Argrave had been skeptical if giving the Fruit of Being to Artur to use in a crafting project was truly the best use of the item. A masterpiece was infinitely less useful than a skilled master, by his estimation—someone that could continue to make ingenious project after ingenious project. Instead, in the twisted fate the fruit had chosen, he’d received two wonderful artifacts, and shared with Anneliese some of the power he received after eating the Fruit of Being.

After a while, they were prepared to depart.

“What would you like as payment, Artur?” Argrave asked, gauging for the man’s reaction.

“Just pay me what you think my work was worth,” Artur said. “And tell everyone who asks that I made the weapons that make you what you are. Oh—and let me out of that research team.”

“We can.” Anneliese nodded. “But you’re very insightful, Artur. Are you certain you wish to stop coming?”

He seemed to waver briefly, but ultimately shook his head. “No. I’m as insightful running this place as I am in that research team, and I have to entertain fewer fools that I can’t put in their place.”

Argrave offered his hand to Artur. “I think you deserve more than money for what you’ve done—but you’ll get plenty of that, I assure you. I’m certain we can produce some rose gold magic coins. And I can guarantee you, until the day we die—which may be never, after what you’ve done—we’ll be coming to you for anything truly important.”

“Well enough,” Artur said, seizing Argrave’s hand for the handshake. “I look forward to it.”

#####

After leaving Artur, they decided to visit Raven for his scrutiny into what might’ve changed in Anneliese. Artur may have been exceptionally keen, but he lacked the perception of Truesight and the insight of someone millennia old.

“She is not as changed as you or Durran,” Raven informed Argrave. “She has not subsumed spirits into herself, imitating divinity. She might still be considered an ordinary spellcaster in most ways. But you two now exist in a closed loop, sharing many things.” He looked at Argrave. “And just as her abilities changed, so too did yours, more subtly. Your blood magic can still erase magic spells, even divinity—but instead of burning them to ash, all that you destroy will return to her as energy.”

He looked to Anneliese. “And through you, that energy can return to him. You can heal his wounds or replenish his magic. Or, you could use it for other purposes—your own spells, your own shamanic magic, or even distributing it to others. All of that is at your discretion, it would seem. Fighting together, you would become an unstoppable machine that grows eternally. I can think of nothing more fitting to tackle the Shadowlands.”

Anneliese accepted all of that grandiose responsibility with a simple nod. Argrave was certainly reconsidering his perspective on what should be done with the last fruit.

On top of all this, Argrave now had the remote GPS tracking feature installed on his wife. It might have been a touch overbearing if she didn’t have the same feature installed on him—with the right wording, it might even be considered romantic. No matter how far they travelled away from one another, they knew where the other was. It even worked through divine realms.

“We have our siege weapon, it would seem.” Argrave walked around. “But we’ll need others.”

“They’ve all been preparing,” Anneliese reminded him. “It won’t be long until we find him. I’m rather eager to see that sociopath dismembered.”

“Not a sentiment I thought I’d ever hear from you,” he remarked.

“But you share it,” Anneliese said with certainty. “As do countless others, I suspect. Let’s give the people what they want.”

#####

“You seem a little better after I brought the Theorist back,” Garm spoke to Durran as the man had a small breakfast in a public dining area at the parliamentary hall.

“Yeah.” Durran nodded. “It’s all a bit easier to sideline, now. It’s like being in a crowded bazaar, rather than being stabbed repeatedly in the gut.”

Garm sat across from Durran. “Care to help me with something?”

“Figured I couldn’t expect small talk alone.” Durran studied him. “I think I’m being plenty help just sitting here. You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“It’ll help you be free of things more immediately,” Garm promised.

“Hit me,” Durran said, then sipped his soup.

Garm leaned in. “I want to resurrect all of the heavy hitters of the past to give Argrave an elite troop to tackle the Shadowlands without fear of losing anyone important. I’m rather positive I have the capability to emulate the Alchemist’s ability to reconstruct spell pathways.”

Durran set his spoon down. “Alchemist goes by Raven, now. And you should just ask Argrave. I’m sure he can pick out some choice names with whatever’s lying dormant in his head.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. I’ll ask him when he needs to be asked. But I’ve got the whispers of a thousand dead in my head after my stroll through the Low Way of the Rose. I have enough information about who would be good to bring back.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Durran narrowed his eyes. “Why in gods’ name did you go to the Low Way?”

“Argrave’s idea, twit,” Garm rebuked. “But… listen. The body that Raven made… it’s good. It’s fine. It’s passable. But it’s not quite what I had in mind, and it took forever to get.”

“Point being?” Durran pressed as he dipped some bread in the soup.

“You want to stop hearing voices—I want to get my hands on a lot of body parts. What do you say we team up, massacre a village, and then prepare a nice little present for Argrave?” Garm smiled.

“I know you’re trying to get a rise out of me by saying something disagreeable, but that one was a little sad.” Durran shook his head and peered at his food as if disappointed. “You really can’t muster anything more believable than that? Just tell me what you’re really thinking so I can eat.”

