By the time Nic left, even Nadine had lost some of her immediate fire; she was showing off the beautifully constructed saber she’d earned from the Dominus Node. The silver patterns on the dark blade swept back and forth in teardrop patterns, like a thousand petals etched from moonlight. The crossguard was short and the grip simple, the entire shape a single curve. It was a weapon made for relentlessly cutting forward.

Apparently, the weapons in the underground Node she’d been left behind to guard had wills of their own. Each of them was burning hot normally, but if you meditated there, one of them might brush against your mind and decide it liked you. Then you’d be allowed to take it away.

She described it like a Native, of course; she said she’d dreamed ‘sword dreams’ and that when she woke up, the sword flew into her hand, as cold as ice.

And Tarquin- Tarquin could have been born a Native. He was picking up on their slang, and purposefully misusing it to make them laugh and explain to him.

Nic left the dinner table behind, feeling satisfied.

Sofia was good at managing people, at aiming them in the right direction and nailing down all the fiddly little bits that needed doing. But Tarquin, Tarquin could lead, could make people want to stand up and listen to him. Ruben was a quiet backbone to the town. As for Ettrai…

While she hadn’t been tested like the others, and she didn’t have his full faith, Nic was confident she’d be able to whip Winterhome’s warriors into fighting shape; if anything he was worried she’d overwork them in an attempt to secure her own place.

They were a strong group of people to leave the city to.

And so, Nic was no longer bound down.

Leaving him with a simple question - where to next?

Sofia flickered into view beside him. Lately she’d been everywhere- the living ghost of the city. “Nicolas, I thought you might like to come see what our reward for Winterhome’s victory at the hunting ground is.”

Nic smiled. Apparently, a city directly killing off the most wretches was unusual. Not unheard of, but none of the usual rewards given to the victor suited a living city, and so Sofia had been able to negotiate what they’d receive; she’d traded on them winning both the individual and collective counts for a single prize.

Standing in the woods of Winterhome were seven tall pillars of sky-blue stone. Water trickled down the crags and thorns of their rough faces, forming tiny rivers. The inwards facing sides had been carved smooth and emblazoned with images of ancient gods, their eyes weeping empty tears.

His Solarus smith was admiring the carvings. The massive golem was a lion from just above the navel, a humanoid chest mounted on leonine hindquarters. Its entire body was made of rough, many-faced gemstone, a sun-blessed yellow color evident in the cloudy depths.

“Heavensent Weepstone. One of the primary anchoring materials for a large scale portal and one step towards opening a gate to City Layer d23.” Sofia said proudly. “Mind you, the other materials are… thorny questions, to be sure. Especially on a backwater world.”

“We need a breach-head, a material that naturally cuts dimensions. An anchoring formation that will guide the cut towards d23’s space. Numerous materials to reinforce the resulting tunnel into a permanent bridge…”

“I can provide the formation.” The smith said. “It will finally be something worth my time.”

Nic couldn’t help but smirk. If the Solarus thought he was too good for some humble work, he shouldn’t have appeared in Nic’s path. Nic always had something to do…

“Speaking of worthy tasks!” He dug into his bag, bringing out a miniature ship no larger than the palm of his hand. And Nic’s hand wasn’t very big to begin with. It was a sad little craft; the mast was snapped in two, the sides scraped and torn through, the prow broken into splinters. “I need this fixed up. I don’t think anything too essential is broken, but I need it sea-worthy.”

The Solarus smith took the boat curiously. He turned it over in his fingers, examining the damage. “Interesting workmanship. Crude, of course. But developed to its purpose. I’d say…” He held it towards the light and lifted the sail into place. “A civilization without much energy of heaven to work with. Limited in its cultivation. But an old civilization, with a long time to grow towards its specific needs. Look at the way the runes are interwoven with art. The time that would take… This ship is a religious artifact of great significance. It should have been treated better.”

“Can’t change the past.” Nic said gruffly. The conversation was touching a sore point.

“I’ll need materials. Good ones.”

Without complaint, Nic took out the city-beast bones Sula had given him, a gift from her world to his new home. The beast had been immature when it died, but there was still a tremendous resilience to the material. And something else.

“These are considered sacred.” He said, setting out the bundle of pale white bones in their leather wrapping. “So they should be right.”

“Hmm. Yes, there’s some faith in these. And the strength is good…” The smith agreed. “I’ll be able to do the work by tomorrow.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” And with that, Nic turned and left, his mind already sinking into solitary thought.

Nic was going back to the Scales of Sand Dungeon.

It was…

A long time coming, really.

He wondered…

At the end of the month, would the energy of the Aleph be cleansed from the Scales of Sand, the Dungeon where he’d unleashed the nuclear fire? That seemed unlikely. The System had showed far too much of an interest in the Concept of the Aleph; it seemed to find Gwungo fascinating.

So what would happen?

