I held my hands behind my back as I bent over to observe the spiderwebbing black veins crawling across Protis’s flesh. Nearby, my two other newly-forged Soulbornes waited in silence and perfect stillness in the cold mountain wind. Snow was just beginning to touch the ground where we had set up camp. And though I had my Dead gather firewood for two small fires, Oskar still paced about, grumbling about leaving the inn so soon. I could not help but feel a twinge of guilt at seeing those who had saved me from my confinement now preparing to camp in the bitter cold rather than the expected warmth of an inn. Still, I’d needed the Souls from an abundant source to kickstart my army, and drawing the ire of extremists was the fastest way to do so. It’s not murder. They sought me out. I simply proceeded without any excessive stealth, is all. It is not murder. She would understand. And it had worked. I had Protis, smarter and stronger than ever, as well as two more Soulborne I’d taken the liberty to create shortly before departing.

  I turned my eyes up to Protis’s dark black ones. “Do you feel pain?”

  “No.” Its voice was hard and heavy, cumbersome in pronunciations, but certainly intelligible.

  “Can you feel your Corruption?”

  “No.”

  I nodded. This was in line with past experiments from what was now ages ago; it was good to see no alarming variation had occurred. “Tell me, how many inquisitors were there at my door?”

  “Thirteen.”

  I nodded. “Good. After two were killed trying to run, how many remained?”

  “Eleven. Nine after arrows and my teeth.”

  This was good. Very good. So far, Protis had displayed a working knowledge of some truths of geometry, biology, and even a basic grasp of history—a mix of my own knowledge and that of the inquisitors’ harvested Souls. It could recognize behavioral cues and had an excellent memory. And, evidently, its arithmetic was functional as well. Never had such intellect been displayed by awakened Soulborne. Was it something to do with the method of its enlightenment or an environmental factor? Large human sacrifice was not a norm we practiced in Pethya, so it could be due to that alone.

  “If you can save three people from a blade’s stroke by killing one man, would you?” I asked after some time, observing its face keenly.

  It cocked its head. “Orders?”

  “None in this scenario.”

  “Precedent.”

  “There is none.”

  The thin stretch of lip barely hiding its sharp teeth twitched in something close to a frown. “Impossible.”

  “Imagine it is.”

  “No,” Protis grunted.

  Bound by a lack of theoretical reasoning or a binding to fulfilling its duty to me? I strummed my fingers across the back of my other hand and paced back to my small fire, separate from the others as long as I worked with the Dead. “Proceed with your best guess of precedent then.”

  “Waiting. Feasting on the dead three. Then the killer.”

  “You would let him kill three people, then kill him? Why?”

  “Human tires from killing. Easier to kill. So to protect.”

  “Protect whom?” I asked.

  “You.”

  “Not yourself?”

  “Killer threatens me,” it said. “This threatens you.”

  “I see. Thank you.” While it was not exactly the answer I expected, it was certainly not a disappointing line of reasoning. Its prioritization of my safety was a thought I certainly hoped would reveal itself eventually. “In the future, Protis, I would advise not eating the dead without my permission. They can be useful for creating more Soulborne. Additionally, the preservation of innocent human lives is a worthwhile endeavor, and I would encourage you to pursue such an end should there be no strong downsides such as excessive risk.” When it did not reply, I glanced to it and asked, “Do you understand?”

  “Always.”

  “Very well. Good.” After a moment and further consideration, I said, “You are an impressive creature. I am proud to have you be the first I’ve made in this new age.”

  Though it said nothing reply to this, this did not bother me. Dead had no concept of etiquette, especially when it came to compliments. “Keep on guard with the others. Investigate any disturbances cautiously and report to me if a person comes close. We will leave at sunrise.” I went to return to the main fire.

  “Mindless corpses?”

  I grinned despite myself. “Try not to eliminate them, if possible. They could prove good fuel when whole.”

