Providence city was a labyrinth. Good thing Riven had set out early with the aim of exploring the streets and alleys, weaving between the dull brown and grey buildings, swerving past rail carriages and the occasional car trundling along the roads. No one bothered him. The cut of his clothes was above most people wading through the streets, and they knew not to mess with him. Quite an elitist thing to think really, and his schoolmates from Norreston would have ridiculed him for. But it was good he didn’t suffer any mishaps on his way.

Though that might also be for the Sept gun hanging at his waist. Riven still had a hard time believing it was his. He was a decent shot, having taken lessons from the guards Father had hired to protect the family. But… Father actually trusted him to shoot. Well, he’d have to learn for he was very rusty. Still. It was the thought that counted.

The refinery stood near the northern end of the city. Thank the Scions it wasn’t sundown by the time Riven reached it.

He stood leaning against a streetlight. Riven’s brilliant plan amounted to waiting near the gate until Viriya arrived, and then going in together. He could use his authority as the son of the Invigilator to gain access—Father had given him his own ID, after all—but why push it?

Besides, now he had time to observe the refinery itself. The thing was enormous. Three long buildings ran side by side in the all the way to the exterior of the city, their roofs flat and their edges rounded as though they’d gone through millennia of erosion. Smokestacks jutted out at the back, belching out thick black effluent that helped the coming dusk darken the sky. Soot and grime stained everything, from the tiny windows and walls, to the stony courtyard bare save for the small guard post close to the gates. There was no vegetation save a few deep-blue Coral trees stood in the courtyard. Riven shook his head. Unbelievable. People worked here nearly every day of the week for hours on end? No wonder there had been a lot of deaths. He felt like dying just looking at the place.

Contrary to his popular belief, Viriya didn’t take forever to appear. She was punctual, climbing down from a rail carriage, looking much the same as she’d appeared to Riven in the morning. Though that had been… what, seven hours ago? What in the Chasm was she busy with for so long that she couldn’t handle her own reports?

Just as Viriya was done talking to the guard at the gate—hah, they weren’t so servile here as at the Invigilator’s office—and the gate began to slide open, Riven, of course, made his triumphant appearance. Would-be triumphant.

“Hello there,” he said, etching a bright smile on his face. She wasn’t one to be taken in by it, but it didn’t hurt to smile, or so Mother always said.

Viriya almost scowled at him, her brows furrowing for a second before smoothing again. “The Chasm are you doing here, Riven?”

Riven held up his hands in mock shock. “Oh, language! I’m only here to perform my duties. I am your assistant after all.”

“I don’t need your assistance in this. Besides, you have duties—”

“Which are complete.” Riven waved the red file. “This duty, however, isn’t.”

“I don’t need your assistance.”

“Are you going to stand here and argue all day? Or rather, all night? The sun’s going down soon.”

Viriya’s jaw clenched and Riven blinked. It reminded him of Father, like she was trying with all her might not to curse everything to oblivion. “Fine. Just try not to die.”

She led the way inside, and it appeared things had been prearranged between her and the foreman, or whoever was in charge here. No one accosted them, or even bothered to guide then, for Viriya seemed to have mapped the whole place out beforehand.

“Where are we headed?” Riven asked after they went into one of the three main buildings of the refinery via a side door, stumbling around in the gloom.

“Just keep quiet and follow.”

Riven complied, shadowing her as she took the thin stairway to the second-floor platform overlooking the main area, each step careful and silent like the ghosts they were hunting.

The gloom hid most of the main workshop. A few assembly lines were visible, boxes and carts strung all over the floor around them. Apparently, the workers weren’t very tidy about cleaning up after themselves, though Riven couldn’t blame them. He’d be out of here as soon as he was technically done too. Stacks of boxes obscured the walls, and pipes ran everywhere, metal snakes infesting the ceiling, and smaller worms running along the walls.

Viriya had the keys to a small room, and they waited there. Riven took a seat by an old safe. By the looks of it, this was the foreman’s office.

“Now we wait,” she said. Her voice was low.

The gloom was hard to pierce with conversation, but Riven had to try. “I don’t think you told me why the ghosts are gathering here.”

“Well, it’s what I intend to find out.”

“I thought you intended to find out what they’ll be doing next?”

However dark it was, it wasn’t difficult to see her frown. “Why are you here, Riven?”

“To help. To learn what in the Chasm is going on here. That’s what you want to do too, right?”

She was silent for a while, no doubt thinking the same thing as he was. Yesterday, with the demon and the Sept mountain. “What happened there?”

“Like I said, I’m not really sure. I remember hearing this enormous voice though, really weird.”

“You didn’t mention a voice last time.”

