The brightening light of the room woke Saedah as usual. He could sleep in, as several of his hall-mates would. He could not bring himself to do it, though. The nightly patrols were few and far between, and usually one of Jones' men. The day would bring heavier traffic down their hall, and it set his nerves on fire to sleep when anyone could watch him. So he slept only at night and woke before the servants' morning rounds began.

Yet another night had passed, and another day was beginning. His brain slowly began to churn, pulling him out of his peaceful, tranquil sleep. That wasn't a terribly frequent occurance, but the new medication was helping to suppress the nightmares. He was learning to feel comfortable, and it wasn't clear when that had started. Perhaps it began when he'd sold out the Conclave. He deserved to be there now, and he no longer looked for hope of rescue. He'd learned a lot since giving up.

He'd learned he'd been a fool. He'd foolishly trusted and gotten his hopes up. He should have known better. That, too, was part of being a fool. He would never again be free.

No use dwelling on it, He thought as he stood and stretched, beginning his daily routine. The day would start as the past many; with more injections, more physical therapy, more time in the stim tank, thinking about the fomentor he had killed, and how he could have been the downfall of the Conclave. But he'd made peace with his lot in life.

Somewhere between six and seven months had passed since speaking with the Maverick. The day he had betrayed his family. The day he had allowed Nyx to help Akumini in getting her information from him. He'd learned that if he just followed orders and kept his head down, life was tolerable under Akumini. The viewings- the episodes in the Sands and studdings- were just a part of his new life. One had to move through it. Move through it, shove it to the back of your mind, and live in peace. But the better he did, the easier his life was.

Six viewings had taken place since the day he killed the Conclave man, and Saedah seemed to be favored by Akumini. He had been chosen to participate in three, while no one else in the stud hall had been chosen more than once. He had healed and improved vastly, and at an astounding speed. His transformation, both in spirit and body, was a fact that Akumini proudly boasted. He'd started acting as attendant at small functions, serving as eye candy while pouring wine and topping off vapor stacks. He was even allowed to eat with the attendees, if invited.

In addition to the viewings and functions, he had been studded out once. Remembering the occasion, he opened his eyes to the numbing juices of the stim tank. He didn't want to remember, and tried to push his thoughts in another direction. It didn't work, as it never had on that topic. He could see her face, tear streaked and puffy, as she looked at him in horror. At that point, he had already been through a vast majority of his therapy regimen. He was much larger than her, with a significant amount of of his prior muscle-mass regained.

He was a fitting specimen and no longer apart from his block mates.. His scars, tattoos, and curtain of blood-red hair must have added to his intimidation. This fact not hindered, of course, by the powders and 'aids' pumped into his system. The drugs they used were very different than anything else he'd had, and they hit him hard, taking him to a whole new level of inebriated. He was completely out of his gourd that day and only vaguely aware of the world around him, with zero control of his actions.

When he was presented an outlet to the unbelievable tension building in his body, other than his own desperate hands, he'd had no option but to take it like an animal. Take her like an animal; like a primitive monster. He had performed the deed in front of the guards, the slave's owners, and only Darkness knew who else. He certainly hadn't been aware of who had been there.

So long as the need had been relieved, he had not cared.

Akumini later released him from the mandatory regimen. He continued the routine voluntarily as a way of avoiding the monotony of his reality. While he was working and busy, he could force everything from his mind. The only work he was allowed to do, without tempting punishment, was to continue to improve his body. While he strained his body and counted repetitions, he could trick his mind into ignoring everything but the burn of his muscles.

He'd even been granted access to the omnitrack, where he could pretend for a few hours a day that nothing had changed. He could link into the virtual simulation, allow the millions of magnetic terrain-mapping microbots to create a physical representation of the virtual world, where he could focus on the one thing he was ever really good at: fighting.

Beyond his body, he strained his mind. His new flexible schedule allowed him to once again practice the Calm.

Two weeks following the studding, the moment he'd been praying for had finally come. One moment, his anger was bubbling under his skin, face hot and breath shallow. He didn't even remember why he was mad, looking back. All Saedah remembered was the next moment, when a cool whisper of a breeze brushed against him. The lighting of the room brightened to a near-blinding intensity, and he briefly thought he was seeing sunlight for the first time in ages. Colors popped, as though someone had restored a faded photo. Time slowed around him as he relaxed into the forgotten but familiar emotional void, content to let the stress drain from his muscles and fatigue fade from his mind.

