By the time they arrived, the sky had darkened and the city was fast asleep. Leaving the station, Dellan led Yatze through the narrow streets, a pair of shadows against the blue light of the floating street lanterns that passed above them. Emerging out of an alleyway, they found themselves in an open square with a fountain at its center. At the other end stretched a nondescript wall marked by a wrought iron gate, revealing glimpses of what Yatze guessed were the palace grounds.

“That’s where we’re headed,” Dellan said, quickening his pace.

They approached the lone guard who was stationed outside the palace wall. Flashing their glossYs, they were let in, meeting a new guard on the other side.

“Good evening officer trainees. Glad to see your journey went smoothly. The name’s Hand’ell.” The guard gave them each a brisk handshake. “I will take you through the outer palace to where you’ll be staying.”

Hand’ell led them through the grounds, the young officers following in tow. Yatze looked about as they passed gardens, practice fields, green houses and little terraces. In a crude sense, it reminded Yatze of the Oasis, or perhaps that rowdy joint’s refined cousin. Only some miles away from his parents’ store in Jivena, a man had bought an old traveler’s inn with the hopes of attracting merchants, extractors, or whoever else was unfortunate enough to be passing through the lowlands. Pulling every drop of moisture out of the dusty earth, the man had planted all manner of absurd hybrids and neo-organisms, no matter how garish: Palm trees that bloomed like giant petunias, bushes with leaves like flower petals, anything in the hope of catching the attention of a potential customer. The locals all hated the place, but now Yatze recalled it in his memory with warmth. How long would it be until he could return home, to see the Oasis, the store, his parents?

They quickly approached the palace, an imposing fortress of white stone. Beyond the rather austere facade Yatze could make out further layers of buildings and towers that peeked out, suggesting a structure far larger than what first met the eye. The entrance was a set of massive bronze doors that towered over them.

Just as Yatze was wondering how Hand’ell intended to open the door, the guard placed his hand on its gold-and-green-speckled surface. Channels of energy appeared in the ornate paneling, folding inwards as soon as the guard’s hand was removed and leaving a door-sized hole through which the trio could pass.

Stepping inside, Yatze tried not to gape. He had many times visited Yivyiv’s city hall and was well-aware of the SPU’s regal stylings, yet he was unprepared for the size and grandeur of what lay before him. The space was enormous, with tiers of indoor balconies running across the walls, connected through a series of curving bridges and staircases. There were paintings everywhere, larger-than-life portraits of stern figures which Yatze could guess were past princes or other important nobles.

He peered at the nearest one: An older man, with long, white hair that went past his shoulders. His robes were curiously archaic, made of a ghostly silken material; Yatze thought it looked almost like a nightgown. He was gracefully poised, one hand resting on a table while the other lightly held a jeweled orb in its palm. His expression was unusually calm and lacked the fervor or severity of many of the other portraits. Beneath the painting there was a brief inscription:

Septimus Chrysostomus Selejo, the Uniter

(2434-2546)

“The seed whereon we bestow our piety

weathers the frays of winter.”

The guard paused only for a moment before continuing onward. He talked quietly as they walked towards one of the hallways that branched out of the foyer.

“This is the public entrance, so naturally it is quite impressive. From here you can easily reach the galleries, the congressional assembly and offices. You will have plenty of time to explore; for now, let me take you to the general living quarters.”

As they turned off the main hallway, Yatze couldn’t help but notice as the walls grew bare, the tiling cracked and unpolished, dust and cobwebs settling into corners. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something scuttle across the floor.

“What was that?”

Hand’ell sighed. “A cockroach, most likely. They’ve been plaguing the outer palace for years now.”

Finally, Yatze and Dellan made it to their room. It was simply arranged with a bed and desk positioned on each side of a window overlooking the outer grounds. Bidding goodnight to the guard, they both collapsed in their cots, exhausted from the day’s travels.

—

“Dellan! Wake up!” Yatze hissed at his friend.

That morning Yatze had awoken slowly and softly, soaking in the warm sunlight while he basked in his remarkably good fortune. He had made it to Ichormai, that legendary palace reserved only for that nation’s best and brightest. Sure, some of the walls may have cracks, and there was almost certainly a nest of cockroaches under his bed, but those realities hardly mattered. He could imagine his mother striking up a casual conversation at her register, perhaps with some old acquaintance inquiring about her only son.

