Upon Shirasil’s dramatic appearance, I experience a strange combination of irritation and relief. It’s only Shirasil. Not Lorata or any potentially hostile gods. Yet, the timing of his arrival can’t be a coincidence. Has he found a way to spy on us without setting off the Fortress’s alarm system? The spell only triggered moments before his appearance, but I wonder how much more of the conversation he really overheard.

  I open my mouth to address the god, but he moves faster than I can blink, wind and shadows swirling through the room as he appears before Kanin. The glass man attempts to lean back, but not before the god can grab his hands, shaking them with violent enthusiasm.

  “Kanin, is it? Delighted to meet you, absolutely delighted,” Shirasil exclaims. “Big fan! The mayhem you caused has provided more entertainment this last year than anything I’ve experienced in centuries. The Heavens have been in quite a stir, you know. Oh, I just can’t wait to pick your brain.” He abruptly laughs. “Well, not literally, but you understand what I mean.”

  I catch movement in the corner of my eye, closely followed by a loud metallic clang, and I jump. Zyneth has dropped his knives and is staring at the god in obvious shock.

  An understandable reaction. Shirasil is in his godly form, his hair and eyes some form of ethereal smoke, his robes cut from shadow. It isn’t exactly a comforting appearance. I Check the god’s stats.

  [Name: Shirasil]

  [Title: God]

  [Class: Anarchic Alchemist]

  [Level: 100]

  [Mana: 10,000]

  [HP: 10,000/10,000]

  [Role: The Inquisitor]

  Not a terribly comforting Role or Class, either. Though I have a sneaking suspicion that Dizzi would find both delightful.

  Shirasil releases Kanin, who stumbles back into a wall, as he turns to face the rest of us. The god scrunches up his nose in distaste.

  “Oh please, can we skip the formalities?” he says as Zyneth bows his head, halfway down into a kneel. “‘Be not afraid, mortals,’ and all that. Let’s see, Zyneth, is it? Haven’t seen you around the palace before. You must be with Kanin, then.”

  Zyneth straightens, but still drops his gaze. “Yes, my lord.”

  Shirasil gives an exasperated sigh. “Must we really… oh, I see. You’re that runaway prince, aren’t you? That explains the banal courtesies.”

  I raise an eyebrow at the cambion. I can also feel Mirzayael’s surprise.

  “Did you know about that?” she asks me privately.

  “I did not,” I reply, watching Zyneth. He doesn’t react to Shirasil’s words except to keep his gaze devoutly downcast. A runaway prince? From where? And why?

  “This is why interacting with Travelers is so refreshing,” Shirasil continues, gesturing toward Kanin and myself. “No respect for our authority! Even the Fyrethians respect us—” Mirzayael scoffs. “—and hate us, that too. Adds a bit of spice to bland mortal affairs. But it’s not nearly as entertaining as you two.”

  “Shirasil,” I greet, finally able to get a word in. “To what do we owe today’s visit?”

  “Not Blair, that’s for sure.” Shirasil stabs an accusing finger at Kanin. “Can you believe she didn’t even tell me about him? And after I introduced her to Fyre! It’s like she doesn’t trust me. Truly, I’m wounded. I thought we were friends! She and I will be having a little chat once I get back to the Heavens. Or, no, perhaps I won’t tell her and wait until she visits you again—then I’ll reveal myself. Hah! Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Her reaction will be delightful, I’m sure.”

  I rub a temple as Shirasil continues to monologue. All that and he still couldn’t answer my question. I clear my throat to bring his attention back on track, but Shirasil doesn’t pay me any mind. Maybe I should just let him get all the theatrics out of his system, first.

  “Shirasil,” Kanin greets. His tone is surprisingly level in the face of the god’s tumultuous introduction. “I’d been wanting to speak with you.”

  “Oh, you have?” The god lights up. “That makes two of us! I’m sure we have so many things we can learn about each other.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping, too,” Kanin says. “Do you—”

  “This is such a clever little device,” Shirasil says, right back in Kanin’s face again. The glass man flinches, but with a wall directly behind him, there’s nowhere to go. The god grabs Kanin’s speech stone, lifting it off his chest. “Adapted from a general translator, I see.”

