Ian’s thoughts were in turmoil.

Datcha was a powerhouse, the state consistently placing in the top three at the Fassari Summit, and Lindabet Zhuram was arguably the most powerful practitioner within its borders. Ian reckoned she was powerful enough to kill him in his weakened state, especially if he invited her vital energy to heal his body.

“You really trust her not to kill me?” Ian asked.

Euryphel couldn’t respond out loud, but he gave Ian a small nod.

I think she’s much more concerned about you killing her, Maria noted. You’re fresh in the minds of everyone after ascending two months ago. She knows that she could probably kill you with the element of surprise, but also that you could kill her with impunity if you desired.

That would be illogical, Ian thought, she’s allied with Eury and she’s come here to heal me. I don’t have any reason to harm her.

Just think through it from her perspective a bit more, Maria coaxed. I’m surprised she’s even come here at all. Your life isn’t in critical danger–why should she risk her life when she has so much to lose, so many people relying on her in Datcha?

Something clicked in Ian’s head. Euryphel didn’t tell her who she’d be healing. I think she might have actually been nearby when we descended–perhaps not literally in Chemissa, but somewhere in Shibaria. She came to this safe house because she trusted that Euryphel wouldn’t waste her time.

It dawned on Ian that Euryphel had gone from the sovereign of a middling, backwater nation to a leader that could even command a favor of Datcha’s Night Queen… and all over the course of a little over two months.

He relayed his thoughts to Maria. It does sound insane, until you think of what Euryphel must think when he sees you. He’s trying not to fall behind.

—

Linda’s morning was knocked off kilter when she received a somber call from Shibaria’s prime minister. She’d been attending to a stack of documents that needed to be signed–an actual stack, since tradition demanded that the most important writs be inked rather than traced on a glosspad display–when her glossY rang plaintively, breaking her concentration.

Minister Senki had minced no words, asking if she knew anything about the sudden terrorist attack outside of Chemissa. Normally she’d never be dragged into something like that–Shibaria had its own guardians and peacekeepers to investigate dangerous practitioners. Why ask Linda Zhuram for help when her time was so valuable?

When Senki explained that one of the assailants was a peak Dark practitioner, she understood why he might think to call her. Still, he could have called another strong Dark practitioner who wasn’t a fulltime queen.

Perhaps Senki wanted her to learn something that he wasn’t allowed to tell her directly, something that could only be discerned in person. Or alternatively, something she would only trust if she saw it with her own eyes.

The possibility that made the most sense was that the so-called terrorist attack (or weather disaster, if one listened to the news) was a hit from another nation.

Despite her growing interest, Linda hadn’t been willing to indulge the prime minister until he dangled the promise of reduced taxes on arms sales. Small as the reduction was, Datcha’s defense industry would greatly benefit from any advantage against competitors from Iastra and Turina.

Even without the deal, the fact that Senki was even willing to offer it meant that the situation was serious. Maybe Rathaway or Feather were involved. Her curiosity thoroughly piqued, she entered Shibaria in secret and traveled to the destroyed beachfront a half hour’s hovergloss ride from Chemissa.

She had just started investigating the damage to the marina when Euryphel called, asking her if she had a powerful Life practitioner agent near Chemissa and secondly, if she had a safe house she was willing to share with him.

He had insisted it was Darkseers business, putting her in a tight spot. She would never expose one of Datcha’s safe houses to a foreign power, especially one that might be at odds with Datcha in the future, which was definitely a possibility considering the Selejo Imperial Federation’s meteoric growth.

But a safe house could always be abandoned, and if this was for the Darkseers, it was for the sake of the common good.

It was odd, having the “common good” as a motivation. She hadn’t believed it possible for a group of peak practitioners to band together for such a noble cause as saving the world, but with the Crowned Executor orchestrating their activities, they’d done an impressive amount in a short period of time. Urgency drove them to take risks, but the caliber of their members was unmatched. Their operations ended almost universally in success.

She had been stuck in the mire of politics for so long, she had almost forgotten what people could accomplish when the fetters were off–when they had the chance to do what needed to be done, rules and consequences be damned.

