Grant

So it begins. Grant didn't typically like being right. His predictions were unfortunate realities. This time he'd savor the 'I told you so.'

The bimbo hanging onto Ben screamed her lungs out. Outfitted with a tube top and a miniskirt, it was a miracle that she'd made it out of the transition alive. If he could trade her lucky arrival for a random survivor, he would. Sadly he didn't have the option.

Mathew spoke slowly with the calming voice one would use on a wild animal, or a panicking idiot. "Perimeter check is done. There are no monsters."

Like magic, Stephanie's voice cut off. Mathew the idiot whisperer.

Ben gently pulled her around. "This is Mathew. I told you about him; he's just wearing armor."

Composing herself, she ran her hands down her front knocking loosened sequins across the floor. "S-sorry. You said."

She trailed off, looking into the distance with a blank stare. Not for the first time, and Grant hadn't even stayed around that long.

Mathew's freshly uncovered face showed concern, "You're hurt."

"Working on it!" Harper yelled from her room.

Stephanie hardly even jerked back when Mathew approached to check her condition. She'd retreated from reality. Maybe she could cope and come back able bodied, but Grant wouldn't bet a wooden nickel on it.

"Lacerations, inflammation, eschar, blisters, she's suffered extreme cold. What was it, dear, that did this to you?" Grant didn't want her to suffer reliving her tragedy, but everyone had tragedy and exposing her weakness would serve the greater good.

"I don't know," Her voice was quiet.

"I mean mechanically. I would guess it cut with extreme cold, but some of the marks don't look quite right," Grant pushed her to remember her transition again.

"Blood, its blood was so cold," Stephanie shivered. "It spat its blood at me, sometimes liquid, sometimes sharp. I'm not bleeding. Why aren't I bleeding? Am I frozen?"

Ben shot Grant a victorious, challenging snarl. Of course, he would know what Grant was trying to expose her breakdown.

"This clearly wasn't what you were expecting your time to be like," Mathew took the lead of the conversation from Grant. "Your safe now. Harper will get you fixed up, and we'll help you get on your feet."

"I was on my way to an end-of-the-world party," She snorted. "Trent wanted to stop and pick up some thot. Do you guys have any drugs here?"

"Just some mild painkillers," Harper swooped in. "Medicine is this way."

Holding Stephanie's shoulders, Harper led her from the room. Ben's head rotated like a door knob to follow the skimpily dressed lass.

Mathew whacked him upside the head, "She's hurt. Care about her injuries first."

"Sorry," Ben said darkly. "I don't have gorgeous women trying to force themselves on me. Call it a different perspective."

Mathew took a huge breath to yell before visibly thinking better of it and grinding his teeth instead. "I've worn those shoes longer than you and I don't want you to suffer for not having a lesson I learned the hard way. A horny savior isn't what vulnerable, shell shocked women should get. Not your sister and not her. You deserve to be better than that."

Ben rolled his eyes, "Better than me standing aside." His quite muttering was as close to an acknowledgement as Mathew was likely to get.

"Hate to interrupt, but you should know that I escorted her in. Ben brought in an even worse charity case," Grant gestured downstairs.

"Worse?" Mathew's anger disappeared so fast it threw Grant off. Was this the mad patience from his beast side?

"So much physical trauma, he has damage to his health. That's not health reserved but actually damaged. On Earth he'd be long dead, here... the recovery will take months. Even with the accelerated healing," Grant stroked his beard. "That's if he doesn't get sick or infected."

"Sick?" Mathew blinked. "We can get sick here?"

"Oh yes, multicellular life is not unique in its ability to be empowered by the background energy of the planet, just far better at it. Most survive by being duel purpose, you see. Bacteria that are able to decompose dead matter as well as infect. Only a noteworthy threat to people in dire circumstances. Like your new subject," Grant finished.

"Good job, Ben," Mathew said. "You too, Grant. Are- do you think we are still on track to save about six people this week?"

"Hard to say. Numbers are too small to judge well," Ben answered. "Sometimes, we'd find a five or six all grouped up by the time we got there."

"You never did talk much about what life was like here in Leternum. How did it go when you had so many survivors?" Mathew's question was one Grant had avoided like the plague.

"Maybe I should go," Grant said. "No need for the both of us to share when I can be out looking for more survivors."

Making his escape, Grant nodded to Ben. Tell them everything. His nod spoke of reluctant acceptance.

Not that Mathew couldn't find out eventually. His mental spying had become an internal secret, at least until the business of Clare was worked out. But that didn't mean he wouldn't use it. Too many conversations and questions showed Grant that Mathew had gotten comfortable spying on the survivors. It was only a matter of time until the whole truth came out.

It was harsh but welcome. Grant wanted Mathew to be strong, reading minds was a boon of incalculable magnitude. It took strength to carry the torch of humanity and this represented a pillar of that strength being established. Embracing the absolute corrupting power took strength. That is what civilization needed.

That internal mettle to rob five strangers of their crafted transition items and valuable Earth objects. Of course, Grant wouldn't just start by robbing them. First, he'd try to convince them to raid the ruins of the Colony. When they refused, he'd take particularly good treasures.

In a sense, it wasn't wrong. They were dead already, they just didn't know it yet. Can you really commit a sin against the dead? But almost no one had the strength to see it that way.

Grant had been preparing for days to deal with the fallout of his actions. To do the right thing, to do what had to be done and be criticized for it was his lot in life. Grant wasn't a martyr. He didn't look forward to the inevitable judgment. In fact, it complicated his next task immeasurably.

Moving forward his wisdom would be seen as tainted. How could he make sure Mathew was strong enough to carry the torch of civilization if he wasn't willing to listen to Grant?

