They who win against monsters, become monsters themselves.*

- ANALYST DANTALEUS ICARUS

*in response to Lysimachos the Insane's query, "Why did you not kill me when you had the chance, Brother?"

FIRE IS A MESSY THING, IN TERMS OF MILITARY PURPOSE.

It can be used for or against you, and only two types of people use it: the desperate and the arrogant. Arden Valynse has a hard time classifying the perpetrator into either category.

Of course, she knows who it is.

But she’s currently busy running for her life, so there's no time to dwell on that.

“Why the fuck is the jungle on fire?” Rayan pants, choking, as he follows Arden.

“The real question would be,” Arden corrects with a cough, “who the fuck would be crazy enough to set the jungle on fire? We’re surrounded by madmen here, so take your pick.”

Rayan echoes her cough, the smoke getting into his lungs, probably, as he runs faster - Arden almost can’t keep up with him. Euthalia and Cecilia are right behind her, but the smoke is thickening and if she opens her mouth, it’ll clog her throat.

Managing a “talk later,” Arden’s eyes are filled with licking ember flames, her vision burning, as she barely dodges burning debris.

Run.

Her feet hiss as they make contact with the fiery ground, the leather shoes that cover her skin long gone, as Arden forces herself to think.

She gave them a compromise.

They rejected it.

Run.

Every second sears itself into her skin like a broken promise, the heat getting more and more suffocating. The citruses and crimsons of the flames engulf the trees around her like solemn embraces, and she feels like she’s getting slower.

Run. Run. Run.

Suddenly, she sees a figure in the faraway distance, and cold blue eyes as - flames, fire, suffocating heat - Arden’s vision gets hazy. Is that...water floating above the figure's hands? Her legs are tired, her skin scorching, but still she runs. The fire came as quick as a startled rabbit, and they-

They need to run.

A voice suddenly calls out, “We can save two of you, and two of you only.” A masculine voice? A feminine voice? The tones all muddle together in Aphrodite's Chosen's ears.

“Save me and Rayan,” Arden manages. “We’ll pay your price later.” Lia and Euthalia’s eyes widen, but Sonata can’t hear their protests as, true to their word, someone comes behind them.

The world grows dark.

She hopes it’s not death that settles over her.

“Hello,” I chirp into the unconscious Sonata’s ears.

She lurches, but she’s still asleep.

Or pretending to be asleep.

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Cas blinks. “I got the herbs you asked for,” he says, the grin on his face still apparent, “but wouldn’t it be better for her recovery if you didn’t taunt her?” He let the plants in his hands slide to the floor, and slumps to the forest ground with it.

He doesn’t let it show, but it’s obvious dousing the fire has taken a lot out of him.

“You need me to heal you?” I ask nonchalantly, ignoring his remark.

“It was just a couple meters,” he replies. “But my Drawback makes it worse, so healing wouldn’t hurt.”

“At least you’re not one of those fools who shoulder on regardless,” I chuckle. I rummage through the pile on the floor, my fingers and Ability naming each and every plant. Every single one was found in the jungle, a very suspicious fact that makes me paranoid.

His Drawback and Ability - he has no name for it, but I have dubbed it Sap and Control.

Poseidon was - is - a fickle God.

Myths were lodged in my memory, what I consider pivotal cornerstones of Chosen diplomacy.

The reason behind most Forge-touched not escaping the Cage, according to one of Dantaleus’ journals, was of the Queensfavored hunting them down, or vice versa, according to Lys’ accounts. I suppose it could be the other way around, but Myths and Tales play a role in Chosen diplomacy, if you can call it that. Alliances have been observed to be made, pacts almost, guided by the past acts of the Gods.

Forge-touched and Queensfavored. Fancy names for the Chosen of Hera and Hephaestus. A hundred years of the Cage had spawned plenty of nicknames for the ‘legends of old’ - at least, as many as the cynical Imperials would allow.

Again, they were the type to criticize fairy tales.

I collect the herbs that lessen muscle pain, and command, “Strip.”

Cas makes a mock-scandalized expression, but obeys while I mash the petrimor up. It’s too easy - the Gods don’t give advantages. Queen Hera created this Cage to root out the Chosen, to crown Victors. I hadn’t even wanted to come here, but the Morai had made it so a series of coincidences landed me on a ferry to the Queen’s Isle.

