[Crystal One: Dust]

  Arthen's Perspective

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  I woke up the next morning almost too eager to leave. I hadn’t seen in the dark, but the outpost was in a state of abject destitution, bordering on inhumane conditions. The bandits weren’t just killing passersby for the sake of the Syndicate and the mountain. They genuinely needed the supplies.

  They had tolerated these conditions, probably for months, either because they thought they were supposed to, or because they were too proud to ask for assistance. No wonder the commander was so wired.

  I felt bad for taking some of their already dwindling rations, but the commander had insisted. He kept looking over his shoulder, as though Maya would come back and strike him down.

  I kept moving for hours, still following the deer trail Maya and Cupcake had created. As dusk turned to night, it eventually led to the next outpost.

  This outpost didn’t need to be camouflaged in the thicket, so it was in a moonlit clearing instead. It was much better kept than the first and, unfortunately for me, the bandits here could actually afford to sleep.

  This outpost was meant to keep Snowcrest Hollow’s inhabitants from leaving the mountain, as written in the pact.

  But honestly, they hardly had a job.

  Snowcrestians didn’t want to leave their village. It wasn’t just the threat of the Syndicate, it was psychology. So the bandits here didn’t bother with sleep rotations or “keeping watch.”

  At least, that’s what I thought, until my nostrils were once again violated by a horrid stench.

  “Sir?” a gravelly voice called. I turned and saw a bandit, armed with a bow and sword, smoking a pipe.

  “What are you smoking?” I inquired, trying not to sneer at the odor. He shifted uncomfortably, as though the answer were a secret he was reluctant to spill. Then, some moonlight caught his face, and I recognized him.

  “Lou?” I had to stifle my laughter. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me.” Lou was notorious for gatekeeping everything he put in his pipe. Not that it was against protocol or anything. I just thought it was funny how devoted he was to his secret.

  Besides, I already knew what it was.

  “Arthen?” He held out his hand, and I took it. “I haven’t seen you in so long! You don’t swing by the outposts anymore!”

  “Quietly, your coworkers are sleeping. But yes, it has been some time.” Lou and I didn’t share any particularly interesting past; he was just pleasant company.

  “My apologies—woah, what happened to your leg?”

  “Botched mission,” I scratched my head. “Disaster, actually.”

  “I’m stuck at this outpost or the other, or digging at battlefield scraps while you go on missions? Aren’t you one of the ones calling the shots?”

  “Well, obviously, it wasn’t a Syndicate mission. You remember I joined the military, right?”

  “Well, I can’t remember much of anything, but sure. Because of Nemoniks, right?”

  “Exactly. Though I ran into the Tiger’s Fang during our most recent mission. You can tell how that went.”

  “I can imagine. But aren’t you one of the only people he talks to? Why would he attack you?”

  When I’d found Maya and Marcel twelve years ago, I bore witness to the very trauma that transformed him into such an elite warrior:

  Cosmara had been overrun by Nemoniks. How it had happened, I wasn’t sure, especially because Cosmaran runemagic was anathema to the monsters. Marcel could barely rescue his own sister during the fall, and had to watch as the rest of his country was consumed. Coming into Reminisce, I was his only real lifeline. He pushed everyone else away.

  So releasing a Nemonik for him to fight in Hillcrest was particularly cruel. But it had to be done.

  “It was justified, trust me. I deserved worse.”

  “Yikes,” Lou shifted uncomfortably. “Speaking of, I met Tiger Fang’s sister yesterday.”

  “Really?” So she survived Lou? He shot everything that moved! Impressive. “How was she?”

  “Oh, she was lovely. I didn’t want her to leave.”

  “Well, that’s high praise coming from a bandit.”

  “Are you not coming from Mnemosyne? You might’ve seen her.”

  “I did see her, but she doesn’t recognize me.”

  “Aw, isn’t that unfortunate?” he said, truly sympathetically.

  “It’s better this way. Can’t have her come looking for me or her brother. Not quite yet.”

  “Sealing your fate and hers, I see.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I tilted my head.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he changed the subject. “You need food or bedding? You can use Ma—I mean, Deo’s.”

  “Oh, you know her name? She must’ve been quite fond of you. No one else I’ve talked to actually knows it.”

  “I’d show you a memory crystal of our discussions,” he shrugged, “but I told her my secret. What can you do?”

  “Well,” I didn’t press the matter. You normally couldn’t torture his ‘secret’ out of him, yet Maya… “you must’ve been fond of each other then. Anyway, yes, to the food and bedding. Please.”

  “Of course. Syndicate honors its own.”

  ***

  The next morning, I gathered some more water and rations from the nearby storage unit, and was much more glad to have these ones. I wasn’t a particularly picky eater, but some of the rations in the other outpost still had blood on them from their previous… owners.

