Somewhere in Selejo

Back in the lab, five minutes before the start of the loop.

Dedere leafed through the packet of Beginning, End, and Remorse augury results. At the top of each page was the phrase, “Dunai, I. J. CONFIDENTIAL PATIENT RECORDS,” along with the date and the page number. She’d printed it fifteen minutes ago, just as the patient was entering the dilation chamber. Due to the nature of their experiment, they could only conduct the full augury after a participant formally signed their name and agreed to the joint-fulfillment oath.

“There’s a lot coming up on the fears index,” she exclaimed. “He has a score of 320. Hey, Lisandro?”

“Um, 320? On the fears index?” he echoed, bringing himself back into the moment with a small shake of his head. “Wait, what?”

“I know!” Dedere continued. “This guy, he’s afraid of all the major categories. Hates dark places, cramped spaces, fears being buried alive, doesn’t like heights, hates dead things, fears giving any kind of public performance, fears failure, fears dropping out of school, even fears his mother... The one major thing he doesn’t seem to mind are spiders. Huh.”

Lisandro frowned. “And the Infinity Loop is going to generate a trial configuration based on that?”

“Apparently.”

“How many layers deep is required to address 320 fears?” he asked, getting up from his chair. “We need to check the machine. It’s already been calibrating for five and a half minutes. Maybe Dr. Prophin made a mistake.” Lisandro winced at his own words.

Dedere checked the informational glossComp screen on the exterior of the simulation machine. “Somehow, the trial managed to combine 320 fears into eight layers. Maybe the layers will be more challenging, trying to fit so many fears at once?”

Lisandro brought up the results of the fear index on his glosscomp, juxtaposing them with the trial configuration. “Why did the glossproggers index the fears as hex numbers?” he asked, clearly exasperated. To see which fears were included in which trials, he needed to consult a lookup table.

“But look,” Dedere said, pointing at the screen. “Even without knowing which fears, we can still see that the first layer of the loop...incorporated 268 fears.” She took in a shallow breath. “Y’jeni.”

She and Lisandro shared a pitying look for the unfortunate, likely-unsuspecting trial-goer.

“Well, it’s too late to change anything now,” Dedere said, fists tightening. She turned her head absently toward the room’s exit, thinking of the man who had quietly strong-armed the project to actualization: Dr. “Prophet” Prophin, a man so busy he left his two researchers to oversee a multi-million auri trial while he planned his multi-billion auri experiment.

I hope his faith in us isn’t misplaced.

—

“You know,” I whisper as I crouch on the side of a gritty residential highrise, “when you said you knew a place that might help unravel Hashat’s plot, I thought you were still talking about a restaurant.” Thankfully, we did at least find somewhere to eat before heading here.

Euryphel chortles quietly, his teeth flashing. “Shh...”

“How do you even know about this place, anyway?”

The prince appears thoughtful. “Before you arrived, I was able to see a convergence of arrows on this area. Specifically, I noticed that many lesser nobles had nets of intrigue around them, and that those tight nets of arrows all cinched together at this location.”

I give him an incredulous look. “But when did you ever come here to see the arrows’ convergence?”

He smirks. “I can see the entire city from the palace. Threads of fate don’t stop at physical walls.”

Something–or someone–stirs below us, and we fall silent.

The surrounding area is quiet, and a few dim street lanterns cast yellow light on rustic cobblestone and smooth rock cast by earth elementalists. In contrast, the buildings are grindingly close together and poke up like rotted teeth: black, gray, and spotted with dark windows. Utilitarian, without much style, clearly intended for poorer residents. Shattered pieces of glass bottles and a few people hunkered in damp alleyways add to the grim aesthetic. Even though the neighborhood’s infrastructure is well-maintained, everything else screams poverty.

We are currently hanging from the narrow fire escape of one of the featureless buildings. Euryphel cautioned against using any kind of energy manipulation, and so instead of comfortably floating in the air via osteomancy, I am physically hanging, my muscles starting to strain with exertion. I am tempted to use my glosSword as a hovering chair, but the glowing implement is the opposite of covert. I currently have the glosSword set to discrete mode, allowing me to wear it as a watch and a belt. The belt has a front and back-facing camera; the watch face, too, has a hidden camera, allowing me to record the surroundings in three directions.

The way the loop works, it’s impossible for me to improve my physical capabilities, as my body resets whenever I die or transition layers. Well, technically I can improve during a single loop layer, but there’s a limit to how much I’m willing to work on physical fitness when I can do everything with decemancy. I can use carnimancy to artificially stimulate muscle growth, but it’s a little late for that: I didn’t foresee myself in this kind of situation, hanging twenty stories above the ground.

