Billions upon billions of worlds existed in the multiverse. Given those numbers, the likelihood of running into a specific chance event was infinitesimally low – unless you happened to possess an infusion of Fate.

I didn’t think Fate was responsible for this.

Among the myriad gateways drifting nearby, a handful had been – for lack of a better word – marked. The changes were hard to describe in the lack of conventional space. My impression was of a series of sigil-like indicators shaped from a substance I didn’t recognise; neither of the mists nor the portals, but something different again. I didn’t know what to make of it.

From what I could tell, there were three distinct glyphs. Directly overhead, Myrd had been tagged with the first, a twist of curves and lines shining out for all to see. The other distinctly recognisable variants were dotted along other gates, as well as a scattering more of the first. The vast majority of universes bore no marking at all, but the sudden appearance of so many triggered a major alarm. One glyph alone would have done it.

As far back as I could remember, and anyone I knew was aware, the Interstice had been an inviolable constant. We travelled through it as shadows and whispers, unable to leave a mark.

And now someone had.

Who could have done this and how? How had they covered so much ground? And why?

Swallowing my apprehension, I crossed the new-sprung field of alien markers towards Jarome’s battlefield hellscape, making sure the Rein followed.

The indicators were everywhere in the Interstice, evenly spaced and further than should have been possible. They didn’t seem to do anything other than passively sit and gleam, but the longer I spent watching, the more my foreboding grew.

The appropriately-named Stabula was also one of the marked worlds, bearing a different sigil to Myrd. Warring versus at peace, with the third a neutral in-between? I could only guess at the meaning.

I waited until Jarome had exited through, then ducked past Creed to find it branded identically to Stabula. Not diplomatic status, then.

Troubled, I returned to the Chapel base. It, at least, bore no mark.

I didn’t come through in the loading bay, but the hall I recognised from my encounter with Nysept. There was no stained glass this time. The room was close to full when I entered, busier than any Chapel facility I’d ever seen. On legs that felt like arthritis, I found myself doddering past a collection of Dus and Tris I barely knew, many of whom took one look and gave me the berth of a second-tier. I supposed I looked like one whose advancement had gone wrong.

Such a scene had never happened in all my time at the Chapel. Maybe it was the army on Stabula influencing me, but all I could think of was ‘mobilised’. No one was leaving via the door, only milling; everyone seemed to be waiting.

Imbertri accosted me from among the crowd before I got very far. “You’re back! You saw them, right?”

I sized her up, weighing the balance between excitement and worry on her features. Excitement was winning. “You mean the markers on all the universes? Couldn’t miss them. But first –” I dropped my voice, which was probably unnecessary in the commotion, “– was there any fallout from our guest?”

“Not all the universes. And not a peep.” Imbertri waved a dismissive hand. “No one’s going to care about that right now.”

No one would care, I repeated to myself in my head. I was completely in the clear. “So, Near Miss –”

“Yes, maybe. But Lamutri, someone’s messing with the multiverse, and no one knows who. Not us, not the second-tiers, not the Fate-blessed Machine! If the third-tiers know, they aren’t saying. Also, you look better,” she added as an apparent afterthought. “So that’s good to see.”

I looked a different kind of halfway-to-dead, but it would have to do. Sometimes I questioned Imbertri’s judgement, even now.

Despite my colleague’s comparative indifference, her words still had me reeling. I’d needed a distraction from breaking Chapel rules. Now I had it.

Had I done this? Obviously not through any direct action, but Fate augments specialised in rewriting reality so that their alterations had simply… always been. When Alushex made ‘discoveries’, he didn’t summon them into being so much as locate something that happened to already be there, however unlikely. Whatever had triggered the appearance of the multiversal glyphs might have been coming for a long time, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t caused it.

When I’d kidnapped Jarome, I thought I’d had a little understanding of what it meant to possess an Arch.

I’d had absolutely no accursed clue.

This was what I’d been fighting this whole time. A force capable of disrupting the multiverse as a whole. Maybe I’d been all that had been keeping it in check. Instead, I’d chosen to help it along with… something – even allowing it the power of Imbertri’s core to work with – and had been delivered this.

And with the probable exception of Imbertri, not a single other person knew.

My hands shook. I tucked them into my sleeves.

As the door to the infinite staircase opened, closed and opened again, a hush spread in a wave from the other side of the chamber. Second-tiers, more than I’d seen in one place outside of a social gathering. Ten of them. Twenty. Most were dressed for a field mission.

Sajjpen was part of the lineup, one of the rare times I’d seen him outside his mechanic’s station. Flinq took up a position at the other end, dressed in the combat armour she’d worn against Jadal Cai. She had a thin line painted down the centre of her face and neck, until she moved and revealed it to be an invisible seam. Flinpen, then. It hadn’t taken her long to decide.

As more second-tiers poured in to form a second row, I repeatedly scanned the group for Alushex. But he didn’t appear.

