Morning.

Once upon a time, I remembered enjoying mornings.

In fact, mornings in Burrick had almost been a pleasant affair. All chirping birds, bustling villagers, and the soothing, calming breeze that swayed the forest surrounding our quaint hamlet.

Indeed, no matter how threadbare my sheets, how lumpy my mattress, I awoke more oft than not, refreshed and ready for a new day. And when I left to forage, hunt and trap, when I saw dawn’s rosy rays twinkle at me, refracted through countless drops of dew, well…

I nearly felt Blessed.

But I wasn’t in Burrick, anymore.

I was farther now from home than I ever had been before, and with each subsequent step I trod into the World Titan’s belly, that dreadful distance grew.

Now all that greeted me when I awoke was a charred, blackened, broken, ugly metal room, a grim reminder of my past lies, present failures, and what brutal future might further lie in store. In fact, I didn’t even know if it was morning. I’d gotten what sleep I could, but the omnipresent, sickly stark-green lighting made it impossible to tell the time of day.

I emerged from my roughshod tent grudgingly, blinked groggily as the aforementioned light struck my eyes, and looked around.

Thaum had, apparently, awoken before me. The sorceress sat glumly and uncomfortably upon a rolled-up blanket, tucking into a delicious-looking meal without particular zeal. My eyes narrowed as they focused on her.

No. Not Thaum, I thought.

Alyss.

Alyss Nycta.

Heir to Cell Nycta, if what she’d said was true. Certainly, the girl had little cause to lie. In all but the most ignoble circles, such a name would only serve to bring her trouble.

Nycta was infamous. One of the two Slaver Cells. Allied with Syn, they together presided over the great war effort. And much like their partner, Nycta enjoyed a controversial reputation, characterized predominantly by hatred and fear. Despite their trappings of nobility, Aristocrats in the Cells were rather split on the issue of slavery. They didn’t care what happened to mundies, of course, but plenty of slaves were Blessed, too.

Each Cell had their own legal code, and whilst Syn and Nycta had always practiced and pushed for the propagation of slavery, it wasn’t until the late 630s that it’d been universally adopted. The Novus Ordo, they called it. Meant to be part of one last-ditch push to end the war.

I swallowed as I approached her.

Heir to Nycta. That made her father Soultaker, the Soultaker. Angmar’s title wasn’t just for show. He was one of the most, if not the most, feared Immortal in all the Cells. Perhaps in all the world. For a brief moment, I wondered what it might be like to grow and develop in such an environment.

I’d wager it made my own childhood seem like paradise.

“Lady Nycta,” I greeted, taking a seat opposite her. “I take it our Inquisitor remains asleep? I don’t see him anywhere…”

“Alyss,” she corrected me. “Just Alyss.” Then, she hesitated.

“Yes, well, you see–,” She stammered, “I sort of…moved him into my own tent.”

I stared at her.

“What?” she asked, defensively. “I awoke, and he was still sleeping, on the ground, and my pavilion’s massive, anyway, and it seemed like he was exhausted yesterday and I didn’t want him to fight with you, or me, anymore and–”

“Alright, alright, alright,” I said, raising my arms in the hope to arrest her tirade. “I meant nothing by it. It’s a nice gesture, even,” I added.

Alyss nodded, and returned to her meal. For a while I watched her eat in silence, before summoning a rasher of dried meat to my own hand, and tucking in to it half-heartedly.

“I thought Immortals didn’t need to sleep,” I mused. Alyss shrugged in reply.

“I mean, I don’t know if he’s actually sleeping or in some sort of meditative trance, but he’s certainly dead to the world, so–” she paused abruptly, gaze flickering to the dried jerky in my hand, then down to her own sumptuous repast.

Alyss pursed her lips, furrowed her brows, and waved a palm in the air, summoning to it a similarly-delicious looking course. So lavish, in fact, that my ability to identify its many delectable components was significantly hampered by my own modest upbringing.

