The 108

Something is different and I’m loving every moment of it as I carefully place my empty cup on the table. It is a bittersweet feeling that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. I feel weak and awkward, diminished. Crippled. Almost all of my efforts have evaporated. Almost, but not all. The barest hint of energy tingles my fingertips on demand.

I am now of the first physical awakening.

Forever.

Outside, fireworks and acclaim announce the opening hours of the Year of Judgment. I hurry to the side panel, dance for security and then await the jackboots, but I don’t use the opportunity to tell them of the explosion. I need to research how to do so safely. Or as safely as I can.

Following the usual escape route grants me some advance. This time, I even manage to hide from the drone that usually follows me to the station by standing at the very end of the platform. I follow a route that leads me close to Elysion and stop in a hotel that doesn’t ask for ID, paying cash from the 300 credits reserve. Not one of the late night travelers hurrying home even spare me a second glance. I have been promoted from circus animal to nobody and by fuck this is such an incredible promotion. No one calls the cops on my uncouth arse for ruining the view. Truly a blessing. Now with some time for myself, I use the hotel’s provided datasheet to make a few searches, mostly on Law.

There are two kinds of sources of information on law enforcement: official propaganda, and complaints. Neither are entirely honest, but from what I can parse, Law is strictly rule-abiding. I remember the cages forming the souls of the templars, both armor and prison. The law is supposed to be as blind here as back on Earth, and yet I see the same problem arise from testimonies left on local forums: tales of brutality, of complex Gordian knots sliced by the sword of regulation without a care for subtleties. I read the stories of commoner families driven to the brink by Patrician lawyers until they are forced to settle by mounting legal costs. Shit, I feel at home.

I’m getting distracted.

There are proper channels to report crimes which will accomplish nothing because my claims are too outlandish. I can, however, get in touch with any templar patrols to report either a crime or the suspicion of a crime. Better yet, templars of a certain rank can feel ‘truth’. Not the Truth or Plato would be out of a job, but rather the belief the speaker has in the veracity of their words. So basically, they can tell if I lie. I think I remember something to that effect from earlier encounters with templars so it tracks.

It really should be enough to get me a foot in the door. I sigh. I’m going to regret it, aren’t I? Krane was probably right and I’m wasting my time.

But people are going to die. They’re going to die every time unless I do something drastic. Time to try.

With one last sigh, I make my way out of the hotel. I’m half-expecting the assassin to be here, but I suppose I’m in the clear for another few hours. It takes me a surprisingly long amount of time to find a patrol and when they turn to face me as I make my way to them, I feel like I’m slowly lowering my nads into a waiting bear trap. Why did I think this was a good idea again?

Ah yes, the smell of burning flesh and the screams of those being consumed and defiled by a titanic gestalt entity. ARG. Have to do it. I’m committed now.

“Good evening,” I greet in my best Kei-Sah. “My name is Steve Prentiss. I am the Avatar of Time. I have come to warn you that thanks to my knowledge of the future, I know that a detonation will occur at the end of the month under Elysium that will sunder the station’s structure and kill millions including your avatar. I have additional information I will willingly share with anyone working in your Great Crime division.”

Ok, done. Now I smile and wait while the pair processes my request. I can’t really tell with the mask and cage, but the lack of immediate reaction tells me there is a nonplussed human somewhere under all that fascism. Ah, here I am blaming the cops again. I should really give them a chance.

“Please wait a moment, citizen,” a modulated voice orders.

I study them now that I have nothing left to do. Their silver armors are of a slightly different size, but that is the only difference I can notice. Besides that the masks and armor patterns are the same. Don’t they have ranks? What am I thinking? They’re bobbies. They have ranks.

“Please follow us, citizen.”

Well, I haven’t been immediately and summarily dismissed. The two goons step on either side of me until I can’t tell if I’m being escorted or ‘escorted’. A late reveler gives me a curious look, but I resist the urge to wave. This is no time to be silly. We turn through a gate and into one of the endless crystalline corridors that form Enderlith’s bowels. A large lift carries us up and down until I lose track of time and direction. All the while, the twin gargoyles haven’t uttered a single word. After some more walking, I see light again, and stop.