When the door had stayed closed for more than a few seconds, one of the Hexes cleared her throat. The noise easily cut through the crowd of assassins. It had a lilting, not-quite-human quality about it; the kind of voice you wanted to listen to more of. I recognised her as the interviewer I’d walked in on the day I’d encountered the Black Waste. She made a convincing goddess.

“Everyone,” the spokeswoman said, raising a hand for the attention she already had. “As you’re aware, normal operations have been temporarily suspended. By now, you must all be aware of the recent concerning changes to the versal gates. We are looking into it, but as of yet are not aware who or what is responsible. What we have determined is the meaning of the sigils that appear. Caliq?”

A slight Quad in the front row nodded, and an approximation of the three symbols appeared projected above the heads of the audience. Translating them for a three-dimensional universe didn’t make for an especially accurate representation, but enough similarity was present for the distinction to be clear.

“Whatever their intent, these sigils are intimately related to our work,” the Hex continued, “exposing its confidentiality, and thus of grave concern. Each of them represents the status of the Reincarnator posted to the respective universe, if any.”

I felt myself frown, which I instantly regretted thanks to the wreck of my face. The connection to Reins added to my concerns about the situation. We were supposed to have ended these irregularities with the death of Jadal Cai. Were there more like him out there? If Jarome turned out to be another Rein-killer –

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The image shifted to display just one of the three symbols. “This sigil represents the presence of a pre-death Reincarnator. Many universes so marked are not covered by our records. As you can imagine, this is alarming news. We’re not sure how this information was come by.”

Mine wasn’t the only worried face I could see around me. Second-tiers kept a certain amount of secrets under wraps, including how they located the Reins. If I was honest, a large part of me had expected the Chapel created them somehow. Clearly, it didn’t.

I realised belatedly the glyph on display had shifted again. It was the one I’d seen marking Myrd.

“This next sigil indicates a post-death Reincarnator has been assigned to the universe. These do match our records. Naturally: we’re in charge. That the force behind this act has access to this information, however, is deeply concerning. We have no choice but to hold all operatives under suspicion. Moreover, we must account for the possibility Fate itself is compromised. If you see anything out of the ordinary, no matter how minor it may seem, report it immediately.” She nodded to Caliq.

The final sigil appeared. “If you see this symbol, no Reincarnators are present in the marked universe. You will notice it on some of our worlds.”

My frown deepened. It was the symbol I’d seen next to Stabula, which certainly did have a Rein assigned. Until I’d taken him off of it briefly. Which indicated the markings likely hadn’t been based on Chapel records, after all, but something else current at the time.

By the same token, Myrd – a place I wouldn’t consider in need of saving – had been marked post-death. Jarome, a post-death, had been in it when the sigils appeared.

“Lastly,” said the spokeswoman, at which the accompanying visuals dropped away, “the vast majority of universes are as yet unmarked. What this means for us is yet uncertain, but we are working both with Fate and independently to discover as much as we can. We need your cooperation.”

I noticed Flinpen eying me from the front row and experienced a moment of paranoia she’d figured out my transgression, but then remembered I looked like someone had used their collection of human skins to stitch me together. Actually, I had the eyes of several of her peers for likely the same reason.

“Anyone whose core can be bent towards investigation, even in minor ways, is required to stay,” the Hex continued. “We’ll take other related augments as well. Everyone else may leave. That is all.”

The mood in the room partly relaxed, breaking out into tense chatter. I glanced across at Imbertri, whose expression was deeply thoughtful.

“See anything?” I asked.

“Only what everyone else did,” she responded, still engrossed in her own head. After a moment, she appeared to partially snap out of it. “Well, the equivalent. You know, you could probably stay.”

I opened my mouth to tell her I’d done enough damage, when I spotted Flinpen beckoning me with a curled finger towards the staircase. “I’ll sit this out,” I said instead, and shuffled across the room at the speed of a glacier.

Flinpen vanished through the door, and I followed her into her office. Hers was the only desk in it. Fate hadn’t yet removed the flowers or the water features, which gave me the odd impression that at any moment Alushex might come back. Outside it was daylight at the beach and the jellyfish were in hiding. Instead, the shadows of enormous birds flapped across the shoreline.

“You look terrible,” the new Pen told me. She stepped behind her desk and came back out with her chair, which she placed behind me. “Here.”

I sat gratefully. “You’ve also gone through some changes, I see.”

She grinned at me. About the width of a thin pencil, the invisible line passed through the centre of her lips, tongue and teeth. It didn’t seem to affect her speech or ability to breathe.

Reaching up, she plucked a hair from her scalp, found each end, and drew it down through the centre of her head.

“Wild, isn’t it?” she said, pulling it out again. “Before you ask, it doesn’t hurt. I used Long Game for the purchase and it led me to Halve. My third Exalt, and a rare one to boot. At this rate I’ll be ready for my next in months, not years. Although I can’t say the same for my pay. But the strategy is coming along.”

