Nick woke to sunlight pressing through the canvas above him and immediately regretted every decision that had required movement the day before.
His ankle had stiffened overnight, the scratches across his shoulder burned where they rubbed against the blanket, and something along the left side of his chest protested whenever he breathed too deeply. None of the injuries were serious, which somehow made them more irritating.
Nick remained still for another minute, staring at the patched roof of the bandit tent while his body catalogued every ache. There had been a time when he could wake after a battle, reinforce whatever refused to cooperate, and continue moving.
He could still do that.
Mana rested within him, replenished after the night and waiting for instructions.
Nick ignored it.
Eventually, he sat up and accepted the pain as part of the morning.
Outside, the abandoned camp remained quiet. A thin layer of mist lingered between the trees, pale enough that the sun already seemed determined to burn through it. Nothing had disturbed the supplies overnight, and there were no obvious tracks suggesting Cal or the other bandits had reconsidered their arrangement.
Nick drank from his waterskin and tore a piece from one of the hard biscuits they had left behind.
He chewed for several seconds.
“So rations are terrible in every world…”
He turned it over in his hand.
“Have to respect the commitment.”
He ate it anyway.
Reaching Cairel remained the priority, but there was one thing he wanted to investigate before leaving.
Infinite Wardrobe.
Of all the new abilities he’d gained access to, it certainly had the strangest name. Fireball was straightforward. Execute was practical. Even Avatar Creation had a discernible link to his newly discovered identity, though he didn’t know the details yet.
But a wardrobe?
Nick opened his status and selected the skill.
=Infinite Wardrobe=
->Rank: -/-
->Description: An indestructible wardrobe capable of expanding infinitely to contain anything and anyone stored within.
->Enhancements:
->Indestructible: All items bound to the wardrobe are impervious to damage.
->Automatic Size Regulation: All items bound to the wardrobe automatically adjust to the user’s size and shape.
->Automatic Cleansing: All items bound to the wardrobe are cleaned and refreshed while stored in the wardrobe.
It’s bigger on the inside.
*Note: Initial contents have been generated according to the owner’s history.
Nick read the description twice.
The enchantments alone were extraordinary. An indestructible storage space would have been worth a fortune on Earth, even without the additional protection granted to whatever was bound to it.
But the final line was what interested him most.
According to the owner’s history.
His ‘history’ could mean a lot of things.
If the System had somehow recreated equipment from his previous life, it might solve several immediate problems. Crossing a monster-infested forest would be considerably more pleasant with proper supplies, and he would happily replace the sword he’d stolen from the bandits.
The possibility of finding something more personal occurred to him as well.
Nick dismissed the window.
“Infinite Wardrobe.”
A wardrobe appeared beside the campfire.
He stepped backward.
The structure rose to nearly twice his height, constructed from dark wood polished until the morning light slid across its surface. Carvings covered the doors and frame in elaborate patterns: wings, curling flames, swords, flowers, and creatures both familiar and unrecognizable. Gold reinforced the hinges, while two handles shaped like overlapping claws rested at the center.
Nick walked around it.
The back was solid. So were the sides.
He pressed one hand against the wood, then pushed harder when nothing happened.
The wardrobe did not move.
“Indestructible…”
That had obvious implications.
He imagined dropping it in front of a charging monster and using it as a wall.
Then smiled imagining the bards trying to find a way to describe his ultimate defensive technique in a compelling way.
The gallant hero hid behind a piece of furniture…!
Nick chuckled to himself.
“It’s a hell of a contingency.”
He returned to the front.
For reasons he could not explain, opening the doors suddenly felt more consequential than summoning the thing had.
He pulled one handle.
Warm light spilled across him.
The interior extended far beyond the wardrobe’s exterior dimensions, with rows of clothing disappearing into a space large enough that Nick could not immediately see where it ended. Shelves lined the walls and racks branched into side aisles beneath a soft golden glow that seemed to come from nowhere.
For several seconds, he forgot about Cairel and the System entirely.
Nick stepped inside, enchanted.
The first section almost made him laugh.
Suits.
Dozens of them.
Black, navy, charcoal, brown, and one cherry-red monstrosity Seren had bought for him because he had made the mistake of telling her he could make anything look respectable.
He had worn it exactly once to prove himself right.
She had taken pictures.
Many pictures.
Several of them had somehow reached Aurelia.
One had reached Shinhwa.
Nick stared at the suit.
“That should have burned.”
The Wardrobe, apparently, disagreed.
