It took me surprisingly long to learn the Rillan capital was Stormsgate. Rekon’s expedition members and anyone else from Rillan called it the capital.

The fact Rojins called their capital city the capital as well led to abundant confusion at the outpost. That completely separate city was named Carris.

We parted with the bulk of the caravan as we approached the city. They were commissioned by some aspect of the Rillan leadership to retrieve us safely.

The journey that entailed had shifted my view of the Rillan and the alma civilization. The first few villages we stopped at were comparable to gam villages.

The environment and architecture was completely different. But they existed on a similar scale.

The first real town overturned that context. Memories gleaned from a few former villagers turned pseudo-gam did not prepare me for settlements that completely covered the natural world for miles. Nor had they prepared me for this.

Jarimy rode ahead. His steed parted the crowd of people that filled the streets. I would have assumed there was some gathering bringing thousands of alma to the area. Now I knew this congestion was normal.

I suppressed the urge to look up at the five to six story buildings to either side. The worn cobblestones below the metallic hooves of my mount were as much of a wonder.

The alma had obscured the natural world here. Only the sky above revealed I was in the world I knew. It was impressive.

My steed was even more so. Polished reflective plates fit together in the facsimile of a horse. Yet I could feel the complex mechanism within that let the construct move like a living creature.

It was a masterpiece of both magical and mechanical artistry. One outwardly ornamented by filigree and a questionable abundance of tassels.

Jarimy and I were the only ones on golem back. Rekon’s surviving followers rode in a line of carriages behind us.

They moved at the same mellow pace as the golems. But I doubted either was limited to their current speed.

A simpler version of the same engineering below me allowed the vehicles to move without a horse or any other beast to pull them. Only animus and gears for power.

There was something off about the whole thing. I picked up from my compatriots that automatic carriages were exorbitantly expensive.

The wealthy could rent them. And the leaders of their society could own multiple. But not normal alma.

Co’arn was dumbfounded when two golems arrived with the six vehicles. The artificial horses were an even greater mark of status.

Perceiving the spellwork inside made it clear why. The physical components alone would be arduous to create and fit together. All for something debatably less useful than a carriage.

Jarimy laughed their surprise off. He said it was only fitting for returning heroes. That was a term I had been hearing more and more.

The cultural view of the Moors and alma who traveled to them was more complicated than I first realized. The act was glorified. A source of pride that felt absurd after seeing the realities of their efforts.

I was not oblivious to the finely crafted and clearly new uniforms we were required to wear while riding into the city. Or the way alma stopped to watch us pass.

This was a display of some kind. A display I lacked the context to fully grasp.

“You seem calm.” The priest’s voice emerged from the space by my ear.

“Were you expecting me not to be?” A single weave mimicked the vibrations of air a few inches from my mouth a similar distance from the alma ahead.

“Not really. But the others are a bit overwhelmed.” Glancing back confirmed his words.

The open air design of the vehicles behind us made it easy. Co’arn had a slightly manic smile. He seemed caught between amazement at the attention and complete alienation. And his fellows were doing little better.

“Is this not normal?” I was confident it was not. But I might get Jarimy to confirm that.

“Not for them. You have received acolades before.” He paused. “Just not to this degree.” That last comment was interesting.

“What makes this trip different?” The only way I knew this expedition differed was in casualties and grievous injury.

“Adventure and glory.” I frowned at the response.

“How do you figure?” I had seen neither.

“Brave adventurers come face-to-face with the savage untamed wilderness. Only their grit and Rillan pride between them and the monsters of bedtimes stories. Led through everything the Dark Moors had to offer with a seemingly impossible survival rate” There was a faint hint of amusement in his tone. But it was far from sarcasm.

I glanced to the alma who stopped on the street to watch us pass. No. They had been waiting for us. Waiting to see us pass.

Many accompanied hatchlings. Or rather children. The look in their eyes began to fit into a narrative.

“They already know about us.” It was not really a question. But the priest answered anyway.

“Your testimonies were sent to the empriss when the Rojin’s first notified us. I’m sure they were made available to every press correspondent, and graced any news journal with eager writers.” The explanation sounded a bit sardonic.

I new Rekon’s party was questioned at length. Even I was interviewed. It simply did little good.

A transcript of those interviews would be grim reading. They were taken long before the alma in question had time to process what they experienced.

But Jarimy said people were given the testimonies. And those people retold the story put together from multiple sources.

I was familiar with how much a true story could warp into myth. Hunters did it all the time. I thought of Co’arn’s creative fireside tales. Alma clearly did the same thing.

“A tale of adventure is all the more thrilling when the peril seems impossible to overcome.” I noticed a cyan child on the shoulders of a tall woman with similar coloration.

“Even more so when they somehow overcome those odds.” The priest responded.

I gave a smile and waved to the child of indeterminate sex. “And a story like that could grow a lot in a few months.” The child’s eyes widened.

