The Kingdom of Puppets thought of Adam as a monster.

He wasn't pleased with that reputation, though he could hardly complain about it – seeing as he'd cultivated it by design.

Few people would've enjoyed being viewed as some kind of dreadful, malevolent creature. Adam was no different. However, he'd hardly come here on a sightseeing tour; he was here to negotiate terms. In a battle of words, diplomacy, and reputation, an unstoppable warrior would fare better than an impoverished lord.

That was his hope, anyhow.

Alas, Tenver had a habit of destroying those. "Mostly no change," his knight told him, slamming a thick binder of parchments onto the desk. "The Puppet Grandmaster is largely steadfast in his position."

Adam sighed. "I killed a Ghost haunting the only ship that still visited the Puppet Mines with any regularity. You'd think the Grandmaster would be more appreciative."

"He is. It's just not enough to guarantee an audience." Tenver gave an uneasy shrug. "His statement to the public is that you've been named an official friend of the Mines, welcome to come and go as you please. That's not an honor they grant often."

"If only honor could buy food," Adam dryly remarked. He peered absently out of the ship's window, gazing into the dock outside. Dozens of soldiers – armored heavily to hide their identities – stood just outside the wooden dock, spears pointed at the bottleneck in a phalanx. "And I wouldn't call that particularly welcoming."

Tenver bellowed out a princely laugh. "Can you blame them, my lord?" he asked, his voice a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

"Absolutely," Adam fired back. "It's inconvenient as hell. Our ship has been stuck at the docks for three days already!"

This only caused his knight to chuckle once again. "What you see as inconvenient, Adam, they see as a threat. We aren't merely camping out here, remember? There's a slight difference – two, in fact."

The first point Tenver had alluded to was their slaying of Auricio, the Ghost of Waters. On one hand, ridding the Puppets of a monster that had killed so many was highly laudable, and seen as worthy of admiration.

On the other hand, it implied much about how terrifyingly strong Adam's and his allies were. After all, people capable of felling a Ghost could only possess powerful, highly-Ranked Talents – so powerful that it would be difficult to stop them if they went on a rampage. It was a reasonable assumption for the Puppets to make.

Especially since they don't know how much of that battle was won through strategy rather than brute force, Adam thought. Little wonder they're scared of us.

The second and most pressing point was because of what happened directly after the Ghost of Waters' demise. Upon regaining control of their ship, Adam had then executed the creature's human accomplice, the former captain Baltsar, for the crime of feeding innocent passengers to the Ghost.

It wasn't something Adam took pleasure in doing. Before being dragged into the Painted World less than a year ago, he'd just been a typical struggling art student. Going from that to killing a man wasn't easy...but he had done it nonetheless.

And the commoners aboard the ship loved him for it.

To them, it must have been the first time a lord ever served them justice.

The passengers had then declared Adam as more than their lord – they'd shouted his name as Adam Arcanjo, King of the Frontier. The only reason it'd stopped just short of treason was because he'd refused to outright accept the title.

Although his reluctance to reject the crown had his body precariously tethering over that line.

It would've made Adam a dangerous guest to host anywhere else in the world. To the Puppets, who'd nearly been eradicated by the Empire not even half a decade ago, this was actually an even worse of a situation to be in – or a sudden stroke of luck. It depended on whether they wanted to try staying in the Empire's good graces...

Or to ride the momentum and rebel against them.

Which was likely what the Grandmaster of Puppets had been debating for these past three days. Adam was forcing his hand by refusing to step out of the ship, as well as keeping other passengers from doing the same.

Out of everyone aboard, only Tenver had been allowed to leave and return – and for good reason. Both Adam and the Grandmaster possessed some reservations about the knight, but on that same note, they both also retained a measure of trust in him.

To Adam, Tenver was the first person he'd met in the Painter World. Not once had the man failed to stand up for him. The Painter trusted the Knight as much as he could trust anyone after what happened with Eric...which wasn't much, but was still enough to make him feel uneasy and vulnerable all the same.

Meanwhile, the Grandmaster's trust came from a different source. He believed in the uncrowned title that Tenver was heralded with amongst his kind:

The Prince of Puppets.

Prince, because he was the son of the late Emperor Gomez, who favored friendship with the Puppet Kingdom.

And Puppet, because Tenver had died in the same attack that killed his father – only to be brought back to life by the Grandmaster's Puppetry, his soul sealed back into his body through some strange technology.

