Aaron awoke in his bed. The old bedsheet was familiar and comforting. Weird dream. What time is it? Seven a.m.

  His eyes flicked from the digital clock to the familiar, cluttered room.

  Mine.

  He glanced past the books and the bird feeder beside the window. Then his eyes returned to the clock. But the time had changed. Thirteen hundred hours.

  Aaron frowned, blinking at the clock. Then the digits flickered again, showing thirteen hundred hours. An instinctive shiver ran down his spine. He raised his hands slowly, pulse quickening in dread. No fingers—just smoky tentacles wavering before his eyes.

  “Nononono…” He remembered Ceiro’s blood on the table. This is the dream. Wrong hands. Shifting text. I really have killed people. Oh no.

  A gentle warmth bloomed in his chest, softening the sobs. A quiet rustling drew Aaron’s gaze to the desk. Quetzy’s long, furry body appeared, emerging softly from shadows. Its black eyes found his.

  “HereForYou.” Aaron met the large, black eyes of the dragonsquirrel.

  “I… This… Why?” he stammered, as grief, disappointment, and a pinch of anger mixed in his mind.

  “RemindYouOf SavePlace. SlowAndBreathe.” The voice was calmer than usual. But the words still blurred into each other.

  Aaron let out a shuddering breath. Why this? I am keeping it together. Without all this bullshit. Without dwelling on… He gazed around the room. This.

  Quetzy jumped off the table and began walking toward him. Aaron pressed his eyes shut, tried to keep back another wave of tears. I just had another guy nearly executed. Had him crippled.

  “Fuuuuck…” Aaron’s voice cracked under the weight of it.

  Quetzy didn’t flinch, only inched closer. It walked up to Aaron, who sat on the floor, then pushed its head into his stomach, rubbing against him.

  “BreatheSlowly,” it whispered in a soft tone.

  Aaron’s throat tightened.

  His mouth opened—but nothing came out. Guilt swallowed the scream.

  Aaron inhaled. Exhaled. The tears stilled, and the turmoil in his chest settled. It did not feel resolved. More like the calm in the eye of a storm.

  “WasViolenceOrReactionsBad?” Quetzy asked quietly, curling up on Aaron’s thighs.

  Aaron opened his mouth to say "violence."

  I’ve killed before. Teased people into mistakes. But this time, I got rewarded. Rhea, Esnita—hell, even his sister were on my side. Am I becoming a bully? Have I always been one?

  Aaron exhaled, letting all the air out of his lungs. “The violence was never this sudden before. The guy I had dinner with just tried to kill me.” He tensed his shoulders. “And how I got praised for it… it’s disgusting. But…”

  He trailed off, looking out the window. At the birds. “I loved being able to show him how dumb and immature he was. Until it all went wrong.”

  His face grew red.

  “TheonSaidHeIsEnemy. YouActedInRightsGivenHere.” Quetzy’s head rose like a cobra. Black eyes studying him.

  “If all we defend are our rights, we become clever beasts in a zero-sum game.” Aaron shook his head.

  Why the fuck am I waxing philosophical right after I nearly got someone executed? What the hell is wrong with me?

  “WhatYouWouldChoose? InBoundsThisPlace. WhatDoYouWant? AndWhatYouThinkYouShouldWant?” Quetzy tilted its head as Aaron furrowed his brows.

  What can I even do? Maybe I should control myself, but…

  He saw the battle where they’d found Erai in the power of the Hunters. How he had taken on the mind mage. How the Sages had loomed over him. I need power. Can you become powerful with clean hands? Especially in a militaristic society?

  Images flashed before Aaron’s eyes. How the Watcher had shown him leading an army. But will I become a tool? A stone that’s been worn smooth by the currents of this world? Or will I be able to change things if I end up in charge?

  “SoWhatWouldYouHaveDoneAtDinner? WhatWereOptions? BeyondSelfControl?” Quetzy turned, looking expectantly at Aaron.

  “Well, if you mean if it still had escalated…” Aaron cleared his throat. Esnita and Rhea had encouraged him. Rhea had literally eaten popcorn and enjoyed the show.

  “Do you mean that I could have aimed for this deliberately? That is…” He swallowed. That is so wrong.

  “IsIt? YouWillFight. KillEnemies. WarIsComingToThisLand. HowWillYouStand? HowWillYouTrickEnemies?” Quetzy’s voice had grown more intense.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Aaron stared at the dragonsquirrel. What does it really want? Is it actually on my side, or is it manipulating me for the Watcher?

  “So you’re saying that all of this is training for cunning and fighting? Shouldn’t you just help me with my mental health?” Aaron scowled, feeling heat rise in his chest.

  “YouNoCivilianInOldWorld. YouChosenWarleader. HowYouThinkMentalHealthLooksForThose?”

  Aaron closed his eyes. What does leadership even look like in this place? How do people like Napoleon or Caesar stay sane? Aaron shook his head. Is it hubris to compare myself to such people?

  “But I was an asshole in return to someone who should be my fellow squadmate.”

  “ThenChooseAction. WhatAreOptions?”

  Aaron got up and began circling the familiar room. Options. “I could try to make peace. Talk to him. I could have him removed. Bug or the Mindmage can probably do it.”

  Aaron stopped. “Or I use this to learn how to properly bully? That’s what you want, right?”

  His voice grew ever harder. Quetzy shook itself like a wet dog. “WantYouToBecomeYou. WhatYouPrefer? AndWhy?” It asked while lazily circling around him.

