ROBIN ROLLED OVER in bed, trying to get comfortable. It was hard. Getting comfortable, but also the bed. Very hard. He didn’t remember his bed sucking so much, and it felt more like he was sleeping on rock than a mattress. At least his pillow was as he remembered, his head comfortably cradled in its fluffy embrace…

But seriously, who would buy a bed this hard? It was pissing him off. He had no choice but to give the asshole that purchased this thing a piece of his mind. It was his bed, so… he was gonna need a mirror.

Pain shot through his body, then, far more than the mild discomfort of sleeping on a hard surface, accompanied by horrible visions of twisted creatures pursuing him relentlessly, their vicious maws tearing through his limbs as acid melted his flesh. It burned. God but it burned so bad—agony he’d never before imagined searing his nerves like wildfire.

The faces of people he knew in his past life appeared, people he’d never wanted to see again. They mocked him for his weakness, for his pathetic attempt at a second chance, for the opportunities he’d already squandered. They laughed and laughed as he burned alive, spitting good riddance at his charred corpse. But he wouldn’t die. His blackened fingers cracked as he tried to move them, breaking away into dust and soot. But he wouldn’t die, trapped within a burnt husk of his former flesh as sorrow and rage became his only company.

It terrified him, this existence that could never end—but deep down he knew it was what had always awaited him. He would watch from his prison as the world passed by, eons passing like the second hand of a clock, ticking and ticking until all returned to that which it had once been and there was nothing left but him and the void, and finally, finally… he would be home.

Robin snapped awake, bolting upright as one darkness fled his mind to be replaced by another. Beyond the recess the sky had darkened considerably. Rune-carved eyes shone like beacons in the night, as if the void had already come and claimed this world as its own. No… the surroundings had grown dim, but not so much he couldn’t see at all, and upon closer inspection, the Blighted were still very much real things with physical bodies and not lone pairs of eyes floating in an infinite void.

He wasn’t sure why he’d thought might happen in the first place.

He sought Medea, and found her leaning against the gate, eying him tiredly as she slowly massaged her legs. It was quickly apparent why the pillow in his dreams had been the only part of the bed not made of stone. She was too good to be dealt such a garbage hand, and definitely didn’t deserve to be trapped here, waiting to die with him of all people.

There was a glint of mirth in her eyes, but it was mostly drowned out by exhaustion. “Sleep well?”

He gave a slow nod, letting his morose thoughts fade away. “Perfectly. Must’ve been the pillow.”

She gave a tired smile, but didn’t seem to have the energy to banter.

Robin gazed out past the Blighted, not seeing much other than the twilight sky. It was clear he’d been asleep for awhile, and Medea had probably been sitting there alone, scared out of her mind and desperately hoping whatever was keeping the Blighted at bay didn’t suddenly decide to take a break.

Which meant he’d left her alone with monsters. Again. Some partner he was.

He knew well how unfair life could be, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t bullshit. At least on Earth if someone jumped him, his fists weren’t entirely useless. How the hell were humans supposed to fight these things? He doubted they’d invented gunpowder yet, and swords had proved ineffective. He supposed the answer was fairly obvious, but knowing the solution and utilizing it were two separate matters entirely.

“Medea, if we survive this… I’m gonna learn magic. The kind that violently dismantles zombies.”

“Are you referring to aether?” Medea sighed. “It doesn’t work that way… well, it didn’t. I will admit I’m not certain how the art of aether manipulation has changed since I went to sleep.” Her gaze grew distant, and her eyelids drooped as she continued speaking. “It was common knowledge in Tarthos such things were best left to the masters in the Confluence. The results of individuals trying to manipulate aether were often… explosive.”

Her words forced him to come to a terrible realization. “Was that your plan? To turn yourself into some kind of bomb?”

Once again, Medea’s silence answered for her. He couldn’t believe it. That was the kind of stupid thing he would come up with. That such a caring person would consider doing that to herself… that it would have come to pass if he’d been just a little less insistent… that he could be sitting here alone while pieces of her were strewn about only a short distance away…

Rage was an old friend at that point but even Robin was surprised how quickly it peeked its head, as if it’d been waiting just beneath the surface all along. His teeth ground as he tried to let it go, but the heat was lava in his insides.

