At first, Vance thought that he would part with Eleanor on the outskirts of Argilstead, but she didn’t stop for him to dismount and continued to gallop through the dirt roads of the clay village.

“Where are you taking me?”

“The Fly Market.”

The asymmetrical buildings seemed to be moving on his right and left like the pictures on a sepia film tape. He saw uneven roofs, slanted walls, and holes for windows. And there were myriads of signs and signposts, each displaying text written in a different alphabet. Elvenform and Anthroform were the ones that he recognized, but he could only read what was written in Anthroform (road names that honored presumably famous slayers and advertisements for services, such as healers and potion patches). The pedestrians, who walked under these signs and in and out of the drab buildings, were as diverse as the alphabets on display. There were headless humans, elves, highlanders, giants, dwarves, and other races that Vance couldn’t even name.

But the strangest sight yet awaited him at the Fly Market. There, at the end of a curving road, he found the Fly Merchants—creatures that had the body of a human and the head of a Honeydew Fly. They wore olive-green robes and sat on brown carpets. An inattentive visitor to the market would have mistaken them for an unsightly set of statues if not for the Targrass that they chewed on. Their mouths were constantly grinding the rubber seeds, and the lower parts of the stalks protruded from between their mouthparts like cigarettes, moving up and down with the slightest hints of a circular motion.

Eleanor stopped and dismounted in the middle of the crowded market.

“You need to gear up for Middlerift,” she said.

Vance dismounted and approached a Fly Merchant with her.

“Thurvik is king,” the merchant said, his eight eyes blinking. “And he was. And he had been. And he will be. And he must be. Thurvik is king.”

“This Headbound wants to trade with you, Fly Merchant,” Eleanor said.

“Headbound is friend.” The merchant moved his many mouthparts. “And he was. And he had been. And he will be. And he must be. Headbound is friend.”

Shop Alert

A Fly Merchant has given you access to his shop.

The following items are available for purchase:

Item Price Bones of Bazawrath 20 hours Book of Dirges 12 hours Book of Elegies 15 hours Dust of Portention 3 hours Farreach Token 20 hours Imp’s Storehouse 10 hours Larval Dagger 10 hours Larval Sword 15 hours Larval Spear 15 hours Larval Shield 10 hours Mantis Armor 20 hours Robes of Insight 10 hours Robes of Azara the Cursed-Knight 10 hours Robes of Dusky Aid 10 hours

“What are these prices?” Vance said. “They’re listed in hours.”

“You pay using your Flame of Revival,” Eleanor said.

“Using the flame?”

“It’s like a timer, remember?”

“Can’t I pay with something else? I have some gold in my bag.”

“Sadly, the Fly Merchants don’t accept any other currency.”

“But didn’t you say I’d die if my flame went out?”

“Don’t worry. I happen to know a way to stoke it.”

I don’t like this. Vance hesitated. She kept talking about the Headbound who built Argilstead and about how they sacrificed their time. But now she’s telling me there’s a way to stoke the flame. It doesn’t make sense. He looked at Eleanor. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. There’s no expression to read—no face to begin with. He looked at the Fly Merchant and the list of items available for purchase. But I guess she wouldn’t bring me all the way here to kill me. If she had wanted to harm me, she would’ve just abandoned me in the desert.

“Trust me,” Eleanor said.

“How will I get my lost time back?” Vance said, choosing to trust her.

“Through donations. Other Headbound can give you part of their flames.”

“So you’ll give me part of yours?”

“No,” Eleanor said, “I have important duties to fulfill during this ascension, so I can’t share my flame with you. But I can help you find the Headbound who are willing to donate.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Vance felt a bit more reassured. Now that the obvious contradiction had been addressed, he turned his attention back to the strange items that the Fly Merchant offered. Seeing no descriptions, he said, “What should I buy? Or do I just get everything?”

“First things first, pick up the Dust of Portention. When you use it, you’ll be able to see how much time you have left until your flame goes out.”

Vance bought the Dust of Portention.

