Getting back inside the house wouldn’t be a problem. Jace ran to the center of the stone bridge across the valley. They could climb down the chain to the Hanging House, and with the chimney torn apart, they’d have a perfect hole to slip through.

He swung his legs over the edge and wrapped them around the chain, then began to slip down the giant links. When he reached the roof, he looked back up. Lessa, Kinfild, and Ryn waiting, staring down at him. He stepped out of the way, and Lessa climbed down next.

While the others descended the chain, Jace scrambled down the black shingles of the roof until he reached the remains of the chimney. He placed his boot in the gutter, then swung over the edge of the roof and slipped into the building.

As soon as Ryn made it inside, the man led them to one of the smaller, dim rooms in the back of the house. Jace didn’t know what to compare it to—other than a small dressing room. The walls were all wood (though they had plenty of new holes in them), and along one wall, there were three smaller changing stalls. Jace tilted his head in skepticism.

“Why does Stenol need this?” Lessa asked, echoing Jace’s own thoughts. “I mean, at best, he’d just need a single stall.”

“The Hanging House has been in the hands of a Wielder ever since…well, as long as Elder Stenol can trace galactic history back,” Ryn explained. “Most professor-Wielders at the Roteac Academy are supposed to sponsor multiple graduate students, and so amenities like this are more than necessary.” He turned around, facing a large wooden closet. When he opened the doors, a pile of clothes spilled out and fell into a disorderly heap on the floor.

Jace first scrutinized the closet. There were no hangars inside, but a couple neckties and cravats still floated in the air—likely how the rest of the clothes might have been suspended, had it not been for the barrage of plasmafire.

Jace stepped as close to the pile of the dresses, suits, and ties as he dared. Tendrils of dust rose from the mass of clothes, swirling in the beams of light that filtered through the holes in the walls. He thought he saw a mouse.

“This is what Elder Stenol’s collection amounts to.” Ryn motioned towards the pile with a hand. “You’ll find something in there to fit you.”

Jace plucked a blue suit-jacket up from the pile. It had a smouldering hole in it, where a blast of plasma had seared through it.

“He’s got dresses, too?” Lessa asked, resting her arm against the wall. The weight she put on it knocked a loose panel of wood off. “Oops…”

“Stenol was married, many centuries ago,” Ryn said. “But his wife, being a mortal woman, died. Like the suits, they can now be used by his students. Thankfully, fashion hasn’t changed much over the years.”

Jace bent down over the pile and dragged a brocade tunic from the mass of textiles. Brown sashes wrapped around it, and a cravat had been pinned to its neckline. It would have to work. He snatched a belt up from the edge of the pile, then a pair of brown pants.

As Jace stared at the tunic, a tag appeared above it—visible only to him. [Tightweave Tunic (Enhancements: +1 Resistance)].

“These are…magic?” Jace asked. He shook the shirt. It was stiffer than regular fabric, and when he tried to rip it, it didn’t budge.

“Magic?” Ryn scratched his chin. “You could say so. Elder Stenol has likely performed some low-level spirit enhancements on some of the shirts over the years.”

When Jace concentrated on the pants, no tags appeared. There was nothing special about them.

With a shrug, he walked over to one of the changing stall doors. He slid it to the side with his foot, then stepped into the small chamber. The room was meant for privacy, and while he didn’t necessarily care about what the others thought of him, he wanted some time alone with his thoughts.

But once he was alone with his thoughts, he found only numbness. He dropped his arms.

Not meant for this, he thought.

His father would have said he was meant for the farm. His brother would have laughed and said he’d figure it out. His mother would have asked him what he was actually meant for.

“I don’t know…” he whispered. “But something’s missing.”

Purpose.

But right now, his purpose was power. He could deal with other stuff later.

He peeled off his stolen vambraces, then his coat. He pulled on the new shirt and made sure to tuck it into his pants.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

With his makeover out of the way, he figured he had a few moments to rest his feet while the others prepared themselves. First, he drew the Reader out of his backpack and activated it. An alert popped up first, warning him he had unassigned attribute shards.

The alert faded, leaving him with the normal screen. Little had changed. It displayed the bayonet, Whistling Blade, and tightweave tunic all as significant items, and now, he had twelve-percent advancement progress. He had killed five soldiers on the first side of the canyon, and four on the other. That wasn’t as much Aes as he thought he’d get, but these weren’t darklings.

Next, he drew his second technique card out of his backpack. It had to have been off cooldown by now, and if he needed it, he wanted to have it ready. He tucked it into his sleeve, then rolled the cuff inward so it’d stay in place. With the flick of his wrist, he could have it ready to socket and use.

