"Impressive," Adam said, flatly. Trying to intimidate me? Not happening. "Can all Puppets have multiple bodies, or is that just a perk of yours?"

The Grandmaster—Serena?—lifted a single dismissive eyebrow. Eerie peals of laughter echoed around the chamber, yet the grandmaster's lips did not move. Adam didn't have to look to know that the sound was coming from the creatures still hidden in darkness.

"You ask and think two different thoughts," said the Grandmaster. "Behold my grace, for I shall answer both. Puppets are not bound to a single body, no more than you are, no more than a bird is bound to its cage. Souls may travel, and with the help of a true genius, they may even find a new home. This is how Puppets come to be."

They shook their heads. "But moving from body to body as I do? No. That gift belongs to me, and no one else."

"Communications," Adam muttered. "The Talent of Communication. I imagine it relates to how you can move your Soul across multiple bodies so easily?" More questions came to mind. There was a lot he needed to ask, and he could not – would not lose this opportunity. "You know where I'm from? Tell me more!"

It was then that the ghostly audience, that crowd of one with the voices of a thousand, laughed louder and in perfect synchronicity. Each laugh sounded different; young and old, male and female, high and low pitched...yet all began and ended at the same time. "Perhaps so," said the Grandmaster. "You are clever, Painter, and your mind wanders to many of the right questions. However, I fear you forget one essential point."

"What?" Adam quickly fired back.

The Grandmaster's voice grew colder. "Yourself." Their fingers snapped, and Adam felt his knees crash against the ground. "You forget yourself, Painter."

Before the pain could even register, his mind immediately went back when Aspreay had first used the Lord Talent on him. At the time, Adam hadn't actually been afraid. In that moment, he was so certain of the futility of fighting back against a Lord that it left no room for fear, leaving him to focus entirely on wreaking nightmares on Aspreay before he died.

The hopelessness he felt now surpassed even that. I can't move my arms, he realized. My arms—my legs—I'm stuck. If the Puppet Grandmaster wanted him dead, Adam would die without even being able to lift a single finger. This was less like a wolf trying to fight a whale, and closer to a wolf trying to fight the abyss.

"I will answer your questions in due time, Painter," Serena said, in the Grandmaster's old man body. Adam could see some of her mannerisms present in the way they moved. "But first, you must comprehend your position. You have no bargaining power here. Oh, rest assured, you will be rewarded for your efforts aboard the ship and your people will be taken care of. But it will be done on our terms, human. Is that clear?"

Although his mouth could move now, Adam still said nothing. He understood, better than he had ever understood anything in his life, the sheer might of the person in front of him now. The Grandmaster's Talent had the Rank of Emperor; his power was truly among the tallest walls in the Painted World. Even just standing in front of the Puppet made for a nauseating experience, with every moment of continued consciousness feeling akin to agony.

And even so...

"I refuse," Adam sharply replied.

The Grandmaster nearly fell from their Puppet Throne. "Have you sustained a head injury from your duel with the Ghost of Flames, Painter?"

"I won't deal with you unless you treat Penumbria and I as your equals." Adam had gotten his fill of authority figures using their influence to browbeat others back on Earth. He wasn't about to let anyone treat him – or worse, his people – like this ever again. "Let me stand up. Right now."

"Are you mad?" The Puppet asked, with sheer disbelief. "You know how easily I could kill you, yes?"

Adam barked a mocking laugh in response. He couldn't move his arms, much less walk. But he could run his mouth, and by god was he going to rely on it. "Oh, you have the necessary violence to kill me. I don't dispute that." He laughed again. "But violence is not all you need to kill someone."

"Speak plainly, Painter."

"You need me," Adam said bluntly. "Otherwise you wouldn't have brought me to meet with you, much less divulged this little secret of yours. You know about where I'm from, about my abilities...and most of all, you know that Dragon Puppets are far from the public's favorite thing at the moment."

