The train rocked from side to side and Rhen watched the supposedly sleeping Tsu’me.

She’d spilled all the beans.

Welsh had not only tried to get her to destroy the node by sabotaging Wyland’s machine—for which she had a damned blueprint—the fluffer had wanted her to raid the coffers on the way out. And it hadn’t just been a blueprint that looked like Wyland’s device, the old crafter had reviewed it scrupulously to confirm it was an identical match.

The wheels in Rhen’s mind went turning.

Wyland had said he’d installed similar designs in Desedra dungeons, but otherwise the technology was uniquely his design. The only way Welsh could’ve gotten a copy is if he’d stolen it from somewhere, bought it on the black market, or…

Sen had given it to him.

But would that be enough evidence to loop Sen into the plot and keep Desedra’s grubby hands off Rhen’s dungeon? He doubted it very much.

Rhen looked to the old crafter who had agreed to come and testify on that account. This was going to be a complete mess; he could see it now. Wyland’s memory issues would kick in right at the wrong moment and he’d be calling Rhen, Gerald… then his identity would really be in question.

Rhen clasped his hands and looked down. He wasn’t really one for praying to the gods, but with all the help he’d already received with his dungeon, it couldn’t hurt to just ask for a little more.

The train tooted its arrival at Desedra and Rhen’s head jerked up. He’d prayed himself to sleep, apparently. Almost losing an arm to advanced anima rot took a lot out of a person, it seemed.

The train made a few stops in the outer regions, but they rode it all the way to the center of town. Rhen, Jakira, Aki, Arannet, Wyland, Joseph, Derk, and Tsu’me dropped onto the train platform one by one and looked into the towering city.

“Where we headed?” Rhen asked Arannet.

“Guild Council of Civil Affairs will be in the third district, same building as Cultivation Ethics and Delver Rights.”

“Wow,” Derk laughed, “you really know everything, don’t you?”

Arannet beamed with pride. “Yes, I do.”

“Do you know what this rash is?” Tsu’me turned her tail toward the poor dungeon assistant.

Arannet closed her eyes tight. “No, I don’t.”

Rhen couldn’t help but chuckle along with the others. It was so easy to pick on Arannet. She had the constitution of a mouse sometimes.

But other times she could be really brave. He hoped she brought plenty of that bravery for what was to come. Rhen would need to borrow some.

They marched their way through town, parting the crowds as they went. Arannet led them to the Civil Affairs building with a few trolly transfers, and up the steps of the stone edifice of justice. So-called justice. Rhen would see tomorrow if any would actually be served.

The doors were wood and brass, with several different symbols carved into the front. A set of scales, a gavel, and a raised fist with a simple syntial carved into the wrist. The doors were heavy, and Rhen opened them for the others. The air inside was cool, and smelled almost clinical.

The marble floors were spotless, as were the wooden desks of the service attendants that lined the back wall. The first chamber was just a check-in station. Arannet scanned her id syntial at the entrance to check them into the waiting line. There were several rows of seats around the hall, most of them occupied by average people all waiting their turn for justice or advice. They waited about thirty painstaking minutes, and finally Arannet’s id was called.

They signed in to signify they were present, and then submitted their evidence. One promise pact from Tsu’me in regard to attempted node tampering. One charred metal bracelet that had been mostly melted but was made of a special metal that could only be found in Ptahl dungeon—Syphor. It turned a shimmery purple-green when it was exposed to extreme heat, and the melted blob was shimmering like mad.

Next, they made note of five pieces of node evidence they’d like to call for evidence. Those could only be accessed by guild appointed observers, and would take several hours to get, even expedited as it was. The means, method, and location of the Faust family deaths. The nodes would’ve recorded basic information about it; whether someone had bled out, burned to death, been ripped apart or the likes, which dungeon region they returned to the anima stream from, and at what time.

All of these factors together—especially the promise which would be reflected in Welsh’s own id syntial—should’ve been enough to condemn him. As long as the Faust family showed for court. Aki had said they were going straight to Desedra to wait, which made Rhen nervous. That was a whole lot of opportunity for them to be abducted, or killed again.

Rhen took a deep breath. He could only affect the things within his control. Like running away. Running was always in his control. A few good tremor blasts to break open the windows and out he went. Slip into the shadow with caress of night and disappear forever.

“Everything will be okay,” Aki said, giving Rhen a sloppy pat on the shoulder. “But if it is not… know that you are never alone.”

