The lodge left an impressive spread for its handful of secret guests. Long tables were assembled in the barn, in the space beyond the Aesir. They were filled with food enough to feed the Lost in the Woods guests for days. Kol saw fresh baked goods: bagels, donuts, scones, croissants. He saw pancakes, waffles, bacon and sausage. He saw trays of fruit, bottled fruit juices, and coffee dispensers. Kol found an omelette station and made one, overflowing with ham and cheese, onions and peppers.

He used every bit of space on his plate, cramming the rest with buttered toast, a jumbo blueberry muffin, and strips of bacon. It was more than he’d eaten at once in months, more than he’d eaten in what felt like years.

Kol collected cutlery and a cup of coffee. He joined Max at the last table, with family-style seating. His brother had positioned his wheelchair at the head of the long table. Max read from a copy of the Oregonian newspaper. Melanthymos and Aneirin sat on his left. They wore matching blue bathrobes and shared a massive waffle with strawberries. Further down the table, a bearded man in a trench coat was hunched over a bowl of oatmeal.

“Ambitious.” Melanthymos assessed Kol’s omelette. “That’ll screw up your boyish figure if you’re not careful. Unless you’re hoping to disguise yourself before you go on the lam.” Aneirin chortled.

“I don’t think I’ve really focused on a meal since the fall,” Kol said.

He’d begun the year preparing for the operation in Nimauk. He’d chased the Aesir. He’d faced his hearing. He’d bounced from Crater Base to Brielle’s operation to the War Force to imprisonment…

“And I intend to continue my training,” Kol said. “I want to keep what Geber forced me to learn. I can use the calories.”

“I’ve done my life’s training,” Melanthymos said. “I’m happy enough just celebrating not being pinned to a wall twelve to eighteen hours a day. Now, I only let this one pin me to the wall.” Aneirin chortled again, but he also turned slightly red.

“How vivid,” Max said. The couple laughed.

Max set his newspaper aside and leaned close to Kol. He spoke again in a low voice. “On another note – and this is only partly to change the subject – that man, he has an Alliance ID badge.” Kol followed Max’s gaze to the man in the trench coat. “He showed it to one of the lodge employees. I’m interested to see that here. I want to keep up with this new political situation.”

“He wants more freaks to fight with him.” Melanthymos spoke at a volume that the man could surely hear, but he did nothing to acknowledge her. He didn’t so much as flinch. “Alliance is moving up in the world, recruiting like the old Hierarchia did. They made homeboy over there into one of their spooks, got him recruiting just a couple days after our grand escape. There’ll be a backstory behind why he joined them, not that I give sufficient shits to ask.”

“The Liberty Corps will hurt everyone here.” The man answered without turning away from his oatmeal. “I thought you would appreciate how dangerous they are.”

“Don’t play that with me.” Melanthymos rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard it before. ‘Come and fight. It’s an emergency. Oh no! If we don’t get enough magic people to fight then this thing will happen! Or that thing will happen!’ It used to be the same way for the IHSA, back when they thought I could be an employee instead of their hostage. ‘Come fight with us. We need you. It’s the biggest problem ever!’ You know how many things happened in all those years, how many were actually the “big one”? One out of dozens.”

“This could be just as dangerous as Thunderworks.” The man finally turned toward Melanthymos. He had one dark brown eye. The other was a piercing blue mottled with multiple dark rings. “I’m not pressuring anyone. I’m here on a personal matter, but the Pacific Alliances needs help now. With Helmont—”

“Helmont’s a big problem,” Melanthymos interrupted. “Sure, but he’d lose too much in conquering you, and you can’t outright beat him. So instead, I think I’ll enjoy my retirement. Visit my boyfriend’s castle.”

“I want a time of love now,” Aneirin said slowly. “I lived a life with war too long.”

“What he said,” Melanthymos said. “Good thing, though. Helmont and his Czar are no spring chickens. If we fall into a cold war with the Liberty Corps, they could both be six feet under before you have to fight anybody. Maybe then the Alliance will stand a chance.”

Max looked to Kol over his newspaper. Kol braced himself, expecting some comment about the Czar or about the Liberty Corps.

“This may be our time to leave,” Max whispered. “We gave the Aesir crew a day to bring the matter of the letter to our attention. I very much doubt they waited to retrieve it. They have it now.”

“I’m not going to ask you again.” The Alliance man said. “I want to actually take part in this society. That’s what we voted on, those of us protected by the Concealment Truce.”

“So you’re protected by that Birgham and her bunch,” Melanthymos said. “How many of you are there now? Does that Birgham know you’re recruiting for the Alliance or is she too busy with her boy toy back in town?”