  “Yes—” Kanin starts, but Shirasil bowls right over him.

  “And what’s this?” He drops the translator to grab Kanin’s wrist instead. Shirasil lifts it up to examine a beaded bracelet. Some of the stones are softly glowing. Kanin is being exceptionally patient through this ordeal, I have to say.

  “It’s a tracker for my Core Bond spell—”

  “Oh? Is that why you have this form? Aha! Yes, I see.” Shirasil reaches for Kanin’s chest.

  Shadows stab out of the front of Kanin’s coat and crash into Shirasil’s outstretched hand. The Dungeon Core appears in my mind at nearly the same moment. I tense, grabbing the lip of my desk, as its attention locks onto Ink and Shirasil. It can sense the reemergence of Kanin’s remnant, and its instinct to eat the other entity hasn’t lessened.

  No, I think firmly. You aren’t allowed to harm it.

  The Core grumbles, but doesn’t fight me over it. What about the other snack? Can it at least try to eat that one?

  Other snack? I wonder. I dip into the Dungeon Core’s senses, and realize there is something else here it can sense. Faint, like a grain of sand, a remnant-like tug exists in Shirasil, too.

  I thought I had sensed something in the gods previously—especially when they came close to the Dungeon Core, embedded in the throne. But what is it I’m sensing? It’s far fainter than Sandro or Kanin’s remnants.

  Now is not the time to unravel this new mystery, however.

  No, I think to the Dungeon Core, pushing it back. You’re not allowed to touch either. I keep a hold on it just in case, but don’t entirely push it away. I don’t know what Shirasil might do next.

  But the god hasn’t even reacted to Ink’s attack—in fact, the shadows are crumpled against his hand, like a paper airplane crashed into a brick wall. The way both Kanin and Shirasil haven’t moved a muscle since Ink’s attack creates an eerie stillness.

  “Don’t,” Kanin says, and I’m not even sure who he’s saying it to.

  Mirzayael grips her spear tighter, ready to leap into action. Zyneth has also tensed up, though without his weapons, all he does is squeeze his hands into fists.

  The silence stretches, like everyone is holding their breath, not daring to be the first to move and set off a chain reaction.

  Then the god laughs, releasing Kanin as he spins away. “Your remnant seems a bit touchy. No harm intended; I can be too curious for my own good!”

  The shadows recede back into Kanin’s coat, and he puts a hand on his chest, rubbing it as if to soothe a pain. “Ink and I would prefer if you didn’t try to touch my soul.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Ink?” Shirasil grins, like the previous moment of tension never even happened. “How delightful! I can see why you named it that.”

  “It named itself, actually.” Kanin edges away from the corner Shirasil had inadvertently—or, perhaps, advertently—trapped him in.

  “It did?” Shirasil asks in delight. “Amazing! I’m not sure that’s happened before. Remnants like Fyre’s are typically given their names. But you’re a special case, aren’t you?”

  Alright. This nonsense has gone on long enough. And with Shirasil still standing between the doorway and the rest of us, we all might as well be as trapped as Kanin. I’m still not sure if Shirasil was trying to antagonize Kanin’s remnant, or if that had been an accident, but I’d love to not be stuck in a tiny office if anything happens to trigger Ink and the Dungeon Core into attacking each other.

  I clear my voice again, this time a bit louder and obvious. “This room is not conducive for long talks. We should relocate elsewhere.”

  Shirasil claps his hands. “Oh, of course! Where are my manners? Let’s find something more cozy.”

  I only have about two seconds to feel relieved. Before I’ve even finished standing, however, Shirasil snaps his fingers, and the world blinks.

  I stumble as the desk vanishes beneath my hands. Mirzayael’s arm snaps out to grab me and keep me from pitching over.

  Kanin also stumbles, though he seems the first of us to recover. “Summoning magic?”

  “Ah! Just so,” Shirasil gestures to the floor between us. “Please, everyone, take a seat. My treat!”

