“Why are we here, again?” I complained as I turned to look out the study room window behind for what felt like the thousandth time. Bookshelves lined with books of all shapes and sizes were present no matter where I looked with a smattering of people searching the shelves here and there. Far more people were gathered at the study carrels filling a little carpeted oasis, all huddled over laptops and notebooks. There was a smattering of tables there too, likely intended for use by study groups, but those were almost completely empty. Those few study groups that were present had all situated themselves, as we had, into the small sealed rooms that lined most of the outer walls.

Nothing substantive had changed since I last looked, but I just couldn’t sit still.

Apparently this wasn’t unnoticed. “You’re fidgetier than one of them Mexican jumping beans, Fighter,” Monk drawled with an amused expression. “What’s bothering you, hon?”

“You mean besides attacking a university library for no actual gain?”

“I think you meant to say ‘an ivy league university library.’”

“Not making me feel better, Monk!” I retorted with a glare. “What’s the fucking point of this?”

“Y’know, it’s still funnier than hell to hear that kind of vulgarity coming out of a cute lil’ thing like you.” I opened my mouth to better acquaint them with exactly how much vulgarity could come out my mouth, but they held up a hand. “Chillax, hon, I can appreciate why you’re anxious. Truth be told, I ain’t got a clue why Octavia does this sort of thing. I thought it was weird at first too, but you know her—always has a way of soothing ruffled feathers. I’ve long since learned it’s easier to go with the flow.”

I grumbled and turned back to the desk before propping my head up on my elbow. “This has been fun and all, but I really miss my friends, and Elle’s been doing really poorly. Has Octavia mentioned when we can see them again?”

Monk leaned forward with a glint in their eye. “Octavia ain’t talked to you about your friends?”

“No…?” I warily answered. I don’t like where this is going. Not at all. I liked Monk—they seemed like an interesting, fun loving sort from the interactions I’d had with them so far. None of that changed my instinctively reaching out to the metal legs of the table, the door’s hinges, and all the smaller bits of metal here and there in the room. I clutched at Elle’s hand, and maybe it was my imagination, but I swore she squeezed back. “When are we seeing our friends?”

They continued to stare at me for another minute—no words, barely any movement. Just staring. When they finally moved to check the basic digital watch on their wrist, the tension in the room had become so thick I nearly lashed out with the metal tray for dry erase markers on the bottom of the whiteboard behind Monk. “The rest of them ain’t getting here for another twenty minutes or so, but depending on how you answer, we might need all of that time. So listen up and listen good, you hear?”

I frowned but nodded, and they continued. “Near as I can tell, she can’t make any’a y’all forget anything, but she can tell y’all not to think about something. Following me?”

“Well I—” I blinked and frowned. “Wait, what were we talking about again?”

“Dammit, she told you not to think about her power, didn’t she? And here I was thinking little miss airhead had forgotten to fill you up with any’a her safeguards. Shit. Shit.” They sighed and rubbed a weary hand over their eyes as they began to mutter a litany of swearing under their breath that I could only just barely hear.

I looked to Elle in confusion. Naturally she didn’t return my gaze, but at least Elle I understood. What is Monk going on about?

“Well, I guess beggars can’t be choosers,” they finally said, seemingly to themself, as they pulled the hand away. They pushed their chair back onto two legs to the point that they seemed seconds away from falling on their ass, but for all I knew, their power protected against that kind of thing. “You do know Octavia has a power, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Ah ah ah,” they interrupted. “Time’s important, and I’ve got questions that need answering before we can get to yours. Now then: Do you know what Octavia’s power is?”

“N-No,” I answered, not liking where this was going. Did they notice the same thing I did? Are Octavia’s powers affecting her negatively after all?

“What if I told you O̶̞͐͌̑̀̓̀̀͗̃̓̉̚̕̕͝c̵̢̨̠̪̮͍͖̳͔̤̟̰̩̅ͅt̸̢͙̬̣̪̹̖̥͙̲̬̫̠̗͈̽̓̀̀̇̃͒̍̇̓̓̒a̴̼̖͎̘̣͖̙̍͒̍̾̊̽v̷̧̡̧̩͙̹̻͕̮̳̹̏̂̃̉̇̐́̾̂̊́̔i̷̪̫͕͕̱͗͂́́͋̍̊͆̊̓͘̚͘ä̶̧̦̲̩̭̗́ ̵̧̖̰̻̹̼̋̈́̎̈́͝ȋ̷͎̺̗͇̩͐̈́̓͒͜s̶̩̝͍̻̭̹͆͆̉̀́͗̅̈̂͌̽͘ͅ ̵̹͎̲̼͕̯́́́̓͛̔̈́͋̍̑͠͝a̸̧̤̫̼̘͎̬̍̐̇͛̐ ̷̢̢̡̬̯̦̱̦̳̯͕͌̈̾M̶̘͍̺̣̰̙̖̻̜͗̿͂̿̇̾͝ḁ̷̢̣̠̘̭͔̯̝͓̭̪̭̆̈́̓̃͜s̵̘̐́̎t̵̘̦͇̱̭̬̠̠͑̾̆̑̾̋̽͆͂̑͜͝͝ę̸̹̘͉͈́r̷̛͔̪̟͖̬̝͆̈́̌̾̄͂̉͌?”

