# Chapter 2: Shaped in the Flames of Fame

Author: Nex_Canis
Tags: Bear, Dragon, Fantasy, Human, Lion, M/M, Plot Development, Science Fiction, Story Series, Tiger, Wolf

Chapter 2 of Another Time: Incendius  
  
  
Every step brings the team closer and closer to figuring out where the legendary Talon of the Fire God is though the path seems to be quite winding. The secret of the Lost Incendian Fleet is tied to the Last Chronomancer. Hunter is going to have to continue to ascend the ranks of the International Blacksmith League but his next opponent is quite... unconventional. A good thing they have a very unconventional crimson-furred wolf who can help them get that information.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Author's Note: For fans of the previous incarnation, the shift on JD's abilities might be shocking if not a little overpowered. However, I found that in the previous timeline, his abilities were even more skewed in his favor. Here, he is basically starting from scratch with the sole advantage that his defining ability is now that his life is a souls-like.

Shaped in the Flames of Fame

  

 

The Sunburst Knight

The pale light from the _Sun Spire_ shone through the modest home in the middle ring of _Corona_ known as the Helios District. Unlike the Sunrise District which was more rustic and a little disorganized, the Helios District had broad, white buildings, blocks that were evenly constructed with glistening plazas depicting colorful murals instead of cobblestone roads. Most of the buildings were built the same, many of them cookie-cutter clones of another a short distance away.

Alex had become somewhat intimately with familiar with the interior of one such apartment thanks to the enthusiasm of one Arwin Helter. He would be the first to admit that it was incredibly manipulative to prey on a man while he was down but he couldn’t resist. The lutrine struck such a stunning figure when fighting in that _Grimflare Armor Mark IX_ that Alex couldn’t help but wonder what the otter looked like _without_ that armor.

And he wasn’t disappointed.

He had met Arwin in a bar not too far away from this apartment while his son and friends were out celebrating Hunter’s victory. They shared a few drinks, a few stories and after Alex teased out his sexual interest in the otter, discussions had devolved into sexual innuendo. Followed by some more drinks and intimate touching. Then Arwin not-so-subtly mentioned that his home wasn’t too far away.

They barely made it down the street before they were passionately mashing muzzles. Alex had his pants around his ankles and his ass filled with otter dick in some alley a short distance from the home. Post-nut clarity allowed them to finally stumble through their drunken haze into Arwin’s apartment.

Then they were at it again. The entire first floor was devastated by their orgasmic fucking. Alex remembered mentioning at one point that he was hungry and they absconded into the kitchen. He then proceeded to pour honey all over Arwin’s chiseled body and make the otter squirm as he licked it off drip by drip before suckling on that juicy cock.

The stairs were quickly despoiled afterwards and they had managed to make it to the bathroom before they were once again having some part of one or the other in each other. The shower barely left them clean. When they _finally_ made it onto Arwin’s large, king-sized bed, they were still dripping wet. Not that it mattered as they immediately began to cocoon themselves in the sheets as well as each other’s limbs.

Alex wasn’t even sure how he ended up on the floor but judging by how sore he was all over, they had another round or two in their semi-conscious state. Rolling his shoulders, Alex rose to his feet and greeted the morning sunlight with his very naked form still showing evidence of the previous night’s activities.

Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Arwin yawn and stretch. The lean, ripped otter with the perfectly sized cock - at least perfectly sized for Alex - regarded him sleepily, a lewd grin on his face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever fucked so fast and so often in the span of a few hours before,” Arwin chuckled. “You are insatiable.”

“I just have that effect on people,” Alex replied with a smirk. “There are rumors that we Clarkes are born with an overactive sex-drive built over generations of our ancestors being obsessed with procreation.”

Arwin tilted his head to the side. “Should I expect some brothers, sisters or some of your offspring knocking on my door next?”

Alex waved a paw absently through the air as he began searching for anything that would even remotely resemble his clothing. He was _fairly_ sure he had all of his clothes when he had stepped through the door into this place. “I’m completely and utterly gay and an only child. I’ve got a few uncles and aunts that can carry over the family line in my stead.”

Though as he thought about offspring, he straightened. “You _might_ see my son occasionally though.”

“Your son?”

“Jack Denver Clarke. He’s the kid that utterly humiliated your buddy Godfrey.”

Arwin groaned and sunk into his sheets. “Godfrey is just someone I work with. He’s no friend. Though we _do_ share the same view that Oren is _far_ to obsessed with Roran Strongarm. I don’t know if this defeat will actually help.” He offered a lewd grin again in Alex’s direction. “I might actually lose my job as his bodyguard if he ever heard that I slept with you.”

“To be fair, there was _very little_ sleeping involved,” Alex chuckled. “And that might be why you’ll see JD around. He’s _extremely_ protective of people that’s even distantly related to him. Now that you have some of my DNA in you and vice versa, he _might_ just extend that umbrella to you. At least until you give yourself a good shower.”

“Thanks, I suppose?” Arwin propped himself up on the bed. “Just to be clear, this wasn’t the start of a relationship, right?”

“Absolutely.” Alex found a pair of underwear that distinctly wasn’t of Incendian design. Hexweave. He was a little disappointed in himself that the garment made it all the way to the bedroom. Then he recalled that Arwin had been wearing it because the otter had casually mentioned he was curious how the fabric felt. Seeing the compact, beefy lutrine in _his_ underwear only sent them into a spiral of sex.

He gave it a sniff. Naturally smelled of cum and musk but with a shrug, he slipped it on. “I’m not looking for a relationship. I just thought you were very attractive when I saw you in action, you were receptive to my advances at the bar so we went from there.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he asked, “How was it for you?”

Arwin gave him a lopsided smile. “Mind-blowing. If you ever need another Incendian booty-call, you know where to find me.”

Alex smiled and hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Well how about we shower together as a tepid farewell and exchange contact details over breakfast? I know a nice place nearby.”

“I can cook, you know. I make a _mean_ scrambled eggs. The key is a bit of paprika.” The otter made a little chef’s kiss gesture.

“As tempting as that is, your kitchen might need to be sanitized, rebuilt and then exorcised after everything we did to it last night.”

Arwin laughed and agreed.

The shower under the warm waters was nice and they spent some time washing each other’s strong, powerful bodies. Being a foot shorter than Alex, Arwin had to reach up a little to reach the top of Alex’s head but that didn’t stop them from proceeding to jump into a suspended congress position to help the otter out. Once they were clean - mostly - they left Arwin’s home and Alex led him to a quaint little restaurant for brunch that specialized in Havenese cuisine.

“This place was always too pricey for me,” Arwin commented, as they sat down on the outdoor patio. “Havenese food always seems so… high-class for my blood. Too much spectacle.”

“That’s really what Havenese meals are about,” Alex mentioned with a shrug. “All spectacle and not enough substance. You get these itty-bitty bites that’ll never fill you up but they look goddamn gorgeous. This place is _amazing_ in that it combines the myriad of spices of Incendian cuisine with the showmanship of Havenese meals.”

To prove his point, they were both given cups of coffee where the froth and the chocolate bubbled up to form three dimensional replicas of the _Sun Spire_.

“It’s like eating magic,” laughed Arwin.

“That’s Haven,” Alex conceded. “Magic is everywhere. Most of the population live on the motes which are huge slabs of land that are suspended by magic. Even your way down the street, you’ll never see people just using their legs. They’re using some sort of magic.”

Arwin sipped the coffee and nodded in approval. Then his brow furrowed. “So it must be really hard for your son. Jack, right? The one that looks like you with the two swords? He said he couldn’t use magic at all.”

Grimacing slightly, Alex said, “Yeah. For the first few years, it was a lot of pity. Even with all our technology and magic, it took him a whole year to even be able to walk on his own. I guess we were _sort of_ fortunate that he suffered his injury when he was still young and he hadn’t become reliant of magic. Kids at school were still rough though. Doesn’t matter if he couldn’t use magic because of an injury. Kids would tease him for being a ‘cripple’.” Alex smiled softly into the foam of his coffee. “Thankfully Wood and Skye were there for him.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…” ventured Arwin.

He held up a paw. “That’s not really my story to tell. You want to know how he got injured, ask JD. All I can say is that yes, it was related to the _Fall_.”

“That’s fair.”

Alex set down his mug as their food arrived. He had ordered the egg platter - eggs done four ways with some sides - while Arwin had ordered the breakfast salmon. True to Havenese cuisine, there was some form of magical flair added to it. His eggs glimmered and shimmered like they were made from liquid gold or jewels while the salmon was accompanied by tiny little bits of asparagus shaped like muscled men that were animated to treat the delightfully pink fish like a mountain they were conquering.

“How’d you end up in Oren’s employ?” he asked.

Arwin shrugged as he began picking off the little asparagus men one by one who seemed to show distress as some divine fork from the heavens speared one of them and took them up into the sky. “I always liked the IBL circuit. But I was never creative enough to actually make anything of my own. I figured that if I apprenticed under an actual blacksmith for a bit, I’d eventually learn enough that I could set out on my own. I ended up working for Oren while he was somewhere around 115th ranked blacksmith on Incendius.”

“And he made it all the way to top 10? Impressive.”

“He got there by being hyper-focused on his target.” Arwin took a bite out of his salmon and commented that it was good - not the best he had had, but still good. “He kept telling himself that he’d beat the number 10 - which was Roran - and geared himself to find ways to defeat Roran. He followed Roran closely, obsessed about him and made his way up until he was within striking distance of Roran’s rank. They clashed a few times, you know. But Roran _always_ won.”

“And what did Daddy Tiger have over your twinky goth?” Alex asked smugly.

Arwin smirked and described how Roran’s goal wasn’t to beat someone else or to have rank. His objective with his tools was some loft goal such as equality or something like that. It had something to do with his involvement in the _Burning Rebellion_ decades prior.

“His motto was all around ‘the guiding flame’,” Arwin provided. “Everything he made was around directing people’s passions correctly, taking the energy they generated and making it into something productive. At least it was. I don’t know what made him quit or what his goal is now.”

That was something Alex would have to ask Roran eventually. The Tigris always complained that his departure from the IBL was due to the grandstanding and the pressure the IBL expected of its top blacksmiths. Something told him there was another reason. It might even have something to do with _FireFeather_. As he recalled, the last sighting of the weapon was in the hands of Harm Chronos during the _Burning Rebellion_.

Could it be that Roran quit the IBL ten years ago when the _Fall of Haven_ ended?

When Harm Chronos died?

He pushed the thought aside for now and enjoyed his brunch with Arwin. Once they were done, he paid and exchanged contact details with the otter. Then he turned and casually strode through _Corona,_ winding from place to place, appearing not to have any destination in mind.

About two hours later, he entered one of the large, malls that was recently becoming a craze on Incendius. The large crowds and multitude of shops provided the perfect cover for him to casually stride into a public restroom, duck into a stall and activate his magic.

In an instant, his surroundings were gone, swirling in a dizzying display of colors amidst the sound or rushing winds. The warp spell that he had developed and eventually refined to become the Warp technology that was just not becoming more widely spread. In an instant, he was standing in the office of one of the most powerful men on Incendius.

The Sunburst Knight looked up from behind his broad, oak desk, the tan-skinned man with pure white hair cut short regarding him with an arched eyebrow. His glorious crimson and gold armor glimmered in the glow of the _Sun Spire_.

“How the hell do you sit there in your full armor doing paperwork?” Alex asked.

“One can never be too prepared,” answered General Zachariah, one of the twenty military Generals that currently held power over all of Tower Thirteen. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit, from the Horizon Lord?”

Alexander Clarke - AKA General Solomon - smiled faintly. “I’ve been on your Station for about two weeks. I thought it about time I finally pay you a visit.”

The Sunburst Knight laughed softly and turned back to his paperwork. “We aren’t in some sort of feudal system where it’s part of court etiquette to visit a noble or lord if your cross their borders. We are trying to treat Tower Thirteen as a whole not as thirteen different nations.”

“True. Which suggests I have an ulterior motive.”

Zachariah stopped scribbling with his quill. “And that is?” he asked without looking up.

“I want to talk about Rahl and _FireFeather.__”_

The General predominantly in charge of Incendius looked up, silvery-grey irises glimmering. “I know of Rahl. Former top Incendian craftsman that’s gone missing. I don’t recognize the other name.”

“_Talon of the Fire God?_” asked Alex. _“Adramalech’s Pinon? Archfire Blade?”_

There, Zachariah straightened. “I see. I had heard of all three of those but in different contexts. I had no idea they were one and the same.”

Rahl constantly referred to the ‘_Archfire Blade __’_ in the few public outings he had before his disappearance. He constantly mentioned the ‘_Archfire__ ’_ in his works, calling it the ‘flame to control all flames’ and criticized everything he every made as a pale imitation to the true _Archfire_. He heard rumors about an _Archfire Blade_ but never went further into that.

The name ‘_Adramalech __’s Pinion_’ came from the extremist cults known as _Adramalech__ ’s Wings._ The _Wings_ were obsessed with using any means necessary to channel as much Pyromancy as possible to the point where they willingly underwent dangerous and often maddening forms of genetic alterations to emulate the organs of creatures in the wild that could naturally produce flames. There were cases where members of the cult would transform entire limbs into flaming glands much like Fire Elementals or graft the heads of Fire Drakes onto their bodies. _Adramalech__’s Pinion_ was supposedly a feather from the very God of Fire and the most sacred artifact of the _Wings._ Their end goal was to find the _Pinion_ and graft it onto themselves.

As for the _Talon of the Fire God_… Apparently, it was a weapon that Pyrannos of the Chronomancers sought during the _Purge of Time_.

“As you can see, _FireFeather_ comes up multiple times in different cases across history,” Alex said.

“Which leads me to believe that you searching for it has devastating implications,” Zachariah concluded. “What’s going on, Solomon?”

Alex leaned forward towards the human. “I’m honestly not sure yet, Zachariah. All I know is that whenever there is mention of that blade, something big happens. Rahl went looking for it ten years ago. Roran Strongarm saw it in action _thirty_ years ago during the _Burning Rebellion_. My son is on this Station now and I hate the idea that there is this loose end that could potentially bring something disastrous to us while we’re here. So I want to know what _FireFeather_ is and how to neutralize it before it becomes a threat.”