I saw gorgeously-browned and ever-so-slightly blackened meat drizzled lightly in a deep, rich ruby-red sauce, cooked to perfection and positively dripping with juices. Beside and around it, like little fluffy clouds, floated soft, creamy-white swirls and petite discs of what I could only guess was some form of potato, but prepared in a manner thoroughly exotic to me. Finally, as if arranged by a culinary virtuoso, all manner and color of glazed, candied, softened vegetables formed a veritable edible oil painting across the plate.

Alyss promptly extended this ambrosia-given-physical-form towards me meaningfully.

“Oh-grlk,” I said, coughing slightly on my own drool, “I couldn’t possibly–I can’t accept something like that, really, I–”

“Taiven,” Alyss replied. Her use of my real name felt almost uncomfortable, given the time it’d been since another person actually spoke it. “I have nearly five-fucking-hundred of these things inside my ring, and Glare no longer needs to eat.”

“Brutes have a large appetite, I know,” she continued, “but even if Trumps have double again that, you’re not going to make a dent in my stores. And, to be honest,” she stated deadpan, “I don’t know when, or if, we’re getting out of this Priest-damned place. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather leave as little provisions as possible to rot in Knossos’ depths.”

“Welllllll–,” I murmured, my eyes fixed only on the meal and nothing else in all the world, “only if you insist, then I suppose–”

“I do,” Alyss snorted, and a shade swiftly ferried the delicacy over to me, along with a little onyx pair of dining ware. Honestly, I would have been more than happy to eat it with my hands, alone, but I humored her, and cut off a piece. Alyss watched intently as I brought the slice of godliness towards my mouth, and closed it.

And moaned in euphoric pleasure.

The explosion of flavor was immediate and orgasmic. Incredibly, it brought back memories of that same ecstasy that had graced my being long ago, upon downing the last remaining drop of Entropy whilst sequestered in my ruined soul. But that feeling had been one of relief, of being dragged back from the depths of the Hells.

Whereas this was my very own, personal, private, ascension to the Heavens.

I wolfed down the food at such a pace that I barely got the chance to taste it, and even so the myriad spices, sugars, and textures almost overwhelmed me. I’d never eaten anything like this before, and now I was certain that I’d never be so satisfied by anything else again.

Before I knew it, the meal had disappeared, and my stomach had grossly distended.

I shook my head in disbelief as a bizarre feeling of sickening fullness combined with the desperate desire to eat more rippled through me. Draconic Blood kicked in automatically, my body’s temperature skyrocketing as it worked to process all the food, and I leaned back with a sated groan.

“Well?” I heard Alyss say, a hint of humor hidden in her voice.

“Gods above,” I moaned, closing my eyes, “I didn’t know they made enchanted food.”

I heard a sound that reminded me somewhat of tinkling bells, re-opened my eyes, and saw something perfectly astounding.

Alyss’s hand had risen to cover the front of her mouth, her cheeks were quivering, and the edges of her eyes had crinkled deeply.

She was laughing.

Alyss Nycta was laughing. The daughter of the dread Soultaker was laughing.

It was a beautiful sight.

“It’s not, actually,” she smiled, “but I’m pleased to hear you enjoy it. Only, try eating them every day, for nineteen years,” she said, still chuckling, “and I think you’ll find your enthusiasm evaporates, eventually.”

“That’s impossible. You’re mistaken,” I instantly replied, doing my best to imitate our fellow High Inquisitor’s booming basso, leading to another peal of rather unbecoming giggles from my companion.

From my friend.

And then the moment was over.

The precious joy departed her face as swiftly as it had arrived, Alyss’s wonderful smile evaporating like dew under the midday sun, leaving behind it nothing but grief and shame.

“I should have done this ages ago,” she muttered to herself.

“…I’m sorry?” I asked.

“This,” she said, gesturing to me, and her. “I’d enough food to dine all six of us for months. What if I’d done so right away, offered up my rations the very first time we all made camp?”

Her question, I sensed, was rhetorical, so I said nothing in reply.

