“Back so soon?”

  Ori found Caoimhe sitting on a fallen log not far from his cabin. After circling the lake, his feet had carried him back to the closest thing he could call home in this world, irrationally expecting Ruenne’del, Freya, and Tess to have already returned. In truth, they were probably still en route to the trial, and Ori would’ve been surprised if their trial didn’t take most of the day.

  Despite the clarity he’d found on his walk, he was still restless.

  “Don’t you, like, have somewhere to stay?” Ori stopped just short of his wards.

  “Under the canopy of the forest is as good a place as any,” she called out, idly.

  Ori scratched at his scalp, adding ‘build a guesthouse annexe’ to his long list of possible plans.

  “You know, when I first learned you had lightning and light affinities, I thought it strange how still you were.” The sylvan high elf matron turned towards him. “Normally, people with that sort of propensity end up physically restless, nervous and fidgety. But you seemed calm, oddly so. Now I know better. All that energy that should’ve shown on the surface is in your mind, isn’t it?” She looked away. “A restless mind and a greedy soul.”

  Ori sat at the far end of the log.

  “Why aren’t you directing your energies into making things?” Caoimhe asked.

  Ori shook his head. “Stress and indecision, I think?”

  “Hmmm,” Caoimhe said. “I’ve seen it before. Classes, affinities, and Fate’s influence are usually just a murmur under the song of living. But sometimes the noise gets too loud to ignore. Listen to those instincts. Not to be ruled by them, but to understand them and master yourself.”

  “And Fate? Why should I listen to what it has to say?” Ori asked.

  “Fate is like the weather.” She glanced down at the wand still in her hands. “The smaller you are, the more it matters. Do you think yourself so great you can ignore the wind and rain?”

  Ori grunted and looked away, then exhaled.

  He closed his eyes and tried to listen to his classes.

  The White Mage wanted to save people.

  The Du?list was eager to craft his Avatar.

  The Wandsmith wanted every obstruction cleared before he embarked upon a sustained stretch of focus and experimentation.

  The Bondweaver, beneath its need to keep its bonds safe, wanted to give someone a second chance.

  Ori frowned at that last instinct. It was a quiet hymn beneath the larger chorus, something he hadn’t even realised he carried until now.

  He remembered Satō Ayame, the blue-haired fox girl from Thorncross. Tess, passing on something Ruenne’del had mentioned, had said he would give her a second chance. Poppy had called the woman pitiful. For all his New Moon, Arch Elven bond’s breezy, playful outlook, there was a depth there Ori knew he couldn’t ignore.

  Fate-aspected mana flooded his body, and the familiar weight of consequence and portent settled onto his shoulders.

  “What?” Caoimhe gasped, rising in alarm at the sudden influx of mana.

  Ori didn’t know where Satō Ayame was, but as he layered Lesser Mind over Magic and Du?list’s Weave with Void Dance and Prismatic Step, he did know how to find her.

  “Er, yeah, sorry. I’ll be back later,” he said, as the mana running through him gathered into the working of High Magic he’d flippantly named Gachastep.

  Ori vanished from the log, and a moment later, he was floating high above the ground once again.

  From a vantage where the gap between the clouds and the ground was shorter than the distance between him and the nearest cloud, Ori could see a vast stretch of Twilight: late-morning light bright over forests and valley, patchy cloud drifting beneath, and in the distance, the grey walls of Dremsway with its complex of buildings within, gave context to his new location. He let gravity take him, plunging towards the ground to savour the rush of wind, the sensation of falling without the fear of a catastrophic landing. In the weightlessness of freefall, the noise of his classes quietened—movement, action, purpose, desire, all of it aligned.

  Wind tore tears from his eyes and roared in his ears as mist swirled, dampening his clothes as he dropped through the cloud. Just beneath the cloud base, he slowed, Greater Feather Fall and a growing mastery of flight, easing him out of freefall. That was when he saw it, a small village and a band of raiders closing in.

