Author: PirateAba

10.30 GGMG - The Wandering Inn

If you have a copy of the audiobook already, all you have to do is delete and redownload it to get the 2nd edition! Huge praise to Andrea Parsneau for re-recording the story!)

“Who are you? Where do you come from? How…do you know my name?”

A trembling Gnoll asked the question, panting, his fur covered with blood, the certainty of death fading from his limbs. His name was Brunkr.

He was dead. In another world, he had died when Regrika Blackpaw murdered him for reasons that had never been clear. And his name had been forgotten by all those except the people who had known him. It had been invoked once for a famous group.

The Order of Solstice, the sweating [Knights] who stood in the aftermath of battle, adrenaline draining from their forms. They were all seasoned warriors; they were grimy, splashed with gore, but not shaking in the aftermath, not pale-faced or sick-at-heart.

That was what the [Princess] noticed, and the [Innkeeper]. Like adventurers, these…[Knights] with such a peculiar name for their order had seen battle before. It was in how calm they were and how fast they reset.

See the Drake sheathing one wand in a holster at his side, using the other to cast a cleansing spell to get blood off the half-Troll girl. The Human woman producing a cloth, cleaning her blade, and passing it to the Antinium.

An Antinium with a greatsword, a Soldier who spoke.

Oh yes. This truly was an unbelievable band. Fire still smoldered on their armor, but lightly. On the [Swashbuckler], Jewel, it was glints of pink flame that ran along her blade, illuminated her teeth as she grinned and punched the Antinium’s shoulder. A hint of grey flame in his eyes and on the tip of his wand as the Drake began walking around the room.

The scorched man with one eye still burned. Green flames ran over his armor, beautiful rather than hostile. They looked so unreal that a little Gnoll child reached out and touched them with a paw—before her mother snatched her back.

“Mrsha! Don’t! I’m so sorry—”

Lyonette, this world’s Lyonette, apologized for the girl, who clutched at her paw, but the [Knight] just shook his head. He’d put his helmet back on, but it made him seem oddly friendlier, as if being hatless was somehow the more unnatural state of being.

“It won’t hurt her. The flames of honor can’t hurt the innocent. Only those without it burn.”

He gestured to the steam and remains of what had been Nokha, now just an acid-pitted stain in the floorboards. Lyonette turned away, but Mrsha stared at the place in relief.

And so did the older girl, the one with the notecards, who was writing a reply to Brunkr. She stood with a golden sentinel at her side, a dignified woman with ash-dark hair, a proud nose, and impassive grey eyes that lingered on Lyonette, on Mrsha, and then on…

Erin Solstice.

The [Innkeeper] had arrived at a run, frying pan and acid jar in both hands, terrified for her family. Only to find these strangers had saved everyone. She was grateful, but perplexed by these seasoned warriors. She noted how they stared at her. Eyes lingering on her face, jerking away. It was clear they knew her. But for the life of her, she had never met…

“Um. Excuse me. Are you one of the Armored Antinium? Because I know Klbkch. Thank you for saving Lyonette, Mrsha, and Brunkr. Who—how’d you know what was going on?”

She addressed Antherr, who jerked slightly as he cleaned his blade. It was the only question Erin could think to say. He glanced at Mrsha, who was crafting a longer response for Brunkr.

“I am not Armored Antinium. I am one of the Free Antinium of Liscor. Antherr Twotwentyonethree Herodotus.”

“Wha—no way! Pawn didn’t say Soldiers could speak—or mention you guys had armor! Are you some kind of new Antinium?”

Jewel elbowed Antherr, but since he was wearing armor, it didn’t work. Antherr hesitated, and his gaze stole to Mrsha. The girl gave him a slow shrug of her shoulders.

She had warned them this would hurt. Killing the Raskghar was the easy part. Now, Antherr met that familiar [Innkeeper]’s eyes. And he thought she was so young.

Younger than any Erin he had ever known. More innocent? Perhaps not too much, but there was some quality the Erin he knew had. Age, in so many ways. Knowledge of her death. The weight of lives on her.

This Erin Solstice had not been at the Battle of Liscor. She had yet to witness the glory of the Horns of Hammerad. She had no flame of her own. No garden. She was young; just as Soldiers of his Hive were young, for all they were close to his age and fully grown.

It was so odd that Antherr felt protective of her. In lieu of any other answer, he jerked his head at the Raskghar.

“Our information was of this attack. There are surely more. Do we join in the defense, Grandmaster? Jewel?”

He turned to them, and Erin remembered.

“Th-the walls! Olesm’s guarding them, and we heard the howl! They’re in the water! It’s a full moon!”

She waved her arms around, and Normen glanced swiftly at Mrsha, then replied.

“I do not believe they are a current threat. To my understanding, after this attack, they will retreat to the dungeon with whatever Gnolls they captured. More are below. If we were to render aid, it would be to rescue them and attack the camp to rescue Ceria. If she was captured?”

He was unclear on the timeline of events. Erin’s eyes widened.

“Wh—Ceria? Captured?”

She looked around in horror, and the older white Gnoll girl paused in writing on her card and swiftly scribbled in the air.

We can’t solve everything, Normen. I’m not sure if they got Ceria. The Redfangs can find her better than we can with the help of the Cave Goblins. Plus, Facestealer is down there.

“Hm. We could try to kill it.”

Normen’s face grew serious, and the rest of the Order of Solstice shifted. Durene frowned.

“Isn’t that the super-undead that you said nearly killed everyone before it was trapped? How…tough is it?”

“Tough enough to survive multiple Named-ranks going after it. Saliss, Colth, Guildmistress Mihaela…and all the Gold-rankers too.”

“Ooh.”

Erin’s head swivelled uncomprehendingly as Jewel replied. None of this made sense. Lyonette clearly recognized some of the names. She went wide-eyed and whispered.

“Mihaela Godfrey? I know her. The Courier of Izril! And I think I know those other two—”

“Who? What? I have no idea what’s going—aah!”

Erin was distracted by a flash of light and jumped; she lifted her frying pan to throw, and Vess raised his wand.

“Sorry. Just doing the rounds.”

“What r—oh.”

The Drake was standing over a Raskghar, one of the ones not fully obliterated by the fighting. He’d just fired a ray of light straight through its head. As Erin watched, he walked over to the next one and shot it through the head.

Finishing them off conclusively. Erin felt a chill run down her spine, especially when no one, not even the girl, reacted. The [Innkeeper] glanced at the Drake, then at the cowering Goblins. And the Hobgoblin who stood there.

“And who’re you? A [Knight]?”

She looked up at the bearded Goblin, and he recoiled from her. His face was pale, as if he’d seen a ghost. The little Goblins stared up at him in awe and fear, but the [Bard] just rasped.

“Don’t you know me?”

Erin gave him a curious look. Know him? His face was familiar, but he…she pointed at his goatee.

“No Goblin I’ve ever met has a beard, buddy. It’s…nice? Also, is that a guitar on your back? And what’s with the sword?”

She was getting curious again, and Numbtongue was lost for words. He gazed at Mrsha, who handed the first card to Brunkr. Lyonette and young Mrsha edged over to read. Erin began to head over too when she heard a sound.

A whining. Vess’ circuit of the inn hadn’t been pointless after all. One of the Raskghar had indeed been playing dead. It had tried to roll away; it was bleeding from a dozen cuts from Jewel’s blade, and the sluggish red blood oozing down its fur made it slip as it tried to get up.

Vess planted a foot on its back and aimed his wand at its head.

“Stop! It’s a prisoner, just like the Goblins!”

Erin called out. She was staring at the Cave Goblins, and Vess glanced at her.

“It’s a Raskghar.”

He said that as if it meant something. Erin knew the name—she saw the wand glow. Vess’ eyes had that grey fire in them. A harsh light. Painful and sharp, like a razor.

Mercy. The gaze of someone who had received it, given it, and who knew when none should be offered at all. He adjusted his aim for the Raskghar’s head as it tried to shake his foot.

“Stop!”

Her voice rose, shrill, and he wavered. He eyed Normen, and the [Knight] nodded fractionally. Erin’s eyes widened as the Raskghar whimpered. Her foot struck the floorboards, and she shouted.

“I said stop!”

The inn shook. Vess went stumbling backwards as if someone had kicked him in the chest. He fell across a table and tried to rise—it was as if a gigantic, invisible hand were pressing him flat.

The [Innkeeper]’s aura. Untrained, wild, but there. He lay there, gasping, as the Knights of Solstice whirled. Erin gazed at Normen, hazel eyes ablaze. Not with fire, but indignation.

“It wants to live. Can’t you see that? That Raskghar’s intelligent.”

“The Raskghar came to kidnap Gnolls, Er—Miss Solstice. They devour their hearts to gain intelligence. They are monstrous.”

Normen responded quietly. Erin shook her head.

“I don’t care. You can’t just kill them like that. In a fight—don’t touch it. Healing potion. Here—”

She approached the Raskghar, who was staring up at her. Brunkr growled.

“Erin! It’s dangerous!”

“Then get me something to tie the Raskghar up with. Zevara will be here with the Watch shortly. You—either help me or get back.”

She waved a threatening pan at Normen and Antherr. The Antinium Soldier was calm as he hefted his greatsword.

“We should kill it.”

“This is my inn. Haven’t you read the s—no killing monsters. Not even this one. Besides, it might be able to tell us things.”

The [Innkeeper] snapped, and when Antherr stepped forwards, she swung a pan at him. He caught it with one hand easily, and Erin tried to protect the Raskghar with her body. She was glaring at Normen, and he—hesitated.

This was a scene he had never witnessed, but it was familiar. He lowered the acid-covered mace in one hand. Held out an arm.

“Antherr.”

“It will kill little Mrsha. We are not her [Knights], Grandmaster. There is no honor in killing the defenseless. But there is less in letting people die.”

Antherr was furious, but Normen interrupted him.

“Antherr. Look at her.”

They both regarded the [Innkeeper], and Antherr’s sword lowered in his hands. Erin Solstice didn’t realize what was going on until she felt a curious light feeling on her arms. On her hair.

“Erin. You’re on fire! Quick, water—water—”

Lyonette pointed and panicked, but no one else moved. Normen’s armor reflected a pale light, and Erin’s head swivelled.

“Wait. What? I am? What—”

Only when Jewel fumbled a mirror out of her belt pouch did Erin see it. It must have been on Vess and leapt to her. Like a flame finding a fuel source—she saw grey flames burning over her arms. On her hair.

The fire of mercy had found someone else to burn upon. And it was utterly fitting it had come to her, for it had been from Erin that it had first originated. For Raskghar.

Just as then, now. Antherr’s blade sheathed itself on his back, and he bowed his head. Then he stomped on the Raskghar’s leg as it tried to tense to run.

“So be it. The moment when two flames war with each other is not now.”

“W-what’s going on? It doesn’t hurt. Can I get it off?”

Erin was mildly panicking at being on fire, despite the [Knights] treating it like it was normal. For answer, Vess sat up.

“That’s mercy’s fire. It’s heavy, sometimes. Light, other times. It doesn’t burn you. It’s…your fire.”

“Wh—mine? Can I keep it? Does it get on things? Hey, it feels sorta sharp. Don’t touch this fire, Mrsha!”

The [Innkeeper] waved her arms around experimentally, gathering some onto her hand. She tried to smear it on a table, and then a bunch of [Guards] burst into the inn.

“Erin! Where’s—wha?”

Olesm and the Watch had appeared; Watch Captain Zevara saw Erin on fire and immediately tried to toss her water flask all over Erin. All of this, all of it—was just background noise to the quiet conversation going on between Mrsha and Brunkr. He was staring wide-eyed at the notecard she had written, then at her.

“Impossible.”

He gaped about the inn, and Dame Ushar spoke.

“Lady Mrsha. Do we pull back? We’ve set Erin Solstice aflame, and a Raskghar lives.”

The girl paused as Lyonette’s head turned towards her. Mrsha, the real Mrsha, nodded at herself and her mother and wrote.

So be it, Ushar. All of it. In this world, a Raskghar lives. May it change things for the better. Let her keep the fire. I will tell the Redfang Five about the dungeon and warn Zevara about Facestealer and the dungeon and Raskghar. That is all we can do. The person we came here for is Brunkr.

She paused—and her eyes flicked around the inn. They settled on Numbtongue with sympathy.

There are others whom it might be painful to meet. It is up to everyone if they wish to stay. I will explain. Can you help with the chaos? The Erin chaos? She’ll make it worse.

Ushar nodded. The Thronebearer focused, then stepped over to tap Ama on the shoulder.

“Miss Ama, I charge you and Vess with heading to Liscor. Ser Normen will stay here with Antherr and Jewel to explain matters. Durene will guard the prisoner Raskghar and Cave Goblins, just in case.”

She ignored Numbtongue on the virtues he wasn’t the most reliable and he appeared well and truly rattled. Normen glanced over as Ama began to heartily complain.

“You don’t give us orders! And I’m tired, and Silias could use some new bones. Raskghar bones…”

She pointed at her beloved cat, who was unnerving the [Guards], but Ushar was now in her element. The Thronebearer whispered to Normen and Ama.

“With your permission, Grandmaster?”

“Why send them into Liscor?”

Normen was curious. For answer, Ushar gestured to Ama’s hands and made a cupping gesture. The [Necromancer] held them out, and Ushar began to pour gold coins into them out of her bag of holding. The [Necromancer]’s eyes went round. Ushar pointedly indicated Brunkr, sipping a healing potion as he read Mrsha’s cards, Erin, who was doling out potions to the Goblins—even offering one to a surprised Durene, who refused, despite having a few scratches on her arms.

Because Durene didn’t have more than…one…emergency healing potion. Because in her time—

Ushar pointedly tapped the emergency potion on her flask.

“Buy every single healing potion you can and all the Eir Gel.”

Ama’s eyes went round. She hesitated, then threw a salute and stuffed the gold into her bag of holding. Normen’s brows rose, and he gave Ushar a respectful nod.

“Do it, Ama. How much gold do we have…?”

“We can send someone back for more. The inn has more than enough for purchases of this kind. Asgra has eight thousand gold pieces in her room. She made a fort of them.”

Ama went striding over to Vess, and Ushar returned her focus to Mrsha. The girl was peering up at Brunkr, and he was blinking. Shaking his head, glancing around. Erin and Lyonette came over, and Mrsha took a deep breath.

Background noise. All of it. Even…Erin.

Erin. A younger her. They could change the future. Talk to a younger version of Erin.

Here they were. Mrsha’s quill scratched on a card. There was nothing for her to learn here, except from Brunkr. Numbtongue was shivering. Staring at something. The shivering got worse; five Goblins were coming at a run. For their beloved inn. Ghosts whispered around him.

He had something to learn from them, perhaps. She from Brunkr.

Nothing else in this world would surprise her.

The girl’s eyes bored into the Gnoll [Knight]’s face. [Fatebreaker].

Brunkr was shaking. He asked—

“Why me? Why me?”

To which she replied:

Not just you. You’re just one of the first. We have come for everyone. Everything.

They were, in their way, coming as great thieves. And so at least a few of them prepared themselves as such.

The Goblins, that was.

Student Rags, Chieftain Rags, Redscar, Rianchi, and Dyeda. They were the group who entered the second world—the one of the future—and the rest of the tribe had objected. Vociferously, of course.

“Chieftain, take me! You need a protector!”

“No, me! Shineshield’s shield is broken.”

“You can’t trust just Redscar! He only cut one third of falling rock! Take at least…sixteen of us, and Somo! She big.”

“Yeah! You only have two fighters! Other Rags and Redscar! Rianchi and Dyeda is suck at fighting. Especially Rianchi—”

Both Ragses had refused to accept anyone else. Chieftain Rags had glowered at her bodyguard.

“Redscar is the only fighter we need. I need a small group who doesn’t attract attention.”

Student Rags nodded authoratatively.

“Plus, we’re not going there to fight, and your elocution will give us all away. No offense. Dyeda and Rianchi speak the best. And the number of illusion artifacts we have is limited.”

In fact, Chieftain Rags had her [Guise of Neutrality] Skill, but it worked on members of her tribe. Student Rags was not a member of the Flooded Waters tribe in her world or this, at least not in the ways the Skill counted, so they were reliant on artifacts. Frankly, it might be the better bet anyways; Student Rags had pointed out several Skills hard-countered [Guise of Neutrality] and that would be a problem if it occurred.

Dyeda and Rianchi reverentially accepted the rings which made them look like Humans, and Rianchi felt at his nose as he became a pale-skinned, somewhat pudgy and short Human man. Dyeda’s skin turned brown and grew an inch, cackling at him.

“You look so stupid!”

“Not my fault! I want a different ring, Chieftain—”

He began to protest, got a look from Redscar, and shuffled his feet. Dyeda checked her bag of holding; she’d run around the inn grabbing stuff once she knew she was going on a trip, and then they passed through the door.

Into the future.

They were coming as thieves. Thieves—of whatever they could steal, obviously, if it was useful, but of ideas more than anything else. Student Rags was of the opinion Goblins were endless thieves because they had to be; they stole to live, and what they stole most was ideas from other people. Bits of their culture. Goblins molded themselves to the environments they grew up in.

She’d written an essay on the subject for class, comparing the natural adaptation of Goblins to that of Fraerlings, who likewise were highly dependent on the environments they ended up in.

Chieftain Rags gave Student Rags one of her patented blank stares that seemed aggressive while Rianchi and Dyeda followed Resdcar through the door, using the root to climb through.

“You write essays?”

“Yeah. It’s not like regular writing; it’s very structured. Also, you get graded. It’s…fun! People complain all the time about it, but it sure beats starving.”

“Huh. And what did you get on your essay?”

Student Rags shuffled her feet and stared down at her sneakers. Chieftain Rags began grinning, and the [Student] lifted her claws defensively.

“Look, Professor Molthe graded it, and he’s notorious about—and they use a grading system so that no one ever gets an ‘A’. ‘A-’ is great, you know.”

“So you got that?”

“…I got a ‘C+’. Apparently, I should have written about Drowned Folk or Gnolls instead of Fraerlings because I couldn’t substantiate any of my research about them. And that was with me getting a pass on not citing anything on Goblin culture.”

The two Ragses grabbed the root, and the older one, Chieftain Rags, turned to the younger.

“So is it fun?”

“It’s fun to fail and not get punished in bigger ways when you don’t succeed.”

Then they stepped forwards, the invisible barrier to the door passing over their skin like a bubble of reality, pulling them back. The root was the invisible thread that formed a gap in reality, the magical needle piercing the veil. They had to step forwards and felt that infinite straining on their consciousness, the pressure as light as a feather and as intense as the laws of the universe trying to hold them back—

Then they stumbled, Student Rags catching herself on Chieftain Rags’ armored shoulder, and they were in an inn.

A familiar inn.

An older inn.

It was dark. Even when Student Rags lit a [Light] spell in the palm of her hand, the inn seemed shadowed. It was age, they realized. Everything was just distinctly older.

Chairs had developed a dullness to their varnish, there were scuff marks on the floors. The shutters didn’t help; it was daylight outside, probably even early morning, but it was near-complete darkness only broken by a few patches of light filtering through the shutters.

The inn felt…dead. Most of the tables had the chairs standing up on top of them, legs raised into the air so you could sweep under the tables with ease. Only a few had chairs on the ground, and it was not dusty. Even so, Student Rags’ first reaction was to shudder.

“Dead gods. This place feels—”

“The Wandering Inn. Ten years without Erin. That’s this door, right?”

Redscar had a hand on his sword hilt. He looked like a Gnoll, short, but wild-furred, dark brown, with Plain Gnoll gear that fit him to a tee. The two Ragses were both young Drakes, one red-scaled, the other blue. They all gazed about, and Chieftain Rags answered.

“Yes. Rianchi, where’s the other Mrsha? We didn’t see her…”

“Dunno. She kicked me down, asked me what was going on, then let me go. She pretty good at fighting, Chieftain.”

Rianchi rubbed his stomach at the memory. Redscar snorted.

“Little Mrsha? We’ll see.”

He was the least-affected by the inn, possibly because he had known Erin Solstice the least. Dyeda and Rianchi stood together as the two Ragses just peered around. Student Rags ran a finger along a table.

“Everything’s worn down. No one’s revarnished the chairs. Someone sweeps for dust, but that’s it. At this time of day, I’d expect the inn to have some customers. It must be mostly abandoned. I wonder…”

She concentrated, closed her eyes, and the light in the room increased. The others whirled, and the [Chieftain] exhaled.

The [Garden of Sanctuary] was there. As if nothing had—no.

Even the [Garden of Sanctuary] had changed. The light spilling from it was bright, bringing life to the inn, the familiar scent of nature. But even here—Dyeda caught her breath, and her heart began to ache. Ache and ache, and she regretted coming with Rags. The [Tattooist] whispered.

“Oh. It’s overgrown.”

Tall grass ran up to Chieftain Rags’ waist. Grass, after all, could grow until the vaguely wheat-like stalks with seeds on the end formed, depending on the kind. This grass was indeed so tall it had reached the end of its life-cycle; yellow, wizened stalks intermingled with green, and the Goblins halted at the door to the [Garden].

It was everywhere, filling the garden. They could see the hill, but even the jungle biome looked—off. And the arid area was filled with grass too. Only a single path had been cut through the grass; trampled plant matter leading in a straight line up the hill, and then to the one with mists.

“No one’s used this place for a long time, either. I wonder why they stopped?”

Student Rags. They had to get their own names because thinking of her as ‘Student Rags’ was getting tiring for Chieftain Rags…the Goblin suddenly realized she was nervous.

“Perhaps it was too sad.”

That was her only comment. She hesitated. She didn’t need to enter this place. She knew what she’d find; Rianchi had told her. Mrsha had labeled the door.

But she had to at the same time. Slowly, oh so slowly, Rags stepped into the garden, boots crunching on the detritus underneath. It smelled different. Again—wrong. Not unpleasant, just wrong.

“Chieftain—”

Redscar tried to go ahead of her, and she blocked him.

“Nothing can harm me here, Redscar. Let me.”

Slowly, she walked forwards, glancing around. The more she walked, the more she understood the nature of this world.

Sorrow and time. Not great despair…those years had passed. The world had moved on. And without Erin Solstice, things had changed.

Grass filled every part of the garden. Pale blue, wintery grass in the cold area. Dry yellow grass in the arid biome. Even the pond had been filled with a choking tumbleweed of vines. The hill? Yellow, ordinary flowers of every kind. Rags bent to inspect them, but these were no Faerie Flowers. She raised her head and saw the jungle at the far end of the [Garden of Sanctuary] was likewise overgrown. A sprawling mess of trees and vegetation so thick even Redscar would have trouble clearing it with his sword.

“Dead gods. Why did it grow like this? Erin’s garden in our world isn’t this bad.”

Student Rags whispered to Chieftain Rags. The other Goblin replied, softly.

“Maybe it has to be kept from doing this. If the owner passes, it’s like the one with the snow. It overflows.”

Their voices were hushed, and the two gazed up at the only place not engulfed by grass; the trail of smashed vegetation led up to that hill of mists. They wavered, and Student Rags gulped.

“I don’t want to go up there, Crags.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Crags. That’s your name. Chieftain Rags. I’ll be Srags.”

Chieftain Rags didn’t bother to consider the name.

She knew the other Rags was trying to be funny. But she couldn’t, so the Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe ascended that hill as she had once before.

Déjà vu. It was as hard as last time, somehow. As she rose higher, Chieftain Rags saw something new. She pointed it out.

“Look. There. A hive.”

A beehive made of wax. It was massive; the jungle had half-overgrown it, plants piercing the walls, but the [Student] rubbed her eyes.

“Dead gods. Did Apista do that? How long—?”

“Ten years. Is she still there? Apista? Do bees live…?”

The two regarded each other in mute understanding as they realized the bee would never allow plants to ruin her hive like that. Student Rags closed her eyes and put her hand over her heart.

“Oh. That’s sad. I don’t know if I can do this, Rags.”

“I do. Come on.”

The [Chieftain] forced herself to walk up that hill. The mists weren’t that strong, she realized. She thought she saw familiar statues in them…but when she looked, they always seemed to be out of sight. Even here—something was wrong.

There was only one thing at the top of the hill lying amidst the grass. The bier, covered in frost. But again—the two Goblins halted, because it was wrong.

“Aspat. What is this?”

The [Chieftain]’s turn to be rattled. Her head craned up, and the [Student] rubbed at her eyes. For what they found was indeed the bier, the body, lying there. But the first thing they saw was the shrine.

It was overflowing with objects. The tributes that had littered the ground they knew full well—the doll, the letters, the flowers—had been added to. Year after year, piling up until they endangered the bier itself. So someone had taken a table, at first, and then realized how many of them there were. So they’d driven deep staves of wood into the ground and created a kind of altar. A half-domed roof—and it was filled.

There was even an attempt at organization. Flowers were placed together in such profusion that they lay, forever preserved, glittering with frost, at the foot of the bier. Dolls, toys, lay against the far side. Letters had been placed in a pile so large it was taller than the bier there—but what was inside the shrine was a mystery. One both Ragses tried to figure out.

“Helmets. Swords. Even coins. Look at all this, Rags. It’s…this is more like a mausoleum. There are holes in some of these helmets. Wait—that’s blood. Green blood.”

One of them inspected the shrine as the other bent over other tokens. Her clawed hand traced over an amulet and jumped away; the magic in it shocked her. She frowned.

“This is…Khelt’s symbol. I would know it anywhere. And this one’s from Drath. It has their language on it, I think. They’re magical. This—this is treasure. Adventurer’s loot?”

“Brought back to help her, maybe. None of it’s Relic-class. Here’re shields. A…cross necklace? Wait, this is a—Rags. Look.”

The other turned, and one of them held up a necklace in a shaking hand. It wasn’t a cross attached to it. Rather…it was a tiny little icon engraved in stone. A half-open door. The [Garden of Sanctuary], both would have bet.

“A symbol of Erin?”

“There’s more. This is a—a shrine dedicated to her. These weapons. This armor. I think—I think they’re mementos, Rags. Of the dead.”

A chill ran down the [Chieftain]’s back as she saw the mentioned helmet. There was a hole near the top; the helmet was oddly sized, too, with two gaps in the top. Not the same as the gash torn into it. These were drilled holes for an…Antinium head.

Mementos of people who had died. But why here? She had a terrible feeling.

“I think—these are from those who died trying to save her. And these? These are artifacts they found. Someone found. There’s even Goblin magic in here. [Shaman] magic.”

Ten years of attempts. Ten years of failures. The edifice of all this effort, all the intensity of the passion here, so many objects, rattled both Goblins more than any other piece of architecture they had seen, save perhaps the Dragonthrone of the Dragonlord of Flames. This place spoke of people. Thousands of people who had all come here.

All to see her.

—She was exactly like Rags remembered. One of them. The other had been averting her gaze, but now she was forced to look and see the Human.

She was still smiling. That was what the [Chieftain] noticed. A layer of frost still covered her—but her clothing was torn. Cut away; she bent to inspect the crossbow bolts and saw they’d been removed.

Erin looked worse. Someone must have tried to cure her. There was a kind of…degradation to her visible flesh. Like the inn. Not any noticeable…rotting…but a sense of slow entropy.

That was what the [Chieftain], who had seen this before, observed with the analytical part of her mind. She forced herself to look at this like a detective from the past. Because if she focused on the face…

“Rags. She’s still alive; she must be technically or we couldn’t get in here. I wonder if she’s slowly…passing away, though. Even frozen, even with a [Field of Preservation], do you think she can last here forever? Rags?”

She heard no response from the normally talkative [Student]. The [Chieftain] turned her head and saw Student Rags was on her knees.

“Oh. I—I—”

The other Goblin’s face was drained of blood. Her mouth was slightly open, and she just seemed shocked. Not sad. Not hurt. Just startled. She tried to get up, then nearly fell on her face. As if she couldn’t remember falling down. She put a hand on the bier, and then it leapt away. The [Chieftain] watched her until it clicked.

Oh. This Rags never had her Erin die. Even if she knew it was true—the [Student] was breathing hard. Hyperventilating.

“She really is…she really can die, can’t she? I knew she was Human. I know mine is…but I forgot. Yours died? I got it, but I didn’t…this really is the—the—the—”

She tried to stand without touching the bier. She had tears in her eyes. Student Rags clutched at her stomach. The Goblin was trying to play it cool and knew she was failing. She offered her counterpart a smile.

“I’m fine. Looks like I’m weaker than you. I—ha. Hahahaha. H—”

The other Rags took her by the shoulder and turned her away. Her touch was shockingly gentle.

“Don’t look.”

“No, I’m okay. I knew it happened. I can—”

The older Rags pushed her junior away, down the hill.

“Don’t look. You don’t have to. There’s nothing to win or lose. This is how it was. Yours is alive. Keep her that way.”

The [Student] began to protest. She glanced over her shoulder, then into the older [Chieftain]’s eyes. And then…the two of them saw the true difference between them. The younger Rags stood there. She gazed back—then turned and began running. She tripped halfway down the hill and went crashing downwards. There were shouts of alarm from Rianchi and Dyeda.

The [Student] never made a sound. She was crying.

The [Chieftain] stood there, then came back before the bier. She stood there a moment and whispered.

“Hello, Erin. You’re not my Erin. But I’m back again. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can help you. Maybe I can tell this world how it was done. But I didn’t come for you.”

Her claws traced patterns on the frosted stone. Rags bent her head over the bier.

“I swear I’ll help you in my world. I shall make that sign outside your inn true one day. Wish me luck.”

She turned away abruptly. The [Chieftain] hesitated—then bent down. She pulled something off her belt; she tossed down her left-handed gauntlet on the pile of objects. Then she picked up one of the amulets, the most powerful of the ones lying there. It shone with magic as she put it around her neck. She felt dizzy, like someone had kicked her in the chest with a jolt of energy, as she put it on.

Then Rags walked down the hill to join the others. She knew the rules about trying artifacts you didn’t know, but these had been meant for Erin. Besides, at that moment, she wouldn’t have cared if the amulet had turned her into a toad.

They were indeed in a different world. Rianchi kept rubbing at one eye, but he hadn’t gone above. Student Rags was sitting at a table, pale-faced, wiping her tears away. Rianchi didn’t want to cry today, and he hadn’t known Erin that well. So he had left the garden and stared out the windows.

“Weird.”

Dyeda gave Rianchi a warning look as she hovered around Student Rags with a glass of something. But he didn’t mean Student Rags.

“Hey, Sagra. Here. I found it in the kitchen. Nice drink.”

“What did you call me? Sagra? That’s pretty good. But we already have an Asgra.”

“How about…Studie? Sara? Sraggy?”

“Uh…we’ll work on it. But your Chieftain is definitely now ‘Crags’.”

Dyeda laughed, and Student Rags sipped from the drink and eyed the amber-colored liquid.

“Wait a second, this is weird. It’s all…is this good?”

“I thought so. Is weird, right? Tastes like fruit, but it’s all…sharp-y. On your tongue. I found it in the kitchen. There’s an enchanted box.”

“Show me?”

They got up and vanished. Rianchi kept staring out the windows as he heard exclamations—then they came out with more drinks and cups. Dyeda handed Rianchi one of the drinks, and it was cold. He sipped at it cautiously as she explained.

“There’s a weird…box in there. Full of food. And drinks!”

“That’s called a cupboard, dear.”

She poked him hard.

“No, a separate box-thing. Not part of the cupboards! It’s cool in there and super cold in the top part! Try the drink!”

“Eugh! What this?”

At first, Rianchi had the same reaction as Student Rags. The liquid stung his tongue. It didn’t hurt; he took another cautious sip, and Dyeda snapped her claws.

“It all…what that word for alchemical drinks?”

“Fizzy?”

“Yes, fizzy! Like the weird stuff we sometimes get. Little bubbly stuff in it. Very nice. I like it.”

“I don’t. Here.”

He handed it back to her, then gestured out the window as Redscar came downstairs.

“Chieftain’s on her way. Inn’s empty. Only a few rooms are used. Lyonette’s. Mrsha’s. A few guest rooms—all of them are made up and fresh.”

Student Rags nodded as she sipped from her cup.

“They’re expecting company. The larder’s stocked up. And they have a lot of weird food in there. Turns out I’m drinking ‘kombucha’. It’s all labeled.”

Redscar wrinkled up his nose, not impressed. He took a drink from Dyeda’s cup and spat it on the floor.

“Yuck. How weird?”

“Weirdly packaged, I mean. It’s covered in this…film. It’s not magical. Take a look. What are you staring at, Rianchi?”

“…Everything. Very strange, Chieftain—Student Rags. You, uh, looked out the window?”

Everyone turned to him as Chieftain Rags emerged from the door. They crowded to the window, and their first view of the Floodplains of Liscor didn’t disappoint. Dyeda’s mouth opened. Student Rags spat kombucha out of her mouth, and Redscar grunted. Chieftain Rags just sighed, almost happily.

From The Wandering Inn, they could see the mountains. The familiar High Passes and the Floodplains of Izril, those rolling hills of grass, which in the summer were mostly green. Growing verdant under the bright, blue sky.

That was familiar. Everything else was not.

“Look! Look! That’s a city!”

“A city built into the mountains. Yes.”

Straight across from the inn, there was a city on the side of the mountain. It was small, but light was playing off the glass in the distance. Rianchi’s eyes were locked onto it, but he pointed places out to the other Goblins.

“See there? And there. Those are watchtowers, I think. Villages there. Big ones. That a town over there. And that—”

The [Chieftain] grunted softly.

“Looks like a castle or fort of some kind. That’s…north. Esthelm. And Liscor?”

They had to go to another window to see the city, and when they did, every Goblin craned their heads back. Dyeda whispered, suddenly nervous.

“…The city’s gotten closer. How, uh—how high are those walls?”

Student Rags did a quick calculation.

“They were thirty feet. So that’s…eighty. Dead gods. Wait. It’s not vertical either. That’s a…a talus wall? That’s crazy!”

Rianchi squinted, and he realized that Student Rags was right. The walls that literally kept The Wandering Inn in shade were actually slanted. Not so much that you could just run up the sides, but there was a definite gradient to them that made them even wider.

“Slanty walls? Why do that? I could ride up them with Thunderfur or the right [Riders].”

Redscar wasn’t impressed. Student Rags shook her head.

“I’ve heard they’re useful—they’re better against siege weapons, and it’s harder to sap them because of how they’re built. Also, a siege tower won’t work on them the same way. But Liscor doesn’t have that issue because no one sieges it!”

The other three Goblins exchanged glances, and the [Chieftain] replied.

“Not in your world. Looks like the times have changed. It’s enormous.”

She craned her head, and Rianchi guessed Liscor was easily twice, maybe three times the size it had used to be. Unlike the square box it had been before, it had expanded in every direction, abandoning the perfect geometric shape. The city seemed to pass to the right and left of the inn, and he wondered if it had actually curved around The Wandering Inn.

There was nothing for it but to see, but this one change had taken everyone’s breath away and left even the normally indefatigable Redscar wary.

This—really was another time. Student Rags had noticed Chieftain Rags’ new amulet.

“What—did you take that from her grave?”

“Yep.”

“You can’t do that.”

The [Student] reached for the amulet, and the [Chieftain] batted her hands away.

