Three of the Drykon Raiders sat at the front of their quiet wagon. They snuck glances at the still form lying in the back of the vehicle. She was dangerous enough that none of them would speak freely until they were sure she couldn’t hear them. 

When her breathing became slow and regular, Mar’kost nodded to signal he’d felt her fall asleep. He alone could know for sure, as he was the only one who could sense her heart slow. 

Gripping the polearm in his lap, Mar’kost looked to Raeve, who sat on his left as she reapplied anti-arka cream to her cracked extremities. She would be lucky to recover without scars. She was already lucky just to be alive. It was a miracle he’d been fast enough to tackle Liza. 

Harker drew closer to the front of the wagon with his ears perked. “What are we going to do about her?”

All eyes turned to Mar’kost, as if he had some wonderful solution that would keep them all alive. He’d been thinking, but all he’d come up with were a few theories about Liza’s origin. 

“I’ve inspected this.” He nodded at the polearm. “It either contains a true Interface or an immaculate fake. If it’s fake, Liza is a noble with considerable means and no qualms against faking her identity. Given her… unique demeanor, I don’t believe she’s a noble. The weapon could be a gift, in which case she would be the friend of an Ortai or a noble who faked the Interface for some unknown reason. In those cases, anyone who would give her a weapon of this caliber would have the means and motivation to pay a ransom for her, which we should attempt to collect. Unless-”

He swallowed, unsure if he should voice his opinion. It was an absurd thing to say aloud, and if Harker still held the strong beliefs he’d had when he joined the team, he would never believe Mar’kost’s theory. But Harker was a friend, and he’d never been willing to kill someone for heresy.

“I have reason to believe she is an Ortai,” Mar’kost said at last.

Raeve scoffed. “She can do one trick with a fancy weapon. I bet you could do it too with that thing.” She gestured at the polearm and shuddered at the memory of its destructive power. 

“I believe I could, but the weapon isn’t why I think she’s an Ortai. Not the only reason, at least.” The heresy formed on his lips, but it was surprisingly difficult to say. His father would be pleased that his teachings had such an effect. “We assume she can’t be an Ortai because she speaks like a madwoman, but what if she’s right?”

“She said magic potions don’t exist,” Harker offered. 

“Not- I don’t mean she’s correct about that. But what if she is from a world with little arka? No one knows where the Ortai went after the war, but many people believe they teleported to another world. If they did, they would be weakened by the lack of arka, perhaps driven to the point of losing what made them Ortai. In that case, they would reproduce and die, like any mortal. What would be left after two centuries in an arka-less world? Legends and powerful weapons covered in dust. But if a descendant of the Ortai read the legends and found a way back to this world…?” He sent a pointed look at the sleeping girl. 

The wagon halted for a moment as Harker froze, staring at Mar’kost. His mouth opened for a moment before he shook his head and urged Eura onward. “That’s a crazy idea.”

“Is it?” Raeve didn’t seem so sure anymore. “I’ve heard crazier. I mean, soldiers from the Great War said a few Ortai were killed. If they’re so immortal, how could mortals beat them? Sure, maybe the soldiers lied, but maybe they didn’t.” Her torn wings fluttered as she stared at the sleeping Liza. “If there’s any chance she’s a real Ortai, we can’t let her get as strong as the original ones. It would take thousands of soldiers to kill her.”

“I don’t believe killing her is necessary.” Mar’kost scrambled to come up with an excuse for his reasoning. Logic dictated that he let Raeve destroy the threat in their midst, but the thought of watching Liza die made his flesh quiver. And yet, how could he honestly argue on Liza’s behalf? She’d almost killed Raeve by accident. Once she leveled up, she could likely destroy a city without even thinking. 

Thyr saw the conflicting emotions in Mar’kost’s eyes. The shifter had mentioned a visitor in his dreams, and though he’d never said it outright, Thyr knew Mar’kost had a soft spot for the girl. 

“What Level is she?” Thyr asked.

“One.” Mar’kost hated to say it; knowing Liza was this dangerous at Level 1 would only prejudice the others against her. 

Raeve gasped. Harker nickered. 

Thyr only nodded. “At higher Levels, she could be useful to us.”

Harker skipped a step. “Who needs higher Levels? She can already kill someone by accident.”

Finally, an excuse came to Mar’kost. “She doesn’t have any personal offensive Skills. Without her weapon, she can’t emit pure arka.” At least, he hoped she couldn’t. Wouldn’t she have done so without her weapon if she could? 

Harker’s ears flicked back. “So we keep the weapon away from her until she gets strong enough to take it back and kill us all?” 

Raeve threw all four arms up and winced. “Exactly. Mar’kost, just kill her already.”

