Metaworld Chronicles

Though Gwen possessed perfect faith in Thomas' show of goodwill, she nonetheless detoured past the lesser defence nodes as her party returned to the Sky Tower. The young lord's politicking was within expectations, which was to say she felt let down by the tunnel vision of the Faction-minded Mages.

Is it because I am a stranger to the fact? She considered the conditions of the city besieged by bipedal fish. If she were a true native, would it be possible for her to feel so removed from the ingrained politics of the state?

Whatever her feelings, Thomas had gifted potions, HDM cartridges and a wealth of Wands to the militia—but only to the ones whose commanders were closely aligned to the Militants. In the young lord's mind, he was tipping the favour of the balance back to the "norm", which was good—but the act was hardly magnanimous nor served to counter Auckland's deeper problems of unclean hands.

If she were in Thomas' position, she would have confiscated and re-balanced the sheets, giving each team equal treatment, bolstered with a resounding speech about fighting fish on the beaches. Then, with coercion from the Shard and a little help from either Caliban or Golos, she would have re-rostered the NCOs of each Militia platoon to disrupt the status quo of favouritism.

Her first return stop was the Officer's Mess, for the nourishment of vitality wasn't the same as the full-bellied warmth of a hearty meal. In times of peace, the kitchen operated only at lunch and dinner. In their present state of war, the staff worked around the clock with rotating shifts. Richard was a staunch believer in Fish and Chips, Lulan's was for fried rice, while Gwen herself was partial to the honest protein of Auroch Steak. As for Petra, she wholly organised her timetable around her team's repair and maintenance of the Shielding Stations.

Gwen studied the mess' inhabitants as they ate, noting that her party was alternatively hailed, sidestepped, and glared at by nervous Mages coming and going from their duties. Perhaps it was the Da-peng suit, but Gwen felt like a bit of a bird being paraded for a captive audience.

By now, her popularity was far from when they'd first drifted in from Wellington, but Gwen didn't mind. Auditors, like their cousin tax collectors, had no friends except among colleagues. And to folk other than Te and the Tower Master of Auckland, she was both.

"Petra," she faxed over a Message to her Enchanter. "We're heading over soon. Shall I bring you something?"

"I'll be fine. I've got rations," Gwen's Mind Mage replied through the pulsing orb. "I'll need to return and finish once new supplies arrive via the ISTC. The Glyphs here are positively ancient."

"In a good way?" Gwen asked. It was a bit hard to tell when it came to Glyphs whether older was better.

"What do you think?" Petra sounded a bit frustrated.

Gwen guessed her cousin's impatience to mean that a great deal of jerry-rigging had been performed by any number of Enchanters on the original Glyph system over the years. A repair, therefore, wouldn't even be possible without first untangling the cat's cradle. Gwen possessed a similar system of magic in the beginning, with her Spellbook consisting of her Master's magic, her high school's teachings, Alesia's modding, Gunther's gifts, and various incantations she bought and found. However, since she had gained access to Henry's notes, much of her theory work had been streamlined by her studies at Cambridge.

"I'll send someone down with fresh food later," Gwen promised. And a bottle of Maotai… which should keep Petra's Russian fortitude hail and satisfied. "See you at the factory?"

"See you soon."

"Alright." Richard pushed away his plate. The kitchen ladies always gave her cousin too much food. "Shall we?"

Her first stop after lunch would be the Manufactorium for the Wands supply to the local militia. The visit would be wholly unplanned and a surprise to the suppliers, for not even Paladin Te could have expected that she would hop from mincing Mermen to splicing spreadsheets with only a lunch break between them.

"Let's go." She folded and replaced her napkin on the empty plate. "And tell Aria to send over some of the staff. I am curious to see who Walken volunteered for the antipodes."

Auckland.

Penrose Industrial Estate.

Far south of the harbour district, Auckland's urban sprawl thinned into housing for the NoMs before transforming into the square-and-rectangle blocks marked for industrial manufacturing. As a young Frontier city, Auckland enjoyed the benefits of civil planning more than most. Compared to her' home', the city's ordered lanes were free of the chaos of London's intermittently criss-crossing commerce, Spellcraft, industrial and agriculture zones.

Atop the estate, Gwen and her principal staff of auditors arrived by Flight. The rest of her team, involving the staff with the equipment, continued to meander through Auckland's congested war-time arteries.

Black as a midnight raven, she hovered ominously above what looked to be the stocking yard, her claw-tipped Da-peng boots drinking in the feeble rays diffused by the cloudy sky above. Far in the grey yonder, she could hear arrhythmic thunderclaps, signalling that Thomas and his new turtle were still going at it, hammer and tongs.

"Magister, they see us—" Lulan twirled several metal slabs with the ease of fidgeting pens. "Some of them are running inside. Should I stop them?"

"Not with those things." Gwen chuckled. "Well. At the very least, I am glad they know who I am."

"Shouldn't they be greeting us then?" Lulan cocked her head toward Gwen, confused at her delight.

"If they welcomed us," Richard said. "Then I'd be worried. Running is a sign of guilt. I mean, do we look like Fishmen? Gwen's bird suit has graced the Lumen-caster for weeks by now."

"I see." Lulan's sword thrummed. If Gwen squinted, she could just see the outline of Lulu's bloodlust. "This is just like Tonglv."

"Not exactly like that." Gwen gave the girl an affirming nod. "But we'll see just how bad it gets. Don't baulk at the greed of men, Lulu. We're all greedy for something. The important thing to know is that there is a time and place for it. Utilised properly, Greed is Good."

"Greed… is Good?" Lulan appeared shocked.