  The Fortress is gone. I can still sense the Dungeon Core, but only because of our Psionic Link; we’re no longer within its range. Instead, we now appear to be in a room with forest green walls and wooden trim. The space appears to only have one door in or out, which Shirasil is standing in front of, of course. A low table with cushions arrayed around it is displayed in the middle of the room.

  “Where are we?” Mirzayael demands, balling her hands into fists. “Where did you take us?”

  “My spear is gone,” she mentally adds to me. “Zyneth’s knives, too.”

  Shirasil brushes his robes out of the way as he seats himself on the pillow before the door. “Temperance Tea House. It’s an absolute favorite of mine. Family run—been open for over five hundred years, did you know? They have fantastic steamed buns.”

  “What city are we in?” I try to clarify. At the same time I reach for Ollie; he’s still fast asleep, unaware of anything that’s transpiring with me or Mirzayael. Good; if his Role Requirement hasn’t woken him up, then we’re not in any danger.

  Not yet, at least.

  “East Gate,” Shirasil says, waving at us to join him. “Come, sit! You don’t intend to stand the whole meal, do you?”

  For a moment, no one moves. Then Zyneth wordlessly obeys, and Kanin takes a seat at Shirasil’s side, placing himself between his partner and the god.

  “I don’t like this,” Mirzayael growls.

  I suppress a sigh, sitting on Shirasil’s other side so Mirzayael can be seated as far away from the god as is possible. “Me neither. But we’re not in any danger, and it seems he’s more interested in Kanin than anything. For now I don’t see any choice but to play along.”

  Mirzayael answers this with a grunt of dissatisfaction, but I can feel a hint of relief in her, too; she’s content to quietly watch and wait so long as Shirasil’s attention stays directed away from us.

  “And what country are we in?” Kanin presses. “And continent, while we’re at it.”

  Shirasil sighs dramatically, waving his hand through the air as if dispelling an unpleasant odor. “Moonfall, in central Dunmora. Don’t worry, I’ll put you all back where you belong before I leave. Now, can’t we move on to more interesting subjects?”

  We all stare at him in tense silence.

  “Okay, then, I’ll go first!” Shirasil pokes a finger in Kanin’s direction. “I’ve been snooping around enough to know that you’re the Kanin we’ve been looking for. I got hints of a backstory from Blair, but I’d like for you to give me the full account just so I make sure I haven’t missed anything.”

  “Alright,” Kanin says hesitantly. “Well, it all started when—”

  “Oh wait!” Shirasil interrupts. “We should all get settled and comfortable first, shouldn’t we? Just a moment.”

  A ripple passes over his form, and in moments his appearance has shifted to that of Lisari. Her previously godly clothes settle into simple but tasteful black and white garb, and her hair grows until it’s halfway down her back. Lisari plucks a pair of black-tinted glasses from the air and sets them on her nose. She’s still in the process of pulling his hair up into a bun when the door to our room slides open.

  A halfling woman is standing on the other side, apparently entirely unsurprised to find us waiting for her.

  “Ah, May!” Lisari sticks an ornate pin in her hair as she twists around to greet the halfling. “Pleasure to see you again. A pot of tea for the table. And a basket of bao too. Anyone else want something?” She doesn’t wait for us to reply. “Let’s do a plate of those spicy boiled nuts that are just to die for, and a spread of dumplings, while you’re at it. Let’s see, what was the last… oh yes! And an ewer of that crabapple wine, if you’d please.”

  The halfling bows her head. “Of course, Lord Lisari.” She closes the door after her, and we’re once again left alone with the god.

  Lisari spins back toward Kanin. “Now! Where were we?”

  To his credit, Kanin starts into a recounting of his story after only a few seconds of surprise. It’s by and large the same story he told me the day before, so I quietly and politely sip at the provided cup of tea while I listen.

  “She mentioned the gods were looking for Kanin,” Mirzayael observes, ignoring the plates of food that are set down before her.

  “Yes, I noticed that, too,” I think. “I suspect it’s because he’s the one who brought us Travelers here.”

