— Three days later.

When Lord Humble hung up his coat and opened the door that morning, Cecilia was there, looking out the window.

“Honorable priestess” — he bowed — “what can I do for you?” The lord closed the door behind him and went around the small room to the study desk on his right-hand side, his right leg fresh with a limp.

Cecilia turned around, greeting him while maintaining an expressionless face. “Good morning, Lord Humble. I hope the city’s restoration work is coming along.”

“It is, it is,” he said as he sat down. “I hope you don’t mind if I take a seat before you. I sprained my knee, you see.”

“I don’t mind at all, noble sir,” Cecilia said, moving away from the window, sliding towards the door as Humble replied.

“I suppose you’re here with deeper inquiries about the restoration efforts for the cathedral. Well, I’ve spoken with some sirs from the capital” —

“That’s not our agenda today, noble sir,” Cecilia interrupted. Her face was still as expressionless as ever. Humble couldn’t get a read on her. “Rather, I come with grave news.”

She’d said that so calmly that Humble couldn’t understand it. “Come again?”

“Grave news, noble sir,” Cecilia continued, “in accordance with the laws of Westerens, the Order is hereby charging you with 829 violations of slave trade laws and one count of conspiracy to commit rebellion against the crown, and in accordance with the Laws intra Orders, one count of conspiracy to employ necromancers inside an Ordained nation.”

Humble didn’t expect that at all. “These are … grave accusations, indeed. Of course, I … plead innocent, but — my apologies, I’m simply shocked.”

Cecilia shook her head, saying in a gentle voice, “No need to play the cordial innocent, noble sir. We have sufficient evidence to arrest you thrice over. You only die once, however, so there’s no such need to use them all at once.”

“I still don’t” —

“Your concern is noted, noble sir. Please take your arguments to court.”

Satisfied that Humble wasn’t able to give an immediate reply, Cecilia turned towards the door, but just before her hand reached the doorknob…

“I will,” Humble said. “No matter how much evidence you have, even the Courts Templar have no such power over me.

“You’ve made an enemy more powerful than you can ever fathom, priestess. I hope you trust the people around you.”

Cecilia turned to him, smiled, and opened the door — whereupon a gentleman in a foreign suit entered, throwing Humble’s eyes wide open.

Jon walked from left to right, their eyes locked as Humble’s brain scrambled for an explanation.

“I thought you were dead,” he muttered.

“Nothing new,” Jon replied.

Another person entered, trailing Jon. It was Aji, her face obscured by a cloth mask.

“You’ve chosen the wrong lines to say in our dialogue, noble sir,” Cecilia continued. “ ‘Unfortunately, Lord Humble was found possessed by a lingering insurgent necromancer, and had to be slain to preserve his honor.’ A good enough story, isn’t it?” She looked at Jon. “I apologize again for the trouble.”

Jon nodded, and Cecilia left, leaving only three of them in the room.

Humble breathed deeply, eyes locked with Jon. “They’ll hunt you until the ends of the world.”

Jon grunted. “Nothing new.”

Five minutes later, Jon left the safehouse hidden among the sea of alleys. He joined Cecilia and her guard, the knight captain, nearby. She noted the smell of burning powder on his suit.

“I can’t see whatever Alyssa sees in you,” she remarked. She sniffed loudly. “And for how long has that suit gone without seeing the cleaner’s? Go on. We can only stall the order to find your missing body for so long.”

“How long do I have?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

Jon nodded … but he couldn’t turn away.

“If you’re going to ask about Alyssa,” Cecilia said, “do it with words.”

He looked at her, surprising her with the first expression of regret she’d ever seen from him: a slight frown. “How is she?”

Now it was her turn to feel things. She was the one in charge of putting her back together, but Alyssa wasn’t waking up no matter what she did.

She turned away. “I don’t know.”

Jon nodded. He regretted not getting to know Alyssa more — though, he suspected that she didn’t have all that deep of a personality. He could’ve entertained her, at least. “Thanks,” he finally said, walking away from the priestess and her guard for good.

The two watched Jon disappear into the alleys after little more than ten steps, as if vanishing with a Skill, but no — this place was just its own world. Cecilia and the knight captain had to appreciate it better.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” the captain said.

“I thought I’d get away from it,” Cecilia replied to that. She turned to him. “Why did you enter the Order, captain, and as a knight, at that?”

He looked down at her, then at the ground beneath his feet. “Because it was obviously the good side, wasn’t it? It’s every farm boy’s dream to be the good guy…”

He looked back at the priestess, nervous about what he wanted to ask, but — well, they were trusting each other on this now, anyway. “How about you, priestess. What made you join the Order?”

“Because it was simpler. It wasn’t complicated.” The Theater was so much more complicated. They saw so much backstabbing and betrayal. It wasn’t like the Order didn’t get into trouble either, but she just thought that getting stabbed from the front was a lot better than getting stabbed in the back.

She looked back at Humble’s little safehouse. “Look what they’ve done, Eric. It should’ve been simple. They’ve taken that away.”

