The Scholar's Tale(Original Fantasy)

[Strigoi Grey]

''When I grow up, I want to see the world!'' So says every child, one day. But much like the abyss, the world looks back.

***
Hello, everyone. I posted this story a while ago on Spacebattles(on the day I became a member, actually), and now, I've chosen to post on multiple sites because I'm desperate for attention. You can go to SB and read ahead, if you want, but the story is still in progress. My plan is to post a chapter a day until I catch up to the current story, but I'll post more if readers ask. Enjoy!

***

"When we are young and bold, we all want to grow up, to be able to make our own choices. And when we are grown, we want our youth and innocence back-that time of wonder, when you could make any mistake, for you knew it mattered not. But then, men always want what they know they cannot have...''-Zharweyn the Grim;

***

''Xary? Xary, come downstairs! We need another server!'' Mherran's voice was loud and carrying, as always. I'd once told him he should have become an announcer rather than an innkeeper. He'd laughed and said he preferred talking to people, rather than at them. At least this way, he could learn about them and say what he wanted to, rather than what he was paid to. I'd appreciated his honesty and wished nothing would disturb his quiet life.

So, of course, something happened. As it always does, when I am present. I hoped that it was not my fault this time. Wouldn't want to skip island this soon. According to the foresser that frequented the Green Grin, the island had some three years before it was sunk by a wave or levelled by an airquake. That was why nobody had bothered naming it since it was settled five years ago. No use growing attached.

I sat up, putting down the ledger and covering it with a cloth- wouldn't want somebody breaking into the room and getting creative. Again. Working as the Grin's accountant was comfortable enough and the pay was good. Sure, everyone looked at me askance when I started taking about expenses, but I survived.

I wondered what had happened that Mherran needed me as a server tonight. I had helped out in the kitchen before, when I had needed more money, but I'd only worked in the inn itself a few times, usually when someone was sick or drunk. Something like that must have happened, as I rather doubted Mherran needed my dazzling personality to cheer up the room.

As I made my way down the stairs, I heard angry, accusing voices, including some of our regulars', though I could not make out the words. Never a good sign. Mherran was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, holding an apron. Damn, had they started throwing food already?

''There you are! C'mon, put this on. I'll try to calm them down.'' Mherran said, handing me the apron. He seemed...uncertain. It unsettled me more than than the raised voices. My bluff, red-faced boss was usually so sure of himself, if not calm. Before he headed back into the inn's main room, he looked over his shoulder, giving me a strange glance. ''Watch yourself, boy. I...'' he trailed off, shaking his head. ''Come on, Xary.'' he entered, gesturing for me to follow.

Putting on the apron and staying behind him, in case someone expressed their joy at seeing me through thrown objects, I entered the Grin's main room, the smoky, wood-paneled place people thought of when they heard of our inn. The rough wooden chairs and trestle tables had been overturned, the food spilled carelessly on the floor. Olvhy was going to be mad at the wasted food, I knew, once he stopped hiding in the kitchen. He'd never liked confrontations, especially those that involved angry mobs.

''There he is! Don't let him touch you, lest he twist your mind!'' said Dharrz, one of our regulars. His thick, scarred index finger was pointed straight at me. We mostly let him in the inn because otherwise, he found booze from dubious sources and made a racket around the town. He was shaking, and not from drink, I suspected. In fact, he seemed unusually sober tonight. On any other day, I would have been overjoyed, but he seemed... scared of me. Why?

''Steady yourselves.'' said Ghella, the island's foreseer. She did not seem that steady herself, though I refrained from saying that. Probably would not have helped her mood. ''His magic is touch-based. He cannot harm anyone he cannot touch.'' she continued.

Instead of answering the mob, I stepped forward to glare at Mherran. ''And what, exactly, am I supposed to serve here?'' I asked drily. He averted his gaze.

''You wouldn't have come down if I hadn't...'' and he trailed off again, moving away from me. Interestingly, he did not move towards the mob, but stood between me and them. For my protection, or was he just hesitant? Was he afraid of my Gift as well? And how had these people learned about it, anyway?

''Are you involved with this nonsense as well?'' I asked Mherran. ''I wouldn't know magic if you cursed me, how am I supposed to harm anyone?'' Perhaps playing the fool would help. If not...

''You cannot fool us, witchling.'' said Bharro, the town advocate. And perhaps more, if he was so sure he could spot magic. ''Last week, you made Lhaan think he was choking on flies, just because he complained about your food. And he was not the first you tormented.''

''Lhaan was whining about a fly in his soup and wanted another bowl for free. Perhaps he ate the fly when he got impatient'' I said with a grin. Bad idea. This only seemed to embolden them, as they came forward, glaring at me and muttering ''See? He admits...''.

''Dissembling is pointless, Xary.'' Ghella again. ''You make people experience things you once did by touching them. I know. I have seen the future where you reveal this to us.''

''And when did you dream this, Ghella?'' I asked her. ''Before or after you inhaled some fumes to open your third eye?''

And that was the last straw. They surged forward, calling for my head, for my hands to be cut off and more. I raised my hands and they stopped, halfway between anger and uncertainty. An usually peaceful gesture, a threat when performed by me-said a lot about my life, really.

''Do not make me do this...'' I said, looking all of them in the eye.

And then, I backed towards an open window, and jumped.

[Strigoi Grey]

I've been asked to send an email to a LadyTevar to prove I'm not a spambot, but I can't. I clicked 'compose messages' but it told me I'm too new to use that feature and I can't find your email to send you a message. Please, I don't know where else to post this. I don't want to be banned.

[Strigoi Grey]

I don't know how or why the Scholar's Tale was posted twice, I swear I only clicked submit once.

[Strigoi Grey]

LadyTevar, I'm writing this here because I can't find your email and I can't compose private messages. I tried, I was told I can't because I'm newly-registered.

[LadyTevar]

LadyTevar, I'm writing this here because I can't find your email and I can't compose private messages. I tried, I was told I can't because I'm newly-registered.

THat's really odd, you should have been able to just hit "Reply" on the PM I sent you.

But don't worry, I'll delete the duplicate post.

[Strigoi Grey]

'There is nothing more dangerous than thinking your life cannot change.'- Zharna the Fiery, warrior-poet;

Thank Vhaarn I jumped out of a ground floor window, or this would have been awkward. Painful, too. Can't forget that. My Gift-though I call it other names, depending on my day and mood- could neither enhance my body nor create protections around it, like some mages could. Not that I'd ever seen another mage since I left home.

I'd hoped to distance myself from arcane nonsense and everything that comes with it, but I'd never been able to leave well enough alone. Some days, a customer got rowdy for no good reason and I took it upon myself to...calm them down. Mherran did not believe in hiring guards, saying their presence implied you did not trust your fellows, so...

I'd never done anything serious-a memory of pain or nausea, shared through a fleeting touch, was enough to pacify overly-rude customers. The way those people had talked about me, you'd think I'd turned them inside out or something.

I would have to leave the island, after all. A shame. I'd known it wouldn't last forever, but every Midworlder knows to appreciate islands while they last. Some unlucky people only get to live in on place for a few days, then it's back onto the boats, ships or mounts. Speaking of, I'd have to find something to leave the island on. According to regional maps, the closest islands were tens of leagues away, and I wasn't swimming that much. Hopefully, I'd find some sailors who didn't hate me and were willing to take me on their ship in exchange for labour.

Since I escaped the inn in a hurry, I had nothing on me save the clothes on my back and a little pocket change-certainly not enough to pay for a long voyage. Besides, there was little trade between islands in this area, so the only ships leaving would be leaving permanently.

I'd likely have to abandon Xary, though. Just in case one or more of my angry friends decided to get a ship, too, and follow me to "bring me to justice". I'd seen people do foolish things for worse reasons. Still,it was a shame. Of my recent masks, Xary had been the most pleasant and harmless. I'd have liked to meet him, had he been real.

The inn was located in the center of the island, as such establishments often are. It is where the roads end and begin. I'd once heard a story according to which all inns are lesser reflections of the legendary Nexus.

Ha. Maybe one day, after I found the Nexus, I would write my own story and confirm whether that was true or not. But I had other worries at the moment, and no time for chasing legends.

I headed northwest, toward the docks, as quick as I could without running myself ragged. It was only a matter of time until the mob in the inn got over themselves and began chasing me.

I felt like I'd been running for hours when I heard angry, sharp voices behind me. I didn't dare look back, lest I run over something, but I knew what I'd see, anyway:angry faces and hands clenched into fists, or clutching weapons. Maybe they'd even bring a pitchfork or torch, just for me.

As I reached the Mhaaige Forest, I hoped they would stop their pursuit. After all, everyone knows not to chase mages into dark places, especially forests. Who knew what vile things they did there? Not me, certainly. But,if anything, this seemed to encourage them, as they closed the distance between us. I could practically feel their breath on my back.

So, I cheated. I knew I could not outrun or lose them inside the forest,not without using my Gift. Concentrating, I tapped into it, and remembered how full of energy I'd been upon waking up today. Immediately, the memory became reality. My body felt renewed, as if I'd just risen up after a long rest, and I blurred through the trees, leaving my pursuers behind.

I only slowed down three leagues away, at the docks, when my body burned through its renewed reserves. Thanks to my Gift, I was barely breathing hard. Memory magic may not be overtly powerful, but you would be shocked at how much you can do by "remembering" things.

The docks had been built on the island's northwestern shore, on and around a beach situated at the base of a mountain range. This way, invaders and shifty merchants would find it hard to fight their ways past the docks. Meanwhile, the locals could use the mountains as a natural wall and hold out against armies far outnumbering them. The island's other shores consisted of bleak, sharp rocks that most ships would break themselves on.

As I walked the docks, I checked what I had on me. My sealskin boots, my trousers, my green coat... Vhaarn, I'd forgotten my hat at the inn. With my luck, we'd get caught in a storm once we left the island... assuming I even found a ship.

Which seemed increasingly unlikely. As I offered my services to the sailors-don't you need someone to keep records? Manage finances? I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty either-my hopes slowly wilted. The answers were as pleasant as they were varied.

"Shove off, ink-drinker!"

"You think we've space in excess, moron?"

"Aren't you that bastard with the pain-touch? Get him, lads!"

And so I ended up running away. Again. I had to repeat my stamina trick, which left my body screaming at the constant changes between tiredness and restfulness. Still, at least I lost those arseholes too.

Finally, after carefully climbing up out of a barrel I'd jumped in, I laid eyes on a steamship. It was painted in countless garish colours, like a screaming rainbow. On its side were the words 'Mharra's Marvels'. I hoped this was not a curiosity ship. Those are always crewed by grifters and captained by conmen.

Taking a deep breath of the sharp, salty air, I walked to the steamship. Standing next to it on the shore was a short, stocky man. Walking closer, I saw he was swarthy, with a black mane of hair that reached his shoulders. His clothes were fine and colourful, but closer to a circus master's than a ship captain's.

It was a curiosity ship, wasn't it? Gods...

"Hello." I greeted the colourful man. "Are you Mharra, sir?"

"Oh, no." He said with a dry smile. "I'm your last option, eh? Nobody comes to me unless they have to."

[Strigoi Grey]

AN: I just realised the first two chapters are untitled. I guess I'm used to naming them in threadmarks. To clear up confusion, those were Book I, Prologue and Chapter 1. I'll name them in the posts from now on.

***

Book I, Chapter 2

***
"Truth is mankind's attempt at forcing Creation into shapes and patterns they can comprehend and measure. But we know the lies behind the truth."-Ikhazzar'h of the Unkind;

***

"I am looking for a ship, captain Mharra. As for you being my last option...why, do wise men not save the best for last?" I asked, smiling in what I hoped was a charming way. I was laying it on thick, of course, but Mharra seemed the kind of fellow who ignores subtle compliments when he even notices them.

"Feel free to stop that any time." He said, and his smile was just as fake as mine. "My rear isn't hurt. There's no need to kiss it."

"Of course." I replied, trying not to frown. "I can pay for my stay on the ship. I know my letters and numbers, and I can work with my hands too."

"Eager and poor? Always a great combination. I cannot help but notice you did not offer any actual payment." He said, raising his eyebrows.

"I do not have money on hand, captain. I've never left this island, and there's hardly any work to find here." I lied. "I would see the world, if you would be so kind as to take me. My name's Dhalgo."

He looked at me for a long moment, then smiled. It did not reach his eyes.

"This island was formed a dozen years ago, and you're not that young. Unless you're a chronomancer, or aquainted with one."

"I am an old soul at heart, sir. An old man in a boy's body." I said, affecting a ragged wheeze. Mharra snorted.

In truth, I am not sure how old I am. Certainly I have seen thousands of dawns, and survived a hundred seasons...though, with how some islands I've endured before are, 'season' is a matter of perspective. I think I am in my mid-twenties, as the Yvharnii had counted such things. My body is strong, my skin still taut, my hair and eyes still bright green.

"Well, you can certainly talk ears off. Maybe we'll make you an announcer." Mharra said. An announcer... I was reminded of Mherran, who I'd thought a friend for two years. Stupid. He'd betrayed me with no second thought, to appease his precious customers. Had he been a part of the mob when they had chased me? I did not know. I didn't remember hearing his voice. Would I even have recognised it, in that cacophony?

Was Mharra going to be another Mherran?

"What is it exactly you do, captain? If I may ask."

"I glare over the crew's shoulders and cuff them round the ears when they're doing wrong."

This time, I didn't have to fake my smile."I meant, you and your crew. Are you some traveling show, perhaps? Are they your 'marvels'?" I asked.

"They, our exhibits... and the ship itself!" Mharra spread his hands, as if presenting the gaudy steamer. "Before you is the Rainbow Burst, most formidable ship I've ever sailed. Mostly because the old hag is too damn stubborn to sink." He patted the steamer's hull affectionately and, to my surprise, it let out a hum. Coincidence? I did not believe in it much these days. Was it... possessed? Or a thinking engine, something stolen from the Clockwork Court or the Free Fleet?

It had certainly not been  built by either of those Powers. It was too frivolous for the former and lacked the latter's colours and streamlined design. Perhaps Mharra had found it and painted it later, for some bizarre reason. Maybe it burned out his enemies' eyes? It was certainly working on mine.

"Have you played on this island?" I asked. "I have neither seen nor heard of your show before,to my regret."

He scoffed,but it sounded more fond than annoyed. "Them islanders said we're too much. Not one of 'em wanted to see us play on the shore, let alone tour the ship. Their loss, I say."

"Certainly." I said, looking at the steamer. "I doubt anyone would forget such sights."

Mharra stepped closer, grinning. "You know how to run your mouth, boy. Maybe we'll make you the new blade-spitter. You could cut someone with that tongue of yours."

"Why, thank you, captain. I aim to please, and usually miss. Still charm people, in my own way."

"Charm, sure..." He shook his head, grinning, and turned away, walking toward the ship. "Come on!" He called over his shoulder. "If you're going to live on her, might as well get used to the sights, eh?".

Nodding, I followed him up the ramp and onto the steamer's metallic deck. From the middle of the deck rose three cylindrical steel towers, their tops covered in small holes from which gentle puffs of steam flowed. The beast at ease, I supposed. Like a purring cat, and just as mean when roused, I would bet.

"The ship mostly runs itself, so I spent most of my time on deck. We've got someone for minor maintenance and fueling, but he's sleeping right now. I think." Mharra said, striding with his hands clasped behind his walk. The famous 'captain's walk', which was found in most cultures and species, even those who lack hands. Or legs.

"Beside our shows, there's not much to do. Barring pirates or the occassional disaster, it's a pretty quiet life..." Mharra trailed off, and that was when the Pit broke loose.

Something blurred from between the steam towers, a giant grey shape that left the air screaming in its wake. It struck Mharra down, then enveloped him within itself, its grey bulk flowing over him like liquid steel. In seconds, only his nose and mouth were still visible.

"H-Help-" he choked. Was the thing strangling him, like those giant serpents with no venom? Then why was he not covered completely? Was it taking its time, playing with its food?

Monster, I thought, clenching my fist. I had only met Mharra, yes, but I felt some kinship with him: a proud man who travelled the world, but not so proud as to be angered by mockery, instead responding in kind. And for him to be murdered by this shapeless monster, on his own ship?

No. I would not allow that. Stepping forward, I prepared to channel my Gift, and cripple this thing with the memory of my greatest pain. I did not know if it could feel pain, or if it was even alive,but it did not matter. I was ready to die, if only to buy Mharra a few more moments of life.