Zachariah nodded and brushed aside his parchment and quill. “A fair enough request. Let me see what I can learn from the archives.” With a wave of his armored hand, light spilled out from his desk and formed a display in front of him. A few taps on the screen and he was searching for references to _FireFeather._

“You have that tech. Why not use it instead of handwriting stuff with your quill?” Alex asked.

The tan-skinned man gave him a lopsided smile. “Handwriting is a discipline much like exercise. It becomes sloppy without practice. Besides, most people on Incendius do not have some form of electronic mailing system so parchment is still the default means of communication.”

“We’ve got to change that.”

“With time.” Suddenly, Zachariah frowned. “What…?”

Alex stood up and wandered around the table to hover over his fellow General’s shoulder. “Something wrong?”

“The records are… restricted?”

The red Wulfun stared at his fellow general in surprise. “That’s… not possible. You’re a _General_. Did you input your password right?”

“Of course I did,” snapped Zachariah shortly. “How else would I be able to search for it? I’m saying that _I__’m_ not allowed to see these records. Which, as you said, is impossible.”

“What level of restriction is it?”

“Omega.”

Omega access. That generally meant only the author and a select few that the author specified could have access to the record. Few could supersede it.

“I’ll get my technicians working on unlocking this,” Zachariah said, frowning deeply. “I suspect that it is on the list since a lot of Church records and others like it were handed to us as is when we took over but it hasn’t had the need to be unlocked until now. I’ll let you know once I have access.”

“Thanks, Zachariah.” Alex straightened. “Oh… and one more thing.”

“Yes?”

Alex pointed at the document in front of him. “Have a look at who locked it.”

The Sunburst Knight’s eyes widened.

Harm Chronos.

?

  

 

Victory Lap

What Faraday had said about _Conflagration_ sent sparks of inspiration through Hunter. At first, the only reason he had actually made the swords was to compensate for JD’s inability to use any form of magic whatsoever. But after Faraday had talked all about granting the gift of Pyromancy to others, his mind was racing.

What if he could enable people to cast useful forms of Pyromancy prominent in every day without intimate knowledge of the spells? What if all they had to do was wave their hands, swing a sword or twirl a staff and a vast library of Pyromancy was at their fingertips?

The thought thrilled him and, on some level, he was excited to see how far he could push this role of being a celebrity blacksmith. He was sure people were eager to see what he would come up with next after his recent upstart win.

But first, he wanted to get some feedback from the guys he had actually made the weapons for. As the official craftsman for four students, he was allowed to come and go from _Pinnacle__’s_ floating campus as much as he wanted. Part of him expected people to start giving him strange looks or whispering under their breath as he crossed the various halls, quads and pathways of the illustrious college but then he was reminded that everyone attending this school was exceptional in their own right.

As he crossed one of the many plazas, he overheard some students boasting about how they had just composed a stunning opera based on the fall of the Phoenix race that was going to be displayed in a theater and performed by a Paladin. Someone else was talking about their experiment and theory about launching geosynchronous satellites that could redirect the light from the _Sun Spire_ to other locations on the Station. There was a group gossiping about their various theses on the history of the Darkened and Searanti race.

Everyone here was exceptionally intelligent and ambitious.

Winning a local competition that placed him _tenth_ in the national rank was not even worth noting. Besides, he wasn’t a student. He was just supporting staff for the students and neither JD nor Wood actually got anything from their victory except some points for their participation.

Doubt was starting to creep into his mind again when he spotted JD sitting within the branches of a paleleaf tree in the quad. Wood had mentioned JD liked to perch himself up in the trees when he needed to focus on his studies. True to form, the compact, crimson Wulfun was up in the white branches of the tree, his red fur sticking out amongst the alabaster leaves. In JD’s paws was a crystal tablet.

“Hey!” Hunter greeted, approaching his friend with a wave.

JD glanced up and smiled at him brightly. “Hunter! Hey! Didn’t expect to see you up here.” The Red Lightning leapt down deftly from the branches, barely disturbing the leaves and grass beneath his bare feet. “Don’t you have a brunch with Oren to get to?”

“The definition of brunch means past breakfast but too early for lunch.” He patted the hard armor that was his abdominal muscles. “Can’t say that I’m not starving but I have to wait.”

It was extremely early in the morning. Dawn was just hitting them and the _Sun Spire_ was _just_ starting to brighten from its dim twilight. _Pinnacle_ classes had already started however. By the very design of the college, many of the professors and lecturers had to hold multiple classes on the subject every day. They generally tried to make sure there was a morning class, an afternoon version and then an final evening class.

“What brings you here?” JD asked.

“I actually wanted to check in on you and _Conflagration._ Wanted your feedback on how it handled.”

The red wolf flicked his ears forward, attentive. “It’s different from _Validation_, for sure. Heavier. I think I need more time to get used to it before I can give you honest feedback.”

“You seemed to handle it really well against Godfrey.”

JD crossed his arms behind his head and tilted his ears back. “Yeah but Godfrey was supposed to lose. If he were to take it seriously, I’m sure he wouldn’t have given up so easily.”

Hunter smiled and clapped the younger Wulfun’s shoulder. “See? That’s exactly the kind of feedback I need. What else you got?”

Seeming a little unsure, JD hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, I’ve got my anatomy class in a few minutes. Why don’t you join me? We can figure more about ways to make _Conflagration_ better. Like… I dunno… maybe saving rune configurations in a ‘favorites list’ or something?”

Hunter’s eyes shone at the suggestion and his mind was already running with various ideas on how to implement such a method. He had his _Sequencer_ out and tapping ideas as well as doing his research while following his eager client through the halls of the college. Alongside about three dozen other students, he stepped into the lecture theater and took a seat beside JD, waiting for the professor to arrive.

Again, since he was legally allowed inside the campus grounds, nothing was keeping him from attending any of the classes that were held all over the campus and sometimes even outside in Corona itself. One of the ‘perks’ of the job was the free education. Then again, easily accessible education was a fundamental pillar that the Generals had implemented all over Tower Thirteen. The only thing needed to gain access to _Pinnacle__’s_ curriculum was to have the initial talent and drive to pursue higher education. Only Haven was in the process of rolling out such a system while the other Stations were still bound to far more archaic systems where classes were far more structured and education limited.

The professor arrived right on time; a tall, limber female Bovios. She began the lecture by introducing herself as Professor Ichoris. There was a brief list about her credentials which - considering how students could drop in and out of classes as they wished - was mandatory. Then she began the lecture itself.

“Welcome to the _Anatomy of Pyromancy_,” she said in a level, strict tone. Hunter glanced up from his _Sequencer_ at the name of the class. A glance over at JD revealed the crimson Wulfun had his own tablet out and ready to take notes.

_“_In this class we are going to learn all about how Pyromancy is generated both through the _Illuminus Weizar_ and through the biological means that natural Pyromancers benefit from. Apart from obtaining points for your rubric from answering any ad-hoc questions I may throw your way, there will be a test at the end of each week which will generate the majority of your points.”

She clammed her hands together. “Without further ado, let us begin with the most basic of elements to Pyromancy. Who can tell me what the MNN is?”

JD didn’t move as someone else answered.

_“It’s the Magical Neural Network.”_

“Correct,” Ichoris said. “A point for you.” Turning to the class, she explained that every living being was born with the MNN which basically overlapped with their existing neural network. The MNN, however, was far more ethereal. It regulated the flow of Force and Spirit energy through the mortal form. While damage to the physical neural could influence the MNN, damage to the MNN would not necessarily influence the physical neural network.

“When we cast as spell,” she continued, “our MNN gathers energy from our body through the MNN and channels it through the _Illuminus Weizar_ to generate the intended effect. Of course, there are individuals who don’t need the _Illuminus Weizar_ to manifest their magic but the _Illuminus Weizar_ is generally accepted as the easiest way to use magic.”

She began pacing along the desk at the front of the lecture theater. “Let us look at the Red Wyvern. A native creature here on Incendius that makes its home in the Crossfire Ravine.” With a wave of her hand th large blackboard behind her began to shift and twist. The individual nanobots that made up the board that took up the entire rear wall changed shape and color, creature a fully three-dimensional image of a Red Wyvern. “Red Wyverns channel Pyromancy naturally and while they have an MNN as well, they have an organ that generates fire.”

Ichoris pointed at the space right beneath the Wyvern’s long, serpentine neck. “There is a gland here known as the Flamethrower Gland that allows the Wyvern to naturally generate fire. While connected to their MNN, it only does so superficial. It does not convert Force and Spirit energy into fire but rather uses natural chemicals within the Wyvern’s body to generate a flammable liquid that ignites with contact to air and it then spits out. Draconis have similar organs that generate elemental energies based on their species but those organs connection to the MNN is far more intricate and so they are able to control their emission far more than a Wyvern.”

As the lesson went on, Ichoris went over how the magical network within an individual creature grew more complex by the number of nodes within it. Each node was like a neural hub that gave the individual control over the flow of magic and was inherently how intelligent creatures manipulated their magical energies. More feral creatures in the wild like the Wyverns had far less nodes than say a Wulfun or a human thus what magic they did produce was far more primitive. Damage to these nodes was often what led to the inability to generate spells or control them.

“Since the MNN is connected to our neural network,” continued the Bovios, “the hub of our MNN is naturally our brains and spinal cord. Damage to either will severely hamper the use of magic if not outright disable it.”

Again, Hunter glanced over at JD, wondering how painful it was to absorb all of this knowledge while simultaneously being a living exhibit of the its lessons. The red Wulfun quietly continued taking down notes, however, blissfully unaware of his stares.

“We should be extremely careful with each of these nodes,” said Ichor. “Especially when in the middle of casting magic. As you may well know, when you cast a spell in the _Illuminus Weizar_, you are _committed_ to casting that spell. You _have_ to finish casting it even if it drains you. If you pull back, that is the equivalent of snapping a taught steel rope. The force of the blow will send half of the spell spiraling back at _you_ and will turn part of your body into a living embodiment of the spell you just cast. This is what an _animortis_ is.

“However, if someone were to damage your MNN during the casting of a spell, it could be a far different result. Slicing at someone’s MNN network as they cast a spell is an effective way to _end_ a spell without causing magical backlash and thus prevent them turning into an _animortis_. However, damaging a magical node that’s in use during a spell could cause to catastrophic spell failure. Since the MNN nodes is how we control our magical energies, damage to the nodes can cause the spell in question to ‘go wild’. This means that the caster can no longer have control over their magical energies and it could cause it to do something extremely unexpected.”

Another student raised their hand. _“What if we damage the person’s spine or brain during a spell?”_

Ichoris waggled a finger them. “A very good question. Damage to the MNN’s hub will cause an effect known as ‘magical bleeding’. In the best case, this means that every time they cast a spell, their Force and Spirit energies will ‘leak’ out of them. They can _still_ cast spells but often at double the cost of the original spell while their magical energies pour out of them. This is if you damage them while they are _not_ casting a spell. If they are in the middle of a spell, the effect is far more dangerous. You effectively turn them into a ‘magical time bomb’. The individual’s _entire_ magical network becomes overloaded as no control is granted and their whole body erupts in magical energies.”

JD leaned towards Hunter. “In case you’re wondering, I’m a special case,” he whispered softly. “The damage to my spine was so early in my life that I never managed to fully develop a functioning MNN. What was developed there eventually atrophied over time. It just doesn’t exist for me.”

That posed a question… one that Hunter had to ask. Lifting his paw into the air, Ichoris selected him.

“Is there anyone out there _without_ an MNN?”

She nodded at the question. “Certainly. An MNN is a network and certain creatures do _not_ have a network at all. Sometimes, they embody magical energies entirely such as Elemental or in other cases, they simply are not intelligent or complicated enough to develop one - like an amoeba.”

He didn’t like the idea of compared JD to an amoeba.

“But there are cultures out there that do not have an MNN,” continued Ichoris. “The MNN is much like a muscle. If you do not use it, it degrades over time. The Church’s Holy Inquisition, in fact, has a sect of their order known as the ‘Unsullied’ who ritualistically sever their own MNNs so that they can never cast magic again.” She clapped her hands together. “But we are getting sidetracked. Let’s bring the conversation around to how anatomy plays a role in Pyromancy.”

The rest of the lecture specifically focused in Red Wyverns and how their anatomy enabled them to channel Pyromancy without the use of the _Illuminus Weizar_. How their bodies naturally absorbed heat from all around them through their wings which was then used for their Flamethrower Glands like enormous solar panels. How their scales were naturally fire resistant and how the interior of their muzzles were covered in a thin mucus-like membrane that prevented them from being burned by their own fiery breath.

At the end of the class, a test was handed out. Hunter left before that happened as he wouldn’t have anything to gained from taking the test. He did wait outside, however, and took out his _Sequencer_. As he liked to do when focusing, he pulled two, thin, white strings from the blue, transparent cube and plugged them into his ears. Music played from the device as he peeled open the panels and began working on a design for _Conflagration_.

He did some research on Red Wyverns particularly on their ability to absorb ambient heat with their wings and their Flamethrower Gland - that flammable liquid they secreted was fascinating. The test only lasted for thirty minutes and by the time JD came out, beaming that he got a perfect score, Hunter had barely managed to add that memory feature for _Conflagration._

“I’m meeting Wood and Skye at this restaurant down at the _Sunrise District_. It’s called the _Spicy Boar_. Want to come with?”

Hunter agreed and the two of them left campus before heading down to the _Sunrise District_ once more. They chatted idly about his studies and how Rayne was starting to teach him more sequences from the Art of the Fiery Fist and asked if Hunter could help him customize the list from _Conflagration_. The blades offered a breadth of knowledge as Hunter had stuffed it with every beginner to moderate techniques he could find. But because they were so vast, if JD wanted to access a particular skill and couldn’t recall how to enact it, he had to scroll through the luminescent banners to find it.

