The sodality of rain had always been a place whose influence and landmass always fell dissonant to its population density. Aside from the crowded boroughs of the west coast, the sodality of rain was vastly adorned by vacant plains dotted only by the occasional rural respite. It was the harsher climate of the wider territory that left it only called home by those few homely hamlets. The greater whole of the sodality of rain—in following with its name—was buried under an incessant maelstrom of untrustworthy skies. Unpredictable rains of equally unpredictable strengths washed over the countryside with an uncaring ferocity.

But the sodalities strived upon the harshness of their homes, and indeed the need to defend ones cultivations was what granted the sodality of rain the largest ratio of spellcasters to mundanes in Trammel. These sporadic communities sprinkled casually slightly covering sanctity’s countryside would oft be accompanied by at least one wizard—or as upon the sodality’s nomenclature: stormfeller—to safeguard its hearth.

Upon a particularly strategically located patch of wetland stood a little town known as Ark. Aside from the few idle markings into books of historic wars, there was not much of note within the town. Well, there was one thing worth mentioning, and it was something significant; it was within this little village that a great stormfeller lived: Yu, and the corresponding arena which that name implied.

A gargantuan greenhouse towered over the tiny town; its impossible glass grandeur ever being expanded upon by the boiling waves of the nearby lake melting the beach head into further roomings of hollow glass fragmentation. The greenhouse itself had grown to the shape of a wisping fern; though the glass was perfectly clear, the shaped fern still breathed with a vibrant green due to the plethoric web of floral vitality within the building’s confines.

Atop this giant glass tower stood an even greater structure, the tall structure curved and coiled like a deific serpent breaching upon the clouds. Faint crackles of purple power thrummed from betwixt the thin scales of its walls. This structure upon the building was by no means permanent, which the town’s residents were surely dearly grateful for. The structure atop the greenhouse was not permanent for it was not stationary, it was living, it was a dragon. The scales of the building’s walls upon closer inspection were not scales but hundreds upon hundreds of lanceolate wings which drenched by rain clung uselessly to the Dragon’s cold form.

The Dragon had been standing atop the arena housing for the past four days. As a statuesque gargoyle he stood perfectly still and simply watched. He watched the ebb and flow of humanity. He watched the boom of life as denizens from all across the continent gathered for the Tournament. He watched the different faces and tongues of eager foreigners crawl about the rural playground with explorative curiosity. Each arriving patron had brought with them a tale, a life and perspective whose story was told through the everyday actions of their idling desires; the Dragon would devour each movement and expression with his eyes consuming all of the knowledge that their simple existence let slip.

The Dragon watched, and he too occasionally was watched. His presence in the town was undeniable. The very might of the magic he housed within his potent flesh bled out to the environs and coated the town with a thick weight. The essence exuded out from the Dragon with such an omnipresent force that it was noticeably harder to breathe, people found themselves wading down streets rather than walking, the very air itself granted a new pressured viscosity. Some of the residents with particularly staunched essential flux found themselves bedridden with a magical sickness they knew not even existed before this day.

In the sodality of rain it rained, a lot. No stormfeller could wholly negate such facts. Upon certain days, the rain was a pleasant coolness to a hot cumbrous sky. This was not one of those days, the rain crashed as harshly as it did rapidly. The dirt roads morphed to an oozing mud, and each drop of falling dew was heavy enough that no mere coat could save someone from its ire. The Dragon himself found his long blue fur clumping to dead wet masses which clung irritatingly to his hardened green skin. His large ears drooping with a depressive weight to the side of his head. Despite all of this, he still felt the need to stay, to collect the knowledge so casually shared by the simple peasantry. Even with the retched weather, the dirt roads—turned mudded swamps—were never so crowded. The Dragon stood atop the arena of Yu and watched, he watched who the crowd had gathered for.

A town so usually quaint as Ark had not built itself for such raucous activity, leaving its quickly deteriorating main roadway filled beyond capacity. A veritable swarm of fans pushed and shoved, doing whatever need be done to get them a single step closer to their calling heart’s wills. So covered by the populace, that sogging mud floor was entirely hidden beneath the shuffling crowd; the grotesque grunge of liquidated street only being felt in the gushing between toes or violent splashes against poorly sown clothes. The unmatched energy of the crowd was understandable though: the Hero had arrived.

