Mr. B sat at the table in his narrow room. The fools thought to punish him, humiliate him, by giving him such accommodations. As if he’d journeyed all this way simply to live lavishly. He knew struggle. By the Divinity, he knew struggle.

  But that’s okay. It’s okay. I’m going to make it worth it.

  He closed his eyes, listening to the undercurrents moving throughout the old city, the city they now called Camp Twelve. All those currents stemmed from somewhere to the east. Not too far, its source was definitely within the camp’s borders.

  To think Severity would’ve Claimed someone at the exact moment he showed up. What were the chances? He felt a smile spread across his face, a wicked thing that only grew the more he thought about all the coincidences.

  If this wasn’t a sign that his path was blessed by the Divinity, then he didn’t know what a sign was. A low laugh escaped his mouth. He could feel Severity’s Force beating in synch with his own heart; he could feel it echoing his life force.

  But why hadn’t the ritual worked?

  By all rights, Severity should’ve entered him right then and there. He looked down at the open grimoire that lay on the table before him. He scanned the text, going over the words in his head.

  Back home in Oseplia, these runes were used to transfer life force from one person to another; that was how the adults kept their strength up, by siphoning from the children and those younger than the working age.

  Decades of research—his own, and what he’d stolen from his family—showed that the grimoire’s power would work on Creational Forces. So why hadn’t it? And to make matters worse, the Creational Force had spoken.

  Too many questions, too little time to answer all of them. There was no telling just how long he had. No doubt the boy had discerned what he’d been trying to do. Any sane person would go running.

  If he leaves the camp’s borders, it might take months, if not years, to track him or anyone Claimed by Severity down again.

  “But no matter, no matter,” B whispered to himself. “Everything’s fine. What will worry bring? It’s best to stay calm. Calm. Redesign it, that’s all. Just redesign it. The Divinity will give us another opportunity.”

  He picked up the pen, paging to the latest rune he’d drawn not two weeks ago when he’d first arrived at Camp Twelve. He didn’t need a fresh page; the runes carried complete thoughts, making it possible to convey a string of emotions and ideas within a single well-drawn symbol.

  He couldn’t help but shake his head. He held such knowledge, and they thought to intimidate him? But then, was that not the fault of the human race? A taint that he unfortunately could not rid himself of. A pathetic species so self-absorbed, it destroyed itself without much thought. Armies against armies, ideology against ideology.

  “Truly pathetic,” he whispered as he carefully drew the rune.

  There was no telling how long he spent shaping the sacred symbol. In the past, he’d been able to go for hours at a time, often forgetting the mundane tasks of eating, sleeping, stretching, and drinking water.

  Beyond the small window at the top of the room, the light did seem much brighter. It might’ve been in the afternoon now. The only sure indications that time had indeed passed were the completed symbol on the aged page and the discomfort of the chair.

  But the chair didn’t matter. What was discomfort in the face of goals such as his? He focused on the completed runes, every line imbued with a specific Intention and representing a different Facet of life.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  He caressed the symbol as though it were a child. Ambition, and the direction of that ambition. Raw power, representing the Creational Force. The boy who was currently Claimed by Severity. Transformation, representing the change he wanted to see in himself.

  Each of those thoughts was well represented. This was it. It had to work. Now he just had to get out of here and see the boy again.

  If only the Head would let him out. The enforcers standing guard in the hallway were more than a problem. His only problem, if he was being honest. Could she have figured it out? No. I’ve been too careful for that. Way too careful.

  “They’re only for formality’s sake,” he muttered.

  Either way, he had to deal with her soon. Soon, but not now. With some difficulty, he pushed her out of his mind. Everything would work out. It had to. Natural law demanded it. Everything he’d endured could only have paved the way to success and ease.

  “Maybe I should add more Protection to it?” he asked himself, picking up the pen.

  Just before the pen’s tip touched the stained page, a soft rustling entered the room. He turned to face the window and watched as the black snake slithered through the open window.

  Its gunmetal-tinged scales reflected the outside sun and, as always, inspired awe. Of course, he’d known for a long time that this was no ordinary snake, but every time his eyes fell upon it, it just drove it home.

  A creature straight from the Creational Forces, its head lifted up off the ground as the rest of its body slithered down the brick wall.

  “Anything?” he asked the snake.

  NO. THOSE IN THE DREAMHOLD BARELY SURVIVED BEING CLAIMED. THERE WAS ONE THERE, BUT SOMEONE THEY KNOW TO AVOID ME.

  B nodded his head.

  “Fools,” he spat. “I should’ve been given access to the hold earlier. And completely. We might’ve caught the boy during the transmutation. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. How does the other know to avoid you?”

  I CAN’T TELL. BUT I CAN SMELL THEM ALL OVER THE CAMP.

  “They’re skilled enough to travel back and forth from the hold without being seen?” B asked, taken somewhat aback. There weren’t many Dreamers who had mastery over their abilities yet. Outside of the Great Families, of course.

  IT WOULD SEEM SO. BUT THAT’S A PROBLEM FOR ANOTHER DAY. THERE HAS BEEN A DEVELOPMENT.

  B went silent, looking at the creature with narrowed eyes. Developments were rarely good. Change meant anything might happen. Anything beyond his control. There weren’t supposed to be any developments.

  “What developments?”

  THE SINS ARE IN THIS CAMP.

  B felt every muscle in his face twitch in response to those words. His control slipped. Only slightly. Numbers, letters, words that didn’t sound human started filling his mind, as if someone were whispering all of it directly into his ear.

  His skin started burning and itching. His ears went red hot. His heart was racing, and his hands felt as though they were being stabbed by a thousand needles. This was panic. He was feeling panic.

  He wiped his nose and saw blood smeared across his forearm. His mind was starting to register some of the words. That wasn’t good. The human mind could not fathom such knowledge. He wasn’t nearly powerful enough to take in that knowledge.

  Hulrea... Keur...

  “No, no, no, no, no,” he muttered, turning back to the grimoire.

  He touched the pen to the page and started drawing. A crescent shape with angled lines slanting in from the left, intersecting the curve in intervals. In turn, each angled line had its own shape at its end.

  A swirl, a triangle, a lightning strike, a cross, an x, all of them strategically placed to convey his Intention of strength, peace, and, above all, reverence.

  The burning on his skin eased at once, the blood from his nose ceasing as well. His hands, his ears, and his heart all went back to normal. The voices retreated, the tide of numbers, letters, and symbols retreating with them.

  “They can’t know about us,” he whispered in the new sense of calm. “We’ve worked too hard, journeyed too far to be stopped now. They can’t! What brought them here?”

  I CAN’T SAY FOR SURE. THE LEVIATH HIMSELF IS THERE, SO I DARED NOT GET TOO CLOSE. IF HE WANTED TO, HE COULD WIPE ME FROM THIS PLAIN.

  “This is just cruel,” B swore. “If they’re here for the boy, that would complicate everything.”

  IT WOULD.

  “But that’s fine. Everything’s fine. They can’t sense me, not even the Leviath is capable of that. We just have to keep to ourselves. By the Divinity’s grace, the boy will come into our possession first. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Everything was just a matter of time. He just had to make the proper preparations.