“Incredible,” Avelina breathes, coming over with her sister to join us. She looks up at the pillar of glass and is struck nearly silent. I’ve seen her quiet before, but never this reverent.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Ava,” I start to say, but she shushes me.

“Nuri. Don’t. Everyone did something except for me.” She glances down at the deck, and for a moment the familiar darkness seems to cloud her eyes. Then she lifts her chin and smiles shyly. “But next time? I’m ready. I’ll be the hero of the day. I know it.”

Melina squeezes her sister’s hand.

Too exhausted to say anything that doesn’t sound cliche, I turn away from the twins and consider the breath-taking [Sanctuary] holding up the dome. The glittering glass pillar reaches up from the floor of the chamber like the trunk of an ancient tree, branching out in a complex tangle of tendrils and sheets of glass that merge into the new windowed dome. The entire length of the massive pillar is imbued—an impossibility if anyone had asked me even an hour or two earlier.

Even now I can’t believe that I did this. My promised miracle materialized, born from the joint efforts of my team and the Yathawn specialists. It seems impossible, an inconceivable set of circumstances working together to transform hope into reality. Yet the fiery pain smoldering within me, where massive amounts of mana overflowed into my core and channels, is proof that I actually did it and I’m not hallucinating.

I’m glad that I didn’t pop like a balloon from trying to channel so much mana. I shiver, still remembering the crazy rumors that circulated about some of Ezio’s former students. I definitely don’t want to end up like them. If the rumors were true.

My metaphysical body may still be broken, but channeling so much mana is a boon now that I know how to prevent burnout. I peek within, amazed at how much my pool has expanded. If someone in Gilead can fix me, then I wonder what my Capacity reading might be now. Far higher than the twenties I first tested at with Ezio, of that I’m certain. Now that I’m deep in the First Threshold—moving past the mid-ranks, if I were to guess—I might have to throw out my old scale. Part of me wonders if I’ve even pushed myself hard enough to be graded against the Second Threshold benchmark. The sheer amount of energy coursing through me should have killed me, by all rights.

Similar to [Glass Animation], the Skill itself seems to apply the imbuement as part of the process. I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I have clear and obvious evidence right in front of me. Only a fool would argue that it’s not possible after seeing it in person. Part of me feels like it’s a shortcut. Cheating somehow. Like I don’t deserve the benefits of whatever I’ve wrought.

Nuri, now’s not the time to act like an idiot. Be grateful for your good fortune. Nodding as I mull it over, I feel better about my contributions. I still needed to meditate on the concept and discover the insight myself. I still had to figure out the right runes. I still had to come up with the intent and plan. Once I supplied the vision, the Skill used it as a template, sure, but it wasn’t an automatic process. Even with the Skill running at full power, I still had to guide the shape of the [Sanctuary of Glass]. No sense quibbling about whether or not I earned my new power.

Rakesh still hasn't closed his mouth. He’s gaping at the dome in shock. Like everyone else, he goes back and forth between staring up at the new glass dome and down at the enormous glass pillar I raised up from the chamber floor. Unlike the rest, he has his trusty pen and notebook out, his hands blurring into motion as he furiously documents everything he sees. Something tells me that I’ll have to answer an awful lot of academic inquiries over the next several years as scholars across Densmore try to verify or debunk his claims.

Bring it on, I think with a smirk. Let them learn the power of glass.

For now? Time for answers.

I march up to the [Queen], inclining my head slightly as I draw near. I’m too tired to bow, far past caring if I offend the Yathawn’s sensibilities. This time, the grim [Honor Guard] no longer bars my path. They part before my approach, bowing to me instead.

The [Queen] herself heaves her bulk from her spawning pool, tilting forward to offer her own shallow bow in return to my greeting. “Hail, Master Nuri. Surface-dweller, yet savior of the Yathawn. We offer you our favor.”

“You would have figured something out,” I say awkwardly, scratching at my ear. “I don’t think you’re so weak that you need an outsider to solve things for you. I just happened to have the right Skills for today’s work.”

“Ha! Flattery, even now? Shameless human,” the [Queen] huffs. Her tendrils flicker and waver, and I get a vague sense of amusement through my Domain.

I realize I’ve switched over to the last bit of mana in the glass cores. It’s a paltry, thin bit of energy in comparison to both the quality and quantity of mana contained in the Oletheros core, which sparks an idea in my mind. Later. I’m too tired to deal with it now, but I need to talk with Rakesh and Melina about mana density as well as Capacity. Why it’s not in the official test is beyond me, now that I’ve tasted the difference firsthand.

“I could be domineering and demanding, if you prefer. That is what you’re used to from my kind, is it not?”

“Indeed,” the [Queen] says.

