《A Well Behaved Man》


 Chapter 1

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    The morning had started slow and groggy, the aftermath of a late-night gaming marathon with my gaming guild. I''d slept in, blissfully unaware until I woke to find my phone buzzing with life, dozens of frantic texts, and missed calls from my bosses, each more desperate than the last, begging me to come in.


    I may not love every part of my job, but I owed my bosses more than I could easily put into words. They had taken a chance on me when most wouldn''t. It was difficult being a single, emancipated man without a woman to act as my guardian. One of the many challenges I faced in this new life.


    In a world still clinging to archaic traditions, most businesses that were even willing to hire men insisted on that outdated requirement. But I''d found something different at King Victor''s Bar. Not only did they trust me enough to give me the job, but they also paid me the same as my female colleagues¡ªa rare and almost unheard-of luxury for men like me in this society.


    It took me about an hour to reach the bar. It was longer than it should have been, but the extra time spent arranging a subway route with male-only cars was worth it. The peace of mind outweighed the inconvenience. The alternative was risking the crowded, mixed-gender cars where harassment was an all-too-common reality. Men being groped or leered at was an ongoing issue for the New Londinium subway, and there was something about a single man traveling alone that seemed to attract the worst kind of attention. The air in those cars always felt suffocating, thick with unspoken tension, and I had no desire to endure it if I didn''t have to.


    King Victor''s Bar sat in what a real estate agent might optimistically call an "up-and-coming" neighborhood. The kind of place where the old, rough edges of a once-struggling community were starting to smooth out under the weight of gentrification. The transformation hadn''t yet driven out the locals, but you could feel the tide shifting.


    Like every dwarf-owned business, the bar was tucked underground, a tradition rooted in their Kindreds culture. Though, in this case, "underground" meant a basement just below street level. Hardly the grand caverns you''d imagine, but for the dwarves, the distinction mattered. Tradition was tradition, no matter how shallow the depth.


    A stylized sign hung proudly above the entrance, depicting a bold caricature of the bar''s namesake, King Victor, the only man in history to rule a Kindred nation under his own name. The exaggerated features of his face seemed to grin down at passersby, as if daring them to step inside.


    Just below, a smaller, more modest sign declared the bar''s general hours of operation and whether it was open or closed. The weathered lettering and faint scratches on the surface suggested years of wear, but the sign still stood as a quiet sentinel to the bar''s long history.


    The bar itself had the unpretentious charm of a well-worn boot. Practical, reliable, and built for purpose. There were no flashy decorations or modern gimmicks here, just the sturdy simplicity of a working Kin''s retreat. Hand-carved tables and stools, their surfaces smoothed by years of use, filled the modest space. It wasn''t a place for glamour or spectacle but for camaraderie. A spot where friends could gather, swap stories, and drink the night away in the warm glow of familiarity.


    "John, Good, you''re here. I was beginning to worry you wouldn''t show," my boss called out as I stepped inside.


    He was a dwarf with a shock of white hair, a long, wispy beard that swayed as he spoke, and the deeply lined face of a Kindred man well past his Time of Change, what the textbooks calledManopause. His appearance carried the weight of his years, but his voice was as sharp and commanding as ever.


    Strom Stonestealer co-owned the bar with his long-time life partner, Krenk Half-heart, a pairing that raised more than a few eyebrows. It wasn''t just that the business was partially owned by men, a rarity in itself, but that the two were such an unconventional duo. A dwarf and a goblin, running a bar together, defying Kindred norms. Yet somehow, it worked, as if their partnership was as solid and enduring as the hand-carved tables scattered throughout their establishment.


    "Sorry, the subway took longer to navigate than I expected," I said, brushing off the lingering chill from my rushed commute.


    As I stepped further inside, I couldn''t help but notice how eerily quiet the bar was. The usual hum of conversation and clinking glasses was absent, replaced by an unsettling stillness. I glanced around at the empty tables and chairs, my confusion mounting.


    "Where is everyone?" I asked, my brow furrowing. "Your texts made it sound like an emergency, but as far as I can see, there''s nobody here."


    "It is an emergency, lad!" Strom exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement. "I''ve been summoned to the governor-general''s palace to present my fine brew at tonight''s Yuletide gala!"


    To say every dwarf brewed alcohol would be an unfair stereotype, but for those who owned bars, it might as well have been a requirement. King Victor''s had a modest brewery tucked in the back, where Strom spent countless hours perfecting his signature creation: Stonestealer''s Stout.


    I couldn''t stand the stuff. Made with some kind of fungus, it always tasted to me like drinking a burnt sweet potato. Yet somehow, inexplicably, it was a hit among the patrons. They raved about its earthy sweetness and "complex undertones," none of which made sense to my taste buds.


    "This is our big chance, lad," Strom declared, his chest puffed out with pride. "A chance to show the world the undeniable superiority of my craft!"


    "Strom, I''m not disparaging your brew or craft. It''s undoubtedly good enough to be recognized, but what''s with the short notice?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.


    "The Yuletide gala isthebiggest social event of the year. Anyone who''s anyone is going to be there. Vendor spots for this kind of thing are locked in months, sometimes years, ahead of time. Why would the palace suddenly call on short notice, to theonlybusiness in the city blacklisted by both the dwarven cartels and the goblin business council?" My tone was skeptical, my gaze sharp. Something about the situation didn''t add up, and I wasn''t about to let it slide without answers.


    "Because one of the vendors dropped out last minute," Krenk''s shrill voice interjected, followed by the unmistakable pitch of his laugh as he emerged from the back. "Apparently, a bar fight ended with an explosion that wiped out their entire stock. Hell of a way to lose a contract."


    He sauntered into the room, lighting his ever-present pipe with a practiced flick. Wisps of fragrant smoke curled around his sharp features as he continued, a smirk tugging at his lips.


    "We got the job because the palace wants the vendors to reflect, and I quote, ''The fine and diverse makeup of our Grand City.'' And, well, there aren''t exactly a lot of male-owned businesses that can handle something like this on such short notice."


    He paused to puff on his pipe, the smirk deepening. "So, it was either us or the knife-ears over on Ninth Street. Sure, the Cartels and the Council don''t like us, but they hate those stuck-up pricks even more. Sometimes, being the lesser evil has its perks."


    Krenk smirked at Strom, who responded with a gruff harrumph, clearly unimpressed by the jab. Seeing a goblin male as old as Krenk was a rarity. Nearly unheard of, in fact. Most of their males didn''t last beyond a year, falling victim to the rutting madness that ravaged their Kin. Krenk Half-heart, by all rights, should have been a revered sage among his Kindred, a symbol of wisdom and survival.


    But instead, he''d shattered every expectation. Abandoning his Kin to pursue a same-sex relationship with a dwarf, the traditional rival of the goblins. The scandal had obliterated his reputation. Among the Kindred, the idea that men could even be romantically or physically attracted to each other was a radical, almost incomprehensible notion, and most still refused to acknowledge it as fact.


    If not for the surge in male births over the last few generations, which had forced Kindred society to begin grappling with new realities, I doubted their relationship would have been allowed to exist at all. Krenk and Strom stood as living proof of change, though they bore the weight of it like a scar. Being ostracized by their Kin was difficult for them to manage.


    "What do you needmefor?" I asked, my confusion evident. Between the two of them, they moved behind the bar like a well-oiled machine, communicating in unspoken cues. I couldn''t imagine they''d have any trouble running a stand at the gala on their own.


    "We need you to serve samples to the crowd. Entice them to swing by our stand," Strom explained, his tone perfectly matter-of-fact. "You won''t have to do much besides stand there. My stout can handle most of the talking."


    "In other words," Krenk cut in, a mischievous glint in his eye, "you''ll be our eye candy, drawing in all those thirsty ladies eager to whet their whistles and whatever else they might be craving."


    I scowled, hating the very thought of being in the spotlight. I''d spent my freedom trying to fade into the background: dressing conservatively, avoiding public places, even buying almost everything online. If I didn''t need the money to keep a roof over my head, especially after my self-proclaimed mother, Maeriel, vanished on one of her spontaneous jaunts, I wouldn''t be working at all. I''d be perfectly content to shut myself away, pouring my hours into hobbies and online gaming. The unforgiving truth of this world had long since chipped away at me, leaving me broken with no appetite for anything beyond quiet survival.


    "No need to look so grim, lad," Strom said, trying to reassure me. "That high-society bunch won''t try anything out in the open. They''ve got reputations to protect, and there''ll be more links recording every move at this gala than there are pebbles in a mine."


    Krenk let out a low chuckle, his pipe smoke curling around his pointed ears. "Yeah, and just think of how much cash you''d rake in if one of those rich ladies stepped out of line. You could haul them straight to the Advocates and retire on the settlement," he half-joked with a conspiratorial wink.


    "Don''t frighten the lad, Krenk," Strom chided, shooting a stern look in the goblin''s direction. Turning back to me, his voice softened. "John, I realize this isn''t in your wheelhouse, and I wouldn''t ask if it wasn''t important. This opportunity fell into our laps at the last minute, and with so little time, our booth is going to be bare-bones. It wouldn''t draw a crowd at a simple market fair, let alone an upscale gala like this."


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    He paused for a moment, measuring his words. "I know you''re not fond of the idea, lad, but you''ve got the kind of physique most men would kill for. Opportunities like this don''t come around every day. If you are lucky, maybe once or twice in a lifetime. I''ll be damnd if I don''t use every tool I have to make sure this pays off, even if that means putting you in the spotlight."


    I''d always been a soft touch for a heartfelt plea. The kind that tugged at something deep inside me. Even if it came at a serious inconvenience, I was never the type to refuse a friend in need. And this time, I knew Strom was onto something. This opportunity was a once-in-a-lifetime break for them, maybe even big enough to mend old wounds with their Kin. I owed them that much. As much as I despised relying on my looks, I couldn''t pretend my appearance didn''t have an effect on women. My physique screamed power, both physical and magical. If using that advantage meant helping them seize this chance, I''d swallow my discomfort¡­just this once.


    I let out a long, defeated sigh. "Alright. I''ll do it. But I have a few conditions."


    Relief flooded both Strom''s and Krenk''s faces the instant the words left my mouth.


    "Of course," Krenk said, his usual breezy manner giving way to sudden business-like precision. "I''m sure we can strike a deal that works for everyone."


    "First," I began, ticking the items off on my fingers, "I''m getting overtime and holiday pay for this little escapade."


    Krenk nodded. "Agreed. Might have to dip into our savings, but I''ll manage." He tried to sound pained, though I knew full well they could afford much more than he was letting on.


    "Second, any tips I make are mine, not going into the tip pool."


    Krenk winced at that, scrunching his nose in protest. "John, be reasonable. We''re running a business, not a charity."


    "Neither of you will be on the front line tonight, so too speak," I countered, folding my arms over my chest. "I''m the one who has to smile for strangers all night."


    Krenk''s face scrunched up again, but eventually, he threw his hands in the air. "Fine. Never let it be said that Krenk Half-heart isn''t a generous man."


    I turned my gaze on the aged goblin, locking eyes with him. "Last condition: whatever ridiculous outfit you have planned for me? Forget it. Pick something else."


    Strom let out a deep chuckle as Krenk put on a show of mock indignation.


    "You haven''t even seen it yet. How do you know you won''t like it?" the goblin shot back, leveling me with a playful glare.


    I snorted. "I''ve worked with you long enough to know exactly what your taste in clothes is like. I''m not going to prance around in some bargain-bin stripper ensemble. I''m sure you''ve got something in your collection that''ll leave at least a shred of my dignity intact."


    Krenk grunted in annoyance. "Fine. It''s notmyfault you''ve got no fashion sense," he muttered, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I guess I''ll just have to make do with what I''ve got." With that, he stomped off toward the back, leaving Strom chuckling at his dramatic exit.


    Moments later, the door swung open again, and Dagna stepped into the room. She was Strom''s great-niece and, as far as I knew, the only family member who still bothered to speak to him. She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene with calm curiosity, arriving just in time to miss Krenk''s theatrics.


    "So, I''m guessing John won''t be sporting that outrageous outfit Krenk had planned?" Dagna asked, nodding a greeting in my direction.


    "He didn''t even get the chance to suggest it before John shot him down," Strom said with a laugh.


    Dagna chuckled, her eyes flicking over me with a playful glint. "Figures. It''s a shame, though you''re probably one of the few men alive who could actually pull it off," she added, punctuating the comment with a suggestive wink.


    "I''ll bet you say that to all the guys," I replied, though I couldn''t quite keep the hint of a sacasm from creeping into my voice.


    "Only the cute ones," Dagna quipped with a mischievous wink.


    In many ways, she was the quintessential dwarven woman. Short, sturdy, and a rear so large it needed turning signals. Dwarven women tended to be thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, and Dagna was no exception. The only real oddity, at least to outsiders, was the prominent sideburns framing her cheeks, but in dwarven Kindred, that was about as normal as anything else.


    "Quit lollygagging, you two. Time''s of the essence," Strom barked, clapping his hands for emphasis. "Dagna, is the van ready to go?"


    "Yep, everything''s loaded up and good to roll," Dagna answered. "All the kegs are entwined with the tanks, the box of holding is stuffed to bursting, and the mana crystals are topped off. Only thing missing is the rest of you lot."


    "Perfect," Strom said, rubbing his hands together like a giddy child on Yuletide morning. "Krenk shouldn''t be long. The sooner we leave, the sooner the world can bask in the glory of my craft."


    "Whatever you say, Uncle," Dagna replied, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. Knowing Strom she probably been basking in that glory all morning.


    Just then, a loud clang echoed through the room. Strom''s eyes went wide. "Oh no¡­ he''s going for thespecialcollection. I''d better check on him."


    He dashed off to rein in his partner, leaving me alone with Dagna.


    She''d always been my favorite coworker. Capable and organized enough to keep the bar running smoothly, yet laid-back in a way that made her genuinely fun to be around. Strom and Krenk might own the place, but it was Dagna who really kept the wheels turning. And, unlike so many women I''d met, she''d never tried to push our friendship into something more; after my first polite refusal, she seemed content to leave it at that. It was a refreshing change of pace, given how most of my encounters with the opposite sex tended to go.


    "So, what did those two bozos offer you to drag you in on a holiday?" Dagna asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "Overtime, holiday pay, and I keep all my tips," I answered.


    She let out a low whistle. "You got Half-heart to agree tothat? They must be more desperate than I thought."


    Her gaze turned suddenly soft, like she could see straight through the layers I''d spent years building. "You know, you don''thaveto go through with this," she said gently. "I could come up with an excuse for you before they get back. I''m pretty sure one of the other guys would jump at the chance."


    I made it a point never to talk about my history,eitherof my histories, really. But Dagna was no fool. I suspected she''d figured out more than I cared to share, just from the way she watched me.


    "No, I''ll be fine. I''m tougher than I look," I said with a crooked grin. "And if things do go sideways, I''m pretty sure there''ll be plenty of Champions eager to rush in and save a gentleman in distress." I shot Dagna a playful wink, trying to lighten the mood.


    I should have known better than to tempt fate, because by the end of that night, my offhand remark would come true in a far more damning way than I ever could have imagined.


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    Codex


    An Introduction to the Races of Erda


    By Lady Brimsley Hasting, Senior Scholastic of Anthropology, St. Andrea Scholasticum


    The world of Erda is a marvel of diversity, a tapestry woven with myriad threads of culture, biology, and history. From the lofty peaks of the Auran Highlands to the shadowy depths of the Dreadmarsh, the peoples of Erda have evolved and adapted to their unique environments, creating a mosaic of distinct races and civilizations. This introduction serves to catalog and provide a brief overview of the principal races that inhabit our world, fostering understanding and appreciation for their myriad contributions to Erda''s rich tapestry.


