When Heroes Die

“Whilst children meet all the right requirements for joining the Legions of Terror, they have an unacceptable mortality rate. Adults, at least, know better than to question what I say.”

– Dread Empress Sanguinia II, best known for outlawing cats and being taller than her

After leaving Daoine, we travelled to Laure. It had taken us two years of scouring Daoine from one side to the other to finally admit we were making no progress. Laure was one of the larger cities I had seen so far. At a guess, I suspected it had a higher population than Brockton Bay.

It was also undeniably going through a time of troubles. The city was a pit of depression so deep you could see the moon out the other side.

The three of us were renting a small apartment beside a tavern called the Rat’s Nest. The place was a dump, but it was the type of place we needed to stay at for Roland to keep in touch with his connections without attracting attention.

The late morning sun shone through the door we sat beside in the Rat’s Nest. Max tapped away at the corner table, faintly humming a marching song as he did so. Roland had raised wards against eavesdropping, but it probably wasn’t necessary. Aside from the owner, we were the only ones inside.

Absently, I kicked at one of the legs of the table.

Laure had put me in a foul mood.

The governor Mazus was the genuine Praesi article. Every story they told about the Praesi Highborn was true for the man. He hosted extravagant parties one day after another, paid for by bleeding the citizens dry. Half the people I had seen on the streets looked to be suffering from malnutrition, and there was an undercurrent of despair everywhere I travelled.

“Say girlie, mind heading to the market and grabbing us something?” he asked.

“Sure.” It gave me a brief distraction from all of my issues.

The food in the Rat’s Nest wasn’t great, so I couldn’t blame him for wanting something a little fresh. Much like healing, food was something else I wasn’t good with. That went for most biological material. I bet the first time I tried actually healing someone would make for a barrel of laughs. Welcome to Taylor’s clinic. It’s like a casino, except with medical treatment. Would you like to gamble on which deadly disease I give you as I try to fix your broken arm?

Standing up, I exited the building and made a brief stop in our residence to pick up a satchel.

I consciously ignored the weight of the world pressing back against me. It felt like glass shredding through parts of my mind. By this point, I was never not being blanketed by Angels and while the presence was comforting, it did nothing to alleviate the pain.

At least I wasn’t as compassionate as they were. Being in a place so filled with human misery while being a literal incarnation of compassion would have been enough to make anyone’s heart break.

The route to the market was depressing. I had to pass between dilapidated houses and derelict buildings. Slowly, the city became nicer as I left the poorer quarters. A thin veneer of decency painted onto a haven of rot.

My destination drew close. Slowly, I allowed myself to fade back into people’s perception.

Looking over the various stalls, I started picking out ingredients. As I was examining a lettuce to determine its relative freshness, a conversation one stall over caught my attention.

“You heard about the ongoing conflicts in Procer?” someone muttered.

“No, damn the snakes and their squabbles. Let them fight among themselves until last dusk.”

“They say there’s a villain running around there stealing everyone’s souls. An Artist of some sort. I wo-”

I felt a spike of frustration. So the Artist had escaped then, and was ruining people’s lives on the other side of the continent now.

I was about to leave the market when I caught sight of what seemed to be a butcher’s shop nestled in the corner. Good meat was expensive, in theory out of the price range of what we were pretending to be. But I was hungry and in a bad mood. This was an opportunity for me to indulge.

Making my way inside, I spotted the butcher standing behind a table. He was a well muscled man in his early twenties, with his long black hair tied up in a ponytail. Behind him, there were carcasses hanging on racks. He stopped carving up a slice of pork into strips as I entered and looked up.

“What meat you looking for, lass?” he asked.

I started pointing out what I wanted, then settled in to wait. Moments later, I heard a faint humming coming from behind me. Two dozen snakes a knot do make. At least, that’s what I thought the tune was.

I turned around.

Behind me, there was a slip of a girl who was likely not even ten years old. She was short, with chubby cheeks, brown hair and dark skin. She wore a scraggly blue blouse with a symbol I didn’t recognize sewn onto it. I didn’t need to, to be able to guess what it meant. She was one of the local orphans.

Cheeky brat.

That was when two of the local guards entered the store. They looked over the two of us disdainfully, then their eyes hardened as they settled on the butcher.