Rhen nodded and took another deep breath. Everything was going to be fine no matter what. He’d slip into Paradise with his friend, and they’d party on distant beaches, find a new dungeon to call their own, one not hooked up to the guild system yet.

But Jakira…

She’d always wanted to own an inn bustling with people she could help. Living on the run with Rhen was in direct opposition to that dream. Rhen decided then that he wouldn’t even ask her to make that sacrifice, it wasn’t fair. He and Aki could disappear quietly. Jakira would be sad for a while, but her true dream was the inn, and that would give her the hope she needed to keep going.

What Rhen knew for absolute certain was that he wasn’t going to spend a single minute of his life in a prison dungeon. He’d rather forever-die first, but escape at any personal cost was plan A.

Aki splashed him again. “Stop.”

It was Rhen’s turn to write in his sworn testimony. He told the civil affairs assistant about meeting Welsh for the first time, how he’d postured and threatened. Then again, his arrogant behavior after the inn had burned. And finally, he produced the crystal with the recording of Welsh incriminating himself.

“This’er thing can be played with Orbeye technology,” Wyland said tapping the crystal. “If y’all don’t know how to do it I can—”

“We can handle it, thank you,” the assistant said with a wrinkle-nosed smile.

Rhen felt a twinge of fear handing it over. If Desedra paid enough, could they come in and destroy the evidence?

Stop. Rhen reminded himself to shut down the worry. He had a backup plan. If Welsh couldn’t be weeded out, Rhen would resort to heavy machinery. They still had time. They could get it done.

He signed off on the last bit of information and sealed it with his id syntial. Rhen Zephitz: Full Testimony against Peter Welsh.

It was off to the Silver Mark—which was quickly becoming Rhen’s go-to place. Everyone was nice, the prices weren’t exorbitant, and Rhen had discovered there was indeed a discount for Dungeon Owners buying multiple rooms if he’d just discovered another realm.

Fancy that.

Rhen spent the evening with his friends at the tavern. They were careful with the drinks, one each maximum, and splurged a little on fancy foods. Pit-roasted pulled pig with a sweet and tangy sauce, fresh herb bread that relieved some of the pain in Rhen’s right arm, and oh gods, the cheese. Brie cheese, gouda cheese, cheddar cheese, freyah cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese. With a side of fresh fruit, honey, and crackers.

He forgot about the trial tomorrow and just enjoyed his misfit family—even Tsu’me was behaving.

That night he dreamed of a tremor blast to the face and waking to a sharp, searing ache in his side. He dreamed of blood and tears, and gut turning goodbyes. He dreamed of shame, slammed doors, and screamed curses.

Rhen woke groggily and staggered to the mirror. Deep purple circles hung under his bloodshot eyes. His head was pounding, and his teeth hurt. He looked and felt like death.

He donned a robe and went to the communal bath. He could’ve had an individual one drawn up for him, but he didn’t want to waste the time or coin. He cleaned up and after a few splashes of alternating cold and hot water, he felt a little less tired.

The meal in the tavern was quick; left over pulled pig and breads mashed into a sandwich that they took on the road. Rhen feigned perfect calm when they entered the Civil Affairs building. He’d mastered looking like all was well. It was a lot easier to get away with stealing when you walked out of a dungeon with a confident swagger.

The building seemed colder today. They were hurried up the stairs to the right of the check-in station and lead to an elevator—a contraption not unlike what Wyland had planned for Zephitz nexus node. Rhen had never ridden one before, and marveled as the view outside the glass slid by. They rose above the muggy fog and all Rhen could see was tall spires poking out of the grime.

The elevator slowed to a stop and dinged as the door opened. The eight of them, lead by an assistant, piled out into the hall. Arannet’s fine shoes click-clacked on the same shiny granite floor from the lobby. They arrived at an antechamber outside a cherry-colored door reading, “Deliberation Room: 1406-A.”

The Faust family stood from the chairs situated against the wall. Rhen hardly remembered Irvine Faust, a slender man about Rhen’s height with straw-colored hair and brown eyes. He reached for Rhen’s hand.

“I am so sorry for what I’ve done,” he said, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

Rhen chuckled. “Isn’t that something we’re here to prove? How can you be sorry if you might not have done it?”

Irvine shook his head. “We were paid after respawning and sent away… We hadn’t wanted to question such good fortune. Welsh said we were being let go with a severance for an accident, but that he’d talked to Sen Desedra and set us up at Desedra III since they’re hurting for workers. That sounded implausible, but with the marks he’d given us, we were sure something was amiss.

