Tulian had once stood tall along the southern coasts. A nation of merchant sailors and rural farmers, its capital's position as the st bastion of civilized society before the endless jungle sprawl had earned it a multi-faceted reputation. Sailors returning from the arduous journey around the continent's horn would weep tears of joy at the sight of its towering walls, while those preparing to set off would throw their souls to vice to stiffen their resolve for the trials ahead. Whether categorized as a den of primitive vipers or the welcoming arms of civilization, the capital had for centuries stood strong as its nation's beating heart.

  That great heart had lie still for over a decade now. The tributaries that had once fed it were rendered separate and isoted, withering on the vine. The quiet relief of freed farmers had festered into apathy over the years, the links that connected a previously united people abandoned. Many of those accustomed to a life of modest means mustered the st of their talents and fled, leaving behind those who had depended on their expertise. Bit by bit, building block by building block, the fabric of society had degraded. A decade's span had already seen tools grow simpler, their use less sophisticated, and their wielders less knowledgeable; a downward slide too slow to notice until one turned about to see how far they'd fallen.

  But after only a month spent in the capital, Sara was beginning to see the tides of time turned back. The rolling hills of rotted roofs were slowly transforming into patchwork quilts, fresh lumber repcing yawning holes. Streets strewn with moss and creeping vine had been scrubbed and scraped clear, piles of rubble collected and brought to masons for reshaping. Shuttered windows were cautiously opened at night, amber ntern light brightening the streets once more. In some parts of the city, even, she was starting to hear the humble hum of milling crowds, the first stages of old bazaars fitfully crawling back to life.

  Sara sighed, letting her eyes fall from the sight. The old King's Keep provided an excellent view of the city, one fine enough to encourage her to wax poetic, and everyone expected her to take her pce on the old king's throne. As she'd toured the grounds, however, Sara's opinion of the Tulian Keep had gradually soured.

  Tulian had been a pnned city, which meant the imperious building was positioned perfectly for the role of governance. Close enough to the walls for overnd messengers to be promptly received, yet far enough away to fear little from enemy besiegers, it sat at the center of a dense weave of roads that prevented its many comers and goers from being bogged down in cart-drawn traffic.

  The beautifully vaulted ceilings were afforded their height by the construction of ominous spires, a collection of six pced equidistantly around its exterior to resemble the defensive turrets of a castle. Its massive empty windows had once been filled with eborate stained gss imagery, most of which had depicted lord, dy, and serf alike kneeling in deference to the 'rightful' ruler living inside. Its interior was filled with a mazeway of servant's corridors, subtle exits in each room allowing the help to do all that was required of them without being seen. A central courtyard, now hopelessly overgrown, had once allowed the lords and dies to take pleasant trips through their sheltered idea of nature, kept artistically pruned by a small army of gardeners.

  Tulian's old Keep, Sara had to admit, was a masterpiece of engineering and architecture. As practical as it was ornate, the endless flourishes of beautiful stonework it sported were the end result of generations of the kingdom's most talented artisans being brought in to make their contributions. All the same, Sara couldn't stomach the thought of living in it, and as those touring the building with her awaited her judgement, she struggled to articute why.

  Actually, that was a lie. She struggled to articute it in a manner people of this world would accept.

  Sara very firmly thought it looked like the fucked-up bastard child of a catholic church and concentration camp.

  It was what she'd imagined would be produced if the Nazis had decided to celebrate their crimes with religious decor, its intimidating complex design only serving to create a monument of the things she hated most about this world. Even at its height the keep had been a big fancy box with a ft open space in the middle, surrounded by watchtowers looming with obscenely expensive propaganda. It was built to keep the rabble out, topped by a pile of freudian obelisks desperate to prove their supposed superiority, and Sara sure as hell wasn't going to touch the thing. She just needed to come up with a way to give her reasons that was appropriately tuned to her audience.

  Evie, ever by her side, obviously wasn't who she was concerned with upsetting. The main concern were the pair of stonemason/engineers who had spent the st month ensuring the building was sturdy enough for her to safely tour, and Ignite, who had guided his guards through a borious multi-day sweep of the complex to ensure no lingering traps or hidden criminal encves occupied it. Also in the back of her mind, though not present at the moment, were the carpenters and bcksmiths that had eagerly begun repairing sections of the keep at their own expense, hoping to earn the steady work that would come when she properly moved her seat of governance in. No matter how she phrased things, her rejection of the keep would rub at least a few people the wrong way.

