“Judeth Crais wears a hundred stolen eyes, yet weeps in the dark. What do they see that she dares not?”

  - Scrawled on a Glaniece interrogation cell wall.

  Ten minutes after Joan’s unbelievable suggestion, six individuals and a ghost in the form of a glowing fishing rod shuffled out of the ramshackle mud hut. Once they stood upon the crackling snow, dyed by a death-like green tint, the corpse of Dante’s foe reflected in their eyes.

  It was not taken. The Roseman’s kin left it behind.

  The doctor of the crew dived to the decapitated head, lifting it in her hands and inspecting its every feature. Sonna’s nose snarled, and she turned away with a gag while Lucius patted her shoulder. The brief display of care did little for her airway as Dante and Astraeus knelt beside the corpse, already discussing its strengths.

  “Fast. Brutal, too. I’d put it between you and me in strength. The fight only went so well because of Rejo’s Mojo,” Dante stated as he rolled the corpse over to point out the other wounds it sustained with a trailing finger.

  At the mention of his Stigmata, Rejo stood straighter, his gaze still watching the surroundings. The mercenary had little to no skill in forensics or investigation.

  As such, he remained on guard duty.

  Astraeus conjured an orb of snow in his hand with his Tide, bringing it close to the open wound on the Roseman’s neck. The instant the two came in contact, the Frigo was absorbed into the corpse.

  The ‘Thema snapped his hand away in fright, “What the... “

  Then, Joan peeked her head over, practically shoving her eyes into the gaping hole of green fluids. The orbs inside her sockets lit up as she stabbed a thin needle of bone protruding from her fingertip into the hole.

  “Astraeus. Do that again,” she ordered like a surgeon to their assistant.

  With a shrug and furrowed brows of confusion, Astraeus brought another ball of Frigo to the injury. As he did so, Joan took measurements with her eyes using the minuscule spear of marrow.

  Dante and Lucius peered on in interest while Sonna could only take brief glances back here or there. A moment later, the four-armed Harenlar discovered yet another piece of information.

  “It’s not dead. It healed from that. A little, but... it reminds me of how fingernails and hair grow after death. It...” Joan trailed off while faces of horror surrounded her. Instead of mimicking the trepidations the others held, her countenance shifted into bliss. “As long as a Tide is delivered, they can return to life. It’s slow, but it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. Somehow, the energy is used to redistribute their life. Rejo. Put the head in your bag. Dante, dear? Could you get me its heart?”

  The people around Joan spared her odd glances, then turned to Dante as if to ask for his approval. Even after all his time away from the crew, they still instinctively sought his decision-making.

  No longer was there endless bickering before any choice was made. They had their leader once more.

  And that leader’s gaze hardened as he stared into the creature’s lightless eyes. He understood the potential that these Rosemen could hold for Joan.

  After all, she had developed her Biotics based on non-dimensional creatures. The Rat came from all sorts of tiny beasts and insects, giving it a hardiness and innate stealth. Pouncer originated from countless felines and canines, combining all their assassinations and speeds into one being. Juggler and this newest Brute...

  They both came from Dante’s species alone. Well, Brute had some breakthroughs with the help of a Martian, but the incredible throwing ability of the Juggler and the Brute’s sheer power was owed to humankind.

  If she can create Biotics based on these abilities...

  “Yes. Rejo. Carry the head. Give me one minute. Rejo, you can carry the heart, too. I know you’re walking light without ammunition,” Dante couldn’t finish the thought, for he had already given her his utmost approval.

  Any price is worth paying.

  Dissatisfaction shone in Sonna’s eyes of disgust, but no one else argued, not even Rejo. The Araki merely shambled over and rolled the head into his open backpack. Then, a minute later, he spread it for Dante to plop the disfigured heart into.

  Time passed as Joan dragged the corpse into another hut with Lucius’ help. There, the two worked to dissect the Rosemen while the doctor also tended to the Martian’s almost recovered body. Even she was amazed by how quickly he had sprung back from near death.

