There are many stories of how our world began, but there is only one tale that truly matters. I encourage you to receive this claim with skepticism, because once you hear my tale—the true tale of humanity’s rise to dominance—you will see that it not only makes much more sense than the stories you know, but it is altogether much more terrifying and fun to tell before bedtime.

When I think back to the beginning, I can only be glad I wasn’t alive to witness most of it. Even now, millennia later, we humans maintain our innate fear of the dark. Back then, the darkness was a promise of death. For nearly a generation, our ancestors wandered through the black, seeking some meaning to their sudden existence. The great beasts that preceded the Ancestors did not take pity on them, gnawing at their weak legs and poking out their unseeing eyes. It’s a wonder that humanity survived at all. But hasn’t that been the case all throughout our history? We survive. We always survive. As you know, though, our unfailing strength ultimately proved to be our greatest weakness.

With ravenous eyes watching from the darkness, the Ancestors finally settled amongst the glowing comfort of flowing fires. They formed a great Capital in which to protect their families and a great Camp from which to fight their war. All the while, the beasts tore our ancestors apart as they worked, and the beasts stole our ancestors children as they slept. Hundreds of thousands of teeth relentlessly stalked the humans from the darkness, content to pick them off one by one.

These are the truths you have heard since you were a child. You heard them first as stories and songs, then as history lessons and lectures. You will recall that the Ancestors gave birth to the humble Gol’ Son of ‘Gan in the Fifty-Ninth Generation, followed by the mighty Fol’ Son of ‘Gan in the Sixtieth Generation. You know that Fol’ Son of ‘Gan ascended to the seat of High Motra, from which he vowed to protect humanity. I needn’t remind you that this wondrous man, High Gan as he came to be known, employed novel military techniques that brought an end to the Undying War against the beasts. You know him as the hero of stories that humanity has told to it’s children for over a thousand years.

Regrettably, most of these stories dropped out of a horse’s rear end.

You see, our true story doesn’t begin in the First Generation, nor the Second, nor the Fifty-Ninth with the humble Gol’ Son of ‘Gan, nor in the Sixtieth with the mighty High Gan. No, our tale begins in the long forgotten Sixty-First Generation.

I can sense your lips beginning to form the question, “What about everything that preceded that unremembered generation? Wasn’t all that history at least as important?”

I respond by asking, do you care about the first rains that formed the Living River? Do you wish to know the anonymous beasts that conceived the Undying Stallion? Would it make you happy to recall the great great grandmother of the treacherous Ju’ of Death? A good tale slaughters superfluous information, preserving only that which is necessary to reveal the truth. This is the type of story that I wish to tell you: The story of the dawn of man.

If I were a bad storyteller, such as those that formed the propagandous stories with which you are familiar, I would begin this tale by telling you of an unfortunate man named Na’ Son of ‘Yo. Nayo, as he was called by his loved ones, was just one of the hundreds of thousands of guardsman that served the mighty High Gan. Though he fought in a very important battle on the three-hundred and forty-eighth day of the Sixty-First Generation, his life and death on the battlefield was, on the whole, unremarkable.

If I were indeed like those regrettable weavers of lies that call themselves storytellers, I would tell you about poor Nayo’s final moments. I would recount the instant in which he caught a blue glimmer from the corner of his eye—how he broke away from his brothers and walked toward that mysterious light, as if hypnotized.

Somberly, I would recount his finals words, “Is this it?”

Fortunately, I have no desire to tell you about Nayo.

Nor do I wish to tell you about Gat’ Son of ‘Yo, cousin of Nayo. Though Gatyo was the first to lay hands on that mighty blue light which his cousin discovered, his accomplishments are of little relevance to our tale.

Do not even ask me to dictate the story of Nagula, the first to carry that blue light, or Raio, the first to name it. Though I know of the moment that Raio yelled for his brothers to “Grab that blasted blue Egg and get going,” I refuse to give in to your curiosity. While that Egg is of great importance to our story, Nagula and Raio may as well have never been born.

