Chapter 33

Cordelia and Pyre stood side by side at the water's edge, the world around them utterly silent, punctuated only by the faint noise of Pyre skipping stones. The stones, smooth and dark, danced atop the surface of the water like graceful ballerinas, gliding across the stage of Lake Michigan before sinking into the murky depths. All around them, the world seemed to hold its breath, the air quivering with an almost tangible sense of anticipation.

Cordelia stood lost in thought, her eyes distant as she contemplated her recent discovery. Her knuckles were white as she clenched her hands, betraying the turmoil of emotions within. Despite her composed facade, her heart was racing, thoughts of both fear and excitement mingling together.

Lake Michigan, reclaimed by nature, spread out before them like a dreamer's realm, a vast expanse of shimmering water that defied the passage of time and the desolation of the Fall. The once thriving settlements that framed the lake had long succumbed to the ravages of entropy, leaving behind only the remains of crumbling architecture imprisoned by tendrils of ivy and draped with veils of moss. The ancient, towering, and abandoned monoliths stood as silent sentinels guarding the water's edge, creating a scene of surreal beauty and desolation.

The wind whispered its secrets gently through the trees, rustling the leaves overhead that seemed to sigh in response. Over the lake, a dying sun painted strokes of warm yellows and oranges across the canvas of the skies, its evening rays glittering off the water – an elegy to the end of day playing out before them. The still surface of the lake mirrored nature's otherworldly masterpiece, creating an endless abyss of colors cradled in the heart of a tranquil landscape.

No other sounds could be heard, save for the rhythmic rhythm of the soft lapping waves, and in this quiet moment, the past, present, and future seemed to blend together in harmonious dissonance on the shores of the lake. The scent of damp earth, tinged with the muskiness of decay, carried in the breeze, conjuring ghosts of memories long gone.

As the last light of the day faded, the world seemed to hover between night and day, slowly succumbing to shadows, while not quite ready to give up the warmth of the sun. It was as if time itself had been caught in a delicate balance between what was and what could be – a fragile dance of order and entropy that, for a moment, had lost itself in the tranquil embrace of the water.

Somehow, in this stolen moment at the edge of this reclaimed world, Cordelia found a sense of solace. It was a place where, for a brief instant, the weight of her newfound knowledge seemed to hang suspended in the air like a forgotten memory, waiting for the return of the night and the break of a new day to decide the fate of the world around her.

Pyre broke the silence that enshrouded them, his voice hesitant yet tinged with curiosity. "Have I made a mistake, or did Maxim?"

Cordelia looked at him, her eyes sharp as she mulled over his words. "Are you worried that I might reveal your secret, that I could take the Griid-Suit and fight you? That I would report you and take you in myself?"

Pyre seemed oddly unworried by the idle threat, and he pressed further. "Did I make a mistake revealing this to you when you might not yet be fully committed to our cause?"

Cordelia sighed, a mixture of frustration and uncertainty clouding her thoughts. "I believe in what you want to do, wholeheartedly. It's just... it’s quite different to believe in it and to act on it. To become a traitor to everyone I know."

Pyre became contemplative, his eyes gazing out across the lake. "Maybe not everyone," he said quietly. "You weren't the only candidate. There are others who might yet be convinced."

Cordelia mulled this over, her fingers tracing the edge of her cloak. "It's such an awful risk. The life I live, it's one of the greatest luxury and glory. There are those who say I am the greatest Griidlord of our age."

Pyre snorted, unimpressed by her words. "I think it's the luxury, wealth, and glory that brought you here. You can't stand the sight of yourself, or your holdings, your riches, and the pretty boys vying for your attention, every delicacy, every treat."

Cordelia looked sharply at him, her voice edged with steel. "You really have no fear, do you? I am Cordelia Moonblade, and my name strikes fear from coast to coast."

Pyre, utterly unimpressed, met her gaze. "I think you talk a big game, like so many Griidlords do. But I think you're different. I don't think you see yourself as apart from the rest of us just because of that suit."

