Rhen sat alone in a private car on the train back to Desedra. He’d have sat in the group section, but he’d been mobbed by the other travelers as soon as he was seen on the platform. While the attention was fine from time to time, it was too much this morning. He was a bit sleep deprived—for the best reason, but still, his head hurt… and his hips.

Arannet opened the door with a bang, her hair and clothes looking disheveled. She exhaled hard and blew a bit of stray hair out of her face.

“They. Are. Crazy!” she sat down across from him on the comfortable plush seat and fixed her clothes.

“Who are?”

“The Zeph-Heads. Your loyal followers. They were begging me for signatures. I’m not going to sign a random piece of parchment! What might they write on the rest of it afterwards that I’m then bound to?”

Rhen chuckled. “I don’t think that’s the intent.”

“It’s strange.”

“It is.”

She crossed her arms, clearly still perturbed.

“Maybe if you wore a disguise, they would leave you alone?” Rhen offered.

“That’s ridiculous,” she mumbled, looking to the window.

“Or you could just tell them to fluff off.”

“What!?” Arannet squeaked.

“It’s a surefire way to get them to fluff off.”

“Never! That’s so rude!”

Rhen shrugged. “Guess you’re gonna keep getting mobbed.”

She flicked her wrist and her bracelet flared, dropping a hand mirror into her palm. She straightened her hair, mumbling to herself. “Abysmal advice.”

“I get that we come from different worlds, but sometimes you have to be rude, Arannet. You’re going to get pushed around otherwise.”

She dismissed the mirror and crossed her arms again. “Never.”

Rhen chuckled. “Have it your way, then.”

The train tooted its departure and they got underway. Rhen spent the few hours of the trip looking over the goods he wanted to sell, and where he thought he should take them. Having perused the market in Desedra for many years, he knew what many of the merchants sold, and where it sold for the lowest prices. Rhen didn’t need to get exorbitant income from his wares, and he wanted the delvers purchasing it to get a good deal. He’d seen too many scammers take advantage of poor suckers, like Arannet, and wanted to do his part in cutting down on that.

They arrived mid-morning when the initial rush to the dungeons had died down, and so found the crowds to be reasonable on their way into the heart of the city. They made it to the market district in a few minutes and Rhen stopped to bid her farewell.

“Guess we won’t be seeing you for a few weeks, so, best of luck,” he said, hand outstretched for a shake.

Arannet pushed his hand aside and gave him a hug. “Thanks, for believing in me.”

She pulled back, teary-eyed. Suddenly, she was stern again. “You let me know right away if Tsu’me doesn’t do a good job and I’ll come back.”

Rhen smiled sarcastically. “I won’t.”

She growled. “Oh, you!”

She turned away and stepped up onto a trolly headed deeper in to where she’d meet her mentor from Desedra I. Rhen was surprised to learn her mentor was a delve leader turned manager that he himself had worked with in his stint there; the squat woman from Fjagrasill. Bethinda was her name, apparently. She’d been kind and competent enough. Rhen hoped she could help.

“Tell me!” Arannet demanded as the trolly took off.

Rhen waved goodbye. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of!” She shouted back with a tenuous smile.

Rhen hoped she wasn’t seriously nervous that they were trying to do away with her. His dungeon would be a mess without her. He was worried about how well Tsu’me could take on Arannet’s duties, but she needed a break, and a replacement bard had been acquired. Plus, Tsu’me had four arms. That’s a lot of note-taking capabilities.

Rhen found his favorite vendors with relative ease and unloaded some of his unwanted gear and materials. Gwhan’s signature bows were in high demand, and he had two of them for sale that didn’t quite meet the dungeon standards. He had some terrocken leather and feather shoulder pads, good for deflecting slashing blades and rebuking some magics, that he sold to the armorer who’d fixed his boots all those months ago.