The true beginning of our tale takes place not far from that fateful battle, on the very same day, at the very same hour. It gives voice to a man perhaps not as curious as Nayo, nor as brave as Gatyo, nor as honorable as Nagula or Raio. His name is written in no storybooks or textbooks.

No one remembers Jaz. Yet, we owe everything to him.

At some unknown time in the past, in a long forgotten place, Jaz stood in complete darkness, feeling his eyebrows press down toward his eyes.

“I must do it today.” Jaz’s voice died as quickly as it rose, silenced by unseen walls. The world was quiet except for two sounds: The pounding of Jaz’s heart in his ears and the disembodied breaths that heaved from beside him. Jaz turned slightly to his right. “Did you hear me?”

“Close your mouth.” A rasping, dragging voice spat toward Jaz. “For once, do your job. Just this once. Then, you’ll never have to do it again.”

Jaz shook his head to himself. “You’re right.” He sighed dramatically. “After today, I’ll never have to do this job again. When our shift is over, I’m going to—”

A brief shuffle hit Jaz’s ear only a moment before he felt skinny fingers wrap around his arm. “Close it, I said! You will do your job. You will leave this place. You will find a woman, and you will be happy.”

“A woman? What do I need with a useless—”

“Close your mouth, young.” The voice creeped through clenches teeth, as if threatening to bite.

Jaz snatched his arm away, feeling nails scrape against the cloth of his sleeve and nip at his arm. “No! Neither of us knows what’s going to happen after today. All I know is what I can do. What I’m going to do. I—” Jaz paused. A distant sound ran through his ear canals like water. Silence struck him as he tried to determine what exactly had caught his attention.

“What is it?” The aged voice spoke as quickly as it could manage. “Have they returned?”

Jaz stared ahead into the darkness for a few moments. Finally, he saw it: Three specks of light, so small they were almost nothing. As Jaz focus on them, he could see that two of the lights blinked with an amber glow. The third was much larger than the other two. It shined a blue light so unbelievably bright that it lit the world around it, revealing jagged walls of rock and hanging teeth-like spikes that Jaz suspected no one had ever been able to see.

Jaz took a step forward, laying his hands on a rough surface in front of him. “What is that?”

“Clearly something important.” Two feet shuffled forward next to Jaz. “Are there any vitals?”

Jaz nodded toward the two amber lights. “Two of them. Distressed.”

“Well?” The old voice grumbled. “What are you waiting for?”

Jaz raised his boot and kicked it out in front of him. The toe of the boot made contact with a smooth surface which made a loud clunk. There was a second a silence, then two sounds came from above, a click followed by a clunk. A moment later, two streams of blue glowing liquid flowed down from over Jaz’s head. One steam ran along the darkness above and down the darkness to the left. The blue liquid slid along until it disappeared into blackness. Suddenly, it splashed forth as if arriving from nowhere, forming a tall cylinder of soft, blue light next to Jaz. As the cylinder grew upward, the blue glow intensified into a white light that struck Jaz like the back of a hand. The process repeated to Jaz’s right.

As the white light shot forth a second time, it revealed an old man, standing up as straight as he could in his leather armor. The old man almost looked tall in the small, stone-walled room he occupied. He stood looking through a large, rectangular opening in one of the walls.

Jaz joined him. “You think this is it? You think the battle’s over?”

The old man pursed his lips and looked at Jaz with narrow eyes. “There are two men there, young. If that is all that remains, then our species will soon be dead.”

“Well, there’s probably someone carrying that blue light.”

“Hm?”

“The blue light—someone has to be carrying it. So, there’s probably at least three men out there.”

“Excuse me. Three men. That is a relief.” The old man slowly raised a hand, lifted it toward Jaz, and knocked one of his knuckles against Jaz’s forehead. “You are not stupid, young. Do not speak stupid.”

Jaz took a step back, rubbing his forehead. “If they’re coming back, I need to go. I need to go see High Guard Loz right now!”

