The room fell silent. Ian’s gaze sharpened on General Var’dun’a’s projection, his expression inscrutable as he contemplated her suggestion.

I already said I wasn’t going to flee, Ian recalled, mulling things over. But going East isn’t so much fleeing as biding my strength.

Ian recognized on a fundamental, instinctual level that he was unprepared. He felt the weight of that truth on every breath and step, the gut-chilling sense that he would never be able to save the SPU, let alone defeat Descendant Ari, a woman who could swat him down like an insect. Whether he met her in Selejo or she met him in the SPU, he figured that increased geographic distance would only lengthen the wake of Ari’s destruction. Not to mention the issue of the Infinity Loop: If the Infinity Loop created and killed millions of essentially real people, he wanted to leave behind its destruction as a memento...even if doing so further necessitated entering Selejo.

Of course Ian had tried to prepare himself for the nebulous future even before he saw Achemiss’ vision. Leading up to the Fassari Summit, he drilled to improve his ability to resist Remorse attacks and designed a multi-layer bone shield to defend against physical strikes and energy blasts. He even started to lay the foundation of what eventually germinated into the Deathseeds.

But even though he won the Fassari Summit without even using his full strength, Ian knew that he wouldn’t stand a chance as he was now against the tribulations ahead.

While Ian recognized that the war council was content with skirmishing the southern neighbors and keeping a siege front on the Bay of Ramsay, he knew that playing things safe wasn’t going to help him get stronger. He also figured that Achemiss wouldn’t have mentioned a potential master of Death affinity living in the East for nothing and given him soul sight without having a greater plan in mind.

Kurin Ventrebel of Gnoste...perhaps I should pay you a visit.

“General, can you explain your idea a bit more?” Ian asked, the first to speak after Var’dun’a’s unexpected suggestion.

She nodded in his direction. “The East should be watching this war carefully. They’ll be aware of the implications of a Selejan victory; specifically, that Selejo stands to gain unprecedented power and influence if they defeat their only rival and unify the Ho’ostar peninsula.”

Secretary of War Iffis ran a hand through his white hair, his expression contemplative. “It’s true that Selejo has been stepping on the toes of the East for over a decade. Really, ever since the start of the peace between our two nations.”

“Exactly. The East already recognizes Selejo’s potential to rise above the other middling states in the West, so increasing Selejo’s power runs contrary to eastern dominance. Selejo is a threat.”

Euryphel nodded. “This is all true, but the level to which the East is willing to intervene isn’t clear. While they might be willing to strategically move trade away from Selejo, I’m not sure they would appreciate us sending them a dangerous assassin magnet.”

Var’dun’a smiled thinly, her scarf lifting slightly to reveal a patch of mottled skin. “From so far across the world, the Eldemari’s reach will be greatly diminished. While she’d be able to send assassins, she wouldn’t be able to send an army. More fundamentally, Adrillon and Kester wouldn’t tolerate foreign agents making blatant assassination attempts.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Even one that’s arguably quite justified? I’m not from Adrillon or Kester; I can’t imagine why they’d waste resources protecting me.”

“You seem to be underestimating the size of the East,” Euryphel murmured, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. “Even if the Eldemari sent her very best team of Beginning, End, Remorse, and Regret trackers, they’d be hard-pressed to locate even a powerful individual beyond major population centers. So as long as you avoid major cities and don't draw attention to yourself, you’ll be able to evade them.”

“And if they do find me, is the assumption that I’ll be able to protect myself?” Ian wondered.

Euryphel smirked coldly. “Just because I’m across the world doesn’t mean I won’t hear if you’re in danger. If something happens to you, so long as I hear of it within one minute...I should be able to relay it to you in advance.”

Eyes now drifted to the prince.

“Prime Euryphel, such a strategy would only work if you’re awake,” Var’dun’a cautioned, her eyes narrowing.

Nobody wants to point out the more obvious, concerning implication: that Euryphel believes he’ll be constantly looping in the coming weeks.

The prince glanced at Ian. “How much notice do you need to defend yourself like you did against Byrrh?”

Ian considered. “Two seconds seems like a conservative estimate.”

Euryphel nodded. “So long as there’s a line of quick communication between Ian and the SPU, we have numerous practitioners who could give as much as a ten second warning if something were to befall him.”