Viriya was sitting ruler-straight now, eyes alert as though she’d just had her deepest suspicions confirmed. Riven sat back a little. Why was she getting so worked up about it? Yes, that had been strange and frightening, but there wasn’t much either of them could do about it. A voice buried under a mountain of Sept was night impossible to reach.

“Must have slipped my mind,” he said.

“Slipped your mind? You realize it could have been another demon, maybe even a Cataclysm?”

“A Cataclysm?”

“What… do you know about the Deathless?”

Riven took a moment to think. Whatever he had learned, it likely didn’t compare to what Viriya knew. “Well, the Deathless come in three forms.—ghosts, witches, and demons.”

“Which I basically told you in the morning.”

“And they have classes as well,” he continued, ignoring her interruption. She was right but he didn’t have to admit that. His eyes flickered to the tables filled with files, but it was silly to think they’d hold anything relevant to the Deathless. “Er, ghosts have Spectres, and witches come as Necromancers and Dead Wizards—”

The darkness did nothing to hide the hand that Viriya had held up to silence him, nor the contempt in her eyes. “The three kinds of Deathless—ghosts, witches, and demons—all have three subclasses as well. In order of increasing power, ghosts go from Spectres, through Phantoms, to Revenants. For witches, it’s Necromancers, Deadmages, and Wraithlocks. And for demons, Fiends, Infernals, and Cataclysms.”

“I imagine the last of those are very bad news,” Riven said.

“Very.”

“Were you fighting a Cataclysm yesterday?”

“I’d be dead if I were, and so would the entire Providence Demesne very likely. So no. more likely a weaker Infernal.”

“I see.” In truth, Riven wasn’t sure he did. “How do you determine these subclasses?”

“Their Spirit. In the way Essentiers can use Essence, Deathless can channel Spirit, and it’s the strength of their Spirit that determines their subclass.” Her eyebrows quirked for a second. “Although, for Class Three Deathless, it’s obvious.”

“Obvious how?”

“In the way they look and act. You’ll understand if you’re ever unfortunate enough to see one.”

All Deathless were bad news so far as he was concerned, and this hard categorization in terms of power seemed pointless. But maybe it was because he wasn’t an Essentier. “One last thing—what’s the difference between Essence and Spirit?”

“It’s complicated and we don’t have the time to go over all of it. Both Essence and Spirit use Sept, but the main difference is that we can channel external Sept, but the Deathless can only use what’s within them.”

Riven had assumed that the Sept refinery was more for refining Sept for industrial and economic use in such things like cars, streetlamps, and so on. If Essentiers needed Sept too, then expunging the ghosts from here took on another level of significance. Though Viriya had mentioned there being Sept within them. That sounded like Deathless were made of Sept.

Not that he said any of it. He had promised it’d be the last thing and now wasn’t the time to poke too much. The gloom was swallowing up their words, all but muffling their conversation.

Viriya turned to stare out the little window to the outside. The sun had set properly, and dusk was spreading is navy wings over the world. It was time.

“We have to go.” She glanced down at the gun at his waist. “It’s good that you’re armed because we’re going to split up. We’ll cover more ground that way. Just make sure you don’t get caught. And try not to die.”

Even as Viriya finished the last of her words, she reached the door before Riven had time to get words in edgewise. Then she left, leaving the door open for him to follow her outside.

Or for some ghost to slip in.

Riven shivered. It was easy being brave with unruffled Viriya around, but now that he was all alone, the refinery took on a creepy cast. The gloom seemed to hid darker shapes, and if he wasn’t wrong, there was some slight sound out there just beyond his hearing range.

No point waiting for nothing though. He gulped, took a deep breath, then set out on his own. Lamps would only give his position away, but then, ghosts might just have some other preternatural way of telling if someone was lurking nearby. At least, Mother’s bedtime stories from a decade ago suggested that.

Riven made sure not to make any noise on the metal steps, and thank the Scions they didn’t creak under his weight. Thank them too he didn’t bump into any boxes or carts in the workshop, though he could swear some of the things had moved.

Most of all, thank the Scions that whatever was following him hadn’t jumped at him yet.

Because something was out there, not far from where he paused with his back against the stacks. Riven tried to breathe easy, to focus on his palpitating heart and calm it down. Out of sight, out of mind, right? If only. Whatever was out there had a presence, an aura he could almost smell, nearly taste with his tongue like a snake. The stillness, quiet as the dead and dark as under a grave, pressed in upon him, hemmed him in and jostled him like a crowd trying to suffocate him by their sheer numbers and presence.