Cordelia's eyes flashed defiantly. "I see myself as apart from the rest because I'm better, suit or no suit."

Silence settled over them again, the two staring each other down, and after a moment, Pyre smiled, seemingly appreciating her tenacity.

Then he gently prodded her further. "Tell me what brought you here."

Cordelia's expression softened. "You know what brought me here."

Pyre shook his head. "No, tell me what led you to the frame of mind that brought you here. There's always something for someone; some event, some revelation."

She stared at him, the wind caressing her hair, and she seemed astonished. "You make me feel like a stereotype."

Pyre looked sad, his expression tinged with vulnerability. "If you are, then I am as well. Tell me, Cordelia."

A very long pause stretched out between them as she considered his request, and then, hesitantly, she began to speak.

***

It was 955, or maybe 954, thereabouts, some 70 years ago at any rate. I was new to the Suit. The Empire had spread to almost everywhere and was working on Dallas and Kansas. People in high places in San Francisco were getting nervous, as were people in high places everywhere in the West. Following the campaign season that year, the Empire was reaping the orbs, focusing on the border cities like Kansas and Dallas. Once they conquered all, pushing through to the coast would be within their grasp. Total dominion over the land was within the Empire's reach.

A crude alliance started to form. 'Alliance' may be too strong a word. Most of the remaining cities agreed it would be best if the Empire didn't extend past Kansas and Dallas. They served as a good buffer, and once the campaign season was over, it was decided it would be worth sending the Western Griidlords to stand against the Empire as it waged its wars on Kansas and Dallas.

I was terrified. This was not just campaigning; it was a war against a gigantic united force, led by none other than Tiberius Bloodsword, the Blood Prince. This was a battle unlike any I had faced before. As I donned the Griid-Suit, I was acutely aware of its weight, both physically and metaphorically. The responsibility it held, the power it granted, and the potential consequences of failure. Word spread quickly, and the already high stakes intensified as the specter of the Blood Prince loomed closer to our cities.

The Western cities prepared for the onslaught. Families were displaced from homes, lives were disrupted, and the burning hunger for vengeance fueled our determination – but the cold, relentless fear of failing our people was the icy blade laying against our throats, never letting us forget what was at stake.

As a young Griidlord, I was far from understanding the nuances and intricacies of politics and alliances that my older, more experienced counterparts navigated. Yet, even in the shadow of the Blood Prince, my innate sense of right and wrong left me believing in our cause. We had to come together to hold the line, or watch as the flames of the Empire consumed us all.

We met them near Omaha, amidst a swirling storm of panic and uncertainty. The Empire wanted something there, but I honestly can't remember what – some foundry or utility, perhaps. The forces that be decided this would be the place to try and make a stand, to meet the Empire with a force they couldn't anticipate, to deal a terrible blow. In an ideal world, we would do away with the Blood Prince once and for all.

God, I remember it so clearly still – my first experience with a pitched battle instead of a skirmish over Orbs. Folks knew I was going to be good, already gaining a reputation, but being so young and new to the suit, I was afraid. Most of the soldiers were Dallas Freemen. There were some of ours too, but there was a sense from our leadership that we didn't want to risk too much either. The Griidlords, on the other hand, were sent in numbers. Since Griidlords could easily withdraw, it mitigated the risk. If things didn't work out, we could just flee.

I paired with another Arrow, Arnton Gallowhand from Angel City. The battle was furious, beyond imagining. I killed so many Empire men, who in retrospect, were just boys sent to be ground into meat so that lords and nobles could increase their holdings and gain more wealth and comfort. But I was their meat grinder. To this day, I couldn't possibly guess how many of them I killed back then.

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Gallowhand lived up to his name. Although he was in his waning years, I learned so much fighting alongside him that day. Then, like clouds parting, there he was before us. Yards away I could see Tiberius, the Blood Prince, with two Griidlords attacking him like children fighting a bear. His skill still takes my breath away. He was an army unto himself, with perfect calculation, certain movements, and no mistakes.