The Grandmaster sneered at him. "Mistake not a gambler's sense for knowledge. You have already admitted to knowing nothing of what I do. How can you be so certain that I need you alive? Mayhap the sorcery I intend only requires your corpse."

"Because you still need a Lord." Adam forced himself to sound more than just steadfast; he had to sound cocky. "Do you think you'll find another human lord willing to openly side with Puppets? Against the Emperor? Kill me, and you'll not only lose your best ally – you'll make damn sure that no humans ever trust you again."

His rebuttal evoked a contemplative silence, however brief, before the Grandmaster spoke. "Yet you exist within my Workshop right now. A few days in the dark, some torture...ask your knight of what that's like. It changes a man. If I need your cooperation, time will give it to me."

"Then I won't give you that time." Adam smiled. "You aren't the only one with a Talent, remember?"

He called upon his Stained Ink. Even if his limbs were immobilized, the Ink would not be stopped so easily. You don't have a Lord Talent...whatever you're doing to me isn't absolute, Adam reasoned. You can't control everything I do.

An emotion somewhere between confusion and outrage flared on the Grandmaster's face. "You think that beastly Ink is enough to fell me? It would not scratch me."

"You aren't my target." Adam forced himself to keep smirking, even as his Stained Ink wrapped out from his arms, and then slowly, menacingly, snaked its way towards his chest. "I am. I'm confident I can kill myself faster than you can stop me."

Whatever threat the Puppet had expected...that wasn't it. "And you think I will relent?" the Grandmaster shouted in a dozen voices. "That I will let you stand?"

"No. I'm making you lift the threat you've imposed on me." Adam glared at the Grandmaster. Even meeting his eyes felt like inflicting a wound upon himself, but the Painter refused to avert his gaze. "Serena, Grandmaster – call yourself what you like. That body you used aboard the ship had eyes and ears, correct? You're aware of the respect I paid to your kind.. I demand to be treated the same. And if my demand is refused..."

He called upon his memory of when Aspreay had him in his lordly grasp. "I will kill myself, right here and now, and make sure you lose your only chance of allowing your people to live on the surface again."

"You're bluffing," the Grandmaster accused.

"One of us is." Adam shrugged, his grin widening. The Stained Ink crawled ever closer to his chest, picking up pace as it went. Faster...faster...a few more seconds, and it would reach his heart. "Care to find out which one?"

"YOU INSOLENT BASTARD!" The Grandmaster of all Puppets rose from his throne and stared down at Adam. For a fleeting moment, there was fury in his eyes. Adam felt the ground on either side of him collapse, as if gravity itself was crumbling. "TAKE YOUR OWN LIFE, COWARD! I BELIEVE YOU NOT!"

Adam lifted his eyes to meet their challenge head on. Immediately, he felt the weight and time behind the Grandmaster's gaze.

So close to my heart now.

These were the eyes of someone who'd lived through dozens of lives, died through a dozen more, and witnessed more words than their borrowed tongue could ever describe.

These were the eyes that tried to burn him into nothingness simply by acknowledging his presence.

These were the eyes that had witnessed dragonfire rain down upon the world, had lived when the last dragonflame was extinguished, and intended on living until long after Adam's bones had faded to dust.

These were the eyes of a creature far beyond humanity, and staring into those bottomless pits of dark was nearer to gazing into the abyss than at a person.

Go on. Do your worst.

And yet, it was the Grandmaster who blinked first.

"Oh, fine," he relented, with a grunt and an exasperated throw of his arms. "You wish to move? Have it your way. By the gods, you're too stubborn."

Suddenly, Adam could move again. He immediately shifted the Ink away from his heart, keeping only enough Ink on his wound to stop the bleeding. Something is wrong with me, Adam realized. He should have felt relieved. Scared, perhaps. Numbness would've also made sense.

Instead...he couldn't wipe his smirk off his face, nor could he stop the excitement that came with the racing of his heart.

