ã€ŠTitans of Timeã€‹


 Prologue

    "This is going to be a great day," Shoes said to himself as he looked up at the brightening sky.

    It was finally his free day again. He almost couldn''t believe how slowly the week had passed, but here it was. The whole day was ahead of him¡ªit was time to explore the tunnel he had discovered last week!

    Shoes washed his face, donned his uniform, and headed out as fast as he could. Although the servants'' corridor was the most direct route to the kitchen, he avoided it today. He wanted to meet as few people as possible.Prudence was a must on free days, if he didn''t want someone to command him to do some urgent work.

    This was why Shoes found himself crossing the courtyard, keeping to the shadows. As he crept towards his destination, his thoughts returned to the dark tunnel. He couldn''t help hoping that he had found something big. Maybe the tunnel led out of the estate? Maybe this would be his chance to escape? He knew it was just a pipe dream; a simple tunnel wouldn''t help him. Even if he made it outside the estate''s walls, he still wore his slave cuffs. There was a reason why no slave scaled the walls to escape, or hid to skip work. As long as they were wearing these thin metallic armbands, the guards would track them down in no time.

    Ah, but this was something to worry about later. Having reached the kitchen, Shoes slipped inside through the back door. The kitchen was warm and cozy, the smell of baking bread permeating the air. One of the best places in the world. Old Cook wasn''t here yet, only his assistant was up and about. Shoes grabbed a freshly baked bread, fished out a slightly wrinkled apple from the basket, then headed to the dining area. Old Cook''s assistant didn''t even bat an eye at him; he was used to his comings and goings already.

    As Shoes sat down at one of the tables, he took a lingering glance at the kitchen''s door. He wondered if the security was a bit lax around here. If he could sneak in here anytime, then so could anyone else, right? This kitchen provided food only for the slaves and servants, but still . . . if someone wanted to harm House Dawngrove, they could poison every worker in one go! No one would notice it until it was too late. Of course, the wrong-doers would need to sneak past the outer walls, avoid every guard, pretend to be a slave or a servant, and¡ªwell, it didn''t sound so simple anymore. Shoes didn''t know much about spies and assassins and those kinds of things. For all he knew, House Dawngrove had secret countermeasures against them.

    "You are in my spot, dumbass."

    Shoes jolted in surprise, then looked up from his food warily. Grease stood next to his table, with three of his cronies behind him. A quick glance around told Shoes that he couldn''t expect any support. Only a few people were eating nearby, but they wouldn''t intervene, at least not on his behalf. Most of them were already glancing in his direction, curious to see what would happen next.

    "Sorry, I''ll move over," Shoes replied.

    He tried to stand up, but Grease put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. Shoes let him do so. He could have overpowered Grease easily, but didn''t want to antagonize him further. He didn''t want things to escalate, especially not on his free day.

    "You call that an apology?" Grease asked, then smacked the bread out of Shoes''s hand.

    "I-I''m terribly sorry. I didn''t know you usually sit here."

    Shoes gulped nervously. He knew that Grease wouldn''t let him go easily this time. In the past few weeks, Grease had been getting on his case more and more often. The man was too intent on humiliating him in some way, and now he had a chance. Shoes didn''t know what to do. He couldn''t fight back¡ªhe was too scared to fight back. He didn''t want to hurt anyone again. Not even Grease.

    Grease opened his mouth to retort, but a loud crash interrupted him. Everyone turned to look at the servant sprawling on the floor, lying amid broken jugs and a spreading puddle of milk. Shoes tried to use this opportunity to slip away, but Grease''s hand tightened on his shoulder.

    "Meet me behind the barracks this afternoon," he hissed, leaning close to Shoes''s ear. "We need to talk. Don''t make me come for you."

    As soon as Grease released his shoulder, Shoes made a swift exit towards the kitchen. He was thankful for that servant for ruining Grease''s show. When the kitchen''s door closed behind him, he let out the breath he was holding. His sigh of relief held a tinge frustration, however; he knew that the conflict between him and Grease was far from over.

    "What''s the long face, young man?" Old Cook hobbled towards him. "I may be half-deaf, but I heard that sigh from miles away."

    "Morning to you too," Shoes replied. "It''s nothing to worry about."

    "Nonsense! You can tell me, I don''t mind worrying. Actually, I do it regularly as a sport. Done it this morning too, when I almost couldn''t get out of my bed. It does wonders to my blood pressure, I tell you!"

    Shoes escorted Old Cook to the large pot, which would contain today''s soup. He shifted the pot in place while he considered what to say.

    "This might sound like . . . well, like complaining. And it''s not really a big deal."

    "But?" Old Cook prompted.

    "But Grease is getting really annoying! You know, he is the man who was called Shoes before. He took it really personally when Mistress gave me his duties, even though I didn''t ask for any of it. Now, I don''t know . . . I think he is trying to make me pay or something."

    "I see."

    "But that''s not even why I''m upset," Shoes said. "Sure, the situation with Grease is bad. It''s getting worse, even. But what I hate the most is that I was chosen for this task. Why me? Grease can have this stupid job back if he wants it so much!"

    Shoes shut his mouth abruptly, then looked around in fear. It hadn''t been his intention to criticize his Mistress. Hopefully no one had paid attention to his outburst.

    "Why would Mistress make me handle her shoes?" Shoescontinued on a much lower tone. "It''s impractical. I mean, just look at me! I''m much better at physical labor than handling delicate stuff."

    Old Cook scrutinized him with his single eye, calm and unhurried as always.

    "You don''t have the slightest clue why our Mistress chose you, do you?"

    "I don''t," Shoes grumbled as he poured a bucket of water into the large pot. "So are you going to explain, or are you just taunting me?"

    "You already said the important part: just look at you!" Old Cook said, flashing Shoes a toothy smile. It was only moderately toothy. "Who do you think looks better groveling at Mistress''s feet¡ªa greasy-haired wimp, or a hulking behemoth of a man?"

    "H-Hey, I''m not that large," Shoes protested. "There are others just as tall as I am."

    "That''s besides the point. Our Mistress chose you. You look impressive in that uniform, crouching at her feet. It''s the looks that matter, not how adept you are at handling delicate stuff."

    Shoes lowered the fourth bucket slowly, looking at Old Cook in shock. "That''s it? My looks? But I''m not even that handsome!"

    "Then it''s a good thing that you always have your head lowered, eh?" Old Cook said with a grin. "Just make sure to lift lots of buckets for me, lest you lose all those bulging muscles!"

    "Ha ha," Shoes said flatly, then turned back to work. He put fresh logs under the pot¡ªnoting that he''d need to bring in more wood¡ªand started the fire. He watched the flames in contemplative silence for while, before turning back to Old Cook.

    "If you had to give me a name, what would it be?"

    "Hmm. That''s a good question, Shoes. I think . . . I''d name you Carrot. Because carrots are healthy, and when I was young, I liked eating them a lot."

    Shoes shot him an unimpressed look. "Are you serious?"

    "No, I''m not," Old Cook said, cackling. "Hmm, let me think... Do you know how people sometimes compare each other to various types of precious gems? Ruby, sapphire, emerald? Each of them has a unique meaning."

    "Umm... I didn''t know, but I can imagine."

    "Well, you are none of those gems."

    "Hey! Now you''re just being mean..."

    Old Cook laughed. "No, none of those gems, but something just as good. Something that is often overlooked, but also important. You''re a bezel."

    Shoes frowned. "Bezel?"

    "Just so. Solid, dependable, always there when it counts. You might not be as shiny as a gemstone, but you make those gemstones all the more beautiful."

    "Is this yet another hidden joke?" Shoes asked, narrowing his eyes. "About cleaning Mistress''s shoes till they are shiny?"

    "Not at all, not at all!" Old Cook said with another laugh. "I''m serious. You asked me what name I''d give to you, and I chose this. Bezel."

    "Hmph. I guess it''s better than Shoes."

    "Don''t let Mistress hear that line," Old Cook waggled a finger at him. "Shoes is a wonderful name, as far as I''m concerned."

    Shoes smiled, then sat down and watched as Old Cook began to prepare the ingredients. "Alright, do you need help with anything else?"

    "No, no, thank you," Old Cook waved his hand dismissively. "By the by, isn''t this your free day?"

    "Yes, it is. I have great plans for today."

    "Then what are you doing here still? Off with you!"

    Shoes tried to tell him that a few minutes of his time didn''t matter, but the old man just shooed him away before he had a chance to protest. With nothing else left to attend to that morning, it was time to visit his secret corridor.

    The weather was clear and sunny, matching Shoes''s mood perfectly. Others often told him that he was too optimistic, but who wouldn''t be in his place? Especially now. He had found something new and mysterious, and he was about to explore it!

    Even without this new discovery, Shoes would have considered himself fortunate. He had it easier than most of the slaves in Ylvasil; Mistress Miranda''s leash was as loose as it can get. Shoes presumed that he was one of the luckiest slaves on this continent. Not that he wouldn''t try to escape if he had the chance, but he had several things going for him. Every slave got a free day once a week. Chief Ormus¡ªthe slave supervisor for batch A3¡ªwas a prick, but he wasn''t unnecessarily cruel. Shoes usually got assigned on construction labor, which could be hard, but he loved seeing the results of his hard work.

    Then of course there was Old Cook, who had taught him many things. Like reading and doing numbers. He had told Shoes various tales too. Most of them were probably made up on the spot, but Shoes didn''t mind those either. It was always entertaining to listen to Old Cook''s stories.

    There was only one minor inconvenience in Shoes''s life: the duties attached to his name. He didn''t understand why Grease was envious of him, because this job was completely senseless. Shoes had to be informed aboutMistress''s comings and goings in advance, then needed to wash himself, change into a fresh uniform, and for what? For Mistress to feel briefly satisfied as she changed shoes.

    The only upside was that Shoes could see, meet, and touch Mistress on these occasions. He called in an upside, though his feelings were mixed about the whole thing.

    Either way, it didn''t even happen more than once or twice a week¡ªmost of the time, only when Mistress had company. Aside from that, Shoes needed to clean Mistress''s footwear¡ªwhich also didn''t require his constant attention. Because of this, his tasks were erratic at the moment. No matter how much Chief Ormus wanted to get him to work, Mistress''s shoes took priority. It messed up his schedule quite often.

    "Enough of that," Shoes muttered, shaking his head. He wasn''t willing to dwell on this again. Not today, when he was on the verge of an exciting discovery!

    The area that he could freely roam was quite large. It began with the mansion and the buildings surrounding it, while the other end of the estate was high up on the mountain.Considering that most of House Dawngrove''s income came from the underground lake located there, it made sense to surround the whole area with high walls.

    Shoes followed the stream upriver, looking around constantly. He knew it was just paranoia, but he felt as if he was being followed. The trees around him made it harder to determine if anyone else was around, so he made sure to be extra careful.

    When he got closer to the entrance of the tunnel, he waded into the water. It was only ankle-deep, but he had to tread carefully because of the sharp rocks at the bottom. At times like these he really wished that he had a pair of boots, or at least some kind of sturdy footwear.

    The stream had carved a small valley, leaving tall rock formations on either side. The scenery around Shoes was surprisingly idyllic; if not for his impeding adventure, he would have definitely spent his free time here. That was, he reflected, the sole reason he had found the tunnel in the first place.

    It was one of the cliffs on the right side that he was looking for. It had a small ledge high up on it, one that he could just barely reach. He pulled himself up to it, then pushed away the vines that covered the rock''s jagged surface. And there it was. A small hole, rapidly opening up into a corridor. Shoes could see from the entrance that it had brick walls, so it was definitely man-made. Last time he hadn''t brought any light source so he couldn''t explore it further, but now he had an oil lamp.

    He lit the lamp quickly, but then spent a few minutes just staring inside. Despite his earlier eagerness, he suddenly felt hesitant. What if he would get in trouble because of this? What if this wasn''t something he was supposed to see, and will be punished for it¡ªor worse, will be killed for it? All those little nagging questions that he had tried to ignore up till now bubbled to the surface.

    But he knew he couldn''t chicken out now. This was his chance.What kind of chance, he didn''t know, but it was a chance nevertheless.He clutched at the wooden figurine in his pocket, gripping it as tightly as he dared. It wasn''t exactly a good-luck charm, but it was the closest thing he had to one. Taking a deep breath, he descended into the tunnel.

    He walked on and on, expecting at any moment to reach an intersection, or at least find something apart from the bare, moldy walls. Apparently, he was expecting them in vain. The tunnel didn''t even change direction, didn''t even have the slightest curve. Shoes couldn''t visualize very well where exactly he was, but he suspected that he was heading straight towards the main building of the mansion.

    Could this be a secret passageway for the Ladies and Lords of the House? Shoes supposed that they could use it as an escape route in case of an emergency. In that case, the corridor would lead straight to their rooms, to the heart of the mansion. Shoes suddenly realized how much trouble he would be in ifthe tunnel was leading him into Mistress''s bedchamber. But on a second thought . . . maybe it would have its advantages too?

    No, no, it certainly would be awful. Shoes shook his head to stop his reverie, trying to forget those improper thoughts. It would be really embarrassing to get caught in Mistress''s chambers, and he would be definitely punished for it.

    Just when he finally got his thoughts back in order, he encountered another problem. Namely, a dead-end. He stopped, disappointment settling heavily in his chest¡ªright until he spotted a door on the left side of the tunnel. The wall around it was slightly damaged, the bricks marked with scrapes and holes of various sizes.

    Shoes edged closer as silently as he could. He found the door oddly familiar. After a bit of thinking, he realized that it had the same design as the doors they had installed for the Professor last week. The dark brown paint on it didn''t seem to be fresh, though. There was no keyhole to peek through, so he slowly reached out and grabbed the handle. To his greatest surprise the door opened easily, swinging outwards. He jumped back in fright¡ªafraid that someone will discover his presence¡ªbut the room behind the door was empty.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Empty, in the sense that there were no people within. Because otherwise it wasn''t an exaggeration to say that the chamber wascrowded. Shoes raised his lamp higher to take in everything inside. Every wall was covered with shelves, each shelf packed with books, gadgets and . . . guns?

    Shoes edged closer to the wall on his left and sure enough, one section of it was packed with various types of handguns, pistols, even rifles. He didn''t know much about weaponry, but because of the guards, he had seen guns like these before. There were different kinds of knives and daggers lying around, and there was even a longsword in an ornate sheath.

    This chamber wasn''t an armory, though. Under the shelves crates were lined up everywhere. As Shoes skirted around the stone block in the middle of the room, he spotted a bed in the corner. A real, proper bed, not the kind he usually slept on. And the books! There were many more books around the bed too, organized neatly. Shoes spent a few minutes trying to decipher what their titles were. He didn''t have much practice in reading, so he wasn''t very fluent but he got by. In the end, he drew the conclusion that these were mostly engineering books. It explained all those gadgets around the room.

    There was a soft, but constant noise in the chamber. Some of the constructs were humming, other were clicking or hissing from time to time. There was a table in the other corner, which looked like some kind of miniature workshop. Shoes placed his lamp down on it, right next to a melon-sized machine that was emitting puffs of steam. He jumped a little when he saw movement through the glass-covered sides of the machine. It turned out that the construct was filled with boiling water, and there was a tiny fish-like creature swimming inside.

    Shoes sat down next to the table and looked around. Just what was this place? Obviously someone lived here. There was even a basket of fresh fruit over there. Shoes wouldn''t have been surprised if he found more food in one of the crates.

    But how was this possible? And why? Why would anyone live down here? The place was too difficult to approach. Living here would be impractical, although . . . perhaps this was a runaway slave''s hideout? It could be possible. But if no one could track down that slave by his cuffs, then why didn''t he scale the walls to escape?

    Shoes took in the stone formation in the middle of the room. He had been so distracted by the weapons and books, that he barely paid any attention to it. Was it a coffin? Or some kind of . . . altar? Standing at chest-level, it''s sides were unadorned and dull. The only interesting thing about it was the two small figures standing on top of it. One was larger, a sculpture made from some kind of pitch-black material. The other¡ª

    Shoes''s heart skipped a beat as he realized what it was. He jumped up from the chair to take a closer look. The other statuette was a small wooden warrior, no larger than his index finger. He grabbed it with a shaking hand, then took out the figurine from his pocket. The two were exactly the same. Same amateurish carving, same absurdly broad shoulders, same tiny little mistake by cutting into the knee too deeply. The only difference was that the one he found on the altar looked more . . . aged. Weathered, as if it had been there for a long time.

    Just what was going on?! He couldn''t make any sense of this. Tanner carved this figurine about a month ago. Why was there a copy of it? Why did it look so old? His thoughts swirled, but he couldn''t come up with any answer.

    As he stared at the two figures in confusion, he noticed something else. A piece of paper was resting on the altar. His breath caught as he read the first two words, then picked the paper up and brought it closer to the lamp. Slowly but surely, he began to read.

    <blockquote>

    Hello, Shoes!

    I know this is going to be hard to take, but please stay with me till the end of this letter. It is you who is writing this letter. More precisely, you from the past.

    </blockquote>

    What? Shoes wasn''t certain he read that right, so he went through it once again. Still, the meaning remained the same.

    <blockquote>

    Yes, you read that right. It''s confusing. Here is the explanation: you are in a time loop.

    </blockquote>

    Eh? Did the letter react to what he was thinking? He was getting even more confused now. The last two words didn''t help either. He didn''t know what atime loop was.

    <blockquote>

    You don''t know what time loop means? Let me explain. Starting today, you have one week in your world. One week, then the world ends. After it does, everything goes back to be the same as before. Everything will be the same as it was this morning. You will be the same as you were this morning. You won''t remember anything. Everything will go back the way it was, except whatever you leave in this room.

    </blockquote>

    "Not possible," Shoes muttered.

    He narrowed his eyes, glancing around the room once more. Whoever wrote this was clearly playing with him.

    <blockquote>

    Can''t be possible, you say? It certainly can. I''m telling the truth, Shoes. You saw my figurine, didn''t you?In case you don''t fully believe me (and I know you don''t) I left more evidence on the other side of this paper. Events that will happen in your future. Things that you can do.

    </blockquote>

    Shoes turned the sheet over and sure enough, the other side was full of writing too. It gave him a headache just by looking at it. He turned back the paper, even though that side wasn''t any better.

    <blockquote>

    Check them out later on, but for now, please keep on reading. There is a way to escape this endless cycle. You might not be able to do it yourself, but you can help your future selves closer to that goal. I would ask you to help your future selves as much as you can . . . but there is no need for me to ask. I know you aren''t selfish. I know that you''ll do your best.

    </blockquote>

    Shoes wasn''t too sure about that one. To him, it felt like this other person¡ªthisShoes from the past¡ªwas trying to force him into helping.

    <blockquote>

    To break out of the loop, we need to collect the four Krinil Sculptures that originally stood in the Chamber of Ancestors. The Chamber of Ancestors is a room right above this one, in the heart of the Dawngrove mansion. These Krinil Sculptures were either sold or given away to various people over the years; finding them is our main objective.

    You can find out more about this from our notes that are on the shelf right above the bed. You will also find further instructions and reports of our findings there.

    Lastly, but most importantly: don''t forget to leave a note before this week is over! Tell your future selves what you did in your lifetime. Otherwise, all will go to waste.

    Good luck, Shoes.

    </blockquote>

    Shoes put the paper down the table and just stared at it blankly for a while. This was . . . this was almost too much. Too complicated. Impossible. What could he do? He glanced at the shelf above the bed, but couldn''t bring himself to search for the note that his previous self left there.

    Even if this whole thing wasn''t just a rouse, what could he achieve within a week? It was too little time. What would happen to him once it was over? Would he really just . . . disappear? Would his current self be dead for good? His mind reeled at that thought. This¡ª This was awful. For his life to be reduced to a single note left behind. This couldn''t be true.

    Shoes looked at the shelves once again, hesitating. In the end, he turned back to the table. He grabbed the lamp and the sheet of paper, then stormed out of the chamber. He was going to check whether the writing on the paper was true. There was no point in trying to figure out what this whole thing meant, if it was all just a lie.

    He almost couldn''t believe it.

    Everything was happening the way it was written down.

    Thanks to what the paper said, Shoes avoided conflict with Grease on three separate occasions. Even the little tips and tricks were working; he complimented Camille on her new earrings, and she actually blushed! Originally, Shoes hadn''t even known she had earrings. Slaves weren''t allowed to own any jewelry, but it seemed like the same didn''t apply to Mistress''s bed slaves.

    Shoes missed some of the events that were on the paper, but he was convinced anyways. He was going to go back to the chamber and read the task his past self had left for him. It was already the second day of the loop, so he had only five more days left.

    But before that, there was one last thing he wanted to try out. Mistress was going to leave for the city this morning, and Shoes would be there to give her exactly the pair of shoes that she desired. Mistress would be so satisfied with him!

    "Ah, Shoes, is it?"

    Avoice startled Shoes and he looked back to find one of the servants standing behind him. He was a middle-aged man with balding head and a big crooked nose. Shoes couldn''t remember ever seeing him, let alone what his name was.

    "Y-Yes, sir."

    "Perfect, perfect!" the man said. "Don''t go anywhere, Lady Dawngrove will be here soon. She is leaving."

    "A-Ah, but Chief Ormus will punish me if I don''t show up in time for work," Shoes protested. "We have important work to do at the Research Facility."

    Shoes had no idea why he had to say this, but the paper said it was necessary. According to the instructions, he could actually skip work this day and avoid being punished if he played his cards right.

    The servant raised an eyebrow. "The Research Facility? Professor Sylven rarely tolerates your kind there."

    "You''re right, sir. This is an exceptional case only. We are building new homes for Professor Sylven''s newest . . . umm, creations."

    "I haven''t heard about that one," the servant said, frowning. "Very well, then. I''ll tell Chief Ormus that you''ll be late."

    Shoes blinked in surprise, but the servant already had his back to him, storming away. He wondered if the man was really going to speak with Chief Ormus. Would he do it personally? For someone like Shoes?

    No time to worry about that though, because Shoes needed to get ready. In the next few minutes he went through Mistress''s vast collection of footwear. He found what he was looking for; a pair of black court shoes with long ribbons attached to them. The ribbons would be wrapped around Mistress''s calves in an intricate pattern, accentuating her shapely legs. Shoes already had some practice putting on this type of shoes, but he was still a bit nervous.

    He knelt beside the wall¡ªnot too far from the double staircase¡ªand waited. There were only three other men in the foyer: two guards standing at the entrance, and a slave cleaning the floor. Due to the unusually sunny weather, the slave didn''t have much to do. No mud tracks to clean up, no shoes to tidy in their owner''s absence. Still, he kept scrubbing the lower part of the foyer, the area where people usually changed their outdoors footwear.

    Shoes kept fussing over his uniform, adjusting it and double checking whether it was spotless clean. It was, of course. He had learned it very quickly that his clothes shouldn''t be anything less than perfect.

    By contrast, the two guards at the entrance were doing a poor job wearing their uniforms. Their shirts weren''t properly tucked in, their vests were crumpled and their trousers were dirty.Maybe they didn''t hear it when the servant said that Mistress was coming? Or maybe this was actually an acceptable look for them? Shoes didn''t know much about what regulations the guards had.

    Still, at first glance they didn''t look too bad. They had the same colors as Shoes''s uniform¡ªred and orange with lots of gray¡ªbut the guards'' clothing was more fit for combat. Well, except for the hat. Shoes didn''t understand the purpose behind wearing those peaked caps. They would be useless in a fight, and they didn''t even look good.

    Shoes noticed his Mistress''s approach even before she came down the stairs; her aura was unmistakable. The other slave scrambled to get to his knees as well, trembling in fear. As for Shoes, all he felt was a sense of awe. It rarely happened anymore that he reacted to his Mistress''s aura with fear.

    His Mistress was in the company of her butler and two of her maids, but he had only eyes for her. She was beautiful as always. Perfection itself, with her flowing raven-black hair and her emerald-green eyes and her flawless, fair skin and her soft, red lips. Shoes felt himself melt just by looking at her. His Mistress wore a formal black dress and glided elegantly down the stairs while she listened to her butler''s speech.

    "I''m not going to repeat myself, Sebas," his Mistress''s beautiful voice washed over Shoes. "I''ll bring Vince, but Grom and you definitely need to stay here. This yearly council is a farce. I''m not going to bring my whole retinue when they have better things to do!"

    "This farce, my Lady, is the annual gathering of Ylvasil''s leading Houses. I cannot stress enough how important¡ª"

    "Yes, yes, whatever. I''m not going to¡ªoh, Shoes, very good. Follow me."

    His Mistress walked to the display of footwear at the side of the foyer and Shoes hurried after her.

    "Something formal that matches my dress," Mistress murmured to herself, her voice like warm honey.

    "Mistress, would this be to your liking?" Shoes asked,presenting the pair of shoes that he had already prepared. His voice was slightly shaking, but at least his hands were steady.

    "Oh? That''s perfect," his Mistress remarked. "How did you know I was thinking about that one?"

    "Just a lucky guess, M-Mistress."

    "I see your sense of fashion is improving," his Mistress complimented him as she sat down elegantly on a cushioned chair. "Alright, get on with it."

    Shoes''s heart skipped a beat as he heard his Mistress''s approval, and he got down to his knees immediately. He started with his Mistress''s right foot, slipping off her comfortable indoors shoe. She wasn''t wearing stockings this time, so he could touch her skin directly. He could only admire how good her petite foot felt in his large hands, and¡ªno, no, he had to focus. Shoes concentrated on putting on Mistress''s court shoes and tying the ribbons.

    "No, Sebas. Enough," his Mistress interrupted whatever the butler was telling her. "I''m not going to bring a whole army, it''s completely unnecessary! Must I remind you that I''m one of the strongest Krinfused out there? I know you''re worried, but don''t be ridiculous. I''ll be fine."

    That was right. Shoes''s Mistress was incredible, strong and powerful. She was a true lioness; proud and fierce and nobody stood a chance against her. Shoes''s head filled with warm thoughts as he kept working on the ribbons.

    "Thank you, Sebas. I''m counting on you," his Mistress said just as Shoes finished putting on her other shoe. "Etty, Betty? Come on, we''re leaving."

    Shoes scrambled back to his previous spot as his Mistress and her maids got going, leaving the butler behind. He knelt there, head lowered, bursting with pride. He continued kneeling until he felt Mistress''s aura fade . . . and she was gone. Shoes took a deep breath, then a second one. He felt as if he had sprinted several laps around the mansion. Or¡ªhe supposed¡ªas if he had made love to a woman all night. He couldn''t be sure about that one though, because he had no experience in that area.

    The slave next to him fell forward, his face pale as death. His breathing was much more labored than Shoes''s, and he was seemingly on the verge of vomiting. Shoes moved closer as he tried to stand up, supporting him until he was steady on his feet.

    "Damn her," the man muttered as the two of them walked out of the parlor. "She could have suppressed her aura, but she didn''t even bother. Inconsiderate bitch, almost killed me there."

    Shoes only grunted, keeping his silence. He didn''t agree, especially not about the insult. That was the kind of thinking that made Mistress''s aura feel worse.

