The Adventurer's Guild was doing its best impression of a riot inside a brewery. The air was a thick, humid soup of sweat, cheap ale, and unwashed leather, vibrating with enough noise to rattle your teeth.
I sat in a dark corner, my back to the wall. I was wearing the heavy grey traveller's cloak I'd bought from the old man, the hood pulled low. It wasn't a fashion statement; it was a habit honed over a thousand lifetimes. You don't give the universe a clear target.
"Come on, man, just hear me out!"
I sighed, staring into the shadow of my hood. Standing next to my table was a kid who looked like he'd bought his armour five minutes ago. It was shiny. Too shiny. He twitched with nervous energy and a desperate grin that wouldn't quit.
"I'm telling you, I'm good with a shield!" the kid pressed, leaning in. "And I saw you at the counter yesterday. You dumped a sack of pristine Slime Cores like they were potatoes! That's a serious haul. You've got a system, don't you?"
'Kid's tenacious, I'll give him that,' Ronan commented in my head. His voice was casual, sounding more like a spectator at a baseball game than a centuries-old demigod. 'Checking his stance… he's actually balanced. Probably trained at a decent academy before running off to play hero. Might be worth hearing his pitch.'
'He's loud, Ronan,' I thought back, taking a sip of ale. 'Loud attracts attention. We don't do loud.'
"I work alone," I told the kid, keeping my voice flat and my face hidden.
"Nobody works alone in the sewers!" he argued, pulling up a stool uninvited. "That's suicide. Look, I'm not asking for a split. Just… let me tag along. I cover your flank, I carry the loot, you teach me the trick. 80-20 split your way. That's free money!"
'80-20 is a solid deal,' Ronan mused. 'Free labour, Murphy. That's capitalism at its finest.'
'It's a liability,' I countered. 'If he tags along, he sees the mask. He sees the clones. He asks why there are two of me. Then we have to kill him, and I really don't want to spend my Tuesday hiding a body.'
"Not interested," I said, pushing back my chair and standing up. "Go find a nursery group, kid."
'Hah!' Ronan's sudden laughter rippled through our shared mind.
'What's so funny?' I shot back, annoyed.
'Nothing,' Ronan replied, his mental voice rich with mirth. 'It is just... ironic. Hearing a sixteen-year-old boy call a man at least five years his senior "kid". The optics are absurd.'
'Yeah, well,' I grumbled, adjusting my sword belt beneath my cloak. 'This sixteen-year-old has a very, very old soul.'
The kid looked crushed, but before he could launch into his rebuttal, the ambient roar of the room hitched.
It wasn't a gradual quiet. It was sudden, like someone had cut the power to a speaker system. The heavy thud of boots on timber stopped. The laughter died.
BOOM.
The main double doors at the front of the hall slammed shut. A heavy iron bar dropped into place with a ring of finality that echoed through the sudden silence.
'That's not normal,' Ronan said, his tone shifting instantly from casual to alert. 'That door never closes during business hours.'
"Hey!" a large Orc near the entrance shouted, standing up. "We're not done drinking here! Open the—"
The service doors at the back of the hall kicked open. A dozen figures filed in. They weren't City Watch. They moved with a terrifying, synchronized silence, wearing pristine white robes with hoods pulled low over their faces. Their hands were tucked into their sleeves, hidden.
'Silencers,' Ronan identified them, his mental voice dropping low. 'Church muscle. That's… weird. They usually stick to the Cathedral district.'
They moved efficiently, fanning out along the perimeter of the room. A few unlucky adventurers who had been in the back rooms—the planning archives and the latrines—were shoved roughly into the main hall, stumbling and confused.
"Nobody leaves," one of the white-robed figures announced. His voice was muffled, sounding like it was coming from behind a thick mask. "By order of the Pontificate."
The kid next to me went pale. "The Inquisition? Why are they here?"
'Red flag, Murphy,' Ronan warned. 'Big, waving red flag. Keep your hood down. Do not draw attention.'
The formation of white robes parted near the main entrance. The crowd of hardened mercenaries—people who killed monsters for a living—scrambled backwards to create a path. I saw fear in their eyes. Real, primal fear.
Into the silence walked a single man.
