The five of us walked slowly back toward the waiting horses. With those big flying bat-birds, which I was told were called Aetherhawks, in the area, I was surprised that the horses would be safe where they were. That’s not even considering the sheer number of beasts hell-bent on eating whatever they could get their maws on.

  Apparently, there was some sort of spell that could be cast to slightly alter the perception of people or beasts in the area when looking at the horses. It was no surprise that this was one of Sira’s abilities, and not one that many of the other Vanguard units could do since not all of them had a Recon Mage.

  As for why the Aetherhawks hadn’t swooped down and stolen my kills to siphon off their magic, or Essentia, no one in the group had an answer to that. Kael had posited that they were scared of me and were afraid I would seek retribution, especially after what I did to the one that had gotten a little too damn nosy. Now that I knew I could make money from the corpses, he wasn’t wrong.

  In total, I had racked up forty-three beast kills. None of the three who would speak to me could guess how much all that would be worth, however. It depended on the day and the vendor purchasing them. Also, some of the corpses were more like pieces and parts, not a whole body, which made the estimates that much more difficult.

  The ride back started out awkwardly. Sira seemed to be over the whole nearly choking her out thing, and after five minutes of me apologizing and expining how abusing women was seen as improper on my world, we got into a semi-tense discussion about how sexist that was—although she didn’t know the word sexist...I caught it from context—and that women were just as capable as men. I obviously didn’t disagree and decided to just shut the fuck up.

  Having a few hours to waste at a slow pace, we filled the time with a group Q&A session. I’d ask about their world, they’d ask about mine. They’d ask about my life, and they’d give me vague answers about theirs since they still couldn’t 100% trust me just yet.

  Not one to beat around the bush, I stated the obvious. “So, this was supposed to be a kill or capture mission, I take it?”

  Sira looked at me over her shoulder. “Why do you say that?”

  “Four horses,” I replied, then continued when she just shrugged. “If your bosses expected someone cooperative, there’d be five.”

  I left the rest of the implication to hang in the air. The stolen gnces between a few of them told me I was on the money.

  “Why aren’t you trying to kill us?”

  Shockingly, Arwen deigned to ask me a question. It was more of a demand for an answer, though.

  “Because you didn’t try to kill me. I’m not sold that you all won’t try it ter, especially you, but for now, why poke the bear?” I asked.

  Arwen’s furious red eyes held my gaze for a few more moments. It was a scathing gaze. Maybe baleful. Whatever. She didn’t like me. When Kael spoke up, she turned her attention forward.

  “You spoke of being a Marine, Dane,” Kael said. “Also, recon and raiders? It sounds as if you served aboard a ship, then turned to piracy.”

  I ughed. “No, I wasn’t a pirate. And we were called Marines because...”

  I then spent the next half hour expining how Marines were named, because they were originally soldiers who fought aboard ships at sea, and in America how we were part of the Navy. I couldn’t help but throw in a few jabs at the other armed services here and there, expining how we were the best of the best. I then expined the duties of the Force Reconnaissance units and even leaned into my history degree to expin the full history of the Marine Raider Regiments and their part in the broader special operations area.

  I don’t know how much of it they believed, and I had been telling the truth for all of it, but it appeared that they were quite impressed. Hell, even Arwen cocked an eyebrow once in a while before scowling at me and turning away when I noticed her interest.

  “Dane, I believe I would very much like to spar with you,” Kael said with an approving nod.

  I grinned. “I’m game, but maybe after I freshen up a bit.”

  “Yes,” Sira muttered, the word hissing out like she was trying not to gag.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. As close as we were, my chest against her back as we rode, I was pretty sure I was ruining her clothes and rubbing my stank all over her. That expined the side-eye from earlier, I guess.

  After an hour and a half of slow riding, the terrain finally began to change.

  The cracked and twisted ground of the Arcane Wastes gradually gave way to patches of vibrant green, low hills, and smooth-cut stone paths that snaked ahead through wild groves and cultivated fields. Faint veins of glowing crystal occasionally ced the edges of the road, and I noticed that the same weird silver-blue light pulsed through them whenever my heart did.

