Larthorn paced the deck of his ship, muttering under his breath. The Dark Phoenix Guild training orb sat on its pedestal, forgotten. While he couldn’t see exactly what was going on inside it, he could get a general sense of how things were progressing. Mathew was blowing through the tests so fast that Larthorn was sure he’d be out within a week or two, not the months he’d been expecting to wait.

  With the title he’d gained from his recent ordeal, Larthorn would expect nothing less. Unfortunately, he had bigger problems to deal with at the moment.

  “Have you come to a decision, sir?” Azmius asked.

  “Wait a damn minute,” he growled. “I’m still thinking.”

  His subordinate sighed, putting her reports away. “That’s the fourth time you’ve given that answer. And it’s been thirteen minutes since the last time, sir.”

  Larthorn stopped pacing and glared at his subordinate. Azmius just looked at him coolly, an exasperated frown on her face. Damn him for only hiring unflappable people worth their salt. “Has Sleyca replied to my messages yet?” he asked.

  “She’s only just regained consciousness, sir, and it was only for a few seconds. She’s in no position to respond to anything.”

  Larthorn clenched his fists as he tried to control his rage. Sleyca was a bitch. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone to disagree with you on that point. But she didn’t deserve what had happened to her. It was just like the Ascendants to go around breaking things. The rest of them had to deal with the shit they left behind, and they got to go on with their lives as if it didn’t stink.

  As much as he might hate the Ascendants, though, they were unfortunately beyond his ability to deal with. He looked at the training orb nearing completion, and he felt a tiny flame of hope burgeoning in his chest. Perhaps that will change very soon.

  “Lord Caspian's orders don’t make any sense. The lich Queen clearly breaks every damn intercession rule we have. She's killed 13 million people. Why haven’t we intervened yet? Nine hells, why did they choose that bastard to take over Earth’s management when I was bloomin' here already?”

  “I suspect it’s because of the exact way you’re reacting right now to orders,” Azmius said helpfully.

  “Orders that don’t bloody make sense. The corrupt bastards up top don’t—”

  “Careful,” a woman’s voice warned, and he felt a sliver of ice trail down his spine. A moment later, Fatebreaker's daughter materialised on his deck, and he cursed his past self for granting the woman passage rights onto his ship. He’d made deals with literal devils that unnerved him less than the seer did.

  Iris didn’t say anything else at first, instead admiring the beautiful expanse of space visible from the ship's deck. It was completely open to the elements, and they were protected from the vacuum of space by wards that cost a fortune to maintain. He didn’t blame the fae princess for appreciating the view, even if she’d probably seen similar a million times before.

  Finally, she turned to regard Larthorn, her purple irises pinning him in place, as if he were a bug. Logically, he knew he was far stronger than this woman, at least if she hadn’t deceived the rest of the multiverse about her relative strength. But it wasn't her martial power that Larthorn feared.

  Iris sighed. “How many times must I tell you to watch your tongue?” she asked, frustration clear in her voice. “This is the fourth time I’ve had to save your ass in the last week. I have more important things to do than constantly play nanny to your fuck ups.”

  Larthorn wanted to retort, but shame washed over him as he saw the illusion Node clenched in her hands. The first time he’d seen it, it had been shining brightly. Now, it was merely glowing in fits and bursts, and Larthorn suspected most of that energy had been wasted on him. Iris confirmed things a second later.

  “The Nodes don’t grow on trees, you know.” She cursed. “Your loose lips have cost me 22 million credits. These damn rules stop me from using my money how I want to, and here you are forcing me to waste it.”

  Larthorn glared at Iris, but he held his retort. “You’re too paranoid,” he defended himself. “Cypher aren’t -”

  “Enough. This time, it was Azmius who stopped him. Iris sighed and collapsed into a summoned chair. She rubbed her hands on her temples. “They’re always watching,” she said, “and Earth has already drawn too much of their attention. We can’t have you running your lips. There are words you simply should not say.”

  Larthorn breathed out as he digested Iris’ statement. In all his decades of searching, this was the closest he’d ever gotten to an admission that something was wrong in their Sector of the universe, at least from someone who might know what was going on.

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  “So it’s true then,” Larthorn asked, even as his rational mind told him to stop talking. “The Council has fallen.” Iris' eyes widened in surprise at his words, and was that... satisfaction?

  The world twisted around him, and suddenly, he was elsewhere. Something pierced into his eyes, and he strangled a scream even as the organs began to melt within his skull. No, it wasn’t that. The dimension around him was wrong, twisted fractals and colours that shouldn’t exist, angles and planes that simply didn’t make sense to behold. Looking at it was destroying him, but try as he might, Larthorn couldn’t close his eyes.