The Fly Merchant stood up eagerly. He lit a stalk of Targrass using Vance’s Flame of Revival and then swallowed the burning stalk as if it had been the tastiest meal in existence. As a result, Vance’s flame flickered and weakened, but it didn’t die out. Satisfied with the transaction, the merchant spit a small packet of dust, the same size as a teabag, and handed it to his customer with a grateful bow, saying, “I was you. I had been you. I assist. I will assist. I must assist. Lost dreams revive. One day. Lost dreams revive.”

Vance accepted the dust with unease.

“Throw it into your Flame of Revival,” Eleanor said.

He threw the dust into his flame and watched it flare up thrice.

Portentous Whisper You can now gauge your Flame of Revival.

“How much time do you have left?” Eleanor said.

Vance gauged his flame.

Portentous Whisper Your Flame of Revival goes out in 3 days and 1 hour.

“73 hours,” Vance said.

“And how long did you spend in Middlerift before we met?”

“Two or three hours.”

“So you’re level 26 or 27. Nice.”

Was that her goal? Did she need to know my exact level for some reason?

“Next, I want you to buy the Imp’s Storehouse,” Eleanor said. “You shouldn’t go back to our world with the items that you buy here. This storehouse is where you keep them until your next Class Ascension. And you can also use it as a general storage so that you don’t have to go around carrying everything on your back. It’s the most convenient thing in Middlerift. Not kidding.”

Vance bought the Imp’s Storehouse, and the Fly Merchant spit a golden key into his hand, saying, “Work imp is all serious. Holiday imp is all tricks. But imp is friend. Work or holiday, imp is friend.”

Portentous Whisper Your Flame of Revival goes out in 2 days and 15 hours.

“Next is the Farreach Token. You use it to summon a mount like Agatha.”

Portentous Whisper Your Flame of Revival goes out in 1 day and 19 hours.

“Now get the Mantis Armor and the Larval Dagger.”

Portentous Whisper Your Flame of Revival goes out in 13 hours.

“That’s it. You’re now ready for Middlerift,” Eleanor said.

Vance looked down at his feet, where his last three purchases lay covered in insect secretions. He first checked the Larval Dagger. It had a black grip and a gold cross-guard. This much was normal. But the blade itself was made of the hardened larva of Honeydew Flies. Vance had never seen this material before, and after a quick tactile assessment, he realized that it might be sharper and stronger than steel. How strong is the real question, though. He gave the dagger a few test swings just to get a feel for its weight, and to his pleasant surprise, it also turned out to be lighter than his steel one.

“It’s neat, isn’t it?” Eleanor said. “It deals physical and magical damage.”

“Magical?”

“Yeah. Larval weapons aren’t that strong, but they have interesting qualities. If you get hit with electro-magic, they deal some electro-damage on the side. If you get hit with hydro, they deal hydro. And so on.”

“I see … That’s called Magical Realignment, correct?”

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d know the term. Yeah, Magical Realignment.”

Vance examined the Mantis Armor next. It consisted of four main parts: a helmet, a breastplate, gauntlets, and tall boots. All parts were made out of the green exoskeleton of mantises, and they were designed to be attached to the body with yellow straps. Such armor was neither valuable enough to be resold nor fit for a high-level adventurer to wear, but it offered better protection than clothes: it could at least withstand a few projectiles and monster bites. And wearing it, Vance would no longer have to worry about flying bone shards or any other inconvenient shrapnel.

“I know you would’ve preferred light armor,” Eleanor said. “But a mantis set isn’t that heavy, and it’s the best for first-timers. In your coming ascensions, you’ll have more options to choose from, so don’t worry.”

“Do the merchants offer more items when I’m higher in level?”

“Of course. You’ll have a stronger flame, and that’s a business opportunity for them. They’ll even offer you item descriptions. VIP treatment, am I right?”

“Well, that would be much more convenient.”

Vance put the armor down and checked his last and most puzzling purchase, the Farreach Token. It was a circular disk with the drawing of a horse on one side and the print of a human hand on the other. He turned it around to try to find any instructions on how to use it, but there was nothing. For a moment, he suspected that it was a magical item and that he needed to know an incantation to activate it; but when he found neither circles nor runes, it became clear that such wasn’t the case.

“How do I summon a mount?” he finally asked.