“I’m not keeping any secrets.” The man stared at Melanthymos. His unique eye seemed to blink less often than its brown partner. “I believe the time for secrecy is over. Sirona agrees with me. And I thought you might take up an opportunity to fight the people who imprisoned you. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“And I didn’t expect solicitors already,” Melanthymos said. “I’ve had enough of recruiters. But maybe you’ll have better luck with someone younger than me. Our quiet friend here has some potential.” She pointed at Kol. “But I hope he’s got brains enough to get out while the getting’s good.”

“You’re the one who caught the skimmer.” The man turned his stare toward Kol. The rings in his eye seemed to move. It was like staring into an optical illusion, the mind seeing motion where there likely was none. “Embre was telling me about you.”

“I was proud to help,” Kol said.

“Excuse me, sir,” Max called. “May I ask your position with the Pacific Alliance? My name is Maxwell Maros. My brother is Kolben Maros. We were seeking asylum before the Liberty Corps imprisoned us.”

“I’m Wyll Siegast,” the man said. “I’m from the Northeast Alliance actually, born and raised under the Concealment Truce, outside New Rotterdam. I’m an enigma advisor for the Northeast Alliance. I’m in the area because of the recent escape. I needed to see who had been freed. I’m looking for someone.” The blue eye seemed to darken then, like the black rings expanded until there were only thin bands of color. “But with the Liberty Corps attacking, I’m trying to help while I’m already here.”

“I hope you found who you were looking for,” Kol said.

“I’m afraid I haven’t,” Wyll answered. “I can’t find any list of names, not even here. None of you saw anyone with an eye like mine, did you?”

“I did not,” Max said.

“No,” Kol said.

“And now with possible war coming,” Wyll continued. “I can’t spend much time in searching, but I can try to put others onto the search. And if you’re looking for transport to the Pacific Alliance…” Wyll set his spoon down. “You could have a hard time with transportation, but maybe I can help.” When he smiled, the blue of his eye expanded and the dark rings shrank. “Are you still seeking asylum with the Alliance?”

“Yes,” Max said. “If my brother is agreed, that’s hopefully our destination.”

“We are agreed.” Kol looked toward the Aesir. The ship was dark and entirely quiet. “I’m not sure if we’re finished here. But I need to find out. And when I have settled my… debt, then we will be ready to leave.”

“Take your time,” Wyll said. “I’ll be here another day trying to compile a list of the escapees, but if you’re ready to go tomorrow afternoon, you’re more than welcome to fly out with my crew.”

* * *

Above the LCS Balor’s command island, Helmont watched Sir Jarod and his students at work.

The top room of the command structure had a lower ceiling than the vessel’s command bridge, but crystalline windows lined all the walls.

The meditation room had been prepared for Jarod and his students. The room was forty feet in diameter and empty, except for a raised stone circle in its center. It rose only feet above the floor and was covered in a tracery of grooves and markings, like a model of intricate canals.

Jarod’s Shapers sat around the circle. The final standing student poured water from a pitcher into the center of the stone. It flowed outward through all the carvings and grooves.

When the carvings filled, the Shapers dipped their fingers into the water. They breathed together and spoke together.

“Own the body.” They spoke in unison. “Rule the mind.”

And Helmont felt them think as one, shape as one, together. He watched his maps of energy and life. He saw the thoughts of Jarod’s students intertwine like visible threads that wove between them.

“Own the body. Rule the mind. Shape the world.”

And Helmont saw the world obey. On his mental map of the elements and the ever-changing world, he felt their influence. He watched the thread of their thought spread from ship to sea.

Then with his eyes, Helmont watched the moving waves calm and slow. He watched the constant ebb of ocean against island come to a stop.

The ocean around the battle group went as still as a standing pond.

“The sea.” Lieutenant Greenley gasped. Helmont had almost forgotten the man was there.

“They will control the seas to speed our travel,” Helmont explained. “We will save fuel. We’ll retake the day we lost preparing for this journey.” He reached over his shoulders and unclipped his cape. He handed it back to Greenley. “I want to look out, as well. And forward.”

Greenley accepted the cape. “Forward, my lord?”

“The fourth mystery.” Helmont lowered himself to the floor, cross-legged. He used his personal map of his own body and life. He fed strength to his muscles and tendons. He had the flexibility of a far younger man. The decades fell from him like he’d shed a heavy shroud. Then, in the depth of his focus, Helmont felt as he had when that first dose of Neurzodone had reached his blood. In the depths of his power, Helmont found the nascent strength of his earliest adulthood, but with the wisdom and skill of his decades. He had never been stronger, never more powerful.