He'd finally entered the calm.

He had since refused to exit it. The trance was the only thing keeping him from completely losing his mind. While the condition dulled and all but muted emotional effects and touch, his other senses were heightened. His eyes could see detail and color ranges beyond normal perception. He could smell with the nose of an Aglakoran blue-pawed bear. Vector had been present when Saedah had tracked a spy, and smelled him through a three feet thick section of reinforced and insulated exterior wall. That was in addition to recognizing people by smell. But Vector could do that too, since as an Agamid he also possessed heightened smell.

Taste was a blessing and a curse. In the way of food, he could taste flavors that were hidden. It helped him enjoy the slop he was granted. But as with his nose, he could taste the smells around him. Blood, bile, and gore flooded his nose and taste buds with every match. And body odor was emphasized. Nearing anyone else in the gym was akin to licking their armpits. Detecting heartbeats was the most intriguing acquisition with heightened hearing. Sure, he could listen to conversations that no other mortal could, but listening to the body react to itself was amazing. The heart did not like to lie. It was the most straightforward organ any being possessed.

Touch, however, was a pain. It had taken him years to learn how to hold anything fragile. During his training, the younglings had been presented with stone or thick metal cups and utensils to help alleviate the exorbitant cost of housing them. Doors were nearly non-existent until they graduated through the stages. There were few hinges that could withstand a newly awakened Keroai.

The Calm balanced on a system of trade. The Keroai were able to willingly trade a sense, or part of a sense, for another. With sight, the Keroai were easily blinded and were often victims of tunnel vision. It was not uncommon for Keroai to go blind from overexposure. While in the calm, a Keroai could go deaf from loud sounds. Sometimes that damage was not noticed until much later, when normal sense of touch returned and the pain of damaged ear drums was apparent.

The senses of Taste, Touch, and Smell were balanced oddly during the Calm. Heightening the sense of smell strips the sinuses of their natural allergy protection, paving the way for horrid allergies and migraines, and you had to already know a smell to identify it. Taste was heightened, but he could not taste or feel hot spices, heat, or cold. Eating extremely hot, cold, spicy, or acidic substances could damage his tongue or intestines. Also, even with heightened smell and taste, unless he knew of a poison, he could not identify it. That was the same with some non-edible substances. Vidian had rushed him to Mac once after Saedah had drank half a bottle of home-made sanitizing cleaner. It had smelled and tasted like strawberry lemonade, stored in the cooling unit in a soda bottle with no label.

Touch, though, was the strangest tradeoff. He sacrificed his sense of touch for strength. The feeling was similar to being numb from head to toe, but without the unresponsive muscles. Lessons on this stage of the Calm had lasted the longest, were far more difficult, and resulted in the most injuries. Simply walking was an art. Without feeling how feet were set to withstand the weight of a body, rolled ankles and nasty falls were common. Without feeling how much pressure you put into a handshake, ball toss, or simply holding a cup could result in crushed bones and lacerations. This was compounded in a fight. Saedah could not feel damage to his body when he was in the Calm. Instead of registering damage through pain, he had to learn to logically gauge his injuries by the pressure and force inflicted upon him, or by examining the wound visually. Logic played a large part in functioning without a sense of touch, and logic came at the expense of emotion.

Trading emotions for logic was risky. While he still felt emotions, they were distant and heavily muted. They were more suggestions from an inner voice than emotions. This meant that when things went badly, he would approach the issue with a clear head. It also meant that when things went badly, he would not always be concerned about other people on his team. If someone was injured, he would assess the situation almost mechanically, even if the logic did not point to rescue or assistance. That was part of the reason he had created Kitty. He needed something to keep him on a moral path when the other Ghosts weren't there to keep him grounded.

But when he released the Calm, every emotion that was muted for the duration under the calm would come rushing to the forefront.

He knew it was not healthy to remain in the Calm for so long. Releasing that blank, mentally numbed state after holding it for so long would flood him with emotions so intensely saturated that it would likely leave him psychologically unstable. Even knowing the risk, having seen the aftermath first-hand in his lessons as a child, he chose to maintain the precarious state. The Calm made life better for now. The Calm meant peace, whereas the alternative was pain and helplessness. Facing the alternative, he chose to have a semblance of peace before the inevitable end.

