It felt like the Lord Talent.

Whether it was the Ink inside of him, the echoes of Aspreay's knowledge residing within his Talent, or pure, animalistic instinct he could not tell – and it hardly mattered. A mere glance was enough to make the power before him appear as certain and deadly as an oncoming storm.

Much like a Lord could turn his wish into a natural law for those inside his Realm, so could the Genius refuse nature's very laws. It's the same type of Talent…no, it's different. This is the most supreme state a Talent can manifest itself. A brilliant sort of arrogance, his irreverent desire incarnated into a small Realm; not unlike the invisible Walls that surrounded Penumbria.

Yet this one was small. About five feet, give or take, a translucent box of incarnated ego surrounding Eric.

And it altered the very foundations of his Talent.

"Welcome to the Realm of Genius, monsters!" he shouted, unleashing manic laughter alongside a storm of pens. Each object shot forward one at a time, as fast and suddenly as a bullet, the sound of their displacement trailing behind their movement. "Die for me!"

There were so many that anyone would have been forgiven for mistaking them for arrows. Each pen fell with startling speed, trailed by a faint blue glow and Eric's cackling. A first they were grouped together – until suddenly splitting apart, as if violently repelled by each other's presence.

Then, one-by-one, the pens locked on to their targets. They zipped to the sides, homing in on different monsters with pinpoint accuracy.

Cacophonous explosions resounded soon after.

"What the hell," Adam muttered, "is that?"

Clouds of dust arose from every point of impact, like a cluster of meteorites had struck the monsters simultaneously. Where there'd once been shambling abominations, there were now just corpses. The city was bereft of life – even its grotesque mockeries.

Although his ship was flying too high for Adam to witness the massacre in detail, he knew one thing for sure. It was a fact he understood in his very bones. Eric hadn't just been attacking those creatures with his pens.

Something else was being prepared.

As if predicting his thoughts, the Hangman started to speak, projecting his voice. "That's right, Adam. You can only use paintings, right? Pity. Still impressive, of course! But me...I can do so much more."

Eric stretched out his hands, his fingers dancing independently from each other. They pulled at invisible strings, conducting an inaudible orchestra, seeming to spawn nothing at all. However, Adam knew better. He recognized those motions, and that flicker of concentration in Eric's eyes.

The Hangman was painting.

"I can use abstract art!" A proud smile spread across Eric's face. "It doesn't even have to be good! That's all it takes for me to steal someone's soul!"

Tenver, who had been fruitlessly calling out to his friend for some time now, suddenly grasped Adam's shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Eric uses abstract art," he muttered, absently. "It's different from my skill."

Solara stepped up beside him. "In what ways?"

"Abstract art can be drawn a lot faster than a painting...or a sketch. Doesn't matter how quickly I try to draw – no way I can beat that speed."

Adam bit his lip when he noticed it was trembling slightly. Steady. "Technically, anything can count as abstract art, even literal garbage. Only...well, usually it has to be good to amount to something. Except Eric just said – the bastard outright admitted that it doesn't have to be!"

He smashed his fist against the wall. Frustration welled up inside of him, and not merely because of how dire the difference in their talents could prove to be. Don't let it get to you. You know it isn't what you should be focusing on. I know that, goddamn it!

Even so, he couldn't stop himself from cursing louder as the clouds of dust from Eric's attack gradually dissipated. I have to make sure!

"My lord, what are you–?" Tenver cut his own question short, then nodded. "Ah. Information gathering?"

"Yeah." Adam called upon his Talent of Captain. He could feel the ship's path at his fingertips. Carefully, he closed his fist, bringing the ship closer to the city. "It probably won't help us much if Eric tries to pull something, but...I have to know. Stupid or not, there's some things you just gotta–"

Solara interrupted him by laying a hand on his other shoulder. "You needn't explain yourself," she assured. "Do as you please, and gather information if you can. If that man truly has a Genius, it's even worse than if he was a regular Hangman."

So they call his ability a 'Genius' too? Adam spared each of them an apologetic glance. Wonder how long they'll put up with me before they get tired of my shit, he thought.

