Morgan touched the bronze pad next to the heavy, airtight door made from the same metal and mentally selected the “Viewport” option beneath the “Open” option on the menu that appeared in his vision. A large section of the door crackled with electrical Energy, and then he could see through it, just as if it were a perfectly clear window. He knew, from testing, that it was a one-way view—on the other side of that door, it was still a solid, magically reinforced, bronze barrier.

Looking through the viewport, he saw a rectangular chamber, walled, floored, and ceilinged in the solid bronze of the tower. Glowing runes stood out on the metal, and Morgan knew their purpose: anyone using Energy outside of their body in that chamber would be drained of it. The tower would pull the Energy from their Core and leave them weak and debilitated until the sparse ambient Energy in the cell slowly restored them.

Tkron was slumped in the far right corner of the cell, obviously drained. He must have ignored Morgan’s warnings and tried to turn his Energy against the enclosure. He had fracture lines on his two front spider-like legs, and Morgan figured he must have been pounding on the door or walls. They were incredibly sturdy. When Morgan had tested them, even Bloodfang hadn’t been able to leave a mark.

Morgan glanced down the hallway, wondering why Vormendion had needed six cells like this. “Who am I kidding? I know exactly why he had them.” Morgan shook his head, imagining the experiments that Vormendion conducted on subjects that were most likely quite unwilling. He turned back to the cell in front of him and contemplated Tkron. The Yovashi hadn’t been willing to say anything to Morgan when he brought him here. He’d refused to answer any questions, even when Morgan let some of his Yovashi Bane aura start to bleed forth. “Let’s see how you respond now that you’ve drained yourself.”

Morgan touched the pad again and used the other option to open the door. He stepped through and left the door open behind him—he’d learned that these cell doors operated much like the tower’s stairway. If someone without permission attempted to pass through it, they’d find themselves walking back into the room they thought they’d exited. The cells had doors because some Energy users had a powerful will or an ability that would make the redirection enchantment ineffective. Tkron wasn’t such an individual.

“My tormentor arrives,” the Yovashi said, his voice slurred and soft.

“You’ve brought this on yourself,” Morgan replied, staring down at the pathetically crumpled form. Tkron’s long, walking legs were curled up like a dead spider’s, and his tentacles were splayed out beneath his torso on the cold, bronze floor. “I can activate a bed for you and some bathing facilities, but first, you need to agree not to try to harm yourself.”

“Hah,” Tkron coughed, spitting some black blood-tainted phlegm onto the floor. It sizzled and began to dissipate immediately—the cell wouldn’t abide a mess. “You’d like a nice, calm pet in your cage, hmm?” the Yovashi asked, glaring at Morgan with his saucer-like, fathomless eyes.

“What’s your suggestion, Tkron? What would you have me do with you? Are you able to look objectively at yourself? Can you see your erratic behavior and violence toward your sisters? Do you think those are things I can tolerate?” Morgan leaned forward, aware that the Yovashi could be dangerous but confident that he outmatched Tkron in every way, from speed to strength, to raw Energy.

“My suggestion? My suggestion is for you to prostrate yourself before me. Allow me to end your life quickly before you come across a crueler, more powerful member of my species.”

Morgan snorted and straightened up. “I’ll let you stew on it for a while. Don’t worry; I’ve supplied the cell with protein, and it will dispense a meal for you every eight hours. The toilet and bathing facilities will appear twice a day for twenty minutes. This cell will alert me if you do anything to harm yourself, so please behave. I don’t want to spend my time coming to restore your health repeatedly.”

Tkron didn’t reply, turning his face away from Morgan and clamping his mouth shut. Morgan walked away, and when he’d stepped through the door, he turned and said, “Tkron, when you feel you can speak to me civilly and work on a solution for your predicament, simply say so. Tiladia will let me know when you’re ready to cooperate.” With that, Morgan put his hand on the bronze plate and closed the door. It slid down from its recession in the ceiling and sealed with a *hiss* that smacked of finality to Morgan.

He turned and walked out of the hallway housing all the cells and into the central basement. From this room, a stairway led up to the kitchens, a hallway led to extensive food and wine cellars, and a third hallway led to the furnace and laundry. The only hallway with a door on it was the one where he’d left Tkron, and Morgan figured Vormendion used to keep a guard posted there because next to the door was an inset alcove housing a little desk and chair. “Tiladia?” he called.

A moment later, Tiladia swirled into view, seemingly from the stairway leading to the kitchen. “Yes, Morgan?”

“Can you please ask Issa to meet me up in the reliquary? She’ll know what it’s about.”

“Yes, I will,” Tiladia said, then sped away up the stairs. Morgan followed after her at a more sedate pace, figuring Issa would take a little while to start on her way. She was with Ykleedra and her sisters; she’d been spending a lot of time with them since the day Morgan first confronted Tkron.

When Morgan had asked Tiladia about Tkron, about why she never told him the male Yovashi was present, the dragon spirit had claimed that she’d never been fully aware of him. She said that she felt the strange shadowy obstruction to her senses coming from Ykleedra’s burrow but had assumed it was something Ykleedra had done to maintain her privacy. Morgan didn’t feel worried about the breach in his tower’s security—it was a pretty novel and probably a unique set of circumstances that had allowed it to happen.

Morgan didn’t figure many enemies of his would be able to convince him to allow them to come into his home, hide some self-obscuring magical egg that would someday hatch, producing a hidden enemy with memories and motivations already installed. No, he didn’t think this situation would repeat itself.

