Fyre Fly: Chapter 40 – Midnight Snack

When I wake up, my room is dark. It’s the middle of the night. I shift in my bed, the blankets hushing around me, as I wonder what woke me up. Everything is quiet.

I gently reach out to Ollie and Mirzayael’s mind—they’re both still sleeping. Then I reach out to the Dungeon Core.

It’s fretting over something. I quietly ensure my mind isn’t broadcasting to Ollie and Mirzayael as I speak to the Dungeon Core, so I won’t wake them. What is it?

The Core affects the mental equivalent of a surprised jump. It doesn’t know. It didn’t do anything!

Well that’s not suspicious. Core, what have you been doing?

It wilts in my mind, like a kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar. It has to do something with the extra mana. It’s not the Core’s fault! And it wasn’t anything it wasn’t supposed to do, it was just a few nibbles!

I’m briefly alarmed, before I finish parsing through the Core’s guilty thoughts. Then I quietly laugh, my voice echoing in the dark.

It’s been active while I sleep. Bored, probably. And it noticed something I didn’t; I don’t throttle the mana I have trickling into its interface when I go to bed each night. The Fortress requires a consistent draw of mana for many of its spells—flight, maintaining the atmosphere, and so on. But there are certain capabilities that are used less during the night; like our lights and kitchens. The Core, apparently, has been using the surplus of mana for its own entertainment.

It’s gone around taking samplings of different rocks in the Fortress. Mostly just some pebbles here and there, but also, I’m now learning, the occasional nibbles off of new, foreign materials that are brought into its domain. If any of our visitors have noticed their belt buckles or boots have obtained holes or small worn patches since entering the city, no one has said anything.

And just now, it had been in the middle of digging through Ollie’s horde, looking for anything new and interesting to nibble on. It’s embarrassed at being caught, because it rather likes Ollie, and it knows it shouldn’t eat his things.

We’re going to have to set some ground rules about your midnight snacks going forward, I tell it. But my amusement is fading, because while the Core was being a little mischief maker, it’s not what woke me up.

The Core is relieved to know it’s not trouble. Now can I turn that loud noise off for it?

I finally notice the hum. It seems to be pulsing from the Dungeon Core. No, not from it—through it.

It’s coming from one of the spells wired into the throne.

I sit straight up, mentally skimming through the spell network to figure out where the alert is coming from. It doesn’t take me long to find it.

The Greater Detection spell. Someone older than 250 years has passed within its range and triggered it.

Ice washes over my skin. I try to stay calm. It must be one of the gods. Blair or Shirasil? It doesn’t fit their previous pattern—they seem to be more interested in observing me, Ollie, or Sandro. The timing of this is alarming. Why would they arrive in the middle of the night?

I bring up the Map interface. The dots that mark the city’s inhabitants are still, apart from a handful of pairs stationed around the prison, on the city wall, and patrolling the street. Mirzayael’s guards. I’m glad now she assigned them in pairs, as it makes it easy for me to identify them; the Map interface itself doesn’t provide any information on individuals aside from their species.

Then, a single dot moves.

It catches my attention because it’s in the palace. A lone cambion. We were able to trade for cambion horns in the previous cities—apparently a rare ingredient used in some spells—but I’ve never met one myself.

Echo, how old can cambions live? I ask her.

[A long life for a cambion ranges between 120 and 150 years.]

I quietly slip out of bed and head to my chamber door.

It sounds like a god to me. Only, Blair and Shirasil hadn’t appeared on the Map interface at all. And we definitely had humans and felis catalogued at that point—unless they are only appearing like those species as a disguise. I don’t understand. I’m missing something.

I don’t activate any of the hallway lights as I traverse the palace, using the Map interface to navigate while I follow the progress of our unexpected visitor. I can’t tell where they’re headed. For a moment my heart quickens as I think they’re heading for the Dungeon Core, pausing outside the door to the throne room, but they move on soon after, and are now traveling in the direction of the kitchens. I frown. What are they looking for?

