“I have to say, Chancellor, that too many chefs do not in fact spoil the broth. Try it, the chefs taste great.”

– Dread Empress Sanguinia I, the Gourmet

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My clash with the Prince of Nightfall had made me far warier of the power of stories within the world. I wasn’t certain exactly how strong the narrative was, but I would still try to watch out for it. It also made me far more worried about the Calamities. I was doing my best to learn about the politics of Callow as we moved through it. What I learned painted a concerning picture. The Black Knight went out of his way to avoid many of the more obvious stories. He founded orphanages, regulated the education system, and actively prohibited any behaviour on the parts of his legions that would drive citizens to rebel.

It was the kind of behaviour I would expect more from a proper amoral tyrant, rather than from a monologuing villain. The man knew what he was doing, probably better than I did.

That made remaining in Callow very dangerous.

I had raised the issue with Roland, but he had brushed me off angrily. He was still upset over me not confiding in him and seemed determined not to trust anything I said.

I didn’t relent and brought the matter to Maxime. This concerned our safety and I felt Roland was putting us all at risk. I wasn’t sure just how spread out the Eyes of the Empire were, but there was a good chance our actions were being heavily scrutinized. Max agreed with me and confronted Roland about the matter.

Roland was undeterred.

Quietly, Maxime informed me that he suspected Roland didn’t want to return to Procer out of a desire to avoid confronting his own past. The death of his brother still hung over him, and staying in Callow allowed him to avoid it.

As frustrating as it was, I wasn’t willing to just abandon him despite our current dispute. I was doing my best now to shroud us in secrecy whenever I could, making us as uninteresting as possible to everyone we passed by. It was draining to do and left me feeling irate.

The others kept pressing me for details on my life. I kept putting them off. I told them about many of the fights I was in, but nothing that really mattered to me. The end of the world. The distance between me and my dad. All the people I missed now that I was here. They were all topics I avoided. Some of the pains I had thought myself over, but losing everything had made them feel fresh. All of it hurt too much to talk about when sober, and I wasn’t about to start drinking again. Besides, I was in a new world. I was owed a fresh start.

I didn’t want to think about Earth Bet. There was a part of me that was quietly hoping for a way back there. Calernia didn’t feel like home to me. Another part of me worried that if I talked about it, the hope would grow. I didn’t want to start building up that hope only to disappoint myself.

If I never looked into it, I couldn’t be let down.

I strongly feared that if I was let down that way, I wouldn’t be able to pull myself back up. That if I found another goal and didn’t think about it, the hope would always remain. Right now, I needed that hope just to make it through the day.

Travelling with Roland and Max wasn’t that goal, but it kept me occupied. It kept me moving forward, rather than regressing.

My first harvest festival had been an interesting experience. The people in Callow were much more open about sex than I was used to, and that had been made clear to me during the raucous celebrations. I had to turn down far more people than I was actually comfortable with.

I wasn’t in the right state of mind for a casual fling.

It was also odd seeing people refuse to eat poultry when the geese were migrating, but that was easier to swallow.

We arrived in Hedges at the start of Winter. A light dusting of snow fell over the pastures as we rode in from the south. Despite this, the place felt cosy. It was a small town that barely had a wall surrounding it. It looked so worn down that if the fairytale wolf came and huffed and puffed, I was certain it would fall over.

We set up shop once more, by now it was an experience all three of us were familiar with. Despite Maxime having recently started teaching me the theory behind healing, it was not something I had risked putting into practice just yet. None of us knew what would happen if I did, since I wasn’t using traditional sorcery. The plan was to test it on animals first.

I didn’t expect it to go well, but it was a skill I was determined to learn. Even if it meant having to learn far more about biology than I had ever intended to, being able to modify biology was too valuable a skill to pass up.

I was busy stirring a cauldron inside when a man came in, looking visibly concerned.

“This is the place with the wizards?” He asked.

I looked him over more critically.

A full head taller than me and broad shouldered, he was absolutely massive. Put in any room, and I would bet on him towering over everyone inside. His face was weathered, worn down by age. I guessed he was in his late fifties. Despite this, he stood straight. I couldn’t see anything immediately wrong with him, so I wondered what the problem was.

I hoped it wasn’t another one of those men hoping for a pick me up in bed. Too many people came in for a treatment for that “ailment.”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Would you mind looking over my wife for me? I’ve visited the priests, and they said there was nothing they could do.” He sounded distraught.

That sounded more serious.

“Just a moment,” I told him.

Looking over the mixture more critically, I determined that it had another minute or so before it was done. Once it finished simmering, I put out the fire, leaving it to cool.

“Right, I’m not actually the healer, but I can take a look and give you some idea if there is something that can be done. Mind if I let my friends know that I’m going out?” The others were upstairs, busy looking over somebody else. This was something I could do on my own.

“That’s fine,” he agreed.

It wasn’t feasible for us to always stick together. By necessity, we sometimes had to split up. That didn’t mean we couldn’t be careful about it. Telling each other where we were going and what we were doing was the very least we could do to avoid problems.

After going upstairs and letting them know what I was doing, I came down and told him to show me to her.