That made absolute sense. Give more flexibility to JD to customize the list. He promised to add that feature by the time they arrived at the _Spicy Boar_.

“Hey!” Wood exclaimed, waving at them over from the corner booth he had managed to secure. “Look who it is! The number ten blacksmith in all of Incendius!”

Hunter blushed beneath his silver fur and scratched at the itching sensation of embarrassment that was crawling up the back of his neck. “Come on, Wood. It’s not that big.”

“Hell yeah it is! Considering how Rahl isn’t around anymore, you’re _basically_ in ninth place!”

Hunter sat down next to Skye who had a large, leather-bound book that he was reading. A glance at the cover revealed that it was a tome on an offshoot of Pyromancy known as Alchemical Pyromancy - the art of using natural materials to generate forms of Fire Magic.

“Thinking of being an alchemist?” Hunter asked.

“Not at all,” the Tigris replied, turning the page of the book. “There are twenty-five points to be earned from this place if we can correctly identify the ingredients to their famous _Beef Lava Lasagna._ I have a sneaking suspicion that they actually use some Alchemical Pyromancy to simulate the gooeyness of lava in their cheese and sauce while also adding that spicy kick in the end.”

“If you didn’t realize already, Skye is a _real_ foodie,” Wood commented. “He will _not_ pick a new restaurant to try until he’s eaten everything in it at least three times.”

Hunter lifted an eyebrow. “That’s impressive. Why three?”

Skye lifted three fingers. “First time is for first impressions. Second is when you’re a little more mellowed out from the initial shock and gives you the opportunity to test out pairings with drinks. The third is the final time when you’re about to get sick of it. If the dish still leaves an impression after three times, then it is truly worth returning for.”

“Uh-huh.”

The waitress arrived, a busy Vulpunus. She beamed down at them. “Well hey there, darlin’s. See you’ve got someone new.” She leaned against the table, addressing Hunter directly. “Hello there, handsome. Ya’ll look familiar.”

Hunter felt that blush coming along again and he offered a sheepish grin. “I just have one of those faces.”

“He’s the current tenth ranking blacksmith,” JD offered helpfully. “He just beat Oren Grimflare a few days ago!”

A flash of recognition entered the waitress’ eyes. “You’re _that_ Wulfun? The one from Haven that came in with a pair of swords that let’s my cute little Rusty Spark use Pyromancy?” She reached down with great familiarity and pinched JD’s cheek. The Red Lightning just beamed at the affection.

These boys clearly visited this place a _lot_. Judging by Skye’s penchant for constantly trying food, it was understandable.

“I just tried to make sure JD could feel included here on Incendius,” he commented.

“Well ya did a hell’va job.” Lifting her notepad, she said, “What can I getcha? Drinks are on me.”

Hunter ordered some spiced beer but little else as he still had to have brunch with Oren. JD ordered these Firbar Skewers that the waitress commented was his favorite. Skye and Wood agreed to share some of the _Beef Lava Lasagna_ as it was a big portion and they would work together to find out what the secret spice blend was.

“Alright, boys,” she said, placing a paw on her hip. “Be back before an infernan highlander takes a shit.”

Confused at the expression, he turned to the others. JD explained that an infernan highlander was a species of feral bovine that lives in the Grey Mountains. They were notorious for defecating everywhere and near constantly apparently due to a heightened metabolism caused by the high altitude and proximity to the _Sun Spire_. Their meat was extremely tender and flavorful, like savory butter with _just_ enough toughness not to completely dissolve the moment it touched the tongue.

“You know, Skye,” Hunter said, turning to the Tigris. “I haven’t made you a weapon from Incendius yet even though I’m your blacksmith.”

Skye waved him off. “Ah, you don’t have to. _Fleeting Dream_ has done wonders for me in class. The added mobility of being able to float around _really_ helps me focus on my casting. The fact that I can stockpile my spells means I get to throw them out really quickly at the beginning of training.”

The words ‘at the beginning of training’ was what Hunter focused on.

“And what about later on?”

Skye’s green eyes widened for a second and he glanced away. “Uhm… well, I can still add more spells to them and the mobility means that I can avoid attacks while I focus on rebuilding my reserves.” He then turned back to Hunter, offering a weak smile. “Besides, that’s what teammates are for, right? They can protect me while I finish preparing.”

Hunter frowned at the feline. “So you’re being shoehorned into being a glass cannon.” He already had his _Sequencer_ out and tapping in notes. “What if I were to give you some ‘quickfire’ spells? Some that are preloaded that could be launched at a moment’s notice. It’ll take some of the slots but you can use them for self-defense to keep the fight going so you’re not a sitting duck while you prepare.”

The shaman lifted his paws and quickly shook them. “No! No! Hunter, really! _Fleeting Dream_ is great! You don’t need to make me a _Cindarc_ or _Conflagration_! I’m good!”

He eyed the Tigris suspiciously. “It’s my _job_, Skye. I’ve got to keep you armed and equipped. Why the hesitation?”

Sighing in defeat, Skye simply said, “I _guess_ I just don’t like the idea of someone going out of their way for me.”

“Dude,” Wood said bluntly, “like he said, it’s his _job_ to keep us armed. So let him kit you out with some new bling!” He nodded at Hunter. “Whatcha gonna call it?”

Hunter regarded his _Sequencer_ for a bit, fidgeting with the design. “Actually… I don’t want to just make something that’s an upgrade of _Fleeting Dream_. I can upgrade it any time. I want to make him something that _screams_ ‘Incendius’.” He scratched his chin absently. “Something about that _Anatomy of Pyromancy_ lecture got me thinking…”

He turned the cube around, looking at the face used for research. “What if I focus more on ‘anti-Pyromancy’?”

“Anti-Pyromancy?” repeated JD. “Like… using a fire extinguisher or… water?”

“No, no. I mean the lecturer talked about how the Inquisition have the Unsullied who purposefully destroy their MNN so they’re not tempted to use magic. That isn’t the _only_ thing that Inquisition that restricts magic. They’ve got entire branches of research designed to prevent certain forms of magic.” He nodded towards JD. “They have these Anti-Pyromancy techniques that creates disruptive energies that nullify flames. Null-Fire, they call it. It’s mostly reserved for people with a natural aptitude for it while some can be mechanically reproduced.”

JD lifted a finger like he was about to protest.

“I know,” Hunter interrupted. “In terms of usability, that’s probably a bad idea. I mean, you’ve got fire in one paw and Null-Fire in the other. You like to keep things simple. Not a good fit for you.”

The Red Lightning glanced over at Wood. “Wow… pretty much exactly what I was going to say…”

Wood shrugged at him. “He knows us.”

Hunter ignored them both and turned his attention back to Skye. “I know you’ve said multiple times that you don’t like using the _Illuminus Weizar_ because it leaves a ‘bad taste’ in your mouth and the spirits around you. But Null-Fire doesn’t use the _Weizar_. What do you think? Want a pair of bands that will let you nullify fire?”

Skye glanced over to his fellow students who nodded at him encouragingly. “Sure. I’ll give them a try. Can I still use them to fly?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’m in!”

Hunter beamed. “Great. I’ll call it the _Nullfire Covenant.__”_

At that moment, their waitress returned and set down their food. “Ya’ll ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout startin’ no cult, are ya?” she asked.

“No,” Hunter laughed. “I’m just looking to make my friend here a new weapon that will fit him.”

The waitress’ eyes glimmered. “Is that so? Well, if ya don’t mind this humble waitress’ opinion, then let me just say that too many blacksmiths out there focus too much onna makin’ their things flashy an’ shiny. If yer sacrificin’ practicality over showmanship, ya ain’t makin’ something fer the common man. Yer makin’ somethin’ to be put on display an’ never be touched. That’s how ya get rust.”

She shrugged and placed Hunter’s spiced beer in front of him.

“But that’s jus’ my opinion.”

Hunter took the beer and gave it a sip. It was surprisingly smoky like they had put paprika in it. “That’s… that’s good advice,” he choked.

She straightened and winked at him. “Jus’ give me a holler if ya’ll need anythin’.”

The three students waved at her.

“Thanks CC!” they exclaimed in unison.

Then Wood and Skye dug into the big serving of lasagna in front of them that was bubbling like lava and served in a black, cast iron skillet.

They never got the flavors or the points for their rubric.

?

  

 

A Totally Normal Brunch

The restaurant was Havenese/Incendian Hybrid themed and relatively busy. Brunch was a Havenese concept and it was making waves amongst Incendians in the _Helios District_. Hunter sat in a booth alongside Roran. They had just finished ordering their drinks when Oren Grimflare sat down opposite to them, Godfrey making sure to sit down next to him to block off his exit without having to crawl under the table in humiliation.

“Alright, I’m here,” huffed Oren. “If you came to rub in your victory, don’t expect to sit on your laurels for too long. I _will_ challenge you again and I will win back my title.”

Godfrey slapped the back of his head without any regard for their rank as blacksmith and assistant. “Behave,” chastised the owl. He nodded towards Hunter and Roran. “I apologize for his behavior. He has been rather indignant since his defeat and the sudden appearance of your…”

“Assassin,” hissed Oren. Again, Godfrey slapped the back of his head.

“Of your friend in the middle of the night with this offer to meet was somewhat jarring,” finished Godfrey.

“Trust me,” Hunter chuckled softly. “When JD gets an idea in his head, there’s no stopping him. It’s why we call him the ‘Red Lightning’. He just strikes.” He glanced over to Roran. “We were celebrating last night and were just idly talking about making peace with you and suddenly, he was bouncing up to us telling us both that we were going to have brunch with you two.”

“If you expect me to drop my rivalry -” began Oren.

This time, Hunter lifted his paw to silence the blacksmith. “Look, I didn’t even want to compete against you in the first place. The reason I joined the IBL was to get information of critical importance. I got swept up in the showmanship and suddenly, I found myself facing off against you.”

“You _could_ have just surrendered.”

“I _could_,” Hunter responded. “But you and I both know no self-respecting craftsman would ever back down from a challenge.”

“You’re _barely_ a craftsman! Barely an apprentice! To think I lost to you…”

Roran stepped in. “You lost because you were so focused on _me_ that you were unprepared for whatever it is that Hunter threw at you. You automatically assumed that whatever he built was an offshoot of mine and when you realized that it wasn’t, you were left floundering and unable to revert to your old tactics of just finding a way to point out the weaknesses of someone else’s work and building your entire strategy around _that_.”

The burly Tigris jabbed a finger into the table, claw out and scraping the marble. “Craftsmen build out of necessity not rivalry.”

“We’re not here to argue about motivations or rivalries,” Godfrey said, holding up his feathered hands. “Young Master Clarke said you wanted to make peace?”

Oren folded his arms indignantly and huffed. “I already said I’m not going to give up my rivalry.”

“And I don’t want you to.” Hunter’s words surprised the more experienced blacksmith. “The way I see it, I can learn a lot from you. The way you kept building on your _Grimflare Armor_, the precision of your _Darkfire Eye_ and the elegance of _Darkstar_ is amazing!” He pressed a hand against his chest. “Like I said, I never really cared about the IBL rankings or the IBL itself. I just joined because they have information I need.”

He could already see Oren starting to wind up a tirade about how his entire life’s work was being belittled but Godfrey pulled him back.

“We’re looking for Rahl,” Roran grunted.

There, both Oren and Godfrey were stunned. The waiter arrived with their drinks. Oren ordered some iced water and Godfrey asked for an extremely alcoholic drink.

“You must be joking,” Oren said. “Rahl has been gone for years. Why the interest in him suddenly?” Then his eyes narrowed. “Are you looking to take up his place as number one?”

“I just told you that I don’t care about rankings,” Hunter said. “This is something else. Something important.” He exchanged glances with Roran who gave him a nod of affirmation. “Look, we believe that Rahl was after an ancient superweapon known as _FireFeather._ It’s been known as the _Talon of the Fire God. __”_ Oren immediately looked worried. “_Adramalech__ ’s Pinion.”_ Godfrey visibly swallowed. _“_And the _Archfire Blade.__”_

The two exchanged glances before turning back to Hunter.

“And you’re after it too?” asked Oren.

“Only because we have a good idea of what it can do,” Roran said. “I saw _FireFeather_ in action during the _Burning Rebellion_. Harm Chronos, the Last Chronomancer, wielded it briefly. Aria Valkyrie, the Templar who was with us, also claims that she saw its power during the _Purge of Time._ It’s an incredibly powerful weapon.”

“And we have reason to believe that some bad people might be after it that could cause big problems for Incendius,” Hunter concluded. “Hell, for _all_ of _Tower Thirteen_.”

“So this has nothing to do with stealing Oren’s glory or ending his rivalry with Roran,” Godfrey said with a smug tone and his eyes falling on Oren. “This is about getting the information that the IBL has on Rahl and ending a potential threat to our global safety.”

“Pretty much,” Hunter confirmed. He regarded Oren apologetically. “I’m sorry I basically stole your rank from you but I want you to know that I utterly respect everything you do and the IBL. Even though it started out as me basically just going along with the show and challenge, I genuinely want to stick with the IBL and improve my craft. I hope we can keep challenging and maybe even collaborate with one another so we can improve each other’s crafts.”

Oren waved his sentiments away. “Whatever. Don’t think I can’t see your poorly veiled attempted to replace Rahl and rise above my rank so that I’ll never be able to beat you or maybe disappear just like Rahl did so I’ll be left with no true rival.” His expression darkened however. “Give up on going after Rahl. Everyone that does ends up broken or worse, disappearing just as he did.”

“What do you mean?” Roran asked. “I never heard of anyone going after him.”

The blacksmith shot his one-time-rival a piercing stare. “You really think the IBL wouldn’t send anyone after their number one on Incendius? If you hadn’t been so self-centered, maybe you would have noticed how Sienna Frost basically became a hermit and Erick von Darkmoth has had to take over a lot of the IBL’s administrative duties.”

When Hunter glanced to Roran for clarification, he explained that Sienna was currently the Number 2 smith in Incendius. He already knew who Erick was.

“What do those two have to do with Rahl?” Roran asked.

