[Boundaries] Chapter One

[Boundaries] Chapter 1: All Things Have a Beginning. (previously cut into five parts)



The small room was obviously a cell. Plain, barren even, it was a bare six foot by six foot in size and held only a single metal bench firmly bolted to both the cement floor and the thick metal bars forming the cell's two open walls. Strange stains colored the floor, and there was a suspicious dent in one of the bars, placed at approximately head height and approximately skull sized.

Matching cells marched on down either side of the wide pathway, differing only in whether they had two or three barred walls and in the exact color and shape of their suspicious stains or dents. Despair seeped from the grimy metal and stained cement both, echoing with the anxious silence of their occupants.

The silence that weighed so heavy most of the occupants were finding it hard to even breath was broken abruptly by a soft tapping. At first, it was so quiet that the anxiety-clad prisoners doubted that they had even heard it to begin with. Then it came again, louder and faster. There was a flurry of quick taps, reaching a crescendo before abruptly dying back as a young, somewhat annoyed female voice sounded in a low curse.

The voice came from one of the cells at the very end of the hall, the privileged corner cells. There, a girl with the slender body of a woman in her youth was laying on her back on the metal bench, one leg drawn up onto the bench with her and an outdated hand-held mobile held above her head with both hands. Nowhere in her posture could any trace of despair or anxiety be found. If anything, there was a simple irritation and a sense of lazy restraint, as if the cell was her home.

Another low sound of irritation sounded from deep in her chest as Zainheidra let her hands fall. One landed on her stomach. The other, still holding the mobile, fell to dangle off the side of the bench she lay on, her long fingers grasping the mobile so lightly it seemed as though it might fall from their grasp any moment.

Zainheidra—Zaine Cas Chairbre to most, although it was only the most recent of many names she'd worn—didn't really care if the phone dropped or not. Instead, she stared up at the ceiling with eyes of a light, dissatisfied silver so pale they looked inhuman against her tanned skin. There was a vein of magic below the prison, one of the few that remained in this world where magic was in its last death throws. She'd been drawing on it for hours, but the reserves in her core remained empty. The few drops that had flowed in were far from enough to account for the magic she'd wasted in that last battle.

Restraining a growl, she shifted her legs, drawing up the other knee as she searched for a way to ease the ache in her side. The rip in her grease-stained canvas pants pulled open over her knee with the movement, revealing tanned skin and a wandering white scar, and she contemplated the rip's fraying edges for a moment.

She didn't look much different from any other young woman out on the streets of Old Jionvin, if you didn't factor in the fact she was clean and obviously in good health. It was hard to guess her age—there was a slender, adolescent aura to her build that said she had yet to show more than a hint of womanhood, but an age in her gray eyes that made people who took her as young consider again. Those eyes dominated her face, startling against her tanned skin, and her short hair was a darker brown that carried hints of fiery red and orange when the sunlight hit it. A clean-lined jaw, long torso, graceful fingers, and long legs were yet more hints about the beauty that would lay in the future, making people with the eyes to see it look forwards to what she would look like in ten years or so. But what might be wasn't what was, and there was nothing beautiful about the loose, stained canvas of her torn pants, worn cast-off military boots, and grease-stained white tank, especially to people used to the common summer wear of Old Jionvin. Those same canvas pants, boots, and tank top could be found on a million other people in the low streets, and even the scars tracing over the exposed skin of her arms and shoulders weren't anything unusual. Industrial accidents, street fights, unsafe living quarters—there were a great number of reasons that people in Old Jionvin might have scars. She could be any one of a great many adolescent women in the city. Only those who already knew differently would be able to spot the signs of a Greater Inhuman, and those signs were further hidden by the fact she was so drained of magic.

Zain closed her eyes, trying not to think on the reason she'd so foolishly expended so much mystical energy this time. The scars on her side ached at the memory, and her fingers tightened slightly as she fought to keep from betraying her inhuman heritage.

There weren't many inhuman people left in this world anymore. Like the magic, they had either died out, left for worlds less parched of mysticism, or retreated to their deep places to sleep until the magic woke once more. The magic that had once run so wild and strong had been relegated to mere myth and legend, to the stuff of fantasy and games. No one believed in it anymore except for a stubborn few who refused to leave their past glory to the past.

Her fingers twitched, remembering the wars. Few remembered, not like she did. She'd seen them, after all, the last mystical wars and battles. Walked them, although they hadn't been in her lifespan. The past had always been clearer to her than the future. It was the reason she'd always ever held one law as inviolable—no one was to make war or murder. And yet ….

She shifted her legs again, banishing the memory back to the depths as she tried to ignore the biting anger in her chest. Instead, she thought of the city that lay outside the prison built on the old cliffs.

The Jionvi Empire had once been one of the greatest and most encompassing empires in the world, built from the ground up by a single warrior in the age where savage things had ruled the land. He'd been crowned emperor by her great-grandmother, whose favored daughter had forsaken her heritage to stand beside him as a mortal empress. Zain had gone once to watch the echoes of that coronation, crouching in the long grass of what was in her time a neglected historical garden all night to watch the procession and wonder what exactly it would feel like to find a man whom you would give up everything for. Someone worth growing old and dying for, despite him being a mere man? She hadn't understood.

She would admit that favored daughter and her mortal had built a great empire though, and it had been crucial in the mystic wars that followed in the next few mortal generations. If not for the Imperial Warriors of Jionvin, the power of the Valhar would not have been able to take peace and hold it so firmly. And in return, the Valhars had always paid special dues to the Jionvin royal family. They weren't family, being mortal, but they were something that could have been. It was natural to pay them a bit more attention.

The royal line had fallen some generations past, although common history said it was the same lineage to this day. It was the reason why Imperial Jionvin was no empire at present, although the true descendants were very wealthy businessmen in and out of the underworld. That was a long and complicated story though. Suffice to say that the Jionvin Empire that had once ruled the majority of the world outright and could dictate actions to the rest was now little more than two cities and a few fishing provinces. To call the current Emperor anything more than a glorified governor would be stretching things, and not even an idiot would say that the monarchy were the ones that truly governed either Old or New Jionvin. That was left to the crime families, who had used Old Jionvin as a neutral ground to hold meets, international black markets and auctions, and other such things for more than three generations now. Over them all stood the local Baljak family, who enforced the peace and were the true masters of Imperial Jionvin.

Zain was somewhat fond of Jionvin. Human though they were, the last true descendants were something like family. And besides that, there was that last remaining vein of magic that ran right under the old city. She might have withdrawn from the world and retired from the ranks of the Watchers—agents of the mysterious, all-powerful Valhar who had ruled the world since ancient times—to leave the world to fend for itself come what may, but that didn't mean she'd completely renounced her heritage to live as a mortal.

She wasn't like that favored daughter, after all. There was no man she'd met that was worth renouncing her immortality.

A sigh escaped her, and she shifted again. Along with that whisper of clothing came another as movement came from the cell next to her and drew her attention. If she remembered correctly, the guards had brought a boy there sometime that morning—a skinny, dirty thing somewhere between ten and seventeen in age, with short red hair stiff with grime and blue eyes that were cunning despite the fear that lay in their depths. Like her, he was dressed in the common white tank and canvas pants of the city, although his were discolored due to their dirt and his feet were bare and callused. The trigger finger on his right hand was also missing, showing that at one point or another he'd run afoul of one of the big families on a weapon's charge.

Zain remained still, not paying the whisper of movement much attention until the boy's voice broke the air. “Hey,” he called quietly, as if afraid breaking the silence would draw the attention of the guards outside. “How'd you get a mobile in here?”

Quiet answered him, long enough that it seemed Zain hadn't heard. Then she answered right before he spoke up again, her voice a low, dry thing that could have belonged to either gender. “My cousin … knows the Head Warden.”

Satori Aden wasn't really her cousin, though. He was merely the cousin of Zaine Cas Chairbre, nineteen-year-old orphan from Northern Shoa and Zain's current identity. And the mobile was more because the Head Warden's grandmother, who had raised the current head warden, had been a mystic, and he had just enough knowledge and bloodline to feel a chill when meeting Zain's eyes.

That, and Satori Aden really was good at getting to know people. If it wasn't, he wouldn't be in such a unique position in Old Jionvin, where most people didn't know exactly where he fit or how much power he actually had.

Oblivious to her internal thoughts, the boy made a sound of envy. “Che. Wish I had a cousin like that. I'm called Handle, by the way. 'Cause I've always got a good handle on things.”

“Hmm.” Zain didn't sound impressed. “You're in here though?”

He laughed, the carefree sound almost hiding the thread of anxiety hidden beneath it. “Well, nobody's omnipotent, yeah?” he said, his grin audible in his voice. “You're in here too after all.”

“Suppose so,” Zain said, her voice still sounding dry and unwelcoming. Despite that, she didn't cut the conversation completely off. It wasn't as if she had anything better to do while she soaked up the trickle of magic coming from below.

“Why you here?” the boy asked in casual interest. “I got picked up for questioning.”

“One of the last existing veins of savage magic runs underneath the prison, so I come in here to feed off the atmosphere,” Zain answered dryly. She'd never liked lying—it was a sign that your truth wasn't strong enough to stand alone. Besides, what could it hurt in this instance? It wasn't like she cared about her reputation in the eyes of such as the brat next to her.

“Um,” the boy said, sounding as though he was trying to figure out how to respond. Finally, he settled for, “You really like games, don't you?”

Zain opened her eyes, their dark silver glancing calmly around before being hidden once again by her lashes. “Not really.”

“Um.” There was silence for a moment or two before the boy spoke again. “What kinda games you like to play?”

Zain's eyes opened again, then closed as she shifted her position. “Just whatever when I'm bored.”

“Oh.”

There was disappointment in the boy's tone, and Zain's eyes opened again. This time, they were silvered with a bit of irritation as she fought with her dislike of hearing such a tone from someone she couldn't help but think of as a kid. Finally, she spoke, that thread of irritation audible in her voice. “I used to play [Sword Winds] with my brother.”

“Oh?” This time, the boy was genuinely interested. “Isn't that what [Boundaries] used to be? Before it got put into VR, I mean?”

“Yeah. I guess so,” Zain said, closing her eyes.

The boy didn't leave her alone now that he'd gotten an unsolicited response from her. “That's cool. You ever play [Boundaries] with your brother? After they released it, I mean?”

The fingers lightly grasping the mobile tightened, the mobile's casing giving slightly under the pressure. It was a moment before Zain forced them to ease, withdrawing her hand to place it and the mobile on her stomach with the other. It seemed that the boy noticed something was amiss after that, for he shifted as the silence returned. When Zain spoke again, his suspicion was confirmed.

“M' brother's dead.”

He shifted again at her flat tone, and his voice was lower when he replied. “.... Condolences.” Following his low voice, silence weighed down until he got up the nerve to ask: “How'd he die?”

Zain's eyes opened to show a dark, steely gray. Then she sat up in one smooth moment before turning to lean back against the wall with her feet drawn up beneath her. “Killed. Police said it was a case of mistaken identity.”

He was sharp enough to hear the undertone, and brave enough to ask. Or maybe foolish was the word. In any case, his voice prodded her. “But … you don't think so?”

Zain was quiet for a moment, head down and her eyes hidden. Then she let out a loud breath before leaning her head back against the wall, fingers once again loosening on the mobile. “Nah. It wasn't that. They ….” Her voice trailed off, then she shook her head. “It wasn't that.”

The boy looked away as he nodded. “My bro's dead too. Family affair.”

“Hmm.” Zain glanced at him, then away. Those two words might mean a lot of different things, but she was betting that the “family” in his statement referred to one of the big crime families rather than his personal family.

He glanced back at her, hesitating a moment before asking, “You going to play [Boundaries] after its opened up again? I heard the new update is finally coming online pretty soon. [Path of an Emperor], I mean.”

Zain's eyes were closed as she sat without moving for a moment. Then she opened her eyes to stare at the cell across from hers. There weren't a lot of people in these cells, just a few others besides herself and the boy next to her, so the cell was empty. Regardless, she watched the flickering echos of the past for a moment before shrugging a little. “Maybe. Don't know yet. They've made a right muck of Zen's system.”

Handle didn't seem bothered by the irritation in her last words; he only laughed a little and leaned back against the wall himself, hands behind his head. “Ah, you mean all the bugs that have come up since Zen K. died? Yeah, I heard about that too. I guess that new class, Necromancer, is the worst with it. But they say this new update, [Path of an Emperor], was something that Zen K. was working on himself so its probably all right.”

