Friendly Fyre [Gender-bender Cozy Kingdom Builder]

As a courtesy, I give Blair one more day to recover. Then, it’s high time we had a serious chat.

Mirzayael and I summon her to the red room, where the councilors have already assembled. It’s a bit cozy for seven people (as Aquenno has come, too,) but I prefer the intimate environment with plenty of desks, chairs, and books, over the more formal and spacious throneroom.

Changed out of her godly attire, Blair looks much like any other felis. Calico fur, gently swishing tail, drooping ears. Her expression is tired rather than aloof, and even her posture looks defeated. Given her HP has largely recovered, however, I doubt the weight that’s wearing on her is anything physical.

“Your offer of self sacrifice is noble,” Blair says, once she’s settled onto a plush floor pillow. “But misguided, I believe. I doubt Lorata will honor it once she has the Dungeon Core in her grasp.”

Mirzayael dismisses her words with a wave. “I assure you, the disingenuity of gods comes as a surprise to none of us.”

Dizzi snickers and Aquenno bristles, but Blair puts a hand on his knee to quiet him.

“We have plans for handling the gods’ return,” I tell her. “However, we wanted to speak with you on another matter. Namely, the truth.”

Her ears flick. “The truth about what?”

“Everything,” I say plainly. “The gods. The System. The remnants. Everything you know and have yet held back. It’s time to come clean.”

Blair is quiet for a long moment, then lets out a slow exhale. “Instinctively, I am resistant to the idea. But I believe you deserve to know.” Her gaze shifts to Mirzayael. “Not just Travelers, but Fyrethians; you all have suffered much at our hands. Though, I’m uncertain where to start.”

“Then perhaps I can start,” I say. “I’ll tell you what I believe from the information I have uncovered, and you tell me if I am incorrect about any of it.”

Blair nods. “This is acceptable.”

I glance around at the councilors. Nek, Torim, and Dizzi are watching us with rapt attention. Dizzi is perched on her chair, rapidly tapping a claw and fidgeting with an artificing tool as she glances between Blair and I—I’m surprised she’s managing to stay this still, really. Nek’s tail is twitching, his ears flat, as his gaze stays locked on Blair. And Torim is doing nothing at all, still and silent, watching the situation unfold.

“Okay,” I say, exchanging a look with Mirzayael. “First of all, gods are created from champions.” Neither Blair nor Aquenno blink at this. “You were Yua Tin’s champion, weren’t you?”

Blair smiles faintly. “How did you realize?”

“The way Yua Tin was quick to support you,” I say. “And the ways other gods talked about you. The first clue was something Zetaru said, actually. That you always were Yua Tin’s favorite. Is that why Zetaru was the first champion to find and investigate our kingdom?”

“Likely,” Blair admits. “Though, actually, I never told them about this city. I suspect Shirasil tipped them off, and Yua Tin decided to investigate with their one remaining champion. I’m unsure if Shirasil told anyone else about your Fortress, but I doubt it. He has a soft spot for Yua Tin. And I suppose me, by extension.”

This all fits with everything I’ve observed: the way Shirasil treats Blair like a little sister. It’s good to know my theories on this, at least, aren’t off. But they’re also the least important theories, in the grand scheme of things.

“You were recently made a god,” Mirzayael bluntly states as I stay wrapped in my thoughts. “You ascended as a result of Kanin summoning the Travelers to this world, is that correct?”

“Correct again,” Blair admits.

Mirzayael frowns. “Because the gods needed to expand their forces in response to the new threat?”

“Not exactly.” Blair frowns. “Well, I suppose in an indirect way that can be true. However, it was more in reaction to the remnant that was recovered when Emrox collapsed.”

Emrox was the underwater Ruin where Kanin attempted to get home. A Ruin of null magic, I’ve since learned. He hoped to utilize it to open a portal back to Earth, but in that he only halfway succeeded: the opened portal allowed our souls to fall into Lusio, rather than letting Kanin fall back home. But what I believe Blair is referring to is some sort of conflict that happened after the portal collapsed. I have distant memories of some malicious entity surrounding me when I first entered this world. It wanted to eat us, I think.

From what I learned from Kanin, this entity was Ink. Or, rather, a larger entity, part of which eventually became Ink. But in the ensuing fight, Emrox was destroyed, and much of the proto-Ink was ripped away, captured in a refiner.

“Kanin’s remnant,” I clarify. “You used it to create more gods?”

“That was the outcome, if not the primary intent,” Blair admits.

“Explain,” Mirzayael says.

