(I’m taking the month of January off to rest. I hope you all have a wonderful end to the New Year and here’s wishing a good 2026. —pirateaba)

Garry – Hivelands

This was a story about Garry the Baker. But it was never just about Garry, because he truly didn’t care as much about himself as the people he wanted to feed. A world of only Garry was lonely and boring. If this one happened to revolve around him in some way, well, he had never asked for that. Never sought it except to make his will manifest and do what he felt was necessary.

—On his first full day in the Hivelands, the most important Antinium in Izril awoke. Surely, he was the most important by some metrics.

Who else was more famous? Many had heard of Bird the Hunter, seen that dread Antinium standing on Pallass’ walls. Countless military figures knew of Xrn the Small Queen, Klbkch the Slayer, Wrymvr the Deathless—and the Grand Queen was the figure who represented Antinium power.

But every child knew Garry’s name. Television was spreading across the world; Garry’s delivery had been witnessed by more people than the total population who knew the history of the Antinium Wars.

That was, of course, only one metric. What about levels? Well, of Izril’s Antinium…Garry was the third highest-level. Only the Small Queen and Wrymvr outlevelled him, and neither had levelled this rapidly in this millennia.

What, then, of political influence? All these factors might put Garry near the top of Antinium hierarchy, such as it was—but how much sway did he have in the Hives?

Ah—well. To answer that, one only needed to observe the Grand Queen in her palace of the Grand Hive, sitting on vast, million-thread pillows gifted to her from Chandrar, ensconced in huge golden robes that had cost hundreds of thousands of gold pieces to tailor to her size.

All this luxury and the ranks of her Custodium, armed with Klbkch’s signature dual blades and Prognugator-class—and the Grand Queen was gobbling a massive, massive amount of pork roast.

“Garry. This—mm—cooking. It is unspeakable. Indescribable! Succulent and dripping. How—erp—how is it that I have not understood the magnitude of your genius until now?”

She was feasting and, perhaps, hadn’t stopped since last night. Garry bowed smoothly, speaking up to her.

“Surely some food from the Free Hive was sent to you, Grandest of all Queens?”

“It was, it was. But not of this quality! It tasted impeccable, but this—explain.”

He tilted his head and smiled up at her.

“Ah, well, it occurs to me, Grand Queen, that nothing you ate was fresh. Bags of holding still do not prevent food from going stale or spoiling in most cases. I purchased a very special Chest of Holding to bring this feast. I have also levelled. This? This is a [Feast of Delights].”

“What a strange, useless-sounding Skill. And yet I find it important; thus, we, as Antinium, benefit. Does—does the Free Queen eat like this all the time?”

A note of jealousy and annoyance entered the Grand Queen’s tone, and Garry bowed again.

“As a matter of fact, Grandest Queen, she has only partaken of it once.”

Mostly because she wouldn’t stop eating, and both she and Garry had regarded it as a monumental waste of food. But it was his Skill, and the Grand Queen brightened up at this.

“Ah, then I shall partake of it many times. Baker Garry, you truly are a valuable—mm, pass that gravy, Custodium 23—specimen of your Hive. I rescind my statements as to your objectionable independence. Indeed, I should declare you the Grand Hive’s Prognugator!”

“Is Xrn not the Prognugator of the Grand Hive, Grandest Queen?”

“Yes…but we can have multiple, and she is weaker and objectionably annoying at times. What—what is that you keep calling me? Grandest Queen?”

“Is that not how I should address the greatest of Antinium of Izril?”

The Grand Queen’s mood was rapidly rising, and she waved a free feeler at him.

“Yes! Yes, this is proper treatment! You understand! Grandest Queen. I like this. You, Baker Garry, are the finest work that the Free Queen has ever created.”

“Xevccha.”

“What? Gseuntheit, I believe it is said.”

“Her name is Xevccha, Grandest Queen. I believe that she informed you of this?”

She had, but the Grand Queen had completely forgotten the Free Queen’s name. Garry saw her freeze up upon her throne and drop a bit of meat into the platter. She began to get angry again.

“Her—name? Yes, I recall, but as I said—she was not permitted to take one. I do not have—ridiculous. You clearly do not understand, since you are also named, but this is not done, Baker Garry.”

He tilted his head.

“How so, My Queen?”

“Among Queens, one does not take a name lightly. When a Queen names herself, it is for a great deed. I do not—when did this happen?”

Again, he bowed smoothly.

“Surely, the Grandest Queen understands the Free Queen, Xevccha of Liscor, chose her name after her many deeds. I am sure it does not offend you, Grandest Queen, for the actions of Xevccha are your triumphs. And that you do not have a name is also fitting.”

All the Antinium and some of the [Slaves] watching Garry were turning from him to the Grand Queen. Only the Centenium and other Queens had ever spoken to the Grand Queen thusly. But this Free Antinium…

He seemed unto a giant. A full inch and a half taller than any Worker and broad-shouldered, such that even the Soldiers shifted, uncertain of who was stronger. And his hat. It was a tower of white with a floofy bit at the top, and it was not even his other hat.

He smelled of bread. He smiled like it meant something, and in the face of the Grand Queen’s wrath as she leaned forwards, he did not flinch.

“How is my lack of a name when a lesser Queen has one fitting?”

“Why, a lesser Queen such as Xevccha may have a name, Grandest Queen, but yours is surely one that can only be taken after the greatest of all deeds. The conquest of all Izril, perhaps? That everyone expects your name at due time means that we accept other Antinium, such as myself, Pawn, Xevccha, taking their names as small things before the great one. Like a leaf blowing before the storm, why would we pay it any mind? This is exemplified by the fact that the Free Queen’s name was not known widely or remarked upon until now.”

Garry held up a finger and spoke like a [Sophist], and the Grand Queen visibly relaxed backwards and put two feelers together.

“…Garry. I have not often said this, but the Free Queen truly has outdone herself with her Autonomous Antinium project. I congratulate her fully, and thus myself, on sending her to Liscor. Once again, I welcome you to the Grand Hive and proclaim you are a valued Antinium on par with any other Hive’s Prognugators! Let it be known across all Hives! Now—will you make more food for me? I suppose I should allow you to visit the other Queens as Anand did…”

She was reluctant, and Garry bowed once more.

“I would indeed like to visit the other Hives, Grandest Queen. But I will leave all the food I have prepared with you, and make more for each of the other Queens, by your will.”

“Ah, ah. Thus, the tribute is all mine?”

“At least a week of feasting, even at the rate you are eating, Grandest Queen.”

She clapped her feelers together.

“This is good. This is very good. And I have my new auxiliary-[Slaves] to send as well! You shall do this, then come back and cook more, and then, perhaps, I shall allow you to return to the Free Hive. But your foods must be replicated. Do you…require anything?”

He tilted his head.

“Perhaps some ingredients or foodstuffs, my Queen. May I have permission to sequester any resources or go where I am needed? If I come up with any desserts after perusing the Hive’s foodstuffs, I shall of course deliver it first to you, then to the other Queens.”

“Of course, of course. Two of my Custodium shall escort your group of Painted Antinium wherever you go. Now, tell me. What is the next course of most deliciousness?”

“I believe the bread pudding, perhaps, Grandest Queen? You may wish to sleep after some time.”

If the [Feast of Delights] didn’t knock her out from pure sugar content, the food coma would rapidly. The Grand Queen was moving slower, but she lifted a feeler and then?

Garry had the run of the Hives and the favor of the Grand Queen on his side. So, then. Who had more authority?

Wrymvr? Xrn?

Or Garry? After bowing and retreating from her presence, Garry began to explore the Hivelands. And what he found was something different than the place Anand had described.

The Hives were changing.

Just like him.

——

The Grand Hive resembled, in many ways, a palace. It had not been like this when Anand visited. But from the Grand Queen’s abode, the Hive had begun receiving shipments of marble and other stones from the Hives.

They didn’t mind sending it; marble was a weak stone, but the pathways of the stuff and decorations hung on newly-built walls? Garry passed by a hundred paintings of rather amazing quality before he realized what these were.

“Ah. These were looted from Drakes during the last two Antinium Wars.”

The Grand Queen had just ordered them taken out of the Antinium stockpiles, which he had realized were vast beyond compare.

He was touring the Grand Hive with some Painted Antinium as well as two silent Custodium. They weirded out the Painted Antinium. The group of eight were all high-level veterans of Pawn’s self-chosen people—not the best-of-the-best, but still pretty elite.

One of them, Runearmor, had kept trying to engage the Custodium in conversation, but they were weird and rude.

“You have very pretty paintings, Custodium 8. Do you have a favorite?”

“No. Painted Worker Antinium will keep moving.”

“My name is Runearmor. Do you have a name?”

“I am Custodium 8. Designation: Killtori. Is talking required?”

“…Not with you lot, clearly.”

They were closer to Autonomous Antinium than real Individuals like the Painted Antinium, which was weird. Also, the Custodium seemed leery of Garry and the Painted Antinium. More than one had requested a ‘Combat Training Session’, which meant a duel.

They were fast and quick with their blades, but mostly around Level 20 at best. Not that any of the Painted Antinium here were over Level 30, but when Runearmor had beaten one of the higher-level Custodium, the Antinium had stood frozen in place for a good twenty minutes.

That was when their insistence on using their Custodium numbers instead of names became clear: Custodium 8 meant that Killtori was the eighth strongest among the Custodium.

Eighth best. Thus, eighth most-loved by their Queen. Hence preferring that over names. The least well-ranked Custodium used their names instead.

How painful.

To Garry, it all made sense. The Grand Queen was an overbearing figure. The Custodium wanted to please her, and clearly, they had been made well and with a lot of resources. Each one was like Ksmvr had been, or a mini-Klbkch. But they did not understand their Queen.

They could have won her favor with words far more easily than their obsessive practice with swords. But they were not thinking outside the box. They were not even aware there was a box. Their world was a one-way track, and little in the Grand Hive would change that.

Until now, perhaps. Garry had not missed the [Slaves] who stayed predominantly around the Grand Queen’s chambers. They cleaned, served food to the Antinium, but mostly seemed to stand around nervously, trying to find work in a Hive designed to fulfill every need.

“Let’s see. These are the stockpiles that Xrn enchanted. Ah. That is a lot of food.”

Garry opened one of the enchanted silos deep in the Grand Queen’s Hive and stared down. And down.

And down.

And after a bit, down some more. Garry had heard of the massive monster-nests in Liscor’s dungeon, the four super-nests designed to disgorge enemy monsters without end, like the Shield Spider nest that his people had fought for so long.

Each silo was about that big. Maybe not as wide, but driven so deep he doubted any bombardment spell or even an [Earthquake] spell had hopes of hitting it—and that was before Xrn had enchanted everything to the nines.

It was loaded up with food. And things he recognized as being invaluable to creating more Antinium: a goo that was made of processed nutritional ingredients that filled the Birther Sacs, even the weird, spidery ‘data’ that told a Birther Sac how to make a type of Antinium like spools of intricate words made up of spider webs.

He knew all this because the Free Queen sometimes told him about it. To even the Custodium, the sight of the Grand Hive’s precious resources was sacrosanct. Indeed, Custodium 8 drew a sword and placed it out, preventing anyone from walking into the silo.

“This area is off-limits to all Antinium but the Grand Queen and Centenium Xrn herself.”

Garry glanced down at the sword hovering an inch from his stomach. He pushed the blade down with a finger.

“The Grand Queen has allowed me access to all of the Hive. I am sure she will not mind.”

Interestingly, the two Custodium did dissent here. Custodium 11, who had a scar on one shoulder, spoke in an irritable click.

“We have guarded this location from all threats.”

“Such as what? Insects?”

“No. The magic laid by Centenium Xrn kills all non-Antinium. Including monsters and insects. But some survive the initial spells. We have killed 8 [Slaves] of Roshal who entered this location. None of whom obeyed commands to halt and possessed high, undisclosed levels.”

Garry turned his head, suddenly interested.

“Ah, spies. How did the Grand Queen react?”

“She questioned Roshal, who apologized. Not a single one has survived leaving their designated areas. We observe.”

Interesting. Garry would have assumed that spies would have gotten the view of the Hives, but it seemed like they weren’t prepared for the watchfulness of Antinium, who would notice if you left your assigned areas.

Custodium 8 felt the need to add more details to improve their pedigree.

“We have also slain 25 Antinium who have entered this location.”

“…Antinium? Why would they enter here?”

“They were attempting to reclaim stored goods.”

This time, the [Baker] paused, and a silence fell over the Free Antinium until Runearmor whispered.

“Oh. They were hungry.”

“They were amply fed. They were Aberrations and slain.”

Custodium 8 saw Garry walk forwards and extended his sword again, but the [Baker] just walked into it, and it didn’t leave a mark on his body. The [Baker] turned his head.

“They wanted to eat something other than nutritional paste. Hunger takes many forms, Custodium 8. I am going to see what is stored here.”

“You are not allowed—”

“Take it up with the Grand Queen.”

The two Custodium wavered as the Free Antinium followed Garry into the silo. After a moment, Custodium 8 turned and began to run back the way they’d come.

——

Garry noted Custodium 8 leaving, and when the silent Antinium came back, the [Baker] turned his head pointedly.

“She allowed me to stay.”

Dead silence. Neither Custodium halted him from touring the other silos. But they threw up a tremendous fuss when Garry started removing food from the silos.

“You are noT aLLowed to do that!”

Garry was hauling up bags of grain from one of the silos. It seemed the Antinium had either learned farming or just raided [Farms]. He pointed innocently to the bags.

“Take it up with the Grand Queen. Don’t worry, I shall inform her.”

That made the two Custodium freeze, and Garry walked past them and dumped more grain into his Chest of Holding. He helped the Painted Antinium carry it back to their wagon, then went to tell the Grand Queen.

——

“My Queen, I have removed one thousand sacks of grain from your silo.”

She had been snoozing off her food, but jerked upright.

“My what? My storage silo? That is for the war effort, Baker! We will sustain 600% output of Antinium for years if necessary to overwhelm Drake—removal of goods sets the Hive back!”

He bowed.

“I am sure the grain can be replaced, Grand Queen. But it occurred to me that I could make a wonderful dessert for you. Ice cream sundaes. There is a bread component to the waffle. As the grain is not difficult to replace, surely, I thought, you deserve such a rare and expensive treat.”

“Ice…cream? Ah, I have witnessed this on the televisions. I see, I see. A thousand bags? That is not difficult to—Custodium! I told you that Baker Garry could do as he pleased! Note the discrepancy and replace the food with fresh supplies. I await this dessert with great interest, Baker.”

“I shall prepare it at once, My Queen. Then visit the other Hives.”

The Grand Queen paused.

“Yes, yes, this is a good idea. Some of the Hives deserve it. Some. When you visit the Flying Queen, I will require a report on her progress. And ensure a good number of the gifts are allocated to her. That she knows I am favoring her, and that I await her reciprocity to the Grand Hive. Once…she has stabilized her Hive. Do mention that to her.”

Garry bowed as the Custodium shifted, gazing at him. With that, he guessed he was going to be able to make a lot of bread.

——

Before leaving the Grand Hive, Garry did take out the ice cream he’d brought with his supplies and added it to the ‘tribute’ for the Grand Queen. He packed it with ice and told the Custodium it should be served right away or kept frozen, then left them to deal with that.

In truth, Garry wanted to tour the other Hives. To see what Anand had seen and judge for himself before making any more moves. To that end, he left the Chest of Holding he’d filled with supplies behind and took the Painted Antinium and only his personal [Bag of Vast Holding]—with a few snacks—and began to march across the Hivelands to see the other Hives.

It was a lot of walking, which turned into jogging because Garry was trying to keep to his new routine. That cut the travel time, though the Painted Antinium had to catch up after an hour. It turned out that their weapons and armor made them even slower, and they complained Garry ‘ran too fast’ and for too long.

What Garry found was…interesting.

——

The Hives were changing. Put simply, it was that. But it was the Queens that led the change, or so Garry felt.

Not just the Grand Hive. He had assumed it was the influence of Roshal, but after visiting the next Hive, the Silent Queen’s domain, Garry realized it could not be.

—Or how else could he explain the almost pitch-black Hive, which was made of traditional packed dirt, but lacking the usual luminary moss? In fact, even the dirt was the blackest loam that the Antinium could find, making it impossible for him to see a thing, even with his low-light vision.

But the Silent Antinium saw. A duo of the fearsome, camouflaged Antinium materialized out of the darkness, skittering away from the Wand of [Light] he’d brought, and led him through corridors where Antinium with glowing eyes turned to him.

The Silent Queen’s domain? It was…pristine.

Austere. Garry gazed down at the strange, resinous white material clinging to the walls, the ground, which visibly darkened as he stepped on it.

“Kkch. Contaminants. I have, at last, recreated litv-gel or an approximate substitute. It has cut down on unwanted mold and micro-creature interference in projects by 88%. I welcome you, Baker Garry. You…you look different. What has the Free Queen been doing to your structure? She has not told me. I thought she would tell me everything this time.”

The Silent Queen was nimblest and smallest of the Queens, able to navigate her Hive freely. As such, she actually had the hugest corridors to accommodate her, but her workrooms were like an [Alchemist]’s dream.

Garry passed by silent, twitching Antinium being grown in more advanced Birther Sacs and presented the Silent Queen with a gift. He had come prepared; she barely glanced at some croissants and let her Silent Antinium fall on them and devour the baked goods.

Nor was she interested in the black liquid he provided, informing him that she had a hydrating gel that was being used instead of ‘water’—until he mentioned that coffee had caffeine in it. Then she drank a huge cup and instantly began demanding samples of coffee beans to isolate the compound she recognized as being analogous to—

“Czzrich! It is not very strong, but isolated? I could make an ampule. There is too much, too much to do, Baker Garry. It seems that I am the only Queen who devotes all of my time to recreating our work. I must work harder. You…what applicable Skills can you add to your food?”

“Very few you will find useful, Silent Queen. I do not wish to take from your work. I merely brought my gift and the Free Queen’s thanks for your profound efforts.”

She smiled at him, but guiltily, and rubbed her feelers together as she worked, grinding together ingredients plucked from grow-rooms.

“Xevccha speaks well, but you see an amateur working with base materials. Observe how I must grind and distill each resource? It is akin to scraping mold off stones to create your food.” 

Garry paused, but the Silent Queen was serious, so he coughed into one fist.

“That is how some food is harvested, Silent Queen.”

She turned, utterly shocked.

“Is it? How inefficient! My analogy was of quality, however. The variance in mold types that can grow on rocks.” 

“I worked in that sector before becoming a [Cook], Silent Queen. Only one batch in a thousand ever has to be thrown out due to the wrong mold germinating.”

She waved a feeler at him admonishingly.

“Even your dataset is revealing. What is the word in this language? 0.1%? Far, far too high. Antinium Shaper Queens do not work with such variances except under extreme duress. I am the only Queen to insist on standards! Mold grown on rocks. Not even in sealed chambers, no doubt.”

She mulled on this objectionable state of affairs before shaking her head briskly.

“Our food production is not my domain. I should, perhaps…no, too many projects. Too little time. At least discoveries are occurring again. I credit this gel’s production from a Runner who delivered nuanced information to Xrn last year. As well, the Free Queen supplying alchemical products.”

So the Free Hive had helped in this? Garry smiled, but the Silent Queen was still morose, for all her achievements.

“No tools. No techniques. Yet we create and create again—she is welcome. My work is useful. Have you observed Klbkchhezeim’s new form? If all Antinium were as he was, we would approach a fraction of our old strength. And even this is a mockery of his abilities.”

She paused, then rubbed her feelers together.

“I am told I ‘complain too much’. By the Grand Queen. You had gifts of sustenance for me, Baker?”

“I…yes, Silent Queen. Of the Free Queen’s appreciation to you. I also come with gifts of my own.”

“Oh? What, then? A book?”

The first Hive in which Garry trialed his book was the Silent Hive. The Silent Queen was dubious about the book, but a bevy of gifts made her change her mind.

Not the food, actually. She sampled more of his food, but the coffee really had been the only thing she liked.

“Pleasing sustenance is but sustenance. I can generate materials which stimulate pleasure sectors if I choose, Baker Garry.”

“Well, that’s one way to approach life, Silent Queen.”

Rather to both’s amusement, both Queen and [Baker] realized they had exact opposite classes and personalities. However, Garry had a good deal of respect for the Silent Queen given her support of the Free Queen. And whatever misgivings she had about his class with its silly ‘food preparation’ focus, he had a trick or two up his sleeves for dealing with surly Queens of any kind.

[A Magical Gift]. The moment he conjured a weird, eggsac-like container out of the air and blinked at the odd ‘gift’, the Silent Queen went nuts.

“What is that? What is—did you just create a vith-container out of nowhere?”

“I…yes? It was meant to be a gift, Silent Queen. But it normally comes wrapped like a regular present.”

This looked like, well, an egg. It had a black, weirdly hexagonal coating over it, and the Silent Queen practically snatched it out of his hands. She ran a feeler over it, and Garry saw the eggshell was, in fact, a box as the weird chitin layer retracted.

“T-this is filled with mkxx. Forgive me, the correct words are not translatable in this tongue. H-how? This is exactly the kind of thing I cannot create! I must store it, no, [Reverse Analysis]! To my labs!”

She was scuttling away so fast that Garry had to run after her to beg permission to read his book, and the Silent Queen turned at the door.

“What? A book?”

She rushed over to see his book and read through the short story of Calby in moments…then paused.

“This is a work of fiction. Utterly useless to my needs. You wish to read it…? Go ahead. If it motivates my Silent Antinium to level in any way, I shall entertain the Free Queen’s Autonomous Antinium project. Baffling, baffling. But your class…how many more gifts can you give me? How often?”

“I can now do one per day, Silent Queen, but I do not give them to the same person over and over. That reduces the value.”

“What about one Silent Antinium in my Hive every day? No? It does not work like…your class mystifies me, but I acknowledge its value. I shall consult about more such gifts later! I have work to do!”

She scuttled off in moments with some of her Silent Antinium helpers, leaving Garry with another Hive he had free access to. He wondered what mkxx did.

——

Then Garry read a story. He sat with Painted Antinium and Silent Antinium, having found a barracks where they were allowed to rest and perform small activities, much like the Painted Antinium’s barracks in the Free Hive.

This was not by accident; the Silent Queen had ordered experimental areas designed to replicate the Painted Antinium’s success; why would she not? But it might have still been a failure given her lack of understanding of her own Antinium’s feelings—except that some helpers had taken it upon themselves to furnish said rooms.

Even to add painting stations and Fortresses of Fluff. These were, of course, Painted Antinium.

Not just Runearmor and the bodyguards for Garry, but another group of Painted Antinium. Barely sixty in number; they consisted of a single [Priest] named Golden Bloom and a number of [Crusaders] and Painted Antinium to replace the band that had gone out with Anand—all of whom were presumed dead as only Wrymvr had returned.

They had painted those Antinium’s colors on the barrack walls. Garry understood there wasn’t much for them to do here, so they spent their time making more Painted Antinium in the Hives they were friendly with—mostly the Grand, Armored, and Silent Hives—and fighting monsters.

“It is very boring at times, Baker Garry. Not to mention lonely; we miss Liscor. I am cognizant that we are doing good work here. The Antinium Workers and Soldiers have no Pawn, but please request other Antinium to replace us when you return?”

Garry promised he’d talk to the Free Queen about this to Golden Bloom’s clear relief. He mentioned he hadn’t seen any Painted Antinium among the Silent Antinium; given their stealth abilities, it probably conflicted with their purpose. Golden Bloom smiled as the Antinium gathered around.

“Oh, their paint is only visible to their eyes. The Silent Queen generated it for us.”

That was kind of her. Yes, that was what Garry liked about the Silent Queen, even if he found her removed—she did not understand, but she attempted to aid in projects she deemed necessary. He nodded at Golden Bloom.

“It is my hope this book will allow you to read to Antinium in the Hives as they work. One question, though, Golden Bloom. Why did you decide to stay here?”

In the dark Silent Hive? The Grand Hive was far more central, but Golden Bloom just glanced at the two Custodium escorting Garry before whispering.

“The Grand Hive is less…pleasant. It is easier to be somewhere the Grand Queen is not thinking of you.”

“Ah, understood.”

“We would have gone to the Armored Hive, which is arguably even more pleasant, but we elected to stay in the Silent Hive instead, after a vote.”

“…Why?”

Golden Bloom gestured covertly at the Silent Workers, Soldiers, and specialists with their scythe-arms. All of them had a sleeker, more compact design, even the Workers, who were semi-camouflaged despite the reading candle Garry had lit. Golden Bloom whispered.