  “But Lisari doesn’t appear to know this,” Mirzayael says. Indeed, the god seems to be hanging off of every word Kanin says, scarfing down the bao and nuts like they’re pieces of popcorn.

  “At the very least they must have known that he showed up on this world first,” I guess. “After the rest of us appeared soon after, I’m sure they assumed it was connected.”

  Mirzayael chews this over for a quiet minute. “Why do you suppose Blair didn’t tell Shirasil about him?”

  I’ve been wondering the same. I know the two gods’ priorities aren’t completely in line, but this seems like a big thing for Blair to have hidden from Lisari, considering they both want to help us—or claim to, anyway. Of course, Blair is keeping things from us as well; like why we can’t seem to find a single mention of her in any text on the Heavens. On paper, she’s as non-existent as the remnants.

  “I don’t know,” I reply to Mirzayael. “But I intend to find out.”

  By the time Kanin finishes, Lisari has topped off the entire pitcher of crabapple wine, and she’s sunk onto her side in a relaxed posture. She appears drunk, but I know better than to evaluate her based on appearances.

  “That was quite the story!” Lisari says. “This does explain quite a bit. Thanks for indulging me.”

  Kanin slumps, apparently relieved the interrogation is over. “Glad I could help.”

  Lisari shakes her head with a dramatic sigh. “I still can’t believe Blair was holding out on me like this. Well, no, I can.” She giggles to herself. “That godling is right to be suspicious, but she’s directing it the wrong way.”

  I quickly jump in, seizing my chance. “I’d been meaning to ask you about Blair, actually. God of Wards, is it? I haven’t come across any such domain in my studies.”

  “Me neither.” Kanin tips his head. “I haven’t even found her name.”

  Lisari rests her elbow on the table and props her cheek up with a fist, watching us all with an amused, raised eyebrow. “Why, you don’t think all gods are common knowledge, do you?”

  “What?” Zyneth, who’s so far been a ghost throughout the entire conversation, sits up straight.

  “Of course.” Lisari shrugs, reaching back to pull the pin out of her hair, and it cascades down her back in a shadowy wave. She jabs the tip of her pin at the table, cutting off the path of an ant.

  “Not everyone wants the limelight,” she says, still tapping at the ant, as if to demonstrate how exceptionally bored she is with the current conversation. “If you don’t want to be known, it’s not hard to disguise yourself with the powers at our disposal. Well, at least not until you Travelers showed up and gained System access!”

  “And why did that happen?” I ask. Speaking with Kanin has explained how we all reincarnated here, and we both suspect that the rest of us got System access because Kanin was used as some sort of template for the rest of us. But why was Kanin granted access to the System in the first place?

  Lisari tips her head toward me. “I suspect you already know the answer to that.”

  “Something to do with the remnants?” Kanin guesses.

  Lisari grins as she points her pin at him. “Bullseye.”

  I shake my head. “But how are the remnants and the System connected?” She keeps dancing around the point.

  “Especially considering they don’t seem to play together very well,” Kanin adds.

  Lisari twirls her pin around in a dismissive gesture. “It’s a long story. But the bones of it are that the System is as old as the gods, and remnants are, I suppose you could say, a residue of the power that created it all.”

  She says this so casually that it takes several seconds for the weight of these words to sink in.

  “What?” Mirzayael thinks, mirroring my own astonished thoughts. “The gods were created?”

  And the Dungeon Core is a remnant of the power that created them?

  “But if they were made, and these remnants are the source…” I trail off, touching my wrist that once wore the Dungeon Core.

  Mirzayael looks down at me, a conflicted, worried frown pinching her brow. “Then you’re a god in the making.”

  A chill runs down my spine. Is it a coincidence we’d only just been circling this thought before Shirasil arrived? I thought I’d been missing something. That I was reaching an erroneous conclusion based on a lack of complete data.

  But here Lisari is, saying it without any ambiguity. Kanin and I wield the power of the Heavens.

  Which makes me tied to the very thing Mirzayael loathes.

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