In an interesting turn of events, Kitt and Ulta conducted most of their exchange in some sort of accelerated cognitive state, which Blake could only parse as a series of rapid-fire mental impressions through his bond with Kitt. Interestingly, she was able to loop him in, as he wasn't simply feeling Kitt's side of the conversation but also getting a sense of Ulta. Any time he paid attention, he could catch fragments—flickers of concern from Kitt, measured reassurance from Ulta, and even the occasional burst of something that felt like cautious optimism. Still, without Blake focusing on his bond, he found the substance of the negotiation remained opaque.

He didn't mind. After everything that had just been dumped on him, he appreciated some room to breathe.

He wandered over to a relatively intact display case and leaned against it, fishing out one of his alien protein bars. The wrapper crinkled a little bit too loudly in the silence of the chamber, and Nomac shot him an amused look, grinning. Blake remained acutely aware of Aureon's presence at the edge of his perception. The Chronicler stood apart from the group, arms crossed, for once not seeming to guard his complicated expression.

Blake wondered idly what the story was between Aureon and Ulta. He didn't consider himself a busybody, but no one was that immune to the allure of good gossip.

'Everything going okay?' He asked, checking in with Kitt.

'Yes. Busy, sorry,' she replied, the blunt words accompanied by a feeling of warmth that blunted the curtness.

Satisfied, Blake bit into the protein bar. Predictably, it tasted like some kind of nut butter mixed with the cardboard that had been used to store the nuts before they were processed. He knew that decent meal replacement bars existed, but somehow he never managed to get his hands on them.

He chewed mechanically and tried to find his way back to the place where he'd been before Aureon and had dropped out of the sky and derailed everything. The Gravedigger title, and all the implications it carried. The shape of something important that had been right there, almost within reach, before the powers that be had decided he wasn't allowed to have a quiet moment to think. He stood quietly, rebuilding his chain of reasoning from scratch, while gnawing on the unsatisfying lump of nutrients.

He pulled himself away from that project when Kitt's presence returned. At the same time, across the chamber, Ulta made a small gesture with one hand—fingers spreading and then curling inward. There was a ripple in the energy of the room as spatial mana flexed under her will. Once again, the air pressure felt slightly distorted, but this time to a much lesser degree. A point of absolute darkness opened in the air beside Ulta, expanding quickly but stopping before growing larger than her fist.

Blake probed it with his senses, trying to feel it out.

'Interesting.' Kitt said. 'Some kind of micro-wormhole.'

Blake felt Kitt corral some of the energy in his core and send it into his [Warden's Insight]. For the barest second, the world lit up in flickering, pulsating, and gyrating lines of light and color, representing the flow of power in the room. Kitt was quick to filter out the unnecessary information for Blake, creating a simple overlay in his HUD. A small amount of energy was gathering in Ulta's suit. It moved from the base of her skull to her hand, where a small light formed in her palm, nearly invisible to the naked eye, but evident to the senses that Kitt was able to share with him through his ability. They watched as the small energy packet was pulled into the wormhole before it snapped closed.

'A message?' Blake asked.

'If I had to guess,' Kitt replied. 'I don't know how the Concordance communicates over extreme ranges, and I have no idea where the Endless that she's reporting to is. But it seems likely. They already have a network to move things vast distances. Why not simply create packets of information to send them that way?'

That was interesting. Blake was admittedly curious about any form of long-range communication that might bypass the Demiurge entirely. He wasn't antagonistic towards the system in the way the concordance seemed to be, but a little paranoia was healthy.

"All right, that settles it," Ulta announced. "The Chronicler should be receiving what he needs momentarily, and we'll get this formalized."

It was impossible to miss the ugly emotions that she put into the word "chronicler." Blake was heartened to feel Kitt struggling to suppress her curiosity just as he was.

Aureon sighed.

It wasn't a dramatic sound. Just a quiet exhalation, the kind of noise a man made when he saw the first drops of rain while out and knew he'd left his windows open back home. But Blake caught the way the Archon's jaw tightened, the slight shift in his posture as he turned his attention inward—processing something that Blake couldn't see.

Then the notifications hit.