Euryphel appears strangely calm, his body lax and his breathing slow and regular. I guess it makes sense if he can peek into the future and know that he probably isn’t going to fall and die.

One plus of being a decemancer is that even when I’m not using Death energy, I can still see vitality, allowing me to see in the dark. Dead objects are like translucent layers of black, with people showing as varied shades of gray behind them. It gives me a general sense of how many walls are within the building, how thick the walls are, and how many lives lie within. I will admit that it’s difficult to create any kind of comprehensive map from the walls, given that they lack luminosity and shading to indicate where one pitch-black wall begins and ends.

I figure that Euryphel must have some similar kind of passive skill that allows him to see, probably something to do with his wind elementalism. Perhaps he can passively sense air currents. That, combined with his ability to see threads of fate–arrows, in his words–would give him a good sense of both the environment and the people within it.

The noise we heard below turns out to be nothing more than a small mouse skittering among refuse.

“Do you do this often?” I whisper.

“Never,” Euryphel replies. “But I’ve always wanted to.”

“You said you spent some time in a dilation chamber,” I point out. “Why not do it then?”

Euryphel shrugs his shoulders as much as he can while holding onto the fire escape. “That was a long time ago. And usually, you don’t spend more than a few hours in the chamber at a time, completing small objectives and challenges. The kind of loop you’ve described to me, lasting years...it would take an extreme amount of energy to power it. It’s far too extravagant.”

I nod. “They probably would’ve been happy with the result after just a month. By then, I’d already awakened my affinity.”

“It almost feels like a stress test. Like...” the prince pauses. “Like they’re trying to see what the limits of their technology are. Sure, they could awaken you in a month, but in a year? In five years? What would happen then?”

“At what point,” I continue his words, “does the improvement halt? What is the optimal length of time?” I shake my head. “It’s plausible. I can tell you now that all it took, for me at least, was about a year.”

Euryphel shifts position. “A year...for what?”

I snort. “A year to learn decemancy.”

“...”

I sigh. “It doesn’t matter. But I stand by my assertion that a year would’ve been enough. I’m tired of this loop, of this stupid experiment, of whoever is watching us even now for the sake of entertainment, or research, or whatever.”

“Surely you have a plan for when you get out,” the prince says lightly.

“Nothing concrete. What would you do, in my position?”

“Hmm,” Euryphel intones, his expression contemplative. “I would probably thank the people who put me in the loop. That would be my first move.” Seeing my expression, he moves to defend himself. “Whoever these people are that have placed you here, it has certainly cost them a great deal. At the end of the day, the one to profit most will likely be you.”

“And what if they’ve roped me into some kind of life-death oath or other kind of binding contract?”

“If that’s the case...come find me.”

I blink, surprised by his answer. “Find you? Why?”

“I’d like you. The real me, that is. That aside...I could leverage your release from the oath.”

“That would be nice and all, but what could you give them in return?” I doubt much would be worth the servitude of a peak decemancer.

The prince’s expression freezes, his eyes uncharacteristically cold. “Oh, I have my ways. I think the real-world me would consider it worth the effort to release you from an oath.”

My eyebrows furrow. “You say that, but you haven’t even seen what I can do. All you know is what I’ve told you...”

The prince’s mouth opens slightly, as though he’s been caught off-guard. “Huh. I suppose that’s true, for you.”

Has he seen some kind of future in which I’ve displayed my power?

“Did you entertain attacking me?” I ask, my mouth curling up into a smile. “Just to see what your Regret affinity’s future-prediction would show you?”

Euryphel gives me a pained look. “Maybe.”

I suppress laughter. “Fine. I actually feel much better knowing you have some idea that what I’ve said isn’t all hot air.”

“If you’re really as powerful as you say, and you enter Zukal’iss in the real world...all the arrows may not point to you, but I would be unable to miss your presence. When powerful people walk, the world shifts around them like flowing water.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

We fall back into a comfortable silence. I can’t help but wonder where these Hashat people are, and if they’re even coming. It’s already nearing midnight.

Suddenly, both Euryphel and I sense a presence coming from the right, seeming to dance across the buildings at a rapid pace.

Ah, I know who this is: it’s unmistakably Ajun’ra Iffis. And is that...Jairinka strapped to her back, along for the ride?