“Piss off you two, we have business with him. Stick around, you might just be involved in it,” the one on the left said. He tried to sound intimidating, but it was hard not to laugh. He had a high-pitched, squeaky voice that made him sound like a parrot.

I took a moment to scan the room.

The butcher had gone rigid with barely disguised fear.

The girl had a look of suppressed anger and helplessness that was radiating out of her. As if she wanted to reach out and do something, but didn’t have the power to do it.

You know what, Taylor, fuck it.

I was probably going to be in so much trouble with the others for sticking my nose into the business of the guard. But this looked to me to be a shakedown of some sort, and right now I was frustrated enough that I was willing to intervene. The least I could do was find out what was going on.

“What kind of business?” I turned my attention back to the guards.

“What’s it to you, bitch? I told you to piss off,” squeaky voice said.

I shrugged, remaining unruffled, then stared unblinking into his eyes.

“Just want to know how much I’ll regret involving myself.”

As I spoke, I started to mess with their emotions. It was the most subtle method of attack I had and if I was careful enough, they wouldn’t even notice I was doing it. I started by making them more eager to talk.

“Charles here hasn’t joined one of the Guilds. We’re here to provide him with some…incentive. Mazus doesn’t want any unaffiliated shop owners. You don’t want to anger him. Now leave, before we decide you need some incentive too,” the one on the right laughed at me.

It was more or less what I was expecting, and it gave me an excuse to stick my nose in more directly. I was almost certain the Legion of Terror would not approve of what these men were doing if they were around. They had interrupted similar affairs elsewhere. It was a paper thin excuse for me to do what I saw to be the right thing, but I wasn’t about to just let this go.

“I think the two of you should leave. If the Legions were here, they would kick you out of the store,” I stated.

Both of them snickered. “They aren’t here. It’s just us. And if something were to happen to you then, well, nobody would say a thing.”

I tried being polite.

“I lost this arm in a war,” I raised the stump up, indicating, “it got mauled. Rather than stop fighting, I had it burned off. I don’t care if Mazus wants you to do this, I’m certain it isn’t actually allowed. Stopping the two of you…wouldn’t even be that hard for me. At worst, I’d be given a fine for it, and you would have to live with broken bones.”

I reached under the butcher’s table, then started to lift it up one-handed. I was actually levitating it, but they wouldn’t know that. The butcher looked like he was about to start complaining, then paled. I continued manipulating their emotions, heightening fear, pushing down the desire to fight.

“Now see here,” the one on the right began, “you can’t threaten us like this. We’re with the Guard!”

“Who said anything about threatening,” I put the table down and started to draw the knife sheathed on my left leg. “We’re just having a conversation. You wouldn’t want the conversation to end, would you?”

I wasn’t happy with this solution. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure how to prevent the situation from escalating without resorting to threats. They seemed like the only language anyone in the Empire spoke.

“Never mind. Come on, Jules, it’s not worth it. The bitch looks crazy enough to try shank us. Even if she’s hanged for it, we’d still be dead. We can always come back here later when she’s not around,” the one with the whiney voice said.

Sending one last look my way that was filled with loathing, both of them turned and left.

My attempt at intimidation probably wouldn’t have worked without messing with their emotions. Logically, they did have the upper hand in a fight. They had better weapons and there were two of them. Unfortunately, I knew that what I had done was only delaying the inevitable. Unless something was done about Mazus, sooner or later those two, or others like them, would be back.

The butcher muttered thanks my way and I completed my purchase, adding the extra weight to my bag. Then I turned and left. I felt the eyes of the girl follow me as I went. Slowly, I allowed myself to fade from view.

I was halfway to the Rat’s Nest when I started to feel an imperceptible tug, like the tug of a story. Annoyingly, I could only just feel it over the lancing pain from the world bearing down on me. I had felt a few stories try to attach themselves to me since the encounter on the road. None of them had stuck. This one was close enough that I felt if I pulled just right, I could take the main role.

Maybe this is finally a chance to earn a Name.

Frowning, I started to look around, trying to identify the source. Behind me, I saw the girl from the shop, carrying a box between her arms. Eyes narrowed, she was looking around as if trying to find something.

I was almost certain the pull came from her.