"I confess to not being talented at anything," Adam said, through a cough. Slowly, he forced himself to stand to his feet. "But I've found that even for someone like me, there's a surprising amount of things you can accomplish – so long as you refuse to back down, even far past the point a reasonable person would."

"Tell me about it," the Grandmaster sighed. "An extra second and you'd be dead. And we couldn't have that, could we?"

Adam shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe I'm not attached to life." In truth, he'd planned on stopping the attack, or at worst having it pierce his chest but miss his heart. "I had to make my point somehow."

"Fine, fine." A portion of the Grandmaster's intimidating aura dropped away, replaced by something closer to a grumpy old man. "I've been around since the times of the First Dragons, and I haven't seen someone that stubborn since the Fall of Scaled Rock. And that was hundreds of years ago, you hear me, brat?"

"Well, now I'm curious. No way I can just let that slide. When did you meet someone more stubborn than me?"

"During the Fall of Scaled Rock," the Grandmaster grunted. "That was when I had to switch bodies for the first time. Not only were the dragons gone, but my body was too Rotten for me to keep going. Had no choice." He shook his head, then looked up sadly at Adam. "That was the last time I saw my reflection in a mirror, before I took upon more bodies than I can count. And do you know what the sad thing is, human?"

The Puppet laughed. "I don't even think I remember what my face looked like anymore."

Serena's old body, the one that had traveled aboard the ship, suddenly appeared beside the Painter and brought him a chair. Adam's eyes trailed from her lifeless face to the Grandmaster, who raised an eyebrow in response. "What? You wanted to be treated like an equal, didn't you? So sit down," he said, with a hand motion. "Sit down...and allow me to tell you the tale of Puppets, Painters, and Power.

"Where that tale begins is beyond me, I'm afraid. A malfunctioning machine like myself bears no such knowledge. Instead, I will summon you to the start of my memories, human. In honor of your Talent, allow me to paint you a picture of the times before.

"The background necessary for this art, you see, are the dragons. You must understand not only that they were the absolute rulers of this world back then, but also what they were – and what they did.

"Their size and shape is, funnily enough, almost as important as their might. I have some knowledge of your Earthly legends about dragons. Those stories, if the little knowledge I have is accurate, are correct enough. Stop me if my understanding of your world is as insufficient as yours is of mine. If my creators stood on four legs, most of them would still comfortably be over ten feet tall. When standing upon their hind legs – which they often did, unless ill or elderly – they'd be closer to thirty-five feet. And let us not even speak of their wingspan! So far, does that match your impression of my creators?"

Adam nodded. That the Grandmaster knew of Earth and its legends unnerved him, but getting answers to that puzzle could wait.

"Good! Very good!" The Puppet appeared quite pleased. "Now, what I believe your legends get wrong, you see, is the hands. Their claws are sharp and real enough, but both their front and hind legs possessed seven extremely dexterous fingers – no worse than mine or yours. This made them able to construct and experiment upon delicate creations that the beasts of your legends never could."

Some legends did in fact describe dragons that way, but Adam thought better than to interrupt.

"Understand, then, that the supreme rulers of this Painted World—oh, does it surprise you that I call it such? Wait, impatient boy!—were the rulers just as much because of their intellect as their might. Dragonfire burned all, but dragonclaws forged technology that none could match. Their breath forged the stonewalls surrounding the first human cities, and their creations gave humans the inventions that they play with to this day. For elves, who long suffered under the Painted World's harsh terrain, they used a mixture of their divine magic and clever creations to terraform land so their elven forests could grow."

The Grandmaster leaned closer. "Do you think, boy, that my creators did that out of the magnanimity of their hearts?"

Under his breath, Adam muttered a curse. More loudly, he said, "No."

"Oh?" the Puppet seemed mildly surprised at that. "Have the legends from your world led you to that conclusion?"