  Outside, Dante stood beside Sonna while Rejo and Astraeus searched the surroundings for anything useful. In awe, the captain clicked his tongue, “Always impressed by a Martian. When I was a kid, my dad always said we humans were the toughest. That we were the strongest. That we were the smartest. How wrong was he...”

  Sonna’s eyes lit up with intrigue. She looked Dante up and down, pausing for a beat on the gauze along his side, then asked, “The others have talked about their family quite a bit. Especially Rejo. And even Joan, bitching about in-laws. Didn’t even know she was married... But you... You don’t talk about them. Not that we've had much time, I guess...”

  A sore laugh sprang from Dante, and his eyes fell to the snow. The coldness in his gaze met the icy earth, and the latter lost the trade.

  “Joan... ha. Her husband died years and years ago. Before my father met her. He said that’s what broke her. I don’t believe that. I think she was always broken...” the blue-eyed man’s words trailed off. He had brushed away the mention of his family, but as the silence hung in the air, he felt compelled to address it. “My father... was a bastard. Constantly beat me and my younger brother to toughen us up. Taught a hell of a lot, but never without pain. I did what I could to protect Judas, but...”

  “Judas? That’s the name of that guy you were talking about, right?” Sonna butted in, unable to hold back her curiosity.

  Dante nodded and continued with a growing sense of despair, “Yeah. It is. But my Judas died fourteen years ago. I was twelve. He was... so small... just eight,” the man’s emotions choked up his words, catching them in his chest. “After... I stuck around for a little, but before a year was over, I ran away. I kept tabs on my dad, seeing him occasionally as I bounced from merc group to merc group. Eventually though... he vanished on his own mission.” With a sigh, Dante’s eyes raised to the unnatural sky of fire. “The only constant... heh... was Joan’s medical treatment whenever I got injured in exchange for her experiments.”

  The cold winds blew by the two standing outside the hut, shuffling flakes of white past them in abundance. Such noise overpowered Sonna’s single word of empathy, but not enough that Dante missed it, “Damn...”

  She opened her mouth again to say something of comfort, wanting to help him however she could, but the man wasn’t finished. His gaze bore into the skies, unabated by the winds, snow, or cold.

  “With what this new Judas said... I’m starting to think that maybe... just maybe... There is more to my little brother’s death than meets the eye. We’re only half-brothers. I come from some random human whore that Theodore met while stranded. But Judas...” Dante’s head turned to face Sonna as if hoping she would understand. “My brother’s mother was a Seer. A damn strong one, too. Seer Majora of House Crownlean. Ran away from home, fell in love with my scumbag of a dad then was disowned and died in childbirth. The standard pain of a mixed-species birth.”

  The life story of Dante’s lineage revealed itself to Sonna in this bizarre dimension. She couldn’t understand why he shared such details about his past. However, the man himself just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  He longed to know more about this Judas. About his power. About his past. He needed to know. He needed to know what relationship he had with his brother.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Walk away before I change my mind. That’s a greater kindness than your brother received,” Dante echoed as his gaze bore into Sonna, as if demanding she knew something with her background in the Federation Of Flesh. Then, his eyes gleamed with understanding. “That’s what he said to me. Do you know anything about him? About the Church Of Flesh? I’m hoping you can unravel some of these mysteries in my mind. That’s why you are next to me, and we’re not both searching the periphery.”

  After the long, one-sided lecture, Sonna finally had a chance to speak. But she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t a part of the Federation or the Church.

  Not really. She was a meatshield, a replaceable life that overtook her mistress while she was distracted. Irys was meant to receive Sonna’s blessings, her Qualae from whatever unimaginable entity granted it.

  Between her and Rejo’s abilities, it stood clear that whoever bestowed their Qualae was beyond powerful. The two grew quickly, far beyond the others in their specialties. Dante could only compare to the Weren’s expertise in Tides from the boost of Judas and a Caesar’s impartment.