He touched the sleeve. The fabric was flawless.
Beside the suits hung shirts, jackets, ties, and coats arranged with a degree of organization he had never managed while alive. Jeans occupied several shelves beneath them. Old hoodies had been folded into neat stacks, including one with the faded logo of a game he had not thought about in years.
He pulled it free.
The material smelled clean.
Nick remembered buying it. He remembered the store, the rain outside, and the argument with his mother afterward because he had spent money meant for something else.
He also remembered insisting it had been an investment.
That game was insanely popular. He could sell it later as a collector’s item.
Naturally, he’d never gotten around to it.
He shook his head.
“I really was an idiot.”
He folded it over one arm and continued exploring.
Farther down, a half-finished knight costume hung beside a wool coat, the plastic chestplate still chipped along one side from a convention years before the invasion. A foam sword rested beneath it.
Nick picked it up and weighed it in one hand.
He remembered thinking it was heavy when he was younger.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
He raised the foam sword experimentally.
The weapon bent under its own weight.
He remembered spending three evenings trying to paint a convincing edge onto it and another two insisting to anyone who would listen that the imbalance was historically accurate.
The memory had become considerably less defensible with age.
Nick returned it to the shelf.
Then his gaze moved toward the armor displayed farther down the aisle.
Cotton gave way to reinforced fabric. Plastic became steel.
The first armor he’d ever worn waited on a stand, awkward and heavier than necessary, with pauldrons that had never fit correctly. A dent remained near the collarbone.
Nick touched it.
The metal beneath the damage was whole, but the dent remained.
The Wardrobe had restored the armor without erasing its history.
“I really wore this into battle?”
Several memories answered at once.
Nick winced.
“Several times?”
He had owned some terrible equipment over the years.
He’d also owned equipment that would have made the trip to Cairel considerably easier.
Chainmail, reinforced leather, enchanted plate, lightweight battle robes. There were even a few pieces of armor he’d considered exceptional before finding out they weren’t particularly effective against divine opponents.
Nick studied the racks.
Any of them would have been better than what he currently wore.
But something about the Wardrobe’s description bothered him.
All items bound to the wardrobe are impervious to damage.
‘All items…’
He looked down at the hoodie draped over his arm.
Surely not…
He caught the sleeve between two fingers and pulled.
The fabric stretched normally, then refused to give any farther.
Nick pulled harder.
Nothing.
He retrieved a knife form a nearby weapons rack and pressed the edge against the sleeve.
The blade slid across the fabric without leaving so much as a loose thread.
Nick increased the pressure.
Still nothing.
“Well then.”
He turned the hoodie over in his hands.
If the description was literal, the material wasn’t simply durable—it was impossible to damage while bound to the skill.
That changed the calculation considerably.
Armor protected by resisting penetration and dispersing force across rigid surfaces. The hoodie would do almost nothing for the second problem, but it would now accomplish the first better than the greatest enchanted plate armors.
More importantly, it weighed practically nothing.
He glanced toward a particularly impressive set of chainmail.
Then back toward the hoodie.
“This feels disrespectful.”
He put it on.
The fabric shifted almost immediately, the sleeves shortening as the shoulders adjusted around his new frame. Within seconds, it fit him perfectly.
Nick rolled his shoulders.
Unlike the armor he was used to wearing, it didn’t restrict his movements.
It wasn’t perfect. If someone smashed him with a heavy object, they could still break his bones or crush his organs.
Still, it was an extraordinary advantage.
A hoodie that cost him less than fifty dollars was more durable than Shinhwa’s enchanted plate armor made from the rarest metals. They’d emptied out at least three imperial treasuries to get enough funds.
He shook his head.
“This is so dumb.”
He was grinning when he said it.
And there was little reason to stop with the hoodie.
He found a pair of dark pants and tested them with the knife.
Indestructible.
Then socks.
Indestructible.
The shoes required more consideration.
The Wardrobe contained boots, running shoes, hiking shoes, formal shoes, several pairs he’d forgotten ever owning, and one particularly ugly pair of flip-flips Shinhwa had talked him into buying.
Nick ignored those on principle.
He eventually settled on dark hiking shoes with sturdy soles and enough ankle support to make yesterday’s injury less irritating.
Gloves came last.
He chose a thin pair that covered his hands completely without interfering with his grip.
By the time he’d finished, he was wearing a faded hoodie, dark pants, hiking shoes, gloves, and socks.
Nick retrieved a properly balanced sword from one of the nearby racks and tested its weight.
