“Morgan?” Olivia’s tone was concerned, and her voice was loud. Morgan snapped his eyes up from the text and groaned.

“Ugh, this journal is disgusting, but it’s like a car crash; It keeps pulling my attention. What did you say?”

“I said it’s about time for you to charge another gem, right? What kinds of things are in the journal, anyway? It’s the one from that guy that kidnapped Issa, right?”

“Yeah, let me get a gem started, then I’ll tell you about it.” Morgan fished another gem out, number one-ninety-five, if he wasn’t mistaken, and then began charging it. He looked at Olivia, glanced over to where Bronwyn was napping, then cleared his throat, “Well, I started reading the journal hoping to find out where Blake was from or what sort of person he was. Like, you know, his race or species or whatever. He really did look human, and he referred to holbyis as sheep.”

“But you’re sure he wasn’t?” Olivia asked softly, also glancing toward her sleeping girlfriend. Morgan wasn’t sure that was the correct term, but they seemed like girlfriends to him.

“I don’t think so. The more I learn about advanced races and bloodlines and all that, the less sure I become, though. My main clue, though, is that the System didn’t recognize humans when it spotted our ship. I remember it saying something about ‘integrating non-System entities.’ The people we rescued said he’d been there for years, so, yeah, unless he could hide from the System, I don’t think he was human.”

“Okay, and the journal?”

“Yeah, the journal. It’s not about Blake but about his experiments. He’s got detailed logs of all his attempts to isolate and distill racial traits. He was trying to make elixirs that he could use on himself to improve his race. He had some success over the years, and I think that’s why I had such a hard time killing him.”

“Success? How did he distill racial traits?”

“That’s the horrific part—he treated people like livestock, breeding them, and, when he saw a promising trait, he used alchemy to strip it, often killing the subject. I’m not going to go into more detail. Trust me; you don’t want me to.”

“How awful,” Olivia shook her head, her eyes distant. “It brings to mind the evils committed during the holocaust.”

“Yeah, and the worst thing is, I think I have one of his ‘successes.’” Morgan told her about the bottle of perpetually warm liquid he’d found with the journal.

“Oh, God! What are you going to do with it?”

“Well, I want to destroy it. Then I think, ‘How many people died to create this thing?’” Morgan shook his head, frowning. He regretted he ever found or read the journal.

“Down that road lies madness, Morgan. I think we should bury it. Have a funeral for Blake’s victims. Let’s do it when we get back to First Landing. In the meantime, I’m happy to help you burn that journal.” Olivia’s eyes flashed, and Morgan saw blue flames leaping behind her irises.

“God, that sounds good, but I have a thing about burning books. Well, I’ve never had a journal from a psychotic, evil man before; I guess maybe I could make an exception.” He slipped the journal into his ring, though, and said, “Later. Maybe when we get back, eh? I wanna talk to Issa about it too.”

“Hmm, alright,” Olivia glanced down at the copper plate he’d set down to pick up the journal. “Done already?”

“Yep. A few more hours of this, and we’re either trying to make a portal or going deeper into the dungeon.”

“Well,” Olivia glanced at Bronwyn’s sleeping face again, then back at Morgan, “I kind of want to get back. I’m nervous about what’s happening with my status at the academy.” She spoke softly, and Morgan got the idea she didn’t want to admit as much to Bronwyn just then.

“You know how I feel. The sooner I can get back and tell Issa I’m alright, the better.” He nodded toward Bronwyn, “When she wakes up, let’s talk about it.”

“Alright,” Olivia sighed and sat back, leaning on her elbows. She had her legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle. She’d told Morgan about her boots and robe, and he had to admit—she looked like the real deal. She looked like a bonafide sorceress, ready to challenge a demon or something. He snorted softly to himself and closed his eyes, waiting for his Energy to regenerate.

#

Ykleedra gave her sisters another pair of skinned feyris, noting how her dimensional container was almost empty. She’d wanted to hold out as long as she could to give her sisters a chance to grow and gain control of their impulses before showing them to Issa, and she’d made it another few days, but the meat was almost gone.

She’d finally given in and named her sisters, choosing the names of her mother’s sisters and cousins. She’d never met any of them, but she’d heard many tales. She studied her sisters while they ate, starting with Tvalla, admiring her pale blue-gray skin. Then her gaze fell upon Gvon and her natural black nails and nether beak. They were sharp and hard, harder than Ykleedra’s. Pkril chirped and purred her soft growl while pulling a piece of thigh meat away from Gvon. Finally, there was little Ykerli, calmly waiting for her larger sisters to back away and see what they had left her. Ykleedra liked her the most, and it wasn’t just because of her similar name.

Ykleedra sat back and smiled. She could almost do it; if she just had a little more help, she was sure she’d be able to raise these girls. Time was up, though. She could feed them once or twice, and then they’d start to starve, and what kind of sister would allow that? Time to face her fears. She watched Ykerli clean up the scraps, including the bones, and smiled. The others didn’t know what they were missing; bone marrow was the best part.

A sudden crunch from the other side of the burrow startled her, and Ykleedra glanced toward her brother's enormous black and red egg. There, wagging slowly in the warm air, as if to gauge the quality of the air, was a shiny, taloned forelimb. Her brother was coming.

#

“Bron, c’mon!” Olivia said, stepping after the angry redhead. She grabbed her wrist and pulled until Bronwyn stopped stalking away. She whirled on her, eyes flashing.