  "Honestly," she began, drawing the word out, "It almost feels too incredible for me. I'd be sleeping on three hundred years of a nation's history, if what you told me was correct."

  "Indeed it is, My L-- ma'am," one of the stonemasons replied, beaming with excited pride even as he stumbled over his words. He was a burly bald man sporting a thick graying mustache, having arrived to the city shortly after word of Sara's new pseudo-government began to spread. His business partner was slightly younger, but equally muscled and mustached, and the constant shoulder-to-shoulder press the two men had kept through the tour struck her as decidedly less than heterosexual. She watched the senior mason's mustache bounce as he spoke.

  "Construction began nearly as soon as Old Tulian colonists broke away from the hidden empire, and was continued until the st years of the storms. You will soon be living atop the lifetime efforts of master craftsmen, and perhaps, as your fair nation's fortunes improve, overseeing the additions from new masters of their craft."

  Oh, real subtle, guy, Sara thought, mentally rolling her eyes. The pair didn't strike her as opportunists, per se, but they were embarrassingly eager to take on the project. Heading a gig like this was a career, retirement pn, and legacy wrapped into one neat bundle, so she could hardly bme them. Sara gritted her teeth and continued her rejection, praying they wouldn't be too disappointed.

  "As true as that may be, I'm afraid it likely won't fit for the new government's purpose. Aside from the unfortunate political implications that might arise from occupying the seat of a dynasty whose members still persist in exile, it strikes me as too rich a vein of history to sully. I would rather preserve it in its current state, a monument to Old Tulian's success, than muddy the waters of history with a new and very different approach to governance."

  Despite his best effort to hide it, Sara caught the younger stonemason's beaming smile tilt ever so slightly downward. "So you will not be staying in the Keep, ma'am?"

  She shook her head. "No. I intend to leave it empty, though if any structural faults were to develop I would like to have them quickly attended to. Creating a museum of this people's-- our people's-- past is important, but will have to wait. In the meantime, I wish to have a simpler complex constructed, one more befitting of an equal society."

  Stuffing down disappointment, the stonemason stiffly nodded. "I see. A simpler complex certainly would fit the humble air you have maintained since your arrival, ma'am."

  Sara blew out a sigh, letting just a little bit of her frustration show. "Look, there's no need to dance around the issue. You want the job. Well, from what I've seen, you two are pretty damn good at what you do, but you literally can't do what I want. I'm going to be building with techniques that this world's never seen, and that means I've got to be in charge myself."

  "We may not be ordained by a guild as master craftsmen, ma'am, but that is only because there has been no guild for some time now. Whatever skills you require of us, we can provide."

  Sara let her formal facade drop further as she put her hand on her hips, mindful of the spike bracelets she'd worn that day. They were her third attempt at bcksmithing under Hurlish's tutege, and on this set she might have done too well: it wouldn't do to have the men witness her inadvertently stab herself.

  "Do either of you know what concrete is?" Sara asked.

  A quick shared gnce of uncertainty passed between the men, then the white mustached mason hesitantly responded. "As in when something is factual, rather than imaginary?"

  "No. The actual, physical material. It's poured into a mold as a liquid, then hardens into stone."

  "Then I'm afraid we are unfamiliar, ma'am. May we beg you to describe it a bit further, if this what you intend to use to construct your keep?"

  She took a deep preparatory breath, silently thanking fate for giving her a geologist father with a propensity for oversharing. "An aggregate of stone is mixed with a fluid mortar into a slurry, then dumped into a mold. The composition of aggregate matters considerably less than the mortar, which is usually based on materials such as gypsum or lime, or preferably a type of volcano dust called pozzona if you want to recreate Roman-era concrete, which is ideal for resisting decade-scale saltwater corrosion..."