//------------------------------------------------/

QUEST OFFERED: Concordance Compact (Provisional)

The Concordance of the Autochthon has extended terms of cooperation regarding the ongoing Bannerlords scenario and related matters. This quest formalizes intent to negotiate in good faith and establishes a systemic record of all parties' participation.

Objective: Accept provisional terms of engagement with the Concordance of the Autochthon.

Reward: Formal recognition of cooperative status; additional quests to follow.

Accept? Y/N

//------------------------------------------------/

Blake accepted. The notification dissolved, immediately replaced by two more.

He skimmed them quickly. Different specifics—one addressed the Concordance's offer to assist Kitt, the other referenced potential patronage extended to Blake himself—but the structure was identical. Objectives that amounted to "continue negotiating until terms are finalized." Rewards that promised nothing concrete, only the framework for future agreements.

He accepted both, and the notifications cleared.

"These don't actually do anything," Blake said aloud.

"No. No, they don't," she agreed. "But they do start a paper trail. That's documentation for your benefit, structured in a format that you can reference and invoke if necessary, using the authority of the Demiurge."

"I suppose that is useful," Blake replied.

"The Autochthon don't normally engage with Demiurge to employ the quest system," Ulta added. She drifted closer while Blake was processing the notifications. "It's just not how we prefer to do things. But you are not currently in a position to step outside of the system. Unless you're willing to forsake your current place in it and join the Concordance, this is your best protection."

"Interesting," Blake said, quirking a brow. "What would change if I did? Join you, I mean."

"A fair bit. We've got our own implementation of a system, of course." Ulta's lips curved slightly at the ends. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was something in the same ballpark. "The backbone is still the Demiurge, of course. That's unavoidable, given certain… cosmological factors. Still, the branch we operate under has diverged significantly. I think the highlight for you would be that the Aeons have drastically reduced input, and we don't suffer the machinations of the Chroniclers at all."

"That sounds great," Blake said.

"It isn't perfect, and it comes with its own drawbacks." Ulta's expression became contemplative, then snapped once more into her diplomatic smile. "Still, it's ours."

Blake suspected he didn't have the context to appreciate how important that revelation was. A system built by the Autochthon for the Autochthon, free from the influences that shaped the version of the system that he operated under from the hidden hands that had been pulling strings since the moment he woke up here.

But not, a cynical part of him noted, free from people in power playing games. He had to remind himself that the Autochthon were the reason he was even here and not back on Earth. They also may very well have been responsible for manipulating events to have brought he and Kitt together.

There really was nothing harder to escape than politics.

"Well, I've done my part," Aureon announced, his expression returning to his usual mask of careful disinterest. "The Concordance has what it needs, and I have fulfilled my obligation to all parties involved. Once I leave, the feed will be back on. Feel free to wave. I'm sure there's at least one person out there who missed you."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Do remember that I tried to save you," he continued, turning to face Blake specifically. "Still, I hope you have a wonderful suicide attempt. Remember to make it entertaining!"

Without warning, and completely absent his usual fanfare, the Archon disappeared.

"Was that awkward for anyone else?" Kitt asked, breaking the silence.

"It's never fun when Mommy and Daddy fight," Nomac deadpanned in return.

The energy quality of the room shifted sharply, and Blake's instinct screamed a warning a fraction of a second before Ulta's hand exploded into white radiance and lashed out at Nomac. The blow caught him square in the shoulder, with enough force to stagger him back a few steps. The big man laughed, rubbing at the point of impact.

Ulta sniffed, but carefully schooled her expression. Just some casual roughhousing; Two siblings getting on each other's nerves.

Except Blake was sure that if Ulta hit him the same way, pieces of him would end up scattered across the mall. Tiny pieces.

He swallowed, then cleared his throat.

"If you all are done, I think I am actually ready to take a crack at this entire Gravedigger situation. I've got enough going on upstairs with Giuseppe. I'm tired of the system deciding I need a third wheel."

"We can take our leave," Ulta said primly.

"I don't mind if you stay. Might not hurt to help talk it out," he replied. "Might end up being born, but it's something I've got to get done."

"I'm in," Nomac said. "On the feeds, we could only ever see your side of the conversations. I'm interested to hear how everything worked out."