Doyen had been entirely entrapped within a swarming deluge of wanting adorers, so many simply wanting to be able to touch the man. So many needing that touch if only to confirm that such a mythological giant could truly be real. Many of the gathering people would merely gaze upon Doyen and weep in joy as a world’s anxiety washed away. They would see that he was real, that he was living and obviously as powerful as the legendary stories told and no longer were their hearts burdened with the fear of terrible creatures rending friends and family apart.

Amongst the overwhelming swarm of hands and cheeks molesting his every inch, a baby was shoved into Doyen’s hands and he knew not what he was possibly meant to do with it. As quickly as it entered his hold it left again, and a tall woman raised the child to the crowd around and cheered. “She has been blessed!”

The whole event manifested as white noise in Doyen’s head, so much happening at once it was impossible to process. The experience was entirely too surreal for him to react, he was still just that wandering adventurer peasant at heart. But his heart did not guide reality; and in reality, he was practically drowning in a wave of adoration. And Doyen could feel the adoration on an intrinsic level, that euphoria running through his veins like a malignant high. He couldn’t control the blind bliss that was enveloping him; it was so powerful a captivating emotion it almost felt like it wasn’t even his own.

A surprise squeeze of his groin brought him out of his emotional trance and without any time to react a large and odd cube mounted on a gangly man’s shoulder was pressed uncomfortably close to his face. “How do you feel about your upcoming arena match?” The words were spoken by a short squat lad who held an odd cone in his hand reminiscent of perhaps ice-cream yet somehow composed of metal.

Doyen leaned away from the large cube, pushing it away from his face so he could feel like he could breathe once more. “Get that out of my face. What is that thing?”

The man with the metal ice-cream brought the meal to his face but instead of eating it, he spoke to the device. “That is an I.F repeater Mr. Heirisson. It is sending live images to every firebox across Trammel. Do you have anything to say to the viewers?”

Finished speaking, the man tilted the metal ice-cream so that it pointed at Doyen. “Wait, so I’m inside those weird firebox things right now?”

The man with the cone nodded before speaking, “That’s right, millions of people all over the world can see and hear you right now.” Across the entirety of Trammel people watched shaky footage of Doyen’s nostril as history’s very first camera man failed to understand his framing. The I.F. repeater bobbed and swayed as the camera man was pushed and shoved along every which way by the ocean of gathered zealots. Doyen too was knocked around by the heavy throng of people hardly managing to stay in frame. Once again that large cube, or supposedly the I.F. repeater, was shoved towards his face, “Do you have any thoughts on the last arena’s fights?”

Doyen was at a complete loss for words, honestly his mind was still stuck on what happened to that baby a while back, he was fairly certain it was a different woman who had picked it up than who put it in his hands. Losing track of a focus, Doyen was beginning to feel that nebulous warbling of emotion again, that befuddling high of unidentifiable origin. The unapproved interviewer was quick to recapture his attention though, “Do you have anything you want to say to the Vampire?”

The mokoi was a topic that Doyen could definitely talk about, “Yes actually there is.”

Doyen was prepared to rant off until that metal ice-cream was shoved into his face, “Please speak into the microphone.” Doyen pressed his mouth against the metal definitely not foodstuff and spoke again, “Yes actually there is something I-”

The metal ice cream was pulled away, “Not so close to the microphone please.” Around the world people were thankful as the horrid sound of Doyen’s screeching breath ceased to scratch out of the firebox speakers.

Doyen leaned towards the metal ice-cream and gave the man holding it a questioning look for confirmation of his correct distancing. With a nod from the interviewer Doyen spoke for the third time, “Yes there is something I’d like to tell the Vampire.”

The interviewer waited with his strange metal device pointed to Doyen. Doyen was excited to finally be on one of those cool new fireboxes, he wondered if Iatric was watching him now. Outside of Doyen’s mind, the interviewer waited awkwardly, a few seconds more of waiting and the interviewer had to ask, “And what would that be?”

