Tyr decided to walk the rest of the way to the location of his Trial, more to take in the sights of the Undercity than anything. As eager as he was to see the results, a few more minutes basking in the sights, holding Mother’s hand, deserved to be savored.

  Not to mention the strange feeling in his stomach. Butterflies? Nerves? The closer he came to the Trial, the more hesitant he was to see his results.

  He shook his head, dismissing his negative thoughts, as he drank in the sights of the city.

  The canopy of the towering Valorwood cast the entire region into gloom, but the residents had done their utmost to fight back against the shadowy atmosphere. Every building and street had its own light source, be it crystals, electric streetlights, hovering balls of flame, magitech constructs—whatever did the trick.

  More interesting was the sheer vibrancy of the color palette. He’d grown accustomed to the dull, monotonous architecture of America around the time of his death, all black and white and grey minimalism. Pastels stood out in abundance in Valorwood. Wooden structures painted lime green or yellow or pink, stone edifices infused with indigo and crimson. He wondered if it was an intentional reference to his family’s rainbow eyes, or the people here just enjoyed the variety.

  Some of the buildings’ unique facades hinted at their purpose from a distance.

  A weapon store looked to be made of interlocking blades, for example, shining pure silver. Others ignored the trend, or at least what he expected from them; he guessed that an azure structure with smoke trickling from the rooftop was an inn, but its sign declared it was Mautin and Friends House of the Dead. A merchant on the side of the main street called out to them, beckoning with a leg of some mystery meat, his morbidly fleshy stall pulsating like a heart.

  Through it all were natural outgrowths of foliage, along with carefully-pruned horticulture, such as a Botanical Garden teeming with wine-drunk couples.

  Once Tyr’s attention diverted from the architecture, he noticed some anomalies among the crowds walking down the street. Their group gathered its fair share of points and whispers, but no one approached the Hollan family and their small retinue. Perhaps they were used to more interesting sights than their noble rulers mingling among them.

  “Don’t point, Tyr,” Mother scolded. “It’s rude.”

  “Okay, but what is that thing?” After the words left his mouth, he immediately regretted them. Especially when the hulking tree figure—a dryad?—turned its log of a neck and stared at him with flower-petal eyes.

  Tyr lowered his finger and muttered an apology. The dryad waved dismissively and stomped off, the tree roots of its hair bouncing.

  While the majority of the crowd was made up of humans, quite a few other species wandered through the Undercity. A red lizardman with a majestic white beard, slightly taller than Tyr, offered him an amicable nod as they crossed paths. A woman with a falcon head sat sidesaddle on a centaur, both of them wearing matching sweaters.

  “Man, Zero Mana Worlds must be dull if all of this is so fascinating to you,” Leon announced.

  “What’s that, dear?” said Mother.

  That bastard Leon offered her a cheeky grin. “Tyr is a Reincarnator from Urth.”

  Really? Tyr seethed. You’re just going to mention that casually in public? With the Maids and Garrett right behind us? That was a private conversation, guy! Where the hells is your Sesola thing?

  He hadn’t asked for his past to be kept secret, and it was perfectly fine for at least Mother to know, but it was the principle of the matter that bugged him.

  “Oh, that’s fun!” Mother reached down and pinched Tyr’s cheek. “How old are you actually, then? I’m kind of embarrassed we treated you as a baby for so long.”

  Tyr swallowed and dragged his heated stare away from Leon’s back. “I was twenty four when I died. They nuked my city!”

  “No one nooks my darling and gets away with it!” said Mother. “They better hope we don’t have any portals back there. Anyways, twenty four years old? Is that an adult in your world?”

  “Kind of,” said Tyr. “Well, yes, but I was just starting to actually live my life on my own.”

  “That’s nice,” Mother responded, as if they were commenting on the weather.

  “Honestly, I thought this would be a bigger deal? Should we be talking about it so openly?”

  “Oh, we can be hush if you want to!” Mother indulgently patted the top of his head. “It’s not that big of a surprise. We always knew you were special, of course, but we wanted to give you your space. A lot of Reincarnators are all secretive and think we’re going to dissect them or something. Very common form of paranoia, at least among that group.”

