29 City

Well, dear reader, it seems that the surfacers have brought interesting times upon us aplenty. Merely days after foiling an initial tact near Passage, the once-unknown surfacer now known as honored guest Shiv has continued his streak of auspicious and heroic actions.

The first was talking down his fellow surfacer, who, due to suffering from a mental break, held several of the cradle staff hostage. After this, however, both surfacers defined themselves in a moment of even greater glory, stopping what appears to be a mass bombing attempt on Passage itself.

A bombing attempt, if internal sources are to be believed, would have crippled the city’s teleportation network and potentially plunged us into a crisis beyond what words could describe. Despite this, the damage dealt to Passage was severe, leaving hundreds dead and potentially even more wounded.

However, we must offer our thanks and keep our attentions focused on these surfacers, for despite the need to remain ever vigilant against outsider forces, it appears that we have two genuine heroes among us for once. And if additional rumors prove to be correct, their actions might have earned favor from even the Composer herself…

-Vibrations, Weave Tabloid

29
City

The Odes of Blood and Flesh was a disgusting book. Disgusting on so many levels. It was practically a document of torture and agony inflicted directly into the minds of its readers, and she would have absolutely loved it. It was everything mentioned above, but it was also extremely educational, mainly because the elderly vampire he had learned to be called Sculptor Ekkihurst was so detailed and meticulous in his teachings.

As Shiv jumped from body to body, experiencing death time and time again, he learned the finer nuances of the circulatory system first. What followed was the importance of the heart, the general layout of blood vessels, and how veins and arteries both mattered for specific reason. He also learned another thing.

One of the vampire students opened their chest casually, cutting themselves open and exposing their heart. Though the organ pumped, Sculptor Ekkihurst next opened Shiv’s heart and made a comparison. 

“As you see,” the Sculptor began, “this is a pure organ. It is an organism of matter. It is essential for their vitality, but more like an anchor, a vessel. This”—he gestured to the other vampire’s exposed heart—“this is the Lineage Core. This is why we can use our bodies the way we do. We are part of a collective whole, and we are family for each other, eternally, and expands our power with our growing lines.”

Shiv blinked. Something about vampire’s words made Shiv recalls a thing Georges complained about before. “Felling multi-level marketing bastards calling me family! When the felling shit was I your family, you mother—”

Ekkihurst continued. “It connects me to you, and especially connects you to your sire. That is why we grow stronger with every new member we bring into our fold, and why we can draw on the powers of blood even without a spell component nearby.”

A component, as Shiv realized, was flesh or blood—anything organic. Biomancy didn’t work without something to affect—that was the entire meaning behind the name: biology, and mancy for manipulation. Apparently all vampires had a small micro-dimension inside themselves, or something like that, and from there they could draw more things out of themselves, recomposing their bodies. It also connected them to their elders in ways Shiv didn’t grasp yet.

And to make matters even more peculiar, it seemed that vampire ichor was smart enough to do a lot of the work itself. The way Ekkihurst described things, it was as if the ichor flowing through their veins that was intelligent, rather than their brains. “Not quite so for humans,” Ekkihurst continued to explain. He examined Shiv in detail, flaying him open over and over again, having his students kill him repeatedly, and through it all Shiv learned as well. 

This was documented material specifically to enhance a vampire’s knowledge of how to manipulate and even heal their victims. For despite the way the vampires treated other people like cattle, cattle still had worth, and vampires, despite everything, abhorred waste.

For what felt like hours, Shiv experienced various modifications made to his body. Most of them ended with him dead—either suffering a brutal stroke, his heart popping, or his veins simply pulling apart, leaving him internally hemorrhaging and perishing soon after. But all this allowed him insight into the nuances of his biology. His Biomancy did not grow, but his basic understanding of Practical Metabiology leapt forward by two levels—a remarkable gain from simply reading a single chapter from a book.

Practical Metabiology > 3

To Shiv’s surprise and disappointment, he made it to the end of the entire chapter and found Sculptor Ekkihurst declaring the class over. As a final “thank you” for the students in attendance, he gestured for them to indulge, “for this final subject won’t last very long anyway.” And then they descended on Shiv, and he discovered just how annoying it was to be sucked dry without learning anything.

As everything faded to black once more, Shiv expected to appear in a new body for the second chapter. However, he found himself in a cage, staring directly at Ekkihurst who was standing on a bridge made from solidified blood. Below, there were hundreds of other cages, pitiful moaning noises, and what seemed to be wires—no, tubes filled with blood—connected to the cages. Shiv looked at his own arm and, to his fascination, found something threaded through his veins. He also noticed his hand: the prisoner he inhabited right now was atrophied and fragile. Bones were brittle, the skin was sallow, and there was some kind of infectious growth spreading along the surface.

Ekkihurst stared through the bars, observing Shiv with fascination. “You’ve done well. This is a special chapter, one where I give my personal congratulations.” 

Shiv looked at the vampire in wonder. “Is it?” he asked, trying to see if he Sculptor would respond. 

The vampire didn’t respond. “Don’t try to speak to me right now. This is not actually a conversation. I am not here. I wrote this book mainly to spread knowledge and expand our collective understanding of the organism. All organisms. Now, some might say my ways are macabre and brutal. I cannot disagree, but once again, my bloodline has made me a predator above all. And I see no problem with that. However, this is not about me right now. It’s about you.

