Talent’s POV

The collector was a curious individual with eccentric tastes. The dilapidated metal structure would be easily overlooked and its location ensured few visitors, but inside the place was full of wonder and mystery.

The rooms were all dark, lit only by crystal lamps which lined the hallways and filled each room with a warm, glowing light. The rooms themselves were filled with odd collections, from paintings to statues, and strange devices which Talent couldn’t even begin to guess at the functions of.

Things only got stranger the deeper they went into the building. Several rooms, each seemingly too large to fit inside the building, contained entire biomes. In one room, the grass grew into rolling hills and in another it was a flat desert, covered in sand. Talent even saw a room where the water fell from the ceiling and pooled in the center. Each space was populated with feral animals and plants, including several varieties of danathi. Talent’s instinct was to kill the beasts, but Sandra had warned him before entering not to harm any creatures inside.

After walking for some time, Talent finally found the collector in an extravagant dining room. She sat the head of the table with a drakess at her side. The draconian was chained, collared, and nude with only a few patches of scales to cover her. Its claws were filled down to stumps and its horns broken. She stood beside the collector, her back straight and eyes forward. Talent might have mistaken her for a statue if not for her pale skin and the gentle breathing.

The collector herself was dressed in a long red gown with white lace. Her dark hair was done up in an elaborate bun and she wore a matching headdress. Her lips were glossy red and her cheeks dusted with a soft pink powder.

She smiled, raising a glass of wine to her lips and saying, in a smooth voice, “Talent, you're just in time for dinner.”

“Thank you, but I won’t be staying. I’m here to pick up for my father.”

The collector set down her glass. She tilted her head half an inch as her eyes softened with concern. Her lips curved down ever so slightly and she said, “Surely you don’t intend to deny me payment.”

Talent shook his head.

Sandra stepped forward whispering in Talent’s ear. “Here you pay by offering an equivalent exchange. She doesn’t take money, only another item or story as unique as the prize you want.”

Talent nodded, then cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure what to offer. He wasn’t even sure what he was paying for. His father had given no details when they spoke and only a vague description in his message.

Talent asked, “What exactly do I owe?” wondering how he might get out of this situation, without offending the collector or embarrassing his father.

The collector laughed, saying, “Don’t worry, your father has already paid the agreed price.” Her voice was light as a bell, but somehow still chilling.

Talent felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders.

The collector continued, her tone casual and friendly, “I was merely hoping to extend our little interaction, perhaps you’ll still indulge my curiosity?”

“You want to know about me?” Talent gasped, his mind reeling as he searched for any reason or value she could gain from spending time with him.

The collector nodded. She lifted her glass again, taking a slow sip before saying, in a soft tone, “Everything interests me, even the numbers in your mines. How could I possibly pass on a chance to converse with a lordling like yourself? There is much to be gained from such interactions, even if nothing comes of it, the experience is always enriching. Don't you agree, Talent? Is there not something you want to learn from me as well?”

He already felt like he’d learned much just coming here. As interesting as the collector was, Talent didn’t think he wanted to learn more. As Talent considered how the collector might use or leverage her knowledge, he realized he preferred that she know as little about him as possible. He had no intention of extending their interaction.

Talent shook his head, saying, in a flat tone, “I'm sorry, but I can't stay. I'm expected back soon.” With a slight nod he added, “It’s nothing personal. I’d be happy to dine with you some other time.”

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The collector nodded, saying, without a hint of anger or disappointment, “I understand.” She rose from the table and stepped over to a nearby shelf. There she picked up an ordinary little box. It was wooden and locked with a clasp.

The collector approached Talent, holding the box out to him.

Talent reached for the box, but before his fingers touched it, the collector pulled back.

The collector smiled, saying, in an apologetic tone, her voice still melodic, “My apologies, but I actually can’t just give it to you. It is quite precious to me and I will only part with it under one condition; I want you to tell me what’s most precious to you in all the world.”

Talent hesitated, unsure of how he should answer. He thought the question was a strange one, and yet he found himself considering the question seriously. What was most precious to him?

As he pondered this question, the collector waited patiently.

He arrived quickly at a conclusion. His diato was perhaps the single most important facet of his existence. Every moment of his life would be spent trying to get it back and once he had it again, every moment would be spent enshrining his authority.