“Garry. My friend, it’s the one perk of being in the Hivelands. The Silent Queen’s Hive? They’re all ladies. We have been flirting with The Book of Carnal Intercourse nonstop!”

He waggled his antennae at Garry as the [Baker] gazed at him in silence. After a few moments, Golden Bloom cleared his throat and stepped back. Garry decided to read his book.

——

The Silent Queen found Garry sitting and reading his silly little story about Calby for the third time to Silent Antinium. And she did not understand.

“It is enjoyed? Good, good. I must determine the best use of this mkxx. I am almost tempted to synthesize it into a combustible form. But the potential uses in creating a limited-number of Antinium or reverse-engineering it…it is a pity I did not have some during the last two wars. I could have stress-tested Manus’ so-called impregnable walls.”

Well, that wasn’t concerning at all. Garry reflected that his gifts might be, uh…powerful, but as he addressed the Silent Queen, he had some satisfaction in her reaction as well.

A number of her Silent Antinium scuttled after Garry, or rather, the book. Even when he handed it off to Golden Bloom for a re-read, they followed him, to the Silent Queen’s bemusement.

“I read and analyzed the contents of the book, Baker. What could it give my Antinium? It is a nonsensical tale without code, application, or function.”

“Perhaps, Silent Queen, it is that it spoke to them and not to you.”

She pondered this, rubbing her feelers together.

“Moments like this make me wish the Unitasis Network were all-encompassing and permanent instead of a limited send-recieve as we Queens can generate alone. It is lonely. We are so much lesser than we were. If it gives them something, let it be read, Baker. You have my gratitude. Someday, I hope we shall reclaim the might of True Antinium of Rhir. It will be beyond anything you have dreamed of.”

She smiled. The power to crack a Walled City. Creation of individuals as terrifying as Klbkch. That was the Silent Queen’s dream. What a thought. But Garry realized…that was the position of the Queens here. The Antinium who drove fear into Drakes’ hearts, such that a single one could throw a continent into panic?

It was nothing. Nothing compared to what had been.

——

The Flying Queen’s Hive was proof of that as well, but instead of being an obsessive laboratory and dark bastion, hers had changed into a flurrying frenzy of Antinium who leapt and dove. No one tunnel for them; her Hive had altitude to it. Antinium jumped off huge ledges in empty chambers, buzzing down into the right tunnels. Garry had to climb down walls of dirt as they flew past him, but there was plenty of light to see by; they hung from vast glowbulbs.

Too much light, really—but the light was there to frame…statues.

Images of Devrkr the Glowing and wild sculptures he was told were fearsome Antinium of old. Not made by the Flying Queen. They were sculpted by the Antinium of the Flying Hive, and they were the most individualistic he’d met.

Fifteen Prognuators introduced themselves to him. Each one of them had apparently risen to their rank by unseating ‘unfit’ Prognugators, and every single one of them had a unique limb or body part. They were not, in fact, traditional Prognugators at all—being made for the role—but like Pawn, they were Antinium who had attained Individuality by themselves.

Incredible changes, but the cost was literal chaos in the Flying Queen’s Hive, a sense of visible disorganization where Workers sometimes milled about, seeking orders because they’d had the wrong ones.

Experimentation without control. Expansion without limit. The Flying Hive thrummed, and not without reason; they’d been attacked by the other Hives multiple times, and the Flying Queen herself was visibly…nervous when Garry paid tribute to her.

She devoured the Turkish delight after checking it wasn’t poisoned and was mollified when he assured her the Free Queen had not sent him to harm her.

“These hostilities—regrettable! She did not find any Flying Antinium? The ones with flight-capabilities? Truly? What about the ones who aided you?”

“I have no idea where they went, Flying Queen.”

“Hm.”

She peered at him hard, and he wondered if she would call the obvious lie, but it seemed that for all her unique Hive, the Flying Queen still had little experience with an Antinium lying to her. She chattered as her Hive buzzed around her, bringing her reports.

“You visited the Silent Hive first? The Silent Queen and her new litv-gel. I tried it, you know. Too easily contaminated, too much waste in creating sterilized environments. So what if it was how Shaper Queens once did it? The variations in each gestation cycle can lead to incredible improvements! She’ll see. They’ll all see. Flight is within possibility! The rogue specimens prove that! I just need a few more to figure out what was done…not just that. I have a hundred different projects going at once. How did the Spiked-Projectile Test C%5 go?”

She turned, and one of the Prognugators scuttled over to whisper. The Flying Queen had proto-wings, Garry saw, and they buzzed.

“Krxsching tests. Reprocess. Try again with, um, 50% less isteh. Redesign firing ports.”

“Could the Antinium who failed not still be used, Flying Queen?”

The Flying Antinium Prognugator halted when Garry stepped in front of her, but the Flying Queen raised a feeler.

“What? No. Lifespans are measured in weeks. They don’t even have fully functional minds. Inefficient. Setbacks, Baker. You can see that sacrifices have to be made. Tell them that. The Solstice event? Regrettable, but victory was attained. And a Centenium has returned to us! Devrkr the Glowing!”

All the Antninium’s wings thrummed as she raised her feelers, and Garry saw a being standing above him—a huge, truly pillbug-shaped Antinium with glowing eyes and a body that was illuminated from within—staring down at him from a tunnel. The massive Antinium turned, and Garry addressed the Flying Queen.

“I would like to speak to Devrkr, if that is possible, Flying Queen.”

She twitched and spoke nervously.

“What? No. Impossible. Devrkr is very moody. Restless. Utterly loyal to me. You’ve seen him. Report back. No, wait. Leave more of this ‘sweet’ food. Very commendable, your work. I shall eat whatever you send. I wonder…can I use this in an experiment? Put this in Vats $44-88—”

She handed some Turkish delight to one of her Prognugators, and Garry turned, but the mysterious reborn Centenium was gone. He began to see why the Grand Queen was stressed. The Flying and Silent Queens were so totally opposite…

And whatever issues the other Hives had with the Flying Queen, it was clear that despite her social isolation, and her chaotic Hive, hers had a level of power that rivaled the Grand Queen herself.

At least, in theory.

——

Devrkr the Glowing had returned. Only, Garry was not allowed to see the mighty Antinium. He rather resembled a pillbug mixed with an alchemical experiment; he could apparently generate countless poisons or compounds in his body, and he was swifter than he seemed.

Garry knew this because he spotted Devrkr watching him several times as he toured the Flying Hive, telling his story and giving out gifts to the Flying Queen’s subjects. But each time Garry approached, the Centenium vanished.

“Is he…reclusive? What is he like?”

Garry turned to one of the Flying Queen’s Prognugators, and the Antinium instantly grew evasive.

“Devrkr is as Devrkr was.”

“Ah, are you old enough to remember him from before the First Antinium War?”

“I? No, I was created in the last two months. But Devrkr is the Centenium, reborn thanks to the Flying Queen’s wisdom! My body is proof of that. His secretions enable the Flying Queen to create Antinium of surpassing value. Even the Silent Queen cannot keep up!”

Certainly, this particular Flying Antinium had a weird, silvery chitin that he claimed was stronger than any other Antinium’s.

“It has survived attacks from the big red birds, Custodium blades, and even Wrymvr’s blow.”

“You sparred with Wrymvr?”

Garry was impressed by this, but the Flying Prognugator, Rittv, hesitated.

“He struck me once upon my request. I did nearly die, but I am proof of the Flying Queen’s genius! I unseated a traditionally-made Prognugator before me.”

The hierarchy again. Garry was impressed.

“How many more of your kind will be made, then?”

“More…? Just me. Devrkr only secreted enough of the compound for one group of Flying Antinium, and I alone survived my batch.”

“Can he not make more of the same if it is so effective?”

Again, Rittv revealed the weakness of the Flying Hive in the long pause.

“The Flying Queen is…uncertain as to the exact conditions that created my form, as well as Devrkr’s compounds. They are both attempting to replicate my success, as are the sub-Queens. It shall happen!”

Interesting. Devrkr didn’t know what he’d done? Or the Flying Queen couldn’t recall or reproduce her works. Then Garry caught onto something he’d heard.

“Sub-Queens?”

——

There were three Queens in the Flying Hive aside from the Flying Queen herself. That alone should have made the Hivelands explode with new Hives and redeemed the Flying Queen’s disgraceful conduct at the Winter Solstice.

However, she hadn’t introduced the Queens to the others yet. Which had the Grand Queen agitated. She probably suspected the Flying Queen was holding them back due to the infighting, and this was partly true, but the other reason the Flying Queen was holding them in her Hive was obvious to Garry.

Like Devrkr, the gifts of Kasigna had not been perfect.

“Hello, little Worker-Baker. I am Rebithia. Sub-Queen of the Flying Queen, most glorious and imaginative Queen of them all. What is this foodstuff you offer? Does the Flying Queen have more lessons for me? Her experiments in Batch &55 have not gone…ah, well.”

The Queen who called herself a fairly non-Antinium name was small! She was, in fact, barely ten feet tall, and she never stood at her full height; she crawled around like, well, an Ant-queen, only with the ability to sit, and with rather delicate feelers, she was tending to a Birther Sac with.

One look at her and Garry understood that the Free Queen and all the others had forced their growths on their bodies at great cost. This was what a regular Queen looked like: more of a worker like Octavia than some imposing broodmother.

They could lay eggs, and in fact, that was what Rebithia was doing; tending to eggs growing in Birther Sacs with additive compounds. But she was also entirely…wrong.

“Hello, Queen Rebithia. I have a present of cake, if you would like to try it…?”

She was delighted by the cake and devoured it after tasting a sample.

“Such a delicious thing! So wonderful. Oh. It is gone. Can more be made?”

When Garry revealed the recipe was easy enough, Rebithia excitedly cleared an area in the huge laboratory she was working in and mixed up some cake batter under his tutelage. She liked cooking so much, in fact, she called the other two sub-Queens over.

Prixima and Wixv were both eager, excited, and adoring of the Flying Queen. They were smart; they could memorize the cake recipe in moments, clearly knew how to make new Antinium, and had no problems with mobility.

And they had no recollection of Rhir whatsoever. Garry brought it up despite the watchful Flying Antinium, who were clearly here to make sure he didn’t learn anything that would harm their Hive’s reputation. But they couldn’t stop him whispering to the sub-Queens when they were building a primitive oven for the cake.

“Is this much like food back in Rhir, Queen Rebithia?”

She patted some clay bricks into shape and answered cheerfully.

“I do not know! The Flying Queen remembers much, but I was simply created at the Winter Solstice. She has bade us not to tell other Queens that she promises to introduce us to—once we know enough. I do not think Devrkr remembers much either. He often comes by. He is…sad.”

“But you are telling me, Rebithia?”

She clacked her mandibles, amused.

“You are not a Queen, are you, Baker Garry? Or Custodium. We obey the Flying Queen’s instructions perfectly! She would like to make more of us, but sadly, creating another of us is difficult. Very difficult. Prixima sacrificed a feeler, but we have made little of it.”

And that was the Flying Queen’s great weakness. She was a lot of potential, but her ability to carry through?

She had three Queens and a Centenium, none of whom were the legends of old. Garry left it at that as Flying Prognugators buzzed around him and herded the excited sub-Queens back to work. He weighed reporting this to the Grand Queen, but decided he’d play dumb.

At least the Flying Antinium loved his book; the sub-Queens didn’t understand it, but enjoyed the story, whereas Garry had to shoo off Flying Antinium who wanted to follow him back to the Grand Hive after he left.

Lonely Antinium, regardless of all the changes in the Flying Hive. He told the Grand Queen he was very impressed by Devrkr and the sub-Queens without revealing their weakness.

The Free Queen could make her decisions based on this knowledge, but Garry didn’t care for the Flying Hive one bit. Not the Flying Queen’s braggadocious nature and lack of follow-through. It reminded him a lot of the Earthers when they’d first come to Erin’s inn. And second?

…They looked like flies, alright? Garry hated flies in his kitchen. But that was how he found the Flying Hive.

As for the Twisted Queen, he’d heard stories. But he didn’t get to meet her; he never even got close to her Hive.

——

An earthquake had apparently sealed the Twisted Hive’s connection to the Grand Hive, and it had yet to be cleared. Which was fine; even the Custodium hadn’t exactly volunteered to escort Garry there.

Undeterred, the [Baker] had been marching over the dry, blasted surface of the Hivelands towards the Twisted Hive. He’d been told it had been meeting supply quotas from the Grand Hive, but that the Twisted Queen was even more silent than usual, although her Antinium had been less…odd of late.

He’d also been told by everyone, including the Grand Queen, that visiting her was not only a waste of time, but might be hazardous to his health—mentally, if not physically. Garry had been going anyways when he heard a tremendous thrumming of wings and a roar that had made all the Painted Antinium freeze.

Wrymvr the Deathless landed like a comet on the ground and knocked everyone except Garry backwards in a cloud of dust. His voice came from his many mouths as the being created of a dead Wyrm, the immortal guardian of Queens, spoke.

“Baker.”

(Baker Garry. Turn back. Twisted Queen does not desire to see you.)

His ‘voice’ came at Garry twofold, and his mental tone was far more eloquent than his verbal one, although it was still short, decisive. Garry lifted a hand.

“Hello, Centenium Wrymvr. I have come with gifts for the Twisted Queen. I greet you and have offerings for you as well.”

He made to walk around the Deathless and got the distinct impression he surprised the vast Antinium before a long claw-scythe extended and blocked his way.

“No.”

Garry pushed at the claw-scythe and then winced.

“Ow. That’s sharp.”

He pushed the arm down instead. This time, Wrymvr shuffled to watch Garry jog around his body. The Deathless leapt up—landed. Blocking Garry’s path.

“Leave.”

“I merely wish to see the Twisted Hive.”

Garry met the ‘eye’ pulsing at him through one of the gaps in the vast, armored body. Sixteen mouths buzzed at him as the Painted Antinium backed up.

“You. Annoying. Me.”

“We are very sorry, Centenium Wrymvr! We are going now, right, Garry? We must excrete rapidly!”

Runearmor waved all four arms as Garry tilted his head. The [Baker] smiled at the Deathless.

“Can I offer you some Scaethen Bread, Deathless?”

He produced a glowing red loaf. Wrymvr accepted it into a gnashing mouth, chewed, swallowed. A gurgle ran through his body.

“Acceptable. Leave.”

“I would like to present the Twisted Queen with—”

Garry walked sideways, and Wrymvr scuttled left. Blocked him. Garry tilted his head again.

“Why is the Twisted Queen so insistent on not seeing me in person?”

“Dis-interested.”

“I am very interested in seeing her. The Free Queen has bade me deliver food for everyone.”

“I. Deliver.”

“I should do it myself.”

The two stared at each other. Wrymvr’s mind pulsed at Garry, a thought that was direct and almost…amused.

(Anand was not so bold. I am not a Queen, [Baker]. You have no value in war. Leave. We have no use for you.)

Garry dipped his head.

“I am aware. But I wish to see the Antinium of the Twisted Hive. The Queen I may take or leave. Excuse me.”

So saying, he put his four hands on Wrymvr’s side and pushed. One side of the Deathless’ body moved ever-so-slightly—and he put his right side down hard. He didn’t move.

Garry’s feet dug into the ground as the Painted Antinium and Custodium ran back, watching. The [Baker] pushed harder, and Wrymvr’s feet didn’t move. The two were silent as Wrymvr clicked from a dozen mouths.

—After ten minutes, Garry backed up. He jogged left. Wrymvr flew left. He jogged right. Wrymvr flew right. He pushed, and one of Wrymvr’s feet tore out of its anchor-hold in the ground.

At last, Garry stepped back.

“Hmm.”

(Strange [Baker].)

The two regarded each other silently. Garry adjusted his hat.

“I would like to see your Workers and Soldiers.”

Wrymvr’s mental tone was amused, but guarded.

(They are not being ‘mistreated’. Leave.)

“I could ask the Grand Queen to give me permission to visit. I am sure that might be…problematic for you.”

This time, Wrymvr scuttled forwards a few steps until he loomed over Garry, but his mental tone was light. Even playful.

(I could ask the Grand Queen how much grain goes into a ‘waffle’. I am sure that might be…problematic for you.)

Garry tilted his head. Wrymvr clicked in distinct amusement. The [Baker] folded his arms.

“I have your word that the Twisted Antinium are well?”

For answer, Wrymvr sent him an image of Antinium doing mostly Antinium-things. Harvesting insects, growing mushrooms and mold, tending to Birther Sacs—they looked mostly like Free Antinium with minor variants, but not the horrors that Anand had mentioned.

(New Antinium are only Worker-Soldier variants. No additional combat forms needed at this time. Desist, strange [Baker]. You are not Him.)

The ‘Him’ came with another image, regret, nostalgia, longing—and a certainty that Garry was going to start pushing his luck if he kept going.

Garry decided that was all he was going to get. He backed up, then began unloading his food for the Twisted Queen.

“Please share this in your Hive as you see fit, Wrymvr. Good day to you. If you would ever like to sample my food, please ask. Oh—”

He half-turned as Wrymvr began forming the food into a ball so he could fly off with it. Garry glanced back at Wrymvr.

“Tell me. You are one of the three Centenium remaining. Four, excuse me, with Devrkr. I have met Klbkch and Xrn. You three are different, high-level. The Queens seem industrious and loyal. Purely out of curiosity, how much does this resemble the Antinium that once were? I never asked Klbkch, but his stories make it seem very different.”

“Kzkch. Quantify question.”

Wrymvr rumbled as his wings beat, and Garry shrugged.

“Upon a scale of one to a hundred?”

The Centenium thought about it as he hovered in the air. All the Painted Antinium and Custodium peeked over a ridge of dried dirt, wondering if Storytime Wrymvr would appear to enlighten the world with his nostalgia. The Deathless of the Antinium spoke, just once, before he leapt into the air.

“Two.”

Garry craned his head backwards to watch the Antinium flying off back towards his Hive. He turned and shook his head.

“Well. No wonder the Centenium are so grumpy.”

He was trudging back when a faint voice spoke in his mind.

(They are grumpy. I am preparing. Keep distracting the Drakes, amusing, useless [Baker]. Anand was what we waited for.)

Garry spun on his heel and almost went running back towards the Twisted Hive, then caught himself. The Custodium were watching him. He trudged back the way he’d come, thinking.

Could it be? That did lighten his heart.

So did the final Hive, which he found he liked the most. At the end of his long day, Garry the Baker had one conversation he treasured with the only Queen he truly liked in the Hivelands, and he did a small thing with his hands.

——

The Hivelands were changing, varied, and vast, and perhaps, in the sea of Antinium, there were some who were like Garry, emerging or longing to exit the hole they found themselves in.

He didn’t know. Garry had given out food, and he would make bread to hand out, and he had asked for volunteers to read his storybook in the Hives he had access to; the Painted Antinium were only too willing to do that and preach their own ways to the Antinium they came across.

Garry was less happy about that, but he supposed a life as a Painted Antinium was better than not. He just disagreed that Pawn’s flock had all come to his point of view out of the pure, theological strength of Pawn’s arguments.

But then, what did Garry know? He loved Pawn like a brother, and if he didn’t get into debates with Pawn, it was just because the Free Hive didn’t need that kind of strife. Plus, he was pretty sure Pawn would curl up into a ball again if he lost.

Garry had a lot of opinions.

Garry saw a lot of things. But like a good [Baker], like a good salesperson, he didn’t share his opinions with his clients, who were everyone. He knew how to handle the Grand Queen. One did not survive Liscor’s streets, even in the Antinium’s district, without handling a few ornery customers.

“There was this Gnoll who’d come by and harass my storefront every day. He’d kick dirt at my stall, make rude comments, hassle my guests…”

He was relating the story to the other Painted Antinium as they walked, more slowly, towards the Armored Hive, which was actually one of the closest ones to the Grand Hive. But they were slow because the first shipment of the Grand Queen’s new ‘project’ was coming with them.

[Slaves]. They had on collars and, sometimes, bracelets and ankle-manacles which could be affixed with chains. Most were younger; Garry imagined the sea voyage would kill any older passengers, and they had probably been selected with physical fitness in mind.

What interested him was that the Grand Queen had selected the Armored Queen to receive the first selection of [Slaves]. That indicated the Armored Queen was most favored of the Queens—and that the Grand Queen wanted to win her over.

The second interesting thing was this: the [Slaves] were carrying some of the supplies they had brought. Cooking material, sleeping equipment like bedrolls, most of it so they could perform functions for their new owners. It was a heavy burden, and no less than eight Custodium and sixty Soldiers were accompanying the group.

And three of the Custodium were carrying supplies. A dozen Soldiers as well. In fact, a rolling cart was being pulled by two Soldiers, and several [Slaves] were sitting on it.

Odd. Garry noticed Custodium 8 was actually walking in the middle as a young Stitch-boy limped while holding onto his shoulder. The [Baker] kept his story going as they approached the Armored Antinium’s domain. Several armored Workers pointed bows at them, and one of the Custodium leapt ahead to make contact.

Patrols. Fortifications. Barricades of stone, which they passed by in increasing number as they headed towards the Armored Hive. The Armored Queen was definitely the most battle-ready. Garry kept talking as an Armored Prognugator came to escort them.

“Not just Gnolls. I had a Drake woman who hated Antinium and told me I was a monster every day for months.”

“That is very upsetting, Baker Garry. Did you call the Watch on them?”

Runearmor turned to Garry, mandibles open in surprise. Garry smiled at him.

“At first. It did not work and, in fact, only encouraged them. In time, I believe the Gnollish community informed my first harasser to stop bothering me. As for Miss Riclaw? I eventually got her to try some of my cooking. I befriended her.”

“After she was so mean to you?”

“Yes. Her son died in the first Antinium War. She had every reason to hate me. It took months, but she eventually tried my cooking one day and then told me she’d stop visiting me. I see her now and then.”

The Painted Antinium eyed each other.

“But she was very mean to you. And you said that the Watch was called on your store sometimes to inspect your food. And someone threw things at your stall at night. Was that not her?”

“It might have been, and I suspect so, yes.”

“Then you should take vengeance! As Erin did to Lism!”

Garry’s antennae rolled in a circle, much like someone rolling his eyes.

“Not everything is about victory or defeat or revenge, Runearmor. My point is that the Queens are much like that.”

“…How so?”

Egad. Maybe Pawn should send his Painted Antinium to enter the workforce more often. All they did was pray, train, and fight, right? Garry was pretty certain that if he’d just related the same story to Silveran or any Antinium who worked in Silveran’s Cleaners, they would have understood the metaphor.

He was getting more critical of Pawn’s faith. He had already been critical of the Hives, and…maybe he was becoming more independent in his way. Like Bird. But Garry had a lot to say about Bird too. If anyone wanted to hear his opinion on how Bird dealt with her emotions by shooting her namesake just because she was jealous of them being able to fly—

That was why it was silly when people called him ‘Santa Garry’ or said ‘Garry Christmas’. He’d take the name. He’d take the idea, but he was a deeply petty person with tons of flaws. Ask anyone.

Garry didn’t have high expectations of the Armored Hive after a full day of wandering around and understanding the Hivelands truly were in a state of peace as a holding pattern before the next war. A people trying to reclaim greatness. A sword trying to swing through a continent, only hampered by what it had lost.

That was why he thought the Armored Queen would grate most on his nerves. She was the most warlike Queen after all, wasn’t she?

Only…when Garry saw the entrance to the Armored Hive, he realized that she had changed as well. But what she had changed to wasn’t…

“Oh. Is that a drawbridge?”

Runearmor perked up when they came to a huge gateway in the tunnels. A literal gateway with a portcullis and everything.

And a moat. The Armored Hive was being rebuilt out of stone, but unlike the Grand Queen, they used plain stones, not fancy marble. Garry stared down at the moat as their procession walked over it. It was filled with nothing, because Antinium hated water, but that gate…that was a look. When they passed through the entrance and into the Hive, he got the style the Armored Hive was going for.

“Ah. [Knights].”

The Custodium and other Antinium turned to look at him and then at the rank of Antinium Workers practicing with swords in the ‘courtyard’ beyond.

Garry had run into Armored Antinium from the Hive before, but they had been more reminiscent of [Soldiers] wearing plate armor, like Tersk and Dekass. This armor struck him as a bit…fancier.

Maybe it was the helmets. The Armored Prognugator who had come to escort them had a working visor, which he flipped up to address Garry.

“Sir Baker, you have come to the first Keep of the Armored Hive. It is an experimental area meant to encourage levels as the Free Queen has done. Here, ye and yon company stand amidst warriors of valor. Behold the flame of the Armored Queen that lights this bastion.”

Even his modality of speech was fanciful. But one glance past the Armored Prognugator at the light source that was making this dark Hive as bright as the noonday and Garry just sighed.