“You just break the token,” Eleanor said.

“Will I get a three-headed horse like Agatha?”

“No, every mount is unique. And the summoning is randomized, so it can be fun and frustrating at the same time. Once you break the token, you’ll get a system message explaining what you should do next. I know you’re curious, but it’d be a waste of time to explain things now.”

“Thanks, Eleanor.”

“Don’t sweat it. Now open the Imp’s Storehouse and put your items away before someone tries to steal them. Those Fly Merchants can swallow things too, you know. They don’t just spit treasure.”

“How do I open the storehouse?”

“You have the golden key that the merchant gave you, right?”

“Yeah, it’s here.”

“Close your Mental Eye. Imagine a door and put the key in its lock.”

Vance did what Eleanor told him. And when he opened his Mental Eye again, he found before him a stately door with a golden knob. It had appeared out of nowhere. There seemed to be nothing behind it, but when Vance opened it, it revealed a pearlescent-opalescent portal into another dimension. From inside this portal, an imp emerged—red-faced, suited, monocled, smelling of cologne. It stepped forward and bowed with much respect. Then it looked up at Vance and coughed into the back of its gloved hand to clear its throat.

“Monsieur Wolfe,” it said, “the imps of the Spatial Pocket thank you for your patronage. I am Didier, at your service. I am afraid your storage is empty, so there are no retrievals to be made. You can only store items for the time being.”

Vance looked down at the imp. It was around the height of a goblin, but its dignified demeanor contrasted with the little green monsters’ savagery. For a moment, he didn’t know how he should interact with it, but then he collected himself and said, “Take these items away for now.”

“We have received your Farreach Token, Mantis Armor, and Larval Dagger,” the imp said, writing a list in its notebook. “Please keep your golden key safe. No one can use it other than you, Monsieur Wolfe, but if you lose it, you also lose the items you store with us. There are no spares and no reimbursements.” The imp paused and looked around it before it continued, “As it seems you do not intend to store anything else, I will now take my leave. Bonne journée.” The imp threw the purchased items into the lustrous portal before it followed them with a dignified gait. After it disappeared, the stately door closed on its own and faded away from existence.

“Have you ever met any imps before?” Eleanor said.

“No, this is my first time seeing one,” Vance said, still surprised by the brief encounter. “Are they monsters?”

“Only when it comes to the golden keys,” Eleanor laughed. “I once lost mine. And it was hellish. Take good care of yours”

“I’ll keep it with me at all times,” Vance said, putting it in his bag. “So are we done here? Or do I have to talk to any of the other merchants?”

“You’re done, hotshot,” Eleanor said, clapping him on the back. “But it’s my turn now to make a few purchases. I didn’t gallop all the way here just for you, you know. Let’s see now … Let’s see now … Which of these gross merchants sold the Necrohide Interpreters?”

***

After the visit to the Fly Market, Vance and Eleanor got on Agatha’s back and headed to their next destination. It wasn’t far. After they galloped through two roads and turned a corner near a pavilion for giants, they found it—a building as spacious as a church but as drab as the rest of the clay structures surrounding it. Although its architecture and design remained simple, it seemed that some planning went into its construction. It had three stories supported by thick walls that didn’t slant, and its windows were not odd-shaped holes but square openings that were carved with care and attention. A stone sign above the entrance read in Anthroform, “The House of Turncoats.”

And standing below this sign, Vance gauged his flame.

Portentous Whisper Your Flame of Revival goes out in 12 hours.

“Is this the place you told me about?” he said.

“Yes, this is where you can regain your lost time,” Eleanor said.

“I don’t like it.” Vance pointed at the wooden sign. “The ‘Turncoats’ part, I mean. It’s not really encouraging me to walk inside.”

“It’s funny you should say that. You and I are full-fledged Turncoats. That’s what everyone calls the human Adventurer Slayers. We turned against our kind when we chose Thurvik, so we’re Turncoats.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“You’re not the only one, but we’re stuck with it.”

“Well … I guess it’s just a name.”

“Yeah, just a name,” Eleanor reiterated, as she tied Agatha to a post near the entrance. “Anyway, should we head inside?”

