Chapter 166

“What’s new, kangaroo?”

Nyssira sat within the concentric rings of wards wearing Elyndra’s form again.

She was beautiful in the way sacred things were beautiful. Perfectly balanced. Perfectly measured.

Her skin resembled polished translucent glass lit from within by flowing gold. Beneath its surface, tiny glyphs and fragments of elegant script drifted endlessly through luminous currents before dissolving and reforming elsewhere.

Her pale hair spilled freely down her back, the color of aged parchment touched by warm candlelight. And her eyes… There were no pupils. No irises. Only layers of shifting pearlescent light folding endlessly into themselves, impossible to focus on for long without feeling slightly dizzy.

She wore a simple linen gown pinned at the shoulders and belted with a delicate gold chain that caught the light whenever she moved. No jewels. No crown. No attempt at grandeur. She didn’t need it.

Wooden sculptures surrounded her in scattered clusters.

At this point there was nothing left of the old bed. She’d carved all of it away. Even the wooden bowl I’d once brought her had been whittled down into shapes.

There wasn’t so much as a trace of sawdust remaining. Everything had been pressed, shaped, and repurposed with obsessive precision - probably held together using the butterscotch pudding I’d brought her as a binding agent.

Nyssira ignored me completely. She sat among the little sculptures, occasionally shifting one slightly before going still again.

I approached the outer ring of wards and crouched to get a better look. The carvings had improved. They still lacked detailed faces, but they were no longer crude.

Most resembled people. Others were stranger - abstract twisting things I couldn’t identify at all.

I studied them carefully, picking out context clues. “Is that Tansy?” I asked, pointing toward a rough figure with four arms.

Nyssira didn’t respond.

“That probably makes this one Thae,” I continued, gesturing toward another with wings. “And I’m guessing the one holding the staff is me?”

Her fist slammed down onto the little carving. The figure shattered instantly.

Her opalescent eyes snapped toward me in fury - and then dissolved into stars.

Her gown darkened subtly from white to parchment brown. Her luminous skin turned opaque and rough like weathered paper. Her pale hair unraveled into drifting ash before disappearing entirely, and her face faded away until only a shifting constellation remained suspended above her shoulders.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah,” I said. “That was definitely me.”

I crossed the room, grabbed my chair and journal, and dragged them closer to the wards before sitting down across from her. “Have you thought about what I asked you last time?” I said. “About what you want that doesn’t involve violence?”

“Why go through the trouble?” she asked flatly.

“To give you something you actually want? To be nice to you when you clearly hate me?”

The stars shifted coldly. “Why bother pretending.”

I frowned slightly.

“You defeated me. Pyraeth. Aurelion. The Myrddin.” The constellation that formed her face pulsed softly. “You could take whatever you wished.” Her voice remained eerily calm. “So why go through the trouble of convincing people to give things willingly when it would be simpler to take them?”

She tilted her head slightly. “No one could stop you.” The stars sharpened. “And yet you play this elaborate little game where you manipulate people into believing their choices are their own.”

“Because that’s not how I work,” I replied. “And it’s not how functional societies work either.” I leaned back in my chair slightly. “People working together get better results.”

I shrugged. “And when all you do is take, eventually people get sick of your shit. They band together and fight back. Tyrants rarely stay in power forever.”

“So it is cowardice,” she replied immediately. The stars that formed her expression brightened faintly. “You fear that if you stop pandering to others, they may eventually destroy you.” Her voice sharpened slightly. “Despite your strength. Despite the fact that almost no one could challenge you.”

She paused. “You are a coward.”

I laughed. “When you phrase it like that, I guess we’re all cowards.”

The stars flared violently.

“Sorry,” I added before she could respond. “Most of us are cowards.”

My grin lingered. “I’ll admit there’s truth to what you’re saying. Nobody wants to get hurt. And kindness is often how we diffuse violence.” I exhaled softly. “But that’s only part of it.”

I rested my elbows on my knees. “When I say working together gets better results, I mean that literally.” I gestured vaguely with one hand. “Let’s say I wanted to build a tower.”

Nyssira remained silent.

“I could probably build one myself eventually. But I don’t know much about building towers. So odds are it’d either collapse or get knocked over by the first strong wind.” I shrugged again. “But if I work with someone who understands architecture better than I do, suddenly the tower improves.”

“And if I work with three people who each understand towers differently, then it gets even better. One person knows structure. Another knows materials. Another knows defense.” I spread my hands slightly. “Now you’re creating something none of them could’ve built alone.”