It wasn’t anything special.
He sheathed it at his waist.
Then he looked at himself in a nearby mirror.
The result was deeply unimpressive.
A man dressed for a casual hike through the countryside, carrying a sword that looked as though it belonged in an entirely different genre.
Nick adjusted the strap.
“Perfect.”
He turned away from the mirror.
There were other things he wanted to investigate. The Wardrobe’s infinite storage had obvious implications, as did the possibility of transporting living creatures. He could spend days experimenting with the limits of its enchantments.
Unfortunately, Cairel wasn’t going to come looking for him. Probably.
He started toward the entrance.
Then something caught his eye.
A flash of pink, barely visible beyond the next aisle.
Nick stopped.
Several small dresses hung together near a low shelf, with tiny boots beneath them and a jacket folded neatly beside them. One sleeve had stretched slightly farther than the other.
His breath caught.
He knew that jacket.
For a moment, he simply stood there.
Then he approached.
The dresses were exactly as he remembered them. So were the boots. A small lavender ribbon rested beside the jacket, its ends folded into a neat bow.
Nick reached toward it.
His fingers stopped just short.
He could smell lavender.
He’d assumed the Wardrobe contained objects from his own history. His possessions. His equipment. Things he’d carried, worn, or owned.
But these had never belonged to him.
His hand lowered.
“Damn it.”
The Wardrobe remained warm and quiet around him.
Nick looked at the tiny jacket for another moment.
Then he carefully pulled his hand away from the ribbon.
He knew where the things were now.
He turned away before he could change his mind.
A few minutes later, Nick stepped out into the morning sunlight.
The Wardrobe stood where he’d summoned it, enormous and thoroughly out of place among the abandoned bandit tents.
“Dismiss?”
It vanished..
“Infinite Wardrobe.”
It reappeared.
“Dismiss.”
It vanished.
“Infinite Wardrobe.”
It reappeared.
Nick looked down at himself.
The clothing remained.
“So you can retrieve things and keep them outside.”
‘Useful’ was a highly inadequate description.
There were so many possibilities that he wanted to test.
Nick looked toward the remaining supplies scattered around the camp.
Then toward the Wardrobe.
He sighed.
“This is going to take a while.”
He opened the doors and grabbed the first crate.
***
The road was easier to find than he expected.
He discovered it before midday, little more than two worn tracks pressed through the forest with grass growing between them. Wagon wheels had churned the soil into dried grooves, while hoofprints and boot marks suggested enough regular traffic that Cal hadn’t lied about Cairel being nearby.
Nick followed in the direction he believed to be east.
Walking felt considerably better than it had the day before.
The hiking shoes supported his injured ankle, and the lighter clothing left his hips, shoulders, and knees completely unrestricted. After a decade spent moving beneath armor of one kind or another, the difference was almost unsettling.
He rotated one shoulder experimentally.
The hoodie moved with him.
No straps pulled across his chest. Nothing clinked.
He slipped both hands into its front pocket.
He’d almost forgotten how comfortable the thing was.
There was something deeply irresponsible about how pleasant it felt.
Seren would have approved.
She’d always liked it when he let himself relax.
Nick smiled faintly.
The smile lingered longer than expected.
He let it.
The forest changed gradually around him as he followed the road. Trees grew taller and farther apart, while clusters of blue flowers opened whenever sunlight reached them and folded again once shadows passed overhead. Small animals watched from the branches.
Nick watched them back.
None of them seemed especially likely to transform into bears, which was encouraging.
He walked for several hours without interruption, and eventually that alone began to bother him.
The road carried fresh tracks.
Someone should have passed him by now. A merchant, a patrol, another group of bandits making questionable career choices.
Anybody.
Instead, the forest remained empty.
Near midday, the birds stopped.
Nick slowed.
He’d noticed the same thing before encountering the rabbit-bear, but this felt different.
Mana moved through the air in currents too subtle for him to properly identify. He reached outward instinctively, trying to trace the flow, but his perception had never been as good as Seren’s or Aurelia’s.
He understood mana best once it entered his own body, where every current and pressure became something he could manipulate directly.
This mana belonged to something else.
Something powerful enough that the surrounding world was reacting to its presence.
Nick stopped walking.
His right hand settled near the sword at his hip.
A woman spoke from somewhere among the trees.
“Turn around.”
Nick didn’t draw his sword.
The voice had come from his left.
Maybe.
It carried too evenly between the trunks to trust the direction entirely.
He glanced toward the road behind him.
