The translucent barrier blinked out of existence, sending Greg stumbling forward and nearly into the far wall a few feet away. He quickly corrected himself and glanced around. There were three other cells in the long room, but his was the closest to the door, giving him the opportunity to watch Lorelei as she left.

  Replacing her presence was a woman wearing a dress of flowing red and orange fabric that clasped around one shoulder with a flame cast in gold. Her skin was dark, which would have made the bright fabric stand out even more were it not for her eyes. Scleraless eyes of roiling flame, shifting patterns of blue, orange, and red stared at him with a cocked head and a slight smile.

  “Greg Norwood.” She’d obtained the clipboard from Lorelei, but tossed it to her side where it clattered across a desk he couldn’t quite see. “My name is Elenaril Dawnflare.” Her hair was in tight braids, but the tiniest lines of gray were the only physical evidence he could hold on to for what he felt in that moment.

  Quest Progress Noted!

  Become acquainted with The Thirteen

  1/13

  The Thirteen are the ruling class of Ashoria. Make some friends in high places! Or enemies that can turn you into a smoking crater.

  Reward:

  10000 experience

  Even the likes of Brannoc Stroud and Doran Hightide were nothing to this woman. Outside of the name, which he recognized as being a part of the Thirteen even without the update box that popped up, the sensation of power radiating from her was something he didn’t have words for.

  “Not gonna flirt with this one?” Isabella said with a little bit too much cheer.

  “I uhh..” He knelt down and bowed his head. “I’m not sure what the custom is here, but its nice to meet you, Lady Dawnflare.”

  She let out a genuine laugh and gestured for him to stand. “No need for all that. I’m no monarch.”

  He stood up and swallowed hard. He found it hard to make eye contact with her until she reached out to him, palm up. Lady Dawnflare gave him the tiniest nod, and he placed his hand in hers. She led him over to the desk and gestured for him to sit as she walked around and sat down herself.

  “Greg, do you know why Warden’s Keep is not subject to Rhobair’s famous magic fog?” She asked him.

  “I-I don’t, Lady Dawnflare.” He admitted. It had been curious to him, but he’d chalked it up to magic bullshit after the Brannoc and Maeve couldn’t tell him.

  “Because it’s mine.” She leaned back in the chair, caressing the wall behind her. “My mother stacked every moonstone brick of this building with her own hands two thousand years ago. When she saw that The Father had blessed me as he had her, she adopted me and taught me Father’s path.”

  Greg was still not clear on the pantheon here, but from context she was probably talking about some fire god. He gave a quiet nod, hoping his silence would give him some more information. Most pressing at the moment being why he was talking to one of the Thirteen outside his jail cell.

  “When my mother died, the good people of Rhobair and her surrounding territories elected me to take her place, but in that period between our leadership…” She pointed to the ceiling and sighed. “The Father’s light faded. I tell you that for a simple follow up question.” Her otherwise friendly demeanor faded as she straightened, and her full lips went tight. “What did you do to prompt The Father’s light to fall on you?”

  Greg’s brows furrowed, and he shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry… I’m not sure what we’re talking about.”

  Her expression didn’t change as she searched his face for a moment long enough to make him want to run. “The hells burst open around you, The Father grants you his protection, and you’re genuinely oblivious.” She let out a quick snorting laugh. “I’ve been alive a long time, Greg Norwood, and I can count on one hand the times I’ve heard such outrageous stories.”

  He gave an awkward smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “Happy I could entertain.”

  “All those stories came from people summoned from another world.” She leaned forward, elbows on the desk, to get a closer look at him. “Did The Father summon you from another world?”

  “S-summoned from another world?” Greg gave a mock scoff, his stomach suddenly flipping in on itself. “That would be wild.”

  “I think the jig is up, big guy,” Isabella warned.

  “I may be out of practice, but the majority of my nine-hundred seventy years were spent lighting monsters on fire with my brain. Don’t lie to me Mr. Norwood.” Flashes of bright blue flicked across the stunning fiery eyes.

  “Okay.” He nodded, biting down hard on his lips before dragging them back. “Okay, okay. Uhhh. Real answer? I don’t know. I got here like six months ago, and I’ve pretty much learned nothing about who or why or how except what Brannoc Stroud could tell me.”

