Jon’s eyes were glued shut. His body couldn’t move, and yet, his mind was alive in a flurry of thoughts — neurons firing all too fast for his real consciousness to catch up to, but it all happened in slow motion in reality.

He was still recuperating from yesterday’s whole-day wholesale slaughter. He’d never fallen into deep sleep, and even until now, he was backtracking through all the events beginning from Amani’s disappearance.

He had been just a little pissed, and that was no exaggeration. Real fury was back when he’d first discovered his wife’s body. Compared to that, this was just a little tantrum of his. Of course, he didn’t expect it to end in him having to blow away a company’s worth of men, and it wasn’t as if he did it alone. Plenty of his newfound allies died just for a chance of freedom. He didn’t know them; he didn’t grieve for them. It was all just … the wind of misfortune blowing, and it was simply rude to speak while it still was.

All of this, because Amani had disappeared for a little bit. When he’d freed her, it was the last thing he’d expected that she would demand to execute that last thug. How old was she? Barely fifteen? And she’d shot the man with no hesitation whatsoever.

It shook him up. Just the other day, he’d sworn to render the faces of crying children extinct from the face of this world. He didn’t want others to go through what he did — which was why, Amani showing herself to be willingly getting into it made him stumble.

He didn’t understand her story. He didn’t understand anything. What did he need to do to keep her from going down that path? It wasn’t a good one at all — but what happened to her that she’d gotten this deep into it?

She’d fired that gun with the face of someone who’s killed before. It wasn’t like a murderer’s elated face when they killed someone, but she was more like … a soldier used to following orders, no matter how brutal the task.

She’d said she was a warrior, didn’t she? He should’ve asked about it while they still had time.

The door creaked. His thoughts froze and his muscles tensed. His eyes flew open; his hand went to his pistol and he yanked it out, rolling over and pointing the pistol straight at the doorway.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fuze,” Amani said. “I was worried.”

Jon realized the light behind Amani was a soft orange glow. It was already sunset? Yesterday took that much of a toll on him.

“However…” Amani crouched down. “What are you doing under the bed?”

Jon crawled out, parting the bed sheet that was like a curtain to him as he’d slept. He was still wearing his suit, though he didn’t fail to change out his undershirt before he’d gone to sleep.

Amani stood up as Jon did. He looked back at the bed — eyeing the lumps under the blanket. Pillows served well enough to appear like a person in the middle of the night.

You never know what’ll happen while you’re sleeping, after all.

“Mr. Fuze,” Amani continued, catching Jon’s attention. “You have my gratitude.”

Jon eyed her with some bafflement. “Why are you talking like that?” It was such a formal tone, his mental image of her being a child was almost totally blown away.

“For saving me twice,” she continued, “and not shooting me just a while ago.”

Jon nodded … but it felt like there was something more to this interaction.

“If you would entertain me, I … I have a request.” She turned her body away. Of all times, she became nervous when she was already here. This peculiarity of hers tortured her, but at least it didn’t give her enough time to back away from the things that she needed to do.

Knowing that Jiraya and Amani were related in some way, Jon figured it was better to have Alyssa on board — more as a counterweight than anything else. “Downstairs,” he said.

They descended narrow stairs and found the tavern as empty as last night. With the sun on the horizon, it was already practically evening around here, and there should be patrons coming in for dinner. Yesterday’s events, however, had scared off most of the regulars.

Alyssa was already at a rectangular table, enjoying a helping of beans, bread soup, and coffee. She glanced over to Jon and Amani, seeing them come down the steps. “Ah, what luxury!” she said aloud after a sip of coffee, stretching her free arm in some exaggerated manner that shouted ‘Come on, sit with me!’

They did sit with her, but Jon just wanted the counterweight and not the company. His eyes said so, earning a royal sigh from her. “How on earth do you breathe seriousness every waking second? Haven’t you just woken up?”

She slid over a bowl of soup, and Jon received it without a word. The fact that he didn’t complain, however, was a good sign for Alyssa. In many ways, the man was like a cat, and if he didn’t keep his distance from her, then that was momentous progress!

“Jiraya and the other one,” Jon said. The tone was flat, but the pause and his waiting eyes implied it to be a question.

“Oh, the woman’s doing fine. Your acquaintance seems to be quite worried for her, so he’s watching over her at the moment.” She smirked. “How romantic, don’t you think?”

As someone who was there when the rest of their party were cut down or shot one by one, Jon didn’t feel like laughing. The fact that he avoided looking at Alyssa clued her in as to the gravity of what she’d just said.

Well, she just left it at that. The next words out of Jon’s mouth caught her off guard, however.

“What was it?” he said, looking at Amani. “Your request?”

‘Request’ was a big word inside the Theater. Things didn’t come for free, after all, and right now, Amani scarcely had anything to pay with other than her time and labor.

