Blake rushed to Tondr’s Convenience to trade in the last of his contribution point chits from the Hunters sect. During the daytime, there were a few other cultivators around. All were unaffiliated with a sect, or if they were, Blake didn't recognize which one they belonged to. They surveyed the shelves of the shop, perusing the goods.

  Blake kept his head down. Sure, he wasn’t wearing garb that explicitly marked him as a Red Pine Hunter, but he didn’t exactly keep a low profile as a fiend-blend who was known to associate with the sect.

  He approached the counter and rang the bell, then pulled open his backpack and sifted around, pushing through River. Even though she had turned invisible, she still took up most of the room.

  Finally, he plunked a handful of the chits down on the table. A poster hung from the wall, reading CHIT EXCHANGE in dynasty script, and gave a list of exchange rates. Most sects used similar chits for contribution points, and small vendors could trade them back for hacksilver. Although the exchange rate at a store like this wasn’t going to be great, Blake didn’t need much silver.

  Arlo rushed to the counter, and his eyes went wide the moment he saw Blake. “I swear to God—I mean, I swear on the Fates, Bjarke! What are you doing here? We all thought you were dead!”

  “I made a promise, didn’t I?”

  Arlo rolled his eyes. “Be quick. I don’t think you’re allowed to be here. What do you need? And, not just a bath.” He wrinkled his nose, and the branches in his hair quivered.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “You don’t stink like sweat. You smell like an entire building burned down around you, then like you bathed in someone’s blood.”

  “Well, funny story—”

  “No, Blake, get to the point,” Arlo groaned. “I mean, Bjarke. Fates, this is my last shift, then I get to join the Green Bears as a junior disciple. I passed my exam and all…”

  Blake winced. Normally, he’d have congratulated Arlo, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when he knew what the Green Bears were like. “I just need to exchange these chits. Then I’ll be out of here.”

  Arlo glanced nervously at the other cultivators perusing the shelves, then nodded. “Sure thing.” He glanced at the exchange board, then reached below the counter and pulled out a tiny cupfull of hacksilver.

  Blake took it with a thankful nod, then said, “If I don’t see you again, good luck. With the Green Bears, you’ll need it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think it’s best if you find out on your own…” Blake said. “You won’t believe me if I tell you.” He dumped the hacksilver in his pocket, returned the cup, then rushed out of the little store.

  He needed to get clean, sure, but if he visited any of the popular baths, he’d get spotted right away. Instead, he travelled to the center of the district, which also happened to be the seediest. Blended crowded the streets, cooking under tarps and selling their wares. A few signs glowing with neon mana lit the way, and paper lanterns hung from the mesh shelters overhead. Every so often, the mesh would clang as debris fell from the towers above.

  They were directly in the shadow of the manaship now, and it was completely dark even during the day. Most people Blake saw had sunken eyes and pale skin. Men from the Cooks’ Guild wandered the streets with enormous pans on their backs like shields, and Fate Monks shuffled down the icy sidewalks, their bright blue robes swaying and incense-tipped staves smouldering.

  Blake rounded a corner and delved into an old subway station. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure there was no one suspicious following him. He’d be a prime target for bounty hunters, after all. But there was only a Cohong worker with a broom, sweeping the street. He wore a bright yellow robe and a round hat with a tassel, making him stand out from the crowd.

  As far as Blake knew, the Cohongs had plenty of commerce guilds on the manaship. So it wasn’t inconceivable for some of their people to also have found work in the lower city.

  But the sweeper wasn’t Blended, and he kept staring at Blake. Blake shook his head, then delved deeper down the subway’s entrance stairs.

  Shops lined the inside tunnels of the subway. Some had been carved into the walls, some had taken up residence on the train platforms. The Gravel Palace Blend-Baths, a quiet establishment that tended not to ask questions, had set up across the tracks of the platform, having dug itself into the wall.

  Blake crossed a short bridge, then stepped into the carved admissions booth.

  “Fiend-blend,” the attendant, a mortal man, said.

  “Is it going to be a problem?” Blake made sure his rank seal was clearly in view.

  “N—no, honoured customer. This one will allow you an hourly admission at once.” The man bowed his head. “The cultivator is aware of what other services we provide, correct?”

  “Just a bath,” Blake replied.

  “Right this way, sir.” The attendant led him to a back room where he could get changed and lock up his possessions, then handed him a bar of heavily scented floral soap. Steam leaked in from beyond a curtain on the other side of the room, but Blake was the only one. Being the middle of the day, most others were working.

  He pulled open his bag and whispered, “River. If you stay invisible, you can come with me.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “I will stay hidden,” she said. The opening of the bag rippled, and there was a faint watery splash as her hooves clomped down on the ground.

  Blake locked up his equipment, grabbed a towel, then rushed off into the baths. It was a small chamber, lit only by candles, and steam seeped up from the floor, heating the shallow water. There was only one other old man, and Blake was pretty sure he was asleep.

  He lowered himself into the water, letting his muscles relax, and finally let himself exhale. He stared up at the ceiling, imagining the hundreds of people walking overhead.

  Very few people from the old Earth were interested in changing anything. He might have once fancied himself as a revolutionary, but what good would it do if there was no one willing to fight along with him? He rubbed the soap through his hair, then scrubbed his horns and his scales.

  Their lives were good enough. He blew across the surface of the water.