Nyssira watched silently.

“And that’s before you even get to everyone else involved.” My voice softened slightly as I continued. “The brickmaker knows more about proper bricks than the architect does. The foreman understands coordination better than the brickmaker. The masons know how to place weight and pressure properly.”

I tapped the arm of my chair. “Each person contributes something unique. Different experiences. Different perspectives. Different skills.” I smiled faintly. “And when people actually care about what they’re building, they go beyond what’s required.”

I looked around the chamber. “They smooth rough edges nobody would’ve noticed. They align stones more carefully. They improve little details because they’re invested in the final result.”

I met the shifting stars of her face. “You can absolutely force people to build you a tower.” I nodded once. “And you’ll probably get one.”

Then my expression hardened slightly. “But if you want the best damned tower possible?” I spread my hands. “You need people who want to build it with you.”

Silence settled across the chamber.

Then I leaned back slightly in my chair. “So before you call me a coward, answer me this. Do you want an average tower?” I asked quietly. “Or do you want the best damned tower you can possibly build? Because your way will get you a tower, but mine will always be better.”

* * *

The next morning I woke to Faith pressed against my back.

Mirri had left sometime during the night to check on the sick family in Mudcross. The last time I’d seen Elise, she’d been buried in the library surrounded by notes from Earth. Serah had gotten up at some point to check on Briva and Morien and apparently never returned.

Which left Ashlara curled in my arms.

And someone else behind me.

I couldn’t see them - couldn’t see their Faith. But I could feel it pressed against my senses all the same - pulsing red threaded through with creeping tendrils of green.

I blinked in confusion.

“Moss?” I asked quietly, trying not to wake the sleeping beauty holding me. “Why are you in my bed?”

The weight behind me shifted. A moment later Moss’s head rose over my shoulder so I could see her grin. Too wide. Too many teeth. A shark’s smile stretched across her face.

“I was worried about ya,” she said softly, her breath carrying the scent of birch sap and damp earth.

Ashlara stirred beside me, blinking blearily. “Moss?”

“Hi, Ashie!” Moss shouted enthusiastically directly beside my ear.

I winced.

“It’s time to get up!”

Before either of us could respond, she sprang out of bed with restless, animal energy.

Ashlara groaned softly and untangled herself from my arms before stretching beneath the blankets.

“I still don’t understand why you climbed into bed with us,” I told Moss as I pushed myself upright.

“I was worried,” she repeated simply.

“You’ve never done that before.”

“Ya’ve never been this sick before,” she returned

That pulled a small smile from me. “I’m fine, Moss. I feel a lot better now.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood. “Sorry I scared you. I’ll try not to do it again.”

Her grin faltered immediately. “You’re different,” she said quietly. “Still not stable.”

My heart sank. “I know,” I admitted as I crossed the room toward her. “But I’m working on it. Don’t worry.” I wrapped my arms around her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Moss hugged me back instantly. Hard.

My spine popped loudly and my ribs protested under the pressure.

“Ya better not be lying,” she muttered against my chest.

* * *

“Oh, I like you.”

The voice drifted from the treeline where a dark shape moved between shafts of moonlight. Deep. Controlled. Calm.

I released the heart clenched in my hand and let it fall wetly against the chest of the man it had once belonged to.

His white robes were no longer white. Blood poured steadily from the open cavity in his chest, soaking the cloth black-red in the moonlight.

He’d been working with the Covenant of Mercy. He deserved worse than this after what they’d done to us.

My gaze swept across the ruined cart, the dead horses, and the three other corpses scattered around the roadside as I searched the trees for whoever was watching me.

I could feel his Faith moving through the darkness. Circling. Like a wolf stalking a rabbit. But I wasn’t a rabbit. And if he thought otherwise, he was about to be disappointed.

I rose slowly and collected the two swords pinning another corpse - this one a woman - to the earth.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice steady while my four blades angled outward toward the cardinal directions.

“An admirer,” the voice replied.

I caught faint movement between the trees.

“I’ve watched you for quite some time.” There was unmistakable pleasure in his tone. “Your killing is beautiful. Focused. Efficient. Ruthless.” A pause. “Even alone.”

Something dark slipped between the trunks again.

“But with the others?” A low hum of appreciation. “Mmm. You become art.”

A flash of dark fur appeared briefly between the trees before vanishing back into shadow.

