Day Thirty-Seven ­– on the ship

Ian’s body shook with sobs, heaving with messy gasps of air and tears.

He couldn’t do anything for the people in the pools. He’d tried over ten separate times to help them, and no matter what he did, they continued to die.

Whoever captured them and kept them on the deck without food, clean water, or shade, chaining them in place...they were a monster. Just the stench coming off the pool at the back of the ship was enough to make him gag. The vision of people packed like sardines in the filthy water, crying out helplessly when he came by, their faces blistered by the sun, was enough to drive him crazy.

“Fuck this nightmare,” he swore, teeth gnashing together. “You win,” he hollered, arms open to the sky. “Whoever you are, whoever invented this sick place, you win.” Tears continued to stream down his face. “What...am I...supposed to do?”

He tried to imagine what his mother would say. “Stop being so pathetic” was a bland, though likely, possibility.

“But what am I supposed to do!?” he repeated, snarling at the open air. “It’s not like this nightmare came with a set of instructions!”

He imagined Mother’s gentle, cruel smile: “Whatever you do, do with the dignity of a gentleman. Stop crying and toughen up. People are always watching for a sign of weakness, Ignatius: Don’t forget what happened to your father and this family.”

Ian’s breathing remained ragged, but his tears began to subside.

His imagined Mother continued: “There’s a reason for your troubles; you just have to find and dissect it. Enter the mind of your opponent; think like your enemy.”

Ian’s face turned dark. He’d already been thinking like his enemy, or at least trying to use the enemy’s power. The red-violet femur in his hands was a testament to it. But he realized that he hadn’t been thinking very rationally, simply boarding the ship, attacking the skeletons, and trying to rescue the people aboard. He’d been short-sighted: The nightmare was far too complicated to just be about defeating some skeletons and rescuing some captives.

“I think it’s time to do some searching,” he muttered as he began to walk back toward the center of the ship. “It’s time I started to actually understand this ship...and its absent captain.”

—

I awake in a cold sweat, hand raised over my face, groaning as I sit up. “Why...why did I dream of those things?” My dreams haven’t strayed back to the beginning of the loop for a long time. I feel for vital energy around me, suspecting that someone has been affecting my dreams.

Found you, I think to myself, locking onto an unfamiliar energy signature on the roof. I freeze them in place, using osteomancy to lock their bones in position. My living chamber is an open, breezy room whose one large window is covered by a sheer curtain enchanted with obfuscation. It should’ve been enough to keep my dreams interference-free.

I dart out the window and fly up to the roof. There I see the source of the vital signature: an individual wrapped in dark layers of cloth such that few distinguishing characteristics are visible.

Hmm, what to do... I need to take this person somewhere secure for questioning, somewhere that won’t invite meaningless attention. But where? My eyes scan the area around me, eventually settling on the reflection of the moon on the water. Seems like the only private place in or around the base is the open ocean. How ironic.

I walk over and place a hand on my captive, giving them a chastising smile. Then I take off, dragging them behind me through the air. I stop my flight above the ocean, creating a platform of shells to stand on two feet above the ocean’s calm surface. Finally, I relinquish control.

They immediately keel over, panting and darting to the side of the platform.

“There’s nowhere to go,” I say.

“You...”

“How much did you see?” I ask. “Remorse practitioner, correct?”

The wrapped individual turns in place, seemingly uninterested in answering my questions.

I sigh. “You and I both know there’s no escaping from here. Now tell me: how much did you see?”

“You think you’re living in an illusion.” From the timbre of the voice, I’m fairly certain the practitioner is a woman.

I spread my arms to the side. “Guilty as charged. But based on what you saw, aren’t you the least bit curious to know whether I’m actually right?”

The practitioner sighs. “How could you be right? I’m supposed to believe that none of this–” she gestures towards the coastline– “is real?”

I nod. “Exactly.”

“It’s pointless to entertain that kind of presumption,” she asserts.

“Believe what you want.” Based on her indignant reaction, it doesn’t seem like she got very far into my memories. If she saw me at my most powerful in Menocht, I don’t think she’d be talking to me so casually after intruding on my dreams.