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

Images of her corpse assaulted his mind, always in various states of mutilation. Disturbing things a child of the modern era could be exposed to if he knew where to look, all flavored with Medea’s personal touch, red streaked on pale skin split and torn, chunks of flesh splattered and smeared with clumps of singed violet hair, among other things that hadn’t scared him before but for some reason terrified him now.

He climbed to his feet, hobbling the few steps to the Blighted.

Medea shifted forward, reaching toward him. “What are you doing?!”

He ignored her panicked cry, coming face to face with one of the disgusting creatures, staring straight into its glowing eyes. It was likely this thing had been a man at one point, maybe even someone in a situation much like his own. But the dead had their chance. If it meant she might survive, he’d burn every last one of them.

The monster made no indication it’d noticed him at all, which only served to incense him further. “What are you waiting for?” He slapped his arm to his chest, ignoring the pain. “I’m right here!”

It gave no reaction, and he continued in a quieter voice. “Last chance.”

Maybe he was imagining it, but Robin could’ve sworn he saw the thing’s eyes narrow slightly. It took everything he had not to reach out and wring its neck, despite knowing it could probably toss him around like a toy. For all he knew, doing that would invite them in somehow, destroying whatever protection they’d lucked into.

He tore himself away from the maddening creatures, silently dropping back down beside Medea with a vow to scorch the earth if that’s what it took—the Blighted could not be suffered to live so long as they threatened his…

He turned, meeting Medea’s calming eyes.

His what?

His… nothing. Tentative partners they may be, he and Medea were all but strangers.

What the hell was going on with him?

There was concern written on Medea’s face, but thankfully she didn’t bother to comment on his childish outburst. Shouting uselessly into the face of his enemy had taken some of the edge off, but he was already starting to feel pretty stupid. Still, he was afraid if he didn’t do something he’d have started yelling at her, and she didn’t deserve that… even if she had been planning to blow herself up. That probably made him a hypocrite, but to Robin it was obvious his life wasn’t worth half of hers.

After he’d cooled down, he decided to ask something that’d been on his mind for awhile. “I don’t suppose you know any gods that happen to be real and also willing to intervene on behalf of mere mortals?”

“Gods…?” Medea made a hmm sound. “I have heard of civilizations who revered entities they believed to be of a higher order, but my people were more… pragmatic, I suppose. The only thing Tarthons held in such esteem was aether. Of course, some believed aether itself to be a deity and worshiped it as one might a god, but this was not considered common thought.”

“Why not?” Robin asked, curiously. “Not to imply your people were the same, but from where I come from, older civilizations were inclined to blame just about everything on the whims of their so-called gods.”

“I’m… not certain,” Medea said. “It’s not as if we truly understood aether—I’m sure to many it would seem like the power of a god…” She thought on her words before continuing. “I think it was the way the masters spoke of it. They viewed aether as a thing to be feared and respected… but a thing nonetheless. Much the same way a fishermen might view the ocean, I imagine.”

Robin thought she was either underselling the enlightenment of her people, or unaware of how strange it was they leaned more toward scientific than superstitious. That, or she was possibly ignorant of the world at large, which did actually seem fairly likely—after all, fishermen were like… the most superstitious people ever. The amount of tales something as fearsome and unknowable as the ocean spawned throughout history on Earth was absurd. Maybe they just had really small oceans here?

“Fascinating. How unfortunate I didn’t understand a word.”

They jumped, rounding on the gate where the voice had originated. There, standing directly on the other side of the iron, was a tall man with crimson hair slicked back in a way that gave him a regal appearance, wearing pants and a beige shirt that hung loosely on his muscular frame. A flame burned on his upturned palm, seemingly originating from nowhere at all.

“Hello,” he said, lips twisting into a roguish grin. “I wasn’t expecting visitors… though I suppose it’s rather obvious why you’ve come.” He glanced past them toward the Blighted.

Medea looked to Robin, confusion written on her face. It was clear she had no idea what the man had said, which meant Robin was once again forced into the role of liaison despite being the least suited for it.

“Yeah…” Robin began, warily. “More annoying than scary at this point, but maybe that’s just because I’m mad about the whole inevitable death thing. Don’t suppose you’d be willing to open the gate for us…?”