    "So, Shoes, eh?" the man continued speaking. He looked at him up and down, craning his neck as he did so. Shoes was more than a head taller than him. "Thanks for the help. Name''s Chubby, by the way."

    Shoes nodded in acknowledgement, and wondered if Chubby was a new slave here. He didn''t remember seeing him before, and the man certainly talked too carelessly. Chubby could be a new purchase, which was an unusual occurrence nowadays. Did something happen that made Mistress bring in new men? That servant earlier had been a new face too...

    "You''re quite something, man," Chubby chattered on. "You have some nerves. Being practically unfazed by that bi¡ª ermm, beautiful Mistress of ours."

    A couple of servants passed them on the corridor, but they didn''t even take notice of Chubby and Shoes.

    "I''m not as tough as I look," Shoes said with a shrug, "It affected me as well, I just tried to hide it."

    "Well, I dunno ''bout that. If it was me who had to touch her feet, I''d havepissed myself in fear!"

    Shoes offered Chubby a forced smile, but stayed silent. He didn''t really want to chat with this man now. He had important things to do. Now that he had pleased Mistress, he was thoroughly convinced about the time loop. It was time to get back to the chamber¡ª

    Camille turned around the corner and entered the great hall. Shoes stopped abruptly, then patted Chubby''s shoulder.

    "Sorry man," he told him, "I got to go. See you later!"

    Chubby said his goodbyes, but Shoes was already hurrying after Camille. After their last conversation he was feeling confident about her. It was time to push his luck a little bit further.

    The dark corridor was as haunting as it had been last time. The meager light of Shoes''s oil lamp cast eerie shadows all around him, and the only sounds that could be heard were his footsteps and his breathing.

    Shoes had to admit that he had spent way too much time flirting with Camille. Well, flirting might be a strong word here. His face heated up in embarrassment at the memory. Still, Camille had found him funny, so it should be considered as a success, right? She had even agreed to meet up with him later at the fountain.

    Among normal circumstances, chasing after one of Mistress''s girls would have been a really, really bad idea. But since it was a time loop, Shoes figured that he had nothing to lose. He might die within five days anyways. He still held the hope that he wouldn''t cease to exist so soon, but in his heart he knew that it was likely. He wasn''t sure what to think about that. Most of the time, he tried tonotthink about that.

    The trip along the corridor seemed to pass quicker than the last time. When Shoes reached the door, he grabbed the handle eagerly¡ªjust to jump back in fright when he pushed the door open. There was light inside!

    "Come in, come in, don''t be shy. And close the door behind you, would you?"

    Shoes gaped in shock. The light bulbs inside were providing soft, yellowish light. More of the machines were humming and whirring, but they barely registered to his senses; the figure at the desk held his every attention.

    "Hello?" the man prompted him. "We can talk if you come in."

    Shoes shook himself out of his stupor and went inside, pulling the door shut behind him. He couldn''ttake his eyes off the man''s familiar face. His black hair was slightly longer than Shoes''s, he had stubble on his cheeks, and his brown eyes looked cold and tired. But his other features¡ªsimply put, the man looked exactly like an older version of Shoes himself.

    "Apologies for the mess. You''re here earlier than I expected," the man spoke, turning back to the desk. Bits of metal were strewn all over, and the man was currently . . . cleaning a handgun? Yes, that was what he was doing. He moved some of the components with quick and practiced movements, reassembling the weapon.

    "So, did you succeed?"

    "Succeed with what?" Shoes asked numbly.

    "With completing the tasks I''ve left to you, of course!" the man said, then wrinkled his brow. "Don''t tell me you haven''t even read them."

    "I... No, I haven''t."

    The man glanced at Shoes with an inscrutable expression, then slumped back in his chair and sighed. "What could I have done to convince you to read the second paper?"

    "I don''t know," Shoes slowly said. "It''s¡ª it was a bit too much to read at once. I''m, uhh, I''m not used to reading that much."

    "Maybe I should shorten the list by leaving out the tips about Camille and Miranda," the man grumbled, continuing to tinker with the handgun. "See how you like that."

    Shoes''s mind was trying to catch up with everything that was happening. He¡ªthis man¡ªmust be the one who had written that paper. All of it. Of course, that was what he had done. Shoes tried to think about what this meant.

    "Umm, just to be sure . . . you are me, right?" Shoes asked. "Like, an older me?"

    His other self grunted. "Yes. About ten years older."

    Wow. So this meant that not only objects could escape the time loop, but people too! Shoes grew excited. This could mean that he had more than five days in this world! He was about to question his older self further, when another thought crossed his mind. If this was a time loop and he kept finding this place every time . . . and this whole thing had been going on for more than ten years now . . . then where were all of his other copies?

    Realization hit him, making his blood run cold.

    He looked at the handgun his other self was assembling, then looked at the exit of the chamber. He could have reached it in two strides, but the door was closed. It would take a precious second or two to open it up and slip out.

    "Come to think of it," Shoes spoke up nervously, "There are still five more days in this loop. If you gave me the instructions now, I could go back and try to complete them."

    "Oh? But you don''t even know what the instructions are."

    "W-Well, that''s true, but that''s why I said try to complete. I know it''s a late start, but I want to be useful, you know."

    Shoes''s older self just continued assembling his gun, fitting a small cylinder into the side of the weapon. He didn''t look up, so Shoes took another glance at the door. Could he deceive his other self into letting him go, or should he just make a run for it?

    The last piece of metal clicked into place, and his older self sighed.

    "I hate it that I always try to be so goddamn clever." He looked at Shoes, his eyes now filled with pity. "I know the way you''re thinking, Shoes. I''m you, after all. You have no chance of deceiving me."

    Shoes''s stomach lurched in panic, and he dashed for the exit. He reached the door and pushed down on the handle, but it was stuck. There was some kind of locking mechanism installed on it. He put one shoulder against the door and tried to rip it off its hinges, but it didn''t even budge.

    Shoes''s eyes were wild with terror, his breathing ragged. Now that he was this close to the door, he recognized the faded patterns splattered on its wooden surface. Dried blood. A desperate cry escaped his lips. He clutched at the lock frantically, trying to rip it off.

    "I''m sorry that it comes to this," the serial killer whispered behind him, "Please understand that it''s necessary."

    The last thing Shoes heard was the sound of a gunshot, deafeningly loud in the small chamber.

 Episode 01

    "Be careful when you leave this chamber, Shoes. Grease has followed you into the woods, though he is not yet aware where you disappeared to. Instead of descending back down to the riverbed, climb further up over the rocks and circle around the large oak tree, if you wish to avoid him."

    ¡ª Instructions from Shoes, to Shoes

    "This is going to be a frustrating day," Bezel said to himself as he looked down at Shoes''s corpse. The brightening sky and the pleasantly warm weather did nothing to alleviate the horrific sight.

    He hated killing with his own hands. No, he hated killing, period. But if he had to do it, pulling the trigger was easier. Sadly, it was noisier too¡ªsomething he couldn''t afford at the moment.

    Bezel fastened the stones onto Shoes''s body, then lowered him into the river. He washed his hands and donned his uniform. His old garb fit him surprisingly well;it had been a while sincehe last wore it.

    Taking the servant''s corridor to the kitchen made up for the minutes he had lost, because Shoes always took his time sneaking through the courtyard. Although it wasn''t necessary for Bezel to be punctual, he tried to keep himself to the original timeline as much as possible. Not meeting Grease or Old Cook would cause dramatic changes later on.

    He ignored one of the servants who tried to stop him, and shouldered his way past another. He had figured out long ago that these actions didn''t really have any consequences, so he didn''t bother acting shy or respectful.

    Bezel barged into the dining area with an apple and a piece of bread, sat down at the nearest table, and waited. He wondered if anyone would recognize that he looked older than usual. Keeping his head bowed helped, though not as much as he would have liked. His height ensured that people would be looking up at him.

    "You are in my spot, dumbass."

    "Sorry, I''ll move over," Bezel replied automatically. Even if he hadn''t done this for a while, some things were hard to forget. As he tried to stand up, Grease put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

    "You call that an apology?" Grease asked, then smacked the bread out of his hand.

    "I''m terribly sorry. I didn''t know you usually sit here."

    Grease opened his mouth to retort, but a loud crash interrupted him. Everyone turned to look at the servant sprawling on the floor, lying amid broken jugs and a spreading puddle of milk. Perfect. Grease''s buddies were busy gawking at the poor fellow, so when Grease leaned in to whisper into Bezel''s ear, Bezel took this opportunity to kick his legs out. Grease stumbled, and Bezel grabbed the side of his head and smacked him against the edge of the table. He slumped to the ground without even uttering a cry, already unconscious.

    The others turned back as they heard the thud, but Bezel was already leaning back, biting into the apple.

    "He just sorta fainted and fell over," Bezel said as they watched him and Grease in confusion. So much for keeping himself to the original timeline, though it was well worth it. Even after so many iterations, this scene was satisfying for him to watch. It would have consequences later on, but this was actually one of the most peaceful ways to take Grease out of the picture.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Before anyone could figure out what to do, Bezel stood up and made a swift exit towards the kitchen.

    "Young man, is that you?" Old Cook hobbled towards him as he entered, looking him up and down. "I may be half-blind, but you seem to be somehow . . . different today."

    "Morning to you too," Bezel replied. "Don''t worry about it, it''s nothing. I''m just a little sick."

    "Well, you should be sick more often then," Old Cook cackled. "You look positively mature this way. Look at that! Even your bearing has changed."

    Alright, that concerned Bezel a bit. Old Cook knew him well, but never before had he mentioned outright that he had changed. He wondered if he could still steer this conversation back on track. He shifted the cooking pot back in place while he considered what to say.

    "Well, there are a few things that happened to me recently..."

    "Oh?"

    "Grease was trying to get on my case this morning," Bezel said as he grabbed a bucket and poured water into the pot. "You know, he is the one who had been called Shoes before I got my name. I wish I could give him back this . . . title. I understand why Mistress handed it to me, but to be honest, I really hate it."

    "Oh, pish posh!" Old Cook replied. "A stupid name should be the least of your worries. Just look at me, Shoes. Do you think I wanted to be Old Cook?"

    Bezel grinned. "No, of course not. I know you want to be Young Cook."

    "Hah, very true!" said Old Cook jovially, flashing him a toothy smile. It was only moderately toothy.

    Bezel emptied one more bucket, then turned to the old man. "Tell me, Old Cook. If you had to give me a name, what would it be?"

    It might have been a bit too blatant, but Bezel couldn''t handle it better on the fly. He didn''t want to skip this part of the conversation either. Not because it was necessary for the timeline to remain the same. No, it wasn''t necessary at all. But it was the best part of the loop by far.

    ¡°Hmm. That¡¯s a good question, Shoes. I think . . . I¡¯d name you Carrot. Because carrots are orange, and orange is my favorite color."

    "Are you serious?" Bezel asked, feigning confusion.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± Old Cook said, cackling. ¡°Hmm, let me think¡­ Do you know how people sometimes compare each other to various types of precious gems? Ruby, sapphire, emerald? Each of them has a unique meaning.¡±

    "Yes, I heard of it."

    "Well, you are none of those gems."

    "Hey! Stop being mean..."

    Old Cook laughed some more. "No, none of those gems, but something just as good. Something that is often overlooked, but also important. You''re a bezel."

    "Bezel?"

    "Just so. Solid, dependable, always there when it counts. You might not be as shiny as a gemstone, but you make those gemstones all the more beautiful."

    Bezel smiled, and couldn''t contain himself anymore. He stepped closer to the old man, and gave him a big¡ªbut gentle¡ªhug.

    "Thank you, Old Cook," he said as he stepped back, holding the confused old man''s shoulders. "Sincerely, thank you. I think that''s the best thing anyone has ever told me."

    "Now, now, let''s not exaggerate," Old Cook coughed in embarrassment. "My memory may not be the best, but I know I''ve told you better things before. Your favorite line used to be: dinner is ready!"

    "I like that one too, but it''s only second best after Bezel," he replied with a smile¡ªthough his smile had a bitter edge to it. "There is only one thing that concerns me about this name. I fear that I may not be able to live up to it in the future."

    "Really? Why is that?"

    Because nothing was real in this world, apart from Bezel. Because everyone was constantly returning to their previous selves, and it didn''t matter if he helped them or harmed them. Because he was alone, all alone, and he was losing sight of what he should be.

    "It''s just a . . . feeling," Bezel replied.

    "You gotta have more faith in yourself, young man!" Old Cook chided him. "You can achieve great things, even as a slave. You just need more confidence."

    Bezel sighed, then went to put more wood under the pot. "That was a really cheesy advice, old man."

    "Oh, what do you know about cheesiness!" Old Cook griped. "I am the one who''s been working with cheese all these years!"

    Bezel shook his head in amusement, then crouched down to ignite the fire. He sat down after he was done, watching Old Cook preparing the ingredients.

    "You know, Bezel," the old man spoke up after a while, "I''m curious too. If you had to give me a name, what would it be?"

    "Oh, that''s easy," Bezel answered proudly, "I think you know it already, Father."

 Episode 02

    "If you wish for an extra meal at dinner, tell Dunce the following sentence: ''The only part of your reflection that you can lick is your tongue.'' Then, just lean back and wait till he runs away to find a mirror. You can safely eat the meal he leaves behind; he won''t be returning anytime soon."

    ¡ª Life cheats for Shoes, from a mysterious fellow

    It was a free day for Bezel, but he decided to go to the Research Facility anyways. He felt a bit nostalgic about it, since he hadn''t worked with the other slaves for quite a while. This wasn''t actually what he had planned¡ªhe was deviating from the original timeline quite a bit¡ªbut he wasn''t too worried. Events at the Research Facility never affected what Miranda would do on the next day, and only that mattered.

    The slaves were carrying long wooden beams that Bezel remembered all too well. He was marching up the hill with two of the slaves; Dunce going first, Slug in the middle, and Bezel at the end. This meant that he bore most of the burden as they went upwards. And upwards they went! That damned Research Facility was way too high up on the mountain. The work didn''t tire him out¡ªeven though by all rights, it should have. Years of sitting in a small chamber and poring over books should have taken their toll on his body. Bezel supposed that without his power, he would have trouble holding this weight now.

    Bezel and the slaves got rid of their burden as soon as they arrived to the construction site. The forest around the Research Facility had been cleared out nicely, and a dozen or so houses were already standing. They hadn''t even finished working on them yet, but the professor had already ordered more homes to be built. He just kept spurting out newer and newer creatures.

    But, at least this day''s work wouldn''t be too difficult. Bezel and the slaves didn''t have to do anything with those wooden beams for the time being; now that the weather had cleared out, they could start painting those houses that were already standing. Bezel found it fortunate that the beginning of the time loop happened on a sunny day like this one; constant rain would have been maddening.

    "Why the hell did we need to bring those wooden beams, then?" Slug grumbled after Ormus explained the day''s tasks. Bezel, Slug and Dunce would be priming one of the house''s exterior, which would be then followed by white paint. The rest of the slaves were assigned to other houses.

    "Lad, be glad painting is all we gotta do," Dunce jostled Slug''s shoulder.

    "I''m just saying that this is stupid. Stupid like your face," Slug jostled Dunce back. "Stuff isn''t planned here properly. It''s stupid."

    "Ayy, lad, I think you just like to complain."

    "Nah, it''s just facts I''m sayin''. Right, Shoes? Help me out here a little."

    "I''m not Shoes," Bezel said. "I told you already, call me Bezel from now on."

    "No can do," Dunce said cheerfully. "Mistress called you Shoes, so Shoes you are. Better accept it, lad."

    Slug chuckled. "Not lad, Dunce. You mean, better to accept it, Shoes. Right?"

    "Hahaha, yes. Accept it, Shoes."

    Bezel began to regret this nostalgic afternoonhe had planned for himself. Dunce and Slug were about as smart as a sack of potatoes; it was a true wonder that ten years ago he had considered them as his friends. He must have had incredible patience back then. Patience, and smarts like a sack of potatoes.

    "Don''t freak out, but Professor Sylven''s experiments are watching us," Bezel decided to change topics when they began setting up their ladders. If he didn''t alert Dunce in time, the creatures would startle him so badly that he wouldn''t stop screaming for two minutes straight.

    "W-What?!" Dunce looked around frantically. "Where?"

    If Bezel had ever doubted that Dunce had bad eyesight, this now confirmed it. There was no way not to notice the blue-skinned figures watching them from behind the newly-raised fence.

    "What are they doing here?" Slug asked. "Did they sneak out?"

    "We-We have to report this!" Dunce exclaimed. "They could be dangerous!"

    "Calm down, Dunce. They are harmless." Bezel scaled the ladder and started to apply the primer. He had to hurry if he wanted to get some work done; in about an hour it would be impossible for him to work. "You can report it to Chief Ormus if you want, but he won''t be able to do anything. The professor will eventually notice they are gone and collect them, don''t worry."

    "Ah-uh. Okay," Dunce said, but didn''t move. "They are creepy."

    "What the hell are they anyways?" Slug asked as he got to work. "Why do we need to build homes for them?"

    Bezel was silent for a while, considering whether he should answer the question. Slug would cease to exist in one week; there was no real need to tell him anything. Still, it would be better to talk about this, than to listen to their inane jokes.

    "They are Krinils," he told them. "You know what Krinils are, right?"

    He could never be sure with this bunch.

    "Of course!" Dunce said, finally tearing his eyes away from the blue figures. "Krinils are fairies."

    "Nah, they are powerful beings from another world," Slug said, "They give power for Krinfused people."Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    "That''s what I said," Dunce grinned. "Fairies."

    Slug frowned. "In Old Cook''s tales, fairies aren''t¡ª"

    "You are right Slug," Bezel interrupted him before they could start arguing about something entirely different. "As I was saying, those blue figures over there are basically Krinils. So far, people only managed to trap them in gems, but Professor Sylven had a breakthrough and now he is able to give them humanoid bodies."

    Dunce nodded several times. "That''s a nice word. Humo-noid. Where did you learn such things, Shoes?"

    "Yeah, Shoes," Slug agreed. "You''ve always been a smarty-pants, but not this much, I think."

    Bezel sighed, then continued to work in silence. He knew these guys didn''t consider him a fun person to have a conversation with, but the feeling was mutual.

    "But why?" Slug abruptly asked, several minutes later. "Why did he give them bodies?"

    "It''s just the first step of his plan," Bezel said. "You heard that business isn''t going too well for House Dawngrove, right? Fewer and fewer Krinils become entrapped. Some say they are leaving this mountain."

    "I would leave too, if I was a fairy," Dunce remarked. "I wouldn''t enjoy getting trapped and put inside some fat noble''s body."

    "Yes, Dunce. So, this is only the first step. The professor gives them physical bodies. He lets them procreate¡ªthat is, he makes more of them. Then, he puts some of the new Krinils into the gems."

    "They can do that?" Slug asked dubiously.

    "Not yet, but that''s what Professor Sylven is working on. First however, he is trying to get them make babies."

    It was a mistake to word it like that, because Dunce immediately latched onto the topic and Slug joined him. They proceeded to annoy the hell out of Bezel, even though he did his best to ignore them. He didn''t know whether the Krinils were able to have sex like humans, and honestly, he didn''t even care. Those creatures had child-like bodies, and in their current state they were about as intelligent as a human baby. It felt wrong to talk about procreation when they were this young.

    Supposedly, the reason behind the Krinils'' condition was that their brain wasn''t developed enough. During one of his talks with Professor Sylven, Bezel had learned that the Professor is secretly working on improving their mind; he wanted to give the Krinils brains that were on par with human ones. Bezel liked that about Richard Sylven. His project started because House Dawngrove was desperate for an alternate source of Krinil-gems, but it wasn''t the money that motivated him. Richard Sylven lived for his research and strove to create something truly unique. He didn''t want his creations to be bred like animals. He didn''t want them to be harvested like crop. He wanted to make them sapient, capable of deciding their own fate.

    "Oh no," Dunce whined, huddling on top of his ladder and looking down sheepishly. "Lads, they are coming closer!"

    Bezel noted with a slight surprise that indeed, they were. It was earlier than he had expected; last time it took the Krinils more than an hour to gather their courage and approach them. He counted four of them, which was their usual number. Sometimes there were three, sometimes five, and he had no idea what induced these changes within the loop.

    The closest Krinil was one he recognized very well. Lynn was the bravest among the Krinils, a girl who looked like a six-year-old. Some of Professor Sylven''s creations appeared to be older, some a bit younger, but they were all very human-like. If this girl didn''t have dark blue skin and a pair horns protruding from behind her ears, she would have passed as a normal human child. Well, a human child with amber-colored eyes, pointed ears, and silvery hair.

    "Aaaah, it''s watching me!" Dunce cried.

    "Calm down, man," Slug chided Dunce. "Look how tiny it is. Won''t hurt you one bit."

    "But what if it''s poisonous?!"

    "They aren''t warbeasts," Bezel said. "I already told you what they are, Dunce. There''s no way they''re poisonous."

    "Y-Yeah? W-Well, they''re still creepy. Fairies aren''t supposed to walk these lands, I tell you! A-And stop being so calm, Shoes! The professor will have us punished if he thinks we stole his creatures!"

    In the original timeline, they were indeed punished¡ªOrmus whipped them personally¡ªbut for a different reason. If the Krinils weren''t distracted by Bezel, some of them would eventually gather around Dunce''s ladder. Dunce would then panic, pouring his whole bucket of paint on the poor creatures.

    "It''s¡ª It''s going for you, Shoes!"

    Dunce continued whining, but Bezel just tuned him out and watched Lynn from the corner of his eyes. The girl stumbled towards his ladder with uncertain steps, much like a toddler who had learned to walk only recently. The other three Krinils were peeking around the corner of the house, watching him and Lynn curiously. Lynn eventually reached his ladder, clutching it with her tiny hands. She lost her balance and bumped her head into the ladder, the end of her curved horns clanging against the metal.

    "Oii!" Dunce screamed. "It''s attacking you!"

    Bezel rolled his eyes, then started to climb down his ladder.

    "Continue on without me," he spoke to Dunce, "I''ll distract the Krinils and make sure they don''t hurt themselves."

    "Be careful, Shoes!" Dunce shouted. "Don''t let them touch¡ªoii!"

    As soon as Bezel was down the ladder, the little girl reached out and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. Bezel patted her head cautiously, and she looked up to him, shooting him a wide smile.

    "Gaaa," she gurgled.

    "Hello, Lynn," Bezel whispered as he took one of her hands into his, engulfing it completely. "Let''s go back to your brothers and sister, okay?"

    "Aaava-gaa!"

    "What is it saying?" Slug asked.

    "No idea," Bezel said. "Just like babies, they cannot speak properly."

    Making sure that Lynn could keep up, Bezel led her back to the other Krinils. They came forward one by one as they saw him approaching. Gonn was the tallest of the bunch, the top of his head reaching Bezel''s chest.

    "Oh, ooh, we are going to get into so much trouble because of this," Dunce whimpered.

    Slug let out a sharp laugh. "See who''s complaining now?"

    "I''m not complaining, this is¡ª"

    "You are!"

    "No! You''re the one who always complains!"

    Bezel left them to their usual argument and walked the Krinils back to the main building. The Krinils had a little garden there, presumably to acclimatize them to the weather. One of the balusters on the iron fence was bent out of shape however, giving Lynn and her siblings enough space to crawl out. Bezel didn''t try to usher them back the way they came, because he knew from experience that it was a futile effort. Instead, he stopped just outside the main entrance and waited for Professor Sylven or one of the caretakers to show up. He had tried alerting them in the past, but frustratingly they never opened the door for him, not even if the Krinils clung all over him like now. Mik was hugging his leg, while Pam was doing his best to climb up on his back. Bezel let them do so, because he had no idea what he''d do with them otherwise. At least they weren''t running away in different directions. That would have been a true nightmare.

    Bezel felt a tug on his right hand, and when he looked down Lynn held up a flower towards him. She held it clumsily¡ªsome of the petals were squashed¡ªbut the gesture was unmistakable. It made Bezel furrow his brow; this hadn''t happened before. If he remembered correctly, he had given Lynn a yellow flower once, but it had never been the other way around.

    "Thank you, Lynn," Bezzel smiled as he accepted the gift. "That''s a nice flower you found for me."

    "Naaz! Naaiz!" Lynn babbled. "Naiz, bevvel!"

    Bezel''s eyes widened. "Lynn? What did you say?"

    "Bevvel! Bev-bezze! Bezl!" She jumped up and down excitedly, waving her arms at him.

    It could have been just incoherent babbling, but to Bezel it sounded as if Lynn was trying to say his name. He found it cute, but it raised a serious question as well.

    How did Lynn know what Bezel''s name was?

 Episode 03

    "Sebas is colorblind. If you wear camouflage and move really slowly, he won''t see you sneaking into Mistress''s kitchen. Probably. (This needs to be tested.) (Next-loop-Shoes, please test this.) ...did anyone try this trick? (Still not?) Guys, I don''t think this works."

    ¡ª Exploiting the time loop, written by Shoes

    The day Miranda would leave the mansion had finally arrived¡ªthe interesting part of the loop would come after she was gone. Bezel adjusted the fake slave cuffs on his wrists. Shoes never managed to get inside Miranda''s quarters, and by the tenth failure Bezel had to conclude that there was some kind of alarm system installed there. Much like with the outer walls of the estate, none of the slaves could cross undetected.

    This was the sole reason Bezel decided to participate in this loop. Infiltrating Miranda''s private rooms was dangerous and something he had never attempted, but he was running out of options.

    The main hindrance was Miranda herself. Bezel was confident that he could deal with any guard on his own¡ªespecially if he caught them unawares¡ªbut he had no idea how powerful Miranda was. He had never seen her fight, but she was supposed to be insanely strong.

    Bezel made his way to Miranda''s display of footwear, trying to find the black shoe she would want to wear. He considered skipping this encounter, but the truth was that he needed this as a cover for avoiding work this day. The servant would question him, then notify Chief Ormus. That was the key here. If the servant didn''t do that, Ormus would send someone to find him, which would cause all kinds of headaches later on. Perhaps he could have just left Shoes alive so that he didn''t need to bother, but . . . that would have made things too unpredictable. If someone realized that Shoes had a twin, the changes that rippled out from that discovery could potentially blow his whole mission. All things considered, Bezel believed that he had the best chances if he followed this string of actions.

    There was just one itsy-bitsy complication with that.

    Bezel cursed inwardly as he held the shoes with the long ribbons in his hands. They looked much more complicated than he remembered. Had those ribbons been always attached to the shoes that way? How the hell would he tie them around Miranda''s leg?

    ¡°Ah, Shoes, is it?¡±

    A voice startled Bezel, and he looked back to find the servant standing behind him.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°Perfect, perfect!¡± the man said. ¡°Don¡¯t go anywhere, Lady Dawngrove will be here soon. She is leaving.¡±

    ¡°But sir! Chief Ormus will punish me if I don¡¯t show up in time for work,¡± Bezel protested. ¡°We have important work to do at the Research Facility today.¡±

    The servant raised an eyebrow. ¡°The Research Facility? Professor Sylven rarely tolerates your kind there.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right, sir, but this is an exception. We are building new homes for Professor Sylven¡¯s newest experiments.¡±

    ¡°I didn''t know about that one,¡± the servant said, looking thoughtful. ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll tell Chief Ormus that you¡¯ll be late.¡±

    "Thank you, sir," Bezel told him, but he was already gone.

