Sofie awoke that morning filled with the same emptiness that had pervaded her the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that.  It took her several hours before she finally managed to climb out of bed and get out into the world.  Something just wasn’t right.

The “what” was easy: she was stuck in a rut.  They all were, it seemed, except maybe Gabby; it was clear something had happened between her and Chitra, though they seemed reticent to discuss it.  This whole revelation that they were all bombs primed to explode didn’t really break her out of said rut so much as it just added a countdown timer to it all.  Little had changed other than the undercurrent of anxiety lurking beneath every moment of every day.

The “why”, on the other hand, was much harder to answer.  By many measures, she should feel great about things.  Despite some unexpected complications, they had managed to rescue Mizuko without too much damage to the old woman or the machines.  Their “damsel” didn’t even seem that upset about their unannounced endeavor.

Meanwhile, work continued.  It was too early to do more than the most long-term planning for the Stragman rescue operation, but others maintained their focus on progress toward the greater goal.  Not Sofie, though.  She’d already gone through everything in the various remaining archives and libraries in Otharia, searching for anything of use that Blake might have missed, but he’d been unfortunately thorough in his initial inspection.  That left her with little to contribute.

Maybe that was it.  Maybe she felt useless compared to everybody else.  It wasn’t like she had been contributing much to the cause before this, either.  Without using her powers, she was just an ordinary person who lacked any real relevant knowledge or experience.  The only thing she could really point to was that she was the one keeping Pari from blasting the fortress into a giant crater out of boredom.  That was something, she supposed.

But then again, maybe there was more to her current malaise than a general feeling of inadequacy.  The idea of actually returning home, something she’d once written off as impossible—and which still might be, but that was beside the point—filled Sofie with a rising tide of conflicting emotions.  On the one hand, she still greatly missed Earth and wanted to go back more than anything.  On the other hand, not only would she lose several important and life-altering relationships, she’d leave behind a slate of projects forever unfinished—most notably, her efforts to educate the children of Otharia.

To be fair, she had not held a class in a good while—since the disaster with her powers had revealed the damage she’d unknowingly wrought upon her unwitting students, to be specific.  The thought of facing those thousands of innocent children had mortified her for months, causing her to freeze up whenever she considered restarting the program.  But, given time, she told herself, she’d be able to find a way.  Now, however, it did not seem like she’d have that time.

Those lessons had been a net positive, she was certain.  Sure, the nation’s parents had opposed the idea of an Elseling gaining regular access to their children’s minds, and the children hadn’t seemed too hot on it either, but resistance on both fronts had greatly softened as the value of the lessons became apparent.  Towards the end, she hadn’t even needed Blake’s robots to force the issue in most places.  Now, she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to start them up again, not with the knowledge that she’d ensorcelled them all and that she still didn’t know how to undo the damage.

Trudging through the halls, Sofie wandered aimlessly for a while in search of something to do but found little.  Arlette was too busy with her day job for any more planning sessions, and they’d exhausted every avenue for the moment, anyway; she didn’t want to deal with Blake, and he needed to focus on solving the transversal problem; Gabby she hadn’t seen in a few days; she’d just get in the way if she tried to help Leo or one of the other administrators; and Mizuko was out sightseeing somewhere in Otharia.

That left Pari and maybe Samanta, but she wanted to avoid seeking them out if she could.  Pari was her crutch, the one she relied on whenever she felt bored, useless, or inadequate.  The kittygirl was more than just that, of course, but Sofie still couldn’t help but feel a little like she was shattering the “in case of unwanted isolation, break glass” glass far too frequently as of late.  Today, she’d find something else, something that would let her leave Pari alone and help foster the girl’s growing independence.

...but where?

Sofie’s steps slowed to a halt, and she looked around, a weary breath escaping her lips.  During Blake’s latest redesign a few months ago, he’d reshaped the upper floors of the fortress into an equilateral triangle made of three separate towers, if structures so wide and stout could even qualify for such a classification.  Whether to make it easier to get around or just because he thought they looked cool—with Blake and architecture, it was always hard to be certain—he’d added skyways connecting each.  When standing in the center of one, as she currently was, one could get a pretty good view through the chain link fence enclosing the bridge.  It wasn’t as grand as the central tower that served as the observation deck and airship dock, but it was high enough to see most of the fortress and the city.

Her gaze passed over the fortress with little thought.  She’d already been through most of it and failed to find what she sought.  The city, on the other hand, beckoned with unknown possibilities.  Yet, it was also manifestly dangerous and chaotic.  Were she to venture out from these protected confines alone, she’d have no way to ensure her safety save her horrid powers.  No, she would not be leaving the fortress today.

Just as the emptiness of her existence started to hit home, her eyes spotted the matte grey and tan hues of stone half-hidden behind the far office tower.  Of course!  The House of Manys!

It was always so easy to forget about the House of Manys.  The place existed in a strange sort of limbo, a small island of the old Otharia ensconced within the new one.  Given that it was tucked off to the side and served an important but very narrow function, the vast majority of people within the fortress—herself included—tended to ignore it or even forget it was there at all.