“Eh,” Zain said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Privately, she doubted that. Anything that Zen K., genius programmer and secret mystic, was working on before he died was unlikely to be usable by the corporation he used to work for. By the name, it had something to do with the seat of World Emperor inside the game that had been vacant for almost a year. They were trying to get his throne …. the thought strangely incensed her. Not only had they been mucking around with his inheritance, dragging that out for more than a year in the court system, but now they were after what even she had to admit was his legacy as the Legendary Gamer? Wasn't it enough that they had caused him to give up his immortality?

Her teeth ached slightly at the thought, prompting her to rub her mouth discretely with one hand. Was it just her or had she gotten a little lazy about restraining her uncivilized self when in civilization?

Ignoring the niggling feeling the thought was true, she pushed it away and looked at the boy in the cell next to her. He was eyeing her a bit skeptically, and she followed his gaze down to her grease-stained clothes.

Frowning, she gave him a skeptical look back. “What? You think I can't afford the game fees or something?”

He blinked innocently, then rubbed his nose with a sideways grin. “Ah …. Nah …. of course not. I mean, if you can't, then I clearly couldn't either, right?”

Zain's brows wrinkled, but she couldn't really be angry at his teasing tone. Instead, she arched a brow and shifted slightly on the bench. “And you can?”

He grinned like being caught somewhere he shouldn't be, then leaned towards her conspiratorially. “Actually,” he said, shielding his mouth with one hand to prevent his lips being read by anyone else in the row, “Turns out I know someone who's gonna help me with that.”

Zain was surprised for a moment, then understood. It wasn't that unusual, after all. You could say it was a little similar to a sweat-shop, where people would pay the fees for other people in exchange for all their items and money in game.

Handle could read her expression to a certain extent, and he grinned a bit, dropping the conspiratorial actions in favor of speaking and sitting normally. “Yeah. Comes with some conditions of course, but nothing like giving everything we earn in game to the boss, so its quite sweet. Comes from a guy I know; He's an alright guy. Used to run with the same bunch as me, before he got an in with one of the families round here. Made the offer to some of the old bunch, to come in and work for them, but it's not the usual conditions.”

Zain nodded a little, and he grinned slightly. “You want me to drop your name, see if he'd have a place for a girl? I dunno if you'd be allowed to get into the special team with me, but you'd have a log-on card at least.”

Zain slanted him a gaze, studying his blue eyes for a moment and the sharp contrast they made with his red hair. His gaze wasn't entirely guileless, but it was a good deal more innocent than the gazes she'd been dealing with lately.

Her mouth opened to say something, but they were interrupted by the heavy door at the end of the row cycling open with the sound of solid bolts sliding back in their mechanical array. All eyes went to it, and a pair of uniformed guards appeared. They walked down to the end, and stopped in front of Handle's cell. One unlocked the cell door, while the other stood back. “Up and out, Marsoy,” one of the two said in the tone that said it was only routine business to him. “Your fee's been paid.”

Handle stood, exiting the cell with a swiftness that said he was afraid there might be a reconsideration if he was slow. Only then did he hesitate and look back at Zain. “Think about it! Look me up at the Twice Chance!” he called out, then evaded a light cuff to the top of his head by the second guard.

Zain didn't say anything, and the first guard gave her a wary look before the pair turned around and escorted Handle out. She watched them go, then looked down at her hand that held the mobile. It was a temptation she'd resisted up to this point, but now, she let her fingers move, pulling up the site page.

[Boundaries: The Path of an Emperor] the headline read. She scrolled past the article below to the comments, skimming over them. Most of them dealt in irritation and an undercurrent of sarcasm, speaking of how disastrous the previous updates had been. Full of errors and bugs, they had broken the game's previous bug-free record under the programming and gaming genius and legend that was Zen K... If it wasn't for the fact that Visual Inc., the corporation that produced [Boundaries], was the only one in possession of a full immersion VR system and [Boundaries] was the only game where you could experience that system, the game might have even been dropped by all but the most hard-core fan players. As it was, it held a position of both love and hate in the player's hearts.

She banished the page and all the info it contained, leaning her head back again to serenely close her eyes. The spirit behind them was far from serene though, and her breathing became rough, then smooth in succession as she wrestled with her rising rage.

She didn't like what they were trying to do to her brother's legacy. It made her teeth ache, and she really wished she could just obliterate the entire corporation. For everything they had done as well as what they were trying to do.

Not as if she didn't know that the game wasn't the reason he'd turned his back on mysticism and everything it and their family stood for. And even if her memories of the whole VR experience were somewhat sickening due to her inhuman characteristics (no surprise, since she was fundamentally not a human, so having a human's mental waves would be a bit out of expectations), it wasn't as if she couldn't acknowledge the fact the game was worthy of the praise and love others heaped upon it.

Above all, it wasn't as if she really hated the game he'd created. Because at the core of it, when she thought about listening to him describe the game he was going to create when talking about his beloved [Sword Winds], it was a memory that left a fond taste in her mouth. Even if they hadn't exchanged a single word since he'd left, it was a memory she couldn't hate.

Drawing a knee up towards her chest, she rested an elbow on it and rubbed the crease that had formed between her eyes. As she did, a soft chime sounded from the mobile she held. Lifting it, she read the message that had come, then came to an abrupt stillness as her eyes went so pale they were almost colorless.

She dropped her hand, the message still glowing on the screen as she leaned back and closed her eyes, the aura of matchless rage withdrawing as she constrained herself. The message was short, the words simple and to the point. It didn't need to be long, since it was the answer to a question she herself had asked.

There was a money payment.

Slowly, her lips parted. “Ah. I really want to kill someone right now. D*** civilization.”

* * *

Zain woke up at the sound of her cousin's voice calling her name, starting up out of a darkness filled with vague disturbance to see Satori kneeling just out of arms reach, a trio of formless presences behind him outside the cell. His brown eyes were slightly creased at the corners and filled with an unmistakable concern and irritation.

“You awake now?” he asked as she sat up and rubbed at her eyes. When had she fallen asleep? The last she remembered was talking to that kid, Handle, and then …. She remembered the message and her eyes abruptly silvered with rage.

Her cousin drew back slightly in wariness, still crouched down on one knee but no longer leaning towards her. He didn't say anything as she massaged the bridge of her nose with one hand though. Her dreams hadn't been something she could really hide from him after she'd woken up and nearly broken his neck a few nights after coming to stay with him as his cousin, and the unspoken agreement to not ask questions that lay between them was a relief for both sides.

After working some of the sluggishness and rage out of her body, she turned to look at him. Satori wasn't much to look at at first glance. He was just another reasonably fit young man with a vaguely friendly atmosphere about him, someone you wouldn't be surprised to meet no matter where you were. His skin was tanned brown, not very dark and not very light either, with brown eyes and brown hair that looked like it had been ruffled absently at some point in the past.

He was wearing a suit today, and she wondered if he'd been dealing with the upper echelons of some family or another. The role he played in the underworld of Old Jionvin was hard to describe, but from what she'd observed, he was to the crime families and syndicates what a Watcher was for the mystical community.

What a Watcher used to be, that is, since they no longer played any part in the affairs of the world after the reigning Valhar had announced she/he would no longer act as mediator or judge for the world's parties, Zain thought as her eyes darkened to a contemptuous black.

“You awake now, Zany?” he asked again, only his eyes moving as he studied her.

She shook the contempt that had risen at the thought of world politics away, then nodded soundlessly.

With a sigh, he stood and dusted off the knees of his suit trousers. “Okay. Are you ready to go home, then?”

Again soundlessly, Zain nodded. He nodded back before turning to the people standing outside the cell, whom Zain only now recognized as the Head Warden, Mithos, and two guards. The Head Warden was dressed in formal dress blues, and Zain wondered absently if he had been at the same formal function Satori had been at. If so, had it been with the royal family? The Head Warden wasn't in a position where he needed to don full formal dress just for one of the family heads. He might do so if it was with the head of the Baljaks, but even that would just be a courtesy and not something necessary.

She knew all about the current Head Warden, including his firm loyalty to the royal family despite its decline and the respect he held for the current Baljak head. The Head Warden, however, didn't know her as anything except Satori Aden's recently arrived younger cousin, so he gave her a somewhat harsh look as Satori spoke to him.

“Thank you for your understanding in this, Mithos,” Satori was saying in his surprisingly melodious tenor. It was the sort of voice that you could listen to for hours without complaint, and which unconsciously lightened your mood when you heard it. “I owe you a dinner, and some of that wine you like.”

The Head Warden's temper was visibly soothed by Satori's words, and Zain stretched with a slightly contemptuous curl to her lip as he replied, “You'd better remember that wine, Aden. For all the trouble I've been put to because of this ….”

It was clear that although somewhat soothed, his ire was yet to disappear completely. Zain couldn't see her cousin's face from where she was, but she could easily imagine the expression he was wearing as he murmured something apologetically. It was something with a slightly sheepish smile, eyes that made it hard to hold anything against him, and an aura like something you wanted to pet and spoil. Even after the months since she'd first met him, his ability to get into other people's good graces still amazed her. He was such a liar.

That slight edge of contempt still lingering somewhere in her gray eyes, Zain stood and stepped to Satori's side. When the Head Warden looked at her, she bowed slightly in visible deference. “I apologize for inconveniencing you, Head Warden Mithos,” she told him contritely.

He looked away from her slight smile, the discomfort that he felt more aptly expressed by the way the two guards behind him gripped the hilts of their batons a bit tighter. Zain only kept smiling, not repressing the hint of something feral that was showing somehow in her expression. It wasn't something an ordinary person could pinpoint, but she'd practiced the look for many years and it was felt along their spine, in the civilized part of themselves that sensed the uncivilized something in her and knew it as terrible.

Satori discretely stuck an elbow into her ribs, and her gaze broke to him in a glittering warning. The Warden and guards took relieved breaths almost at the very same time, but there was no change in Satori's expression or the little smile he was wearing as he met her glance levelly.

“We will take our leave now then, Mithos, and let you get back to your work,” Satori told the Head Warden smoothly. “I'll remember the wine. Just tell your secretary to drop a request by, and I'll make sure it gets to you.”

With another deferential bow to the Head Warden, Satori ushered Zain away and out of the prison. They were quiet until they were out under the blazing sun again, then Satori paused to pull out a cigarette from a pocket. “What are you, a Death Reaper now?” he asked her, irritation sharp in his voice as he dropped the pretenses. “Why do you keep sneaking into the cells?”

She snapped her fingers and the end of his cigarette flared in sudden flame. He cursed softly as the flame appeared right as he was about to light it, almost burning his fingers, and she ignored it. “So? What's it to you?”

He gave her a serene smile below eyes raging with irritation. “I worry about my sweet little cousin. Especially when it means selling a dinner and a case of wine to get you out again. That wine's not cheap.”

She snorted, looking away. They resumed walking, the crowd on the sidewalk parting unconsciously in front of them. Despite it being in front of the towering, ancient prison walls, the street was busy with people going back and forth on foot and in hover-carts both. There were even a few enterprising souls who had set up stalls and were hawking food on the other side of the road.

She examined the people for a moment as they walked, leaving the main street and entering the twisted side-streets and alleys of Old Jionvin. They seemed busy, all different from each other and yet all so very and unmistakably human. What would it feel like to be human like that?

The feeling lingering, she turned back to Satori. “Have you ever played [Boundaries]?”

He glanced at her, a trail of thin smoke drifting away from the end of the cigarette in his fingers. “The game? Why would I play that?” he asked, genuinely startled.

“No reason, I suppose,” Zain said, looking away with a faint shrug. She could feel his gaze remaining on her for a moment before he looked away, but neither of them asked any more questions.

It was that old unspoken agreement again, and Zain wondered for a moment what it would be like if it wasn't there. It must have been surprising to him to find out that the identity he'd been sold came with a fake little cousin, and a couple years after he'd bought it, too. She herself hadn't known she would be gaining a cousin when she started living as Zaine Cas Chairbre. But neither of them had asked too many questions of the other when they'd met in the hospital after she had been found unconscious under a little-used air-route and he had been called as the guardian on record. After a while, that silence had grown into a habit, evolving into the unspoken agreement they now held. All she knew was that somehow, he had been set up in an identity connected to hers, and that he had a very unique position in the Jionvin underworld. All he knew was that she wasn't what she seemed, that there were occasionally calls she took privately, and it was best not to stand close while waking her up.

It wasn't as if she was dissatisfied with it. Zain just wondered every once in a while what it would feel like if it was different.

The mobile in her pocket buzzed once, prompting her to take it out to look at. The number came with a global identifier, making her frown as she looked at it. Visual Inc.? Hadn't she just been thinking about them? How had they gotten a hold of this number?

