With a scowl tattooed across her face, Kerra ushered me away from the judgment chamber and down what felt like a thousand stairs. This time I had the benefit of not having a musty bag over my head, although there wasn’t much to look at. Just winding, windowless spiral staircases, and dusty back corridors illuminated by odd blue-white orbs covered in runes, which were affixed to the walls at regular intervals. They were almost like medieval light bulbs and I could feel Essence radiating outward from them with a dull buzz.

Those had to be powered by Affinity Scales, though I wasn’t sure how the process worked.

“I know you think you’re getting back at me,” she said as we walked, “but you won’t be laughing come morning. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I take my job very seriously and if they want me to train you, you will be properly trained—and you have about fifteen years’ worth of meditation, drills, weapons form, and combat technique to catch up on.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I replied.

I could practically hear her jaw clenching.

The staircase finally bottomed out and Kerra angrily shouldered her way through a wooden door that let out into what I could only describe as an indoor city. I let out a low whistle as I stared up at an immense crystalline dome that showcased a brilliant sunset of pinks and purples and oranges. The complex was four stories high, with a circular open courtyard in the center, which was equal parts Sistine Chapel, Vegas casino, and Midwest shopping mall. The floors were cut tile, the walls marble, inlaid with gold and silver.

Everywhere I looked were statues, fountains, idyllic koi ponds, and indoor gardens that boasted huge trees and beautiful flowerbeds. There were benches and walking paths that weaved through the greenery and more than a few of them were filled with red-eyed Vigils talking softly or curled up by themselves with a book. The upper levels of the fortress consisted of a wide assortment of vendors, all perfectly tailored to fulfill any and every need a Vigil might have. There were restaurants and taverns, armor shops, and weapons stalls. And huddled in the nooks and crannies were bookstores and apothecaries with dried herbs and Essence infused meat hanging in the window.

“Listen, I need to make some arrangements,” Kerra said, rounding on me. “I’ve been gone for several weeks already and regardless of what the Custodians believe, I do have some administrative duties that require my immediate attention. Especially if I’m going to be taking a protracted leave of absence to oversee your training. I’ll leave words with the attendants to set up sleeping arrangements for you. The Residence Halls are in the eastern wing—you’ll be in the Adept Quarters on the fourth floor. If you get lost, ask any of the people wearing the gray and gold livery. They all work in the Citadel and can point you in the right direction.

“In the meanwhile, if you are hungry, there are a number of different rank-appropriate restaurants you can eat at on the second floor, or you can head to the mess hall down that way”—she waved toward a hallway snaking off into the distance. “The taverns cost coin, but the mess hall is free to all Vigils, regardless of rank or status.” She pulled a small leather pouch from her belt and flicked it to me. “The Citadel has its own form of currency. That should be enough to square you away until the morning.”

“What about an altar?” I asked, tossing the coin pouch idly from hand to hand. “I need to pop by the ol’ Soul Vault and take care of a couple of things.”

“Yes, of course. There are several chapels you may visit, which operate at all hours of the day or night. Each will have an altar that should suit your needs. Although you didn’t ask, there are also public baths on the first floor in the Residence Hall.” She paused, a ghost of a smile flickering across her lips. “I would recommend you avail yourself of them.” She turned on a heel, red cape fluttering as her boots clicked on the tiled floors. “Remember, tomorrow, first light in the training yard. Don’t be late or you’ll regret it sorely.”

I watched her walk away, circling around a large fountain, before disappearing down one of the huge corridors that trailed off to god only knew where.

I opened the leather pouch and spilled the coins out onto my palm. A handful of silver and bronze coins, branded on one side with a set of scales while the other was marked with the fivefold symbol of the Raguel, embossed in flawless detail. I had no idea what the going rate for goods or services was around these parts, so I decided to stow the coins for the time being and stick to the free options.

I found what passed for a medieval cafeteria after a solid fifteen minutes of wandering.

It was an enormous banquet hall, filled with stately wooden tables, polished high-backed chairs fit for royalty, enormous chandeliers dangling from the rafters, and all the vitality and excitement of a morgue. The handful of Vigils using the hall talked in hushed whispers while somber-faced attendants in gray livery padded silently through the room, bearing serving trays piled high with food and flagons of ale.

The servers all looked fucking miserable, and I couldn’t blame them one bit.

There wasn’t a smile to be seen anywhere.

The last time I’d seen a group of people with so many collective sticks shoved up their asses, it had been in the Officer’s Mess in Fallujah. The brass were always worried about appearances, about maintaining decorum and keeping things perpetually professional, and it sucked the life out of everything. Meanwhile, the enlisted guys would be making fart jokes, bare-knuckle boxing over a pack of Skittles, or turning their MRE heater packs into improvised explosive devices just for shits and giggles.

If they expected me to act prim and proper, they had another thing coming.

I earned a few curious stares, but I didn’t stay long. I loaded down a silver plate with a slew of chicken drumsticks, broiled in a rich garlic sauce, and half a loaf of fresh baked bread, slathered with butter. Instead of beelining for the tables, however, I took my plate and walked right out of the mess hall. Or, at least, I tried to.

A matronly attendant with her hair tied up into a tight bun stopped me at the door with an apologetic smile.

“Deepest apologies, Vigilant One,” she said, refusing to meet my gaze, “but generally it is not permitted to remove the dining ware from the hall.”

I could’ve just ignored her or I could’ve activated my Honeyed Words abilities and talked my way out without batting an eye, but I didn’t. Mostly because that would’ve been a dick move. You don’t hurt kids, you don't hurt cats or dogs, and you treated service personnel with respect because their jobs were hard enough without entitled customers being douchebags. I’d worked at Subway before enlisting and personally, I would’ve taken a combat deployment in Iraq over a six month pump behind a Subway counter any day of the week.

