2

An Unexpected Asset

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Weeks ago, Phelos had been overtaken, the Archaic Kingdom conquered. North of seven hundred soldiers had been killed on the night of the uprising, the vast majority of those deaths belonging to True Light, an alliance comprised of the Intel, Passion, Adren, and Spirit Kingdoms.

With the deaths of Rosel Sania and Grandarion Senten, the Amendment Order had perished, paving the way for Toth Brench to become king and marking the first time in Known History that a kingdom was ruled solely by a foreigner. With this change in leadership, the Archaic Kingdom’s loyalty had shifted from the Light Realm to an alliance composed of the Stillians, Cynnish, Archains, Powish, and Devish—otherwise known as SCAPD.

With these shifts, royal families were forced to operate in a way they hadn’t in decades. The focus of discussions transitioned from commerce and politics to military tactics. Nobody would win this war without infiltration, whether on a small scale with spies and assassins or on a grander one, involving fleets at sea or brigades through teleplatforms. It came down to who was brave enough to strike first.

Intel King Vitio knew this, but, more importantly, he understood the patience required when dealing with a situation of this magnitude. The strife of the past couple years between his family and the Archaic Kingdom following Itta’s betrayal of the realm was nothing compared to this. While that had been a feud between two kingdoms, this was a war between nine.

It was the end of another day of arduous strategy sessions with advisors and military officials. Vitio finally got to enjoy the sweet bliss of sitting on his bed, kicking off his slippers, and feeling the softness of the carpet beneath his feet.

“Late night after late night,” his wife, Delilah, said as she removed her earrings and placed them on the bedside table.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Vitio said.

“Such a maxim doesn’t sit well with me these days.”

Vitio hummed, turning to face his wife. Delilah got up and pulled back a corner of the satin sheets. The roots of her leafy green hair were starting to gray. Even she couldn’t muster up the energy to maintain an appearance she expected of herself. He smiled.

Raising her brows, her forehead crumpled. “And what’s that about?”

He shook his head and chuckled. “Nothing,” he said. But the truth was that he appreciated everything about the woman’s beauty, and that included her age. They had grown old together, and there was nothing more beautiful than that.

“Get some sleep, Vitio.” She sighed, situating herself under the sheets. “You must leave early tomorrow morning if you want to make it to Phesaw on time. And we can’t have you dozing off during the summit.”

Vitio stood up and adjusted his side of the blankets. “I fear True Light isn’t as strong as SCAPD. I know Queen Apsa and King Supido are playing nice for now, but they’ve had distance to scab their wounds. Tomorrow they’ll be in the same room for the first time since Gray Whale took out those Adrenian vessels.”

“Sleep, dear,” she mumbled, already falling into a slumber herself.

As Vitio began to lie down, something tapped on the window. Delilah bolted upright, clearly startled. Vitio approached the window to see a falcon beating its massive wings against the night sky. He pushed open the glass, allowing the bird to fly inside. Delilah pulled her knees inward as the winged beast circled the room and perched itself on the bed frame.

Its head twitched in every direction. Hurrying to the bed, Vitio snatched up the rolled parchment that it had dropped onto the covers. Reading through it, a smile widened on his face. Ophala Vevlu was still alive. Not only that, but she had contrived a system of communication between dozens of power players who were previously unreachable without a Dev servant.

“Get it out of here!” Delilah hissed.

Vitio gazed at the beautiful animal. “I can’t,” he said, reaching to pet its hooked beak with his finger. “Her name is Radon. She’s our new carrier bird.”

“That thing isn’t a pet!” she said.

“The letter clearly states not to call her that,” Vitio said.

Delilah lay back down, yanking the covers over her as she twisted onto her side. “It never ends,” she said.

Vitio read through the letter once more. Aside from all the information provided, it also asked for his trust. Apparently, Ophala had a convoluted plan in the works, but it would require True Light elites to follow her orders as they arrived—typical of a Spy Pilot to ration information and instructions in such a way. Still, at least now he felt like he had a sense of direction in this war.