“Does this road lead somewhere else if I do?”
The woman answered in a voice that sounded almost bored.
“You misunderstand. This was not advice.”
Nick considered the pressure gathering against his skin.
His body understood before his mind finished categorizing it. Muscles tightened along his back, his pulse accelerated, and some primal instinct concluded that something nearby sat far enough above him in the food chain that fighting would be a terrible idea.
“That clears things up.”
“Leave.”
“I’m trying to reach Cairel.”
“Then try going toward it.”
Nick glanced toward the trees.
“I would if I knew the way.”
The pressure increased.
Leaves trembled without wind.
Nick stopped smiling.
He’d felt something comparable before, standing near gods.
But this wasn’t quite the same.
The mana around him lacked the strange weight divinity had possessed on Earth, though that didn’t make it any less threatening.
“Who sent you?” the woman asked.
“No one.”
“That cannot be true.”
“Care to explain why?”
The trees remained still.
Nick waited.
“You are either a remarkable liar,” she said eventually, “or far more interesting than you have any right to be.”
“All the important women in my life have told me I was both of those things,” Nick supplied. “I have it on good authority that the second one helped me secure the wife.”
“Words cannot express how much I do not care.”
Nick believed her.
Something moved between the trees ahead.
He caught the impression of a figure, but whatever occupied the darkness disappeared before his eyes properly focused on it.
Then Nick felt something brush against him.
Mana.
Thin, precise, and remarkably controlled.
It traveled across his hoodie, gloves, chest, and face before withdrawing.
Nick’s fingers tightened near his sword.
The woman inhaled.
“You really don’t know.”
Nick turned toward where he thought the voice had moved.
“That seems to be my life motto at the moment.”
The pressure vanished.
That frightened him more.
A woman stepped onto the road.
Nick had fought beside gods and met monarchs, saints, warlords, a Hero, and creatures old enough to remember when humans first decided to become civilized.
He knew what power looked like when it no longer needed to advertise itself.
The woman walking toward him had that look.
She appeared perhaps thirty, though that meant nothing.
Pale skin contrasted sharply with hair so dark it seemed to absorb the forest around it. She wore a long black coat over clothing chosen for movement rather than display. A thin line of dried blood ran from beneath one sleeve and disappeared across the back of her hand.
Her eyes were crimson.
They settled on Nick with the patience of someone examining a problem she hadn’t expected to encounter.
Her gaze moved across his sword, his shoes, and finally the faded logo stretched across his hoodie.
“You are dressed strangely.”
Nick considered her long black coat.
“That feels subjective.”
She continued toward him.
He couldn’t identify any weapons on her.
That made the situation worse.
Her balance was perfect. Her center barely shifted as she crossed the uneven ground, and he couldn’t read her movements.
Everyone moved before they attacked. Their eyes shifted, their shoulders tightened, their hips turned, their weight settled, their breathing changed.
Something always happened.
This woman seemed to move only once the movement had already finished.
Nick abandoned the idea of fighting.
She stopped ten paces away.
“You aren’t from Rovar.”
“No.”
“The Empire?”
“Never heard of it.”
“The Federation?”
“Same problem.”
Her gaze returned to his clothing.
“That insignia?”
Nick looked down.
“Uh. A video game logo.”
“Meaning?”
“It’s like… the name of a popular brand?”
She stared at him.
Annoyance passed across her expression.
“You aren’t one of them,” she said.
“One of who?”
“The four.”
“Four what?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You expect me to believe you arrived without knowing?”
“I arrived yesterday. Probably.”
“That uncertainty inspires a great deal of confidence.”
Nick blinked.
That was the first thing she’d said that sounded remotely like a joke.
He smiled despite himself.
“The last day or so has been pretty complicated for me.”
“How so?”
“Well, I died.”
For the first time, her expression visibly changed.
“Explain.”
Nick considered her.
She was vastly more powerful than him. That much was obvious. But she’d examined him without attacking, and every new detail seemed to make her more interested.
Whatever she recognized, it mattered.
Unfortunately, Nick had no intention of giving her his entire life story merely because she demanded it.
“No.”
The forest seemed to darken.
“You think this is a negotiation?”
“I think you haven’t killed me.”
“That can be corrected.”
“Sure.”
Nick let the word sit between them.
She studied him again.
“You know what I am.”
“Vampire.”
Something cold moved behind her eyes.
“One passed through a bandit camp nearby. Their leader followed her and never came back.”
“I know.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
Nick glanced toward the dried blood on her hand.