"More like my experience with the ruling caste has." It was a bitter statement, but not one the painter said without amusement. "Seldom can someone achieve that much power without exploiting those weaker than them. Change the world, change the species...and the idea still holds."

"You rule, yet from what I observed aboard the ship, you have yet to lose your heart, Painter."

"I have yet to rule for long." Adam smiled wryly. "But I digress – please, continue. Why did the dragons help humans and elves?"

The Grandmaster let out a sardonic chuckle. "Very well, pessimistic Painter. Given your grim worldview, it will come as no surprise to you that the dragons had something to gain from their partnership with humans and elves. Their size, my boy, was their greatest advantage...yet it was also their greatest detriment.

"This world is not suited for dragons. That should come as no surprise – remember what I described of their monstrous bulk! Imagine the castles and cities they constructed for their own sort. And food! Why, they preyed upon whales – marine and aerial alike – but feeding them was a highly difficult task. Even digging for resources or exploring natural caves was near-impossible for their kind. Smaller creatures were much better-suited towards being the stewards of the dragons' realm. In many ways, it was a mutually beneficial partnership.

"Humans, ever proud of their independence, paid the dragons tribute, yet kept their distance from them nonetheless. Over time, a few cities were burned down by an angry dragon or two, causing a measure of distrust to form. Elves, ever proud of their connection to the natural order, worked closer with dragons for centuries. It was a common sight to see a dragon allowing an elf to ride on its back to visit some far-off location, research ruins from even before the dragons' era. Granted, I doubt such ruins were truly real, but that's getting ahead of myself."

His voice lowered. "It was within this world that I was born.

"I have no memories of my past life. The Rot simply appeared one day and began swallowing this world whole; a toxic, parasitic invader that absorbed every part of this world – living or not – and made it a part of itself. Soon enough, all of living existence was threatened by this outsider, and the dragons, ever brilliant, thought up a way to combat it. Do you know what I speak of?"

A far corner of Adam's mind recalled an item on the list of costs that Tenver had presented long ago.

Rot Protection: ϕ850,000

Nearly a million orbs per year to keep the Rot from Penumbria. And given the overgrowths Adam had seen in the city districts, with dark, tumorous masses bulging out of even raw stone...it wasn't enough. "The Empire's Rot protection – does it come from dragons?" he asked.

"Aye, Painter, it does," said the Grandmaster, in an inquisitive voice. "It raises questions, does it not? Rot Protection is only part of its design, however. The original application was far more powerful, and far more mobile. Do you know what it was?"

Adam's immediate response should have been 'no,' yet an errant thought seized his tongue. "More mobile...Puppets?"

"Hah! Does it surprise you?" The Grandmaster's wryness veered into bitterness. "The dragons conjured up a way to capture souls. Unlike our reconstructions, my forefathers needn't even be close to their corpse. They would soar above the clouds, high up to near the edge of the world, and capture souls before they reentered the cycle of reincarnation."

That should have piqued Adam's interest. Knowledge of what happens after death should've shook his very core...yet he found it profoundly difficult to care. Wouldn't matter. If I die, I'm dead. Whatever gets my soul next is a different person. And besides – for all he knew, this only applied to denizens of this world, not Earth.

"When souls are permanently separated from their bodies," the Grandmaster continued, "they can be reshaped. Talents, as you know, come from the soul. Do you understand the implications?"

"I hope not," Adam replied, as quickly as he was horrified. "Because if I'm right, then you're saying that the dragons..." He didn't dare finish the thought.

A soft smirk spread across the Grandmaster's face, showing that he saw no challenge walking down that road. "It is as you suspect. Dragons reforged the souls of the dead to transform them into Rot repellents, and then placed them into artificial bodies. At the time, we looked far more inhuman than we do now. Our bodies had no skin over them; just misshapen, pragmatic wood, and rare spots of Dragonforged steel on plain display. We weren't allowed to wear clothes nor take a name, lest any truly 'living' creature grow attached to the dragons' disposable tools."

