Stirring from slumber, Peyton rolled out of the recliner and made his way to the toilet. Relieving himself in a fugue, he ignored the microbots cleansing his filthy arrival of the night before. Once finished, he cleansed his face in the sink, slapping his cheeks to add some color to the pale skin.

“I really outdid myself this time,” he muttered, Voltia flickering across his fingertips. He coalesced the power in his palm, slamming the writhing ball of power into his chest. He howled as the energy coursed through him, but it did the trick. Shedding his clothes, he called out to his HomeSense. “Shower time, full blast, full temperature. I’m gonna need it.”

Even if he wanted to squander the day, he needed to get moving. If the sun’s rays blaring into the flat were to be trusted - and the sun usually wasn’t wrong - then he had another two hours before he had to report for duty. Two hours too long.

Even as the water cleansed the evidence of the last week from his body, the memories stuck with him. Despite trying to drown them out the night before, they stuck. As much as he wanted to eradicate their presence in his mind, to forget the pain and loss, there was no hope.

Reality was a cruel mistress, and it would make him remember his failings.

His Trillocom beeped aggressively, demanding his attention. Madison’s key was still banned for a couple hours still. Only one other person knew his information. Receiving the communication attempted, a holograph of Sarah - his Handler - popped up.

“Kamii-cursed blight, Braxton. You look like crap.” She waved her Magitek arm, the enchanted steel arm glaring with a hint of Magelight. “You’ll be sober when Archmage Buller requests an audience, correct?”

Grunting his confirmation, he soaked the back of his neck. Even through the Trillocom, her hawk-like stare pierced him. Rolling his eyes, he nodded. “I’ll be there, Sarah. I’m good for that much, you know.”

“Sometimes I wonder, Braxton. I trust you to do what needs to be done inside a Door.”

“Are you suggesting that it might be time I find a new Handler? I would be sad to see you go, Sarah, but I understand if our working relationship is not to your liking.” He mentally prodded the HomeSense to cut the flow of water, relishing in the brawny Handler’s squirm. “Remember who needs who here.”

With that, he killed the connection and crossed the flat - opposite the pair of couches. As he approached, his wardrobe’s chrome doors slid open, folding back and out of the way. Grabbing a change of clothes, he pulled the outfit on, groaning.

The clothes fit like a second layer of skin - weaved spider silk from the Sylx Valleys. Long had it been since he’d acted as diplomat between the spider-like demihumans there, but the clothes they provided as a gift couldn’t be equaled by the common fabrics on Wanda - his homeworld.

Luxuries; afforded by regularly risking life and limb. Had the spiderkin refused the Magi Counsel access to their subterranean rivers of Silversteel, Peyton’s duties as diplomat would’ve been that of executioner.

Did he have a say in his role?

If only. A pipe dream for one of his kind. Pampered from a young age, his destiny was plotted from day one. But he couldn’t complain too much. Were it not for his upbringing, Madison would’ve been a starry night’s sky - endlessly beautiful and impossibly unobtainable.

He made peace with who he was, what he was. A pureblood, born and raised with the intent to be a Delver. And a Delver he was, through and through.

Turning away from the wardrobe caused the doors to unfold and slide closed. Peyton retrieved his gear from where he left it the night before, taking only a handful of seconds to reattach his utility belt, Angel, and Demon. Naga waited for him on the chair, unmoved.

Picking the rectangular rifle up and slinging it over his shoulder, he pressed three buttons on either side of the magnetic disk. With a pop, the disk fell away from the filthy jacket. When he retrieved the disk, he shoved it into a Kamii-crafted travel pack.

The more Magificers pushed the bounds of Magitek, the more nifty tools and contraptions he got to play with inside the Doors. Many made his life too easy at times, while others might as well not have been created at all.

He counted himself lucky, not having to deal with most of the contraptions some Delvers were sent out with… If he hadn’t formed an indefinite sponsorship with DiMaggio Tech, he could’ve ended up as one of those test subjects. A number with no name for the Magificers at the top, testing their products on greenhorns.

And for that, he’d never be able to pay Madison back.

“Time to go.” The HomeSense closed his flat to the outside world, locking the door to his key. “Wonder what they’ve got for breakfast.”

Passing through the Mage-Safe Homes, he mentally prompted his Trillocom to schedule him a ride, automatically paying for the fare. Stepping into the dining hall, he took a whiff, smelling an assortment of cuisine.

Most noticeable, there were spiced eggs with some kind of blocky meat cube - something reminiscent of Delver rations. Meandering through the hall, he scanned each meal. The Mage-Safe Homes abided by every custom - and then some - much to his chagrin. Even if currency wasn’t an issue, he was a trickster at heart. It wouldn’t be the first time mishandling of food got him a free meal.

The most palatable option looked like a simple salad with chicken or turkey topping, two sticks of grain and fruit paste rounding off the nutritional values. Each item contained traces of Kamii within, guaranteed to refresh and refill the cerebral siphon - Siphon for short.

The memory of history lessons - the minutiae of the minutia - threatened to kick into focus, and he groaned. Magical theory wasn’t his strong suit, otherwise he probably would’ve been a Magificer. Well, had he ever been given the opportunity to choose what he wanted.

The food went down, tasteless and bland. A glass of water was a prerequisite to eating anything within the Mage societies, integral to swallowing and washing away the vile taste.

He grinned. As much as he griped, the life of a Delver spoiled him. The Trillocom notified him of his ride’s arrival. Even though he’d only been home one night, he didn’t expect to stay on Wanda. The Doors always needed more Delvers, and he needed the Doors.

A symbiosis of necessity, though many would argue his lack of a break was something to be concerned by. He’d argue that they should mind their own business.

A private Lyft - an anti-gravity personal transport - awaited him. As he got in, he couldn’t help but look around. He was being watched.