I stood before the ruins.

It was a heavy feeling to be here.

The last time I had been here had been to find my father's deteriorated corpse. It had been to be confronted by Joel. How long had it been? Months, I realized. The time had passed after all. That had been before the Falling Season, right after the Choosing.

A lone buzzard wheeled above me and the movement caught my eye. The sky was dark grey and stormy behind the huge bird. Charcoal streaks smeared against the lighter greys of the canvas. The wind plucked at straggling grasses at my feet. Within my suit I was impervious to it all, but the human part of me sought shelter from the stirrings of the storm.

I realized something else. I was not the same boy who had stood in this place those months ago. Just as much as that boy had been a stronger version of the lad who had entered the Arena so unsure, so fearful, I was something even that iteration of me hadn't been. I had led the Griidlords. I had won orbs and defeated other gods. I had nothing to fear on the surface of this planet… well, almost nothing.

I remembered the fear I had held of Montagnion when he surprised me in the basement. I had been fortified by my suit, encouraged by it, but he had scared me all the same. The next time we met, I knew that wouldn't be the way of it. Danefer had been strong, strong enough with his relics and strange powers to be able to best me. But that was when I was half the level I was now. For all I knew Montagnion had the same power or more. But I had fought back against Danefer. I might have been outmatched, but I was far from powerless against him. At the very least I could stand the same against Montagnion.

I looked down to my hand where the slip of paper was folded between my armored fingers. It was a nothing, a note arranging a rendezvous. I would leave it in the secret place that Joel had shown me, and see him again in a few months perhaps. I wanted nothing to do with him. But he was the holder of answers that I couldn't seem to convince myself I didn't need. He was the holder of the same name as my mother. He knew of more happening in the dark recesses of the world than I did. In a world where I was beholden to the voice, Enki, I craved the power that deeper knowledge would bring. I could live a small eternity within the suit. I didn't want for it to be a small eternity of slavehood.

I passed through the ruins towards the steps that descended to the basement. I looked at the dirt, the new growths of stubborn weeds, the shine of a fragment of metal. I tried to imagine, despite myself, that I could still see the bloodstains in the dirt.

As soon as I began to descend the steps, into the unnatural light that gently bathed the space, the sense of the storm was muted. I could feel nor see the effects of the wind any longer. The bleached light that filtered through the grey skies was replaced with the artificial lights that hummed here so far from an Order field. The space was exactly as it had been the last time. Well lit, dusty, littered with loose bricks and tumbled dirt, the same mound of garbage piled near those strange doors. And, as before, occupied by a cloaked figure.

I started at the sight of him, dancing back, my sword springing to my hand.

"How?" I heard my voice, more snarling than cowering.

Joel didn't move at all, unperturbed by my reaction, unworried by my blade.

I said, "You… you can't have been here since…"

It was too easy to imagine the lunatic living here, in the wastes, passing his time rambling to himself in these shadows. But no, I realized. There was no sign of sustained habitation here. No evidence of cooking or sleeping. As much a zombie as he seemed to be, I was sure he still functioned like a man.

I found steadiness to my voice. I even found the confidence to let my sword sink back to my waist. I said, "You've been spying on me. You knew I was coming to Dodge."

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Joel shrugged his shoulders. His cloak stirred with the action and it flashed the arsenal of arcane gear that clung to his body beneath it. He was at least as well equipped as Danefer was. Danefer had stood against Magneblade. He would have bested the lower-level version of me without Racquel's intervention. Joel might be as strong. He might be stronger. It was a dark thought to think there were beings as powerful as Griidlords moving in the shadowy parts of the world. Even if it was only two of them.

Joel said, "I wasn't spying on you. I have… agents who communicate with me. They keep me abreast of your movements. I knew… well, I hoped you'd visit this place when you came to Dodge and I hoped to speak with you again. Have you read the journal?"

I ignored his question. "You have agents? Who would work for you?"

Joel said, "Other like-minded individuals."

"Other suit-addled madmen?" I couldn't say where my sudden vehemence came from. It didn't seem to bother him.

Joel said, "You're only taking your first steps into the world behind the curtain, Tiberius. I'm not alone in my goals for the Griid. Danefer, sadly, is not alone either. There are others like me, who understand the way I do, who know what must be done. There are those who follow me in my path. Did you read the journal?"

Again, I ignored his question. "And what is it that must be done? What do you want to achieve? What is Danefer trying to achieve with his Green Men, with Buffalo, trying to kill me? What is the point of it?"

Joel shifted a little uncomfortably. "I… There's a reason I'm behaving this way. It's not just because of" — he tapped the side of his head, his eyes momentarily sad, apologetic — "not just because of what the suit did to me. I understand my mind's not the way it used to be. But yours is. You might have a long, long time before those effects begin. You've got a suit, you have a generational talent, you're inside Enki's plans… you could change everything."

He took a few steps toward me and I felt no urge to back away. He said, "Maybe it's because I know I can't entirely trust my own mind, or maybe it's because I want you to truly buy in… whatever the reason, I want you to come to the right conclusion yourself. That's why I'm not saying what I want, what my goal is. That's why I won't tell you the secrets. But I will tell you where to look. If you can find the evidence yourself then you can decide for yourself. If I'm wrong then you can find a better solution. If I'm right then you can come to me of your own free will."

I stared back at him. It hadn't been beyond me to pity him for his madness before. But the admission of it made me look at him anew. I tried to imagine what it must be like to be so committed to a cause, to a course of action, and not know if you could trust your own motives, your own mind…

He said, "Did you read the journals?"

I lied easily. I hadn't really — Katya had. I guess I had agents of my own. "Yes."

He raised an eyebrow. "And? Did you… come to any conclusions?"

I said, "I need more. More journals."

He said, "Claw won't give them to you without returning the other. He's trusting you, but there will be strict limits. The journals are precious, treasured to his clan."

I said, "When next I'm in Pittsburgh I'll get more."

Joel seemed to be restraining himself. I could see the desire. He wanted to question me further about my reading. He wanted to know what I thought. He wanted to guide my understanding, help bring me to that place of mutual understanding he so hoped for.

But he didn't.

Joel simply said, "Good. That's good."

I said, "Is that why you came here? To check my homework?"

He smiled weakly. "No… I wanted to suggest another project. Extra credit assignment." He smiled more broadly.

I waited.

He said, "Cleveland was destroyed by an Entropy Storm."

I said, "Yeah…"

He said, "I was there that day. Danefer too. The authorities were aware of us. They didn't have a tight track on us, I don't believe. But they were doing their best to record our movements, they were trying to pin us down, figure out what we were doing."

I said, "I don't know… that's interesting, I guess."

Joel said, "There would probably be records. An independent account. In fact, an account from a point of view quite opposed to mine."

I said, "This game of breadcrumbs is going to get old really fast."

Joel shrugged. "Maybe not. You might be surprised how quickly you become intrigued. I will see you again when you've read more journals and seen to Cleveland."

He turned to go. I hesitated, nearly let him go, then barked, "Wait."

He stopped and turned back to face me. He said nothing, but he arched an eyebrow. There was respect there, I could see it.

I spoke, my words unrehearsed and certainly unorganized. "I spoke to Harold… Harold is my butler… well, not butler, not anymore… I suppose he's my steward now… he's… he was friends with my father… he said something…"

Joel just watched with the same detachedness I was so used to.

I gathered myself and simply said, "He said my mother was a Montagnion!"

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