  Vision of the Progenitor flashed as Ori inspected the souls involved. Not infernals, but still dark. And there was one soul he recognised.

  Satō Ayame was there. What was she doing? Ori wondered, Laying traps? No. Sigil flags, he realised, warding the village against the raid.

  As Ori drifted down, he watched villagers gather. Women and children clustered together, searching for shelter. Men formed up with pitchforks and staves. Hunters were already losing arrows at the advancing band. Mortal shafts did little beyond shallow wounds that would heal long before the week was out.

  Then Ayame’s array activated. Burning torches, thrown to start the pillaging, struck a shimmering translucent barrier and went out on contact. Ori noted how the ward drew mana and lesser paracausal energies from the environment to sustain itself, and how Ayame was still unawakened. In other circumstances, with another trick in hand, this would have been the moment she awakened.

  Unfortunately, the raiders had a Sovereign ranker leading them.

  Before a second ward could be established, a breath-empowered strike smashed the first barrier. The hunters’ arrows were swatted aside like insects. The villagers who had been roused into defiance faltered and then cowered, unwilling to approach the juggernaut: an orc-blooded human, at least a foot taller than the tallest man among them.

  More torches arced towards the village.

  Reach of the Progenitor caught them mid-flight, snuffing their flames before hurling them into the surrounding grass, well clear of the homes.

  Ori hung half a mile up, no longer falling. To anyone who looked, he might have been a dot against the scattered cloud. For him, it was enough that the boundaries of his domain gave him miles of reach, and Seraphine’s Beacon extended his casting range further still.

  “Oh, I was wondering when you were going to call me out,” Seraphine said through the bond.

  “You were watching?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m somewhat upset I wasn’t called on to join the girls on their adventure.”

  “Ah. I’m sorry.”

  “No matter,” she said, voice airy. “I’m just as glad to keep you company, especially now, as you’re about to be heroic and dashing once again.”

  Ori gave a short laugh. “If that’s what you want to call it. I was trying to get my mind off Tess’s trial.” His expression sobered as his focus returned to the village. Ayame was trying to raise another ward, hurried and desperate, and this time she was noticed.

  Crouched behind a log cabin, she barely had time to cover her face before the building exploded. The breath-fuelled giant crashed through the structure, mace descending through shattered beams and debris as the world came apart around her.

  In that instant, Mind over Motion had already slowed Ori’s perception to a tenth of reality. Then Will of the High Human took hold, and he cast overlapping shields around the woman below as Starfield bloomed over the village.

  The mace punched through several Prismatic Shields, but the Sovereign ranker’s expression changed as the archmagic settled. A roar of sudden, burning pain, then the rictus of terror that rewrote the orcish man’s aggression. From above, Ori watched a single spell decide who lived and who died.

  Starving men. Ori felt their souls and histories through his signature spell as they fell, men driven to banditry, and then to worse, as survival curdled into collective depravity that left few clean in conscience or soul.

  The Sovereign ranker died last. His body burned away like a struck match, transmuting into white dust that scattered on the wind.

  And then a sudden, shocking silence settled over the village under the deepened shadows and cold, lethal stars in the aftermath of Ori’s Transcendent feat of archmagic.

  He dismissed Starfield, watching how the spell left a lingering afterimage of darkened air and barely visible stars Ori knew would remain in this village for eternity.

  Three of the raiders remained, two young boys, brothers, their weapons already dropped, hands raised in surrender. Ori cast another prismatic shield over the surviving bandits as one of the hunters loosed a speculative arrow towards their erstwhile foes.

  Ori cast Beacon of Regeneration as a hint beneath the hunters' feet, scorching the earth with a ring of light. The man jolted upwards from his firing position, ending further aggression as villagers looked around, searching for the source of their salvation.

  By now, Ori had masked his Presence while he continued his descent from the sky, simply unwilling to interfere with the aftermath and villagers' recovery.

  Landing outside the village, Ori found a log by the side of the path and sat, waiting for the one person within the village he knew could see through his camouflage, to find him.