Mar’kost looked to Thyr, hoping he wouldn’t be asked to kill the Ortai.

“He can’t.” Thyr sounded oddly sure of himself.

“I am capable of-” Mar’kost stopped himself. It was a stupid lie that could be easily proven false. 

“Raeve, kill her.” Thyr’s command echoed in Mar’kost’s ears. 

“Wait, you don’t need to-”

“Don’t argue.” 

Clutching handfuls of his robes, Mar’kost fixated on his hands, wishing he could close his eyes and ignore what was happening. But his eyes were merely decoration to make his friends comfortable; his true sense of the world around him was of colorless shapes with vibrant arka flowing in and around them, none of which could be obscured by closing his eyes. 

Why wouldn’t Thyr let him argue? He’d always let the team discuss important decisions if they weren’t in immediate danger. Liza might be dangerous, but she was sleeping. They had time to talk.

“Please, if you’ll allow me to speak-”

Thyr’s tail thudded against a box. “You heard me. Raeve, kill her. Mar’kost, interfere and you’re off the team.”

The team was Mar’kost’s life. He couldn’t give it up for a girl he fancied. He couldn’t have a future with her anyway, not when she thought he was a figment of her imagination. He willed his senses to limit their scope as Raeve hopped off her box. Sensing her pass, he tried to imagine he was anywhere but here. 

Nervousness jittered around his chest like a frightened mouse. He knew this was for the best. They didn’t need the danger of a clueless Ortai. He didn’t need Liza frequenting his dreams, no matter how pleasant her visits might be. But if that was true, why did dread still weigh so heavily on his shoulders? 

Raeve lunged at Liza’s throat. 

“Gira.” The word sent Raeve’s dagger flying into Mar’kost’s hand. Why had he done that? He hadn’t even thought before casting the spell. 

Raeve glared at him. “Why’d you do that?”

“The weapon-” he said to himself as much as to her, “-would self-destruct if she died.” It was a good excuse. The only problem? It wasn’t entirely true. Yes, the weapon would self-destruct if its owner died, but upon Liza’s death, ownership would pass to her highest knight—Mar’kost. If anything, he should be encouraging Raeve. The polearm was probably worth more than all of their other weapons combined. He would be glad to have it, and as a shifter, he was uniquely capable of providing enough arka to wield its Skills without being damaged by them. 

Yet, he’d stopped Raeve without even thinking. He’d lied to his team and condemned himself to expulsion from their ranks—why? Did he really like Liza that much? Yes, he was fond of her, but he couldn’t love a girl who barely knew him. Could he?

“Mar’kost is mistaken.” Thyr nodded at Raeve. “Kill her.”

Raeve took out another dagger, and it flew into Mar’kost’s hand even quicker than the first. He couldn’t help it. He cast the spell before he could decide why he’d stolen the first one. In short succession, Raeve’s third and fourth daggers also found their way to his hands. It was difficult to hold all four of them without getting cut, so he set them down. 

Thyr sighed, but he didn’t look surprised. “Stop, Raeve.”

“Why?” She was so loud that Liza stirred. Shivering, Raeve retreated to the front of the wagon and collected her daggers. She rounded on Mar’kost. “Why did you stop me?”

“I don’t know.” He stared at his sapphire blue hands, as if he could see the answer in his palms. 

“He’s her knight.” Thyr shrugged. “He must protect her.”

“That isn’t-” Better to prove it than to argue. Mar’kost raised his hand and willed Liza’s leg to hurt, just enough to wake her up. Nothing happened. He tried again, and pain stabbed his temples. Gasping, he clutched his head. The pain faded quickly, before he could pinpoint what had caused it. “I can’t hurt her.”

Raeve cursed. “Just close your eyes and stick your fingers in your ears.”

Thyr shook his head. “Don’t hurt her.”

“You just told me to-” 

“I knew Mar’kost would stop you.”

She crossed her arms and plopped down on a box. “She’ll kill us all.”

“We’ll see.”

***

I was shaken awake and had half a mind to punch whoever it was. It was a dark red lizard man with horns and scaly bat wings. I hadn’t actually woken up. Weird. 

“Who’re you?”

He scowled. “I’m Mar’kost. I can’t be seen looking like a you-know-what.” 

“You mean, a shif-”

He clapped a hand over my mouth. “Do you want me to die?”

I shook my head. 

“Then keep that information to yourself.” He uncovered my mouth.

“Oh-okay.” I sat up with his help. 

He half-carried me to the back of the wagon and hopped down with me in his arms. He set me down so he could retrieve my polearm. Leaning against him, I staggered around the wagon. 

“Come on already,” the nix called from a little ways away. 