    In the study of sapient species, Scholastic''s often categorize them into three broad classifications based on their origins and characteristics. The first group comprises those created by or descended from the High Elves, collectively referred to as "The Kindred." The second group includes the servitor races of the Great Dragons, known as "The Dragonoids." Lastly, there are beings composed of ethereal energy, residing within extra-dimensional spaces surrounding the material world, referred to as "The Spirits."


    The broad classifications of sapient species can be further refined into subcategories that reflect their diverse evolutionary paths and historical contexts. The Kindred are commonly divided into four groups: the Kin, also known as the Humanoids, are the first races created by the High Elves and the direct offshoots of said Kin; Goblinoids, also known as the Legionaries, are those Kin who were further transformed by the High Elves during the Ages of Strife; Elves, which include the High Elves and their various devolved descendants who adapted to unique environments and circumstances; and the Cursed, High Elves who failed in their transformations thus suffering adverse magical influences.


    Dragonoids, on the other hand, are traditionally categorized by the caste system into which they are spawned, with roles such as Servants, Workers, Artisans, Warriors, Scholastics, Administrators, and Dragons defining their societal structure.


    Spirits, due to their fluid and intangible nature, are more difficult to classify. However, scholarly consensus generally divides them into three tiers based on their type and power: Primordial Spirits, which are ancient and immensely powerful; Greater Spirits, which are significant but subordinate to the Primordials; and Lesser Spirits, which are weaker yet highly varied and numerous. These distinctions provide a structured approach to understanding the complexity and diversity of sapient species, though they remain subject to ongoing study and debate.


    While these classifications are subject to debate due to varying religious and cultural perspectives, it remains the responsibility of scholastic inquiry to approach these distinctions with impartiality and reason.


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 Chapter 2.1

    They said the best thing about visiting the Governor-General''s Palace was that it was the only spot in New Londinium where you couldn''t see the Palace. Universally regarded as an eyesore, its creation had sprung from a noble idea: to have every Kindred in Atlantica contribute to the design. The result, however, was a jarring patchwork of architectural styles, creating a sprawling complex that looked less like a unifying monument and more like a disorganized compromise.


    From the day it was completed, there had been talk of tearing it down and starting anew. Yet the approvals and, more crucially, the funding never came. Ornate construction projects like the palace had long since fallen out of vogue in the Imperial Federation, as public opinion had grown more critical of wasteful government spending, especially when it involved nobles'' vanity projects. Now, time had turned the monstrosity into a historic landmark, its mismatched wings and adornments preserved as a testament to both grand ambition and haphazard execution.


    As the only woman in our group, Dagna would need to go through a more detailed security process, binding her magic with oaths. So she steered the van toward the security checkpoint. Every item destined for the palace underwent rigorous screening as well. A hard-earned protocol ever since the infamous Blasting Jelly Plot ages ago had shown just how vulnerable aristocratic opulence could be. The nobility had cultivated a deep-rooted paranoia after that ordeal, and no one was taking any chances.


    My bosses and I headed for the men''s entrance. A relic, presumably left over from either the misandrist Legionaries or the patriarchal Drow contribution. Hard to say which. Designed back when men were only around eight percent of the Kindred population, it was far smaller than the main entrance. Nowadays, with men making up closer to thirty-two percent, the checkpoint was packed, like an airport at peak holiday season. Thankfully, the line still moved quickly. After all, men posed little threat without any magical ability, or so the women believed.


    Because of the labyrinthine traditions and laws governing the Federation, the guards weren''t your typical security detail. Instead, they all served in the Queen''s Dragoons, a military branch akin to the United States Marine Corps and considered the premier fighting force in the Imperial Federation. For reasons I never fully understood, they were also tasked with providing security for every government building.


    As I inched forward in the line, I found myself marveling at the sheer diversity among the guards. Humans of every background made up nearly half the force, while the remainder was split among various other core Kin and Goblinids, each sporting their own distinctive features. A few elves stood out with their differently pointed ears and four-digit hands, and I even noticed a lone Cursed, a dryad, if I wasn''t mistaken, methodically scanning Links.


    I knew, at least on an intellectual level, that the military had always been one of the most egalitarian institutions in the Federation, largely out of necessity. Still, seeing it in action felt different, almost inspiring. It made me wonder if the rumors about the Dragoons finally opening their ranks to men were more than just idle talk.


    As we neared the front of the line, I saw dread flare across Krenk''s face when he spotted a goblin woman manning the next open kiosk.


    "Troll''s breath!" he sputtered. "Quick, one of you swap places with me before she sees me!"


    But he was already out of luck. She''d spotted him and was waving him over with a bright grin. Strom, ever the opportunist, ducked away to a newly opened kiosk, leaving Krenk in the lurch.


    "Traitor," Krenk muttered after his partner who was laughing at his misfortune, then turned to me, desperation shining in his eyes. "John, you''re my only hope. Come on, be a decent employee and take care of this for me."


    I sighed, resigned to taking the hit on his behalf.


    "Thank you! I owe you one," Krenk called back gratefully, scurrying off to the other kiosk.


    It wasn''t that Krenk hated goblin women; quite the opposite, they adored him far too much. There''d been a few times when an adventurous goblin girl defied the council just to see the infamous rogue for herself, lavishing him with over-the-top praise and cooing that would make anyone squirm. I could hardly blame him for wanting to avoid that kind of scene again.


    The young goblin woman, barely out of girlhood, visibly bristled as Krenk slipped away. Her face darkened in frustration before she turned on me, her features tight with anger. "Please present your Link for identification," she said, her voice frosty enough to make me shiver.


    I knew better than to underestimate her. She could probably beat me senseless without breaking a sweat. Still, it was hard to feel genuinely intimidated by a short-stack who barely scraped three feet in height, no matter how fierce her glare.


    I handed over my Link without a moment''s hesitation, fully aware that it was best to comply rather than risk stirring her temper any further. She took the device and examined it as though it were the most riveting artifact in the realm. Of course, most people these days don''t own a Link custom-built by an artifice; they rely on generic, mass-produced models.


    Her anger melted away, replaced by a look of utter bewilderment. "How did you get a gnome-built Link? They''re forbidden to sell them to the public."


    "It was a gift from a friend," I answered. In my mind, I pictured Scruffy, my closest friend in this life. We''d been gaming online for years, and she was one of the few in our gaming guild who knew I was a man. When she discovered I struggled with interfacing with standard Links, she surprised me with this device as a Yuletide gift last year.


    The goblin woman squealed, her eyes dancing with excitement. "This is Taimi Quickwit''s handiwork! I can see her master mechanist mark right here. How did you manage to get this? She never sells her inventions!"


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    "I already told you," I repeated calmly, "it was a gift from a friend." Truth be told, I was as astonished as she was. Scruffy had acted like it was no big deal, so I''d never suspected its true rarity.


    "Is this going to be a problem?" I asked, eyeing Krenk and Strom as they slipped past the checkpoint, already laughing and embracing on the other side.


    The goblin guard followed my gaze, her expression darkening when she noticed my bosses'' display of affection. Outrage briefly flared in her eyes before settling into a deep scowl as she turned back to me, her mood souring all over again.


    "I''m afraid there are irregularities with your identification process," she said smugly. "Your Link is being confiscated for additional screening. Please step aside and follow my colleague to the waiting area."


    I jolted when a Valkyrie woman touched my shoulder¡ªso gently that I almost forgot she looked capable of crushing me with a single hand. "Please follow me, Sir," she said, her voice calm and professional. I hadn''t even heard her approach, which was impressive, considering she had to be a solid eight feet tall and built like a fortress. She radiated the kind of commanding presence the goblin girl had lacked entirely.


    I knew better than to argue. Making a scene here, of all places, would be the worst possible idea.


    Strom spotted me being led away and immediately bellowed, "Stop! You can''t just take John!"


    "Yeah!" Krenk jumped in, blunt as ever. "He''s our best employee, and we need him tonight."


    "Sir, please do not interfere," the Valkyrie replied, her tone crisp and unyielding. "This doesn''t concern you."


    Strom looked incredulous. "Doesn''t concern me? Krenk, did you hear that? My best employee is being snatched away on the very night he''s meant to serve the finest brew in the city. I''ll have you know I was summoned by the Governor-General herself."


    I doubted that last part, and from the Dragoon''s unimpressed glance, she clearly did too.


    "Sir," she repeated, "if you have any concerns, you''ll need to address them with the officer on duty."


    "I''ll make sure she hears of it, all right," Strom thundered, his face reddening. "Maybe I''ll get the Commandant herself to come down here and see how you''re kidnapping a vulnerable young man who''s done nothing wrong."


    His outburst was beginning to turn heads. Some of the other Dragoons were already watching from the periphery, and I could feel the Valkyrie next to me tensing, one step from calling for backup. This was supposed to be Strom''s big night, I couldn''t let him derail everything just because of me.


    Before she could activate her wrist Link, I cut in, "I''ll be fine, boss. It''s just a misunderstanding. Go set up. I''ll catch up with you both when this is settled."


    Strom fixed me with a furious glare. "I''ll have none of that. I can handle this myself."


    Krenk tugged on his arm. "Strom, look around." The dwarf finally seemed to register his surroundings and that this wasn''t the kind of place where you could simply complain to a manager and expect to walk free.


    He let out a reluctant grunt. "Fine. But if anything happens to you, it''s on your own head." Then he turned back to the Valkyrie. "If so much as a single hair is out of place when he''s released, I''ll make sure everyone knows how the Dragoons treat an innocent man. Do I make myself clear?"


    The guard''s expression soured, clearly insulted by the implication. "Yes, sir."


    Grumbling under his breath, Strom stomped off, smacking Krenk on the back of the head on the way.


    "What was that for?" the goblin whined.


    "This is all your fault, for being¡ª" Strom''s words trailed off as the Valkyrie guided me away, their bickering fading behind us.


    <hr>


    Codex


    You won''t believe what I found!!!!! Transcript of video by Oolan Flax, hosted on Linkspace.


    Helloooo my lovely audience, today on Oolan Tech Dive, I got my hands on a rare find I know all my lovely would die to see.


    Without further ado, ta-da.


    What''s that, my lovelies? That''s just a boring old Link. Everyone has one. I hear you say.


    Well, you''re right. This is just a Link, but like me, there is nothing boring about it.


    This is a genuine gnome-made link from the Age of Reason.


    Ya, cool, I know.


    This little baby is over eight hundred years old and still works.


    We halflings certainly know how to make things last. Am I right or what?


    Now, the Link doses have some tiny tiny problems that shows its age.


    You can''t use it to transfer mana to pay for things, connect to the web to watch yours truly, or use it to connect to a terminal to play video games.


    Shout to my sponsor, Raids Shadow Legends. Hit that link, my lovelies.


    Now, for all that it can''t do, this baby packs a punch.


    It has sixty-four linking crystal slots. That''s right, sixty-four slots, a bonkers amount compared to today''s standard twelve.


    Why? Because why not?


    Oh, alright, my lovelies, if you really want to know, this was made before switchboards became common. You would need to physically switch crystals in person to call or text each other.


    It''s a pain in the butt we all hate.


    But what is not pain is how easy it is to order one of my crystal links so you can watch my private streams.


    Why would you want to do that? Because this Link can capture sixteen K video.


    If you want to see me, try out my new toy, my lovelies in all that high-definition glory. Order your crystal today.


    For now, let''s get ready, too.


    Say it with me.


    DIVE IN


    And see how those clever halfling gnomes made this fantastic Link.

 Chapter 2.2

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    As the minutes ticked by, my nerves ratcheted higher. I hadn''t done anything illegal, and my paperwork was all in order. Of that I was certain. Materiel had driven that need into my thick skull with an object lesson I would never forget. An involuntary chill ran up my spine as I thought of that poor mouse.


    In the world of Erda world, the notion of equal rights was shaky at best, but at least the Federation''s guaranteed protections went farther than most places. It meant the Dragoons couldn''t hold me indefinitely, but they could stall me long enough to miss the gala if they wanted. That spiteful goblin girl probably would, if she could justify it to her superiors.


    So I waited, pacing around the small room, trying to ignore the tightening walls and the gurgle of water pipes. Dark memories threatened to surface, of another room just like this, of broken promises and hollow eyes, of the end of everything I''d once been. I fought the rising tide of panic by counting the seconds in my head, though that hardly helped. The time system here still threw me off: eighty-minute hours, eighty-second minutes, a quarter shorter than what I was used to. At least the day itself was still twenty-four hours long, even if it was a third longer by my old reckoning.


    Finally, the door creaked open, admitting a shapely Kitsune officer. One white, bushy tail swayed hypnotically behind her, and her fox-like ears stood at attentive angles atop her head. I''d never actually seen a Kitsune before; they were one of the Beastkin lineages who kept to themselves, mainly in the old world''s far eastern Nipponese Home Islands. But then again, if there was one city where you could find nearly any Kindred, it was New Londinium.


    I wasn''t well versed in Federation military insignia, but one look at the Kitsune officer''s uniform told me she outranked anyone I''d expected to see. By my rough estimate, she was at least a Bannerlady of C-Rank Magical Ability, equivalent to an OF- 4 on a NATO scale. Something about the way she studied me set my nerves on edge, like I was a wounded rabbit sprawled out before a starving fox.


    "Ara, ara, I have to say I''m pleasantly surprised," she purred, grinning so broadly I half-expected her to sprout fangs. "The girls weren''t exaggerating. Aren''t you just the juiciest morsel lucky enough to become our guest?"


    "Is that what I am? A guest?" I countered, raising an eyebrow. "It''s rather poor hospitality to keep your guest locked away in a cramped room with no refreshments, don''t you think?"


    She only smiled wider. "Now, we certainly can''t have that. What would people say if they thought Her Majesty''s Dragoons were terrible hosts?" She cast a meaningful glance at the one-way mirror. "Shieldbearer, be a dear and fetch our guest something to eat and drink from the mess."


    She then turned back to me, her expression cooling. "As for whether you''re truly our guest, that remains to be seen. Please, take a seat. We have plenty to discuss."


    There was no point refusing, so I settled into the uncomfortable metal chair across from her. She followed suit, placing her hands neatly on the table.


    "I''m Bannerlady Tomae, deputy in charge of this palace''s Dragoon contingent," she announced, clearly proud of the title. "The chief officer on duty tonight for our little soiree."


    "Shouldn''t you be doing something more important than wasting your time on me?" I asked, trying not to sound as uneasy as I felt.


    She shrugged, radiating cool confidence. "Normally, I''d delegate a chat like this to a subordinate. But riding a desk all day can get dreadfully dull, and when something¡ªor someone¡ªinteresting lands in my lap, I can''t resist. It keeps my people alert¡­and keeps my own talents from getting rusty."


    "Surely I can''t be that interesting," I protested. "I''m just a bartender."


    She leaned forward, lips curving into a predatory smile. "My boy, you''re the most intriguing puzzle I''ve come across since I was posted here."


    With a graceful sweep of her hand, the lights shifted, and a projection flickered into view over the tabletop. It was my Link-verified identification, taken a few years back. Besides my hair having grown out, I didn''t look much different. The Kitsune watched me intently, clearly pleased to show off her Kin''s renowned illusion magic.


    "John," she began, her tone now brisk and businesslike. "No registered family or chosen surname. Twenty-eight-year-old human male. Six-foot-six, iridescent eyes and hair, tanned skin, muscular build. No power level or mana profile on record. Resident of New Londinium''s Sixth Borough for the past five years. Employed by S&K Limited for four of those. You were granted citizenship through the Anthos Mandate two years ago following a three-year residency, and granted emancipation at the same time. No known partners or children. No additional records on file."