“Oh. I must re-evaluate my preconceptions again. Silly Garry. Of all the Queens…I think Erin should meet and would like this one the most. I hope I shall.”

A huge brazier stood in the courtyard in which Antinium were training. It was being fed with coal and other burnable items now and then. An expensive, unnecessary addition to the Hive given that Aninium did not need the light. Or so the other Queens probably said.

But Garry understood. This light gave the [Aspirants] their vigor. It was responsible for the [Flametender] Worker’s class. It was why the Armored Hive had sent so many [Squires] to the Order of Solstice…and it changed the Hive.

The pink flame of Embraim’s glory burned high in the keep, towards the high rooftops above. Garry walked forwards as the Custodium and [Slaves] halted, mesmerized by this glow that touched something inside of them.

He saw Antinium kneeling in front of the fire, clasping helmets or using swords planted in the ground to rest. Garry gazed upwards and saw in the depths of that roaring flame a circle of bodies standing in front of an inn.

An [Innkeeper] playing chess with a Worker.

He shaded his eyes, and a smiling village of relieved Humans was in front of him—a team of silly adventurers standing over the body of an Adult Creler. He turned his head as someone came to rest beside him.

“What is your name, Prognugator of the Armored Antinium?”

“I am Tersk the Second. I bear the name of my honorable forebear, who fell defending our kin in the Free Antinium. I beheld this flame in the first minute of my waking. Is it not a sight to inspire all hearts and meaning, Baker Garry? I am told it first started in your city.”

Garry nodded absently.

“It did. I know the woman who held it first. It is a beautiful flame, Tersk the Second. But it is not my flame. I bake with flames; I do not live as one. I am glad it gives you some comfort. Tell me. How did it come to be here? Did an Antinium truly find Embraim’s lantern?”

Tersk the Second hesitated and put his helmet back on his head.

“Perhaps one did. Even now, more find his lantern and are trained, even if they are not sent to the Order of Solstice. But the flame came from our Queen.”

“Then she is a monster or a woman I would very much like to meet. Or both. But she shall be interesting.”

Tersk II twisted to gaze at Garry, affronted. But the [Baker] just walked forwards and stuck his hand into the brazier. He held a ball of glory in his palms and gazed into the heart of the magical fire for a moment, then gently closed his hand.

“I wonder what the Queens see in this.”

——

The Armored Queen of the Antinium had no frippery in her throne room. She was largest of the Antinium Queens. The one who had sacrificed most to birth the first Antinium on Izril’s shores, and Garry was wrong.

She was not most warlike. Merely the most dedicated to the cause she had never forgotten. He did halt when he encountered the giants.

They stood twice as tall as any Soldier, garbed in armor of their own, flanking the double-doors. Even the Painted Antinium quailed when they encountered the ultimate Antinium that the Armored Queen had created. Giant Antinium, meant to inspire dread in the Armored Antinium’s foes.

Walking targets. But these ones stood and regarded the smaller Antinium with more perception than most. They held two glowing braziers that illuminated the hallway as they swung a greatsword and greataxe down to block Garry’s path.

“Let the Baker enter alone. I will view the Grand Queen’s [Slaves] later. I shall welcome the Painted Antinium later. First let me see this Antinium who would feed a world of hunger. Enter, Baker Garry. I welcome thee to the Armored Hive.”

A voice boomed from behind the double doors, and the weapons dropped. No Queen had welcomed Garry to their throne room in advance.

As the doors opened, Garry walked forwards and found that the Armored Queen truly had taken to the image of knighthood. She sat in a room of polished grey stone, almost slick, so smooth it would not damage her abdomen as it dragged across the ground.

The clank of distant forges filled the air along with the smell of metal, but her chambers were quiet as the doors closed. The first thing that Garry saw were the statues.

The Armored Queen’s statues of Centenium past had been moved, positioned around the room where they gazed down, illuminated only by a single, hanging chandelier that held those same pink flames.

And a bookcase. An inert forge, where it seemed like pieces of armor were being fitted and altered. A vast reading desk sat with a gigantic magnifying glass, such that the Armored Queen could read the tiny books.

She herself sat on a pile of pillows of various colors, a giant, bloated Queen, her carapace visibly damaged from where the growth she had caused to her body had strained her form beyond its limits.

Nevertheless, she had sat upright to greet her guest, and one of her long feeler-arms was raised in a very Human-like greeting. Only, the greeting never came.

When she beheld Garry, the Armored Queen froze. As he walked forwards, head circling the room, she sank back against her pillows and reached for something. The Armored Queen pulled out a second light-source. A lantern hanging from a huge chain, like a flail, and the pink flame of glory bloomed. She held it up, still trembling, and whispered.

“Galuc? Is that you?”

The vision before her halted, and the Armored Queen realized no—no, it could not be him. He was far, far too small. And yet…

“I am not that person, Armored Queen. I greet you. I am Garry, the Baker. Who is Galuc, please?”

She was silent for a long while. Then the huge Queen rose higher and crawled forward until she loomed over him, but not with hostility. He realized she was kneeling, and her huge head dipped downwards, as if she were bowing to him.

“Rise, Baker. You are not Galuc. It was a trick of the light. But you…you walk in his shadow unlike any Antinium I have ever seen. You have his bearing.”

“I…do? Who is Galuc?”

The Armored Queen’s mandibles opened in shock and hurt.

“She never spoke of him to you? Galuc the Builder? He is the Antinium that every Worker and Soldier is derived from, though none can match his stature. The brave Antinium who dove into the sea that the Kraken who was destroying our fleet might be driven away. You…you are taller, despite being a Worker. How?”

She recognized his broader shoulders, the change in his height that was becoming more noticeable, especially after his delivery. Garry rolled his shoulders uncomfortably.

“I do not know. I eat a…special bread. Perhaps that is it? Armored Queen, I come bearing gifts. May I offer them to you?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Be welcome, Baker. Sit. I have refreshments of my own to offer you.”

Rattled, she sat and lifted a tray that held water and a very rough bread. But Garry realized this wasn’t a lack of resource or creativity; the Armored Queen had the exact same for herself.

“I have attempted to bake it, to understand you, Baker. Your food is far superior.”

He ducked his head.

“I would be honored to eat your bread, Armored Queen. I have never consumed food made by a Queen of the Antinium.”

“…No. I suppose you have not. But in the days we lived in Rhir, it would not have been so surprising. Antinium do not ‘cook’ save to process foods, but we ate foods far more palatable, even so. If a Shaper Queen had heard of your class, they would have created bread for amusement’s sake if they had the time.”

With every word and action, she made him welcome in ways each of the other Queens had not. She had a chair for him, and when he sat and smiled, it was with true pleasure.

“Armored Queen, you speak of Rhir. The Free Queen has told me some stories of our kind, but even the other Queens are loath to speak of it.”

She placed a feeler over her chest.

“It hurts the heart. I believe that is the expression other species use, and it is apt. I have been studying books of [Knights] that I may understand what calls so many of my Antinium to the flame. Like the other Hives, mine changes. But the longer I gaze into this pink flame—”

She indicated the glowing flame of glory.

“—The more I remember the past. It was not so long ago. You say Rhir, Garry. I say: home. But the Antinium of the Hives of Izril do not know home. They do not know why we fight. I have realized this upon speaking to them, and it troubles me greatly. The Grand Queen insists we are ready for war. But I view the Free Antinium and my own as they gain their individuality, which is like the Antinium of Rhir. And I wonder: will there come a day when the Queens give orders that the Antinium they rule will not obey?”

That rattled Garry. Not because what she was saying was at all surprising, but because one of the Queens had conceptualized it.

“You…speak to a valid concern, Armored Queen. Wherein did this insight lie?”

“Stories of chivalry and valor. Terandria’s Humans. It seems that these [Knights] who ride about with honor and quests love loyalty. But the more they love it, the more often they raise arms against an unjust ruler. Does it not follow that if I emulate them, I should fear the very same end of monarchs?”

Her logic was impeccable. She spoke in a curious way, much like the Free Queen or Silent Queen, with that rational logic commingled with the hints of Terandrian customs that her Hive was adopting. Garry was fascinated, and he nibbled on her bread—which went quite well with some warm honey actually—as he spoke.

“Armored Queen, it is true that Antinium diverge. I am not like the Painted Antinium, and they are not like the [Crusaders]. But what I hope unites us, what I hope to give to the Hives, is…meaning. Be it in food or deed, that is what I see all the Queens striving for in their own way.”

The Silent Queen in her experiments towards perfection, the Flying Queen in her race for superiority. The Grand Queen desiring authority and prestige—and the Armored Queen’s aspiring [Knights]. Garry gestured at his bag of holding.

“The problem is that no one [Baker] can feed the world—yet. To that end, I have brought other gifts. This simple creation, for instance.”

He showed her the book he’d written, and she instantly brought it over to her reading station and paged through it.

“Curious. Ah, and you have written this? It gives meaning…yes. It may give meaning, like that flame. But this word you write. ‘Despair’. It is not good, it is not fitting, I think, that this word should be the one to capture the state of our Workers and Soldiers. There was despair in Rhir. But also unity. Joys and sadness when we were as one. We have lost that. This flame is but an attempt to capture that.”

“The Unitasis Network?”

Again, she surprised him by shaking her head and bending over.

“No. Community. A word I have had to learn, for it was never what I lacked. I did not know I was lonely until I read the word and it called to me. This is not how Antinium should live, Garry. Day after day, I look at my Antinium and am ashamed. Not of them, but how I have failed them. Mine do not know why we fight. They do not see a future or dream of it. They do not know what they have lost. They have never sung. And Antinium sing.”

There it was. Just for a moment, her voice captured an essence like that flame, and Garry saw how it had come to her. He stared up at her, and his mandibles moved.

“Armored Queen. I have taken a liking to you when I confess I did not think I would.”

“The same holds true of me, Baker. I thought your mission was pointless. You fed the enemy. Then I wondered what I would say if it were Antinium in their place. We did not come to Izril to make Humans, Drakes, or Gnolls our enemies. We have only one. If you would, speak freely to me.”

He bowed his head.

“In that case, Armored Queen—these [Slaves] that the Grand Queen has sent are a bad idea. They come from Roshal, who has attacked the friends and people I love. They will not make the Hives stronger, but the opposite.”

The Armored Queen sat back, judging his words, and then spoke.

“I have studied Roshal. Their methods I do not understand. It cost the Hives little to give them the gold and other objects they desired. But what they gave in return? If they are to be warriors, they are reluctant ones held only by magic and threat. If they are to serve, the same applies. By allying ourselves with this nation, we make enemies of Demons. And Demons were not our enemies in Rhir. We treated with the Demon King. We still may. I have expressed this to the Grand Queen, but I suspect she finds my advice…tiresome.”

More and more fascination. Garry leaned forwards.

“Can you explain that, Armored Queen? You knew Demons?”

“Of course. You may ask the Free Queen, but what do you wish to know?”

“Er…quite a lot. When did we make contact with Demons? Why are we friendly? I would assume we were enemies from the Antinium Wars book I read. Though I know it is inaccurate.”

She smiled and made a click-chuckling sound.

“Ah, that book was most amusing. I asked Xrn if she had helped it be written on purpose. It is a boon to us. So much of what it attributes to our cunning was desperation. We had no specialist-Antinium until the end of the first war, for instance. It cites we held them in reserve: untrue. When General Sserys bore down on us with an army, we fought with all we had. He did not expect Xrn or Wrymvr, but had he lived, he might have destroyed us. None of us were War Queens.”

“War Queens? I heard those were specialist Queens. What are you all, then?”

“Generalists. To call us anything like a Shaper Queen or War Queen…if even a single one of them had landed in Izril, we might have won the first war. The Centenium are strong, but they are first-generation Antinium, and after the First Queen passed, no Shaper Queen dared touch their forms. War Queens are the culmination of our skill over many, many more millenia. The best of them approach the Centenium in sheer combat potential, though they are not so wise or experienced in other ways. In the same way, Shaper Queens could have made more Queens and many more war-forms. But I digress. You asked about Demons? Hmm.”

She put a feeler to her mandibles.

“I was young, so I had a rudimentary understanding of our situation. I was in service to one of the War Queens who led our damned expedition. The Demons let us pass when we emerged. Well, we told them we were leaving and that they could stand aside or war with us. Their ‘Deathless’ were wounded, and the Demon King allowed us to go. The Blighted King was not so responsive when we sent him messages.”

“You overran all but the last wall when you left.”

“Yes. The ships were behind the second-to-last wall. We didn’t need the ones past the final wall. The Demon King wanted us to break them, but it would have taken too many lives, I think. Also, both kingdoms are necessary to contain monsters we have no resources to deal with.”

“But you could you have done it?”

“Yes. I believe we could have done anything had we not fallen to the sea, where we did not know how to fight. I believe it still. Izril is fighting novices and a form not specialized for combat.”

Not even Soldiers?

That shocked him, and the Armored Queen waved a feeler.

“I mean no disrespect to the Queens’ works. The Soldiers are certainly useful, but their base-form was not a combat-form. Even the Silent Queen’s Antinium are not combat-forms in my mind. She has created them, and done it well! But she would be first to tell you that no Antinium on this continent has a true combat-form. Not even Wrymvr, since his is constantly changing and not the product of deliberate design. If you ever witness an Antinium made for war, Garry…then you will understand. Galuc and his ilk were meant to carve out the Hives. Fighting did not become him. He was gentle. It was why you reminded me of him.”

Garry knew he had things to do, but she drew him in, and he realized she was a storyteller. For all he liked the Free Queen and had grown to be her friend—she was not good at stories. The Armored Queen? Was.

“Armored Queen, the Demons? When did they make peace with us?”

Another smile as she settled back.

“Ah, forgive me. I am lost in memory, and it does not hurt today. When did we make peace? Shortly after they appeared as a formal nation. The first ‘Demons’ were odd. The First Queen met them, and they were…the current body you refer to came far later, when they were an actual group. They attempted some hostilities, but both sides were recovering from the Creler Wars. One of the greatest and most devastating periods of fighting for the Antinium as well as the world. Shortly after their founding, however, we made contact. We have never sought their aid, though.”

“Why? Surely the Deathless could be an asset.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps they could. But in our experience, that-which-slumbers corrupts and turns all non-Antinium against us more often than not. To let something die in their presence is to see it become a weapon for another wave of created monsters. Only Antinium resist.”

She paused and grew silent.

“You understand that I do not name it. If the Free Queen has not told you…”

“She has told me enough, Armored Queen. The same threat has returned, and my [Innkeeper] fights it.”

“Yes. So I understand. If so, the Antinium must prepare for even greater war. I do not know if we can win. Even a second such being would be more than we can hold. And we have held…since the First Queen fell. If she could not best it, then it will take a continent’s worth of Hives. Or perhaps levels. Yours rise, and mine have risen to levels that would place me well amongst Rhir’s Queens. I have passed Level 30, though it took me long to do so. It is not enough. Twice as many levels are not enough.”

Like him, she did not feel adequate. Garry sat in the Armored Queen’s presence and spoke until he realized that the Painted Antinium were waiting outside. Then he sprang up to introduce them, and the Armored Queen seemed genuinely regretful.

“I would speak to you for hours or days of the past, Baker Garry. But you have your task, and I mine. If only I could tell all Antinium thusly.”

He paused as he decided now was the moment. Garry bowed to the Armored Queen.

“With your permission, I will act on my own as I think I must, Armored Queen. It is true that I wish I could speak longer to you, but you are right. We are too busy to waste time, even on beautiful stories. But if you wish it, Klbkch found an audience for his tales. I think we Antinium…love stories.”

He hefted his book he had written, and the Armored Queen sat there thoughtfully.

“Act as you must, Baker Garry. Will you also be requesting stores of Armored Antinium grain? Some I may spare you. Not enough to feed Izril.”

The pink flames glinted as she smiled, and Garry bowed.

“I shall be happy to explain myself to you, Armored Queen. I am only doing as my class…no, my heart informs me.”

She lifted a feeler.

“I shall watch with interest then, Baker. Now, Painted Antinium. Break bread with me.”

——

What a Queen. Garry understood how she galvanized the hearts of her Armored Antinium. Combined with the fire, and these Antinium had a vision. A passion.

In fact, the Grand Queen’s gift to the Armored Antinium was probably going to land worst of all the Hives, because the Armored Antinium weren’t doing anything with the [Slaves].

Well, what did she expect? [Slaves] existed to be ordered around, and most Antinium had no orders to give. If Garry understood their class right, they were meant to be used, despite being people, and the Antinium’s roles meant there was nowhere for a [Slave] to fit.

The restless group that Tersk II was inspecting were visibly nervous, probably wondering what this Hive wanted of them, but Custodium 8 was giving Tersk a list of tasks they could be put to.

“They are aptly suited for fine manipulation work. Some have talents complimentary to this Hive, such as smithing, polishing of armor. Their Skills will prove efficacious.”

“I see. We shall utilize this asset from the Grand Hive, of course. My Queen wishes to inspect them. Some may serve her if they are not threats. Ah, Baker Garry.”

Tersk II turned, but Garry waved one hand, indicating they should go on, so Custodium 8 continued talking.

“The [Slaves] require non-standard feed for optimum performance.”

“How taxing. Will our [Knight]-foodstuffs do?”

“I believe so, though they have been instructed to inform their masters if nutrition or conditions are insufficient. They will fail to do so, otherwise. I shall now indicate [Slaves] of noteworthy level or ability.”

Then he did a curious thing. He beckoned forwards the [Slave] that Garry had noticed him helping walk. It was a Stitch-boy with a bandaged right foot, who stood timidly, staring up at Custodium 8. And the Custodium…patted his head.

“This is Eisil. He requires additional foodstuffs per meal, as he is still in development.”

“They do not come fully-grown? Very inefficient.”

Custodium 8 bristled and put a hand on one of his sword-hilts.

“He is very efficient at giving comfort. He also requires suitable cloth to repair his body, which is being procured.”

“Comfort. A mysterious notion.”

Tersk II definitely emulated his forebear in a lot of ways, and he peered down at the boy, who flinched, hid behind Custodium 8, and then gave a timid smile up at the [Knight]. He was innocent-looking, with huge eyes, and stuttered.

“I—I live to serve, master! Please tell me how I can help!”

“Hello. I am Tersk the Second. I shall indeed inform you of any ways in which you can help. What are your specialities?”

Tersk peered down, and the boy began to list his strengths, which mainly seemed to be caring for arms and armor. That made the Prognugator brighten, and encouraged, more [Slaves] came forwards, smiling at their new masters.

And Garry watched. He did not miss how some of them hugged their Custodium or even Antinium Soldiers, who were visibly upset as they stood back. It rather reminded Garry of how Antinium would get a puppy assigned to their barracks and fawn over the animals and get angry at Furfur for making sure the creatures had structure and discipline.

Only, these were [Slaves], so in a sense, they were even better than animals because they could talk and understand you.

The [Baker] stood there as the Grand Queen’s delivery of [Slaves] began to ingratiate themselves with their hosts. Then he saw a Drowned Girl appear to his right. She bowed deeply, and she had a long eel’s arm, humanoid but rubbery.

“Master Garry? I am Gilha, a [Cook], who served food for the Grand Queen. She has ordered me to learn from you and serve you. May I help you? You are the most incredible [Chef] I have ever met!”

She beamed up at him with such genuine admiration that Garry felt his heart lifting up. A few other [Slaves] came clustering around, and he saw Antinium smiling, Custodium 8 saying goodbye to Eisil, promising he would come and visit or that Eisil could come back to the Grand Hive.

“Master?”

Gilha drew closer and tugged on his apron. Her face shone up at him, and Garry turned abruptly and snapped.

“StOp using your skIlLs on me.”

The fluttering note of fury in his voice made all the Antinium stop smiling and swing around. The Custodium’s hands fell to their blades, and Gilha went tumbling backwards, bowing.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, Master, forgive me—”

She prostrated herself on the ground, but Garry was already standing back, a good dozen paces. Tersk II turned to him, confused.

“Baker? What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Excuse me, Tersk II.”

Garry retreated and noted how all the [Slaves] eyed him, then bowed their heads and did not approach. He felt at himself and wiped his hands on his apron. He felt…dirty. Like the Silent Queen’s clean gel being stained by something insidious.

They were using Skills. [Slave]-Skills. If Garry didn’t have his levels, he thought it would have probably worked on him. He tried to guess what Skills they were.

[Charming Smile]? [Master’s Affection]? Something like that. It was a very clever move.

Antinium didn’t use [Appraisal] spells, and even if they did, so what? These were probably natural Skills that most [Slaves] got in order to, well, survive. Garry thought to himself as he watched the [Slaves] being herded towards an area where they’d be quartered.

These might not even have orders. They may just be regular [Slaves] and a few spies were slipped in. The Custodium dealt with the spies, most likely. These are just…regular ones. To get Antinium used to them.

Just to be certain, he went to Custodium 8 and asked him about it. The surprised Antinium was watching his Stitch-boy go and replied.

“Yes. Some [Slaves] had magical brands or devices hidden in unique places. Each one was identified thanks to Centenium Xrn’s magic or made obvious. These ones are merely [Slaves]. We have [Appraised] them, Baker Garry. Shouting at them is also disruptive to their health.”

Garry ignored the glower.

“Yes, I’m sure it is. Well, I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get.”

He walked after the [Slaves], and Custodium 8 remembered he was on escort duty. In fact, a lot of the Custodium were following the [Slaves].

For Antinium like them, these free-thinking people were probably their only friends. Garry got that, and he was conscious of the Painted Antinium catching up with him, munching on the Armored Queen’s bread.

“Hey, Garry. Are we getting more supplies?”

“No. We’re visiting the [Slaves], Runearmor.”

“Oh. I thought Pawn didn’t like them.”

“I’m not Pawn. His bread is worse than mine. He can’t even bake.”

All the Painted Antinium halted, affronted, and Garry strode on. Runearmor hopped after Garry.

“Garry, Garry. We are all very impressed with you since you deliver bread. But even if you are Santa, you must take that back! Pawn is wonderful in every way.”

“He’s an Antinium, and so am I.”

“He is the best of Antinium! He was first to see the sky!”

Garry halted.

“Runearmor. I worked in Liscor just like Pawn. I left the Hive. We all saw the sky.”

“…I mean the real sky. Pawn is the one who invented our religion!”

“There you go. He’s great.”

“I sense sarcasm! I am getting angry, Baker Garry! Pawn is the only one of us who has had intimate relations!”

“Sure. The only one.”

The Painted Antinium glanced at each other, suddenly confused. Was Garry implying…? Runearmor stopped.

“Lewdquill doesn’t count! And Chesacre and Thaina! Pawn is—is—he and Lyonette were dating! He is a master of sex!”

“I don’t think Lyonette would agree with that. Also, this is not a metric that I find compelling. Runearmor, I’m not trying to offend your love of Pawn. I just don’t respect a lot of things.”

The silly argument had brought them into the holding pens where the [Slaves] were being chained up to the stone walls. They had beds, but the chains were, Garry supposed, traditional. The arguing Painted Antinium jostled around Garry, who shoved them aside as Tersk turned. The Custodium were shushing everyone.

“The [Slaves] require ample rest.”

One informed Garry haughtily, and he walked over to…Eisil was it? The boy smiled nervously and warily up at Garry and bowed, ready for orders. Garry observed that he had chains on his arms and legs that fed into one that went into the walls. And each one was linked to the same chain.

If one [Slave] tried to run, they’d drag the others with them. Was this standard for all…? No, he suspected you’d probably have magical collars and whatnot.

Actually. He peered at Eisil’s neck, and the collar looked semi-magic. Garry spoke over his shoulder.

“Question, Custodium 8. Are these collars enchanted with death-magic that kill the [Slaves] if they try to escape?”

All of the ones in the room flinched as Custodium 8 replied a touch anxiously.

“They are not. Those are expensive, and the Grand Queen was sure any runaways could be hunted down without the need for them. None have attempted to escape, aside from suspected spies.”

Well, where would they run? The Hivelands were hundreds of miles of empty ground with nothing to eat, and Antinium were everywhere. Perfect for Roshal to send their products.

Garry nodded and bent down. He inspected Eisil’s cuffs.

“M-Master? Can I do anything for you?”

“You can hold still.”

The Stitch-boy did that, and Garry took the link of iron in his hands. It clanked as Tersk II produced the key.

“If you require one of the [Slaves], Garry, I can unlock them for you. I shall do so.”

“Oh, I’m fine, Tersk II. Thank you.”

You remind me of Galuc. The Armored Queen had spoken, and Garry wondered if that was what Scaethen Bread did. The Flying Antinium, him…was it changing them to be like their true shapes? Or was it just what they wanted?