Oren sighed. “You really are clueless.” He made a slicing motion through the air as their drinks arrived. “Sienna is Rahl’s girlfriend. Or maybe his fiancée. Hard to tell. They were close.”

“So if we find her, we can find Rahl!” Hunter exclaimed.

“Easier said than done,” warned Godfrey. “Ever since Rahl disappeared, Sienna has made herself equally as scarce. Not fully disappearing but _incredibly_ difficult to pin down. She’s earned the nickname ‘the Wandering Frost’ because she goes from town to town, sets up shop briefly, makes people weapons and then disappears before anyone can fully track her. Because of this, all the administrative work has fallen on von Darkmoth.”

“Why him?” Roran pressed. “The IBL should have a governing body on its own. Administrators and bureaucrats. The smiths wouldn’t ever have to do any of that work unless…”

“Unless the entire administrative body was destroyed?” finished Godfrey. “The Incendian IBL expended a _lot_ of funds looking for Rahl. Some even made it their personal goals to find our missing Number 1. Many campaigned to earn top spots in the administration on that platform. You can see how well that went given we are _still_ missing Rahl.”

So the IBL’s leadership on Incendius was devastated and much of the day-to-day administration fell on the Number 3 craftsman seeing as the Number 1 was missing and the Number 2 was out bouncing from town to town. That added credence to why von Darkmoth actually attended the match. It might not have been much of a choice.

The waiter asked them if they needed more time to make their orders. They spent a few minutes to order some brunch which offered Hunter the opportunity to digest the information that he had just been given. When the waiter left, they returned to their conversation.

“So if we need to find Rahl, we should go to Sienna but Sienna’s own whereabouts are unknown,” Roran concluded. His eyes narrowed. “The only person that would know where she is would be the current administrator of the IBL which would be von Darkmoth.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Oren sighed. “But you’re just the number 10 right now. You’re not going to get von Darkmoth’s attention unless you do something _incredibly_ spectacular like challenge a relatively unknown blacksmith and break all the rules.”

Hunter realized that most blacksmiths wouldn’t be able to challenge any other smith that was greater than three ranks above their own. That Oren wagered his 10th rank against Hunter broke protocol which was likely why von Darkmoth took a personal interest in the match. To get the Number 3’s attention, he would need to do something equally unorthodox.

“Or you could continue to chase down Rahl,” Godfrey offered, catching both of their attentions. “One of the reasons why Rahl’s position as number 1 has never been truly reassigned despite a decade of absence is that his works still keep popping up here and there.”

Roran nodded in understanding. “That’s right. ‘True Rahls’ as they’re called keep appearing on the market. They sell for millions. People have sold their entire lives to be able to own one of them.”

“It’s one of the reasons why the IBL is constantly paralyzed with what to do with Rahl. If he was just _dead_ and all traces of him stopped coming in, then he would be considered a casualty of the search for perfection and his rank handed to the next person. But because True Rahls keep appearing, it’s given the impression that he is out there, still forging, still becoming better and holding onto his rank.”

“Wouldn’t he have to submit himself to an annual inspection by the IBL?” Hunter asked.

“For those in the top three, that is not necessary. Ultimately, the number of people who want to topple them is enough of an assessment.”

The mystery of Rahl deepened. If Rahl had indeed gone off to find the Lost Incendian Fleet and _FireFeather_, why was he still continuing to build pieces that he would then distribute to the world? Did he actually _find_ the Fleet and _FireFeather_ and these works were attempts to clone the legendary sword? Or was it something else?

“If you want,” Oren sighed, “you can attend Heaton’s gala in a few days.”

“Heaton?” Hunter repeated.

Heaton Bellember, the Number 7 Craftsman of Incendius and known as the Weaver of Flames for his perfect merger of form and function. He often made full suits and dresses that were equally fashionable and deadly. He was also the self-proclaimed ‘Rahl Expert’.

“I remember him,” rumbled Roran. “The arrogant asshole holds these ‘Inspection Galas’ where he invites people who have claimed to have obtained True Rahls and then inspects them. He humiliates most people when he reveals a piece to be a fake and makes the few that actually _have_ a Rahl incredibly wealthy or famous.” The Tigris shook his head. “Honestly, if Rahl were around, he’d probably kick Heaton’s ass. I would never be caught dead in any of his galas.”

“You just might have to die then,” Oren scoffed. “I’ve got three tickets to his latest one. You can have them.”

“You’d do that?” Hunter asked, beaming brightly and his tail wagging.

“So long as you promise you won’t go disappearing on me like Rahl did,” Oren growled savagely. “I need an opportunity to win back my title.”

“It’s a deal.”

  

 

Rahl's #1 Fan

The highest district of the four in _Corona_ was the _Zenith_ _District_ and used to be where the majority of the Church of the Tower’s officials resided. At one point in time, only the elite of the elite would even _gaze_ upon the _Zenith District_ as towering buildings from the _Flare District_ would form a natural barrier against anyone peeking past the _Walls of Honor_ and those very same buildings were _not_ allowed to have windows facing the _Zenith Distrinct._

Since the _Fall,_ however, the District had been opened to the public by General Zachariah the Sunburst Knight. Now, while anyone could venture into the _Zenith District_, it was only those with deep pockets that could actually rent out any of the spaces there for events and venues. It was amongst the glistening gardens, pristine plazas and awe-inspiring architecture that Heaton Bellember hosted his monthly ‘Rahl Reveal Revelry’.

The alliteration wasn’t lost on Rayne. This was a man who knew how to make everything he did catchy, memorable and roll off people’s tongues so that he could whip up as much hype as possible. Five short days since Hunter’s victory against Oren, he was now standing in line while being flanked by mannequins of Heaton’s latest creations; mannequins that moved and twisted periodically to show off every angle of their forms.

A short distance ahead of them, there was a section of the crimson carpet where media and paparazzi were gathered to gawk at the celebrities that were shuffling up to the entrance of what had once been the Inquisition’s headquarters in Corona. The large domed structure had long since been converted into an event hall when the Inquisition moved to the _Grey Sun Facility._ Gone were the drab, menacing spikes and intimidating walls. Now, banners of Heaton’s silhouette tumbled down from the rooftops and swayed in the wind. Dancing constructs made of fire and shaped like ballerinas danced overhead in dizzying displays while a band played loudly in front of the marble steps leading up to the entrance.

Rayne mentally distracted himself with the reasoning behind the Inquisition’s move away from being headquartered at the base of the _Sun Spire_. During the _Fall_, when the corruption of the Church was exposed and the life of the _Apex Clericus Solis_ was put under threat, the _Sun Spire_ was the first place to be contested. Different sects and off-shoots of the Church attempted to seize the sole source of light on _Tower Thirteen_. Those that controlled the _Spire_ would control Incendius, or so they thought. With the Inquisition positioned right there, however, they were quickly overwhelmed despite their technological superiority.

So they decided to move their headquarters elsewhere - somewhere that was still within striking distance of the _Sun Spire_ if it ever became a threat but far enough that if there was upheaval in the city, they would not be one of the casualties.

“Rayne,” Roran muttered, elbowing him slightly. “It’s our turn. Remember. Big smiles.”

Hunter strode forward into the lights and magical portraits of the paparazzi. They immediately recognized him even though he was dressed in an extremely expensive suit that Aria had conjured. It was a good thing she was such an expert in Divine Magic to be able to create such an ensemble for all three of them because there was no way _any_ of them could have afforded getting something custom made in such a short amount of time. She even customized it so that on the back of each of their jackets, an emblem for ‘Handicraft Hart’ was embossed into the fabric in glossy black material; barely visible but still present.

The paparazzi took instant portraits of them all and Rayne tried to be as charming as he could without triggering his demonic glamors. Demon Princes were inherently charming but when their glamors activated, they could enthrall entire stadiums with just a few words. Being a creature that had born and thrived in the Chaos of the Void, his powers could have inadvertent effects. A simple photograph or hologram of him could suck out the Spirit Energy of any viewer or just a mere glimpse of him, a whiff of his cologne or even mention of his name - his _true name_ - could make someone obsessed with him to the point where they would sacrifice their own limbs for him. One of the reasons he decided to work at _Pinnacle_ was that he could practice restraint there and its students were protected from such charms. But out here in public… he had to be _very_ careful about _anything_ he did.

He posed alongside Hunter and Roran, offering thin, reserved smiles. Then they moved on, heading up to the entrance of the Heaton’s gala. After flashing their tickets at the door, they stepped through into what might as well have been a museum. Various displays with a myriad of Heaton’s works currently encased behind thick glass were on the floor with informative plaques for people to read. Glamorous dressed, cleanly-pressed suits and canapes floating around on silver trays were everywhere.

“I feel so out of place,” mumbled Hunter, tugging at his collar.

“I would have thought you military types would be used to dressing up in ridiculous uniforms,” Roran rumbled, plucking a few glasses of some sort of crimson alcohol from the a nearby floating tray.

“That’s different. I’m used to just being a fly on the wall or hanging out with my shipmates off in a corner. Right now, it feels like I’m being _judged_.”

“What do you expect?” Rayne asked, taking one of the flute glasses of the rosy wine from Roran. “We’re in a gala for a blacksmith of the IBL. A world that you _barged into_ two weeks ago and took down the Number 10 craftsman.”

“Let’s not forget that since you _are_ Number 10, now, Heaton is within striking distance.”

“It was out of necessity!” Hunter hissed. “We needed to learn about _FireFeather_ and apparently only the blacksmiths of the IBL know about each other’s activities. Since Rahl has only been the one to look for it, we have to get chummy with them to learn about him.”

There were surely other ways to muscle their way into the IBL. Rayne, for one, knew Alex’s true identity was General Solomon the Horizon Lord and one of the heroes of the _Fall of Haven_ _and_ the inventor of Warp Technology. It would be very easy for the Generals to step in and demand the IBL hand over all information about Rahl. However, because the IBL was an independent body, they could easily claim an infringement of their freedoms and start a scandal. Discussing the topic with Alex confirmed his concerns particularly around the fact that they had little to go on but a vague, shared vision. None of the Generals would back that. Even if they were to loosely link it to the spates of spontaneous combustion wreaking havoc on Incendius, it would not be enough to get support from the 20-person panel.

“Doesn’t matter our reasonings,” Rayne said, taking a sip from the glass. “To the rest of the world, it looks like you’re this wildfire upstart that just breezed in here and severely diminished the accomplishments of more established craftsmen.”

“But Oren and I are on decent terms!”

“People won’t care,” grunted Roran, casting his gaze around. “Look at this place. You think this is actually all here just to stroke Heton’s ego? It’s a shield. Its a smokescreen. It’s what he wants people to see. He’s controlling the narrative.” He grunted and grimaced at the wine. “Another reason why I quit the goddamn IBL. You’re treated like one of the goddamn Xaosian celebrities and you’re expected to act as one. Every move, every hair out of place and every word is scrutinized. You have no goddamn privacy.”

Hunter winced. “At least I don’t have a stalker.”

“Yet.”

Seeing the towering Wulfun grimace at the prospect of being more and more popular made Rayne smile. He was sure that Hunter would actually love the attention. The wolf was just used to being denigrated and his accomplishments belittled by his conservative father to accept what he had achieved was actually amazing. Though he would complain and feign modesty, somewhere beneath all that muscle was a kid eager to be praised.

His purple eyes drifted through the crowd until it settled on a large, broad figure clearly forcing a smile. Gesturing towards the others, he navigated the crowd and moved towards the broad-chested Erick von Darkmoth who was currently surrounded by several people of all ages and species, each of them trying to talk over one another to be heard.

“Von Darkmoth!” Rayne bellowed, immediately catching the attention of his posse. There was a flicker of annoyance in the dark-skinned man’s equally dark eyes but there was also an edge of calculation. He could tell von Darkmoth was looking for a way to turn this to his advantage and escape.

“Ah! Young Master Hart,” bellowed the Number 3 craftsman. “Come, everyone. Please meet the latest rising star of the IBL. Hunter Hart from Incendius.”

At the command of their leader, the crowd turned and began chatting up Hunter. Roran’s presence helped the Wulfun navigate the myriad of questions that came assaulting him from all directions. Rayne noticed how von Darkmoth was slowly shuffling backwards away from the crowd, keeping a presence just enough to be found if someone was actively looking but slowly fading further and further into the background until he could disappear. Rayne chuckled mildly to himself and did the same though for him, it was far simpler as he was unknown in this crowd.

He caught von Darkmoth just as the blacksmith was ducking behind the shadow of one of the exhibits.

“That was a very clever juke back there,” he commented.

Von Darkmoth flinched and regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Not clever enough to escape your gaze, apparently.” He openly appraised Rayne. “I saw that you were amongst Hart’s posse when he was fighting against Oren. Curious company he keeps. A Demon and an Angel.”

“I’m sure someone of your standing and experience will clearly have noticed that such an alliance even now ten years after the _Fall_ would constitute some extraneous circumstances.”

“The thought had crossed my mind but I had no intention of being involved.” Von Darkmoth emphasized that last part.

“Fair enough.” Rayne turned towards the grand stage where Heaton was meant to make his appearance. “To be honest, I’m surprised to find you here. What would the Number 3 blacksmith be doing attending a gala held by the Number 7 craftsman with the explicit purpose of determining whether or not some random piece of metal is a ‘real Rahl’?”

“I was invited,” von Darkmoth said dryly.

“Something tells me that you’re _always_ invited and you’ve attended each of these.”

The towering craftsman took a sip from the glass he was holding. It was only after a sip that he responded. “You would be right in that.”

“I’m going to a hazard a guess and it has something to do with both your utter exhaustion and Rahl.” When von Darkmoth gave him a quizzical look, Rayne clarified. “You take good care of yourself, von Darkmoth, but I can see the bags under your eyes despite the makeup. There’s a defeated weight on your shoulders and just the way you’re standing makes it look like you want to collapse here and now and just go to sleep. Also, you just sipped a hundred-year-old whiskey and grimaced like it was horse piss. Only a man jaded to the world does that.”

Von Darkmoth let out a soft chuckle and lifted his glass to sip it before thinking again and lowering it. “If only others were as observant as you Mr…?”

