“I heard a heartbeat in the ship,” a porter rambled, pressing a hand against his chest as his own thundered within.

His coworker replied with a tsk while leaning against the wall of their store, “You must be on something. The Centurion’s starship is just expensive tech. I heard Michel say it can withstand the Lightsea. Get a grip before the boss hears! We can’t afford any slip-ups here.”

* Conversation between two men loading supplies onto Centurion Heron’s personalized starship, July 7th, 3993.

Two figures slipped through the twisted corridors of the overrun water treatment plant. The younger of the two, brimming with energy yet more seasoned, led the way, making sure they remained unseen.

The place teemed with Dirge, their twisted forms barely visible as they lurked in the shadows. Luckily, they weren’t particularly perceptive; Dirge were best at sensing dimensional disturbances. With that awareness, the two men avoided tapping into their powers too much.

This choice slowed them to a great degree, however. The plant was a decaying maze of pipes and metal walkways, each slant threatening to throw them off course. They needed to ascend, which would have been easy if Claudius could leap with a rush of his Tide and reach the next flood.

Instead, they had to move glacially, creeping around the edges and searching for ways to climb. In this labyrinth, a wrong turn could land them in the jaws of the enemy, so caution was paramount.

Nevertheless, Claudius moved with the assurance of someone who’d done this countless times. His sharp eyes scanned each shadow and flicker, reading the environment as if it were a book, predicting where the Dirge might lurk. His hand rested on the hilt of his Executioner, always ready with its soothing touch. The faint beat of the organ within that made it Domain-resistant calmed him, making his movements fluid, almost casual.

Qain, in contrast, was quieter and more deliberate. He stepped where Claudius stepped, mimicking his partner’s silence, though Claudius could sense the tension in his muscles. This was a different battle than Qain was used to—one where their own lives hung in the balance.

Claudius knew he needed to help steady Qain’s nerves. As they crawled under a tangle of exposed pipes, he glanced back, murmuring in a low voice, “You’re doing well. Remember, it’s not about being invisible. It’s about being where they’re not looking. The weaker ones can’t see much, anyway.”

The Harenlar nodded, absorbing the advice. He let a thin layer of steam curl around him, a cloak that softened his outline and made him harder to spot in the flickering light. His tension eased a bit as he moved with more confidence.

Where water was adaptable, and ice was brutal, steam’s unique quality was that it left only the faintest trace, allowing Qain to use his powers with little risk. It sped him up and softened his footsteps, keeping him in stride with Claudius.

They slipped into a narrow service tunnel, seldom wide enough to walk side by side, forcing them to move at a diagonal. The air was thick with the stench of rust and damp metal.

Beneath these, Claudius could taste the faint bitterness of blood. He knew that everyone here was already dead. The knowledge weighed on him, darkening his mood further.

As they moved, Qain broke the silence, speaking hesitantly, “I don’t think I’ve ever done something… this good. It’s terrifying, but it feels like a chance to do something worthwhile. To help.”

The Harenlar admitted his own shortcomings with a hushed confession. However, the honesty brought a smile to Claudius’ face. The Judge glanced over, feeling as though Qain wasn’t so bad. If things went well here, he didn’t mind having Qain as his first Juror.

Claudius chuckled gently, the sound almost startling in the quiet. “You get used to the fear,” he replied, his tone light, almost teasing. “It’s part of the Lightsea. We see things no one should, but it’s worse for Judges. We face things most people don’t even know exist.”

Qain tilted his head, considering, “Was it always like this for you? The training, I mean.”

Claudius pondered the question as they reached a junction, peering down both paths before choosing the one on the left. Then, he answered, “Pretty much. Grandson of Praetor and all, even if long dead. Since I was a kid, they trained me every day. It’s not just about fighting or tracking Qualae. This is my first actual assignment. I didn’t expect it to be this intense. Still, it’s the job, and I’ll do what I can.”

Qain absorbed the weight of Claudius’ words while they persevered down the tunnel. He could sense the underlying fire, tempered by years of training, that fueled Claudius’ calm demeanor. Qain found himself opening up more, the maze around them serving as a confessional of sorts.

“I got into this because of a dirty deal,” Qain said in a wavering tone. “A—Awakened my Stigmata when an Anarchy showed up a few years ago. My girlfriend... she was killed right in my arms. Her blood... changed me. I didn’t even know she was one of us... I… didn’t know so much…”

Claudius nodded with understanding, “Chaos has a way of shaping us. Some aren’t willing to bear it, though. Thus, they hide. She must have been a Hidden. However, not all Hidden are weak or cowardly. Maybe she was tired. For us Judges, it’s part of the early ceremonies to weed us out. You’re here now, and that’s what counts.”