Until that end, he would embrace his friendship with Jones, cherish the few times he was allowed to visit with his block mates and with Therin, and revel in the fact that the girls had been moved. They worked the botany yard, wherever the blasted darkness that was. He was not allowed to see them, but Jones personally vouched for their wellbeing, safety, and their status as non-breeder help. That was infinitely better than being labeled slaves. The girls were paid members of Akumini's staff, though their slave debt had been added to Saedah's extraordinarily considerable account. All of the injuries Saedah had caused, along with broken or damaged property and stipends paid to families of his deceased victims, had incurred an incredible debt of a moderate fortune.

Jones and Saedah joked about it from time to time. Each fight Saedah won brought the total down by roughly two to three thousand credits. If he won a fight every week, he'd be there for forty years with his current tally. That was assuming he never again had to request another blanket, roll of toilet paper, or bar of soap. It was surprising that he was worth nearly the same as a slave as he was a Ghost, though he kept that to himself. With that many credits over his head, even Jones might take the bait and remove his ungodly overpriced skull from his shoulders.

According to the ever optimistic Jones, it was winter over the Keep, marking the slow season. Akumini spent much longer periods of time on leave, away from her reign of tyranny. With Akumini away, the prospect of guests were slim and the Keep relaxed many of the more stringent rules. The neighboring males in the Specimen Hall were allowed to communicate outside of their cells, so long as it was quietly and no one did anything stupid. That last part was probably added for Saedah's sake, even though he had stopped his foolish rebellion against every single direction. He no longer baulked violently against every order. It had been weeks, no… months since Jones had last been forced to remind Saedah of the lives in his hands.

Presently, however, the Queen Bee was in the Hive and he was on the long walk back to his box. He had been summoned again. With sand in uncomfortable places, he followed Jones and a younger male soldier as they led him from the latest slaughter. Blood soaked the boxers he'd just bought, again raising his debt. Seriously, in what market could you find a plain pair of generic, synthetic cotton boxers worth 53 flaming credits? Its robbery! Splatters of drying, coagulating red goo was smeared across the small amount of armor he was granted, at yet another outrageously exorbitant fee that Saedah could not think about at that moment. The bracers and shin-guards would need to be cleaned.

Jones let him in his cell with a sympathetic nod of his head and left. The guards, for the most part, no longer goaded him. He hoped they were under Jones. They were kind, but he could not outright ask the questions buzzing through his mind. Not without risking their lives, too. The newer guards had even tried to make his life easier on many occasions. What Jones had said about cleaning house must have been truth.

Though, even Akumini had been pleasant with him during their last few encounters. Pondering what his future might hold, he pulled the frosted curtain around him in the corner with the showerhead. He was not allowed a completely opaque curtain, so made due with frosted. And he was only allowed frosted after Akumini personally visited him and listened to his request and assurance he would behave. The shocking part about it was that he wasn't offended or upset about it. Even in the Calm, there was no hint that this lack of privacy bothered him any more. Not caring to think about what that might mean, he shook his head and checked the broadcast from over the curtain rod. Watching the schedule scroll through the slave showings and studding slots, he waited for his name to show. It did not, starting back at the beginning twice before he believed it. He had no scheduled showings in the next few hours!

Still dressed, he turned the faucet on and stepped into the running water. Using more soap than necessary, he washed the blood and sand from his skin and armor, relishing the steam and fresh scent of the soap.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The media center in the room automatically started playing the latest audiobook on his playlist, allowing Saedah to forget the real world for just a while. Sometimes he would delete a book without finishing it when the adventures were too fantastical or the circumstances were too far fetched. The old him would have never stopped a book mid-way. Lately, however, he found that he was scoffing at plots or instances in books, knowing them for impossibilities and not really enjoying the story. It was the worse when the stories hit too close to home. Or the protagonist always found his way out of the trap in the stories. There were too many stories where the protagonist always had a happy ending.

The protagonist never found himself with half a bionic arm, right?

Or better yet; enslaved for months on end.

This book was one of those fluffy, feel-good fantasies. The main character, Max, was up against a great evil, backed by a powerful team. Max loved the sole woman of the team, Lita, but he dare not tell her. She felt the same, but also feared rejection. Locked in battle, they meet eyes and the idiot Max bursts at his soppy seams with overwhelming love. The author was masquerading this corny, overemotional, overdone romance trope as fantasy.

