Spires

Alin didn’t like funerals.

He had attended a handful as a kid. Didn’t really understand them. Sort of just copied his mom and dad to fit in.

Age brought maturity and greater understanding.

Enough to know that he didn’t like them.

Funerals were for the living.

That was firmly entrenched in his mind.

It was a time and place to mourn collectively with others for the person that would they would never see, hear or touch again.

Humanity was a social species.

To mourn alone for the majority was to not be able to mourn at all.

Lee’s, a friend since childhood, was the first time he had truly understood personal loss.

The others had been people he knew tangentially. They had been names on the ranger wall.

Lee’s funeral had left him feeling empty.

He was torn between two minds.

In one, the intellectual, death mattered because the dead died so that the living could continue to live. That meant in the immediate, like when one sacrifices themselves to take the hit instead of another. And out into the far future where each death was a payment of sorts into the continued existence of a people as a whole.

In the other, the emotional, death didn’t truly matter from the dead’s perspective. Depending on belief, an afterlife removed from reality awaited or the nothingness of oblivion and everything in between. Furthermore, nothing was permanent. Entropy was eternal. People died. Some would say their hopes and dreams were carried on in the subsequent generations, but those too would die and so on and so on until the sun died and every sun in the universe, every sun in the multiverse.

Lee had been the first that truly hurt like a knife to the heart.

The others over the last month had been the knife repeatedly plunged and twisted.

Friends and family.

Jayde.

She was in some of his earliest memories.

Riding in a large bus across an empty desert, bouncing on her knee while she pointed out monsters and mutated animals in the distance.

Being babysat, watching late night movies, eating food that definitely wasn’t on his parents’ approved list.

Unasked for instructions on how to talk to girls.

Merciless sparring sessions in the ring.

Babysitting her kids in turn—

They were gone now.

Drake had taken them across the Pacific to Manila and the promise of greater safety.

Alin ground his teeth as his vision grew blurry, dismissing the holographic projection so it wouldn’t obscure her.

Jayde stood on the platform in front of him.

She stood in a bladed stance with head held high, imperious, confident. Her lead hand extended out, fingers beckoning. Her other hand clenched into a fist near her chin.

It felt like just yesterday that he had beheld that ever-present, always cocky grin.

Too real.

It made it worse.

He almost wished his dad hadn’t copied her perfectly.

The life-sized sculpture was exact only in the way someone with his dad’s powers could do.

Solid granite for longevity.

A thin skin of Threnium to make doubly sure.

What would’ve taken a skilled sculptor hundreds if not thousands of hours to do, his dad did in minutes and only because his dad wanted to do it perfectly.

It made it worse.

Too real.

His eyes made his mind think that she might just move at any moment.

To laugh at the trick she had just pulled off.

And when she didn’t?

Well, the knife in his heart twisted some more.

Alin’s gaze fell on the platform next to Jayde’s.

If a life cut short in its prime was a tragedy then what was a life cut before it could even begin?

The baby was swaddled in a small bassinet angled so that he couldn’t fail to see her features.

He saw Drake in her eyes and nose, but the twist to her lips was all Jayde.

They hadn’t settled on a name.

Hayana? Dayden? Jayde2?

Those where just a few possibilities rejected as quickly as they had been uttered.

One guess on whose idea they had been.

Alina?

Just to tease him.

His gaze fell to the plaque.

Through blurry eyes he read the name. The dates. The epitaph.

He wandered away.

His legs carried him where they willed.

The crypt was enormous.

Like a stadium-sized museum.

The statues looked so lonely in the mostly empty space.

He came to Howard’s statue a short distance away.

Howard was slouched in a chair. A beer bottle in one hand and a cigar in the other. Both cheap when the most expensive ones were essentially free pickings at any number of stores.

He had asked once the why.

“Sure, I can get a real Cuban or some top shelf shit any time, hell, I’ve got some up in my room right now, but what’ll you think’s gonna happen if I get the good stuff all the time, eh?” A long pull from one, then the other. “That’s right, I’ll get sick of them and wouldn’t that be a real tragedy?”

Alin could almost see the rest of the scene. See the others around the table in the dining hall or one of the suites. Shooting the shit. He held the memory of not being shooed away for the first time as one of the touchstones of his transition into adulthood.

Threnosh tech hidden inside the memorial platform sensed that he had stopped.

A projection appeared in such a way that only he could see it.