[Strigoi Grey]

Book I, Chapter 3

***
"There is no crueller chain than being master of your own fate and not knowing your path."-Samuel Clyde, third Admiral-Elect of the Free Fleet;

So, this is what flying feels like,I thought as the deck spun above me and the sky shook beneath me. I landed on my back, letting out a choked gasp-the pain was so sharp I couldn't even scream.

The thing was just as fast in combat as it was while attacking from ambush, and had struck me without even moving from the spot where it was choking Mharra. Instead, it had extended a steely tendril as thick as my torso, which had struck me like a whip.

Shaking my head, I struggled to rise. After two tries, I was on my knees, a hand to my ribs. The monster had struck me in the chest, but nothing seemed to be broken-

Ah.

It was like a knife was scraping the inside of my chest. I could breathe, but... dammit. A problem for later. Pain just meant you were still alive. I could still fight.

The thing had not struck me again while I'd recovered. Why? Did it think me dead? Or was it focused on Mharra rather than me?

Its mistake.

I stepped forward, tapping into my Gift. Even if I couldn't reach the monster, I could still touch a tendril and cripple it. An instant would be enough for my Gift to work, if only I could react-

Now!

Another tendril, extended to crush, rather than strike. Even so, it was still blindingly fast, wrapping around my waist like a steel snake and lifting me from the deck like I was a ragdoll.

As it tightened around me, driving the breath ftom my lungs, I placed both hands on the limb and remembered my greatest pain.

I can't move.

" Do you see?"

My legs are broken, my arms twisted , bones breaking through flesh.

" Do you see where this pointless obsession leads?"

I do not want to leave, even now. It's the only place I have ever known. Please...

"If you love it so much, die with it."

My tears are of rage and shame, not pain. I am not alone. The others are not punished, even though-

It ended. The tendril clenched, then quivered and opened. It tried to draw back, to retreat into the greater mass, but it could not. The monster was twisting, churning like mud in a storm, its shapelessness turned against it. I'd remembered being paralyzed, mangled and unable to move, and so was it, now.

And then, it broke apart.

Not slowly, like a crumbling building, but painfully fast, like a blastshell. Pieces of the monster burst from the central mass, flying through the air faster than I could see, the sound making my ears ring.
In moments, grey, shapeless blobs were scattered over the deck and steam towers, sticking to them like unnatural moss.

"Peak and Pit..." I rasped. I eyed the pieces, but nothing seemed to move. Thank Vhaarn. I could not hope to fight hundreds of lesser monster, even if each only had a fraction of the original's might....

And then, the ship shook.

Or, rather, it rung. Like a struck bell, the steamer blurred and trembled, and I could feel my bones shake, like toys in a box thrown by a sulking child.

I looked at Mharra, and saw him somehow rising to his feet, despite the shaking ship. How...

"Mharra! We must leave, now! Before the damn ship comes apart!" I screamed. Could we even get off the steamer in time? And where the Pit was Mharra's subordinate? Was he somehow sleeping throught this, or had the monster killed him before coming for Mharra?

Damn it. Another poor fool dead, and I hadn't even met him!

And then, Mharra did something that scared me even more than the shaking ship. He laughed.

He laughed, and the trembling and blurring slowed down, until the steamship was once more gently floating on the waves. It was like nothing had even happened.

"Mharra!" I cried, and he moved to look at me, grinning, eyes shining with mirth. "What have you done? The ship-was it the monster's death throes...?
And I trailed off as his grin widened.

"No death throes, 'Dhalgo', and no monster." He clasped his hands, like a magician pleased with a trick. "I thought there was something more to you, and wanted to draw it out into the light."

"Something more to... what are you talking about?" I asked, even as my mind spun. "You did not even know me until I came to talk to you..." Could he have somehow learned about my Gift? But when? He'd been blinded during my fight, almost covered in the creature's bulk-

The creature.

"What did you mean by 'no monster'?" I asked, as much as to make him talk as to calm myself. Could he have been one of-no. Even if he had been, that trail was cold and dead. The man I was today would not have been recognised by any of them, if they'd even stuck together after over a decade.

"The 'monster' you blew apart- and I'm sure you'll tell us just how you did that- is the third and last member of my little crew. Or, rather..." He ran his eyes over me. Checking for wounds, or something else? "...the  fourth member." He finished.

"What do you mean? That... being, works for you? And I've murdered it?" I couldn't even bring myself to sound shocked. The chase from the inn, the fight, the memory... and this had been some sort of setup? To what purpose?

"I don't take just anyone on my ship. You're educated and can work-so? Not being a lazy fool is no qualification for crew membership. I saw you running all over the docks, being refused by those you didn't anger into chasing you..." Mharra smiled
"We had to test you. You want to see the world, you say, and I think you're honest enough. If you just wanted a place to live that wasn't threatened by tide or storm, you'd have gone to Illuminaria, or somewhere like it."

I grimaced. The Wrought Island was safe enough, yes, the way a gaol was. But with my attitude, I'd have ended up hollowed out and Compelled in hours- providing the Illuminated did not learn about my Gift. Mages and their ilk had a place on the Enlightened Path, as extensions of the Hierarchs' will. Couldn't afford to let us run wild.

"You do not want to do menial work, though you do not shy from it, either." Mharra continued. "Aye-do not think I did not see it, lad. Even when you offered your services, I could practically hear you saying 'This? This is the least I can do.' You have a power in you, a Gift or something like one. Surprised you did not start talking about it first chance. Most mages can't help themselves..." He smiled again. "No offence. Well, come on, Ib. Stop laying around."

I was about to ask who he was talking to, when the grey creature's remains flew together, reforming the grey, shapeless thing. Then, to my surprise, it rose from the deck, flowing into a new shape. It was nearly twice my height, human-like in shape, thought six-armed and featureless.

'Ib' stepped toward me, the deck swaying under its feet. Up close, I could see its waist alone was level with my neck, and that it was broader than I was tall.

"That was a nasty trick, friend." It said in a surprisingly human voice. Then, its flat face flowed into something like a smile. "Can we do it again?"

I answered the only way I could.

"...What?".

[Strigoi Grey]

Book I, Chapter 4

***
"The problem with people is that they view things as separate."- Mendax;

The -staged, yet real- danger gone, I channeled my gift, remembering being healthy and unharmed. My body creaked and groaned as it healed, and I grit my teeth to avoid crying out. I hated doing this, but I did not trust Mharra enough to ask to be healed. Not after his "test".

"You go belowdecks." Mharra said, gesturing for me to leave. "Three sleeps where he works. Says there's less to walk after waking up. I'd call him lazy, but..." He shrugged. "He keeps things... afloat. Hah!". As I walked towards the door that led below, I thought 'Three' was a weird nickname. Behind me, I could hear the two talk.

"Puns." Ib grumbled. "You in one of your moods, boss?"

"Oh, I'm just excited to see the crew grow. Imagine what we could do with someone who blows things up with a touch!"

"We could... blow things up?" Ib didn't seem to share Mharra's enthusiasm. I went through the door and walked down the stairs, hearing the grey giant's musings. "If we found someone like that. But that's not what he does, boss. I think...".

By now, I was so far below the sounds on the deck were muffled by the hum and growl of heavy machinery. I found myself in a narrow corridor, the walls made of soot-stained brass. I could not see any maps or indications on the walls, so I walked to the right, calling out all the while.

"Three? I'm Dhalgo, your... newest crewmate, I suppose. Captain Mharra put me through this test, then sent me to come see you. Sorry if I woke you up. Captain's orders..." I trailed off, as I received no answer. No point in talking alone.

Maybe Three  was still asleep, and he couldn't hear me over the machines. Though how he'd adapted to sleeping like this, damned if I knew. Needs must, I suppose.

Eventually, I reached a door marked "ENG N R". It had clearly seen some use, as the pitted plaque could attest. At least, I hoped it was the engine room, and not something stranger.

Only one way to find out.

I didn't knock, as it was too loud for that, and the door had no handle. So, I tried to push it open. It didn't budge, then, with a low, groaning sound, it slid to the right, into the doorframe. Motion sensers, I thought.

The engine room, for that was indeed what it was, was filled with puffing, shuddering machines and grinding wheels. The ship's steaming heart. It was hot and smoky, haphazardly lit- some places were lit by lamps or boltcages, others so dark I couldn't see anything.

"Three?" I called out again. I couldn't see anyone in the room. Maybe Three was a shapeshifter too? "I am-".

"Yeah, yeah!" A man's voice cut me off. He sounded younger than me. "Mharra sent me a message, he did. When he got his eye on you. Said you were interesting. Feel free to feel threatened."

"Only feel? That would be nice." I said drily. "Can you come closer? I can't see you. Where are you?"

"Here." He answered, from my right.

"Here!" From my left, this time.

"Aaand- guess!" From beneath me.

I looked around. "So, you throw your voice? Impressive, but I didn't come for a show. I just wanted to meet you."

He snorted, from three directions at once. "A trick, he says."

"Think I'm a ventriloquist or something?"

"How d'you think I got my name, eh?"

And he appeared, passing through a gear to my right like it was mist. He was white and lean, with white hair that fell to shadow his eyes. I could see straight through him.

Then, an identical being appeared from my left, floating. And finally, one rose through the floor, right in front of me, grinning. He ... they looked identical.

"So..." I began, trying to sound casual. "You're, what, spirit triplets? Is "Three" your group name?"

They snickered, floating to spin together in the air. Whisps of ectoplasm flew around them.

"I could have been, maybe. But mother dearest smothered that in the womb." They spoke in unison, but I only heard one voice. " Triplets were rare back home, and they often died at birth. Poor doctors, and..." They trailed off, scowling.

"Mother could not bear the thought of losing her children, so she begged a passing mage to do something. May they never be apart. But spells like that are tricky, when placed upon those yet to be born...

"I was born with three bodies. I don't know if the minds fused in the womb, but... I've never had siblings. Not really. Only me, and Triarchs, were three perspectives a nightmare at first..." Three smiled sadly.

"My mother tried to love me, I know, but she couldn't. Not as I was. She still though of me as multiple children, called my bodies names she would have given... them."

"Three, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mock you. I can't imagine-"

"No, you can't." He said, just a little sharply. Then, he took a deep breath-habit?- and smiled again. I thought it was more for his sake than mine. "Sorry. Relax, man. It wasn't all bad. You ever lay with three girls on three islands at once? Heh."

I tried to smile. "Can't say I ever have. But then, you seem a better multitasker than me."

Three laughed, one of his... selves? One apparition floated forward and tried to clap me on the shoulder. His hand went through, but I forced myself not to shiver. I could not bear to upset this poor man. But a thought niggled at me...

"If I may ask... are not such spells usually broken in death? Should you not be... separate now?"

"What, you a mage or something? And yeah, usually... but this one was made to last. And even if it wasn't, what would have happened? Would two newborn minds and souls have popped out of nowhere? Can you imagine that?"

I tried not to. "Then... are you barred from the afterlife? Perhaps something there could-".

Three scoffed. "Didn't hear me earlier? I'm a Triarchist, Dhal. The Eternal Wheel holds no ever-after, only rebirth and dissolution through knowledge... thank the Triarchs I'm dumb, eh?" He grinned.

"I'm not well-versed in your faith." I admitted. "Then why...?"

"Why wasn't I reborn in a new body, or bodies? Unfinished business. You know how ghosts are. And some things seem universal, regardless of your faith."

"I see. May I ask how...?" I didn't say "die". Ghosts are touchy at best about death, when they even acknowledge it, in my experience.

Three laughed, wearing earsplitting grins. "Good question. I'm dying to know."

[Strigoi Grey]

Book I, Chapter 5

***
" Stories rarely end as they begin." -Unknown.

After our discussion, Three showed me the crew's quarters, which were located at the other end of the corridor that I'd walked to reach the engine room. I mentioned it was a simple design for a ship, and he laughed, and said that was the point. I asked about the kitchens, and he said they were on the deck, just not at the moment.

My room was empty, save for a bed. I'd taken nothing with me when escaping the inn, as I hadn't expected to leave like that, not that I had many possessions, at the moment. Still, I'd have to decorate later.

Hah. Just a bed... sailors often havd to sleep in rooms half as big as mine, on the floor. I was in no position to complain.

"Make yourself comfortable." Three said. "We're leaving tonight, provided nothing goes-" He stopped talking and made an annoyed sound. His selves looked at each other in exasperation.

"I know, I know. No jinxing here." He turned to me, shaking his head.

"I'm going back. Gotta calm the ship down. She gets nervous when there are new people on her. You know how shy people are..." And he left, straight through my wall.

Minutes later, I was on the deck. Mharra was leaning on the railing, grinning, his eyes on the horizon. I couldn't see Ib anywhere.

"How did you find Three?" He asked, not looking at me.

"He was pleasant enough, if a bit... distracted. Understandably, in my opinion."

Now, he did turn to look at me. "He, eh? Already? Good, good... most people can't get used to that, which upsets him. Partly why it's only been the three of us for some time. But I meant, how did you find where he was?"

"I just called out to him and said you sent me. Why?"

"Three can read people. He doesn't show himself unlesd he thinks you're worth it."

"Another test?" I asked, frowning. Mharra smiled at my expression, but said nothing.

"Do you know how Three came to be... like this?" I asked carefully. To my surprise, Mharra laughed.

"Careful, boy! If you learn everything about us on the first day, you'll get bored and leave the crew. Or jump overboard. People have done that, too. Don't. I'm not jumping after you." He stopped grinning, and sighed. "To answer your question... of course not. You think I'd leave him like this if I did?"

I decided to change the subject. "What do you expect me to do, captain? I've no experience as a sailor." I lied. "In my previous travels, I've always been a passenger."

Mharra raised his eyebrows. "I thought you never left this island?" He jerked his head toward the shore. "Or are you a chronomancer, after all?"

Dammit. Between the trial and meeting Three, I'd forgotten that lie. Sloppy. My younger self would have laughed his head off, right before cutting my throat for being this lax.

"I meant my travels on the island." I said smoothly. "I've ridden carts, carriages... even a few autocarts."

Mharra sighed, shaking his head. He walked away from the railing, toward me.

"I don't know why you're so scared, boy. Whoever you are, whatever you've done, you'll achieve nothing by covering it in lies. Follow this advice. I didn't." And he passed me, heading to the door that led belowdecks.

That was when the deck shook, as if struck by a meteor. I turned, staggering, and saw Ib, in its humanoid form. Had it come to kill me for lying to its captain? No... if it had wanted that, it would have landed on me, not behind me.

"Mharra collects broken things." It said, face morphing into a sad smile. "He found this ship when it was languishing on a dying island, like a washed-up whale. He saved Three when he was coming apart, though I must ask you not to mention that, to either of them."

The giant leaned forward, grinning conspirationally. "Don't spread the word, but Mharra never asks for payment from those who can't afford it. We're no great warriors, smiting down evil wherever it may be found... but we try to spread joy where we can."

I nodded. Of course Mharra didn't want it known. He was still a showman, despite his alleged soft spot.

"He wants to avoid being seen as weak." I said. Ib shook its head.

"He doesn't want to be seen as strong, either. Draws foes to you like you wouldn't believe..."

I nodded. "I know what it's like." I said. If Ib asked, I'd mention my escape from the mob.

The grey giant sighed heavily. "Being honest with me won't make up for lying to Mharra. Good deeds don't erase the bad... Dhalgo." Ib cocked its head like a bird. "Do you know why I'm called 'Ib'?".

"Is it not your name?" It scoffed.

"Part of it, maybe. Some days, I remember it's a fraction of my true name. Other days, I think I've always been Ib. You caught me on a good day."

I almost asked what our 'fight' would have been like on a bad day, but I held my tongue. Amazing, I know. But I didn't want to anger it, resulting in a demonstration.

"When Mharra fished me from the waves," Ib continued. "He promised that, one day, I would find my way home, and learn who I truly am."

"...How do you know you were not born of the ocean?" I asked hesitantly. Ib laughed, the sound like grinding gears.

"I'm no animal, Seaborn or Manifestation. I know, like I know I am Ib."

"You two done hugging up there?" Mharra's voice came from below us, startling me. The sound carried through the deck like through air.

Maybe there was more to the ship than met the eye.

"Three is done coaxing the ship into moving. We're setting sail, right now!"