“It’d have done wonders,” she went on, “ingratiated you all to me, proved I wasn’t like the rest of the slavers–” she spat the word venomously “–and raised morale, all in one single move. Hells, it might’ve even made Quarrel like me.”

She shook her head again, angrily.

“I didn’t even think of it. It never once crossed my mind. Some leader I am. Tell me, Taiven, what was my education good for, exactly?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Once more, I did not respond.

“Not for delving,” she said, spitefully, “not command. Not the mechanics of Blessings. For combat, then. And yet,” she spread her arms wide. “Lo and behold, I stand alone, the only one amongst us all who managed to get themselves captured and enslaved, whe–”

“Come now, that’s hardly fair,” I interrupted her, finally. “You were the only one trapped alone with Vox, and he deceived each one of us, he–”

“He deceived us all, and I never saw it coming,” she cut me off, half-angrily, and half in self-pity. “I’m the Master, here. Damn it all, I’m from a Cell of Masters! I’ve dealt with them for my entire life!”

“Of each of us,” she finished, “Of the whole group, I’m the one who should’ve recognized him. I’m the one who should have seen this coming. Instead, I failed, and you suffered for it.”

I frowned.

“That’s not–,” I began.

“No?” She asked, cutting me off. “Had I dealt with Vox, personally, he never would have tried to Master you. Instead, he did, which gave that Blessing, that Shard of yours an opening to attack!” Alyss gesticulated wildly as she spoke. “That led to you being forced to share with us secrets that, just to remind you, by the way, will very quickly and very easily get you killed!”

Then the fire in her was extinguished, and Alyss sagged miserably.

“Our words are Death and Dominion,” she recited, muttering. “We rule, or we die. Well, I’m certainly no ruler, so what exactly am I?”

For a moment, I allowed a silence to hang in the air, watching as the sorceress before me wretchedly worried the fine seams of her smooth black robes, and rugged leathers.

“You know,” I suggested, mildly, “had Vox’s attack never reached my soul, I’d be just as ignorant of that opening you mention as I was before.”

“No small detail,” I pointed out. “Now I know how to prevent it. Now, I know how to defend.”

“What might have happened,” I wondered, looking at her meaningfully, “had I not been made aware of this, suffering or no? Had my Blessing usurped me at a later date, when I was more powerful, perhaps…what havoc might it have wrought?”

My eyes darkened.

“Say, in a densely-populated city?”

Alyss’s eyes widened, and she paled.

“Do you imagine,” I drawled. “That Sovereign would have shown mercy to the masses?”

Once more, a thick silence hung in the air.

“The worst thing that could come from our mistakes,” I suggested, breaking it, “is that we give up altogether. And, while I’ll admit I’ve never personally been particularly attracted to command…”

I tilted my head, examining Alyss thoughtfully. There was no reason for me to gain favor with her, anymore. I’d been this honest, already. I might as well tell her what I really thought.

“I don’t think your prospects, in that regard, are quite so grim as you make it seem,” I said, the corners of my lips quirking up into a slight smile.

“No?” Alyss asked, skeptically. “How do you figure that?”

“I think you’re a good person,” I said.

Alyss stared at me, skepticism evolving into full-on disbelief. I didn’t blame her, and yet, to even my own surprise, I really meant it.

What a ridiculous prospect. A good heir of Cell Nycta.

“You might lack experience,” I admitted, “but that will come with time. Your instincts are all there.”

“Milord,” she stated, deadpan. “Surely, you jest.”

“Not at all,” I denied, beginning to list items off my fingers. “One; commiserating with your subordinates. You clearly have no problem sharing the luxuries of your birth with others,” I identified. “The food. The tent.”

“Two; you do not flee, nor falter, even in the very most grim of conditions. You cite your enthrallment to Vox’s Mastery as a failure, but you survived, did you not?” I asked. “I don’t imagine it was a particularly pleasant experience, and Vox was far from stable mentally, but you managed. Then,” I pointed out, “when faced off against my Blessing, you survived again.”