  “Yeah, I was pretty worried about the whole dissection thing. Though I didn’t think you two would care much,” he lied.

  “Don’t worry, we did all of the experimenting millennia ago and already figured out all your juicy secrets,” Leon chimed in. “I think I’ve heard of Urth, actually. Barbaric Type One civilization, though some of their intellectuals grasped the basics of philosophy and technology. It was noted as a potential realm of interest, given a few aeons.”

  Tyr resisted the instinctive urge to defend his homeworld. Usually he would be the first to criticize the idiots in charge, but hearing it from a non-native made him want to extol its virtues for some reason. If their information was millennia old, then they had no idea what advances had occurred in the meantime.

  Whatever. I’m not trying to get dissected for the newest gossip. It’s probably a nuclear wasteland at this point anyways.

  Leon looked slightly sad that Tyr hadn’t taken the bait. “This is actually nice, because we can skip a lot of the babying and get you on a serious training schedule now that your General Skills are unlocked.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Tyr liked the babying, though he refused to admit it. Stupid lobotomized soul.

  Mother nodded along. “It’s not that big of a deal, honestly. Reincarnators are just people that remember their past lives, for some reason, and usually just the one. The Authorities on Fate say reincarnation is a pretty typical afterlife for a lot of souls, but only a small portion of them recall any details. Especially common for those that died with regrets, or unfulfilled destinies.”

  Tyr lapsed into silence the rest of their journey. While he wanted to know as much as he could about his circumstances, the topic was making him increasingly depressed. Though he tried to be casual about the apocalypse back on Earth, the thought summoned a pang of discomfort from his heart.

  It only took a mile or so of navigating through the crowd until they reached their destination: The Guild of Magical Affairs.

  It was one of the few structures that resembled a typical building back on Earth. Grey stone, utilitarian in structure, four stories tall. The only hint of color came from the stained-glass windows, depicting scenes of epic battles or what he assumed were Mages of historical renown.

  A shallow pool dominated most of the courtyard, flanked by uniform rows of trees, reminding Tyr of the Taj Mahal back on Earth. As he approached, he sensed a certain resonance within the pure water of the pool. After a moment, he recognized the liquid was actually unattuned mana; occasional bubbles and plumes of mystical vapor broke the otherwise serene surface as it reacted to ambient attuned energies.

  Tyr allowed himself to be led down the path to the entrance, though his attention lingered on the pool of mana. Just how much was that worth? What feats could be accomplished with such an abundance of pure magical essence? Yet random people relaxed on benches along its perimeter, and a few even sat on the lip of the fountain, their feet dangling within the priceless trove.

  A pair of armored guards at the entrance nodded to them. There was no door to the Guild, simply an open portal to the entrance hall. A massive crystal statue of his parents dominated the center of the foyer, flanked by a pair of spiraling staircases to the second floor.

  In its shadow was a wooden table laden with stacks of paper. Behind it sat a young woman in her thirties. Her primary affinity was about as obvious as it got. White and orange robes with an emblem of a sun on the breast. And, of course, the blazing torch of her hair drifting upward, the tips shimmering with mirage-heat.

  Who decided a Fire Mage would be a good desk clerk? Well, maybe it’s kind of a flex. Her control is so good she’s not worried about any of the papers.

  A line of around ten people stood in front of Tyr. It took on average thirty seconds for the bored-looking clerk to direct them to one of the spiral staircases, or down the hall to a few mysterious doors in the back.

  Finally, it was Tyr’s turn.

  “Name and purpose?” she said with the mild suffering of a DMV clerk.

  His parents remained silent. After a moment, he realized this was them treating him somewhat like an adult. It was his Trial, anyways.

  “Tyrus Hollan,” he said with pride. His voice didn’t even crack despite his nervousness. “I’m here for my Trial of Myriad Affinities!”

  “Wonderful,” the clerk responded, her tone suggesting it was anything but.

  Leon cleared his throat. “Sorry to be trouble—”

  The clerk shot him a long-suffering glance. “Are you?”

  “—No. But, anyways, I’m afraid we are going to need the person performing the ritual to take a Vow of Secrecy. The results of my son’s Trial cannot be made public under any circumstances.”

