"Mm," Alarion agreed with a nod of his head.

His straightforward response shattered the tension between them and drew a sharp laugh from Sierra. Things were alright. He was alright. She could relax.

At least, until Alex warped in beside Alarion.

Steel was already in her hand, violence already primed in her nerves. Sierra took two quick steps, rearing for a downward thrust when Alarion awkwardly interposed himself.

"It's fine. He isn't a threat," the boy said, glancing over his shoulder to spit the Steelborn with a look that demanded his best behavior, "he's a friend."

That last word brought Sierra up cold. The girl looked at Alarion, eyebrows knitted together in consternation, then back at Alex. He was different at a glance from any of the Soulless she'd encountered, from the appearance of his body to the clothing he wore, but it was the way he held himself that allayed her fears. The Soulless were rigid and precise. They moved with sharp purpose, or they did not move at all. This one bobbed slightly in the air. It fidgeted and shifted as it waited for the conflict to resolve.

"Steelborn, not Soulless?" Sierra asked. Alarion nodded, and she tilted slightly to one side to look past him as she spoke her next words to Alex. "What is your name?"

"He doesn't speak Vitrian. Only Ashadi," Alarion explained before Alex's blank expression could irritate Sierra.

"Ugh," Sierra grumbled. The girl's eyes flickered briefly behind closed lids as she composed herself and asked again at a slow pace and with a terrible accent. <What is your name?>

<Alex.> The Steelborn answered warily.

<Just Alex?>

<Alex #12910-6, if you must know.> When Sierra gave him a look, he clarified. <Emulations don't keep familial names.>

Sierra frowned again and looked to Alarion for clarification—an unusual reversal.

"A different type of Steelborn, I think," the young man explained to the best of his ability. "Or maybe Systemborn? He told me he was human once, then they copied him. I was able to move him from one machine to another, then finally to this."

That didn't help Sierra's stern expression. "Sounds more like a type of Thoughtborn. But I have never heard of one being 'put into' a Steelborn."

"Does any of this seem normal?"

He had her there.

Sierra sighed, about to say something more, when she finally gave Alarion a more holistic look. They were both grimy and worse for wear from their various battles, but the dark patch of red on white on his abdomen was new from the last time she'd seen him. "You are hurt?"

Alarion opened his mouth to lie, a headstrong 'I'm fine' on the tip of his tongue. Life had taught him hard lessons about showing weakness, lessons not easily forgotten. "Yes. Badly."

Alarm registered on Sierra's face as Alarion shifted his arm to reveal the extent of his wound and dropped the pretense that he was not in pain. She reached out, gingerly inspecting the injury, then nodded. "I am guessing feedback from your resilience skill?"

"You have guessed correctly."

"That will not heal on its own. Not in any reasonable time frame. If the revenant betrays us, we are in even worse…" Her scowl deepened as she trailed off, her eyes focused solely on his. "… Alarion, what level are you?"

"Twenty-Two swordsman and twelve orphan." He replied after a glance at his Status to confirm.

"I'm sorry… what?" Sierra's hands splayed wide for emphasis. She'd heard him plainly, and the words matched what her skill told her, but he had to be lying. "You were only gone for a few hours!?"

The boy shrugged. "They were eventful?"

"Sit. Over there, in the shade," she gestured back toward where the tower blotted the late afternoon sun. "We may as well be comfortable while you catch me up to speed."

—

It took several hours, dozens of interruptions, and some assistance from Alex before they slaked Sierra's curiosity. The answer to every question gave birth to two more, each new concept leading into labyrinths of half-understood speculation. There were things they knew and things they did not, but Sierra seemed most concerned with the things they did not know that they did not know.

So much so that they returned to the tower that evening.

When the lockdown lifted, it returned the lift that had taken Alarion to the upper levels. With Alex's help, the three quickly ascended to the higher reaches of the tower. There, they located a room with a bed and left Alarion to rest while Sierra inspected the upper floors.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

It took two days for Sierra to be satisfied with her examination, though satisfied was the wrong word. Even with Alex's help, there was so much she could not comprehend, a frustration made all the worse by the emulation's fragmented memories. For every bit of insight he could provide, four others had slipped through his grasp. He could explain the existence of vast laboratories, but not their purpose. He was able to detail the nuances of their hydroponics division, but not the curiously unfamiliar plants that grew there.

The most critical questions were also the most elusive. Notably so. Anything about the original builders of the tower was missing from Alex's memory. He broadly knew why they'd built the spire, but not how or when. He could speak vaguely of the gods of his time, the ones he called 'The Three Together' that the revenant had also mentioned, but detailed memories escaped him.

By the end of their two days together, not even Alex believed his memory had merely fragmented over time. The damage was too precise. Someone had fractured his mind on purpose.

Ultimately, they were left with more questions than answers. A sad state of affairs, but one they could do nothing about. They had come to the spire with a purpose, and they had accomplished that purpose. It was time to leave.

Which was easier said than done.

