After putting his order in for a Shaping technique, Blake turned to Stone Moon. The man led them back to their taxi, and he told the operator to bring them to the Grand Lodge. “That way, you can make your preparations,” he told Blake.

  As they flew, Stone Moon added, “Master Golden Locust asked me to provide you this list of tasks. It will aid you in your advancement to Core Formation.” He handed Blake a sheet of paper, also from his storage ring.

  Blake took it, then read over the list of activities. It was mostly a list of things he’d already done—like seeking a source of willpower, and socketing a few echoes. He didn’t take too close of a look. That was a problem for later, and for when he could freely talk with Ethbin to compare notes.

  Still, the old man couldn’t help giving his thoughts: They underestimate you still. Which means they don’t know you’ve socketed even a single echo yet.

  Concentrating, Blake shot the ring a pointed thought: I need to work on getting a full Galaxy Serpent set.

  That you do, Ethbin replied. But don’t concentrate too much on me. When you shoot me thoughts like that, you sway on your feet and you don’t pay attention, and it is very obvious that you are doing something. We’re coming up on the lodge.

  It was hardly a lodge. It was much, much larger. Instead of a massive longhouse, like Blake was expecting, they flew to the edge of the central circle, where a massive railway hotel stood.

  There was nothing else it could’ve been. It was too much like Earth’s architecture. It had red brick walls and sloped copper roofs. Massive turrets clung to the sides, and its frosty windows glowed golden yellow in the morning gloom. A flag hung from each spire, featuring a trio of purple scales each.

  “An authentic chateau,” Stone Moon said. “It does not belong to us, of course. That is for the Hospitality Guild, with whom we have a partnership.”

  “Authentic, meaning…?”

  “The Hospitality Guild moved it. They scooped it out of the ground and placed it here. According to your people, it was one of the best hotels this land had to offer before the Integration.”

  Blake raised his eyebrows. “Why, though?”

  “It makes our guests think they are getting a more authentic experience.” The longboat settled down on a landing pad in front of the hotel, and its engines sputtered off.

  More Scaleslinger guards ran over to inspect, but Blake showed them his identification slip. They nodded and let him through.

  As he and Stone Moon walked toward the Lodge’s front entrance, he asked, “Where are we meeting the guests?”

  “They will meet you in the lobby.”

  The two of them passed through the doors and stepped into the lobby. It had a surprisingly low ceiling, and wall sconces with candles cast warm light throughout the room, making it feel more cramped than otherwise. A check-in desk waited just in front of them, where employees sat upright with perfect posture, as if they were meditating. Two were in the Core Formation stages, and one was a Foundation-stage trainee—and much younger.

  A bellhop in a red shirt and hat approached them, until Stone Moon shook his head, and the man returned to the alcove he came from.

  Stone Moon led Blake to a bench beneath a curtained window and sat down with him. Blake shifted his feet back and forth on the embroidered carpet in front of him, fidgeting for lack of anything better to do.

  Soon, he’d be back out in the wild. He didn’t realize how much he missed it up until this cramped lobby. That absolute freedom. The ability to just talk with Ethbin and River whenever he wanted.

  But he’d have that soon enough.

  Neither him nor Stone Moon said anything for a few minutes, until finally, Blake mustered the courage and asked, “So who is that sweeper guy?”

  “We have many sweepers. They keep the landing platforms clean. It is critical to ensure that the longboats’ thrusters don’t intake any contaminants.”

  “They keep more than just the landing platforms clean. I’ve seen them elsewhere.”

  “We tend to bring them with us on excursions to the lower city.” Stone Moon lifted his foot beyond the bottom skirt of his long robe, revealing sandals with thin bottoms. “You never know what you might risk stepping on down there.”

  Blake almost laughed at the mundane reasoning. “How long were you watching me before interviewing me?”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “We had known about you for a while.”

  That wasn’t a great answer, but Blake didn’t press it. He was more interested in his initial question. “But, the sweeper. You know, the guy who’s always been trying to talk to me.”

  “You’ll have to be more descriptive than that.”

  Blake blew out a long puff of air. “Yeah, sorry. You all wear the same robes and have the same hairstyle.” He paused. “So all the guild sweepers are just normal, then?”

  “Usually they are old men who are looking for extra pay in their waning years. Perhaps their pensions weren’t enough.” He folded his fingers. “Pensions, what a novel concept. We got that from you lot, you know. There’s no such thing on any other planet.”

  “Well, glad we could be of service.”

  “When we meet our guests, remember your manners. And don’t bring the longboats into the mists. It clogs the mana-engines. If they can barely handle the dust of the landing platforms, they will die in the fog. Insist on getting off the longboat before you enter the mists.”

  “Understood.”

