The next morning was bright. Cloudless. Temperate. The trees were just beginning to dip into reds and browns, fall colors dotting a dulling green. Kitty supposed Scarlet would've liked it, though she'd have probably preferred it to be raining and dour. Would've made things more dramatic.

Alas, this was what she got. Kitty stood in black with everyone else, watching the coffin get lowered. There weren't too many present. Most of the Syndicate was dead, injured, or too exhausted. Stretch was included in that number, his Spirit not strong enough to repair the damage he'd sustained overnight, and Baba had stayed behind to get the Outpost back in order after a week-long absence. That left only Kitty, Red, Donny, Odette, and a few others from Roman's crew she'd never properly met to stand at attendance.

Scarlet hadn't been known to many in her own gang, her role being what it was, and so none now cried for her. They probably wouldn't have cried even if they had known her well, wrung out as they were in the aftermath of the death and violence from the day before.

Kitty didn't cry either, though she wished she had. She'd searched for tears, had pulled on that nub of sadness she'd nursed for so long, but all she'd found in it was a husk. Maybe she'd learned to compartmentalize too well, learned to kill her feelings as efficiently as she did people. Eventually she'd just given up, staring as the hole in the ground was filled shovelful by shovelful with fresh soil.

It felt glum to have Scarlet's funeral be so dry-eyed. But it was proper too, in a way, for her to leave them with this uncanny discomfort. Hiding her true self and making it hard to know where anyone stood with her had always been her life's work.

Roman was perhaps the only exception. Now the Don of the whole Syndicate, he stood somewhat apart close to the headstone, eyes closed, praying. Kitty hadn't thought he'd be religious, but she supposed she didn't know him much anyway, despite what they'd been through together. Among all the plotting and almost dying, there'd never been much time for casual conversation.

Next to him stood his new wife Alainne. It both was and wasn't a surprise; on one hand, Kitty figured they wanted to be seen together now that they were official, but on the other hand she knew as well as anyone that their being together was strictly official. There was no deep animosity between them, but there certainly wasn't any love either. A marriage of convenience.

After the ceremony—a brief thing with only a few words spoken—the group dispersed through the graveyard. A few left straightaway, off on some task Roman had given them. A few remained to talk among themselves, Donny and Red included; unlike Kitty, the boy had made an effort to make friends. Or, Kitty recognized, there had been no effort on his part at all, and this was simply the natural consequence of him spending time with other people. Red was so open, so willing, so lacking in judgment, that it was hard not to be drawn into his rhythm. Even she had crumbled before him, eventually.

She waited for him under a nearby tree, using her Trick to listen in on their conversation. Already their memories of the last few days seemed spotty at best. They remembered an assassin, remembered a series of gunfights, remembered that these children Roman had hired were somehow special. But the details of those remembrances, the moving shadows, the man with stretching arms, the boy who could lift far more than made sense, all these things fell into a confused recollection easily brushed off.

The circumstances stayed the same, but the impossibilities within were subtly carved out, made dull, explained away. The Veil at work already. Watching it was as interesting as it was disconcerting.

But what concerned them most was the state of the Syndicate. As they put it, enough members had died in the battle that Roman had decided to build a monument rather than give each their own plot of ground. He'd be passing money along to their families too, a sort of criminal life insurance. Kind, but smart too. Having fought among themselves, Roman now sought to unite them again, remind everyone that they were one clan, that he'd take care of their loved ones even should they fall standing against him.

That, the repairs for the half-demolished León Estate, the bribes to police and other city officials to keep things quiet, all of it would produce quite the long receipt. Not to mention the payment she and Red had been promised. Dishing out that much in such a short period would've destroyed larger organizations than the Volantes. Kitty didn't know where Roman would find the money, and didn't envy him the monumental effort it would take to keep the Syndicate running during that search for funds.

Kitty was pulled from her thoughts when Alainne unexpectedly walked over. The woman stopped beside her, standing silently and watching the others as she had, and Kitty graced her with a blank stare. Most would have fidgeted under her dark and stern eyes, would have balked at the bloody memories that emanated from them like whispered echoes, but Alainne simply stood there, unperturbed.

