On the morning I left Fort Jaxwulf, 25 days remained until the Falling.

The Griid-train I led back to Boston that day contained no familiar faces as the last one had. Time seemed to pass slowly on this return journey, and I stopped twice to clear out fiend nests near the Burghland borders, where they seemed to gather in greater numbers than I had imagined.

Upon my return to the Tower, Jacob and Baltazar showed some consternation over the wounds I had sustained, but they were excited that I had gained two levels in a single day. Baltazar was emphatic that reaching level 20 would make a significant difference in my ability to contribute during the Falling. Many Griidlords slowed in their development upon reaching their upper teens, and if I could attain level 20, I would be better able to engage Griidlords in the Falling. The added benefit of a new skill at level 20 was also on my mind, as I hoped for something more offensively capable than just assessing someone’s name.

I spent another long day in the pod, healing my body and repairing my armor. The pod time gave me space to think. By the time I emerged, I’d reduced my days before the Falling to 23. Gaining two levels in one day had been exhilarating, but the true cost was three days: one for the journey to Pittsburgh, one returning, and one healing in the pod. If I could sustain that rate of leveling, I’d have no trouble reaching level 20 before the Falling. Yet, I understood the time needed between levels would increase as I grew stronger. The look of amazement on Jacob’s face when I mentioned gaining two levels told me this pace might be unsustainable.

My fears were soon confirmed. In the following days, I led Griid-trains to various cities, gaining experience but at a slower rate. I traveled to Cleveland, still rebuilding after their Tower’s return, decades after the Great Storm had torn the city apart, filling the ruins with mutant fiends and driving the survivors to the coast. The mystery of the Oracle was deeply ingrained in Cleveland’s story: it seemed almost miraculous that an Entropy storm so vast had obliterated Cleveland, only for the refugees to discover a newly risen Tower on the coast, leading to the birth of Baltimore.

I also traveled to Baltimore, a city as barbarous as Pittsburgh, if not more so. Baltimore was steeped in dread. Since its founding, it had fielded mighty Griidlords and formidable armies. They never lacked for Flows, yet they had no interest in empire or conquest. Instead, they seemed content to exchange Flows for comfort and feasting. Even in my Griid-suit, I felt the city's intimidation.

Along my travels, I encountered more fiends to battle, including more Bearwolves, which became easier to slay as I grew stronger but offered less experience in return. I encountered other strange creatures, dispatching them like the others. My strength grew, and I reached level 13, but I began to worry that my leveling rate would fall short of Baltazar’s goal. I feared disappointing him and my city.

The travels provided news of note. Perdinger was reportedly alive and well. Buffalo’s Griidlords had made only faint efforts to pursue him, distracted by the city’s internal strife. The rogue lord roamed freely, and there was speculation that Buffalo’s woes would worsen if they entered the Falling with only four Griidlords. The city was already in chaos, which would only deepen if they failed to gather the Flows needed to sustain their land.

Perdinger was rumored to have attacked trade caravans. Although Griid-trains were vital, much trade was still conducted without the aid of Griidlords, and Perdinger’s attacks on these caravans fueled confusion. What need did he have to attack caravans? Was his madness truly the only explanation?

In the South, the burgeoning war had escalated. The queen of Miami had established field forts near Houston, and the Free Men of Dallas continued to repel advances. It seemed Dallas would secure Houston within its sphere.

Oddly, details of the Tower’s rise remained obscure. Throughout history, Towers had risen for vagrants and travelers alike, often responding to the worthiness of a leader among a group that stumbled upon their resting place. Baltimore’s Tower rose for Cleveland’s refugees; Chicago’s first Tower emerged for nomads led by Padraig Dragonheart. The identities of the people and founders of the new Tower remained oddly absent, casting a strange shadow over the story.

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Whatever the case, there was speculation that a three-way truce might be formed between Houston, Dallas, and Miami to allow the cities to engage in the Falling. Miami and Dallas could hardly afford to miss a Falling season with their forces camped on either side of the new Tower. Houston had yet to hold a Choosing, but if they did, their Griidlords might be able to gather a few scraps of Flows from the Falling, which Houston would desperately need in these early days of its existence.

The idea that such a truce might be formed, and a Choosing held, tugged at me. I thought of Olaf. I wanted to see him claim a suit. Having learned how deeply one could yearn for the ecstasy of the armor, it was something I genuinely wished for him. But the thought that he could one day be my enemy unsettled me.

Over the course of those days, I returned to Boston often. I spent evenings with Harold, organizing plans to rebuild our trade empire. I returned to Castle Oakcrest more frequently than I had expected, finding myself drawn there time and again. Katya and Lauren never seemed to tire of my visits, with or without invitation. Despite the heart-wrenching turn our relationship had taken, a true friendship grew between us. They would listen and offer advice when I spoke of my pain for Leona’s fate and my anxieties about fulfilling Baltazar’s goals. I even confided my strange apathy regarding my father’s death. They shared with me as well: Lauren was becoming increasingly interested in the social structures of our land. Her friendship with me, even her defeat by me, had led her to question the status quo. She admitted to concealing her identity and walking among the commoners, growing increasingly concerned about the plight of the poor and the greed of the higher classes.

Cornelius continued to be delighted at my presence, regaling me with updates on the war in the South and any other conflicts that flared across the land. Though his interests were macabre and even disturbing, I found myself looking forward to those moments, sipping brandy by the fire as he spoke.

Father’s body had lain in repose. Considering the condition in which I had found him, he lay in a closed casket. Over the days, crowds came to pay their respects. There was little sadness among them; I felt they came more to be seen—perhaps to be seen by me. Father had not been well-loved, but he was enormously respected, and his son promised to be equally powerful.

We buried him in the cemetery outside the walls on the 20th night before the Falling. The ceremony was attended by Boston’s most prominent figures. Baltazar stood at the graveside, Bishop Ra himself presided, and lords and ladies from across the land gathered to be seen mourning the passing of this great man. By design or coincidence, Lord Morningstar arrived in the city that day. Standing apart from the crowd, this foreigner from another city added a special gravity to the event with his presence.

For me, it was closure. Still, no tears came. The guilt I had felt over this lack of sadness had been soothed by Lauren and Katya’s insights. Even the voice had comforted me on this subject. Father had never loved me, and perhaps the feeling had been mutual. I had done as much for him as any son could have. I could no longer judge myself for my feelings. As the voice had said, there were no evil thoughts, only evil deeds.

***

So it was that I awoke on the morning of the 19th day before the Falling. My chamber in the Tower was as fine as Baltazar’s. Sleeping in the suit should have felt strange, but it was anything but. The armor could soften and mold itself perfectly to my body. My bed had no sheets, as there was no need for warmth in the armor.

I stood by my bed, looking out the high window onto the city. I had reached level 13. Chowwick had tried to console me, saying it was almost unimaginable for a rookie Chosen to be this close to the Falling with such a high level. But all I felt was failure. My rate of increase had slowed too much. I had 19 days left to gain 7 levels.

Staring down at the city, I felt the intense need to fulfill my duty. I had seen other lands, cities where Order flowed and where victories in the Falling brought continuous gains. In those cities, every citizen benefited from the Order. They enjoyed more comforts, better jobs, and stronger economies. Boston, by contrast, was a city rich with suffering, where the needs of the poorest were rarely met. This had always been the way of Boston, a fact of life. But something had changed.

Now, it was not merely a fact of life; now, it was my responsibility. As I looked past the inner sectors to the rundown outer areas, a dreadful weight settled on me.

It was up to me to make their lives better.

I had to reach level 20.