I apply the salve to my fingers.

“Where does it hurt?” I ask him, as I lean towards his ear. “I just saw Aria and Sonata twitch. They’re awake, trying to gather more information,” I whisper casually, as Cas shrugs.

“My Ability tells me that one of them could have enhanced hearing,” he says back. In case it isn’t obvious, we’re still pretending to switch Abilities. “But we probably should tell them either way that Dionysus’ Chosen escaped.”

Another twitch.

Ah, so Aria did have enhanced hearing.

“Tell me where it hurts,” I say. It Saps his muscle strength, his Ability to Control water - a physical Drawback. Technically, petrimor won’t help him regain his strength, but it should help with the muscle pain regardless.

Cas gestures easily to his back, sighing. “Thanks, though,” he adds.

I lather it all over his back, as I smile. “You know, for being Athena’s Chosen, it’s weird that you have a physical Drawback,” I say. “But mine’s all over the place, so I can’t talk.”

“Drawing the moisture out of the air to douse a fire,” he says, dryly. “Yes, a very scientific Ability. Should’ve guessed, with you yapping about Aquila all day long.”

I smack him. “Don’t stereotype people,” I scold. “It’s nice to read her studies, okay?”

I haven’t mentioned Aquila once.

He’s too good of an Actor.

I agreed to this, but- my Ability's suspicious.

It’s true that Dionysus’ Chosen escaped, but it’s also true that I stabbed her in the back while she was running away. Demeter’s Chosen is also currently out of the running. I could say two down, ten to go, but the reason behind our current advantage is the surprise attack we pulled over them.

Kage, of course, like the weasel they are, scrambled towards Vivianna’s camp the second we turned our backs. Like the benevolent duo we are - in addition to the fact that we knew it was coming - we let them.

If we succeed in luring Sonata and Aria over to our side, then we postpone facing off against both of them until the end. The final Game, that’s what they are - and I can’t say honestly that I’m not looking forward to it.

Cas shrugs his clothes back on, and looks at the two bodies near the tent. Of course we’ve built a new shelter and hidden our old one, but it’s dark and we’ve gotten a fire started. It’s a bit further from the monsters, but I can’t get the sinister presence at the back of my head off my mind.

“Come on,” I call, my back still facing them - of course, they don’t need to know that my Ability would tell me if they tried to backstab me. If you set some expectations of someone, there were always the type of people who tried to fulfill them. Then again, there were also the types of people who pretended to try to fulfill them in order to lull you to a false sense of security. “The fire’s started.”

I was betting on the fact that Sonata was the latter.

A pause.

“We know you’re pretending,” I add cheerfully. “While you were out, our Abilities have been charged to the fullest.” I chomp on a piece of jerky. “I haven’t healed you yet, just let you rest - it would be a shame if you have to rest again just because you were stupid enough to think you could win.”

I hear a grumble. “It could be what you want us to think,” says Aria. Half-hearted suspicion.

“It could also be the truth,” Cas reminds. “We have jerky.”

“And a shit ton of herbs,” I add. “And a healer. And some very pointy knives.”

Cas makes a face. “Don’t threaten them,” he says softly, but that Godsbroken grin is still on his face. His nose leans towards the hawkish side, I suppose, bronze skin gleaming by the firelight. The crackling of the crimson embers, the faint smell of crushed petrimor, and the smell of burning wood does nothing to deter me from paying every attention to the motion of the Chosen behind me.

A thunk. Someone plops their rear down next to me by the fire. Aria.

He’s lean and pale - his blue eyes and sharp features would’ve resembled the Boreans of the North had his build not have the stockiness of the Isles. All in all, my physical estimate hasn’t changed, even from up close, his disproportionate face-to-stature ratio still makes him resemble a shrew.

Dark hair, but nothing in his tone suggests anything other than animosity. “I mean what I said,” he growls, his voice low and smoky. “We’re all here to kill each other. Plain and simple. You better sleep lightly tonight.”