  “Rude…but also don’t mention me. An extra soul hanging around in your body is even weirder than being a special summoned boy.”

  “Well, he is about as close to an expert that exists since his wife’s passing. Lucky you found him.”

  “Oh my gods, she knows who I am.”

  “I’m going to be keeping an eye on you, Greg.” She leaned back again, crossing one leg over the other. “I would appreciate your not killing anyone in my city, though from eyewitness accounts it appears you were defending yourself. Miles Yannok-Rillon is a distant relative to the Rillon family, but a relative nonetheless. They will not be pleased that I let you walk out of here with nothing but a warning. Miles was revived and the aggressor, so I don’t feel the need to dispense any justice here.”

  Greg grimaced and glanced to his left at the door Lorelei had left through. “That’s it?” He asked, looking back at her. “You’re just letting me go?”

  “Did you want a punishment?” Lady Dawnflare looked at from under raised brows.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “No…No I guess not.”

  “Good.” She stood and pointed toward the door. “Mr. Stroud is outside waiting for you.”

  Greg got up quickly and started for the door before hesitating and looking back. “I’m sorry, Lady Dawnflare, may I ask a question?”

  “You may.” She said having not moved from her spot.

  “Was Miles brought in as well?”

  She tilted her head curiously, and an entertained smile sprouted on her lips. “He was taken to a hospital to have several deep wounds and burns healed.”

  “So he wasn’t searched?” Greg frowned.

  “Neither were you.” She flicked a finger up and down to indicate his form. “Search and seizure without someone who can break into extradimensional spaces and temporarily bypass enchantments is a waste of time.”

  “There are people that can break into extradimensional spaces?” Greg rolled his neck on his shoulders. “Why didn’t anybody tell me that?”

  “It’s a very rare ability, but they are out there.” She cleared her throat to pull him back into the conversation. “What would we have found if we searched him?”

  “Did your witnesses tell you about his not bleeding?”

  She nodded. “The Rillon’s claimed it’s a part of his gifts.”

  “Sure it is.” Greg scoffed. “He took something while he was chasing me through the docks. I couldn’t tell what it was, but he started breathing that blue mist out. Like…”

  “Like the frost kissed.” She finished his sentence. “That’s a dangerous claim, Mr. Norwood. I’ll have someone discreetly look into it. A bit of friendly advice: fight foes on your own level. If The Father did summon you, it’s for a reason, and I don’t want you dead before you complete it.”

  ###

  Brannoc was silent the entire ride back to his home, but behind the stoicism he didn’t see any anger. It almost felt like he’d expected something like this to happen. Not super encouraging, but it gave him a moment of silence to consider something something Lady Dawnflare had said.

  Miles was revived.

  Meaning he was dead.

  This was supposed to really mess with his head. Countless stories of people killing another person by accident came to mind and the impact that had on their lives. He wasn’t feeling any of that. In fact, every time he tried to peel back a layer and see if there was some kind of emotion under it, all he found was assurance that he’d done the right thing.

  There was a tiny sliver of guilt that eased his concern about becoming an emotionless killing machine. He should have listened to Isabella when she told him to edict. That’s when he lost it. Once those levels got into the high eighties and he started driving Miles back into the forge, everything became a blur. He glanced over at Brannoc, still not having stretched a single facial muscle on their ride as the hover disc slowed to a stop.

  Greg followed him into the house, the system message popping up to inform him he’d entered a designated safe area again. That was a good sign. At least his UI still saw this as a sanctuary.

  The elf left Greg in the living room, where he took his usual seat, nerves suddenly settling in his stomach. He’d not had a mentor since his father passed, but that sinking that came over him was something he’d never forget. Whatever his punishment was going to be, he needed to get it out of the way.

  He sat at the edge of the couch in his usual spot, one leg bouncing as he waited.

  Brannoc returned after a few minutes with a kettle and two cups of steaming tea. He sat the kettle on the stone extension of the hearth before blowing the fire from his lungs to light the logs within. Greg took the cup tentatively that Brannoc offered before he sat down and looked at him for the first time since Warden’s Keep.

  “You alright?”

  Greg blinked. Was he alright? He didn’t say a single fucking word for half an hour and barely made eye contact with him, then asks if he’s alright?

  “Kid?”

  “I…” Greg coughed against a lump forming in his throat. “I’m alright. You’re not pissed at me? You sent me out on a recon mission, and I killed a guy.”

