A thousand feet high, facing each other, the cliff faces created a winding chasm between them, vanishing into unseen darkness. Between the two great bluffs, countless bridges, ledges and dwellings, some of them tens of thousands of years old. The bridges were so dense and so chaotic that they blocked the view. Up and up and up they went, all they way to Hightown, and the University Fjord.

The trek through the bridges and gantries of White Chasm was a long one, and Quinn's knees hurt halfway up. Seth stayed behind. All around was evidence of civilization, ancient civilization, buildings carved into the sheer face of the cliffs, buildings that were thousands, maybe tens of thousands of years old. The sky above was filled with stars. The fog had retreated for the night.

One step at a time, he traversed the great bridges spanning the chasm, following the King's Knight. His breath felt weak when he crested the cliffs and entered into the University Fjord that night. The air was thin and cold. Yet he walked, bravely forward, along the highway to the Royal Palace of the Clan Aden, ancient rulers of White Chasm and the nation of Lin. Spire Lin dominated the background, it's great glass gardens and artificial sunlight illuminating the horizon. One of humanity's few sources of fresh food.

He passed through the University Fjord, with it's great grasslands, tiny copses of trees, and flower patches, illuminated only by the cool light of the Sister World. The Palace of the Spine, built into the rock itself, stood as a dark silhouette in the west. Quinn walked a long road toward the Spine, before the Knight escorted him through a cave and into the palace.

Quinn passed into the Royal Chambers, lined on both sides with black, gold, and bright red banners depicting a red swan, the sigil of the Aden clan. The Hanging Throne was elevated, high in the air, the genius architect designed the building in such a way as to allow the throne to hang over the audience room. The far wall was made of glass, giving the effect that the throne was flying high in the sky. There was a smaller, lower hanging throne to either side of the King.

King Edwin sat on the throne, clad in bright red robes with ornate black and silver filigree. He had the signature raven-black hair of the Aden clan. Sitting in one of the lower thrones was a teenage girl with the same hair. The third throne was empty.

The King spoke.

"Citizen Quinn, brother of Seth the Flying Man. I once saw your brother fly and I must say I was deeply impressed, though I am also deeply concerned for his safety," the King said. "Thank you for answering my summons. I have heard that you wish to speak to a Heritor, that you are searching for an aura," he asked.

"You have heard correctly, my King. I wish to create a new military device," Quinn said. "A machine capable of flying. For that, I will need an aura. I promise, a short lease of an aura to me and my brother would be a very good investment."

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"Brother!" the girl said. "Brother it is forbidden!"

The King waved his hand to silence the girl. The King nodded. "Quinn, I am a Heritor. My oaths forbid me from continuing this conversation. There is another heritor in the Palace however. Speak to him if you please, but do not speak of flying machines. Guards, please escort this gentleman away from my presence."

"Yes, my King," Quinn said with a bow, and left with the guards at his sides. In the foyer outside the throne room, a tall, elderly bald man in dark robes waited for them.

"I will escort master Quinn from here," the man said. The guards, surprisingly, released Quinn and shuffled back into the King's chambers.

"Where are we going?" Quinn asked, as they passed down into a dark corridor that seemed to lead below the palace.

"To the dungeons," the bald man said.

Quinn froze. "Why are we going to the dungeons?"

"Have faith," the man said. "Have courage, the dungeons are not used as dungeons anymore. The King cannot help you, but the one who waits ahead has a high probability of being able to help you, I think. Though they do not, and cannot, know it. I am a priest of the Lawgiver, and I give you my blessing." The man pointed down a dark hallway, light at the end by flickering candle light.

At the end of the hallway, in a chamber constructed entirely by cut stones, a young man with wearing priest robes sat at a table with papers in front of him. He had shaggy green hair. Green hair. He had something in his hand, something like a sphere cut with strange angles all over, and numbers pressed into the faces. He tossed that little sphere, and it bounced.

Quinn realized as the thing stopped that the number fourteen was written on the upper face of the thing. It was a dice, he realized, a dice with many more faces than normal. The young man at the desk dragged his finger down the paper in front of him, and stopped at the number fourteen.

"Grant the individual one request on the condition that they do not share their reasons," the man said. "Then execute item 20-B on the same list. Burn both the dice and the list after." The man looked suspiciously at the dice. "Do you have a request?"

"I need a pair of auras, for me and my brother," Quinn said. "So we can enroll at the University of White Chasm."

"Done," the man said. "I will give you a note that you can give to the bank to lease two auras for a year. That's the best I can do."

"And what about tuition and rent at the University?" Quinn asked.

"It costs a thousand times less for tuition than it does to lease an aura for a month," the man replied. "Figure it out for yourself."

The man handed Quinn a pair of notes. They were signed with the man's signature. Quinn stuffed them into his jacket. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Heritor Maxius the Younger of Great House Renna," the man replied. "You are not to speak of what you have seen here. I have no idea what you are up to, or why I was sent here to give you an aura, but know that there may be many others exactly like you in other cities right now. I can't be sure."

"Other cities?" Quinn asked.

"Yes. My group is called the Dicer's Guild. We use random chance to hide our intentions from the oculomancers. As I mentioned, don't talk to anyone about this. Try to avoid the oculomancers if you can."

Maybe, Quinn thought. Maybe the Heritors have been commanded to not create flying machines, for some reason? Quinn held the two priceless pieces of paper in his hands. It seemed so strange, wrong even. Other people, in other cities. Maybe he wasn't lucky, maybe it wasn't a coincidence. If what this man said was true, then perhaps Quinn was just seeing a small part of something much larger.