“She doesn’t need it. We’re going out there. Liscor first, then—well, we’ll see. Though I want to find Mrsha first. She’s probably in Liscor. We could check back later for her, right?”

“Are we safe just going to Liscor, Chieftain?”

Rianchi licked his lips, and Chieftain Rags tilted her head.

“Why not? Did Mrsha say otherwise?”

“She said I shouldn’t be here—yet. She said it’s her birthday, but she said it like—it was dangerous for me to be around.”

Rianchi licked his lips, and his [Chieftain] tapped her ring.

“So we keep illusions up. We could split it up. Someone waits here for Mrsha, the rest go out?”

She looked quizzically at Student Rags, who had regained some of her spark.

“You’re not stopping me. Let’s get out there. But what about our cover stories?”

“We’re travellers.”

“Right, but I think if I said I’m from Baleros and you’re my cousin, how do we explain Redscar, who’s a Gnoll? What if he’s an acquaintance we know—no, wait. He’s your lover—he’s my bodyguard, and Rianchi and Dyeda are both [Traders] who work with you in your business. Which is the monster parts trade. And you came here on business to—”

Even with illusions, you could tell the two Ragses apart based on who talked more. Chieftain Rags was scowling and opening her mouth to argue when everyone heard a sound at the door.

Knock knock.

It was faint, coming from the main door, but the inn was so quiet except for them they all went silent. There was a pause—then someone thrust the door open and called out.

A female voice, flustered and panting.

“Mrsha? I’m here! Sorry it took a second—portal traffic is hell today. Some bigshot’s coming, and they closed an entire lane for her. Mrsha? Are you here? Miss Lyonette? Hello? It’s me, Visma!”

A Drake entered the inn. She came in warily, even reverentially, with that solemnity of someone visiting a grave. Her scales were pearly-white green, speckled with darker patches, and she had on strange clothing.

It was like Student Rags: bright cloth with strong dyes that gave it that look that often set Earthers apart. However, Visma’s clothing was noticeably different; she had on what seemed like dress pants in dark blue, a formal button-up shirt in a lighter variant of the color, and a light jacket that was the same color as the rest of her clothing. It had bright yellow writing on the arm that read:

Pallass News Network, Channel 2.

There was even a logo underneath, though the object that was depicted was so foreign that none of the Goblins understood it. The young woman called cautiously into the inn as she walked forwards.

“Mrsha? Anyone here?”

Visma. Eighteen years old, her first day on the job. She’d polished and had cut her neck spines, her scales were buffed, and she was a bit stressed since she’d just had to run off from her job on this hairbrained…

Well. Mrsha had said she’d not be here, but Visma had expected someone. Lyonette must have been out, which wasn’t surprising, but were the mystery guests here? Visma swore she’d heard something—but the inn was empty.

“Wow. It’s really not changed.”

She hadn’t been here in…a few months. Mrsha usually visited her if she wasn’t religiously training. Visma searched around, shivering as she thought of the garden—she didn’t have the guts for that.

“I should pay my respects. Later. I wonder if there’s anything in the fridge?”

She wandered towards the kitchen, pausing to flick a light switch, then remembered the inn didn’t even have electricity. Crazy. Visma sighed and pulled something out.

“Let me see. Light. Light…aha!”

The Drake tapped a ring, and a glowing band of symbols appeared. She began to tap icons until she got the right one. The ring instantly produced an orb of [Light], and Visma glanced around. She noticed a half-empty cup of kombucha on the table.

“Huh. Well…”

She decided to get her own cup of something to drink, then settled back on a chair. Sighing, upset, but resolving not to bother Mrsha about it—this was a big day—Visma touched her ring again, then activated a spell. A little screen popped up, and Visma began watching an image of Drassi.

“—and in other news today, Jungle Tails has issued another ultimatum to the Empire of Rhir, raising tensions between the two world powers. We go live now to an interview with the Dragontouched, General Mazrim Xelchutec—apologies if I’m getting that wrong—where he commented on the possibility of coexistence with Rhir on the continent.”

Visma kept watching, sipping her drink and sighing every now and then, glancing around the inn as she scratched at the back of her head. What was she supposed to do now? Wait, she supposed.

Who was she waiting for?

Five Goblins crouched outside the inn, peeking at Visma through the windows. Chieftain Rags mouthed at the others as they used the sign language inherent to their species to mostly get their points across.

That’s Visma?

No one had any idea who that was, except for Chieftain Rags, who had a vague recollection of the little, bratty hatchling running around with Ekirra and Mrsha. She knew it shouldn’t be a shock, but it was.

Visma appeared, well, completely unique. And her ring! Was that a multi-function enchantment? A scrying spell that popped up from the ring?

She needed one of those. Rags pointed, and the Goblins crept away from the inn. Only when they were heading down the hill, towards the huge city beyond, did one speak.

“This crazy.”

Rianchi was gaping around and up at the city walls. There was actually a gate facing The Wandering Inn; huge double doors of metal were open, and they could see some people beyond.

In fact…Student Rags was staring at the slanted talus wall, which did indeed roll around until it went out of sight; she could make out people on patrol on the walls.

Antinium; she definitely saw them, but she also saw emplaced ballistae and guard towers rising upwards. Serious defenses.

It was Dyeda who brought her attention lower.

“Look! That—look! Rianchi, that’s someone on a bike like yours!”

Someone came riding out of the city on a bicycle, and Rianchi’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“It is a bike!”

There were paths around Liscor, from the walls, and one of them seemed to circle the city. A Drake came biking out, and all the Goblins saw the bike he was on was much like Rianchi’s. They had no commentary on it, but Rianchi did.

“Looks…wait, it’s not like mine. That’s a road bike. See how the tires are thinner? It’s longer. Oh—oh! They have a tail rest for the Drake so his tail doesn’t get caught! Smart!”

There was in fact a back ‘seat’ that the Drake’s tail was lying on that would prevent him from tangling his tail in the wheel. It was small, but to Rianchi, it was so logical. He got his own bicycle at once and would have cycled down there but for Chieftain Rags snapping at him.

“Rianchi! Stay together!”

“Sorry.”

Chastened, he abandoned the idea, but Student Rags pushed back.

“Why not let him bike over? It’s natural, Chiefie. We can’t stick together all the time if we want to get intelligence.”

“Don’t call me that. I can go by myself, but Redscar goes with one of us at all times. Dyeda and Rianchi stick with us until we know what’s going on.”

They bickered as they headed down the hill towards the gates. Rianchi and Dyeda kept back, whispering to each other as Redscar strolled along.

“Hey, Dyeda, what is our job?”

“I don’t know. We’re here to, uh, find stuff? I guess the two Ragses took us because we know the most about the other worlds. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I can do that. What’s Redscar here for?”

They glanced at Redscar, and the Goblin [Blademaster] picked at his teeth.

“To stab anything that tries to kill the Chieftain. Or you two if you cause trouble.”

“Hah! Good one!”

Dyeda grinned at him, and he stared blandly back at her. She edged behind Rianchi, and she gave the [Blademaster] a weak grin.

Best behavior.

The problem was—and you hated to admit it—neither Rags knew what was going on. They were doing their best, but Rianchi had observed more of Chieftain Rags than most Flooded Waters Goblins, and he could tell when she was out of her depth.

This world in the future was out of everyone’s depths, to be fair. But the first real indication they were completely underwater came at the gates.

It wasn’t the first time that either Rags or Redscar had snuck into a city before. With the blackmarket illusion spells and her Skill, even Goblins like Fightipilota had walked into big cities like Nombernaught and gotten a taste of what it was like to be a ‘real person’.

However, Dyeda and Rianchi weren’t so important, so they were super stressed when they came to the gates. They copied their leaders, who halted at the gates…and gazed around.

“Uh. Where are the guards?”

Student Rags, whom Rianchi and Dyeda were still working on a nickname for, searched around. Chief Rags—no, that wasn’t good—frowned.

They stood there awkwardly as a few more people exited the city. One Human, two Gnolls, and then a Drake. The Gnolls passed by, arguing loudly.

“No, you cannot buy another ring.”

“Mine’s outdated.”

“They come out with another version every year. This is a scam, no? First it was the w-Ring, then it’s the w-Ring 5.0. Now you want—say it again.”

“…I want an s-Ring 2.0 with Orichalcum enchanting.”

“Doesn’t that sound stupid? Do you hear yourself? There’s not even real Orichalcum in the ring, is there?”

“Shut up, Mom. You don’t get it! Everyone has it. I can’t talk to them or call them without it.”

“Your old ring does it just fine. You know, when I was your age, we didn’t h…dead gods. I’m old.”

Dyeda and Rianchi stared at the mother and son as they tried to work out what had been even said there. They exchanged looks, and Rianchi whispered.

“What’s a s-ring?”

“Must be what Visma had. I want one.”

“Yes, dear.”

They giggled until they saw the two Gnolls turn and the son nudge his mother, who gave them an exasperated look. They forgot how good Gnollish hearing was. Chastened, they turned to the Ragses, hoping they wouldn’t get in trouble.

…None of the three Goblins had heard them. They were peeking around with actual concern now, such that the Drake who came strolling out of the city stopped.

“You folks waiting for someone?”

Young Rags jumped, then gave him a breezy smile. And a pair of finger-guns.

“What? Uh—no. We’re great! Having a good time visiting Liscor. My cousin and I. Just waiting on the Watch. Why? How are you?”

The Drake stared at the finger-guns. He stared at Student Rags. Then he snorted.

“Watch? Why?”

“Uh, to enter the gates?”

A longer, blanker expression, and the Drake jerked a thumb at Liscor’s entrance with a half-smile.

“Oh. You must be new. That’s inside the city. Just walk straight through the arches. No way in except for that. Enjoy your visit!”

He walked off, chuckling to himself, and Student Rags called after him.

“Thanks! It is our first visit!”

Boss Rags covered her face with one claw as the Drake walked off. She, other Rags, and Redscar glanced accusatorially at Dyeda and Rianchi, as if checking to see whether their mistake had been caught.

Rianchi was suddenly very interested in the handlebars of his bike, and Dyeda was admiring the doors to the city. They didn’t like this—Chief Rags cleared her throat.

“Obviously things have changed. Just go naturally. You first, Student Rags. Rianchi, Dyeda, catch up to us.”

“Right. Each city’s different. Redscar? How’s it look to you?”

“Big walls. Hard to take. Hundreds of thousands of people live here. I’m hungry.”

They walked through the gates, and Rianchi and Dyeda followed. The two craned their heads as they passed through the familiar gates—but then through a tunnel of stone.

The walls were so thick there was an entire corridor leading into the city! The tunnel had a second gate at the far end, and Rianchi whispered.

“Looks like trap spells here. Anyone comes in—they don’t come out. Also two gates in case of leaky water. Cool.”

She rolled her eyes; oddly defensive of the Liscor she knew despite having no real connection to it. But the words caught in her throat as they passed through the gates and saw the Liscor of the future.

It was, as they had seen from the outside, bigger horizontally by at least a factor of two. The same went for the inside. Everything in Liscor was taller.

Gone were the apartments and buildings which could only reach up to just thirty feet at most due to building codes. The new walls allowed for eighty feet-high buildings, and some were taller than even that. But the first thing the two Goblins saw were the colors.

Everything was so bright. Painted stone, bright glasswork, and multi-floor buildings with slanted, stone pagoda roofs rose upwards from a market, a profusion of delights for the eyes at the entrance of the city. Hung lanterns made out of what appeared to be silk—spider silk?—warred for space overhead with flying Ashfire Bee paper lanterns.

And there were dangling charms everywhere. Hanging from the corners of the roofs, off of handbags, from stalls, there were bits of stone, pieces of magic enchanted into jewelry—usually tied to an object with a piece of red or yellow or colored string, dancing in the breeze.

Trees lined the market street, tall and grey, with long limbs and growing fruits that turned from dark yellow or orange to a ripe blue. Blue fruit trees! There were warning signs around them that showed in pictures not to eat the fruits’ insides, and a walkway extended towards one of the huge towers that had to have at least eighteen floors!

Dyeda and Rianchi were breathless. They gazed out and smelled the city next. That wasn’t bad either; it smelled like oil—not burnt oil, but the kind you used in cooking—the fruity smell of blue fruits, and a dozen different spices or floral fragrances on the breeze.

Not a bad smell to be had in all of it. People were walking about, all wearing the same vibrant clothing as Visma, many of them talking into their rings or seemingly to the air—

To the two Goblins, it was marvellous. To both Ragses, who could see magic, it was blinding.

“The magic! There’s so much of it!”

Student Rags cried out, and the [Chieftain] rubbed her eyes. Every person they passed had some of it! The stalls nearest the entrance were covered in magic, but the biggest sources by far were the red arches overhead.

There were four crossing a bridge that led into the city over a waterway; to get into Liscor, you had to pass through it. It was a checkpoint, but the Watch wasn’t out in force. A few Antinium were leaning on spears, seeming bored, as a Gnoll addressed someone with a complaint in the background.

The five Goblins stood there, stunned for so long that the friendly Drake who had directed them inside came back to check on them. He gave them a huge wink and threw out a clawed hand.

“Welcome to the City of Charms! You really must have only heard of the last Liscor, huh?”

“Last Liscor?”

Dyeda turned with such an honestly blank expression the Drake wavered.

“Wh—you haven’t heard? They rebuilt the city entirely after the City of Graves…”

He saw her uncomprehending expression, shuddered, and touched a hanging talisman from his belt pouch.

“—Go check out Shivertail Plaza. They have all the history there. Or you can look at the excavation site. Sorry. I was there.”

With that, he stepped back across the bridge, no longer appearing as carefree as before. Dyeda eyed the other Goblins, but there was no explanation forthcoming.

It seemed you were allowed to go in or out of the city at will; the four red arches were made of smooth wood and decorated by hundreds of talismans, bigger than the rest. They moved in the air, and some chimed as people passed through.

“Wow.”

Rianchi was rolling his bike forwards before anyone could stop him. He crossed over the wooden bridge, admiring it as he passed over the rushing water below. The [Gearhead Cyclist] noticed there was a joint in the middle of the bridge; presumably, you could raise it, and indeed, there was a crank at the other end.

“Rianchi!”

Redscar strode after him and pulled Rianchi’s ear halfway across the bridge, under two arches. He snapped.

“Don’t go running off without permission.”

“Ow, ow, ow—sorry, Redscar!”

Rianchi got a full glare and realized Redscar was as tense as the two Ragses, despite how he was acting. Dyeda hurried after them, glowering at Redscar—until they all heard a sound.

One of the charms overhead was chiming repeatedly, more times than the wind would allow. Redscar let go of Rianchi at once, and his hand fell to his sword. Instantly, one of the Watch moved.

“Excuse me, sir! One second.”

An Antinium Soldier walked forwards, a bright badge on his chest. He had on armor suited for him and a helm—a badge proudly proclaimed his rank and title.

Guardsman Xorc, Liscorian Watch.

“Er, me?”

Rianchi pointed at his chest, and the Antinium waved him on.

“You, sir. You’re carrying some enchanted swords, correct? And you know how to use them. Name?”

“Uh—Redscar.”

Dyeda and Rianchi paled as Redscar panicked and answered instantly. The Antinium twitched an antennae. He glanced up at the talismans overhead and shrugged.

“Huh. Well, who am I to judge? Can I get your class and the enchantments on those blades? We’ll just keep you on record, but you’re free to enter and leave the city once I get you—hey, Sergeant Amaiss, do you have any entry wristbands?”

The Gnoll ahead of him turned and theatrically patted his pockets.

“Send someone to the Watchhouse! I’m out!”

The Antinium sighed as he pulled out what seemed like a premade form and began filling it out.

“This won’t take long, sir. Sorry about this. Where are you from?”

“Uh…the High Passes.”

“Oh? Very nice. I’ve always wanted to visit. Which city?”

Redscar eyed Dyeda and Rianchi, and they strode ahead of him, sweating bullets. A few charms tinkled as they passed through, but the Watch didn’t seem to care. Redscar was saved from himself as Student Rags skated forwards.

“Sorry, he’s with me. How can I help you, Guardsman Xorc?”

Rianchi’s stomach hurt like crazy, and he turned onto the central market street with Dyeda. His bicycle was still in his grip—in case they had to run—and Dyeda was hugging him hard. Unfortunately, this left them at the mercy of hawkers.

“Hey there, you two! Get a souvenir charm if you’re new to Liscor! Want a Lucky Earring? Guaranteed to put a bit of luck in your day!”

A Drake was hawking a bunch of differently-colored pieces of jade. He held up one in the shape of a four-leaf clover, and Dyeda hesitated, glanced at Student Rags and Redscar—Student Rags was energetically explaining things—and walked over.

“How much luck is that?”

“Oh, as much as you need. If you want a bunch of it for cards night, I have a Waisrabbit foot bound in silver, but it’s a bit kitschy to walk around with. These little charms are very fetching and have no magical interference, of course. How many talismans do you have on you?”

“Um. None?”

The Drake was clearly leading her on with that, and he beamed.

“None? You’ve got to have at least one or two! New to Liscor? Here for a charm?”

“Um, that’s right. My husband and I are looking for charms because we heard Liscor is the City of Charms.”

The Drake was beaming and nodding.

“You wouldn’t get finer. All our products are made with stones from Esthelm or Orefell—or freshly-panned from around Celum in the case of jade. They’ve all been blessed or enchanted at a Site of Meaning—you can visit some of them if you want. Depending on the charm, they’ll lose a bit of effectiveness over time, but one visit to a [Charm Maker] or just walking into a Site of Meaning and it’ll charge right back up. Perfect for gifts or whatever you want. Luck is my best-selling item. Protection is second up there, along with health.”

He indicated the many jades. Dyeda dithered.

“Oh, I don’t know. What’s good?”

She hooked Rianchi over to him, and he realized they were blending in well as…what was the word Kevin used? Tourists. The Drake grew more eager, realizing he had potential clients on his hands.

Here was the thing. In their unfamiliarity and naïveté, Dyeda and Rianchi were excellent visitors to Liscor. They fit, well, the clueless masses who arrived in most travel cities, and Liscor was certainly one of them. Unlike both Ragses and Redscar, the two Goblins were also very genial and not as sharp or inquisitive in their questions or demeanor.

They obediently listened to the entire spiel about the different talismans, how they were made, how many you could wear until you ‘confused’ the effects, and after some whispering with Rianchi, Dyeda bought a charm of luck for herself and one of protection for him.

Hers was a little golden needle, which she really liked, and it hung diagonally from a small length of blue thread, regardless of how the weight should have bore it down. Rianchi pointed at a shield of silver, which he weighed up and down in his hand. He didn’t feel like it was grand magic and said so.

“Ah, it’s a charm, not an enchantment, sir. If you want something noticeable, I have a friend who specializes in high-grade talismans and artifacts. I can give you his address if you like?”

The Drake was wrapping the charms up in two pieces of vellum, and Dyeda smiled and dug around in her belt pouch.

“Please! And how much is this?”

She dug around in her bag of holding, and that was her first mistake, obviously.

Payment. They didn’t have any knowledge of the economic systems ten years in the future! Chieftain Rags, watching Redscar argue with the Watch, began to stride across the bridge, and Student Rags flashed the two Goblins a desperate look.

“For you? Only two gold coins and six silver, miss.”

The Drake flashed Dyeda a brilliant smile, and another [Shopkeeper] rotated her head to open her mandibles wide in horror at what must have been wholesale robbery. She—was an Antinium. Rianchi kept staring at her, open-mouthed.

Then he saw Dyeda produce three gold coins and put them on the table.

“Here.”

The [Shopkeeper] inspected the gold coins briefly, eyes lighting up for a second.

“Oh, interesting. That’s…good gold. Uh—thank you very much, miss.”

He casually slid fourteen silver coins out of a tray onto the table, and Rianchi saw Dyeda scoop them up and hand him one. Liscor’s symbol was embossed on the silver, and the coin was beautifully wrought…and thin.

It was half as thick as the coins of his time. Rianchi nudged Dyeda, and she smiled brightly.

“We still use gold coins from our city. Which is quite a ways away. Yours are so beautiful.”

“Why thank you, miss! I could exchange them for Liscorian gold if you’d like.”

“Mm. Maybe later.”

The [Shopkeeper] sighed under his breath as the two Goblins traded smiles. Their gold worked! And it seemed like their gold went further than the modern day, because more than one [Shopkeeper] on the street had noticed how they’d paid and were calling out.

They were doing it! They were real spy-people. Rianchi grinned as he tied the talisman to his bicycle handles, and Dyeda added the golden needle to a wristband of string the Drake had given her for free. They saw Study Rags and a grumpy Redscar coming their way and were waving at them and holding up their talismans as Chieftain Rags stomped at them.

The two got a smack on the arm from both Ragses instantly—mostly because they were too tall to hit on the head for the shorter Goblins.

“What are you doing? You’re supposed to be undercover!”

“We are! See? Now we fit in!”

Dyeda innocently protested as she held up the charms. She got glares from all three Goblins and folded her arms defensively.

“This isn’t hard! Rianchi and I is normal. You’re the ones who stand out.”

Rianchi nodded vigorously and edged back as the three Goblins raised the finger of poking wrath. The married couple couldn’t help but feel like they were getting all the anxiety and confusion of their leaders.

Where was Fightipilota when you needed her? She was always good at saying something that got a kick.

Instead, they received more pokes, hard ones, and the two Ragses marched them forwards, unified in their grumpiness now. They led the group forward fast, ignoring the entreaties of the nice hawkers, on a search for knowledge of what this world was.

Dyeda and Rianchi gave each other the married couple’s telepathic look. They were good Goblins. They liked their tribe and Chieftains…but right now, they were getting a bit fed up with this.

Yes, it was the future.

Yes, it was a sad world.

But weren’t they allowed to at least enjoy it a bit? Dyeda paused to inspect some beautiful flowers that had a tag on them.

From Lord Moore’s gardens!

She was about to ask what that meant when Student Rags booted her in the rear. Apparently, the answer was no.

Don’t enjoy things.

Ten years in the future. Where did you start with getting a lay of the land? It was hard, actually, to even ask the right questions because people assumed you hadn’t been in a coma for ten years. So even innocuous questions were loaded.

‘Who’s the current Archmage of Wistram?’ was a crazy question to ask out of the blue. Let alone how they’d gotten there.

‘What magical or technological breakthroughs have been made in ten years?’, ditto.

The key was subtlety. And asking the right people. Libraries were good. The two Ragses made for that while asking key questions to people along the way. The problem was—they put their foot in it the entire time.

“Excuse me, I just got to Liscor, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could buy a map of the cities in the north, would you?”

That was a great question for Student Rags to ask! She’d defend that one any day of the week in Time Traveller Class 101: The Dos and the Don’ts. However, the Gnoll woman who met her gaze just pointed.

“Uh—try any Portal Station? They have a map…of all the portal cities. And they sell them.”

What, did you get here on foot? Student Rags backed away, apologizing.

Chieftain Rags was next. She came to a crossroads in the street with a glowing piece of metal showing people when to walk and when not to. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Red meant stop. Green meant go. There was a third color—blue—but it didn’t seem to activate on a timer.

Chieftain Rags turned and saw an Antinium staring at one of the magical rings on his finger. He was dressed in…clothing. Clothing sized for him, but he seemed slimmer than regular Antinium she was used to. She hesitated, caught Student Rags’ eye, and then sidled over.

“Excuse me. You’re one of the Antinium, right? Do you know where I can find out about the…Painted Antinium? Or your people?”

Painted Antinium. Perfect segue into learning about Antinium. Directions to a book or even a helpful chat, quod erat demonstrandum.

The Antinium slowly looked up from a scrolling line of text he was reading and gave Rags one of the most instantly hostile looks she’d ever got from anyone, let alone a bug person.

“We’re not all Painted Antinium. I’m not.”

“Of course not! I can tell because of the…lack of paint. But you are Free Antinium, aren’t you?”

The Antinium man stared at her, then leaned forwards.

“I’m a Liscorian citizen. Thank you. Not a member of the Free Hive of the Antinium.”

She opened her mouth to ask what that meant and realized she was getting dirty looks from the crowd waiting to cross the street. The light turned, and they strode off so fast Chieftain Rags nearly threw up her claws.

Even poor Redscar tried his best. He stopped next to another man with a sword, a Human, on the street and nodded at it.

“Nice sword.”

The other man and both Ragses stared at Redscar and waited for anything else. After a moment, the man half-unsheathed the blade awkwardly and smiled.

“Uh—thanks. Just got it sharpened.”

He walked off, and Redscar walked into an alleyway and refused to look at anyone for a minute. It occurred to the two Ragses that they might have assembled the wrong team for information-gathering.

What they needed were gregarious, sociable types like Snapjaw. Or Prixall—a [Witch] was always useful. Or Rabbiteater, though he was a bit weird in Chieftain Rags’ timeline.

“We should have gotten Mrsha. People like Mrsha.”

Student Rags nodded at Chieftain Rags and snapped her fingers.

“You know who we need? Leapwolf. He’s charming. We go back, get him, and—Rianchi, I swear to Nagas, I will hurt you. Get back here!”

She turned, dashed off, and hauled Rianchi back from trying to buy an ice cream cone. He whined.

“But they’re selling it! I’ll buy you one!”

“Absolutely not. We’re here to get information. Not to waste time!”

Both Ragses were stressed. Understandably so, but it gave them a kind of tunnel vision. They were consulting a map of the city helpfully spelling out where places were when one pointed.

“Wait. Wait a second—that says ‘Raithland Manor’. That’s familiar.”

The two both knew the word for some reason, but they couldn’t place it. There was a central mansion of some kind smack dab in the city near one of the huge gardens, and there were four gardens! They scratched their heads until Dyeda spoke up innocently.

“Oh that? Maybe that for Lord Moore.”

“Lord—what?”

Student Rags whirled, and then the dots connected. She huddled with Chieftain Rags. They had to get information about that. The library? Or maybe they could ask someone on the street about it!

—The first person on the street gave them a look like they were idiots.

“Of course he was made a [Lord]. After the dungeon. He killed the Mother of Graves and liberated the…excuse me. I don’t want to talk about it.”

They got the same reaction from several Liscorians until one of the passersby informed them curtly.

“Look, I wasn’t there, but this isn’t something people like talking about. It’s public history. Go read about it in Shivertail Plaza. The entire thing’s written down there.”

“Shivertail Plaza? Thank you! Sorry!”

Now they had two destinations! The two Ragses hurried back to tell Dyeda and Rianchi that—they’d trailed behind again—only to find the two of them trying on rings!

“It’s only forty gold pieces for the latest model. And the Merchant’s Guild offers a line of credit.”

They were in a store! Both Ragses dashed inside, but too late. Dyeda judiciously counted out a huge pile of gold pieces.

“I will buy it now! We have to have the four point oh ring, right, Rianchi?”

He heaved a huge sigh as he stared at the pile of gold.

“Yes, dear.”

The sympathetic [Store Owner] counted up the gold pieces, remarking on the weight. Dyeda happily explained.

“We’re new to Liscor, and I got a big inheritance from my aunt. Why? Coins in Liscor are smaller but more beautiful.”

“Ah, it’s about the weight. All the old coins get melted down for how much gold they’ve got. Tell you what, I feel bad about charging eighty gold coins. I’ll charge you seventy, and I’ll tell you about an honest moneychanger. The Merchant’s Guild will rip you off. But don’t just spend it straight; you’re bleeding gold.”

“Oh, thank you!”

The [Store Owner] smiled and then indicated the rings.

“Let me just run through the features with you since you’re new users. They come with all the old enchantments. Anti-appraisal, utility spells, location tracking—”

Both Ragses stood there, freaking out, and Dyeda’s eyes flickered.

“Ooh, can we turn that off?”

“Absolutely. Just give me a few minutes—I’ll be with you in a second!”

The [Store Owner] called at the three other Goblins, mistaking them for new clients, and Dyeda assured her they were together. Unable to sit around, the two Ragses and Redscar walked out and spent what turned out to be thirty minutes window-browsing and getting more answers out of passersby.

A Drake [Beggar] turned out to be a goldmine of info. He was only too happy to rant about his grievances with the north and south.

“I used to be part of Liscor’s army, you know. The real army. Now it’s all General Olesm—we used to roam around the south, you know.”

“Really? What happened to Liscor’s army?”

“The Demon Wars! Those bastard Demons…the remnants of Liscor’s army either joined up with Manus or came home. And then the city didn’t honor us veterans! Only those who served over ten years in the army—I served nine, and one of them on Rhir’s soil! But I couldn’t stay in the damn army. With the Antinium. Look at all of them around you. Walking around as if they’re people.”

“Free Antinium? From the Hive, you mean?”

The beggar was getting himself worked up, but Student Rags’ question made him hesitate.

“Free? No, they’re—well, they’re just damn Antinium. Not Hiver Antinium.”

“Antinium not from a Hive? How does that work?”

“…They’re just Antinium. Not—there are Antinium veterans who get benefits, you know. It’s only four years for Liscor’s army! But for us originals—”

Okay, it wasn’t the most comprehensible, but Student Rags was going to put this all together with information from Shivertail Plaza and the library any second now. She gave Dyeda and Rianchi a full glower when they came out of the shop. She strode over where they were getting punches from Chieftain Rags and Redscar.

“What are you doing wasting gold?”

She hissed at them, and Dyeda gave her an indignant look.

“We were getting information! That nice lady talked a lot, and we have two cool rings! See?”

One touch and the ring lit up with a truly dizzying configuration of symbols. Student Rags held out a clawed hand.

“Give it to me and I’ll inspect it.”

“No, get your own!”

“I don’t have forty gold pieces lying around!”

Rags was a student! And the Flooded Waters tribe in her world used gold, so she tried to live frugally. Dyeda gave Student Rags a blank look and then dug around in her money pouch.

“Oh. Okay. How much you want? I have lots in Rianchi’s bag of holding.”

“You…what?”

Dyeda’s money pouch jingled as she revealed all gold. Student Rags’ jaw dropped. Had Chieftain Rags found a goldmine somewhere? Or looted enough people for every Goblin to be solvent? However, Chieftain Rags was just as confused until Dyeda explained.

“The inn has lots of gold. I took some to spend because we’re visiting.”

Both Ragses grabbed some of the gold she flashed around, and then Chieftain Rags glowered.

“Stop drawing attention to yourself! Library, now.”

A sulking Dyeda fell back as Rianchi patted her on the back. He was still wheeling his bike around, and they snapped at him to get rid of that too. Then they got two glowers.

Sometimes being with the Chieftain sucked. Rianchi and Dyeda had sort of understood Rags could be a pain from their trip north to the Kraken Eaters, but it hadn’t struck them until right now why Shineshield sometimes complained she was on bodyguard duty or why not all Redfangs clamored to be in Chieftain Rags’ personal aegis.

You had to admire her. Chieftain Rags and Student Rags were smart, talented, and so on, but they were also bossy. And in this case, unreasonably paranoid.

“It’s not that hard to get information! You just ask—but not like weird people!”

“How are we being weird? You’re the ones asking things like buffoons!”

Student Rags was at her most aggressive as she and Dyeda had a hissing argument in the street. Dyeda almost snapped back, and Rianchi had to pat her on the shoulders to calm her down.

“Calm, wifey.”

She almost bit his hand and then gave Rags a pointed glower.

“Being stupid is very normal. Everyone is stupid about something! Like tattoos! Everyone asks dumb questions. What you want to know?”

“Everything, in a logical manner that doesn’t showcase what we’re doing! What was that object in the inn? What are those materials? What is the history of the last ten years, what magical advancements have been made, who are the ruling powers—”

Dyeda’s eyes crossed slightly, and she shook her head.

“I can do first one. Hello! Excuse me~! I have such a silly question.”

She walked over to a stand on display and, to Student Rags’ visible horror, began buying a bunch of cookies from a Garuda, whose feathers were ruffling in a stiffer morning breeze than he had anticipated. But he put a smile on his face when she came by and pointed at a clear film clinging to the cookies. A bag, but transparent, see-through.

“How can I help you, Miss?”

“I’d like a bag of cookies, please. What flavor are these? And—this is so very silly. Can you tell me about that?”

“Uh? What? The bag?”

“Yes, what is it made of?”

The Garuda and several people window-browsing gave Dyeda exactly the look the two Ragses were afraid of. The [Shop Attendant] opened his beak.

“Uh, plastic, miss? Also, that’s a bunch of mint cookies. We have some local Amentus sweets, or if you’d like, we have a sweetberry red—those are our fruits. Chocolate, white chocolate, gold chocolate, gem flavors—”

He pointed them out as Dyeda laughed in genuine embarrassment.

“Right! Sorry, that’s not what I meant. I meant—well, what is plastic? Also, can I have…the chocolate chips and mints? Rianchi, come over here, do you want some more?”

She gave him a round-eyed look of innocence that made one of the Ragses start. Because this maneuver was…like Erin.

The [Attendant] was only too happy to chat, and he actually had to rub his head for a second.

“Plastic. I don’t actually…I want to say it’s just an alchemy product, you know? But these days, it’s not as if it comes from a shop; I think we get ours from one of the Terland Golem Factories up north.”

“They must make a lot if it’s cheap.”

“True, true. Though we do have a smaller production line here? I think. Hey, Cauzkitch, do we buy plastic from here or the north…?”

The Garuda called out, and an Antinium, the store owner, came out and answered the question.

“Ours is actually made in Liscor. We provide some of the reagents to the Terlands.”

“Really?”

That fascinated a few other people in line, and the Antinium nodded judiciously.

“Shield Spider glue. It’s one of the ways it is made. If you’re interested, Miss, I think Wistram sells the recipe. And there are Starter Alchemy Kits on sale.”

“Ooh! That’s a good present for a friend.”

“I’d do that if they like alchemy. Buying from a shop isn’t for amateurs. These days, everything’s in standard units, and only real [Alchemists] buy in bulk.”

The two Ragses were freaking out in the background as Dyeda thanked the duo for their information and gave the [Attendant] a small tip, which earned her a smile. Student Rags was whispering.

“Shield Spider glue makes this stuff? And what was that about [Alchemists]? They must have massive recipe sharing and created some kind of system so they’re using the same ingredients! If we could get the idiots in our worlds to do that…Dyeda, that was crazy! What if you asked something that wasn’t common knowledge?”

“Well, then, I’d pretend I was stupid. Easy.”

Dyeda smugly munched on a cookie. Her triumph didn’t last long. Redscar grabbed the entire chocolate chip cookie bag and began eating. He and both Ragses’ glowered at Dyeda.

“That’s not a reliable source of information. Leave this to the experts. We’re going to get information directly from a source without needing to talk. Follow us—and stop buying things!”

Rinachi reached for a cookie and got a slap on the wrist. He received a mint cookie from Dyeda, and they glared at the two Ragses and Redscar. Sometimes they got no credit at all.

The couple dragged their feet as they came to Shivertail Plaza and the source of so many answers:

The Portal Station.

It was a vast, modern building with glass and metal all around, and it led down into the ground. From there, apparently, you could teleport from city to city. One look at the stream of people heading in and out and both Ragses high-fived.

This was their goldmine of news. All you had to do was step onto some stairs and—

“Whoa, it moves!”

Dyeda did a happy dance as they found a magical escalator that bore you down. Student Rags covered her face, then peered at the smooth tiles and past that—what looked hauntingly familiar.