I have grown so used to closed spaces that I feel I’m getting vertigo again. Even the inner docks haven’t prepared me for this. The perpetual ceiling gives way to a distant, transparent canopy and beyond those are the stars, an endless ribbon of light unmarred by kilometers of atmosphere, just a multicolored band of constellations and nebulae, and the dark surface of Obis in the distance. The canopy extends for dozens of kilometers in every direction while on the ground, forests and meadows form a pleasant background to colossal structures of marble and quartz, spires and columns competing with the tallest boughs. It smells sweet. The light is gentle, coming from the distant system’s star and the blue radiance of nearby crystals.

I am in Elysium.

A brusque grip on my shoulder reminds of why I am here. The two guards step forward towards the side of a monumental structure easily hundreds upon hundreds of meters long on the one side I can spot. Even from here and to the side I can see the sword and scale emblem of Law. This is the Justice Palace, the beating stone heart of Enderlith’s law enforcement. It has no color besides white, for Law has no allegiances.

In theory.

We walk quickly but I barely feel like we’re moving . Sometimes I believe I can almost feel strange souls at the very limit of my perception but it might just be a feeling. Elysium is mostly empty at this time of the night. The lack of pedestrians only adds to the grandeur and hubris of the place.

We enter the palace through a side gate. The back alleys feel very much like a compromise between the magnificence of high ceilings and wide corridors, and the necessity of keeping the gears of bureaucracy grinding. There are radiators for heat, half-open doors even at this hour of the night, water coolers, water heaters, plans with directional arrows and announcement boards: all the staples of a place stuck between the modernity of the Endernet and the slow plod of a millennial governmental institution. The only problem I see is that we’re going to the underground part. After the fifth set of stairs, I no longer have a doubt.

“Errrr.”

“Please move forward, citizen.”

“Why does it say jail?”

“Move forward.”

God dammit. The entrance to the jail is a massive set of double-barred doors guarded by a pair of guards in much more elaborate armor. Everyone down here is in a soul cage.

“I will take it from here,” one of them says in the exact same modulated voice.

My two companions about face and leave. I stand there like an idiot. Krane was right, dammit.

“You are under temporary arrest under suspicion of imminent danger to the station. There will be a hearing tomorrow to determine if you should be released or not. Please surrender your weapon to me. It will be returned upon your liberation.”

“Can I prepare for the hearing?”

“No.”

***

It’s the ass crack of dawn in the tribunal, but the judge facing me looks fresh as a daisy insofar as he also looks like he’s been a hundred years old for a couple of Archon reigns. I find fascinating the use of formal robes and an elevated dais to make the proceedings more official. I just wish I had a barrister. Actually, I don’t know the first thing about Enderlith’s justice, but the smarmy patrician asshole with golden hair on my right definitely looks like a prosecutor of sorts.

The room remains suspiciously small. I’m getting the impression that whoever is in charge doesn’t want publicity for what’s about to happen.

We go through the rigamarole of introducing ourselves while a young woman’s hand blurs writing everything we say. Some things must be universal, such as bureaucracy, corruption, and the guise they take on to fool the people. The prosecutor is named Belen, forcing me to deploy immense willpower not to call him ‘bell end’ from now on. The old man is Supreme Judge Mars. I would feel flattered were I not about to be legally shafted. It’s not the smug confidence radiating from the prosecutor, or the immense power of the judge’s caged soul.

They didn’t even ask about the bomb.

So that means it’s about me being the avatar of time. I’m drifting, perhaps a little tired, but I return to the, well, not a trial, a pre-hearing, when Belen starts his list.

“First, Steve Prentiss appeared in the station without a trace of passage, nor were there any records of him previously in any known database. Second, he immediately fell under a sanctioned kill order due to…”

Belen pretends to check a paper, soul blazing with pleasure. So I know it’s theatrics.

“Significant loans incurred with a cartel. Third, Steve Prentiss claims knowledge of a terror plot we know to be impossible, thus casting doubt on his judgment. Fourth and final point, he is recommended for capture by an upstanding citizen with the highest clearance, a source validated by Lady Vestalia herself.”

Judge Mars’ furrowy brows climb on his wizened forehead. I search my memories. Vastalia…

Ah shit that’s the Avatar of Law herself.