Well, not today!  Today, the House of Manys would fill another highly vital function: giving her something to do.  She resumed walking, a new lightness in her steps.

*     *     *

Walking into the House of Manys was a jarring experience, almost akin to traveling back in time.  She had never asked how old the building was, but she would have guessed that it had stood for several centuries, at least, judging just from the visible wear on the curved outside-facing walls.  Things like the sconces on the walls, the simply-built wooden doors, and the fact that it initially lacked plumbing only drove home its age.

Now, the sconces stood empty, their existence made meaningless by the glowing crystal lights Blake had installed before she’d first arrived in Otharia.  He’d added actual plumbing too but left the thick wooden doors untouched.  She found it somewhat strange that this man, who seemed hell-bent on forcing modernity down Otharians’ throats, had elected to keep these renovations modest, but he had.  The structure was still, by and large, the same stone building it had been ever since it had been first constructed.

This, of course, meant that it was also the one place inside the fortress where she still had to wear her stupid restraining collar.  Sofie dutifully strapped it around her neck as she walked through the short tunnel connecting the fortress and the last vestige of the old regime.  Opening and walking through the main entrance, she immediately collided with a portly, balding man in his early forties hurriedly walking past.  The two of them tumbled to the floor in a tangled heap, giving Sofie a very undesired whiff of pungent sweat and what she sure hoped weren’t the smells of urine and fecal matter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Bernards!” Sofie apologized, disentangling herself.  She climbed to her feet and then reached out a hand to help the Many handler stand.  “Are you alright?”

Bernards Bergmanis seemed completely caught off-guard by her presence.  The chubby middle-aged man looked around nervously, like a rodent scoping out an area for potential predators, before finally returning his gaze to her.

“M-Miss Sofie...  We were not expecting you...” he huffed, his breath still a bit ragged.  “Have you come to resume your lesson broadcasts?”

The question brought a small, sad frown to her face, but Sofie quickly overwrote it with some forced optimism.  “Not today, but soon,” she lied.  “What about you, Bernards?  You seem busy.  Everything alright?”

“Ah, uh, yes, Miss, today has turned into quite a hectic day,” he confirmed.  “If you will excuse me, I must return to work.”

He gave a short bow and then quickly hustled off, returning to the trajectory he’d been on before her sudden imposition.  With a smile, Sofie jogged after him.  Bernards looked back and paled slightly when he realized she wasn’t going to go away.

“M-Miss, c-can I help you?” he weakly asked.

“It’s not if you can help me this time, it’s if I can help you,” she replied with a wry smile.

The man paled even further.  “N-no, Miss, I th-thank y-you f-for your k-kind offer, but—ah...”

The hallway came to an end, terminating at another thick wooden door.  Bernards came to a nervous halt outside it, his body language clearly conveying that he very much wanted to go inside but feared that it meant Sofie would follow.

She decided to make the decision for him.  “Come now, I insist,” she said, pulling the door wide and stepping through.  After all, what was in this room that could be so bad for her to see?  Some shadowy cabal of people plotting to kill her and overthrow the government?

The sharp glint of a large knife caught her eye.

“Miss Sofie,” Agrits Ozers noted as the blade flashed down again and again, slicing a bunch of herbs into tiny pieces on a wooden cutting board in front of him.

Sofie glanced around the room, finding herself standing inside a modest kitchen—a simple but seemingly complete cooking space.

“Hello, Agrits!” she replied.

“Starting lessons again?” he inquired.

“Not today,” she replied.

“Hm,” came the man’s curt reply, though she thought she saw him frown a tad more for a moment.  Just her imagination, perhaps?

“Seems like you could use an extra hand today,” she pressed on, ignoring Bernards’s babbling, stuttered protest.

The laconic man paused for a moment, thinking, and then nodded.  “Sure.”

“A-Agrits, w-w-we can’t!” Bernards protested, only for his brusque coworker to respond to his words with a dismissive gaze.

“With Martiz out, we need help.  Especially today.  You know this.”

Bernards wilted, letting out a defeated sigh that seemed to go on for over a minute.

“Just think of me as your apprentice for the day,” Sofie offered.  “Treat me like you would anybody here to assist you.”

“If you insist...”

The defeated man trudged over to the far corner and fetched one of several multi-shelved, wheeled carts that had been parked in a row.  His hands moving quicker than she thought possible, he quickly grabbed several handfuls of wooden bowls and spoons—enough to fill the cart—and ladled out some sort of gruel from a nearby large pot into each bowl.

“Grab another cart and fill some bowls,” he told her.

Sofie did as instructed, covering her cart with gruel-laden bowls in the same way.

“Come with me, Miss Sofie.”  Pushing his cart, he left the kitchen with Sofie following right behind.  “We need to feed the third floor by the end of the hour or we’ll be behind.”

They rolled their carts along the smooth stone floor, navigating through several rounded passages until they reached something that stood out as new: a metallic elevator nearly identical to the ones in the main fortress.

