Content warning: This chapter mention some dark things from Frank's past that might be uncomfortable or triggering. I don't go in any details, but I think it's worth the warning.

Salem felt like a kid again. And it wasn’t because he’d miraculously resurrected his innocent and cheerful optimism.

It was because he was surrounded by armored and loud figures that towered over him, no matter which direction he looked. Even the tables were too high. His feet hung over the edge of his bench, not touching the ground.

He sighed, then leaned back and grabbed another apple muffin when someone came and sat next to him. Salem glanced sideways and shot up. “Chef Helene!”

“Shh.” She picked up one of the muffins and sat down as well. “No need to make a fuss. Put that down and eat this,” she said, shoving a round, oddly dark-colored gingernut biscuit in his hand.

Salem looked down at his hand and triggered [Chef Spell: Identify].

Name: Anti-Scry Gingernut

Ingredients: Flour, ginger, sugar, butter, syrup, baking soda, ???, ???, ??? ,???.

Properties: Nutrition. Scry-obfuscation.

Chef Helene raised an eyebrow at him. “Good reflex. Now eat it.”

Salem bit into the biscuit and closed his eyes at the crunch. The flavors of butter mingled with the ginger and sweetness of the crunchy biscuit. He shoved the second half in his mouth and chewed, savoring it, mostly focusing on its flavor but still feeling its magical effect seep through him. Like water through paper.

He assumed that was the obfuscating magic. He dusted the dust-crumbs from his fingers and sighed. “That was delicious.”

“Of course it was.”

Salem was at a loss for words for a moment. Not just because of the biscuit. Why is Chef Helene here? And what’s with the scry-blocking magic?

That last bit made him sweat. That meant this was going to be a dangerous conversation.

“They are scarier up-close, aren’t they?”

Salem looked up at the giants around him. He nodded and glanced at the spread of meals on the tables. “They are. But at least they know how to feast. And they’re willing to share. It makes them just a bit less intimidating.”

“You’ll have to see the banquets they throw in Valhalla.” She bit into the muffin and chewed quietly for a moment before speaking again. “It’s tragic they can’t get along with the Trolls. Those people throw out amazing bonfire celebrations. And they’ve got some interesting ingredients you can’t get anywhere else.”

Salem wanted to ask why she was here, but he didn’t dare to. Scrambling for something to say, he brought his most recent achievements up. Should he tell her about the two he got from eating one of her meals?

“How are you doing?”

Salem blinked and pushed away his interface, then the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think through them. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a reasonable answer.” She pulled something out of thin air. A muffin. “Eat this. And don’t Identify it. Let it be a surprise.”

If it were any other person, he would have said no. Not because he didn’t trust her; she’d already save his life once. Rather, it was because he’d had breakfast already.

Salem accepted the treat and gingerly held it up in the light. There’d always be a spot for a treat from a chef of her level. The thin and smooth brown crust reflected some light, and a fragrant scent of lemon and basil reached his senses, making his mouth water.

Salem bit into the muffin, and the world disappeared around him. He could perceive or think of nothing but of the intoxicating explosion of flavors in his mouth.

When he came back, his hand was hanging in front of him. Terribly empty.

Will I ever be able to make something like this? And did she know lemon was my favorite flavor, or was it just a guess?

“A terrible thing, to have to deal with a god’s grudge this early.”

Salem looked up at her, and their eyes met. Mesmerizing orange flames danced and searched through him, and Salem couldn’t gaze back into them for more than a second before he had let his eyes drift aside. Not because it was embarrassing and made his ears feel hot. Well, there was some of that. But there was also something of her power in her eyes, and his own Cornerstone was so far below hers it made something in the back of his mind squirm and shudder. Like a hand held above a flame. He couldn’t expose himself to a higher glyph for more than a second lest he’d burn.

Salem blinked and looked up at the transparent ceiling, at the stars that littered the sky of wherever this was. “Would it be better if I were a follower of Lady Hestia?”

Helene chuckled and shook her head. “No. Hera routinely steps over Lady Hestia’s toes, and Lady Hestia answers her in kind every time. Especially when Hera goes after my fellow chosen.”