  Ori saw her pause as she rounded the gate in the village’s wooden palisade. Despite the distance, he caught her suppressing a bright smile as she all but skipped down the path towards him, her blue fox tail bouncing with each step.

  She slowed when she came within three yards, taking in Ori’s unreadable expression. Still, she pushed on, nerves and excitement tangling her words.

  “I—thank you. I knew I’d find you here, after what happened. I mean, I knew you were powerful. If you can walk up to a dragon and kiss it without anyone noticing—and your spells.” She glanced back at the village, then turned to him again. "You're an archmagi, aren’t you? I mean, you have to be. Are you famous? The whole of Twilight should’ve heard of you by now, if you’re as strong as I think you are. I, I—I just wanted to say thank you—and—”

  Ori turned towards her, Seraphine’s Beacon in hand, and listened.

  “Poor girl,” Seraphine murmured through the bond.

  “Poor girl?” Ori replied silently.

  “I heard from Tess. Is she one of the three who got inheritances from Thorncross? She approached you, and you scared her off.”

  ‘More like she scared me off.’ Ori thought but didn’t voice, instead replying. “I was in the wrong headspace.”

  “And now?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Ori rose, the movement cutting Ayame off mid-sentence.

  He sighed. “Hello. Satō Ayame, was it?”

  “Yes, though Ayame is fine. Or Satō, whichever you’d prefer.” Her ears twitched. “I just realised. You’re him, aren’t you? You have to be. Right?”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Who?” Ori asked.

  “Th—the Demon Bane.”

  Ori let a few breaths pass before he nodded.

  “Ori Suba. High Redeemer and a bunch of other things, at your service.” He gave a mock bow.

  Ayame squealed and clapped, excitement briefly breaking through her caution as she revelled in being right, in basking in his celebrity, or both.

  “When I saw you in Thorncross, I mean in the inheritances, I think I knew then. The Demon Bane lighting up, and then you, I knew that there had to be a connection. And then I got mine. Then, in the soul garden, I was told we had Fate.” She swallowed. “I mean, I already knew, but that was confirmation. And now you’re here, and you saved me.”

  Ori looked towards the village. “Is this your home?”

  “I… I’ve been staying here for a few months. An old lady took me in, in exchange for chores. I think she was lonely and needed company.” Ayame’s tail slowed, the tip curling in. “But I’m actually from Caer’hallen, or just outside it. I came down here for the inheritance, to try my luck, you know? , and I was about to leave, today actually, but then the bandits came.“I tried to put up sigils, flags, wards, anything to ward the villagers, but they were too strong. And and…”

  Ori lifted a hand and gave a short laugh. “Alright. Slow down.”

  “Yep. Sorry.” Ayame covered her mouth. “I don’t normally talk this much. It’s just… just…” She exhaled. “Thank you.”

  Ori stared at her for a moment. She half-turned towards him with an uncertain, guarded smile. Steel-blue hair framed her face in loose strands, the rest gathered into a messy knot pinned with small ornaments. Large furred ears rose from her crown, grey-dark at the tips, and a thick tail swayed behind her in regular blue-grey sweeps. Freckles dusted the bridge of her nose and cheeks, softening features that still carried tension. The fitted black robe she wore, patterned with cherry blossoms, hugged her frame, its sleeves worked with fine floral embroidery.

  Her pale, watchful eyes tracked over him without quite meeting his gaze.

  “Did I say something wrong?” she asked eventually.

  Ori shook his head, pulled from his reverie. “No. Sorry.” He hesitated, then gestured along the path. “Would you like to go for a walk with me, Ayame?”

  “A walk?”

  Ori shrugged. “If you want. Just to talk. If not, that’s fine too. We can shake hands and maybe meet another time.”

  “No!” Ayame reached out, then caught herself. “I mean, yes. I’d like to walk. And talk. Very much.” A bright smile bloomed across her face. “They’re my favourites.”