Amani knew that, of course. She looked between Jon and Alyssa. She had to say it.

“My name is Amani … of the Mawit Qwari.”

Alyssa choked on the coffee. She had an inkling of this back when Amani mentioned the death cards … but to think it was true! Jon, on the other hand, could only stare. He had no context, but even if he did, he likely still wouldn’t react, either.

Alyssa thumped on her chest, shaking her system just enough to remark in a strained voice, “I’m … going to … interview the next person who comes along … Lady, why!”

She deeply regretted maintaining an air of mystery between the Theater’s members. To be fair to her, this was the way the Theater operated in Stave. It was a strange tradition, yes, but it was one born out of reality; people didn’t want their secrets leaking out, so wasn’t it obvious what would happen? People simply wouldn’t speak of them at all.

It was a strange collection of characters, after all — but times have changed. The Theater’s entire Stave operation was seated around the same table, eating dinner and choking on coffee. Now that Amani had revealed her affiliation, it would be extremely important, moving forward, to make sure everyone knew everyone. Certain secrets were incompatible, and just one leak would set the whole thing on fire.

Jon’s eyes flitted between Amani and Alyssa, looking for an explanation.

“I’m not explaining this…” Alyssa heaved a sigh, coughing one last time. Amani was about to explain for her, but she found herself on the receiving end of Alyssa’s glare before she could speak. “Keep no secrets from us,” she said, “or we will find ourselves in a losing fight.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Amani gulped … and nodded. She found herself ankle-deep in fear. It didn’t sound daunting, but what gripped her was the novelty of this kind of fear. It felt as if she momentarily glimpsed into a thousand possibilities of the future — all the futures where they fail in every miserable way possible. Death wasn’t a bad way to go, in comparison.

“Well, that’s why I wanted to speak to you,” she continued, maybe a little unsure, but she didn’t give herself time to soak in fear. “I wanted to talk to Jon first because … well — I don’t know.”

Perhaps she was being irrationally confident in him, come to think of it. There wasn’t any real reason why he’d listen to her.

Although she hesitated to speak further, neither Jon nor Alyssa hurried her on to spill the beans. Interrogation, after all, was as much the usage of silence as it was the usage of questions. The silence was the question, and to Amani, it was “What do you want to say?”

Things were also a lot simpler when the person herself really did want to speak.

Amani regained her bearings. Jon knew nothing about her, she told herself, so all she had to do was give a proper introduction.

“I am a priestess” — Alyssa wanted to choke more at this point, but she forced herself to just smile — “of the Mawit Qwari, a nomadic tribe that roams the eastern and northern fringes of the Aranai.

“We were” — she paused at that painful word, ‘were’ — “the guardians of certain memories.”

“Memories?” Jon said.

“We witnessed the ancient pacts between mortals and the Sisters, and we kept them. In times of peace, we served as priests and priestesses for other tribes’ ceremonies. In times of war, we served to balance the outcome.”

For a moment, Jon likened them to certain independent religious communities back on modern Earth — but that part about balancing the outcome of wars was out of nowhere. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well… You know the Lady’s preferences. Total destruction of one side is rarely good.”

“You worship Ravena?”

“Lumina as well,” she corrected, “but She rarely interferes at all. Instead of being interested in balance, She is more of a ‘let’s see what happens’ personality, or so my kin say.”

Jon eyed Alyssa with this most disbelieving look she’d ever seen in two lives. She chuckled — maybe a little too hard. To outsiders, he was just staring at her with the flattest, most nondescript face, but the way he slowly turned his head to face her was what did her in. “The Order has their own interpretations. She probably just lets them be.”

In truth, this was also the first time Alyssa had heard of it. She thought back to her not-exactly-friend priestess, already thinking of the most heinous ways of breaking the news to her that her goddess wasn’t as sacrosanct as they were led to believe. Oh! There’s one good idea…

Seeing that Alyssa was incrementally losing her marbles, Jon faced Amani, cuing her to continue. “My mother was a priestess of Ravena” —

“Priestess?” Jon interrupted. “Not … ‘actress’?”

“It’s different in the Aranai,” Alyssa explained, seemingly having gotten over her dumb ideas. “The Theater’s only existed for about a hundred years. The Aranai is filled with ancient tribes, so things there are a little traditional, you see.”

“As Miss Rainsworth said” — Alyssa liked the ring of that. Miss Rainsworth — “I was also being raised as a priestess of Ravena, and … well.” She was nervous to say this. “I’m a certain kind of priestess. A ‘death priestess,’ maybe you can think of it that way.”

“It’s just getting worse…” Alyssa muttered. “How did you manage to live this long?”

“By swallowing my pride,” Amani curtly replied. She faced Jon. “As you can tell, my tribe has been hunted to near-extinction” — no, he couldn’t tell — “and the one responsible is the king of the Kingdom of the Kittari.”

“The king? Not the kingdom?” Jon asked.