  Confronted with a near perfect recreation of an over-enthusiastic geologist's babbling, she could see the men's confidence waver. She felt kind of bad to be treating master craftsmen like uneducated children, but it was having the intended effect. They shrunk back, silently absorbing the depths of their ignorance. The masons wanting to handle everything themselves was both admirable and impossible, and Sara didn't want to waste the time impressing that fact more delicately.

  After her impromptu lecture was finished, Sara gave the men a different job. In lieu of tasking them with building her a new administration building, she hired them to use their existing contacts to acquire the raw material she'd need. Once they'd acquired a wide variety of fine aggregate and prospective mortars, she'd earmark some time to experiment and teach the men how to properly make concrete. Sara also took a brief moment to try and convince them that being this world's first purveyor of concrete would open doors far more prestigious than fixing up a busted keep, but they didn't seem convinced yet.

  Oh, well, Sara thought with a sigh. That's what money's for. If they want to get paid, they'll do it my way. I've got way more exciting things to be doing today than massaging contractor's egos.

  Even after the masons left, it took a few extra minutes to wrap up the st of Sara's duties. She dictated a few letters to be sent to the other craftsmen who'd been hoping to work on the keep, expining the dey in apologetic yet firm tone, and then made a few notes for herself about what she needed to gather up for her pnned experiments. Ignite waited patiently, walking about the once-majestic room with hands csped contemptively behind his back.

  "Sorry about that," Sara finally said as she shoved the st note into her pocket. "I'm getting busier and busier, these days. We should have done this back when I had more free time."

  "It is no bother," Ignite replied, voice echoing off the etched stones. "In a strange reversal of our fortunes, my days have only grown more x with the passage of weeks. The guards are growing competent, and handle most affairs without my involvement. Though the city numbers nearly a thousand, the spirit of cooperation persists. Perhaps I will be busied once the people grow more compcent."

  "A thousand? Really?" Sara began taking off the more obstructive parts of what she now considered her semi-formal wear, stretching out. She was eternally grateful that her attire of of leather jackets, spiked wristbands, and sweatpants were foreign enough to Tulian citizens to pass as eccentric outerwear. Not only was it more comfortable than the suit she'd probably have worn back on Earth, it made it far easier to swap into her armor whenever she wanted. "Evie, you said we need nine farmers to support every one person in a city, right? Do we really have nine thousand farmers bringing us food?"

  "It is difficult to quantify, Master. There have been no major compints of food shortages, so one can only assume so. A proper census could be arranged with minimal effort, if you believe it necessary."

  "Sounds like something we should've done a while ago, to be honest," Sara said as she rummaged in their bag of holding, yanking pieces of her armor out. "Y'know, I'll probably need to start delegating that kind of stuff soon. There's way too much that's essential for a city to run. I can't remember it all, and once Tulian starts getting even bigger, that'll be a problem. I need someone with actual experience to run things while I deal with the weirder, Champion-style stuff."

  "You could accept Lady Vesta's offer of abdication from Sporatos, Master," Evie suggested, speaking up to be heard over the wind. Unlike Ignite, the feline was utterly disinterested in the keep's ornate decorations, and so sat perched on an empty windowsill, feet drifting in the breeze. Her voice echoed in the courtyard below, but none were present to eavesdrop. "She would be a nearly invaluable asset to us in managerial capacity alone, and her presence would lend us a great deal of credit with foreign traders."

  "And piss Sporatos off to no end," Sara countered, settling her breastpte snugly over her chest by tugging at its straps. "I'm pretty sure stealing one of the richest nobles of Hagos would be considered a pretty severe faux-pas, no?"

  "Certainly, but there may not be a better time to do so. As Lady Vesta's allegiance will inevitably fall under our banner at some point in the future, it strikes me as best to commit the slight before we have the full standing of a nation. What could be in itself an act of war between two kingdoms might presently be regarded only as an aggravating political oddity, with more bme pced upon Lady Vesta herself than a non-existent Tulian. Matters may grow more complex should Sporatos decide to forcefully repatriate her under charges of treason, but the political and legal quagmire that occurs any time a high-ranking noble is punished would be impossible to navigate in prompt manner. We would have months of warning to prepare an appropriate response."

  "Pretty convincing arguments," Sara admitted as she tied her hair back. "But if we're doing it that way, we'd basically be asking her to throw in her life with us, not just her political career. There's only one punishment for treason in Sporatos, after all. We should probably ask her if she's really sure about it before we go all-in."