    Back to the shoes, then. Bezel spent several excruciating moments staring at the black ribbons, trying to remember how to tie them. Goddamned fashion. He debated ditching his whole plan and getting the hell out of there, but there were two guards and a slave who overheard the previous discussion. It would appear strange if he just turned and walked away now.

    In the end, he settled for another pair of shoes; black and formal like the other, but without the ribbons. He barely had time to kneel down before Miranda and her retinue approached. The slave¡ªnamed Fatty, if Bezel remembered correctly¡ªscrambled to get on his knees as well, trembling in fear. Bezel tried to act as if he was in awe, but truth be told, he wasn''t a good actor. He just hoped that Miranda wouldn''t pay too much attention to him; she was busy arguing with her butler, after all.

    Miranda came down the stairs in the company of her butler and two of her maids. Bezel had always wondered if the two maids were actually twins. Matching clothes and names aside, their cute faces and well-rounded bodies looked very similar. Compared to the two of them, Miranda was flat like a board. Bezel supposed that she tried to compensate her lack of curves with expensive clothes and tons of makeup, but in his opinion she didn''t really succeed. Miranda''s face would have been passable if she went with a natural look, but she wore her makeup like a mask instead.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to repeat myself, Sebas,¡± Miranda whined, ¡°I¡¯ll bring Vince, but Grom and you definitely need to stay here. This yearly council is a farce. I¡¯m not going to bring my whole retinue when they have better things to do!¡±

    ¡°This farce, my Lady, is the annual gathering of Ylvasil¡¯s leading Houses. I cannot stress enough how important¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes, whatever. I¡¯m not going to¡ªoh, Shoes, very good. Follow me.¡±

    Miranda walked to the display of footwear at the side of the foyer, and Bezel hurried after her.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°Something formal that matches my dress,¡± Miranda murmured to herself.

    ¡°Mistress, would this be to your liking?¡± Bezel asked, presenting the pair of shoes he had chosen. His voice wasn''t shaking, but he made his hands tremble a bit.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Miranda regarded the pair of black shoes. ¡°Yes, this looks good. Taking some initiative now, Shoes? How very bold."

    "I-I just had a feeling that you''d like this, Mir¡ª Mistress."

    Damn. Had Miranda ever remarked on him taking the initiative? Bezel didn''t think so.

    ¡°At least your fashion sense is improving,¡± Miranda complimented him as she sat down on a cushioned chair. ¡°Alright, get on with it.¡±

    Bezel was genuinely relieved when he got down to his knees to put Miranda''s shoes on. Bullet dodged! He didn''t know what he would have done if she had told him to bring the shoes with the ribbons instead.

    He started with Miranda''s right foot, slipping off her indoors shoe. He marveled at how ugly her pedicure was. Good thing that the shoe she was going to wear didn''t have an open front. Miranda commented on Shoes''s improving fashion sense, but in Bezel''s opinion it was she herself who needed to improve. Either that, or fashion these days was just plain stupid.

    Bezel caught movement from the corner of his eyes, and glanced up to see the two maids staggering backwards. Sebas appeared to be swaying slightly too, which made Bezel realize that something must be terribly wrong. Miranda and Sebas weren''t arguing¡ªin fact, silence ruled the foyer.

    "M-Mistress?" he asked, trying to sound afraid. "D-Did I do s-something?"

    A guttural noise broke the ominous silence, and Bezel turned his head to see Fatty crawling away in terror, a spreading wet patch staining his trousers.

    "Do something?" Miranda asked, her voice sharp as a knife. "You did nothing, Shoes. Nothing. That''s the problem, isn''t it?"

    Bezel raised his head slowly, taking in the cold smile Miranda was regarding him with.

    "When I push my aura out this much, ordinary slaves would either turn into a puddle of lust or become catatonic with fear. So tell me, my dear Shoes; why are you still coherent?"

    Damn.

    In hindsight, he should have paid more attention. Miranda must have amplified her aura just to test his reaction. Quite clever of her . . . or maybe it was just him who was being stupid, thinking that he could deceive Miranda with a half-hearted performance. He opened his mouth to speak, but Miranda held up a finger before he could have said anything.

    "Be mindful what you say next," she cautioned him on a frosty tone. "Your life depends on it."

    "Alright," he replied, then cleared his throat. "I just wanted to tell you that I''m sorry about what''s going to happen next."

    Miranda''s eyes went wide, but she was too slow to react. Bezel''s hand tightened around her ankle, then with a powerful jerk he flung Miranda over his shoulder as if she weighted nothing. The Lady of House Dawngrove sailed through the air, smashing into the wall on the other side of the foyer. Bezel rolled to his feet at the same time, heading for the stairs before the guards could react.

    "How dare you!" Miranda shrieked, springing to her feet as Bezel started to scale the steps. "Guards!"

    The guards were still reeling from her aura, but Miranda didn''t need them anyways. Her powerfield materialized around her as a second layer of skin; semi-transparent, crimson-colored, and bubbling like boiling water. With a single jump she closed the distance to the bottom of the stairs, destroying the railing as she landed.

    "You''re dead, slave!"

    Miranda continued shrieking but Bezel tuned her out as he sprinted down the corridor. He smashed through the great hall''s double doors¡ªripping them off their hinges¡ªand arrived to the gallery. There were people down in the hall, but nobody up in the gallery. He ran towards the stone railing and jumped over it, dropping down to the ground floor. As he landed in a crouch, everyone ran or stumbled away in panic¡ªthough on a second thought, perhaps it wasn''t Bezel they were running from. He was only halfway through the hall when the stone balcony behind him exploded, and Miranda passed over his head with an impossibly long jump. She landed in front of him, skidding on the marble floor. Bezel took this opportunity to do an about-turn, sprinting back for the main entrance.

    "Stop him!" Miranda shouted at the guards in the doorway. There were three of them, two being on their usual guard-duty while the third was there just to make Bezel''s day more difficult.

    The third guard reacted first, a wispy green aura springing into life around him. Bezel increased his pace as he saw the guard reaching for his sword, and barreled into him before he could draw it. The man''s aura didn''t help him one bit as Bezel ran him over without even slowing down.

    The other two guards were holding pistols and stepping away from each other. A clever move from them; if Bezel wasted time by taking care of them both, Miranda would be able to catch up. They fixed their weapons on Bezel¡ªnormal ones fortunately, not Krinhanced guns¡ªand fired. Bezel lowered his head as he ran, the bullets stinging his scalp and his shoulders. A moment later he reached the exit, none worse for wear. One of the guards lunged in a futile attempt to tackle him, but Bezel just grabbed him with one hand and tossed him at the other guard. Once he was outside of the hall, he took a sharp turn to the right and headed for the servants'' corridors. His plan was to shake Miranda off in a place he was more familiar with, like the servants'' quarters.

    A quick glance backwards almost made him jump out of his skin. Miranda had used her powerfield to grow extra limbs¡ªarms with sharp claws that dug into the stone and propelled her forward. Bezel couldn''t keep moving straight ahead, because Miranda would catch him in no time. At the next opportunity he took another sharp turn to the right, but it wasn''t enough to outmaneuver Miranda. Her crimson claws grabbed the corner of the walls, and she actually gained on him as she took the turn. She shot forward with a powerful lunge, but Bezel evaded it by rolling under her in the opposite direction. Miranda flew down the corridor, stopping her momentum by raking her claws alongside the walls.

    "Damn you, bastard!" Miranda raged as she turned around. "Once I get you, you''ll pay for¡ª What are you doing?!"

    Miranda looked at Bezel in bewilderment as he stood in the middle of the corridor, raising his arms above his head. He knew that there was no point for him to run anywhere¡ªhe couldn''t outpace Miranda¡ªso he decided to change tactics. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but the more he thought about it, the better he liked his new plan.

    "I surrender," he calmly said.

    Miranda closed the distance in a flash, reaching up with a powerfield-covered hand to close it around his throat.

    "If you think I''ll let you live," she hissed, "You''re greatly mistaken."

    Bezel didn''t think Miranda could crush his throat that easily, but he didn''t want to find out. He craned his neck so he could move his jaw to answer. "You can''t kill me. I have information."

    Miranda drew her mouth to a thin line, her eyes meeting his with a piercing glare. "By the time my torturers got every morsel of information out of you, you''ll wish that I have killed you here."

    "Oh, there''s no need for torture," Bezel croaked around her vice-like grip. "I''ll tell you everything freely. Just let me warn you that you won''t like it." He gave Miranda his best mocking smile. "You won''t like it at all."

 Episode 04

    "Listen to me, son. Read my following words very carefully, because the world is facing a great peril, and only you''re able to stop it. But fear not! For I know that you can rise to the challenge. You may not yet know it, but you''re special. You''re my son, after all."

    ¡ª From the last will of Boots, father of Shoes

    Miranda paced nervously in the small storage room. The lack of space annoyed her, but that couldn''t be helped now; she had chosen this room because it was close to the dungeons where the slave was kept. She needed to consult with Sebas, and she didn''t want to waste the time going back to her quarters.

    "With all due respect, my lady," Sebas said, "I don''t even understand why you consider the prisoner''s words to be true. The man is obviously mad."

    Miranda grimaced. "If it was possible, you wouldn''t know about it, Sebas. If everything resets the way it was..."

    Normally, Miranda would have dismissed the slave''s words as ravings. The only reason she didn''t was the legends¡ªthose ancient tales about House Dawngrove were her favorites as a little girl. Tales about the Titan who protected House Dawngrove when it was on the verge of collapse. The Titan had prevailed against all odds, defying all enemies and even time itself. Miranda had always thought it was just a flight of fancy, but now she became uncertain. House Dawngrove was on a downwards slope at the moment, and only a miracle would help them climb back to the top.

    Of course, the slave could have learned about those legends. Miranda knew them only thanks to her grandmother, but there could be records somewhere. Perhaps the slave was just trying to confuse her by making up a story like that.

    "My lady, there is a much simpler explanation," Sebas said. "The man must have been spying on us for a long time. Everything he said indicates that he knows very well¡ª"

    "No, Sebas," Miranda interrupted him, "Alright, he can be a spy, I''m not arguing on that point. But he also seems to be . . . different. I remember what Shoes was like when I gave him his name. This man is nothing like him."

    "He could have been acting, my lady."

    "Oh? Then why didn''t he bother acting this morning? Why did he ruin his cover now?" Miranda stopped pacing and looked at Sebas. "No, I remember his features, and I see the differences. I do believe that our prisoner is an older Shoes."

    "My lady," Sebas tried again, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice, "Please try to be rational. You can''t just¡ª"

    "Enough," Miranda snapped. "I''m not saying I believe everything he says. I''m not a fool, Sebas. But I do know that there''s something strange happening here . . . so I''m going to seek out my ancestors'' memories now."

    Sebas bowed his head. "That is a good idea, my lady."

    Miranda sat down on a large wooden chest, and closed her eyes. She fidgeted a little, cursing Sebas inwardly for not offering her to bring something more comfortable to sit on. She had been already annoyed because of that slave, the man''s mocking smirk etched into her mind. It took Miranda several minutes to calm down enough to focus.

    Show me a memory about time travel, she thought to her Krinil. Miranda kept concentrating on the ruby within her body, keeping her head clear. She repeated her request over and over to no avail. The Titan who defied time, Miranda tried next. For long moments nothing happened, before a memory abruptly invaded her mind.

    <blockquote>

    Miranda was elated. She sat comfortably on a big chair¡ªno, the chair wasn''t even big. Her legs were just too short. Grandmother sat on the other seat, knitting. The fireplace provided ample warmth and light, turning the room nice and cozy. With rapt attention, Miranda listened to Grandmother''s tale about a heroine who stood up against the Evil Houses. The Titan. The Savior. She hadn''t heard this version of the tale before, so she was really captivated.

    Grandmother''s exact words were blurred, but Miranda remembered the awe and wonder she had felt. She wanted to be like the Titan. She wanted to¡ª

    </blockquote>

    Miranda wrenched herself out of the memory, panting slightly from the exertion. Stupid Krinil. Why was it showing something that she herself fed to it?! She didn''t need to see things she already knew!

    Taking deep breaths, Miranda tried to calm herself. It took her an even longer time to clear her head this time. She decided to change tactics. If none of her ancestors had any strong feelings towards time travel, then she just needed to focus on something else that the slave had said. The Krinil Sculptures, Miranda thought. This time she didn''t have to wait too long before a memory hit her.

    <blockquote>

    Catillus Dawngrove was drenched in sweat, his entire body shaking. He was terrified. Only six of his most loyal guards remained as they barricaded themselves in the Chamber of Ancestors. The mansion was burning, so even if they were able to fight off the rebelling slaves, they couldn''t stay here.

    Catillus didn''t want to die. He was afraid of dying, but more importantly, he was afraid what would happen to House Dawngrove if he died here. Yes, he needed to live. He was a coward, but he would rather be a coward than a dead man.

    Holding the Krinil Sculptures with shaking hands, he approached the altar. He placed the sculptures cautiously into their slots, one into each corner. The sculptures'' pitch black surface reflected the flickering torchlight, giving the vaguely human shapes an otherworldly feel. Suddenly the sculptures lit up with an inner glow, and the altar slid backwards on the floor. Beneath it a second chamber was revealed, identical to the one Catillus was in.

    The true Chamber of Ancestors.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    A loud boom shook the barricaded door, and Catillus cried out in fright. He ordered four of his men to hold the slaves back as long as they could, then gathered the Krinil Sculptures and jumped down to the chamber below. When the altar began to close above him, he shuddered. He could only hope that none of the slaves would realize where this escape route led. He would be still too close to the mansion for comfort.

    </blockquote>

    Miranda jerked as she resurfaced from the memory, but didn''t open her eyes. Not yet. This newest revelation was interesting, but it wasn''t something she needed now. She had no use of escape routes out of her mansion. As long as she had her Krinil, there was nothing she would run away from.

    What Miranda needed to figure out was whether the sculptures were related to time travel or not. She needed an older memory, one where her ancestors still knew what the sculptures were good for . . . aside from opening up secret passages. Miranda had a feeling that they had a higher purpose.

    Memories from the distant past came scarcely, but Miranda hoped that she would get lucky this time. Maybe her Krinil would be able to sense her need and help her out. She cleared her mind from unnecessary thoughts and emotions, then tried again.

    <blockquote>

    ''One more thing,'' Clementine Dawngrove said. She reached out and took Gregor''s hand in hers. For a moment she paused, simply enjoying the feel of his calloused hand against her skin. She then took a nervous breath, and pushed the bag containing the Krinil Sculptures into Gregor''s hand.

    ''I want you to keep them safe for me,'' Clementine said, her voice frail. ''In case I don''t make it.''

    Clementine didn''t need to add the obvious, that it was very likely she wouldn''t return.

    Strangely, she wasn''t afraid. The only thing she felt was the choking sadness within her chest. A terrible sense off loss, tinged with regret. As she looked into Gregor''s eyes, they both knew it was the last time they saw each other.

    ''I''ll guard them with my life, my lady,'' Gregor said solemnly.

    ''Good,'' Clementine replied. ''Know that they are essential for the existence of our House. The future of House Dawngrove rests upon your shoulders, Gregor. Take the sculptures back to the mansion at all costs. Do not fail me.''

    Gregor bowed his head. ''I won''t, my lady.''

    Clementine was doing her best not to cry. She needed to remain composed. She wanted to hug Gregor so badly, but she knew that if she did she wouldn''t be able to stop at a simple hug, and then she would never be able to let him go, and she couldn''t do that because she needed to¡ªshe needed to¡ª

    ''Farewell, Gregor,'' Clementine said, voice cracking.

    ''Farewell, my lady.''

    </blockquote>

    Miranda fell forward as the vision ended, but Sebas steadied her. The emotions from the memories always lingered for a bit, but this one was a particularly strong one. Clementine had probably stored the memory right after that scene. Miranda breathed out slowly, then took the handkerchief Sebas offered and wiped off the tears on her cheeks. It ruined her makeup completely, but she didn''t care at the moment.

    "Dear God," Miranda whispered, burying her face in her hands. "We never should have sold the last sculpture."

    "The memories are still influencing your emotions," Sebas cautioned her on a gentle tone. "My lady, you''re not at fault. The sculpture didn''t have any practical applications, and the Church paid well. It was a necessary sacrifice to pay off your mother''s debts. You shouldn''t feel¡ª"

    "We shouldn''t have sold it!" Miranda shouted. Sebas met her fury with a calm and level stare. Damn him. Always on the verge of impudence, thinking that he knew better than her just because she was young.

    "May I ask why?" Sebas inquired after a brief pause.

    Miranda deflated a little. "That . . . I''m not exactly sure about, yet. I''ll try to get more information out of my gem later. I just know the sculptures are important."

    Truthfully, Miranda didn''t have much hope that she would get much more information. It seemed like no one had strong emotions towards the Krinil Sculptures; with no strong feelings attached, Miranda''s predecessors wouldn''t have been able to store memories about them. Which was, all in all, truly baffling. Surely, the first Dawngroves had known the importance of the Krinil Sculptures . . . so why couldn''t Miranda find any mention of them? Had it been so long into the past that the visions had faded? Why hadn''t her ancestors made sure to keep those memories alive?

    Miranda didn''t know the answers, but she knew that she couldn''t dawdle here all day. She needed to act.

    "Alright, here is what we are going to do," she said as began pacing in the room once more. "I''m not going to attend the meeting of the Houses. Don''t make that face Sebas, I won''t change my mind. Send Vince and Grom as my representatives."

    "My lady, that''s¡ª"

    "Not another word about it, Sebas. That meeting is the least of my worries, and I couldn''t care less what happens there. Actually, you know what? Send my brother too. I believe he will jump on this opportunity, but just in case he doesn''t, tell him that this is an order."

    "Understood, my lady."

    "Next, look up our records and find who purchased the other three Krinil Sculptures from us. If I remember correctly, my mother sold one to the Scientific Union¡ªthat''s how she got Professor Sylven to move here. I have no idea about the rest."

    "I''ll look into it personally, my lady."

    "Good. Now, as for the slave..."

    That was something Miranda wasn''t sure about. The man had stated clearly that he was after the Krinil Sculptures, so their goals aligned somewhat. The problem began with this alleged time travel. Miranda could use this man to gather the sculptures for her, but if he was really able to go back in time, then all of this would be naught. It would be he who used her, and that was unacceptable.

    Miranda stopped pacing and looked at Sebas defiantly. "I''ll question him further about this time travel."

    "As you wish, my lady," Sebas said with a sigh. Miranda''s eyebrows twitched with irritation, but she held her temper.

    "That would be all, Sebas," Miranda said, then changed her mind. "Just one more thing. Send someone to fix my makeup. I''ll be waiting in this room."

    Sebas nodded, but hesitated to leave. Miranda knew he was trying to find the right words to dissuade her from listening to their prisoner, but she would have none of it.

    "Listen, Sebas, I know you are worried that the slave¡ª"

    "It''s not about that, my lady," Sebas said quickly, then bowed his head. "I apologize for interrupting."

    Miranda frowned. "Then what is it?"

    Sebas cleared his throat awkwardly. "My lady, what would you have me do about the damages?"

    "What damages?"

    "The stairs in the foyer and the stone railing at the gallery are partially destroyed, my lady. Some of the carpets along the corridors are thorn to sheds, the walls suffered numerous deep slashes, and the marble floor in the great hall is also severely damaged."

    "Oh, those damages!" Miranda said, cringing inwardly. "Khmm, yes, well... First of all, what about the double doors, Sebas? The ones that the slave ripped off their hinges?"

    "I''m pleased to report, my lady, that the doors have been already fixed. They didn''t receive any serious damage."

    Miranda tried her best not to pout. "What about the bullets? The ones that bounced off the slave''s head?"

    "They indeed caused some minor damage on the walls and the floor, my lady. The slashes however¡ª"

    "Fine, fine!" Miranda threw up her hands. "I assume we don''t have enough funds for the materials required for the repairs?"

    "It depends on your decision, my lady," Sebas said. "We can afford it, but we''re already in a financially tight spot. Fixing the stone railing and the marble floor would be especially costly."

    "Ugh," Miranda groaned, rubbing her temples. "Fine, fix the walls, but leave the railing. We''ll close off the gallery for now. About the marble floor . . . can''t you just hide it under a carpet or something?"

    Sebas sighed softly. "I''ll try, my lady. I''ll try."

 Episode 05

    "Listen to me, son. I''m awfully sorry that this is how you has to learn this, but you have a twin brother. If you haven''t met him yet, you will. He and I have been hiding down here all this time, avoiding Mistress Miranda''s watchful eyes. Now, the important thing is this: I want you to listen to everything your brother tells you, no matter how stupid it sounds."

    ¡ª From the last will of Gloves, father of Shoes

    "Greetings, my lady," Bart spoke from within his cell, but Miranda ignored him. As she walked past the prisoner she wondered why he still hadn''t given up on his loyal counselor act. It had already been two months since Bart was imprisoned, but in spite of the horrendous proofs, he kept denying his crimes.

    Miranda strode down the row of cells¡ªalmost all of them empty¡ªas three guards followed her in silence. Sebas had insisted that they accompany her, in spite of the fact that the slave was chained down securely in the interrogation room. Miranda hadn''t argued, though it annoyed her how overly cautious Sebas was. Not even a Krinfused would be strong enough to break free of those chains, and the slave didn''t have any weapon that could hurt her. There was practically nothing he could do.

    "You two, keep a watch outside," Miranda said, then pointed at the third one. "You''re coming in with me."

    Not waiting for their answer, Miranda pushed open the interrogation room''s door. It was a simple chamber without any furniture, just some chains attached to the wall on one side, and a few tools for interrogation on the other. The slave was sitting in one corner, giving Miranda a friendly wave¡ªa wave? Miranda stared wide-eyed at the remains of the shackles on the floor, while the large man stood up slowly and stretched.

    "Guards!" Miranda shrieked, not for the first time today.

    The guards crowded into the room, raising their Krinhanced guns. Miranda grabbed her surprise and shock, and fed them to her Krinil. A sizzling yellow powerfield sprang up around her head and torso, covering her vitals.

    "Woah, Lady Dawngrove, please calm down!" the slave said, holding up his hands. "I''m not trying to escape!"

    "Not very convincing with those broken chains," Miranda hissed, concentrating on strengthening her powerfield. She took all the irritation she felt towards this cocky man, and pushed them into her gem as well. Her powerfield''s color began to turn orange, its surface rippling softly. She didn''t have any weapon on her, though it wouldn''t have helped much in these close quarters anyways.

    "Well, you left me here for a long time," the slave replied. "I needed to take a piss, but no one was around to help me out. What would you have had me done, piss my pants?"

    With a wordless cry Miranda lunged towards the slave. The man jolted in surprise, but caught Miranda''s right wrist just before she could have hit him. Miranda shouted in fury, subconsciously channeling her rage into her gem and strengthening her powerfield. She swung her left arm¡ªattempting to punch the man in the stomach¡ªbut he blocked that move as well.

    "No, no, none of that this time, please. Let''s not wreck this place, shall we? We could¡ª hey, stop with the extra limbs!"

    Miranda formed additional arms, each of them ending in sharp claws. She was aware that the emotional effect of her Krinil sent her guards staggering backwards, but she couldn''t hold back now. This man was dangerous, and she had to stop him.

    "What has gotten into you, woman?! I just want to¡ª ouch! I just want to talk!"

    Phantom claws tore at the slave''s arms while Miranda did her best to twist her arms free. The slave had an iron grip, though; no matter how much she strengthened her powerfield around her hands, she wasn''t able to get away. She began to realize that it was a mistake to take this man head-on without any weapon. She should have just ordered the guards to shoot him with their Krinhanced guns.

    "Okay, that''s enough," the slave said as Miranda tried to kick his groin. He twisted his leg to block her kick, then yanked her downwards by her arms to knee her in the chest. The impact was enormous; even with her body strengthened by her Krinil, Miranda felt her ribs crack. Her bones reformed a second later, but the slave didn''t give Miranda much more time to recover, tossing her towards the other end of the room.

    The guards dodged Miranda as she was slammed into the collection of tools, hitting the wall hard. Her cry of pain was drowned out by the guards'' gunfire. Her vision was swimming and her head was throbbing, but she did her best to focus on her powerfield. She tried to remember fighting her older brother, many years ago. She had used that memory a couple of times before¡ªit was considerably faded by now¡ªbut it would have to suffice. Fighting Bennet had felt very similar to this situation. Miranda had been furious, but also afraid of being outmatched. She immersed herself in the memory, mixed it with her current feelings, and amplified her powerfield as much as she could.

    "God damn it, now I''ll definitely have to change clothes," Miranda heard the slave''s voice as the gunfire stopped. "Lady Dawngrove, I tried not to kill your guards, but I think that bearded one¡ª"

    Miranda chose that moment to spring to her feet and tackle the large man. The slave was almost a head taller than her and was incredibly strong, but if he lost his footing, Miranda could¡ª

    "Oof!" Miranda gasped as a large fist found its way to her stomach. Her claws tore at the slave''s arms and chest, but it wasn''t enough to stop him. He grabbed one of Miranda''s phantom limbs, then flung her against the wall with contemptuous ease. Miranda groaned at the impact and lashed out with her right arm blindly. The slave grabbed her arm once again, and the next thing Miranda knew was that she was flying towards the ceiling. Her head impacted with the stone ceiling with a loud crack, making her almost black out. Her regeneration saved her, but the fight wasn''t over. As she fell down the slave plucked her out of the air by her leg, then smashed her against the wall so hard that she made a dent. Miranda fell to all fours, coughing and groaning in pain as she tried to get her bearings.

    "I thought you''d be tougher," the slave said conversationally. "Everybody was saying how powerful you are, so I always tried to be so cautious. I guess I worried for nothing."

    Miranda''s powerfield was fading, so she channeled her newfound hatred into her gem to strengthen it. She was glad that idiot stopped to talk, because she needed time to sharpen her powerfield around her fingers.

    "To be honest," the slave continued, "I don''t think I would be able to really hurt you while you have that powerfield up. You heal faster than I can break your bones. So yeah, you are strong. But . . . I dunno. I guess I''m just disappointed because you didn''t put up much of a fight."The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Damn . . . you," Miranda muttered. "Talking to me like¡ª"

    "Hmm? Sorry I didn''t catch that."

    "Just who do you think you are?!" Miranda shrieked, jumping up and swiping her sharpened claws at the slave. The man leaned back just in time to avoid the claws going for his eyes, but Miranda''s other hand raked across his chest, leaving four deep gashes on his torso.

    Miranda grinned viciously as the large man gasped in pain, but her joy was short-lived. The slave moved lightning fast, grabbing her head with one hand. Miranda was once again too slow to react as the man bashed her head once, twice, three times to the wall behind her. She screamed in agony, clinging to her powerfield desperately.

    When the slave released her, she barely managed to stay upright. She watched with dazed eyes as the slave stepped backwards, ripping off the remnants of his blood-soaked shirt. His wounds had already closed up, way faster than they had any right to.