He stood up, deactivating the Reader. Then he gathered his coat and backpack. He attached the Whistling Blade and his bayonet to his belt and fastened the stolen vambraces to the shoulder strap of his backpack, letting them dangle—they might come in handy later.

Once he was sure he had everything, he pushed open the door and stepped back into the larger dressing room.

Ryn stood in the center of the room, quivering and glancing around. Kinfild was nowhere to be seen (though Jace heard some banging and disgruntled grunts from one of the dressing rooms), but Lessa leaned against the far wall. She wore an orange dress now.

Jace’s understanding of this place’s fashion was limited, but he could confirm that…well, it looked fancy. And there were no holes in it, so that had to count for something. It had no sleeves, but there was a thick fabric cumberbund, and she had ripped a hole in the back for her candle tail.

Jace leaned against the wall beside her. He didn’t know what to say, so he just leaned, allowing himself to shift as the house swayed.

"Jace," she whispered.

He glanced over at her, but didn't say anything.

"Are you excited?” she asked.

Tilting his head, he opened his mouth a crack. Still, he didn’t say anything.

“You should be. We're going to a party! We're gonna see the Roteac Arcane Academy!" She folded her hands together. “Roteac is an ecumenopolis. It’s a city-planet, and there’ll be so many wonderful things to see and do! And then there’ll probably be trouble—which we can escape! You can do your hyperspace jumps and swing that Whistling Blade. Does the sword have a name, by the way—”

“No, I’m not excited,” Jace stated.

“...So…uh, does it have a name?” Lessa asked. She tilted her head towards the glass sword. “Did you name it?”

“I didn’t.”

“There’s room on the fuller, if you ever choose to.” She bent down and reached into the pocket of her old blouse (which waited at her feet), then pulled out a thin metal rod. “I brought an engraving chisel, in case you want! Mom always let me do that part of the swords—guess I wasn’t good for anything but calligraphy.”

Jace snorted. “You have been helpful, Lessa.” If only to raise her spirits, he asked, “What would you name it?”

“Usually, they get a fancy name. Like Darkfoil, or Fate Splinter. Think on it.”

Jace nodded.

“Are you alright, Jace?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Before Lessa could say anything else, Kinfild emerged from one of the rooms. He wore a black frock coat, and instead of his pointed hat (which he carried under his arm), he wore a tophat. Ryn walked over and adjusted the coat’s lapels, then nodded.

“We need to head back to the Luna Wrath,” said Kinfild.

Jace peered through a hole in the wall. Sure enough, the sun was dipping below the tops of the trees. They didn’t need to get caught out in the open by powerful darklings if they could help it. He needed to hunt them, yes, but if he took on too many, and too powerful? Well, the point of this was to stay alive.

“Ryn?” Kinfild asked.

“I—I think I’ll stay the night here, sir,” Ryn said. “I’ll head to the village in the morning, and I’ll see if I can’t get a ride off this planet. And to somewhere safe, mind you—not to Roteac.”

Kinfild tipped his hat. “I wish you luck, then.”

They climbed out of the Hanging House, crossed back over to the edge of the canyon, and descended down to the ledge where they had left the repeller-bikes. If Jace hadn’t been tired before, he certainly was now, and fond thoughts of the Luna Wrath’s sleeping compartments flooded his mind.

Kinfild and Ryn said their last goodbyes. Jace and Lessa untied the repeller-bikes, and Kinfild reactivated their thrusters with his technique card.

“Are you ready?” Kinfild asked.

“Yeah,” Jace and Lessa replied, almost in unison.

They climbed back aboard the bikes and took off along the path, then swerved up the shaded gully. Jace made sure to watch the clifftops and shaded crags for any darklings, but there were only leaves shifting in the wash of the thrusters. He urged his bike to fly faster, tightening his legs against the vehicle’s saddle.

When they arrived at the landing platform, they returned the bikes to the shed and shut the doors, then ran up to the Luna Wrath. Kinfild opened the boarding ramp, and they stepped inside the starship. Nattering out a string of mechanical noises, Aur-Six bumped up against Kinfild’s leg. The Wielder patted Aur-Six on his metal head and said, “Thank you for fixing the Accumulator, bud.” Then, turned back to Jace and Lessa. “Take your seats. We’ll have to make this quick if we want to make it to the academy in time.”

Jace ran to the front of the ship and dropped down in the copilot’s seat. He pulled his crash harness on and asked, “To Roteac?”

“To Roteac.”