“Lord Ferros replaced the original devices with his own not soon after coming into power,” Bernards told her, noticing her curiosity.

“I thought he didn’t alter this building so drastically,” she admitted as they pushed the carts inside.  The cabin was large enough that they and their carts could all fit inside at once.

“The Lord hated the elevators we’d had before—said they were too noisy and unreliable, with all the chains and gears.  I can’t say the Lord was entirely wrong...”

“You had elevators in here before?” she asked in disbelief.

“Of course!  Manys struggle with stairs, and ramps would take too much room.”

“But still, that sounds like a major investment to design and build.”

“The House of Manys is a pillar of the nation,” Bernards stated with pride.  “We have always received whatever funding we needed because to give anything less would be foolish.”

“I see...”  It made sense.  The instantaneous communication that a Many facility like this allowed would easily pay for itself a thousand times over.

The door opened and they wheeled their carts out into a third-story hallway.  Like the ones on the ground floor, it was a curved hallway lined with wooden doors and little else.  This was because of the building’s cylindrical design, where a large amphitheater used to broadcast to the entire nation stood.  All the hallways were curved around that main theater chamber, like layers on an onion.

“This is where we need to start,” he said, opening the first door.  The doorway was arched, just like the others downstairs.  Unlike the others, this one had a wooden sign set into the stone above said arch.  ‘Ada - Nont #3’, it read.

  Instead of wheeling the cart in, he grabbed a single bowl and spoon—from Sofie’s cart, notably—and walked inside with it.

The chamber inside was small, less than eight feet in both length and width.  Unlike the broadcast rooms, this room appeared less spartan, with a narrow cot on one side and several large cushions on the floor.  A small metal toilet bowl jutted from the far corner wall, one more of Blake’s recent additions.  Still, Sofie couldn’t help but feel that it still felt like a prison cell, only one with a few accessories.

Resting against the back wall, their back propped up on a pillow, sat a twenty-something-year-old woman with short, almost buzzcut hair.  She looked thin to Sofie’s eyes, but not malnourished. 

“Is she asleep?” Sofie wondered, as the woman’s eyes were closed and it was hard to even tell if she was breathing.

“Not quite.  Manys are taught how to slow their bodies and minds down for long periods.  It helps them cope with the stimulus during the time they are not needed.”  He bent down beside the Many and began stroking her arm from her hand up to near her shoulder.  “This is how you ‘wake’ them.  Most respond best to the arm, but some prefer the back instead.”

The woman’s eyes fluttered and slowly opened, her gaze blank and unfocused.

“Meal time,” Bernards said softly and almost musically as he scooped some of the gruel from the bowl.

The woman turned her head towards him slightly and her mouth opened just a tad.  With practiced skill, he maneuvered the spoon to that small opening and tipped its contents inside.  The woman swallowed, almost reflexively, and he repeated his actions until the bowl was empty.

“There you go, all full now,” he said to her, stroking her arm downward from shoulder to hand this time.  Her eyelids fell and she seemed to reenter her strange hibernation.

Sofie was struck by the man’s general demeanor as he did his job.  He talked to the Many with a quiet and soothing voice, almost as if he were talking to a distressed child.  “You really care about these people, huh?” she asked.

“By some measures, I know these Manys better than I know my own family,” he admitted.  “How could I not care?  I want them to be treated right.”

Sofie smiled.  “You’re a good guy, Bernards,” she said with a friendly pat on the shoulder.  “I’m happy you’re finally comfortable enough around me.”

The Many handler stared back, confused.  “Miss?”

“You aren’t stuttering anymore,” she pointed out.

The man flushed in embarrassment, seemingly not having noticed himself.  “Th-th-that is—”

“A lot of people find me scary, I get it, but it’s nice to have people treat you like you’re just a person sometimes, you know?  I’m not anything to be afraid of; I’m just your assistant!  So, lead the way!”

Bernards paused for a moment, staring at her face, before ashamedly looking away.  “...right.”  He stood up, his embarrassment gone.  “Let’s go, Apprentice Sofie, we have work to do.”

“Aye aye, boss!”

“You saw how it was done,” he said, seizing the handle of his cart and pulling it away.  “I will take the far side of the hallway and you take this side.”

Sofie looked down the hallway, counting the doors until the curve of the passage made it impossible to see more.

“That’s a lot of Manys,” she noted.  “And you need to do this for every Many multiple times a day?”

“Not always multiple feedings a day, no, but other things, yes.”

“How do you manage it?”

“The House currently employs ten handlers, which is generally enough to handle whatever is required,” the Otharian explained, “but one of them got in an accident and broke his leg a few days ago, so we’re undermanned and things are piling up.”

“Ah, well, I’d better get started then.”

Bernards nodded.  “Call me if you have any problems.”

Sofie brought her cart over to the next door—the sign on this one said ‘Boren - Eflok #1’—pulled out a spoon and bow, and headed inside.  The chamber was essentially identical to the previous one, with the only difference being the occupant.  A forty-something man with long hair and a well-trimmed beard—grooming was one more thing the handlers had to keep up with, she supposed—sat cross-legged on a cushion near the center of the cell, seemingly just as asleep as the last Many.