“Who sent you?”

“I won't tell you, and respectfully ask that you let me go. I’m not a member of Hashat, and I know you won’t believe me, but I meant no harm by viewing your dreams. The two of us, I suspect, are working towards a common cause.”

I take a deep breath. It’s chillier than I would have expected: My standard-issue Godoran night robe exposes the rise of my chest to the ocean breeze.

“Look, I can be reasonable.”

“Then let me go,” she says, kicking her foot lightly on the column of shells.

I chuckle and shake my head, amused by the practitioner’s stomp. “You violated my mind while I slept; I’m not just going to let you go,” I point out. “But I think maybe you can give me something worth your free passage. If I’m not mistaken, you’re someone’s pet practitioner from the SPU.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You’re too naive to be a mercenary.”

“You–”

I silence her with a sharp shh. “I will soon be leaving the Opascal Base to take a diplomatic trip to the SPU. In one or two days, depending on when the final paperwork is approved.” I assume she knows of this plan already, if she really is an agent of the SPU.

“The purpose of the trip is, of course, finding more information on Hashat. From what you said before, I can infer that you’re also in the area to investigate the cult’s activities. What would your superior say about assisting me in my endeavors?”

“That is...” half a second goes by; though the practitioner’s face is largely covered by black cloth, her eyes narrow, as though in consideration. “That is acceptable.”

It suddenly hits me: is it possible that this Remorse practitioner is currently in communication with her superior? That kind of communication channel isn’t necessarily expensive or anything–it could be the same kind of quantum channel that Jeremy established with Captain Conningway back in Menocht Bay–but...what person has enough time on their hands to be up in the middle of the night, tailing their underling?

I shake my head, feeling as though the conversation brought with it far more questions than answers. “Then it’s settled.”

“Excellent.”

I turn away, facing the moon. “What’s your name?”

“Call me Shade.”

I chuckle. “Sure. As long as you call me Iggy.”

—

Present Day, outside the loop

Ichormai, the private office of the Crowned Prime of the Selejo Prince’s Union (SPU)

“It’s a pleasure to see you, Jairinka,” the Crowned Prime said with a smile.

The young man sitting before him nodded. “It’s been a while, Uncle.” Looking at the two of them, an observer would be more likely to call them brothers than uncle and nephew.

“Do you know why I’ve called for you to come to Ichormai?”

“I dare not presume, but...is it for the officer program?” Jairinka asked, his wide-eyed expression refreshingly honest.

The first prince closed his eyes for a moment, the shadow of a soft smile on his lips. I’m glad Jairinka grew up away from the capital.

“Precisely.”

The younger prince gave his uncle a nervous laugh. “Are you sure that I’m qualified?”

The Crowned Prime smirked, eyes twinkling. “I’ve heard about your activities on the Godoran border.”

Jairinka’s ears reddened. “Likely just the words of a father boasting about his son,” he demurred. “I did nothing worthy of mention.”

The prime steepled his fingers and leaned forward, his sapphire hair ornament twinkling in the afternoon sun. “I didn’t hear from your father, but from Pyramin Iffis.”

“Oh.”

The prime cocked an eyebrow, smiling lazily. “Iffis seemed to think that you and his granddaughter did a commendable job disrupting the Godoran supply chain into Sere and Selejo. You know, Jairinka, that we’ve been at peace with Selejo for fifteen years.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“The older generation of elementalists and warriors...their utility is unquestioned, but limited. We must move forward with a subtle hand, shifting the field and outmaneuvering our enemies to gain ultimate victory.” The first prince’s smile widened into a grin. “We need people like you, Jairinka, people with a mind for tactics and strategy.”

The first prince balanced his head atop his clasped hands, blond hair pooling around his shoulders and framing his long neck. When viewed in profile from the right, his eyes appeared an unusual blue-green; from the left, where his ornament curved against his scalp like a stylized flame, his eyes took on the deep blue of the Bay of Ramsay.