He went to answer, but she held up a hand. “Be certain before you speak. If you lie to me, or if I’m dissatisfied, then I won’t give it to you.”

Talent didn't understand why she would be dissatisfied by a truthful answer, but he considered it nonetheless. He wondered if it mattered. Wouldn’t she be satisfied with any answer as long as he gave her one? She was just interested in information after all.

Something told him to take her words more seriously, so he carefully reconsidered his answer. His diato was important, but not because he cared about power or authority. It was merely a necessity for him to protect himself and the territory his father had built. Once he realized that, it took Talent only a few moments to decide that what mattered most to him was, “Freedom of choice. I want to be my own man, with the ability to make decisions and live the way I want. Ironic I guess, considering this is something I will never have.”

The collector smiled sympathetically. Extending the box toward him, she said, “Well, perhaps the things most precious to us are better left in someone else’s hands. I think you should have this, I want you to do with it as you see fit. I hope it will grant you some of the freedom you desire, at least in some small way. But be warned, the contents of this box may not accept you as their owner. If that happens, know you are in good company as I was not deemed worthy either.”

Talent accepted the box, and the collector returned to her seat. She sat down, picked up her glass, and resumed drinking her wine.

Talent was perplexed by her words. He wanted to ask more questions, but he sensed he was being dismissed.

He tucked the box away in his dimensional storage, and said, with a slight bow of his head, “Thank you.”

The collector smiled.

He turned and walked out of the room with Sandra close behind.

They continued on in silence. The only sounds were their footsteps and the soft buzzing of crystal lamps.

It seemed strange to Talent that the collector would give away something she considered so precious. He didn’t know her, but it seemed like a very uncharacteristic act for the woman he saw.

He supposed there might be more to it, but he thought it was best not to dwell on it too much. They passed quickly through the series of strange chambers stopping in the entry room to regroup before departing.

Daren, Anne, Mary and Marta stood near the exit, but Mikala was holding a man against the wall. His eyes were distant and his expression vacant as she whispered in his ear.

Talent frowned. The number was the boy they brought from the mine and Mika should’ve known better.

Sandra asked, in a low voice, her tone serious, but light, almost playful, as she leaned close to Talent's ear, “Should I punish her, or will you?”

Talent shook his head. He was too tired for this. It was only a matter of time before the number would be sent back to the mines anyway. He said, his voice neutral, “Do whatever you want.”

Sandra nodded. She moved over to Mikala, but instead of chastising her, she merely tapped her on the shoulder.

Mikala stopped whispering and let go of the number. She turned her head to look at Sandra, with defiant frown, but sighed acknowledging her fault then moved away from the boy.

“We’re done here,” Talent said, “but this is still Raven territory. We need to be careful.”

The magistrates nodded, but Anne looked like she wanted to say something. She kept glancing at the number as if she was concerned about him, but when she saw Talent looking at her, she said, in a low voice, her gaze firmly fixed on the floor, “Do you think the cruiser’s still secure? Maybe someone should have stayed behind.”

Talent nodded. He considered Anne's point, then said, in a firm tone, “Perhaps, but the CC is bound to me, and by extension to Sandra. No one can steal it. Even if we must eliminate some lurkers, who could hope to overcome five magistrates and a judge?”

Anne nodded, but her eyes remained glued to the floor.

She was always like that though, quiet and overly cautious. In someways it was a good quality, but at times like now it only served to make everyone anxious.

He knew she was right though. It was silly of him to have left the ship unguarded. He should have been more careful.

He looked around, noting the magistrates and the number. He didn't think there was anything to be done about it now. He said, with a hint of command, his tone authoritative, “We should get back. I want to be home in time for a hot meal and a warm shower.”

There were nods and a few grunts of agreement.

Talent smiled as he turned and led the group out of the building and into the street. It was night and raining harder now than earlier. He didn’t like the weather around Ashil. It was usually foggy or raining and both created great conditions for ambush. He’d need to be vigilant.

Talent took a deep breath and let his eyes wander over the nearby buildings. He saw no sign of anyone. He couldn’t hear anything aside from a million icy rain drops bursting on the pavement. He waved his hand to signal advance with caution and the group moved forward.