  With a stutter, she lowered her gaze and spoke honestly to her captain, “I’m... not who I’ve claimed to be.”

  Dante’s eyes flashed with bewilderment, then profound thought, until it finally settled onto understanding as Sonna continued, “I’m not a daughter of some powerful figure. I’m just...”

  The two held their gaze as Sonna fought to say the words she had wanted to for weeks. The lie she wished she had never told. At this point, it had bundled up a knot of guilt in her chest.

  However, as she struggled, Dante set a hand on her shoulder. Like a father admonishing his child, he spoke, “I know. I knew you lied to me about something. But... that doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe at the start, I would have abandoned you. Not anymore. You’ve proven yourself.”

  Then, the man walked away with sagging shoulders. He hadn’t found the answers he sought. Sonna shuddered with each trailing step left by the human. Then, at his parting words, before he ducked into the woods, her tears flowed without pause, “Also... From what I've heard and seen, you have the best gift here for Tides. I’m struggling to catch up even with a Caesar’s impartment. Don’t waste it. You aren't 'just' some person. It isn’t your Qualae that’s special.”

  The unsaid words echoed in her mind.

  “You are.”

  A thin, trembling smile developed across her lips. Beneath her tears of self-loathing, a beaming light emerged. Sonna drew her hands to her gaze and stared down at them.

  Mist swirled from her palms, moving just as her heart demanded. It felt so natural for her to use the Tide. Her mind sank into the fog, empty of life.

  I’ve been ignoring my Stigmata. I’m just fumbling around in the dark. Why is he so confident in me? Is it... I’m weak. Wait... I’m not as strong as Dante, but that’s because he already knew how to fight. That’s what he’s telling me.

  Sonna clenched her fists in a fledgling pride. Then, she softly said, “I’ve kept up without experience. He’s right. I need...”

  The woman stomped her way into the hut and stood above the doctor and the soldier as they tore apart the Roseman’s flesh. They glanced at her oddly before returning to their work.

  She didn’t bother them, instead sitting beside Lucius with haze clouding her fists. Without hesitation and now possessing confidence not just in her abilities but in others’ perceptions, she said, not asked, “I need to train. Allow me to try and heal you.”

  Lucius laughed with elation, nodding in agreement, “Of course. I was waiting for you to find your grounding.”

  Joan ignored the two wholeheartedly, but time passed for the trio in a blur as Sonna experimented with her Tide. Thanks to Lucius’ overflowing vigor, she didn’t have to worry about hurting him. No matter what she did, he would bounce back even faster.

  And so, several hours later, while she didn’t master Yin-Yang or discover how to use it, Sonna made leaps and bounds of progress with her Tide. She learned how to condense the fog farther, to siphon life even faster while also managing to disperse it more sparsely.

  Her range of detection expanded to over a hundred feet in every direction, further if the surroundings are corridors that take up less volume. Both her attack and perception capabilities grew in the span of one day.

  When the others gathered upon nightfall, Sonna remained locked into her practice. Her head spun, an incessant whine of pain digging into her, but she refused to stop. She found the pursuit into the mist as more than mere training. Sonna found it exhilarating.

  Nonetheless, a palm yanked her head from gazing down at her hands, which manipulated her Tide, and forced her to look at her captain. Lucius whispered into her right ear, “Good job. Know what to focus on. Just because he’s here doesn’t mean you fall back into that shell. You were a good leader. Who knows if he ever has to leave again?”

  The old soldier left Sonna nodding in contemplation as he stepped a foot over. She inhaled a deep breath, relaxing her muscles as she set his words into her mind. Then, her pupils shined as she faced Dante and Joan.

  Waves of light began to flicker behind the two figures—the tell-tale sign that the wall of fire was about to form. As such, that also meant the Rosemen were soon to return.

