The answer, as it turned out, was no.
ZEKE had barely uttered the cursed words when the Ordinate arrived. The grey robed man had exchanged the normal pleasantries, then dipped into hushed conversation with Elena. Alarion caught a few clipped words he didn’t understand, as well as one he did. Sanction. He didn’t like the furtive glance Elena had cast his way after hearing that word. Or the way she’d quickly departed for a meeting with her husband.
ZEKE certainly hadn’t liked the way that Elena had insisted that they wait to continue the lesson until her return. With Void Arena no longer necessary, the Steelborn argued that they should have been allowed to continue on in her absence. Elena disagreed.
Alarion didn’t get a vote.
With her absence expected to be short, the Steelborn had chosen to forgo alternate instruction in favor of an early brunch, to avoid yet further interruptions.
“It is weird that you don’t eat.” Alarion commented around a mouthful of grapes. The sweet purple fruit had quickly become a favorite after Alarion had been introduced to it some weeks ago, one that the young man jealously guarded on his plate. Despite his large breakfast.
“If it is any consolation, Alarion, it will forever be weird to me that the rest of you do.” ZEKE replied dryly, his attention focused on the shattered dummy on the far end of the courtyard as the groundskeepers tried to decide if it was salvageable.
“So you weren’t born human then?” Alarion asked.
“The name Steelborn might have tipped you off.”
“I’m not stupid. I just thought you might have been one of the…” The young man scowled as he wracked his brain for the word. Thumb and forefinger rubbed together as the idea fluttered on the tip of his tongue before it reverted to something familiar.
“Alarion, I don’t speak Ashadi. You will… ah.” The insight that Alarion had failed to find clicked in the Steelborn’s mind as he asked. “Systemborn?”
“Yes!” Alarion exclaimed, before repeating the word System half a dozen times, trying to lock it into his memory. “I heard they could be anything.”
ZEKE tilted his head to the side, the nodded. “It would be exceedingly rare, but I suppose it is possible. I could have been born a human, though I wasn’t. Touché. What do you know of the Systemborn. Or any of the Descendants for that matter.”
“A descendant is… your children. Or your grandchildren and their children. Isn’t it?” Alarion asked. “And the other is someone who overuses the p-” Alarion started to speak the Ashadi word, then caught himself and sounded out the Vitrian term instead, “-the System. It corrupts them, changing them into monsters.”
“Oh dear.” ZEKE’s tone held an audible frown as he looked to the sky and pondered if they’d have enough time to set the boy right. “To start with, you’re both right and wrong. Your usage was correct, but there is another way the term Descendants is commonly used. It is a shortened version of Descendants of Humanity, sometimes known as the Born races.”
“Like you.” Alarion observed.
“Like me.” ZEKE agreed. “There is a taxonomical argument about just how many Descendant-”
“Taxo-?”
“Taxonomic.” The Steelborn continued. “It means classification, usually of living things. Different people disagree on the number of different types of Descendant, but there are at minimum four major groups. The Steelborn, the Systemborn, the Godborn and the Thoughtborn.”
Alarion nodded, his head too full of questions for one to escape as he let ZEKE continue.
“First, of course, are the Steelborn. My kind were created by yours, first in individual laboratories and workshops and later in large factories far to the East. We tend to be stronger and more durable, and we are quite tireless. I do not have a stamina characteristic as you do, I can work endlessly if I put myself to a task.”
“That seems unfair.” Alarion replied, renewing his complaint from the previous discussion of the topic.
“I also live longer than humans.” ZEKE did not have the capability to smirk, but Alarion knew he was giving it his best. “I can be destroyed, but to my knowledge, no Steelborn has ever died of old age.”
Alarion spit the machine man with a look that clearly sought to change that.
ZEKE only chuckled. “Don’t be too upset. There are ways to extend your own longevity. But the primary advantage of your people is your Aptitude. What would you guess mine is?”
“One hundred and twenty… eight?” Alarion guessed. He didn’t want to be insulting, but from ZEKE’s tone, the number had to be lower than his.
This time the Steelborn barked a full throated laugh. “Oh if only.”
“Lower?”
“Twenty-two.” ZEKE clarified. “And I am born from an artist, not a factory, meaning I’m far more blessed than many of my kin. We pay for our many advantages in potential. It has forced us, as a people, to adopt a very long scale view of the world and our own progress within it.”
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“Are there a lot of you?” Alarion asked.
“Millions.” ZEKE confirmed. “But that veers into discussions of history and politics which is a much broader topic, so let us continue.”
“The Systemborn.” The boy was more confident in naming them this time.
“They are perhaps the most complicated to summarize, but I will do my best.” The Steelborn plucked a stem of half finished grapes from Alarion’s plate, to the youth’s immediate complaint. “Imagine for a moment that this stem represents all of your potential.”
“Mm.” Alarion knew better than to think he could take the fruit back by force, though his eyes glittered with the promise of a future violence if the example ended poorly for the grapes. “I’m imagining.”
“Splendid.” There was that non-existent smirk again. “Imagine the starting point for any person to be at the tip of the stem, here. Within the system you advance down the center line of the stem. Most classes that are taken will advance to the next rank, always leaving further potential ahead of them.”
“Most. But not all?”
“Indeed. As you advance the requirements to progress further increase and the stem narrows. If you obtain a low rarity class with a poor foundation, it is possible that you will reach a dead end in your advancement and you’ll be shunted off to one of these side branches.” Zeke gestured to an empty branch off the side of the stem. “Likewise there exist a good number of classes that are or become so specialized that they can never advance past a certain rank. Agricultural classes, for example, tend to block out around the third rank.”
