“Well done,” Er whispered, a little quieter than necessary, as we descended the stairs. “Registry won’t take long. You’ll be scanned and added to the database, assigned a room and given access to Function. Later, Fal Mier’s specialisations will be passed on to you. But not today.”

“I didn’t realise someone else had to retire,” I said, genuinely surprised. The main draw of the Chapel was its permanent advantages and the immortality. I’d assumed any other House would be the same. But Soor was aged, and at middle age, even Er was much physically older than the accessible Chapel average. Second-tiers tended to age out before forty, and usually looked much younger. As a first-tier, I’d been starting to feel self-conscious about my appearance long before my sojourn on Stabula had aged it into oblivion.

“You’ve probably noticed, but there aren’t many of us,” Er replied. “Function is in extremely short supply and incredibly difficult to get more of. Children are also difficult to produce due to the suns. In our history, we came close to extinction on multiple occasions. But we pulled through and slowly managed to come back.”

When we hit the platform, she directed me to the next flight of stairs.

“Signing your autonomy away is daunting, but worth it for what we receive in return. We won’t punish unless you do something serious, and even then, we only want Function returned. Our laws are sacred, so we can’t strictly update them. But we interpret them at their best.”

“My world did worse,” I acknowledged, thinking of more than one example of the phrase.

My world. I almost never thought of it that way anymore. There wasn’t much to miss. As universes went, it wasn’t a good one. Low in technology, magic and mercy alike, living conditions had been poor. Countless people around me had died, whether to famine, plague or war, with nowhere to escape to. The best you could hope for was a hard life working for the side of the winner, ideally not in an army, and hope they kept winning.

There’d been nothing I could do then and nothing I could now, short of asking for a Rein to be assigned. As far as I knew, none had. I didn't understand why. Yali was a universe due for saving.

Occasionally I entertained going back after hitting second-tier. Pretending godhood to con my way into making a difference. But I suspected the difference would only be another war for a new reason. Or a new excuse for one already coming.

That was before I’d known about the Arch. An Arch might be able to do something.

But I was here, still first-tier, and otherwise committed. It would be a big ask.

The next platform down sat at ground level with more people passing through. To my eyes they were richly adorned, with beautiful fabrics and complex designs well-matched and complemented with jewellery, each a seeming member of a royal court. A pair of bystanders finished their conversation and waved farewell, only for one to vanish into thin air. A woman passed by Er Jid and I in a hurried jostle; a man walked past with a stack of lenses.

No one blinked twice at our out-of-place jumpsuits.

The foot of the tower appeared to be at an intersection in the overall complex, with spacious roofed promenades leading in the cardinal directions. I followed Er down one, edging round the central projections of light.

“White helps with atmospheric purification,” she explained, noticing my reaction. “Yellow, satiation. Pink will raise your mood, and blue invigorate your body. You don’t want to bathe in any for too long, even curated. Just walk through.”

I did so, noticing a difference in ambient pressure. “What happens if you stay in too long?”

“You’ll become sick. Obviously we have more specific combinations, but these are the main four. Don’t avoid them, either; deficiencies are equally dangerous. You’ll need to stock up on each before its respective sunfall. Once you have access to Function, you’ll be able to check the forecasts.”

The more I heard about Function, the more it started to sound part versal magic, part comms network. Again, slightly off from what I’d expected.

“What about the forest?” I asked. “It seems to be doing alright out there. How does the light affect it?”

“Dangerously.” She guided me past a small group of people, and I made out more animated discussion about wraiths. “A lot of our old ruins are out under it, long since reclaimed. Our ancestors – though I doubt there’s anyone left now who’s blood-related – retreated with the falling population until only the heart remained.”

“That’s sad. What happened?”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“A cataclysm. It destroyed much of our civilisation and eroded what survived. We could have rebuilt on less hostile worlds. But duty compels us to stay.”

She turned down a side road, passing through another series of staggered lights. They lent the halls a surreal, eerie mood, especially with the limited traffic. Much like the Chapel worlds. It seemed to be a hallmark of versal travellers.

“Here,” Er said, stopping in front of an unmarked door largely indistinguishable from the other buildings around it. She knocked on the door and stepped inside.

We entered a small spartan office inlaid with geometric tiles. A narrow skylight hung above a set of lenses spraying erratic rainbows around the room. Er clicked her tongue and made her way to a set of levers attached by brass pipes, adjusting a few until the light shone gold.

"Sunfall’s due soon,” she announced, gesturing for me to stand in the glow. It felt odd in a way I couldn’t describe.

