Creaking cart wheels rolled slowly down the road. The scent of pack animals and sweat in the air as a caravan trudged along in the hot sun. Slate sat in the back of one of the covered carts, uncomfortably upon a sack of flour, as he read a book. Equations are out of the question, they’re far too unlearned for that. So perhaps early arithmetic...Slate’s thoughts trailed off as he mused upon his current circumstances. Riding in a caravan wagon, for free, in exchange for teaching some of the children of the caravanners.

  He smiled and chuckled, These children don’t even know how excellent their education will be with my tutelage. A small head then popped around the corner of the caravan, startling Slate for a moment.

  "Whatcha doing Professor?" The young, blonde-haired boy asked.

  Slate put his book down and sat solemnly, putting on an expression of sternness and authority; "Preparing my next lesson of course, as you should always be preparing for your next steps in education, Matthew."

  Matthew pulled himself up into the back of the cart, "What are we going to learn tonight?" He asked.

  Slate was about to respond when a familiar voice echoed through his mind. Perhaps something about the body of a man? The best places to cut to see the blood flow, the voice taunted.

  I’m not going to teach the boy how to murder. He’s too young for that. Although an anatomy lesson would be helpful for learning how to patch up wounds, Slate thought back to his Passenger.

  You’re no fun anymore. What happened to the Slate I used to have such fun with?

  He’s changed. Now shut up.

  Hmmph, fine. But I’m always watching.

  "Professor? Is everything okay?" Matthew asked.

  Slate gripped his leg, hard, his nails digging in and bringing him out of his reverie. "Yes, Matthew. Just a flash of insight." He smiled, "We are going to learn how to patch up a wound tonight, and what causes it," he lectured.

  The boy smiled, "Oh cool! We get to see blood?"

  Slate frowned, "No, not unless someone is injured on the road today and wants to volunteer. I’ll simply show you how it’s done and explain the process behind it."

  The boy frowned in return as Slate chuckled and gave him a small pat on the back. "Go find Mary and bring her here. I can show you some spells to help pass the time," he said as he held up his index finger, a flame emitting from the tip. Matthew smiled and hopped out of the back of the caravan. Slate reclined back onto another sack of corn and took a coin out of his pocket, turning it over in his hand; the silver and gold glittering in the light above as he thought back to what brought him on this journey…

  The mines were cramped and stuffy as always. "Move the rotor...yes the spinny circle looking thing...yes! Over to the left!" Slate directed a work crew as they assembled his most recent device.

  "It seems impressive. What did you call this again?" asked a Spriten - a short race of child-sized humanoids with hair that was permanently on fire but did not burn - dressed in fine gentleman’s clothes, the orange flames licking out from under his dapper top hat.

  Slate turned around, his large cloak swishing behind him as he smiled, "Ah, Riddark, pleasure to see you. I call it an Excavator" he informed, extending his arms out to gesture to the work crew that was assembling the final component.

  "Excavator, eh? I hope it brings in some money. You know how Representative Hillshorn likes his extra profits," Riddark said.

  "It’s going to improve speed by over fifty percent! I even made this nice manual so that any supervisor can give it a look over and ensure that they are doing everything right. Follow the instructions and this invention should last at least five years without repairs" he said with a childlike glee, knocking a fist on the metal device.

  The workers moved away from the machine and to the sides as an imposing figure came down the stairs. A Tritar - another child-sized humanoid with hair that seemed to drip with condensation - in immaculate dress robes and carrying a staff approached the dead-end tunnel the Excavator was assembled at. "And I trust that this ‘invention’ as you call it will have a stellar test run?" he asked in quite a snobbish, posh voice.

  Slate smiled and nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, yes! This device should work perfectly provided the instructions are followed to the letter."

  Representative Hillshorn held his staff out to the side and waited a few seconds before clearing his throat as one of the nearby workers took it from him. The Representative approached Slate, "Alright then, upon seeing a successful test run, I’ll want to keep you on for a few weeks in case something breaks-"

  "Which it won’t," Slate interjected.

  "-and provided that it doesn’t break, we will pay out the full fee. Twenty thousand dreks as contracted" the representative declared, holding out a hand.

  Slate reached down and took the outstretched hand giving it a vigorous shake, "You’ll see! This is the way of the future - half the workers and fifty percent more production!"

  The Representative laughed heartily, "That’s the spirit! ‘Profit above all else’, as the old saying goes. Alright then, men, do what he says!" The Representative backed up a few feet from Slate and the Excavator.

  Slate pointed at two workers nearby. "I only need these two here right now. The rest can back away," he said. The rest of the workers retreated behind the Representative - afraid of the weird device made of metal with a massive claw and circular blade that looked like it could cut a horse in two. The two workers approached warily.

  "Names?" Slate asked, his mood changing drastically to that of someone who was used to commanding lesser folk.

  "I’m Priam" the stout Toskar said - a race of middling height with large beards, wiry hair, a frame well-suited to underground or indoor rigors, and of course their signature tusks protruding from their lower jawline.

  "Ritter" the other man, a young human lad - who must have recently come to his age of majority, replied.

