Then I hear it.
Scratching. A chair shifting. The faint, familiar tap of keys.
None of that belongs in my apartment.
I roll onto my side and blink against the morning light spilling through the blinds. The bedroom is quiet, but the noise is coming from the kitchen.
At my table, silhouetted by the glow of a laptop screen, someone is sitting with their back to me.
Victor, I think.
If it wasn’t for the way Nod has replaced normal dreaming, I might have assumed this was one. I push myself upright and walk over behind him, still half-dazed, and lean just enough to see the screen.
He’s watching my channel.
The stream hasn’t ended yet.
In fact, the fight with Galor hasn’t even started. The two-hour lead I have on the broadcast has him still watching the interactions with Thalienne and Lucen, my image framed in Solomir’s gilded villa while Victor types rapidly, tabs opening and closing as he cross-references names, pulls up rankings, and starts building profiles.
He’s working hard.
I put a hand on his shoulder.
He damn near launches out of his chair.
“HOLY SHIT—Jesus, man! What the hell?”
“Well how else am I supposed to get your attention?” I say dryly. “What are you doing here this early? It’s only nine.”
“Well, I wanted to talk to you as soon as you woke up,” he says, pulling one headphone half off his ear, still breathing hard. “But I kind of forgot about the two-hour delay thing you mentioned. I was not expecting you to tap my shoulder while I was watching you live.”
I snort and head toward the fridge. “So what did you want to talk about?” I call out, loud enough for him to hear over the remaining headphone.
“Well, I wanted to go over day one of the summit,” he says, eyes already back on the screen. “But it’s not over yet, so… wait until I’m done watching.”
I pause, the thought from earlier clicking into place.
“Hey,” I say. “Do me a favor. Can you do some quick research on a King Galoravad?”
He frowns slightly. “Huh? I mean, yeah, I can—but can it wait until this stream wraps?”
“Just trust me,” I say. “You’ll understand in about an hour.”
That earns me a look, but he nods anyway.
I leave him to it and go about my morning. Eat. Shower. Brush my teeth. All the boring maintenance required to keep a human body functional.
I feel sluggish. Heavy in a way sleep alone doesn’t explain. Standing in the mirror, I catch myself noticing things I hadn’t before—how my muscles don’t sit quite the way they used to, definition softening at the edges. I’ve never been ripped, but I’ve always had a solid frame. Summers on my grandparents’ farm. Long days doing actual work. Scouts from sixth grade through senior year. Enough time outdoors to know how my body should feel.
At heart I’m a gamer. I could happily sit for days doing nothing but playing and relaxing. But I know better now.
I should probably start going to the gym with Scott and not let all this bedrest turn me into an emaciated twig. At least keep what body mass I’ve got.
When I come back into the kitchen, the stream has finally ended. Victor still has his headphones on, scribbling notes at a pace that borders on manic, lines and arrows connecting thoughts across multiple pages.
“Good,” he says without looking up. “You’re back.”
He finally pulls the headphones off and fixes me with a look.
“So. That Galoravad thing,” he says. “Dangerous shit. Knowing you can give me info before I know to give it to you—don’t play with that too much. We don’t know what kind of rule-bending that actually is.”
I lean against the counter.
“The two-hour delay exists for a reason,” he continues. “I think you skirted the line just barely by making me find the info instead of telling me what to tell you. But still—be careful.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “It felt like a risk worth taking. If I hadn’t known about his ability, that fight might have gone very differently. He wanted to be seen breaking me. Said he was in the forties. He beats someone at my rank and his numbers spike overnight.”
Victor exhales. “Well, you embarrassed the hell out of him. So watch your back. He’s not letting that go.”
I shrug. “This was never going to be a peaceful peace summit.”
He snorts despite himself.
“So,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “What’s next, Marcus?”
“I want to get down to the lower rings,” I say immediately. “This top section is nothing but sycophants for Alaric and their god.”
Victor winces. “You really are kicking the beehive.”
He rubs his eyes and takes a long sip from an energy drink—and that’s when I notice the trash. Four empties already crushed inside.
“Going a little hard on those, aren’t you?”
“Well,” he mutters, “this is an important few days. I need to be present.”
“Yeah, and you won’t be much help if you pass out,” I say. “I’m invoking authority. You’re getting rest after this.”
