“Good morning, Captain.” Right as Fisher entered the headquarter’s lobby, a familiar retiree called out to him from behind a desk.  

“Morning, Roland,” Fisher replied. He walked over to the receptionist desk while waving to the early go-getters sitting nearby. If they hadn’t gotten there early to take care of whatever business they had, the time to be seen would increase by a factor of 10. That was especially true when a festival was just around the corner. There were permits to file, tax documents to go over, location fees to pay, and much more.  

The late governor, Parrel, had passed a few laws that granted leniency to his closest supporters by assuring them the best spots while paying the least amount of money in fees. His replacement had stripped those early advantages away like a sticky bandage to give everyone a fair chance. He had gotten backlash for that, but there really wasn’t anything anyone could do. Unlike Parrel, Blasé didn’t rely on corrupt bribes because he had a fortune during his adventuring days. He was confident he could steer the city towards a favorable direction by his leadership alone.  

Fisher leaned against the desk and scratched his chin, staring back at the lobby. In just the time it took him to walk over, 8 more people had entered and took a seat. “It’s gonna be a busy day, isn’t it?” 

“You got that right, sir. We’re what, a month out from the festival? I kinda feel that most of the big shots aren’t taking our new governor seriously. But hey, the jokes on them if the other merchants snag the best spots.” Roland shrugged and lifted a smoked sausage to his mouth. “You want one, sir? My wife woke up early and got the smoker going before the crack of dawn.” 

Fisher put his hands in front of him and shook his head. “Thank you, but I already ate.” 

“Alright. Oh, when I came in this morning, there was a letter on my desk addressed to you,” Roland said with a mouth half full of mashed meat. The clear juice squirted down his throat, filling it with the flavor of a double helping of salt and pepper. After wiping his hands on a cloth and taking a sip of a nearby cup of coffee, Roland reached under the desk for a letter.  

“A letter? Ah, it’s from the governor…” Fisher said upon taking the envelope. He slid an armored finger over his name.  

“Yep. Don’t know what it could be about unless it has something to do with that disturbance.” 

“I’ll go read. Talk to you later, Roland.” Fisher pushed away from the table and walked the hallways of the headquarters until he reached his office.  

Even though it wasn't the sun, those blasted fluorescent lights in the ceiling really gave off a substantial amount of heat. With the natural summer heat, heatstroke was definitely a concern. Hopefully, the knowledgeable governor had taken that into account. It seemed like he was always one step ahead of everything. When thinking about it, that made sense. Blasé and Eina were actually the children of Virin Keywater, the Emperor of Keywater. Fisher first met them during the attack on the city, which resulted in a horde of slaves fleeing the city through tunnels. The death of the governor soon followed. That alone was a striking setback, but a not-so-insignificant amount of guards had perished in that assault.  

Canary’s strength was at an all-time low; that much was something even the most die-hard patriot would agree on. 

Of course... That knowledge would spread to Sakdu. If there was anything or anyone who wanted to wipe out Canary, there would never be a better opportunity. Or it would have been if not for Servi and Itarr… 

Ah, yes. Servi… She was a girl who was covered from head to toe in mystery. Fisher thought he had a decent grasp on what she was. He was a man who had traveled far and wide—often for unscrupulous reasons involving the ugly murder of Demi-Humans—which meant he had plenty of knowledge about the world. It was just that he lacked ‘academic’ information.  

A thousand lifetimes of adventuring would have never been enough to crack the shell surrounding her. It wouldn’t reveal the Goddess Itarr’s loving shield, which was so meticulously crafted around Servi that it seemed as if it was a very part of her.  

Goddess and Human. Divine Being and mortal. One that couldn’t die, and one that would perish to either the sound of war, the call of famine, or the sickly siren of disease.  

With their souls combined, the strengths overwrote the weaknesses of the other. A unique being—both Human and Goddess—had emerged into the world.  

Coincidentally, the woman who participated in the assault on Canary, the woman who Left Arcton in a state of devastation, and the woman who left a striking reminder of her power in a crater 15-kilometers wide and 3,000-kilometers deep were one and the same.  