"I though we were leaving tonight?" Ib asked, amused.

"Bah, screw schedules! We have no business here, anyway. No crowd."

"Where are we going, captain?" I asked. Mharra laughed. He seemed endlessly cheerful, but it had to be a facade. No way he was running this ship through good cheer and bad jokes.

"Wherever we desire, my boy! We are free men, and let whim and wish guide our path". I could hear Three grumble 'Play it up, why don't you?'.

Ib sank to a knee, to meet my eyes, though it had none.

"I doubt I will ever learn my true name, Dhalgo." It placed a heavy hand on my right shoulder, and my knees buckled. "But you know yours, and don't try to fool me. Don't let the truth slip away from you, my friend. Don't lose yourself, like me."

[Strigoi Grey]

Book I, Chapter 6

***
"In the belly of the beast... how many times have you heard this phrase? What does it make you think of? Perhaps being trapped in some great monster's stomach. I certainly think of that, sometimes- bad memories. But there is more to that. The belly of the beast is the place and moment where men are reduced to their worst, base selves, made to confront themselves. Who are they in the dark?'' - Narrzho Dhavayn, Duke of Nhargavyn, adressing his court;

As I learned, much to my displeasure, it was not called the Rainbow Burst because of the way it looked.

The moment the ship started, it reared up like a horse. I staggered, falling backwards. The only thing to grab on the deck was the railing, which was too far away to reach. Luckily, Ib was there to catch me. The grey giant -who, I'd noticed, had not moved when the ship had reared up, almost as if it was nailed to the deck- moved behind me, passing me in a blur. Instead of falling backwards, I instead found myself supported by something both strong and yielding. The best way to describe it would be to say it was like a steel pillow: hard to the touch, but pliable.

Eventually, in a few moments that seemed like hours, the ship fell forward, smashing into the tides and spraying saltwater hundreds of meters into the air.

''Oh, for Vhaarn's sake-'' I began, looking up at the mass of saltwater falling back toward us. Behind me, Ib chuckled. Then, it changed again, becoming spherical, covering me like a tent. I barely heard the water hitting it as it fell. When things seemed to have settled down, based on the little I could hear, Ib retracted, taking its humanoid form again. It stood with its back to me, all arms crossed and looking at the horizon.

''Did he get washed!?'' Mharra's voice came from belowdecks. He laughed, and I could hear Three snickering alongside him.

''You two are arseholes!'' I shouted, but I couldn't keep the grin from my face. ''The Pit was that, captain? Some inane prank?''

''No prank, Dhalgo! Consider it your... initiation!'' He chuckled, then cleared his throat, trying to sound more serious. ''Before every voyage, you should clean yourself, body and soul, to ensure great fortune on the tides.''

I raised an eyebrow. Was Mharra a Naturalist? The Tide Elders demanded that sailors clean themselves before setting off, but had few other commandments. I supposed it suited Mharra, as far as faiths went. He was a free spirit, so a loose religion made sense....

It would be better than that time I travelled with a Godless, at least. She kept rambling that all gods were actually old mages keeping hoaxes going, and we had to dodge smiting attempts the whole journey.

''He is dry, captain.'' Ib rumbled, sounding amused. ''I covered him.'' Mharra and Three jeered.

''Do you want to anger the Elders, Ib?'' Mharra asked, in a mock-zealous voice. ''Do you want us all to sink?''

''Don't you want to see him wet, Ib?'' And that was Three. I could practically hear him waggling his eyebrows. ''We could dunk him into the ocean if...''

''No, thank you.'' I said, sardonically. ''Now, is there a way to fulfill that stupid requirement without skinny dipping?''

''Just go wash your face, friend. It should be enough.'' Ib said, looking at me over its shoulder.

'' I already did this morning. Anything else?'' I asked.

''Yes.'' Ib turned fully to face me. ''Get back at those two first chance, alright? It does no one good, if only one side gets pranked.''

By now, the ship had started forward, cutting through the ocean like a hot knife through butter. No oars, no sails. Just ingenious mechanisms, mainainted by Three... and perhaps something more.

The island dissapeared from our sight in minutes. I wondered what had happened with that mob from the inn, and whether they would follow me. I could see no vessel trailing us, but you never know...

I did not wonder what Mherran was doing. That was behind me now, like so many other betrayals, given and received.

By evening, Mharra came to join me and Ib on the deck. His face was visibly flushed, even in the gloom, likely from the heat of the engine room. I wondered wheteher he had helped Three with maintenance, and asked him so.

''Among other things.'' He said, smiling enigmatically. ''Can I speak with you for a moment, Dhalgo? In private.'' He gestured toward the railing, and started walking toward it without waiting for my response. I had to jog to catch up with him.

Mharra was leaning back against the railing, head tilted backwards to look at the sky. The moon was half-visible, like a half-lidded eye, and the stars were only now beginning to appear, like shy chicks from underneath a hen's wings.

''What was it, sir?'' I asked, crossing my arms and facing him. I'd be damned if I ever turned my back on this man, literally or otherwise. Pit, I barely trusted him while I had my eyes on him.

''What is it you fear, boy?'' He asked, not looking at me. "You are clearly running from something, and I doubt it's just a pursuer or two. Did you run away on your own accord, or were you chased away?''

''What was it that made you become a showman?'' I shot back. '' Was your heart so filled with joy you just had to share it, or it would burst? Midworld has enough marvels already.''

Now he turned his head to meet my gaze. His eyes were twinkling, though I could not say with what.

''Pretty good sea legs, for someone who's never left his island.'' He grinned. ''Practiced on a lake back home?''

''Indeed.'' I said honestly, ''Perhaps you'd like some advice, sir?''

His grin widened, but before he could reply, Ib called out to us.

''Belowdecks! Something is rising ahead!''

And it was. The waves bulged and lifted, a mountain-sized, wormlike shape rising from beneath. It reached the clouds in seconds, and the speed of its passage cracked the air. My ears rang, and I covered them with my hands. They came away bloody.

Water fell away from the thing, revealing its hideous features. It was indeed wormlike, white as a fish's belly and so thick around, a thousand men could not circle a fraction of it. Its face was almost all mouth: a circular, hill-sized nightmare with rows and rows of blackened, man-sized fangs. And its eyes... there was nothing human or animalistic in those gleaming, black depths. They were tall and wide enough to drive an elephant through, and gleamed with a cold, alien intelligence.

And hunger...

[Strigoi Grey]

Book I, Chapter 7

***
"Don't worry, lads! That damn freak is big and slow. No way it can close the distance that f-"-Unknown captain's last words while staring down a Seaworm;

And here I had been worried my first day would be boring...

Seaworms were...not uncommon creatures. They did not consume vessels because of hunger, though they could digest anything, but because they hated anything that disturbed the sea around or above them, except for their kin. They usually swam through Midworld's deeper regions, where the Sun's light does not reach because of ancient pacts and enmities. Hence their pale bodies and specialized sensory organs. The eyes were just for show, I knew. Something to distract rivals and enemies, make them concentrate on false targets while the worm did its best to tear them asunder.

I had once heard of a captain who had emptied her ship's ammo stores destroying a worm's eyes, to no avail. The creature had amused itself with its prey's futile efforts, then destroyed them. Because they could be cruel, too.

Vhaarn, did Mharra know about the eyes? I called out to him, but he was already running. I ran after him, shouting that the monster did not have weakpoints: any part of its body could do what every other part did.

"I know! Come belowdecks and let Ib handle it! It's not safe to dawdle about when it's fighting seriously!"

Rather than ask what he meant, I nodded and kept running. Soon, we were down the stairs. I followed him to the engine room, but the door would not open. I began swearing, but Mharra elbowed me.

"Get a hold of yourself, or you'll die." He said with a stern look. And then, Three's transparent arms reached through the door, grabbed both of us... and pulled us through the door.

I felt like I was falling in all directions at once, spinning through worlds I had never seen. I tried to breathe with lungs I did not have anymore-and then, I was material again.

I took a deep breath, touching myself to see if I was still here. Then, I shook my head to get rid of the daze that had taken hold of me.

I looked at the grinning Three and the laughing Mharra. What the Pit was so damn funny?

"Sorry." Three said, not sounding sorry at all. "I sealed the room for our protection-well, yours, that is."

"What did you do to us? Did you... turn us into ghosts? Are you a mage?" I asked him.

"Not as such. When you're dead, you start seeing and doing things... differently. Was it pleasant?"

"Yes, like a cactus up the arse! Next time, give me a damned warning."

Three looked at me with a strange glimmer in his eyes. "Interesting analogy..."

"Bah, it's just your first time! It will get better each time you do it, trust me." Mharra said, clapping me heartily on the back.

"True. You should have heard the captain scream during his first time." Three smirked, and Mharra laughed even harder.

"Pull up the sightglass." Mharra told Three after he stopped laughing. The ghost nodded, one of his bodies moving to a long metal table and doing something to its surface. A section of metal fell away, revealing a glass rectangle the size of my chest. We huddled around it, and the blank surface was soon replaced by a view of the ship and the Seaworm.

We saw Ib standing on the deck, arms spread as if it was ready to jump on the Seaworm and wrestle it into submission.

What followed was even more ridiculous.

Ib jumped kilometres into the air, the sightglass adjusting to show us the clouds and the worm's head. Above me, I heard something like a thunderclap, and the ship shook. The side effects of Ib's jump. The steamer must have been very durable to not fall apart or break under such force, but it had not even been pushed downwards. Why?

The sightglass also slowed down the events in the real world, so we could see them at normal speed. After all, Ib had jumped kilometers in less than a heartbeat. It was now among the clouds, once more an amorphous, grey blob, supported by nothing visible. Then, it changed shape and size, growing and growing until it dwarfed several clouds, and even the worm's head, for all that it was the size of a small mountain.

Where was Ib pulling matter from to enlarge itself? Only magic could do that... but then, I did not even know what Ib was.

It became a sphere, covered in spikes and bristling with all manners of weapons. A one-being armoury.

"I know why you have come. Perversion of life's cycle. Killing for joy, not for need. Worse than a beast you are, vile as the lowest of men... and you lack their excuses as well. You knew what you would be made into." Ib spoke in a voice like crumbling mountains, nothing like the gentle giant from earlier.

And, more importantly, what was it talking about? What did it know, or think it knew, about the worm?

The worm moved its head from side to side, dispersing clouds. The force of its movements shook the air kilometers beneath it, making the ship shudder and vibrate. But it still held, and I though I could hear it growling in defiance at the monster.

"You hunger, I know. It's all you can do, all you can ever feel. Otherwise, you would be afraid of me." Ib said in a mocking tone. The worm roared, and Ib's form rippled. Deep beneath, the steamer groaned audibly.

"But it is cruel to deny fools their joys, even though they should know better. Choke on this meal." Ib blurred forward, even with the screen's slowed down perspective, and the clouds in its way were unmade by the sheer force. The worm reacted, and caught Ib in its mouth. It somehow forced the grey sphere down its throat, despite Ib dwarfing its head, and for a moment, I held my breath.

Then, the worm trembled. It shook back and forth, and great grey spikes appeared from inside it, covered in thick, milk-white blood. More and more appeared, until the worm burst apart, a mountain of flesh unmade. An avalanche of gore fell upon the steamer, and I absurdly though what a pain it would be to clean the ship.

And from above, I could hear Ib's laughter.

[Strigoi Grey]

Book I, Chapter 8

***
"Alright, is there a law that says we have to meet in taverns? Just for once, I'd like something different. I've never met a mage in a library or a thief while he was breaking into a house, no, it's always a tavern. Some of those people didn't even drink!"-Ghyrra the Gilded after meeting several adventurers in the Dandy Lion tavern;

"Sorry for the spectacle." Ib said after coming back down to the ship. By then, we had returned to the deck and started cleaning it."We are not fighters, but sometimes, you just have to..." It gestured vaguely at the gore-covered steamer and the Seaworm's remains.

"I know what you mean, Ib. I also kill mountain-sized monsters when I'm bored." I said drily.

"Indeed? We'll have to spar sometime, then. Compare techniques." The giant replied, sounding eager. I think I paled a few shades.

"Oh, let the boy be, Ib. Some us are modest when it comes to showing off our power." Mharra said, dropping me a heavy wink. I couldn't say if he was being sarcastic. But then, I also couldn't believe he was keeping a ghost like Three and whatever Ib was in line with kind words.

Although, I hadn't sensed any magic from him either. But it wouldn't be the first time someone fooled me like that.

"Yeah, like me. If I didn't say it, most people wouldn't even notice I'm a ghost!" One of Three's bodies said, the others nodding sagely. I didn't comment.

"You can put that down, Dhalgo. I'll take over from here." Ib said kindly, gesturing at my mop. I was about to give the giant the mop and bucket, if it wanted to clean, but it surprised me again.

Are you familiar with quicksand? Have you seen how objects and people sink into it without leaving any trace? I am. It doesn't compare to how Ib feeds.

The giant's body...unraveled, for lack of a better form. One moment, I was looking at a six-armed, humanoid body. The next, Ib was like a giant grey sheet floating over the ship. The sheet then came apart, pieces of it blurring over the steamer and absorbing the pale blood and guts into themselves. They weren't even stained as the worm's remains disappeared like pebbles into a murky lake.

A part of me noted how useful Ib would be for hiding corpes. I wished we had met earlier.

In moments, the ship was spotless, looking even cleaner than when I had first seen it. Mharra grinned, clapping at Ib's efforts, while Three's selves shouted, "Encore!".

I wasn't sure whether he was talking about the cleaning or the Seaworm's destruction. Knowing Three, probably both.

Ib assumed what I was starting to think of as its default form again, sighing like a man after a good meal. It wasn't until years later that I learned what a good comparison that was.

As Ib stretched like a satisfied cat, I took a good look at its body. It did not look larger-indeed, there was no sign it had absorbed anything. Almost as if the gore had been erased from existence.

"If I may be so bold...where is everything? Should you not have become heavier by now?" I asked the giant.

Ib's blank face morphed into a smile. "Have you heard about pantries, Dhal? I don't instanly use everything I get my hands on, you know." I waited for it to elaborate. It did not.

I looked at Three, who shrugged, and Mharra, who winked at me. Again.

Something told me that, however long this voyage took, it would feel like forever.

Three months later

Kapharna Island had been inhabited for centuries, and it had showed: the building had been old, the fields well-tended, the people content.

Complacent.

After our last show, we had offered to take some people with us on the steamer, in case a disaster struck the island. You never knew, after all. But the island's leader, an elderly woman who called herself the 'mayor', had declined, as had her council.

"Kapharna has been kind to us." She had explained. "We are isolated. There is little of value to take. Not enough to bother. The people who stop here are merchants, or circus workers, like you." Mharra had looked constipated at that description.

"We do not wish to leave-indeed, we are afraid to. Who knows if we will find another island like this, in Midworld's waters? Better to die, having only known joy, than live in suffering." I had understood her point. In the past, in rare moments of joy and peace, I had thought to end everything, rather than live more and find a new pain. But my cowardice had always won out.

And that had been that. We had not tried to argue with them, or change their minds. It was not our place. Our shows had bough some more joy and wonder in their lives, and that had been enough, as far as Mharra was concerned. We had seen stranger cultures on the sea, after all. If these people wanted an end brought by inaction, it was their right.

Ah, captain, my captain... I have not yet learned his hidden talent, if indeed he has one. But the things he can do with a few stage props and chemical tricks? I have seen people who know real magic do worse in front of crowds.

I had become popular, too. People came to me to share the memories of my joys, not that I had shown them anything incriminating. It was still better than most powders, or so my customers had said.

Still, it would be good to come to my room at night without finding naked women, men and others in my bed. Ib would let them in just to mess with me, I was sure. Bloody admirers...

Now, we were sailing again. We had accepted several gifts from the Kapharnans, because they had expected us to take something, anything we wanted.

In truth, Ib provided most of what we needed and used on the ship. It could absorb seawater and turn it into metal, food, clothes and so much more. But I, at least, felt unsettled wearing and eating what was essentially part of my friend. I had told it that once.

"It's alright, Dhal." Ib had said cheerfully. "It would only be cannibalism if I was human."

I tried not to have discussions like that with it too often.

As night fell and the Moon rose, Mharra disappeared belowdecks, to join Three. They were always the happiest in each other's company. They did not have any issues with others joining in, but I did. Ib seemed not to care, one way or the other.