She was peculiar, this Alainne. Lithe and with a sort of icy beauty that reminded Kitty of Zelda, though without any of the frivolity. It made Kitty wonder how much she had done and seen, considering what family she belonged to.

"I'm sorry," Alainne finally said, not looking back at her.

Kitty raised a brow. "For what?"

"She was your sister, wasn't she?"

"Ah." Kitty crossed her arms. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Were they together?"

It was such a frank question that Kitty didn't know what Alainne was talking about, but when she turned to look she found the woman's gaze on the tombstone. Roman still stood there, the only one now, head still bowed.

"I don't know," Kitty said, and found herself wondering the same. "But... He's the kind of man I could imagine Scarlet falling for. And from what I saw, she was pretty special to him too."

"His secret weapon," Alainne said, smiling. It was wry and somewhat grim. "It looks like we'll both start our marriage in grief."

Kitty found herself confused again, both by the words and their purpose.

As if sensing this, Alainne finally turned to her, wry smile still in place. "My father. He's made it this long, but yesterday was... stressful. Then there's my brother. He'll have to die after what he did, the idiot."

And it would have to be soon, Kitty thought. Roman probably had him held somewhere, ready to be discarded as soon as there was time. "I'm sorry too, then."

Shrugging, Alainne turned back to the tombstone, and to Roman, watching both with indecipherable eyes. "We all live with death. Some more than others. People like us, in this world, most of all."

"Roman says he wants to change things," Kitty said. "Change the product, change the victims, lower the deaths."

"Fascinating. And you believe him?"

The question should've been sarcastic. Condescending, even. But Alainne said it with no tilt of her voice, no quirk of her lip, as if it had been asked in earnest.

"I'm not much of an optimist, but he put his faith in me, so it's only fair that I put my faith in him." She threw Alainne a shrewd look. "What about you? Do you believe?"

"I believe Roman believes he wants to change things." Alainne sighed. "Who knows? That might be enough to make it happen. Still, this was quite a way to get started. How much blood can anyone reasonably spill to make a world where less blood is spilled?"

"The blood is on Agrivon's hands."

"Of course."

Kitty narrowed her eyes, because now the sarcasm was clear, but before she could point it out Alainne began to walk away. A few steps into her departure, the woman turned to give one last lingering look, her smile now something like sincere.

"You and your friends did us a big favor. No matter how much Roman pays you now, we in the Volante Syndicate won't forget that. Take care of yourself, Kitty."

So she went to Roman and stood by him, whispering something. They stayed there a while in silence, both meditating on the grave before, wordlessly, they turned to leave. Roman looked back at Kitty in her place under the tree, somber eyes locking on hers, and offered one last nod. The girl returned it, leaning the bark, and watched them go in a slow, plodding departure back toward the city. Marching toward conquest.

"Dangerous woman."

Kitty didn't turn at the voice, having heard the soft weight settle beside her. It stood there now, half-hidden behind the tree trunk she leaned against.

"She accepted everything so easily," Kitty muttered. "The wedding, the infighting, everything. It's like she was expecting it."

"Why else do you think she's still alive?" Owl said, for it was Owl there next to her, free and calm in her shadow. That had been part of the deal with Roman, and the man had stayed true to his word, though for obvious reasons that had been kept secret from the rest of the Syndicate.

"Her father and brother will both die soon, and that cousin of hers won't last much longer," Owl continued. "By the end she'll be the last Volante left. My guess is she knew that once someone like Roman came into the picture, a fight like this was inevitable. We were just the spark."

"You mean you were the spark."

Owl didn't respond. There was something unsaid in that silence, and again Kitty felt like she was missing something big and important and maybe even glaring, but did it really matter anymore? She'd fulfilled her promises to Roman, to Scarlet, and to herself. Anything beyond that wasn't her business.

"Have you thought about my offer?" Kitty asked.