“Listen to me, young. I know you have planned this stupid thing for a long time. You talk about it without stopping.” The old man poke an overgrown fingernail into Jaz’s chest. “But you must hear me. You only believe you want this life because it is the only life you have ever known. You must see the Capital, young. It will change you.”

Jaz laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t care about the Capital, old man. I don’t care about woman or magic or pets or any of those fantasies you talk about. I know what I want. You know what I want. Are you going to help me?”

The pair stood in silence for what seemed like a long time. Then, a voice yelled from the darkness. “What are you shroom-suckers waiting for?” Jaz turned to see the three lights rapidly approaching, bouncing around in the darkness. “Open the gate! Hurry up!”

Without hesitation, Jaz jumped to his left and slapped his right hand against the wall. A few moments later, he heard the old man do the same behind him. The stone hummed beneath his hand as the white light in the cylinder began to fade. This continued for a few seconds before a shrill whine of metallic scraping arose from below. Through the hole in the wall, they could see amber light spill out onto the ground below them.

The voice yelled up again. “By the Ancestors, finally!” The three lights bounced their way into the light below, revealing three guardsmen in full plate armor. The third, who was trailing behind slightly, held the source of the large blue light in his hands. It was difficult to look at, but Jaz could just barely see it.

“You see that?”Jaz yelled over the sound of the gate opening. “Almost looks like a basila egg or something.” Jaz turned to the old man with wide eyes. “You think it’s magic?”

“Thought you did not care for the magics.”

“I don’t! I just—magic? Here? Can you imagine what we could accomplish with our own source of magic?”

“Trust me, young. The magics should be left to the woman and their pets. Let them stay in the Capital.”

“You don’t understand. This will change everything! I have to go to High Guard Loz. Right now.”

A voice yelled up from the ground behind them. “Gate’s clear!”

Jaz and the old man looked at each other for a moment before reaching over and slapping their respective walls. The metallic screeching began once more.

The old man rubbed a meek hand against his wrinkled face. “I cannot stop you, young. I never could. But please, you must think about everything I have told you about the Capital. It is all true. It seems like a fantasy because you have only ever had nightmares.” The old man smiled. “If you come with me, I will even introduce you to Tarla.”

Jaz struggled to keep himself from smiling. “Is that the women with the…?” Jaz placed his palms against his chest and squeezed his fingers.”

“The boobs?” The old man threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, I should not have taught you that word. You will be obsessed with them soon enough, though. Come with me, young, and you will see.”

Jaz smiled along with the old man for a while, but soon the edges of his mouth began to droop. “I’m sorry. I—I can’t. I have to do this. I’m sorry, Oskar.”

If you were fortunate enough to be raised by loving parents, there’s a significant chance that you are familiar with the story of Oskar the Wise. Many men and women even idolize this legendary figure. His wisdom was matched only by his kindness. He revolutionized economics, health, and security both in and out of the Capital. The world as we know it is a better place because of him. This Oskar is the very same that stood sentry beside Jaz for many years. Though Oskar was indeed a great man, I must warn you that he was perhaps not as benevolent, clever, or even as wise as the stories suggest. Let this serve as an example of the types of harsh truths this tale will reveal. Though Oskar did his best to impart wisdom on young Jaz, he was a poor substitute for the parents the boy never knew.

Perhaps Oskar thought these very words as Jaz placed his hand on the old man’s chest and pushed him aside. Jaz was a man now. He had made a decision, and he was sticking to it. Jaz was determined to become a member of High Gan’s Council.

As Oskar stumbled backward, Jaz forced himself to look away. He turned without a word and opened the door to the outside. Fiery light washed over Jaz and flooded the room. Before him stretched the small city of tents known as the Camp. A few klicks away, a pillar of flame shot down from the ceiling and into the ground. You known this pillar by the name Pyre, the first and mightiest light to ever protect humanity.