  Yep. Still weird.

  "You see it, don't you?" Sira asked from in front of me. I must have leaned forward a little, or maybe grunted too loud.

  "Yeah. The glowy road. That’s normal, right?"

  "To an extent," she said, adjusting her grip on Valis’ reins. "You’re more attuned than most to the flow of Essentia. These roads were enchanted generations ago to resist erosion and interference. You’re not supposed to see the pulse. Most don’t."

  Cool. Cool cool. Totally normal magic stuff.

  As we crested a ridge, the forest opened wide, and there it was.

  Azarien.

  The city unfolded before us in a sprawling valley like something out of a dream I didn’t remember having. It wasn’t built like any city I’d seen back on Earth. No stone ramparts, no smoking chimneys, no castle keeps. Instead, Azarien was all smooth crystal and living light.

  Terraced ptforms spilled down the valley’s slope in wide arcs, like concentric rings sliding downhill. Every level was connected by delicate-looking bridges and staircases that shimmered in the light. Towering spires jutted from the terraces like frozen lightning bolts, some tilted at odd angles, others floating several feet above their base, suspended in pce by nothing I could see.

  "Holy shit," I muttered.

  "Welcome to the capital," Sira said, and for the first time since I’d met her, she sounded almost proud.

  The outer edge of the city was marked by walls that weren’t really walls. They were more like translucent barriers of crystalline material that pulsed faintly with runic energy. As we approached, I saw that they were etched with swirling script that danced under the surface like it was alive.

  There was no need to slow. As soon as Vos led us toward the gate, it parted with a quiet, almost reverent sound, like wind brushing through a wind chime.

  On the other side stood a squad of silver-cloaked guards. Sentinels, I was told. Each one wore a mask that looked like it had been carved from mirrorstone, an ore pointed out to me on our trek back, and their spears crackled faintly with light. They gave some sort of salute to Vos. Then their eyes—if they had any behind those masks—settled on me.

  "That’s the Ashkaari?" one asked. The voice was metallic and filtered, but unmistakably wary.

  Vos nodded once.

  I met the Sentinel's gaze, or at least where I thought the eyes would be behind the mask. He flinched. Not visibly. But I saw it. A half-second pause. A grip that tightened on his weapon. A breath that hitched.

  Not the stench, then, I thought, but that was still very much a problem. I was now a living, walking combination of monster blood, old sweat, and adrenaline-drenched gore—but this was something else.

  They felt it.

  The Essentia. The power.

  As we passed through, the citizens of Azarien took notice. The wide roads were lined with all manner of people; robed schors, armored soldiers, curious apprentices in runed uniforms, and merchants guiding carts stacked with goods. All of them stopped, conversations ceased, and children stopped pying to cling to their mothers.

  I saw the ripple of recognition before I heard it.

  "Ashkaari."

  "Graven?"

  "Unbound."

  I wasn’t sure what that st one meant, but the looks I was getting? Yeah. Not friendly.

  Whispers followed us. Some curious, some fearful. A few were openly hostile. I expected someone to throw a rock. Thankfully, no one did.

  Overhead, something drifted down from one of the higher towers. At first, I thought it was another bird or flying beast, but as it neared, I realized it was a floating gss sphere the size of a cantaloupe, glowing with soft blue light.

  "Don’t swat at it," Sira warned quickly. "That’s an official Record Orb. It’s tracking you."

  "Oh great. So, I’m a walking TV show now?"

  "A what?"

  "Nevermind."

  The deeper we rode into the city, the more obvious the divide between the people and the Vanguard became. Wherever they rode, crowds parted. But when I came into view, they left completely. By the time we reached the lower tier leading toward the central district, even Kael looked uncomfortable.

  "They’re afraid of me," I said quietly.

  Vos gnced over. "They’re afraid of what your presence might mean."

  "You mean like war?"

  "Or prophecy."

  I stared at him. "You’re not joking."

  "Would you believe me if I said I wished I was?"