The sheer wrongness of their existence marked them as hollow abominations to the rest of the Painted World. If Tenver's true nature ever became known, he would be cast out, resigned to live in the Puppet Mines until the end of his days.

Which makes him trustworthy to both of us...or to neither.

Adam forced himself away from that hostile thought. No. I'm not gonna become some jaded, lonely lunatic just because of what Eric did. I refuse to push everyone away. I want to keep people around me...even if it's hard sometimes.

Fortunately, Tenver made this easy on him. "I couldn't get the Grandmaster to agree to give you any Orbs– but I did arrange a meeting." The Puppet Prince flashed a wide grin. "Thought you'd appreciate that."

Despite everything, Adam couldn't help but smirk in response. "Guess I do," he said. After a moment, he shook his head and added, "I really do. Can't afford to look weak right now, but it's not like we have the supplies to stay docked forever, either."

"And were you to insist on this standoff for much longer, I fear the goodwill you've earned would only keep the passengers peaceful and silent for so long. We could wait until a more favorable situation presents itself, but..."

Adam nodded. "I suppose waiting for Godot would take too long." He stood up. "Time to meet the Grandmaster."

Time to convince him that Penumbria has earned more than a few Orbs.

–

One hour of preparation later, Adam found Solara in the ship's main lounge, sitting on a chair and staring out a window. The Painter had donned his most extravagant Lord's cloak, and the Elf, her most extravagant dress. Neither was particularly expensive.

Solara greeted him with a wry smile and a wave. She then crossed her arms, aiming a pensive gaze at the fogged-up window.

"Are you ready to go?" Adam asked, his voice as serious as it was sarcastic. How could anyone be ready to enter the kingdom where their storybook monsters come from? All in all, she's handling this quite well. "Tenver is going to stay behind and let the passengers out one-by-one. Should keep things more organized."

The elf looked up. "Truly?" Her expression was equal parts relief and reluctance. "Well, that ought to make things easier."

"For the passengers?" Adam asked. After a moment, he added, "Or for you?"

"Both. Though I do not claim to love strangers enough to breathe relief over their plight – Dragons burn me, were I to tell such lies." She laughed bitterly. "No, I just..."

Solara trailed off. It seemed more like a struggle for the right words rather than hesitancy in telling him.

Adam paused, then offered, "It just feels weird going into the Puppet Mines? You were raised on horror stories about the Puppets – how they abduct people, replace them with soulless automatons, and spread the Rot merely by existing. It'd make sense if you felt conflicted about visiting their Kingdom as a guest."

Her laugh sang again, more bitter than sweet this time. "That is kind of you to suggest," Solara said. "Were my freedom from Gama's tower not proof of your cleverness, I might even have believed you."

She flashed him a genuine smile. "But I thank you for offering that more dignified option all the same."

Adam laughed, as that sound felt less awkward than nervous stuttering. What were you supposed to say to that?

Solara's an elf, and her kind was blamed for the Rot, he thought, as if recounting it would help find a solution. The Puppets, much the same. Both had been subjected to the same disparaging tales by the Empire...

And both had faced the same near-extinction.

Not long ago, the Puppets' largest settlement had been annihilated by the Dark Captain of the Hangmen on Emperor Ciro's orders. Adam had literally marched through the mountain where their hidden city once existed. The memory chilled him as he recalled the empty, hollow cavern blown open by the Dark Captain's attack, so wide that it'd become a tunnel merchants now used as a shortcut.

As for the elves? Greenisle had been raided by a family of knights – again, on the Emperor's orders – and summarily razed to the ground. It was an atrocity committed with less magic, but no less death. The massacre was so violent and cruel that, to this day, mentions of it in a loud tavern would cause even the most avid hater of elves to cast their eyes into their drink.

That there were any elven survivors at all was only because one Imperial Knight had turned against his orders, sinking his battleax into his own father's neck. The knight's viciousness, dyeing himself in the red of kin dead by his hand, was enough to earn him two titles.

Vasco, the Butcher of Greenisle, Lord of Gama, when spoken of by Imperial mouths.

Or, if you were to ask Solara – father.

He'd adopted her after the massacre, welcoming the elf into his noble house, consequences be damned. And god knows there were consequences.

At this point, both Puppets and Elves often took to blaming the other in a vain attempt to save themselves from Imperial wrath. It didn't work, of course, but feelings of hatred are like a carved statue – no amount of disliking the end result can revert the finished shape into unspoiled stone again.