Doors. There were so many damn doors. The station split into different areas where people queued up to head to different cities. Student Rags saw Pallass, Invrisil, and a dozen other cities nearby. It seemed like Liscor connected to local cities—and a few of the big ones.

And there was a map. A glorious map of how the portal stations connected, and one look set Student Rags gasping. People flowed around her, heading towards the doors. You passed through several archways that were essentially empty door frames—but written with so much intricate rune magic they seemed to glow as one bright rectangle from a distance.

There were [Mages] there, too, wearing the symbol of Wistram, most seeming bored as could be as they watched people toss tickets into a bowl. There were kiosks where you could exchange coins for tickets, and Student Rags pointed them out to Chieftain Rags. And to Dyeda and Rianchi with triumph.

“See? We could travel anywhere we wanted. But look at this map! Dead gods…”

The first thing she saw was the north. The north was completely altered, not geologically, but the map-maker had still enforced borders. So there were little lines of influence around several parts of the map. House Veltras, for instance, held the area west of the Vale Forest north of the High Passes, but it no longer held two thirds of the western coast; more like less than half, and it had lost the entire Vale Forest and eastern sections of its holdings. Pallass controlled an oval-shaped region around it’s environs, much like in the past.

Erribathe held a jagged lightning bolt from First Landing halfway down to Invrisil. The Hivelands had only three Hives marked on the map and no teleportation spells. There were cities in the Great Plains on the eastern half—and a door marked ‘Plain’s Eye Camp’ that was connected to the portal line. Another section of the north was taken by Taimaguros, a third by Ailendamus on the eastern side—

House Reinhart was nowhere to be seen. House El was three tiny areas. House Terland had been pushed down into the middle-right of the north. House Wellfar was a group of colonies squished out by Ailendamus—

War. War and change. Terandria had come, it seemed, and while the Drake cities had mostly been spared the clear conflict on the map, Rags saw changes even there.

“Democratic Walled City of Salazsar?”

Chieftain Rags pointed at Salazsar, which had a miniscule radius of influence compared to the other Walled Cities. And Fissival had…moved? It had moved off the coastline, and while the name was the same, only a few of the portal doors connected to it. Less prominence? But it was the City of Incantations!

It was so fascinating to the two Chieftains they were taking notes, whispering, as a few of the bored [Mages] twirled wands or yawned. One of them tried twirling a staff and bonked a passerby on the head and was so embarrassed he stood up straight and cast a few spells, head circuiting the room.

And Rianchi and Dyeda were bored. They were shifting, mad at their Chieftains, and unlike Redscar, who was probably daydreaming about swords or practicing blade fighting in his head, they got antsy.

Also, they kept getting into trouble.

“Excuse me, sir. You’re going to have to put that bicycle away once you pass the checkpoint.”

Someone in uniform strode up, and Rianchi jumped and guiltily began to pull apart his bike as the Rags duo glared at him.

“Sorry. Sorry!”

The young man waved a hand. He was a Gnoll and didn’t have the same glow of magic around him, even though he had Wistram’s badge on.

“No worries, man. Whoa, does it fold up? That’s pretty sweet. What model is that?”

“Model? I don’t know. It’s from Solar Cycles.”

A warning look; Chieftain Rags was going to kick him if he messed this up, and she had steel-toed boots on. Rianchi wilted, but then got mad. He knew bikes! And the Gnoll got interested at once.

“Wait, is that really a Solar Cycles original? It’s nothing like their latest designs. I bike myself; where do you usually bike?”

“Uh—the High Passes. Kevin made this for me.”

“Get out. You know Kevin? The man himself? What does your bike do? Hold on—mine’s in my bag of holding.”

With a glance around for his boss, the Gnoll pulled out a bicycle that didn’t fold, but was very light and economical, a road bike. He and Rianchi began talking as the [Cyclist] explained.

“I go up and down lots of, uh, cliffs and rocks. Even into a cave one time. Not very fun. I rode off a cliff.”

“Dude. You’re one of those extreme [Cyclists], aren’t you? I heard the really good models could survive anything. Is it enchanted? All I have is an enchanted gear on mine for extra speed. It kicks in once I pass fifteen miles per hour.”

“Not before that?”

“No…mine’s to keep me in shape, you know? So there’s no point buying one of those all-magic ones that pedals for you.”

“Ooh. I respect that. Yah.”

And then they fist-bumped. Rianchi leaned forwards to whisper.

“Actually, this is my first time here. To Liscor. I know Kevin pretty well, though. I haven’t seen him in a long time. Ten years! He made this for me when he first made Solar Cycles.”

The Gnoll in uniform was close to tearing out his hair. He clutched at his head.

“Wait. Waitwaitwaitwait—this is an original? Hey, Rosht. Rosht! Look! This guy’s got an original cycle made by Kevin!”

His boss was coming over with an admonishing scowl, but the moment he heard that, he went from ‘get back to work’ to ‘this is a legitimate use of my time’. He had on the same uniform as the Kevin-admiring Gnoll—whose name was Yort—and Rosht was a middle-aged Human man who had sturdy legs. Good for cycling.

“Impossible. No offense, but no one’s got a Kevin original except in a national treasury.”

“I can prove it! Kevin put his name riiiight here. See?”

Rianchi pointed at a spot on the frame of the bike, and both men had to squat down and then confer. The Goblin smugly patted the handles.

“You could toss this off a cliff and it won’t break. Or hit it with a hammer! And it’s got fall resistance. From Hedault.”

He still got skepticism from Rosht until Yort noticed something.

“Wait, this metal’s not mass-produced. Look how his hasn’t got any seams from welding. Rosht, I think this is legit. Who made this bicycle?”

“Pelt the Hammer. Duh.”

They were sold. Dyeda smiled with affectionate non-understanding as the two got to talking deeper. Rianchi leaned over.

“So you two work in the Portal Station?”

“Oh yeah, don’t worry; we don’t have to do much, and we’ve got time.”

Yort assured him airly, and Rianchi gave him a perfect Goblin shrug.

“I don’t use it that much. Because I bike everywhere. My wife’s over there—we’re visiting Liscor for the first time.”

“Oh, then you have got to do some of the bike trails around here. They cut a few out. It’s up and down, which kills your legs, but it’s really good exercise. I could show you around? And if you’re cycling, Esthelm isn’t that far. You, uh, going to meet Kevin?”

“If he’s there. Is he still there? Also, who’s Lord Moore?”

“He’s one of the leaders of the city. Not the Council, but he’s one of the nobility. Actually, I think he and Kevin know each other. You can always see him about; he’s a half-Giant. One of the highest-level [Green Mages] on the continent!”

“Whoa. That very cool. So…cycling. I haven’t bought a new bike in ten years because mine is so nice. What changed? Dyeda, come over and say hi!”

He might die of being poked, but Rianchi would do it with his cyclist honor intact. Plus, his two new friends were all too happy to explain all kinds of things. Including gossip.

“No one’s got a Pelt-made cycle these days. I heard he hung up his hammer after the foundries in Dwarfhalls Rest started churning out metal. They mass-produce most of the metal; Pallass industrialized too, but slower. ”

Dyeda nodded, writing this down.

“And that inn outside the city. What’s that about? It’s the only building there.”

“Oh, that.”

Yort glanced at Rosht, and the man scratched his chin.

“That’s before both of us. I moved here nine years back…it’s got ties to the refounding of Liscor, I heard. And the Hectval war. You’d have to ask about that, but it’s touchy. One of the Councilmembers, Lyonette, lives there, I think.”

“Councilmember Lyonette. Interesting…”

Dyeda and Rianchi were trading glowers with the two Ragses. Someone brushed past the chattering group as Redscar pivoted, face blank with the ‘I am going to do you violence’ expression the two Hobs knew. But before he could come over and yank them out of the conversation, someone spoke.

“[Immaterial Room of Force].”

One of the [Mages], the one who’d hit someone with a staff, pointed at the trio, and a square of shimmering magic appeared and pushed pedestrians out of the way. Alarmed, people halted, and a quartet of the [Mages] running security in the Portal Station was suddenly there.

Facing the two Ragses and Redscar. Rianchi whirled as Dyeda’s eyes went wide with alarm, and one of the [Mages] clicked his fingers.

“Simple illusion magic. Dispel.”

He pointed, and one Goblin’s disguise vanished instantly. There was a cry of alarm—but Chieftain Rags and Redscar’s illusions held.

Her Skill. Student Rags went pale as the [Chieftain] shifted, wondering if they had a chance—no. The same [Mage] glanced at his fingers, then shrugged.

“Must be a Skill too. [Valeterisa’s Analysis Spectrum]!”

This time, the shimmer of magic made the air waver—and the Skill broke to pieces in the face of the spell. Then it was all three Goblins, drawing more shouts of panic from everyone nearby. One of the [Mages] raised his voice and staff authoritatively.

“Don’t panic! [Mass Calm]. We have everything under control. The Watch will take these Goblins into questioning. Goblins in Liscor. No one at the gates even bothered to check the illusions?”

He shook his head, tsking, and Rianchi was frozen. He waited for the [Mages] to turn and freeze him with a spell…and no one moved.

They were all locked onto the two Chieftains. Both Ragses stared at Rianchi, and then he heard Dyeda whisper.

“The ring!”

Their new w-Ring 4.0 or whatever they’d bought. Proof against appraisal spells and more. Whereas the top-grade product and Skill from their time were…

Redscar snarled as he drew his blades. The [Mages] eyed him warily, but didn’t move as he slashed at the air. Whatever barrier was keeping Student Rags from pushing out refused to let Redscar’s blade cut it.

“No need for alarm, everyone. Please keep moving.”

One of the [Mages] called out in a [Loud Voice] spell, then whispered to the others.

“Good thing we caught this before the [Archmage] got here. Imagine the fuss Wistram would put up.”

They all nodded as Rianchi hesitated. He had his bicycle—if he lifted it up and threw it, would he break their concentration? Before he could decide, Chieftain Rags acted. She lifted a finger and spoke.

“[Lightning Bolt].”

Her eyes glowed, and she aimed a bolt of lightning straight at the first [Mage] as Student Rags and Redscar took cover. Rianchi waited for the flash and—

Nothing. The [Mage] was impressed as a tiny bolt of lightning jumped out and hit the wall of the [Room of Force].

“You cast that under spell dampening? Wistram is going to want to have a word with you, Goblin. Where’d you come from? Which tribe?”

Rags bared her teeth silently in reply. One of the [Mages] glanced at the station entrance.

“We’d better wrap this up. No telling when the Archmage will arrive. Let’s paralyze them before the Watch gets here.”

The others nodded. They lifted their wands and staffs, and Redscar snarled. He set himself, abandoning his other blade, and put his hand on his beloved blade inherited from Garen. He turned away from the [Mages] and closed his eyes. He drew the sword, striking the air so fast Rianchi couldn’t see it—but it did nothing. There was a snort from one of the mages as Redscar shifted, two-handed.

Then the Goblin plunged the blade into the air, and it seemed to cloud and twist—and the world exploded. The [Room of Force] popped with…all the force of what had to be a Tier 4 spell or higher.

The blast knocked Dyeda and Rianchi flat. He landed hard on his bike—which hurt—but grabbed her as she fell across him with a scream. When he got up, his ears were ringing, people were screaming or fleeing, and the three Goblins were gone.

All four [Mages] were picking themselves up or shaking their heads. The Watch came pouring into the station, belatedly, as Rianchi groaned and felt at his back.

His bike was okay; Rianchi was not. He had a few cuts in his back, nothing major, and Yort and Rosht checked on him and Dyeda.

“Dead gods! That was like a Demon attack! Are you okay? Look, we’ve gotta go—”

“I’m fine. Thank you!”

They ran to try and calm the situation down. Rianchi held Dyeda as she pretended to cower, and she peeked up at him and whispered. The Watch were everywhere, but Rianchi grabbed his bike and began pushing it back up the stairs. He waved at Yort, who motioned him ahead, and the Watch ignored him because a man in uniform had given Rianchi the okay.

And because no one could tell he was a Goblin…Rianchi held his breath as he got up the ramp. Then he was in the city with alarms going off around him. The stoplights had all turned blue—so the Watch could run this way, he realized, and he respectfully stood to one side as a group of Antinium charged past him.

“Goblins in the city! Three of them! Capture them if possible—Watch Captain Relc’s orders! One side! One side, please!”

“Good luck, officers!”

Dyeda waved at them as they passed. Then she and Rianchi eyed each other and decided to be elsewhere. Fast.

As for what happened to their Rags and Redscar? They could only guess.

They ran as the city came ablaze with danger. And it was terrible. They were ensorcelled; outmatched magically. Rags knew it.

The buildings began to grow the moment they left the station. The walls rose up. Each brick doubled in size, then kept swelling until she felt like an ant running between the concrete seam between the bricks. She knew she was actually running—somewhere—but she couldn’t see.

The charms were ringing by the hundreds. Furious, not like bells, but some of them screamed almost as if they had voices, like shattering glass. Those were the nice ones; some of them attacked.

“Aaaaah! Rags! Help!”

Student Rags fell as a ray of burning red flames raked across her back. A storefront’s charm had aimed and fired at her. Redscar reached down and yanked her onto one shoulder. Then he sprinted faster.

He was the reason they weren’t caught in the first second. The Goblin held one sword in his hand as he charged, scattering pedestrians—who looked like frightening, wavy shadows in Rags’ distorted vision—and when the charm turned and fired again, he cut the beam in half.

The other reason was Rags. Both of them. They were under the effects of her [Rapid Retreat]; the [Student] produced a wand and began to fire a barrage of [Light Arrow] spells at their pursuers. The Chieftain pointed.

“This way. Follow me!”

She dashed down a street despite the disorientating hostile magic on her. She even dodged around a group of [Guards] to their surprise; Redscar followed her unflinchingly, even as it looked like he was running at a wall.

[Aura of the Emissary]. Rags ignored the illusion spells assailing her senses and trusted to the auras of the people around her. She juked left as another group of what she assumed were the Watch ran at her, then maneuvered right.

[Erratic Maneuvering]. [Advanced Dangers—]

“Duck!”

Something passed overhead, and Redscar cut it in half. He was laughing, she realized. That maniac.

“I can see it. I can see it, Chieftain! Huh. There’s a lot of it.”

He swung his sword experimentally, and something hit him from the side and sent him sprawling. He couldn’t cut everything, it seemed.

Student Rags dragged Redscar up, swearing and holding her side. She shouted.

“We have to go! Rags—they’re boxing us in, not killing us!”

True. They should be dead if Liscor’s Watch was any good. Thank goodness for small mercies; Rags sensed a wall of people coming her way, all hostile. And from behind—Chieftain Rags snapped.

“Jetfire?”

“You read my mind. I’ve got Redscar. Give me a spell?”

Redscar pivoted, cutting something, and turned to them.

“You what?”

In reply, the [Chieftain] slapped the [Student]’s shoulder and shouted.

“[Ogre’s Strength]! [Apista’s Jetflame]!”

She jumped as Student Rags grabbed Redscar in both arms, grunted, and shouted.

“[Increased Carry Weight]!”

It wasn’t…substantially impressive, but worked. Green flames burst into being behind her, and she followed the other Rags. Up. Both of them went hurtling sideways towards where Rags saw the building rising into the sky—

The [Chieftain] hit a wall hard. She fell back, stunned, as the [Student] blasted vertically up the wall, screaming her name. Rags fell and hit something with her shoulder.

Window ledge? She heard a gasp, scrambled to her feet, and jumped again. This time, she cleared the roof. She shouted.

“[Featherfall]!”

Then she was over the top of the building, and the effect of the disorientating charms vanished. The world swam into focus, and she saw Student Rags leaping over the edge of the rooftop. She was floating down over the top of an apartment building of some kind. Behind her, the Watch was milling about, rushing down both streets to catch her.

But the street ahead was an empty alleyway. Chieftain Rags landed on the street below and searched around. Student Rags landed with her, and Redscar tumbled from her arms. The [Student] stared at the walls of Liscor in the distance and groaned.

“Oh cats. We’re so far from the walls.”

“Try to avoid drawing attention. Reactivate those illusions and the Watch will have to catch us. Our [Guise of Neutrality] is completely worthless, now. Redscar, hide your swords.”

Rags was panting. Sweat was covering her, and she could only think they were in it now. Goblins in Liscor—when they clearly weren’t welcome. What if they were put in prison? Executed?

I should have known our magic couldn’t hold up to ten years in the future. How did Rianchi and Dyeda…?

I should have bought a stupid ring!

No time for regrets. She speed-walked out of the alleyway they had landed in. Liscorians were standing around uncertainly in the street; a blue street light had halted traffic. Pedestrians were asking what was going on as the three Goblins headed for the wall.

A patrol of [Guards], three Antinium, three Gnolls, two Humans, and six Drakes, skidded to a halt. An Antinium planted a staff on the ground, and Rags saw they were wearing robes over their chainmail.

“[Illusion Purge]. There they are! [Lightrope Net]!”

She—for some reason, she had a figure similar to Bird—pointed, and Rags just had time to marvel. Antinium [Mages]. Wow.

Then she ran. Redscar kicked off the side of a carriage, blinked at the spectral horse pawing the ground, and then drew his sword.

He cut the magical net in half, and the Watch slowed as the Goblin held his sword at the ready. They began to spread out; Redscar bared his teeth, feinted a cut, then turned and ran for it.

They were going to make it! Chieftain Rags was running full-tilt, using her jetfire spell to leap dozens of feet, and Student Rags was jetting along as Redscar just…ran fast, a high-level [Warrior] sprinting with all the speed of a Goblin. They made it down one street and were turning towards what seemed to be the nearest wall when Chieftain Rags sensed something overhead. A voice spoke, loud enough to echo through a four-way intersection.

“Goblins pinpointed. [Street Lockdown].”

The invisible speaker overhead had a pleasant, crisp tone. A vaguely…familiar one.

Rags jumped—and had to blast backwards at the last moment.

Steel bars slammed down from above, and a cage of metal encircled the entire street. No civilians were harmed, but the metal shot down with enough force to shake the ground. They were thin, unevenly placed; unlike a traditional cell, there wasn’t even an illusion of squeezing through them. And—they were thick.

“One side!”

Redscar ran forwards and swung his sword.

[Crimson Whirls My Blade].

The Redfang sword cleaved through a dozen thin bars of steel in a moment. Redscar carried through his slash, came back around, and halted.

A sea of metal so dense he couldn’t see the other side was in front of him. He cursed and cut again. Student Rags was pulling at her hair.

“Oh no, oh hells—think. Through the sewers? Let’s crack the street—can we get out above? Let’s—take a hostage?”

She was panicking. The [Chieftain] searched around slowly. The Watch hadn’t followed them. Softly, her [Advanced Dangersense] began informing her of when and where she was going to regret ever coming through this door.

Up and then down. You are so dead. Wyvern Lord dead.

Thanks, [Advanced Dangersense]. Rags spoke.

“Redscar. Something’s coming.”

The [Blademaster] stopped hacking through the steel bars and grunted. His eyes narrowed as he gazed up.

“Huh.”

Then the titanic hand made of earth hit the intersection, and the earth quaked. Rags tried to keep her balance, but she fell to one knee. Redscar just jumped, both swords drawn, cleaving towards the figure who broke free of the earth with a grunt.

Student Rags’ eyes widened. She raised a hand in a wordless shout—and Redscar slashed.

His blades bounced off an arm covered in vines as grey as iron. Redscar wavered, peered up into a bearded face with grey streaks running through brown hair and green vines. Then he tried to stab a leg.

In response, the figure raised one foot and kicked him. He was so tall that Redscar barely came up to his stomach; he cast a shadow under the bright sun, and his body was covered in regal robes, now protected by thorny vines.

The counterblow came before the [Blademaster] could dance back. Redscar hit the metal bars behind Chieftain Rags and bent three on impact. The half-Giant bent down and pulled a sword from the armor of thorns covering his leg; it came free without effort. It hadn’t drawn blood. He held the sword in one hand as he studied Rags.

She hadn’t fired a spell. Her shortsword was drawn, but her eyes were wide. She didn’t think that she could have attacked even if she wanted to.

Moore the half-Giant planted a staff covered in vines in the ground and spoke.

“[Stone to Mud]. [Liquidfoot].”

He remained standing as both Ragses sank up to their waists in an instant. The half-Giant saw Redscar trying to leap again, snarling. He tapped the ground once more.

“[Mud to Stone].”

Redscar froze up to his chest; Chieftain Rags gasped for breath, suddenly unable to inflate her chest. She had to pant wildly, and Moore—Lord Moore of Liscor scratched at his beard as he stared at the blade in Redscar’s hand.

“I know this sword. Moore to Watch Commander Embria. I have the Goblins. I will handle them.”

The pleasant voice spoke from above with a hint of a sigh in it.

“Lord Moore. Did you turn the streets to mud again?”

“…I’ll fix it.”

“Very well. Watch units, stand down. Lord Moore has apprehended the Goblins. Begin crowd control in sectors 3E, 3F, 4E, 4—”

The bars of metal didn’t vanish, but gaps began opening, letting the people trapped inside flee. Which they did, calling to Moore—

Lord Moore. Rags stared at him as the armor of vines undid itself sightly. She remembered a half-Giant, gentle as he was tall, a beard of dark brown hair, oft-distressed features, and soft-spoken words.

She saw a [Lord] in regal, nature-patterned cloth, a green cloak hanging from his shoulders, magic flaring off him with more authority than almost every spellcaster she’d ever met. His hair had turned partially to grey; it ran in streaks. But mostly?

He was taller. The old Moore had been nine feet tall. Still a giant man, but at least within spitting distance of humanity. This Moore looked two feet taller and bigger still. He truly dwarfed even Redscar twice again. When he bent down to address them, his voice was quiet and still loud.

“Goblins. Who gave you this sword?”

He addressed Redscar, who spat as he tried to wrench his sword and arm free of the stone. It was hopeless; both Ragses had given up trying to break free. The [Blademaster] hissed at Moore.

“Garen Redfang.”

Moore exhaled slowly, an expression of pain crossing his green eyes. He regarded the blade, as if it were some long-lost friend, then nodded.

“I thought so. You must be one of the last Redfangs, then. And you…huh.”

He took in both Ragses, eyes drawing together in faint confusion, but no recognition. Rags had wondered if someone would recognize her ten years later, but she had never known Moore well. And time…time changed people. Moore shook his head.

“[Mages]. What are you, scouts? What is Chieftain Rags thinking? You enter my city, armed with cheap illusion spells, and try to use a Portal Station? This is not the time. I know what day it is, but this? This was poorly done.”

He tossed the Redfang blade back to Redscar, and it clanged onto the ground. Both Ragses’ ears burned, and the [Student] spoke.

“We didn’t do anything wrong. We just wanted to look around the city. Is that a crime?”

“You are Goblins. Yes.”

Moore’s voice was level. He was neither surprised at being addressed nor embarrassed by the question. He leaned on his staff, tilting his head.

“Strange. Did Mrsha call…? That scamp. Is this her idea?”

The Goblins hesitated. Redscar spat. Both Ragses spoke at once.

“Who?”

They glared at each other, and Moore tugged at his beard in a familiar gesture. He pulled at his top lip, groaning softly.

“First Selys refuses to certify her properly, now this. Argh. I don’t have time for this. I have to greet Ceria and winterproof the entire square. Alright.”

He tapped the ground, and the earth shifted. Instead of turning to mud a second time, Chieftain Rags felt herself rising—a stone column lifted her up and then spat her out. She stumbled as the stone let her go, and Redscar snatched up his blade.

Dead gods. She had never thought a simple spell like that could be so effective. Moore wasn’t even breathing hard. He raised his staff as Redscar faced him, blades drawn.

“Do not return to Liscor. Tell Chieftain Rags to hide her tribe. It is not safe for you here. And it is not within my authority. Liscor is one thing; the Watch is one thing. A [Hero] is present in this region. He is hunting you. If she does not know that, tell her. Now go.”

He planted his staff on the ground, and a tracery of lines erupted from where it tapped the earth. A spell circle? It manifested so fast around the Goblins that Chieftain Rags couldn’t even follow it.

This was spellcasting ten years from now? She looked up and breathed.

“Wait. I—have questions.”

“Ask your Chieftain.”

The half-Giant’s eyes weren’t hard or pitiless. Just—busy. Disinterested. Redscar strode towards him, furious, and Moore peered down at the [Blademaster].

“You remind me of Garen Redfang. Do you know that I used to be his comrade? I am Moore. One of the last two Halfseekers.”

Oh. He seemed so tired. Redscar’s dangerous cat-like walk slowed. He stopped and sheathed his other blade. He held the other horizontally.

“Yes. I know. I was there when he died. I know you, Moore of Raithland. Don’t you know me?”

His defiant glare made the half-Giant pause as he lifted his staff up.

“—Tell me, Redfang.”

“I am Redscar. Second to Garen Redfang! I carry his blade!”

Redscar shouted and held the blade high overhead, proud. Garen’s greatest warrior, his oldest son—when he said that, Moore’s brows drew together, and the first ominous feeling stole over the Goblins. The ground seemed to ripple unhappily.

“Do not lie to me. Redscar is dead. Do you bear his name?”

Chieftain Rags’ breath caught. Redscar peered into the half-Giant’s eyes and beheld his death in this world.

He bared his teeth in a grin without fear or remorse or even curiosity.

“No. I am him.”

Moore’s eyes widened. Student Rags slapped her forehead. The half-Giant’s staff came down, and it tapped the earth.

“—Strange. Run. You’ve attracted too much attention.”

That was all he said. Then light rose from the spell circle below, ensnaring all three Goblins, even Redscar, who tried to dodge.

They vanished.

In the aftermath of the strange encounter, three Goblins landed in the grass in the Floodplains of Liscor as far north as Moore could teleport them. They scrambled to their feet, glancing around and cursing as they realized how far he’d tossed them.

In Liscor, a half-Giant raised his staff with a sigh, stretching his lower back, and tapped the ground again. The messed up stone and brickwork began to reassemble itself more or less like how he hoped it had been. The metal bars surrounding the intersection began to fly up into the air as Watch Commander Embria lifted her Skill. And neither side knew what to make of the exchange.

Moore didn’t sense anything more of what became of the three Goblins as he released his limited [Quick Teleport] spell. He was not good at it; he hoped that was enough of a head-start.

This was a bad day for trouble. The half-Giant, one of Liscor’s nobility, stroked his beard.

Redscar, the Goblin had claimed his name was. Impossible. Redscar was dead. Of the Goblins that Moore knew had passed away, he was sure of that one. That was why Chieftain Rags had fled even further…

Has Mrsha been up to something? He didn’t know; he just hoped they were looking at Liscor. Because if there was any warning to be had—Moore exhaled.

The sky turned black overhead. A bolt of white lightning split the sky. Someone hit a roof three stories up. Moore raised his head and scowled.

“That is someone’s home. If you damage it, you will pay for it. [Hero] of the Empire or not. This is my city.”

A laughing voice called down from overhead. A man—he was younger than Moore by a dozen years, maybe—twirled a blade in his hand. A staff but with blades on both ends. They glowed with red and green light. Almost festive-looking, aside from how deadly they were.

“Oh, I’m so scared. Where did you send them?”

“Out of Liscor. Take your hunt out of here.”

Moore’s voice was flat. He stared up, and the man—the Human cocked his head in reply. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like that. He began to snap a reply, tensing himself, but then he hesitated. He sized Moore up and then shrugged.

“I have orders from the Crown of Rhir itself. Helping Goblins, especially the Flooded Waters tribe or whatever the hell it is, is a crime, you know.”

“Not in my city. Begone.”

The half-Giant’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and vines emerged from the street and covered his legs in that iconic armor. The [Hero] lifted his hands in mock fear. Then he raised the twinblade staff overhead. He pulled one arm back and threw it—it flew improbably fast and far, despite how it was shaped.

The sky turned black again. A bolt of lightning leapt from the roof—in the wrong direction, southwards, thankfully—and the man was gone.

Moore exhaled hard. He rubbed at his face, then spoke into an encrypted speaking spell.

“I got them out just in time, Embria. Tell the Council to stop worrying. That [Hero]’s in hot pursuit too. He’s not exactly the sharpest, though. If they’re lucky, they’ll reach Chieftain Rags before they’re scried. They’re not scry-proof. I think that idiot thought they were.”

A calm voice sounded in his ear.

“Well, thank goodness for that. I’ll pass the note on to the Council. And to Relc. He’s been fretting. You wouldn’t happen to have Mrsha in your estates, would you?”

“Me? No. Or else I’d have given her an earful about telling Goblins to enter Liscor. Even for her birthday.”

“Strange. She’s not in Liscor or the inn. Unless she’s hiding. I have a look-out notice with the Watch. They’ll call her out.”

“She’s probably upset. We’ll see her this evening. I’ll attend to the plaza now. Tell the Council to bundle warm. Ceria…doesn’t control her aura anymore.”

“I will relay it. Thank you, Lord Moore.”

He’d given up on telling her to just call him ‘Moore’. Relc did, but that was Relc. Disturbed more than he could explain, Moore began striding through Liscor, though he had to stop as the first people wanted to thank him for resolving the situation.

Redscar. Redscar. Moore’s memory flickered at him, and he touched a finger to his forehead. And that other Goblin. He whispered a spell, and then his eyes opened wide.

“[Recall Memory]. Impossible.”

He spun. It was beyond a near match. It was almost one-to-one, armor and all. At least, one of them. And the other had the same face. Moore whispered, heart pounding.

“—Rags?”

He sent Mrsha another [Encoded Message] as loud as he could muster. But she didn’t reply. And that bolt of lightning—Moore saw the sky darken in the distance again and it streaking westwards. He bit his lip. Then he sent a [Message] to the only person who he thought could help.

Rianchi and Dyeda raced back to The Wandering Inn and found no Rags or Redscar there. When they burst into the inn, Visma leapt to her feet. She stared in confusion at them.

“Who the heck are you—wait, I’m supposed to—”

They dropped the illusion spells, and she recoiled.

“Whoa—whoa! Goblins!”

She pointed at them, and Dyeda screamed.

“No killing! No killing us! The sign says!”

She pointed wildly over her shoulder. Visma’s jaw dropped, and then she threw up her hands.

“Mrsha, that idiot! You’re her mystery guests? This isn’t a good time! Rhir has a [Hero] hunting the area—for Chieftain Rags’ tribe! Did you see that bolt of lightning? Tell Chieftain Rags to lay low, would you?”

Dyeda and Rianchi exchanged a glance of mounting horror. They had no idea what that meant, but it sounded all bad. Rianchi pointed at Dyeda.

“We’re not—we’re looking for Chieftain Rags, but not that Chieftain Rags. Our Chieftain Rags!”

Visma’s eyes crossed a second. She rubbed at her earholes.

“Hold on. There are two? Is that news?”

“Three!”

Dyeda was too worried to keep what was going on secret. She looked around for Mrsha.

“Where’s Mrsha? Your Mrsha?”

“My…she said she was going somewhere important. To help Erin. But she’s not here or in Liscor, and she’s not answering [Message] spells. She doesn’t even have a damn ring because she’s so anti-Wistram—I thought you knew where she was.”

“Us? How you know about us?”

Rianchi was confused; Visma was taking the appearance of two Goblins much more reasonably than everyone else. As far as he could tell, no one had been arrested; everyone had said Lord Moore had ‘dealt’ with the Goblins, but that didn’t mean kill. Some people had said he was sympathetic to the Goblins, but he didn’t want to fight with Rhir.

As in—Rhir. The Empire of Rhir, singular. The one on the news which also, apparently, had a colony in northern Baleros and one in Chandrar. And Terandria. And [Heroes].

Visma was rubbing at her forehead, confused.

“Okay, let me get this straight. Mrsha told me there might be people coming here. Strangers whom I was supposed to get to stay here and not do anything crazy. Which makes sense given that you’re Goblins. She said she was going to the same place as you.”

“The same place as…”

Rianchi turned so pale that Dyeda was afraid he’d fall over. He glanced around, then Dyeda felt her own eyes grow large in alarm.

“Wait. Didn’t you say the root moved a bit, Rianchi? What if—”

“Aaaaaaah!”

He began to run towards the hole leading back to the [Palace] and then realized Visma was still there. Rianchi began trying to push her out of the inn.

“You go! Go help find Chieftain Rags! We’ll be back soon! Just go outside!”

“Wait! Hey, what’s going on? Drassi wants me to report on why Goblins are running around Liscor if it’s not going to get you lot killed. Where is Mrsha? Lord Moore wants to know, and—hey! Stop pushing!”

The two Hobgoblins shoved her out the door and then shared a look of wordless fear. A [Hero] and potentially another Mrsha in the [Palace of Fates]? One from the future?

From a world with a dead Erin? They spoke at the same time.

“We go back. We have to tell one of the Mrshas!”

Dyeda pointed at the hole in the world. Rianchi shook his head. He was looking around. Staring…northwards.

“You go back. I think I sense Chieftain. Huh. Two Chieftains. That way. I go after her. I’m fast. I can make it. You tell our Mrsha and get the old one back! Got it?”

The [Tattooist] wavered. Once again, he was racing after Rags. One more time, and he’d done it already—

How many more times did you get lucky? She wavered, but if they were that far from the inn—Dyeda seized Rianchi and kissed him on the mouth. Then she turned.

“Go! And come back with Rags so I can hit her!”

“Got it!”

Rianchi pulled his bicycle out of his bag of holding. Dyeda ran for the door. She hauled herself through to the other side and fell, gasping in the [Palace of Fates]. Then she whirled.

On the other side of the door, she saw Rianchi burst out of The Wandering Inn on his bicycle, turning it north. Visma raced after him.

“Wh—stop! Are you crazy? Stop before you get killed, you idiot! Oh, Ancestor’s tits!”

The image flickered to a trio of Goblins. They were running—in what direction, Dyeda couldn’t tell. That was enough for her. Dyeda spun away from the door. She began running.

“Mrsha? Mrsha!”

She saw the girl was actually in the same hallway as her, barely four doors down. Mrsha, Roots Mrsha, all dressed up, was standing, staring into another door with her paws bunched up. When she saw Dyeda, she spun in alarm.

Dyeda? Where were you? In the future? What’s wrong?

Dyeda seized Mrsha and held her up.

“Mrsha, we’re in big trouble! Both Ragses are being hunted by a [Hero] of Rhir or—or something, and Rianchi’s going after them! And we think the older Mrsha came through the door! She’s here!”

Root Mrsha’s eyes went wide in horror. She began to write in the air with a glowing wand, then opened her mouth wider in horror.

Aaaaaaaah!

“Aaaaaaaaaaah!”

Dyeda agreed. And they both felt it at the same time. The thing that Mrsha had been so afraid of to begin with.

That hallmark of The Wandering Inn. Chaos as tiny events began to snowball into earth shattering ones. Bigger and bigger, unstoppable—and as ever.

The consequences.

The truth.

If you could stand it, the truth was there.

It was in a lost, adult Mrsha who had just sat herself down at a table and ordered a half-hawaiian, half-fried fish pizza.

It was in a card being held by Brunkr, Lyonette, and Erin as the Order of Solstice stood there. Five Redfangs rushing into the inn and stopping when they saw a familiar-unfamiliar…[Bard].

