Rimelion: The Exploiter

Roberto’s car purred through the morning traffic with surprising restraint, weaving between AI-driven vehicles that moved in their predictable, optimized patterns.

“You know,” Roberto said, glancing at us, “not that long ago I drove you here as a Tüber driver. Simple guest going to meet the scary Riker man.” He grinned. “Now look at you. Queen. Times move fast, sì?”

I shifted slightly, Lola still settled on my lap, her tablet out but untouched. “Too fast,” I muttered.

“Not fast enough,” Lola countered quietly, and I felt her lean back just slightly against me.

Roberto laughed. “Ah, see? You two, always the balance! Perfetto!”

The tower loomed ahead, its exterior reflecting the morning sky like a mirror to another world. Roberto pulled up to the VIP entrance with a flourish that suggested he’d been racing even before he was a legal age to drive.

Before we could even knock on the door, one guard stepped forward. I blinked because he looked like the same ones from my first visit, broad-shouldered and tall. He recognized me instantly, his face changing from “I see everything” to something approaching alarm.

“Miss Charlie,” he said, already pulling out his comm. “We weren’t expecting you for another—” he checked his device, “—thirty-seven minutes.”

“Early is the new on-time,” I said, letting Lola step out first. She smiled, sliding out of the car with far more grace than the situation probably called for, then instantly turned to me with a look that could have withered plants. “Lady, as I said, it’s rude to arrive early. Especially this early.”

“I’m stressed and I want to get it over with,” I said flatly. “Sue me.”

The guard was already speaking into his comm. “Sir, yes, sir. Both of them. Understood.” He lowered the device and gestured toward the entrance. “Mr. Riker requests you take the private elevator directly to the Penthouse Garden. He’s... making final preparations.”

“Top VIP treatment!” Roberto called out from the car window, grinning. “Vai, Charlie bella! Make me proud!”

I waved at him as the guards ushered us inside.

This elevator was different from the room elevator I rode previously; all black marble and gold accents, with a holographic display that showed our ascent floor by floor. Lola stood beside me, arms crossed, radiating disapproval.

“We’re being rude,” she said.

“We’re being productive,” I corrected.

“That’s not how social etiquette works.”

“Then social etiquette needs to update its protocols,” I said, watching the floors tick by. “Besides, Riker loves drama. This is dramatic.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it and just sighed. “You’re impossible.”

“You keep saying that,” I pointed out. “Yet you’re still here.”

Her cheeks colored slightly, and she looked away. “Someone has to keep you from completely embarrassing yourself.”

“My hero,” I said with a grin.

The elevator chimed softly, and the doors slid open to reveal a garden.

A full garden, enclosed in a massive glass dome. Rare plants I didn’t even have names for clustered in carefully arranged beds, their leaves shimmering with what might have been dew or mini holo-projectors. The air smelled like earth and growing things, with an undercurrent of something floral and expensive.

Beyond the glass, the city sprawled in every direction, a sea of buildings and life.

At the far end, near tables that were clearly being set up for brunch, Riker stood directing assistants as if every napkin fold mattered.

He looked up when we entered, and for just a moment, genuine surprise crossed his face.

Then he laughed. His usual theatrical sound that filled the entire dome.

“Charlie!” He waved off his assistants, who disappeared through a side door. “And Lola! Welcome, welcome!” He strode toward us, this rainbow-patterned coat somehow even more elaborate than usual, catching the light from the dome above. “You’re early. Very early.”

“Stressed,” I said bluntly.

“And she refused to wait in the car,” Lola added, shooting me another look.

Riker’s grin widened. “How delightfully on-brand for both of you.” He gestured around the garden. “I was just ensuring everything was perfect. The other guests won’t arrive for another half hour, but since you’re here...” He spread his arms. “Welcome to my penthouse garden. What do you think?”

I turned slowly, taking it in. The glass dome, the rare plants, the view that made you feel like you were standing on top of the world. “It’s... a lot,” I said finally.

“It’s a statement,” Riker corrected smoothly. He walked toward the edge of the dome, gesturing for us to follow. “You’ve seen the other floors, of course. The public spaces, the entertainment, the spectacle.” He paused at the glass, looking out over the city. “But this? This is for people who understand power.”

I stiffened slightly. “I don’t like power.”

“Don’t you?” He turned to look at me, that knowing smile playing at his lips. “Then why did you take the city?”

I opened my mouth. Beside me, Lola cleared her throat delicately. “He has a point, Lady.”

I shot her a betrayed look. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” she said calmly. “Which is why I’m agreeing with him.”

Riker laughed again, clearly delighted. “Oh, I like her even more now.” He gestured toward the table, which was now fully set with gleaming silverware and crystal glasses that probably cost more than my first apartment. “Come. Sit. We have much to discuss, and I have a feeling this brunch is going to be far more interesting than I anticipated.”

I glanced at Lola, who gave me a small nod.

Together, we walked toward the table.

I sat down in the chair Riker showed, Lola settling beside me with a grace. “Have you trained sitting?” I whispered into her ear.

Her face turned a bit rosier, and she shook her head. “Whispering in front of a host is also considered rude.”