  “I’m human. Mostly. Well, human enough. I mean… mostly human.” She began by over-correcting as she recognised the incongruity of the statement with her non-human appearance. Ori actually liked her voice; there was a crispness that waxed and waned between playful and academic or booksmart, with the confidence he had experienced in his first meeting, long since replaced with warring nerves, caution and excitement. “I think what you’re seeing is some of my Unseelie heritage. But I take after my ma, and she’s human.”

  Ori suppressed a dubious glance at her ears and tail, deciding to keep what he knew about Fera Linea to himself, at least for now.

  “What about your father?” Ori found himself asking.

  “I never knew him. Ma said, ‘he came in the night, and left as swiftly as he arrived.’” Ayame’s expression was wry. “I’m not a child. I know what that means and how I was conceived. I want nothing from him, or his fae blood.”

  Ori said little as they walked. They were nearly a mile out from the village, following the road that joined one of the main merchant routes between Dremsway and the outlying settlements. He had chosen a long loop around the place he’d just saved, figuring it would give him time to figure this woman out and decide what to do next.

  There was tension in him. Despite his subdued mood, he found himself slipping into the conversation as the walk continued. The urgent, insistent need to act had quieted, but worry over Tess’s trial pressed in its place, balanced by a rueful contemplation of Fate, and his role in it, willing or otherwise.

  Coming here had saved Ayame, after all. Just a few minutes later, and she would almost certainly have died. While the margins might not have felt as narrow with his other bonds, his involvement in their fates was beyond question. Rationally, he knew that for every person he saved, thousands across Twilight would likely perish, and an unspeakable number across Fate itself.

  Ayame, for her part, settled after a few minutes. Her words stopped tripping over themselves, and Ori began to notice what they shared, from a mutual interest in crafting to both having absent, deadbeat fathers.

  “But your mother raised you?” Ori asked.

  “She took us to Twilight when I was young. She wanted a fresh start, somewhere fae blood was more accepted, and she found it, up near the coast.” Ayame glanced towards him. “Have you ever been to Caer’hallen?”

  “No. I plan to, and soon. There’s something I need to do there before I travel to Vespasian.”

  “You’re going to study at the magic college?” Ayame gasped.

  Ori nodded.

  “I really wanted to go,” she admitted, “but I didn’t think I could pass the entrance exams, let alone afford it.”

  Ori quirked an eyebrow, realising his connection to Freya came with at least one hidden bonus. “But isn’t it one of the only places you can get a licence in this realm if you want to sell what you make?”

  Ayame shook her head. “For enchantments. High enchantments, at that. No one really enforces the law for common work.” She grimaced. “Besides, you need to be a Greater Ranker just to get in, and I haven’t even awakened. Besides, I don’t need it for sigils and cards.”

  “Card magic.” Ori chuckled, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe that’s a thing.”

  “Until I can write sigils directly onto Fate, it’s the only real way I can contribute in a fight. A budding Wardsmith has to make do.”

  The

  “Wardsmith, huh?” Ori smirked.

  Ayame blinked. “I’m surprised, actually…”

  “Surprised?”

  “I, well… given what you can do, being the Demon Bane and all, I thought you’d know about cards.”

  “What I know compared to what I don’t is a paragraph in a book, next to a whole library. I see and learn new things every day.”

  “Really?” Ayame hesitated. “I thought someone of your age and prestig—”

  Ori laughed once. “Old?”

  “My apologies. I just…” She looked flustered. “I can feel the abundance of vitality in you. I just assumed—How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Twenty-three.” Ori glanced at her, as if waiting for the follow-up. “Years. Twenty-three autumns, winters, springs, and summers. More or less.”

  “But how?” Ayame asked, open-mouthed.

  “It’s… a long story.”

  “Could you tell me?”

  Ori walked a few steps in silence. Then, realising she was already under oath and, if his instincts were right, she had the potential to become one of his future bonds, he nodded.

  “Sure.”

  Then, as he had with Tess and Raven before, Ori described his journey so far, his abduction and escape, meeting Freya and the Crucible, his trials and bonds, and the later breakout, evacuation, and destruction of Ghigrerchiax. Ayame listened without interruption, her attention fixed on him until he finished.

