Tarn opened his eyes suddenly, finding himself back in the palace room in the Realm’s capitol, at the highest reaches of the Spire. Everything looked much as it had when he was last here. The mugs of ale and cold coffee lay mixed with parchment and scrolls across the great table. The thin slits of window let in weak daylight from the fog-bound harbor. The faint sound of gulls called sadly from the sea.

Ramad was not here, neither were other Council members like Satine Gorford or General Tromal. Yet there was a single person seated at the table, facing Tarn and smiling enigmatically.

Yarex.

Seated there, it was Tarn’s first real opportunity to look the man over. The heat of their combat on the docks had been a blurred, shocked rush. But now Yarex was sitting at the side of the table, legs casually stretched out in front of him, his expression calm as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

There were telltale signs he was a member of Urthin’s order. His clothing was cut the same way, tight and simple without a hint of inefficiency. Brown dark leather boots led to leather pants. A simple vest, padded for armor, dark cloth sleeves to enhance movement. A deep blue cloak rested on his shoulders, with the hood now pulled back to reveal dark rows of hair just like Urthin’s, with the same lack of beard.

But the smile made the rest seem wrong. While Yarex’s eyes burned with the same fast-moving intelligence as Urthin, the grin spoke of emotions he had never seen his friend show this outwardly. Amusement, whimsey even. As if Yarex was in on a joke only he knew.

Tarn took a step forward, expecting to be frozen in place. This felt like one of the Sword Dungeon’s visions, where the strange sentient structure would create a parade of images and memories around him. But he could move, he could feel the firm stone underneath his boots. The salt of the harbor wafted in from the windows, the slow crackle of the torches could be heard from the nearby hallway.

This is real. He didn’t know how, but on some level he was certain that it was truly Yarex seated before him. He knew he wasn’t back in the capital – he and Yarex were both transiting their bridges between dungeons. Yet they were here too, in this vision.

“What do you want?” Tarn asked the smiling Yarex. He did not return the man’s grin. It was off-putting to have his opponent give of the very aura of amusement Tarn himself relied on in these moments. It was definitely effective. Yarex narrowed his green eyes, as if he were studying Tarn in a laboratory.

“Intriguing.” His voice was honey-sweet, the tone of a good friend. “I expected you to ask me if you were dreaming.”

“I know what a damn dream feels like.” Tarn took another step forward, not caring about how clear his anger was. He was only a few feet away now, almost in reach. “And I’ve been in more than a few visions lately, and this isn’t that either. So – are you in my head now? Is that a Monk power I’m not aware of?”

“Not exactly.” Yarex laughed. “There’s no need to advance or consider combat. We cannot strike each other here, or I would have done so already. Think of this as a … ‘shared projection’ – a gift from my benefactor.”

Benefactor? The idea that someone else was assisting, or even influencing, Yarex’s actions helped the whole affair make more sense to Tarn. He may be Sighted or whatever the Shattered Stone called him, but Yarex was also an outcast. Someone helped him put this team together, maybe even got him access to the dungeon gems they were now using.

But who would stand to gain from preventing his journey to the Axe?

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“You’re working for someone?”

“Hardly.” Yarex made a disdainful cluck, shaking his head. “I am no one’s mercenary. I my heart, I am still a Monk of the Shattered Stone, whatever my people might say of me. No – there is a voice that whispers to me. I am assisted and guided by History herself. She has given us this setting where we can talk.”

History herself? Now it was Tarn’s turn to laugh.

“Well, if you could read my mind, you’d know that I think you’re crazy. You’ve done all this because of the voices in your head?”

“The man who talks to dungeons cannot accept my premise?” Yarex shrugged. “It matters not. Like history, the truth does not care if you believe in it.”

He’s poking, trying to see what reactions he gets. Another strategy he liked to use himself, and damn if this one wasn’t effective too. He took a breath, to calm his nerves and remind himself how he could use this opportunity.

“Yarex - I don’t care what your visions show, or the whispers in your head say. I’m not some… agitation. I’m just looking to help people. Save lives. That’s all I am trying to do here.”

“Throughout history many have-“

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Tarn cut him off, raising his hands. “Good intentions can lead to bad outcomes and all that. On the other hand, how many people were hurt or killed because no one did anything about problems like Lurim? I’m not sitting back and waiting for the Progenitors to attack the Realm.”

“Your intent will not change the outcome.” Yarex turned to the room’s corner, where one of the Arch Mage’s many thrones once sat. “Indeed, your sense of honor makes you worse than Lurim, as your altruism brings other innocents into your cataclysmic wake.”

Yarex turned back, fixing Tarn with his gaze. His eyes softened for a moment, his tone shifting suddenly from amused to almost pleading.

“I beg of you to listen to me, Arisfal. Though you see me an enemy, I do judge you as a good if foolish man. It is not your fault you are misguided and have given power without the wisdom to use it. You may be stubborn, but I hope you are still capable of opening your eyes. It is not too late to turn back from this course. Whatever you think you know, know this – your actions will bring suffering. I have seen it.”

The passion with which Yarex spoke gave him pause. He had no doubt Yarex was out of his mind, and the man’s pain at being rejected by his people was obvious. Yet he did believe in what he was saying. Urthin had said it before, the Monks of the Shattered Stone did not lie.

“Yarex, I know you believe what you’re saying. But I don’t believe you can see the future, no matter what you or your order say. You just called me stubborn, so you know you’re not going to change my mind. So why are you here? Isn’t the fact that you’ve … seen what I am going to do tell you that you won’t talk me out of it, or stop me?”

“I stand outside History.” Pride crept into Yarex’s voice. “Only by being outside it, can we see it and change it.”

The emotion began to boil over inside, pushing to the surface. Between Yarex, Ramad, and his own concerns about how best to use the abilities he had been given.

“Then tell me what it is I do that’s so bad!” Tarn wanted to grab the man by the collar and shake him. “You know I don’t want to hurt anyone. If I know what it is, I can prevent it. Isn’t that … wait a minute.”

Tarn paused, considering. His frustration shifted, moving outward at Yarex.

“You don’t really know what I do, do you?” Not possessing Urthin’s stoicism, Yarex could not hide his confirming frown. “You son of a bitch, you have no idea!”

“The scene will grow clearer as the moment gets closer.” Yarex frowned with frustration. “That is the nature of future history – it starts out vague, like ripples in a pond. I am too far still from the point of impact for full clarity But I know enough to take action.”

Tarn threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

“Unbelievable. You don’t know exactly what I am going to do, but you’re also pretty sure you can’t talk me out of it. What the hell was the point of all this then?”

Yarex looked back at him, a chilling smile crossing his face. He began to grow translucent, the details of the table behind him becoming visible through his body. Only now did Tarn notice a second form in the shadows, one of woman holding a brass lantern.

“Mostly to keep you talking.” The amused tone returned. “Vestai needed time to focus and determine where on your bridge you were.”

The woman’s candle blazed into brilliance, as Yarex vanished with a smirk.

Tarn woke with a start, his interface blaring warnings at him.

//CROSS-BRIDGE COMBAT BEGINS IN 60 SECONDS