Nic…

He was good at putting his feelings aside, but the truth was, what had happened in the Scales of Sand still bothered him. He’d yet to investigate his strange, warped version of Demonic Essence; the demon blood within him had consumed the energies of the Aleph and become something new.

And he’d been equally reluctant to return.

Even in the best case scenario, where the elves had escaped to their homeworld, and the humans had been driven into retreat by the sand devils…

He’d still killed hundreds of beasts who couldn’t leave. Turned the air and water to poison around them, if they even survived the initial blast.

Guilt was a stupid emotion. Nic knew he couldn’t have known the nuclear fire would be so terrifying; even the System had been surprised by the fury of the Native weapon. His guilt, however, refused to acknowledge the evidence.

He’d been the hand that had unleashed the weapon.

The consequences lived in the pit of his stomach, an uneasy weight…

Running a hand through the long, membrane-ridged tentacles that extended from the back of his head, Nic sighed. Yeah…

It was about time to go face up; he needed to see the consequences with his own eyes, for better or worse.

“Sofia?” He asked.

“You seem troubled.” She answered, appearing by his side. They walked together through the woods.

“Ah, it’s just…” He ran his fingers through the long fronds that extended from the back of his head, partly like a squid’s tendril, partly similar to an axolotl’s feathery exterior gills. They were permanently slick with a dripping layer of moisture. “I need to do some things. I think it’s about time I set out, and I was wondering if you needed anything.”

“Hmm. Very kind of you to ask, Nicolas. But I’m by and large self-sufficient now. The prizes of our fight with the dhampir are significant- I have a stock of cultivation pills, weapons, and talismans to use as a basis. I’ve established a contribution system to earn them, and have the workers doing tasks that bring in a supply of medicines and Essence-rich resources from the nearby forest, replenishing the stock. Overall the returns are…”

“This sounds suspiciously like you’re scamming them.” And gloating about it.

“Significant.” Sofia finished with a lingering, sly smile. “You’re providing them with protection and guidance, Nicolas. Clearly you should be well-paid. Your stake so far is around eight thousand First Wave Credits, incidentally.”

Nic paused, licking his teeth. That was…

Hard to turn down.

“Do you know that thing, with the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other? Somedays I really can’t tell which you are, Sofia.”

“I’m the voice of cold and logical rationality, Nicolas. Clearly the superior choice; angels and demons are notoriously untrustworthy.”

“Well, thanks for that.” Nic shot back.

“Nicolas, of all the words I’d use to describe you…”

“I’m plenty trustworthy. You can trust me to do the opposite of what I’m told.”

“And what about dealing with the Heretics, hmm? I seem to remember you agreeing that was part of your duties…”

Nic grimaced. Okay. Fine. Maybe he was a little… distractible…

“Sorry, just- I was expecting them to be causing way more trouble. It seems like they’ve basically kept their heads down.”

Sofia paused and nodded. “None of your crows have reported any escaping ghosts coming through the portal.”

“Mhm. I’m going to head back that way tomorrow to… see what’s happened…” Nic kept his lingering guilt of it. This was a sensible decision; the Dungeon was too much of an unknown to have within their borders. “I’ll scour the place for Heretics while I’m there. Knock down any that are causing problems.”

Sofia seemed satisfied with securing that much of a promise. “Winterhome is running well enough to let you go for now. I give you your freedom.”

Nic smiled. “Thanks, but there is one last thing…”

“The doorway?” She gestured upwards. Even from here, they could see it.

Hanging in the sky was a fissure in space and time, like a crack in a windowpane. Through the gap bled energies of strange and impossible color. They were faint, couched in mists that poured outwards and vanished into the air, but every now and then his eyes caught a shade that was neither blue nor green nor yellow but similar to all three, a color he couldn’t have described if his life and the survival of the cosmos depended on it.

In fact, once he looked away, he couldn’t remember what it looked like. As if the memory had slipped free of his mind.

The rift was sealed by a golden gate. It was an illusion, translucent in the daylight, but held real force against whatever power was escaping through the rift. Three silver chains bound the doors, which were only opened by a hair, allowing the smallest threads of mist to escape.

“Yep. About time I know what’s on the other side.” Nic shrugged. “Can’t really leave Winterhome until I do…”

The energy was basically a known quantity by now. It was inspiration, the heat of the moment and the allure of a dream; since it had leaked through dozens of creators and craftsman had minor breakthroughs. The Solarus smith had begun working to create another of his kind; the father and son who occupied Winterhome’s forge were refining increasingly pure metals; Elisa had been cackling in a worrying way.

As his warriors trained, they found new ways to work their abilities. An illusion could be made so bright it functioned to blind the enemy; a shield wall could be used to cut off escape instead of simply to protect; lightning could be stored and drawn out of cloud-batteries.

Because of the gate, Winterhome was learning and growing faster than it could have before…

But if the source of all of this was rotten, Nic would be letting it grow into his city as an infection, doing who-knows-how-much damage by the time he realized and pulled it out by the roots.

He had to know.

And that meant journeying through the gate.