(Hey Author Here!! Life got busy so i didn't post for a while and then Royalroad put me on hiatus whaaattt?????? Anyway, it forced me to whip the next two chapters into shape! Now please let me know what you think via comments, ratings or reveiws!! If you read this far it would mean the world!!!! Also be careful of changes, this area is rough so as always it may change over time but the general idea will always be the same!!)

  The crowd behind the two mages was still shouting out in widespread fervour. It was an elated wave of cheers, gasps and murmurs that spread like a tidal plume of water through the sea of faces. The box was strangely empty apart from a series of shadowy service corridors leading to the dining hall. Jan turned back once to see the ant-like Jaen staring up at the scribe as would a farmer to the rising sun. In that moment it felt as if the majesty of the young consul could only be replicated by licks of golden sun. Filt, Milo, nobleman, and countless others jittered like specs of sand on a winding beach from the majesty of Irwain’s box with their importance dwarfed by the illussion distance.

  [Healing 300]

  Jan spent a few seconds tearing a rib back into place. The pain shot through his side and knit its way up slowly.

  He shuddered to think of the repercussions of displaying that much power infront of nearly half the city; however time wasn’t on their side and whatever tabloid or glowering review would be published in the Sam Herald had to wait until a veritable horde was no longer gnawing through the gates. Consul’s Hidden Powers Steal Watcher From Local Hospital, or Innocent Jaen Disrupted by Cheating Consul, Extremely Talented Mage with Lesser Talented Feats could all be plausible headlines for the next edition. However, a strange knot in his stomach began to form at the bizarre possibility that for the first time in history the blackened ink scrawl of a newspaper may publish something genuinely positive. It would be a blocky headline along the words of Consul Saves City, Hero’s of Kag Strike Again, and in some outlandish world plaster a picture of their faces as a hero's welcome to immortal fame. It would mean retribution. A city would be proud. People would be proud. That was if the city still stood and i’ts people clung to uninfected breath. Aloat however stood flabbergasted with a strange expression sliding across her face. She shifted in her armour slowly as if trying to gain her bearings before checking their surroundings and steadying herself with a drawn sword.

  “Jan….that…..that was incredible?”

  The scribe simply nodded.

  “You we’re, some of those spells we’re…” She stuttered as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Aloat you do realize I'm Consul for a reason right?”

  She turned to stare down below like a historian gawking at the scrolls of an ancient past. They were wasting precious seconds but this was a moment that would taste good to savor.

  “I……Jan you don’t understand, in a fight like that I wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes, but you… you won. All those times I picked on you? You could have done this? You could have always stopped me why? Why not?” She questioned in a strange tone.

  She clenched her first repeatedly into a firm ball as she spoke with her fingers grasping the hilt of her sword tightly. From the way the words clung to her tongue the scribe could tell she was fighting to form a response.

  “Maybe, one day you’ll be strong enough to know why?” Jan replied calmly.

  Aloat’s eyes swallowed whole to reflect the size of dinnerplates. Her pupils dilated facial muscles twitching in contemplation. Then she opened her mouth to let out a single response.

  “Nope”

  “Nope sorry Jan if I were you I probably would have beat the $%#& out of me like the first day. Turned me into like a wallnut with some ridiculous ultra-magic and fed me to the squirrels” she laughed.

  An awkward silence fell over the box’s interior. It contained several polished chairs and platters laden with exotic foods and local delicacies. Grapes, fresh loaves, lobster, cooked duck and a smattering of vegetables entombed two delicate pitchers of wine. All was untouched. From the sandy dust smears and absence of disturbance it looked as if no one had graced the room since the servants first set the table.

  “Look, I don’t know what to say other than I'm sorry” Aloat breathed.

  He stared at the sheriff nervously rubbing her shoe into the stone floor. She waited for a response with every inch of her posture showing off a glimpse of remorse.

  Jan had to make a choice.

  “That’s for another time we need to….”

  Awkward silence was quickly dissuaded by the tension of the moment.

