MEDEA PULLED THE cloak closer around herself as she watched her strange companion converse with the others at the table. Sesara had since returned with her daughter, Talia, who seemed content to sit back and watch the proceedings quietly. It seemed they were kindred spirits in that regard, though Medea didn’t have much choice in the matter.

They were all speaking gibberish, as far as she was concerned. She’d been exposed to other tongues in Tarthos, of course—it was a part of an acolyte’s training to have at least a cursory knowledge of the realms, and Medea was confident she could recognize most of those languages—but the words these people spoke were unlike anything she’d encountered before. It left her feeling helpless and confused.

And yet he seemed to have no problem at all communicating, switching between languages like he’d been practicing them all his life; two languages Robin had sworn he’d never even heard of. Such complex aetherwork was not impossible for the masters of the Confluence, and similar feats had been performed for Tarthon diplomats when treating with foreign realms, but those required the full might of the Confluence’s most accomplished masters… and that was to impart the knowledge of one language.

Medea had known Robin most of a day, but already she had trouble believing anyone would expend so much effort on someone like him. He was infuriatingly blunt, lacked any sense of shame or propriety, and treated life as if it were no big deal. In short, the last kind of person to be trusted with anything of great significance.

And yet… he’d stood between her and the most horrifying beast she’d ever laid eyes on, gave little complaint even when he was suffering, and his jovial attitude had made dealing with waking up in a strange land easier. Robin had even tried to offer her life advice, and despite the somewhat dubious benefit of his words, she could tell they’d been spoken from the heart. A wounded, pessimistic heart perhaps… but a heart, nonetheless.

The question she struggled with now was whether or not he was right.

Since waking up, Medea had thought of only one thing—her duty. She’d been chosen by the Confluence themselves to seal the mad Titan—it was her destiny.

And yet… they’d said nothing of an extended slumber, had they?

She’d told Robin there was more involved with sealing a titan than sleeping, but the truth was… Medea knew little more than he. She’d been so eager to please, so eager to fulfill her purpose… she hadn’t thought to question what sealing a Titan truly meant.

…Had the masters known all along?

They must’ve—they were the Confluence, the most powerful gathering of master ritualists in the seven realms; they didn’t make mistakes. Sealing her with the Titan was always their intention.

She’d been had.

The cost of that naivety was steep. Some part of her had held hope this was nothing more than a waking dream… but bathing in the stream had forced her eyes open. It was in the grass and the trees and the great mountain Tartarus, still standing proudly after all this time—this strange and unfamiliar land was her home.

…But what good was a home with no one to await her return?

She swallowed back the emotions threatening to overwhelm her, all but certain she would be forced to face them sooner than she was ready. For now she would try to view things objectively, as she’d been taught.

How many years had it been? Decades? Centuries? Though there were familiar landmarks, the area itself had shifted and changed. The people wore different clothing and spoke a language she didn’t understand… and there was something else too, something she’d noticed about them. Each they’d passed hummed with a familiar energy, one Medea herself had once sought to control.

But only masters were capable of wielding aether. It was a wild and willful thing, and those unpracticed in the art of its manipulation were far more likely to be torn asunder than to accomplish anything useful. Even a relatively basic ritual required several masters to guarantee success.

So why then did these ragged farmers all seem to bear some semblance of control? As an acolyte of the Confluence, she’d spent enough time around the masters to get a feel for the flow of aether being manipulated; that feeling was everywhere in Lowrest, as if every person in the village were directing aether at once. Could the advancement of aether manipulation techniques truly have reached the point it was normal for farmers to wield aether like Tarthon masters?

If that were true… why did they need her?

Gedd had heavily implied fighting the Blighted was an impossibility, but aether made the impossible possible. What was preventing them from wielding it against their enemies? Even if they weren’t on the level of masters, with so many in the village capable of manipulating aether, it should be more than possible for them to come together and form some kind of defense.

Gedd seemed to be under the impression the runes in her eyes were special… but there was no telling where they’d come from or if they truly were related to the Blight. She doubted anyone in a small farming settlement would be able to make that determination, either.

Perhaps Gedd expected her to turn herself over to a higher authority? Submit herself to be tested and studied? She shuddered, imagining being stripped naked and prodded all over before someone had the thought it’d be easier to examine her eyes if they were no longer in her head.

But… if it were necessary to save the lives of countless people… could she say no? Did she have the right?

Everyone has a sob story.

Robin’s selfish words came to mind. They were… surprisingly comforting. She suspected that was because it’d been the first time anyone had implied she had a choice.

As a child born with above average aether sense, Medea had always been expected to become an acolyte. Her peers were the other acolytes, more children just like her who’d had their life’s course determined by random chance. Together, they simply followed the path they’d been told to walk.

Medea hadn’t minded, of course; she’d loved being an acolyte. It was a higher calling, an important purpose that’d allowed her to live with pride. She hadn’t given it a second thought… until now.

The truth was… her higher calling had stolen her life. Everything that was and everything that could’ve been—ripped from her fingers by those she’d respected most. Those she’d trusted. Not just when she’d been used to seal the Titan, either, but long before that… perhaps from the very beginning. Who could say where the manipulation truly began? Where it ended?