Satori glanced at her from where he was walking next to her, then looked away, casually drifting a bit farther away to give her space. He usually was polite like that since it made people unconsciously feel indebted to him. She gave him a glance through narrowed eyes before answering the call and connecting it to her sub-vocal implants. Later, she would have to remember to change to a new number and phone, especially if this one had been compromised.

“Hello?” she answered shortly, not identifying herself just in case the other party was fishing for information.

There was a pause, then a male voice with slight traces of unease spoke. “Excuse me, is this … Bether Cas Sial? I apologize for my abruptness, but I have been trying to get in contact with … Independent Specialist Cas Siail … on behalf of Visual Inc.. Is there a Bether Cas Sial at this number?”

Cas Siail? Zain's thoughts immediately flew back to an old identity she'd once worn. But her name then hadn't been Beithir, it had been Narah. And it should have been retired a long time ago.

An uncomfortable cough from the other end of the line brought her back to the present, and she gave a light cough of her own. “Sorry. This is Cas. Who am I speaking with?”

In the face of her light alto, the man seemed to ease slightly. “My name is Markell Dunn, and I am speaking on behalf of Visual Incorporated. We received your number in connection to some technical issues that we have been having recently. Is there a time in which you might be available to sit down with some of our technical staff to discuss a possible work contract? We are, of course, more than willing to pay for your time.”

Zain detoured around a street stand hawking unidentified fried meat skewers that smelled like feline to her nose, taking the time to think. “Exactly what kind of issues are you talking about?”

He paused, before saying carefully, “I'm afraid the exact nature of the issues are confidential, and I'm not at liberty to discuss them until a contract has been signed. All I can say at this time is that your number was included in some notes left by Zen K., who left instructions that you were to be contacted in the event of such issues arising.”

Zen K.? Zain's mind flew for a moment before she let out a breath. Was it a trap? It wasn't as if they had parted on any good terms. Her eyes silvered, and she agreed to a meeting at some later time. Once he hung up, she immediately contacted Varden James to ask him to look into the identity of Beithir Cas Siail. It wouldn't do for her not to know who exactly she was supposed to be when dealing with Visual Inc..

Varden agreed, not even asking why she needed the information. It was one of the benefits to being a  formerly high-level member of the Watchers. Even retired, she was afforded certain privileges and protections. It was a good thing, too, considering how many identities she'd worn in just the past decade alone. Her most recent identity, Zain Kayve, still had active warrants out on her by more than two dozen governments, and bounties for her posted by even more criminal and underworld organizations. If not for the help of the Watchers, there probably wouldn't be a single safe place for her on the planet.

Remembering Zain Kayve, her eyes darkened to an abysmal black. At one time, the mere mention that someone was protected by the Watchers would have been enough for any power to walk carefully around them. Even the warrants and bounties placed on them were for forms sake only, issued and then ignored by common unspoken pact. The families of Watchers were offered the same protection, hidden and sheltered by the organization, and avenged with the same swift justice.

That was already changing. The previous Valhar had been seen as too soft, and the power of the organization beneath had declined. Other powers were growing arrogant. Otherwise, the Fae would never have dared to break the laws, and Zain's brother wouldn't have been drawn into their conflict. None of it would have ever happened in the first place.

A dog somewhere in the crowd whined loudly, a subservient, fearful tone that struck through the darkness in Zain's eyes to reach the little compassion remaining there. She blinked, then shook herself as she forced the abysmal black in her eyes to retreat and let them return to their normal cloudy gray. Slowly, the aura that had caused the dog to whine faded, and Zain raked a hand back through her short hair as she collected herself.

Matters at hand still remained. Professionally, she stripped the mobile she held and disposed of it, making sure the individual pieces were unrecoverable with a tiny flare of magic as she did. It was probably paranoia, but she hadn't avoided death up to this point without covering all possibilities, even the improbable ones. Spoofing laid over all Watcher equipment would throw off most tracking software, and any further calls would naturally be routed to whatever new phone she picked up. It was only another of the many safeguards put in place by the Watchers for their current or former members.

Seeing that she had finished, Satori wandered back from where he'd distanced himself. He gave her a curious look at the calm destruction of her phone, then simply shrugged and blew out a thin trail of smoke. “Je is cooking tonight. I wonder if there will be anything edible left at all.”

Zain glanced at him, taking in his profile and the deliberately lazy way he held his cigarette. The cloudy gray in her eyes cleared slightly, and after a long moment, she let out a breath of her own. It was a deliberate distraction from whatever it was that had upset her, and she might as well go along with it. Tucking her hands in her pockets, she leaned her head back, then let out another breath. “There is the possibility, I suppose,” she said.

There wasn't much confidence in her tone. Satori might have brought up the subject as a distraction, but it really was a cause for concern. Je—more properly known as Faje Nolan—was one of Satori's two close confidants and minions. He was slim, sharp, and intelligent, but he wasn't a cook. On nights where he had the rotational duty of cooking for the four of them, charcoal was the most edible thing on the menu.

“Maybe we should get takeout,” Satori mused, then glanced over and down at Zain. “You wanna?”

Her shoulders easing, Zain shrugged again. “Sure,” she agreed, continuing on at a lazy pace as a thread of inhuman silver wound through the gray hidden by her lowered lashes. The subject of Visual Inc. might be postponed, but like the matter of the monetary payment her agents had found, it was anything but forgotten. Some things were best done with forethought and planning. She had time to ponder and investigate both.

* * *

The information on her new identity, Beithir Cas Siail, was waiting for her when she awoke in the small hours of the night and stumbled downstairs to play games on her handheld next to the courtyard fountain. As she had expected of the man sometimes called the Silver Demon and those who worked for him, the information had been compiled quickly and efficiently.

She looked it over as she lay on the edge of the fountain's raised brick wall, her old dog, Mourner, stretched out comfortably at the base of the wall beneath her. Beithir Cas Siail was 27, but her background was rich and varied, the words describing it forming a carefully constructed piece of glass that hid more than it revealed. As expected of an “Independent Specialist”. The backstory had some time gaps where Beithir Cas Siail's location could not be found, but that was logical given the kind of work it seemed this “Independent Specialist” did.

More to Zain's interest, it seemed as though this “Beithir Cas Siail” was formed off of her old Narah Cas Siail identity. Enough that her Narah identity was even mentioned as a grandmother to the current Beithir. And it seemed as though “Beithir” had inherited much of what had made Narah so useful, including ties with a great number of powerful organizations.

Zain read to the last page, growing fonder of the new identity as she went. Acting as her own grandchild … she'd never done that before. And Narah had been an identity that she'd been somewhat fond of. It almost made Zain laugh. The person who developed this identity truly knew her.

Or at least, had known her at some point.

The amusement and fondness abruptly chilled as her eyes turned to glowing silver fury. The mobile was flung out of her hand with a harsh curse that grated at the air, and there was a sharp crack of breaking metal and ceramic tiles as the electronic collided with the wall and made a small crater. Zain's hands were trembling slightly as she drew her knees to her chest and hid her inhuman eyes with an arm.

Somehow, or perhaps not surprisingly, [Boundaries]' false world came to mind, reminiscent of freedom and blood slaughter. She'd never been in [Boundaries] wide world since they'd released the game for common use, but she remembered the dreams spoken to her about what it would become.

The thought only gave her fury an added flavor of bitterness, and her fingers clenched. Her brother … Her betrayer and beloved brother. He'd loved the game. He should, since he'd devoted everything he was and betrayed everything he should have been for its sake.

Closing her eyes brought an image of rain on red-stained earth, superimposed by the light of fire glancing off a pool of red on polished hardwood. The colors blended, and before she could stop herself, her lungs filled with that old, familiar, rage-inducing scent. Silver flamed even brighter in her eyes, even gathering slightly in the strands of her hair, and a wordless, savage sound burst from her chest. One arm flung out, power flaring, and the water in the courtyard fountain beside her exploded upwards as a rift formed in the water at the impact. At the end of the rift, the retaining wall exploded outwards in a second, spraying water, stone fragments, and the underlying ceracrete across the floor and against the far wall.

Upstairs, there was a bang and a curse as the other residents of the old hotel reacted to the explosion and burst of power. Doors banged open, and a heartbeat later, Satori appeared at the head of the stairs, shirtless and barefoot in only a pair of faded sweatpants and a gun held professionally in both of his hands. He scanned the courtyard below, seeing Zain and the wreckage, then came to the correct conclusion and let the gun fall to his side with the safety clicked back into place. He hissed between his teeth, hitched his sweat-pants up a little, then started padding down the stairs. “Zain,” he said in a low voice, his mixed feelings properly displayed in a single syllable.

Zain glanced up at him, reading the way the muscle beneath his smooth skin appeared relaxed but was really tensed for either fight or flight. That, coupled with the wary eyes that still had traces of sleep clinging to their corners, he looked like some half-tamed wild creature startled out of trusting rest by the person who had been feeding it for months.

It wasn't a feeling that Zain liked, so she looked away, teeth clenched as she fought her savagery down. The heat in her eyes dimmed, then faded to nothing as the increasingly thin veneer of civilization settled back into place around her. The barrier threw a film over the world, and when she glanced up at the feeling of someone else settling in behind Satori, her eyes had dimmed from the brilliant inhumanity that they had shown earlier.

Faroon Basra was the one who had appeared at the head of the stairs now, his own chest bare and a pair of worn sweat-pants hanging low on his hips. He, too, was barefoot and uncombed, but where a shirtless Satori made you thing of degenerate nobility, a shirtless and barefoot Basra made people think of barbarians and big hunting cats. His eyes were quiet, but reserved with the dull gleam of iron in their depths that said he wouldn't forgive an intrusion against those he held close.

Zain looked back away as the silver in her eyes dimmed even more. The last time that Faroon Basra had appeared shirtless in the city, a small army of gossiping women—and some men—had been formed just to talk about it and how delicious they found him. Together with Satori, who had already been someone regarded as a fine catch, the two men had many rumors that were both fit and unfit for polite society centered on them. No doubt, the sight of both men together like this would sell for a lot of money if a tabloid were to get a hold of it.

It was a faintly amusing thought, but the amusement quickly faded and left only a brittle emptiness behind. Even her savage fury was too starved to last for long, and she wondered briefly how dry her reserves actually were. Everything that she'd managed to save up had been wasted by a single second of fury, and instinctively she knew that she'd put herself close to death. That sort of reckless expenditure of magic and reserves was how people died, whether they were magicians aware of their use of magic or not.

The soft click of toenails on the bricks caught her attention, and she looked over to see Mourner, her old dog, approaching slowly. The big dog's tail was waving gracefully behind her as she looked up with adoring eyes, and Zain couldn't help but smile as she ruffled the Mountain Collie's ears. She had raised Mourner from a six-week-old puppy and trained her with her own hands. If there was anyone or anything who deserved to be spoiled by her, it was the dog who had been by her side since puppy-hood.

Finding comfort in the dog's steady regard, Zain allowed herself a moment to simply soak it in before glancing up at Satori. It was a brief glance, only lasting a second before her gaze flicked away as if fleeing something he represented. “'M gonna take Mourner out for a walk,” she said, not willing to apologize for her actions but not able to leave without saying anything at all.

Satori, the only one of the three men who held even a semblance of authority over her, didn't argue or comment on what she'd done. Instead, he just quietly said, “If you're passing by, stop at Old Man Priest's and pick up my weekly packet, would you? Give him my regards.”

Zain nodded, then called Mourner to heel with a brief gesture and headed out. The old hotel that Satori had somehow come into possession of was built like a hollow square, with four stacked stories and the bottom courtyard left mostly open to the glass ceiling above and the street out front. There weren't any doors, and to either side of the covered courtyard entrance were two business that rented space from Satori. The one on the left when exiting was a gaming cafe imaginatively named “The Gamer's Cafe”. It seemed to do a good amount of business, or at least enough that it wasn't troubled to pay the rent and keep itself staffed 24-7. The one on the right when exiting was a coffee-shop run by a slim blond who seemed to have some sort of blackmail-like relationship with Satori. Zain wasn't clear on the details, but it was enough of something that the cafe didn't have to pay rent on time or even at all some times, and that the two men bickered every time they met. Satori even pretended the cafe wasn't there at all most days when leaving or returning, and the blond's eyes were always shaded with a thin layer of contempt when seeing him do so.

Even so early in the morning, there was someone in the coffee-shop buying coffee, and a bored-looking girl with tri-colored hair was sitting behind the counter at The Gamer's Cafe. Zain glanced at them only long enough to match visuals to what she sensed in other ways, then walked with Mourner out onto the dimly lit street. Daybreak was nearing, coloring the faint edges of the sky above the buildings a deep indigo rather than black, and Zain enjoyed the chill air as she walked.