“Do you know how few people finish the first chapter without stopping? The book records that, you know. The book records a great many things. Most stop after the first death. They close the book. They turn away. Cowards. Well, no, not cowards, but you understand my point. Those who don’t have the rigor don’t have the desire. But you have something more than rigor and desire. You are interested. No, you are in love. You’re in love with Biomancy. You’re in love with the organism. Well, I thank you. I thank you for sharing my love. Despite potentially being adversaries—perhaps even if you want to kill me someday—I thank you for being in love. And I ask that you continue holding this love. For someday, we will make something truly novel.”

Ekkihurst closed his fist and his hand turned into flowers, then some kind of crystalline shell, then to claws. “Look at this,” Ekkihurst said, sneering at his shifting flesh in disgust. “I can do this with Biomancy and other vampires. They ooh and ah. But that’s nothing. We have not made anything new. We copy each other. We move traits together. But this is like children slamming blocks together.” The elderly vampire spat off the side of the ledge where he stood. The spit hit one of the cages below—Shiv could hear weeping. “But someday, someday, we will make something truly, truly novel. I believe it. I hope you believe it, too.”

And then the chapter ended, and Shiv found himself staring at an open page scrawled in blood with a glowing spell pattern at its core. A question pulled at his mind, asking if he wanted to read the chapter again. Shiv let out a breath. Though he was curious, he decided to stop for a while and potentially ask another Biomancer—a proper master. Everything he learned, everything he did, would shape his next evolution. He wasn’t sure if he wanted an exact evolution tied to a vampire, and considering Shiv created very little and mostly just used his skill to harm, he suspected that he wouldn’t be growing any novel organisms. More likely, he would get something that would allow him to injure or destroy organic tissue.

I wonder if there is any master-level evolution that allows someone to offensively use cancers, Shiv thought, or maybe bones. I like bones. They make for good armor. Maybe I can be some kind of… Sovereign of Bones.

Just then, he felt slender arms wrap around his torso as Uva placed her chin on his shoulder. He gave her a smile, but she was looking at his book with both eyebrows raised. A frown was etched on her face. “What is that horrible thing you’re reading?” she asked.

“That’s what I said,” Adam groaned off by the side. “He’s just been staring at it for the past bloody hour, just shaking and grunting from time to time.”

“Adam,” Shiv said, sensing the Young Lord reaching for Uva’s plate with his Biomancy field, “if you touch that, I will show you what I just learned.”

“I’m hungry,” Adam complained.

“I will fix that in a moment. Don’t touch the plate. That’s for you,” Shiv said, looking at Uva, his tone turning gentle. 

Her frown flattened into a smile. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Shiv, hurry,” Adam said, his voice flat with disdain. “I need to eat something before I retch from listening to you two.”

“And leave me with the Young Lord this time, if you two decide to have another spontaneous conversation,” Valor declared with vehemence. Shiv coughed. His mistake from earlier still haunted him a bit, but what’s done was done, and he really enjoyed what was done. Shiv closed the Odes of Blood and Flesh for now before stowing it in his cloak.

“It’s not a bad book,” Shiv added. “There’s a lot of torturing and suffering and death inflicted on the reader, but…”

Uva shook her head. “It sounds like a terrible book.”

“...it’s very educational,” Shiv finished.

She sighed. “You are just…” She brushed his face. “Your mind is like a piece of metal.”

“Should I be offended?” Shiv replied.

“You should be many things right now,” Uva said, “but I’m glad you are none of them. I suppose it takes fortitude to survive being favored by fate.” 

Shiv chuckled. “Yes, well, I would more describe you as being a darling of disaster.”

“ Fortunately for you”—she pecked him on the cheek—“I think I quite like disasters. And speaking of disaster”—she looked down at him, taking in his bare torso and hospital attire aside from his cloak, and at Adam, who was still wearing his legendary armor—“you two need some proper clothes. A proper wardrobe.”

“But you were so happy about my lack of clothes before,” Shiv said.

“I don’t want anyone else to be,” Uva hissed, her eyes growing dark.

Shiv felt a shiver run through him. System, she might be possessive, he thought.

She rose from his body and stretched. “Come on, both of you, let’s go out.”

“Where are we going?” Adam asked, narrowing his eyes. “And are you sure that you two just don’t want to go together?”

“Oh, Adept Adam come now,” she said, chiding him as if he was a small child. “You need to be dressed, too. And with something better than”—she wrinkled her nose—“that horrible outfit I gave you the other day.”

“Why are you judging me?” Adam snapped. “You’re the one who gave me the outfit.”

“Yes, but you decided to wear it anyway,” Uva replied. “Did I make you do that?”

“I…” Adam sputtered. “How is this my fault?”

Shiv laughed.

***

After an awkward encounter in the elevator—in which the small Umbral child they’d run into multiple times over the past few days pointed at Adam and asked if he was the one making all those noises all night—they departed for another section of Weave. 

This time, they were going to a place colloquially called Culture Valley. It was nestled between two major residential districts and was the beginning of its own principality. There were thirteen principalities in Weave, each one focused on a dedicated industry or function for the city.

Thus far, Shiv had only been at the Symposium Principality, the core of everything—where important operations ran, where government and the Composer decided on the agenda for Weave, and where Passage, the main means of transport between this dimension and the rest of Integrated Earth, existed. 

Weave was an interesting place. The more Shiv studied its layout, the more the buildings seemed like large insects caught in a web. There were many, many people moving between places, across bridges, and massive nets served as a safety measure in case someone fell.

