The Last Light (The Wandering Inn, #5)

by Pirateaba

But he was confused, because he wasn’t sure why they were here. Here, in this faded kingdom, when he expected to be out, marching in an army. For the kingdom was at war. They were at war, and the knowledge of it hummed in Trey’s blood at times. And yet here they were, growing accustomed to a life in this palace. Yet they were at war. A contradiction. They were at war, but they weren’t going to war. Not yet, at least.

“Is everything alright, my…liege?” The [King] waved a huge hand at Trey. “When we are not in a public setting you need not address me with titles. Actually…you need not address me so in a public setting either. I have told my Seven and Orthenon the same, but they refuse to listen. But in your world, it is not common to speak to others in such a way, is it?” “Yeah, but we don’t speak to the Queen.” Trey pointed that out. Flos smiled. “But your Queen should have those who speak to her as a person, not as a monarch. It is not always pleasant, to be a [King] at all times.”

Slowly, Flos bent and picked up the block of ice. It did not melt in his hands as he stared down at the man’s head. His friend’s head. When he turned back to the twins, there were tears in his eyes. A King wept. Unabashedly, his eyes overflowed as he held his friend and stared into his eyes. “You are right.” He said that to Teres, and then to Trey. “You are right. I—I have asked so much of my vassal, my companion over the long years. So much, and yet in death I ask more. To wait for so long…it would be far kinder to let him rest. It was my selfishness that demanded he watch over me even now.” He turned away from the two. Flos stared down at the block of ice and then bent. He kissed the ice over Drevish’s brow. “Sleep, old friend. I am sorry. It has been far too long since you treated me like a fool. Somehow, I had forgotten what it felt like to be one. But these two can speak the truth to me in your absence. So rest.” He turned and placed the head back on the dresser, only this time faced away from the room. Teres opened her mouth, but Flos turned and forestalled her. “I will bury him later. Tonight, in private. Now is not the time.”

I asked you to speak the truth to me, and seconds later demanded you do the opposite. A fool should not do so, let alone a [King].

He turned and led the twins out the door. And they followed, swept up in his wake as before. But there was something different this time. Trey and Teresa followed Flos, the King of Destruction. But the back they saw belonged to a man. Just a man. Carrying the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. And as he walked, Trey wondered. He wondered if Flos had ever had a friend. Perhaps Drevish had been one. Not a vassal, but a friend.

Not all [Kings] are the same. Those who sit upon thrones become different kinds of rulers. Some pursue peace, and their Skills and classes reflect that. Under their rule crops grow mightily, and their people rest under an aegis of protection. But not my people. No, my kingdom knows only one thing. War. I am a King who pursues war. It is in my nature, and when I act, it will be to lead my people into battle, not replenish the land or rebuild.”

“I get it, Teres.” “What?” Trey hesitated. How could he explain? He thought and whispered into Teres’ ear. “Think about the Great War, Teres. The Lost Generation—you know? Think of it like that. Only the opposite.” She looked blankly at him, and then her eyes widened. She took in the room, the aged faces. The lack of young ones. “Oh.” It wasn’t the faces Trey saw that had bothered Flos. It wasn’t the living. It was those who weren’t there. The children. The young people. There were scarcely any people Trey and Teres’ age, and he had seen…how many children over the month he had been here? So few. It was a flash of insight. Flos, the King of Destruction would go to war. He would ride off, and his kingdom would rise with him. They would follow his banner into war again, as they always had. Only this time, no one would come back. Or rather, there would be no one to come back to. This time, there was no generation of young men and women to fight. It would be the fathers and mothers who took up arms, every living soul. There weren’t enough bodies left. This generation would be the last. This was Flos’ kingdom. Dying. They had come to life, but that life was fragile. Tenuous. They were what remained, but if Flos rode to war, there would be nothing left.

“How are we getting out, then? Wait—are we going through a secret passageway?” Trey immediately grew excited, thinking of revolving walls, illusory doors and magical passphrases. But Flos shook his head, looking wistful. “I asked Drevish to build me a hidden network of tunnels, but he told me that he had better things to do than waste time creating secret walls and doors. He refused to put a single secret tunnel in my entire palace and told me that if I wished to escape my duties, I should find a way to do it myself without relying on cheap tricks.”

LOL 🤣 Not to mention that secret passages are a potential security risk.

