Crow felt a baseless, stupid worry as he knocked on Unity’s door. Stifling it while he awaited an answer.

He wasn’t such a fool as to not see its source. Fear festered wherever hope bloomed, and he’d come to Unity’s quarters with more hope than had been gifted him in days.

Suddenly the social apprehension that had plagued him for a week seemed small, insignificant. Anything did, measured against a faceless murderer, black-plated undead knight or practically anything else he’d fought in the Sieve.

Even supervised, Crow had stared into eyes meaning to kill. He couldn’t imagine anything would pluck at his fear after that.

Unity’s door opened abruptly, scattering his thoughts and stiffening Crow’s back as he met the boy’s eye. The artificial seemed surprised to see him, more surprised than Crow would have thought.

“Good afternoon.” Crow greeted him with a smile. “Or evening, I suppose. Whichever’s closest.”

“It’s evening. And hello. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Words threatened to dry up on Crow’s tongue.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go to that pub we did a few days ago. Pit, was it a week? You know the one in any case. I’m thirsty all of a sudden, and the Crux is too… chaotic to find any reliable service in.”

Unity eyed him for a moment before answering.

“That sounds good, I was considering going myself actually. Drinking alone is terribly depressing. Wait just a few moments for me to get changed.”

True to his word Unity emerged quickly. They walked through the halls shoulder to shoulder, conversation picking up with a haste Crow had feared was lost to them.

“Good choice on the pub, by the way.” The artificial noted. “It’s plenty far from the site of the attack, almost on the opposite side of the city. With any luck we’ll find no debris in our food.”

“Thank you.” Crow smiled, deciding not to confess how little thought he’d given to the location.

A moment later it struck him how brazenly Unity had spoken of the devastation, his mood souring.

Surely it’s not such old news as to be mentioned off hand. He thought.

“Pit.” Unity muttered. “It’s still hard to believe something like that happened so close to us. Terrifying, too. If those bastards had fought just a few miles further west, we may well be counted among the dead.”

It felt strange to hear his own worry about the incident worded so clearly. Strange, but somehow relieving.

“I still can’t get the sight out of my head.” Crow admitted. “It’s like someone branded it into my thoughts. I grew up hearing stories of Jack the butcher destroying Balisphore, or the singing forest that sprang up after the first Faction War. Still, seeing what I did the other day…”

He trailed off, shuddered. Hardened his voice as he spoke more.

“This is a depressing topic for any time, let alone tonight. Can we drop it?”

“Yes, I think you’re right there. There are far more interesting, uplifting and important matters to be addressed about Udrebam in any case.”

Before Crow could voice his confusion, he continued.

“I wasn’t the only one with his horn up when Lavastro Kaiosyni man-handled that Faroah boy, was I?”

The name struck a chord in Crow, even wrapped in the joke.

“Who the pit is Kaiosyni? I’ve heard that name twice now, is she one of the organisers?”

Unity stared at him as unfiltered amazement, then realisation softened his eyes.

“Oh right, of course. You’ll know her as Karma Alabaster.”

“She has two names?”

“Sort of.” Unity shrugged. “Lavastro Kaiosyni is her true name, or at least the name she chose in her mother tongue to be used in the Taikan Empire. But Unixians, particularly lesser nobles, aren’t fond of Taiks or their language. So she took another one to use here as a way of greasing the diplomatic wheels.”

Crow took the information in, mulled it over before speaking.

“That seems…”

“Tedious?” Unity suggested.

“I was going to say complex.” He answered, smiling nonetheless. “So Unixians call her Alabaster and Taiks call her Kaiosyni?”

“More or less. Though in higher circles she’s called Kaiosyni regardless, it’s considered polite. Her other name is more for the crowds, I believe.”

Not for the first time, Crow was struck by how fiendishly contrived all things political seemed to be. Then, more usefully, by the knowledge that he was conversing with one far more versed in it than he.

“What’s the Jaxif Faction like?” He asked.

The question surprised Unity as much as Crow expected.

“That was a quick change of topic. Unless you think Kaiosyni is part of the Jaxif Faction?”

“I don’t.” Crow answered hurriedly. “But she is allied with them, yes? Or at least the Taikan Empire is.”

“It is.” Unity confirmed. “Has been for a decade now, almost since the Jaxif Faction first formed.”

“Right. I thought so.” Crow nodded. “Sorry if the questions are bugging you, I just realised I know almost nothing about the world. First I come to Udrebam, and everything’s a thousand times bigger than I’d imagined it could be. Then I remember there are three other continents besides Unix, and I haven’t even seen a hundredth of the one I was born on.”