Sofie approached and crouched down.  A little nervously, she began stroking the man’s arm upwards to bring him out of his slumber or whatever it was.  After a little bit, the man had yet to respond to her.  Remembering Bernards’s words, she tried stroking the man’s back instead, starting from the lower back and moving upwards.  To her relief, that got a response.

“Meal time!” she sang as he seemed to slowly come alive.  Her feeding technique did not hold up to that of a trained professional, but she was able to get the Many to eat and swallow fairly easily.

It was around the time when the bowl was two-thirds empty that disaster struck.  Sofie’s only warning was a gurgling coming from the Many’s abdomen, followed by the sound of liquid splashing and dripping from down below.  Then, the smell hit her—a disgusting, rotten, almost sulphuric stench, like the smell of poop except ten times more putrid.  In her shock, she accidentally inhaled a bit, causing her to go light-headed for a moment before letting out an anguished “AUGH” at the top of her lungs.  Sofie coughed and gagged, backing away towards the door as the sound of hurried footsteps quickly approached.

“W-what’s wrong?” Bernards asked anxiously, peeking around the doorframe.  He surveyed the room, taking in the large puddle of toxic refuse; Sofie’s recoiling, dry-heaving form; and the Many, who looked far more discomforted by Sofie’s scream than by the biohazard they were sitting in, and visibly relaxed.  “Oh.”

“Wha... what do you mean, ‘oh’?!  What in the world... is that?!” Sofie hacked, pointing at the pool of concentrated diarrhea.

“It’s a rare side effect of their bodies slowing down.  Every so often, their waste builds up over time instead of being released normally, until it eventually... all comes out at once,” he explained as if it wasn’t the most wretched smell she’d ever smelled.  In her estimation, it even outclassed the Stinkcandle Incident!  “Don’t worry about it.  As I said, it’s rare.  Probably won’t see another one for a few weeks.  Head outside and fetch the bucket and mop over by the elevator.  Go fill the bucket with water and I’ll show you how to clean it up.”

The next quarter hour was one of the least enjoyable experiences of Sofie’s life—and after the last few years, that was really saying something.  Still, it could have been much worse, as it turned out that each chamber had a drain in the floor, which Sofie hadn’t noticed before.  She had to rinse down the entire area, flushing nearly all the excrement down the drain, then mop up the rest.  After she washed down the Many and removed the soiled cushion to be disposed of.  Bernards thought it could be cleaned, but Sofie did not care for his opinions on the matter.  Only flames could truly cleanse concentrated filth of such potency.

Then, blessedly, it was over.  Tired and disgusted, Sofie returned to her original task with a feeling of great relief.  Now that this horrid ordeal was over, she could get back to work.  She was behind, yes, but time still remained for her to catch up.

The next Many—‘Chyrik - Keqont #3’—was the youngest one she’d ever seen, a boy of perhaps seventeen years.  He took to the meal well, and she finally felt herself relax.

Just as she was nearly finished, a loud gurgling sound echoed through the room.

Sofie stepped back and reconsidered her plans for the day.  She hadn’t checked on Pari so far—that was something that she surely needed to see immediately, right?  It was never a good idea to leave that girl alone for too long; given too much free time and boredom, the fortress would become a smoking crater!  Yes... it would be best if she paid her little sister a visit right this moment—for everybody’s well-being, of course. 

*     *     *

 In the end, Sofie’s guilt kept her in the House of Manys until the job was done.  Two baths and a shower later, she thought she could still smell the stench on her, though she knew that was just her imagination.  Finally clean, she put on a fresh outfit and headed out to pay a visit to her cute little sister.  After that experience, she needed something to lift her mood.

Any day that it wasn’t raining, Sofie checked the inside courtyard first.  According to Arlette, the place had a variety of nicknames amongst the various staff and denizens of the fortress—her favorite was Blake’s nickname; he called it “the Boom Room”.  It occurred to her that she didn’t really know just who worked on the other side of the assuredly mega-thick walls.  Perhaps that was one of the silver linings to Blake’s periodic “redesigns”: the people who had to listen to the random assortment of bangs and booms got rotated out—or, at least, she hoped they did.

Today, however, instead of explosions and giggles, her ears caught the sound of Pari’s voice excitedly rambling at a million kilometers an hour.

“-and then Grandfather get very angry and yell at Sofie-sis but Grandfather was being big meanie so Pari throw stinkycandle into Grandfather’s nose and Grandfather cough real lots and-”

“Pari!  What are you saying?!” Sofie gasped, rushing out into the open in a slight panic.  She knew how the child was when she got excited and began rambling.  The girl’s ability to hold in secrets decreased as the speed of her words increased.  If she was recounting their last meeting with the dragon, then she’d probably already sped through the trip north from Stragma, meaning she’d likely spilled the beans about Sofie’s powers and all the rest of the stuff that Sofie didn’t want out in the open.