He scoffed at his own criticism and threw down the bracer he was cleaning. The faint tendrils of annoyance and exhaustion were hooked into him even through the Calm. It had been a long day, and as he grew tired, the barrier of the Calm would shrink, allowing the external thoughts and emotions to grow and build. The audio book was not helping his present mood. It really made him sick, even though he usually appreciated all works of literature. It was hard to compose so many words. But this book… that wasn't how life worked. That wasn't what happened during battle. That certainly wasn't how the real stories went.

"Nova: play playlist." The media station stopped the book and switched to a lower volume to play the twelve songs he owned, set to play on repeat. He couldn't stand silence. Any sound at all was better than none, excusing the wordporn audiobook and its infuriatingly nonsensical notion of what it was like to be a hero.

He left his leather armor in the stall to drip-dry, disregarding its needs, and stepped out to wrap a towel around his waist. At the moment, he couldn't care if the leather ruined. He couldn't care if Akumini punished him for it. Though, he still harbored a deep dread of the box. The nightmares of being trapped in darkness, bound and gagged, kept him up most nights. Though he had hopes for this new medication. So far, it had worked.

He looked around his cell. The viewing had disrupted his daily routine and left him jittery. With nothing left for him, one could hope that they could at least let him have his routine. That was too much to ask for though.

There was no more reason for his existence than the daily routine. Another thread of emotion shot through the Calm, stabbing him with a sharp sting of anger. A nap had to be in his near future. It was always hard to maintain the Calm after a viewing. The Calm wanted to slip entirely, but that would be dangerous. He angrily dried his hair with another towel, wondering if he could actually end it all. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he dropped his head into his hands. The towel was still draped over his head, hiding his face and absorbing the beads of water that dripped from his hair. He had to focus to regulate his breathing.

He needed to change this line of thought. He looked around, dismissing the papers on his desk and the screen on the wall. He didn't care to re-watch another mindless show or demonstrate how crappy his drawing had become after his arm… well, prove that he could no longer draw like he once had. His cell was clean, so there was little he could do to occupy his runaway thoughts. His gaze wandered to the hallway.

The male across the hall, the one that looked so painfully similar to Vector, was called Xere. He was a quiet male and pleasantly intelligent. He never spoke of his experiences outside of the cell block, nor how he came to be in Akumini's care. He was usually good company, and adept at diverting conversations away from their dire life to a topic more enjoyable. At that moment though, he was sitting atop his bed and leaning against the wall. His head was tilted back and his unfocused eyes were aimed at the ceiling. Saedah doubted the Agamidian saw anything in the present. With glassy eyes skyward, his teal-tinged fingertips absentmindedly traced over the black barcode branded into his left forearm. Saedah looked down at his own barcode, glaring at Akumini's seal tailing the brand. And that was exactly what it was, a brand. He hated how much it felt like he had been branded like prized livestock.

Movement caught his eye as Jones returned and approached the glass, knocking as a courtesy only. The man looked happy, in a fashion. His features were relaxed, without the tightness to his eyes and mouth that Saedah found in his own reflection. Saedah forced a smile, empty as it was, and shook his friend's hand as he entered. Xere tilted his head drunkenly to look over at them. He met their eyes slowly and nodded to Jones before returning to his brooding. The teal Agamidian ignored the practiced handshake between Saedah and the guard. It was a handshake that left a small folded paper in Saedah's hand.

It was common knowledge in the block that Jones and Saedah were buddies of sorts. He doubted that any were fooled by the handshakes. Jones always brought him an extra fix after a viewing or when it seemed that Saedah needed a boost, and was careful not to let the scheduled supply gap. Saedah had earned a nasty new scar from going to a viewing while under the effects of withdrawal, fighting both the effects of his need and his quivering grasp on the Calm.

But the drugs were not the only thing that Jones brought.

While Saedah set about preparing his fix, Jones took his usual perch on the edge of Saedah's desk. Relief hit Saedah's head in a blessed rush and he slowly leaned back to collapse against the wall. Jones gave him a moment to focus before launching into the most recent breaking news event: Conclave movement.

Saedah sat up, his full attention on Jones.

For the past few months, there had been no news of Conclave activity. Before that, there were only sporadic spats, mostly involving members of Conclave either running or getting their butts kicked. After the extended stint of silence, during which Jones could only report smoldering wreckage and ruins, the conclave had finally returned.

