10.47 S (Pt. 1)

<Once again I am on my monthly break until the 1st of November!>

 

 

 

 

(This chapter begins after 10.40 T, before and after a certain conversation between Onieva and Ishkr was interrupted by a skeleton.)

 

 

It was his custom, before he left, to survey his city. Not if he just stepped out the door for a quick daytrip, but when he left on a journey. It had been a while since Saliss did it last, but he stood on the roof of the alchemist’s workshop, gazing down.

The inner rings of Pallass sank below his eyes as tiny elevators rose and gears whirred endlessly; a children’s box, an engineer’s fancy, all the way from the inverted pyramid to everything else in his City of Inventions.

It was a strange Walled City, you had to admit. Saliss knew history, real history, and the other Walled Cities hadn’t been like this. Heck, Pallass hadn’t even been a Walled City at the start, just a quirky village of [Engineers].

It hadn’t set out to be some grand edifice, like Salazsar’s lofty towers, floating Fissival, or Mershi, that city that declared itself to have mastered the stars. Pallass had always been noisesome, chaotic, and in a way, unpretentious. It was just the people inside who forgot.

The Drake spread his arms as he let the rising sunlight bathe his orange scales. He stood naked above the city as it woke and wondered how he would return. With head held high or quietly, ashamed of what he’d done? Would he return at all? It was always a chance, even if this wasn’t a deadly mission on the outset.

“I’m going for a while. Take care of yourself for me, would you?”

He wasn’t sure if he spoke to Mirn and those like him, the city itself, or the people down there. There would be no Saliss of Lights if Wyverns attacked. But they had Grimalkin and themselves, and that had to be enough, right?

He wasn’t sure if he loved this city or hated it. If it lifted him up to this 9th floor or was the weight around his ankles. Saliss knew how he felt about people…but the city? He liked the ambiguity, sometimes. Because he couldn’t say his decades of service, his time here, his grief, and his triumphs had been in vain. Not to Pallass itself.

“Time to go.”

Saliss inhaled the fumes of alchemy, that acidic tang filling the air from the alchemists already at work in the morning. He smiled as someone slapped a broom on the roof tiles.

“Saliss! Saliss, get off my roof!”

Xif was howling below, waving a broom as two of his [Alchemist] apprentices stared up at Saliss. Which was not his best side; Saliss dodged an empty potion bottle with a flick of the leg and pirouetted.

“Goodbye, Xif! I’m off to the New Lands! I’ll miss you!”

He blew a kiss at the Gnoll, who shouted back.

“You always do this! Shoo, shoo! Someone give me something to throw at him—”

The apprentices were too scared to huck things. They must have been new. Saliss didn’t move his feet, but swayed at the hips, dodging a collection of objects. Stained beakers, pieces of cobblestone, an empty alchemical bin…he snagged a piece of glass out of the air.

“Ooh. 50 mL graduated cylinder? I needed one of these. Thank you, Xif! Don’t cry. I’ll bring you some dirt as a souvenir.”

So saying, he pocketed the glassware, and Xif shook his fist as Saliss leapt down to the railings and walked along the edge of the 9th floor, a sheer drop down to the 8th below him. An elevator attendant waiting for passengers turned and glanced at Saliss, but he was so normalized that the Dullahan barely gave him a second glance.

“Don’t hurry back on my account! And you’d better get me whatever’s interesting there! Don’t you dare send me monster dung like last time! Farewell, Saliss! No one likes you!”

More [Alchemists] were poking their heads out their windows, disgorging colored smoke, to see what the fuss was about. They too called out to Saliss as he waved, rolling his eyes.

Silly old Gnoll. If only Saliss could view this as a true adventure and not…work. Work for people he hated at that. He sighed. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, he had to be on the 10th Floor for his ride with General Idiot and crew.

The New Lands were calling. Not just Edellein, it seemed.

Saliss could hear them. Like a voice singing, calling him southwest like the legendary ‘Sirens’, a long-dead monster species. An alluring, charming voice that spoke death and adventure.

He loved it. He hadn’t felt that draw for a lifetime, but he had resisted it, because here was where he was needed, and he’d been right.

The Goblin King. Saliss clenched one clawed hand and wondered, again, how he was alive. He had run into a battle he was unprepared for, and only the miracles of The Wandering Inn had allowed him to survive. He was grateful, of course, but still…

This was why he had stayed. For moments like that. Saliss had been expecting to have to murder his way through hundreds of would-be [Assassins] from Roshal, Erribathe, the Blighted Kingdom, and so on to defend Erin’s home in her absence.

He’d only had to kill three. And after the Goblin King, maybe, just maybe…the inn would be safer? He could only hope, because his orders were taking him south, and he could not easily refuse them nor that call.

Still. As the Drake descended the 9th Floor, he walked with a certain lightness, waving at people, smiling, but in a way that even Pallass’ citizens could tell was off. So they slowed and gave the annoying orange Drake a second look. Called out to him, because there was something in the air. Like the scent of alchemy—a mysterious feeling that drew the eyes.

He truly did say goodbye each and every time before he left on an adventure. A true adventure. You might not come back from those.

 

——

 

Oops. Saliss was on the 4th Floor when he noticed the eyes and realized his aura was leaking. He pulled it back under his skin, shaking his head.

“What am I, an Erin?”

That reduced the staring somewhat. But the Drake decided it was okay and let just a tinge of who he was, the abundance of his soul, permeate his scales.

Auras were a funny thing. Everyone had them. Everyone could train them. But like classes, they were weighted towards the ‘important’ people. A [King] had one exponentially stronger than anyone else of their level.

Saliss could manifest his because, well, he was over Level 50. Because his class was sort of cool. He liked to think he’d surprise another aura-expert with his tricks, but he wasn’t about to aura-slap a Titan like Magnolia Reinhart.

Your aura was just like your class. In time, it defined who you were. The signature of your being, more complete than any mark or stamp. He had stood in Torishi Weatherfur’s presence, and hers could conjure the very sun.

Dead, now. Saliss thought of her. He thought of fallen comrades. So he said his goodbyes seriously enough. For him, it was all he could do. Honesty and Saliss didn’t mix.

“Hey, Watch Captain Qissa! I’m off for the New Lands! I know, I know. What will you do without me?”

He shouted as he kicked the door to her office open, swarming into the 4th Floor’s Watch House so fast that the Desk Sergeant didn’t have time to stop him. The groan from the desk was of resignation, anyways.

Watch Captain Qissa was his favorite Watch Captain to annoy and just in general. The Drake with her scars from fighting gangs and monsters and her ink-black scales under both eyes complimented her rust-red scales wonderfully. Saliss loved beautiful things, be it alchemy or otherwise—but he loved beautiful things that were beautiful because they had been crafted, improved.

Natural beauty was easy; it was luck. Qissa was a former [Gangster]; she told people those ink-black scales were hereditary. There had used to be the Inktear Gang who dyed their scales like that. She’d quit, turned a new leaf over, and become a Watch Captain.

Saliss liked that story because Qissa never told it. He doubted other Watch Captains knew it unless they’d been around when the Inktear Gang was terrorizing westward cities in Pallass’ aegis.

Now, Qissa was a Watch Captain, and she’d be a good Watch Commander when the time came. He was glad that Liscor had got Venim. If they’d stolen Qissa, he’d actually have gotten annoyed.

The Watch Captain’s reaction to Saliss was to jump at her desk.

“Saliss! What now—?”

Her look of frank alarm was his fault. First he’d put the Turnscale business on her, then he’d been a bit more annoying than usual of late. She registered his comment and relaxed.

“The New Lands? Oh.”

Saliss grinned.

“Less work for you, right? No, don’t cry. Here.”

He offered her a box of tissues, and she swatted at it. Held his eyes for a second, and he felt bad. She believed in the law, and he was one of those things that existed outside of it. Too powerful to control, too well-connected to censure. Needed.

He was the Watch Captain of Pallass for the rules only he decided, only he could enforce. Zevara disliked Erin for good reasons. Qissa should hate him too. She’d seen more than enough of what he could do when he wanted to. Of late especially.

 

——

 

“Saliss. What—?”

The Drake had made too much noise in the last encounter. He was patiently waiting over the dead body as the squad of [Guards] surrounded him.

“Hey, Qissa. Sorry, this is the third one this week. Tell your kids to turn around, would you?”

He had a vial of strong acid in one hand, and he’d already looted the would-be [Assassin]. Qissa didn’t see black clothing, though. Just a dead Drake. Who wore the midnight black of a killer except when they were already in position? Saliss had to explain that, of course.

“A hired killer? You’re sure?”

“My eyes don’t lie.”

“Do they have any identification? Do you have any proof?”

“None on ‘em. But I do have proof.”

“I need to see it.”

“Here.”

He handed her a few documents she couldn’t read. The magical cipher made the words swim on the page, and she stared at the mark on the upper right corner.

“The Eyes of Pallass?”

“Good luck on getting them to share the cipher, but yeah.”

Saliss knew they were watching. Qissa’s head swung around, and maybe she spotted a few of them, but they were shy. Especially around him.

“Did they authorize this? Saliss, this looks like…”

Some of the new [Guards] were giving him the side-eye. They had never seen their funny Named-rank doing anything serious like this save for the Wyvern attack. Qissa would probably have to swear them to silence. Work for her. Saliss felt bad.

“This one put up a fight. Took a few minutes.”

“We don’t have a kill-on-sight policy for any foreign agents except Taimaguros or Jungle Tails or…”

“I know, and I know. This one was heading to Liscor.”

For the inn. No one had told him to do this. Chaldion might have if he were still able to lead, but he also might have okayed all this. It had been Saliss demanding reports from the Eyes, Saliss who’d operated alone.

Qissa stood there as the Named-rank Adventurer began to pour the liquid over the body. He saw her piecing the clues together.

“Saliss…”

“Yes, Qissa?”

He gazed up at her from where he squatted. Pallass’ protector. She knew that too. He had warded his City of Inventions from everything he didn’t like. Roshal’s [Slavers] disappeared here. Adventurers with less-than-sterling reputations found other places to live. Even Named-ranks.

No [Assassins] passed through here on missions he didn’t like. The Guild in the south had long since abandoned putting contracts on Saliss.

This killer had been high-level. Sent by Roshal as far as the Eyes could tell. Even they had limits on how many they were willing to send to die. If Lord Xitegen and his surprisingly sneaky Golems held the north passages and the Unseen Emperor his lands, then it was just Invrisil’s door that the Thronebearers had to hold.

The Watch Captain watched Saliss dissolving the evidence.

 

——

 

The Thronebearers of Calanfer had done well, and they had an [Assassin] of their own at the inn. They should be fine.

He had to trust that. Saliss glanced at Qissa as she sat there, then turned.

“Right! See you!”

“Saliss.”

She rose from her desk, and when he glanced back, she held out a claw. He came over and shook it, smiling, that clown annoying a dignified Watch Captain. But Qissa’s touch was just firm and gentle.

“The New Lands? I heard a huge expeditionary force was heading south under General Edellein.”

“Yep. Too large, probably. But what do I know?”

Her eyes flickered, and she frowned. But then she nodded.

“So you’ve been called in. The city will miss your protection.”

“Aw, what do they need me for?”

She shook her head slightly. Glanced down at the floor, where the [Guards] were probably listening in; the door was ajar. To his surprise, Qissa gazed up at Saliss and studied him a long time. He’d wondered if she’d balk when he threatened her over Turnscales. Or if seeing him kill more [Assassins] was the bridge too far.

That would have hurt. He’d have found another Watch Captain to annoy, though. But Captain Qissa just remarked in a level, carrying voice—

“Sometimes I think that Pallass and its cities don’t realize what you do for us, Alchemist. We will have a harder time without you. Did you know Liscor offered me the job of Watch Commander?”

“I know Venim took it. Not interested?”

He didn’t understand this line of conversation, but Qissa just smiled at him. It was so unlike her usual glower that he wondered if she was sick.

“I thought Watch Captain Zevara would take the job, honestly. And I was worried that if I took the post—how would I replace her? I did some digging into her background, and she went up against the Soot gang, I heard. For ten whole years she fought a war on Liscor’s underworld, alone. How do you replace that?”

“The Soot gang? Never heard of them. Must be small fries. How could a Watch Captain of Liscor be more important than a Pallassian [Guardsman]?”

Saliss lied. The Soot gang had run deliveries across the border. Not big, but not unimportant. Qissa snorted. She folded her claws and turned to a map of their holdings, a huge splotch that reached just south of the Bloodfields and spread out across the trade routes. Not all-encompassing, but Pallass ‘held’ a huge amount of territory.

“She held them alone. She got backup in the form of the Gecko and the Antinium, but that was her fight. Where would Pallass be if we didn’t have our Named-rank [Alchemist]? Even when I was a teenager, you were there.”

“Uh, don’t mention my age. I’m sensitive about that.”

She grinned, then studied the far wall.

“How many gangs have you taken apart when the Watch couldn’t? The Redknives, the Hands of Gold, Inktear…”

He felt a little shock as she mentioned the gang she used to be part of. He’d never told her…she brushed at her eyes.

“Imagine how many cells the Watch would have filled if it could even catch those gangs, Saliss. Then again, you tend to miss the small fries.”

He leaned on the desk, smiling out the window.

“Eh, too much paperwork. And I’m lazy.”

“Of course you are. We’ll do our best in your absence, Alchemist. And I’ll bear in mind what you said about your cousin.”

She turned, and he blinked at her. Then she threw him a salute. That was too much. Saliss threw up his hands.

“Now it sounds like you’re going to enlist me! Flee! I’ll bring you back some Wyverns! Alive! All kinds of new ones for you to have fun with!”

He fled down the stairs, but not before that damn Watch Captain shouted from her office.

“[Guards], salute!”

The whip-crack of the [Voice of Command] had every single damn [Guard] in 4th Floor’s Watch House on their feet and saluting the Drake as he strode past them. Their surprised gazes followed the Alchemist of Lights as he flipped two middle fingers up at the window.

“You win this one, Qissa! I’ll be back!”

He tried, oh, how he tried to make it silly and stupid. But she just cracked open the windows and called out.

“Inventions speed your journey, Alchemist Saliss!”

As if she respected him or something. In front of all these people? The Alchemist ran away, shaking his head. She was crazy.

His Watch Captain.

His city.