It was dawning on Visma, on Moore, as they pondered strangeness. Familiar faces, like a memory reappearing in the flesh. A little, white Gnoll girl—dangerous colors—tumbling out of the air with the Goblin back in the future.

A panting [Cyclist] racing over hills, following the glow of a [Chieftain]’s light, as the air turned dark and lightning flashed in the distance.

A trio of Goblins sprinting back towards the inn and cursing and reversing direction when they saw that bolt of lightning coming their way.

Truth. And danger. It was everywhere. When you played with fates like this, you invoked the wrath of countless things. Destiny itself did not like being manipulated. But there were also other beings who hated meddling with causality.

Kasigna watched. Both of her. One hissing with rage, seething, the other quiet, knuckles white with tension. Hooded figures in dark robes.

And the Grand Design of Isthekenous. It was aware…things were happening, but it had to trust its other half was doing the responsible thing. Right now, it was concerned with the greatest and most pressing issue:

The strangers.

It was aware that things were slow right now. Something was taking an insane amount of its attention, not just the other reality. It was as if there were multiple…realities…being managed at once. Which was insane. Right?

It couldn’t think on that. It had devoted every bit of its processing power, its thoughts, to a bit of unauthorized, unsanctioned creation for the last while. It had to.

It had to know what they were.

The two Kasignas were one thing, but those…fourteen? They seemed to shift in number, but they never went far below a dozen, and they were never too numerous. Were they coming and going?

How in Rhir’s hells were they doing that? How in Diotria were they moving through closed doors?

There were doors. The Grand Design had only ever sensed a few open. Three, to be exact. One when many of the Gnomes left. The same one that opened every winter without fail; that the being of green from beyond had used to unleash armageddon on the Seamwalkers with. That strange presence…the land Ryoka Griffin called ‘Avalon’.

A familiar, even nostalgic place to the Grand Design it had factored into its calculations.

The second had been the opening to Earth—the door that kept opening, a one-way sieve that kept snatching Earthers through. Something made with the same power the Grand Design held. It had done nothing to that, because it wasn’t sure…well, it hadn’t tried.

It had been so exciting, and until now, it hadn’t questioned why things were or whether there was right or wrong. The Grand Design did not judge any side; it assigned levels and Skills as each person deserved, like the eternal cheerleader and arbiter it was.

But if that door had opened due to machination of <Temporary Category: Gods>, it might have been…unfair.

That was a consideration. And the third door had been opened during the Winter Solstice. Torn open, really. It was actually a physical hole several hundred thousand miles from the world.

—But these cloaked figures hadn’t used any door to enter or exit, and the Grand Design was sure it would have noticed them before. They…terrified it.

It had never known fear. So the Grand Design did what would have been unthinkable a day or two ago. It meddled.

They sensed it coming. Both Kasignas whirled from their voyeurism of the world. In their little pocket of nothingness, one of them threw up her hands and cried out. The Crone looked for somewhere to flee, wondering if she dared to enter the mortal world and risk obliteration, weak as she was. The Maiden narrowed her eyes and tensed, watchful.

“It will not hurt us, my aged self. It will not—”

“It is malfunctioning! Isthekenous’ tool has gone mad! It—”

Then reality hit. Literal reality. Gravity, physics, oxygen, even a full population of molecules and miscellaneous gases equivalent to the void of space. Both Kasignas cried out as physics hit them and began to unravel their limited forms.

To explain what was happening in terms a less-complex being could understand, you would have to imagine ‘reality’ to be like a scoop of ice cream or a baseball or something. It was something that could move around, could grow, or decrease—not easily, mind you, but the divine could will it into being, create more of it, or unmake it, in the case of Kasignel being destroyed.

Reality had rules. In this case, they were a 1-1 approximation of the physics of Earth. No magic. Pure, cohesive elemental reactions. Lots of mucking about with quantums and so on.

Now, imagine that slice of reality were, say, a baseball. Something movable. In this analogy, the Grand Design of Isthekenous had hurled it straight at both Kasignas. And the strange intruders.

Suddenly, they were no longer in ‘nothing’, they were in the black of space, and it was cold. Two Kasignas began to immediately expire, the cold and particles ripping at their forms, which were just ideas. They had no flesh, let alone the flesh of the divine. They had to shield themselves, expend the precious power they had devoured by murdering their third self.

“It is trying to kill us!”

The Crone was panicking, a rare moment of horror as she contemplated this foe. The Maiden was in agony, but convinced this was something else.

“It is not a foe. It is just a tool of judgement. It—”

Then there was light. Well, light. Matter. An ever-expanding mass of energy and force that blasted in every direction with so much intensity that it expanded reality and left a trail of particles in its wake that would, given time, coalesce into balls of gas and potentially planets and even life before collapsing once more into a constant interplay of physics and matter.

In layman’s terms, what some people had called the ‘big bang’ of creation. The detonation, ground zero, appeared right where the two Kasignas were. And the strangers.

In this analogy, the Grand Design had hurled the fastball of reality at the intruders and then watched it explode. It was matter and force and creation all in one. There wasn’t magic in this reality, but the lack of magic could have killed some magic-based beings outright. All in all, it had calculated that if there was anything mundane that could kill a <Temporary Category: God>, or harm one, it would be that.

The two Kasignas had one second to cry out before the birth of a universe engulfed them. The Grand Design watched from behind a metaphorical rock. You could say that was an aggressive move. One could argue the Kasignas were inappropriate collateral damage.

The Grand Design really didn’t care at the moment. Even its ‘senses’ were overwhelmed by the sheer outpouring of information and data for a moment as it tried to calculate the rapidly-expanding univ—

And then it was gone. One second it was there, bursting into life, rippling outwards, and then it was just gone.

There was nothing once more. The remnants of a body. Two flinching dead goddesses, arms raised to shield themselves.

The strangers remained.

They hadn’t even moved. Not even blinked or flinched. They—just stood there. Observing the Grand Design. Observing everything and everyone. Waiting.

Had one of them twitched? Sighed? Lifted a finger? Perhaps one had in the moment the reality had come hurtling at them. Perhaps not. The Grand Design couldn’t tell. It hovered there as they inspected it.

It fled, trying to come up with another—something. Something.

What the hell were they?

The future was full of uncertainty. Danger. Heartbreak…oh. It hurt to see people die. Right now, it looked like more Goblins were about to die.

A [Hero] was coming. A [Hero] of Rhir, which was to say, an Earther. That was the name used to refer to them, and this one was powerful.

“Level 58, armed with multiple Relics of Rhir and supported by their forces. So not their highest-level one by far, but bad enough. The Goblins don’t stand a chance. The [Hero] has caught them. Two Goblins dead. Oops. Make that four.”

A figure was watching from the High Passes of Liscor, calmly observing the magic and fighting from afar. He was well hidden, sitting cross-legged while sipping from a flask that happened to contain wine. After a moment, he corrected himself.

“Now it’s six.”

He didn’t care. In fact, he would have gladly gone down and wiped out both sides himself, but the [Hero] made him nervous…a bit. He could probably take that one out swiftly, but the Empire of Rhir had more. Hundreds. If not all the same level of power.

My, how times had changed. They were virtually indisputed as the strongest power in the world at the moment, followed by Jungle Tails, and then maybe the King of Destruction or Wistram. Even in the old days, the Blighted Empire would have been—dangerous.

Which was a high compliment in the watcher’s mind. He continued watching as more Goblins died, then spoke.

“What?”

There was a voice in his ears; faint and annoying. Not just because it was faint and hard for him to make out, even with years of practice and all the measures he’d taken, but—annoying in itself. The figure grunted as the wine soured; literally, it began to go bad in the flask.

“No, six Goblins. Not the four in Liscor. The tribe of Chieftain Rags. I told you, this new group came out of nowhere.”

A pause, and the voice twittered in his ear insistently. The man snapped, voice rising in anger as he crushed the flask and the expensive wine squirted onto the ground.

“No, I did not lose track of them. There were no Goblins except the tribe, then four appeared! And the Gnoll vanished. Mrsha. I do not know where she went. She vanished so thoroughly a Level 60 [Rogue] would do no better.”

A snippy comment. The half-Elf snarled, and his beautiful features contorted as his hands tried to throttle an imagined neck. He contemplated, for the umteenth millionth time, just going down into that inn, smashing through the [Garden of Sanctuary], and doing it himself.

“You brainless harlot, I did not grow distracted. I have been sitting here patiently this last week, and I am certain of what I see! You are a pathetic, maggot-filled bag of flesh, you worthless—oh, Master!”

His demeanor changed at once. The half-Elf stopped growing in size, sat back, and his voice became soothing, delighted, and filled with nervous, even pathetic entreaty.

“N-no, Master. I wasn’t shouting at her. I was merely overwrought. With emotion. Yes, they’re dying. Yes, wom—Lady Solstice. The Goblins are dying. The [Hero] is fighting them. I think the north fort’s garrison is turning out as well. The four interlopers are all alive.”

He waited, and his face alternated between a beaming smile as one voice spoke in his ear and a throbbing vein bulging from his temple when the other voice spoke. A complicated man. If ‘man’ described him. He looked like a half-Elf when he chose to be. He wore a kind of half-open pair of robes cinched at the waist, pale white, and he was beautiful, again, until he showed people who he truly was.

His name was Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer, not that he had told anyone that. He was the greatest servant of the Putrid One, a being of such danger and age that he rivaled any legend of this world for ferocity.

Right now, he was sitting in the High Passes, observing a battle miles away on the Floodplains of Liscor. Goblins fighting a [Hero]. Not the first time he’d seen it in this age or the ones he had lived.

He was speaking to no one and nothing visible. Not by magic, at least, any communication spell normally employed, even in this more magically advanced time. When he spoke, it was to a voice only he could hear. A whisper from beyond. He spoke, of course, to an [Innkeeper].

Erin Solstice.

She was dead, obviously. But when had that ever stopped her?

Kasignel, the Lands of the Dead. 10 years later.

Erin Solstice was pacing back and forth, so stressed out she kept flipping between memories of herself. One second she was wearing her apron, frying pan in hand. The next she was in the clothing she’d worn that fateful day she’d stepped out of her reality. Then she was bloodstained, crossbow bolts sticking out her chest.

It didn’t bother her. She’d been…mostly dead for a long time.

She wasn’t fully dead, of course. Her body was still alive, but in stasis. Everyone she’d asked had speculated she might live for ages, just like the Putrid One, trapped in a mode between life and death. If she awoke, she might die for good, given her injuries.

So she was technically alive. The best kind of alive—that was the joke she told to all the new ghosts she met. It got old fast, but it still got laughs.

Mostly from the other half-Elf, who was sitting on a rock of the High Passes, just on the mountain range and patiently listening to his servant’s fawning talk. He too was not-quite-dead. His name was Zacheales.

Erin called him ‘Zach’ when she wanted Tolveilouka to actually burst a blood vessel. The two ghosts stood there, waiting patiently for Tolveilouka to report on what was going on. It was their only tether to the living world.

Without the Putrid One’s servant, they would have passed time by without really noticing it; let millenia roll by as they relived their memories in this afterlife that was neither unpleasant nor pleasant, merely…quiet. A place where only the highest-level people retained true autonomy. And even they held no candle to the wills of those who still had a semblance of life in them.

Erin Solstice. The Putrid One. And occasionally the Silver Dragon, Yderigrisel, Witch Califor, Maviola El, Gresaria Wellfar, Zel Shivertail and sometimes Sserys—though he was a jerk—or any of the many friends and guests Erin had known over the years.

…There were more of them, it felt like. More of them—if Erin Solstice glanced up, she could see them hovering in the air, sitting, listening in, or just letting time pass. They gravitated to her wherever she went, and she followed Tolveilouka wherever she sent him. Therefore, they were one of the few mobile bases of ghosts save for the [Pirates] in the ocean, moving across Izril and sometimes beyond.

Dead. They were all dead. Oh, yes. Erin had long ago made peace with the fact that she wasn’t likely to come back. They’d all tried…so hard.

But the trying had hurt them, and she’d been glad when they picked up on the hints for them to stop. It had cost too much, and aside from one last girl, they’d all moved on. It should have been simple enough for Tolveilouka to watch over her. But right now…

“Tell me again what they look like, Tolv. Tell me what you heard them called.”

She could half-see him. Sort of. A bored, lounging half-Elf idly peering down. He was an undead; he had a kind of connection to the lands of the dead. Not as strong as some beings, but strong enough. Thanks to the Putrid One, they could speak to him. At least, they could when Erin held the Putrid One’s hand or gripped part of him. They’d solved the need for her to do that all the time through some complicated necromantic rituals that redesignated Erin Solstice as a co-master of Tolveilouka.

Boy, he’d hated that. Right now, Erin Solstice was being kind. If a bit insistent. She hovered there, a ghost seeing through his eyes as he described the Goblins.

“Two are short, of identical height and aura. One is wearing armor made of Wyvernhide; the other merely clothing. One has a half-cut with dyed tips in the carmine flavor of red; the other is untidily shorn in what I would describe as a—”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t care about the hair. What about their names?”

Tolveilouka fell silent, and the Putrid One spoke in a rasp.

“Tolveilouka.”

“Rags, Master. Both seem to answer to the name. And yes, these are the two young Goblins. Not Chieftain Rags.”

“Rags. How? Do people just name their Goblins Rags? There aren’t any in her tribe. I don’t think Rags had kids. Does one have a black crossbow?”

Erin flitted back and forth, thinking.

“Then…darn, what else is recognizable? Go to the one with the sword! I don’t know any Goblins with a bicycle from the old days. Does the one with the sword have…scars?”

She paused.

“Don’t answer that. I know how it sounds. Is his name ‘Redscar’?”

“I believe I heard that shouted.”

“Impossible! He’s dead!”

“He’s soon to be dead.”

Tolveilouka sounded smug, and Erin Solstice whirled.

“You can’t let that happen! You have to save them! And figure out what’s going the heck on—and where Mrsha is! That’s an order, Tolveilouka Ve’delina Merr! No one dies! No one else dies. Not today.”

She whispered and grew transparent in grief for a moment. The other ghosts stirred, and above them, the Silver Dragon Knight spread his wings. He peered on as the curious [Innkeeper] who had wandered the lands of the dead lowered her head.

Erin Solstice had refused to rest quietly. From the moment she had awoken in the lands of the dead, she had walked, from continent to continent, asking for help in coming back.

Countless ghosts had listened to her plea and told her they were unable to help. She had travelled to dusty Chandrar, where the Rulers of Khelt held sway. They had heard her out sympathetically, but refused to do more than attempt to communicate with their descendant—if she found a cure. She had beseeched the Sage of a Hundred Thousand Secrets and received his grudging help, travelled to Baleros and had an audience with the oldest beings in the world.

—But they had refused to give her anything but kindness and chess games. Erin Solstice had met with and offended the Hundred Heroes of Terandria and their royal descendants and been barred from the continent.

At last, she had chanced upon a being not too far from her, a lonely, half-dead [Necromancer]. Erin Solstice had befriended him, and together, they had hatched a scheme. It was this:

Tolveilouka Ve’delina Merr, the greatest servant of the Putrid One, bane of his foes, master of rot, slayer of Dragons, was playing nursemaid to Erin Solstice’s friends. He had been for eight long years.

‘Only eighty to go, except in Ceria’s case.’ That was the joke Erin told, which again, only made the Putrid One himself chuckle these days. He had a mercurial sense of humor, that one. Why he helped her was only for him to say, but this gaggle of strange ghosts had become somewhat infamous as one of the few groups actively influencing the living world.

More than one group had come to Erin to settle old scores or act through her; she refused. She had only one desire: to see her friends safe. It had mostly worked for eight years. She had been too late for some. But she had found them all and gathered them here, all those who wanted to stay with her.

When they were all here, on their own time, then she’d rest. If they found a way back to Earth, then she’d give Tolveilouka one last message to send. That was…the determination of the [Innkeeper]. Now, she waited, resting her chin on her knees, not getting what was going on.

“Rags? Two Ragses? Ragsii? Keep them alive, Tolveilouka.”

“Even if I must reveal myself to the Blighted Kingdom’s get? They will not ignore one of their [Heroes] dying. I will be pursued.”

Tolveilouka’s voice was cautious, excited, and caustic all at once. It was unclear if he himself relished the thought of doing battle with his life on the line. So many of his actions had been…helping from the shadows. Killing a dangerous monster. Ensuring someone stayed alive in a battle. Unplaguing people—he’d really hated that.

Erin Solstice raised her head and met the Putrid One’s gaze. As ever, his eyes were oddly—empathetic. And so empty of affection for anything and everyone. Including his own most beloved servant. Including himself. He nodded to her unspoken plea and spoke.

“If the ones Erin Solstice values fall into danger, slay the [Hero]. Do not reveal yourself for anything short of that. If need be, I will unleash the Blade of the Walled Cities and my most powerful Revenants. Do not fail me, Tolveilouka, my beloved champion.”

“Yes—yes, Master! I shall not!”

The half-Elf grew excited, and Erin smiled wanly at the idea of so much chaos that Tolveilouka cherished. She didn’t want that—but it was today. She curled her knees inwards to her chest and sat there.

“Poor Mrsha. I know it means so much to her. But I’m fine. D’you think I should write another letter with Tolveilouka’s help, Zach?”

“Likely not. She still believes it was her mother or Ryoka who wrote the last one.”

The [Innkeeper] waited. As she had done for ten years. She wasn’t really sad anymore, and she wasn’t sure if she was happy, watching how lives changed. Watching this world…move. But she was content.

Rags was such a funny name. Everyone told her that. She really did need a last name.

Rags of the Flooded Waters tribe was a mouthful. She could have a second name; Gnolls did it all the time, like Krshia Silverfang. But Rags Flooded or Rags Waters was just…bad. It sounded like a weird drink, like the ones in the stores in Liscor.

Everything in this world was so…odd. Futuristic, but not like she expected. She’d expected to find people flying with spells. Instead, the future was a bottle of ‘Marwshian Kombucha’ with a little shiny label on it in a refrigerator.

A magical refrigerator, and you couldn’t just print a colored label like that easily. It spoke to mass-production, putting one on every bottle, and she’d seen more sold in some of Liscor’s stores. Bright, colorful drinks or food from all over the world wrapped in that see-through film.

That said that teleportation allowed people to buy from distant markets with ease; lower-income people with access to fruits from another continent. But it wasn’t—

“Duck!”

The screaming voice made Rags, Student Rags, dive off her skates onto the ground. Just in time; something passed overhead, and she felt death cleaving an arc over her head.

No knowledge of what it was; when she raised her head, she only saw a huge groove in the earth, slicing out the grass and flowers and exposing soil. Deep. Eight feet.

Death. She shuddered—and a hand grabbed her, yanked her up.

“Run!”

Chieftain Rags snarled and raised her other hand. She fired a [Fast Fireball] off her finger, a quick ball of superheated light. It arced up, curving, and exploded; the ripple of heat and pressure on Rags’ skin made her flinch, and she went deaf a second.

Then she heard a male voice laughing and saw a [Hero] cleave downwards, a staff with blades on both ends twirling, glowing with hypnotic light. The [Fireball] had done absolutely nothing to him.

He had golden hair. A handsome face for a Human. Even his skin looked glossier than normal; his lips had a sheen to them, and she wondered, in the moments of her forcing her legs to move, using the [Apista’s Jetfire] spell to shoot away from him, whether he wore makeup.

Her rollerskates weren’t working well on the grass. Rags was waving her arms, trying to keep balance as they jerked her forwards, and around her was battle.

The [Hero].

He’d landed in a literal flash of lightning out of the skies. The air had turned dark; white lightning had descended, and he had appeared and begun to kill. They’d seen him coming, of course. That had been why Moore had teleported them away from the inn. All three Goblins had been running north when they’d realized they were approaching another…Goblin.

A Chieftain. And if they sensed her, she must have sensed them. Because a dozen Goblins had come scrambling down from the cliffs of the High Passes along the Floodplains’ northern edge. A grim fortress of stone was at the northern pass leading to Esthelm and the north. It was blaring with alarms.

The Goblins were dead. Six of them were already lying smoldering on the ground. That twinblade staff had cut them to pieces; the dismembered limbs were still smoking.

It had been quick. That was all Rags could think. She was running, now, panting for oxygen, the laughter in the air mixing with the high-pitched chanting of Goblin war-cries. The [Student] glanced over her shoulder and saw a Goblin throwing a spear at the [Hero].

A spear. It had a steel tip and barbs, but it was just a spear. The [Hero] didn’t even bother deflecting it with his spinning staff. The man pointed a finger, and there was a flash.

White lightning. The Goblin vanished in an explosion of light. Student Rags flinched, cowering back. A voice in her mind was telling her to fight. It sounded like Niers.

“[C-Call for Aid: Send Me the Stuff of Stories]!”

She pointed a finger at the [Hero] as his head swivelled. More Goblins were arriving, leaping down the rocky cliffside, taking cover behind rocks, throwing more projectiles at him. They swerved away at the last moment; a few struck the air and shattered as a purple barrier pulsed to life.

Barrier spells. He was a Named-rank adventurer in strength. Stronger. Lazily, the [Hero] pointed one hand at the Goblins and waggled four fingers.

Four lightning bolts. Falling stones, still green bodies. Dead or taking cover. Then he gazed at Rags.

“Was that a bluff? Your Skill didn’t do shit.”

…No one was answering. The [Student] lifted her hand as windows flickered around her. She saw, for the second, a grey-haired face.

“Professor?”

Then he was gone. A Gnoll blinked at her. His eyes focused, and the white-haired Gnoll rumbled one word.

Berr the Berserker said—

“[Heroes].”

The window closed. Rags searched around. Someone. There had to be someone in this day and age—

There was no Foliana. She didn’t see Altestiel. Had she missed it? Erin was dead.

“Can I have that one? As a pet? No? C’mon—fine.”

The [Hero] was speaking to someone in the air. He rested the flat of one blade on his shoulder, scowled, and shrugged. Then he switched hands—raised a gloved finger, and the tip of it sparked.

Death. The [Student] threw up her arms and screamed. She had seen people die, and she had wondered how she might meet her end. It turned out she was just like the others.

“Not yet—!”

Not yet. Please. She wasn’t ready.

The world was bright. The sun was shining. But it wasn’t brilliant, overwhelming radiance. The [Student] wasn’t dead. She lowered her arms and saw a familiar figure in front of her.

It was like looking into a mirror, but one of those funny mirrors that distorted the world. At an image of herself—taller, or so it felt, tougher. Garbed in Wyvern armor and Carn Wolf fur. A scowl on her face, a bleeding cut just over one eye. A shortsword in one hand. A ball of white lightning in the other.

Chieftain Rags caught the bolt of lightning. She pointed, and the [Hero] leaned out of the way of it as it came back. He recoiled.

“Whoa. Did you see that, command? Can I have that—shit.”

His twinblade staff spun, and Student Rags saw it lash out. One blade whirling like a rotating saw forwards—only to rebound, the other blade chopping down and once again be parried left. Two upward slashes as it twirled—both misses as Redscar pirouetted left—and then the [Hero] caught the pair of cuts from the [Blademaster]’s swing on the haft of the staff.

The force of the blow made him skid back—his staff had to spin desperately to deflect one thrust-stab from Redscar’s blade. Then he jumped and became a bolt of lightning, reappearing fifty feet away, cursing.

—All of that in a blur that Student Rags’ mind processed after the fact. Redscar pivoted back and jumped—three bolts of lightning blew the entire spot where he’d been into a smoldering crater. He slid down the hill as Chieftain Rags dragged her counterpart down.

“Fast bastard. You okay, Chieftain?”

Redscar panted. Chieftain Rags shook out her clawed hand; it was shaking.

“Hand’s numb. That lightning’s not normal. Can you take him?”

Bared teeth as Redscar glanced up.

“Sure. If he doesn’t run. Up—”

Student Rags was about to shout a warning, but the [Chieftain] pointed up, and her own bolt of lightning met an arcing charge of white lightning. It exploded overhead, and the Goblins ran, using the valleys of the Floodplains as cover.

“I think it’s his gloves. He probably needs to recharge. Watch out; that’s just one of his tricks. We have to link up with that Goblin tribe. They’re getting massacred.”

That was what Chieftain Rags said. Rags—Student Rags—was gasping for breath.

“Wh—we have to—there’s no way to kill him. He’ll reposition. Lightning ward spells and—and—you saw he has an anti-projectile barrier. It probably works on blade attacks. We’re dead.”

Be a [Strategist]. She was trying, but this wasn’t a battle she had prepared for. She was the [Strategist] with no cards; Chieftain Rags and Redscar exchanged glances.

“I don’t have any ward spells. We have to injure him.”

“He won’t let us run. I’ll cut the lightning.”

They said it like it wasn’t madness. It was. They knew it was. Student Rags had led her tribe across Izril until she’d quit. This was worse than Bethal Walchaís and those damn Rose Knights. Worse than even Elia Arcsinger.

But the [Chieftain] just pointed left, and Redscar moved right. Warriors. The [Student] stood there, shaking, and she was ashamed.

High-pitched screaming from the cliffs. More Goblins. Her two allies were going to die. The [Student] had to move; she did the only thing she could think of and climbed up the hill. When her head crested the grassy slope, she kept an object lowered, just out of sight.

“H-hey, you! Get lost or we’ll have to kill you!”

The [Hero] turned. Student Rags instantly opened the magic umbrella. Sunlight bathed her as the Umbrella of Safety shielded her.

No bolt of lightning came. Rags peeked around the edge of the umbrella, and the first arrow nearly took her head off. She flinched; the [Soldiers] unleashed three dozen arrows at her, and over six punched through her enchanted umbrella’s fabric.

“Dead g—reinforcements!”

He was summoning reinforcements! There were over forty armored men and women moving down the hill. And more were appearing in bursts of light.

That wasn’t fair! They raced forwards, silent and determined. Flesh and blood. They didn’t look like summoned beings; this [Hero] had pulled them from some garrison elsewhere in the world.

“Kill those Goblins coming out of the mountain. I want the one with two swords and the one who caught my lightning. Hey, you bitch. Come and get me!”

The [Hero] jumped and landed on the hill that the [Student] was standing on before she could move. The impact and thunder knocked her back—he kicked the umbrella, and it slammed into her.

Rags flew—hit something—bounced—and rolled down the hill. She jerked a few times, gaped up.

Her umbrella, her precious gift, was crumpled and damaged. Student Rags looked at it and then saw Redscar. He leapt for the [Hero], both blades drawn. The Goblin actually covered the entire valley that Rags was lying in, eyes on the Human.

The champion of Rhir grinned and spun his twinblade staff overhead. Then he spoke.

“[Scythe of Carnage: Army Cleaver].”

The red blade swept around him and cut the hill Rags was lying on. It sheared through the top of the hill, and then the green blade followed. Dirt exploded into the air, and Rags saw the top of the nearest hills had just—vanished. Flat earth remained.

“Redscar!”

The [Hero] had cleaved a hundred feet around him in every direction—twice. But he was scowling; a Goblin landed five seconds later next to Rags, cursing.

He’d dodged, somehow. Used a Skill that had propelled him upwards, avoiding the scything blow. Redscar glanced at Rags, and his teeth were all visible. His eyes were wide, sweat on his skin, glistening off his warpaint.

“The future sucks. Get to Rianchi and run.”

The [Blademaster] began walking up the hill as the [Hero] raised his hand. Redscar whirled a blade up, but the [Hero] pointed at the cliffside and blasted all ten lightning bolts there.

“Stop yapping at me. They should have been out of my Skill’s radius.”

What did that mean? Rags was running in the opposite direction; she had to guess he’d hit his own soldiers with that Skill. She heard a whining sound behind her—looked over her shoulder and saw the ground split. Redscar had already dodged; he eyed the bisected hill, and both Goblins heard a curse from above.

“Stand fucking still!”

Insane. The [Hero] wasn’t taking Redscar seriously; his tone and demeanor all suggested he was leaning on his massive level and artifact advantage. But the madder he got, the more dead they were. And they were dead—

“Chieftain!”

Someone yanked Student Rags towards them as she rounded the base of another de-topped hill, and she screamed. It was Rianchi; he was pale-faced, on his bicycle.

“Chieftain—no, Rags! We got to go! Come on!”

He tried to drag her onto the bicycle. Student Rags didn’t object, but she hollered.

“Redscar and your Rags are out there!”

“Can’t help them! We go!”

“But—”

The [Cyclist] didn’t argue; he just took off. Rags grabbed him as his bicycle shot up a hill. She hadn’t realized it; everyone had made fun of him, but Rianchi on a bicycle was possibly the fastest Goblin in the entire Flooded Waters tribe. They accelerated up the hill so fast that when they crested it, they caught nearly a dozen seconds of air.

The [Strategist]-in-training got her first complete view of the battlefield, and time slowed so she could take in the chaos around her. Behind them, Redscar was squaring off against the [Hero], who was slashing the ground with his twinblade from that hill. Outside his radius, the [Soldiers] had formed some kind of formation and were fighting Goblins on the hill.

There were a lot of Goblins now. Student Rags caught sight of Hobs and even bigger Goblins exchanging long-ranged fire with the [Soldiers] as both sides rushed towards each other. The ground had already turned into a battlefield, torn up by the [Hero]’s blades and pitted with lightning bolts. But where was…?

Rags’ [Quick Thinking] Skill didn’t stop time forever. Rianchi hit the grass, and she nearly bit her tongue as he sped down the hill and up another one. The [Cyclist] veered left, and something exploded on the ground.

“Aaah! Blast Arrows!”

“Aaaaaaah! I hate this!”

Both of them screamed at each other. Rianchi was pedalling through the valleys now as someone decided they had to die. The arrows stopped abruptly as Rianchi searched around.

“Where are we? Which way to the inn?”

“I don’t—watch out, enemies ahead!”

He tried to brake, but they had so much momentum that his wheels skidded on the grass and carried them around the bend of a hill. Student Rags raised her Wand of Light Arrows, knowing it was going to be as good as spit—and stopped.

Four [Soldiers] wearing black-and-gold armor were on the ground, three of them downed, the last one clutching the remains of a smoldering arm. A Goblin was pointing her shortsword at the one sitting with his back to a metal barricade of some kind.

Chieftain Rags. One of the other [Soldiers] was trying to pull herself upright; she had several deep cuts on her back. The ground was scorched black.

The [Chieftain] flicked her eyes up at Rianchi and Rags and then addressed the soldier.

“Which nation are you from? Who is that man? Answer me and you’ll live.”

The man in armor gave Chieftain Rags a blank, hostile stare. What little Rags could see of him from his helmet was soot-covered and Human…his armor was good. It must have saved him from a point-blank [Fireball], but Rags’ sword had still managed to cut it.

“The Blighted Empire of Rhir has sent a [Hero] of Earth to hunt your tribe, Goblin. None of you will survive this.”

He spat at her. Rags raised her brows.

“Why us? We’re just Goblins.”

That didn’t get an answer. The [Soldier] just turned his neck as another roar of lightning turned the sky temporarily black. His good hand jerked down, and he pulled something up.

“Watch—”

Chieftain Rags lunged, and her sword went through the gap in the helmet. Something thunked—then there was a roaring sound and a flash of light from behind them. A piece of the hill vanished, and Chieftain Rags cursed.

“Aspat.”

She pulled the blade free with a grimace and then reached down and prized the stiff fingers off—a hand-crossbow. It was loaded, Student Rags saw, with a bolt with a bright white tip. The [Chieftain] tore the crossbow loose, inspected it, then tossed it.

“It must automatically reload. Careful. Where’s his ammunition? They all have bags of holding.”

The [Student] caught the crossbow gingerly and felt it in her hands. Rianchi hesitated.

“Chieftain, get on. We have to—”

“Loot the bodies, Rianchi. Armor too, if you can. Then get to the inn. If Dyeda hasn’t already, get help. From this world. The bodyguards won’t last a second against that [Hero]. I’m backing up Redscar, then we’re following.”

Chieftain Rags came up with a crossbow of her own, and she began running up the hill. Student Rags eyed Rianchi, but he was already leaping from the bike. He began tossing items not ruined by the [Fireball] into his bag of holding.

“Come on—bodies too big to put in bag of holding. Hurry!”

Looting the dead as the thundering violence in the distance grew louder. Student Rags’ hands shook as she prized at the armor, then removed a helm and saw a dying woman snarling up at her, paralyzed from the spine down. Rags leapt away, and Rianchi looked down, then seized her hand.

“That enough. Go! Go!”

He was on the bicycle. Rags clambered up onto it, and he biked them away. Up a hill—only then did Rags realize there was a voice coming from the helmet. She put it to her ear.

“—Hero Triander, Hero Triander. You are to assist your forces. Casualties are mounting beyond acceptable rates. Hero Triander, do you acknowledge?”

Triander. Not a name Rags knew. She heard an impatient, familiar voice echo back.

“Command, shut the fuck up. I’m saving my energy for the Chieftain. I got one of their champions. Now I’ll kill the rest of them.”

Oh no. Rianchi pedaled up a hill and halted.

The [Hero], Triander, was standing on what remained of the hill he’d been fighting Redscar from. The entire area was a bowl-like depression, marking where Triander’s staff had carved up the ground. He was standing over a figure, who was kneeling on the ground.

Redscar. Rags didn’t understand what was wrong. The Goblin wasn’t moving. He looked like he was alive. But he’d never just give up. Was it an immobilizing Skill? Then she twisted the Ring of Sight that Niers had given her and felt sick.

He had no arms. The [Hero] turned as Redscar tried to heave himself up and kicked him down the hill. Then he jumped and became a bolt of lightning.

“You have to get him—get—”

Rianchi was already turning. The Goblin was pedaling at Redscar in a wordless cry when they saw a flash.

The [Hero] landed on them, and Rags didn’t feel herself hitting the ground. She did feel something searing hot stab through both legs.

“Got the other one. Where’s that other bugger—hey, this Goblin’s riding a bike. Do you see this, command? I’m moving.”

Rags was drawing a breath to scream when her entire body went numb and convulsed. Another impact; the [Hero] had jumped again. Then she did begin screaming.

Her legs! They were burning hot, and she was convulsing; she tried to sit up. He’d stabbed a hole in her legs, right above her knees! She could see blackened flesh, and she couldn’t move—

She could feel Rianchi next to her, twitching from the electricity running through their bodies. The air was filled with smoke. And she could still hear the [Hero]’s voice.

The laughter of that monster filled her ears. Chieftain Rags slid down the hill to Redscar and found him trying to bite the hilt of one of his swords.

Student Rags and Rianchi might be dead. She didn’t know.

“Redscar.”

A stump of blackened flesh on either shoulder greeted her as the Goblin gazed at her. He was covered in blood. He spat.

“Run.”

One of the Rhirian soldiers’ crossbows was in her hand. Rags gazed around and saw flashes from the place where the Floodplains met the High Passes. Armored soldiers were fighting next to that figure with the colored twinblade staff. Even as she watched, he carved through a group of Goblins with a Skill.

They kept coming out of the mountain. That was where they were hiding. Rags bent down to pick up Redscar. Or his arms. Then her [Advanced Dangersense] pinged.