* * *

All kinds of breakfast foods covered the dining hall table; quail eggs, bacon, pancakes, and orange juice were just a small selection of what the feast entailed. Seated around the table were Bryson, Olivia, Shelly, Lilu, and a couple special guests, Thusia and Suadade. On a typical morning, Himitsu and Vuilni would have been included. But today Lilu was going back to Brilliance. It was a breakfast reserved for siblings and their Branian only.

Thusia’s plate—or plates, rather—couldn’t be seen underneath the piles of food she had gathered. A stack of seven pancakes sat on one, with a mountain of scrambled eggs beside it. Glancing around her pancakes, she looked at Lilu and asked through a mouthful of mush, “What’re you learnin’ up there in that fancy city?”

“How to not doubt myself,” Lilu replied.

“You doubting yourself?” Bryson balked. “I’ve never witnessed it.”

“That’s because she’s always hid it around us,” Olivia said. “Sealing off her vulnerability.”

Thusia pointed her chopsticks at Olivia and nodded. “And that’s coming from a girl who knows a thing or two about suppression.”

A goofy smile slipped onto Olivia’s face, forcing Bryson to shake his head. Olivia was still trying to learn how to properly express herself facially. Most of the time, it looked awkward and unnatural.

“I’ve also managed to get a grasp of weavineering,” Lilu said.

Bryson glanced at Shelly to see how she’d react to the comment. Her face was over her food, but he saw a slight twitch in her cheek. The initial excitement of her pregnancy had dwindled for Shelly in the last month—worsened by the presence of Lilu, who had admittedly done quite well for herself since departing to Brilliance a year ago.

Shelly felt trapped. She had voiced her frustration to Bryson nearly every night before bed. She couldn’t do anything physical, which eliminated her training sessions; she was barred from any of her father’s important meetings; and she was forced to walk the halls in maternity wear.

Meanwhile, Lilu was a Weapon’s Specialist at a place called Weavineer Tower, with her own laboratory and team of assistants. It all still sounded a bit farfetched.

“Suadade, Thusia,” said Lilu, “do either of you know how Olivia’s ability is water?”

“Not the slightest idea,” Suadade admitted, making his voice heard for the first time all morning.

“I don’t even think there’s an ancient that grants the ability of water,” Thusia said in wonder. Her pancake stack had diminished considerably. “At least, not any documented cases. Then again, I’m not an expert on ancient pieces.”

Lilu turned to Olivia. “You haven’t had another incident since that first time?”

“No,” Olivia said. “I can’t make myself do it. It only happened that one time when I lost my composure.”

The conversation took a lighter tone after that, but Shelly continued to stay quiet. Bryson had learned that when she entered this mood, it was best for him to let her stew. His previous attempts to intervene ended with him on the receiving end of a verbal lashing.

As breakfast concluded, Bryson asked if everyone could leave, so he could speak with Lilu. They obliged, leaving the two Intel Jestivan alone.

“What is it, Bryson?”

“I heard about what you did in Brilliance,” Bryson said, referring to a statue of his father that Lilu had demolished.

She rolled her eyes. “Professor Jugtah tell you?””

“Professor?” he said. “That sounds strange. Director Jugtah did, yes.”

“And what about it?”

“Thank you. It means a lot.”

Lilu pushed herself out of her chair. “I didn’t do it for you,” she said. “There are other reasons in the world besides you.”

Bryson bolted out of his seat to cut her off as she headed for the doors. “You mean a lot to me,” he said. “Our relationship has been rocky, riddled with terrible farewells. I’m not allowing it again.”

“You focus on my sister and your future child,” she muttered.

They held each other’s gaze. After a long pause, Bryson pulled her into a hug. “I bonded with you quicker than I did with anyone else in the Jestivan—perhaps, too quick. That may have been our undoing.”

He felt her arms wrap around him. “A flame that died as fast as it formed.”

The begonia pinned to Lilu’s bangs sat under Bryson’s nose. He inhaled the familiar scent and said, “Only fitting.”

* * *

It was an hour before King Vitio’s scheduled departure to Phesaw. Bryson and Vistas sat on the fountain’s marble edge, watching as a royal carriage was prepared near the main gate.

His mind weighed down, Bryson scratched underneath the bandage around his shin. On one hand, there was the war. And while he was happy to have been included in recent tactical meetings, he was still antsy to finally do something. Talk was cheap.