“The fourth mystery is the last,” he explained. “It is the mystery of fate and future and the interwoven, secret bindings of all things. I know the maps of life, the living world, and light. But the last is the least known, even to me. To anyone. Or to anyone still living.”

Helmont watched the threads from Jarod’s students to the ocean. And from the ocean he followed the real, literal map of the world that he’d memorized. He followed it north across the Pacific, beyond the Bering Sea and the Chukchi Sea. Until, beyond the arctic circle, between west and east, between today and tomorrow, waited an island concealed in power.

Surrounded by his own school of sorcery, Helmont could feel Knightschurch. He sensed their destiny.

He saw flashes, glimpses of times to come – future and fate.

He saw four moments.

Of life – he saw a shore littered with bodies.

There was a black sand beach. One of Helmont’s own amphibious destroyers had hauled itself onto the sand. Helmont’s own troops poured out, firing energy and death into a line of figures with short metal swords. These defenders wore no armor, just heavy, homespun cloaks. The beach was covered in their dead, bodies smoking and charred by energy fire.

Of the elements – he saw an island surrounded by a motionless sea.

Knightschurch stood like an iceberg brought ashore. It was a tower of ice, a standing pyre one hundred feet tall and ten times that thick. It stood on black sand. A ring of ocean was frozen around the island. Beyond that, the seas were still, not a wave to be felt.

Of power – he saw a greatsword made of trapped emerald flame.

Helmont did not see the blade’s wielder, but he knew the weapon. He recognized the great fire, the simple black hilt, the single ruby set into the pommel. This was the blade of the unbroken line, the blade carried by the last true Covenant Knight. So he would face Sir Merrill, a duel for succession.

Of the future – he saw himself.

His armor was broken. One of his vambraces was missing. There was a horrid gash along his left leg. It burned him, even in that brief vision. The room around him was carved from ice and it too seemed misshapen. The floor was wet, and there were other figures there, lying near him.

But none of this mattered. Because his left hand was wrapped around a chain that held a small pendant. It was in the likeness of fire set inside a crescent moon – a Dreamside Road key. So, he would seize it!

Another hand caught the key’s chain as well. It was bloodied and bare and too weak to pull the chain from his grip.

Helmont felt himself ignore his opponent. He felt his feet leave the floor, the key’s chain still caught in his fingers. His purpose was finally at hand.

And then all visions passed, and he was back in the meditation chamber, while Sir Jarod’s students chanted and Greenley waited for him. Greenley snapped to attention when Helmont blinked his eyes.

“At ease.” Helmont stood. When he moved, the burn across his leg still seared, as if the future lingered and looped and became past. But Helmont ignored the pain as he did in the vision. He turned back to the room’s long windows and to the unmoving ocean.

“Look there,” he said. “The future is already here. We will reach the island. The defenders will fall. I will face Sir Merrill and seize the key.”

Already the pain was fading. Only the feeling of the chain in his fingers remained.

“Our path is clear. There is no reason to wait. Inform command that we are to launch immediately.”

* * *

Enoa could ignore everything until the screaming started. She could listen for the others, leave her bunk only to sneak food and visit the bathroom when she would not need to speak or think. She could spend her day slowly shifting a cup of water into ice and back, until the change began to warp the plastic around it.

She could spend a full day without thinking, without remembering what she should have known.

But the wailing she heard was distorted and pained. It was an inhuman sound. She sat up, jarring Wesley in his sleep.

Jaleel’s voice joined the yell. He shouted something and there was an edge to his indecipherable words – fear?

Enoa’s staff was in her hand and extended before she left the bunk door. By the time she reached the kitchen, Orson’s voice joined the yelling. Then Dr. Stan’s. Then others joined in, but the mechanical wailing never stopped.

Enoa raised the staff and trigged the outer door.

In the barn outside, Orson faced the assembled Jim android. The android was the source of the wailing. He held a long, sparking cylinder toward Orson with his sword of fire.

“It’s okay!” Jaleel stood between them. He held both hands toward the android. “It’s okay, Jim!”

“NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” Jim shouted. His voice still had the strained, mechanical edge, but up close Enoa could hear the words. “No! I won’t! I won’t!”

“Fine!” Orson yelled. “Sword’s going away. Stop yelling!”

Kol and Max waited on the far side of the barn, near Dr. Stan. A man in unusually thick glasses and a long trench coat also observed, along with several lodge employees in matching black polo shirts.

“It’s done!” Orson sheathed the sword and stepped away. “Shut up!”

Jim lowered the cylinder. Its electricity disappeared. “I will not attack.” His scream turned into normal speech. “I am good at hurting, but Ruby says we will always help the captain. He is good and he shows us the whole world. I want to see the world on my vacation. I cannot hurt the captain.”