There was an answer, but it cost too much. Grant could act the villain and toughen Mathew up. If his words held no weight, then maybe his actions would... but Grant was tired. He could gamble the new world on slightly weaker shoulder couldn't he? Hadn't he done enough?

Tal'Duan

Striding into a round courtyard surrounded by stables, Revelry brought in his crew. Ban an array expert for support carried the badge of The Forlorn Sect. Distinguished and having enough reach to punish an imposter even this far out. He would do. Not a healer, but she knew it was too much to expect a healer this far off the map.

Two hunters were quiet. Even when her future cast self tried interrogating them. Instead, they displayed their skills with binding archery. It was system empowered but undoubtedly effective.

Finally draped on Revelry's arm was an elementalist, going by the alias of Mask. She was also in on Revelry's scheme to hide competency behind the illusion crafted of booze and disrespect.

"Save your breath. I already know everything you'd tell me with an introduction," Tal'Duan looked to Revelry. "Nothing left to prepare, so we'd best get going."

Revelry shut down the grumbling with one word, "Oracle."

"What does the Trackless say?" Mask asked.

"The mission is real, and Tal doesn't mean any harm," Revelry shrugged. "No more dangerous than any other job."

"You didn't pay Trackless to tell us when we get back?" Mask asked.

"Tried," Revelry started towards the stables. "Said it's too murky to know for sure."

Tal interrupted, "Are you saying there is another Oracle here?"

Mask and Revelry shared a look. "We don't know exactly what powers the Trackless has."

Traveling Oracles ought to visit the Oracles native to the where they travel unless it is known there are many in the city. The presence of someone else serving Fate could change a prediction making an Oracle seem like a liar. But if this Trackless used a lesser method to know the future, then she owed them no face.

Tal'Duan was the first to mount up on the Feathered Hound. It was a monster wolf, breed and evolved for travel in the harsh conditions of the Great Divide. Not nearly as powerful as a true war beast, these were purpose driven with long term endurance in mind. They still had to be dangerous enough to not die while their riders were busy fighting real threats.

The one Tal'Duan climbed on was covered in white feathers with blue specs that matched its eyes.

Usually, a new passenger had to spend a few hours acclimating the pack to a new rider. The best trained, as these prime specimens clearly were, would acknowledge a new pack member in as little as one. A drop of her Moonfox bloodline ignited to speed the process along.

"Do earn your pay, please," Tal'Daun's mount padded out towards the city gate. Her sharp ears heard Ban mutter "Oracle" under his breath half-reverent half-curse. Tal'Duan savored the fear laced respect.

"You heard the client, Mount up," Revelry whistled, and a black Feathered Hound came forward before bumping into his chest.

Their group was mounted up and moving in a minute.

Leaving the city, Tal'Duan noticed the difference given to the group she'd chartered. Each street guard gave them and, as far as she saw, only them nods of respect. Cutpurses and street orphans did the same as well. This was a reputation that was so pervasive and genuine it meant something about her company. A stark contrast to the veneer reputations bought with money and cheap words. Her curiosity was piqued but now was not the time.

After breaking free of the city gates, they picked up speed to a trot. It was considered rude to speed overly much from a city this size. For once, Tal'Duan felt glad for the rule that usually grated on her nerves. She still had a few questions.

"I've heard that the Great Divide has seasons separate from the time of year. What weather should I expect?" Tal'Duan asked Revelry.

"Uh... yeah, the weather is controlled by the Alphas of a given Territory," Revelry yelled over the wind of their trotting speed. "When most people talk about seasons in this Great Divide, it's a reference to The Night Stalker. She's like a force of nature. Where she is headed is the peak, where she was is wan. The strength of the most potent monster is distributed accordingly. So seasons are based on her oval path."

"Where are we then?" Tal'Duan asked.

"Headed right into the peak tide," Revelry guffawed. "Doesn't get more dangerous than that. If we're really unlucky, then we'll get to see her."

Tal'Duan gulped. An Oracle was often considered immortal to all but the ravages of time. Not a Fate shared to those who did not serve. Due to the extended age the curse of leveling provided, most people lived until death by unnatural events stole them away. Oracles, by contrast, could choose their end... with some exceptions. The Night Stalker was one of them.

She was being silly. The Great Divide was massive; running into the single Apex Alpha was improbable. So long as she didn't spend years here compounding the risk, all would be well.

Having cleared the distance markers, they picked up speed. Riding on the monsters at speed was always a little awkward. Their stride was so long that their back legs could kick their own head. It gave them their swiftness but also robbed their backs of stability.

Loathing the act, she reached into her moonlight core and connected a pale bridge to feed a disabled skill.

[Skill Best Riding activated

Skill atrophied from lack of use, new skill level 49. Perks disabled 4]

Human energy of the system flooded into the space between her body and that of her mount. The rocking smoothed to stillness in all directions but forward. Her perception showed her another use of moonlight energy converted from her core into a network of reinforcements for her Feathered Hound.

Banished system! Tal'Duan cursed. Her pride wasn't above using the growths from her youth. She didn't have to like it, though.

Cresting a hilltop, the chaos of the Great Divide showed itself to her in a panorama. Glaciers of ice at the heart of a Territory shared borders with lively bogs. A fire tornado spun out of a continually burning tree. Lighting boomed over the sound of their travel.

Fertile ground for her to scouting of Fate to find the interference of her target. Chaos was the home field of every good Oracle. She smiled at her newfound advantage. If only her master could see her now. Tal'Duan's smile turned sharp and toothy. She would avenge the Great Oracle that her master once was. He would be honored in death. She would make sure of it.