He nodded at me thankfully, then started leading the way out.

The light from the sun shone down from above, shining through between the leafless branches of trees on either side of the road. We made our way rapidly to a farm just outside the city walls. I was alert, wary in case of an ambush. I didn’t actually expect one, considering how stupid it would be to try to attack an alleged wizard. That still wasn’t a good reason for me to be careless. After all, it would only take one mistake on my part to end up dead in a ditch.

The farmer invited me in and after being led to the bedroom, I was greeted by the sigh of an elderly lady sleeping peacefully in bed. At first glance, it seemed there was nothing wrong. Then I noticed the painting hanging from the wall.

It was a painting of the wife standing beneath what I guessed was The Wall. The Wall was a structure which existed in Daoine, separating the Duchy of Daoine from the Greenskin Marches.

The style looked familiar, but I didn’t immediately recognize it. Something about it tickled my memory. It bothered me, so I asked about it.

“Where did you buy that?”

Bewildered, the man took a moment to respond.

“Why, is it important? I brought you here to look over my wife!” He sounded upset.

“Because something about it is familiar. Maybe it’s related.” I answered.

“We bought it a week ago from a travelling merchant. My wife only passed out four days ago, though. Now, tell me. Is there anything you can do?” He pressed.

A sense of foreboding stole over me as I recalled the Arcadian Artist. It wasn’t a guarantee it was him, but the possibility was there and it was strong. I realized why I hadn’t recognized it immediately. The quality of the work was much lower than the paintings I had seen before. The lines of the brush strokes seemed more careless, as if they were done in a hurry without being given much thought.

I was about to tell the farmer my suspicions, when I felt the phantom fingers of Max pressing down on my shoulders.

Think, Taylor.

If I told him there was a villainous painter going around, what kind of outcome would it cause? If he believed me, he would be angry. Maybe go to the Legions and rouse a fuss. Regardless of whether the Artist was here or not, telling him would cause more trouble than we needed.

We could solve the problem, without actually informing the farmer of the cause.

… It also wasn’t my decision alone to make. I was part of a group. That meant taking other people’s opinions into account.

“I will need to consult with my friends. There is nothing I can do alone, but I think one of them may be able to help.” I told him. He didn’t look happy, but he accepted the outcome with a wordless nod.

Making my way back to our shop, I prepared to break the news.

This seemed like the beginnings of a story. That meant Roland was going to be the one front and centre stage.

Arriving, I made my way upstairs. Their patient had since been ushered out, and the two of them were talking to each other in low voices. From a distance, it looked like they were examining something of a desk, but I couldn’t make out what.

“Roland,” I said.

“Yes, Taylor?” He replied frostily, without looking up.

“I think we have a problem.”

Both of them stopped what they were doing and turned my way.

“How rough are we talking here, Taylor? Alamans or Lycaonese?” Max asked.

I ignored what he said and continued to lay out what I found.

“A farmer came in. His wife has been unconscious for four days. In their room is a painting they bought from a travelling artist a week ago. I think the Arcadian Artist is somewhere nearby.”

What levity remained drained out of the room.

“Did you cause us further strife by raising your concerns with the farmer?” Roland accused.

“No.”

“Then we should begin investigating. Our first step should be to ask around, find out if anyone knows where he is. Once we have discovered where he has made his lair, we can perform a closer reconnaissance.” Roland started laying out his thoughts, planning out what we should do.

Despite how long I had spent playing either second or third fiddle to him, it still rankled not being the one in control. Learning to let someone I felt didn’t have enough experience take the lead was hard for me. Sadly, with Names involved, it might actually be the right choice. Fortunately, he didn’t completely disregard my advice.

Max and I would stick together. It was one of the defence mechanisms we had agreed to try out. I wasn’t sure how much it would help, but it was better to try something than nothing at all. We suspected it would work to avoid stories involving companions being abducted, although we couldn’t be entirely sure. It certainly avoided stories involving defenceless maidens off on their own. Not that I was a maiden regardless.

The two of us set out and started asking around.

What we learned was concerning.

There were another five cases like this in the outlying farms. The farmer who had brought the matter to us was just the first to get us involved. The Artist wasn’t being discreet at all. After regrouping, we discussed the matter. Max suggested that it was an effort to recoup his losses after we drove him away. The idea seemed plausible.

The fact that he would be willing to be so direct after being circumspect in his previous encounter surprised me. My guess was that he intended to leave using his brush again and didn’t care to burn bridges as a result.

Soon enough, we learned that our suspect had left the city, heading out west. I wasn’t sure where he was going. That way lay the Whitecaps. They were the mountain range dividing Callow and Procer and at this part of the range, there wasn’t an easy way to cross. It was no matter. Whether he was heading there to paint the scenery or start a new plot, we would find and stop him.

The three of us collected our belongings and headed out in pursuit. We were days behind, and so we had to push hard. I wasn’t sure whether the Artist would be expecting anyone to follow him or not. With the way he seemed to work, he didn’t draw much attention to himself. By the time evidence of his activity started to show up in an area, he had already moved on. Him drawing attention to himself like this seemed like a break in the pattern.