  Timidly, as if uncertain he was allowed to interject, Ignite raised a hand. "With respect, ma'am, may I speak?"

  Sara nearly ughed. "Ignite, buddy, you're really gonna have to get over the military procedure stuff when we're in private. I'm not the type to ignore advice just because it's coming from someone who has the wrong job description."

  Ignite nodded, but didn't say anything further. After a moment of confusion, Sara rolled her eyes.

  "And yes, that means you can speak."

  "Thank you, ma'am," Ignite formally replied. He turned away from the stonework, still in an officer's at-ease pose. "If this Lady Vesta is as adept at politicking as you suggest, she will have been aware of the consequences when she made the initial offer to abandon her position." Unconsciously, he ran a hand over the top of his helmet, tracing where the shaved bristles of a once prominent officer's plume had sprouted. "Betraying one's nation is, regardless of consequence, not a decision made lightly. So long as she is a Lady of honor, she will not have made the offer without intention to follow through. Presenting further options will be a waste of sail."

  "Fair enough," Sara said as she tugged on her gauntlets. "I guess it would be a little bit insulting to ask her if she knows what she's getting into, wouldn't it? Of course she does. She's not stupid enough to throw her life away because we had a few pleasant evenings a while back."

  "As you say, ma'am."

  Sara spent a few seconds checking the fit of her armor, finding it satisfactory. She drew her sword, holding it out to one side as she turned to Ignite. "Your advice, as always, is appreciated." She grinned, dropping the formal tone. "But now that we have the boring crap out of the way, how about we get to something more fun?"

  He returned her grin, if considerably less feral. "Certainly. It has been some time since I had the opportunity to duel outside the training grounds."

  Evie flitted away from her window perch to Sara's side, quickly running her hands over Sara's sword while murmuring quietly. The familiar white protective sheen took hold, just bright enough to highlight the bde. Ignite, across the room, drew his gdius, beginning the same process.

  The rge room that they'd coincidentally ended up in wasn't where they'd intended to duel this day, but Sara thought it would serve well enough. Located on the third story just beneath one of the towers, it was rge enough to be a ball room, or perhaps a dining hall. Whatever purpose it had served was difficult to discern after years of looting had stripped it bare, but it would now serve well enough as a dueling ground. Even flooring and a ck of obstructions would keep things simple, a pure test of swordsmanship, with no hazardous terrain or distractions to take advantage of. Sara had never actually seen Ignite fight, and she was eager to see what a Marine Captain of the vaunted Carrion Navy could accomplish.

  When Evie finished enchanting her sword, Sara squared her stance, working through a few test swings to loosen up. Ignite did much the same, rolling his shoulders and feeling out the weight of his much shorter bde.

  Though Sara would normally consider a three foot gap in weapon reach an insurmountable obstacle for an opponent to overcome, there was an odd queasiness brewing while she observed Ignite's warmups. Though she'd grown stronger since her fight on the Carrion magecraft, Ignite was still the man who had trained fighters that had nearly overwhelmed her and Hurlish. If he didn't see the need to exchange his gdius for a longer bde, it was for good reason.

  "Shall the duel be to first touch, or lethal blows?" Ignite asked. "I do not know your pns for the day, and would not wish to bruise you before a public appearance."

  "Pretty cocky, eh?" Sara asked, grinning. "Disabling blow, of course. I don't see any reason to practice giving up on a fight when I get a little scratch, and I really don't care if the people see me with a bck eye. Champions get in fights, they know that."

  "As you say, ma'am." Ignite settled into his stance, wielding his gdius much like one would a short spear. Though it had a cutting edge, it was a weapon designed to be used in a shield wall, stabbing in unison with your comrades. Speaking honestly, Sara never would have used it in a duel, no matter how familiar she was with it over the alternatives. Ignite was nothing if not a creature of habit.

  Sara fell into her own stance silently, holding her sword low before her pelvis, tip angled up to be level with her eyes. Weeks of dueling lessons with Evie had taught her the names of stances that she once knew only intuitively, and so she now knew to call this a modified Longpoint Stance. Rather than the full extension of her arms that the "full" stance involved, she often preferred to keep the hilt of her weapon closer, letting her maintain the posture without tiring herself out unnecessarily.

