“What are you exactly?” said Alon to himself—or to the Voice, rather. He was still getting used to the concept of conversing with somebody sitting inside his head, forever present and always watching.

“You’ve never cared to ask that question before.” replied the Voice, speaking—once again—like a human for once, yet in that strange sharp, flowery accent he had never heard before.

“Why does it matter?” said the Voice.

“You can’t deny my curiosity now; You tried helping me back in Kogan’s hideout. You gave me an idea of the threat I was facing, of the danger I was in. You warned me about how many men Kogan had in his Gang in hiding. You’d only do that if you thought I was important.”

The Voice paused for what seemed an eternity—It always had something to say in response; For what already was an abnormality, speechlessness seemed especially peculiar.

“Is that what you want me to tell you? That you were chosen for a reason? That what has happened between you and me is meant to be significant?”

“The truth will do just fine.”

“The truth is that this was mere chance. I do not know why we have been linked in this manner—why we have been cursed to share this story together.”

It was Alon’s turn for speechlessness.

Perhaps he didn’t want to admit it to himself before, but he truly enjoyed entertaining the idea that he was chosen for something important—something grander.

“Are you a God?”

“What makes you say that?” said the Voice, with hesitation.

“Come on,” said Alon, not entertaining the idea his theory could possibly be false—not after everything he had seen, or rather heard.

“You asked for the Truth? Is this still your desire?”

“Always.”

“Very well.” said the Voice, with determination. “The truth is that I am a God—Or, at the very least, that is what you may consider me to be. The truth is that I am in need of assistance, and I am trapped in an unfamiliar place—One I wish to no longer be trapped in.”

Alon froze, unable to speak and unable to move. The Three had disappeared eons ago—according to Casian, yet he was speaking to one of them right now!

“Are you one of the Three?” said Alon, trying to bait a confirmation to that which he already knew.

“The Three...” said the Voice, trailing off near the end of his sentence. “That was what you referred to me as, yes—Your people, that is. That was so very long-ago now...”

“What happened to you? Did you choose to leave?”

“I... do not know. All I know is that I need your help to free me—and I fear I do not have much time left. There is ruin coming, and only I can prevent the world from suffering... All you need to do is follow what I say and I can prevent it. It is as simple as that.”

“I don’t care about the world,” said Alon, remembering the predicament he was in once again—The Fog, the Upper Tier... Nobody had done him any favours, why should he help anyone else?

“You do care about the World, Alon—you are a part of it.”

“Who cares if the World falls to ruin? What has it done for me?”

“You may not care if the World falls to ruin, but there are others who’s World cannot crumble, there are people and things that mean the World to them—You cannot deny them the privilege of experiencing these things. You must do this for their sake, if not your own...”

“Then find somebody else—”

“Why find somebody else when I already have the most important person in the World?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Regardless of your reasons for doing so, this task must be done—I must be freed, rather. If you will not do it for others, I know you will do it for yourself. If your very life isn’t reward enough, at the end of your journey, there will be something grand awaiting you—and you alone. Free me, and you shall receive it.”

“And what is it you’re offering exactly?”

“The most important thing in the world.”

Alon nodded, a symbol of his satisfaction towards the answer he had been given—for he would likely not receive a greater reason.

Although... There was something to be said about the potential of what one of the Three was offering...

“You still haven’t told me what you are—who you are, what you’re even called. What should I call you?”

“I’ve told you before—I am Conquest itself.”

“Very well, Conquest it is... I shall do as you say.”

***

Alon’s head shot up as he regained his awareness, as if waking from a dream. Brook grappled onto the side of the Manor’s roof, kicking at the wall as he hurled himself over. Mythel stood atop watching over, paying close attention to every move he made. Claude stood—peering out over the square at the Vacant clawing up at the side of the building, as if just a little bit more effort could allow to finally reach their prey atop the roof...

Casian and Kogan stood behind Alon, pulling and wedging their weapons in between the roof shingles with all their might—to no avail.

The conversation with Conquest had seemed to last minutes—ten at least, however it was clear that mustn’t have truly been the case. Everyone had been where they were before Conquest had requested to converse with him—that entire conversation had only taken place over the briefest of moments.

“You really must be a God,” said Alon, internally—directed at Conquest.

“Once you complete your task, you shall see far more of my capabilities...” said Conquest, purposefully trailing off near the end of his sentence.

“Alon! Give us a hand here!” shouted Casian, clawing at his breath—and holding his body up by holding his knees—as he waved him over.

“The damn things just won’t budge. It’s like they built this Manor as a blasted fortress!” said Kogan, cursing the very day he was finally bested by roof shingles.

Alon looked over the shingles—drawing his fingers beneath the cracks, and examining the bolts keeping them on the roof; The entirety of the roof shingles were made from metallic plates—bolted on, albeit slightly crudly, deep and strong.

There was no telling how long it would take them to break through—there was no guarantee the other side of the roof didn’t have a stronger barricade keeping them out, either.

“Check below your right foot—” said Conquest, inquisitively this time, rather than giving an order for once. “—there is heavy rusting on the bolts there; It hadn’t been properly treated for the rain, you can see where this section had been finished last. The grooves are all uneven, the bolts have hastily been put in. They likely wanted this job over and done with quickly—and left us a weakness to exploit.”

Alon—trying his best to hide his utter surprise—spoke inwards towards Conquest.

“How did you even know that?”

“I can observe the surrounding area near my host. I should be able to give you useful information such as this—provided you aid me in my goals.”

Alon shuffled over to the spot on his knees, carefully ensuring he wouldn’t slip and fall off the roof. He pulled his dagger from its sheath and wedged it between the panels—levering and moving it up and down to free it from the bolts trapping it.