  But what about the others like him? There had to be others like him, right? Other people who wanted to live free of the cultivators. People who wanted to build something. Maybe they weren’t a majority. But there had to be some, right?

  Still, it was never going to be enough to overthrow—

  “Pssst,” a voice hissed from behind him. He blinked, glancing around, until his eyes landed on a small mesh screen on the wall behind him. There was a small hole in the wall, not enough to fit through, but enough to talk through. It led over into the womens’ half of the bath. He couldn’t see through it.

  Blake squinted. He recognized that voice. “Mingel?”

  “Sorry to interrupt your shower thoughts. But we need to talk.”

  “Why are you here? Coincidence?”

  “Do you really think it’s a coincidence?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You followed me here, didn’t you?”

  “Correct. And I had to pay admission too, so this had better be worth it.”

  “What do you want?” He narrowed his gaze. The screen might have been too thick for mortals to see through, especially in the low light, but with his enhanced eyes, he could make out Mingel’s form. She leaned on the side of a pool, staring across at him. He asked, “Enjoying the view?”

  “Idiot,” she muttered. Her ears flicked. “No. Blake. I needed to warn you.”

  “Of course.”

  “Heron has been meeting with Prince Arald. Trying to convince the prince of his noble cause and how much they can help each other. But Prince Arald will travel to Mergewatch too, and he will watch your duel.”

  Blake nodded. “I’m hoping he will. He seemed undecided. But if I can beat Heron…”

  “It won’t be enough to absolve you and your sect of guilt entirely. You need proof.”

  “I assume you have something in mind.”

  “I have a talisman. It was one he used to test his agitation array. He didn’t bring it with him when he sicked the Monarch on you.”

  He tilted his head. “Is there a way of determining who made a magic object?”

  “It’s not magic, idiot. But yes, there is a way. Silverbeard’s mana, especially, has a unique moonlight aspect to it. It would leave traces in a rune he made or activated. And he activated those runes more than enough when he was testing it. ”

  “Then I could bring it along, defeat Heron, and prove that he tried to have the prince killed,” Blake said. “His schemes are finally going to catch up with him.”

  “I will leave the talisman under the washbin at the front door. Take a few more minutes, but don’t linger too long, or someone else will find it.” She drifted away from the mesh, and he couldn’t see what happened after that.

  After another few minutes of cleaning himself off, Blake left the bath, put his clothes back on, and gathered his equipment (while making sure River climbed back into his backpack). Before he left the old subway station, he picked up the talisman from under the washbin. It was just like the ones he’d destroyed in the Sceat Bowl—a white banner covered in runes, attached to a small wooden post.

  Then, he found a barber shop. He had grown a bit of a beard, and it was getting scratchy and annoying. Plus, he had to look presentable before his duel.

  He found a barber who didn’t ask questions about who he was, then spent the last of his hacksilver on a haircut. The barber had to use an enchanted knife just to get through his hair, with how strong his enhanced body was, but it worked.

  When he left the barber, he stepped out onto the street, only to find the Cohong sweeper he’d spotted before standing in front of him.

  Blake raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, sir. I need to get through.”

  The man clasped his hands together and gave a short bow, then said, “Apologies, child, but can you spare a moment for a word?” His english was smooth and silky, and he barely had an accent.

  “Uh…have you been following me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has everyone?”

  “Perhaps. You are still drawing attention down here. But I am not here to collect a bounty, child.” He stepped to the side, and Blake followed him, getting out of the way.

  “Can I help you?” Blake whispered.

  “Yes, child, but not in the way you think. You can help yourself first.” He lifted a finger. “Do you care to hear a word of advice?”

  “Uh, sure, I guess? I dunno, I’ve gotten a lot of advice these past few days.”

  “Are you so deeply afraid of sincerity?” The sweeper tapped Blake’s chest, then shook his head. “Worry not. I see it in your eyes. You are one who has learned the truth of your world.”

  “Yeah.” Blake rubbed his chest where the man had tapped him. “But—”

  “And you seek new meaning, now.”

  Not a question. A statement.

  Blake met the man’s gaze. “There has to be more to life. I know it.”

  “You think your world was incredible, and perhaps it was. I have studied your people for years, and amusingly, your advances led you away from mana and qi—and other more important energies.”

  Honour.

  “But do you think it perfect?” The man shook his head. “For all the years your people have existed on this world, there has been great suffering, except perhaps in the most recent decades, and even then, you met a different sort of spiritual suffering, a lack of meaning.”

  “I’m not sure if I believe in any kind of god.”

  “One does not have to, child.” The man folded his hands. “You will not find what you’re looking for by returning to the way your life once was.” He glanced at Blake’s horns. “And that goes for more than just your world. It must start with you. Prove that your pain and struggle means something. Earn the right to be free.”

  Blake chuckled. “I should already have it. I should have been born with it.”

  “But you were not. So what are you going to do about that? And will you be free by staying here?”

  Blake narrowed his eyes. “Sir, I—”

  The man tutted. “You are different from the others. Something like you is inescapable.” He backed away, and returned to sweeping the street. “Win your duel, and we will speak more aboard the manaship. Until then, I wish you luck.”

  Blake didn’t move. How did he know about the duel?

  The sweeper began walking away, then disappeared into the crowd before Blake could ask anything else.

  But whatever he’d wanted, Blake was running out of time. He had to get back to his apartment and prepare.