Mitch awoke feeling groggy and slow. He remembered pain, and something about statues, and lightning. He knew there was more, but it had faded like a dream.

The pain in his head had faded from a sharp searing agony to a dull ache that seemed to come from everywhere at once. When he opened his eyes his vision was blurry with crusted mucus and dried tears. Snot caked the unruly mustache he had been allowing to homestead on his face.

He felt hollow, as though someone had used a lemon baller to dig something indescribable from his soul. There was a vacancy which he had never felt before, but which somehow felt familiar as if he had been carrying it for a very long time. The emptiness was immeasurably more painful than the headache. Without understanding why, despite his efforts to contain himself, he wept.

The sadness carried him deep within the familiar, unknown void, his sobs intensified with each centimeter descended. The desolation and despair grew until there seemed to be nothing else. His struggles to survive, to gain strength, the pain of his blood binding and enslavement were consumed utterly by this greater darkness.

Time was lost in that realm of murk and shadow. It could have been a moment or an eternity, one was the same as the other in that all-encompassing gloom.

“Come out, mortal.” A voice rang in his mind.

Suddenly something bright, hot and coppery cut through the cloud of misery, a noonday sun to its fog.

This bright thing was much more familiar, its sharp jagged edges as known as the lines of a favorite painting.

Vengeance.

He knew now that it had not been the blood binding that had brought this to being, it had merely drilled a tunnel to something that had already existed, hidden and deep with no outlet. Now it had an outlet. Furthermore it had a target, and someday it would erupt. But, that day was not today.

“Mortal! My patience grows thin.”

Mitch knew full well that Kanshou could bust into this truck if he wanted, this was more of his manipulation; reinforcing his superiority by making Mitch be the one to come to him. The bitch of it was that it was going to work.

Mitch composed himself before standing up and heading outside, hopping down to the ground before meeting Kanshou’s impassive gaze with one of his own.

“Kanshou.” Respectful, but not subservient.

Kanshou looked at him for a few moments without saying anything.

“Your progress has slowed. Your energy is not showing the degree of improvement I would expect after this much time.”

“I’ve been focused on other things, but you would know that already wouldn’t you.”

“Indeed. Baubles and toys, hardly the typed of return that will keep my superiors interested in you.” Not so long ago Mitch might have responded impulsively with something about how he didn’t care if Kanshou or his superiors were interested in him; a useless token of rebellion, but after this episode, it seemed that missing part of him had been returned. “Missing” was perhaps not the right word. Suppressed was probably more accurate. In any case, that impulse to lash out seemed to have been overwritten.

“I can’t make any further advancements that they might be interested in if I am dead. The things I have been working on might be toys and baubles to you, but to me, they are an effort to survive. Since you won't help me directly, this is the only option I have. After the next Tolling, I will be able to get back to the other things I was doing.”

Kanshou seemed a bit surprised by Mitch’s lack of an outburst. It was the obvious argument of course, but it was out of character based on what the Warden knew of Mitch’s personality.

“Who is with you?” Kanshou gestured toward the other vehicle and the two chairs by the firepit.

“Just some guy who happened to come here looking to get away.” That was a weak excuse, but Joel had told him that the Historian had hidden him from Kanshou, so he hadn’t prepared a lie. Apparently, whatever the Historian had done didn’t include the indirect signs of the other man’s existence. He probably should have seen that coming, but it was too late now. He worked to keep his expression unconcerned despite the adrenaline that shot through his veins.

“That seems unlikely.” Kanshou strode toward Mitch and palmed the top of his head. Icy spears dug their way into Mitch’s mind digging and questing for something. He hissed at the pain but kept his composure, it hurt but it was far from the worst pain he had felt, and he knew better than to resist by now. After several moments the intrusion receded, and the Warden placed his hand over his heart instead, the same sharp cold feeling squirmed through him to where the relay had been set.

After than Kanshou stepped back, anger and irritation dancing a merry jig on his face.

“As this is not your doing I will not kill you. I will return shortly and see your baubles in action. If they are sufficient to provide you a chance to survive I will not consider the contract breached. Be prepared for my arrival.” With that, he vanished; the echoes of a sharp crack the only remaining sign of his presence.

“So you are that weasel’s pet.” Weasel was not quite the right word, the image that popped into Joel’s mind when the voice rang within it was certainly rodent-like, but unlike any he had ever seen. Still, the word his mind heard was “weasel.” Turning the young man was confronted by the sight of an old, angry, Chinese man.

“I don’t – .“

“Silence, I will have your secrets.” The angry old man stalked aggressively toward Joel, malintent evident in his eyes.

“Come now, Warden, one should not play with another’s things without asking first. It’s just rude.” This was uttered aloud, and in a voice Joel knew.

“Historian. Do not interfere.” This was also said aloud, albeit with a heavy accent that the Historian did not share. The Warden continued toward Joel.

“From the horse’s mouth. You wouldn’t be planning to interfere with the will of my master now would you?”

The Warden looked at the Historian and must have said something mentally because the confrontation continued one-sided.

“True, I cannot stop you, my strength is not combat. However, I will report this to my master. Normally you would not be worth his time, but if you make trouble in his experiment a millennium in the making he will surely make things difficult for you.”

Another silent exchange.

“My master instructed me to find promising people and methods the same as yours. This one is mine.”

Whatever the Warden said made the Historian’s face grow hard.

“I report to neither you nor your master. I am obligated to share my findings with my master alone.”

More soundless transmissions.

“Our masters will report to the Head. You must know that the one among them that provides the most valuable information will be rewarded and the other scorned. Neither of our masters would wish for us to share information.”

At this point, both tyrants lapsed into silence, although they clearly continued the debate. After a while, the Warden finally snorted and teleported away looking disgruntled. The Historian remained, looking thoughtfully at nothing.

After he felt nothing else would happen immediately, Joel headed over to the Historian.

“I – “

“Do not thank me. My own interests were served by meeting him today. I did not step in altruistically. I drew a line in the sand. He should not bother you again.”

“But – “

“I am not your friend, protector, or mentor. I want to see you become strong for reasons of my own, but I will not jeopardize myself for you. The only person you have to rely on is yourself. Do not forget that. Do not lean on Mitch, doing so will only stunt you.” The Historian finally looked at Joel, as if to drive home what he had said.

Dispirited Joel nodded. The Historian began walking away.

“Who’s the Head?” Joel blurted out. The Historian paused and looked back over his shoulder.

“The Head leads the organization the Warden and I belong to.”

“What organization?”

“It is called Scarlet Ascension.” This told Joel nothing, but the Historian’s voice was firm, indicating an end to the questioning.

“What’s up with that telepathy stuff?” He explained what he had experienced with the first transmission from the Warden.

“Mental communication does not convey words. Instead, it transmits raw concepts. For those who are unskilled it will be interpreted as words, but in reality, it is nothing of the sort. You can communicate mentally with anyone, whether you know their language or not. There are people in my realm who have never learned a spoken language of any kind. There will be no more questions. I have other things to do now.”

The Historian resumed walking and then vanished from sight as though walking through a curtain. There was no snap or other noise to indicate his teleportation. Joel would have to remember to ask about that next time.

Joel now had a slightly better understanding of Mitch’s position on these guys as well. Not only had the Historian entirely disavowed any interest in Joel beyond his personal benefit, but that Warden character did not seem very reasonable. Despite the issues, he found himself being grateful the Historian had discovered him first.