“Right after you.”

Following Eleanor, who knew the building, Vance walked under the arched entrance and passed through a small entryway, where he was asked to leave his dirty shoes. Walking in his socks, he found himself in a large carpeted room with stone tables and chairs. Groups of lively and uninhibited Headbound were sitting together—talking, trading items, exchanging tips, playing board games, and arm-wrestling. Others were sprawling on the carpets, with red adhesive skin patches on their arms and with an air of stupor and ecstasy. And yet others were sitting in isolated corners and reading in silence, with abstruse books strewn around them and with pens dancing across their fingers.

The majority of the crowd were human, but there were also a few solar elves, a couple of dwarves, and one highlander. They seemed to be having fun with the humans in a way that was impossible in the mortal world, where war and strife were common among the races. The highlander had just won a tough arm-wrestling contest using one of his four arms, and he was receiving warm congratulations. The dwarves were discussing forging techniques with human smiths. And the solar elves were caressing the shoulders and breasts of their human partners, with a lot of romantic warmth and affection.

“Welcome back, Eleanor.”

A human suddenly walked from a blind spot on the left and into Vance’s field of view. He wore a mage’s blue robes, and the metal head of an elephant covered his Flame of Revival, which shone from behind the eyes and turned them into two eerie pinholes. The unusual bronze accessory was attached with leather straps that peeked out near the man’s collarbones, and it made him look like a chimera—a human-elephant hybrid whose tusks gorged enemy after enemy day after day. Much as his appearance was intimidating, however, the man himself talked in a very calm and docile manner.

“It’s always nice to see you here,” he continued. “One of the private rooms is vacant if you want to rest a bit. But you’re not here to rest, are you?” He giggled softly. “Will you challenge our new arm-wrestling champion?”

“You bet,” Eleanor said. She was about to head to the crowded table where the highlander was flexing his muscles, but then she remembered she wasn’t alone. “No, wait, Himilco, this is Vance. It’s his First Death.”

“Welcome to the family,” Himilco said, turning to face Vance, whom he had noticed but chosen to ignore thus far. “My name is Himilco Magus.”

Magus?

“Have you heard about the Magus Family before?”

“Yes,” Vance said. “I did … countless times.”

“Then you know who I am.”

“Old Nobility … from the times before the Council.”

“Are you surprised to find me here?” Himilco said.

“A little.”

“Don’t be. The room you see before you is filled with all kinds of people. You have the philosopher and the priest, the nobleman and the beggar, the monk and the lecher. The present and the past mingle. Everything is united by the fate we share. We are different, but our differences mean nothing, because we have all chosen Thurvik and life over the Church and death.”

“Sorry to interrupt this inspiring speech, Himilco,” Eleanor said, “but Vance isn’t here to fraternize or hear about your family history. We just hit the Fly Market, and he has around 13 hours left.”

“Ah … Oh … I’m sorry … I got carried away.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I will prepare the Targrass. So please look for donors.”

“We’re on it.”

As Himilco hurried up the staircase to the second floor, Eleanor grabbed Vance’s hand and walked him among the tables. Stopping at each, she asked the Turncoats if they were willing to donate time to a first-timer. Then she pushed Vance to the forefront, with abrupt haste and a tad too much strength, as if it were important to clarify who was the first-timer in question.

“Sure thing, Eleanor. But promise me you’ll beat that highlander.”

“I could spare an hour or two.”

“Take five hours, ma man!”

“First-timers have a lot to deal with, but I’m short on time myself … Sorry.”

“I’ll give you 20 hours, honey, so don’t get yourself killed.”

In less than half an hour, there were 15 donors who were ready to help Vance. He sat on a chair, and they gathered around him. Each of them took a stalk of Targrass from Himilco. They dipped the dry stalks into their Flames of Revival, losing precious hours from the time they were given to find their heads. Then they threw the burning stalks into Vance’s flame. A beautiful flare followed every offering, and friendly words of encouragement echoed throughout the room. It was a strangely heartwarming atmosphere for Vance, who had gotten used to a life of loneliness and aloofness, and he felt as if he knew these donors by name—as if they were old friends with whom he had just been reunited.