“Wouldn’t dream of anything but,” I reply, pleasantly. “I assume you must be Aria. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Seraphina. Please, call me Sera.” I adopt the smooth tone of an experienced noble, and gesture towards Cas, who’s demolishing a piece of jerky at an incredibly rapid place. “This is Caspian. You can call him Cas.”

I almost don’t hear Sonata sit next to me. It concerns me.

Trained in stealth - assassin? - if they had similar backgrounds - thief? - Aria deliberately deceiving - street rat?

“Arden,” Sonata offers. Her voice is still a bit throaty from the fire. “The big lug over there is Rayan. You said something about Euthalia escaping?”

“She escaped the fire,” I correct, “didn’t escape us.” I hand her a piece of jerky. “Harpy meat,” I explain. She doesn’t eye it in disgust or suspicion - suggests a scavenging background - but starts chewing on it. Cas throws Rayan another strip, and I continue talking. “A couple burns on your back and feet, but you both ran fast enough, so it isn’t that serious. I was going to apply some salve, but I didn’t want to do anything that you weren’t conscious and ready to bargain for.”

“I did say that I would pay the price,” Arden says.

“But that was a claim, not an agreement,” I say. “You can’t promise it for dear Rayan here.” I face her, just quick enough for me to catch her raise an eyebrow.

She’s beautiful, like most Aphrodite’s Chosen are claimed to be. Full curves on a lithe figure, dark hair that reminds me of strands of onyx candy. She still projects an otherworldly allure with that wild scavenger look in her eyes, even with the monster skins that serve as bandages on her feet and back, but it’s a pull.

Arden has a pull - a discreet one, but one nonetheless - and my Ability immediately pegs her as a threat.

I don’t make it obvious I’m staring, but still Arden smiles.

“Negotations, then,” she says, lightly, still chewing on the jerky. This time, she looks alluring doing it. The fire seems far away, Cas and Rayan ebbing away, and I can only see her, see her and her only, she is- An Ability. Her Ability.

I blink.

Her posture gives it away that she’s using it - she leans closer, her russet lashes covering now-coquettish dark eyes. I smile. “Right, negotiations,” I reply. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t use your Ability on me, now that we’re discussing our partnership in good faith.”

Rayan’s eyes narrow, but Arden doesn’t show any reaction. “It was a good try, though, you have to admit,” she laughs. “The offer’s still open, though,” the Chosen adds, “even if you rejected my offer of help the first time.”

“Compromise isn’t help, ‘Dennie, dear,” I drawl.

Arden finishes off the harpy meat. “Empty threats after help aren’t compromises, either, Sera,” she replies, dusting off her hands. “Partners are equal, and partnerships are made based on compromises. How much do you want our help?” She smiles, and corrects herself, “How much are you willing to pay, for our help?”

“A fellow reader of Diplomacy Basics, I see,” I beam. “I suggest my dear Cas as leader of negotiations from this moment forward.” I detect a flash of surprise in Arden’s eyes, before she shrugs easily.

Cas’ voice is still even. "Right, then."

I give him a mild nod, as I turn towards Rayan, who’s watching the exchange through slits for eyes. He meets my gaze, and I raise my eyebrows, grinning childishly. He doesn’t smile back.

It’s going be a long Dayend.

I remember that the first time I killed someone, I felt no remorse.

I’m sure you’re supposed to feel something other than remorse for not feeling remorse, according to Tomes, but that wasn’t the case for me. There are no rules to death - you aren’t supposed to mourn nor are you supposed to regret in a specific way. You can’t wield it like a sword, lest it become a double-edged blade.

Killing is a tool. Death isn’t.

The memory feels fresh in my mind, an indirect hiring of an assassin to make him pay. I don’t even remember his name.

When you’re surrounded by death and murder, you become desentisized to it, apparently. The bloody hangings of rebellious Servants, the heads of those who opposed the Marksmen topping pikes, crimson liquid and the inner bodies of humans.

When I was young, it used to unnerve me.

I forced myself to read medical books of Healers and Analysts as a kid, picking apart every body part and muscle, seeing the insides of curved red structures until the anxiety went away. It did.

Were there people that told me what the Marksmen did was immoral? Of course, but the ones who did were usually killed soon after. Death was death. There was no keeping it from arriving, no keeping it from weaselling its way in your hands sooner or later.