  I trekked the path that led up to Syndicate headquarters, but I couldn’t contain my excitement any longer. I needed to test the Crush rune immediately.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  I almost wanted to be attacked by a predator, just to see how much damage I could do, but they were likely all hibernating now.

  So I decided to victimize a tree instead.

  I found a sizable pine, placed the rune against its bark, and

  DOOON!

  KKKKRRRRNNNCHHH!!!

  The rune tore through the tree, twisting and wringing the point of contact like a wet towel, before flying out of the other end and embedding itself in the ground.

  “It…” I was incredulous, “flew!?” I retrieved the rune from the dirt and cast it again—this time, in the air. Notably, the rune floated in front of my warpick—an attribute I had thought to only be observed under high temperature.

  DOOON!

  KKKKRRRNNNNCHH!!!

  I targeted another tree, and the Crush rune ripped through the air before crashing into the tree’s trunk. The wood violently constricted towards the rune upon impact, as though it were suddenly forced into a corset. Then—

  WOWOWOWOWOWOMP!

  I’d only shifted with intent to retrieve it, but the rune flew back to me, stopping just in front of my hammer, ready to be cast again.

  Like… Mj?lnir?

  I couldn’t explain the rune’s odd behavior. I hadn’t seen it in any books or military manuals. But I hypothesized that perhaps this was the natural form of runemagic, when unfettered by the impurities of human memories. Perhaps the runemagic we considered ‘normal’ was only a crude, derivative form of this. Not necessarily worse, but polluted.

  After all, it served to reason that perfect memory meant perfect runemagic.

  But I still tore through at least an acre of trees before I stopped myself.

  ***

  I finally reached Northstar Hollow just in the late evening. Functionally, it was closer to a barracks than anything. And, now that I thought of it, it bore stark resemblance to Hillcrest’s Citadel. Many members, from measly bandits to hardened veterans, were buzzing about. It was unusually lively today. Among the clamor, I heard ‘Tiger Fang’ whispered in many different cliques.

  I briefly exchanged pleasantries with several members who’d recognized me. As a Distributor, I’d kept their payouts high and injuries low for more than two decades at this point. I knew better than anyone how much the Syndicate meant to these people. They weren’t a mindless mob of foot soldiers or heartless assassins. All of them had been desperate.

  I respected them, and, in turn, they respected me. Which was why this trial was going to be especially painful.

  I opened the heavy oak doors of the Distributors’ Office and made my way inside. All the paperwork required to run the Syndicate happened here; factions inquired, mercenaries were appointed. All the litigation required to run the Syndicate happened here as well; trials were decided—

  Prisoners were held.

  I descended the winding stone staircase into the Office’s dungeon, inspecting each cell before—

  “Marcel?”

  “Arthen,” was the gravelly reply. He was wearing the same dusty, blood-splattered clothes he’d been wearing when we last met in Hillcrest.

  And he was pissed.

  “These bars are only an inch thick,” his purple eyes were menacing in the dark. “I could use my own power to tear myself out of here and destroy you.”

  “I’m sorry to put you through this. Truly.”

  “Those weren’t normal soldiers. I could’ve died!”

  “I was confiden—”

  “Shut up. It’s my fault; I have never done any kind of mission like that. Why? Because you never sent me. I work on the battlefield, and you sent me on ‘defense—’ which one is my own?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t go if I—”

  “You set a Dream-Eater after me. I should rip your skeleton out of your mouth.”

  “Listen, Marcel,” I eased. “You know everything I’ve done since I met you was for your sake. Yours and your sister’s.”

  “Ohhh… that’s why I’m in a cage, abi?”

  “Everything is falling into place, and it’s thanks to you. Hillcrest is vulnerable, Reminisce is reeling. Now all that’s left is the Syndicate.”

  “Are you drunk? You want me to believe that this is—”

  “Yes.”

  “You wasted twelve years of my life! What could possibly be different?”

  He was right. When I viewed his memory crystal and saw his first-hand account of Cosmara’s fall, I committed my gravest sin:

  I’d split the crystal. At the time, it made sense: I gave him half to keep for his own purposes, and I took one half for mine. I’d intended to warn as many parliamentarians as possible, so that they would be mobilized to send aid to our neighbor, who had aided us during the Old War.

  But my cries were met with silence.

  “The crystal is broken,” they’d dismissed. “It’s likely an Old War relic.”

  Whether they were ignorant or complicit was irrelevant. I joined their ranks with the intent to bring everything crashing down at once.

  And it was happening now. But, to Marcel, we were back at square one.