Then there was the other, more personal weight. Bryson was going to be a father, and that scared him more than anything. Not because he didn’t want a child, but because he didn’t want to be the same disappointment to said child that Bryson’s father ended up being to him. Could he provide the proper nurturing, instill the correct moral lessons, or even stay alive long enough to watch the kid grow up? The brutal reality was that Bryson would likely be risking his life many times in the coming years—if he even made it that far.

“Any proposal plans?” Vistas asked, snapping Bryson out of his trance. Vistas was a servant of the Intel royal family, native to the Dev Kingdom.

During a short pause, Bryson gathered his thoughts. “I can’t say it hasn’t been on my mind,” he said. “I believe I love her.”

The Dev servant turned and smirked. “I was speaking of your proposals to the king, arguing your case to infiltrate either the Dev or Archaic Kingdom.” As Bryson’s face turned red, Vistas added, “But the proposal you speak of also intrigues me just as much, if not more.”

Bryson’s face twisted with discomfort. “I feel weird, Vistas.”

“Love can be a complex concept,” Vistas said. “It’s supposed to make you feel that way—especially at your age.”

“It doesn’t feel right for the world to be carrying on after what happened to Jilly. I shouldn’t be anticipating a child, entertaining the idea of marriage, or even having a moment of happiness.”

Vistas nodded, his lips pressed together. “I felt that way when Tristen died. If I smiled even once in a day, I needed to punish myself for such an inconsiderate gesture to my brother’s spirit. You’ll struggle with the same dilemma for quite some time. But what you’ll eventually realize is that the world doesn’t care, and wallowing in grief doesn’t help anyone. Your enemies have lost lives, too.”

“Either move past it or let the anger fuel you,” Bryson said.

“Anger can be productive, but is it safe?” Vistas mused.

“It’s driving Toshik.”

“Which is exactly my point,” the servant said. “That young man has always fought conservatively, worried more about protecting Jilly than anything else. Now that responsibility is gone. With Jilly’s death, he’ll train like never before. And when he finally rendezvous with that Yama girl, there will be a reckless abandonment in the way he fights. He’ll fight with the intent to kill, not protect.”

“I know what you mean,” Bryson said as he watched General Lars direct soldiers into formation. “He’d likely jump off a kingdom’s Edge if it meant taking Yama with him.”

“Good morning, you two,” said a new voice.

Vistas stood up. “Good morning, milord.”

Bryson turned and looked up from where he was seated. “Hey, Vitio.”

The king smiled and smacked the back of Bryson’s shoulder. Ever since the reveal of Shelly’s pregnancy, Vitio’s pleasantness around Bryson had increased exponentially.

“I’m kind of in a hurry, Vistas,” Vitio said, glancing at the carriage. “I can’t find Flen. I need him to meet us in the main wing’s second parlor. Tell him it’s the most urgent command I’ve ever given him.”

“He’s on his way, milord,” Vistas replied after a brief pause.

A short while later, Bryson entered the parlor with Vitio and Vistas and took a seat at the miniature bar while they waited.

“Where is he?” Vitio asked, clearly losing his patience.

“If I know Flen, he’s probably taking his sweet time in hopes you’ll abandon this little meeting in favor of departing Dunami on time,” Bryson said.

Vitio glared at Vistas, who echoed Bryson’s thoughts. “I must say that’s a spot-on assessment, milord.”

“But I actually need his skillset for once,” Vitio said.

Bryson’s face pinched at the center. “Flen and skillset in the same sentence?” he asked in shock. “Vistas is right here. He has all the skills you need.”

Vistas’s calm gaze shifted to Bryson. “Flen is a superior weaver than me. He was the most promising out of us brothers.”

Bryson squinted at the Dev servant. Every fiber of his body wanted to guffaw, but Vistas wasn’t one to lie. “Well, he doesn’t make it seem that way,” he finally said.

Tapping his fingers against the polished wooden countertop, Vitio shook his head. “Of course he doesn’t. Of the triplets, he was always the rebellious one. But don’t confuse his disinterest with stupidity. He might not be as wise and insightful as Vistas or as driven and fearless as Tristen, but he’s by far the superior weaver.”