There was still no mystic particles in the air, nor in the dawning of the sun. She faintly remembered when she was younger and the sunrise brought a wash of changing magic with it, then shook the thought away. It was the nature of the world to cycle through magic and not-magic; not even she was willing to meddle with it.

- - -

Old Man Priest ran an odds'n'ends shop in the old north-east district. As Satori's hotel was located in the newer south-west district of Old Jionvin, it wasn't exactly a place where anyone from their district would be just happening to pass by on an idle walk. Zain however, as Satori had probably expected, did end up wandering by and stopping in. She probably wouldn't have if he hadn't mentioned it, but walking one direction or walking another didn't make any difference to her when she was wandering. By the time they reached it, it was early afternoon. Neither Zain nor Mourner had been in the mood to push the pace, and the old dog didn't have as much endurance as she had once had. Besides, the heat was fierce, and who wanted to walk quickly in that sort of heat?

They both kept to the shade as much as possible as they made their way down the narrow street up to Old Man Priest's store. It was located on one of the steep hills in Old Jionvin, with a grade enough to make visitor's legs ache just looking at it. Mourner's jaw was sagged open to display the old dog's worn fangs and black tongue as she climbed, but the careful glances Zain sent her every minute or two caught no signs of limping or pain in the canine's movements. Still, Zain intended to spend a while in the old man's shop to let the dog rest on the cool stone floors.

There weren't any other people or animals visible on the street as they climbed, and Zain ignored the flickers of movement that she did see. Here, a trio of young toughs from the near past, walking down the street while laughing, dressed in the usual white sleeveless top and canvas pants of the Old City. There, a man on horseback urging his mount upwards, obviously from the farther past. But there was nothing from the ancient days when magic had been plentiful or Zain might have paused to watch.

They reached the building housing the old man's shop, and Zain's eyes warmed subtly as they moved down the short flight of stairs to the door propped open with an unidentified piece of an engine. The air was noticeably cooler inside, and Zain paused right inside the entrance to pull the sweat-soaked material of her white top away from the skin of her back and stomach as her gaze quickly flicked around the interior. As always, the space beneath the vaulted stone ceiling was packed full, enough to be a nightmare for any health or fire officer, had Old Man Priest been someone to worry about passing city codes. There were shelves, racks, and piles everywhere you looked, leaving only a moderately indistinct pathway back into the shrouded depths of the store. Things hung from the ceiling on hooks and wires, and even the small table next to the counter where Old Man Priest sold drinks and his hand-made fish'n'chips was only barely accessible.

The three youths crammed around the tiny table next to what appeared to be a scrapped safety lift from a sky-liner briefly glanced over as she came in. More attention was paid to Mourner as the black and brown collie trotted deeper into the shop as if she lived there. Such a big dog in the city, or even outside of it, was rare. Even the security dogs sometimes portrayed by the side of uniformed military men or security officers on the vid-channels didn't stand as high as a man's chest like Mourner stood.

Zain scanned the three boys at the table with a second's glance, then dismissed them as inconsequential as she looked towards movement behind the counter. The battered metal construct was almost hidden by yet more stacks, racks, and shelves, and in turn nearly hid the balding, gray-haired, and wrinkled old man bending over behind it. His voice floated up irritably as he straightened, his face grumpy. “Don't stand and block the doorway …,” he started. Then he paused mid-sentence as his black eyes met the gray eyes of Zain.

Their irritable look immediately cleared, and he coughed slightly to clear his throat. “Oh, it's you, Young Wolf,” he said, using the street honorific often given to young mafia princes or princess. “I didn't realize. Ah~, but my senses seem to be going. Getting old is a *****.”

He came out around the counter as Zain waited impassively, ignoring the curiosity now stirring in the three youths at the table. Old Man Priest was someone who didn't need to fear or respect anyone but the heads of the big families, so who exactly did that make the girl they'd thought was just another young Old Jionvin street-rat? The one facing her had open curiosity and a sliver of calculation in his black eyes as he studied her, and the other two twisted around to look as well.

One of them drew in a surprised breath. “Eh? It's you!” he cried, then bounded over a step before stopping, as if realizing the precariousness of his position when approaching someone addressed as a mafia princess. Either that, or he had realized that he didn't actually know her name or identity.

Zain looked at him again, more than just a simple scan to assess threat. Skinny kid with a shock of red hair on top and blue eyes—it was the kid she'd met in the Imperial Prisons. He seemed to have found somewhere to take a shower since then, because his hair was fluffy and free of the grime that had invaded it before and his clothes were cleaner too.

Before she had a chance to say anything, Old Man Priest caught the erring youth with a ruthless stab to his side with his fingers that made the kid yelp and jump sideways, nearly tripping over a stack of assorted boxes of bolts in the process. “Watch your mouth, idiot!” he snapped. Glaring indignantly, Old Man Priest gave the youth—Handle Marsoy, if Zain remembered his name correctly—the full force of his disapproval for a moment before turning back to Zain. “Apologies, Young Wolf,” he told her, in a voice that was gruff, but contained no lies.

Zain shook her head and tucked her hands into her pockets, leaving the thumbs free in a stance usually reserved for young, male, toughs. “It's nothing.”

Her gaze went to the redhead who had pulled up his shirt to examine his side with a pained expression. There was already a red, swollen mark forming from Old Man Priest's fingers, and Zain would bet that it would be a bruise hideous to look at in a few days. “Handle, right? Handle Marsoy?”

The two boys still at the table blinked in wonder that their comrade actually did know someone who could be called a young wolf, and the redhead himself blinked in surprise for a moment before grinning. “Yeah. That's me! You remembered.”

Zain shrugged slightly, wondering a little why she was even talking to him when she didn't really feel like socializing. It was too much of a bother to dismiss the kid outright though, so she just turned her gaze back to Old Man Priest in a way that would tell anyone of intelligence that she was done talking.

The old man nodded before she had to ask. “You're here for your cousin's package, yeah?”

She nodded, and he clasped his hands together in a somewhat old-fashioned gesture of respect before turning to disappear into the depths of the store. Apparently, the three youths were familiar enough that he wasn't worried about keeping watch on the counter. Either that or he trusted that nobody was dumb enough to steal from him.

Silence fell as she subconsciously settled in to wait for his return. The coolness in the store was leaching some of the heat from her body, making her slightly sleepy. Perhaps it showed on her face, because fearlessly, Handle approached her again with a cheerful half-laugh. “I guess your cousin's really worth something, yeah?”

Zain blinked, then gave him a somewhat skeptical look. Behind him, both of his companions were giving him similar looks, but he was just grinning cheerfully, as if totally oblivious to the fact he was still talking to someone above him in status that didn't look entirely friendly.

After a moment in which he just kept grinning cheerfully at her, Zain sighed slightly, then shrugged. Taking that as an answer, he turned on the ball of one foot to look at the two youths at the table. “Meet my two good brothers,” he proclaimed.

The two kids nodded at Zain. One, the one that had been facing her to start with, was a black-haired and black-eyed boy of about fourteen or so, skinny in a still-growing way that spoke to Zain of not having enough food to eat during childhood. His skin was common golden-brown in color, but the almond shape to his eyes lent him a touch of the exotic. He nodded to Zain in a way that said that he had reservations about his friend's behavior, but he wasn't going to turn down the chance to make a useful connection with a mafia princess. He, according to Handle, was “Em, short for Emissary. A real knocker,” which meant he could fix or break things.

The other was a smaller and younger boy who looked as though he'd seen meals on a more regular basis than either Em or Handle. He had darkly tanned skin, reddish-brown eyes lit with an expression that said he'd just as soon stay away from anyone dangerous enough to be called a Young Wolf, and chestnut-brown hair long enough to wisp cutely around his ears. According to Handle, he was “Co, short for Coinean. He's real good on his feet,” which could mean anything.

Zain wondered absently if the kid knew his name meant “rabbit” in the old language it was initially derived from, then banished the idle thought as Handle turned to her with a slight frown. “I just realized … what should I call you? I don't know your name yet.”

Zain raised an eyebrow, then let out a soft breath. “Zaine. Young Wolf is fine too.”

Handle bobbed his head a couple times in quick succession. “Yup, yup. Young Wolf Zaine, then. Em and Co are two of m' friends who'll be in the special team with me, for [Boundaries]. Here, here, take a seat,” he said, shooing Co over to sit next to Em and pulling the chair the little chestnut-haired boy had vacated out for Zain to sit in.

She hesitated, then decided there wasn't really any reason why not to, so she took the seat and watched as Handle fetched a tall, battered metal stool from behind the counter and dragged it over to sit on. Once settled, he asked, “So. You made up your mind as to whether you want to play or not? Though I guess a Young Wolf like you really doesn't need help paying the fees or nothing, do you.”

Zain thought about the first-edition capsule sitting in storage somewhere, then shook her head. “No.”

“You gonna play, then?” Handle asked with interest, a trace of cunning appearing for a fraction of a second in his blue eyes.

Zain considered him and that momentary flash, then shook her head and leaned back against the back of the tall stool. “No. Not really.”

There was disappointment for a moment on Handle's face, and she wondered cynically whether it was because he was truly as friendly as he appeared or if he just was disappointed he wouldn't have the strength and resources of a Young Wolf in the game once they started.

Her eyes gleamed with a feral shine for an instant, then were half shaded by her lowered lashes. “You know I'm a Pker whenever I game, don't you? 'M not exactly someone you should be missing in-game.”

“Eh?” Handle's eyes widened as he stared at her. “Really?”

Zain shrugged slightly. “Yeah. Well, people are stupid.”

“Huh.” It seemed as though Handle was viewing her in a slightly different light. Then he surprised her by giving a crooked little smile and saying, “Then will you come in-game and PK if we need someone taken out?”

Zain snorted, and gave him a sideways glance out of brilliant silver eyes. “What, do I look like your hired gun?”

He grinned, and didn't continue the subject. Instead, he asked, “So, what class would you pick if you were to start [Boundaries]?”

Zain made a considering noise, her lashes dropping to shade her eyes again. Classes in [Boundaries] …. There were a lot of them, and more had been added since she'd played. Finally, long enough that little Co had shifted once or twice on his chair, she shrugged and glanced at Handle. “Not sure if I was to pick a new one. I played MA before. Martial Artist. Best class for PK, my brother always said.”

Handle made a considering noise, but Em narrowed his dark eyes in a subtle trace of dissatisfaction. Zain caught the expression and gave him a glance out of cool gray eyes. “You object?”

A flare of surprised panic went through his eyes, then was covered by a charming smile. “I wouldn't dare, Young Wolf,” he told her.

Her eyes narrowed as they paled, the stare more like that of an actual wolf—or what these boys who had never been out of the city imagined a wild wolf's stare to be like—than he was prepared to face. “Just spit it out if you've got something to say,” she told him harshly.

Co tried to be invisible between them as Em was quiet a moment. Then he gave another charming, professional little smile. “I wouldn't dare object, Young Wolf. But isn't Martial Artist the class that is said to be the most trash-like of all trash classes in [Boundaries]?”

Zain blinked, genuinely surprised. Handle laughed. “Truly a Young Wolf then, to play a class that needs an expert!”

Zain and Em both blinked and turned to look at him. He sounded as if it was something that he had cause to be proud of himself. Em, on the other hand, seemed to be wondering how his friend's head had gotten damaged, that he'd taken “trash class” and translated that to “difficult class that needs an expert”.

Zain found amusement curling inside her, and her lips curled a bit to match. Before the subject could continue, Old Man Priest appeared out of the depths of the store, Mourner trotting in front of him. In his hands was a medium-sized package wrapped in brown canvas and secured with a few strips of aluminum tape.

“WuWuwuWu,” Mourner sang out upon finding Zain on the chair, and Zain welcomed her nuzzling head by ruffling both ears with her hands.

Handle let out a soft profanity. “That's a big dog,” he said in wonder, then yelped as Old Man Priest jabbed the stiff fingers of one hand into his lower back.

“Watch your mouth,” the old man berated, as Handle half-tumbled from his perch.

The red-head danced around for a moment or two as he tried to rub or ease the spot Old Man Priest had jabbed. “But I can't see it!” he protested, then quickly ducked the old man's glare with both hands up as if the angry look was a physical object.

Zain's lips curled a bit more, then she stood to take the wrapped package from Old Man Priest. “Thank you. Satori sends his regards too. He said to pass it along.”

Old Man Priest nodded as if he wasn't surprised or too emotionally impacted by it. Tucking the package under one arm, Zain turned back to the three youths, the corner of her mouth gaining a distinctively wicked curve. Her eyes flicked over all of them, then settled on Em.