The artificial studied him, and for a wretchedly long moment Crow felt sure his deception would melt before those bottomless blue eyes. Then, with a shrug, Unity looked away and continued.

“Makes sense I suppose.”

Crow said nothing more for a few moments, waiting to see if Unity would volunteer an answer. The boy did not.

“Well?” He asked him, trying to hide as much of his eagerness as he could. Unity eyed him.

“Well what?”

“Are you going to tell me about the Jaxif Faction?”

“Ah, of course. Yes, I don’t see why not.”

Unity seemed to give it a moment’s thought, brow furrowing as he fell silent once more.

“They’re all hypocritical, violent and destructive bastards united by no more than a vague, nebulous hatred of the status quo and lack even a collective intellect sharp enough to take note of the fact that every other word from their leaders’ mouths is manipulative drivel.”

Crow had expected disparagement, though none so incendiary as Unity’s. It almost made him laugh.

“I expected you to call them savages.” He confessed. Unity didn’t seem amused.

“I’m sure you did.” He muttered. “Pit, do I hate that word. It conveys nothing at all but dislike. May as well call them smelly, for all it says.”

Hesitantly, all too aware of the difference in knowledge between them and not eager to make a fool of himself, Crow spoke.

“Savage means someone’s… Well, a savage. Primitives. Not civilised, modern or aware of Goddess-given values. It’s not so meaningless.”

Unity eyed him, and Crow found himself sure the boy was barely restraining another verbal lashing.

“Who exactly do you think the Jaxif Faction counts among its numbers?” He asked.

Crow was surprised by the question, then stumped a moment later.

“I don’t know any names specifically.” He admitted. “Save Kasta and-”

“No.” The artificial interrupted. “I don’t mean individuals. What sort of people do you think flock to its ranks?”

He had no answer for that.

“The idea that the Jaxif Faction is filled with savages and fools comforts many, and those many are imbeciles for allowing it to do so. People aren’t nearly so simple as that, Crow. Half those serving Kasta now are defectors from the Alliance, at least a twentieth once counted themselves amongst the Have Empire.”

It was no less shocking than water waking him from a slumber.

“But they’re blasphemers.” Crow pressed. “Pagans, even. They follow false Gods, don’t they?”

Unity chewed on his words. To see the quick-tongued boy take such time with an answer was as fascinating as it was worrisome.

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“They follow different Gods.” He said. Slowly, carefully. Eyes affixed studiously on Crow’s. “If someone truly believes their God is real, then any others would be false.”

It was a word too far.

“Stop this.” He snapped. “You’re not going to try and tell me that you of all people are… what, an atheist?”

Crow had meant to suggest the outlandish, to shock the boy. That Unity didn’t flinch only left his heart sinking deeper.

Surely the Eden Child was no heathen. Not one created by the very first Faction Leaders ever anointed by the Goddess.

“I believe the Teary Eyed Goddess exists.” He said at last. “But the idea that She watches over us as a mother might her child always struck me as… Juvenile. Pathetic. Look at the world around you, Crow, and tell me it’s being maintained by an all-loving omnipotent.”

“She is a loving God.” Crow said.

Unity shrugged.

“Perhaps. We have no way of gauging the thoughts of a being so content to keep itself hidden from us. Loving or not, She’s also an absent God. This world is not maintained by any divine hand, though I don’t doubt it was born to one. It strikes me as ridiculous that any being as powerful as Her would have need for humans to do Her bidding.”

The tension left Crow slowly but surely, his nerves turning lax at the boy’s words.

Not an atheist, not a blasphemer. He assured himself. At least not by any definitions I know.

He wasn’t sure the churches of Unix and Great Have Empire would agree with the boy’s position, but it was one he could understand at least.

The cold reached Crow all at once, drawing a gasp from him in its abruptness and sending shivers to rack his body from head to toe. In the conversation’s heat, he’d almost forgotten they were outside.

“How far are we?” He asked.

“Not so far. I’d guess we have another half mile before we arrive.”

Crow kept his displeasure private, knowing already how Udrebam’s air had a tendency to turn miles into leagues. He was shivering enough to almost shake the clothes from his back by the time they finally arrived.

Disappointment almost crushed him at the sight of the building. Windows shuttered, interior dark, face lifeless and silent as a grave. It took a dozen heartbeats of staring for the obvious to sink in.