"I suppose that's the best place to start. If you've been watching, you know what the title does. It takes pieces of people that I've killed or failed to save and turns them into fucked-up little teaching tools," Blake began. "Since you apparently couldn't see or hear him, I'll clarify that this particular 'Ghost of Assholes Past' was Rax, the warlord out of Nahren."

"What exactly was he trying to teach you?" Ulta asked.

"That I'm a hypocrite, mainly," He couldn't help but cringe a little bit as he said it. "That I'm just like him and most of the other assholes that I put in the ground over the years. According to him, we all operate on the same principle: 'might makes right.' Unfortunately, I did have to agree with him. I don't normally sweat the details of whether I have the right to do what I do. I walk in, decide who lives and dies, and start pulling the trigger—judge, jury, and executioner. Just me, a loaded weapon, and my personal opinions."

"And?" Nomac asked, arms folded, looking unimpressed. "Being willing to take action is no sin."

"I agree. I'm just explaining what the ghost was arguing. He made a good point that the structure is identical," Blake replied. "You decide something's wrong and that you have the power to fix it, so you act. The skeleton of it is the same, whether it's Rax using his cultivation to build his little fascist cult or me putting bullets into some child traffickers. It's one person imposing their will on others through superior capability."

"But you're not doing it to try and hurt people the way Rax did," Kitt offered. Blake could feel that she didn't like the way he was talking, so he sent her some quiet reassurance as he continued speaking.

"I mean, people definitely get hurt, but I like to think they're the bad guys," he replied with a grin. The expression didn't last. "The problem is I was lying to myself about my motives."

He looked down at the cracked floor, trying to find the right words. He was surprised to find that after all of his back-and-forth with Rax and all of his silent nightly introspection, the words actually started to come easily.

When I created my path, I tried my best to make it righteous: resisting unjust hierarchies, saving the oppressed, killing 'The Bad Guys'. Then I got offered Roadwarden and thought the universe was validating my choices. I couldn't help but read some of that self-righteous morality into the class itself."

"I actually know a Roadwarden," Nomac said. "What isn't righteous or moral about it?"

"Small world," Blake said, surprised to hear of someone else with his class in the wild. "The issue is the Roadwarden class isn't concerned with ideas of good and evil or right and wrong. The class is laser-focused on protecting order from disorder and creating structure from chaos. If I had actually bothered to think about it, I would have realized how well that suits me. I've never believed in the idea of objective morality, and neither my path nor the Roadwarden class expects anything of the sort."

"A lot of people, myself included, might argue in favor of objective morals," Ulta said. "Hearing you say that's honestly surprising. I had you pegged as a sort of 'paladin' type. You seem very decisive."

"I'm not saying people can't come together and decide what's right or wrong. That's the foundation for a working society," Blake countered. "But morality isn't some kind of physical law that exists in the universe, whether or not we do. For something to be good or bad, there has to be someone capable of deciding one way or another. Even if the System had some way to define good and evil, you could just chalk that up to being subjective to the Source."

"I'm not looking to get into a philosophical debate right now," Ulta said. "I believe the point you're getting at is that you were pursuing an ideal that you didn't believe in?"

"Yeah, and I was using it as cover." Blake's jaw tightened, a sign of discomfort he couldn't mask. "It made it easier. Thinking maybe I was doing something objectively good, I could die for something that was fundamentally right. It's not that I wanted to die. Just that I wouldn't mind going out so long as it meant something."

No one had an immediate reply to that. It was Kitt who pushed Blake to continue. He could feel a deep melancholy from her side of the bond, but what she intentionally projected was a sense of unwavering support. She was pushing him to finish.

"It's been a long time since I thought my life had value," Blake continued. He was surprised at how level his tone was. "All the things I've done. The compromises. Add it all up, and I don't come out ahead. Not after working with Murty."

"Who was that?" Kitt asked. He wasn't surprised she didn't know. He did his best to avoid ever thinking about that year. Or that man. And especially that night.