A suspicion takes root. Just how did an entire species get sealed off, relegated to the depths? When I met with the [Viceroy], he never mentioned this Rift. During his overview of Densmore and its important locations, he skipped straight over the inland sea. Yet I’m willing to bet that he knows all about Natan. If I’m right, he probably had a hand in creating this situation.

Simmering rage builds up within me. [Viceroy] Tapirs was so adamant that the Wraiths are nothing more than monsters. His attitude is pervasive among the military, which I get since they fight on the front lines, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to know exactly what to trust based on my recent interactions with the Yathawn.

I stand shoulder to shoulder with creatures that are theoretically monsters, based on the classification that the [Mage] cabal insists is canon. Whether or not the Yathawn are enemies of the Wraiths seems like a secondary issue; they’ve come through a Rift. Far more relevant is the question of whether or not they are people like us.

I instinctively know that answer.

With the Wraiths—at least outside of the Rifts—it’s easy to go along with the official line that they’re actual monsters. The ones Tem and I fought certainly qualified. Yet the Yathawn are more varied. I like a few of them a lot. The [Quartermaster] and [Outrider] One I’d consider my friends. I dislike others, like the [Honor Guards] ready to kill me instead of trying to help me save as many as I can. Maybe they simply saw the bigger picture. Maybe not. But I don’t like them. A few of the workers I’ve met are friendly. A few are surly. Some would gladly run me through or lop my head off with their glaives.

In short, they’re just like humans.

“Tell me,” I ask, my voice rasping and hoarse. I cough, wishing I had water to drink, but clear my throat enough to speak more clearly. “Exactly how did you end up confined here? Did the [Viceroy] do this?”

An unreadable look passes across the [Queen]’s face. “Ah, of course you know him. We are unsurprised that strength bands together. He sent you here?”

“Hardly!” I protest. Then I think back over circumstances, from receiving my mission to the way we’ve been forced into corners time and time again. Maybe he did send me here in a way, pulling the strings from the shadows. I swallow hard at that uncomfortable thought.

“Our benefactor. Our captor.”

“Benefactor?” I repeat dumbly. “What could he possibly do other than insult and threaten until you agree with his plans? Tapirs isn’t exactly altruistic.”

“Not a [Mage], my foot,” Azariah grumbles from beside me. “Hobnobs with the [Viceroy]!”

I ignore the barb, although I have to admit that it seems suspicious. After all the peculiar things I’ve done and secrets I’ve revealed since meeting our guide, letting slip that I know the [Viceroy] is far from the most shocking bit of information.

“We were nomads when we came through the Rift,” the [Queen] elaborates. “We fought the monsters from our homeland, fleeing after a new Invasion too powerful for us to withstand wiped out our ancestral home. When we met the [Mage] you mentioned, he was startled to find us fighting off monsters. He thought we were just like them.

I cross my arms, scowling. “He loves slinging around that accusation. I think he’s afraid of losing power if he doesn’t have an enemy threat to point toward. By keeping everyone scared and on high alert, he ensures that they don’t think too hard about how much political power he’s stolen from the [King] of Densmore. Instead, they greet him like a savior.”

“Much like you,” the [Queen] replies. She laughs in her strange overtones when I sputter and try to deny the comparison.

“What choice did we have in the face of overwhelming power?” the [Queen] says bitterly, her laughter dying out. “He destroyed the monsters with a wave of his hand. Just like that, all of our struggle was over. How can we grow if we are not tested? Surviving is nice, but building us these homes is nothing more than confining us to coffins.”

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I blink rapidly in shock. “Wait. He built Natan? But that would take unimaginable wealth! What drove him to that?”

“Indeed, surface-dweller. Your [Viceroy] delivered his cruel ultimatum: return to where we fled, fighting on our own with our depleted strength, or settling here in safety while we spawned, with the expectation that he will call on us to fight his wars when we are strong enough again. I am ashamed that we did not test ourselves. It seemed so futile to fight back then. Yathawn are no one’s pets. We considered ourselves grand! Yet a single human did what we could not. He swam down to the depths, defeated the monsters, helped us close the Rift, and commanded us to do his bidding. We never had a chance. So we accepted his help, contenting ourselves to trade their goods. Like common errand-spawn!”

Melina sidles up to our conversation. “Your majesty? How did you learn our language? I know you use your own native tongue when we’re not around.”

“Ah. Your [Mage] had a translation artifact. We relied on that for a decade, until we could speak more naturally. Our young train in each language now.”

“That’s what the [Quartermaster] used,” I murmur, details clicking into place.

“Could . . . could we see the artifact?” Rakesh asks, his voice shaking in excitement. He and Melina exchange wide-eyed grins, caught up in the anticipation of learning something new.