  Slate nodded. "Okay, Priam, go to the front end. And you’ll see a blue lever. I want you to put a hand on it." Priam nodded and went to the front of the machine, near the circular blade, and placed a hand into the lever compartment. "And Ritter, climb up into that cage on top and take a seat." Ritter complied and clawed his way up there rapidly. Slate stood back a few feet before cupping his hands around his mouth, shouting "Ritter! Pull the green lever inside the compartment. It’s going to get loud but don’t panic!"

  Ritter gave a thumbs-up as he pulled the lever, and a loud roar was heard forcing everyone to cover their ears momentarily. Slate smiled, good thing it turned on or else this would be a poor show, he thought. "Alright then, Ritter, you are going to push the black lever forwards." He did so, and the blade-arm slowly moved forwards. "Now Priam, pull the blue lever to start the blade." Priam, having withdrawn his hand to cover his ears, pulled a lever in the device. A loud creaking noise was heard as the blade began to spin.

  Okay, still all according to plan. Slate started to sweat slightly and wiped away the perspiration. "Ritter, I want you to -" as Slate began to give the next set of orders, he felt a voice in his head he’d not heard for some time.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Oh, I do love these wonderful death machines you make every now and again. The voice whispered in Slate’s mind, causing him to shudder.

  No! You’re not going to ruin this for me, he thought to his Passenger, his body still frozen in place.

  Oh, but ruining life for you is fun. And since you’ve lost your taste for...accidents, I think I’ll take over for a bit.

  No! You can’t I won’t let- as Slate tried to push back the Passenger, he felt himself...or his consciousness, floating in an open space. He heard his own voice, but not controlled by him, gave a fateful order. He saw through his own eyes but could not interact with the world - a prisoner in his own body.

  "Ritter! Pull the black lever to your left!" his Passenger controlling his body, said.

  No! Slate tried to scream - but it was no use.

  Ritter followed instructions as he was told, and the machine swerved to the left, carving into Priam’s leg. He screamed in agony as the sharp, jagged blade meant to cut through rock tore away skin, flesh, bone, and completely ripped it away. He fell backwards, grasping at his ragged stump, howling in pain as blood gushed from the wound.

  Oh, that was fun! Enjoy cleaning up the mess. The voice cackled as it receded and Slate felt himself in control of his body, doubling over and vomiting. He jumped onto the machine and pulled Ritter from the black lever, turning the Excavator off.

  The workers standing behind rushed in to help Priam. Someone yelled out "Get a doctor!” and began to bind the wound.

  Slate felt hollow. All that progress... gone… he looked down from where he was at the prone, unconscious, and being carried away body of Priam. He felt some tears well-up but blinked them away, wiping with his sleeve. Damn it.

  "What was that!" Representative Hillshorn stomped up to the back of the Excavator and looked up at Slate with fury and malice in his eyes. "You hack! Your goddamn invention just maimed my worker! Guards!”

  Slate glowered at the man, letting all his anger at the situation erupt, "Your man did not pull out the safety shield! If he had followed my instructions, then…" he trailed off. I forgot about the safety shield. Damn it Slate, you planned for this...Time seemed to slow as Slate saw his future, his career as a genius inventor, disintegrating in front of him.

  "Guards! I want Guards right now!" The Representative jogged up the tunnel.

  Slate came back to himself as a small hand prodded his leg. "Professor, you fell asleep. C'mon, show us the spell!" A girl, Matthew’s fraternal twin, sat next to him holding her down-stuffed owl. Slate sat up and pocketed the coin. Matthew was looking through his book - an obvious look of confusion on his face - and Slate chuckled.

  "Okay, okay. I’ll show you some spell craft." He held up a hand and tapped into his newfound heat to create a miniature pyrotechnic display in the back of the covered cart; small explosions of viridian, silver, red, and blue filling the air. It was simple to him - not taxing at all. His mind wandered back to the few days prior when he met the strange mage with the hourglass who confronted him on his way out of the jail and to the edge of Highpass. Such a strange fellow, he thought.

  Very odd when random magi show up.

  Shush, you.

  After some time of showing off to the children, Slate ushered them out of the cart as it came to a stop for the evening. He assisted with setting up camp, acting as a foreman of sorts using his supreme intelligence to direct tasks like a conductor to their orchestra - every piece in its place, every part doing its proper job. Order and organization, as it should be. He thought with deep satisfaction.

  Oh, come now, order isn’t nearly as fun as causing some mayhem, his Passenger whispered.

  Slate ignored the voice and continued his work until evening set and the campfires were roaring.

  He gathered the children from the various caravanners and walked with them to the nearby river, teaching them as they walked about the various local plants and wildlife, the knowledge flooding his mind as soon as each species came into view - uses, growth cycles, amount of sunlight needed for photosynthesis - everything. It’s good to be a god, he thought with delight. Once they reached the river’s edge, Slate began his lesson for the evening, showing each child how to bind a basic wound using his own leg as a sample. They especially loved the part where they used his leg as a dummy to practice on. It filled him with such joy to see these bright young minds filled with a thirst for knowledge - It’s a shame it’s only for a few weeks. Maybe I should open a school somewhere. So many could be academics themselves with the right mentoring.