  The scribe didn’t grace her the dignity of a response. He switched the subject carefully to avoid having to bring up a past that felt far distant than it truly was. Aloat’s shoulders slumped as she acknowledged the hidden meaning behind his words. Then she jumped at the chance to distract them both.

  “Discuss the fact that Irwain is one hundred percent infected? Look between how many officials and minor nobles have seemingly abandoned their posts to watch a single game, it’s safe to say this city is rotten to the core.”

  The other scribe's face dropped. It was a sketched out equation waiting to be solved, they both knew the answer but we’re hesitating to draw the chak.

  This wasn’t a time for sentimentality.

  “I would say he probably was infected and sent us to that pit trap in the first place, but I still don’t understand why me? Whatever creature sent the lizard knows something about me that Sill does too.. it could be the connection to electricity but im not sure” Jan responded.

  “Likely story but we don’t really have time to find out” Aloat coughed.

  She turned to face the entrance behind them. Jan nodded. He paced slowly and stared down the service corridor like a two-bit soldier facing off with nothing but a polished wooden spear in a lion’s den.

  “Irwain is a powerful mage, he’ll be strong, strong enough to give anyone a fight….we’re going to need a plan. I brainstormed a few on the ride here but I wish Sill we’re here.” he coughed.

  “The demon rock? What were you going to do to throw it at Irwain’s head? You do realize there is no way from Arlon to Wei that rock is trustworthy.”

  Aloat’s face turned into a lemon-like consistency at these words. Her old personality quickly stepped back in place as they began to discuss a better course of action.

  “We’ll what do you suggest?”

  She pulled out a thin letter of parchment and let it flutter like a butterfly through the hot air. It was the same fine-pressed imperial livium that the “master” had so ostentasiously drafted Jan a mere hour before. It bent like a blade of grass between the tips of her fingers.

  “Why don’t we do a little improv?” Aloat smiled.

  —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Ten minutes later the two entered the hall below.

  Irwain was seated at the head of a dining table. Two guards flanked him on either side like statues of stone with their swords drawn. They were the colosseum’s lower halls now, having climbed down a thin shaft towards the lower reeches. It was a great hall but limited in size and more constructed to house the cloaks, shoes and horderves of dignitaries than for actual use. A sprawl of food and confectionery lay upon the table but even more interestingly were its occupants. Two were bound and gagged. In one chair sat Longsa, the imperial scrier was beaten and had her sword chopped in half, lying discarded like a twig on the floor. It was blunted down to nothing more than a hilt.

  Her hands were bound with metallic rope and her eyes lurched forward at the sight of two, seemingly inches from death. Scattered bodies of her imperial guard were littered like carrion on a battlefield and clumped around the table's feet.

  It was twenty six bodies in total. They were fresh. A table had been sliced in half. Chair-legs and splintered wood embedded into the porcupined bodies with sword-marks etched into the stone.

  Part of the back-wall to exposure sunlight, it was most likely from spell-fire with a chunk taken out the stairs and archway. A candle had been torn off the wall and splattered into a little waxy puddle. A sword was embedded in the wooden ceiling, it’s blade embedded with a springy twack.

  From the looks of the blood-smears on the carpet it was safe to say they had put up a fight.

  The general’s eyes turned wide when she saw Jan both in terror and relief. Still it was a strange emotion that dominated her pupils.

  Fear.

  She feared for all of their lives.

  In the other chair, tied, bound and also clinging to the last legs of life was someone entirely surprising.

  Imposter Laundre.

  Somehow the creature must have been dragged from the prison Jan and Aloat had hastedly fashioned and thrown into the clutches of Irwain. It was his sight that unnerved Jan the most. The creature absolutely sqeuamed at the sight of Jan.

  Imposter Laundre was servant of the master, that was the most common sense option and the only tangible idea that made enough sense to hold clout. To see him tied up like swine at Irwain’s table was a good sign, at least indicative of positive change. However, as Jan’s boot stepped over the squelching bodies of Longsa’s retainers, his mind began to race.