"Yes." Owl leaned back on the tree like Kitty did, both of them looking down at where Red still commiserated with the others, a dwindling group now that Roman had left. "I... appreciate it, but I'll have to decline. I don't belong with you and yours."

Kitty sighed. "This again?"

"I won't go back to Father," Owl clarified. "Especially now that Hound's not around. It's just, this Outpost, these Rangers..."

"They'll accept you."

"Maybe. But your friends are yours, not mine." Owl grew quiet but resolute. "I need to see if that's something I can find for myself. My own way. My own home."

Kitty finally glanced sideways at her. "Is it... because of me?"

"Not everything is about you, Mouse."

A pang struck Kitty then, because that sounded exactly like something Scarlet would have said. It took her by surprise, ambushing her emotions and uncorking a whole stream of memories, and all of a sudden Kitty thought she might cry after all. It rose up her belly, up her throat, bit at the back of her eyes, and then it died before it could spill out in earnest.

Kitty took a deep breath. It hadn't been enough to break through whatever wall she'd built within herself, but it had been close. How odd. Unimaginable, even. But good too. Perhaps there was even more room for her to change.

Looking at Owl, it seemed the other girl had realized the weight of her words too. Her face as empty a mask as ever, the rigidity in her body nevertheless showed a kind of discomfort she should've long been trained out of.

"I'm... sorry about Fox," Owl said. "If I hadn't reported back that she was still alive, Hound wouldn't have been sent..."

"If Hound hadn't been sent, he wouldn't be dead now, and you'd still be stuck at the House." Kitty shook her head, somber. "Scarlet died wanting you to be free like us. I don't think she ever blamed you... And neither do I."

Owl, again, responded with silence, though in that they both found a strange peace, some hidden knot between them that seemed to unwind. Had Owl feared that the guilt she'd charged her sisters with would be returned in kind?

There's enough bad blood already, Kitty thought. I won't add to it. The hatred, shame, and doubt that existed between people, floating in the ether like a cloud of smoke, could with enough Spirit be dispersed. All it took was one side willing to give the other a chance. She'd learned that much, twice over.

So yes, there was something absurd about seeing Owl out in the open without fear even after all the killing and conspiring, but there was something right about it too. Something natural in having her there, in talking to her as an equal instead of as an enemy, and with the air clear between them Kitty felt them slipping back into an old, comfortable pattern. They might never have the same relationship they'd had as little children, but the relic of that friendship had survived the years and the resentment, cracked and chipped as it was.

"What changed your mind, in the end?" Kitty said. A short distance away, she saw Red waving goodbye to Donny and the rest before making his way towards them. "What made you want to try?"

Owl saw him come too, and shifted a step to better hide behind the tree. "I saw that not everyone was the way I thought. It made me curious." Red came close, and now Owl's voice fell low. "We'll see, Mouse. Just know you'll have plenty to answer for if this doesn't work out."

Kitty didn't see or hear her leave, but she felt it nevertheless. Owl had slipped off, swimming out into the shadows, and Kitty thought she felt an inkling of what the other girl must have felt all those years before when she'd been left alone, except this time it wasn't an abandonment. You'll have plenty to answer for, she'd said. Not goodbye.

"Take care," Kitty said, whispering to the wind. "And good luck..."

Stopping in front of her, Red seemed not to hear. He had his hands in his pockets, smile tugging at him in a clear attempt to hold back a chuckle. He just came up with a joke, Kitty thought. But before he could say it he froze and looked around, as if only now remembering what kind of place they were in and what they'd just finished doing.

"Uh, you alright?" he asked instead, and from the look on his face that took a good amount of effort. Must've been a good joke.

They walked together through the graveyard path, Red examining the headstones as they passed. He squinted down at them, as if trying to decipher the carved text, though it seemed more an excuse to stay quiet. There was still some tension there, the stink of their past argument hanging in the air.

Well, he'd done more than his part with regard to that. A hand reached out could only go half the distance.

"I wanted to thank you," she said. "You could've died so many times. Especially yesterday."

