Ethan felt different when he woke up the next day. He made himself go to the window in his room and look out over the city, trying to see the brightness he’d been ignoring. It was easy to forget that people here lived good lives. They took care of each other, fought for one another, found love and joy.

  He’d been put into a terrible situation, and it just got worse. He wouldn’t lie to himself about that. But it had also gotten better in some ways. He’d found good people, and was forming real friendships. I’ve even found good monsters and a good demon, he thought, hand idly tracing the runes on his chest. Plus I’m a goddamned wizard who fights evil, that is absolutely awesome and I won’t let them ruin that.

  He wasn’t ‘cured’, he hadn’t faced the horrors he’d been forced–had chosen–to commit, but Tomo had helped him believe that he could face them. For now, he knew there were some very big questions he needed to answer. As if responding to that need, the little demon appeared next to him, sitting on the window sill.

  “It is a new day,” he said simply.

  “I should try to remember how lucky I am to have those,” Ethan said. “You know, back on Earth–it never gets less weird saying that–back on Earth, I loved life. I made mistakes, I lost people, my job wasn’t what I expected, but I never stopped loving being alive.”

  “My former master would say ‘Life is endless possibility, living is the pursuit of those possibilities.’”

  Ethan smiled. “I like that. I’ve felt that. I need to make sure I don’t lose sight of it again. This world is still remarkable. I’m in a goddamned walking city after all. I may be caught up in something frustrating and terrible, but I’m not powerless. I’m going to get through it.”

  Tomo looked at him. “How have you put this before? There is a but?”

  Ethan barked a laugh. “You’re right, I’m going to get through this–but–not the way I have been. Not as who I was, but as who I need to be.”

  “And who is that?” Tomo asked.

  Ethan sighed. “I can’t just be a smart mouthed little brother. Or a principled doctor.” His voice turned more serious. “But I can’t just be a killer either. My plans haven’t changed. I’m going to survive this place, and I’m going to get powerful enough that I can’t be anyone’s pawn, but I need to…well I need to evolve, to suit this new world.”

  Tomo brightened at that. “Evolution is good. Evolution brings power, and control. This is a wise path.”

  “I thought that might get you on board,” he said with a smile. “So, new day, same goals. I still need to live through this duel one way or another–that one’s very much in progress, but I have about five weeks left. Then we need to focus on the Tournament.”

  “You are certain that the Tournament is still a worthy endeavor?” Tomo asked.

  Ethan nodded. “If it was nothing but a longshot to hurt the Church, then no. But I’ve been speaking to other Hunters about the Forgotten City, and it truly is full of powerful objects. Almost anyone who goes in seems to come out with some sort of ancient treasure. That may even be why the Church is so desperate to get in there.”

  He shook his head. “Regardless, between the chance for more power, keeping the Church from suspecting our true motives, and possibly even screwing them over at the same time, I think it’s the best use of my time. Besides, building a team that can face higher ranked monsters is exactly what I need to keep pushing my abilities forward.”

  “You left something out. What of the men who attacked you? It’s likely that staying in the Brightsouls will draw them to you.”

  Ethan nodded. “I’m counting on it, Tomo. I searched them, and the only clue I found was the weapons themselves. Nothing to explain where those people came from, or how they got their hands on Earth technology. Running into them again is my only hope for a lead–unless I somehow trace the weapons. Absolutely no clue how to start that, though.”

  “Then luring them in is the right plan, just make certain you are the ambusher in the future,” the demon cautioned.

  Ethan nodded, then stretched. It was still early, and Valanor was out this morning. He looked at the open space in the centre of the room, considering. Tomo surprised him when he spoke again. “What of the Chosen?” he asked.

  Ethan sighed. “One more thing I don’t have a handle on. Lathander wasn’t particularly helpful. The Chosen are somehow tied to the rifts, and divided on how to handle them. Killing each other, divided. I can’t imagine why though, but he said it would somehow become clear as I became more powerful. Still, right now anonymity is likely my best option.”

  “The documents you found aboard the Dunebreaker seem to support this,” Tomo agreed. “More Chosen dying. Lathander said you might even have made him an enemy if you declared your allegiance.”

  Ethan moved to sit on the scratchy rug between his bed and window. “Like I said, I don’t know how to begin figuring that one out. For now, there’s something else I need to do.”

  “You are going to commune?” Tomo said in surprise. “You haven’t since…”

  “Since the cell,” Ethan confirmed. “The prospect of doing so has been disturbing, to say the least. And I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to risk communing with you again yet.”