 

——

 

He hated goodbyes.

He didn’t know why he did them.

Saliss of Lights balanced another grape on Chaldion’s nose until a twitch made the little tower shift. The [Healer] was scolding him.

Not Demerra, just a [Healer] attending a Drake who no longer mattered. Same with his assistant and bodyguards…how they vanished.

Saliss caught the grapes and put them back on the plate. Apparently, the Drake could eat sometimes.

“Hey, old man. I’m off for the New Lands. Not got anything to say? Cat got your tongue?”

“Adventurer Saliss—please! Your grandfather—”

The [Healer] hesitated when Saliss glanced at her.

“We’ve done this for years, Miss Ulla. We can’t stop now. Though it does feel like bullying now that he can’t fight back. Still, you deserve it, old man, don’t you?”

Chaldion said not a word as Saliss nudged him, which took all the fun out of it. Saliss still remembered the bloody bandages on the Drake who should have been dead, healing for weeks, alive when he was begging to die…

He deserved far worse. So why couldn’t he look like the bastard who deserved it? Saliss gave up trying to get a word, a rise out of the grey Drake sitting in his wheelchair.

“I’m off. I hope you were wrong about Edellein. Time to find out if what’s in the New Lands is worth it.”

He thought that, if anything, would get Chaldion to look up. Seith, old man. The fortune that Chaldion had waited for, the decisive weapon that would break the Antinium Wars stalemate. Put Pallass back on the maps. Or Edellein, that popinjay, leading your city.

Nothing.

Nothing. Saliss wanted to shake Chaldion.

“Your city’s not doing so hot, old man. All your plans can’t deal with people being people. How’s it feel, hm? First me, then…how’s it feel? Hey, c’mon, answer. Answer—”

“Saliss, stop!”

Healer Ulla grabbed him, and the Named-rank Drake realized he’d been shaking Chaldion so hard the chair was rattling around. The gasping old Drake fell back in his chair as Saliss let go.

“You have to go. Now.”

It was amazing the [Healer] had even managed to halt him. She must have had—[Protect the Patient: Emergency Strength]. He read her class and Skills. Saliss turned away.

“I’m—I’m sorry. Here.”

He handed her a healing potion in case…the Drake walked towards the door.

“I’ll keep the army safe, old man. Even if I have to grow Edellein a brain first. Esor’s there too.”

Still nothing. The Drake took the doorknob to Chaldion’s study in hand, turned it, and walked out. He walked through the old sitting room filled with cigar smoke, the hallway of medals and curios from war, old weapons that Chaldion had used to be able to swing…

He was nearly at the doors to the mansion when he heard a whisper. A voice so low that only an [Alchemist]’s enhanced hearing could catch it.

A whisper forced out of lungs, soft as a falling leaf, but with all the effort of a man moving a boulder up a mountain. As if it took all the will in the world to find the words in the sea the mind was lost in.

“Luck, Saliss.”

The [Alchemist] stopped in the hallway. He heard a faint gasp. Waited a beat as his heart thundered—but nothing more came.

He did not turn back. Silently, the Drake’s hand made a fist and touched his chest, just over his heart. He thrust the fist skywards and let his aura speak for him for a moment.

Then he strode out the door.

Only a few left. Two, really. Just two more in this wide city who he needed to talk to.

 

——

 

It was on the way up to the 9th Floor again when Saliss finally caught his breath and his heart rate slowed to its normal beats-per-minute. Thirty-eight, if he was just walking or moving around.

That normally would have had a [Healer] coming for him, but Saliss’ body was…high-level. Everyone thought he was a [Battle Alchemist], but his specialty was transformations. Age, body…none were permanent, but you tended to improve what could be improved. That was the secret of high levels.

Anyone could be Level 40 or higher. Zeter was half of what he needed; he had his magical swords. But you had to be competitive even at your level. Keep improving and refining yourself.

Non-combat classes didn’t have galas-muscle, for instance, in most cases. But Saliss, and at least one other Level 50+ [Alchemist] did. Irurx, that bastard, got it. If you could give yourself that advantage, why not?

Those frantic thoughts and self-introspection helped. When he slowed, his elation faded. A few words would not reverse what was going on in Pallass. The Old Man was still out. And that left Saliss…that left Turnscales in Pallass in a bad place.

Saliss’ head bowed low, and the black feeling swept him. It had been easier a few months ago. Things had been, if not positive, then better.

The hard part had been when Chaldion left the command post. Having all of his progress reverted under General Edellein, who wanted to renegotiate the contract. One step forwards and an avalanche backwards.

He’d pushed to reverse the problems. Telling Qissa he was making a stand. Having Rose, annoying as she was, on the side. Thinking of the future…but sometimes he was just exhausted.

Why the hell did he do it? Someone had to. But dead gods, he was tired of seeing progress reverse. Only a few things made him happy, really happy. The inn had been fun. But Erin had fallen into the same traps. Enemies, fighting battles against people she wasn’t ready for. A good woman in a shit world.

He believed in her, would support her, loved her in the way he could never love his reflection. But he could not be happy around her as often anymore.

He was only happy, perfectly happy, about one thing in this world without some kind of regret, insecurity, or worry.

And that was, unexpectedly, his cute little apprentice. Saliss hummed as he skipped up the steps to his workshop. Of all the things, he’d miss her most in a way.

 

——

 

Octavia was sitting in Saliss’ workshop, staring at the neat rows of pre-measured powders and liquids she was about to combine. That was how Saliss did it. If you knew the recipe, all the ingredients were there and sorted, ready to go. No forgetting to measure out mandrake root and having to grind it while keeping your mixture from bubbling over.

The Stitch-girl had taken to his system well, and at a glance, he could tell she was making a Potion of Fire Blast, one of the common go-to potions in his arsenal. He had her making a lot of the things he wanted these days. Replenishing his stores. She got time to pursue her own projects, but an apprentice got gruntwork. In return, he mentored her, gave her tips, let her use his workshop if not his best ingredients, and when she was ready, she’d start her own practice.

That Octavia had been independent before meeting Saliss was just a quirk of their relationship, but she didn’t seem to be jumping to leave. Well, then again…when he coughed, she jumped.

“Master Saliss, I was just, um—”

She began making the Potion of Blast hurriedly, and Saliss leaned on the counter. He had a kind grin on his face. He didn’t scold her or hit her for not working, and in that, he was unlike any master she’d ever had.

He was always kind. It made her feel guilty.

“Zoning out? Better doing that before you start mixing. I’m heading out.”

“To the New Lands? Already? Are you packed?”

Her eyes widened, and she looked Saliss up and down; he was naked except for his belt, but the Drake just patted his bag of holding.

“Amazing things, bags of holding. They fit everything. It’s almost like you can put anything you want in there…”

He was teasing her. But gently. Octavia bounced on her toes, missing the joke completely.

“I’m, uh, I’ll be working hard, Master Saliss! I promise. If I need to, I’ll just send a Courier with a delivery of anything you need restocked, and you’ll write back to me? Only Couriers on the list…”

She fumbled for his instructions, and Saliss forestalled her with a wave of the claw.

“You know what to do. I was just saying goodbye, Octavia. You hanging in there?”

“Me? Yes, of course! Everything’s great! I levelled again last month and…why?”

For a Cotton Stitch-girl working for Pallass’ best [Alchemist], Octavia seemed distracted. Saliss, as an old Drake, knew why. He’d…been her. He sat on the workbench and didn’t actually know what to say.

He wasn’t the type of person who gave this kind of pep talk. Saliss was a jokester. He got along with people like Erin, who were like him. He aggravated idiots, and some people respected him despite his best efforts, but he didn’t…mentor. Yet he had to, right? Damn, this is why he never took apprentices. Saliss cleared his throat.

“Listen, kid. You and I both know Numbtongue’s been weird. I blame his class. Actually, I blame sex. There’s such a thing as too much of it.”

She colored.

“I…we’re not seeing each other.”

“Sure, sure. But that’s not much fun either, is it? Here’s my advice: you’re not going to stop thinking about it, and it’s not going to stop smarting. So just don’t do alchemy. Take a break; unless I’m screaming at you that I’m out of Blast Potions and up to my earholes in Crelers, it’s fine. Go hug that cat. Be a person in The Wandering Inn. Even if you run into our Goblin friend. You can’t out-alchemy a hurt heart. Believe me, people have tried.”

He avoided looking straight at her, smiling past Octavia. He didn’t want to see if this was working or not; she was silent. Saliss chanced a glance at her eyes and then away.

Ah, poor kid. Saliss coughed into one fist.

“…By ‘people’, I mean Alchemist Irurx. Among others. Worst case of someone going Mad Alchemist I’ve ever seen. If you snap like that, next thing you know you’ll be biogrowing gigantic bugs and sailing a ship at people.”

That made Octavia laugh and shudder. She ducked her head.

“I think the case was more complex than that, Master Saliss. He was burned at the stake.”

“Oh, sure, but I bet you there was a love component to that too. Did you hear about Ceria’s date with him?”

“Ceria did mention that…”

Saliss nodded wisely.

“The man hates half-Elves, led an entire [Pirate] armada just to kill more of them, and the first half-Elf he meets, he tries to lick her toes and show her what he’s got belowdecks. That’s telling. Even [Alchemists] can’t beat love and heartsickness, Octavia. Look at old Xif. Time was, he’d get his heart broken and then lock himself in his laboratory working on a ‘Potion of Love’. I can’t tell you how many times that happened.”

She giggled, scandalized by the thought of Xif doing that. Then she peered at him.

“And you, Master Saliss?”

Oh, this is why I hate having people who get to know me. Saliss’ face froze, and his mind flashed to the many, many mistakes of his…Onieva’s life. Ah, it stung. It hurt. Instantly, Saliss began to lie, to deflect. But his honest apprentice was looking at him. Expectantly, as if his words mattered or something.

The stiff smile on his face relaxed. Saliss, to his amazement, didn’t tell a joke. He just gave Octavia a shrug of the shoulders.

“More times than I can count. I’ve been an idiot, Octavia. I’ll tell you about it sometime, but it’s bad. Embarrassingly horrendous. You’ll never look at me the same again. And you’ve gotten used to me being naked!”

“I would never, Master Saliss.”

She assured him, and he almost believed her, but Saliss wondered what Octavia would say about Onieva. She was a Stitch-woman; they tended to understand. But even then…he winked.

“Someday, maybe. For now, I’ve got to go.”

He could have left it at that, but he hesitated. Then ruffled her dreadlocks.

“I’ll miss you, kid. You keep levelling, you hear? And take breaks to work on your own stuff. You’re like the purest experiment I have. Some goofy little Stitch-girl without anyone tainting her recipe with shit. That’s a fun experiment.”

It was…everything. He’d said too much. Octavia gazed up at him like a puppy, but a knowing one. Her eyes filled with all those questions he couldn’t answer because they were too painful. Then she got misty-eyed.

“Master Saliss, you did all this for me and I—! You’re going to be okay, aren’t you?”

She wanted to hug him. With a sigh, Saliss let her do it. He patted her head.

“I’ll be fine. I just had to say goodbye to a few people. The old man even managed to croak at me.”

“He did? Who’re you saying goodbye to?”

“Oh, you know. All my friends. Xif, Qissa, the Old Man, you…and maybe Mirn.”

Five people. How had he gotten so many? Saliss waggled his clawed hand, and Octavia gazed up at him as she let go.

“What about—no, Erin’s gone and—anyone in the inn? What about, um, other [Alchemists] or…?”

The innocent question stung a bit. Saliss turned.

“Nope! No one else.”

He thought of someone. But he, Saliss, couldn’t say goodbye to…that Gnoll. But surely—

A fear overtook him, then. It would be a long trip. He’d be worried, but the truth might have to come out. Otherwise, how else did you explain both Saliss and Onieva vanishing?

The truth.

Oh. It felt like Octavia’s potion was about to explode. Not literally, just a sudden sense the [Alchemist] had of a failed experiment, only that was his life and every relationship he’d ever had.

Octavia noticed the tensing up and fumbled for words.

“I didn’t mean—I was only asking—”

“No, you’re fine, kid. I told you, you and I just have to love alchemy. This is just me reflecting upon all my mistakes. Yeah, there is someone else. Seven. Two hand’s worth of people.”

Saliss raised a sixth finger and stared at it. Octavia gazed at him, and he hugged her, one-armed.

“Don’t look at me like that. Larracel the Haven, that desperately sad woman who’s shielded her friends with her body from everything—she can’t do more than two hand’s worth of true friends. And she’s devoted most of her life to keeping them alive. That’s who we are. You…you’re my experiment.”

Maybe, if you raised a young apprentice with nothing but respect and taught them without any burdens, they’d be a great [Alchemist]. Part of him didn’t believe his experiment. Suffering made you level, and his masters had been geniuses at levelling him by that standard.

But he treasured the smile. She hugged him again, and the [Alchemist] sighed. He stared at the sixth finger he’d raised, then went to find his fifth friend.

 

——

 

Mirn was Saliss’ oldest friend. His truest friend of any of them. The only one in Pallass who could truly claim that name. He had known Saliss longer than anyone but Chaldion. He was the only one who knew Saliss’ secret and supported his friend unconditionally.

He was the greatest ally, [Protector], and friend that Saliss could ask for.

He saw that sixth digit trembling, and that scared Mirn, because he so seldom saw Onieva shaking. So the failed bartender put down the mugs he was cleaning for tonight and leaned over the new bar he’d rented for Turnscales and snapped.

“Don’t tell him squat. Just let him know you’re going, leave it at a quick kiss, and come back to it when you return.”

Mirn wasn’t for telling Ishkr. He had that furrowed-brow look when he was worried about Onieva, but she wore that blissful smile of someone pouring salamander scales into the solution on purpose.

(Salamander scales and hope they exploded. She was all self-sabotaging.)

“I’ve got to, Mirn.”

He pulled her neck-spines as she tried to leave, the only person in Pallass who could or would dare to do it.

“No…you’re stabbing yourself in the tail, and you know it, you stupid hatchling. You like him.”

She grew defensive instantly.

“Sure. Why? He’s high-level, so he doesn’t break; he’s talented; he’s from The Wandering Inn—I’m messing with him.”

“Messing with him. By doing what, obsessively jumping into his pants every time you meet? He’s not violent, insane, against Turnscales, or anything else, is he?”