“Citizen Prentiss, do you understand what is at stake here?”

“No sir…”

The judge shakes his head in disapproval.

“It is your duty as a new citizen to learn our ways, most important of which are the laws that govern us.”

I know the laws; I just didn’t expect them to be weaponized. Fool that I am.

“As an act of kindness, I will inform you that you have a chance to refute every point made by Prosecutor Belen, following which I will decide if a temporary and precautionary detention is warranted. Please be aware that any lie will be severely punished. You may begin.”

“Well, first reason as to why I didn’t go through immigration is that my god brought me here.”

“Your… god.”

“The God of Time. I assume I’m not the only avatar who came here this way.”

“Point,” the prosecutor says.

I assume it means I’m getting interrupted.

“The method of arrival for an avatar is unverified.”

“It is most assuredly not,” Mars growls, the sound so loud I almost jump.

Suddenly, I am no longer facing an ancient man in a robe but a very powerful awakened at the heart of his power, the visible expression of his belief. The cage around himself is not a prison, or an armor. He is the cage.

“I withdraw my point.”

“Mr Belen, what can be excused from a newcomer cannot be tolerated of someone as experienced as you. You may continue, Mr Prentiss.”

“Second point, how could I have taken a loan with a cartel when I wasn’t present on the station four hours ago?”

“Point.”

Mars’ glare would make me flinch.

“The presence or absence of the citizen does not change the fact that it was taken in his name.”

Mars’ attention returns to me.

Actually, with the certainty that my life is not at stake, I admit this is kind of fun.

“It does reflect on my character, which is what you’re judging now, correct? The prosecution has yet to prove that I was even aware of the existence of the loan, much less that it was done with my consent.”

“Was it?” the judge asks.

“Absolutely not. I was not even aware of the Eternal Game of the 108 before I was suddenly brought to the station.”

“Hmmm.”

Mars looks at me expectantly.

“What was the third point again? Sorry, long day.”

“Your apparent knowledge of a terror plot and the dubious source of your knowledge,” Mars drily says.

“Oh right, well that’s because I am the Avatar of Time. I have seen futures. The explosion really happens and this place really gets sent tumbling through space as a melted coffin.”

There is a pregnant pause while both of my new friends consider their imminent demise.

“Point?”

“It better be good, Belen.”

“Sir, you cannot seriously entertain such a notion.”

“Either I really am the Avatar of Time, and you can tell I’m telling the truth, or I am deluded and then why am I here in front of a Supreme Judge? Just send me to the loonie corner or whatever you do with people you want to dismiss,” I say.

“Your presence here is not related to your status of avatar, but the danger you pose,” Belen curtly says.

Hmmm.

How can he seriously believe that? Obviously he doesn’t, but then isn’t he lying? Or perhaps he means that strictly legally, I am not here because I’m an avatar. Hmm. It feels important, somehow.

“Which you have yet to confidently demonstrate,” Mars retorts.

“For the fourth point, if there are no records of me whatsoever, then who would know if I’m even a threat?”

“There are no records of you in known space,” Belen elaborates. “That does not mean there are no records.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

“Then I would like to know the identity of the one who accuses me,” I reply.

“So would I,” Mars says, his presence filling the room.

“... Lilith Seranne Kerentis,” Belen agrees.

“The Avatar of Space?” I blurt.

The absolute gall.

“Your judge of character is my direct rival in the game?”

“You are not much of a rival,” Belen notes.

He’s second awakening and gene-modded. He could probably fold me like a lawn chair since I don’t have my staff with me.

“Entirely irrelevant. Belen, my patience is at an end.”

“Lady Vestalia claims force majeure exception, your grace,” Belen stutters under a withering glare.

“The citizen also claims to be an important witness to a major terror attack,” he adds with a wry smile. “And he has a price on his head. The prosecution is concerned about his well-being.”

The judge is still ramrod straight, but I can feel his mind coming to a conclusion.

“Very well. For the sake of protection considering citizen Prentiss’ awakening, I will grant this request.”

Fuck. Did I trap myself? Aaah.

