The Judges and troops on the outskirts of Alvion had tried to retreat into the night on the night of their aerial battle. They must have caught wind of the results of the battle between Jerome’s team and the Elite Judge. Jerome snorted at the thought of that. That had been ten days ago. The battle had continued on and the Judges had taken the southern side of the first ring again. But they had lost all that came with them from Alva.

  Even with all the consecutive wins, Jerome felt like the Church had pulled a fast one on him. Just as Vorthe was testing his new flying boots, the Church had been testing the clone of their Elite Judge. It made sense. But he didn’t like it.

  “You couldn’t have known that that was a clone,” Achilleia said. “They are quite difficult to tell apart. Plus all the Messengers we’ve fought are clones.”

  Maybe it was because of his first area wide attack. After that, he didn’t do much. I should have suspected that, he said. How’s Old Wen doing?

  “He’s fine. He loves the ring, and the boots, and the rifle. He already made a full recovery when he woke up, now he’s ready for advancement.”

  It’s incredible what this ring can do, don’t you think? He held up his hand to appreciate his ring.

  “I do.”

  Jerome stopped his work on the gem held in his precision rune. The sounds of molten steel boiling inside the furnace a few yards away and the hammering of steel resounded all around the workshop.

  You sound like there’s more you want to say, he said.

  “There is,” she said. “Did you not wonder how Judges and Messengers were created if they aren’t sacred artists?”

  I did, but there’s a lot going on. I have a theory too though.

  Jerome went back to his work.

  “Your theory isn’t far from the truth,” Achilleia said, reading his thoughts. “They inject them with a special ‘divine liquid’ which has a binding of sorts in it — that’s for the Judges by the way. This alien liquid fuses with the mitochondria in their cells, slowing down aging and giving them their powers. There’s also probably a lot of rituals and ceremonies involved.

  “The Judges on the other hand, make Messengers through a blood bond. A little of their blood goes a long way to bind a human being to a Judge. But said human comes out of it a Messenger.”

  Wait, did you say blood bond?

  “Yes, Xerae. And I think your bond to Layla is much like theirs. The problem is, such a bond can only be broken through the death of one or the other.”

  Jerome thought over her words for a while. He could already perceive the potential risks and future problems that could come about as a result of this.

  What if she had gone through the ritual herself, Achilleia?

  “Knowing what I know now, I have no idea if the same thing wouldn’t have happened — but I suspect it would have. She would have just felt pain instead of pleasure. This is new territory for me as well, Xerae. All you can do now is treat her right.”

  Jerome sighed. How is she doing out there?

  “More than a Sprout her age should be capable of.”

  You know, I can tell when her gem is running low. I top it off from time to time but I can sense that in a few seasons, the interval will begin to shorten. Then I might need to give her another gem.

  “She will not like that, Xerae.”

  Do the Judges do that?... Top off the Messengers, I mean.

  “I would assume they do it remotely, like you do.”

  You know, I do it when she sleeps. So she doesn’t have to experience the pleasure again and then feel… sexually assaulted. I couldn’t live with that. I’ve only had to top her up twice — it’s like once every five days. And the procedure arouses her like it did when I planted the gem on her, so…

  There was silence for a long moment as he thought through how to proceed with Layla. He couldn’t get the computation gem out of her. It became a part of her the moment he planted it behind her ear. And it had engulfed her in a barrier, from the inside out — something he didn’t quite understand yet. But at least it couldn’t hurt him. Anyone else wouldn’t be so lucky.

  “The battle is rounding up, Xerae. Nyx and Csala took out each of the Judges. Nyx, without much effort as she’d fought an Elite, but Csala had to put in a lot of effort. I almost jumped in at a point to help. But it turns out, that wasn’t necessary.”

  That’s good for her. He nodded. She’s growing in strength... In a few days we’ll leave Alvion since the city has been secured. They don’t need us here anymore. The noble district has some very nice places to sight-see. I think there’s a hot spring somewhere in the city as well.

  Thankfully, the auctioned horses had raked in extra cash for him.

  Help me make arrangements; we’ll need cuts as well — copper, silver and gold perhaps. The ladies should have something good to remember our time here for.

  “Will do, Xerae. Should I include Layla in the arrangements?”

  I’ll ask.

  “She’ll probably just say no, Xerae.”

  Let me worry about that, Achilleia.