Mirn wore an expression saying that if any of the above were actually true, Ishkr would be soon dealing with broken kneecaps, but Onieva defended him.

“No! He’s fine. You’ve met him! We know about his sister! I’m just lying to him about—me. Saliss.”

She indicated her body, violet scales gleaming, her mismatched eyes shining, so beautiful and eyecatching that other Turnscales stared at Onieva. No one knew who she was, not exactly, but she was a known figure in Pallass. Perfect. The soul in your heart made manifest. If only she could last…Mirn tore his eyes away from her.

Dead gods, she hurt his heart. They’d been friends for almost four decades, ever since Mirn was a street kid who wanted to be a [Soldier] and the as yet unformed Onieva had been a shy, bookish [Prodigy Junior Tactician], the grandchild of Chaldion who needed a friend. How far they’d come.

“You’re not lying about anything. You’re Onieva.”

“A Turnscale. Saliss in disguise.”

“That’s not even something worth bringing up!”

Mirn slammed a fist down. He was so angry at Onieva. After meeting Rose, after all this talk and all they’d seen, she carried the guilt of who she was.

All he felt was rage—for anyone that couldn’t accept the honest truth. There was no guilt to be had. Not for Mirn. He didn’t accept that kind of talk at his bar anymore. Not even the old debates—whether this could be mitigated, whether they all needed help or if there were ‘acceptable’ ways they could be Turnscales.

No more. Rose had cemented the truth he had come to over a lifetime of acting as a Sentry in the Turnscale community in Pallass. What they were wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t even new.

Nor was the world wrong, even. Just this corner of it. Just this particular time they were living through. And it would change. He had to believe that.

They stood, Onieva and Mirn, in the most comfortable place in Pallass. Mirn’s bar. The location changed, and the drinks were terrible. So was the food, mostly, but to the young and old who came here, it was the most comfortable place they knew. More than even their own homes.

Not safe. If someone asked the wrong questions, if there was a pounding at the doors, then you’d feel that adrenaline-fueled terror in your veins. But this was a comfortable place, despite it all.

Because here, you were yourself. No one would judge you or lie and tell you that you were wrong, deviant, sick. And Mirn…Mirn was there. He’d rather die than let you get hurt in his presence.

Onieva would miss this place most of all, Mirn knew. How would she live as Saliss for months, possibly, on campaign?

She’d survived worse, but even if she could become Onieva for a while, she’d have no one to talk to. He wanted to tell her not to go, but he’d lost that argument long ago. Pallass needed its Named-rank adventurer.

This was an argument he had a shot at, so the [Protector] furiously stacked mugs on a tray as Onieva gave him that worrying smile.

Honesty. She framed telling Ishkr as honesty, something she had to do. As if their entire relationship were based on a lie.

Mirn had met Ishkr. The Gnoll lad was cute. Handsome when he dressed up, young, high-level. So respectable compared to Mirn and Onieva that it hurt, like a bright statue that had yet to tarnish. Oh, and he got high-level people. He was competent; he’d been Erin Solstice’s best employee and had stuck around through disasters. Small wonder he’d swept Onieva off her feet.

She was a sucker for anyone who polished up like that. Mirn had always thought that if Qissa had been a handsome male Drake, Onieva might have gotten to chatting with him, and what a disaster that might have been. Ishkr, as far as Mirn could tell, was a genuinely good [Head Server]. He hadn’t seen the real shit that Mirn had, let alone Onieva. War, sure. Monsters, of course.

Heartbreaking shit—the kind you couldn’t solve with a sword—that was what he hadn’t experienced. Not yet, even with all his dead [Innkeepers] and children. But he seemed like he actually had a good heart. So he might be as rare as a Dragon.

So what?

Onieva was as rare as a Unicorn. She didn’t need to tell Ishkr, but she wanted to. Because she hated herself.

To be clear—Mirn had a bunch of terminology from Rose about this and that, all words from her world, but he hadn’t needed more than the vocabulary. Onieva was a bit of a puzzle that Rose admitted she couldn’t quite understand at a glance because of the powers of alchemy. This was how Mirn understood it.

Saliss and Onieva were the same person. The Faerie Flower potions had made them two different people—for a while. But it had always been the same person, just with memory loss.

The problem was that Saliss wanted Onieva to be separate. He had constructed his persona of Saliss of Lights, the annoying naked Drake, the Named-adventurer who did hard things for Pallass, deliberately. He’d sheltered Onieva from all the things he did. He treated her like a separate entity, the Drake he wished he could be at all times.

Saliss hated Saliss. But Onieva was Saliss. So when Saliss was Saliss, he was all-business, only the Named-rank. He seldom met with Mirn out of caution, because the two were only supposed to be distant friends.

However, when Onieva was Onieva, she didn’t stop disliking Saliss. She’d be the first to say that Saliss was needed, but it was like a weight around her neck. She seemed to view Saliss’ existence like a scar, a mark of shame. The fact that she’d eventually have to become Saliss was a sin she kept from her lovers and friends.

Now, Mirn thought all of this was wrongheaded. Onieva/Saliss, whichever form they wore, were heroes. They’d fought the Antinium Wars, fought Drakes, fought monsters, fought for everything Pallass had. Ancestors, Onieva had fought the Goblin King twice. Who the hell could claim that?

How could you be ashamed of…? Mirn had to stop polishing another tankard before he cracked it.

“Dragonshit, Onieva. That’s all this is. Self-sabotaging Dragonshit. Ishkr is lucky to be able to lick your toe-claws.”

“He hasn’t done that.”

She tried to make a joke of it, and Mirn slapped the counter with a dustrag.

“You’re beautiful. You’re the highest-levelled Drake in all of Pallass. You’re too good for him!”

“I’m way too old for him.”

She was trying to call her age into the argument, and Mirn pointed a finger-claw at her.

“I know for a fact you’ve probably got a thirty-year old body. Don’t even play that card, girl. Besides, in our community age gaps like that are normal.”

A function of not having that many people who could meet each other. Onieva brushed at her cheeks.

“Even if it’s—artificial?”

What, her appearance? This time, Mirn nearly tossed the mug at her. Because she had to know how stupid an argument that was. It came purely from insecurity, not reality.

He was so jealous of her, he had to admit. Mirn was a bit younger than Onieva, and sometimes he wished she could make those Potions of Youth for him. Just for a bit. Mirn looked good because he was over Level 40 and kept in shape, but…Ancestors.

Ancestors witness. Their many times great-granddaughter had continued their work. Her scales captured the light, which played over her form forged out of alchemy’s genius. The odor of dried berries clung to her with that faint metallic tang, which only intensified when she was sweating or exerting herself.

Beneath the layers of scales and flesh moved the same muscles that Dragons shared. Her lungs contained the same tempest, a Dragonfire so unique that only sixteen other beings had ever breathed the same. Something new.

If they could have seen her, in their days of old, she would have been a child the Dragons would have flown around. Someone new, who had drawn her body out of base components and paved a way forwards. They should have celebrated her. Hailed her and carried her on their shoulders, begging her to lead them forwards.

Just for this. Mirn turned his head away, unable to articulate what he saw, sometimes. He rubbed at his eyes. Then spoke huskily.

“There’s no reason to tell him about your switching forms. None. The only reason is in your head. You’re not lying to anyone. You’re just temporarily wrongformed until you can brew the right potion. Like someone who has uncontrollable sneezing.”

The way he described her problems made her smile, but guiltily.

“It’s not that and you know it. Saliss is an entirely different person. He has baggage and problems, and it’s a lie, Mirn. If he’d known he was sleeping with Saliss—”

She shuddered, and Mirn got angry again.

“There’s nothing wrong with Saliss.”

“Pft. You can’t even say that with a straight face.”

Onieva turned, annoyed, and was caught flat-footed by Mirn’s glower. She was shocked, and he capitalized on that.

“You know something, Onieva? Remember when you were drinking the Faerie Flower potion and couldn’t remember you were Saliss?”

She flinched, and he felt bad, because that miraculous, easy-to-brew potion had been hope. Not just for her, but other Turnscales. Now it was gone, and he understood why she was so damn unhappy.

He was unhappy. Turnscale raids had tripled for a while under Edellein. They’d come back down, but Mirn was thinking of paying for a door guard…it reminded him of the bad old days. Raids every night. All Onieva had worked for was reversing without Chaldion.

Nevermind that. Rose and I can work on Pallass. I’d better not tell Onieva about Rose’s infiltration mission or she’ll probably pull Rose’s tail off. Mirn went on.

“Do you remember what Fae-Onieva said?”

“Vaguely. It was just the happiest time of my entire life. Why?”

Wow. Okay. Mirn went on, determined not to engage with that.

“I recall she was worried about her ‘Cousin Saliss’. You went on and on about how much he worked and how much of a loner he was.”

“Well, it makes sense. Saliss does suck.”

Onieva sipped from a mug she’d filled with water, self-consciously grinning. Mirn sprang the trap. She could dodge any trap in the world but a verbal one.

“Ah, but Fae-Onieva didn’t hate Saliss. You liked him. You thought he was overworked, had as shitty a relationship with Chaldion as you do—but you thought of him as Pallass’ protector. Just like you saw yourself. When you take your own preconceptions out of your head, you like Saliss, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

That caught her off-guard. He saw the [Alchemist] waver, and her heterochromic eyes flickered as she tried to figure a way out of his argument. Heterochromia. One eye blue, the other yellow. Of all the things that Onieva had chosen for her true self, that made him think she was still just a girl at heart. Mixed-color eyes. Ancestors, he was so jealous.

But a shallow jealousy. In a perfect world, Mirn would find someone to love and settle down with. Keep running his bar, but without the fear, and just…relax. Raise some kids, if he wasn’t too old to start. All he wanted was to be a bit younger, a bit better-looking, and to have a bit more spending gold. Oh, and for Turnscales not to have to fear for their existence.

He was happy with himself. She was not, but Onieva denied it once more.

“Aha! That might have been true, but that was only because I didn’t know that I was actually Saliss. If I, as Fae-Onieva, had realized all of the dirt on Saliss’ claws was my own, then I’d be ashamed. It’s one thing to admire a bastard who’s doing what he has to. Another to be that bastard. It’d be like if I found out I transformed back into Chaldion.”

You cunning bitch. Also, was that how she saw herself? Saliss was like Chaldion for sins? Mirn threw his rag at her, and she dodged. He pulled at his cheeks. Despairing.

So confusing. So complex. The alchemy didn’t make things better, it just made it more confusing. Mirn spoke into his hands.

“Walled Cities break. Okay, fine. I know you’re on a time limit and you have a date with him. So lay it out for me like an alchemy recipe. Possible outcomes. Best case solution? He accepts you, everything’s great. Worst case? You’re going to tell him, and he blows up or rejects you. That’s why you’re doing it now, so you can cry your heart out, then run off to fight and get hurt in the New Lands. So you don’t have to face the outcomes. Because you expect it to go bad.”

“That’s not true.”

Her innocent expression was exactly like Saliss’, but she was avoiding his gaze. Mirn folded his arms.

“So you didn’t tell him until you knew you were shipping out tomorrow because…? If things go well, you’d want to spend more time together. There’s no good reason to put it off till now. An explanation serves no reason now, except if it’s going to go bad, so you can run away.”

She avoided his gaze.

“I’ve been sleeping with him for months now. He deserves to know. If he wants to spit in my face—”

For a second, she was fragile, not invincible, and Mirn bit his tongue. The [Protector] thought that if Ishkr did that, it wouldn’t break Onieva. She’d fought armies and lived. But it would make her bleed.

One more time, again and again and ever again, she was putting her heart out there. This time, Mirn wanted someone to not kick it off the walls. If he could get to Ishkr first, maybe, see how the Gnoll would react…

As if she read his mind, the [Alchemist] turned to Mirn and smiled.

“If you tell Ishkr ahead of time and try to ‘brief’ him, I’ll blow up your bar, Mirn. Then you can see what it’s like being Mirna.”

“Pass.”

Only Onieva could threaten to change your body—a threat that was only annoying for Mirn, but would probably have most Drakes shitting themselves in terror. Mirn could only watch as Onieva smiled in that way she did before planning on detonating a pile of potions.

He couldn’t stop her, he realized. He never could. He wasn’t strong enough. So the [Protector] came around the bar and just hugged her. He clung to her, and she laughed.

“Mirn, you can’t keep me here. I do have a date.”

Her eyes shone with a fire like Erin Solstice’s, but it had no color Mirn could name. A deep pain and beautiful, transcendent light. If she could have brought it to life like the [Innkeeper], he could have burned down Pallass with it.

“You idiot. I’m hugging my friend. Come back from the New Lands. And come back here. They love you, this community. If you could be here more…”

They looked up to him, old Mirn, as their hero. They should know she was their heroine. Not him. Onieva never told anyone who she was, let alone their level. The Turnscales of Pallass—the Turnscales of every city should claim her and love her like he did. Just like Zel Shivertail. Or Sserys.

Why are all our heroes dead and we only find out who they were afterwards? If we could only count ourselves and see how many of us are amazing and beautiful…

Mirn clung to that idea. He had to keep building, more than this bar. He had to expand it and, with Rose’s help, make a place that would last, that no one would break into. The Turnscales were weakest when they were scattered, hidden in each city.

Light, that terrifying thing, would save or damn them. They feared it—but they were no insects to wilt under the sun. They were all beautiful blooms, and they had been hidden in the dark too long.

Onieva’s eyes softened, and she hugged Mirn with a fraction of that terrible strength. He felt her trembling and thought this date scared her more than the Goblin King in some ways.

“Dragons guide you, Onieva.”

“I’ve followed them. If only they’d accept me. No…”

Her eyes brightened with unshed tears.

“One did.”

So she turned. [Alchemiaform Oldblood, Grand Alchemist of War]. A class only Mirn knew. Even Chaldion knew only the second half. But that first part…

The Drake who had changed her very species, who had not been born an Oldblood, turned and walked out of his doors. Taking huge breaths, like a girl going on her first date. Mirn watched, waving.

If Ishkr broke her heart, Mirn was going to break his knees tomorrow.

 

——

 

That was how Onieva said her goodbyes.

Before she tried to tell Ishkr, of course. And a certain skeleton interrupted them. All things considered, beating down a stranger in Relic-class armor was infinitely preferable to the truth.