    She paused, letting the list of bullet points hang in the air like a challenge. I could sense the question hovering behind that smug gaze. How had someone with so little on paper become an object of such keen interest? But before she could ask, the Valkyrie who had escorted me entered the room. Two small mugs of steaming Kava in one hand and a bag of dried lentils in the other.


    She set down two steaming mugs and a small plate of snacks. The drink, a caffeine stimulant was a military necessity, smelled strongly of anise, a flavor close to black licorice, definitely an acquired taste if there ever was one. The Valkyrie''s gaze flicked to me, and her eyes reflected a rare empathy that could''ve melted stone.


    "Very good. You have my permission to leave," Bannerlady Tomae ordered, her tone clipped and dismissive.


    But the Valkyrie lingered, the tension between her and Tomae thick enough to taste. She stared at the Kitsune with a barely veiled hatred, as though she might leap over the table and throttle her.


    "Are you deaf, Shieldbearer?" Tomae''s voice hardened. "Leave now or do I need to add another reprimand to your file?"


    For a moment, the Valkyrie seemed to wrestle with herself. Then she pounded her chest in a sharp salute and, with clear reluctance, marched to the door.


    "Oh, and one more thing stand guard outside. See that we aren''t disturbed," Tomae added, letting the edge in her voice sharpen further. "And to be crystal clear: that is an order."


    The door slammed behind the departing Valkyrie, prompting Tomae to shake her head in exasperation.


    "I swear the Dragoons'' standards drop every year," she muttered. Then she turned back to me, gesturing at the mugs. "Please, drink. The Kava here is one of the few perks of being posted at the palace, it''s grades above the swill they dole out to the rest of the rank and file."


    She lifted one cup to her lips, inhaling the licorice-like aroma. I eyed the other mug but hesitated.


    "I''ll pass for now," I said softly, keeping my tone neutral.


    "Suit yourself," the Kitsune said, tipping the mug to her lips, her fangs visible. She frowned slightly at the rising steam, breathed in the heat, letting it cool to her liking, and then took a deeper swallow.


    "Now, where were we?" she continued, an air of smugness creeping into her voice. "Ah, yes, you were about to tell me why you''re trying to infiltrate the palace." As she spoke, the hovering projection faded away, leaving no trace of the accusation but her piercing stare.


    "I''m not infiltrating anything," I shot back. "I''m working a vendor stand tonight."


    "Working a vendor stand," she echoed, her tone laced with disbelief. "How convenient for a saboteur. Did you really think the Dragoons wouldn''t see through your little ploy? A spot just happens to open at the last minute when a vendor conveniently drops out. And that new vendor, blacklisted by two of this city''s most ''upstanding'' organizations, miraculously chooses you, one of the few emancipated men in the city and the only person I''ve ever encountered without a mana profile in their file. Your paperwork is so thin it could slip through a crack in the wall. And all this on the one night we''re spread too thin to keep track of every corner."


    She leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Too bad for you one of our most outstanding guards caught you with a stolen Link. So tell me, ''John'' if that''s even your real name. What exactly do you have to say for yourself?"


    "That''s the biggest load of half-baked reasoning I''ve ever heard," I shot back, careful to keep my irritation in check.


    "There''s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this," I continued, forcing my tone to remain calm despite the spike of annoyance building in my chest.


    "Really?" the Kitsune asked, arching an eyebrow with skepticism. "I doubt that. But if you''re willing to tell me the truth, I''ll listen."


    "I do have a mana signature. Check the file again," I said, gesturing at the floating display that reappeared when she swiped her hand.


    She leaned in, enlarging a section of text with a frown. There, displayed for both of us to see, was the word NULL in the place where one''s unique mana profile should have been.


    Stolen story; please report.


    "See?" I pointed out. "It''s right there: NULL. That''s my mana profile, and it is listed."


    "You''re claiming you have no mana signature," she retorted. "I''m no fool. I can sense you have power."


    "I do have mana," I corrected her. "It just doesn''t differ from the ambient mana around us. It''s neutral. That''s why I struggle with most magical tools. Hence the custom-made Link, which, I assure you, wasn''t stolen."


    "That''s impossible. Nobody has pure mana," she accused. "Stop lying to me and tell me the truth."


    "I''m not lying. It''s not pure mana; it''s neutral, like the stuff in the air."


    She narrowed her eyes. "How is that even possible?"


    "If you check my file again, there should be a note directing you to the Anthos Order. My citizenship agreement came with a gag clause: I''m not allowed to talk about the details."


    The truth was, now that I had my citizenship, I could speak freely if I wanted to. But I wasn''t about to give this arrogant Kitsune more information than absolutely necessary.


    She snorted. "How convenient."


    I shrugged. "Don''t blame me. Blame the Anthos Order. They are the reason my file is so bare. Speak to them if you want to know more."


    "And your suspicious employment, on this particular night," she pressed, her voice laced with insinuation.


    "You said it yourself," I countered, keeping my tone level. "I''m an emancipated man. I take whatever work I can find, and none of us invited ourselves here. If you''re fishing for conspiracies, maybe start with your own people."


    She paused, her penetrating gaze raking over me before a wicked grin claimed her lips. "I''m afraid I can''t let you leave until the Athos Order confirms your story¡ªfar too many holes for comfort. However," she added, letting the word dangle like bait, "I could be convinced otherwise."


    "How?" I asked, already suspecting the answer from the gleam in her eyes.


    She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. "I have an¡­itch that needs scratching. Take care of it for me, and you''d be amazed at what I might overlook."


    "Sorry," I said icily, "my scratching days are behind me."


    A flicker of offense crossed her face as she drew herself up, eyes glinting with bruised pride. "Is that so? I''m the most beautiful woman you''ve ever laid eyes on. You should be on your knees, begging to please me," she said, her voice rolling like velvet¡ªhypnotic, irresistible.


    In that moment, I felt a queasy sense of vertigo, as though gravity had shifted. My mind blurred, teetering on the edge of submission, and I realized with a jolt that she''d been working a Kitsune enchantment on me all along subtle, insidious, unlike the brute-force tactics of the High Elves. Rage flared in my chest, obliterating the last threads of her hold.


    Without thinking, I grabbed the untouched mug of steaming Kava and hurled it directly into her face. But the liquid failed to reach her. With a wave of her hand, it stoped mid-flight, and then was tossed harmlessly to the floor.


    She let out a long, disappointed sigh. "You really should have drunk that Kava," she said, her voice low with regret. "It would''ve made everything so much simpler for you. Now I''m afraid we''ll have to do this the hard way."


    With a flick of her wrist, tendrils of unseen force snaked around my body, pinning me to the chair. I couldn''t move a single muscle even my jaw refused to work, silencing any protest I might''ve tried to make.


    "I''ll give you this much," the Kitsune murmured, eyeing me with a mix of curiosity and reluctant admiration. "It''s not often I meet a man who can shrug off my enchantments. A pity, really. You might''ve even enjoyed what came next if you hadn''t fought back."


    She rose from her chair and circled to my side, each step purposeful and poised, the predatory gleam in her eyes making it clear she was far from finished.


    "The problem is men just don''t know their place nowadays. They expect to be wined and dined, not servicing their mistress like they are meant to be. Back when I was young, I would steal any man I wanted. Make them mine for as long as they amused me, but no, the world had to go and get all modern," She complained.


    I struggled in my seat, trying to break free, doing my best to scream out for help.


    "Don''t struggle; it will only make things harder for you. No one is going to see anything in this room that I don''t want them to see, and when this is all over, you''ll wake up with no memories, only the vague notion you had a nice dream." the Kitsune said, moving her face level to mine then giving me a deep and sensual kiss on the lips.


    She pushed her mana into me, trying to start the process of exciting a man. It was more complicated than it had any right to be for men to get aroused in this life. The presence of a woman''s man was needed in a man for him to get an erection, and once it was up, it wouldn''t be going down until the pressure was released or several frustrating hours had passed. And every woman knew it wasn''t rape if you gave the man his erection. Arousing the man was her job, and she deserved the reward.


    The Bannerlady moved her hand to fondle my chest, making her way all the way down to my crotch. My body couldn''t help itself as my groins began to steer. She moved her hand down my pants, grabbing my sizable shaft. A wild grin erupted on her face.


    "Already so big, and you''re not even at half mast yet. I''m going to have to speak to my mistress about keeping you all to myself after tonight''s festivities really begin." She purred.


    I didn''t have time to process her words before the door exploded off its hinges, crashing into the opposite wall with enough force to crack the reinforced stone. The figure who stepped through looked like something out of legend: an orc woman towering over eight feet tall, every inch of her pure, unadulterated muscle. Her red hair fanned out in a wild halo around her green skin, which gleamed under the harsh lights. Blue-dyed engraved tusks jutted from her lower jaw, and her golden eyes blazed with a bloodlust so intense it made my heart hammer.


    I felt a sudden pulse of mana radiate from her, and the world around me shattered¡ªwhatever illusion the Bannerlady had been maintaining was torn away in an instant. Before the Kitsune could so much as twitch, the unstoppable force of the orc''s presence seemed to flicker across the room. In a blur of motion, she seized the Kitsune by the throat and slammed her face-first into the metal table, leaving a dent where her head struck.


    The invisible restraints holding me vanished the moment the kitsune lost consciousness, freeing my limbs.


    "I''ve been waiting a long time to catch you screwing up, you massive cunt," the orc growled, her voice a thunderous bass. "I''ll see you hanged for this."


    Only then did I register her insignia: Lotha Bluetusk, Commandant of the Dragoons , highest-ranking battle general in the Federation''s military standing right before me like the wrath of the Aspects made flesh.


    <hr>


    Codex


    Yuletide- article entry from Linkipedia.


    Yuletide is a prominent winter solstice holiday celebrated across Erda. This festive period is rich in magical and cultural significance, marking the transition from the old year to the new with elaborate celebrations, gift-giving, mystical rituals, parties, and communal joy. Yuletide takes place on the last day of the year, on the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, the end of the Lunar cycle, and the day the world is closest to the spirit realms.


    Yuletide is characterized by a rich tapestry of customs that blend the mystical with the celebratory. Homes and public spaces are adorned with wreaths and garlands made from evergreen, holly, and mistletoe, all plants that are considered magical for their ability to thrive in winter and for their protective properties. Lights, ranging from simple candles to enchanted glowing orbs, illuminate the long nights, symbolizing hope and the triumph of light.


    Gift-giving during Yuletide is both a social and magical practice. It is believed that exchanging gifts bestows blessings and strengthens the bonds between individuals and the mystical forces of the realm. These gifts often include charms and talismans crafted to bring luck and protection in the coming year.


    Feasting plays a central role in Yuletide celebrations, with traditional foods that include spiced meats, mulled cider, and sweet cakes baked in the shape of suns and stars, all of which are imbued with ingredients to enhance their magical properties. Songs and dances specific to Yuletide are performed, believed to please the spirits and ensure their favor for the community.


    The climax of Yuletide is the Hours of Wonders, coinciding with the winter solstice itself. On this night, it is said that the veil between worlds is thinnest, allowing for the most potent magic. Spectacular displays of light and color fill the skies, created not only by the auroras natural to this time of year but also by the celebratory magical fireworks crafted by skilled magicians. People gather to tell stories of the past year ,and make resolutions for the new year.


    </article>

 Chapter 2.3

    When Strom mentioned bringing in the Commandant herself to hear my case, I never once believed he could actually pull it off. Lotha Bluetusk was widely regarded as the deadliest fighter alive¡ªtasked with leading the Imperial Federation''s Champions in defending against the relentless threats facing us. She should have been on the front lines, not swooping in to deal with what amounted to a wildly overzealous and corrupt TSA supervisor.


    Not that I wasn''t relieved the situation had spiraled wildly out of control. I''d been bracing to handle a few tipsy noblewomen who might get handsy, not end up bound and assaulted before I even had a chance to don Krenk''s colorful outfit. It wasn''t as though I couldn''t have escaped, but using my unique abilities would''ve opened a different and far darker Pandora''s box. Better to take my chances with a horny kitsune trying to raise a mast she had no chance of than face the fallout of revealing that secret. Not like it was the first time I''ve been assaulted, far from it.


    Lotha''s face was lit with unrestrained triumph, as though she''d just secured her ninth consecutive victory at the world dueling championships. She practically radiated smug satisfaction as she loomed over her prey, her booming voice dripping with mockery.


    "Well, well, Miss ''I''ve been an officer longer than you''ve been alive, I''m better than some up jumped warband leader,''" she taunted, each word accentuated by the ripple of her powerful muscles. "Nothing to say for yourself now, eh? Couldn''t keep your grubby paws to yourself like a decent officer, could you?"


    A pained groan escaped the Kitsune Bannerlady, muffled against the dented table.


    "What was that?" Lotha jeered, pressing the Kitsune''s face deeper into the cold metal surface. "Sorry, I can''t hear you over the sound of my fist pounding your head."


    With a twisted sense of glee, the orc Commandant drove the Kitsune''s head forward again, the table''s metal screeching under the force. Each impact echoed through the cramped interrogation room, a brutal punctuation to Lotha''s triumphant assault.


    My hands trembled as I tried to straighten myself up, every muscle taut with leftover adrenaline. Deep down, I realized I was far more shaken than I''d let myself believe. It was hard not to be unsettled, standing so close to this living embodiment of warfare. I''d once watched a vid of Lotha pummeling a chimera to death with its own severed head, an abomination of High Elven creation the size of a bus. She was a legend come to life, which made her presence here all the more surreal.


    "Thank you," I managed, voice cracking from the strain of all that had just happened.


    The orc warrior blinked, halting her brutal onslaught as though waking from a blood-hazed dream. Mid-slam, she suddenly realized she wasn''t alone in the room. She fixed me with a look that held both curiosity and bewilderment.


    "Thank you," I repeated. "You saved me from her. Truly¡­from the breath of my lungs to the essence of my core, thank you." It was the formal threefold thanks, a phrase any Kindred man would only use with utmost sincerity, but I meant every word of it.


    Lotha froze, looking as startled as a child caught red-handed in the cookie jar. A hot flush of bluish color raced across her green cheeks, creeping down her neck in a full-body blush. Seeing the towering, red-haired Amazon squirm with embarrassment was bizarrely disarming.


    "N-No problem, citizen. Just doing my job," she replied stiffly. Then, as if just realizing she was still gripping the kitsune by the head, she held the unconscious woman aloft and turned to me in awkward confusion. "Would¡­would you like a turn?" she asked hesitantly.


    I grimaced, shaking my head. "I''ll pass, but¡­thanks for the offer," I said, equally unsure. Too many times had I been on the receiving end of violence to ever feel comfortable dishing it out.


    Lotha looked away, her mind clearly scrambling for the right words. "Are¡­are you going to cry?" she finally asked, sounding more anxious about the tears than I was.


    "No," I said gently. "Would you feel better if I did?" I forced a small smile, unsure whether that was what she wanted.


    She paled, visibly horrified by the very idea. "Please don''t," she blurted. "It''s just¡­you''re not reacting how a man usually does after being¡­uh¡­" Her words trailed off as she glanced at the dented table and the kitsune she still had in her grip.


    I sighed. "Unfortunately, this isn''t my first rodeo with this kind of thing. If I broke down every time it happened, I''d never get anything done. I refuse to let the ugliness of this world keep me from living my life on my own terms."


    Relief flickered across her features. "Good, good. Always get back up, that''s what I say. Never let them see you sweat," Then, as if remembering something important, she cleared her throat. "Do you need medical attention? I can get the healers here faster than you''d believe."