That, they did. “In some ways,” the captain said, “it’s still simple.”

Cecilia turned away from the safehouse. “What did our friends say?” she asked, starting to walk away.

“Good things.” The captain followed closely.

Minutes later, an explosion shook the neighborhood. The fire brigade didn’t find a fire — but they didn’t find a building, either.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Damian’s brothel had been seeing more customers, lately, but the drunkards’ rhythm was subdued, orders piling up faster than usual, patience for the delays, higher than usual. The upstairs clients were quieter, too.

Jon went in through the back door, only getting a glimpse of the packed bar. He went upstairs

— up one flight, passing a sobered-up rifleman in the drab green overalls of the 2nd Scout Rifles,

— up one flight, passing a loosely buttoned-up bar girl on a smoke break,

— up one flight, reaching the final door.

When he turned the knob and cracked the door open, the first person he saw was Amani; first her ears, then her head swiveled around to greet him. She was seated by a round table, around which Damian, Jiraya, and Mira were also seated. They each turned to see who’d come inside.

“Oh, Jon, my good man,” Damian said, standing up. “I’ve already given them the details from my end. If you excuse me, I have to hurry and prepare the ship.”

Damian patted Jon’s shoulder as he left. Jon watched him leave before turning right round and starting towards the now-empty seat.

“Mr. Fuze,” Amani said. “Congratulations on completing the Keeper’s great task.”

Jon sat down, suppressing a great sigh — letting only a slight one come out.

“I feel the same,” Jiraya remarked with a chuckle. His arm was still in a cast. “I can’t believe we’re going home. I’m almost tempted not to.”

Jon looked at him, then at Mira. The lady assassin’s posture remained stiff as much of her body was still wrapped in bandages — but at least she was mobile.

“Mr. Fuze,” Amani said, earning his attention, “I’m sorry that you’re forced to come with us.”

It was a little wrong to call it ‘forced.’ He’d decided to accept this kind of outcome a long time ago. “The Aranai,” he said. The mention of their homeland captured all three’s attention. The memories they left there flooded back and almost stopped their hearts. “What’s there?” — a frown and drooping ears afflicted Amani’s face as he continued — “What do you want to do?”

She knew what she wanted, but it still took some strength to make the words come out. What she was about to ask, after all, was going to be a task even greater than what the Keeper had bestowed.

“I wish” — she trained her eyes on Jon — “for the fall of the Kingdom of the Kittari.”

Jon scratched his nose, looked at Jiraya, then Mira, assessing what they’d thought of it, then back at Amani. “Alright.”

Amani’s eyes widened. “I thought you would be more exasperated.”

“If you’d wanted me to do it in one day, I would be.”

Jon’s low, matter-of-fact tone earned a single chuckle out of Amani. Jiraya turned his head away, suppressing a chuckle of his own, though his amused face surprised Mira, who’d never seen her commander’s relaxed side until just then.

“I’m not so unkind, Mr. Fuze,” Amani said. “I’d also like to help you with information, but…”

She looked at Jiraya, who then faced Jon. “The Ten Blades were captured about three weeks before setting sail,” he explained. “The voyage between Westerens and the Kittari Kingdom takes around 30 days.”

Jon nodded. That meant that whatever was about to come out of his mouth was outdated by two months.

“The king’s enemies in the court have all already been executed. His chief aide and confidant, General Zal-shara, was taking an army north to take Kanelki, probably to try to monopolize the Dandanerye Strait.

“Since I didn’t hear about the surrounding tribes forming an alliance in response, I believe he had struck deals with each of them beforehand. I can only say that the king is a cunning man.”

It was counterproductive to form plans at this point. Every potential opposition leader was dead, and two months — three, counting the journey going back there — was a lot of time for the situation to change.

With that, Jiraya and Mira bid their leave, leaving Jon and Amani together.

“Well, now… You can come out,” Amani said aloud.

A moment later, a thin black mist seeped up from the floor, getting slightly thicker, then all of a sudden as thick as ink, coalescing into a normal town girl in plain clothes. If she didn’t have catkin ears, she’d blend in seamlessly with the rest of the city.

Jon had heard about her, but this was his first time actually meeting the rumored necromancer that Alyssa recruited at Ravena’s whim. Insane how that even worked.

Amani stood up and briskly walked towards Aji, confronting her practically nose-to-nose.

She did this for a few seconds, pulling back and going back to her seat only once she was satisfied with what she saw in the necromancer’s cold eyes.

“Don’t forget, necromancer,” she said on a final note, “your arts disrespect the dead for whom it is my mission to let rest. Now that you serve the Keeper, you will not use those arts without my or Jon’s permission.”

Jon had been looking at Aji, but hearing his name, he slowly turned his head towards Amani, as if asking ‘Are you sure?’ He was, after all, the type of man to make use of whatever was within reach. If his kills could usefully translate into more allies, he’d easily give the order to do so.

“I trust in your judgment of what makes the wicked,” Amani said.