“It’s like…” Trey searched for words to describe the feeling. “It’s like, you know, even if something bad happens, whenever we follow him, something exciting happens. And it’s usually good in the end, right? It’s like the grandest circus and movie and video game all put together. You can’t help watching him, the King I mean. And you want to be part of it.”

“You’re nothing like what I’ve heard.” “Oh?” “I heard you were a fool who accepted traitors and slaves into his kingdom. A rabble rouser with no respect for law or tradition.” “That’s partly true. But it doesn’t matter.” “Why not?” Flos spread his arms wide, grinning broadly with a smile that was infectious. “I am a King. If I cared what people thought, I’d really be a fool, wouldn’t I?”

“I do not care.” Venith stared. Trey stared. Teres stared. The villagers and soldiers were statues. But Flos just smiled. And laughed. And then he shouted so everyone could hear. “I am no petty tyrant, no fearful monarch! I am Flos, King of Destruction! My heart is large enough to suffer a thousand insults, but too small to accept the loss of one friend.

Flos thought for a moment, and then spoke softly. “One last time let the forges roar. Forevermore, forevermore. Let hammers sing and bellows cry And let voices split the very sky. The King is awoke, the land awake Now let us all an ending make. So one last time the forges roar And once all is over, nevermore.”

When it was over, they waited for him to speak. Flos’ head was bowed, and when he raised it, there were tears in his eyes. But he said only one thing that made Trey very afraid. “From what you have said, I must call this man Hitler a great leader.” He held up a hand as Teres leapt to her feet. “Listen. A great leader, and a poor thing not worthy to be called a man. That is what he was.” Slowly, Teres sat down. Flos stood up, and turned his back to stare out of the window. “Hitler. There is a name that rings throughout your world. Understand me, Teres, Trey. Yes, I admire this man Hitler as a leader. I reject his ideals, his beliefs, and the empire he created and the things he did. But he commanded the hearts of a nation and forged a defeated people into a blade that sought the throat of the world. He created darkness I had not dreamt of. He tried to kill an entire people. How can such a man not be worthy of praise, damning though it may be? And yet. He was no [King]. And he was not worthy of such a title.”

“If any leader can be killed by a fool with a second of training, how can your world have heroes? How can people look up to those who would inspire them, when they are as vulnerable as the next person to a weapon which kills in an instant? How can children sleep safe at night, when they know their lives may be snatched away in a second?” “You could do that with a sword!” “But a sword does not reach out and kill people. Arrows do that, but a child cannot hide a bow and use it in a moment. I cannot hide a crossbow so easily. And in this world, a fool cannot so easily snuff out hope in a single moment.” He looked away from Teres, who had no reply, and at Trey. “The world must have heroes, Trey. It must have leaders, and men and women to shake the hearts of many. Guns are a foolish thing.

“And the homeless and poor do starve. Is that not so, Orthenon?” The steward didn’t reply. Flos’ head bowed. “Where the average man goes without, the poor man dies. That is how it has always been. You do not need to tell me it is so.”

“Then you won’t fight?” Maresar asked the question quietly. Flos looked at her. “I would declare war for a child. I would burn a country to ash to avenge a fallen comrade. But I would never declare war for petty things like land or coin or treasure. A [King] should wage war for his desires, yes, but never for greed. And despite my feelings, that is how I view a war to take back my lands. They have other rulers. To take it is greed at this moment. It is a fine line. But I will not cross it.”

“People of Rast! Who is your King!?” And the walls of the city came tumbling down. ---- “Perhaps it was simply a metaphor.” When Trey could hear again, when the shouting and chaos had ended, hours, years later, that was what Flos said to him. It was what he said when the gates were thrown open, the people of Rast, his people, standing on the walls and cheering, the guardsmen and soldiers having either thrown down their arms and surrendered, or joined the people. They had opened the gates and flooded out, shouting and calling their King’s name.

“There are streams of refugees and villagers flooding the road to the city, my King. They have been forced out of their homes. Not just the ones in your lands—anyone who refuses to renounce you as King has been forced out.” Flos paused. “Were any killed?” Orthenon hesitated. “Some. But most are allowed to leave unharmed, but without any belongings. They mean to starve us, by forcing you to open your storehouses to feed so many.” “Clever.” Flos turned away. He stared at the map, and then walked out of the room. Orthenon called out. “My King? Where are you going?” “To see these fleeing people for myself. They are frightened, homeless. Because they believed in me. I will go to them. While I do that Orthenon, would you carry out an order?” “Of course, my King. What is it?” “Open my storehouses.”