  Ignite, on the other hand, was forced to use a stance that didn't py to his weapon's strengths. Shields apparently weren't 'proper' to use in duels, and so he approached her side-on, with the gdius in his right hand and his left tucked behind his back, the sword's pommel nearly touching his right leg.

  Though she should have had nearly ever advantage in the fight, the strange queasiness in Sara's gut only intensified as Ignite calmly approached her. Contrary to nearly every battle she'd ever been in, Sara found herself shoving down the urge to back away, a foreign nervousness forcing a tense jitter into her arms. Sara was baffled by her own reaction to the fight, which was throwing her into the frightened mental tailspin she'd only known from the description of others. She began pacing backward, keeping the distance while she searched her mind for an expnation. It was only when she was dangerously near an empty window that she suddenly recalled something Garen had said to her weeks ago.

  ...I have it on good authority that Champions are inherently aware of when they are outmatched...

  As Ignite closed to just outside Sara's striking range, she blinked.

  A bonfire of pain erupted across Sara's body. First in her ears, which were pierced by a godawful screech of steel against steel, deafening her in an instant, then a millisecond ter it was joined by a new fre of pain as her shoulder tore itself out of the socket, skin and bone jutting unnaturally against the interior of her armor.

  Finally, far outstripping the rest, blossomed an agony in her sword hand. It felt like it she'd been holding a grenade that had gone off, an involuntary seizure taking her as reason and thought were swallowed by vibrant pain.

  Sara dropped to her knees, hiccuping out an awkward cough as her lungs failed to draw breath. There were muffled noises coming from somewhere, but they couldn't pierce the echoing ring.

  Nausea rose the instant Sara forced open her eyes. Cradled in her p was her empty sword hand, bent horrifically out of shape. The metal of her gauntlet had been bent ninety degrees in the wrong direction, four fingers broken so thoroughly her fingertips were touching the top of her wrist. Blood gushed from tears in the metal, the sight making Sara whimper involuntarily.

  Gss pressed itself to her lips, accompanied by more hazy words. Though she couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight of her mangled hand, she saw the ruby slurry of a potion in her peripheral vision. She parted her lips, allowing the liquid to be poured down her throat.

  Ignite appeared before her, tilting her chin up to look him in the eye. He said a few things that Sara still couldn't understand. He looked awfully serious, so Sara nodded meaningfully.

  Without further ado, Ignite reached down to her hand and pushed on the broken metal, bending the gauntlet containing her severed fingers back into shape.

  Sara passed out.

  ---------------------------------------

  ------------------------------------

  ---------------------------------

  Sara woke with her cheek pressed to cool stone. As her senses returned, she took a mental inventory of her body, careful not to make any sudden movements.

  She didn't feel anything unusual in her right hand, but she certainly didn't intend to move it to test the theory. Her shoulder had a slight soreness to it, but nothing more, and her hearing seemed crystal clear.

  Sara lifted her head. Ignite was kneeling by her side, her hand still held by both of his. Evie was behind her with an empty potion bottle in hand, looking down on her with professional concern. Only seconds had passed. Sara blinked, briefly considering what to say.

  "Holy shit, dude."

  Evie smiled. "Quite, Master. Do you feel well? It was a smaller dose of potion, and it would not be uncommon to require more."

  "I think I'm good," Sara said, licking her lips. She wiggled her injured fingers ever so slightly, testing for pain. The metal of the gauntlet was entirely immobile, keeping her knuckles curled, but within what little range of motion she had there was no pain. "How about you, Ignite?" Sara asked. "We've got extra potions, in case I got you too good."

  His smile was terse. "I think I will not, ma'am. My apologies for the blow."

  "Hey, you didn't know I was a bitch-ass," Sara assured him. She sat up properly, retrieving her immobilized hand from Ignite to inspect the metalwork. "Seriously, though, what the hell? I know it's a total taboo to ask about levels, so I won't, but damn, man. You've gotta be twice what I am. Why were you even in charge of other soldiers when you can do that? They should've just loaded you up in a catapult and unched you at enemy ships. You could probably cut the suckers in half on your own."