“You may have it. Thrice-cursed thing,” the [Queen] growls.

“Why do you say that?” Rakesh asks, looking aghast at the suggestion. I can practically see the scandalized offense rolling off him in waves, as though he can’t believe someone would give away something so priceless. To him, fresh knowledge is always worth pursuing, no matter where it comes from—which makes me think of Scalpel again, even though Rakesh is kind and well-meaning, unlike her.

“We have no need for it any longer. Some of the younger spawn even prefer speaking in the manner of surface-dwellers,” the [Queen] says, trailing off sadly. “They know nothing of our history. Nothing of our dreams of return.”

Rakesh still seems confused, but Melina picks up on the implication immediately, if the way she bites her lip is any indication. She pulls Rakesh aside to explain it to him.

In the awkward silence, I shift my feet uncertainly. “We still need passage to the surface, despite your, um, travel restrictions.”

The spawning pool swirls as the [Queen]’s agitation stirs up the water. She lifts up into the air on her long fins, looming over me. “Can you not stay and stabilize the Rift? Something is wrong, and none of us can fix the trouble. We require your aid.”

“Unfortunately, we have business in Gilead. We simply can’t stay much longer. Besides, you told me that you need to test yourselves. Perhaps restoring the Rift is the whetstone upon which the Yathawn will sharpen themselves.”

“Well said,” [Outrider] One says, swaggering up just then. I’m not sure how much of our conversation he heard, but it seems like he’s finished the work of securing the young. Someone must have relayed the news that we averted disaster for now.

The [Queen] glares at [Outrider] One. She gestures for the [Hydromancer] and the head of her [Honor Guard] to approach. After deliberation with her advisors, she lifts her voice and makes her proclamation. “Perhaps we can deposit you an hour south of the city. That should be far enough away to avoid detection—or, at the very least, retaliation.”

I shake my head. “Best make it three hours to be safe. First of all, I don’t want to cause an incident for you, even though I’m fairly confident that Tapirs would look the other way on my behalf. But who knows? He might find it annoying that I couldn’t figure things out on my own. He is not to be trifled with, and I’m not so well-established that I can afford to anger him.

“My second reason is less altruistic. We must seem to simply be an unremarkable group of travelers. We can’t afford to appear suspicious or in any way connected to a potential threat against the city. It will set off too many alarm bells in people’s minds.”

“Prudent. Very well, we shall see it done,” the [Queen] replies, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief. “[Outrider] One. Step forward. We will judge you.”

Our first friend among the Yathawn trembles, but obeys his [Queen]. He glides forward three paces and drops to his right knee, bowing until his head nearly touches the ground.

“My life for your will.”

“As ever, we are sure.” The [Queen] sounds faintly amused. “You disobeyed orders during a catastrophe. By our law, as you stated, your life is forfeit.”

My team immediately circles our host. Wary as I am to start a foolhardy fight after going through all the trouble of saving the city of Natan, I’ll never be able to live with myself if the price of our deliverance is standing by while a good man dies. My brother seems to share my same thoughts, lifting his hammer and setting himself between our friend and the Yathawn [Honor Guard]. We seem to be doing a lot of that lately.

Avelina draws her wand, a hard look in her eyes as white-hot fire leaps to her command. Somehow, that hits me the hardest. She’s determined to do what must be done, but she’ll pay a price if we fight. I hope it doesn’t come to it.

The [Queen] flutters her tendrils and motions her guards away from us. “Peace, surface dwellers. [Outrider] one is already dead, as befits his unforgivable crime. Yet, the Yathawn you see before us has proven his worth a thousand times over. Rise, Vedarian, one of our Named generation. We expect great things from you.”

Tension bleeds out of us. Fires die down. Lionel puts away the glass sword that he drew at some point. I never even noticed that he’d joined us.

As one we congratulate Vedarian on his promotion, even though I don’t fully understand their naming customs. I’m too busy shaking from relief to figure out their cultural norms. I had no real recourse, not after channeling so much mana. My head feels like a slurry of confusion and dull, throbbing pain. If we’d fought now, I would have died without putting up much resistance, utterly unable to do anything useful for my friends.

“Vedarian, work with the [Quartermaster] to prepare a feast. We shall celebrate with our surface-dwelling friends. Then we will give you leave to pilot a submersible to the shore.”

Vedarian snaps a crisp salute. He ushers us out of the main chamber, leading us back to our rooms. The zigzagging maze of passages seems more confusing than ever, but he guides us with his customary confidence.

“Fortuitous that [Outrider] Two fell ill when you set off our alarms,” Vedarian says, baring his sharp teeth at us.