She rolled her shoulders and came closer. The manner in which she approached was almost skittish, as if she was afraid but forcing herself through. She couldn’t see me, but was finding her way towards me regardless.

What kind of story is this?

Clearly it was a story involving her. What did I know for certain? She was an orphan in Callow, and she was young. I suspected she was also upset about the state of Laure. That…almost certainly made this a heroine's story, which would make me the mentor.

Mentors in stories didn’t live long.

I was still tempted to take this story, there was a part of me that liked the idea of taking care of a child. Unfortunately, I didn’t think I would make for a good mother and I didn’t want to be responsible for taking a nine-year-old child and making them into a soldier. That would be a new regret that I didn’t want to have to live with. I was already directly responsible for the death of one kid, I didn’t want to steal the childhood of another.

Despite that, I still wanted to allow her to come with. She had the… whatever it was that allowed someone to have a Name, and was probably heroically inclined. She would likely be safer with us than staying here. I clamped down on the feeling. I needed to solve my current problems before I took on new ones.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t give her some advice to help her along the way. I didn’t doubt she would find someone who was willing to guide her. Even if that someone wouldn’t be me.

As she drew close, I included her in the effect I had up.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

For a moment, it looked like she was about to jump out of her shoes and drop the box, before she restrained her reflexes.

I suppressed a smile.

“Weeping heavens,” she muttered under her breath, louder than I think she realized. “What’s it to you?”

“You were following me, not the other way around.”

“Catherine Foundling. Are you a hero?”

“I’m not a hero,” I denied.

I started moving again, and she waddled behind me like a duckling. We stopped on one of the piers going out onto the Silver Lake. There was nobody else around.

“Rubies to piglets, you’re a hero,” she snorted.

I smiled a little, “A hero would unseat Mazus, fight the Calamities, and reform Callow. I just stopped a couple of bullies from beating down the local butcher. That doesn’t make me a hero, Catherine.”

“Cat or Foundling, don’t call me Catherine,” she bristled like some sort of angry porcupine. It was cute.

Adopt her.

No, no. That isn’t a good idea. Be responsible, Taylor. The Imperial Orphanages are allegedly well maintained, and exposing her to my problems wouldn’t be good for the girl.

“Alright, Cat.”

“So why don’t you stop Mazus then?”

“Because I’m not a hero.”

“Sure you aren’t,” Catherine said, dubiously, “but if you were, why haven’t you?”

“Let's say someone killed Mazus. Now what happens?” I asked.

She shrugged, “People don’t starve any more?”

“The Empire takes it as a sign of rebellion. So the Legions are sent to stop it, and lots of people are killed. Then a new governor is put in place, only the rules are even stricter than before,” I explained.

I was reminded of the explanation given by the Number’s Man as to what happened in Brockton Bay. How a single event set off a chain of other events. While it would be wrong to blame the entire sequence of events on me choosing to fight Lung, the lesson still had merit.

I needed to think about the consequences of my actions, before I went ahead and decided to put my foot down.

“Then what about joining the Legion. They follow the Black Knight’s rules. If you rose high enough, you could fix Callow that way.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but I decided to answer it as one.

That idea sounded just as awful as deciding to infiltrate the Undersiders.

“It’s a bad plan. They would teach you to think like them. By the time you could change anything, you wouldn’t want to any more.”

“Then what do you think a hero should do?” she challenged.

Why couldn’t she start with easy questions.

“Being a hero to me is about deciding to do things that are messy and complicated and aren’t an easy fix to the problem, but don’t hurt others along the way. It's about making choices that you won’t regret later. It’s about accepting that you don’t need to be the person to solve every problem, so long as the issue is solved. You can let other people help you do it or even follow them instead,” I paused, considering what else I wanted to say.

Now, if only I could live by my own advice.

“You sound just like those tired old nuns from the house of light,” her tone of voice was derisive, as if doubting what I had to say.

Despite her words, the tugging from the story between me and the girl was becoming more insistent. This was a concern, I didn’t want to fall into this Role.

… Even if a part of me did.

“I think you should go home and enjoy life for now,” I told her gently.

“You really aren’t going to stop Mazus?” She asked again, this time sounding mutinous.

