Distant voices pierced the fringes of my attention. As I listened, they grew louder.

“– there.” I made out Jarome’s commanding voice, less fatigued than I remembered it. “You need to fix it.”

“I see. It is in bad repair,” a woman’s deep voice replied. “Fixing it may be beyond our artisans’ capability.”

“Don’t blame me. I’m just repeating what I was told to say.”

There were only two of them approaching, which didn’t seem enough. The Rein must have done something about his wings, because they no longer scraped along behind him. When the footsteps had drawn close, I flared my burners to life.

The steps halted, and I heard the sound of someone dropping to their knees. “Honoured spirit,” the woman’s voice said. “We are blessed by your presence.”

“Is it only you?” I asked, trying my best to keep the worry out of my voice. “This vessel requires immediate attention.”

“It is only I. My enclave is occupied dealing with a situation.”

“Are not we spirits to be given priority above earthly affairs?” I asked, not unkindly.

“Of course. It is a matter of the spirits we are dealing with. Many of your kind are in turmoil, being soothed by my brethren.”

“I told you, I didn’t do anything,” Jarome cut in. “As representatives of an established old-school order, they’re simply threatened by my presence. They know I’ll surpass them in a matter of weeks if they let me. It’s jealousy.”

Hints of a wider picture began to form in my mind, along with the reason behind the delay.

“My spirit has been bound to this transport,” I informed the monk before the conversation could digress. “Without urgent repair, I shall die. I beseech your aid so that my vessels may continue to soar across your skies providing guidance and delight.”

From somewhere behind the monk, Jarome made an unsubtle scoffing noise.

“This one does not know of our ways,” I quickly followed up, to another scoff. “Treat him with patience and understanding.”

“I will go and bring others,” promised the monk. “Between us, we will bring you to the enclave and restore this vessel. Then, we will free you from your bindings.”

“There is no time,” I told her. “The work must be done now or it will be too late.”

“But I am no artisan,” the woman replied uncertainly. “Alone, my skills are unworthy.”

“It is for we spirits to decide who is worthy," I replied. "And once I am free, it will not matter. Do what you can so that I may live.”

Jarome cleared his throat in the background.

“Yes?” asked the monk.

“Are they really alive, though?” he asked. “The word ‘spirit’ implies a certain amount of dead. Just something for you to mull over.”

If I ever made it past first-tier, this would be good practice for talking to Reins. Walking them through the reincarnation process was a task exclusively reserved for my seniors, and I was beginning to see why. Killing them was easier.

“I’ll need a little time,” the monk said after a short pause, her voice grave. “I promise I’ll be as fast as I can.”

It was all I could hope for. From the activity I could hear, I guessed the monk was setting down the bag containing the ritual instruments of her trade. She pulled a long-sounding object from it and unfolded it on the grass. Other items followed, set down on top of the first, and the monk stood back up. She paced around the hillside, stopping once or twice to break objects with a snap, while Jarome sidled over.

“You’re a con artist,” he whispered, leaning over the back of the basket. I could see his dangling arms, still encased in his original armour after two and half days. “Targeting me, I could understand. But gullible women? When we’re done here, you’re going to teach me your power so I don’t have to travel with you anymore.”

“It can’t be taught,” I hissed back.

“Learning is my speciality. If you don’t teach me, it’s only a matter of time before I figure it out.”

“You’re welcome to try.” I felt secure in my certainty. Reins were notorious for rapid adaptation, but augments were a different beast. Chapel magic was unlike anything else. It transcended universes and carried through between. No matter how powerful they became, Reins were no more able to learn it spontaneously than anyone else.

The monk returned to place more items on her makeshift surface, and Jarome backed off, pacing at a respectable perimeter.

With a short hum, the spirit-caller settled back down on the adjacent grass.

She sat quietly for a few seconds before speaking. “I, Yisook of the Bowl, seek to mend this broken vessel. Let it be restored as it once was, whole and strong. Let it sail aloft, safe, without damage or tear.” I heard her lift an item from the spread. “Reed and Weave. Honoured spirits. Rebuild what was broken.”

Something stirred around me in the air.

“Worthy,” a melodic voice announced.

In the distance, Jarome’s pacing stopped.

“Worthy,” a second voice agreed, overlapping upon itself in folded layers. “But one of these problems is beyond me to disentangle.”

Jarome crept forward until he stood just behind the monk.

I’d seen this ritual performed a number of times previously, but hadn’t expected the addendum. I imagined the spirit must have been able to sense the influence of Fate.