“It’s closed.” He groaned.

“Your deductive abilities never cease to amaze me.” Mumbled Unity, sounding even more irked than Crow himself. “I should’ve expected this, we passed enough shut-down buildings on our way here. Owners must have run, or died in the attack. They’re in no fit state to serve us regardless.”

Crow did his best to ignore the boy’s jibes, turning to ask about their next move. Before he could even speak, a girl caught his eye. Leaning against the building’s corner and towering as ever, Amelia was unmistakeable even in the night.

Crow’s eyes locked with the glinting beads centering hers, breath freezing in his throat for a moment as he stared.

Then Amelia smiled her perpetual, easy smile and started towards them.

“Hello Crow.” She beamed, dragging a grin across his face through the sheer invasivity of her own. Unity looked up at the girl from one side, stiffened at the sight of her. He said nothing, abating Crow’s fears with his silence.

“What brings you here?” Crow asked. The girl stopped uncomfortably close. He didn’t miss Unity edging further away from her.

“I’d been coming here every day, until now.” She said, still smiling. “How is your sister?”

The question left him without words. His tongue fumbled uselessly as he tried to reply, held stiff by the sudden caution Crow felt towards the girl.

It was easy to forget, looking at her, but Amelia was among the biggest dangers to his victory. He couldn’t allow himself to grow complacent. Wouldn’t, even were it not for the bitterness that still filled him at the memory of Astra’s wounded state.

“She’s alive.” Unity cut in, unreadable as he eyed Amelia with a dead man’s eyes. “Hurt badly, though she’ll recover.”

Amelia nodded.

“Good.” She said. “I was trying not to damage her too much since she’s Crow’s sister, but I’m awful at restraining myself.”

Suddenly uncomfortable with where the conversation had moved, Crow cut in himself.

“We should be going.” He blurted out. “Find another pub, before the cold takes our toes off. Would you like to come with us?”

Amelia eyed him, seeming perplexed.

“That would be wonderful!”

No delay came before they set off again, cold motivating haste well enough. It was good fortune that Unity knew another spot, and better still that it was nearby. The walk was still a long one, made difficult by the seizing of frost-touched muscles. Crow couldn’t help noticing the hastily-closed establishments passing them by, eyes drawn to them by Unity’s earlier mention.

It left his throat tight to see how many there were. Somehow the sight seemed greater testament to the attack’s severity than the devastation nearer the Crux.

Finding their destination still open was almost as relieving as the warmth itself, and they soon packed themselves into a corner. Interior only lightly populated and gloomy around them.

Amelia, perhaps predictably, broke the silence first. She alone seemed undiminished by their walk, Crow envied the girl her flawless venere of positivity.

“It’s not very packed here.” She noted. “I hope that doesn’t catch onto the Sieve, it’s far too easy already.”

“You’re not worried about your chances, then?” He asked.

Frowning, Amelia’s voice was as still as her face.

“Why would I be worried? Everything I’ve fought so far has been weak. Is the next task going to be much harder than the last ones were?”

The sincerity in her question worried Crow, even as the unflinching confidence stunned him.

“You think your enemies have been weak?” He echoed.

Thoughts of his own flashed before him, each bringing a shiver returning to his flesh. Crow felt his hands curl into fists, as if he might find himself standing before the armoured undead or masked mystic once more.

“Well,” Amelia said, face constricting as if deep thought were pulling it tight, “Some were a bit more powerful than others I suppose. But yes, I reckon I’d call all of them weak. None were a threat to me at least.”

Crow wouldn’t have believed the girl, had he not heard the account of how crushing Astra’s loss had been, or seen with his very eyes how unmarked and unwounded she was even after fighting.

“I need a fucking drink.” He breathed, leaning back in his seat. “When is our order going to arrive?”

A tray soon came down on their table; three sloshing, foamy mugs resting upon it. Crow’s was in his hand instantly, drink warming his mouth and throat.

The tankard was half drained by the time he placed it back, his head half fogged. He sighed, content to bask in the alcoholic glow.

“Looks like you needed that.” Unity remarked. His own drink was less touched, but Crow knew its influence would soon be upon the artificial. Alcohol was among the many things his body seemed ill equipped for.

They sat for some time, padding the delay between servings with stories, jokes and uproarous laughter. Crow imagined none of it was half as funny as they found it, yet the glow of beer and pleasant company left them eager enough for amusement.