The door opened and in walked Flen. “I’m blushing,” he said, wasting no time in walking behind the bar to grab a bottle of liquor.

“I need your help, Flen,” Vitio said while Flen poured himself a glass. It almost sounded like a question, which caught Bryson by surprise.

Flen smirked at the king, then nudged the bottle into Bryson’s shoulder. “Thirsty?”

“I don’t drink,” Bryson replied.

Flen paused, then said, “Of course not.” He returned the bottle to its compartment and asked, “Is this finally the request?”

Vitio nodded. “It is.”

“It’s about time, old man.”

At a complete loss, Bryson glanced between the two of them.

“What do you know about teleplatforms?” Vitio asked.

Flen tilted his cup and said, “I understand the theory behind the weaving.”

“Do you think you could make one?”

This was becoming absurd. People didn’t just make teleplatforms. That was a rare skill acquired by only a handful of Devish over centuries.

Flen seemed to mull over the possibility with a frown. “I might, but it would take months.”

Vitio crossed his arms. “I received a letter by falcon yesterday from Spy Pilot Ophala Vevlu.”

“She’s okay?” Bryson asked.

“She’s great apparently. And she provided me with some important information. She believes there are teleplatforms stationed throughout Phelos—a few in the palace and a couple somewhere in the city. Someone has been constructing them, and they’re fully functioning. It’s how Toth’s uprising was successful.”

Vistas and Flen exchanged looks. “What is it?” Vitio asked.

Flen gazed down at the countertop and laughed. “Do you remember Tazama?”

“I’d never forget that blue hair,” Vitio said.

“It’s her,” Flen said with a firm nod. “I only know of three Devish presently alive who could maybe build a teleplatform. She’s one of them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before I gave her away to King Supido years ago?”

Flen shrugged. “It never came up. She played dumb to get away from you, knowing you’d only keep the most useful Dev servants.”

Vitio’s brows furrowed. “I gave Marcus to King Damian, and he was one of the best.”

“Everyone knows you and King Damian were practically an old married couple. Of course you gave him a gift.”

“We’re way off track,” Bryson said.

“So I’m guessing you want me to build a teleplatform that can connect with the ones in Phelos,” Flen said.

“I do.”

Flen threw back the rest of his alcohol, then said, “I know you’re not familiar with the functionality of teleplatforms, Vitio, but that’s impossible. I’d have to figure out the weaving pattern of those teleplatforms’ Dev chains before I could do that, which would require gaining access to Phelos ... and that’s not happening.”

The room fell quiet. Bryson’s head drooped at what seemed to be the end of that idea.

“What about their corresponding teleplatforms?” the king asked. “The ones that they link to?”

Flen shook his head. “Even then, I’m assuming those are in the Dev Kingdom, which still requires penetrating enemy territory.”

“Yes, they are, but they’re easier to reach. There’s a cluster a few dozen miles northeast of their main teleplatforms.”

“I’m not crossing enemy lines,” Flen said, his whimsical tone replaced with something stern. “I’m not Tristen. I appreciate breathing.”

“What would you estimate the length of time needed to properly study the weaving pattern?” Vitio asked.

Flen’s eyebrows fell flat. “I’m not going.”

“Well, all he’d need to do is record the patterns by sketching diagrams on some parchment,” Vistas said, causing Flen to shoot him a dirty look. “That would take a maximum of an hour. Studying the intricacies of the patterns is the lengthy part, but that could be done through the sketches.”

Flen repeated himself: “I’m not entering the Dev Kingdom.”

Vitio placed both hands on the edge of the counter. “I’ll assemble a skilled team of individuals to accompany you.”

“You have a few screws loose up—”

“You’ll go in the dead of night,” Vitio continued, cutting Flen off, “under the cover of Horos, Fane, and Himitsu—three Passion Assassins who can hide you with their flames.”

“They turn off their teleplatforms during their first-night,” Flen said.

“We have a makeshift teleplatform in the palace’s dungeon,” Vitio replied. “It can access the Dev Kingdom at any hour. It’s how the Jestivan and Vistas chased down Storshae all those years ago.”