A moment later, he angrily shook his head. This wasn't the time for self-pity! He'd been doing better about those kinds of thoughts lately; stopping now of all times would be the worst goddamn thing he could do. Stay positive. You are strong. You are the Lord of Penumbria.

He found strength and comfort in this last bit. Remembering he was the lord of a city – that so many people depended on him – allowed him to pit his sense of responsibility against his self-hatred.

Responsibility won out. "Stay here," he warned the two.

Solara shook her head. "But–"

"That's an order!" he shouted, before exiting the room and running towards the ship's deck. Catching a glimpse of Eric's 'abstract art' was his sole priority right now. Adam needed to know if his assumptions were correct.

Back on Earth, Eric had never shown much interest in anything besides traditional painting. In contrast, Adam had wanted to learn about every kind of art, but soon discovered that he was extremely bad at creating things, from sculpting to art installations. Even drawing was a skill he'd only acquired because he could narrow it down to a near-science.

It's one thing to understand the mechanics of something – another to actually give it meaning. The moment I have to communicate intent with my art, everything breaks down. That's always been my weakness. I know that. I accepted it.

But you...

You...

It was beautiful.

There were dozens of dead monsters below. Each corpse was arranged so beautifully as to be its own painting, a parade of macabre backdrops for the darkest of festivals. Adam looked at a deformed hawk monster laying dead on a blue creature, the white of its eye contrasting the red blood staining its torso, dyeing the scene in tragedy.

Upon observing it, Adam felt an emotion and theme flow into his mind. It was too effective of an art piece when based on creatures Eric shouldn't have known about before. That was it – the Hangman must be able to immediately understand the monsters' pasts. The Stained were an amalgamation of souls, so if he knew even one of them, that would be enough for him to 'paint' their portrait.

Here, the theme appeared to be the death of freedom...which was generic enough that Adam couldn't help but wonder if his conclusion was too hasty. Maybe Eric was just painting any generic feelings that came to mind, figuring they would land against one of the many souls eaten by the Stained. Like a shotgun approach to creating art.

That thought was somehow more unnerving than the alternative.

"Hey there," Eric said, casually flying down to the deck, descending like a bird returning to its nest. "How did you like my show?"

"You lied," Adam muttered.

Eric's face fell. "Hey man, the hell? I went out of my way to show you all my powers so that you couldn't say I was hiding shit, and you–"

"Earlier, you said that abstract art doesn't have to be good for your Talent to work." Adam peered down over the edge of the ship. "But every single one of those pieces is fantastic."

At that, the Hangman grinned broadly. "Ha, yeah, I mean...maybe it does have to be good. Don't know. Been half-assing it every time I used it."

THAT'S THE PROBLEM, ERIC!

Even during his slump in college, even when he'd put in so much less effort than Adam...Eric was simply good. It was infuriating to watch him set his sights so low, barely try at all, yet produce a mediocrity brighter than the most beautiful star Adam's art could conjure.

The stunning arrangement pictured below was a perfect example. Eric was one of those people who'd never taken abstract art seriously. He'd always disliked it, mocked it – even laughed at the very concept.

Yet he was still this good at it.

That's just...so cruel, isn't it?

Eric sighed deeply and loudly, enough so that Adam would look up at him. To his surprise, the Hangman appeared genuinely saddened and annoyed. Strangely, that annoyance appeared directed at himself.

"Listen...man..." Eric rubbed the back of his head. "I understand why you don't trust me. Might take some time to rebuild everything – I get it. Really, I do! Guess I was hoping that if I laid all my cards on the table, you'd maybe believe me. I honestly am sorry about how everything played out."

Looking at Eric then was harder than fighting the Ghost of Waters, crueler than matching wits against Belmordo, more painful than living beneath Aspreay's rule. Those were trivial compared to staring into the eyes of the man he'd once called his best friend, finding despair in his gaze, and not reaching out to help him.

He, he's lying. Don't trust him. He said it himself, this is a show of force so I don't do anything stupid. This is all just manipulative bullshit so I'm easier to deal with. It's–

"I miss it a lot, you know?" Eric asked, hands behind his head and eyes to the sky. "Spending all those late hours working with you, practicing our art, passing it back and forth...might sound unbelievable after everything, but those really were the best nights of my life."