Last, he sold a few raw anima crystals to the Down-N-Out for dirt cheap, emphasizing that the hostesses should be given a fair portion, and if they weren’t, he’d know. The manager nodded, bowing multiple times, and promising he would. Rhen would check in with Jakira’s old contacts in a few days to make sure.

When his pack was lightened and the sun was well past its apex, he headed toward the center of the city: Desedra Tower. The building was so tall it pushed well beyond the smog cloud that hung over the city, and into the sunshine above. Rhen couldn’t see where it ended. The walls were black stone from the Desedra dungeon, reinforced by the same dull metal alloy Rhen’s team had used in his dungeon—which meant there could be places within the building that prevent anima essence absorption.

Wyland had promised him that the mix he’d made for the transport vehicles was light enough on the Magnite that it wouldn’t prevent uptake of anima if anything went wrong in there—gods he hoped nothing ever went wrong in there. But if the Desedras were using thick Magnite walls on any of their rooms, they could kill Rhen inside and as long as his body and core never left, he’d never be able to get back to respawn. This was a complication he hadn’t considered…

He had to stop thinking up conspiracies every five seconds. He was a Nexus owner, and his disappearance would be a well investigated scandal. Several people knew where he was going, and one of the invites even came through the post. This wasn’t a murder plot.

There were several doors on the building, but one of them was marked by the same symbol on his invitation; a silver Nexus node on a thin pedestal surrounded by seventeen, fou- pointed stars. Apparently, they hadn’t fixed the door sign yet to match the wax seal.

Rhen stepped up to the dark door and it opened automatically. A tall Resplendite man waited on the other side, his hand pressed into a white, glowing contraption on the wall.

“Please come in, Mr. Zephitz,” he said with a straight face.

Rhen stepped through the door. “Thank you.”

“You were expected,” he replied, then scowled in confusion. He looked at Rhen curiously. “You’re welcome.”

The door closed, encasing them in the dark box. Rhen could see fine, of course, and watched as the man twisted his wrist, his fingers dancing under the light. The floor trembled, and the room began moving upward. It was unlike any other elevator he’d seen.

“Is that coded to your anima profile?” Rhen asked and pointed to the machine his hand was in.

The man frowned, as if he didn’t know whether he could answer.

Rhen shrugged it off. “It’s just cool, that’s all.”

He stood closer to the glass as they passed through the smoggy layer over the city. They breeched the smoke and Rhen stifled his gasp. Few buildings towered as high as Desedra, looking like lone spires on a white sea that stretched on for miles. At the very edges of the cloud, Rhen could see the greenery of the forest that may have reached as far as his dungeon.

The lift slowed and came to a stop, then the door behind him opened. Rhen was grateful that it wasn’t the door to the front, and he was being shoved out it. While he’d be back at his dungeon in a matter of hours, falling from a great height made for unpleasant nightmares later.

Rhen thanked the nameless elevator man again and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The carpets were deep red and black, with intricate filigreed designs. The walls were black, trimmed with gold, making the sparse collection of portraits and weapons stand out in their well-lit spotlights.

Rhen realized then he didn’t know where he was going and turned back. “Do I just—”

The doors closed on the elevator, leaving Rhen alone in the hallway. He turned away and walked slowly, taking in the portraits and their weapons. Black-haired men and women with names like Ephoral, and Benidyzem, stood in action poses with their weapons—the very ones in the glass case next to the portraits—or sat stoically on their throne. Each portrait was accompanied by a placard that highlighted the rulers’ accomplishments, and the paintings seemed to mirror their deeds.

After passing twelve or so portraits of names he didn’t recognize, he arrived at Zeichen I. He was painted later in his life, when his hair had only a few streaks of black left. He had a well-groomed beard and his chin was lifted so he could look down on everything forever. Pompous.

Rhen leaned in to read over his legacy and scowled. The discovery of Shin’Bara…? But that was over four-hundred years ago. Did every Desedra live incredibly long lives?