  But she was right. Layla had rejected his invitation. He had expected it, but had hoped she would reconsider. A few days later they went strolling around the outer ring.

  Alvion bustled with life, a stark contrast to the grim battlefield they had been a part of days before. The city was bathed in the golden hues of the descending sun which radiated an inviting warmth as Fall began to give way to winter, like it understood their need for respite. Jerome took in the dust-colored, towering, aged walls that encircled the city in three rings. Their presence was both imposing and reassuring.

  “These walls have witnessed centuries of history,” the dragonkin said. “And their stoic endurance offers a sense of permanence, a stability that seems almost comforting, even after the chaos of war.”

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

  Sheela, Ms. Tara, and Ash turned to look at her as they descended from the sky.

  “Who are you?” Ash asked, unabashedly. Then turned to Jerome. “Jerome, who is she?”

  Jerome looked at the dragonkin, who was missing her horns and looking softer in the face like every other sacred artist. Her harsh draconic features were no were to be seen.

  She smiled at him and turned to Ash. “You do not need to worry about me, Princess,” she said. Nice words but Jerome lost the smile on his face because of it. “I am a friend of Jerome’s.”

  Jerome looked at Nyx, who had noticed he caught something. She looked away.

  ‘Princess’, really? When you said it, it felt like a pet name but now…? You and I have much to discuss about Ash. But not today, he transmitted to her through their bond. Two dragons wouldn’t call the same person a pet name, and at different times for that matter. He tried to remember everything he knew about Ash’s origin but only came up with what he knew already: she was found in front of the orphanage covered in ash. Her origin was the most mysterious of all the orphans in the slums.

  Alvion’s outer ring where they began their evening, was a cacophony of voices and laughter. This part of the city was alive with the hum of commerce and the chatter of the lower-class inhabitants. The streets were narrow but not oppressive, lined with wooden stalls that boasted vibrant displays of wares. Aromas of grilled meat, spiced pastries, and freshly brewed ale and beer mingled in the cool evening air, teasing their senses and awakening appetites. Children darted between the crowds, their shrieks of delight punctuating the rhythmic clatter of cobblestones underfoot.

  “So… where to first?” Ash asked, her eyes wide in awe of all she saw around her. Her boundless energy was quite infectious, pulling in everyone around her. Even the strangers on the streets smiled at her but gave the rest of them wary looks. Everyone who passed them by could not help but glance at the steel boots they were all wearing. Well, except for Jerome and Nyx, who weren’t wearing them. Nyx wasn’t even wearing any footwear.

  Jerome shook his head. He had to get her something to wear. Sheela grinned at all she saw — mostly the grilled meat and pastries displayed in the stalls.

  “Somewhere we can sit,” Jerome said. “But on second thought, maybe we just walk around… sightseeing.” He couldn’t help but survey the surroundings, his sharp eyes catching every detail of every happening. He took a deep breath to relax, taking himself out of survival mode. This was a time for relaxation, not survival.

  He walked them up to a stall selling grilled meat and bought a few skewers. Sensing his jovial countenance, the other stall owners braved marketing their wares to him. The ladies didn’t help matters, encouraging him to buy this and that. He ended up buying so much, they had to stuff them into their storage rings.

  People on the street marveled at the fact they could just make things disappear out of thin air.

  “Jerome, you should try the skewers!” Sheela said with her mouth stuffed. “They’re good, reeeeally good!”

  From the smell, he could already tell it would be delicious. He hadn’t eaten in a long while but felt no need to. He took a bite and his taste buds sang with joy. It was a revelation! The meat was tender, its smoky char, perfectly blanched by a glaze of honey and spices that danced on his tongue. The sweetness of the honey melded with the subtle heat of cracked pepper and a hint of… was that cumin? It created a blend of flavors that left him licking his fingers and craving more.

  He wolfed down another skewer in a few seconds. Jerome leaned against a post adorned with colorful flyers advertising performances and bought more meat skewers. The stall owners were overjoyed and came bearing their wares. One came bearing pastries, and he discovered they were stuffed with fruit preserves and custards. Ms. Tara took a bite of one filled with spiced apples and her eyes lit up.

  “This is incredible!” she said, savoring the buttery, flaky crust that practically melted in her mouth. Jerome could almost taste it himself. He grabbed one but Sheela bit it out of his hand, laughing in triumph. She had moved so fast that the baker flinched, not expecting a human being to move like that. He grabbed another and Ash mimicked her. He raised an eyebrow at her.