The man reached up, stroking his chin. “Well, that depends on who you are I suppose.” Something very cold and completely at odds with his previous demeanor flashed through the man’s eyes for a moment. “And whether you’ve come for me.”

“I… have no idea who you are and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t take you anywhere if I tried.”

The look was gone, and the man’s smile returned. “In that case…” He reached toward the something on the wall they couldn’t see, and a moment later the gate began to rise.

Was this… really happening? It was too good to be true, right? Of course, he wasn’t about to suggest they stand around with the zombies…

They hurried through. The man flicked the switch, the gate returning to its closed position as he led them down the darkened tunnel away from the Blighted, the flame in his hand never wavering as it guided their way. Robin didn’t know how he was doing it, but here was solid proof aether could be used by an individual to create a potentially deadly effect—well, assuming it wasn’t an illusion of some kind. If he could make fire on his palm… what else could he make? Robin found himself desperate to know.

“I’m Robin.” He motioned to Medea. “This is Medea. She doesn’t speak the local language. Who are you?”

The man gave a contemplative hmm before answering. “Call me Rook,” he said, snickering a little.

Probably because it was clearly an alias. A bird name that started with the letter R?

Robin shook his head. “Subtle.”

The man glanced back, confused for a moment. “Ah. You think I’m poking fun at your expense.” He shook his head. “It isn’t so. Rook is the name of my… a dear friend. If she knew I was…” He sighed, obviously annoyed at having to skirt around so many details. “Never mind. My apologies, but until I can be sure of your intentions, I can say no more. I’m sure you understand.”

It’s not like Robin really cared in the first place, the question was just to segue into talking about his true goal. “That’s a nifty trick,” he said, motioning toward the flame on Rook’s palm. “I don’t suppose you could teach me.”

Rook stopped and stared at him strangely. “Teach you…?”

That was fast. Apparently, Robin had given away his status as an outsider in all of five seconds… though he wasn’t sure how yet. Best just to roll with it—he didn’t have the energy to pretend anyway. “Yeah. Fire is one of mankind’s greatest tools, after all.” It also happened to be great at slaying zombies, but that was neither here nor there.

The silence was a little unnerving, and Robin hoped the man wasn’t about to burn him for being a heretic or something.

“Funny,” Rook said finally, eying the flame in his own palm. “Here I stand utilizing fire as a tool as you say… and yet I’ve always considered it a weapon for the taking of lives.”

Robin shrugged. “It’s all about perspective.”

“I suppose it is.”

Rook continued leading them through the tunnel, either forgetting or ignoring Robin’s request. Soon they emerged into a large hall of sorts, lit by torch sconces lining the walls. There were great wooden tables spanning its length, but aside from that, the hall was oddly spartan. Rook led them through and into a smaller corridor beyond, turning a few times until they reached a wooden door.

A soft warm glow emitted from the room beyond, the effect of multiple candles burning for light. It must’ve been a dorm of some kind as there were beds lining the wall, each with its own matching wooden desk. Several large tomes were stacked on the desk closest the door, which Rook took a seat at moments later, motioning for them to sit wherever they like.

Robin sat down on the nearest bed, noting with some amusement it was much softer than his last. Medea stayed close, likely too uncomfortable with the situation to stray far—he hadn’t really explained a whole lot on the way here. Mostly because he didn’t have any idea what was going on either.

Nobody seemed to know what to say, so Robin decided to break the ice. “Thanks for the help. As you saw, we were running for our lives from the Blighted when they just kind of… stopped. Any idea what that’s all about?”

“You came here without knowing?” Rook seemed surprised.

“Uh, yeah.” Robin shrugged. “I’d been hurt, and someone told me this might be a safe place to lay low for awhile.”

The man’s eyebrows had risen almost to his hairline. “You’re very lucky, then. This keep has been locked for centuries. I’m one of the only people with a key, and I’ve not been here long. In fact, I’d just located the aethermetal slab powering the barrier this morning. If you’d tried to take refuge any sooner…”

That tickled something in his memory Gedd had mentioned. A great big gods-damned barrier to keep the monsters out. Were they one and the same? It seemed likely.