“However!” Judge Mars says, interrupting Belen’s giddyness. “You only have ten days instead of the regular thirty so you or Lady Vestalia better come with something convincing. She knows better than to disappoint me.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Citizen Prentiss will be led to the White Suite, the cost of which will be yours to handle, since you care so much about his well-being,” the judge adds with his own wry smile.

“Certainly, sir. I will make sure to, ah, impart upon—”

“You are dismissed. Citizen Prentiss, come closer.”

I do so while Belen vacates the place like his arse is on fire.

I feel Mars’ full attention on me. The man is old, intensely so. He might be older than the high priest we accidentally disturbed in my salvage loop.

“Why are you so weak?” he finally asks.

“I get that a lot.”

“It has been so long since the last time one of your kind participated that most records were lost, but I remember reading about a woman from the slums’ meteoric rise to power, how she knew everything and everyone and how every step her opponents took were countered before they could even begin.”

I hesitate.

“I swear to you that what you tell me, I will not share. Answer me. Why are you so weak?”

“That woman knew everything and everyone because she experienced all of the paths.”

Mars goes very still.

“And we, who walk but one path, only remember that last one…” he whispers. “Oh my…”

I do not reply. There is no need.

“I am bound by my function. Within the framework of my existence, I cannot give you any form of assistance except, perhaps, advice. If you wish to play the game, you will have to contend with my protegee.”

“Vestalia?” I hazard.

His disapproval is felt in the bones.

“So long as you are as you are, it is Lady Vestalia to you.”

“My apologies,” I say.

He’s trying to help, I can tell.

“Hmph. Humility, a rare trait in an avatar. You really are… at the beginning of your journey. Hard to believe given your impressive command of Ten-Sah.”

“I’m fairly good with languages.”

“Then grow familiar with the language of law. An archon should understand the rules and systems that govern their domain, no?”

“Yes, I realize that. It’s just… not been a priority yet.”

I expect anger, but he understands.

“The explosion. Do you really believe your words?”

“My words, experience, eyes… I saw it happen. Several times.”

Entire districts engulfed in violet flames. The backlash of hundreds of thousands of souls, snuffed in an instant. No survivors.

“I believe you.”

“Ok, but then why —”

“I am the Supreme Judge, Avatar Prentiss. If you wish to be free, you must play on the battlefield over which I preside. I am what I am because I do not bend.”

His expression softens.

“That does not mean I cannot assist you within the constraints of my role. The White Suite will have ample reading for you while you wait. This is not a waste of your time.”

I chuckle and I swear I see the briefest turn of a lip in his withered face.

***

Ok if this is prison, I might have to surrender myself to the authorities more often. Ten days of calm in a place that has every amenity possible is quite nice. There is even sunlight drifting in from high windows. The walls are white and unadorned but there is a bath, a basic kitchen, a separate bedroom, a training mandala, and even a library. It’s twice as large as my home and I had 18 years of mortgage left on that thing. Better yet, energy flows freely within, which means I can train.

Just as Mars said, there are books, most notably law books. I suppose he wants me to study those, but honestly I won’t. Not seriously. I’ve already decided I won’t pursue the Law route for a very, very long time. I’m not spending five years of subjective time in monthly increments to study law from books for a chance to argue in court with the Avatar of fucking Law herself in the vague hope she will get her arse off of her precious bench for a bit of preventative justice. Absolute travesty of a system here. I’d rather try my luck the hard way. There is, however, one thing I was hoping to do with some tranquility: study the soul magic book.

Calling the book itself is child’s play. I instinctively know how to do it. I just place a hand in front of me and then open it, and I get a nice blue ghostly book in front of me, hand-written in ancient Ten-Sah. Very nice. Beneath the ridiculously flowery language and lackadaisical descriptions is hidden the real method. It seems simple enough. First, I need to ‘spool’ my soul. I spend an hour trying to move it the proper way. To my surprise, the book is actually helpful in offering imagery.

‘As thou visualize thyself as a well, or a black hole. In thine presence most profound, depth exists superposed with width, henceforth shall you consider height around thine member instead.’

It turns out there was a way to save myself a headache when being around too many souls by wrapping it around its own center, or twisting and pulling it ‘inward’. I try it. With the guidance and the absolute certainty that it can be accomplished, I manage it in under two hours.