  Without a word, Protis turned and stalked into the night, the other two following right behind. No matter how much experience I had with managing the Dead, the near-humanity of Protis occasionally struck me as strange and uncanny. Still, I could only admire what intelligence I’d created from nothing but errant Souls and corpses.

  As I stomped out my separate fire, the cold crawling over my skin hit me, and the desire to be wrapped up and comfortable beside one of the group’s blazing flames enticed me beyond all else. I approached one of the two fires and found Emalia and Sovina there, staring down at an animal skin map together, shoulders touching, of course. Waker was talking to a few men who hadn’t seen the fight, retelling the tale with clear embellishments and dramatic, wide gestures. Feia was nearby, fiddling with one of her pieces of jewelry, glaring any time Waker’s swinging hands got too close to her. I paused outside the flickering ring of light, observing the scene. I must be cautious in my search for justice so that I do not ruin the good in this world, I thought, clearly and suddenly. Their faces, caught in the light, could not seem more human, more… distant from myself. They each had lives, hopes, and dreams that I was a looming threat to. Feia had been right when she judged my need for justice as dangerous. I was not like them. I was a faded relic, a thing of a dead world, a monster in their eyes. I will try to be better, I promised myself. I will try.

  I swallowed and went to turn away when Waker called out, “Daecinus, tell them! Your Soulborne knocked them all around like street urchins. It even ripped one’s head off when he tried to charge them!”

  Their skeptical eyes rose to mine, as if seeking some truth to corroborate the fable-like story. I sighed and went forward, sitting nearby. “Protis held the doorway with great effectiveness. But it was Waker and the others who prevented the inquisitors from fleeing.”

  “Hah!” he laughed, slapping one of the men on the back. “Look at him! A diplomat.” I hid my wince at the word. He wouldn’t understand, of course. “But see? It was stronger than a Greyskin, smarter than any hound I’ve seen. And now it's gathering firewood with the two others?”

  “Guarding the perimeter.”

  “Hah! Guarding! Safe sleeping for us tonight, I wager.” He grinned and started eating a hard crust of bread as the others chatted optimistically about getting more rest from now on.

  I watched this scene and thought back to his fear of the Dead not a few hours earlier and how he’d worried so about it feasting on man flesh. A small smile took to my lips. Some are convinced easier than others, I suppose. Or perhaps it is just the rush of battle and fighting alongside such a fear. Either way, I did not feel so inclined to flee the fire and return to the cold darkness where my dead stalked in watch of intruders. For this, I was thankful.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I turned to Emalia and Sovina. “I heard you brought Oskar and the others to protect me from the inquisitors.”

  Emalia looked up from her map. “Though you did not need it, it seems.”

  “I was lucky in my timing when finishing Protis. It might not have worked out in such a fashion. You have my thanks.”

  “You should be less conspicuous in the future,” Sovina said, narrowing her eyes at me.

  “I will try.”

  “Do. And don’t let this happen again. We could have used a guide through these mountains.”

  “The road will be visible,” Emalia said, patting her guardian’s hand. “We will make it. And besides, I have you to keep us safe.”

  “I cannot keep us safe from the cold,” Sovina replied, frowning off.

  Emalia went to say something, then shut her mouth, her gaze lingering on Sovina. I met the priestess’s eyes and offered a knowing smile. She blinked and returned to the map, something akin to panic gluing her eyes to the parchment. With the conversation finished, I looked at the fire and smiled. It was not too different from the campaign field here. It reminded me greatly of my times before violence-wrought peace, before I had a chance to lock myself away in the Grand Observatory.

  “Daecinus Aspartes,” Feia said from across the fire. I looked up and found her observing me, that canny, knowing grin on her face. “Walk with me.”

  I stood and stepped away from the fire, sad to depart so quickly, yet curious. The mercenaries were still caught up in conversation, talking of the journey ahead and what riches they would pull from Drazivaska’s crumbling remains, so they hardly noticed our departure.