“Enoa,” Jaleel walked between Orson and the android when he noticed her. “How are you?”

“I’m…” She searched for something to say that was not a lie. “What is this?”

“Jim is going to train Orson,” Jaleel said. “Jim has all the old Liberty Corps knowledge in his head so he can imitate some of the moves from Helmont’s fighting style.”

“I will not fight our captain,” Jim said. “Why do you ask me to hurt him? I want to join the crew and go sightseeing with you.”

“What the hell was that about him talking to Ruby?” Orson wiped his hair back from his face. “I appreciate you doing a lot of work on short notice, but I’m gonna need to know what he said to my ship.”

“I plugged him into the diagnostic system,” Dr. Stan said. “Ruby speaks for the ship’s computer.”

“And the ship’s computer isn’t supposed to be...” Orson began. “An intelligence, a thinking… I don’t what to call it. It’s supposed to just be information. Most of the ship’s functions aren’t supposed to be smart on their own.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I will show the Griffin’s Way,” Jim said. “I will not use it on the captain.”

“We’re not trying to teach Orson how to fight,” Dr. Stan said. “He’s already quite good at that. We want to help him practice. There’s someone who wants to use this Griffin’s Way to hurt him.”

“I might hurt him with the Griffin’s way,” Jim said. “I do not want to hurt the captain. I want to join the crew for the sightseeing.”

“And where does this sightseeing thing come from?” Orson asked. “Look, Jim, if you don’t want to train, I’m not going to make you.” He looked to Dr. Stan. “If he wasn’t going to train, why does he keep doing the en garde thing?”

“‘En garde’ is a customary statement in fencing,” Jim said.

“I’ve been training on my own for over five years now,” Orson said. “I’ll figure this thing out. Just get him calmed down. It’s alright, Jim.”

“Why are you angry?” Jim widened his eyes and pressed his pale, thin lips together. “Why does he want me to hurt him? Is our captain unwell of the mind?”

Everyone laughed, even Enoa. Jim twisted his head sideways to look at her. He waved.

“Hello! Crewmate, Enoa,” he said. “It is I, Jim! We have both left our sleeper compartments on this fine evening.”

“Hi?” Enoa said.

“Don’t worry about him.” Jaleel sidled between her and the android. “Do you want something to eat? We’re about to…” He shot a look over his shoulder toward the Maroses, still waiting at the far wall. “Uh…”

“Enoa.” Kol left the group. He gave Jim a wide berth and approached her along the Aesir’s hull. “I wanted to talk to you earlier, but Jaleel told me about everything instead. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened, that I caused you, and that’s happened to you. But almost all of your things have been returned, and it’s my plan to leave with Agent Siegast tomorrow.”

“Almost all?” Enoa asked, but there was no anger there. She felt no fear of what the Liberty Corps knew or what she hadn’t learned first. ‘Not Nimauk in origin…’ Everything else was overshadowed.

“I’m making a promise to you,” Kol continued. “I will rebuild your home for you. If I survive, I will remake it, just the way you knew it.”

“It’s…” Enoa thought of her home, Sucora’s home, where she’d grown up – above a secret room built for Shaping. It was like her entire life was secretly built across a foundation of the Hierarchia. How many other secrets were kept from her there? How many other secrets had she inherited? “Thank you. I hope you and Max can stay safe wherever you go. Good luck.”

“You too.” He raised his hand as if to shake hers, but thought better of it and instead adjusted the collar of his light jacket. Only then did she notice he was no longer wearing his stained jumpsuit. His hair was clean and pulled back. He had a gaunt look in his cheeks since his captivity, but his eyes were brighter.

“Enoa,” Jaleel said. “We’re going to have a movie night. They’re still making some movies out here, like they used to, like Hollywood. I never heard of any of them. I feel like Orson! Kol and Max have a DVD player in their cabin, so we were going to try to get something to watch. We’ll get some food too. I think we’re all going except Orson, but we didn’t know how you felt or what you wanted, and I don’t want to speak for anybody, but…”

“You are more than welcome to join us, Enoa,” Max said. “Of course you are. None of us would be here without you.”

“Thank you,” Enoa said. “That’s very kind. But…”

But what? But she didn’t know how she felt about anything? She didn’t know herself? Her whole life was built on quicksand, everything sinking and soon to be buried and suffocated.

“It’s been a long few days,” she said. “Thank you for inviting me, but I’m tired. I might just go for walk.”

“Then I suppose this may really be good-bye.” Max rolled his wheelchair toward them. Enoa jumped from the Aesir and walked to meet him half-way. The man in the trench coat stepped away from the wall too, but he approached Orson.