Red looked down, brow drawn in concentration. Half his face was still scratched up from grenade shrapnel, though the only stark color came from his striped tattoo. "No problem. But that guy, Vincent... It's weird. I could tell how mad he was, but I could also tell he didn't really wanna kill me. I just... felt it." He grinned softly at her. "That doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?"

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Kitty hummed. "When two Magicians fight, your Spirit is constantly flowing out, and you're constantly sensing theirs." She shrugged. "You sense their intent and predict their attacks, but after enough time you start sensing their emotions too. You start understanding each other."

Now Red's chuckle finally came out. Kitty sent him a curious glance, and he shook his head. "It's just... that's kind of like us, right? We started out fighting, and now I understand you better. At least a little..." He dropped off slowly, like his brain was catching up to what he was saying. "Er, except we never maimed each other, so I guess it's really not the same."

Wasn't it? Spirit didn't work in the most straightforward of ways. Even now Kitty could feel Red's Spirit pushing into hers like a soft breeze. Surely he could feel hers too, that ephemeral boundary between them melding and swirling. Talking, fighting, just standing around each other, it all crossed that porous threshold. The things they could touch, see, smell, taste, hear... maybe they all carried their own share of magic.

"I also wanted to say I'm sorry," Kitty said, deciding it in that moment. "For all the things I said to you last week. It wasn't fair, and I didn't even really mean it. I was angry at you, but... Really, I was more angry at myself."

Red's smile dropped, and he turned his face away. At first Kitty thought she'd offended him somehow, but then she saw his blush and the constrained dip of his brow and realized with some awe that he was actually embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it," Red said, not meeting her eyes. "I guess I'm sorry too about the stuff I told you. But whatever, okay? That happened like a billion years ago."

Unbidden, Kitty's lips drew up in amusement. "A billion years?"

"Total ancient history. I barely even remember what you said back then."

"If you say so."

They talked like that across the rest of the graveyard and out onto the sidewalk, toward the train that would take them back to the Outpost. Neither brought up the Volante Syndicate, nor Hound or Owl, nor any of the stress and pain of the last few days. There was no reason to bring it up. That was the past now, a memory of shared time, a leash that tied them together without the need for words.

- - - — MKII — - - -

Agrivon could smell the salt in the air, feel the sea breeze slipping through his clothes, hear waves crashing against the shore, so he wasn't surprised when they finally pulled the bag from his head and he saw bright midday sun over an endless expanse of ocean. Still, the brightness of it was too stark after so many hours in total darkness, and he flinched back into the chair they'd sat him down on, eyes blinking rapidly.

"Your father told me this was your favorite place in town."

Still blinking, Agrivon squinted over at the man he now saw sat before him, across a rail-thin metal coffee table. "Jackson? What..." He shook his head, feeling the light pound against his skull. It felt like a concussion, all dizzy and disorienting. "What is this? The fight..."

Roman looked from Agrivon to the calm sea. They sat just beside the harbor's edge, atop a concrete wall that dipped far into the waters below. "The fight's over, Agrivon. You lost."

Agrivon raised a hand to his forehead and saw at that moment that he was unbound. Confused as he was, his first instinct was still to take advantage and reach for the gun at his belt, except when he did his hand grasped on nothing but an empty belt. Narrowed eyes looked down, disappointed, before looking back up at Roman and noticing that they weren't exactly alone. Suited men and women stood like sentinels around them, far enough away to give some semblance of privacy but close enough to deter any unwanted action.

"I... lost." Agrivon licked his dry lips, voice coming out groggy. "How?"

"Your people put up a good fight," Roman said, still not looking at him. "Of course, I caught the assassin and you admitted to having hired her, they didn't have much of a leg to stand on. It wasn't hard to convince them they'd been tricked by you."

"What..." The last thing Agrivon could remember was shooting around a corner inside that infernal mansion, then something sharp nearly splitting his head from behind. "What are you talking about..."

Roman glanced past him and over at someone standing guard nearby. A stout man, familiar even, though Agrivon couldn't quite place him. "Donny, would you care to show him?"