Onieva blinked as the strange [Knight] who’d tried to go after Ishkr ran for it.

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know. Someone from Erribathe? Another Terandrian kingdom? Maybe, uh…what’s the name of that one with the highest-level [Knights]? Kaaz?”

“Can’t be. The Thousand Lances all have sigils on their armor, and they shout really loud who they are. Plus, he’d be higher-level if he was one of them abroad. That idiot wasn’t bad, but he was all Relics.”

She could have taken him apart if she wanted to get serious; it might have been nice loot. Arguably, she should have to mitigate a potential threat to the inn. However, Onieva was distracted. She put her claws on Ishkr’s shoulders, trying to be casual.

“So…where were we? Hot date? Want to visit a fun attraction or—or something?”

He frowned at her.

“You’re shaking. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

That was her line. Onieva’s arms sprang off Ishkr.

“Me? Great. Absolutely! Finger guns and stuff!”

Ancestors, stop talking like Saliss! She tried to make a joke of things, but she felt her stomach tying itself into knots.

“Why—why don’t we head back to the inn, huh? Maybe we could get cozy and uh—uh—talk?”

She wanted nothing more than to get back to the inn, kiss and cuddle, or do something more intimate. Anything so he’d like her and not…this.

“I wouldn’t mind that. Um, but if you’re really leaving tomorrow—I could help you pack. Where are you going? Is it related to Saliss leaving for the New Lands? Lyonette was talking about making a care package. Just food. Do you know what he’d like?”

“Funny you should mention that…how about we go back, talk, and it’ll all be clear.”

She was going to vomit. Handily, Liscor had installed a few public trashcans…that opened up directly into the sewers. That meant the rains didn’t fill them up. Onieva excused herself as Ishkr went to talk to the [Guards] about the incident. She wiped her mouth after puking and locked eyes with an Antinium.

“Are you alright, Miss Drake? This one will call for a [Healer]—”

He began, and she held up a hand to stop the worried Worker.

“Hey. Don’t mind me. Just nerves.”

“One pukes when nervous?”

“All the time. Mammal thing.”

The horrified Worker watched as Onieva gargled a breath tonic, then dashed back over to Ishkr. He was giving her worried looks.

“Onieva, you seem fr—did you just throw up?”

Damn Gnolls and their noses! She laughed it off.

“I must have eaten something bad for breakfast. C’mon! Let’s go to the inn!”

By pushing and shoving and cajoling, she got him back to The Wandering Inn. A few of the staff waved at Onieva, and Asgra whistled at the couple, but they were largely ignored. Onieva was just one of those faces around the inn, not someone to pay attention to. Someone hollered as Onieva pushed Ishkr upstairs. Her heart was racing. It had gone from thirty-eight beats-per-minute to about…two hundred. So she was only slightly panicked—she’d once hit three hundred in the middle of combat.

“Ishkr, you back from your date? Nanette doing something weird in the gardens with her magic stone stuff.”

She hustled him up to her rooms as Ishkr called out.

“I won’t be working, Peggy. Whatever Nanette is doing—just do your best! I’m, um, on break.”

He gestured at Onieva, who waved at the Hob, and Peggy whistled.

“Ooh, fun times! You is have fun! Use lots of lubrication! Calescent kitchen has lots of free oil!”

The [Chef] stuck his head out of the kitchen with a mix of outrage and horror. Elia Arcsinger nearly spat out her spicy salad. Onieva wanted to laugh or hug Peggy. Strange how she could remember killing so many Goblins but she was so grateful for this supportive Hob.

Tell her who you are and watch how she treats you. Antinium too. She didn’t deserve a Worker’s sympathy. She’d killed so many of them. So many Goblins. So many Gnolls and Drakes and…

Blood. Enough blood to fill this inn was on her hands. How would Ishkr ever embrace or kiss her once he knew…

Be done with it. Ishkr was glancing back at her.

“Onieva is something…?”

She shoved him into his rooms and realized she was visibly shaking now. It took her two tries to lock the doors. Ishkr was worried.

“I think you’ve been poisoned or something’s wrong. Onieva, you’re shaking!”

“Just excitement, Ishkr. Take a seat on the bed. I’ve got a fun thing to tell you. Exciting.”

She gave him a glassy smile. He sat on the bed, and she admired his window for a second. Unlatched it with her back covering it. She’d bail out the window; simplest exit path. If he started hitting her, she could take two swings and be out of it and get to the door in seconds.

Not that she was self-sabotaging. Mirn was just blowing smoke. Just anticipating things based on prior encounters.

“Is it about where you’re going? Saliss?”

Damnit, he was too perceptive. Onieva turned and found a chair and placed it to face him.

“Yes and yes. In a way. It’s…a story. You love stories, don’t you?”

The [Wandering Server of Stories] stirred, because that was his entire thing.

“A bit, but, if you’re unw—”

“Ishkr, please. Just let me tell the story, and it’ll all be clear. You’ll love it. Well, everything but the ending.”

She began to speak as he sat there, alert, worried, but drawn by her words. She almost stopped several times and gave up, would have thrown herself at him and kissed him to distract him or pretend everything was fine.

But she wasn’t. She couldn’t lie to him any longer. So she told him a story.

Not the same one she’d told other lovers. She’d done this many times, and just once…Onieva repeated the same formula she’d tried, an alchemist’s sorry recipe, with a new twist. Waiting to see how it blew up in her face this time.

There was that story that Saliss or Onieva never told. It explained a lot of things. Saliss’ relationship with General Shirka. Who he was. Who she was.

This was the story.

 

——

 

He was Level 36, a [Battle Alchemist of Transformations], and the 1st Antinium Wars were raging. General Sserys had yet to appear and rally all of Izril and begin to push the Black Tide back.

This was the bad times—well, it had been bad throughout the entire damn war—when the Antinium had seemed to be everywhere. When any area past their front lines moving south around Oteslia or through the Dragonspine Mountains might be attacked.

No one knew which settlements were holding their ground or were razed with no survivors. Someone had to check, to run messages from place to place.

A heroine was doing just that: Mihaela Godfrey. In these dark times, the woman who would be known as the Courier of Izril ran lifelines across Izril nonstop. She was the network of [Messages] and deliveries of food and confidential information between Drake settlements. She and so many brave Runners who died, hunted down by the Antinium forces.

But there had been other operatives active during that period. Adventurers. Special agents sent to check on ‘dark’ settlements and either liberate them or just assess the situation. One such operative was Saliss.

Saliss, the Gold-rank Adventurer, was fresh off the boat from Nerrhavia’s Fallen where he’d spent over a decade apprenticing to masters of alchemy there.

This mission was a hard one. A village near the place that would become the Hivelands was no longer responding to [Messages]. Someone had to find out if they were all dead. [Scrying] spells weren’t working; that blue Antinium was blocking them in the entire damn region.

It was a dangerous mission that had cost two Gold-rankers their lives already. Chaldion had wanted to forbid Saliss from going, but he’d told the Grand Strategist that someone had to do the job, and the old man hadn’t stopped him. He understood how bad things were.

He’d told Saliss to find the [Village Head]’s reports; they might have information on what the Antinium were doing from their relatively high position in the hills. If they could find a Hive’s location…

That was the time and scene.

You don’t need to know the details about the village. Not that the melted houses of pale brick and stucco had twisted until they resembled screaming faces, fallen doors revealing black openings from which a miasma spread, filling the village.

Nor the bodies—the broken rubble and bodies, killed by the toxins. Or the lone Drake wearing a mask over his face, vials in hand, leaping from shadow to shadow, eyes on the sky.

Wrymvr the Deathless flew, shrieking, hunting for the Gold-rank team that had been moving with Saliss. What no one knew at the time was that this was almost on the doorstep of what would become the Twisted Hive. Hence the Deathless’ vigilance.

The very same report that the Drakes and Gnolls were dying for would later pinpoint the Twisted Queen’s location. Bombardment spells wouldn’t kill her, but they’d do more damage to an Antinium Queen than at any other point in the war till they drowned a Hive with water spells.

So this moment mattered in the strategic sense of the war. But the dead Drakes who’d been living here wouldn’t know that.

The people didn’t deserve this. Not Antinium scavenging their remains, stripping the village for supplies, the toxins that Wrymvr had unleashed—any of it.

The [Alchemist] was afraid, hiding, trying to escape the Centenium hunting him. He was no hero. He just wanted to live. He was, in fact, lifting up a cellar door to try to hide in a basement until Wrymvr stopped pursuing him when someone spoke in a sing-song voice.

“Not there. He left poison down there. Everyone who went down died.”

The [Alchemist] sprang back just in time from the near-odorless, invisible acid cloud that the Centenium had sprayed into the cellar. He saw melted flesh oozing from the dim stones below before he whirled.

There he saw the Drake girl, kicking her legs as she sat on a broken 2nd floor of a house. She was thin. And like him, she had a mask over her face. Cloth—not a Jar of Air like he was using. He had to take it off to speak.

“Who are you?”

“No one. Hello, Mister Adventurer. The bad bug is coming.”

Wrymvr screamed again, and Saliss peered up, flinching. The damn thing was honing on their position, and the Twisted Antinium were all around them. If Saliss fought one, Wrymvr would know.

I have to run. This girl…he thought she was a ghost at first. She was smiling, so relaxed he didn’t realize how her eyes had locked on him. How badly she was burned from acid and the clouds.

“You should run, Mister Adventurer.”

“How did you survive?”

“I hid. Over there.”

She pointed vaguely, and Saliss turned to see a small fortress of scavenged bedding and what he took to be supplies. The older Drake hesitated.

She’s a witness. I should get her out of here.

I’ll never make it. Not carrying a child. Not against that.

Level 36 [Alchemist] versus a Centenium who could resist every potion, with the battle experience of thousands of years and Rhir, against him. The [Alchemist] was a good adventurer. He’d made a living in Nerrhavia’s Fallen as one. But if he—

This situation is untenable. Your own chances of survival are marginal. You WILL withdraw, now!

The voice in his head was the pure, logical analysis from Chaldion. Saliss’ head snapped up. He knew it was correct. Kill your heart and retreat, that’s an order. He avoided the girl’s gaze. Did what was best for Drakes. His voice wobbled as he shook his head. Listen to his grandfather.

“I’m sorry, kid. I’ve got to get this information back to High Command. Stay hidden. I’ll lure him away.”

He whirled—then turned and fumbled. Tossed a few healing potions and his rations down. The girl beamed at him and exposed melting teeth.

“Good luck, Mister Adventurer! Tell High Command to kill that monster, please?”

Please? That one last word was all the true emotions she was hiding behind shock, fear, and trauma. Saliss recognized that. He half-turned…but death was coming.

He had to run. He had to run, even if it meant doing the unthinkable. He was an adventurer. He couldn’t die before he…she…had even lived.

So Saliss was running, leaping towards the village entrance, invisible, using a Potion of Speed, when he heard a voice sing-songing at his back.

“Goodbye! Goodbye forever, Mister Alchemist!”

Goodbye forever. Children were so good about not lying. The [Alchemist] turned, and Wrymvr must have heard the faint voice, because he was screaming now, diving.

The Drake girl waved both arms, beaming at him, sending him on his way with all the grudges and regrets of her village. Staring up at the falling Antinium. Then she did something he’d never forget.

The little girl sat down, tucked her knees to her chest, and covered her eyes with her claws. As if she were pretending the shrieking terror didn’t exist. If she just pretended hard enough, it would go away. Or she wouldn’t see it before the end.

So the Drake came to a halt in the ruined street.

He was no true heir of the Cyclops. He couldn’t kill his heart. He spoke.

“Ancestors damn it—”

Saliss drew two glowing vials from his belt and shouted a challenge up at the Centenium, who adjusted its course and spotted him. He drank the first potion, which had no effect except to let her appear.

The Centenium hesitated, surprised, as Onieva appeared. Then Onieva threw the other potion, and an explosion made the little girl covering her eyes jerk.

“M-mister adventurer?”

She didn’t hear a reply. Just another shriek and then a deafening bang. Sure she was about to die, waiting, the girl sat there, rocking back and forth, flinching as the screaming roar filled the air.

Thunder around her.

An [Alchemist]’s war with Wrymvr the Deathless. She never saw who fought the Deathless to a stalemate long enough to pluck her from the rubble and carry her away. Shirka had passed out as the shockwaves of the fighting collapsed the house she sat in. And when the Drake reappeared, it was as Saliss again.

Sixteen minutes. That was as long as the potion lasted. And three minutes longer than his supply of potions had lasted. The wheezing [Alchemist] had burst a lung. He was staggering, wounded, and acid ate at his scales as he picked up the girl from a side not coated in venom or acid.

The [Alchemist] ran. He couldn’t kill that Centenium; he could hear the stones grinding, and the deafening scream was slightly muffled—he’d collapsed the entire hillside on the Centenium, and it was digging its way out.

So, Saliss of Lights just grabbed the girl and ran. Ran as the skies turned black and the Deathless pursued him.

That day, Saliss of Lights the Gold-rank Adventurer hit Level 40. Four levels, and he escaped the damned village with a Drake child in his arms, who he remanded to Pallass’ care. She was sent to an orphanage. And he…would later become Saliss of Lights, the Named-rank of Pallass.

It was the greatest levelling moment of any Drake since Zel Shivertail had fought in his besieged city. Four Levels at Level 36. A hero’s tale—but he never told it. It was why a Drake [General] of Pallass would do anything for her hero, and he had so many tales like that, all untold. He had only ever told two people the tale until today: Mirn, and Erin. And not even the [Innkeeper] had heard the full tale.

But that story, if you heard it—it explained who they were. The Alchemist of Lights who was no noble hero. Just a Drake who would turn, a vial of glowing magic in hand, and face down a monster for shame.

Whose greatest trick, whose ultimate weapon, was a face no one would ever see. Was allowed to see. Her strongest battleform, her true self. An Oldblood Drake breathing alchemical fire.

Onieva.

 

——

 

Wow, what a wobbly voice. It probably took something away from the tale. And the hook, the important part was buried in the genuinely important historical context of…

It didn’t matter. Unless you were a fool, you got it.

Saliss and Onieva were the same person.

Onieva was the one who wanted to exist, who cost money and effort to bring to life, and Saliss was the hero that was needed, the one who longed to give way and step back, but who persisted until she could live.