For a moment, Adam was stunned into silence. "They brought you back to life, robbed you of your memories, then marched you down towards Rotten terrain and hoped you would...absorb the Rot within yourself until you died?" He had expected atrocities, but this was somehow crueler. "That's, that's worse than murder, that's inhumane, that's – how did – why did....." How and why did you obey them without rebelling, he wanted to ask, before thinking better of it.

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People treated like that were rarely given the choice or ability to do anything.

He didn't need to speak the question aloud for the Puppet to answer it. "We weren't given the ability to disobey," he said, absently. "Their Puppetry stole most of our emotions, yet left our intelligence intact. Some orders could not be challenged – we were never allowed inside Castle Rockscale, for one, nor could we harm creatures of sapience. All they allowed us was the capacity to make independent decisions with their ultimate goals in mind. Wooden automatons...mindless soldiers...we were born to die for them. Except...well, as I said earlier..."

There was a pause, a slight flickering of his eyes, then the Grandmaster chuckled. "I am quite stubborn."

"Stubbornness probably doesn't undo magic," Adam noted.

"No, it does not," the Puppet acknowledged. "But be that as it may, I was born with an...error, of sorts."

Adam leaned forward. "What made you different?"

"I do not know what caused the mistake, if that is what you ask. But if you ask what the mistake made of me...that, hmm, is a different matter altogether. My emotions never went away as it did for the others."

"So you've been conscious this entire time? Even when ordered to basically kill yourself?"

"Indeed. Rather sad, is it not?" The Grandmaster's chuckle was drier than the last. "Even though I was given the ability to think, to feel, like none of my kind were...I still obeyed my orders without much question. Ah, I took pride in succeeding on those missions, but when everyone around me saw no issue in marching towards their deaths – when my earliest memories were of being surrounded by those telling me my 'glorious' destiny...I did not question them. It was only when most of my body became covered in Rot that an intrusive thought caught me by surprise: I don't want to die."

He hesitated, as if delayed by the weight of centuries of emotions. "Fortunate, then, that I didn't have to face that thought. Because overnight, the dragons disappeared from this world.

"It was a shocking, mysterious event. One that – I must confess – we have come no closer to unraveling. Only a handful of dragons remained afterwards, and of those few younglings, none appeared to have any idea of what had happened to their kind. Those survivors were located far away, and became uninterested in our existence the moment humans revealed their own methods of fighting the Rot."

Suddenly, the Grandmaster burst out into laughter that was outwardly genuine, yet betrayed an undertone of sadness. "Puppets were hated by most by then, you understand. Despicable, rot-infected creatures...people were all too glad to be rid of us once the human's Emperor found a way to resist Rot without our assistance. Doubly so as the last dragon survivors were young, most of them born after our creation, meaning they viewed us similarly to how humans and elves did.

"And thus, we were abandoned to the Rot and death in Scalerock.

"My brothers and sisters accepted death. Without the dragons ready to produce more Puppets, the Rot was bound to overtake the castle eventually. And as it was their duty, they were ready to carry it out. Do you know why Puppets are made of wood, rather than steel? Because once we absorb too much of the Rot, we are meant to set ourselves ablaze, reducing the infection to mere ashes. Burning the Rot itself does little, but if it's absorbed by a Puppet first..."

Intense, severe fury flashed in the Grandmaster's gaze. "I saw...I saw many of my friends – my family – burn. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Every day, someone else embraced the cleansing fires. And slowly, but inevitably, my own body started to fail me. One night I woke up only to realize that my left arm no longer worked. My few remaining friends showed no sadness or fear at my impending demise.

"It was then that something ancient – something primal awoke inside of me. I wanted to live! Orders be damned! Yet though I could harbor feelings, the dragon's ultimate commands still burned deep inside my core. Disobeying them damaged my very soul. Even so, my desire to survive was stronger. Faced with the choice between remaining outside the castle and awaiting my death like cattle, or risking the shattering of my soul and going against my orders...I chose the latter.