The more the merrier, I guess. Jairinka should know the Crowned Prime; Euryphel is his uncle, after all. I seem to recall the first and eleventh princes getting along with each other; there’s some kind of rule that all the princes with ones in their rank–the first, tenth, eleventh, and twelfth princes–generally form a block together. It’s not a coincidence that these lower-ranked princes are also older and less personally-ambitious. Jairinka’s father, for instance, has been at rank eleven for fifteen years, falling from rank seven in his prime thirty years ago.

The exception to the rule is the third prince, Ezenti Demetrius Selejo. The man is seventy, and has stayed at rank three for his entire life since taking the seat of the third at the age of fourteen.

I wonder how long Euryphel will last. The Crowned Prime he replaced, O’osta Kestrelius Selejo, lasted eight months.

If I remember correctly, Euryphel has held his seat for eleven years.

“Who is that?” the first prince asks, glaring at the oncomers. It must be frustrating for him, half-blind with people’s arrows pointing to myself. He’d normally be able to tell if these people are coming after him, someone in the building, or off doing something completely unrelated.

I’m lucky he found this hideout before I entered his city, else tracking it down using his skills would be impossible.

“It’s a them,” I say, correcting him. “Specifically, it’s your nephew Jairinka and his companion, Ajun’ra Iffis .”

“What?” the prince mutters, seeming completely baffled. “I didn’t see this coming.”

“They’re here for me,” I reply under my breath. And based on Ajun’ra’s fierce expression, they seem upset. They probably came looking for me in my living quarters, only to find me disappeared.

“Why?” the prince asks, gritting his teeth.

“Well, to figure out this Hashat mess.”

Euryphel blinks. “Fine, then. I am personally unfamiliar with Ajun’ra, but house Iffis has strong bloodline Dark affinity.”

I nod. “She’s a Dark and Remorse practitioner.”

“Interesting...and Jairinka I know to be quite proficient in illusions. Alright, let’s give it a go with the four of us.”

“Do you want to tell them your identity? They are unaware that this is a time loop,” I ask, uncertain how to proceed. How would I explain that I’ve enticed the Crowned Prime to join me in a stakeout?

“No, no...hmm...tell them...that I am just a wind elementalist, loaned to you from one of the noble houses also interested in uprooting Hashat.”

“Tell us what?” hisses a panting Ajun’ra, her chest heaving and temples dripping sweat. Jairinka swiftly pivots from her back and grabs onto a lower section of the fire escape.

“Hello, there,” I say, voice cheerful. “Glad you two could make it. This is Eury, a wind elementalist given to us from house–” who were the people I spoke with today? Something like...house...

“–House Claremeon,” Euryphel interjects, gracing me with a sharp smile.

Ajun’ra looks around. “So you’re the one who found this place, huh?”

The prince smiles. “That’s right. I’ve been investigating for a few weeks now, and I’ve come to the conclusion that a number of nobles periodically meet in this building. Odd, wouldn’t you say?”

Jairinka is staring at Euryphel with a complex expression, his eyes narrowing slightly, as though he’s trying to work out a puzzle. Suddenly, he exhales deeply and puts a hand over his face.

“Uncle!” he groans, shaking his head. “You have infinitely more important things to do than be my babysitter. I’ll be fine!” He bangs his arm against the fire escape in protest. “I’m only five years your junior. This...just let me do this on my own.”

Well, so much for disguising Euryphel.

It only takes Ajun’ra a millisecond to infer “Eury’s” real identity, and she immediately drops to her knees, or at least tries to side-kneel on the metal.

“My Prime,” she says, voice submissive. “I apologize for my earlier lack of polite address. Please do inform me why someone of your august stature has deigned to help us in our humble task.”

Wow, Ajun’ra can spew noble-ese effortlessly. An impressive skill. If Mother were here, she’d ask me why I can’t talk like that. I resolve to never, ever let the two of them meet.

“Y’jeni, Jairinka...I’m not babysitting you.”

“But, Uncle...why are you here? With him?” Jairinka suddenly grimaces, likely realizing that if I didn’t already know his identity, I sure do now.

“The threads of fate indicate that Hashat is going to unleash calamity on the continent. Thus, I’ve decided to help Corona Dunai in his endeavors since the other princes and the assembly have been dragging their feet.”

I wonder if what the prince says is true, or if he’s inventing an excuse. Regardless, both Jairinka and Ajun’ra blanche, taking the prince’s words as unassailable fact.

“So that’s how it is,” Ajun’ra whispers under her breath.

“So...Hashat members are going to meet here tonight?” Jairinka asks, his expression grave.

“Any time now,” Euryphel clarifies, motioning for everyone to be quiet and wait.

And so we wait.

And wait...