Atuza stepped off the shuttle with a look in his eye that threatened violence on anyone who spoke out of turn. His meeting with the Fleet Commander had gone exactly how he’d assumed it would, and he hated the man for it. He needed a distraction, and the only distraction that seemed to work these days was deep, focused training and meditation. He was craving a good fight, but his superiors were going to make him work for it.

  None in the camp could give him the type of challenge he wanted. Years ago, he’d faced a dozen at once in the arena. He realized that the amount of slaves he’d have to grind through in order to get his fix would wipe the camps clean of effective workers. He had to content himself with the slow, steady drip of satisfaction he got from a more standard cultivation technique.

  But his path was one of conquest. He’d forged himself in the blood of his challengers. Meditation was a fruitful pursuit, but he’d had enough insights. He needed a fight.

  Which I’ll have soon, he told himself. The Fleet Commander had taken him on as a protégé and had promised him access to some of his best fighters. Atuza’s progress had stagnated for too long. He was close to a breakthrough to the peak of Elemental Initiate. He always had his best insights during battle, but he’d been an Initiate for over a decade. At first, he held back from pushing to Adept because he felt that his comprehension was too low. If he achieved Adept without the right foundation, his progress would stall at the early phase of that vaunted stage. He would remain a king among kings in the sector and one of the most powerful ever to emerge from his clan. But for the price of a small few years, he could deepen his Initiate foundation and have the potential to go further than anyone in his clan had gone before.

  When the Peacekeepers came, he thought that fate was punishing him for his ambition. Had he continued to progress for the years before their invasion, he knew he would have already reached the peak of Initiate at the very least. Maybe even Elemental Adept.

  Even if he were merely an Adept who was locked into the early phases, the Peacekeepers would not have had free rein to slay his brothers and their families. The rest of the clans could be damned, and as far as he was aware, the Peacekeepers’ arrival was their sentence to the eternal pit. Good riddance.

  He had been waiting to inherit the clan before starting a family. But there was no more clan. In the Peacekeepers, he’d found something similar. But Seedha was not a home, and the Peacekeepers would never be his family. But being the protégé to the most powerful man in the sector came with its benefits, and Atuza’s felt that he was close to having everything he needed to either cleanse them from the sector, or find a stronger sponsor within their ranks.

  The amenities that he’d inherited the previous day with his promotion were a few steps up to the large tent he’d been living in. Another bonus from feigning loyalty to these narrow-minded animals. His newfound luxuries included a steady stream of hot water for bathing, a servant to wash his clothes and prepare his food, and an enormous bed that felt almost uncomfortable after he’d grown used to the hard Seedhan ground.

  Once he was washed and felt well enough to tolerate the next few hours of fawning, he told his servant he was ready for his retinue. They streamed into his home with smiles and warm greetings. They grasped his hand as if they thought themselves equals. Their gall earned some small measure of respect from him, but their confidence was hollow. He was not akin to them. They were not in the same league. Oh, they would make a show of being like him. They would push themselves to appear to be of a similar character. Those who knew their limits would earn his favour in other ways—not that he cared. But he had an appearance to keep up. One day, he might even find one among them who was worth his notice.

  As it was, they were useful for minor jobs here and there. They kept him abreast of any information he may have missed. And he supposed that any great man would have a cadre of those who followed them. It was only proper.

  An intriguing wisp of conversation caught his interest, pulling him away from his introspection.

  “—It was Mouse. The big man almost tore one of their arms off with his bare strength. You should have seen him. You wouldn’t believe it if you weren’t there.”

  Atuza’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?” he asked.

  The little man seemed surprised that Atuza had spoken to him directly. He stammered for a second, and Atuza had to suppress his impatience. Maybe he didn’t do as good of a job at that as he’d hoped, as the man glanced at Atuza’s clenched fist and gulped.

  “T-the arena. Uh, sir. There was a double-down fight. Rowen announced it as a feud between one of his men and the slave who had just won another fight.”

  “The slave. Did he have a name?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. I wasn’t paying much attention. He was a tall one, though. And strong.”

  “And you’re saying that Mouse made an appearance?” Atuza asked. It was hard to believe. He’d been goading the giant for years, without so much of a twitch in response. He’d utterly convinced himself that the man’s will had imploded after his failure to protect his home. Men of weaker will were prone to such things, destined to be possessed by apathy or vengeance. For the Terror of Whiterose, it had appeared to be the former.

  The little man nodded emphatically. His jowls shook with the movement. Atuza scowled. He didn’t like this one. He was far too nervous.