I sigh.

I don’t sleep at all, Arden by my side as Rayan and Cas share the other structure.

We’ve decided on an agreement, but it isn’t wise to turn your back onto a potential enemy. I stare at the dark, Crownpieces forming in the insides of my head, as I smile and try not to think of blood and darkness.

“So,” Jonas enunciates slowly, “you’re saying that Seraphina and Caspian are planning to set a part of the jungle on fire to kill Aria, Sonata, and their group?”

“I think they already did,” voices Halkyone. “I can smell smoke.”

Reassess.

To the point where they can control a rainforest fire, Abilities.

The Forge-touched frowns. “But you say they plan to-”

“Torch it, and extinguish it,” replies the dark-haired Chosen.

Reassess.

Reckless - no, calculating of the risks?

Reassess.

Jonas, Reassess.

“To what?” Vivianna doesn’t look like she's aware that she’s muttering aloud. Jonas doesn’t correct her.

Sometimes, Jonas is reminded of an imitation - Vivianna’s body, posture, seems like she’s acting like someone. Probably a parental figure, likely the Visountess Bloodthorn herself. She’s playing at being a mastermind, but Jonas has the decency to not point it out.

After all, she was part of the reason why he’s still alive.

Poseidon and Athena’s Chosen were right to try and kill him. Of course, there is no right and wrong, when it comes to these things - but if you ask Jonas whether or not he would’ve been in the pair’s way, the answer is yes. There’s no changing it.

Jonas needs to get out.

And his Ability and golems will help him.

Vivianna is the only one who isn’t unpredictable to the point where she can’t be used without a jarring conflict of interest. But she’s slow to move, slow to play the game. A gambler, not a Crownplayer. But she’ll help.

Some way to break the orbs, to break the Cage. If the material is found somewhere else, anywhere else, in the other Chosen’s Abilities, the possibility of a reaction grows exponentially. Assess. There’s no weak spots, either, but if one of the Chosen who Jonas needs dies in the fire…

“I’m not a gambling man,” he says, “but I’m betting that this changes things.”

No one answers.

I blink. “You know,” I say, “when I said that we should partner up to destroy Vivianna’s camp, I thought we wouldn’t be venturing further into the monster-infested jungle first.”

Rayan grunts. It’s barely dawn, but no one protests when Arden cheerfully points out that we should be exploring the island instead of moping around trying not to backstab each other.

Arden whistles from further ahead. “Damn, you guys aren’t shabby mapmakers.” She looks at the current maps we’ve drawn, impressed. “What are the X’s for?”

“Hunting spots,” Cas calls from beside her. “H for harpy, g for griffin. The smaller monsters are less further out, but we’ve never gone inside inside. Bigger prey, but more danger we aren’t prepared for.”

“Thus the giant question mark,” Arden says, amused. “Smart.”

Before we’d started on our trek, we’d agreed to partner up and share notes. Cas had shared his maps and hunting observations with Arden, and I’d passed over my monster anatomy papers and experiments to Rayan.

As both Cas and Arden plot our routes and we all walk further, the monster calls get louder.

Rayan shoves a paper in my face. “Are you sure those are the harpy’s reproductive organs?” he questions. Doubt of not capabilities, but ability to draw conclusions. “It looks more like-” Knowledge on anatomy. How?

“Their excreting holes, yeah,” I reply back. “But there’s no way to know for sure how the monsters reproduce, if they reproduce at all. I said that there it would be likely, but we can’t know for sure until-”

“We find how monster spawning works,” Rayan finishes. “I got that, just-”

“I read about how there’s a Source in the Isle,” I interrupt. “There’s maps of it, but it’s likely they’re outdated.” I laugh, “I had to haggle a thief to steal from the Imperial library to get my hands on them - most information about the Queen’s Isle is highly classified, after all.”

Rayan waits with raised eyebrows.

Slight surprise?

“But apparently, it’s a bridge from the part of the Underworld that spawns monsters, and the mortal realm,” I say. “I don’t know how exactly it works, but then again, magic from the Gods is a shaky subject.” I turn to Rayan as we walk together. “Opinions, Ray?”