“Orson!” Trench Coat said. “Good to see you! When I heard about the escape, I should’ve expected you’d be involved.” He and Orson shook hands, but the rest of what was said faded from Enoa’s hearing.

“For so long,” Max clasped her hand between his. “I’ve been trying to save my brother. But without your mercy, I would’ve led him to death for betraying Sloan. You saved him, when he had done so much wrong to you, and I will always be grateful. Always.”

“We will,” Kol corrected.

Enoa did not know what to say, but she was spared.

With a creak of hinges, the barn’s side door opened. Embre Vass entered. “I have never had a noise complaint for the guests I am trying to hide. Most people have more sense than that. But if you keep up with this racket, the other guests will hear you.”

“I’m sorry,” Orson called to her. “We’re just wrapping up. We’ll be quieter from now on.”

“Yes, you will,” she said. “Your movie night order is ready whenever you are. Same goes for your room service. Our movie library isn’t too up-to-date, but we should have enough from the last half-decade that you should find something new.”

The Maroses and Dr. Stan and all the rest followed Embre from the barn. Even Jim trailed along, and Dr. Stan guided him by the arm. Only Jaleel stopped to look over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you later,” Enoa said. He lingered for another heartbeat and then joined the others. The barn door shut with another squeak.

“What a weird way for that to go.” Orson pulled his sheathed sword from his shoulders and set it on the nearest table. “Man Bun just flying off… with that guy who apparently knows me.”

“You don’t know him?” she asked.

“I think I’d remember glasses like that. But he’s Truce, and everybody who knew Sirona thinks I know them too, but I don’t. Hey, how are you? We missed you, y’know? Jaleel was so upset he put that damn robot back together.”

“I’m…” Enoa took a deep breath and tried to fight the sudden lump in the back of her throat. Aunt Sucora dead. Aunt Sucora lied to her. She could have known. Their home gone, and most of what remained was of the Hierarchia. Not Nimauk in origin…

“I need time,” she said. “I don’t know how long you want to stay here or how long you want to pay for us here, but I’ll be ready to leave when you want to go.”

He was looking at her with so much concern. There was none of the sharp humor or calm competence, just real worry. And she couldn’t look at it, because that worry made her think about all the rest. She turned back toward the door.

“Well, you might get your wish,” he said. “Because the Liberty Corps is up to shit. I don’t know if you’ve heard or paid attention to anything, but they’re attacking the Pacific Alliance and it’s a whole thing. We might be caught up with that too.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll be ready when we leave. Have a good talk with Fire Girlfriend.”

She jumped back in the Aesir, just long enough to collect her flashlight and scratch Wesley beneath the chin. Then she made for the barn doors.

“Do you even know your way around?” Orson called after her.

“I won’t get lost. Thanks.” She left the barn and followed the path. She lit her flashlight, found the first break between the trees, and took the fastest path away from the lodge.

* * *

Orson had not named all the ways he moved the sword or the positions of his body as he wielded it. Not even the drills he always performed were named moves.

He performed stabs and thrusts, parries and blocks, pivots and guards. It was assessment and practice, keeping his body’s motions memorized and analyzing his performance.

He assessed his work. Was he connecting his movements? Was he mindful of his footwork? Was he conscious of the strength of each action, the investment of each strike?

The regimen lasted thirty minutes or sixty or more. It lasted until he knew he remembered and would move with the speed of reaction.

There was enough room to move the sword inside the barn and take stock of himself without fear of discovery.

Orson was nearing the end of his cycle, deep lunges with full-weight that exposed him to strikes from the sides and rear.

He was deep into a low strike when the barn door creaked open and Jaleel walked inside with his archer mask across his face.

“What’s up?” Orson stood again and stretched his shoulders.

“Did Enoa come back in here?” he asked. “I saw her go into the woods and didn’t see her come back.”

“No, she didn’t.” Orson sheathed the sword. “How long has it been?”

“Maybe an hour?” Jaleel shrugged. “It’s been a while. I just don’t want her to be in danger. Is this some kind of magical forest with hungry things that might try to hurt her?”

“Not that I know of,” Orson said. “She’s usually pretty good at watching out for herself. If you’re worried, why don’t you let me get cleaned up and we’ll go look for her.”

“I can go first.” Jaleel turned back. “My mask has limited night vision, so I might be able to find her pretty easily. I’ll send a message if I find her and we’re okay. If not, you can come looking in a half-hour.” He ran through the door again.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea!” Orson shouted. “Let’s split up.” He lifted the sword again but did not draw it. He saw through the window that the moon was now high in the sky.

He set the sword back down and walked to the phone instead. He dialed it. Even after almost six years, he wouldn’t forget the number or the extension that would reach the forest-facing rooms where he’d spent so many nights.

