listening."

Gathering his thoughts, Nicolas began, "Brightforge has made an offer – a proposal to equip the 3rd with power weapons, inject talent, and ultimately make us an elite force capable of combating Griidlords. We'd win Flows in this process and get a tiny portion of each. It wouldn't take long before we become wealthy men, with many honors, maybe even a title and some lands."

Old Nicolas listened intently, his face a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. After a few moments of thought, he finally offered his opinion. "It's a rare opportunity, my son. But you must weigh the rewards against the risks. You've already made us proud, and we are grateful for all you've done for this family. Becoming involved in such a venture might bring great wealth and honors, but the dangers and sacrifices that come with it cannot be ignored."

Nicolas nodded, understanding the wisdom in his father's words. "I know, but it's tempting. Brightforge believes in me, and we could make a real difference in this city. Wealth and power are not guaranteed, but if there's any chance of improving our lives and supporting the city, shouldn't I take it?"

Old Nicolas sighed, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "I always knew you were destined for great things, and your courage and dedication make me proud. We raised you with strong values, and I trust your judgment. But never forget the lessons I taught you as a boy, and remember that the path of honor and duty, though difficult, is always the right one to follow."

Nicolas looked into the somber eyes of his father and embraced him. "I won't forget your wisdom, Father. I promise."

Old Nicolas, deep in thought, responded softly, "It's a great opportunity with a promising future, no doubt. You could gain much wealth and put our family back on track. But there are terrible risks involved. You'd be spending more time near the Griidlords and facing a greater chance of actually fighting them."

His gaze dropped to his severed legs and he continued, "Griidlords are serious business. I only have my life today, even if I do not have toes to stand on." He laughed, a twisted sense of humor evident in his voice.

Nicolas leaned in close and looked his father directly in the eyes. "I've been thinking that it may be for the best. With the pressure to bring honor, wealth, and glory, I fear that Kris may decide to enter the Choosing, follow in your footsteps, and I can't bear the thought of him suffering the same fate as you."

Old Nicolas took a deep breath, considering his son's words.

Old Nicolas shook his head in disagreement. "There's a long tradition of choosing Griidlords in our family. I would be honored if Kris goes for the Choosing when his time is right. If he is chosen, he could save our family. But he's too young yet, and I understand your fear that he may be too impetuous."

Nicolas nodded slowly before saying, "But you were disappointed that I never went for the Choosing."

Old Nicolas admitted, "I never understood why you didn't. I only wore the suit for two years, but during that time, I had my glories and wealth, which kept our family going for a long time before it ran out. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of you, but you shouldn't fear my fate. You could have been better, and one day, Kris might even become a great Griidlord. But hopefully not for some years."

He continued, "Go to Brightforge and tell him you agree to his proposal. Do as he asks. The wealth you gather, the glories you earn – they will keep us comfortable, elevate us, until the day Kris is ready to make the decision for himself."

Nicolas paused for a moment, taking in his father's advice. He had expected no less, he wondered how his thinking might change when news of the coming war reached him.