The sensation is extremely strange. I feel like someone who has lived in a cave all his life seeing stars for the first time, a world without a ceiling. Geographical directions are a pale comparison to what a soul really is. Symbols and comparison help my pathetic human mind grapple with the possibility of dimensions that I can only dimly perceive. I get a feeling that this would make a lot more sense if I were, say, zooted to fuck, but that will never happen.

Lunch comes as a tray is delivered to my door. I also get a sort of ‘room service’ which offers basic cooking supplies at outrageous prices. I don’t know how to prepare most of the proffered ingredients, sadly, so I decide to give it a pass. I nap in the afternoon and then manage some more practice in the evening. I grow bored around tea time and decide to skip ahead through the book.

I find that all of the spells in the book are cast the exact same way. First, the soul is spooled around the arm which ‘arms’ the spell, no pun intended. Then, the caster allows ‘the strongest emotion’ to permeate his mind which will require some training. The emotion is the fuel. After that, the caster must make a gesture, which will be the trigger of the spell. Each sign is emotion-specific, and each emotion has one unchanging and predictable effect. After the spell is cast, the emotion is spent, and the caster enters a ‘dull’ state where they may not feel any emotion for a period that depends on spell intensity, soul awakening, and other sundries. Interesting. So even my casting gets a refractory period now.

I suppose this means the spells are situational one-off aces I should be mindful of spending. The books assures me that the effects are ‘powerful, sure to leave thine opponents reeling!’. Curious, I check the list.

Fear requires a hand splayed, all fingers extended. It pushes people away ‘with utmost celerity and potence’. Contempt is two fingers aimed down, and forces all but those with high soul awakening to kneel with such strength that their bones may shatter. Love heals. Literally. Arousal…

“Is arousal even an emotion?” I have to ask myself.

Apparently yes. I skip the page as it is irrelevant for now. Anger is a fist that sends ‘red bolts of destruction to unmake thine enemies’. Hope bolsters the heart of the caster and their allies, and reinvigorates them whatever that means. Despair brings ‘perfect clarity of mind’. It all feels situational yet strong. I can’t wait to try them out.

I decide to work out in the evening. I have little better to do. After I’m done, I realize I should actually read some of those law books, but they’re… actual law books. They’re thick and dense and don’t exactly explain the procedures I should follow.

The next day, I succeed in ‘spooling the soul’, though I’ll need to practice. No one comes to bother me which is a blessing and a curse. I find myself missing Xan and his conversations. By the third day, I’m confident I have the spooling down pat though I’m still slow. I have also memorized and practiced around thirty gestures, but I’m hitting a wall.

I’m not exactly feeling the kind of strong emotions I need in order to cast. Boredom isn’t one. I don’t really want to drown myself in order to feel the panic required to cast the fear spell, so that leaves me without recourse. I guess I can keep practicing the spooling part…

The door opens.

I frown. I know Belen has no inclination to let me out, and we’re early? Am I getting the French monarchy treatment? To my surprise, the person who comes isn’t someone who’s surrendered their mind to a cage. Despite the white uniform, she has kept her autonomy. She has shoulder-length black hair, dusky skin and pockets under her eyes that wouldn’t look out of place on a panda. Her vivid blue eyes mark her as a gene-modded person, but possibly not a full one. Her beauty is less crafted. A few gray strands in her hair also betray the lack of Patrician perfection, especially since she looks my age. I get an impression of quiet professionalism with a touch of spine from her, as shown by the bars on her shoulder and the brooch that marks her as married. Her soul feels well-ordered and strong, yet frayed. Tired.

“Citizen? A moment of your time?” she asks with a smile that does not reach her eyes.

A guard follows her in, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say they were grumpy. With a gesture, I invite her to sit on a couch near the entrance. There is a coffee table there.

“By all means, my time is yours.”

She doesn’t react. I’m wasted on this gods-forsaken place.

“My name is Deza Semri, inquisitor with the anti-terrorism task force. I regret to inform you that the golems at the head office decided not to dedicate extra-resources towards investigating your claim, so it will be just me. You said you had information to share?”

I take a deep breath.

They’re really not going to help. I just can’t understand the reasoning here. What will it take to get those idiots cracking? Why is everything such an uphill battle? Did I anger a god or something? Five of them? More?