“There have been many attempts to contain remnants over the years and prevent them from being a threat to our world.” Blair gestures to the wall, outside which is the throne room. “Some ancient remnants were bound in objects, like your Dungeon Core or Sandro’s Shroud. However, over time, it became clear that the remnants restrained in such ways still wielded too much autonomy, with their influence leaking and their power growing over time.”

“So you came up with the refiners,” I guess.

“Lorata did,” Blair says. “Or, at least that’s how I understand it. None of us were born then. I’m not sure how the System or refiners were originally created—even Lorata has been vague on this. It was determined that refiners were much more efficient at containing a remnant’s influence… but only if a guardian actively suppressed and monitored them.”

“And by guardian, you mean gods,” Mirzayael says. Her tone is tinged with a hint of sarcasm.

“I do.” Blair touches a hand to her chest. “Each of us houses a refiner, each refiner containing a piece of a remnant. The one Kanin unleashed was much larger and more powerful than any we’ve seen in recent decades; it needed to be split several ways for the refiners to contain it. As a result, several champions were needed.”

And that’s why there had been so many Gods Tournaments; a dozen new gods each needed to take on new champions of their own. And gods that had lost their champions needed to find replacements.

“And that’s what creates gods?” I confirm. “Guarding a remnant?”

Though, it feels as though I’m missing something. I have a pact with a remnant, and I am not considered a god. Kanin is bound to an un-contained remnant, and he’s not considered a god by the System, either.

Well, not yet.

“It’s one of the ingredients,” Blair admits. “But it isn’t quite so simple. Even contained in refiners, these are powerful, dangerous entities. They can overwhelm someone who doesn’t have enough physical, mental, or magical fortitude. Not everyone who ingests a remnant is able to successfully contain it. Sometimes, if they’re not strong enough, the assimilation fails, and the remnant is able to seize control of its host. As a result, we have to be discerning in who we allow to attempt it.”

“Levels,” I say, the realization hitting me. “The higher one’s level, the stronger they are. So someone who is high level should be more likely to maintain dominance over the remnant in a refiner?”

Blair dips her head in affirmation. “Which is why it is so important to cultivate strong champions. Should a god fall, or another remnant be discovered, there needs to be a host ready at a moment’s notice to ascend and become the new keeper of a remnant.”

Finally things are all slotting into place. The purpose of the System is to evaluate potential candidates for godhood—godhood being someone who acts as a remnant’s jailor, and in turn, receives boons from the System that helps them maintain that control.

“Hmm,” Dizzi says, her talon tapping even faster on her chair. “Something’s not adding up. What’s up with the Heavens? And the time dilation. If you gods are so good at keeping these creatures locked up, why shelter yourselves away?”

Blair smiles wryly. “Hosts are better at containing remnants. Not perfect.”

“Oh,” I say. “They still have the ability to exert influence on their host, don’t they?”

“Over enough time, yes,” Blair admits. “The refiners weaken. It’s still a much better solution than relics, but nothing lasts forever. Which is why the Heavens were designed to slow the progression of remnants trying to influence their hosts.”

“But you don’t lock yourselves away permanently,” Mirzayael notes.

“Because we need to raise more champions,” Blair explains. “For when one of us falls. But it’s dangerous for us to spend too much time in the mortal realm. If a wild remnant managed to consume one of us, it would free the remnant in the refiner, and they’d grow in strength exponentially.”

“And so, Lorata invented the myth of the gods,” I say, sitting back in my chair with a sigh. “You can’t have people thinking the power of a god can be taken, or they might just try to do so. And you need to maintain the appearance of your godhood so you can recruit powerful and loyal champions to succeed you when the remnant’s influence eventually becomes too much.”

My mind is spinning with all these revelations. All these pieces I had been slowly fitting together, yet questioning myself over—I’ve never been one to believe in conspiracies, and this one seemed too large to be true.

The world’s entire history is built on this maintained lie.

Words Shirasil once said suddenly come back to me. The System is as old as the gods, and remnants are, I suppose you could say, a residue of the power that created it all.

I snort. He wasn’t lying, really. I just didn’t think he was being so literal when he implied that remnants created the gods.

“It’s no small wonder these trapped remnants end up overpowering their host,” I muse. “Caged and suppressed—of course they would lash out at their jailor. This doesn’t seem a productive way to handle the problem.”

I’ve managed to work with the Dungeon Core, and Kanin with Ink. They can learn morals and be used for good—as long as they’re not abused first. Would rehabilitation even be possible for such an entity left to stew in its own anger for so long?

