Devi was giving the foul-ruined remains of her soup a sad look when someone knocked on the backdoor. It sounded in a familiar pattern.

“Yes?” Devi asked as she opened the door. The newcomer was Tora, the shifty and ever-nervous Thardos youngling.

“H-Hi Devi,” Tora said, looking up at her nervously. “Is Randel here?”

“He isn’t,” Devi said. “I haven’t seen him since this morning. Do you have something to report?”

“Yes,” Tora said, his whiskers twitching. “I came here to speak about—uh, do you smell that? Something is … burning.”

“I’m learning how to cook,” Devi said. “It’s fine now, it isn’t burning anymore.”

Terran cuisine – not to be confused with Human cuisine – tended to be tricky to make. To be truthful, any kind of cooking was tricky for someone who had never been allowed near the kitchen—but Devi would have bet her horns that Sylven food was much easier to make! The technology in Nerilia was outdated and lacking; they had no heat-tubes here, so she had to use coal to light an actual fire within the stove.

“Well?” Devi asked. “Aren’t you going to come in?”

“I … I can’t,” Tora said, choking. “Sorry.”

“Fine,” Devi said, pursing her lips. “Let us talk outside.”

She left the door open to let some air in the room and sat down on the topmost stair of the emergency-staircase. Tora shuffled awkwardly after her, stopping on the stair below hers.

“Other gangs are … picking on us more and more,” he said, straight-to-point. “They come down to the Refuge to … harass us.”

“That is not unexpected,” Devi admitted. “Randel and I can’t scare all of them away. We can’t be everywhere.”

“I know,” Tora said. “There are other problems too. Lots of other problems.”

Devi narrowed her eyes, thinking. So Tora hadn’t actually come to report, but to complain. Devi had the sudden urge to send the ungrateful youngling away, but she forced herself to think it through instead. She knew that the Refuge had problems. It wasn’t supposed to be perfect; Randel’s idea was only about aid-sheltering the homeless. But if Tora had valuable insight on how to improve the living conditions, why not hear him out?

“What do you think we need?”

“Eh?” Tora asked—whether in surprise or confusion, Devi couldn’t tell.

“Tell me about those lots of problems,” Devi said, “but also tell me what we should do.”

“Oh—um … alright,” Tora said. “The Painters need better … structure. Leadership. So that we can fight back.”

“The Painters?” Devi asked, tilting her head in askance.

“Y-Yes. Sorry. It was my idea. That is what we call ourselves. It started out with only just Maa’s children, but … many joined us after the invasion. So I thought … why not form a gang?”

“You?” Devi said, arching an eyebrow. “You formed a gang? You are joking.”

Tora seemed to shrink a little, but he didn’t back down.

“I’m not joking,” he said. “It is not an … organized gang, no. But we have a name, and we have part of the city. The Refuge. And we have a symbol too.”

The little Thardos held up his hand, showing Devi a black dagger tattoo on his palm. Randel’s Mark.

“Interesting,” Devi said. “So who is the leader of this gang? You?”

“O-Of course not,” Tora said. “Our leader is the Mad Painter.”

“Really?” Devi asked, smiling. “And when are you going to inform Randel about this?”

“I—uh, yes…” Tora shuffled his feet awkwardly. “You can tell him, if you want.”

A genuine laugh escaped Devi, startling Tora. She covered her mouth with a hand, fighting hard to reassume a solemn-serious expression. Oh, she would very much enjoy Randel’s reaction when he learned of this!

“So,” Devi said, reassuming her previous posture. “How bad is it?”

“B-Bad,” Tora said. “Some of us … not me, but others … painted the sign of the Painters on walls. Even outside of the Refuge. Other gangs … didn’t like it. They took it as a sign of challenge.”

That sounded bad indeed. Devi could picture it well enough; a gang of street-children vandalizing buildings and hiding behind Randel’s name. Creator, she hated younglings! They had no sense of responsibility. Hopefully, it was not too late for her to step in.

“How many of you children are part of this … Painters?”

“A-Almost a hundred,” Tora said. “Not just children. Many adults. Humans too.”