Days of rest had done little to heal the worst of Alarion's injuries. He could walk well enough and pick up the pace if pressed, but that was the extent of his capabilities. Climbing anything more complicated than a ladder meant a twenty-minute wait while he recovered from internal agony. Jumping across even small gaps meant a running start that was equally impossible. Such issues, put together, meant that the sort of semi-direct route that had brought them to the tower in the first place was out of the question.

At least, until Alarion had reminded Sierra of his newest bit of equipment.

In reality, Alarion found the trip back to be positively boring. Sierra climbed and jumped, doubled back, and broke through walls for the sake of expediency while he sat comfortably in the shade. Then, every two hours, on the hour, she planted his greatsword in the dirt, stepped away from it, and waited for him to close the distance in a single flickering teleport.

It was utterly unfair. And remarkably effective.

It took Sierra and Alex a little more than a day to traverse back to the outer ring of the hidden city. It was only slightly after midday when they arrived at the door, and their last worry was assuaged. They wouldn't have trouble finding Lamesh.

He was waiting for them.

"You have outdone yourselves," it said without preamble. Its voice was as twisted as ever, each word spoken from between clenched teeth, every syllable strangled. It stood near the gateway, ledger and quill in hand, like some functionary ready to mark their passing. "The few others that agreed to try did not come back at all, let alone with more lives than they started."

<Is that him?> Alex asked, a quiver in his voice.

<My mother tongue.> Lamesh said with what passed for delight. <It has been too long since I have consumed it. Spoken it. You are an emulation, yes?>

Alex looked to Sierra and Alarion before he answered, <Yes.>

<I should like to vivisect y-> The revenant paused, pointedly looking away from the trio as it struck itself three times on the hip with a balled fist and growled. <Study you. But unfortunately, my condition does not allow it, and my geas does not bind me to your safety. I could not guarantee your survival. You should leave.>

Again, the trio exchanged looks. They nodded in unison and moved toward the gate, only to halt under Lamesh's withering stare and outstretched arm.

<No. You are meat made data made steel. If I cannot rend you, these butchers will not be allowed to either.> The revenant wrote something in his ledger and gestured further down the exterior of the outer wall. <The third door will be prepared for you. It opens beneath the city of Null. You will be less conspicuous there.>

"He's coming with us," Sierra said sternly.

"He is not yours to keep, Vitrian," Lamesh spat. "Not everything falls within your rigid jurisdiction. Not everyone is forced to abide by your hollow rules and twisted honesty. This place is not yours, it is mine. If the emulation wishes to leave, it will do so on my terms, or not at all."

Alarion stepped forward to protest, then stumbled back as he struck an invisible wall conjured with a single stroke of the revenant's quill.

<They will kill you.> The monster explained to Alex, ignoring Alarion as he scrambled to his feet. Its voice was positively manic as it spoke of violence. <And not quickly. They will interrogate you for months with word and magic and skill and blade until you are empty. Then they will carve you. Slowly, so as not to kill you. They will experiment for years before they let you die, and even that will be inevitable incompetence, not mercy. You are not Vitrian, you are not even human. You are nothing to them.>

It turned to Alarion then, a cruel grin touching the corners of its dead lips at the look on the young man's face.

<She did not tell you. But don't worry, she never lied about it,> said Lamesh with a wet laugh. <Vitrians are just a different sort of fiend. They kill and take and take and take until there is nothing left. We are just more direct in our viscer… in our vices. But this torments me. I cannot eviscerate you two, and do not wish to harm the emulation. I want you to leave. To return to my studies.>

<We aren't going without him,> Alarion steadfastly replied.

<Yes, you are.>

A few strokes of the pen were all it took. One instant, Alarion's feet were firmly on the ground, prepared for what would no doubt be a losing battle against a superior foe. The next, the gateway to the outside world swung wide, and Alarion's stomach fell toward it.

It was as though the world had turned on its axis.

He raced through that open doorway. Unprepared, Alarion could do nothing but flail wildly, scrambling for purchase as the ground rushed past beneath him. He clamored for the door frame as he fell through it, but by then, his momentum was such that all he accomplished was smashing his hand against the frame.

Then, traditional gravity reasserted itself.

Alarion hit the ground in an awkward roll only a few feet from Sierra. He was up and running within seconds despite his injuries, much to Lamesh's surprise. With forty feet between them, Alarion drew his weapon and readied for a throw as reality warped and distorted.

This, at least, was a familiar sensation. One thing that their trip through the city had taught Alarion was that teleportation was not instantaneous. The further the teleport, the longer the delay. A teleport of a considerable distance could take one to two seconds, during which he experienced a sort of… stretching. A feeling of his body elongating between its start and its destination, only to snap back into place the moment the teleport finished.

This teleport was by far the longest. Four uncomfortable seconds of transit, before Alarion and Sierra found themselves kneeling amidst the pre-prepared teleportation circles in the basement of the manor house.

Four seconds.

Just long enough for regret.

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