  As night fell, he escorted the children back to camp and retrieved his meal from the cook, bland porridge, and a hunk of stale travel bread. He sighed and went to the cart he was assigned to, sitting next to the fire, and staring up at the stars - the names of the different souls awaiting rebirth filling his mind as he looked from bright point to bright point. For in Heimfold, those who did not worship a specific god or who simply wished to return to the realm awaited their turn, to once more fall to the ground below and be reborn.

  But something caught his eye as he leaned back, finishing off the meal and setting the bowl aside. A large shadow crossed his field of view far above. A creature he had never seen before. But the knowledge of what it was filled his mind immediately. A dragon? Here? He stood up and followed the flight of the creature with his eyes as it swooped down to the ground behind an outcropping of rocks - strangely silent and without flapping its wings on the descent. Slate looked around but saw no guards nearby. I guess I should investigate then. I’m a god now, anyways. How much trouble could handling a dragon be? As he thought this, he was filled with knowledge of a dragon’s strengths, weaknesses, and tales of their cunning and might. Memories flooded his mind in an instant, some not his own. Large, scaled creatures that could decimate a whole army, vast hordes of treasure, breath that could ignite or freeze the air itself, depending on the breed. Right. They can do all of that. He slinked through the darkness towards the rocks, confident but wary as he swallowed the small lump in his throat.

  As he rounded the largest boulder, he saw two men standing there talking quietly. He strained to hear them and only made out a few sentences as they slowly approached.

  "That was pretty amazing, moving so fast from one location to the next in an instant, noiseless no less," the shorter but more well-dressed of the two said. A dark-haired human with glowing golden eyes.

  That’s the dragon, Slate thought, remembering a story of the creatures who could turn into any of the mortal races.

  "I’m happy you liked it! It wasn’t as impressive as clearing the breadth of the world in a day - but that was exhausting. We need to make you a saddle or something. Hanging on that long is murder on the arms." The taller of the two said; a Gori - the brutish race of warriors from the Krekyo Dominion. He was dressed in hunting leathers, the lacquered armor of his homelands, and was much slimmer than his race normally would be.

  Slate stepped out from behind the rock. "Okay you two, hands where I can see them!" He barked out, holding up his hand as heat pulsed within his chest and raced down his arm to his outstretched palm, an orb of fire several feet across springing to life and swirling in a contained inferno.

  The golden-eyed man put his hands up, but the Gori flashed with green light as a glowing bow appeared in his hand aimed at Slate. "Don’t try it. I’m a better shot than you are" the lightly armored figure said in reply.

  Slate raised his hand and the fireball rotated above his head, as the golden-eyed man ran in between the two of them. "No fighting!" He turned to Slate. Slate felt an odd tingling sensation in his torso as the draconic figure stepped between them and smiled. The figure spoke again, "I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to intrude or scare you. We are looking for someone," he said with an apologetic look.

  Slate grunted, "I’m sure you are. And who are you looking for then?"

  "A professor. Seen one?" the armored figure asked.

  Slate cut off the flow of heat as it drew back into him. "You found one."

  The bow vanished from the Gori’s hand as he visibly relaxed and walked forward, "Then you’re the person we’ve been looking for." He held out a hand. "I’m Isaac Grovesward. Pleased to meet you…?" He introduced himself with an inquisitive tone.

  Slate shook the outstretched hand. "I’m Professor Slate. And you are?" He asked, turning at the now visibly relieved golden-eyed man. He extended a hand as well to this other individual.

  "Vythin Goldenscales.” He shook hands as well.

  Slate stepped back and glanced at these two up and down. Words filled his mind, and he pointed at Isaac. "Projectiles, space, forest," he then pointed at Vythin, "Dragon, wealth, light."

  The two glanced at each other and then looked back at Slate. "How’d you know that?" Vythin asked.

  Slate smiled and pointed at himself with his thumb. "Knowledge, fire, and crafting," he said with a very confident tone.

  Isaac smiled. "God of knowledge, eh? Good. We could use some direction. All I was told was that someone would find me."

  Vythin nodded. "Yes, I was told to find someone in the Vaysha Rift - hence, Isaac. Then to find a ‘professor’ in a caravan between Highpass and Oceanside."

  Slate rubbed his chin with one hand, pondering. If they were sent to find me then...maybe they met Zohkah also.

  Oh, killing them would be quite a challenge, wouldn’t it? And imagine taking their Aether Shards and consuming them. You would become so much more powerful, his Passenger whispered.

  I don’t need you around right now. Slate thought back at the Passenger as it chuckled.

  He looked forward at the two other gods before him and smiled. "Well, why don’t we go to the campfire at least? We can discuss over a nice cup of tea and determine what comes next." He turned about, glancing back to see the two following, whispering to each other just quiet enough that he couldn’t make out any words except ‘trust’ and ‘caution’. He smiled as he took his seat near his firepit. They would be wise to be cautious about trusting me, he thought as the two sat on stools around the dancing red flames.