    "Not bad," the slave said, looking down at his healed chest. "I haven''t been this injured in a long while."

    Miranda was failing to keep her powerfield up. Her anger was mixing with shock and fear. The slave didn''t even manifest any powerfield, yet he had superior strength and regeneration. There was no way she could beat him like this. Not without any weapons.

    "J-Just who the hell are you?" Miranda asked as she sank to her knees. Her powerfield evaporated, but she kept an eye on the slave. She hadn''t given up, not yet. She should be able to bring up a quick barrier if necessary. She wouldn''t go out without fighting to the bitter end.

    The slave, however, didn''t attack. He just walked leisurely to the other side of the room and crouched down beside one of the guards.

    "Mind if I take his shirt?" he asked, ignoring Miranda''s question. "I''m sorry that I killed him, it wasn''t my intention. To be fair though, I think you killed the other two. Your aura gave them a heart-attack."

    Miranda glanced at the guards lying by the entrance with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She got some of her men pointlessly killed again¡ªhowever, she couldn''t allow herself to be distracted by that now. She tried to put aside her guilt, fixing the slave with an icy glare. The man ignored it, busying himself with unbuttoning the guard''s shirt.

    "To answer your earlier question, you can call me Bezel. I think I''ve already told you that."

    "I didn''t ask for your name, slave. I asked what you are. Are you Krinfused? Why didn''t you use your powerfield? How can you be that strong?!"

    The man didn''t reply immediately, opting to sit down on the floor and put on his new shirt. It was awfully small for him, the thin material stretched tight on his hairy chest.

    "Names are important too," the slave finally answered. "But no, I''m not Krinfused. Not like you. I guess I just drank too much milk for breakfast, that''s why I''m so strong."

    Miranda gritted her teeth. The slave was denying it, but he had to be Krinfused with a powerful Krinil. Maybe he didn''t manifest his aura because the emotional effect would kill everyone around him. The question was how Shoes¡ªa bumbling, dimwit slave¡ªcould have gained such a power. Did it have anything to do with time travel? Miranda was determined to find that out, but it could wait till later.

    "Fine, don''t tell me," she said. "So now what? Will you just walk out through the front door, beating up everyone who tries to stop you? What''s your plan, slave?"

    There was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "First of all, stop calling me slave. I am no more a slave than you are. My name is Bezel, and¡ª"

    Miranda interrupted him with a snort. "You don''t have any right to tell me how to call you. Not when you aren''t addressing me properly either. It''s Mistress for you, slave."

    Miranda sprang to her feet as Bezel stood up abruptly. He took a few steps forward, towering above her. She raised her chin to look squarely in his dark brown eyes, even though deep inside she felt more than a little afraid. If he wanted to hurt her now, she wouldn''t be able to summon her powerfield in time.

    "I was trying to treat us as equals," he said on a low, menacing tone. "Which is more than you actually deserve. From my perspective, I am the only person who is real. You are the slave here, Lady Dawngrove. The slave of time. Your life means nothing to me. Nothing. Don''t make me warn you twice."

    Miranda narrowed her eyes. A musclehead like him would not tell her what to do. She wasn''t intimidated by Bezel''s little speech¡ªin fact, it just filled her with newfound defiance.

    "I do what I want, slave."

    Bezel''s expression tightened, but Miranda didn''t flinch. Not even when she saw his hands closing into fists. She straightened her back, and got ready to dodge his imminent punch.

    But then Bezel just sighed and shook his head.

    "This is going nowhere. I won''t achieve anything by threatening you, will I?" He stepped back, looking at Miranda thoughtfully. "I have to find another way to get back at you, Mira."

    Miranda was speechless for a second.

    "Listen to me, slave," Miranda spoke, barely containing her outrage. "No one is giving me nicknames. Not even my parents¡ª"

    "Too late, Mira."

    Miranda pushed her emotions into her gemstone without even thinking. The bubbling red powerfield around her skin was as strong as ever, and she lunged at the insolent slave¡ªwho then grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up the floor.

    "Oh please, not again," Bezel said, rolling his eyes. "You have some serious anger-management issues, woman."

    "Damn¡ªyou¡ª" Miranda tried to punch his face, but her arms were shorter than his and she couldn''t quite reach him.

    "Look, I think we got sidetracked," Bezel said, shaking Miranda left and right as she tried to conjure additional limbs. "Didn''t you want to talk with me?"

    He was right¡ªMiranda had forgotten her original reason for coming here. The slave was right¡ªwhich angered Miranda even more. There was no way she could stop now, not when he was wearing that smug little smile and she was unable to land a single punch. She began pummeling his arm, but his grip didn''t soften.

    "Ugh, fine," Bezel suddenly said, letting Miranda go. The next second Miranda was already upon him, striking him with a phantom fist straight in the nose. The rest of her arms followed, punching him repeatedly and pummeling him into the wall.

    When Miranda ran out of steam and stopped her assault, Bezel looked up warily. His face was in perfect shape of course, though the same couldn''t be said about the wall behind him.

    "Are you done now, Mi¡ª"

    Miranda punched him in the face one more time, then dismissed her powerfield.

    "Alright, we can talk."

    Bezel spat blood to the floor and grinned. "Thanks. How kind of you, Mira."

    Miranda closed her eyes for a moment, reining in her temper. She had to let all these insults go if she wanted to use this man. Yes, that was her intention originally. She shouldn''t have forgotten it in the first place. She would find out more about the time travel, and use this dimwit to gather the Krinil Sculptures. The fact that he was so damn strong was actually a good thing here.

    "I decided to help you collect the Krinil Sculptures," Miranda said. "But only with one condition."

    "I''m listening."

    "I''ll help you only if you show me how to travel back in time."

    "Oh, really?" Bezel said, raising an eyebrow. "So now you suddenly believe me? All I had to do is to fight you?"

    "Of course not," Miranda spat. "I don''t believe you. Not fully. But if you bring me back in time, I guess I''ll have to accept what you say."

    Bezel looked away for a moment, thinking.

    "Listen to me, slave," Miranda continued speaking. "I don''t know what you think of me, but I''m not an idiot. There is no way I''d help you if time travel was real. There would be no point, because after I gave you the information, you would just go back in time and deny me any benefits. So be assured that no matter what you do, no matter how many times you go back and try to convince me to help, I won''t lift a single finger for you. Not unless I can come with you."

    "Maybe I''ll just go back and avoid mentioning that I come from the future."

    "That won''t work," Miranda said, and now it was her turn to look smug. "The only reason we''re talking is because of the possibility of the time travel."

    "Figures," Bezel said with a frown. "Well, I have no idea if that''s the truth . . . but I guess it doesn''t matter. Spending several hours chained up and fighting you till you calm down isn''t something I''d want to do every loop."

    "Loop?" Miranda asked, confused.

    "Yeah," Bezel said, walking out of the room. "Come, I''ll explain it on our way to the chamber. I call it the Static Chamber."

    "The Static¡ª Hey, you don''t get to order me around! Stop, slave! I said stop!"

 Episode 06

    "Number 7:

    Tired of stealing stuff from around the mansion and hoarding it in your small chamber until you manage to sell them? Well, future-Bezel, don''t forget that you have other, more legal options too! First off, I''d recommend travelling to Parsmount and participating in various lottery games and sports betting. (There are other cities you could try, but Parsmount has the best value/effort ratio, in my opinion.)

    Down below I''ve compiled a list about the best available games and bets, with instructions on how to win them."

    ¡ª Top 10 Tricks To Get Rich Fast, written by Bezel

    "I''m not going into the water," Miranda stated.

    "Oh come on Mira, we are almost there!"

    "You should have brought me a second pair of shoes if you knew we would have to wade into the stream. Why was your name Shoes, if you can''t even do such a simple thing?"

    Bezel just crossed his arms and watched her without a word. Miranda returned his stare, standing next to the stream defiantly. In spite of her better judgement, she had agreed to come alone. What she hadn''t been prepared for was that Bezel would lead her out on a small trip into the forest.

    "Can''t you just cover your legs with your powerfield?" Bezel asked. "Wouldn''t that be waterproof?"

    "It depends on the emotion."

    "Then do it with waterproof emotion."

    "No."

    "Seriously?"

    Miranda didn''t answer. She had enough of Bezel ordering her around. The man was just a dim-witted bully, nothing more. Just because he was stronger, he thought he could threw away decorum. His tale about the time loop hadn''t improved Miranda''s mood either. It was worse than she feared. Much worse. According to it, nothing that she did here mattered, because everything was going to be undone. That was just unacceptable. She would need to¡ª

    "Alright, I''ll carry you then," Bezel said, coming back to her.

    "W-What?" Miranda was startled out of her thoughts. "No!"

    "Then what are you planning to do, woman? Will you just stand there and wait for the river to run out of water?"

    Miranda ground her teeth once more. That bastard didn''t have a drop of sympathy in his blood. Didn''t he see that she had other things on her mind? He had just casually mentioned something that rocked her entire world, then expected her to cope with it immediately.

    Miranda channeled her frustration into her gemstone and enveloped her feet with a sparkling orange powerfield. She made herself taller, extending her powerfield downwards so that her feet wouldn''t touch the water. Then, with slightly unsteady steps, she waded into the stream.

    She progressed perfectly fine on her elevated shoes¡ªfor about thirty seconds. That was the time she needed to make a single misstep on the uneven bottom of the stream and fall face-first into the water. She had tried to cover herself with her powerfield, but wasn''t fast enough. Her dress, her hair, her makeup; everything was ruined.

    "Good, now at least you can hurry your ass up," Bezel commented after Miranda finished screaming out her frustration.

    The cold water made Miranda shiver, that insolent slave didn''t even wait for her, he was still ordering her around on her own estate, this world turned out to be a fake that kept repeating itself, and Miranda probably looked ridiculous with her smudged makeup. This was definitely her worst day ever.

    "I''m going to strangle you one day," Miranda muttered as she hurried after Bezel.

    They arrived to the entrance of the tunnel that Bezel had spoken of, and Miranda followed Bezel as he led the way with an oil lamp. She was cold and trembling, her wet dress clinging to her uncomfortably. She didn''t even bother to ask the numerous questions she had, preferring to walk in sullen silence. Only the echo of their footsteps could be heard for a while.

    "I can give you a change of clothes," Bezel eventually spoke up. "They might be a bit large for you, though."

    Miranda nodded, then noticed that the tunnel ahead of them came to an end. There was a door on the left side. Bezel pulled out a metallic card from the door''s frame, pressed it against the door and knocked twice. A soft, whirring sound could be heard before Bezel opened the door to enter. When he turned on the lights, Miranda''s breath caught.

    The room was filled with crates, chests and shelves, giving the chamber a slightly crowded feel. But even with all the machines and books on the walls, Miranda recognized this place. How could she not, when she had just seen it in a memory a few hours ago? The stone altar in the middle was unmistakable.

    Her surprise was increased tenfold when she noticed two black sculptures on the altar.

    "How did you get them?!" Miranda exclaimed, then rushed to the altar to pick one of the sculpture up. It was depicting a slender feminine figure in an elegant pose. The figurine had long flowing hair, with a pair of horns emerging from behind her pointed ears and ending at the middle of her forehead.

    "That''s the one you''ve sold to the Church," Bezel said. "I stole it about five years ago. It wasn''t difficult to track down, because the time loop starts on the day it is carried away from this mansion."

    Bezel started rummaging in one of the chests, while Miranda stood frozen in the middle of the room, trying to comprehend the situation.

    "What does this mean?" Miranda asked silently, clutching the Krinil Sculpture tight. "If¡ª If everything resets to the way it was, can''t we just steal the same sculpture four times?"

    "What?" Bezel looked up from the chest. "Oh! No, that''s not how it works. The sculptures are the only things that are outside of the loop, aside from this room."

    "So, where these two sculptures were originally, there is now . . . nothing?"

    "Yeah," Bezel nodded distractedly, pulling out papers and organizing them in a heap. "The Church will come to complain about the missing scuplture on the third day of the loop, which is tomorrow. Since you aren''t usually here that time and your counselor can give them no explanations, they tend to get really insulted."

    "Wonderful," Miranda said mirthlessly. "And the other sculpture?"

    She put down the one she was holding and glanced over at the other. It depicted a muscular male Krinil, his horns curving back from the middle of his forehead, reaching behind his ears.

    "I stole that from your cousin''s mansion," Bezel said blithely. "He doesn''t even realize it''s missing."

    "You broke into¡ªbut of course you have. I swear to you, slave, if you¡ªhey, what are you doing?"

    Bezel had walked to the door with a stack of papers in one hand and a lighter in the other. Then, ignoring Miranda''s question, he set the papers alight and threw them out to the corridor. After confirming that they all caught fire, he closed the door and smiled.

    "I destroyed all of my notes about the start of the time loop, as well as the instructions about how to end it."

    Miranda''s jaw fell open. "What¡ª Why¡ª Why would you do that?"

    "So that you cannot kill me and take over this room, of course," Bezel said. "Now I''m the only one who knows the whole truth. If I die, you have no chance of getting out of this, not even if you collect every sculpture."

    Miranda was too shocked to answer immediately. Had this idiot really destroyed vital notes just because he was paranoid?

    "I haven''t even thought¡ª"

    "Yes, yes," Bezel waved a hand dismissively. "I know that you haven''t thought about taking over this chamber . . . yet. I''ve told you too much stuff, and they are hard to digest. But once you had the chance to think things through, you would have decided to off me, I do not doubt that. After all, there are all kinds of benefits if you are the only one who knows about the time loop."

    Miranda clenched her fists to stop them from trembling.

    "Does this mean that you will off me, too?" she asked frostily. "Once I''m no longer useful?"

    Bezel regarded her with a solemn expression. "I have a principle not to kill others needlessly, both outside and inside of the loop. If you don''t give me any reason to hurt you, I won''t."

    "That''s it?" Miranda asked, eyes flashing with anger. "You tell me you have some kind of principle, and I''m supposed to believe it?!"

    "I don''t expect you to believe it right away," Bezel said calmly. "Just keep in mind what I said. I have no misgivings about sharing the time loop with you, as long as we collect all the Krinil Sculptures."

    "So you say."

    "Yes," Bezel said softly. "So I say."

    After a moment of silence, he turned and walked to one of the crates, lifting off its lid. Miranda could see that it was full of clothes, though not in a particularly orderly manner.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Pick some dry clothing," Bezel said. "I''ll step outside while you change."

    Although Miranda wasn''t particularly shy, she appreciated the offer. It gave her the perfect opportunity to look around without the annoying slave watching her. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Miranda rushed to the crate and started rummaging for decent clothes. She pulled out a large cotton shirt that had a slight smell. She made a face at that, wondering whether the crate was actually the slave''s laundry. Or could it be that he was always clothing in smelly garments? Damned brute.

    But Miranda couldn''t afford to be picky now. She pulled on the shirt, then changed into a pair of shorts that were almost long enough to reach her ankles. She used a belt to tighten the shorts around her waist, then decided that she was done for now. There was no way she would touch any of the socks and undergarments she had found.

    She looked positively awful, but at least no one was there to see her. No one, except the slave . . . but that brute had already seen her beaten to the ground and drenched in the river, so the remnants of her dignity were already gone.

    The first thing Miranda did after changing was to hop onto the altar. She tapped on the stone ceiling and traced its surface with her fingers, but found no openings, not even a single crack. She also tried to push it upwards¡ªeven used some of her powerfield for added strength¡ªbut the stone didn''t budge.

    Next, she attempted to look for records that Bezel might try to keep hidden. She didn''t have time to take note of everything in the chamber, so she just started opening the crates near to the bed until she found something to read. A small box contained lots of dirty and folded papers, and Miranda decided to rifle through those.

    <blockquote>

    Hello, Shoes!

    I know this is going to be hard to take, but please stay with me till the end of this letter. It''s hard to write about this. It will be also hard to hear about this, I know, but there is something I must tell you.

    I am your father.

    </blockquote>

    Miranda wrinkled her forehead in thought. If she remembered correctly, Shoes was born within the walls of the Dawngrove estate to a servant girl who accidentally got pregnant. But as for the father . . . ah, she''d have to ask Sebas. Miranda never really bothered with these things¡ªit was only pure chance that she knew the mother at all. She put the letter aside for now, and opened the next one in a hurry.

    <blockquote>

    Hello, adventurer!

    I know this is going to be hard to take, but please stay with me till the end of this letter. I''ve made a grand discovery, but I fear that my life is in danger.

    </blockquote>

    Miranda scoffed and threw away the paper. Who the Hell begins a letter with hello, adventurer? The next paper she grabbed was even more ridiculous.

    <blockquote>

    Beware the curse of the shoe-cleaners!

    Are you a shoe-cleaner, and also a young man? Then be warned that the ancient spirits of the dead are going to hunt you down! This is no joke! If you don''t believe me, read the text on the other side of this sheet. Everything written there will come true!

    </blockquote>

    "Ah, that''s a good one."

    "Eek!" Miranda squeaked, whirling around in fright. Bezel had been peeking at the letter from behind her shoulder, sporting an amused smile. For a man as large as him, he was quite good at sneaking up on her like that.

    "I''ve written that letter as a joke," he explained. "It''s funny how much you can mess with your own head. Kind of enlightening too."

    Miranda didn''t really understand what he meant by that, but she refused to act as if she was caught red-handed. "I was thinking about reading through your notes first, to see if you were telling the truth."

    "Sure, you can read whatever you want," Bezel said, plopping down on the bed. "Just put everything back where you found them, please."

    Miranda took a brief glance at the letter she had thrown on the floor, but made no move to collect it. "What are these letters for, slave?"

    "Still calling me names, eh, Mira? The letters were for tricking Shoes to do certain risky tasks for me. I have only one life, but Shoes has many."

    "I see," Mira said, mood darkening. "It''s better if he dies instead of you, huh? So much for your so-called principle, slave."

    "Hey, I said that I try to avoid killing others needlessly. I said nothing about suicide."

    "That''s not¡ª"

    "Oh please, spare me the technical details. I''m not intent on being cruel to Shoes, and let''s leave it at that."

    Miranda wasn''t sure how to feel about it. She didn''t know what she would have done with an other Miranda, if she were in Bezel''s place. Would she be able to kill her copy?

    "Is that what you''re doing to me now?" Miranda decided to change topics. "You''re trying to trick me into doing stuff for you, aren''t you?"

    To Miranda''s surprise, Bezel laughed.

    "You''re way too bent on trying to incriminate me, Mira. Don''t worry, I have been completely honest with you so far."

    "Why?!" Miranda exclaimed, rising to her feet.

    "Hmm? What''s your problem this time?"

    "Why don''t you try tricking me?" Miranda asked exasperatedly. "Why do you tell me about the loop? Wouldn''t it be easier if you used this time loop to figure out how to manipulate me?"

    "Ah, I see. Yes, valid concerns, only . . . how should I put it? I''m not a man of great plans."

    Miranda glanced at the box full of letters. "I find that hard to believe."

    Bezel shook his head. "I''m not saying that I''m incapable of orchestrating certain events¡ªespecially if I can try again and again until I succeed. But after ten years at this, I got tired of this scheming nonsense. I have always found honesty the best approach, so I go with it whenever I can. Admittedly I almost never invite other people to this room, but I find the current setup to be convenient. There is no need for me to break into your chambers and snoop around, if you''re going to help me by your own will."

    Miranda crossed her arms in front of her chest. "That''s what you would say if you were trying to trick me."

    When Bezel rolled his eyes Miranda consciously had to restrain herself from punching his ugly face.

    "So you want me to believe that you were planning to steal from me, but once I started chasing you through the mansion, you suddenly changed plans and decided to tell me everything? Just like that?"

    Bezel shrugged. "It was an impulsive choice on my part, yes. I''m sure I don''t have to explain how that goes, Mira. Hate to break it to you, but you''re quite impulsive as well."

    Miranda scowled, but didn''t bother to correct the insolent slave. Deciding to put this issue away for later, she turned to take a better look around the room. Bezel watched her quietly as she walked around, taking note of the weapons, the water barrel and the food crates, the shelves on the wall and¡ª

    "What''s this?" Miranda asked as she spotted an ornate necklace. It was made of gold, with a large ruby in its center; exactly the same as the jewelry she had in her room. A family heirloom. But the necklace being here wasn''t even the strangest things of all; the four other copies of it were much more disturbing. If Miranda had any doubts that the time loop was real, they all evaporated now.

    "How¡ª How did you steal these, slave?" she asked, dumbfounded. "And why?"

    Bezel raised an eyebrow. "It''s not that hard to figure out why. It sells for a good price. You know, it''s easy to get quite rich with this time loop going on."

    "But how?" Miranda asked. "You said you haven''t been in my quarters. Were you lying, slave?"

    "No, I haven''t been in your quarters. One of your bed slaves is a spy however, so I just had to tell him that I''ll turn him in if he didn''t steal it from you."

    Miranda''s jaw dropped. "There is a spy among my bed slaves? Who? Who is it?!"

    Bezel began to laugh once again, but held up his hands in a placating manner when Miranda took a few threatening steps towards him.

    "Sorry, sorry, I just¡ª It''s a shame you couldn''t see your own face, it was priceless."

    Bezel wiped off his stupid little grin when he saw Miranda getting angrier, then motioned towards the simple chair next to the desk.

    "Don''t you want to sit down? The explanation might take a while if we get into this."

    "I''m good," Miranda said gruffly. "Answer my question, slave."

    "It''s Tulip," Bezel admitted. "I don''t know which House he is spying for. Unfortunately, he isn''t able to read so he couldn''t go through your documents, but he was still useful for me from time to time."

    "Tulip, huh... Why would anyone send a spy who cannot read?"

    "A spy?" Bezel asked, amused for some reason. "It''s not just a spy, Mira. Your whole damned House is reeking of spies! Hell, I would wager that every second person here is betraying you in one way or the other. Tulip might not be able to read, but he doesn''t have to. I assure you that some of the other spies can."

    "Don''t be ridiculous. How could that¡ª"

    "Those servants you hired recently? Those new slaves that you''ve bought? They are all working on undermining you."

    Miranda shook her head in disbelief. "You should make up better lies. All of the new hires were chosen by my counselors. They vetted them thoroughly. They¡ª"

    Miranda fell silent as a terrible suspicion crept up on her. Yes, Vince and Grom handled those things for her. Behind her back, basically. They convinced her that hiring new personnel was necessary. Could it be that they were actually working on her downfall? But who were they working for? Her brother? House Foxglove? If her counselors were traitors, what else had they done without her knowledge?

    Miranda let out a frustrated sigh, then strode to the chair and sat down, leaning heavily on the backrest. There were too many things to consider. What if it was just Bezel, trying to get under her skin? Maybe this was how he was trying to trick her, deceive her, turn her against her own House. Miranda couldn''t let that happen.

    "If you don''t believe me, I can prove it to you," Bezel spoke up, lounging lazily on the bed. "I''ll tell you what will happen in the next couple of days, and you''ll see it for yourself."

    "Give me an outline," Miranda said. "Will anything noteworthy happen this week?"

    "Besides your House falling into ruins?" Bezel asked, smirking. "No, nothing much."

    "Do not joke about this, slave," Miranda snapped. "Tell me the truth! I swear to God, if you''re lying¡ª"

    "I''m not," Bezel interrupted her. "Lots of noteworthy things will happen, Mira. Your warbeasts get loose, the slaves riot, lots of people die, and the other Houses launch an assault against your House."

    Miranda was taken aback. That couldn''t be possible. Bezel was just trying to confuse her. Why would the slaves...? And the other Houses...?

    "What Houses?" Miranda asked, her throat dry. "Which Houses?"

    Bezel scrunched up his face. "Why, all of them, I guess."

    "What?!"

    "Alright, not everyone, but there will be lots of banners. Most of the leading Houses, and some mercenary groups as well. Completely overkill, if you ask me."

    "Are you joking, slave?"

    "No, Mira," Bezel sighed. "I told you, I''m serious. You''ll see, just wait till the end of the week. The loop will end sometime midway during the battle."

    For long, long minutes, Miranda just sat still in silence. Her head was spinning, and it was getting difficult for her to breathe. She tried to tell herself that Bezel was just lying, but she couldn''t come up with anything as to why he would lie about this.

    "What will I do?" Miranda asked hoarsely. "What does Miranda Dawngrove do during the battle, when she doesn''t know about the time loop?"

    "Nothing."

    "Huh?" Miranda looked up and into Bezel''s eyes¡ªwhich were full of pity.

    "You''ll do nothing, because you''ll be dead," Bezel said quietly. "When you arrive back from your meeting, you''ll be sick and weakened. On the day before the attack, you will be assassinated."

    "No," Miranda whispered. "You''re lying."

    "After you die, your brother will take over," Bezel continued. "He''ll take your Krinil gem and have his surgery right away, but he won''t have enough time to get used to its powers. When the other Houses attack, he will be weak and helpless."

    Miranda squeezed her eyes shut and hung her head. She tried to empty herself of emotions, as if she was preparing to reach for a memory. She had to look at this logically. If all of these things that the slave was saying were true, she would need to find a way to stop them. With the time loop, she would have the opportunity to figure it out. The slave could help in the battle, with that ridiculous strength of his.

    "So, what''s the plan?" Miranda asked. "How are we going to save House Dawngrove once we stop this time loop?"

    "Save? We?" Bezel asked, surprised. "What are you talking about, Mira? Once we stop the time loop, I''m getting the Hell out of here. You should do the same, if you ask me. There''s no salvaging this mess."

    "No," Miranda said, squaring her shoulders. "No way. I''m not abandoning my House."

    Bezel shrugged. "You say that now, but you''ll see that it''s a hopeless task. Just hang back and observe this week."

    Miranda set her jaw. In her opinion, there was no such thing as hopeless task. As long as she was alive, as long as she was breathing, there was a chance. Yes, she would spend this week observing the events. Then she would come up with a plan on how to correct them. She would collect the Krinil Sculptures, and she would break the time loop.

    This was her destiny, she was sure of it now. She would become the Titan from the legends, the person she looked up to as a child.

    Miranda Alexia Dawngrove would restore her House to its forgotten glory.

 Episode 07

    "Like all great minds, Professor Richard Sylven is an eccentric person. If you have to deal with him, try to remain patient and never, I repeat, NEVER tell him to hurry. He''s stubborn as a mule, and in spite of his age he throws some really good punches."

    ¡ª Character studies, written by Bezel

    "Hmm, yes, yes. It seems to be authentic."

    Professor Sylven brought Mira''s letter closer to his eyes, squinting as he read its contents. He ran his fingers through his grey beard distractedly, not realizing that the end of it was dipping into his teacup. Bezel stood by his desk, wrecking his brain whether he should warn the Professor or not. Interrupting him while he read would be impolite, and he might take his well-intentioned warning badly. Yes, it was probably better to stay silent; at the moment, Bezel needed every goodwill he could get.

    "Pfah!" Professor Sylven shook his head disapprovingly, his beard slipping out of the cup with a wet splat. "How vague, how vague!"

