“Why the fuck are you here?” Paracelsus asked. He was speaking to Pryus Tyburn (whom the astute readers will recall as having made a brief appearance earlier), who was now dressed in more formal robes befitting his stature - a rich black and red design.

  “Not the time, Phillipus.” The pryus said, his voice strained and weak.

  “Fine.” Paracelsus snarled. With both of them restrained, it was easy enough to create a thin metal wire, strong enough to tie up Elio. However, as he went to tie up Luna, he heard a strong thrumming noise from behind him. As he turned to look, he saw Elio leaking the same radiance he had been utilizing the whole time. “Run!” He shouted. This was assuredly not normal, and if the pulsing, gnashing and general pained writhing of the man on the ground was any indication, he was fit to burst.

  “Parace?” Fra asked, rubbing their sore head, “Who is that?”

  “No time to explain, everyone get going!” He shouted, taking the liberty of pushing Gru’lya, seeing as he was probably the strongest of the group. Finally, as everyone got clear, it happened. A massive boom rang out from the caboose, and not only was the last car engulfed, but in fact the last three cars had all been derailed and incinerated, consumed in a fiery explosion.

  “Holy shit.” Sally said, looking on at the rapidly retreating form of the derailed segments, “Who were those… freaks?” And after a period of silence, she reiterated, “Paracelsus?”

  Said captain, meanwhile, was too busy looking around, watching for any sign that the pryus wasn’t an illusion or hallucination of some sort. He was gone now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still watching. “Paracelsus!” Sally shouted, snapping him out of his reverie.

  “Sorry, I, um…” He rambled, “They were… Probably revolutionaries. Uh… I think they were called Kingslayers, or something like that. You never answered earlier, where are the others?”

  “Serpacinno took Tariq and the cook up ahead.”

  “And -” Federico paused for a second, trying to remember, “Gareland got tired of waiting.”

  Then, the five of them trekked forward, until they’d met up with the rest of the crew. Gareland was arguing with Serpacinno, Lonceré was lounging and smoking, and Tariq was clutching his head as he too lounged.

  “Hello, all.” Paracelsus said, sitting down to try and catch his breath. His hair was still singed and smelt like burnt hair as a result, “Sorry to leave you so abruptly. It was not intended.”

  “Fuck, you can’t keep disappearing like that.” Serpacinno abruptly split off from whatever debate she was having with Gareland and took the seat across from Paracelsus.

  “As I said -” He argued, “Didn’t mean to.” He gestured to Fra, “This is Fra, by the by. The one I was telling you about. Our doctor and -” He counted on his fingers, “Ninth crew member.”

  “Still,” She said, pouting, “I was worried.”

  “Sorry for worrying you, but we’re all together now.” He looked around at the unconscious bodies, “Good work cleaning up, you three.”

  “I got scared.” Tariq pre-empted the scorn he assumed was going to be coming, “I didn’t actually do anything.”

  Before anyone could respond, Gareland grabbed him by the hand and took him to the other end of the train car. “What was that about?” Paracelsus asked, “She seemed mad.”

  “That may have been my fault,” Serpacinno said, rubbing the back of her head, “I was angry at Tariq and I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

  “Oh, hell, I should go over and talk -” Paracelsus started.

  “I don’t think that’s a great idea.” Lonceré said, “There’s always time later, no need to interrupt them now.”

  “So,” Federico clapped his hands, trying to lighten the situation, “Is this a typical day for the crew of the Current?”

  “I should hope not.” Paracelsus said, blowing a raspberry, “But I imagine it just might be.”

  “You shouldn’t let her talk to you like that.” Gareland said in a hushed tone, under her breath, “She can’t just call you useless.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “I messed up,” Tariq said. His head was hanging, clearly in shame, “I froze up when I should’ve helped her out.”

  “You did mess up -” She said, about to be interrupted, “But before you say anything, you have to accept it was an accident. It’s a sign that you didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and that’s a good thing.”

  “I didn’t hurt someone,” He said, “I killed someone.”

  “Tariq, I -” She said, wrapping her arms around his head, “It might not sound like much, but I killed someone, too.”

  “What?” He asked, “When?”

  The fairy sighed, her own head getting heavier, “I guess we’ve got time.”

  —

  Skipping past the part(s) already recounted earlier in the seventh and eighth chapters, we come back to a short few months after Lorenzo had taken Gareland in.

  “Gareland,” The older man said. They had long since accepted her change of identity as necessary to conceal her identity, “I’ve got a gift for you.” He took out a small box, black with a little red bow on top.

  Gareland took the box, unwrapping it with glee, and looking at the necklace inside. A small, silvery chain with the three arrows of Paacism affixed to it. She put it on at once, marvelling at its luster. It was smooth, and somewhat cool to the touch.

  “I love it!” She said, “What’s the occasion?”

  “Today’s your ignition, remember?” He asked gently.

  “What?” She balked, “You’re going to light me on fire?”

  “No, it’s a ritual, dear.” Her father assured her, ruffling her hair a little bit. “Come, I promise it won’t be scary.” The two of them began walking downstairs now. At this time, they didn’t have an extravagant house - a simple two floor abode with quaint fixtures.