There’s a ‘but’ coming, Salem predicted.

“But the Seamstress made too many enemies. Which is one of the reasons why I’m here; you should absolutely keep that to yourself.”

She paused, and brushed off some muffin crumbs from her cape. “There are rumors that she is in the employ of the Automaton. Doing tasks for it outside of Theos. In the Beyond.”

Salem stared at her, eyes like saucers. His skin broke out in goosebumps. “Why are you telling me this? This.. this is so–”

“You have to know,” she said firmly. “To even the balance out. I owe you, for almost letting you die in my presence. Your teammates and yourself should be able to find supporters in the future. A faction to shield you from Hera’s wrath. But not the Seamstress’ brother. Only a handful would consider supporting him. As soon as he’s out of the Trial, he will be dead. No one will abide by a Champion that might fall in rank behind the Automaton.”

A smile crept to his lips as he recalled his conversation with Wilbur only minutes ago. “The Automaton could snap that filth away in a moment if they’d only let it,” Salem had said. Gods abhorred the idea of an Automaton in control, but Salem?

Every tragedy and corruption he’d read about or seen in Theos came from the gods. Both from their interventions–by enacting their wills through their agents–and from their apathy or disinterest to enact change or put a stop to cults and corrupt forces. So of course, siding with the Automaton didn’t seem like such a blasphemous thing to him.

He shook his head. I tried to keep away from politics and here I am, picking sides.

Chef Helene seemed to interpret his smile differently. “Don’t lose heart, Salem of Haran. And I applaud your choices to take the Warrior’s path. I always thought of real chefs as adventurers. Explorers of flavors. And flavors won’t come to your kitchen by themselves. In that spirit, I would like to offer you one last gift. A token of apology and appreciation.”

Chef Helene handed him a scroll, and Salem’s heart leapt.

[Hestia’s Travelling Hearth]

Rarity: Epic

Type: Spell

Effect: Opens a portal to the home of Hestia, where the caster is assigned a personal kitchen to cook, experiment, and store their tools and ingredients.

She stood up. “Good luck, Salem. I will watch your progress with great interest. And thanks again for the pomegranate trick,” she added with a wink.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Then she turned and left, and Salem realized his ears and cheeks were about to catch fire.

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Frank left the lobby and stood in the middle of the Hall. To his right and a few minutes away, the training spaces. To his left, also a few minutes away, the food courts.

He went left. If he was wrong–and he’d be surprised–then that would give him a bit more time to consider the state of things. And maybe figure out a way to appease the knot in his stomach that was getting heavier by the minute.

In a past life, a long time ago, ROG came after his family because of him. Consequences, they’d called them. After he became part of that unit, in the olden days of the army, he began to notice that the assignments seemed to more often protect the interest of individuals or to cover for problematic units than they were to protect the country.

A slow realization made itself apparent; ROG wasn’t as upright or virtuous as they’d claimed to be. Nothing like the pitch they’d made to him. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when they’d been on a mission to retrieve a kidnapped politician. The briefing had said it was a boating outing gone wrong, but the reality was a lot worse. And a lot darker.

It had been a human trafficking auction. On a yacht in international waters. The ‘kidnapped’ politician had overreached his authority and got slapped back down.

When Frank realized what this unit was really for, and what kind of filth he would be ordered to protect and cover for, he’d enacted a plan. He began collecting documents. Dates and transcripts. After a few weeks, he dropped it off to the press. On the desk of a very specific reporter that he’d have to apologize to, if he was around.

That same night, the reporter had been found dead. The two-story office of the press, the reporter’s home and the home Frank had grown up in were set on fire.

Frank stepped around a group of short and angry humanoids who were encircling an Agent.

Over the next five years, Frank financed himself through the wanted list of the Five Seats. Whenever he had a lead on the commanding officers of ROG, he went after them instead.

Somehow, he survived through all that.

Frank glanced back at the gnomes and the Agent. He frowned, then shook his head.