“Noam. Rayne Noam.”

“Noam.” Von Darkmoth’s eyebrows lifted. “Wait… does that make you…?”

“Yep,” was all Rayne said. “So you better try better at trying to elude or lie to me.”

The blacksmith was unperturbed after his initial shock. “Noted. Very well. If you must know, I have a vested interest in those that would keep the legacy of the Number 1 blacksmith alive. Rahl was…” He frowned a moment. _“… is_ a constant inspiration for us all and his influence will shape Incendius for years to come.”

“Is that the canned response you give everyone that asks you about Rahl at these events?” Rayne accused. Erick offered the faintest of smiles in confirmation. “Tell me what you really think.”

“I _think_ that far too many of our blacksmiths focus on Rahl and not enough on their own voice.” Only then did the blacksmith take a sip from his glass. “We have the likes of Heaton who has built his own persona and empire on Rahl’s achievements. No intention of ever surpassing him. Just celebrating him. Heaton calls himself ‘Rahl’s #1 Fan’. Each of these galas serves the dual purpose of reminding the world of Rahl’s continued legacy as well as enthralling the young and impressionable with the idea that the measure of success is to either surpass or rival Rahl.”

Rayne smiled and took a sip from his glass. “So here we are on the cusp of the next generation taking the reins and the horizon looks to be a bunch of Rahl clones or people building their entire careers on surpassing him. You have the likes of Oren who, if he ever sets his sights on the Number 1 spot, will just build items that would counter Rahl’s works.”

“Astute,” von Darkmoth commented.

“And accurate?” The faint smile on von Darkmoth’s lips confirmed his suspicions. “So you’re here to temper people’s expectations. To try and steer them away from deifying Rahl and get them to look to a future where they speak with their own voice instead of echoing the mantras of someone who is long dead and the mass media refuses to let die.”

The blacksmith turned to face him fully. “While I am a stern advocate for remembering the past, spectacles such as this…” He gestured at the stage. “… only serve to poison people’s minds into following a predefined path. Voices of progress and movements of liberalism are well and good but you cannot expect to echo the same words constantly for a decade. Claiming that no progress has been made and using that as justification to press further for the same ideals is naive and bordering on the fanatical.” He glanced towards the stage. “We should be renewing and reviewing our views constantly not staying to the same dogma for years unfailingly.”

“That’s why the Church basically turned on itself during the _Fall_,” Rayne agreed. “So many factions followed different parts of the Church doctrine that when push came to shove and a grab for power came, even the kindest of hearts became rabid animals in an attempt to preserve their way of life and freedoms.”

Von Darkmoth nodded grimly. “Seems we are of the same mind, Noam. So why not tell me why you sought me out?”

Rayne offered von Darkmoth a quick flash of a smile before his features turned grave again. “Like I said, I’m curious why the extremely tired-looking Number 3 would even bother to come to a party designed for the host to stroke his own cock and for people to cheer him on until he came.”

Von Darkmoth snorted and held back a chuckle. “Vulgar. But accurate.” He sighed after his short laughing fit. “Unfortunately, due to the issues with IBL officials constantly looking for Rahl, most of the IBL leadership has fallen on me.”

“Why not share the responsibilities between you and the Number 2?”

“Sienna seems to adopt a semi-Rahl-like lifestyle. So she is unable - or rather, unwilling to - help in terms of managing the day-to-day of the IBL.”

“So it falls all on you,” Rayne sighed. “That sounds like an extremely difficult job.”

“When you love an institution, you will do whatever you can to preserve it.”

“Agreed.”

The stage suddenly flared up with towers of flame shooting up from beside the stairs leading up to a second floor. Von Darkmoth muttered something about ‘speaking of the devil’ and turned towards the stage. Music swelled around them and a moment later, the curtains at the top of the stairs spilled open to reveal Heaton Bellember.

The man couldn’t have been farther from Oren. Long blonde hair tumbled down his shoulders while a hearty and well-kempt beard wrapped around his chiseled jawline. Brilliant blue eyes shone as he strode down the steps in figure-hugging armor that highlighted every defined muscle on his broad, powerful figure. His skin was clear but also showed a bit of wear from being out in the sun - a light tan and a few freckles here and there as opposed to Oren’s pale, almost-porcelain-like skin. Heaton hefted a large hammer in one hand, the head being the size of his own head. A long, crimson cape trailed at least a foot along the ground behind him, the fabric flowing and billowing like it was made of liquid fire.

Heaton laughed at nothing, spreading his thick arms and welcoming the accolades of the admiring audience. Immediately, Rayne knew this was the kind of guy who loved attention. There were more than one student at _Pinnacle_ that fit that criteria.

“Hello! Welcome!” he bellowed in a deep, dramatic voice like the kind one would use on a stage. “Thank you all for coming! Today, we inspect three artifacts that have been brought to me as the Number 1 Rahl expert. We will see if they truly _are_ works from the great _Archfire Smith_ himself! But before that…” He gripped his hammer in both hands. “… let us take a moment of silence to honor our wandering inspiration. May he return to us one day.”

The power the man had over the crowd was chilling. Everyone, regardless of their station, bowed their heads alongside Heaton and spent an entire minute quietly praying to Rahl like the man was a god. There were dangers in this mentality as Rayne had seen personally during the _Fall of Haven._

“Now!” bellowed Heaton, bringing the crowd back into bright cheer. “Let us begin the inspection!”

It didn’t pass Rayne’s attention that Heaton spoke without using contractions and tried to sounds a proper as possible. It was likely part of his persona and added to his charm. The man was a master manipulator.

Three different parties stepped forward, each holding some form of weapon or tool on a crimson, velvet cushion. Behind the person holding the cushion - usually a butler or maid - was a wealthy-looking person. Two were rather old-looking men, one human and the other a Marsulian of the kangaroo subspecies. The last was an avios woman who was constantly fanning herself with a peacock-feather fan as Heaton approached.

Heaton approached the Avios first, taking the time to kiss her hand before approaching her weapon. It was a sickle. From the distance, Rayne could tell it was a rather fancy-looking weapon. The blade glimmered with a silvery edge with a faint crimson tinge. The handle was made out of gold and there was a ruby of some-sort embedded into the base of the weapon.

Von Darkmoth huffed.

“No good?” Rayne asked.

“Even I can tell from here,” agreed von Darkmoth. “Everything Rahl has made has never been so gaudy. Gold? No. Rahl has always been practical. Gold is far too soft. Further, that is a ruby at the base of the weapon not a Stone of Eternal Fire.”

Rayne cocked an eyebrow. Stones of Eternal Fire was extremely rare. Often generated from draconic creatures with an affinity towards Pyromancy who did _not_ expel their natural fiery energies after a certain time, Stones formed in the glands of these species and could cause serious health complications if not extracted. They were effectively like kidney stones for dragons who didn’t use their fire breath too often. He remembered having to teach Wood how to expel his own acidic breath without letting his Fallen energies infuse into it to basically do the same so the young dragon wouldn’t have to undergo surgery to remove the Stone of Unending Acid that would form.

That made getting a Stone of Eternal Fire extremely difficult, however. There was no way to artificially make one unless you forced a fire-breathing draconic creature _never_ to use their natural Pyromancy for about six months. That, in and of itself, was ethically frowned upon and illegal in some parts.

“How often does Heaton hold one of these galas?” Rayne asked.

“Once a month.”

He narrowed his gaze. “So that would imply that Rahl is somehow getting a Stone of Eternal Fire monthly.”

Von Darkmoth didn’t reply but did offer a faint smile.

Heaton straightened and shook his head. “This is a fake.”

The Avios woman looked appalled. “Impossible! I paid _millions_ for this! It _must_ be an authentic Rahl!”

“Rahl would _never_ submit himself to using such subpar materials,” Heaton answered indignantly. He lifted the sickle for everyone to see. “Look here! This is a _gold_ on the handle! No authentic Rahl would ever use gold!”

“Maybe he changed his approach and you are simply out of date!” snapped the woman.

Heaton whirled around to face her indignantly. “Gold has a melting point 1063 degrees. _Far_ too low for the techniques of _Archfire_ that Rahl has long upheld. Further, this is _not_ a Stone of Eternal Fire! It is a mere ruby! This is a fake!”

To emphasize his point, Heaton smashed the sickle on his hammer. The blade immediately shattered. The Avios woman let out a cry like she had just been murdered and fainted. Her retainers caught her and quickly hurried her away.

“That was dramatic,” Rayne mumbled.

“People all over the Station pay ridiculous amounts of money for an authentic Rahl,” replied Von Darkmoth. “These galas don’t always result in one being found but when they do, it is the confirmation of an immense investment. The price of the Rahl piece will skyrocket and an individual could go from being a millionaire to a _multi-_millionaire or even a billionaire in an instant based on Heaton’s judgments.”

“Has he ever been wrong?”

“He would not be holding these galas if there was even a hint of a flaw in his judgment.”

Heaton moved to the second piece, a two-sided dagger - basically two stiletto daggers that had been pinned together by their bases. There were red crystals embedded into hilts of both daggers and these ones shimmered with a red glow like they contained a flame. Apart from that, it seemed rather simple. The guard was made of what appeared to be simple steel and the grip was wrapped in leather.

Heaton only took a few seconds to review it. Then his features brightened. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as he reached down his neck and produced what appeared to be a small pendant that appeared to in the shape of a lantern with a flame flickering inside.

“Interesting,” mused bon Darkmoth. “That is his _Pilot Light_. Apparently a piece given to him by Rahl himself. Supposedly it generates a flame that never goes out. He’s modified it over the years so that it will react to anything touched by Rahl. If the flame turns blue…”

As Heaton held out the pendant towards the dagger, the crimson flame indeed transformed into a ghostly blue.

“… it’s a true Rahl.”

Heaton thrust the weapon into the air. “A true Rahl!”

The crowd cheered and the man who owned the weapon looked utterly relieved. His retainers and several people swarmed him, congratulating him on an intelligent purchase. Heaton spoke with the man while music and spectacle exploded around them.

“And there you have it,” von Darkmoth said, turning to leave. “A Rahl was found today.”

“You don’t seem convinced,” Rayne observed, watching him leave.

The Number 3 smith stopped just beside him. “Sienna, Rahl and myself were very close once. I was competing against him to take his spot for the longest time before he disappeared. I know that he would _never_ have wanted his works paraded around like this for the spectacle of it.”

Rayne gave those words a moment of thought and just as von Darkmoth was about to leave, he said, “You said that everyone needs to have their voice in this business. What was Rahl’s?”

Darkmoth glanced over his shoulder, his eyes dark and his lips pursed into a fine line.

“Control. Domination.”

  

 

Cannonfire

The bed creaked under the combined weight of three people. Ancient as it was, it still held surprisingly well. Likely some magic that went into preserving it given that it was on display. The venue was actually a museum and Heaton just rented it out for the purposes of his party. Most of the attendees were not allowed to go anywhere beyond the confines of the celebration but that never stopped Kane.

The guy and his wife that the big black bear had convinced to follow him were cautious at first but when he pulled them into the bed and proceeded to give them both the hottest sex that they had their long ten-years of marriage, he heard no complaints. Moans and cries of ecstasy, yes, but no complaints. Didn’t help that the guy was in his seventies and the girl was just reaching her thirties.

“Oh Goddess…” the woman sighed, her makeup smeared all over her face. She collapsed into the crook of his arm. He bounced his biceps just for her and she quivered under his grip. “… I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for a week!”

The old man who lay on Kane’s other arm panted heavily. “Me… neither…”

Kane allowed himself to smile smugly at himself before starting to unwind himself from the duo. “I don’t know about either of you but I’m starving.” He rolled over the guy, making sure their cocks brushed against one another and the man could feel the heat radiating from his crotch as he did so. “I’ll see you both at the party?”

“How are you still able to move?” she panted.

He flashed her a cocky grin. “Practice.”

Plucking his creased but still presentable suit off the ground, he began to dress himself quickly. As he did so, he eyes fell on the double-sided dagger that was _just_ announced to be an authentic Rahl about two hours ago. He pondered just swiping it but he though these two lovers deserved some honesty.

“I’m going to take this,” he said as he pulled up his pants, waggling the weapon between his fingers.

“But…” began the old man, reaching for him with a frail, pale arm.

“Don’t worry, dear,” sighed the woman, curling up to her husband. “You’ll find another one. Right now… How about you use that technique he taught you…?”

Kane grinned at him. “Remember, _push_ your tongue in there and shift between circular motions then wave formations. No teeth.”

With that last piece of advice, he grabbed his shirt and jacket, hooked the weapon into his belt and left the museum floor. The dim lighting would provide the couple with enough romance and privacy.

 Charming them had not been hard. It was clear that the man who had just had an authentic Rahl identified by Heaton was a sugar daddy to the woman and she was not there for any sort of sexual gratification. Talking her up while flexing and oozing sexuality in the husband’s view was enough to stir up the old man’s blood. Offering to teach him how to pleasure his wife and whispering a few choice words into his ears about sexual positions was enough to get them both following him to do something _incredibly_ illegal but also marvelously satisfying.

He idly plucked the business card he had obtained from the old man from his pocket, spinning it over in his fingers a few times. All black with a texture of cracked magma on the paper. Two big M’s were emblazoned on one side as a logo in red, tinged with gold. The name ‘Maximillian Magmillion’ was written on the other side along side big corporate words like ‘Entrepreneur’, ‘Investor’ and ‘Chief Executive Officer’. Some contact details too. He was so unused to being handed a contact card like this. On Haven, contacts was a matter of privacy. You only ever got someone else’s contact if you were in the right circle of friends. Reputation was everything up there and people would only ever give away the means to contact them if and when they trusted someone with that information.

Kane tucked the card back into his pocket and reflected on the fun he had with ‘Maximillian Magmillion’ and what he suspected was the geriatric’s wife.

Fun was fun but his true goal rested within his jacket pocket - a Rahl Original.