Hours after nightfall, when the crescent moon hung in the sky like a flung blade frozen in midair, I saw a light on the horizon.

Well, I say I did, but Ib saw it first. I wasn't sure how its senses worked, or what their limits were, and neither did it... but they were far sharper than mine, at least.

"Let them come, Dhal." My friend said. "We'll learn their intentions when they approach." The giant smiled thoughtfully. "Unless they start throwing things at us before that. Then we'll be sure."

"Them?" I asked.

"Oh, yes."

As we and the light approached each other, Mharra and Three came above to join us.

"Travellers meeting at sea! Maybe we can become friends, or enemies! Hope it will be the latter, foes are easier to loot!" Mharra exclaimed boisterously, fists on his hips. He was wearing his usual multi-coloured captain's coat and three-cornered hat. Three was wearing insubstantial engineer's coveralls and had his arms crossed, floating a meter above the deck. He took one look at the light andgronaed in exasperation.

"Zhaarhax take me, one of those..." Before I could ask what he meant, I heard a booming sound, like an enormous struck drum, though it left no echo.
As the light came closer, I saw it was a ship, a sailship, three-masted, with azure sails. It was not glowing because of anything it carried onboard, no:the wood itself shone like it was gold, and the sails sparkled in the moonlight. Magic.

When the ship was a hundred metres from ours, a figure appeared on its deck. I do not mean it rose from belowdecks or dropped from the crow's nest-it appeared, out of nowhere. The figure jumped, closing the distance between our ships in less time than it took me to blink.

I was surprised at the temerity, but not alarmed. If the figure had been a threat, Ib or Three would have stopped him... her.

The woman standing before us was gorgeous. Dark-skinned and dark-haired, scarred, tall, clad in thick, glasslike plate armour that changed colour as the light fell over it.

And here I had though Mharra was flamboyant.

She walked closer to us, smiling in greeting, one hand raised and open to show that she was coming in peace. But I took a closer look at her armour and realized its colour wasn't the only thing that constantly changed. Blades, of all shapes and sizes, formed and disappeared into the mirrorlike surface like fish in a river.

"Forgive my exuberance, fellow travelers. But we've been cooped inside that old tub for months, and you know how it gets..." The woman's left eye was gone, just ragged flesh where it had once been, and her lips could hardly be seen amongst old scars. I though she was still beautiful. "Call me the Swordsaint."

[Strigoi Grey]

Book I, Chapter 9

***

"For the sake of whatever god you follow, do not walk with heroes. They draw disasters to them like a corpse draws flies, and you better pray you don't get saddled with a cheerful one. Their friends always die so they can 'build character'. I don't know how I'm still alive..."-Excerpt from A mentor's memoirs;

The Swordsaint...

I knew the stories, of course. You cannot adventure for centuries without the people of Midworld knowing you, or at least of you.

I studied the faded wounds on her face. How many duels had she fought to be marked like this, despite her prowess? She could only be harmed by blades, as projectiles and spells shattered against her, and other weapons were useless.

I had always imagined she would look...untouched.

"It's an honour to host a living legend such as yourself, milady." Mharra spoke first, of course. I could tell he wanted to befriend her quickly, so he could stop using honorifics. "Will your wife be joining us?"

The Swordsaint shook her head, a wistful smile on her face. "We are not traveling together at the moment. She is pursuing the Chaos Company, to settle old scores."

Mharra nodded carefully. "If there is anyone who could..."

The Swordsaint snorted in an unladylike manner. "At least she left a note this time. She used to go missing for months without me hearing of her. Bloody..." She closed her yes, sighed briefly, then smiled again. "But I shouldn't bore you with my home life. Do we have permission to come aboard? I think a change of scenery would do everyone some good... and, if you don't mind me saying, I think you would also like to see some new faces, no?''

Three floated forward at that, chest puffed out. "We are traveling showmen, ma'am! We see new people on every island, and on every ship that stops for us!'

"Oh? Then perhaps we should leave, so that you can have some time to yourselves..." The Swordsaint said slyly. Three hissed at that, one of his selves blurring forward to clasp his hands. The other two crowded around her.

"Please don't. I'm this close to throwing them three off the steamer, just to break the routine." Three mock-whispered. We all heard him.

The Swordsaint laughed. "Alright, alright! Just don't say I didn't warn you!"

Minutes later, the glowing ship, which was appropriately, if perhaps unimaginatively, named the Lantern, was floating alongside the Rainbow Burst, and its crew was mingling with us.

All of them, save for the Swordsaint, were Ghyrrians.

Ghyrria, the Lost Realm, was rarely talked about by Midworlders these days, except as a cautionary tale about being careful what you wished for. Millenia ago, Ghyrria had been a prosperous archipelago, which had lasted unusually long on the tides. The Ghyrrians had worshipped their ancestors in those days. Hardly unusual-Ancestrism was practised fairly widely even today, even if most of those who were not adherents saw it as families kissing their own arse. What marked history was what they did with their ancestors.

There is a saying about getting sick of good, usually told to spoiled, unruly children. I heard it dozens of times in my childhood, though you could never describe my young self as spoiled.

The Ghyrrians had apparently never heard of that saying. Their lands had been stable for centuries, their armies strong enough to drive off enemies, their defenses proof against nature's wrath. So, with no challenge and immediate threat, they had gotten bored.

They had felt their lives held no meaning, you see. Summoning their ancestors' spirits had brought no helpful answers, only advice to be content with what they had and warnings not to tempt fate.

The Ghyrrians had not worshipped gods back then. But they had seen all those other cultures who did, and who seemed so content and sure of themselves... surely, if they made their own gods, they could escape the endless ennui?

Godmaking, as you can perhaps imagine, is not an exact or safe practice.

The Ghyrrians had summoned all their ancestors, from the first settlers to people who had barely departed, and told them they had an answer now. An answer for everything.

The poor fools had only been too happy to help, and finally lay their descendants' minds to rest. They did not realize they were kindling in the furnace until the last moment, when the summoning circle revealed its full nature.

They screamed as they were consumed, for all that they had left flesh and pain behind long ago-or so they had though. There are torments not even the dead can escape. Three is proof of that.

The gods born of that atrocity and deceit were wondrous, marvelous-for they provoked wonder and marvel in all who beheld them. But they were not kind, or understanding of human nature. Not truly.

I have heard many names the Manmade Gods bear:the Listeners. The Watchers. The Shapers. The Mantlemakers.

But they can only be called monsters.

They snatched Ghyrria off the face of Midworld, and took it away, to a realm created by them that very moment-as us mortals count such things. We see time as a river, but to the gods, it is a lake.

The Fabled Domain, for it is a world where fables are true, no matter how horrific, is just as large as Midworld, but alien. There, the laws and patterns of stories reign supreme:Villains win until the last moment, then fail abjectly. Helpers and mentors are around every corner. And heroes rise from humble beginnings with the fate of everything they know on their shoulders, whether they wish or not. They are chosen, not choosers, after all.

And so, the Ghyrrians received what they though they wanted. Now, even the lowest peasant's life holds meaning, for so do all stories. And they can never, ever escape the chains they made for themselves.

As such, I was quite shocked to see multiple Ghyrrians outside of their realm. They all slouched or sprawled on chairs risen from the deck, as if a burden they had borne all their life had been removed. And, perhaps, that was the best comparison. They presented themselves before anything else, courteous as all heroes should be.

Sahmui was the leader of their party. Tall, dark and handsome in a rugged sort of way, he wore plate so heavy it would have broken my back, and on his belt was a sword that spoke when it did not sing. On his back was strapped a round shield, polished to a mirror sheen, that could reflect all dangers directed at him, from weapons to spells to illnesses. It was the only reason to use both a shield and plate, he said.

Lhansyl was his second-in-command. Also clad in plate, he wielded a three-meter spear, with a dark green shaft and blood-red head. When it pierced an enemy, it bloomed like a rose, filling it with spikes that could not be removed by vise or spell, not even by turning back time.

Arhanne was their archer, though she said that was only her Mantle. After all, real archers had skill, while her arrows automatically sought a target's weakest point, whatever defences were in the way.

Rhonne was their infiltration specialist, which, in the business, meant former outlaw who hoped to escape imprisonment or execution through good deeds. I could only perceive her when she wished me too, and her mood changed like the weather. I wasn't sure whether the others were having better luck with their senses, and I could not spot any weapons on her person. Perhaps she did not need any.

Shaiam was the group's brute, though he seemed a gentle giant so far. He was clad in thick, gilded armour that left no part of him exposed, but that was to be expected. Homunculi rarely shared the limitations of the beings who made them up, so why leave any holes in the armour?

Finally, Whayzir was their mage. A wizard, to be exact, as he only drew upon his own power, and claimed not to use any arcane artefacts. Beside his staff, of course, but that was only for channeling and focusing power. Or so he said. I could not feel any source of power beside his mana, at least, which dwarfed mine like a lake dwarfs a raindrop. But then, Whayz, as he insisted to be called, was a battle mage. He shattered mountains and levelled the earth from horizon to horizon, so of course he had great power. I have always been... subtle.

"Forgive the prattle. You'd think we were villains with how he talked your ears off..." Whayz said with a sheepish grin from where he was leaning on his staff. "We're used to, ah, sharing things about ourselves. At least this time, it's force of habit, and nothing more. I think." He blinked owlishly, and seemed to concentrate on something far away.

A classic adventuring party... and the Swordsaint. Was she playing mentor without even realising? And could these six truly have escaped the patterns of their realm, or the Mantles that shaped their powers and selves?

[Strigoi Grey]

Book I, Chapter 10

***

"If you have three or more people in the same place, chances are at least two of them will start measuring sizes. Gender is irrelevant."-The Bladefiend;

"If I may ask, how did such an illustrious personage as yourself come across such a formidable party of adventurers?" I asked the Swordsaint after the Ghyrrians stopped sighing their hearts out.

She looked over her shoulder, an amused grin on her face. Sahmui scowled.

"We met in a tavern." He said, in a tone that suggested he had given that answer countless time in the past, and expected to keep giving it in the future.

Arhanne nodded rapidly. "Yeah, yeah! See, we needed someone who knew Midworld like the back of their hand, but who was also strong enough to handle themselves. We can't take care of deadweights, no offense Shai."

The homunculi waved a huge hand and rumbled dismissively. It sounded oddly musical.

Arhanne's head snapped around from her companion to us. She fixed me with an intense stare. "It's an old joke, an inside joke, you see? We call him deadweight 'cause he's big and heavy and dead, no offense Shai."

Shaiam also turned to look, if he had eyes, and nodded heavily.

"Anyway," Lhansyl cut in, an annoyed frown on his face. "We met the Swordsaint. Even in Ghyrria, we hear tales of her prowess. We knew she was trustworthy and skilled, but someone needed to test her mettle."

He shot a meaningful look at Sahmui, whose scowl deepened. The swordsman didn't say anything, so his second went on.

"They went to this island to duel. Three hundred thousand square kilometers, covered in mountains whose peaks you couldn't see if you looked at them on the horizon. People called it 'Ridgeland'.

I must admit I never heard of that island. Hmm...

"Called it Ridgeland? What's it called now?''Mharra asked. He always liked a good story, especially if fights were involved.

"Pebbles." Lhansyl said. "You can't fight like they did and not change the face of the world."

Absently, I wondered how Ib would do against the Swordsaint or the Ghyrrian swordsman. From what I knew of it, I didn't like its chances... but then, I hardly knew much about Ib.

"Midworld is.... it's fascinating, really." Sahmui said, pointedly ignoring the story about his duel. I noticed no one said who had won. "Since we've come here, I've been able to kill several smug bastards while they were monologuing. You have no idea how annoying it is to try that back home..."

The Ghyrrians nodded sagely. I imagined it must be strange for them, not being compelled to act like carricatures so that some upjumped freaks could amuse themselves.

"You say you are traveling showmen." The swordsman said, rising from his seat. ''In Ghyrria, your ilk are opportunists, as likely to help heroes as hinder them. If we are to remain in your hospitality," I could hear the air quotes. "We must be sure of your past deeds and future intentions."

As Sahmui stepped forward, his eyes changed. I couldn't help but look into them, and suddenly, I was drowning in memories.

Copper's Cradle was a small, quiet island, named for its rich copper mines. My people had delved into them for decades, and the reserves did not appear to be ending.

As such, I was shocked when my father Gharzov announced that we would be leaving the Cradle, and never returning. It was the only placed I had ever known in my ten years of life.

"But why?" I asked. It was evening. I had returned from the mine, and my father was waiting for my daily report. Not for questions whose answers, he later told me, should be obvious. He struck me, and I fell backwards, hitting my head on the bare floor. My teeth felt loose, and my mouth was bleeding, but that seemed to be it. Father was feeling gentle tonight.

I heard light footsteps behind and above me. When I looked, I saw my mother Frelzha looking down on me, arms crossed, a disappointed look on her face. She did not say anything, only looked meaningfully at me, like she always did when I did something wrong.

"Have you lost your wits, boy? Do you think the world is going to spare this island because you're too damned stupid to understand the tides are unforgiving?" Gharzov asked, standing above me, fists on his hips.

"I... I k-know that. B-But...we have so many mages....couldn't we cast a spell to defend-"I began carefully, trying not to touch my cracked teeth with my tongue. Father kicked me in the chin.

"So, instead of sailing to another island where our mages' skills can be put to good, proper use, we should waste them on a child's half-baked idea, which might not even work?

And then, the true beating began.

The next day, my people left the island. I remained on it until the last moment, hoping my attachment to the Cradle would sway someone, anyone, perhaps even nature.

Even as the tides hammered the island, filling me with terror, I could hear my father mocking me from his ship, saying that, if I loved the place so much, I should die with it. And I would have, had a mage not taken pity on me and teleported me to my parents' ship. They were so pleased to see me, I wasn't even unconscious when they were done.

Later that evening, I asked my mother why they always beat me, even when, as far as I could tell, I wasn't guilty of anything. Certainly the other children were punished less for worse blunders.

"Pain will reveal your true self." My mother said enigmatically, then left my cabin. I lay on the swaying bed-was that the ship's movement, or was I just dizzy?- thinking of how everything had changed. Eventually, I fell into a dreamless sleep. I did not feel rested when I woke up.

And so went things for the next three years. The people of lost Copper's Cradle sailed Midworld, briefly staying on this or that island until we were forced to leave due to natural disaster, lack of resources or disagreement with the locals. I always tried not to grow attached to my new, temporary homes, and sometimes, I even succeeded.

My disdain for my parents grew, twisting into hatred. My father was a hardworking man, and looked after the community, so his behaviour in his home was his own business, in the people's opinion. My mother was a teacher and healer-probably the only reason I was still alive-and didn't always join when father was disciplining me. But when she did...

Mages often develop their powers in moments of great passion. I like to imagine my quiet anger helped with that. I learned to share my pain, first with insects, then with mice and, finally, with our old family dog. The poor thing was blind and lame, so I thought to put him out of his misery. My parents never learned I was responsible for his death, but I was punished anyway.

Pain will reveal your true self, indeed. But they had never known who I truly was.

So, one evening, inside our home on our newest island, I came up to the common room. The stairs creaked and groaned as I ascended up them. My parents' bones would do so as well. Soon.

"Father? Mother? I... I have something I thing I should share with you." I said. My parents rose from their chairs, walking to stand around me. Close enough that I could be punished if I needed to be.

"What have you done this time, boy?" My mother asked in an exasperated tone. I did not answer. I just clasped their hands, and let them known my pain.

All the beatings. All the heartache, for the lost homes and the affection I had felt towards them. All the torments I had visited upon myself in secret, hoping it would increase my magic power.

All that flooded their minds at once, and they could not scream, not even whimper. They fell to the floor, writhing and shaking in an agony greater than any seizure. Their eyes had rolled so that only the whites were visible now, and they were frothing at the mouth. I prayed they were still aware of themselves. Surely Vhaarn would grant me this request, at least?

I turned my back on them, and ran, not looking back. I ran until I reached the docks and hopped into a spare steamboat. Tapping into my gift to remember moments of rest, I set sail. I sailed until morning and the next evening, never letting go of my Gift, remaining aware and rested so I could steer the boat.

No doubt, my people had found my handiwork by now. Perhaps they had even set sail in pursuit of me...but they could never reach me. None of them could keep up with me, enhanced by magic as I was, and none of our mages had gifts suited for tracking or pursuing.