"The broadcasts are saying there have been six incidents over the past month. They've just released the reports. The Valkyrie has only been sighted, or at least confirmed, a few times. Out of the last six battles, Ker's ship has been verified only twice, and briefly at that. There was one rumor of another sighting, but it hasn't been verified." Jones began, before relaying several day's worth of news stories in mere moments. What really interested him was the frequency of which the Pegasus went out with the other Ghosts. At one point, all six had been spotted at a single raid. Most were sporting new rides, as Jones reported it, except for the Pegasus and the Drakkar. "The ships are like nothing else in the galaxy. It's speculated that the Conclave now has fully functional factories capable of furnishing an actual army, which has the independent militias and the Triad all on guard and scrambling."

"Of course it does." The amount of growth the Conclave would have had to achieve to accomplish such a goal was astounding. It was highly unlikely the Conclave had managed such a feat.

"Well, the Conclave and Mavericks had a bit of fun drawn out through three star systems. The Phoenix, Kitsune, Pegasus, Leviathan, Drakkar, and Valkyrie were all there with two fleets against the whole of the Maverick sept. Both Maverick septs and a couple other septs from the Litigion. I think either the Blood Mongers or the War Mongers were there, and maybe the Votary Rover sept." The Litigion was a complex society of three Clans: Mavericks, Mongers, and Rovers. Each of clans were further divided into two septs: The Mavericks had the Mavens and the Chauvins; The Mongers had the War sept and the Blood sept, while the Rovers were made of the Votary and Berserk septs. Each sept was led by a Crest, and those two Crests formed the clan Apogee. Beyond the common knowledge of that breakdown, how the three clans functioned together and governed was unclear. "There's rumors of more small skirmishes still breaking out in some places, where the Mavericks are hunting for Conclave fomentors." Jones paused for breath, looking down the hall before continuing. "The Triad guard and military even got involved to clear the fighting out of the central systems. The Mavericks and the Conclave were left alone to fight it out, though, so long as they didn't cross into Superior or Minor Territory, and the armies of Major were deployed and ready to defend their border as well, and their borders are still heavily guarded. There were heavy losses on all sides."

Saedah nodded, processing the information as Jones' voice lowered conspiratorialy.

"There's also talk about the Litigion gathering all three clans and their septs." That had not happened in Saedah's lifetime. Actually, the whole of Litigion congregating had not occurred since the signing of the Nondiscriminatory Rapprochement Concord between the Central System's vertices and the Litigion Apogees nearly 200 years ago. If the Litigion convened en mass, they would be guilty of breaching the agreement. Any of the three vertices could then declare war, and all three vertices would be duty-bound to supply forces, due to the Concord.

The four systems were in chaos. What in the slag-dicked Darkspinner was going on out there?

Jones stretched, performing one of his peculiar quirks: magic tricks. Two cigars appeared, perched between his fingers. After trimming and lighting his own, he offered Saedah the other, along with the trimmer and lighter. Saedah was careful to keep the trimmer in sight at all times. If the cameras detected any movement to conceal it, both he and Jones would face punishment. He quickly handed the device back, not wanting to have it in his possession any longer than necessary. Jones had an odd superstition that if someone trimmed your cigar for you, it was very bad luck. Claiming that Saedah's natural magnetism for bad luck needed zero help, he refused to trim Saedah's cigars for him.

"Since the last big encounter, the ghosts haven't been seen. Though they haven't appeared on anyone's kill tally and no one has collected the bounty." Jones had reported a massive reward for anyone who could prove who the Ghosts were, and an even larger bounty for the body of a Ghost, with proof that the body belonged to one of the six pillars of Conclave.

"That's a good start, I suppose. Feel like telling me where exactly we are, yet?" The man had been very careful to avoid that question. Jones said they could get away with talking about the Conclave movements, because if he were ever questioned about those talks, he could claim he was trying to get more information for Akumini. But if it were ever found out that he was supplying important information to Saedah, there would be no redemption.

"No-can-do, my friend." his eyes shifted first to the camera in the corner of the cell, and then to his blockmate across the hall.

"Xere is harmless." Saedah dismissed Jones' concern.

"You trust too easily." Jones mumbled, shaking his head. "Some slaves actually want to be slaves, or at least want the luxuries you have here."