There was one person in particular, however, that Sofie didn’t want learning about her abilities.  To her dismay, that person—known to a certain catgirl as ‘Mizuko-old-lady’—was sitting nearby on a bench, a placid smile on her face as Pari rambled on and on.  The old woman’s elven assistant was there too, grim and disapproving as ever.

Pari jumped in surprise, letting out a startled tiny “nya!” that Sofie couldn’t help but find utterly precious no matter the circumstances; Sofie sometimes thought that she would still find the noise adorable even if she were to walk in on Pari murdering a litter of puppies in cold blood.  The child’s face lit up when she first saw Sofie, only to fall when she realized Sofie wasn’t too happy with her behavior.

“What did I tell you about talking to others about that?”

“Pari sorry...”

“Come now, child, don’t be so harsh on the poor little one,” the old woman chimed in.  “We were merely trading stories, as friends do.  Am I untrustworthy in your eyes?”

Sofie caught the way that Pari’s eyes lit up at being called a friend.  Somebody was about to get a title upgrade.

“If we’re being frank, I still feel like I barely know the real you.  It’s not like we’ve spent that much time together yet,” Sofie admitted.  “But, it’s not about that as much as it’s just about limiting the number of people who know sensitive information.  You know how the saying goes: if two people know something, it’s not a secret.  We can’t risk letting them get out; it could spell disaster.”

“Of course,” Mizuko replied.  “However, you have already worked hard to include me in your greatest secret.  If I am truly to be part of this group, is it fair to keep the rest from me?”

“Yeah... well...” Sofie hesitated.

“I will admit that I took advantage of the girl’s nature to inquire about certain things, but I did so with pure intent.  There was something I wanted to be sure of.”

Sofie frowned, not sure exactly where the old woman was going with this.  She didn’t like the way Mizuko had looked at her when she’d said that last bit.  After a short moment, she leaned down and affectionately ruffled Pari’s hair.  “Sweetie, how about you go to the other side over there and blow some stuff up?”

Realizing this was one of the very rare occasions where her sister was telling her to explode stuff, rather than the usual not explode stuff, Pari lit up like a firecracker.  “Yeah!” she agreed, rushing off to the opposite end of the yard.

“Vura, be a dear and go make sure the little one keeps all her fingers and toes intact,” Mizuko added.

With a nod, the elf followed after the hyperactive child.

“I ask that you forgive my rudeness, dear,” Mizuko began once they were more alone.  “There were far better ways to go about this, I am aware, but I will be leaving for Stragma in just a few days, and our collective time could be up at any moment.”

“Whatever, it’s fine,” Sofie responded, a bit more gruffly than intended.  “Just say what it is you want to say.”

“Very well.  I am concerned about you, my dear.  I fear that you are making a grave mistake by refusing to use your full abilities.”

“No.  Stop,” Sofie cut in, her hackles rising.  “I’m not talking about this.”

“You cannot keep running away.”

“I said, I’m done.  You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sofie snapped, turning away.  “It’s fine.  I’m fine.  We have it under control.”

“I know better than anybody else what I’m talking about,” Mizuko maintained, her voice calm and measured but insistent.  “Did you forget what I do?  And I’m here to tell you that it is not fine.  You do not have it under control—not in any way that will matter in the future.  That hideous collar you wear is not a mechanism of control, it is a statement of defeat.”

“Yeah, and what do you think I should do instead, huh?” Sofie spat, spinning back around toward this nosy old lady trying to stick her nose where it didn’t belong.  “Should I just go use it as I please?  Should I go back to inflicting wanton misery on people’s lives?  Would that make you satisfied?”

“Of course not.  Stop avoiding the issue, young lady,” the old woman snapped back with that stern tone that only a grandmother could wield.  “A sword is most dangerous not when it is wielded by a master, but when it is in the hands of a novice.  As you are, you remain far more dangerous to the people you care about than you could ever be with mastery of your power.  If nothing else, you owe it to them.”

“That sure is easy to say when you haven’t seen the damage already done,” Sofie responded hotly.  “I’ve destroyed people’s lives with little more than trivial, off-the-cuff words.  I can’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

“And I’ve scarred many thousands terribly, consigning them to years of nightmares and horrible flashbacks to traumatic memories they never even had.  Has your elf friend not told you of what he suffers through thanks to me?  If we want to compare records, I damaged more Stragmans in one single battle than all the people I’d wager you’ve hurt in your entire life.  It is a guilt I will bear for the rest of my life.”

Her elf friend?  Sofie didn’t know of any elves that both she and Mizuko knew other than Tehlmar.  Did the old woman think they were friends?  It would have been an amusing thought in another circumstance.

“Back in the beginning, I could only harm all those around me.  Now, I have more control,” Mizuko continued.  “I can control the size of my attack, exclude those near me, and most importantly, even render enemies unconscious without imparting lasting damage to their minds.  This did not happen by accident, my dear.  It only happened because I made an effort, regardless of the cost inflicted.  Only by gaining control could I prevent undue harm.  You must do the same before it is too late.”