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Four days into our following of his trail, and we finally caught sight of a caravan on the horizon. The terrain had grown rugged. The grass was short, and the ground was uneven. In the distance, the mountains loomed. It was a nightmare to progress. Our transport was not built for this kind of terrain, and I doubted the Artist’s caravan was either.

We spotted it standing just below what looked to be the ruins of some ancient civilization. The ruins themselves were on a plateau above and weren’t easily reached, but whatever the place was, it looked to have an interesting history.

The field of disinterest I maintained around myself was a constant drain, but I would rather keep it up than risk any problems.

Then I felt something odd. It was like a braided knot tied inside my sphere of influence. Curious, I poked at it and found it unyielding.

“There’s something strange up there,” I pointed from my position on the cart.

“Strange how?” Max mused.

Roland stood up and began an incantation. His eyes flashed briefly, then he turned towards where I indicated.

“Indeed, I am unable to discern any notable discrepancies,” he added.

“It’s like there’s a knot in my perception up in those ruins,” I explained.

The other two looked at each other, concerned. Whilst Max was accepting of what I could do, Roland was still uncomfortable with it. This was the first time something had appeared that was only detectable to me and not them, so their reaction was reasonable.

“Have you any insights into the nature of this oddity?” Roland inquired, sitting down again.

I focused harder on it. This particular sense was extremely subtle and took a lot of concentration for me to even notice it was there. I doubted I would be able to provide them with any useful information, but there was no harm in trying.

Whatever it was, I didn’t think it was alive, but I couldn’t actually prove it. The sensation of whatever it was mostly closely approximated the feeling of approaching a warded building. That was the only reason I was able to make any judgement calls about it at all.

“I… think it’s some sort of ward, but I’m not sure,” I hedged.

Both of them seemed satisfied with my response.

“Then we should endeavour to approach most cautiously as we make to engage with our foe.”

I didn’t know why there was a ward active this far out. But I did agree that leaving it alone did seem like a smart idea.

“Yeah,” I replied.

We picked up our pace, moving closer. We had halved the distance when I called for a stop. I doubted the effect I was maintaining would offset the oddity of seeing three people in the middle of nowhere if we moved any closer. Especially since the Artist apparently negotiated with the Fae. It seemed likely he would have experience with similar effects.

The drain was also a liability once we actually got into a fight.

“He’ll probably notice us if we move closer,” I stated.

It was unfortunate. Being able to simply walk right up and knife the man would make the situation so much easier.

“It is the most likely of circumstances,” Roland agreed.

“We should ambush him,” Maxime stated firmly.

I was inclined to agree.

“Which of us do you believe should strike out as our guiding knife?” Roland asked.

We had what loosely counted as three mages, and the Artist was vulnerable without time to actually prepare. The others had clued me in on how the Artist appeared to fight. He had the ability to bring some of his paintings to life, materializing them in Creation. The constructs were still blobs of animated paint, but that didn’t make them less dangerous. The claws of the painted tiger that Maxime had fought we just as sharp as real claws, despite being made of paint.

The Artist’s ability was odd because of how versatile it seemed to be. Nothing in magic was free, he had to be paying for the power somehow. We suspected that it was fuelled by captured souls.

“Why not try to coordinate a joint strike all at the same time?” I kept my eyes on the Artist’s position as I spoke, in case something went wrong.

“If we commit the fullness of our strength to the opening blow, then how are we to deal with his response?”

I sort of followed his logic, but I didn’t like it. It was more story bullshit. If we committed fully at the start, then he could escalate and we would have no appropriate response. Still, I’d already been bitten once by a story, I was willing to give this a shot.

“Maxime should. He has the most experience with war magic,” I answered.

“You want me to fuck around first? Why not you, girlie? Out of all of us, you can strike-”

Suddenly, I felt a change. It was as if there were two different places overlapping somewhere inside the caravan.

“I think the Artist is doing something,” I interjected urgently. “I can feel something in the world around me. We need to act fast.”

Both of the others became alert at what I said.

“Maxime, heed her words,” Roland commanded.

“I can blow him from here,” Maxime declared. His gaze sharpened, it looked like he was preparing to cast.

“Forces from above, powerful and profound,” he began, raising the palm of his right hand to the sky. His other hand traced symbols in the air.

I jumped off the cart and then split off to the left. Roland did the same, but split off to the right. This time, we wouldn’t be allowing the Artist to get away.

“I call upon you to pay heed, bring your wrath to bear.” His hand came down, index finger pointing towards the caravan.

“Hear me now and rend this world asunder!”

Jaquinite sorcery when used properly was very dramatic to watch. Max had told me it was based off of mages trying to emulate the miracles of priests with their workings. If you were in it for theatre, I could definitely see the appeal. I would prefer to know a different school of magic myself. I wasn’t the biggest fan of how everything done by Jacquinite wizards looked and sounded like you were supplicating yourself before the gods.

Unfortunately, after spending time in Callow and having seen some of what Trismegistan sorcery could do, I was regretting that it hadn’t been what I was taught to use. It apparently required more book learning up front, but had a much greater pay-off long term. That is, I would regret it if I ever found myself using traditional sorcery instead of doing… Whatever it was that I was doing.