Donny nodded, raised a ringed hand, then changed. His shape morphed, skin and clothes sinking into each other like melting clay and reforming, hardening, taking on different hues, until before Agrivon stood his very own likeness, a perfect replica that looked back with nervous confidence.

"You..." Agrivon could feel the pieces of his mind clicking into place. "That... Oh. Oh."

Then, Agrivon began to laugh. It was a long, loud belly laugh, once that shook his whole body and threatened to send him tumbling out of his chair.

Donny morphed back into his original shape before sending Roman a raised brow. The newly crowned Syndicate Don just shook his head, holding a hand out so the rest of his crew knew this was nothing dangerous. With another gesture he sent Donny back into line with them, then sat patiently for Agrivon's laugh to peter out.

"You..." Agrivon wiped a tear away, still chuckling with a cynical force. "I'll admit, Jackson, I underestimated you. Believe it or not, I even started doubting myself after a while. You were just so convincing. But I was right all along, wasn't I? It really was your fault all this happened."

Slowly, Roman's lips curved into an ironic smile. "Yes, Agrivon, I hired the assassin. I framed you by making everyone think you were trying to frame me. You were right. Congratulations."

Agrivon lay back on his seat, still smiling, but feeling spent. He should've felt angry, but somehow the whole thing was too funny. Plus, the more he sat there, the more he was coming to understand the situation. Roman's crew weren't there just to keep him in line. In fact, most of their attention seemed focused outward on the empty harbor.

This had always been a rather desolate spot of coast. Too out of the way for most people. It was why Agrivon had always liked it. A good place to sit and think, to calm himself whenever the rage took him. A good place to be alone.

A good place to avoid any witnesses.

"I'm dying here, aren't I?" Agrivon said, eyes turning to the sea. "Bastard. You beat me and couldn't even be an asshole about it."

"I did promise your sister I'd make it quick," Roman said, hands pulling apart. One of them reached down to his lap, then came back to rest on the table with a gun cradled in its fingers. "And I thought I might as well give you something pretty to look at too. We're family now, after all. I feel obligated."

"That's the part I always hated the most about you," Agrivon said, words laced with diluted venom. "You act all high and mighty, all respectable, when really you're as bad as they come. Worse than any of us."

"I have to agree."

Roman leaned back and looked at the sea. A few boats sailed off in the distance, far enough away to look more like vague shapes than real vessels. Mostly it was a span of blue all the way to the horizon, waves rippling all throughout in long, slow ripples.

Some seconds passed, both of them enjoying the sight, before Roman eventually broke the silence. "Well? Are you ready?"

Agrivon kept his eyes ahead, narrowed on that point where the ocean met the sky. "Get it over with."

A single gunshot rang out. Its echo traveled through the air and down to the waves, eaten up by their relentless march on land.

Its barrel smoking, Roman put the gun back down on the table. Across from him, the body slumped low, hunched over one of the armrests. That was that. With another silent gesture he called a couple of his men to come over and pull it from the chair. They'd tie him to something heavy and then throw him off the harbor; in that, Agrivon's favorite place would be as convenient as it was beautiful.

Just in time too, because a small commotion suddenly sounded out behind him. Roman turned to see a couple of his guards speaking low with another man, an outsider who loomed over them both in presence if not in stature. His gray streaked hair and hard features gave him an easy authority, so that he smiled softly and knowingly even in the face of their silent threats.

"Let him through," Roman said, sighing. He supposed this appointment couldn't be put off.

The man's smile—a permanent feature, from what Roman had seen—turned appreciative, and he stepped between the guards without an ounce of hesitation before happily taking the now-empty seat across the table. Now it was Roman's turn to be loomed over, and despite himself he felt goosebumps spanning the back of his neck. A reaction to the man's Spirit, he now knew.

Hand tightening on his gun, Roman tried not to let any agitation show on his face. "I wasn't expecting you so soon, En."

The Director of Enforcement sat upright, almost leaning forward on the table, eyes friendly. "I just couldn't wait to hear the good news." He bowed his head, almost conspiratorial, though it seemed more a way to tease. "So, how'd your little purge go?"