Hours passed before the growing tab became too great to sustain, forcing sobriety onto them. A half hour after that, just minutes after Amelia subtracted herself from their presence, saw the revelry turn contemplative.

“You know,” Unity mumbled, words still half slurred, “I’ll never understand where the Eden Child title came from.”

“What do you mean?”

The boy seemed to wrestle with his voice before continuing.

“I mean that for all the people proclaiming my creation as a miracle, very few seem to have actually taken the time to look into how well it went. Artificials aren’t exactly known for our… reliability.”

Crow thought about that, picking slowly through the tar-like sludge of his thoughts.

“You should be.” He said. “You stopped that spear from hitting me with your arm, I still remember. Not many people would’ve done that.”

“I didn’t do that.” Unity said, face suddenly red. “I just slipped and held my arm out to catch myself. It was pure luck. Bad luck, for me.”

Crow laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Snapped the boy.

“You’re a terrible liar when you’re drunk.” He answered, then burst out into another fit of giggles. Unity scowled at him, face darkening.

“You wouldn’t be so quick to assume the best if you’d known me longer than a few weeks.” He muttered.

“Why not?” Crow asked. “I can’t imagine you’ve done anything that would make saving me irrelevant. Pit, I saw you after Bim’s death. You’ve never killed before.”

The last part had been more wish than guess, and more guess than deduction. Even addled as he was, Crow could see he’d stumbled onto a truth. Unity didn’t meet his eye, just kept himself facing downward. A sneer creeping across his face.

“Everything good about me is a mask.” He said at last. “Everything undeniably so, my best performances. I have a cruel and mean spirit, one that’s been with me since I was created and allowed to fester by my freedom from consequences.”

Crow’s laughter stopped. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if there was anything to say at all.

Finally Unity’s eyes rose to meet his, wet and marked by a crimson web of capiliaries. The sight finally moved Crow’s tongue.

“What have you done to make yourself so sure?” He asked, reserved. Keeping all emotion from his voice in the fear of what it might unveil.

“Weren’t you listening?” The artificial snapped, his fist falling on the table with a sudden rage. “Everything I’ve done is part of a facade. I spit in the face of everyone I meet, tarnish and ruin whatever I see held sacred, cross lines and burn bridges. Following every fucking wicked whim that makes itself into my head.”

Crow felt his own temper flare, not caring about the eyes he could feel moving onto them as his voice raised.

“That’s it then?” He demanded. “That’s not evil, Unity, it’s just being an arsehole. What the pit gave you the idea you’re such an unsavable case?”

“People more objective than you.” The artificial snapped. “I’ve done exactly what I could get away with, usually that was what you called being an arsehole. Now, though? I’ve killed. Do you think I’ll face any more consequences for that than anything else?”

“You killed accidentally.” Crow answered, but his conviction wavered. Suddenly the thought of truth scared him.

“Maybe.” Unity shrugged. “Maybe I did kill without thought. People certainly seem eager to believe it, those half who don’t stare as if they might end me with sight alone.”

“You’d know.” Crow said. “If you hadn’t. Surely you’d know.”

“I was so angry.” Unity muttered, seeming not to have heard him. “So angry, and so very… wrong. I don’t know.”

That proclamation drove the wind from Crow. He regathered his thoughts quickly, speaking quicker still.

“Well then you can take it from me that you didn’t.” He said, injecting his voice with all the certainty he was sure had left him. Surprised to find it needed no falsifying. “Because I know you well enough, Unity Eden, to be sure you’re no killer.”

He paused as the boy stared at him, then continued.

“Nor are you a good enough liar to wear any mask half so convincing as you seem to think you have been.”

Crow smiled as he said it, and Unity caught the expression. They grinned at each other for a handful of blissful moments before the artificial next spoke.

“Well then, it’s your turn. I’ve shared about my fucked up life. Time for you to do the same.”

He leaned across the table, resting an unnerving gaze on Crow.

“Why did you choose to enter the Sieve, Crow? Because I’ve seen people compete for glory and power. Those people rarely go as far as you have. Not even half.”

The question, as always, tightened Crow and left his thoughts bladed. He leaned back from Unity on instinct, speaking with as much strength as he could muster. It was a meagre helping.

“That’s something for another time.” He said. “I think we’ve had quite enough to drink and quite enough time away from the Crux, Goddess only knows how cold the air has grown since we stuffed ourselves away in here.”

Unity grumbled at that, and for a moment Crow feared the boy might refuse out of hand. Then he acquiesced.

Crow exhaled his relief as they stood.