“Take _that_, Rayne,” he boasted to himself as he slipped on his shirt and buttoned it. By the time he was sneaking back into the party, he was fully dressed and the weapon was out of sight. He passed the guard that he had blown in that first hour since the announcement and had allowed them to sneak into the museum floor. He slapped the guy’s ass while passing by.

Then he was grabbing a flute of champagne as he glided seamlessly through the crowd. Mingling with people and appearing invisible was just as easy to him as breathing. It came with living most of his life with the Clarkes and their skills as Illusionists. His father never approved of him so hanging around his cousin and uncle had been his favorite past time. With Alex able to literally play tricks on your mind with a look or JD who could disappear and zero in on someone’s weakness like the lightning that he was nicknamed, Kane had picked up on some of their tricks. Alex was a ‘magical’ spy who used his Illusionist skills to mask his presence while JD was more like ninja. Kane, however, was a more traditional spy. Charming exterior, oozing sexuality, suave personality and killer moves both in and out of the sack.

His eyes drifted to where Heaton was standing, absorbing the adoration of the crowd. While Kane maintained the charming smile on his muzzle, he inwardly frowned. He could tell a charlatan from miles away and Heaton Bellember just _stank_ of fraud. If JD were here, he was sure his cousin could confirm his suspicions but Kane just had to trust his instincts. It was just the way that Heaton held himself and kept moving, like he was running from something or someone. To the average person, it looked like this blonde, glamorous blacksmith with the decent built and luxuriously long, golden locks was just trying to do his rounds with the crowd. To Kane, however, it was clear he was trying to avoid being pinned down.

“I wonder if he’s good in bed,” he mused to himself.

With a shrug, he turned around to find something to eat. An hour of vigorous sex was exhausting no matter what the context or who the partner. Given that he had to please _two_ people at once and had to give lessons to both of them on how to pleasure their partner, he was exhausted. There were some mini shrimp sandwiches floating around which he snagged and gobbled down without hesitation. Some old woman wearing pearls in her hair called him a brute but he ignored her and hunted down the waiter drifting around carrying some steaks on tiny toothpicks.

Then he caught sight of Rayne, Hunter and Roran leaving.

As much as he wanted to stick around, rehydrate and then find someone to fuck in the janitorial closet, they were his ride out of this place. So he stuffed a few more canapes into his muzzle and hurried after them.

The trio regrouped somewhere away from the flashing magical portraits and entrance, away from anyone’s prying eyes. As Kane approached, he caught their conversation

“…rude,” Hunter rumbled.

“He’s always been like that,” replied Roran miserably. “Heaton wouldn’t even associate with _anyone_ underneath him. I tried to talk to him when Rahl told me about FireFeather initially but he just brushed me off. People wanting to get past him in the ranking will find it hard to actually get a match against him. Always claims that they have nothing that he wants out of the fight.”

Rayne growled. “Arrogant bastard…”

Kane chose that time to step in. “My ears are burning.” He reached Roran and Hunter, the two biggest of the trio, and draped his arms around their shoulders. “Though I wouldn’t go with ‘arrogant’. Egotistical, self-centered and _maybe_ a little selfish but not arrogant. Totally a bastard though.”

“Kane!” Hunter exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” He leaned close and sniffed at him. “And what’s that cologne you’re wearing?”

“If you’re thinking about us getting you into that party,” Roran rumbled, “don’t bother. We were just leaving.”

Kane turned to Hunter with a grin. “That, my good wolf, is the smell of a threesome with a hot 29-year-old chick and her 70-year-old sugar daddy.”

Rayne slapped his forehead and dragged his hand down his face. “Goddess, Kane… Please don’t tell me you fucked your way into the party.”

He looked offended. “Of course not. Blowjobs aren’t sex.” Before any of them could protest, he reached into his belt and revealed the Rahl piece. “Plus, I thought you guys could use a hand getting your hands on this tidy little piece.”

Their eyes went wide and he absolutely _relished_ the utter look of shock and surprise they were throwing him. Some might compare him to how Heaton was drowning in the adoration of the crowd but he didn’t care. Showing up his friends and making them admit that his ‘vulgar’ methods actually produced success was like honey to him.

“You didn’t…” Hunter gasped.

“I did,” Kane said with a grin.

“You _fucked_ that old man?”

“Oh hell no. I would’ve broken the guy’s hip.” Then his grin grew broader and Hunter’s expression sank. “He fucked me. Sucked him off first but then got him to get it up a second and third time to plow my ass. He’s a _wolverine_.”

Hunter threw his arms up, pushing Kane away in the process and moving away while looking disgusted. Roran inched away and began brushing himself off like Kane had just infected him with ticks.

“And you _stole_ that weapon from them,” Rayne said bluntly, unaffected by Kane’s words. “That weapon is likely worth _millions_.”

“They let me have it.”

“Of course they did.”

“Honest! They _maybe_ have been coming down from a sexual high when I asked if I could have it but it was still consent.”

Rayne tried to make a snatch for the double-dagger but Kane - being taller, easily lifted his arm out of the way. “We are going to give that _back.__”_

“Hell no! I earned this!”

Suddenly, someone snatched the weapon from behind him and he immediately turned around. He was surprised to find that it was that towering, dark-skinned blacksmith, Erick von Darkmoth. His heart immediately sank. The way this looked, he might be accused of stealing the artifact from that old man and with Hunter being associated with him, it could mean an end to the young craftsman’s career. Kane opened his muzzle to say something when Erick suddenly grabbed the dagger from both ends and -

_Snap!_

… broke it in half.

Everyone just stared in shock with Hunter’s jaw dropping.

“Just as I suspected,” mused Erick. “A fraud.”

Kane was both relieved and a little annoyed. “Damnit. I gave that man some pretty good tips and he gave me a fake?”

“No,” von Darkmoth said ominously. “It always _was_ a fake.”

Rayne stepped our from around Kane. “Wait. You said that Heaton’s _Pilot Light_ could detect an authentic Rahl… It reacted to this weapon unless…”

The gears clicked in Kane’s mind and he immediately let out a barking laugh. “_Holeeeeee fuck!_ That clever bastard!”

Von Darkmoth raised his hands, beckoning them to silence. “Look,” he said in hushed tones, “Heaton profits from these events in more ways that his social standing. People _pay him_ to appraise their works and see if they are real Rahls.”

“And he fakes it,” huffed Kane. “Clever asshole.”

“But I’m willing to wager there aren’t enough Rahls out there to even make it worth holding something like this every month,” continued Rayne. “So where are all these people getting these artifacts that they think are authentic.”

All von Darkmoth did was stare at Rayne expectantly.

Kane did the same. He had already figured it out.

“Oh hell no…” Roran breathed. “That asshole!”

“What?” Hunter asked, stepping forward and inclined his head to the side. “What’s going on? What has everyone realized?” The big, silver-furred wolf was cute when he was confused.

“Heaton has been seeding the market with fake Rahls that he likely manufactures somewhere,” Rayne concluded. “Makes them cheaply, has people buy them at ‘discounted’ prices and then hosts these galas to have those very same victims _pay him_ to appraise their purchases. He benefits from it all. I’m willing to wager that’s the _real_ reason that you’re here, isn’t it, von Darkmoth?”

Erick’s features were unmoving. “Rahl, Sienna and I were very close. We occupy the top three after all. For Heaton to declare himself a ‘Rahl expert’ was an insult to me but I have never once been able to examine any of the actual artifacts that he declares as authentic except for a distance. With this though…” He gestured at the two halves of the dagger. “… I’ve confirmed my suspicions.”

“Out of curiosity,” Hunter said. “How _did_ you break that? That’s made out of metal!”

The third most accomplished craftsman of Incendius wiggled his fingers. “When I worked closely with Rahl, he gave me a way to identify his works. If you channel Pyromancy between your two hands with the weapon in between them and guide it through to form his signature, it should _not_ break. Otherwise, it will snap. He formed his signature in such a way that even invoking it and channeling magic through it is equivalent to casting a spell.”

Hunter’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s… that’s ingenius.”

“He always was thinking a step ahead,” sighed von Darkmoth. He tossed the two pieces, one to Hunter and the other to Roran. “This isn’t enough to incriminate Heaton.”

“Are you kidding?” Roran demanded. “This is fraud!”

Kane huffed. “But are you going to honestly get the guy who _fucked me_ and gave me his Rahl to confess to possessing a fake Rahl? You saw how the crowd was basically rabid when the others were pronounced fake. Heaton could probably give him a replica, tell him it’s fake and work him with him to say that thing we broke was a decoy for this exact purpose. Then he’d have someone he can blackmail _and_ prove us wrong.”

“Astute,” observed Erick.

“I spend a lot of time dodging the law.” Kane shook his head as he regarded the two pieces one at a time. “We need something more concrete. Like where he’s making this stuff.”

The top craftsman mused and let out a thoughtful noise. “He has a factory in Corona. Let me give you the information. Arrange something.” He narrowed his gaze at them. “You will need some clout. You need someone who he would consider his equal or superior to get access to the factory.”

“And the former Top 10 and current top 10 won’t do it,” Rayne mused. “Neither would students from _Pinnacle_ unless we twisted it as an educational thing and stroked his ego.” Then a dark smile crossed his features. “Luckily we had a Templar and Paladin in our back pocket…”

Kane arched an eyebrow at probably the only man he ever truly respected and would not bed. “Got a plan?”

Rayne’s purple eyes glimmered.

“I think so.”

  

 

Spicy Meatball

There was nothing more stressful to Hunter than sitting on the sidelines when he could be doing _something_ - anything. One of the reasons he became a _combat_ engineer was that he could be on the front lines fighting instead of just sitting back and waiting for things to go wrong. However, the plan that Rayne and Erick had come up with to investigate Heaton involved more finesse and subterfuge than he was capable of.

Everyone else had their activities to keep them occupied. The students at _Pinnacle_ had classes to attend and Rayne was a teacher there. Alex just said he had chaperone meetings to attend to. That left Hunter to his own devices until preparations were done for the operation. Erick von Darkmoth needed time to set things up and all they could do was wait.

Hunter was quickly running out of things to do. _Nullfire Covenant_ was already done for Skye and he had made modifications to both _Conflagration_ and _Cindarc_ to make them both a little more user-friendly. Now, working in Roran’s forge, he was adding the finishing touches to _Wildfire._ He hated the idea of taking Heaton’s idea of merging form and function to heart but even _he_ had to admit that the weapon he had brought up to the match against Oren was crude. If it wasn’t the exposed wires, it was the general unwieldiness of the weapon.

The modifications were almost done. He dreaded the idea of being left alone with his thoughts and nothing to do. As an active crewman of a starship for a good portion of his adult life, he was always _doing_ something. There was never a second where he _wasn__’t_ doing anything except for when he was sleeping and even then, he had to consciously tell himself to sleep so that he would be ready for the day ahead. Now that he was a freelance craftsman… that was a habit he was trying to break out of.

“Gotta say,” came the booming voice of Kane Fenn. Hunter nearly jumped out of his fur as he spun and found the big, black bear - now with neon-pink hair - was leaning against the door, his immense frame partially illuminated by the crimson fires of the forge. “You look good shirtless.”

Hunter glanced down and remembered he had foregone the use of his shirt and was only in his military camouflage pants and boots. The underground forge was extremely hot as it had very little ventilation - helped get in touch with the fire, Roran said - and he had gotten used to working without his shirt on. Hunter reached for where said shirt lay a few tables away but Kane was surprisingly faster.

The big bear grabbed it and brought to his muzzle, taking a big, long whiff of it.

“Damn, dude. You smell good.”

Hunter blushed, paralyzed by the brazen approach of the Ursus. He barely moved when Kane placed the shirt back in his paws and then wandered over to another table. That was when the musk of the bear hit him. The guy was _horny_.

“You know,” Kane said, “I’ve wondered where on the spectrum you are.”

“Spectrum?” Hunter stammered.

“Yeah. Are you pansexual? Asexual? Hetero? Homo? Or you into some freaky shit? Like do you make mechanical sex dolls and only fuck those?”

“No!” he cried, bringing his shirt up to his broad chest as if it would defend him. “I’ve been with girls before!”

“So hetero then? Kind of disappointed.”

Hunter found his voice and growled. “What? Just because you can’t fuck me that automatically makes me a bad person?”

Kane glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow cocked. “No. Disappointing because most Havenese are pansexual. Sex isn’t a taboo thing where we live. Ever since Lumire started pulling back the Church’s influence in such matters, most Havenese just fuck for the sake of fucking.”

That was an over-exaggeration. About two hundred years ago, Lumire the Eternal Prophet had addressed all of Tower Thirteen and told the world that the Church of the Tower had _no right_ to tell people whom to love and who to have sexual relations with. Sex, much like the act of breathing, was as natural as they come. Anyone trying to tell anyone else who to have sex with was ultimately subverting the divine will as the Mother Goddess _never_ said anything about that kind of act. It was only the Church that began imposing the laws that anything apart from heterosexuality was amoral. Even then, some sects of the Church had gone so far as to ban all forms of sexual activity and gone into the practice of genital mutilation as they considered sex disgusting.

Of course there were those that still resisted this and many of the Church hierarchy openly opposed Lumire’s words. However, the Eternal Prophet was ridiculously popular and his words resonated with the people. Didn’t stop highly conservative families like the Harts from following a strict rule of just mating with the opposite sex.

Lumire didn’t _ban_ heterosexuality or even demonize heterosexuals, after all. He just said that _no one_ could tell you or anyone else who to sleep with.

“I’m allowed to have my preferences,” Hunter growled. “But for the record, I _have_ slept with guys before.”

“Eh,” Kane said with a shrug. “Let me guess. Your military bunk mates? Got a bit of cabin fever on the ships?” He threw a paw absently over his shoulder. “Basic. Talk to me again when you’re strapped upside down on a wheel that’s being spun horizontally and you’re being dick-slapped by a guy like it’s fucking roulette.”

Hunter took a full second to try and picture that image but found his mind just refusing. “What? Did that really happen?”

Kane didn’t respond and leaned down towards one of the benches. “You really should learn to relax, dude. You’re not always on the clock.”

