Wilbur’s heart hammered in his chest.

Fear and excitement warred within him, and the only coherent thought his brain could form was to close his mouth and swallow; his throat was feeling drier by the second.

Frank looked them in the eyes, switching from face to face every few seconds. “She is accused of killing a son of Hera. Yesterday I asked Khaa and Kreios if they’re able to get more details, and they said that it might be difficult but they’ll look into it. To sum up; as long as I’m around, we might all be targeted by Hera’s people. Though this time it would be through the ‘legal’ bounty system. Between Trials we should be safer. Hopefully.”

An uncomfortable silence fell in their room. Frank is the brother of the Seamstress?

Wilbur didn’t know much about her, other than everyone saying her name a few years ago. Though back then he had more pressing things to worry about besides a rebelling human a continent or two away. Now though? He felt hope.

His teammate’s sibling was someone whose actions could change things.

Salem, who had been still so far, suddenly pushed his chair back. “I need a minute.” He turned his back to Frank and briskly walked out the door.

Wilbur slowly turned, following the cook with his gaze, then the realization snapped him out of his reverie. Salem shouldn’t go alone. Someone might target him again.

Wilbur hopped off his chair and followed. “I’ll go with him,” he said, then stepped out of the suite as well.

Salem looked back at him, and the human’s gaze made him hesitate. The usual impatience or sarcastic smirks were gone, and in their place was an almost serene face, only disturbed by the small scrunch around the brows.

Wilbur steeled his resolve. “Can I come with you?”

Salem drew his lips in a line. His eyes flicked to the wall they’d come through. “Why? Did they put up to this?”

“No.”

“Then why do you care?”

The anger was showing through the cracks. Salem’s expression slowly hardened more and more. His teeth were bared, eyes intent and unblinking. He was breathing faster.

Wilbur had never seen Salem this genuinely mad, and the man’s voice made him unconsciously flinch. Wilbur tightened his fists and met the cook’s gaze. “Because we’re a team. And maybe you’ll get attacked again.”

Salem’s features immediately froze, then slowly softened. His look of barely contained anger turned to surprise, then regret. He rubbed his face with both hands, sighing. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Let’s… get something to eat. My treat.” The cook half turned, eyes still on Wilbur as he gestured toward the main thoroughfare of the Hall.

Wilbur nodded and raised a finger. “Just a second. I need to summon the Suit.”

A minute later they were walking in silence, and Wilbur kept his head on a swivel. They should be safe. He could see Agents spread out in the Hall, and he noticed one looking in their direction, tracking them.

“How’s your foot?” Salem asked after a moment.

“It’s okay. The healer fixed it up, and I have a spare peg-leg.”

Salem coughed, then after a few more steps he spoke. “I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to be rude. What happened? I assume there was no healer around when you lost it?”

Wilbur’s steps slowed and his heartbeat picked back up. “No. There…” The words felt awkward when he said them, and he tried to speak over the memory of screams and smoke that filled his mind. “There was no healer to fix it.”

“Sorry. Didn’t want to bring up bad memories,” said Salem after a moment. “And again, sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m… not in the best of shapes right now. Which is not an acceptable excuse. And I’ll make it up to you. But a lot has happened.”

Wilbur took the chance to focus on something other than his own thoughts. “You looked upset. But you didn’t when we were inside the room. You looked so calm. But out here… you were different.”

It was Salem’s turn to slow down. He shoved both hands in his pockets and seemed to mull over his words before ann. “I’m used to watching my reactions. And tone. I hate doing it, but I had to.”

“Why?”

“Because I have this now,” he said, brandishing his new Deck. “I have to be out there, fighting, or I get disqualified altogether. And I just learned that a Godqueen is after us. Because Frank’s sister is gods damned Sandra Calloway. I ran away from politics. But here I am, smack-dab in the middle of ‘em.”

Wilbur hesitated, then came to a stop. “Do you want to leave the team? Or for Frank to leave?”

Salem stopped and rubbed the back of his head vigorously. “No. Neither. I’m just… pissed. At my own luck. And at Frank, a bit. For poking the hornet’s nest. But I can’t really blame him for wanting to find his family, can I? This is just… bad luck.”

They began walking again, and Wilbur was quiet for a moment. “You’re not angry at, you know, her? She’s the one who attacked us. She’s the one who ordered the attack.”