  The two stepped forward.

  Irwain noticed something that stole the glimmer from his eyes. In a room plastered with blood and gore neither Aloat or Jan seemed phased.

  They barely seemed to notice.

  It was uncanny, strange. The scribe should have been repulsed, ashamed, disgusted beyond belief.

  Here he walked with his head held-high like a common-merchant on a winding street.

  “Here at the Master’s Request, I give you!!! Jan Theric, defender of worlds, vanquisher of armies, and servant to….!!!!!!!!” Aloat shouted.

  Jan recognized a thousand emotions flicker like swaying regret over the old man’s eyes. They paraded over each other, each feeling of conviction screaming to drown out the others sorrows.

  “Oh shut up!” Irwain spat back.

  The older mage leaned back in his chair in stern contemplation. He looked distraught as if he had spent days without even so much as contemplating the abstraction of sleep. His hair was furled and neatly kept with his robes clean but his face gave away from the immactue appearance. The pupils glistened in a twist of guilt and fanaticism that made them swell into great black dots.

  The dots shifted forward.

  “I know you’re not infected. Somehow you managed to screw things up once again Jan, I really don’t know how you did it?”

  “Do you know how much damage you’ve done? How much pain have you caused this city? The people in that colosseum were safe, those on the walls were reduced to mere infetismal causualties.”

  Aloat and Jan turned to eachother. She gave a quiet “I told you so look” before the two began to inch forward. They motioned together, Jan was preparing to vault the glass capsule of cure using wind magic, a teir [1000] or higher would suffice. They would only get once chance and it was tremendous luck that Irwain wouldn’t block the first strike but a single splash on the archmage’s lips could suffice.

  It would cut the mage’s lips, but the scribe enough about the mage’s powers not to underestimate his powers.

  “I’m told you have a rock with you?”

  Silence met Irwain’s demands.

  “A talking rock?”

  Aloat looked like she writhed in disgust at the archmage’s words. Her own hatred for Sill shadowed her footsteps.

  “Not here with me, but he’s doing important things.”

  Visions of Laura and Sill abandoned on some infection riddled alleyway or street-corner came into view. Earlier the two had noticed a tiny force-field buble had erected around the smooth lattice of buildings. The powerful purple circle shimmered in a beacon of hope against the war raging outside. It was concerning but the building’s wards were impressive enough to guarantee safety. They had to live. She would succeed; it had to be true.

  “Great, do you know where that rock comes from?”

  A muffled cry came from the side.

  Imposter Laundre nearly jumped out of his chair, his tongue was pressed against the gag while he screamed to speak. Irwain raised his hand.

  [Mute 30]

  The spell was remarkably effective and in seconds the creature slunked backwards with muffled shouts and movements like a silent play. Strangely it seemed disgusted by the action and practically reeled at the sight of magic. There was an expression of pure abysmal hatred spreading like wildfire as it wrinkled and wretched it’s face in disdain. A blood patch and metal scraps were littered on the table. Jan noticed this at once. It seemed imperative these were taken from the insides of Imposter Laundre.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  It was desperate to make eye-contact with Jan, it’s own shoes scraping against the floor in an effort to slam the chair in the ground.

  The scribe ignored the creation.

  They would deal with it after they settled Irwain.

  The two made eye contact. It wasn’t a pleasant exchange of expressions. Aloat was getting close enough that she probably could splash the cure on his face without enough time for the archmage to react. They just had to keep him talking.

  “Jan don’t you think it’s a bit of a coincidence that the first mission I ever send you on besides picking up trash in the local park, ends with you safely at the bottom of a pit?”

  Aloat inched forward. Every step felt like a mile in her eyes. Irwain was only twenty or thirty feet away but the table might aswell have spanned entire worlds. She had her own vial of cure pressed inside her sleeve. Her eyes flickered towards the guards behind Irwain. They looked like the same kind who had served Nuem only wearing sleek black armour and with shaven appearances. It was obvious they could channel and without a doubt Longsa herself had fallen victim to their own swords. She had no hesistation in her mind they were playing for a devil’s gamble.