  We came to a wide causeway leading to an enormous arched corridor of radiant crystal. It was the entry point to something rger, something hidden from view by yers of refracted light.

  "That’s the Shardhall?" I asked.

  "That’s the outer threshold," Vos replied.

  Sira nodded. "The Hall is beyond."

  As we dismounted, I caught sight of my reflection in one of the polished stones nearby, still shocked at the younger me looking back. I also looked like I’d been rolled through Fallujah and scraped off the Humvee bumper.

  Scratched, bruised, shirtless, and my skin was caked with dried ichor and streaked bck with gore. And my eyes...they looked like they belonged to someone else. Someone who’d seen war on a scale I hadn’t even processed yet.

  Sira handed Valis off to a stablehand without a word. I moved to follow, but she paused.

  "You’ll want to keep your head down in there," she said. “And I will need your weapon.”

  "Why?"

  She looked me over once more, her expression unreadable. "Because the people who run the Shardhall don’t ask questions. They pull answers out of you whether you want them or not.”

  I narrowed my eyes and saw her tense up, especially because she didn’t answer the part about my knife. "I came peacefully. I want answers just like everyone else. And now you're indicating that I may be some sort of prisoner?"

  "You’re not a prisoner, Dane. Not--not officially." She looked away, then added, "But no one comes here without being studied. Not even us. Not like you will be, though." Her voice lowered. "You want answers. So do they. The difference is, they’ll tear you open to find them if you resist.”

  Yeah. That sounded about right. Who was one man against an entire government?

  Seeing the look of near defiance on my face, Sira sighed. “Dane, you are history come alive. It has been thousands of years since an Ashkaari arrived on our world.” She frowned. “I heard what you said about potential visitors to your world. This is not that. They will study you, that much is certain, but the Arcanist will simply see into your mind.”

  “And what if they don’t like what they see, Sira?” I asked. “I was a military man. More battles than I can remember, and some of the missions were the not-nice kind.”

  Kael had come up behind us as we spoke. “They will see everything,” Kael said quietly. “But they won’t judge you by what you did. Only why you did it.”

  Kael’s dark blue eyes bored into mine as if he was speaking from experience. I studied his face for just a moment, not detecting subterfuge. He could have been pying the good cop role just to guide me into a glistening prison, but I didn’t think that was the case.

  I had my game face on as I nodded once. I didn’t like this and wouldn’t until I saw it for myself. But as I had told these four, if they didn’t attack me, I wouldn’t attack them.

  I removed the knife from my belt and set my jaw. “Fine. Let’s go meet some mages.”

  “Arcanists,” Sira corrected.

  “Fine. Let’s go meet some arcanists.”

  *    *    *    *    *

  The corridor leading into the Shardhall wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t dark or damp or cold. If anything, it was too bright. The walls were smooth and transparent, casting light in all directions like a sunlit prism. Each step echoed with a strange, harmonic hum, as if the hall itself recognized every footfall.

  More Sentinels stood guard along the walls, but none challenged us. They just watched silently like statues ready to move.

  The main chamber opened up before us like a cathedral carved from living crystal. It soared overhead in a domed canopy of radiant blue and gold, lines of Essentia flickering like distant stars trapped in the ceiling.

  At its center stood a raised ptform surrounded by a circle of nine pilrs, each one carved with different magical sigils and glowing faintly in different hues—deep violet, pale green, crimson, azure, and so on.

  And on the ptform stood a woman in long robes of silvery thread, her presence palpable the moment I stepped into the room.

  "That’s High Arcanist Velira, the one we mentioned," Vos murmured beside me. "She oversees the Ashkaari protocol."

  Velira turned, her eyes locking onto mine. And just like that, I felt naked.

  Not physically. Psychically. Like she was trying to peel away everything I thought I was and examining it under a microscope made of willpower.

  "Bring him forward," she said, her light voice ringing like a bell.

  I stared at her, and I could feel the battle of wills taking pce between us. She was working her magic already, trying to peek into the ol’ Walsh Well of Wonders to see what kind of horror show was pying on the inside. My eyes narrowed. It felt like an intrusion. She hadn’t even asked nicely.