  Another weak character, but those were abundant around these parts. Those with sufficient inner strength would either keep to themselves, or were rotting in their home worlds, dead by the Peacekeeper's hands.

  And his own.

  He could butcher their enemies, wear their uniforms, and mingle among their numbers. But something within him rebelled at the thought of ever letting himself feel like he was one of them.

  “The fight didn’t start well for the slave. He seemed to just lie there and take it. Mouse got mad. He soared through the air, and when he landed, there was a shockwave. Rowen’s men went flying, and he went berserk. He tore them apart! Blood was everywhere. He lit up like the morning sun, except he was all neon blue. Energy shot from him like a rapid-fire cannon. It was incredible.”

  “And Rowen, does he still live?” Atuza asked, still having trouble marrying the image the man was painting with the placid Mouse who he had struggled to reawaken over the years.

  “Atuza didn’t kill him. Rowen said that you’d hear about what happened, and then Mouse said that if you wanted, he will pay you a visit himself. Oh, um,” the little man said, and his hesitance stoked another wave of frustration in Atuza’s gut.

  “Out with it.”

  “Well, he said you were an undisciplined child, sir.”

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  Fury warred with incredulity. Incredulity gave way to respect. Respect gave way to anticipation.

  “He said that, did he?”

  Another emphatic nod. Atuza dismissed the little man from his mind. Something about this wasn’t quite right.

  All this right after the Fleet Commander made his announcement? Why did Mouse decide that now was the time to drop his act? And to defy the Peacekeepers so openly—it was suicidal. Offending the Peacekeepers while confined to their slave camps was an exercise in futility. Had he finally lost some final shred of hope? Had he miscalculated the corruption in the man’s heart?

  He needed to know more about this fight. Perhaps it would shed some more light on this strange, suspicious affair.

  “You need a bath,” Atuza said to the little man. It was a small reward for the information rendered. It might encourage the others to be more open with what they knew. “You can use mine. Tell my servant to get it prepared for you.”

  The man’s eyes were practically glowing with excitement. He babbled his thanks, and gave his respects, and said many other things which Atuza tuned out. He left his home and made for the main encampment.

  Mouse’s challenged was like an itch that he knew would persist until they finally crossed each other’s paths.

  Yes, he thought as he felt the fire within him blaze at the prospect of a real challenge. Finally.

  The anticipation of a glorious victory was born in his breast once again. Its warmth was like a sunbeam on a cold winter’s day. Perhaps he overestimated Tarrek Nayel. However, the mere possibility of a worthy adversary filled him with a spirit he hadn’t felt in years on Seedha.

  Rowen would tell him everything that happened, from the slaves’, fight to when the Terror of Whiterose decided to let Rowen live. Maybe he’d pay the slave a visit, too. He would discover for himself what inspired the grand champion of the sector to re-emerge.

  Finding a suitable spot took Hunter much longer than expected. It had to feel right and be sufficiently isolated from other slaves. After four hours of channeling every ounce of strength he had towards the task, he broke through into a small space. The light from the sun was at the perfect angle to provide ample light for Hunter’s exploration. He’d been out among the plains for eight hours already, and his canteen was almost empty. His food rations were running low as well. His skin was peeling from sunburn, but it was far from the worst pain he’d ever felt.

  Uma’s Second Breath had worked wonders over his body. His previous limp from a few days previous was gone. As far as he knew, most of his injuries from the previous night had also healed. But for a dull ache along his ribs and his limbs, he felt fine. He found that his endurance seemed unending. Between the cycling etherium in his channels—which seemed to have miraculously improved beyond what it had been before the fight—and the medicinal effects of the pills, the only thing Hunter had to worry about was his hydration. He wondered if Uma’s Second Breath would heal the sunburn as well, if he could spend five or six hours out of direct exposure.

  Unfortunately, he wouldn’t have that luxury. He wanted to build credit with Os as soon as possible. As soon as he finished on the plains, he would visit the market to take his first job from the man and trade any valuables he found here.

  Hunter stepped forward into the space. The etheric sensation he’d initially gotten was much stronger now that there was no solid barrier between him and whatever he was sensing. The space looked something like a small living space. Except there were no sofas or tables larger than a couple of square feet. A second assessment made it seem more like a lobby. There were candles in the corners, and a lot of alien symbolism, which Hunter wasn’t sure how to interpret. Since his translator wasn’t resolving it, he knew it wasn’t a language.

  On the east side of the space, there was something like a front-desk. Hunter smiled as he saw the small treasure-trove of papers and books. There was a small placard with Seedhan scribbles. It took a second to become legible to him.