After that bender of rage and violence, he took a deal for the favors he’d accumulated, becoming a freelancer. A Gray. He made some friends, climbed back out of the world’s underbelly, and had the misfortune of meeting Esther. Then he met Jane, and the rest was history.

Now it looked like his sister was retracing his steps, with her enemies coming after him. He didn’t begrudge her that, but it worried him. Plus, him poking that nest had probably made things worse.

And beyond all this, the Automaton was playing its own game.

Frank exhaled, and it came out stronger than he expected.

Who should I contact? Sandra seemed powerful enough to protect their family. With how Hera went after him, odds were they’re either gone or they’re with Sandra. Or at least she’d know where they were. He could maybe ask her about Jane as well? His family had never met Jane. So her connection to him shouldn’t be obvious.

His step faltered. Jane knew about his family. She knew their names.

She might have asked about them. Could she be with them?

Frank scowled, jaw tight. Fuck. God fucking dammit.

To think he’d been happy to learn they were alive. Now everything was uncertain, and he had to dance like a monkey for some so-called gods. But he wasn’t calling them gods in his own mind. He wasn’t calling spiteful tyrants–like Hera–gods.

To their face, maybe. If that soothed their over-inflated, bloated egos and kept them off his back. But inside? In his own mind?

They can go fuck themselves.

Frank stopped walking. His heart was loud in his ears. He closed his eyes and breathed out. The side of his lips and his nostrils kept twitching, but he pulled back the anger with a breathing exercise he’d had to learn a long time ago. In. And out.

Anger doesn’t get things done. Not on Earth, and not here.

He kept his eyes closed and focused on his breath. The debt wasn’t going anywhere, and he didn’t need to be sent wherever it was that quitting Seedworlders got sent off to.

The Trial is in two days. Two days won’t change anything. It’s been years. Finish the Trial, then I revisit. Now I need to find the others and find out if we’re still a team, then get to work.

He was still breathing hard. He uncurled his fingers and relaxed his shoulders. In, and out.

He opened his eyes and took a step forward. The Automaton had said they’d talk. He hoped it would have something useful for him and it won’t try to have him dance for it as well.

No matter what Khaa and Kreios had said, clearly, the Automaton was playing its own game.

Frank heard Esther before he could see her. She was laughing, standing on top of Wilbur’s shoulders, and Salem sat behind them with an indulgent smile on his lips. Another uncomfortable sensation wormed itself up in Frank’s chest.

Guilt.

They were going to be targeted. And they didn’t have near enough time to get ready.

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“Hey Frank!” Esther greeted her frowning teammate when she saw him approach.

Wilbur and Salem both turned, and Esther dispelled the wave of awkwardness before it could settle. “We’re all good. We’re not kicking you out of the team. So stop moping.”

Frank sighed, and his lips formed a fake smile that would convince most. “That’s good to hear. And again, I’m sorry. For drawing a target on our backs.”

Esther jumped from Wilbur’s forearm and sat down next to Salem. “I think we would have made enemies sooner or later. And we’re not even in the top ten of the bounty board, so we’re fine. At least we know where the daggers are coming from. Right, boys?”

Salem shrugged. “It’s not out of the ordinary to piss off a god off this fast. But daylight’s burning. Should we take a room? Get a trainer? I still don’t have anything offensive.”

“We’re training in a bit with Carr and Anders,” said Wilbur, his voice echoing out from the Suit. “They said they can help me control the Suit better.”

Esther hummed, and her brows scrunched thoughtfully. “We need to find you a name for your Suit, Wilbur… we’re gonna have to think about it.’ Then she straightened up and beamed at Frank and Salem. “But yes, we should join them. They’re good fighters. At least for an hour or two. And I think you should look into the marketplace by yourself, Salem. You know you want something with fire, so try to find something to hit from a distance… and we’ll be around if you have any questions. Just make sure it’s something you can use often and quickly.”

Salem raised an eyebrow at her and the corner of his mouth went up in a half-smile. “Why would you think–”

“Shhhh,” hushed Esther, forestalling whatever complaint or sass the cook was about to throw her way.