    The Professor''s eyes were still on the letter, so Bezel remained silent. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, the pair of shoes on his feet too tight for his comfort. They were necessary, though; the officer''s uniform he wore¡ªpaired with Mira''s letter¡ªhad considerably shortened the time needed for getting into Professor Sylven''s office. Now, if only the shoes were a size or two larger...

    "This is rather suspicious," Professor Sylven stated, looking up at Bezel above the rim of his glasses.

    "Suspicious, Professor?" Bezel asked, feigning ignorance.

    "Yes, yes, suspicious. Whatever do you need a test subject for, hmm?"

    "Uhm," Bezel cleared his throat awkwardly. "Apologies, Professor, but you raising a small army of Krinils up here is suspicious too, don''t you think? We''d like to be aware what they are capable of."

    "Therefore, you want me to lend you a test subject with an appropriate incubator," the Professor said, his doubt clear from his voice.

    "Yes," Bezel confirmed. "We want to raise a single Krinil on our own, away from the laboratory."

    "Suspicious, suspicious," Professor Sylven said, taking a sip of tea and immediately spitting it back out. "Ugh, this awful tea blend again."

    "We believe it''s a fair deal," Bezel said, coughing a bit to hide his smile. "We don''t ask for much, and you will have a Krinil who grows up in a different environment. I may not be a scientist, but such things can be beneficial as an experiment, can they not?"

    "Hmm, hmm."

    "We also plan to return her eventually," Bezel added. "She wouldn''t stay with us forever."

    Professor Sylven looked at Bezel in surprise. "She?"

    "Oh yes," Bezel said, "We''ve already chosen the Krinil we want. Her name is Lynn."

    "Hmm, hmm," was all Professor Sylven said before standing up from his desk. He hobbled to the door and grabbed his cane, then exited the office without so much as glancing back. After a brief moment of hesitation, Bezel hurried after him.

    The Research Facility was probably the cleanest place Bezel had ever been in. The walls were white and utterly without decoration, and the floor was made of some kind of smooth, semi-reflective material. The servants within the Facility were constantly at work, keeping the corridors and the numerous laboratories spotless clean. Bezel didn''t know exactly what kind of experiments the scientists were working on here¡ªapart from giving Krinils small, blue bodies and making the tracking mechanism for slave cuffs more sophisticated¡ªbut it was widely known that the Facility''s location was ideal for all kinds of Krinil-related research.

    "Lynn is one of the most intelligent specimen I have," Professor Sylven said as Bezel caught up to him. "She''s made incredible progress lately. I firmly believe that after a few more sessions in the incubator, I''ll be able to communicate with her properly. But you didn''t happen to know about that, hmm?"

    "Erm, no, I didn''t."

    "She managed to escape her pen recently, you know," the Professor said, tilting his head to look up at Bezel. "I heard that a tall, musclebound man brought her back. Lynn cried when she had to let him go¡ªa truly a curious development, in my view."

    "Musclebound, huh?" Bezel mused. "I wonder who that man was. Sounds like a nice guy."

    The two of them arrived to the room the Krinils were usually kept in. It was a spacious chamber filled with toys and curious wooden structures, providing the small blue aliens plenty of opportunity to exercise their bodies. Two walls of the room were made of reinforced glass from ceiling to floor, providing clear view on the immaculate room and its occupants¡ªwho for some reason were all gathering at the wall closest to Bezel, their little faces plastered to the glass as they peered at him.

    "Curious, truly curious," Professor Sylven said, rubbing his chin in thought.

    Bezel shuffled his feet awkwardly, then raised a hand to wave at the Krinils¡ªa motion that sent a couple of them scrambling away, hiding behind various objects. Most of them remained however, regarding Bezel with differing degrees of interest. Lynn was among the crowd too, pressing her tiny palm against the glass as if she wanted to push it out of the way.

    "If you''re a Krinfused of Rank C or less, I advise you to stay back for now," Professor Sylven said as he hobbled towards the entrance of the room. "These little creatures are tougher than they look."

    Without much ceremony, the Professor pushed a combination of buttons on the wall and the metallic door slid open. At the same time a deep-purple, lazily swirling powerfield¡ªa powerfield made out of boredom, of all things¡ªsprang to life around the Professor. He leaned his cane against the wall and straightened his posture, a pair of phantom limbs forming at his side. None too soon, in fact; the Krinil boy closest to the door immediately tried to scuttle outside. The Professor grabbed the pair of horns curling back from the boy''s forehead and tossed him back into the room, while his phantom limbs blocked the path of yet another Krinil.

    "Stay!" the Professor croaked, raising his voice. "Abyss take you, stupid brats, I''ll put you back in the incubator if you don''t calm down this instant!"

    Further shouting was cut off as the door slid close, and Bezel watched in silence as the Professor attempted to put the Krinils back in their place. The Krinils were slow to settle down and practically impossible to tame; seeing the Professor excited them, even if all he did was cuss and toss them around. In fact, Bezel suspected that the Krinils actually enjoyed being flung around, regarding it as a game. The appearance of three caretakers saved the Professor eventually, making it possible for him to grab Lynn and make a hasty retreat.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    "Madness, madness," the Professor grumbled as the door closed behind him and Lynn. "This is why we need new houses."

    "Hoozez?" Lynn stared up at the Professor with her big, amber-colored eyes.

    "Yes, yes, houses. Divide you up nicely, so that you wicked imps don''t bother me all at once. And you¡ª" Professor Sylven shot a look at Bezel, "Before you take Lynn with you, I''m going to¡ª"

    "Bezze!" Lynn exclaimed, running towards Bezel¡ªand tripping in her own feet almost immediately. Bezel winced as she planted her face into the ground, but when he knelt down to help her to her feet, he found Lynn completely unhurt¡ªin fact, she was smiling broadly.

    "I told you they''re tougher than they look," Professor Sylven said with a touch of pride in his voice. "They are stronger than humans, too. Heal faster, resistant to diseases, can eat almost anything¡ªthis is the pinnacle of what our bodies could be, if we could ingest Krinil power perfectly."

    "I see," Bezel said. He ruffled Lynn''s silvery-white hair, making her squeal in joy. It felt strange to see her¡ªsomeone with a six-year-old girl''s body¡ªbehave like a toddler, but Bezel couldn''t deny that it was very effective. He was already fond of the little girl. Lynn grabbed onto his wrist with both hands, clinging into it with her feet dangling in the air, swinging back and forth as she laughed.

    "You better be careful," Professor Sylven commented. "Without a strong powerfield, you''ll have serious trouble prying her off."

    "I''ll be fine, Professor. I''m not lacking in strength department."

    "Yes, yes, I can see that," the Professor said. "Bah! Just don''t say that I didn''t warn you. Now, before you take Lynn away with you, I''m going to have to ask you to participate in a thorough examination."

    Bezel looked up warily. "Examination?"

    "Yes, yes, examination. Or you think I haven''t noticed, hmm? The Krinils like you, officer. There''s something unusual going on here, and I''m going to find out what it is. That''s the only reason I''m leaving Lynn in your care."

    "By Lady Dawngrove''s orders¡ª"

    "I don''t care one bit what Lady Dawngrove wrote in her letter," the Professor snapped. "I want to know what kind of connection Lynn has with you. It cannot be purely emotional, as none of the Krinils bonded the same way with their caretakers. No, no, it''ll be something about your biology, or the Krinil gem inside you. A thorough checkup is in order."

    "Lady Dawngrove put me on a tight schedule, Professor," Bezel hedged. "I don''t think I have time for an examination now, but¡ªperhaps next week?"

    Professor Sylven narrowed his eyes behind his thick-framed glasses. "You aren''t going to run away, hmm?"

    Bezel couldn''t help but smile at that. "I wish I could, Professor. I wish I could. As it stands currently, I''ll be here at the Dawngrove estate for a long time."

    "Looon taime!" Lynn babbled, letting go of Bezel''s wrist and tumbling to the ground.

    Professor Sylven watched silently as Bezel helped her up again, brushing back the hair that had fallen over her face. He then readjusted the simple shirt she wore, while Lynn made some clumsy attempts to grab onto his fingers.

    "Alright, alright," the Professor conceded. "Next week, then. I''ll ask my assistant to draw up a paper about it. I know that you officers like your fancy papers."

    Things went more or less smoothly after that, to Bezel''s pleasant surprise.

    The people at the Research Facility wasn''t keen on wasting time on useless formalities either, which he and Lynn appreciated very much. An hour later everything was already arranged and Bezel was trudging on the cobblestone road leading away from the research facility. Lynn sat on his shoulders, playing with his hair as she blabbered something happily, apparently not too disconcerted about leaving the rest of her kin behind.

    It was a warm, sunny day¡ªthe last one of the week¡ªand Bezel enjoyed the simplicity of walking back home along the winding road. The forest was beautiful, as always. All those years spent here hadn''t been enough to dim the beauty of the mountain and its surroundings. It wasn''t to say that Bezel wouldn''t have minded some variety, but he had no complaints either. He loved this side of nature¡ªbut, most importantly, ever since he got his powers the area which he could explore had expanded greatly. One could reach far and wide if they had powerful legs.

    Bezel''s good mood wasn''t only because of the weather, though. Things were changing up in his life¡ªand they were changing up fast. Exciting, wonderfully exciting. He had gotten used to solitude in the past few years, and suddenly now he''d be sharing his chamber with not one, but two people! It would be a tight fit for such a small chamber, but they''d manage.

    "You''re going to get your own corner," Bezel told Lynn, patting her knee. "They are going to give us your incubator tomorrow."

    "Naaa!" Lynn said, pulling on Bezel''s hair. "Naa, incu!"

    "I know you don''t like it, but you gotta grow. Your brain needs to catch up to your body!"

    "Bodie?"

    Bezel sighed. "I hope the tank will fit into the room. Mira plans to bring in some of her belongings, and Heaven knows how much space a Lady like her would actually need. The entire chamber wouldn''t be enough for her probably, not even if she was its sole occupant. But don''t worry! I won''t allow her to go overboard. You''ll have your own place."

    "Plaiz!"

    "I guess we could throw out some of my gadgets," Bezel continued after, turning off the road. They were nearing the valley where the entrance to the chamber was located. "The flamethrower is nice, but the fuel packs take up too much space. Besides, it''s not even that effective in the rain. Hmm, what else? I guess some of the bookcases could go as well. I''ve already read everything that interested me, and those few books that I want to keep could be placed on top of the altar. Come to think of it, we could place a couple of cabinets on top of the altar, and¡ª"

    Bezel paused for a moment as he felt something wet on his scalp.

    "Lynn!" he exclaimed, "Stop¡ª Stop chewing on my head! Hey!"

    "Blegh!"

    "Of course it''s blegh, it''s not edible. Not tasty!"

    "Tastie?"

    "No! People are no food, understand? Ugh, I wish they could have lent us a caretaker for a day or two. I know they are too busy with the other Krinils, but . . . well, just look at me."

    "Bezze!" Lynn said, patting Bezel¡¯s head.

    "Yeah, well, it seems like you¡¯re stuck with me. At least this way, we don¡¯t have to share the chamber with your caretaker. The fewer people know about that place, the less¡ªwhat the hell is going on here?"

    The valley below them was abuzz with activity, men in servant¡¯s clothes carrying various furniture to and fro. They had already built a wooden structure to make accessing the entrance easier, and was currently busy trying to fit an enormous mattress through the opening.

    "Lynn, hold on," Bezel said, then took two running steps before launching himself to the air, jumping down to the valley.

    "Wee!" Lynn squealed as they soared through the air, Bezel holding on to her feet to keep her in place. He landed right next to the servants, making them whirl around in surprise.

    "What the¡ª"

    "What do you think you¡¯re doing?" Bezel boomed, glaring at the men. The effect was slightly undermined by Lynn¡¯s joyful laughter, though.

    "Aggin, aggin!"

    "L-Lady Dawngrove¡¯s orders, sir," one of the servants stammered, averting his eyes from Lynn to take note of Bezel¡¯s uniform.

    "I don¡¯t care one bit what Lady Dawngrove ordered," Bezel thundered. "You there, in the back! Put down my aquarium! And you, do you know how much that device is worth?! If I see it got damaged I¡¯m going to scalp you!"

    "Sir, we can¡¯t¡ª"

    "Just wait here, understood? I¡¯m going to settle this with Lady Dawngrove."

    The men hurried to clear the way as Bezel advanced, yanking the mattress back from the entrance. He lifted Lynn off his shoulders¡ªthe ceiling was just barely high enough not to hit his own head¡ªand marched down the corridor, hugging the little girl to his chest.

    Lynn found the trip extremely amusing as evidenced by her flailing hands and the laughter, but Bezel barely paid her any attention. He wasn¡¯t angry, not exactly, just . . . disappointed. What was Mira thinking? Showing the Static Chamber to so many servants was just asking for trouble, even if none of them knew about the time loop.

    Bezel marched through the open door, finding Mira overseeing two servants as they were busy setting up a¡ªnot too surprisingly¡ªdouble-sized bedframe. The rest of the room was such a mess that it almost gave Bezel a heart-attack. Most of his stuff was piled around his bed, so much so that the bed itself wasn¡¯t even visible. Clothes, food crates, books, weapons, all thrown together in one big heap. Bezel felt his mood darkening even further.

    "Slave! Finally, you¡¯re back," Mira said, turning towards him with her arms crossed. "Help these two dimwits assemble my bed. They¡¯ve been at it for so long now that I am considering flogging them."

    Bezel put Lynn down gingerly, then took her little hands and lifted them up to her face.

    "Lynn, cover your eyes please," he said, then straightened back up and cracked his knuckles. "Things are going to get violent."

 Episode 08

    "<u>The shotgun route</u> ¨C with a 6-shot Grandor-made gun, ESX series

    Start at the western wing''s entrance and head towards the gardens when you hear the first cries. After 200 steps, a scuttler will burst out of the bush directly on your left. Kill it with a single shot. Do not reload yet; in 5 seconds three others will skirt around the corner of the building, drawn by the sound of your gunfire. Dispatch them with your remaining ammo.

    Reload, and continue walking westward. As you reach the corner of the building, wait 10 seconds. A scuttler will drop down from the roof to ambush you, but you can shoot it dead after sidestepping its attack. Wait 10 more seconds. That¡¯s when you¡¯ll see a group of servants running towards you, 14 scuttlers chasing them."

    ¡ª Optimal clearing routes, written by Bezel

    When Bezel woke up, he was pleased to note that Mira hadn¡¯t murdered him in his sleep. In fact, in spite of her threats she hadn¡¯t even tried to strangle him.

    The three of them had spent the night in the chamber. The mess of the previous day had been cleared up more or less; the chamber was still one step away from chaos, but at least Bezel could actually access his bed now. They had managed to fit in everything necessary¡ªeven Lynn¡¯s incubator had been installed by the evening. The little girl was floating in a glass tank of greenish liquid, her head locked into place with a contraption that allowed her to breathe. Bezel liked to think that for her, this was something akin to sleeping¡ªbut truth be told, her current state unnerved him a little. If not for the occasional twitch of her limbs, he would have thought her dead.

    By the time Bezel woke up, Lynn was still unconscious¡ªshe would spend the entire day within her incubator¡ªbut Mira was already up, sitting on the remnants of her bed. The frame had been completely splintered in the previous day¡¯s tussle, so at the moment the mattress was lying on the ground. Bezel had considered throwing the whole thing out in favor of a smaller bed, but in the end he relented¡ªwith the ulterior motive that he¡¯d let Lynn sleep next to Mira whenever she wasn¡¯t in her incubator.

    Yeah, Mira was going to like that.

    Bezel wondered how long her determination to stay down here would last. As far as he knew, there were two reasons she moved in to the Static Chamber. The first was that she didn¡¯t trust him about the end of the time loop, suspecting a trap; she wanted to keep on eye out, in case he had lied about the date of the reset. The second reason was the presence of assassins¡ªand her certain death in every other timeline.

    As for Bezel, he didn¡¯t mind Mira''s company; no matter how rude and obnoxious she was, Bezel couldn¡¯t actually hate her. Not even after her little refurbishing-stunt on the previous day. Besides, there was something oddly pleasing about seeing the Lady of House Dawngrove live under such conditions.

    She had a horrible bed hair, and there were no maids here to brush it for her. She wore no makeup¡ªit was the first time Bezel saw her like this¡ªand she had a nightshirt on, simple and modest. She wasn¡¯t much to look at, yet Bezel would have still preferred this look over her usual made-up self. Currently she was in a foul mood, though¡ªeven more so than normally.

    "Are you still upset about what happened?" Bezel asked.

    Mira just scoffed, pointedly ignoring him as she rooted around in a bag of clothes. She then turned her back to him and changed out of her nightshirt¡ªeither not shy at all, or just well past caring by this point.

    "Why are you the one who''s mad, anyways?" Bezel continued teasing her. "It was me whose living room was suddenly rearranged by a meddling woman. If anything, I should be offended!"

    "You spanked me, you brute!" Mira snapped, glaring at him hatefully. "Spanked me right in front of my servants!"

    Bezel raised an eyebrow. "Would it have been different if I had spanked you privately?"

    "I''m going to strangle you in your sleep," Mira snarled, but Bezel just laughed.

    "Come on, it wasn''t that bad," he said. "Because of your aura, your servants were too busy crapping their pants to see anything¡ªand even if they did, all of it will be wiped clean next week."

    "I have other ideas what to wipe clean," Mira grumbled, and that was the end of their conversation.

    While the Lady of House Dawngrove pouted on her mattress, Bezel busied himself by getting ready for the day. He started with the usual: checking the batteries which powered the lights and his various other machines, as well as the ventilation system. By the looks of it, he¡¯d run out of Krinil power within three or four days. He needed to steal another battery by the end of the loop¡ªor better yet, now that Mira was here he could just ask her to charge the batteries up.

    Next came the small metal box in the corner, responsible for circulating air through the small air vent connected to the chamber. Although it was fortunate that the Static Chamber had a built-in way to provide fresh air, sadly it hadn¡¯t been used for centuries; the filter in the machine needed to be changed regularly due to the accumulated dust and dirt. Worse yet, it was a never-ending task because the air vent returned to its dusty state every single week.

    Once done with the usual check-ups, Bezel got dressed and stepped out to do his morning ablutions. Another two drawbacks of the chamber; bringing in fresh water was laborious, and using the chamber pot was out of question now that he had guests.

    By the time he arrived back, Mira was already dressed up. She was clad in dark leathers, her inky-black hair tied up in a tight bun. A high-tech Krinhanced handgun was holstered at her hips, but she also had a pair of swords¡ªsleek and absurdly long¡ªsheathed across her back. Even without the weapons, Bezel could have guessed what she was up to; her vivid green eyes were brimming with determination.

    "Today is the day when the warbeasts get loose," Mira said, then added, "According to you."

    Bezel grunted, tearing his eyes off Mira to look at his collection of weapons.

    "Which weapons do you want me to take?" he asked, tossing his two-handed sword out of the way. "Shotgun or double handguns? Or perhaps something fancier, like the Razer R05 Railgun?"

    "Pick whatever you want," Mira said haughtily. "Just don''t get in my way."

    "Double handguns, then," Bezel said. Those were better against the little scuttlers; Bezel had a hunch that those would be what he¡¯d be dealing with while Mira went for the big ones.

    He picked up the belt that holstered his favorite pair of weapons, the Singers; larger than average handguns that looked more like handheld cannons, fitting nicely in his palms. He then rooted around for his bandoliers, strapping two across his chest and a third one over his belt, and fastened the smaller ones around his thighs and his upper arms. Magazines in optimal reach all over his body.

    By the time he got ready, Mira was tapping her foot impatiently. When they exited the chamber and started hiking up the corridor, Bezel couldn''t help but wonder what exactly motivated her. Did she want to kill the warbeasts because she still didn''t fully believe in the time loop? Perhaps, though if that was the case neither would she believe in the warbeasts getting free.

    Maybe she just wanted to exercise, like Bezel sometimes did. He had a hunch though that wasn''t the case either. He had to admit that he didn''t know Mira as well as he was ought to¡ªhe had been too wary to approach her, time loop or not¡ªbut he could still tell that she wouldn''t see the situation as an opportunity to hone her fighting skills. Not when the lives of her subjects were on the line.

    Would she keep protecting them in each and every loop, no matter how futile her actions were?

    "So, what do we know about these warbeasts?" Mira broke his contemplative the silence.

    Bezel raised an eyebrow at her. "Don¡¯t you supposed to know? They are your warbeasts, bought to protect your House."

    "Answer the question, slave."

    "Hah! That¡¯s a really strange way of saying please."

    For several long seconds Mira said nothing while they trudged along the dark corridor, Bezel¡¯s oil lamp lighting the way. But just as they were about to reach the exit, she surprised him by speaking up.

    "Please, would you tell me already about the warbeasts we¡¯re going to fight?"

    "Well, if you insist," Bezel said as they emerged from the corridor. The light rain was blocked out by the foliage above, but the soft prattling sound it made permeated the forest. "I call them scuttlers. They move kinda fast with their six insectoid legs. Their bodies¡ª"

    "I know what they look like," Mira injected. "I¡¯ve seen them once, when they were brought in."

    Bezel nodded, then snuffed out his lamp and placed it into a neat little crook by the entrance. He jumped down to the stream, his boots sinking into the mud. To her credit, Mira followed him without hesitation.

    "What I want to know is why they are such a problem," she said. "Why can¡¯t my guards deal with two small monsters in a timely manner?"

    "Yeah, small," Bezel said with a snort. "Like a small house."

    "What? No, they are¡ª"

    "They grew."

    "The beastmaster hasn¡¯t told me anything about them getting larger," Mira said, her lips drawn into a small frown. "Is he a traitor too?"

    "I don¡¯t know," Bezel replied, "But I don''t think so. He''s a strange fellow, but not a malicious one."

    "We¡¯ll see about that."

    Bezel shrugged. "You''re also wrong about their numbers, by the way."

    Mira activated her powerfield for a moment, leaving him behind as she jumped over an especially muddy part of the riverbank.

    "Ah, yes," Mira said after she landed. "Originally there were two, but they''re supposed to reproduce. How many of them are there now? Half a dozen? A dozen?"

    "Last time I checked, there were a hundred and fifty-one of them."

    The statement caused Mira to slip, almost falling over.

    "You¡¯re joking," she said, whirling around to look at him suspiciously.

    "I¡¯m not that much of a funny guy," Bezel said. "Don¡¯t worry though, only the original scuttlers are as big as houses. The rest are newborns, moving out now that it has started to rain. They need the water, but they also need something to feed on. That''s why they attack your household, I believe. Meanwhile, papa and mama scuttler just want to protect their babies."

    Bezel continued to brief Mira in on the finer details as they walked towards the mansion, the forest around them slowly thinning out. All in all, Mira took the news about the imminent attack rather well. She didn¡¯t even threaten to strangle Bezel when he admitted that he often used the situation for training with his firearms, regarding the entire situation as a game.

    When the main building of the mansion came to sight, the two of them picked up the pace. Panicked shouts could be heard in the distance, the sound of gunshots following close behind. Bezel grunted reproachfully; he had misjudged the time the two of them needed to get to the scene. By the time they reached the western wing of the main building, the first casualties¡ªtwo middle-aged guardsmen¡ªwere already lying on the ground, mangled beyond recognition.

    Five scuttlers surrounded the corpses, their gray, scaly bodies glistening in the rain. They curled and uncurled their tails in excitement as they feasted on the corpses, their small reptilian heads drenched in blood. The fine hairs on their arthropod legs alerted them of Mira¡¯s and Bezel¡¯s approach even without looking up; when Mira made an abrupt movement to draw her gun, the scuttlers scattered in different directions.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Mira opened fire immediately, shooting crimson-colored energy-bullets at a measured pace. Bezel pulled out his guns too, but withheld fire for now; he wanted to see how well Mira fared. One of the scuttlers had lost all of its legs on one side to a bullet and was writhing on the ground, but the others dodged Mira¡¯s bullets nimbly. They moved in a rather unpredictable manner as they charged towards her, their three pairs of legs allowing them to change directions abruptly.

    Crimson-red powerfield bubbled around Mira¡¯s body while she kept shooting. Two phantom-arms that emerged from her shoulder reached back to grasp her swords, drawing them in a wide arc which forced Bezel to take a step back. Mira''s powerfield then enveloped the swords too¡ªnone too fast, as the first scuttler was already lunging at her. Mira didn¡¯t have time to swing her sword around, but defended herself by blocking the attack with the blade¡ªsomething that would have been normally ill-advised with such a thin weapon, but the powerfield-reinforced blades had no chance of snapping. The moment she caught the scuttler with her swords, Mira fired her gun point-blank and blew off the entire the lower half of the creature.

    The remaining three warbeasts weren¡¯t far behind either; one by one they jumped towards Mira, trying to overwhelm her. Two of the scuttlers were cleanly sliced through before even reaching her, while the last one earned a hole trough its chest as it bit¡ªentirely futilely¡ªinto Mira¡¯s powerfield-covered leg.

    Bezel finished off the fight by shooting the very first scuttler that still squirmed in agony from the loss of its legs. By the time he turned back, Mira was already stomping towards the next group of scuttlers¡ªthis one more like a swarm. She sheathed one of her swords and switched to another emotion, her powerfield taking on a bright yellow color that vibrated over her skin. Her phantoms limbs disappeared, but she deftly caught her remaining sword with her right hand and raised her Krinhanced gun with her left. She opened fire at the scuttlers, the sizzling-yellow shots missing the creatures but being more than enough to draw the their attention.

    Bezel had half a mind to warn her not to waste her shots in such way¡ªKrinhanced weapons overheated easily, especially handguns like hers¡ªbut he could imagine how Mira would reply to his warning. Likely with something along the lines of not needing advice from lowly slaves. He had to admit though that there was a chance Mira knew what she was doing. Unlike most of the guards who guarded the mansion, she had a powerful enough Krinil-gem to shield herself continuously, making her less reliant on guns.

    The swarm of scuttlers fell on Mira within seconds, but this time Bezel couldn¡¯t afford to sit back and observe; several scuttlers detached themselves from the rest to target him. He raised his guns to answer their challenge and started firing at the nimble creatures, the Singers in his hands sounding a deathly concerto. The kick-back of his weapons was absurdly strong compared to normal guns, but his enhanced strength made it trivial to hold the weapons still. The bullets he shot might not have been as destructive as Mira¡¯s shots, but they still killed the baby-scuttlers just fine. He wasn¡¯t the best shot¡ªhe had spent the first twenty years of his life without ever holding a gun¡ªbut he tried his best to lay waste to the little monsters. In fact, trying was rather the point of this exercise; had he already achieved perfect aim with his Singers, he wouldn¡¯t have bothered bringing them.

    He did quite well this time, in his opinion. Of the ten or so scuttlers that decided he looked tastier than Mira, only three managed to reach him. One latched onto his arm while he was reloading, and earned a bashed-in skull as a reward. The other two were sneakier, circling around Bezel to attack him from behind. Their maneuver worked, sort of; one jumped onto his back, while the other bit into his right calf¡ªor at least would have, had its teeth been able to penetrate his skin. Bezel shot the one at his leg before it could have mangled his trousers too badly, but the one on his back was trickier. It was threatening to cut his bandoliers off as it scuttled this way and that to dodge the bullets Bezel fired over his shoulder.