  “I haven’t failed you yet,” I assured him, “but first, we need to deal with the Tribunal.”

  Marcel scowled at me threateningly. He hadn’t been bluffing about the prison bars. And he didn’t need his swords to shred me.

  But he also knew that if anyone could get us both out of this alive and unscathed, it was me.

  ***

  I would’ve slept on the stone floor in the dungeon, but Marcel was exuding barely-suppressed rage. I decided not to stay where I wasn’t welcome.

  The following morning, I was summoned to the courtroom by one of the Judges. Courtroom, though it was more reminiscent of an interrogation facility. There was no jury or witnesses, just the three Judges and the accused.

  ‘The Syndicate honors its own.’ That was the sole governing principle of the entire organization, and it would be up to the Judges’ discretion whether we had or not.

  The ambiguity infuriated me.

  The room itself was windowless, decorationless, and utterly barren. Painted white on the inside, with five chairs surrounding a single, large oak table. The other two judges and Marcel were already waiting for me.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” the Cosmaran judge, Modupe, greeted. Every time I saw her, she wore different earrings. These ones were golden studs. “Shall we begin?”

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “Good,” Judge Venoy clasped his hands together, a tall, bald man with brown skin. “Well, we’ve heard an accusation from a Hillcrestian operative regarding you two. He claimed that you’ve conspired to collapse Hillcrest Citadel, and he provided a couple of memory crystals of the wreckage as evidence.”

  “We were able to confirm that what his accusation held weight,” Judge Liz added, “and according to Syndicate documentation, the Tiger’s Fang was present at Hillcrest Citadel during the suggested timeframe, and he was tasked with the Citadel’s defense. We also saw, albeit briefly, that Arthen had been captured at the site of the wreckage.

  “This event has cost us thousands upon thousands of munins, a minor-faction ally, and our reputation. We will be investigating whether this is an example of gross negligence and incompetence, or if this was a planned conspiracy between you two. Either way, the other judges and I are seeking the death penalty. But, of course, we will hear your testimonies. Starting with you, Tiger Fang.”

  Capital punishment was bold; Marcel was the organization’s unequivocal top earner, and I had the trust and favor of the entire Syndicate population. Any punishment that befell us would almost certainly result in a cascading revolt…

  Which, of course, was the desired outcome.

  “Firstly, thank all of you for hearing me,” Marcel started gracefully, a far cry from the rage I’d witnessed the previous night. “Allow me to begin my defense by saying that, as the Tiger’s Fang, I have never once been sent on a defense mission. That is not my area of competency.

  “Secondly, towards the end of my deployment, it should be noted that the Citadel was ambushed, not by minor faction soldiers, but by highly trained Reminiscent operatives. They were the ones who collapsed the Citadel as a last-ditch effort to escape me. I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Oh?” Judge Modupe said. “If that’s true, then that would call Arthen into question. You were among the captured, weren’t you? So you must have contributed to the Citadel’s destruction, no?”

  “I tried to stop them,” I maintained. “But the Vanguard convinced themselves it needed to be done. I couldn’t sway them without exposing myself and the Syndicate.”

  “That it?” Judge Venoy grunted, slightly irritated.

  “No,” Marcel seethed. “Munins ko, Reputation ko, the Snow Leopard threatens the Syndicate’s existence.”

  “How do you mean?” Judge Liz leaned forward in her chair.

  The Snow Leopard was an emblem just like Marcel, but he was a spy and assassin. How he could’ve screwed up a mission so badly it threatened the Syndicate’s very existence, I wasn’t sure. And I was even more puzzled that Marcel somehow knew about it.

  “You people sent him to Snowcrest to look for me,” Marcel snarled. “He terrorized the villagers, and I had to personally talk their council down from their suicidal deadman protocol.”

  Snowcrestians would never hold a sword, even in self-defense. So, in order to guarantee their autonomy, they threatened to intentionally leak their village secrets to Reminisce. The risk of total annihilation kept the Syndicate at bay.

  “Really now?” Judge Modupe tilted her head. “Well, we’ll have you pull a dream-stone from that event, too.” She gestured towards Judge Venoy, and he retrieved two small runeiron hammers from under the table and slid them to us. Marcel and I each grabbed a hammer and placed them gently on our foreheads.

  I extracted the most strategic evidence I could. Adding imaginary details to memory crystals was an excellent way to be caught lying. The details would blur the crystal as ‘contaminants,’ which would be damning evidence, especially for me.

  But I could mute my emotions and intentions. So when I’d stopped Ragnor from casting Gaia, even though I wanted him to… and when I’d suggested there might be a ‘less destructive path,’ even though I’d ensured there were none…

  Well, that was how ‘reverse-psychology’ became plausible deniability.

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