  “Wise. I am not ready either.”

  Ethan smiled. “We’ll get there. For now though, meditation is helpful–and I need to use every tool I have if I’m really trying to get better. I’ve seen how much relying on you guys can help me, I shouldn’t be wasting that support.”

  He closed his eyes, sending his senses inward, and enjoying how easy it was compared to when the runes were locked. Immediately his three Familiars were like bright stars within him, one the color of flames, the other the blue-white of dimensional energy, and finally Tomo, somewhere between red and pink. Surprisingly, he felt a tug from Revan, as if the Familiar was asking to go first.

  Not understanding why, Ethan acquiesced, curious what the Guardian Beast wanted to show him.

  ***

  Ethan was someone else. He’d experienced this before, but had always been either too disconnected, or too deeply into the vision. Previously he’d been taken over by whomever he was inhabiting, whether it was Revan himself, or one of his former masters. This time, Ethan retained a sense of self. He was still in someone else’s mind and body, but he was more like a conscious observer.

  He was a man, or maybe closer to a boy, and he was in a training room that felt familiar. He held a training sword in two hands, facing a much larger opponent who looked disappointed, even though the match had yet to begin. The large man charged suddenly, swinging his own blade with terrifying force.

  Ethan struggled to block, barely getting his sword up in time as he hastily backed away from his furious attacker. The strikes came faster and faster, and Ethan couldn’t keep up. His arms were too weak, his skill not nearly enough, and the man just kept coming. Eventually his opponent’s sword got through, the blunt wooden tip driving into Ethan’s stomach, and knocking the wind from him.

  He fell to the sand, unable to draw breath. The man looked down at him, his disappointment justified, and his expression bordering on disgust. Ethan looked over at his little brother, watching from the sidelines. Serious, always so serious, but he saw the worry and compassion in those eyes, even when others missed it.

  An elven woman walked in a moment later, just as Ethan managed to finally pull in a breath. “Roth? What is this?” Ethan’s mother came rushing over to him, concern in her eyes as she helped him off the floor. She turned a furious gaze onto his father. “Again, husband?”

  “This is how I was trained, Marilla. This is how all princes of Viridus are trained!”

  “He’s only twelve, you miserable brute! Twilight strength knocking away his sword isn’t training!”

  His father rolled his eyes. “You actually think I’d use my real power against our child?”

  “Well you’ll need it against me,” she said defiantly, then snatched Ethan’s sword and rounded on her husband. He laughed, but swallowed the sound a moment later as the agile elven woman demonstrated her own prowess in a hypnotic and effective series of strikes.

  His parents were soon laughing as they traded blows around the arena. Cal ran over to him then, speaking in his customary whisper. “Are you alright, Kent?” He turned an impressive glare on their father for a seven year old.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “I’m okay Cal, just got the wind knocked out of me,” Ethan replied.

  “You still aren’t moving right,” Cal asserted with an enviable amount of authority. “Look at mother; you need to flow with each attack. Especially against a stronger opponent, you can’t just block, you need to reposition, deflect.”

  Ethan laughed. “I’m doing my best, Cal. You’re the one who inherited mother’s skill, I’m just a slower, weaker version of father.” Calevaro’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t accept that of course. Not only did the small boy seem incapable of giving up, but he was also too young to understand how different people could be–he genuinely thought Kent should be able to move like their Elven mother, despite his human blood being so clearly dominant.

  Their parents were still sparring and laughing when Ellie came in, wearing her yellow dress this time, and with her typical retinue. There were two noble girls on each side, and Cal smiled slightly when he saw how they were organized. “We tied this time,” he declared, and Ethan laughed.

  “I didn’t think Julie had the courage,” Ethan replied. Ellie was always playing her games. Her favourite was seeing which of her ‘friends’ she could turn against the others. She’d made it clear some time ago that the order by which she arranged her followers was determined by who among them held her favour. Combined with a few careful comments here and there, this resulted in the eight or so people in his sister’s group continually fighting and betraying one another for the best spots.

  For a ten year old, this system was absolutely terrifying. Ethan hoped she’d outgrow it, but knew that she’d heard far too many of Grandfather’s stories. She believed him when he said that kingdoms were won by the sword, and kept through guile and intrigue. Ethan wished she would find better role models.

  “Father,” she said, practicing her imperious tone. “The Innevaro’s representatives are here to see you. Please don’t show up sweating and in training clothes. We must present a proper royal image.”