Was the MA actually a worthless class now? She'd played so long ago … how many years had it been? Back then, the level cap was only 65. Now, it was limitless from what she'd heard. The top level character was almost 500. The continent had been mostly unexplored wilderness, but now it was all explored and labeled, split into four kingdoms. Even the last wilderness had been mapped out, although it was still too dangerous for most players. They had added new classes, new races, and new skills. They could have easily done something to the MA class to nullify some of its potency.

She considered that, then her eyes darkened as an once familiar voice seemed to echo in her ears. “The MA? That's because it's made for you, Zany. A gift—it's a gift. You like it?”

Anger surged, and she restrained a low sound threatening to bubble up from the base of her throat. Not seeming to notice, Handle moved his gaze from the chest-high dog by Zain to Zain herself. “Hey. When you played, how high was your level?”

Zain blinked, then raked a hand back through her hair to give her a moment more to recover. Then she shrugged. “Max … before they raised the cap,” she murmured, as if not really interested. The bright silver of her eyes was hidden beneath lowered lashes, a look that was vaguely sleepy and yet still somehow menacing.

Handle made an admiring noise, and Co peered at her from under his curling hair with a curious, if still vaguely tentative look. Even Em looked a bit startled and interested. Zain, however, wasn't interested in their reactions, only noticing them vaguely in the heartbeat as she was turning to leave with Mourner by her side.

As she was taking the first step, Handle's hasty voice called her attention back from her wandering and vaguely disturbed thoughts. “Young Wolf! Come back and talk [Boundaries] with us again sometime! Please?”

He sounded slightly plaintive, and the sound tugged a bit on Zain's heart despite her discomforted emotions. She didn't want to reply, but found herself feeling guilty at the thought of doing nothing in response. To clear the feeling, she raised one hand silently in a non-committal gesture as she kept walking out of the store. Her emotions didn't clear when the door swung shut behind her and left her in the baking heat of the afternoon, and she found anger swirling up restlessly.

By what right were they calling her and tugging at her heart? What did she owe them, to feel guilty about not protecting them? She wasn't a Watcher any longer. Whatever the world did in her absence was no longer her concern. Even if it was war, it had nothing to do with her.

Nothing about such things had anything to do with her anymore, not even something as close as the three youths around the table, talking excitedly about going into the world created by Zen K., her brother, betrayer, and once the only person in the world whom she would do anything for.

Anything … but not truly anything, otherwise he wouldn't have left her side, she thought suddenly. The reminder of that day provoked her emotions to violence again, and if not for the quietly watching presence of Mourner, she would have done something stupid to relieve the pressure. As it was, it took a moment for her to regain enough control to move from the recessed stairway to Old Man Priest's shop. It took even longer before her steps regained their customary smoothness and she was able to look up from her thoughts.

The sky was growing dark with twilight. She'd walked away the entire day. A glance at Mourner stirred up immediate guilt as she realized the old dog had faithfully followed her despite a limp that was now quite pronounced. The old dog couldn't even lay down to rest when she stopped, because both of them knew that if she did, she wouldn't be able to get up again.

Zain cursed, not knowing if she was willing ill onto herself or onto the world or situation in general, and then not knowing if it even mattered which one it was. After the hatred-infused words faded, she dug out her phone to call Satori or one of the two minions to come pick them up in a car. There were a couple missed numbers glowing on the screen waiting for her when she did. Visual Inc. had called her, and so had Varden James.

She ignored all the numbers as she called Satori. With her emotions in such a disordered state, she didn't trust herself to make any lasting decisions. Experience had already taught her it would be a bad idea, with lasting consequences. Usually, those kinds of reckless decisions ended up with blood on her hands, and her wondering if it was righteously spilled or not.

There were enough nightmares haunting her sleep. She didn't need more.

* * *

The view from the conference room on the second to highest floor of Visual Inc.'s global headquarters was a thing of power. Separated only by an invisible plate of glass, it seemed as though the clouds themselves had prostrated under one's feet, and one of the largest cities on the planet was reduced to mere figurines in the distance.

The group currently gathered around the long table in the gleaming, glass-sided room didn't seem like they had noticed. Perhaps it was because they had gotten used to the view after months of meeting their opponents around this very table. Perhaps it was the fact that they had been saved quite a bit of time by their boss' blatant disregard for security protocols, as he had simply led his team straight up to the conference room as if he owned the building. Perhaps it was because their opponents—the real owners of this building—had retaliated with an even longer version of their normal tactic of having them wait for a while even after they had finished with normal protocols, leaving them alone in the conference room for almost an hour now.

Perhaps it was simply that they were obviously not the normal bunch found in a legal team and had gotten too used to being made to wait without refreshments offered by their opponents and hosts. As early as the third meeting, they had designated one of their number as a food-smuggler, and he'd managed to somehow fit a full four boxes of a particularly good brand of doughnut in his two briefcases this time. In a slight deviation from her normal cool demeanor, one of their lead attorneys had even offered to share the tea she'd packed, and one of their other members had brought a portable water-heater along with him for his own brew. It had ended up with the majority of the splendor and power that the conference room had been designed to intimidate its occupants with being lost, the table reduced to something that would be better found during a cook-off or at the center of a frat-house, with donuts, feet, and crumbs all along its once gleaming length.

Even with that, to someone who was familiar with the unruly bunch, it was clear that there was a subtle tension running through the whole team. That was plainly caused by the man who stood a mere few inches from the invisible wall separating the clouds from the interior of the room, staring down at the city below with subtly narrowed eyes.

It was difficult to attribute him an age. His neatly arranged hair was silver with time, and there was a feeling of weight in his unreadable gray eyes that would be difficult to find in a young man. But his face could easily have belonged to a man as young as thirty, with only the faintest touch of thin wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He stood straight and confident in an impeccably tailored suit, appearing neither excessively fat, nor excessively thin, neither noticeably muscled or weak. When he smiled it was usually quiet and gentle, and he often gave people the feeling of genteel culture, like the aura of a true gentleman. All together, it was enough to make people sigh and wonder what a lady-killer he would have been when he was younger. Often, they would then sigh again, finding themselves wishing that they could attract his attention even in his advanced years.

The people in the room all knew better than to take that appearance for what it seemed to be. They were all people who had at least a touch of the Strange about them, and besides that, they were his employees. The man named Varden James might be a human in name, but these employees of his had long since put a “tentatively” qualifier before that description. He wasn't called the Silver Demon for nothing.

With that in mind, one of the two leading attorneys on the team, Nick Morgan, was watching him thoughtfully from where he munched on a doughnut with both feet propped up on the gleaming and probably very expensive conference table. His suit was immaculately tailored and was the best quality, but it still couldn't make his unshaven face and muscular build look like the brilliant attorney he actually was. He looked far more like a professional sports player or a hired thug than an attorney in an elite legal team.

He finished the doughnut, checked the time, then was prevented from wiping his dusty fingers off on his pants leg by the other lead attorney, Miss Kaidal's, warning glare and pointed finger. One of the other team members handed him a napkin, and he used that instead before speaking up, his voice projecting clearly over to the figure beside the window.

“Hey, Boss. Why did you decide to come this time, anyway?” he asked. It was a question probably all of them had been thinking, but only he would have the guts to voice it in such a manner. “And why so differently?”

His voice carried clearly across the room, and the silver-haired man by the window turned to look at him thoughtfully. After a moment, he spoke. “There are two basic kinds of ways to use power. There is the subtle way, applying pressure from the shadows so that it is sometimes never noticed even as it brings about the desired result. Then there is the overt way, flaunting arrogance and overpowering its enemies by the very force of its superiority.”

Nick Morgan nodded, and Miss Kaidal studied their boss from over the top of her cup of tea. A moment later, her melodious voice floated through the air in the room, reaching even the corners without being loud. “Should we expect to be dropping this case, then?”

The question was sweetly spoken, but a multitude of emotions and meanings floated below its clear surface. Varden James regarded her silently for a moment, then answered. “We shall see.”

The team exchanged looks. Some looked a little disconcerted, vague dissatisfaction floating over their expressions. Some looked like they didn't care. And some looked  faintly pleased, as though relishing the hidden meanings in the exchange. After all, they weren't the employees of someone called the Silver Demon for nothing. They might be the legal team, but that didn't mean that they weren't at least vaguely aware of the other, less-than-legal departments and actions of their employer.

Nick Morgan kept studying Varden James as the older man turned his attention back to the view outside the conference room. He didn't have long though, because one of the younger members of the team cocked his head as if listening to something, then rapped the table with the knuckles of one hand. “Look sharp, guys. They're headed in.”

Swiftly, they all arranged themselves. Dust from the doughnuts was swept off the table, boxes of pastries were put away neatly, and Nick Morgan's feet came down off the table to make room for his legal folders. In a matter of heartbeats, they were composed and decorous.

Or almost so. The water-heater remained sitting on the end of the table, momentarily overlooked as legal binders were pulled from bags. The frail tea-cup and saucer in front of Miss Kaidal also remained, not from oversight but from her knowledge that whatever happened, this was undoubtedly going to be their last meeting. In that case, why should they show complete respect for their opponents, who had over and over again proved they held no such professional courtesy? Nick Morgan also retained the doughnut he'd been eating.

A few moments after that, the conference room door was pushed open to let two security guards take up positions to either side, then a whole trail of people dressed in expensive suits filed in. These were their opponents, the legal team representing the other side in the matter. They were led by a man of middling age and looks, who hid his own power behind affable eyes and a somewhat thick build.

Varden James turned to study them as they came in. Some members of his team stood to shake hands with one or another member of the opposing team, but most of them remained seated. Magnanimously, the leading man didn't seem to fault them for the lack of common courtesy and merely gave a nod and greeting to all of them. “Gentlemen,” he said, then nodded again. “Ladies.”

His eyes paused for a moment on the water-heater sitting at the end of the gleaming conference table, a faint twitch appearing in his brows at its presence. Obviously, he was wondering how it had gotten there. Perhaps wondering which among his people had betrayed his orders and provided it.

“Hey, Harden,” Nick Morgan said, his tone somehow polite, yet containing a tone saying that the politeness was for his own sake only and had nothing to do with the people or person he was speaking to.

“Nick,” the middle-aged man said back, his voice calm. In Varden's eyes, it was clear that the level of dislike between the two men had risen to new heights. Well, there was a reason he valued Nick Morgan, and it wasn't entirely due to his brilliance as an attorney. To gain such dislike from such a man as Len Harden, a man known for being able to work for and against anyone without antipathy, Nick Morgan really was gifted.

Then, Len Harden's eyes turned to the slim silver-haired man standing by the window, and he gave him a smile. The older man showed no signs of moving from his stance by the window, where he'd returned to looking outside, so after a moment, Len Harden went to him with a friendly smile. “Amazing view, isn't it? To tell you the truth, I often come up here when I need a change in perspective,” he said.

Varden Jame's gray eyes shifted to him for a moment, his gaze unreadable and thus appearing vaguely hostile. Then it flicked away, back to the clouds drifting below. “Perspective … yes, I can see how it would aid a man like you,” he said after a moment. Such an obvious attempt at reinforcing his corporation's power would gain him nothing against someone like Varden James.

An awkward moment of silence fell, before Len Harden smiled again and held out a hand. “I'm Len Harden, Visual's lead attorney. I don't believe we've met.”

Varden's unreadable gaze fell on him again, and after a heartbeat, he grasped Len Harden's hand and shook it once. “I am Varden James. I handle all of Keelian's assets. If you'd like, you can think of me as her guardian and financial manager.”

Harden's smile never shifted, then his gaze flicked rather conspicuously around the room. “Speaking of Miss Keelian, I don't believe I see her?”

Varden neatly folded his hands back to their previous position behind his back. “Keelian is not here. I will speak in her stead.”

Harden frowned slightly. “I'm afraid there's not much point to this meeting then, Mr. James. The whole purpose was to give your people a chance to produce Miss Keelian to verify and formalize her position as the heir of Zen K.'s estate. Without her here …,” his voice trailed off as he spread both hands in a helpless gesture.

Varden smiled slightly. “On the contrary.” Turning, he walked calmly to the table to take a seat at the head. “You've gained my personal attention, Mr. Harden. I believe this matter has dragged on long enough for both of us, and no doubt your corporation would be relieved to finally have a conclusion. No doubt your services will be soon needed elsewhere. You are releasing your new game update soon, isn't that correct? The [Path of an Emperor], isn't it? I'm sure there are quite a few preparations your team will need to complete before its release.”

The implications of his words were like a faint taunt to the Visual team, although none of them were inexperienced enough to show it overtly. As he spoke, Varden drew out the chair and took a seat, leaning back with the absolute confidence of someone who had wielded power for so long, it was as natural to him as breathing. “Speaking frankly, it is ridiculous that such a simple matter has dragged on for so long in any case.”