Salem slowly turned and looked sidelong at Wilbur for a second before shaking his head. “I might as well get mad at a mountain for dropping a boulder on my home. I will get mad–I am mad. But what can I do to the mountain?”

They reached the food court area and stopped in the middle of it.

“Before seeing the mind healer, I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened,” he admitted. “I kept seeing his face right before he stabbed me. The other cook. The one who died after trying to kill me. It kept playing in my head. Over and over. I couldn’t even feel anger. Or sadness. It was like my mind wasn’t accepting the event and kept replaying it over and over until it would sink in.”

Salem exhaled, and his breath was shaky. He looked down at his hands and slowly balled both in a fist, a twisted smile was on his lips. “Now? I’m seething, Wilbur. There’s nothing I can do to hurt a Godqueen. Not directly. But every Champion of hers? Each one I take out of the Trials is a win for me.” He dropped his arms to his sides and sighed. “If I can manage it. And I won’t if I’m alone.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Wilbur related to that, and nodded quietly. “I have people I want to target, too.”

Salem eyed him. “Who?”

Wilbur balled his fists so hard that some pulverized clay fell away from them. “The Primordial Servants.”

Salem blinked once before his eyes widened in alarm and flicked down to the Suit’s leg. He shook his head, and Wilbur could swear the man seemed paler. A common reaction, Wilbur had found out. Salem whispered, “I’m… sorry. Was that how you lost your leg?”

Wilbur nodded. He tried to breathe slower. To calm himself. But essence still leaked around him, painting the air in a haze of clay-color mana.

“They showed up in our town one night. Asking for tributes. We weren’t rich.”

Wilbur’s hands shook in his Suit. “The lord wouldn’t call for help. Because the emperor of Cabrial would raise his taxes. So the lord pointed the Servants to our neighborhood. So they could take their tribute in blood. I lost my foot. My dad lost an arm and a leg. And my mom died when she tried to defend me.” Tears filled the edges of his eyes, and he refused to blink. He took a breath and spoke lower so his voice wouldn’t break. “I want to get strong to be ready when I find them. To come back and find that lord. I don’t want to wait for Demigods to leave their castles to save me.”

Wilbur looked down and saw Salem staring up at him. A look of sober concern on his face.

“I-,” he swallowed. “I’m so sorry, Wilbur. I’ll help as much as I can.” They were quiet for a moment before Salem added, “At least we’re where new Demigods are made. For now though… we’re so far from being able to stand up to the likes of the Servants. They’re… plague. They’re rot.” Then he pursed his lips and a familiar look entered his eyes. A look Wilbur saw on his dad whenever he drank enough.

And the next words that came from the cook told Wilbur he had more in common with him than anybody else in the team.

Salem spoke between gritted teeth. “The gods let the likes of the Primordial Servants run amok. They allow it. While the Automaton could snap that filth away in a moment if they’d only let it.”

Wilbur exhaled and un-balled his fists. He nervously checked around, not used to hearing such thoughts spoken out loud. As much as it felt good to find others who thought the same, he thought maybe it was better to change the subject. “I’ll have it healed. After the first Trial.”

Salem looked down at the Suit’s foot and nodded. “Right. Well, let us know if you need any help with that. Hopefully we’ll get through the first Trial and get you what you need.” He looked around, trying to find a place where they could sit. “Did you ask a healer already?”

Wilbur nodded. “Yes. But… they said it’ll take a Master or even a Grandmaster to fix it.” Salem winced at that, but Wilbur continued, “I saw [Potion of Regeneration] in the store.”

Salem looked up at him in surprise. “That’s perfect! How much was it?”

“60 Achievement points.”

Salem whistled. “Damn. It’s definitely in-reach though. We’ll make sure you’ll get it. Too bad I couldn’t save you a piece of a meal I had yesterday. I bet it could have healed it.”

“What meal?”

Salem looked up at the ceiling and a dreamy look entered his eyes. “The meal that Chef Helene used to heal me. I think it could have regrown limbs. I don’t even have a scar anymore, and I was stabbed through the heart. I got an achievement just for eating the thing. Or consuming it.” He brushed back his hair in frustration. “I can’t believe I didn’t get to taste it.”

Wilbur had more follow-up questions, but then two large men–as tall as his Suit–approached them. The Eijenhars from yesterday. A wave of dread rolled through Wilbur. Did they hear them talk just now?