    "Argh, not again!" Bezel growled in frustration. He wasn¡¯t flexible enough to reach the middle of his back, and he didn¡¯t want to throw himself to the muddy ground just to dislocate the offending scuttler.

    His plight was resolved when he felt a sudden sting in his back, and the remnants of the scuttler fell to the ground.

    "You¡¯re welcome," Mira said, lowering her gun. The battlefield around her was strewn with scuttler corpses, monster blood mixing with the mud. Mira was uninjured of course¡ªaside from getting wet in the rain, her leather clothes were as pristine as ever.

    "Thanks," Bezel said, tugging on his bandoliers to see if they were undamaged. "You owe me a new shirt, though."

    "Where next?" Mira asked, ignoring Bezel¡¯s remark. Such a shame, that. It was genuinely difficult to get new clothes in his size, considering the restrictions of the time loop. Bezel would have appreciated if Mira hadn¡¯t kept ruining his shirts every other day.

    He sighed. "I assume you want to find the big scuttlers?"

    Mira nodded curtly.

    "Papa-scuttler arrives from the stables within a couple of minutes," Bezel said. "Meanwhile, your men have formed a defensive line at the western entrance. They are about to clash with Mama-scuttler."

    "How long will they hold?"

    "They¡¯ll hold," Bezel said. "They will kill the scuttlers, eventually. Most of the kitchens will be demolished, and a good portion of your guards will die, along with your Guard Captain."

    Mira nodded once more, hesitating only briefly before walking towards the stables. Bezel followed her close behind, eyeing the treeline next to the stables. He could already hear the distinctive hissing sound of the scuttlers, though something felt distinctly off. Wasn¡¯t papa-scuttler supposed to be here already? There was no sign of trees falling sideways and foliage shaking wildly as the enormous warbeast forced its way through the woods. If the timeline changed¡ª

    "Aaagh! Help me!"

    The beastmaster, a portly middle-aged man stumbled around the corner of the nearest barn, still far away but jogging in their direction. Bezel narrowed his eyes, feeling uncertain. How was the man still alive? He watched Mira increase her pace, readying her weapons¡ª

    ¡ªand the wooden wall of the barn suddenly exploded as an enormous shape burst through it. In spite of its size it moved with remarkable speed, pouncing on the beastmaster before he could so much as cry out. One giant leg pinned the poor man to the ground and the warbeast let out a long hiss, which was so loud that Bezel could practically feel the air vibrating. His eyes widened that moment, realizing that something was distinctly off; no horn protruded from the warbeast''s snout, which could only mean¡ª

    "Uh, Mira I don¡¯t think¡ª"

    But the woman was already running towards the mama-scuttler, firing repeatedly. Whenever the energy-bullets hit, the warbeast''s scales shimmered with colors under the impact, conducting the Krinil-power and distributing it evenly along the beast''s body. Bezel had warned Mira that this would be the case; these warbeasts had been created specifically for combating the Krinfused.

    In the following moment Bezel saw some of the trees fall over¡ªfinally. The current timeline wasn''t that much different, after all. Papa-scuttler emerged from the woods, six insectoid legs working swiftly and precisely to get the beast through the difficult terrain. The creature looked roughly the same as mama-scuttler, except for its darker gray scales and its pointed horn that was longer than Bezel was tall. And if the two large beasts weren''t enough, dozens of baby-scuttlers swarmed out from the forest as well, some heading for the beastmaster''s body, while the others¡ªalongside with papa-scuttler¡ªwent to intercept Mira''s charge.

    She saw the warbeasts coming, of course. Even as Bezel opened fire on the smaller scuttlers, Mira came to a halt and turned to face the incoming enemies head-on, sword extended in front of her. The powerfield around her changed once again, turning dark blue with a texture resembling molten wax dripping slowly to the ground. Created from sorrow, it was the heaviest of all powerfields. It pooled around her legs, latching onto the ground and anchoring her as she waited for papa-scuttler to arrive.

    She didn''t stand any chance. Papa-scuttler reached her within seconds, ramming her with its horn at full tilt. Mira blocked the attack of course, but it didn''t matter much considering the weight difference between her and her enemy. She was flung away with the patch of muddy earth she had been clinging to, flying in the direction of the main building . . . and disappearing out of sight as she crashed. The baby-scuttlers sprinted after her, and Bezel let them, holstering his guns while papa-scuttler swung its enormous head in his direction.

    "I guess it''s me and you again, eh?" Bezel asked.

    The warbeast let out a low hiss, eyeing him with yellow, slitted eyes. The pupils almost seemed to glow, as its gray scales and dark legs blended into the washed-out colors of the rainy weather. Lightning flashed in the distance, and Bezel blinked. By the time his eyes opened, the warbeast was already halfway upon him with its horn pointed straight at him¡ªexactly what he had been hoping for.

    Fighting larger warbeasts was trickier than it seemed. No matter how strong Bezel was, he had a serious disadvantage; his weight. Raw strength didn''t help much when a creature rammed you with the speed of a train, and neither did it any good if said creature decided to gobble you up. Even if papa-scuttler couldn''t bite through Bezel''s skin, it could inconvenience him greatly. Bezel had some experience dealing with these situations though, thanks to the many embarrassing lessons he received from the scuttlers.

    He reacted in the very last second. Skipping sideways when the scuttler reached him, he grabbed the top of the horn and gripped it so tight that his fingers threatened to shatter the bone. He yanked the warbeast''s head downwards with the same motion, but didn''t try to outright stop the creature. He let it rush past him instead, spinning with it but holding on, twisting the beast''s head without counteracting its momentum. The scuttler tried to pull its head back in vain as Bezel forced it down until¡ª

    Crack! The middle of the horn shattered to pieces as the creature''s body sailed past Bezel. The resulting backlash was still strong enough to unbalance Bezel, but he managed to keep his footing. But the same couldn''t be said about papa-scuttler as it skidded along the ground, its legs gouging the earth as it tried to right itself in vain. It screeched in agony, purple fluid oozing from the remnants of its horn. Unlucky for Bezel; two times out of ten, it wasn''t the horn that snapped but the scuttler''s neck.

    No time to dally, though. Bezel could feel the ground shaking under his feet, which could mean only one thing. Tightening his grip on the horn once again, he pivoted in place and swung it around with all his strength¡ªand caught mama-scuttler''s lower jaw just as it was about to close its pointy teeth around him. The remnants of the horn shattered in his hand, but so did the warbeast''s jaw. Mama-scuttler was momentarily dazed, so Bezel took the opportunity to duck under its head and seize its closest leg in a powerful hug. Twist and pull; that was all to it. For a brief moment the entire warbeast jolted forward, but then the lowest joint of the limb gave away and Bezel ripped the leg off.

    Mama-scuttler shied away with a hiss of pain, but Bezel couldn''t press on with his attack because papa-scuttler was on him once again. It tried to bite down on him this time, closing on him so swiftly that Bezel had no time to dodge. He was able to raise the severed leg however, and positioned in a way that its end got stuck in the roof of the beast''s mouth. Gagging at the foul-smelling breath wafting his nostrils, Bezel held the leg in place even as papa-scuttler lifted him up and shook its head to dislodge him.

    Time to end this quick.

    Letting go of the hairy leg with one hand, Bezel drew one of his Singers and unloaded the entire magazine down the creature''s throat. The squiggling and head-shaking intensified, and papa-scuttler''s forked tongue finally managed to flick the piece of leg sideways. Bezel tried to jump out of the maw as it snapped shut, but his right leg was caught between the scuttler''s giant teeth. Dammit. Now it was certain that he''d need new trousers too, and maybe even boots as well.

    Papa-scuttler shook its head some more, trying to maul Bezel¡ªuntil he bent over and punched the creature''s snout. This prompted the beast to let him go, flinging him up and away. Double dammit. Bezel sighed, holstering his gun once again and twisting in the air to look downwards. He saw a streak of red sprinting towards the two warbeasts, baby-scuttler corpses littering the ground. He had quite the sight on the mansion on his left too¡ªsadly, it didn''t last long. Soaring past the western wing of the main building, he eyed his imminent landing site; the slaves'' sleeping quarters.

    He didn''t quite make it that far. His flight ended in front of the building, where he smashed to the ground and bounced back up, spinning wildly even as he flailed his arms to break his momentum. He crashed through a window and landed on something that crunched under him, then slammed into a wall which finally stopped him.

    He shot a worried look back where he came from, afraid that he landed on one of the men¡ªand saw a pulverized baby-scuttler lying on the floor. He sprang to his feet quickly, taking note of the group of slaves hiding behind a makeshift barricade, one of them swinging a broom wildly to keep three baby-scuttlers at bay. Bezel''s sudden entrance made the warbeasts turn towards him however, hoping for an easier meal.

    They lunged at him almost simultaneously. Bezel kicked out, his leg connecting with one of the scuttlers head-on, sending it flying out the broken window. He caught the second by the throat and broke its neck with a quick squeeze, while the third succeeded in latching onto his elbow¡ªbut only briefly, as in the next second he was flattened to the floor.

    "S-Shoes?" came Dunce''s frightened voice from behind the barricade. "Did-did you just¡ª"

    "Dunce, I''ve told you to call me Bezel."

    Dunce gaped at him, along with the others.

    "Y-you just flew in, t-then¡ª With your bare hands¡ª"

    "Yes," Bezel said, walking towards the window. "Now if you don''t want to die, escape through the servant''s corridor to the kitchen. The monsters won''t eat you that way."

    With that said he climbed out and¡ªignoring the slaves'' chorus of pleas for him to stay¡ªstarted running. Quick, powerful steps first, but as he started to pick up speed his strides turned into long bounds.

    He reached the giant scuttlers in no time. Much to his surprise, Mira had the situation in hand¡ªshe was on the offensive, in fact. She had gone back to her blood-red powerfield, sporting no less than four phantom limbs this time. Forgoing her weapons, she used the limbs solely for navigating the battlefield. She chased after a five-legged mama-scuttler while papa-scuttler lay on ground, most of its limbs severed from its body.

    Still running, Bezel stomped hard on the ground and shot himself to the sky, aiming towards the edge of the woods where mama-scuttler was heading to.

    "Here I come!" he hollered, grinning widely.

    Yeah, it may have been stupid to announce his attack with a shout¡ªbut Hell, if it wasn''t stylish he didn''t know what was. Mama-scuttler wouldn''t be able to dodge in time anyways, as it was too busy putting some distance between itself and the she-demon on its figurative heels. Bezel landed perfectly, both of his feet forward, hitting mama-scuttler on the middle of its snout. The force of his arrival smashed the creature''s head into the ground hard, driving the warbeast onto its belly and making it slide the remaining distance to the woods.

    Bezel didn''t wait for the end of the trip though, jumping off the creature with a flip before it crashed into the trees.

    "Woo-hoo!" Bezel cheered, raising his fists in the air as he managed to land without stumbling. Some of the trees fell over on top of mama-scuttler¡ªand though the beast wasn''t moving anymore, Mira didn''t waste her time to pounce on it and tear its hairy legs into shreds. Bezel waited for her to finish, checking on his Singers in the meantime. They were still in one piece, thankfully, but they would need some maintenance. He didn''t get in too much practice with them today, but hopefully there were still some scuttlers wandering about.

    "Come on, slave," Mira told him, leaving mama-scuttler behind and taking off towards the stables with a brisk walk.

    "That''s not where the scuttlers are," Bezel remarked, hurrying after her. Damned woman always expected him to follow.

    "The guards can deal with the rest," Mira said. "We''ve something more important to do."

    "Celebrating our victory with your finest wine?"

    "No," Mira said, shooting him an annoyed look. "We''re going to get some answers. First we find Mashek if he still lives, thenvisit Rainguard."

    Bezel smiled at her, which for some reason seemed to annoy her even further. Mira might not know how to relax, but damn¡ªshe knew how to make his week interesting. He hadn''t been this busy in years. Whistling a merry tune while ignoring Mira''s orders to shut up, he felt himself filling up with newfound enthusiasm. He was eager to find out what the rest of the loop held for them.

 Episode 09

    "I¡¯ve found out that by running, I can reach Rainguard in a few hours. Fortunately, the mansion I live under is a hub between the other Dawngrove-holdings, which means well-build roads in every direction. They make running easier, though if I wanted to go truly fast, I need to move with large leaping bounds¡ªsupernatural jumps, basically. The only problem is that this tends to destroy the roads, as well as my shoes . . . so I really wouldn¡¯t recommend doing it. It¡¯s difficult to get shoes in my size."

    ¡ª excerpt from Bezel¡¯s diary, Loop #294

    The Krinhanced engine roared as the automobile sped down the slope. Miranda swerved the steering wheel to the right, taking the upcoming bend in the road at a break-neck speed. The rear wheels skidded a little due to the abrupt maneuver, but Miranda managed to keep her vehicle on the muddy road. She channelled more of her power into her seat, the built-in contraption inside transferring it to the engine and allowing them to accelerate even further.

    "For God¡¯s sake woman, you¡¯re going to kill us!" Bezel cried from the back seat. He was squeezed into cushion and held on as if his life was at risk, his face pale as a sheet. Though she did her best to hide it, Miranda felt a vicious sort of pleasure to see him like that. She knew she was being petty and childish, but knowing didn¡¯t make her feelings any less true.

    No matter how much she wished otherwise.

    Recent events had forced Miranda to take a good look at herself. In the last few years, she had been living with the knowledge that she was the strongest. Head of one of the most ancient Houses, blessed with exceptional reflexes and a Krinil gem of incredible power. She had taken pride in it. She had revelled in it. There was no one above her in status¡ªno one except the King, but his power was mostly symbolic. There was no one who could defeat her in combat either . . . no one, except that muscle-head groaning on her backseat.

    "I¡¯m going to puke," Bezel mumbled.

    "Don¡¯t you dare," Miranda growled. "Mashek, if he soils my automobile you are to climb back there and kick him out."

    Mashek shifted on the passenger''s seat, shooting an anxious glance back at Bezel.

    "Understood, mah lady."

    He was clearly was perplexed by the current situation, particularly by the dynamic between Miranda and Bezel. Through his fifteen years spent in House Dawngrove¡¯s service, likely he had never seen anyone treating the Head of the House with so much disrespect. And while the dark-skinned Athorian man¡¯s face was as impassive as ever, the uncertainty in his yellow eyes was unmistakable.

    Truth be told, Miranda felt just as uncertain.

    She wasn¡¯t entirely sure why¡ªthere wasn¡¯t any logical reason for it. So what if she wasn¡¯t the strongest in hand-to-hand combat? It didn¡¯t mean the end of the world. Mother had always said that the only power that truly mattered was the political one. Well, she had said that before being blasted multiple times through her chest by a Krinfused weapon¡ªher opinion might be a bit different now, were she still alive.

    But even if political influence was more important in today¡¯s world, even if individual power didn¡¯t matter as much, Miranda couldn¡¯t really think that way. She was a warrior at heart; that was how she had been raised and that was what she was genuinely good at. She had never been able to truly leave behind this part of herself, no matter how much her responsibilities had changed. It was, of course, no excuse for her behavior. A true Lady¡ªthe Head of her House¡ªshouldn¡¯t be upset about not being able to beat up everyone on her own.

    Especially when she had bigger concerns, like the whole world being stuck in a time loop.

    Mashek leaned back in his seat, producing a handkerchief to dab the sweat off his forehead. It made Miranda realize that she had neglected to keep her emotions in check; the direction her thoughts usually wandered didn¡¯t help in this regard.

    On the other hand, even stilling her emotions wouldn¡¯t do that much while driving. If she didn¡¯t want to empty the automobile¡¯s battery entirely, she needed to pour her power into the vehicle from time to time, which meant diving into an emotion of her choice. Her aura would be on full effect during this process; quite taxing on a mid-tier Krinfused like Mashek. Automobiles clearly weren¡¯t designed with ordinary people in mind. The best Miranda could do was to arrive to their destination quickly, so that Mashek could get a breather sooner.

    With that thought, Miranda swerved abruptly to the left to overtake an old-fashioned wagon. The pair of burdenbeasts pulling it whined madly¡ªalongside with Bezel¡ªas her vehicle passed them. Miranda completed the maneuver by pulling back to their side of the road, just in time to avoid collision with the wagon coming from the opposite direction. Rainguard was getting close now, which meant more vehicles on the road and slower progress, unfortunately.

    Already, the biggest Free City of Ylvasil was visible in the distance; a jungle of tall, moss-covered buildings with an intricate network of metallic pipes weaving between¡ªand sometimes through¡ªthem. As they approached the city perimeters, Miranda could see even the steam that escaped the pipes, soft white puffs billowing towards the dark rainclouds. Rainguard had one of the most advanced powerline systems in Ylvasil; the river that flowed through the city provided plenty of water to fill the pipes, cooling down the overheating conductors within. That in itself wouldn¡¯t have been enough however, if not for Rainguard¡¯s other method to collect water; the enormous, semi-transparent funnels erected all above the buildings, looking like gigantic reverse-umbrellas. They gathered the constant rain that poured down on the city, redirecting the water into the powerlines and saving a considerable amount of energy by not having to pump the water from the river.

    But for each of Rainguard¡¯s wonders, the city had its annoying qualities as well.

    Miranda drummed her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, the line of wagons in front of them forcing them to slow down to practically walking speed. They entered the city without trouble¡ªno walls or gates here¡ªbut the traffic became even worse from there on. Rainguard was full of looming buildings and narrow streets, the city¡¯s explosive growth of populace having proved to be too much to keep up with proper architecture.

    "We could leave the car here and walk," Bezel commented from the backseat. "You¡¯d get it back next week anyways."

    "We¡¯ll do no such thing," Miranda snapped. "We need the automobile to get back home, you idiot."

    "We could run, you know. It¡¯s not that far."

    Miranda scoffed, not deigning to entertain his weak joke with a reply. Although¡ªif she was honest with herself¡ªit wasn¡¯t exactly the lack of transportation that she feared. She could easily get a wagon to drive them back home, after all. What truly concerned her was something else; part of her hadn¡¯t accepted the presence of the time loop yet. She had seen some evidence, yes, but she hadn¡¯t actually seen time itself being rewound. Somewhere deep in her mind, she still expected these last few days to turn out to be some kind of elaborate prank.

    That being the case, there was no way she would simply abandon her vehicle here. She could buy an entire block of buildings here from her automobile¡¯s price.

    So in the end, Miranda continued rolling down the main avenue, watching the pedestrians at the roadside walk past her vehicle. Street vendors tried to out-cry each other and the general noise of the crowd, their shrill voices accentuated by the loud hisses of steam coming from the rusty pipes over the street¡ªand all the while, the rain kept prattling on the funnels high above. Miranda had never understood how people could willingly chose to live in this noise, but to each of their own, she supposed.

    Ah, but there were even more incomprehensible ways people chose to live. Just ahead of them at the corner of a crossing street, Miranda spotted a group of people lining up haphazardly in front of a building with a grand entrance. The Exchange, as people often called these kinds of establishments, even though they were in the hands of hundreds of different investors, forming dozens of different companies. Their core purpose was the same, though; offering money in exchange of power, turning Krinil power into yet another form of currency.

    The Exchange was a major reason why more and more commoners chose to become Krinfused. Spending all their fortune on their Krinil gem, they then hoped to earn it back via these establishments. Hoped was the key word there. Low-tiered Krinil gems¡ªthose that people could normally afford¡ªweren¡¯t able to generate much power. They needed several human lifetimes of constant use to absorb enough emotions¡ªand be able to provide sufficient power¡ªto make the investment worthwhile. As it currently stood, the new Krinfused citizens were forced to attend the Exchange regularly, turning it practically into their job. Go out, experience new highs and lows to acquire fresh memories, then pour it all out at the Exchange. The more vivid the emotion, the better. It was no wonder that drug addiction was on the rise these days.

    "Hey Mira," the brute said from behind her. "You see that?"

    It was easy enough to guess what he was looking at; a large procession of people in grey robes were walking by the roadside, each of them carrying a single white-petaled flower. People from the Church, there was no doubt of that, though what they were doing was very much unclear.

    "What about them?"

    "The Church¡¯s new movement," Bezel said, leaning forward between the front seats. "Or should I say sect? Tomorrow it will be all over the newspapers. Apparently they have some kind of special Krinil gem, which they intend to fill only with positive emotions. Stone of Purity, they call it."This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    "So what of it?" Miranda asked. "Let them chase all the ridiculous ideas they want. Next month they¡¯ll make up something else."

    "Yeah, but this time they are also making some very bold statements," Bezel said. "That Krinil gems are God¡¯s gift, and we shouldn¡¯t use them for ill¡ª"

    "That¡¯s already what the Church is about," Miranda snapped. "You aren¡¯t saying anything new, slave."

    "Heh, well, I didn¡¯t know that before this week," Bezel said. "Anyways, I was just about to get to the good part. Or bad part. Yeah, probably pretty bad, from your point of view."

    Miranda sighed. "Just spit it out already."

    "They say that since Krinil gems are a gift from God, it¡¯s a sin to monetize them. They should be free for the common folk, or more specifically, for the most devout believers. Consequently, every House and trading company who sells the gems for money is doing so against God¡¯s wishes¡ªthus making them heretics. Say, Mira, do you know any Houses that depend heavily on producing Krinil gems?"

    "You¡¯re joking," Miranda said, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

    "Nah. Told you already, I¡¯m not that much of a funny guy."

    "This is ridiculous," Miranda ground her teeth. "Can¡¯t be more than mere rumors. How would the Church expect us to remain functioning if we turn our business into charity? They can¡¯t just¡ª Mashek! You know anything about this?"

    Mashek cleared his throat awkwardly, flinching under Miranda¡¯s gaze.

    "I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t, mah lady," he said. "But if I may ask, how would your¡ªahem, slave, know what the Church does? Also¡ªforgive me, mah lady, but¡ªhow does he claim to know what the newspapers will write about tomorrow?"

    "First off," Bezel spoke before Miranda could have replied, "I¡¯m not a slave anymore, spymaster. Call me Bezel, if you need to."

    "Ah," Mashek said, frowning. He leaned sideways a bit, away from Bezel¡¯s meaty arm that rested on the back of his seat. "On being proper, I must tell you, Bezel, that I¡¯m no spymaster¡ªI am Head of Intelligence."

    "Sure thing, spymaster," Bezel said, grinning.

    Mashek gasped in indignation. "That¡ª"

    "Enough," Miranda barked. "Both of you, shut your yap if you have nothing constructive to say."

    Much to Miranda¡¯s surprise Bezel didn¡¯t defy her this time; he just patted Mashek¡¯s shoulder and leaned back without a word. Mashek immediately followed it up by producing yet another handkerchief, wiping off the shoulder that Bezel had touched. Athorians were very conscious about cleanliness, a trait that Mashek retained even after years of living in the dirty northern lands. Either that, or he was just using this gesture to state his opinion about Bezel¡ªMiranda wasn¡¯t entirely sure which. She had never been too good at reading subtle social signals; another of her failings as a Lady.

    She couldn¡¯t be bothered by that now, however. As she drove on, she noticed more and more groups of grey-robed figures walking in the same direction¡ªtowards Ruby District, where the wealthier citizens lived. The robed men and women carried nothing more than a single white flower each, and they were relatively silent¡ªtalking among each other, sure, but neither yelling their demands nor preaching their beliefs. Even her mansion¡¯s street was full of these people, though fortunately none of them converged specifically around her property.

    Considering all the terrible events that befell on Miranda¡ªand all that would happen in the future, according to Bezel¡ªshe wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if her mansion in Rainguard was under siege as well. But, as luck would have it, they arrived without any incident.

    The guards at the entrance saluted when they saw she was in the vehicle, then hurried to open the gate wide. Instead of taking the route towards the garage and the stables, Miranda rolled down on the paved road that led directly to the mansion; driving across the front yard, rounding the large fountain and stopping the vehicle right in front of the flight of stairs that led up to the mansion¡¯s large entrance doors. She hopped out of her automobile, waved away the servant that came forward to greet her, and scaled the stairs two at a time, not waiting for Mashek and Bezel to catch up.

    There was no time to waste, after all; Bezel insisted to be back at the Static Chamber by nightfall to wake Lynn up¡ªand truth be told, Miranda didn¡¯t want to waste too much time in Rainguard either. This wasn¡¯t a pleasure trip; it was a trip to gather intel and gather it personally, since she couldn¡¯t decide who to trust. She wasn¡¯t sure whether she was just being too paranoid, but if only half of what Bezel had told her was true, then the truth was that she hadn¡¯t been paranoid enough. That ended now, however.

    Miranda pushed the door¡¯s open and entered the front hall. A pair of servants were kneeling at the side, but she ignored them; her gaze was drawn to the ramp at the other end of the room, from where her cousin was already approaching. It was quite impressive that Raphael was able to come and greet her in person on such a short notice. His wheelchair was pushed by his butler, and he looked¡ªwell, he looked like he had seen better times. Bags under his green eyes, thinning, grey-black hair and shaggy mustache, and thin, almost gaunt face¡ªhe looked older than Miranda remembered, and way older than he actually was. Miranda felt a pang of guilt as she realized how long it had been since she had last seen her cousin.

    When Raphael was halfway across the hall, he raised a hand for his butler to stop. He then brought forth his powerfield, a warm orange shroud enclosing the right side of his body. With the powerfield¡¯s help, he stood up from his wheelchair and walked the remaining distance,

    "Miranda!" Raphael slurred, his mouth set in a lopsided smile. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

    "Looking for answers," Miranda replied, forcing herself to smile back. "Good to see you, Raphael."

    "Answers, huh?" Raphael said, the right half of his face slightly slack-jawed. "Why don¡¯t you come in and¡ªmay I ask what your servant is doing?"

    Miranda glanced back, taking note of Mashek standing respectfully next to the entrance¡ªand Bezel showing his wide back to them, having pried a display cabinet open and busily rooting through its contents. He lifted out some larger object¡ªa gramophone, Miranda realized¡ªand looked back at Raphael sheepishly.

    "Hello, Raph," Bezel said, waving one hand awkwardly while clutching the gramophone with the other. "Sorry about this one. I¡¯ve always wanted a music box in my chamber, but I keep forgetting to get one. So, when I saw yours¡ª"

    "Do we know each other?" Raphael interrupted him on a mild tone. "You don¡¯t seem to be familiar."

    "Name is Bezel," the brute said, equally unruffled. "I¡¯ve been here once or twice, but no, I don¡¯t think you know me. Umm¡ªMira, I¡¯ll be right back. Just tucking this thing away in your car, alright?"

    Miranda closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to remain calm while Bezel opened the door and slipped outside with the gramophone. Not important. Not at all. The idiot¡¯s antics were not why she was here.

    "That was a hundred-year-old gramophone," Raphael remarked. "Custom-made by the finest Athorian craftsmen in Azinroq."

    "Just ignore it for now," Miranda snapped angrily. "Raphael, I¡¯ll be heading out with Mashek to meet his informants. I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have time to sit down for a chat."

    Raphael nodded. "Is it about the rumors?"

    "Rumors?"

    "The ones about Krinfused people losing their power," Raphael said.