  The baker selling the pastries just chortled nervously at their antics. “There’s more, more!” he said encouragingly.

  Jerome wondered what their movements would’ve looked like to him. Sacred artists moved more swiftly and inhumanly faster than mere mortals. Seeing someone move that way up close must have been downright unnerving. But he respected the man for staying put. Jerome took another pastry off the tray held by the baker — slowly, eyes on both ladies.

  Sheela moved as if to go for the pastry in his hand but he teleported it to his mouth. One moment the pastry was in his hand, the next he held it between his teeth. He chuckled playfully at them and they gave him the, ‘yeah, you won this round’ smile. The baker looked visibly shaken and uncomfortable at that. But Jerome just smiled at him. He took out a pouch of silver cuts and handed it to the man who smiled brightly. His teammates cleared the tray in an instant.

  The dragonkin, who had been smiling quietly all this while, stealthily walked up to him and bit off the edge of the pastry held between his teeth. She did it slowly and sensually, coming so close that he could feel her body heat. Her large bust was squeezed between them and Jerome felt himself hardening as she put her hands on him and gazed lovingly into his eyes with her now dark eyes — how she turned her pupils circular like a human’s and changed the color of her irises was beyond him. He forgot about the remaining half of the pastry in his mouth and watched her chew. It was innocent and erotic in a unique way.

  But the ladies did not like that. They glared at her and even Nyx, who didn’t like troubling herself with such things was visibly pissed. Csala, who hadn’t worked up the courage to come close to him, talk more, speak to him, was also visibly glaring at her. The stall owners around them, who wanted to market their wares were quick to make themselves scarce. The air suddenly became oppressive and Jerome had to put his arm around his group to herd them to a corner of the street, quelling the tension in the air.

  He took out the pastry in his mouth and coughed to get their attention. “Ahem, ladies. We’re in the streets, and surrounded by mere mortals…?”

  ~~~

  Layla

  The strength flowing through her body was impossible to ignore. She kept punching the tree trunk in front of her until her arms became a blur, her blood raced inside her veins in excitement. All that she heard was the pounding thump of her hits and the cracking of tree bark.

  Why should something so good come with such a price? She had never felt so alive in her life, so powerful! This was the kind of power that helped heroes of old achieve greatness. She had it flowing through her veins now, but at what cost?

  She knew the exact moment her mother appeared behind her. Her senses were sharper than ever before. But she refused to stop.

  The tree cracked all of a sudden and tumbled over from the point she had been punching. Saw dust and pieces of wood chips flew about as she stepped out of the way of the falling tree.

  Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around to hug her.

  “Let it out, Memme,” she said, using her pet name.

  Layla hated that name. But now, the sound of it was like music to her ears. She felt so alone and miserable, confused.

  “Let it out. I’m here for you,” her mother said, her voice soothing her confused mind.

  The dam she had been holding back finally broke, and the tears gushed forth like a never-ending stream.

  “I’m so scared, mother. I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

  “You don’t have to do anything, Memme. That’s why I’m here.”

  Those words sent a shiver down her spine. She knew what her mother was capable of. Against a Sage, a Sprout stood no chance no matter how powerful and uncommon his powers were.

  Her mother pulled off her cuirass and pulled at her tunic to have a good look at the gem embedded behind her clavicle.

  “It’s pretty,” she said. “I can’t even scan it. And it seems it’s embedded deep.”

  She nodded, still crying and sniffing.

  “Too bad it comes from such a vile being!”

  Layla sighed. “Mother, Jerome isn’t vile. He’s just… he had the misfortune of being born the way he is.”

  “And that gives him the audacity to bind you to him?!”

  Her mother’s presence swelled, encompassing the grove of trees they were in and beyond. But it did nothing to her — another privilege of having this accursed gem embedded inside her.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” her mother said, leaving her embrace. “Vorthe would raise another Fated.”

  She vanished.

  It took a moment for her mother’s words to register.

  “Mother, no!”

  She began running towards the city, jumping over falling logs and bushes. But she was forgetting something. She intrinsically knew this but couldn’t figure out what it was. What the fuck was it? And why wasn’t the city getting closer?!

  “Damnit, I’m Sprout! I should be able to get to the city without going through all this!”

  Her head felt clouded. Yet her mind kept searching for answers that seemed out of her reach.

  At this rate, she’d never get to the city on time to stop her mother!