“What do you mean?” Yisook asked on cue. “Is the damage too far gone?”

“The physical weave, I will fix,” sighed the voice. “The other extends beyond this world into shadows I cannot reach.”

“It is unimportant,” I said, hurrying the process along before I died during the conversation. “The first step is all that is needed.”

“For now, that may be enough,” the voice agreed. “But competing loyalties tug at you and your friend. Already you fray. Left unchecked, they will unravel you as readily.”

“My friend?”

“He who listens, of the broken wings.”

“I don’t have a loyalty problem,” Jarome spoke up in an insulted tone. “My objectives are crystal clear.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Thank you for the warning, honoured Weave,” the monk interjected. “But we are short on time.”

“Then I shall mend what I can,” said Weave. “And you may not call on me for another year, Yisook of the Bowl.”

“I too shall mend this basket,” piped the voice of, presumably, Reed. “And you may not call on me for another year.”

“I understand.”

On cue, the fibres in my basket began to extend and pull together, extruding and knitting in combination. It felt odd; neither the instant transformations of Gear Shift nor the large-scale distinction of having a panel replaced. I imagined it felt like having my fingernails grow fast enough to feel the changes. The new fibres weren’t a perfect match for the old, but were in far better condition.

Yisook was already moving on. “Cloth and Needle,” she intoned over the magic already swirling in the air. “Honoured spirits. Repair what was broken.”

“Worthy,” came a swarthy voice.

“Worthy,” came a sharp one.

No addendum accompanied them this time. Both gave the same conditions as before.

New fabric attached itself to the old, holes patched over and weak sections bolstered. Encouragingly, my vision began to return. I’d hoped for a complete replacement, but this would get me back to the Chapel. It would be enough.

The monk swam into view at last. She was middle-aged and tall, her height evident even while kneeling. She might have been forty or many thousands of years old; the only partial indicator being the pure white of her hair. Her elaborate robes marked her as a spiritual delegate. Unless disgraced or highly specialised, most local adults were.

Population centres in Myrd were almost all monasteries, each dedicated to a specific spirit. It was easy to tell which: Yisook’s headgear resembled an upturned bowl, painted with images of the same, and the buttons on her coat bore a similar concave shape. The motif also carried through in the design of her clothes; hemispheres in recurrent patterns.

Jarome stood just behind her, keenly intent on the ritual. The Rein had indeed had his wings snapped off, with jagged pieces still protruding from the suit. The window of his cracked visor had also since been removed and cleared, revealing the expected pale face and dark hair. He looked young, but Reins almost always did no matter what stage of their development. The rest of the suit appeared not to have been successfully removed yet, which made me a little concerned about certain logistics.

He stood in a vacuum of ambient magic, a rough equidistant circle extending around him and the places he’d trodden. As I watched, a few straggling motes trailed towards him from the edges and disappeared into his armour, soaking in.

“Polish and Timber,” Yisook announced, in a tone of finality. In her raised hands, she grasped a tiny flask and a piece of my broken railing. “Honoured spirits. Restore what was broken.”

I could see the small mat in front of her, now; a simple rectangle on which rested several small objects. A needle and scrap of cloth lay among them, as did a freshly-plucked reed, with more hastily woven together. Beside the mat, separated on the grass, lay a string of other small vials in various distinct colours.

“Worthy,” declared silky and sturdy voices in unison.

For their parts, the spirits remained invisible. I knew they could become visible if they wanted, but usually didn’t bother. I wasn’t clear why.

The corrosion on my burner and its workings magically cleared, though the framework remained more delicate than before. The broken railing grew back into place, unbroken and whole. When the work was complete, the six spirits left without a further word, presence vanishing in unspoken synchronisation.

Yisook moved the ritual items off the mat and rolled up the latter, slotting it into a fitted compartment in her folded bag. The string of vials and the cloth and needle followed. “It is done,” she said, standing up.

“Thank you,” I said with the appropriate emphasis. “Your kindness saved my life. One day when I’m free, I promise I’ll repay you.”

Despite the slightly underhanded circumstances, that part wasn’t a lie. I’d find a way. Somehow.

“Of course. But it is rare a spirit offers a warning. I assume Weave referred to your binding, but for this one –” she turned towards Jarome, “– I could not say. It is clear, however, he is touched by some affliction of ill intent.”

“I’m not cursed,” the Rein retorted, scowling inside his helmet. “I believe this is where we part ways.”

“I must take him,” I volunteered quickly. “It is part of my contract.”

Yisook bowed. “Then I shall return alone. May life walk with you, Balloon.”

