Edeard practically soared over the roofs of the city. Ralagast’s endless alleys and complex pipes made traversing them an art form of its own. In the old world his bloated physique would never have been able to do such things. Here he was stronger than humanly possible. Ralagast was a city that had been built and rebuilt countless times. Old blended with new architecture. It was as much a maze of space as it was a maze of eras. He found the junction between three epochs, a single pit of an alley dug into the old suburbs. Rickety stairs connected each level. The corridors within were so dense its inhabitants knew a stranger by the dumbfounded looks on their faces.

Many of these pits lay scattered about the city. Even the Guard didn’t know they existed. Here was a whole new ecosystem of folk. Edeard hated referencing his old world, but they can only be described as the Robin Hoods of Etrylis. Among them there was a young woman with brilliant, scarlet hair. Her shop was tucked away in one of the many branching paths in the verticality. In hooded robes he squeezed past similarly dressed concerned citizens. Even at night these crannies were loud with life. The stalls each had a jovial face, offering weapons at unbeatable prices, poisons and tinctures, artifacts from ancient times, trinkets and baubles.

An arm grabbed him from behind a counter.

“You have the look of a man who needs a tool,” said the old shopkeep, gap-toothed and grinning. “I have here a genuine piece of a Nephilim wargear. Turn the dial to its lowest setting and it could cook your eggs to perfection. Turn it high and it will eat an army.”

“Perhaps it could,” Edeard remarked, “Six thousand years ago. No thanks, old-timer.” He retrieved his arm with prejudice and kept walking. At the very end was the place he needed.

Behind the counter, sparks flew. The occupant deftly manipulated the blue tip of the torch over the contours of her project, joining metal to metal. Edeard waited patiently for her to be finished. Just as she finished one weld however, she began another. Edeard cleared his throat. The woman stopped then, pushing her mask up over her head.

“Sir Lumen,” She greeted.

“Jetrois, how is it going?”

“A friend of mine broke their Kalladale.” She slapped the machine she was working on. “Been trying to fix it for them. I must say though, one doesn’t need to fix a horse.”

“No, one just puts it down and buys another.”

Jetrois smiled and stood from her workstation. They linked their hands in an amiable grip and shook.

“So, what is it this time, my knight in starry cloak?”

“I’ve reputable rumors that conspiracy is afoot between statesmen and magnates. And that assassins crawl throughout the city.”

“Is water wet? I have heard nothing about assassins though.”

“I need a lockpick device that can get through pressure locks. And to renew the Imbuement in my cloak.”

Jetrois sighed. “The whole point of the Lord Mayor adopting pressure locks is to avoid being picked. But I can give you a Valve-freeze device. Should shut down the boilers keeping the bolts in place. Then you can do a simple repulsion Spell to open it. Give me your cloak.”

Edeard handed it over the counter. He watched Jetrois hover her hand over the fabric, whispering power into the fibers. Multiple planes tore open, mixing, entwining, forming function from chaos. The cloak regained its original strength.

“There.” Jetrois handed it back. “Simple, low yield Spells only. Push it and this cloak won’t shield you from a cast alarm.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be back with your other thing.”

She brought a bronze scepter-shaped device from the storage in the back. The tip housed a glass blister. Edeard examined it in his hands.

“Looks like a point-and-click,” he said.

“It is. Maximum range is about five meters. Lasts a few minutes before the boiler corrects itself.”

“Understood.” Edeard paid her, then turned to leave.

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” Jetrois leaned forward on the counter. “Aren’t there proper channels to do what you’re trying to do?”

“Sometimes… justice is slow and unsatisfying.”

“Unfaithfulness? Among the Preservation?” Jetrois quipped. “I thought you of all people were a true believer.”

“I think I’ll leave before your mockery reaches full strength.”

“Come back soon!”

Edeard returned to the rooftops of Ralagast. He observed his city with a strange sense of pride, absorbing the dense tapestry of lights created by countless gas lamps. If he squinted, he could see the street where a riot had taken place just three months ago. The State had introduced a tax hike to fund their own seldom revealed projects. The businessmen offset the cost to their employees. One whisper here, one bribe there, and the people thought the State council was behind their sudden decrease in pay. The knights of the Preservation were eventually empowered to work, fighting the people they were supposed to protect.

Edeard was new then. He had climbed the ranks of this new world’s society like he did back on Earth, except in MMOs. On Earth he was a shut-in, a part time cretin who got by couch surfing, utterly unmotivated to engage with Earth’s unfair ideals. Etrylis rewarded work like nowhere else he had known. He had thought this world was perfect. Then he grew up.

The tax hike was eventually repealed. The magnates returned wages back to normalcy. Neighborhoods had been destroyed. Dozens of lives lost. A construction firm grew fat as the Lord Mayor handed them repair contracts. A hundred or so dispossessed had no choice but to join the military after they lost everything. He was there in the city’s palace. He saw the owner of the construction firm shake hands with the Lord Mayor, then beckon his teenage daughter forth with a fatherly hand on her back. Cold, heavy revelation almost made Edeard hurl right then and there.

When citizens fought, everyone else above them gained. Businessmen thrived, the military grew, the house won once again. He still believed in the Falerian ideal. But this city like all cities were rotten. The strange rules of this world gave him strength. And he was going to use it to correct its people, by force if the law failed to serve.

--

“I should have stayed.”

“You think so?”

“Why’d I come all the way out here? Just to rebel? I’m so stupid.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I nearly died on my first assignment.”

“But you didn’t!”

“I killed one of them.” Lisŗa drained the rest of her glass. Golden relief slid down her throat, numbing her feelings for just a moment. The bottom of the glass slammed back on the table. “I remembered my training, and I managed to get one of them. Aimed for the throat. The blood was so warm. It came like a fountain. I saw his lights go out. I’m so pathetic.”

“I don’t think anyone’s pathetic for doing their job,” June said. She set down her glass and pushed it to the other three empty ones beside her. A server came by to collect them. June quietly paid for both their drinks. She collected Lisŗa, guiding her out of the tavern.

“I meant I only killed one person and I’m already a mess. How are you so strong, June?”

June stopped.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“You saved us all,” Lisŗa murmured. “Only a few of us saw you do it but you got rid of most of them for us. You’re amazing.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hm…” Lisŗa seemed to have already forgotten her train of thought. She fished a folded piece of paper from her pocket. Unfurling it to its full size revealed a clean sheet. Then spots on page coalesced, coming together, darkening into letters and then words. Her eyes widened and she sobered just a little.

“What’s the matter?” June asked.

“The prisoner has escaped. They took his axe when he was sleeping. Dammit, Yavi is calling us all in and I’m drunk as hell. How much have I had?”

“One.”

“Seriously? God… Wait did you pay for me?”

“Let’s just get you to the runners’ headquarters. You ought to be yourself by the time we walk there, ok?”

“This is so embarrassing.”

“It’s alright… it’s alright.”