He did not know. He only knew that he needed what it gave him. Strength to knead. To climb a cliff. Garry’s four arms tensed as the boy looked down. Then flinched.

Clang.

The metal chain jerked, then went limp. Every head in the room turned. Then the [Slaves] shrank back, eyes wide, as Garry pulled the two loops of chains out of Eisil’s cuffs. He bent down.

“Hm. It could break poorly if I pull it too hard. This is better.”

This time, he bundled up the chains like it was dough and cracked it in a bundle. Fragments of chain link fell to the ground as Tersk II stared and the Custodium’s mandibles opened in horror.

“Garry. I could have unlocked the chains.”

Tersk II waved the key at him, and Garry knelt back down. His fingers—the boy flinched, but Garry just pinched the cuffs on the boy’s leg. He deformed the metal, then grunted.

“Okay, it was very symbolic, but I am risking injuring you. Key.”

Tersk II handed him a key, then watched Garry insert it several times into the ankle-cuffs. After a moment, Garry bounced the key off a wall.

“These don’t fit.”

Both he and Tersk II turned to Custodium 8, and the Antinium spoke.

“We were not issued keys to the cuffs of—Baker Garry, the [Slaves] are about to rest! You are damaging equipment!”

“Yes. Fingers it is. Hold very still, Eisil.”

“Master. This is wrong—”

The boy didn’t move as Garry pulled at the cuff with his fingers. One of the [Slaves]’ eyes bulged as Garry pulled the iron apart like someone peeling an orange. Then he was done with the other cuff, the bracelets.

When he reached for the collar, the room was silent as could be. The Painted Antinium were glancing at each other, but Garry was just feeling at the enchanted leather.

He just had to damage it, if there were no death-spells, but he couldn’t get a good grip. There was a soft rasp of metal-on-metal, and he spoke.

“Ah, your sword would cut this perfectly. Thank you, Custodium 8.”

He held out a hand, and Custodium 8 touched his back-shell with the tip of the blade instead.

“Baker Garry. You are freeing the [Slaves] of the Grand Queen. Regardless of her words, this action is not permissible. We shall inform the Grand Queen, but you shall desist. Now.”

The other Custodium drew their swords as one, and Garry turned his head. Tersk II reached for his blade in alarm.

“What are you doing? I am sure Baker Garry has a very reasonable…reason for what he is doing! You are in the Armored Queen’s Hive! Stand down!”

The Custodium hesitated, and every head swung towards Garry. He nodded.

“Thank you, Tersk II. I am, in fact, releasing Eisil and the [Slaves]. Then, I will go and do the same to the ones in the Grand Hive. I was going to do it last night, but it was late.”

He smiled at the Armored Prognugator. Tersk hesitated.

“Ah. That may be a probl—”

A sword appeared under Garry’s chin, and Runearmor reached for a mace and froze as a pair of swords criss-crossed his neck.

“Garry. You are also far less tactical than Pawn!”

“Baker Garry, you will step back and join us as we bring you to the Grand Queen. Now.”

Custodium 8’s voice was razor-sharp and quiet, like Klbkch when he got angry. Garry stood, ignoring the sword trying to dig into his carapace. He gazed around the room.

“I am going to free these [Slaves]. And you will not tell the Grand Queen.”

Silence. The sword poked him in the back harder.

“You did not hear—”

“I heard you. You said what you think is going to happen. Then I said what was actually going to happen. Now, I shall validate my points.”

Garry raised a hand. A sword appeared on top of it, ready to swing.

“Do not move! We will—”

Garry snapped the enchanted sword with a crack and a flash of light that had Eisil diving under the bed. In the ringing silence, he dropped the half of the sword and spoke.

“Firstly. I do not believe in owning [Slaves]. I am against the idea. I am against the practice. I am against those who hold chains. And you should be too.”

He looked at Centinium 8, who stared at him and the other piece of his sword.

“What? You should not be able to do—my sword. mY sWOrd—”

He was getting angry, but Garry spoke louder over him.

“If you allow these [Slaves] in the Hives, Custodium 8, all of you, know that one day, you will regret it. You will be those [Slaves] in turn.”

That caught their attention. Another Custodium barked at him.

“Your logic is insane. These are meant to serve us.”

“In return for the Grand Queen’s money and funding to Roshal, yes. And Antinium. I heard the Silent Queen was unhappy about giving her Silent Antinium to Roshal. As [Slaves]. I assume that Workers and Soldiers were sent to Roshal as well for the same purpose?”

Silence. Some of the Grand Queen’s Soldiers had rushed here as backup when Garry had broken the chains. The Custodium glanced at them, then one spoke.

“We are not Soldiers.”

“Ah. That argument is classist, and I respect it not at all. But I shall address it!”

Garry lifted a finger and pointed it at the Custodium who’d spoken.

“You are not Soldiers. But how long, I wonder, until Roshal wants one of the best Antinium the Grand Queen has to offer? Are you all so irreplaceable that she cannot make another? In which case, which of you will it be? ‘Only the worst of us?’ What if she sends two? The problem with slavery is that it reduces everyone to a price. Some people just cost more than others, but everyone is for sale, from [Kings] and [Queens] to beggars. You think you have no price, but Roshal knows it.”

The Antinium were silent. Garry turned to look around.

“Only the Queens will not be [Slaves], and even then…perhaps. That is the first, logical reason why you will not tell the Grand Queen. The second is that they do not want to serve you. The reason the chains are there is because they would leave if they could. Oh, some will say they love you and they do not want to leave, but it is because they have nothing but fear if they try to run. That is the work of the system Roshal creates. It is horribly clever. But I think if you ask most of them…”

Garry knelt down and looked in Eisil’s eyes, and the boy was peering up at him, caution in his gaze. And a spark of something he was trying to hide.

“…I think I know what their answer will be, if they dared to give it.”

“Do not move. Eisil is a good boy. He will be fed here, and you—you will get them all killed. The punishment for running away is death.”

Custodium 8 was regarding his little friend, and Garry glanced up at him.

“I believe you care for Eisil, Custodium 8. And I think he might like you. As much as any [Slave] likes a master. I don’t know. I don’t know Eisil the [Slave]. I don’t particularly want to. I only want to do this. Then he can choose whatever he wants.”

The piece of the sword he’d broken gently sawed at the leather until the glowing magic faded. Garry pulled the collar away, and the boy gasped. Felt at his neck, then stood straight, terrified to move.

“There. He does not like what you’ve done!”

A Custodium spoke, and Garry rolled his antennae again. He was proud of the action and felt like it’d catch on with other Antinium.

“He does not know what to do because he is in the middle of an Antinium Hive surrounded by slaveholders with swords, you idiot. We will go to the Free Hive first. Then…I will find a way.”

He hadn’t actually thought his plan out that well, which Garry knew was a problem, but he had come here, seen the [Slaves], and thought of Erin.

Just like the bread for the villages, the rest was only a matter of doing what had to be done. The sword at his back reminded him of the rest of it, and he turned his head.

“This will not result in Eisil or the other [Slaves] being punished. Unless the Grand Queen finds out.”

“She will. You are insubordinate just as she claimed, Baker Garry.”

“I will trick her. The only way she finds out is if you tell her.”

The Custodium were getting angrier, and they closed in a circle around Garry, and more silver blades pointed at his chest. Custodium 8 snapped as Eisil scrambled away.

“Eisil, go hide. Why would we not tell the Grand Queen immediately?”

“Well, because you would be afraid she’d destroy you as worthless failures.”

Just for a second, the Custodium froze. They had only one weak point. One of them rasped uncertainly.

“Why would she do that?”

“Because you failed to stop me, a lone Antinium Worker, a [Baker], from freeing the [Slaves]. Regardless of the truth, if she found that out, do you think the Grand Queen would keep you? Or maybe she’d…replace you.”

It was a mean thing he knew he was doing. Paranoia. But he knew how they lived. He had been them. The Custodium shifted. One of them spoke.

“This all supposes we fail to stop you. A lone Worker. A [Baker].”

“Yes. I suppose that would be a critical flaw in my logic. How disappointing.”

The [Baker] stood there, an inch and a half taller than the average Custodium, and it was not much in the grand scheme of things. But he was broader-chested, and he just…looked bigger. The Painted Antinium were frozen along the walls, and Tersk II was hesitating.

This was clearly bad, but whose side did he pick? The Free Antinium? The Grand Antinium? He was about to draw his sword and challenge them all to a duel, since that seemed to be the most logical course of action, when someone spoke in his mind.

Tersk II.

My Queen?

Wait. Watch.

So he did, and in her chambers, the Armored Queen told a story.

——

“What was he like, my Queen?”

“Galuc?”

She bent over her desk, working with some tools, the skritching in the silence the only sound. Elsewhere in the Hive, things were occurring, and the Armored Queen was aware of them, but her focus was only on one thing.

An idea had come to her after Garry had visited her, so she had gathered up off-duty Workers, [Aspirants], [Squires], and had them sit in front of her. She told them a story.

“Galuc…he was not like you. He stood three times taller than a Soldier, and though he had the same body, a beetle’s shell, and four mighty arms, I never thought he could fall.”

Her feeler traced the image of him onto the paper. A round, huge beetle, fists carving out stone and rock. The Antinium tried to imagine him, and then gazed up at a statue that stood above even the Armored Queen as she whispered. A perfect image she had brought from Rhir. Never forgotten, not even a single detail missed.

“I only met him a few times. But he stopped for a young Queen. It was he who built the first Grand Hive. He who would dig tunnels in war, ignoring the enemy around him. He built, you see. He could war, but he did not enjoy it. That is why you, who bear his form, are ill-used. But there were times when he did fight! And when he did, they broke weapons on his shell.”

“How did he fight?”

They longed to know, and she paused. When she spoke again, the quill skritched again. Two quills. One was massive, and she used it to draw, just like the sculptures of the Centenium she had made. The other was hovering, dancing on the paper. Taking her words down. A Wistram product.

“…He would stop.”

“Stop?”

“Oh yes. He’d stop and pause, arms raised, and let his enemies make the first move. They would bite at him, claw, and spit acid, and he would stand there and endure it. To see their strength. Only after they had attacked would he lash out.”

A single fist swinging with all the force of his body, enough to crush an Adult Creler’s armor in a single blow. The Armored Queen murmured.

“He was strong beyond belief. Stronger than Wrymvr—he’d grab a foe and press them into the very walls and crush them that way if he had to. But mostly? He’d just wade among his foes, arms swinging, until they were at his feet.”

They were in awe of the image, a feat none of them could copy, and she shook her head.

“But this is not Galuc. The Builder was not a warrior. He told jokes. He would build for months, then return as the Slayer came home from one of his expeditions. He would listen with us all, as Klbkchhezeim related word of new threats and stories of strange things he had found on his wanderings. Of course, all Antinium would know it soon enough with the Unitasis Network, but Galuc always came in person. Each time, the Slayer would scold him. ‘Galuc. You waste time’. And Galuc would say, ‘I do not’. He would welcome each Centenium home, and if they died, he would stand sentinel until they had finished regrowing.”

An image of him was nearly done. The Armored Queen’s heart hurt as she held it up, and they saw it. But it was the first; she gave it to a little Antinum and began working on the rest.

“A story of Galuc. Let me see. Perhaps the one I was told. Galuc the Builder was the 11th of the Centenium ever made. Back then, the First Hive was the only Hive we had…”

On the page, the quill kept writing, and she had to change the language. Update it, but most of it she decided she would keep. When it was done, the Armored Queen’s mind calculated it might look something like this on the page:

A story of Galuc. Let me see. Perhaps the one I was told. Galuc the Builder was the 11th of the Centenium ever made. Back then, the First Hive was the only Hive we had.

First Hive? What is this?

Oh, forgive me. You are young.

You do not know so many things. I shall tell you: there once were many kinds of bug-people living under Rhir’s soil long, long ago.

They all came from the same place. A wretched place that created all kinds of creatures and spat them out into the darkness, but the bug-peoples were different. They had thoughts. They had desires.

But they were not Antinium. They warred and tried to kill each other in the dark, and a voice told them to build. To become the most dangerous, and then they would know their purpose.

Now, you see, among these many Hives of not-Antinium were the ones who would later on go to become the Antinium of Rhir. They began with a single Queen.

The First Queen of All. Unlike the other members of her species, she was the most gifted of her kind. She spun new kinds of warriors, drones, protectors and even others of her kind—Queens—but she realized that for all her skill, the other bug-peoples had Queens of their own. And each one could make creations almost as good as hers.

What should she do? Back then, only the Queens had real thoughts in their heads. So she decided to make something new: a being that could both think and fight. A new kind of creature unlike any other before it. To do this, she created a life and then another. Then thousands. Then many more thousands of thousands and wove them all together.

It took her an age to make and countless setbacks as the insect-peoples warred, but eventually, she found a way to combine the minds and beings of all the lives. Placing all their strengths into one form.

All their will.

All their intellect.

All of what made them—them.

That was how she made the first of the Centenium. A hundred beings. The ones you know, you call Klbkch the Slayer, Xrn the Small Queen, Wrymvr the Deathless, and yes, Galuc the Builder and so many more.

One hundred. One hundred beings who would never be copied again, not by any Shaper Queen after. Because even if they copied the form, they could not copy what made the Centenium special.

Most are dead now, children. They have given their lives in great battles. Many died before the Rite of Anastases was created. Some perished with the First Queen, but that is a story for later. Some were lost at sea. Some stayed at home, waiting for our return.

Home? Isn’t home here, Izril?

Oh, no. No, children. I have so much to tell you, but this is a story about Centenium and Galuc. So, first, let me speak of how he came to be. When she needed them most, the First Queen spun the Centenium into being.

First of all was Hirriec, the Conquerer. The greatest of all Centenium, perhaps. I do not know; it was at the dawn of our species when he was made. It was he who conquered so many other of the bug-peoples and brought them under the First Queen, not as servants but part of a new species who combined their best parts.

But it was also he who was first of the Centenium to die. Hirriec, who delved too deep and found the true threat to our species. He who rebelled against the First Queen after being corrupted.

That, too, is for another time…

On and on the story went, winding and filled with little anecdotes she remembered, but she recalled it all. All she had to do was gaze into the pink flames. And, the Armored Queen feared, it might be a long story.

But when it was done, she would have copies of this book made. Perhaps it would give to the Antinium the same thing that Garry had been trying to make.

Meaning. He was right in one way after all: she was still a soldier in a war. But they didn’t know the war or their past.

She would tell them.

The Armored Queen of Izril’s Antinium was often tired. Her body hurt. Despair had wounded her worse, and she had lost friends and heroes. Tried to rebuild from the very dirt. She was older now, and she knew this failing body could not last.

But she had scarcely felt more alive. Her chitin might crack and bleed, but at last—she had a purpose filling her again. Like the [Baker] who stood in a ring of broken blades, the Armored Queen followed her heart.

It would always lead her home. Thus, the [Chivalrous Queen of Memoriam] smiled as she told a story of her favorite Centenium and watched another story being told in his honor.

She wished Galuc could have met Garry. She thought he would have approved.

——

The [Baker] picked out a broken piece of sword from his carapace and spoke.

“Ow.”

That was the only sound in the silence. The Custodium were on the ground. The ones he had punched didn’t get back up, and the others were just gazing at their blades. They had broken on Garry’s shell.

Not without injury; he was bleeding from a lot of lacerations, but not deeply. The [Baker] turned and gazed at Custodium 8.

“You broke your swords in a mass training accident. Leave the [Slaves]—no, the people to me. Runearmor, take them out of the tunnels and wait for me. There are more in the Grand Queen’s Hive. A hundred and some, I think.”

Not many. But more would come. Runearmor protested.

“All of them? We could lie and say it was a tunnel collapse, but, Garry, all—”

“Runearmor. Remember when I delivered bread?”

Garry put an arm on the Painted Antinium’s shoulder, and Runearmor hesitated. Garry was looking very intense right now, and his eyes were shining again.

“Y-yes?”

“Do you recall when I fed only some of the villagers and did not feed the others?”

“…No. I don’t rec—oh.”

Leave it to me. Garry dusted off his hands, and Custodium 8 stared at his little friend, Eisil.

“But I liked Eisil. I wished to protect him and feed him. I…this is not fair. You say he is happier, but I will never see him again. I do not care if he is a [Slave] or not. I just want to see him happy.”

Garry put a hand on the Custodium’s shaking shoulder.

“That is the problem. You do not understand. I understand what I must do.”

He sighed heavily, but then he walked over to a wall and began to punch it. The Custodium glanced up, and Garry turned and smiled at them.

“Don’t worry. I have a plan. And I learned plans from the greatest planner in the world.”

He paused.

“She may not look like it, but she is.”

Then he punched the wall again, and it cracked and—

——

“Dead?”

The Grand Queen was not happy that evening, even though Garry had returned with the other Queens’ thanks.

She waved her feelers in the air.

“Two of my Custodium and all the [Slaves]? You’re sure?”

She cast around, and the other Custodium with their bright, shiny new blades gifted to them by the Armored Queen all nodded. So did Garry.

“And my Painted Antinium. It was a very tragic event, Grand Queen. A freak accident.”

“I hold the Armored Queen responsible for this! Her ineptitude—”

“It might have been Drake sabotage.”

That gave the Grand Queen pause.

“Really? Is she sure?”

“We cannot rule out the possibility, Grand Queen. How else could so many die in such a total manner?”

The vast Antinium grew annoyed at this. After all she’d done during the deliveries! But that was war. She folded her feeler-arms.

“…Even so, I will reprimand the Armored Queen for her negligence. Very well, I understand. Tell me you have prepared a suitable dinner.”

“In fact, my Queen, I have prepared the most delicious bulgogi you have ever eaten in your entire life.”

The Grand Queen was intrigued, but the huge, huge bowl of meat and the vast platter of red, dripping meats was so mounded up that she gasped.

“This amount of food…I may not eat it all in one sitting! Chef Garry, the taste!”

“Do note the fats and marinades, Grand Queen. In multiple flavors.”

She was in heaven. The Grand Queen gobbled down the food and the ‘rice’, of which there was also plenty. Garry had gone into the stores for this food, and she was complimenting him nonstop.

“I must have the recipe! I must eat more! What strange animal does this come from to make such delicious taste? Goat? Cow-things? Perhaps they can be cultivated.”

Every Queen needed this. Garry beamed up at the Grand Queen.

“Oh, this? I believe that bowl is Human. That one is Stitch-folk, and that one is Garuda, but we did not have many—”

The Grand Queen was nodding along and itching for another bite when she stopped.

“…Human?”

She peered at the red meat in one feeler, and Garry nodded.

“It was a lot of work, but I finished processing all the [Slaves] when I returned to the Hive.”

“I’m eating…Baker Garry!”

The Grand Queen unfroze, then glared at him. She opened her mandibles and snapped.

“You turned all the [Slaves] into food? This is unacceptable! They’re expensive!”

He bowed deeply to her.

“I apologize, my Queen. But they are very tasty, are they not? And surely they are not that expensive. Roshal would not overcharge you, and the Hives can pay for tens of thousands. I consulted a ledger on [Slaves], and this should only have cost around 700 gold coins at market price.”

She hesitated and took another bite because, well, it was too late now.

“Really? They assured me these were the highest-quality. I did have reservations about the price despite the catalog they sent…I believe it was altered from standing market values, but I accepted the ruse out of a desire to build relations. And these were a trial bunch. But between this and the Armored Queen’s debacle, I have none left!”

“Ah, but you do have a fine meal, Grand Queen. And plenty of leftovers.”

She considered this. Then took another scoop of rice. And another bite of meat.

“Baker Garry, I can see that you are a somewhat wasteful individual who does not understand fiscal value. But I forgive you, because the Hives are rich. In the future, you must consult with me first. Ah, but the taste—ooh, what is that?”

“Mustard. It goes quite well with Drowned Folk.”

“Ooh, delightful, delightful. Baker, I cannot stay angry at you. I will have to deal with this, but you have my compliments! Compliments to the chef! Now I understand the saying.”

He bowed again, begging her forgiveness for his error, which was really understandable in her view; Antinium ate each other all the time, and he didn’t understand the world like she did.

In the end, the Grand Queen ended up ringing one of her contacts up in Roshal and told them she was delighted with her batch of [Slaves]. When the eager, sycophantic person talking to her asked how the other Queens were taking them and if she wanted more, she told them yes.

“Regrettably, I have eaten all of them, but it is the duty of the rich to eat the poor, or so I understand from your culture.”

There was a choked voice from the other end of the line, then the Stitch-man quavered.

“Y-you ate them, er, Grand Queen?”

“Grandest Queen. And yes, of course. It may be a suboptimal use of coin to your sensibilities, but with correct marination…please inform Emir Yazdil that I would like more at reasonable market rates.”

The individual assured her they’d—they’d—well, he didn’t get to what they’d do as he ran off to tell the Masters of Roshal that there was a slight hitch with their latest partner’s understanding of [Slaves]. And that was all the Grand Queen thought of the matter aside from looking forwards to ‘leftovers’. She was only sad Baker Garry had to run back to the Free Hive, but he had promised to come back regularly and send his foods and bake more [Slaves] for her.

She was mildly surprised to realize he had made it all the way back from the Hivelands to Liscor in a single night, though. That was…fast. Did he have a travelling Skill or something?

——

Garry leapt off the wagon when he got back to the Free Hive, having actually beat the two groups of [Slaves] that Runearmor and Custodium 8 were leading back here. They weren’t even half the distance, in fact; given the extreme distances involved, only Garry’s Skill, [Vehicle: Fast Travelling], could allow him to make the journey in a single night.

He’d actually run forty miles before switching to the wagon, because he’d realized this was the ideal spot to do roadwork each day. A straight tunnel from here to the Hivelands with no one to interrupt him and no water or anything else to get in the way.

However, that was a thing for later. Right now he had a problem, and it was the freed [Slaves]. Garry called for someone to pamper the two panting mules who’d carried him all this way, then rushed into his Hive. The [Slaves]. He’d gotten them out of the Hivelands, which was step one, but after that?

Garry was mildly shocked his ruse had worked this well, actually. But, then, he got the feeling the Grand Queen hadn’t really known what to do with the [Slaves] anyways.

The Free Queen was a lot better at understanding the world, and she was not happy when he told her what he’d done. But Garry assured her he had a plan.

“I will find a place for them to go, Xevccha.”

She leaned over her Throne of Fluff, glaring at him.

“If Liscor is endangered by Roshal because of this, Garry…they cannot stay here. Roshal has tracking spells and Skills. Xrn warded the Free Hive, but some of these [Slaves] may not be content to remain free.”

“I know, I know! I have a plan!”

“Which is…?”

“Standby!”

She craned her head to see him, then turned to Runel and Pisca.

“He does not, in fact, have a plan. Does he?”

They shook their heads, and the Free Queen took a long, long sip from her boba tea.

“…He’d better level from this.”

——

Garry had to do a lot of research about [Slaves] and [Rebels], and he had no time. He needed a plan, a system, for the next time they arrived. The Grand Queen wasn’t stupid.

More to do. But his most important task right now was dealing with these freed [Slaves], and he realized the Free Queen was right.

“I can’t keep them at The Wandering Inn.”

That’d link them to the Hivelands, and besides, Lyonette didn’t need more pressure from Roshal on her. But where did [Slaves] go if not…

There were only a few places [Slaves] could go after being freed, actually. Garry rifled through some books he’d bought, then jogged over to speak to a worldly, knowledgeable Gnoll.

Yelroan gave Garry a look before he began his lecture.

“Is this something I should know about, Garry?”

“Er, not yet. But please, tell me everything you know!”

Yelroan, Lyonette, and Dalimont were some of the best people to ask about this sort of matter, having either positions or experience in worldwide affairs. Unfortunately, aside from legal methods, or being the King of Destruction, there was really only one spot that harbored [Slaves]. And freed Djinni.

The problem Garry had was how to get in contact with the Demons. He gave it his best shot.

——

“Hello, hello. I am looking for Silvenia, the Death of Magic?”

Asgra was cleaning up the seats in the [World’s Eye Theatre]. When she heard Garry standing in the center of the room, she stared at him, open-mouthed. He waited.

Nothing. Damn. She was warded. He went down the list.

“How about Czautha, the Death of Chains? She was actually higher on my list, but I believed Silvenia would be more willing to chat.”

Silence. Asgra was poking a finger in one ear. Garry sighed.

“Serinpotva, Death of Wings? Demon King? Damn.”

Erin’s Skill worked on almost everyone! Why couldn’t this have been last year, before people took precautions! He went pacing around, thinking hard.