How could she have been so blind? It made her want to scream. To give into the anger and scream at the top of her lungs at the unfairness of it all while cursing the names of those who’d fooled her into believing she was important.

The thought almost made her laugh. A tool could always be replaced.

Medea noticed Robin turn her way from beneath her borrowed cloak, startling her from bitter thoughts. She tilted her head back slightly to see his face; he was handsome in an almost feminine way, with long golden hair that fell to his shoulders making him seem right at home with Sesara and her daughter—Medea would have thought them related if she hadn’t known better. His amber eyes were frosted over from dealing with Gedd’s family—people he obviously cared little for—and yet when they met hers, the ice melted away.

Why did he disdain them but not her? Many theories had crossed her mind. At first she’d believed Robin was with her out of necessity, but that felt a projection—Robin seemed like the kind of person who would get by just fine without her, and Medea was quite certain she needed him far more than he needed her. She’d toyed with the idea he might be interested in her, physically or otherwise, and he had remarked on her beauty… even if referentially.

But had he not plenty opportunity to push for that when she’d joined him in the stream, divested of her clothing and baring more than she had for any other man? The shame burned fresh in her mind even now, but circumstances were dire, and Medea found shame of little use when being mauled to death was a very real concern. That, and she didn’t want to think about how many years it’d been since she’d last bathed.

No, it’d been her choice to get into the stream—Robin hadn’t so much as suggested it. He’d barely seemed to notice, actually… as if seeing her exposed were nothing special. So if not for her body, then why? He seemed to despise the way Gedd saw her as an opportunity… so why did he not despise her? Was Medea not using him to benefit herself? Robin had broken the seal binding the Titan, at once setting her free and relieving her of her duty, and without the masters of the Confluence, she simply had no way of returning to her sleep. That was to say nothing of whether or not she’d be willing to do so now she knew the truth… but Medea hadn’t decided yet whether to be grateful for that, and it wasn’t why she’d decided to stay with him. Her reason was far more selfish.

She was afraid.

Robin had the right of it when he’d guessed she was worried about him leaving. She wouldn’t last a week on her own. She knew no one in this land, couldn’t communicate, and bore a mark that made her instantly recognizable as a threat to mankind. Without Robin, she was doomed. She needed him, and had little choice but to use him for her own survival. By all rights, he should resent her.

“You alright?” Robin asked, in that uniquely truncated way of his she was quickly becoming accustomed to.

“Yes.” She nodded slowly, glancing around to see Gedd furrowing his brow in thought and the women moving swiftly around the kitchen, preparing food for the table. “I was merely lost in thought. Have you learned anything?”

Robin sighed, slouching slightly in his chair. “Not really. Maybe. More allusions to their weird profession system. I’m starting to think they don’t get much of a choice in the matter.”

Well, there was something familiar.

“Robin, we need to talk. There’s something I’ve noticed about the people in this village, and I think it’s time I told you about aether.”

“Is that the word for magic ‘round these parts?” Robin asked, adopting a thick accent as he perked up.

“Magic…?” She asked, frowning. “I suppose it could seem that way to those not educated in the art of aether manipulation...”

“Listen here, lady,” Robin continued in that same strange accent she could scarcely comprehend. “I’ll have you know I am the proud owner of my very own Gee Ee Dee.”

She wasn’t even sure where to begin processing whatever nonsense he’d just spoken, which meant it was more of Robin’s unique sense of humor. It was clear he took some kind of sick pleasure in tormenting her with references he knew well she wouldn’t understand.

“It’s funny,” Robin began, sighing heavily. “Because where I’m from that accent is commonly associated with uneducated people—though of course that’s a stereotype based in ignorance itself—and also because a GED is the equivalent of the standard education most people receive and not really something to be proud of… unless you’re from a place where that standard isn’t usually met, generally somewhere with a culture rooted in poverty and ignorance. It’s multi-layered irony.”

After a few moments of silence in which Medea attempted to wrap her head around his long-winded explanation, she was finally forced to concede the point. “You were right before. Explaining it is the opposite of humor. I’m just sad now.”

Robin laughed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “Told you.”

“Is it true, though?” Medea asked, curious despite herself. “Are you the proud owner of a Gee Ee Dee?”

A dark look crossed Robin’s face, but it was gone an instant later. “I suppose I am.”

She’d begun to notice when the subject of his past came up, Robin seemed to grow distant and evasive. There were things he clearly had no desire to talk about, and Medea was positive his odd behavior in the face of certain death stemmed from those very things he refused to speak of. She wanted to know more, but was afraid asking would only push him away.

“Back to the subject of aether…” Medea said, carefully watching his expression. “Aether is… everywhere. It is in the air and all things, a chaotic and powerful force we do not truly understand. My people were masters of bending aether to our will, and while it was possible to achieve truly great things—”

“Like moving a city?”

“Like moving a kingdom,” she agreed. “But what I was attempting to convey was how unusual such a thing would be. The scale is almost… unfathomable. In my time, even small tasks often required many master manipulators to handle. Aether is willful, and does not wish to be directed.”