“Believe me,” I said, seriously, “I know how difficult that can be.”

“And yet, you didn’t succumb to madness, or emotion,” I went on, shrugging, “perhaps I’m biased, but despite Glare’s years of experience, you were the level-headed one yesterday, were you not? I call that three; maintaining composure regardless of circumstance.”

“And one last thing,” I added, “the most important factor, I would argue; self-sacrifice.” I shut my eyes tight, briefly, as the memory spawned itself, unbidden, from my mind.

My oldest friend’s eyes turned to face me. I tried to call out to him, but only managed to choke on my own blood. Somehow, he managed to croak through the creature’s grasp.

‘Don’t lose yourself,’ Aldwyn whispered.

Then the mimic knight impaled him through the heart.

I took a deep breath, in and out, letting the memory fade away.

“In my view,” I began, quietly “the greatest of leaders, those truly worth following, are the few who put their own lives and resources before those who follow them.”

I pointed at Alyss.

“You sacrificed your servants, your power, you risked injury, that we might triumph against the Champion of the first floor. Do any other Aristocrats come to mind who’d do something like that? For a group of strangers, no less?”

Alyss was stunned silent. She looked bewildered. Her song flailed awkwardly in the stagnant air.

“That was what really impressed me,” I went on, honestly. “You might have much to learn, but,” I waved a hand, dismissively, “but that’s just time. Practice, and time. Anyone can do it.”

I pointed again, this time at her chest.

“That…that core, that part of you inside that’s well-intentioned, that wants to do good, if it exists, that is what really matters. That can’t be taught, that…that–” I stopped abruptly, startled by my own intensity and passion.

Alyss’s face had flushed a deep scarlet, and her mouth hung slightly open as she stared at me.

“I…,” Alyss breathed, barely able to speak, “y–you–”

“Good morn, my friends,” Glare yawned blearily as he emerged from Alyss’s tent.

Thankfully, the Immolator seemed to be of a considerably improved demeanor over the day prior. His song, though not quite so placid and mirror-esque as when first we’d met, had calmed substantially. He yawned again, blinked his eyes, and scowled.

“Or, such as it can be, inside this cursed place,” he groused, then scratched the back of his head, sheepishly. “In any case, I wanted to apologi–”

Glare ground to a sudden halt as his eyes alighted upon our current circumstances, Alyss and I, the former beet-red and desperately avoiding my gaze, whilst the latter sat awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

“Am I…interrupting something?” He started. “If I am, then–”

“Not at all!”

“No!”

Alyss and I both chimed in simultaneously, then fell silent once more.

“Right,” Glare stated, dubiously. “Well…well, regardless, I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you.” He looked at Alyss. “Both of you. The comments I made, the…”

Glare trailed off, shutting his eyes tight. “Perhaps I have grown too accustomed to the rhythms of violence and war. And I was hardly in the right state of mind after losing our fellows, I–”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” I interrupted, sincerely. Glare shot me a startled look, to which I merely shrugged.

“Given your position,” I explained, “I likely would have done the same thing.”

“You…you hold no grudge against me?” He asked, frowning, “Even though I forced you to reveal–”

“Should I?” I replied. “Had I yet been possessed, your actions might well have been the only thing to save both your lives. And, as for the revelation of my Blessing,”

I shrugged, again.

“I was going to tell you anyway, to be honest,” I admitted. “As the delve became more difficult, it was no longer possible to hide it, to fight with anything other than my true strength.”

I spread my arms wide, palms splayed upward.

“The way I see it, this was perfectly timed,” I paused, then winced. “Though perhaps imperfectly executed.”

“Well,” Glare said, again, smiling slightly. “That’s one way to put it, I suppose.” He sniffed lightly, but not in what felt like a discourteous way. “Yet again, you surprise me. I appreciate that, Lord He–Taiven. I appreciate that, Taiven.”