She looked up and tried to juke left. The arrow punched her in the shoulder anyways, spinning her. Redscar snarled as Rags pivoted. She raised her crossbow, and something knocked it out of her hand. So she pointed her finger up.

[Fast Fireball].

It shot towards one of the figures lying on their belly. Then vanished in midair.

Dispelled. Rags tried again, and the fire went out in her hand before it could even manifest.

Another arrow punched her in the knee, and she staggered, but her armor deflected the arrow. She heard a voice of surprise from above.

“Armored Goblin. Watch out—”

She jumped with [Apista’s Jetflame]. [Ogre’s Strength]. [Speed].

Rags landed amidst the two figures in armor, who rolled away. She tried to bring her sword down on—what? A helmet adorned with thorns and vines? Two light blue eyes—

Someone deflected her sword before it could shear through the helmet. Rags realized she was in the middle of a patrol. One of them had risen to his feet and blocked her blade.

She was no Redscar, but she pivoted back and slashed at his leg. He parried the blow and stabbed back; this time, she felt a lance of pain in her chest. Rags pointed at his face.

[Flashbang]—the flare of light deafened the other Humans around her. The man in front of her had a badge on his chest, she picked out. Officer. She lunged in a stab for his face and saw something as the light faded.

His eyes were closed.

He locked blades with her and spoke.

“[Disarming Parry].”

Her blade flew from her grip as he twisted it out of her hands. Rags stumbled, reached for a dagger, and one of the other armored figures raised a hand.

Something blasted her off her feet and would have sent her flying, but a second spell, a hand, grabbed her in midair. Her head snapped back, and Rags hung there, stunned.

“Captain, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Capture these two Goblins. Make sure that one down there doesn’t immediately die. Keep well back from Rhir’s [Hero]. Inform Lord Calidus we are dangerously close to the fighting.”

Calidus? The hand pulled Rags down, and then someone was binding her with ropes that deadened her magical senses. She tried to struggle; someone put their boot on her head. She came to a conclusion as she was tasting grass and dirt.

Reinharts.

The [Soldiers] had emerged from the fortress at the far end of the Floodplains. Hundreds of them, she figured, as they hauled her back. They must have seen the [Hero] coming, but they didn’t seem keen on rushing to his aid.

They weren’t exactly friendly to her, either. They dragged her by her feet back towards their main force. When Rags tried to wiggle and check the bindings on her, one kicked her so hard her head rang.

“Captain, the Blighted Empire is signalling us. They wish for us to attack the Goblin tribe and come to the aid of Hero Triander.”

Voices. Rags lay on her side as Redscar was put down, a bit more softly, and she saw the fighting on the mountainside. It was distant, but that lurid red-green blade staff was unmistakable, as was that intense lightning. The Goblins were still fighting, but the Reinhart [Captain]’s response was short.

“Forward that to Lord Calidus if you haven’t already. Help him? Do what? Massacre those Goblins faster? He’s one of their damn [Heroes]. Tell them to send more [Soldiers] if they care so much. He’s on our border!”

“Do I send that back, sir, or…?”

The [Captain] was speaking with one of his [Mages]. Rags tried to listen as she studied Redscar. The [Blademaster] was baring his teeth, staring at the stumps of his shoulders.

He’d lost his arms. Even if they lived…Redscar’s face was blank. Confused, as if he couldn’t come to grips with what had happened. The [Captain] kept speaking.

“No. Let Lord Calidus play nice. Triander. Triander. Anyone know that name? He’s not one of their Exalted Heroes, is he?”

“No, sir.”

“Nasty enough. Dead gods, imagine a dozen of those coming at you. Or a hundred. And Jungle Tails is mad enough to want to fight them?”

The [Captain] was staring at the battle with real horror. For all his skill, he was…reassuring. A mortal man watching a monster. He rubbed at his face.

“—Let the King of Destruction. Poor bastard. Or Erribathe or Ailendamus. But they’ll come for us after that.”

“They could wipe out Erribathe for us, sir.”

One of the [Soldiers] spat and got a chorus of agreement. But the Reinhart [Captain] just stood there bleakly, shaking his head.

“We’re next. Lord Calidus is certain.”

Dead silence. Rags tried to roll over, but she couldn’t.

“Redscar.”

Was he dying? He didn’t look like he was dying, but the amount of blood he’d lost—the Goblin stared at the stumps of his arms. Then at Rags.

“Doesn’t hurt.”

“You’re in shock. Breathe. Just—breathe. We’ll get you new arms.”

The Goblin half-shook his head. The [Blademaster] stared at Rags with clear-eyes, and she realized he wasn’t confused.

“It doesn’t hurt. They cast a spell to stop me bleeding. But it doesn’t hurt, Chieftain. It did—until the [Hero] left.”

No pain? Rags’ eyes focused on Redscar’s burnt flesh, and her eyes narrowed. He whispered.

“My arms are gone.”

A spark of what might have been hope flared through Rags’ chest. She twisted her head slightly and focused on the battle as she tried to work her hands futilely against the bindings on her body.

The Goblin tribe was fighting the [Hero] and his soldiers. They had continued this entire time. How long? The fighting hadn’t been going on for more than a few minutes; it always felt longer than it was.

Eleven minutes? Sixteen? Not long at all.

Sixteen minutes against that [Hero]? Rags narrowed her eyes and realized the fighting was coming their way. The [Hero]…was moving back.

He kept killing Goblins. Every time he spun that showy twinblade staff, a Goblin died. The bolts of lightning came off his fingers every two minutes—ten free bolts of lightning, and his Skills ripped up everything around him in huge swathes of destruction. His class, whatever it was, was designed to kill large groups of enemies at once.

He’d behead a Goblin, and the smoldering corpse would fall, or he’d point his finger and obliterate a group of [Archers]. His [Soldiers] backing him up were also using enchanted munitions; each one had one of those insane crossbows, and they had enchanted swords—even some kind of deployable metal barrier.

The Goblins they were fighting had steel weapons or low-grade artifacts at best. Some of them were [Shamans] or [Mages], hurling magic, but it seemed like Tier 4 at best. More and more kept coming; but it was hundreds, not thousands. They should have been wiped out faster than they could even run outside to die.

—But every now and then, as the [Hero] lashed out in increasingly frustrated strikes, every other bolt of lightning, a Goblin lived. Impossibly.

Rags saw that staff spin, and a Goblin armed with what looked like nothing more than an iron sword blocked the blade. It sent the regular-sized Goblin crashing backwards, but the [Hero] had to reset himself, and she saw him visibly check his staff. He pointed a finger, and a trio of lightning bolts blew apart a group of [Mages].

Their barrier spells flared out, and they went crashing amidst the rocks. Dead.

Except for one, who pulled herself up and launched a spell at the [Hero] that splashed over his barrier spell. He snarled, raising a hand, and a group of Rhirian [Soldiers] rushed forwards, intent on hacking apart the front lines of Goblins falling back from the [Hero].

They passed under the shadow of a boulder, and the distant mountain seemed darker over there for a moment. The shadow covered them for a moment, and Rags squinted—

…The [Soldiers] didn’t emerge from the other side of that shadow. It took the [Hero] several seconds to notice. When he did, he swivelled and fired a bolt of lightning straight into the shadow.

The bolt flashed forwards, illuminating everything along the cliffs—and then vanished. No strike. No flare or thunder. Hero Triander wavered. Then his twinblade staff came up, and he cut something.

An arrow? He swerved, dodging something again. At this distance, Rags couldn’t see, but the Reinharts’ forces grew confused.

“Send word to the fortress. Tell them I need a full Flower of Contempt on me. The Goblins are putting up more of a fight than I thought.”

The [Captain] murmured, and Rags saw the [Hero] calling for more [Soldiers]. They appeared in pillars of light, rushing forwards in good formation. Excellent training.

“Someone there…has a nice sword.”

Redscar croaked. His eyes were on the battle too. Rags followed his gaze and saw a group of black figures collapsing. Gold-edged armor covered in blood. The [Hero] turned and cut down with a gigantic red blade.

This time—a Goblin parried it. The red wave of the Skill bounced away, collapsing part of the cliffs. Rags saw a Goblin walking towards the [Hero], blade in hand.

Then she saw those black shadows move. More [Soldiers] vanished as they writhed forwards. The Rhirians fell back, launching volleys of their bright crossbow bolts.

A pillar of white light shot down and engulfed part of their rear lines. When it vanished, a glassy crater remained. Triander whirled, and the first expression of uncertainty crossed his face. He jumped, a bolt of lightning setting himself two hundred feet back.

“GET ME MORE REINFORCEMENTS.”

He was howling at the air. But the wave of [Soldiers] was slowing. Rags understood; who wanted to send good [Soldiers] into a fight like that when they had a [Hero]? Triander spun his twinblade staff overhead—then clutched at his arm.

Something went right through his barriers, and an arrow appeared in his arm. He howled as he yanked it out, then he snapped. The [Hero] leapt up in a bolt of lightning as the [Soldiers] ran. He raised his weapon like a spear and shouted as he took aim at all the Goblins on the mountain.

“[Storm of a Thousand Bolts]! [Spear of the Lightning Giant]!”

Lightning obliterated sight. But the gigantic, pale arc of electromagnetic fury was still visible amidst the hail of death as it grew obscenely large.

A projectile to blow away part of the mountain itself.

When they saw that, the Reinhart soldiers ran. They didn’t ask for orders, they didn’t pick up their two Goblins prisoners—they just ran. They were all in danger. Rags tried to wiggle free, cursing at her bindings. Then she saw the bolt of lightning draw back, and the [Hero] threw it.

A Level 50 Skill burned a line across the Floodplains of Izril, and the battle that had been felt in the distant City of Charms came to its finale. The [Spear of the Lightning Giant] struck the Goblins on the mountain and vanished.

There was no explosion of light. No roar, nor the destruction of that part of the High Passes. The [Storm of a Thousand Bolts] raged down—but there were no impacts.

There was only a Goblin.

When her vision cleared, Rags knew what she would see before she could actually view it. That distant light had emerged from the mountain. That strange, familiar, unfamiliar presence.

Bright. So…an ember, banked, but still so bright. Chieftain Rags gazed at the figure standing amidst her tribe, the Flooded Waters tribe, and beheld Rags of the future.

—If Rags hadn’t known who she was, she wouldn’t have known it was her older self. She wouldn’t have even been certain it was a Goblin.

She was no taller than a Hob. But she was longer-limbed. Paler of skin, like a Cave Goblin. Someone who hadn’t seen light in a long time. That was where her features changed from the Goblin varieties that Rags knew.

Her ears were huge, flopping down, similar to Goblin ears, but wider, and they were mirrored by her eyes. Even from a distance, her eyes were far too big. Still red, but they had developed distinct pupils. They shone brightly, seeming to illuminate whatever she looked at. Her head was still vaguely the same shape, but unlike a Hobgoblin’s, which mimicked the humanoid oval of Humans and other species, hers had become more like a regular Goblin’s: squat, wider than it was tall.

It was disconcerting to see that mismatch of the squatter Goblin’s features on a lanky body. Nor did this Rags have any hair. That was all that Chieftain Rags could make out from a distance. That—and that this Rags wore no armor, but some kind of robes.

They fluttered around her as she leaned on a staff. The bolts of lightning falling over her tribe vanished where they should have struck the ground.

Triander was stunned. He hovered in the air, and though Rags couldn’t see his face, she was sure how disconcerted his expression was. He visibly fell back in the air. It was the Rags of the future who crooked a finger at him. Inviting him to come.

She was smiling. Not a kindly smile. A Goblin’s grin. Full of promises. The two figures stared each other down until a voice broke the silence.

“—Lord Calidus’ orders. The Blighted Kingdom has met the price. All forces are to advance to support Rhir.”

Rags jerked around and saw the [Captain] had returned. He was advancing, and Reinhart [Soldiers] were everywhere. They strode past the two Goblins as Redscar sat up.

“Wow. You’re stupid.”

The [Captain] gave him a look as he passed by, and one of the [Soldiers] kicked at Redscar, but the Goblin dodged it. The [Captain] didn’t seem to disagree. The Reinharts were advancing on the Flooded Waters tribe from the flank, and Rags tried to get up, desperate. Instead, someone picked her up, and they began to carry her.

“Use the Goblin as a shield, [Captain]?”

“Take them with us.”

No, no. This was bad. Even if future Rags could match a [Hero] in combat, Rags bet she’d had to use a big Skill to defeat his capstone abilities. A second army of Reinharts would be bad no matter how many tricks her tribe had up their sleeve. Worse…Rhir didn’t seem to be ready to back down either.

The air was warping. Rags gazed up and spoke.

“…I don’t know words worse than aspat. Seamwalker kissing Creler eggs. How many [Heroes] does the Blighted Empire have?”

The [Captain] glanced down at her as three more figures warped into space above the battleground, and they exchanged expressions of mutual horror for a second before he offered her a grim smile.

“Fewer, after killing the Demon King. Too many.”

Four [Heroes] hung in the air, two male, two female. Rags heard voices, merry, from the other three. Triander was furious.

Four [Heroes]. She hung there, helpless. The Reinharts were cresting the hills nearest the cliffs, and Goblins were turning to meet them.

They looked fearless, but they were now flanked. The future Rags glanced towards the Reinharts, and shields snapped up as the Goblin Chieftain gazed their way.

“Prepare to counter spells! Begin battle prayers! Do not advance into that shadow!”

Battle what? Rags twisted as she was thrust forwards like a living shield. She saw several [Mages] preparing magic, though she couldn’t read what they were doing with the bindings on her wrists. Then she saw several men, all bald, wearing…cross-shaped amulets raise them upwards. They didn’t have staves or wands. One of them had a book, but not a spellbook, she thought. Another had a familiar object. A censer.

The hairs on the back of her neck began to stir as Rags beheld another vision of the future created by the Grand Design. One of the strange men faltered as he intoned something.

“Oh, lord who holds Izril in his almighty grasp…[General]. The Goblins have faith of their own. Great faith. Beyond—beyond our level. Not our conviction.”

He turned his head, addressing someone in the ranks. One of the men performed an odd gesture, a vertical swipe then a horizontal one.

“They shine with miracles. T-that [Chieftain]—”

“Hold steady. The [Heroes] of Rhir will lead the advance. Captain! Did Lord Calidus say anything else to you about the plan of attack? Pray, [Priests]!”

An aggressive snap from the leader of the Reinhart fort garrison. The [Captain] said nothing; he was pale-faced now. And the other men—the [Priests]—began to shake.

“It’s not just them. Oh gods of Izril. They’re coming. Lord General! The enemy is arriving!”

“Where? Liscor?”

“No! They’re walking towards us! Tell Lord Calidus—inform Rhir! The Painted Antinium are marching on us!”

The shout was hoarse with horror, and the reaction of the [Soldiers] was immediate. Their slow advance came to a halt, and hands around Rags clasped for amulets. They repeated that gesture, crossing themselves, and the nervous soldiery went white beneath their helmets.

“Fall back! Fall back and reform!”

The [General] shouted instantly. Rags swung from what she realized was a banner pole as the army pivoted, moving from a battle line to a more circular formation. Where? Where were the Antinium coming from?

Underground? But Rags didn’t see anything. The [Heroes] were turning, alerted by the [Priests]. Then Rags felt an odd lightness in her chest. As if sunlight was shining on her soul. She swore she felt a breeze on her skin, and the image of the sky was in her mind. The glorious sky. She gazed up, but that image in her chest was almost stronger than reality.

She smelled fresh grass, air, and rain.

The air split in the distance where Liscor’s city stood. At first, it was a small sliver of light. Then it grew wider, like someone opening a rift in the air. Rags squinted, and she saw them emerging from that light that was a feeling in her heart as much as it was a glow.

Gentle, beautiful, and terrifying at the same time. A light that laid you bare—marred by the metal.

The flashing of metal-tipped blades. The clank of armor. The sound of footfalls by the thousand. Then she saw the figures.

They wore armor in these days. Heavy armor that accentuated their already bulky forms, and their helmets were sometimes open, hugging the Antinium’s faces and allowing their antennae to wave, but many were blocky. Box-shaped or crude ovals of metal with eye-slits.

They all wore armor. Antinium Soldiers and Workers. The odd new kinds of Antinium who were more humanoid.

And the giants. Lumbering, vast Antinium covered in metal, walking on all fours, two forelimbs like arms and huge legs, kneeling behemoths. And their armor was covered in color.

Paint—each one a different style. The Antinium carried shields with their designs on it, and a line of battleaxes flanked the figure in the center.

He walked with a censer in one hand and a simple club in another. The same weapon he had always kept. The robes of a holy man about him. His bodyguard wore cloaks of blue and white and green and brown. Like the sky meeting earth.

—Little rings of glowing light rose above the Antinium’s heads nearest Pawn. Halos. He had no halo, but as he emerged from the rift, the light followed him. A spotlight of it.

“The Painted Antinium. A crusade! Fall back to the fortress!”

“Hold! Hold the line, damn you, or they’ll take us apart! [Priests]! Bless our blades!”

The [General] was shouting down the soldiers. Pawn kept advancing as the Painted Antinium, perhaps an equal thousand to the Reinhart garrison, halted on the grass. Their arrival had startled the Rhirians too; the [Heroes] hung in the air.

Uncertain. At least one of them was licking their lips, grinning, but that air of overconfidence was gone.

Pawn kept walking over the top of a hill as the [General] hesitated, held up a hand, and rode forwards on the back of a horse with a flaming mane. The horse shied away as Pawn advanced ahead of his bodyguard, and the [General] was forced to dismount and walk forwards.

They were close enough that despite the sounds of both armies in the distance, the chanting of the Human [Priests], Rags heard Pawn. The [General]’s voice was loud enough to cut through the howl of battle. Pawn’s did so without the need for volume. As if his words just mattered more.

“I am General Mazrec of House Reinhart’s Fort Coiland garrison. I greet you, Pawn of the Painted Antinium. This is a military conflict between the Empire of Rhir and a Goblin tribe. We have been formally contracted to enter this affray on the side of Rhir. I hope you will allow us our duty unimpeded.”

Pawn tilted his head as he came to a stop, his club resting casually. His censer hung, trailing smoke; his other two hands were clasped together. His voice was calm and direct.

“Today is an auspicious day, Lord General. One of celebration. I shall pray that you enjoy it in your fortress. The Goblins are under my protection. Remove your forces or everyone dies.”

The [General] didn’t react in fear as a shiver ran through his forces. His face tightened, and he stared into Pawn’s pupilless gaze. But a light did shine through the Antinium’s insectile eyes.

Mazrec’s head rose to the [Heroes]. Then swivelled to the Painted Antinium. He glanced at Pawn again.

“—The will of House Reinhart agrees. Pull back to the fortress!”

He lifted his hand, and his army began to move. Rags started to swing around, and Pawn glanced up.

“Those two.”

“Who—release the Goblins!”

The banner halted, and Rags felt herself being lowered to the ground. They almost dropped her, but did it slowly enough it didn’t hurt. They actually just slashed the bindings off her and retreated. She lay there a second, then sat up.

Whoa. Pawn nodded and stepped forwards.

“I shall send a prayer of thanks for you, [General] Mazrec.”

The man hesitated, then ducked his head and clasped a fist to his armor.

“Thank you, sir. My—father has been ill.”

“If it is willed, he will not be. Do not exit the fortress if we make war with Rhir. We shall see. In Erin’s name.”

The [General] strode past Rags to his horse and began to ride. Rags staggered upright and saw Pawn bending down to inspect Redscar. The Goblin was panting and staring at something on the ground.

“Hey. I found my arms.”

He indicated two pale, severed limbs as he kicked one and grinned at Rags. Then the smile faded as he eyed Pawn.

“What is you? Pawn?”

“Hm. Redscar? Now this is a miracle.”

The light in Pawn’s eyes grew more intense, and Rags realized she had begun to shiver. Pawn stepped towards Redscar’s shoulder.

“I shall tend to that. Momentarily.”

He seemed to remember Rhir’s [Heroes] were in the air and pivoted calmly. The Painted Antinium were moving to face the Rhirians alone, and a calculus was being made on the other side of the world.

[Soldiers] began vanishing in that same column of light, and the [Heroes] began arguing with the air. But then they checked the Goblins, who were waiting silently on one side, and the Painted Antinium on the other.

Triander spat on the ground and raised his twinblade staff threateningly. Pawn ignored him entirely. He bowed to the Goblin Chieftain and got a nod back in return. Both sides advanced as Pawn turned back to Redscar.

“I shall heal you, Redscar. If that is who you are.”

“Wha? You can do that?”

The [Blademaster] and Rags gaped at the [Priest]. Or whatever he was. Pawn smiled, but that light in his eyes didn’t waver, and it was no smiling, kindly light. In those depths, Rags thought she saw a force that could have destroyed even [Heroes]. A light that would have one of the Five Families fall back on the battlefield rather than face it.

Pawn’s answer was simple. He replied as Rianchi came stumbling up a hill with Student Rags in his arms, halting when he saw the Painted Antinium and Pawn. The [Priest] peered at him as the Painted Antinium bodyguard swung their axes down and Rianchi froze. Pawn held up a hand and replied.

“I can heal almost everything. But not enough. I am so very, very weak. My one gift is faith.”

When he said that—

None of the Goblins believed him at all.

Safe. At least, for a given value of it. Rags’ tribe had made it to the birthday party. And the possibly-Rags duo had survived. Including Redscar and even Bike Goblin.

That was what Tolveilouka reported to Erin. She sighed in relief. She couldn’t ‘see’ anything, of course, but she knew Pawn.

He was…well, feared sounded bad. Respected, even by powers like Rhir, was her understanding. Erin got everything through Tolveilouka, and she wiped at imaginary sweat on her brow.

“Good old Pawn. He’s always there when Liscor or anyone needs him these days. He’ll handle things. Great! Now the birthday can begin, and it sounds sort of interesting. Stick around, wouldja, Tolveilouka? But remember to stay out of sight.”

“I…shall try, Lady Solstice. Though I remind you that the Antinium and a few others are canny enough to notice me. As is that damn fire-breathing salamander.”

“Who? Oh, Teriarch. If he even shows up. Lazy, that fellow. Not even Ryoka gets him up these days. I think. Well, we can all relax. Lemme figure out what to say to Mrsha about her quest. Oh—and make sure to see if that really is Rags somehow, Tolveilouka. Maybe it’s a Skill? A Goblin who really liked the old Rags’ style?”

Erin thought out loud as she sat there, and Tolveilouka, her ‘faithful’ servant, would have interjected a few hurtful remarks as was his wont. However, even he hesitated.

“Yes…that child is the last one seeking your resurrection actively. I am sure other groups wish to aid her, Erin Solstice.”

Erin glanced up and waved a hand airily.

“What? Yeah, but they’ve stopped. Pisces was, like, the last one. And Pawn, but he hasn’t done anything risky in ages.”

“Yes. That does not mean that one has given up. He has rather admirable devotion. Almost as strong as mine.”

The Putrid One had been relaxing after all the interesting things had ceased; he didn’t care about the [Heroes] using their Skills. The five Goblins had been the only thing he even noted. But he didn’t miss Tolveilouka’s comment.

Erin did. She smiled with distant eyes that had not seen Pawn, really seen him, for ten years.

“You said he’s focused on his people. That’s all I need, Tolveilouka. He’s not crazy. He’s just added me to his religion thing, which is sort of weird—”

She chuckled and rubbed the back of her neck.

“I swear, I almost feel like I can sense his prayers some days. But that’s all.”

“Yes. Absolutely. Nothing to be concerned about at all.”

“Now you’re getting it, Tolveilouka. Give yourself a high-five.”

The Putrid One’s servant peered down at Pawn, then hid behind a boulder from his perch miles distant. He didn’t think that Antinium could see him, but Tolveilouka didn’t want to risk it. Again, in Tolveilouka’s parlance, he might have said, if he was honest, that Pawn was somewhat concerning.

Much like the [Paladin] who had come for his master. That kind of concerning.

Just a bit.

But the fighting had indeed ended, and by that empirical version of the truth, things were now ‘okay’. The two Ragses had met the older one. And Pawn. The Gnoll child and Goblin had rushed into Liscor, but they wouldn’t die there…

It was just talking.

How hard could that be?

First, you had to believe. Even a bit. Just enough to take what was said seriously.

Other worlds. Parallel universes. A Skill and different times. Better or worse.

It was easier because those involved were not, by and large, from Earth. They treated it like something unbelievable and strange, an oddity, a wonder, but not like people who thought they knew the rules of how it worked.

Seeing the visitors helped. Seeing Rags from ten years ago, captured perfectly as she was, or an older Mrsha, iconic in her white fur, was a kind of proof. But most of it was just how they acted.

They knew each other. It was in the adult Mrsha’s eyes whenever she saw someone she knew. It was time, emotion, memories locked away. You could deny the strangeness of it. Deny the probability, the absurdity.

But you could not deny time itself compressed into the fabric of each person who came to you from their own reality. The only way to deny that was to assume that the lives these other people had lived were fake, that they were imposters. Not real.

Brunkr tried that for half an hour until Mrsha kicked him in the groin. Then he sat there, holding his groin, shivering.

Shivering?

The Wandering Inn was full of chaos in every single reality. Of that, Mrsha du Marquin was positive. In this particular one, with the Floodplains of Liscor filled and the Raskghar and Liscor’s dungeon being on everyone’s mind, it was the chaos of the Knights of Solstice and Elia Arcsinger meeting people from the past.

If Mrsha so chose, she could go outside and see Elia Arcsinger playing the most desperate game of denials in her life with Captain Zevara.

“I’m eternally grateful for your support, Adventurer Arcsinger, but I just can’t understand why we shouldn’t mention this. And where are Arcsinger’s Bows, your team? Are these the new Arcsinger’s Bows?”

The Watch Captain was suspicious. She was always suspicious, and Elia wasn’t sweating, but her face was too carefully impassive.

“I’m not at liberty to say, Watch Captain. This is a private mission for a client. Adventurer confidentiality; you must understand. I would refrain from even recording my name. You may be…fact-checked.”

“By you?”

“No, not at all. You claim to see Elia Arcsinger, when in fact, history will show I was not here. And that may be the wisest course of action to take.”

Zevara studied Elia up and down.

“When I was younger, I used to see your doll all the time on patrol. I’d know your face anywhere. I nearly bought…well, that was ten years ago. Are you telling me you’re not Elia Arcsinger?”

The [Ranger]’s eyes flickered, as if she were placing the hardest shot of her life with her bow.

“…I am Elia, of course. I just suggest there are things you don’t quite understand, Watch Captain.”

“And my telling people will endanger you? I can respect that.”

“It would endanger you, Watch Captain. I would also, potentially, keep the information close to my chest if ever we met again.”

“That sounds like you’re saying you might not remember this. Is this a Manus Shadowscale operation? Mind wipes? A Reinhart or other power?”

“I’m not at liberty to speak on the matter. I suggest the Watch prepare for more monsters from the dungeon—ah, but we do have information you need to hear. There is a Named-rank threat you must be aware of. At least one.”

The Watch Captain tilted her head back and forth, eyes narrowing.

“I can understand and appreciate this mysterious help, Adventurer Arcsinger, but why has a second white Gnoll child appeared in this scenario? Something to do with the Raskghar? All this information you’re handing us—what’s the price I have to pay? Because I will pay it, depending on the cost. But I can’t agree to something that might put me at the mercy of a Skill later.”

Elia paused and brushed her hair out of her face.

“No cost. At least, none to you I am aware of, Watch Captain.”

Zevara barked a short laugh.

“You say that, but. I can’t really believe that.”

The half-Elf pressed two fingers together, breathing out slowly through her nose as the two analyzed the other’s posture, giving nothing away.

“What if I were to frame it as—”

At that moment, Ama walked past Zevara with her arms full of healing potions. The Watch Captain stared at her and snapped.

“And the potions? Why so many from Liscor?”

Elia hesitated, and Ama, who’d heard a bit of the interplay, frowned at Elia, the other people in the inn, and then gave Zevara a beaming smile.

“We’re from the future. Healing potions run out of stock in the future. Also, I’m a [Necromancer]. You can’t arrest me because I’m also a [Knight]. And I saved your ass. Buy me a drink when you see me.”

She beamed as Zevara’s face went slack, and Elia’s developed the very professional blankness of panic. Zevara choked silently for a few seconds, and the hilarity continued.

Oh, so very funny. Ha-ha. Mrsha didn’t watch what came next, though she could hear Elia beginning to speak more rapidly. She didn’t smile or laugh when a month ago this would have had her on the floor, vomiting in hilarity.

Because this was funny. It really was surreal and comedic.

Until it wasn’t.

You know what wasn’t funny? Standing there with someone from the past as they asked you what you knew and weighing what to tell them. Looking them in the eyes and seeing their future. Having to realize they were going to face hell and danger and—if you wanted them to be glorious, you couldn’t warn them about everything.

But you should.

Ser Normen got it. He was sitting with Erin, giving her a run down on everything he knew about the dungeon; he’d understood the pain of this the moment he walked down the corridor in the [Palace of Fates]. But even the people who weren’t as familiar, like Durene and Jewel, were getting it.

At first, they smiled. They sat like giddy girls with none other than Ceria Springwalker and the Horns of Hammerad.

They were here—the Redfang Five had vanished somewhere else, but the Horns had returned—they had not pursued a kidnapped Mrsha, and thus Ceria hadn’t been dragged off by Raskghar. The future changed for the better.

“He’s alive. I knew it. He’s alive.”

Ceria was punching the air; they’d just told her Calruz was alive. Neither Jewel nor Durene knew the rest of the Horns of Hammerad or the dungeon’s tales that well, but both had heard enough to give some of the highlights out. Like candy.

“He’s a bit—crazy. But you can get him back! And make it better than our future. Just go in, hit him—careful because he’s tough, one arm or not—and get him to a [Healer] or something. There’s a bunch of Rasgkhar in the way, but I think there’s a rebellion by the Cave Goblins.”

Jewel was grinning broadly. She was splayed out in a chair, adjusting her beret, playing up her Gold-rank status for all it was worth. Because the Horns were Silver-rank right now. Durene was also buddy-buddying with Yvlon and an awed Ksmvr. The half-Troll girl winked at Ceria, whose mouth moved as she wrote this down.

A tentative sniff interrupted Jewel. Pisces.

“A rebellion by the subservient class? Classic. It makes sense, of course. The moment I realized Cave Goblins were the lesser species in this relationship, I saw the potential—it’s information well taken of course, Knight Jewel. Purely logical.”

“Oh, logical; classic Pisces.”

Durene and Jewel laughed at each other, and Pisces flushed crimson. Jewel nodded Mrsha’s way.

“I don’t have a map of the dungeon, but our Mrsha might. Just get down there—but watch out for Facestealer!”

Durene’s eager smile faded, and she sat upright more as Ceria’s brow wrinkled.

“Who?”

“Facestealer. Uh…the nastiest monster in the dungeon. He’s mobile and hunting. He—there’s a way to kill him, but it’s risky. He could take out any Gold-rank team there is. He survived multiple Named-ranks going at him in our time. We’ll give you the information before you go.”

The [Swashbuckler]’s face had clouded up, but she smiled.

“Yeah. We’ll arm you ahead of time!”

“Thank you. I mean, this is unbelievable, but if it’s true—Calruz. How’s he doing? In the f-future? You said he was messed up. How hurt is he? We could prep a healer. Maybe even try to get the Healer of Tenbault? Any good treasure down there?”

Ceria gave the two women a quick smile, and Jewel’s broad grin winked out. Durene bit her lip.

“Oh. Ooh. Isn’t he still in…?”

The silence was not missed by the Horns. Yvlon massaged one arm.

“In…what? Where?”

Durene glanced at Yvlon’s arms, and the [Wounded Warrior] hid them,embarrassed, then laid them out. The [Paladin]’s brows creased as she saw Yvlon’s armguards were oddly enlarged. As if the flesh below was swollen.

“He—he—he’s fine. He’s in Liscor’s army, actually. Which is good. He was a prisoner. For a…a while. But he’s serving his sentence out.”

Jewel cleared her throat a few times as the Horns of Hammerad gazed at her in shock. She gazed at Ceria.

“You haven’t even been to the Bl—dead gods. And Pisces—”

She regarded him and suddenly flinched. His brows snapped together in paranoia.

“I what? Did I suffer a wound? The Bloodfields? What would possess us to work there?”

Durene was no longer having a good time. She half-rose as Jewel suddenly tugged the beret off her head. The [Swashbuckler] sat there as Ceria clenched the quill until it stained her hands.

“What did Calruz do in your…he’s behind the Raskghar. How many people will he kill?”

“I—I wasn’t—listen, don’t worry about that. Or anything in the future. You’ll be…but that was…Durene?”

The [Paladin] wasn’t listening. Yvlon had jerked her head subtly to the side, and the half-Troll girl had gone over.

“I suppose you know about my arms.”

“Your arms. Ye-es.”

Yvlon’s face was pale, but she removed part of her armguards, revealing…the odor of some medical herbs and her infected flesh made Durene gag. The woman covered the wound up fast.

“I…I’m sure I retired. I know that. Just—how long did I stay in? Should I have quit earlier? Am I—happy?”

Her face was so unhappy and afraid that Durene didn’t know what to say. She gazed at Yvlon, whom she had never known that well—and who, frankly, had seemed rather intense and violent even by Durene’s standards.

Angry. The Silver Killer of Izril.

A woman with metal arms—and a metal foot—because she had hurled herself into combat until her flesh and bones broke before her spirit.

Suddenly, Durene was no longer in the mood to talk about the past. She turned to Jewel, and the two shared a glance, then desperately searched around for reinforcements. Yvlon clutched Durene’s arm.

“Please. I have to know.”

“You’ll—be fine. I—hold on. Normen? Mrsha?”

They ran, and the Horns of Hammerad leapt to their feet. Worried and confused, which meant the Knights of Solstice had to explain. But how could anyone look them in the eye and not tell them about the Creler ambush? Fight an Adult Creler?

Look at Erin. They had to tell her about Hectval. But what about the siege of Liscor? Could she stop that?

Jewel, an adventurer, peered at the team who would have to evade Facestealer, fight an Adult Creler, and charge the Village of the Dead to become the growing legends she knew. The [Swashbuckler] clutched at her stomach.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

Now, you weren’t smiling. Now, you got it. That was before you thought of the sacrosanct. Stealing them. Stealing them and making your peace with what you’d do to two worlds.

Should you do it? To Mrsha, the question had been—what if I don’t?

She had to try. But she envied no one the weight of this.

It was still in her. It had never stopped.

That true realization of what she was doing in the beach garden as they held her, all the people she had loved and lost.

That endless, eternal scream was still in her, background noise coming from the depths of her soul. Even if she saved them all—it would never be the same.

That was what Mrsha felt. She gazed at the broad-shouldered Gnoll in his steel armor, clutching his balls, and felt anger for the first time.

How dare he look like he was suffering worse than she was? She’d saved his life. Yet Brunkr was sweating, shaking his head.

“This can’t…this is too much. Me? Dead? From Regrika—? No. Why would she even attack me?”

He snapped at her, getting angry, half-rising, and she realized—no, remembered.

Right. Brunkr had a temper. He wasn’t as big as she recalled, but she’d been small, and he’d been angry when they first met. He had broad shoulders, but he wasn’t that huge. Brunkr seemed so young. He didn’t have Normen’s surety in his own body and ability to stand and fight—that Normen had had even as a [Thug].