  Ethan’s parents stopped sparring and shared a look at that, then laughed again. “Daughter, I am the king. Any image I choose to show is the royal image. Old man Innevarro would do well to remember that.” Ellie’s face turned red at that, and she stormed out of the training room.

  Ethan couldn’t help but smile. It had been a good day.

  ***

  His father knocked his training sword from his hand, then swept in to strike at his midsection. Ethan didn’t allow it, turning and taking the blow on his left arm, but that just enraged his father more. The training sword came down on him again and again, until Ethan fell to his knees. He raised a hand in surrender, but his father didn’t stop.

  Ethan tasted sand in his mouth as he collapsed to the floor. He managed to roll over, only for his eyes to widen as he saw his father raise the sword above him in two hands, striking down with fury in his eyes. The blow never landed, the blade of his father’s wooden sword falling harmlessly next to Ethan, expertly sliced in half.

  “He yields, father,” Calevaro’s eternally calm voice whispered. The thirteen year old slowly sheathed his very real sword, subtly stepping between the two men as he did so. His father looked from his broken training sword to his sons, and the anger slowly left his eyes. He turned away, throwing the useless hilt as he did so.

  Cal helped Ethan up, and they both looked to the training room door, though they knew their mother wouldn’t be stepping through. It had been three years now since she’d died, yet somehow their father seemed to grieve anew each day. He…he was getting worse.

  His father said nothing as he stormed out of the room, and Ethan let out a relieved sigh. Their ‘training’ had been little more than beatings these last months. Thankfully he sent in Valanor, who watched the king leave with concern, before turning back to the princes.

  “Your father asks that I continue your training, Prince Kentevaro. Are you…” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Do you still feel like training, my prince?”

  Ethan smiled sadly, then retrieved his sword. “I’m ready, First Shield. Do your worst.”

  Valanor grinned back, then picked up another training sword, as Cal stepped back, crossing his arms. The shield knight walked back into the ring of sand, then smirked. “How about I fight left-handed, to keep it even?”

  “I don’t care what excuse you give yourself for losing,” Kent said back, then charged at his mentor.

  It had been a good day.

  ***

  Ethan raised a hand, and the knights obediently ceased their attacks. Valanor risked turning away from the battle in order to stare at him. Despite the helmet, Ethan could feel the man’s anger and utter disbelief, but this was Ethan’s Great Hunt, and he wouldn’t let it end like this.

  As he walked slowly forward, his footsteps echoed through a cave lit only by fires from the battle. Wary growls sounded from his prey as he moved forward, sheathing his sword. He heard Val call his name in anger, but he was a good knight, and he would follow orders.

  Ethan kept walking, the great beast that was Flagras looking down at him with suspicion and hate. Still Ethan approached, carefully removing his helmet as he did so. He held his arms wide, showing that he was no threat–not that Flagras would ever have seen him as one, not alone.

  The beast snarled again, but didn’t move. Was it judging him? Measuring him somehow? Would it find him wanting, as Ethan’s father did? It didn’t matter anymore. Ethan would leave this cave or not, he’d accepted his fate.

  Surprisingly, Flagras allowed him to get within a few strides, the massive horned head tilted down to stare at him, teeth bared. The red mane flowed around the beast like a halo of fire, and tails snapped at the air, sending sparks. Ethan…Ethan smiled.

  “I’m supposed to Bond with you,” he said quietly. “It’s ‘my destiny’ to be a Chosen, or so I’ve been told all my life. Nearly as much as I’ve been told that I’m a failure. In truth, I don’t really know anymore. But who better to judge than you, ancient one?”

  He slowly raised a hand up between them, not quite reaching out yet. “I don’t believe I deserve your power. But I also don’t know who does. They all say it should be my brother, when they don’t think I can hear. But I’ve read the histories. You’ve been Bonded to countless Chosen over the centuries…some of them true monsters.”

  He took a careful step forward, hand still in front of him. Flagras growled, deep in its massive chest. “They stole your Bond. I know this, and I refuse to do that. I refuse to enslave you to someone unworthy. So you decide. My Bond or my life. For once I’d like to know what either is actually worth.”

  With that he closed his eyes, and took a final step forward, hand palm forward. He waited, feeling the hot breath of the enormous beast washing over him. Heartbeats tracked the time, and growls echoed through the cave. Finally he felt soft fur beneath his hand, and slowly opened his eyes, seeing the bowed head before him.