"I entered Scalerock.

"Within its walls, I was safer than my brothers and sisters, who were horrified that I'd dared to enter our master's domain. It still wasn't enough for me to survive. I grew greedier, more daring, choosing to venture inside their studies. Dragonscript is hard to decipher, but my tenacious, desperate grip on life grew only tighter with every passing night. Each eruption of flames outside served as a reminder of what was happening to my people.

"There, I learned two things. The first one, you understand, related to the process of creating Puppets. I was unwilling to let my siblings die – they lacked the desire to survive, but they still had a measure of feelings and individuality, no matter how much the dragons tried to strip it away from us. Call it selfish, call it foolish...but I didn't want to be...the last Puppet. So I learned what I could about the process, and made up for the rest."

Adam couldn't hide his surprise. All of that sounded different from what he knew of present-day Puppets. Nowadays, they were visually indistinguishable from humans and elves. Most kept their flesh during the transformation, only needing to have their soul moved to an artificial core instead. Tenver was among those. They also showed no inclination towards sacrificing themselves to stop the approach of the Rot, and Adam frankly had no idea if they even retained the capacity to do so, though they appeared still able to detect it to a degree.

"It must have been hard," Adam said, slowly. "But you did it. You saved your friends – your kind."

When the Grandmaster replied, it was with an undercurrent of sadness. "I will grant you one, but not the other. Very few of my friends held enough of an inclination towards life that they accepted my offer to transfer bodies. There were over eleven thousand of us the day the dragons left. Only a hundred and fifty-seven chose to be given new bodies. Out of those...only eight survived the hasty process. Most of my friends died from the Rot before I gained enough understanding of Puppetry."

A sudden nausea overtook Adam as he realized the true purpose of the room. He glanced over at Serena's body, the one that had accompanied him aboard the ship. The one whose face was covered in burns. He'd wondered before – why, if the Grandmaster owned so many bodies, would he use one that was clearly damaged?

Adam didn't want to ask the question, but it would keep him awake at night otherwise. "Serena...was she one of your friends?"

The Grandmaster nodded. "I took her out of the fire...but she was already gone. Most of my friends were."

Adam looked around at the darkness, at the hundreds and thousands of figures contained within, and trembled slightly. Those are his friends' corpses. "Why did you take their bodies with you?"

"Because I was no master. Not yet. I...I needed a safe place for Puppets, and didn't have the power to make one by myself. For a short while, we stayed at a city not too far from your own Penumbria – it was built by humans who surrounded the mountain peak where Scalerock stood. Yet they too grew uneasy of our presence, and soon enough, we had to leave.

"Once I learned how to control the lifeless Puppet bodies, making Orbs was easy enough. I was just one mind, yet could perform the work of thousands. We formed our quiet little corner of the world, away from the Rot, away from the dragons, away from life itself. I worked day and night to create new Puppets – to give them a chance to be reborn as we were. My goal was to make being a Puppet something to be proud of. Somedays, I still convince myself that's my goal. But lately...surviving with dignity appears more urgent."

A certain Emperor had made even that much difficult as of late. Adam could piece together what happened afterwards: the remaining dragons disappeared as well, and with them gone, there wasn't even a flicker of protest among the human nobility to stop the Puppets from being massacred. As the Rot worsened, so did humanity's view on Puppets and elves. And due to having mastered the ability to resist the Rot in any way, humans retained a large advantage over elves in the disputes that followed.

Elven and Puppet blood was shed soon thereafter. Many times, in many settlements. Most recently...Greenisle and the mountain.

The Grandmaster, having amassed many Orbs over a long period of time, used both them and an Emperor-ranked Talent to protect the Mines. That was sufficient to safeguard them from any invasion the Emperor could muster. Even if the humans attempted to eradicate them, it would come at too large of a cost to ignore...especially when the Puppets were so gladly keeping themselves out of sight.