Indeed, had there been other people standing with him, they too, would see the same thing only for their eyes.

It was a menu.

About Howard.

A brief biography. A lengthier one. A list of his deeds. Testimonials from others.

There were already a lot of the latter.

Alin was still struggling over his.

He hadn’t done any.

It felt like the last word and he wasn’t ready for it to end.

Comprehensive.

The word felt like an understatement.

It seemed to him that Howard’s entire existence was contained in front of him.

He hadn’t realized how much of them his dad had carried of the others.

It had been the same for Jayde.

A hundred years?

A thousand?

A person could learn everything about them from reading or listening.

Their deeds and sacrifices.

Everything they were and how the legacies they left behind for the future to build upon.

His legs carried him past those he didn’t know as well.

The Tsingtao Wanderer, he of stout belly, but powerful frame.

The drunken cultivator with a wine gourd in one hand and a raised mug in the other.

He stood as if swaying slightly off balance. And, yet, the eyes were clear as they had always been no matter how much he had imbibed.

Memory played tricks.

He could almost smell alcohol wafting from the memorial.

In yet another section a wizard stood with staff in hand like he was posing for a cover of an old novel or comic book.

Rand had been a grating sort.

Alin wouldn’t lie and say he had liked the man.

He also wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t respect the man.

A man that paid the final price to help strangers deserved that as a minimum.

The soft echo of his boots on the tiles accompanied him past a figure hunched over a desk.

Tall and long-limbed like a scarecrow pushing deeply into that uncanny valley.

Matte gray Threnium flesh in death.

Pale white flesh in life.

A vampire wasn’t like one of the true undead.

They were undoubtedly alive.

Bennett Andrews.

One of his dad’s only friends from the early days of the spires apocalypse.

He read from a thick book while a pile sat like a sentinel tower near the corner.

Alin hadn’t known Bennett that well. He knew the man more from his dad’s stories.

Sadness.

That was what he felt when gazing at the memorial.

To fight so long against a class, only to lose control near the end, causing a disaster.

Sacramento had never recovered.

Most had left the city.

Some had moved south or across the Pacific.

Many had decided to search for a more peaceful world than this one, emigrating to the Threnosh world under the aegis of the Watch.

Bennett had let himself down most of all.

At least that’s what Alin’s dad had said.

However, the vampire had clawed his humanity back in the end.

And that mattered.

Alin passed a young woman.

Strong and stout.

A powerful athlete’s frame.

Keisha Davidson, the plaque read.

Stories.

Names that felt less real for not having known them personally.

He wondered what she would have said?

Was it worth it to her to die deep beneath underground beneath San Francisco Bay in a fishmen cavern?

How could anyone answer that question when they had no way of seeing what came from their sacrifice?

Was it enough to be remembered?

In a statue?

With words?

Watch Commander Demi Lawrence stood nearby. Straight-backed, staring into a future only she could see.

He remembered how intimidating she was and now all he could think about was an opportunity missed.

How much could she have taught him about leadership?

Del, he barely knew. Only as a sad-faced man.

Was all that pain and sadness worth it in the end? When he spent his life in the battle to end the Slaver King and the New American Republic?

It was weird to see a sculpted smile on Del’s face. Though it felt… right.

Those gray eyes gazed at the man on the platform next to his.

Rory…

Another life lost in the fishmen caverns before he had been born.

There were more statues he didn’t recognize upon first sight.

Some weren’t even human.

A huge dog.

Larger than average-sized cats.

An enormous fancy rat with longer than normal canine teeth.

He shambled past them.

Three statues on one platform. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a square jaw. An enormous dog with a big, blocky head and short coat of fur. A hulking weredog towering over them all.

Chance…

His dad didn’t use personal likes or dislikes as a criteria to inclusion.

There were Rayna’s Rangers.

Those that died as part of one of his dad’s operations.

Shrewed, X-Ray, Timber, Cherry Chapstick, Bootleg Jesus, Oatmilk, Neckbeard, Tuxedo Cake, Bonker and more.

There was even a life-sized wyvern, D.F.A. snarling his best snarl.

Alin’s wandering took him toward the entrance.

There was a section for the Threnosh.

Standard infantry soldiers and interceptors that were just names on a list to the Threnosh council. To be acknowledged, entered into their archives and forgotten.

Uniques that would’ve been dissected and studied had they not been part of Prime Custodian 3’s jurisdiction.

Primal sat inside the open chest of their hulking trueskin.