“My name is Caleb, by the way,” he added, quickly, “Caleb Conway, an–”

“We know,” Alyss said, a touch miffed, though I knew not why. “You told us, back when first we met.”

“Yes,” Caleb agreed, then frowned, pointing at her. “And I believe you said we shouldn’t share our real names. That such a thing was foolhardy, and unprofessional.”

Alyss shrugged.

“I stand by it,” she muttered.

“–A-anyways!” I cut in, quickly, in no way eager for the recent camaraderie to be broken. “I think we were all under a considerable amount of stress. And still are, to an extent. There’s no need to worry, I certainly hold no grudges, nor, I imagine, does milady,” I said gesturing at Alyss.

Her eyes met with mine once more, and her frown evaporated, replaced by an expression that made me far more uncomfortable.

But she turned back to Caleb, and calmly shook her head.

“Indeed,” the Inquisitor accepted, raising his eyebrows. “Well, I cannot rightly say I feel at ease with this…this Shard business,” he grimaced as he said the word, “but neither, upon reflection, can I find much to dispute about your words.”

“You have given me much to consider,” he murmured, more quietly, as struggling to decide what next to say.

Then his visage firmed, and that soft smile returned, milder than the broad, gleaming, brilliant one I’d seen him wear in Talos, but lacking a good measure of that sadness I’d heard deep within. Caleb held out a hand towards me.

“Perhaps,” he suggested, “for now, we should focus on the path forward.”

“I couldn’t agree more, milord,” I replied, accepting his proffered wrist, eagerly, “the path forward. After all, we’ve…” I glanced down at my wrist to check the time.

It was empty.

Of course it was. I’d vaporized the entire thing during my ill-fated encounter with the Kingsguard. The moment this whole damnable mess had begun.

“I don’t suppose,” I sighed wearily, “either of you would have the time?”

Caleb grimaced, shaking his head.

“I lost my watch to my ascension, I’m afraid,” he said, frowning whilst motioning to his still-quite-barren chest. “Alongside everything else.”

“I’ve got mine,” Alyss piped up readily, holding aloft the offending object in question, a lean strip of onyx and gold that shimmered from about her wrist. Her eyes locked upon it, and she recited slowly; “Five days, six hours and thirty-two minutes.”

Five days.

A mere five days.

Less than a week, and yet it seemed as if I’d spent an eternity in this hell. Looking around, I got the sense that my companions felt similarly.

“Well, then,” I began, drawing in a deep breath. “No time like the present, I suppose.”

I snapped my fingers, summoning Fang, then glanced towards the bright-green, glowing pedestal that rose from the dilapidated room’s center meaningfully.

“The next room awaits, my lord, my lady. Shall we?”

Caleb nodded firmly, levitated, and exploded with radiance, casting a great, white-yellow glare all about the room, driving away the ugly, sterile mood that had previously infected it.

Alyss paused for a moment, hesitating, then decided upon something.

She flexed a palm and her song shuddered, and rippled, and a shadow-sphere of a far larger and more intimidating sort than her normal servants emerged gruesomely from the shadows of her robes. It let out a low, onerous, moan, twirled around her once, and plunged into her neck.

And Alyss changed.

Her form shifted in wavelength, modulated in corporeality, bled over into another plane of existence. Her skin darkened until it was pitch-black and slightly translucent, her very flesh and blood mutating into the stuff of shadow. The sorceress’s Breaker state joined Caleb in a hover above the ruined, once-white floor, writhing tendrils of shadow whipping about angrily above her back.

What a show-off.

I flexed each of my Shards individually, checking to ensure that yesterday’s damage had healed, reassured when I found them all restored to perfectly working order. I twirled Fang, allowing my newly-rejuvenated companion to play lithely about my fingers whilst I cracked my neck back and forth.

With a pulse of power, and a ripple of red Lightning, I stood beside the pedestal.

“Everyone ready?” I rumbled, raising my hand above it.

Caleb flared with light.

Alyss seethed with darkness.

I pulsed Acceleration, watched time slow around me, and placed my hand upon the symbols.