He didn't look like a soldier. He looked like he belonged in a stained-glass window, lit by a sunbeam. He was tall and painfully thin, wearing robes of white silk embroidered with gold thread that seemed to catch the torchlight. He had the face of an angel who had just received the worst news of his life.
His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. Silent, crystal-clear tears were tracking down his pale cheeks, dripping off his jawline. He wasn't sobbing; he was just quietly, endlessly weeping.
'Inquisition,' Ronan whispered in my head, his tone guarded. 'High ranking. That gold embroidery marks him as a Pontiff of Aureon.'
I watched the man wipe a tear from his cheek with a slow, elegant movement. 'Ronan, isn't that the creepy guy from the sewers?:
"It's the pontif..." the kid next to me whispered.
I glanced down from under my hood. The kid wasn't scared like the veterans. He was staring at the weeping man with wide, shining eyes, like he was looking at a rock star.
"Who?" I hissed at the kid.
"Pontiff Valentine," the kid breathed, his voice thick with awe. "They call him the Weeping Saint."
'The Weeping Saint?' Ronan repeated, testing the name.
"Why is he crying?" I asked the kid, keeping my voice low.
"He cries for us," the kid explained earnestly, not taking his eyes off the Pontiff. "He feels the pain of the world so deeply it never stops hurting him. He's a hero. He saves people from themselves."
'Great,' I thought, sinking deeper into my cloak. 'A martyr with a fan club. Those are the worst kind.'
Vane walked to the centre of the room. He looked around at the hundreds of armed adventurers, his expression one of profound, agonising pity.
"My children," he whispered.
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried to every corner of the room, clear as a bell. It didn't sound threatening. It sounded heartbroken.
"I am so sorry to interrupt your rest," Vane said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I know how heavy your burdens are. I know how much you suffer in the dark, bleeding for copper and silver, terrified of the next corner."
He looked directly at a scarred veteran standing near the front. The veteran flinched, gripping his axe, but Vane just offered him a sad, watery smile.
"Why do we do it?" Vane asked the room, spreading his arms. "Why do we fight? Why do we hoard gold that will not save us? Why do we cling to names that will be forgotten?"
He took a step forward, his eyes scanning the crowd.
"It is because we are alone," he answered himself, a tear falling to the floor. "It is because of the Ego. The wall we build around our hearts that says 'I' am here, and 'You' are there. That separation is the source of all pain. Imagine... imagine a world where you never have to be afraid again. Where no mother mourns alone. Where no mistake is yours to bear, because we bear it together."
The room was dead silent. I looked around. The hardened mercenaries weren't reaching for their swords. Some of them were lowering their heads. I saw a woman near the bar wipe her eyes.
'He's good,' I thought, feeling a dangerous, creeping lethargy in my own limbs. 'He's selling peace to people who live in hell.'
'It's not peace, Murphy,' Ronan's voice cut through the fog, sharp and angry. 'It's death. This is standard Aureon dogma—the Unbinding. They believe in dissolving the soul into the Golden Chorus.'
'Chorus?'
'A hive mind,' Ronan spat. 'You don't die, you just... stop being you. You become a drop in his ocean. It's stagnation. A world without Ego is a world where no one strives, no one loves, no one grows. It is the silence of the grave.'
"I am not here to judge you," Vane continued softly. "I am here to find a lost soul. A poor, confused spirit that has been infected with a terrible affliction."
My heart hammered against my ribs. 'Infected,' I thought. 'He's talking about the clone. He thinks it's a disease.'
'He's looking for a signature,' Ronan analysed, fast and sharp. 'The clone ability itself isn't illegal—there are plenty of illusionists and summoners in the Guild. But he's not looking for the Art. He's looking for the feel of it. The specific thing he believes he saw in your clone.'
"We are looking for a resonance," Vane continued, clasping his hands together. "A unique signature of the soul. We will be conducting a simple audit. It is harmless to the faithful."
He gestured to the white-robed Silencers, who produced small, clear crystals from their sleeves.
"Line up," Vane commanded gently. "Touch the stone. If your soul is in balance, you may leave. If you are the one I seek... we will help you."
The room rippled with unease. A massive barbarian near the bar slammed his tankard down.
"I'm not touching your damn rock!" he roared. "I'm a registered Guild member! You have no jurisdiction here!"
Vane turned to look at him. He didn't get angry. He just looked even sadder.