But I saw a chance for glory. Surely, with two Griidlords engaging him, he wouldn't see me coming. I could be the one who slew the Blood Prince. I moved silently and swiftly – I was an Arrow, the fastest suit – and I was always fast, even for that. I went for him like a bolt, his back to me, his sword flashing, keeping the other two at bay with ease.

I could taste the victory, envision my blades sinking into him, and I could almost feel the glory. It was a done thing. Then, in a heartbeat, Tiberius turned, his visor taking me in just long enough to backhand me. The force of the blow was unimaginable, sending me soaring through the air coupled with my full sprint. Somehow, even as I lost consciousness, I noticed the battlefield laid out below me. I hovered so high, like a bird, caught between heaven and hell.

Waking inside somewhere unfamiliar, I gradually gained my senses. It seemed like some kind of hall, filled with the sounds of people – lots of children's noises, babies crying. I realized I was on a bed or cot and got up, looking around. It appeared to be some kind of hospital, but far from an Order field. There was no tech, and the place smelled deeply of the earth. It was as clean as possible, but made of stone and wood, not plastic and metal like in the tower. There was still dirt.

Men and women hurried around, doing their best. Most of the patients were kids, from babies to young teenagers, with some adults too, but mostly kids. An older man with a clipboard saw me and came over.

"You landed outside," he explained. "Left a huge crater. We couldn't examine you through your suit, but you seemed to be breathing fine. We expected you just to be unconscious. An amazing thing – a normal man falling from the sky like that would be turned to jellied meat and bones. The ground seems worse for wear than you."

I asked him, "Where am I? What happened with the battle?"

"The battle ended yesterday," the man replied. "Your side pulled out. It was not a pretty defeat by all accounts."

"Where am I?" I repeated.

"Omaha," he said.

I asked him about the sick children and why there were so many. The man looked sad and very tired. "This is a hospital."

Looking around at the paltry facility, I said, "Why do you have them here? No equipment, it looks like a fucking barn. Why not take them to a real hospital?"

The old man laughed bitterly. "These are just normal folks who can't pay to use an Order Hospital. Their wealth and societal positions are insufficient. We make do as best we can here while the rich enjoy situating ice cream parlors and entertainment lounges in spaces where technology can function."

I glanced around, the situation dawning on me. Not expecting much, I asked, "But you can take care of them here? They have care, they'll be alright."

The old man, sadder still, shook his head and pointed to a pale little boy who couldn't be more than three or four. "That youngster's kidneys aren't working right. It's not dire, but with dialysis, he could have time to heal and we could have time to mend him. But out here, no machines function. He won't be with us long."

I shook my head, not believing. "He's going to die?"

The old man nodded sadly, almost inevitably. "Dozens here are the same. This is more of a hospice than a hospital. We do what we can, but no equipment, no refrigeration for medicine, even if we could get the medicine, no monitors... We do what we can with our hands and herbals, but..."

I take little pride in saying I took the boy back to San Francisco with me and paid for his care. I went back many times, using the wealth of a Griidlord to help as many as I could. But the reality was simple: there was not enough room in the hospitals in San Francisco either. Even sadder still, this was just one small part of one small realm. Everywhere, across the land, people are dying, children are dying, because they are too far from Order fields to get the care they needed – all while we, the Griidlords, nobles, and privileged few, keep fancy homes and opulent restaurants in city centers so we can enjoy air conditioning and electric lights.

***

Cordelia stared out across the water, silent, brooding as her tale came to an end. Pyre looked upon her for a time, then said softly, "That's why we chose you, that's why you were noticed. You know the real state of affairs. Right now, southeast of us, Cincinnati is battling the Empire. Jorin Brightforge is hailed as a hero, fighting for the freedom and liberty of Cincinnati. The truth is bleaker and darker, though."