“I take it the meeting went… well?”
“It’s still a work-in-progress.”
“Fair enough.”
Her attention shifted briefly past him, deeper into the forest. The movement lasted less than a second.
Nick noticed.
Something else had her attention.
And whatever it was, she was becoming increasingly impatient.
“You called me one of ‘them’,” Nick said. “Then decided I wasn’t.”
“I said you weren’t one of the four.”
“Is that an important distinction?”
“It is to me.”
“And apparently there are enough similarities that you needed to check?”
Her expression cooled further.
Nick had guessed correctly.
He remembered the description of his race.
An architect and custodian of reality.
The System hadn’t explained much, but this woman clearly recognized something about him.
Perhaps there was an opportunity here. Assuming he survived the conversation.
“Tread carefully,” she warned.
“I usually do.”
“No.” She stepped closer. “You usually pretend to.”
Nick kept his hand away from his sword.
She was close enough now that he could see faint lines beneath her eyes. Exhaustion, perhaps, though he doubted she had simply missed a night’s sleep.
There was more dried blood at the edge of her sleeve.
Beneath it, something like blackened veins traced one wrist before disappearing beneath the fabric.
She noticed where he was looking and lowered her arm.
“The enchantment on your clothing is remarkably potent.”
Nick glanced down.
“Is it that impressive?”
“I cannot damage it.”
That caught his attention.
“You… checked?”
“Before you noticed me.”
“That’s invasive.”
“You survived.”
“A surprisingly popular defense.”
Her gaze lingered on his hoodie.
“I have never seen an enchantment this durable. I know of nothing in this world capable of producing it.”
“That’s good to know.”
“You don’t understand your own equipment?”
“I understand the practical applications of it.”
“Do you?”
“Well, some of them.”
The faintest hint of disbelief entered her expression.
Nick found that strangely satisfying.
Her gaze returned to his face.
“Who are you?”
“Nicholas Draegan.”
“I did not ask for your name.”
“Lady, you literally did just ask that.”
For the first time, the corner of her mouth genuinely moved.
It disappeared quickly.
“You carry their mark without their sins,” she said. “You have the shape of their power, yet very little of its substance. No temple or choir. No faith.”
Faith.
The Overseer description had mentioned it. He was familiar with the topic due to his conversations with Aurelia, but he’d wondered whether the System meant religious worship or something more abstract.
Apparently, this woman had an opinion.
“You’re talking about Overseers.”
The change in her expression was immediate.
For a heartbeat, she was utterly still.
Then her eyes hardened.
“So you do know.”
“I know the word,” Nick answered. “I haven’t found anyone able or willing to explain it.”
“And yet you carry their power.”
“Apparently.”
She stared at him.
Nick considered asking whether this was how she normally conducted conversations. She was a highly confrontational individual.
He decided against it.
“There are four,” she said at last. “Four who came into this world and decided it belonged to them.”
Nick listened.
“They gathered worship, divided nations, elevated favorites, and broke laws they did not understand because consequences were things that happened to lesser creatures.”
The air around her changed.
For the briefest moment, Nick felt something enormous behind the woman standing in front of him: centuries of violence, armies breaking against walls, cities drowning in blood, and a throne beneath a dark sky.
The impressions vanished before he could determine whether they had been real.
Nick thought about the gods of Earth.
Some had been better than others.
Enough similarities existed that he understood the bitterness, though, the gods he’d known had ultimately fought until the bitter end.
“You fought them?”
“Yes.”
“How’d that go?”
Her stare could have frozen water.
Nick raised one hand.
“Sorry.”
“You are remarkably casual around someone capable of killing you.”
“Well, in my previous world, the most remarkable thing about this encounter would’ve been that we didn’t already know about each other.”
“That explains the habit. It does not justify it.”
Nick considered that.
“You’re surprisingly reasonable.”
Something almost like contempt crossed her face.
“You sound like him.”
“Like who?”
“Their Hero.”
The word changed something.
Nick thought of Shinhwa.
His golden light and impossibly powerful sword.
A man smiling at the end of the world as though everything would somehow work out because he had decided it should.
“Hero,” Nick repeated.
She watched him carefully.
“They made one.”
“All four?”
“Yes.”
Shinhwa had been a Hero blessed by twelve gods.
Nick’s eyes narrowed.
Four Overseers. Faith and worship. A champion who carried their combined power.
The similarities were becoming difficult to ignore.
“They poured everything they could afford into him,” she continued, “until there was almost nothing left in this world capable of standing against him.”