The sky darkened for a moment. Then, three consecutive bolts of lightning came crashing down out of a cloudless sky, blasting into our enemy's mode of transportation. The charred wreckage rolled over thrice before coming to rest.

Staying alert, I sped up. I was waiting until I saw our opponent before I attacked. I didn’t know my exact limits on larger effects. It wasn’t like I could test them without drawing attention. Better for me to be sure, then waste my efforts on nothing.

The distance continued to close. Up ahead, what looked to be two dozen painted tigers suddenly phased into existence. Reacting on instinct, I hurled a ball of fire at one of them. It was far more effective than I expected. The fire spread rapidly over it, consuming it entirely in a matter of heartbeats.

Alerted by my attack, the others started to close in. Maxime and Roland joined in the assault. It didn’t take long before the creatures had been whittled down to the last remaining tiger. Now that I was more alert, I took the time to examine it more closely. It was clearly painted into existence. Its stripes were thick lines of ivory black paint trailing across a body composed of burnt sienna blobs.

It really was the Artist then.

Not that I had had any doubts, but it was good to confirm it.

Disposing of it, we picked up the pace. All of us were tense.

“He’s trying to slow us down!” Max exclaimed.

I couldn’t help but agree.

The tigers served no other purpose than to buy him time. Without catching us in an ambush, they simply weren’t threatening. Right now, we were already forewarned. If he didn’t come up with a something else, then this fight wouldn’t be a problem at all. It would not be long now until we were close enough to engage the Artist properly.

Then a painted dragon manifested.

It was twenty feet from tail to snout and seemed to have been conceived of in a hurry. Whilst the outline of the Dragon had been completed, and the extremities had been painted in, the stomach was an incomplete mess with holes gaping through. The crimson brush strokes that made up its wings were messy and dripped splotches of paint onto the rocky ground below.

For a moment, I paused.

That…hadn’t been what I was expecting.

Right then, I looked on in that way animals do when they respond to the presence of a larger predator. Shaking myself out of my funk, I hurled a ball of flame at it.

The dragon caught light.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Flames still hurt it!” I shouted out.

It dashed forward, coming towards me in a blaze of movement. Next thing I knew, one of its claws was swiping at me. I tumbled to the side, trying to avoid the strike. I suppressed a wince as I smashed against some of the snow covered rocks.

Fast!

Another claw came raking down towards me. I manifested a pane of solid force between us. It struck, but my shield held.

I started to run, making some distance between myself and the dragon. I threw more flames at it as I went, trying to keep up the pressure. The dragon followed. I found, to my mounting dismay, that it moved faster than I did.

A third blow. The shield I conjured this time cracked under the force. I was sent crashing to the ground. I scrambled to my feet.

Why is it focusing on me?

No matter, I would do what I could. I realized that it moved slower when turning. This time, when I ran, I ran towards it and angled just slightly left of its claws. Awkwardly, it tried to stomp on me. I jumped to the side and narrowly avoided it. I could feel the heat radiating from the serpentine conflagration beside me. It was uncomfortably hot this close.

Out of nowhere, two painted tigers jumped at me. Scrambling, the world darkened for a moment before a beam of light bored into them. A wave of fatigue washed over me. The drain was starting to set in.

Fuck.

Distantly, I saw Roland behind the dragon. He was raining down balls of flame on its right flank, feeding into the blaze. The dragon whipped its tail back and forth, sending Roland flying backwards. I hoped that he wasn’t badly hurt. Then, a bolt of lightning came hurtling out of the sky, smashing into the dragon. The beast roared.

This wasn’t working. It was burning, but not fast enough. Another strike, and this time my shield shattered. I summoned a reinforced dome around myself, buying time to think.

If we couldn’t burn through it quick enough, then we needed to contain it somehow. I wasn’t sure if it could actually fly, since it hadn’t tried yet, but it would actually be less of a threat in the air. Up there, it couldn’t use its bulk as a battering ram. That gave me the inkling of an idea. I focused on the ground below it, turning dirt and rocks into mush. It started to sink in.

Scrambling, it let out a roar. Parts of it spread out into the mud. Then, it took flight. Crimson flecks rained down upon us as it flapped its wings.

At that point, the unexpected happened. The paint in the mud started to turn into amorphous blobs of ooze. That would have been fine on its own, except the ooze was on fire and jumping towards me.

I conjured a beam of frost, pulling snow from the surrounding landscape and flash freezing one of them. There were more of them coming my way, though, and I couldn’t afford to be indiscriminate. Not with my friends nearby. Frustrated, I resorted to containment. I pulled up the surrounding ground, shaping it into walls and boxing them in.

The efforts of changing so much was rapidly wearing me down. My vision started to swim.

A tiger crashed into the side of my dome. How many of the cats did the Artist make? Irritated, I doused it in napalm and left it to die. The world was spinning. I realized that the fumes of burning paint were starting to colour my perception. Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the fight raging above.

Another series of lightning bolts came crashing down from above, smashing into the dragon. Max was in fine form today, it seemed. His attack struck one of its wings, disrupting its flight.