  “I say again, do you know who owns that rock?”

  “Captain Anthony Crous” Jan butchered the foreign name like hot butter.

  Irwain felt a smile glaze his face. He relished like a pig in swine as he gleamed in the legacy of those words.

  “Yes! Exactly! And you still sided with it? Cared for it? Like it was some lost puppy gone for a walk? I’ve been keeping you out of the loop Jan, for far too long I’ve treated you like an asset to be protected, but now too much is at stake anyone. When that lizard first told what happened, I was bent up with such rage I almost chopped his parasite ridden head off.”

  This was not good.

  Jan stared daggers into the back of Aloat’s head. She was infront of him now but the two continued to circle the table. Irwain’s westerling guards eyed them both nervously behind a near stone visage. They had witnessed the actions the scribe had preformed outside.

  “The infection, why?” Jan asked.

  “That wasn’t my decision, sorry Jan, believe it or not, I’m not particularly in cha…..”

  “Now!” Aloat shouted.

  Remarkably, Aloat while proficient at talks, had never been the kind for listening to the drawn out speeches of others. Even when there was a great deal of important information practically begging to be revealed through the means of dramatic monologue.

  [Windweld 900]

  [Windweld 350]

  Both heroes spat their bottle of cure at lightning speed to splash against Irwain’s face.

  The glass shattered in an instant cutting the archmage’s lip, drawing blood to trickle to the ground, but it would be a worthy sacrifice. Relief washed over Jan’s shoulders when he saw the liquid tribble like wine down the corners of Irwain’s mouth.

  His guards reacted.

  [Pull 100]

  In a split-seconds reaction Aloat slammed one of the guards forward. The westerling was quick to react, raising his sword and shooting [Lightning 100] towards them like a web of fire. The bolt faded when it reached Jan who instantly used [Pull 150] and [Knock 450] to slam the guard into a nearby wall. Aloat looked at him like he lost his head when he performed the non-lethal-taken-down but simply shrugged her shoulders in annoyance. Longsa tried to stand only for the enchanted rope around her tightened.

  The second guard ran forward, he sliced at Aloat almost catching her mid-stride only for the Sherriff to use [Fireball 350] on his chest, the westerling reacted with skill attempting [Ice-Frost 200] only to see flames slowly trickle over his icy shield.

  The fire soon caught above his shoulders.

  The man cindered into ash.

  Another slammed into Jan, he strutted forward in a half-dazed state for one of the westerling guardsmen to slam into him like a sack of bricks. The soldiers armour felt tough and brittle, like a mass-industrialized slab of steel, built without elegance but only efficiency of design. Jan could tell from the way the soldier spun it had been his own sword that likely put an end to Longsa’s servants. A fanatic devotion spurred through the westerlings heart as he pulled a [Fireball 100] forward. Twelve years in the now burned house Brathen, another six serving the master in swamps and rain-bogs in the outer reaches. Almost starved twice, stabbed three times, assassinated a prince, hanged, shot with an arrow, and once buried and left for dead. Fought offworlders' demon-machines twice. Lord-Guard Lian Yuen had always dreamed Nuem would give him a position high enough to make the easterlings pay for their ignorance. To show their pompous nobles and stuffed elite what it was like to hold a cause to your heart worthy of dying.

  Today was his today, his hour, his triumph.

  The Lord-Guard stepped forward.

  Jan responded in turn.

  [Smack 970]

  Things seemed to be going well, this was practically standard procedure in the world of monster-hunting: incapacitate (or maybe kill) the two henchmen, get Irwain to activate the city defences and shift the weight of the war onto his capable shoulders. Purpose would be slowly dribbled into success and with an archmage on their side Kag would stand like a bastion of liberty against the infected horde.

  That was until Irwain stood.

  [Windcatch 2000]

  [Push 600]

  [Hellfire 300]

  His eyes fumed into an icey-blue.

  It hurt like all hell.