"Me too." Adam let out a weak laugh. His cheeks twitched involuntarily, and he had to push the hysteria back down his throat lest it reach his voice. "That's what makes me so fucking pissed off at you. Know why we don't have that anymore? Because of what you pulled!"

"It was for your own good!" Eric cried out.

"Bullshit!" Adam screamed. You were jealous of me. For the first time, I created something you weren't able to – and you couldn't stand that! This conversation had to stop, Adam realized. Every passing second soothed his anger and strengthened his nostalgia. His memories of their time together was like deadly poison eating away at his resolve. Even now, more than anything else, he wanted to trust Eric.

The Hangman shook his head. "C'mon man. Let's do it again, just like old times. It would be great!" His words almost seemed comical. Speaking of the good ol' days when they were currently on the deck of a flying ship, overlooking a destroyed city, was too absurd to be taken seriously. "I messed up, I know. Even if it was for your sake, I should've talked to you first – filled you in. Maybe if we'd decided that we should've come here as a team..."

Inside Adam, a war raged within. His commanders were debating fiercely. The General of Distrust argued to walk away saying nothing, for Eric was a backstabber that meant not a single word he uttered. The General of Loneliness shouted back that Eric was a good friend once, and might be telling the truth here. Perhaps there was no ill will at all; just miscommunication. Worst of all, this second General was beginning to sound more convincing than the first. No, no, he's trying to trick me, I know that–

Another voice spoke up in his mind. This was no General. A captain, at most. He was not among the leaders of Adam's mind, yet his arrival to the Painted World had necessitated an abrupt promotion, as this young upstart was responsible for most of Lord Adam of Penumbria's decisions.

The General of Opportunism, so he claimed.

"Fine," Adam muttered. "How about...we start here? Let's see how awkward it feels. Take a look – I drew this up earlier."

The other leaders in his mind named him the General of Cowardice.

"Yeah, of course!" Eric replied promptly, grinning. "Haven't seen your art in a while...man, you've got me feeling all nostalgic. Last thing I saw of yours was that shitty drawing you left for the Belmorto fella. C'mon, let me see what you've been cooking up."

Adam withdrew his tablet from his pocket, keeping his expression as blank as possible. He'd prepared a few paintings in advance – each drawn with different explanations and themes of why Eric had betrayed him. Most of them he'd created soon after arriving in the Painted World, the pain of betrayal still fresh on his mind.

If any of those is right...I'll take your soul. If you're telling the truth, then no harm, no foul, right?

"You've dipped into abstract styles since coming to this world, huh?" Eric laughed as he rested a hand on Adam's shoulder, glancing at the tablet. "No idea what this one means."

It was a painting meant to symbolize Eric's jealousy and betrayal. A really good one at that, in Adam's opinion. It also seemed to be having no effect whatsoever. I'm not gambling any skills on these paintings, so they'd need to be very good portraits of his soul to work. Still...if he betrayed me out of jealousy, this one should've worked. "How about this one?"

Eric squinted his eyes. "You've gotten a lot better since I last saw you," he laughed, tightening his grip around Adam's shoulder. "Don't remember you shading like that before. Your coloring used to be kinda shit, if you don't mind me saying it."

This painting focused on Eric hating Adam. It elicited no reaction from either the man or his soul. "Well – what about this one?"

"I like the composition," the Hangman muttered thoughtfully. "Can I see your sketches?"

Which meant 'Anger at something Adam had done' also wasn't the motive. That was fine...he had plenty of drawings. Plenty of theories. One of them would have to be right. "Yeah, of course," Adam said, forcing himself to smile. "Let's go over a few more of them."

Each failed painting drove a dagger of guilt into his canvas, the doubt within him starting to shift from Eric to his own heart. If Eric wasn't guilty of any betrayal, then showing him these paintings was nothing short of attempted murder. Conflicting thoughts exploded inside of the Painter as he cycled through his prepared portraits. 'Please, don't be guilty, give me a reason to believe you,' fought for his headspace with, 'Please–be guilty–justify my feelings. Tell me that this hatred has reason.'

The merciless reaper called time marched on, every painting becoming another scythe.

It wasn't jealousy.

It wasn't anger.

It wasn't that Eric wanted revenge.