But you don't want to stay out of sight forever, do you?

"What of the second point you discovered?" Adam sharply asked. "You said there were two things you discovered in the dragon's castle."

"The second is what you already know, Painter." The Grandmaster's eyes turned to ice. "This world exists inside a painting. Lawrence, the First Painter, used some unspeakable sorcery and inked it from your world. It was by his hand that the Talents were designed, that this world was forged...and mayhap why the world is now falling apart."

Adam leaped to his feet. That couldn't be right. Surely he'd misheard the man somehow. Yet, at the same time, he was certain of the words the Puppet had uttered just then. "Grandmaster," Adam began, in a low voice. "Please...please continue. Elaborate on what you mean."

"Lawrence – the First Painter. It all began with him." The Puppet sighed, gesturing around the cave. "Every molecule that comprises this world was birthed from his Ink. He painted this world and gave every living being within it a place to belong. I dare not claim whether he created life or whether he...imported it from elsewhere. Even the dragons weren't certain.

"Their research, though unfinished, did leave us with a very interesting consideration, mind you. My dragon masters wrote thusly: 'With his Ink he painted our world, and with his Will he painted our souls.'

If that remark hadn't inspired enough dread in and of itself, the Grandmaster's piercing glare would have sufficed. "Do you know what this means, Painter?"

"No," Adam sincerely replied.

"Do you dare guess?"

"Yes," Adam said, just as sincerely. He frowned as a memory came to him. At the time, it had felt important, yet after hearing the Grandmaster's words, even this concern now seemed banal. "Talents come from him too, don't they?"

Every bit of magic in this world was codified with extremely precise descriptions and limitations. To an uncomfortable degree. Worse, the further up the Ranks his Talents advanced, the more...conversational their writing became. Adam had considered the possibility that someone must have written them, but he'd hoped that it was a different person than the creator of all magic.

But even if that's true...what about the voice that sometimes speaks to me? The one that keeps trying to erase my memory? Is that the First Painter? Is he a different person from the Dark Sorcerer that other people have mentioned?

"A clever guess," the Grandmaster acknowledged, appearing mildly impressed. "And a correct one, at that. But there is one more point you've yet to hear. First, I must ask; are you familiar with how Talents are formed in a person?"

"They aren't born with it," Adam quietly said. "Not exactly. While parentage may influence a person's Talent, most of it comes from their exposure to specific teachings, or their personal circumstances. Children develop magic in their early years, but what form that sorcery takes depends on a lot of factors that...frankly, I don't think most people fully understand."

From what he'd managed to observe thus far, it seemed as though – for example – a child trained by a blacksmith would be likely to awaken a Talent related to smithing. More complex Talents, however, required more factors than just upbringing. And in some cases...

"Trauma can also strongly influence a person's Talent," Adam said, in a low voice. "Solara awoke the Talent of Resurrection after being covered in the corpses of her loved ones, and fearing for her life. Tenver awoke the Talent of Archery after what he referred to as the Arrow Eclipse, where I imagine his injuries led to him becoming a Puppet."

"Again, very good. But consider this – as you've stated, the exact conditions necessary to awaken a specific Talent are vague and unknowable. But what if you did know? Can you hazard a guess as to what you'd be able to build with that wisdom, Painter?"

Adam twitched at the thought. "An Empire," he muttered. "The Imperial family figured it out, didn't they? That's how they managed to subjugate every human settlement, encroach upon elven territory, and fight the Puppets."

"It pains me to say that you are once again correct. If only you...if only we were mistaken about that assumption. Not even the Dragons seemed to know how the imperial family obtained that knowledge, although they certainly seemed to worry about how the family was using it." The Grandmaster shook his head. "Do you know, boy, why the Empire doesn't have a name?"