Then the beast did something unexpected. It seemed to roll up into itself, from tail to snout. As it did so, its mass compressed into its head. Then it acted. In a final act of spite, it breathed its body out as a cone of flaming paint. If it hadn’t been on fire, it would have been more comical than threatening. Unfortunately, it was.

The remaining snow all around the battlefield was pulled in towards one point. Then, a pillar of condensed snow shot up from the ground. The pillar proceeded to curve outwards. It shaped itself into a dome. The flames collided with it. They broke up on contact, scattering around. I looked around and saw Roland panting beside our wagon. Seemed it had been action on his part then.

I started making my way towards him. Max sidled up beside me and we arrived together not long after.

“We must make haste. The Artist is surely using the commotion to buy time in order to enact his escape.” Roland declared.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

Max said nothing.

The three of us started to approach the caravan’s remains. Shaping a hole into the floor, we entered. Inside was a mess of upturned artistry. Cautiously, we looked around. Supplies were strewn haphazardly across the interior, and furniture had been displaced. Shattered glass and flecks of paint decorated the place like a work of modern art. We walked forward along the right wall, careful where we placed our feet as we went.

The artist couldn’t be seen.

Then, on the far wall, I spotted a doorway that had been painted in white tinged with red. I moved in close, examining it further. Experimentally, I grabbed a rolled up sheet of canvas and prodded the paint. The canvas passed right through.

Frowning, I pulled the canvas out and looked over it closely. It looked perfectly fine. I dropped the canvas. I suspected the Artist had escaped through the painting. That was how he escaped the last time, right?

Slowly, I poked the doorway with my stump. I figured if I was going to lose some more of my body to ill-advised experimentation, it might as well be the part I had already partially lost. It sunk in, but otherwise seemed to be undamaged when I pulled it out. Feeling more assured, I reached out with my hand.

My hand passed through the paint.

“He went through here,” I called out.

Max sidled up beside me.

“How can you be sure?” He asked.

Shrugging, I picked up the roll of canvas by way of explanation and tossed it right through.

“You didn’t check what happens by sticking parts of your body through there, did you?” He said, accusingly.

“I stuck the canvas in first!” I protested half-heartedly.

“Taylor, how many times do I need to tell you to care about yourself more!” He exclaimed.

I looked away sheepishly.

You’re not my dad.

The thought registered dimly, but I didn’t say it out loud. Even if he was, I was nineteen, and I had been looking after myself for years before I arrived here. I could manage just fine.

“It was only a small part of my stump,” I protested.

He seized me in both hands by the shoulders and gently shook me.

“If you don’t give a fuck about yourself, how can you give a fuck about anyone else? Weeping heavens, girl. Think! What do you think it would do to us if one day you happened to kill yourself?”

I froze stiffly.

Roland cleared his throat noisily. Both of us turned and glared at him.

“I feel like I should remind you two that while you are talking, the Artist is making his escape.”

“Right, well,” Max said, looking flustered. “Let’s get a move on.”

The three of us stepped through and found ourselves in a verdant jungle. The trills of birdsong rang out around us, and the leaves of evergreens blocked out the sky above. I looked around, frowning. I didn’t know which way our foe had gone.

The feel of this place reminded me of when I had fought the Prince of Nightfall.

“Be careful,” I declared, “I think we are in Arcadia.”

Both of the others tensed.

“That way,” Max declared, pointing decisively. “See the way the underbrush has been disturbed. That isn’t the work of animals. He went that way.”

Following his lead, we progressed deeper into the jungle. It was slow-going, and the more time dragged on, the more our frustrations began to mount.

Eventually, we reached a tree with the outline of a doorway painted onto it. The paint was white, with hints of red. Likely the blood that the paintbrush needed. We stepped through the portal and were immediately put on the defence.

On the other side there was an ambush of tigers waiting. Hurriedly, I deployed a wall of force. They slammed into it, snarling at us. Cream-white spittle dripped all over the barrier.

The feeling of the knot was gone. I suspected that didn’t bode well for us.

“Oh, how considerate of you fellows to join me. Marvellous, just marvellous. For a hero, you have my sincere admiration. I must admit that seeing you put that demon to use served as inspiration-”

… And of course the Artist was monologuing at us.

He was far behind the snarling cats, standing on the platform on the back of an absurdly large painted pachyderm. In one hand, he waved around a canvas with a sloppy painting of a standard on it. It was pitch black with a golden snake swallowing its own tail painted on. He wore a rainbow-coloured cloak on his back, which fluttered in the icy wind. Behind him, were the ruins we had seen from below.

I saw no reason to just let him talk.

I drew deeply and deployed a cone of light in front of me. There wasn’t a single part of me that was willing to allow this fight to drag on. When the spots cleared from my eyes, all the tigers were gone. Drained, I folded to my knees.

The elephant was singed, but otherwise still intact. It stomped its feet angrily and turned to face my way.

… I should have gone for something more direct against him.

And he was still talking.

I started to gather myself for another strike. This one I would make sure was both more direct and fatal.

“-finding a journal detailing this location took a great deal of coin, but was clearly worth the cost. Now, thank you all for volunteering. Your contribution to my vision has been duly noted. You will be the soul of my next piece. For the next part-”

Max threw a fireball at him, interrupting his speech.

