Dust motes drifted through a beam of sunlight that spilled through a window too familiar to mistake. The smell of wood shavings, leather, and various other materials inspired a bout of nostalgia. Marek searched the workshop but sighed when he didn’t find any sign of Mirrin.

  A voice deep and rich broke the silence. “The workshop was easy to replicate. Summoning a mortal to this place, however, another story entirely.”

  Marek turned to find a man of thirty or so years sitting on one of the stools. Wearing a set of fine black armor, a dark cloak wrapped about his shoulders, the stranger cut a dashing figure. And there was something about the man’s eyes that spoke to him.

  “Your father had the same eyes, as do you,” the man said with a smile. “Kaiteras blood is a potent thing. I hated how similar I looked to my own father, so I understand if you’re disappointed.”

  Marek sat on his accustomed work stool and studied the man. “Serin?” he asked after a time. “You’re him, aren’t you? Tenacity… Serin Kaiteras, my ancestor.”

  The man nodded. “Clever to put it together so quickly. Yes, I am he.”

  “What are you doing here?” Marek asked. “Better yet, how did I get here?”

  “You bound my staff, the one poor Yuze should have given you upon first sight. He gave much to save your world. Forgive him his failings.”

  “And the workshop?”

  Serin shrugged. “Thought it might be nice for you to see it again. We are, of course, not here in the physical sense.” He laughed as if he’d made a joke. “Not that I can be. I left the world of the living a long time ago.”

  Marek narrowed his eyes. This was Tenacity, one of the Principalities, a god of the Coherent Realm. He should know whether or not… “Mirrin—is he—”

  “Not dead, if that’s what you want to ask. The Sigilist lives, though for how much longer, I cannot say. But we meander too far from what’s important. Time flows differently here, and the world will not wait on us. I only have a few moments to speak with you.”

  Marek fought to quell the myriad questions he’d always wanted to ask a god should he happen to meet one.

  Again, Serin laughed. “Sorry, I know it is tempting to pose the biggest questions. For now, however, it is I who need to speak.” He gestured with his hand, and the ironwood staff appeared on the worktable before Marek. “The crystal was shattered when Yuze and I rendered the Rift. You will need to acquire a new one. A Diadem Crystal, once used to enchant the crowns of royalty, now far too precious to spare for such uses. Few exist in Archaius. All you need is one, however. Do so as quickly as possible, for you cannot stand against the darkness without the full power of your staff.”

  Marek ran his fingers along the smooth black wood. “The staff enhances my Abilities, then?”

  “In a sense, though not how you might imagine,” Serin answered. “Its greatest function is to secure your soul to the realm of the living. I’m sure you remember how close you came to losing contact entirely. The staff’s other functions are yours to discover. You haven’t reached a high enough tier of power to access the staff’s interface, but I suspect you will soon enough.”

  Marek stared at the length of ironwood and bit his lip. Shaking his head, he ventured, “Mirrin told me my mother’s fate. He wasn’t there to see it, though. My father… Did he really—”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Your father had no control over what happened. It wasn’t an action of his will, so let that go, Marek. The fault lies with the king of Casteras, an evil man and a problem you’ll one day need to sort out. The tomes that contain the knowledge of your Class, how to create a staff, the limits and extent of your powers, all can be found in his vaults.”

  “Bastard,” Marek hissed. “I should go there straight away. I could gain plenty of levels by slaughtering his soldiers.”

  Serin’s eyes hardened. “Most of those men have done no harm. Direct your wrath with care. But alas, you need not worry about gaining power, nor will you step foot in Casteras any time soon.”

  “What do you mean? After I deliver the herbs to Mirrin, I planned to head north immediately.”

  “Your path leads elsewhere. Our time is done, young Marek. I shall tell you one last thing. You must trust in Yuze. Heed the wanderer’s guidance. He will not lead you astray, no matter how frayed his mind might seem.”

  The workshop began to fade, Serin Kaiteras along with it. “Wait! What Abilities should I choose when I reach the next Threshold? Don’t leave yet! I have more questions!”

  “Follow your intuition and listen to those that love you the most. Goodbye, Marek. May your soul stay bright.”

  All vanished, and then Marek’s eyes fluttered open. He heard people talking nearby, their words unclear. Sitting up, he found himself in a sickbed. The injured rested in a long line beside him. A healer shouted something in the Haikini tongue and ran out through the flap of the tent.

  Marek groaned. He wasn’t in pain exactly, but everything was blurry, his mind filled with fog and his limbs heavy.

  Marek, you are awake! a voice called inside him. I waited! It was hard, and I’m so hungry, but I wait very good.

  His familiar’s voice hadn’t changed in tone. It still held the raspy, dark quality it had before, yet the being that spoke them was different somehow. Allon, is that you? You sound… well, less evil.

  The daemon’s laughter rasped like a metal file. Still a little evil. Not so wrong in the head. The staff pulled my soul out of the Rift completely. Now the darkness does not touch me. But I’m still hungry, and my fangs are sharper than ever. Will we hunt today?

  It was Marek’s turn to laugh. Sure enough, his familiar was the same one with which he’d first bonded, insatiable and not such a deep thinker.

  “Marek!” Mags shouted from across the tent. She wore simple clothes fashioned from leather, and she carried not a single weapon on her person. Her eyes shone bright, less burdened than when he’d seen them last. “You Rift-bred bastard! I thought you’d never wake up!”

  A healer scowled in Mags’ direction, but the woman didn’t so much as notice. She ran past the Haikini and flopped onto Marek’s hospital bed. Then, of course, she punched him.

  “Ow! This how you greet the sick?” he asked, rubbing his shoulder.

  Mags giggled and gave him a gentle shove. “Oh, shut up and look at me.” Peering into his eyes, she searched them for a long while. Finally, her smile broadened and tears fell down her cheeks. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re back. Gods, but it’s good to see you.”

  Summon me! Allon urged, pulling Marek back from the tearful moment he was sharing with his best friend. I must speak to the Mags!

  When the daemon wouldn’t relent, Marek gave in. “Allon wishes to say something,” he warned her before summoning the familiar.

  Allon swirled into existence. His inky form startled several of the medical tent’s occupants, and Marek apologized. After explaining Allon meant no harm, the daemon swirled around Mags’ head and smiled his terrible toothy grin in her face. “Lady Mags must be thanked. Master’s soul would have rotted, but you pulled us out of deep dark. Thanks for Lady Mags.”

  “Well, I appreciate that, Allon. Are you not evil anymore?”

  The daemon growled. “Still evil and very strong!”

  Mags held up her hands, trying not to smile. “Oh, yes, I can see that clearly. You’re really scary, too.”

  Allon’s purr thrummed, and he beamed. This was a ghastly sight, thin reptilian lips pulling back to expose black teeth and gums and a tongue of liquid shadow lolling out. “It is good you have such a strong brood mate. She will produce many strong spawn for Master!”

  Mags and Marek recoiled as one. She swatted at the daemon, shouting, “Don’t be gross!”

  Marek merely grimaced.

  The daemon tried to defend himself, but Marek decided the creature had taken up quite enough of this reunion. Drawing Allon back into his being, he chuckled at Mags, cheeks bright red. “So tell me, what have I missed?”