Before Flen argued again, Vitio said, “Bryson and Toshik will provide the speed. Combine it with the stealth of the Passion Assassins, and chaos should ensue once you arrive. And that’s when the third and final pair will join you—the muscle that will take advantage of said chaos.”

Bryson pounded his fist on the table. “Olivia and Vuilni!” he exclaimed, his lips widening into a smile. For once, this wasn’t a reactionary or defensive maneuver, and he couldn’t hold back his excitement.

“Calm down there, boy,” Flen said before refocusing on Vitio.

The two men stared at each other. Brooding was a foreign expression for Flen. “What if there are powerful people waiting at the teleplatforms?”

Bryson laughed. “The people worth worrying about would be elsewhere.”

“That’s correct,” Vitio said. “Ophala said that Toono and Storshae were well on their way back to Cogdan.”

Vistas offered his encouragement from across the parlor. “You’ll be fine with such a team around you.”

Flen’s finger glided around the rim of his empty glass. “Fine,” he finally said. “But I get to live in this palace for free from this day forward, and I will not serve anyone.”

“Well, that settles it,” Vitio said, standing straight again, a pleased grin on his face. “I must be going before Delilah murders me. Expect the mission to happen within the next two weeks. I’ll be back from Phesaw by tomorrow night.”

As the Intel King walked to the door, Flen said, “If you want this done faster, I’ll need Joy’s assistance. I might be a great weaver, but she’s better at constructing Permanence vessels.”

Vitio nodded. “I’ll talk to Spirit Queen Apsa when I see her.”

“Which means I’ll also need provod,” Flen added, stopping Vitio halfway out the door.

“Anything else, your highness?” the king asked mockingly.

Flen cocked an eyebrow. “Yea, make that a habit.”

* * *

Himitsu and his dad, Horos, were in an empty ballroom in Dunami Palace as the day came to a close. Despite the abundance of Intelights in the chandeliers and walls, the only sources of light came from hundreds of candles. They were significantly dimmer, but they served their purpose for the father-son assassin lesson.

“All that time I spent locked up allowed me to refine my weaving skills to the point of innovation,” Horos said. “And that includes my imprisonment when King Damian thought it was a Passion Assassin who murdered the Prim Prince and General.”

Tables and chairs were pushed against the walls. The two Vevlu men stood far apart, at the center of the grand room.

“My whole life, I’ve been taught that our flames are only effective in the dark,” Horos said. “And even then, if someone’s eyesight is exceptional enough, they’d be able to distinguish the blackness of the flames against the darkness.” He paused, then said, “Sprout a wall of flames between us, son.”

A trail ignited between them—smokeless, heatless, and silent ... only a subtle stench. But those traits meant nothing when the candlelight clearly illuminated the black mass of fire.

“That’ll do,” Horos said. The inferno vanished. “An assassin isn’t much of an assassin if he or she can’t execute stealth tactics during daylight. That fact alone severely limits what Passion Assassins can do. Meanwhile, Dev Assassins and Adren Assassins can make use of their abilities at any time of day.”

“Did you learn to camouflage your flames with its surroundings?” Himitsu asked.

“That’d be impossible,” Horos replied. “We can’t change the color of our flames, just like an Intelian can’t change the color of their electricity. You’d have to be born with a rare defect for such a feat.”

“I don’t know what else it could be,” Himitsu said.

“It’s not about color, son—it’s density.”

“Density?”

“Yes,” Horos said, removing his hands from his pockets. “How dense can you weave?”

“You mean how tight can I weave an EC chain?” An EC chain stood for an energy-current chain, or a woven strand of one’s energy with a strand of current found in nature.

Horos shrugged. “Collectively, how tight can you weave EC chains and how dense can you make a cluster of said chains? The denser your flames get, the more useful they become in light. You’ve actually witnessed this before; I did it when you and Fane broke me out of my cell.”

Horos opened his hand, palm up, in front of him. “Pay close attention to my hand.”

Himitsu stared at his father’s palm from a distance, purposefully keeping himself from blinking. Eventually, light disappeared from the room, their presence swallowed by pitch black. Gazing around, he looked for the small embers atop their wicks. He could see them, but they didn’t produce light outside of the flame. They looked like a collection of fireflies against the night sky. Suddenly, the darkness vanished and everything restored to normal.