Zeus’ Chosen frowns at the nickname, but he says, “We’ll just have to discover it for ourselves, then.” A pause, as he stomps on a stray leaf aggressively. “But,” he continues, after a period of hesitation, “there’s something off about this. I can feel it. The Gods are changing. My Liege told me himself.”

He turns to me, his face full of expectation as he volunteers the information.

I latch on to the theory.

“I think My Liege mentioned something of the sort.” Other than telling me she was arrogant, she told me- “Quote, the Fate of the Empire rests on your shoulders. It may have something to do with the fact that it’s the Hundredth Cage. The Gods seem to like numbers as milestones. The three Moirai. The three Erinyes. The twelve Olympians, the twelve labors of Hercules.”

My Ability spins.

"Four times three, twelve," Rayan mutters. "A hundred doesn’t have any correlation with the numbers, but-" his frown deepens. “Hera’s and Hephaestus’ Chosens are now all buddy buddy, when the original Queen threw the God off Olympus. Poseidon and Athena argued over the patronage of a city, and now, look at the two of you. There has to be something wrong with this time. Something off.”

I shrug. “Nothing new, but something new,” I say. “Contradictions. The Cagekeepers are watching us. The Gods are, too, even if they can’t contact us. If they wanted to tell us, they would.” But we’re just their entertainment. I left the last sentence unsaid.

“They chose us for a reason,” Rayan replies, but it sounds like more of a statement than a retort. “Maybe we’re meant to figure it out ourselves.” Maybe. Doubt. “Either way, I’m still going to kill you, Poseidon’s Chosen or not. I still haven’t found out how you extinguished the fire.”

It’s because I didn’t.

“I’m looking forward to it, then,” I respond cheerfully.

A beat.

“What’s your connection, though?” he presses.

If we were in a play, his questions would’ve been interrupted by a giant monster by now.

“Connection to what?” I arch an eyebrow.

Rayan kicks a rock as he continues strolling, ignoring the two scouts ahead. “Connection to your Ability. You control water, right? But you don’t seem like the type to like water. The first time you drank out of the jug, it doesn’t seem to replenish you - we passed a brook, nearby, and you barely gave it a second glance. There’s no connection, for you - besides, you don’t seem like the type.”

He’s onto me. Us.

No, he said ‘you don’t seem like the type,’ not ‘you aren’t the type.’

Still, he’s a naturally suspicious person.

I give a snort. “What type do I seem like, then?” I ask casually, my Ability spurring into action again.

“The unpredictable type who’d be the Victor,” he replies, conversationally, with the sour expression still on his pinched face. “I’d bet good money on you. You’re smart, not above killing, and you have plans.”

“This would be the point where I would turn the conversation to ask about you,” I comment, “but, I’ll respect your boundaries and answer.”

Honesty.

“I’ve had my fair share of drowning, metaphorically speaking. Too many people expect things of you, push their burdens onto you, because you see too much - and then you go under. Wouldn’t recommend it, going under.”

Rayan shrugs, his eyes sharp. “Won’t try it, then.” He pauses. “The fact that there’s no insects is weird.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

A long silence.

It’s broken as Arden calls back, “We’ve wandered enough. We should go back, retrace our steps, head out in another direction. We’ve plotted our route already.”

Of course, her statement is followed up by a loud roar that rips through the trees, a roar that should've happened a couple lines ago.

Terrible timing.

The Minotaur is ugly, I realize, after watching it storm into the clearing.

Matted russet fur sprouts from every available surface, scarlet eyes glaring from a bull’s face. Craggy horns that curve unevenly stretch towards the sky as a dirty loincloth barely covers its - their? - reproductive organs, smoke snorting from its nostrils. A club is in its hand, the source of supposed bone-shaking terror.

It looks like an oversized bull.

It’s probably a small chance that the person who reads this turns out to get Chosen, and an even smaller chance that the person who reads this is a Chosen who’ll heed an old man’s advice, but, nonetheless, if a series of coincidences brings you to pick up this book, please follow the following statement: if you ever see a Minotaur - run.

“Fuck.” I spit the curse lightly from my lips, letting it fall to the ground and my surroundings.