Well, there were other ways. Right? Who had access to the Demons?

Garry didn’t know about Colthei, but he was educated enough to have a thought. There was someone in this very inn, in fact!

——

A little Sariant Lamb named Smallhoof was rooting around in Nanette’s rooms when Garry opened the door and slid in. The Sariant Lamb froze and tried to appear innocent; he’d replaced Nerry shortly after she’d vanished with Erin.

However, Garry was in a hurry, so he strode over.

“Excuse me. I know you are aware of what I am saying. Do you, by any chance, know how to get in touch with any…Demons? Preferably one of the Deaths? I am in rather a hurry.”

Smallhoof stared up at Garry. Then remembered to close his mouth. He began to trot out the door, and Garry followed him. The Sariant Lamb began running down the hallway, and Garry ran after him.

“Wait! I am not trying to implicate—I just want to talk to them!”

He was about to grab the Sariant Lamb when Rosencrantz saw the two running and asked Garry why he was chasing a little Sariant Lamb across the inn. Then Garry really did feel like Erin.

——

…And the problem with being like Erin was that sometimes, you couldn’t perform a miracle. Which he knew. As evening changed to dusk, Garry strode around the little room he’d been given in The Wandering Inn that he seldom used. He’d found a huge map in it and tacked a bunch of red string to various locations, but it was no good.

He saw no other options, and he was in a fury.

“No! It’s not right! It’s not fair! I should be able to protect them! Not this! Not—”

He turned back to the map, and the only conclusion stared him in the face. It was obvious, really.

There was only one place to go. Garry sat there and saw the arrow he’d plotted, moving south from the Hivelands, away from any major city. Then…west.

If you assumed Roshal could track you down, if you assumed you had to avoid civilization and—and that they could use spells to locate escaped [Slaves] via hidden magic or something, there was only one place in the world where they’d be safe.

The New Lands of Izril.

“But they will not be safe there. The odds of danger finding them or…”

Two Antinium could not keep that group safe. Even if more went, like Runearmor, and the [Slaves] defended themselves…Garry sat, head bowed.

“No.”

Should he have left them in their chains?

No.

But…his head came up, and he wondered if this was how she felt. Then, the [Baker] wished she would talk to him. That was of course when Erin Solstice called before her big concert.

——

When he appeared in her [Pavilion of Secrets], her beloved [Baker] was upset. He had black flour on his apron and hands, and he continued rolling a piece of dough even as he appeared in front of her.

“Garry? Are you okay?”

He glanced at her and stopped rolling the imaginary piece of dough.

“Oh. Erin. Your costume is very…interesting.”

“If it looks bad, just tell me. I think it’s stupid-looking and I can’t wear it, but Matha says it’s great.”

“Yes. She would. It suits you, Erin.”

The [Innkeeper] smiled at him, then it slipped with worry.

“I’m…are you okay? You seem stressed.”

“I have made a mistake, Erin. I am not in physical danger. I am not. I am baking bread.”

“Oh? What kind?”

“Shadowloaves. As many as I can. They will keep people safe. At least, until they spoil or are eaten. I will explain. Are you safe?”

She gave him two thumbs up and brushed at her newly-shorn hair.

“Safe as can be. But not the best. Um…I was going to call you for moral support, but tell me what’s going on first.”

So, they told each other about their day. The silly [Baker] and the crazy [Innkeeper] both thought that the other had the more interesting day.

But that was because both of them seldom paused to look in the mirror.

——

Two pots sat together in the gazebo, and one was young, the other just a tiny bit older. Erin’s hat was burning with a thousand flames.

His was red and had a little white cotton ball on the end. Both thought the other had a better hat.

That was what defined them. Erin’s eyes shone like stadium lights, a hundred thousand watt stare of admiration. That was one of her powers. When she looked at you, you could believe you were the [Hero] of your own story.

That you could do…anything.

Garry’s Antinium eyes had no pupils, no irises to glow. But the light touched him and collected and twinkled. Even radiance itself was drawn to him and lingered for a while in his presence.

Both were broken. The [Innkeeper] watched Garry tapping his cracked fingertips together. His armored body was covered with cuts still tinged green. He saw her rub a hand over the discolored skin on her wrists. He gazed at a collar’s brand on her neck and knew he had done the right thing.

It did not make his life easier. The [Innkeeper] exhaled, and a gust of wind blew across the empty land. Garry whispered, his clicking voice like a dying clock.

“I cannot save them all. My heart hurts, Erin.”

“Yes. It’ll happen again, Garry. For every triumph, there will come a moment like this. A week. You’ll get tired of being beaten down. Even if you win and climb out of that pit once, the next time—you’ll wonder if it’s worth it the next time.”

His head rose like an ant in the middle of a flooding well staring up for the sky. And the narrator’s voice spoke to the lonely bug.

“…That’s not what scares me though, Garry.”

“What, then?”

Erin gestured at herself as her costume shifted, and the shiny leather crinkled. She did resemble some otherworldly traveller. A warrior ready to stride into an inn and lift a tankard high. Erin smiled, rueful.

“I’m afraid that I won’t do it again. Does that make sense? I know it sounds similar, but it’s not the fear that I’ll slip on the way up. It’s that I’ll never climb. I’m afraid that if I change, that’s what I’ll lose.”

He gazed at her, and whatever the [Baker] saw…he pushed himself up onto one knee and adjusted his hat. Then he clenched his fists.

“That is a good fear, Erin. But I have only begun my journey. I am not tired yet.”

Her words had stoked the fire in him that he kept thinking might have limits. However, if it did—he could feel it roaring. Garry did not need [Like Fire, Memory] to feel it. He turned to her and took her gloved hands so gently.

“I will do what I can. You, though, Erin? You look as scared as you did when Skinner was coming. I saw you playing chess and mastering that fear.”

She started.

“I do? I’ve been that afraid many times. But I always remember Skinner, and…I had forever to get over my fear. That’s almost how long it took, but I thought, after that—I’d never hesitate. Here I am, though. The concert’s practically starting, and I’ve been here. I guess I am afraid.”

He smiled.

“Tell me why, then. You? Afraid? You have been with me as I struggled. I did not have time for you. Explain to me why a Goblin scares you so much.”

She brushed her hair on her left side out of her eyes and glanced down.

“It’s silly. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I’m afraid to say it.”

“Erin, you’ve never not been silly to me.”

“Hey! Rude!”

She blew out her cheeks and then laughed. Then she turned guilty again.

“It…it’s not about the smaller things. That’s all part of it, but I think I just wasn’t truthful. That’s it. That’s at the heart of all my problems. I’ve been dancing around saying things outright. Lying by omission. But I’m too much of a coward to say it outright.”

Solemly, he took her hands in his cracked grip and squeezed with all the gentle strength of a [Baker]. Garry looked Erin in the eyes as she shook her head. Then he scolded her.

“You have done a terrible thing then, Erin.”

She averted her gaze.

“Everyone lies, Garry. Or d’you want to tell me, here, that you like my pasta, even now?”

He laughed. A fluttering laugh and hugged her gently.

“I love your pasta, Erin. I just don’t believe you make it right.”

“You jerk. How are you so good at this place? Okay…but it’s hard. Sometimes, I tell the truth and hurt everyone’s feelings. The truth is searingly painful.”

This was also true, but the [Baker] pointed something out to her.

“Erin. Did you lie to me when we first met? Did you ever lie to Pawn? When he asked you what everything meant, if he was allowed to be himself—did you lie?”

She was shaking her head, because she really didn’t need him. He was just leading her to the conclusion she already knew. Garry continued.

“Nothing beautiful is ever born out of a lie.”

The young woman tilted her head, then snapped her fingers and pointed.

“The Order of Solstice! Aha! Gottem!”

He chopped her on the forehead.

“That was a lie made of truth. You made it true. It would not have existed without Brunkr or Rabbiteater. Let me try again. Do you want to make something out of anything less than truth?”

She was shaking her head ruefully.

“Now you’re making it seem too simple, Garry.”

“The best things are simple, Erin. Execution is difficult. As I have found. Just do not think that the truth should be basic. It should be a wonderful, scorching revelation.”

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. When they opened, he saw something there that made him so incredibly jealous that he refused to tell her. He wanted to see what came next. But he couldn’t. So Garry turned away, and Erin stood up. Then she enfolded him with a hug and kissed him on the forehead.

“And you, my brave [Baker]. My lovely student. When will you stop worrying me?”

He grinned at her and adjusted the hat on his head.

“When I am higher-level than you, and then it will be my turn to worry about you and send you magical super-bread.”

“…You silly little fellow.”

“Hey. I am apparently very big and reminiscent of Galuc the Builder.”

“You’re always going to be my little [Baker]. Wish me luck?”

She let go of him, and the [Baker] turned, spreading his arms for a real hug.

“Only if you wish me luck as well.”

She wiped at her eyes, then reached for a bright red helmet. She hugged him and grinned.

“I never stopped.”

——

Then he woke up. The [Baker] kept working in his kitchen late into the night.

He didn’t know what happened next with her. That was okay; she’d find him later, and his imagination was enough.

There was so much of the world he didn’t know. So much he could not yet do. But this was all Garry did.

He loaded up a wagon with black loaves of bread and rode it back towards the Hivelands. He was so fast that he caught them slumbering in the tunnels. They’d come barely a quarter of the way to Liscor only to be told to turn around and leave.

“Your route will be south, along the Hivelands. You must avoid both Antinium and Drake eyes.”

“How? This is impossible. We are doomed.”

Custodian 8, Killtori, was standing with Eisil, and the boy was reflexively polishing some new swords that the Antinium had taken with them. But neither one seemed to know…who they were.

Good. They’d find out. In fact, Garry hoped they’d fight.

Fighting was good. It meant you were people with your own opinions. But he…he just hung his head as he had them use one of the emergency exits and ascended out of the secret tunnel.

“It will be hard, everyone. This wagon will shield you from the eyes of people watching from afar, but I cannot go with you.”

The Antinium—a mix of Painted Antinium, two Custodium, the [Slaves], and for some reason, a gaggle of Flying Antinium and Armored Antinium—turned to him. They’d just showed up.

Garry had the feeling that the Armored Queen might have sent some of her Antinium with the others. The Flying Queen almost definitely had not.

They clustered around the wagon, inspecting his bread, and the power of the Shadowloaves was indeed great. It not only created a semi-permanent cloud over the world, but it also dampened any seeing magic. And, it transpired, revealed cloaked Silent Antinium, who scuttled out of the clouds in alarm as their camouflaged bodies became visible outlines.

Garry put his hands on his hips.

“Exactly how many Antinium are following me and why?”

“Baker Santa Garry has book. We are Calby. Silent Queen allowed us to leave. If we report and level. We saw [Slaves]. She told us to follow.”

One of the Silent Antinium told Garry. He put out a hand and patted her on the head, then turned.

“You can come with me to the Free Hive. Or go with this group. It will be dangerous, those of you who go south. But no Queen shall rule you. The New Lands are the only safe place for you to go.”

“Master Baker, we will never survive the journey!”

One of the [Slaves] protested. He drew nearer, and Garry saw he was a Dullahan wearing ancient, rusted iron armor. He spoke in a low whisper.

“Let us beg Pallass for our kin’s aid. Maybe…Roshal will find us wherever we go. You have broken our chains like the Scourge of Roshal and the Death of Chains, but there is no safe place in the world for us. Not in Chandrar unless we fight under the King of Destruction’s banner or seek somewhere like Pomle, and there, Roshal’s [Assassins] find a way. There is only one place in the world that is safe.”

“I would not call Rhir safe, sir. The New Lands lack magic. Any tattoos or markings you carry will wither and die there.”

The Dullahan blinked, and then the old man adjusted his head, wincing.

“Roshal will pursue us with Skills. And these Antinium do not know how to travel or survive outside of their Hives. The journey from the Hivelands will be one thing, but after that? Even with a cart laden with food and this bread, we will never make it.”

The [Baker] nodded, and he gave the old man a guilty look.

“I wish I could go with you. But I am only one bug. I cannot save anyone with these hands. Not yet.”

He gazed down at his hands as they all stared at him, Antinium and former [Slaves]. A colossus standing taller than any of them. The image of a Centenium. But his bowed head, his regret—

That was also Galuc the Builder. The one difference between them had been that Galuc was never alone.

Never. Nor had Galuc thought he could do everything.

Well, Garry just didn’t think he could do everything yet. And he was not beyond admitting when he was wrong.

—They were standing in the empty, brown no man’s land of the Hivelands, along the edges where greenery found a way to survive amidst the cracked ground. To the north, the High Passes sat, a narrow gap into the north. Treacherous roads through the mountain range or past the Bloodfields and around Liscor.

Garry shaded his eyes as a little dot of movement broke through the silent landscape. Killtori drew his swords.

“That is no animal. Monster. Prepare for battle, Antinium.”

Painted, Flying, and Silent Antinium formed a defensive circle, and some of the [Slaves] searched around for weapons, but Garry held up his hand as the Dullahan man gazed at him.

“Not a threat.”

He was so focused on the moving dot that he didn’t glance around. Because Garry had expected the dots growing steadily larger, but he realized Killtori wasn’t staring towards the High Passes. The Custodium’s head was craned back, and his voice was uncertain.

“I respectfully disagree, Baker. It looks very threatening.”

Garry looked up—then flinched.

“What the heck is—”

The giant red bird landed, and the earth shook. Shadowloaves went tumbling along with everyone else as the massive bird, larger than even Wrymvr, swatted one wing out.

Three Flying Antinium buzzing into the air landed, wiggling in distress and clicking. A massive yellow beak stabbed the ground, cutting off a Silent Antinium charge, and one huge, green eye regarded Garry.

“[Devestating Ch—]”

A claw pinned Killtori to the ground, and Garry saw the bird flick its claw delicately as Killtori tried to stab the legs. His blades failed to penetrate the toughened skin, and then he was sailing past Garry’s head.

“Hold! Hold! Painted Antinium fall back!”

The Painted Antinium hesitated, but Garry’s shouting precipitated more quakes. Which were, respectively, a second and third bird landing next to their…parent?

Yes, they were a flock! And the two smaller ones were barely a quarter of the size of the first, but they had the same design.

A crest of red feathers and huge, orange beaks that Garry didn’t think were explicitly carnivorous, but were big enough to eat an Antinium with a single bite.

Size.

These were the largest damn creatures he’d ever seen in his entire life. And he realized they were not entirely red; they had more traditional white feathers, even blue and purple running down their wings. The parent-bird spread their wings now, and the wind gusts blew all the people except Garry off their feet. He shielded his face with his arms.

Not good. They’re super-monsters. They could rip everyone apart before he climbed on one, and he didn’t know if he could hurt…

The huge green eye of the parent-bird swung to him again as the bird tilted its head. And Garry realized…the magical bird was eying him.

Somewhat warily. He stood there, fists raised, as the two little birds cawed. The big bird was pawing at his wagon full of Shadowbread. Curses! Was it attracted to the magical food? Had he doomed them all by—

A screech in the distance made everyone flinch. The huge red bird took into the air as the little birds cawed in alarm. Then Garry groaned.

“Oh, great. Him again.”

But maybe this was fortuitous? A distant shape was growing rapidly larger, and the trio of red birds were suddenly wary as the mother—Garry thought it was a mother—took wing in alarm, screaming like a siren, a blast of sound that echoed off the distant mountains. He swore he heard more such calls, but she was banking her wings, flying and screaming warily at the figure approaching.

Wrymvr the Deathless. He landed in front of the wagon as well, screeching with his mouths, but his mental voice was contained, even amused.

(You are an interesting Antinium, Baker. Still not Galuc. Why are Rocs attacking you?)

“R-Rocs?”

Garry stared up at the gigantic birds, and he vaguely recalled hearing of the apex bird-creatures. The two baby Rocs were pecking at the Shadowbread, but hopping back as Antinium slashed at them. The mother landed again, spreading her wings and screaming at Wrymvr. Garry shouted back at the Centenium.

“I don’t know! This is something Bird would love, not me!”

(Must be the bread. Bird the Hunter would not enjoy these Rocs. They eat Flying Antinium in great numbers. The Flying Queen was bested battling them. They had an agreement to stay away, though. I have killed two.)

…Of course he had. Small wonder the mother Roc was nervous, but Wrymvr added after a moment.

(Communicating. Asking why she wants her babies to die.)

“What? Communicating? You can do that?”

For answer, Wrymvr screeched at the Rocs in an approximation of their tones, and the mother Roc screeched back. He translated after a moment.

(She’s threatening me. Doesn’t want a fight. Wants bread.)

“My bread?”

This was entirely flattering. The mother Roc circled Wrymvr as he edged left, shielding Garry and the other Antinium. She pecked at a Shadowloaf, but stopped one of her children from gobbling the miniscule pieces of bread when they tried.

Wrymvr paused, then one eye on his body opened and gazed at Garry.

(They don’t want the black bread. They want bread that ‘looks like us’. Special magic bread. They saw you had it. Apparently, they recognize it.)

“Scaethen Bread?”

When had they seen him eating it? Then again, he’d been in the foothills and eaten it on his journey. But if they’d been in the High Passes—and he doubted anyone would be okay with these monstrous birds around—

Their eyesight had to be incredible! He fumbled in his bag of holding and then ran over to the wagon. He’d packed some Scaethen Bread for the [Slaves]. All told, he had only twelve loaves, a great deal of effort, but the mother Roc instantly made a pecking gesture. Garry would have put it down in front of them, but Wrymvr extended a feeler.

(Wait.)

“What? What for? This is what they want, correct?”

(Yes. Why are you giving it to them? This is ours. I am going to tell her to leave or I will eat her young.)

“Oh no you don’t! Don’t say that! Hello, Miss Roc Mother? I am not with him—”

Wrymvr began screeching at the Mother Roc, but Garry started shoving him, and shouting. The Mother Roc recoiled, staring at the two Antinium fighting, then screeched over both of them. Wrymvr stopped knocking Garry backwards with his legs and spoke.

(Interesting. She wants half. For her little young. If we give her half, she and her people won’t eat any Flying Antinium on their big flight home. Also, she’ll give you two feathers.)

“Roc feathers? I suppose Bird would flip out over them.”

Garry had no idea what he’d do with them, but he imagined a single feather from this giant Roc would make an entire outfit if you so chose. Probably very magical. And saving Flying Antinium lives was never a bad thing. He nudged Wrymvr.

“Say yes. I do not want to risk a fight, and you cannot protect us.”

The Centenium’s mental tone was grudging.

(…Maybe. I’d live, and you would. But I probably can’t chase off all of them. I’m demanding seven feathers, though. Even if they probably could kill half the Flying Hive.)

One mother Roc and two babies? Then Garry heard more screams from above and peered up.

“Oh. Oh my.”

Seven more Rocs were flying overhead, so high in the sky they seemed like regular birds, except for the titanic screams coming from them. They circled Wrymvr, and he buzzed his wings at them.

(Try it. Every magical monster with a language thinks it can’t die.)

He certainly intimidated the mother, but she began plucking a pair of feathers from her wings, then took two from one of her children and three from another. Wrymvr squawked at her.

(I don’t want baby feathers. Give me another big one.)

A huge glare—and she pulled a third from her wings. Wrymvr was clearly going to demand another when Garry kicked him.

“Stop antagonizing the giant birds. That’s a lot of them.”

(Don’t look so nervous. I won’t die.)

“You’re not the one I care about!”

(They’ve been here all year. This isn’t even half of them. They said they need the energy for the flight, but this old woman is just greedy for her chicks. They can use the sky islands for rest. Give her the bread if you’re going to fail at negotiating, then.)

Garry offered six loaves of Scathen Bread in a tiny pile before the mother Roc. They were small, but she instantly divided the loaves into two portions, and her children pecked up the loaves—and a lot of dirt—in a single motion. They seemed displeased, but the mother was quite happy. She cawed at Garry and then flapped her wings, urging her children skywards. She remained as Wrymvr translated.

(She says, ‘it’s good bread’. When you can bake big loaves, she’ll trade you more feathers for herself and her next offspring.)

He cawed back and received a peck to his body so fast that Garry heard the thunderclap of sound. Wrymvr rocked, spat several acid projectiles, and the mother Roc flapped her wings. The acid sprayed harmlessly in the wind—everyone but Garry had long since run into the tunnels to hide.

Garry wiped some acid off his face and turned to Wrymvr mildly.

“What did you say?”

(Ow. I just said it was unlikely she’d bear more children at her age.)

Garry had thought he was a sassy Antinium, but it seemed Wrymvr had a talent for annoying people. The Centenium casually hooked two more pieces of Scaethen Bread out of Garry’s pile.

“Hey!”

Wrymvr gobbled them down.

(My fee. Thank the annoying bird. She’s not leaving without one.)

Garry bowed to the mother Roc.

“Thank you for the trade, er, Great Mother Roc.”

She preened her feathers, seeming distinctly smug, and he sighed. Great. Another Grand Queen, just in bird-form. She shoved the feathers towards him as if the stuff that she grew was equal to his Scaethen Bread.

Maybe I should tell Bird about these giant red chickens after all. Eh…they’re people, however annoying, and I doubt she could kill them. Yet.

Wrymvr saw the mother beating her wings. She took off slowly, hovering in complete defiance of physics given her size, and then began to soar upwards. Warm air blasted them, and Garry realized—she was generating her own thermals!

Upwards, the Roc flew as her feathers flashed, and Wrymvr muttered mentally.

(Glad they’re leaving. They eat and poop everywhere, and the Hivelands are right next to the High Passes.)

Garry stood there solemnly, despite realizing that they had treated his kind like food.

“Where are they going?”

Wrymvr screeched up one last time, and the Roc screamed back. He fanned his wings as he took into the air.

(I’m seeing them off. I don’t trust them. But they said they’re going south. To the dry island. Home. They said everyone’s going to take back their home. A promise.)

He paused.

(Not sure what that means. I’ll have to look it up. Can’t have Rocs getting in the way of plans.)

“What plans? What home?”

The Centenium buzzed off, following the Rocs from below as they continued south, the trio joining the seven above. Wrymvr’s mental tone was faint now.

(You have your secrets, I have mine, Baker. Give me four more pieces of Scaethen Bread the next time you free the [Slaves]. No, wait, fourteen.)

He ignored the rock that Garry bounced off his underside and flew off, screeching. And then the migration was gone. Garry saw the tiny, tiny red birds in the sky flying south and put a few things together.

“Oh. That’s…concerning. For someone other than me.”

Then he went to collect the Shadowloaves and the four remaining Scaethen Loaves and told everyone it was safe to come out. When they emerged, the Flying Antinium visibly quaking, it was almost an anticlimax when Garry pointed his fingers.

“So. Rocs aside—what I meant to tell you all was that you are not going alone. I believe the help I’ve called for has arrived. Guides.”

“Guides? Non-Antinium? Who would escort Antinium and [Slaves]…”

Killtori’s suspicious voice lapsed into silence as a group of six riders on horseback trotted forwards. The leader swung off the saddle in a single motion, and the [Maid] with combat boots bowed to Garry.

“Apologies, Baker, but we didn’t have any confidence in warding off a Roc attack.”

“No, I quite understand. I doubt I could have done more than annoy them myself. You came quickly.”

Three [Maids], three [Butlers]. The Antinium and [Slaves] stared as Magnolia Reinhart’s servants bowed. They wore their silly outfits, but each one had a pack and seemed like they were veterans of something. Didn’t Garry hear that she enlisted former adventurers for her staff? The [Maid] smiled at Garry as she brushed at her hair, which had a curl of green amidst the deep brown.

“Our employer was quite amused by your request. Her exact words, I believe, were ‘I suppose I cannot refuse the harder request, but I wish he’d accepted the easier one.’ We shall escort this company to their destination and ensure they encounter the right groups.”

“…Demons?”

Every single one of the servants grimaced, and the [Maid] pursed her lips.

“I don’t believe I know any such horrendous individuals, Baker, nor would they be in Izril, let alone the New Lands.”

“Ah, double-speak. Forgive me, I don’t really employ it. So not Demons, and not ones that Magnolia Reinhart knows.”

The [Maid] seemed like she was dying to get moving, if only to prevent wincing half her face off. She bowed hurriedly to him.

“By your leave, Baker?”

“Let me say goodbye to them all first. And please, tell her ladyship I owe her some bread, since she has given me the most help with the least conditions. Unlike Wrymvr, that bastard.”

Garry shook a fist at the distant speck of the Antinium, and the woman smiled.

“Personally, I think Lady Reinhart doesn’t get enough appreciation, so it’s good you think of her that way, Master Baker. And if you could add some sugar or frosting to these magical loaves, I’m sure that would sell it for her.”