“No. Even if I was a hero and I won the fight, what next? Somebody still needs to run the city, and it can’t be me.”

The fight seemed to go out of her.

“You’re a bad hero,” she muttered.

“I told you, I’m not a hero.”

Not yet, anyway.

“You’re a hero from Procer,” she insisted, “everyone calls you people snakes. Are you just going to prove them right?”

“I’m not from Procer,” I denied.

“You sure sound like it,” She muttered darkly, “What’s your name?”

“Taylor.”

I felt the last threads of the story snap loose.

“You’re wrong, Taylor,” she declared under her breath. “You’re just a bad hero. I’ll be a better hero than you. If you don't fix Callow, then one day I will.” She finished her tantrum, voice laced with spite, then started stomping away.

Oh, fuck no.

That wasn’t what I wanted.

“Cat, wait!” I called out.

She ignored me and broke out into a run, box between her arms. Were it not for the circumstances, it would be comical to watch.

I started to follow, before bringing myself to a halt. What could I do here? She wouldn’t be happy with me bringing her along now, even if I wouldn’t be a mentor. It would still be killing her childhood, although she seemed determined enough to do that on her own.

Angrily, I started to pace back and forth at the edge of the pier.

I didn’t know what was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to kidnap her, but it seemed like she was going to do something unsafe. She was a kid, she was going to make a bunch of stupid decisions, but these might actually kill her.

For a moment I considered praying for advice, not that the Gods here ever answered. I had tried it once or twice when the pain became especially bad, hoping that they would help out. The problem I suspected was that I didn’t truly have faith, and that was unlikely to change.

Knowing something is real and having faith in it aren’t the same thing. I could do the first, but struggled with the second. The most I could do was blindly hope for help.

Think it through, Taylor.

She was nine. If I tried to adopt her, she was guaranteed to be part of a story. If I just left her here, there was a good chance she would forget and move on with her life. It was a slim hope to go on, but it was all I really had.

I started to make my way back to our lodgings.

With nothing to distract myself, the presence of the world eating at me became nearly unbearable.

Stay calm, Taylor.

Killing the governor, I reminded myself, would not solve the problem. It likely wouldn’t even make me feel better. Trying to keep a city together when I was sixteen and had localized omniscience had been hard enough. I didn’t want to accidentally end up in charge of another, a couple of hundred years in the past and without a proper support network.

The streets became tighter, the people more downtrodden, and my mood continued to sour. By the time I arrived at our lodgings, I was a bundle of frozen rage. Roland was standing outside, whispering furtively with another figure in a black cloak in an alley opposite the door.

“-will be held in Liesse,” I caught briefly.

Both of them broke up as I approached.

“Come in, Girlie,” I heard from inside.

I carefully wiped my boots on the rug, then took a seat beside Max. Roland came in not long after and sat opposite to me. A ward against eavesdropping went up, then conversation began.

“Well, who pissed in your breakfast?” Max asked cheerfully.

“I got into a fight with some guards. They tried to intimidate a merchant into joining the guilds, and I didn’t let it be.”

“Whilst I understand what drove you to move to the man’s defence, doing so has put us at risk,” Roland chided.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Were it not for your current circumstances, the bruising would be more severe. As it stands, I ask that you be more cautious.”

“That wasn’t the worst of it, though.”

“What else is there, girlie?”

“I ran into a girl. I’d guess she was nine years old. There were the beginnings of a story between the two of us. It looked like she would be a hero. I broke the story but…”

“You find yourself concerned for her wellbeing,” Roland inferred.

“Exactly. I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you wish for an apprentice, Taylor?”

“I do, but I don’t think I would be good for her,” I admitted.

“Then it is for the best we leave her then,” he declared.

That didn’t make me feel any less uneasy at the thought.

There was a lull in the conversation before Roland changed the topic.

“The state of Laure is a disgrace.”

“It is.”

“If you consider the situation as it currently stands in Callow, then how would you propose to deal with this?” Roland had a sincerity to his face that made me take the question seriously.

I thought for a moment.

While starting a rebellion would never end well, and I wasn’t about to join the Legions, I suspected the Black Knight also wouldn’t be happy with the state of affairs.

“We should write a letter to the Black Knight,” I replied.