Actually, Adam had seen a dozen different names for the Empire in the various books he'd read. The fact that none of them could settle on a singular name had certainly raised some alarm. "There's a reason? I assumed it was just a linguistic issue, or that maybe the Empire was just called different things in different locations."

"The reason is because the First Emperor thought it pointless. He declared it thusly: 'Naming is a necessity for the sake of differentiation. There will be no Empires other than ours, and no Emperor other than my blood. Our past is meaningless, and our future belongs to me. Soon, the day will come when you need not hail my bloodline any more than you need to announce the air you breathe'."

The Grandmaster snorted. "Cocky bastard, isn't he? He accomplished most of what he claimed he would, though. It didn't take long for his armies to conquer city after city. Being able to forge Talents granted the Emperor more Orbs than anyone in the world – which is to say nothing of the multitude of Talents he personally wields. And those Hangmen he created..."

At his own mention of the Empire's strongest soldiers, the Grandmaster shuddered. After a pause, he turned to face Adam. "You appear...dazed." The Puppet spoke in a gentle voice that felt almost paternal, yet it did little to ease tensions. "It is a most understandable reaction. After all, you've just learned that a human like yourself, a stranger, painted the very world you find yourself in. I have some understanding of your home world, but–"

"That's just the problem," Adam cut in. He bit his lip to force himself to stay calm. "That's just the goddamn problem!"

The Grandmaster tilted his head. "What are you saying, Painter? Do you—"

"—Lawrence," Adam interrupted. "Lawrence, the First Painter. That's who you said created everything here."

He grimaced. "This isn't the first time I've heard that name."

Maybe it was a coincidence. It could be. But deep inside...Adam knew the truth. Something more certain than death itself flared up within him, burning as it warned of a threat looming over his entire being. His very soul was shouting at the heavens, so loud that he couldn't possibly deny it. He has to be the same person. He has to be....

"What a lovely painting," an older gentleman had told Adam back then. "Is this for a school project? Or something else?"

Adam had blushed humbly at the compliment. He wasn't used to being complimented on his art – professors seemed to make it a point of pride to phrase their criticisms as harshly and hurtfully as possible. "It's a personal project. I guess it's a little on the stupid side to paint something for fun when I'm already behind on so much schoolwork, not to mention my job, but...it keeps me sane."

"Is that so?" The older gentleman peered over Adam's shoulder and let out a thoughtful hum. "You have talent, that's for sure. Ah! Here's an idea!" He grinned broadly as he produced a business card and handed it over to Adam. "I am an artist of some renown – oh, don't bother searching my name, it's not in your native language – and I happen to be running a contest to help me find an excellent local artist to aid me with a small project. Would you care to join?"

Truthfully, it sounded fun, and Adam loathed the idea of disappointing this polite old man. But...

"I can't," he admitted, with a bit of shame. "I...I have schoolwork, and my jobs too. Have to find a new job, actually. If I don't get enough money, I–"

"There's a prize," the gentleman assured. "If you win, I promise to square away your debts, and to even finance your future for a short while. I take good care of those who study under me. Understand that this contest is not open to everyone, yet I have chosen to extend you an invitation. Think of what that means."

It was an absurd offer – and a suspicious one at that. Before even entertaining the idea, Adam would need to closely examine the legal details of their contract, then speak with his college advisor about the matter. That was assuming he could find the time to participate at all.

"I'll...consider it." Much as he hated to admit, Adam was desperate. He was behind on rent and couldn't afford his tuition; a regular after-hours job wouldn't be enough. "Yeah. I'll consider it, but, um...thank you for the offer." He nervously rubbed the back of his head. "What's your name, sir?"

"Lawrence," the gentleman said.

For a few long moments, Adam was unable to speak. A sense of astonishment had grabbed hold of his tongue. Eventually, he shook his head, summoning the vestiges of his Lordly persona to help pretend he wasn't trapped in a daze.

It took every molecule of his being not to let his next thought show on his face.

I met the First Painter before...on Earth.