And so began my lone journey across Midworld. I was careful to never reveal my gift-enough people wanted to exploit a young boy even if he lacked magic- and to change my name and appearance as often as I could. You never knew who could become interested in you.

Now, I was-

"Ryzhan Yldii." Sahmui spat my true name like a curse, dragging me back into reality. I was familiar with the tone. "How can these people," he gestured at my crewmates, who looked as stunned as I felt. Had he used his power on them as well? "Bear your presence, you hypocritical bastard?"

I did not answer. My hands were clenching and unclenching, and I could not wait to grab hold of this sanctimonious son of a bitch. Was this what being tormented by memories felt like?

"Oh?" Sahmui said, a smug smile creeping across his face. "You haven't told them yet?"

END OF BOOK I

[Strigoi Grey]

Book II, Chapter 1

***
"All it takes for evil to triumph is discord among good men."-The Swordsaint;

I only heard the sound of shattered metal after the ship tilted to one side.

One moment, Sahmui was grinning at me, taunting me. The next, he was buried to the deck up to his shoulders, upside down. The Swordsaint was standing next to to him, gauntlets shaped into spinning, serrated blades. Her scarred face showed anger and...disappointment. Like she had expected this, but hoped it would not happen.

"You damned fool." She said to the downed swordsman, anger bubbling underneath the calm tone. "This is not Ghyrria! You cannot delve into people's minds because they  might be dangerous!"

I was shocked at the display of strength. Ib's jump months ago, which would have cleared mountains, had not even dented the deck, let alone almost flipped the ship.

Was Sahmui still alive? If so, he was as monstrously tough as the Swordsaint was strong.

"And you..." She turned her thunderous gaze to the other Ghyrrians, who did not seem altogether surprised by this."You should have warned him, like I did, not that he listened to me. He cannot do this here."

"I think you'll find that he just did-" Rhonne began, her smile partly visible in the shadows of her cowl. The Swordsaint closed the twelve metres separating them so fast I didn't see anything. Suddenly, she was standing next to the railing, holding Rhonne by the throat with one hand. She tossed the rogue thirty metres away, to the Lantern, so fast Rhonne's body caught fire. Even after she landed on the glowing ship, smashing a hole through the deck, there was a trail of smoke in the air.

Sahmui had pushed himself out of the hole in our deck by now, shaking his head like a dog with water in its ears. He turned to look at the Swordsaint, frowning, then saw her face, thought better and looked away.

"You four." The Swordsaint said, looking at Lhansyl, Arhanne, Whayzir and Shaiam. "Take that moron," she gestured at Sahmui. "And go back to your ship. Now."

"Splitting the party?" Sahmui said sardonically, arms crossed. "You always warn us not to do that."

"Be happy I didn't split you in half." The Swordsaint said flatly. "Get out of my sight. Now. I have to make amends."

"Wait." Ib said, holding up a hand, having seemingly shaken off the daze caused by Sahmui's power. "Please. I must... I must understand..."

The Swordsaint raised an eyebrow, but Ib was focusing on Sahmui." You did something to me. To us." It told the swordsman. "For a moment, I... I remembered what I was, but..." Ib clutched at its head, body rippling in sheer frustration. "I've forgotten again! What have you done!?"

Sahmui sighed. "You are free, as always. As you were meant to be. For now, this means being free of the truth of your origin. It is not my place..." He trailed off at Lhansyl's meaningful cough.

"Even if I used my Mantle again, or told you what I've seen, it would not help. You must return where you began to remember yourself. Otherwise, the truth will keep slipping through your fingers."

Ib, for the first time since I've met it, looked lost. Then, its face morphed into a wrathful grimace.

"You are useless to me." It ground out. Then, it looked away from Sahmui and to his fellow adventurers. By now, they had risen from their seats and were looking uncertain.

"I am not your keeper." It told the Ghyrrians."Travel Midworld at your leisure. But do not cross our path again, or I will send you back to Ghyrria. In pieces."

Sahmui looked ready to argue, then looked at his teammates and shook his head.

"Let them be." He said disdainfully, turning to walk away from me and my crewmates. "They have whored themselves out for money for so long, they have forgotten virtue exists."

"Are you going to leave, or do you need some help?" Mharra asked, his usual smile tight and strained. "I've a kick to the arse in my pocket."

Sahmui scoffed, then jumped the thirty metres to his ship faster than I could see, the air cracking with a sound like thunder. Lhansyl and Arhanne followed, just as fast. Finally, Whayzir shot us all an apologetic look, then teleported away.

The Swordsaint sighed, then walked to a seat and sat down, face in her hands. She almost looked a fraction of her five hundred and twenty years.

"Forgive me." She said. "I thought this would be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, not..." She looked at the glowing ship, which was already sailing away. Sahmui stood on the deck, and his face showed a mixture of annoyance and...guilt?

As if.

"Creature!" He cried out, pointing a finger at...me? No, at Ib. "Seek the Free Fleet! Remember, there is no crueller chain than being master of your fate and not knowing your path!"

Was...was he quoting? One of the Free Fleet's early Admiral-Elects had said that...

I looked at Ib, but it just seeemed confused. Sahmui's parting words had not helped, it seemed.

Much like his previous ones.

Ib looked from him, to me, then to the Swordsaint. She shook her head.

"Forgive me. I do not know what he meant."

"It's alright." Ib said, voice not quite cracking. "Maybe he's given us a clue."

My friend sounded like it was trying to convince itself more than her.

Three harrumphed." Or maybe he meant to send us on a wild goose chase, as a final insult. Arsehole..."

"Even so..." Ib said, face morphing into a shaky smile." Even so, it gives us something to do. And if it  is a wild goose chase...well, I never truly expected to learn what I am."

"Ib..." Mharra said, smile falling away. He walked to the giant, his short, stocky body not even reaching its waist, and tried to embrace it.

Ib laid a huge hand on Mharra's back, almost covering it. Its smile briefly widened, looking more sincere. "It's alright, sir. You've always had more faith in me than I did."

Even today, I would be hard-pressed to say who was comforting who.

After they parted, Mharra's eyes were shining, though not with joy. "Well!" He clapped his hands, trying to grin confidently. "We've got our next stop! I've always wanted to sail with the Free Fleet!"

"The Free Fleet, captain? Why? Are we going to perform there?" Ib asked, incomprehension in its voice.

We briefly glanced at each other. Sahmui had been right, it seemed. Being told about its past did not help Ib. But to already forget?

"Yeah, Ib." Three said, trying to grin cheerfully. "You're gonna give them the show of their lives!"

[Strigoi Grey]

Book II, Chapter 2

***
"The first step to clearing the air is admitting it needs to be cleared."-Unknown;

"Of course. I appreciate your faith in me, Three." Ib said, then turned to the Swordsaint. "As you have parted from the Ghyrrians...do you have any means of travelling Midworld on your own? You could sail with us to the Free Fleet, then choose your own path from there."

"I can run on water." The Swordsaint replied. "But, though your offer is generous, despite the fool I brought into your midst, I must go look for my wife. She should have returned by now, whether successful or not. Even she is not headstrong enough to try and destroy the entire Chaos Company, at once, by herself."

I noticed her not even mentioning the chance of the Bladefiend having been killed...but I suppose you cannot live like she had and not have utter confidence in those close to you.

"Of course. Perhaps she has hit a snag, or lost herself in her enthusiasm." Mharra said diplomatically.

The Swordsaint smiled fondly. "Aye...aye, that sounds like her. I'll go look for her, lend a hand if she's not finished."

None of us asked how she planned to find her wife when she didn't even know where she was. Perhaps they had some unknown form of communication, or bond.

"We wish you luck." Three said, rather unexpectedly, all his selves clasping hands in front of themselves. "The Triarchs are not familiar gods, but perhaps Yghvlaar will preserve you in your journey."

Three bowed to the Swordsaint, and the old heroine returned the gesture. "Thank you for your prayer. And thank you all, for your undertsanding."

And she was gone. One moment, she was bowing in front of us. The next, I blinked, and she was a dot on the horizon. The water still steamed from her passing.

"What a terrifying woman." Mharra said thoughtfully. "I'm glad she's on our side."

"Our side, captain?" I asked.

"The side of good, Ryzhan." I almost flinched, despite myself. Hearing him say my name-hearing my name spoken by anyone else-was enough to set my teeth on edge. "Care to talk about that?"

"In the open? I'd rather not."

Mharra nodded, then jerked his head towards the door leading belowdecks. He, Three and I headed to it, then down the stairs, while Ib remained on the deck to stand guard. I knew it would still hear everything we discussed.

After we reached the engine room, Three's selves crossed their arms and legs, sitting in midair. Meanwhile, Mharra leaned against a wall, hands in his coat pockets, looking deceptively casual.

"Who is looking for you, that we couldn't speak on the deck?" Mharra asked in a tone like we were discussing the weather.

"Perhaps I wanted to lure you in an enclosed space, so I could silence you, now that you know my name." I said in a neutral voice.

Mharra held my gaze for a few seconds, the started snickering. Three looked at him, questioningly, as he began laughing outright

He laughed and laughed, throwing his head back, until he was red in the face. Finally, he stopped, but only to catch his breath. He was still grinning broadly.

"Don't pretend we're all fools, Ryzhan. Even if you somehow had a way to do that-and maybe you do, I won't pretend to know you-, you'd still have to deal with an Ib angered at its friends being 'silenced'. And, unless you're impossibly good at hiding your light under a bushel, I doubt you could truly do anything to Ib."

I didn't answer. Because, in truth, I did not know. During Mharra's test, I had managed to shake Ib off with my Gift...or had I? Ib had given every impression of being affected, which suggested it could feel pain, but...that had been my best shot. I couldn't kill people with a touch, and, seeing the way Ib had torn apart a Seaworm from the inside, I did not like my chances against it.

"I suppose we'll never know." I replied. "But...you have taken me into your midst, and shared your table and winnings with me. It would only be fair to return the favour."

I was laying it on thick, of course, and I doubted Mharra could not tell. The other two...well, they'd come to their own conclusions. Mharra wasn't the first to show me kindness. The only difference between him and the ones before was that I hadn't abandoned him yet.

And so, I told them of my childhood and youth. Of Copper's Cradle, and the work in the mines. Of my parents, and the awakening of my Gift. Of how I'd learned to share my pain, then repaid it tenfold.

Mharra listened, not saying a word, while Three's faces shifted through a series of emotions:sadness, shock...and pity.

The last always makes my gorge rise.

"Do you regret what you've done?" Mharra asked, after I'd already revealed more than I was comfortable with.

"Sometimes. Other times, I... I find comfort in it." I replied honestly. Mharra nodded.

"You are not as vile as you think you are, Ryzhan."

"But I am still vile?" I asked.

Three scoffed at that. "I'd have caved their skulls in while they were down. My mother might have been a scared fool, but she still loved me, as best as she could. I do not envy you..." And he stared off into space, seemingly lost in his past.

For a while, none of us said anything. It was Mharra who broke the silence.

"You should go up, talk to Ib as well."

"It already heard everything. The deck lets sounds pass, when it wants to." I pointed out. Mharra shook his head.

"That is not what I meant."

So, I sighed, and left the engine room. Up on the deck, Ib was watching the horizon, arms crossed. I started speaking to it, but it cut me off impatiently. It had indeed heard our discussion.

"Ib, I... I'm sorry. I...understand. If you are mad at my secrecy-"

"I'm not mad at you, Ryzhan." It said. "Only...envious. At least, when all is said and done, you still have a past."

[Strigoi Grey]

Book II, Chapter 3

***
"People who say the journey matters more than the destination clearly have never spent a decade going in circles around the same castle."- Sevhan the Stubborn, adventurer;

When Mharra said we'd be looking for the Free Fleet, I expected him to reach out to an old acquaintance, perhaps, either a member of the Fleet or someone who kept track of them.

But the captain, my captain, had never even seen the Fleet.

"Then how the Pit are we going to find it? It's big, yes, but Midworld is infinitely larger." I had told him after he'd revealed his lack of connections with the Free Fleet.

"Indeed it is, Ryzhan." He had replied. "But you know what is not infinite? The Fleet's voyages. Oh, their ships are all self-sufficient-a fact they're quite proud of, or so I've heard-but their patience is not. No matter how big the tub you ride in is, no matter if it flies or floats, it won't prevent cabin fever."

"What're you trying to say?" Three had asked, floating up through the floor as soon as Mharra has finished his sentence.

The captain had smiled. "Why, my boys...the Fleet must stop on an island, every now and then, to talk and mingle with other people, if only to hear new ideas and perspectives. They can't live in echo chambers, no matter how in love they seem with their propaganda."

And so, we set out on a wild goose chase. No, that was a poor comparison. At least geese left signs a trained tracker could follow. It was more like looking for a needle in a stack of identical needles. Why, you ask? Because islands appeared and disappeared all the time on Midworld. Oh, sure, most of them were visited by one of the Great Powers, if they survived enough, that is, but their inhabitants rarely stuck together long enough for the fact to make it into the records.

If they even had records.

The truth was, besides immense extended families, or extremely tight-knit communities, like the one I had once been part of, most islanders were only brief allies of convenience. They lived on and tended the same lands, as long as those existed, for a few years or decades. Then, when nature came to drag the island beneath the waves or scatter it into the winds, they would split with nary a look backwards.

No one would begrudge them that. Midworld, as it had been literally beaten into my skull, was not a a place for attachment. Not to places, at least. Those who insisted on forming such attachments, despite everything, were seen as weaklings or madmen.

I wondered what the Illuminated, with their floating island, thought of such assessments. Or the Clockwork King and his rival Queen, with their shifting demesnes.

I supposed I'd have to ask them, if we ever met.

Most islands we came across were the same. Recently-formed, with people settling on them months or years after the fact. Fledgling communities, doing their best to get by. Some islands were inhabited by veteran sailors, who had braved the tides and storms of Midworld for generations. Others, by people who had spent their lives on safe, long-lived islands, whose safety had ended, at long last.

If I felt some form of kinship with the latter, I saw no need to show it. There was no saying who knew me-that is, one of my previous identities.

After months of searching, we started feeling what Mharra had called 'cabin fever', too. Three spent more and more time outside the ship, flying through the clouds or under the waves, one of his selves remaining in the engine room to keep the steamer moving. Ib was on deck for most of the journey, pacing with an impatience wholly at odds with what I'd come to know of the grey giant. Repeated discussions and reminders had managed to make Ib remember that yes, we were indeed looking for the Free Fleet. In fact, we were going there for it, so it could finally learn of its past and be at peace with itself.

Ib had smiled vaguely at those promises. I didn't know if it didn't believe in the chances of it happening, or if it was nervous at the possibility.

I though of the Seaworm, that mountain-sized, mountain-crushing monster, and how easily Ib had crushed it, while laughing.

I shuddered. During my lonely travel, I had seen, and even met beings just as terrifying, if not more so than Ib. Even so, I wasn't particularly eager to meet anything that could make it nervous.

Eventually, Mharra decided that we needed to clear the air, or we'd end up beating each other up out of sheer boredom. So, one night, we stopped by a pine-covered island. Two of Three's selves remained on the steamer, to defend it against whoever got a bright idea about stealing it, or from it, and to keep it ready in case we angered anyone dangerous and had to make a quick run for it. You never knew.

The island was inhabited by lumberjacks and their families. They had landed a few years ago, and hoped to stock up lumber for as long as the island lasted.

I don't know how some islands appeared out of the sea with trees already grown on them. Another of Midworld's mysteries.

There were no settlements, as such, on the island. Just the lumberjacks' houses, with they yards and animal pens around them. There was, however, an inn.

Because there always is one, wherever there are people.

The inn was suprisingly large, several stories tall and almost as wide, with brightly-lit windows blazing out of the wooden facade. Inside, there were humans and constructs, from golems to homunculi, and all three kinds of the Folk: the Landfolk, the Seafolk, the Skyfolk.

We found an empty table, to my surprise, and Mharra ordered a few sweet ciders for everyone. No heavy drinks, he said. We needed to keep sharp.

Only two of us could actually get drunk, but I appreciated the thought.

We sat and drank for a time, until Mharra stood up, stretching, and mouthed that he'd start asking about the object of our search. He began moving around the inn, and I couldn't hear anything over the clamour of raised voices and laughter, of clinking glasses and crackling fire. Ib and Three, however, could.