Not bothering to close the door behind him, Jaz leaped down the staircase at his feet, taking the steps two at a time. He had been waiting for this moment for years. Whenever he’d considered executing his plan, some new variable would be introduced. After High Gan had retracted his Termination Command, Jaz had been forced to redraft his thoughts on strategic nest raids. When, to everyone’s surprise, the alchemists from the Capital actually delivered on their promises of “weaponry that will change the face of combat,” Jaz had to scrap all of his formations, maneuvers, and combat strategies. Now, his time had run out. He could no longer afford to delay.

Jaz froze near the bottom of the steps. He felt a chill as a familiar scratching sound crawled into his ear. In his mind, he saw hundreds of teeth ripping away flesh and gnawing bones. The sight always followed the sound, and both were all too familiar.

Spinning to his right, Jaz drew a dagger and looked toward the sound. Just ahead of him, near the gate which he helped watch over, five men stood with various weapons at the ready. Across from them, three small, black shapes danced in the Pyre’s light.

The leptids seemed to slither across the ground even though they had legs. They bared their teeth, forming a threatening smile beneath their rounded snouts. They weren’t even half the size of a man, but they may as well have been 6 feet tall.

The five gatekeepers remained completely still, waiting for the leptids to make the first move. Jaz had witnessed similar scenes enough times to know that at least one of the gatekeepers would die if they didn’t act quickly. Without another thought, he squatted, placed the tip of his dagger against the stone ground, and yanked his arm in toward him. The blade scraped against the ground so quietly that even he could barely hear it. The whole time, he never took his eyes off of the standoff before him.

The gatekeeper remained frozen, watching their enemies, who slowly creeped toward Jaz.

Since he was a boy, Jaz had formed theories about the behavior of leptids and other beasts, but he had never been foolish enough to test any of them. Mostly he just ran them by Oskar, who laughed and criticized Jaz’s enthusiasm. The theory Jaz was presently making use of, which he called Hyper Sensitivity, was one of his favorites. Unfortunately, he hadn’t really considered that it might prove to be quite so accurate.

The leptids creeped toward him, still showing their teeth. Their bodies made a constant scratching sound as they moved. No one seemed to know where the sound came from, though Jaz suspected it had something to do with the way they communicated. The gatekeepers watched as the leptids responded to Jaz’s call, less than ten paces away from him now.

With shaking hands, Jaz leaned forward quickly and placed his dagger against the ground once more. One of the beasts darted its head toward Jaz, seeming to look at him though leptids had no eyes. It opened it’s mouth, revealing rows of pointed teeth.

Mustering all of his strength, Jaz whipped the dagger over to his left. The blade scratched across the ground for a few paces, then caught a stone and flipped end over end, tapping across the ground until it came to rest no more than twenty paces away. The leptid, mouth still wide, turned its vision toward the dagger for only a moment before leaping toward Jaz.

Weaponless, Jaz raised his arm and covered his neck. The leptid twisted through the air, swiftly adjusting its course so that its teeth sunk into the armor on Jaz’s hip. Jaz gritted his teeth and wrapped his hands around the beast’s neck. It’s skin felt like soft metal—hard, but flexible. It’s teeth, on the other hand, felt like sharp, burning coals in his side.

Jaz knew that, at any moment, a second leptid would bite into his throat or tear at his ankles. Yet, the attack never came. In fact, the leptid biting into his side seemed to loosen up. He looked up just as a blade swung down into the beast’s side. It opened its mouth, freeing Jaz.

“Go.” Oskar pushed a hand into Jaz’s shoulder. “Go, young!”

Jaz looked at Oskar for a moment, taking in how big and strong the old man suddenly looked. Jaz never quite looked up to Oskar. The old man was a sentry, and Jaz knew he was meant to be so much more. Yet, Oskar was still a guardsman—a warrior—and Jaz respected that.

Jaz turned and ran for his dagger. He scooped it up and started back toward the fight.

“No, young!” Oskar bashed his blade down into the beast. “You go. Do what you must. Go!” He nodded toward Jaz before turning back to his enemy.

As the gatekeepers moved into formation around Oskar, Jaz walked backward, watching them until his legs compelled him to run. He spun around and sprinted toward the Pyre, his side stinging him with each step.