  I followed beside Feia as we strode north of camp. This close and under the emerging moonlight, I took the opportunity to observe her face in true. She had her necklaces and rings, all somewhat crude and likely handmade, adorning her. Her hair was typically held in a wrap of sorts that was likely a custom of her people, though now it was out and down, falling past her shoulders, longer than I expected. It was dark and rich and reminded me of the ocean at night. Meanwhile, my head would remain smooth, mainly a byproduct of my Sorcerous blood constantly charged with the taxations of Corrupting Souls. Sometimes, I was jealous of those who could grow hair, foolish as it sounded. A child’s insecurity, perhaps—and indeed, one I’d held in my youth before I understood the significance of my biology. How fundamentally I was different.

  We stopped near a stream within a copse of trees, the grass underneath oddly lush and comforting, a meadow field across the water. I stood there, observing the scenery as Feia started a small fire; it was crackling after only a few minutes. She raised her sharp chin and regarded me with narrow, dark brown eyes down the ridge of her nose.

  “I thought I saw your lifepath when we woke you, but I was wrong,” she said, holding my gaze.

  “What did you see?”

  “Ash and fire. Sorcery and Corruption. War and loss.”

  My jaw tightened. “I see.”

  “But that is a shard of the whole. There is peace in you, joy in you. I am not blind to it now.”

  “Would you like to hear about what was once that peaceful whole, Feia?” I asked. When she nodded, I sat, leaned back with my feet near the fire, and looked towards the night sky. It was alight in a beautiful, scattered array of stars and streams of colors barely visible, slashing through the black like a wake of light. A barrier between us and the world of Higher Souls, where the conscious drifted as the rest fell below. That objective of mine, so long ago, seemingly ignored by the Vasians since. Forgotten by all. All except me. “I used to want to be a poet. A voice for the many voiceless of my land. This was before the war, before the need for Sorcery awoke my Spirit for knowledge. Before… Well, I had always been fascinated by the potential of words. They could be spun into threats and treaties, surely, but they could do so much more than communicate the necessary practicalities—they could make a dreary world bright, a painful one enjoyable. This is their strength.”

  “A poet?” She smirked, but it was not an unkind one. “Could you not pursue both?”

  “No. To be one of the holy few, to embrace the gift of language as I wished, I would need to turn my back on Sorcery. That was the way of our people.”

  Her confusion diminished, and her smile turned sad. “You have a talent for Souls. To ignore it would be a terrible loss for humanity.”

  “Then, many were talented. And I didn’t know how powerful I was. In fact, I don’t know if I ever would have learned if I hadn’t…” Suddenly, I felt old. Old and weathered and tired. “This was all long ago, you see.”

  “Would it be uncouth to ask your age?” Before I could answer, she continued, “Because I suspect your mind is wisened beyond your skin. Far beyond.”

  “Time spent in Rotaalan aside, to tell you the truth, I don’t quite remember. I am nearing my second century, however.”

  “Second century?” She laughed and lied down beside me. “You are a strange man.”

  I looked from the sky to her. Into her bark-brown irises, the color of nature. But a different color had touched them when she cast her spell—this I knew. Perhaps she had more than just a thread of power in her, and the lack of training had been the obstacle all along. As I thought these things, my mind kept going back to the image of her standing there, casting her incantations, arms raised like an oracle calling upon lightning from the gods; slender, strong arms exposed, the scars of a life’s struggles painted across them. Suddenly, an image of my Demetria reared up from my distant memories, beaten, broken, and murdered, raised upon a stake next to dozens of others, many I knew, lined up on a lonely hill in southern Pethya. The stench of decay in the air, sweet and sickly. The calls of swooping gulls above. An envoy broken, rejected. I thought of her beautiful face, desecrated by abuse and decay. The hate that burned my blood hot. That I held in me when I raised armies and marched south with the others, hungry for vengeance.

  “You’ve lost much, Daecinus Asparts. I can read faces as well as any,” she whispered. “But you are not alone in suffering. Nor are you alone in leaving it behind.”