Len Harden was left subtly irritated, but he still smiled and agreed with his last statement. “Indeed.” The statement should have brought his opposing counterpart closer to him at least a little by their shared feelings, but the glance he gave him, the one that should have been shared at least for a fraction of a second, met only that same flat unreadable gaze that was like looking at a fogged-up sheet of glass.

To make matters worse, the slim older man didn't even wait for him to be seated before gesturing to Miss Kaidal, the pretty brunette whom never failed to crush any male who made the mistake of underestimating her gentle looks and voice. Without a pause, as if expecting this, the young woman stood and started speaking. “Just to make matters perfectly clear, I will now reiterate the case as it now stands.”

Her melodious voice continued, setting forth the case as they all knew it—the disputed inheritance of Zen K., genius programmer, gamer, and one of the top five most wealthy bachelors on the planet before his death. The fight had dragged on long after his will had been read and his estate tallied and released by the public authorities. His estranged sister had inherited it all according to his will, but Visual Inc. had stubbornly fought it all the way. In the last meeting, they had triumphantly brought forth a demand issued by a formal court for the production of the supposed heir during a meeting with Visual Inc.'s representatives.

Miss Kaidal finished her summary, and pulled a neat legal binder from the stack of materials in front of her. “Formerly, Visual Inc., represented by you,” she said with a light nod towards the opposing team, “Entered a demand for our client's presence under Article 49. I believe we are all familiar with said article, so I won't bore us by reading it off. As allowed in said article, Mr. James is here to represent our client in her entirety, thus answering said demand. Rest assured, all necessary and relevant papers have been submitted and accepted to and by all relevant authorities; as you will see,” she said, handing the binder to one of Visual's attorneys. He flipped it open, flipped through a few of the pages, and couldn't help the subtle darkening of his expression at the blatant court and government seals placed on all of them.

“Also for your review is this,” Kaidal continued with that same smooth, melodious voice that could sooth her enemies even when she was giving them the legal equivalent of a beheading. Taking another, even slimmer binder out of her stack, she handed it over. “I believe that will settle the matter as to whether Mr. James' presence is legally equivalent to our client's in this regard.”

With an expression that said vaguely that he knew he wasn't going to like what he was going to find, the other attorney took the new binder and opened it. His expression didn't improve as he glanced over this one, then handed it down along with the first for Len Harden to look over.

“With that issue settled, I don't believe there is any other issue preventing this matter from being finalized,” Miss Kaidal said with a gentle smile. “Thus, we return to the matter at hand, and thus, I present to you this,” she continued, handing over another binder. “You are hereby demanded to hand over full control of Zen K.'s estate, in its entirety, including all relevant documentation and access, to our client, within the next sixty business days.”

Visual's legal team took the binder and started looking it over, as Miss Kaidal's gentle smile only got more gentle. “You are, of course, free to look it over at your leisure. We shall look forwards to your reply. Say, within the next business day? I believe that should provide adequate time for such a simple matter.”

Len Harden had finished scanning the small binder he'd been handed, and now gently closed it. “You have truly gone to great lengths for your client, Miss Kaidal. Nick Morgan. I wonder, though, just why exactly your client is refusing to show herself so … persistently? It is almost as though she wishes to hide her face in this matter.”

Miss Kaidal's smile didn't even flicker, but one of Varden Jame's slender fingers tapped once on the table. It was a tiny gesture, but sufficient to bring the eyes of both of his leading attorneys to him in subtle inquiry. His gaze flicked past them to Len Harden as he spoke softly into the quiet. “Keelian is a busy person, and has … taken the loss of her only remaining family member very hard. You are probably not aware, but she and little Zen were inseparable when they were small. If not for his refusal to have anything to do with the family business after their parents passed control on to them, they would probably still be inseparable.”

Len Harden's eyes narrowed subtly. “And what business might that be, Mr. James?”

“Nothing too awe-inspiring,” Varden answered blandly, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to retrieve a small white card. He handed it to one of Harden's team, who passed it down to Harden as Varden continued speaking. “Just a small part in a minor organization dedicated to providing support for world-wide peace-keeping and relief efforts through the assistance of such groups as The Oak Legion and Spread of Thunder, whom we are affiliated with among others. We also dabble in things such as technological equalization, environmental issues, and third-party mediation in conflict zones.”

“A commendable goal,” Len Harden said, feeling a bit irritated. There was no way that public opinion would stand with Visual Inc., barring a very unlikely miracle, if it ever came to an open fight against someone who was part of such a business. The only way would be if they could drag out evidence of corruption or blatant disregard or misconduct involving human lives, but if they were truly affiliated with two of the top three international relief agencies, it was unlikely such a thing would be found. Besides, enemies they might be, but he knew Nick Morgan and Miss Kaidal were attorneys who were better than that.

“It is Keelian's life work, and that of her parent's before her,” Varden said, the satisfaction at getting the point across to his opponent openly flowing in his tone. With that, he stood, dusting off invisible specs from his tie. Immediately, his team all stood to follow suit, tucking away papers with the ease and experience of people who had been forced to do so without warning many times before. The member who had brought the water-heater neatly tucked it away as well, and somehow, the tea set in front of Miss Kaidal had simply vanished in a single graceful movement of her hands to her bag.

“It has been … interesting, meeting you face to face at last,” Varden said with a nod to Len Harden, who had followed his team to his feet after finding the presence of a standing Varden James at the other end of the table to be somehow ominous. It shouldn't have been possible for such a slender, not to mention aging, man to loom in such a large room, but unfathomably, he was doing just that until Harden stood in an attempt to match his height.

“I was wondering what type of man you were, to have dragged this matter on so long, but I am relieved now that I know it is not, in fact, your intelligence that is lacking,” Varden continued. One of his slender hands lay on the back of the chair he'd been sitting in. His fingers looked very slender and pale against the dark leather, but in no way weak. It was like looking at the gently drifting fins of a Butterfly Shark in a tank, and realizing that if one put their hand in the water, that drifting elegance would change in a split second to flesh-rending viciousness.

“I do so prefer to resolve matters with the courtesy and air of a gentleman,” Varden continued, then stepped around behind the backs of Visual's team in a way that made the hair on the backs of their necks stand up. All of them, from the slight paling of their facial color, now regretted not standing with the rest of the people present. “I'm afraid that old age has given me a somewhat regretful fondness for the condition of my suits, you see,” he said with a slight smile that somehow made one think he wasn't joking and the statement wasn't funny.

Reaching Len Harden, he pulled a slim envelope from the inside of his suit jacket, then handed it to him. “Unfortunately for you, as I said previously, you succeeded in getting my personal attention. I am not a man who gives out such attention lightly, and what I have seen so far has not inspired me to confidence in either your morality or your conscious. Then again, I did come in here with a slight bias. You really should not have insulted little Keelian in such a manner as you did. Wiser men would have warned you, but I rarely walk away from a battle before my opponent is thoroughly deprived of all ability to resist.”

That slight smile made its appearance again. “It's that weakness for my suits, you see.”

Harden took the envelope, one eyebrow raising in question. “I don't believe I follow, Mr. James. Is that a threat?”

Varden smiled once more. “It is simply a statement of fact, Mr. Harden. In the interest of not wasting any more of my or Keelian's time, I shall explain briefly. You will find that within that envelop is a sealed order from the Prime Minister of Truit Glen, giving a cease-and-desist on all further attempts on the part of Visual Inc. or any other affiliated party to, (A), force the production of Zainheidra Keelian in the matter of the estate of Zenephon Keelian, and (B), immediately resolve the matter of the estate of Zenephon Keelian via immediate relinquishment of all control and access to the estate in its entirety, including the controlling 67% interest in Visual Inc. included in Zenephon Keelian's estate, in all of that interest's subsequent control and privilege, to the legal heir of the estate of Zenephon Keelian, as determined by the Supreme Court of Truit Glen when they found Zainheidra Keelian to be Zenephon Keelian's rightful heir.”

Varden kept smiling as Len Harden's expression froze. “Of course, you are free to check the authenticity of said order. Although, you may find that your calls are … less welcome than they were previously. As I said earlier, I never walk away from a battle before my opponent is thoroughly deprived of all ability to resist.”

With a small movement, he straightened his cuffs, then led his waiting team out of the conference room, paying no attention to the guards at either side of the door beyond the briefest of glances. Once his team was outside of the monolithic building, he called a slight, slender young man who had been a nearly unnoticed member of the team over to him with a pointed glance and a snap of his long fingers.

The young man responded instantly, coming over to stand beside him as if he just happened to be drifting in that direction. The rest of the team was stretching or joking back and forth, already planning out the rest of their day with cheerful noise. It provided a convenient cover as Varden instructed, “There is a new person of interest. Give me a report by--” he checked his watch-- “Two-o-clock today.”

“Yes, Sir,” the young man said with an obedient nod.

Varden's gaze looked somewhat satisfied as he continued. “The name is Shamos. I believe he's connected to the Truit Glen Greater Crimes unit.”

* * *

Zain didn't get up the nerve to listen to the messages on her phone until after she'd woken for the second time the next day. She'd slept after getting back, waking up in the early hours of the morning as she usually did these days. Knowing she wouldn't be able to return to sleep right away, she'd staggered down to the courtyard to play games, only falling back asleep after Satori, Je, and Basra had all gotten up for their morning coffee. That time it was a restful sleep, and when she woke it was with a comfortable, if still vaguely tired, feeling. Only then did she open up her messages to look at them.

The message from Varden was short and to the point, as his usually were. Basically, he was saying her brother's inheritance issue had been resolved.

The message, or messages since there was more than one, from Visual were probably connected. Especially given that it was probably Zen who had set up the Beithir cas Siail identity in the first place. They said a lot of words, but the basics of them were all the same—whether or not cas Siail could or would move the meeting up and into VR rather than wait for a physical time.

She considered it, then sluggishly went to the roof to sit and return their call. She would have liked to postpone it, but Visual's fight over Zen's inheritance and the fact her brother had seen it necessary to set up the Beithir cas Siail identity tugged at her subconscious like a predatory fish. Zen had been Visual's golden boy, their genius programmer and the brain behind [Boundaries]. Sure, the inheritance included shares in [Boundaries] itself, but was that really a reason to fight so hard? Then too, there was the mystery of how the Fae had known that Zen K. was related to her, and that issue with the money payment involved in his death. Zen had practically lived and breathed in Visual Inc., so if there was information available from his side, someone there must know.

She called them, and the same tech as before answered. He'd obviously been briefed on things, because he was quick to give thanks for her acceptance, then give her a virtual chip that would get her a new [Boundaries] account free of charge when he learned she did not already play.

Zain wasn't at all sure she would be needing it, given that her data should still be locked to her old one and players were only allowed one character, but didn't mention it. For one thing, if it turned out that the character she'd played with Zen with was still active, then Beithir cas Siail might just be doing a disappearance act. Either that, or Visual would have to wait the required 10 days for her to delete the character and build a new one. It wouldn't do for her to show up in the character that Zen K.'s mysterious twin sister had played during the Alpha tests.

Neither possibility was one she wanted to bring to Visual's attention, so she merely accepted the chip and bid the tech—who's name turned out to be Markell Dunn—a polite goodbye. After that, she just zoned out for a while in the hot sunshine. It took time for a [Boundaries] player to calibrate a new character, since the FIVR system had to determine each individual's brain-waves and reaction time and calculate it into its system. Due to this, the in-game meeting had been set for three days from now, two days shorter than the average time it took to build a new character up to level 10 and leave the beginner village. She had been instructed to choose the Eastern Kingdom as her starting point, and provided the name of the leader of a team of players tasked by Visual to help her level up and reach the meeting on time.

She wasn't quite sure what she felt about so swiftly overturning her decision to never return to the world built by Zen K.. Before she could decide, she fell asleep under the smothering touch of the sun.

- - -

Satori, Faje, and Basra were all eating while perched on various stools or counters in the kitchen when Zain stumbled down from the roof, drenched to the skin by the rain that had woken her. They all looked surprised to see her, a surprise that was explained shortly thereafter by Satori when he said, “Zaine. I thought you'd gone out.”

Sleepily, Zain shook her head, grabbing a plate down from the cupboard and accepting a large serving of something that might have been mashed sweet-potatoes from a helpful Basra. “I was on th' roof,” she said, her tone mild thanks to the sleep still fogging her mind.

Satori nodded, then reached behind where small Je sat perched in front of a stove to grab a pot and hold it out for Zain. “Got some sleep?” he asked, as she peered cautiously at what might be pasta, but probably was something like white broccoli given that it seemed as though Basra had done the cooking. Deciding that it was probably safe to ingest since he might massacre the identity but never the flavor when he cooked, she spooned out a serving, and Satori returned the pot to the stove.