Swallowing, and ignoring the sweat beading on his forehead, Riven checked out more of the refinery. A small storage room held nothing. The little cafeteria was empty too. He’d find them, though, somewhere around here. He’d find the ghosts and… then what? Didn’t matter. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

Viriya had also apparently vanished like she’d been one of those ghosts all along. Riven cursed silently. Thoughts took a strange turn here.

“You won’t find them alone.”

Riven bit down hard on the shriek bubbling in his throat. He whirled, icicle points pricking the back of his neck.

The presence from before had made itself known, and it took a monumental effort not to scream or jump back behind one of the assembly lines. Riven was face to face with a witch. Her bone-white hair floated about her as though gravity didn’t exist, forming part halo, part jagged horns all around her head. Cracks ran across her granite grey skin, the fractures revealing only darkness inside, and her orbits were pitch black too, save for the milky irises at the centre. Two tiny spots of snow on a field of barren ash.

“W—who are you?” Riven took a step back. “What do you want?”

She stepped closer. Or floated rather. Her burgundy dress was a collage of folds and creases, a tumbling rapids of violet. “Mhell. A Necromancer. The ghosts are closer to where you were.”

“Mhell?” He was butchering the name, no doubt about it. “What do you mean they’re where I was?” He swallowed, eyes going wide. “They’re gathering where I live?”

“No, silly boy.” The words were weird in her strange voice, like stormy winds moaning through dead tree branches and crumbling ruins. “Go back to the second floor. In fact, I will lead you there.”

She turned, and then disappeared into the nearest wall. Then reappeared a few heartbeats later, sticking her head out, eyes blinking in confusion. Riven blinked back.

“Ah, sorry,” she said. “I forgot you can’t just walk through walls.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Ask no questions and I shall tell you no lies.”

“You can’t say the truth?”

Mhell stared at Riven’s pocket, and his hands went there all on their own. Was she interested in the crystal? “No, my dear,” she murmured. “You should know this. The truth is too precious to simply hand out.”

With those lofty words, Mhell led the way back. Riven stayed till for a moment before following. Truth be told, he was rather lost, and there was the certain feeling that Viriya had purposefully abandoned him so he didn’t stumble upon the ghosts’ meeting. He likely couldn’t alone. But going along a witch, a Necromancer, wasn’t the best decision either. Deathless were not to be trusted so easily, and the way this Mhell talked unnerved him as well, even more than the creepiness from earlier. Too normal. Too… human. They weren’t like that in the stories.

Riven had no better choice though. Wandering around this haunted refinery for the whole night wasn’t an enjoyable prospect. Sleep was trying to poke him, with soft feathers now, but it’d bring out its swords once the night wore on.

Mhell took him back to the second floor as promised. They went past the foreman’s office, down a long corridor, lightless as every other area of the building. Mhell didn’t hesitate anywhere, as if she knew this place inside out. Maybe she did. Maybe she’d been a worker here, for refineries and factories notoriously didn’t discriminate. All hands were welcome, men, women, and everyone else, children included.

They stopped before a door, the foggy and frosted windows beside it obscuring the interior. Riven rubbed it, but only got his hands coated in dust. It must have been turned foggy on purpose.

“This is the refinement office,” Mhell whispered. “You will find them here. And now I will leave you. Luck be with you, my dear.”

“Wait.” His hand reached out but it was stupid of him. Yes he could certainly touch someone who had no trouble passing though solid walls. “Why should I trust you?”

“You should ask that question when you have an actual choice.”

Mhell disappeared through another wall. Drats. But never mind. Riven had a job to do, and he wasn’t about t botch it up by barging into the ghost’s meeting. He tiptoed to the door and knelt, trying to see through the keyhole.

Ghosts. Riven stifled another shiver. Spectres filled the room, most of whom were men and women, though a few children were here and there too. They looked no different from their living forms save the eerie light that outlined them all, a faint phosphorescence all around them so there was no need for external illumination. They seemed to be waiting, and they were all listless. All but one who wore a torn scarf over his old jacket. That one knelt and stared at the forward wall like it was what had killed him and turned him into a ghost.

The room was dark, but the spooky light revealed rows of long benches and tables covering the middle of the room, the Spectres sitting on the benches, and several shelves stacked with specimen jars lining the walls. All of them held Sept. Their glow was too low to be called a glow, easily outshone by the ghosts’ feeble light, but that explained why the ghosts were here. Viriya had mentioned ghosts formed in the presence of Sept.

Riven waited, but not for long. All the ghosts perked up after a little while, all imitating the scarf-wearing one and staring at the wall.

A few moments of anxious heartbeats later, a Phantom appeared. The other ghosts were only Spectres, going by how corporeal they appeared, but this one had an ethereal edge. A faintness in the form but a presence that was far stronger just on its own. One that made the hair on Riven’s arms sand up straight.