  Jan flew back thirty feet and Aloat smashed into the wall-oncemore. She screamed out in pain but still crawled forward to fire [Light-smelt 300] at Irwain’s head. He flicked the death-defying bolt back like a spark from dying flame. Jan stood tall as a splinter of wood the size of a dagger protruded from his arm. He snapped it off and used [Healing 100] to slew the tissue back in place. Adrenaline blurred his vision.

  In turn, the archmage roared something that left both their hairs stand on end.

  “You two idiots really still think that I’m infected?” Irwain.

  The words dawned on both of them like a second-sun.

  The archmage used one of the bodies of Longsa’s guards as a shield and let his own blue robes drape along the floor. The mage stood like a crow among the litter of his catch, the blood staining the edges of his own robes blended well with its golden laurel.

  “Why?” Aloat breathed.

  “Why work for the master?”

  Every inch of Jan told him to fight, his body was screaming to light Irwain’s head in a crystalline lattice of static charge, to cinder the entire building into one chalky stick of wayward ash. Still he didn’t think he had it in him, to hurt a single hair on the traitors head.

  Irwain stood weary while he spoke.

  “There's an army of demons surrounding this planet. Our god wants to drive them back. If we stand a chance we need to be united. You and I are the masters servants, Jan. I raised you in every way he wished and now it’s time for you to repay the favour”

  The archmage pointed at a map. It furled on the table like a well-embroidered and ever so slightly blood-stained table-cloth. Jan instantly recognized the exact same markings as Nuem’s tent.

  “You have to join us, sorry..Aloat I mean you too, you both have to join us and with your help we can throw open the city gates and welcome our forces in with open arms.” He spoke intelligently.

  “All of this killing, it’s for a reason, listen Jan you know me, I never do anything without reason. I have a reason. Longsa didn’t understand but that doesn’t mean you have to make things hard.”

  “You have to jo………”

  Aloat tried to cast [Fireball 300] to be instantly stomped by Irwain’s [Windswept 600]. Blood formed at her teeth and she used whatever strength left to heal her insides. She was panting now and struggled to lean against the chalky brick wall.

  “Can you let me talk? Listen to me, we can take our time, the war outside isn’t disappearing in ten minutes theres no rush!” Irwain shouted.

  He stepped back almost as if to admire the tapestry of death that had been painted in the room infront. Jan knew enough about Irwain’s mannerisms to know he was in tantalizing thought, every twitch of his pinky was a scream in the archmage’s hands. The way his foot swayed left to right, the slightest inch of his toe’s flexion was indicative of a brain in pure turmoil. Years of delicate observation tauch Jan that at this moment, the archmage was in a state of pure unbridled panic. Diplomats, dignitaries, Kings and tyrants had dined with them one many occasions, never once had they furled Irwain into the state he was now.

  On the outside he looked perfectly still, collected. Inside, the archmage might as well have been a raving lunatic.

  They had to be calm.

  “What about Kiff? United through disease? Through the changeing?” Jan responded.

  His words lisped on the edges of the sentence with his tongue chaffing against the roof of his mouth.

  “I didn’t choose to kill….look I don’t even know who that is? Kiff you said?” the archmage retorted.

  For a sixtyish-year-old Archmage that was supposedly well-versed in all things related to political guile and had once negotiated peace-treaties for half the southern kingdom, that was not the proper response. Irwain backpeddled before a muffled grunt filled the room. In the confusion, the archmage’s spell had finally worn off.

  [Silence 30]

  [Counter-Silence 700]

  The mage moved to flick forward. Jan could tell his entire disposition waivered like a candle debating on whether or not he could reach the imposter Laundre to kill him in time.

  The creature had to be kept alive, if Irwain didn’t want him to speak it would only reveal the truth.

  Candles on the wall practically shuddered away from the archmage’s presence. Silverware, shadows, even the air thick with tension seemed to hedge like a crowd towards his mortal ambition.

  Then, in defiant protest, imposter Laundre spat out his gag and began to talk.