Devi stared in shock. What in the Creator’s name was going on? How could so many people join this idiocracy? Her first thought was that this had to be Stanley’s work; that over-flatterer musician was filling everyone’s head with stupid-sweet songs ever since the battle. Could it inspire so many people? Alternatively, it could have been caused by the Refuge itself. The new homes had to garner sympathizers, and protecting their new living-space would work well for a common cause.

“So you say that the Painters need better command structure,” Devi said, and Tora nodded. “Unsurprising, with so many people. I’ll see what I can do.”

Devi stood up and looked over the railing, her mind whirling. A new community was born, and it was up to her and Randel how they shaped it. To be truthful, the idea of the Painters appealed to Devi. It felt almost like founding her own House. Obviously the Head of the House would be Randel … but knowing him, he would be more akin to a figurehead. This could be Devi’s chance to establish her place in this alien world. Her chance to show everyone that she wasn’t someone to be underestimated.

“This is exciting,” Devi said, then felt foolish immediately after. Wasn’t she reaping before the raid? Setting high-goals was important, but she had a long way to go. She looked at the gloomy alleyway below, where a couple of Thardos children were chasing each other. She would have to form a House full of aliens. Humans were relatively easy to understand—but the rest? She wouldn’t be able to unite them, not alone. But Randel had a way with them, an ease with which he spoke to everyone regardless of their species or gender. Devi could testify to its effectiveness.

Yes. Where she alone would fail, the two of them could do this. Together.

Devi also believed that shouldering more responsibilities would be good for Randel. He needed that push to be the person he so stubbornly tried to deny. A person who people relied on, a person who wasn’t a disappointment. A person who openly cared.

“This is exciting,” Devi said. She looked at Tora.

“Yes?” Tora timidly asked.

“Meet me this afternoon,” Devi said. “I want to take a look at the Painters before telling Randel about it.”

“Okay,” Tora said. “And … what will you do until then?”

“I’ll meet a friend,” Devi said. “I’ll ask for help.”

It wasn’t only Randel who needed a push, in Devi’s opinion. Her mind kept jumping ahead to all the Players she could possibly invite to join the Painters, but she reminded herself to take one step at a time. She had a friend to visit, and then she would see whether these Painters were indeed what Tora claimed them to be.

Devi dismissed Tora and went back inside, wrinkling her nose at the smell—it was quite awful, she was forced to admit. Fixing it would have to wait, however. She took Silverfang and went down into the Dungeon, heading for the closest portal room. Not only was this her fastest travel-option, but it was also the safest; House Quinn had recently found out where she lived, and so they always posted a man to stand watch just outside of Randel’s building. Fools. It was a mere inconvenience, now that the Refuge stretched so far underneath the city. Devi took her time to draw the flower-like symbol that matched the one in Arikokira’s shop, then stepped through the portal as soon as it opened.

She arrived at a basement, though she was barely able to tell; the room looked like a wonderland from a wild dream. Warm magic-lights shone from the ceiling like sunlight, illuminating the wide variety of colorful flowers on either side of Devi. They sat in various pots and vases, every container inscribed with runes that held preservation magic. A straight path cut through the vibrant plants, every single flower a mirror-image of the one on the other side. And the scents! The scents were like the Creator’s blessing, especially when smelling them after her kitchen-trouble.

It wasn’t Devi’s first time in this storage room, but it took her breath away nevertheless. She felt a mixture of awe, wonder, and a tiny-measure of fear. Bolob magic was scary-strange. Devi was afraid to disturb any of the flowers; she didn’t want to find out what Arikokira would be capable of if she was angered. Devi was a Sylven – the polar opposite of the Bolob according to the magic of this world – and so she would tread carefully. She made her way across the room and then up the stairs, to the customer-front of the flower shop.

“It’s you, Devi dear, isn’t it?

Devi turned to the tall Bolob addressing her, forcing herself to meet Arikokira’s grey eyes. The creature was standing behind a small-but-neat counter, her hands working on something behind her back—behind her, well, behind her front-side. She didn’t have a back.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Hello, Arikokira,” Devi said. “Yes, it’s me.”

“What brings you here, young lady?” Arikokira asked. “Have you come to buy some flowers, or are you just traveling through?”