So instead of bullshiting her, I leveled with her.

“Look I’m new here,” I said, leaning in conspiratorially, “and all those Vigils over there look like they’re about as much fun as a goddamned mule kick to the nuts.”

Her eyes widened and she let out a giggle, before slapping her hands over her mouth in shock.

“Please forgiveness, Vigilant One,” she said. “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“That’s too bad,” I replied, giving her an easy smile, “because it was supposed to be funny. I don’t suppose you know somewhere else I could go to eat? Someplace that has a pulse and a sense of humor, maybe?”

She fidgeted for a second, looking around uncertainly. “It’s not exactly proper,” she said quietly, “but the attendant mess is just down the hall a bit. I’ve never heard of a Vigil eating there, but it isn’t against the rules strictly speaking. Just against tradition.”

I grinned. “Hey, now you’re talking my language. Tradition is overrated, anyway. Let’s go bend the rules and have some fun.”

She cleared her throat, took one last nervous glance at the other Vigils in the banquet hall, then quickly turned and ushered me down a short stone hallway and through a set of thick wooden doors marked, Attendant Mess.

As the door swung open, it was like stepping into an entirely different world. The furnishings were roughhewn wood and platters of communal food lined the center of the tables. Smiling guards and livered servants on break were pressed together on long benches, nudging and jostling each other good-naturedly as they talked and ate and joked. Fresh hay covered the floors—perfect for handling muddy boots or soaking up spilled bear. A pair of red-faced guards, more than a little drunk, were belting out a raucous tune while a serving girl sat on an overturned barrel, playing a simple lute.

The atmosphere buzzed with vitality.

One of the singers caught sight of me and fell silent, his face draining of color as he frantically elbowed his buddy.

“What in the bloody hells is wrong with you, Kenwyn?” the other singer asked, swaying drunkenly.

The first singer licked his lips and nodded toward me.

“Oh, bugger me good,” the red face guard muttered in horror. The lute cut off with an abrupt screech and every eye turned on me.

An older man, thin as a reed and balding, shot to his feet. “Deepest apologies if we were being too loud,” he said, his voice a full baritone. “We truly meant no offense, Vigilant One.” He braced himself, as though prepared for me to bring down the hammer of judgment right onto his head.

I just rolled my eyes and laughed. “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “If anything, the music ain’t loud enough. Let’s crank the tunes and get this party started!”

The singers looked uncertainly between themselves, but then the red-faced bear of a man shrugged beefy shoulders. “Fuck it,” he said, before starting up right where he’d left off. The other singer joined in followed by the lute player when it became clear that I wasn’t going to set them all on fire with my mind.

“Don’t suppose y’all have room for one more?” I asked, lifting my plate.

***

I spent the next hour eating until I felt like my stomach might explode while I chatted with the guards and the other attendants. They were reserved at first, but as soon as I started cracking jokes and challenging anyone in the room to a drink off, they finally relaxed and opened up. Word had already started to spread about an Inkarnate and, because these people weren’t morons, it wasn’t long until they put two and two together. I wasn’t trying to hide anything, so I told them the truth, fielding a flurry of questions in between bites of food and gulps of ale.

I was just as interested in them as they were in me, and they were only too happy to tell me anything I wanted to know. I learned a shit ton about the Citadel and more about the surrounding city of Wildespell, which wasn’t actually ruled by the Custodians like I’d originally thought. The Citadel of the Vigilant had a close working relationship with the Monarch of Wildespell, but they were distinct and separate entities. Like the Vatican and Rome. Even more importantly, I’d also learned that there was trouble in paradise.

They had themselves a monster problem.

There was something nasty in Wildespell and it had already killed four people. A merchant over in the Sprawl—which is what they called the overflow city outside the fortified walls—a kid of twelve or thirteen, and a big-wig political appointee to the King. The most shocking victim of all, however, was the one that had died not but two days ago. Dogan the Shieldbreaker, Justiciar of the Seekers. Turned out, that was the reason everyone was so tense. One of their own was dead, the creature responsible was still roaming the city, and the Vigils were no closer to bringing the creature to justice.

It probably also explained why Kerra had been such a stickler about cuffing me—although it was distinctly possible that was just the way she was.

Honestly the story seemed too fucking crazy to be believed. I mean, what kind of Mortka was powerful—or stupid—enough to hunt in a city bursting at the seams with pissed off monster slayers? The thing had to have brass balls the size of monster truck tires. I would’ve dismissed it flat out as typical rumor mill bullshit if not for the fact that golden words swam through the air in front of me as they talked.

>>

Bounty

Avenger of the Fallen: Something foul has infiltrated the freehold city of Wildespell, capital of Veradonia and High Seat of the Citadel of Custodians. Already the beast has claimed four lives, including that of a chosen Vigil of Raguel. As a result, fear is infecting the city like a plague and tensions are mounting between the Custodians and the Royals who rule the city. Find the creature and slay it in the presence of at least one witness, before the growing anger spills over into bloodshed and civil strife.

Reward: +20,000 Essence, 1 x Gravitational Affinity Scale (Sage Class), 1 x Seraphic Forged Weapon Skin (Saint Class), 1 x Legacy Tome (Fatemarked Class)

>>

Well, fuck me sideways. I’d come here, expecting to learn the ropes, get a little on-the-job training, and take a breather. Instead, I had a monster to hunt down and if it had already killed one Vigil, that meant no one was safe. Including me. I wasn’t scared, however, I was excited. You don’t kill kids. The Mortka in Grimwerp had learned that lesson just a few days ago, and now it was time for this thing to learn it too. I was more than ready to roll up my sleeves and get to the monster killing.