Crin brooded outside a club in the capital of Scarleon, the city of Kellis. Dance music thumped in the background. In colorful and revealing clothing, the Worker Sect people stood around puffing on vaporizers. A lengthy queue stood outside place; a brute of a doorman waving over people with a metal detector.

Being as tall and built as Crin was, no one bothered to talk to him or approach him. Groups of pedestrians took a wide berth around him.

He wore a black jacket with a hood shadowing his face. He doubted anyone would recognize him in a dump like Scarleon, but it didn't hurt to be safe.

Crin hid his Caster, named Borealis, inside of his front pocket. It obscured his Bond-sense, an annoying inconvenience. But he could still access Phasematter if needed.

Even in upper class Garden District, the stench of garbage wafted in the air. Kellis huddled close to the ocean, and a constant salty breeze carried the stench from the lower slums like a bad omen.

The entire nation of Scarleon was dirty like this. It had degraded considerably, having once been the most beautiful province in Ophan. Most of the Scarl Worker Sect lived in squalor these days, starving, only to be thrown scraps from their betters. Some labored without pay like simple slaves.

As a kid, Crin remembered visiting Scarleon with its grain fields, lush orchards, and sprawling vineyards. Kellis once stood as a glittering city on the sea. He had swum on the glittering white sand beaches with his family, which were now littered with trash and debris.

A white car turned onto the street and parked nearby, its headlights illuminating a pool of darkness. It lingered there, no passengers getting out.

The back pocket of his slacks vibrated. He pulled out his comm and flipped open the screen, a message on the interface.

I'm here.

He strolled to the parked car. The door hatch slid open, and Crin lowered into the passenger seat. The man sitting beside him was named Garier. He wore a bright red shirt with wide sleeves and skintight white pants.

The door closed and sealed with a hiss. "Garier. You made it back alive," Crin said. "They got my message?"

"Yes, Knight Commander." Garier fidgeted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.

"…And?"

"I only spoke to the villa guard captain. He relayed the message: 'You're welcome to try.'"

"Hm. I see. Well, take us to Scarl Villa."

Garier inputted a command to the cybermind, and the car took off, bumping along over potholes. Crin observed further destitution out the window, and he frowned.

The Scarls have always been brutish children. They want me to force my way in without getting caught. They'll lose good men for no reason. Stupid fools.

He always had to jump through hoops to get what he wanted. No one wanted to listen; obstinate slimes the lot of them.

His fingers drummed on the armrest, listening to Garier fidget beside him. Why was he so terrified? He had done his job as asked.

"Your family has their ticket out of here. I always uphold my promises."

Garier raised his hands. "I never assumed-"

"Why in the name of the ancients are you so nervous?"

"Well," Garier said and gulped, "I know about your secret meeting with House Scarl, a hostile country. Knowledge like that makes me a liability, doesn't it? I'm glad my family will be safe in Ophan. Even if I can't be with them anymore."

"You'll be working for me in Whitestone after this. I only kill my enemies. Not people who do me a favor. I am not a filthy criminal."

Relieved, Garier loosed a long exhale. "I am grateful to you, Knight Commander. For everything."

Crin put a hand on his shoulder and forced a smile. "May God bless your family."

The ride became quiet and far less irritating, with Garier relaxed.

The villa was well outside the city in the western Frostfire Mountains. A single road led to the place. As they climbed the mountain, he saw an array of glowing lights. The villa's grounds were situated on an island in the middle of a glacial melt river. It was a veritable fortress in comparison to Drakk Palace.

Crin ordered Garier to stop the vehicle a few kilometers from the bridge entrance.

"Gather your things and your family. Travel lightly, one bag each. I will meet you at the skyport at dawn."

He stepped out. Behind him, the car reversed, turned around, and fled in the opposite direction, headlights fading away as it descended.

It was dark. The gas-giant Haven cast its golden light from above, angry clouds swirling with violent electrical storms. The sphere was enormous, dominating the sky, and stood as a reminder; humans were barely specks of dust at the cosmic level. The ancients had been close to becoming God. Only to lose thousands of years of progress almost overnight.

He wouldn't follow the road. No one entered from the front gates, not even with a Bonded's powers. The forests in Scarleon were different than the Titan Hills, where he hailed from. The trees were scrawny with tiny angular leaves. He didn't know the species. They were almost deliberately spaced out like an orchard with little undergrowth, other than sparse shrubs or ferns.

He pulled out Borealis. Sensing his intent, the orb floated off his palm. It glided along behind him, following at his speedy walking pace. Before long, he was hiking, the forest peeling open to reveal craggy slopes.

The incline ended at a drop. The cliff below plunged into a canyon at least two hundred feet deep. Across the canyon was a jagged rock formation wedged between two cascading waterfalls. The entire distance up was at least a hundred meters.

He dropped off the cliff.

Borealis orbited around him as he landed on a tiny Phasematter platform. Soon as both feet touched the surface, he sprang from it, forming another step beneath the opposite foot. Rinse and repeat, letting him run across the air, a bridge of Phasematter extending ahead and dissolving behind him. Bonded called the complex ability Phase-stepping.