"I have a feeling you already know the answer to that."

"Oh, I don't like to assume. Guess wrong often enough and you'll know the value of certainty."

"Things went about as well as you could expect." Roman put some force into his voice. "But don't forget why I agreed to this. If you really need this Syndicate, you better make good on your end of the deal."

En waved a careless hand. "You'll have your Talismans, don't doubt that. The first shipment's on its way already."

Roman tried to hide his relief. The Syndicate was nearly broke, and their manpower had been cut in half. Had En reneged on their agreement, he very well might have joined the Volantes he'd killed once the crews found that their profits would never match their losses.

"There's another problem," he said, less terse now. "One of your people came around. He got brought in by one of the other Captains, so I don't know how much they told him, but there's a chance he might've pieced together what I'll be selling. The last thing I need is Magician cops sniffing around on top of the normal ones."

En nodded. "Agent Vincent, wasn't it? He's no problem. There's enough broken red tape in his involvement that he'll have to give up his badge and more. No one will ever hear from him, I'll make sure of that."

Roman shifted in his seat, aware that he'd never actually provided Vincent's name. He'd only met En a few times, but the other man always seemed to have some supernatural control over their conversation, always anticipating what would be said, always knowing what he shouldn't. It was eerie, like Roman became some character in a script that En had long ago read, if not written.

"I notice you didn't bring Ms. Valentine today," En said, glancing calmly around at the guards. "Or is she hiding behind one of her masks?"

"She's..." Roman's throat closed up, a sudden loss of control, but he forced the words out. "She's dead."

"Ah..." En shook his head, shoulders slumping in a way that to Roman seemed a little too practiced. "My condolences."

Narrowing his eyes, Roman flexed the hand on his gun. "Did you know she would die?" he asked in a whisper. "You knew I'd win the Syndicate. Right from the start, you knew. When you brought her to me all those years ago, did you see her death coming too?"

En threw his hands up before him in surrender, though his smile returned, light and reassuring. "What did I say about assumptions? Even I can't know everything."

"But you did know I'd need her."

"Of course. Her and her friends."

Roman frowned. "You mean... those Ranger kids?"

"Quite difficult to manage, that Outpost." Sighing, En slid his chair back and stood up. "They're relentless, like a flood crashing against a dam. You need to set spillways for that sort, give them a solid direction to storm on ahead for when they inevitably break through."

Frown turning into a glare, Roman gripped the gun tight. "If you mean to hurt them..."

"Oh, did you get attached?" En looked down at him, amused. "I wonder, would they feel the same if they ever found out that you've been the one pulling their strings from the moment you met?"

"I take whatever help I get, but their part is over now."

"Is it..."

"En..."

"No need to worry, Roman. You see, their part isn't over. If anything, it's just getting started." En shrugged. "But that means I can't afford to hurt them, just as I can't afford to hurt you. For now, at least."

Jaw tight, Roman wondered again at how easily this man had taken the reins, how expertly he seemed to toe the line of inciting anger and enforcing calm. "What do you want out of all this, En? Really?"

Smiling, En tucked his chair into the table with seasoned politeness. "Why, the same thing you want, Roman. A better world." He winked. "Build a strong Syndicate, my friend. It'll be needed in the future."

He knocked on the table, a symbol of luck, then walked away. The guards let him pass easily this time, not even needing to be told, and Roman watched him go with growing discomfort. If I've been pulling their strings, you've been pulling mine, he thought. But even knowing this, he couldn't help letting those strings take control. En was too important a supplier, especially now.

One day, when he was stronger, he'd cut those strings himself. So, fine, Roman would play along for now. He had no other choice.

- - - — MKII — - - -

Jason sighed, flopping backward onto the bed, feeling himself sink and the mattress hug around his tired muscles. He closed his eyes, breathed in the too-clean air of Zelda's room, then felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. Eyes opening, he pulled the phone out and drew it up to his face.

Stretch

Hey just wanted to let you know that everything is totally fine, not that there was ever anything to worry about :)

Scowling, Jason scrolled up through Stretch's messages from the past week, at this point too tired to feel properly annoyed by them.