There was a tongue-click down the hall and Rhen straightened up to see Zeichen IV approaching with her translator.

“Lost already?” Shevine asked.

“No, just observing your noble family’s history.”

Zeichen smiled and her shoulders moved as if she were laughing, but she made no sound. She signed something to Shevine, who signed back with a chuckle.

“She says you’re very good at saying nice things you don’t mean, a trait that will serve you well as you progress.”

Rhen wished it weren’t necessary at all, and wished to say that out loud, but knew this wasn’t the time. Zeichen’s trap was still revealing itself, and Rhen couldn’t make any miscalculations. So, he dipped his head, choosing to say nothing at all.

Zeichen signed again and turned away before she’d even finished.

“Let me show you into the meeting chamber,” Shevine said, gesturing for Rhen to follow her.

The hall of portraits ended with three different doors, all of which were locked by way of anima profile scanning. Zeichen guided Rhen up to the door by his elbow. He stiffened at her touch, tensing in preparation of battle. Her powerful essence put him on edge far too much.

She placed his palm against the reader, then gestured to have him splay his fingers out. He did as she instructed and felt the tingle of an anima scan against his fingers. A reader above the door pulled his ID Syntial information and displayed it. Zeichen made a few quick taps on the glass and then bumped Rhen out of the way. She put her own hand on the reader and made a few more taps in quick succession. After a moment, Rhen’s name went from red to green on the screen and the door clicked. Shevine pulled it open for them.

The corridor beyond was a far cry from where they’d just been. Well-lit white walls were covered in beautiful paintings, some of the sections of walls being painted themselves. There were pedestals supporting sculptures of all kinds of things from monsters, to epic battles, to heroic looking fighters. It was a hodgepodge of so many things, Rhen couldn’t pick out a theme. Even the styles widely varied.

“When Zeichen became the head of Desedra, she mandated more art be purchased. With the other heads of household refusing some of her wonderful purchases, having nowhere else to put them, she brought them here,” Shevine said as they walked.

Zeichen turned, walking backwards, and signed something. One of the words Rhen had seen before. He listened intently to Shevine.

“I like this hallway more than most in Desedra I Tower.”

“Could I ask what this word is,” Rhen tried to mimic the sign.

Zeichen stopped, grinning. She moved her hands through the process much more slowly, and Rhen mimicked her again.

“I like,” Shevine said.

Zeichen did the sign again, but slightly different, gesturing to Rhen.

“Do you like it?”

“I do. Where did you get these pieces?”

Zeichen kept walking, and Shevine took over. “They were purchased from Desedra delvers who made them in their spare time. Many of them had spent their whole lives creating these pieces.”

Zeichen turned and signed. “I paid them for their whole lives and let them retire to create more art. The world needs more art.”

Rhen paid intent attention to her signing, picking up words like “more art,” and maybe “lives.” After a few twists and turns, they made it to another single door with the same Nexus Protectorate sign—this one missing a star as well. Rhen realized that all that, the hallways full of portraits and art, was vanity. He wondered what the second hallway had been before Zeichen redecorated. More portraits? Perhaps long sonnets on why her family was the greatest in all the realms.

Shevine opened the door again and Zeichen stepped aside to let Rhen go first. Inside was a well-lit, round table of black and gold. The walls were a bit close at the left and right of the circular table, and Rhen saw old divots in the carpet that indicated there was likely a rectangular table there before. The room shape certainly indicated that. Zeichen had made several changes, then.

The group didn’t cease their chattering as they came in, but every pair of eyes flicked his way with some level of interest or disdain. The table was nearly full, with only five seats out of twenty-five being open. Rhen assumed that the Nexus owners all brought their guards, too, something he’d have to remember for next time. Rhen also noticed that the table was painfully homogenous; several Resplendites and Shin’Barans, with only two Sephine, two Taalite, and single Dwarf, and a lone Cadrian.

Zeichen turned to Rhen and signed with a smile.

