My voice came out louder and angrier than I meant it to be. "Why are you telling me this? Why me?"

Joel seemed sympathetic, looking at me with eyes so understanding they bordered on condescension. He said, "When I heard about you using BEAM so early, I went to Boston. I had to see you. I had to see if you would be a candidate for the voice. When I met you in the woods and confirmed that you could hear the voice, this conversation became inevitable."

"Why me?" I repeated.

I had just gained the suit. I had just found my father’s corpse. My life had been confusing and blurred for long enough. I wanted to pass into a simpler time. I wanted to be Boston’s Sword, to win prizes. I wanted to be free for the first time in my life. I wanted to feast, drink, and find a nice woman who wouldn’t run off and bed another. I didn’t want these complications rattling around in my brain, even if they were the rantings of a lunatic.

Joel said, "The Horde has a word for a mythical figure they project will one day exist. The Gokahn. The Gokahn is said to be an inevitability of probability. If enough people are born and die, each with their own variable affinity for connecting to the Griid, to the suits, then one day, eventually, one will come with perfect compatibility, with a perfect connection."

“The Horde expect that the Gokahn will unlock new powers in the Griid. I… don’t believe in any such thing. But I do think the voice seeks one with the greatest possible affinity for the suit, for the Griid, to achieve its goals.”

I was startled and alarmed by the suggestion that he knew anything of the Horde. No one knew anything of the Horde—not even a hint of their language.

"The voice is seeking its version of the Gokahn. That’s why it speaks only to the most powerful of us—myself, Danefer, Thrax Bonesaw. I suspect your friend Pyracon Morningstar might be a friend to the voice as well. He will be something special."

I shook my head. Of course, I knew where this was going.

Joel continued, "Your affinity has been staggering. You took a while to get it, but since you’ve figured things out, your trajectory has been incredible. You’re a rookie, in your first days with the suit, but what level are you already? Six? Seven?"

I didn’t correct him. I didn’t need to see his reaction if I told him I was level 9.

Joel went on. "At level seven, you might pale against a veteran of twenty years. Your friend Chowwick is probably around level 30. Griidlords level at different rates and seem to reach eventual caps on their levels that they can’t break through. A rookie should be level 1, level 2 if they’re a prodigy. At level seven, as a rookie, you are an immediate asset to your city. You can fight other Griidlords. With type advantage, you could neutralize an Arrow leveled in their teens. And it’s only the beginning. The fact that you’ve connected so well and so easily with the Griid makes you a candidate to be the Gokahn. That’s why the voice needs you. That’s why I want to get through to you."

I could wait no longer. "What do you know of the Horde?"

He waved me off. "Another time. I can’t afford to talk forever, not when Chowwick may come looking for you."

I bit my tongue. Part of me was still back in the woods from the first time we had met. Part of me just wanted to see him gone. But another part of me refused to remain disinterested.

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I asked, "What is the point then? What do you want from me?"

Joel said, "I want to open your eyes. I am reticent to share exactly what it is that I want. You are under the thrall of the voice, whether you want to be or not, whether you admit it or not. The voice only has vague suspicions about what I hope to do, and the extent of the knowledge at my disposal to make it so. I can’t share with you right now what I wouldn’t share with it. Rather, let me send you forth to find your own answers. I know you think me mad. The sad truth is, I can’t say for sure that I’m not. If you live long enough in the suit, you’ll see for yourself—the mind frays with enough contact with the suit, with enough time on this earth."

"How do you want to open my eyes?" I asked. I couldn’t keep some distaste, some sarcasm, from my voice.

Joel was untroubled by my tone. If anything, he seemed amused. "You think me mad, so at best, I might hope that you’ve listened to what you consider ramblings. You must find your own truths. I can help you in that much."

“In Pittsburgh, speak to Claw, Chief of the Jaxwulf’s. You’ll be sent to Pittsburgh sooner of later, playing courier.”

Joel turned to the locked doors. "There are secrets in there as well. Even New York’s Behemoth couldn’t break through. But I think your father had a key—a relic that could open those doors. You need to seek out secret places like this, see history before the church sanitized it, and find your own truths."

I glanced back up the stairs, thinking of the relics on my father’s corpse. Joel shook his head. "It is most strange that the Horde didn’t strip him of his relics. They would be as valuable to the Horde as to any man of your world. But the Horde fear their storm receding from them. Much of their tech, especially their engines, cannot function far from an entropy storm. There are endless stories of Hordesmen straying too far or having the storm move away from them, only to become stranded. A Hordesman alone is still terrifying but far more mortal without his cycle and comrades. It may be that they extended themselves too far in chasing your father and dreaded becoming stranded. They didn’t have enough time to take all his relics, but it seems they had a moment to take the one that opens these doors."

I paused, voicing a thought that had been troubling me for some time. "Why did the Horde chase my father down? They had an entire city to destroy, rape, and pillage. I spoke to a survivor—he described a large party giving chase when my father left, almost as though he was a goal to them."

Joel shrugged. "There are still too many mysteries in the world for me to know them all. The Horde is an enigma, even to me. It seems they took the key that secures this place, that opens those doors. There must be something precious to them beyond those doors."

We both stared at the doors. Joel was obviously hungry for the mystery that lay beyond. I couldn’t deny a growing appetite of my own.

Joel said, "Our time grows short. I risk much by being here. This is a good place—a secret place—where the voice cannot hear what we speak of. You may have cause to come to Dodge again in the future. I would suggest you rebuild the city and use it as your father did. If you do, you’ll have an excuse to return here from time to time. If you want to speak with me again, leave a note here."

He pointed to a piece of decorative cowling by one of the lights. I could see a gap wide enough to slip a piece of paper into but far too narrow and inconspicuous to draw attention.

"I will be here from time to time," he said. "I’ll check for notes when I pass. Until then, consider what I’ve said. Do your own research, find the unedited histories, find more secret places. When your eyes are opened, you can join me, and together..."

He trailed off.

"You should go first," he continued. "I won’t leave until you’re gone, until the eyes of the voice are gone with you."

I moved hesitantly. There was a shake to my movements—my mind was rocked by the things he had said. I didn’t believe him. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it...

As my foot touched the first step of the stairs, Joel said, "Wait."

I paused, turning back to him.

"Danefer will visit you again," he said. "It’s safe to assume. Don’t trust him. Don’t listen to him if you can."

He added, "Danefer will try to convince you as well. He’ll try to bend you to his own quest, and he’ll kill you if he feels he can’t."