“This isn’t some dainty girl you can win with some pretty words and flowers, girlie.” Maxime snorted.

“No, hear me out,” I began. “Look at how the Black Knight operates. He's ruthless and Evil. He set the Blessed Isle on fire, burning everyone on it to death, then went on to crucify everyone who disagreed with him after the Conquest. But that’s not what’s important.”

“And what’s that, girlie?”

“The man is pragmatic above all else. After taking control of Callow, he built orphanages and schools. Reformed the tax law. Did away with the nobility and regulated anything he felt he couldn’t control. He can be convinced by logic.” I argued.

“And how does this relate to the letter you plan to write?” Roland asked dubiously.

“The man doesn’t want an uprising. He plans to play the long game. He also knows stories. If there’s an uprising, there will be heroes that come with it. The orphanages weren’t built out of the goodness of his heart. He’s doing it to prevent orphans from turning into heroes.”

At least, that was my suspicion. I couldn’t see any other reason for a man as ruthless as he was to go to the lengths he did.

“Perhaps,” Roland prevaricated. “This still does not explain your thoughts behind the approach.”

“You see, if we assume that he doesn’t want an uprising, what the Black Knight wants least here is for people to be angry. If they are angry, then they might rebel. He doesn’t need people to be happy, so long as they aren’t angry they are unlikely to cause problems.” I finished.

Relying on the tyrant to clean up his own messes upset me, but killing him wouldn’t fix anything unless I actually had the right people behind me to replace him. I didn’t have an entire government stuffed in my back pocket, and I didn’t think throwing Callow into a state of civil war would make anyone’s lives better.

“So to my understanding, you believe that by sending a letter, you can bring him to act in an effort to stave off rebellion then?” Roland confirmed.

“If worded correctly, yes. Bring the risk of an uprising to his attention. The Legion has bureaucracy for everything. File the right form and fill it with the right words, and he’s almost certain to follow it up.” I stated.

There was even rumoured to be a form you could file to get annoying subordinates killed if you had the right justification. This place was a madhouse filled with nothing but the criminally insane.

“Girlie, how do you plan to stop it from just been thrown in a fire?” Max asked.

It was a valid question. The letter would need to be attention grabbing in some way to ensure it landed on his desk.

“The Gnomes hand out red letters, right?”

“You’re not thinking of sending Praes a red letter, are you?” a touch of hysteria had entered Max’s voice.

“It will certainly grab someone’s attention.”

I had no idea what a genuine red letter looked like, but I didn’t need to. I imagined that nobody at the bottom levels of Legion bureaucracy would know either. If something that looked convincing enough arrived at one of their desks, they would escalate it. I was reasonably confident I could recreate a modern postcard with a view of Chicago on it, as something to bundle with the letter itself.

The contents of the letter could quite clearly state that it wasn’t actually a form of Gnomish diplomacy, somewhere near the bottom. I just needed it to capture the attention of someone important enough within the Legions that our complaints about Laure would actually be heard.

It did bring up the obvious concern of people no longer taking the letter seriously once they realized it’s a fake, but I didn’t have a good solution to that without putting us in genuine danger along the way. Somehow, I didn’t think the Black Knight would be willing to sit down over a cup of tea and debate the finer details of how to run Callow.

I wouldn’t ever actually deliberately call down the Gnomes on anyone. I wasn’t sure if I could by manifesting the right tools, but the very idea of doing so nauseated me. They were a problem I didn’t even have the beginnings of an answer to. A disaster of foreign relations that needed to be dealt with.

There aren’t any easy solutions, are there?

“That is certainly… One method to call attention down on our heads. I suggest that we table that idea for now and preferably never revisit it. Besides, I dislike that your heroic plot to deal with the unrest within Laure is to bring it to the attention of the villains.” Roland looked upset.

“It will work,” I insisted.

Just letting the bully remain in charge was not an acceptable solution, but it would have to do until I had a better one.

“If this works, girlie, you will be flashing your tits right at the calamities. There is no way it would be safe for you to stay in Callow, then.” Max added.

“We don’t need to do it immediately.” I replied. “When we decide to leave for the Principate, we leave a letter on our way out.”

I suspected it was coming sooner or later. There were only so many places we could check before Praes became the last place to look. As desperate was I was for help, I wasn’t willing to go that far.