No. Reshaping that statue is a long, arduous process that cannot be hastened by mere wishing. In many ways, it was hardly surprising that Solara's distaste of Puppets was still ingrained within her.

And now that you know that Tenver is a Puppet, you're at a loss for how to act.

Tenver had sometimes made a few passing comments of his own about elves, though nothing too sharp. Conversely, Solara's words on Puppets and their kind were not measured, even if only uttered when she didn't know about Tenver's secret.

It was obvious from the way she shifted her eyes, rubbed her arms, and bit her lip. Solara felt more than just guilty – she was completely unsure of how to conduct herself moving forward.

Adam didn't know how to offer her comfort. He didn't even know if he should. Instead, he put his hand on her shoulder and said, "There's a lot of work to do. The Puppets...might be wary of us."

Solara's hands shot up to her sharp, pointed ears. "Because of this?"

He shook his head gently, tapping the Imperial badge on his Lord's cloak. "Because of this. I'm the Lord of Penumbria, and you're the Heiress of Gama – royal cities of the same Empire that razed the Puppets' Mountain."

The elf laughed weakly. "You're too kind, my lord, and I mean that. Some sufferings must be experienced in full to carve their lessons onto your heart. Let me suffer, and let me learn."

She shook her head. "Do you know what is the worst of it?"

"I dare not guess."

"That I can't just feel sorry." The Elf huffed in disbelief. "Part of me thinks that it's Tenver's fault for hiding the secret from me, despite knowing it would have endangered him so. Even now, I cannot fully regret everything I said."

Adam smirked and rubbed her shoulder. "If that's the case, then why do you look so pained about it?"

"Because I feel like I should feel sorry...and truthfully, I want to." An annoyed smile played across her features. "Because even though the man is the most annoying prick I've ever met – and trust me, that's a hard fought title – I've been thinking of him as...a friend, mayhaps. And it pains me to have treated a friend this way."

She lowered her gaze to the floor. "It could be I don't know what having friends means."

For the first time in the conversation, Adam felt like he had something meaningful he related to. "I don't know much about that either."

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

Eric made sure I'd question what a friend even is.

"But despite that, I still think of you as my friend," Adam half-lied, his voice firmer than his thoughts. I don't know if I can think of anyone like that right now. But I do trust you, and you deserve to hear better than my paranoia. "Tenver too. You should talk to him. Considering the way he laughs everything off, he might not be as upset as you're imagining he–"

"That's part of the problem!" Solara exclaimed. "I think he should be. And if he won't be mad at me...then I'll be mad at myself."

Adam narrowed his eyes. "Maybe talk to him, then?"

"Mayhaps?" Solara hesitated briefly. "Can I not do something to convey that same meaning without words? Avoid the conversation entirely?"

"No."

Solara sighed more heavily than before, and when she did, the noble pretense of her tone left her voice. "Fuck you, my lord," she muttered, with a pained expression. "Do I REALLY have to?"

Adam dropped just a little of the gentleness in his voice. "YES YOU DO!"

Maybe more than just a little.

–

Ferrero the Duelist awaited Adam by the exit leading out of the ship. He was leaning against the doorframe with an easy confidence, arms crossed and his mouth curled into a smirk. The Puppet flicked two fingers from his brow in greeting, then said excitedly, "I hope you like my hometown, Lord Painter."

I like that title, Adam thought as he returned the gesture with a nod. No one else calls me that. It felt...respectful. Similar to what most others called him, but as if it truly belonged to him – not a false mask he wore for the world.

Unlike some of his other titles.

"I must confess that I'm surprised to see you here," Adam began. "When we first met in Gama, I figured that if we ever saw each other again, it would be in Penumbria, not the Mines."

"Ah! Is that so?" Ferrero leaned his head forward, arms still folded. "How very fascinating."

Adam tried to fight against the amusement creeping onto his face. "Why is that so strange to you? I didn't even know you were a Puppet back then!"

Ferrero laughed "Nay, Lord Painter. Out of every possible assumption, it was a fair one to make."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Only that most wouldn't have thought a future meeting was possible at all."

The Puppet Duelist pushed his foot against the wall, then stepped towards the Painter, his hand lazily resting on his sword hilt. "When we met in Gama, I was dueling a man with a rarer Talent and a mightier Rank than mine own. And you?"

