Suiteonem Prime, Iron Horse City, January 2058

  It was the new year for Cal, but not for the people of the Empire of Man.

  The city he walked was the largest outside the ancient cities on the shores of the Inner Sea in the imperial core. It was a sprawling place this transportation hub for the entire southern half of the empire. All roads and rails led to Iron Horse City, as it said on the enormous signs placed at its many entrances.

  The noise of millions of thoughts was a maddening buzz in his mind. Like whispers without end, blending together into an eternal cacophony.

  Once it would’ve brought him down, forced him to flee or curl into a ball and retreat behind his psychic walls.

  Now, it gave him added focus.

  There was a House of Pleasure in every district.

  In theory all employees were willing ones. Exploitation and coercion were strictly prohibited by many laws and rules. Age was set to the same legal minimum as marriage. Thirteen years old.

  He had checked the empire’s calendar system and it was basically the same as Earth.

  The planet was marginally larger and it was marginally farther from its sun, but that didn’t make much of a difference.

  A day on Earth was about as long as a day on Suiteonem Prime.

  A year on Suiteonem Prime was about three days longer than a year on Earth.

  The Empire of Man needed to fall and rise into something better just for that law alone.

  He didn’t think that it was too much to ask to not marry kids to adults, let alone have them work in brothels.

  Just because something was legal didn’t mean it was right.

  House of Pleasure 37.

  A bright, floral sign for something so dark.

  The doorman was young. Twenty-two years old and already Level 32.

  Cal wore fine clothing in the local style to the young doorman’s eyes, so he opened the door with a smile and tip of the hat.

  He ignored the people inside after a brief scan and they ignored him as if he was a ghost drifting through.

  The fifth floor was the top floor were the most favored employees got rooms.

  Zenalia Orologiaio currently had one of the rooms.

  Her favored employee status was counter intuitive.

  They favored her because their only expense on her was room, board and the things that made her appealing to customers.

  Unlike most employees, all her earnings were split between the house and her contract holder.

  The late Lord Malum d’Montiano, who had died in the most undignified and most public way.

  The ownership council of the House of Pleasure were even now frantically conducting an audit of their dealings with the late lord and many of similarly suddenly deceased wealthy and powerful.

  Employees obtained and contracted like Zenalia weren’t exactly legal.

  Slavery in all but name.

  He slipped past guards and customers.

  It was midday, but a House of Pleasure was always open for business.

  And in a place like Iron Horse City where countless people passed through everyday they were always busy.

  Room 5-9.

  Near the end of the hall.

  A guard ignored him as he walked right up and opened the door with a thought.

  Zenalia wasn’t alone.

  A customer was in the middle of taking off his pants.

  Fancy pants, fancier than what Cal made them think he had on.

  “Go to sleep.”

  The rich man toppled face first with a thud, pants around his ankles and stained underwear pointed to the ceiling.

  Zenalia lay in her bed, partially clothed in transparent lace and frilly things.

  Her eyes gazed vacantly at the ceiling.

  Oh, that was one other expense the House of Pleasure took care of.

  Drugs.

  The lord had been explicit in the employment contract.

  Now that was also against the law, but here she was.

  Husband murdered, children taken and sold into slavery.

  She had no clothes fit for outside, but he had come prepared.

  Clothes floated out of his bag of holding and on to her.

  She was only thirty-six.

  That age of consent was much too low.

  He carried her out.

  None of them would remember her ever being there.

  Her contract in the house manager’s safe and in the House of Pleasure’s archives?

  Disintegrated.

  As for the other employees with their varying levels of willingness for the job?

  He would test that.

  Each had a surprise gift waiting in their homes.

  He hadn’t touched the bank accounts of the wealthy people he had killed.

  That would’ve been noticed.

  He had taken their wealth from their homes and secret stashes.

  Precious metals in coins and bars.

  Paper currency.

  Gems and jewelry.

  Let the investigators chase a robbery.

  He had a lot of wealth that needed redistribution.

  It was fair to give it back to those that had truly earned it.

  …

  Cal sat in a fancy penthouse suite at the top of the tallest tower in Iron Horse City fanning through the pages of a book.

  There was a small stack on the table. Everything he could get on short notice about the narcotics Zenalia had been forced to take.