  He groaned in pain, the cells in his eyes rapidly trying to evolve to handle the alien stimulus. Larthorn was an explorer. He delved forgotten dimensions, hunted through the graveyards of ancient civilisations. Larthorn craved new experiences like an alcoholic craved drink; his curiosity had nearly killed him a thousand times over. Mystery was the lifeblood that kept him going.

  I'm an explorer, and I WILL SEE!

  It was more growth than the skill had seen in twenty years. Larthorn's gaze slowly cleared up, and finally, his eyes learned to process a fraction of what he was seeing. A minute later, or an eternity, Larthorn realised he was back on his ship, sitting on a rocking chair that faced out into the cosmos. Iris and Azmius were standing beside him, though they remained silent.

  "Who are they?" Larthorn finally asked.

  Iris shrugged. "You should know better than I. I hadn't even gained my class when I first saw them. It knocked me out in an instant, and I was unconscious for a week. When I woke up, my father brushed over the incident, and we never spoke of it again. He didn't let me even mention it. That was the first time I ever ran away from home."

  Larthorn chuckled mirthlessly. "You knew all along, didn't you, Azmius?"

  His subordinate shrugged. "My experiences were very similar to Lady Iris'; only difference is, I was told to never speak of them if I wanted to preserve my life."

  Larthorn shook his head as he tried to understand what he'd just learned. "This doesn't make any sense," he muttered. "If all this took was saying our Council's corrupt, half our bloody universe would be in on this conspiracy already."

  "It doesn't work like that," Iris said. "I've tested it out over the years with carefully planted ideas and conversations. The Gatedwellers rarely reveal themselves and only to people considered important. Special people."

  "Not really," Azmius interrupted. "I was a seamstress' daughter, hardly an important person. Didn't stop the pricks from putting me in a coma that nearly bankrupted my family."

  "Sometimes, there's no rhyme or reason to who they reveal themselves to," Iris conceded, "but I don't think you're the right example. You're a seamstress' daughter who managed to cross the level 300 barrier and now serves on one of the most illustrious exploration teams in the Chrollo Empire. You may have been unimportant, but you're the exact definition of someone special."

  "So who are the Gatedwellers then? Are they a part of Allied Corruption?" Larthorn asked.

  "Honestly, I'm not sure," Iris replied. "While I'm certain the group has ties to our enemies, I'm hesitant to say that they're outright corrupt. The Gatedwellers don't operate like standard Fallen. If they're corrupt and everything we know is a lie... Well, we've already lost the war then."

  "Your father clearly knows what's going on. Is the entire Council compromised?"

  Iris shook her head. "The Council's certainly been infiltrated, they're aware of it, even, but no one knows for certain who's working for the Gatedwellers and who isn't. The only person I've confirmed is clean, surprisingly, is The Weaver. Or maybe it isn't. The only conspiracy she would take part in is one that she was leading."

  "Who, no, what are they?" Larthorn asked. Already, memories of what he'd seen were fading away. His eyes had adapted to see them, but his mundane brain struggled to hold on to the images he'd perceived.

  Iris collapsed into a chair beside him and huffed. "Honestly, I'm not sure. The Gatedwellers are a unique race, one that my research suggests is adapted to living in the space between realms"

  Larthorn shivered. "Arthur's ritual managed to get one of those monsters' attention. I don't know how the kid survived."

  "Razaloth Ornaklon," Iris whispered.

  Larthorn felt like someone was crawling over his grave, and he finally understood what it meant to have the Gatedwellers observing him. Azmius stiffened beside him, though Iris remained aloof, as if the attention of eldritch beings was just another Tuesday. He didn't know if he should admire her or run away as far as possible.

  "I don't know exactly what the Gatedwellers are, if they're working for Corruption or something else altogether. I've spent the last decade researching them. That journey brought me to Earth. To you, Larthorn, and to Arthur Ward."

  "Does he know about all this yet?"

  "No, but it's only a matter of time. He's beginning to suspect things aren't quite right with how things are being managed. The Gatedwellers can be found in the history of nearly every empire I've researched, their earliest appearances dating back 1.27 million standard years. They've shaped the course of history and played a hand in how the System was built 17 thousand years ago."

  Iris stood and began pacing the deck, much like he had earlier. "You've been unconsciously searching for them over the last century, every excavation, every delve revealing a part of the picture, revealing a part of the pattern."

  "I don't know who they are, if they're our enemy or not. Whether they only exist in our sector of the universe and the System's formation here, or if they've been meddling in the rest of the Myopan realm too. Whatever their goals may be, whatever scheme they're planning, I intend to find out, and you two are going to help me."

  Links to the audiobooks.

  Etherious: Originator

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