The solution clicked in Ian’s mind. “Are you thinking of a quantum channel?”

“What else?” the prince replied.

Ian inherently disliked the idea of having constant contact with someone–contact that he couldn’t turn off–but he recognized the utility and necessity. “As for the unspoken question of how I’ll be able to enter the East and get situated without causing a stir...I’ll go East to Feather.”

“To your family,” Var’dun’a murmured, her voice rough and dry.

Ian smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. You would know those kinds of personal details, wouldn’t you? He figured that everyone in this room had likely seen numerous reports on his background.

“Yes.”

From under the table, Euryphel gave Ian’s arm a comforting squeeze, then whispered, “You’re not looking forward to a reunion, are you? Moreover, Selejo will likely check the Dunai enclave looking for you. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.”

What’s important isn’t what I want at this point, Ian thought, his mind envisioning Germaine trapped in a besieged Zukal’iss. If he remained, the enemy wouldn’t stop until they razed Ichormai to the ground; but if he left, perhaps the enemy’s attention would be divided.

“I’ll enter the East through Feather, arriving at the Dunai enclave. I’ll get what I need there, then set off into Gnoste.”

General Hor’well hummed his approval. “Gnoste is an interesting choice.”

Euryphel rubbed his jaw. “It’s a sparsely populated desert; moreover, bureaucratic ineptitude should slow down the Eldemari’s agents if they think to investigate there.”

“So is our strategy decided?” Ian asked.

The prince snorted. “I suppose so. But Ian, you must remember...those looking for you will use any methods to find your location. Think of what a Regret practitioner could do to your family to get them to speak. You mustn't tell anyone outside this room the planned destination.”

“I won’t be careless.”

Hor’well placed both hands on the mahogany round table. “This seems reasonable to me, so long as we have a quantum channel connecting Dunai to a round-the-clock team of Regret practitioners.”

Euryphel smiled, then banged his gavel lightly. “Then it’s decided.”

—

Ian, Germaine, and Euryphel followed behind Urstes as the earth elementalist carved the way forward. Behind them lay a fresh tunnel, ahead of them only solid earth. They moved quickly, Ian grabbing hold of Germaine’s body while Euryphel spirited them forward on a gust of wind.

As they closed in on the end of the tunnel, Urstes smashed his fists forward, pulverizing the sediment outward. Ian was no expert, but he could tell that Urstes was doing far more than literally pounding the earth into submission, his feet stepping deliberately on the ground while his hands made small gestures between strikes.

Eventually the tunnel began to slope upward until at last it breached the surface. Euryphel had accompanied them to ensure that the Dunais enjoyed an ambush-free departure; even now the prince gestured for everyone to remain still, his gaze fixed on the newly-forged hole. Urstes’ body was tense, his body poised to respond to the slightest threat.

“Leave, now,” Euryphel said, pointing upwards. “There’s nobody coming in the next minute.”

“Good to hear,” Ian said, his tone flat, almost regretful. I’m sorry to be leaving you alone in Ichormai...but leaving the SPU makes the most sense. The Deathseeds should be able to perpetuate themselves.

The prince sighed and gave Ian a bittersweet smile, but didn’t say anything.

Ian cleared his throat. “I’ll see you soon, Eury.”

The prince nodded. “Stay safe. I won’t be able to protect you very well from across the world.”

Germaine inclined her head toward the prince and Urstes. “Thank you both for your hospitality and protection.”

Eury chuckled. “It was no trouble.”

An awkward silence returned.

“You know, I never asked if I could keep this,” Ian muttered, pointing to the pouch hanging off of his belt: the void storage.

“Consider it a going away present,” Euryphel replied dryly. Urstes shot the prince a mildly dubious look, one of his eyebrows arching upward. “I would’ve said something earlier if you couldn’t bring it.”

Some expensive going away present, Ian thought, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Besides, it’s an investment in your safe return,” the prince added. “What’s an osteomancer without his bones?”

Ian chuckled and walked up to the prince, holding out his hand. Euryphel grasped it and Ian pulled the man into a bear hug, squeezing tightly.

“Keep safe, Eury. There better be a Zukal’iss for me to return to.”

He disengaged with a smile, then leapt up and tugged Germaine along behind him through the hole. They breached the surface and began to fly through the air at a brisk clip, a bone wyrm rapidly materializing beside them.