We spend the next while breaking everything down. City layout. Summit schedule. Why the kings were split six and six into two villas. Why these kings were placed together. Why Scott and I weren’t separated.
Everything feels deliberate. Engineered.
We talk contingency after contingency, planning responses for scenarios we hope won’t happen but don’t trust enough to ignore.
Eventually Victor finally caves and dozes off on the couch.
I sit at my PC and, for the first time in what feels like years, open my game library and boot up one of my comfort games. No stakes. No audience. No systems watching. Just an hour or two of letting my brain unwind.
I don’t force myself to think. I don’t strategize. I don’t replay the summit in my head.
I just exist in the moment and let things go with the flow.
When Victor wakes up again, restless and already thinking five steps ahead, we agree on the hard truth: I need as much time in Nod as possible over the next few days.
So I swallow my reluctance, take one of my insomnia meds, and go to bed at eight in the evening. No alarm. These will keep me out for twelve hours if I let them.
I lie there talking with Victor about how life used to be. How normal it all was. How boring.
And how fast it’s all changing.
We drift into wondering what a “perfect wish” would even mean if I made it to the end. Neither of us has an answer.
Before we can finish the thought, sleep pulls me under.
The chill of Solomir returns. The softness of the elegant bed in my assigned lodging surrounds me, and I’m back.
I rise and leave the room without ceremony.
I don’t bother to quench the watch braziers. With this many kings—and this many eyes—in Solomir, being caught on someone else’s stream while I’m listed as offline would look bad. Not suspicious only suspicious but sloppy. Thats not something I can afford at this juncture.
Today’s goals are simple, even if the execution won’t be.
Before the banquet later tonight, I want to get down into the lower rings. I want to see how Alaric’s people actually live. How they feel. What resentment looks like when it’s not dressed in silk and gold. Somewhere in this city, the truth of Solomir’s apex exists—not in speeches or banners, but in pressure points. In areas that grind instead of strive.
I send a quick message before I move any further.
{direct message} [Kyris]: Hey. Make sure Scott messages me when he gets in. I won’t be at the villa when he wakes. I’m heading out to check the city. Coordinate with him—separate agendas, separate angles. I’m going to the bottom ring like we talked about. If that looks bad for us, don’t have him go lower than the fourth.
{direct message} [LifelineV]: Got it. I’ll keep him on track. Ill do my best, but when he slips into his party-fool persona it’s harder to rein him in—but I’ll manage it.
I smirk faintly and keep moving.
On my way through the house, I redirect to check in the kitchens.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Good day,” I say, pitching my voice somewhere between polite and unassuming. “Would it be possible to get something to eat before I leave?”
One of the staff turns immediately, fatigue wiped clean from her expression by training. “Of course, my lord. What would you like?”
“Nothing complicated,” I reply. “If you have time, I wouldn’t mind a local dish.”
This time, the smile is genuine. Proud. The room shifts into motion.
As they begin preparing the meal, I step casually toward the small staff table near the far wall. On the way, my hand brushes the counter, fingers closing briefly around an eight-inch chef’s knife. I slip it inside my doublet without breaking stride and sit down.
A minute later, the same staff member returns, carrying a steaming bowl.
“Solvael’s Vigil, my lord.”
She gestures to it as steam curls upward.
“Mountain bone broth—goat and lamb, simmered all day for warmth. Roasted root vegetables from the upper terraces, charred first for depth. The meat’s pulled, not cut, as is tradition. Sunseed grain thickens the broth. Ironleaf sage, for the air this high. Finished with ember butter so the heat settles in the chest.”
Her hand moves to the center.
“Hearthbread and aged mountain cheese. Break it into the broth before you eat.”
A pause. Respectful.
“It’s what Solomir serves when the cold sets in—or when faith needs reminding.”
The bowl is perfect for the weather. Rich. Deep. The broth slides through me and warms something I didn’t realize had gone cold.
“Would you be willing to teach me how to make this?” I ask.
The room nearly erupts.
“Yes—of course, my lord!”
“Oh absolutely!”
“But surely you have servants—”
I lift a hand. “I’d like to know it myself. At the very least, I can teach it to one of my staff.” I politely lie.
I want this in the waking world. I want to see Victor’s expression when I explain it. The thought almost makes me laugh.
