WHEN MEDEA WOKE, their host had already left. Robin sat on one of the other beds nearby, rubbing absently at his flesh. She couldn’t even imagine what he must be going through. The pain he must feel. She only wished there were something she could do for him.

He must’ve noticed her stir, because his amber eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Hey,” was all he said, and yet somehow it encapsulated everything Medea knew he would say if he’d just allow himself to speak it.

When they were trapped with the Blighted, he’d yelled at them in anger. She would’ve yelled too in his position. And yet afterward he’d seemed disgusted at his own display of emotion, as if he’d been ashamed to be seen feeling. How could he bear such pain and still keep such a tight reign on his emotions? There was no way she would’ve handled it half as well. Once, she’d broken a finger and laid around crying for days. Robin’s pain must’ve been orders of magnitude worse, and Medea hadn’t seen him so much as shed a tear.

“Hey,” she said, copying his curt greeting with a faint smile. “Where is Rook…?”

“He’s…” Robin reached up and rolled his neck, giving a few satisfying pops. “Delving for texts. His words, not mine. Apparently the Syren-whatevers liked to squirrel things away underground, and the place down below is a maze. He made it sound pretty dangerous, and not just the get lost and starve kind of dangerous, but the kind involving things that want to eat us.”

“Is it safe here?” Medea asked, glancing around, suddenly wary of Blighted emerging from the shadows.

“Doubt it,” Robin shrugged. “But Rook seems to think we’re fine. Apparently these barriers are pretty good at keeping zombies out.”

Medea cocked her head, surprised. “And you trusted him at his word?”

“What do you think?” Robin actually laughed. “Truth is, I don’t think we have much of a choice. He told me some things while you were out. He knows about you, Medea. Maybe not you specifically, but he knows you’re connected with that big lizard that busted out of the mountain, and he knew to expect the markings on your eyes.”

They knew of her? How was that possible? She had only just woken up, and the seal had been buried deep beneath the mountain. Perhaps… there’d been those safeguarding the seal? If so, they’d done a rather poor job. Of course the question of how Robin had gained entry, let alone shatter the seal itself, was ever-present in her mind. It seemed the amount of things she didn’t understand only continued to mount, and she could only hope Rook held some of the answers.

After that, Robin explained to her how the rest of his conversation went, emphasizing the parts about Tempering, the mysterious people who knew she existed and sought to use her in some way, and the apparent slavery problem plaguing the kingdom she now knew as Aerie. Hearing what they’d done to the souls of their own citizens—to children!—made the blood drain from her body.

Robin had recounted the tale with no small amount of disgust, a distaste she found herself sharing. The very thought of enslaving a person was foreign to her… and yet, Medea couldn’t help wonder how common such things had been in her time. What did she really know of the world beyond Tarthos? Could she say with certainty it’d been different?

“I don’t know how I feel about messing around with my soul,” Robin continued, dragging her back to the present. “I mean, back on Earth we weren’t even sure the soul existed. Now I find out that it not only exists, but also that people routinely bend it into different shapes for the hell of it. Like it’s made of fuckin’ playdough...”

Medea didn’t know what play dough was, but her thinking aligned with his on this matter. She wasn’t comfortable with the idea of someone manipulating the very things that made her… her. They would have to find another—

“Still, I’m probably gonna do it.”

Her thoughts ground to a halt.

“Robin…” She began slowly, tone disbelieving. “Is that not the opposite of the sentiment you just expressed?”

Robin gave her that cocky smirk of his she would never admit was somewhat endearing.

“Yeah, but magic. Besides, one of us is gonna have to juice up if we want to survive. Not to mention keeping the Medea Mafia off your back, y’know?”

There were many things about that statement Medea did not, in fact, know. Including half of the words. “You’d really risk your soul just for a chance to obtain power?” she asked, incredulously. And for what? The ability to shape flame? She could do that with sticks and rocks!

Robin gave her a look she had trouble interpreting, and averted his eyes. “Yeah… I guess I would.”

There he went again, disappearing into his own mind. Not for the first time, Medea wondered just what went on in there—all the thoughts and feelings he bottled up had to be whirling around just beneath the surface, always threatening to break loose. She didn’t know how anyone could live that way, but she hoped for his sake he didn’t drown.

