Between the gunfire of the remaining cronies and the grandstanding of the Esper (who would’ve thought? Should’ve stabbed the fellow before he transformed), it was almost a miracle that Klava was untouched. It was the benefit, perhaps, of being the last to enter the staircase, and that same benefit was what keened her ears to the conversation of two others.
“The Cobra Gang truly is made up of snakes, huh?” she murmured.
An enclosed staircase was the bane of any Blinker, while the voices of two didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be more out there with them. If it was just Adder and Smarter-Dude? Klava figured her chances were good enough if she acted quick. But Adder, Smarter-Dude, and a bunch of quiet fellows? Yeah, she wasn’t Protector, and she wasn’t really into getting molested by Apollo either. So when the tear gas grenade bounced up, Klava, with athletic grace and reactions sparked by nights watching action movies where the heroes always responded in time to toss a grenade away, whipped off one of the sashes of her outfit and flung her other hand back, a ball of snow shooting out over the heads of the clashing Protector and Mamba. In the instant before she was yoinked back by her own Blink spell, she caught the tear gas dispenser in her sash and brought it with her.
The fiery heat surged up against the protective charms of her ritual vestments, granting her only four seconds to act, but that was nothing compared to having to react to a tennis serve. Rotating her hips and whipping out her sash, she slung the tear gas grenade at Sofron, a trail of chemical irritants in its wake. That same momentum was what jump-started Klava's own dash through the flaming zone, clearing it with time to spare as she sought to engage the more experienced esper in hand-to-hand, knife-to-man. Sure, if things kept up for more than a couple seconds, both of them would be choking on tear gas, but Klava had one clear advantage in that regard.
The party continued on in the balmy warmth of the tropical night, as Bermuda’s new residents formed cliques and groups, sharing banal topics as they grew accustomed to new acquaintances and recalibrated themselves to separate the fiction of reputation from the truth of character. Few dared still to stride onto the dance floor, even as the automated orchestra continued on unabated, swinging into a brighter, more joyful composition after leading in with a brooding start.
A couple of encounters drew eyes, of course. Who could not notice the youngest of the Konigsmahnes so brazenly approach that hack Mesmerologist with apparently no guile or disdain regarding Franz’s wasteful studies? The sheer forwardness of a certain Abya Yalan princess towards the bankrupt scion drew murmured comments as well, a couple more brazenly youths only held back from propositioning that obsessively-aroused lady by their cooler-headed friends. It was all in good fun though, and outside of a few terse words between fellow Polymaths (a natural result of mixing alcohol with ego), nothing was made of it.
Harmless fun, in the end, something doubtlessly settled with an awkward apology the next day.
But then, the lights flashed. Surging with incredible brightness, increasing with a radiance that blinded. Stark shadows filled the great hall, a lightning crack in slow-motion, before fading in the next. By then, the perpetrator’s hand had lowered, only a few amongst the crowd having actually cast their gaze onto their surroundings rather than onto the intensifying glare, and by then, causation was only circumstantial.
Who could perceive such indistinct Formulae, after all?
Who cared, when such an act caused one light bulb, perhaps possessing some defect compared to its brethren, to shatter, raining its shards down below? More inconsequential incidents, nothing that would do any lasting harm. But for the quick-witted, misfortune too beget opportunity.
Only after a full week had passed did Otis finally decide to lower his Shinzou-ambush-awareness metric to an amount that he recognized as somewhat unlikely, considering the professors that Silver Gate Academy employed and the general distance between Seidoujima and Kyoto. Instead, the Strigidae found himself busy with all the new tools he had in stock. While he still sat in class to fill out attendance and made sure he didn’t miss out on any important announcements, it was clear to both his classmates and his teachers that Otis was only really engaged during lessons on science and mathematics. Beyond that, his natural intelligence meant that he could breeze through most other courses, creating a fort of textbooks around himself while he continued to crack the latest mystery that grabbed his attention: the secret of divine power.
It was good that Seirin had officially transferred to the class.
It was bad that Fuuko had transferred with her.
But of course, he had expected that to be the case, even if the fledging ninja was unreliable in any real confrontation. It just told Otis that if push came to shove, Fuuko wouldn’t be able to stop his machinations in any way beyond ratting him out to the school’s staff. There was no need to act now though, and after staring at the three new transfer students like an owl would to a field mouse, he resumed his studies, only vaguely listening to whatever Utsumi had to say next.