Jon nodded … but something gnawed at him. He looked back at Aji. Those cold eyes… He’d seen them in a mirror.

He stood up and walked closer to Aji. She didn’t budge nor twitch, though she did tilt her head back as she curiously tracked the face of the man coming closer, stopping and hovering far above her.

It was the usual sight for her. Nobody believed she was a necromancer the first time they heard of it, and every employer she’d approached did this very same thing. They’d lean in to get a closer look of her face.

Whether she jerked back or even blinked wrong decided the fate of her contract. No one would hire a scaredy cat for a killer.

She’d assumed this was the same thing.

More of the same.

Same employment.

Nothing’s changed.

Instead, Jon did for her what a kind stranger had done for him, back during the Battle of Hamburg. He’d gotten by on approaching adults and asking for even a pinch of bread.

There was one who didn’t have any. In fact, his eyes were sunken; it was obvious the man hadn’t eaten anything in days, himself.

Still, the man had smiled. It hadn’t been a wide smile, but it was there, and instead of offering Jon any food or water…

Jon slowly raised his hand, letting it come to rest on Aji’s head, gently rubbing it from side to side.

It was a memory that had stuck with him his entire life — a lingering memory of humanity even as ash fell.

He was certain that it would do the same to Aji as it did for him.

All at once, shock, surprise, and an alien sensation of her personhood being witnessed in some immaterial way shot through Aji’s nerves. She was certain whatever-this-was wasn’t something hostile, but she couldn’t identify the reason why her brain was going awry.

In the name of survival, avoiding contact with the unknown was the rational thing to do. Henceforth, retreat was the only option.

Not even a second after Jon’s hand made contact with her head, the entire person known as Aji Lamai vanished in a puff of smoke.

Amani was … a little taken aback. From her perspective, Jon just stood up and patted Aji in the head for no discernible reason. Did … did he have such preferences? Hold on, was she in danger, herself?

“Mr. Fuze, I’d like to be clear on something,” she said. Jon turned to look at her. She continued, “You … don’t have unsatisfied needs, do you?”

Probably for the first time, she saw Jon’s eyes widen as his next footstep came to an echoing stop. “No,” he said. He quickened the pace and grabbed the edge of his seat, though he couldn’t find it in himself to sit down. “You’re just children to me,” he continued. “Gone through too much.”

Amani remembered the few things he’d told her. It made sense that he’d say that, but it was also surprising that he chose now to say it at all. “You’re not a cold man at all,” she remarked.

“No,” he affirmed, more to himself than to her. “Wish I hadn’t been to Alyssa.”

It was the first time he’d said her name. Amani didn’t miss it. It made her think… “What made you change?” she asked aloud instead.

Jon sat down and took something out of his pocket, sliding it over to her. When he removed his hand, it left a burnt card.

She looked at it, then at Jon. He was looking down at the table, probably too embarrassed to put things into words. “Although it was regrettable that you had to use it,” she said, “I don’t regret it at all.”

Once upon a time, Jon would have been mad that she’d said that — but now he understood what it meant to invest in someone, and what “irrational” things one did because of it: that life was just a scale, and on one hand was survival, and on the other, sacrifice. When one greatly outweighed the other, the outcome couldn’t be anything but logical.

“Why?” Jon asked. Why choose sacrifice?

Amani couldn’t look directly at him. “I suppose you think that I’m doing it for my own benefit. On some level, I am, but … after glimpsing your character, I feel that you are trustworthy.”

“Me?”

Amani stood up and walked closer to Jon, looking down at him. She hadn’t noticed it before, but if she hadn’t known him, his face was scary. Without knowing him, his blank expression perfectly hid any surprise or calculation he had going in his brain.

But she knew him, which was why she moved behind him and raised her hand — slowly — over his head, careful to look for any amount of agitation in Jon’s reactions as the distance between her hand and his head closed by the second.

She didn’t think he’d understand any other way. Her hand met his head. That head of black hair was thick and coarse — resistant to change, but springy, giving way when it had to, only to bounce back once her hand had gone.

Jon slowly turned around to look up at her, his eyes well and truly wide. Whether he had just forgotten to hide it, or he was letting it show, she didn’t care.

“You have shown me weakness,” she said, “and I must respond by showing my own. My family is dead. My friends are dead. I have been tortured by the same death which I am supposed to celebrate and hold immaculate. After everything, I still hold my obligations dearly, even if I know that it will destroy me. Until I find a way out … I simply don’t wish to walk alone.”

She said that with a quiet, but steady voice. Jon couldn’t find any signs of her breaking into tears, but there was something like nervousness instead.

Her last words had been a question.

Jon stood up, taking caring to remove Amani’s hand from his head. Just as she thought he was about to pass her by, he ruffled her head a little forcefully, messing it up just enough to snap her out of her mood.

“I’m your friend,” he absently said. He opened the door and left the room, leaving the door open as he marched off to wherever.

The weight of the world felt lighter for Amani.