  However, Dante’s crew didn’t want to stay another night in the cramped hut. They wanted to venture onward.

  The doctor held a thin film, resembling a humanoid shape up to the air as Dante spoke, “I’ve thought long and hard. We could wait another night. But then we might fall behind. We are the only ones with an expert of Joan’s caliber. I say we take advantage of it and carry on. Even if there are Rosemen on the other side, I believe we can hold out for a night as long as we fight as one with Eidolon's help,” his eyes slid over each individual, from the abyssal skin of Astraeus to Lucius’ crossed arms. “Any objections?”

  Rejo shook his head instantly while Joan returned a wordless smile. Those two agreed with Dante wholeheartedly, the first having more faith in his captain than a God, while the second wanted to test her creations.

  Sonna and Lucius, however, shared a glance. They were iffy.

  However, it was not them that spoke first. It was the Dirge.

  “What if we’re attacked by the others?” Astraeus offered to the group. “A strike against us at the wrong time... could kill us all.”

  Dante bobbed his head in agreement with the Anathema. Then, he flicked a finger toward the red-skinned Araki and said, “Yes. That’s why we need one to stay behind. Rejo can Mojo you across after. Presumably. There is always a chance it fails, so we’ll leave an extra cloak.”

  “Cloak?” Sonna’s voice emerged this time, questioning the odd choice of word.

  Again, Dante had an explanation while Joan stepped toward Sonna, holding out the thin layer of what appeared to be flesh, “Yeah. You were with them while they made it. Were you that focused on training? Well, it doesn’t matter. Joan believes these will help insulate the heat long enough for us to cross over.”

  The Weren shrank back in fear of the article of clothing, but she quickly slammed into the hut. With a shriek, Joan giggled with a maniacal splendor as she dressed the shorter woman in the Roseman’s corpse.

  “No! NO! STOP! It’s so nasty! Eww! Why is it slimy!” Sonna virtually fought for her life, and Joan relented only after a minute of labor.

  With a harrumph, the scientist stepped away, placing a larger coat and cloak combo onto Rejo, “Fine then. Guess you’re staying back.”

  Sonna sat with heaving breaths, her heart beating with panic. The others wrapped themselves in the bizarre flesh, cut and shaped to fit their sizes. Joan knew precise measurements for everyone she’d ever looked at.

  Dante was the first prepared, already used to wearing various specialized suits and tools. Lucius had a similar experience, but his size made all clothes and form-fitting actions more difficult.

  Four moved closer toward the embers of the wall of fire that had begun to emerge from the once impenetrable illusion. A moment prior, there appeared to be nothing but a cliff’s edge, a view that changed with each day.

  But now, a flame emerged, intensifying with each passing second. Already, Rejo had set up his Stigmata with his handy-dandy randomly-found rock in his pocket linked to Sonna.

  Dante stayed behind for a moment, crouching beside the trim Weren and murmuring, “If Rejo’s Stigmata fails, you’ll have to come through the next day. Until then... lock yourself in one of the huts. When we’re crossing over, use your Arido to help us.”

  Sonna nodded while the mist in her hand expanded over a hundred feet in one direction. She could do this. The five-hundred-foot gap was nothing if she concentrated the Arido toward the flame.

  “Good. You’ve got this,” Dante gave Sonna a long look before smiling. “Thanks for taking care of them while I was gone. I know they’re a handful. You did great. Rejo alone... and Joan... The unlikeliest of... Nevermind. See you soon. And don’t tell Rejo, but... I think you’re a better fit for my second than him.”

  “Yeah... Thanks... See you soon,” she said as the human strode away, covered in strips of greenish-gray flesh.

  The Weren shuffled into the hut from the last night, closing herself inside before sitting down and closing her eyes. Noises resounded from the depths of the forest as she settled in.

  Rosemen. Or... something else. Whatever. I need to focus. They’ll bring me through. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wear that disgusting thing. Ah! Focus!