“Welcome to the Nexus Protectorate. Take your seat next to me, please.” Shevine translated.

Rhen followed her around to the tight edge where the five open seats remained. Shevine sat next to another Desedra man, possibly Adelus himself, putting distance between the siblings.

“Finally,” the man murmured loud enough for Rhen to hear, then stood. The group quieted and looked to him.

“May I say first and foremost how grateful we are you could make it this time,” the man said with a smile that belied the sarcasm in his voice.

Zeichen clicked, signing. “Don’t patronize him out of the gate, Brother. He hasn’t even been introduced to everyone.”

“Apologies,” he sneered. “Adelus Desedra, Resplen’Bara Nexus Protectorate.”

The Resplendite man two seats down stood next. “Gravas Desedra, Resplennyu Protectorate.”

Rhen pulled out the to-do list from Arannet and started scribbling the names on the back.

They went around the room, listing their names and the Nexus node they all “protected,” though Rhen was not sure what from. Maybe that would be made clear soon, but he doubted it. When everyone had given their name, Adelus rolled his eyes toward Zeichen.

“May we begin now?”

Zeichen dipped her head in acknowledgement.

Rhen wasn’t sure what her role was at the meeting, but she seemed to wield a great deal of power.

“Welcome, Rhen Zephitz, to the fold. Your membership here is non-negotiable, so long as you remain in control of Zephitz I,” Adelus said the last part like a threat. Rhen kept the scowl from creeping onto his face and remained calm.

“The conversations in this chamber, and the many others like it around the realms, will not be repeated anywhere until our final consideration is agreed upon, and we submit a law. We decide the fate of the realm’s transports, and we must all be in accord. Understood?”

Rhen nodded. He understood exactly how this was going to go. The Desedras would assert their position, and the others would fall in line, or else.

Adelus too his seat, and Gravas—perhaps a younger brother to Adelus and Zeichen—stood and cleared his throat. “There have been scarce reports of black grain in Wenyu, and that it can kill those who eat it, animals too. I believe the best course of action would be to suspend exports of any kind for a week, then implement a scrupulous check of anything leaving the realm until we’ve identified whatever this black infection is.”

“That’s ridiculous!” A man with brown hair said, jumping to his feet. Rhen checked his notes. Sorin Gaar, protectorate of the Wenyu-Obentia Nexus gate. “A full stop of exports would cause societal collapse in Gaaropolis within days. Suspending grain from the infected farms will be enough.”

“Your city couldn’t withstand a stop of exports for a few days? This speaks volumes to your leadership, Sorin.” Gravas replied, hotly. He looked about Rhen’s age, but he’d grown up with the privilege his name brought, and that made him much more flagrant than Rhen would’ve been.

Sorin’s face reddened. “We are a merchant city you imbecile. We pander and package your exports for all the realms!”

Adelus leaned forward. “And if the infection spreads to the fruits, or the vegetables, and your people fall ill and die, how will your city fare then?”

“There’s no evidence of that yet. There’s no evidence of anything! Scant reports? Ha! This is another Desedra scheme to weaken the Gaar empire.”

Rhen’s eyes practically bulged out of his head and Zeichen smiled at him knowingly. She clicked her tongue, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, and Shevine translated.

“We must move quickly. Burn the most of the infected grain and get our best botanists to the site to analyze the rest. Issue a warning to the public about the possibility of infection, and to burn any grain they have which has developed a black hue, or black spots. We will need to meet with the Civil Affairs—”

“What about my merchants? How are they supposed to feed their families? How are the delvers of Obentia supposed to eat!” Sorin slammed the table.

“It’s not just Obentia,” Pock, the Taalite protectorate spoke up. “We have a population too large to survive off just the Ragnor beasts and ice-moss.”

Zeichen leaned back, relaxing. “We get more parties involved for the solution, the Civil Affairs Guild, for example. There will be a solution that doesn’t allow your people, any people, to starve. A wide-spread grain plague when we are already experiencing food shortages could collapse all the realms, not just Obentia and Ptahl.