They were refugees. People without a home, forced out of their country by war. The very definition of refugees. It surprised Trey, that there would be that kind of people in a fantasy world, a magical one. But that was what made it reality. Refugees, and dead children.

“Her name was Queravia. She was one of my Seven. She and Tottenval died in the war. She led my armies, not Orthenon. It was she who won the fiercest battles in my name, directing soldiers while my other vassals rode forth and fought on the front lines.” He had to ask it. Trey whispered. “What was her class?” The wood on the war room table cracked slightly. Then Flos looked up and smiled. Tears ran down into his beard. “She was a [Strategist]. The finest in the world.” His smile slipped. “Second finest. No. No—she was the greatest of them all!” He seemed to be arguing with himself. Flos turned his face to Trey, and there was pain in his eyes. “I did not see her end. But I heard of it. I did not think it was possible that she would ever die. She was my great strategist, Trey. Not just any [Strategist] either—she bet against luck itself. She was a gambler, a [Gambler Strategist]. Before she died she was a [Gambler of Fates]. And she lost her last bet in Baleros.”

You disgraced yourself in battle not a day ago!” It was a petty thing to say. Calac’s head lowered, and then he looked up at his father. “I did. I thought I could end things easily, even if it meant being dishonorable. That was the wrong thing to do, wasn’t it?” “Yes. It was dishonorable. There is no excuse for such actions, regardless of the reason.” Finally, something Venith could say with conviction. Calac nodded slowly. “Then why are you lecturing me and not stopping those men?” Silence. Venith searched for words, and found none. Calac turned. “I’m going. Me and some of the soldiers are going to ride to the King of Destruction’s side. We’ll probably die, but at least we’ll die doing the right thing. Like you taught me.”

Outside, the electricity gathered into one spot. High above the city, all sixteen towers shot lightning up, towards a…ball of lightning. Gazi paused, and looked at Trey. There was a wild grin on her face. “Drevish made this.” “Drevish?” “Yes. He studied Drake architecture. They build their cities to fight back even without defenders.” She gestured at the lightning. “Amerys and Drevish both worked on this enchantment. They called it [Storm Keep]. A spell to destroy entire armies. It was never used. There was never a need.” No army has ever attacked Reim. Trey stared at Gazi and then realized the plan. It was so simple. Lure the enemy close. Only it wouldn’t work if they stayed back and knocked the towers down with trebuchets. Now Gazi turned. She stared out one of the windows, down at the army surrounding Reim. The dark shapes were moving. Fleeing. Running away from the city now the trap had been sprung. But they were too slow. Too late. Too tired to run fast, and too disorganized. Gazi smiled. “This is for you, Drevish.” Then she touched the map. And lightning rained down from the heavens.

“What would you have me do, manage the girl’s affairs for her? Or let a distant relative or friend do it? How would she ever become a proper [Lady] then? No. No, she must either rise to the challenge or fail alone. Our help can only be that. Help.” She walked on, speaking as the fire built in her chest. The gall of it. An [Assassin], sent to kill at a gathering of the nobility. “This is Izril, ladies. Not Baleros or Chandrar, where war is a part of life. Not Rhir, where struggle is part of life. And not Terandria, where monarchs dictate who lives and who dies. Here we fight with words and thorns. We know peace, but peace with Drakes and Gnolls is bloody. We must struggle alone. Alone, even when we are together. To survive. And those who cannot survive, die.”

He desperately wanted to meet her, though he’d never laid eyes on her before. Because she could create wonders. If the people of this world believed in miracles, they would have called them that. But these were natural things to her. The incredible things she could do weren’t mere acts of magic, but something deeper. She had only one real class. Only a few people knew her true nature. To the rest, she was part magic, part enigma. But she changed Izril, changed Liscor, changed people by her very presence. Her class was [Thaumaturge]. She worked wonders. Her name was Xrn.

Erin Solstice stood at the table and scrubbed hard with soapy water after Bird had gone. She avoided the wriggling orange maggot until a paw reached onto the table and grabbed it. “Mrsha!” She whirled and the white-furred Gnoll fled, the squirming maggot held triumphantly in one paw. Erin went to run after her, but Lyonette got there first. Erin heard the two having a one-sided argument as she turned back to cleaning the table. “No, Mrsha! You can’t have it. No, you can’t—don’t lick it! See how bad it tasted? Now, give it to me—no, no, you can’t put it with Apista. She’s in a shell and I don’t think she wants company. Just give it to—just throw it outside in the snow, far away, okay? There’s a good girl.”