  “Is that why I’m dressed up?” His daughter asked, referencing her blue, ankle length dress and veil.

  “Ah, very perceptive.” He praised her, leading her to their great room, wherein a number of his ‘business associates’ and various uncles and aunts (and even Lorenzo’s father himself) were waiting.

  “Gareland, come, stand in the center.” One particular uncle, a pryus, said. He poured a small vial of clear alcohol in a circle. It was, of course, on a small wicker mat so as to not stain the floor. “Ok, then, a match, if you will, Enzo.”

  ‘Enzo’ rolled his eyes. The holy man was a close friend of his father, and he had to show reverence, at least for now. Then, the pryus leaned down, and let the match drop. Immediately, a column of flame rose from spirits, a small pillar, but one that quickly grew until it nearly reached the ceiling. And then, the alcohol immediately on either side followed suit, and then the alcohol flanking that, until the whole ring had gone up in flames.

  Of course, being a young girl, Gareland gasped in shock, checking that none of her hair, veil, or dress had caught fire. Once that wardrobe crisis was settled, she noticed just how loud the flames were. From what she’d been told, the flames weren’t quite so tremendous and isolating.

  Of course there was a reason for this. Outside of the ring of flames, and therefore outside of the ear and eyeshot of his daughter, Lorenzo brandished a small sleeve dagger. He kept it concealed within his shirt for the moment, going over to his father and putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “Looks like the good Pryus might’ve gotten something a little too potent.” He laughed. And his father laughed too, which only served to annoy Lorenzo; after all, he had selected the alcohol and knew Gareland would be unharmed. His father had no idea, and this only confirmed to Lorenzo his suspicions: the real reason he wasn’t positioned to be his father’s successor wasn’t because of his lack of business acumen, but rather his inhuman daughter.

  For all that can be said of Lorenzo as a man, let it be known he was not one to tolerate discrimination. Somewhat forward thinking for a man of his time, he was the first of his family to openly associate and even fraternize with hybrids, angels, and demons all. And his own inability to have a child, combined with the rather fortunate happenstance of his meeting a young, vulnerable Gareland, meant he ended up with a fairy for a child.

  “I have to say, this little experiment,” His father, named Alphonse, said, gesturing vaguely at the Ring of fire with his drink, “This raising a fairy? It’s proving quite entertaining.”

  “It’s a good thing she can’t hear, right?” Lorenzo feigned a smile. He grit his teeth behind his closed lips.

  But, still, the time was not right to attack just yet. He walked away, looking as friendly as he could. He walked to the center of the room, tapping his glass once, twice, thrice to get everyone’s attention. And just as he planned, he saw the men and women more loyal to him than his father getting into key positions around the room.

  “Friends, family, assorted employees,” He said in a happy, boisterous tone, “Thank you all for coming.” A few of his supporters nodded subtly to him, “I know my decision to adopt Gareland was… Unorthodox. But sincerely, your presences here mean the world to me. To know she will grow up in a family so full of love, wisdom, ambition - all of those great factors us sapient peoples of the world ascribe to ourselves - it…” He started to produce some crocodile tears, “I’m sorry. A moment.”

  He waved to his father, signalling him to come forward. Alphonse did so, embracing his son with his free hand.

  “I don’t know where I’d be if not for my father.” Lorenzo said, “So, please, allow me to thank you.” Saying this, he swiftly produced his blade and stabbed his father in the stomach. Before anyone could react with a weapon or a gift, his men followed suit - attacking his brothers and sisters who were ahead of him in the pecking order.

  “Now, with that said.” Lorenzo resumed, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleaning his blade, “There will be changes around here.” He continued, throwing the handkerchief on his father’s open wound, “I will be assuming my father’s responsibilities and duties. You will all answer to me, first and foremost. Is that understood?”

  The remaining guests, including the Pryus, all turned to look at each other. None dared fight back, not when they were so outnumbered, and certainly not in defiance of the man standing in front of the Ring of fire - which to them was an obvious (and successful) attempt to appeal to their religious sensibilities. So, they all took a knee, one by one, and bowed their heads in deference.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He said, showing a genuine, toothy smile.

  At last, the Ring of the fire fell, and Gareland looked around, a horrified expression on her face. She knew vaguely what sort of business her father got into (after all, she was for a time used as a drug mule), but was thoroughly unprepared to deal with such violence in her face and evident. She rushed over to Lorenzo, subconsciously seeking comfort in him as she clutched his leg, “What happened, father?” She let the last word slip, despite her trepidation.

  “Oh, dear, don’t worry,” He gently wrapped his arms around her gently, almost as if she were a delicate flower, “I just had to take care of some things, but that’s all done now.”

  “What?” She asked, backing up from him, “You - you did this? Why?”

  “Oh, don’t worry.” He knelt down. He didn’t hold her reaction against her - it would be shocking for anyone, let alone an adopted child, “I simply had to show you what kind of a man I am. How far I would go to protect you.”