The Artist dodged aside and looked like he was about to keep talking, when my senses screamed at me. I tried to figure out what was wrong. Then I noticed that the painting of the banner had caught light.

An emptiness blossomed inside my perception. It was ravenous, seeming to try to actively consume the essence of me, and it was spreading fast. This… wasn’t good.

Don’t panic.

For the time being, it seemed to ignore the others. As if I was the tastiest meal in the room. Alarm mounting, I slammed my will back. I managed to reclaim some of what I was.

Whatever this thing was, the experience of fighting it was bizarre. The space that it occupied inside the nebulous area that felt like me, no longer felt like me. If I was to describe it, it felt like the absence of anything at all. The feeling of the very essence of non-existence was disorienting, especially since it seemed to be competing with the idea of me.

In the background, I saw the expression of the Artist shift into one of distress. He jumped off the back of the elephant, trying to put some distance between himself and the rapidly growing absence in reality. Max and Roland sent more fireballs his way, and I heard him yelp as he was scorched.

Another jagged slice was carved out of me, and I grimaced, fully focusing back on my own fight. If I wasn’t already on my knees, I would be by now. It reminded me of my clash of wills with the Prince of Nightfall. Only, this enemy was far less methodical, almost rabid in how it lashed out.

It made it both easier and harder for me to fight against.

Another attack came my way, biting into me. Each strike felt like an ever-growing emptiness. It was what I imagined Imp’s power would feel like, if you could sense she was there.

Fuck it.

Angrily, I formed my will into jaws and took a bite out of it in return. I wasn’t just going to give this thing a free meal. That…turned out to be a mistake. The chunk that I took out of it tasted of paradox. As if I was hungrier for having eaten it in the first place.

I winced in pain. Right now, the absence was still winning. It was simply too fast for me to react to, and had already eaten a large part of me. Panic was starting to set in.

Max and Roland were busy contesting the elephant, which had positioned itself between them and the Artist. The beast was tougher than expected and was giving them a rough time.

My fight continued. I wasn’t sure what I could do. All the tactics I had tried against it so far had failed, it seemed almost memetic in how fast it was able to strike out.

This isn’t good.

What could I do? It didn’t seem to adapt, or have any real intelligence at all. If I was to describe it, it was as if it was the essence of a single idea given form. It was the hole in my heart where my mom, dad and Lisa used to be. It was safety in Brockton Bay after Leviathan. A living idea that happened to be exceptionally skilled at making things absent.

The creature was much better than me at doing that single thing. But… My advantage here was that I had options. I wasn’t limited to one tactic. What would be the best way to counter it? If it was absence then…

Could I…make it present then?

I had no idea if it would work, but I was running out of time and had no better ideas. I focused on the idea of remembering forgotten dreams, of nostalgia for events that never happened. It was the most abstract effect I had tried to force on the world so far. This was also the first idea I had tried to manifest that I had no power basis for. To my surprise, I didn’t have much trouble imposing it.

It was as if the world really, really didn’t like what the creature was doing to it.

The effect took, and the beast reeled back.

Finally, an effective weapon.

Unfortunately, it was still far faster at this type of combat than I was. Even with a tool that worked, I was losing ground.

Maxime and Roland had shifted their attention away from the elephant and were trying to box the creature in with wards. They weren’t proving particularly effective, but I appreciated the help nonetheless.

I was about to suggest we do our best to run away from this thing when a word rang out.

“Harmonize.”

For a moment I saw double. Two worlds, Creation and Arcadia. Then, within a radius of about five hundred feet, they overlapped. Unfortunately, I couldn’t take the time to appreciate the beauty of the merge because I was busy trying not to be utterly consumed.

Then out of the sky, a very angry looking Fae lady dropped. She fell on the other side of the emptiness, but halted her descent midair by manifesting a platform of light. She was tall, light skinned and with hair of flame. The air surrounding her warped from the heat. In moments, my presence compressed again down to the smallest of balls. She stood above the battlefield with the air of someone who was clearly in their element.

At that point, everyone except me and the horrible nothingness ceased fighting and stared at her for a moment. The absence didn’t stop because I don’t think it was even capable of conceiving of surprise. I didn’t halt because I was certain that if I did, then I wouldn’t survive. To my relief, the constriction of my essence had given me somewhat of a reprieve. The thing was only brushing up the narrowest portion of me now, but unfortunately, on the other side it was currently spilling out into the countryside.

The merge ended, but the Fae Princess remained.

As if the day couldn’t get any worse.

Then the Fae lady turned to me and spoke. “I greet you warmly, Princess of the Court Beyond the Stars. Have you come to lay claim to the lands of Summer, then?” Her voice had a lilting musicality to it. Despite the distance, I could hear her clearly.

As she talked, she bombarded the void with waves of fire and light. It didn’t seem to be harming the thing, but it was being pressed back against me once more, no longer expanding on the other side.

I shivered involuntarily.

Somehow, I didn’t think I would like her definition of warm greetings.