She thought about simply asking Robin why he was so willing to risk himself, but truthfully… she was afraid of the answer. He had more anger in him than most, and she could only guess at the life he’d led that brought him to the point he’d willingly trade his soul for power. He pretended to be cynical and selfish, but most of the things he did only proved how little he valued himself.

At some point during the awkward silence, Rook trudged into the room with his shoulders sagging and his head hung low. Robin stood and met him, and they began to converse in the strange local language she’d yet to understand a word of. Not being able to communicate was going to get old fast, and she already felt the frustration fraying the edges of her nerves. Their conversation seemed to get a bit heated, and Robin eventually broke off with a scowl, returning to the nearby bed while Rook sat at the desk and began to comb through the stack of books.

She couldn’t fathom what made Robin despise Rook to the extent he did. Yes, the Kingdom of Aerie clearly had its fair share of problems, but she doubted any of the issues plaguing the nation were Rook’s fault. In fact, by the man’s own admission he’d come to realize how bad the problems were and sought to change not only himself, but the very thoughts and minds of the people around him. Was he truly worthy of such scorn? She didn’t think so.

“What’s wrong?” Medea asked.

Robin glanced her way, the scowl on his face lessening somewhat when he met her eyes. If she couldn’t fathom why Robin despised Rook, she had just as much trouble understanding why he didn’t despise her. She was convinced Robin’s unwarranted chivalry was the only reason he’d been hurt so badly; he’d inserted himself between her and danger at every available opportunity. And Medea had done nothing to stop him, further proving she’d only been taking advantage of him from the start.

“Rook said he’s got the Tempering technique, but we can’t use it until one of us becomes familiar enough with aether to sight the flow,” Robin held up his hand, curling the first two fingers as he said the words. “From what I gather, he’s looking for a book that’ll teach me how to sense aether. Apparently, that’s not something they teach you in aetherlord school.”

Medea tilted her head in confusion. “Did I not tell you I can sense the flow of aether? Learning to do so is a necessary first step to directing it, and I’d have made a rather poor acolyte if I couldn’t.”

Robin scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. I… remember.”

“Well?” Medea pressed. “Is this not something I can do for you?”

“Theoretically, you’d be the perfect person for the job.” Robin sighed. “But we just had a conversation about this and you seemed pretty opposed. It’s not a side gig—you’d be taking my literal soul into your hands and Tempering it, whatever the hell that means. I may not have known you for long, but even I know you wouldn’t forgive yourself if you messed me up for good. It’s probably best if I do it myself.”

“Oh.” It seemed she’d been underestimating the gravity of her role. And yet a strange sense of unease settled in her belly at the thought of Robin continuing on his own.

Could Robin be trusted with such a thing? The arrogance of that thought made her feel sick… but if given a choice between power and his very future, she was all but certain which option Robin would choose; he’d said as much himself.

If Medea had control of the process, even to a limited extent… could she steer him toward a safer path? After their argument in Gedd’s home, it would make her nothing short of the greatest of hypocrites… but if she did, would he know what she’d done? And perhaps most selfishly of all… would he ever forgive her? At once she knew he would not. Robin wielded his mistrust as a blade, poised at everyone and everything except perhaps her. If Medea betrayed his trust, no matter how undeserved she knew it to be, he would never forgive her; of that she was certain.

But even if she made no such decision for him, Medea wasn’t certain she could walk away. If Robin truly was from another plane… there were none alive on Gaia who would have his best interests at heart, none who would care if he maimed his very soul in pursuit of power. They were kindred spirits in that regard, and Medea was slowly learning firsthand how crushing that loneliness was; it was one of the reasons she believed their partnership important. Strangers they may be, who did they have if not each other? If Medea’s presence could push him towards a less destructive path… was it not her duty to try?

“I will help.”

Robin seemed taken aback by her sudden declaration. “You will? What happened to being against the whole idea?”

“I changed my mind.”

“You… changed your mind.” His voice was flat, and he scrutinized her face, clearly unsure of what was happening.

“That’s right.” She stood, dusting herself off, and began making her way toward Rook. When she realized Robin wasn’t following, she threw a glance over her shoulder. “Are you coming? I cannot do this alone.”

A thoroughly confused Robin got to his feet to follow.