It wasn't that they were never friends.

It wasn't that Eric needed the prize money.

It wasn't that Eric was dying and needed to make a name for himself.

It wasn't that Eric thought he could never make a piece of art that good.

It wasn't that Eric wanted to drive Adam to suicide.

It wasn't that Eric never cared about Adam.

It wasn't that Eric never wanted Adam around him.

WHAT IS IT THEN? Adam screamed in his mind as he kept his face friendly. WHAT MADE YOU DO IT?

Eric threw his head back and laughed, so suddenly and so loudly that Adam nearly jerked back out of instinct. His friend's arm – former friend, he reminded himself – was draped around his neck, keeping him from moving too far. "Thank you," Eric muttered, slowly. "It's been too long. I know this doesn't mean you trust me yet...but it's a start. Maybe you'll have a little more faith in me after we meet with the Emperor, yeah? There's a nice reward waiting for you, by the way."

"Really?" Adam asked, trying to sound interested. "How do you know?"

"Got a letter recently from him," Eric said, producing the envelope from his pocket and handing it over. "Haven't reported to him myself, but I guess it makes sense that he has his sources everywhere. He heard rumors of you slaying the Ghost. Says that if those reports are true, you'll be promoted to Lord – maybe even Duke! – and I'll be promoted to Hangman of Grey for bringing you over to him. Thanks for the free promotion, by the way, being a Hangman of White sucks. Pay is terrible."

Adam nodded absently. Normally, he'd be devouring every detail, theorizing about the structure of the Hangmen, and trying to verify the veracity of Eric's letter. But now, he found it difficult enough just to talk without revealing the crushing depression he felt welling up inside of him. I'm a terrible friend. I tried to steal his soul. I...

If Eric picked up on his feelings, he didn't show it. "God, can you imagine if you and I end up as bigshot generals or something in this world?"

"Can't imagine it," Adam said, with great effort. "Sounds...crazy."

"Right?" The Hangman laughed again, but his smile fell as he shifted his gaze back towards the city of monsters. "That said, much as I'd like to do this all day, we'd better get going. There's a reason why the Emperor doesn't just send Hangmen to clear these cities – more monsters should be coming here soon. And this city is among the worst of them."

This was interesting enough for Adam to shift his attention away from his self-recrimination. At that moment, he would've taken anything for a distraction. "Why is this one so bad? Any particular monsters causing issues?"

"You could say that," Eric said, wincing briefly. "You know how the Stained are born, right? A living creature gets taken over by the Rot, eats other living things, then melts together into a rotten cluster of souls..."

The Hangman shuddered. "Fucking disgusting. It's like thinking about a spider on your shoulder or something, gives me chills every time."

"I'm aware," Adam replied, in a weak voice. It was almost unfair – he'd run himself ragged to pry that information from the Grandmaster's clutches, yet Eric had presumably been hand-gifted it by Lawrence before even arriving here. "So what?"

"Well, I heard that one of the monsters roaming around this area has eaten a Puppet's corpse. And not just any Puppet. One of the originals from the Age of Dragons."

Eric grimaced, a hint of bitterness suddenly entering his tone. "My good old captain apparently went to Scaled Rock to try to reclaim it for the Emperor. He nearly razed the whole thing to the ground trying to kill that monster – and it didn't even work. Did scatter a few Stained though...think that's what made this one start walking around here."

"Scaled Rock..." Adam slowly repeated the words, sounding them out. Where had he heard that name?

With a shrug, Eric's grimace faded. "Anyway, I'm gonna head to bed. You uh, might want to get us flying higher soon." He glanced nervously at the fallen city. "In hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have attacked it. We would've been in trouble if that monster was already in the city."

In spite of himself, Adam laughed. "Goddamn it, Eric." Why couldn't he stop himself from grinning? Why? "For once in your life, could you just stop and think before you act? You're gonna get us killed someday."

Eric smiled. "Not a chance." Watching him smile started to push away Adam's doubt even further, and drive the steel of guilt deeper into his flesh. "Don't worry though, even if that happened, we wouldn't be in danger. I'm sure I could handle it. You saw my Genius back there."