  The Androville Lodge.

  Hunter tilted his head as he considered what he knew about lodges. A lodge could have a few connotations. Had he found the equivalent of a Seedhan inn for weary travellers? There was a door on the northern side of the room, directly opposite from the hole he’d southern wall. He felt the call of his sensitivity pulling him in that direction, but Hunter wanted to explore the writings a bit more.

  A cursory glance at the papers sprawled across the desk led Hunter to believe that his first guess about the place he’d found was wrong. There, amongst the various sheets of paper, he found a list of dates and tithing amounts.

  A church? Hunter wondered. But if this place was called a lodge, then maybe church wasn’t quite the word. He could only guess that this was more of the sacred-space type of lodge.

  There were a few religious groups on Sanctuary which congregated in lodges, or temples, instead of churches.

  “Huh,” Hunter said. He gathered a pile of the most important-looking papers he could find. Records books, internal newspapers, and hopefully more information about Androville. Was it a village? A town? Maybe they’d have a map he could use. What if there was a town square?

  Or, Hunter thought, and his eyes lit with greed, a bank vault?

  He’d only been exploring for a few minutes, and he had some time to explore the lodge thoroughly before he had to return to camp. Hopefully, the rest of the lodge hadn’t caved in or calcified—or whatever process occurred when the magical alien superweapon had been unleashed on this world. Hunter decided it was time to explore further. He stepped out from around the desk and made his way towards the door.

  The door was locked. He frowned. Hunter stepped back, breathed deeply, and then, with all his might, kicked the door handle with his heel. Instead of opening the door, all he did was kick a hole through it. His leg followed through and he yelped as he became stuck. He felt a stinging along his side. He must have cut open his skin along the sharp wooden edges of the hole.

  Hunter cursed and carefully extracted his leg from the hole.

  He trusted Uma’s Second Breath to handle any infections. Releasing his pent-up rage, he threw himself against the hole. His shoulder hurt where he impacted the door handle, but he was satisfied when the hole gave way to an even bigger one. With a few more kicks, he managed to dismantle what remained of the obstacle.

  Chest heaving from the effort, he took his canteen from his ring and took a few sips of water. Then he brought out a food ration. It wasn’t anything appetizing; a tasteless block of solidified food-paste. It was probably dirt-cheap to produce, and he was skeptical about the amount of nutrition he was getting from it. It tasted like metal, dirt, and flour, with a hint of salt and sugar. But he was hungry, and although it wasn’t appetizing, it would tide him over for the next hour.

  The increased appetite from his breakthrough had yet to ebb. He hoped that whatever he was feeding his body would be enough to give his body what it was craving. He might need to spend more time around the market so that he can grab some of that meat. Better yet, maybe Os had the means to secure his own supply.

  He observed the hallway beyond the doorway. The darkness that met his eyes made him groan. What small sunlight filtered through the room only lit the first few feet of his passage. A pitch-black veil shrouded the rest.

  Hunter wasn’t a fan of exploring in the dark. It brought back memories of his first day on Skyhold. Images of alien spiders and shit-bathing bird-lizards kept coming to mind as he took his first tentative steps into the hallway.

  With only his sixth sense to guide him, he slowly dragged each foot across the ground, one in front of the other. As far as he knew, each step might be the last one before meeting a flight of descending stairs. He’d rather endure slow progress than gain a hasty concussion.

  He used his hands as his eyes, softly tracing them across the wall, to encounter the entrance to another room or hallway. Hunter wished he had someone like Mouse there beside him, or even better, had access to the same formation-based powers that Mouse seemed to use. He’d love to emit a neon-blue glow on demand.

  “Dark damned hallways. Stupid fuckin’ Seedha. Arse-eating Peacekeepers,” Hunter muttered with every step. A sudden gap in the wall caused Hunter to pause.

  Another hallway. But he could see this one. At the end of the hall was a well-lit room, its light only reaching about halfway through the hallway before giving in to the surrounding darkness. The etheric source was further down the hallway Hunter was already exploring—but only as far as he could tell. It felt relatively straight ahead, but who could be sure in this pitch black environment? Perhaps someone built this lodge as a labyrinth, and he would need to spend the next week finding his way to what he was looking for.

  He doubted it, but the despairing thoughts seemed about on par for his mood. He let it the issue drop and indulged his curiosity about the room. Where was the light coming from? Has another slave dug another entrance into this place?

  With quick steps, he made his way into the room, and what he saw made him to let loose a soft whistle.

  This place is awesome, he thought.