It made her so miserable.

And it was her. Saliss would pretend all was well and do what he must, but every part of him that walked under the sun, even in his finest moments, even when the world was at peace…knew that he was in the wrong form.

Sometimes, it didn’t even hurt. That wasn’t as often as would be bearable, but it didn’t feel like…agony. Or wanting to tear off your skin and reveal the true self you knew was down there. Like a mask you were trapped in, suffocating you. Eyes seeing the wrong thing, an illusion you couldn’t dispel—

Sometimes it wasn’t like that. You were happy, laughing, and you were okay. It was just an awareness—‘this isn’t right’, ‘I’d prefer if it were otherwise’. And you could continue.

Other times, it went the other way, and those moments were the dissonance. Imagine if someone swapped you into someone else’s body. That desperation, that sense of wrongness—that was the feeling that could build up, and Saliss had a way to become Onieva!

Saliss didn’t want to imagine a lifetime without the power alchemy had, especially if you were a Drake trapped in Drake society. If you didn’t even know what was wrong, if you didn’t have the words to explain it, what then?

He heard his own voice now, shaky, joking, and his eyes slid across the little room, admiring the wood, the copper nails, everything but his audience of one. But he had to explain, so he tried.

“At first, you think you’re just sick. Mirn thought he was, but he and I were smart. Smart enough not to talk about it openly, especially in the army. The old man found out—”

“Chaldion?”

The question made him flinch. Saliss stared at a wall. Pretend he was talking to himself. He paused, swallowed, then went on.

“Yeah. I’ve been to more [Thought Healers]—in disguise, under the condition of anonymity—than I can count. They say all kinds of things. If they even admit this isn’t me being crazy, most think I have Splitmind Syndrome. That’s where someone has multiple personalities. They might not see reality like it is. Bad stuff. The Minds of Selphids can apparently cause it in people, or you’re just unlucky…but that’s not it.”

She knew who she was, but everyone told her that she was wrong. At least, in Drake culture.

“Ancestors, I even talked to the Healer of Tenbault before I realized she was all hot air. Pretty embarrassing. So many mistakes. Shameful, really. That’s what Mirn and I were. Ashamed of being such problems. And then you tell someone…”

“Who?”

The question threw the [Alchemist] back in time again. Let’s say you figured out who you were. You fixed the problem you were given. That was simple. Someone hands you the wrong body?

Fix it.

Saliss had poured all his money, his time, his Skills into making a potion that could bring forth the true being in his heart. Let her live: the madness of Saliss of Lights was just that he was an imposter.

And yet, the irony was that even when Onieva breathed and held up her arms and felt whole and right, as if she had been born into the correct body after decades of screaming and weeping at the world around her for not fitting in—

She was still a Named-rank adventurer. Still prone to all the mistakes and idiocies of who she was; worse because she was new to everything again, and it was so easy to hurt yourself.

Easy to trust.

Easy to think ‘maybe this person will get me’. Easy to slip, to reveal who you were in a moment of passion, vulnerability, hope, and have them look at you like a monster. And that was if you even told them.

Take Zeter for instance. Swordsman of Six, ‘Sixdicks’—that was Saliss’ nickname for him. He only had one, and it wasn’t that great. But Onieva was ashamed of knowing it. There had been an encounter, just the one.

Six. But only one had gone all the way to—

She couldn’t meet his wife’s eyes. Saliss couldn’t. It happened.

Saliss of Lights, an adventurer, went places. Wherever he went, Onieva popped up. She couldn’t live long. Hours at a time in the beginning. Then days when the potions got better. She only knew who Saliss knew, and she was the weird cousin of Saliss, grandniece of Chaldion. No one was familiar with her.

So of course, whomever Saliss liked or got to know, she’d introduce herself to. She was like a shadow following him around, and Zeter—

They’d once been friends. Never the best with him being all for Manus and loyalty, no subtlety, and Saliss had been the wise-cracking asshole even back then, but dead gods. He was still a Named-rank adventurer, broad-shouldered, the only sturdy being in that terrible world of Named-ranks where everyone was fragile and hadn’t seen horror or battle. She’d…given way to the same temptations he had. A married man.

Of course, she’d called it off. Refused to go anywhere near him or Manus again in horror, and the fallout had led to Saliss and Zeter’s own fight and Zeter’s alienation with other Named-ranks. Mivifa and a lot of good, honest Named-ranks had taken Saliss’ side, but the truth was that Saliss—Onieva—had been just as much to blame.

That was one.

One. There were so many more.

 

——

 

The first lover Saliss had ever had was an [Alchemist] in Pallass, a Drake girl working up the ranks at the same time as he was. It had been sweet, impossible, and mostly Saliss trying to believe he was in love. For all it had ended as it always would have, it had been sweetly done. No fighting, no betrayal, just a wistful parting of ways as they both realized something wasn’t working. Respectfully, even.

That was the best relationship he’d had for…well, top two, even now. Onieva hadn’t been so lucky when she first appeared.

Her first partner had been her Alchemy Master, who had been quite, quite delighted to find she existed. It had been exploitative, horrific in ways the Drake would only later realize as an adult, and that set the bar for everything.

Take that bar and realize Zeter might be above-average for a life fifty years long. Then understand that Saliss was just as bad. He was all guilt and trauma and duty, fulfilling Chaldion’s expectations of him. Become the hero the Walled Cities deserve. Fight and fight—and replace me.

But for his journey in Chandrar and Saliss didn’t know what he would have become. Another casualty of the Antinium Wars, maybe. A neurotic mess like Zeter. A monster. Who knows?

“Nerrhavia’s Fallen saved me. That’s the truth. It’s a mess of a place, more empire than they want to admit despite what they’re famous for doing. Poor Stitch-folk who can’t get ahead because they have a certain cloth. [Slavers] and misery, for all their gold, and so many political intrigues and assassinations…I still love it. I always will. Because it was there I found out who I was.”

A half-mad Drake pursuing a class his grandfather disagreed with. Searching for answers in this dry kingdom, working through the stupid ranks of [Alchemists] and their petty rivalries and feuds…

Saliss glanced at a scar on one arm.

“This scar? I got it in my first [Alchemist] honor-duel. I never thought being good with a blade would help, but Nerrhavia’s Fallen—it took me ages of poking through recipe tomes behind my Master’s back. Looking around and making friends. When I met the first Stitch-man who told me that he’d switched his cloth up because he didn’t like being a Stitch-girl growing up, I freaked out. I nearly sailed back home then and there. Because it was everything. All at once.”

The anger. The shock. And the way the Stitch-man had laughed like it shouldn’t be a surprise. Saliss had never found him again. The Drake spread his claws, and they were calm, now. Now he was in it, damned or not.

“They understood. Not just…understood. They had the answers. Every Drake [Thought Healer] told me I had a second personality, it was stress, that I had a Blood Class and I needed to fix it—and the Stitch-folk just looked at me and wondered why I was freaking out. Change your nose. Change your genitals. Change who you are. It’s easy for them. They don’t care.”

That was the offensive part. That was what burned. Mirn didn’t get it because he had never gone abroad, but there was something incredibly painful about finding an entire culture and species who couldn’t care less if you wanted to be someone else.

“It’s not like loving other men is that open, but it’s not going to get anything more than a rude comment. Drakes will shun you, exile you or kill you—in Nerrhavia’s Fallen, you’ll get a snide remark from the girl who you beat to the kiss. That’s when I realized I wasn’t crazy, or mistaken—I just didn’t have all the facts.”

And so began a journey that had taken over a decade of work. Focusing his [Alchemist] class around transformation—battle alchemy was just a side-project, a way to earn money as a Silver-rank adventurer. Making a potion so Onieva could appear.

The rest was easy enough to figure out, Saliss thought. Certainly, the Gnoll sitting on the bed understood.

Saliss finished telling the story and clasped his hands together as he smiled at his scales. There were no scars on Onieva’s arms. She was younger, stronger than he was—and he was strong.

Right, he was doing it again. Thinking of Onieva as someone else. It was the only way to talk about such things that worked for Saliss. Saying ‘me’ just hurt too much. And besides, no one could know.

Only Mirn knew. Mirn, that Dragon, Rose, and now…Ishkr. And a host of ex-lovers knew Onieva or Saliss were something, a Turnscale, or that Onieva turned into someone else. But he wasn’t sure if even old Zeter quite understood he was more than a Drake who liked kissing other male Drakes.

Far more than that, Sixswords. I’d fit right into your little view of the world if only I could be in the right body all the time. Mirn’s the one who’ll never look right, who can never love in front of your eyes without being wrong.

Saliss stared at his claws, because it was infinitely preferable to peering up—especially to seeing what Ishkr’s reaction was. Saliss was sitting on the Drake-friendly chair across from Ishkr, his tail curled up in a spiral as he looked down at the floorboards. The Gnoll was sitting crosslegged on the bed.

And now he knew. Saliss, Onieva, Onieva, Saliss. She’d changed back to Saliss’ body to prove it. Since seeing was believing, but it was still her. Just as Saliss.

She didn’t, uh—uh—remember what she’d said. She’d done it enough times that she had gotten it most right.

‘Hey, you know how Turnscales exist? Well, that’s me. Surprised? You shouldn’t be. I’m a Named-rank, and you know, heh, how we are. I’m Saliss. Yep. Saliss. Guess who made a potion to transform into a far more attractive female Drake? This [Alchemist]. Sorry for lying about it, but this is who I am. I—hey, you want something to throw? I’ve got some throwing knives someone tossed at me one of the times I did this. Here. That’s me. As for why? It’s not just for fun. I’m sort of like someone trapped in the wrong body. I’ve always wanted to be a woman. It’s who I am. Sorry I tricked you and all. Please don’t be sick. I’m sorry. Forgive me. Tada.’

That was—more or less—how the conversation went. She’d gotten it down to a science, though the voice wobble never vanished. And this was a good revelation; she’d started with the Shirka story, gotten more details out, and he wasn’t shouting yet.

She had an exit window, it wasn’t after—or during—sex, and she wasn’t crying uncontrollably.

Nor had he started hitting her. So Top 5 already. She couldn’t wait to tell Mirn.

He. Saliss rubbed at the scar on his arm as his perception changed and he just felt like Saliss. Wrong body. If he thought like Onieva, then he’d vomit twice because his scales itched. He wanted to rip his scales off, but there was only blood and flesh under there, not Onieva’s arms. He’d tried it more than once, and the result never changed.

He was grinning as he spread his hands, but almost more relaxed than Onieva had been. Only one person had ever asked to see him transform back. Saliss didn’t mind a few hits. It hurt less.

In fact, this entire conversation had gone differently than he’d expected. Onieva had said her bit, then delivered the proof. Cue taking the potion, and Ishkr’s hair had stood up with shock.

Classic Gnoll behavior. Drakes would do the same with their neck spines, or their tails would give away agitation. Humans did it with hair and goosebumps. Ishkr was genuinely unsettled, but he hadn’t gone straight to shouting for her to get out or screaming for the Watch. Instead, he said something funny.

“You—this could be a prank. If you’re really Saliss, tell me, uh, something only Saliss would know. Where did you and Erin first meet?”

“Jail cell in Pallass. She gave me a bit of her happy flames.”

“When the Goblin King was coming, what did you say to me?”

“That you and everyone else was there. That we were all damned because we weren’t just Named-ranks, but heroes. The people who have to do this again and again.”

“Oh.”

That soft ‘oh’ made Saliss twitch. That was the moment when Ishkr believed. The [Alchemist] glanced up and saw the Gnoll sitting there.

He was wearing that handsome suit that he’d found when Erin had given him the [Boon of the Guest] with Ulvama in it. He generally only had good work clothing; it was speckled with rain, but he’d combed his hair.

Ready for his date with the mysterious Drake who’d met him before the Winter Solstice, Onieva. The quick-witted, nimble woman with high levels and mystery who’d flirted back with him and then agreed to go on a date because…she was lonely.

Possibly, he’d been hoping this date would have a happy ending. It had been quite pleasant any number of times, though Onieva never stayed long. She could do up to nine hours depending on the quality of the potion, Faerie Flower potions being an exception, and…and this had been one of the longest relationships she’d had. Not a one-night stand or a short visit to a city.

She’d even woken up in his arms once or twice. Before fleeing. So, yes, Ishkr had probably been hoping to hear about why Onieva was leaving, get in one last night to remember. Kiss a beautiful Drake and create a memory.

Instead, he got a fifty-year old male Drake in his rooms telling him about how he’d been tricked. Wonderful gift, that.

Just get mad already. Saliss waited. And waited. And when the silence dragged on, when he could bear it no longer, he grinned and coughed theatrically.

“Hey, Ishkr, buddy, I’ve got to get packing for tomorrow. So if we could speed up on the throwing things and throwing up? I’ve got a bag of holding. Here. The trick with throwing knives is you flick them—”

Saliss got up and handed Ishkr his bag of holding and actually grabbed the Gnoll’s paws to demonstrate correct posture. He was a handsy Drake as Saliss. Touching Ishkr felt all wrong.

Intimate. He could remember the Gnoll’s paws on Onieva, all their encounters as she’d approached him and he’d realized she was high-level and they’d—

Wrong. Wrong body. Saliss jerked his claws back, feeling that terrible, painful sense of wrongness, like stepping on the wrong side of the street but magnified a million times. He checked himself, almost reached for a vial on his waist, and stopped.

I’ve only got six left, and that’s because the Faerie Flowers versions were so easy to make. I’ve lost them all. Back to making these Draughts of True Self. Six left. On the other hand, it’s not like I’ll need them in the New Lands. It’ll be Saliss all the way down with the Pallassian army unless I find a city or something.

Depression sank over him. That would be hell. He’d handle it well for a month or two, then start itching all over. Going crazy. Well, crazier than usual.

Saliss was actually getting impatient and mad now. Come on, call me Creler spawn, throw something at me, and let me get back to work.

Jump out the window, douse Ishkr in memory draught, do a second dose come nightfall and some post-hypnotic murmuring in his sleep, and pack up in an hour. It’d be such a relief to get it over with.

…But the Gnoll didn’t say, ‘get out’ or ‘you sick freak’ or anything else. Instead, he gazed up, and he was shocked. Confused. His eyes lingered on Saliss, then he spoke.