Fisher had all the chances in the world to make Servi face justice. He could have done it after slaughtering Black Croc with her, he could have done it a day before the Rank 10 tournament, and he certainly could have done it the day Servi and Momo returned from Arcton.  

But he didn’t, and it wasn’t just because she could smite him out of existence with a flick of her fingers.  

He saw the opposite of him in her. She had slaughtered men and women for the enslaved Demi-Humans to have a chance of freedom, and he had butchered the free Demi-Humans. One was out of a desire for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—every living thing had an internal craving for felicity, and it was unethical to stand in the way of that. Fisher, on the other hand, was the very source of malice. Creeping through the night, intruding upon a house, and slitting the neck of the Singi homeowners was something he used to do very often.  

He directly stole that pursuit of happiness from hundreds of people. 

Giving her up would be something the old Fisher would have done. She, a Human, freed my enemies from their filthy cages! She’s one of those damn Demi-Human lovers! Strike her down, men! For she is the Witch of Arcton, who brought that city to ruin!! He would shout while raising his sword high in the air. By then, Blethor, his Major God of Combat, would kick in, granting him the skill of a sword master many years beyond his age.  

Perhaps him leaving her alone was proof he had grown as a person. After coming to terms with his sins, Fisher found it easier to breathe. The light seemed noticeably brighter. Even the singing canaries sang a bit clearer. It certainly didn’t mean all was forgiven. Sakdu was proof that time couldn’t heal everything, or maybe it could if an eternity had passed.  

Perhaps the time it took for a galaxy to be born and subsequently implode on itself wasn’t enough. Such a thing was impossible for anyone to test, so thinking up hypotheticals to answer an unanswerable question only wasted time and energy.  

Even now, perhaps it was accurate to say that Fisher wasn’t entirely over it. And, of course, the answer to why that was circled all the way back around to Sakdu.  

Fisher sighed, having reached the door to his office. He took out a keyring from his Dimensional Storage and unlocked the door. He walked to his desk and sat down, envelope clenched in his hand. His eyes went to a drawn picture of his family. It was created back when Meri and Mari were four and three, respectively. Maybe it was time to update it. With the festival coming around, it would only make sense. Or he could grab one of the many portraits from home and bring it to the office. His armored hands slid down the glass frame, faintly scratching off the unsightly word engraved on the drawn Fisher’s armor. He was satisfied with that, and his eyes went to the window behind his chair.  

He had a decent enough view, but it was all of the towering walls surrounding Canary. Granite, asphalt, concrete, the defensive perimeter had a bit of everything. As strong as it looked, it was really only for visual deterrence. That cheapskate Parrel wanted the walls to be done fast and cheap, and that was what he received. It was all part of a ploy to bring budding business, hopeful families, and bright-eyed adventurers to the desolate, decrepit ghetto formally known as Canary.  

And it worked like a charm. Canary was the fastest growing city in Lando, only being beaten by the capital, Adenaford, and a second city to the north that bordered Keywater. Fisher didn’t know much about it, and he really didn’t care about something thousands of kilometers away. His main focus was Canary and its safety.  

Still, he thought the walls could use a patch job. Maybe to clean up some of that bird excrement or remove the foul language that had been carved by a gang of uncouth youths with nothing constructive to do.  

But enough about that… I gotta see what the governor wants with me.  

“Fisher, you should have received this letter as soon as you walked in,” Fisher said, reading the letter out loud in a whisper. “First things first, I have met with everyone that was harassed by the two suspects. Thankfully, I seemed to have smoothed it all over, so the trust the public has in the guard shouldn’t fall that much. Regardless, permit only those you trust with the lives of your family to talk to the suspects. Their mannerisms do not match with the records I have of them, so I have an inkling of suspicion that their actions were being guided by an unseen hand. Do whatever you need to get any information out of them.  

“Stay well, friend.  

“Governor Blasé.” 

As his mouth spoke the name of the governor, a wave of relief suddenly washed over Fisher like the high tides of the boisterous ocean. He leaned back in his chair, somewhat uncomfortably because of his armor, and put a hand to his head.