  Aaron closed his eyes. Deep breaths, Aaron. Focus on the breath. I can’t lash out at everyone. Let’s think about this.

  “More allies are always better. I don’t know Ceiro, but what he is doing to Kendia and Rhea—I don’t want to be in contact with such a person.”

  Aaron clenched his fists.

  “SoRemoveHim. SeverityYourChoice. SendAway. BullyTillHeBreaks. KillHim.” The dragonsquirrel suggested all of this in a calm singsong, as if it were talking about the weather.

  Aaron’s eyes widened. “Why would I ever kill or bully someone?”

  Quetzy tilted its head, eyes suddenly unfocused. Its body tensed. “SomeoneComing,” it whispered urgently.

  Before Aaron could respond, Quetzy spun in a barrel roll, the room rippling and smearing away, dissolving into a chaotic swirl of colors that faded swiftly into darkness.

  A bright star illuminated one side of Aaron’s face. His body tensed instinctively. I wonder what the Mindmage will—

  Heat surged through him, blue flames erupting across his vision, devouring his body without pain. Right. Of course. That again.

  He imagined rolling his eyes, then tensed every muscle and let attention run through each limb, the torso, and his head. It had taken less than a heartbeat.

  “The coherence you display is certainly impressive. How are your emotions?” The voice came from behind him. Aaron turned around.

  A chuckle sounded from the Mindmage's direction, again behind him. You want to play games? Fine.

  Without turning, Aaron spoke. “I am calm. It was fine. Normal, even.” He tilted his head. “There was no pain.”

  The Mindmage was already beside him. He wore lavender robes—formal attire for a Grandmaster today. Seems like the masquerade is over for us.

  Aaron noticed a brooch pinned to his chest. A silver bear brooch—a symbol of clan mastery? Or some secret order? First time I’ve seen something like that here.

  “Yes, the process tends to have aftereffects. Memory consolidates in sleep. So do certain abilities. The system smooths out rough craftsmanship to a certain degree.”

  The Mindmage gave him a grandfatherly smile, then bowed at the hips—first to Aaron, then to Quetzy.

  Quetzy chittered, and the Mindmage nodded. “I hear you find yourself in a moral dilemma. It makes sense. Bark told me your world valued the avoidance of harm highly. An extreme-axis society, we call it, in case you want to research the term.”

  Aaron narrowed his eyes, but nodded. Then part of him shrank back. This is the mage I forced to swear fealty yesterday night. And I nearly killed Bug.

  He shifted from foot to foot. “Thank you. Yes, I am struggling with what happened today.”

  The man nodded, then smiled faintly. “Care to guess how I would solve this problem?”

  Aaron gave him a tight smile. “Mindfuck him until he serves you like a well-behaved dog?”

  Laughter erupted from the Mind Mage. Aaron frowned as the man began to get out words between shudders of amusement. “How quickly the bad stereotypes of my discipline have reached you.”

  Then his face grew serious. “The more overt applications of Tharllomancy—the school of domination and control—must be employed rarely and strategically. No, I would befriend him.”

  Aaron’s jaw dropped open. “Wh—”

  He stopped himself. I need to think for myself. Why would he recommend that? No—why would he do it? He mentioned limits to magic and natural laws a lot. Are there natural laws of social action? Or…

  “Using social skills alongside mind magic, or instead of it, makes you more powerful. It preserves your power.” The Mind Mage's eyes glittered.

  Aaron nodded. “In my world, we call it comparative advantage. High-skilled actors need lower-skilled ones to enable them to focus limited resources on hard problems.”

  The Mindmage considered the answer with a tilted head. “An interesting interpretation. I’ve heard similar arguments from Kyrapolitan Individualists.”

  Then he looked Aaron in the eyes.

  “So what will you choose to do? How does my council sway you?”

  Aaron looked between the two alien beings. One with a truly alien cognition. The other from a culture so distant in space and time that it might as well be alien.

  He exhaled and shook his head. “I will take your council into consideration. You will hear my decision tomorrow.”

  The Mindmage smiled. “Almost the right answer. Using time if it is available is wise. But if one does not fully trust someone, giving them hard timelines instead of ominous timeframes should only be done to deceive.”

  Aaron closed his eyes. The man chuckled. “Yes, it can be rough. But if politics decides over life and death, all measures must be permissible.”

  Aaron opened his mouth, but the Mindmage continued. “As you have something to think about—what to do, and how to respond to my statement—we’ll use that to train today.”

  He produced a leather-bound journal and a slim pencil.

  Aaron looked at the man with a tired head tilt.

  The Mindmage chuckled. Fucker was in a great mood today. “While I’ve personally filled a few books with soul-searching that could humble a priest. This is about something else. Maintaining internal structure. Keeping a book coherent while the pages change? Much harder than stabilizing a magnetic field.”

  Aaron exhaled, gaze drifting to the notebook. His thoughts were raw, tangled, and restless. Can writing really anchor this chaos? He took the notebook and pencil slowly, running his thumb along the smooth leather cover.

  I want to win—but I don’t want to rot to do it. “I have much to consider,” Aaron finally said.

  The Mindmage inclined his head gently. “Indeed. The first page should always be titled. A good title helps remind the mind what world it lives in.”

  Aaron hesitated, staring at the blank page for a moment, then began to write.

  a+++ Shout-Out Time +++

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