“Hello, Ms. Birgham’s residence,” an unfamiliar female voice answered. Not Sirona. “This is Nen speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hi,” he said. “This is, uh, Orson Gregory. I’m calling for Sirona Birgham. She’s expecting to talk to me tonight. I thought I’d see if she’s available now.”

“I’m sorry,” Nen answered. “She isn’t here right now, but you can leave a message and I’ll make sure she gets it as soon as she’s back.”

“That’s…” Orson paused. “No, I’ll just call back later tonight. Thanks.”

“We’re actually not expecting her until tomorrow at the very earliest,” Nen said. “That’s the only reason I’m answering her calls. But again, I’d be happy to take a message.”

Not back until tomorrow? Why had she mentioned talking to him tonight? Why would she spend an entire day digging out that scroll and his books and then just forget about him?

“Are you sure?” Orson asked. “She was, uh, kindly helping me with a work problem.”

“I’m quite sure,” Nen said. “She won’t be back tonight.”

She’d forgotten him! “I have nothing to say that can’t wait,” Orson said. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome!” Nen said. “Well, if that’s all, I hope you have a pleasant evening!”

“You too.”

The line clicked dead. Orson returned the handset.

Sirona had mentioned traveling a distance for her meeting with the pilot. Was the distance why she didn’t plan to return that night?

Or was it the pilot himself?

Had he missed the obvious? What had she said about the man she was meeting?

And realization hit him like a blow to the stomach. The way she’d talked about this pilot, she used to talk about him that way. Used to.

He sat on the edge of the table.

He hadn’t noticed it then, with how she seemed to be flirting with him. What had that meant, the last couple of nights? Just banter? Reliving a memory, but nothing to get in the way of real life?

He obviously wasn’t her real life, not if she’d casually tell him about a date with another man. How did she see him? Was he an old friend to her? Did she think commenting about some guy’s ‘other qualities’ wouldn’t bother him?

Why did it bother him? It had been the better part of six years. She should reasonably assume it was all past. That it was over.

It was over for her. Long over.

What had he thought, really? Why would she want anything with him? Nothing had improved for him in five years. He still wandered from job-to-job and adventure-to-adventure and danger-to-danger.

What had he thought? She’d leave her business and travel with him? Did he think he could hide out there, stay secret with all those legions gunning for him?

Did he think he’d live like he was twenty-something again? They’d spend each day on some quest together and each night holding each other? That had always been a dream. What was wrong with him, that he could start to hope for impossible things? He was a grown man, not some naive child who thought himself a hero. He’d seen the magical and the uncanny, and he should know the truly impossible when he saw it.

Why was he so tied to something he’d dreamed when he was still half-a-child? Why was the sound of her voice enough to make him want that life again?

He couldn’t have let go, not really. Because if he’d emotionally learned what his mind had accepted years ago, then it would take more than a few hours with her voice in his ear to make him believe again.

Sirona had found a man who had not made enemies across the world, who surely had a salary and stability. She’d found someone who brought enough excitement, but nothing to overwhelm her, or to drive her away.

Fine. That was her choice. She had every right to choose what was right for her.

He had been a fool, the same fool he was at twenty, the same fool he had always been, imagining everything would just fit together like the bow-tied endings in fairy tales.

Orson drew the sword again.

A salaried pilot was good for building a life and for defending a rebuilt, safer world. But could he stand against the world-killers’ general, like Orson had? Could he drive Baron Helmont and the Hierarchia remnant to fear and desperate action, like Orson had? Could he confront the world of madness, the Blitzkrieg or the Lockshaws, Bolon or the Eldren Order or Ruhland?

Because Orson could win. He would again, even if he stood alone to do it, if that was his life’s purpose.

He would train like he had at the start of his years alone, work until he couldn’t, until exhaustion took him into a deep sleep where he would not worry about his past or choices or life. That was how he’d earned the skill to survive and carry legends.

He began his exercises again from the very beginning.

* * *

Enoa wandered past the honey farm and the local shrine. The night was alive with sound and motion.

Her awareness had grown so much since she’d last focused on the real, living world around her. She knew the movement of unseen wing in the sky from its push against the air. She felt the hidden scurrying of feet from their imprint on the ground.

Not Nimauk in origin.

Enoa didn’t stop walking until she heard a sound that wasn’t augmented by Shaping. She found a rise in the ground and a space deep between the trees. There, she could hear distant music, piano music, drifting through one of the lodge’s open windows. She set her flashlight against the trunk of a tree where it attracted a swirling storm of tiny insects. Enoa listened to the music. It was a melancholy tune, but speedy enough to keep her from thinking.