Ferrero laughed again. "You were entering a tower to fight a Ghost! Any reasonable person ought to have expected at least one of us to have perished. Not you, it seems."

At the time, Solara had been possessed by the Ghost of Flames and confined to a tower inside Gama. Her uncle had even conspired to have her killed so he could usurp Vasco's position as Lord of Gama. Thankfully, Adam managed to free the elf by stealing her cursed Talent – albeit at nearly the loss of his own life.

It was worth it, though. Solara still has access to the Ghost of Flames' Talent, and she's proven to be an irreplaceable frien– ally. Irreplaceable ally.

He meant to think of her as an ally, not a friend. The word scared him, Eric's scars still too fresh.

To banish the thought, Adam chose to latch on something else Ferrero had said. "Wait – you said Ghost." The Painter furrowed his brow. "At the time, everyone thought of it as a mere monster. How did you know the difference?"

The Duelist gave a small nod and a quick chuckle. "I suppose it makes sense you wouldn't know. The four Ghosts were created by the Dark Sorcerer."

His carefree countenance took a small hit as he trembled just slightly at the name. "Bad omen, mentioning that title. But avoiding it would make the explanation pointlessly cryptic, and I'd hate to inflict such boredom upon you."

Now that's a pleasant surprise, Adam thought. I got a direct answer for a change.

This wasn't the first time that name had come up. Solara had named the Dark Sorcerer as the architect behind her curse, having promised her the power to fight for the city of Gama and elvenkind both. Adam's personal notes also mentioned him having met with someone who fit that same shady description – though he had no recollection of ever speaking to a man like that.

Normally, he would've ignored this and assumed his memory to be unreliable...except that he also had no recollection of writing the note whatsoever. Someone or something was tampering with his memory.

Maybe that's how I was brought to this world.

"I appreciate the bluntness," Adam told Ferrero. "Yet it doesn't explain why you know how the Ghosts were created – or that they exist at all, for that matter."

"Because the Grandmaster is aware of their existence and wishes them dead. The Ghosts spread Rot. Thus, I was sent to Gama to dance with the envoys of Rot and ensure I was their last partner. Puppets are rarely allowed out of the Mines without reason, you see."

He tapped on the hilt of his sword. "And this is my reason. Always has been."

You mean that in more ways than one, Adam noted, recalling the man's passion for fencing. "That just raises further questions. You arrived at Gama first, you love dueling more than anyone...and still let me enter the tower ahead of you. Even though it was your mission."

His thoughts danced toward a frightening conclusion, horrified realization slowly dawning on him. "The Grandmaster is going to be furious if he finds out you did that. Why'd you let me go first? That could've been so goddamn dangerous for you!"

"My blade is sharp, Painter, yet it has only two roles – to entertain and to kill. While I could have struck the curse down, I could not have saved the Lady of Gama whom it possessed. You told me you could. That was enough for me."

Adam shook his head in bafflement. He risked his life on a whim? "Fine. I can understand your logic, sort of. Nevermind all that – why are you telling me these secrets?"

"Pray tell, is there reason not to?" Ferrero frowned. "We are friends, no?"

Dangerous word, that one. And for once, Adam felt like it was more of a danger to someone else instead of him. "Yes, but–I–you–"

His exasperation had him tripping over his own words and nearly biting his tongue. Adam closed his eyes, then drew a breath to compose himself before continuing. "Is it fine for you to be telling me about the Ghosts now?"

Ferrero cupped his chin with one hand, falling into thoughtful silence for a moment. "The Grandmaster is likely to name my sharing of information as a rather serious crime," he said, slowly. "Knowledge of Rot is one of the few advantages we have over the Empire. They guard it fiercely."

Adam sent the man a blank stare. "That doesn't faze you?"

"Why would it?" The Puppet tilted his head. "We have our laws and customs too, my friend. Should the Grandmaster accuse me of some sin yet again, I shall claim Trial by Combat – I'm very familiar with the procedure by now."

"You're familiar with–"

Adam stopped himself. No. Don't ask. Save your brainpower. Just assume there's a reason why the Grandmaster chose him to go fight a Ghost – even though he's someone who speaks of their laws so casually.

Maybe the Ruler of the Puppets figured they'd either be rid of Ferrero if he lost, or kill a Ghost if he succeeded. Win-win scenario.

It was a satisfying enough explanation for that particular bit of absurdity, letting Adam ignore it and refocus on the other bit of absurdity. "Fighting in a Trial by Combat doesn't scare you?"