Still, locked for centuries? What happened to those people disappearing inside and returning changed by the experience? Fucking Gedd.

“What is this place?” Robin asked, rubbing his face with his palm.

Rook leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Are you familiar with the nation of Syrene?” When Robin shook his head no, Rook continued. “Syrene was a powerful nation of aether warriors who inhabited this land long before the Kingdom of Aerie was even an idea. This,” he motioned around, “was a training ground for Syrenese warriors. I believe they called it a temple, though I’ll admit that may be a mistranslation. I’ve seen no evidence they considered it hallowed in any capacity.”

Robin swallowed when Rook mentioned aether warriors and training grounds. Maybe this place would have something to kick start his career as a wizard after all.

“Now I have a question.” Rook leaned forward intently, pinning Robin in place with a fierce gaze. “Who is your companion?”

A weight settled in Robin’s gut. “I told you… her name is Medea. We’re simple Travelers.”

“I see.” Rook narrowed his eyes, and though he made no overt threat, Robin heard the warning in his tone. “And do all Travelers bear the mark of the Blighted and speak dead languages where you come from?”

Medea had been doing her best not to look directly at the man, but it was impossible to hide the nature of her eyes completely, especially in the dark. For her part, she shifted uncomfortably behind them as her name was thrown around in a conversation she had no way to understand.

Robin glared back as good as he got. “Leave her out of this. She’s not Blighted. We didn’t even know what the Blight was until we got to this hellhole.”

The staring contest lasted a few more intense moments before Rook leaned back in his chair again, lips stretched into a thin line. “I know.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I already know she isn’t Blighted, and I know who she is.” Rook let fire dance between his fingers, though it seemed so natural Robin wasn’t even sure he was aware of it. “What I wanted to ascertain was if you knew.”

“Wait,” Robin said, raising a hand. “Back it up. You know Medea?”

Rook shrugged. “A mysterious girl appears around the same time a natural calamity breaks free of a timeless prison. She is pursued by the Blighted, yet bears a similar mark. She speaks the dead tongue of an ancient kingdom. I’ll admit there aren’t many who could fashion the truth from these pieces of the puzzle alone… but I am not they.”

“Then who are you?”

Rook chuckled. “That may be important to you, but it isn’t important. Truthfully, it’s better you don’t know. What is important is the girl. More than you can even imagine. I do not know how you got tangled up with her, but trust me when I say this—you are in over your head.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Robin laughed, lifting his shirt to show off the multitude of bandages layered over his wounds. “I’ve almost died like four times already—got basted with acid by some headless asshole like I was a fuckin’ turkey. And I have no idea why these things are happening to me or what the fuck is going on. So you know, instead of stating the obvious, how about you just show me how to make a goddamn fireball?”

There was that strange look again. “I’d thought perhaps you were an unlucky villager who stumbled upon a seal, but your way of speaking is odd… even ignoring the rather excessive profanity. And a citizen of Aerie would know better than to ask an aetherlord to teach them to control aether.”

Robin gave a bitter laugh. “Because you’re just so far above them, right? Pricks like you always have something separating you from the filthy rabble.” He threw up his hands. “If it ain’t skin color or money, why not magic?”

Rook regarded him silently. It was probably (definitely) a stupid idea to provoke someone capable of creating fire on demand, but Robin just couldn’t help himself. Despite knowing it was most likely some kind of title bestowed on him, when Rook had unironically called himself an aetherlord Robin had to try hard not to puke all over his shoes.

“That commentary would see you hanged in the cities,” Rook began, tone even. He held up a hand to forestall Robin’s impending argument. “Luckily for you, I’m what some might consider a progressive. No, my impetuous friend, it isn’t because I believe so deeply in my own superiority I would refuse to teach another. The harsh reality is I can’t. Aether manipulation isn’t something taught, but given. At least in Aerie, that is.”

Robin found he couldn’t give a damn if the guy was offended. Everything about Rook screamed wealth, and the word progressive meant very different things to different people. Was he supposed to be impressed an elitist snob had chosen not to execute him for speaking his mind? Fat chance.

“And I assume there’s something preventing you from making a charitable donation,” Robin said, pretty sure he already had an idea.