“When your man Aki came to us to explain what he believed had happened, things started making sense. We’d been dreaming of fire, though Welsh had told us we died in an explosion and tunnel collapse that I’d caused.”

Celest, a likewise slender woman with dark hair and darker eyes joined her husband. “That sounded suspicious to me from the start. There’s no one more cautious that Irvine. He knows we can’t afford to respawn. Our youngest being left alone with her brothers for days, or weeks…” she chuckled, bringing a bit of mirth to the grim topic. “Well, we’d have little savages when we came back.”

Rhen looked over to see the two boys, maybe six and eight, fighting over a toy while the little girl of three watched in dumbfound amusement. The noise in the antechamber was growing as a group of people Rhen didn’t know collected behind them. They looked the business type, but Rhen wasn’t certain for their purpose. He turned his attention back to the Faust parents.

“It wasn’t just that, but the kids had died too?” Irvine said with a quirked brow. “So, I wanted to say I was sorry. I’m sorry for taking that deal and what it did to you. I wish I could say I wasn’t that man, but… I am.”

Celest patted her husband’s shoulder. “I know you. You are not that man.” She looked at Rhen. “My only guess is that he threatened us if we refused or failed. He had our last anima save… he could’ve extracted it and held it in stasis—an expensive process, but why risk it? That’s all I can think. We’re not those people, Mr. Zephitz.”

Rhen understood. They hadn’t seemed like those people when they’d arrived. A little nervous and secluded, but not heartless. Not willing to do anything to benefit themselves. Not quite Tsu’me’s level of desperation.

Irvine sighed. “All that’s to say, Mr. Zephitz, we would be grateful for your lenience.”

Rhen quirked his head. “What?”

“If they—and Welsh—are found guilty, you will be able to accept or downgrade the severity of the offender’s punishment, as deemed appropriate by the Deliberators,” Arannet commented.

The door to the dreaded deliberation room opened and the attendant poked his head out. “It’s time.”

Rhen steeled himself and joined Arannet at the front. They walked into the unknown together. Rhen was sure Arannet had seen a room like this before, but Rhen had not. It was a tiered, circular auditorium, with row upon row of pews lined up in a half circle around a lowered dais. At the back of the room, elevated quite high, were seven empty seats behind a large, cherry-wood desk.

To the right, another door had opened, and people were streaming in. Rhen caught sight orange hair and beefslab arms surrounded by goons. Then, another familiar face.

Sen Desedra.

It looked like his wife—the actual Desedra by blood—had joined him, too. She was a classic Desedra. Black hair, striking purple eyes, grace beyond measure, and sharp dress. She caught Rhen’s gaze and smiled. It wasn’t a kind thing.

Arannet led them to their seats near the bottom. The room filled to about a fourth capacity—just enough to bear witness, Arannet said.

And then it began.

Hours of questions, information review, breaks for private deliberations, more cross examinations, and insufferable law-abiding bullshit. Rhen’s time on the stand was far too long and uncomfortable. He gave a recount of exactly what he’d told the check-in attendant the day before.

Then they played the conversation he’d captured on a crystal through an Orbeye.

Welsh’s face turned bright red, and he jumped to his feet. “This is preposterous! He impersonated me!”

The Deliberators ordered him to sit and hold his tongue. It was one of the greatest moments of Rhen’s life watching that man be put in his place by the system he’d come to abuse. Rhen clasped his hands together under the desk; one more silent prayer.

They broke for lunch and Arannet brough everyone sandwiches. The final deliberations took two more hours, and Rhen was coming out of his skin when the head deliberator emerged from their private back room.

“In the case of the Irvine and Celest Faust, we find them guilty of essential dungeon infrastructure destruction in the first degree. Punishment, a ten thousand imperial mark sentence to be carried out in Everest II and a permanent notice on your delver’s record, for each offender.”

Celest and Irvine gripped each other’s hands tightly.

“In the case of Tsu’me Yaar, and Derk… uhm… Derk…” they looked through their sheets.

“It’s just Derk,” the Taalite reported.

The Deliberator cleared his throat. “In the case of Tsu’me Yaar and Derk, guilty of conspiracy to sabotage a dungeon, first degree. Punishment, three thousand imperial mark sentence to be carried out in Everest II, for each offender.”

Tsu’me looked to Rhen with eyes that pleaded, “Remember your pact.”

Rhen nodded to her. He hadn’t forgotten.