"After Columbia went bad, I didn't get paid. That wouldn't have mattered except I left the rest of my team buried in the jungle. Didn't have enough to cover my own expenses. Definitely not enough for their families." He paused to take a breath, slow and steady, before continuing. "So when Murtry started offering me work—the kind I'd normally say no to—I took it. The pay was good, and I had a responsibility. Nothing I did working for him was good, but the last job I pulled for him…"

He trailed off, unsure how to finish. In the silence, Kitt started to ask him a question. He cut her off.

"Don't ask me what happened, Kitt." His voice was quiet but absolute. "I respect you too much to lie. You ask me, I'll tell you. So don't ask."

Silence. Blake looked up, glancing at the others. All this expression was grave, but Nomac's was worse. His expression was one of mild sympathy, like he had just heard that Blake had gotten a flat on the way to work. But he didn't avoid Blake's eyes. Instead, he held his gaze. Then he nodded once and deliberately turned his head.

That look was all the confirmation Blake needed. His impression of the man was spot on. They understood each other now. It didn't matter that they were both wearing gloves. Each of them knew what color the other's hands were stained.

There was a certain comfort in that.

"Anyway… Last few years, I've been real willing to throw myself into fires," Blake continued. "I can't seem to help but keep walking back out. Then I ended up here and thought maybe I could do something that mattered. Make a change. Problem is, throwing your life away isn't really sacrifice; it's just a pretty way of checking out."

"Blake—"

"Relax, K," he interrupted gently. He tried to convey that what he was saying was nowhere near as depressing as it sounded. "I'm getting there."

"None of that precisely answers what you learned," Ulta said, taking a step closer.

"I figured out that if I'm going to keep doing what I do, making calls and backing them up with force, I got to be honest about what separates me from people like Rax," Blake replied. "If I can't hide behind the idea that what I do is objectively better, then that difference matters a lot."

"I don't know, from what I saw, he looked like a real piece of work," Nomac said. "Pretty sure you're allowed to think you're better than that."

"Oh, I do. I mean, fuck that guy," Blake said with a grim smile. "But for some reason, the system wanted more than that out of me."

"Like?" Nomac asked, seemingly genuinely curious.

"Been turning that one over all week. In the end, I don't think the answer is actually complicated. Rax would sacrifice anyone to save his own ass. Burn a thousand people before he'd risk a scratch. That's got to be textbook tyranny, right? Making everyone else pay while you pay nothing?"

"And I suppose you are different because you'll pay those costs yourself?" Ulta asked. Her tone made the question a rhetorical one, meant to highlight that she was following Blake's logic.

"Yeah, but that wasn't enough for the system, either. I had to take it further," he replied. "I had to combine it with what I was talking about before. Dying doesn't make me a hero. If I don't value my life, then I'm not sacrificing anything of value when I risk it."

"If you died saving someone, I don't think they'd care if you were depressed when you did it," Nomac said. Blake chuckled at that, and he knew the gallows smile on Nomac's face was a mirror to his own.

"I'm just saying if I'm that eager to die, I'm going to get killed for something stupid that doesn't need it. Well, I can't help anyone," he continued, earning a nod from Nomac. "It clicked when I realized that my health, my life—that's currency. I can spend it when I need to, gamble with it if I have to, but if it's gone, I'm done. No more Mr. Hero."

"If that tortured metaphor is what it takes for you to stop being so stupid with our body, fine." Kitt's tone was flippant, but Blake knew better. He sent her a mental punch to the shoulder regardless.

"Now that's a better position," Ulta said. "Valuing yourself enough to survive, but not so much that you become what you're fighting against."

"It's a line to walk, sure," Blake confirmed. Behind his chest, there was a pressure building. Power was massing deep in the metaphysical space between his core and the nebulous, dispersed power of the Demiurge. It seemed the system was ready to finally allow him to resolve Rax's remnant and deactivate the Gravedigger title. He just had to put it all together. Hopefully, that would be the end of it.

"I don't need objective truth to act. I need to believe that what I'm doing is right and have the nerve to act on it. And while self-sacrifice might be what separates decent people from tyrants, I have to accept that my life has value, and that it's worth preserving. Otherwise, any sacrifice I make won't matter." He looked up at nothing in particular, talking directly to the system. "And that had damn well better be good enough. I'm tired of looking at Rax and his stupid toy arm."

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