  But I had cooperated so far. There was no point in a dick measuring—wait. Female. There was no point in a pissing contest if I wanted their help to get home. Besides, I’d easily win on distance.

  I saw what looked like a surprised eyebrow from the High Arcanist before I rexed and got my ass in gear, stopping one step below her on the ptform. Her eyes roamed over my body.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “For?” she countered.

  “Because I smell about as bad as a barracks trash can after a week of MRE farts and wet socks.”

  “Oh, gods,” I heard Vos mutter behind me. There may have also been the light sp of a facepalm.

  In front of me, the nearly imperceptible rise of the corner of the High Arcanist’s mouth made me think she’d already kind of figured me out. That was my hope, at least. With a title like High Arcanist, everyone probably tip-toed around her, lifting their pinkies when they sipped tea, and censored every single word they said as if she would scream “Off with their heads!”

  “I was notified of your current condition, Ashkaari. It is—”

  “Call me Dane. Or Master Sergeant Walsh if you need to keep it more, you know, professional.”

  “Dane…” It was Kael. He was admonishing me. Maybe warning me? Either way, that deep, rich Barry White voice of his really got the point across. And why the hell wasn’t he a singer on this world?

  “Had you not retired from military service?” High Arcanist Velira asked, and I immediately realized she’d poked around quite a bit in my noggin’ already.

  “Three years ago,” I replied with a nod. “But once a Marine, always a Marine. And us retired guys keep our rank even when we’re out.”

  She just stared at me, as if her eyes could see into my soul. And I guess that’s exactly what she was doing. So, I stared back, giving her the same once-over she had given me earlier.

  I’d been told that High Arcanist Velira was a, quote, older woman. For the guy in my head, the forty-eight-year-old, that is, she had the flowing robes and druid hood thing going on, and was stern, sexy, and absolutely my type. For eighteen-year-old me? Definitely a MILF. Though I didn’t know if she had kids. So, maybe just a MIL—Mage I…Like, maybe? Eh—whatever.

  She coughed uncomfortably, and I thought I saw her cheeks pink up just a bit.

  Holy shit…had she been listening in while I was checking her out? Awkward…

  “Schor Velsh,” Velira called, her voice echoing through the cavernous room. There was a long, silent pause before the light sound of rushed footsteps could be heard.

  A mousy, bck-haired woman ran toward us, joining me on my step of the ptform. She opened her mouth to speak, her eyes went wide as she turned sharply to me, then she took two rge steps to her right.

  “Gods above,” she muttered as she tried to stifle a gag.

  These people took their attire seriously. Schor Velsh was dressed a bit like one of those rookie nuns with a long sleeveless maroon dress, a white, long sleeve tunic underneath, and a flowing cloak csped at the neck with a gold chain. She looked like a kid wearing their parent’s clothes, though.

  “Y-yes, High Arcanist?” Schor Velsh said with a slight incline of her head.

  “This is the Ashkaari, Dane Walsh,” Velira said in a motherly tone. Maybe she really was a MILF. She suddenly gnced at me with her brows furrowed before returning her attention to Velsh. “He is now assigned to you.”

  Velsh’s eyes went wide. I couldn’t tell if it was etion or fear. “Assigned…to me?”

  “Please escort him to a room and see to it that he is allowed to cleanse himself. Thoroughly,” Velira pointedly added. “Feed him, clothe him, and we will begin his attunement and assessment in five hours.”

  “Wait—didn’t you just,” I raised my hands to circle the sides of my head, “scan me, or whatever?” I smirked at her and waggled my eyebrows a bit. “I know you were in there.”

  Velira frowned at me. “Just a preliminary check to see if you had,” she paused before saying, “improper thoughts about your time here.”

  Oops. Caught with my pants down. Well…not yet.

  Velira’s eyes widened. “Take him away, Schor Velsh,” the High Arcanist whispered, scandalized.

  As I walked away, following the young Schor, I called over my shoulder, “I just call it like I see it, ma’am.”