“I know! I’m being stupid. Of course, we should go back. I just . . .” she glanced at Morgan, then huffed out a breath and continued, “I just was having fun! Okay? I’m selfish. I know when we get back, you’re going to leave. You’ll be back at the academy, and who knows what the Summer Queen has planned for me next.”

“I get it,” Olivia reached up and put a hand behind Bronwyn’s neck, pulling her head down to her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bronwyn. I’m having fun with you, too. We can’t put the rest of the world on hold, though. It’s not fair to anyone.” She said other things, too, but Morgan couldn’t hear without really trying, and he didn’t want to be a creep. He could understand Bronwyn’s feelings. She was here with someone special, and they were basically getting an extended time-out away from all the other demands and pressures they felt. Suddenly feeling impulsive, he cleared his throat.

“Hey, how about one more? Let’s just do one more boss, then get the hell outta Dodge.”

“Really?” Bronwyn pulled her head away from Olivia’s shoulder and looked at Morgan with wide eyes. “You don’t mind?”

“Nah, I just watched Issa taking a nap; things are good with her. What’s another couple of days?”

“What do you say, Liv?” Bronwyn looked back at Olivia, but the answer was clear—Olivia wore a bright smile, and she met Morgan’s gaze for a moment before hugging Bronwyn.

“Okay, I like the idea of one more. Maybe we’ll learn something important from the Keeper and his friends.”

“Great!” Bronwyn said, pulling away. “Let’s go in the ‘morning, then!’” They’d taken to calling the time when they woke up “morning,” even though there weren’t any night or day in the dungeon. Morgan and Olivia agreed, and Morgan resigned himself to another evening of meditation while he tried not to look bored as Olivia and Bronwyn got lost in each other. On the bright side, he’d gained another two levels to his Core, and he was pretty sure Olivia and Bronwyn had only gained one.

He chided himself for being petty, and then he said, “Hey, how about I cook a specialty? It’s a stew that Issa taught to me when we first entered the Swordmaster’s Citadel. I have just enough of the ingredients.”

“Oh, that sounds good, Morgan. It’s not your turn, you know?” Olivia said, always the stickler for routine.

“Yeah, I know. I want to do something nice for you two—we’re not going to be stuck together much longer.”

“Thanks, Morgan!” Bronwyn said, pulling Olivia to sit next to their camp stove on a thick pile of furs.

“My pleasure, but you guys have to provide the entertainment. I heard a rumor,” he said, utterly deadpan.

“What rumor?” Olivia asked. Morgan knew he had his victim, then.

“I heard you could sing. Like really well.”

“What? Who told you that?” Olivia asked.

“Hmm, I don’t hear you saying it’s not true,” Bronwyn piled on.

“Well, my only extracurricular was the choir. But I don’t like performing on demand! Morgan, how’d you find this out?” Olivia looked outraged, and Morgan started to laugh.

“I made it up! Lucky guess. Well, c’mon, what are the odds someone from your social strata never took a music or voice lesson?”

“My parents weren’t rich!” Olivia said, her voice cracking a little at her perceived betrayal.

“Don’t tease her, Morgan!” Bronwyn said, pulling Olivia in under the crook of her arm.

“Oh, come on! I’m just guessing and making shit up. Don’t be mad, Olivia. If we promise to sing along, will you lead us?”

“Yeah, please, Liv?” Bronwyn said, nuzzling her forehead into Olivia’s hair.

“Oh, alright, but you two have to sing with me!”

“Better pick a popular song, then.” Bronwyn grinned and gave Olivia a little shove to give her space.

#

Captain Gella looked down from the bridge of the Skybreaker, his gaze passing along the main deck, past the escape buoys, and falling upon the trio of ap’Gravin’s high-tier agents—Baron Finneal, Haku-dak, and Tanna ap’Cilla. Any one of them could kill a hundred tier-two Energy users like him.

“Them types make me nervous, Captain,” Reeja said, running a thumb under his belt to give his prodigious girth a little breathing room. Gella looked around to be sure no one else was within earshot, then nodded curtly to the First Mate.

“They should, Reeja. They should. Do yourself a favor, and don’t let others hear you talking about them. Too many empty pockets need filling these days, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a harmless complaint like that got back to them with a few embellishments.”

“Right, just so, Cap’n, just so. They’ll be debarking for the mission in a couple of days anyway, eh?” He gave Gella an exaggerated wink like he had some idea about what was going on.

“Aye, and we’ll be sticking around to give ‘em and our new passengers a lift back, so don’t go burning any bridges.”

“What’s this First Landing like, anyway? I never been this far out into the frontier—ain’t much cause for passenger vessels out here.”

“It’s a frontier town, really not a bad place at all. The humans seem to know what they’re doing when it comes to setting up a civilization. They’re friendly and have good food, too.”

“Right, right,” Reeja drew a few of his long whiskers between his thumb and forefinger. “And what do we need the big hitters for?” He gestured to the trio standing out on the deck, watching the clouds rush by.

“That’s above my pay rating, which means it’s way above yours, Reeja. Go holler at the chef, will you? I’m hungry for fowl this evening.”

“Right, Cap’n. I been meaning to stop by the kitchens anyhow.” He rubbed his belly as he grinned, lumbering in his peculiar, rolling gait toward the stair leading to deck two. Gella smiled; the man seemed oafish, but he was well-liked by the crew and knew the ins and outs of the Skybreaker. He was glad to have him along. Once again, his eyes drifted to the trio of tier-four mercenaries out on his deck, and he shook his head. If only he could say the same about them.