The Threnosh achieved their goal.

Death, not in the slow decay of their body, but in their purpose, combat.

Alin wouldn’t, couldn’t begrudge them that.

Kynnro’s was harder to accept.

He paused in front of their statue.

… pioneered the 62 Flavors Initiative, which grew to 248 by…

The Threnosh stood in contemplation surrounded by small tubs of ice cream piled into little pyramids.

Of all their deeds, it was this that they valued above all.

They had just opened their second shoppe a few blocks from Ranger HQ less than a year ago to go along with the first they had opened a few years ago just a hop away from the Danger Complex.

Truth be told he wasn’t a fan of her savory line of flavors, nor most of the flower-based ones. There were a few flavors in the hybrid line that he had found surprisingly good. Maple bacon made sense, since Earthians had been putting that combination in donut form for years before the spires. Peanut butter Sriracha hamburger flavor had been a revelation. Imagine his surprise when his parents had told him that had been a thing in the past. Actual hamburger, though, not in ice cream form.

He took some solace in the fact that Kynnro had apprentices and employees.

The stores would continue. The Initiative wouldn’t be abandoned. Their legacy would be carried forward.

Alin listened for what felt like a long time that went by at the snap of his fingers.

He took a moment to regard the other statues.

Threnosh he only knew from his dad’s stories.

So many.

Fallen in battle or to time.

More to the latter in recent years.

He had also wanted to visit the Threnosh world.

To meet those that knew his dad before they were all gone. To see an alien world with strange forests filled stranger animals and fruits. To look up into an unfamiliar night sky. To breathe the air, feel the wind on his face.

There was so much out there to experience.

But… it was impossible.

That kind of vacation would be irresponsible.

It wasn’t like taking a week or two off to spend time in Manila with his grandparents and cousins.

Going to another world meant abandoning this one for months if not years.

Impossible.

They were at war with old America.

He turned abruptly and found himself in the lift to the final airlock at the surface. So lost in thought and emotion that he had barely realized that he had trudged through multiple airlocks and Threnium doors.

His HUD beeped.

Armor seals were green.

“Of course they are. Wouldn’t have been allowed through the first lock if they weren’t,” he muttered.

Dangerous to get distracted though.

He focused on his breathing as the silent lift carried him hundreds of meters up. He could barely feel the thrum running through the cold metal beneath his boots.

“You all done, Boy?” Uncle Eron said through the comms.

“Yeah, sorry I took so long…”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. If you’re not ready—”

“I’m good,” he lied.

Lights illuminated the dark void.

The stark contrast between bright and shadow was jarring.

Dozens of boot prints in the dust tracked all over near the entrance.

His uncle had been pacing.

The ground lost texture or gained it as he walked forward.

Everything was in shades of gray.

The environment didn’t look real.

Silent, still and empty… well… mostly empty.

“Hang on. Stay there.” Uncle Eron retracted his faceplate to fire a wide blast of solar energy to their 12.

Something… rippled beyond the stark curtain of pitch black shadow. “That’ll keep them away.”

“Huh?”

His uncle shrugged. “Moon’s haunted.”

“Oh, right.”

The creatures, if they could be called that, were fairly new.

“They’ll go back to random roaming once we’re gone.” His uncle regarded the squat, bunker-like structure leading to the massive underground complex. “Don’t worry. They can’t get down there. Too much power in the ownership.” His uncle grinned. “This place and where the hate engine is at… only places they avoid.”

Alin knew all this, but he nodded automatically.

“So… want to talk about… anything?”

“No. Thanks. I’m fine. We should get back. I don’t want to keep you longer than you have to.”

The pod opened on his approach.

An ovoid shape roughly the mass of a small car, it contained life support systems, an anti-gravity field generator, thrusters and everything needed to make the journey back to the planet in safety and comfort. Another layer over his armor to keep him safe from the vacuum of space.

It was capable of taking him back to Earth under its own power, but not nearly as fast as his uncle could.

He stepped inside and let it secure him snug as a swaddled baby.

He left everything on automatic, letting the V.I. take care of the operations.

“Alright. Systems all green in there?”

“We’re good to go.”

The pod lurched as his uncle lifted it off the lunar surface.

The view of the distant green and blue orb was breathtaking, but trapped in his thoughts and emotions he couldn’t appreciate it.

It all seemed so… drab, flat.