Sofie shook her head and sighed, recalling that low point in her life from a few months ago.  “Even if I wanted to, it’s not that simple.  I’d need a willing volunteer, somebody who would be comfortable with me doing the equivalent of blind surgery on their soul for who knows how long.  Nobody would agree to me possibly inflicting permanent damage to their very being on them.

“Look, I already did this once, and it was terrible.  It’s not like what you do at all.  You have aspects you can work on, stuff you can measure; I am not allowed that luxury.  I’d just be fumbling about in the dark, praying I get lucky and figure something out when I haven’t even found a good way to measure if I’m even doing something or what the effect might be.  I wouldn’t want to put somebody else through that again, and nobody is going to volunteer to be my guinea pig, anyway.”

“Not even the person you worked with the first time?”

“Especially not her.  That was a very, um, unique moment in time that won’t ever happen again.  But that’s beside the point.  The point is that I can’t take that risk again.  I could wreak massive harm on somebody and neither they nor I would even know until it’s too late.  It would put them in danger.”

“But, haven’t you already put somebody in danger?” the old woman asked, looking away.

“What are you talking—” Sofie began, before realizing just where Mizuko was looking: right at Pari, who was blithely running around a very nonplussed-looking Vura across the yard.

“I started on this little inquiry several days ago because I wanted to know why that adorable child gave me such a strange, almost eerie feeling inside.  It’s a sensation that’s hard to describe, because it’s something outside the five senses—something less physical and closer to spiritual, if I had to put it into words.  I realized fairly quickly that I only get that sensation from two people: her, and you.  So, I began to ask questions.

“By now, I’ve heard the story about what you did straight from the child’s mouth, as well as from another.  It seems quite clear to me that you’ve already altered her in a way that could very much put her in the danger you claim you wish to avoid.  So, what then?  Are you willing to let her remain as she is?  You keep insisting that you don’t even know what harm you might inflict, and yet you seem quite content with your sister’s state.  What if something is wrong with her already?  Or what if something were to happen to her after you leave this world?  Are you willing to take that risk?”

Anger flared up within Sofie all at once.  The nerve of this granny, to use Pari in this argument!  Guilt and grief quickly followed, however, and Sofie hung her head.  She recalled once more the dragon’s stinging accusations and couldn’t help but feel shame.  Fists clenched in frustration, she stood helplessly in front of the old woman.  She wanted to argue, to spew out all her long-fermenting rage, to throw all of this wrinkled crone’s arguments back in her face, but she could not.  No words could escape her lips.

There were chains embedded in Pari’s soul—big, massive chains that went right back to Sofie, chains that could be doing God-knew-what to her precious little sister—and what had she done about it?  Nothing.  She’d used her collar and Blake’s general forbiddance as an excuse to leave it be.  Because nothing seemed to be amiss.  Because she wasn’t allowed to.  Because, as long as she didn’t mess with this house of cards, she couldn’t make things worse.

Because, deep down, she was terrified.

“I already killed her once,” she finally managed to whisper, tears blurring the world around her.  “What if I hurt her again?”

“It seems to me that she has already forgiven you for that, though I doubt she ever blamed you in the first place.  If I may, it seems that in her you have a solution to your guinea pig problem.  You need to better learn your abilities to fix her anyway, so why not use her?  One stone, two birds.  We both know she would readily agree to it.  She trusts you wholeheartedly.”

“Yeah, I know.  She’d do anything for me.  That’s what makes it so hard.”

Mizuko was correct.  Sofie knew this, deep down.  And yet, try as she might, no amount of knowing would make the tears stop.

*     *     *

“What happened to you?  Cut a few hundred onions?” Blake asked, taking a break from eating dinner in his workshop to take a jab at her puffy eyes—a totally Blake move if there ever was one.

“Shut it,” Sofie replied, though her words lacked their usual sting.  She’d cried for a good time after her short conversation with Mizuko, and only now did she feel she had the energy needed to have this subsequent conversation... but only just.

“Whoa,” Blake said, his fork momentarily pausing halfway up on its journey to his mouth.  “Something really did happen.  Somebody get hurt?”

She noted how he had the presence of mind to appear at least mildly concerned, something that the Blake she’d first met wouldn’t have bothered with.  Either he actually felt a little worried, or he’d gotten better at faking it.  Right now, either felt like an improvement.

“No.  I’m going to start training my powers.”

The fork halted again, just in front of his open, dumb mouth.  “What?”

“I want you to remove the restriction in the fortress so I can start working out the rest of my powers and get a handle on it all.”

“Helllllllll no!” Blake replied, staring at her like she’d grown two heads.  The fork quickly descended back to the plate on the table in front of him.  He pushed himself to his feet.  “The fuck are you smoking?!”

“You know this stupid collar arrangement can’t last forever,” Sofie retorted, her voice containing more venom than before.  Leave it to Blake to bring out the piss and vinegar from within even her tired soul.

“Why not?!”

“Because we’re going to need every weapon we have when the dragons come for us!  Come on, you aren’t that stupid!”

“What, you think they’ll let you get close enough to shout at them?  No, they’ll roast you from a thousand feet above!”