Once you found it, the rhythm was simple. It became second nature, like riding a bike or playing an instrument. He fell into the familiar groove with ease. He Phase-crafted improvised climbing equipment in front of the rock wall, staring with two shimmering orange picks. He also encased his feet in the shoes of Phasematter, sharp points sticking from his toes.

Reaching the opposite rock wall, he leaped from his bridge of light. Both picks sunk in deep into the rock, and he caught himself, hanging precariously. He kicked the wall, lodging his feet in and bracing himself.

His vision narrowed in on the top, his destination. It helped to look up when climbing, never down. After around one hundred meters, his arms burned and strained from the effort. Crin had a brawny body. Dangling and supporting his weight for extended periods with only upper body strength was difficult.

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He fought the pain; it wasn't new for Crin to push his body to the limits. He was getting older but had faced worse obstacles during training. A warrior couldn't afford to be weak. Especially the leader of the most elite Bonded faction on the moon.

He reached the jutting rim of rock at the top and sighed in relief. Using his picks, he hauled himself over in one laborious motion. Laying there on the brim, he closed his yellow eyes and let himself recover.

The brim was less than a meter across, stopping at concrete wall. The structure was only about ten feet high, not a huge obstacle for him.

After dismissing his Phase-crafted mining tools, he rose and stretched his sore arms. Now he needed to infiltrate into the mansion. He rocketed onto the top of the wall with a single pulse of orange. Balancing on edge, he fell into a low crouch, Borealis creeping over his left shoulder as he surveyed the grounds.

At the back of the villa, nestled between the rock of the mountain was the mansion. The turtle-shaped building reminded him of a fort than a home. It had few windows and only two entrances he could see from the front. Across from the mansion stood a multi-level garage with a personal airship pad on the roof. A sleek crimson vessel stood on claws atop it, rotary engine wings upright like a stretching bird.

A few other smaller buildings lie between the garage and the pool house. With enhanced vision, he penetrated the shadows. He noted the garrison and staff quarters, smaller buildings packed with people. The glass roof on another building indicated a greenhouse. Cameras hung from corners and dangled from lamp poles outlining the path and gardens.

He didn't linger atop the wall, dropping into the shadows behind the pool house. In an instant, two bolts of orange Phasematter warped into existence, streaking off in opposite directions. They took out two cameras before Crin touched down as though landing on a cloud.

Rowdy laughter and splashing echoed from the pool hall. He peeked through a window. A dozen or so children played inside, bystanders. Good thing they weren't inside the mansion. He couldn't guarantee their safety fighting in close quarters.

The enemy would know he is coming now with the two cameras destroyed. It was a matter of time before the security alarm sounded. Another Bonded could detect his Bond-link if they were paying attention. He intended to generate as little Phasematter as possible to avoid that. There was no knowing how many of the Crimson Guard were present.

Crin rounded the corner, disabling three cameras with lightning-fast bolts. He dashed through the meditation garden, Phase-jumping with a spark of orange on top of the garage. He ducked below the airship, his hood grazing the hull.

A piercing alert sounded across the villa. Crin winced from sensitive hearing. He nudged his Caster to dampen the noise, making concentrating easier. The Scarls had let him get too far undetected.

Crin jumped off the roof, Phase-stepping over the villa's front lawn. He angled himself, running downhill. The mansion only had two floors above ground. The structure would be mostly hidden below, like a bunker.

He picked a window on the second floor. Two spikes of Phasematter shot away, immensely sharp points punching straight through the window, leaving behind two holes of splintered glass. He fired another three for good measure, weakening the window further. Upon arrival, he lowered his shoulder and burst through.

Fragments of glass rained across the carpet of the dark bedroom. Crin landed and rolled, rising in front of a wooden door. The room was empty now but looked to have been recently occupied. Articles of clothing lie spread out on the bed. The closet wardrobe was half open. A half-full glass of water glinted in the moonlight on the nightstand.

He opened the door and stepped cautiously out into the hallway. It was lit dully by flashing red emergency lights. The walls had decorated wood paneling to hide the concrete, balancing the lack of windows. A stairwell lurked at one end of the hall and a foyer at the other.

The door to the stairwell opened ajar. A cautious guard peeked around it, auto-rifle in hand.

The guard's movements were sluggish in his Bond-sense. The ability seemed to slow time. Crin launched an orange bolt at him. It punched through the door and wall behind it, opening a hole in the center of his neck, spraying blood and bone against the doorway. The corpse slumped over, red oozing onto the tiled floor.

Crin descended the stairs and ran into four guards. They were dead, rolling down the stairs before they could even aim their auto-rifles.

What a pointless waste of lives.

At the landing, he encountered a reinforced steel door.

He Phase-crafted a thin hyper-sharp orange blade into his hand and used it to cut around the edge of the door. He kicked the center of the door, and it fell forward, crashing to the floor.

He stepped out into a hail of bullets.