“I was sent to you shortly after we became aware of the incident. But I expect so.” The child waved back with enough vigor and lack of coordination that their guardian had to adjust her stance or topple forward.

“And I assume the leader of this legendary group would have particular renown?” Rather than appear annoyed, the cyan woman flashed me a grateful smile.

“Quite.” I shifted from my passive demeanor.

The rest of our journey was spent with an open and slightly playful smile of my own. Waving to people as felt appropriate.

The onlookers died off as the eclectic and semi-warn buildings gave way to clean and colorful shop fronts. The occasional manor house broke up the construction with fences in gardens.

I understood enough about the alma concept of a city to recognize the plots of tightly controlled grass, shrubs and trees as expressions of power. Turning land into an ornament was a greater extravagance than the dwellings the yards surrounded.

Jarimy was leading us to the physical church that employed him. They were part of the process of retrieving us from Rojin custody.

The connection between the Church of the Creator and the Rillan Empire was hard to pin down. It seemed the average Rillan could not explain it in practical terms. Not beyond the fact both groups worked together.

I had discovered that the Church of the Creator was a kind of governing body for the other churches. Disputes between the churches of two or more different gods were decided by priests of the Creator. And the rules set by the Church of the Creator applied to all alma churches.

Knowing that made the glorified fortress we arrived at expected. Churches were usually the largest building in alma towns.

The castle playing at being a church was no exception. It dwarfed the estates around it with ease.

We passed through an arch crested by the plain circle that symbolized the Creator. The emblem was a polished silver-gold metal that shown in the midday light. But it was otherwise as simplistic as the iron broach Jonathan wore.

A group of acolytes waited in the cortyard. We dismounted. Our extravagant transport was taken with care.

I began after the priests leading the others away. But a hand on my shoulder stopped me.

“We’ll get you settled in later. I should report to High Priest Əfron. He’ll want to meet the infamous Rekon.” I glanced back to Jarimy. He had the courtesy to look sheepish.

“Of course. Lead the way.” I followed the alma man to one of the many doors into the stone building.

The sculptures and releifs we passed were interesting on their own. As were the tapestries of events I did not know and portraits of people I did not recognize.

But the spellwork was the most distracting. I nearly walked into passing clergy half a dozen times. It was everywhere.

The outpost had the most enchantments of anywhere I had seen until now. Most permanent structures there had animus woven into them.

The shops and public houses we stopped at in towns and villages rarely had more than one or two. I saw quite a few in the city. But they were isolated and spread out.

This place was like walking through a mountain of spun web-yarn. Animus threads were linked to everything. Layer upon layer impossible to separate at a glance.

Mages must have been enchanting every brick and doornob for decades. More likely centuries.

Even simple souls were technically more complex. But I was experienced at recognizing the components of souls. This was an unfamiliar overwhelming mess.

“Are you okay?” I ignored the priest’s worried tone and pretended I had not walked into a doorframe.

“I’m fine. Just overstimulated.” I massaged my nose in the pretext I could experience pain.

Worry mixed with confusion. “By what?” That question confirmed my suspicions. Jarimy was not perceiving the weavings. At least not how I was.

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“There is a lot of foreign spellwork here. It is a bit distracting.” I answered honestly. My above average awareness of animus was well known.

Curiosity replaced confusion. “Really. I’ve never heard of that happening. Mages usually appear fine.” I considered that.

“I’m probably not familiar enough with what I’m seeing. Mages have seen this all before.” It was possible. But I doubted that was the only reason.

Alma mages used their soul organelle to sense animus. That was true even for master-mages. As far as Nith knew.

I sense animus with my presence. That made it impossible to not be aware of spellwork in my vicinity.

Jarimy seemed to accept the explanation. “Əfron is only a few doors down. Would holding my hand help?” I waved off the offer and started walking again.

Stepping into the relatively modest office made little difference. Everything from the walls to the papers resting on the desk held enchantments.

I tried to focus on the reedy alma standing a few feet from the door. “Welcome! I’m Hight Priest Əfron. But please call me Priest Əfron.” He was somehow shaking my hand. I was not quite sure when he got ahold of it.

“The High title makes it just too long. You know who I am. I know who I am. I don’t need to be High for that. And I’m at work anyway.” His smile shown with a childish excitement.

It was as if he was genuinely thrilled I was here. All without a single word on my part.

“Rekon. Happy to be here.” I took enough control of my bobbing arm to participate.

“Of course you are. How rude of me. Please, take a seat.” He released me. His free hand gestured to the sturdy chair before the desk.

I navigated to it and sank into the thick cushion. Priest Əfron sat across the desk. Jarimy took up a position standing behind and to the side.

“So Rekon…” The slate toned priest leaned forwards. His elbows rested on the dark wood. Fingers steepled. He watched me over them. “What are you?”