“Then you make a megaphone or something and—”

“That’s not how sound works here!  You—”

“Like you know all the rules to how everything works—”

“I know more than you!”

“—especially with my power that I’M NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO FIGURE OUT!  I’M FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF BEING TREATED LIKE THIS!”

Blake fell silent as something within Sofie snapped and a mass of long-simmering fury finally boiled over, her voice rising to a hoarse scream.

“I’M NOT SOME GODDAMNED ANIMAL!  FINE, MAYBE YOU WERE ALL SCARED AT FIRST, BUT IT’S BEEN FUCKING MONTHS!  I’M DONE WITH THIS SHIT!”

Blake hesitated, his body sinking back into this seat across the table from her.  “You almost killed—”

“SO DID GABBY, AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE ABOUT HER?!  MINE WAS AN ACCIDENT!  SHE FUCKING WRECKED YOU ON PURPOSE, BLAKE!  ANY ARGUMENTS THAT THIS IS ABOUT SECURITY ARE BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT!  ALL GABBY WOULD HAVE TO DO TO KILL YOU TODAY IS DECIDE SHE WANTS TO!  ARLETTE COULD BURY A KNIFE THROUGH YOUR EYE BEFORE YOU BLINK!  TEHLMAR TOO!  FUCKING HELL, WE INVITED IN A FUCKING GREAT GRANDMOTHER WHO COULD TAKE OUT THIS ENTIRE FORTRESS AT ONCE WITH A FUCKING THOUGHT, AND I’M THE ONE THAT’S GOT YOU SHAKING IN YOUR UGLY-ASS METAL BOOTS?!”

She leaned over the table, as Blake unconsciously leaned away from her, and hissed, “This has always been just as much revenge over our ‘disagreements’ as anything else, and I fucking dare you to try to tell me otherwise.  You took advantage of me at my lowest because you could, you petty bastard.  Well, it ends today.  You get me?”

Blake stared at her in shock for several beats.

“Jesus Christ, that was really something,” he finally said.  He shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth and chewed.  “Feel better now that you let it all out?”

“Blake...” she growled.

“Look, I’ll make you a deal—”

“No ‘deals’.  I want the same respect everybody else gets, and that’s the end of it.”

“You ever think that maybe respect is a two-way street, Sofie?  From the moment we met, you’ve been giving me shit, and only me.  Oh, I’m ‘a mass-murderering ghoul’, but somehow Gabby’s just ‘a poor woman who made some unfortunate choices’.  Give me a break and stop playing the victim.”

Sofie glared a disdainful gaze in his direction.  “You want to know why I treat Gabby differently than you, when both your hands are stained with blood?” she asked through grit teeth.

Blake chewed on another mouthful, trying his best to act unruffled by their confrontation.  “Sure, hit me.”

“It’s simple.  She’s the only one who had the basic human decency to feel guilty about her actions afterward.”

For such a basic truth, the answer seemed to catch the man off guard.  He blinked, momentarily stupefied, before responding with a basic “Huh...”

“Look, I’ll make you a deal,” he said again after a moment.

“No deals,” she repeated.

“I will make a space where you can train or practice or experiment or whatever,” he pushed on, shamelessly ignoring her as he so often did.  He paused for a split second, a thought coming to him.  “Do you even have somebody to practice on?”

“Yes.  Pari volunteered.”

“What?  Are you shitting me?!  After all the work I put in to bring her back?!”  He sighed and shook his head bitterly before pointing his currently bare fork tines-first in her direction.  “Whatever.  Her funeral.  I’ll give you a space to work your shit out.  Once you can prove to me that you’ve figured everything out, including and especially whatever Bazz was talking about with the big ol’ chains or whatever, the restrictions go bye-bye.  Until then, the collar stays on outside, etcetera.”

“Blake, enough with this.”

“I’m sorry, Sofie, but it’s going to take more than a vehement rant to force me to do what you say.  I still hold the cards here; it’s my house, my country.  You want to live here, you have to play by my rules.  I suggest you take my offer.  It’s not like you need unlimited space for this; didn’t you run all your first tests in a cave or some shit?  All you have to do is accomplish the goals you say you want to anyway, and this all goes away.  It’s not a bad offer.  I suggest you take it.”

Sofie’s jaw clenched in anger, but eventually, she relaxed a bit and let out another forlorn sigh.  It seemed she could only lose arguments today.  “Fine.  Deal.”

“Great!” Blake replied, chipper and pleasant as if the last few minutes had never happened.  “Anything else I can help you with?”

“No.”

Sofie turned her back to the man and strode towards the door.  Just before she left, however, she paused and turned back.  “Any progress on your end?  With the machines?”

For the first time, Blake’s expression turned sour.  “Not yet.”

“When are you going to reach out to your dragon friend?  If it’s gotten so bad that I have to pull out all the stops and take risks I never wanted to take, the same applies to you.”