“No sudden movements,” Rayan murmurs, his voice low, like it’s a rabid dog. We’re both still to our bones, Cas and Arden further ahead doing the same. My hand sneaks to my dagger as the Minotaur surveys the scene.

Am I scared?

My Ability launches itself into motion without any reaction needed, cogs turning like a well-oiled machine. What are the Hints? What are the Hints? It asks insistently, and I provide them. Run.

Another voice whispers, but you can beat it. You’re different from the others. Everyone told you, you’re different. You’ll win. You can beat it.

But there’s always a chance.

Each move is a flip of the coin, each Piece full of opportunities that can backfire. Think of the risks. Calculate. Did the risk of dying outweigh the glory of victory over the Minotaur? I could have information, dissect a Minotaur-

No.

That wasn’t what was Wise.

It’s just my brain trying to justify charging at the Minotaur. For what? Knowledge? Glory? There would be another day. Another Game to play, another victory to win.

I slowly back away.

Another Game to play, another victory to win.

I’m not Perseus.

One step, and then the next, careful to observe any twitch of agitation. The others are doing the same. The sky is full of aurora streaks, strips of dawn light and the smiling face of Eos, the gathering dew on the leaves of the clearing clear and crisp.

But every inch of my skin is telling me to run, the viridian leaves and the scarlet eyes almost poisonously vivid colors.

I take another step.

The bull’s snout opens and it roars again, but my Ability can’t concoct a story or spin a tale for the sound - it rips through my ears, ravaging, as my heart hammers in my chest. I take two steps. It snorts smoke again. I swallow another “fuck.”

Muscles ripple underneath its chest, its teeth bloody with the remains of its prey, as I manage three slow steps backwards.

What are the Hints? What are the Hints? my Ability still screams.

The Minotaur gruffly snorts again, this time pawing the ground.

Four steps.

I’m nearly into the underbrush with Rayan, but Cas and Arden are a good few paces away. I just need to run faster than one of the three, and I’ll be free. I’ll play another Game, win another Victory.

Moral qualms come later. I like Cas, I really do - then why?

He’s smart enough to run faster than Arden, who’s still recovering from her fine injuries. He’ll be fine.

Ten steps.

I can turn my back now, but my body refuses to cooperate. I can run now, I can-

The scarlet eyes are narrowing. Rayan looks at me, and I look back, breaking my stare-off with the monster.

We can run now, he mouths. Why? Why’s the shrew-like Chosen of Zeus helping me?

I shake my head. Maybe I’m paranoid, but not yet.

With one last roar, the monster somehow turns back on its heel and slinks back in the underbrush, leaving us alone. The four of us let out a breath we didn’t know we were holding.

__

Our maps are almost done, some of the question marks having filled themselves after we go at it a couple more times. Of course, we’re shaken at the Minotaur’s appearance, but letting it deter future operations wouldn’t be beneficial. We’re a lot more careful after the first encounter, though.

“So, game plan time.” Cas rubs his hands together eagerly.

“You don’t have to look so excited, dear.” I pat his back affectionately, amused. It’s late afternoon, now, and we’re all huddled together, outside. We’re eating jerky again, after breakfast, with some edible plants and berries - after the first few days, my diet’s more settled, but I can’t deny I miss the allure of good old moustalevria.

Ah, it always tasted better on days when I was withheld dinner so I could threaten the pudding out of the kitchen maids.

Good old moustalevria.

“Game plan time is exciting!” Cas protests with a grin, looking around for support. “We let Kage go on purpose so they could spill the beans and make Vivianna’s camp reassess our threat level! Doesn’t that make your veins soar? Your heart sing?”

“Sure,” I say simply.

“I guess,” Rayan inputs.

“Of course, Cas,” says Arden.

A pang of emotion - envy? - gnaws at me, at the nickname. Oh, well.

I dish out a “strategically, the first move would be a Soldier, or a cluster of one.”

“The fire,” Arden understands.

“Yeah, the fire.” I spread my hands. I’m not going to tell them our whole plan, of course - that would be a grave error, even if they didn’t ditch us at the Minotaur. “A nice Opening, to make them reconsider how much of a threat we are, letting Kage escape. But that leaves-”

Rayan frowns, interrupting. “-Someone open. An avenue of attack.”