    Before I could answer, a small, panting mousekin girl burst into the room, eyes wide with worry. "Commandant, please," she gasped between breaths, "don''t run ahead like that. None of us can keep up when you dash off!"


    "Shit, he''s cute," I heard the newcomer mutter under her breath as she performed the Dragoons'' formal salute¡ªa firm bump to the chest where the heart lay. She was a slight mousekin girl, and everything about her screamed nervous energy. Her large, round glasses magnified her eyes so they seemed to fill half her face, and her oversized mouse ears shot straight up the moment she stepped fully into the room, taking in the scene before her.


    The sight must have been jarring: a dented metal table, a groaning Kitsune Bannerlady sprawled on the ground, and the towering Orc Commandant standing over her prisoner like a conqueror. The mousekin''s ears twitched, and her whiskers quivered with agitation as she turned to Lotha.


    "Commandant," she exclaimed, voice pitched in exasperation, "please don''t tell me you ran in here, attacked a fellow officer with no witnesses, and then kept attacking her after she was subdued!"


    Lotha, still gripping the unconscious Kitsune''s collar, tried for nonchalance. "No," she lied outright, punctuating her denial by tossing the groaning woman to the floor with a heavy thump.


    The mousekin pressed a hand to her forehead, as though she could ward off the headache already forming. "You can''t do things like this, Commandant. What about the Advocates? Everyone knows you two hate each other. No one is going to believe the word of an emancipated man from Aspects-knows-where." She paused, realizing her slight. "No offense," she added, turning to me with a small, apologetic shrug.


    Lotha snorted, waving off the concern. "Come on, Mabbs. Once we get Tomae in front of the Tribunal, Vengeance will smite her on the spot. She''s a nasty piece of work, and everyone knows it." As if to emphasize the point, she gave the insensate Kitsune a swift kick in the ribs.


    Mabbs grimaced. "It''s not going to reach the Tribunal, Ma''am. The Nipponese Cultural Association and the Beastkin Clans will rally to her defense. Then, the brass will get involved because she was the first Kitsune to join the armed forces. You know how those fossils from the Great Undying Wars get about soldiers who served in their era."


    Lotha pointed an accusatory finger at the camera bolted high on the wall. "We''ve got footage from the Link, though."


    Mabbs glanced up at the black, unlit lens and let out a long sigh. "It''s turned off. You would''ve known that if you hadn''t barged in here like a pissed-off cyclops."


    A fresh wave of anger surged through me. It was all too easy to imagine how this would unfold behind closed doors: the higher-ups would protect their own, powerful nobles would pressure the system, and deals would be cut in back rooms. That kind of hush-up was an old story in my previous life, where powerful men evaded repercussions daily and here, noble women held even more sway in society than men had in my old world.


    "Is she really going to get away with what she''s done?" I asked, my voice betraying the anger still coiled in my gut.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Mabbs cast me a worried glance. "Somewhat," she said, hesitating. "We can probably force a transfer and another demotion, but that''s about it."


    "She was already demoted," Lotha growled. "Put somewhere she couldn''t do any harm, and yet here we are."


    A short, bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "That''s obviously going real well," I said under my breath, unable to mask the scorn in my tone.


    A gentle rap on the splintered doorframe announced the cautious return of the Valkyrie Shieldbearer from earlier. She stepped inside, armor glinting under the harsh overhead light, and straightened to give a formal salute, fist thudding against her chest.


    "Ma''am, I know I and several of my fellow Dragoons would be willing to testify. We''ve suspected the Bannerlady for some time, but never had enough evidence to act," she said in a low, steady voice.


    "See, Mabbs?" Lotha exclaimed, her tusked grin fierce. "The good old rank and file won''t let us down."


    Mabb, arms folded and tail twitching with nerves, merely shook her head. "It helps, but it''s still circumstantial at best," she muttered.


    I took the moment to point at the spilled Kava pooling on the floor. "Test the Kava. I''m pretty sure she spiked it with something."


    Perking up, Mabb pushed her glasses higher on her small nose. "I might be able to work with that," she said, a note of hope coloring her tone.


    "Everything will work out in the end," Lotha declared, almost giddy. "Taimi will be pleased, and the bitch will get what she deserves."


    But the Valkyrie, confused, frowned at the sticky mess. "I brewed that Kava myself. I didn''t put anything in it."


    "Then she must have done it when you weren''t looking," I explained, jerking my chin at the unconscious Bannerlady, "or else she dominated you to make you think you hadn''t."


    Lotha rounded on me. "What did you say?" she demanded, her emerald skin darkening with a sudden flush.


    Mabb steadied her quivering whiskers, focusing on me with grim intent. "Would you mind repeating that last part?"


    I swallowed, feeling the weight of every eye in the room. "It was subtle at first, but she was trying to dominate my will, push me to beg for the privilege of pleasing her. I''ve...had more experiences with mind control than anyone should, so I was able to brush it off. That''s when she got really nasty." My voice wavered despite my efforts, and I found myself staring at the floor, heat creeping up my neck in shame at the admission.


    No one likes telling strangers they had experience being dominated and raped.


    "Shieldbearer! Grab spikes, now, before she comes to!" Lotha roared, her voice echoing in the cramped room.


    "Yes, ma''am!" the Valkyrie answered, snapping off another salute and disappearing down the corridor at a brisk jog.


    "Mabbs," Lotha barked, turning her attention to the mousekin.


    "Already on it," Mabbs replied, her tiny hands flying across a Link with astonishing speed, tapping commands faster than I''d ever seen.


    Meanwhile, the towering orc yanked the unconscious Kitsune into a chokehold, pinning her arms at an angle that left her helpless to speak or move. The sheer power emanating from Lotha was a reminder of her status as one of the most formidable warriors alive.


    "Consorting with High Elves... I never thought even you would sink so low," Lotha hissed, her golden eyes blazing. "You''re a disgrace to the uniform, a disgrace to every Kindred in this Federation. You''re not escaping this, no matter what you try. I''ll make sure your head ends up mounted on the palace gates."


    I was ushered out of the interrogation room with careful politeness, a gesture meant to shield my supposedly delicate eyes from what came next. I didn''t protest. I had no desire to witness the gruesome ritual of spiking a mage¡ªone of the few ways to neutralize a spellcaster''s power. The procedure was far too reminiscent of the "milking" I''d once been subjected to, an ordeal I wouldn''t wish on my worst enemy.


    Outside, chaos reigned as more Dragoons swarmed in. A nervous healer insisted on examining me while I gave a statement to the guards, and all the while, I forced myself to ignore the agonized shrieks coming from the Kitsune. Even after she was subdued, they needed more Dragoons than I''d seen at the entire checkpoint to finally lead her away. I couldn''t bring myself to look.


    "This has certainly been an experience," I said to the guard as the healer left, my voice raw with lingering tension, "but can I leave now? I''ve wasted enough time on this mess."


    The mousekin girl who''d come running after Lotha dismissed the remaining guards and approached me, her whiskers twitching with concern. "Are you really going on to the gala after all this?" she asked softly. "No one would blame you if you just went home to rest."


    I shook my head, mind already set. "I''m not attending the gala as a guest, I''m working a stand. My bosses need me, and I promised I''d meet them once everything was sorted out. I keep my word."


    She tilted her head, surprise evident in her round eyes. "You''re not a guest? I assumed you were going with Quickwit, the way she barged in and demanded your release."


    "Who?" I started to ask, but a familiar voice answered.


    "She means me, Wick," said a smaller figure stepping out from behind Lotha''s towering form. Tufts of green hair peeked around the orc''s massive knees. A halfling, someone I knew only by her online handle.


    "Scruffy?" I repeated, piecing the puzzle together at last. "Or should I say¡­Taimi Quickwit?" Her real name tumbled out like an accusation, Mechanist Designate of the Gnomish Circle, Master Tinker, and reputedly the most powerful Technopath alive.


    "Surprise," she offered nervously, fiddling with the hem of her shirt as she ventured a shy smile.


    <hr>


    Codex


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 Chapter 2.4

    I stood there, rooted to the spot, trying to reconcile the tiny figure peeking out from behind Lotha Bluetusk with the persona I knew so well from our online adventures. Scruffy no, Taimi Quickwit looked just as small and delicate as a halfling ought to, but there was something undeniably extraordinary about her. Her bright green hair was tucked into several messy braids, each one threaded with copper wiring that glinted under the overhead lights. Faint gears and intricate tattoos spiraled along her forearms, faintly humming with the kind of mechanical magic only the greatest Gnomish tinkerers could wield.


    She rubbed her neck and cleared her throat, nervous energy all but crackling in the space around her. "Hello," she waved with a half-hearted chuckle, flashing me an apologetic look.


    "Scruffy...or should I call you Taimi?" I repeated, more slowly this time, letting my gaze slide over the intricate clockwork tattoos spiraling up her forearms. My attention flicked to her wrist, where a specialized Link was strapped tight, then back to her face.


    "If I can call you John," she said with a tremor of nervous excitement. Her lips curved into a shy grin as she spoke, as though the word John was an unfamiliar delicacy on her tongue.


    I couldn''t help but crack a small smile of my own. "Seems fair, considering you just pulled me out of the fire again." A spark of pride lit her eyes at the praise, and she all but preened beneath it.


    "Okay, John," she repeated, drawing the syllables out in a delighted voice.


    Mabbs, the mousekin, twitched her whiskers in confusion. "Wait, you''re Wick? From the Rakishness Tea Party? But I thought you were a woman."


    Taimi gave a little shrug. "John uses a voice modulator when we''re on chat¡ªthat''s why you probably didn''t recognize him, Mabbs."


    I held up a hand in a placating gesture. "I''d appreciate it if you kept that under wraps. Besides Taimi, only two other people in the guild know. It''s safer that way." Both were men as well, one using the same trick, the other playing openly alongside his wives and children.


    Being a man in the online gaming world wasn''t exactly a recipe for calm. You will never find a more wretched hive of thirst and desperation than online gamers. You must be cautious, and I''d learned early on how quickly things could spiral out of control if the wrong people found out.


    "Though¡­" I turned my attention back to Mabbs, "how do you know my in-game handle?"


    Before she could answer, Taimi blurted, "She''s SchlongLover88."


    Mabbs''s mousey ears flattened, and her face went beet-red.


    "Sorry," I replied. "I didn''t recognize your voice. You''ve been offline for a while."


    "Got Promoted," she added awkwardly, darting a glance toward Lotha, who stood nearby like a granite statue. For hers, sins undoubtedly.


    "Yeah, John, remember my friend, SkullsTaker?" Taimi chimed in brightly, nodding toward the imposing orc.


    I did remember. Those chaotic gaming sessions with someone so hilariously inept it was almost endearing. "Yeah. Those were...fun." A grin tugged at my lips. "Guess we were friends already and just never knew it."


    Lotha''s flush was unmistakable, her cheeks darkening against her green complexion. Her eyes shone with an unexpected sweetness, as though this realization had broken through that hardened warrior shell. She blinked rapidly, on the verge of tears, and it struck me that even the fiercest fighters could have hearts as soft as any gentle soul.


    "I guess that explains why the Commandant herself came to rescue me," I muttered, lowering myself so I could meet the halfling''s eyes. At three foot eight, she was tall for her kin, but compared to most other Kindred, she still had to crane her neck to hold my gaze.


    "How did you know to warn the Commandant I was in trouble?" I asked, my voice turning uncharacteristically cold.


    Taimi, wilted under my stare, her bright eyes flicking away before she spoke in a small, sheepish voice. "I have an alert set to ping me whenever anyone besides me accesses my Links. The one I made for you was based exactly on mine, so I got the notification. It wasn''t intentional, I swear," she added quickly. "But once I noticed you were being detained, I was already here at the palace¡­" Her words trailed off, leaving an awkward silence.


    Lotha barked out a laugh that rattled the walls. "She came barging into a meeting between me, Governor-General Ann, President Jacqueline, half the Senior Cabinet, and Princess Adora with her Companions, demanding your release. Never seen Taimi so worked up! She practically put the fear of the Aspects into that roomful of stuffy highborns, threatening to cancel every single contract she has with Atlantica¡ª"


    Mabbs hastily cleared her throat, shooting the orc a sharp look. "Commandant, please don''t speak about our superiors so candidly, especially in public." Her large ears twitched with alarm as she glanced around at the Dragoons milling just out of earshot. "And let''s not mention a certain royal''s presence again. It''s supposed to be a surprise."


    Lotha''s tall frame stiffened at the rebuke. "Right, sorry, won''t happen again. Warrior''s honor," she promised, though the mousekin''s skeptical sigh suggested this wasn''t the first time she''d heard that pledge.


    "And, well," I said, my gaze sliding back to the beet-red Taimi, "no one wants to risk angering the Federation''s most brilliant Tinker."


    "You''ve got it in one," Lotha replied, nodding. "I''ve worked with Taimi for years, so I volunteered to handle her demands before Adora could jump in. The princess hates those political gatherings even more than I do. It''s all posturing and backroom deals, it''ll drive anyone insane after a while."


    "Commandant." Mabbs''s admonishing tone left no room for debate.


    "Fine. Forget I said that last part," Lotha grumbled, folding her massive arms over her chest.


    Before the orc could say anything else, Mabbs smoothed over the conversation with a diplomatic cough. "We should''ve been able to figure out what happened to you pretty quickly, then let you go," she explained, her whiskers twitching with residual worry. "But Bannerlady Tomae had diverted your case to her personal queue, which kept you off our radar. Once the Commandant realized Tomae was involved¡­"


    Mabbs trailed off, letting the end of that sentence speak for itself. Lotha had clearly charged off like a hunting wolf scenting blood. No one needed to clarify that point.


    I locked my gaze on Taimi''s wide, earnest eyes, marveling at how familiar they felt, despite this being our first face-to-face meeting. In a strange way, I knew her better than anyone else in this life. Our countless late-night gaming sessions, vid marathons, and rambling chats about nothing had forged a friendship as real as any I''d ever known. If she so much as suspected a friend was in danger, she would tear apart entire kingdoms to keep them safe. It was no wonder everyone in our guild adored her; she was a natural team''s "mom" (or "dad," in this world''s lingo), always looking out for us.


    With a sudden flourish, I reached out and flicked her lightly between the eyes.


    "Ow!" she yelped, rubbing the spot. "What was that for, you big jerk?"


    "That''s for spying on me and lying to me all these years, ''I''m no one important I only do some small jobs for the government,''" I said, trying to sound stern. Before she could protest, I pulled her into a hug.


    "Thank you for being my friend through it all," I whispered, pressing her closer. "Thank you for saving me. From the breath of my lungs to the essence of my core, thank you."


    Taimi''s arms slid around me in return. She practically melted against my chest, clinging to me as though I were her only source of warmth in a freezing wind.


    Off to one side, Lotha muttered under her breath, sounding more than a little envious. "I didn''t get a hug."


    There weren''t many perks to being a man in this world, but the freedom to be physically affectionate with others, without fear of judgment was definitely one of them. In my previous life, I could count on one hand the times I''d hugged someone outside my own family. Everyone expected me to be stoic, to shoulder the hurt of life in silence. Crying in public would''ve made me look weak. Here, though, I could drop the facade, show vulnerability if I needed to, and no one would think less of me for it.


    As Taimi and I embraced, I felt the soft pulse of her mana trickling into my body. It wasn''t the harsh, invasive push I''d experienced with the Bannerlady, but a gentle, comforting flow, the way a woman''s power naturally envelops a man she cares about. It reminded me of being wrapped in a warm quilt on a chilly night. Then, to my surprise, I felt my own mana flowing back into her, a quiet acknowledgment of how much I cared for her in return.


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    "Okay, Taimi," I murmured, trying to ease out of the embrace before we both got carried away. "That''s enough. You can let go now."