He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. "Brightforge, whether he realizes it or not, is fighting for his own glory, his own wealth. If Cincinnati is victorious, it won't make life better for the man working in the fields, the child in the streets. It will add lands to the wealthy few, add glory to the legacy of the Griidlords, but most of us will continue suffering, measuring out our lives, burning our precious days on this earth to achieve nothing."

Pyre moved towards Cordelia, unselfconsciously he put his hand on her shoulder, gazing into her eyes. "But that's something we're going to change. And I don't think there can be any doubt between us, it's something we will change, with you as a part of it. It looks like I didn't make a mistake."

Cordelia looked at him, her eyes softened, and she allowed herself a faint smile. "No, I don't think you did. I may have lived a life of luxury and privilege, but I've never been blind to the suffering of those less fortunate. We Griidlords, we who bear the responsibility and power of our positions, it is time for us to make a difference, not just for ourselves but for everyone."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and nodded. "I will help you, Pyre. But it won't be easy and I won't shy away from

saying that I am afraid of losing everything."

Pyre's smile grew wider and he squeezed her shoulder gently. "I know. But it's a gamble I'm willing to take, Cordelia."

Chapter 34

The air in the timber shed was heavy with the stench of old oil and decaying wood, leftover remnants of barrels that once held the vital substance. The walls, made of rotting planks, were home to damp patches and dark tendrils of mold that crept towards the skeletal ceiling. The structure groaned under its own neglect, a testament to the long-past era it belonged to. The only source of light, a failing bulb, flickered and hummed erratically, casting hellish shadows on the shed's foreboding interior.

Clive stood at the sheet of plywood that served as his makeshift workbench, clutching his screwdriver helplessly as his gaze fell on the tangle of electronic components arrayed before him. His hands were caked with grease, sweat coated his brow, and his face was etched with frustration. He tried to focus on the task, but he couldn't help but notice the permeating sense of gloom in the space, a weight on his shoulders that threatened to buckle him.

In the corner, leaning against a wall so splintered that it appeared ready to evaporate into the tired wind, stood Captain Hearthguard. Dressed in his chainmail armor, a sword hanging by his side, his presence was a contrast to the decay around him. The captain's assault rifle lay casually draped across his armored hips as if it were a mere extension of his arm.

Clive, feeling Captain Hearthguard's stern gaze, attempted to decipher the unfamiliar electronics, his hands trembling as he picked up a severed wire. He hesitated for a moment, trying to recall how it had connected to a small circuit board that seemed to be some miracle of engineering from a future he had skipped. He knew that any mistake he made could have consequences that would ripple beyond this isolated, forsaken shed, but he tried to steady his resolve, blocking the suffocating ambiance from his conscious mind.

The relentless, oppressive atmosphere was disorienting, but as Clive pieced together the equipment, he found strength in the memory of Aerilyn's urgent kiss and the promise of a better future for the two of them.

As Hearthguard stepped outside, another of his men slid in through the door, equally armed and armored, silently assuming his watchful post. Clive returned to his work, his attention drawn to a device the size and shape of a scientific calculator. It was one of the seemingly broken relics that Jarway had acquired for him, and he was determined to uncover its secrets.

Muttering to himself, he prodded the device, tracing his fingers along its edges. "It can't just be out of batteries... can it?" he pondered aloud, the simplicity of the problem almost absurd in this setting.

Carefully, Clive disassembled the device, taking the time to inspect each component as he laid them out in an orderly arrangement on his makeshift workbench. He examined an old battery cell nestled within, its design unlike anything he had ever seen before. Despite its unfamiliar appearance, Clive could identify two poles and instinctively intuited that it must be a battery.

The shuffling at the door signaled Hearthguard's return, as he replaced the other man and approached the workbench, intrigued by Clive's progress. "How's it going now, Oddling? Have you made yourself a lord yet?" the captain asked, teasing.

With a sardonic smile, Clive replied, "Not quite yet. Are you looking for new employment, Hearthguard? I'll need someone I can trust to help guard my new estates."

Hearthguard laughed heartily and said, "Depends on the pay, Oddling! I know you won't be hiring a maid; you have someone in mind for that position already." Clive smiled, blushing.