“Alright, let’s not make it personal. I’m a little hurt,” Garm said, though it wasn’t clear if he truly meant it. “What if I know a place we can find a lot of undead? Ready-made parts, with the damage already done,” Garm whispered. “Would you come along? You said that the Fruit of Being gave you a combat-related ability, but I’ve yet to see any insight on that front. Why not come with me, put that glaive of yours to good use?”

“I’ll figure my power out,” Durran insisted. “It’s complicated.”

“Sure, sure. But nothing like real combat to stir up that instinct, eh?” Garm nudged his elbow. “I promise it won’t take very long. Especially not for a real S-rank spellcaster. Especially not for someone who deserves the position.”

“You’ve misread my personality if you think goading can make me do something dumb. Find someone else,” Durran suggested. “Or better yet, don’t do it at all. Just wait. Argrave’s generally got the right idea about things.”

“I’ll kill myself if you don’t,” Garm said plainly.

“What?”

“I will. And then, I’ll end back inside your head.” Garm tapped his temple. “One way or another, this is getting done. I’m not going to let that hulking monstrosity make those disgusting little asexual creatures again and again. Necromancy is an art. It deserves some respect.”

Durran tapped the side of the bowl with his spoon. “Don’t bluff me.”

“I already did it once,” he pointed out. “Do you want to risk it? I’ve got the reins, Durran. Horses that buck live painful lives.”

“I won the lottery, and I’m the least lucky person in this city.” Durran scratched the back of his head, then tossed the spoon down onto the table. “Fine. But I’m a bit different than I once was—I won’t go behind anyone’s back. I’m telling people what we’re doing. Only if I get permission will I leave.”

“Alright, fine.” Garm lifted his hands up, conceding. “You should be excited. We’re going to build the greatest troop of spellcasters the world’s ever seen.”

“Hmm… sure,” Durran said, not quite convinced. “You should let me do the talking. There’s not a chance Elenore or Argrave will agree if you give them that same pitch.”

#####

Llewellen was scanning through the vast number of notes that had already been taken by the assembled research team. On some level he was impressed by the advancements of magic in his long absence—in other regards, he was appalled by the stagnation. He was rather surprised that he hadn’t been the first to discover druidic magic—and in it, he saw the long history of the Veidimen reflected in their magic.

But whether it was merely doing this research or speaking to the people here, Llewellen was having a great time in this strange second life. Once he caught up on the past sessions, he had great hopes for joining the research team and contributing his theories—and indeed, he already had some ideas forming. Illusion magic was a dead end, he felt. Druidic magic held the key to unlocking the psyche through magic. He would prove it.

But besides the research, he was especially enjoying Onychinusa’s interrogation sessions. Her clumsiness and lack of social graces was quite charming, in her strange way, and she was the last of his race… but he couldn’t let himself get too close. He was here for a last hurrah, as it were. There was no need to make the parting difficult. It would be an undue burden on her, and she had plenty of those already. She was very alone, both in body and mind. He hoped, at least, he might help her break that.

A knock came at the door, and he looked over. Onychinusa never knocked; she merely broke in. Llewellen called out, “Enter.”

The door opened, and a hulking human walked through the door. He had a large mane of obsidian-like hair, and stony gray eyes. He wore golden armor that Llewellen had seen as the royal guard of this kingdom.

“Are you a relative to the king?” Llewellen asked at once. “Am I needed?”

“Yes. I’m Argrave’s brother. My name is Orion, sir.” He bowed, then walked deeper inside. “I had some questions for you, if now is a good time.”

“Certainly.” Llewellen put the paper down, then turned his body fully. “Avail yourself of my knowledge freely.”

“Will this research team bear fruit quickly?” He asked bluntly. “Or are we all expecting too much?”

Llewellen tilted his head, considering the question earnestly. “The people here… Anneliese especially… are the brightest minds in the world.” He shook his head. “I don’t say that because I was told it—I say that because I’ve been reading what they write, and come to that conclusion on my own.”

“But bright minds can only manifest so much,” Orion argued.

“You’re wrong, I’m afraid.” Llewellen smiled. “Bright minds can overturn the universe, if they’re working together in harmony. I believe the solution will come far sooner than you think.”

Orion grinned brightly, white teeth gleaming through his black beard. “I’m very pleased to hear it, sir.”

“Why do you ask? A routine check-in for the king?”

Orion put his hand to his chest. “I have the feeling that something is approaching, sir.”

“Gerechtigkeit?” Llewellen guessed.

“Yes, but… no.” Orion lowered his head. “I get the sensation that a strong foe is approaching. One who I must fight, being perhaps the only one who can. I am not the strongest of those in this kingdom anymore. The king could certainly best me on his lonesome, now. But in persistence, durability… I am confident none are my peer. And I believe a foe that requires that attribute will come.”

“You speak with a strange conviction,” Llewellen observed.

“Indeed. I have always had strange flashes of intuition—they have seldom led me astray. None before have been this clear, however. None this potent.” He dipped his head. “I hope that all goes well with your endeavors. Thank you for your time.”

Llewellen watched Orion go. The man had very heavy steps.