  The clerk picked up a phoenix feather quill and tapped the nib against her desk. “Yeah, no.”

  “I insist,” said Leon.

  They stared at one another. Behind Tyr, Garrett shuffled in place awkwardly.

  The clerk broke the silence first. “This is the Guild of Magical Affairs.”

  “This is my city.” Leon extended his hands toward the statue of himself and Mother behind the woman.

  The clerk didn’t bother to acknowledge the gesture. “That’s nice and all, but we have locations in every major city across Savra, and most of the minor ones as well. We are considered an official embassy here. Our internal policies are the same across the world. None of our workers can be made to take a Vow of Secrecy.”

  “Okay,” said Leon. “Alana and I will perform it ourselves. We just need the ritual. I could reverse engineer it, but I’d rather not waste the time and energy.”

  The clerk tapped the phoenix feather quill against the table twice. “Again, absolutely not. The ritual is a protected secret of the Guild of Magical Affairs, and the ingredients are expensive and must be handled with caution. We do not give it out to everyone who asks, regardless of status or Status.”

  Mother spoke up for the first time. “What was your name, again?”

  “I don’t give it to the public,” said the clerk. “You’ll notice the lack of signage.”

  “I see,” Mother responded, a hint of venom in her voice. “Lord Dath is the head of all of the Guilds of Magical Affairs, right?”

  The tapping quill came to a stop a hair above the tabletop. “That is correct.”

  Leon snapped his fingers. “That’s right! Good old Dath. You know, he was my roommate back at the Academy for five years. He’s one of Tyr’s godparents, actually. I’ll give him a call and we’ll get this situation sorted. No exceptions, you say?”

  The clerk dropped her quill on the table and leaned back. Her lip twitched. “Lord Freston is a busy man. I’m sure this isn’t necessary.”

  Leon waved her concerns away and pulled a crystal disk from thin air, materializing it out of one of his spatial rings. The air thrummed around them, and a wire of diamond-colored energy emerged from Leon’s hand and settled into the disk.

  After a few awkward seconds, a section of a face projected out of the screen like a hologram; it was zoomed in to a pale, aquiline nose and an eye clouded with a light-blue cataract.

  “Gods, how do I use this thing again?” said Dath Freston, Lord of Sky and Void, one of the few transcendent beings that had carved a substantial portion of Savra out for his own domain.

  Leon coughed. “You have to—”

  The crystal disk zoomed in on Dath’s hairy right nostril before zooming back out. The man’s ancient, wizened face beamed with good humor. Alternating piercings of diamond and aquamarine studs lined his eyebrows, adding a hint of punk rock to his grandfatherly aesthetic.

  “Ah, there we go. If it isn’t Leon Hollan, you rotten pain in the ass.” Dath stroked his glorious beard, which trailed down beyond the projected image. “I’m in the middle of a meeting with the Council of Infinite Horizons. The distraction is appreciated, but surely you’re not calling because you miss my lovely face after all this time?”

  The clerk’s face was as pale as a ghost’s. Even her flaming hair had receded into a guttering blowout.

  “Oh, it’s not that big of a deal,” said Leon. “You know I like to escalate important matters to the top. Anyways, I’m at the local Guild in Valorwood and have some concerns about my son’s results coming out. You were there at his birth, after all, so I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  “I asked for a Vow of Secrecy, and this clerk refused. Then I asked for the ritual so Alana and I could perform it ourselves, and we were once more rejected. This is one of the problems with the Path of Pacifism. Battlemages on desk duty don’t take you seriously.”

  The crystal disc zoomed back in on Lord Freston’s eye, as if he was attempting to see the perpetrator behind this bit of drama. “Yes, yes. Well, you know how it is, Leon. You have to make these general rules when dealing with thousands of franchises or it’d be chaos. I think we can make an exception this time, right, Miss Lionheart?”

  At the mention of her name, the clerk’s hair became little more than a cherry stubble along her scalp. “O-of course! I was just following the rules, but your word takes precedence!”

  Dath harrumphed. His projected image disappeared.

  “If you would be so kind as to direct us to the ritual chamber?” said Mother, her face the picture of angelic innocence.