“Well when I see the Vampire I’ll be sure to tell him.” Doyen responded valiantly with the confidence of an unmatched hero.

“You’re being filmed Mr. Heirisson, live to the world, you can tell him now.”

Doyen had to shoo away someone getting uncomfortably intimate with his behind behind him as he stared confusedly at the interviewer “I can? Where is he?”

The interviewer bit back an annoyed sigh, “No he’s not here, he’s watching. You can tell him through the firebox.”

“Oh alright. Hey Vampire!”

The interviewer quickly interrupted, “Speak to the firebox repeater please, not me.”

Doyen tried to look directly into the I.F. repeater hoping that would mean he stared straight into the Vampire’s eyes through the firebox. Doyen took the metal ice-cream out of the interviewer’s hands and called out directly to the Vampire, “Hey Vampire! First of all, get prepared because I’m coming for you. If you want to mess with humanity, then that means you’re messing with me, and no mokoi will ever get away with messing with me. Secondly, while you’re here taking my advice, I have something else to tell you: get a real name, its unnecessarily confusing.” Doyen dropped the M.I.C letting it plop into the mud and sending a gross squelch to peak speakers across the continent. Doyen turned around and walked away, both because he needed to free himself from the overwhelming and far too handsy crowd, but also partially because he thought it would make his announcement cooler.

The swarm of fans tried to follow him but as he approached the arena of Yu the thick drops of rain started to suspend in midair; the rain kept falling from the sky, but rather than splash on the ground it gathered at waist height forming a liquid barrier separating Doyen from the rest of the people.

The firm voice of an irritated woman sounded out “Thank you everyone for coming, but the Hero needs to settle into his lodgings.” Doyen turned to see his rescuer. She was a rather tall woman whose face balanced on the edge of youth and senility, each reappraising glance seeming to come to a different conclusion on her age. The woman cradled within her arms a large slug whose upper body broke off into five long spindling tentacles. The slug creature only wiggled ever so slightly as proof of its life. “Please Doyen, you must be weary from your journey, come and I’ll bring you to the arena.

Within the woman’s presence, Doyen realized that he need not fear the crying skies for not a drop of dew landed near the two of them. It seemed as if the rain itself parted for their passage. The woman did not wait for Doyen to respond, quickly turning and making her way towards the greenhouse. It was a good thing too that she didn’t wait for a response because Doyen was far too distracted by the odd slug in her arms to say anything. The only thing that managed to draw his attention away from the slug on his walk was the final realization that there had somehow been a gargantuan dragon staring single mindedly at him this whole time which he only now noticed. Doyen had no idea how he had missed such a massive thing, especially since he was usually so good at knowing when people were watching him.

Surprised or not, now that Doyen had made eye contact, he felt forced to return a stare to the impossibly massive being refusing to relent an inch. He was the Hero of New Heirisson conquest, and he backed down to nothing, if someone glared at him, he would glare back. The staring contest continued on, and Doyen was rapidly coming to three realizations. Firstly, dragons did not need to blink as often as humans. Secondly, the arena of Yu was much further away than he expected. Thirdly, having the rain part out of his way was something he was starting to despise.

Doyen would rather dehydrate his eyes beyond repair than accept the implied loss of the staring contest, and so he stared on. Eventually after what felt like a personal eternity; Doyen, the woman, and the slug entered the arena.

The woman turned around speaking as she did so, “I apologize if the fanaticism of the pe-” the woman paused as she saw the burning red eyes of Doyen, so dry and pained that he couldn’t even close his eyes anymore. The wide agonized spheres looked back towards the woman with a crazed focus. The woman magically dried his body and wet his eyes choosing to ignore whatever that was as she continued to speak, “ople. I hope you can understand that for most, meeting you is an extraordinary event.”

Doyen looked over his clothes that had miraculously been dried and noted that it had also been cleansed of any mud. “So are you Yu? Like the director I mean…” Doyen glanced up from his clothes making eye contact with the woman who stared back blankly, and then his gaze drew down to the idling slug in her arms, “or is the slug Yu, the director I mean, not you obviously, but Yu.” The woman raised a questioning eyebrow, “director Yu. Is the slug director Yu, like not you as in you but…” He trailed off as the woman stared back with the most non-expressive face he had ever seen, “…Yu.” He finally finished the word that had been hanging on his tongue.