I frowned at the question. “In what context?”

Priest Əfron spun one hand in an absent gesture. “You know. What sort of mystic monster. Magical monstrosity. Necrotic ne’er-do-well.” His smile lost none of its playfulness. But the energy in his eyes took on an eerie edge.

“I… don’t think I know what you mean…?” I glanced to the other priest. Jarimy looked stoically ahead.

“You know, what species are you?” He leaned back in his chair. “Maybe a demon? You would be a really potent one. Or a zombie? But that wouldn’t explain the arcane ability, probably…” I projected unflappable uncertainty.

“Are you joking?” He ignored my question.

“Or an incubus.” He leaned forwards. “Have you been secretly ravaging your way across the countryside?” I had no idea why he waggled his eyebrows while asking.

“Jarimy. Did he ravage you on the way here?” The slate gray alma did not break eye contact with me.

“No, High Priest Əfron.” Priest Əfron sighed.

“I told you guys, you can call me Priest Əfron.” He broke eye contact to give the other priest an exasperated look.

“You know I can have you fed to ghouls. I know I can have you fed to ghouls. You don’t need to encode my superiority into my name. I already know I’m superior.” Jarimy remained impassive.

“He has shown absolutely no sign of being an incubus during the time we traveled together, Priest Əfron.” He finally added.

Priest Əfron sagged in his chair. “I was hoping for an incubus. Can’t we catch one, just once.” The disappointment was palpable.

“I feel like there is a misunderstanding here.” I tried to stand. A pressure across my entire body slammed me back into the chair.

I was left pinned to the heavy piece of furniture. Attempting to lift my left arm revealed a working of force magic opposing me.

The chair had wrapped me in spellwork. I recognized some as force magic. Other parts were foreign. And some looked suspiciously like soul magic.

I was suddenly wishing I used some of my recent growth to form physical enhancement patterns. I doubted the magic, chair or stone walls would have slowed me if I did.

“I guess it doesn’t matter.” Priest Əfron placed a finger on a polished stone resting to his left.

The stone lit up green. “Qlarants, Zor’matta’z, I have one for the probe.” I sensed a pair of souls enter my perception.

They came from behind the back wall and to the left. It also seemed as if they were coming up from below the level of the room.

The shelves swung out silently. A shallow alcove was revealed behind. And in it was an unfamiliar creature.

I had seen a few dogs on my journey to Stormsgate. I was also familiar with various canid species from the Moors. Many of those creatures were only somewhat canine.

That gave me context for the bipedal dog that stepped into the room. It was like the proportions of a dog had been altered until it stood and moved like a gam. Or alma, I supposed.

The second soul entered behind the fur covered one. It was obviously an alma male in form. Although the skin seemed abnormally dry. And its eyes were red orbs with no white, iris or pupil.

They honestly looked more like gam eyes. Simply crimson rather than glossy black.

But their physical appearance was not especially important. The most interesting thing about the two was obvious from the moment I sensed their souls.

The newcomers used unlife animus. They were undead by alma terms. Which gave a different and stranger perspective to events.

Qlarants and Zor’matta’z quickly moved to either side of my chair and hoisted it between them. That meant I was hoisted along with it.

I looked up at the canid member of the duo with the widest eyes Rekon’s anatomy could manage. “You have to help me.” I let a wobble enter my tone “This crazy priest is kidnapping me.” We started moving towards the secret door.

“Whatever he is paying you, I’ll double it.” The bipedal dog glanced down. But they reframed from responding.

I knew they were sapient from their soul. But did not know if they understood the alma language or could speak it if so.

“He definitely wants me for something sexual. You know what priests are like.” I did not know if there was any stereotype about priests and sexual deviance. But I had observed how modest alma were about sex.

“He’ll probably do the same to you once I’m used up.” We maneuvered the corner and started down a staircase that ran parallel with the wall.

“Or… is that what you want?” I looked back and forth between them. Realization spread across my face.

“He is paying you with his holy man-meat. Your hooked on priestly pegging!” I gasped with the revelation. My expression shifted a moment later.

“In that case, my offer still stands.” I hooded my eyes. A sultry tone entering my voice.

“I’d be happy to double it, fuzzy. If he’s offering four inches, I’ll give you eight.” I heard laughter break out behind me. It was from the location I sensed Priest Əfron.

That was not the information I was looking for. Yet it still gave me some insight into my captor.

We reached the base of the stairs. The corridor beyond was closer to a tunnel carved from bedrock.

“If it’s his hands, you cannot beat experience, I guarantee you. Age before beauty.” We started down the tunnel.

“Can I smack him?” The canid had an odd voice. It was clearly understandable as alma speech. Yet the sounds were all wrong.

It was as if the vocal structure was different. Which it probably was. Alma certainly sounded different than gam.