“He’s in Ichormai,” she would say, and the acquaintance would be stunned. “Little Yatze, who was only in Yuruv’a a few months ago?” they would ask, incredulous. But his mother would say it was all true, that he had taken a hovergloss to Zukal’iss the previous morning and was now training to be an officer. “...in service of the Crowned Prime,” she would probably add, always one with a flair for the dramatic.

While stretching his arms, Yatze encountered a pamphlet on his desk. The night before he had barely noted it, far too tired and overwhelmed to give it more than a cursory glance. But now, still half-asleep, he leafed through it lazily, skimming through introductory remarks, maps, rosters, orientations, schedules…

Schedules?

Shit.

“Wake up!” He shook Dellan, waving the pamphlet in his face. “We have a meeting!”

Dellan rolled over, groaned, and ignored him.

Something crawled out from under the bed. Jet-black and shiny, with a hairy tangle of legs and feelers…

The cockroach took Yatze by surprise, and with a rush of adrenaline he peered into the future.

The roach scuttles across the floor; it stops to examine some crumbs by Yatze’s desk.

He looks back at Dellan, still a tangled cocoon of sheets and limbs. Suddenly, another black form emerges from the folds. Two long, wispy, antennae brush against Dellan’s chest as the roach climbs up his torso...

“Look out!” Still holding the pamphlet, Yatze tried to slap the insect off Dellan, but he was a second too early, his strike hitting nothing but his unsuspecting friend.

“What was that for?” Dellan replied angrily, now awake. Opening his eyes for the first time, he saw the roach approaching his face. He let out an embarrassingly high-pitched scream, and scurried to the corner of the bed while casting off his sheets.

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

The roach, meanwhile, stopped in its tracks. The insect’s legs and mandibles stiffened, its antennae burning to dust. The surrounding blanket now contained a circular scorch mark as if an intense heat had burnt through the fabric.

“Y’jeni, that must have been terrifying,” Yatze said.

“Whatever, I don’t wanna talk about it. I’m sure I can get a new blanket. Didn’t you say we had a meeting to go to?

“Right...in half an hour.”

Dellan rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

“Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep. I thought it would be nice to actually get cleaned up first.”

Dellan grinned. “Good idea. But for the record, you’re the one who needs their beauty sleep.”

“Says the guys who sleeps with roaches.”

Dellan's mouth dropped in mock hurt. "You...shut up!"

—

“Who are all these people?” Yatze whispered.

With some help from their pamphlets, they had made their way through the living quarters to the bath house. After washing off weeks worth of dust and grime, the pair decided they could spare a few minutes of relaxation in the medicinal pools.

“Probably soldiers, lesser nobles, visiting statesmen, you know, the like,” Dellan replied. He stretched his arms, yawning silently like a cat. “Maybe even members of the Guard, or one of the Lesser Seven?”

“I doubt it. I’m sure the princes have an even nicer set of baths, somewhere in the inner palace.”

“Perhaps. Though I’ve heard the princes are more egalitarian than you would expect...for princes at least.”

“Whatever.” Yatze breathed in deeply, letting the steamy air deep into his lungs. “What about other trainees? Maybe there’s someone else here?”

“Maybe...” Dellan said, scanning through the bathers. “They’re all a little old though.”

“What about him?”

“Who?”

“Him.” Yatze tried to gesture surreptitiously with his head.

“Him? But he’s so skinny. And pale.”

The man in question was at the other side of the bathhouse. He was thin and slightly hunched, his posture stilted and betraying a certain nervous energy. He had a tangled mess of dark brown hair (though not as dark as Yatze’s), with deep-set eyes and a slender face. The man struck Yatze as a foreigner: His skin was too pale to have faced the unrelenting Ho’ostar sun for very long.

Yatze shrugged. “He’s too young to be a politician.”

“Let’s find out.” With no warning, Dellan stepped out of the pool and headed for the young man.

“Wait up!” Why did Dellan always do this, string him along on completely unnecessary social excursions? Yatze was content with their game of people-watching: He had no desperate desire to question their fellow bathers. He would much prefer to make introductions in a more formal setting, preferably one where he was clothed.

“Excuse me, I don’t think we’ve met,” Dellan said.

The man was resting his head against the wall. He leaned forward and opened his eyes, smiling. “Hello. I don’t believe we have.”

“I’m Dellan, and this is Yatze.” He pointed a thumb at Yatze, who had to stop himself from waving awkwardly. “Did you also just arrive to start the officer program?”

“No. I’m Ian, by the way.”

Having made their introductions, the pair slunk down into Ian’s pool.