Portentous Whisper Your Flame of Revival goes out in 7 days and 12 hours.

“If it’s all good, Vance, I’ve got a highlander to beat.”

“It’s all good. Thanks again, Eleanor. Thanks, everyone.”

The jovial donors dispersed and returned to what they had been doing, while Eleanor raced to challenge the highlander to an arm-wrestling match. Only Himilco Magus stayed, his eerie elephant head staring as if into Vance’s soul.

“This isn’t what you expected, is it?”

Vance stood up and said, “What?”

“This.” Himilco spread his arms as if to point at everything simultaneously. “You thought you would find a bloodbath. You didn’t expect to find kindness and selflessness in the heart of Middlerift. Tell me, how long did it take you to trust Eleanor? Or do you still not trust her?”

“It took me some time,” Vance said, “but I trust her.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Himilco said, and Vance could’ve sworn that the bronze elephant head smiled for a second. “Trust is what built the House of Turncoats. Ironic, right? But in a good way. And as the person in charge here, I have to warn you”—his voice was still serene—“not to betray our trust. We have banded together to offer you kindness, company, and even promiscuity.” He giggled and pointed at the staircase. Distant moans could be heard from the second floor, as countless beds rattled and squeaked. “All in the heart of hell. All at your disposal, as long as you play by the rules.”

“And who made these rules? You?”

“No. As Headbound, and especially as Turncoats, we were all put in the same debilitating situation. We are the defiant victims of the horrors of destiny, and our rules of trust and companionship developed naturally.

“One: Kill not a Headbound for gain.

“Two: Deceive not a Headbound with guile.

“Three: Abandon not a Headbound in need.

“These are the commands written in the Pact of Lost Flames. The hardships of this realm bring us together and rein back our selfishness. There is little to gain from infighting, and much to achieve together.”

“All right,” Vance said, “I will respect the rules.”

“As long as you do, you’re part of the family,” Himilco said, his elephant head smiling for another split second. Then he moved to another subject with a smooth transition. He purred, “Thanks to our familial bond, you have seven days to hunt your beast. What will you do? Will you leave now?”

“I’m not sure yet. Why are you asking?”

“I recommend you rest here for a while before you depart. You need to be in perfect shape for the fight.”

“I guess you’re right. I need to replenish my HP.”

“Would you like me to prepare a private room for you to sleep in?”

“No, thank you. I think I’ll look for a healer.”

“Healers will cost you. The room is for free.”

“Give me some time to think about it. I’ve been going through a lot from the second I woke up, and I want to calm down a bit before I make any decisions.”

“You already seem to be quite level-headed.”

Vance didn’t laugh at the obvious pun. He excused himself and turned away in a hurry because he didn’t feel very comfortable around the elephant head. He was about to go to the table where Eleanor and the highlander were engaged in a heated contest, but Himilco grabbed his arm from behind and stopped him. It was an unexpected move, and he almost equipped his spectral dagger—perhaps out of instinctive fear. In the next moment, however, it became apparent that the elephant had only the kindest intentions.

“You forgot these.” Himilco placed five red patches in Vance’s hand.

“What are they?”

“Vermeil Activator … a powerful mind-balancing potion. Your body absorbs its droplets when you stick the patches to your skin. You said you wanted to calm down. It can help you forget about everything and loosen up.”

“I don’t remember asking for this kind of help,” Vance said.

“I give five patches to most first-timers. This is a good way to deal with stress after the First Death. Many have tried it and appreciated the results.”

“I don’t need them.”

“Keep them with you in case you do.” Himilco insisted. “Don’t worry. There’s no harm as long as you use five or less. Most people find bliss after two. Take a free trip to heaven for a few hours.”

Vance reluctantly accepted the five adhesive patches and examined them with little to no curiosity. I know about Vermeil Inhibitor, but I’ve never heard about Vermeil Activator. He’s crazy if he thinks I’ll apply some unknown potion to my body. But I don’t want to antagonize him, so it’s best if I don’t say anything. He put the patches in his pocket and decided to leave them there until he could throw them away later. Then he hurried toward Eleanor’s table because he knew that it was safer to be close to her.