“I’m glad he came to the same conclusion I was thinking about. But controlling minds? Or controlling the actions of someone? I know of hypnosis, but for it to be this strong? And I can’t say it doesn’t exist because before a few days ago, I never would have believed a Goddess walked among us… No, I suppose it is possible to use Telekinesis to move a person’s limb, but that doesn’t explain what actually happened. You can’t use Telekinesis to implant thoughts and ideals into someone. I said this yesterday, but what about that Monotonia? I ruled it out because Jeri’s and Sea’s actions do not align with what I learned from Momo. And they don’t line up with the ‘twitchiness’ most the refugees displayed. So I suppose it’s a good thing I can rule out the Mafia…” 

Fisher took a breath and remembered something odd from the day before. “The church…” he whispered. There it was... Jeri had never devoted his life to worship, which made his behavior unnatural. And Sea as well. Even as he spoke to them, it felt like their very soul was twisting and churning, bending against their own will to confess something they didn’t want to utter.

If I want to get to the bottom of this, I have to start somewhere. Seems like the church is the best place, but which one? Everything’s going to hell when I think about it, isn't it? First, there’s Sakdu. And now this? What’re the chances it’ll turn into something that’ll devour the city? Marissa… Meri… Mari… 

Upon thinking the names of his family, Fisher realized his hand was jittering in place from fear. Then he noticed a hot sweat making its way down his body, staining the cloth shirt he had underneath his armor. A weak gulp later, he went to open one of his desk drawers to retrieve the bottle of liquor inside.

Fisher wasn’t one for drinking on the job. In fact, he wasn’t known for drinking alcohol at all. He could down quite a few glasses before feeling the effects, though. But even as he chastised his soldier for sleeping on the job the day before, he just felt an urge to drink until his worries stopped. His focus on that glass bottle of brown mercy was so hard that he didn’t hear a knock at his office door.  

It wasn’t until the man standing on the other side of the door spoke up that Fisher returned to the present. The bottle slipped from his hands and landed cork side down. He hastily picked it up and stowed it back inside the desk.  

Gods, if I’m a nervous wreck, then what did Sakdu feel? That’s a whole decade of pain and suffering… Especially when I still have a wife and children to come home to…  

“Yes, come in,” Fisher said, responding to the voice behind the door. The handle turned open and revealed Tim, a gray-scaled Koena. He nodded towards his captain, and his captain returned it.  

“Sir, I went down to check on Sea and Jeri,” he said, closing the door behind him as he walked in.  

“How are they? Any trouble?” Fisher asked. He put the letter from the governor in a desk drawer.  

“No trouble, but they’re acting…odd. We didn’t have any problem getting the prisoners into their cells, but… Now it’s like we don’t exist at all. The only thing they do is pray. They won’t eat, they won’t sleep… We can say anything, and they won’t even turn to look at us. It’s almost like they’re in their own world, and the only rule is constant worship of the Gods and Goddesses. Sir, it’s making me a bit uncomfortable…” 

Fisher motioned to a chair opposite of his desk, and Tim took a seat. The stiffness vanished from his body, and he relaxed a little bit. It wasn’t that often a captain was willing to be buddy-buddy with a man under his command. He also found it perplexing because a month ago, Fisher wouldn’t have given him a second look, even though the Koena was one of Canary’s better fighters.  

The Koena had spent a few days wondering why he was suddenly his captain's go-to man, then decided that his sheer efforts were finally being rewarded. Any strangeness, though, had simmered away because he found himself getting used to his new position. The new responsibilities did wonders for his self-confidence since, in his eyes, the Justice Captain was relying on him.  

How ironic he was proud to work under the man who used to slaughter his kind without a second thought.  

“If they keep refusing to eat, force it down their throats. We can’t have our prisoners starve themselves to death. Oh, and be sure to let their family know.” 

“Already did that when you were on patrol yesterday, sir. They didn’t handle it that well. Sea’s brother tried to attack me, but I chalked his outburst as one that was emotionally charged. It didn’t take long for him to calm down and apologize, but he was still upset. When Sea’s brother and Jeri’s daughter swing by today, is it alright if I have them meet with the suspects? Is that acceptable?” Tim stood up and adjusted his equipment just a tad bit.  

“It is. Just make sure that you send two or three guards with them when you escort them to the meeting room. And be sure to search them first. Ah, one more thing. Do you know what Jeri and Sea did in their time off?” Fisher asked.  