“Magic is hard to control. Got it.” Robin nodded. “What’s that got to do with the simple folk of Lowrest?”

Medea almost snorted, despite herself. Robin had such a way with words. “These simple folk give off aether like Tarthon masters. It is in constant flow around them…” she trailed off, realizing something. “Or perhaps inside them. If I were to attempt such a feat, the aether would surely tear me apart…”

Robin gave a contemplative hmm, glancing up at the ceiling. “Is it possible they’re not the ones controlling the aether? What if they’re enchanted? Tarthos had enchanted items, right? Magic—err, aether artifacts?”

“We often infused objects with aether,” she agreed. “Though it was rarely done with living beings. The risk was not usually worth the reward.”

He waved a hand in the air. “And if we assume whoever infused them isn’t concerned with their wellbeing? What if, and hear me out because this may sound a little extreme, but what if… these people weren’t given a choice in the matter? What if that’s why Gedd speaks of being a Forager like he’s been cursed? What if his aether infusion makes him a Forager… and nothing else?”

“They’d be no more than slaves.” Medea gasped, a pit of dread opening in her stomach. “But who would do such a thing…? And why? What would even make you draw that conclusion?”

Robin frowned, suddenly looking very far away. “Never read a history book?”

“But…” Medea began, grasping for some reason why he must be mistaken… and yet, hadn’t she just been thinking of how her own people had used her? Was this so different? “It’s wrong…” she finished, sounding pathetic even to her own ears. Was she really that naive?

There was pity in Robin’s eyes that sent a wave of hot shame rushing through her. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but humans suck. History is rife with atrocities committed under the guise of the greater good, or under no guise at all; slavery is just one of many.”

She couldn’t even refute his patronizing address; she was a child. It was no wonder she’d been chosen to seal the Titan. Medea hung her head, wishing she could just disappear.

“Hey,” Robin said, reaching out and prodding her chin to meet his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Be thankful—Tarthos sounds like a nice place.”

A nice place…? But…

But what? He was right. Tarthos had been a nice place. There she was blaming her problems on people who’d likely been dead for centuries, and Robin came along and smashed her burgeoning self-righteous vindication to dust.

Was it truly the fault of her people she’d become an acolyte when that’d been her desire from the time she could walk? Was it the fault of her masters she’d been too foolish to question the sealing ritual? To question anything? She’d lived her life without once attempting to pull back the curtain and see the truth, trusting others to guide her down the correct path. Perhaps she had been deceived, but even so, nobody had forced her hand. They’d shown her the cliff and she’d jumped on blind faith alone. She was a gullible, sheltered fool.

Medea bit back tears of shame, unable to meet Robin’s eyes any longer. It was then she noticed Gedd and his family watching them with rapt attention, and felt her cheeks flush even more. She’d been so preoccupied with their conversation and her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the room go quiet.

…She’d never been so thankful someone couldn’t understand her.

Before Robin had the chance to shatter any more of her world views, a scream pierced the silence, originating from somewhere outside Gedd’s home. Robin shot to his feet, reaching for the black sword he’d been carrying around since they’d encountered the monster.

The scream died off as suddenly as it began, sending shivers down her spine. Gedd had risen at the same time as Robin, and was ushering his family into a back room. He stopped to shout something at them, but Robin waved him off. The man shook his head and ducked into the room, swinging the door closed behind him.

“Robin…?”

He glanced at her, eyes hard and knuckles white on the grip of his sword. “You can go with them if you want. They’re planning to block the door, but I don’t imagine anything that can break in here is going to have trouble getting through whatever flimsy barricade they can manage. Besides… I prefer to have room to move.”

“Do you know how to use a sword…?” Medea asked, wide-eyed. She couldn’t believe he was actually planning on fighting one of those things.

Robin just shrugged—decidedly not the answer she was hoping for.

There came a slow, rhythmic knocking at the door, making Medea’s heart beat like thunder in her chest.

“Are you there, Gedd? It’s me, Foden. There’s been an accident. We could use your help.”

Medea let out a heavy breath, relaxing slightly. It was obviously a person on the other side of the door, someone that knew their host. “Maybe someone fell?” She guessed. “We should tell Gedd.”

The look Robin gave her was grave, and filled her with fear all over again. “What?” she asked, shrinking into herself. “What’s wrong?”

“Gedd?” The knocking continued, increasing in pace. “Gedd, please. We need you.”

Medea didn’t understand why Robin was still gripping his sword so tightly. Couldn’t he hear the man begging for help? She made to move, but Robin placed his arm on her chest, barring her way.

“Robin, why are you—”

The knocking became frenzied as the person slammed their fist into the door over and over again. “Gedd? We need you. Open the door, Gedd.”

The situation was making her uneasy. Things were happening so fast and spiraling out of control.

“Gedd, open the door.”

And then it hit her—why Robin was so on edge. She shivered, raw terror filling her veins like ice water. If this was truly a villager from Lowrest…

The knocking stopped at once, filling the air with thick silence.

How had she understood them?

“OPEN THE DOOR.”