“What was that?” Himitsu said. “I knew something was odd about those flames during the uprising.”

“That’s the power of density,” his father said.

“So you’re telling me that all it takes to achieve what you just showed me is to weave denser clusters.”

Horos’s brows furrowed. “No, no, no. If that was the case, this technique would have been discovered long ago. Tell me, why is it a poor idea to wear black during summer?”

“It makes you hot.”

“And it absorbs light,” Horos added. “Our flames work the same way. The denser the EC clusters, the blacker the flame. It not only absorbs light, it steals and traps it. But you can’t expect the results I just showed you by simply weaving dense clusters.”

This time when Horos conjured fire around them, the light dimmed, but not enough to hinder vision. “This is what happens if the flame is composed completely of dense clusters and chains.” He smirked. “Why do you think that is, son? Shouldn’t the light be sucked from the room—according to what I’ve said so far?”

There was a moment of silence as Himitsu pondered the possibilities. “Take your time,” said Horos. But after another minute with no answer, he asked a different question. “What would happen if a thousand people tried squeezing through Dunami Palace’s main gate at once?”

“That’s impossible,” Himitsu said. “A lot of people wouldn’t funnel through.”

Horos grinned as understanding dawned on Himitsu’s face. Himitsu gazed at the floor and said, “If light simply hits a wall of dense Passion clusters, some of it might be absorbed, but most of it won’t. That’s why the light only dimmed instead of disappearing just now.”

“Yes!” Horos exclaimed, balling his fist in triumph. “So the light must be filtered. And you do this by weaving looser chains in the flame’s exterior, slowly increasing the volume until it’s a black mass at the center—as dense as you can make it.”

Himitsu sprouted another flame, but it had no effect on the light. Horos laughed. “It’s going to take a lot of practice.”

“How long did it take you?”

Horos gazed upward. “Well, let’s see ... I’ve been a prisoner for quite some time over the past few years. I think it took me a month to grasp the idea of what I was trying to accomplish, another couple months to experiment with weaving theories until I showed signs of progress, then a year to perfect it.”

Looking back to Himitsu, Horos said, “But don’t fret. It’ll take you half that time since I’ve already done the experimentation. All you have to do is study and apply what I’ve learned. The best part is that there is no warning for the enemy. The moment I weave a dense flame, the light’s gone.”

“And you can do this with sunlight, too?” Himitsu asked.

“I haven’t gotten that good yet,” Horos admitted. “But I can do it with candles and Intelights. In direct sunlight, I can’t do much of anything. I can soften moonlight, however.”

Himitsu studied the ring of fire around them. “Then it’s possible.” He smiled at his dad. “This is game-changing.”

* * *

In Dunami Palace’s main library, a group of Jestivan congregated in a study area. Bryson, Olivia, and Vuilni occupied chairs at one table, while Himitsu and Toshik sat on another table nearby. None of them were avid readers, so the library may have seemed like an odd place for them to gather. However, considering tonight’s topic of discussion, they needed seclusion.

“We finally have a mission,” Bryson said, following a period of friendly conversation.

“Is it an actual mission or just something to waste our time?” Toshik said.

“It’s important,” Bryson said. “I’d say dangerous, too, but with the team that Vitio has proposed to carry it out, things should run smoothly.”

“And we’re the team?” Himitsu guessed.

Bryson nodded. “Including your dad and Fane.” Himitsu grinned. “I thought that’d please you,” Bryson said.

“I’ve never carried out a mission with my dad,” Himitsu said. “At least not from start to finish ... the uprising doesn’t count.”

“Well, here’s your chance.”

“What’s our objective?” Olivia asked.

“To infiltrate the Dev Kingdom, locate a secret cluster of teleplatforms, and then return as soon as possible. We shouldn’t be there for more than a few hours,” Bryson said.

“If they’re ‘secret,’ how do we know about them?” Toshik asked.

Bryson started to answer, but Himitsu raised his hand, requesting silence. Himitsu pulled out a folded parchment from his pocket and handed it to Toshik. “The information was in a letter from my mom. I received a falcon last night.” As the swordsman read through it, Himitsu said to Bryson, “I’m guessing you also got a letter.”