  Sonna’s brows met each other in assiduousness as her mind fell into her Tides. The whole day of undivided practice had borne fruit. In the past few months, she had little time to genuinely train, too stressed out or focused on wrangling her crewmembers.

  Every day, it remained a struggle to prevent Rejo, Sonna, or Lucius from tearing each other’s heads off. Her, too. Often, she wanted to hurt them out of sheer frustration.

  But she didn’t. She persisted. She persevered.

  And now, with her captain returned, her talent bloomed like a spring flower. It unwinded with the relaxation flowing from the release of tension and responsibility. She was no longer the one who had to make decisions.

  She was...

  Sonna.

  The mist that encompassed her spread outward with her calm, slipping under the hut’s door and squeezing through the gaps in the mud. She failed to do the latter just yesterday. Now, though...

  Her devouring haze spread outward, wrapping along the hurried Rosemen all rushing for her crew. They utterly ignored her. Dozens of them. In her mind’s eye, she sensed Dante, Joan, Astraeus, and the rest. The Seafarers were lighthouses in her eyes, beacons of power.

  The Rosemen... they were filthy torches. And she dived upon them, siphoning their endless life and sturdy constitutions. They stumbled, slowed, and some even fell from such pressure descending upon them.

  With a surge of vitality and energy overflowing her body, Sonna laughed merrily. Despite being alone and separated, she didn’t feel lonely or isolated. He was here. And somehow... no matter how long he had been gone or how short their time together had been, he inspired security in those who trusted him.

  Rejo felt it. Archimedes felt it. Astraeus felt it. Joan felt it. Even Lucius did.

  As for Sonna, as her tendrils sent the feedback of her crew fighting, one at a time, crossing the wall of fire, she let loose. Blood spewed out her nose from both exertion and the influx of power, but she didn’t pull back.

  The woman who always thought of herself as a coward dived in with relish, ripping apart the distant creatures with her white fog. No visible damage was done, yet they all could feel her touch.

  A guardian from afar.

  She liked that idea. She liked it very much.

  But a sudden voice shattered her reverie, not merely because of its unexpectedness. Its owner sent trepidation down her spine, sounding identical to her captain, “Oh, hello there, Sonna Hearal. The useless one.”

  Sonna creaked her neck to the side, inch by inch, as she realized a figure had opened the mud hut and stared down at her. The eyes were a...

  The eyes were an abyssal black, twin voids that devoured the dim light within the hut. They reflected nothing—not the fiery glow of the inferno outside nor the pale haze of her Tide swirling around the room. Unlike Dante’s scarred, weathered visage, this man’s face was pristine, smooth as polished stone, unmarked by time or battle. His stance radiated a calm authority. It was as if a walking deity strode in to inspect his domain.

  For a moment, Sonna could only stare, her pulse hammering in her ears. The resemblance to her captain was uncanny, down to the faint quirk of his lips when he smiled—yet the wrongness in his expression struck her like a physical blow.

  Dante’s smiles were rare, hard-won flashes of his personality. This man’s smirk held detached cruelty as if the world itself existed for his amusement.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but the man reached forward, grasping for her. Water burst from his hands in a deluge that formed gnarled sickles as he demanded, “What’s the secret? To the Second Trial? Tell me.”

  Those dual voids overcame Sonna’s sight, becoming all she could see. All that she could feel. They were her everything. Her lips opened a pinch, raw fear driving her to speak, but before the dread squeaked out an answer, another hand reached out to the woman.

  Death loomed an inch away, those fingers a second from devouring her more perfectly than her own mists.

  Yet they never touched her. Instead, the dumb grin of an Araki, with his flapping mouth tendrils, met Sonna’s shattered visage.

  “Are you ‘kay?” Rejo asked, concerned as he held out a scarred hand covered in that disgusting flesh. Unlike before, Sonna didn’t recoil. No. She sank into Rejo’s arms with a sob.

  “He’s here...”