I gesture towards myself. “Me.” I continue, “Iason’s angry. I maimed him permanently, crippled him. The strategic thing to do, on their end, would be to wait and develop a reasonable course of action. But waiting? After I made a move? Watching his teammates sit around and do nothing, to him? He can’t do that.”

“But there’s no certainty that he’ll come after us,” Arden points out. “Bloodthorn and Jonas could have a tighter leash on him than we know of.”

I wait a beat.

Surprisingly, Rayan gets it first. Understanding. “Kage.”

“They’re not stupid, even if they’re weak,” Cas says. The grin on his face gets wider, the plan we discussed with the swap of our Abilities. “A thief’s mindset. If they see Iason agitated, after we ‘accidentally’ boasted about Iason’s injury in front of them? They’ll use it to get Iason on their side, and soon, Bloodthorn’s entire camp.”

Arden frowns. Not doubt, just trying to see the plan from a new perspective. “But there’s no certainty, either, that Kage’ll jump at it. It was hard reining them in, in the first place. You can’t guarantee that they’ll try and use Iason - even if they do, that move revolves around you as bait. If they manage to surprise you-”

“They can’t,” I say simply. “I can’t be surprised.” With both my imaginary Ability, and my real one. “I can sense the water in living organisms, as well as controlling it,” I lie. “Not in terms of blood, of course, but I’ll discreetly keep an eye out. They’ll likely strike tonight, Kage and Iason, because of the shadows. I’ll be ready. We’ll be ready.”

“It’s a gamble,” Cas adds. “But one that’s worthy of taking.” Surprisingly, for the person who was initially against teaming up with them. I don’t say what we’ll use the captured Kage and Iason for, but we all know.

Rayan gives a small nod. “Alright. I’ll take it.”

Arden corrects, “No, we’ll take it.”

Disgruntlement - problems with leadership - Zeus’ Chosen, correlation?

“Alright, then,” I say lightly. “Then it’s a date.”

“You’re probably going to say something random after this pause,” Cas remarks. “Probably some shit like, ‘You know, Cas, if you don’t give people time to plot a betrayal, the backstabbing’ll be half-assed and it’ll be a lose-lose.’” The last sentence is said in the impression of a high, reedy trill.

“I don’t talk like that,” I protest, leaning against the tree. “But there is no point! I just say it in pauses for dramatic flair!”

Cas raises his eyebrows. “So we both agree that Rayan and Arden will betray the both of us?” he comments.

“Yeah.”

“Gotcha.”

I check after a while, “But we also both agree that Rayan’s turbulent alliances are an advantage that can be used in the future?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. Just checking,” I comment. “Arden’s probably smart enough to figure out our Abilities. Rayan, too. We’re testing the limits to his supposed enhanced senses, by the way. If he does hear us, we’ll have a crossroads on our hands. We do both know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“You know,” Cas says after a while, “these awkward silences are probably because of the trust heart-to-heart that we haven’t had yet.” As if catching the confused expression on my face, he continues, “You know? The, hey, I-think-you’re-great-and-we-should-sacrifice-ourselves-for-each-other talk.”

“Oh,” I say after a while. Honesty. “Like right now? While we’re waiting to capture and possibly torture information out of someone?” A nod, from the other boy. “Right.” I pause. “I was going to sacrifice you to the Minotaur. I thought about it for, what, ten seconds? Then I decided not to do it. I’d give others around two seconds of consideration, though. Do with the information what you will.”

It’s much easier discussing strategies than developing a trust-goes-both-ways relationship. Probably because we both backstab people, but, you know, at least we do it together.

Weak.

Fuck, maybe I am.

“Right,” Poseidon’s Chosen replies. “I thought about it, too, and I was like, nah, she’ll probably find a way out anyways, you know? We both make it a habit to get out of sticky situations, but usually the sticky situations come from backstabbing people, so we don’t know if we’ll backstab each other.”

“It might not necessarily be the lack of trust, though,” I concede. “More feelings bloom out of being stuck with each other in stressful situations, than in real life. Some theorists say that the heart confuses the adrenaline with love, or something like that.” The word feels weird in my mouth. “I think you’re great, though.”