To his increasing surprise, he noticed a few other things. There was a higher concentration of Umbrals than Weaveresses, and also far more weavers than Weaveresses. When he asked Uva why that was, she explained that it took a long time for the spiderfolk to reproduce—requiring a gestation period within a final host body after they’d finished being feral larvae. It had resulted in a demographic problem: not enough people were dying anymore. With the city’s advancements and more people reaching adept tiers for physicality early in life, deaths by natural causes or disease had flattened substantially.

Shiv could see why that was a problem, so he started to speak, then stopped himself. “Yes, it’s about how it sounds,” Uva said. “The Composer did not choose her form exactly. She has always been honest about this. However, she is not a cruel goddess and does not want to force the breeding on anyone.”

Uva fell silent. “Thus, we have a demographic issue. Projections show far more feral weavers in the next few years, and not that many Weaveresses or non-feral weavers.”

“What about feral Weaveresses?” Shiv asked.

“If you become feral, you don’t become a Weaveress. Their biology doesn’t express itself that way.”

They landed in Culture Valley a short while later, and Shiv found himself walking down a thoroughfare filled with people peddling goods, musicians, hawkers, advertisers, swindlers, and more. Once again, every day down here felt like the Festival of the Eclipse back on Blackedge. But to the people, it seemed like they were going about their everyday lives.

“So much noise,” Shiv said. He managed to keep his hands from shaking this time, but then he noticed something about Adam. The Young Lord was practically flinching every few seconds—his Awareness, Shiv realized. This must be hell on him.

“You all right?” Shiv asked Adam.

The Young Lord clenched his teeth. “I’ve been to the capital. I’ve endured that. I can endure this.”

Despite his words, Shiv’s Psychomancy picked up an imprint of strain, stress, and also strength. Adam Arrow could be sour, could be mean, could be a grudge-bearer, but Adam Arrow was a Pathbearer, and he had pride in himself—a positive pride in being noble and decent. 

More than I can say for a lot of people, Shiv thought.

As they passed by shop after shop, Shiv saw that many Umbral outfitters also had a weaver section, and it seemed like there were groups everywhere on the streets—many Umbrals walking in groups, mostly all female, sometimes several females surrounding one male. There was also almost always a Weaveress with the group; sometimes weavers trailed behind her. Most of the weavers seemed to be doing laborer duties—attaching things to buildings, cleaning walls.

Shiv found this odd. Automata usually got the harder, more manual tasks back on Blackedge. Things were different here. An oddity in the social dynamic he hadn’t grasped yet. Because she had a tendril of magic resting in his thoughts, Uva started to explain. “Umbrals are created,” she said. “We were made by the Court of the First Blood.”

Shiv blinked in surprise. “The vampires?”

“Yes. Our pigmentation and our dimorphism are a reflection of that.”

“Your dimorphism?”

“Our females are… I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they tend to be bigger than the males, or around the same size. This is to preserve our capacity for reproduction while also maintaining labor and other services. The offspring are also more female on average because it only takes a single Umbral male to achieve continuation.”

The way she spoke revealed cultural wounds—little wonder why Nomos hated the bloodspawn so much.

“The Weaveresses seem to be the opposite,” Shiv said. “Not a lot of them in general, and far more weavers.”

“Yes,” Uva said. “I think that’s a matter of their biology as well, but I can’t speak to that for certain. This is for the Composer to know. She is the creator, not us.”

Shiv noticed a reverence in her voice, but also a level of suspicion she let slip—she wondered why the Composer simply didn’t change the nature of her Weaveresses to adapt her biology and end the breeding requirements. But she often chided herself mentally and let Shiv know that—because what was the place of an Umbral to criticize their savior goddess?

“Ah, we’re here,” Uva said, gesturing at a storefront. Shiv saw a store made of black marble, brightly lit inside. He reached into his cloak to pull out his reading glasses. A second later, the translation appeared before him: Fel’s Cuts.

Before they could enter, Adam reached out, catching both of them by the shoulder. Uva paused and reflectively stepped away from the Young Lord, but Shiv turned and saw something in Adam’s expression. The Young Lord was focused—there was no sneer, just eyes closed. He was listening, sensing.

“What? What’s wrong?” Shiv asked.

“Shh!” Adam said. “I’m trying to push through the crowd. There’s… there’s something… There!” He pointed.

A few steps away, Shiv found what he was indicating. A weaver stumbled among the crowd—his body shaking. Shiv focused his Biomancy field on the creature; the weaver was heating up and starting to lash out at the people around…

“Oh no,” Uva said. She let out a sigh and projected her thoughts: “Sleep.” Her will and magic crashed down on the weaver, and just as he reared its head back and let out a silent scream. A second later, the weaver collapsed like a puppet with his string cut.

“Everyone clear out,” she declared mentally. Everyone on the street stopped, turned, and stared at her. “I am a member of the Arachnae Order, and under the authority of the Order, consider this place sealed for all weavers and Weaveresses. A plague bearer has been found.”

“Plague bearer?” Shiv thought.

“The feral plague,” Uva said without explaining much—another gift the First Bloods left us. “A sickness that causes even those who are intelligent to devolve into a bestial state for good, or inflicts dementia on a Weaveress.”

Shiv blinked.

“As I told you before, a Weaveress cannot be feral. So they suffer another way.”

Uva looked Adam up and down and gave a slight smile. “Good work, Adept Adam.”