With a sharp snap of the metal, the panel flew off the roof—exposing the regular, more easily removable tiles akin to the other Manors and villas surrounding the square.

“Well, I’ll be damned... If only we would’ve checked there first, eh?” said Kogan, his arms crossed as he shook his head.

“You’d think I’d be making it up, but I swear I was going to check there next,” said Casian, with a smile towards Kogan. “How did you know that was there, Alon?” said Casian, his smile fading slowly.

“I don’t know, it was just the first spot I decided to check—just a bit of luck, I guess,” said Alon, shrugging his shoulders.

Casian glanced up and down at Alon, before shrugging and getting to work on removing the tiles.

“Honestly, I think we’re in for a bit of luck... God only knows, we deserve it.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” said Kogan, throwing his arm up in the air—clearly in protest of every slight he had ever been forced to suffer. “Thing is though... If someone went to the effort of all this to keep us out, makes you wonder what’s inside.”

Casian grinned, baring and using it as a demonstration to the entire Gang.

“Time for us to find out, then.”

***

Argyle couldn’t run any more. His body wasn’t going to allow him to go any further. His legs cried out in pain. His very ribcage felt as if his heart would smash through, cracking every bone, as it beat harder and faster.

The beat of rapidly approaching footsteps grew louder and faster—the narrow caves echoing and amplifying the rhythm.

Argyle ran his hands along the mossy walls as he charged through the caves—the damp and moisture not doing much to soothe his red raw palms.

He kept losing his footing over the rocks, slipping and sliding gingerly—despite the pace he had been running.

Every time he slipped he estimated he lost around three or four seconds ahead of the guards of the precious little time he had access to.

“No... no... I can’t afford this!” said Argyle to himself as he slipped again.

“We’re gaining on him!”

Argyle could hear a woman’s voice in the distance—angry and far more determined than he could ever be.

He had to push on faster. He had to push himself harder.

Argyle leaped over the final rock in the cave system and slammed his feet against the wooden floorboards leading to the Workshop—he was so close, it was right there!

The entrance to his freedom was dark—almost dark enough to the point he couldn’t see it, but it had to have been there! There was no doubt about it!

Argyle threw open the heavy metal door with all the strength he had left—slamming it against the thick stonework on the over side. He charged through, throwing himself back around as he slammed the door shut. He bolted every latch and every barricade down he could find on the door—using everything he could to ensure this freedom he had earned would last just a bit longer.

He grabbed a chair from underneath the wooden table across the cramped room from him and slammed it again the handle. He then proceeded to grab the bookshelf and toss that in front of the chair.

He looked around for more furniture, but alas—there was nothing more to use.

He clawed at his chest, hoping his breath would return to him for the sprint away from this place.

He stumbled back in disbelief, staring at the door and the makeshift barricade he had constructed. Would it be enough?

It had to be—he couldn’t fathom losing what he had earned. He turned and ran towards the exit—not daring to leave his fate to chance.

He was free; He couldn’t believe it, but it was actually true now.

He always said to himself he was a free man—that he made his own choices, his own decisions, but that was a lie, of course. He had to have found some way to get through it all—and that was it..

But now, he didn’t have to lie to himself anymore—it was true.

***

Alon dropped down into the Manor behind Casian and Kogan—catching himself and rolling onto his side to make the drop that much easier on his feet.

Claude and Brook followed—Claude slamming onto the ground feet first, and Brook, stumbling as he got back onto his feet after the fall. Mythel fell into Brook’s arms, it not doing much to ease the drop.

Alon looked around as best he could in the dark; The Manor was definitely beautiful, even in the darkness. The wooden carvings lining the walls were so intricate, so detailed—he hadn’t seen anything like it! The bookshelves towered over everyone in the room, even Claude and Kogan. There had to have been hundreds of books—all backed with dyed leather. Some were crimson red, some were wine green—all gave life and colour to the otherwise drab and dusty room.

Alon ran his fingers in the dust blanketing the table, which was just as intricately carved as the walls. He left trails where his fingers picked the dust up, leaving a thick coating on each and every one. The table hogged all the space in the middle of the room, forcing the Gang to clump together and find what little space they could to occupy the room.

“How old do you think this place is?” asked Claude—more so to himself rather than anyone who could give him an answer.

“Must be at least fifty, sixty years—well before the Fog rolled in to the Lower Tier,” said Casian, who looked around the room in amazement.

“Is this what the entire Upper Tier is like? Do you think they all live in buildings like these?” asked Mythel, marvelling at the sights.

“I’d imagine so...” said Kogan, taking in everything with bated breath.

“So, what are we looking for exactly?” said Alon, directed at Casian—orchestrating the Gang to also pay attention to him.

“We’re looking for a secret entrance that leads to the Upper Tier from the basement—from there, we can find a place to lay low and plan our next moves.”

“What are those exactly?” said Brook, charging past Alon and Claude from the back to the front of the crowd. “You haven’t said what we’re doing once we get up there yet.”

“This is no place to discuss that. We can talk about it when we get into the Upper Tier—once we’re safe,” said Casian, hushed—gesturing for Brook to follow suit.

“Why not tell us now?” said Brook, not bothering to manage the volume in his voice as Casian had.

“Shush! Keep your voice down!” shouted Casian—in as hushed a tone he could muster.

The scuffle was broken up by the sound of banging from one of the floors below—booming and shaking the very foundation of the Manor.

The Gang froze, and looked for Casian for an answer—one that, from him sharing the same wide terrified eyes and drained pale face, he clearly did not possess.

“Hunters...” whispered Kogan, with horrified reverence as he gripped his mace that much tighter.

“No... I don’t think so,” said Casian, hushing the Gang to better hear the threat. “Not yet, anyway.”