Riker took his own seat across from us, that theatrical smile still playing at his lips. “Lola is right,” I said, leaning toward him. “What do you want?”

The smile widened into genuine amusement. He leaned back in his chair, one hand coming up to rest against his chest like I’d just delivered the opening line to his favorite play. “Oh, Charlie. My dear, brilliant, utterly unpolished Charlie.” He laughed, that full-throated sound that somehow managed to be both mocking and fond. “That is not how this works.”

“Why not?” I pressed. “You invited me here. You said we needed to discuss things about my kingdom. So let’s discuss them.”

Beside me, Lola’s hand found my arm, squeezing gently, and knowing her, it should be a warning.

I ignored it.

“I’m a busy person,” I continued. “I have a dungeon to clear, crops to save, an entire city that’s probably on fire somewhere—”

“Lady,” Lola whispered urgently, leaning closer. “You’re talking to THE Riker.”

“I know who I’m talking to,” I whispered back. “Besides, you said whispering is rude.”

“Then act like it,” she hissed, her professional mask cracking slightly with irritation.

Riker watched this exchange with the expression of someone watching an entertaining bar fight. When we both turned back to him, he simply smiled and raised one hand in a placating gesture.

“Your assistant is quite right, you know,” he said smoothly. “But I find your directness... refreshing.” He nodded to someone I hadn’t noticed standing near the side entrance, another assistant, this one carrying a tray with three tall glasses filled with something that looked like liquid fire.

“Lisa would like it,” I whispered, but Lola ignored me.

The assistant set them down, each glass garnished with a fresh peach slice and what looked like actual gold leaf floating on top.

“The Peachwood Spritz,” Riker announced with a twist of his hand. Then, with a slight glance at Lola and a sly smile, he added, “Or, as your assistant so helpfully pointed out, you might prefer—Peach Whiskey Iced Tea.”

I turned to glare at Lola.

She was suddenly fascinated by her glass, studying it as if it contained all the secrets of our kingdom. Her cheeks had gone even pinker. “Lately I...” I started, then paused, realizing how defensive I sounded. “I like tea flavors.”

“Naturally,” Riker said, his tone suggesting he found this information absolutely delightful.

I picked up the glass, the condensation cool against my fingers, and took a sip.

Oh.

It was good. Great. The peach flavor wasn’t artificial; that was obvious. Expensive for sure, and also subtle, sophisticated, balanced perfectly with the whiskey’s warmth and the tea’s slight bitterness. There was something else too, some kind of herbal note I couldn’t quite place. Thyme, maybe? Or elderflower?

This drink probably took someone hours to perfect.

Except—

It was slightly warm. Not unpleasantly so, but enough that I could tell it would be significantly better after about half an hour in the fridge.

Oh.

Right.

We were early.

I set the glass down carefully. “Sorry,” I said, the word coming out smaller than I meant. “For being early, I mean.”

Riker waved a hand dismissively. “No bother at all, my dear. Though I will admit, the timing is slightly off.” He lifted his own glass, examining it with exaggerated disappointment. “These are meant to be perfectly chilled, you see. The balance of flavors depends on—”

I didn’t let him finish.

I reached out, focused on the glass in his hand, and pulled.

The mana came easier than previously. I wasn’t sure if the mana in Riker’s tower was denser, or if I finally figured how to gather it, but it worked.

Frost bloomed along the outside of Riker’s glass, delicate crystalline patterns spreading across the condensation like lace. Riker stopped mid-sentence and put the glass down with a frightened half-smile.

The liquid inside shimmered slightly as the temperature dropped, ice crystals forming and dissolving at the same time.

I did the same to my glass, then reached over and touched Lola’s, letting the frost spread there too. The three glasses sat on the table like frozen artifacts, still perfectly drinkable but now exactly the right temperature.

Hopefully, ice magic on Earth wasn’t easy. “There,” I said, pulling my hand back. “Better.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Riker’s jovial tone had vanished entirely. He stared at his glass, at the frost still clinging to its edges, at the way the liquid inside had shifted to that perfect, crisp chill. Then he lifted it slowly, almost reverently, and took a sip.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “One thing is to know magic is real,” he drawled, still looking at his glass. “Another is...” He took another sip. “Another is to feel it with my mouth.”

He looked up at me then, and I couldn’t quite read what I saw in his eyes. Awe? Calculation? Something else entirely?

“I have no words,” he said finally.

Lola was staring at me too, her own glass forgotten, her expression caught between pride and concern.

I picked up my drink and took another sip. It was perfect now. “You’re welcome,” I said.

Riker let out a breath that might have been a laugh, though it lacked his usual theatrical flair. “Charlie,” he mumbled. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

I blinked. “Made the drinks cold?”

“You made magic real,” he corrected, his voice still carrying that strange, subdued quality. “Not in Rimelion. Not in some distant realm. Here. In my garden. On Earth. With a gesture.” He set his glass down, his fingers lingering on the frost. “You told me, I read… But seeing it changes everything.”

I swallowed, suddenly aware that maybe, just maybe, I’d miscalculated something. Beside me, Lola shifted in her seat.

Riker’s smile returned slowly, but it was more focused now.

“Now then,” he said, his tone regaining some of its usual warmth. “Shall we discuss your kingdom?”