The woman turned on her heels and began walking further into the building, “Shall I give you a tour?”

Frankly just glad to break the awkwardness he gladly accepted, “Yes please! I would love a tour.”

A tour from someone who ran a greenhouse—as it turned out—was more a guide for their ubiquitous collection of plants than of the building’s layout. He hadn’t even been shown to his room and Doyen had already found himself unwittingly dragged all across the behemoth greenhouse having every. Single. Plant. Introduced to him, and the woman had no shortage of facts to give regarding them. The previously emotionless woman cooed over each plant with an energetic love he hadn’t even seen Iatric muster for their son. Every so often the woman would smack the slug in her arms across one of its tentacles and scold it for attempting to eat a plant she was raving to Doyen about. The woman guided Doyen to all the different glass ‘limbs’ of the greenhouse, each of which sported a different environment to properly care for the varying plants of varying biomes.

It was only several hours into the tour did she finally lead him to an open sanctum within the drowning whirl of boring flora where the rest of the Tournament invitees were gathered around a table and a small tea set.

The first character that caught his eyes, was a terrifying monster with massive moon round eyes. The creature sported an uncannily long neck covered with a thick plumage of white feathers. Doyen immediately drew his sword causing the beast to caw angrily and lower itself into a pouncing position.

The woman with the slug was quick to intervene raising an arm to obstruct Doyen’s path, “There is no need for fighting, you have all already been entered to the Tournament. You should have plenty of combat to satisfy yourselves soon.”

Doyen then heard a familiar voice come from the group of Tournament invitees, “Don’t worry Mr. Heirisson, I acted the same way when I first saw it, but its actually pretty chill.” Doyen sheathed his sword and turned to see Errant smiling back at him with his usual ridiculously sized slab of metal he calls a sword by his side.

Doyen was just as eager to reunite with an old acquaintance as he was to escape the incessant plant trivia tour, so he made his way over to Errant embracing him in a familiar hug. “Hey Errant, its been a while hasn’t it? How have you been?”

Doyen broke off the hug and saw that Errant had practically started to glow with a flustered red. “Its not too bad, the rest of the Cardinal’s and I have been keeping it pretty relaxed recently.”

The Hero soured at Errant’s reply, “Please tell me you’re not still hanging out with those losers.”

Even if Doyen was THE HERO, and also the biggest role model of his entire life, he was still affronted to hear the man insult his comrades as such. Errant wanted to retaliate with a certainty befitting of defending his friends, but against the awe that was Doyen it came out more like a school child trying to explain his missing homework, “Of course I am, we’re the Banausic Cardinals, we’re a team.”

Doyen shook his head in disapproval, “They’re dead weight is what they are.”

Errant couldn’t help but deflate at Doyen’s words. It was one thing to hear that said at all, it was another to hear it from the Hero, his hero. “They’re my friends. I can’t just leave them.”

“Leaving them is exactly what you should do. They’re doing nothing but holding you back Errant. When I said that the Banausic Cardinals were a team to look out for: I was talking about you. You have potential to one day become one of the greats, you were invited to the Tournament for goodness sakes! If they were really your friends, they would want you to go out and cultivate that potential; not take advantage of those skills trapping you in that ramshackle group they call a team.” Being scolded by Doyen made Errant quite downtrodden in multiple regards, he was angry at the insults of course, but he was also cognizant enough to sense the truth hidden within them.

Doyen however seemed wholly unperturbed and ignorant of any emotional stakes of their conversation and continued on as if it had been just another introduction, “So Yu, would you like to introduce me to the rest of the contestants?” Doyen turned around to see that the woman had already left without a word, he could see her off in the distance watering some more plants; if he could remember correctly, she had called that plant nightshade.