  “So you’re an entity of power,” she said, “I mean, you are capable of giving other people power? Turning people into warlocks?”

  Ori nodded.

  “And…” She bit her lip, hands fidgeting as she chose her words. “How do you decide? Do you choose them, or do they choose you? Could anyone come to you seeking power?”

  “I’m still new at this.” Ori shook his head, searching for the right explanation. “With Tess, there was an instant connection. As soon as we met, I sort of knew she was right for me. My bond with Ruenne’del is different, more of an equal exchange, really. Raven was different again. She’s someone I quickly came to like. She wanted to help me, still wants to help me, and I can’t wait for her to be back at my side.” He exhaled. “What I’m trying to say is, there’s no rule I follow, no pattern. Just that they become part of my family, and we all have to reach for Immortal Rank.”

  “Immortal Rank?” Ayame asked. “And part of your family? Does that mean that type of, erm, family… I mean, Tess and Ruenne’del are you…? I’m sorry if I’m prying.”

  “Yes, they are, my lovers. No, not everyone of my bonds will be, Lucas is male, and I doubt Lysara, a lesser elemental, would… could…” Ori pressed on.” As for Immortal rank, it’s strong, and for most people, it would take a lot of time. That giant who smashed a house in front of you, someone at Immortal Rank would be ten times stronger, at least. But for my bonds, well, I have a few ways to help.”

  She stared into the forest for a long moment, turning his words over. Ori could feel the shadow of her unspoken desire, but unlike the certainty he’d felt with Tess, and with Seraphine’s advice not to be so direct, he allowed Ayame to come to her own decision.

  The silence held until the conversation shifted to the inheritance site. They exchanged stories about the soul garden and their teachers. Ayame had been taken in by an Arch Wardsmith from over five thousand years ago, famous for leaving few recorded bestowals. She had lasted almost five days outside, or a year and a third within the soul garden, before leaving.

  Inside, she had learned everything from the basics of connection theory, sigil flags like the ones she’d used to defend the village, wards, and card-craft. In many ways, the knowledge outstripped what she could use as an unawakened mortal, so she’d spent most of the intervening days writing down everything she could remember.

  Then Ori described his first crafting attempts, his luck with Seraphine’s Beacon, and how reforging it had been one of the most painful things he had ever endured.

  “She’s in there? Lady Seraphine?” Ayame asked, holding the crystal wand in her hands.

  “Hello, Lady Satō. It is a pleasure to be introduced,” came a cheerfully melodic voice.

  Ayame flinched and nearly dropped the artefact. “Is… is that you, Lady Seraphine?” She looked around, startled.

  Seraphine’s gentle laugh carried along the forest path. “As I’m a spirit bound to this artefact, I use mana to make the air around us resonate. It’s a handy trick when I want to speak to someone without going through Ori’s bond.”

  “Wow. I can’t believe I’m speaking to a white lich. I can’t believe I’m speaking to the High Human.” Ayame’s expression tightened. “I can’t believe I…”

  “What is it?” Ori asked.

  “That day in Thorncross…” she began. “It makes sense now. I knew I was in the wrong, but with your identity as sensitive as it is, I can see why you reacted the way you did.”

  Ori slowed to a stop. “It wasn’t me I was worried about.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  “You could’ve implicated my friends and loved ones with careless words. People get hurt, people get killed. All because someone repeats what they saw.” Ori met her eyes. “You understand?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, swallowing. “I could tell. You really would’ve killed me without the oath, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Ori said, his voice flat.

  “From what I’ve observed,” Seraphine added, her voice humming around them, “Ori’s bonds are his family. To threaten them is the quickest way to earn his ire.”

  “I understand,” Ayame said quietly. “I don’t know why I approached you that day. Well, no, I do. The first time I saw you, you strode in with a woman on each arm, and everyone was smiling. Hard to ignore. But it was the second time…” She hesitated, then pushed on. “When I saw you do something so audacious, so reckless, like kissing a dragon in front of soldiers. It looked fun, you looked like you might be fun. So I wanted to see for myself. At first you were moody, but then you smiled, and I wanted to know why, and…”

  “And?” Ori prompted.