Qain’s eyes narrowed in determination as he found something to focus on besides his past. He didn’t want to be a junkie anymore. His voice proved that with its resolve, “That’s right. I... Maybe this is my chance to set things right.”

The Harenlar’s four hands rubbed against each other, and for a moment, he even considered returning to his family. Perhaps he could stand proud before them. Though that was all for later.

They reached a rusted staircase spiraling upward, each step groaning under their weight. Claudius led the way, flashing a reassuring grin back at Qain as he said, “We’ll make it. Just keep that steam flowing. When the time comes, we’ll be ready.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Qain offered a small, tenacious smile as he followed the man. His eyes sparkled when looking at Claudius’ back. As a child, he always held the Judges aloft in his mind, and now he ultimately met one. Not just that. He got to help one.

The thought steadied him as they climbed, shoulders squaring as he cast off his earlier anxieties. While guilt rose, so did the man. He believed himself pulled by fate into a righteous path.

At the top, Claudius turned, curiosity clear in his voice, “What’s your Stigmata? I’ve let you keep it hidden so far, but I need to know now.”

Qain glanced down, his hands gripping his knives, his other pair of arms helping him stay balanced. Once more, he spoke with integrity, “I can duplicate objects. Nothing too complex—knives are easy, but phones are out of the question.”

Claudius’ head bobbed as the two fell silent. Since the budding engineer already received it, duplicating the phone would be impossible, anyway. He couldn’t fight without a Stigmata or control over the Lightsea, so at least he could call the instant the line became available.

Above them, a noise clattered, and they flattened themselves against the floor, inching forward. The Judge’s mind raced as he considered how to use Qain’s Stigmata to their advantage. At times like these, he wished his gift was more combative. The price of his Stigmata was too costly to use without a dire reason. As he oft did, the man theorized about others’ strengths.

That Rejo sure is lucky. Eight, too. It is easy to weaponize any kind of teleportation. It’s rare enough that I bet Rejo’s comes from Astraeus’ meddling. Dante’s healing was also uncommon. I wonder what the limit is, though? What wounds go too far? I bet I find out today.

His thoughts swiftly deviated, but they plunged back into the frame of mind needed for his situation. Claudius wasn’t one to groan or complain about his situation. He would much rather do something about it.

While continuing ahead, Claudius found what Qain could do to help. After all, the Judge didn’t have all that much ammo, and he doubted the human did either. So, he slid Qain a single bullet, the intention unmissable.

Bullets, namely those of low calibers, wouldn’t do much to the Anathema. Between his Frigo that he hardly wielded during their first scuffle or his distorting Stigmata, Astraeus had a dozen ways to protect his already dense flesh.

While blind to the reality of the ask, the Harenlar took it with a free hand and hid the palm within the bowels of his bent-over stomach and the film of steam. In a moment, two bullets returned themselves to Claudius, who pocketed them with a grateful nod. Then, noise emerged below them, and the two halted immediately, their hands still connected. Widened eyes listened to the lone pair of footsteps below them on metal.

It was quiet, almost impossible to hear, and they were both thanking their stars they hadn’t spoken since the staircase. Despite its attempt to be inaudible, the noise was there.

They were ready.

************************

Dante slid down against a wall, tiredly resting on the floor of the small “cave” Eight had led them to. Here, they could catch their breath.

Relax.

Rest.

Enjoy what might be the remainder of their lives.

Rejo and Archimedes collapsed as soon as they arrived, both too exhausted to stay upright. Lucius slumped opposite Dante, his eyes heavy. He was the first to sleep, taking rest wherever he could. It was a trait all soldiers knew well past a certain point.

Rejo and Arch soon followed, drained after hours of tension and flight. They needed to sleep, even if only for an hour or two.

Joan watched them with a scoff before injecting herself with a white fluid, falling asleep almost instantly. Dante had always found it odd the way she relied on her drugs, but he supposed it wasn’t much different from his own reliance on deception.

Only Dante and Eight remained awake.

A mere moment after they were alone, the young man in the suit sneered at him, “So, you just left her behind after saying you’d handle it?”

Eight found the human beyond hypocritical and wasn’t afraid to call him out on it.

Dante didn’t rise to the bait. He hadn’t “just left her behind.” He knew Sonna would return. She had the fire to survive, and though she acted timid, he knew better. Beneath the surface, she was a fighter, just like him.

Sonna craved freedom, power, and life more than anyone could imagine. It was more than Dante could imagine. He knew when he saw another with a boundless desire. For him, it was his search for his father.

For her, it was freedom. No matter what, she’d find her way back.

The Weren simply needed a chance to show her resolve to the world.

How could she be worthless? She was in the Federation Of Flesh, daughter to a mighty figure. There was no way for her to be as weak as she often led on.