That didn't seem like a bluff. Eric sure felt like he could handle just about anything Adam had seen in this world so far, with maybe the exception of the Grandmaster. I need to find out more about what 'Genius' means, Adam thought. Is it a stronger kind of Talent? Something different? Finding that out should have been his top priority.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

Instead, he found himself asking, "Then why are you so bothered about the idea of that Stained monster showing up?"

"The Emperor is waiting for us. Don't want him to get a bad impression of you." Eric laughed again, then tapped Adam on the shoulder. "C'mon, let's get going. We've wasted enough time as it is."

"You go ahead," Adam replied, staring out over the deck at their surroundings. "I'm still getting used to the Captain Talent. Being able to see everything as I move the ship helps. Our destination is set, but the altitude–"

Eric started walking away without waiting for Adam to finish. "Suit yourself," he said, his back turned and waving his left hand. "We'll be there in about a day. Don't overwork yourself."

A coil of tension remained in Adam's chest until he saw Eric completely disappear into the ship. What he'd said earlier was partially true – he really did think it was better to observe the ship's altitude with his own eyes. But more than anything else...

He just wanted time to think.

Adam gazed down at the fallen city, viewing it through the omnipresent blue hue that colored the Painted World. What had once been Aspreay's hometown was now a shadow of its former self. Perhaps it was beautiful some time ago, yet now its once-sturdy buildings lay chipped and scarred by endless battles. Tumorous flesh grew from every cobblestone, and screeching dying monsters shambled about, some falling to their last rest, others collapsing onto others and devouring what they could to keep going.

It mirrored the storm raging within him.

I'm such a piece of shit.

The longer the thought, the more things he felt guilty about. Not only had he tried to steal Eric's soul, but apparently, Eric himself never even considered that outcome as a possibility. Despite understanding how the Painting Talent worked, he hadn't hesitated to look directly at Adam's drawings.

Maybe his Talent outranked Adam's to the point of being immune? The Painted World's magic worked that way sometimes. But...the Painting Talent has always bypassed that rule. Eric would know it too, since he presumably stole his Hangman Talent.

Maybe Eric was being reckless and not considering the risk of it all. No, even he isn't that impulsive...I think. Or is he?

Maybe he was just supremely confident that Adam didn't understand him. Well, he'd be right there.

Maybe he trusted Adam to never try to take his soul, no matter how angry the Painter was. That...

That thought was frighteningly possible, and it ate at him. After everything he'd gone through, all the sleepless nights wishing for revenge, if Adam turned out to be the one who'd betrayed his best friend's trust...how was he supposed to live with himself?

What a waste of oxygen. His father had been right all along – not the fraud masquerading as his father these days, but the real one, the man who'd shown his true feelings when he believed the two of them weren't related. Maybe he really should just follow his father's drunken advice and jump–

STOP!

Adam shook his head and withdrew his tablet, his rituals taking over before his thoughts could land anywhere. Draw something. Anything. Keep your mind blank. Keep your–

His tablet did not help, and whether a coincidence or the act of the unknown being that brought him into this world, he knew not. Right now, what stared at him was a message.

Dear Painter, well done! You have become rich of purse and strong of mind. Now I offer you advice: put the bonds of comradery to ink, and those who are inked shall be able to borrow the Talent of the subject! This is no easy achievement...yet you have enough Orbs to become a Viscount of painting, yes?

Adam wasn't sure what felt more like a taunt – how the instructions had given up on pretense and were addressing him directly now, or that the person writing them must've been the same person that brought him to this world. Even worse was the fact that this skill was, in theory, extremely useful. Having brief access to Solara or Tenver's abilities would be a huge advantage moving forward. He just needed to raise the Painter Talent to the level of Viscount for it to work.

The Orbs cost for that wouldn't be too bad. Adam had recently acquired 20 million Orbs from the Puppet Grandmaster. At a minimum, he needed ϕ5,050,000 Orbs to keep his citizens alive. Although the exact numbers were probably slightly different, and varied year-to-year. He hadn't been able to speak with Esteban at length about it.

Still, it was a solid estimate. Even in a hypothetical worst case scenario, Adam could comfortably assume that Penumbria would survive the winter as long as he set aside ϕ6 Million in advance.