After all, in matters of Arcture and Arcanis, Otis was already an expert. While this was a new move for students in Earth, anyone who attended Maxillius Arcture would have had plenty of opportunities to join the Adventurer’s Guild to get some experience on the field. He personally hadn’t, if only because his own focus was much more cerebral back in those days, but now that his stock of commonly available reagents was becoming less and less…interesting to experiment with, Otis decided that it was indeed time to start getting more hands on with his research. So, rather than go through the whole process of waiting for Utsumi to call out names, the Strigidae stood up, strode towards the man, and rifled through the bag in a way that somehow didn’t cause a mess, before pulling his own badge out.
Typical behavior, perhaps, for the results-orientated Otis.
And, on the way back to his seat, he stopped by the seat of another. The only person in the class smarter than himself. The person that was not his rival (Koyuki was that; how does she even find the time to study?), but rather, his current target, both in academics, as well as for his personal desires.
“Safia Reges,” he spoke, voice as exacting and cold as always. “After school, library. Study room 2209e. Be there.”
And without waiting for response (surely she understood his intentions; she was smarter than him, after all), Otis turned to walk back to his own seat.
Some preserved food Enough for two people to last a few days.
Roll of what seemed to be a mat of thick fur, likely for sleeping on Comfortable, but only one.
A heavy looking fur/cloth blanket. Cozy, warm and heavy. Good for sleeping in colder climates.
Communication horn Made from bone, hollow and likely used for communication.
A small pot and a ladle
Frozen canteen of water
Map of the Under roads. A map detailing some routes used by the Dwarves and Shadow Elves to travel in their subterranean homes. Its not entirely complete, but it at least shows the routes to the two most notable settlements and several other places of note. Unless you travel off the paths, you probably won’t get lost.
“Then good night.”
With a small nod, Isidore bid the ladies a peaceful rest, and slipped into his own room. Upon reflection, it really had been a whole day of movement and a whole night of investigation. Had they really met Sorcha, entered Gloomhollow, had audience with the Queen, and made so many deals and connections within the span of a mere 24 hours? Perhaps it was his more recent experience that was getting the better of his expectations here. Bureaucrats and businessmen rarely made decisions and deals with such swiftness, while in his youth, such deals weren’t ever made with words to begin with. Letting his heavier equipments and his pack lean against the wall nearest to the bed, Isidore sighed aloud, feeling for the first time the lightness, and yet stiffness, of his shoulders and back. It was an uncomfortable feeling too, for his clothing to get so thoroughly stuck to his skin, a sensation made worse by the dark truth of a wilderness without toilet paper.
Simply put, before he could sleep, he needed a goddamn bath.
It took fifteen minutes after he rang for an attendant and instructed them to fill the bathtub and bring some soap before Isidore was able to soak both himself, as well as his clothing, in warm, soapy water. A dozen or so little pains shot into his flesh as he reclined in the tub, smaller cuts and scrapes from days of travel finally making themselves known. He would have preferred a shower, considering how quickly the clear water turned dark, but for all the magic that the residents of Gloomhollow possessed, it seemed that engineering water systems wasn’t one of them. Not that he had the faintest clue about that either. For a minute, Isidore was content to just doze off for a minute, dirt and grime gradually seeping off his body.
And within that contentment, floating weightlessly in water, he began to breathe deeply. The furnace held heat, immense heat, but it was simply a place to gather energy, to redirect energy. Where did that energy go? How was that energy used? How was he to bridge the gap between himself and Sorcha?
Isidore closed his eyes, shut off the world around him, and began to extend his visualizations of magic and creation. If the stomach was the furnace, where fuel was burned and turned into energy, that energy must then be converted into something useful. And where would that be converted? The answer was simple: the heart. The ever-moving organ, the one that propelled blood through vessels tirelessly, granting oxygen to feed the rest of the body. Warmth that merely radiated from the core meant nothing. What it needed was direction. And so, as sweat began to bead upon his brow, Isidore pulled the warmth of his core and guided it into his heart. Into his engine.
Was his heartbeat ever this loud? Did it ever resound with such clarity in his ears? The waters of the tub began to ripple, matching with each second, heavier beat. His skin felt like it was about to burst, his muscles screaming for action. Fog began to rise, the smell of damp dirt rising in with every breath he took, but every breath he took was no longer enough, and he breathed deeper and deeper and de-
Isidore coughed violently, snapping out of his entranced state, water spilling off the sides as he forced himself upright. Grabbing the side of the bathtub to ground himself in the reality that he still lived in, the man pushed his hair out of his eyes and found himself immersed in fog, found his skin flushed from the heat of the waters and the heat of his blood.
