We were the first to the Orb.

  It had descended in thick scrub amid marshy ground. There had been no hope of bringing the troops. It had been a simple thought of expediency.

  There had been a lot of Orb activity that day. Several large Orbs had been seen dropping, and our recon had indicated that battles raged everywhere around our hilltop fortress. Tara had sped across the land, seeking our best option to find an Orb to win. Tara and the teams of outriders had reported clashes between many cities within miles of our field base.

  When the Orb had descended, it seemed perfectly opportune. The other Griidlords had observed that it was a smaller Orb. There was some disdain that the Orb might hold as little as 5 Flows, but I was desperate for some kind of victory. With the action that raged around us, it seemed likely the other forces in the locality could be too occupied to distract themselves with such a diminutive Orb. I smelled a freebie. Darkwater and Ironveil had no objection to the Griidlords of Boston making a brazen charge for the Orb, leaving the soldiers on the hilltop so that we could move at maximum pace.

  The terrain was a fierce obstacle. Even for the four of us, moving without the hindrance of mortal men, we found it hard work. It was clear that if we would face opposition at the Orb, it would only be other Griidlords we would need to concern ourselves with. There was little chance that an army could march on this Orb in time to be of concern.

  The Orb had settled among scrub on the spongy, wet ground of the marsh. Tangled vegetation rose around it, trees walled the large wet clearing.

  And we were alone.

  “It should be me. I should draw the Flows. I’m the lowest level here and the least vital to have free in case of ambush,” I spoke quickly, urgently. I was eager to capture the Flows. This was a freebie; we could have 5 Flows for nothing. Five Flows might not be much in the grand scheme of things, but gaining anything in the first days of Falling would at least help reverse the fortunes of how the season had begun.

  Chowwick said, “Aye, lad, I suppose that makes sense.”

  We gathered around the Orb, feeling the gift the universe had presented us with.

  Tara said, “I can claim it with you. Chowwick and Magneblade can stand watch. We’ll be faster.”

  It made sense to me. I looked to Magneblade and Chowwick. They both gave subtle nods. I said, “Okay, let’s get started, fast as we can.”

  Tara wasted no time. Her clawed hands plunged through the shell of the Orb. It was strange to watch. The surface was hard and shiny like glass, yet it yielded to her imposition like soft flesh. Her claws simply slid into the surface, leaving nothing like an injury on it. It was like the Orb was made of gel. Immediately she lit up, the glowing fires of Order rippling around her body.

  I only took a moment longer. I had a brief sense of reverence before I pierced the Orb with my sword. This was the first time I would draw Flows. It felt like it should be a moment of some ceremony. It should be a moment of victory. This was a milestone in my development. But instead of savoring, I needed to hurry. We were not victors in this endeavor; we were vultures. But what mattered most was that we would feast.

  An unimproved Griidlord could siphon about a Flow an hour from an Orb. We defined a Flow as containing 100 Ebbs, so this meant that I would be able to pull a little more than an Ebb a minute from the Orb. Some Griidlords had improvements that allowed for faster work, skills and attributes acquired that could halve the time. In any event, even a small Orb like this would be more than two hours’ work for Tara and me to drain completely. This slow pace was one of the main reasons that cities sent armies as well as Griidlords into the field. A few thousand men could capture and hold an Orb while Griidlords siphoned another. Or detachments of men could guard a siphoning Griidlord while the rest of their team continued hunting.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  There was the barest resistance as I pushed my sword into the Orb. It wasn’t quite like piercing a membrane, but that might be the closest comparison. The surface of the Orb remained hard and unyielding for just an instant, then my blade passed into it. There was an inertia as my sword pressed into the Orb, like the drag of a thick syrup. Immediately I felt an elating sensation as Order began to flood me. I would not be able to use this power, only carry and deposit it elsewhere, but my suit reacted to the influx with ecstasy.

  Time immediately lost all meaning. I tried to keep my head turned so that I too could look out for attackers. But there was a strange gluey haze about me, within me. My thoughts felt slowed and dulled. Time seemed to race about us. Magneblade and Chowwick stood facing out, their backs to us. Though they remained still as sentinels, every small move of their bodies seemed to carry a strange accelerated twitchiness. It was as though the world beyond the embrace of the Orb was moving at several times normal speed.

  I could process the understanding of how vulnerable Tara and I were. If attackers came, we would perceive them as traveling at light speed. Our withdrawal from the Orb would be ponderously slow as the molasses-like texture of the interior dragged against our sluggish pull.

  Enki was in my ear briefly. I could hear its words, feel its presence, but the strange dulling of my thoughts made it nearly impossible to respond.

  Enki said, “Oh, this is small-time bullshit. Is my champion really going to be happy with a little 5 Flow pot of crap like this?”

  I couldn’t find the focus to answer it. I wanted to tell it that these Flows were free, that the people of Boston would benefit no less from these Flows than they would from a prize won in the heat of battle.

  Enki said, “We want to wow the folks back home. We want to make Ra’s head spin around. We want to be going back to Boston with Flows counted in the tens or hundreds, not this pathetic little bullshit.”

  It was hard to focus on anything. Enki’s words seemed to come to me out of time. By the time it had finished speaking and I had understood it, it seemed to be speaking again. It was difficult to keep the sentences in order.

  Enki said, “Oh shit, this is boring. I can’t hang around for this. I hate this part. Good luck, kiddo. Enjoy your feeble little win here. I’ll check back in some time when you’re doing something cool, like finally starting to kick ass.”

  I didn’t notice the way Chowwick and Magneblade had suddenly started moving with urgency. Maybe I did notice it, but the lag in my awareness, the disjointed flow of time, made it feel like they had been moving around for some time before I came to understand what was happening.

  I had felt Enki’s presence moving away into the ether. I had realized that Chowwick was slapping my shoulder. I could see that Magneblade’s stance had changed from one of detachment to one of ferocious focus.

  Trouble was coming.

  Pulling my blade back out of the Orb was like battling a terrible magnetic field. There was a pull to the center, a brutal inertia I needed to fight to detach myself from the siphoning process. I had no way of quantifying how long it took.

  I had no sense of how much Order I had absorbed. I had the brief, disheartening thought that whatever I had taken from this Orb might be the last, that something might be coming that could take the rest of the Flows away from me.

  When the tip of my sword broke contact with the Orb, reality came rushing back. It was altogether like breaching into the air after swimming underwater. Light and sound and scent and awareness came hammering back into my brain in an overwhelming deluge. It was briefly disorienting. It was briefly nauseating.

  Chowwick saw me regaining my feet. He said, “They’re coming. Fast.”

  I staggered slightly, finding my feet again. Tara opposite me, for all her experience, was no better. She looked like a drunk transitioning rapidly to sobriety.

  I said, “Who?”

  Magneblade pointed his terrible axe across the marsh to the line of trees. “Them.”

  There was a new tension in his voice. I couldn’t recognize it exactly. This man couldn’t be afraid—I didn’t believe his mind was capable of processing such an emotion. But there was definite apprehension there.

  I raised my eyes to follow the direction of his axe. I saw the figures. Four of them.

  I saw the muted greens of their armor. I recognized them.

  We were about to face the Griidlords of the North Tower of New York.