By modern standards, the Camp was far too large to be called a camp. It was more like a large village, but with no pubs, inns, or merchants. There were few structures, but those that stood all had the same purpose: Warfare. Smithys, armorers, a couple barracks, and even an alsmith’s forge dotted the tents and open fields of stone throughout the Camp. Jaz passed a few such buildings on his way to one particular tent, which was almost as big as a building itself.

The tent shined a soft blue-gray, even in the light of the Pyre. Not many people could afford the hide of a single trumflut, let alone the many hides necessary to create such a large tent. Yet, the Guard itself slayed the beasts required to create the quarters of their leader, the High Motra.

Jaz had been here only a few times. The first time had been when he was too young to remember, but Oskar had assured him that every new guardsman met the High Motra, no matter their age. The other two times had been for investigation after incidents at the gate. Both had resulted in lashes for Jaz and even a few for Oskar. Twenty scars later, Jaz had learned how to never get caught doing something reckless. He tried to push those memories out of his mind as he approached High Gan’s quarters.

“Halt, guardsman.” A boulder-sized man in black-tinted armor looked down at Jaz. As if the armor wasn’t enough, the black gemstone in the butt of his sword identified him as a high guard. “There are no druids here today.” The High Guard nodded to Jaz’s hip. “Should probably wrap that up yourself.”

Jaz quickly removed his hand from his hip and stood as tall as he could. “I’m fine. I’m not here for a druid.”

“Oh, you are a nonbeliever.”

“I—uh—what? No, I just—”

“Good. The druids are legitimate. They protected my mother—released her from the grips of death. It’s true. I have no time for nonbelievers.”

Jaz looked around uncomfortably for a moment. “Yeah, um, I was hoping to talk to High Guard Loz.”

The high guard huffed. “What you want with him?” He looked Jaz up and down. “What is your name?”

Jaz brought his hands up to his face, then snapped them out away from himself and downward in a salute. “I am Sentry Jaz.”

The large man silently nodded to himself for a few seconds before looking Jaz direclty in the eyes. “I want your full name. Jaz.”

Jaz’s fingers squeezed into two fists at his sides. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and looked up at the high guard. “Sentry Jaz Son of None, here to be seen.” He saluted again.

“Hm. To be seen by Loz. Pair of orphans, looking to start trouble, no doubt.”

Jaz shook his head. “Never, High Guard. I would just like to report an incident at the Vileward Gate.”

“Fine. Report. I will send word to the High Motra himself.”

Jaz bowed his head. “Forgive me. High Guard Loz requested that I report only to him on matters concerning the war effort.”

The high guard laughed a deep that rattled his armor. “Haven’t you heard, orphan? War’s already over. We’ve got everything we need now.”

“What?” Jaz took a step forward. “What do you mean?”

The high guard huffed and looked out toward the Camp, as if Jaz had disappeared. “Never mind. Loz is at the Hopeward Gate. He’s busy. Go back to your post, sentry.”

Jaz stood still for a moment, thinking. Then, he looked up at the high guard once more. “Loz requested my assistance with the Egg.”

“Wha—? How do you know about the Egg?”

Jaz silently thanked the Ancestors. He had to push his luck a little, further, though. “On the High Motra’s orders, High Guard Loz was looking for the Egg. He requested that I keep an eye out for anything that could help.”

The high guard jerked his head backward. “Why you?”

Jaz shrugged. “You said it yourself. Pair of orphans.” Then, Jaz made a mistake he’d made at least a million times before: He smiled.

“That so?” With bone-crushing speed, the high guard raised his boot and kicked it into Jaz’s injured hip. “Get back to your paw-licking post. You will not meet with High Guard Loz. Never.”

Jaz grabbed his side with one hand and caught himself against the ground with the other. He pushed himself off the ground and walked away without looking back at the high guard. He grinned to himself. All things considered, it didn’t go too badly. When he was a klik away from the High Motra’s quarters, he turned to his right and headed toward the Hopeward Gate.