That said...considering how miserable his citizens were living under Aspreay's dying economy, maybe he should spend a bit more on them. Enough to help them get to a point where their dignity as humans would be respected. Enough for them not to have to suffer.

There's no way I'll be satisfied with just letting them survive. I want them to live, goddamn it.

He needed to find a balance between supporting Penumbria and upgrading his Talents. Currently, Adam also had around 2 million Orbs from his personal coffers. While that could help, he should probably exercise caution and set those funds aside.

For safety's sake, I'll reserve the rest of my treasury for emergencies or non-essential city purchases. Means I can only strengthen my Talents with the 20 million from the Grandmaster.

'Only'. 20 million was a lot. Just half of that would cover his upgrades. He could dip into those funds without feeling as if he was shortchanging Penumbria.

And frankly speaking...ensuring his own survival was an investment the city needed.

Adam had four Talents worth mentioning: Painter, Stained Ink, Lord, and Ship Captain. While he also possessed the Ghost of Flames, he shouldn't strengthen that until he was certain it wouldn't backfire in some way. Empowering a living curse inhabiting his soul seemed rather ill-advised.

Out of the four relevant talents, the first two were Talents of an Apprentice level, and the other two were of a Viscount. Nodding to himself, Adam opened up his tablet's calculator app. It had been a while since he'd needed to use it, but years of living paycheck-to-paycheck had taught him that money was a cruel taskmaster that didn't tolerate mistakes.

Cost to Upgrade:

Apprentice to Craftsman: ϕ61,250

Craftsman to Lord: ϕ214,375

Lord to Baron ϕ750,312.50

Baron to Viscount ϕ2,626,093.00

Viscount to Count ϕ9,191,328.00

Talents to Consider:

Painter (Apprentice)

Stained Ink (Apprentice)

Lord (Viscount)

Ship Captain (Viscount)

He contemplated his options. Upgrading Ship Captain from Viscount to Count was far too expensive to prioritize. Baltsar's ship was a highly useful tool, but Adam wouldn't be basing his entire livelihood around it. In comparison, while upgrading his Lord Talent would be similarly pricey, it had saved his life when fighting the Ghost of Water. Improving it by one more tier couldn't hurt.

Then there's my Painter Talent. Whatever brought me to this world...no, whoever is writing these messages...they want me to improve it. Their intent is obvious enough it almost feels like a trap.

Not that it was a trap he could afford to avoid. Well, he could afford it, which was exactly the point. His Painter Talent was still at Apprentice, meaning upgrading it multiple times would be relatively cheap. He shouldn't neglect one of his most important abilities out of paranoia – regardless of how justified that paranoia was.

Adam typed into his calculator, added up the costs of his potential upgrades.

Orb to Spend: ϕ20,000,000

Lord Talent: Viscount to Count for ϕ9,191,328.00

Stained Ink: Apprentice to Craftsman for ϕ61,250

Painter: Apprentice to Craftsman for ϕ61,250

Painter: Craftsman to Lord: ϕ214,375

Painter: Lord to Baron ϕ750,312.50

Painter: Baron to Viscount ϕ2,626,093.00

If he spent all those...he would still have ϕ6,559,454 left. When counting his personal Orbs, that left ϕ8,559,454 to spend on city affairs. That should leave Penumbria safe and maximize his chances of a favorable meeting with the Emperor – after all, negotiating from a position of power was always better.

Adam hesitated with his finger hovering over the metaphorical button. With just a thought, he could set all those upgrades in motion and raise his Painter Talent to the level of Viscount. It was what he knew he should do. This was an ideal time to strengthen himself, especially his Painting Talent, which was the source of much of his soft power. Aside from his status as Lord, people mostly gave him respect because they feared the artist who stole souls.

Except...he would only gain the ability to borrow his allies' powers if he believed in them. 'Put the bonds of comradery to ink', the description had said.

And Adam couldn't imagine himself trusting anyone at the moment.

He had thought he trusted Solara, but now found himself second-guessing that feeling. I only decided I could trust her because she risked her life by letting me paint her soul. Even now, I'm only starting to question my distrust of Eric because my art told me so. Since when have I been like this?

Since when have I trusted my art more than people?