That was enough. In the morning, with rest and good food, he will have more time to experiment with the power of creation.
He rose from the waters, toweled himself off, left his clothes to hang, and slipped into bed.
…
Morning came too soon. When had he last woken up to the knocking of someone else?
Slipping out of bed and pulling on clothing that was still somewhat damp but at least no longer dirty, Isidore opened the door midway through Nesherit’s speech. Regardless of his qualms about Vasserasa’s decisions and her influence, he wasn’t in a position to refuse either, so he didn’t pay much mind to the situation. That didn’t stop him from hefting up his pack and his weapons though. A pack laden with knick-knacks and sharpened blades, clothing that looked like black rags, and the thick-furred cloak of a deceased knight. That, alongside his curiously handsome features, had more or less become part of his brand, hadn’t it? Couldn’t disappoint his host by deviating, then.
“An honor for the prince himself to deliver the message,” Isidore replied, tone as matter-of-fact and controlled as always. That same tone persisted for his next words. “How was Augusta last night?”
And as the corpses of dozens dissolved into light, as battle scars reverted to unmarred flesh, as the saltwaters of a fallen friend was swallowed up by the desecrated earth, as the fires of a tribe died out and the silence settled in once more, all sign of that battle disappeared.
But not in the memories of those who survived it. From combat, experience. From experience, strength. And from strength, more possibilities. The necromancer, his potential still unactualized, felt his arcane might blossom further. The one-armed scout, stubborn in his desire to mold this world into a true second life, began to forget the phantom pain that contained to ache. The mountain man, stalwart despite his internal reservations, finally pushed past his dependency upon the demon of flames residing beneath his skin. And for the flame-haired animist, perpetually repulsed by their surroundings, by the situation, by all that they’ve gone through and all that they had to put up with.
And yet, he still had not yet hit the limits of his tolerance.
The carving of what remained of the massive bear’s rotted corpse was miserable work, but storage was as simple as jamming raw meat and bone and organs into their inventory pouches. The traveling back was pleasant, if only for the fresh air and the brightness of day. The haggling with the butcher was embarrassing, but they got a good deal with the bones. The shrine maiden was confused and remained concerned, but understood at least that Lugh was still alive and thanked them for their troubles. The day continued to fade, the stars revealing themselves as umbra extended over the city-state that seemed so jovial, no matter the horrors lying a mere hours walk away. Worries for another time, worries removed from everyday life. Now was simply the time to wash away the grime and fulfill a final condition before the night’s gaming session could be concluded.
Even at night, or perhaps, because of the night, carriages to the Blooming Springs continued to be active, offering bumpy but speedy rides to the lantern-lit resorts. Smoke from chimneys rose up alongside the vapour of the heated waters, workers adding fire-heated rocks to the upper portions of the springs in order to keep the large outdoor baths to a comfortably scalding temperature. Both Immortals and Riens paid the affordable price of admission, changing out into more easily removable clothing as they entered the mixed baths. There was enough fog here, enough lantern and fire light, that masked the nudity of people as they approached, and by the time they settled in, the waters of the spring were opaque enough to hide what laid beneath the surface.
Of course, for the party of four, having lost their only in-game female, this was really just a boys’ night out. Whether they went fully nude or came in with thin robes on to protect their chastity, the four finally settled into the waters of the Blooming Springs and enjoyed the mundane pleasures of a fully realized virtual game. None had a bath this large in real life, after all, and none could gaze at stars so bright either. Lotus blossoms added an earth aroma to the place, while a tray of warmed sake floated before them, swaying gently with every ripple created by the movements of others. The dark, damp stones jutting out from the pools felt amazingly cool as they pressed their backs against it, and though their Immortal bodies were not afflicted by any of the bothersome muscle pain that reality would’ve granted them, the quartet could nevertheless feel the tension in their body seep away.
This was nice. Beyond the promise of legendary powers, beyond the continent-shaping event that was just around the corner, it was nice, living in a world so different from the dreary humdrum of modern civilization.
And then, another ripple.
