Nix didn’t know what to feel.

Relieved, probably, but she was also annoyed that the cultist — Tarchon? — had left without answering any of the questions his words had left spiralling through her mind.

She doubted Tarchon was his name. A shortened, uninflected version, maybe, but he was too intense of a person to have such a simple name. His mechanical implants and the skill in which he used them was too far beyond a simple cultist. At the very least, he was on his third evolution. Though, considering how easily he’d tossed about high rank secrets as if they were nothing, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was on his sixth, or even seventh.

Nix flexed her arm. There was pain there, but nothing like it was before. Tarchon hadn’t lied. He fixed her bones back into place. All that remained of her wounds was some slight bruising. Somehow, Tarchon had bolted her arm back together in a way that left no problems with her range of motion, as if it were never broken to begin with. All with the mechanical tools in his hand.

No typical technocultist could do that.

Now that she had the time to calm down and think, the fiction Tarchon had created for why such events happened was not something she could ever deny. From now on, it was truth that some shady cultist had approached her. They’d given her some potion, and told her how to earn a Feat.

Just because the man saved her and knit her body back together, didn’t mean he was any different from the other high-creed cultists. If he discovered her mutations, the same fate would befall her… only this time, she would be in the hands of the cult fated to lose the war. They would sacrifice her far earlier.

She placed her formerly broken hand on the alter beneath her, and pushed herself to the ground. The pain was minimal now, but exhaustion still permeated her body. She should be getting back to the Ward now, but her hand lingered on the alter.

The Feat.

Tarchon had spoken on her gaining one. It should have been impossible; one without anything but curses gaining a Feat was unheard of.

Or… at least she’d never heard of such a thing. But apparently the technocultist knew what his imaginary culprits were trying to tempt her with. The way he spoke made it sound like an open secret between the cults.

That would be why she didn’t know.

Even if something was known by everyone, the cultists didn’t share information with outsiders unless they felt they could profit from it more than they would be punished. And the least of the punishments were rather gruesome. The most common type was bloodletting; it gave the cults some much in-demand blood, and was appropriately uncomfortable. Nix may have spent years within the captivity of the cults, but that hardly meant many risked sharing things with her.

Nix had never joined a cult, so despite having reached her twenties, didn’t know shit.

But the idea that the cults knew the conditions for a Feat even someone as fragile as Nix could achieve, and didn’t demand it as a requirement seemed odd. What had she done? Fought one of the weakest amalgamations you could find? If that had been the cause, then there would be a million cultists with the same name aspect.

So was this actually a much higher creed secret — like the one about being able to see someone’s name with enough evolutions — Tarchon had spouted, uncaring for consequences? Or was its benefit just so pointless that nobody bothered with it?

If she truly performed a Feat, then she wanted nothing more than to sit back down on the alter and feel her name.

But… it would take too long.

She was no onomastician. The naming ritual would take hours for her to perform, not a few seconds. It would have to wait.

As Nix walked out of the ritual chamber, and found herself in a communal space with light trickling down from the surface entrance, she thought back to how Tarchon saw her name.

“Could he see it all?” she murmured. “Can anyone?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

This was bad. If there were people who could see her name, they would know she lied at her naming. They would know she’d gained a Feat.

“They only see what you want them to see?” The static voice was as confused as ever.

It isn’t real, she thought. There are no voices.

Nix clenched her fist as she raced up the stairs, thankful for the empty space. It was getting late — nearing peak ritual execution time — but with how close she was to the safe zone, it was unsurprising nobody was nearby. You wanted to be in the most corrupt area possible to enact most rituals. The ones Nix had climbed out of might as well have been training chambers for the freshly named like herself.

She looked around for the technocultist, but he was nowhere to be seen. What was the man doing around this area in the first place? It was incredibly uncommon for the upper creeds to come near the safe zone. Not only because they preferred the outer regions for their own rituals, but their sheer presence was often enough to spread corruption.