“That’s … that’s right. The persecution only began when he ascended the throne. His daughter, the first princess, was put on a leash before she could gather support to stop him.”

Jon noticed the pained expression she wore. “What about being a death priestess?” he asked. “Are you being targeted?”

Amani nodded. “Part of my ordinary responsibilities would have included easing the passing of the dead.” She looked around, and seeing that they had total privacy — even the bartender wasn’t there — she raised her hand so the two could see. There was a dim glow from her palm, and there materialized a card inked in black with ancient characters and patterns.

“A death card,” Alyssa muttered.

“Not the same kind that the mercenaries used,” Amani added. She didn’t want to be seen as someone who defiled the dead. “This only has a weak anchoring effect, meant to extend an ailing one’s life for less than a day … so they could say all that they need to say, that is.”

The card disappeared from her hand in a flash. “Part of my special responsibilities is to conduct a ritual with other death priestesses and” — she truly hesitated on this part, not because she distrusted these people, but because the subject itself had always felt unnatural to her — “cast assassination ritual magics.

“Anyone in the world, as long as we know their name and at least one person knows their face, can be killed on a whim.”

That was what made everything click for Jon. He didn’t think such a powerful tribe could be exterminated if it meant having to kill thousands of them, but if it were a smaller population, then how were they able to influence regional geopolitics to the extent of deciding how a war should end?

— By having the ability to instantly topple any political figure or regime, apparently.

Taking out such a tribe in one swoop would obviously take priority for any aspiring authoritarian leader who sought to tip the power balance fully in their favor.

Which meant that the Aranai should be a geopolitical hellhole at the moment.

“At least, no one should know I’m here,” Amani continued.

“Is that why you came to the Theater?” Alyssa said. “To ask for our help?”

Amani could feel Alyssa’s suspicion radiating off of her. She shook her head. “Yes and no.” She looked to Jon. “I am indebted to Mr. Fuze for saving me twice. At least until I repay that debt in equal measure, I will continue to serve the Theater as I am.”

“That’s your ‘no,’” Alyssa said, “then what’s your ‘yes’ ?”

“I cannot ask you to help change the history of an entire nation. However … I’d like to see the first princess again.”

A crushing feeling swelled from her heart, and Alyssa saw the face she made because of it. “Tall order,” she said, “and the Lady might not approve.”

[I’m allowing Jon to go.]

Alyssa shot to her feet. “Huh? Jon, but not me!”

Jon and Amani could tell what Ravena had told her just from that.

[Make no mistake. After you finish your mission here, I will have you abandon this city and move north. There are pests who would eventually stand in Jon’s way in a manner much too inconvenient for either me or you.]

Alyssa’s stance relaxed, but she was still tense. What sorts of pests?

[Let Jon take care of the Aranai if he so chooses. Certain movements in the Order tell me that someone is pushing for an untimely crusade for unreligious reasons. You wouldn’t want Jon trapped in a war zone, would you?]

No. She wouldn’t. She sat down.

[Allow Jon to make his choice. That is what he needs.]

Of course. Making him feel bound or trapped was against what she wanted to see him become. She sighed, releasing as much tension as she could before speaking. “It seems the Lady is allowing this. Still, smuggling out the daughter of a sovereign is the most fantastical thing I’ve ever heard.”

“And we’re not done here,” Jon added.

“Of course. I also wish to root out the slave network here,” Amani said. There was a hint of a grudge there, but that wasn’t surprising for anyone here.

“Then, that does it.” Alyssa stood up. “Work with us for the moment, and when the situation changes, so shall we.”

Alyssa left them behind, ascending the steps to think about several things here and there.

Jon looked at Amani. “You’re a priestess.”

She was confused at this. “I am.”

“Why did you say you were a warrior?”

She looked down at the table, then back at Jon. “I had to be. I had to be, or else I’d lose everything … but I did, anyway. There’s nothing left for me there but a friend I might never see again.”

He didn’t know what to feel about that. At least she wasn’t forced into the ranks of some shoddy paramilitary group, but to him, a child soldier was a child soldier, and it was always a frustrating thing. She was forced into it in some way, no matter how he thought about it. “Stop going down that road while you can,” was all he could say. He couldn’t even look at her directly.

Still, his words left a mark on her heart. Those were words that came from a seasoned killer. The shame it carried, and the fact that he couldn’t look at her, said so much more than the words alone. She couldn’t speak for a long moment. “I can’t,” she finally said — was all she could say.

If there were a future where she came to like the killing, it was gone with the wind now. She wished she could say that to the man, but he might not believe her. Well, in due time, perhaps.

In total ignorance of the mood, the doors flew open and Damian came in. “Oho! I bring news from the castle!” — but then he noticed the mood — “but, oh my, I’m starving. Shall we speak of revenue streams and treason of the highest order over an early dinner, then?”