I blinked. Then I blinked again. What the actual fuck?

“Now,” Monk said, drawing me out of my thoughts. “What did I just say to you? Word for word, if you please.”

“Y-You said, ‘What if I told you,’ then it was like you broke into tongues or something.”

They smiled darkly at that. “Nah, that won’t speaking in tongue, hon. But it did answer my question. She told you not to think about her power, so now you can’t. Kinda limits planning our daring escape, but gotta take what you can get, I suppose”

“She told you not to think about her power.” The words seemed to echo in my mind, and I paled dramatically. Not Octavia? There’s no way her—When are the rest of the crew getting here? We’ve got to get—Shit, wait, I was… I was trying to think about—When was the last time Elle ate? I’ve got to make sure she keeps her strength—No, no, no, stop it! Why do I keep losing track of my thoughts when I wonder—

“Figh—June! You’ve got to stop!”

Someone was yelling at me, but I couldn’t understood who or why. I grabbed at my head and slammed my eyes shut, but I couldn’t help the whine that escape me. My breathing accelerated to a frantic pace, and everything was wrong, wrong, wrong. I didn’t want to believe it, that my friend could have done something like that, but now that I was trying desperately to calm myself down by thinking about how her power couldn’t work that way, my thoughts kept slipping, and that was making everything worse, and—

My head snapped to the side from the force of the slap, and with a start I realized my hand was gripping the handle of a sword. It wasn’t one of my new greatswords and was clearly haphazardly constructed. I must have made it unconsciously while panicking. People outside the room were screaming, and the walls in the study room we had been occupying to give Elle’s power time to take hold writhed. Chains shot out and wrapped around Monk’s limbs then jerked back with a snap, eliciting a yelp of pain from them as they were pulled up into the air and suspended there.

Goddammit, no! Octavia’s gonna be pissed. We weren’t supposed to start anything yet!

I was reminded I had a more pressing concern, however, when Monk cried out, “Stop, please! I wasn’t trying to hurt her!”

“E-E-Elle,” I stuttered, trying to wet my mouth, which was suddenly dry. “Stop h-hurting M-Monk.”

The chains slackened somewhat but didn’t fall away, leaving Monk suspended in the air by their wrists, which couldn’t possibly be comfortable. I opened my mouth to clarify that she should let them down, but I froze when the doorknob behind us rattled. I whirled around to the locked door, a solid wooden piece that in stark contrast to the window that covered nearly half the wall, and I glanced down at my sword. I grimaced when I noticed it was far too dull to be of any use, not that I had expected better from my power’s lack of fine control, and I readied myself to use it as a club instead as I reached out to the doorknob with my power.

In the end though, I didn’t need to open the door. In a flare of blue and red light, it split in half. I dropped my sword with a start when I saw Faultline in full costume behind it.

“Faultline!” She held up a kid’s water gun when I started forward to greet her, and I stopped short, blinking in confusion at it. In fact, now that I was properly looking at her, I could see another under the skirt of her costume and a much, much larger one strapped to her back. What in the world?

“I’m looking for some cabbage,” she asked, her voice deadly serious. “Do you know where I can find some?”

“Huh? Wha—” I started to say before replaying what she had just said. For a solid week she had practically beaten into me the team’s version for how to identify if someone was under the effect of a Master’s or Stranger’s powers, and she had made a point to quiz me at completely random times since then. “N-Not at all,” I replied, “but I know a good place to get some soup, if you’re interested.” God, our code phrases are so stupid.

She diverted the water gun to the side so it was aimed more at Monk behind me, but I didn’t doubt for a second she would snap it back to me in a heartbeat if I made a wrong move. “I cannot stress enough,” she had said to me at the start of my training on what to say and when to say it, “how important it is that you restrain yourself from making any sudden moves in a possible Master-Stranger situation. I will be forced to take you down if I suspect you’ve been compromised. Is that clear?” Her head turned minutely toward Elle, and she asked, “And Labyrinth?” She paused for a moment before asking, “Bad day?”