“I don’t know if it’s about them, but a new church was recently constructed. A week ago, I overheard Sea mention something about it  two weeks ago. It’s over on buncombe street.” 

"A new church?” Fisher ran a few scenarios over in his mind.  

“Yes, sir. If that’s that, I’ll return to my duties.” 

“Good. I’ll speak to you later,” Fisher said. He watched as Tim left, closing the door behind him as the latch bolt clanged shut, and it wasn’t a moment too soon.  

Right when the coast was clear, Fisher couldn’t stop the impending drizzle of water from his eyes. He turned around in his chair, closing the curtain on his one window. An immense sadness washed over him as the room grew noticeably darker. His breath hastened, a hot chill warmed his body. Slippery sweat glazed his face in a moist, glistening film. Shaken and weak, it even seemed the air was having trouble depositing itself into Fisher’s lungs.  

Sakdu… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I’M SORRY!!!!! I… I have to apologize, Sakdu… And not just to you… Drok… Seesi… Quie… Kiloso… Hraf… Poui… Loui… Markt…  

For the next hour, Fisher leaned back in his chair with a scrunched face. He had named off 196 Demi-Humans that met an end at his hand. There were far more than that, but those were the only ones whose names Fisher had memorized. The only crime they, and all of his other victims, were guilty of was wanting to live a happy, fun, fulfilling life.  

His hands were washed with the crimson of many. Even the Gods’ holiest waters couldn’t erase the mental scars that came with committing a massacre. Perhaps that was to be his eternal punishment. A lifetime of living the dark nightmare of his worst fears over and over again? The night after understanding Servi and why she attacked him was the easiest he had slept in ages. At that point, Fisher wanted more than anything to be erased from his past.  

He had thought he had already suffered enough. Him relying on Feral during his internal turmoil should have been proof he was growing as a person! He chose to use the Demi-Humans first before bringing in Servi—the only Human in his class!  

To say that he struggled to keep everything under control this morning would be an understatement. It was one thing for him to cry in front of his wife, but his children—Meri and Mari—viewed their father as an unbreakable hero. To them, he was someone who braced the whirling tides of evil to cast the light of justice upon every living thing. Even Servi herself had called Fisher a hero. As impressionable children, the two girls quickly formulated their ideal father and applied that perfect concept to the flawed Fisher.   

But if it was for his children, if it meant he wouldn’t ever see a disappointed scowl towards him… 

“It’s not fair!!!” He wanted to shout those words, but the moment they left his mouth would determine all the worth a man like Fisher had to give, but that only caused the tears streaming down his face to accelerate. As the survivor—the orchestrator— of hundreds of murders, Fisher had no right to feel the way he did. He acted—wanted to be the ultimate victim, but the real Fisher desired to suffer the consequences. Another Fisher desiderated to ignore it all and live a happy life with his family.

The internal Fishers argued, barked, shouted, cried, begged, and fought like caged beasts for another thirty minutes. And by then, not a single piece of work had gotten done.  

Fisher then took a napkin from his desk and wiped his dried, coarse, reddened eyes. Rubbing his forehead, he took a heavy sigh and jumped when a set of knocks came from the door.  

“Come in!” Fisher said, perhaps a bit more forceful than usual.  

The mysterious knocker was Roland, and he came to deliver some documents that needed to be signed. Fisher thanked him, and Roland left without uttering anything more than a simple greeting. Fisher did the same, choosing to stay his voice because he feared it would come out as a quivering mess.  

Still, he couldn’t remain a mute forever. After a few more minutes, Fisher felt his body reach a calming resolution. A period of heightened emotions to reset his emotional limits was just what he needed. If he was to cry again, it wouldn’t be for some time because he had no more tears.

“A walk would do me some good, I guess. I can clear my mind… I guess I can go ahead and knock out my patrol while I’m at it.” These documents aren’t important, so I’ll give them a once-over when I get back. Fisher stood up, wiped his eyes a second time, and threw away the dirty tissues in the nearby trash can.  

As he locked his office, he had a spare thought. I might as well check out that church. If something is amiss, that’s the best lead I've got.