She wasn’t alone in those thoughts.

So, when Euryphel asked for her help, and she just happened to be in the area… she showed up.

Euryphel had told her an anticipated arrival time and she’d expected the injured party to be punctual. She tamped down on her annoyance as the minutes dragged on, attending to the burgeoning list of unread messages on her glossY.

When she sensed the approach of a heavily injured man, his vitality the color of ash, her mind snapped into focus.

She stood from her seat and walked to the window. Which agent of the Darkseers had suffered such grievous injuries? She could barely see his features–he had covered his face with a hat, glasses, and scarf. She saw Euryphel at his side, though his vitality looked off, like he wasn’t fully present, and he wasn’t offering the injured man support as he dragged his feet. It must be technology that allowed him to accompany someone while incorporeal, like some kind of Light projection.

She had been so focused on Euryphel’s novel projection tech that Linda only recognized his identity when Euryphel introduced her.

“Ian, this is Linda. Linda, Ian.”

She felt as though she had been struck. Only her Life affinity saved her from revealing her surprise, allowing her to forcefully compose her face to feign nonchalance.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Euryphel had once commented about the Skai’aren’s return, speaking as though it were a certainty and that it would happen soon. Not just within their lifetimes, but within a few years. She had considered it wishful thinking. Before ascending, Ian Dunai had been Euryphel’s most powerful supporter–of course Euryphel wanted to believe that Dunai would come back.

She couldn’t fathom how Dunai could be here… in her safe house, bundled in a scarf and wearing a hat that was more at home on a safari than at the beach.

It was too absurd. She wondered absently if she was caught in a Remorse practitioner’s mental attack.

As she came to accept the current unbelievable circumstances, a new curiosity surged within her. How did Dunai come back? How did he sustain such horrible injuries? Was it related to the destruction of the marina?

Her mind drifted in another direction, toward a topic she’d always wondered about, but to which she’d never expected answers.

What was Eternity like?

Linda studied Ian’s form intently. She had seen him during the Fassari Summit a short while ago. The man in front of her now was similar but largely unrecognizable. The Dunai she remembered only had one affinity, but she clearly sensed that this man had more than one.

Wait. More than… two? She wasn’t misreading his vital energy–she knew she wasn’t. Dunai had three affinities.

To her knowledge, that was impossible.

Her curiosity was now like an erupting volcano. It wasn’t curiosity anymore–it was need. She ­needed to know how to break past the limits of two peak affinities. She’d been stuck for over a decade, stagnating. Everyone told her that she had reached the peak, and she had believed them–even the returned ascendants had only one or two affinities.

But they were all wrong.

She forced her voice to be level, revealing none of her excitement. “We can speak freely here due to the arrays, though I suspect you presently can’t speak at all.”

Ian didn’t respond. She couldn’t read any expression under the scarf and glasses because his facial muscles were mostly missing. He hadn’t tried reconstructing them.

If he couldn’t shut off his own pain receptors, Linda didn’t think he’d be able to stand before her so calmly. He should be screaming in agony.

She turned to Euryphel. “In return for my help, I expect answers. About his return and the true reason you put Cunabulus in lockdown the past three days.” She and the other Darkseers suspected that there was something else that concerned Euryphel beyond the Infinity Loop. Dunai’s return confirmed those suspicions.

Euryphel sighed. “Is it better to know about a disaster that you can’t stop, or is it better to live in ignorance?” He turned his gaze to Ian, then back to Zhuram. “Regardless, the situation has changed. I’ll tell you what you want to know if you heal him.”

“I agree.”

“Also–he can’t speak, but if you permit it, he can speak into your mind,” Euryphel said.

“That’s permissible.” She gave Dunai a once over. “You need to strip.”

“Just cut me out of my clothes,” Ian said. “It’ll be easier. They barely fit anyway.”

Linda manifested a ball of Darkness on her palm. “Fine.”

The Crowned Executor stepped in front of Ian, smiling without mirth. “What are you doing?”

“He asked me to cut his clothes off.”

To her surprise, the tips of the executor’s ears reddened. “I should probably leave for now,” he said, voice hurried. “Call me back when you’re healed.”