“Both, perhaps,” Devi said, reaching for her coin pouch. “Tell me, Arikokira, is it appropriate to give flowers to a Human woman who is grieving?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Arikokira said. “Flowers are appropriate gifts any time, young lady. It is your intention that matters, it truly is! Do you wish to cheer up this Human woman, do you wish to help her forget, or do you wish to honor what she is grieving for?”

“I want her to … feel better,” Devi said. “Not to forget. Just to feel better. Can you recommend flowers for that?”

“Certainly,” Arikokira said, coming out from behind her counter. Devi had to fight the urge to step out of arm’s reach, even though she was logically-aware that Arikokira wouldn’t hurt her. She replied stiffly for the Bolob’s further-questions while they chose the perfect pot of flower, paid its price and then some, then she departed with a polite apology.

As she walked down the streets of the middle ring of Fortram, she admired the potted plant in her hands. White turning to pink turning to purple over hundreds of tiny petals, with some bright orange in the middle. The group of flowers looking up at Devi dazzled her with their beauty. Idly, she wondered how much this single pot would be worth in Ylvasil. It would be a priceless-curiosity, especially if she could somehow bring the preservation runes too and prevent the flowers from ever wilting. She kept sneaking glances at the flowers until she arrived.

The headquarters of the Rangers of Fortram was an unassuming building in a quiet corner of the middle ring. Renting it from Player Allowance was easy, even though prices were much higher here than in the lower ring. Devi entered carefully, the creaking door disturbing the silent-stillness inside. Of the remaining ten members of the Rangers, barely two or three could be found here at a time. The place had enough rooms to provide a home for all of them, but this community wasn’t as close-knit as Devi had once believed. She had no right to complain, though; she too preferred to sleep with someone else, after all.

A pair of servants bustled around in the richly-furnished communal room, cleaning it. They were volunteers from the Church of the Moon, revering the Reapers. They thought of Devi as a part of nature like the clouds and the mountains, yet they also considered her a mortal with mortal needs. A person, but with a higher mission. Reapers stood above the laws and reasons of society, and the Holy Binding around their necks collected souls wherever they went. Collected deaths. The servants bowed deeply when they saw Devi, but they didn’t try to address her with words. Respectful, but only insomuch as someone would respect a windstorm.

Devi felt distinctly uncomfortable by these people, but not because of their odd religion; her unease came from the similarities to her life in Ylvasil. Servants and slaves, doing her bidding. She had only just gotten to her own feet, only just gotten used to doing everything by herself—she wanted nothing to do with servants. She crossed the communal room quickly, climbing up the stairs to the living quarters on the second floor. Holding the flower pot carefully away, she knocked on one of the doors. No answer came, but that was to be expected; she usually had to try harder until she got a response. The air around her blurred for a heartbeat as she created a puppet, which she then ordered to start banging on the door—endlessly.

“Stop it, Devi, I’m coming!”

Devi dismissed the puppet as the door flew open, revealing a dark room and Heda in her nightclothes. The tall woman looked miserable, with darkened skin under her bloodshot eyes. She must have been crying recently. The burn marks on the right side of her face – an injury from the fight with the shade – had still not healed, marring her skin from lips to ear. That wasn’t why Heda was miserable, of course; her scars were deeper than physical in a way that Devi struggled to understand.

“Good day to you, Heda,” Devi said, holding out the purple-pink flowers. “I bring this gift to you. May it make you feel better!”

Heda seemed rather dumbfounded by this gesture, but she took the flowers from Devi.

“Um … thank you. But why are you so formal, all of a sudden?”

“What do you mean?” Devi asked. “Isn’t this how Humans gift each other?”

Devi didn’t intend her question to be funny, but Heda’s lips twitched anyway.

“Some do, I suppose,” Heda said. “Is this how Randel gives you gifts?”

“Randel isn’t very good at being Human. I learned long ago to take what he does with a pinch of … sugar?”

“Salt.”

“With a pinch of salt,” Devi said, nodding.

“Well, thank you,” Heda said. “Thank you.”

She remained standing in the doorway, head lowered, sniffing. Devi watched with worry as Heda’s fingers tightened around the pot dangerously.