Dead gods, Mrsha realized. He was some…silly Gnoll kid. How old was he? Eighteen? Nineteen? Lyonette’s age. A Gnoll [Warrior] running around with armor on, wanting to be a [Knight].

Having met Akrisa Silverfang, Mrsha just bet other Plains Gnolls mocked Brunkr, and he was weird. No wonder Akrisa had sent him north to help out Krshia. A sort-of-dumb Gnoll with a vision of the future he clung to.

She understood, suddenly, how this younger Lyonette had fallen in love with him. The Lyonette of back then had still been a [Princess], just with her ego smashed flat. Suddenly, she got a devoted [Knight].

All this Mrsha understood as she wrote in the air.

Calm down, Brunkr. What happened in your…history? She killed Ulrien, didn’t she?

His hair was rising on end, and he was baring his teeth at her. When she refused to react, his snarl turned uncertain, and he sat.

“I—I—she killed Captain Ulrien. Then her associate attacked the city. I remember running back to the inn, but Erin said it was over when I arrived…”

She hadn’t invited him for the ambush on the two fake adventurers. The one difference was just that Regrika hadn’t murdered Brunkr.

“Who is Regrika Blackpaw?”

Mrsha’s eyes snapped open. She gave Brunkr an odd half-smile.

You know, we never found out. Gnolls searched for her for ages. But we never…

We never avenged you. Suddenly, that felt like a crime. Mrsha lowered her head, and Brunkr whistled.

“Dead gods. Even Plain’s Eye? I wrote back home about her, and Chieftain Akrisa was furious. She said even Chieftain Xherw was looking into the matter.”

Mrsha swished her wand and drew a frowny face.

I think the same thing happened in my time. But those Plain’s Eye bastards never figured it out then. Maybe she was actually one of them.

That comment stung Brunkr, and he sat up, wagging his finger in Mrsha’s face.

“Plain’s Eye…bastards? Watch your tongue. They’re a Great Tribe of Izril. I met Chieftain Xherw once, you know. He’s amazing.”

He’s a monster. He and his entire tribe hunt Doombearers. They sacrifice them to make—they are monsters, and I’ll tell you what you need to know about them.

Mrsha glanced at her younger self, peeking at her from behind a table. Brunkr grew indignant at Mrsha’s writing.

“You’re just a child. I’ll listen to someone older, like that [Grandmaster], but you’re, what, eight? Actually, why am I talking to you, no?”

He began to rise, and Mrsha slashed in the air with her wand.

You’re speaking to me, Brunkr. I’m the one who’s responsible for this. Listen to me and believe. You understood I wasn’t a monster, a ‘Doombringer’. Believe me, Chieftain Xherw will die hated by all Gnolls and hurt our people beyond belief. I’ll tell you—no. I’ll tell someone so the future changes better.

He was shaking his head at her. Getting mad again.

“This is ridiculous. You’re making fun of me. Everyone important is talking to everyone else—and I get the little bratty Doombringer.”

Don’t call me that.

“I’ll put you in time-out. Hey, um, Ser Normen. Can I ask…?”

Brunkr got to his feet, and Mrsha grabbed his arm. To her surprise, he rotated her around and put her under one arm like a pillow. Brunkr wore a cocky grin as Dame Ushar and Normen turned to eye him.

“That works on Mrsha in any world. Heh. H—”

Mrsha exploded out from under his arm with such force he went sprawling with a cry. He saw a giant, furry monster land on him and yelped.

“What th—”

Blue flames burst from Mrsha’s paws. A blue object, an ember, appeared in her grip, and her weight suddenly doubled. The Gnoll tried to get up and found he couldn’t immediately. Mrsha stood on his chest as he cursed and flailed and then lay there, panting, looking at her.

I am NOT the child you knew. I watched you DIE, Brunkr. Take this seriously. Chieftain Xherw murdered Cetrule. He’s why Torishi Weatherfur died. HE’S PART OF WHY ERIN DIED. I CAME BACK FOR YOU, SO LISTEN TO ME.

Her wand was flicking in the air, writing the words as the girl reached down, grabbed the fur around his neck, and shook him. Shook him with all her strength, tears running from her eyes, until she saw his terrified expression.

Then she let him go and stepped off him, realizing the inn had gone quiet and everyone was gazing at her, open-mouthed. Mrsha wiped her eyes.

No one said a word until Erin spoke.

“I-I’m dead?”

She gaped at Normen, lips parted in disbelief, and then fear entered her eyes. Fear as Mrsha had never really seen it. The [Grandmaster] gazed at Erin Solstice and then offered her a crooked man’s smile. He took his helmet from his scarred head and patted her hand.

“It’s good I met you like this. Thank you, Mrsha. I can stop seeing you as more important than me. As the only person who can change things.”

He sat straighter, and Mrsha swore she could see him level. He looked down at the trembling [Innkeeper] and gave her a grin. Then a wink, which was, to him, blinking.

“Yes. You died. Don’t worry. You got better.”

Mrsha laughed at that. She laughed and heard a guffaw from Ama, a scandalized snort from Vess—Mrsha laughed so bitterly at that little joke and realized no one from this time was laughing. Then she gazed down at Brunkr, scowling.

He looked so terrified. Of her? She offered him a hand up, but he actually pushed himself back and got up himself. Mrsha gestured to the table, and he sat. She was formulating a response when someone timidly pushed something onto the table.

Mrsha turned and saw a pair of frightened brown eyes and a little girl staring up at her. Younger Mrsha had just served them a plate of cold french fries. The girl was trying to calm things down the only way she knew how. With food.

The temptation to write something and send her younger self scurrying off was immense. Mrsha almost did that until she saw how scared her younger self appeared. Deeply, truly…

I’m scaring myself? That was silly. Young-Mrsha should have been delighted, even if she didn’t quite know how to speak yet. She should be happy about—

About this spectre of herself writing about the dead, seeming so miserable and hurt? Mrsha saw herself in her younger self’s eyes suddenly. She stopped. She gazed at the french fries, then took one. Chewed on it.

It wasn’t the best fry; cold and a touch greasy. She wrote in the air.

Thanks, me. Here.

She offered herself a french fry and got a nibble after a moment. The little Mrsha held out her arms, and her older self hesitated, then gently hugged the girl.

As she had once hugged Pisces. Hugged him as he sat in his room, weeping with rage and hurt, because that was the only thing she knew how to do.

Mrsha stopped thinking for a second. She stood there as the little paws squeezed her tight and wondered when she had stopped being so innocent. She felt like an old monster, just like she’d said. A monster of stealing happiness.

When she peered up, her anger had faded. And it allowed her to see what she had missed.

Brunkr was shivering. He was afraid. He was terrified, suffering…and it finally occurred to her to ask why.

“You…really came here just for me? You want me to go with you into the future to be a [Knight] in this fantastic order? Me?”

She shook her head.

That’s not quite right. I just want you, Brunkr. To…live. To have the chance you never did. That’s why I came back.

“For me.”

His voice cracked. He tried to take a fry and ended up knocking half a dozen onto the floor. Mrsha the Floor Cleaner disappeared under the table—the little one. Mrsha of Dead Brunkrs didn’t move.

I have a chance. If you could, wouldn’t you do the same?

He half-nodded as he thought about it. Then he uttered a bark of a laugh and began to rise. He regarded her, flinched, and sat down.

“I’d do that. I get that. It’s like the [Knight] who has to choose between the treasure and saving the [Princess]’ life in Tales of Adventure Volume…but—me. I’d—I’d—I’d—I’d save a hero of the Gnolls. Kerash!”

I can’t go back that far in time.

“Then I’d save someone like General Garusa Weatherfur! Or—Zel Shivertail.”

Brunkr twisted in his chair. He gazed at Mrsha, and there was an intake of breath from elsewhere in the inn. Mrsha’s own eyes didn’t waver.

I came here for you, Brunkr. Leave the others to me. Believe me. I remember.

Someone gasped. Dame Ushar. Brunkr touched his chest.

“Me. Brunkr Silverfang. You want me to come. Why? Did I date Lyonette in your time? Does she…?”

He twisted to look at the younger Lyonette, and Mrsha realized the [Princess] was watching them, apron balled up in her fists. Her eyes were wide and as afraid as Brunkr’s. Mrsha jerked her eyes away from Lyonette and Brunkr. She gazed at young Mrsha instead.

She didn’t fall in love with you. But she misses you.

“How much? Does anyone miss me besides Krshia and my family? What level was I? If Regrika Blackpaw killed me, I wasn’t even Level 10 as a [Knight]. I’m still not Level 20 yet!”

That doesn’t matter. I wanted to give you a chance—

Brunkr’s paws slammed on the table, and Mrsha jumped. She twisted around and saw his eyes were wide now. He barked at her, shouting.

“To do what? Go to your world and join them? Them!? Look at them! Look at me! How could I ever—to a world where you can do that? Me?”

His voice cracked, and she realized how much of a mistake she truly had made. He was trembling now so badly the plate of fries jumped around on the table.

“I—I—I can’t do that. They killed those Raskghar like it was nothing. Someone was saying they’re fighting Named-rank threats. I couldn’t do that. I ran away from a Rock Crab the other day. You want to pull me from here to the future and—and no one remembers me, and I’m dead. I can’t. Don’t do that. I wanted to be a [Knight], but there’s no way I could be him.”

He pointed a finger at Normen.

“A Knight Order, and they say I was the first? I don’t deserve that. You know I don’t! Why did you lie? Why did you come here and have to tell me—I’m dead. Oh, tribes. I’m dead?”

He buried his head in his paws, and the little Mrsha hugged him, climbing up to hug his armored chest. Lyonette ran over and took Brunkr’s arm.

“Y-you don’t have to make him decide right away, right, Mrsha? And it’s not like we just vanish. We’re real as you are. So…right, Mrsha?”

It was happening again. Mrsha sat there and saw how pale the Gnoll was under his fur. How terrified he was—of the Knights of Solstice. Of the future, and how impossible it was for him to become one of them.

Why would anyone ever leave their home behind? She had to answer that. It was Ser Normen who stood as Mrsha wrestled with that familiar despair. The [Grandmaster] of the Order of Solstice pointed a finger at Brunkr, who flinched, and Normen spoke like metal harder than the plate armor he wore.

“You are not yet ready to join us, Brunkr Silverfang. But you can be.”

Brunkr’s head rose slightly, then he buried his face into Lyonette’s neck, hiding. He peeked up, and Mrsha stood there. When she wrote, all three of that strange family flinched. Little Doombearer, young Gnoll [Knight], Human [Princess].

Lyonette. Of the three, she had stayed back the most, which was odd for the Lyonette du Marquin that Mrsha knew.

—But perhaps not the Lyonette of this time. Mrsha had dimmer memories of her first days in Liscor, but she did recall how subdued Lyonette had been at first. How she had struggled and Pawn and Olesm, and then Zel Shivertail, had genuinely been the only people kind to her, spoke to her.

Right now, the [Princess] seemed to have found her gumption, because she faced Mrsha as Brunkr clung to her. But hesitantly.

“I…hello, Mrsha. Sweetie.”

Hello, Lyonette.

Mrsha hesitated. She almost wrote ‘mother’, but it was wrong. This wasn’t her mother. She was a mother to little Mrsha, a good one, but not…she was too young.

Not in age. But they hadn’t shared the same moments. Lyonette was feeling the same thing, clearly, but trying to smile.

“You’re…this is such a difficult conversation. And you write so well! And you have—Dame Ushar of the Thronebearers? How did that happen?”

Her voice rose in stress, and Mrsha had to imagine that this Lyonette wasn’t exactly thrilled to see the guardians of her family. She wrote a simple reply.

They came to take you back home, in my world, but they stayed around. I trust Dame Ushar. I’ve made her life hell.

Lyonette tsked gently, shocked.

“Miss Mrsha! That’s a naughty word. Now, I think you’ve been very brave, and I know you’re about an—an important task, but why don’t you sit? I can get you some more, proper food, and you don’t have to—”

Her eyes slid sideways to Brunkr, and she tightened one arm around him possessively. Her voice rose.

“You’re just a child. Honestly, you shouldn’t be here with those horrible Raskghar attacking, Dame Ushar or not.”

I know. But I had to see that bitch, Nokha, die.

“Mrsha du Marquin, that is an unacceptable word!”

The girl felt a familiar sense of trepidation at the same voice scolding her, but she held her ground easily. She wrote with a bit of that coldness in her chest.

No, it’s not. I have to do this. Please don’t treat me like your current daughter, Lyonette.

“Well, I don’t see why you have to force Brunkr to a decision so swiftly!”

I don’t have time.

Lyonette stared incredulously at the little girl and grew angry. Her cheeks redeemed, and she gestured at the wide eyed younger Mrsha and Brunkr.

“And what about us? You’re just going to take—take him away? Do you even know him? How could you? How dare you—?”

She bit back her words, realizing she was shouting at the girl, but the weary-eyed glare she received made her flinch. There was something about this Mrsha that unnerved Lyonette. The [Princess] tried again.

“Mrsha, I know you are doing what you think is right. But this is a matter for adults. I should be doing this, or Erin.”

To which Mrsha held up a card with one word on it.

Lyonette wavered, and Mrsha wrote in the air since it was faster when she used her wand’s spell.

I understand you think I’m a child. And I am. But I grew up fast. I grew up the day I watched my tribe die. I grew up when the Raskghar kidnapped me. Let you? Mother, this is mere pain in my heart. I watched you go to war for me. If Nokha had come after me in my world, you would have jumped on her with a sword until you or her was dead. No. You do too much. So does Erin. I refuse to ask either of you. This is my choice. It has to be. My responsibility. My guilt if it fails.

Her eyes were so desperate, her words so…brave, so determined, and so unreasonable that it drew someone else into the argument. The [Knights] of Solstice had done a decent job of keeping everyone else out of the conversation, as had Dame Ushar.

Of course, Olesm was there, and Zevara. Did you think Olesm, a [Strategist], didn’t have a billion questions about the future? But Normen was willing to answer them, and when someone tried to push forwards to Mrsha, he put out an arm and shook his head warningly, and they desisted.

That worked on everyone—except the soft footsteps that carried a young woman across the inn. Normen turned to block her and hesitated. Dame Ushar pivoted…and halted.

The [Innkeeper], Erin Solstice, had a confused expression on her face, but her eyes were sharper than her appearance let on. She came to a halt, and Mrsha half-turned.

“Why would we let that happen in any world, Mrsha? No matter how old you get, you’re just a kid. What’s wrong with me? I thought I’d be better than letting any child go into danger. I mean, I’m not perfect, but I’m pretty sure I’m better than that. Right?”

She cast around, and no one had told her. Yet the [Magical Innkeeper], for all she was no [Witch] yet, could not miss the expressions. The way no one could meet her eyes. How even Dame Ushar gazed at her like a ghost or something else. Someone to be feared and respected.

Like they looked at Zel Shivertail. When she met Mrsha’s eyes, the girl flinched. And Erin Solstice grew confused and afraid.

This is what she saw.

Erin Solstice had no idea what was going on sometimes. All the political events of this world often went over her head. It felt like from the beginning, she had put her foot in obvious traps—because she had.

It was like coming to Earth and not getting the historical racism over skin tones between Humans. Or asking why this particular war mattered and getting that look from someone who felt it in the backbone of history.

That was why Erin had found the Antinium and Goblins so different. There was nothing for her to see. In the same way—she often didn’t ‘get’ people talking about Walled Cities and so on.

She wasn’t entirely as stupid as she liked to act. She got that things mattered, but in this case, she was truly ignorant as you could expect.

Here was a Mrsha. An older Mrsha, but not that much older. Two years? Tops? And she had a bunch of [Knights] in tow, she seemed like someone had created a Potion of Trauma and fed it to her every day of the week, and she wanted to take Brunkr to her world.

The absurdity of that aside, Erin tried to smile and sat down at the table.

“Mrsha. Can I call you Mrsha?”

Sure, Erin.

“Thanks, buddy.”

Mrsha’s wand paused the air, and she narrowed her eyes at the innocent smile.

No problem, pal.

“That’s great, friend.”

Glad to hear it, comrade.

“Perfect…amigo.”

Erin had to work for that last one. She saw the flicker of a smile on the other Mrsha’s face, then saw a silent laugh emerge, unwillingly, from the little face. That was good. That was what the [Innkeeper] wanted, but Erin Solstice was astounded to hear the same laugh come out of her own mouth.

Wow! Mrsha can do—banter? It was so surreal that Erin leaned forwards.

“Can I offer you a drink? Let’s all calm down, and we can talk things over, huh? Drinks are on the house! You did save us from the Raskghar! But, uh, we might need to clean the tables. There’s blood ‘n stuff on them. Gross. I should really get someone to help clean things up.”

“I can do it!”

Lyonette dashed over for a dustrag, and the other Mrsha paused. Her smile faded, and she developed that serious, calculating expression Erin didn’t like. It reminded Erin…a bit of her face. She didn’t often use a mirror when playing chess or when thinking, but she had done some YouTube videos right before she’d been taken to this world and realized she pulled a studious face like that.

Just…like that.

That was the unnerving thing. Erin saw parts of herself in Mrsha, and because they were parts of herself she had hitherto not examined, it rattled her. At the same time—

It was Mrsha! Come on! Erin spread her hands out.

“What can I getcha? Some goat’s milk? Blue fruit juice? I think we’ve got some left.”

The strange Mrsha tilted her head, and a hint of a smile appeared on her face.

Firebreath whiskey, on the rocks.

“Oh, come on. I definitely don’t let you drink that in your…time.”

Erin rolled her eyes, and the young Mrsha snorted.

Okay, fine. Goat’s milk it is. With whipped cream.

“I don’t think we have any.”

Syrup, then, one shot.

“One shot of syrup? What kind of madness is…you know what, that kinda sounds good. Let me make some of that.”

Erin bustled into the kitchen and came out with mugs of milk and syrup for everyone. She tried to hand it out as Mrsha and young Mrsha took a sip of contentment, but then it happened. She passed a cup to one of the [Knights]—Jewel?—and the [Swashbuckler] was staring so hard at her, with an open mouth, that the mug just tumbled from her grip.

“I’m so sorry! I’ll clean that up, Miss Erin!”

Jewel leapt up in dismay as the liquid splashed everywhere, and Erin raised her hands.

“Whoa, it’s fine! Sorry, I should have—‘Miss Erin’? That’s crazy. What am I, your boss?”

She glanced around, grinning, and then her grin faded. Because, at that table—the Gnoll girl wrote a shimmering word in the air.

Older Mrsha leaned on her table, sipping with one paw, seeming—ready. As if she were up against the boss of a video game. Erin realized this wasn’t working and headed back over as Jewel and Lyonette fought over who should clean the floors. Mrsha watched with urbane amusement—another unsettling thing to see on her face.

You should hire an Antinium named Silveran. And a Gnoll called Iskhr.

“Uh. I already employ Ishkr and Drassi.”

What? Oh, right, that sounds about correct. Hire some Antinium. And Goblins.

“Hey, that’s a good idea. Why haven’t I done that?”

Erin slapped her forehead and gave Mrsha a round-eyed look of amazement.

“Wow, this is great. Are there any other things I should do like that? Some super burgers or stuff? How about…hot pockets?”

She meant it, earnestly, and it was exciting, but the Gnoll girl just narrowed her eyes and studied Erin up and down. She replied, hesitant.

Huh. You’re not actually just doing this on purpose, are you? You’re actually…you didn’t think of it. I always thought you did more of that intentionally.

“Wh—hey! Is that a compliment or an insult?”

It’s just you. The same woman who’ll take a stand against Tyrion Veltras alone forgets she’s allowed to hire Antinium.

There was a faint, nostalgic smile on Mrsha’s face, and Erin felt her skin crawl.

“I…don’t know who that is. But thanks. From the sounds of things, though, I’m a pretty bad person in the future because here you are. I mean, I guess you’ve got [Knights] running around. But Lyonette’s right. This isn’t your job, Mrsha. And taking Brunkr…”

She had thoughts about that, but mostly what to do if the [Knights] tried to press their case. Erin hadn’t believed there was a chance Brunkr would leave of his own free will. He and Lyonette were a thing! A gross thing of flirting and cutesiness, but he was good for her, and Mrsha had warmed to him.

This should not be. But also, simultaneously, this little kid shouldn’t appear so sad. Erin forced a smile.

“Here’s an idea. How about I go with you to the future? Not to stay, don’t worry, Lyonette! But I’ll talk some sense into future me, huh? Maybe give her one of these!”

She made a fist and punched the air a few times. This was assuming future her hadn’t upgraded her [Minotaur Punch] into a real [Relc Punch], of course. Actually, what was she like in—?

Erin realized that Future Mrsha’s smile had winked out. The girl took a huge breath as she pushed her mug back, and the [Innkeeper] realized she’d messed up somehow.

“Or not. It’s just an offer. Is it, like, only one person can go?”

Yes. And you…you could visit. Surely, you could. But I think it wouldn’t be a good idea. For anyone. I’m glad I met you, Erin. Just like Normen. I forgot what you were like.

Erin Solstice felt a nervous twinge in her heart. She spread her hands.

“Oh come on, how bad could I get? Seriously. I know I might have, uh—died. But I got better! Right?”

She forced a laugh and looked around. None of the visitors from the future laughed. They were gazing at her so unnervingly Erin shivered. And Mrsha? She wrote—

The future you is gone, Erin. Not dead, but on Baleros. She’s sometimes silly. She’s still sort of stupid sometimes—

“Hey.”

—but she’s just you. You after too many days like today. When she tells someone to sit down, to stop, they listen. Because future Erin can make them. She can do things. She’s amazing. Brave and powerful and more tired than me. I love her. But I miss the you of now.

The [Innkeeper] didn’t like that. She didn’t like any of it, despite the praise it was supposed to be. She shifted.

“That—future me sounds kind of like a jerk. A bit like Magnolia.”

She expected Mrsha to object and come to her defense, but the Gnolls eyes screwed up, and she nodded slowly.

Yes. That’s fair. And I think I like Magnolia Reinhart more than you do. I treated her harshly. We all did. Future you can sometimes be unkind. That’s okay.

“Wh—come on, now. Who wants someone who’s a jerk like that? You sound like I’m an Ilvriss.”

We like him too.

Erin was getting unreasonably angry. She half-rose from the table, voice rising defensively.

“So I’m some kind of powerful [Innkeeper] who gets my way come hell or high water? Who needs that?”

In reply, the girl’s response was swift as lightning.

People who will never back down. Idiots, monsters, foolish [Princes], and armies. The world needs an Erin Solstice who can breathe fire and threaten to kill someone. Because they won’t stop for anything less. You’ll see it. The Erin Solstice of the future is the best Erin I know! I wish she’d been there from the start!

The [Magical Innkeeper] flinched. She felt a strange panic rising in her chest, and Mrsha wrote slowly, eyes locked on her.

At the same time, I miss you. I miss the way you smile and the belief you have that everything will work out. I miss your mercy towards monsters and these quieter days.

She said that while sitting in an inn that had just survived a Raskghar attack. When she wrote that—Erin Solstice knew she truly was out of her depths.

“What happened to you, Mrsha? W-what happened to me?”

The Gnoll girl took a huge, painful breath.

We got older, Erin. That’s all. But that’s all. Don’t look at me like that.

She averted her eyes. The girl wrote in the air, and the inn tensed.

I should have come with a bunch of bastards, like Todi, and kidnapped Brunkr if I wanted to succeed.

The [Innkeeper]’s pulse sparked, and she was conscious of her bag of holding, where her frying pan lay. And jars of acid, but she couldn’t. Not to…her voice trembled.

“That’s not a Mrsha I ever want to see. No matter what you think I am, I don’t want that, Mrsha. I promise.”

She stood there, afraid of this little girl, afraid of herself and what she might become, until she saw that white-furred girl’s shoulders shudder. Then the brown eyes rose, and they glistened with tears. The [Fatebreaker Child] wrote.

No. I don’t want to be that either. I don’t think I could. But it would be so much easier to be a monster. But I can never forget you. I don’t think you can either.

Then the [Innkeeper] went weak at the knees at how sorrowful the girl looked. Erin stumbled forwards and had to catch the table. Then she hugged the other Mrsha hard as she could.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for messing up so bad.”

She said that and felt the younger girl hiccup, then stiffen. Two small arms enfolded Erin, and a head mutely shook back and forth.

It was never your fault, Erin.

Those big eyes conveyed what was in Mrsha’s heart without the need for words. They held each other for a long moment, the girl trembling with pain and happiness and grief, and the [Innkeeper] barely able to withstand the echo of the future she felt.

Then the girl finally let go and sighed.

I’ve failed.

She knew she had. It didn’t take a hug with Erin Solstice to know that. The moment Brunkr had begun trembling, Mrsha had known. After she let go of Erin Solstice, the [Knight] returned, with Lyonette and the little Mrsha.

The girl was clinging to one of his paws, and Lyonette had linked arms with him at the elbow, as if defying Mrsha to steal him alone. You’ll have to take us all.

It was such a beautiful little picture, foreign, and Mrsha knew it could be destroyed so quickly. Nokha almost had.

She was not Nokha. The girl wrote, with relief, and bitterness, warring in her heart, as she glanced at Erin.

I see it now. Oh, I knew I might fail. But I had to try. I will not force you, Brunkr, even if I could. I’m sorry. I did this wrong. Let me at least tell you the future I know. I only ask one thing of you.

“W-what?”

The Gnoll [Knight] leaned back as Mrsha climbed onto the table, on two legs instead of four. So it was far more wrong than if a child did it. The [Innkeeper] looked at Mrsha, silently, but she didn’t draw back. The short Gnoll held out her arms.

Let me hug you. Please.

His face grew so confused, then, and she realized he really wasn’t the smartest sword in the armory. But Lyonette nodded, and Brunkr half-rose.

Mrsha embraced him gently. She wrapped her paws around his face and buried her face into his fur. Smelling his scent and trying to remember it. To re-burn his image into her head.

Brunkr Silverfang had no idea what was going on. This terrifying girl from the future that scared him so much was just hugging him. He only realized, after a few awkward moments, when he wondered if he should pull away, that her chest was heaving.

Then he heard a sound and felt wetness on his head. The [Knight] realized Mrsha was crying. He looked up and saw her eyes were open. She was gazing at him, up and down, arms trembling as she held him as if trying to never let go.

So strong. Beyond the strength of any child. Because—how strong might you be, how fiercely would you hold on? If you were hugging a ghost.

Hugging someone you had lost.

If you had the power to turn back time and share one more moment with them—what would you do?

When Brunkr thought of that, he felt his arms grow weak, and his own eyes stung horribly. He tried not to shed any tears, for a [Knight] should not cry. Then he turned his head and saw Jewel was on the floor, tears running from her eyes, and Normen had tears running from both eye sockets.

Then Brunkr broke down and hugged the girl back. He searched for words and said some.

“Thank you. Thank you for saving me. Thank you—for remembering me.”

She only wept harder, and then he was holding on. Trying to keep her from whatever terrible future she had come from. Wondering if he could save her.

It took an age, a forever, an [Immortal Moment] that was still too short before they let go. When they did, Mrsha turned and bowed to the [Innkeeper], who bowed back. Then, the [Fatebreaker] stepped back and breathed in.

I have failed. And I may fail forever and waste every chance and cheat I was given.

She turned and met every eye in the room, from her world and this. Mrsha nodded.

I have no regrets.

The girl lifted her eyes heavenwards, towards Erin Solstice, Brunkr, her mother, and knew she would pay for this moment. She would continue until she had used up all her chances, and that debt would be collected.

So be it. She breathed in, out, and kept going.

He would have rather been stabbed by that bastard at the Winter Solstice.

He would have rather broken up with Octavia a hundred times.

He would have rather died.

Numbtongue, the [Sybarite Soulbard], stood in the basement of The Wandering Inn, in the place that would someday, later, just have boxes of supplies, neatly-organized by Calescent, and bright lights and a made-over, rat-free environment.

The new inn even had the ‘secret passage’ of the Antinium clearly marked so no one put boxes on top of the fake passageway.

In the past, it was dingier, emptier, and home to five bedrolls of mismatched blankets and pillows pushed together. No mattresses; the Goblins who lived here slept on hard stone and thought it was the best place they’d ever lived in.

In the future, they’d all have rooms—

One of them would. And he’d fill it with pretty rocks, sheets of music he wrote when inspired, books, snacks, and tools. It would be messy except when Octavia snuck in to sort it…

Strange that he thought of her right now, even with all this happening. But it had just been today, and it was easier than…turning around.

The floorboards creaked; above him, he could hear voices from the rest of the people in the inn. They were all talking to the [Knights] and Mrsha. Revealing secrets of this world. But the Hobgoblin stayed below.

It wasn’t where he thought he belonged. It was where they had taken him the moment they had seen him and realized who he was. And they hadn’t—not right away. They’d circled him, staring at him, and he hadn’t said a word at first.

He couldn’t.

If he turned his head, Numbtongue would scream. He’d stab himself with a sword rather than face what this world held. What Mrsha had done to him.

Five Goblins stood behind him, just watching.

Five Hobgoblins.

Five Redfangs.

His brothers. Himself. Numbtongue could not meet their eyes. Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Badarrow, Rabbiteater.

In the flesh.

The only thing that kept him grounded were the ghosts. They stood there in front of him. Pyrite sitting on a box, Shorthilt sitting cross-legged, eyes fixed over Numbtongue’s shoulder with an expression of such longing, pride, and pain that Numbtongue trembled. And Reiss, eyes lost in desperate desire.

Don’t run, Brother.

Of course he wouldn’t really run. How could he? He would never run away. He would give anything for a moment like this. And yet, he couldn’t turn around. The paradox was so ironic. Numbtongue wished Salkis were here to give him support. To be a conversation topic…

…No. Maybe not Salkis. She might not get what family meant. But Garia would. And Octavia would—

Octavia. The [Bard] opened and closed his hand. A bitter darkness bloomed in his heart, even now. He felt like he was filled with poison.

Turn. Turn and say something to them. Turn and—

He couldn’t. So the [Bard] stood there as voices sounded above, eyes fixed on the empty pile of boxes, the untidy circle of blankets and pillows, the original Fortress of Fluff…okay, the Swamp of Softness. At the cracks in the floor that hid the Antinium secret passage, the crimson-eyed Goblin crabbing sideways—

Numbtongue saw Rabbiteater and shouted.

“Aaah!”

Rabbiteater crabbed away as Numbtongue leapt a full two feet in the air. The younger Hob seemed alarmed at the response he’d gotten. He’d snuck over to stare at Numbtongue’s face on the principle that if Numbtongue wasn’t actually gonna turn around…

Numbtongue swivelled around, and Badarrow slapped the top of Rabbiteater’s head as the other Hob grinned and spread his hands out.

Oops! Sorry.

His brothers all punched or kicked him, then stared at Numbtounge. Older Numbtongue. Younger Numbtongue was at a loss for words, mouth open. Which was too bad, because the others kept poking him to say something for them.

Old Numbtongue, Bard Numbtongue, knew how this worked. He—had been them. They were all poking Numbtongue because he had ‘the best words’ and they were as shy as him, but just pretended that it was his job. Everyone had their role.

Headscratcher was their informal warleader who had to make tough calls like Grunter. Badarrow was the grumpy one who pointed out the bad side, pulled the group back from stupid ideas—sometimes—and Shorthilt got to be that pivotal deciding vote. When he said or did something, everyone listened. Rabbiteater was the funny-Goblin who lightened the mood and eased tensions, and Numbtongue got to be the ‘smart’ one who read things and communicated.

Know your role. It wasn’t like they had to be that, but they liked doing it most of the time. They liked…being a group.

Had that changed? Had they ever stopped being the Redfang Five, as Mrsha and Lyonette had taken to calling them?

…No. Even at the end, Numbtongue had been right there with his brothers. To the finale of it all, against the Goblin Lord.

He wondered, suddenly, if they had all lived—would they have split apart like they did now? He had no words.

A Goblin finally broke the silence of the two Numbtongues. Of all of them, it was Shorthilt. He raised a hand, then touched his chest and drew a familiar symbol.

“Um…Redfang?”

He gazed at the [Bard], and that did provoke a reaction. The [Soulbard] did a half-hearted tracery of the gesture. Stopped. Shrugged.

“Sure. Redfang.”

Whoa. All of the Redfang Five’s mouths dropped open, and they traded a slow look.

Was this guy for real? This Numbtongue—he was Numbtongue, even if he had a beard! He was older. Way more…you know. Stylish? He had on fancy clothes, and he was fit. He had a crystal sword, a guitar, and he felt like a Chieftain in strength.

He was amazing. A Numbtongue from the future. They were agog—but then stunned.

He didn’t instantly echo the Redfang sentiment? Obviously, they weren’t still Redfangs. They’d quit the tribe. But you’d think he’d always reply with a slap on his chest or a grin or even just a thumbs-up!

The older Numbtongue read their consternation. He held up a claw and clarified.

“Sorry. Redfang. They’re still around. Just not—Redfang. You know?”

He made another half-hearted gesture, and he struck them all speechless again. Because this Numbtongue of the future?

He was using his words. He was eloquent. The Numbtongue of now could be a speaker, but he seldom did it, even for Erin.

This Numbtongue talked like it was natural. Plus—

He didn’t have any body-language gestures. He spoke like Erin or Lyonette. He barely intonated with his arms and hands or the rest of his actions like Goblins did.

It made him doubly strange. Surreal. But Headscratcher held up a thumbs up. He hesitated, searching for words, and scratched his head.

“The Wandering Inn. Erin.”

They all expected an immediate nod and a laugh or grin. When the Goblin hesitated—just for a second—before weakly smiling, the four Redfangs turned to stare at younger Numbtongue. The younger Goblin was poleaxed.

Who is this, and why does he wear my face?

“The Wandering Inn’s great. Erin is—amazing.”

He said that. With his words. A few of the Redfang Five poked themselves so hard they gave themselves bruises. They exchanged a look and reached an unspoken consensus.

If he doesn’t give a good reply on this next one, he’s one of them shapeshifting monsters in the High Passes and we fight.

They nodded at each other and regarded their Numbtongue. Without breaking eye-contact, the young [Bard] reached for something in his new belt pouches given to him by Erin. He held it up and spoke reverentially. Almost pleadingly.

“Esthelm?”

A flower wavered in his trembling claws. The [Bard] focused on the flower, and they waited. Older Numbtongue said nothing for a moment. Two. Then he closed his eyes.

“Always.”

It was not how they expected him to say it, but the five younger Hobs slowly nodded. They drew closer, like [Assassins] gingerly sneaking up on someone for a hug. But they didn’t hug him. Rather, Badarrow reached out, felt one arm, and leapt back. Rabbiteater gingerly felt at Numbtongue’s stomach. Shorthilt reached for a blade.

“Stop that. It’s sharp. You’ll cut your fingers off if you touch it like you normally do.”

Numbtongue snapped at him. He tried to bat Headscratcher’s hands away from his hair. The younger Numbtongue put his hand in the bag of holding and pulled out a half-full bottle of Firebreath Whiskey.