"Under Akumini, I doubt it." The words were masked in a growl but lacked his past hatred. By contrast of his early months in the keep, he did have it easy. So easy, in fact, that he found himself feeling guilty when he saw his former slave mates laboring at menial tasks or bleeding at the whipping post. Jones only looked at him sympathetically, as though he could hear Saedah's thoughts.

"You would be surprised, Veron." Jones dismissed the line of conversation, but neither had anything else to fill the silence. They merely sat in silence for a long while, puffing on the expensive cigars. Saedah liked these cigars. Vector had often brought the same brand to game nights on occasion. While he didn't have a console now, at least Jones was there to offer friendly company.

And Jones was a friend. It was a shock to realize it, and another needle of emotion shot through the Calm to wrap around his heart. Jones was a friend. The only one he had left that Saedah could trust, somewhat. Saedah realized he was staring at the cigar when his vision went blurry. He snapped his head to catch Jones looking at him. The man looked away and allowed Saedah a moment to compose himself before speaking.

"News stations are talking about Ceurul a lot lately. It appears that they are no longer allied with the Triad, and that the Triad reserves have even evacuated the Ceurul military bases. Some speculate that Ceurul has fallen to the Conclave."

Saedah had to take a moment before responding, working hard to keep his interest from showing too greatly. "Ceurul?" He scowled involuntarily. Last he had heard, the Ceurs would rather jump into their sun than renounce allegiance to the Triad government. Citram was an anomaly to that consensus, of course. That only raised more questions. "What is going on out there?" Saedah whispered, trying to put everything together.

Before Jones could comment to the quiet question, his com went off. He looked at it and frowned, shoulders tensing as he glanced up at Saedah.

"Looks like you're being called back." He stated, putting his com away and eyeing Saedah critically. "Is your head clear? Do I need to grab one of those shots on the way up?" Jones' face was full of concern and he pointed to the ceiling. Jones wasn't normally so bothered with Saedah's responsibilities. The soldier wasn't flippant about Saedah's mortality, but he also wasn't usually this tense. Jones' eyes were tired and lines of worry marred his face. Saedah couldn't devote the time it would take to fathom Jones' concern. He was up for another fight. It wasn't too unusual.

"It is a fight, right?" He asked, Jones' worry contaminating his confidence. Suns and Darkness, when did he start thinking about them as 'just fights'?

"Yea, big guy." Jones sighed, forcibly relaxing his shoulders and smiling. "Just a fight." He glanced at the folded paper on the bed before narrowing his eyes on Saedah again.

"I didn't take it all. Just enough to help. Relax, Jones. I'll be fine." He stretched as Jones went to the shower and lifted a still-wet shin guard.

"Don't let them see you treating your equipment like this." He chided, shaking his head. "They'll probably take it away again." He dried the armor with the discarded towel as Saedah pulled on a fresh pair of boxers.

Xere looked up as the glass parted. He groggily waved as Saedah was again led down the hallway toward more killing. The sound of floor cleaners echoed down the halls as they neared the Sands.

"NaBoht was hit hard not long ago," Jones whispered under the cover of the loud machines, "but it seems that the Conclave is much stronger now than it ever was. Let's hope they find you soon." Saedah knew that Jones would not risk his family to reach out to Conclave himself. He did not blame the man. He couldn't blame the man. He was doing more than enough to make his life comfortable in the present, considering his circumstances.

"Jones," Saedah said, pulling his friend to a stop just outside the doors to the arena. "I don't blame you for anything. And thanks for everything."

"Stop it, you'll make me blush." The man said, shoving at Saedah's shoulder. "I don't do enough, but I do what I can."

"I know. If the time ever comes, I will repay the favor." Saedah was serious, but Jones laughed.

"When it comes, I'm counting on it. You know that." He turned to open the door and walked onto the sandy floor of the killing ground, knowing Saedah would follow.

He looked around at his audience as he always did. Some of the previous patrons had stayed for a second viewing. There was hardly an open alcove for all the people. The number of both robed and identifiable individuals moving about in the tiers was staggering. This viewing had nearly doubled the audience size of the previous, and was larger than any of his past viewings.

Wine was being passed around. Vapor stacks were already lit. The smoke trails snaked toward the gilded ceiling and spiced the air with the unmistakable scent of strong vapor.

He glanced up to the place of honor to identify the person who had purchased his presence. His legs barely kept him upright as he faltered midstep. fear, rage and bile warred to break free of his shriveling stomach.

That damned smile.