“Can I…if I’m talking to you, is Onieva listening? No, wait. You’re one and the same.”

“Yep. We remember—well, I didn’t when I had the Faerie Flower version of the potion, but that’s a different story. I mean, I remember. I’m…Onieva. Want to speak to her? She’s easier on the eyes. I—I only have a few potions, so that’s all you’ll get for a while.”

Ishkr was blinking, staring at Saliss, clearly still wondering if this was a prank.

I wish, Ishkr.

“I think—Onieva might be best. Sorry, Saliss, but it’s so—”

“No problem! One second—”

Saliss cast around, then slung himself under the bed before drinking the tonic. Ishkr almost glanced underneath before a voice shouted at him.

“Don’t look!”

That made Ishkr recoil. The changing Drake shifted underneath the bed, and seeing Saliss was one thing, knowing Onieva and Saliss was another. But—seeing the change—she didn’t even let Mirn see that.

When Onieva pulled herself out sheepishly, she was naked. Clothing tended to get torn during the transformation, and Saliss was always naked anyways. So, she grabbed Ishkr’s sheets and pulled them around her.

“Well, now it looks like you and I were doing something. If you chase me out, give me a second to put on clothes, okay? I can say I was a faithless harlot—no problem.”

She joked, and Ishkr stared at her. His eyes traced the differences in her facial structure, her body, still slim, but differently built, her rose-pink and cobalt patterning along her snout, even the youth that Saliss had lost.

Now get angry. Come on, please. I can’t take it any longer. Just let me have it.

Let me…have what I know is coming.

Each and every time. Even Mirn had freaked out the first time Saliss had come back from Chandrar and explained who he was. Only Stitchfolk had seen her. Sometimes seen her despite Saliss’ face. Stitchfolk, and the Dragon.

He saw me for who I am. That means something. That means I’m not crazy.

Sometimes that alone calmed her down at night. A proof from an Ancestor that could banish the doubts that plagued her, even now. The voice whispering in her ear like Chaldion’s.

Onieva waited, getting angrier and angrier. Trembling, now. Longing to get it over with. Spring the trap, unleash the hate.

What was taking him so long?

 

——

 

Ishkr Silverfang didn’t know what to say.

He was genuinely, totally unsure what to tell Onieva. Saliss. His mind was grappling with what she’d told him, but he got the important bits.

Saliss was actually Onieva. And he was actually she—that wasn’t that hard. Ishkr had long suspected that if Xesci wanted, the [Courtesan of Change] could transform to be anyone, not just a variety of female faces.

What was surprising was to hear that Saliss’ transformation wasn’t some prank, which was what Ishkr had thought, at first, this was. And he’d been so hurt and angry…until he saw her trembling like a leaf and realized she was afraid.

No, Onieva was the true Drake, and the cracking voice, the desperation in Saliss’ eyes, all the jokes and bravado masked someone trying to exist. A Turnscale in Drake society.

Just like Zel Shivertail.

That was easy to understand. Hadn’t Ishkr eavesdropped on Rose and the other Earthers time and again? Erin had told him—well, he suspected she wasn’t much of an expert on this particular subject, but Ryoka and Fierre talked, and they weren’t as covert as they thought.

More importantly, Ishkr knew this tale, a variation of it, firsthand. After all…he was Liska’s older brother.

Turnscales were a thing you heard about as a kid, called each other until someone gave you a punch or an adult shouted at you for, and you realized it was actually a bad thing. Just what it was depended on how many questions you asked.

Ishkr had grown up with a vaguely Drake understanding of the word since he’d come to Liscor with the Silverfangs. He didn’t know how the tribes handled it; he had a vague sense it wasn’t as much of an issue, but he was no expert.

What he did know, firsthand, was how much trouble you could get into if your sister was a Turnscale and had grown up running with other girls her age and developing a real hatred of the Watch or anyone who told her not to do things.

The amount of times Ishkr had needed to go to the Watch House to bail her out of jail, or her mother had—he’d tried everything from shouting at Liska to taking her to a [Healer] to…

All the things you did or were supposed to do. Then he’d just given up and tried to make a living working jobs that bored him while dealing with his problem-sister, until Krshia Silverfang had asked if he wanted a job working at a strange inn for a Human she could vouch for.

The rest was Ishkr’s history. It wasn’t interesting. He wasn’t interesting. If he had become interesting, it was purely because he had stayed close to the locus, the heart of wonders herself, and stolen a bit of it to coat his own fur. Everything that came after was something that was, to Ishkr, a gift. Something he had chased in his own quiet way, clung to.

It was why he could survive the [Palace of Fates], face the Goblin King or Facestealer, and despite his terror, continue onwards. Because it was worth it. Because this mattered. He’d never quit the inn. He’d die first and think it was worth it. His fear was that he wouldn’t be able to keep up—that he’d not be able to follow Erin. He was fine with not being the best employee. Just afraid that there wouldn’t be a spot for him.

All this to say that when Ishkr sat here, realizing that he’d been sleeping with Saliss of Lights—Onieva—his first reaction wasn’t disgust or betrayal like she suspected. Rather, the first thing the younger Gnoll was thinking was…he owed his younger sister an apology.

Ishkr had already had a sense that whatever he understood about Turnscales had been wrong. When he had brought up Liska’s…problem…to Erin, she hadn’t so much as blinked. No one cared if Lady Ieka came in and ogled every lady in sight. So he’d stopped badgering Liska about her girlfriend—the [Doorgnoll] was working so much anyways he suspected they hadn’t met as much.

But he hadn’t ever thought to himself that maybe he’d been the one who was wrong, and it was uncomfortable. He felt hot, sweaty under his fur. Embarrassed, and he didn’t want to apologize to Liska. Because she would lord it over him, be a child about it…

Then he saw Saliss’ hands shaking. Then he saw the Drake offer him some throwing daggers and joke about throwing them at him, and Ishkr realized…oh.

Oh no. That’s not a joke. Someone’s actually thrown these very daggers at him.

The Gnoll went from hot to cold. From embarrassed and vaguely resentful to wondering how much more he didn’t know. He still felt shocked. Intensely!

Onieva is Saliss? I’ve been kissing Saliss of Lights? Me?

Ishkr had been making love to a Named-rank adventurer? The top of the Gnoll’s head would have exploded, and there was some discomfort at the thought. Hence him asking to talk to Onieva. But the more Ishkr gazed at her, the more he couldn’t shake that moment out of his head.

Saliss of Lights, standing in the hallway, speaking about what made a hero. Saliss facing the Guild of Assassins. A Drake standing on the walls of Pallass and fighting an entire Weyr alone.

So the question became—that Drake? Why would he—she—settle for me? That hero of Pallass? Me?

That made it easier, the immense respect that Ishkr had for Saliss. So, his problem:

He had no idea what to say. Genuinely and truly…what in Rhir’s Hells were you supposed to say here?

He couldn’t imagine what Erin would say. It felt like Ishkr could speak something trite and vaguely accepting, but the weight of what Onieva had confessed…he was no Erin. He wouldn’t get away with it.

The Gnoll [Server] was trying to think about what someone else would do. Lyonette? Well, if she wasn’t horrified, she’d probably scold Onieva for the deception. But the female Drake was glancing at the window, and Ishkr had the feeling that she was one sneeze away from leaping out of it and he’d never see her again.

What do I do? He had no answers. What would…Ishkr ran through his mental library of people he knew.

Mrsha would say something like: ‘That’s so cool! Can you turn me into a boy Gnoll? I don’t care about sex anyways because it’s all gross.’

Bird would probably say something about birds being birds regardless of gender and that he’d shoot them.

Not reassuring. Don’t make a joke out of this. Think. Do something to show her you’re not angry. Hug her? No, that’s stupid.

A voice spoke in Ishkr’s head, in the words of an enlightened [Sage]. None other than Captain Todi spoke in Ishkr’s moment of crisis.

“Lad, the answer is simple. What you do to this fine lady is you push her onto the bed and show her you don’t care if she’s an Adult Creler in disguise. You fuck those doubts out of her.”

Ishkr discarded the vote for ‘have sex’ and put that below making a Bird-based analogy. That would be a Todi-thing to do, and thus it was the worst option he could take.

He waited for Erin’s wisdom. The thoughtful, kind statements that held a glimmer of wonder from his [Innkeeper] that would be the magic balm Onieva needed.

…They never came. The [Head Server], who could sometimes read Erin’s will, got no enlightenment from her. And he wondered if she would know what to do or say in this situation.

So he was alone, and Onieva was beginning to get antsy. She leaned forwards, growled, and then tried to smile. Failed at all three.

“I know it’s a lot. I’m sorry. I’m leaving tomorrow, so I can—why don’t I go?”

She stood up, and he panicked, but so did she. Onieva turned to the door and swung around.

“Just don’t tell anyone! You can’t. Or I’ll—you cannot. Understand?”

“I understand.”

That was the first thing he said, and she nodded. Then she hesitated, fumbled with the lock, and gave up and turned back.

“Would you like to hit me?”

“What? No!”

“I think you’re in shock. Look, we can get you into it. Here, what if you just choke me in a non-fun way? That’s a good entry point. Here—”

She picked up his paws, put them around her neck, and he dropped them. Ishkr was shaking his head. The time to figure out the perfect words had ended.

“I’m not going to hit you! Who—who does that?”

“Oh, just—it happens. I’ve had a few experiences with past, um, lovers.”

She was avoiding looking at him. Window again. And now Ishkr did get mad. Because he was suddenly jealous.

Talking about past lovers—wait, they’d tried to hit her? Because she was a Turnscale? Shock was becoming a horrible curiosity.

“What was that you said about Zeter? You and he—?”

“Just once. Six times.”

Dead gods. Wasn’t he married? Onieva squirmed under Ishkr’s stare.

“See? Monstrous. I could never have long relationships anyways. I can only be ‘me’ for six hours. At first, it was only a few minutes. Barely enough time for anything…my Alchemy Master hated that.”

“Your what? Wait. Did you sleep with…?”

Onieva shrugged as if it were normal.

“Well, that’s how it works in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. After the first two potions, he put a condition on helping me research them. And I was so grateful to him that—”

“You slept with your master?”

Ishkr nearly shouted that, but she covered his mouth. Her hand leapt back.

“Um. Yes. It was one of the better relationships, actually. I’ve had a lot of flings. I’m a pretty loose woman. Sorry, you should have expected that when I said I was an adventurer. No staying chaste until marriage. All mistakes.”

Now he was pretty sure she was egging him on. However, it worked. Ishkr got up and adjusted his tie. She flinched, but he was muttering as he paced back and forth.

“How far is Nerrhavia’s Fallen? I heard the Horns of Hammerad were headed that way, and they were lost at sea for ages.”

The question genuinely threw Onieva.

“It’s probably still a month of travel unless you hire a Courier-class ship. Why?”

Ishkr sighed.

“I need to sail there and beat up an [Alchemist]. Then, hopefully, my Skill will let me teleport back. I don’t actually know if it has a limit. What was your Alchemy Master’s name?”

She blinked at him. Then she seemed to realize it was a joke. Well, Ishkr would have considered a trip if it was only as far as Zeres.

“Hah. No, but it’s fine—”

“It’s not. Stop saying that. And stop insinuating I’m about to hit you! Are you telling me every relationship you’ve had has ended with you jumping out a window after someone tries to punch you?”

He growled back. She wavered, licked her lips. Her tail uncurled slightly.

“W-well, sometimes they just tried to call the Watch or were in denial.”

“But in general yes to the violence part? Like in Pallass? Have you seen anyone here?”

Onieva hesitated.

“I’m careful…I’ve had a few relationships, but I didn’t tell them I was Saliss, of course. Just the other bits about being a Turnscale. That was enough.”

“Right, so someone in the City of Inventions hit you after you told them who you were?”

“Maaaybe? Why are you asking?”

“What’s their name? I’m just going to throw them off a roof.”

He’d never committed a crime like that, but Ishkr reckoned that if Erin could get away with it…Onieva laughed incredulously.

“What? No. Don’t be stupid, Ishkr. It’s fine. I erased their memories anyways.”

“You can do that?”

“Um…”

She grew shifty again, and Ishkr wondered if her contingency plans had involved erasing his memories. He reminded himself that she was a Level 50+ [Alchemist] who could probably snap his neck like a twig.

…She was really attractive.

He slapped his cheeks to get Sage Todi out of his head. Focus.

“Okay, what are their names?”

“They don’t even remember.”

“It’s the same person. I won’t throw them off a rooftop. I’ll just slip poop into their next meal.”

One trip into the outhouses before it was acid-jarred and with gloves, obviously. Onieva giggled, then cocked her head. She was peering at him, frowning.

“Wait, it sounds like you’re not going to start slapping—”

He put his paws over his ears.

“Please stop telling me how many times you were abused.”

He couldn’t take it. He was getting upset, and Ishkr didn’t often get upset. He sat down; his pacing was making her nervous.

“Onieva…I’m shocked. I won’t lie. Especially about you being—”

She flinched, and he didn’t say ‘Saliss’.

“That makes me uncomfortable. A bit.”

“Totally understandable. Like I said, even Mirn freaked out and ran off, and I wasn’t sleeping with him! You’re taking this really well, did I say that? Only Stitch-folk have never cared, and…what can I do to make this easier? I-I don’t know.”

He looked at her, and then he did know what to say. It wasn’t an Erin-comment. Just an Ishkr original. The [Wandering Server of Stories] cleared his throat and mumbled.

“Um…can you tell me more about what people have done to you?”

She blinked, and her mouth opened.

“If this is something you’re into—”

“No! Not the partners after they found out. What…what’s it like being a Turnscale?”

The [Alchemist] couldn’t see where he was going with this and frowned, folding her arms, and he explained, blushing under his fur.

“Please. I want to know. Because…of Liska. I never thought—I knew you got in trouble. But you talk about it like—far worse than I thought.”

When she remembered his younger sister, Onieva blinked. Then a shadow passed over her face. Her tail uncurled, though, and she glanced down at the floor.

“I forgot your sister’s…Mirn and I don’t have many ties to Liscor. Oh, you don’t know. He’s a [Protector]. Of Turnscales.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Technically he’s…let’s not get into terms. What’s it like being a Turnscale? What a question. I don’t know. Hard. Mostly, it’s just finding people like you, not saying the obvious. We live like anyone else—we just have a special place we go to relax and be ourselves. It’s nothing special. 95% of how we act is probably exactly like anyone else. 5% of it is sneaking to a bar or get-together or trying to find a place where we don’t feel crazy. And one hundred percent of the time you’re afraid someone’s going to find out or that you’ll reveal yourselves, but that’s all internal.”