🤣

Ryoka’s mind raced. She stared at Krshia, imagining all kinds of things, good and evil and petty and grand to ask of her. But then she thought of who she’d come to Liscor to meet. She looked at Mrsha, and realized some questions were trick questions, even if the only person doing the tricking was yourself. She smiled at Krshia. The Gnoll watched her warily. Ryoka took a breath and spoke her price. “Friendship, Krshia Silverfang. That is what I desire.” The Gnoll blinked at her. All the Gnolls did. Ryoka turned to them, looking them in the eye. She finished last on Mrsha, who was touching the tome excitedly as Brunkr tried to push her paw away. “This is a gift of friends, and the cost is paid in intangible things. I offer it in the name of friendship, with you and your tribe, if you will accept it.” Krshia stared at her. Ryoka thought she saw the Gnoll smile slightly, and then she took Ryoka’s hand. She squeezed it tightly, and then let go. “So it is said! We are friends, Ryoka Griffin. And we will remember this gift for as long as our tribe endures. No—Gnolls will remember this. I promise you. Your name and that of Teriarch will be spoken as long as we endure. We do not forget.”

Everyone always thought that he, the [Necromancer], had only one particular skill. But Pisces was a [Mage] as well. He had specialized his class in one field of magic—and then gone back to study every other field as well. Pisces sneered at the idea that a truly great mage had to be limited to one class. A true [Mage], or so he felt, specialized in as many classes as possible. Yes, a great [Mage] was a [Pyromancer], a [Seer], an [Alchemist], a [Sword Mage], a [Warlock], a [Druid]—although Pisces was leery about getting tattooed. And any true mage, any true purveyor of knowledge and secrets had to have other skills as well.

“Dead gods.” “Tree rot.” “Silver and steel.” “I lack an appropriate expression for this moment. Comrade Pisces, assist me with determining one.” “I think, wow is probably all you need, Ksmvr.”

What should she say? This time Ryoka knew the answer. Whatever came to mind. Whatever she needed to say. Because she was beginning to remember it now. This was how it went. She had a friend. And what could you tell a friend, a true friend, a good friend? Anything.

anyways, that’s really…are you sure he’s dead?” “What?” “Rule of monsters, Erin. In every scary movie, in every video game…the monster’s not dead until you see the body. And sometimes, not even then.” Ryoka stared at her friend. Erin had frozen in her seat. “You think Toren’s alive? But I cut his mana supply…” “Maybe he had a mana potion? Or…is there a way to generate mana on your own? Could he have found another master or something? This is reality, not a movie, Erin. But we are in a fantasy world.” “I know. I get it. I’ll—I’ll keep an ear open. If anyone talks about a skeleton, I’ll know.”

Toren's alternate identity as Miss Swordswoman Adventurer is suddenly even better than it already was.

I’d look at news stories of people letting dictators get away with crimes, or turning a blind eye to crimes or not doing anything when there’s a problem. Or if they did, it was something small. Something I thought was worthless, like one of those food drives where you donate bits of food and ship it off to another country. Ordinary people did just enough to make themselves feel good and let other people do the actual work.” “Sometimes that’s all you can do.” Erin’s voice was soft. She looked at the table. “Sometimes you can only do a bit, Ryoka.” Ryoka nodded. “Yeah. I realized that when I tried to do the right thing. It’s really hard. Really, really hard. Half the time it seems like there’s no answer, no good way to fix what’s broken. The other half, it feels like if everyone would just work together we’d solve the problem. But we never do.” Erin stared at a wall. When she spoke, it was quietly, thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s fair to ask random people to fix problems. I think we’ve got to work together, so if there’s something I need to do, I’ll ask people I can trust. My friends.” “But if you do that, what about the world?” She shrugged. Erin pointed to the closed window. “I don’t know about the world. I can’t imagine trying to solve world hunger, or—or cure cancer. And there’s no internet here. No way to talk to people. But I can help people around me. That’s what I did at Esthelm.” “You did do that.”

“That’s big.” “Why aim low?”