“I’ll make some tea.”

***

“This is all difficult to accept,” Deza says.

I shrug.

“I cannot prove it. Not this time, at least.”

“I did not say it was difficult to believe,” she adds. “It’s not common knowledge yet, but those of us in Great Crimes know that time and space have decided to play this game. I just didn’t expect you to be so weak.”

“I get that a lot.”

She frowns.

“Or for you to know so much and so little at the same time. How does that work?”

“I am exploring branches. This is one such branch.”

There is a long pause during which she takes a shaky sip of her herbal infusion. I hesitate to call it tea.

“What happens… what happens after you’re done exploring?”

“I explore another one.”

“And you grow stronger?”

“Stronger, and more knowledgeable.”

“Then… what happens to the rest of us?”

I look her in the eyes.

Honestly, I’ve been in the pits for so long that I tend to forget how horrifying this is for others. It won’t stitch my head back on, but at least I remember what happened.

“You all forget and we try it again.”

“We all forget?”

“Yes.”

“So those who died? Those who become with child during the year and give birth at the end? Their children are unmade? The dead return to life?”

“Yes.”

“By the Founder, please… please just give me a moment.”

“It’s ok, I’ve got time.”

I wish I had refrained. Her glare lets me know the timing was poor. Ah well.

“What is your purpose here?” she asks me after a while.

“What a complicated question. Do you want to know why I’m here in Enderlith, in general? Or why I came here specifically?”

“Both of them,” she demands, then after a short pause. “Please.”

“Suddenly polite?”

Deza hesitates. I feel the barest hint of an emotion bleeding through the unyielding discipline of her soul. Fear. I think.

“You are the Avatar of Time. I did not really believe it at first, I’m afraid.”

“But now you do?”

“Yes, because you are sane and you did not demand recognition. You must understand, we can ascertain someone’s conviction, not the truth. It means that we are expecting a great number of crazies to claim they are the chosen of the gods. And the claim you made… I see you do not understand since you are a newcomer here. Enderlith is… eternal. It is immutable. Governments, sects, armies, clans have come and gone. We have come and gone, but the station has stood since times immemorial. We are talking tens of thousands of years, a period of time so incomprehensibly long that not even the most powerful genius can hope to survive it. And you claim it will be destroyed? Unthinkable.”

“So I was sent to prison on the off chance that I was the Avatar of Time, but I’m still not being taken seriously.”

Deza looks a bit sorry for me which is only marginally more insulting than being imprisoned.

“I take you seriously.?”

“Thanks.”

“Take heart. You may be weak now, but you will grow in strength. Everybody knows that Time and Space only join for very serious games.”

She gives me one more glance before shaking her head.

“Explosions. A loop. The Year of Judgment is meant to be an ‘interesting time’, and yet…”

“It’s ok, you get used to it,” I tell her with a lot of conviction. “And to return to your question, yeah, my goal on this station is to become the archon.”

“That is a lie,” she reproaches. “You don’t believe it.”

“That is not a lie,” I correct. “I was put here to be the archon, it’s just something I have difficulties accepting right now because of the absolute arse-breaking slog it’s been just to get to the point where I can show up here to get arrested. I don’t think you guys realize. I don’t think anyone realizes the fucking —”

I stop. I’m getting emotional, which is fucking useless here. Deza has not reacted, thankfully. I don’t want to ruin a first first impression.

“So no, it’s not a lie. Just an aspiration. And the reason why I’m here today is because I’m a dumb twat who thought he could get help from the authorities to stop a terrorist attack that will eventually kill millions. That’s just the beginning, by the way. You have no idea what comes after. But I can tell you something I believe in. Really believe in. No matter how this game ends, I’ll stop the bomb. I will. No matter how many times it takes, no matter how hard it is. I don’t know how hard it will be because we’re just scratching the surface but I will. I will stop that bomb.”

“I believe you,” Deza finally said.

“So… you’ll help?”

“I will help. Obviously this reality of ours is doomed, so you will have to try again later preferably without getting imprisoned. In the future, I would advise you to contact me first. You can convince me that you are what you are from now on by informing me that the promotion spot application for prosecutor opens on the second between the first and second hour.”

I am a bit lost for a moment.