“Kim has often bought me flowers,” Heda said, her voice sorrow-choked. “He was always— Always—”

Devi grabbed the flower pot quickly and tugged it out of Heda’s grasp before she could break it, which startled the tall woman into stopping her thought-trail.

“Let’s find these flowers a nice sun-spot, alright?” Devi asked, shouldering past Heda in spite of the tall woman’s protest. The room was gloomy and messy, and generally in an even worse condition than the last time Devi had visited. She walked to the windows and drew the curtains back, then placed the flowers on the windowsill. She turned back to find Heda hastily arranging the bedsheets, as if that would improve anything on the state of the room. Embarrassment? Humans showed such strange emotions sometimes. Devi had never seen any Sylven who had been quite as self-conscious as Humans were. Sylven felt shame, but it rarely turned into embarrassment.

“You could have warned me before coming over,” Heda said, though Devi suspected it was mostly just to hide her feelings and fill the silence.

“There was a sudden development,” Devi said. “It made me think about you. I need your help, and you need my company. We could hang down together.”

“Hang out.”

“Yes, we could hang out together.”

Heda slumped down onto the bed, averting her gaze to look blankly at the wall.

“Listen, Devi,” she said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t … it’s not your company I need right now. What I need is time. I need time to grieve.”

Fortunately, Devi wasn’t a soft-horn anymore when it came to Humans and she knew that they liked to deceive themselves. Was it presumptuous to think that she knew better than Heda? Perhaps. In this regard, Devi was very much her father’s daughter. She walked over to Heda and sat down on the bed next to her.

“Protect the citizens,” she said. “That’s our Covenant’s third maxim.”

“A Covenant that doesn’t even protect its own.”

“We can always try to be better.”

“Not with someone like Jack,” Heda said, bitter and tired. “He knew it, Devi. He knew that Tamara might be the shade, yet he sent us down in that Dungeon anyway. What kind of leader does that?”

Jack had disappointed Devi too, though for different reasons. But that wasn’t why Devi was here. She wouldn’t let Heda steer the conversation into misery! Perhaps invoking a sense of duty in her would be better than commiseration.

“Protect the citizens,” Devi said again. “It should mean something to you, Covenant or not. I ask for your help, not as a Covenant member, but as a friend.”

“My help?” Heda asked. “Why would you need my help?”

“Because you like to protect the innocent,” Devi said, “and because I think it will be good for you.”

“So, you’re just trying to manipulate me into leaving the room?”

“Yes.”

Heda sat up straighter, turning to give Devi a glare that was more withering-tired than annoyed. Devi didn’t budge. The human woman sighed, running her fingers through her tangled yellow hair. Devi could almost hear the inner-conflict inside Heda, which was a good sign. It meant that part of Heda did want to change.

“I’ll—okay, I’ll think about it,” Heda said.

“Excellent!” Devi said. “One of the locals will show us around this afternoon so that we understand the situation better. It will be a good time for you to think about it!”

“W-What?” Heda asked. “This afternoon?”

“Yes, so you need to hurry and get ready. Do you have any clean clothes? I can lend you some of mine if you need any.”

“No—I mean, yes, I have clean clothes. But—”

“Alright,” Devi said. “Should I wait outside while you take a shower and change clothes? I know that Humans don’t like to be seen naked.”

“That’s not—well, you should, but—wait!”

Devi turned around to hide her self-satisfied grin, then she walked out of Heda’s room.

“It will be fun, just wait and see,” she said, closing the door behind her. Whatever Heda was trying to tell her came out only as a weak-vague mumble.

Now, then! Onto the next fight. It would take Heda a while to get ready, and so Devi had time for another meeting in the meantime. She walked down the hallway with quiet steps, passing closed door after closed door. Humans really liked their doors and their own little spaces. Devi didn’t stop until she reached the last one in the line, where she knocked and entered.

Jack’s office was a corner-room that had windows on two sides, making the large room well-lit and inviting. Jack was sitting behind a grand desk that had a wide assortment of gadgets on it: a microscope, an empty glass globe, and some strange tubes and mechanical components. Jack wore a pair of glasses that looked odd-unfitting on his battle-scarred face, hand-writing a letter even though he had a type-writer right next to him. He looked up as Devi entered, greeting her politely. Jack was always polite to her.