Some time later, many songs later, she sensed Jaleel approaching. She felt the way he moved through the air before she heard him.

“I’m alright!” She called out. “I’m fine. I’m just… not quite ready to be with everyone.”

Then she heard him. He crashed between the trees. All of the other living things went silent as he approached.

With a yell, he pushed his way between two trunks. He stumbled free and came to a stop beside her. He picked brambles or sticks from his clothing.

“You’re missing movie night,” she said.

“I was worried about you.” He drew his comm from his belt. “I have to send a message back to Orson. I made kinda a big deal about you going into the woods alone.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “But it’s been not so good lately, so I was worried. And I thought maybe you’d changed your mind about being alone.” He clicked on the comm. “She’s okay.”

“Cool,” Orson answered. “Let me know if you need anything.” He sounded short of breath.

“Are you okay?” Enoa asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah…. I’m… Yeah, I’m fine. Still just training. Glad you’re alright.” The comm clicked off again.

“He’s weird about something.” Jaleel returned the comm to his belt. “Anyway, the movie selection was… not great. And they picked some comedy about this guy who travels through time in a Lamborghini. It looks like copyright isn’t a thing anymore, because that’s just Back to the Future but not good.”

“If you say so.” She laughed at his frustration.

“You never saw Back to the Future?” Jaleel asked. “Man… I mean, it has this time loop where a white kid gave Chuck Berry his sound and that’s just all kinds of messed up, but it’s still a classic. Gotta add that one to the list.”

“Gotta add Chuck Berry to the list too,” she said.

“He’s old school, but he started so much,” Jaleel said. “I don’t even know what music you like! Isn’t that weird?”

“We just get attacked all the time,” she said. “We don’t do normal people things. But we better get started on your list. If not, we’ll have to be looking for the Dreamside Road for twenty years to see it all.”

“Or…” he began. “Or I could just come and visit you when nobody is trying to kill us?”

“Or that,” she laughed again. “Wherever I am when this is all over. If I get that far.”

“What do you mean?” He shifted on the slight hillside, so he was sitting facing her. “You even have Kol building your new house. We can both just watch him work and comment on his technique.”

“He would be a bad guy again by the time he was done with that,” Enoa said. “I… I have nowhere else to go. It’s my home. But Jaleel, it was never what I thought it was. It was like, my sanctuary. It was like a place where something still lived that was gone everywhere else.”

“You mean,” he began. “You mean your Nimauk heritage?”

“Yes,” she said. “But now, I don’t know what’s real anymore. I just don’t know who I am.” And when she started talking, all of the thoughts she’d trapped and fought for days spilled out of her. All the dreads and lurking mysteries that she’d been fleeing all fell out into the open.

“The meditation that I do, if that’s just training for Shaping, how much else is fake? How many of the other traditions my aunt taught me are just ways so I can defend myself. The stories she taught me, are they really these old legends or are they just morality stories she made up to have me behave the way she wanted? Was the stuff she taught me about living in touch with the world, did the real Nimauk believe that, or was it just more Shaping? How much is bullshit? How much was her manipulating me? And if I don’t know, then I’m not really Nimauk. I’m just anybody else who is descended from a different culture they don’t practice. Like Orson, he’s not really Scottish or Irish or whatever. Except in my case it’s possible there are no Nimauk. They’re all gone. And I’m not one of them. I’m just anybody else in the modern, worldwide mess we’re stuck with.”

“Didn’t you…” Jaleel seemed to struggle with words. “Didn’t you know anybody else… growing up?”

“There are a couple other local Nimauk-descended families,” she explained. “But a lot of them aren’t very culturally active. Or they didn’t seem to be – I might not have any idea!” She raised her voice until the nearby chirping insects paused their calling. “The Nimauk weren’t recognized by anybody. There weren’t enough of us. So it’s going to be really hard for me to find out anything, find out what’s real and where we really come from. Until I know for sure what is real and what isn’t, I’m not part of a culture. Now, I’m just… me.”

“I…” Jaleel slowly began again. “Before Thunderworks, my parents wanted to find out more about where our families were from. And it’s really tough, looking for that and… facing whatever the truth is. My dad’s dad came from Ghana as a student in the sixties, so we know about that heritage. And he met my grandma back east, but my mom’s family was in Illinois for hundreds of years. We know they were free during the Civil War. Some of them fought for the Union, but before that they were probably slaves.”

“Jaleel.” She rested her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“We didn’t really find out anything more than we already knew,” Jaleel said. “But it made me think a little bit about how, after everything that happened, whether people came here willingly or not or… became part of the country willingly – we were pretty much all just… Americans. And now that’s gone too.”

She couldn’t see his face by the dim light, but his tone of voice changed, became somber and soft.