“Yes, well,” the Young Lord peacocked with pride. “I told you, I’m used to the capital. This is nothing. This is nothing,” he repeated. 

Shiv patted Adam on the arm. The Young Lord scowled at the spot Shiv touched.

A few minutes later, a Plague-Cager team arrived—a group from the Order specifically focused on extracting the sick and establishing quarantine measures for the infected. They had a few Biomancers with them, but those seemed focused on sterilizing all the small moving biological particulates in the air.

I wonder if they need a Biomancy skill evolution to do that, Shiv thought as they went into the store.

Heads turned to regard them—Umbral, Weaveress, and otherwise. However, Shiv found himself noticing a specific individual in particular. Behind the desk was a woman with much longer hair, who looked faintly like Uva. He approached, and they shared a moment of eye contact: indifferent expressions, façades of stony silence. Inside, though, connected to her mind, Shiv felt a little warmth.

“So, these are the surfacers,” the woman behind the desk said.

“These are,” Uva replied, looking first at Adam and then at Shiv. “Blue for the smaller one. Do you have something dark red and durable for the other?”

“Hmm,” the woman intoned. “I will check.” She gave Shiv a final look, then tilted her head back to Uva. “Oh, I see.”

Uva’s mind reeled in surprise, but she betrayed none of it on her face. The Umbral behind the desk, meanwhile, was smirking. “Ah, finally. I can’t believe it. And I can’t believe you.”

“Save it,” Uva said, her voice thin. “Go get what I told you to.”

“Yes, mother.” The woman departed, telling them to wait a moment.

“So, who’s that?” Shiv asked.

“My sister,” Uva replied.

“Your sister?””

“I have many sisters,” Uva said. “She and I used to be the closest.”

“Used to be?” Shiv pressed.

“Now I’m closest with my work,” Uva finished. “Or so she complains every time we see each other.”

“She hadn’t complained this time,” Shiv noted.

“That is because she has ammunition against me this time—an article of mockery, finally, against Uva,” Uva added, wrinkling her nose. She looked slightly annoyed, but there was pride underneath.

Seconds later—far sooner than Shiv expected—Uva’s sister returned with two full bags of clothing. Shiv blinked as he sifted through them: dark brown hardened leather for him, sky-blue silks for Adam.

“You’re not even going to bother to fit us?” the Young Lord said.

“I already did the moment you walked in,” Uva’s sister said, leaning back.

“Oh,” Adam murmured. “Ah, you must be quite skilled.”

“That’s not skill,” Uva’s sister shook her head. “Perhaps if you hang around longer, I might show you what skill is, surfacer.”

She grinned at Adam, then stared at Shiv, lifting an eyebrow. “Hm. Quite the flavorful surfacer you picked. I can see why…” 

Uva stepped between them. “Thank you, Fel. We are finished here.”

Shiv placed the bags in his cloak, and Adam tried not to seethe at the convenience on display.

“Oh, running away so soon? Back to your work? Or something else? To someone else?” Fel taunted.

“Come on,” Uva said, turning away.

“Someone else it is, then,” her sister called after her. “I will be talking about this when we all gather this weekend.”

Uva practically shoved Shiv and Adam out of the store. “I hope you catch the plague,” she called back. “I will see you then.”

After a few more stops for shoes, gloves, and accessories, they found themselves seated at a barbecue restaurant—one that specialized in bugs. Shiv knew some cultures ate fried insects, spiders and all, but he’d never tried them. Georges had said anything could be fine food if the ingredients and taste aligned.

As Shiv stared at the roasted beetle before him, he inhaled its scent, intrigued but unsure. He readied his fork and knife. “Well, let’s find out,” he growled, challenging the beetle with his gaze.

Uva was already eating slices. Adam, meanwhile, hadn’t touched anything.

“Are you sure this is fine?” Adam said, leering at the food.

“I’m eating it, aren’t I?” Uva said.

Adam was still reluctant. “Your stomach might be different from ours.”

Shiv bit into his beetle loudly. “And this one can’t die,” Adam complained.

“I might kill myself if you keep whining,” Shiv said, chewing as he spoke.

“Well, that’s the exact wrong thing to say to me now, isn’t it?” Adam snarled, clenching his teeth. 

Shiv paused and glared at Adam. “Oh, what would be the right thing to say? That you’re a coward—that I have no problem eating this, but you—despite attending a fancy academy and being Roland Arrow’s son—can’t?”

Adam’s scowl returned. He gripped his knife like he meant to stab Shiv, his fork poised to carve into his throat, then unleashed his hatred on the beetle.

***

“Well, that was disappointing,” Shiv said, frowning down at his half-eaten insect. “Meat’s underdone. Seasonings worse than shit and the appetizers might as well be literal shit.”

“What are you talking about? It was great,” Adam said, rubbing his stomach and groaning.

Uva stared between them, and ever so slightly, she chuckled.

At the end of lunch, Adam declared he wanted to scout more of the city himself—to fly free without being held down. Shiv suspected Adam simply didn’t want to be cooped up in a crowd that overwhelmed his awareness. It made sense. It also made sense when Valor asked Shiv to hand Adam over to him for a while.

The two still didn’t seem to like each other, but after last night’s incident, they shared a mutual purpose: to avoid Shiv and Uva after dark. Shiv handed Adam his keys and the Young Lord departed with Valor, soaring on fiery wings. 

Meanwhile, Shiv and Uva made their way to the Cradle.