    "No, that¡¯s¡ªexcuse me?"

    Miranda looked back at Mashek, but the dark-skinned man was already shaking his head. For someone who called himself the Head of Intelligence, he was remarkably clueless.

    "Are you sure you can¡¯t spare some time to talk?" Raphael asked her, gesturing vaguely with a powerfield-covered hand. "The library is right there, if you want some privacy."

    Miranda sighed, but nodded reluctantly. She didn¡¯t really know what privacy mattered at this point, but she had quite a few questions¡ªand she suspected that her cousin would rather sit down and relinquish his hold on his powerfield. Although Raphael wouldn¡¯t want anyone to treat him differently because of his hemiplegia, Miranda knew that he¡¯d prefer not to waste his memories like this. Not that he would ever admit it, of course. The infamous Dawngrove-stubbornness had its drawbacks.

    "Forgive me for asking," Raphael spoke as they entered the library, "But . . . Miranda, isn¡¯t there an important meeting in Peridale that you were supposed to attend?"

    "Yes, well," Miranda said, wincing inwardly. "As it happens, more important issues have come to fore."

    "More important than the yearly meeting of the most influential Houses?"

    "Yes," Miranda replied. "I can¡¯t go into the details now, but¡ªI have a couple of favors to ask from you, Raphael."

    Raphael sat down by the reading table, gesturing for Miranda to do the same. He dismissed his powerfield and his posture slumped immediately, but his eyes remained fixed on Miranda as she took in their surroundings. The library¡ªthis library, as there were probably more of them within the mansion¡ªwasn¡¯t overly large by any means, but it was beautifully designed while being full of tomes, giving the room a cozy feel. Although this mansion was Miranda¡¯s by right, she couldn¡¯t remember ever seeing this room. The longer she looked, the more she recognized Raphael¡¯s hand in this. There was something to this place that reminded Miranda of him.

    "Favors?" Raphael prompted her, reminding her that she was actually supposed to be in a hurry.

    "Yes, favors," Miranda said. "First, I¡¯d like to know who sold us our newest warbeasts, and who exactly conducted the deal on our side."

    "That won¡¯t be difficult," Raphael said after a bit of thinking. "The records are here. Is there anything else?"

    Miranda hesitated for a moment. The next part was a bit . . . difficult to justify.

    "I also need you to look up who bought the first two of our Krinil Sculptures," she said. "You know, those small back sculptures that were originally in the Chamber of Ancestors."

    "The Krinil Sculptures?" Raphael slurred, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

    "Yes. I need anything you can find out about them, really. I¡¯m not sure you can, not within the records of this mansion, but it¡¯s worth a try."

    "Alright . . . though I don¡¯t see how this is important," Raphael said, frowning. "Do you intend to buy them back?"

    "Something like that," Miranda said. "I¡¯ll tell you more once we know more about them. Oh, and Raphael? I¡¯ve one more condition; I need the report by the end of the week¡ªpreferably tomorrow."

    "That¡¯s . . . not too much time, but I¡¯ll see what I can do."

    "Thank you," Miranda said, relaxing back in her chair. At least one thing today seemed to be going smoothly. "So . . . you mentioned a rumour earlier."

    "It started to happen earlier this week," Raphael elaborated. "A few people have lost any and all of their Krinil powers, seemingly at random. You haven¡¯t heard about it?"

    "No, I haven¡¯t," Miranda admitted bitterly. "Does the Church¡¯s newfound agenda have anything to do with this?"

    "Ah, you mean the Purists?" Raphael asked. "To tell the truth, I¡¯m not sure. If you ask them, they will probably explain this sudden loss of power as God¡¯s punishment of the unworthy."

    Miranda drummed her fingers on the armrest, thinking. As far as she knew, a Krinfused losing their power was virtually unheard of. Could this rumour have something to do with the time loop? It seemed more than likely, given how coincidentally it was happening now, of all times.

    "It might be worth looking into," Miranda murmured. "Raphael, I hate to ask, but¡ª"

    "¡ªI should investigate it?" Raphael asked with his lopsided smile. "Forgive me, Miranda, but isn¡¯t this exactly what your spy-network is for? You¡¯ve even brought your Head of Intelligence along."

    "That''s the point," Miranda said. "Considering how little he knows, I have my doubts about the spy-network¡¯s effectiveness¡ªwhich is precisely why I need your help."

    It was left unsaid, naturally, that perhaps it wasn¡¯t the network that skirted its duty; it could just as well have been the man at its head who withheld the information. But Mashek had been in House Dawngrove¡¯s service for a long time now, so Miranda gave him the benefit of the doubt. She tried her best not to see shadows in every corner . . . though it was quite the task, in light of what Bezel had told her about her future.

    Well, one thing at a time; meeting the informants came first. She could decide who to trust after she heard their reports and cross-checked the facts with other sources. Time loop or not, it was something she should have done long ago. She had been so focused on becoming a proper Lady¡ªand a worthy Head¡ªfor her House, that she hadn¡¯t realized her House was in dire need of a change too.

    By the end of this day, Miranda would be one step closer to restoring her House.

    One step¡ªthe first amongst many.

 Episode 10

    "<del>I have a hunch </del>I know that my pain tolerance has been increased as well. Normal people would experience intense pain if they have their fingers blown off, but I barely felt anything. This actually makes sense, in a weird way; pain is the body''s way of saying that something is terribly not right. Why should losing my fingers be more than a little sting, if my regeneration makes them regrow within seconds anyway?"

    ¡ª excerpt from Bezel¡¯s diary, Loop #373

    Bezel had always been amazedby the stark contrast between the impoverished districts of the city and the area where Raph¡¯s mansion was located. Amazed, but also disconcerted. He trudged along the dark, dirty, smelly streets, following Mashek and Mira closely. The three of them stood out like a sore thumb, but¡ªmuch to Bezel¡¯s surprise¡ªit had little to do with Mira¡¯s aura. The people on the streets didn¡¯t seem to know anything about her¡ªwell, either that, or they had sufficiently powerful Krinil gems to withstand her aura. With that kind of power they wouldn¡¯t be living here though, which led to reason that they really had no idea who Miranda Alexia Dawngrove was.

    Still, the three of them earned quite a few suspicious looks as they walked. A sharply-dressed foreigner, a woman in tight leathers and a pair of swords across her back, and a big dude in a uniform two sizes smaller than he was ought to be wearing. Not exactly the most ordinary citizens, especially not in these parts of the city.

    Ahead of them, a group of street urchins were flinging mud at each other, forcing Mashek to either stop or risk getting his clothes dirty. The Athorian man chose the former option, much to Mira¡¯s ire. The kids scampered away quickly when they realized they were in the way¡ªMira loudly berating Mashek probably helped a lot in that regard. When the three of them got going again, Bezel couldn¡¯t resist needling Mashek a bit more; the spymaster¡¯s reactions were just too damn amusing.

    "It must suck to be you, spymaster," he said, walking up to Mashek to pat his shoulder. "Having to visit your spies regularly in this dirty neighborhood."

    "Ah didn¡¯t ask for your ophinion, slave," Mashek retorted, conjuring a powerfield around his shoulders so that Bezel couldn¡¯t touch him directly. "Stop speaking so caherlessly. The walls have ears, here."

    "Doesn''t matter," Bezel shrugged. "By next week, the walls will forget all I said."

    Mashek scoffed at that. "You don''t know what you talk about, slave."

    "Alright then, I''ll let you in on a secret," Bezel whispered, sidling closer. He looked around dramatically, before leaning closer to the spymaster. "Mashek, I know it''s going to be hard to believe, but . . . you see, I¡¯m not actually a slave. Yes, Mira calls me that all the time, but you know how rich ladies tend to be. They all have their peculiarities¡ªcalling me slave just happens to be one of her kinks. Mira loves it when¡ª"

    "Stop whispering about me, slave," Mira barked from Mashek''s other side. "Either say it out loud so that I can hear it, or shut the Hell up."

    "See?" Bezel said, winking at Mashek. "She¡¯s really into it."

    Mashek opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to decide what to say. If it weren''t for his dark skin tone, he''d have probably been blushing, Bezel supposed. In the end, Mashek just cleared his throat and hurried forward, heading for a dark alleyway and pretending that nothing had happened.

    "Come, we are alhmost there."

    Much to Bezel¡¯s disappointment, their destination¡ªcontrary to the stereotypes¡ªwasn¡¯t actually in the narrow alley. They just used the alleyway to enter yet another small and crowded street. Since Bezel had already given up on keeping track where they actually were, one more disorienting turn didn¡¯t bother him too much. Mashek was heading for a small house wedged between two taller buildings; rotting wooden walls, boarded-broken windows, peeling paint on the sign above the entrance¡ªaccording to which, this was a tavern.

    When Mashek pushed the squeaking door open and the three of them filed in, it became obvious that the tavern wasn''t any better on the inside. Pale, yellowish light illuminated the room, and Bezel had to strain his eyes to see anything through the smoke of tobacco. A dozen or so customers were sitting at various tables, silently observing the newcomers. Their eyes were mostly on Mira, though Bezel caught a few measuring stares on himself too.

    "The usual," Mashek said as he walked past the barkeep, flicking a coin at the man. He then walked past the bar, opened a creaking door behind it, and disappeared inside. A steep, dimly lit staircase awaited Mira and Bezel when they followed the spymaster, leading down. As they descended in silence, Bezel couldn¡¯t help looking over his shoulder time and time again. The place was a bit¡ªalright, a lot creepy. Why was the staircase this long? Why had it been necessary to dig so deep down? Bezel was used to dark and long corridors, but this staircase still gave him the heebie-jeebies.

    But when they finally arrived at the bottom of the stairs and Mashek opened a heavy metallic door, it became immediately obvious why they had to walk so far down; the chamber behind the door was enormous.

    "Welcome to the Ratpit," Mashek said as they filed in after him.

    At first look, it looked as if a storehouse was built inside an abandoned factory. Metallic platforms running up above their head, huge tanks with powerlines twisting in-between, crates with suspicious content all over the place. There was a bustle of activity up on the platforms, people carrying stuff while a pair of guards stood alert, overseeing everything. Said guards nodded at Mashek when he waved at them, though Bezel didn¡¯t miss the way their expressions hardened as they glanced at Mira.

    There was a small bar in the shadow of the platforms; high-legged chairs, dusty wooden counter, and an old cabinet with a small variety of drinks. It was currently unoccupied, so Mashek led them there, bowing slightly when they arrived.

    "Please make yourself comfortable, mah lady," he said. "I¡¯ll gather the men, and be right back."

    Mira watched Mashek¡¯s back as he walked to a nearby ladder, put on a pair of white gloves, and climbed up cautiously to one of the platforms. She made no move to make herself comfortable, so Bezel didn¡¯t sit either. Instead, he peered at the large pipes running across the chamber, containing the powerlines within. He wondered where this enormous chamber ended. It could be some kind of secret tunnel-system, spread out beneath the entire city; the long staircase they had used to arrive might not have been the only entrance, but one amongst many.

    "How legal is this place?" Bezel asked Mira.

    Mira just shot him an annoyed glance, then turned her attention back to the people running on the platform up above.

    "Hey, just asking," Bezel said, keeping his tone light¡ªthough he was now looking upwards as well. Was it just his imagination, or were more and more men gathering on the platforms above? Even the pair of guards from the entrance appeared, drawing their guns¡ª

    "Fhire!"

    By the time Mashek finished uttering this single word, Bezel was already moving. He grabbed Mira''s shoulders and slammed her against the counter, towering over her to shield her with his body. A moment later he felt the first bullets hit his back, bouncing off him harmlessly. He grunted when Mira punched him in the stomach as a reward for his efforts, though she switched gears quickly thereafter, realizing that he meant no harm. Like any Krinfused, she needed some precious seconds to summon her powerfield and strengthen it enough to withstand gunshots. If a lucky bullet hit a vital spot before she had a chance to do that, her healing powers wouldn''t be able to save her.

    Fortunately, Bezel had no such concerns about himself¡ªnot until the Krinhanced guns had come to play.

    Wood exploded all over as the energy-bullets tore the furnishing around them apart, and Bezel felt his flesh being scorched away bit by bit. He slapped a hand against the back of his neck to protect his gem within¡ªwhich unfortunately meant that he couldn¡¯t catch himself when he stumbled, a well-aimed bullet having pierced the back of his knee and destroying it thoroughly. Even so, Bezel wore a triumphant grin as he fell to the ground; he had bought enough time for Mira to bring forth her powerfield. Judging by the lapse of gunfire, their enemies had realized this as well.

    "Not a smart move, gentlemen," Mira said, her voice full of barely restrained anger. Her bubbling crimson powerfield had grown two phantom limbs that she flattened into shields, while she held her twin swords in her own hands.

    "Not a smart move, mah lady?" came Mashek¡¯s voice from above. The Athorian man tried to sound mocking, but had an edge of nervousness to his voice. "You walked into our trap willingly¡ªwe shan''t wish for a better chance to remove you!"

    "The only thing that you''ll wish for is a swift death," Miranda snarled. "Tell me, how long¡ª"

    "Canisters! Now!"

    Bezel was just about to get back on his feet when Mashek''s gunmen tossed several small cylinders down in front of him. Thick, yellowish smoke burst out of the canisters, spreading rapidly. It was a common tactic against powerful Krinfused; no matter how strong their powerfield, they still needed air to breathe. Mira crouched down¡ªready to launch herself up towards the gunmen¡ªbut Bezel reached out quickly and grabbed her arm, preventing her from jumping.

    "What are you¡ª"

    "Get Mashek later," Bezel said. "Think of the loop, escape now."

    He didn''t have time to say anything else, because the smoke was already about to reach them. Taking a deep breath, Bezel stumbled towards the exit. The heavy door wasn¡¯t too far from them, but¡ªnot too surprisingly¡ªit was closed. Mashek and his men continued to rain bullets at them, though this time it was Mira who took most with her phantom limbs.

    Bezel bent his legs cautiously to see whether they had regenerated completely, then kicked off the ground with all the power he could muster, charging forward. He slammed into the door with the force of a battering ram, the impact stirring up the smoke around him. Sadly, it wasn''t enough; though slightly bent, the heavy door stood steady. Bezel scrambled backwards to gain some distance and charge again, but Mira surprised him by dashing in and slashing at the door''s hinges. Her powerfield-covered sword cut through the metal with ease, barely meeting any resistance. Bezel took this opportunity to lunge forward with a powerful kick, bursting through the door with the same motion and landing on top of it. He began to scale the steps immediately, Mira close at his heels.

    "So my entire spy-network is against me," Miranda grumbled as they ran, her voice almost drown out by the shouts below. Mashek sounded really pissed for some reason¡ªperhaps Bezel shouldn¡¯t have bullied him so much.

    "I¡¯m not too surprised," Bezel said, tearing the singed scraps of his uniform off his chest. "I warned you Mira, you cannot trust¡ª"

    He stopped in his tracks as he reached the top of the stairs and burst into the tavern. Every customer was standing, pointing guns at them from behind their tables.

    "¡ªanyone."

    The thugs opened fire, and Bezel barely had enough time to raise a hand and shield his face. Luckily these guys weren''t as well-equipped as the people down at the basement; most of them had ordinary weapons, their bullets bouncing off Bezel''s skin harmlessly. While Bezel hesitated what to do, Mira leapt into action; pushing past him, her sword was nothing more than a blur as she swung it at the bartender and decapitated him with a single strike. Before Bezel could comprehend what had just happened, she pivoted past the headless body and launched herself at the nearest group of men¡ªthen chaos ensued.

    Gawking, Bezel lowered his hands slowly. He couldn¡¯t deny that Mira was a sight to behold; terrifying and amazing at the same time, graceful and unstoppable like a battle angel from Old Cook''s tales. Her fighting style was all about movement, using phantom limbs to navigate, her long swords tearing bloody arcs around her. She was constantly in motion as she spun from person to person, following the steps of a deadly dance¡ªand none of her opponents had any chance. Some outright collapsed in fear, unable to withstand the closeness of her aura, while the rest¡ªthose who were Krinfused¡ªtrembled, the weak manifestation of their powers providing nothing against Mira''s crimson red shroud.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Bezel was brought out of his horrified fascination by being shot in the back of his head. He whirled around instantly, making his offender jump in fright before kicking him in the chest. The man flew back to the staircase, bowling over the others behind him amid cries of pain.

    "Mira, we got to go," Bezel shouted as someone from the stairs flung up a gas canister. He tossed it back down, but he knew it wouldn''t stop the gunmen.

    "We can take them," Mira said, punching a thug with a phantom fist while impaling another with one of her swords.

    "We can, but we don''t have to," Bezel said, grabbing the first emerging man with two hands and tossing him back bodily.

    "They are coming up one by one," Mira said, appearing next to Bezel. "I can take them alone."

    Not eager to help Mira murdering the gunmen, Bezel stepped back to give her some space. He turned around to cover her back, though there wasn''t much need for it; the remaining customers were either bleeding on the ground, or making a swift exit out of the tavern.

    Sadly, this didn''t mean that Bezel could just laze around.

    In spite of Mira''s bravado, it looked like she wouldn''t be able to handle the gunmen one by one. The next man who emerged was covered in a pitch black powerfield that formed and reformed small spikes all over its surface. A hatred-induced powerfield; tough, almost impossible to fine-control, and obscuring its wielder''s vision even more than rage- and aggression-induced powerfields. But neither of the drawbacks mattered for the man who charged at Mira, forcing her to back away from the stairs as her swords failed to penetrate his black protective layer.

    Bezel jumped forward to cover Mira''s spot, punching the next emerging gunman in the face. The crimson aura covering the man''s head was nowhere near as strong as Mira''s, so he was knocked out immediately. The next gunman opened fire at Bezel, pushing past his unconscious buddy; if nothing else, they were admirably persistent. Bezel was about to punch the man back down, when an energy-bullet hit him in the chest and another took out his left eye simultaneously. It made him stagger slightly, and that was all it took for another man to jump at him, slicing his throat open with crimson claws.

    Bezel''s cry of pain came out as a bloody gurgle, but he grabbed the gunman¡¯s arm with one hand, and side of his head with another. The man fought back of course, grabbing onto him with his free arm while his buddies tried to squeeze past him to get Bezel. It had to be done then, Bezel realized; there was no use of playing nice. Bezel roared, pushing forward and forcing the gunman back down the stairs, moving like an unstoppable force defying the energy-bullets hitting his legs and side. With his hand around the closest gunman¡¯s head, he squeezed¡ªsqueezed even as the crimson powerfield turned spiky black, squeezed even as the gunman stabbed pitch-black spikes into his stomach. He squeezed, and when he felt his opponent¡¯s skull crumple under his fingers, he tossed his corpse down the stairs¡ªfighting down his feelings of disgust just as much as the gunmen.

    Bezel hated killing with his own hands. No, he hated killing, period. But if he had to do it, he would have much preferred if he could use Krinfused weapons, like everyone else.

    He spat a glob of blood to the side as his throat reformed, then smashed his fist into the wall beside the staircase. The corner of the wall exploded in a shower of bricks and dirt, filling the entryway with rubble¡ªbut it was nowhere near enough to stop Mashek¡¯s men.

    "Mira, we really should go now!" Bezel bellowed.

    He kicked yet another gunman down who climbed over the debris, and got hit only by a couple of bullets this time. Mira didn''t answer however, and when Bezel glanced back he saw that she was still fighting her opponent. Apparently the man owned a relatively powerful Krinil too, holding his ground with a pair of powerfield-covered daggers. At times like this, there wasn''t any surefire way to win quickly; Krinfused people with similar strengths either had to wear their opponent down, or disrupt their concentration long enough to kill them.

    Sighing in frustration, Bezel vaulted over the bar and tackled Mira''s opponent from behind¡ªtaking both of them down to the round.

    "Cover the stairs, I got this!"

    Mira''s powerfield shifted into a shade of yellow, but thankfully she complied. She practically threw herself towards the two men who were already out and aiming handguns at her.

    Meanwhile, the man under Bezel struggled to get free.

    "You are a dead man," Bezel''s opponent threatened. "You don¡¯t know who I¡ªamgh!"

    The man roared as Bezel squeezed his head, black spikes erupting all over his powerfield, punching through Bezel''s hand. But Bezel held on, right until his opponent freed one of his daggers from under him and swung it at Bezel''s left arm, cutting deep into his flesh. Before Bezel had any chance to get away, the dagger had already carved through his arm, severing it at his elbow. Bezel grunted in pain, but had enough presence of mind to dodge the next dagger-thrust. Still on the ground, he rolled backwards and grabbed his opponent''s leg with his remaining hand, then slammed him into the side of the bar hard enough to shatter the wood. The man dropped his dagger, but Bezel didn''t let up; he sprang to his feet and started swinging his opponent around, gripping his ankle in an iron fist. He smashed him into chairs, tables, walls¡ªanything solid he could find.

    The man was tenacious, Bezel had to give him that. He even tossed him up to the ceiling a few times, but his powerfield of hatred held firm. The man must have truly despised House Dawngrove to be able to keep up his powerfield this long. Still, his concentration finally broke when Bezel hammered him into the ground, the wooden floor caving in under them from the impact. The black powerfield flickered out for a second, long enough for Bezel to punch his opponent¡¯s throat with his newly reformed left fist.

    The fight ended quickly after that.

    Bezel straightened back up, exhaling slowly. He turned back to the fight behind him right as Mashek emerged from the stairs. He was the last one in the line, with only two of his gunmen remaining. They had Mira pinned down with two Sequencers; large Krinhanced rifles capable of shooting up to two energy-bullets per second. The cooling system was supposed to be tremendously heavy, but the gunmen carried them easily on their back with their orange-crimson powerfields. They showered Mira with so many bullets that she had no chance to counter-attack. Her face was tense with concentration as she tried to keep a light green powerfield in place, the bullets constantly chipping away at her protective layer. More alarming was Mashek however, or at least the machine on his back. It began to whir and emanate a soft light, a long barrel protruding above the man''s shoulder to take aim at Mira.

    That was when Bezel joined in the fight, ramming into one of the gunman from the side and picking him up with both hands. His momentum took both of them forward, right between Mashek and Mira. Mashek fired at the same time, a continuous beam of energy erupting from the barrel of his weapon.

    Bezel held the gunman up as a shield, the beam hitting the cooler tank on his back first¡ªwhich, in hindsight, might not have been the smartest idea. The Sequencer on the gunman''s back exploded in a burst of power, the detonation so intense that the shockwave knocked everyone to the ground¡ªeveryone, except Bezel. His entire upper body was a bundle of pain though, and it felt as if his flesh was melting off his bones¡ªwhich probably wasn''t too far from the truth.

    Still, he remained standing.

    The left side of his face was in a state of ruin, but with his remaining right eye he focused on the other gunman through the smoke, injured in the explosion, writhing on the ground. His powerfield was gone now, which made this the perfect opportunity to strike. Bezel took an unsteady step forward, then another. The charred remains of his boots fell off his feet, but he took yet another step, stomping down on the burning floorboard. Acrid smell wafted his nostrils, and he found it difficult to breathe. It wasn''t because of the smoke, he realized a moment later; a piece of metal¡ªpart of the former gunman''s weapon¡ªhad been embedded in his chest. Reaching up with one hand, he gripped the metal firmly and pulled it free with one smooth motion.

    He then took another step forward.

    Mira and Mashek were getting to their feet, but the gunman was still on the floor, coughing from the smoke. The moment before Bezel reached him, the man looked up with eyes full of tears and terror. It took Bezel all his willpower not to flinch. This was the worse part¡ªsomething that hurt way more than any explosion ever could. It didn''t stop him from kicking the gunman''s head though, killing him instantly.

    He then looked up at Mashek, who was backing away slowly.

    "What the¡ª What the Hell are you?!" Mashek squeaked.

    "Officially just a simple shoe cleaner," Bezel rasped. Damn, his throat was dry. He coughed a little and forced a smile on his lips, trying his best to put the dead gunman¡¯s face out of his mind.

    "You¡ª"

    "A-ah, now it¡¯s my time to ask," Bezel interrupted him. "Mashek, where did you get an LSR401? I¡¯ve only read about it in a tech newspaper, but they wrote that it¡¯s still in testing stage! How did you get one?"

    Mashek shot him a look of utter confusion.

    "No, wait," Bezel continued, "Before you answer that, could you tell me how strong its stopping power is? Can it really pierce through¡ª"

    "Out of my way," Mira snarled, brushing past Bezel.

    "D-Don''t come clohser, or I¡¯ll shoot!" Mashek yelled, aiming the barrel of his gun at them. Bezel knew it was an empty threat, though; unless Mashek had improved the original design, the LSR401 couldn''t fire more than once per minute. Miranda called him on his bluff too¡ªor perhaps just didn¡¯t care whether he fired or not¡ªand leapt towards him, the tip of her sword cutting off the weapon''s barrel. She then followed it up by thrusting her second sword straight through Mashek''s abdomen.

    "Aaah!" Mashek screamed as Mira twisted the blade inside of him.

    "You''ll tell me who you''re working for," she hissed, "Or I will carve out your gem and find it out myself."

    Mashek trembled¡ªfrom his injury, from Mira¡¯s aura, and perhaps from a bit of genuine fear. Still, when he looked up, Bezel saw a spark of defiance in his eyes.

    "I have a better idea, mah lady. I''ll just make shure to¡ª"

    "Mira, back!"

    "¡ªtake you with me!"

    Bezel grabbed Mira''s shoulder and spun around, flinging her backwards while he simultaneously kicked out with one leg, launching Mashek in the other direction. He wasn''t quite fast enough. The LSR401 on Mashek''s back detonated, and the explosion was even larger than the last one. As white-hot flames swallowed up his whole world, Bezel found himself once again in a sea of pain¡ªand this time he didn¡¯t remain standing. All he could do was to duck his head and clutch the back of his neck, hoping that his gem would remain intact.

    And then there was only darkness.

    For a long time¡ªwhich could have been anything between minutes to hours¡ªBezel couldn''t see, couldn''t hear, and all he felt were his melted flesh and bones. Oh, and the roof collapsing on top of him. He was quite sure he felt that too.

    When he first came to, he was lying on his back. He didn''t have any eyelids yet, but he could see¡ªhe could see Mira standing over him, pointing a sword at his neck. Her face was streaked with dirt and she breathed heavily, but she was seemingly uninjured. Her regeneration must have healed her already.

    "I could kill you now."

    "Good for you," Bezel wheezed, his eyes focusing on the blade at his throat. His mouth tasted like ash, but at least he could speak. He couldn¡¯t move, though¡ªcouldn¡¯t even feel his limbs, in fact.

    "I should kill you now."

    "That would be stupid," Bezel cautiously said. He tore his eyes away from the blade, looking up at Mira¡¯s face¡ªand found only cold resolve there.

    "I would have the time loop for myself," Mira stated. "I reckon there are memories in your Krinil gem about how to end the loop."