  “I cannot,” I replied after a moment. “The poet is dead. I am what remains.”

  “Oh, are you nothing but a husk? A creature of anger and hate and self-pity for your losses?”

  “I would not like to think so. But perhaps I am.”

  “Well, necromancer, perhaps you should weave your Sorcery and bring yourself back to life,” she said, inching close, eyes piercing mine. “I would not have my flesh against a corpse.”

  “Are you certain you want this?”

  “I am certain of all I want.”

  She leaned into me, and I had to hold my breath to restrain the well of emotions battering against the fragile cage. They arose like waves off the shore, whitecapped and angry, a portend for a dreadful storm. I swallowed and looked away. “I cannot make love to you, Feia. Lay with you, perhaps, but there was another my heart belongs to.”

  “Will you look upon me, at least?” she asked. “Or am I so hideous?”

  I turned back and took in her smirk mere inches from my face. “You are far from hideous.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Her smile didn’t waver, and oddly, I felt myself heartened by her jests.

  “You are beautiful,” I said, finding my lip curl up as I stared into her eyes. “You are jagged lightning, potent Sorcery spun and released, the violet iris in a field of clover. That which your being captures is unmistakable. All can feel it, but now? I most vividly of all.” Passion meets reflection, and I feel the call of loss again. “You are sun upon ice. And though you think yourself cold, you are not. And that heat, that life, is what I fear.”

  “So he has some wisdom yet. Even lions fear the lioness.” Her laugh was a giggle, almost unfit for the Feia I knew, but it was honest as anything. “But I am no threat to you. I am a promise.”

  “Of what?” I asked, almost breathless.

  She pressed me down upon the cold ground, the sounds of the stream beside us bubbling whispers. The druid’s tongue. I closed my eyes as she slid her hands under my clothes, a sigh escaping my lips. Her fingers swept over my skin, her body pressing against mine. The chatter in my mind began to quiet as I focused on the contact, the pleasure. Finally, the dread and sorrow lifted away, and I felt something akin to peace.

  …

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Emalia said, looking up from the map after a pause in their study and out toward the direction the two magic-wielders had just disappeared.

  Sovina snorted. “Hardly.”

  “What? You disagree?”

  “She’s had eyes for him the day he opened the Sorcery-locked door in Rotalaan.”

  “I see,” Emalia said slowly, frowning and trying to remember such signs. They were both interested in magic and talked much about it, but beyond that? A slight instability, perhaps. An oddness? They both certainly were quite odd.

  “Hopefully, his Corruption does not… complicate things.”

  “Did you not tell him you’d keep this secret?”

  “Yes, but from you?” she asked in return, brow raised. “There is little held between us.”

  “I suppose…”

  Sovina gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “Do you think any promises I can make would ever outweigh my loyalty? We are bound by the Column, Emalia. My duty is to protect you, to aid you, and nothing else. Nothing. If you think this makes me a bad person—”

  “Of course not.” She sighed. “I did not mean to put to question the sanctity of our bond or your oath. I am sorry.”

  “Good. If you did, I might decide not to share the last of my bread with you.”

  “You have bread still?”

  Sovina gave a small smile, revealing a loaf wrapped in waxy paper. She broke it over the fire, handing over the larger half. “Got it in Levanska. I would have bought more if we stayed the night.”

  “Alas.”

  “Mh.” She grinned, eyes crinkling in good humor and nature in the firelight. “Alas.”

  Over the low fire, they ate the last of the bread and watched the red charcoal flare and fade with the mountain breeze. When they finally laid down to rest, it took Emalia far too long to fall asleep, her thoughts a jumbled, chaotic swirl. Such unsettling sleep was nearly a nightly ritual since the events at Rotaalan and the visionary silence that ensued. But with Sovina’s sly, warm grin running through her mind, it took longer than usual for her eyes to fall closed and the stars to vanish from the sky.