  At the same time he guided his many agents in the city as he repeated what he had done in the City of the Sun.

  They were brave men and women, young and old.

  They were cowardly.

  They saw the injustice and corruption, but didn’t know how to fight back.

  They didn’t see the injustice and corruption, but knew how to fight back.

  They saw it, knew it and did nothing.

  How can one be expected to fight an empire?

  It would be like asking a single ant to stop the boot from crushing it.

  He guided them and clouded their enemies.

  Victims of the Office of the Inquisition or the nobility or the pleasure houses boarded trains to freedom.

  Zenalia lay in bed.

  She was a different matter.

  He had promised her daughter.

  Tinno, the son and brother, was already in a safe place with a thought healer waiting for his mother.

  She needed to be freed from the many narcotics they had forced her to take.

  It would take him a few hours to repair the damage to her body.

  The rest of the damage would take considerably longer and would be mostly on her shoulders to heal.

  Suiteonem Prime, World Tree, Suiteonem II, 20137

  “Stop opening it! Don’t poke it! Stop flipping it! No!”

  Eighty snapped early and often as she attempted to teach the art of cooking meats over fire and coals.

  Sixty-eight wasn’t as fascinated with the process as the other members of her lochos.

  She had watched and occasionally helped people cooking meat over fire and coals before.

  Her mother and father often hosted great gatherings outside their main house for everyone from other wealthy landowners in the area to everyone in the nearest villages to the guards and staff.

  Thirty-two apparently didn’t come from a place that did a lot of their cooking in the outdoors with open flames.

  He described a sort of cooking surface heated with magic gems or some such nonsense.

  Eighty had scoffed about that method’s lack of the, apparently, necessary smokey grilled flavor.

  Sixty-eight had to agree, though she did it silently.

  “Stop it! You’re letting the smoke out!” Eighty roared.

  “I’m just making sure the temperature is where you claimed it needs to be.” Fifteen sniffed.

  “Do it without opening the lid!”

  “Fine, as if I can easily create a way to do that without proper testing.”

  “You can measure the temperature of the container itself,” Thirty-two said.

  Fifteen’s cheeks colored as she muttered, casting her spell like Thirty-two suggested.

  Seven prodded a few thick steaks from some kind of cow-like animal.

  The butcher’s apprentice had called it a ‘cow’, but Sixty-eight had seen the animal grazing in the fields around the town and they did not look like the cows from her world.

  They were close, though, but cows did not have orange and black-striped fur.

  Proper cows where blue, like the berry.

  At least the meat looked the same.

  Nice and red with good fat scattered through out like veins of ore in a mountainside.

  In fact, her mouth watered at the smell.

  “How much longer?” Seven said.

  “I don’t know. You don’t time it. You feel it.” Eighty huffed. “Do the trick I showed you. Middle finger for medium rare.”

  Seven pressed middle finger to thumb then poked at the fat part of his palm beneath the thumb. He then poked at the steak.

  “Yes, but how would you translate that to time?”

  Eighty sighed.

  “For steaks that thick? I guess five minutes for the first side, then three to four on the other. Don’t forget to sear the sides.”

  “How long does one sear? And do I sear the bone?” Seven said.

  “Rrraaarrr!”

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

  Eighty stomped off to split more logs for the fires… with her bare hands.

  Thirty-two leaned over to Seven.

  “I timed the other ones and judging by size, I calculated that those numbers sound correct.”

  “Thanks. That means I flip… now!” Seven forked the steaks over.

  “Don’t forget to turn it in quarters for good markings.” Thirty-two consulted the copious notes he and he alone had taken down from Eighty’s angry and aggressive instructions. “And let it rest after taking it off the heat.”

  “Why is she just sitting there?” Fifteen glared at Sixty-eight.

  “Because Sixty-eight paid for most of this stuff,” Seven said.

  It had turned out that her Quest with Thundercrash far outstripped what the others had gained on their solo attempts and what they had gained as a group.

  “And she’s working too.”

  Seven was correct.

  She was busy putting thin strips of light pink meat on tiny wood spears.

  It had taken her a few tries to do it like Eighty had shown her. Folding the strips over as she placed them on the spear, almost like a stack of cards.