  Brannoc’s thick, dark eyebrows twitched slightly, but otherwise his face made no indication of what he thought. “Sent you out to bully a bunch of drug dealers.” He pulled his pipe from the pouch hanging off the end of his chair and packed it. “Rillon kid ain’t even dead. They brought him back. Wish you’d stop poking that particular dragon, but I was fully expecting violence.”

  “You expected me to kill somebody?” Greg looked up at him from the steaming brown liquid, doing his best to control the tears trying to form in his eyes.

  Brannoc took a sip of his tea, lit his pipe, and took a long drag from it before answering through expelled smoke. “You want to be an adventurer? A monster hunter, right?”

  Greg nodded, clearing his throat again.

  “You’re going to kill a lot of monsters, assuming they don’t kill you first. I wanted to teach you early that sometimes the worst monsters out there are the people. If it comes down to it, it’ll be your job to put them down too.”

  Relief washed over him like a cool shower after a long day of training. What Brannoc said made sense, but really he was just happy his mentor wasn’t pissed at him. He sat the cup down on the side table and clasped his hands together, trying to control the shaking he hadn’t realized had come over them.

  “Did they tell you what happened?”

  “Maeve did.” Brannoc’s lined face turned to a frown as he looked over at him. “She’s pretty shaken up.”

  “She was there?” Greg dropped his face into his hands and let out a low groan. Of course she’d been there. Seen him go full Nephilim terminator.

  “We’ll need to work on your control. You may have won the fight, but if you go Blooded a win isn’t going to pull you back.” He took a long drag from his pipe and blew out two circles, one full of smoke while the other was an empty ring. He snapped his fingers and half the smoke from one ring vanished into the other. “You need a way to lower your resonance that isn’t going to summon hellhounds or archangels.”

  “There isn’t another way.” Greg shrugged. “Now that I have a quick way to lower my volatility, it shouldn’t be an issue. I’m not sure what happened. I remember he started to gas out. The mist stopped coming from his mouth, I started to see some blood instead of constant blue. Then I woke up in a cell.”

  “That’s because you waited to long to use the edict ability.” Brannoc said, glancing over at him. “The forces were taking over your faculties. I’ll look into it, maybe there is some kind of ritual magic that we can do to lower it. In the meantime, you’ve got an investigation.”

  Greg frowned and grabbed his teacup again, taking a sip. “Do you remember the night I showed up here?”

  Brannoc nodded, but didn’t comment.

  “I had been out killing jester rats, and I saw the woman from that adventuring group that saved me from the frost kissed horde chasing someone.” He leaned back, resting the warm cup on his chest. “I’d never seen two people move so fast, but it felt like I needed to help her. So I started cutting through alleys, guessing which way they’d go. Eventually, I was able to gain enough ground to cut them off. I jumped out of an alley to try to tackle the guy, and he blew through me like I wasn’t even there. He looked like a normal guy, but he had the same misty blue breath the frost kissed have. The same one Miles had when we were fighting.”

  The elf reached up with his free hand, scratched his stubbled chin, and shook his head. “And you think the Rillon family has something to do with the increased frost?”

  “Deep pockets? Influence enough to make the right heads turn in the right directions? Shitty little entitled kid checking in on business ventures at the docks?” Greg sipped his tea again before sitting back up. “I’ve seen this film a time or two. Daddy’s criminal dealings always empower shitty little rich kids.”

  “He really hates it when you use Earth metaphors.” Isabella sighed.

  “Film…” Brannoc grumbled. “But you might be right. Even if you are, that’s a bone you need to keep away from for now. You catch the scent of anything that smells slightly like a Rillon, you run and don’t stop running until you get here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Brannoc spoke up again. “Should probably go see Maeve, make sure she’s alright. Then you’ve still got a job to do.”

  After a brief goodbye, Greg left the house on foot to head for Maeve’s apartment. He must have terrified her. She’d watched him kill a man. Almost dump him into a vat of molten lava.

  When was the last time you felt something?

  He’d thought about that question everyday since she’d asked it. Now, he finally had an answer. Today? He’d felt resolute. Satisfaction. Relief. But right now? Right now he was worried that he’d scared his only friend. Maybe not all ideal emotions given the circumstances. But he felt them.