“I have a moment of free time,” Devi said, “so I came here to report.”

She walked past a large bookshelf and a circular meeting-table to sit primly on the chair in front of Jack’s desk. It was set lower than Jack’s office chair, making her feel small—deliberately, Devi suspected. Her chair also had a tall headrest with a crystal embedded on its top, which began to glow with white light as soon as she sat down.

“Well then, let’s hear it,” Jack said, setting down his pen. “How is Randel?”

“He’s doing well, thank you.”

Devi could tell even without turning that the crystal behind her changed colors. She frowned, waiting for the red glint in Jack’s glasses to turn white again.

“He’s doing well regarding the shades,” Devi tried again, “but the loss of his leg bothers him still—though he tries to hide it. He became noticeably worse at sparring too, and not just because of his prosthetic leg. His reaction-time is slower, his movements are less … expert.”

The crystal behind her remained white this time.

“Interesting,” Jack said. “What do you think, Devi? Why is he a worse fighter now?”

Devi pretended to think the question over, trying to decide how much to tell Jack. Randel had given her permission to say as much as she wanted, which was both endearing and irresponsible at the same time. Devi wasn’t as certain as Randel that they wouldn’t need to fight Jack in the future. The more Devi revealed about his combat-capabilities, the more advantage Jack would have. Still, it wouldn’t do to treat Jack as an enemy—even though he probably would have assassinated Randel by now if it wasn’t for Devi’s intervention. Jack was a practical creature whose world-view Devi didn’t agree with but understood well enough. Jack could become an enemy, yes, but he could just as easily become someone who saved Randel from the shades.

“I’m not sure why it is so,” Devi carefully said. “Randel isn’t sure either. Our theory is that the two shades aren’t in perfect … agreement about how to move. Another theory is that they have no experience fighting with a prosthetic leg.”

“Hrm,” Jack grunted. “No experience doesn’t explain the slower reaction time.”

“It does not,” Devi agreed.

They sat in silence for a while, Jack deep in thought and Devi unwilling to say anything else. She listened to the sound of the clock on Jack’s desk, ticking away slowly. How much time would Heda need to get ready?

“Hurrying somewhere?” Jack asked.

“I’m going to hang out with Heda today,” Devi said. “I’ll show her the Refuge.”

“Good,” Jack said. “How goes the Dungeon, by the way? Still no monsters or traps?”

“No monsters or traps. I told you, it isn’t even Randel who is building it.”

“He just draws the plans,” Jack said, his lips set in a thin smile. “With two shades in his head. Same difference, I would say.”

“He gave new homes for hundreds of people,” Devi snapped, standing up abruptly. “Excuse me, but if you are going to start accusing him again, I’d rather just go and meet Heda now. See you later, Jack.”

Devi walked away with purposeful steps, hoping that Jack wouldn’t ask more about the Dungeon. She stopped when she heard him clear his throat, however.

“You’re too emotional when it comes to him,” Jack spoke. “Too easily provoked. That’s a weakness, Devi, one that others can use against you. Don’t forget that.”

Devi didn’t reply, just walked out without looking back. She closed the door firmly behind her, shutting the monster inside. A polite, patient, reasonable monster that rarely showed his true colors. Devi knew his kind all too well; she had survived the Royal Court, after all. She had never been good at playing their game, but she certainly knew how to ruin it. Dealing with Jack wasn’t so different. Was it?

In spite of all the comparison-lines she could draw, something kept nagging the back of her mind. Why would Jack offer her advice? Not to get in her good graces, surely. His advice about Randel was too harsh-offensive for that; Jack was telling her things more like a teacher or a mentor would. At first Devi took it as a well-meant gesture to help her fit into the world of Humans and Players, but Jack’s teachings had become a lot more personal lately.

Devi walked down the corridor back to Heda’s room, her footsteps falling heavily on the soft carpet. Whatever was going on with Jack, she knew one thing for certain; she had so much yet to learn. And she would, given the chance. Oh, she would.