“Oh, s-so the, the girl is d-d-director Yu!” The sudden exclamation of realization brought Doyen’s attention back to the group of invitees where he was drawn towards this new speaker. It was a man, that much Doyen could tell from the deep clattering voice, but anything else was undiscernible as he was buried under a full-on mountain of thick woolen clothing. There wasn’t a single speck of flesh visible through that cushioned prison.

Doyen chose not to confront whatever can of worms this man’s fashion style entailed and simply replied, “She must be right? I mean, that thing she’s holding is just a slug, isn’t it?”

This time it wasn’t the heavily dressed man who replied but an ashen woman who laid upon a reclined seating seemingly unable to move, “I don’t know, I’ve met director Thrones before. If that thing is a director, then I could believe that a slug could also be a director somewhere.” The woman’s voice was soft, almost unpracticed, and her body was firmly protected behind that monstrous creature with large eyes that still remained poise for attack. Even from behind that creature, Doyen could tell that he had never before seen such a beautiful woman before. Her hair had a perfect smoothness, and her eyes were the most brilliant of browns.

Doyen, stunned from the sight of the beautiful woman had to shake his head to regain his composure, he was married after all, “I apologize, without the director I guess I’ll just have to make my own introduction. I am Doyen Heirisson: the Hero.” He pointlessly said as if everyone present didn’t already know. Doyen walked towards the divine woman to take her hand but was halted when that monstrous entity crawled atop the chair that the woman laid on completely shielding her with its body and shrieked at Doyen.

“Livy please, he’s not a threat. I haven’t spoken to anyone for so long. Let me have this.” The woman’s soft pleading voice came out muffled against the monster’s thick plumage, but eventually it relented climbing off the chair. The monster still stayed close, practically glued to the woman without ever breaking eye contact with Doyen. The woman spoke again, “Hello Doyen, my name is Tort. And this lovely person-” Tort stroked the side of the creatures head lovingly, “is Livy: the Monster.” Tort bitterly grit out that title, clearly angered that anyone had dared to call her precious Livy such a thing.

The man buried in clothes was next to introduce himself, “I’m Hiemal: the Hyperborean”

Not wanting to have his hand bitten off, Doyen simply nodded to Tort and then shook Hiemal’s hand. “Its nice to meet you two.” Doyen kept shaking Hiemal’s hand and even when he tried to release, Hiemal kept shaking.

Doyen had to practically rip his hand free which brought Hiemal out of his daze, “Oh I’m sorry Doyen, or do you prefer Mr. Heirisson?”

Thankful to cut someone off early, Doyen quickly answered, “Please call me Doyen, Mr. Heirisson still sounds weird to me.”

Hiemal nodded in understanding and tried again, “I’m sorry Doyen but its such an honor to meet you.”

“Okay yeah, what’s up with that?” Everyone’s attention was then drawn to the last member of the group. Doyen had tried to avoid paying attention to him, but now that he had spoken there was no choice. Doyen didn’t have anything personal against the skinny teenager, it was just that he hated having to look at those revolting green eyes. Ignorant of the cringe everyone made upon eye contact, the boy continued, “Ever since I got here everyone has always been gushing about this New Heirisson guy, which I’m guessing now is you based on your last name. What’s the big deal here?”

Everyone froze in utter bewilderment, upon the usually quiet boy’s words. Errant was the first to break from his stupor and respond, “You don’t know who the Hero of New Heirisson conquest is?”

The boy simply shrugged, “I guess I do now. He’s that guy, right?” The boy pointed at Doyen who still had yet to close his hanging jaw, utterly dumbfounded that there were still some out there oblivious to his exploits.

“Have you been living under a rock?”

The boy quirked his eyebrow at the question, “No, I’m just not from around here.” The boy then mumbled to himself “So you guys also have that expression here?”

Doyen ignored the boy’s question and finally mustered the capacity to ask, “Are you ever not from around here! Like what, are you from the other side of the edge of the world?”

The boy couldn’t resist facepalming with disbelief, “You guys also believe in an edge of the world!?”

This boy with the disgusting eyes was a very strange character, he didn’t know who the Hero of New Heirisson conquest was, and he acted like he had never heard of the edge of the world before; of course they believed in the edge of the world, Hiemal had even seen it himself once. Hiemal had to ask, “So then where are you from?”