“I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say the Dungeon Core has morals,” Mirzayael privately thinks with me, amused. “But you’re right that they can be put to use in a constructive way.”

I catch a hint of her feelings behind these words; she doesn’t trust remnants, perse, but she does feel a sort of kinship with them. Another victim of the gods’ cruelty.

Blair holds up her hands. “There is still much I myself don’t understand. The System, for instance, and why it imposes Role Requirements on us. I believe the spell network might have had a different purpose originally, and Lorata repurposed it for the containment of remnants and the progression of champions. Regardless, it is one of the few things Lorata holds sacred. Despite her anger with me, I don’t believe she will follow through on threatening to remove my refiner; there are too few champions right now who are likely to survive an ascension, making them a valuable resource. In fact, becoming a champion offers a degree of protection from her, I believe. Which is something I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

Dizzi sits up straight. “Hold on. You don’t mean…”

“Fyre,” Blair says. “I would be honored to take you as a champion.”

The room goes dead silent.

Then everyone starts talking at once.

“No way,” Dizzi gasps, covering a smile.

Mirzayael stands up. “How dare—”

“Fyre?!” Nek repeats. “A champion?”

“Most irregular,” Torim grumbles.

And I laugh. The talking dies down as I subside into chuckles, and though I can still feel offense radiating from Mirzayael, she goes quiet so I can speak.

“Calm down, everyone,” I say, gesturing for them all to be seated. “Calm down.”

I meet Blair’s gaze, which remained unflinching despite the hullabaloo her offer caused. “I’m flattered that you have come to see me as someone you would trust with such an important role. I know your faith in me was hard fought. However, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. You see, I have no intention of becoming more deeply entrenched in Lorata’s System. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

The fields continue to need tending, the water filter spells are maintained, inhabitants of the Fortress eat, sleep, work, and create. There’s still a lingering tension in the air, however. Like the peaceful breeze and scent of ozone before an incoming storm.

“It feels like the aftermath of the battle with Jorria,” Mirzayael remarks as we stroll through the city. “This uncertainty. People don’t know what will come next.”

We pass a courtyard where visiting scholars (now unintentionally captive with the rest of us) are studying some old statues of Fyreneth. I haven’t allowed the Dungeon Core to touch any of the city’s ancient art, though I have quietly used its interface to reinforce certain pieces to keep them from crumbling beneath the Drifting Isle’s elements. A few of the scholars turn and wave as we pass, and I lift a hand as well.

“Understandable,” I agree with Mirzayael. “We have to keep planning for the future, but there is concern that everything is about to be upended.”

“Especially given you planted that seed,” Mirzayael mentally grumbles. “What with that nonsense about handing over yourself and the Dungeon Core.”

I don’t bother reminding her it had merely been a bluff; she’s still just annoyed that I didn’t warn her in advance for fear of Lorata seeing through her acting.

Granted, Mirzayael privately agrees she would have done terribly at acting surprised.

“If only we could lift the spirits of the city with a celebration, just as we did with Jorria,” I muse. The problem is, the conflict with Jorria had been an absolute victory—something worth celebrating. Without anything specific to celebrate, throwing a party right now would feel forced, and I’m certain the Fyrethians would see right through it.

“Well, why not?” Mirzayael says. “It would certainly take everyone’s mind off things.”

I frown in confusion, looking up at her. “But what would we celebrate?”

She chuckles, running her fingers through the feathers on my head. “Us, you fool. We already wear the bracers. Why not make it official?”

“A marriage?” I fight back a wave of heat that threatens to rush to my face. “Would it be appropriate to hold one now? With the gods returning in the next few weeks?”

“You’d rather us wait on them?” she counters with a raised eyebrow. “Fyrethians have never let the plans of gods determine our fate.”

I chuckle, catching her hand and threading my fingers through her own. “No, I suppose they wouldn’t.”

“We wouldn’t,” she corrects me. “You are as much Fyrethian as the rest of us.”

Those words bring me more joy than I ever could have imagined. “You’re right. I’d love to make it official.”

She pauses to kneel down, and I stand on my tip toes to reach her, and we share a tender kiss.

Mirzayael chuckles as she pulls back. “Someone better tell Nek. He’ll be delighted to plan another celebration.”

“And gossip,” I tease.

As we discuss how we should move forward with the plans, and what exactly we would like for those plans to entail, my mind drifts back to Blair’s offer.

I was honest when I said her offer flattered me. It took a good amount of time and work to get Blair to come around on us. But there’s only one woman I’d like to spend the rest of my life standing beside, and I already am.