“Hey, it’s gonna be like half a day, so at any time you want to talk. Not that I’m pushing or anything. We all grieve in our own ways after all.”

“I will, uncle.”

Silence stretched.

Time seemed to lose meaning without any external indicators.

Even the sensation of movement was absent thanks to the pod.

“Hey, Boy?”

“Yeah…”

“Doing alright in there?”

“All green.”

“Cool, cool, cool… cool.”

Time passed in silence.

“Hey, Boy?”

“Yeah…”

“You mind sharing your thoughts on what I should name those things? I’m thinking I should go with a combination of descriptive plus environment. That’s how old people named things like animals and plants. So, like ‘moon wraiths’ or ‘lunar ghosts’? Or we go the alliteration route? That’s how comic book characters were named, did you know that?”

Alin did because his dad or one of his uncles had mentioned as much several times before.

“Uh huh…”

“Right, so… ‘space shadows’, ‘space specters’… er… that’s all I’ve got so far. I’m open to mixing and matching.”

“‘Space’ doesn’t work, unless they can actually go to space. The moon’s got to be a part of it since that’s where they are.”

This conversation was safe, distracting, so, he allowed himself to join.

Easter Island, Spring 2053

Elebykiades stepped into the spire.

The demigod had kept his side of the agreement, so Cal had done the same.

Easter Island was once again empty aside from the Moai and the giant crabs.

Hundreds of the latter’s corpses littered the landscape. Left to rot where the demigod had slain them.

It didn’t strike Cal as an act that squared with being the son of the so-called god that claimed dominion over the natural world.

Then again, leaving them for the scavengers could be seen as the natural thing to do from a different perspective.

Ms. Teacher rippled into existence just close enough to make him feel like a small child next to a stern… well… teacher.

The High’s dark brown skin and plain-seeming robes appeared as perfect and unblemished as always.

He ignored the urge to swipe a hand through her ethereal form.

That would’ve been a petty act of rebellion from a child.

Astral projection as the result of a spell.

His version was better.

“What did you get? Something good I hope.”

“The divine energy in his body that manifests as golden light is magical in nature. Specifically, it shares basic structures with mana in its raw state. I require further study.”

“It’s going to be hard to get more samples what with Suiteonemiades hiding.”

“There are faint remnants in this environment and your battle left considerable amounts across a wide swathe.”

“Do you think it’ll help you figure out how to defeat the rituals?”

“I cannot say at the moment.”

“Time isn’t on our side. They’re not sacrificing humans… mostly… but that can change in an instant.”

“Do not let sentiment push you toward reckless action. The sacrifices are sapient, yet there is nothing in their minds except base desires. Further study will be required, but I have seen its like before. Powerful, evil magic that fundamentally altered a people so deeply that the changes perpetuate through the generations without the need for continued alteration. Whatever they once were, they’re no better than a swarm of your locusts.”

“So… you’re saying I can’t change them?”

“I cannot say without further study.”

“Well… I can’t very well grab a few for you and me to experiment on without tipping our hands. The best thing for us to do is find where the ritual is being maintained. Once I know where I can drop a rod on it.”

“That may not be sufficient. The other ritual circles may be capable of taking its place as the font.”

Cal hadn’t liked the sound of that the first time she had said so.

Each spot of old American territory he and his siblings couldn’t physically cross the boundaries— be it old city or town limits, the fence line around an old military base or nuclear power plant— hid a sacrificial ritual circle or five. The same type of circle he had first encountered in Tokyo at the Imperial compound a few years ago. There were more scattered throughout the world.

Ms. Teacher and other high level mage-types had agreed, independently of each other, that some of the circles appeared to be placed strategically to make use of the currents of mana flowing across and through the planet.

Ley lines.

Except real.

Tangible, observable with the right spells or Skills.

Not the kind he was more familiar with from the days when they were just the product of imaginative minds.

“You sure you don’t want to try disrupting it? We can set you up in an out of the way place. I’ll stand guard personally. Just you and me, so no one else can get hurt. That’s a lot of mana powering the ritual. You can have all of it.”

“Tempting, but my answer remains unchanged.”

“They don’t have anyone or anything that can really threaten us. Only the demigod.”

“I do not fear them, nor him. I am wary because I am no callow youth given bravery by inexperience. I have no desire to reveal my presence. Not to him, but to those beyond him. Though, I am unfamiliar with this particular pantheon I have crossed paths with others over the millennia and the wise do not seek to repeat those experiences.”