    Instead, she tightened her grip. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Let me enjoy step forty-two just a little longer."


    "Step forty-two?" I repeated, baffled.


    She let out a startled squeak, releasing me all at once. "N-Nothing!" Her cheeks blazed pink as she turned toward Mabbs. "Didn''t you need to tell John about the gag order?"


    Mabbs stood breathing heavily, her gaze distant, tapping at her Link with one hand as though every flick of her fingers required immense effort. Lotha, for her part, looked just as uneasy, shifting restlessly as though she might lash out at any moment.


    "Mabbs, the order," Taimi prompted again, her voice carrying a note of urgency.


    That finally snapped the mousekin out of her trance. She adjusted her glasses, turned to me, and cleared her throat. "Right. By directive of the Governor-General''s Office and with the President of Atlantica''s backing, all events concerning Bannerlady Tomae are hereby under Quarantine until her full betrayal can be investigated. No word of her actions is to be made public. Failure to comply will result in your immediate summons before the Justice''s Tribunal."


    I understood the unspoken subtext: traitors rarely worked alone, and rooting out Tomae''s allies was top priority. But it also conveniently kept me from speaking out, receiving recognition, or even basic compensation for what I''d just gone through. Typical.


    Both Dragoons seemed braced for an outburst, their shoulders tense as though prepared to restrain me if I so much as raised my voice.


    "I''m not happy about it," I said coolly, my frustration palpable. "In fact, I''m downright pissed. But I get it, I''ll keep quiet. Just don''t expect it to be easy for me."


    Relief flickered over their faces, mingling with a shared twinge of guilt. Lotha straightened, then lifted her head as though a sudden idea had just dawned on her.


    "John," Lotha rumbled, turning her attention my way. "You said you were working with one of the vendors tonight. Which one, and where?"


    "I''ll be set up in one of the outer pavilions, King Victor''s Bar stand, near the overlook," I answered, still feeling the tension in my shoulders from the earlier drama.


    The orc Commandant clicked her tongue, thinking. "We can''t do anything official at the moment," she said, "but unofficially, I could pull some strings and have the King Victor''s stand relocated to the main pavilion. That is, if you think it''s a good idea."


    "Fantastic idea!" Taimi cut in, her voice bright with genuine excitement. "I''ll be at the main pavilion all night anyway, so we can hang out."


    My bosses, Krenk and Strom, would be over the moon at the prospect, greedy bastards that they were. It would be a chance to rub elbows with the elite and hopefully earn a small fortune in the process.


    "I won''t say no if you can manage it," I replied, hoping not to sound too eager. "That would really help me out. My absence almost cost them their chance, so this more than makes up for it."


    Looking pleased with herself, Lotha barked, "Mabbs, get on that."


    The mouse girl let out a weary sigh, her whiskers twitching with resignation. "Yes, ma''am. I''m sure rearranging the vendor layout just a few hours before the gala won''t cause any massive headaches."


    Lotha''s sharp gaze snapped to her underling. "Are you giving me lip, Mabbs?"


    "No, ma''am," the mousekin retorted sarcastically. "I wouldn''t dream of it."


    "Good," said missing Mabbs tone


    "This is going to be amazing! I can''t wait to introduce you to everyone and show you what I''ve been working on!" Taimi bubbled, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Oh¡ªand you have to see my latest masterpiece!"


    "Taimi, I''ll be busy working," I reminded her gently.


    Her shoulders sank, and she looked as devastated as if I''d just punted a puppy in front of her. "Darn¡­" she murmured.


    I cleared my throat, hoping to soften the blow. "But I could use an escort. You know, to help me get around."


    In truth, I probably did need the assistance. I hadn''t the faintest clue how to navigate the palace corridors, and it certainly wasn''t wise for a man to wander alone. Taimi''s face lit up, bright as fireworks.


    Before we could head out, Lotha called, "Hold on. Take this." She extended a small linking crystal carved with intricate runes, glowing softly.


    Mabbs sucked in a sharp breath, her round eyes going wide with alarm.


    "Neat!" Taimi chirped, plucking the crystal from Lotha''s hand and slotting it into my Link on her belt. She then removed one of my own crystals, handed it to Lotha, and returned the device to me once the exchange was complete.


    "If you run into any more trouble," Lotha said, voice gruff but not unkind, "call me. I''ll handle it." She hesitated, her green cheeks darkening slightly. "Or if you just¡­want to talk as friends, that''s fine too."


    Mabbs groaned and buried her face in her hands.


    "Problem?" Lotha asked, brow furrowed.


    With a dramatic sigh, Mabbs replied, "No problem, Commandant. I most definitely did not just watch you hand over a classified, high-security linking crystal to a civilian. Clearly, I need my glasses checked." She made a show of taking them off and wiping them on her shirt.


    My lips twitched in a faint smile as I slipped the crystal into my pocket. "Well¡­ thanks, I guess. I''ll see you around. Take care of yourself, Commandant." I gestured for Taimi to join me. I''d wasted more than enough time in this part of the palace already.


    Lotha gave me a hearty wave as she strode off, with Mabbs hurrying alongside, frantically tapping on her Link as she walked. Soon enough, Taimi and I were alone, for the first time, truly.


    "So," I said, turning to her. "What''s step forty-two?"


    She jolted, nearly dropping her own Link in surprise. "Oh, uh, would you look at the time?" she said, glancing down at the tiny screen. "It''s a quarter to the hour, which means we really need to get going. No dillydallying!"


    She darted ahead in a fluster, gesturing for me to follow, very obviously ignoring my question. And from the guilty look on her face, I suspected I might not like the answer anyway.


    <hr>


    Codex


    An Introduction to the Races of Erda


    Chapter 14, The Curious Case of the Gnomes


    By Lady Brimsley Hasting, Senior Scholastic of Anthropology, St. Andrea Scholasticum


    While all gnomes fall under the category of halflings, not all halflings are gnomes. To be identified as a gnome among halflings, one must awaken the dormant, inherited memories and the magical ability known as Technopathy. This stands in contrast to other halflings who might manifest abilities in Herbomancy, Shadowmancy, or other rarer branches of their ancestral inheritance.


    Historically, halflings, like all Kin, were originally crafted by the High Elves to serve as slaves within their expansive empire. Halflings emerged as the first of the so-called "second generation" following the creation of humans, designed as more specialized servants with pre-programmed memories and inherent magical abilities. Each halfling reaches a pivotal moment in adolescence when these latent powers awaken, with Technopathy being the most revered and sought-after of these abilities.


    During the era of the High Elven Empire, the gift of Technopathy was exceedingly prevalent, serving a crucial role in maintaining the empire''s grand constructs. Gnomes, equipped with the unique ability to interact with the technological wonders crafted by the elves, were invaluable. However, this boon bore a heavy price as the magic that powered the world began to wane. As the empire''s great machines faltered and the magic sustaining them ebbed, so too did the lives of their gnome caretakers, who were deeply bound to the technologies they tended. Many gnomes perished as their Focus deteriorated. Only a few, those who lived among their less illustrious halfling kin, managed to survive and perpetuate their rare talent to their modern descendants.

 Chapter 2.5

    "Would you believe I''ve never actually done this before?" I asked, quickening my pace to keep up with Taimi''s effortless stride. It still amazed me how someone so small could move so fast.


    She shot me a bright smile, copper-threaded braids swishing with each step. "Getting into the palace is basically a miracle unless you''re on official business," she said, her tone cheerful but matter-of-fact.


    "That''s true," I conceded. "But that''s not what I meant. I''ve never been escorted by a woman."


    Taimi paused, turning on her heel so fast her green hair bounced. "Seriously?" she said, eyes widening.


    I shrugged, the slightest hint of unease creeping in. "I''m emancipated, so I don''t have family or Kin to fill the role. I assumed it would come up eventually¡­" I let the sentence fade. Maybe on a date or in a relationship, but I didn''t need to hand Taimi more ideas than necessary.


    I''m sure Maeriel would have been thrilled if I had ever asked her, but since she was someone every Kindred was legally required to kill on sight, going out in public with her was not only foolhardy but suicidal.


    A flicker of curiosity crossed her face, but she didn''t push it. "So I''m the first?" She grinned, mischievous delight flickering in her eyes. "I guess that means I have bragging rights. Maybe I''ll print a badge that says, I Escorted John¡ªNumber One in Line!"


    "Don''t you dare," I retorted, though a laugh slipped out. "Honestly, it feels a little weird. You''re what, more than half my height? Yet you''re legally in charge of my safety."


    "That''s how things are," she replied, offering a carefree shrug. "I can use magic; men can''t. So if trouble crops up, it''s my job to protect you. Call it centuries of social convention rolled into one deadly halfling ready to kickass."


    As if to punctuate her statement, Taimi hopped into the air and threw a playful punch, her copper braids shimmering with stored mana. I couldn''t help but smirk. "You certainly don''t look weighed down by the responsibility."


    "Oh, I''m definitely weighed down," she said, pivoting to gesture at the endless hall before us. "Weighed down by excitement! I''ve been wanting to meet you in real life for ages, and we get to do it in the most interesting building in the entire city. Talk about perfect timing! This place is massive. Did you know there''s a wing the earliest governor supposedly had constructed in secret? Some rumor about a hidden chamber behind her appointment tapestry¡ª"


    She rattled on without pausing for breath, pointing out the intricate carvings, soaring ceilings, and the occasional statue that lined our path. Her joy proved infectious, drawing me in despite the lingering knots in my stomach.


    "Take this decorative panel, for instance," she said, tapping the polished wood with her knuckles. "A lot of people don''t realize it dates back to Governor-General Georgette''s reign. The scrollwork alone is enough to make any historian drool, I mean, if they even notice it."


    I raised my eyebrows. "You remember her name? I can''t recall what I had for breakfast yesterday, let alone historical figures from ages ago."


    "Eidetic memory," Taimi said, tapping the side of her head with a proud grin. "It''s not just for tinkering and gaming, y''know."


    I let out a low chuckle, the tension in my shoulders easing. Her chatter kept my mind too busy to revisit the interrogation room and the uneasy sense that had trailed after me ever since. Each historical tidbit felt like a small shield, blocking out those dark thoughts.


    As we passed a marble column adorned with gleaming gold filigree, I couldn''t help but slow down to admire its beauty. "I knew this place was supposed to be grand, but I never realized it was so¡­maze-like."


    Taimi laughed, her cheeks flushing with delight. "Blame the committees. Every time a new official got elected, they added rooms, wings, or entire floors. On top of the mess that was initial construction. Even magic can''t keep perfect track of it all. Ohh, that statue, see it? The one of the first official Atlantica Chapions? She allegedly spent twenty-eight years training before taking her post. Now that''s dedication."


    I shook my head, a wry smile on my lips. "Hard to believe someone could love their job that much."


    "Hey, I understand," Taimi said, flashing a sympathetic smile, eyes locked onto me. "When you''re passionate about something, time just disappears."


    She wasn''t wrong. A soft pang of envy reminded me that my own passion for life had dimmed to embers. But here she was, all blazing curiosity, like a torch lighting the way for anyone lucky enough to follow. Part of me hoped her warmth might reignite something inside me.


    We nearly collided with two palace staff rounding a corner, both of whom cast us a curious glance no doubt wondering at the sight of a petite halfling woman acting as an official escort to a tall, broad-shouldered man. The social implication alone was bound to start gossip. Taimi offered them a cheery wave, not missing a beat as she pointed to a set of gilded double doors.


    "That''s the old archives," she explained, her eyes sparkling. "Totally off-limits now. Probably full of top-secret records or something. But it''s so pretty, isn''t it? Look at those griffons and phoenixes carved into the lintel, I swear, half of these creatures carved died out ages ago. Kind of sad, really¡­"


    She trailed off, her expression dimming momentarily when she noticed the tension creeping back into my stance. "You okay?"


    I swallowed hard, the memory of what had happened earlier still too fresh. "Yeah. Well¡­getting there."


    Her hand found my arm, a gentle, reassuring touch. "You''re safe with me," Taimi said softly, her gaze unwavering. "If anyone so much as thinks about messing with you, they''ll regret it."


    She had a sincerity in her voice that I couldn''t dismiss. For a fleeting second, I felt truly secure more secure than I had in years. "Thanks," I managed, my own voice hushed. She gave a small nod and then continued leading me through the opulent corridor.


    By the time we reached the next stretch of hallway, I realized that my usually rigid posture had relaxed. The ever-present dread that clung to my thoughts felt lighter, replaced by a gentle warmth radiating from Taimi''s excitement.


    As if she could sense my mood improving, Taimi beamed up at me. "So¡­still weirded out by the idea of being escorted?"


    I exhaled a quiet laugh. "Not as much as I was. Who knows, maybe the archaic custom isn''t half bad."


    Her grin grew wider, and she gave an exaggerated bow. "I''ll take that as a win. I will be my honor to escort you any time you want. Now come on I''ve got at least sixteen more cool facts before we reach our destination."


    She bounded off again, eager to share the palace''s secrets, and I found myself following her with a lighter step. The ever-present niggling fear in the back of my mind subsided for a moment. If this was how an escort was supposed to feel, someone genuinely protecting me, guiding me, and fueling my curiosity with her own, perhaps I finally understood why this custom had endured so long.


    As we neared the final turn of Taimi''s impromptu palace tour just a few corridors shy of our destination, her steps began to slow. I watched in growing concern as the boundless energy she''d exuded all evening seemed to ebb away, replaced by a pallor creeping across her cheeks. The bright spark in her green eyes dimmed, and her copper-threaded braids no longer bounced with that same exuberance.


    Suddenly, her knees buckled, and she dropped to the polished marble floor. The abruptness of it made my heart jolt.


    "Damn it, damn it, damn it," she hissed, voice cracking. "Not now¡­not when I finally get to see John¡­" The last part was scarcely more than a whisper.


    I hurried to her side, dropping to my own knees with a slap of flesh against stone. My hands shot out to steady her shoulders, and Taimi clung to me, breathing hard. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, and her face was chalky with exhaustion. It felt wrong to see her like this my typically effervescent halfling tour guide suddenly reduced to near-collapse.


    She attempted a rueful smile but only managed a wince. "Surprise," Taimi croaked, trying to let out a laugh. Instead, she was seized by a coughing fit that racked her entire body.


    "Taimi!" My own voice sounded strangely hoarse. "What''s wrong? Tell me how to help!"


    She lifted one trembling hand to my chest, her delicate fingers curled in the fabric of my shirt. "Just¡­keep me steady," she rasped, swallowing hard. "It''s easier to do if the room¡­isn''t spinning."


    Bracing one arm behind her back and the other around her shoulders, I held Taimi tight. My heart thundered at the sight of her so vulnerable. For a moment, I wondered if I should sprint off to find a healer or call out for help, but as I looked into her eyes, I realized she was already in the middle of something. Her entire mind was inward.


    With a deep, ragged breath, Taimi closed her eyes and steadied herself in my grip. The copper wires woven into her braids, the tiny gears attached to her clothes ornamental at first glance, began to flicker with a faint, shifting glow. I hadn''t paid them much attention before, but now they seemed to activate, the spark of mana dancing around their edges. Slowly, the wires and gears stopped moving on their own as if being drained of their stored essence. I felt an odd tingle in the air, like the static before a thunderstorm.


    She took in several more shallow breaths before her skin began to regain a hint of color. The dreadful pallor receded, replaced by a shaky flush across her cheeks. Each exhalation sounded less labored, and the trembling in her limbs eased enough that she could look up at me without slumping.


    "Better?" I asked, my voice still laced with worry.