“In the case of Peter Welsh, we find him guilty in the—”

The room erupted in a roar of murmurs. Welsh clenched his fists, glaring daggers toward Rhen.

A loud horn blasted over the auditorium from above and they fell silent.

“Guilty of conspiracy to sabotage another dungeon in the first degree, guilty of aiding and abetting the destruction of essential dungeon infrastructure in the first degree, and unlawful dungeon owner practices in the first degree. Punishment sentence,”

Rhen held his breath. This was it.

“Revocation of Dungeon Ownership license, one hundred and fifty thousand mark sentence to be carried out in Everest II, and a permanent notice on his delver’s record, if he’s so inclined to keep it.”

“This is outrageous! This was all his fault!” Welsh pointed to Sen. “He gave me the money to pay those wretches. I have nothing—”

“Weiha!” the head Deliberator shouted, projecting a narrow ray of orange light that surrounded Welsh and silenced him.

“Our deliberations are final. Mr. Rhen Zephitz, do you accept our findings?”

Rhen stood. He didn’t know if he was supposed to stand, but he did anyway.

“In the case of Welsh—”

“Mr. Peter Welsh,” Arannet quietly corrected him.

“In the case of Mr. Peter Welsh, I accept all punishment charges.”

The room positively roared. Sen leered maliciously.

“In the case of Ms. Tsu’me Yaar, and Mr. Derk, I do not accept the punishment charges.”

“Please be aware Mr. Zephitz, you will not be able to change your decision after this hearing. We recommend that a punishment be rendered for such an offense to prevent more in the future, and would like to remind you that there is a debt to be paid to the civil services guild in the order of two thousand marks per offender, for the costs of reviewing materials and testimonies.”

“I understand,” Rhen said with a confident nod. “I will pay the upfront charge of two thousand marks each. Similarly, for the case of Mr. Irvine Faust and Mrs. Celest Faust, I do not accept the charges. I will pay their fees and I… I feel, uhm,” Rhen stammered, “If I may add more?”

“You may,” the Deliberator allowed with an interested quirk of his brow.

“These were people at the end of their rope, desperate for any more length. I don’t blame them for what they did to save themselves, but I will hold them accountable in my own way. Sentencing them to Ptahl will not heal the damage they have done. I’d like to give them a chance to do that at Zephitz dungeon. Help me repair the inn, help me get the dungeon ready to share the new realm with the rest of the kingdoms. Help me.”

Whispers flittered across the room, some excited, some angry. Mr. and Mrs. Faust had tears of joy in their eyes, nodding their heads fervently. Derk was grinning from ear to ear, and Tsu’me almost seemed to smile.

“Your closing remarks have been heard. This sentence is now final. We will add your eight-thousand-mark balance to your monthly Dungeon Owner Dues until it is paid in full.” The Deliberator clocked his gavel.

Welsh was still held in silence as he threw his arms about and screamed curses only his ears could hear. Two doors at the bottom left and right of the lowered dais opened, and fit men and women in matching black uniforms poured out to collect the former dungeon owner.

He ran, or tried to, but the guards were much faster. They cast pink, chain-like spells that held him tight and dropped him to the floor. He writhed as the chains wrapped him tighter and tighter. Then, he was lifted into the air and pulled into the back.

And just like that, Welsh was out of his life.

Well, for fifteen years at least, he assumed. If Welsh worked himself to the bone, and got very lucky, he could escape his debt in that time. Rhen didn’t have to worry about fifteen years from now. He had to concern himself with the business of right now.

He breathed out, letting his shoulders fall away from his ears. He turned to Jakira and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her off the ground. They all congratulated each other, Celest cried and groveled at Rhen’s feet—which he told her to stop immediately—and Tsu’me even thanked him, genuinely.

“I didn’t think you’d do it,” she admitted.

“Then why did you come?”

She thought for a moment, her tongue zipping out in annoyance. “Hope, I suppose.”

Rhen smiled, and patted her shoulder. “Well placed.”

They gathered their things, and the empty sandwich wrappers, and headed for the door.

“Maddox!” the shout was almost drowned out in the noise of the crowd, but Rhen heard him… Sen Desedra.

Rhen’s jaw clenched but he didn’t turn, didn’t stop, didn’t flinch, just kept going.

Keep going.

“Hey, Maddox!” He laughed maliciously. “I’ll see you soon!”

The joy Rhen had felt seconds before washed away, leaving only dread.

The charade was over.