"Jurisdiction is a wall we build to separate ourselves," Vane said, walking toward the barbarian. "It is just another form of Ego. Another way to say 'I' am separate from 'You'."
He reached out a hand. The barbarian swung a massive fist.
Vane didn't dodge. He just caught the fist in his open palm. There was a dull thump of flesh hitting flesh, but Vane didn't even sway. The barbarian's eyes went wide. He tried to pull back, but he couldn't move.
"So much anger," Vane whispered, tears flowing harder now. "So much fear."
Golden light flared from Vane's hand. The barbarian's eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped forward, unconscious, caught gently in Vane's arms. Vane lowered him to the floor like a sleeping child.
"Next," Vane said softly.
The room settled into a terrified rhythm. The Silencers moved down the lines of adventurers with the efficiency of factory workers grading fruit. They held out the crystals. The adventurers reached out, trembling, and touched the glass.
Hum.
A soft, steady green light would pulse from the centre of the crystal. The Silencer would nod, step aside, and the adventurer would hurry toward the door.
"See?" the kid next to me whispered, shuffling forward in the queue. "It's harmless. Just a check-up."
He stepped up to the nearest white-robe. He touched the stone with an eager, almost desperate enthusiasm. It glowed a brilliant, verdant green. Vane watched from the centre of the room, nodding approvingly.
"Green is the colour of harmony," Vane explained softly. "It means the Soul and the Self are friends. They walk together."
The line moved. A wealthy-looking merchant touched the stone. It flickered a sickly, pulsating yellow. The merchant yanked his hand back as if burned.
"Do not be afraid," Vane soothed. "Yellow is the colour of the Rising Wall. It means the Ego is whispering to you, telling you that you are more important than your brothers."
He waved the merchant to a separate holding area.
'Green is balance. Yellow is selfishness,' I thought, doing the math. 'What comes next?'
As if on cue, a mercenary near the front touched the stone. It flared a deep, angry orange.
"Orange," Vane whispered, and a fresh tear rolled down his cheek. "The Ego shouts. It demands. It has made a slave of the Soul." The Silencers instantly surrounded the mercenary and moved him to one side.
'And us?' I asked Ronan, tugging my hood lower so only my chin was visible. 'I've got two souls in here. Technically, isn't that the "Unity" this guy keeps weeping about?'
'Ideally, yes,' Ronan admitted. 'But the stone doesn't measure quantity, Murphy. It measures dominance.'
'Meaning?'
'Meaning it looks at what drives you.' Ronan's voice dropped, becoming fiercely protective. 'You and I know who you are, Murphy. You have a hero's heart. But that stone? It's a machine. It doesn't see your choices; it sees your history. It sees a consciousness that has spent a thousand years screaming one thing: I must survive.'
'So?'
'So it won't understand the context,' Ronan warned grimly. 'It won't see the man who evolved. It will only see the raw, unbridled instinct that kept you alive while the universe tried to crush you.'
'If Orange is a slave to the Ego...' I realised.
'Then you are Red,' Ronan finished. 'Pure, distilled Self-Preservation. It's a theoretical classification. They say it doesn't exist. If you touch that stone, you won't just fail the test. You will break their scale.'
My Danger Sense wasn't humming anymore. It was screaming. A high-pitched, dentist-drill whine in the base of my skull that meant Lethal Threat Imminent.
I looked around. The exits were barred. The windows were too high.
'We can't touch that stone,' I projected.
'Agreed,' Ronan replied. 'If it turns Red, you become a trophy. The ultimate sinner to be Unbound.'
The Silencer thrust the crystal closer to my chest. "Touch," a muffled voice commanded.
My mind drifted to the burlap sack I'd bought from the alchemist tucked in my inventory.
I kept my head bowed low. The hood of my cloak cast my face in total darkness. The Silencer standing in front of me could see the front of my wood badge, maybe my chin, but nothing else. He couldn't see the scar. He couldn't see my eyes.
"Touch," the Silencer repeated, impatient.
I looked past the white-robed figure. Pontiff Valentine was standing ten feet away. He was looking at the woman next to me. He didn't look at me.
And I had to keep it that way.
'I can't touch it,' I thought, my heart hammering. 'And I can't refuse.'
I took a breath.
'Fire in the hole.'