From the corner of my awareness, the Outer Council chat flickers:
—TITHE RECEIVED: Sandseer—
—TITHE RECEIVED: Archivolt—
—TITHE RECEIVED: Carapace_kid—
—TITHE RECEIVED: ProteinPrincess—
[Sandseer]: YES. Learn it. Food tells you who people are.
[Archivolt]: Documentation opportunity detected.
[Carapace_kid]: King stealing recipes now
[ProteinPrincess]: GET THE RECIPE. DO NOT LEAVE WITHOUT IT.
I keep my face neutral.
The staff agree eagerly to write up proper instructions, and once the bowl is empty, I thank them and excuse myself. I’ve done what I came to do here.
If someone saw me take the knife on stream, I’ll hear about it later. I am betting the focus stayed on the meal. On faith. On tradition.
I can live with that gamble.
In the foyer, the doors open immediately—staff clearly already waiting for me.
It’s unsettling. This level of deference. In the Dominion, no one opens doors for me. No one simpers or bows for appearance sake alone. The Hekari follow orders, execute tasks, and live their lives.
Here, the performance of class is baked into every interaction. The upper rings elevated not just physically, but symbolically—everyone below reminded of their place.
It’s appalling.
I tolerate it only because I won’t be here long.
Outside, unescorted at last, I head toward the eastern lift.
[Archivolt]: …oh wow. Do I have our king all to myself for once? Looks like everyone else went offline.
[LifelineV]: Hands off, Archi. He didn’t come down here for commentary—he’s working.
[Archivolt]: Fair, fair. Ill chill, though it will be nice to see him moving without a leash on. Means something’s about to happen. Ill keep quiet for our king.
I have one chance to do this cleanly. If I’m being watched, they won’t board with me. They’ll follow after. Delay me. Funnel me the direction they want me to go.
The walk isn’t long. I pass through more parks, more arcades of shops and stalls selling luxuries most people will never touch. Music drifts between buildings. Laughter, carefully curated.
At the lift, several Solomir guards stand watch. One bears a distinct emblem on his helmet, marking authority.
“Good morning, your lordship,” he says as I approach. “Do you have business on the lower rings?”
“Yes,” I reply evenly. “I was told there were cultural interests on the fourth ring. Entertainment.”
A flicker crosses his expression. Disapproval, quickly buried.
“There are many between here and the fourth,” he says. “Though I would note that establishments on the eighth are of the highest quality. All have been instructed to provide complimentary food and drink to visiting diplomats.”
I turn as if considering it. Pause. Hand to chin.
Then back to him.
“I’ve heard of a soup, called Solvael’s Vigil,” I say mildly. “But here at the shops, it felt… altered. Overdone. I’d like to eat it the way common folk do. The way it was meant to be eaten.”
Something shifts.
The guard’s shoulders relax by a fraction.
“You’re not wrong,” he admits quietly. “The eighth ring tends to miss the point. That dish was meant to remind us we are one people.”
He steps aside.
“The fourth ring would suit you, then.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate your honesty.”
I board the lift as several others watch me enter.
It’s large—iron framing, dark stained planks, room for thirty. Stained glass windows line the outer curve, depicting moments I don’t recognize yet. Gears embedded into the surrounding stone begin to turn.
This will be one of several lifts. I will have to decend one ring at a time.
But this one—the first—is will have been the hardest to convince.
Watching the time so I am not late back for the banquet, I make my way through each ring district. Negotiating with the lift captains on my descent grows easier with every stop. There’s less fervor. Less distaste for those beneath them. Less theater.
Once I reach the fourth ring proper, I’m able to continue downward to my real goal—the first ring—without any pushback at all.
When I arrive, the real cold of Solomir hits me like an arctic ghost. No longer protected by the magics cast upon the upper rings, the true temperature of the mountain face hits in full force.Even with the Ashwing heart beating through my blood, I feel the chill sink straight to bone. Alaric’s Vigil makes a lot more sense now, knowing that even the people of this ring have access to it. The cold here is deadly. It doesn’t merely sting—it bites into you.
[Archivolt]: …that’s not stage cold. Look at the breath density. Upper-ring enchantments confirmed.
[Carapace_kid]: yeah okay no that’s real he’s not doing the whole “grim aesthetic” thing, that’s involuntary
[LifelineV]: Ashwing resistance is dampened. Environmental modifier I bet, not combat-based. Notable: population survival requires shared access to warming resources.
[Archivolt]: Solvael’s Vigil wasn’t only symbolic. It’s infrastructural.