I can feel Cas smile. “Yeah, I think you’re great, too.” A pause. “But, someday, somehow, we’ll have a conflict of interest.”

“Probably,” I admit.

It’s inevitable.

“Maybe it’ll happen now, or tomorrow, or the day after that,” he continues. “Maybe I’ll be the one holding the blade to your throat, maybe you’ll be the one holding it to mine. Maybe, we won’t see each other coming.”

The possibility amuses me.

It probably shouldn’t.

I speak, “Our interests are pretty similar. I do my best to survive, and you go along with the flow and do whatever you feel like doing. Maybe laugh and point at my failures. But I definitely will see you coming. It would be more fun if I couldn’t, though. The risk. The chase.”

“I’m happy to provide amusement,” Cas replies, his voice full of sarcasm. He pauses. “But, trust. The difficult word.” He asks, “Do you trust me?”

“Asking the difficult questions, now, are you?” I joke.

The silence is full of expectation.

“We’ve only known each other for what, four days?” I ponder aloud. “From what I’ve seen of your skillset, I trust your capabilities as a partner. That’s all I can say for now.”

Some people would label this immediate connection as something wishy-washy, like soulmates, but no such thing exists in this world. Even if it does, I haven't found it - situational compatibility is something that's proven, though, and Cas fulfills all of the necessary criteria.

I like him.

Truly.

Fondness, not love or trust.

“Gods, I was wondering if I was a bad person for not being able to say that I fully trust you,” he admits after a while. I can feel the grin, all teeth and wilderness, fade from his lips. “But I’m alright with dying. Alright with living. Hell, if it provides me some sort of purpose, I’m all for it.” A pause. “I would be a fool to trust you.”

I smile. My Ability’s quiet, for once. The fun thing is, the statement doesn’t hurt.

“If you’re looking for a person to ask you to be that fool, you’ve got the wrong one,” I say, lightly.

As long as we both don’t provide each other with a reason or benefit to backstabbing each other, we won’t. The future’s uncertain, but at least I don’t have a stupid partner by my side to face it.

A flicker.

“That’s Kage, right?” I ask.

“Yeah, perfect timing.”

Blades flashing, we jump onto the backs of the revenge-seekers and tug them back to camp.

Torture’s never been a strong suit of mine.

I drag the blade against Kage’s pale flesh and try not to pretend that their screams will haunt me. Maybe it doesn’t work, but the scarlet drops that tear themselves free from the wounds certainly serve as a distraction from moral dilemmas.

Luckily, Cas handles the interrogation.

“What have you told them?” The boy with the easy grin is gone, and in his place is the person who bares all teeth.

Torture’s unreliable.

A fact that rings true especially with squirmy people like Kage who do anything to save their own skin. But this display is more to fuel Iason’s hate and cultivate Kage and Iason’s relationship as well as driving a wedge in Vivianna’s camp, than actually needing the information.

Kage screams again.

“Gods, blood got on my boots,” I mutter. Probably a moment of vanity from my “former” noble status, but blood stains.

Layers of pale skin peel off like the skins of oranges that are served at banquets, only this time there’s patches of mottled crimson that ruin someone’s appetite. I can see bone and organ - I only sliced a couple times, already, which means that Kage has really thin skin.

Iason’s watching, his gag muffled as he probably joins the chorus of screams. Rayan blinks, his expression showing disgust - not at me, according to my Ability, but the method itself, and Arden’s mouth twists in distaste.

I want to voice my protests that they’re not the ones doing the dirty work.

I swallow them all the same.

I hand the knife to Cas, who takes it wordlessly - my stomach churns a bit, as he gets to work with almost experienced hands, but I stuff it down. I’ve seen much worse than this, even if it’s my first time doing it, but-

My qualms won’t quiet themselves with a few rounds of torture. Going outside for fresh air would make me seem weak to Rayan and Arden, and I need to use them. Need, want, desire, what the Fates want me to desire - it all blurs together, at these moments, but I still force myself to watch.

You’re just a spectator, I tell myself.

So watch.

Gods, blood got on my boots.

Blood stains.