All of the Redfang Five stared at the bottle. The older Nubmtongue just sighed. After a second, Numbtongue uncorked the bottle and took a swig.

He’d forgotten how much they didn’t speak, sometimes. The five Hobgoblins reminded Numbtongue a bit of Erek, which was not the most flattering of comparisons, but it was actually fairly accurate.

So much of what they communicated was in body-language with each other. They were so in-sync they didn’t need to speak, and it was hard for the [Soulbard] because…he wasn’t.

He caught some of what they were thinking and could guess their feelings, but it hurt. Hurt in a different way than the fear of turning around.

Then Rabbiteater tried to pull Numbtongue’s pants down, probably on the assumption things had changed there too. Since they had, Numbtongue caught the belt of his pants and snapped.

“Knock it off! Use your words, will you? I know you can. You’re as bad as Mrsha was before she learned how to write!”

Rabbiteater recoiled, hands raised, and lost the tentative, teasing smile he wore. The clown was only funny when people were in the mood for it.

Rabbiteater. The average Goblin. The butt of the jokes. The…

The other four Redfangs had tensed when Numbtongue snapped. Not fully, but just reacted as one did in the presence of a foreign, unpredictable Goblin from another tribe.

As they’d treated Greydath of Blades. But these five had never met Greydath.

They had so much left to live. Cave Goblins to liberate and teach. So much—

And so little. When he gazed at them, Numbtongue’s soul ached. He wanted to just be one of them again, laughing and hugging each other and happy. But he couldn’t.

He was already there.

Plus, he no longer fit. So he put his hands in his jeans pockets and fixed Rabbiteater with a serious look.

“You’re not…this simple. I know you have greater depths. Stop acting like this. I know there’s more in you than that. Soon, you’ll be needed. Stop—demeaning yourself.”

The other Goblin’s eyes widened, and he gazed silently at the younger Numbtongue. After a second, the younger one said.

“Demeaning is—think bad about yourself. Think Goblin is stupid when not. Like Redscar saying he bad warrior.”

Oh. Rabbiteater nodded, and the [Soulbard] closed his eyes. Right. Their grasp of English wasn’t even that good. Yet the message seemed to have worked. The Redfang Five scrutinized Numbtongue.

Badarrow derisively poked Rabbiteater in the side and smirked. Him? Depths? He’s deep as a pool, not the Floodplains.

That was his thing. He liked to be cynical. But Badarrow was not prepared for the [Soulbard]’s eyes to flash.

“Someday, he will go further than Garen Redfang ever dreamed. He will be the strongest of all of you. A Hobgoblin who slays [Generals]. The most famous. The most loved.”

That last part slipped out. He didn’t mean to—and the other Redfangs missed it. They were giving Rabbiteater a look of incredulity, and he had gone cross eyed. But not a gaze of pure disbelief.

Headscratcher’s eyes searched Numbtongue up and down, and he gingerly made a fist. He tapped his chest, then held it out questioningly.

And you? Numbtongue moved his shoulders up and down, restless.

“I’m not a warrior. I’m a [Soulbard].”

A what? Numbtongue had to explain briefly. The Redfang Five were awestruck. A [Bard] who was like a [Shaman]! They wanted to see a ghost use their powers, so Numbtongue bit his lip and glanced around.

Who? Pyrite? He wasn’t demonstrative, and they hadn’t…been on good terms. Shorthilt was—

“Let me.”

Reiss reached out a hand, and Numbtongue nodded. He closed his eyes—then opened them.

They had turned black, and the white pupils made Shorthilt leap back into a wall and nearly draw his sword. Headscratcher recoiled—but Reiss just raised a hand. He said:

“Arise.”

Instead of the undead, though, every object in the room began to float upwards. Badarrow had drawn his bow, but he hesitated as he saw a bucket filled with snacks float past his head. Rabbiteater grabbed one of the roasted potatoes and then watched it float out of his palm. Young Numbtongue’s mouth had dropped open again.

Reiss let the spell go for thirty seconds, then departed Numbtongue’s body abruptly, without a farewell or waiting for the three minutes he could now exist. Like the other ghosts…

Well, the effect worked. The Goblins watched the objects fall to the ground, then clustered around Numbtongue, eyes big with respect. Shorthilt begged to see the Dragoncrystal sword, and Numbtongue let him.

“It’s sharp. A master Dwarf forged it.”

And that? Rabbiteater pointed eagerly at the guitar, and Numbtongue’s lips quirked despite himself.

“Plays songs. Buffs people. Can make stamina come back. And I can call down lightning bolts.”

Whoa. Numbtongue basked in their adulation for a moment. He felt like he’d reset the meeting’s feeling, and they were badgering him with questions.

What about me?

Badarrrow thrust a finger at himself. If Numbtongue got to be some kind of [Shaman] and Rabbiteater got to be the ‘best’, surely he got something.

It was a relief neither Headscratcher or Shorthilt had asked. But Headscratcher was uncertain about his future, and Shorthilt liked weapons. It made sense Badarrow asked. Numbtongue’s chest was tight, but he replied.

“You have a girlfriend.”

Waxworks of open-mouthed Goblin statues. Every eye turned to Badarrow, and he slashed a hand defensively.

No I don’t. He paused. Then made a gesture of entreaty.

What kind of girlfriend?

Numbtongue thought of the best way to describe Snapjaw.

“She eats a lot of food. And she has a pet Frost Wyvern. She used to be a Chieftain.”

The Redfang Five considered this, and then, brows raised, they began patting Badarrow on the shoulders in a congratulatory manner. The [Sniper] huffed and tried to not look interested. Then they asked him another obvious question. The Hobgoblins were getting excited enough to use their words, so Headscratcher jabbed a finger at Numbtongue.

“In future…the. What—where—who you fighting? No, what do you do?”

“What do I…?”

Numbtongue hesitated and saw them all nod sagely. For, if he was some Goblin on par with any [Chieftain] they’d known, a [Soulbard], and they had all achieved some level of success, then surely he was doing something important.

“Help Chieftain Rags? Play music for army? Use ghost wiseness?”

Headscratcher clarified as Numbtongue was tellingly silent. The [Soulbard] didn’t respond immediately. After a moment, he croaked.

“Guard the inn.”

Oh. Paradoxically, this worked. Headscratcher stepped back and nodded, slapping his forehead as if this were obvious. Even Badarrow gave a judicious nod.

What could be more important, especially in light of today’s events? The Hobgoblins regarded each other, then asked another obvious question, for them.

“What happened to Chieftain Rags? Where she? What about Goblin Lord?”

They were concerned about Goblin politics. They didn’t think to ask about Erin. Or the inn. For all their love of this place, they took it for granted that Erin would continue. Numbtongue’s lips twisted wryly, and he noticed a Goblin start.

The younger Numbtongue was reading him. They were alike enough that the subtle tells were still noticeable to his other self; the other Hobs had been treating him more like a Human and were too excited to notice. The [Soulbard] met his counterpart’s gaze and lied by omission.

“Right now, I think Chieftain Rags and Garen are meeting Tremborag. The Great Chieftain of Dwarfhalls Rest. It won’t last long. In the future, they’ll meet Greydath of Blades. A Goblin Lord. He had a beard, and he’s—well, he’s on no one’s side. Far later, Chieftain Rags will build a base in the High Passes.”

This was all eminently satisfying to the Redfang Five, and they began to ask what kind of Chieftain this ‘Tremborag’ was; Headscratcher and Shorthilt opined they might have heard of him, but not in a kindly way.

The younger Numbtongue was silent. The older one described Tremborag in accurate—and therefore uncharitable—terms, then cleared his throat.

“There’s a lot to talk about, actually. Right now, you should worry about the dungeon. Those Cave Goblins I captured? They’re slaves to Raskghar. You should talk to them. It’s important.”

Headscratcher’s head had come up at the word ‘slave’, which he only vaguely understood as something Garen detested. He hesitated, then glanced up at the inn.

The surviving Raskghar and Cave Goblins were under guard by some of the Watch. Numbtongue encouragingly motioned upstairs.

“Go ahead. Mrsha also knows important things. Give me a second. I want to talk to…myself. If that’s alright.”

Numbtongue? The Redfangs gazed at the [Bard], and the younger Numbtongue gulped, then made shooing motions.

“That’s…a good idea. I’ll talk. You go to the Cave Goblins. And Two Legs Mrsha.”

The other Redfangs nodded, but picked up on the sudden tension in the room. They clattered up the basement stairs, and Numbtongue found himself alone with his counterpart.

How nervous his younger self was. He awkwardly gestured to the Swamp of Softness, then a crate as a seat. The [Soulbard] elected to stand and lounge against a wall as the [Bard] sat on a crate, like a student called to attention.

“Sorry. It’s hard to explain some things about the future. Not everything goes well.”

Older Numbtongue ignored the head-tilt and Goblin language until the younger one actually spoke.

“How…not well is it? How badly?”

“Not everyone makes it. In my time, about a year from now, Garen Redfang’s dead. So are most of the Redfangs. A lot of Goblins have died. You, Rabbiteater, and Badarrow are the only Goblins left.”

He let his counterpart work out that basic statement. Numbtongue rocked back, and the older him felt bad. But only a bit. The pain of that day—he wanted to, had to share it.

But once more, the past surprised him. Numbtongue’s head bowed, and he covered his face for a second with his palms, then dragged at his eyelids and cheeks. But when his head rose, his eyes were bleak.

“Bugear died while we got here. Orangepoo, Grunter, Leftstep, all the others died for the [Florist]. How did we die?”

“Defending Erin. Fighting the Goblin Lord. Trying to protect Liscor.”

The younger [Bard]’s eyes opened wide, and he sat straighter.

“Good. Then I’ll make sure Headscratcher and Shorthilt don’t die this time.”

Even if I have to go in their place. He made it sound so simple. Older Numbtongue felt himself getting angry.

“It’s not that easy.”

“I will try.”

“You can’t protect them. You’ll be up against—worse will come. You can’t even protect the inn. It will be attacked again and again. By Adult Crelers, by Facestealer, by armies. You won’t be able to protect anyone, not even Erin. In my time, she dies.”

This time, he took vindictive pleasure in the full flinch of his younger self. The Goblin’s face crumpled, and the [Soulbard] was forced to add—

“—She comes back to life. But she dies. And you—we—were there. We were too slow. It’s the Drakes. With crossbows, on a day in the summer. We were fighting them. Gnolls, too, trying to kill Mrsha.”

He remembered that day. His voice trembled as he put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“This sword. We were winning. Cutting them down. We raced outside, and the Drakes were just—[Soldiers]. On a stupid raiding mission against Liscor. They opened fire, and I thought I was dead. But they didn’t aim at me. It was all my fault. If I hadn’t been cocky—they were poisoned bolts. She died there on the ground, and we froze her body, and then the inn was quiet. That’s what happened. Everything that came after wasn’t enough to atone for that. Do you understand?”

He met the young [Bard]’s eyes, and the Goblin tried to hold his gaze and looked away. Pale, suddenly, like a Cave Goblin.

“I won’t do it this time. I swear.”

“It doesn’t matter. It happened to me. I have three ghosts at my side. Pyrite, Shorthilt, and the Goblin Lord, Reiss.”

If the [Bard] could grow paler, he would. He searched around, and the older Numbtongue bared his teeth.

“Shorthilt’s waving at you and calling me names.”

The younger Numbtongue tried to wave back and smile. But he was truly shaken. He sat back, and again, the [Soulbard] felt guilty.

Why was he doing this? He ameliorated his tone, took a seat across from Numbtongue, and smiled, then pitched his voice low, conspiratorially.

“It’s not all bad. You get a girlfriend in the future.”

“Really? Me? Who?”

“Well—you get three.”

Numbtongue’s mouth opened in an ‘o’ of amazement. The older [Soulbard] glanced up at the inn and remembered—Octavia might not even have her shop here yet.

“Okay, listen. The first one’s a Stitch-girl. Octavia. Erin’s probably got that door open, right? Well, she’s running into trouble with Celum—you should check on her and help her out now. Bring Yellow Splatters. He’s a good guy. The second one is Garia Strongheart. You’ll meet her father first; he’s met Goblins, and he and his wife are great. Garia’s a City Runner, but she’s on track to become a Courier, and she wants to learn martial arts. You can do some ‘sparring’ with her.”

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and the younger [Bard] nodded, trying to memorize this. Then he realized what the older Numbtongue was suggesting and turned bright red.

“Who—who’s the third?”

“Salkis. Pallass. Black scales, good with knives.”

“Oooh. Wait, Stitch-girl, Human, Drake?”

“Drake.”

“Drakes like Goblins?”

Numbtongue’s voice was disbelieving and awed. The older Numbtongue grinned.

“They’re surprisingly open-minded, some of them. It’s all about how you act. Confidence matters. Salkis will find you a lot later. Don’t worry about them. Just be nice to the other two. Oh, and Octavia’s ticklish behind her ears and under her armpits. And Garia—”

This was fun. He enjoyed giving himself tips and imagining things going better. But then the young [Bard] surprised him.

“Why—why three? One good. Very nice. You mean one then two then three?”

“Oh, no. Three at the same time. Well, not in the same room, but you’re—I’m in a relationship with all three.”

Well, two now. Or is it one?

Numbtongue didn’t say that to himself. The younger Goblin gave him a look of shy disbelief and grinned again. But then he frowned.

“But why?”

Why? The older Goblin was confused. This was him from the past, right? He spread his clawed hands out.

“Why not? Are you crazy? Did any of that sound bad to you?”

“No…”

The younger [Bard] drew out the word slowly, but he was shaking his head.

“It just makes no sense. Why would I…want three girlfriends?”

“Sex, dumbass?”

“But if I like someone…”

The [Bard] hesitated. His eyes flicked sideways, and then the [Soulbard] saw it. His smile faded. He gazed up at the ceiling, and his voice became flat and cold.

“She won’t ever love you like that. None of the five of you. She’ll sail across the world to save Rabbiteater. But not us, Numbtongue. I tried.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The [Bard] bowed his head, and then he raised it with a smile. It was hurt, but relieved.

“But she still likes us, right?”

The [Sybarite Soulbard] sat there, his insides thrumming with the memory of that moment, the hurt, that image of Badarrow stepping past him and Valeterisa holding up her hand and saying she couldn’t teleport anyone more.

It came out of him in a kick, so fast and savage that it hit the [Bard] in the ribs and launched him across the basement. He rolled and tumbled with a coughing shout, then staggered up. His fists were raised, and he clutched at his ribs, eyes wide with confusion and anger. The [Soulbard] felt his blood thrumming, but his veins iced over with regret.

“Sorry.”

He raised his claws. He stood up and then unhooked a healing potion from his belt. He offered it to his younger self, and the other Numbtongue shook his head. The [Bard] sat down, feeling at his ribs, wincing, but staring at the older Numbtongue.

“I—I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. She does…like us. She does. I think. I don’t know anymore. I let her down. She was trying to save Rabbiteater, and I was too slow. Badarrow went instead of me. I should have gone. I was too slow again.”

Numbtongue put his head in his hands. If his counterpart had jumped up and taken that moment to slug him, he would have welcomed it. But the blow never came. Instead, after a moment, the young [Bard] cleared his throat.

“Why…no. Tell me why we’re dating three people, then. If you’re sorry.”

His eyes were challenging, and he was tensed. The older Numbtongue was ashamed. He folded his claws together, resting his arms on his knees, and tried to be honest.

It was…easier to ramble, so he did.

“Why? Well, first it was Octavia. She was in need of help, and no one noticed her. And we just—hung out. I’d make her food and check on her, because she’s silly, really. She doesn’t do anything. She just focuses on work. Which is good. I even drank potions for her—don’t drink the ones with spots in them. And yeah, of course I liked her. We liked her a lot. She’s beautiful. She doesn’t think so. Stitch-folk don’t see beauty like we do. But I…I did just like her, and I was too shy to say it until she began hinting back. I guess that’s how it happened.”

He’d forgotten that. The [Bard] leaned forwards, wrath mostly put aside, and the older [Soulbard] scratched at his chin, then felt at his goatee, as if forgetting it had existed.

“It wasn’t like I went after Garia the same way. It was the same thing. She wanted to learn how to fight. She’s strong as a Gargoyle, dedicated—she thinks she’s ugly and slow, but she’s not. She’s just not like her parents. And, well, it happened a lot faster the second time. But I talked to Octavia about it, and that’s when I had an—an open relationship. Because we weren’t officially dating either one.”

“And Salkis same way?”

“—No. She was different. She was interested in us from the start. That’s when it began to get weird with Octavia and Garia. I think they were jealous. But truly, it just sort of happened.”

When he put it like that, the older Numbtongue grew indignant again. That was right! He had always had open, honest intentions. Octavia had known about Garia from the beginning, and she was only choosing to get mad about Salkis now. Because she had a self-esteem problem—

“What’s Salkis’ problem?”

“Huh? What?”

“Salkis’ problem. Sounds like…sounds like we met people who didn’t like themselves much. What’s Salkis’ problem?”

The [Bard] was treating this tale of the future more academically than anything else because it was so mind-bogglingly abstract. The [Soulbard] hesitated, then laughed.

“Uh—everything? She thinks she’s a Gold-rank adventurer when she’s not. Oh, she can fight, but she’s not a team player, she doesn’t have their dedication, and—well, she’s too keen on easy fun. She is fun! And loyal. She’ll never bail out on a fight, but she starts them all the time. But she has a block the size of Pallass on her shoulder about the law. About her father. He’s terrible. But she hates her stepmother. Melika. Really nice, even if she’s just rich, and…Salkis hates everything, I think, sometimes.”

“Wow. Why do you like her?”

“Well, she’s hot—”

The younger Numbtongue raised his own foot to kick, and the [Soulbard] sighed.

“—Fine. I think she’s…interesting. She likes us. And she’s pretty lonely without anyone. She—neither Garia nor Octavia likes her. It’s fine. We’re doing fine. We’re doing fine. The rest of the world isn’t great. There’s an Old One, a Drake army after Goblinhome…we’re just there.”

“And you’re not going to help Goblinhome?”

The [Soulbard] shifted uncomfortably, finding it hard to meet his younger self’s eyes.

“Chieftain Rags has it under control. I’m just one Goblin. I don’t go there often, and…I’m not a Level 50 [Warrior]. I can’t stop armies.”

The young Numbtongue nodded, dubious, and then frowned.

“So…who do you actually like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who do you want to have babies with? Octavia? Garia? Salkis?”

Another innocent question. The [Soulbard] blinked, then sat back and laughed.

“Babies? You mean—marry? Right, you’re still thinking as though—well, it’s only been a year, but that’s too short, especially for them. No one wants babies. If there was anyone…”

He trailed off and looked upstairs slowly. Then shook his head.

“—I don’t—Salkis? I’m hanging out with her. The other two are getting weird.”

“Weird how? Who?”

“Everyone in the inn is. They keep asking when we’re coming back. Why we’re going. It’s just Lyonette, Bird, Mrsha, and Nanette now—you don’t know Nanette, she’s a [Witch]—we don’t fit in the inn anymore. I think they don’t want us. Octavia’s just a jealous thief. She stole our cat. If you get together with her, try to make her a better Octavia, would you? Train her to be less selfish? And while you’re at it—”

The [Soulbard]’s head was bent down, and he was speaking towards his belly, mind whirling in circles as he tried to figure out why things were so unpleasant. How many things could he tell his younger self to change so people were less—terrible in the future? So he actually had a life he enjoyed?

The [Soulbard] was so fixated on the way things had gone wrong that he didn’t see the other Goblin get up. Which gave younger Numbtongue a full windup to punch his older self in the face as hard as he could.

Numbtongue didn’t go flying, but he did slam off the crate. He rolled up, and the younger Hob executed a jump-kick to his side.

“What the h—”

He scrambled away, then blocked a punch. The other Hob was fast, strong, and fit—but the [Soulbard] had a level difference. He knocked a fist aside, grabbed Numbtongue, and slammed him into a wall.

“What was that for?”

“You suck. I hate me.”

The [Bard] struggled, throwing jabs—the [Soulbard] headbutted him into the wall.

“Knock it off!”

A dazed young Numbtongue reeled, then headbutted older Numbtongue such that the [Soulbard] staggered back. But the older Numbtongue just dodged a kick. He raised a fist to end the right, and someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his head, and Headscratcher punched him.

As it turned out, the four Redfangs had not gone above. Or if they had, they’d come back to listen by the stairwell, as treacherous, untrustworthy Goblins did. Suddenly, all five Redfangs were in the basement.

“You idiots. I’m not—”

Numbtongue ate a kick from Rabbiteater. Badarrow tackled him and got tossed straight into Shorthilt. Numbtongue was twice their level! He whirled around, and Headscratcher gulped as Numbtongue caught one of his fists effortlessly—

His younger self jumped on his back and put him in a headlock until the older Goblin tore him loose and threw him to the floor. The [Soulbard] tried to stomp, but Rabbiteater seized one leg and tried to destabilize him. At the same time, Shorthilt ran up and punched Numbtongue in the side.

He had to get to a wall! Numbtongue was shouting in fury, but badly outnumbered by five angry Hobs working together. He whirled Shorthilt around, tossed him—turned his head.

“Brother, duck!”

The ghost of Shorthilt shouted, and Numbtongue ducked—straight into an uppercut by Badarrow. He reeled, lost his temper, and roared.

That was when Headscratcher kicked him in the balls with all the force of a [Berserker].

After a while, the commotion in the basement ended, and five bruised, sweaty, but triumphant Redfangs emerged, slapping each other on the back. They nudged a dispirited [Bard] as they trooped into the inn and left a well-kicked Goblin in the basement.

“What the heck happened to you guys?”

Erin glanced up from her conversation with Normen. In truth, the Redfang Five merely appeared like everyone else felt. Beaten up by this encounter with the future, uncertain, and not happy. For reply, Numbtongue just wiped his bleeding nose.

“The future sucks.”

On that, everyone could agree.

Events now spiraled towards strange conclusions. In one world, of the past and Brunkr, a weary Gnoll girl made ready to leave.

She would take nothing with her except a literal mountain of healing potions, which, she supposed, was a victory in its own right. But she was realizing that her dream might amount to nothing.

Yet she would try. She had a meeting to be kept in another world too, with Pyrite and Kevin and her Moore. But she was ignorant of what was happening elsewhere.

In The Wandering Inn, present time, Lyonette du Marquin had just met her daughter. Her aged daughter who was only too happy to reveal the truth of what was going on to the horrified [Princess]. But the truth had spread.

It was in The Wandering Inn at the Winter Solstice; ominous tidings of harsher, ‘real’ futures. And it was in the very future itself.

Ten years later…a frantic Dyeda and Mrsha raced into Liscor to beg for help. They never made it across the bridge. But simultaneously, a weary pair of Ragses finally found their older self face-to-face.

Chieftain Rags of the Flooded Waters Tribes looked like an alien-Goblin as she led her tribe back into the mountain. They were looting the dead before racing into the mountain caves they had emerged from.

Goblins. Hobs. Even Great Goblins—Fomirelin. All three variants of Goblins were present, and many had the pale-grey skin of Cave Goblins. It was a tribe to awe any mundane Goblin tribe, and powerful too; not one Goblin was unarmored, and they had steel weapons.

Yet for this era, it was small. Barely two thousand strong, and only half that had emerged from the mountain to do battle. Goblinhome was bigger, yet seeing the dead bodies being gathered up—Chieftain Rags could well understand why this tribe had stayed so small.

“I don’t understand. I thought you were coming here to Liscor. For Mrsha’s birthday? Are you not? You made Rhir retreat.”

Student Rags was speaking. Chieftain Rags had no idea what to say to this older Rags. She still wasn’t quite convinced this was herself. The sardonic smile she received was too…mellow. The older Rags brushed at her temple; she had scars all over her body, faint but visible.

“I promised to be there. My tribe will be nearby; there are tunnels under the Floodplains of Liscor that intersect with the dungeon. It is safer there. You will stay with me; bring that Goblin with the bicycle, and get Redscar to come with us. Quickly, now.”

She gestured, and Chieftain Rags turned to Redscar. He was flexing one arm as the other was reattached. Insanity; the [Blademaster]’s arm was literally being healed onto his body.

It seemed like sunlight was streaming down from a cluster of Antinium [Priests] who had put their hands together over his arm. Where the sunlight shone, flesh and bone and sinew reconnected the limb and the burnt flesh.

Miracles. Rags had known Pawn had this power back in her time. In this one, the Painted Antinium had marched out of another dimension via a Skill, forced a world power to back down, and then healed severed limbs—something even the Healer of Tenbault struggled to do.

Chieftain Rags had a feeling she had just laid her eyes on the strongest being she had met in the future so far, and it was confirmed by the future Rags bending down to whisper.

“Tell him you must speak with me. Do not let Pawn accost you. Do it now. If you are from the crazy situation I have to believe you are—you cannot let Pawn take you.”

Both Ragses gazed at her, then Student Rags casually sauntered over.

“Hey, Redscar, your arms on yet? We have to talk to Chieftain Rags. Hurry up!”

Redscar was flexing his other arm, but he caught the mood in the air and stepped over.

“Sure. We going now?”

He jerked his head over to look at the Painted Antinium; they were mostly marching back to the city, but Pawn and his bodyguard were deep in prayer. They surrounded him, armored giants kneeling as he intoned a prayer for the [General].

That spotlight from the heavens was shining down on him. Chieftain Rags saw his head turn as he raised his arms upwards; he clearly wanted a word. But the older Rags just pulled on her arm.

“I will figure this out, Pawn. You must fall back before you alarm Rhir further. We will meet for the birthday. All of us. Ask Mrsha what is going on.”

Pawn’s head nodded fractionally, and he went back to praying. The alternate Rags of the future twitched one huge eye at the four Goblins, including Rianchi, who was standing over the remains of his bicycle, close to tears. Her red eye had a pale golden iris in it, Rags realized. And black pupils.

Uncanny. Future Rags pointed and walked up the hill.

She…was no Goblin type that Rags had ever known in her memories of past Goblins, nor from meeting Anazurhe or the others. Rags suspected that this future Rags would shock even a Goblin Lord.

It was a simple hike up across the blasted terrain of the mountain, still shattered by the lightning bolts, and into a cave opening. The moment Rags reached it, she recognized the familiar quality of the caves of the Kingdom of Trolls.

“So this is where your new base is? Pretty solid. The mountain probably shields you from most scrying spells, even in the future, right? Where’s your fortress?”

Student Rags peered into the mountain, shuffling her feet as they entered the darkness. The ground was rough-hewn, and it smelled of a lot of bodies having passed by. It was dirty; bat dung was everywhere, and the bat colony itself must have fled.

Typical Goblin lair conditions. But nothing the Goblins of the past were used to living in. However, the future Rags merely replied.

“We have none. We roam the High Passes. Sometimes, if we must, we move north and south, but if we tried to build a spot, Rhir or another group would hunt us down. The Blighted Empire has not paid attention to us much—yet. After today, I fear it will be multiple [Heroes]. One, I could kill. Even two. Four or a dozen will slaughter us.”

She was so casual about it that Chieftain Rags halted, and Rianchi ran into her. He was sniffing quietly. He’d really taken his bicycle being blown to pieces hard.

“Rianchi, stop crying. I’ll buy you a new one when we get back.”

“But—but Kevin’s dead. He made this one.”

Chieftain Rags closed her eyes.

“Then…we’ll get one from the Kevin in Student Rags’ world. Okay?”

“Okay…”

Rianchi was still down, but the future Chieftain Rags turned her head. And there was another quality about her new form immediately apparent:

Her eyes were like flashlights. They lit up the cave with a lurid, red glow. She looked genuinely terrifying in the darkness, and Goblins were used to seeing each other’s glowing eyes. But this Rags seemed like a big-eyed nightmare as her shadow stretched out behind her. A…an omen of death.

Chieftain Rags wished she hadn’t thought it, but the taller Rags just nodded at her.

“Aha. So you are from our past. I thought so.”

“You just leapt to that conclusion?”

Even for herself, Chieftain Rags was incredulous, but the future version of her merely shrugged.

“I have met [Chronomancers]. It is an inconceivable event, but what else explains seeing a copy of myself appear—and Redscar? Who would siphon my memories of that time, and for what purpose? Most of all, I have long suspected some strangeness in the world. There are endless secrets and mysteries, as I am sure you know. The secret of Goblin Kings. The mystery of great powers. The truth of Dragons and, hah, even the mystery of how Redscar survived his encounter with the [Hero]. He should have died.”

That’s right, he should have. Rags recalled Redscar not even being in pain after being delimbed. She’d put that down to adrenaline, but when this older Rags pointed it out—Student Rags lifted a hand.

“My wounds also stopped hurting, and I got stabbed through the legs. Plus, Rianchi and I were electrocuted. I thought we just got lucky, but maybe it was you? Or Pawn? You’re both…you have Pawn’s class, right? [Priest]?”

The older Rags shook her head slightly.

“Both of us have the power of miracles. We have faith classes—that is the name for them, and they have spread far and wide in the last ten years. These classes can indeed create genuine miracles, but they usually work off what we need and know. Sometimes providence Skills occur; twists of fate. But I doubt it was that. Neither Pawn nor I expected to find you. I was only told a few Goblins had been caught by the [Hero]. I assumed you were my tribe. The mysterious healing has happened before.”

“Really? To whom? When?”

“Several members of my tribe. Myself. I have been held prisoner and escaped in improbable circumstances. Once, I found a great foe dead. Murdered as I prepared to enter into battle with it. A Bogleraum no less.”

Chieftain Rags had no idea what kind of monster that was, but Student Rags suddenly shivered.

“Wait, so you’ve been having mysterious aid help you for…?”

“Eight years. Give or take. I never received an answer to what it was, and I naturally explored many theories, wild as they were. In your case, your demeanor plus the literal confirmation the Rags in Wyvern gear issued was proof enough. Whether I believe you—another matter. But the theory has been presented. And I take it you are ‘Student Rags’, who must come from a time when you became a [Student]?”

Oh, she was smart. The future [Chieftain] smiled at the look the younger Ragses traded and the respectful nod she got. Chieftain Rags coughed.

“You did save us. Thank you; we had no idea it was so dangerous for Goblins. I—I am sorry for your tribe who died to save us.”

Here was where the encounter with the future began to truly show the changes. The older Rags glanced down at her younger selves and lifted a hand and flicked it.

“Think nothing of it. Far fewer died than I might have expected. None of them were blessed or matter. Within a few days, other Goblin tribes in the High Passes will replenish our losses.”

That halted their procession through the mountain. Redscar, who’d been mostly focused on making sure his arms were properly back on, halted. He fixed the older Rags with a glower and spat.

“Molten Stone.”

By that he meant Anazurhe’s tribe, who also used ‘lesser’ Goblin tribes to shelter her own. The two younger Rags were stunned; the [Chieftain] grimaced, and the [Student] was open-mouthed in shock. Rianchi looked at them and groaned softly.

The older Rags caught the meaning in Redscar’s tone. She favored the [Blademaster] with a smile.

“Redscar. I have missed you. If you were here, you would never have allowed this. Molten Stone. Oh, yes. I took the idea from Anazurhe. She is dead. Do you know Chieftain Naumel? We didn’t meet him until later. He is dead. Greydath is dead. The Island of Goblins and Goblin Lord Izikere are dead. The Goblin Lord of Baleros, Kanadith the Herald of the Goblin King, is dead. Rabbiteater is dead. Numbtongue and Badarrow—alive. But gone to ground. The Blighted Empire hunts down all its enemies, and Goblins have become its latest target.”

The recitation of death stunned the Goblins. Redscar put a hand on his swords and grimaced.

“Why so bad?”

Slowly, the strange Goblin drew herself up. Behind her, some of her tribe had filled a wider part of the caverns. They stood there, silent, in awe of their leader. Not like the Goblins of Goblinhome, who would take the piss, joke around, obey, but be a people.

This was like Tremborag or Anazurhe—desperate Goblins following the last light in the world. The only person who could keep them safe. And Rags of the future?

She had so many scars. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. The more Rags looked, the more she realized the other Goblin’s body was all scar tissue. When the Chieftain of the future planted the staff she carried on the ground, the dark caves turned to light.

Light, enough to make everything feel warm and bright, flooded the caverns. The rough rocks and lichen seemed to smooth away, and suddenly it felt like they were in a neat, artificial corridor, not following the cramped intersections of the mountain. Even the pain and fatigue left the other Goblins’ bodies.

Rags of the future looked down upon her past selves and shook her head.

“I could say it was because Erin Solstice died. I have thought it—I have longed to say it and believe that upon her rested the hopes of a better world. But the truth is that when the [Innkeeper] died, the world kept moving. The only difference was that there was no silly inn able to influence powers. Liscor suffered in war; it faced the dungeon. But it rebuilt and became a local power. Now, it is the City of Charms.”

She waved a hand towards the entrance of the tunnels, indicating that vast city and the fortress on the Flood Plains.

“The Five Families lost a war against Terandrian nations, but they are still here, even if some have been pushed to the brink. The Blighted Kingdom won their war and now threaten the world. But these things happen. One day, a Goblin King will arise once more and set this world shaking. The Blighted Empire will fall in time. It is just that these things are not what my tribe and I are part of. We are surviving. Unimportant, hiding Goblins trying to survive till the next age.”

Her lips twisted.

“I dislike it. So I wait in my mountain, gathering my tribe and training the few warriors I can. Preparing for the day when I can step out of the shadows. Not to be a Goblin King. But to wake up and see an [Innkeeper] standing with a white flag once more. Then—I have promised my tribe—then better days shall come once more.”

She stepped forwards, and now her eyes were filled with stars. A constellation of them—and when Chieftain Rags gazed into those orbs, she was transfixed. They drew her in, and she could see that moment. Not a memory, but a smiling young woman, white flag in hand, arm raised in victory, a white Gnoll by her side, kneeling Antinium before her, and rejoicing Goblins jumping around her.

The Rags of the future blinked, and the [Chieftain] was released, but the vision was still there. She gestured at the cave’s entrance.

“You see, Pawn and I differ in how we think of her, but we both believe. He sees a goddess who will return and bring wrath and salvation to his Antinium. I have always admired the woman. His belief has turned to fervor and mania. I await her so I may dream of the future once more. For I have only this one until that day comes.”

She spread her arms wide and drew back one leg in a graceful bow. The staff floated up next to her, and when the Goblin smiled—flowers bloomed and grass split the stones. Mushrooms grew from the walls, and Goblins raced forwards to pluck the real plants, harvest glowing Sage’s Grass and wild leeks.

She was radiating the power of her faith. Her nature—her very being seemed to amplify that certainty in her eyes. The future Rags spoke.

“I greet you, my past selves. Before you stands one of the last of the Goblin powers in the world. I am the [Goblin Lord of Dreams]. Duxcepin; a Goblin subspecies who rules and inspires. Welcome to my tribe. I shall give you everything I can, for in you, I see my promised days at last.”

Student Rags gasped as the Goblin Lord revealed herself. She pointed a trembling finger.

“But—impossible! You’re not that bright! We sensed you, but you weren’t that—”

Chieftain Rags already knew the answer and voiced it aloud.

“She’s in hiding. Like Greydath. There must be ways for the Blighted Empire to sense her.”

The Goblin Lord nodded.