I was happy for her, and more than a little jealous. The urge hit me to tell her about the Arch, but couldn’t think of a way where it wouldn’t come out sounding deranged. I’d bent the multiverse around my needs in the last week. Twice. Without any idea how.

Sooner or later, I had to inform somebody senior in the Chapel. A rogue Arch was a danger that needed to be controlled. But who to enlighten, and under what circumstances, was something I had to be careful about. Especially now.

“Don’t you need to be in the briefing meeting?” I asked instead.

“I can be late, and Long Game’s not going to be useful to anyone for a while. Whereas I’m worried about you. How did you get yourself to such a bad state in a few days?”

“Strong corrosive atmosphere.”

“And there was civilisation on that world?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it civilised. I found another post-death Rein, and I wasn’t looking. Suddenly they seem to be cropping up everywhere.”

“I think this business with the sigils shows we were right,” Flinpen noted, lips pursed on each side of the new gap. “Something is going on there, and it’s bigger than we feared. Quarantine is seeming like less of an overreaction in hindsight. I just don’t understand how it ties back to us, or to Jadal Cai.”

“You think?”

“Because it is us, isn’t it?” Flinpen repeated. “Don’t lie; I could see you also considering it. Is some kind of versal plague spreading around? Are more Rein-killers about to appear?”

“With all those cores working on it, we’re bound to figure it out,” I said, reassuring myself as much as Flinpen. I found myself staring at a water feature dripping its contents into one of the fine canals winding around the perimeter of the walls. “Any word from Alushex?”

“Alusept,” the Pen corrected me. “Or so I assume. He delivered his farewells two days ago. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Did he mention what he was going to choose?”

She shook her head, and the smile faded from her eyes. “If I’m honest, he looked scared. I told him he should just go with something likely to give him wings. Everyone loves those. But I don’t think he will.”

“I don’t either. At least he’ll be off field duty.”

I searched Flinpen’s face, trying to figure out if Alusept had shared with her the same warning and discussion. If so, she seemed completely unbothered.

“You two started at the same time, right?” she asked.

I nodded. “I was technically a year ahead, but yes. We didn’t really see each other until becoming Dus and being assigned the same bay. Considering his history, he was surprisingly bad at the start. He made a much better second-tier.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “So good, I wonder if he’ll come back. I get the impression that’s what he’s been angling for.”

“Seems unlikely.”

“Says an agent working for Fate. It’s all just fiddling the probabilities in different ways.” Clapping her hands together, she made moves towards the door. “It looks like we’ll have at least a couple of days’ grace. Sajjpen’s your usual mechanic, right? I’ll find you a substitute.”

“I can’t afford it,” I said upfront.

“I’ll pay. You can’t go on missions like this.”

Sharply, I frowned at her. “You were only my boss for one mission. Why?”

“You’re stupid for throwing away your credit,” she answered easily, “but without you, I’d still be incrementing my way along Quad. I owe you. And Lamutri?”

“Yes?”

“Life isn’t a transaction to keep a balance sheet on. Consider me sentimental, but I want to look out for my friends. They keep us too segregated here.” She swallowed, the motion interrupted down the middle by the line. “I should get back to the meeting. Report in tomorrow. I’ll find you someone.”

Door swinging shut behind her, I slowly stretched out of the chair, flexed my aching bones and patted at the loose jowl. A faint ghost of reflection stared back at me from the office window.

Calling it a wreck would be kind. My face and body looked like they’d been put through a malfunctioning time accelerator one section at a time. I couldn’t even label myself old, just a mismatched pastiche. My skin contained patches of at least five different colours, my hair two. A good part of my scalp was scarred and had no hair at all. The corrosion had seen to it that everything I’d been born with was now falling apart, with only the additions from Yisook’s ritual in decent condition.

I’d known it would happen sooner or later. Of all people, it shouldn’t have bothered me, seeing as Gear Shift made everything change. But eventually I’d still return to my original self, familiar and recognisable. And as bits of me fell away, there was still enough.

Right now, I couldn’t see much I recognised. A small tuft of blue still somehow lingered on my scalp, but not for much longer. Even my eyes had changed colour.

It was probably too late to go back to my original universe anyway. I should have done it the moment I’d passed my training, or any time since. But something had always stopped me; fear of what to say, or of what I’d find. Later, not knowing how to answer why I hadn’t done it sooner; why I hadn’t cared enough for the people who cared about me. Why I looked so different, verging on monstrous, compared to the boy I’d once been.

Truth be told, I didn’t have a good answer. Nor could I talk about it. Not really. The Chapel and its people had been kind to me, but ultimately wouldn’t understand. Everyone here had been preselected and consciously drafted. Their families had prepared. Mine hadn’t. The dynamic wasn’t the same.

In that regard, I had more in common with the Reins.