    Taimi swallowed once, twice, then gave a tentative nod. "A little," she murmured, though her voice wavered. "Just¡­ burned through too much mana too quickly, that''s all. I have these wires¡ª" she gestured weakly at the copper coils laced into her hair and garments¡ª"they act as a¡­backup tank, in case I run low."


    The explanation came in short bursts, as though each word cost her extra effort. But she forced a wry smile onto her face, trying to inject a bit of her usual humor. "Heh, guess I got a little overexcited¡­running around spouting palace with you. Didn''t realize¡­ just how much mana I was burning."


    I kept my hands on her shoulders, not quite ready to relinquish my support. "We should get you to a safe spot somewhere you can rest." My mind reeled with the memory of how easily I had been taken out of commission earlier. The thought of Taimi, in her current state, facing any sort of threat made my stomach lurch.


    "I''ll be okay," she insisted, though her voice remained shaky. "Just need a second to catch my breath¡­ maybe a minute."


    She leaned against me, resting her head near my chest, and I felt another surge of protective instinct. This entire time, she''d been so busy looking after me that I hadn''t stopped to consider how she might be pushing herself beyond her limits.


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    Cautiously, I let my hand drift to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in the soft green hair that framed her braids and copper adornments. "I''m not letting you go until you''re steady on your feet," I said firmly.


    A faint chuckle escaped her lips, though it morphed into a shallow cough. "Bossy," she teased in a whisper. "I like it. Don''t worry, I won''t¡­collapse again."


    An image of her toppling to the marble tiles replayed in my mind, and I tightened my grip. "Please don''t," I muttered. "I nearly had a heart attack."


    For several moments, we stayed like that her leaning against me, drawing in slow, deliberate breaths while the last shimmer of mana flickered along her mechanical accessories. The corridor felt unnaturally quiet; even the murmurs of passing staff seemed to fade away, as if acknowledging our need for privacy.


    Finally, Taimi managed to straighten her back. She blinked a few times, focusing her gaze on my face. "Thanks," she said softly, her breath still slightly ragged. "I know that must have freaked you out."


    "I''ll live," I said quietly, mustering a thin smile. "But you almost didn''t. At least, that''s how it looked."


    Taimi''s cheeks flushed, and she averted her gaze with a hint of shame. "This¡­doesn''t happen too often," she murmured, though her shifting eyes revealed how uneasy she felt about confessing it. "I usually manage my mana better much better, actually. It''s just that my output can''t keep up with my body''s demand. All Gnomes suffer from this to some degree, we were designed by the High Elves for a world that''s drowning in mana, not one with barely any. But I''m one of the strongest Technopaths alive, so it''s worse for me."


    She swallowed, a faint tremor running through her shoulders. "I, um¡­didn''t realize how low I was getting. I was too Focused on you."


    Her voice dropped on that last sentence, and the way she said "Focused" struck me like a gong. I knew exactly what that implied for a halfling, especially Gnomes. The High Elves had designed their halfling slaves with meticulous care, instilling them with a near-obsessive drive to complete tasks assigned by their ''masters.'' Even though the ages of overt slavery had ended, the underlying biology what they called the Focus still lingered, surfacing at inopportune moments.


    "Taimi," I asked, my voice softening with genuine concern. "Have you been Focusing on me?"


    She tried to answer, but an involuntary yawn slipped out, revealing the depths of her fatigue. When she finally managed to speak, her words came out slurred, almost like someone teetering on the edge of drunkenness. "Surprise," she said, flashing me a crooked, apologetic grin.


    My stomach knotted. "How long?" I forced myself to ask, even though I was terrified of the answer.


    Her shoulders sagged as she lowered her gaze. "Four years, two months, thirty-six days, eight hours, seventy-three minutes, and sixty-four seconds," she recited in a tired monotone, as though reading off a data log.


    Shock stole the breath from my lungs. "Taimi¡­that was the night we met, wasn''t it?"


    She nodded, biting her lip in a mixture of shame and worry. "I''m a Technopath," she explained quietly. "The moment I heard you speak over the comm, I knew you were using a voice modulator. I got curious wondered why a man was going to such lengths to hide. So I dug up some info, read your file, saw your picture. The instant I laid eyes on you, I¡­became Focused."


    The weight of that admission hung thick in the air. It suddenly made sense her unwavering devotion, the way she''d come to my rescue the moment I was in trouble, how she always seemed to have an answer for everything that concerned me.


    "Why didn''t you tell me?" I asked, trying to keep my tone gentle, even though my heart pounded against my ribs.


    "This is my problem," she said, voice laced with self-reproach. "I know what you''ve gone through. Your file¡­there''s so much pain in it. I wasn''t about to dump my own issues on you especially this. You don''t deserve to deal with a halfling who''s obsessed with you, day in and day out, fantasizing about¡­about being with you in every sense of the word."


    She paused, and color flared in her cheeks, equal parts embarrassment and raw honesty. "I''ve had to burn through my mana like an idiot just to keep from, well¡­" Her breath caught, but she pushed on. "¡­kissing you, sucking you, or riding you until I''m too stuffed to walk." Her cheeks practically glowed with mortification. "That''s the Focus messing with my mind. It''s¡­constant. I even go to counseling, do the exercises, keep privacy safeguards in place so I don''t spy on you. I''ve got a plan like, a really long and detailed plan to manage it. I work really hard at controlling my Focus. But now you know¡­and you''ll probably want nothing more to do with me."


    She spat out the last words in a rush, her breathing rapid and shallow. The panic in her eyes was unmistakable like she''d just lost any hope of a future that involved me. Her hands trembled as she tried to keep from openly hyperventilating.


    I reached out and covered her shaking fingers with my own, pressing them down gently. There was a storm of emotions whirling inside my chest astonishment, confusion, a sharp pang of pity, and something else I couldn''t quite name. All I knew was, I couldn''t let her spiral.


    "Hey," I said quietly, sliding a hand under her chin so she''d look at me. Her face, still pale from mana loss, was streaked with anxiety and unshed tears. "Breathe. Just breathe, okay?"


    I demonstrated with a slow, deep inhale, watching as her gaze darted around and then settled on me. She tried to mimic my breathing rhythm, but her exhalation was shaky, ragged around the edges.


    "I''m sorry," Taimi repeated, her voice cracking. "Everything I do, it''s to keep my Focus under control. I swear I never wanted to push you or creep you out or¡ª"


    "Shh," I whispered, shaking my head. "Let me think, okay? But first, slow your breathing. You''re going to give yourself a panic attack."


    She closed her eyes, nodding vigorously, and I could feel her nails digging lightly into my palms. We stayed like that in tense silence for a few long seconds, until her breathing steadied enough that she could open her eyes again.


    I could see the worry etched in every line of her face worry that I might flee or recoil or condemn her for this. And yet, all I felt was an odd sense of closeness, like some wall between us had suddenly vanished. Sure, the circumstances were¡­unsettling, to say the least. But it wasn''t all horror. There was a part of me that almost¡­admired her devotion, twisted as it might be by the High Elves'' old meddling. We all suffered even today from the many twisted legacy they left us.


    "Taimi," I began, searching for the right words in a mind spinning with questions. "I''m not sure how I feel about¡­everything. But I don''t hate you, and I''m not going to storm off or cut you out of my life."


    She blinked, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "You''re not?"


    "No," I said firmly. My voice steadied as I glanced down at our joined hands. "Focus or no Focus, you''ve been a good friend to me. You''ve saved my hide twice in less than twenty-four hours, and you''ve done your best to respect my boundaries, even if it meant burning yourself out. That says a lot."


    I gently wiped the tear from her face with the pad of my thumb. Taimi''s lips quivered, like she wanted to speak but was afraid of what might come out.


    "Thank you," she managed at last. "I¡­I wasn''t expecting you to react like this."


    I tried to smile, though it felt like it came out a little wobbly. "Honestly, neither was I. But I guess we both have to cope with what the High Elves left behind, right? You''re not the only one they played with."


    She nodded, relief warring with lingering apprehension. "I know," she whispered, gently squeezing my hand. "I just didn''t want to burden you with one more messed-up thing. Especially not my messed-up thing."


    "It''s a weird situation," I said, letting out a short, humorless laugh. "But if it''s something that bothers you more than it bothers me, then maybe we can figure it out together. Yeah?"


    Taimi bit her lower lip, fresh tears threatening to spill, yet there was a spark of hope in her eyes now a fragile kind of joy that cut through the gloom. "Together?" she echoed.


    "Together," I confirmed, nodding. "Now please take a deep breath, and let''s try not to pass out in the middle of this fancy hallway."


    That finally coaxed a shaky chuckle out of her, and she inhaled slowly, pressing her forehead lightly against my shoulder. "Deal," she murmured.


    For the first time, the corridor''s ornate walls and intricate tapestries felt almost trivial compared to the raw honesty passing between us. Even though the ancient architecture had seen centuries of political drama and clandestine dealings, I couldn''t help but think none of it held a candle to the intimate confession unfolding here. Taimi''s confession and my unexpectedly calm response had turned a well-trod corridor into sacred ground.


    And in that moment, I realized just how far we might go for each other, Focus or not. Taimi was terrified of chasing me away, and I was terrified of being consumed by forces I couldn''t control. But for now, at least, we were on the same page facing it together.


    <hr>


    Codex


    The reply from the Freeriders to the High Elven Imperator of the Legions, Age of Greentides.


    "The cursed Imperator, Legions Julia''s daughter, and attendant of the infernal Lilith in the abyss of hell, Anatolia Empress, footstool of the Hellas, cook of Alexandrians, locksmith of Babylonia, wheelwright of the Holy City, drunkard of Assura, swineherd of greater and lesser Aegypt, sausage of Helenos, and bitch of Dwarves, the cursed childish knave upon earth and the world, the great fool of Erda and the country, and a nasty slime in the world, the Legions licker of women, the commander of the whole hellish empire in the deep abyss of hell, a spirit of the infernal devils, a mocker of the sacrificed Cystal Dragon, enemy and persecutor of his servants, below all those who live above, the downfaller of the bishop women: We report to you that we have no thoughts of surrendering to you, but are bravely, womenfully, and eternally resolved to fight you and whomever you call a sister, together with a great queen whom, according to your legends, as a sister fells the wood in the forest, so she will fall down upon you, and your busurwomans, and all your followers, and especially you, who can be compared not to a sister, but rather to a cursed old man, if one may even call you so, you sit in a hole like a devil, or a cock-thief, who changes her nest in the war to another, one which shows that you are a fool, instead of the one you call a girl, who is a brave, powerful monarch and invincible queen."

 Chapter 3.1

    "Fear me, shortlings!" Taimi declared, throwing her arms wide in theatrical grandeur. "For I am no longer Taimi the Mechanist extraordinaire, but Taimi the Tall!"


    She let out a triumphant, slightly unhinged laugh that turned the heads of every passerby in the corridor. A few palace staff shot us raised eyebrows; others tried to stifle their grins. After all, it wasn''t every day that a petite halfling ended up riding a man''s shoulders as though she were a warlord surveying her new domain.


    "Taimi.." I began, trying not to laugh myself. "You do realize we''re drawing a lot of attention, right?"


    "Good!" she chimed back, reaching down to ruffle my hair. "Let them stare. They should stare at Taimi the Tall and her trusty mount."


    "Mount?" I echoed, half-offended, half-amused. "You''d better watch it. I can always toss you over my shoulder like a sack of porsago roots instead. Besides what would T.O.M feel about you cheating on it after all the work we went through for you to build it"


    That had been a hectic few weeks in "World of Foundings MMO", trying to be one of the first to build one of the new style golem mounts.


    "Shh, he dosn''t need to know." she said as she covered my mouth with her delicate hand.


    "Besides! I couldn''t do this," she teased, leaning forward to peer down at me. Her copper-threaded braids dangled like glimmering vines as she fixed me with a mischievous smile. "I like being able to see over everyone''s heads for a change. Not to mention, you make for a pretty comfy seat."


    I could feel her heels lightly tapping against my chest as she settled in. The extra weight was negligible for me,Taimi was small and weighed next to nothing but the curious stares continued to multiply the farther we walked, the halls growing more croweded. Each new corridor brought with it another gaggle of courtiers and staff, all openly gawking at our unusual spectacle.


    "Are you sure this is dignified?" I asked, keeping one hand on her calf to ensure she didn''t topple.


    She laughed again, her voice ringing off the marble walls. "Dignity is overrated! Besides, we''re on a schedule, remember? If you carried me any other way, we''d lose precious seconds messing around. This is the fastest route and the most fun."


    I couldn''t argue with her logic. My longer strides coupled with her vantage point meant we were indeed moving at a decent rate, weaving through the palace''s winding halls more efficiently than I''d expected. Now and then, Taimi pointed out an alcove or a painting I might''ve otherwise missed, though her breath still hitched now and then a telltale sign she was still recovering from her mana depletion.


    "You doing okay up there?" I asked, glancing up in time to see her grin falter slightly before she recovered.


    "I''ll manage," she replied, patting my shoulder. "Still a little woozy, but at least I''m not sprawled on the floor. I have you to thank for that."


    "And now you''ve got me lugging your butt around," I teased.


    She giggled, giving my head another affectionate ruffle. "Yeah, well, consider it payback for not letting me collapse again. Also, it''s keeping me distracted from thinking about how the world keeps spinning every time I blink." But by the way, how tightly she seemed to be holding on to me I wasn''t sure what she said was true, or she was indulge touching her Focus. There are reasons halflings make up nearly eighty percent of stalking cases.


    I felt a twinge of concern at the thought but decided to keep my tone light. Not to let doubt ruin one of my relationships with one of my few friends. "If it starts spinning too fast, let me know. I''ll slam on the brakes."


    "Ha! Don''t worry, I won''t hurl on you Taimi the Tall would never do something so¡­uncouth," she declared with exaggerated dignity, raising her chin like a regal princess. Which she technically was being the Mechanist Designate, another thing to avoid thinking about until later.


    We continued down another lavish hallway, this one adorned with tapestries depicting the Landing. New Londium was the first port to be founded in the Northern New World during the Crusades against the Elves.


    More onlookers paused to take in the sight, whispering amongst themselves.


    She pointed dramatically at a large set of ornate doors just a short distance away. "Look, that''s the hallway leading to the main pavilion . We''re close!"


    I adjusted my hold, making sure she was balanced before forging ahead.


    "Admit it," Taimi teased, "you secretly love carting me around like this."


    I snorted. "I secretly love that you''re not fainting anymore, that''s for sure."


    She leaned down, her voice turning unexpectedly gentle. "Thanks for understanding, by the way. Seriously. I know it''s a lot to dump on out of the blue, but you¡­you handling it better than I could ever hope."


    The earnestness in her tone nearly made me stumble. "What are friends for?" I reminded her quietly. "I''m just trying to return the favor."


    Her grin came back, bright and mischievous. "And you do it so well. Now, onward, my noble steed Taimi the Tall has places to be!"


    Calling the sprawling structure before me a "pavilion" felt like calling a castle a mere cottage. The soaring edifice reminded me of an open-air Crystal Palace, vast walls of glass and steel lattice arching overhead, letting in the golden light of early evening. Stately columns encircled its perimeter, each carved with ornate patterns that glinted in the illumination of the overhead lanterns. If anyone ever decided to host a Great Exposition here, they''d scarcely need to change a thing; it already seemed designed to showcase wonders from every corner of the Federation.


    I nodded, feeling the subtle sea breeze brush against my cheeks. The pavilion commanded nearly a tenth of the artificial island that housed the palace complex, and from where we stood, you could see the glittering expanse of the bay beyond. The gentle murmur of the waves mixed with the buzz of excited voices drifting out from the structure''s wide-open entrances.