“Not until we know if he can take it.” Priest Əfron was still chuckling. “If he turns out to be something that can survive a werewolf mauling, go for it.”

Now that told me several important things. The canid was a werewolf.

Well that was not very important. I had never heard of a werewolf. But it might be important later.

Priest Əfron confirmed I was going to be examined or tested for species as he put it. That was likely related to the probe he mentioned.

I might be able to escape before that. My body was trapped. And they clearly thought I was helpless. That suggested animus weaving was also handled somehow.

Alma seemed unable to perceive or interact with essence. Nith’s final few hours told me that could change. But I doubted my captors had precautions against it.

Essence moved through spellwork meant to detect or stop animus without interacting. That made me an unsuppressed caster with enough essence reserves to levitate a medium mountain.

It would take me a minute to create a powerful offensive weaving. But I was not being rushed.

Two things stopped me. Fear of the unknown and fascination with the unknown.

Alma were a species with a civilization beyond my current understanding. The scale of their resources meant a group like the Church of the Creator could have items or individuals that would trap me easily.

I was not confident these people were part of the Church of the Creator. But the potential downsides of direct conflict remained.

I was also intensely curious who they were. And why they included undead.

My view was limited. But I sensed us passing more undead and a few alma.

“Help! I’m being held by a priest’s werewolf fuck toy!” I screamed as we came close to a group of unlife animus souls.

All I got from the repeated behavior was a few irritated growls and one stifled snort from the red eyed captor. That was fine. I already got more information than I had before.

We finally entered an arching room. Quite a few people were inside. Mostly undead. Yet a handful of alma were spread throughout.

There were six violet crystalin columns in the center of the room. They were covered in animus almost as intricate as a soul.

I could not tell what most of it did. But certain parts reminded me of the advanced soul analysis spells Nith used.

My chair was carried to the middle of the crystal pillars. I was set down and turned to face a glass wall. Priest Əfron stood inside.

A metal box resembling a lectern hid his lower body. It was also heavily enchanted. But the enchantments were crude compared to those tied to the columns.

“Hold tight, Rekon. We’ll be probing you in a minute.” Priest Əfron sounded as casual as ever. He was clearly adjusting controls on the box.

Jarimy and most of the occupants of the room accompanied Priest Əfron behind the clear barrier. It completely isolated that section of the domed chamber. Even his voice was transmitted magically to me.

I considered what I knew. They wanted to know what I was. Which means the enchantment for looking at souls was going to look at my soul.

Alma magic could not detect essence. Not without methods I doubt they had. Which meant they would see I had no soul.

Nith panicked when he saw a soulless creature. Then he proceeded to do everything he could to discover what it meant.

Nith was also a controlling psychopath with a crippling fear of powerlessness. But the need to understand the unknown was present in every sapient creature I had encountered.

They could not explain the absence of a soul. They would try. And they might discover too much of my abilities and limitations in the process.

Could I alter the enchantment? It was too complicated. I could probably damage or destroy it. But that would cause all sorts of problems with these fine people.

I glanced to the varied creatures around me. To the souls around me. To the animus structures…

That was all a soul was. An animus structure and a spark. They were really complex. But they were also diverse.

Could I do it? Would the enchantment know the difference between a real soul and a replica?

It would have to be as close as I could make it. Hopefully the inaccuracies would be attributed to an abnormal soul. The people in this room certainly had a few strange soul organelle.

I began gathering unbound essence as Priest Əfron glided across controls just out of sight. I had little time.

I had practice making life animus from learning alma spellcasting. Should I use it?

No. It was too far from their narrative. I needed to appear as the undead they expected me to be. Even an unrecognized undead species would obfuscate my true nature.

I converted essence and wove fake unlife animus through my body. The channels had to be finer than any alma spell I had attempted.

“And… go!” The gray haired priest exclaimed. I barely noticed.

The macro-structure formed easily. But it was only a scaffolding.

Tendrils of woven animus uncurled from the pillars. They reached for me. I was running out of time.

I desperately slammed my intentions for a soul into the remaining gathered essence. It absorbed what I wanted and sank into the half finished soul.

The foreign animus reached me as the fake soul resolved. Threads wove through my replica. Branching and wrapping every channel with a thoroughness that worried me.

Nothing was changed. Only inspected. Data perceivably feeding back to the main enchantment.

I raised an eyebrow at the tense crowd. The faint glow of the crystals cast me in purple hues. Priest Əfron was absorbed in the panel before him. But a few of the onlookers seemed uncomfortable.

The invasive weaving retreated from my soul without damaging it. The glow faded.

A laugh better described as a giggle broke the silence. Priest Əfron placed a hand over his face. The muffled sound continued for a few moments.

He then straightened. A smile that somehow prickled my skin met the room.

“Ladies and monstrosities.” He pivoted to face the gathered sapients behind him. “We have ourselves an unclean spirit.”