Now Pawn was something else. Not just a [Tactician] or [Carpenter] or [Butcher], but something that defined him. He had a class that was unique to him, something no one else had. He was an [Acolyte]. The first of his kind. He was also a leader. It was not the same as [Tactician], no. For a [Tactician] only thought of the world in terms of loss and gain. They could command, but their Skills and nature did not inspire. Pawn led Soldiers, the huge, silent guardians of the Hive. He had hundreds of them under his command, each one a killing machine. They didn’t have hands. Their fists were designed for murder, for tearing and pounding force, not to hold things. They had less future than that of a Worker, for they would live and die in their Hive, fighting against threats with their short lifespans. They were fierce, loyal, unwavering. Pawn did not deserve to command one of them, but he had no choice. He had been given a position of power, so Pawn had learned to lead. He had lives of Soldiers under his authority, and he had unwillingly accepted the trust they had placed in him. He was no true general, no gifted visionary, but he had a duty. So Pawn learned. He learned what to say when he held a dying Soldier in his arms. And he learned how to give them hope. Because that was what the Antinium needed. Hope. A dream. Faith that there was something worth dying for. The Hive wasn’t enough. Not at all. The Queen wasn’t enough. What they needed was light. So Pawn took the Soldiers who...

“What is your class? What do you do besides lead Soldiers, Individual Pawn?” Why did he keep calling Pawn that? The minute tolerance Pawn had felt evaporated. He answered shortly. “I am an [Acolyte]. I pray.” “An [Acolyte]?”

NOOO! Pawn, I'm pretty sure you were SPECIFICALLY TOLD to tell NO ONE about the [Acolyte] class.

Why was Tersk asking all these questions? Pawn…didn’t feel like talking at this moment. Even to a Prognugator. It was an insidious, rebellious thought, he knew, but Tersk wasn’t his Prognugator. And Pawn hadn’t cared for Ksmvr, his former Prognugator, either. Why did he have to obey anyone, for that matter? Why did he have to obey Klbkch? Oh. Right. He had swords. And Tersk had a mace. And two large armored Soldiers following him. Pawn grudgingly continued to talk rather than walk away.

How could Pawn not know? He knew Workers were assigned to construct defenses, shore up and fortify tunnels, all while Soldiers fought and died. He knew how many died each day. He could see the empty spot in the barracks. But he had never been there, never really thought about the cost. They were all Antinium, and they died for the Hive. That was all. It hadn’t really mattered so long as the Hive was fine, in Pawn’s mind. Until now.

“I have witnessed the Soldiers under your command. I noticed the markings on them, the paint markings. They are…striking. I wonder if such paints would allow for greater visual recognition on the battlefield. However, I do not understand why each Soldier is painted differently. Please explain that aspect to me, Individual Pawn.” “They are important because they define the Soldiers, Tersk.” The Armored Antinium waited. “Only that? I thought there would be some greater meaning to the paint.” Pawn nodded. “That is everything. That is what makes the Antinium…Individual.” “No. That is not what I understand Individuals to be. If paint were all that it took to create an Individual, why not paint every Antinium?” “Because they need to do it themselves. It is a choice, Tersk. The Soldiers under my command chose their markings, chose to be Individual. That is what makes the paint so special.”

“You wish to understand, Tersk? Then understand this.” He pointed at Tersk. He didn’t poke the other Antinium, because Pawn was sure that if he did, the other two Soldiers would kill him. But he did shout. “Neither of you can understand what it means to be a Worker or a Soldier! We are not just numbers, Tersk. We feel pain. We suffer. We despair. And we die. If we do not feel boredom, it is because we have never known respite. You cannot understand what makes us Individual.” “The other Individual, Belgrade, froze up due to his fear. Is that the weakness of your new identity, Individual Pawn? The Prognugators do not bow to emotion.” “Neither do we.” Pawn spat the words at Tersk. He felt angry, angry because Tersk did not understand, because he couldn’t. How could this Antinium be a Prognugator, lead Soldiers and Workers like this? “If you cannot understand Belgrade’s fear, then it is because you have never experienced failure. You do not feel the same danger. You wear armor. We have none. If you want to understand us, take off your armor and fight as we do, with your bare hands. I would tell you to ask your Soldiers, but they have no voice. That is a pity, or they might tell you all you are doing wrong.”

Xrn. The Small Queen. [Thaumaturge]. Not [Mage]. Not [Wizard], or [Sorceress], or [Witch]. She didn’t practice just magic. What Xrn worked was something else. Wonders.