  “I’m so so sorry, you don’t understand Jan. We didn’t know, we couldn’t have known. It was planned from the beginning. It must have ambushed the dropship in orbit. The crew carrying you were slaughtered before they even had the chance to register with the Aurora. We had no way of knowing. I didn’t even know you existed until today. You have to kill him, kill this Jannic filth before he kills me and I’ll tell you everything, everything!” the fake Laundre spat.

  Jan was starting to see some of the imposter’s features fade. A dimple or two that had once belonged to Laundre were replaced with the wrinkles of another man. His hair was different, his face was somewhat the same was Laundre’s but somewhat slightly off. It was like an imitation puzzle, with pieces missing and a child had drawn the replacement back together.

  The realization struck him slowly.

  The way he said Jannic. The word.

  Jannic. Jannic. Jannic. Jannic. Jannic. Jannic. Jannic. Jannic. Jannic. Jannic.Jannic.Jannic.

  Jannic. Jannic. Jannic. Jannic.Jannic.Jannic.Jannic.Jannic.Jannic.

  Jannic. Jannic. Jannic.Jannic.Jannic.

  Jannic.Jannic. Jannic. Jannic.Jannic.Jannic.Jannic.Jannic.Jannic.Jannic.Jannic. Jannic. Jannic.

  Jannic.

  The disdain the filtered through Imposter’s Laundre’s lips was a hollowed out representation of Sill’s old words. It was without the same giddy enthusiasm the rock brought the slightest touch but there was no denying it. The creature in that chair worked for CORE. Aloat knew the significance too, her own hair nearly standing on end when the syllables waltzed around the room in a tauntilizing revelation.

  “Jannic….” Aloat let the word let loose upon her tongue.

  Irwain interrupted. He had no idea the gravity of the moment.

  Jannic.

  “Kill, that’s always the first thing that comes from their lips. Laundre was my friend, now I’m left with nothing but an actor in a hollowed out mask. They tried to replace him, slaughtered him like some pig and stuck a doll in his place.”

  Imposter Laundre looked at Irwain with a guise of utter disgust.

  [Wind-Push 2000]

  The archmage slammed furiously into the table. Irwain hadn’t been expecting that kind of power to come from the scribes soft hands. He steadied himself slowly and shot back a mixture of hatred. He didn’t dare interrupt but Jan could tell he uttered in contemplation between either killing Aloat or ending the creature which gagged at the table. Longsa watched in utter confusion.

  “Let him speak,” Jan responded.

  Then their eyes focused on the bound figure infront.

  “Jannic? The rock uses those words…Jannic, what does it mean? Do you work for CORE?”

  They waited for a response.

  Seconds felt like hours as the words poured out.

  Imposter Laundre relaxed for a second but spoke extremely fast. His tongue slothed against the roof of his mouth as if every syllable was worth it’s weight in gold. Sweat streaked down the creature’s face like a slick wet blotch.

  “Look, there’s alot going on here, and it’s really hard to catch you up to speed in only a few seconds. Calm down, and take your time. You are not from around here… god how do I even explain this, I need time, I can’t explain this if I don’t have time…I need more time.”

  He eyed Irwain like he was a poised viper waiting to strike. The mage’s facial expression bled into truth. He was terrified that if he said the wrong words Irwain would strike. His faith lay in the fragile morals of a near child.

  “Anthony Crous? He killed my parents. Why?” Jan asked.

  The other man teetered on the brink of hyperventilating. He looked lost in thought as if torn between contemplating reality and truth.

  “He didn’t kill you parents, ignore the jannic, we call them Jannic’s to mock them about the planet, that’s likely why they named you Jan, to mock us back. They got the people who worked in Kag, so you we’re missed. You are from that “demon” army in the sky, except they're not demons, we’re not demons, we’re good. You have to remember that CORE is good. CORE is good. Your parents died in the qail offence twenty-thousand jannic years and nineteen real life years ago, they had absolutely nothing to do with this decrepit world.”