"No luck, Ryz." Three said, hovering cross-legged and upside down. "They know what the Fleet is, which they're quite eager to tell you, but Triarchs, everyone knows that. We-"

"Wait." Ib cut him off. "The man he's talking to now-he seems to know something. I'll tell you what they're saying..." Ib was silent for a moment, then started speaking in another voice. It was human, male, but sounded ridiculously thin, coming from the giant.

"...don't know too much. Why else do you think they'd let me live, let alone leave? Heh." Ib mimicked the man's grin at his wordplay. "Once you stop being an elector, they start choosing for you-more than before, that is. It's how they knew I had to be banished. For my own good, you see? But I can point you to them, not that I can imagine why you'd want to meet the prigs...yes, I know the signs of their passing..."

[Strigoi Grey]

Book II, Chapter 4

***

"A man looking for everything will never find anything."-Blind Bjarco, reader of appendages;

Well, that wasn't eerie at all.

"Is the impression really necessary?" I asked Ib. "Just the words is fine."

"Nonsense!" Three laughed. "Don't listen to him, Ib! Woah-hey! Can you do the sound the Seaworm made when it burst apart?"

"I am not sure." The giant admitted, now speaking normally. "This...moulding of my voice is new to me. I think. Unless...?" It tilted its head meaningfully at Three.

"What, you think you've done it before and forgotten about it? Nah. Or, if you did, I've forgotten too." Three was now floating normally, having spun so his feet almost touched the ground. "But that's a good sign! Isn't it, Ryz?"

"That Ib can mimick voices?" The ghost nodded rapidly, and the giant turned to me. "Well...I suppose it will be useful in future shows. Mharra and I won't have to drink that awful stuff again to sound different."

Three scoffed. "Don't be bloody dense, Ryz. Don't you see? We're getting closer to the Free Fleet-"

"Actually, we haven't even started tracking them."

"We're getting closer to the Free Fleet,"The ghost insisted. "And it shows. Ib is doing stuff it never could before. It's obvious that, the closer its home is, the better it feels. Right, Ib?"

The grey being didn't answer. Instead, it seemed lost in one of those trances it had suffered before its memory had gotten better. Back when it couldn't remember that we were going after the Fleet, or why.

Speaking of that...

"What do you mean, its home?" I asked Three quietly. I didn't like speaking about Ib like it wasn't here, but, well, it wasn't. Not in mind, at least. Of course, whispering was pointless when it could hear a fly's heartbeat from leagues away, but it was the thought that counted.

Three sighed. "Are you acting dense again? I thought you were a smart fellow, Ryzhan."

And I thought Three was nice, if absent-minded, not a condescending arse. "Let's pretend I am a fool. What confirmation, or even hints, do we have of Ib's ties to the Fleet?"

"Um...did one of those Ghyrrians clout you behind the ear? Their leader said that as they left. Remember him? Big man, stiff-necked, kind of a jackass?"

"I remember Sahmui, yes." How could I not? He apparently had an ability similar to mine, though his didn't require touch. And I knew memories forced upon others never faded. It was like the rape of the mind, which was one of the many reasons I'd been on the run for over a decade.

Sahmui had been closer to the truth than I'd have liked. And the fact Mharra's crew accepted me, or at least didn't try to turn me away or kill me, made them...suspect.

I wasn't foolish enough to believe old sailors like them were completely innocent. But what had these three seen and done that they barely flinched at the reveal of how I broke my parents' minds?

"Well," Three said, breaking me out of my contemplation. "People like him-those who value righteousness and see themselves as always being in the right-almost never lie. Or if they do, they do so due to ignorance, or by omission."

"Or to 'villains'." I sighed at the word so beloved and loathed alike in Ghyrria. "Which I'm sure I count as, by Sahmui's standards."

Three nodded. "Well, yeah. I do too. He definitely got a sour look on his face after he learned of my ghostriding."

"Pardon?" I frowned. "Do you mean ghostwriting? Did you...write books for other people? What's so evil about that?" Unless, of course, he had handled some thinking grimoire for a mad mage.

And it was interesting to learn Sahmui could learn the memories of ghosts as well.

Three laughed. "C'mon now, Ryz. I know some people think I've got a thick accent, but you understood what I said. Don't you know what ghostriding is?"

"I imagine it involves people of dubious inclinations."

"Pffft-! How elegant! Yes, dubious is one way to put it. You see, I once spent several years on an island called Xholkho's Rest. Ever heard of it? Or happened to visit?" I shook my head, and he shrugged. "Well, on that island, I struck a deal with some of the more unscrupulous advocates. The ones who defended murderers, rapists, grave-robbers, monster-summoners...you know the type."

"I've never met an advocate willing to defend me, actually."

"Bah. I'd say your luck's shit, but I think you're just awful at presenting your case. Anyway...those people of dubious inclinations you mentioned, Ryzhan, didn't come to me..."Three broke off in a snicker. "Well, they did. But they didn't look for me because they wanted to bed a ghost, see? Most of them were small people with small lives and nothing to lose-if they let the big, bad ghost possess them, they-I-could do any awful thing, then claim their bodies had been taken over. Most of them loved to watch, of course. They told me what they'd like to happen, and I made their dreams-and everyone else's nighmares-reality."

How...generous. "I presume you did those things because you were paid?"

Three hid his smirk behind the rim of his mug. "I didn't dislike them, either."

He rolled his eyes at my expression. "Oh, don't be a hypocrite, Ryz. Unlike someone else I could mention, I only entered willing minds. And left them whole after, too. You should try it some time."

"Why, the thought had never entered my head." I said drily. "I bow to your great wisdom, master ghost. I suppose three heads really are better than one...even if they share one mind."

Three's smirk was knife-edged. "I see why you resort to magic to hurt others. I thought you'd be better with words, to make up for such a weak body, but...no matter."

I didn't like the way this conversation was heading. Why the Pit was I even arguing with Three? I didn't give a damn about his past. And he didn't hate me for mine, though it was worse.

Three's smirk softened. "What do you know about the Triarchs, Ryz?"

"Well, in your religion-"

"In fact."

"-they maintain Creation, which is cyclical. It has been created and destroyed countless times at this point. Xhaarkon creates, Zhaarhax destroys, and Yghvlaar maintains balance between his brothers, as well as existence as a whole."

"Mhm. What you don't know is that I was a Zhaaraxhite in those days. My old mother had been dead for only a few years, and I was raging against this uncaring world. Zhaarhax destroys, but only that. If it was alone, it would destroy everything, forever. Xhaarkon has the opposite problem. Yghvlaar can't make or break anything by himself...so it was obvious, to me, which god was the best to follow. Perhaps, if I caused enough strife, Zhaarhax would notice and destroy Midworld, or at least me."

The table was silent for some time. Three was staring into his mug, and Ib still seemed entrance. I cleared my throat to break the ice.

"You mentioned some advocates?"

Three raised his head, nodding vigourously. "Oh, yes! See, they defended my customers after they were done indulging themselves, and half of the money and goods they got by winning their cases went to me, since I made the whole mess possible."

"You must be richer than I thought, then."

The ghost laughed hollowly. "Yes, it certainly helped fill the void...until Mharra happened by. He already had his romantic streak, even back then. He pretended to be interested in ghostriding, then trapped me into his body, and threatened to destroy me unless I gave up my life of sin." He shrugged, smiling. "And that's how I was recruited."

"The captain seems to be a good man." I said hesitantly, glancing at the taple where Mharra was laughing with the former Fleet member. My captain had turned his mug upside down, and was shaping the liquor frozen in midair like it was clay.

"Any idea how he does it?" I asked Three, referring not just to this trick, but all the similar ones Mharra regularly pulled.

"Carefully?" The ghost shrugged again. "It does a man no good to reveal everything, Ryz."

"Aye. Aye, it does not..."

Even as I said that, I was thinking about Copper's Cradle again. About the people who had set out in pursuit of me, and failed to even approach.

An image of pale skin and blue hair flashed in my mind, and I almost laughed at the creeping nostalgia.

Was she still alive? Had she grown up to fear me, or hate me, if she was?

We certainly would not still be friends, if we met again.

[Strigoi Grey]

Book II, Chapter 5

***
"Oh, yeah, 'recruitment'. Just you wait: we'll be volunteering in no time, though we'll only learn we did when they shove the guns into our hands."- Jhimsa Hlak, before graciously volunteering to die for the Kingdom of Fharnse(vapourized by flametide);

"Lads!" I didn't jump when Mharra's voice boomed behind me, but it was a close thing. "I'm happy to present to you our new crewmate!"

I turned in my seat, eyebrows raised. The man next to Mharra looked more like he'd been sentenced to execution by Gutsbane Grubs than recruited to our crew.

In the sense that he looked resigned, rather than bloody terrified. I hoped he'd learn, in time.

"Jalil Sivane." The man said. His skin was darker than mine, though lighter than Mharra's, and his eyes narrower than either of ours. Hmm...did I know his people? I felt like...

"Former Lieutenant-Elect of Free Ship  Wayblazer. Happy to make your...acquaintance...?" He continued, looking almost relieved when none of us gave any sign of recognising his former ship. That was before he saw Ib, though.

One of the grey giant's odd traits was that, despite its (usually) great size, it could go unnoticed unless it was not talking. Like a piece of art you do not notice until someone points it out. And Ib was a beautiful, powerful monster.

Jalil did not share my opinion, though. "You-" His eyes moved from Mharra to Ib to us, then back to the captain, so fast they were almost spinning. "Are you all mad!? The Fleet may kill me if I take you to them, or if they merely learn I talked, but that...that thing!? If they ever learn you even know about it, they'll-"

When Ib cut him off, it didn't seem to have heard his little rant. Or, if it had, it gave no sign of it. Nothing unusual, since it was coming out of a trance. "How'd he scare you?" Ib asked suddenly, startling Jalil. The man closed his mouth so fast, I wouldn't have been surprised to learn he'd bitten his tongue. His lips were still trembling, though.

Ib's head was rippling-its version of a frown. It was trying to remember something. "What did the captain threaten you with to make you jump in?" The grey being seemed unable to notice the effect it was having on the exiled Lieutenant. Or, perhaps, it just didn't see itself as frightening.

Mharra laughed. "So cynical, Ib! You know very well I never make threats-only promises." The captain slung an arm around the thinner, taller man's shoulders, grinning like a shark. "Jalil here is a...man. However, when I promised to tattle on him if the Fleet asked how we found them, well..."

"I had a stroke of lucidity." Jalil, who seemed to have calmed down, deadpanned, glancing down at Mharra's arm. "Though I'd ask you not to allude to that old blunder so soon. We've just met, and-"

"Anyway," Mharra continued, utterly ignoring my new fellow victim. "He knew that, if we left him here, the Fleet would find him, and who knew what they'd do to him for spilling? At least this way, he's sure he'll die!"

Jalil shot me a despairing look as Mharra slapped him on the back, but I could only stare back. Sorry, I thought. I only seem sane.

"This is press-ganging." Jalil hissed, eyes darting around the inn, as if expecting a kind stranger. Sadly, we were in Midworld.

Even sadder-for him-he was wasting our time. As far as we knew, Ib's mind could fall apart at any time-what the Pit were we supposed to do if it entered a trance and couldn't come out of it by itself?

So, before he was halfway through blinking, my hand was on his throat, pressing him against the log wall around the entrance of the inn, a dozen metres away.

Jalil only finished blinking-slowly, so slowly- when the back of his head smacked against the window. Eyes wide, he scrabbled at my arm with one hand while reaching for the pistol on his belt with the other one.

I recognised its reputation, if not the weapon itself. The Fleet's smartguns never ran out of ammo, and always struck the weakest point of the intended target. It was a wonderful weapon.

I was almost sad when I crushed the steel tube in my grip. I was less sad when his fingers broke, though. And annoyed, when he screamed.

"What are you doing, you fool?" I asked, shaking him like a ragdoll. "You've already agreed to the captain's proposal, so you know why we are hurrying. We're saving your damn life, too, yet you dare try to pull a gun on me-and fail?"

"Ryzhan." There was a note of warning in Mharra's voice. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, but kept focused on Jalil. The inn's other patrons were snickering and elbowing each other, or watching us with wary eyes. "You can put him down."

"I can throw him down too, captain." I said, before demonstrating. Jalil landed on his broken hand, the poor sod. That bad luck from getting banished by the Fleet must have still been dogging him. My boot was on the small of his back before he could scream again. His old, tattered dark blue uniform-why let him keep it?- was sticking to his skin, covered in spots of sweat. Hearing Ib talk, along with being manhandled by me, had shaken him.

I hadn't remembered this much strength and speed in years. Toughness, too, to avoid hurting myself with my own strength. Now, all I needed to remember was restraint.

The power of mages is born and grows in the cauldron of great emotion. Even so, when I raised my hands, 'grasping' the air around me, I did not expect my idea to work.

But, when I remembered silence-the old, cold nights of sailing alone beneath a cloudy sky, my only company the monsters beneath the waves and the unblinking eye that was the moon-the inn became as quiet as any library I had ever visited.

Jalil had made it to his knees at this point, but was now glaring in confusion at the silent inn. No sound from outside my bubble of silence could get in, nor would anyone else hear what we were speaking. The patrons had mostly returned their attention to their meals by now, though my crewmates were still watching me curiously. Mhaara looked like he was expecting me to do something rash, and Three...I wondered if its ghostly senses could bypass my magic.

"What the...is this your doing?" Jalil asked, slowly standing up. "Mage? Or...?"

"If you guess right, I won't make you disappear." I smiled. "Now...why don't you tell me what your problem is with my friend? It is slowly going mad, you see. I don't think you would want to make it angry, too."

And I would be damned if I didn't get to the bottom of this. Let Fhaalqi eat my bones if my friend ends up spending its days hunted and hated, like I did for so long.

[Strigoi Grey]

Book II, Chapter 6

***
"There is a difference between trusting someone, and trusting them to do something. Look at my husband, for example." The Weaver Queen on the Clockwork King;

Jalil's eyes darted between me and his broken hand, mouth set in a grim line. "You bloody...just hurt and break to get your way, eh? Are you sure you're you don't know how to find the Fleet? I could swear you were just returning home."

"That would be far more scathing if you hadn't been part of it once. Say, why exile? Incompetence? It couldn't have been your hypocrisy-you're all drowning in it on those ships."

"Oh?" His smirk was thin, his voice higher-pitched than usual. The pain was getting worse, not better. "And what do you mean by that?"

"The Freed, for once. When you fail so grandly, or are so useless, they cut out parts of your brain. Freeing one from the burden of choice, I think you call it."

"Don't be absurd." His smirk was gone, replaced by an annoyed frown. "Remaking wretches is nothing like threatening an accomplished officer-"

"Ex-officer."

"-and explorer. Do you know why they sent me away, mage?"

"It couldn't have been that bad. You're still alive and thinking...well, debatably."

Jalil rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm one of those poor fools who cannot break the world's laws on a whim. I could never match minds with sages like your kind..."

***

Somehow, we managed to get back to the Rainbow Burst without the whole inn dogpiling us. I'd seen it happen before, on other islands, when people wanted to break the routine.

Three had helped, admittedly. Some Skyfolk, birdlike features somehow stretched into grins, had tried to approach the bubble of silence while Jalil and I talked. Mharra had prepared to stop them, and even Ib had stirred, but Three had put one hand on each of their shoulders, and given the Skyfolk one of the coldest glares I've ever seen.

So cold, in fact, that the fire had been snuffed out in an instant, the windows had shattered, and the walls, floor and ceiling had frosted over. The Skyfolk had dropped like rocks, claws splayed and faces stuck in expressions of horrified shock. The innkeeper had complained about the damages, but Mharra had paid him, and Ib had eaten the frost. So, besides a few windows to replace and some patrons who'd probably stop frequenting, all was good.

"Don't you think they'll follow us?" I asked one of Three's selves as I walked up the steamer's ramp, the ghost walking on air by my side.

Three scoffed. "I know you won't listen, but you've got to stop expecting the worst all the time, Ryz. It only encourages it to come after you. Besides...not everyone has the determination to hunt people down on the sea. Or a boat."

I nodded. His 'advice' was nonsense-why not expect the worst? Whether you did or not did not affect how it occurred, at least as far as I knew.

Slighted gods notwithstanding.

"I suppose...though, what was it that you did? One of those waves of fear I've heard ghosts causing?"