Yet.

It would be miserable living like this, but it was better living with the world trying to eject me then being captured by a diabolist.

Roland drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully.

“I dislike everything about this.”

That didn’t surprise me. It wasn’t a heroic solution. In fact, it wasn’t really a solution at all. It was me hoping my read on a person I had never met was correct. The problem was this wasn’t something any of us could solve easily, and trying to fix it directly myself would likely make everything worse.

“So, it has just been brought to my attention by one of my contacts that there is a rumour-” Roland changed the topic.

Max and I both groaned.

That meant something to do with his Name.

He raised his hands in exasperation.

“-that some of the Wizard of the West’s secret tomes are being auctioned off in Liesse.” He confided.

It went unsaid that such an auction was highly illegal.

“I think it’s a trap.” I declared.

“Girlie’s right. Put one foot into that auction and all our heads get cut off,” Max added.

There was no way the Calamities would just leave something like that on the table.

“I acknowledge that the possibility exists that it is a trap, but consider Taylor,” he became more animated as he spoke, “this could be the opportunity we seek.”

I thought about it. He was right. Short of trying to steal books out of the Warlock’s library, this did seem like our best bet. I wasn’t too keen on the risks, but playing it safe for two years had achieved nothing, and I was becoming desperate. This kind of opportunity did fit Roland’s type of story almost perfectly. It was magical knowledge that was likely being misused. If we were ever to have a genuine chance at finding the information I needed, this would be it.

Liesse wasn’t Praes, but we would still be taking a big risk.

“We will need to plan carefully,” I said.

“Girlie, you sure you can’t just leave it be?” Max asked.

I shook my head.

“I have to do this,” I told him. “Living like this is awful, and I’m…” I trailed off, the rest left unsaid.

He sighed.

“Well, I’ve come with you this far,” he mumbled.

“We’ll need to plan our escape route to Procer as well. I doubt we could stay in Callow for much longer afterwards.”

It was a tacit approval, but Roland’s face lit up.

“Let us begin planning. Once we are done, we can prepare for departure,” he smiled.

We didn’t leave that night, but we did leave soon after. I suspected that whatever the outcome, we would need to flee Callow in the aftermath. This way, at least we had a story on our side.

“Shall we resume our debate then?” Roland inquired idly.

We were on the road heading for Liesse. We were taking a more indirect route, passing through Vale rather than going near Marchford. There were rumours that the Warlock was currently in residence there, and none of us thought that going near him was a good idea.

“Sure,” I replied.

Roland and I had been having an ongoing debate ever since we entered back into Callow. It made for an easy way to waste time. I had taken up arguing in favour of Black’s system of Governance in Callow, and he argued for the Principate. I didn’t actually like or approve of either systems, but at least our discussions had a way of keeping us entertained on the roads.

There was only so many times you could look at mountains and fields before they all started to look the same.

By this point, we had probably retreaded the same couple of arguments at least over a dozen times. Max had joined in at first, but after the fifth repeat of the debate had decided that he would rather sleep.

“In the Principate, the Princes would never allow a city regress in the same manner as Laure,” Roland stated.

I was sure that wasn’t true, considering what I had heard about the civil war. But I had only seen a corner of Procer myself, so I would leave that alone.

“If a city became like Laure in Procer, then nobody would be able to do something about it. In Callow, the Governers only have a four-year mandate. If it appears the current ruler is causing problems, they can be removed. Nobody can remove the Princes.” I argued.

Not that I expected anyone good would replace Mazus.

“In the event that Mazus is removed, another Wasteland lord or lady equivalent in nature would replace him.” He retorted.

“Can’t you kids talk about something else?” Max interjected, sounding grumpy.

Both of us grinned. Actually finding a way to draw a reaction out of Max had taken us a while.

“In the Empire, anyone can receive an education. It doesn’t matter how poor you are. Sure, you need to pay the Tower back by serving in the army. But in the Principate, only the wealthy have a chance at a proper education at all.”

And I’d bet the Callow education under Black was filled with propaganda. Despite this, it was one of the changes he had made which I genuinely approved of. Even if the good in it was partially subverted.