“I take it that means you’re going to take that other offer.”

The High regarded him through lidded eyes.

Every aspect of her physical being was just so perfect it was uncanny.

“I didn’t peek.”

“I did not detect intrusion. I suppose that would be the point.”

“I promise.” Cal held up his hands to display uncrossed fingers. “Unless you want me to test out those mental defense spells?”

“Yes. I formally accept the offer. Proximity to your enemy’s capital during a time of war is a precarious place to be. Not all will wish to cross the ocean.”

Cal shrugged. “They’ll be transported wherever they want. I’ve quietly reached out to hundreds of communes, settlements, towns, cities and so on and so forth. I’ve already set up secure links through the Omninet for questions and answers. Most places want to vet potential immigrants first. Conversely, your people won’t have to move blindly and I’m guaranteeing that there won’t be any bait and switches. Expectations on both sides will be transparent and enforced… by me… or my brother.”

“We shall create a formal agreement for my school.”

“Yeah… no problem…”

That was going to be a pain.

He’d rather farm that whole process out to a negotiator-type, a whole team of lawyers and attorneys, an ambassador or two, but there was no one even remotely close to Ms. Teacher’s level or experience that could come out of that with an agreement that was fair for both sides.

“I guess you should probably pick out a site first. Until then there are plenty of schools or high-rises in Manila for a temporary spot.”

Those would also put Ms. Teacher in the middle of the most populated city in the Philippines. She’d be obligated to lend her aid in its defense.

No more hiding in a small mountain town behind a proverbial magic girdle.

“That is acceptable for now. A preliminary contract, verbal only?”

Cal agreed.

They kept it simple and straightforward.

Neither side wished to squander years of goodwill for even the slightest edge.

A magically binding oath in less than 5 minutes.

“It would be best if we could move your entire town out at one time. Less chance for any unwanted interruptions.”

“Agreed. I will need to inform everyone first.”

Some people weren’t going to be happy.

She had promised them a safe home in exchange for essentially giving her total control of their town.

They had been lucky she had been a mostly distant and uninterested dictator.

The only thing she cared about was the study of magic and the tutelage of wizards.

Granted she had kept up her side of the bargain.

A magic girdle had kept them completely isolated from the outside world.

The old American government hadn’t so much as come within artillery distance.

Spells at over Level 80 violated reality as easily as Eron did the buffet tables.

For all intents and purposes Ms. Teacher’s town had vanished from existence in the minds of anyone and anything that got within a certain distance.

Even looking at old maps wouldn’t trigger recognition.

The town was a blank spot.

“How long do you think?”

“A year or two. I will be unable to pursue these studies without my sanctum.”

“Really? Sure, moving’s going to be disruptive. Boxing everything up. Forgetting which box has which magical orb and such. A few weeks to get the magical candle smoke to seep into the magical tiles and curtains,” he probed

Ms. Teacher didn’t deign to reply, which was an answer in its own way.

Magic bullshit.

That’s what he guessed.

Ley lines, mana essences, magical imprints and so on.

It took deliberate effort to make the new place equal to the old place. Time had to be a component.

“I believe there is nothing more to say.”

“One to two years. Got it. That timeline could be worked in to something that I’m thinking about.”

The idea… Cal hated it.

He wanted to be selfish.

“I’m sorry about your kids.”

He didn’t remind her that she had insisted. Used her leverage to get him to accept minors to the most dangerous internship program in the history of the world.

It was akin to children being forced to work the coal mines not too far from Ms. Teacher’s town back in the 19th-20th century. Or to forcing immigrant children to work in chicken processing plants in the 21st century. Death by collapse and lung damage for the former. Death by industrial machinery for the latter.

They were just like those scumbag CEO’s, foremen and managers.

Sure, they weren’t doing it for monetary profit, but that was just a rationalization.

At the core of it they were endangering minors because it benefited them in some way.

He wondered if millennia of existence colored Ms. Teacher’s perception of death.

Thousands of years meant she had seen countless students pass away.

Most species weren’t functionally immortal like Ms. Teacher and only a minority of the wizards she had tutored over the years had survived long enough to rise to the heights of their level and learning to gain the power and knowledge to extend their lives through magic.

Just then he was tempted to peel back the curtains hiding her thoughts.

Insights into immortality?

Perhaps, it was something he needed to begin understanding sooner rather than later.

“I remember each child.”

That was all Ms. Teacher said before she vanished.