To his credit, Alarion restrained his urge to sprint across the compound in favor of a brisk power walk. He smelled the building before he reached it, a mixture of steam, soap, and industrial detergent. It smelled clean.

The bathhouse was simple but well-kept. Built of white stone in the local Ashadi style, it consisted of a squat hemispherical building with two hallways jutting off the side, each dotted with alcoves along their length. The main room was dim, illuminated only by a string of small lights attached to the ceiling, their luminescence lost in the dull grey of the rough slate floor.

As he took in the inviting sight, Alarion's gaze fell on an older Ashadi woman scrubbing the floor with swift efficiency. Her silver hair sat in a tight bun high on her head, and her deep-set eyes glowered in his direction like he'd committed a heinous sin.

"Mothers preserve!" she swore. "Are you blind, boy?!"

Alarion's cheeks flushed as he glanced down and saw the trail of dirty prints leading back the way he came.

"Sorry," he muttered, bending down to unlace his sandals before they could cause more trouble. His feet were only marginally cleaner, so he took a cautious leap onto a dirty part of the floor to minimize further damage to her work. "I can clean it up?"

"Soldiers, you'd think they could teach you to wield some manners along with a sword," the woman complained. When he reached for the mop, she quickly swatted his hand away. "You'll only make it worse. Everything you need will be waiting in the stall. Left side. Left, you understand me, boy?"

"Yes, madam," Alarion answered with sharp military precision.

"Hmph," she grunted. She resumed her mopping as Alarion moved toward the left wing, then abruptly spoke again. "Your uniform, what size is it?"

Alarion paused in his stride and looked back over one shoulder. "Small."

"Hmm. I don't think so." was her only reply.

Alarion stepped cautiously down the narrow hallway, watching for any recently mopped floors as the scent of steam and soap thickened with each stride. He passed by a series of curtained-off doorways, each leading to a small bathing alcove, each occupied. Some were silent, while splashing, singing, and even a quiet giggle could be heard from others.

He made sure to put extra distance between himself and that last one.

Finally, he reached an unoccupied nook and slipped inside. A tall circular wooden tub filled with steaming water took up almost the entire space, with a small ledge around the room piled high with soaps, towels, and bathing implements. The water carried the same chemical-scented tang that he'd smelled from outside, noticeably stronger up close, but he didn't care as he quickly undressed and slipped into its warm embrace.

He closed his eyes for minutes or hours, lounging in an ocean of tranquility. Muscles he wasn't even aware of relaxed as he sat there, his nose barely above the waterline. Life could still be good. Even with all the trials and tribulations, moments like these were a critical reminder that even the worst would pass.

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It was a pity they could never last. Much as he wanted to, he could not avoid the conversation that was coming.

"Kotone," he whispered as he bobbed back to the surface. "ZEKE, please."

"Yes, miss! Yes, miss!" his familiar announced as it materialized with a foot-long piece of thin, iridescent metal. It dropped the item into Alarion's waiting grasp and then disappeared with a pop of displaced air.

Alarion slapped the metal against his wrist, and it snapped snugly around, its size altering to accommodate his wrist. There was little sign of the damage the Duke had caused so many years ago, just a few hair-thin cracks around the center of his wrist near an elegant inlay of quartz.

"Are you going to say anything or not?" Alarion asked.

"What is there to say, young master?" ZEKE replied in his rich baritone. A small image of the Steelborn flickered into being, just above Alarion's right wrist on the pool's edge. Though no longer constrained to a physical form, Alarion's once mentor seemed to prefer his old shape and voice over any of the myriad others he had tried in the intervening years. Especially when it came time to rebuke Alarion. "Scolding you for behavior you won't change is definitionally insane."

"I could not just stand there!"

"You could have, in fact, just stood there," the machine rebutted. "I understand your refusal to disperse the crowd, however unwise, but at the bare minimum, you could have not punched an officer in the face."

The reminder brought the ghost of a smile to Alarion's lips, and ZEKE sighed audibly as his virtual form paced along the edge of the tub.

"I trust it worked out in the end? This does not look like the gallows."

Alarion spent the next few minutes bringing ZEKE up to speed on the day's events. Though the machine had access to all five senses through the bracelet, items stored by Kotone existed in stasis, entirely disconnected from the outside world. Alarion had stored the bracelet three days earlier to avoid its theft, but only an instant had passed for ZEKE.

The machine didn't like being stored. While ZEKE had initially been quite entranced with the functions of his new 'body', such as the sense of taste and smell, that excitement had eventually given way to anxiety. He was a passenger every time Alarion went into battle, with no guarantee of death or recovery, should the boy fall. But somehow that fear paled compared to the idea of being stored in perpetuity.

It was why the Steelborn was more testy than usual. They both knew ZEKE had to be concealed; he was riding priceless ancient technology and was a corroborating witness to the Trinity Massacre, as Ruin's attack on the Manor Isle had come to be called. Either could be cause for someone to steal or destroy him. As far as the outside world was concerned, ZEKE was dead, and Alarion's bracelet was a bit of odd fashion, no different from his scarf. It had to stay that way.

"You are lucky to have walked away with your head, young master. Let alone a mere six-month extension."

"I know," Alarion said. He meant it, too. For all his nonchalance during his time in captivity, deep down, Alarion had known that he'd overstepped. Ruin's patronage was a powerful shield, but even it had its limits. "Will the extension be a problem?"

The floating avatar of ZEKE shook its head. "No. The architecture collapse is still years away, at my current estimates. Provided no more damage is done to the bracelet, I will survive even your extended term of service. And though I am loath to say it, storage remains an option if the timetable moves up."

"Good," Alarion said with a note of relief. "That is good."

"I am still annoyed."

"I thought you would be," Alarion chuckled, tension draining out of him into the still steaming bath water. "You still have my word. I will get you to Null."

"That, I never doubted," ZEKE's tone softened as his image settled down at the tub's edge, transparent feet flickering as they kicked through the water. They sat in silence with one another for over a minute before the Steelborn spoke again. "Alarion?"

"Mm?"

"I think I would have hit him, too."

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