“If you still doubt your qualifications, I’ll have you know that rather than relying on the words of Iffis alone, I have also read the military reports from General Hor’well. Suffice to say, your actions directly delayed the glosSword production rate by at least 50%, and caused extensive infrastructural damage along the coast.”

He’s so innocent, the prime thought wistfully, noting his nephew’s embarrassment. One almost wouldn’t believe that he’s the one who confounded the Godorans into crippling their own railway system.

The prime cleared his throat. “I would like to personally extend you an invitation to attend the officer training program after the winter holiday.”

Jairinka bowed his head. “And what of Ajun’ra, if you don’t mind me asking? She did just as much, if not more, than I.”

“She’ll also be attending the program, though under Pyramin’s petition.”

The young prince exhaled slowly, relief coloring his features. He stood, then bowed forward. “I am honored to accept the Crowned Prime’s invitation.”

—

I wake up irritable and tired.

Nightmare. I chuckle darkly at the absurdity: a nightmare within a nightmare.

I wash up and dress myself, then busy myself with the paperwork that unsurprisingly accompanies my last-minute decision to take a diplomatic trip to the SPU. My justification is sound, however: a foreign agent, likely from the SPU, tried to blow up a hovergloss on the grounds of this military base. Moreover, we are currently stonewalled with respect to our investigations on Hashat’s plans and operations.

Rather than give the enemy time to continue plotting, striking while the iron is hot is a solid strategy, and one I plan to fully take advantage of. I’m also looking forward to working with Shade, though for my purposes, working with may as well mean investigating the woman’s shadowy background.

In the spare time between meetings and doing paperwork, I give greater consideration to how I was in the past, before the loop.

Wasn’t Xander always telling me to go and do things, like attend the winter formal? In the second pass through the school layer, I asked him about this point directly. He admitted that he had always suggested those kinds of things, but it was only very recently that I started to actually say yes.

If this loop is a test of some sort, or it’s trying to turn me into some kind of weapon...it would make sense if it prioritized lessening my social anxiety. Likewise, learning how to hide my decemancy and acting like a typical regular are also no-doubt useful skills for post-loop life.

I pull open the drapes in my office window and peer out at the bustling courtyard below. Uniformed staff patrol throughout, carting documents, supplies, and water every which way.

I wonder where Shade is, and imagine her hiding out in a secret cavern or in the northern foothills. More likely, she is taking refuge in a nearby town as a common traveler.

In the evening, I find a small note on my bed with an attached map of the nearby area. A small cave is marked and circled in red.

Come to this location at midnight tonight.

See you soon,

Shade

—

I knew she’d be hiding out in a cavern, I think smugly to myself as I reach the mouth of a small, partially-obscured cave. Tropical foliage has overgrown around a few sheets of tapered stone that lead inside. I touch down a few feet from the entrance, breathing in deeply and savoring the area’s saturated vitality.

It’s no wonder necromancy, the thrice-spurned root of decemancy, first developed in equatorial regions: there’s abundant life for the taking.

I sense two individuals inside, about thirty meters deep. Shade and someone else, perhaps her contact from the previous night?

Earlier today, I spent some time downloading a voice registry of officials and nobles in the SPU–along with their known subordinates–courtesy of the Godoran intelligence service. The glosSword should be able to use the information to identify people based on their voice. I gently pat its hilt in encouragement.

I round a bend and find myself in a hollowed chamber, the rock face shimmering in the glow of a torch. Next to the torch are Shade and a masked individual, both sitting on small cushions. Between them is a thin, short table common to the Ho’ostar peninsula.

“Hello,” I say, announcing myself.

Their eyes track me warily as I proceed forward.

“How did you find your way here in the dark?” Shade asks. “Lux would’ve sensed any light sources within the cavern.”

I cock my head. “Light?” I flash my eyes violet for a moment. “I do fine without it.”

“Decemancer,” Shade’s companion murmurs. “As you know, this is Shade. As for myself...you can call me Lux.”

I smile in response. “And what are you, an elementalist?”

His eyes–the only part of his face visible–narrow. “You know that Shade has Dark affinity. Can you guess mine?”