The Antinium smiled and promised he would, though he reflected internally that he didn’t have to appreciate his customers’ tastes to get along with them. But that was it.

Trust an ally. Not to deliver his bread, but people? The Worker stood there, waving, as the re-packed wagon became a rolling cloud of darkness that seemed to blend in with the landscape after a hundred paces. A moving shadow. He stood there, sighed, then stared distractedly at the feathers. The [Slaves] and Antinium had taken half since they were very, very useful, but they were so big they hadn’t been able to fit the rest into the Chest of Holding or the wagon. So that left four feathers, one of which came from a full adult Roc.

“Now what the heck am I supposed to do with these?”

Then Garry cast around and realized he’d forgotten to bring a backup wagon.

“And how am I supposed to get back without my wagon and its Skills?”

——

Runel and Pisca had to meet Garry after half a day of him running back towards the Free Hive with a handcart to qualify for the [Vehicle: Fast Travelling] Skill. Even then, it took ages for them to get back to the Hive.

Between writing a thank-you note, explaining to the Free Queen what had happened, and everything else, it was another long night before Garry once again woke up just at dawn in his kitchen, taking loaves out of the oven. And he had to admit—it hadn’t exactly been elegant or well-planned as his other actions.

But he’d done it. Sometimes, this was all you could do. Garry always did all that he could. Which was why, as a wagon rumbled towards the New Lands, on a long journey to safety and perhaps something new, the [Baker] kept working.

He felt like all he did was pack things these days. And buy Chests of Holding. Good thing Wistram kept selling them cheap; they’d actually delivered this one to the Free Hive, gratis. But he still had to haul the damn thing out of the Hive and into the Driver’s Guild after packing it full of bread.

It took a lot of trips, even with Runel and Pisca’s help, but Garry packed as much bread he could fit until the back of the glowing carriage made of mana and air seemed like it might explode from the inside.

Then he climbed into the driver’s seat, and two magical horses appeared in front of him. The [Baker] took the time to pat both and then glanced at the [Hostler] who’d come out to stare at him. He waved once at the [Drivers] and began to ride.

He didn’t need a door this time. He just rode off the top of the walls and over the water. The sleepy Watch shouted after him, and the Worker laughed.

Archmage Eldavin was good at enchanting. But the silly half-Elf had made the mistake everyone else had. Again and again, when were they going to learn?

The carriage flashed over the water as [Drivers] ran to spread the word. Not to the television stations; that would be wrong. Even if it was glorious, important—

Driver’s Guild code was to never put a fellow [Driver] in danger. The [Hostler] began to write an entry in his book, using a seldom-employed designation. He underlined the name a few times before he sent it off to the other Driver’s Guilds.

Delivery of Mercy — Undertaken by the Spirit of Christmas, Garry the [Baker].

——

On the carriage rolled, and a little Gnoll boy sleeping in a newly-founded village woke up for reasons he couldn’t understand. He pressed his nose to the window, then he raced outside, waving and shouting.

A figure in a red coat, wearing that iconic hat, waved at him. And he was big as could be, a twinkle in his eye, and he even flew, though he got so airsick he stuck to the ground most of the time.

The little boy waved his hands and believed. As the magical carriage flashed past, leaving a trail of water, the rider seemed to remember something and pointed.

Then the air shimmered, and a little green box wrapped with a bright red bow shimmered and appeared out of the air.

[A Magical Gift].

The little Gnoll boy caught it, and then the Antinium was surging over the Floodplains into the Bloodfields. He raced on, faster, faster, and then word was spreading.

Too late.

——

A few Drake [Sentries] posted well south of the Bloodfields had been cursing their boring duty they’d been assigned to ‘just in case’. They’d expected nothing but boredom given recent events.

Right now, one of them was screaming into a speaking stone at a confused, sleepy Watch Captain. The other was firing arrows wildly, but they just bounced off the magical carriage.

“It’s him! It’s him—Ancestors, raise the Walled Cities—he’s back!”

Then they dove as the glowing carriage flashed past, and a voice boomed like thunder.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, you little scamps.”

One of them raised a bow, and a piece of coal brained the Drake between the eyes. Garry sat forwards in his seat and started laughing.

The magical Antinium, the distraction, the living legend, giftgiver, and deliverer of food rode on. Wondering, all the while, what his [Innkeeper] was doing.

And his story continued.

[Baker of Presents, Gifted Chef Level 46!]

[Skill – Create: List of the Needy Obtained!]

[Skill – Create: Coal Obtained!]

[Deliverer Class Obtained!]

[Deliverer Level 8!]

[Skill – He Rode in Any Weather, Undeterred Obtained!]

[Skill – That Elusive, Untraceable, Unscryable Man Obtained!]

[Skill – …With His Two Horses (Unnamed, Freud) Created!]

Erin and Ulvama – Final 

That night in Lemoste-Under-Cliffs, an [Innkeeper] and Goblin spotted each other across the crowded concert grounds heaving with Fraerlings, tables, food, and excitement as bands prepared to perform.

When they saw what the other was wearing, they halted, and their friends laughed and felt the moment in the air. The [Innkeeper] strode forwards with a marching band of musicians, like someone leading an army to war. A woman of great causes.

The [Shaman] hesitated, then crouched and scuttled forwards. A lonely warrior, a masked survivor who’d remembered she was still young. And she was followed by masters of magic, who lit up the sky, an honor-guard carrying her dignity.

At the side of the young Human was a [Raider], a rebel, a granddaughter, who cheered like the world’s greatest follower and supporter.

Behind the Hobgoblin strode a madman, a [Doctor], a genius who was determined to see something he couldn’t predict.

—Right in the middle of the two were the quartet of idiots who really, really hadn’t done anything much. An old [Explorer] and a younger one, who stared at the change that had come over the two, and a pair of silly [Brawlers] who held each other like the best of friends.

Whose hearts shook and, when they glanced at each other—they almost sprang apart, because for a second, they were afraid they didn’t look like comrades, but lovers. A line they couldn’t cross, because—Zemmy’s eyes flicked to the ground as Mera glanced at him and reddened—

You could never go back.

A hand held onto another a second too long. Mera leaned back as Zemmy raised a foot to kick. Then they were just sitting there, glancing left and right at the two processions winding towards them. Neither one said a word.

It wasn’t about them, anyways. The Hobgoblin’s eyes were wide behind her mask, and the [Innkeeper] was breathing hard as her motorbike helmet gleamed, hiding her expression.

They slowed, the [Innkeeper] almost tripping, the Hobgoblin freezing as Fraerlings turned to her. Gasping. They didn’t take their eyes off each other.

——

And you know what? This was a great moment to understand why the Battle of the Bands 4 was actually, in fact, the biggest Battle of the Bands to take place in Lemoste.

One might well think that Battle of the Bands 1, 2, or 3 would have a very good chance at being the best, and the fourth such event was not only passé, but banal at this point.

One would be wrong. You see, it all came down to a mixture of factors that Matha was loudly trying to explain to Eurise as Erin craned her neck, trying to see where Ulvama had gone.

They’d reached the table, but Ulvama had not. Erin had lost sight of her when a wave of excited Fraerlings had swept forwards to ask about the masks that Ulvama and the other magic-users were wearing. And Matha was shouting.

“It’s going to be huge, guys!”

“Bigger than yesterday? That was the third ‘battle’, right?”

Roja wasn’t quite glaring at Erin, but she had her arms folded, and Matha was excitedly shaking her head. Erin stood up on her tiptoes. Then sat back down, adjusting her costume. Which looked like—

“Listen! Here’s why it’s the best. Okay, you know how everyone was busy until now? That’s why the other concerts were, like—practice! Everyone’s here for this one. Plus, think about it! No one knew how to really play the first three times, but now?”

“Oh, they’ve had practice.”

Eurise shrugged. He was casting around as well, but he was receptive to this argument. Matha was nodding.

“Not just practice! Levels. Classes! And all the crafters got really excited for this one because, well, they have free time now that Lemoste has walls.”

It was true; you had the most participation, the most practice, the most competition, and…Erin was really happy for everyone. Really. But, uh—

Damnit.

She could feel the passion in the air. She wrenched her attention away from the crowd of people and turned to Matha. Reluctantly, but Erin had an idea. As Garry well knew, she was rather good at plans, and something occurred to her.

“Hey, Matha? I just had a thought. Everyone’s put a lot of effort into this except for me.”

“What? Erin! You’re all dressed up! I mean, look at what you’re wearing!”

Erin glanced down at her clothing.

“Yeah. But…well, this is huge. Just look at the Fallin’ Gnomes. Or Elohi and the Cats.”

She gestured at the nervous group preparing to go on stage, who the smart money was on—if Fraerlings had any money. They were coordinating with an [Illusionist], and another band with Alack and his group were talking to an [Alchemist]. Matha nodded.

“This is going to be super, Erin.”

“Yeah, well…maybe it can be even more super. I have a stupid idea, but…”

Erin shot a glance back at where a spider-Goblin had climbed over the heads of a crowd. She bit her lip. Then sighed.

“Can I borrow you for one second? I’ll be back, guys.”

Matha blinked, but then ran over to the stage with Erin as Bowom finally fought through the crowd.

“Back! Back! I have a scalpel! Dead gods, they don’t fear the scalpel. What is the world coming to? Where’s our [Innkeeper]?”

Eurise jerked a thumb over his shoulder, and Ulvama tilted her mask up to wave as Mera squeaked.

“Whoa! Ulvama! That’s a badass mask!”

“Where’s Erin?”

Ulvama was so nervous she jumped when someone punched her. She swore, whirling—and the Battle Hamster recoiled, then raised its fists. It hopped, ready to fight this freakish, masked—

“You silly hamster! It’s me!”

The Battle Hamster lowered its fists, then sniffed Ulvama all over and tried to headbutt her mask. She hugged it, and Roja broke in.

“Erin had an idea. She’s going to—”

“Of course she is.”

Ulvama sighed, and everyone grew tense, but the Hobgoblin just sat down, fanning her face. Then all the magic-casters were around them, and Ulvama fidgeted. Zemmy leaned over, staring.

“Whoa. Is that spider gear? It’s not Shield Spider. What type?”

“Dreamweaver. Do you like the—”

All the conversation was drowned out as a voice shouted from the magical speakers installed on the stage.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re beginning in five minutes! Take your seats, enjoy the refreshments—and, er, let’s hear it for our performers!”

A cheer rose from the crowd, and Ulvama and everyone else joined in, clapping. But where…was Erin? What was she doing?

——

Backstage was chaos. Someone from Alack’s band was begging for a tonic.

“I need a potion for motion-sickness! Please!”

There were other voices shouting with all those last-minute emergencies.

“Does anyone have face-paint? I’m out!”

“Hey, where’s our [Mage]? We’re going up first!”

Matha was supposed to MC the entire event. Erin still wasn’t sure what ‘MC’ stood for, but she’d assured Matha it was important. But right now, Matha was wide-eyed, stuttering.

“W-wait, really, Erin? But that’s against all the rules. Everyone will kill you if you do that!”

That caught the attention of Vision Tiregal, who was singing backup in his own band. He came over, eyebrows raised, and Erin shrugged.

“I mean, it’s bad if it’s done live. But hey, you know what? This looks a lot like a scene from home.”

She nodded out the curtains at the cheering crowd. Erin hadn’t ever been backstage for a concert, but she added.

“I mean, everyone seems normal to me. Even as a silly Human Tallfolk. All you’ve gotta do is send it in, right?”

She waggled her eyebrows with that hint of mischief, of chaos. Matha glanced at Vision Tiregal as the [Mage] they’d found rubbed her hands together gleefully.

“Oh, I can definitely do it! But—but are we certain?”

“The Farspeakers will kill us.”

Vision Tiregal murmured and turned to Matha. The [Punk] stared at her feet, then at Erin.

“But everyone would see it?”

“Yep.”

“It’s so wrong! But wait, I’m a [Punk]! This is totally breaking the rules, right? No way. Erin, are you, like, some kind of ultra-[Punk]?”

Everyone stared at her, and the well-behaved, well-liked [Innkeeper] known mainly for her musical stylings and her feud with an innocent Hobgoblin developed a familiar twinkle in her eyes. She scrubbed at it furiously and slammed her bike helmet visor down.

“Aaah! Glitter in the eye! Matha, your hair is a nightmare! Anyways, yes. I have been known to cause chaos now and then, Matha. Whaddya say? If it’s really bad, someone will tackle us.”

Matha glanced at the others, then closed her eyes.

“Grandma is going to blow all her lids. Let’s do it.”

——

It was night in the rest of the world. And, technically speaking, the events of the concert had no real bearing until hours later.

Close to midnight, in fact, long after it had concluded and all that had been said and done had happened. What that was? Didn’t really matter.

The consequences of Matha’s actions were far more important in a worldly sense. And those particular consequences had a real bearing on a certain news segment on Channel 2 News, Wistram News Network.

It was late, and no one was really watching. The poor Gnoll whose job it was to man the newsdesk was named Nrr. A real Gnoll’s name, even if his parents had never so much as been outside of Pallass.

He was a [Camera Operator] and an aspiring [Reporter]. Drassi’s team had a lot of non-Drakes, unlike Channel 1, and this was his first time on air. He’d rehearsed a lot, but he’d still been disappointed to get the night-shift.

Unlike Colmet, who sometimes co-anchored or took over for Drassi, or the other top talent, he had to start covering these segments, and no one was watching, so he’d never get his big break! True, he’d gotten this far, and he was being professional.

“It, ah, seems we have more callers writing in about the Garry Delivery event. I’ll be reading them out as I report on the news as it comes in.”

Which was nothing. To fill the time, Nrr was taking user-submissions, be it messages to the desk or even submissions of their own events.

Wistram kept porting in things they got sent—it was expensive, and it was mostly royalty sending in utter trash, like King Perric of Medain’s recreation of his love affair with Ceria Springwalker and Yvlon Byres or something.

But he had to fill the void, so Nrr read a few messages that mostly rehashed the action from earlier. If only it had been just an hour later, he’d still get to cover the events—or Drassi would still be here, most likely.

All the action was done. He gloomily stared at a counter behind the camera. It read ‘1131’.

As in, by Wistram’s counts, 1,131 people were tuning into the broadcast. Which sounded like a lot until you realized that even in the evening, Channel 1 was pulling 15,663 viewers. Let alone a peak…!

The Gnoll was fumbling with a few recording crystals that had blinked into being in the magical box they’d sent. He was reading the labels. Wistram screened for anything inappropriate, but it was probably some [Apprentice] on the other end, same as him. This was the news, but he wanted it to be news. Nrr sighed as he read.

“Let’s see. I think we could fill the void with…Stitch-folk sword-juggling? Er, no. Something calming, maybe. Drathian tea ceremony?”

He shuddered. If he fell asleep at the desk, he’d never get to work again. Desperately, Nrr glanced up and then blinked. The number behind the counter as one of his fellow [Camera Operators] yawned had changed.

1170.

Oh? Not bad. Maybe a village was watching, though wouldn’t they count as one? Before even a moment had passed, Nrr saw the number change again.

1249.

Huh?

Then it blinked again.

1533.

Then—

2144.

The [Camera Operator] sat up a bit as the Dullahan registered the number climbing too. Nrr fumbled with his crystals. He saw a letter pop into his in tray, then another.

“Er, I, uh—folks, if you’re just tuning in, it seems like our audience is picking up. Let me just, uh, read this letter that came in. It’s from Lord Molen of House Terland?”

He tore it open and read it.

“It says, ‘get on with it’. Er, with what, Lord Molen?”

He looked around, then, since the staff were giving him shrugs to indicate no news had come in, he went to the recordings again. Maybe…

“Er, well, if you want to watch viewer submissions, boy, do I have—apple picking in Noelictus? Ergh! Wait, what’s this? ‘Battle of the Bands 4’?”

This recording note was attached to a rather small crystal that glowed as he picked it up. Bemused, Nrr turned.

“I don’t know if this is what we’re getting on with, but let’s give it a shot. You know, it’s a shame. There are plenty of Singer of Terandria imitators these days, especially with her tragic attack at sea—she’s still not been found or confirmed alive or dead, you know—but no one’s got her magic. Despite all the magic, ha-ha…”

He was dying on air. But when he glanced back again—

4561.

Nrr almost fell out of his seat. What the heck was…and then he saw the image appear on the screen behind him. One of the [Camera Operators] changed the overlay so the audience saw the image coming out of the recording, and Nrr was in a window in the right corner. And he saw…

“Hey, everyone!”

The voice that blasted from the recording was loud and filled with cheering. Nrr almost grabbed a remote to change the volume, but the sight of the Human woman standing on the stage, dressed in a glitzy rock-n-roll outfit covered with silver sequins and shining flames had a microphone, and she was standing on a huge stage.

Where is this? Terandria? 

The cheering died down as the image of Matha stabilized. It was very clear, and Nrr checked the recording. Who sent this…? He realized he was on-air and coughed.

“Er, seems like we’ve got a recording of some kind of outdoor event. Terandria, I think. I don’t know what—”

“Welcome to Battle of the Bands 4!”

“Battle of the Bands…four? I’ve never heard of—”

Matha’s shouting was louder than Nrr’s desperate attempts to give clarity to the situation. And she arguably did it better than he did.

“Tonight, we’ve got an amazing series of bands who are going to be playing their hearts out! Rock n’ Roll, pop, and more! I’m going to be calling each band in, so give me a huge cheer for—Elohi and the Deranged Cats!”

The cheering grew louder, and Nrr hesitated. There was good energy in this video, but he wasn’t sure if—

The sight of a full squad of young Humans dressed to the max in clothing he’d never seen before—torn shirt sleeves, trendy, modern-looking clothing, and even a bandanna on their lead singer—made him stop.

And their instruments. Nrr took his hand off the remote as the Cats set up a very odd set of drums and lifted familiar guitars of a style he knew had become popular only this year.

“Hey, everyone, I’m Elohi, and we’re the Deranged Cats! Our first song to win Battle of the Bands 4 is—21 Guns!”

The Fraerling girl shouted into the microphone to more cheers. She couldn’t be more than fourteen—well, she looked like a fourteen year-old Human girl to everyone watching.

It was just a matter of perspective. And Nrr was right: no Cara imitators had come close to the Siren of Songs, the Baroness of the Beat…because Cara knew the look, and music and she had the Skills and costuming to produce professional music.

The only group that could throw together an ensemble on Cara’s level or better would be…the Players of Celum, obviously. Ullsinoi of Wistram. The Lord of the Dance’s entourage.

And Fraerlings. Oh, and one more thing:

Erin had taught the excited bands all the songs she’d heard or knew of, and she had heard most of Earth’s top songs at least once, thanks to her music-loving father, Gregori. For a Battle of the Bands?

The Fraerlings chose only the best. The moment Elohi began to strum on the guitar, Nrr sat up. His exhaustion vanished, and he felt the white-hot surge of excitement.

This is it. He leaned forwards with everyone else as the view-count continued to spike, and Nrr didn’t even pay attention to it. The music was playing, and he was a vessel for his audience.

The only time he even glanced away from the Battle of the Bands 4 was when one of the other co-hosts charged into the room along with Channel 1’s Sir Relz—then Nrr was kicking.

“Get—off—my—show! This is my spot! This is my spot!”

——

The events in Lemoste had happened hours ago, then been packaged up and sent as an anonymous, untraceable recording to Wistram.

Just because it mattered. Just because, when Matha told the crowd this would be recorded and maybe broadcast, if only to other Fraerling cities, it gave everything stakes. It made the performers try harder, and as Erin thought to herself…

The more people who watched a musician, the more you levelled, right?

In a sense, the reactions of the nations worldwide were merely delayed, no less real.

And Elohi and the Cats blew a hole into that quiet night and brought everyone racing to the scrying orb.

Erin was sitting backstage with Matha; they’d missed the chance to sneak out around back, and Matha was biting her nails.

“Are they good? Are they good, Erin?”

She whispered, and Erin replied.

“No one’s got a lot of training. There’s lots of natural talent, but they’re essentially cover artists playing the songs. So the original song is pretty much being repeated.”

“So…?”

Erin stared out the crack in the curtains, smiling faintly.

“So, what sells the performance is how much energy and passion the bands have got.”

She watched as Elohi began to play the solo, throwing her head back, and the drums thundered. In the brief silence as the music came down for the finale—

The cheering was thunderous.

——

The name of the song also threw numerous kingdoms into chaos. From Erribathe to Fissival to the Blighted Kingdom, Earthers were going insane.

King Othius snapped at a sweating Nereshal.

“Find this ‘Elohi’ now. Is she an Earther? Are they all Earthers?”

His gaze was avaricious, and paranoid, as he stared at the recording. And Nereshal, who had under him the greatest [Mages] in this world, paused, swallowed, and said—

“We—cannot locate this individual, Your Majesty.”

“What? Is her name fake, then? Trace the spell! Find out where it came from! Use our agents in Wistram!”

——

The Blighted Kingdom worked frantically, and in Wistram Academy, even Archmage Eldavin had appeared to do some tracework on the recording lighting up the airwaves. Everyone waited as the old half-Elf peered at the air, eyed a complicated thaumatergic chart he was generating, and coughed.

“Yes…well, if I had received it…did you get a return address?”

He spoke sternly to the [Apprentice] who had accepted the teleportation spell. Then his eyes flicked back to the concert.

Just who could this be? Was this a taunt? Some kind of coded message? 

——

Iuncuta Eirnos was spilling a cup of tea over Commander Rozcal’s hand. The two Fraerlings were attending an officer’s night, and they stared at the group on stage.

“You don’t think…?”

The clothing looked very good, and it was made with advanced materials. But there were hints, if you looked closely. The stage was made of wide slats of wood when Tallfolk had much smaller ones because it was hard to find a tree that big. And some of the materials in their costumes…

Iuncuta snapped at one of the [Mages] nearby.

“—Find out who that is.”

“So we can yell at ‘em? Or ask when they’re doing the fifth concert?”

The Fraerling woman hesitated as the applause drowned out Matha for a moment, then a second band took the stage. She leaned over and whispered to Rozcal.

“Both, obviously.”

Secrecy was one thing, but everyone was watching this and celebrating it. Fraerlings loved privacy and safety—but they loved amazing things just like everyone. Whether Lemoste knew it or not, like Paeth, it was pulling the smallest folk out of hiding. With music and envy.

——

The second band who played after the Cats were representing the ‘olds’, the adults. They were, fittingly, Fallin’ Gnomes. Elohi made devil horns at her parents, who blew a kiss as they set up on stage.

Unlike the wholesome kid-rock energy of the last band, Fallin’ Gnomes were the all-black deathcore edgewarriors. Never mind their age; their drummer was wearing a mouse’s skull for a helmet. The four-person band had thought and chosen carefully for their opener.

They were playing In the End, by Black Veil Brides, which was a very fitting song for their aesthetic. Erin was smiling; Elohi’s parents were eating up the stage. They’d gone all out.

Fake blood, collapsible daggers—you could imagine the rest. And just think—this wasn’t the two top bands, but the average level of competition. Fraerlings were giving this their all, and Erin loved it.

You know what she’d love more? To be sitting with a Hobgoblin wearing a mask and maybe having a conversation, or at least, be not seeing this from backstage.

She whispered to Matha, who was rocking out to the song and air guitaring as well.

“Matha, I’m going to run around and join the crowd, okay?”

“Sure. Erin, this is a great idea! They’re going nuts! I can practically feel myself levelling!”

The crowd was hopping. Wait, was it cool to say hopping? Erin didn’t know, but she wished she’d gone to more concerts…

No. She wished she’d been this Erin when she was on Earth. And she wished she’d had Bowom, Ulvama, Battle Hamster, and yes, even Matha with her.

I don’t want to go back to my city of Grand Rapids as I was. I want to visit it again as me.

She felt almost like a key was turning in her chest. The rightness of this thought, this moment—she was adjusting her costume when it happened.

“Oh no. Oh no. Erin, help!”

It was one of the band members! Alack’s band—she forgot their actual name, but the oldest musician was grave as they crowded around someone on the floor. A [Healer] pushed into view.

“What? What’s going on?”

“The idiot ate a centipede without making sure it was dead! It’s been writhing around in his stomach and guts all evening!”

Centipedes were apparently very good at surviving, even when being actively digested, and one of their backup performers was down. It wasn’t a danger to his life, but the [Healer] flatly refused to say he’d be back in time to perform.

“Absolutely not! We need to operate on him, and everyone, even Bowom the Slicer, is here! I’ll get him out of here, but he won’t be back!”

“But—but our act!”

The lead singer was pleading with the [Healer], and the Fraerling woman turned.

“Can’t someone fill in for you? There are all those performers.”