Shiv intended to see a Master Biomancer about their arrangement; Uva was due for a checkup. She was on medical leave for lingering mana strain and recently treated hemorrhaging. Shiv headed to Dven Falsflesh’s office, while Uva visited a General Practitioner, promising to find him again afterward. When Shiv asked how she’d know when Dven was free, Uva simply smiled and brushed his mind with her Psychomancy.

In Dven’s office, the automaton learned of his brief encounter with the Sculptor—and found itself impressed.

“So, you made it through the first chapter without stopping. You must have strong tastes—or an absence of morality,” she said.

Shiv shrugged. “I think I’m more interested in the study.”

“That is good,” Dven said. “Let me show you where we keep the specimens.”

“The specimens?” Shiv echoed, uncertain.

Moments later, Dven led him to the very bottom of the Cradle. There, living beings were placed in warded cages: chimeras—engineered life forms developed for the city’s benefit; experimental specimens—mice, apel-like incects, even insects; plague bearers—feral weavers in minor fungal ecosystems behind reinforced glass; and finally, vampires.

Shiv felt his stomach churn at a host of mind-hollowed vampires strapped in dense manacles, moaning for blood and thirst as armored Weaveresses and Umbrals extracted fluid ichor from their hearts.

“Since you finished the first chapter, you now know somewhat how a vampire’s heart works,” Dven said.

Shiv said. “Doesn’t seem right.”

Dven regarded him. “Odd. I did not expect you to have compunctions about this.”

“I don’t have compunctions about killing with my Biomancy or opening myself in battle. This just seems like torture.”

“We are not torturing them,” Dven said. “That is a byproduct of our attempts for discovery.”

“Discover what?” Shiv asked.

“Discover the plagues they’ve inflicted on us and their foul techniques. Their Biomancy develops so differently from ours—brutal yet intimate, like a scalpel cutting deeper than most are willing to go.”

“And you think I can Skill-Evolve in that manner?” Shiv asked.

“Yes,” Dven replied without hesitation.

“Well, at least you’re honest,” Shiv said. “But I don’t think I’ll evolve into whatever the Sculptor had. He manipulates blood on a fine level and creates things from it. I mostly just leave wounds, broken bones, and cancer.”

Whatever the case, you still hold the potential to reach deeper and match them. Attain a parallel skill, at least,” she paused, “perhaps there is something in the Sculptor’s talk of novel design, but that’s a long-term project.”

She then asked him to demonstrate his new learnings on a mouse. He did—only he used himself. He peeled away parts of his skin and, amid immense pain, pointed out vessels and the heart’s function.

Dven studied him, flabbergasted. Shiv, too, found himself surprised by the automaton, but mainly because he noticed something about it: his Psychomancy reached only flashes of numbers and electrostatic impulses when he brushed its mind—nothing like the memories he accessed from Uva or Adam.

“You’re willing to open yourself, inflict such pain so casually—yet you refuse to touch the mice,” she said, fascinated.

He looked at the mice, their little eyes and white fur. Adam shrugged. “I don’t see why they deserve it—or why they’re more expendable than me. Frankly, I’m mostly renewable, and as a Master Biomancer, you could probably prevent my death.”

“Prevent you from dying? But if you mishandle your heart, you could die instantly.”

“That might be to my benefit.”

Dven observed him and craned her Umbral-like façade. “Is that true? So the Umbrals—the survivors from the tunnel incident—weren’t lying. You possess the dichotomous soul.”

Shiv considered full honesty, then chose to withhold some truths. “Not exactly, but close enough. Let’s just say death isn’t permanent for me.”

“Wonderful. This is… better than I expected. Well then,” she said, “do continue. Also, you seem to have confused an artery for a vein. You’re also pinching it too hard, the blood flow there is about to…”

A vessel burst. Shiv suffered a stroke mid-sentence.

A few moments later, he returned from the dead after draining vitality from a high vampire. He disliked Dven’s methods, but since the vampires were already comatose—and he despised them more than the mice—they proved a better option. Shiv always played the best hand he was dealt.

***

Practical Metabiology > 4

Though Shiv spent a few hours twisting, adjusting, dying, and modifying his own biology, he didn’t gain any new Biomancy levels. Despite this, his education shot up substantially, and Dven proved to be a patient and insightful instructor. It advised that, since he had the fortitude, he should finish the book as soon as he could, work through all the chapters, and repeat them until he was truly familiar with the process. Supposedly, it would give him a great edge in understanding the practical nuances of the body. Shiv looked forward to it—he was even curious what other tortures or horrific torments Ekkihurst and the other vampires might dream up.

Despite his eagerness, Shiv realized another truth: it was a nightmare advancing levels when he couldn’t rely on his unique feat. He Who Rises From Ash Eternal had hyper-accelerated his growth—shortened what should have taken decades for a supposed genius to mere days—but only under the requirement that he die as a result. 

Many times, he died because his Biomancy wasn’t sophisticated enough, because he made a mistake, because he simply wasn’t strong enough. Those low-hanging Biomancy-Death “fruit” had run dry. No longer could he casually kill himself; failures now had to be more severe, more specific, and—Shiv surmised—actual failures rather than self-intent.

He reflected on Momentum Core, the skill that had truly been necessary. For the longest time, he’d been the underdog in Reflexes—slower in movement, slower to react. Momentum Core let him match someone stronger by draining and redirecting kinetic energy, turning himself into an accelerating calamity. The same principle had to apply for his Biomancy. If all he did was kill himself repeatedly, what real skill would that impart? It wasn’t proper experience; it was mere repetition without nuance.