The Camp was never very crowded. It had plenty of open space between clusters of tents and there were rarely more than a few people anywhere near the intense heat of the Pyre. Even though there were hundreds of thousands of guardsman, many of them were constantly out in the darkness, exploring and fighting. Yet, Jaz still sensed a noticeable emptiness. High Gan had poured everything into ending the war as soon as possible. It wasn’t clear exactly why, but Jaz sensed it had something to do with the Egg, whatever it was.

When the Hopeward Gate was just barely in sight, Jaz could see why High Guard Loz had gone there. Facing away from him was the rear of a formation of guardman that was about 30 men wide in total. He couldn’t tell how long the formation was, but he could see heads poking up in the distance, at least a quarter klik away. Something big was happening.

It wasn’t uncommon to see this kind of formation at the Vileward Gate, the Faunward Gate, or sometimes even the Noxward Gate. The Hopeward Gate, though, was generally used for processing envoys and deliveries between the Camp and the Capital. Though the enemy did sometimes lurk there—they lurked everywhere—it was much less common, perhaps due to the periodic lighting that had been set up along the path. This formation was a worrying oddity, and Jaz knew it had to be about the Egg.

The sting in Jaz’s hip wasn’t biting as hard as before, but it was still gnawing away at his side. He did his best to look composed as he quickly walked around the right side of the formation and started scanning for High Guard Loz. He would likely be toward the front of the formation, helping prepare everyone for whatever was about to occur.

As he walked along the formation, guardsmen eyed him curiously. Several of them even recognized him and threw insults, some seriously and some jokingly. Jaz had walked about thirty paces when he heard a curious sound that made him stop dead. It almost sounded like footsteps, but they were far too light to be boots against stone, and they shuffled more than they stepped. Jaz spun around just in time to see a small, pale hand reaching toward him.

“Are you my escort?” A soft-edged, pale face looked at Jaz with an expression that he couldn’t quite read. Above the face hung light hair that covered a soft forehead. The hair also swung back and around and twisted into strange knots and patterns that danged toward the ground in an irresponsible fashion. The tips of the hair almost seemed to point at two tiny shoulders, which were attached to two thin arms with undersized, clean hands. The hands had uselessly fragile-looking fingers with long, pristine nails, one of which hovered in Jaz’s face.

“Woman?” The question slipped from Jaz’s mind and out of his mouth. He slammed his jaw shut and looked away.

The woman nodded her head once, sharply. “Oh, right.” She lifted her hands and started gesturing toward herself, smiling weakly. She stretched out her words, speaking slow;y. “I am a mage.” Her fingers fluttered through the air. “A druid. I need to get back to Capital. You know Capital?” She flailed her arms in an indiscernible signal.

Jaz nodded slowly.

“Good, boy. You take me there?”

As if in a trance, Jaz started to nod, but the sight of black armor caused him to snap to attention.

“Druid ‘Na, I must request that you not wander.” A guardsman approached the druid from behind. “Your safety is—” The man looked at Jaz. “Why are you not in formation, guardsman?”

Jaz saluted. “My apologies, High—” Jaz caught himself. The guardsman’s black armor would usually label him as a High Guard. However, the golden trim on the plates of armor and the large, purple gem on his chest meant he was much more than that. “—Motra. High Motra, I didn’t mean to—”

“There you are, Jaz.” A loud, singing voice spoke from behind Jaz. “High Motra, please forgive my eternal shortcomings. Young Jaz here is the escort I was telling you about.” A gauntleted hand squeezed Jaz’s shoulder from behind. “Isn’t that right, Specialist Jaz.”

Jaz nodded.

The High Motra raised an eyebrow. “I rarely question your judgement, Loz, but you’ve recruited an orphan? I’m not as foolishly prejudiced as our subordinates, but I do question whether he’s had the proper training.” He gestured toward Jaz. “He’s such a scrawny little thing.”