Gedd was a Forager with a capital F, and Robin had the feeling the man didn’t have much say in the matter. If Rook turned out to be a Wizard with a capital W, maybe those from the upper crust didn’t have a choice either. If that were true, who the hell was doling out these professions? Genetics? God? Somehow, Robin was willing to bet the process was far more human.

Rook tilted his head, frowning. “You are strangely ignorant of our ways. I’d assume you were the Keeper if she weren’t sitting in front of me.” He stood from his chair, raising the palm holding the flame. “Watch closely.”

“He gathers aether,” Medea warned, quietly.

“It’s a demonstration…” Robin rubbed his chest near his burns. “I think.”

The flame grew brighter and hotter, licking at the air as it danced upon Rook’s palm. Medea gasped as an ethereal light flared into existence on his chest, fanning outward like a pair of vibrant wings unfurling. Smaller lights formed within, each individual point connected to another to form an overall shape. Not wings, but a spear.

The constellation was little more than a crude outline, but somehow a greater image was layered atop it, the fiery hues of orange and red and gold forming the spear as clearly visible as the flames before him. It was radiant; regal, its heat suffocating. Power rolled from Rook in waves as he maintained it, but all at once it vanished, returning them to the comparatively dim room as the light was snuffed out.

The man eyed them with intense scrutiny, as if waiting for something.

“That was… intense and all,” Robin began, slowly. “But what’s your point?”

Rook gave a small smile, and sat again, apparently satisfied with that response. “It’s easier to understand with a visual reference. That was a Constellation; put simply, a filter to process aether into something useful. An intricate Constellation like the one I just showed you is often referred to as a Crest. This is because they are primarily held by the nobility, who use them to identify status and house. Mine was forged over many decades, and passed down through my family for generations.”

So Rook was nobility. It seemed fairly obvious, but it was good to have confirmation so he didn’t have to feel guilty for disliking the guy. “So what, it’s a family secret? That’s why you can’t teach it?”

“That’s part of it.” Rook nodded. “But only a small part. Since you seem to know very little concerning the topic, I’ll assume you don’t know what aetherforging is either. I will do my best to explain. To wield the power of aether is no simple thing, and to do so without a Constellation, or filter, protecting the soul would likely end with that soul being torn asunder. The Syrenese invented aetherforging to solve this problem; the act of shaping the soul itself into a filter.”

“Wait, so that was your soul?”

Rook chuckled. “Not quite. What you saw is the effect of aether being channeled through the filter of my soul, little more than a projection of light. As with any endeavor involving the soul, aetherforging is dangerous. Known practitioners are closely guarded secrets, and there are few willing to trust an unpracticed aethersmith with something so important. Any damage done during the process is quite permanent, I assure you.”

Rook retrieved what looked like some kind of black stick and a piece of parchment from the desk nearby, as well as one of the thick tomes. He handed the stick and parchment to Robin, and then held up the tome to show the intricate symbol engraved on the front. “At last, that brings us to Crests and the answer to your original question. Draw this symbol as best you can.”

Robin shrugged and did so, but he was no artist, especially not without his dominant hand. In a few minutes he had a wobbly mess that vaguely resembled the symbol on the tome. Rook merely nodded, and handed him the tome next, instructing him to place the parchment over top the book. It was easy to see where he was going with this, but in another few minutes Robin had used the grooves of the symbol to trace an outline much closer to the original.

“I get it.” Robin sighed. “You’re saying you can’t teach aether manipulation because your Crest was essentially copied by some aethersmith, right?”

The older man nodded, gravely. “Precisely. In fact, you’ll find there are very few, if any, truly original Constellations in Aerie, and even fewer aethersmiths.”

Robin was starting to see the problem. Crests were not only difficult to make, the only ones capable of it were hoarded away like gold. If Rook or someone else were to up and give some peasant their Crest, it would be identified the first time they actually used it, leading straight back to the person who gave it to them. Robin could only imagine such a thing would be highly frowned upon, to say the least, and he could easily imagine how the nobility might react seeing a pauper with the power of a king. In his experience, those in power were inclined to keep it that way.

“Judging by the look on your face, you understand the implications…” Rook said. “But there is yet another reason I cannot bestow my Crest upon someone, even if I were so inclined and happened to be an aethersmith capable of doing so. One I am rather ashamed to admit I have only recently begun to see as a problem.”