“Soon, maybe,” he sighed.  “I’m trying to do what I can, but if I can’t make progress soon... I guess there’s no helping it.  It’s a dangerous move, though; I can’t just jump in willy-nilly.  If his psycho sister discovers that we have a connection, we lose everything.  So, I need to come up with something as foolproof as I can manage.  That won’t happen overnight.”

Sofie turned back towards the door, took a step, and then turned back to Blake a second time as she realized something.  “Oh... what area are you going to give me to practice in, and when will it be ready?”

“You can do it in the Boom Room,” Blake told her, stuffing his face.  “It’s already ready for you, so have at it!”

“You did it just now, so quickly?”

“Oh, it was never set up for that.  Too large an area, too much noise to deal with, too much work, so I just didn’t bother with that part of the fortress.”

She froze.  “What?!  This whole time?!”

“Yep!” he confirmed, a wad of food distorting the shit-eating grin on his face.  “Why put in all that effort when I could just tell you I did and get the same result?”

“I seriously hate you,” she told him before marching out of the room, Blake’s mouth-filled cackles following her as she went.  Perhaps, with luck, he’d choke to death.

*     *     *

Sofie took a look around the amphitheater, taking in the thousands of young faces staring back at her through the many Many projections filling the chamber.  In their expressions, she saw a panoply of moods.  Some didn’t want to be there, but her eyes caught hints of excitement in many of their eyes.  She couldn’t help but smile at the sight.  What a fool she had been, to avoid these gazes for so long.

“Hello, everybody!  I’ve missed you all so much!  It’s been some time, so let’s start with a review, shall we?”

“...and we must, of course, remember to carry the four, and—”

An hour later, in the middle of mathematics review, Sofie hesitated, her ears picking up a sound just on the edge of her hearing.  Had that been a shout?  Between the thick stone walls and the sturdy wooden doors, sound did not travel much between rooms in the House of Manys.  That was, in a large part, but design.  This place had been used for centuries by people of the highest authority conducting important government business.  It wouldn’t do if a sensitive conversation via Many could be easily overheard by somebody unsuited to hear it.  That was why she paused.  A shout so loud that she could hear it in the middle of the building, in the most well-insulated room of all, would have had to be quite loud, and loud shouting did not usually indicate good things.

A second voice graced her ears.  The message was short and largely unintelligible, but she picked up on the drastic urgency.  She frowned.

“You know what, it’s been an hour.  Let’s take a break for the next quarter hour, everyone.  Be sure to drink some water and think over multiplication until we resume.”

With that said, she hurriedly walked toward the theater entrance.  The Many handler assigned to watch over the collection of Manys here for her broadcast looked at her with confusion but stayed where he was.  From his vantage point up on the third tier, it seemed he couldn’t hear what she could from the ground.  It was just as well; whatever was going on, his task was to monitor all the Manys in the room.  Sofie had no such responsibility.

Pulling the door open, Sofie stepped outside, only to just barely avoid crashing into Agrits.  The gruff man just barely managed to sidestep her as he sped past her at a full sprint.  A foreboding feeling formed inside her gut.  She’d never seen the man move so quickly, and that face...  Something told her that the apprehension she’d seen in that split second before he’d passed her had not been related to the prospect of colliding with her.

“Agrits!” she called out, running after him, but he did not reply.  She sprinted down the hallway, just barely able to keep him in her sight, until he skidded to a stop and rushed into one of the Many chambers.  Sofie swung around the doorframe and into the room soon after to find four Many handlers standing there, filling the small room.  Through them, she spotted Bernards, on his knees, an upturned bowl on the floor beside him.  Tears flowed down his chubby cheeks like waterfalls, falling onto the motionless form of a Many lying in his lap.

The Many, a forty-ish-year-old woman with curly green hair, stared out at the world with glassy vacant eyes.  Something about her told Sofie that this woman was not in a state of slowed metabolism like the others.  With just a glance, everything inside her told Sofie that this woman was deceased.

“What happened?!” she gasped.

“I-I-I d-d-don’t k-know,” Bernards sobbed.  “S-She w-was f-f-fine, a-and th-then—”

“She didn’t choke?” one of the other handlers she didn’t know inquired.

Bernards shook his head.

The handler’s face grew grim.  “Then... that means...”

“Yes,” Agrits agreed.

“What?” Sofie asked, growing more and more worried.  “What does that mean?”

“Her other part died,” came the answer.

“The other...”  Sofie paused and considered the implications of that statement, that foreboding feeling inside her growing stronger by the moment.  All countries understood how valuable Manys were and protected them as best they could.  There was always the possibility of a freak accident or a medical emergency, but Many Houses were designed to avoid freak accidents and Stragmans were almost freakishly sturdy.  If neither of those was the cause, then that only left...

Her heart thumping in her chest, Sofie stepped outside and looked above the door.  Like the others, this door had a wooden sign marking the occupant and their connection.  Her breath caught and her chest tightened as she read the words over and over, alarm bells ringing deafeningly in her head.  She couldn’t prove it, but everything in her gut told her that her—and everybody else’s—situation had just gotten exponentially worse.

The sign read: “Seren - Kingdom of Kutrad”.