“No one knows how to dance! It’s not hard, but we can’t just show them…”

Then every eye turned to the woman who’d helped them come up with the routine to begin with. Erin raised her gloved hands.

“Oh no. No, I can’t—”

She hesitated, because Alack was giving her a soulful gaze as he toyed with his new saxophone. Matha hesitated.

“You’re already in costume, Erin…and it’d be pretty cool. Ulvama wouldn’t expect this.”

Every eye swung back to the Hobgoblin in the crowd as Erin wavered. She blushed as she regarded them, helmet under one arm.

“But if I mess up—”

“Hey, Erin. Respect the music.”

The [Drummer] put a hand on Erin’s arm, and she groaned.

“This had better not become the world’s first movie. Argh! Okay!”

They were up next. The cheering grew louder, and Matha whispered to Erin as she called their names then dashed back inside.

“Thanks, Erin. Alack’s really nervous, but he’s practiced for this for two whole Battle of the Bands.”

The sax was a difficult instrument to learn, and the old Fraerling had been self-conscious from all the teasing. In fact…Matha was genuinely worried because the quality of performance tonight was blowing the sky off everyone’s expectations.

The greatest hits of Earth were coming out left, right, and center, and could Alack’s band compete? They weren’t, uh, as good as some of the other bands. Erin leaned over as Alack walked out and took his position behind the two lead singers.

“Don’t worry. Alack’s great.”

“But is the song good? You didn’t even remember the name.”

Erin grinned as her eyes flicked to Alack.

“I don’t. But if you want to play with the best…there’s only one song I know that has an amazing, no, epic saxophone guy.”

Matha’s brows rose. She smiled as Erin began to stride out to join the backup dancers flanking Alack. Then she flailed.

“Erin! Waitwaitwait, helmet!”

Erin had nearly gone out without her iconic helmet! Erin caught herself and jammed it on. Then she was just an awesome…she gave Matha a gloved thumbs up.

“Good catch, Matha!”

She strode out onto stage as Ulvama’s jaw dropped. But the song wasn’t about her or even featured Alack at first.

——

Technically, the song was named ‘Run Away’. Erin had helped come up with the choreography, by which she had shamelessly stolen the performance since, well, they were iconic and had worked, right?

That was why the first person to actually begin playing was a Fraerling who had a violin of everything. He was spinning around on an enchanted platform. Hence the need for a motion-sickness potion.

The other singer was a woman who was singing what had sounded like another language to a younger Erin, but was just accented English. And it was a good song. Strong, techno beats or something, with a trio of backup dancers. An old Fraerling in the center, a nimble young man to his right, and for some reason, a helmeted biker on the left.

—-

It was okay, but for Mrsha’s money, watching in The Wandering Inn, the other acts had been way better. No disrespect; she admired the old man’s clothing.

He had a sleeveless jacket on, exposing a bare chest and white chest hair, and long jeans or something close. And a saxophone which looked interesting; with the shades, she thought he was what Nanette kept trying to emulate with her silly clothing.

The weird biker-girl to the left made Mrsha think of Theillige for some reason. Or Rianchi, actually.

Definitely Earthers. She was up way past her bedtime, but no one cared; the inn was packed with people watching this non-Inn event with a lot of fun. She was turning to her mother when someone began choking at the table next to hers.

She thought Kevin was dying for a moment and began hitting him on the back to get the popcorn out, but the bulging-eyed Earther was gasping.

“No. No, it can’t be! It’s that song! It’s—epic sax guy!”

“Epic who now?”

Lyonette turned, and every eye focused on the center figure as the old Fraerling lifted the saxophone to his mouth, and the music receded and—

After a second, Mrsha’s head began to bob to the beat. Peggy gasped.

“Oh my.”

——

It wasn’t even a long segment. That was the genius of it. It was just that when he took center stage…Erin had told Alack it was all about energy. Hip thrust. Pelvic energy.

She’d done some demonstrations after a lot of persuading. The rest? Poise and pure aura.

How much aura did a seventy year-old Fraerling with a saxophone have?

He had exactly two short segments in the three-minute song. All the two backup dancers did was accompany him and dance along to the beat.

—The cheering was so loud and sustained that the band had to come back and perform the exact same song except with a twice-as-long saxophone break.

——

The Wandering Inn was applauding and debating casting their vote for best song of the night there and then. They’d completely forgotten this was a recording; Nrr was taking votes from his audience for best song.

Counterlevelling.

And this was all long after it had happened. Lyonette glanced a second time at the helmeted biker girl doing a second bow. She rubbed her chin, narrowed her eyes, then nudged Ser Dalimont.

“You know who that helmeted girl there reminds me of?”

“Who, Your Highness?”

“Ryoka. It’s quite like something she’d wear.”

Ser Dalimont narrowed his eyes at the bowing figure, then nodded.

“You know what? That is just like her, though she has boots on.”

“Maybe it is her. We should check. It’d be so typical of Ryoka to get mixed up in all this. She probably ran into a group of Earthers again and she’s dating a war-criminal from Earth or something.”

Then they went back to watching, and for once, it wasn’t about Erin at all. Nor about them. The inn drifted on, in those quiet days between wars. Rebuilding. Healing. But not, perhaps, peace as defined in some dictionaries as the ‘period of rest between this war and the next’.

A more positive peace this time. One could only dream.

——

In her room on the third floor, a Drake lay curled up, listening to the sounds of merriment from below. There was a scrying orb in her room, though not one she was watching the concert from. It showed her the common room, and every now and then, someone, usually the [Princess], would glance at her and ask if she was well.

Her name was…Tessa. She had been Shriekblade, which was who the Healer had wanted. But Lyonette had come for ‘Tessa’, and the miserable Drake had followed. She was not better.

—But it was warm here. She curled up under blankets and a heating stone placed under a little table, laying there as the world shifted around her.

She hadn’t been forgotten. This time, someone had come for her, apologizing all the while for how long it had taken. The Named-rank adventurer studied the figures on the little scrying orb. They were very far off, but she, who had killed every levelling species in the world except one knew bodies. These were…new.

Wondering why the [Innkeeper] was dancing with Fraerlings, Tessa slept.

——

Battle of the Bands 4 would go down in music history. In world history, really. Certainly, it would later be credited for single-handedly jumpstarting Lemoste’s obsession with music and crafting.

Or perhaps that was also due to a certain [Innkeeper] and [Shaman] who had visited along with other noteworthy individuals, like Eurise the Explorer and Bowom the Slicer.

But that was history, and what they wrote of the group that had come here…

In the moment, Erin was high-fiving the ecstatic band and hugging Alack, then excusing herself to hurry around the concert grounds. The problem was—by now, every Fraerling not seated at the tables with food was forming a mosh pit, and she couldn’t even see her group.

She could sense where they were, but Erin didn’t want to shove people aside—and it was so hecking noisy that how were you supposed to have a conversation in…?

“Erin! There you are!”

Zemmy shouted and pulled Erin out of the crowd. Then she saw all the faces around her. Roja, dancing as Eurise sat grinning, and Zemmy and Mera jumped up and down. Bowom was pouring drinks for the Architects and magic-users grooving out and—

There was Ulvama. The two stopped as Ulvama sat up in her chair. Erin halted, covered in sweat under her rather hot outfit, and they finally got a good look at each other.

Ulvama was like some kind of swamp-warrior or a true Fraerling from the wilds. She wore a mask that curved down to form a heart’s tip at her chin and became a series of armored edges around the eyeguards. Like…a spiked beast. Two round circles armored with glass gave her the ability to see, and the mask was contoured to her face such that if she needed to, she could breathe an enchanted air supply underwater or in poisonous smog.

But it was the colors which made the mask pop at anyone who saw it. Purple spider’s fangs and slashes of green, making her eyes appear huge. The optical illusion ran across the dark purple armor she wore, which was covered in webs. A mesh between her fingers and, yes, under her armpits…bright orange, red, and darker blue ran over her armor.

Shamanic warrior armor. When she crouched and scuttled, she resembled some kind of freakish spider, enhanced all the more by the fangs and hilts of daggers sticking out from her armor. She looked spiky.

She looked like she had emerged from the deep jungles on a mission. A wild being of magic and mystery, but never primitive. Just unique. Proudly bearing symbols and a culture that no one understood but her.

Her hair was braided back, and it swung as her head moved up and down. Gazing at the [Innkeeper].

Erin Solstice’s face was covered by a motorcycle helmet from her world painted bright red, covered with glass. There was nothing but a black pane of one-way glass over her face. As if her features didn’t matter.

The rest of her clothing resembled a motorcyclist’s: a black leather jacket with a single chess piece on the back, a queen. Little studs of brass had been hammered into a shoulderguard on her right shoulder. And there were tiny icons running down the left side of the jacket, exposing a similarly dark undershirt.

Her leggings were, well, leather, but sufficiently pants-like to fall into many categories if they weren’t strictly jeans. And she had a white flag resting over her shoulder, but Ulvama’s eyes were drawn to the one bit of color.

Those little icons. The enthusiastic [Costumer] had been more than happy to make up a few more things for Erin, especially given how small they were. So the [Innkeeper] had asked for several…patches to run down one collar.

Badges. Of honor? Shame?

Icons that defined her.

A frying pan and an acid jar.

A crimson fang dripping with blood joined by five green hands at the center.

A skeleton’s face with purple flames for eyes.

A footprint in red.

A little yellow flower.

A howling Gnoll in white…

There was not enough space on her jacket for them all. But each patch seemed bright, as if they were the only things that mattered on the dark cloth. They gazed at each other, taking in every line of the other’s clothing.

This is what you chose to wear? Why? I want to understand.

The smallest of details. The gloves on Erin’s hands had silver fingertips. Ulvama’s armor had a central splash of gold. A glittering, beautiful color that was fake. The color of…pyrite. From that line of power, everything else flowed.

The [Innkeeper] had a kitchen knife sheathed at her hip. The Hobgoblin had embedded needles as sharp as Bowom’s scalpels in her hair.

Erin’s boots made her quite a bit taller. Ulvama’s boots didn’t have strings; you slipped them on and tightened straps, but she didn’t have shoelaces.

So many little details. The two stood there as people turned, admiring their costumes, seeing the two meeting and wondering, perhaps, if they were going to fight or who was in the right. Supporters, friends, curious people drawn to the duo despite the concert.

…Which had ended. Erin and Ulvama started when they registered the lack of sound as opposed to its presence.

At some point, while they looked at each other in silence, unmoving, the entire concert had come and gone. The recording was being edited, and then?

“Hey, Ulvama. Um. Can we t—”

“Erin! We did it!”

Elohi flung herself forwards, and Bowom raised his scalpel to stab. Roja held him back as Elohi and the Cats surrounded Erin, cheering.

And they hadn’t even won! It wasn’t about winning, it was about the Battle of the Bands 4—

Suddenly, all the bands were here, cheering for Erin, mixing with the fans who were shouting.

“Hey, Miss Goblin? Is that you?”

Ulvama had her own Fraerlings who wanted to say hello. Erin was shaking hands, getting hugs, trying to make herself heard.

“I, uh, this is great, guys! Congrats! Who won? Let me just—”

On the other side, Ulvama was trying her scuttling technique, but she nearly knocked over two excited Fraerling children who promptly climbed on her, and she held them so carefully as they reached for her mask—

Zemmy eyed one of the kids and slowly raised a foot. If he kicked just right, he reckoned he could send the kid flying without any damage—

“Excuse me, what are you doing to my son?”

A Fraerling woman was watching him. Zemmy hesitated. How was he supposed to punch his way out of…?

Eurise was sipping from a drink as he watched the two overly-popular women trying to break free of the crowd. Roja shouted at him.

“Eurise, c’mon, help!”

“They’ll get free eventually. Night’s long.”

She glared at him, and after twenty more minutes, Eurise had to admit—it might be difficult. And that was that. Bowom was being held back from doing Bowom things, and he eventually just stomped off through the crowd. People not falling asleep on the spot like [Restorer] Ginthe were talking excitedly, and neither Ulvama nor Erin could quite find an opening to get free. Mostly because the other person was busy, and in a few minutes, surely…

Well, that was the end of the night. Matha stood there, peering at the two who had come so close, but were so far. She closed her eyes and found one of the tankards of ale on the table. She slowly and deliberately poured it down her back, and as Eurise raised his brows, she turned the microphone on and spoke into it.

“Excuse me, everyone. I have just pooped myself. It is coming out at high-velocity. Please stand back.”

Every head turned. Members of the Battle of the Bands who had been familiar with Matha’s illness and just…everyone in general took one look at the brown stains dripping onto the—

It was amazing how fast the area cleared. Laughter, shock, a call for a [Healer]…and then Erin Solstice was alone. Probably because Matha was right next to her.

“Um, do you need a [Healer], Matha—?”

The [Raider] was bright red, but she rolled her eyes at Erin and jerked her head. And Erin realized Matha was embarrassed but lying…her eyes opened wide, and then Matha was stumbling out of the crowd as Bowom tossed a child skywards, and everyone ran to catch them.

There they were. Bowom ran off, and Matha spoke.

“Um. Hey, fancy you two being here! Let’s go, everyone! C’mon, Eurise, Mera, Zemmy! No arguments or I’ll poop on you!”

She stormed the table, and there were exclamations, shouts—the Battle Hamster had to be dragged off by Mera and Zemmy—and then Erin and Ulvama were sitting there.

Awkwardly. Mostly, because while Matha had cleared the immediate, ten-foot radius with her stunt…everyone had just vacated to adjourning tables and were turning to stare.

Though perhaps neither one even noticed. Erin glanced at the tablecloth and messy plates, and her stomach grumbled.

“Aw. I missed dinner. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“Me too.”

Between Ulvama’s goings-on with Bowom and her Dreamleaf ritual, the most she’d had was a leaf-edible.

Instantly, food appeared on the tables. Aphid meat nachos. Druid Wraps, licorice-dew drops—the two blinked. And then Ulvama fidgeted.

“I have a mask. Magic-casters made it.”

“Oh. Yeah. And this awesome [Costumer] made my stuff.”

“Mine is armor. For the journey.”

“Nice. Mine’s…well, I guess I could wear it. But the helmet’s really hot. I should take it off. One sec. Uh…it’s stuck.”

It finally popped off Erin’s head, exposing a sweaty face—and her new haircut. Ulvama’s eyes widened, and she stopped taking her mask off and shoved it back down over her face.

The [Innkeeper] misinterpreted the Hobgoblin’s actions. The one person she couldn’t read, aside from Eurise—she glanced down at her lap.

“Right. I’ve been a jerk. We were fighting. About Garry…”

“Oh. Yah.”

The Hobgoblin closed her eyes, and the silence between them grew heavy again. Ulvama hesitated.

“I forgi—”

“Don’t do that.”

A pause, and Ulvama nodded.

“…You want to talk? I think—talking is important. Is—is Garry okay?”

Erin shrugged as she picked up a Druid Wrap and sniffed it suspiciously. It was vegetarian, but [Druids] ate weird things.

“He’s on another delivery. And he just freed a bunch of [Slaves] in the Hivelands.”

“He what? Is he okay? If you need to check on him—”

A groan silenced at once. Neither one noticed. Erin glanced at Ulvama and shook her head.

“He’s going to be fine without me. I think he’d kick my ass if I bothered him. Hey…your outfit’s awesome.”

“Yah. You…dressed up.”

“Well, Matha encouraged me to do it. She didn’t make me. I just thought it was cool. Like Theillige.”

“Oh. This mask…it’s from my tribe. Not from my tribe. But same style.”

Erin smiled and brushed at her hair again.

“The Molten Stone tribe? I always wanted to know what that looked like.”

Slowly, the mask rose, and Ulvama’s features appeared. The Hobgoblin shyly handed Erin the mask, then picked up one of the aphid nachos and took a bite. Dipped it in some sauce.

“Whoa, it’s…cool. The armor, I mean. The nachos are tasty.”

Erin tried to put the mask on, then hesitated.

“This isn’t weird if I do it, right? Can I try it—”

The sight of the Human wearing the Goblin’s mask made Ulvama turn.

“Yah, it’s fine. Give me the helmet.”

She snatched it, and Erin took the mask off after a moment. Took a huge bite of the Druid Wrap and had to wash it down with the liquorice water. They were eating, but after a second—Ulvama glanced up.

“The banner.”

That was all she said. Erin reached out, and the banner on her shoulder planted on the ground. She gazed up at the white fabric hanging under the moonlight.

“Yeah. I guess I took it because…it matters. This does. I know that’s silly, but—”

“No. I see it. It’s you. Just like this is me.”

The [Shaman] indicated her outfit, and Erin paused.

“So it is.”

The most nothing statement in the world seemed to matter. At least, to them. Erin stopped eating as Ulvama gazed at her. And the [Innkeeper] closed her eyes. It seemed to all watching that she would have preferred to put the helmet on.

“Yeah. It’s not just a costume. It’s…not who I am. But it’s something. Theillige. The banner. I guess—that’s you. Funny. I never imagined it.”

Not Ulvama in all that armor. Yet it suited her. The same was true of Erin. The [Innkeeper] knew that this was where Ulvama deserved a compliment. Matha or anyone else could do it. But what did she say?

It’s nice?

It wasn’t. It was Ulvama. And that…

After a second, she realized that Ulvama’s crimson eyes were glistening with more than the light from the concert stage. Tears were running down her cheeks. Dripping onto the nachos. Erin froze up.

“Ulvama? What’s wrong…?”

“Nothing.”

Ulvama averted her gaze. But she was crying. Not just cool-crying either. Stifling sobs, hiccuping at the same time. Her nose started running, and she grabbed for a napkin, tried to hide her face.

Erin and the audience were speechless, then worried.

“What’s wrong? I’m sorry. I—”

“It not you. It not!”

Ulvama’s protest made one of the Fraerlings aiming a brick at Erin’s head lower it. The rest held fire—waiting. She wiped furiously at her eyes. And then she choked.

“It’s just that it’s you. I wondered and wondered, and that’s…you, isn’t it? I see it now. And…that’s good.”

“Right. But…?”

Surely there was a ‘but’. Ulvama hiccuped again and tried to make sense of it as Erin’s heart beat painfully.

“But now I know. I see you, and you see me. Maybe we’re disappointed. Maybe that’s it. Nothing else to know.”

Maybe there’s nothing in here but a monster or emptiness. Erin’s eyes widened, and she sat, speechless, as the Hobgoblin cried, overwhelmed by something she couldn’t fully articulate.

However, her words were an echo of what Erin had told Matha she feared. What if they had nothing left to show each other? If this one moment was it—

Such a silly fear. Such a true one. She had to reassure Ulvama, but how?

The [Innkeeper]’s head whirled, and no one had any advice for her. Eurise ducked behind Roja. Mera and Zemmy were holding each other, and Matha was standing there, stricken.

But Erin didn’t see any of them. Not a face in the sea of thousands. Just Ulvama crying. She gazed down at the clothing and then around. Then she focused on something and stood up. The [Innkeeper] reached down and performed an act of magic.

She yanked the tablecloth off the table they were sitting at so fast that all the dishes and drinks mostly stayed where they were. One did fly off and douse Elohi, but Ulvama blinked. She saw the [Innkeeper] shake the tablecloth out, then whirl it around her shoulders. And then, she pulled a chair out and—

Sat.

At first, the stained sheet of white caught the air, but as the figure knelt, one foot resting on the chair, the other stretched out, the fabric changed.

The dark of the night bled onto the white fabric until it was the same color as the sky above. A canvas that swirled—then caught fire as the [Witch] came to rest. A flaming cloak draped itself around her, blazing like the hat upon her head.

A witch opened her eyes as the Goblin’s tears stopped, and the flames rained down onto her cloak. She shifted, whirling it around her, and the cyclone forced everyone but Ulvama back. A hundred flames upon her robes, like a Great Witch of ages past.

“H-hey.”

Erin leaned over the table as Ulvama blinked, her eyes wide. The [Innkeeper] touched her hat, and gone was the biker, the woman with the flag. The witch of flames’ eyes shone as she spoke, looking Ulvama directly in the eyes.

“Don’t think you’ve seen everything. I have a hundred things to show you.”

She glanced down at the tablecloth dyed with night, pulled from the air itself, and blinked.

“Whoa. I didn’t even know I could do…this costume is just as good as my other one. But it’s missing…”

The silent [Innkeeper] needed something else. Ulvama’s tears were drying as the flames bathed her with light. Unconsciously, she reached down and pulled something out. Then handed it to Erin.

It was a long pipe. Erin’s eyes widened. Without a word, she accepted it, and her flames lit the pipe. She hesitated, then blew. Even if it was smoke, in this moment…

A glowing, yellow bubble the color of the rising sun emerged from the end of the pipe. Erin blinked, and the light illuminated her face as it rose skywards. She stared at it, then puffed on the pipe again, and another glowing bubble rose.

Then another. Her eyes fixed on Ulvama, and the Hobgoblin smiled. The enchanted pipe she’d asked for blew a stream of colored lights up as the witch’s cloak burned.

Then—Ulvama had forgotten why she was crying. And Erin stood.

“Hey. Can we talk? Privately?”

They cast around, but the audience was gone. Walking off, waving—suddenly no longer interested. Or rather, fascinated, but filled with a sense of closure. A feeling that whatever came next…they’d be real voyeurs for watching. Ulvama laughed, embarrassed, and Erin blushed.

“Geeze. I never got what was so interesting about watching people. Then I started an inn. But privacy, c’mon.”

Ulvama looked around and saw no one. Tentatively, she reached out, then put one edge of the flaming cloak over her shoulders. For some reason, she knew it wouldn’t burn her. She sat with Erin at the table. And then?

They spoke. For a little while.

——

“I’m sorry.”

That was the first thing Erin said after a long silence. Ulvama glanced at her.

“Me, too. I’m glad Garry lived. I’m sorry I didn’t…I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.”

“Yeah. Again. I do that a lot. I understand. It’s just—and I’m sorry for what I did. I just…I didn’t understand what I did that was so wrong.”

Ulvama bit one lip, and Erin glanced at her. Really looked at her, without glancing away like she usually did. Now, she studied Ulvama’s features, and finally, she saw it. Remembered how Ulvama had looked that day.

“Armpits. I really hurt your feelings, huh? I thought I was just teasing until…”

A claw traced a pattern on the table, and Ulvama felt the pain again, but it was like a thorn being pulled. She was relieved as she spoke. The honesty she didn’t want to tell Erin.

The image of the Mountain City [Shaman]…she imagined a silent Goblin sitting there, chewing on mud or something, and thought the [Innkeeper] would understand too.

“I don’t…feel proud of my body at all, Erin. I know it looks good. I know people want it. But it—sometimes I look at it, and it hurts. What you said made me feel like it was worth something.”

The [Innkeeper] digested this, then the flames on her hat and cloak died down.

“Oh. That’s what I did to you? I—I was angry because I saw Matha looking. I thought I was protecting you.”

“I understand. It just…does this look beautiful? I can’t tell.”

Ulvama touched her cheeks and turned her face to Erin. The [Innkeeper] studied her, eyes opened wide.

“I think you look amazing.”

The Hobgoblin offered her a wretched smile.

“Thanks. I can’t tell. Just what other people think. Sometimes, it feels good and I think I know what they see, and I like it. When I danced in front of the Fraerlings. But other times, it feels like they stare and see something else.”

“And I did that to you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Erin hung her head.

“No. It’s not. I know what that feels like, Ulvama. I don’t really feel great about my body most times. It’s just there. Sometimes…”

She brushed at her discolored hair. Touched her wrists and neck.

“…Well, I don’t think it got much worse. But it’s not great. So that’s—yeah. Wanna talk about the other thing? I shouldn’t have—”

“I knew Tremborag raped women. I saw it happen. I didn’t stop it. He told me it was revenge. I just wasn’t brave enough to stop him.”

Ulvama put the words out and felt them like poison on her skin. She was grateful that Erin didn’t make an excuse. The [Innkeeper] just nodded.

“But you came for me.”

“One brave thing. I hurt more than I helped.”

“Maybe. But you saved me. That’s a start. I let down the first kid who ever found his way to my inn. I watched him kill himself because I never understood him. Toren. I don’t pay attention to things. When you talked about Garry like he was me, I got angry.”

Ulvama averted her gaze.

“He was doing the right thing. Did he free [Slaves]? Really?”

“Yeah, but I get it. The reason why you were upset. And the reason I got so angry was because…he was exactly like me. I just couldn’t stop him, Ulvama.”

Erin was staring at her, and the Hobgoblin nodded miserably.

“I know.”

“I’m…not a Chieftain, Ulvama. My guests at my inn aren’t a tribe. I can’t control them. I can only send them out, and if they die—I’m terrified. I’ll do everything in my power to help them, but I can never rule them.”