“No, but Vitio did. We must protect Flen so he can complete his own objective,” Bryson said, wanting to make this meeting quick. Shelly was waiting for him, and it would be a lengthy trek through the palace to get to her.

“Flen?” Himitsu repeated, a bewildered smile forming on his face. “What use is Flen, and why are we risking our lives for his safety? The guy doesn’t care about anything.”

“I don’t know much of him,” said Olivia, “but I must agree with Himitsu. He’s aloof and doesn’t seem well-versed in any particular skill—outside of wooing women.”

“Not much of a skill,” Vuilni stated, crossing her arms.

Bryson leaned forward. “I had the same reaction, but apparently the man is a more skilled weaver than either of his brothers. His personality can be underwhelming, but Vistas says his talent with Dev Energy is second to only a few.”

They all fell silent as Toshik handed the parchment back to Himitsu. “Well, if Vistas says so, then it must be true,” Himitsu said, stuffing the note back into his pocket.

“We need to protect him long enough for him to record the teleplatforms’ weaving pattern,” Bryson explained. “Flen’s objective is crucial to True Light’s success in this war. I can’t make this clear enough.”

“Where do these secret teleplatforms lead to?” Vuilni asked.

“Different locations scattered throughout Phelos.”

“That explains the uprising,” she muttered.

“And once Flen can build his own teleplatforms here matching those patterns, we’ll have a way of traveling into the heart of enemy territory undetected.”

Toshik shook his head. “So our purpose is to act as security guards for a hapless, unappreciative man?”

“I’m sure he appreciates it,” said Himitsu as he hopped off the table. “He’s the kind of guy who values his life more than anything in the world.”

Bryson gazed around the group. “Vitio will fill you in on how exactly we’ll enter the Dev Kingdom, but that’ll have to wait until he returns from the summit. I need to ...” Bryson trailed off as Toshik slipped off the table and left the library without a word.

“He’ll never be the same,” Vuilni said.

* * *

Bryson stood at the center of a circular room, taking a moment to observe the paintings lining the wall. His gaze landed on Shelly’s likeness—the next in line for the throne, and the only one painted with a smile. He smirked. The princess wasn’t coy with her smugness. She knew what kind of person she was, and she owned it. Bryson admired her for it.

A section of marble gave way underneath the pressure of his foot, initiating the platform he stood on to rise toward the ceiling. He looked up as the ceiling made way for his entry. As the platform connected with the floor of the room above, Shelly sat up in bed.

Wasting no time, Bryson sunk into the bedding and kissed her forehead.

“Give me the rundown from today,” she said.

“Ophala contacted a few people last night, and now we have a mission because of it.” Shelly’s eyes fell to her stomach, and Bryson added, “Nothing to worry about. I’ll have lots of support, and we’re not venturing into extreme depths.”

“I’m not worried about your support group or skill.”

Bryson’s face fell. “Oh.”

“I’m worried that this—” she gestured toward her stomach— “will be a distraction and cost you your life.”

Bryson paused, a hint of disgust creeping within. “My future child isn’t a distraction, Shelly. If anything, it’s motivation.”

“So you won’t be thinking about what’s happening here when you’re away?” she asked. As his face fell, she added, “Because I have news for you, Bryson; it’s likely you’re not going to be around a lot. You can’t visit me on a whim during your weekends off from school anymore. This past year we spent all of our time together, but that’s because you had no choice. If I or my father had allowed you freedom to do as you chose, you would’ve been out chasing Rhyparia and Olivia the moment you had the chance.”

She gazed into his eyes, deep enough to make his soul feel exposed. “How will you handle your uncertainty of happenings here?”

Bryson didn’t answer. He’d been ecstatic to see Shelly tonight after a long day of work. But she was raising disheartening truths that he had stifled until now.

“We know each other well, Bryson. While you know that I’m thinking I’ll be okay and you shouldn’t worry, I know that it’s all you’re going to do.”

His eyes fell to Shelly’s belly, the dread of anything bad happening to her or the baby crashing over him like a tidal wave.

“I love you,” she said softly. “And I just want to make sure that when you think of us, you let motivation consume the distraction, like you said.”