Alarion considered the words before he replied. “And what does this have to do with the Systemborn?”
ZEKE pointed to one of the grapes. “Dead ends are not the only paths. Are they? Some have a reward at their end.”
“Oh!” Alarion sat up in his seat as understanding struck him. “Classes can do that?”
“Some. Though despite what your superstition told you, such classes are clearly marked with a Metamorphosis tag. Weak willed individuals might think they are being ‘forced’ due to a lack of palatable alternatives, but such excuses are comical. Especially in light of the fact that most Metamorphosis classes require extensive preparation and resources for the change. And besides all of that, many of these species predate the System itself. Men found ways of transforming themselves long before we had a systematic way to do so.”
“So what do they change into?” Alarion asked.
ZEKE tossed the grapes back into the waiting boy’s hand. “As many oddities as there are fruit on the vine. Beasts, Giants, all manner of demi-humans. Dragons.”
Alarion’s eyebrows shot up.
“No.” ZEKE replied flatly to the unasked question. “I do not know that path and I wouldn’t offer it to you if I did. It would be a waste of your potential. Most of the truly non-human Systemborn become that, non-human. They have impulses and drives that separate them from what they once were and many even lose their sentience entirely. Dragons, for example, are known to have an instinct to lair and to hoard. Even the greater variants that are fully cognizant of their actions fall victim to these impulses. Other species go to hide deep in the forests, or to build frightful dungeons to Lal Viren.”
“Ah.” Alarion replied, somewhat deflated. The idea of a lair did seem somewhat nice in theory, but would likely pale in execution. He popped another grape in his mouth, chewing through his thoughts before he asked. “So all monsters were once people?”
ZEKE shook his head. “Not at all. Even excluding fiends, the majority of monsters were born and bred that way. All it takes to make a clutch of dragon eggs is two wyrms, after all. The same is true of the civilized Systemborn. Most demi-humans can interbreed with each other, and some with humans.”
“So if they existed before the system, and they mostly give birth naturally, why Systemborn?” Alarion asked.
“Well then we’re back to the taxonomical dispute.” ZEKE chuckled. “The strongest argument in favor of the name is that there has been an explosion in new types of creatures and demi-humans over the last five centuries, so many of which were ‘born’ of the system. Their shared origin also gives them something to rally around. That is half the reason The Bizarre exists.”
Alarion quirked a brow, intrigued by the name. “The Bizarre?”
“Again, far beyond the scope of this conversation.” One look at Alarion’s expression told the Steelborn that trying to wave off that particular topic would be an exercise in futility. “Between here and my homeland there is an area known as the Strait of Nessun. Two centuries ago a ludicrously powerful Awakened known as The Raven built a trade city on one of the largest islands in the straits that he named The Bazaar.”
“Wait… Bazaar, or-”
ZEKE held up a hand to forestall the question as he continued. “Over time the value of the place grew, as did its population. In particular, demi-humans from merchant vessels found The Bazaar far more hospitable than similar ports, even in their homelands, in large part due to The Raven’s open acceptance of their people. Over time more and more demi-humans and other sentient Systemborn traveled to the city, boosting its wealth and prestige while bringing a dazzling mismatch of cultural, religious and racial backgrounds. The place is strange, hence its more common name, The Bizarre.”
“And much like we Vitrians do not like being known as the Numbered Empire, calling it The Bizarre in polite company will get you snubbed, while doing so in foul company will either result in a free drink, or a stab wound.” Elena added on to ZEKE’s explanation as she emerged from the broad double doors of the manor. “A history lesson, is it?”
“A tangent in a brief lesson on the Descendants.” ZEKE clarified. “One Mistress Sierra could finish off with the Young Master at a more opportune time?”
Alarion frowned. There was something about the way ZEKE spoke, the inflection of his sentence. He wasn’t asking Elena’s permission, wasn’t even looking at the more mature woman. ZEKE was looking at the wall next to her. At something that wasn’t-
Skill level increased. Detection is now Level 4. PER +2. WIL +2
He wasn’t sure if he could see her because of the level up, or if he leveled up because he saw her, but there she was, her dark clad form almost invisible against the shadow cast by the manor and the metaphorical shadow cast by Elena’s more vibrant presence. Her eyes met Alarion’s and hardened the moment she recognized that he could indeed see her.
“Permission to return to my regular duties?” Sierra asked, pointedly ignoring ZEKE’s question and Alarion’s presence.
“Denied.” Elena replied with a voice steeped in exhaustion. “I am already having quite the day. I’ll not have this squabbling. Alarion, apologize so we can be done with this.”
“I-”
“-Will not accept.” Sierra cut him off before he could even begin. “We’ve exchanged half a hundred words at most, and a quarter of those were lies. Why would I expect an apology to be anything but a chance for more perfidy?”
“I was asleep. I didn’t mean to-”
“So you lie as easily as you breathe? How is that better?”
“Enough!” Elena snapped. “I do not have the patience for this and he does not have time for this.”
“Ma’am.” Sierra protested. “I-”
“As you made painfully clear this afternoon, he is not a Vitrian.” Elena interjected. “I expect you to honor your own position by not holding him to the standards of one.”
“And as for you.” Elena’s stone eyes turned to Alarion, her voice dripping with anger. “The next time I am told a lie has passed your lips, I will strike the lashes myself.”