The mists congealed. The light gathered. A searing pain seeped into Ames’s right hand, like a brand sizzling against his very bone. And from the concentration of elements, a maiden was formed. Scarlet eyes and fair skin, body encased in white robes with crimson markings, a dark breastplate that fanned backwards into wing-like embellishments. Light brown hair spilled out of the steel-visored hood, while pointed ears poked out from beneath. In the Blossoming Springs, the young girl kneeled with her head bowed down, her countenance noble and unaffected by the environment. One gloved hand rested upon her knee, the other planted firmly into the ground. She lifted her gaze to meet Ames’s.
“Britomart, Maiden-of-the-Castle, at your service, my liege.”
Type Maiden-of-the-Castle, First Stage +20% HP, +15% AGI, +10% END A well-dressed squire with fey attributes, standing at a height of 4’10. Puts on a veneer of maturity and chivalry, but still very much a child. Bears a banner on their back, with a coat of arms that features motifs of oak trees and white horses.
Britomart’s Status
A fledgling warrior lacking in martial knowledge. Unable to obtain skills or passives. Possesses attributes equal to half that of Ames’s, and does not have MP or SP. Can be summoned and unsummoned from the crest upon Ames’s right hand, and the two can communicate telepathically.
The Sweet Maid
Active. By planting Britomart’s banner into the ground, manifest a small, two-story inn made of wood. The first floor opens to a tavern setup, with a crackling hearth and a small stage, as well as an open-concept kitchen. The second floor has a total of six rooms, each one sparsely decorated and possessing two closets and two small beds. Britomart herself will switch to Waitress mode, dressed in an outfit befitting a waitress. As the Landlord, Ames has access to several abilities while inside The Sweet Maid.
-Private Property: All lifeforms with a Total Level less than half that of Ames’s Total Level can be evicted from the interior of The Sweet Maid, teleporting them outside the doors. -Interior Design: All furniture and decorations added to The Sweet Maid will be remain where they are the next time the inn is summoned. -Stocked Kitchens: Currency can be instantly converted into simple ingredients while on the first floor. Ingredients gained this way revert into the equivalent currency after leaving the first floor. -Rest, Respite, Respawn: The rooms of The Sweet Maid serve as respawn locations for Immortals checked in to them. So long as The Sweet Maid remains active, Immortals who die will respawn at The Sweet Maid rather than the closest Keystone, and Immortals who log off will re-emerge at The Sweet Maid rather than the closest city.
The Sweet Maid has HP equal to ten times that of Ames’s. If destroyed, this skill will be on cooldown for 24 hours. While active, Britomart can not travel more than one hundred meters away from The Sweet Maid. In successive Stages, the Landlord may select a new feature to add to the Inn, and all pre-existing features will be expanded.
Then she blinked, realized where exactly she was, and flushed as pink as a pomegranate.
The warmth of the hot springs was the straw that broke Otis’s will. After pulling an all-nighter not only to prepare for the grand battle at Nijo Castle, but then another all-nighter to prepare for the possibility of Shinzou’s return in the aftermath of the battle, the Strigidae youth had already been exhausted…and then he had gone on and played to his heart’s content for the entire rest of the day, blasting virtual zombies, dancing to jarringly electronic music, and getting photos taken of him looking his absolute worse. He could’ve survived that, of course. He could have pulled another all-nighter if he needed to.
But of all the places they could’ve eaten, Ultana dragged them to a ramen place, and the warm, greasy broth, the heavy, delicious noodles, sunk deep into his stomach like an anchor that continued to draw him down and down and down.
Thus, when stinky-boi Otis Tan Arillo took to the baths immediately, with efficiency befitting someone who sorely wanted to get cleaned up before crawling under a futon, it took all of five seconds of being submerged in warm waters underneath a starry sky for him to doze off. Within the foggy springs, his ears picked up nothing more than the empty static of the great cosmos, deaf as he was to the giggling of his female classmates undressing. He shook his head up once, abruptly, but already, his amber eyes, dulled by exhaustion and paranoia, closed once more.
Fully naked beyond the handsewn bath towel he draped around his shoulders, Otis fell asleep, unseen and unheard...until he slumped into the waters.
Splash!
...
The gentle lapping of the springs brought a hunched form floating towards Seirin. A swimmer? A prankster? A pervert?