Then there was the question of his one unique feat. Most path-bearers lacked feats and desperately sought them—through great deeds or divine bestowal—often valuing feats equal to or above their paths. Shiv wondered if he could improve his Feat or even increase their number. He shook his head. He wished Valor were there to bear these questions, but the dagger understandably wanted distance—Shiv would be spending dinner and the hours after that with Uva.

Night had fallen by the time he left the Cradle. The orbs that served as suns in Weave grew dimmer, and faint peals of music trembled through the city—the Composer playing a slow piece that brought harmony to Shiv’s mind. He was increasingly fond of Weave; it had its problems, but here there was hope he’d never felt on Blackedge.

“Well, that took a while,” Uva said to him telepathically. Shiv turned to find Uva staring at him. She’d changed again, wearing a long, dark flowing coat with bright brass buttons.

“You have quite the wardrobe,” he commented.

“You haven’t seen my wardrobe yet,” Uva replied, her voice filled with implication. “I’ll show you later.”

“Oh. I look forward to it,” Shiv said—though he was looking forward to other things more, he admitted.

They called Adam through Uva’s brooch, but the Young Lord surprised them again. “Ah, you two should enjoy dinner on your own. I’m occupied.” In the background came festive noise—cheering, loud music, something about a bride.

“I’m at a wedding,” Adam explained.

Shiv glanced at Uva; she was equally confused. “Why are you at a wedding, Adam?” she asked.

“I might have overheard something between the bride and the groom. There was a misconception, I stopped the groom from running, explained things… and now I’m a guest of honor.”

“I’m a guest of honor, too,” they heard Valor declare in the background. “I was the one who taught this young fool how to talk. He nearly made things worse.”

“Silence dagger,” Adam continued. “I was the one who overheard. Don’t steal this moment from me!”

Both Shiv and Uva snorted simultaneously. Adam bristled. “Was that a snort? Are you two mocking me?”

“No, Young Lord,” Shiv said. “Just… I’m actually kind of proud of you. You’ve got quite the personality—so long as you’re not near me.”

“Yes, it does wonders when you’re not here,”  Adam sneered. “Imagine that. Ah. I need to go now—they’re asking me to dance. I must show them what I’ve learned at the Capital.” 

Then he was gone, and Shiv bent over with laughter.

“He’s not nearly as bad as you described,” Uva said, struggling to keep her smirk in check.

“I meant what I said,” Shiv replied between chuckles. “He’s much better when he’s not with me.”

Uva’s expression softened as she stared at him. “What your family did to his—the ritual—it’s not…”

“I know,” Shiv interrupted. “But there’s something about that ritual. Responsibility—that’s what Roland Arrow talked to me about. He said he didn’t want me to have a Path. But it wasn’t his responsibility. It’s mine—because it’s all I can do now. So I live well despite what my parents did.”

“That is an honorable way of seeing things,” Uva said with a smile. 

Shiv sensed an opportunity. “You want to know what would be more honorable?”

“What?”

“If you’d let me cook you dinner again. To see if we can top yesterday.”

She laughed. “Fine. But today we use a proper kitchen—mine.”

Shiv grinned and stared at the summoning crystal—then his grin faltered. “You know, I’m kind of jealous of Adam right now.”

“Oh?” Uva cocked her head. “How so? And jealous why?”

“I kind of want his Skill Evolution for Reflexes. With him, he could fly around with burning wings. I’m just a missile and a bomb powered by momentum.”

“And why is being a missile and a bomb bad, oh Master Pathbearer?” she teased.

“Technically,” Shiv said. “I’m still not in the level threshold yet.”

“It is a skill evolution. It counts.”

“Yeah,” Shiv agreed, “but it won’t let you carry me and fly across the city. That’s worth being just an Adept for.” 

Silver Tongue > 4

She blushed, exactly as he’d hoped.

They ended up flying over the city on the back of a demon. Summoning one was relatively easy: focus intent on the crystal, and its own mana field pulled in a demon from another world. The prisms acted as gates, and as the demon crossed over, it made small talk in their minds. Shiv found them surprisingly conversational—apparently, demons had a deal with the Composer: natural gas mined by Weave in exchange for transportation services across dimensions.

The fluid orbs above the largest spires grew dim as a melody of night played.

They steered closer to the Symposium, but then descended almost to the very bottom of Weave. In a secluded patch, they landed in a small courtyard filled with flat-topped, bunker-like houses. Shiv sensed a few organic signatures—most were Umbrals—and spotted a large group training despite the hour.

“This is one of the garrisons,” Uva said. “Many who wish to be sisters dedicate their time here.”

“Did you grow up here?” Shiv asked.

“A place like this I moved about in when I grew up. I didn’t know my father well—he died early during a raid.”

Shiv grimaced. “Sorry.”

Uva nodded. “He was honorable. That’s what my mother said. I had her until I was fourteen—and then… your vision told you the rest.”

“Yeah,” Shiv said, nodding. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay—at least, I hope it’s okay.” She eyed him dangerously. “You’re not the surfacer who stabbed her, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” Shiv said.

“Good,” she replied, voice cold. “When I find the person, someday I will, I will do things to them—things I don’t understand even now.” 

Just then, Shiv found her to be both a little scary and very desirable.

They entered one of the houses, only to find an elevator that descended several floors. At the next stop, a young Umbral boarded—the one whose leg had been broken by the raven automaton and who had laughed on Shiv’s first day here, earning Uva’s reprimand. 