I frowned in confusion. “Dungeonmaster is having a bad day, yeah. Has been since the middle of yesterday,” I answered before asking, “Who the hell is Labyrinth?”

The plastic of the water gun made a cracking noise as Faultline’s grip on the toy tightened, which only made me more confused. “We’ll address this later, Meteor. For now, we need to get you two out of here.”

“No, no, no, hang on,” I blurted as I took a step away from her. “You just did it again! Uh, w-what’s—okay, it sounds like there’s a fox in the hen house.” This can’t really be Faultline. She doesn’t even know our cape names!

“Of course there is,” she tightly responded, “I’m right here, aren’t I? Remember your training and stand down. You’ve been mastered, and we need to get you both out of here now.”

“It’s Octavia,” Monk suddenly spoke up, and Faultline’s gun snapped fully into position, aimed straight at them. “She implanted commands in them to stop them from thinking about her power. As long as you can hear her, she can get you!”

“We know,” Faultline intoned before pulling the trigger on the gun. A concentrated stream of liquid shot forward and struck Monk in the face, and instead of laughing off being shot with a water gun of all things, they slumped with a dazed expression on their face. An expression I realized I knew far too well.

“Newter’s spit is in that thing?” I said, looking askance at it.

She turned to look vaguely in the direction of the stairs leading down to the entrance, then in lieu of answering said, “Come on, girls, it’s time to go.”

You know what? Even if she isn’t the real Faultline, Faultline will have my hide if she ever hears I didn’t trust someone who looked like her and passed two code phrases. I took Elle’s hand in mine, and together we silently moved to follow her.

Faultline reached up to her earpiece and said, “Sebastian, I have the girls. We’re making our way to the northwest fire exit. How do things look down there?” She abruptly stopped, and I pulled us to a stop before we could run headfirst into her. She started to lead us back towards where we came, and while we hustled to follow, she said, “Copy that. We’ll move to the roof, and Me—” She stopped and briefly looked over her shoulder at me without breaking her stride. “We’ll fly away to the extraction point.”

She removed her hand from the radio and reached into one of her many storage pockets before passing back two adhesive domino masks—again, without looking over her shoulder. “Put these on. And remind me what cape names you’re using right now.”

“Right now?” I repeated, baffled. “But we’ve always—” She turned to look over her shoulder, and though I couldn’t see her face through her welder’s mask, I could one hundred percent imagine the look she was probably shooting me. I grimaced and let go of Elle’s hand, so I could stick the mask to my face. Mastered—the word had never seemed as toxic as it did right then as I tried to wrap my head around the accusation that we had been mastered. “Right, sorry, just… Sorry. Dungeonmaster and F-Fighter. I thought you w-would know.”

We ducked behind a shelf and came to a stop, and she laid a gentle hand on each of us. “I understand this is difficult for both of you, and I promise we will take time to sort everything out later. For now, we need to get to the roof, then… Fighter, I’ll need you to extract us by flying us away. Do you think you can do that?”

I paled and shook my head frantically as I finished helping Elle put her mask on. “No! No, I’m sorry, I can’t. Octavia asked us to stay for the adventure. We have to stay!” I felt a lot metal moving upwards in the vicinity of the stairwell, and I turned to look that way. “Who’s coming up the stairwell?”

“That’s the PRT,” she carefully explained. A bit of a hurried note had found its way into the timbre of her voice, and I felt myself tensing up in response to it. “They’ve doubtlessly come to rescue Stardust. She’s been calling herself Sorcerer since she was abducted from Chicago.”

I tilted my head as I processed that. That’s where Octavia and everyone else were before they came here to meet up with Druid. “But Sorcerer wasn’t abducted,” I pointed out in confusion. “She became friends with Octavia.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name, I suddenly heard Octavia’s voice resound through the building, likely amplified by Bard’s power. “Good afternoon, University of Pennsylvania!””

I perked up, recognizing what was about to happen. It’s starting!

Faultline noticed me shift and moved to grab the water gun she had holstered on her hip, and on instinct I grabbed hold of all the metal she had on her and shoved it backwards away from us. I cringed sympathetically as I heard her grunt when she fell to the floor, but that didn’t stop me from twisting the metal of the nearby shelves into a shield to keep Elle and I from being sprayed.

“Are you ready for an adventure with Octahedron?”