He was dead. It was Pawn’s fault. And there was nothing left of him to remember. Nothing. Just a memory. For all Pawn had done— Pawn stood up. No. The Soldier couldn’t be forgotten. He stumbled past the Soldiers as they parted for him. He ran over to one wall of the barracks, to the spot that had been cleared. Pawn knelt by the cans of paint he’d bought, pawing through them frantically. Which color was it? This one? No. This one. The Worker stood with a jar of paint in his hand. The other Soldiers stared. It was bright green paint, the same color the dead Soldier had used. Pawn slowly dipped his finger into the jar, and turned. The walls of the barracks the Soldiers lived in were dirt. Not loose dirt, but hard-packed, as good as stone and unbreakable in most circumstances. Pawn found a spot along the wall. It didn’t stand out from any other spot. He dipped a finger into the bright green paint. And then he pressed it against the wall. Pawn slowly drew on the wall of the barracks. The other Soldiers watched as Pawn traced on the hard-packed dirt with green paint. He drew a star. The star that had been on the Soldier’s chest. It was small. It was green. It was a tiny thing in the vast barracks. But it was there. Painted on the wall, marked. A memory. So long as no one damaged the paint, no one destroyed the wall, it would remain. And if they did? If an earthquake happened, or Klbkch told him to get rid of it? Pawn would repaint the star elsewhere. Because he remembered. He re...

Pawn stared at it all. Each Soldier was there, on the wall. Their bodies were gone, but there they were. He ran his hands along the dried paint, and felt something there. Small things. Shapes and symbols, things that held meaning only the Soldier that had chosen them would know. Fragments of their soul. It was not enough. It could never be enough. But it was something. It was something to cling to.

These weren’t devastating numbers. The Hive had suffered worse, and always come back. New Workers and Soldiers were always being created. That also meant each day they were also dying. If not by the hundreds, at least a dozen. Each day. Each day, a dozen Soldiers like the ones who lived on the walls of the barracks in paint died. Each day. Pawn could barely fathom that. No—it was because he couldn’t imagine such a thing that he was still able to function at all. Workers died. Soldiers died. They died and their bodies were turned to mush that other Antinium ate. Each day. If you dwelt on that, you’d curl up and die, like the Workers who never woke up and were carried away. Or worse—you’d become an Aberration. That was how they were created, surely. Pawn had come close, once. He felt that had to be why. It was when you couldn’t make sense of it all, when the death and emptiness crushed you down and left not even loyalty, not even the shred of…of anything. That was when it happened.

“An [Acolyte]? Damn. Uh, has Klbkch told you why that’s not a good thing?” Pawn nodded. Klbkch had indicated it was not, in action as well as word. He’d told Pawn not to speak of gods to anyone. After he’d tried to kill Pawn for knowing about gods in the first place. “He has expressed his desire to keep such knowledge private. I have done so, and only told you of my class outside of my Hive.

That's not true. You told the representative of the armored antinium.

“You mean they’re born and are fully cognizant the instant they come out?” Ryoka seemed fascinated, but she was missing the point. Pawn nodded. “The instant a Soldier emerges, he is expected to fight and serve his Hive. He may be sent into battle minutes after he is born. What can he have in those minutes, if not faith that he is dying for a reason?” “For his Hive, you mean. For his queen.” “Yes. But it is not enough. If the Soldier lives, he will fight every day for his Hive. Fight and die, Ryoka Griffin. That is his fate. Fight and die. What can you give him? Money? He has nowhere to spend it. Family? He will never reproduce, and his brethren die with him. An experience? He has never seen the sky.” The young woman sat across from Pawn, staring at him as if she were looking at something horrible or tragic. Pawn felt something surging in his body, something dark, but also… “You tell me faith is not needed. I disagree. When Erin told me of God, of Heaven, it was important. It was necessary. Because what else can the Antinium cling to? What can I give the Soldiers who died for me, if not hope of a place to rest? What can I give a Soldier who will die in moments, if not faith? Tell me, Ryoka Griffin. Why is faith meaningless to the Antinium?” She had no reply. She sat back, looking stunned, and then ashamed. When she did speak, minutes later, it was humbly. “I’m wrong.” Pawn nodded. “Yes. You are.” She nodded as well. “I didn’t know about how the Antinium lived. I guessed, bu...