    Bezel didn''t say anything, and Mira didn''t say anything else either. For long moments, they just stared at each other, her green eyes boring into his brown ones. His body was taut with tension, aching as he forced himself to move¡ªtried to move. He couldn''t feel his legs at all; he knew they would take some time to be usable. He attempted to move his left arm, to no avail. His right arm, however, was in a better shape. Bezel cautiously bent it a bit, shifting it slowly closer¡ª

    "I guess I''m a soft-hearted fool too," Mira suddenly said and stepped back, sheathing her sword.

    "Ah," Bezel sighed, sagging in relief. "You scared me a little, Mira."

    "Good," she said, the corner of her lips twitching upwards.

    "Just a little, though."

    Mira rolled her eyes. "Just hurry up and heal yourself already. Someone is bound to investigate what this explosion was about."

    "Oh, sure," Bezel said, groaning, struggling to sit up. "No problem. Here, let me just regrow all of my limbs and organs real quick."

    With another long groan of pain, Bezel managed to sit. Quite disturbingly, neither of his legs were more than blackened sticks. They remained unchanged for the moment, probably because his regeneration couldn¡¯t handle so much at once. His left arm was completely wrecked too, but he could feel his burnt skin on his back healing up nicely. He was fine otherwise, the rest of his body more or less restored by now.

    Oh, but of course he was also butt naked.

    "You don¡¯t happen to have any spare clothes in my size, do you, Mira?" Bezel asked, not really expecting an answer. "You really owe me an entire wardrobe of clothes now. They just keep getting ruined ¡®round you, you know. This is the second shirt I lost because of you¡ªtoday! Let''s not even talk about what happened yesterday and the day before that."

    When Bezel looked up, he saw Mira watching him with an inscrutable expression, her face slightly pinched.

    "What?" Bezel asked.

    "I never asked you to protect me. It¡¯s your fault that your clothes got burned."

    Bezel snorted. "That so?"

    Mira turned her head aside, fixing her eyes on the collapsed roof above. She remained silent for a while, long enough for Bezel to think their conversation was over.

    "Yes," she replied suddenly, still not looking at him. "Nevertheless, it was a good fight. You held your ground well enough, so . . . you have my thanks, Bezel."

    Bezel blinked in surprise. "You''re welcome, I guess. I wouldn''t say it was a good fight, but that''s what I think every time it involves people dying."

    "Too bad," Mira said, turning her back to him. She sauntered across the room, winding around the debris until she reached the tavern''s entrance. She kicked down the remnants of the door, then glanced back over her shoulder.

    "Heal up and scavenge some clothes. You''ve got five minutes before I''m leaving."

    She stepped out to the street and began to walk away. Once the echoes of her footsteps faded, only the wind''s sharp rustling could be heard as it blew through the damaged walls and the collapsed roof.

    Bezel sighed, rubbing his newly grown hair. He needed to hurry, that much was true; hopefully Lynn wouldn¡¯t wake up in her incubator before they returned. Bezel glanced around in the room and took in the carnage. The debris couldn¡¯t entirely hide all the bodies that lay on the floor, torn and burnt beyond recognition. He had to close his eyes for a moment to calm down.

    How the Hell was he supposed to scavenge clothes here?

    He would need to have some serious talk with Mira. Her insistence to take on Mashek and his men had been reckless and stupid. It would have made sense among normal circumstances, to prevent Mashek from getting away¡ªbut within the time loop such things were irrelevant.

    This fight also put Bezel closer to death than he had ever been to it. It was a scary thought, actually more frightening now, when it was over. Instead of dwelling on it, Bezel decided to regard it as a learning experience. He had gotten to know exactly how many explosions he could withstand before turning into a pile of ash. Very useful knowledge, especially in Mira''s company.

    "Oh man, what a day," Bezel mumbled. And it wasn''t even over yet. He still had the worst part ahead of him; riding Mira¡¯s automobile back home.

 Episode 11

    "It¡¯s incredible how much my Krinils have changed recently, truly incredible. Physically too, but more so mentally. Last week they barely knew their way around their pen, but now it¡¯s suddenly as if they had spent months in there. I have a suspicion that they are capable of storing their own memories, much like we do with our Krinil gems. It¡¯s possible that they are using those memories to navigate the room with much more familiarity than they ought to have."

    ¡ª Notes from Prof. Sylven¡¯s desk, stolen by Shoes at his twin brother¡¯s behest

    Lynn was going on an adventure!

    Once the yucky liquid inside the incubator had been drained off, she could wiggle herself free easily. Hopefully she hadn¡¯t broken anything this time¡ªProffie always got mad when she did.

    Lynn found the room silent and dark and empty. Well, not completely, but almost! It wasn¡¯t entirely silent; faint clicking sounds could be heard from multiple strange mana-infused devices in the room. It wasn¡¯t entirely dark; the incubator was still powering down, some components on its top providing a soft glow. It wasn¡¯t entirely empty either; Lynn was in it, after all.

    But Lynn couldn¡¯t sense Bezzel or Harpy or any of the others nearby, so she decided to go find them. She ran to the door, but found it closed. When it didn¡¯t open even after some punching and kicking, Lynn closed her eyes and reached back to the Astral Plane to access her memory bank. She had seen Bezzel open and close this thing multiple times, so¡ªof course, that was how he did it!

    Following her memories, Lynn opened the door quickly and stepped outside. She stopped there however, looking down at herself. She was completely nekkid. That just wouldn¡¯t do! Mortals always covered their body with clothes, so they would find her strange if she didn¡¯t wear anything. She scampered back to the room, climbing up to Bezzel¡¯s boxes to look for something to wear.

    She managed to find¡ªeven without her memory bank¡ªa large fabric that Bezzel usually wore over his chest. She pulled it over her head, but it had too large holes in it! The fabric slipped past her shoulders and fell down onto the floor. Lynn then tried again, pulling at the fabric so that the hole became smaller, but sadly didn¡¯t remain that way. No matter how much she tried, it always reverted to its bigger state. In the end, all Lynn managed to achieve was accidentally tear it, making the hole even wider.

    Lynn sat down and began to think. She dwelt in her stored memories, concentrating hard. Was there anything she could do in this case? In the Astral Plane, she would have just thought that she was wearing clothes, and she would be wearing clothes. But this world was different¡ªthis world was much harder! She still tried it though. Maybe it would work this time, now that she had spent some more time in the incubator. Growling a little as she focused intensely on her body, Lynn willed some clothes to appear.

    "Gwah!"

    Nothing happened.

    Lynn needed a better solution. Bezzel¡¯s clothes didn¡¯t fit, and she hadn¡¯t seen where her previous clothes disappeared to, but¡ªaha! Harpy had clothes too. Harpy was smaller than Bezzel, so her clothes would fit Lynn better! Excitedly, Lynn hurried to Harpy¡¯s side of the room.

    A bunch of time later, Lynn was out in the dark corridor, wearing a pink fabric that was long enough to reach down to her ankles. At least, she thought it was pink-colored. No one had explained this color to her, but from her observations she had made before she had a body¡ªpeeking at this strange world through the Veil¡ªshe could infer what this color was called.

    "Oh!"

    Lynn had an interesting idea. She lifted her clothes a bit and licked at the fabric curiously¡ªbut sadly pink had the same taste as Bezel¡¯s clothes. Strange. Was it because she could only see black at the moment? The corridor was really dark¡­

    Lynn traversed the black corridor without seeing anything, reassured in a memory that told her this corridor had an entrance. Unlike in the Astral Plane, things in this world rarely changed. No, no, that was not true. Things changed a lot, but they changed with time. Very curious. It was easy to understand why so many of Lynn¡¯s kin was drawn to this strange, alien world¡ªeven if it meant being bound to an object. All these feelings, all these emotions, all the new experiences; they were all wondrous. And Lynn was even luckier than the most, bound not to a simple gemstone, but to a living body. She had her own emotions!

    And her own emotions told her now that she was excited. She could see light! Lynn ran, eager to reach the entrance. Or was it the exit? Good question. It was one of those things that kept changing all the time, even in this world. Distracted by her own thoughts, Lynn stumbled and tumbled and fell down as she left the dark behind. She fell right into something flowy¡ªno, not the incubator again! Oh, just water. Cold water. Brrr!

    Lynn stood up quickly, but the cold clung to her skin. Annoying. And then she felt excited again, as she realized she felt annoyed. Such wonderful variety of emotions! But the water was still annoying. Lynn kicked at the cold fluid that flowed around her legs, but it just wouldn¡¯t leave her alone.

    "Stop!"

    Lynn kicked and punched, but in the end it was she who gave up first, climbing onto a dry patch of stones. She huffed, but turned her mind to more productive things. Like finding Bezzel or Harpy. They told her that they would help her, so where were they? Nowhere nearby, apparently. All Lynn could see were trees and trees and trees. And water. Annoying water!

    Well, she just needed to pick a direction to start walking and hopefully she would find someone. But there were so many directions! Closing her eyes, Lynn concentrated on sensing the mana density in the air. This was a good plan; higher density usually meant more people around. She couldn¡¯t sense much in her vicinity, but she had a hunch that far away in a certain direction there might be more. When she opened her eyes, she realized that the water was flowing in the same direction.

    "Lynn not give up!" she yelled as she jumped back into the water. Cold was a sensation too, and even if it wasn¡¯t the best sensation, Lynn was beginning to like it. She wasn¡¯t even annoyed anymore; splashing around in the flowy liquid was fun. She tried to lick it, then drink it all up, but the water didn¡¯t stop flowing, not even once.

    Eventually she reached some stone structure arching above the water and she climbed up. Her hands were very, very deft compared to the last time she tried to climb. Good! Her body was growing. Come to think of it, running and walking were easier too, weren¡¯t they? Lynn had barely fallen¡ªalright, she had fallen a lot, but only because she was kicking at the water.

    Once she climbed up, she found a road and buildings in the distance. And light! In the last bunch of time the air around her had steadily darkened, so fresh light was very welcome. Lynn felt around with her mana-sense, noting with satisfaction that there was indeed more mana to be found where the light came from. With a wide smile on her face, she started running.

    By the time she reached the closest building, she was certain that there were people inside. She could hear them talking, as well as making strange and beautiful and tantalizing noises¡ªmusic! The sky above Lynn got very dark, but there were plenty of light coming from the buildings, drawing Lynn closer. She scampered closer to a hole in the wall¡ªto a window¡ªand pulled herself up to peek inside.

    "Woah," Lynn whispered. She had never seen so many humans at one place! They wore colorful clothes, and did lots of kinds of things. Some were eating from a long table, some were standing and talking with each other, and others were moving around in pairs at the center of the room, clutching at each other. A mating ritual, perhaps? Lynn was eager to observe¡ªbut first, she needed to find a proper entrance. Or exit. People didn¡¯t climb through windows, so she shouldn¡¯t either.

    She lowered herself back to the ground, then sat down to think. Dwelling into her memories didn¡¯t reveal anything, sadly; she knew how to get in and out of Proffie¡¯s house, but this building here looked different. Ah, well¡ªshe just had to explore it by herself. And if she didn¡¯t find any exits, she could just climb through a window very secretly.

    Lynn walked alongside the building, one hand trailing the wall beside her. She walked and walked and walked, until she found something that was undoubtedly a door¡ªand someone was opening it to go inside! Lynn hurried after the human. It was a male human, tall like every human, carrying a tray of food. When he turned around to close the door and saw Lynn, he froze.

    "Hello!" Lynn greeted the male as per human custom, approaching him. The human trembled, his eyes widening as he backed off slowly, dropping his tray. Lynn winced as it hit the floor with a sharp clang, bits off food scattering in the doorway.

    "Oh my God," the human sputtered, then turned around and ran. "M-Monster! Monster!"

    Lynn whirled around quickly to look behind herself¡ªbut she didn¡¯t see any monster. It was really-really dark though, and Lynn¡¯s eyes couldn¡¯t see what lay in the distance. Maybe the human saw something scary lurking there? Lynn didn¡¯t know the dangers of these lands, so she decided not to risk her new and beautiful fleshy body. She hurried inside too, but then stopped and grabbed the edge of the door, carefully pulling it shut. No monsters were coming in now!

    "Hello?" Lynn tried again, but the human was nowhere to be seen. The small room was empty. Well, not entirely empty, because Lynn was standing in it, but¡ªoh! There was food lying everywhere under her feet. Curiously, Lynn squatted down to pick up a small squishy thing, sniffed at it, then popped it into her mouth.

    "Mmm!"

    It was delicious! Yummy! Tasty! Nothing that Lynn had ever tasted before! She quickly picked up another piece, biting into it. Then another. And another. There were different flavors! This was incredible. By the time Lynn finished, sitting against the wall and sighing contently, the floor was mostly clear of food. She looked down and poked at her belly, knowing that it was the place where all those delicious yummies disappeared to. She then smiled happily, realizing this was exactly why she came to this world. To experience strange new sensations! To feel exciting emotions! To eat tasty food! Lynn stood up then, a new idea forming in her very own brain.

    She was going to eat some more food.

    She set off walking, moving along a long corridor. Humans really liked their corridors. Lynn observed the framed pictures alongside the walls¡ªthere were lots of them, though most were too high for Lynn to see¡ªand she decided that she liked them. Pictures were tasty for her eyes. They had beautiful colors, and just by looking at them they filled Lynn by different thoughts and sensations. Some of the pictures depicted scenes of this world, similar to what Lynn had observed through the Veil. Other pictures had interesting humans on them, different from Bezzel and Proffie and Harpy, yet similar so much.

    There were people on the corridor too, not just on pictures. They were all very polite¡ªor perhaps shy? Lynn saw them making way for her everywhere she went, some of them whispering among each other when they saw her. Most of the humans were too busy however, doing things that humans usually did. Humany things. Going this way and going that way. None of it was terribly interesting, until Lynn realized that they were carrying trays. Trays similar that the human male had dropped earlier, trays full of delicious yummies!Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    A human¡ªthis time a female human¡ªwho was coming from the opposite direction froze when she saw Lynn looking at her tray with predatory eyes. It was a good thing too, because Lynn would need her help to reach the food¡ªshe was carrying it so high up!

    "Hello," Lynn greeted the female as per human custom. She even waved her hands a little.

    The human, however, said nothing¡ªjust started to back away as Lynn approached.

    "Lynn eat!" Lynn declared, pointing at the food.

    The human, much to Lynn¡¯s frustration, turned around and ran. Lynn already knew what frustration felt like, and she decided that she still didn¡¯t like to feel it. With a cry of indignation, she ran after the female.

    "Help!" the human cried as she burst into a large room at the end of the corridor. "Somebody help me!"

    "Lynn help!" Lynn offered, hoping that it would finally make the human stop running away. Her shorter legs couldn¡¯t carry her so fast! She stumbled into the room after the human, lost her balance, and sprawled on the floor. Picking herself up quickly, she then sniffed at the air. She could smell lots of tasty smells!

    There were lots of humans in this room too, though they were dressed differently than the ones Lynn had seen through the window. These ones were dressed very similarly to each other. Lynn looked at them curiously and they looked at Lynn funnily, and then everyone started to shout and run up and down, doing humany things.

    "Warbeast! There¡¯s a warbeast here!"

    "No, it has to be one of the nobles¡¯¡ª"

    "It tried to eat me!"

    "Someone call the guards!"

    "Give me the knife!"

    "Don¡¯t get close, it might be venomous!"

    Lynn kept turning her head left and right, trying to understand what was going on. The strange humans kept shouting and scrambling and looking at her, even more so when she slunk forward and snatched a tasty-looking fleshy thing¡ªmeat, Lynn remembered¡ªfrom the table. She munched on it, though it was a bit tough to chew and made her hands and mouth sticky, and wasn¡¯t even that tasty anyways.

    Lynn put the half-eaten meat back where she found it, then licked her lips as she looked around the room to find something else. The humans were still being shy, ducking out of sight and shouting over each other.

    "Enough!" someone yelled near Lynn, and she saw a wrinkled human male¡ªan old human male¡ªapproach her. Remarkably, all the other humans fell silent to listen.

    "Get back to your work, everyone," the old human said with a firm voice. "Our noble guests want to eat, and we¡¯re already behind schedule. I¡¯ll welcome the little miss here."

    The old human moved closer to Lynn with hobbly steps, and Lynn waved to greet him.

    "Hello!"

    The human stopped, watching her with his one open eye.

    "Hello, little one. Can you understand our speech?"

    Yes! Someone greeted Lynn back! Lynn bobbed her head vigorously at the old human¡¯s question, remembering that sometimes people communicated with head movements too.

    "Lynn unstan¡ªunderstand!" Lynn said, her tongue stumbling a bit on the long word. "Lynn speak too!"

    It wasn¡¯t entirely true, perhaps, because Lynn didn¡¯t understand every word and neither could she speak too well . . . but she was much better than she had been before, and she was proud of it! Her head felt less fuzzy and slow; it was easier to concentrate and draw upon her memories. It helped her speaking, a little.

    "Your name is Lynn?" the old human asked. "Mine is Oldcook."

    "Oldcook," Lynn repeated after him, feeling out the word.

    Oldcook smiled, nodding at her. "Welcome to our kitchen."

    "Kitchen?"

    "This place is the kitchen," Oldcook said. "The meals are prepared here."

    "Prip¡ª?"

    "Prepared. Cooked and baked. We make food here."

    Lynn¡¯s eyes went huge. Food was made?

    "Niiice!" she exclaimed, laughing in delight. The kitchen was nice, just like the flowers. One of the nicest wonders of this world. She looked around to see exactly how the food was made, but she couldn¡¯t see much. She¡¯d have to climb up to a table to see better.

    "Lynn want to see," Lynn said. "Make food! Then Lynn eat food!"

    If she could see how food was made, if she could learn how food was made, she could make tasties for herself whenever she wanted to eat! This was definitely the best plan she had ever thought up yet.

    Even Oldcook seemed to be thinking so, nodding at her in approval.

    "Alright, Lynn. Follow me, and I¡¯ll cook something for you."

    "Food?" Lynn asked.

    "Yes, food. Something quick and simple, if you don¡¯t mind. What do you think about pancakes?"

    "Food! Tasty food!" She didn¡¯t know what pancakes were, but they sounded tasty.

    Oldcook chuckled, then turned around and gestured for her to follow. Lynn ran after him, catching up easily, because Oldcook was walking really slow. It seemed like it was difficult for him to use his legs. Lynn wondered why he didn¡¯t draw some mana from the Astral Plane to heal his leg. Perhaps old humans couldn¡¯t do it?

    Lynn was getting impatient, though. She could smell the delicious smells, which made her mouth water. When she spotted someone placing a huge tasty food down to the table, similar to the food she had eaten but bigger, she ran towards it to snatch a bite. The human jumped back quickly with a startled cry, and Lynn was about to reach up to the table when she heard Oldcook¡¯s voice.

    "Don¡¯t!"

    Lynn¡¯s hand stopped halfway towards the tasty food, and she looked back curiously.

    "Don¡¯t?"

    "You shouldn¡¯t eat that, Lynn," Oldcook said, hurrying towards her. "The lords and ladies are holding a banquet, and that cake was made for them."

    "For them?" Lynn asked, lowering her hand. There were tasties that only specific people could eat?

    "For the guests," Oldcook said, then nodded towards the other human. "Go find another table, for the time being."

    "Okie!" Lynn said, turning around.

    "Not you, Lynn," Oldcook said with a chuckle. "I was talking to Stover."

    "Oh."

    Lynn turned back just to see the human¡ªapparently named Stover¡ªhurry away with the cake. She looked after him longingly, until Oldcook patted the table to get her attention.

    "You know, Lynn," he said, picking up some tools from the table, "I don¡¯t think you should simply take any piece of food you want to eat."

    "Why not?" Lynn asked, pulling herself up to the table. "Lynn want to eat tasty, Lynn take tasty."

    She wiggled a little, kneeling down to the spot where the cake had been, and watched Oldcook put some powdery white thing from one container to the other. It was so fascinating that she almost missed his answer.

    "Because . . . there¡¯s a secret," Oldcook said. "It¡¯s not something many people know about. Say, have you heard about the tale of the Dragon¡¯s Feast?"

    "Dragon¡­?"

    "Ah. Dragons are mighty creatures from the Warring Ages," Oldcook said. "They look like enormous winged beasts, though they can take on a human-shape as well. They live in their own, magical world, but often came to visit these lands¡ªespecially in times of war."

    Lynn scrunched up her face, thinking. Was Oldcook talking about the shades? Lynn knew that shades would sometimes possess the bodies of big creatures, as well as the humans of these lands. Ugh! It was really difficult for her to think about what Oldcook had said, and pay attention to what he was doing too! It was good exercise, though¡ªsimilar to what Proffie always had her to do. Lynn concentrated hard. Oldcook was doing lots of interesting things, like opening a small round object and pouring its yellow-white contents into a bowl.

    "Lynn know of dragons," Lynn commented when Oldcook started to mix things around in his bowl. "Lynn meet dragons!"

    "Oh? You must be really fortunate then, Lynn. Not many who meet a dragon live long enough to tell the tale."

    "Oldcook can meet dragon too," Lynn countered. "Bezzel has one inside! But it can not talk¡­"

    "Ah, I see," Oldcook said, looking at Lynn strangely.

    "It can not!" Lynn confirmed. "It is trapped."

    "Ahem," Oldcook turned back to his bowls, his voice falling silent. He seemed to become uncomfortable . . . or was he just concentrating hard? He fumbled with something¡ªand then the middle of the table caught fire! Oldcook covered it quickly with a black bowl-like thing, though. He smeared something on the bottom of the bowl, then poured the sticky-liquid from the other bowl into it.

    But as captivating as making food was, Lynn still wanted to hear what Oldcook had begun to say about the shades.

    "Dragon¡¯s Feet?" she prompted him.

    "Oh!" Oldcook looked up, his mouth smiling once again. "The Dragon¡¯s Feast! It¡¯s a story about a dragon who wanted to eat the tastiest food on the world."

    Lynn perked up upon hearing that. "What did dragon do?"

    "The dragon announced a contest," Oldcook said. "She would offer half of her hoard to the man or woman who cooked the most delicious meal for her. For a single bite of the tastiest food, she would give enough gold and riches to buy a whole kingdom!"

    Lynn nodded her understanding. She didn¡¯t know what buy was and how exactly a hoard looked like, but she guessed they were very important for humans. Oh, and she knew how the shade felt too! Experiencing new sensations was one of the most precious things in this world. Lynn could completely understand why the shade wanted to eat the tastiest food.

    "What happen then?" Lynn asked.

    Oldcook didn¡¯t reply immediately, flipping the flat squishy thingie on his bowl before putting it aside to pour more sticky-liquid.

    "Then, little Lynn, happened the greatest feast that mankind has ever seen. People came from all across the world to make food, to create the most exotic and special meals that ever existed. From the lowest cooks to the most renown chefs, everyone tried their luck for the dragon¡¯s hoard. Some brought with them the most exotic ingredients that ever existed, others tried the most ridiculous recipes, just to prepare the most special dish. All this, for a single dragon who wanted to know what tasted the best."

    "And? What was tastiest?" Lynn eagerly asked.

    "The dragon took a bite from every meal, one after the other¡ªand she found them all lacking. You see, while they were all very tasty, she didn¡¯t truly like any of them. Something was missing. Neither the most expensive meals, nor the strangest recipes have truly caught her fancy. No matter how many wondrous dishes she tasted, the dragon couldn¡¯t find the tastiest meal¡ªnot until she took a bite from the food made by a little girl."

    "A little girl?"

    "Yes," Oldcook said. "A young girl from a poor family, barely able to afford the simplest of ingredients. Still, she gathered what she could, not because she thought about winning the contest, but because she liked the dragon. She wanted to make something lovely for this dragon, something that she herself liked to eat. So she made pancakes."

    "Pancakes?" Lynn asked. She looked down at the stack of flat white-brown thingies that Oldcook was producing one by one.

    "Yes, pancakes. There wasn¡¯t any special ingredient in them¡ªit was the most ordinary food one could ever make. Yet, when the dragon took a bite, she immediately knew that it was the tastiest food she had ever eaten. Do you know why?"

    Lynn shook her head, her eyes wide, trying to comprehend what Oldcook had said.

    "See, Lynn, this is the secret so many don¡¯t know about. Food tastes better if it¡¯s given with love."

    "Love?" Lynn thought about this strange concept.

    "Go on, try one of these," Oldcook said with a smile, pushing the plate with the stack of pancakes toward her. "I¡¯ve made them just for you, Lynn."

    Lynn licked her lips, then reached out with one hand to grab the topmost pancake¡ª

    "There you are!"

    The voice cut through the air sharply, and Lynn saw Oldcook fall onto his knees, bowing down to the ground. Lynn looked back then and saw Harpy storming her way, all the other humans bowing in her direction.

    "What is happening here?" Harpy asked.

    "M-Mistress¡ª" Oldcook began to speak, his voice shaking.

    "Oldcook make Lynn pancakes!" Lynn finished for him.

    With something that Lynn recognized as a frown, Harpy looked at her, then at Oldcook, then at the pancakes.

    "Alright," Harpy said after a brief silence. "Grab the pancakes and let¡¯s go. The brute has already worried himself sick over your disappearance, and I still need to strangle my brother for arranging a banquet behind my back."

    Lynn blinked, taking a moment to consider what Harpy had said, then turned around and dropped herself down to the ground. She then reached back up to the table, grabbing as many warm pancakes as her little hands could hold, and ran to Harpy¡¯s side.

    "Harpy want tasty too?" Lynn asked as they got going.

    "Harpy?" Harpy asked as if she didn¡¯t know who Lynn was talking about.

    "Harpy!" Lynn pointed at Harpy with a fist full of pancakes.

    "Who are you calling¡ª" Harpy began angrily, but then shook her head and sighed. "I¡¯m going to strangle Bezel, right after I finished strangling my brother for arranging a banquet behind my back."

    "Stan¡ªstrangle?" Lynn asked, looking up at Harpy.

    "Never mind that," Harpy said. "Listen, Lynn, what you need to remember is that my name isn¡¯t Harpy. My name is Miranda Alexia Dawngrove, and you may refer to me as Lady Dawngrove, or Mistress Miranda if you must."

    Lynn looked up at Harpy, pursing her lips. Harpy met her gaze for a long moment, then sighed again.

    "Or," she added quietly, turning her head away, "You can call me Mira."

    "Mira!" Lynn repeated it with a smile. Now that was something she could easily pronounce!

    "Just don¡¯t tell Bezel I¡¯ve said so," Mira grumbled.

    "Okie!"

    "And please tell me that dirty thing on you isn¡¯t my camisole."

    "Isn¡¯t my camisole!"

    Mira groaned, and didn¡¯t say anything else. She must have been tired. As the two of them walked down the corridor, Lynn eyed the pancakes in her hands. She took a bite from the ones she held in her right fist, and squealed in joy. They were indeed very tasty!

    "Mira?" she asked once she swallowed properly.

    "Yes?"

    "Want some tasty pancakes?" Lynn said, holding out the food in her left fist. "It¡¯s given with love."

    The emotions flickering over Mira¡¯s face were incomprehensible for Lynn. Slowly, very slowly, Mira reached out and plucked a piece of pancake from Lynn¡¯s grasp.

    "Thank you, Lynn."

    Lynn nodded happily, then took another bite from the pancakes. Truly, they were very yummy. She would definitely need to learn how to make more of them.