“I’m so sorry!” I called out while I reached out to the box on the roof containing Elle’s costume and my armor and weapons and started bringing them around and down to near us. I grabbed Elle’s hand and dragged her down the aisle the instant I saw the first flicker of red and blue light on my hobbled together shield. “Please don’t hate me—I have to!”

“Because here we go! Encounter beg—!”

Octavia? I thought in concern as her booming voice cut off mid-word. I didn’t know what had happened, but apparently what was said was still enough of a cue to Elle that we should start, since the library around us began to twist and morph. The long bookshelves and the floor around us began to slit apart and twist into hulking trees made of dark, gnarled wood with long, drooping leaves. I brought us to a hasty halt as the floor we were standing on became part of one of the monstrous trees extending down to what remained of the floor below, and I heard Faultline swear behind us as the age worn remains of a forgotten monument sprung up between her tree and ours. Down below, I could see and hear the library’s patrons panicking and shouting as the floor beneath their feet turned to soggy dirt or murky swamp water.

“Thanks,” I told Elle, giving her hand a quick squeeze as our costumes sailed in through a gap where the window panes spanning the building had already begun to vanish. I brought the bulky box to a hover next to us and immediately began to fish out Elle’s new costume. She was already wearing her fitted, brown leather pants, which were very distracting if I paid them too much attention, as well as her dark green tunic. Those were the elements that, although eyebrow raising, weren’t likely to have prompted anyone to call the PRT about a cape afoot, especially with no mask in sight. The costume parts that would have provoked that reaction had been kept in the box. First came the pale green cloak, which clasped together by Elle’s neck and flowed down to around her knees. The leather belt came next with its clear compartments full of different types, sizes, and colors of dice. The final piece in the box was her relatively plain dark green domino mask, but the true final piece was her Dungeonmaster screen, a trifold board that Elle conjured into existence under her own power. The message to our party was clear; so long as she held that board, Elle—Dungeonmaster—was in control of the area.

I felt the hook of Faultline’s climbing gear launch to the next tree over, but I let it be. I didn’t want her to come around and threaten us with Newter’s spit—or anything else, for that matter—but the last thing I wanted was to mess with her grapple and cause her to fall and get injured. Instead, I focused on the task at hand and tugged my chainmail shirt over the red, long-sleeved and high collared shirt I was already wearing. The chainmail pants came next, and I hastily used the discrete clamps designed to hold them together with the shirt. By that point Faultline had swung over to a better vantage point, but she kept her water gun holstered, likely thinking I would probably be injured by the fall to the swamp below or else fearing how Dungeonmaster might retaliate. Regardless of why, I was grateful, since it freed up my attention to don the rest of my costume. The plate chest with its intricately etched swirl and attached skirt of red cloth went over my chainmail, then pauldrons that guarded my shoulders and upper arms and also bore swirls. My gauntlets and boots that continued the swirl motif were quick to follow, and the helmet with its adjustable faceplate and faux ponytail of red feathers completed the armor portion of the costume, leaving my dark hair streaming down over the plate. For my weapons I attached two leather belts. My greatswords were sheathed in their scabbards, which hung from the first belt, and used a combination of metal rings and another leather belt to keep the scabbards tilted at an angle. My quiver was chock full of arrows and attached the second belt such that it rested snuggly against the small of my back. I kept my metal recurve bow out for now, but it would be easy enough to sling it over myself and switch to my swords as needed. Unlike Paladin’s armor, which was exclusively made of gleaming plate, mine was much darker in color, and the red cloth and chain mail deepened the differences between us.

I let the metal box our gear had been stored in fall down into the swamp with a wet, sloppy splash, and I eyed Faultline with my helmet’s visor still up. “Thanks for letting me gear up,” I remarked.

“Naturally,” she replied. “I would never do it now, where you may fall and get hurt.”

That answers that then. “I don’t want to hurt you either,” I admitted. I paused, anxiously biting my lip, then softly added, “Please don’t make me.”

“There are rules, I imagine.” She shifted somewhat on the branch, and my eyes shot to her hands, but they never strayed closer to the water guns on her hips. “What are the rules of engagement? How can we stop this without hurting you?”