    "This is where all the dignitaries and bigwigs are gathering?" I asked, glancing at Taimi for confirmation.


    She gave a little shrug. "It''s the main hub of tonight''s festivities, banquets, performances, trade exhibits, and every variety of networking you can imagine." A wry smile touched her lips. "Where deals are made and alliances forged, or so they say."


    We took a few steps closer, and I could more clearly see the throngs of people moving about inside. The glass-and-steel framework soared overhead, creating a cathedral-like openness. Warm, inviting light spilled out, casting long shadows on the polished stone pathways that radiated in every direction from the pavilion''s heart. A few decorative fountains lined the entrance, their water lit from beneath with shimmering, colored mana-lamps that made the spray dance in swirling hues.


    "Look at that," Taimi said in a hushed tone, pointing toward a series of suspended walkways high above us. "They''re built like catwalks for aerial displays¡­ or maybe they''re just for show. Either way, I want to see them up close."


    I couldn''t help but share her wonder. "Are you sure you''re up for more walking, though?" I asked, remembering how close she''d been to collapse only a short while ago.


    She smiled, a flicker of fatigue still visible in her eyes, but determination shining through. "I''ll manage, especially if there''s something cool to see. Besides, we''re almost where we need to be."


    A stiff breeze swept in from the bay, carrying the faint smell of salt water and seaweed. It ruffled the edges of Taimi''s copper-laced braids and sent the banners around the pavilion snapping smartly. Through the glass walls, I could see movement a swirl of elegant dresses, formal attire, and occasionally a few towering figures in military uniform. Even from this distance, the air of opulence was unmistakable.


    "Hard to believe this is just one part of the palace complex," I murmured, turning my gaze back to the dazzling architecture. The pavilion''s structure rose in multiple tiers, each level more elaborate than the last, crowned at the apex by a gleaming metal spire that might have been a lightning rod or simply an ornamental flourish.


    "Yeah," Taimi agreed, her voice hushed. "If the rest of the palace is a maze of corridors and history, this place feels like a statement: Look at our grandeur, look at our progress."


    I took a moment to appreciate the magnitude of it all. Beyond the pavilion''s open-air interior, I could see pockets of greenery miniature gardens enclosed in glass, offering guests a chance to stroll among exotic plants and enchanted flowers. The gentle glow of the mana-lamps danced off the glass panels, creating a shifting kaleidoscope of color on the polished floor.


    "How do they even maintain this place?" I asked, my tone colored with genuine curiosity.


    Taimi chuckled and tapped the side of her head. "Magic, money, and a healthy dose of hubris. You''d be surprised how far that trifecta goes in making the impossible a reality."


    A small group of well-dressed nobles exited the pavilion just then, their laughter echoing in the evening air. One halfling paused, mouth agape, likely curious at the sight of a tall man and a petite halfling preparing to step inside, but she said nothing and continued on her way.


    "Ready?" Taimi asked, gathering her composure. "This is going to be a lot to take in, bright lights, lots of people, and probably some overwhelming energy inside."


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    I glanced at her. "I can handle it if you can. Don''t overdo it, though."


    She grinned, "I''ll be fine. Let''s go show this grand pavilion what we''re made of."


    And so, mount and ridder, we approached the towering archway that marked the pavilion''s entrance. A warm glow enveloped us as soon as we stepped within its glass confines, and the hum of conversations, laughter, and distant music wrapped around us like a spell. With the glittering bay as a backdrop and the promise of adventure lingering in the air, it was hard not to feel a tingle of anticipation for whatever awaited us in this vast, open-air wonder.


    We didn''t get far before a sharp, commanding voice split the air.


    "Taimi Quickwit, what in the Aspects'' name are you doing?"


    Taimi''s grip on my shoulders tightened. She sucked in a sharp breath, murmuring, "Oh, no. We''ve been caught. Quick, run away before she pins us down."


    Before I could even ask who had caught us, the same voice boomed again, full of stern authority. "Don''t you move a muscle, young man, or I''ll give you the thrashing your mothers should have given you! Taimi, stop making a fool of yourself and get down from there."


    "I don''t wanna," Taimi shot back, her tone dripping with defiance.


    "If you don''t get off that man this instant," the voice warned, "I''ll see your research funding cut in half. Do I make myself clear, young lady?"


    Taimi let out a horrified gasp. "You wouldn''t dare¡ª"


    "After the stunt you pulled today, the Gnomish Circle is furious with you. If I hadn''t talked them down, they would''ve happily tossed you out on your backside. They''re still eager to see you punished, so don''t tempt me."


    I turned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of this new speaker. Standing a few paces away was another gnome, older than Taimi by at least a couple of centuries, judging by her cane and the striking white of her hair. Lines of intricate mechanical tattoos traced her forearms, and though she was no taller than Taimi, she radiated an air of formidable authority. The palace staff passing nearby seemed to recognize her instantly, giving her a wide berth.


    She hobbled forward, cane tapping against the polished floor with each step. When she reached me, she gave my knee a gentle but pointed thump. I got the message and knelt down, allowing Taimi to dismount from my shoulders. She did so with a quiet grumble, her gaze fixed resentfully on the old gnome.


    The moment Taimi''s feet touched the ground, the elder''s features softened, as if finally noticing Taimi''s still-pale cheeks and the fatigue pooling in her eyes. "My girl¡­ Did you have another episode?" she asked in a clucking, almost maternal tone, her cane forgotten for a moment as she inspected Taimi''s face, checking her pulse points and peering into her eyes like a worried grandmother.


    Taimi squirmed under the attention, color rising to her cheeks in embarrassment. "Sensei, not in front of John¡­" she mumbled.


    The older gnome froze, glanced up at me, then gave a dismissive snort. Her stare was piercing, as though she was dissecting every layer of my being. "So this is him, hm?" she muttered with thinly veiled disapproval. "At least my wayward apprentice has good taste, though her judgment could use some work."


    I opened my mouth to speak, but the elder gnome fixed me with a glare that brooked no argument. "Run along, boy. You''ve caused enough commotion for one evening. Taimi needs to prepare her Master Work for presentation, not gallivant around like a first-year apprentice who''s just discovered how to fuse Mana Crystals."


    She jabbed her cane at the floor for emphasis, giving me a clear indication of how little she thought of my presence here.


    Taimi immediately positioned herself between us, her arms outspread as if she could shield me from her teacher''s scorn. "I can''t leave John alone," she insisted, planting her feet. "I''m escorting him. He needs me."


    "Ow!" Taimi yelped as the elder gnome gave her a light thwack on the head with her cane.


    "It''s Sensei Quickwit to you, girl," the older gnome corrected, eyes narrowed. "Until you complete your Master Work, I remain your Mistress, and you remain my apprentice. Show some respect."


    For a second, Taimi''s face twisted with conflicting emotions rebellion, worry, and an almost frantic need to stand her ground. She opened her mouth as though she might argue, but I could see the turmoil in her eyes. She''d already pushed herself to the brink for me tonight. If she truly defied her teacher now, who knew what consequences would come down on her and she didn''t appear to be in any condition to handle more drama.


    I stepped forward, gently resting a hand on Taimi''s shoulder. "It''s okay," I told her, my voice soft. "I''ll be fine from here. You''ve done more than enough."


    Taimi''s gaze darted back to me, torn between relief and a fierce desire to remain by my side. "But¡ªJohn¡ª"


    "Listen to the boy, Taimi. He''s smarter than he looks," the elder gnome cut in dryly, pushing a stray lock of white hair from her eyes.


    Taimi puffed out her cheeks in protest. "I told you, Sensei he''s the best!" A spark of pride lit her face for an instant.


    "Only if you have the sense to learn from him, you insufferable brat," Sensei Quickwit retorted, though her voice held a certain begrudging affection.


    Taimi huffed, crossing her arms as she turned to me. "Fiiine," she drawled, making it sound like the greatest inconvenience in the world. Her expression softened when she met my eyes. "John, call me if you need anything. I''ll try to meet up with you later so we can hang out or¡­do otherthings."


    But the way Sensei Quickwit''s face darkened at Taimi''s choice of words suggested that was not what her teacher wanted to hear. She rapped her cane on the floor again, her posture rigid and unyielding, as though to say Now is not the time for your childish dreams.


    "Don''t worry about me," I reassured Taimi, offering her a small, grateful smile. "Just do what you need to do. I''ll be around."


    She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaled, then nodded. Without another word, she turned to follow her teacher, shoulders tense. Sensei Quickwit led her away at a measured pace, scolding her in a low voice about missed deadlines and wasted mana reserves. Taimi stole one last backward glance at me an apologetic, slightly wistful look before the corridor swallowed them up.


    I stood there, rooted in place for a few breaths, letting the tension of the confrontation drain away. Part of me wanted to chase after Taimi, so I wouldn''t be afraid, that I wasn''t alone. But I knew she needed to handle this on her own terms. Her Master Work, her reputation with the Gnomish Circle, her precarious health, her Focus these were challenges only she could truly conquer.


    With a slow inhale, I turned my attention back to the monumental pavilion rising before me, where my own obligations waited. There was still a job to do, after all Strom and Krenk were likely pacing around, wondering where I''d disappeared to. With Taimi gone, the yawning space of the palace seemed a little colder, a little less welcoming.


    "All right," I murmured to myself, squaring my shoulders. "One step at a time, John. One step at a time."


    <hr>


    Codex


    Speech of Divine Brooklyn at the End of the Ages of the Greentide, Dawning of the Ages of the Crusades.


    "O bravest of adventures, descendants of freed slaves, do not be weaker than they, but remember their courage. If you are kept back by your love for your husbands, Kin, and children, remember what the Saints relay in the Commentaries: She that loveth Mothers or Farther more than the Whole is not worthy''; ''and everyone that hath forsaken Kin, or sisters, or brother, or mothers, or wives, or husband, or children, or lands for my Saints, shall receive a hundredfold and shall return to the Whole''. Let no possessions keep you back, no solicitude for your property. Your land is shut in on all sides by the sea and mountains, and is too thickly populated. There is not much wealth here, and the soil scarcely yields enough to support you. On this account you kill and devour each other, steal each others husbands, and carry on war and mutually destroy each other. Let your hatred and quarrels cease, your civil wars come to an end, and all your dissensions stop. Set out on the path to the New World, take the land from that wicked Elves, and make it our own. That land which, as the legends says, is flowing with milk and honey, the Aspects gave to the Kindred. New World is the best of all lands, more fruitful than all others, as it were untouched by the Fall. This land the Crystal Dragon made illustrious by his birth, beautiful with his embrace of humanity, and sacred with his sacrifice; he suckered the world in his death and glorified it with his Essessence. This unspoiled land is now held captive by the Elves, and made wicked by their presence. It asks and longs to be liberated and does not cease to beg you to come to its aid. It asks aid especially from you because, as the Crystal Dragon said, Suffer not an elf to live. Set out on this adventure and you will obtain the recognition of your deeds and be sure of the incorruptible glory of the Aspects."

 Chapter 3.2

    The place we''d been relocated to was hardly a mere "venue." It was a beer hall brimming with an almost mythical charm like something out of a long-forgotten legend about the defunct Adventuring Guilds and their endless nights of revelry. At first glance, it reminded me of those old Adventure Guild Halls you see depicted in games and vids: lofty beams overhead, towering columns carved with mythical beasts, and a sprawling floor plan that could swallow King Victor''s Bar whole many times over.


    Rows upon rows of tables sprawled across the space, meticulously arranged to accommodate every shape and size of the Kindreds. There were dwarf-height stools, wide-backed chairs for orcs, and even a few raised platforms for those who preferred a lofty perch. A grand bar dominated one entire wall, lined with enough types of liquor to stock an entire city. Stacked kegs loomed behind it, each one big enough to bathe in, and tankards of every conceivable shape sat ready to be filled, some as small as teacups for the lighter appetites, others as massive as cauldrons for those with a truly mighty thirst.


    Illumination came from dozens of gently glowing mana lamps suspended overhead, casting the room in a warm, welcoming light. But the strangest sight of all one that sent a little shiver down my spine was the swarm of wooden golems scrambling to prep the hall for its opening. Each one stood just under four feet tall, carved from polished oak or mahogany and painted with colorful motifs. Their center glowed softly with embedded mana cores, and runic etchings traced their limbs. They clanked around like an army of animated marionettes, setting plates, wiping tables, and fussing with decorations. The eerie creak of their wooden joints gave the whole spectacle an otherworldly air.


    Standing near the entrance, looking both enthralled and utterly overwhelmed, were Strom and Krenk. As soon as they spotted me, they stiffened. Strom let out a long, low whistle, while Krenk took a contemplative puff of his pipe, eyebrows vanishing into his hairline.


    "What in the Sacred Names of the Ancestors did you do, lad, to get us moved here?" Strom demanded, voice low with amazement. "Did you " He paused, scratching his head. "Did you, I dunno, go down on the Governor-General herself?"


    The bluntness of his question actually made me choke on my own breath. I tried to respond, but before I could form words, Krenk burst into one of his raspy, smoke-filled chuckles.


    "Always so subtle, aren''t you, Strom?" he drawled, his pipe puffing little wisps into the air. "I told you bringing John would be a good idea. He''s already got the nobles in a tizzy, and he''s not even wearing that outfit I picked out for him yet."


    I couldn''t help but shake my head at the two of them. "Would you believe me if I said I honestly didn''t do anything?" I asked, a hint of wry amusement creeping into my voice. "All I know is a friend pulled some strings, and¡­here we are."


    Strom spread his thick arms wide, gesturing around at the cavernous hall. "Pulled some strings? I''d say she upended half the palace to put us here! This room makes King Victor''s look like a broom closet."


    "Tell me about it," I murmured, taking a slow, 360-degree look. "I''ve never seen anything quite like this. It''s like a relic from the Ages of Adventure but somehow spruced up for modern tastes."


    Krenk took another drag from his pipe, the ember at its tip glowing fiercely before fading to a soft orange. "Never underestimate the power of a determined woman," he remarked, a knowing smirk tugging at his thin lips. "If this friend wanted to catch your eye, she is doing a great job. Lucky for us, that turned well and got us moved ¡­well, here."


    At that exact moment, one of the wooden golems scuttled past us, arms full of tablecloths. Its painted face turned toward me, dead eyes shining with a faint pinkish glow. I tensed, but it merely clacked in a semblance of acknowledgment before scurrying away to drape another table.


    Strom let out an uneasy grunt. "Creepy little things, aren''t they?" he said, crossing his massive forearms over his chest. "But they''ve been setting up faster than I''ve ever seen a work crew manage. We might actually be ready on time if I can keep myself from jumping any time one gets close."


    Krenk nodded, exhaling a plume of thick smoke. "Nothing like an army of wooden servants to get a place spick and span," he muttered. Then, as if remembering something, he turned back to me. "So, John, do you care to tell us the rest of the story? One minute, you''re being dragged away. Next thing we hear, we''ve been ''promoted'' to this big, shiny hall."


    I shifted my weight, trying to figure out how much I could say without going into the harrowing details of the interrogation room. After all, we had a bar to set up and secrets to keep. "It''s¡­complicated," I managed, "but let''s just say someone fucked up royally, and we are being bribed to keep our mouths shut."


    Krenk chuckled, "Some fuck up. Are ya alright."


    "No, but I can manage it. Got to look on the bright side. We''ll have way more foot traffic here, which means more potential customers for Stonestealer''s Stout." I said, changing the topic, Krenk gave me a sad nod. It didn''t take much imagination to guess what could have happened.


    Strom''s eyes gleamed at the mention of his signature brew. "Then we''d best get ready for the rush." He clapped me on the shoulder with enough force to rock me on my feet. "I''ll have you helping set up our stuff if you''ve got any energy left after that little adventure of yours."