“You’re the Suit-user from yesterday,” said the bald Eijenhar. The warrior stopped and put both hands on his hips. “Have you eaten yet? If not, you should join us. After that we’re going to train. You should come spar with us.”

The second spoke up. He had a sword on each hip. “I think we could all benefit from testing ourselves against a Suit. And no offense, but you could use the practice as well.”

Wilbur blushed under his Suit. He’d tried to practice with it a lot since he’d gotten it, but it hadn’t been that long.

“Hello there.”

All three turned to look down at Salem, who was the shortest by far in the group. Wilbur noticed the cook shift at the attention. “Got room for another?”

The bald man barked out a laugh. “You tell me, friend. Now, come!”

----------------------------------------

A doorway made of two thick, yellow stone pillars stood in front of Frank. Countless hieroglyphics were engraved in tight spirals across both pillars. Flowery vines and leaves hung down like a short curtain from the lintel that stood above them, and beyond it Frank saw light and greenery. Fuzzy. As if there was a thin film of water that made everything blurry.

[Osiris' Sacred Gardens] had consumed nearly half of his mana reserve just to open the portal that now stood in front of him. And he knew that those reserves were at least double what he’d started with on his first day, thanks to the increases he’d been getting with every level of assimilation before going to bed.

That reminded him. It would be useful to get a meditation card that allowed him to integrate his levels in the day. Waiting to fall asleep to get his gains was suboptimal. To say the least.

Turning his focus back to the card, he could feel his options. If he did nothing, the doorway would last for a while. It didn’t feel like it was using any mana to sustain itself. Which was… odd.

Was he paying for it all with his mana, or was there some other process contributing as well? The second obvious option was that he could dismiss it, which Frank ignored for now, and that left a bunch of other options that felt unresponsive to his mental examination.

Probably have to be in there for them to work.

Frank took a deep breath and stepped through. The scent of clean, fresh air welcomed him, and a soft light coming through the glass roof softly illuminated the garden he was gifted.

All 6 feet of it.

Frank chuckled. The majestic portal had him thinking this would be a wide space. Something befit the name of a sacred garden. Instead, he arrived in a shed. A small, frost-glass-walled, square-shaped shed. It barely had enough space for him to stand, with a staging space in front of him and shelves above it. Behind him there was a line of pots with loose soil within, inscribed with odd runes and symbols, and above it all there was a simple vent that was cracked open.

It was still amazing. He already loved his card and this corner. But he couldn’t stop smiling at how tiny it was.

He turned his attention back to the card, and the previously locked options responded to his attention.

Temperature controls. Humidity. Composition of the soil even. Option to generate wind, to generate mana movements. Options that seemed to require Shells, and so many more.

He looked around again at the locked space, and sighed. This wouldn’t do as an emergency escape. Unless…

He turned his attention to the dismissal command, and found it unresponsive.

He nodded to himself. This wouldn’t work as an escape. The door has to stay open, and it couldn’t be closed from within.

Looking down at the pots, he felt the urge to get some seeds but reined himself in. The Trials were in two days. And even though he’d done some exercises earlier, he couldn’t spend the whole day playing around in here.

With a heavy heart, Frank stepped back out and dismissed the portal. The stone shone for a short moment, then began to dissolve into motes of light.

Best card ever.

Frank glanced down at his cards, and replaced the garden with [Disguise Self]. Time to go find the others. See what Salem and Wilbur had decided.

But before that, a quick stop.

Frank walked out of the suite and looked around. This area was less busy, one of lobbies for the Champion suites. He searched for a few moments, then his eyes landed on what he was looking for.

An Agent.

The uniformed figure turned toward him as he stepped to it, and Frank smiled. “Hi, I have a couple of questions. Could I get an Agent to answer some of them? Discreetly,” he added, glancing around to underline the point.

“Of course Champion. If you will, please–”

Do not talk about the rewards. Do not ask dangerous questions. We will speak. Soon.

The words flashed in his interface and in his ears over the speaking Agent, and his heart jumped to his throat.

“–tell me how I can help you, and I will do my utmost to do so.” The Agent watched him patiently.

Frank smoothed his expression and nodded. “Ah… thank you. Is there a way for me to find where my team is?”

The Agent ended up telling him that there were no shortcuts for him to find them. All the while, Frank hid his apprehension under a pleasant and practiced smile.

He was swimming in deep waters. And he could see nothing but pitch black under him.