I consider waking Mirzayael or Ollie. I don’t want to send the guards after our intruder—I fear it would only end poorly for them. But would Ollie or Mirzayael end better? Ollie’s appearance might provoke them, and I’d rather not have the child involved regardless. Miryayel’s words might provoke them.

But this is her kingdom, too.

Gently as I can, I reach out to her. I nudge her mind until I can feel it stir. “Remain calm and quiet,” I tell her. “There’s an intruder in the palace.”

Despite my words, Mirzayael feels anything but calm as she startles awake. “Who?” she demands, even as she’s still shaking the fog of sleep from her mind. “Where?”

 “A cambion,” I tell her. “Possibly a god. They triggered the detection spell, so they’re at least two hundred and fifty years old. I think they’re heading toward the food hall.”

Mirzayael’s mind is spinning with alarmed disorientation—I can’t really blame her, given the way I woke her up—but she’s quickly switching over to tactician mode. “Stay in your room. I will investigate.”

“Too late. I’m headed up the main stairwell.” I smile when I feel her exasperation, but it’s partially from my nerves.

“I’ll cut them off and come from the side steps, then,” she replies. “Keep me updated on their location.”

“I will.”

“Good. And Fyre?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for waking me.” A swell of relief and affection accompanies her words.

I feel a little guilty about almost not waking her, but I’m glad I ultimately made the right call. At least, I hope I made the right call.

I’m not nearly as stealthy as Mirzayael, but I’d like to hope that navigating the halls in almost total darkness helps me a bit. The cambion is in the main hall now; they’ve crossed from one side to the other a few times, stopping in various doorways. The movement is odd. It less seems like they’re looking for something, and more like they’re exploring. Another interesting detail—the Dungeon Core doesn’t particularly seem interested in them the same way it had noticed Blair and Shirasil’s presence. What’s going on?

Mirzayael and I continue to coordinate as we approach the hall from opposite sides. I’m near the kitchen—not far from where I first encountered Lisari, standing alone in the dark, examining a statue of Fyreneth.

A detail from that moment abruptly returns to me. The surprise clear on Lisari’s face when she noticed me. “Fyreneth?” she’d said.

Had she known her? I never asked.

I stop for a moment as footsteps echo through the hall. They’re close enough to hear, now. I duck into a side room, across from the one I’d just been recalling, and hold my breath. They’re coming my way.

I’m briefly filled with doubt. This trespasser clearly didn’t want to encounter anyone, given the time they chose to visit. What exactly do I think I can do against someone like Blair or Shirasil? At least neither of those two seem to wish us ill—for now. But someone who doesn’t share their restraint? Lorata herself?

I don’t know what I could do.

I update Mirzayael on their position as their footsteps grow closer, and a light flickers down the hall. I press myself further into the wall of the side room I’d ducked inside. They won’t be able to see me unless they step in, but if they do, they’d spot me in an instant. There’s nothing to hide behind. I hold my breath.

The footsteps stop. A flickering orange light spills into my room from the hallway, cutting a stripe of color across the floor.

“I’m almost there,” Mirzayael tells me, her voice tight.

“Show yourself,” the cambion says, her voice low and smooth.

Shoot. The jig is up. I guess, for better or worse, it’s time to learn who our intruder is.

I’m about to take a step forward when the firelight swivels and her shoes scuff the ground in a pivot.

“Hello,” Mirzayael says. My stomach twists. “I don’t recall letting you into our city.”

“I don’t suppose you would.” The woman sounds indifferent. She took a step back toward Mirzayael when she turned around, which puts my doorway behind her. I wait until Mirzayael speaks again, then I shift, as slowly and quietly as I can, in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the cambion.

“Is there a reason you’re sneaking around our halls in the middle of the night?” Mirzayael asks.

I Check our intruder the moment I can see her back. She’s carrying a flame in her hand, much like one of my Sparks, so she’s backlit from my perspective.