I didn't stand up. I didn't scream. I didn't give the Weeping Saint a face to remember.
I visualized the Inventory portal not as a single window, but as a suit of armour. I pictured the output apertures opening on every inch of my skin—my chest, my back, my arms, my legs—facing outward in every direction, but underneath my cloak.
'Release,' I commanded.
I shoved the flour out through the omnidirectional portals at maximum pressure.
PFWOOM.
There was no warning. One second, I was just a hooded figure in the crowd about to be tested; the next, I was the epicentre of a white detonation. Fifty pounds of fine-grain flour exploded outward from my body in a violent, pressurised sphere.
The cloak billowed out like a sail in a hurricane before being swallowed by the white-out. It happened faster than a blink. The massive white cloud expanded instantly, engulfing me, the table, the kid next to me, and the Silencer in a thick, opaque fog of particulate matter.
The stone never touched me.
"What is this?!" the Silencer shouted, coughing as the white dust filled the air.
"I CAN'T SEE!" someone screamed.
The cloud didn't stop. It rolled across the room like a living thing, expanding until it touched the open flames of the massive hearth ten feet away.
Science took the wheel.
BOOM.
The air inside the Guild Hall turned into a thermobaric weapon. The flour dust ignited all at once, creating a shockwave of expanding air and a flash of searing heat that ripped across the ceiling.
The explosion blew the windows out. The blast wave knocked the Silencers off their feet. Vane disappeared behind a wall of fire and smoke without ever realising who—or what—had caused it. The room dissolved into screaming chaos.
I didn't stick around to see the fallout.
Hidden deep inside the white-out, protected by the chaos I'd just birthed, I dropped to my knees. I slammed my hands blindly onto the wooden floorboards.
'Inventory!'
SCHLUCK.
One moment, I was kneeling on wood; the next, I was falling through the floor as I phased through the floorboards. Something I hadn't even known was possible up to this point.
I dropped.
Gravity yanked me down into the darkness of the wine cellar below. At this very moment, I realised that if it wasn't for the gravity pulling me through, I would have gotten stuck inside the floor. I made a very bold mental note not to try walking through walls, not unless I had a shit load of momentum behind me.
I fell ten feet, crashing hard onto a wooden rack of vintage reds. Wood splintered. Glass shattered. I hit the stone floor with a grunt, drenched in expensive wine that looked disturbingly like blood.
Above me, muffled by the wood, I could hear the roar of the riot.
I lay there for a second, gasping for air, smelling of smoke, burned flour, and Merlot.
'Did he see us?' I wheezed, wiping wine from my eyes.
'No,' Ronan confirmed. 'The dust cloud hit before the Silencer could confirm the test, and Vane was looking the other way. To them, the explosion just... happened.
'Good,' I groaned, scrambling to my feet towards the service exit.
I ran. I sprinted past barrels of ale and crates of dried meat, bursting through the door into the kitchens like a wine-soaked, flour-caked demon emerging from the dark.
I hit the back door, slamming the release bar.
Sunlight.
I stumbled out into the alleyway, the cool air hitting my face. I was out.
I grabbed the wooden rank badge pinned to my chest—the one with Jack O'Neill scrawled on it. Even though Vane hadn't seen my face, the Silencer had seen the badge. I couldn't risk keeping something they could magically track. I ripped it off, tossing it into a burning brazier near the back door.
The wood caught fire. The name turned to ash.
'We need to move,' Ronan urged. 'Vane isn't going to be stopped by a little fire. He'll secure the room, interrogate the clerk, and realise the "Murphy" anomaly has fled.'
'Where?' I panted, looking left and right. 'The Inn is burned. The gates will be closed.'
'Up,' Ronan said.
I followed his mental gaze. Towering over the city, piercing the smog, was the Azure Spire. The massive blue crystal at its peak hummed with a protective ward that even the Church couldn't breach.
'The Academy?' I asked.
'The Decree of Separation,' Ronan cited, his voice flooded with relief. 'Ancient law. The Church has no jurisdiction on Academy grounds without a warrant from the Emperor himself. It's a sanctuary.'
'School,' I muttered, starting to run toward the distant blue light. 'Great. I survived a thousand deaths just to go back to high school.'
'Not high school, Murphy,' Ronan corrected. 'It's a fortress. And right now, it's the only one that will have us.'