“And with you,” I replied, and watched her set off up the hillside.

“Well, that was an absolute farce,” Jarome said in a low voice once she was gone. “But one I could learn from. It’s a shame I already have a universe to save, because this world has potential. That’s why you’re going to teach me how to travel between them.”

I let out a groan. “We’ve been over this.”

“You need to stop thinking about what’s not possible and start thinking about how to make it possible,” my temporary companion stated, vaulting over the rail into my basket. He pushed handfuls of deflated balloon fabric out of the way. “Look at me. It’s hard to believe, but I was once an average guy. But as soon as magic landed in my hands, I recognised it for the opportunity it was and rode it to victory. You just have to be smart.”

“That and ordained by Fate,” I muttered. “Your first lesson is that you need to place the balloon above the burners. Or we aren’t going anywhere.”

Thirty minutes of false starts later, we made it aloft. As the rocks and trees receded below us, the powder dust of Myrd’s ambient magic became more obvious against the landscape. A noticeable trail of its absence marked the area where Jarome had paced, tapering into an narrower line where presumably he’d approached with the monk. Taking it all in, I suspected intentionally.

I tempted fate. “Is it worth asking what you did at the monastery?”

“Nothing,” he said nonchalantly back. “I simply asked a few questions about the nature of the gods – which clearly are real – and applied the scientific method.”

“I don’t know what that is,” I said. “But gods aren’t real. Spirits aren’t the same thing. Think of spirits as being like us, except that instead of flesh, they have magic. On a scale of one to the other, they’re on the extremity.”

“You keep saying that,” Jarome argued, leaning out over the landscape. Below us, the tiny figure of Yisook journeyed up the side of an adjacent mountain. “But I’ve seen proof of the gods. I know you work for them.”

I actually laughed. “That’s a complete fabrication.” I wasn’t supposed to divulge this information, least of all to a Rein, but over the last few days I’d run low on my supply of qualms. “We say that because anything else leads to too many questions. Invoking divinity keeps things simple. It’s what people expect upon death. But in all the universes we’ve ever chartered, there hasn’t been a whiff of a god to be seen. People who claim to be them, on the other hand? Plenty.”

“Then my soul, that carried on after death –”

“That’s a bit more complicated.”

We came into view of the monastery of the Bowl, a tightly contained knot of towers from which paths sprawled in all directions. Even the architecture incorporated its hemispherical motif, with the tips of the towers flared, concave, and doubling as rainwater reservoirs. I angled us away from it.

“Complicated how?” Jarome asked.

“Well, there’s no afterlife. Just regular life you come back to. Changed.”

“Pfft. You just reinvented reincarnation.”

“Reinvented?”

He opened his mouth to respond, stopped, and dropped into uncomfortable silence.

I followed one of the outgoing paths until spotting a small waypoint shrine and landed us in front of it.

“Second lesson,” I announced. “We need a door.”

Shifting back to human, I was immediately struck at my sudden fragility. My muscles hurt and joints ached. It was no comparison to having my skin boil off, but every ordinary movement added a certain amount of worry the associated bone would snap at the slightest impact. Raising my forearms to investigate, I was dismayed to find the wrinkled and saggy skin of an elderly man, except in occasional patches where it remained young and taut. One of my cheeks sagged heavily around the jowl with the other its regular shape, lending my face a heavy lopsidedness. The incongruity made it far worse than if I’d just appeared to be old.

I glanced at Jarome, who visibly recoiled. Motes of surrounding magic had started vacuuming towards him the moment he’d hit the ground.

When I made to wipe a hand across my forehead, the movement felt sore. I stopped.

“Time to go,” I said instead, gingerly extending a hand. At least my voice hadn’t aged.

“What the hell? Is that what counts for healing in this world?” He shuddered. “And you brought me here? Take me back.”

“That’s the plan,” I said, resisting the deep-seated urge to poke at my jaw and the sinking feeling that came with it. “You should have spent long enough here. Once we’re in the Interstice, I’ll show you the way and you can see yourself through. You’ll return at the same place you departed. Are you sure you’ll survive with your suit broken like that?”

“As long as my magic comes back, I can repair it once I’m in. That’s easy. ”

Looking like he’d rather be doing anything else, the Rein ignored the proffered palm and instead placed a finger on my shoulder. It was in this awkward formation that we shuffled through the shrine’s low threshold back into the versal mists.

It was at this point, distracted by how I was going to fix my latest severe bout of injuries, that I discovered something had gone very, very wrong in the multiverse.