“You mean someone passed you by for promotion?”

“I was intentionally left out in favor of a connected candidate,” Deza hisses with the glowing embers of resentment.

“Ok. Alright, I’ll do that next time. Congratulations, by the way, on joining the minions of Time. We don’t have dental yet but I’m working on it.”

She doesn’t seem amused. I am wasted on those people.

“And now, the next step…”

“Get me out of here? Or at least find out more about the bomb.”

“I will investigate. And take a team with me.”

“Oh, I know a guy!”

***

Breathe in. Pull in. My soul contracts, flooding ‘inward’ in a way that is still mildly disorienting. I immediately lose focus.

Outside, night is falling. I’m hungry. I should order more tonight, especially with Prosecutor Bell End footing the bill. Gah, focus. Again. I am sure I felt it right. Ok, ok. Breathe in. Pull in. Breathe out, let out. And… again.

Ok, I am sure of it. I got a little mana from this. Which means that when the soul contracts, it brings mana with it. A bit more than I normally would. That means I can absorb energy even faster if I syphon it with my soul. But the process is delicate. I am now an adept at the three gates meditation technique. Doing so while pulling my soul in remains a delicate affair. I have to juggle the expression of my mind, of my heart, and of my body while drawing energy and pulling myself into myself through a dimension I hadn’t experienced prior to a few days ago. There are more balls in the air than at a man-only trampoline club. I will persevere, though! Time is on my side. And faster absorption can only help me.

***

I can only train so long before growing bored. The law books help a bit with the loneliness. I’m no legal expert of his majesty’s law, but I can tell there are significant differences.

First, the Enderlith justice system’s purpose is to maintain the peace between large factions, protecting stability as a priority while back in the UK, Justice protects the unalienable rights of Russian oligarchs. And sometimes citizens, when possible.

I’m exaggerating.

Templars will arrest and prosecute a patrician who murders an innocent in the streets, even if that ‘innocent’ has committed the grave sin of being poor. But collateral damage as part of an operation is considered fair play. In fact, the first book I read (Basics of Enderlith’s Legal System, Version 197) makes it clear that there is a general law and a political law, one governing individuals and the other, errr, sanctioned individuals. Law is big on settlements and wergild. Basically they’re trying to prevent a sect war from happening while protecting the innocents as much as they can, but true ‘justice’ isn’t really the priority. Harmed parties are encouraged to seek settlement with larger groups. Reading between the lines, it means that should a patrician, say, kill a waiter, the patrician would get a slap on the wrist and a fine which the victim’s family would be ‘encouraged’ to accept. To quote Final Fantasy Tactics, if the penalty for a crime is a fine, then that law only exists for the lower class.

I’m getting sidetracked by the injustice of it all.

What’s more interesting is that there is no ‘discovery’. For the sake of fairness back on Earth, most legal systems make sure both sides have access to all pieces of evidence in advance so they can mount a proper argument, but here the prosecution only needs to present the judge and defendant with enough evidence to start a trial. That’s how one of the Seven Suns scions was once summoned for fraud yet ultimately charged with the murder of the Merchant Guild’s youngest Elder that saw no less than three separate assassination attempts during the proceedings. Ok, I wish they had recorded that. I would have watched it.

The last interesting point is the existence of adversarial trials: when two parties both have grievances, all of them are addressed at the same time which sounds like a recipe for disaster, but is apparently used to help with settlements. Fines cancelling each other and the like.

None of this helps me right away. Deza doesn’t return for another few days either. By that time I’m no longer counting, just working on the soul syphon and the soul spells. At least with the soul syphon I get some results.

I almost can’t believe it when one of the guards comes to pick me up, wordless as always. Instead of going down to the ground floors where court was last in attendance, we walk up, and up. At some point the tired stone and functional compromises to utility fall off in favor of the pure marble and majesty of the state. We come across fewer people and those we do pass possess ever more grand and elaborate regalia. Their souls are ensconced in their beliefs so thoroughly that I feel that, in the end, I am not the prisoner, as they have only my body.

We reach the roof.