The forest was utterly silent. No owls. No insects. No rustling animals. Everything prey-sized had already fled. Two predators occupied these woods now.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I growled.

Dark feathers ruffled between branches high above before disappearing into the darkness.

“Quite right.”

He emerged from the trees at last.

Tall. Nearly Nim’s height - perhaps six foot nine - with the lean build of a great hunting cat. Coiled muscle shifted beneath short umber-brown fur while faint scars striped his body like tiger markings catching moonlight.

Massive feathered wings rose from his back, black near the quills before fading gradually to brown and then pale gray at the tips.

His face was handsome in the way predators sometimes were. Strong jaw. Sharp cheekbones. Heavy brow. His nose had clearly been broken once and healed crooked. Slightly elongated canines rested against his lower lip even when his mouth was closed.

Amber eyes reflected the moonlight like an animal’s, revealing narrow vertical pupils that tracked every movement I made.

His hair hung thick and coarse down to the middle of his back in uneven layers much like my own. Mine stayed out of my face with a butterfly barrette. His was bound loosely with leather cords. Small bones, teeth, and claws hung from the braids, yet somehow made no sound as he moved.

He wore layered leathers and dark furs - a sleeveless vest and heavy skirt split high along both hips for unrestricted movement. Bone knives lined his body in seemingly random places - two at his hip, others stabbed directly through the leather of his vest like he’d stopped caring about proper sheaths years ago.

He paced slowly around me. Never hurried. Never careless. “I am Anura,” he said. “The Untamed Fang. God of predation.”

His smile widened slightly. “And you are Tansy. Goddess of unrestrained violence.”

He bowed his head. Not submissively. Acknowledging another apex predator.

“You are here for a reason,” he continued. “I will not interfere.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward the corpse at my feet. “Continue hunting the parasites.”

Then his gaze returned to mine. “I suspect you will not disappoint me.”

His wings spread wide with a thunderous rush of feathers. A heartbeat later he launched skyward and vanished above the treeline so quickly it barely seemed possible something that large could move so fast.

Slowly, my shoulders loosened. I lowered my blades.

Then I turned back toward the corpses and resumed my search.

* * *

The weapon lay disassembled before me.

Every spring, screw, washer, and strangely shaped piece rested in careful rows across the table. I had committed each component to memory. At this point I could reassemble the thing in minutes without thought.

Broadly speaking, I understood how it worked.

A small brass vial containing some volatile material ignited. The resulting pressure hurled the lead cap down the barrel at incredible speed. The opposing force drove part of the mechanism backward, compressing a spring that ejected the spent vial while another spring seated a fresh one into position so the process could repeat itself.

Elegant. Efficient. Terrifying.

What I didn’t understand was how something this intricate could exist without magic.

Every piece fit together perfectly. Not approximately. Perfectly. There was no variance whatsoever.

I’d collected dozens of the weapons from Covenant dead and broken supply caches. Aside from scratches and wear, the internal parts were identical. Completely interchangeable.

No hand-forged weapon could achieve something like that. Not even dwarven craftsmanship came close.

The smiths I’d shown them to had no explanation for how such precision was possible. Even the dwarf I’d dragged out of Dumrath Kol-Varn to examine the weapon had fallen silent after taking it apart. He’d simply stared at the components spread across the table before muttering something about madness and impossible tolerances.

Then there was the secret ingredient. The gray sand sealed inside the brass vial resembled nothing I recognized. It carried little scent until ignited, at which point it released a sharp, bitter stench that clung to the air and burned the nose.

Alchemists were baffled. Wizards had no answers. Even Elise had little to contribute, which was perhaps the most frustrating part of all. Her mind could usually dissect and solve almost any problem placed before her.

This one refused to yield.

That was unacceptable.

Without a way to recreate the powder, we could never properly harness these weapons ourselves.

Which meant the Covenant possessed an advantage.

An advantage I intended to remove.

I stared at one of the lead caps resting beside the disassembled weapon. Such a tiny thing. And yet one had punched through my back and burst from my chest. One had torn my wing - not enough to stop my flight, but enough to concern me.

That little piece of metal traveled so fast I couldn’t properly track it with my eyes. And if I couldn’t see it, I couldn’t dodge it. Not from five feet away. Not from a hundred.

I needed to level the battlefield.

Slowly, I reached for my journal and a stick of charcoal. Then I began sketching exactly how I intended to remove the Covenant’s advantage.

When I was finished, those smiths and alchemists and wizards were going to help me build something the world had never seen before.