“What are you here for, then?” Yatze asked.

“I’ve just accepted a position working for the Crowned Prime,” Ian said.

Dellan looked at Yatze, his eyes communicating slight surprise. Yatze didn’t know what to think.

“...You’re...wow, congratulations,” Yatze said, chuckling nervously. “Uh, erm, wow, haha.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Ian said, looking rather embarrassed. “It’s something my aunt arranged.”

This seemed to placate Dellan, though he didn’t say anything.

“So...you haven’t heard about the officer program?” Yatze asked.

“What is it?”

“Well,” Dellan began, adjusting his position so that his arms rested on the ledge of the pool. “Yatze and I were scouted a few months ago at our base camp in Yuruv’a. We were sent here to start officer training at the start of the new year.”

“We don’t know much about it, to be honest,” Yatze added.

“Well, from what I know, you’ll probably be forced to memorize lots of things. Probably 80% of your time will be spent learning how to survive paperwork,” Ian said. “Though this could just be my Uncle Iggy telling stories.”

“I don’t know how I feel about paperwork,” Dellan said, glancing again at Yatze. This time Yatze knew exactly what Dellan was thinking: Uncle Iggy? The fuck?

Ian smiled. “You’ll do just fine. It’s not difficult, just tedious.”

“What work are you going to be doing for the Crowned Prime?” Yatze asked, pivoting the conversation.

“I’m not exactly sure yet,” Ian replied. “So far, I’ve been helping to exterminate vermin.”

“Y’jeni, you’re a saint,” Yatze sighed, “I keep seeing cockroaches all over the place.”

Ian chuckled. “There were lots of cockroaches, but there were far more in the inner palace than the outer palace. You both probably had it easy.”

Yatze poked Dellan. “Luckily Dellan is my personal exterminator. He even has a special affinity towards bugs.”

Dellan glared at him but didn’t say anything.

“With some practice I should have no problem against any new insects,” Dellan pointed out.

“Then you gotta get to work,” Yatze said. “My mother always called me a bug magnet. Away from civilization, I’m gonna need your help.”

“Do you anticipate being sent away anytime soon?” Ian asked.

Dellan shrugged. “We’ll be sent out eventually. At first we’ll be practicing in and near Zukal’iss, or at least that’s what I heard from my cousin. It’s possible we might even be sent East for joint exercises in one of the regenerating rifts if we do well enough.”

—

Ian left soon thereafter. Dellan waited until he was out of earshot before he leaned into Yatze’s ear.

“Who was that guy?” he whispered.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Uncle Iggy? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well he definitely didn’t sound like he was from the SPU, let alone Ho’ostar. I can ask my family about this Iggy; if he is influential enough that his nephew is working for the Crowned Prime as an exterminator...well someone should know about him.”

Yatze shook his head. “It didn’t add up...he was definitely hiding something.”

“So, what did you find out?”

“What do you mean?”

“In your Regret scenarios: couldn’t you look into the future and grill him with all kinds of questions?”

Yatze was taken aback. “I could, but I would never...that’s rude!”

From an early age, Yatze had learned to not abuse his power. He wasn’t sure whom he had inherited from: If either his father or mother shared his Regret affinity, they never discussed it. Yet, they had immediately known when Yatze had awakened. Perhaps it was obvious: He would apparently yell before his mother dropped a plate or stare at the shop door seconds before someone entered.

“You have been blessed with a very special gift,” his mother would tell him. “But that doesn’t mean you can use it willy-nilly.” He would look up at his mother, eyes wide and seeking guidance. “Could I use it to help people?” he would ask, “when I feel unsafe?” “Of course,” his mother would say, but there was a fine line between use and abuse. “Just because you are gifted doesn’t make you special,” she would remind him. “Don’t use it to brag or to show off, you never know who might take it the wrong way.” For all the possibility his ability allowed, there were unforeseen dangers, consequences a little boy could scarcely imagine. And so Yatze kept his powers to himself, exercising them with the utmost of caution.

“You can’t be serious.” Dellan crossed his arms. “You’re literally training to become an officer! Do you think the SPU doesn’t spy on enemies because it’s rude?”

“But Ian isn’t an enemy,” Yatze protested. “He is just a person...a person we were talking to.”

Dellan relaxed a bit. “You’re right,” he admitted. “But don’t you want to know more? You said it yourself that he was hiding something.”

“I’ll think about it.” What Dellan said was certainly enticing. And wasn’t he here—in Ichormai—to learn? What harm was there in a little practice?