It is day here, the natural light coming straight from the local star. Actually I still don’t know what it’s called. War-torn Obis floats by the side. Fire bleeds from its flank in lazy gouts somewhere along the equator, the vivid red echoing the sea of stars in the background. Elysium does not need artificial light yet there are still some crystals shining above us so it feels like a July afternoon. Someone placed a small table on the naked surface of white stone. A tall man stands there, covered in a robe, withered hands clasped at his back.

“Leave us,” Mars orders.

The guards depart without comment. The door closes behind us. There is tea on the table, well, the local equivalent. And biscuits.

“Will you sit with me?” the ancient judge asks.

“With pleasure.”

Never say no to tea. I take the opposite seat. The ancient judge sits at the same time as I do, at the same speed. I can’t tell his awakening but I know it must be at least four or five if he’s still alive after so long. With a gesture, he invites me to sample the goods.

It’s excellent. Not really tea, of course, but so close it might as well have been some exotic blend. Delicate mana pervades the leaves.

“My own special blend. I have been saving it for such an occasion,” Mars comments.

“Oh?”

“My death, of course. Although I understand that it will not stick.”

He picks up a biscuit. I didn’t take him for a pastry fiend when we first met, yet the naked gusto on display tells me he really is enjoying it. There is a slight wind now. With us so close to the edge of the roof, I can see the trees and green space of elysium extending before us kilometers out into the distance, a vast canopy sometimes pierced by the domes and spires of the wealthy. It looks idyllic. Hard to believe that there are monsters and lost tribes not five kilometers under our feet.

“Deza is dead.”

I wince. I told her to be careful and to take Krane with her but…

“As well as six veteran officers of Law, a substantial force that nothing should have been able to take down so close to the surface. The assailants have fortified an old bunker right under out feet. Might’s church has dispatched an entire company to arrest them while my dear student Vestalia elected to attend an inauguration somewhere in the Needles. They will attack in around five minutes.”

He sips more tea.

“I have a good idea what the outcome of this decision will be. I will also tell you now that Vestalia and her insufferable Empress have done their very best to delay your release with, I will admit, no small amount of success. I have trained her well.”

Mars glowers in his chair. His spindly fingers reach for another biscuit.

“By Empress, do you mean Lilth Seranne Kerentis? The Avatar of Space?”

“You do not even know about her many titles?” Mars asks with visible surprise. “She rules over an entire sector!”

“It’s like Belen said. I’m not much of a rival as I am now, so I’ve been focusing my research on what’s immediately useful.”

“That is perhaps for the best,” Mars concedes. “And yes. I will inform you that I already refused two separate requests to have you executed. I am fairly certain that it will not matter as soon as the Empress reaches the station. She is taking her sweet time… but I digress. You obviously cannot stop her, and Vestalia obviously cast her lot with her. I hoped she would know better than to take sides, but alas.”

He refills our cups. I find that I’m having a pretty good time.

“I will forget this conversation so be sure to remember it well, Young Prentiss. Law ought not to take sides, ever. We ought to serve Justice and Justice only. Vestalia has lost her way, but I will not make the same mistake. It also means that I will not side with you. Ever.”

He gives me a pointed look.

“You understand what I mean, yes?”

“It would be best for my sake if I stayed away from Law in the future, or at least that I keep my identity concealed.”

“I cannot recommend that you avoid Law as it skirts illegality, obviously, but I will admit it would be to your advantage,” the old man says with a wry smile. “And since you are yet so new, I will add that I cannot be on your side, but you can come to the side of Law.”

I frown for a while. What does he — Ah.

“Would it be illegal for the Avatar of Law to join an alliance?”

“That you will have to confirm for yourself. Ah, time is upon us.”

I feel it too. Like a furnace just under our feet, an oven door that opens to reveal the heat inside, but this time the heat is a cry of deep hatred, a soul so intensely furious its rage bleeds thought layers upon layers of concrete and crystal. Mars is right. I do not believe I was ever so close to the epicenter but I can feel the soul bomb reaching criticality.

“See you later,” I tell him with some affection.

He winks. His hand snakes out with blinding speed to reach the last biscuit. Then we both die.

Death count: 9

Loss count: 1

Qualia points acquired: 41

Instant Death: 1

Made a new ally: 1

Met an important judge and learned very basic law knowledge: 4

Reinvented Soul Well: 35