“Tell me what?” Ryoka smiled crookedly. “Religions, Pawn. Not just one. Erin told you about Christianity, right? Well, I’ll fill in any gaps she might have missed and…let’s call it context. I read the Bible back to front. And I know…well, I know a bit about other religions, too. Buddhism, Sikhism, Shinto, Zoroastrianism…not everything, but I can tell you more than Erin did. If you’ll let me, I’d like to tell you about other religions, the good and the bad.” Pawn looked at her. For the first time that day, his heart lifted. His mandibles parted, and raised in a slight smile. “Truly?” “If you’re going to be the first religious Antinium…you might as well be the most informed. Sure. Let’s start with Christianity.”

“I asked Pisces to put his [Invisibility] spell over me. I’ve been hanging around here all day.” Ryoka rubbed at her backside. “It was a pain in the ass, and I kept having to deal with assholes trying to sit on me, but I saw what I needed to. Lyonette’s not the problem, Erin. Those two are.” She jerked a thumb at Safry and Maran. The two [Barmaids] looked suddenly apprehensive. “We didn’t—” Ryoka rode right over them. She seemed to be enjoying the moment, in the way only the detective unveiling the mystery at the end of a case, or a judge handing down a sentence could be. “I watched everything, Erin. Safry and Maran brought in humans so they wouldn’t have to serve Drakes and Gnolls as often, they can’t tell non-Humans apart, neither of them will go get water, and they take breaks when things are busy. Oh, and they’ve been grade-A assholes towards Lyonette all day.” Lyonette’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t expected this! But it was a relief to hear Ryoka say all of that. More than a relief. Erin stared at Ryoka. Her eyes slid sideways to Safry and Maran, who were both looking uneasy. Erin thought, and then looked at Ryoka. “Okay, they’re in the wrong. But—” “Safry pushed Mrsha.” It was just a little detail, slipped in. Erin was still formulating her next word when it hit her ears and reached her brain. She stopped. “What?” “I didn’t—” Safry backed up as Ryoka turned to her. Ryoka was grinning, but it wasn’t really a grin, more like a rictus of bad feeling. “Right, it was just a l...

Mrsha was tangled around Erin, Ryoka was fighting to get towards one of the [Barmaids]. They were shrieking at her, and Lyonette saw the world start to shimmer around Erin. Something changed. The air became hot, and turmoil leaked into the room, grabbing at the hearts of those within. The floor shook as the inn rumbled, and the oppressive menace seeped upwards, grabbing, clutching— “Leave.” Erin Solstice was a thing that stood in the dark hallways of fury, watching, waiting, arms folded. Mrsha was a beast of claws and teeth that reached out to engulf and consume. It was an illusion, but it still frightened Lyonette. And she wasn’t the target. The [Inn’s Aura] Skill sent Safry and Maran running screaming towards the door. They vanished into Octavia’s shop with a crash of broken glass and the [Alchemist] shouting and the air of menace faded.

YAY! 🎉

But you cannot hide from your duty forever.” “Why? What is my duty? Is it to my Queen? My Hive?” Xrn nodded. “Partly. But you have a greater duty still, Pawn of the Free Antinium. The duty all Antinium share.” “What is that?” “The duty of the Antinium, Pawn, is to survive. We go to war, we struggle, and we die, all for the same purpose. That some may live. That one may live. All this time, across thousands of miles and an ocean, we have come for one reason. To survive.” It was the same phrase, the same idea, wrapped up differently. Pawn turned away, bitter. “At what cost?” “Anything less than the whole of our species is acceptable.” “Not to me. Go away.”

“You know, hearing what you’re going through reminds me of what I used to hear from Sserys all the time.” “Who is that?” “Oh, no one special. You wouldn’t remember. Anyways…” The Drake trailed off and then shook his head briskly. He looked at Pawn. “He told me to keep looking around, at my officers, at my soldiers. In each battle, in war, in peace, look for someone who can inspire others. Someone with talent, courage, a spark. And then to nurture that spark until that individual can surpass me. Only then would I step aside.” “If no one else can command, you must.”

They watched as the Antinium passed. They alone saw and understood the rest. Xrn clutched at Klbkch’s arm, so tightly he thought his body might break. “Oh Klbkch. Do you see him? He is just like we were once.” “He is not. It is not…not the same.” It was pride that made Klbkch say that. But he couldn’t take his eyes off of Pawn. The click of the Soldiers’ mandibles echoed in his soul. He saw another group in their shadow. Antinium of the past, long gone. Heroes. Xrn shook her head, her eyes not leaving Pawn. “No. It is exactly the same. They have not forgotten, Klbkch. These fragments, these children, they have the same spirit. The same courage.” She whispered. “They are Antinium.”