  “Never mind.” She gave a bright smile that seemed guileless, but Ori caught the familiar shadow beneath it.

  Instead of pressing for her to elaborate, Ori continued walking.

  They talked for hours, taking a circuitous route around the village he later came to learn was called Morforth. Seraphine joined in now and then as they compared their experiences in the soul garden and drifted into crafting and magic.

  By the time they neared their starting point, dusk had crept in, and Ori’s anxiety over Tess’s trial had risen again, almost to the point of distraction.

  “So, it seems as if I’m finally starting to bore you.” Ayame laughed self-deprecatingly.

  “It’s not that,” Ori began. “I think I mentioned before how Tess, Rue and Freya are doing this trial, there’s a big nest of demons, that group from the south.”

  “I’ve heard,” Ayame said. “They’re the remnants of the ones you slaughtered?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And they’re there? Why?”

  “Well, they’re clearing it out, killing them all, that’s her trial, Tess’s, to win, as a mortal, and well. It’s hard not to have that in the back of my mind.”

  “Mortal?”

  Ori chuckled, “Yeah, as she is now, no awakened below Sovereign rank could harm her. But with thousands of them all gathered together,” Ori sighed. “And an Immortal rank leading them... Well, I guess it wouldn’t be much of a trial if she were guaranteed to win.”

  “Why is she doing it? To awaken?” Ayame wondered.

  “To awaken as an irregular.”

  “An irregular? What’s that?”

  “Someone like me. Someone far stronger than their awakened rank would suggest. At Nascent Rank, I, for example, don’t fear anyone below Immortal Rank unless they too are an Irregular.”

  Ayame remained silent for a while as she processed his words.

  “And you’re worried about her safety? That’s more than understandable.”

  “Yeah, and I’m not allowed to interfere. So coming here is a bit of a distraction.”

  “If you call saving a village of people from bandits and slavers a distraction, then I dread what you’d do when your mind is set.” Ayame giggled. “How will you know when they’re safe? And couldn’t you just watch from a distance?”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking about it.” Ori looked up at the sky. “It’s getting dark soon.”

  “Bad Ori,” Seraphine admonished.

  “I’m sure that if I watch from very far away, then if anything happens, I’ll be close enough to help,” Ori argued.

  “Or… your presence may cause a chain of events that leads to their failure, or some sort of accident?”

  “What if I sent Lucas or Lysara…” Ori was about to continue when Freya reached out through the bond.

  “It’s done. They did it,” his wear-pixie familiar said silently.

  “Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?”

  “We’re all fine, Ori. Ruenne’del said not to use any of your magic when you come. There’s a trap you’ll need to disarm first when you get here, before you can heal any of the prisoners.”

  “I understand,” Ori replied through the bond. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “What is it?” Ayame asked, as his expression and focus shifted.

  “They did it,” Ori announced, breaking into a massive grin.

  “Yay!” Ayame said.

  “So, yeah. I’ll be heading over there now,” Ori said, gauging how far away Lucas was relative to the positions he felt for Tess, Freya, and Ruenne’del. Then he turned to the blue-haired fae; however, before he could say his goodbyes, Ayame suddenly spoke out.

  “I want to come with you, if—if that’s okay, I mean, please.”

  Ori’s gaze lingered upon her evasive eyes for a while before he asked a question of her in return.

  “Why?”

  “Because…” Ayame lifted her head and, for the first time that day, held his gaze without wavering. “You came and saved me, you gave me a second chance, just as she said you would. And I know that if I don’t take it, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

  Minor guide:

  Ayame is pronounced Ah-yah-meh, as it's based on an asian name; the family name (Satō) comes first.

  Ruenne'del is pronounced Roo-en-del

  Caoimhe is pronounced Kee-va. (Odd Irish name, I know.) :P