Friday 10:41 am

No big update

Tuesday 4:07 pm

Things are pretty fine

Wednesday 9:33 pm

Swam in a pool today. That's it that's the news

On and on it went, going back to Sunday. It was clear Stretch was hiding something, and it worried Jason, but if it had been that important there was no way his friend wouldn't just come out and say it, or so he wanted to believe. Regardless, he was glad to finally be coming back home, if only to put his fears to rest.

"How was today?" Zelda asked. She sat nearby on a carpeted floor soft enough to sleep on, surrounded by piles upon piles of folded clothes and an open suitcase. As she'd put it, this was a good opportunity to change up her wardrobe back at the Outpost, since the space he let her have in his closet was small she had to leave the bulk of her stuff here.

"Another long one, but at least we're done," Jason said, sitting up and slouching on his knees. He watched her, eyes following her delicate hands as they swayed back and forth from one pile of clothes to the other. "I can't believe it really took all week."

"I can't believe it only took all week," Zelda muttered. "I swear, Dad's been losing it even more these days. We're lucky En keeps him on a leash."

Jason hummed, having heard similar things before but only now understanding the sentiment. The Chairman got a little too excited about things, and that excitement seemed only to grow the more feedback he got, so the idea of so many Rangers in one place helping him decide things had been grounds for nightmare territory. En had been forced to keep things in check more often than not, though not without the help of Zelda's mother.

"So, what did you all settle on?" Zelda asked distractedly, her focus very much on playing Tetris with her suitcase.

Remembering the multiple meetings, Jason tried hitting the highlights. "There's way too many Talismans out there for us to really crack down on. We can't do a buyback either, since chances are that people with the really dangerous stuff won't bother. I mean, if your Talisman's strong enough, it's practically priceless anyway." He shrugged. "Can't get 'em back by force, can't get 'em back with money. Really, the only way to convince anyone to give up a strong Talisman is by giving them the chance to trade up, right? We need some way to have people come in, hand over their Talismans with the hope they might get something better, then make it so most of them don't."

Zelda raised a brow. "Sounds like you're opening up some kind of magic casino."

"That was one of the ideas," Jason admitted. "But En gave another one just before he left. Your dad was... particularly interested."

"Really. I hope it's nothing too dumb."

Jason stayed silent, watching her, wondering how to put it. Eventually she noted the lack of answer and looked back at him, searching his face. Whatever she saw in it drew her brow down.

"Okay, how dumb is it?"

"It's not dumb," Jason said. "It's just... unconventional."

"Ah. Very dumb, then."

"If it makes you feel better, we'll all be coming back sooner rather than later."

At this, Zelda did seem to perk up, and Jason smiled back. That lasted all of two seconds before the girl caught the implication in his words.

"... When you say we're all coming back..."

"Ah, yeah. The whole gang." Jason tried to ignore the glare she sent his way then. "I mean, En thought it'd set a good example for the others if they saw me willing to participate, and this is gonna be kind of a team thing."

"... A team thing."

"Yeah, y'know, since it'll be a... a tournament..."

"... A tournament." Something else struck Zelda then, and now her glare turned positively murderous. "Wait a minute. You said people will trade their Talismans for the chance to win better ones. Where exactly will these better Talismans come from?"

"Well, uh." Jason's smile turned sheepish. "This is kinda where your dad comes in."

Zelda didn't end up packing much. Apparently, she didn't need to. In just two months, they'd return along with as many other Magicians as could fit in the floating island. The tournament itself was novel enough, drawing some interest, but as word got out the thing that really caught people's attention was the prize that would wait at the end of it.

The Debon Treasure Trove. The world's greatest Talisman, handed down from generation to generation. In the old days, when Magicians acted of their own will and held even more pride in their independence than they did now, it alone had been able to force their submission and, eventually, their cooperation.

Back then, the Treasure Trove had granted ultimate legitimacy to a group that would one day become the Ranger Corps. And now, for the first time since the Corps' founding, it was open for plunder.