Three blew a raspberry. "Their hearts didn't  stop, did they? I just lowered their bodies' temperature."

One more reason, then, why the ship didn't have weapons. We already had two living-or, rather, thinking-weapons.

Still..."That was cold, Three."

The ghost half-laughed, half-groaned, clutching his face and spinning in midair.

Jalil ascended the ramp behind me and between Mharra and Ib. The former Lieutenant had protested to the grey giant walking behind him, much to Ib's confusion, or, perhaps, incomprehension. The ramp was a little too narrow for them to walk side by side, but they managed, though Mharra grumbled all the way up.

"It's absurd!" The boisterous captain insisted as we spread around the deck. Three floated close to a railing, creating the illusion of sitting of it. His two other selves were in the engine room, whispering sweet nothings to the ship he loved almost as much as Mharra.

"You think Ib would need to sneak up on you if it wanted you dead? Ha!" The captain threw his head back, laughing. "Tell him how easily he'd die, Ib."

The grey being shook its head, waving Mharra off with one hand. "Please, captain. He is frightened." Then, it turned to Jalil. "I heard you tripped and fell on your hand, sir? Apologies-I wasn't paying attention."

"No problem." Jalil said bitingly. "It's my fault for not watching what I was doing. So clumsy."

Ib nodded, the sarcasm passing right over its head. "You should be more careful, then. In the meantime...before the captain treats you properly, would you like me to make a cast?"

"A cast?" Jalil seemed ready to burst into disbelieving laughter. "You...you think I'd let you anywhere near my body?"

"Please." Ib said. "I assure you, I am not dirty."

Mharra shook his head, heading to the door leading downstairs. "Forget it, Ib. Just make sure he doesn't trip and fall on his other hand while I'm away."

I frowned at Jalil as soon as the captain left. "Would you mind forgetting your little mysterious grudge against my friend?" And I had such ground to stand on when it came to secrecy, too. "It's getting a little tedious. Wouldn't you rather share your problem with us?"

Jalil shook his head, looking frustrated rather than scared or contemptuous. "I cannot, Yldii. I could not if I wanted. No man of the Fleet could, except obliquely. A safety measure, after we washed our hands of it."

Resisting the urge to boggle at him talking about Ib like it was either a dumb animal or not here at all, I wracked my brain for a way to forge trust between us.

Well...my power had grown. I had healed myself before, though never others, and it always hurt.

There was probably a metaphor in there.

One of my hands darted out, covering Jalil's broken one. He grunted slightly at the touch, then gasped as I remembered the hand being healthy and whole.

It was not a gasp of relief. His bones were forced into their proper places by magic, and, by the time he was on his knees, tears streamed down his face.

"Dammit, Ryzhan!" Mharra protested as he made his way back on the deck. "Just had to show off, didn't you? Who lost his patience, you or him?"

***

As Three's selves took away the dishes, Jalil glanced between me and Mharra, hands clasped on the table in front of him.

"The Fleet cannot be found." He said bluntly, then held up a hand at our expressions. "Do not misunderstand. I am not praising their ability to hide. I've no love for them. They cannot be found because, unless they are in Midworld, they are in the places between places, sailing the tides of possibility itself. But...exiled though I might be, I am not isolated. I was banished because I explored without being ordered to do so, buf they were fond enough of me to leave me a way to reach out to them."

Jalil pinched his forehead with two fingers, tearing away a strip of flesh with a sound like ripping paper...and no blood. A gleaming azure sphere nestled in the wound, and Jalil pointed at it.

"Perks of service. I might be the cousin in the attic, but I'm still family. And...I'm tired of this half-life of mine. If they kill me for bringing the thing to them, at least I'll die remembered."

[Strigoi Grey]

Book II, Chapter 7

***
"If mortals hope for nothing, they will despair at nothing." Fhaalqi;

It was absurd, but, when I saw the button, gem or jewel embedded in Jalil's flesh, I wanted to touch it.

As a child, I liked shiny things. I think all children do. But I abandoned such trifles when I left Copper's Cradle behind and learned to fend for myself. Trinkets were only useful if you could buy something with them, or trade them, or use them to distract your enemies.

I once stabbed a soothsayer through the eye with a ceremonial knife, though. I suppose she didn't see it coming...and that it wasn't really 'ceremonial'.

The gem, or whatever it was, must have had some sort of attraction charm, or equivalent, on it, then...but I could sense no mana, from it or Jalil. Mana is created by the harmony of body, mind and soul, and can be placed into or on objects, enchanting them, but...as far as my senses could tell, that gem was purely mundane, if beautiful.

Which made no bloody sense. I wasn't that easy to distract...was I?

"Friend." Mharra said with a strained smile. "Please, cover that up. It's too pretty to spoil it by exposing it to the world." So pretty it was, in fact, that Mharra was fingering the hilt of one of his knives. At least he didn't want to tear it out with his bare hands...

"Well." Jalil said with a strained, slightly nervous smile. "Judging by your, ahem, reactions...I can tell it still works!"

"What does?" Three asked bluntly, suddenly appearing behind Jalil. Or, rather, making himself visible. I could still feel the ghost's cold presence even when it went unseen. The ex-officer was too cold-blooded to flinch, but one of his eyes twitched as the ghost floated through the table to hover in front of him.

"My...beacon, I suppose you could say. Did you hear what we talked about?" Three shook his head. "I'm sure your captain will debrief you."

Three blinked at the word, then grinned slowly. "Sir." He told Jalil in an affected voice. "The only 'debriefings' I have with Mharra is when I strip him."

Mharra laughed, waving Three off. "He meant I'd relate our discussion, Three."

"Oh, I know what he meant. But..."

"But. How long have you been waiting to make that joke?"

"I'd tell you, but I'd have to debrief you."

"You two will have plenty of time for that later." I said with a small smile, interrupting their flirting. Not that they wouldn't make time if they didn't have it.

"As I was saying," Jalil carried on, pretending to have heard nothing. "This is a beacon. Once I activate it, it's going to light up-not literally!" He added at Three's wide eyes and wider grin. "I mean, it's going to become visible on the Free Fleet's devices. I'm not going to become a walking lantern."

"Pity." I said, then coughed behind a hand when he frowned at me.

"As I said, the Fleet 'sails' the place between places, possibility itself. How familiar are you with the nature of gods?"

More than you, I wanted to say. The Free Fleet was famous for being one of Midworld's two godless great powers. But unlike the alliance of the King and Queen, and their endless creations, the Fleet had never relied on power to win battles or defend themselves. I suppose it made sense they'd hide in this unfathomable place, but was it truly beyond the gods' reach?

But I was getting distracted. Boasting in my own head about how my knowledge was greater than his was pointless.

The nature of the gods? Well, each one was unique, but they all grew stronger from worship, though they didn't weaken from its absence.

I said those thoughts out loud, and Jalil nodded. "Observation. The Fleet's thinkers believe the key is observation. Not direct, mind, or even indirect-most gods are so powerful, so strange in nature, that even a glimpse of them can unmake one's existence. But even thinking about them is a form of observation, which empowers them. Do you know what this means?"

"That the gods have very good reasons to convert people to them if they want to surpass their rivals?" Mharra suggested.

"Perhaps." Jalil nodded. "But I was more referring to the fact that the perception of the majority shapes reality, or at least aspects of it. Say a tree falls in a forest. There is no one to hear it. Does that mean it makes no sound? Certainly no one hears it, but people who hear of the event say it does."

"Because they know that is how things work." Three chimed in.

"Ah-but do they? Perhaps they do because we think they do. Have you ever wondered how the Fleet travels Midworld so swiftly and freely, faster than any other power or nation? It's because their ships are infused with possibility itself. It is why they can simply drop out of the realm of chance and into empty stretches of sea, where there is no one to observe them and say that is impossible, or that they appeared out of nowhere."

The room was silent for a few moments after this casual revelation of one of the great power's secrets. It was Three who broke the ice.

"You realise you've forfeited your life, right?" The ghost said, concern in his eyes, though I couldn't tell whether it was for Jalil or for us. "If the Fleet learns you spoke about how they travel, they'll cut your brain to shreds. Probably try to do the same for us, because we know too." Hoarfrost gathered on the walls, table and floor as Three stared unblinkingly at Jalil.

"Please." Mharra did not lay his hand upon Three's arm, but only because it would have passed through it. Even so, a careless watcher might have thought they were touching. "He's not trying to get us killed. If what you're saying is true..." Mharra glanced at Jalil with one eye, keeping the other on the tense ghost. "Ib is on deck. Its attention has been frayed since this wild goose chase started, but it can still perceive the world...some of the time. It might not be aware of the way the Fleet travels, but it doesn't need to be, does it? Just watching the horizon and thinking it's empty means they cannot simply appear around us."

"Then, and I cannot believe I'm saying this, I think you'd better call that thing down here." Jalil said, placing a fingertip on his gem and leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, brow furrowed.

Ib answered Mharra's call while he was still speaking, closing the distance between the deck and newly-built kitchen(Mharra had seen no need for one before I joined the crew, having been the only member to need sustenance) much, much faster than sound. The metal steamed where the giant slammed to a stop, absorbing the shockwave and flames into its body so we wouldn't be harmed.

"-b." The captain spoke the second letter of its name just as it arrived, then raised an eyebrow, before grinning slowly. "Impatient, are we? How did you know what I intended? I was about to tell you to come belowdecks, because-"

"Apologies, captain." The giant said. "But that would have been far too slow. I...allowed myself the liberty to guess."

"Hey." Three floated up to the grey being, raising a hand, palm out. "Pretty good guess there."

Ib lightly slapped one of its huge, broad palms against Three's incorporeal one...and the ghost's ectoplasm rippled like someone had thrown a rock into a still lake.

Huh. I hadn't known Ib could interact with intangibles...but I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised. The giant was our first line of defence, and there was always a possibility of an angry ghost or elemental attacking the steamer.

"Thank you. But, why am I here?"

Before any of us could answer, the air shifted, both in and around the ship.

The steamer was not overly large-several dozen metres long and wide, it was small for a voyage ship, but it served its purpose, and was much tougher than its flamboyant appearance suggested. Even so, it got tossed around like a leaf in a storm by the shift in air pressure caused by the arrival of the leviathans outside.

We quickly made our way to the deck, but it was so dark we might as well have been underwater.

Which stood to reason. Each blue and silver ship of the Free Fleet was so wide that, if you stood midway on its hull, you'd see nothing but sleek, shining metal up to the horizon, on either side. They seemed as long as mountain ranges, and far more formidable. I could only catch glimpses of them...though that might have had to do less with their sheer, formidable size, and more with their nature.

"...I remember this." Ib said, eyeless face raised to the titanic ships, arms slack at its sides.

[Strigoi Grey]

Book II, Chapter 8

***
Three was floating at the giant's side in an instant, grinning up at it in disbelief. "Really? You remember these ships, Ib? From when? What did they-"

"Wait." Mharra seemed like he wanted to be as enthusiastic as the ghost, but didn't let himself lose his head. "Do you remember them firsthand, Ib? Or just pictures?"

"Don't speak foolishly." The giant hissed, then started in surprise at its own words. It had never spoken acidly to any of us, let alone the captain. They grey being shook its head-a purely human gesture it had picked up by watching people. "Apologies, boss. I don't know what came over me. Is this what you call rage?"

"I do not think it was." I replied carefully, prepared to use my Gift if things got out of hand. When I had first met Ib, in that staged fight, I had managed to make it back off by sharing my memories of my greatest pain. But...

Had it felt it, truly? Or had it merely been startled by the flow of images that had suddenly entered its mind-not brain, as I knew for a fact Ib's dull grey body had no organs, and was instead made of some sort of multi-layered substance that brought to mind metal and flesh alike, but was neither. "I think you are starting to feel more like you were meant to be, Ib."

It nodded, wringing hands like cannonballs. "Perhaps...perhaps, Ryz. Not anger, then, but...boldness? I feel more sure of myself than I have been in months-years, perhaps."

So, there really was some connection between the Fleet and my-seemingly no longer senile-friend.

"Of course." Jalil said, unknowingly echoing my thoughts. "You were never meant to be sent away, but you forced our hands." The former officer either didn't notice how Ib's 'skin' was rippling, its version of shaking in rage. It had just said it had gotten more bold, for Vhaarn's sake-

"Sent away? Funny way to word it. I remember floating aimlessly, mindlessly-" The giant was moving far slower than it could have been, but only for Jalil's 'benefit'. The former Lieutenant's eyes were almost as round and bright as the gem in his forehead as he watched Ib stomp towards him, each step shaking the Rainbow Burst. "I remember a crushing darkness, pierced only by this faint feeling that I should have been somewhere else, been something else!"

It was now standing over Jalil, arms spread out wide, like it was preparing to crush him. To his credit, he wasn't shaking. When he spoke to Ib, his voice trembled with anger, not fear.

"You don't know what a favour we did you, ourselves and the whole of Midworld. You just talk-no facts, not even aware what you're angry at us for. This recklessness is exactly why-"Two grey fingers closed around his throat, leaving him choking over four metres off the deck. The whole hand would have enveloped his head, but Ib wanted him talking. Or at least alive.

"Enligthen me, then. Open my mind, before I open yours." One of Ib's hands was now shaped into a spiked ball; a wholly unnecessary gesture, as it could turn mountains to steam with a single punch. The idea of Ib needing weapons to harm a human was darkly hilarious, but my friend was going for intimidation, not efficiency. "You have a very loose tongue, exile. Could say you're free with your speech." Its featureless head tilted in mock curiosity to one side before a smirk appeared on its face. "If the watery cage of my first memories was how you 'send people away', I shudder to think how you'd execute someone. While we're on that subject...you lot clearly love playing with minds. You did something to mine, carving wounds that deepen every time I think about their very existence. And that stupid trinket in your little skull...a glamour? The technological equivalent? You made my crewmates drool like magpies over glass, you little-"

Ib was shaking Jalil now like a child would a disappointing toy, and was infinitely more likely to break him. The Fleet, however, had apparently seen enough. Whether wary of what the giant would do next, or out of some lingering sentiment for a former member, they stepped in.

No actual Fleet members, obviously. They might have liked to portray themselves as bold, daring adventurers and explorers, but they never stepped into any situation that hadn't been thoroughly analysed with the help of their fodder.

Hundreds of Freed were teleported on deck, surrounding us in a circle of blue-armoured lobotomites. Their slack faces and blank eyes gave no sign that they were perceiving us, or even the world around them, but their backs were straight, and their hands steady around their smartguns: rifles, and some larger contraptions with square barrels that glowed azure.

I cursed inwardly as I put my hands up. Nobody had brought up these weapons-whatever they were-last time I had heard about the Fleet, and I hated going in blind even more than the hypocritical bastards.

Mharra pursed his lips, eyes narrowed as he dug a hand into one of his coat pockets. He looked more like a man who'd realised he was about to play a bad hand at cards than one threatened with death.

Three was nowhere near as outwardly calm. All his selves clustered together around Mharra, eyes unblinking and cold-but none of the Freed burst into flash-frozen gore, so the ghost was still holding his temper in check.

Ib was the least composed. Throwing Jalil over a dozen metres away-he'd be lucky just to be crippled-, the giant crouched into a wrestler's crouch, body bubbling like water in a kettle.

"Brainless! You've taken from them, like you've taken from me!" The grey giant was speaking in the same thunderous voice it had before killing that Seaworm. "No...more than you've taken from me. The captain dragged me back from oblivion, but they will never recover. You've cut out what makes humans human, you-"

Before Ib could lay waste to the lobotomites, though, more shapes appeared in their midst. And unlike their lesser comrades, these did not possess even a pretence of humanity.

I was looking at a steel-blue, two-armed mirror of Ib. Two. Six. A dozen, a dozen dozen blue, faceless giants, stomping towards us, heads faceless, bodies rippling as they shaped themselves into weapons: blades and bludgeons and guns, including the strange ones I still hadn't identified.

Ib's outrage vanished in an instant, replaced by shocked confusion. "What...?" It whispered, disbelief underlined by horror.

A wet, broken chuckle came from where Jalil had landed on the deck. The exile propped himself up on broken arms, shrieking as he did so, though the grin never left his face. "They are the weapons...forged in your mould-only thing you were good for...Libertas. Able to become anything, and free from the burden of choice, for they...have never known it."

My friend stood for a moment, shaking, saying nothing. "My name...it does not bring me the joy I expected. And...I remember why."