The recruiter approached one of the patterned walls. Raising a hand, she manoeuvred parts of the mosaic in quick succession, rotating them like dials. With a small click, the centre of the mural popped open, and Er slid it the rest of the way.

A cylinder about a foot wide, the device contained a set of drawers each with a geometric label. Er rotated it on its central axis, opened several drawers in succession and rifled through their contents. ‘Here, here, and here,” she muttered, closing it again.

Two of the objects went down on the small stone desk, revealing themselves to be tiny glass vials less than the size of my smallest finger, each with a different-coloured lid. The third, Er held up between thumb and forefinger beyond the rim of the light. A colourless liquid sloshed with the motion within.

“This is an example of refined Function,” the recruiter said. “Its raw form exists all over the multiverse in ambient remnants, as well as the Vein. Theoretically it can be adapted to anything, though in practice it’s excessively difficult. The refined version is something we’ve spent many generations learning to adapt and reproduce. We’re good at it. Now, I gift it to you.”

I took the hint and stepped back out of the light, accepting the offered flask. Er watched, not contradicting, as I unscrewed the lid and raised it slowly to my lips. At the last moment, I paused. “What will it do?”

“You’ll be scanned to our system. If you want to back out, now is the time to do it.”

Briefly, I eyed up the door. Depending on what this system picked up, there was a good chance I’d have to cut things and run. Ideally I’d grab the other vials on the way. Adaptation and reproduction sounded like exactly the thing the Chapel had had in mind for this mission, and I wouldn’t be returning empty handed.

But Near Miss had brought me here, and nothing had yet gone wrong. With some trepidation, I downed the contents.

The liquid tingled, rapidly changing state. It spread up through my neck and down along the tips of my fingers. Unquestionably versal magic, it felt similar to receiving an augment, but far weaker and a little decidedly off-kilter. In terms of practical effects, I didn’t notice any immediate change.

Er peered at me and twisted her fingers, making a few rapid motions on an interface only she could see. “Good.” She followed it up with more. “Hmm. There’s some abnormality here.”

I did my best to hide my rising tension. “Oh?”

“Given where I found you, I shouldn’t be too surprised. But there’s quite a lot.” She made a few more motions, staring at me but not; focused on whatever her system displayed. Hesitant excitement danced around the corners of her eyes. “I think we need to pay another visit to the Geo-International Accord.”

The stress didn’t quite leave me. “Why?”

“Because it looks like you’ve come into contact with raw Function previously, which indicates the presence of a node. Or…” She trailed off.

“What is it?” I commanded my hands to stop trembling by sticking them under my armpits pre-emptively.

Er didn’t appear to notice, lost in thought. “Something very exciting,” she said. “It’s nothing you should worry about. Here. The second dose.”

I found myself presented with the next vial, identical in appearance to the last but for the lid. I downed it quickly to hide my jitters and be ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

It took hold quickly like the first, spreading rapidly through my body. Unlike the first, however, it failed to completely absorb, trace leftover amounts butting up against an immovable wall. I felt suddenly ill. Not enough to bring up the contents of my stomach, but also not far off.

Slowly, reluctantly, the remnants of the dose squeezed within the edges of the wall, adding to the overall pressure. I felt sicker.

“You should notice a difference –” Er was saying.

“I feel sick,” I announced, removing my hands from my armpits. “F–” I caught myself. “Fuck.”

Er broke off and stepped quickly over to the levers. “White light,” she ordered, making a series of rapid adjustments until the hue matched her words. “Quickly.”

I didn’t think it was that but stood in it anyway, enduring the pressing malaise. Dimly I was aware of something in my mind that hadn’t been there before, but right now it paled next to my desire to relieve the strain. I let myself breathe, but it didn’t help; the problem wasn’t physical in origin even if it did give me symptoms. My vision swam, rocking from side to delirious side, and my brain took a second to catch up.

“It’s not working,” I said, exiting the spotlight in a queasy dance of weird cognitive delay.

“You need to stay in longer,” Er said, her hands pushing me back.

I did my best, but the sensation wasn’t going anywhere. I felt magically distended, containing more than I was supposed to hold, yet not enough to tip things over the line. “It’s making it worse,” I lied, and pushed back out towards the door. “I need to take a walk alone. This is a lot.”

Er’s worried voice sounded from somewhere behind me. “Alright, but I’m tracking you via the database. If you’re not back in a few minutes, I’m bringing help.”

Fumbling my way out, I wrestled myself out of the building and as fast as I could down the indoor street, finally letting my face register the horror it felt. No, no, no, no, no. Not now, of all the times.

I couldn’t hit second-tier. Not here.