Moving my head made everything spin, so it took a minute to focus on the nix standing in a large doorway. The double doors were held open by deer centaurs wearing white shirts with gold embroidery. 

“Fancy.” I staggered up a short ramp that led to the doors. The threshold nearly tripped me up, but Mark’s tight grip steadied me. “Thanks.”

He ushered me inside a high-ceilinged lobby with marble columns along the walls. Harker and Thyr had gone ahead with the nix, and they bypassed a large receptionist desk in the middle of the room. We did too, joining them in an alcove occupied by another centaur in uniform. 

“What floor, sir?”

“We’re all on the second,” Harker answered. 

The uniformed centaur closed a metal grill over the entrance to the lobby, and it occurred to me that this alcove might be an elevator. That was great, because there was no way I was going up a flight of stairs in my current state. I was pretty sure a centaur couldn’t really go up stairs, either. 

With a jolt, the elevator started moving. As the lobby slid away, I had the impulse to stick my hand through the holes in the grate and poke the wall moving by. 

Before I could debate the entertainment value of poking a moving wall, the elevator stopped. Thyr led us down a hall to a suite with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room. 

Mark took one look at the lush white rug in the living room and frowned at my bloody, pukey clothes. “You need to bathe.”

I wasn’t going to argue with that, even if I just wanted to collapse on the rug and fall asleep. Skirting around the room, he helped me to the bathroom. It was spacious, with a bathtub that had a little door in the side and a rough bottom that might keep a centaur from slipping. It looked like it would scrape my feet. There was a somewhat normal looking toilet—albeit with a pull string hanging from an overhead water tank—and what looked like a squatting toilet in the floor next to it. All in all, it was surprisingly similar to the real world. 

After a bath—I was too unsteady to stand and unwilling to ask for Mark’s help showering—I put on a robe so long it was probably meant to cover a centaur’s human torso and deer back. I soaked my clothes in soapy water and rinsed them off before hanging them on the shower rod to dry. 

The robe dragged behind me as I stumbled into the living room. I caught myself on the coffee table and managed to sit on the sofa without too much staggering around. Sleep claimed me moments after I closed my eyes. 

***

Raeve, Harker, and Thyr met in the bedroom that belonged to Harker and Thyr while Mar’kost bathed. Raeve sat on the bipedal-style bed, Harker rested on the longstrider equivalent—a piece of furniture that resembled an upholstered pommel horse—and Thyr sat in an armchair. Thyr knew why the others had asked to speak with him. The absence of Mar’kost was evidence enough, as they rarely spoke of important matters without the entire team present. 

Thyr didn’t particularly want to discuss the questions he saw brewing in his companions. The answers weren’t pleasant, and for all his experience leading adventurers, he didn’t know for certain if his answers were the right ones. 

“Do not hurt the Ortai.” He raised a clawed hand to quell Raeve’s brewing anger. “Every firstborn in Mar’kost’s family went mad and died young—since Shiel left. Human lives are short. Shorter than a shifter’s.”

Harker scoffed. “That isn’t proof of anything.”

Raeve looked horrified, but Thyr wasn’t sure if she entirely understood what he was saying.

“If the Ortai dies, Mar’kost dies.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that earlier?” Raeve was on her feet, wings buzzing too weakly to lift her. “I almost killed-”

“I didn’t know then. Even now, I do not know for certain.” He slowed as he considered every word carefully. “Maybe I am wrong.” But he didn’t think so, and that much was clear on his face. “Don’t tell Mar’kost. He will protect her anyway, and more worry won’t help.”

“He’ll figure it out eventually. He’s too smart not to.”

“Maybe. Or maybe the Ortai will distract him. Doesn’t matter now.” Thyr saw the disbelief on their faces. He wished he had better words of comfort. Either Mar’kost would figure out the truth, or he wouldn’t. That mattered a lot less than making sure a certain Ortai girl didn’t get herself killed and bring their teammate down with her. “We cannot bring her into the dungeon. And we cannot leave her. She will find trouble unless someone watches her.”

Raeve crossed all four arms. “I’m not going into the dungeon without a healer.”

Harker shook his head. “Who says Mar’kost has to watch her? We can hire a childminder.”

“What if she tries to hurt them? I’ve never heard of a childminder that’ll watch a crazy adult.”

“Well, when I said ‘childminder,’ I really meant ‘drykonminder.’”

“You know someone like this?” Thyr asked.

“Yeah, I do. It’s Cadmus.” 

“Ah. Cadmus.” It wasn’t that Thyr had anything personal against Harker’s brother-in-law. He just questioned the sanity of any scalewing who would marry a longstrider. Then again, Cadmus had willingly given his blood to let Mar’kost use his likeness, so the scalewing had to be trustworthy.