He walked through the kitchen, now looking much more . . . used than when he’d found it. Copper pots and pans hung from hooks above the stove, herbs in bundles were tied to shelves filled with crockery and dishes, and a large cast-iron pan sat on the stove, still dirty from the breakfast he’d cooked for Issa. Morgan smiled, sniffing the bacon and eggs still in the air. He walked through the dining hall to the central stair, and then, four steps later, he was on the landing leading to the reliquary.

He walked into the ample space, nodding to himself when he saw the vast vacant areas where furniture, books, and lab equipment had already been cleared and moved into other parts of the tower. His library was now properly filled with thousands of books, and Morgan had every intention of exploring the volumes as soon as possible. “If I can ever get a few minutes just to relax,” he muttered.

Footsteps approaching caught his attention, and he turned to see Issa walking toward him. She wore the engagement ring Morgan had ordered just a few days ago, and when he saw it glittering on her hand, as usual, he felt an involuntary smile spreading from ear to ear. Alec had enchanted it in such a way that the gemstone was accessible as a store of Energy for Issa as long as she wore it. It held quite a lot, too—nearly three thousand. When Issa said it nearly tripled the amount she could usually draw upon, Morgan had been reminded just how different he and Olivia were from the average Energy user.

“So, you’re ready to deal with this legacy, love?” Issa asked as she leaned up for a kiss.

“Yes, and I think you’re going to put up a fight,” Morgan replied, letting his forehead linger against hers for a moment after their kiss.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been thinking about that Class and those spell and skill tomes. I think it’s foolish for the same person not to use them all.”

“You think you want to take the Artificer Class?” Issa asked, frowning.

“No, silly. I’m thinking you should use them all.” Morgan had thought long and hard about the inheritance, and he couldn’t think of anyone else he trusted with those abilities. He figured he could possibly see himself allowing Olivia to take them—she’d shown that she could handle immense power without corruption, but, well, Morgan knew how humans could be, and just because Olivia seemed level-headed and reasonable now didn’t mean she’d always be so. He supposed the same was true of Issa, but, damn it, he loved Issa, and that had to count for something, right?

“I’m a Battle Witch, Morgan,” Issa said, her voice soft and her eyes suddenly downcast.

“I want you to know something, Issa,” Morgan said. “I thought about this a long time, and I thought about your feelings. I know your dad wanted you to be an Artificer, and I know it’s kind of shitty of me to tell you I want to give you this Class because I’m sure it’s bringing up all kinds of memories and pressures. So, the first thing I want to assure you of is that I only want you to think about this. I mean, give it a fair chance. Think about the pros and cons; if you decide you don’t want it, that’s fine. No pressure from me, okay?”

“Well, then, why do you mention it, Morgan?” Issa asked, taking a step back and frowning up at him.

“Because I love you, and I think this is a good option. Will you hear me out?”

“I will listen,” Issa said, folding her arms in front of herself, still frowning.

“You’re almost level twenty, right?”

“Yes, I’m sure I’m just a little cultivation away. Or a kill or two.” She frowned thoughtfully, perhaps seeing where Morgan was going.

“If you took this Class, you’d be a Prime Artificer but still have the experiences, attributes, spells, and skills you learned from your time as a Battle Witch. I’m sure you'll level to at least twenty when you learn the skill and spell in the inheritance. That means you’ll be offered another refinement almost immediately! You might get some exciting options with all you’ve been through, plus the Prime Artificer Class!”

Issa was silent for a long time, rubbing her chin and pacing away from Morgan in a slow, circular walk. When she returned to him, she nodded, her face serious and her voice slightly tremulous, “You are a smart man, Morgan. It’s good that I love you.” She grabbed him about the waist, squeezing him tight, her arms crossing beneath his wings.

“Will you be angry if you don’t get a Class refinement that interests you?” Morgan asked, breathing deeply of her flower-scented hair.

“I won’t be angry,” she said into his chest. “I would be lying if I didn’t say the Class had interested me. I was stubborn, avoiding saying I wanted it because of how I acted in the past with my father.”

Morgan pushed her back so he could see her face and said, “Really?”

“Yes. I can’t keep up with you adventuring. I need a new way to advance, to increase my strength. For our family and our people, I need to be strong. I think this inheritance will help me to achieve it, and I can work here, in our home, with our children.”

“I . . .” Morgan started to answer, started to say some placating nonsense about how she could still go with him or how he could stay home, but he knew it was bullshit. He’d chosen his path, and he knew he could be called away for any number of reasons. While he’d been in the dungeon with Bronwyn and Olivia, he’d imagined battling some of those creatures with Issa and had been struggling with the realization that he couldn’t, no, didn’t want to face dangers like that with her. Now that they were going to have children? He couldn’t imagine it. He revised his words and said, “It’s not fair.”

“What?” Issa looked at him, confused, like he hadn’t understood her words.

“Why are you the one that has to give up adventuring? You wanted it as much as I did—maybe more. I can stay with the kids, you know.” He wasn’t sure what made him say that. Was he trying to say the “correct” thing? Did he really mean it? He realized he did. He’d be perfectly damn fine staying home with their kids and dealing with town issues. He knew what Issa would say, though, before she said it.

“It’s not your fault that the Ancestors, your Ancestors,” she said, tapping on his chest, “blessed you with such gifts. You gain levels quickly. You have powerful Energy and a Class that isn’t suited to sitting at home. Morgan, your gifts are wasted if you don’t use them. You can become a great champion for your people, and it’s your duty to do so. For us,” she said, pulling his hand to her belly. “It’s the same reason I’m going to take this inheritance, and I’m going to make the most of it.”

“Come,” she continued, still holding his hand and pulling him toward the inner vault. “I want you with me when I go through this.” Morgan couldn’t think of a proper argument, so he just shut his mouth, held Issa’s hand, and thanked his Ancestors that had guided him to her so long ago in the Crucible.