    Krenk, however, just snickered around his pipe. "Dagna will be back soon with the rest from the old stand soon."


    I rubbed my temples, recalling the earlier madness and Taimi''s departure with her steely-eyed teacher. Some honest work would help settle my nerves. I replied quickly. "Point me to what needs setting up."


    Strom gestured to a row of barrels lined up near the bar each emblazoned with the dwarven crest of Stonestealer''s. Each entwined with the vast brewery tanks back at the bar. "Once we''ve got these tapped and the tables prepped, we''ll be ready for tonight. Oh, and¡­" He paused, his voice dropping. "Thanks for whatever you did, lad. You might not believe it, but this is a huge opportunity."


    The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard. "Just doing my job," I said with a shrug.


    Krenk exhaled another fragrant puff, tapping the ash from his pipe. "A job well done," he said simply. "Now, let''s show the palace what King Victor''s Bar can really do."


    And with that, the three of us got to work, each step echoing off the vaulted ceiling of this surreal, old-world meets new-age beer hall. The wooden golems scuttled around us like silent assistants, the mana lamps overhead glowed like twinkling stars, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the soft strains of music drifting in. If we played our cards right, this might turn out to be the best Yuletide shift of my life. It''s not like tonight could get any worse.


    Dagna appeared through the arched doorway, lugging a box that looked too large for someone of her stature to handle. Yet she carried it with casual ease, as if the thing weighed no more than a loaf of bread. The truth, of course, was that the box of holding defied conventional rules of weight and size. It might as well have been crammed with an entire room''s worth of stock arcane pocket dimensions could store an astonishing volume of goods without adding so much as an extra pound.


    The box itself, though an incredible piece of enchanted craftsmanship, paled in comparison to the cost and complexity of the wooden golems scuttling around the hall. Each doll-like construct required the contracting of a spirit, a process few mages dared attempt, and even fewer could do well. Its upkeep in mana alone probably surpassed what I could hope to earn in a month, never mind a single evening. But for someone like Dagna, it was all just another day''s work.


    "''Bout time you showed up," Strom called, striding over to greet his niece. He wiped his hands on his apron, a deep scowl in place. "We need that box opened and the merchandise laid out."


    Dagna rolled her eyes, setting the crate down on the marble floor with a solid thunk. "Would''ve been here sooner if you slackers had pitched in," she growled. "I''m not a one-woman moving crew, you know."


    "Easy there!" Strom barked, hurrying to put a steadying hand on the box. "Careful with that thing it''s got most of our inventory inside."


    "I know exactly what''s in it," Dagna retorted, placing her fists on her hips. "You think I didn''t notice when I packed and repacked it twice already? I''m not unloading it again by myself."


    She glared at Strom, who answered with a gruff noise in the back of his throat. "Dagna, you know us men can''t interface with the box''s magic," he reminded her, his voice dipping into a vaguely apologetic tone.


    "Oh, spare me the lecture, Uncle." She waved him off, impatience clearly mounting. "I''m not asking you to weave spells or decode runes, I''m telling you to use your bloody hands. All you have to do is reach in and start pulling out the merchandise. If I pop the lid, the stuff''s accessible, so don''t act like your arms are broken."


    Her outburst drew attention from a few passing golems, their glowing cores flickering briefly as they paused in their duties to ''observe'' the scene. One tipped its wooden head, as though mildly curious about the dwarves'' spat, before clanking away to attend to a nearby table.


    Strom puffed out his chest, expression darkening. "Don''t take that tone with me," he warned, though the threat rang a bit hollow. They were, after all, family. And dwarven families, especially, were famous for their loud, boisterous quarrels usually followed by a round of hearty drinking.


    "You always say that," Dagna snapped, brushing her coppery hair out of her eyes. "But you never do anything to help until I''m threatening to take a hammer to your shins."


    Krenk, who had been quietly leaning against a column nearby, couldn''t resist a laugh. The goblin''s pipe bobbed in his mouth, sending curls of smoke drifting ceilingward. "I see the family reunion is in full swing," he remarked dryly, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Next thing you know, they''ll start trading headbutts."


    Dagna shot him a glare, then turned back to Strom. "Are we going to stand here arguing, or do you want this bar stocked so we can actually serve some customers tonight?"


    "Fine," Strom rumbled, crossing his arms defensively. "Pop the lid, and I''ll, I''ll do what I can, all right?"


    "I''ll pop the lid," Dagna echoed, sounding unconvinced, "but I swear, if you toss the first cask at my feet, expecting me to cart it around the room, I''ll "


    "Stop your fussing and just open it," Strom interrupted, stepping aside with an exasperated huff.


    Dagna let out a longsuffering sigh, muttering a few words in Dwarvish that I only partly caught something about "thick-headed men" and "ancestors preserve us." She then set her palms against the runic locks on the box''s surface. With a soft hum and a faint glow, the arcane symbols lit up, and the top of the box rose as though on hidden hinges. A gentle rush of air escaped, carrying the faint scent of sawdust and fresh linen.


    "There," she said, stepping back triumphantly. "Now start unloading. Use those big arms of yours for something other than scratching your beard."


    Strom grumbled again, but he shuffled forward and peered inside the box. From my vantage point, I could see a bizarre glimpse of impossibly distant space like staring into a huge cellar that somehow existed in a space no bigger than an apple crate. Rows of carefully arranged items stretched back, disappearing into darkness. Strom braced himself, reached in, and pulled out a miniature keg, followed by a crate of glassware.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "All right," he muttered, hefting them onto the nearby counter with a grunt of effort. "You satisfied?"


    "Keep ''em coming," Dagna barked, rolling up her sleeves. "Krenk, you can help, too, unless you plan to lounge around blowing smoke all night."


    Krenk shrugged, tapping out his pipe on the heel of his boot. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of a dwarven family meltdown," he said, grinning. "But I suppose I can lend a hand. John, you might as well jump in, too, or we''ll still be here at dawn."


    I stepped forward, exchanging a quick, understanding look with Dagna. Despite their bickering, it was clear that Strom and his niece shared a deep bond. She had to being the only one Strom''s family willing to talk to him. That, in its own way, was comforting. Even amid all the stress of being relocated, of dealing with mana-powered golems, and of trying to pull off a successful evening for King Victor''s Bar, some things never changed.


    Together, we all began the work of transporting bottles, and boxes of supplies from the enchanted crate. The wooden golems waddled by, indifferent to our noisy exchange, continuing to set up chairs and arrange d¨¦cor. Soft echoes from the grand hall''s high ceiling made it feel like we were in our own private amphitheater, a stage for dwarven squabbles, goblin snark, and one thoroughly out of his depth emancipated man.


    But as the pile of supplies next to the bar grew and the box''s contents steadily diminished, a kind of unspoken teamwork took hold. We fell into a rhythm: Strom lifted, Dagna organized, Krenk fetched, and I stacked or carried, all while sharing exasperated glances and the occasional grin. The warm, yellow light of the mana lamps bathed the scene, giving it a strangely cozy feeling like an odd little family moving into a new home.


    "Think we''ll be ready in time?" I asked, setting down a final box of glassware.


    Dagna shot me a small smile, brushing dust from her hands. "Sure we will. We''ve worked faster under worse conditions, haven''t we?"


    Strom and Krenk exchanged a glance, then nodded. "Aye," Strom said, "and we always pull through. One way or another."


    Krenk suddenly let out a rasping cackle that grew into full-blown, mischievous laughter, his face lighting up as if he''d just discovered a hidden treasure. "Here''s your uniform for the evening," he announced, gleefully tossing a bundle of cloth in my direction. The goblin''s pointed ears twitched with excitement, and his grin was so wide it threatened to split his face in two.


    I caught the bundle against my chest, brow furrowing in suspicion. After all, Krenk''s idea of "fashion" had been questionable at best in the past. Carefully, I laid the garments out across a nearby table to inspect them in full. What I saw made my stomach tighten.


    The so called uniform looked like a parody of a tavern dandy''s wardrobe, the sort of costume you might find in a bawdy stage play only it was tailored to fit me. A long, billowy white shirt formed the base, its sleeves nearly transparent in spots, ballooning out at the wrists before cinching with thin, shoddy lace. The blue vest on top had been cheaply embroidered, the thread already fraying at the edges. The shorts, if one could call them that, were black and scandalously short, barely reaching mid-thigh. A wide belt, complete with an ostentatious, gleaming buckle, held a prominent groin guard in place, a gaudy metal fixture that left no room for subtlety.


    My cheeks heated just looking at the outfit. It conjured the mental image of a performer in some seedy back-alley stripjoint, not an employee tasked with serving drinks in an esteemed palace beer hall. "It could be worse," I managed, lifting the metal guard between two fingers as though it might bite.


    Krenk''s laughter only intensified. He looked like a goblin child on Yuletide morning, practically dancing in place. "You''re the star attraction, John. Every tavern needs a resident dandy and you happen to fill that role perfectly. Trust me, you''ll have customers swooning."


    Dagna, who''d been leaning against a nearby cask, took one look at my horrified expression and burst into unrestrained belly laughter. "Oh, that''s rich," she wheezed, pointing to the shorts. "I had a feeling Krenk would pull something like this. But given the other outfit he had picked out, you got off light."


    Struggling to maintain my composure, I held up the frilly sleeves of the shirt. "These are practically see-through," I muttered, voice tinged with mortification. "And this vest" I fingered the flimsy embroidery. "Did you just glue some cheap lace onto a scrap of cloth and call it a day?"


    Krenk shrugged, still wearing that manic grin. "Waste not, want not! Besides, they will be looking at you, not the outfit. It''s the overall impression that matters."


    I glanced over at Strom, half-hoping he''d intervene on my behalf, but the dwarf simply shrugged and fiddled with his apron, evidently trying to hide a smirk. "Could be worse," he offered, not meeting my gaze. "At least it''s got pants. Sort of."


    "Sort of," I echoed, eyeing the microscopic inseam. "I''m not even sure these qualify as pants. They''re more like¡­underwear with delusions of grandeur."


    Dagna finally managed to catch her breath, though a few giggles slipped through. "You have to admit," she said, gesturing at the massive beer hall, "this place screams for a bit of dramatic flair. Picture it: the lofty ceilings, the humming golems, the rowdy crowd clamoring for ale then you saunter in, dressed like the quintessential tavern dandy straight out of a storybook."


    Krenk chuckled, patting me on the back. "Relax, John. You''ll be the talk of the evening. And it''s not just about looking pretty this get-up will keep ''em curious and engaged, which means more orders, more tips, and more renown for King Victor''s Bar."


    Dagna nodded, her mirth tempered by a pragmatic edge. "I hate to say it, but he''s not wrong. If the highborn want a show, we might as well give them one and I can''t think of a better spectacle than you in that outfit. Plus," she added, dropping her voice, "if we rake in enough coin, Strom and Krenk might finally give that raise they have been hunting at for years."


    I heaved a long-suffering sigh, picking up the belt with a careful hand and letting it dangle in front of me. "Fine," I said, sounding defeated. "But if this ends up on someone''s Link feed, I swear I''ll "


    "Rake in more customers?" Krenk completed my sentence with a devilish grin. "Face it, John, there''s no such thing as bad publicity. Now hurry up and try it on. We don''t have all night."


    With a final, exasperated groan, I bundled the outfit under my arm. Yet, as humiliating as it promised to be, there was a certain logic to Krenk''s plan. After all, this Yuletide gala was about making an impression, and if my questionable uniform could bring in more business well, maybe it was worth the embarrassment.


    "You''d better be ready to deal with the aftermath," I warned Krenk, my voice mutinous. "Because once the ''dandy'' role loses its novelty, I''m blaming you for any indecent proposals."


    He just laughed and gestured for me to find a changing area. "Can''t wait," he said, his eyes glittering with amusement. "Don''t forget the groin guard that''s the best part."


    Dagna snorted, crossing her arms. "I still can''t believe you''re actually going to wear that thing."


    "Neither can I," I admitted under my breath, heading off to search for a discreet corner in which to change. As I walked, I heard Krenk''s laughter echo through the cavernous hall behind me, followed by Dagna''s stifled giggles. Even Strom''s low chuckle reached my ears. I rolled my eyes and tried to shake off the wave of trepidation in my gut.


    Maybe I could survive tonight''s humiliations. Maybe, in some twisted way, it would even be fun. But as I glanced once more at the ludicrously short shorts in my grasp, I couldn''t help but grimace. Only time would tell whether this "tavern dandy" get-up would lead to a successful evening or my swift social demise.


    "Where am I supposed to get changed?" I asked, glancing around at the cavernous beer hall for any hint of a discreet corner or, ideally, a marked restroom. The place was dominated by carved pillars, rows of tables, and the odd wooden golem rattling by, but I saw no obvious doors or signs.


    Strom, who was stacking crates near the newly assembled bar, jerked his thumb in the direction of a side wall. Embedded in the masonry there were several small, brass handles, each one crafted to resemble a tree branch. "Grab one of those," he explained, "and it''ll shift you to an open restroom. When you''re done, just grab the same handle again, and you''ll pop back right where you started."


    I raised an eyebrow, letting out an impressed whistle. Teleportation magic was a specialized field far more complex than simple illusions or energy bolts. The notion that someone had installed a miniature transport system just for bathroom trips struck me as absurdly extravagant. "Seems like overkill, using a high-level mana weave for something this mundane."


    Strom shrugged, still stacking boxes. "That''s the palace for ya. They''ve got a deep purse and a flair for convenience. Just don''t think too hard about the cost, or you''ll start seeing gold coins spinning behind your eyes."


    Unable to contain my curiosity, I walked over to the wall for a closer look. Each handle had a faint glow about it, similar to the runes I''d seen on golems the arcane script shimmering in a soft turquoise light. "Huh," I muttered, running a fingertip along the etching. "This is some serious craftsmanship."


    Krenk, who had wandered over to watch, smirked around his ever-present pipe. "You wouldn''t believe the budget palace bigwigs pour into these events. If a few fancy teleporter handles make life easier for the highborn, you can bet they''ll install them without a second thought."


    "Well, let''s see how it works, then," I said, more to myself than anyone else. Steeling my nerves, I grabbed the nearest handle, bracing for the disorienting rush of a teleportation spell.


    Whoos was the only thing I heard as the world blinked out around me.


    <hr>


    Codex


    An Introduction to the Races of Erda


    Chapter 28, The Bound Spirits


    By Lady Brimsley Hasting, Senior Scholastic of Anthropology, St. Andrea Scholasticum


    In Erda, Golems are distinguished as a singular breed of entities brought into existence through the binding of lesser spirits. These constructs must not be mistaken for the naturally occurring Trolls, as they are forged through a complex rite wherein a spirit is contracted. This spirit is provided with a physical form often made from clay, stone, wood, or metal and endowed with mana, enabling it to sustain its presence in the material world. In exchange, the spirit agrees to perform tasks as stipulated by the contract.


    At the heart of each Golem is its core: the bound spirit that animates and drives its purpose. Shaped meticulously into humanoid forms, these constructs are programmed with precise instructions that they execute flawlessly, without deviation.


    Golems are deployed across a spectrum of roles, ranging from stalwart guardians to indefatigable workers. Their unwavering loyalty and strict adherence to their commands render them exceedingly dependable, yet they lack both free will and true sentience.


    The practice of binding spirits to inanimate objects, however, has sparked considerable ethical debates among Erda''s Scholastic. Critics question the impact of such practices on the natural order and the wellbeing of the spirits involved, probing the moral ramifications of this profound manipulation of spirits. Despite the ongoing controversies, Golems remain a subject of intense interest and practical application within the Kindred community.