Ian nodded, then reached his hand into a void storage on his waist and withdrew an object that reminded Linda of a microphone. He pressed a button and Euryphel disappeared.

They were alone.

Linda strode forward and cut through Ian’s shirt in one fluid stroke. Darkness spread like veins from her incision, disintegrating the regular cloth. Soon nothing remained of his vestments other than a dark cloak, a strange diadem made of fire, and his shoes. She sensed power in those items and knew better than to destroy them.

He wasn’t self-conscious about his nudity, not that there was much to be self-conscious about given the ruined canvas of his skin. Before becoming queen, Linda had served as a military Life practitioner. Though Datcha hadn’t seen much conflict in her lifetime, she had seen no shortage of bad injuries. Sometimes spars and duels went too far, and training accidents were inevitable.

They weren’t the worst injuries she had ever seen–she’d once attended to a man who had been barbecued by a fire elementalist–but she had never seen a man walk around so… unperturbed when much of his body wasn’t functioning.

She recognized the disintegrating touch of Dark upon his skin, the way it completely shaved away flesh into nothingness. Nothing was as clean as Dark energy. She had no idea how the injuries weren’t worse–usually, the only way to deal with a Dark practitioner was to keep a good distance. If they were close enough to hit you with their power, you were as good as dead. The more powerful the Dark practitioner, the further they could manifest their power–and the greater the volume they could summon.

Beneath the surface, Dunai’s internal injuries were also severe, suggesting that he’d been under assault by more than just Dark energy. She sensed elemental damage to his organs, along with evidence of destruction caused by adversarial Death energy.

She sensed that he’d already taken significant steps to heal himself, though it was only a stopgap. Powerful as Dunai was, peak Death affinity couldn’t rival peak Life when it came to healing catastrophic, overwhelming damage.

“Did you win, at least?” she asked.

“In theory.”

Cryptic. “Please remove the rest of your vestments,” she instructed.

He kicked the shoes off. “Just ignore them–they shouldn’t interfere with your practice.”

“Have you ever worked with a Life practitioner to heal injuries before?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well, I do things differently–I work alone. Please just relax and don’t interfere.”

“You use your Dark to help your healing, don’t you?”

She nodded. Life-Death practitioner teams healed by having a Death practitioner selectively destroy the body while a Life practitioner restored it. This was especially useful for grievous injuries that required reconstruction of body parts, such as if a limb were crushed in heavy machinery.

In her hands, Dark replaced the destructive power of Death.

“Can I have permission to read your surface thoughts?” he asked. “I’ll trust you to heal me if I can ensure you have no killing intent.”

Her first instinct was to say hell no. But then she imagined him killing her because he mistook one of her Life-Dark techniques as an assassination attempt.

Fuck.

“Fine. If you try to see memories beneath my surface thoughts, however, we’re done. Healing’s off.” The bluff was empty–how could she walk when there was so much knowledge at her fingertips?

“I won’t overstep,” he assured her.

She took a calming breath and adjusted her mental defenses. Now she was all business, her thoughts the epitome of cold, collected, and regal.

“Can I start now?”

“Please.”

She helped lower him onto the couch lining the wall, then kneeled and placed her hands on his chest. Life energy sank into his body, stimulating his graying vitality. There was some resistance, not that she could blame him–she was asking him to make a leap of faith.

She lost herself in the challenge of healing. As she sculpted his body, she sensed the gradual waning of his resistance to her Life energy. Eventually, it came to almost welcome her, guiding her attention to the worst tangles of scarred tissue and dysfunction.

Those old ascendants are insincere, she thought, refusing to help, refusing to teach or give back in any way, holding bitterly to their knowledge and experience. I always wondered if enlightenment fundamentally changed them.

“Eternity changes everyone,” Ian thought, speaking into her mind, “but in the end, we’re just people.”

Then the returned ascendants really are just the same as us. Flesh and bones. Mortal.

“Believe me–no matter what ascendants want to believe, there’s no such thing as immortality. Just lonely roads and long travels until our minds fail and we die.”