“Some,” she admitted, taking an seat on a small but clear section of counter.

Satori nodded, his own half-eaten plate in one hand. The other two remained quiet in the background of the conversation between false cousins, leaving them a bit of familial privacy. Je though, probably because he'd noticed she hadn't slept much the night before and was worried about it, offered her a drink, then a plate of some sort of pan-fried cookie. She declined both, then looked curiously at Je and Basra for a moment. “Have either of you ever played [Boundaries]?”

They looked a bit surprised, glancing at Satori before answering. Je pushed his glasses up a little and shook his head, and Basra shook his head too. “Nope,” the bigger man said from where he was leaning back against a counter still littered with discarded bits and crumbs of vegetables. Green vegetables—Zain decided not to think about Basra's mysterious methods. “Why do you ask?”

Zain shrugged and looked down at her plate. She took a mouthful of the mashed sweet-potato, then discovered that it was nothing like a potato at all. Perhaps … nope. She couldn't even begin to guess what it was supposed to be. It did taste good though.

“Just wondering,” she said in answer to his question, trying the other unidentified substance. That was the vegetables, it seemed, although how it managed to look like pasta and still taste good was more than she could guess.

There was a moment of silence in which she felt more than saw the three men look at each other. Then Basra said, “I heard there's an update coming soon that has a lot of hype surrounding it, though. Emperor's way or something like that? It sounded pretty fun.”

“Hmm. It's pretty popular right now,” Je said. “A couple of the girls at Tyta's were talking about it. They're pretty crazy fans, and the Ma'am even has a shop in game. Apparently, they've got a rotation going through the staff, and it's one of the perks about working at Tyta's. The girl's say it helps keep them in shape. The update's called [Path of an Emperor], though. It's supposed to have something to do with how the overlord in game got to his throne.”

A short silence fell again as all three men discretely monitored the young girl in their midst. Before it could grow awkward, Basra asked, “You thinking of playing, Zaine?”

She remained silent a moment, then sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

Satori raised an eyebrow as he pointed to one of the drinks still sitting out by Je and received one in return. As he twisted off the cap, he said in a slightly teasing voice, “You don't seem so enthused, considering you're saying you're going to play one of the hottest games on the planet right now. They say playing it is like going to a whole new world.”

Zain frowned slightly at that, thinking of the lagging, stuck-in-cement feeling VR gave to those of a magical nature. Then she waved her fork in a slightly irritated manner. “I'm just playing 'cause I have something to do there. Got hired to do something, and they want to meet me in VR 'cause its faster than outside.”

They exchanged a glance. Then Basra shrugged a little. “Well, maybe you'll find its fun once you're in.”

Zain shrugged wordlessly, and the talk turned to more mundane matters about the district and various groups within the city. The Night Raiders were fighting with the Khanduja, which was no new thing. One of the Ferry shops had been raided, which had shocked the entire city. No one knew who had been bold enough to knock off one of the Ferryman's places. Apparently, though, Satori had been asked to get involved by at least one of the big families, probably as a neutral third party to prevent open bloodshed from breaking out. Satori didn't seem to be too worried about it

Zain listened quietly as she finished eating, then waved them all goodnight and headed to the front of the old hotel. Since there was a game cafe right in front of them, she might as well make use of it. And it wasn't as if she was likely to get more sleep now.

- - -

The girl who worked most nights there had dyed her hair pink, and she looked surprised when Zain pushed her way in the door. “Uh, hey,” she said in a noticeable lack of brightness, her blue eyes wide. “Um, th-the manager's out right now ….”

Zain blinked, then realized that the girl had assumed she'd come from Satori and was looking for the rent or something. Which begged the question of whether they were late on their rent or otherwise breaking the lease often, or they just had a strangely disreputable view of Satori himself. Neither question was any of Zain's business, so she just shook her head. “I'm just looking to borrow a capsule for a few hours. You sell [Boundaries] cards, right?”

The pink-haired girl blinked, then nodded, greatly relieved. “Yeah! I mean, yup, we have them. You want one? Gonna play the game, huh? It's really something; you'll like it when you get there. Everyone does.”

It seemed like she might go on, but Zain stopped her with an upraised hand as she finished pulling a new [Boundaries] account card from the locked glass cupboards behind the desk. Zain had lazily leaned on the counter to watch, and now she reached over the back and plucked it out of the other girl's hand. It was rude and against the rules to reach over a clerk's counter, but Zain didn't figure she'd get in trouble for it from the way the girl had acted before.

The card felt smooth and strangely sharp-edged between her fingers, and she turned it over curiously upon finding the numbers weren't embossed or stamped onto its surface. Neither was the [Boundaries] logo itself raised, the way the old cards had been. Only the old red and gold colors remained.

“I've a chip for it,” she said, tapping her mobile on the counter in order to send the data to the clerk's computer after she'd rung up the charge. After it cleared and the chip was input to take the cost of the card off, Zain still found the total different from what she'd expected. Her brow wrinkled, and she asked, “The capsule?”

“Uh,” the girl said, stiffening a little at the vague anger in Zain's voice. “N-No charge. Call it a landlord's bonus.”

“Hmm.” Zain rested her chin on her arms where they were resting on the top of the high counter, feeling like she was a bully pressuring some innocent little lamb. Well, it wasn't as if the idea was something she was necessarily against. It wasn't as if she really wanted to scare the girl either though, so after only a moment, she pushed herself off the counter and flashed a smile. “Well, I won't argue with that, I suppose. Where should I go?”

“U-Um ….” It took a moment for the girl to recover. Then she pointed farther into the game cafe with a trembling finger. “A-44 … its got its own room, so … any capsule ….”

“'K,” Zain said, giving her a little wave and another flashing smile before heading in that direction. The brief interlude had cheered her up a bit, and now she wasn't even dreading going back into the game as much as before. She supposed she'd just have to find out and see whether or not she could use the new card, or if she would have to use the old one even now resting in a pouch around her neck.

She didn't hurry her way through the game cafe in the direction the clerk had indicated. Instead, she looked around curiously, hands tucked lightly into the pockets of her canvas pants and her head swiveling to either side. For an early evening hour, it was pretty crowded. There were two large rooms filled with rows of older desktop gaming equipment for non-VR games—these seemed to still be popular enough there were more filled seats than not. Then there were two large bays filled with the more compact new capsules for accessing the FIVR system, looking like something a medical clinic might use to check for head injuries. They had a pull-down helmet and half-reclined bench that was supposed to be adjustable, and were set up in rows with only enough distance between them to prevent a flailing gamer from hitting his or her next-door-neighbor during a traumatic fight. Then the cafe branched into smaller corridors between closed or half-closed rooms with numbers above them—the VIP or party-gaming rooms.

The one she'd been assigned was one of those, so she followed the highly visible signs pointing the way and found it without any trouble. It was a closed-door room just off the last open bay, and only held three gaming capsules on each of its walls. The wall that shared with the door had a small mini-fridge and a small counter with a microwave for taking refreshment breaks.

She took a moment to familiarize herself with the new capsule and where to insert the new account card, then settled herself onto the bench and pulled the helmet down. There was a brief moment of darkness she didn't like, then the darkness fled away to reveal a room full of white and floating silver strands. It lasted a moment as something hummed, then text flickered into place before her.

[Welcome to [Boundaries], User. This system has detected the presence of VRD Syndrome. If User has not yet received a formal diagnosis for VRDS, please disconnect and contact your current medical provider or nearest medical center. In some cases, VRDS has been known to signify a severe medical issue that may be life threatening if left untreated. Prompt medical care is advised. If prompt medical care is not sought out by User, Visual Incorporated and all affiliated entities are not responsible for any sudden death or medical expenses that may occur as a result of User failing to seek out proper medical treatment in a timely fashion. Please refer to our net-portal for further information, under the link: “VRDS and other VR handicaps”.]

Zain waited, feeling irritated. VRDS, or Virtual Reality Deafness Syndrome, was just one of the many ailments that a very, very small percentage of the population exhibited in relation to any technology that had to do with a neurological linkup. Unknown to most, 99.9% of those affected were mystics. It had to do with the gaps made from trying to connect mystic-based neurology with anti-magic technology. In some cases, there was a lack of feeling. Some couldn't smell. Some found that they “saw” sound or “felt” scents, or colors, or any number of weird reactions all lumped together under the term “VR Handicaps”. Some simply got stuck, since they lacked whatever it was that the technology used to determine whether or not there was a “User” present in the system.

VRDS was the most common, resulting from an absolute failure to register anything as “sound” while in the VR environment. Zain had been one of the very first cases of VRDS ever diagnosed, back when they were still discovering that there were such issues. Back then, they had thought it had to do with the technology rather than a medical condition. It was only after years of experimentation and testing that society had deemed otherwise.

Supposedly, like with any other handicap, society didn't judge or deem the bearer of said handicap as being worth anything less than others. Supposedly, that is.

The text continued after a moment. [If User has received this message, having already sought medical attention without a diagnosis of VRDS, and believes that User has received this message in error, please log off and contact your nearest service representative to file a support claim. If User is already in possession of a formal diagnosis of VRDS, please enter your diagnosis ID as required by International Statute 81-3-204 when prompted. Visual Inc. assures you that any and all medical information is kept strictly confidential. Please refer to our net-portal for access to Visual Inc.'s confidentiality agreement. After User has entered User's diagnosis ID, please remain logged in and our handicap-assist protocols will help guide you through your pleasant gaming experience.]

“Just get on with it,” Zain muttered, entering the identifier that she still knew by heart. She didn't know if the system was programmed to respond to such a surly command, but in any case, it wasn't long before the white and silver around her changed, other colors blurring into the appearance of a small stone courtyard. Moss and lichen grew over the weathered stones, while wild grass and small white flowers grew in the corners. It looked very real, and Zain tilted her head up to find a bright, clear blue sky above the high courtyard walls.

She recognized the place, although she hadn't stood there for a very long time. This was the loading zone, the place players went as the system was loading their characters. But if that was so, then what was she doing here? She was supposed to be building a new character, not loading an old one.

Looking back down, she looked to the wall of the courtyard, where the single door leading to her character should have been placed. As she expected, there was a door there, its plank wood weathered and splintered from time and the elements. The problem was that it was not alone. There was a second door next to it, looking much newer than the first.

Zain decided to postpone the mystery of how her two account cards had been connected and scanned the courtyard. On one of the other walls, a splintered wooden shelf held a few old stone tablets with runic symbols on them. It was matched by a newer, empty shelf, but she ignored that one to walk over and touch one of the old tablets.

Immediately, the air in front of her blurred to show a list of information, all text-based thanks to the handicap-assist program that was running. It showed hunting logs and trophies. The next had achievements and titles. The one following that had her old character's inventory. And the next one should have had her character's status information, but only held a few bare scripts instead.

[Piuthrag Leth-aon (Little Twin Sister): Heritage. Designated primary character for Alpha-level account 0026. Calibration required.]

An eyebrow rose, then Zain dropped her hand and the lines of text disappeared, as did the distorted air. After all this time, she would have thought her account would have been removed from the list of Alpha testers. Since it hadn't, was that why she now had two character doors rather than one? And did that mean that it was still privy to experimental data within the game? And more than that, was she going to start getting automatically paid for time in game? Although she really wasn't sure what bank account she'd used back then, it was probably still somewhere within the network of accounts under the control of Varden James.

She turned to the new shelf and touched it, bringing up a single line of text. [Alter-ego (secondary character) slot for Alpha-level account 0026. Bound to card ---------.]

So it was because of the Alpha-level account and the new card. Was it the only available empty character slot?

[Remaining alter-ego slots for Alpha-level account 0026: 1/3]

She nodded and the text vanished. The sensitivity of the current VR system seemed to be much better than before. There was pretty much no discernible lag that she could feel between her mental commands and the system's response, even with the filter of the handicap-assist program.

Deleting her old character probably would have been something she would have regretted, so it was good that she wouldn't have to.

Turning back to the doors, Zain noticed the old one now bore a wooden name plate with [Piuthrag Leth-aon] carved into it. The other had a blank name plate. Neither door had a handle or visible latch, but the new one swung open to let out soft rays of white light when she stepped towards it. The courtyard vanished as she stepped through.

- - -

The other side showed a rock outcrop overlooking bland, shifting clouds. Above was a night sky shimmering with stars, making Zain tilt her head back just to stare at it to see if she could recognize any familiar constellations. It was a little surprising that she could. There was the Harp Minor from the real world. Then the one over there was the Soup Ladle from a world she'd played on as a child. And over there … *****. The inadvertent curse slipped out before she could stop it as she recognized what she was seeing. Zen K. really had a big ego, to inscribe his own rune as a constellation. And that one beside it …. She refused to recognize that one even as a turmoil of emotions seethed inside her.