“That isn’t a refutation of my point, you are merely deflecting to another topic. Consider how likely is it that somebody who isn’t a High Lord ends up in the seat of power.”

It would probably never happen.

“More likely than it is than someone in the Principate. You start your calendar from the death of Triumphant. When I was poking around in the necromancer’s books, it was implied that she wasn’t from the nobility at all.”

Triumphant was an exception, of course. It had been made clear to me the first time I had heard her name that she was an exception to everything. The woman who conquered the continent in ten years, then lost it in five. The stories told about her were so horrifying that even centuries later, people talked about her in whispers.

“Using Triumphant as an example of anything is indicative that you are losing the argument.” He stated firmly.

“The only reason that you feel this strongly against the system in Callow is because it’s run by villains.”

He raised an eyebrow at me.

“And you do not consider this a valid reason to hold it in contempt? They brook no disagreement, and murder all who dare speak out against them.” He reached behind him and picked up a flask, then took a sip.

“What’s the sentence for opposing the ruler in the Principate?…” I trailed off, raising an eyebrow.

“Poison for Princes. Being hung, drawn and quartered for anyone else.” Max added from behind helpfully.

I turned and smiled at him in thanks.

Both Procer and Praes had problems.

In the Principate, it was highly unlikely you would ever end up in a position of power unless you were born into it. It was taken as a given that only the Princes had the right to rule. A proper education was limited to the nobility, and mages were shunned and distrusted by all but the Lycaonese.

It was still better than Praes, but that wasn’t saying much. Being better than the Empire that actively advertises how evil it is shouldn’t be seen as an achievement.

Praes was just a mess. While in theory anyone could rule, in practice it was only those born into power. Even if you ignored that, the system was just bad. The history books were littered with examples of tyrants taking over and being terrible at actually running the place. When rulers were decided based on their ability to scheme, backstab, betray and murder their rivals, they didn’t typically have the right skills to rule. They had the right skills for scheming, backstabbing, betraying and murdering people.

Funny how that worked.

“You know, I read that at one point in history, slavery used to be considered Good in Calernia.” I began.

“Yes…”

“And now it isn’t.” I continued.

“You understand correctly. I fail to understand where you are going with this.” Roland replied.

“Whoever or however it was that came to be changed, the people involved had to have been villains.” I finished.

Roland was quiet for a moment.

“This does not necessarily need to be the case. The understanding of Good could merely have shifted over time of its own volition.” He denied.

He was probably right.

“One interpretation of The Book of All Things claims that Creation is a bet to determine the validity of free will. The side that claims to be Good is against the idea. If Good opposes free will, then why would they be against slavery.”

All things considered, I felt like the biggest hypocrite in Creation. Being the person to argue in favour of free will after using mind control during the apocalypse in order to get my way wasn’t much of a ringing endorsement.

I still didn’t know if there had been a better option.

Would people have come to the same solution or even a better one faster without my intervention? I didn’t think so, but the doubt would always be there.

Would I make the same choice if I was put in the same situation again?

I didn’t know the answer.

A part of me worried that I would.

Another part of me worried that I would not.

“Historians make the assertion that this was caused by Good and not Evil.” Roland repeated.

“Histories that were written afterwards and were likely biased.”

I felt that the argument was plausible, but everything I had seen so far spoke to the opposite.

“And you are making the claim that people performing blood sacrifices and summoning up demons are more likely to have brought about this change? Furthermore, these days only evil polities have slavery or indentured servitude.” His incredulity bled through.

“I’m not claiming that.”

“Then what are you claiming?” He asked.

“That good and evil aren’t the same as Good and Evil. If you think of Creation in terms of the bet, then there are other options. It is possible to be a good person without being Good. It’s possible there was a villain who disagreed with slavery and challenged it all on their own.”

“Can you name any examples of villains in Calernia that to your knowledge would do such a thing.” He inquired.

I couldn’t.

All the villains I had read about were truly villainous. The Dead King literally ruled a Kingdom of the Dead from the safety of one of the hells. Traitorous betrayed anyone and everyone he could. Triumphant unleashed demons all over the continent.

Calernia was a broken land full of broken people, and something needed to be done about it.

“Do you think that historians would have recorded it that way? Villains would have shunned them and heroes would have changed the facts afterwards.” I argued.