The heat ramped up significantly, becoming blinding to look at. I averted my gaze, focusing solely on my fight. Most of the ruins on the other side of the battlefield had been melted down into slag.

The Princess was absolutely terrifying.

Maxime and Roland had both left the battlefield and moved in beside me. Their faces were pale, and they seemed to be on their last emotional legs. They were completely worn out.

“I do not intend to lay claim to the lands of Summer,” I shouted out. I had no idea if it was the right thing to say, but right now I could not afford to fight a battle on two fronts.

Let’s not upset the Fae, Taylor.

Once again, I felt a presence looking in. It seemed to take note of what I said. Then, it promptly vanished. It disturbed me, but right now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t managed to learn much about the Fae yet. The kinds of books that contained that information I needed were banned in Callow, and so I only had children’s stories to go off of.

“She’s… Princess…Sulia…” Roland panted out at me. Sweat ran down his brow in rivers, the heat from the Fae was overpowering.

I didn’t know what that meant. If she operated at a similar level to the Prince of Nightfall, though, then in our current state we didn’t stand a chance.

I continued to wield my weapon against the emptiness. With the smaller surface area to defend, it was easier for me to fight back. I realized what the Princess was doing. Her attacks seemed capable of moving the thing, but not harming it. She was forcing it against me to see it finally killed. Each strike of mine, the beast recoiled as I hit at it with its complete opposite.

“Who?” I hissed back for clarification.

The scorching presence I had felt from the Princess seemed to cool suddenly. It no longer felt like I stood in the centre of an inferno, but instead felt like I stood next to the fire of a hearth. I looked up at her once more, now that the light shining down on me was no longer blinding in intensity.

“Princess Sulia of the High Noon, girlie,” Max repeated, his face as pale as an ostrich egg.

That still didn’t help. From the way that the other two reacted, though, it was something to be afraid of.

Not that my own experiences with Fae royalty gave me any other kind of impression.

Sulia turned my way again, then smiled radiantly at me. “News of your military prowess has reached the Summer Court. Your command of the battlefield is to be lauded. A visit to our Court on your part would be most welcome. An exchange of tactics would benefit both Courts, after all.”

Despite taking her eyes off of the enemy, her assault did not let up. Slowly the two of us were whittling it away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noted Roland and Maxime looking at me as if I had grown a second head. I wasn’t entirely sure what she was talking about either. I had only ever commanded what could be counted as an army once, and I wasn’t so proud of what I did at the time. If she was referring to that fight, then I wasn’t so keen on seeing the Court of Summer copying the tactics I used either.

The size of the absence had shrunk significantly. It seemed almost panicked, doing anything it could to escape from me. I was tired and worn through, but it didn’t matter. Right now, it seemed that I was winning, and so I went on the assault.

“You told me you weren’t in the army, girlie,” Maxime said reproachfully.

“I wasn’t,” I hissed back.

I needed to think through how I would respond to the Fae Princess.

Despite still being out of my depth, I felt more confident negotiating with the Fae than I was the last time. I had seen enough to convince me that they truly did live life entirely through narrative. That meant that there was a story in play involving me being a Princess, and the Fae were inclined to follow it.

I really should have gone with damsel and not Princess.

I just needed to figure out what the story was. Which was where the problems started. Was I supposed to be an ambassador of some sort? The idea that the Summer Fae wanted to make an alliance with an imaginary Court seemed absurd to me. Unfortunately, it was my best guess.

As magnificent as I expected the Summer Court would be, I didn’t want to actually go there. I didn’t expect I would survive the place for very long. How could I talk myself out of a visit? Refusing outright seemed like a bad idea, she would probably take offence. Maybe try delaying for an indeterminate amount of time? Having to fight this thing and think at the same time meant I was sure to make mistakes.

The last of the essence of nothingness was consumed, and the battle drew to a close. Then, the fires all winked out. It was an intimidating demonstration, showing just how capable the Princess really was. Looking around, I noted the Artist was nowhere in sight. I wasn’t sure if he was dead or had escaped, but I would assume the latter.

Better to be paranoid and alive, than carefree and dead.

The Princess manifested stairs of light from the ground to her platform, and then began to descend. She stopped before us.

“We are currently in pursuit of our quarry. They are aligned with Winter’s Host. Would holding off on other matters until our hunt has concluded give offence?” I rasped out. The air was unbearably dry.

Please let this be the end of it.

Whether he escaped or not, I would use him as an excuse to try and untangle myself from Fae politics. The Callowen children’s stories I had read suggested that Summer was militant and valued strength of arms. It was not much to go on, but it was better than nothing. If it was true, then maybe I could use it to escape here.

“That is acceptable. I look forward to your pending visit.” The Fae Princess replied. She seemed pleased about something, much to my chagrin.

Did that vague statement count as making a bargain?

This was a mess I would need to untangle later.

Sulia turned to the portal behind us and eyed it critically. Somehow it had survived the conflict. Stepping through, she turned around and smiled at us, then the entire thing went up in flames.

My bubble of influence spread out again, rapidly claiming the surrounding countryside. Pockets of absence still remained, but I quickly snuffed them all out.

All the tension from the fight drained right out of me.