  He felt tears in his eyes, and a tugging at his soul. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes I accept this True Bond.”

  ***

  Arinae was exactly as Ethan remembered it. Sure, the last time he’d been here it was on an airship and he’d only flown over the desert, but the endless sand and dunes seemed to have been frozen in time since he’d been here so many years ago. He stepped up higher on the rocky outcropping, one of the only decent camping spots they’d found in the weeks since leaving Viridus, and just looked out, enjoying the moonlit view.

  It was hard to believe they’d finally made it. The push to stay and enter the Grand Tournament had been so strong, but none of them understood what he did. Ethan already spent too many years in his quiet kingdom, traveling from village to village, helping whoever they could. In truth, he may have spent another ten or more doing the same, content with the freedom his growing power had brought.

  But then he’d heard the summons, and things had changed. As he felt himself leaving Dusk rank behind, the odd thrumming in his chest had grown stronger, until communing with Flagras had finally revealed its true purpose.

  The world needed him.

  The world needed Chosen, now more than ever. The rifts were here, and appearing more and more quickly. Someday the Church’s Hunters wouldn’t be able to keep up; the Chosen needed to step in. Why hadn’t they? What were they waiting for?

  An odd sound, like a gurgle caught his attention, and Ethan turned back to the camp. Jack had first watch and Mira was cooking, maybe she’d–he stopped short as he moved around his tent, and the fire came into view.

  Mira was there, fallen backward with her eyes gazing up at the stars, a glistening blade through her chest. The sword looked like it was made of energy, red and pink swirling around each other like eddies in a pond. The person holding it was dressed in a long black robe, but wearing a white mask.

  It was a Chosen, Ethan could feel it. The same pull that connected him to the world reached out to this person–this murderer. The face turned, the white mask tilting as it examined him. The only ornamentation on it was three horizontal black lines, making up two eyes and a mouth. The figure began walking toward him, Mira sliding lifeless of the unusual blade.

  “Attack!” Jack called, as a hail of arrows slammed into the figure over and over. Fire, ice, and electricity erupted as Jack’s power went to work, only for the cloak to suddenly fall empty to the ground. There was another pained gurgle a heartbeat later, and Ethan turned to see the blade erupting from the Archer’s chest. The figure was behind him, unharmed.

  The Chosen tossed Jack aside like refuse, then began stalking toward Ethan once more. He felt Flagras inside him, begging to be let out to face this monster, but Ethan knew what was coming. Instead he prepared for another move, his spirit gathering every drop of power it could.

  Valanor was there suddenly, his armor bursting to life around him as his enormous shield slammed into the ground like a barricade. Spikes formed on it, and frost began leaking out in every direction. “Run, Kent! Please!” the shield knight called, knowing just as well as Ethan what was coming.

  Ethan didn’t move, he was lost in concentration, still gathering his power for what needed to be done. Besides, you don’t outrun a Champion rank Chosen. You simply hope to die well.

  Valanor hurled his warhammer forward, but it was nothing to the dark figure. The terrible blade struck out once again, tossing the massive shield knight aside. Oddly he didn’t die like the others, the great shield having deflected the blow just enough. Instead he lay on the other side of the camp, screaming in agony and anguish.

  Then the other Chosen was right in front of Ethan, blade held to one side. “You made the wrong choice,” an unidentifiable voice whispered from behind the mask. “You stand with those who will bring our world to ruin.”

  Ethan didn’t expect those words, and almost lost his concentration. “You’re wrong!” he said, not hiding his confusion. “I want to close the rifts! Maybe we can even stop them entirely! We’re on the same side, you didn’t need to do this!”

  The head slowly shook, and Ethan felt his death approaching. “You are young and foolish, and choose your allies poorly. You don’t even understand the choice you’ve made.” The voice raised in volume, becoming passionate. “The rifts must be. They are natural. They are our future!” The figure raised the sword, which quivered slightly.

  “You hold us back from our destiny, False Chosen! You hold back the True Gods!” The figure began to move, poised to strike. But Ethan struck first.

  His Spirit turned all his power back on him, back on his Bond. He felt a pain beyond the physical, beyond imagining as he sawed through a piece of his own soul. He collapsed to the ground as the blade swung over him, the pain not even allowing him to scream. But he knew he’d done it, as he felt the last of the Bond tear fr–

  Flagras was free, his connection to his master…his friend was gone, leaving behind only pain, and the echo of words it couldn’t understand.

  You hold back the True Gods.