Oh. That sounded better than he feared, actually. Ishkr relaxed slightly.

“Liska always got in trouble with the Watch, but it wasn’t huge.”

Onieva felt at her neck-spines, playing with them.

“Huh. Normally if you get outed as a Turnscale the Watch is the least of it. But then, she’s young. Liscor could also just be less…Drake than most cities. They were cut off till now. Plus, she’s a Gnoll.”

More and more positive. Ishkr was downgrading the level of his apology to Liska. He smiled.

“So being a Turnscale’s not that unique?”

“Not as much as being a different species in Pallass.”

Onieva smiled back. Then added.

“—until someone catches you.”

“What happens then?”

The [Alchemist] looked past him, not at a window, but a wall this time, and her face went blank. Her voice quivered with a different intensity.

“Oh, then if you’re lucky, you’re just called disgusting, and you have time to pack up before someone finds you. You can even write it off. Until the first time someone tries to bash your skull in. Or they throw so many stones they cave your friend’s head in and toss you into the sewers.”

The Gnoll froze up. Onieva continued, blinking a few times.

“If you’re lucky, it’s one person. Someone who thought you were a girl beats you up because he made a mistake. Easy for a friend to get you out of sight. Not if word spreads. Then, if enough people hear about it, and they’re outraged enough, they move fast. In Pallass it’s probably the Watch who comes to exile or imprison you. In a smaller city, they’ll just throw you off the walls. If you make it that far.”

“What, that’s not all Turnscales. Liska never had that happen. Now and then she’d have bruises from getting in a fight. Or someone hurled something at…”

Ishkr was denying it now, but his mind flashed back to times he had to call on Liska and he’d find an empty healing potion bottle and she’d be particularly upset. She had scars he assumed were from scraps…and now Onieva was getting mad at him. Her tone lowered several degrees.

“I’m sure Liska has never had anything bad happen to her. I’m sure Liscor is different from any other Izrilian city, north or south.”

“But she’s never told me she was in danger.”

“Yeah. I wonder why.”

The [Alchemist]’s expression said that Ishkr was being a fool, but now he was annoyed himself. Angrily, the Gnoll jabbed a thumb at his chest.

“I’m her older brother! She’d tell me something like that, Onieva.”

“Sure. Unless she wasn’t sure you’d be the one who’d beat her to death with your paws.”

Ishkr stood.

“I’d never—”

Now he was ready to fight her despite knowing how well that would go. That was too far. But Ishkr saw Onieva studying him, and her own ire had been replaced by sadness. Something like a smile returned to her face, though.

“No. You wouldn’t, would you? How’s she supposed to know that, though? If anyone who was older ever talked to her, they’d tell her never to tell family. It happens, Ishkr.”

He sat down hard. He wanted to say, ‘no, that’s an exaggeration’. But now he was scrutinizing his memories. And worse…he didn’t even have to search far for an example to believe this might happen.

He lived on the same floor of the inn as Mrsha, and he had seen what they had tried to do to Doombringers. Ishkr stared at his paws.

“Have you ever found out what happened and wanted to hit them?”

“Yes. But usually, it’s too risky to go around attacking people. That’s not how the community operates. Vengeance just draws attention. Mirn is a [Protector]. It’s hard, but it keeps more people safe.”

And if you start taking revenge, maybe it draws attention to you. Ishkr looked up. He saw her watching him, still guarded, but curious.

“This is bigger than I thought, isn’t it? I thought Rose was just being silly. But this…how many Turnscales are there?”

“In Pallass? I don’t count or do lists. It’s a bad idea. Mirn’s bar serves hundreds, and he’s a fraction of a fraction…and who’d ever admit to it? Who realizes they’re Turnscale?”

“How did I not know of this? I knew about the Antinium. I knew about the Doombearers…but those were just stories.”

He felt like he was a first-time visitor to the inn. Onieva cleared her throat gently.

“Look, unless you are one, it’s not something that comes up often. Some Turnscales don’t even know they are one. You’re a young Gnoll who likes kissing girls. No problems. People would look at you more askance for kissing a Drake or Human—and that’s it. It’s just not your problem. I appreciate you caring so much…you’re not going to throw things at me, are you?”

“No. No, Onieva. I’m not.”

He met her mismatched eyes, and the [Alchemist] sighed. She seemed to stretch for an age, un-tensing just a tiny bit. Then she lay on the floor, spread-eagled.

“Well, rats. This is the worst possible outcome. Mirn was right. What the heck do I do now?”

 

——

 

Now, Onieva was spiraling. She was desperate, damned, and rudderless. Because Ishkr wasn’t committing bodily harm on her, and she was panicking.

She was actually wondering if hitting him with memory dust and jumping out the window was an option. This was terrifying.

She lay there as Ishkr got up and left the room for a second. When he came back, he had a pitcher of goat’s milk in hand. He poured her a cup and held it out.

“That’s so [Head Server] of you.”

“Hey. If you don’t want some…”

She took a glass, drank it down, and grimaced.

“I need something stiffer.”

“I could get you—”

“Nope, that’s a joke. I have to fly out with General Edellein tomorrow, and I’d rather not start drinking.”

I won’t stop after this. Ishkr sat on the floor next to her.

“So you are Saliss.”

She knew that this was big, but it did smart a bit.

Less than getting punched; let it go. She raised one brow at him.

“Still having trouble with it?”

“There’s a non-zero chance this is all still some prank by Saliss. Not a funny one.”

She filled her cup, licking the liquid moodily.

“No. Not funny at all. I’m afraid it’s the truth. Weirded out?”

“…Yes.”

Don’t punch him, he’s being honest. Who could love Saliss, anyways? Onieva hunched her shoulders. Then Ishkr added.

“It is weird. But I respect Saliss of Lights. Aside from Erin, he’s one of the few people I think the world needs more of. He’s probably one of the few people in the world I think is heroic. Fetohep of Khelt, Mrsha…he’s near the top of that list.”

She jumped and actually tossed her cup at him. He caught it and managed to catch the liquid with some stupid serving Skill.

“Don’t do that. I don’t need you to make me feel better about myself.”

“Why? I mean it—”

She writhed at the compliment, scratching herself all over.

“Stop it!”

“Is—is this you having the dissonance problem? Or is this just you being unable to take a genuine compliment?”

Ishkr stood over the [Alchemist] as she wriggled around on the floor. She kicked him in the leg.

“Shut up. You’re not supposed to be taking this well.”

He shrugged and took a gulp of her milk.

“You live in Erin’s inn long enough and nothing surprises you that much. If Nalthaliarstrelous popped out of the ground while I was picking blue fruits, it’d feel normal. But knowing about Turnscales…”

It bothered him. And she refused to like him for it. Onieva glared and snatched her cup back.

“You’re an outsider. This is our problem, our fight. I appreciate you figuring out how much your sister’s dealt with. Be nicer to her. But focus: this is about me and you. I’ve told you, you lost your beating chance, so now…I’m off tomorrow. When Saliss gets back, I’ll come say hi. But that’s it.”

“Are you—are you breaking up with me?”

His eyes widened, and he seemed shocked, then hurt. Onieva snapped, and her claw was shaking again.

“Yes! Because this doesn’t work, idiot!”

“I don’t get it. Why am I the idiot? You told me your secret, and you just assumed—it’s because you didn’t intend this to be permanent? I get that. I knew you’d get bored of me or find someone better.”

Ancestors, what was he on about? He appeared so resigned and sad she grabbed his tie and yanked him down to eye-level.

“No, you sulfur-sniffing idiot. You’re breaking up with me because I’m a Turnscale. I’m Saliss! I’m all wrong and leaving, and you can’t imagine what it’s like to try a relationship after this.”

“But I haven’t freaked out. Nor do those things mean I want to just never speak to you again.”

“Well…I…don’t be unreasonable.”

“Me? Unreasonable? You’re the one assuming we were going to break up the moment we had a chat! Did you even think I’d have a reaction that didn’t include violence?”

His ears flattened as he got genuinely angry, and Onieva whirled.

“Look, you’re a nice kid. But I’m literally twice your age. The age gap is horrendous, and I lied to you. Add in all the other things and it’s red flags.”

“Right, and you could never think of me as a long-term partner.”

She turned back to stomp on his foot.

“Not what I said.”

“Ow.”

He massaged his ankle as she hesitated.

“I—you—we wouldn’t work. You haven’t hit your high levels yet. I know you’ve hit Level 40, but when you finally class-consolidate, find that thing that defines you, you’re going to become some kind of crazy or a monster. Then who knows who you’ll be.”

“And I was just good for a moment. I know I’m boring.”

“Stop. Saying. That. That’s not what I meant!”

He was reframing this around him. Ishkr dodged her stomping foot. He glanced at her.

“That’s why my last girlfriend broke up with me. I liked you. But I thought you’d break up with me eventually. I didn’t know you were Saliss. I did think you might be an [Assassin].”

She was so astonished she stopped trying to crush a toe and blinked at him.

“You thought I was one of those idiots? I told you I was an [Alchemist].”

He sniffed.

“Well, you never practiced it that I could see. And you were high-level, vanished often…I was really hoping you weren’t going to tell me that. Then I’d have had to think about breaking up with you. All things considered, this is better. Look, I understand you’re a Named-rank adventurer. You don’t settle down. And you’re headed into the New Lands. I won’t tell anyone. I get it.”

She glared at him.

“You’re acting like this is somehow about you not being good enough. It’s about me. I’m the Turnscale.”

Ishkr scowled back, tugging one boot off to stare at his foot.

“Well, why are you dumping me? Also, stop stomping. You nearly broke my foot!”

“I’m not dumping—I’m saving you from yourself! You’re great! I loved our time together! I’m bringing you to the logical conclusion you can’t come to!”

“Why are you yelling at me? Why are we fighting?”

“We’re not fighting. Stop being dense…”

She tried to stomp a few more times. Ishkr escorted his other foot to safety around the room as Onieva chased him. Then he whirled.

“What if I still liked you? What if I dared to still want to try and get to know you, the real you? What then?”

He caught her off-guard, and she dodged backwards reflexively. And that simple motion, backstepping and twisting on a heel, looked natural. Flawless, as she was. Ishkr had grown up, like most people, wishing he could move his body like how his mind wanted to.

Onieva was that dream, and she was enthralling because of that. Not just because of her appearance…and she still had the gall to shake her head and demur.

“Don’t be stupid. I’m all kinds of problems.”

“I live at The Wandering Inn.”

“I can only exist in six-hour chunks. I’m crazy.”

“I served a dead man breakfast this morning. Kevin. Erin is my employer.”

“I…you’re not thinking this through. You’ll live. You just have low self-esteem because you haven’t realized you’re attractive and high-level. There’s plenty of fish in the sea. You can do better.”

He stared at her, looking amused, holding his boot defensively for protection.

“I know you can do better. But can I? You’re Saliss—”

“Stop saying that so normally!”

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. She went for his foot, and he ran to avoid the stomp of wrath.

“Stop trying to break my foot! Why are we fighting?”

“We’re not fighting! Shut up! Stop being stupid! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I work at The Wandering Inn!”

 

——

 

After a few minutes, Calescent had to stop working on his prepped dinners. He came out into the common room in a lull between any crazy happenings and just…took a break with the other members of staff.

Captain Todi, Peggy, Captain Earlia, and Elia! She smiled at him, but then saw his flushed face and turned a bit red herself.

“Damn. They still at it, Calescent?”

Captain Todi grinned as he played cards with Earlia and Peggy. He was teaching them to gamble, and Calescent fanned his face with a hat.

“We need more silencing spells.”

Normally, he didn’t pay attention to what was going on in the inn, but he’d seen Onieva and Ishkr going upstairs, and they just happened to be right above his kitchen. Again, not a problem, but—

He couldn’t imagine what was going on to generate that level of thumping. Okay, he had a perfect idea of what was going on. Elia turned redder as Peggy cackled.

“Is high-level people problems. You should have heard what happened when Chieftain Garen had company.”

“Must be nice to have someone like that. Anyone know Onieva well?”

Earlia glanced at the stairs, and Todi shrugged.

“She’s Saliss’ cousin or something. I can say this: Ishkr’s got good taste. But maybe he’s the catch?”

Calescent shook his head. He’d give them thirty more minutes, then he’d have to knock or put in earplugs. He joined the card table as Elia decided to join in as well.

“At least the inn’s sturdy thanks to Miss Solstice’s Skills.”

They looked at her, and she elaborated.

“If you’re too…vigorous…at high levels, you could go through the floorboards if you’re not careful.”

Everyone stared at her, and Elia Arcsinger decided that she shouldn’t speak ever again. After a while Peggy nodded.

“Is good for Ishkr.”

Everyone nodded. Calescent sighed wistfully as he glanced at the ceiling.

Lucky Gnoll.

 

——

 

Onieva finally stopped trying to stomp Ishkr’s foot in when she put her foot through one of the floorboards. The crack and Ishkr’s exclamation made her halt guiltily.

“My floor!”

“Oh, sorry—I can fix that. Let me just—”

She could glue the floorboards together with some solvent, but that would look bad, and she’d splintered straight through it. Onieva felt at her belt pouches. Then regarded Ishkr.

“You, ah, wouldn’t happen to have a [Repair] scroll, would you?”

“Erin used to repair everything with her Skill. How’d you even break it with her [Reinforced Structure] Skills? What would have happened to my foot if you’d hit it?”

He was so genuinely upset over his floorboards she got less angry. Then more angry, again, as she realized his damaged flooring was actually upsetting him more than her being a Turnscale.

What is wrong with—?

However, it distracted them enough to leave the rooms. When they came down and Ishkr asked if there was a Scroll of [Repair] around, the staff took one look at him, then Todi wolf-whistled and everyone began applauding.

“Damn, just like Elia said! Take it easy on the old inn, would ya? We need it intact before the new one’s built!”

What was he…? Onieva blushed, and Ishkr folded his arms and glared. Peggy got up, laughing.

“I can send Asgra to buy one. No problem!”