Back under the intense light, she found it had already reached the second fog. The mist from the northern temple had begun seeping out into the world. Unlike the grey vapour of the east, this was black. The fog already met in places, and strands like monstrous tentacles lashed between the two forces; a battle of dominance fought between two mists that refused to mingle.

There was something so enrapturing about their fight for supremacy. It was like a dance. A dance to the tune of a million whispers that overlapped into indiscernibility. A scream joined the whispers occasionally. Though it was impossible to tell if it was true, or simply the siren call of a monster.

Shadows moved beneath the grey fog, but nothing could be seen through its black counterpart. It raised the question of which was more terrifying; knowing something was there, but not knowing what, or having no knowledge at all.

Right now, that was Nix’s life. She had shifted from not knowing anything in her first life, to knowing there were some events and tragedies that would happen, but having no idea how or why they happened. The deaths of every Technocultist was the a prime example. She knew it had started as some small disputes with the Machine God Worshippers, but she didn’t know how it had grown to a war with all the pinnacle cults.

The two sides had been bitter enemies for centuries, but the other cults never poked their noses into it. Not until this war. And when they did decide to enter, all the major cults did so together. It reeked of collusion. But why? Why did they eradicate the Technocult?

Was it linked to the prophecy of the Omen Artisans?

All the highest creed Omen Artisans had directed their efforts to the Mural of the Endless Ocean for at least the past decade before this point. While it hadn’t been finished before her death — not even close, as far as she knew — they had begun extracting predictions of the future about this time. They were entirely fallible and up for interpretation, but considering the Omen Artisans influence became almost embedded in the other cults, it was clear the knowledge they eventually gained was priceless.

At this point in time, the mural was being kept under tight wraps. Nobody who wasn’t somebody even knew of its existence, no less its actual location.

Except Nix.

She wondered for a moment if there was a way she could use this to her advantage. Surely somebody might buy a secret like this. But she quickly had to toss away the idea. Not only would most people be suspicious of a fifteen-year-old with knowledge only the upper-creed Omen Artisans would have, but it would bring down a mountain of interest on her head. Whoever she sold to would investigate her for sure, and she had no way of knowing that her identity wouldn’t be sold back to the Artisans.

Who would you rather be in good graces with: a millennia old cult that was rumoured to see the future… or some cursed teenager that held no backing?

All the knowledge she had of the future — limited it may be from being caged away — she had to find ways of using it directly. Trading it for money, or cult secrets, was a foolish short-term move that would only make it harder for herself later.

With the light of the accretion drying the last of her moist blood into her once pristine gown, she turned to the safe zone. It was getting late. If she stayed out any later, not even the centre of Coral’s surface would be safe.

Nix wanted so many things right now. A bath. A change of clothes. Somewhere to enact her naming ritual where nobody else would bother her. A bed to crash. She could get all of those things by returning to the ward… but she didn’t want to.

She wanted a private home for herself on the outskirts. Maybe some time in the public baths. Really, she just didn’t want to deal with all the people that she had to live with in the Wards. There was just such little privacy.

But she also really wanted to see K’tan’s furious outburst.

So she made her way to the trolley, ready to return to the safest place on Coral. The place where only a human monster lurked, rather than the ones that were at least honest about their nature. K’tan was dangerous, but only because he would sell you like an animal at the first opportunity, not because he would tear off her face with claws.

Nix had come so close to death again today, and she was exhausted. She had barely enough energy to keep her feet beneath her, but she never fell. Each foot simply found its way before the other as she crossed the city.

Ignoring the constant stares her way, Nix looked forward to K’tan’s reaction to her bloody, deathly appearance.

He cared a lot about appearances, after all. It was the one flaw about him even the old Nix had known about. She would make sure he couldn’t just brush her sickly appearance out of sight of the other wards’ overseers.

K’tan was going to hate her, and Nix could only grin.