Reeling from the sudden 180 in the topic, Hunter said, “In case you haven’t noticed, there are _still_ cases of spontaneous combustion going on and we’re in the middle of a trying to subvert an apocalyptic prophecy foretelling the God of Fire’s return.”

“Are we? I thought we were trying to pin an asshole counterfeiter.”

It took him a second to choke down his protest and by that time, his muzzle had already opened. “Look Kane, what do you want? I’m busy.”

“No you’re not.” Kane straightened and turned around to face him, leaning back against the table. “You’re just trying to look busy because you’re stressed the fuck out that you can’t do anything right now. You’re telling yourself that you have to _achieve_ something because if it ever comes to it and we have to rely on you and you _fail_, you’ll look back at this moment and ask yourself why you couldn’t be doing something useful instead of lounging about doing nothing like everyone else.”

Those words stabbed at Hunter like sharp knives and he physically staggered back in shock. “Please don’t tell me you’re a mind reader.”

Kane smirked at him. “Naw. I’ve just been living with my Uncle Alex and JD long enough to pick up on a few things.” For a second, Kane’s eyes were distant. “Those two have so much love to give. They took me in. Took in Wood.” Then his eyes refocused on Hunter. “They’ll take you in too if you asked.”

Hunter jolted in surprise. “What? I’ve got -”

“Money? Yeah but I also know that you left the military so your current income is what you can get for working with us. You don’t have solid, permanent accommodation. You’re not going back to your family.” He jerked his head up int he direction of the stairs leading up stairs. “Just ask Uncle Alex if you can stay with him. The more the merrier. We’ve got the room.”

“I can’t…” Hunter said, shaking his head. “JD basically _saved_ me when he recruited me to be your blacksmith. I’ve -”

“Got too much pride to have that much doubt in your own abilities,” Kane interrupted. “Hunter, my dude, you’re fucking good at what you do. With a _week_ of preparation, you _still_ beat Oren. Yeah, the asshat may have tried to pull a stunt to defeat Roran by proxy but you were still good enough to get the crowd going. Also, and this is important…” The bear straightened and marched over to Hunter, jabbing a finger into the broad Wulfun’s chest. “… you’ve been roped into an apocalyptic prophecy involving the return of the God of Fire. So have we. If we’re all Chosen Ones, we’ve got to look after each other, right?”

With his own words rebounding back at him, Hunter felt both intimidated, hurt and… encouraged. “Fuck… And Roran said I give good speeches.”

“Oh yeah?” Kane waggled his eyebrows. “I wonder what else you can do with that muzzle of yours.” Without warning, he took Hunter’s paw and guided it over to his own crotch. “We’ve got to look after each other, right?”

Hunter’s jaw dropped just in time for Kane to pull back and let out a bellowing laugh. “You’re too easy, bro.” The bear headed over to the forge and peered into the fires. “I’m not going to force anyone. I’m all about consent. Not gonna lie, though. You _are_ pretty fucking hot.”

Blushing beneath his silver fur, Hunter just kept quiet and took the compliment. “You know, I’ve been wondering what kind of weapon I’d make for you but I was always kind of… intimidated by how… _forward_ you are. You’re always so confident that I’ve found it hard to find something that would suit you. But after this… I think I have a better idea.”

Kane straightened and regarded him with a smirk. “Come on, Hunter. You think you can top a fucking hammer-mailbox hybrid that shoots out explosive envelopes? Seriously, _Going Postal_ is _so_ me.” He grinned broadly. “Do you know how many people I’ve pissed off because I swung a fucking mailbox at them?” Kane reached into his ever-present black duffel bag and pulled out his weapon, hefting over one shoulder. “And that satisfying _clunk_ when the metal hits?” He gave a chef’s kiss motion. “Delicious.”

“Changing the topic for a second.” Hunter pointed at the duffel bag. “I’ve been wondering about that. What is it? Some sort of magical portal that leads lets you reach into a personal storage system or something? Do you have a warehouse with all your junk?”

Kane laughed and shook his head. “Naw dude. It’s your typical Dimensional Pocket Bag. Leads to a pocket dimension where I have ‘all my junk’.”

“Where’d you get something like that? Even on Haven, that’s really pricey.”

“I got it when my old man kicked me out of my home.”

Hunter instantly felt a cold, icy dagger jab his heart and he was stammering apologies before Kane could even laugh at him. With a clap of his big paw on the silver Wulfun’s shoulders, Kane soothed his worries.

“Don’t worry about it, my dude. My old man is an ass. Hardass military type that still serves today. I _hate_ the fucker.” Kane released his shoulder but placed his fingers around Hunter’s neck. “The asshole just kept this tight leash on me. Kept trying to make me like him. But you know what they say…” He tightened his grip a little, slightly cutting off Hunter’s airways. “… the tighter the leash…” Then he released his fingers, pulling away entirely. “… the sweeter the freedom. Blew half my savings on this little puppy and I’ve never looked back.”

Amazed at the story, Hunter shook his head. “You really are amazing, Kane.”

“Only because I have people looking out for me.” Kane nodded towards Hunter. “Remember that, Hunter. JD, Alex, Wood, Rayne, Skye and me? We got your back. You’re free to explore, experiment and make mistakes. We’ll catch you.” He rolled his eyes. “Not sure about Aria or Tanar but with us, you can fuck anyone or anything you want. We’ll either support your decision or not give a fuck.”

Hunter gave him a sour expression. “Thanks. I guess.” He then turned and brought up his _Sequencer_. “Roran will kill me for using my matter converters but let me show you the prototype weapon I’ve been working on for you.”

He reached down next to the forge where four discs sat, mostly unused and covered in soot. The challenge of using traditional forging methods was quite thrilling but he never forgot how to use matter converters especially since he adapted them into _Wildfire._ After a bit of configuration on his _Sequencer_, he pulled glowing, white strings out of the cube and attached them to the discs. Blue light began dancing out of said discs, first tracing the wireframe of a long weapon with a large bulbous head before filling in the gaps.

Within a few minutes, there was a large hammer about the size of _Going Postal_ but with an entirely different motif. Hunter grabbed the black haft that looked like it was made out of obsidian and gently swung it around to face Kane. The head of the hammer was shaped like a large clawed had gripping an immense, red orb like a solidified sun.

“_Dayum_,” Kane whistled, grabbing the weapon and giving it a few swings. “I like the look. Fierce. Spicy. What makes it so special?”

“It can generate lava.” Kane gave him a curious look, prompting him to continue. “There’s a branch of Pyromancy called -”

“Lava Manipulation,” finished the bear. “Yeah, I know. It’s rarely used because it’s so hard to get the balance right. Geomancy and Pyromancy rarely mix. It’s more prominent on Arret than on Incendius. It’s also pretty hard to control. Yeah, you can control the lava but once it cools or it makes something catch on fire? That shit is out of your control.” He quirked an eyebrow at Hunter. “What made you think of giving me Lava Manipulation?”

“It’s different and, just like you, hard to control,” Hunter tilted his head to the side. “I had the initial design already in mind but what its abilities would be was still up in the air until we had this conversation.” He reached for the weapon. “I can change it if you want.”

“No,” Kane replied, pulling back on the weapon. “I like it. I’m going to call it… _Spicy Meatball.__”_

The silver Wulfun gave a sour look at the bear across from him. “I was going to call it _Scorched Earth_ but okay…”

Ignoring him, Kane swung the hammer from left to right. Hunter gave him the rundown of the newly named _Spicy Meatball_. Unlike his previous weapons that generated power from momentum in ambient heat, _Spicy Meatball_ required direct input from Kane before its abilities could be triggered. This was purposeful as the hammer was, inherently, too heavy to generate heat fast enough unlike _Conflagration, Cindarc_ or _Wildfire._ However, because it generated lava which could stay on the field, spread and generate more heat, that was somewhat offset. It would drain Kane’s personal reserves of magic to activate but it was versatile and only limited by Kane’s imagination.

“I’m going to have to give this a test run,” Kane said. He grinned at Hunter. “Since you’re not doing anything, wanna spar a bit?”

Stepping away from the forge sounded like a good idea. “Sure.”

Kane winked at him. “Leave the shirt off. You won’t need it in the showers afterwards.”

Hunter just rolled his eyes, slipped his shirt back on and grabbed _Wildfire_.

  

 

Stoking the Embers

The factory of Heaton Bellember was located outside of the walls of Corona on what should have been farmland. According to the pamphlets, the land had belonged to the Bellember Family for a while and they ran a watermill there for a while. As times changed and Heaton excelled in craftsmanship, he built his factory on their land. The ancient watermill was still maintained and acted as a tourist attraction but it no longer functioned. The river had long been redirected into the immense bastion of industry.

Towering smokestacks cut through the idealistic countryside. A brick and stone facility dwarfed the wooden watermill with iron-wrought gates protecting the entire property. Carriages for merchants were flowing in and out of the factory as they shipped everything that was pumped out of the factory to Corona and the surrounding countryside.

Apparently, Heaton put a big emphasis on creating modern works that merged form and functionality with the focus of this factory being elegant furniture for the upper class. As Aria and Tanar stepped into the VIP section of the factory, they were guided by none other than Heaton himself down the floor where his apprentices forged metal, carved wood and twisted gold in intricate ways to his specifications.

“As you can see,” boasted Heaton in his proud baritone, “everything I do looks magnificent and works exceptionally well in whatever it is used for.”

Aria bent over towards a large, elegant throne that was built with velvety cushions, decorated with golden filigree and inlaid with dozens of jewels. Her disproving frown spoke volumes.

“It’s a chair,” she said bluntly.

Tanar stepped between them, grinning broadly and apologetically. “She means that it’s a _fantastic_ chair,” he laughed. “Your artistry is truly something to behold, Master Bellember as is your entrepreneurial expertise. To have been able to manifest such an elaborate system and risen so far amongst the IBL is simply amazing. Truly awe-inspiring.”

Heaton laughed, a laugh akin to a drunkard in a tavern. It was clearly forced and from where JD stood, quietly observing and listening to the trio up on the catwalks, he could tell it was clearly forced. The red-furred Wulfun remained hidden amongst the shadows, drifting seamlessly between the catwalk and the beams that supported the roof as silent as a shadow and as quick as lightning. He kept moving even though Aria and Tanar had stopped moving. If he kept moving, even if it was in circles, there was less chance for someone to spot him.

“Could you tell me about your process?” Tanar asked, running his paws along the length of a table. “What sparks your creativity? What inspires you?”

Again, Heaton let out that fake laugh. “How much time do you have, my good Paladin?”

“We are at your disposal.”

JD smiled to himself, pleased that the Leomian was doing his best to stall the craftsman as much as possible. Now it was his turn to do his part. Secure in the knowledge that Tanar and Aria would do their best to keep Heaton occupied, he flitted between the beams, his bare paws carrying him with ease through the shadows. He stopped a few times as managers and supervisors moved across the catwalk, inspecting people as they worked. Their eyes were all down on the floor so none of them looked up above them where the wolf slipped through.

There was a door leading into an office or a break room in the upper floors of the factory. One manager exited it and carelessly let the door slide back into place while striding away. In that second when her eyes were away from the door, JD quietly dropped down from the ceiling and slipped through the door.

It was a break room with several other people there chatting. None of them even got a second to register his presence as he immediately used _Shukuchi_ to zip and dance between the blind spots of the employees until he could slide behind one that was currently poring over the contents of a primitive refrigerator. JD danced quietly around the man, slipping behind the fridge’s open door before leaving into an adjacent hallway. At the same time, he pocketed the little keycard that the man had carelessly hanging on his hip.

Unlike the devices on Haven, this pass was very primitive, little more than a flat, rectangular piece of wood with runes drawn onto it. There were no biometric testing to holding it, no proximity sensors or even location beacons. All he had to do was hold it up to the nearby scanner - which was basically just a stone tablet with runes - and he was through the door.

His next stop was a nearby locker room where he kept his head down and quickly pilfered another manager’s suit. Given that the people here were constantly working with wood and volatile pyromancy, they were all dressed in what could be considered hazmat suits to protect them from burns and any stay wood particles in the air. This did wonders to keep his identity a secret.

Once disguised, the Wulfun wandered the floor a little more openly. The disguise was paper thin. Further scrutiny would expose him so he grabbed a little clipboard and paper and tried to look busy as he browsed its contents while he moved. There was only so much times he could flip through the pages before it was evident that he was wasting time so he made his way through the factory as quickly as he could.

He eventually found his target; Heaton’s office.

Located on the upper floor of the factory away from the workshop floor, it was its own sequestered box that oversaw the entire floor like the seat of an overlord. The entrance came from a long hallway that was lavishly decorated with crimson carpet, local plants to Incendius and portraits of the Bellember family. To make it a little more welcoming, there was a receptionist desk just in front of the large, double doors leading into the office. There, two women tried to look busy as they manned the desk.

These were Carlina Shaw and Helena May, Heaton’s assistants, personal bodyguards and prime defenders if Heaton were ever to accept a match amongst the IBL. Both were powerful combatants in their own right and he didn’t fancy his chances of deceiving them with a second-rate disguise.

Getting into the office would not be easy.

JD took a deep breath, closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten.

Then, straight-backed and head held high, he strode forward down the long, ominous hallway. He felt the two receptionist’s gaze on him the moment he came within view.

“Hello -” Was all he got out before pain exploded from his side. The last thing he recalled seeing was a huge ball of flame hurtling towards him before the searing pain of death turned his body to ash…

…

He woke up to the sound of a clock ticking. The grandiose hallway leading up to Heaton’s office vanished and was suddenly replaced with thousands upon thousands of ticking, golden gears spanning off into the distance against a blood-red sky. In the few gaps between the gears, it was possible to see the black grains of sand below the floating monolith that was the Machine, the domain of the God of Time. His bare paws rested on a single, enormous crystal gear that remained stationary.