Her eyes swung between Shiv and Uva, mouth dropping. “No!” she breathed to her sister in arms.

Uva pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sister, please.”

“No, you didn’t…” the younger Umbral gasped. “Oh, you did! You finally did! I can’t believe it!” She practically cheered, bouncing in place.

Uva refused to glance at her. Shiv, despite himself, smirked.

“So,” the young Umbral said, bumping Uva with her elbow, “how was he?”

Uva’s expression cracked into pure outrage. “Sister Ikki, I am doing everything I can to save you from a black fate.”

“Is the black fate you?” Ikki asked.

“The black fate is me,” Uva confirmed.

Ikki nodded. “Understood.” She took on an impish smile, then leaned toward Shiv. “How is she?” Uva yanked on Ikki’s ear. “Ah! Answer the question quick, surfacer! Let me hear a final song of delight before I rip it off!” 

The elevator dinged, and Uva mercifully let go. Ikki grinned, rubbed her lobe, then—just before Uva stepped off—pushed past her sister and hugged Shiv.

“Thanks,” Ikki muttered into his chest, “for saving us.” Then she let go and pretended nothing happened. 

Shiv chuckled. “It was my pleasure.”

Ikki’s face dimmed. “It didn’t sound like it at the time,” she said finally. Both sisters shared a flash of horror in their minds—thinking of him burning to death. Shiv winced. That bothered them more than it did him at all.

As they exited the elevator, Ikki ran down the hall. “Sister Uva, make sure your wards are stable… or don’t be too loud. Shiv! Break her wards and rock her world!” she called back.

Uva hissed, “I’m going to kill that girl someday.” Shiv simply wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her onward.

To his satisfaction, most rooms were warded. He still sensed people with his Biomancy, but they were blunted—as if he’d need much stronger skill to break through. He could still feel crowd sizes, at least. “Seems a lot of people live here,” he observed.

“Most Umbrals,” Uva sighed. “We live in communes—sisterhoods. Many together.”

“Most Umbrals?” Shiv asked.

“I prefer my solitude,” she replied. Then she regarded Shiv. “Or at least I used to.”

They reached her home. As lights came on to the sound of her voice, Shiv was surprised by how many mannequins littered the living room—clothes half-finished draped over them, blades and armor scattered everywhere. Uva cleared her throat. “I might have left in a hurry yesterday. Forgot to clean up.”

“I don’t mind,” Shiv said. “I kind of like it—it looks passionate.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to blush again. Shiv looked around at the low ceiling, veins of nightglass running through the concrete, casting an ethereal glow. Outside, a small fountain bubbled in what passed for her indoor balcony. There seemed to be a small magic flame dancing in the air, revealing a small garden.

Uva brushed her hand down his face, snapping his focus fully onto her—and only her. She smiled. “I’m going to get changed. You just wait here.”

Shiv nodded, words caught in his throat as she turned to pull off her coat and let it fall before him. She wore something of an vest inside but…

“Are you trying to provoke me?” he asked, feeling heat rise in his gut.

“Is it working?” she teased, she looked over her shoulder.

“Of course—damn you,” Shiv growled. 

She laughed, loosening his self-control further. Then, something else pressed against him—Foreshadowing, he thought. It might be the dagger; he wondered where it was.

Not long after, she returned holding two wine glasses—wearing, wearing… Shiv’s focus faltered. She wasn’t wearing very much. “Would you like a drink?” she asked, offering him a glass.

He took it and licked his lips. “To start,” he said.

***

“And then Seymour cried, right in front of everyone?” Uva asked, her voice pitched high with disbelief and slight drunkenness. She put her hand over her mouth as she giggled. “Oh no, oh no, poor little goblin.”

“Yeah,” Shiv said, laughing at the memory. “I’m always surprised he stayed on. He practically cries every day he’s there, but he never leaves. Guess that makes Seymour a little braver than I thought—and a little stronger, too. Crying’s one thing; running’s another.”

Uva let out a breath and leaned against him. “This Georges sounds terrible, but you… you adore him, don’t you?”

He should’ve thought back to his mentor: “shit personality, terrible anger, smokes like a chimney. And the only one who ever really gave a shit about me.” Then he looked at Uva, lying next to him, her face close to his. “Until now.” 

She traced patterns along his chest with her finger, and his stomach fluttered. “I’m more used to being alone,” Uva said. “More focused on my work.”

“Alone,” Shiv said. “I’ve been lonely before, but I don’t think I’ve been that alone—even with people hating me, thanks to the kitchen.”

In that moment, Shiv realized how much the kitchen had shaped his personality and spared him from social maladjustment. Guess that’s another thing to thank Georges for.

“I have a lot of things I wanted to thank my mother for,” Uva said. “Many things I’ll never get to do.” She let out a quiet breath. “You know how she was killed?”

“Surfacer dagger?” Shiv asked to confirm.

“Yes…” She looked at him. “I feel that weight pressing against you, too—in your mind… Foreshadowing. Do you think you can sense something? Do you want to see it?”

“The dagger?” He held her closer.

“Yes,” she said, swallowing. “I can show you.”

Though momentarily uneasy, hope billowed inside her, but it carried a knot of hate. She wanted to know. She needed to know who did it. Now, she felt closer than ever to a lead.