[Name: Zetaru]

[Title: Demigod]

[Species: Cambion]

[Class: Celestial Kindler]

[Level: 81]

[HP: 450/450]

[Mana: 5000/5000]

[Allegiance: Yua Tin]

I’ve never seen a cambion before, but Echo has told me about them. She has long black hair, red skin, two golden horns that curl back around her head, and a thin tail that droops nearly to the floor, its tip waving lazily back and forth. Her clothes are surprisingly nondescript—but so were Blair and Shirasil’s when they first arrived.

Unlike them, however, this one appears to be a demigod. And she doesn’t have a Role. Interesting.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. I relay as much of this information as quickly as I can to Mirzayael.

“I was following someone,” Zetaru replies. She sounds almost bored with this conversation.

Echo, what is a demigod? I ask.

[Demigods: mortals infused with a fraction of a god’s power, the most common of which are champions.]

I wait a beat. And what are champions?

[Champions: servants who act as their god’s proxy in the mortal realm.]

I guess that explains the Allegiance stat. Yua Tin is another god I’ve read about; they have to do with the stars, I think. But if champions are supposed to be the gods’ eyes and ears in the mortal realm, why did Blair and Shirasil show up in person? Where are their champions?

I suppose those questions aren’t important at this particular moment.

“Who are you following?” Mirzayael demands, sounding far more threatening than I would in her shoes.

“It is none of your concern,” Zetaru says.

“As I am the ruler of this city, I should think it is.”

Zataru is quiet for a moment. “Perhaps so, then. Have you met a young woman named Lisari?”

Champions of a different god tracking down another one? What is going on here? Blair said the pantheon is not a monolith, but I suspect I am only beginning to catch a glimpse of how tangled this web truly is.

“Yes,” Mirzayael says shortly, and I’m glad she didn’t lie. I suspect Zetaru knew the answer to that question already.

“What did she speak with you about?”

Now Mirzayael is quiet for a moment. I can feel her weighing her options. I’m about to make a suggestion when she speaks up. “That information depends on what your relationship to her is. Are you her enemy or ally?”

I am both proud of and terrified for Mirzayael. She’s not even flinching in the face of someone who could likely crush us both. When I was confronted by the two gods, I was terrified. Yet Mirzayael is treating this demigod no different from anyone else we’ve made trade deals with over the last month.

But Zetaru doesn’t seem offended. In fact, she chuckles. “Whether she is an enemy or ally depends on the information she shared.”

“Unfortunate,” Mirzayael says. “Then we are at an impasse.”

Zetaru still sounds amused, which is increasingly worrying me. “Or you can tell me the information I seek and I leave here peacefully.”

What she might do if she isn’t provided the information, hangs unspoken and heavy in the air.

I consider casting Emotional Resonance. Perhaps I could deescalate the situation—make Zetaru feel calm and friendly. But the potential for it to backfire if she realizes what I did is far too risky.

Instead, I take a different risk.

Zetaru spins around as I step from the room, eyes narrowing. She truly didn’t know I was there, then—it seems even with eighty levels, these demigods are not as preeminent as they project.

“Who are you?” she demands.

I pause. Can she not get Echo to Check? Does she not have access to the System? Does this have something to do with the fact that she doesn’t have a Role? It’s becoming a pattern; those with Roles can see the System and those without Roles can’t. I thought someone connected to the gods might be different. But this means I actually wield some form of advantage over her.

“My name is Fyre,” I say. “Mirzayael and I are…” I trail off thoughtfully, trying to find the best descriptor.

“Co-rulers,” Mirzayael supplies.

My mouth twitches with a smile. “I think we’re a bit more than that.”

Embarrassment and self-consciousness floods from Mirzayael’s side of our link. “Partners, then.”

“We haven’t really put a label on it, yet,” I explain.

The demigod looks between us, unamused. “I do not care which relationship status you claim.”