The Hobgoblin did not want to hear this. She gripped one knee, and her hand shook, and Erin saw, again, her tension and fear. But again, didn’t get it. This time, Ulvama saw that and spoke.

“I know, Erin. I know. But…the Chieftain keeps us safe. That’s how it works. They can’t always. But that’s how it should be. How it should be matters more than how it is.”

“Okay…but why do I have to be the Chieftain? Can’t I just be the [Innkeeper] and—and you be my guest and everyone be family and friends? I’ll do everything for them, the ones that matter. Why’s the word matter?”

“Well, when—”

Ulvama’s throat closed up. She swallowed, feeling her eyes sting. Her heart hurting. Then she forced herself to look at Erin and ask.

“When is it my turn to be Garry, Erin? To go out and do great things or die? To become your hero? I’m afraid of what you can make me into.”

The [Innkeeper] went still. Ulvama trembled. She wasn’t brave. At last, Erin rasped.

“I’ll never ask. I swear, Ulvama.”

“Is it something we become? So many…Rags, the Horns. Even Pebblesnatch. I’m afraid of what you bring out. I’m a coward. I can’t—I can’t do that.”

The Hobgoblin hugged her knees, and Erin shook her head, trying to deny her nature. The [Shaman] was afraid she’d just say that she didn’t do it, but after a long moment, Erin closed her eyes and thought. She spoke, eyes closed.

“I don’t know how to reassure you. I swear, I never ask. Not Moore. Not Halrac. But I need them, and…yeah. I guess—with Garry he saw what I was doing and did what was logical to him. Yet he never even asked for advice. He did it all, and I just happened to realize what he was doing. If I never talked to him, he would have done it anyways. I’m sure of that. He didn’t need me to succeed. He didn’t need the inn. That’s why I was so proud, Ulvama. So…relieved. He wasn’t me.”

“But he did it because he knew you.”

Erin was working through a puzzle in her head, and Ulvama’s frightened words made her smile. She threw her head back, and her eyes gleamed suddenly.

“Yes. He did. But you know what? It won’t be something you become, Ulvama. Or even I. And you know why? It’s because Garry’s better than you or me.”

The Hobgoblin stopped trembling. She peeked up at Erin, incredulous.

“Don’t lie. He’s not better than you.”

The young Human woman gave Ulvama a completely straightfaced expression of skepticism.

“Ulvama. I know what I am, and I know what I saw. He won’t stop. I mean it. Garry’s like…let me explain. He’s like—Pisces!”

She snapped her fingers, and Ulvama’s expression of disbelief grew larger on her face, but Erin stood up, spreading her hands as her cloak fell back on the table.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m the skeptic. I’m Pisces’ biggest fake-hater. But you know him. You saw what he survived. And what he’s becoming. He’s not just some Gold-rank adventurer. He’s not a genius [Necromancer]. He’s…Pisces. Do you think I made him?”

“…Well, yeah.”

Erin laughed out loud. She craned her head back and shook it, wagging a finger at Ulvama. Now, a true smile was on her face.

“I’ll take credit for it because I want some. But that’s a lie. What did I do for Pisces? I just fed him a few times and said something important once. Just once. Mrsha could write out a better motivational line over breakfast. It was he who remembered it. Change him? Make him into what he is? I just scraped off some of the dirt he wears, and he shone like—”

She was stretching her hands upwards towards the bubbles still floating up in the city. And she believed every word. The [Shaman] listened, the cloak wrapped around her for warmth. Erin sat down.

“I’m the innkeeper, Ulvama. I serve the people who change this world, and I guess I can change things, but I’m not as powerful as you think I am.”

Ulvama nodded.

“I’m the shaman, Erin. All I do is guide. I’m not mighty. I need someone to follow. I just…you scare me. I don’t think I can keep up with you. I was afraid. Afraid of believing in someone. Even you. I used to be a girl who could learn to fly. Now, I’m old, and I’m afraid of changing.”

“You’ve changed a bunch since I met you. I thought you were some jerk who ate all the time and kicked Mrsha.”

Erin turned to Ulvama and grabbed her hands. Ulvama blushed.

“I was. But my third life…did I tell you about lives?”

Erin shook her head, so Ulvama explained her life-theory, and Erin exhaled. Her gaze grew distant.

“If you’d have said that to me a while ago, I’d have said I only had one life. Because I didn’t want to change either. I’m sorry I brought you through all this.”

“No, no!”

Ulvama tightened her grip on Erin’s hands, trying to get her to understand. She shook her head rapidly.

“This is good, Erin. My second life was filled with regrets. I thought I wanted it, but when I followed you…it was the most scared I ever was. When I was alone in Baleros, I was terrified and the most unhappy. But it felt right. I’m afraid of change. But—but sometimes I want you to be the person who makes Pisceses and Garrys. Sometimes, I want you to turn me into that person. So I can leave the Hobgoblin who was alone and full of regrets behind.”

Erin’s face changed from a smile to pain, then fear.

“I—I don’t want to do that to anyone, Ulvama. I don’t want to control. Matha told me about her grandmother, Zinni. That’s not who I want to be either.”

“People come to you because they want you to help them, Erin. Ishkr stays because he chooses.”

“Yeah. Ishkr. Okay, I do change people, but you—no. I don’t want to force you to leave who you are. I want to help, but not that. Does that make sense?”

They were speaking in circles a bit. Desperate to get back to the heart of something she felt was the most important. Ulvama blurted out a random thought she’d had.

“Is that why you never put your [Boon of the Guest] on me?”

It wasn’t like Erin just gave it out, but even in the jungle of Baleros…Erin blinked and then glanced down at Ulvama’s legs.

“Huh. I guess…I didn’t. I think you’re right. I don’t want you to change, Ulvama. Not like that. But then—”

She glanced down at Ulvama’s armor again.

“This suits you. I think this is a good change. Ulvama…thank you for speaking to me. I know I apologized, but I’ve got to say it again.”

“This time is both our faults. Sorry.”

Ulvama whispered, and Erin took in a huge breath. Then another.

“No, it’s…I’m still not being honest. There’s something I’ve been avoiding, Ulvama. And it’s this. I—I don’t know how to say it, but you really bother me. When you poke me. And when you’re chummy with the Battle Hamster, and your armpits, even.”

The Hobgoblin’s mind went blank.

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

There was a faint echo. Erin hesitated.

“That sounds bad. What I mean is…it gets on my nerves.”

“Okay. The poking? I can stop.”

“No, not just the poking!”

Now, Ulvama was getting irritated despite all the goodwill they’d built up.

“If it’s just one thing I do, I can stop, Erin!”

“No, it’s everything!”

The [Innkeeper] threw up her hands and shouted, and Ulvama recoiled. Erin blushed and glared.

“Everything you do bothers me! I can’t get it off my mind. Yes, I was mad about Matha flirting, but she’s not so bad. But we were together before Dretonamis, and even though I was melting…it was us. Suddenly, you’re always hanging out with the damn Hamster, and he hisses when I get close, and that annoys the shit out of me. And you know why that is?”

The Goblin woman had not a thought in her head as she waited, open-mouthed, and Erin leaned forwards.

“It’s because…you’re too important.”

“Me?”

Ulvama was breathless, and Erin nodded, scrubbing at her hair, grimacing, frustrated.

“Yes. In the best way and…and worst. Back in the inn, I had plenty of people who mattered. Lyonette—I used to not really respect her, but now she’s, like, someone I’ll always listen to. I learned. I let people down, like Toren, or trusted the wrong people, but now I can tell who matters. I have a family. But you…you’re different. How can I explain?”

She got on the table and paced around in a circle.

“Lyonette’s a good example. Lyonette I’ll listen to. I trust. I don’t agree with her all the time because she’s got her opinions, but she’s my person. You? You saved me from Roshal. You were there when I needed help. Somehow, it started with us dancing together, and then…no one knows me, sometimes. I hide a lot. But you see right through me.”

The things only Ulvama noticed. Just as she’d told Matha. Ulvama might not understand her mind, but Erin spread her hands and wondered if Ulvama could see her rapidly-beating heart.

“That’s different, Ulvama. You’re the only person who’s ever done that. It’s why you annoy me more than anyone. Why I listen to you, and—why we fight so damn hard, I think. It’s personal. You, me? We’re not just best friends. Lyonette and I are best friends. And so is Saliss, because I guess I’m that person who has multiple best friends, but you and I? We’re…something else.”

Ulvama nodded silently. Erin gave her an embarrassed smile.

“Look, I know I’m just saying all this. If I’m just that annoying [Innkeeper] that you’re stuck with, I—”

“No. You’re right. You…annoy me more than anyone else. I don’t cry for anyone. Not anymore. But you I cry over. You, and one other person ever, I want to tell the truth to always. But you make it so hard.”

The Hobgoblin gazed at Erin, and the [Innkeeper]’s smile was relieved.

“Well, that’s it, Ulvama. I’m gonna be jealous if you talk to other people. Because…no one else I’ve met in this world gets me. I hate it, sometimes. But I just want to hang out more.”

“Yah. Me…too. I just didn’t—didn’t think of it like that. Too complicated.”

“I know, right?”

The two were sitting in the empty concert hall, and Ulvama edged closer. There was liquorice on Erin’s breath as the [Innkeeper] stared into those crimson eyes. And Ulvama was drowning in a hazel glow.

“Ulvama, even if we get out of Baleros, I think I’d be fine being stuck together. But if you don’t want—”

“No. I want that. I do, Erin.”

“Oh. Awesome.”

Closer, now. And the [Innkeeper] reached out and hesitated.

“Can I touch your shoulder? I’ve been wanting to poke you back and touch you, but consent and stuff.”

“S-sure?”

Ulvama flinched a bit, but Erin rested a hand on her shoulder, then breathed out.

“Whoa.”

Yeah. Now, Ulvama was inches away from Erin’s face, and the [Innkeeper] seemed drawn forwards, hypnotized. They were closer now, and Ulvama’s eyes closed. Her heart—

Had it beaten like this since she was young? She felt a breath on her face, and the moment felt eternal. Immortal. As if the [Innkeeper] was trying to capture this forever.

But it was agony. A painful, blissful paradise hell. Worse torture than anything. Ulvama leaned forwards at last, and Erin?

Erin kissed Ulvama. Right on the forehead.

“…Huh?”

The [Innkeeper] landed another kiss, then hugged Ulvama so hard Ulvama lost all her breath—but she was already in mental lockdown. Erin rubbed Ulvama’s hair, then leapt up.

“This is great. Wow! I said it! I’ve never—I feel so much better.”

“Wuh.”

The [Innkeeper] jumped off the table and ran around it, speaking a mile a minute as the Hobgoblin sat there.

“And the tablecloth and your armor! Can I touch it? No, wait, we’re mutually respectful, right? Getting handsy feels weird, but—hey, this is an amazing day. I’ve gotta thank Matha and everyone! We should get back to them soon.”

She was red-cheeked. Ulvama noticed that, and Erin jogged back over to grab Ulvama’s hand.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

“To other people.”

“Yeah!”

“Now?”

Erin tugged.

“Yeah, c’mon, Ulvama. This has been an amazing heart-to-heart. You’re, well, you.”

“Someone closer than a best friend. Someone you want to touch and get jealous of. Someone who knows you more than anyone else in the world.”

Ulvama repeated those things just so it was clear. Erin nodded. She stared into Ulvama’s eyes, then blushed.

“All true. We don’t gotta spread it around. C’mon, let’s go. You can cheer up the Hamster I guess. I should make friends with him.”

Erin was suddenly very conscious of the time they’d taken and glanced around. The Hobgoblin saw Erin scratching at her head.

“Eurise, Roja, Mera, and Zemmy are all back at the house. Where’s Bowom…huh, he’s visiting—c’mon, Ulvama. We’d better get back or they’ll think we’re making out or something.”

She laughed, self-conscious, and the Hobgoblin rubbed at her forehead.

“They’d think…that?”

“Yeah. Like we’re gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”

Erin hurriedly added. She glanced back at Ulvama and then reached out. Her fingers brushed Ulvama’s shoulder, then jumped away. The [Innkeeper] saw Ulvama glancing at her hand, and she whirled around.

“Wait, you know what? I have to pee. I’ve been sweating for ages, and this might be the one chance I get before more talking. Want to come with? We can be bathroom buddies.”

Ulvama watched Erin leap off the table and [Flutter Run] towards the public restroom. The Hobgoblin remained sitting there as the [Innkeeper] spun around, and she was full of energy, literally running on air.

“…No. You go without me.”

Her tone was the only thing that brought Erin down out of the clouds. The [Innkeeper] halted mid-run and whirled, suddenly concerned.

“I didn’t say anything wrong, did I, Ulvama? I can’t read you at all. Which is weird.”

“No. Nope. All is good. I just don’t need to pee.”

Ulvama forced a smile, and Erin beamed, oblivious. Then the Hobgoblin was left alone.

The empty concert grounds were very dark, illuminated only by a few residual [Light] spells on stage and the flaming cloak wrapped around Ulvama. She just sat, as if someone had kicked her in the guts.

Not sure if she should be hurt or…no. Erin Solstice was beaming as she ran into the bathrooms. A purple flame burned bright on her hat and the cloak. Ulvama touched it, then her forehead.

“So then why…?”

A few mental dots in her head began to connect. The Hobgoblin frowned as she put together something she’d been thinking of for a long time. Maybe…

She was no Erin Solstice, who could read everyone but Ulvama and Eurise with great instincts, but Ulvama was still a [Shaman] who had specialized in a different kind of interpersonal connection. The one thing Erin was bad at.

“No. That wasn’t my imagination.”

Ulvama’s eyes narrowed. She glanced towards the bathrooms and then half-rose.

“That stupid idiot—!”

She began to get annoyed, then furious, then gazed down at the purple flames. Ulvama’s eyes widened, and she put something else together. She sat down, suddenly, as her anger left her with a laugh.

“Is that it? Oh, Erin. Is that…you silly thing. You poor [Innkeeper].”

Her eyes opened wide with sympathy and a kind of twisted hilarity only a Goblin would appreciate. It made so much sense! Ulvama laughed, then kicked all the objects on the table off, spitting Goblin curses.

Then she ran to scoop Erin’s cloak off the ground. She swung it around herself and stood there in the silence. Anger, humor, and understanding.

“…You truly did belong right where you landed in this world, didn’t you? Among the Drakes. Silly woman. I wish…no. We met at the exact right moment. I think.”

For once. Ulvama closed her eyes, and she wrapped the cloak around her tighter, letting the blaze of a hundred lights warm her like an [Innkeeper]’s embrace. But Erin hadn’t managed to do quite that. So this would do. For a moment. Ulvama inhaled, and then when she exhaled, she laughed softly.

“Okay then.”

She knew what she had to do. Suddenly, it was all clear. The Hobgoblin cricked her neck and smiled as her own passions and excitement lit like an exploding [Fireball] amidst dry grass. She was perfect for this! She could—

For a moment, the Goblin’s teeth shone like a [Huntress] smiling at a white stag which had crossed her path. Then the smile faded. And Ulvama felt something on her forehead.

Her mask. All but forgotten…she took it off her head and gazed at the fierce little expression on the painted wood. A memory brought back to life. A little Goblin’s mask.

The wind blew softly over the concert grounds, ruffling her hair, and chased away the feeling in Ulvama’s chest. The surging huntress.

“No. Not like that. Then how?”

Then she was just as lost. Standing there, uncertain of how…until she gazed down at the helmet that Erin had put on the table. The [Shaman of the Old Ways] turned—

And stared back at a lonely Goblin crying as an [Innkeeper] noisily tromped into her camp. A pair of silly, Fraerling-sized explorers. She exhaled.

“Oh. My turn to find her and show her the land she’s afraid of. That she can’t even see.”

One step at a time. Like what it was, and should be. The grandest of adventures. As it had begun for them, in the darkest of cells, ever-upwards until they found that triumphant light.

Now it burned around her, a witch’s cloak of flames. Ulvama saw the path forwards, at last, and smiled. Then she laughed softly. And rubbed her forehead and put her hands to her cheeks, and they were red.

“So that’s what it was. It’s so simple.”

“Yeah. That means I have a chance, right?”

The Hobgoblin froze. She turned her head as a table rustled, and Matha poked her head out from under it. She was red-cheeked, highly embarrassed, having eavesdropped on the entire conversation. Which no one else had. Only a voyeur of the highest magnitude would…

Erin Solstice really had a one-track mind sometimes. She hadn’t even noticed Matha so focused she’d been on—Ulvama stared at Matha. The [Raider] beamed at her. She scrambled up and adjusted her messy costume.

“Just so you know, I’m also really interested in you, Ulvama. And if you two want, we could go for a throup—”

“Gyaaaaah!”

Ulvama kicked Matha in the stomach as hard as she could, and the Fraerling grabbed her stomach and fell over. Ulvama [Sticky Webbed] her to the ground and then ran off to find Erin. Annoyed, exasperated, and…delighted.

She’d found something out about the [Innkeeper] that no one in this entire world knew, including Erin herself. Matha didn’t count. The Hobgoblin wanted to be there when Erin realized it about herself.

It would make her third life completely different.

——

Erin sat in the bathroom in a state of much relief. For such a heartfelt conversation…why did the bladder have to intrude? But even afterwards, she fanned herself, then pressed her hands to her cheeks.

She was still flushed. The [Innkeeper] spoke out loud to no one in particular.

“Geeze, is it hot in here, or just me?”

She was going to remember that feeling on her lips for a long time. Heck, kissing people on the forehead was sort of cool. Who knew?

[Class Change: Dancer → Dancer of Advent class!]

[Dancer of Advent Level 14!]

[Dance – Phoenix’s Tango Learned!]

[Skill – Speed Dash Obtained!]

[Skill – Outfit: The Armored Biker Created!]

[Skill – Recreate My Iconic Look Obtained!]

[Shaman of the Old Ways Level 40!]

[Class Change: Shaman of the Old Ways → Mirmilin Es’hivule Sekururu Class Created!]

[Mirmilin Es’hivule Sekururu Level 41!]

[Bound Item – Mask of the Yellow Smog Tribe Assigned!]

[Skill – Spidercrawl (Web Fingers) Obtained!]

[Spell – Sigil of the Magical Beast Learned!]

[Skill – Child of Many Worlds Obtained!]

[Skill – Harmonized Magecraft Obtained!]

[Skill – Synchronized Shamanism Obtained!]

[Skill – Sympathetic Witchcraft Obtained!]

[Skill – Universal Faith Obtained!]

[Skill – A Tribe of Two, Worth the Weight of Thousands Obtained!]

“Huh? What does that…‘sekururu’? I don’t know…what does that mean?”

——

[Lovestruck Punk Level 14!]

[Skill – Dissonant Guitar Howl Obtained!]

[Skill – Advanced Leadership Obtained!]

[Skill – The Unspottable Voyeur Obtained!]

[Skill – Resistance: Bludgeoning Obtained!]

“Hey. That’s—well, okay.”

——

The end. A conclusion that no one quite expected, but changed everything. Classic…well, something. From there, the world moved.

Just like the [Baker], whose level only increased. Lemoste slept, and its inhabitants slumbered.

Some of them a bit too well. Like Restorer Ginthe and most of the medical staff in the local hospital, who’d finally taken a break for the concert. There was barely anyone awake there, and the poor Fraerling with the centipede in his guts?

Fine. Discharged a while ago, in fact. Barely a two-cut job. Remove the still-living centipede, sew. In, out, one minute. Damn thing had been alive despite being dismembered; the head must have been swallowed, and it reconnected the parts in the stomach. Fascinating regenerative properties, but the patient had been advised to chew more thoroughly.

That was an expert for you. And speaking of experts, of people who should not be forgotten or underestimated…how quickly they forgot.

Once upon a time, they had called him Bowom the Slicer. The [Mad Doctor] of Lemoste. Then had come the patient he had failed and his long exile.

Bowom stood in a room with a locked, enchanted door. A chair was under the doorknob, and it was covered with sealing spells. Windows shuttered. A bright [Light] spell gave him perfect illumination.

Scrolls were lined up neatly next to ampules of surgical liquids. He stood there as someone pounded on the door, but their voice was muffled. And everyone else was asleep.

“I’m sorry, Mieve.”

He spoke to the figure lying on the long table, who gazed up at him, unblinking. A smile on her face. She wasn’t asleep yet, but a single syringe of the liquid in his right hand and…

Scalpel in the left. He bent over her and spoke his confession. Because this long stay in Lemoste had given him perspective.

“Just so we’re absolutely clear, nod once for yes, disembowel me for ‘no’. Patient’s rights and consent and all that. Very important.”

She nodded once, still just smiling at him, and he went on as a sensation built in his chest. A long-buried one.

“Then, let me say it again. I’m sorry. I failed you all those years ago. I was a fool, a coward. I am so, so sorry.”

The one patient he had never been able to save, the victim of his work, stared up, and Bowom began to chuckle. It was deep in his throat, then came out of his belly, working its way up his abdomen. Louder and louder until it rang in the room, until it shook the very building.

Laughter. He forced the words out.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t go far enough. Heh. Hahaha. Ahahahaha—heeheeheehee—HAHAHAHAHAHAHA—”

Then he gently pressed the syringe into the tubes running into her body and began the operation.

So, the story was about a [Baker]. A Human and Goblin duo. Even a [Raider], in some ways. And certainly, a [Doctor].

Mad, all of them. Wonderfully, completely, insidiously, truly…

Mad.

Author’s Note:

This is the final Author’s Note of the year and for a bit of time. I’m taking January off as is now customary, but I’d like to reflect on the year with my limited memory. Because a lot has happened.

I’m going to just talk about The Wandering Inn, because that’s been the one thing this year I felt like I had control over and I put a lot into. As always.

But it occurs to me that at the start of the year, last Christmas, I didn’t finish my arc. In fact, I’d go on to write the [Palace of Fates] arc for months thereafter before finally taking my break.

In that sense, you could argue that the start to 2025 was pretty rough, huh? I think it wore down a lot of people, both readers, me, and beta-readers, and I do owe you that blog. This month off might be when I write it, but first, I shall sleep.

I’ve been taking naps, often mere hours after I wake up and have breakfast. I can’t keep my eyes open; I’m exhausted, because I give everything to writing, and the end of the year is when I collapse, usually with some gigantic event. And this was gigantic, but not, I think, devastating. I’m reminded that I think I wrote 7.61 on another Christmas…

You have heard I am tired over the nearly ten years I’m writing, and this is not new. But what is new, perhaps, is me looking back and saying ‘hey, I wrote some darn good chapters this year’. Because I think I did.

Especially after the [Palace of Fates] when I had rest, I think I came out with some stellar moments. Valeterisa’s moment stands out, and I’d like to think this one and a few [Palace] chapters also rank up there. Having Huntsong come to audiobooks was amazing (was it this year? End of last year, I think, so I listened to it in 2025), and it really makes me think I’ve improved as a writer.

I’m not always so confident I am improving, but I think I have levelled up this year. Part of that is the backlog; I was resistant to having one for so long because I was set in my ways and I enjoyed the pressure of writing, but it’s paid off tremendously. More of that.

More changing. Changing is scary. In us all is a Rock Crab who wants to stay in their shell because it’s what they know, but change is how we grow. It’s not always pleasant or easy, but I want it more than I like my shell.

In many ways, this has also just been a stressful year, I think. Certainly, and perhaps most pettily, I don’t like the artificial intelligence that I still think hasn’t got a chance this decade of taking my job. I see people using it in their professions, and it is helpful, but I think it’s still a massive net-negative. But we’ll see.

What I hope for, if Garry’s delivering presents to our world, is a better 2026 for all. We’re a quarter of the way done this century, and as someone who’s lived through every year of it…this one might not make my Top 10 years. But who knows how the other years will play out?

One thing is certain, though: the story is changing. We’re getting older, both reader, writer, and story. It is not going to end next year, or the next, unless the audience just vanishes, but we draw closer to that ending. I am still enjoying writing the story, and that, I think, is the most important element to it ongoing. It still has so much more to reveal to me and teach me, even if I never have enough chapters for all the new characters and perspectives. Well, we’ll get to each person and hopefully give them their due.

What a whole load of nothing for my year’s-end address, huh? ‘I like writing’, ‘hope I do more writing’, ‘boy I can’t stop writing’. But seriously, this is the chapter I wanted to end the year on. Miracles and revelations. A promise that we cannot go back, but that what lies ahead is just as fascinating and magical. So, until I return from my break, I wish you all splendid holidays and a start to your new year. Thanks for accompanying me this far. There’s still plenty of magic left and adventures to be had.

—pirateaba

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