She rose off the remarkably sturdy bed and retrieved a box from a nearby cabinet. With the press of her finger, she undid its sealing spell. She placed it on the bed next to him, and he rose to stare at it.

The Foreshadowing inside him grew—but more than that, he recognized the dagger.

“That’s a Pattern Twenty-Two.”

“What?”

“That’s what the Slayers used to called it. I used one once as well. It was popularized during the Eclipse War…”

And then the vision hit him

Foreshadowing: It had all gone to hell in an instant. It was just supposed to be a scouting assignment, but they got spotted by one of the Deep Elves. They were so close to finding where this Composer for the Auroral Council.

His only comrade in this hell was dead. Run through by a nightglass spear. He killed the Pale Elf that performed the deed in retribution—but the Jump Point they were using was compromised. The spiders were closing in, and the soldier needed to run. Several warding spells slammed down around him, but he couldn’t teleport anyway. His comrade was the Jump Mage, and now she wasn’t anything at all.

No. He was going to make a run for the Compact gate. They were practically the only Abyssal Faith that would still deal with the Republic after the war. He would have to have them take him prisoner. He would then need to mention Roland Arrow by name.

The Town-Lord wasn’t going to like this.

Foreshadowing > 13

The vision faded, and Shiv found himself staring at Uva—connected to his mind. She witnesseed what he just experienced as well.

“A soldier of the Republic,” Shiv muttered, his mind racing. “And he knows Roland Arrow… Wait—this makes no sense. No one was supposed to have gone down into the Abyss. Not since the end of the Eclipse War”

“And he escaped,” Uva said, her voice bitter and raw. “Back to the surface. And now… now he is beyond me.” Her jaw clenched; every word came out painfully. “Before, it was just bitter unknowing. I… I never learned. I couldn’t find out. And now that I know, it hurts even more—because he’s in a place beyond my reach. The light-curse…”

“But not beyond mine,” Shiv said. Uva blinked in surprise. “I can go back up—I have to go back up. Roland Arrow knows something. He’s in charge of Blackedge. The killer knew him as well. If we save the town, I can ask him, and he’ll tell me.” Shiv sniffed. “One way or another. I’ll find out from him. Godsdammit. Adam isn’t going to like this. No one is supposed to be down here…”

Uva’s mouth opened, and she tried to speak—but he leaned in and silenced her in another way. When he pulled away, she let out a breath. “I demand too much of you. You give too much to me.”

“No,” he said. “I want this. I want to know what’s happening just as much as you do. So far, most of what the Republic told me is a lie. I want to make things right—for everyone. And Roland owes me—and his son more than few answers by this point.

She stared at him for a few heartbeats—bittersweet pain and deep affection blooming within. Then her body was against his again, and for a while the dagger was forgotten. 

In that time, the world was wonderful.

***

Uva woke the next morning to a bell’s toll. She groaned as she tried to rise, but Shiv guided her head back down against the pillow. “Sleep,” he whispered into her ear as he got up. She mumbled something, but soon let out a slight snore.

Shiv didn’t do much sleeping. After he folded Uva’s bedframe back into shape, Uva drifted off, and he found his mind racing about all he just learned. Decided to read more of the Odes to occupy his time, and the second chapter proved to be a delight about the nature of the largest organ: Skin.

Practical Metabiology > 5

After locating and putting some of his new clothes back on, Shiv got to the peephole and found Sister Ikki waiting there on the other side. Slowly, he opened the door he young Umbral almost squealed, her face reddening as she regarded him.

“Okay, so now that she isn’t here—”

“Sorry,” Shiv said, folding his arms. “No details. It’s rude to pry on another lady?”

“But it’s so spicy, though,” Ikki wasn’t ashamed at all—in fact, she seemed amused. Leaning in closer so her head passed the threshold of Uva’s home, she whispered, “Did you know everyone used to think Sister Uva was an automaton? A robot pretending to be an Umbral—always stone-faced. She’s always like: Ikki, remember your duty! And stop grinning at the prisoner! But then you showed up! And now we can all bully her about something too!”

Shiv felt his grin grow. Then he sensed something else: a surge of mind-mana parted around im and spearing into Ikki’s thoughts.

Ikki squealed “Ah! Sister Uva, no! Sorry! Don’t remind me of those memories—they’re embarrassing!”

Shiv couldn’t help it—he laughed.

“Ikki?” he heard Uva call from her bedroom, still half-asleep. “If you’re here to annoy us, I’ll come out and beat you to death with Shiv!”

Shiv tried to imagine how that would work. Uva wasn’t small, but… he was quite a bit larger than she was. It looked awkward in his mind. Maybe it sounded different in her sleep-addled mind. 

“No, I’m not just here to annoy you. I’m… uh…” Ikki glanced around. “The Composer—she’s going to summon you soon. I heard the Weaveresses talking about it, so be ready… and don’t get ambushed when they arrive.”

Shiv blinked. “Wait—show up here? How do they know where we are?”

Ikki stared at him as if he were simple. “Shiv, you’re one of the few surfacers. A surfacer the size of a deep-ox. A surfacer running around with a Psychomancer of the Order all over the city… any idea how much attention you draw?”

“I don’t think I noticed.” Shiv winced. He really needed to improve his Awareness.

“Well, you’ll find out soon. Vibrations might write a very, very saucy piece about you two—so be ready for that, too.”

Shiv wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Well, I guess that’s life in the big city after pulling some desperate heroics. Well. At least the Composer won’t pry into my private affairs. Shiv paused. She won’t, right?