The boy sighed with exasperation, “I guess its my turn to do an introduction. Hi everyone, my name is Radix, and I was summoned here by the… devadoots I think they’re called. Yeah, I was summoned by the devadoots to defeat the white witch. Whatever that means.” No one had any words to respond to that, even that horrible monster Livy was gobbesmacked with her beak hanging open. Radix wasn’t paying attention to anyone else though as he was stuck mentally berating himself by how stupid it sounded to say that out loud. “Man that was so awkward, I feel like I’m in an A.A. meeting.”

Radix awkwardly scratched at his shoulder as he finally paid attention to his audience. Upon seeing how absolutely shocked they were he quickly clarified, “I haven’t actually ever been to an A.A. meeting, I was just making a jo-”

Errant interrupted Radix before he could start rambling, “No one cares about whatever an A.A. meeting is. There is so much to unpack from what you said that that little weird tidbit is the least of our concerns.”

Hiemal questioned, “You were summoned?”

Radix awkwardly shoved his hands in his pockets, “It’s been two months now. I think I have to accept that this isn’t a dream anymore and this whole summoning thing is real.” Radix gave a defeated sigh, “So yeah, I was summoned.”

Doyen had to wave his hand as if warding away a physical cloud of confusion, “Wait wait wait wait. One thing at a time please. You were summoned? By the devadoots? To defeat the white witch?”

Radix nodded his head in confirmation, “Yeah, they said once I defeat the white witch, they would send me back home.” With that statement a sudden chorus of sucking in air came from everyone as they grimaced and cringed at the tragedy before them. Radix was just confused, “What? Why did you all make that sound?”

Hiemal shook his head solemnly, “Well that confirms that he’s not from Trammel.”

Errant placed a comforting hand onto Radix’s shoulders and gave him an apologetic look, “Sorry Radix, but the devadoots are not sending you back home.”

Radix’s eyes bulged and Errant couldn’t help but to wince at seeing the full round greenness of those eyes, another reminder that Radix was a foreigner to these lands. “What do you mean the devadoots are not sending me back! Why not?”

This time it was up to Doyen to break the bad news, “Sorry Radix, but there is literally only one thing everyone knows about the devadoots, and that is that they are a bunch of narcistic liars that only care about themselves.”

Hiemal added, “They actually pretended that they were gods and had humanity worship them for over a millennia before we wizened up.”

Errant also commented, “Honestly the amount of baby sacrifices should have been a dead giveaway that they weren’t so altruistic.”

Radix was becoming increasingly more mortified as the direness of his scenario was coming to light, not only in the fact that his summoners were untrustworthy monsters, but also in that he was living in a world where it took people over a millennium to decide that ritualistic baby murder was bad. Although in their defense it took his world a concerningly long time to get that message ingrained as well.

Unfortunately for Radix, the devadoot bashing had yet to finish as Turt had her own horrors to unveil. “I knew the devadoots before they were even worshipped as gods, and they were still jerks then.”

Actually, there was something else more telling in that statement than the devadoots misdeeds and Errant couldn’t let it slide, “Wait, before the devadoots were worshipped as gods! How old are you woman?”

The monstrous Livy rustled its feathers and squawked ferociously. Livy was ready to bound towards the insolent Errant but was halted by Tort’s soft hand against her beak as Tort giggled warmly. “I think what Livy was trying to say is that it is rude to ask a lady her age.”

Doyen let his hand slip off his sword hilt as the Monster too relaxed. Doyen turned back to Radix. “Anyways Radix, I don’t know where you’re really from, but you look human enough to me.”

“I am human.” Radix mumbled a little non-plussed that someone could even think otherwise.

Doyen nodded in approval, “Well if you’re human, then you’re a friend of ours. Screw those devadoots, we’ll find a way to get you back to where you’re from ourselves.”

Radix was a little unconvinced by the feasibility of that promise but was still uplifted by Doyen’s willingness to help. If this was how the man always behaved, then perhaps he understood why everyone called him the Hero. Radix gave a strong smile to Doyen hoping that his outward cheerfulness could overcome his hidden anxiety, “Watch out Doyen, I might hold you up to that.”