“Taylor, I know you consider every villain in Calernia you have heard of reprehensible. Why are you defending them?” He sounded exasperated at the thought.

Ah, he had become emotionally invested in the argument.

“We should finish here,” I said diplomatically.

“I would appreciate it if you gave me an answer this time,” he contested.

Fair enough.

“Because…” I trailed off.

“Because Girlie here was a villain once and is worried that if villains in Creation are truly Evil, then maybe she is too.” Max interjected.

I wouldn’t put it that way.

After seeing the Choir of Compassion, it had been something I worried about for a while. Looking around Calernia had done enough to help me dismiss the idea. Maybe my morality didn’t measure up to that of the Angels, but that didn’t make me Evil. It just meant I wasn’t a Saint.

And I was fine with not being a Saint.

“It’s just that… When I was a villain, I didn’t think of what I was doing as Evil. I had a goal that I believed was good, even if the steps I took to reach it weren’t.”

“And so the thought had occurred to you that perhaps there are villains here that share those traits as well.” Roland surmised.

“It’s something I think about sometimes,” I admitted.

“By now has it not been made clear to you that the villains of one land and the other are not the same?” inquired.

It had, but that didn’t make me still wonder. Surely not everyone with a villainous name was a monster? Or was it a requirement for the role.

“What else is fucking with your head, Taylor?” Max asked.

Do I talk about it?

If I didn’t talk about it now, I never would.

“You remember how I told you about the end of the world,” I began.

Max’s eyebrows raised.

“I take it you’re going somewhere with this?”

“I am.”

I paused for a moment. I’d come to value their judgement with time, and I expected I knew how they would react. That didn’t take away my fear of rejection, though.

“Stop chewing on it and spit it out, Taylor. It will eat you up inside otherwise.” Max pressed.

Fine.

“When the world ended, nobody worked together. Nothing anyone did worked, and it looked like we were going to lose.” I started.

“You informed us that you had died during the engagement,” Roland interjected.

“I did, but it was after the end of the fight. Before then, I did something.”

“Keep talking, girlie.”

Roland passed me a flask. Taking it, I thanked him quickly before continuing with my story.

“At the time, I felt helpless. Nothing I could do would make any difference in the fight. So I took a gamble that was reckless. Afterwards, I could control anyone who got close enough to me…” I trailed off.

“And then you took control of everyone.” He completed my train of thought.

“At first I only meant to control the worst people, the villains. The longer the fight went on, the more people I controlled.”

“And you don’t know if it was the right or wrong thing to do.” He continued.

“We won at the end, but it didn’t feel like winning,” I said softly. “So many people died and there were only pieces left.”

“And then afterwards, you end up in a place where the gods are arguably having a pissing match over free will. You must be wondering if it’s some sort of punishment.” Max chuckled.

I hadn’t even thought of that. It was nice having even more to worry about.

“Girlie, this isn’t the place to worry about that. This is Calernia. We don’t have a golden man, but we have Old Bones. If the Dead King came down from Keter to fuck us all over, and you summoned down an Angel of Contrition to fight him, you would be buried as a Saint.” He consoled.

“That’s part of what worries me,” I muttered.

“The rules of whatever land you came from don’t work here, so why worry about them?” He asked.

How to explain?

If I had ended up somewhere more familiar, I likely wouldn’t have worried so much about this. Here though? This was a world where people would shout from the rooftops that the decision I made was the right one. It was also in almost every measurable way worse off. There were cities on Bet that had a higher population than the entire of Calernia. That was likely true even after the apocalypse.

Being confronted with that every day wasn’t something I was comfortable with.

Every day, I came face to face with a world that was run the way I had operated back on Earth Bet. If I took charge and acted like a benevolent warlord, nobody would bat an eyelid. If I was a hero in the process, they would probably even tell me I was doing a good job for it.

And the actual state of the world was terrible in comparison.

Sure, Calernia wasn’t falling apart like Bet was, but that wasn’t because the system was good. It was because they just didn’t happen to have something far outside the scope of the world actively working to bring it down. Aleph existed and operated under largely the same rules as Bet did. It hadn’t been falling apart, and it was almost a utopia in comparison to Creation.

Calernia felt to me like the biggest argument that I was wrong.