  Another weird animal.

  The butcher’s apprentice had called them ‘piggies’.

  They resembled the boars on her world, except weaker and fatter.

  The animal she knew was fierce and powerful. A threat to hunters and their hunting beasts with their deadly tusks and dark fur as thick and tough as armor.

  These pink-skinned piggies waddled like fat babies and ate fruit from her hand with a look in their eyes that said stab them in the heart and feast on their flesh.

  She almost felt bad as she dunked a completed piggy skewer in the sweat and salty marinade-thing Eighty had made.

  She regarded the long bowl.

  It was full.

  She eyed Fifteen.

  “I need another marinader bowl.”

  Fifteen had been tasked with that job.

  The older girl’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she flounced over to get right on it.

  …

  The practice went well.

  Everyone learned what they had to do.

  It wasn’t difficult to focus on a task.

  Nearly a year of training had removed the concept of leisure time from their brains.

  Everything they did had a purpose, thus, there was simply no opportunity to procrastinate.

  It helped that an eidolon was never too far to apply punishment for said procrastination.

  They could pop up at any time and in any place.

  The day of the festival arrived.

  Sixty-eight was surprised that there was a grassy area on school grounds large enough to entertain thousands of people at the same time.

  The rising sun just barely peeked over the eastern horizon as her lochos began setting up their food tent.

  “Six hours to contest time,” Thirty-two said to no one in particular. “Is that enough time for the smoked meats?”

  “Yes!” Eighty snapped.

  She had only lost what little patience was in her the longer she had been forced to take the lead.

  They worked efficiently and silently.

  Putting up the tent, setting up the grills and smokers, prepping the marinades and meats.

  The butcher’s shop had even sent employees with the delivery, expecting to help.

  She suspected that she may have paid them too much.

  Alas, an eidolon had sent the helpful hands running.

  It was truly a test for the lochos alone.

  They finished setting up a little after sunrise and soon after the earthy scent of burning wood began to waft from their tents cylindrical vents, which were enchanted to suck the smoke out quickly.

  “I have created a schedule so that we may all see what this festival holds,” Seven said.

  “Breakfast,” Eighty grumbled.

  “And also for breakfast. Don’t forget that the rules to this test do not explicitly forbid sabotage and attacks on another lochos. We are facing four. I’ve spoken to each leader and have received their word that they will refrain from violence and sabotage if we do as well.”

  “What about the ones in the other categories? Have you obtained the same assurance?” Fifteen said.

  “No. We were only informed this morning that the rules forbid it.”

  Thirty-two groaned.

  “Of course, the eidolons make it extra difficult.”

  “Well, I doubt that anyone would be foolish enough to attempt an open attack with all the important people coming to our festival,” Fifteen said.

  “That is my thinking as well,” Seven agreed. “I believe the eidolons want our conflicts to be subtle and quiet. Small blades in the shadows instead of long ones in the light. Therefore, we always travel at least in pairs, while maintaining a constant watch on our tent and supplies.”

  Sixty-eight glanced at the stacks of meat piled on cold-enchanted mats or hanging from cold-enchanted racks.

  “Don’t worry about this place. I have surveillance devices everywhere. They’ll even catch sabotage spells or Skills!” Thirty-two said.

  “Well, wonderful. I can’t leave,” Fifteen groused. “None of you are good enough at spellcasting to catch and counter even the weakest spellcasters among us.”

  Sixty-eight shrugged.

  True enough.

  Out of all her half-siblings that knew how to turn their divine energy into spells, Fifteen was near, if not at the top.

  Thirty-two sniffed.

  “My devices can detect even your magic.”

  “Can they stop it?”

  “…”

  “Hmph!” Fifteen crossed her arms under her chest.

  An annoying habit to Sixty-eight.

  “We have time to come up with a plan,” Seven said. “First thing is breakfast. I’ll take Sixty-eight, while you three defend our tent. Any specific requests?”

  …

  The festival had gotten considerably louder and more crowded after breakfast.

  Seven took Sixty-eight on a scouting run to the other teams’ tents.

  They hit One’s tent first.

  She thought they were going to observe from a distance, using the crowds for cover, but no.