“Is the Artist dead?” I croaked.

Both of them shrugged.

It seemed none of us knew.

Roland sat down beside me and then started shaking, as if suffering from hysteria. I wasn’t sure what to do.

I turned to Max. He looked pale as well.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Girlie, if you eat out a demon, is it sex or cannibalism?” his voice sounded faint.

What?

I was too tired to say anything back.

“The creature that the two of you felled was an Absence demon. Had it merely touched Max or me, we would never have existed at all,” Roland stated.

“Really?”

There weren’t many things that could allegedly stop demons. Heroes were one, Angels another. If you were utterly mad, using another demon was a distant third.

Guess that really did make me a demon then.

This would make some introductions awkward. What happened when I met someone who could tell what I was at a glance? Someone who didn’t live their life through a story, anyhow. Somehow, I didn’t think telling them I was a friendly demon was ever going to pass muster.

“There is no doubt,” he affirmed.

If that was the case, then no wonder they looked so pale.

“How can I remember? I shouldn’t remember. I have a memory of something that’s not.” Roland muttered quietly to himself.

Because that wasn’t concerning at all.

“We’re fucked now, you know that, right?” Max said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because if anyone finds out about this fight, they will try to purge us for sure.”

Lovely.

“Say…” Maxime trailed off.

“Yes?” I part opened my eyes, looking at him.

“What does Absence demon taste like?”

“You’re more hungry after you eat one,” I told him.

Max smiled, seeming to find the idea funny.

I certainly didn’t.

“Is it within your ability to clean up the corruption?” Roland asked, his voice sounding strained.

“There is none,” I replied absently.

“How certain of this are you?” He pressed.

“It never left the full extent of my influence. When Sulia left, I claimed whatever remained.” I explained.

That seemed to mollify both of them.

“Taylor, I haven’t pressed you hurting but… We need to have a proper talk about where you came from and how you got here, with nothing left out. Without drinks involved.” It was the most serious I had seen Max in a while.

“Do we really need to?”

“How’s about another deal,” Max said. “One day a month, all of us tells one story from our past. The ones that hurt the most. All of us are hurting, this way we can find strength from each other. You promised that you would pick yourself up, remember?”

That sounded like a compromise of sorts. That they would share, because they wanted me to.

It reminded me vaguely of Jessica Yamada, except none of us were psychologists.

“I find these terms agreeable,” Roland added.

That was obvious. We all knew his story.

It seemed I wouldn’t be avoiding my demons after all.

“Fine.”

“It’s imperative that we ascertain the wholeness of what you can do, Taylor. The manner in which you arrived, if others like you will arrive as well. I propose that moving forward we consider this our primary goal.” Roland expanded as he climbed to his feet.

“I thought you wanted to be a hero, though, go out and help others?” I asked

“What kind of hero would I be if I did not make the effort to assist my friends. This is your journey as much as it is mine,” He replied.

I… was going to have to live with that. I suppose it beat just aimlessly wandering around. It gave us a goal, even if it was one I had been actively avoiding because of how much it hurt. Find out more about how I got here.

And risk having my hopes crushed.

“Furthermore, I would go so far as to state that we may have to journey into Praes to learn more.”

While I could see his point about needing to know more about me, I also had no intention of being killed or stuffed in a bottle. Going into Praes sounded like a sure way to end up dead.

“No,” I shut him down immediately, “Callow at most, not Praes.”

“But we need to determine what influence you are having on-”

The battle had shown me that I was missing a lot. I hadn’t even thought to try to create effects that weren’t powers before running into something that did as much. So I could sort of see his concern, but I wasn’t willing to take such a big risk.

“No,” I cut him off again.

“Say girlie,” I could hear the teasing in Maxime’s voice, “when you were planning to tell us you were a proper Princess. A high class lady like you can’t be caught out with the likes of us.”

It took me a moment to realize what he was talking.

“I’m not. I just made that up to occupy the Prince of Nightfall,” I answered curtly.

“If the claim had no merit, then the Princess of High Noon would have entertained it not at all,” Roland denied.

The thought bothered me. It meant that there was even more we needed to find out about. They were both right. I had been stagnating.

Travelling as we had been had helped distract me from my funk, but it wasn’t helping me find a way forward.

“Then we need to learn more about the Fae as well,” I admitted.

We bickered a bit longer, then each of us took a moment to share a single story. Haltingly, I began to talk about the end of the world. I didn’t mention my part in it, only the details surrounding what happened. I told them that as far as I knew, I died during the fight, then I woke up here.

A solemn silence fell for a moment after I finished speaking.

Max talked about what he came home to when his wife and daughter were murdered. Their entrails hanging from hooks dug into the ceiling. Roland talked about the brother he used to know, not the brother that came to be.

I didn’t know if it helped at all, but it seemed like I wouldn’t be able to put off talking about the specifics of my life any longer.

Eventually, the conversation died. The three of us rested for a moment before heading back to the cart. Reflecting on the battle, it felt like defeat. The artist had escaped from us, and we had nothing to show for it.

In the aftermath of the fight, Roland’s attitude towards me finally began to thaw. At least there was some good to come from the fiasco.