  They fell silent again for a few more minutes, until finally, Stone Moon jumped to his feet and raced to the stairway at the opposite side of the lobby. A pair of cultivators descended down the stairs. One, a middle-aged Nord man with a Core Formation stage six badge, and a Cohong woman with a badge that put her at Core Formation stage five.

  Stone Moon bowed to them, and Blake reluctantly did the same. His gaze swept over the Nord’s black leather boots—formal, way too formal, and not practical for a journey out into the Mists—and the Cohong woman’s heeled boots—again, stylish but not practical.

  At least the man wore a gambeson and trousers. The woman who was presumably his wife wore a silk dress that hung past her knees.

  A group of four servants in plain chainmail hauberks followed, each carrying a storage ring. Blake was half expecting to see some Path Paladins with them, but they must not have been that important. These servants were only Foundation one.

  “Good morning, honoured guests,” Stone Moon provided. “I take it you are here to depart for your expedition, Lord Tomskar?”

  “Of course,” the man—Tomskar—said. “This is our guide?”

  “I assure you, we have vetted him and he is one of the best we can offer. However, if you are displeased—”

  “He will do. Come with us, boy,” Lord Tomskar said. “We have been waiting for this day for many years. Oh, to finally embark on a proper hunt. My wife was hoping to see a glasstooth squirrel. I myself was hoping to slay a howler.”

  A pressure lifted from Blake’s shoulders. Squirrels and howlers. Thank the Fates they weren’t making him go after a Monarch or something equivalent. He stood up straight, moving confidently, and brushed off the shoulders of his cloak. “That can be arranged. Do you have your own longb—”

  “Yes. Now do not delay.”

  ~ ~ ~

  It felt like only a moment later, they’d made it down to the surface. Lord Tomskar’s longboat settled down at the edge of the mists, hovering dangerously close to a drift of snow and the base of a mist-rig. The scampermen stared down at him curiously.

  Lord Tomskar called out, and he and his servants leapt over the gunwale of the vessel. His wife followed with a short hop, her dress fluttering behind her.

  “So, you must be quite skilled if they’d let a Foundation two stage thrall lead us on,” said Lord Tomskar. “Bring me to a howler, and we shall see how I fare against the wilds!” He flicked his arm out to the side, and one of his servants conjured a spear from a storage ring before placing it into Lord Tomskar’s hand.

  “Lead on, fiend-blend,” Tomskar said.

  The lord’s wife—Lady Sixin—wrinkled her nose as Blake walked past. He stepped into the merge-mists, feeling the slight warmth and humidity of the mists envelop his skin. Once they were all walking, and their footsteps splashed and squelched through the mud, Blake whispered to Ethbin, “Can you find me a howler?”

  Of course, Ethbin said. I was worried it might cost a little too much energy, but alas, it costs nothing when a howler means so little to you. Change your course slightly—turn to the left.

  Blake didn’t acknowledge for fear of the lord noticing. Though he didn’t say it outright, Tomskar was surely a Jarl, and that gave him certain legal privileges. If there was ever a dispute, his word would matter infinitely more than Blake’s would.

  They walked through the mists for nearly an hour. Blake recognized a few of the trees, but there weren’t many landmarks in these mists. They passed a half-sunk warehouse.

  “Eerie,” Lady Sixin remarked. “These are fragments of your old world?”

  “Yeah,” Blake replied.

  They both stared at him and scowled.

  “Sorry. Yes, honoured lord and lady. They are fragments of this one’s old world.”

  Lord Tomskar scoffed, then asked, “Do you know what caused the Integration?” It felt like a quiz. A trick question.

  If what happened to Earth was truly as big of a secret as they let on, then it would be disastrous if they realized that Blake knew. He’d be painting a target on his back—if they didn’t just kill him on the spot. Instead, he shook his head and said, “No, sir. I—this one—doesn’t know what happened. But if you—”

  “It’s just an odd habit of the universe. Happens from time to time.” The way he blurted it out quickly suggested otherwise, but Blake didn’t press him.

  They were approaching their first howler. It prowled through the mists ahead of them, as if it was on a morning commute. Blake pointed at it with his staff and said, “A howler, if you please.”

  “Wonderful!” Lord Tomskar exclaimed. “This should be no trouble at all.” He whirled his spear, then lunged forward, streaking toward the beast. Its head whipped toward him, and it let out a screech, before taking a fighting stance and growling. With how its paws splashed in the water and its various snarls, it was more than enough sound to mask Blake’s conversation.

  Blake stepped back, then whispered to Ethbin, “Something tells me this will be a while. Any chance you can tell me more about the Foundation stages while we wait, gramps?”

  I can tell you that list is a load of dung, written by the most beardless fellow you’ve ever met.

  “Well, then, let’s get started,” Blake whispered. “What’s the proper way, old man?”