Setting aside his embarrassment, Clive used the equipment at his disposal to estimate the voltage and parameters of the old, dead battery. He carefully connected it to a variable voltage supply, attempting to charge the ancient cell. As he performed diagnostic tests, he discovered to his amazement, and relief, that the battery was indeed charging.

The dimly lit, decaying shed felt a little less oppressive as a flicker of triumph danced in Clive's weary eyes.

Leaving the cell to charge, Clive watched the readouts intently for fear of overcharging. He was unsure of its construction and the consequences of overcharging. Deciding he had a moment, he returned his attention to his previous project—the intricate gold webbing within a functioning pistol.

Captain Hearthguard watched him with trepidation as Clive carefully extracted the strange webbing from the precious artifact. "Does Jarway know you're taking apart something so valuable?" Hearthguard questioned. "That relic is worth more than I'll earn in my lifetime, more than me and all the boys here will earn in all our lifetimes put together."

Clive, already stressed from working on something so precious, looked up pleadingly. Feigning certainty, he said, "I'm just going to perform an experiment. I need a set of webbing that I know works. Rest assured, Hearthguard, this operation is very simple to someone with my knowledge. I am very familiar with the technology." With that, he returned to the incredibly complex operation on the very unfamiliar technology.

Hearthguard continued to watch, his customary stoicism fading as he anxiously observed the work on the precious resource. After a while longer, he said, "Are you sure you're supposed to be doing it like that? It looks like you're ripping it."

Clive shot him a look of feigned outrage, and the burly soldier backed away, hands held high in surrender. As Clive returned to the delicate task, his heart sank with the burden of his earlier insincerity. He thought to himself, I hope to hell there's redundancy in this network, because I sure as hell just ripped that thread. Jesus, would Jarway have me executed if I broke this thing?

Despite his mounting anxiety, Clive persevered, praying that his gamble would yield some success and grant him a deeper understanding of the technology before him.

As the minutes turned into hours and night descended upon them, the guards lit a fire in the door of the shed and arranged cooking pots and meat for a humble meal. Clive, on the other hand, was so absorbed in his work that he barely noticed the passage of time. Lost in the arduous and repetitive task of peeling each thread, he exercised even more care than before, hoping not to damage the delicate technology any further.

He was nearly startled into ripping another thread as Hearthguard nudged him. "Sorry, Oddling," the captain said, "Just thought you might like something to eat."

Clive glanced at the dish of stew being offered, then out of the doorway, only to find the sky outside plunged into darkness. "It's nighttime, really? How long was I at this?" he asked.

Before Hearthguard could answer, Clive jumped and yelped, "Jesus! The Battery!"

Rushing to examine the readout from the voltmeter, Clive was surprised to find that the battery wasn't even close to being fully charged. "God, how long has it been charging?" he wondered aloud.

Hearthguard shrugged. "Maybe six hours ago, Oddling. Hard to say. Do you want your grub or not?"

Clive nodded, the gnawing hunger distracting him momentarily. He accepted the dish and began to consume the simple but nourishing food while deep in thought. Setting the dish aside, he started scribbling calculations quickly.

As he looked down at his work, Clive's face bore an expression of disbelief. "What is it, Oddling?" Hearthguard asked, concerned. "You seem troubled."

Chewing on a mouthful of stew, Clive replied, "Not troubled, just amazed and confused."

Curiosity piqued, Hearthguard asked, "Would my simple mind have any hope of understanding what's so amazing?"

Nodding distractedly, Clive stated, "If I'm not mistaken, that battery has taken a charge equivalent to 150 amp-hours."

Hearthguard looked uncomprehendingly at him. "You could've just said I wouldn't understand," he grumbled.

Clive glanced at Hearthguard and then explained, "That's like three car batteries, Hearthguard, and it's only getting started as far as I can see."

The captain continued to gaze blankly at him.

Returning to his workbench, Clive mused to himself, "Why would something as small as this thing need a battery so big?"