“We will take care of one another, unlike—” Shevine faltered. Zeichen signed more insistently at her, repeating herself. “Unlike my late father’s rule. We are not the same, and I will not have us repeat the same mistakes.”

Adelus was glaring daggers at Zeichen, his eyes holding more than just contempt. What was that wide-eyed, wrinkled brow frown that he wore? Fear?

“What says the newcomer, Rhen Zephitz, the skin thief,” Sorin gestured to Rhen with disdain.

Rhen clenched his jaw and looked to Zeichen. She shrugged at him as if to say, “Speak your piece.”

He steeled his nerves with a big breath and spoke. “We are all connected. The problems of one realm are the problems of another, no matter how distant. The Tree of Being requires us to—”

Adelus laughed, sparking a series of voracious laughter from everyone else—except Zeichen and Shevine.

“The boy believes in gods and great magical trees connecting the realms!” Sorin barely sputtered between laughs.

Rhen’s face filled with heat, and he stood. “Perhaps it has me in the right mindset to tackle such problems with the finesse you lack.”

This shut down the scornful laughter in a second.

Zeichen clicked her tongue and Rhen looked to her. She motioned for him to go on.

“We are all connected whether you believe in the Tree of Being or not. The destruction of one is the destruction of all. The suffering of one is the suffering of all. We will feel the repercussions everywhere for every choice.” Rhen paused, his conviction swelling. “Zephitz is still small, but we’ll send you whatever we can to feed your merchants and your delvers, or whoever else is impacted and needs feeding.”

“It couldn’t possibly be enough for city of two million for any stretch of time. Your solution is weak.”

“Not if anyone else around this table would dare to offer the same. You all have dozens of dungeons, or even hundreds,” Rhen looked to Adelus. “Your dungeons are far more profitable than mine, and there are edible plants and creatures within them. There are farmlands surrounding our cities. There are wilds still unexplored that have game and ruffage—”

“How would we pay the delvers and explorers for these finds of food that will be given away for free?” someone else chimed in from around the room and Rhen quickly checked his notes again. Hano Weisman from Fjagrasill.

“I cannot help you if you’re conscience is so lacking you’d rather let people starve than lose a few weeks of profit.”

The group absolutely exploded with angry shouts, all directed at Rhen. Well, maybe this would get him out of the Nexus Protectorate. He didn’t like this room full of floosies anyway.

Zeichen touched his arm, motioning for him to sit. She smiled softly and made the sign for “I like.”

Rhen smiled, shrugging. “Thanks.”

Adelus tried to call the group to order, but no one could hear him over the angry comments and flying spittle. Zeichen pushed her chair back and jumped to her feet, then slapped her open palm against the table. A violet wave of magic rippled through the room and settled in everyone’s chests. Zeichen raised her hand and closed her fist, pulling all those purple glows back to her.

The orb of magic hovered in the air, just in front of her knuckles, and the room was quiet… mostly. Rhen could still hear the breath slipping past their angry lips and the faintest of words that those breaths made, but there was no resonance to them.

Zeichen had stolen their voices.

After a few seconds, everyone stopped trying to speak.

“That you respond with such violent hatred only proves Mr. Zephitz point. We are experiencing a temporary crisis, and temporary losses, perhaps none at all if we are clever,” Shevine said, her voice unhampered by Zeichen’s spell. “Our alternatives are to potentially poison the realms, and what else? Who else has a productive suggestion?”

The Cadrian, Aadit, raised his hand. With a flick of her finger, Zeichen sent one of the purple essences flying back toward him and into his chest. The glow filled his throat, and then subsided.

Aadit swallowed hard and rubbed his neck, then sighed. “Our sun-comb harvest has been plentiful this season. We have nectar and broad leaves we can spare.”

Zeichen smiled. “Who else?”