“My apologies,” I say. “You wanted to know about Lisari?”

Zetaru focuses on me. “Speak.”

While Shirasil’s relation with Lorata appears to be conflicting, I read one account that said he was friends with Yua Tin, who is apparently this champion’s god. I’m very aware that the mortal records could be flawed, but I decide to chance it.

“She said she was here to observe,” I tell her. “She warned us others might not be.”

Zetaru remains expressionless as she considers this. “You are protecting a Traveler with a remnant.”

I try not to react to this. She doesn’t know I’m a Traveler—she might not even know about the Dungeon Core. Mentally, I access the interface and tell the Core to sink into the throne, obscuring its jewel with the rock.

“We are,” Mirzayael admits. “A boy named Sandro.”

My heart skips a beat. “Mirzayael, what are you doing?”

“Diverting attention from you,” she tells me.

“But you’ll make him a target!”

Of course, that’s the point. “He has a magical cloak,” she tells Zetaru.

The demigod turns back to Mirzayael. “Why are you shielding him? You realize it puts your city at risk. And your castle isn’t particularly subtle.”

“Taking in anyone who needs a home is what this city was built for,” Mirzayael replies, surprising me before I can respond. “Anyone who may condemn that is no one worth capitulating to.”

Zetaru snorts. “You’re brave. But bravery will not protect you.”

“Doing what’s right is not contingent upon what is safest.”

I might be proud of her if she hadn’t just thrown Sandro to the wolves in an attempt to mask that the Dungeon Core and I are the primary subject of interest. But I can’t entirely blame her, either; everyone’s life in this city is dependent upon the Dungeon Core not being taken from us.

It’s the only reason I haven’t contradicted Mirzayael. As much as using Sandro as a diversion fills me with shame, we achieve nothing and risk everything by revealing my connection to a remnant, too.

Zetaru shakes her head. “Lisari was right,” she says, looking between us. “You’re in a dangerous spot. If you care about the safety of your city more than the safety of this individual, you should consider handing him over.”

“I suspect we could not stop you if you wanted to take him,” I remark.

“You’d be correct,” she says. “It is not in my lord’s nature to force hands, but champions with less compassion and more cruelty will also investigate your home. It’s merely a matter of time. You would be wise to pick your allegiances carefully.”

Then she turns and heads my way. Mirzayael steps toward her as I step back—but Zetaru turns, instead passing into the room I’d been hiding in. Her fire snuffs out a moment later. I peer around the doorframe, but the room is empty.

I sigh. “She’s gone.”

Mirzayael moves quickly to my side. She reaches out, then seems to not know what she intended to do, so I take her hand in mine. “Are you alright?”

She can already feel the state of my mind—the question is more one of impulse.

I find I’m actually not nearly as bothered as when Lisari and Blair first confronted me. I don’t know if I’m getting used to all this, or if it’s the knowledge that even these champions, dozens of levels higher than myself, don’t have some of the resources I do.

Either way, however, her presence here was a clear signal: more will be coming. The time for evaluating our best options is over. We need to act.

“I think we should do it,” I abruptly say, instead of answering Mirzayael’s question. “We need to land quickly, and we’ve so far found no other viable solution. Perhaps if we had more time…”

She already knows what I’m talking about. “I believe the city would not be opposed to this plan. But we can hold the vote tomorrow.”

“We’ll need to move fast,” I say. “I don’t know how long it will take to reach, even if we start burning through our mana stores.”

“I’m sure Dizzi can help with that,” Mirzayael says.

Since I came up with the idea of landing our city on the Drifting Isles, Dizzi has been the most enthusiastic supporter. As she put it: “Who wouldn’t want to travel the world while living in the magical epicenter of the flying remains of an ancient civilization that mysteriously disappeared?”

While the other council members didn’t nearly share her same level of enthusiasm, I now think the path forward is now clear.

It’s time to hunt a Ruin.