I nod slowly. I actually hadn’t noticed that Shade had a second affinity besides Remorse, but I’m not surprised. Based on Lux’s name, I can venture forth a guess.

“Light affinity?” I ask. “An elementalist?”

“Light affinity is right, but I’m not a fire elementalist,” he mutters.

I’m honestly not really sure what Light practitioners do. Aren’t most of them elementalists?

According to the Practitioner Basics guidebook, Light practitioners control the presence of radiance, just as Dark practitioners control the presence of void, the glosSword chimes in, answering my unspoken question. Unlike Sun practitioners, the majority of Light practitioners have no talent for elementalism.

“So, then, what skills do you have?” I ask, genuinely curious.

Shade shoots Lux what can only be interpreted as a withering look. “Just tell him.” She looks back at me. “It’s not like he’ll need to use the knowledge against you.”

Lux does a half eyeroll.

“I’m an illusionist,” he says, arms crossed over his chest.

I blink. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Can you make some kind of illusion now?” I glance at the torch. “Or is that an illusion, there?”

Lux shakes his head. “The fire’s real. It gets a little cool in here without sunlight.”

I nearly balk at his words. Even though this is a cave, its location is right on the equator. It’s hot.

Maybe these SPU people are just used to this kind of heat: not the dry heat closer to the eastern coast of Godora, but that of northern Godora and the eastern SPU. In other words, wet, hot, and oppressive, even in autumn.

Lux makes a gesture with his right hand, and an orb of pure brilliance hovers over his palm. “This is radiance.” The orb shifts and deforms, scattering. A moment later, a life-like war horse paws the ground in front of me, its nostrils flaring.

“Understood,” I say. “But why can I also hear the horse?” The sound aspect shouldn’t be related to Lux’s Light affinity.

“Well...” Lux says, scratching his head. “I do have a bit of Cloud affinity.”

“So you are an elementalist,” I counter. “You use the wind to create sound waves?”

Lux sighs. “Something like that.”

Now I turn to Shade. “I get his role in our operation, but what do you do?” I know that she’s able to sneak around using her Dark affinity, and that she is able to intrude in dreams using her Remorse affinity, but know little else.

She smirks. “I go places I shouldn’t, and take things that shouldn’t be touched. That about sums it up.”

Nothing new there, but her skills seem reasonable enough: Not everyone has a vast portfolio of abilities like myself. My own experience gives me confidence in her ability to trespass and steal both physical objects and incorporeal intelligence.

I suddenly hear a small click. By now, the glosSword’s discrete mode has recorded and analyzed about a minute of dialogue.

Have you discerned their identities? I ask nonverbally.

Yes, the glosSword replies, its voice ringing clearly in my mind. The one on the left has been subtly changing the sound of his voice and that of his companion. Nevertheless, the Pardus 300x’s discrete mode comes ready with a sound-reconstruction suite!

My lips quirk. So...who are they, then?

The one you think of as ‘Lux’ is the son of the eleventh prince of the SPU, Jairinka Selejo, and the one you call ‘Shade’ is the lesser noble Ajun’ra Iffis.

Hmph. A prince’s son? Eleven isn’t very high; not one of the Primes, I think to myself. And the son of a low-ranked prince must not hold too much influence. Jairinka’s affinity doesn’t seem weak, though; moreover, his Light and Cloud affinities complement each other well, amplifying their overall effectiveness.

Now, Iffis...I feel like I recognize that name. It was probably in some intelligence report...

House Iffis is largely in charge of the SPU’s border guard, having historic claim to a long–but thin–strip of land up against the Ho’ostar river, the glosSword interjects.

Oh, I remember now: It was Iffis’ office that agreed to clear me–and a small diplomatic entourage–to pass over the border between the SPU and Godora the day after tomorrow.

So: a Selejo, and an Iffis. Both fairly powerful practitioners, both working covertly to solve the Hashat problem. They must have their own motivations for wanting to take down Hashat, otherwise I can’t imagine why they’d take the matter into their own hands.

I’ll feign ignorance for now.