  Seven marched them right up.

  “Sabotage?” One sneered. “Or distraction for another lochos to hit us from behind.” He jabbed a finger to the back of their tent where the others stood like sentries on a wall near a spawn zone.

  “Scouting!” Seven smiled. “Since you’re in the dinner test.”

  “Which one are you in again? I wasn’t paying attention when the list was announced.”

  “Lunch.”

  “Lucky you missed us. Or was it a tactical decision? The better chance at a lesser prize.”

  “No. Not at all. We put dinner as our first choice.”

  “Ah! Then the eidolons thought you unworthy of even attempting the greatest prize!”

  One’s laugh was echoed by his lochos almost as if they had practiced it like a tactical maneuver on the battlefield.

  Sixty-eight told him that, bluntly.

  “Weaselly! I didn’t see you there! You’re still so tiny that I sometimes lose you in Seven’s shadow. So small, yet rumors say she’s the gold maker in your lochos, Seven.”

  Seven’s smile never dipped.

  “Yes! She personally felled twenty-six vicious gangers in Mathogopolis. You know of it?”

  “I might have heard of it, but it’s not familiar.”

  “Well, apparently it’s a hive of criminality. The worse kinds. It has five empyreal guards stationed at all times. Sixty-eight fought side-by-side with one. Thundercrash. He was very honored by her presence. Did you know about her commendation?”

  One’s eyebrow quirked.

  “I’m not surprised. Weasels are vicious killers. They take prey many times their size.” He regarded her. “When I call you ‘weasel’ or ‘weaseling’… I mean it.” He cleared his throat. “I know that combat hasn’t been explicitly forbidden, but I think none of us would want to suffer bitten throats or gouged eyes over food.”

  “And other types of combat?”

  One leaned closer to Seven.

  “Between us, word is that no one wants to add the headache of all that when they’re already struggling with the cooking part. I don’t know about you or your lochos, but most of us children of Suiteonem haven’t exactly had to cook a single thing in our lives. Your lochos might be ahead of the others on that.”

  “The others?” Seven raised his brows. “Thanks for the word. It’s a good word. We like the sound it.”

  …

  “Incoming spell attack detected!” Thirty-two smiled over the faint beeping.

  Seven made him lower the volume now that it was lunch and they were serving customers.

  Fifteen snorted.

  “It’s just a rotting curse.” She wiggled a few spider-web like strands of fading golden light over their fresh meats. “I know it’s you, Forty-seven! Try that again and I’ll reflect it straight to your shriveled coin purse!”

  The back of their tent was open for the large iron barrel that smoked their meats.

  “That’s three my devices have detected in just the last half hour!” Thirty-two’s smug face needed punching.

  Sixty-eight really hated the smug.

  Alas, she couldn’t do anything.

  She and Seven manned the front of their tent.

  Taking orders and handing them out to customers.

  She hated that too and her pot had been simmering since lunch had started.

  Seven had told her that there was no other choice.

  Eighty led the cooking, while the other two helped her when they weren’t fending off sabotage.

  Which left just the two of them to deal with customers.

  She hated customers.

  They treated her like a kid, which Seven had told her was the idea.

  Apparently, that meant they wouldn’t be mean to her.

  Except for the ones that were obviously sent by the eidolons to test them.

  Those were mean and loud.

  One almost had Eighty jump out to pummel him into the ground.

  It took the entire lochos to hold her back long enough for her to calm down.

  Seven handled the rest of those types of customers.

  Sixty-eight had good control, but not in the sense that she could stop the pot from boiling over, more in the sense that even as she saw red-gold she didn’t go full berserker. She could think and act tactically. The better to utterly destroy a complaining customer.

  It took two hours for them to run out of meat.

  The lochos sat or stood like drained warriors after a long, tough battle.

  “Now what?” Thirty-two said.

  “I have the list of those that tried to ruin our efforts,” Fifteen said. “By natural law, we may seek vengeance.”

  Seven frowned.

  “I am tempted… but I believe it’s a better use of our time and energy to finish cleaning up so that we may enjoy the festival freely.”

  Sixty-eight shrugged.

  She’d rather go rest and make plans for the trials by combat.

  Every demigod had been assigned a time slot.