Maybe he'd never actually put his faith in Solara, either. It was just easy to tell himself that at the time. Felt like he'd made progress on how he felt about people. But what if that wasn't true? If Adam looked at everything objectively...it wasn't that he believed in her.

Adam believed his art.

And his art said that Solara was trustworthy. For the moment.

Until his next painting of her failed, at least.

No, no, that's not why I–

Wasn't that the very reason why he couldn't fully trust Tenver, despite everything they'd been through together? Even after finding out the Puppet's secret, Adam couldn't help but wonder if there was something else he was missing. There wasn't anything legitimately concerning that Solara or Tenver had done to provoke this degree of suspicion, and to be blunt, aligning with Adam was pragmatic for both of them. Betraying him at this juncture would be political suicide.

Yet...he hadn't seen Eric's betrayal coming. What if he was missing something here, too?

"I'm such a piece of shit," Adam muttered, sinking his head into his hands. "What's wrong with me?"

"Not sure."

Solara suddenly appeared beside him, leaning against the railing. She eyed him with a questioning gaze. "But if it helps, whatever the case – you're probably still more functional of a person than me."

Adam barked a low laugh. "As if. You have no idea how fucked up my thoughts are."

"Wise words, my lord. Dare I suggest you apply them to yourself? You have little idea of what goes inside my head, either." Solara made it sound like a bitter joke, one that gave her amusement and disdain in equal measure. "No one can know exactly what transpires in the fortress of someone else's mind. Their hearts are a treasured chest, locked by a key you cannot ever wield."

He smiled. "Maybe so...but you can still glimpse inside it, with enough patience and persistence."

"Such as?" she asked, with a challenging edge to her voice.

"I know you well enough by now to recognize that you hate formalities. This pattern of speech – calling me 'lord', rambling in metaphors – isn't how you like to talk. But it is what you fall back on when you're putting on the mask of the Heiress of Gama."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Why is that mask on right now? What feelings are you hiding?"

She gave a stiff smile in response. "Does my lord mistrust me?"

"No, I'm worried!" Adam fired back.

The words left his lips too quickly for him to overthink them, racing fast enough to dodge his doubts. Ah. So that's how I feel, huh?

A sense of surety settled over him. He was worried, and paradoxically, that brought relief. No matter what tale his scars might spin, in the end, his heart's concern was strong and firm.

"I know how much you've been through," Adam continued. "For you to be acting like this – well, I assume something bad must've happened."

Even his most anxious paranoias couldn't deny this feeling. And if he was truly worried about her, if he truly cared...

Then maybe there was a part of him that trusted her beyond just his art.

"My lord is too kind." Solara's tone was evasive, but there was a smirk on her lips. "I have grown accustomed to traversing through hell by myself. Forgive me – voicing those thoughts aloud does not come easy."

"You needn't force yourself."

"A kind lie, that one. But a lie nonetheless." She laughed. "Aye, it would be easier to do so. Sometimes the safe road will simply not take you to where you want to go."

Adam shuffled closer to her and raised an eyebrow. "And where do you wish to go?" He was genuinely curious about this. "I thought revenge was your endgame."

"The grandest of ambitions," she said, with a wistful air. "One day I shall turn it into a reality. Yet glory and peace for my kind will not make long nights any less silent, nor busy feasts any less unnerving. I know not how to live among others."

He nodded. "Being trapped in that tower for so long...I can't imagine how lonely you must've been."

"Oh, but you can, my lord. That painting of yours, the one that drove the Ghost of Flames from my body, showed as much." Solara smiled at him, sadly at first, then sincerely at the end. "People's hearts are in a treasure box, locked away – but you can commit them to ink."

She let out a mischievous laughter. "Is that not what you always tell me art is?"

"You actually listen when I rant?" Adam said, with a grin of pleasant surprise. "Thank you. Truly."

He sighed. "And I...do agree. But sometimes, I feel like if I can't commit a feeling to ink...then I can't trust it at all. There's no such a thing as a person who can predict everyone's thoughts and emotions. Even if you do your best to understand their position, put yourself in their shoes, no one's enough of a genius to know everything that goes on inside someone's head. You could have biases you aren't aware of, or simply be incapable, lacking in skill. It's not a matter of just wanting it.