  "My skill is great, but not unique, and I would eventually meet my match. It is better to preserve knowledge for passing onto others." His smile grew a bit warmer. "And I do not think catapults are accurate enough for such measures, regardless."

  "Well, we should get somebody working on that." Sara picked at the metal of her gauntlet, which had visible finger imprints from where Ignite had shoved it back into pce. The steel had put up no more resistance than cy to the oil-skinned man. "Damnit. I hope Hurlish can make me another one of these."

  "I'm sure she can, Master," Evie replied. "And even if not, then one of Nora's captured ships will likely have a repcement. As for your sword..."

  Sara followed Evie's gnce to the far wall. Her enchanted greatsword was impaled into the wall some twenty feet away, doing its best impression of a dart in a dartboard. Nearly a foot of the bde was embedded in the stone, the remainder still wobbling slightly.

  Sara groaned. "Ah, christ, that's gonna be a pain to get out. At least it's not broken."

  "Try though I might, it takes much more than what I am to destroy enchanted bdes," Ignite said. He stood, walking over to the wall while Sara continued to pick at her ruined gauntlet.

  "I wonder if any of the enchantments were in the gloves," she murmured to Evie, tearing off a piece of steel that had been attached by only a thread. "Maybe we should ask Lady Vesta to bring some artificers with her, too, so we won't be totally screwed if I break something actually expensive."

  "It would not be unwise. Considering the high demand for their services, artificers are among the least likely to have stayed behind in Tulian. Yet another industry we will struggle to recreate."

  Ignite reached Sara's impaled sword, gripping it by the pommel. He braced a foot against the wall and began to pull, filling the air with a terrible grating noise. Sara winced, reflexively cupping her hands over Evie's ears. After ten long seconds of screeching, the sword finally slipped free.

  "Ah!" Ignite cried as he stumbled away from the wall, sword in hand. "There we are. And thankfully it appears the bde is indeed undamaged. Truly, the work of Hurlish continues to impress. The cuirasses she has provided for the Guard of excepting quality. To imagine such a talent nguishing in a rural vilge... is..."

  Ignite's words slowly died out. Sara turned to him, confused, and found him staring out a window that pointed towards the harbor.

  "Ignite? What's up?"

  His attention snapped towards her, demeanor sharpening back to military precision. "There are foreign ships sailing through the harbor gates, ma'am."

  "Oh? Nora's back already?" The product of her pet pirate's test raiding foray had been delivered only two days ago, so it would be unusual for her to return so soon.

  "No, ma'am. Her fgship is not among their number." He pointed, though Sara couldn't see from her angle. "They fly the fgs of Sporatos."

  Sara bolted to her feet in sync with Evie, scrambling towards the window. Ignite held out her sword as she approached. She slipped it into her scabbard as she turned to take a pce by Ignite's side, peering out into the harbor.

  Four ships were slipping between the seventy-foot gap that had once pyed host to the massive gate protecting Tulian's harbor. One ship was noticeably in the lead, its sails fully raised even as it pointed itself at the harbor docks. The royal symbol of Sporatos hung from its mast, but just beneath that, Sara spotted a piece of iconography she recognized from personal experience, rather than Evie's lessons.

  "That's the symbol of House Vesta, isn't it?" Sara asked, relief washing over her.

  "Yes, Master," Evie replied. Unlike Sara, however, her tone was bitter.

  "What's up?" Sara asked. "It's a bit of a surprise, but it's still good news."

  With a pointed finger, Ignite directed Sara's attention to the second row of ships. "Because she has recognized the fg of the ships in pursuit, ma'am. Sporaton Navy."

  Sara opened her mouth to ask a question, but was interrupted by a fre of light from one of the Navy ships. Large enough to be visible from even a mile away, Sara watched a fming comet leap from the center ship's deck. It arced towards Lady Vesta's ship in almost graceful fashion, before nding amidst the sails in a spsh of violent oil fire. Simir bolts leapt from the decks of the other ships, more trails of fire jetting towards the now-abze sails of Vesta's ship. Sara slowly closed her mouth, question forgotten.

  "Ah, fuck."