[Strigoi Grey]

Book II, Chapter 9

***
"The child who is burned by the village will tear it down to escape the warmth."-Yvharnii proverb;

The Ib lookalikes were suddenly surroundings us, their arrival rattling every bone and organ I could feel, and definitely those I couldn't anymore. The sound of their movement only reached us several seconds later.

I remembered being unharmed as I rose to my feet, gritting my teeth as my insides healed and realigned. The Fleet was clearly bursting with care for us, or maybe they were this gentle with all visitors.

I glanced at Mharra, to see how badly he'd been shaken, expecting him to need healing as well.

But the captain was right as rain. If anything, the only thing that seemed hurt was his pride.

About seven years ago, I was at an invention fair. Mages displaying their constructs, mechanics with their contraptions, children with trinkets their proud, smiling parents in the audience definitely hadn't helped them with.

A geomancer had made a perpetually-erupting miniature volcano, only to realise, to her disappointed rage, that more than half of her opponents had imitated her.

That was who Mharra reminded me of as he looked up at the blue Ib copy. He had often said our grey friend was one the strangest, most marvelous beings he'd ever seen, and now...

"Libertas?" Three blurted out, the corners of his mouths twitching. "The Free Fleet made something named after liberty? You lot just can't escape it, can you?"

***

Raymond Kane was the Free Fleet's current Admiral-Elect. At the relatively young age of forty-four, his raven hair was already more grey than dark, and his skin was like coal, in both complexion and texture-I don't think there was a spot on his face that wasn't covered by either wrinkles or scars, and his hands were more calloused than my whole body.

And I hadn't exactly led a peaceful life.

Kane's given name was meant to signify he'd be a ray of sunshine, lighting up his parents' world. Given the gimlet look Mharra received for smiling, I imagined they had unique standards for cheerfulness.

The Fleet's Electoral Council-so named because they were the Captains who chose the Admiral- had gathered on Kane's ship and the Fleet's current flagship, the Resolve Stalwart.

My crew and I were standing in the middle of a hollow, round metal table, surrounded by Captains whose expressions varied from mild interest or apathy at me, Three and the captain, to horrified disbelief at Ib.

The table's shape was meant to signify that no elected leader here was above their peers, not even the Admiral, so it had no head to sit at. Instead, Kane looked us up and down from between a couple of grizzled, grey-maned Captains, the women's matching scowls and scratched rings sure signs they had been together enough that they had started to appreciate the separation duty brought.

"Libertas?" Kane started, rubbing his chin with fingers that had been broken more often than my nose. "I know you are confused, and expect you to be angry by the end...but please, it is not the floor's fault."

Ib's pacing had worn potholes into the reinforced steel-the level of energy he'd restrained himself to after realising his stomps were shaking the thirty-kilometre, twelve trillion ton ship. He might have been fine if it fell apart, but most of its passengers would not.

"As you wish." The giant said tersely, body reshaping into a sphere so it could put itself between us and the Council. "In the unlikely possibility there's anyone on this wretched tub who deserves to live."

Kane smiled indulgently. "If I said the only occupants are us and the Freed crew, would you sink it?"

"...No."

"Good." The Admiral's smile disappeared as he drew himself up in his chair. "Because that would be a lie. You...have grown more restrained since the last time we saw you, Libertas."

"I'm sure you wish that had been the last time." The giant's face and voice morphed to match the Admiral's, grey substance shaped into a moue of detached interest. "But if wishes were wings, no one would sail."

"This dramatic nonsense is all very entertaining," Mharra chimed in, his smile more edged than usual."I know all about drama. I love a good farce. But, you know what would be even better? Not teasing my friend until it decides you'd look better as half the man that you were. So..." The captain's hands were in his pockets as he rocked back and forth of his heels, eyes darting between Captains. "Would you mind spitting it out?"

The smartguns Lieutenants and above wielded fired projectiles that were over a dozen times faster than sound, crossing a league in a second.

And yet, as soon as the bald, eyeless Captain's bullet left his gun barrel, Ib was standing over him, pinching the smoking round it had plucked out of midair, like a child with a lazy butterfly, between two fingers.

"You dropped this." The giant said. "By all means, have it back." And it slammed the bullet into the wall behind the Captain's, milimeters from his ear. "Are we still measuring sizes and trying to kill each other over petty slights? Which, I feel I should add, is why I vaguely remember being cast out?"

Kane glared at the bald Captain, whose nametag read Lars, his eyes promising pain later. "The Free Fleet does not murder guests. We execute enemies. Which is why I would advise your captain to lay off with the insulting comments, lest this discussion degenerate into-"

"Ray." A thin, androgynous voice filled the room, somehow being heard over the Admiral's baritone and the Captains' grumbling. "Please. This circus has dragged on long enough."

Kane looked hesitant for a moment, then as if he wanted to sigh, but valued his dignity too much to do it. At a chopping gesture, the smooth, featureless wall behind him slid away, revealing a sterile, colourless light, and a glimpse of devices whose purpose I couldn't even begin to discern.

The figure who slipped out of the room was just as androgynous as their voice. Some sort of skintight coveralls that showed lean, but muscled arms and legs, soft features on a pale face and shoulder-length pink hair with blue highlights.

That last detail put me in mind of my own green hair, and...the one who had still believed in me, right until the end.

The technician, judging by the strange tool belt surrounding a slim waist, approached the table with quick steps, passing through the metal like it was air. They stopped in front of Ib, their blue-grey eyes showing no fear as they looked up, only slight apprehension, regret, and...joy.

"Hello, Libertas." They said with a guilty, sheepish smile. "I am sorry you were dragged back into this world. But then...it's my fault for making you."

[Strigoi Grey]

Book II, Chapter 10

***
"The truth will set you free."-Common Midworld threat, origin unkwnown;

Liberty...earned?

***

'Making'. Not 'giving birth'.

I shouldn't have been so surprised, I supposed. Ib had never seemed organic, alive, in terms of physiology, if you could even call it that. But...it had always been human, for as long as I had known it. More human, indeed, that the homunculi that had once been people-several people, in some cases. Human resources, as some mages joke darkly. Only the best homunculi, however, possessed mannerisms and emotions the way Ib did.

If my friend was a construct, though, it only proved how limiting such terms were. Perhaps the Free Fleet's technology(for Ib, as marvelous and strange a being as it was, was not magical, or, at least, not in a way I could understand) had made it so cunning as to successfully, even unwittingly trick people into seeing it as a person...but at that point, was there truly any distinction? I had known, killed and killed for wretches that had only been human in appearance.

The giant stood stock-still for a moment. No. Looking more carefully, I could tell it was rocking on its heels in...shock? Anticipation? Of what, then? Embracing its creator and learning the truth about itself, or tearing them apart before they could even begin to attempt justifying themselves?

"Made me." Ib said in the smallest voice I had ever heard from it. "Made me go mad, too, I think." Its voice deepened and sharpened at the last word, face shaping into the beginning of a sharklike smirk. "I cannot remember, father, mother..." The grey giant's smirk was now broad as it laughed. "What even are you? You're changing your body like I change mine, but you smell human. And...I detect no mana."

"Any sufficiently-analysed magic is nigh-indistinguishable from science." The engineer replied with the air of someone seizing the chance to quote a beloved work or person. Hmm...had I read it somewhere?

They held up their gloved hands with a disarming smile. "I'm not making light, you lump-" Ib was crouching over the scientist now, having moved across the room faster than I could see. It leaned forward, knees bent, supporting itself on its four upper arms. The lower ones were spread to encircle the scientist, palms open and fingers splayed around them, as if to press around them in a crushing grip.

I knew for a fact Ib would only need a fingertip to utterly obliterate a human. Either it was showboating, riled up by the revelations about its past, or it could sense something dangerous about its creator. Something I couldn't.

"You do not make it sound like mockery." If I hadn't lived on the same ship as the grey being for months, I might have been fooled by its apparently light tone, coupled with the lack of body cues. "But I do not understand the significance. I feel like I should...maker."

The engineer nodded rapidly, their smile becoming far more energetic as it widened. "Yes, that is wonderful! Why don't we go somewhere quiet, and I will tell you what you want-indeed, need- to know?"

At Ib's wordless nod, they turned and walked back to the room I had glimpsed through the parted wall. Ib said nothing to us as it entered, but it shed off two chunks of itself. One, just big enough to be visible to the naked eye, slithered into a corner. Any part of Ib was both a limb and a sensory organ; through this, it could still see, hear and smell what was going on in the room, as if it had never left.

The other chunk of grey substance was far bigger. Rising and shaping itself into a wedge, it stopped the wall when it tried to close and seal Ib and its creator off. The Council's glares slid off the giant like water of a duck 's back, but when its creator turned, eyes wide in a mixture of exasperation and hurt, it actually stopped mid-step.

But only for a moment.

"Do you really think your lovely Councilors won't attempt anything with me 'gone', when one tried to shoot my captain while I was at his side?" Ib resumed his stride, and the engineer hurried to catch up, the two of them soon disappearing from view, even their voices falling to a indecipherable mumble.

...And we were left alone in the middle of a bunch of paranoid martinets with itchy trigger fingers, and extensive experience when it came to convincing themselves atrocities were necessary-

Thump.

The sound was repeated twice more, as two grey blobs came to land at Mharra and Three's feet, mirrors to the one at mine.

I smiled. Not alone at all, perhaps.

***

"Why can't I remember anything meaningful unless close to the Fleet?" Ib asked as soon as it was out of Ryzhan's sight and earshot. Three, it knew, mostly sensed what he wanted to and completely missed what he didn't, and Mharra...

Well. It had once told Ryzhan the captain was a good man. If it had lied about his nature, Ryzhan would have been disappointed: at Mharra, at Ib, for lying, at himself, for falling for it.

If it had lied about his species, Ryzhan would have been shocked.

Good thing it had lied about both, then. Or, well...not a lie, perhaps. An understatement.

Because, according to all its senses and whatever passed for its instincts, Mharra was human the same way it was a lump of metal.

Tch. Now it was using that word, too.

"A safety measure." Its creator said, preparing to sit down on nothing; then, the blue, reflective floor smoothly shaped itself into a chair catching them just a metre off the ground.

No, not a chair, Ib realised. One of its copies-later models, maybe, a part of its mind corrected sardonically-shaping itself into furniture for...for...

"Can that thing think?" It jerked its head at the 'chair' when its creator raised an eyebrow. "That cheap doll made in my image. Can it think, reason? Does it feel anything?"

"Of course not, Libertas." The engineer shook their head, patting the chair affectionately. "Such things are superfluous to its purpose."

"Which is...what? Being furniture? Thank you for tossing me into the sea, if that was what you made me for."

"Do not be absurd, Libertas." The scientist snapped lightly, then caught themselves, running their hands over their face. "Sorry...I just...never expected to see you again."

"I am glad to disappoint you, then." Ib couldn't keep the bite out of its voice, and for once, it didn't give a damn. "What was my purpose, then? The exile said they were weapons inspired by me. Am I-was I meant to be-a warmachine?"

Its creator looked ready to answer, then shook their head, smile returning. "To think...most parents talk about such mundane worries with their confused children, and we-"

"I am not your child. You are not my parent, anymore than I'd be a knife's father if I took up smithing. And I am not confused. I am stunted."

"You will never cease being a child, if you keep thinking like that." The engineer took a deep breath. "We've started off the wrong foot, and are sliding into irrelevancies. Let us start over. You can call me Theo."

"I can call you many things. Answer my question."

Theo's shoulders drooped. "Very well. Libertas? You were named thus because I made you to be able to take any shape you could imagine, in order to defend the Fleet from our enemies, and strike them down in our name. You passed all the physical and mental tests, breezed through the mock-battles..."

"...But?"

"But, because the mind is a reflection of the body, or perhaps the other way around," Theo amended at Ib's scoff. "You were...too much. You thought too freely-and yes, I am aware you think that is amusingly ironic. But freedom, like water, while vital, can also kill, in excessive quantities. And you, my child? You are freedom itself."

"How flattering." The grey giant kept its voice from wavering, but not, to its surprise, at the empty flattery. Because, deep inside it, where a human would have had a heart, something reared up in acknowledgement, and remembrance.

"Merely factual. You know how our Fleet travels? We sail possibility itself. That is how I made you, Ib. I reached beyond space and time, beyond our universe and its infinite collection of counterparts, into the realm of ideas. The bedrock of creation, some say, on which everything is built. Others say it is like a sun, casting the shadows we call existence. Others yet say it is the home of the gods, who are the only beings there capable of thought and action. You are freedom."

"...My body. A...shell? Something to bind me to mundane reality, then?"

"If it is, I did not make it. You created it yourself, seemingly by reflex, when I dragged you into our realm. I wanted to build you a vessel, I admit, but you spared me the work. Unsurprising. You have always been too generous."

Ib growled. "More taunts. Referencing things I can't remember, as if expecting me to know them. Why the gaps? The missing memories?"

"Are you not curious how a mundane human such as myself manage this feat? Well, it is not like I could prove it to you at the moment, I will sadly admit. You broke my machine during your...birth."

"Then the others...?"

"Lesser reflections, in terms of nature. Nothing so lofty as an embodied idea, descended from up high to walk our world of salt and dust. But...I think you would find them all unwavering in their devotion, and more than a match for your shell, as it is at the moment." Theo tilted their head. "You have been eating poorly...though, I suppose I cannot blame you for not knowing yourself."

"I have consumed everything I considered worthwhile." Ib replied tersely, perhaps a touch more defensive than it should have been. Why was it so stung by this wretch's derisive pity?

"But you are not using it as you should be able to. Another safety measure, when we sent you away." Theo leaned forward, eyes steely. "You began putting down 'unfit' elected leaders, doing the duties of the Freed to 'prove their redundance'...you even tried to stop the creation of new Freed, by slaughtering the specialists tasked with making them. That could not stand. You were this close," Theo held up their right middle and index fingers milimetres apart. "To declaring yourself eternal god king of Libertas' Fleet, because you disagreed with our culture and felt you knew better."

"You were a lousy maker, then." Ib's smile was nowhere as comforting as intended. This did not bother it, it realised. "Why wasn't I a perfect little toy soldier, sharing your glorious perspective, or even a mindless attack doll, like the Freed?"

"Because we gave you the capacity to think freely!" Theo stood up, face flushed. "Don't you understand, dammit? This is the danger of freedom. It takes good, proper beings, and twists them into self-absorbed anarchists, who believe everything they know should bow to their wishes!"

"So, I went rogue." Theo looked away at its words, saying nothing. "And you did something that shut down all my memories, until I met my captain. But even then, the ones of the Fleet remained sealed away, until I approached you. Why? To prevent me from returning for revenge?"

"To prevent you from falling into the hand of our enemies. Our greatest weapon, with everything you know?" Theo shook their head, throwing in an entirely-theatrical shudder.

Ib was almost insulted at these gestures. Like they were trying to trick a human, or...

Or trick it into believing they were trying to trick them like they would a human, in order for it to become overconfident, and...dammit.

"What did you mean when you said I'm not using what I eat as I should?"

"Hmm? Ah..." Theo blinked, then scratched the back of their head with a gloved hand, that sheepish expression returning. "I forgot. When I sealed your memories, I also stunted your potential, Libertas. You should theoretically be able to 'become anything', as you are not bound to a single 'shape' or 'identity'. Your assimilation is an extension of that, or perhaps a mirror. You should be able to manifest, or even combine, the traits of things you consume."

"Will I be able to do that once we leave? Now that I know?" It couldn't keep the giddiness out of its voice, but who even cared about that? With this power, it could...it could...

It could find a spell to help Three find peace. It could protect Ryzhan from his pursuers, if they still even existed. It could-

"No." Theo sounded almost as crushed as Ib felt. "Your memories will, once more, fade, after you depart the Fleet."

"Can't you cure that?" Ib clenched its fists. "You did it, can't you...?" Ib was aware how pathetic, not to mention naive, it sounded. People often did things they could not undo, and...and breaking was far easier than making. This, it knew.

"I could. In exchange for-"

"I won't become your slave again. You already have enough of them."

"In exchange for," Theo looked more annoyed at the interruption than the words themselves. "A volunteer, in an experiment we are running at the moment. You, or a crewmate of yours-though, if you do not survive, my offer will become redundant. You see, we are trying to learn what a man could do, if bound to possibility, like our ships are..."