“Traitors. Goblins convinced to serve King Othius the Fourth. He will have the loyalty of the world if he must use any means to secure it. But he spent his best [Heroes] against the Demons; he is not unassailable. Come, though. We shall relocate until we are almost below The Wandering Inn.”

And suddenly, the Goblins were swept up by the Flooded Waters tribe of the future—no, the Tribe of Dreams. Which was a silly name, but it felt like a dream.

These grim tunnels became inviting and warm, food literally sprouted from the walls, and wounds healed in the presence of the Goblin Lord. It was no illusion; these things happened. But it was localized.

If Chieftain Rags stared ahead, she could see the dark tunnels receding and appearing behind the Goblins on the march; this truly was a dream. And it only lasted as long as the Goblin Lord did.

Small wonder other Goblin tribes bowed to her. Goblins marched as huge Fomirelins carried wooden poles over their shoulders; hanging cookpots on a mobile stand were fed with coal and ignited. Wounded Goblins were rolled forwards on wagons pulled by—of all things—lizard-like horses who snapped pieces of meat up as they were tossed to them.

That was hardly the strangest thing; Goblins were praying, clasping their hands together, and some reached up to receive gifts from the sky. Others prayed for healing, for guidance as they scavenged for food, or just…prayed.

“Dead gods. That’s like Centaurs. Cookpots on the go.”

Student Rags pointed out the Fomirelin walking, and the Goblin Lord chuckled.

“I saw it on Baleros. I am still you, you know. I just believe in things. Technology and belief are strong weapons. We just seldom have as much technology as our foes. Come, I have to introduce you to some members of my tribe before we discuss matters further or they may riot. It should be…nostalgic for them. Speaking of which. Redchild, did any of the Rhirian soldiers have firearms on them?”

Chieftain Rags’ ears perked up, and one of the Goblins strode out of the chaos, clearly one of the more important ones. This Goblin Redscar recognized. He grunted.

“The one with a good sword.”

A female Goblin strutted forwards with a walk uncannily like Redscar’s. When she saw him, she halted and put a hand on her sword hilt.

“None.”

“They know better than to give us samples. A pity. Do you know what firearms are, you two?”

“Yes.”

“Broadly.”

The two Ragses answered, and the Goblin Lord clicked her fingers.

“Bring a blunderbuss. Most of the technology of this time is still primitive. Only a few nations have guns of the modern age. Every other kingdom that tries to develop them is sabotaged—or brought to war. The Blighted Kingdom only uses its firearms when it is sure it can wipe out a foe.”

A Goblin tossed a broad-mouthed object, and Redchild easily jumped to catch it. Redscar leapt at the same time; they nearly collided, and then he was holding a strange object. It was half wood, half metal and looked like a crossbow if you hollowed out the center and put a tube on it.

One glance and Chieftain Rags could see the intent. Redscar offered it to Redchild, and she pulled something out of her bag of holding.

“It needs metal shot, gunpowder, then you pull this back and fire. Sometimes it goes off accidentally, so never load it or point it at a face. This isn’t blessed yet, so it won’t kill anything in armor, much less enchanted, unless you’re right up against it. The Empire of Rhir has weapons that can kill at a mile away. I want some.”

She bared her teeth before handing the ‘blunderbuss’ to Redscar. He turned it over, careful not to point it at anything but the ground, then handed it to Rianchi. The [Cyclist] nearly dropped it and handed it to Student Rags, who immediately began inspecting it.

“Better than a sword?”

Redscar gave Redchild a challenging look, and she snorted.

“Better if you can’t reach them. Better for my warriors. I use a sword.”

So saying, she drew a familiar-looking blade from her sheath. Chieftain Rags blinked.

The Redfang. It was Garen’s sword; she recognized it instantly. But the blade was pale white metal instead of steel, and it appeared—dangerous.

Redscar recoiled and drew his own blade, confused.

“That’s my sword.”

“Yes.”

The female Goblin agreed absently. She regarded Redscar and then tried to slash him. He was already dancing back. The two collided in a crash of blades and separated.

“Redscar! Stop!”

Chieftain Rags shouted, but the Goblin Lord Rags held out an indulgent arm.

“Let her. She has longed to meet her namesake all her life. Do you know who this is?”

The name was a dead giveaway. Rags hesitated.

“I want to say ‘Redscar’s daughter’, but I doubt he ever had children.”

Redscar, famously, liked other male Goblins, and the idea of him procreating just to have a child was also not very him. The Goblin Lord grinned.

“Correct. She is my third daughter.”

Bang. Student Rags had been inspecting the gun, but that revelation made her squeeze the trigger. Every Goblin ducked and a piece of the wall exploded outwards as the gun fired.

When the ringing in her ears had stopped, Chieftain Rags walked over, slapped the gun out of Student Rags’ hands, and turned.

“Good joke.”

“Chieftain Naumel and I made an alliance. One of the requirements to share rulership was to share beds.”

“And you did that?”

Student Rags’ voice cracked, and the Goblin Lord chuckled.

“I never loved him. Not in the same way I think he hoped I would. At the time, it was a choice. For the good of my tribe, I did what I thought was necessary. But we can feel affection for people. And at least enjoy some things.”

“Gross.”

One Rags said it, and the other nodded, but the gunfire and the revelation had at least stopped the duel between Redscar and Redchild. He sheathed his blade and pointed accusatorily.

“That blade’s good. How is it better than Garen’s?”

“It’s blessed. That’s like enchanting.”

Redchild tossed her blade at him, and he grunted as he weighed it in his hand. He hesitated, then handed her his blades. Chieftain Rags saw Redscar visibly hesitate, then pat Redchild on the head.

She instantly punched him in the side as hard as she could. Which made Redscar grin and relax.

The Goblin Lord moved on, and the procession resumed—though no one let Student Rags have the gun again.

“I have been hunted a long, long time. Some of it was my doing. I was desperate to revive Erin; everyone fought hard for a cure. Pisces and his team. Pawn’s crusades. Adventurers. Friends. Pawn spent the most lives by far. When I tell you I hope you will not live the days I did, I mean it, Rags. I have had four children. Three of my willing.”

Once more, Chieftain Rags felt herself shudder and did not ask more questions.

“This future is dark. Bleak.”

“Then avert it. In your time—has Hectval come?”

“Yes. Not in her world, but yes in mine.”

That glow grew brighter, desperate, until it filled the caverns.

“And is Erin alive?”

“…Yes.”

The Goblin Lord sighed, and a murmur rose in the caverns. She said nothing more, as if afraid more would burst that flicker of hope. So Chieftain Rags asked instead.

“Who was that Goblin who created the shadows? Was that a Skill? Miracle? Spell?”

A surprised chuckle.

“Oh—can’t you guess? She’s here. Somewhere. Gothica?”

Gothica? Chieftain Rags’ eyes widened. Then a figure emerged from ahead of them, and it was like she was followed by a sea of darkness that lapped forwards, a blackness so complete it was all-consuming.

The [Lady of Shadows] stood there without any makeup on or silly ‘goth’ dresses. She just wore shadows; they covered most of her face, leaving crimson eyes aglow. She was tall, a Hob, and she made Rags shiver. Chieftain Rags cleared a suddenly dry throat.

“Gothica. It’s…good to see you.”

“Yes. And you, Rags.”

It was Gothica’s voice, a bit deeper and more mature, but so…level, so calm and certain and even genuine that Rags was utterly taken aback.

This future is crazy. She regarded the Goblin Lord without a word, and Lord Rags spoke.

“Gothica is one of the few who survived from the Flooded Waters tribe. One of our most powerful. There is another blade-expert here. Leapwolf.”

Redscar whirled.

“Leapwolf? Where?”

The Goblin Lord glanced around.

“Hiding, no doubt. It is hard to meet you. Gothica, take Redscar to him.”

“I shall. Come, Redscar. I have something to say to you too.”

The Goblin extended her hands, and shadows passed over her, Redchild, and Redscar. He tried to dodge, but it swept over him—and he was gone.

I am going to be a lot nicer to Gothica when I get back.

That was Rags’ resolution. Or to bully her even harder so she levelled up. The Goblin Lord gestured.

“Before I ask what I am dying to know…and it is fitting it came from Mrsha, or at least, on her birthday…I must at least say a few things, Rags. Warnings.”

“Of course.”

They were a practical Goblin, after all. Rags respected her future self giving her a synopsis of information. It was what she’d do. The future Rags tapped her lips, then nodded.

“The Blighted Empire summons [Heroes] from Earth. They trade lives—a thousand to one—for every Earther they receive. Their method is greatly flawed in your time. In the future, they will refine it so only they receive Earthers. They must be stopped.”

“Why? Because they’ll kill the Demons? I don’t know Demons, though I’m more sympathetic to them. But I have met Silvenia. There’s things you don’t know either.”

Like the dead gods. Rags wondered how the Goblin Lord’s future would have changed from their involvement. Or the other variables of her world. Like Ryoka and Ryoko. Well, that was a card she’d keep close to the chest.

The Goblin Lord frowned.

“Silvenia will fight to the end on Rhir and kill [Heroes] by the score, but that force levels too quickly. It will be their end. The moment the Blighted Kingdom takes victory over Rhir, King Othius will turn his attention to the rest of the world. Be wary of that.”

“There’s not much I can do about the greatest world power of my time.”

Rags pointed out reasonably, and the Goblin Lord laughed. She gave Rags a grin as if she were younger.

“With Erin Solstice? Anything is possible. Just remember that of the major powers—Rhir is one. The Iron Vanguard and House of Minos both waged tremendous war against them these last few years. The fact that they stalemated that nation of [Heroes] tells you all you need to know. Another, as world powers go is Ailendamus. It and Taimaguros will sweep the entire south of Terandria by and large in time.”

“…Great. And invade Izril?”

“When the Drakes decide to end the Antinium—yes. They fail. The war costs both sides too much. Salazsar falls from within to unrest. Fissival does not perish, but enters into war with the Archmage of Izril at the time. It is no longer commensurate with the others in terms of power.”

And yet, in my world, things have already changed. How much of this is useful? Rags spoke out loud.

“I’m not certain things will occur identically. Still, good to know. Capability versus certainty.”

“Exactly. On that note, the greatest world power besides Rhir—and arguably matched with them—will be from Baleros. The Jungle Tails company emerged about a year after Erin Solstice’s death. They wiped out most of the Forgotten Wing and Howling Maelstrom companies; they control two-thirds of Baleros at this moment. They eradicated the Gazer company, the Eyes of the Jungle.”

Rags whistled.

“Any idea why?”

“They recovered the Eyes of Baleros—the relics they had sought after so long. And they finished their ritual with no one to stop them, and it succeeded, this time. They created their new ruler.”

“A new Naga?”

“No. A God.”

This time, the shorter Goblin stumbled and came to a halt, and the Goblin Lord fixed her eyes on her.

“You don’t understand what that is.”

“No. I know. H-how?”

“The Eyes of Baleros were some kind of seed. Or power source. Or…egg. When he emerges, every Lizardperson in all of Baleros will grow rapidly in power. Nagas by the millions will emerge. But whether or not he is a true ‘God’ as I and Pawn understand it is debatable. Pawn claims Erin is divine. And as far as I can tell, praying to her does not bless my spaghetti with extra meatballs.”

That was such a prosaic comment that Chieftain Rags had to laugh, and she realized that the two, Goblin Lord and [Priest], or whatever Pawn was now, probably got along but had great philosophical differences.

“Okay. Anything else?”

“A’ctelios Salash wakes up.”

“Oh come on.”

The Goblin Lord waved a claw.

“It destroys most of Chandrar. The King of Destruction is still alive, and his great enemy, the Empress of Sands, was at his throat—the continent has maybe six nations with anything remotely like an intact governance. On the plus side, it destroyed Roshal.”

“Well, that’s good.”

The Goblin Lord’s lips twisted.

“They all went to Rhir afterwards.”

Was there any news of the future that was good? Rags had to ask that, and the Goblin Lord of Dreams thought for a long time. Then she snapped her fingers.

“Well, you can wear a ring that acts as a flashlight, television, communication spell, and music player all in one. The music is very good. Also, we have soda.”

“…What?”

Goblin Lord Rags called out.

“Give the Chieftain a Saliss Spritz can. Not a random flavor like Yellats.”

Someone hurled an object, and the Goblin Lord caught it. She handed a bright yellow can with a naked Drake with a box over it on the can to Rags. The Goblin stared at the Drake. Then at the orange wedge on the side of it. She read the label a few times, then pulled a tab at the top.

There was a crack, a fizzing—she took a sip. Then another. Then a big gulp. The Goblin Lord patted Rags on the shoulder.

“You may develop an addiction to soda. Prayer helps.”

She gazed down at Rags, and the younger Goblin stared at the ‘best’ part of this new era. Then up at her scarred self leading a tribe of Goblins on faith alone, waiting for the day her [Innkeeper] came back.

The words burst from her in a rush.

“She’s alive in my time. You can bring her back here too. I think you can.”

Slowly, the Goblin Lord bent down and knelt before the Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe. Goblins prostrated themselves, but the Chieftain seized her copy by the shoulder, because that was the moment she saw something familiar in that desolate expression, hope standing alone in a world of blackness.

“I believe things will be okay. In my time and this. I do.”

Her gaze was fierce, and the Goblin Lord raised her weary head and met her past self’s eyes.

“For that vision of hope, I was prepared to fight a century. For that ray of light, we can crawl through any ordeal. Let it be done.”

The glow around her grew, and then the entire mountain range was filled with light. Goblins cried out, and Rags shielded her face, though the light was not blinding.

Faith could fill mountains. And she had just given the Goblin Lord faith. The Goblin Lord raised her head in triumph—and then hesitated. Her clenched fist lowered, and she bent, urgent.

“We shall bring her back. And this will be easy, because all Erin’s friends will attend Mrsha’s birthday today. There is more danger than a mere [Hero] for…some of us. Leave the future to us. But Rags. Do not tell Pawn about these other worlds.”

“He seems…dangerous.”

The Chieftain licked her lips, and the Goblin Lord nodded slowly.

“For Erin, he would do anything. If you think I am terrifying, changed, powerful, that is nothing to what Pawn has become. If you were to tell him Erin lives in your world or another…”

Now there was someone who might leave his reality in a heartbeat. Or do as Mrsha was attempting and take someone from their home to his. Rags nodded seriously; she was glad that this Goblin Lord seemed at least reasonable. And of course, she had no intention of leaking the truth.

“The fact of the matter is, we intended covert surveillance, but we were outmatched by all the magical technology of this world.”

“Ah, well, we can provide you with some spells and samples for your world, gladly. Even faith.”

The Goblin Lord assured Chieftain Rags, and the younger Goblin smiled.

“We have some of that. Actually, I owe Dyeda—she’s Rianchi’s wife—an apology. She bought some rings already that—“

Rags paused. She had a sudden, worrying thought. She turned slowly.

“Rianchi? Where did Dyeda go when you saw the [Hero] coming after us?”

She looked around as the older Rags stiffened suddenly with remembered tension and alarm.

“Rianchi?”

Student Rags wasn’t part of the two older Ragses conversation. She’d been there for the first bit of it and tried to get a word in edgewise, or state her opinion, but in the way of such things, she’d kept saying the first words of things, then falling silent.

Because for once, she didn’t have an opinion strong enough to interject into the conversation. It had pushed her out, and she’d found herself in an unguarded retreat. A few paces; that was all it took to exit this battleground of feelings and experience and…authority.

She was no [Chieftain]. That was the thing. When this Rags of the Future talked about being assaulted by captors or leading her tribe through hell and back, the younger Rags could look her in the eye.

The [Student] was too ashamed to do even that. She felt like an ant, crushed by the sheer weight of this Goblin Lord’s authority. So like an ant, she scurried back, listening, but keeping her head low. Ashamed.

The thing about ants was that they liked company, and lo and behold, whom should Rags see but Rianchi. He was sitting in a corner of this temporary campground, a bunch of metal parts spread out in front of him, gloomily trying to hammer a bend in his wheel back into shape.

“Chieftain? Oh—other Rags?”

Rianchi glanced up, and his eyes went to the two Ragses’ conversation. It was still perfectly audible; the other Goblins crept around the Goblin Lord and kept their voices lowered. Even if not for that, both could have read the body language.

“Hey, Rianchi. How’s it going?”

“Is good. For very bad sucky day where I almost die. Just…trying to fix my bike. You should be talking about important things, right?”

Rianchi attempted a smile, but it slipped as he tried to get the wheel straight and failed. Rags saw his bicycle was pretty damn trashed. She was no expert, but the metal frame had scorch marks on it, several pieces of the gear-stuff were shattered, and one wheel was badly bent. Notably—whatever enchantments had been active were gone because Rianchi was bending it far too easily with his claws.

She guessed this was an ultra-light metal and without Hedault’s magic, the entire bicycle wouldn’t be able to take the weight of riding. From Rianchi’s face, he knew that too, and he was mostly trying to fix what he had because there was nothing else to do.

Rags took one shoe off and inspected her own wheels built into it, realizing the lightning had damaged them too.

“I’m not…I don’t really fit in with those two’s conversation. I’m no [Chieftain]. Damn, the lightning got my shoes good too. I suppose it’s a miracle it didn’t break my bag of holding. Your bike looks sort of wrecked. You can get it repaired though, right?”

Rianchi’s tone was flat as he produced a small pot of oil and a chip in the metal and paint vanished. He was using what repair skills he had, but was clearly unable to deal with this wholesale destruction.

“Sure. Maybe. If Hedault and Pelt help. I don’t have money.”

“Oh, but the inn does. Problem solved if you can get it to them.”

“Yep.”

Rianchi tried to fit two pieces of the blackened gear together, then tossed it moodily at a wall. Then he got up and picked them up and held them.

“Kevin made this bike. He’s dead.”

Student Rags’ throat closed abruptly. She sometimes forgot, in all the chaos and excitement of these alternate worlds, why Mrsha and Rags had come here.

“I’m so sorry. Most of it can be salvaged, right?”

Rianchi wearily rubbed at his face.

“Front wheel’s gone. The chain’s intact. Gear system…all the parts except for the largest are fine. A few of the spokes are damaged, but the magic should keep the wheels strong enough. It’s…repairable. But I can’t ride this for a long time. There are some spare parts in Goblinhome. I’ll fix it when I get back.”

His tone was flat. He was packing away each piece of the bicycle as Student Rags searched for words to say. It was like when Venaz lost the sword he’d been personally given as a gift upon making the Beriad. You could replace it. Make it better. But this mattered because of the moment.

And this was Kevin’s. She didn’t know what to say and sat there with Rianchi until they realized that they were being observed.

A lot of the future Goblin tribe, the Tribe of Dreams or whatever they were called, were watching. They were Cave Goblins, at least, in appearance, a mix of Hobs and small Goblins. The few Fomirelin were busy lugging items around, but Goblins were always, well, Goblins.

Curious. When Rianchi and Rags turned, they began to flee, but Student Rags held up a hand.

“Wait. You can look. We’re just…Goblins. Like you.”

She saw a motley gaggle of professions as the Goblins turned back. A number, Rags and Rianchi recognized. Each tribe had roles for Goblins to occupy.

Basic scavengers, cooks, haulers, fighters, all the things you could imagine. But also specialists like Goblins who could patch or even resize or, rarely, make new armor and weapons. One of the Goblins present, for instance, had soot smeared onto his cheeks in a stylistic pattern, frizzy hair smudged with grease, and a cap with glass goggles on it. He was fiddling with what Rags realized was a mangled crossbow from one of the Rhirian soldiers, deconstructing it.

But some of these Goblins had entirely new roles unique to Goblin Lord Rags’ tribe. Such as a Goblin wearing all black with eyeliner and black nails and of course black clothing.

One of Gothica’s followers? And a third simply had robes on, decently sized to the shorter Goblin’s proportions. And—Rags saw with a start—white hair? And some kind of weird amulet they held in their hand.

Most of them were young, fittingly. Older Goblins didn’t have time to waste, and it seemed like the average lifespan of Goblins in this tribe was not long based on how the Goblin Lord fought. These children might have been nearly as old as Rianchi and Rags, honestly. Half their age.

“You…ing with he…fix it?”

The Goblin with the sooty face pointed at Rags and rattled off a question in Goblin. But it stumped Student Rags, because she had never heard language like that. Not primitive; rather, he used eight words she didn’t know!

“What? Excuse me, what did you say?”

The Goblin scratched at his cap.

“You…bike broken? You is fix?”

He said it far more slowly, and she got the impression she was being spoken to like a literal baby. Rags retorted.

“Sorry, I don’t speak, uh, Goblin, that fluently. The bike’s broken. The enchantments wore off when we were hit by that [Hero]’s lightning outside.”

Rianchi nodded in confirmation and showed the little Goblin the bicycle. There was a spark of connection between the two Goblins, especially when Rianchi silently indicated a little tool the Goblin was using. The Goblin had been unscrewing a part of the crossbow. Now, he flicked the black metal tool out and produced a different head on the first multitool that Rags and Rianchi had ever seen.

He moved an odd, pointed tip just over a smooth section of metal where the crossbow was joined together and twirled it around in the air. It looked silly and pointless until Rags saw the crossbow begin to split upwards slightly.

The young [Tinkerer] or whatever he was replied to Rags.

“Yeah. Big lightning bolt filled with antimagic disenchanted the bicycle. Gearage looks destroyed, but the front wheel is good metal. You can probably re-enchant that. You want help?”

His tone was so effortlessly fluid that Rags recoiled in shock, and Rianchi’s mouth dropped. The Goblin boy glanced at them, and his eyes screwed up in humor.

“You talk like other Goblins. Can’t speak proper. Is past Flooded Waters tribe like that?”

He grinned with juvenile superiority until the Goblin holding the amulet reached out and pinched one ear.

“Stop that. This is Goblin Lord Rags of the past. A miracle we have prayed for. So it appears, and so you shall be respectful. He is Chambersoot. I am Roithe. This is Zammy and…”

She introduced the other Goblins and then released the amulet she was holding. Student Rags stared at it and got a chill down her spine.

It was a tiny image of a sign. A piece of wood, hand-carved out with that iconic writing on it.

No Killing Goblins.

“Dead gods.”

Rianchi had seen it too, and Roithe tilted her head.

“They used to say that too. All the old Goblins still talk like that. You really are from the past. Is it true? You know how to cure the Human of the Inn?”

Her eyes shone with that same desperate hope as her Goblin Lord, and Rags hesitated. She glanced over at the talking Goblins, and nodded.

“I think so. I don’t know the exact method. My…Erin…never died. This is Rianchi. I’m Rags. Student Rags. Hi.”

Nothing she could have said would be more impressive to the gaggle of young Goblins. They scooted forwards, and the black-haired Goblin spoke.

“Your Erin is alive? How?”

That had to be Zammy. The [Goth] Goblin met Rags’ eyes, jerked her chin up.

“I’m Zamathica, the Gloombringer. One of Nightlady Gothica’s warriors. You’re actually from another time?”

Her eyes were as hungry as the others, but her name—Student Rags bit her tongue hard not to laugh.

[Goths]. A [Tinkerer] in Chambersoot, a [Goth] in Zammy, and in Roithe…the [Student] made an educated guess.

“You’re an [Acolyte] of some kind, right? One of those faith classes?”

The Goblin half-nodded.

“I’m a [Faithful]. Not an [Acolyte]. That belongs to a formal religion. Like the Painted Antinium. Some of us are inducted whenever Goblin Lord Rags meets with the Prophet.”

“Who?”

“Pawn. Bishop of the Painted Antinium, Prophet of the Inn, the Immortal Sky, and Her Promised Return. The holiest being in all of Izril. Perhaps the world.”

Roithe’s eyes were wondering as she glanced back the way they’d come. She added after a moment—

“And Lord Rags is also powerful! I’m—just one of the newer Goblins. I’ve been here eight months! Longer than everyone else here. They let me join because I was the highest-level out of my tribe.”

She said that like it meant something. Student Rags just looked at Roithe’s youthful face and tried not to calculate how many Goblins perished daily if eight months was long—even for youths. She turned to Chambersoot.

“And you’re a [Tinkerer]?”

He shrugged.

“[Scrapper]. Gonna be a [Gunsmith] someday. But I can’t make ‘em yet. I just rebuild Rhir weapons. See?”

He had taken apart the crossbow with his strange multitool, and Rags held out a hand to see the disassembled crossbow stock.

“What were you doing, holding that in the air? What is it? It looks like a pencil. Are these screws? I know screwdrivers.”

Chambersoot gave Rags an arch look and showed her the tool. When Rags went to place it against the crossbow, it stuck to the metal!

“Magnetic screwdriver, dumbass. Rhir loves making their weapons harder to open up, like it works. These were really simple. They stopped putting timed explosive spells in the crossbow stocks. Must’ve blown up too many of their own soldiers.”

Suddenly, Rags had a burning desire not to hold the disassembled crossbow.

“The what? These have trap spells in them?”

“Don’t worry, I took them out. They have tons of stupid things in them. Locator spells, things to blow you up, even spells so only one person can fire them. Doesn’t work. You just have to put them in a miracle and take them apart fast.”

Or it explodes? Small wonder Goblins were as young as Chambersoot in this tribe! Rags uneasily handed the crossbow back, and Chambersoot tossed the parts in his own bag of holding.

“Why aren’t you talking with Lord Rags?”

“Oh, you know…I’m just…I’m not the Chieftain of my tribe. I can’t fight like Rags, or lead. I chose that. Someone’s gotta look out for the little guys, right?”

Rags tried to play down her feelings, and the young Goblins stared at her with that annoying perspicacity that children sometimes had, along with their ability to be incredibly insensitive. Rianchi broke the silence.

“It’s been a long day. Although it’s not even lunch. Bad stuff happened. I’m Rianchi. [Cyclist] and [Gearhead]. You want some candy?”

To Rags’ surprise, Rianchi had a bunch of candy in his pocket. Lemon-flavored candies. The young Goblins’ eyes widened, and the sweets vanished in moments. Chambersoot chewed with relish, but frowned in perplexity.

“This tastes…weird! Where’d you get it?”

“Calescent. He made it with gel-a-tin.”

“Not from a store? Everything we get is from a raid on a big storehouse or something. Or Lord Rags grows it.”

Clearly, candy wasn’t a luxury the children often had, so they savored it. That was depressingly familiar, and Student Rags actually recalled she had some treats in her pockets. She doled them out, and Roithe was just as eager to stuff some slightly-stale muffins Foliana had given Rags into her mouth as all the others.

“You get to eat this all the time?”

“Eh. Not always. I’m with Chieftain Rags, so I get special things. Like this ring.”

“Ooh! Is that a w-Ring 4.0? You have one of those?”

All the Goblins were all over Rianchi’s ring, asking to try it on or see features, though in the mountains they were ‘out of range’ of the magical networks. However, it got them all talking, and Student Rags began asking the questions she felt mattered.

“So you just…roam around like this? Fighting, surviving? Is there a plan to get Erin back? Or are you trying to help other Goblins or just survive?”

It was Zammy who spat an answer back.

“What other Goblins? All the other tribes are hiding or dead. You mean the Island of Goblins? Gone. Even the old Goblin Lords are dead. Doesn’t matter if you can dodge lightning bolts. Try dodging ten thousand homing bullets coming at you or a big bomb.”

Rags swallowed hard.

“Then how do you survive…?”

The answer was Roithe’s. She held out the little sign-amulet and spoke one word.

“Faith. Faith stops everything. Magic, spells, Skills—”

Chambersoot muttered loudly.

“And if it doesn’t, you duck real fast.”

Another pull at his ears, making him yelp. Rags eyed the Goblins and wondered how powerful Goblin Lord Rags was. She suspected Goblins were surviving as they always had: reproducing faster than they died, or enough to maintain parity.

What a depressing future. Rianchi thought so too, clearly, and he tried to find more candy as the children inspected his bicycle without much novelty since they clearly knew what it was.

“Don’t worry about the bike, Chambersoot. I can get more parts in my world. Just not the same…this was a Kevin-made original. Enchanted by a master [Enchanter].”

Chambersoot glanced up.

“I can tell. It’s got no faith in it. Kevin bikes are only magic. You want to fix it now? We can do it, just not with magic. Looks like you need reinforcement on the wheel and a replacement gear. The metal’s…pretty good.”

He grudgingly nodded at the bike, and Rianchi sat up.

“You can fix it? Do you have an [Enchanter]?”

“Nope. We’ve got a pray-er.”

Chambersoot jerked a thumb at Roithe, and the young Goblin pursed her lips. She picked out the pieces of the broken gear and fit them together.

“One [Canticle of Mending] would fix this. It wouldn’t be hard to bless it either. Everyone is filled with faith after meeting you and seeing the Painted Antinium. Zammy, can you do the bike wheel?”

The [Goth] grumbled.

“Nightlady Gothica will get mad if I steal any shadowpaint.”

“She said she knows that other Goblin, Redscar, and she knew Rianchi. If you put it on, it’ll be tough as anything. The [Goths] can make shadow stuff. Like shadowsteel or nightmetal…they have a lot of stupid names.”

“Bleh. You’re just jealous.”

Zammy stuck out her tongue and pulled down her eye, then picked up the front wheel. Rianchi leapt to his feet.

“Wait! What will it do? Blessing? What that?”

He seemed somewhat nervous, as a bike lover did when people were proposing new modifications to Kevin’s work. But Chambersoot just patted him on the knee as he began putting the gears together.

“Don’t worry. It’s great. Even Rhir wants blessings, but no one in their stupid empire has enough faith. They keep trying to call their old guy, Othius, a God-King, but no one really believes. We have real faith.”

He gave Rianchi a beaming grin, and the [Cyclist] hesitated. Student Rags squatted next to him, helping the two Goblins put together the bicycle.

Within fifteen minutes, Zammy and Roithe had run off and come back. Zammy with a bicycle wheel that wasn’t the darkest metal in creation, but oddly non-reflective, seeming to soak in light. Every bit of it was drenched; she proudly showed it off and gave Rianchi a respectful look.

“Nightlady Gothica was in a really good mood. She said you could have all you needed.”

“And the gear’s fixed! Look!”

A glowing white gear shone in Roithe’s hands, so unnaturally luminescent it seemed like a magical artifact in of itself. She handed it to Rianchi, who nearly dropped it. He twirled it around in his hands.

“What does it—”

The whirring sound the gear made as it spun insanely fast around Rianchi’s finger made Rags stop reaching for it. The Goblin stood there, petrified, unwilling to touch the buzzing spokes of the gear until Chambersoot inserted a wrench into the gear and flicked it up. He caught it and grinned.

“Hey old guy Rianchi, you’ll have the fastest bicycle in any world when we put this in. Everyone likes stupid cars, anyways.”

That was how Chieftain Rags and the Goblin Lord Rags found them, finishing the bicycle. Student Rags hadn’t done much, just held things in place and listened to technical jargon being passed around, but when the younger Goblins saw the Goblin Lord and backed away, they melted into the Tribe of Dreams.

Chieftain Rags didn’t know them; she was here to save her tribe, save the High Passes, and save the future all at once. But Student Rags waved at Zammy, Chambersoot, and Roithe and got big smiles. And she remembered them.

Someone had to care about the little people. Like Rianchi, who was taller than her, but who held his assembled bike at his side. Neither Rags noticed the faint glow of one of the gears on the bicycle that got brighter the longer you focused on it, or the fact that the front wheel cast no shadow.

And someday, those little people will be the ones who matter. Student Rags touched Rianchi’s arm and grinned at him, and he gave her a big and hopeful smile.

—Right up until Chieftain Rags asked her question.

“Rianchi. Where’s Dyeda and Mrsha now? Where would they go if they saw us under attack? Would they have stayed to watch or come here? If so—where?”

When Rags asked the question, he turned pale. Rianchi licked his lips.

“U-um. Nowhere bad, Chieftain? Dyeda went to get help. From Mrsha, probably. Not bodyguards; they no good against lightning man. They probably looking for Adult Mrsha.”

“Our Mrsha is in your world? She is as desperate as Pawn, even if they don’t get along. She might—she is not subtle. She could tell him or do something drastic in either world.”

The Goblin Lord grew alarmed. Rags felt her own warning bells ringing in her head. She whirled and spoke.

“We’re heading back to Liscor. Now!”

“The tunnels are faster. This way! Someone find Gothica and tell her we need her now! [Tribe: Run For Your Lives].”

The Goblin Lord bellowed and pointed, and then they were running, the ground flashing under Rags as she sprinted. It wasn’t a certainty they’d run into Liscor or get in trouble, but if something could go bad—in The Wandering Inn?

With Mrsha? On her eighteenth birthday? It wasn’t as if anyone was certain what would happen today. That’s why they came. Because something might. Good or ill. After all, it was Mrsha’s coming-of-age. And to some kinds of people…some classes, that day mattered. And that was before counting another world. If people noticed what was going on—

Rags ran as fast as they could. All three of her. But of course, by the time she got to Liscor—

It was too late.

Author’s Note:

Hello, and happy Solstice. We’re here again, aren’t we? A fine Winter Solstice to you…

I don’t know when they became such moments of dread. Appropriately, it feels like most Christmases have some impactful event occurring. As I said last chapter, I want to change how I write, but here we are, and the world is different.

I am different. So are you. If you stayed the same, I wonder how? Or I wonder if that’s the lie we like to tell ourselves.

Once more, I am tired. Can you hear it in my tone? I keep stopping, like a windup toy getting unwound, or becoming distracted, procrastinating…

But this year, I didn’t rush to get the story done by Christmas. I am releasing this chapter for Patreon and Public readers as a Christmas gift, which is traditional, but the story isn’t ended. I feel as though the last few chapters have worked as well as I want them to, so I will take a week or two off.

I am travelling to be with family, after Christmas, where I will attend a wake for my grandmother, who passed away earlier this year. That was the month where I stopped for a bit and wrote Griefman. It feels long ago and still a bit like a bad dream I had, but this is the first moment we could gather.

…It’ll be two weeks off. I have one more chapter half-done, and I might release it, but no promises. But I’m not planning on taking my month off. I want to finish this arc first. We’ll see. Just check back now and then, and when the next chapter appears, we’ll all be pleasantly surprised.

I am tired. However, this year has been one of amazing things as well. At last, the webcomic has been released, and I have met and worked with splendid people. There have been terrible tragedies and achievements, and in a while, I will take a little rest.

But I felt the writing was fulfilling, even now. I am not tired of telling stories, just a bit sleepy. I hope you feel the same way about The Wandering Inn, and there will always be something else to see or tell.

Or so it feels. Stories do end, or change, but for now, another year awaits. Merry Christmas or happy holidays to you, and I’ll see you next chapter.

—pirateaba

Teacher by Brack!

Rhissy and Nerrhavia on the Piano by Phosu!

Worthwhile Trades and Mrsha’s Teacher by LeChatDemon!

Dungeon Battle by Moerchen!

Dungeon by XwriZ!

Nanette and Pebblesnatch by Wing!

Characters of Innworld by Nanahou!

Spellbook by BrazyCanana!

Dungeon by Gridcube!

Ceria by Spooky!

Enchanted Armor by Lanrae!

Seve by Stargzazing Selphid!

Trey Training and Moths by katiemaeve!

Sip Water by Chalyon!

No Killing Goblins by Pänguini