Salem’s mouth parted in indignation as he narrowed his eyes. She put a hand on his shoulder and leaned close. The cook leaned back, a worried look entering his eyes.

Esther looked him in the eyes. “You got this, champ.”

Frank snorted behind her. Salem was at a loss for words.

Esther clapped. “Alright! Let’s get to work.”

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Days until the first Trial: 1

Frank took a Step to the side, dodging Salem’s [Firebolt], and took in the scene. Esther was hounding Wilbur, who was still punching the empty air, but more and more of his hits were getting dangerously close. Wilbur had put his weapon away for this round. The Kanabō was leaning against one of the walls, and just seeing it made Frank more confident in their chances.

The spiked metal bat was as tall as he was, and probably heavier.

Frank came out of the Step and ran toward Salem, whose eyes widened in fear. Another [Firebolt] flashed toward him, and Frank sidestepped again before he grew a vine under the cook’s feet to ensnare him, but the spell was too slow. He was preparing a missile when he heard something right next to him and aborted his charge, dodging left at the last second from the stab of a stiletto that would have definitely put him out of the fight.

Esther grinned, and Frank sent the missile to her face. She easily dodged it and came for him low, then her smile faltered along with her momentum, and she looked down.

Both feet were wrapped in thick stalks of grass. Frank swung his charged sickle at her shoulder. The healer was expensive enough without getting overcharged for a near-death scenarios.

Esther’s eyes flashed red and his sickle was parried in an echoing clang of metal that that made his bones shake, and a flick of a wrist later, two thrown daggers came at him from point-blank range.

Frank stepped back, and the world slowed under the effect of [Hasted Step]. He glared at the oncoming daggers and knew he wasn’t getting out of this unscathed. And whichever one hit him, it would empower Esther and probably be the end of him.

I don’t have [Enhanced Agility] to dodge this.

He was running [Grow Vines], [Grasping Grass], [Force Missile], and [Quick Step]. The two Spirit Growth Factors had been enough to unlock a fourth slot, along with the Growth Factors baked into class levels, which Salem had condescendingly explained the prior evening over dinner.

So yesterday, Frank had technically reached the threshold to get a fourth slot. He just needed to sleep to have his new stats assimilated. It also explained why his mana reserves had been growing with his levels.

Frank came out of the Step and groaned in pain as one dagger sunk into his arm while the other went wide. Red mist drifted out of his wounds toward Esther, whose smile quickly turned feral. She lunged forward, tearing the blades of grass with [Explosive Burst].

She had tested Tasos’ [Enhanced Strength] the day prior, and fell in love with it. At this point, she was by far the most powerful member in the team.

Frank took a couple other [Hasted Steps] away with his hands raised in surrender, and she stopped. Behind her, Wilbur was putting his head back together and Salem sat down, panting.

“Any injuries?” called out the healer from his corner of the training room.

Frank began walking, while Esther dispelled the red hue that surrounded her.

“The missiles aren’t useful,” she said after a moment.

Frank nodded. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get it to Level 5 by tomorrow. So no upgrade. The vines aren’t ready either.”

They were testing cards, getting some practice in. Forcing Salem and Wilbur into chaotic situations. It was going well, but Frank felt some cards might have to be benched. He’d also finally learned the point of levels on cards as well, but it wasn’t something he’d be able to benefit from in time.

Frank looked sidelong at her. “How’s your control over yours?”

Esther grimaced. “Better, but not there yet. It still makes me too tetchy.”

Wilbur and Salem soon joined, with Wilbur still in his Suit. They sat down to replenish their mana, switch cards around, and talk.

It might also be time to make the last purchases as well, thought Frank as he examined his balance.

He glanced at his notifications, but saw no levels. He’d been waiting for a chance to test his new meditation–the one that should allow him to assimilate level-ups without needing to sleep–but it looked like he’d have to work harder for a level.

Frank was about to ask Salem about the new battle card he hadn’t tested yet when everything went still, and a voice filled his ears while text flashed in his interface.

“Prepare for transmission from Lady Angelia of House Hermes.”