  Naturally, the eidolons hadn’t explained anything.

  “Trials,” she muttered.

  “Yes,” Seven nodded. “I reserved time in a planning room the day after tomorrow. I truly believe we should all explore the festival while we have the rarest of opportunities… free time!” He grinned.

  “I want to eat everything,” Eighty said.

  “Perhaps I might find openings to practice subtle spellcasting?” Fifteen mused.

  “I have a lot of work to do for my trial, but I can spare a few hours today and maybe tomorrow to walk the festival with whomever desires company,” Thirty-two said.

  They looked down to her expectantly.

  “Fine.”

  “Good!” Seven clapped. “Even if this is free time we can’t expect our teachers to leave us alone. Strength in our lochos. While some relax the others can stay alert. They’ll not catch us off guard… again.”

  Suiteonem Prime, Sonombera, Apolakan, 213198

  Ragay surfed the massive open ocean swells on a board of hard water.

  It had taken him months to get it right.

  The dimensions had been easy. He would never forget his favorite shortboard.

  It was the weight that had given him problems.

  He wasn’t like those messed up in the head people that could tell how much something weighed by just holding it.

  Nor had he wasted a Skill on it, like some powder obsessed people he knew from the periphery of his age group back on his home island.

  Two years had passed since he had last seen Talima, Aunty Bilaya and everyone else in person.

  The young ones had grown so much.

  He supposed he had grown too.

  Only a few more years until he could take his trial.

  The ocean roared around him as the wave crested and formed a perfect tunnel.

  It was so tall that he could’ve reached up and still not touch the wet roof.

  Dark gray shapes darted below him.

  Playful ocean friends clicked and squealed as they leapt out of the water splashing him for fun.

  He couldn’t keep the smile off his face despite the heaviness in his chest.

  “Oh cr—”

  The nose of his hard water surfboard dipped below the surface, which pitched him head first into the water.

  It was the hooked staff.

  Holding it threw off his balance.

  The pod of ocean friends swam around him, clicking at him with peals of laughter.

  After the wave finished tossing him around like dirty clothes in a washing barrel, he allowed himself to float below the surface. He held his air breath not wanting to have to go through the process of filling and emptying his lungs with water every time he ate it. It was an uncomfortable process and a waste of time since he could hold his air breath for at least an hour.

  The deep blue stretched out all around and below him.

  Sonombera was a dark, shadowy hulk far below him in the murk of twilight where the black depths met the dying light.

  Its presence keeping the entire area as far as a deep singer could sing safe from all but the most dreadful of monsters.

  He felt Sinaya’s presence through the hooked staff in his hand.

  It was faint, but there.

  There were those in his old life that had said they could feel Sinaya by simply laying in the ocean.

  He had wondered about that.

  For he had thought the same thing and yet.

  Tangible proof lay in his hand that said that he had been wrong.

  The thought filled him with equal parts joy and sadness.

  It was an honor beyond words to know that Sinaya was out there, all around them.

  It was an honor that belonged to all her people, not just those allowed to wield her power.

  The oath filled his thoughts.

  Where were the currents of his life taking him?

  Away from Talima? His house?

  To constant conflict with monsters above and below the waves? Monsters that sometimes walked and talked like people?

  Where did he want his life current to take him?

  The singing whispers in his ears asked him. Firmly, but not unkindly.

  Doubt was natural. Expected.

  But only for so long.

  One needed unshakable Will to wield Sinaya’s Heart.

  …

  Ragay returned to Sonombera before dusk.

  The night hunters deserved their reign as the natural cycle demanded.

  It wouldn’t be fair for them to mistake him for prey.

  However, in truth he wasn’t so foolhardy to think that there weren’t hunters out there that posed a threat even though he wielded a fraction of Sinaya’s power in his hands.

  Abygale met him as soon as he exited the waterlock.

  Her mouth moved silently in the cold, clear water of the long corridor leading into their living area.

  The words sounded as clear as if they were treading water above.

  “Ms. Karagatan wants you in the meditation chamber.”

  “She is healed enough to be out of the cradle?”

  A girl of few words, Abygale shrugged and swam away.

  He had learned not to take it personally.

  Abygale was like that with everyone.