Ferrero grimaced and stepped closer, squinting his eyes and turning his ear toward the Painter slightly as if he hadn't heard him properly. "Scare me?" He asked, as if requesting confirmation. Upon Adam's nod, the Duelist gasped and laughed. "I'm afraid I do not follow. Help me get there, friend – what concern do you think ought to plague me?"

"Well...you could lose? And then die? I assume this is the kind of crime that gets you executed."

"Oh, yes. Were I to lose, I would most likely be slain – if not for this crime, then for the others my blade previously cleared my name of. But why would I lose? It's a one-on-one duel, as mandated by our laws. There can be no scenario where my defeat is possible."

Adam blinked twice. There were so many different objections he wanted to raise that it gave him decision paralysis. "But...what if...what if you ran into someone stronger than you?"

"I'd win."

It was closer to an empirical observation than a boast. Ferrero's confidence wasn't the arrogant type – if anything, he spoke with a calm politeness of a gentleman who simply misliked speaking lies.

I wonder how much easier life is when you're that sure of yourself, Adam thought, too stunned to even begin feeling jealous.

Admittedly, the man had shown evidence for his certainty only a few days ago. He'd outclassed the Ghost of Waters in single combat, only defeated when the monster forcibly dragged others into the fight, which temporarily disabled Ferrero's Dueling Talent. As long as the Puppet could engage opponents in one-on-one duels, he was nigh unstoppable.

In contrast, Adam himself had only bested the monster with the use of multiple Talents at once – something unheard of in the Painted World – and the help of his many other allies.

Still can't believe how confident Ferrero is that he wouldn't meet someone stronger than him. The notion sent a chill down Adam's spine. He knew from experience that the moment you started to think of yourself as the best, that was when fate itself sought to humble you. It was much better to assume there were people more capable than you out there...

And that you could beat them regardless.

Adam had always considered that to be a healthy balance of confidence and humility.

"You're unbelievable," he told the Puppet, shaking his head. "Please never change. Try not to die, though – telling me all of this is risky, and you know it."

"Lord Painter, I know unoriginality must hurt your artist's soul, yet I must repeat myself: how very fascinating of you!"

Adam chuckled. "Then I must also repeat myself – what do you mean?"

"Four days ago, you risked your life to save the passengers of this ship. Half a year ago, you nearly perished saving the Elf in the Tower. Your willingness to die for others is as sure as the rise of the sun, so why does mine mystify that brilliant mind of yours?"

"It's different!" Adam defensively fired back. "And that's a bizarre analogy for you to make, anyway. There's no sunlight down in the Puppet Mines." He paused. "Uh...no offense."

"Nay, my Lord Painter, no offense taken. You are quite right, I am no creature of the sun – that title belongs to those like yourself, who live on the surface. Puppets are creatures of the water, if anything, and that beautiful life-granting liquid does not have a morning ritual like the stars above, like the rays of sunlight such as yourself."

Ferrero smiled. "Yet water has its own unique qualities. It reflects the sun, should it be given a chance to bask in its morning light."

He laughed and put an arm over Adam's shoulder. "And it stirs when the sky is cloudy. What troubles you, my friend?"

Adam allowed himself a quiet laugh. I give up. This guy is too weird to get frustrated at.

"Well, Ferrero, maybe it's because I need to convince your Grandmaster – one of the only three people in the world with an Emperor-Ranked Talent – to lend Orbs to me, the Lord of an Imperial city, lest my people die this winter from the Rot and winter both. Not to mention that I'll be walking into these negotiations bearing very little leverage. Do you think maybe, just MAYBE, that I have reason to feel troubled?"

"No."

Adam closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "Dare I ask why?"

"Because you'll win," Ferrero told him, with the same confidence as before. "Why would you even begin to think you might lose?"

Why do you see everything as a contest? Adam thought firstly.

Although I do feel strangely calmer, Adam thought secondly.

Still, there's numerous reasons why I might 'lose', Adam thought thirdly.

"I guess...there is no reason," was what he ended up saying. A foreign confidence emerged from within his gut, manifesting into a smirk. "When you get down to it, it's really that simple."

There were people more capable than Adam out there. The Puppet Grandmaster was certainly one of them. He was older, stronger, wiser, more experienced – a veritable pillar of the Painted World.

None of that mattered.

Adam just had to win anyway.