[Carapace_kid]: this is where people actually live? Brutal...
The people look nothing like those above.
They’re bundled tightly in thick, layered clothing, faces obscured by scarves and hoods. No color. No excess. As I step out of the lift, every eye turns toward me.
This lift is little more than a wooden cage maneuvered by chain hoist, built to carry only a few at a time. Obviously no effort was made to grant it the luxury of the eighth ring.
I look around, trying to get my bearings, when a child walks straight up to me.
“Who are you?” she asks. “Are you Alaric?”
I stare down at the small figure—boy or girl, I couldn’t tell beneath the hood and wrappings.
“Oh no, child,” I say gently. “I’m not. I’m sorry to disappoint.”
The reaction is immediate.
A collective breath leaves the crowd, as if they’d been bracing for something far worse. As if they’d expected a demon ready to lash out—and instead found only a doe.
I don’t see any guards.
None at the lift. None on the streets. None watching from a distance.
“Child,” I ask, “how often does this lift operate?”
“Not often,” they replie. “Only to bring new prisoners to the dungeon.”
That snaps my attention.
“Dungeon? There’s a dungeon on this ring?”
“Yup. That’s where the people who say bad things about the Kingpriest are put. Till they freeze to de—”
A hand clamps over the childs mouth.
An older man pulls them back, eyes wide and terrified. They struggle for a moment, then go still when they sees his expression.
“Forgive her, sir,” he says quickly. “She doesn’t meet new people often. Curiosity gets the better of her.”
I look him over. Three fingers are missing from his right hand—the glove collapsing improperly when he closes it. Frostbite, maybe. Or perhaps something more sinister?
“That’s no fault of hers,” I say calmly. “And nothing you need to worry about. I’m not of Alaric’s people. I’m a king from another nation, invited here for talks of peace.”
The man nearly spits.
“Peace?” he scoffs. “Hah. Come with me. I’ll tell you about Alaric’s peace.”
I smile to myself as I follow him.
Looks like I’ve found my first real clue to his apex.
“My name is Himel,” he says once we’re inside, gesturing to the girl. “And this is Alexis. She’s my granddaughter.”
The home is little more than a hovel—drafty, bare, utterly without decoration. Everything inside it serves a purpose.
“Her mother and father left for the upper rings a few weeks back,” he continues. “During the monthly selection, the Kingpriest’s soldiers only approved her parents. The girl didn’t say the right words. They didn’t even look back. Just boarded that lift and went to their ‘better life.’”
He shakes his head.
“So much changed after the loss of the former Kingpriest.”
“Why stay?” I ask quietly. “If it’s this bad, there are other kingdoms. Other lands.”
He looks tired. Old in a way only the cold could explain.
“This mountain doesn’t just keep the evils below out,” he says. “It keeps us in. Descending without the proper supplies is a death sentence. We’re either too old or too young to survive the decent.”
“And food?” I ask. “How do you survive?”
“Oh, we’re provided for,” he says. “They just make sure we understand it’s the divine will of the Kingpriest. His holy mission.”
It’s becoming clearer by the moment.
Belief. Faith. Submission.
This kingdom is as much a prison as it is a fortress.
“You said former Kingpriest,” I note. “Is Alaric newly appointed?”
“Yes. Before him, there was Kingpriest Goldias. He was benevolent. Sincere. No upper or lower rings nonsense. Since his death, it’s become a class war—everyone desperate to prove devotion, desperate to move upward.”
His voice hardens.
“The first, second and third rings do the real work. We generate the resources. Without us, the upper rings would starve.”
Rebellion is close. Close enough to taste.
But badly timed and it would be crushed before it ever caught flame.
“Himel,” I say carefully, “is there anything my kingdom could do for you? I’m building a refuge for those failed by their rulers. A place without this kind of division.”
Hope flickers in his eyes—brief, fragile.
“It’s a noble idea,” he says. “But too late for us. The descent alone would kill half our people. If anything changes, it has to happen here.”
I nod slowly.
I understand now.
“Himel,” I say quietly, lowering my voice, “I want to help you. I can’t promise results—but I promise effort.”
“You’ve already done more than anyone in this city by coming down here,” he says. “What little trust I have left, it’s yours.”
I incline my head.
“Now then tell me,” I say, glancing toward the door, “about this dungeon.”