  Aloat looked like she had just had her face punched in with a brick. She wasn’t even the one who had just been told she was born on an entirely different plane of existence.

  Jan’s stomach quailed. His head began to spin, but still it was hard to discern truth between lie. Still he focused forward. They needed answers. It didn’t matter what obscenities the creature spewed they could sort through them later. They just needed facts, any facts to discern. Fast.

  Irwain looked increasingly worried. His finger twitched and Jan almost blasted him with [Lightning 3000]. He held back in considerable restraint. The archmage wanted anything to make sure the imposter wouldn’t strike but he was hesitant to block Jan. It was complete and utter insanity. The words imposter Laundre was spewing from his mouth were like an amalgamation of provocative gibberish, the raving of a lunatic that were only held together by the sheer conviction lacing his eyes.

  “Oh thank god you’re here….” Imposter Laundre spoke in a hushed whisper. He was quickly cut-off by Jan. A chair moved in the background. Footprints appeared in the blood-splattered ground. No one noticed.

  There was no time to panic, only search for answers.

  “Sill mentioned a time distortion is that what you're talking about? What do you mean he didn’t kill my parents?”

  Irwain was getting more furious. Still, he was waiting. Almost as if to filter out whatever the imposter said, as if it was a useful scribble of truth. He wanted to witness this moment. Irwain was loving every second Imposter-Laundre revealed his true self.

  “No you are from orbit, from off this planet, time in orbit passes a lot slower than on the planet and Crous didn’t kill your parents he was sent to kill you.”

  The words mulled over the group slowly. More footprints appeared in the blood of Longsa’s retainers. No one noticed.

  “What happened?” Aloat inquired.

  “That’s what I was trying to find out but listene…..”

  “I’m sorry if you’re supposed to be helping me, then why would you want to kill me?”

  Irwain interrupted.

  “Speak another word to the demon and I’ll cut out his tongue, the way I see it you only have one option here Jan. An emissary from our god will be arriving shortly. You will offer your support to it and once the capital has fallen, we will be taken to one the master's stronghold’s directly.”

  “The capital hasn’t fallen?”

  “Not yet,” Irwain breathed.

  A small tinge of relief spread through their hearts.

  “So what it’s saying is true? I’m an offworlder as Sill puts it? That my parents didn’t even live in Kag?”

  Irwain responded quickly and with pure disdain. The words built up in his mouth, like a puss filled vemon. It was insanity. Just ten days prior, Jan had held a signed copy of their marriage certificate in his own hands. What terrified Jan more wasn’t the nature of the outlandish statement, but that it started to make increasingly sense. No one in this city knew their names. Hundreds of thousands of people and not the barest word on the street. The imperial census records contained no more than a standard tax-file, no friends, no relatives, no commendations, abmitions or dreams. Laura’s parents had entire libraries of works immortalizing their fame, cementing their purpose, existence. Only when Irwain had been called did shreds of proof begin to emerge, always well-after Jan spent weeks in scouraged detective-work tracking down trailing leads. He remembered a stable-maid, Loan Yuen, Jan had spent weeks questioning countless guards about his parents existence. None could give him an answer, that was until sent by Irwain, Yuen recanted her story of milking cows with Jan’s mom and the humor of “accidentally” squirting the liquid onto a high-inspector’s shoes.

  Jan had believed it, cherished it.

  The power of a single story. The power of the lie.

  Yuen, Damnu, Laundre, the merchants in the old quarter, the librarians of the imperial census, the dock-workers outside his “fathers” work, the guards on the wall. They had all been instructed to lie. They had lied well.

  “Don’t believe a word he says, why would he tell the truth? Do you understand the insanity these creatures are capable of? They slaughter entire villages just for accidentally watching them light a fire!”

  “Jannic….” Aloat let the word rest on her mouth again slowly.

  The word was the only shred of credibility that held to imposter Laundre’s name.

  A brief flash of relief spread across Aloat and Jan’s faces. The imposter’s words clung to Jan’s movements like hot mud. It was like a layer of clouds building overhead, each their own problem but contributing to something more. Irwain interjected again.