In a break amongst the gears, sitting beneath a large, ticking pendulum stood a single, enormous golden throne with black velvet cushions. Perched on the throne, not sitting on it but hovering above it, was the enormous, ominous figure of Haamiah, the God of Time. Cloaked entirely in white robes complete with a white hood that concealed his features, the God of Time had golden sashes that wrapped around his body, shimmering with the flow of time. The robes hid every feature of his corporeal body. The sleeves were so long that they stretched a full arm’s length past his hands. His feet were concealed by the flowing robes that rippled even though there was no wind. What features he may have had were completely concealed in the black shadow of his hood save for his golden eyes which burned with the image of a numberless and handless clockface over his irises. Behind him him hovered three pairs of wings with every feather, bone and joint made out of symmetrical gold and black blades.

_“You died,”_ Haamiah stated in a voice that always sounded distant, distinctly masculine but was just _barely_ audible.

“You live and learn,” he sighed absently, rubbing the back of his neck. “Next time.”

He turned his attention to the myriad of cogs dancing to his left. In one cog he saw himself striding forward towards Carlina and Helena, pretending to be a worker with orders from Heaton. Helena had conjured a fireball and immediately incinerated him.

“So that’s what happened. Guess the direct approach isn’t the best way to go.”

Armed with that knowledge, he stepped towards the gears. When he opened his eyes, he was back to that moment when he had taken a moment to count to ten. Again, he let out that breath he had been holding.

Helena moved ever so slightly and in that instant, he activated _Shukuchi_, appearing in her blind spot. He didn’t get a second to revel in his victory, however, as he suddenly went rigid and, in that instant, he once again found himself in the Machine.

_“You died,”_ Haamiah announced.

JD sighed and glanced at the cogs, watching his own death at the hands of Carlina. She had caught his movement and had immediately drawn some sort of long, metal spike and pierced his skull, leading to his instantaneous death.

“Damn,” he laughed cheerily. “They’re fast.”

Once again, he stepped into the cogs and once again, he appeared in that brief instant before he chose where to move. Over and over again, he made multiple attempts to get past the two. He tried to sneak through the ventilation shafts but Carlina heard his movements and skewered him through the walls with a weapon that looked suspiciously like a large sewing needle. Then he tried to sneak in from the outside, scaling the walls of the factory to break into Heaton’s office from the inside. The windows apparently had enchantments on them to alert the two bodyguards if they were broken and then killed him in a shower of fire and glass. A frontal approach of incapacitating the two didn’t lead into any success either. Disabling Helena reduced their magical abilities but then he was forced to face off against the more physically capable Carlina. Trying to attack Carlina first only led him to being incinerated a second later.

After his eleventh death, he sighed and crossed his arms at the myriad of cogs that represented each of his deaths.

“Guess I’ll have to take a shortcut,” he sighed with a shrug. He gave a mild salute over his shoulder. “Sorry to cut and run but I’m on a schedule.”

_“Time does not flow here in the Machine,”_ intoned the God of Time.

True to his word, JD glanced past the myriad of gears and cogs. Every now and then, he could spot the countless instances of himself using this shortcut over and over again to his advantage. The more time had passed between the instances, the farther away that instance would be. He could _barely_ see himself from a few days ago when he faced off against Godfrey and used this very same shortcut to identify the exact ways the owl would attack him and Oren’s ultimate plan.

When he glanced _downward_, though, he saw another figure standing on the other side of the see-through gear; a white-furred Wulfun about as short as he was with a silky, white scarf wrapped around his neck. The Wulfun had his own adventures outside of time that ran parallel to his own.

Turning his gaze back to the cogs, he said, “Yeah, that’s true, but if I start living by that then I’ll lose all sense of urgency.” He turned towards the God and flashed him a grin. “Then I’d be like you. No offense.”

He heard a soft chuckle from Haamiah. _“None taken, little pup.”_

Then JD stepped towards one of the cogs and, suddenly, he was back on Tower Thirteen only, this time, he was about fifty yards away from where he had entered the Machine - _inside_ Heaton’s office.

Spatial jumps.

The Machine was connected to _all_ of Tower Thirteen and theoretically, he could use it to travel to any location he wanted. It took a heavy toll, however. Fifty yards he traveled, caused his legs to shake and his vision to blur for a few moments.

Pushing the sensations aside, he ignored how the velvety carpet felt between his toes or the golden edges to every piece of furniture. His eyes were drawn immediately to the desk where piles of papers were stacked.

Heaton was no fool. He wouldn’t keep any incriminating information just lying on his desk. Still, he quickly browsed the contents of the papers on the desk. There were many invoices for hair care products and beard conditioner. Workout routines as well. The man was burning through different personal trainers. Each routine was always different.

One entry caught his attention.

A single squat amongst a bunch of leg exercises.

JD narrowed his eyes and began comparing the other entries. With some trainers, Heaton was able to do one or two squats with the maximum being three. The rest of the exercises were quite impressive. 100 reps with 100 pounds on a leg curl. 90 pound calf raises with up to 50 reps. But they were always the same exercises but just different numbers.

It was a code.

He grinned to himself and considered taking the document. He paused, however, and reconsidered. Unlike on Haven where documents like these were kept digitally and it was easier to hide if someone had accessed the files, if he stole this piece of paper, it would immediately be noticed. He could not see into the future. Any forms of ‘precognition’ - as Alex and Kane often called it - was due to him rolling back time and ‘redoing’ events.

He was no Chronomancer despite Haamiah’s patronage. The God of Time once called him a ‘singularity’. His choices would change the world so he had to be extremely careful which path he choose before committing to a sequence of events.

This was a trick he would use again.

He once again entered the Machine and immediately moved towards the edge of the crystal cog, the gears around him floating away from him to make way. He found that instant in time just a few minutes ago when he had entered the Machine and _stepped back_ into it.

When he re-entered the material realm, he was once again in that moment of time when he had just been spying on Helena and Carlina from some distance away. The only difference was, he was now equipped with all the information he had obtained from when he had entered Heaton’s office.

Time travel.

An ability that even the Chronomancers had never mastered though his version was limited to just ten minute in to the past or future.

Smiling to himself, he turned around and headed back the way he come. The keycard was returned to the man that he had pilfered it from; the individual blithely eating his lunch in the break room. JD posed as another manager and happily returned it, never raising an inch of suspicion as he did so. He then dumped his borrowed clothing idly back somewhere it would not be noticed before leaving the premises.

The factory never knew he was ever in there.

With his information, he made his way back to the _Firebrand Inn._ Most of the team were there with the addition of Erick von Darkmoth.

“You’re back!” Alex exclaimed. He was immediately scooped up in his father’s arms and squeezed tightly. “I’m glad you’re safe. Did you encounter any trouble?”

“None at all,” he replied brightly. “They never even knew I was there.”

“That’s frightening,” von Darmoth commented. “Every craftsman does their best to secure their workshops. If you were able to sneak in and out of one of the most complicated factories on Incendius without them noticing, you are one very scary teenager.”

“You haven’t seen me mad yet,” JD replied. “Anyone got a piece of paper? I need to write down what I found.” Skye gave him one, knowing exactly what he was getting to despite Roran and Erick’s confused looks.

“JD has an eidetic memory,” explained the Miasman Tigris. “He just needs to look at something for a few seconds and he’ll immediately recall it any time later.”

Not entirely true. As he began to write Heaton’s suspicious workout schedule in his own messy scrawl, he constantly slipped back into the Machine, moving to that moment in time when he had been in the blacksmith’s office and spying upon that very document, comparing notes and making sure he was right. To everyone else, it was seamless. He was just writing everything constantly without break. Time did not flow in the Machine so his journey back and forth from Time was absolutely unnoticed to anyone else.

The technique had saved him many times and had been an excellent utility over the years. In fact, his supernatural mastery of _Shukuchi_ was supplemented by his link to the Machine. No true master of the technique could instantaneously teleport to someone’s blindspot like he did. Only through his connection to Haamiah’s realm was he able to execute such quick and precise near-instant teleportation.

When people claimed that he was just _really_ good at using _Shukuchi_, he didn’t correct them. Same as when they claimed he had an eidetic memory.

He wasn’t lying… _exactly_. He also tried not to rely on it too heavily. As Haamiah had once told him, the Chronomancers became _far_ to reliant on their Time Magic and it became their only identity. JD needed to make sure that he had an identity _outside_ of this budding, new form of Chronomancy that was synchronized with the one place that was outside of Time and Space.

_“Someone will always find a way to to overcome your techniques,”_ warned Haamiah three months ago as the young Wulfun practiced with the twin _etherium_ blades Hunter had given him. Despite having never used two swords at once and not being used to just how light and fragile the blades here, JD had become quite adept at them predominantly because he had spent quite a bit of time in the Machine practicing with them. _“Your best option is not to specialize and keep yourself broad, adaptive.”_

When JD finished, he stood back with a bright smile. “Done.”

The others crowded around the page, examining it with varying degrees of comprehension.

“I… don’t get it,” Kane confessed. “Not dissing your abilities, cuz. But is this all you got?”

“It’s code,” Hunter concluded, pointing at one of the exercised. “One squat? Two here? Three? Some of them he can’t even do squats at all which is suspicious. If I were to guess, that’s his codename for the Stones of Eternal Fire that he uses.”

“I was thinking exactly the same thing,” mused Erick. “One hundred reps for a hundred pounds on leg curls. That appears to be a hundred pounds of steel or some other common method.”

“The reps indicate the amount,” agreed Roran. “Just to throw off any reader. The weight is probably the quality and the exercise is the ‘family’ of material. Leg curls are metal so perhaps a hundred pounds worth of leg curls is Incendian steel. Nine pounds could be some cheaper alloy like Steelwood or something similar.” He reached over and pointed at the name next to it list of exercises. “This name. Gamina Hostetter. That’s no personal trainer. That’s the name of the people Heaton claimed had an authentic Rahl.”

Kane flung his paws into the air and stood back, surrendering. “That’s too mental for my shit. Still seems like we’re guessing.”

“Without definitive proof, it’s all we have,” von Darkmoth said. “But it’s enough.”

“For what?”

The elite craftsman lifted his gaze. “We don’t need to prove that Heaton is doing something illegal. We just need to _stop him_ from doing it.”

Wood leaned forward, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me, what? This guy is committing _fraud_ and falsely elevating the wealth of people over the years. Why shouldn’t we expose him?”

“Exactly because of those two points,” Alex said grimly. “People’s wealth and fortunes are based on Heaton’s appraisals. If something worth millions is suddenly exposed as a counterfeit, that’s _millions_ down the drain. Heaton has been doing this for years, after all. If he’s been hosting one such gala per month, that would be thirteen _possible_ counterfeits that he could be seeding into the world per year at most. Each one worth millions.”

JD took a second to drift into the Machine and double check his work, making sure he didn’t miss anything in his initial assessment or any other pieces of information in Heaton’s office. When he was satisfied, he returned to the present and remained silent, observing everyone else as they came to their conclusions.

Aria and Tanar arrived a short while later and he bounded over to them.

“How’d it go?” he asked cheerily.

“Frustrating,” answered Aria, barely concealing her disgust. “That man is a showman, for sure, but not one sentence goes by where he somehow doesn’t steer the conversation to himself.” He features softened as she regarded him, a gentle smile on her face. “How about you, young one? Did you get the information you needed? Are you harmed?”

When she had first joined their ranks, JD had been a little wary of using his link to the Machine. She had been around the legendary Harm Chronos for so long that she surely would have sensed the touch of Chronomancy. Whether or not she did, she didn’t say anything and treated him warmly.

“I’m fine,” he replied, hiking a thumb over his shoulder. “I got some information. Memorized a code that Heaton was using to list the ingredients he was using to make his counterfeits and wrote it down on the table. Go and see.”

Aria chuckled. “You know, Harm never really bothered to memorize something like that. He would have just pilfered the documents. It’s why he never bothered to learn how to fly any form of starship. Always complained that since everyone was constantly updating their ships and designs, it was a futile exercise to try.”

Comments like that made him wonder if she suspected he was using some form of new Chronomancy.

“Let me see the code…” Tanar mused, moving past them towards where the group was still debating on the courses of action. The Leomian listened to the conversation before regarding the notes.

“I was worried when you decided to go into the factory unarmed,” Aria confessed. “When I saw all the guards and heard the rumors about Heaton’s bodyguards, I was… cautious. I’m glad you made it out well.”

“I’m still not used to having _Validation_ or _Conflagration_ around me all the time,” he confessed. “I move faster without them.”

“Is that why you go around bare foot too?”

He nodded. “I’m quieter without shoes.” He wiggled his toes. “Also why I keep my claws nice and trimmed. Don’t want them notifying people I’m there.”

The Angel looked about to say something when Tanar suddenly snapped his fingers. “I know what we need to do.”

“What?” demanded Erick. “Keeping in mind that I, as the stand-in head of the IBL Incendian branch, will vehemently oppose any move by the Church to seize Heaton’s assets.”

“Well since _that__’s_ off the table,” Tanar rumbled sarcastically. “I was going to suggest we challenge Heaton to an official challenge. Do it on the down-low though.”

“What?” Hunter blurted. “Again? Why? Why would he even take up the challenge if he’s got nothing to win?”

“That’s exactly it,” Tanar said with a bright smile. “The only thing he’s got to win is our silence.” He pointed at himself and then Aria. “Right now, everyone is against the Church but at the same time there’s still weight to what we have to say. So, if we say something it could damage his reputation. Could still force an investigation. Right now, everyone is taking him at his word because of his reputation. The people he claims have _fake_ Rahls would never oppose his judgment because they _know_ they got them from shady sources. No one has _ever_ thrown doubt into his appraisals. But all it takes is one person to say something and his entire house of cards comes falling down.”

Kane spread his arms wide. “Then why don’t we do just that? Let’s bust his ass!”

“The economy!” was all Alex said.

“Exactly,” Tanar replied. “We can’t just go and arrest him completely or everyone else suffers for it. What we _can_ do is force him into a challenge. Tell him that we have evidence of his activities. The terms of the challenge will be…”

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/ZmM49dze
Part of the series Another Time: Incendius
Previous: https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/2093885-chapter-1-forged-in-the-fires-of-competition.md
Next: https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/2099098-chapter-3-crafted-in-the-embers-of-loss.md