Doyen laughed at the falsely boisterous Radix. It was nice to talk to someone who didn’t view him as an outright demagogue, “Who knows, maybe you will even win the Tournament and just be able to wish yourself back home.”

Radix was confused by what Doyen meant by that but was unable to ask as that monster called Livy once again shrieked at them, its ludicrously large penny eyes glaring defiantly at him. The sudden aggression from the creature sent everyone’s hands to their weapons. Tort only giggled with a cute warmth that immediately crushed any tension and made everyone’s heart flutter, “I think that Livy was trying to say that she’ll be winning the Tournament, so you’ll just have to find another way home.” Tort gave Radix a teasing smile to ensure him that the insult was made in jest rather than threat. Radix had to remind himself to not so easily fall for her beauty, he had been having an exceptionally bad track record with women recently.

Errant moved his hand away from his massive sword for what felt like the hundredth time as once again it looked like the Monster wasn’t actually going to attack. “Seriously what is that things deal!? And why are you acting like you know what its saying, its just a bird chirping!”

Said bird cawed fiercely in a definitely non chirping fashion! How dare such a lowly being even insinuate such a thing. Tort just gave another one of her disarming smiles and delicately pet Livy’s cheek, soothing the aggravated creature. “Of course I understand what she’s saying. I have to understand my sister.”

The bell to the clock shop rang announcing the arrival of a new customer. The customer was as non-descript as one could imagine. Nothing, from the way he dressed, to the way he carried himself, stood out. He was so unimpressive that he seemed almost purposefully designed to be so, though if anyone actually thought that of him, then surely that meant he failed at his goal.

The unassuming man was not here to purchase any of the odd clocks for sale. Much to the chagrin of the store’s merchant, no one ever was. He approached the tall counter at the end of the shop and rapped his knuckles twice against its counter. “One moment please.” The strained voice of a woman called out from behind a door at the back of the room.

The man waited patiently for the woman, though he did not wait idly, he was always vigilant, always watching. He noticed that the wooden storeroom floor was laden with countless imprints of small steps; the size of the imprints pointed to that of a child, yet the severity of the imprints implied something much heavier.

The man heard the woman approach the backroom door far before she actually opened it. he certainly wasn’t going to allow anyone to sneak up on him after all, that would just be embarrassing. By the time she entered the store proper, the man had turned back to smile welcomingly at her. She too in turn smiled back, though both knew that neither were smiling. “What can I help you with?” The woman asked with a practiced sincerity, one which no one other than someone as experienced as the man could detect the hostility subtly hidden behind it.

The man answered, “I would like to know the odds of every fight in the arena of Yu.”

The woman quirked a brow at the man’s words, “All of them? Do you not want to perhaps just make one bet at a time?”

The man shook his head, “No I’m not placing any bets.” This statement made the woman quirk her eyebrow even higher.

The woman pulled out a thick tome and quickly opened to a specific page, clearly familiar with its layout, “Alright then, we have the Dragon versus the Monster at one to one. We have the Umbra versus the antecedent at one to one. We have… oh this one is a little odd.”

This time it was the man’s turn to quirk his brow, “How so?”

Without an ounce of emotion, the woman answered, “Well it depends. Would you like to know the odds of the Bulwark versus the Sin-eater, or would you like to know the odds of the Sin-eater versus you?”

The man quickly glared at the woman, but she stared back with a passive indifference, “I am the Bulwark.” He said defensively.

The woman shook her head in disapproval, “There are some people you simply cannot lie to Mr. Shirk.” Shirk hadn’t heard his real name in years. The shock of having it heard was so harsh that it actually took him a few seconds to recollect himself and throw his hand towards the dagger hidden under his shirt. The woman did not even react to the show of aggression and spoke again, “The odds of you versus the Sin-eater is two to nine.”

Shirk glared harder, “But if you know me so well then surely you know that I don’t fight fair.”

The woman smiled back even brighter, almost as if she had hoped for his retort, “Oh I know.”