The prince is flustered! Bluebird observed. Flustered!

Ian sighed. I’m going to miss him.

Don’t worry, Bluebird replied, you have me!

Ian snorted. At first his grin widened at the bird’s absurdity, but soon after morphed into a frown. The thought that anyone, let alone a glosSword, could be a replacement for Euryphel was inconceivable.

As the bone wyrm finally came to life, a flare of violet pulsing down its spine, Ian and Germaine entered its ribcage and sat down. While they relaxed, Ian vaguely directed the wyrm northeast, intending to rely on landmarks and his glossY’s projection of an ideal path forward. The direction projection typically assumed that Ian just needed to get to the closest array station, but it helped to point to the nearest cities and towns while he was airborne.

“Mother really refused to come with?”

Ian flinched. “Yes.”

Germaine nodded her head sullenly. “I’m not surprised, but I’m also not happy.”

Ian shrugged. “The Dunai family hates her, but it’s mutual at this point. I offered to drop her off somewhere random but she claimed that she’d only be a ‘familial liability,’” Ian said, forming air quotes.

Germaine rolled her eyes. “She’s still worried about being taken as a hostage?”

“Of course. It’s worse because Aunt Julia agrees with her, effectively locking her opinion in stone.”

Germaine appeared pensive. “If you had to choose between Aunt Julia or Mother, who would you choose?”

Ian’s mouth popped open.

Germaine blushed. “Wow, sorry; that’s not the best question. I don’t even want–”

“Mother,” Ian murmured, his voice barely audible. “I have no idea why, but I know...if I could only save one of them, it would be her...and I hate it.”

Germaine’s lips pressed together. After a moment of indecision, she sighed and changed the subject. “Can you please give me my art supplies?”

Ian took the void storage off his belt and expanded its cinched opening until it stretched two feet in diameter. Then, he reached down and felt around for a canvas backpack, hoisting it up by the straps.

“Here. Need anything else?”

“Water?”

Ian fished around for a glass bottle of water, handing it over. “Good?”

“Good.”

Ian watched with interest as she began to sketch on the canvas, some of her lines becoming stilted as the wyrm moved through routine turbulence.

“I’m surprised you’re so comfortable with this.”

She looked up and blew a strand of hair out of her face. “With what?”

“The bone wyrm is an obvious one. When I first showed it to you, your main reaction was that you wanted to fly it. Bareback.”

Germaine chuckled. “That’s before I realized I have a fear of falling off elevated moving objects. I’d say that most people are probably in the same boat.”

“You got over that fear pretty fast,” Ian snorted.

Germaine stuck out her tongue. “It helped that you stuck me in a literal harness so I wouldn’t be able to fall off even if I tried.”

With that, Germaine got back to sketching. Periodically she’d pause and look out the wyrm’s ribs, taking in the lush, dawn-touched jungle below before resuming her drawing. When it came time to eat, Ian brought out a packed bundle of finger sandwiches prepared by Euryphel’s own chefs as a going-away token.

As they began to eat the little sandwiches, Germaine decided to rekindle the conversation. “How are we doing on time?”

“Fine. We’re going to hit the end of the SPU in about an hour, if the distance to Port Thumb was correct,” Ian stated. “Then we’ll be set to arrive in Kikilla two hours later.”

Germaine swallowed. “Where are we meeting Uncle Adricaius and Aunt Julia for the rendez-vous?”

Ian took out his glossY and formed a projection in the air, displaying a map of their route. Their location was indicated by a small, red circle that was slowly edging forward.

He zoomed in on Kikilla’s coast with a gesture, pointing to a green triangle on the sole of Kikilla’s boot-shaped peninsula. “We’re meeting them at an abandoned lighthouse. Uncle Andricaius and Aunt Julia didn’t specify how we’d be returning to Feather, but I got the impression that they’ve been using this lighthouse as a convenient waypoint for quite some time.”

Germaine made a face. “For what?”

Ian shrugged. “The clan has influence all along the upper half of Kester. I’m sure they have their reasons.” In Kester, anyone with the surname Dunai, Adricaius, or Fiorencia is a valid political or financial target.

Germaine’s gaze became pensive. “Hmm...I guess we’ll just see when we get there.”