“That he is.” High Guard Loz shot a chuckle over Jaz’s head. “But so was I before I decided to take my fate into my own two hands and determine my own destiny. That’s why I made Jaz a specialist. He’s got a great mind. You might even want to have a chat with him when we get back, High Motra.” Loz squeezed Jaz’s shoulder again. Unable to resist, Jaz smiled.

The High Motra frowned at Jaz. “Something amusing, Specialist?”

Jaz shook his head.

“Can you not speak?” The High Motra took a step forward. “Perhaps I was right to question your judgement, Loz.”

A second hand wrapped around Jaz’s other shoulder and spun him around. Loz threw back his head and laughed. “No, no, Specialist Jaz is simply nervous to be meeting the famous High Gan.” Loz began ushering Jaz toward the front of the formation. “Not to worry, High Motra. Your druid is in excellent hands!” Loz released Jaz and waved his hand forward. “Come, Druid ‘Na. You shall keep wonderful company until you are safe in the Capital once more.”

“Loz.” The High Motra’s low, cold voice froze them all. “Do not lose that egg. You and every last man shall die before any harm comes to it.”

Loz took an audible breath before turning around and saluting to the High Motra. “You needn’t have said a thing, High Motra. It shall be done.” He turned back around and took up a quick stride directly away from the High Motra. Jaz followed Loz, and the druid follow Jaz.

When they were well out of earshot of the High Motra, Jaz put an arm out in front of High Guard Loz. He looked up at the man with wide eyes. “By the Ancestors, what is going on? What just happened? A specialist? Why would you—” Jaz turned toward the druid. She watched him with a raised eyebrow.

Loz laughed his signature laugh and placed a hand on the druid’s shoulder. “Would you excuse us for just one moment, Druid ‘Na? Not to worry, just need to make sure our specialist knows every little detail of the mission.”

The druid narrowed her eyes at them. “Druids don’t make very kind specters. If I die, you better hope you die with me.”

“No one shall die this trip, Druid ‘Na. Not you, nor me, nor Jaz here. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Loz pulled Jaz aside, laughing the whole time.

Jaz raised two fists and shook them in Loz’s face. “Today was supposed to be the day!”

Loz smiled sarcastically. “Yeah, I figured as much. Look, I apologize, but we don’t have much time.”

“Fine. We’ll figure it out when you get back.”

Loz turned his head slightly. “Oh. Oh no. Jaz, you have to come.”

“What?”

“I just lied to the High Motra. Big time. You have to play along or you’ll never see me again. He’ll lash the smile right of my lifeless body. And if I’m gone, so is your best opportunity at High Gan’s Council.”

Jaz waved a hand at Loz. “Yes, I know. So, what?” Jaz gestured toward the druid. “I walk beside the ghost and—”

“Don’t call her that. She’s a druid—a human being.”

Jaz shrugged, trying not to look embarrassed. “Everyone calls them that.”

Loz shook his head, preparing himself for one of the rare times he made a serious statement. “You’re not everyone. You’re Jaz Son of None. You’re an orphan. Do you like being called an orphan?”

Rolling his eyes, Jaz sighed.

Loz nodded. “She’s not a ghost. She’s a woman—Druid ‘Na. She will probably tell you her full name and give you permission to use it. Use it. Get to know her. Make her feel comfortable. Use those splendid ears of your’s and listen to what she has to say. Then, when you get to the Capital, she will invite you to her tent. Well, then...” Loz snapped a finger and made a grand gesture, smiling.

Jaz raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Never mind. I’ll be sure to have a chat with the High Motra about sex education when we get back. For now, we need to get moving. Here’s the short version of events: We found something important, Druid ‘Na was brought here to analyze it with her druidic magics, now we need to get her and the important thing back to the Capital so the other mages can have a look.”

Jaz looked at Loz with wide eyes and a wider smile. “She can do magic.”

Loz made a clicking sound with his mouth. “She’s a woman. She can do all kinds of magic.” He laughed. “You have much to learn, Young Jaz, and you can learn most of it in the Capital. Let us march!"