Making an irritated noise she couldn't actually hear, she looked back down at the rocky outcrop and was greeted by a few lines of text asking for her desired rating. Rating? It took a moment before she understood that it was asking for her preferred gore/adult content rating and so on. She chose the one called “Reality”, and the text shifted to the next question. [Would you like to apply the settings for character [Piuthrag Leth-aon] to your new character?]

If it could do that, why hadn't it done so from the start? She accepted, and the text went on to something actually concerning the new character rather than the game settings.

[Please select a race.]

Articles she'd read had speculated that there was more than one hundred different races in [Boundaries] that players could receive. Each player had the chance to select from ten races at initial character creation. There were three standard races that were always available: Human, Baercle, and Alf. From there, the rest of the ten were filled up by common, unusual, rare, or legendary races chosen at random by the system. Some races had special starting stat distributions or innate skills, talents, or affinities. Some were desired merely for their special or exotic appearance. But everything that Zain had read said that there was always a choice of ten, and those three standard races were always present.

So why did her list read: [Half-Human] with nothing else on it? Not that it really mattered, since she wasn't planning on actually playing with this character. She selected Half-Human and a transparent, vaguely humanoid shape appeared on the tip of the outcrop. It appeared to be female, since [Boundaries] did not allow players to change their innate gender. Otherwise it had no features.

[You are now able to select your character's appearance,] the system prompted. [Please be aware that basic data such as height, gender, and some racial characteristics can not be modified, and selections such as skin and eye color, basic build, and facial features can not be modified after this point. If you do not want to customize your character's appearance, you may leave it in initial system generation or select [Random] in the modification menu.]

As if to illustrate the system's last point, the humanoid shape at the end of the outcrop slowly became more defined until a fully formed girl stood in front of Zain. She was slim and muscled, more boyish than girlish, with sleek biceps, well defined abs, and hips that curved only enough to accent her slender waist and long legs. There wasn't much to her chest, but there was enough femininity to it and her surprisingly pretty face that she probably wouldn't be mistaken for a man unless she covered up her hair and really acted the part. Her face was clean-lined and dominated by a pair of large, sultry indigo eyes, their corners lightly tugged down and their thick lashes drooping to give a somewhat sleepy look. Hair the color of warm amber fluffed around her face in unruly curls, covering the tips of her ears and combining with her eyes to give the aura of a lazy cat. A single twisting mark like curved thorns marked her right temple, its surface glittering slightly against her copper-toned skin. A larger tattoo ran from the web of her right hand clear up to her shoulder like metallic briers, plainly visible since the figure was clothed only in a brief linen chest-band and boxer-like shorts.

Zain studied it, liking it more and more the longer she looked. She was already pretty sure she would be naming her new character “Beithir cas Siail” after her new identity, and somehow, this figure matched the image that the old words had given her. The deep, cold color of the eyes underneath those deceptively hooded lashes and the way they contrasted with the bright, warm tones of the skin and hair around them were strangely fascinating, as was the metallic shine off the tattoos on her skin.

She accepted the appearance, and text appeared in front of her again. [Please select a name for your character, or select random for a system generated name.]

“Beithir cas Siail,” Zain said, not able to hear herself but knowing she would have if she could.

There was a pause, then a system reply. [Apologizes. The name [Beithir cas Siail] can not be used. We suggest you use one of the following variations instead: Skulking Bear Trouble. Oblique Serpent Against. Troublesome Oblique Savage. Destructive Thunder Enemy. Sneaky Savage. Viper Against. Problematic Scorpion Enemy.]

Zain frowned, then let out a non-existent breath. There were some aspects of the old tongues that had survived, and some … that hadn't. Whenever had a word made specifically to address the beauty of the shine of sunlight glancing off the rippling waves of a deep, peaceful ocean changed to something a machine would interpret as “sneaky” or “oblique”? Not that that interpretation didn't have some relevance to her purpose here.

She concentrated a moment on that part of her that automatically translated languages, unraveling the tangled ravages of time. A moment later, she let out another breath. “Kiro'n Farokh Naimhi y Syae'l”, she tried again, carefully enunciating despite not being able to hear herself at all.

[Hell's Ocean's Shining Serpent: Is this name correct?] the system asked.

Zain felt her virtual teeth grate. “No. Can you please stop trying to translate it?”

There was a pause, then an apologetic, [Apologizes. That request can not be fulfilled.]

Zain frowned, then gave a soundless growl and waved a hand. “Fine. But it's [Serpent of Gleaming Waves Over the Deep], not [Hell's Ocean's ….”

[Understood,] the system text overrode. [Name [Gleaming Ocean Abyss Serpent] has been chosen. <Abyss> has been designated as default nickname.]

Zain cursed, wishing she could physically throttle the system as the feeling of cursing without any resulting sound just didn't carry with it the same satisfaction. There wasn't any time for her to try and fix it either, as the system bluntly informed her that her character setup was finished, and her consciousness was sucked into the revolving figure without any warning. In the mere second it took for her to recover, her character had already been clothed and she was now watching an image shown in the air above the clouds.

The image showed the scene of an influential looking manor-house built on a hill overlooking a rocky coastline. In the manor, people bustled about, and all looked to be prosperous and happy.

[In a world far from this one, a girl was found by a wealthy merchant family in a small, influential country by the sea. The family as one took her in as their own child, rejoicing for they had never before had the chance for a daughter. Because they loved the way her hair reminded them of warm summer sunlight and her eyes of the cool depths of the ocean, they named her Gleaming Ocean Abyss Serpent,] the system narrated as the scene above the clouds changed to show the story. [She grew well, but even with her parents and older siblings' love, it was soon evident that she was not the same as the rest of them. Something different ran through her veins, lurking within her soul. Something ancient, and undying.]

Sullenly, Zain remained quiet, her arms crossed and a frown on her face. Despite her resentment, she couldn't help wondering about the game's evolution. When had the game started becoming so thorough with character's backstories? Weren't they just supposed to be made up at random, like “a boy from the streets, who one day decided to go out adventuring” or “the prodigal daughter of a noble house who was kicked out and left to fend for herself by her annoyed father”? Besides, the narration sounded a bit familiar. Wasn't this the story of the birth, or rebirth, of an Immortal?

[Despite this, Gleaming Ocean Abyss Serpent cared deeply for her family, and did not wish to part with them no matter the restlessness in her soul or the memories only half recalled. However, when she was sixteen, an attack by sea raiders left her home town in ruins and her family dead. She herself was left to die by the raiders, but with a new savagery in her soul, she refused, and swore to hunt them down.]

Zain watched the girl screaming in the ruins of her family's formerly happy manor, not able to refute or ask the system to hurry up.

[The hunt took three and a half years, as her hatred and strength only grew. The sea raiders were backed by a rival country, and, fueled by her hatred, Gleaming Ocean Abyss Serpent brought her fight clear to their capital. In the gleaming white marble halls of their imperial palace, she fought with the imperial guards and succeeded in slaying the entire imperial household and most of their councilors. After the last head fell, soaked with blood and mortally wounded, the girl staggered to the ocean cliffs to gaze one last time at the deep waters she was named for. There, no longer supported by the heights of her rage, she fell unconscious, her body toppling into the sea.]

So how exactly did she get to the Continent of the Lost in [Boundaries]'s world setup?

[As she drifted towards the bottom far below, strange currents began to gather as foreign memories and images drifted through her mind. A world full of magic and chaos stretched before her, and memories of her feet on its soil prompted a sudden longing. There was a great, endless forest lush with life and things untouched by the call of civilization, and vast, endless expanses of snow and ice. She had hunted there under another name with her former companions, roaming freely and allowing no one to dictate their actions. More than that, she remembered what she'd left behind—a secret, hidden place full of life in the midst of cutting and cruel cold, where she had lived in solitude and contentment.]

[Gleaming Ocean Abyss Serpent's eyes had never seen these things, but her soul recognized them as a savage silver awakened within her. At last, she had recovered the memories that had haunted her sleep as a child, and she knew what she was—A child of ancient and savage things. There was still a long way to go before she recovered all of her former strength, glory, and memory, but the knowledge awakened the drowning girl's desire to life. Instinctively, she gathered the currents of water, space, and time around her, opening a doorway into that other world, aiming to recover her soul's full inheritance.]

Zain found herself nodding slightly as she realized that the complicated back-story was how the game was connecting her new character to her old one. This must be why it was calling the secondary characters “Alter-egos”.

Even as she thought that, a warning popped up before her. [WARNING: continuing with this alter-ego will mean that User's primary character [Piuthrag Leth-aon] will be locked until alter-ego [Gleaming Ocean Abyss Serpent]'s full inheritance has been unlocked. User will have to unlock all skills, abilities, inventory items, and learned knowledge before they can be used. Do you still wish to continue building alter-ego [Gleaming Ocean Abyss Serpent]? [Yes] / [No] ]

Zain considered the warning for a heartbeat before pressing her choice. Having access to her inventory and skills at some point with this character was already more than she'd expected. Besides that, she wasn't going to be really playing this game anyway. So what did it matter?

[Yes], she chose, and as abruptly as that, the images on the clouds and even the stone beneath Zain's bare feet disappeared. There was a moment of disoriented disbelief as she struggled to accept the fact the gaming company would do something like this to its players, but the feeling of tumbling through open air was far too realistic to ignore. Wind gusted about her, tossing her about as the cold moisture of the clouds quickly dampened her clothes. A window of semi-translucent text appeared in front of her.



-----

Welcome to Boundaries, world of magic and intrigue!



You have received a racially inherent quest: <Inheritance of a Savage Thing>.

You have received a title: <Little Descendant of Ancient and Savage Things>.

You have received a trait: [Faire an T-ath-shaoghal].

You have received a trait: [The Deaf].



You have received inherent stats due to your race and affiliation. Stats: Savagery; Sovereignty.



You have received an inherent class due to your race and affiliation. Class: Psychopath. You have received inherent stats due to your inherent class. Stats: Psychopathy; Mental Fortitude; Internal Force; Weapon's Proficiency.



You have received an Evolving skill due to your trait [The Deaf]. Skill: Extrasensory Perception (passive).



You have received a Basic skill due to your prior experiences. Skill: Grudge.



You have received the partial inheritance from a prior life. You have received 62.2% of your prior Charisma; 45.3% of your prior Resilience; and 31.94% of your prior Knowledge of Worlds.



Your starting Primary Stats are: Basic Health: 9. Basic Strength: 16. Basic Mana: 18. Basic Stamina: 6. Basic Agility: 9. Basic Intelligence: 10. Basic Luck: 56. Basic Internal Force: 21.



Your starting Secondary Stats are: Specialist E Charisma: 160.81. Basic Cruelty: 1. Specialist B Knowledge of Worlds: 193.11. Basic Mental Fortitude: 1.13. Basic Psychopathy: 1. Basic Psychosis: 1. Specialist A Resilience: 14.31. Basic Savagery: 1. Basic Sovereignty: 1.



Your starting Understanding Stat is: Basic Weapon's Proficiency: 0.



Your starting Elemental Affinities are: Earth: 6%. Fire: 1%. Night: 6%. Snow: 3%. Space: 10%. Stone: 1%. Sunlight: 1%. Water: 6%. Wind: 1%. Wood: 5%.

-----



Almost immediately after this window popped up, it was followed by another, much smaller notification.



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You are currently falling through the atmosphere from a very great height. How you ever reached this height in the first place is a mystery, but you should probably do something about it.

Time until impact: 57 minutes; 9 seconds.

-----



Time until impact? She struggled to adjust her body into a controlled fall stance, but found it damnably sluggish to respond. Why had she come back to the game? The backstory, the intrigue awoken by the idea of an alter-ego, the character itself—they had all awakened her childhood fondness for the game's her brother used to play with her that even the sullenness from her unwanted name couldn't erase. But she'd already almost died once by falling from an aircraft. It wasn't an experience she wanted to repeat. She tried finding a skill to help, but found nothing except the newly created [Grudge], which was a tracking and debuff skill, and the passive [Extrasensory Perception]. She tried opening her inventory, but found nothing but a [Waterlogged and Broken Staff]. There were grayed areas she assumed were representative of the locked items from her old character, but they couldn't be accessed.

The clouds were thinning, and she finally managed to fight her way to a controlled free-fall position and stop tumbling through the air. It gave her a moment to think, although it was getting a little hard to breath so she was pretty sure it didn't matter.



---

You are currently suffering from asphyxiation. Minus 2 HP every 4 seconds until status is removed.

Time until HP depleted: 22 seconds.

---

* * *