I bit my lip again, feeling torn. I was confident that Octavia probably wouldn’t want me to explain the encounter to Faultline, but she hadn’t explicitly said not to, and Faultline was a very good friend, whom I had known for weeks now and had always been good to me in her own way. “It’s an adventure in a swamp,” I explained. “An evil witch has cursed it, making it a breeding ground for—”

My right hand snapped to my quiver, and I spun to aim my bow at a monstrous crocodile closing in on a patron below, who had been trying to make their way out of the water to a small island of dirt around a weeping willow. In one fell swoop, I drew the arrow and released it before accelerating its flight into the beast’s gaping maw. It made a loud, whining sort of growl when the blow struck true before being silenced by the second arrow, which I had sent flying after the first, piercing straight through its head.

“—those and more,” I finished. “Far worse things. We have to kill enough of her devil spawn to draw her out, so we can slay her and end the curse.”

“I see,” she responded. I detected a bit of surprise in her voice, but I couldn’t fault her for that. It wasn’t like I had used a bow and arrows while on missions with her and the rest of our mercenary crew. “So to clarify, we need to kill enough of Lab—Dungeonmaster’s projections. Eventually, she will create a witch, and killing the witch satisfies the game.”

“Yes, that’s right!” I eagerly confirmed. “I mean, we’re leaning into the game more than viewing them as ‘Dungeonmaster’s projections,’ but that’s the gist of it.”

“And anybody can join in on killing the projections?”

Huh. Octavia never talked about that. “I dunno. I mean, I don’t see why not, but it wasn’t really brought up.”

She reached up to her earpiece. “Labyrinth has filled the swamp with projections. The Eight will be aiming to kill them. Help them. I repeat, help them. The sooner they’re all dead, the sooner we can get our people out of here.”

“There you go again, talking about ‘Labyrinth,’” I pointed out, a frown tugging down my lips. “Who is that?”

“I promise I will explain when this is all settled,” she deflected as she adjusted her climbing gear. “For now, please remember this: Your friends are all here, and we all want to help you. We’re ending this, then we’re bringing you home.”

I felt a tightness in my chest, and I felt Elle’s hand reach out and grip mine, her delicate hands feeling so small in my gauntlet. “We’d like that,” I blurted, and I was surprised to realize I did. Being with the rest of the Eight had been fun at parts, and I really liked my new costume, but I missed them. I missed all the fun with Aisha and Newter. I missed Gregor’s gentle presence. I missed the safety I felt under Faultline. I missed Masuyo worrying about me. I missed…

“We will save you.”

I want that back.

“Please.” The word had escaped my lips unbidden, and Faultline looked up from where she had been preparing to rappel down her tree.

“Meteor?”

Tears began to leak from my eyes, and I think I finally understood. It wasn’t the word itself—it meant nothing to me. It was the way she said it, the familiarity—the fondness.

“We will save you.”

It makes no sense.

O̶̞͐͌̑̀̓̀̀͗̃̓̉̚̕̕͝c̵̢̨̠̪̮͍͖̳͔̤̟̰̩̅ͅt̸̢͙̬̣̪̹̖̥͙̲̬̫̠̗͈̽̓̀̀̇̃͒̍̇̓̓̒a̴̼̖͎̘̣͖̙̍͒̍̾̊̽v̷̧̡̧̩͙̹̻͕̮̳̹̏̂̃̉̇̐́̾̂̊́̔i̷̪̫͕͕̱͗͂́́͋̍̊͆̊̓͘̚͘ä̶̧̦̲̩̭̗́ ̵̧̖̰̻̹̼̋̈́̎̈́͝ȋ̷͎̺̗͇̩͐̈́̓͒͜s̶̩̝͍̻̭̹͆͆̉̀́͗̅̈̂͌̽͘ͅ ̵̹͎̲̼͕̯́́́̓͛̔̈́͋̍̑͠͝a̸̧̤̫̼̘͎̬̍̐̇͛̐ ̷̢̢̡̬̯̦̱̦̳̯͕͌̈̾M̶̘͍̺̣̰̙̖̻̜͗̿͂̿̇̾͝ḁ̷̢̣̠̘̭͔̯̝͓̭̪̭̆̈́̓̃͜s̵̘̐́̎t̵̘̦͇̱̭̬̠̠͑̾̆̑̾̋̽͆͂̑͜͝͝ę̸̹̘͉͈́r̷̛͔̪̟͖̬̝͆̈́̌̾̄͂̉͌.

But does it have to?

Ariel had thought we needed to be saved. Alone, I didn’t understand. Alone, I couldn’t save myself—save Elle. But we weren’t alone. I had lost my home, my city, but along the way, I had found friends, real friends. Friends I could count on.

Let it ride.

“Save us,” I plead, hoping she knew what we needed saving from. I’m putting my trust in you, Melanie.

A moment of silence passed, then she promised, her voice steady and sure. “We will.”