Before ever coming close to him, the bullets hit a barricade of Phasematter. The construct filled the hall with an orange glow. As they kept firing, their shots ricocheted. One guard fell to friendly fire. Their weapons would never penetrate Phasematter.

A volley of bolts shot away from Crin. The Phasematter barricade opened, a circle for each projectile, and they flew through instantly. The holes were refilled seamlessly after the bolts passed. The precise manipulation of Phasematter was a rare skill among Bonded, one he mastered years ago.

The squad died screaming.

In the middle of the hall was a set of closed wooden doors. He filtered out the incessant alarm from his hearing, allowing him to pick voices from the room. He listened closely.

A newscast was playing. Striding forward, Crin kicked the double doors open, breaking the lock with his heel.

Varn Scarl reclined in a comfortable leather executive chair at the back of the conference room. The newscast played on the opposite wall, all of which was one giant viewscreen. His legs were propped on the table. He wore slippers and a robe covering silken pajamas. His Caster, an orb with a dark red shell, spiraled beside him.

Varn looked over his shoulder, genuinely surprised. "I sensed your Bond-link when you killed my guard upstairs. Didn't think you would make it."

The fool thought his guards would stop me.

The Sovereign of Scarleon had a sturdy frame, if not a little pudgy for his age. His head was bald on the top with a horseshoe of buzzed hair on the sides. Long black mustaches graced his upper lip.

"Your men are dead. For no reason," Crin said, entering the room. He stood beside Varn and drew back his hood.

"They're here to protect me. What better reason is there for them to die?"

"Where are your Crimson Guard? You don't have anyone to protect you."

Varn retrieved his comm and flipped it open. He turned off the broadcast, darkening the room, and disabled the pestering alarm.

"You mean my brothers and cousins. Are you kidding me? None of them want to hang around a crusty old Sovereign."

"You are among the most dangerous men in the world. They could learn from you."

"They don't care. They're off gallivanting about town, spending marks we don't have," Varn said and yawned. "Don't tell me you came here to evaluate my security."

Crin balled his fists. "I could kill you right now and end this pointless rebellion."

"You kill me? Come off it. An honorable Argent Knight would never kill an old man in his pajamas." Varn extended an index finger as if scolding a child. "And did you say rebellion? How many years has it been Crin? We're not in open rebellion. We have our own nation now. Let this pointless rivalry go."

"Scarleon will always be Ophani. The province belongs to our Sovereign. You are squatters."

"Most Ophani don't share your zeal. The majority opinion is that House Scarl should never be allowed to rejoin Ophan. Even if we wanted to, your Sovereign would never accept us back into the fold."

"I will be Sovereign," Crin said, voice slick with acid, "and whatever I say goes."

"You mean to tell me…No! You wouldn't. Didn't the Inheritor join the Knights?"

Crin gritted his teeth. Varn had always annoyed him, even when they had served as Knights together. "The boy won't be an obstacle."

"Imagine if we rejoined Ophan." Varn's eyes were distant as he considered the offer. "All the trade. All the wealth. Flowing back here again, like lifeblood. Our lands and our city could be made beautiful again. House Scarl's bank vaults could overflow with marks. And—you would be in charge of it all."

"Yes."

Varn rubbed a long mustache. "No, thank you. I'm not interested."

Crin summoned a shimmering orange two-handed greatsword. In a fit of rage, he split the conference table in half. It collapsed inward, spilling Varn's glass of wine. Crin immediately dismissed the weapon, letting it dissipate into tiny orange embers.

"Throwing a fit isn't going to change my mind!"

"You will rejoin us. Or die. All of House Scarl."

"I'll take my chances. I have trade deals with both the Free States and Dascia in the works. Besides, what is in it for me if we rejoin Ophan? You know you would take the marks, starve us with taxes as punishment."

"I see how your people suffer. I have spies too. They whisper to me. You talk about returning to Ophan. Do not lie."

Varn perked an eyebrow. "Your spies must be close."

"Good spies always are. Look, join me, and I'll make it happen."

"My father took a calculated risk with the secession. He knew our people would suffer. In the long run, we will return to glory. It may take a few generations. Our nation will prosper again."

"Fine. If prosperity is what drives you, I will give it to you. House Drakk will be extinct when I'm done. I'll give you half their current stipend and ten years of reduced taxes. I'll call it a…recovery package."

"Half of House Drakk? It would make us richer than your House."

"I don't care about riches. House Haloran doesn't need them."

"What do you care about, Knight Commander?"

Crin's yellow eyes narrowed. "Elohon Drakk placates our former enemies in the Forum. His father should have finished what they started. He let them get away without repercussions."

Varn snorted. "The Unification Wars were over thirty years ago. You were a kid. You're still mad about it?"

"My father died to protect Ophan, and House Drakk did nothing."

"Oh—I see. You need the Crimson Guard and my armies for your conquest."

"I can't rule all the lands we'll take by myself. I'll need help."

"Riches and new lands." Varn stroked one of his mustaches. "You know how to tempt a man. What do you need from me to usurp Elohon?"

"His death."