The luxury skyliner Queen Titania was a marvel of Formulization and engineering, a brass juggernaut of an airship that had all the amenities one needed to enjoy a thirty-day trip around the world. Gorgeous greenhouses full of exotic flora and avians served as wonderful areas to enjoy fresh fruit and well-brewed teas. Indoor sports gyms bedecked with equipment for all games of athleticism made friends and rivals out of the growing number of erudite youths who entered the ship at each stop on its global tour. Even the library, though it paled in comparison to Alexandra’s vastness, was a soothing marvel, all mahogany and leather as crystal players resonated classic music at astounding clarity. And even the dining rooms, both private and public, looked to be places that one ought only to go when dressed to the nines, the on-board chefs managing to delight with their crosscultural culinary creations every evening. There were no shortage of distractions onboard the Queen Titania, no shortage of entertainments and pleasures to partake for the two thousand prodigies within its spacious bowels.
But today was the thirtieth day, and the clear skies encouraged all to crowd around the concave windows of the foremost atrium to witness the one thing that the Queen Titania could not offer:
The Academic City of Bermuda, an artificial island on the equator made of brass and steel, its many towers jutting out as if to scrape at the underbelly of the airship.
Fifty years has passed since a tenuous truce rose from the ashes of the Futile War, and the crystallization of that peace now stood below the two thousand students. It was a lasting symbol of peace and cooperation, a cloistered space away that served as a neutral ground, where no individual government could profess power and where the youths who would shape the future of the world could learn to build a unified future.
But you were different.
For you were here for a specific purpose, a purpose determined by the government agency, by the secret society, that sponsored your admission to this prestigious academy. Through subterfuge and subversion, your goals will be accomplished with all the sophistication of an expert spy, all while you maintain the disguise of just another erudite student.
Those naïve fools, those sheltered academics, none would be any the wiser as you execute your schemes and machinations with precision and tact.
…
What you didn’t know, however, was that every other freshman aboard was also a spy.
𝔸𝕣𝕔 𝟘 ; 𝔼𝕩𝕖𝕔𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟
EE 87, May 4 | Evening
The day went by in the blink of an eye. With two thousand new students arriving at the same time, a hundred different tour groups were organized and sent off within the hour as the trained employees of the Academic City of Bermuda ensured that every one of their new charges knew exactly what sort of facilities were available. The student registration and identity-crosschecking, as well as the handing of the ID cards themselves, had already been settled prior to the arrival of the airship, and while some students took creative liberties with their photographs, they were all now able to lawfully enter the heart of the Academic City: the grand laboratories, libraries, and workspaces, every area administered not by professors who would be lecturing them, but rather custodians who would assist when requested and restrict when necessary.
These were children, perhaps, but they were also two thousand of the smartest youths in the world.
Expanding out from the academic center of the city, which was cordoned off by grand, ostentatious walls, was the artificial civilization that had been set up the children. From coffee shops, to theaters, to parks and pools, to tailors and bathhouses, mundane pleasures could be found everywhere, streets paved smooth to make wheeled travel as comfortable as possible. The more astute amongst the students would’ve noticed the gradual shift in architecture as they circled around the city, each continent’s aesthetics reflected in the buildings that passed by. Bridges and canals created a pleasant break from man-forged materials, and most importantly, both the northern and eastern sides of the island featured a sandy, white coast. Artificial as such landscaping may have been, there was still something instinctually exciting about having beach access in such a tropical location. Of note too, were the skyscraping airship docks that jutted out from the western portion of Bermuda, where large warehouses were set up, storing the precious imports that maintained the sense of a functioning city.
Dormitories were established around the city as well, fanciful apartments that students had been automatically assigned to, that their luggage had already been transported into. Equipped with the whole package of bedrooms, living rooms, bath rooms, kitchens, and of course, walk-in closets, such accommodations struck a balance between undeniably luxurious for the less affluent and sorta disappointing for the most affluent. Despite having the freedom to swap rooms with other students, however, every tour group was nevertheless reminded that curfew existed still: past 10PM, all buildings would be locked down.
Answers to questions about this were vague and unconvincing, citing only that heavy fog rolled in during the night, making it near impossible to navigate after a certain point.
The tour guides pointed out the second set of walls that blocked off the southern peninsula of the artificial island. That was where the adult population of Bermuda slept in. A small price to pay to be employed in the most prestigious city in the world, after all. Beyond that, however, the outskirts of the city transformed into pleasant, controlled, nature. A calming retreat from the world of Formulization that every student would be engaged in, no doubt. And as gradually as the sun set, the tours ended, congregating upon a massive opera hall, designed in gothic Occidental style.