The man’s eyes found the floor, and Robin couldn’t help but think his shame was genuine. “The matter of Assignment. In Aerie… it is decreed a crime to lack a Constellation, and what began as a form of conscription to aid in our very survival transformed over time to become common practice. When a child is born, a basic Constellation is Assigned them, determined solely by the needs of the many.”

“Wait…” Robin held up a hand, struggling to process what he’d just heard. “You Assign them when they’re born? You’re telling me you alter the souls of infants so they can, what… grow up to be your servants? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Rook refused to meet his eyes. “A shaped soul cannot be given a Crest,” he continued. “So you see, there likely isn’t a single soul in Aerie capable of receiving mine.”

It was no wonder Gedd was so unhappy with his lot in life—he and everyone he’d ever known had their souls mangled by rich assholes so they’d make better slaves. Robin didn’t give a single shit about Aerie’s reasoning, every last person involved in this was scum. He wanted to reach inside Rook’s soul and start throwing shit around, maybe force him to be a stable boy for the rest of his life and see how he liked it.

“Why are you telling me this?” Robin asked, voice bitter. “What do you gain by making me hate your guts?”

Rook sighed, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “It was a necessary first step. Would you have trusted me if I had hidden it from you?”

“No.” Robin said instantly. “Don’t trust you now, either. Why would you even want me to? We both know I’m useless… so what, is this about getting to Medea? Because I’ll warn you now—don’t even fucking think about it.” Maybe he couldn’t do much against the Blighted, but Robin didn’t hate his odds against some pampered douche… assuming he could get on him before Rook could work his magic mumbo jumbo, anyway… and also assuming he didn’t collapse in the process. “Besides, she’d never forgive you for the mutilating children thing.”

“I’ll admit, I’d initially thought to gain her trust instead,” Rook agreed. “But your ability to act as a middleman to overcome the language barrier will save us time.” He glanced back and forth between them. “While I can’t divulge exactly why, there is a reason I’m in an ancient Syrenese ruin. I’ve recently learned the aetherforging methods used by Syrene were quite different from ours, and if I ever hope to make real change in the way this kingdom treats its citizens, I need to know how.”

He stood, and began pacing. “My soul already contains a Crest, so up until this point, I’ve only been able to theorize about the process.” He met Robin’s eyes. “I’m certainly no aethersmith, but I know for a fact Medea’s soul remains unmolested… and I’m willing to wager yours does too. You said you wanted to learn to do what I do? Well this is the way. You two may be the only people left who can.”

“Well, that’s certainly… convenient,” Robin said. “But once again, why the hell should I trust you?”

Rook frowned, and suddenly looked much older. “Because despite the multitude of sins I have committed… I want to do better. This kingdom is on the brink of destruction. Not only from outside threats, but from ourselves. We hide behind barriers we do not understand and cannot recreate while our fellow man dies by the drove at the hands of Blighted monsters. We haven’t had contact from other realms in half a century. For all we know, we are the last holdouts of a dying race. If we fail to unite as a people, not only will Aerie be lost… humanity itself could go extinct.”

Rook paced over to the desk, tapping the stack of tomes with a finger. “The Syrenese people created the barriers that have kept us alive for hundreds of years, and there is yet more we can learn from them. There are methods in here describing the process of Tempering, which I believe to be an aetherforging technique designed to cultivate and guide the soul, as opposed to forcing it into a specific shape.”

He met Robin’s eyes once more, pleading. “I understand your hatred of me, but I’m asking you to temporarily put that aside to gain the strength you yourself claimed to desire. If you cannot do that for yourself… do it for her.”

Their eyes flicked to Medea, who had fallen asleep on the bed behind him, her exhaustion too great to survive a lengthy conversation she couldn’t take part in.

“The Blighted are not the only threat she will face—there are many who would use her for their own wicked ends if given the chance. She will need strong allies if she has any hope of surviving what is to come. If you truly cannot do this for her… you have no place at her side.”

Robin hated pretty much everything the man stood for, but if Rook really was trying to turn over a new leaf, and this aetherforging technique really was a way to get stronger and keep Medea safe…

He sighed. “Tell me more.”