She winked at them, and Calescent stood up. Onieva was trying to think of an excuse when the [Chef] put his hat in his hands.

“Um. Ishkr. Onieva. This is hard to say. But maybe…maybe we buy [Silence] spells after today? And be a little…gentler? Is very loud. In the kitchen. Below your rooms.”

The Gnoll and Drake exchanged glances, and now Onieva knew she was blushing.

“No, we weren’t—”

What did she say? She was trying to stomp Ishkr’s foot in because he wouldn’t break up with her for reasons of being a Turnscale? Onieva stopped and gazed at her reflection in the scrying mirror television on the walls. It was inactive so she caught sight of herself and wondered…

What am I doing? He doesn’t hate me. He wants to continue. This is a miracle. I can’t throw it away. But is it real? Do I believe it’s real?

Even in The Wandering Inn, this might be too much of a miracle for…she gave Calescent an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. But don’t worry—I’m going away tomorrow. I’m, uh, actually working with Pallass’ army. Saliss and I are both heading to the New Lands. It’ll be months before we’re back unless one of us catches a Pegasus Ride. We are setting up supply lines, so it could happen.”

The [Spice Chef] stared at her, and the rest of the staff stirred. Calescent un-scrunched his hat.

“Oh. Oh. In that case…I get my food from the kitchen. I’ll go to Barehoof Kitchens. You two have fun.”

“No, that’s not—”

He patted both solemnly on the shoulders.

“Is very important to say goodbyes. Peggy, make Asgra get [Silence] spells before Mrsha comes home from school.”

He gave them both such a dignified nod that Ishkr and Onieva didn’t have the heart to correct him. Todi lifted his cup.

“Here’s to long-distance relationships! Don’t you go cheating on this Drake, Ishkr! She’s a keeper!”

“Thanks, Sage Todi.”

Ishkr muttered, and Onieva blushed again. Todi was an obsequious rat. She would not like him for complimenting her and…

When Ishkr turned to her, she almost leapt away again. He spoke to Calescent and the others.

“We were actually just arguing. Onieva wants to break up because she’s going away for a while. I don’t want to break up because of that. Someone help me.”

“What?”

Peggy was horrified. She shook her head.

“It work! You make charm bracelets and swear to be good! You two cute! Who Ishkr going to love if not you? Some weirdo like Salkis? Stay together! Give him a shot, Onieva! We dress him better and level him up a few times and he be great when you return!”

She dashed over and took Ishkr’s other arm, and the flustered Drake tried to laugh it off. And she could laugh, she realized.

“No, I know he’s great. This is the best breakup I’ve ever…I’ve been trying this entire time, and he’s too damn understanding! It’s me! I’m not the catch! I’m actually fifty years old, almost.”

Todi and Earlia spat out their drinks. He stared at her.

“What? Dead gods, where do you buy those illusion spells? And you’re right. You’re too old for Ishkr. What are you doing tonight?”

He smoothed his hair back, and Onieva turned to someone for support. But Earlia just grinned.

“Aren’t you Saliss of Light’s cousin? Ishkr said you do alchemy too. Are you half as good as he is?”

Half as—Onieva bristled.

“You could say I’m even better than Saliss—in a fight.”

That might have been a mistake. Everyone was shocked, despite having seen her at the Trial of Blades, but Elia Arcsinger half-nodded slowly. Hard to hide from another Named-rank’s eyes, even Elia. Earlia blinked, then she glanced at Ishkr.

“In that case, Ishkr, do your charm thing and I’ll bless this union. And then get Onieva to hang around the next time the Goblin King shows up.”

Madness. They were all mad. Onieva wanted to laugh and cry, and she had the craziest urge to tell them who she was on her bad days. Maybe they’d act like Ishkr…?

She was too afraid. Her tail drooped slightly, and Ishkr saw it. He eyed his audience, then put an arm around Onieva. She blinked up at him as he spoke.

“I think she’s the most beautiful Drake I’ve ever met. The highest-levelled, the most dangerous—I’d like to get to know her. But she’s trying to run away. Respectfully, I’d like to chase her and try to win her over. You can’t court her, Todi.”

The Gnoll grinned around the inn as Onieva felt the oddest thing happen to her. For the first time in…she turned bright red. She said not a word as she blushed from head to toe, and Captain Todi laughed as Peggy cheered with Earlia, and some of the Antinium clapped.

“Oh, fine. But just for you, Ishkr.”

The Gold-rank adventurer bowed from his table, and Ishkr turned to Onieva. A question was in his eyes. A true…what a terrifying expression. Earnesty, a hurt for her, for his sister, and a true longing. Maybe he was serious.

What a fool.

“You’ll regret this, Ishkr Silverfang.”

“Why? If everything you told me is true, how are you any worse than any other crazy, high-level person? If you believe in what you said, and I believe you, then there’s nothing to fear but you not liking me.”

She tried to poke holes in his logic. For something in her said it must be flawed, but he had picked up a move or two from the Relc or Menolit book of flirting. Because he had a pawed hand under her chin and tried to get her to meet his eyes. He was bending down for a kiss when he stopped.

Found something alarming. Something to break him out of his damned course of romance. Onieva Oliwing was saved from a disastrous kiss and closed her eyes in relief.

Finally, he’d come to his s—

Ishkr pushed his fingers into the side of her throat and jumped.

“Your heart is racing! Onieva, are you well?”

He’d felt her heartbeat going insanely fast. The Drake saw him reaching for a healing potion, and then she had to laugh. Throw her head back and laugh and admit…she wanted to love and be loved.

That she could have it without it being a disaster or hiding who she was.

What a thought.

 

——

 

When Onieva returned to Mirn’s place, he was pacing up and down the bar. This was far too long. He almost grabbed a club and went out to find her when the doors swung open and Onieva came back.

“Did he—”

Ishkr appeared next to Onieva, and the question froze on Mirn’s tongue. He saw the two had linked arms. And that Onieva was practically pulling Ishkr along, unwilling to let go of him, and glancing at a magical timepiece she’d put on her wrist.

Suddenly counting every second she had left until she had to sleep and leave. The Gnoll was peering around with interest and a wariness—not for himself, but for something he had to keep secret, but he kept glancing at Onieva as if she were something fascinating, a bit confusing or disturbing, but alluring.

Mirn drank all this in in one moment, and his next sentence exploded out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“You lucky bitch. How dare you?”

He half-meant it as Onieva grinned at him, but she had the grace to appear a bit embarrassed as she untangled herself from Ishkr and came over.

“Okay, maybe you were right and it was a tiny bit self-sabotaging.”

“A tiny bit? You kept telling me to hit you!”

Mirn closed his eyes. He put a claw over Onieva’s mouth, then tried to get her in a headlock.

“You are going to tell me everything. Or maybe I should have—Ishkr, hello. We meet at last, properly. Welcome to my bar, such as it is. We’re opening in an hour or two. You two are welcome to stay, and you’re going to tell me how this didn’t become another tragedy, Onieva.”

He needed to hear it all and take notes. But just to hear it. He was so jealous and happy for her…Ishkr glanced up.

“I heard you serve terrible drinks.”

“Is that all you told him?”

Mirn was vaguely outraged, but Ishkr eyed the bar and limited selection of alcohols.

“I could help serve.”

“Ishkr! There’s no need for that. You and I have a date, anyways. The full works. We’ll tell Mirn everything, and Ishkr needs to be caught up to date on, well, everything…”

You told him? Mirn raised his brows, and Onieva’s shrug and smile said it all. He was more impressed.

A non-Turnscale who didn’t flinch or blink? No wonder it had worked. But then Ishkr’s sister…Mirn smiled at the Gnoll, though he’d be watching for warning signs. He nodded as Onieva went on.

“—So only for a bit! He does make better drinks than the piss you swill, Mirn. You were in the Alchecorps. How the hell did you never learn to mix…well, that’s the problem. He can mix an alchemical flask even in battle, but he just stirs everything up fast, even if he follows the recipe. Nothing fancy. It’s like second-nature to him.”

Mirn scowled as she made fun of his old habits from the army. Then he saw her tail snake around the Gnoll’s somewhat damaged left boot and sighed.

Oh, this was so much worse than a bad breakup. Now she realized this actually might work…he hoped it didn’t affect her focus.

But for the moment, the [Protector] did what he did to all couples who came here, whether together or by chance. He pulled every trick he had to make his dingy bar a place for magic and wonder. Even for a night.

“She’s one-of-a-kind, you know.”

He told Ishkr that when Onieva went to use the restroom. The Gnoll nodded, and Mirn continued, polishing a mug.

“Hurt her and I’ll hurt you. But you knew that. And if you two ever split on reasonable terms—I’m free as a [Jailbreaker].”

He blew a kiss at the Gnoll and saw Ishkr jump and stammer, but he didn’t flinch away. Mirn grinned to himself.

Well, just maybe, this might work.

 

——

 

Onieva had had nights that she wanted to last forever before. But this one…she treasured this one.

She had never wished more for one of Erin’s [Immortal Moments]. From start to finish, she wished she could have lingered there an eternity. Because it was not just realizing she was allowed to continue being attracted to this Gnoll.

Not just him wanting to give her, even with Saliss, a chance. It was…showing him around the Turnscale bar. Seeing him speaking respectfully to Mirn, even a few older Turnscales the [Protector] introduced him to, and Ishkr listening politely.

A look of determination she recognized settling over his face. Of realizing that they might have more than a lover on their hands, someone who mattered.

A friend to more than just Mirn and Onieva.

That…was almost as heady as the romance, and there was plenty of that. Hope and relief crushed against the knowledge that tomorrow, life was going to suck.

There was nothing so powerful as a moment that could not last. So she refused to let go of it. Even when it was past midnight, she refused to even consider the possibility of sleep. And Ishkr, responsible Ishkr, was right there with her, just as unwilling to part.

Well, she didn’t have to tell anyone all the things they did or got up to, some of which would have written new chapters in the Antinium’s Book of Carnal Intercourse. But they were also running across two cities as she pointed out things only Saliss was supposed to know and laughed with him. Running through her potions to keep Onieva breathing just a moment more.

Happiness, ever-fleeting, was a kiss stolen on a flight of stairs as passersby whistled or laughed at the couple—the ordinary couple allowed to love in the open like anyone else.

A moment’s normality. A word of acceptance.

…And a bit of poo from a jar lobbed into someone’s food from over fifty feet away, through a window off of a roof. Onieva was a throwing-expert beyond even Erin, after all. And then…

And then…

 

——

 

Saliss of Lights awoke, and he had gotten all of fifteen minutes of sleep. He uncurled himself from his desk, where he’d lain down, and was glad.

Glad—he’d seen Ishkr off at the inn. For waking up next to the Gnoll would have been unbearable. Both for Saliss and perhaps for Ishkr. Either way, he feared it.

Back to hating himself.

Back to wrongness.

And back to sleep-deprivation. A dark mood threatened to wash over Saliss as he counted the three vials he had left. As he faced the New Lands and his journey, because all of him ached to stay.

However, like the purple flame he still kept burning in his personal study, the Drake touched his chest and felt a spark of it.

Happiness. Despite all the challenges he had. His weariness, his fears, his neverending battles, he had taken a piece of it, and it remained.

That put a smile on his face.

It lasted until he had to depart, and even then, it wasn’t the flying that dragged him down. Nor the journey unto death, the great distance, or the certainty the world would change if he found what he was looking for.

No, the thing that got Saliss down was just the company.

 

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Hello, hello! A few things. Firstly, yes, I am on my break once more. This time, exhaustion hit me like one of those trucks that takes you to other worlds in LitRPG stories. I had not realized just how tired I was this month until about two days ago.

I was writing a new chapter but it just didn’t…click. All the words stopped coming out right, and I just ended stream because I sensed I wasn’t putting out good story or prose. It’s very funny how, just like physical tiredness, your brain just stops putting out anything good after a while.

Much like how you fail to play a game like soccer well if you’re tired. Well, I have written a lot. I’m not sure where my backlog stands, but I’ve got a number of chapters—unedited sadly—that I can use if I’m in trouble.

 

But I do need this rest. Now, with that said, may I congratulate the winners and losers of this month’s side story poll? We had 2,414 people voting in one of the most intense campaigns I’ve ever seen, with genuine outreach to try to sway voters to Baleros or Chandrar respectively! (I told you Ylawes wasn’t gonna make it.)

The passion on display is amazing, and I will now begin my prep for Baleros writing! Shame about some of those Chandrar-themed chapters I already wrote…ah, well, I truly did think these polls showed how much people cared and wanted to move the story a bit. I respect that!

 

Last but not least, during my break I intend to beat Ghosts of Yotei, Little Nightmares III, and Age of Empires: the Alexander DLC. The latter of which I’m not good at on Hard mode…and has a 40-minute defense mission. Look, I like video games, and they don’t make my brain work.

Oh, and I’ll be releasing the Pt. 2 of this Saliss chapter on Tuesday since this is only half of what I intended—the other half is 60,000 words. This is a hidden message for only someone who’d read my author’s notes.

To tell you the truth, this Saliss chapter was difficult…on multiple levels. I had to do extensive rewrites to this half, which is actually Mating Rituals…6? But I mislabeled them, so it’s probably 5 since I never wrote Mating Rituals 5. It was bad, anyways; a sign drinking and writing never really works. And erotica is hard to mesh with the story, so I don’t treat any of them aside from 1-3 as canon.

 

Well, that’s all from me. See you after the day of Halloweens. I don’t usually post holiday-related chapters anymore because, well, it’s hard to theme around. Maybe now I’m writing more ‘short’ chapters? We’ll see. Talk on Tuesday!

 

 

Persua by Brazy Canana!

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Sheta by Ainz!

 

Persua Selfie by Gridcube!

 

Wind Runner by AVI!

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Whitewash Channel by Guliver!

 

Hawk by Olento!

 

Couriers Camping, Pet Shark, and Landshark by Humbleduck!

 

Dullahan Seve by Sanfre!

 

Innktober by Michael Cannon!

 

Young Master by Chalyon!

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Jousting Crabs by katiemaeve!

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New Lands by Dalin!

 

New Lands and Palace Animation by Kazah!

 

Izril by Carbon!

 

Baiss by BREAK!

 

Courier by Brack!

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Twitter: https://twitter.com/Brack_Giraffe

 

New Foods by Karu!

 

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