“Almost?”
Her gaze settled on Nick.
“I stood.”
The words weren’t boastful.
They didn’t need to be.
Nick believed her.
“What happened?”
“I lost.”
That surprised him more than he’d expected.
“Well, losing tends to complicate victory speeches.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Was that a joke?”
“Barely.”
“You are very strange.”
“I died, woke up in a forest, nearly got killed by a rabbit, and discovered that my hoodie now qualifies as armor. My standards are shifting in real time.”
“You consider that to be armor?”
“It survived my knife.”
“That is an appallingly low standard.”
Nick glanced down at himself.
“Y’know, I can’t argue with that.”
She almost smiled.
Then her attention shifted toward the trees again.
The ground trembled.
Nick felt it through the soles of his shoes.
So did she.
Whatever else she might have thought about him, something in the forest was more important.
“Their champion won,” she said, returning to their conversation. “The histories call that salvation.”
“You disagree.”
“As is usually the case, the histories were written by the victors.”
Another tremor passed through the earth, stronger this time.
Her jaw tightened.
Nick looked toward the forest.
“That sounds closer.”
“Leave.”
There was no threat in the word now.
He studied her.
“You’re worried.”
“Do not confuse urgency with fear.”
“I wasn’t. Whatever you’re doing here, it’s going wrong.”
She turned toward him.
“Leave.”
Nick looked at the dried blood on her hand. And then the blackened veins beneath her sleeve.
“You brought the bandit leader here.”
Her expression sharpened.
“You’ve got blood on you that isn’t yours, something underneath your skin looks burned, and the ground has shaken twice since we started talking. Now you’re telling me to run for my life.”
Nick glanced toward the trees.
“So either I’ve developed remarkably unfortunate timing worthy of a bard’s tale, or I’ve interrupted something.”
She was suddenly in front of him.
Nick did not see her move.
One moment, ten paces separated them.
The next, cold fingers rested against his throat while his back struck a tree hard enough to shake leaves loose overhead.
The hoodie survived the impact flawlessly.
His spine was considerably less impressed.
Air left his lungs as the tree struck him through the indestructible fabric.
There was no struggle after that. She simply held him there with enough casual strength to make resistance pointless.
Nick looked into her crimson eyes.
There was no realistic sequence of movements that ended with him winning.
She leaned closer.
“You have interrupted nothing.”
Her voice remained soft.
“Then why are you so angry?”
Her fingers tightened.
“You should not exist.”
Nick’s expression changed before he could stop it.
She saw.
“Finally.”
Nick struggled to breathe.
Then, against what remained of his better judgment, he managed a strained smile.
“People have told me worse.”
“I doubt it.”
“You haven’t met my mother.”
She stared at him.
Nick decided, belatedly, that perhaps that joke had been unnecessary.
Then the corner of her mouth twitched.
She released him.
Nick stayed against the tree for another second before straightening, resisting the urge to rub his throat.
His hoodie remained pristine.
His back hurt.
“There were four,” she said. “I knew them. I fought them. I know the taste of their power well enough that I would recognize it after another ten thousand years.”
Her gaze passed through him.
“And you are not one of them.”
Nick considered that.
“Maybe there are five?”
“No.”
The certainty was immediate.
“You sound confident.”
“I watched them search for each other. I watched them build their little pantheon. I watched them spend centuries terrified that something existed beyond their understanding.” Her eyes narrowed. “If there had been a fifth, they would have found it.”
“Apparently they didn’t.”
She smiled.
There was nothing pleasant in it.
“That is why you are still alive.”
Nick believed her.
Curiosity.
He had guessed correctly before she ever stepped from the trees.
But now he understood something else.
Whatever an Overseer was, the four who ruled this world likely believed that they were the only ones here.
And the first person he’d met who could recognize their power had nearly killed him for possessing it.
That complicated things considerably.
“What exactly are they?” Nick asked.
She studied him.
The question seemed to irritate her more than anything else he’d said.
“You truly don’t know.”
“I have a status description. It raises more questions than it answers.”
“Then perhaps you should be asking whoever gave it to you.”
“I’d love to. Unfortunately, the System doesn’t seem interested in conversation.”
She stared at him.
Nick recognized the look.
It was the same expression Cal had worn whenever Nick asked a question that should have been obvious to everyone else.
Apparently, even ancient vampires had limits to their patience.
For several seconds, he thought she might actually answer.
Instead, she looked toward the forest again.
The third tremor never came.
Something screamed.