Heaven knows that Adam wasn't always capable of it, despite how much he wanted. He did his best nonetheless.

"Committing a feeling to my art helps," he muttered. "It goes beyond the rules of Painting. If I can narrow something down to logical terms, portray it as an element of nature instead of a vague, unseen thought...then I can trust it. I think I've been like this for a while now, even before I got my Talent."

Adam grimaced. "But what am I supposed to do when I can't be sure I've gotten it right?"

"Your best." Solara looked him in the eye, with a gaze that was both gentle and firm. "Isn't that fine? To stumble, fall, and get up again?"

Her sudden pause spoke of her awareness of the difficulty in that task, and her shattering of its silence spoke of her belief in its importance. "I know not what happened between you and the Hangman. In truth, there is little I know about you, my lord. But what I do know tells me you will be fine."

"We understand so little of people, don't we?" Adam stared at the fallen city as it became smaller and smaller in the distance. "Would Aspreay have become a good lord if I hadn't trapped his soul? Would Belmordo have worked together with your family if I let him live? Would Baltsar have redeemed his sins if I allowed him to try?"

He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. I really don't. I only know my art. That's it."

Unsaid in his words was the ultimate question – 'Will Eric betray me again if I give him the chance?'

"Your distinction between your art and yourself is fascinating," Solara remarked. "My lord, loath as I am to presume much about the topic you've dedicated your life to...art hardly spawns into existence fully formed, yes?"

"Of course it doesn't."

"Just so. It is conjured up by the most insane of sorcerers," she said, smirking at him. "The universe is captured through your senses, and your magic gives it shape. That which you embodied with your art – my experiences at the tower, Lord Aspreay's faded ideals, the Captain's regrets – was done by you. My lord – ADAM."

Solara shouted, giving power to his name. "It is fine if you trust your art, for it is not a separate being from yourself. "Isn't your art just 'you'? Does the ink on your canvas not resemble how your eyes color the world?"

"But I could be wrong," he fired back. "If I paint a soul and see it fly inside my painting, then at that point, it's clear my interpretation of the world was correct. Without that–"

"Without that," Solara cut him off, "you'd still be correct most of the time. Tell me, Adam – what do you think is plaguing me right now?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, giving the matter thought. "I think you aren't sure what to do," he plainly stated. "You want revenge against the Emperor, you want to make sure no elf suffers like you again...but you don't know what to do with your life outside of that. It's not like you can think of revenge every hour of the day. Sometimes you just want to laugh with friends, or kill time with a passion or hobby. Problem is – you don't know how."

She didn't stop and correct him, which encouraged Adam to continue. "I'd wager that the Puppet Mines also shook your beliefs. Until now, you've spoken of Puppets like...well, like some speak of elves. After meeting them, you realized that is not a belief you can hold anymore. It's making you question what little you knew of yourself."

Solara stood there beneath that cold night sky, not saying a word. She stayed in contemplative silence for a long while. Eventually, after an indeterminable amount of time, she responded.

"You have a talent for understanding people, my lord. That is why your art has feeling in it." She flicked her hair and laughed. "So hesitate not. Whatever your past might be – whatever limitations your power has – think it through, then decide whether or not to trust the Hangman. And know that the Puppet – that Lord Tenver and I will stand with, regardless of what decision you make."

Adam smiled at her. "That makes this weight on my shoulders not so heavy, somehow," he said, sort of wistfully. "Thank you. I was starting to get inside my head too much. It's not a great place to be."

"Really?" Solara asked, a parody of shock on her expression. "I would never have guessed." After a brief moment of indecision, she added with a smirk, "Mayhap you'd care to show me its contents sometime."

"I promise," Adam immediately answered. "I will."

He looked out over the horizon, waiting for the Imperial City to come into focus. It had yet to show itself, but the time would come soon.

Then...they would meet with the Emperor. The man who'd slain Tenver's father. The man who'd ordered the massacre of Solara's people, The man who could easily order the death of Adam's city.

Now let's see, he thought, calmly, can I trust Eric? Our chances of survival will change greatly depending on my answer to that question.

With that understanding, Adam made his decision and planned accordingly.