The Hall of the Greats stood, the location for the night’s festivities.
Pushing the doors open, two thousand students were bombarded by the clockwork symphony that played at the end of the hall. A marvel of Technologism, the brass constructs played with an exactness more perfect than even the most skilled human musicians, their sheer skill enough to make up for the lack of true emotion behind their dynamics. White-clothed tables lined the end closest to the entrance, filled with tasteful morsels and delicacies, while sharply-dressed chefs poised over larger roasts and pots, ready to serve the hungering students. Alcohol, of course, was available too, as suited men and women carried silver platters of bubbly flutes and fruity wines. Closer to the mechanical orchestra was where the dance floor was established, promising and yet daunting in its emptiness. There were dress rooms too, filled with outfits for rental, with tailors and seamstresses ready to make on-the-spot adjustments for any strangely-configured Egoist…or just regular humans. From the Occidental to the Oriental, from indigenous patterns to avant-garde designs, the treasure trove of cloths would send anyone with even a modicum of interest in dressing up into a tizzy. And for those who would prefer more private accommodations? Flights of spiral stairs would inevitably lead to clandestine opera boxes, equipped with plush seats, subdued lighting, and velvety curtains to dampen the incandescent hubbub below...or to provide a perfect view of it.
The stage was set to let the first night in Bermuda be a glorious one. As the first youths stepped into the Hall of the Greats, the clocktower struck 6PM.
Goddamnit. The very fact that buckshot blasted the corner of the stairwell meant that her plan didn’t pan out perfectly, and worse than that? It looked like it just made shotgun gal look even better than before! And there was a butler too now, a real bastard of an old man who should’ve retired rather than join the mob. Apollo’d probably love that gun though.
It was also a fact though, that guns killed more Espers than anything else combined, so Klava did what she did best.
“Sayonara, suckers!” With a cool two-finger salute, the dark-haired maiden leapt backwards, arcing her spine so that it just grazed over the jagged edges of the smashed-open windows. Bullets from the submachine gun whizzed out, flying out the building, but she was already dropping at this point, her body tucking naturally into a ball as she tumbled without incident onto the concrete. Thank god for peak human capability, really. Springing back onto her feet, Klava brushed her fringes with her fingers, making sure her hair was still tidy, before striding casually into the precinct again.
“Hey guys,” she waved, crystalizing and throwing another Frostblade Grave in her hands in that same motion. One of the shieldbros that served as a rearguard for Viper froze in his tracks, encased in ice, and his form blocked the other from retreating up further into the staircase. Easy pickings for any Esper here, really. “There’s a lot more guns up on the second floor, so if you don’t hustle, I think getting up the stairs will be pretty much impossible considering the bullets that’re gonna go our way.”
Some preserved food Enough for two people to last a few days.
Roll of what seemed to be a mat of thick fur, likely for sleeping on Comfortable, but only one.
A heavy looking fur/cloth blanket. Cozy, warm and heavy. Good for sleeping in colder climates.
Communication horn Made from bone, hollow and likely used for communication.
A small pot and a ladle
Frozen canteen of water
Map of the Under roads. A map detailing some routes used by the Dwarves and Shadow Elves to travel in their subterranean homes. Its not entirely complete, but it at least shows the routes to the two most notable settlements and several other places of note. Unless you travel off the paths, you probably won’t get lost.
“Their suspicions are indistinct, their methods of investigation restricted to pickpocketing the Court Mage’s apprentice,” Isidore replied, leaning back against the wall. “But they were satisfied with believing that Rullphana’s schemes involved demons.” He opened his mouth to speak further but closed it after some more thought. There was no purpose in discussing hypotheticals, in the best and the worst case scenarios.
“It is good though, to have Leuca be accompanied by one of us for most of the day,” he said instead. “Raelzeth will likely be joining your martial arts training too. And as for the matter of our...tryst, Sorcha, I am, by habit, more accustomed to nighttime than day. Espionage beforehand would only increase our topics for conversation.”
Alright, more or less good. Toss 'im into the cage with the rest of those savages. You've worked out the general bits of how Britain looks and feels with Click, ye?
mickilennial
Feyblue
Kronshi
Sky Blue
Majoraa
High Moon
Emberdawn2
VirgoDrago