“So no matter what happened to my ancestors,” he continued. “I still get to influence the culture here, even if some people wouldn’t want me to have that power. Culture… I don’t think it ever stays the same for very long. It’s the people who make it, together. I didn’t think about this enough to say what I mean.”

“That’s okay.”

“If America and the other old countries don’t get rebuilt, we’ll be the last Americans. Our generation. Then everyone will be part of the new whatever. Or they’ll all be part of the – what did you call it – the mess? And you, you still have those people waiting for you on Knightschurch. I’m sorry you’re going there late, but I’m not sorry for me. I never would’ve met you any other way, except by accident.”

“It might be better this way, traveling late.” She considered a world where she’d read the letter, where Archie Grant had whisked her away to the island to be trained, totally embracing the new story. Before she was Nimauk, now she was only Nimauk by way of the Hierarchia.

“I think this is better,” she said. “I did meet you this way. And I’m figuring things out for myself. I’m not even sure if I want to go to any island. I’m not sure I want to keep doing this. If we didn’t have people who were going to try to hurt us no matter what, I might just… stop. I went twenty years not knowing. I only really need to know how to defend myself. I don’t want to go anywhere. But I don’t really want to stay here either.”

“If you want to leave,” he said. “We’ll find somewhere for you to be, so you won’t be in danger.”

“It isn’t the danger,” she said. “And no, I don’t think you will. My only choice is to keep going.”

They fell silent, just as the piano music seemed suddenly louder, loud enough to fill the sudden break in the conversation. Voices could be heard inside, singing or chanting along.

“Holy crap!” Jaleel shouted. “It’s ‘the Duck Song’!”

“The what?” she asked.

“You know ‘the Duck Song’.” He began to sing along. “Waddle, waddle, waddle, ‘til the very next day!’” He missed some words and mumbled over some lyrics.

“I definitely don’t know that,” she said.

But he continued through the song. “When the duck walked up to the lemonade stand…” And he began to laugh and dance along with the music, and Enoa couldn’t help but laugh with him.

When the music stopped, Jaleel joined in with the applause. There were cheers too, inside, also loud enough to be heard from their distant vantage point.

“Jordyn watched a ton of YouTube, growing up,” Jaleel said. “And she was oldest so she decided what we all had to watch. Uh, do you think the piano player is done or will there be more?”

“I don’t know,” she said. The crowd inside fell silent again.

“Are you staying to find out?” He asked.

“Probably,” she answered.

“Do you mind if I stay here with you?”

“I hope you do.”

* * *

Orson repeated his assessment and his exercises. He followed the art of simple defense, the art of imitation, the art of observant attack. He repeated the repetitions he’d done for a decade. The dabblings of a boy had become the closest thing his adult life had to a constant. It was a mantra in motion. He repeated them again because he had the time, and it was rare in recent months for him to find that time.

He needed it. He needed those hours spent preparing. If all he had ahead was a battle with Helmont and then someone else after that and someone else after that – he needed the ability to survive and win. He needed the stories about him to be true.

He repeated the moves a third time, because that was what he’d done with help from Sirona and from Ophion and all his friends. He had to do the same now. If all he had in his life was one fight or another, then he would learn enough to carry legends.

He repeated his cycle a third time because how many deskbound captains of the rebuilt world would do that? Train until his arms moved the sword like it was the end of his limbs.

Because if that was all he was, Orson would be the greatest to be found on the Wayfarers Highway.

Orson repeated the cycle a fourth time. Because his swordsmanship was all he had to show for his years. That was all he could hold up as a sign of the times that had passed, of how he’d spent the last years of his youth.

After five years, what had he accomplished?

Should he have returned to the forest-side inn, after Norlenheim? Could he have given up everything else? Would she have taken him back then, after all that had happened? Would she have taken him back when that powerless boy she’d known had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the great Enigma Guard and bested their worst enemy?

How many of his lonely victories really mattered? What was any of it worth compared to time he could have really lived for himself, for her, for them?

Orson was still distracted when he heard the creak of the door. By the time he saw motion it was too late to react.

Something hit the sword with a puff of smoke. Suddenly, he couldn’t move the blade, like he’d buried it into the side of a wall.

The smoke cleared. He saw red fire flickering at the edges of the sword. It burned to life in midair around the weapon’s edge.

“Orson!” A familiar voice called from the doorway. “You forgot to keep your attention on the door! I could’ve cooked you.”

Sirona was wearing an original Aesir crew jacket with her name embroidered across the chest and patches down the arms. Her braided hair fell nearly to her belt and the waist of her skinny jeans.

She raised her hand and the red fire that barred the sword steamed away into nothing.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said.