“Are we all gathered here on this fine night?” the Phantom asked. Riven jumped, though—thank the Scions—without any noise. The voice seemed to come from straight beside his ears, though the Phantom was still inside the room.

“We are, Vrey,” one of the ghosts answered.

“Good. We shall commence then.”

“Wait.” The Spectre with the scarf stood up to groans from the others. “Is this all of us? Aren’t we supposed to find more, then start the meeting?”

“I sent out a general call,” the Phantom, Vrey, said. He swept out a ghostly arm all over them, the limb fading but little making tiny twinkles dance in the air that it covered with its sweep. Riven had to hold back his gasp. It was Sept! “Those who wished to answer my call, those who wanted to fight back from being oppressed, are here, and I appreciate you all for gathering.”

“No one elected you leader, Vrey!”

“And no one wants your shit,” someone yelled from the back. “Sit down, Nory.”

Nory dropped, but his scowl didn’t abate. If anything, it deepened. Riven hadn’t known ghosts could be so expressive, and the general listlessness of the others seemed far more appropriate, but then, he’d never heard of ghosts gathering in one place before like some sort of strike meeting. Huh. Maybe that was what this was. Riven would have hated his employers if he’d been forced to work in this dump.

“My friends. My comrades. Tonight, we strike back.” Vrey spoke like there had been no interruption. As though one of them wasn’t the opposite of a friend or comrade. “We will not let the Deadmages attack us, enslave us, bind us to their chaos and destruction. We will not let them ruin our afterlives. Do you hear me? This effortless way they conquer us must stop!”

Where the ghosts had been listless before, Vrey’s little speech was firing them up. They looked a little less real, the edge of light outlining them growing brighter and stronger.

“So what if the Deadmages haven’t yet ascended to the Scions? To use us as vessels, as slaves doing their bidding in this idiotic scramble—”

“The Chasm you mean by us?” Nory asked. “You’re a Phantom. You can resist and stay away from them. The rest of us are just poor, defenceless Spectres.”

The same ghost as before shouted at Nory to keep quiet, but there was quite a bit of grumbling and muttering even after he stopped. He had a point it seemed. Riven pressed his eyes closer to the keyhole. This was quite the drama and it was awful shame he had no tea to keep him warm company. Poor Viriya was missing so much.

“Well, you are Spectres yes,” continued Vrey after they had simmered down. “For now.”

The hush that gripped the room infected Riven too, his heart seeming to pause to take it in too. Spectres… for now. Phantoms were far more powerful than Spectres, according to Viriya, but how did this Vrey intend to turn all these Spectres into Phantoms like him?

“What do you mean?” came a breathless question.

Vrey cleared his throat. Must have been a habit from when he was still alive for why would ghosts need to clear their throats? “What I mean is—”

A face popped in front of the keyhole, blocking the view to the rest of the room. One of the children, pale eyes mutely glowing like a Sept crustal submerged underwater. “We’re being watched.”

Riven threw himself back, unable to hold back his screech this time. He jumped to his feet even as voices erupted on the other side of the door and the child’s ghost poked her head out. Then he ran.

He had no idea what ghosts were capable of, no clue what their powers normally were. But it couldn’t have been anything good. Riven thundered down the corridor, not caring what noise he made. Ignoring all the side doors, he turned back the way he had come, flashing past the foreman’s office and dashing down the stairs. At the middle of the stairway, he fell and rolled the rest of the way to the workshop floor, head and shoulders banging on the metal staps with dull, meaty thuds.

Riven, of course, lay flat on his back, breathing hard, tears pricking his eyes. Chasm, it hurt. The pain frothed and bubbled like volatile acid, shooting spikes into his skull at the slightest motion and turning his shoulder into a bulbous sack of molten lead.

But the ghosts were coming. He could feel it in the hair on his arms twisted, in the air the cavorted on his skin. Closer and closer.

So Riven clambered to his feet, and made to run again. Where in the Chasm was Viriya? On his first step though, he stumbled. No more running for him. No escape. Crap. The workshop whirled in his vision and he bit down the curse trying to spring out of his mouth. No point giving himself away.

Riven dragged himself to the boxes along the walls. Stacks rose like watchtowers, high seats for the oppressors to keep watch over the oppressed. He found a space between a few and hid himself there, trying to steady his breathing. Please Scions, let his head stop trying to unscrew itself from his body.

It’d be fine. He just needed to wait until the ghosts calmed down, or until Viriya—

“There you are.”

Riven whirled, boxes falling from the stacks to topple on him and the Spectre standing behind him. Nory.