I can't say how long I stood there. It was a while. Might have been a long time.

It was my confusion that held me there more than grief.

Don’t get me wrong, I was torn up. I was, in fact, shredded inside. This was my father. This had been my father. I had many of the same feelings anyone would have in this moment. He was gone—this titanic role model who had always been there. The indignity of his state left me feeling guilty. I should have come sooner. He shouldn’t have been lying here so long with birds picking at him. He shouldn’t have been alone for so long.

And there was an immediate tidal wave of regrets. I should have tried harder to make him happy. I should have resented him less. I should have hated him less. Now, I would never have the chance to make him proud. I looked down at my armored fingers. This had been what he wanted. Now, when I was finally in a position to show him that I had done it, that I could have done it all along, that I was the son he wanted—the son he could be proud of...

But there were other feelings too. Guilt-inducing, shameful feelings. There was a strange sense that it was over. There was a terrible sense of becoming free. He couldn’t own me anymore. I wouldn’t have to face his awful rages ever again. The manipulations, the pressures—all gone.

If I had to put my finger on it, and it’s hard, I think it was my own shame at the lack of grief that made me feel the worst right then.

Eventually, the voice broke into my thoughts. It said, Well… I don’t know what’s appropriate, but maybe we shouldn’t stand here until the earth’s orbit decays and we plunge into the sun…

I said, hearing the emptiness in my voice, "I can’t leave him here."

The voice replied, No? Are you sure? He really doesn’t mind anymore. Trust me, I’m a part of your supreme deity.

"I need to take him back," I said.

The voice seemed to squirm. But… that’s gonna be hella icky.

I tried to imagine lifting the body. I was somewhat afraid that it would fall apart, that something would pop off if I tried.

A glint caught my eye. Down where the steps plunged into the earth, I saw a shine. It was his hip flask. He had always carried it with him. It had tumbled down the steps when he was slain, or it had been knocked loose by scavengers. It seemed wrong to leave it. It would need to go wherever he went. It always had.

I started down the steps.

As I moved, the voice said, What’s all this about then? Odd little place, this is. What was the point of it? So small, with this weird staircase going down into… Wait, I recognize this… Tiberius, hang on a sec—

The voice was suddenly and abruptly gone. I was startled by the way it just ceased. My hand went to my sword hilt, but I didn’t stop. If anything, this intrigued me all the more.

The steps led down a long way. They opened onto a very wide, very large room. A room illuminated by faintly glowing electric lights.

Electric lights? In the Wilds? My neck prickled with a strange, chilling excitement.

"Voice?" I asked.

Nothing.

The room was filthy, bearing the detritus of centuries. My feet echoed with the ring of metal on metal as I walked, though all I could see of the floor was dirt and crumbled rubble. The walls were straight and dull, likely formed of steel, their color dulled by unknown ages of dust and tarnish. At the top of the walls ran strips of glowing recessed lighting. Everywhere, piles of filth hinted at recent human habitation—empty food tins, scraps of fabric, and decayed remains of older garbage piled high.

In the center of the opposite wall stood huge metal doors. They were as tarnished as the walls, bound by a massive locking mechanism the likes of which I had never seen before. If anything, it reminded me of the Tower, though older, dirtier, and cruder.

I approached the doors and touched them. I couldn’t imagine how thick they were, but something told me they were impenetrable. Even a Griidlord wouldn’t break through.

My foot kicked a can, and I looked down. An empty tin of fish, from Boston—a brand I knew. One of my father’s favorite traveling foods. It couldn’t have been centuries old, but neither had it been left here last week.

I paced the room, inspecting the walls and the doors. I looked up at the lights, wondering where they got their power. I wondered how there was Order here for them to function. Frankly, I was wasting time. I let the mystery of the room distract me, because when I went back up the steps, it would be to face the challenge of moving my father’s decayed body.

Footsteps echoed from the stairs. I spun, still Tiberius, the mortal young man. I hadn’t yet grasped what it was to be a Griidlord when danger approached. I pulled my sword, holding it evenly as I faced the opening above. Slowly, it began to creep into my mind that there were few things in this world I needed to fear, and the thought calmed me.

"It’s... you..." I breathed, as a figure casually dismounted the last step and stood in the open space. He turned his head, looking around, his expression one of awe, though not the wonder and surprise I had felt when I first discovered the room.

Joel Montanion said, "Well, what do you know..."

This felt different from our last meeting. Yes, he was still a wildknight of epic proportion. Yes, I remembered how Danefer had fought so well against Magneblade, a Griidlord of far more levels than I. Maybe Joel was a threat, maybe he could kill me. But even if that were the case, this was no longer the uneven meeting we’d had in the woods. I was as much, if not more, of a threat to him as he was to me.

Joel’s eyes fell on me. He said, "I’m still not here to harm you. Just like before."

I asked, "What are you doing here? Did you follow me?"

He replied, "Of course I followed you. Life is full of strange coincidences, but this one would exceed all probabilities."

"Why?" I asked.

He frowned, as if confused by the question. "For this. To talk. I didn’t get another chance to speak before the Choosing was done. Congratulations, by the way. I suppose."

He walked past me and approached the doors, touching them with the flat of his hand, letting it glide over the surface. The gesture seemed strangely longing.

He said, "Before you won the suit, we could speak in private. Now that you have the suit, the voice is with you always. I can live with that—I don’t have that many secrets from the voice. But I wanted to catch you somewhere far enough from another Griidlord so we might have a minute or two to talk before that nattering thing summoned someone to try and remove me. But, I don’t think the voice is here, is it?"

I shook my head. "It got cut off when I started climbing down the steps."

Joel turned back to face me, smiling. There was still madness glittering in his eyes, and despite my armor, it unnerved me. A smile spread across his face—a greedy, eager little smile that didn’t fit well on such a noble, handsome face.

"Good," he said. "Then we can really talk."