  “Do you know what happened to the person’s who’s face you stole?” Jan asked quietly.

  Imposter Laundre stayed silent.

  “I buried him, only a few days ago. Sill said it was CORE troops, I was too stupid to realize what he meant.”

  Irwain smiled at this. It was his time to step forward. He was sensing an opening in the dialogue.

  “You see our enemy Jan? Nothing’s changed, the infection doesn’t strip someone of their autonomy, only pushes them a step in the right direction. People will still be people, they still retain their personalities, hopes and dreams just under a little guide.”

  The archmage stepped forward. His shoe splattered on an apple from the now broken table.

  “They watch like an actor of the theatre with their world a stage. Speaking only a selection of lines curated by the master with their own voices a blurred smudge in the script. They will be forced to live their own lives vicariously through the dreams of an unseen Lord.” Jan repeated.

  It was the words of a Wei scholar. The words of Danat Vim. The same words she had struck down the very day her elixir first birthed into the world. The same words Damnu had once forced him to copy sentence per sentence thirty six times. They burned into his memory.

  “That’s what I hear.”

  Irwain walked forward again. Aloat gave him a somewhat understanding “our world may be shattered but we still have to deal with this guy” look before using more magic to heal her leg. Irwain continued to speak.

  “It’s a small price to pay, you don’t understand those demons in orbit, they want us dead, they don’t care for any of this, any of us. They want to squash us like bugs. We’re vermin to them parasites.”

  Orbit. The same word Sill had used earlier. It was like a bad mockery of the rock’s speech.

  “And if I refuse?”

  “If we refuse?” Aloat added.

  “An emissary from the master is going to be here any moment.”

  Jan nearly flew into a fit of rage. He slammed a fist against a table to have the wood splatter before pointing to the imposter.

  “I don’t care about an emissary for the master, about any emissary for the master. We’re going to hear what this man has to say and we’re going to sort this out now….”

  “Wait,” Irwain paused.

  He looked down at the splintered clock on the wall. One of the dead westerling-guards' heads was pulsing, neurotransmitters and a fleshy bulb en-snarred in a rhythmic movement.

  Something was close.

  “I don’t know if you have much choice Jan, the creature’s already about to arrive”.

  Aloat turned pale. Longsa’s eyes beated in terror.

  Just then the entire room began to shake. Screams echoed from outside. It wasn’t the same elated roar of a bustling crowd. This time it was something different, something evil. There were shrieks of terror. Thousands screaming in terror. Wind filled the dining hall. The kind of wind that only came from flapping wings. Sensing the urgency of the situation, Imposter Laundre began to shout.

  “Jan, I want you to listen there's not many of us left here were pulling back. It could take weeks for them to pick up the pieces and find you, they’re in this city but and we need to get to them. We’ll go together but in Wei capitals city there’s a cave, the trial of seven, at the bottom of it there’s a wall, it’s false, it’s the only wall. Go to that wall. Go to that wall. When we make it there you can call for help”.

  The words were lost in meaning. Jan paid attention but he was more focused on what-kind of a building sized bird could be large enough to make the cups and guantlets, let alone the bricks of mortar in the wall shake. Aloat was also struggling to relax but seemed to have a better grasp at the significance of fake-Laundre’s plight.

  “The trial of seven? I’m sorry but did that man just tell us to break a wall at the bottom of the trial of seven?”

  Irwain attempted to silence him again for the counter silence to quickly diswell. The trial of seven was one of the most mythical and holy relics in the entirety of Wei, only an individual or archmage above the age of a hundred could even attempt to step one foot down it’s spindly steps. It was place of tribulations, a place where heroes went to die. A place for only fables-loving idiots and the devout to ponder.

  “ You need to leave this planet, the ships in orbit…, find the trial of seven, the stars, we already fired….do you understand those aren’t stars in the sky during the day? we already fired? The reason we’re leaving this planet is because, we already fired.” Imposter Laundre added.

  Then the wall began to crack open.