As he shook his head, Dante listened closely, discerning a distant pair of footsteps through his augmented eardrums. A warm smile and tone met Eight’s cynical gaze, “She’s coming back. If she were as useless as you all thought, I’d have left her ass aboard.”

Sonna was valuable, even if the others couldn’t see it. She had talent, and though she lacked physical prowess, she could be trained. And finally, despite her lack of courage, Weren could think for herself. Dante valued such a trait above all else as it gave him many options to work with in a battle.

When the petite woman lumbered through, following the markers he’d left, Dante greeted her with a nod, “Good job. Sit and rest for a while. Eight will wake everyone when it’s time.”

She raised an eyebrow, her skepticism as clear as usual, as she asked, “I thought we were in a hurry. Shouldn’t we keep moving?”

“We need Claudius in position. Besides, you’re all exhausted. An entire night of running yourselves into the ground. Sleep for an hour; you’ll fight better. I bought us some time with my Stigmata,” Eight leaped back into the conversation with adolescent legs waving back and forth from his seated position atop a pipe.

Sonna eventually nodded and settled into a corner, her exhaustion evident. A faint mist rose from her hands, catching Eight’s attention. He whipped his head around, eyeing her with alarm, “Hey! Stop that! Perceptive Dirge can sense that stuff, and you don’t know what you’re doing. Still... the devouring cloud, Arido, huh? Rare one. Heh, she figured it out before you, Dante.”

Dante’s eyes were saucers as he studied the salt-like fleck of ice forming in Sonna’s hand. The mist blurred his vision while he stared at it, and his mind began piecing together the effects. It took an essence from him, leaving his breath weightless as it crept along his flesh.

Not quite ice like Eight’s daggers, but not quite steam, either—a mix, maybe? Hmm... Devouring mist. Perhaps Eight’s words weren’t just an odd phrasing.

He mentally began to map out his knowledge of the Lightsea’s powers. It wasn’t just about tapping into it; these powers seemed to emerge from within. It was only the spark, the flint, that the Lightsea acted as most times, allowing the Tides to form. Stigmata, however, seemed to be entirely personal.

They came from within.

No matter how uncomfortable it was for Dante to use, he never felt that the Lightsea owned the transaction. So, his mind dived deeper into the waves of the dimension.

The elements must exist in some kind of circle. Water, Steam, and Ice are the focal. If ‘mist’ is there, then it must be the combination of Ice and Steam. Then... Snow must be Water and Ice. Water and Steam... is just Humidity. Stigmata exist beyond this system, innate to the person who awakened.

Each of his thoughts was on the nose, rediscovering the attributes of the Lightsea, just as his forefathers had. Hydro, Thermo, and Cryo were the common trio, borne by the majority of the awakened. Frigo, Miro, and Arido were the rarer triplets, less common, but still seen here or there.

What he didn’t think of was the outliers, however. All rules had exceptions. All life had that which was unnatural. Still, his mind carried a concern, as if all that he knew was not all there was. He left room for more growth in his mind, not setting anything in stone.

Dante’s musings came to a pause as Sonna drifted off, accepting Eight’s advice as gospel. After her eyes closed and snoring began, the young man snickered at him, “If you can’t figure it out, don’t sweat it. I don’t expect you to, anyway. With an incomplete Domain grounding the Lightsea, it’s harder. Honestly, I’m surprised she managed. Quite the talent. Not as good as me, but still decent.”

Dante hoisted one side of his lips, vindicated despite Eight’s attitude. Sonna was talented. More so than him, that was for damn sure. What did that mean for the human? It meant he would have to catch up with effort and guts. As he always did.

While watching her sleep, his mind went back to the hallucination he had of her eyes during their earlier walk. It wholly arrested his movement, forcing him to a halt. For a full second, he couldn’t move his arms, legs, or eyes. The energy that had seized his body from him was her Stigmata, further proof of her talent.

In contrast to his joy at her potential, the supernatural ability sent a shiver down his spine and forced him to redouble his efforts, forging past the respite he so desperately needed. Humans were persistent to a fault; everyone knew that.

Although Dante flailed purposelessly against his own mind, Eight watched and truly realized that they were more than just stubborn for stubbornness’s sake. This one actually seemed to be genuine.

As such, he extended an olive branch toward the human, one of the people he possessed guileless contempt for. After all, if it were not for their old empire, Eight wouldn’t have to be alive and suffering in the first place.

Not that Eight truly knew where he came from or who he was. Memories did not come quickly to the boy. Only violence did.

After a short internal laugh, he slid down from his spot and relocated closer to Dante, annoyed all the way as the words left his mouth, “Can’t believe I’m helping your idiotic brain. No. You’re doing it wrong. Breathe in. And now...”