“Indeed,” Azariah says drily. He shoots a meaningful look at me, as though to point out that sometimes the best way forward is the one that benefits yourself.

I studiously ignore him.

“Now that I am Named, I will disregard the [Queen]’s orders. Best to get you out of the city as quickly as possible. The [Honor Guards] will seek vengeance.”

Lionel bursts out laughing. “Nah, you can’t con a professional con man. I’ve been down that road plenty of times. Look. I get it. You want us out of the picture so that you can take all the credit. Devious, but admirable.”

I snicker and return Vedarian’s wicked grin. “I’m actually with you. Let’s get out of here! As long as Azariah agrees, of course.”

Our surly [Pathfinder] gives me a flat look, but he nods brusquely in the end. That’s all the confirmation the team needs.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re packed up and following Vedarian through the labyrinthine hallways. He adroitly weaves past other Yathawn, taking us to the underwater dock, which is essentially a hole in the bottom of the floor that leads down into the depths.

The vessel we’ll travel in looks too small to carry all of us, but somehow we manage to squeeze inside. We plunge into the water, zipping along as the enchantments hum to life and propel us far faster than I can run.

“Why don’t the [Sailors] in Loch LaMara use these?” I ask. “Couldn’t they avoid all the trouble of the stormy season?”

“They’re primarily interested in trade. Not a lot of storage on these,” Vedarian points out. “Besides, we’re not keen on selling secrets to our competitors.”

“Sensible,” I grunt.

We lapse into silence as we surge through the sea. Everyone seems lost in their own thoughts, and I can’t blame them after what just transpired. The rocking motion lulls me to sleep, and by the time I wake, Vedarian has drawn the craft onto a beach a few hours from Gilead.

My mind feels fuzzy, and my tongue has a too-thick feel from drying out, but as I climb out of the hatch and jump down into the sand, I can’t help but smile. Wind ruffles my hair. Birds chirp and chatter nearby. It’s nice to be back above the water.

Waving farewell to our friend as he puts back out to sea, I can’t help but find it both funny and sad that the only time we haven’t been betrayed is when dealing with creatures classified as monsters. Humans aren’t always the heroes we paint ourselves to be.

“All right. This way,” Azariah says, thrusting out his thumb. “Got two and a half, mebbe three hours, until we reach Gilead. Let’s get movin.”

After the strain of my new Skill, I avoid using mana. Trudging along without my Domain running feels like walking blind, but I trust my team to keep us safe. I’m too worn down to keep an eye on our surroundings. At first it feels scary, but soon I’m just grateful for my friends.

Almost exactly three hours later, by Melina’s time-keeping, we catch our first glimpse of Gilead. The fabled home city of the Menders is as big as the capital—possibly even larger—and the mana barrier is several times more intense than anything I’ve felt before. Of course, I didn’t have a reliable sense of mana when I went to Modilaraon, so maybe this formidable display of power is standard for a big city. The towering stone buildings are certainly impressive, as are the massive roads with thousands of travelers.

Few guards seem about despite all the people. No one stops us at the walls, either, but the cart and foot traffic slows down as we funnel through a gate that’s dense with enchantments. Someone’s definitely monitoring the city, despite how relaxed the entrance appears.

I resist probing the enchantments with my Domain, and we slip inside without attracting any attention. It almost seems too easy after such a long and arduous journey, but I’m glad for small victories right about now.

Azariah guides us toward a district slightly inland from the docks. Inns right on the water are exorbitantly expensive, according to the [Smokeborn Pathfinder]. He says that he knows a place where we can stay for more reasonable rates, so we gladly follow. Thankfully, we arrived on shore in the morning, after saving Natan and traveling through the night, so we have plenty of daylight by which to see the city around us.

It’s a riot of colors, with city blocks sharing themes. We pass by a tall concrete apartment building in every shade of blue imaginable, and then a series of shops and bakeries all painted in red. Colors don’t seem to follow any pattern that I recognize, but it certainly gives Gilead a lively appearance.

Living quarters seem to stack on top of the shops, and I’m amazed at how vertical life in Gilead seems to be. They have room to sprawl, which tells me that there must be more people around than I’ve seen in one place before. Tentatively, I reach out with my Domain, bracing as the mana runs over my raw connections, and confirm that thousands of mana signatures are nearby.

I don’t dare loose the reins on my Domain, worried that if I expand my range, I’ll find the tens of thousands of competing signatures overwhelming.

Abruptly, I spin around, my entire body going stiff. A familiar signature travels through my Domain, although I can barely believe what I just saw.

“Nuri? What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost,” Melina says, concern in her voice.

I nod, numb with shock and concern as I confirm the signature. “I don’t know why she’s here, but [Lady] Saphora just walked by.”