"It is…" Gwen gave the matter a moment of thought. "...a drug of sorts. Take, for example, the vivid poppy. Within its bulb, there are equal parts medicine and poison. Virtue, if misapplied, it's a dire vice—yet vice, if rationalised, can be dignified as painkillers. We're doing that now, don't you think? Back in Tonglv, all those people we sent to the Front, their associates, families and children. It's not a good feeling. On a humanitarian level, I have no doubt it's a flawed system. Yet, didn't those who stole from Tonglv know this? They did so knowing the risks, understanding they're taking rice from the bowls of the NoMs building that canal, and they did it anyway. If so, the greed we enable is merely the consequence of their free will. Greed is human nature—a perfect motivator, but the intemperance of greed? In the absence of mutual profit, general good, and social advantage, I think there should always be consequences to greed."

The Cambridge Mages behind her took notes.

Richard clapped. "Well said, Magister Song."

Gwen rolled her eyes at her cousin. "Thanks for coming to my TED talk."

Richard laughed, shaking his head and muttering something about a Gwenism, then turned to their support officer. "What do you think, Magus Pats?"

"I think we've got company." Petra motioned toward the commotion below. "I am sensing major movements of materials in the warehouses. Mana rich, high density. An underground chamber close to the forge? Do these people take us for fools?"

"Well," Gwen regarded the gathered thong of Mages pooling into an expanding semi-circle. "We are here uninvited, Pats. Cut these guys some slack, will you?"

Compared to the auditing of weasels on the Isle of Dogs, the folks in Auckland were little more than flightless Kakapos.

It took the team half a minute to confirm that the contingent of Mages below was waiting for them to land. On Petra's advice, Gwen lent her a manifested Ariel, then allowed her Enchanter to leave with the Kirin in tow. To prevent anyone from following Petra, Lulan, Richard, and five of their contemporaries from Cambridge landed near the entrance to confront the suspicious Mages, half of them holding wands.

"You're not supposed to be here, young lady," the leader of the Manufactorium spoke up at once. The abrasive speaker was a Maori Enchanter covered from chin to wrist with Ta Moko. The man was in his sixties at the minimum, as evidenced by the dried whisp of his remaining silvery hair. "This is a military installation."

Gwen wasn't sure if the man was genuinely stupid or if he was trolling her. For certain, a Magister in Da-peng armour, escorted by Mages from Cambridge, would not simply materialise without knowing their purpose.

She flashed her Sigil Glyph from The Shard. "I beg to differ. Are you the Foreman of this operation? Magus—?"

"Waaka, Wa Waaka."

"Well met, Magus Waaka. Now take me to your office or wherever you stow your accounts." Gwen took a few steps closer. "Spare the pleasantries, for the righteous has no shame."

The array of wands grew hesitant.

A few trembled dangerously, but the intent was clear for all to see. Just in case, Gwen readied her mana shield for instant invocation.

She raised her brows. “Is there a problem, Magus Waaka?”

"You don't have authorisation…" the old Mage declared without confidence. "We haven't been told—"

"Magus Waaka." Gwen knew the type from her work across two lifetimes. "By the authority from the Tower Master and as her Majesty's representative of the Auckland Frontier, I at this moment give myself the authority to inspect the Penrose Wands Manufactorium. Any Tower members who wish to obstruct me will answer to Paladin Te Wherowhero—but not before you answer to my aide—Lulu!"

A discordant series of thrums made the gathering of Mage raise their heads.

Above them, seven slabs of metal, each deadlier than its neighbour, slowly rotated like the platforms of a rotisserie chicken roaster awaiting to skewer a flock of avian barbeque.

Gwen gave the group a moment to weigh their life choices against the shiny metal bludgeons before offering a sweet carrot. "No harm will come to those who fully cooperate. As for those who deliberately waste my precious time, the Sky Tower has only so many Stasis Pods, but it does indeed have them."

The crowd murmured and parted, first by ones and twos, then as the Red Sea.

"Hughes, Jackson, Caleb," she commanded her teammates. "See that those Wands are disarmed and stowed—Richard, Spencer, Phillips, with me. Magus Waaka, lead the way. Lulu, stay out here and keep an eye out for disruptions."

Gwen watched her Cambridge Mages go about removing the cartridges from the Wands. The models given to NoMs were always cartridge fed—that way, without Mages to make the ammunition, the Mageocracy need not fear the advent of quantity becoming a quality all on its own. She wanted to say that the crowd had allowed themselves to be disarmed but hadn't the heart to fool herself.

With this many Mages and NoMs here, had Gwen arrived to audit the place alone, she would give the unhappy-looking Waaka a fifty-fifty chance of having a go.

As her team moved past the holding bay into the stockroom, she could feel her Divination sense swell with the excess volume of mana-fed stimulus from every common element. From its scale, Auckland's local manufactorium was well-resourced, possessing a dozen stations making up three assembly lines. The Mages within were a gathering of common Evokers, Transmuters and Enchanters, with nary a Magus among them, working among piles of polished Cores and processed components sorted into boxes.

At the furthermost end of the giant warehouse, two giga-forges filled every space with the chest-thumping hiss of liquid Mithril lacing into the aluminium wand alloy. Perched like a cat in one corner of the forges was Ariel, taking up the lion's share of the worker's horror, while on the pedestal with the controller, she saw the familiar figure of Petra.

On her end, Waaka took his time, but eventually, her team arrived at an office the size of an inner-city studio. The filing cabinet was a quasi-magical device with a Pocket Dimension, no larger than a bedstand.

Gwen reached for the draws, then paused when she felt Waaka's fear whine like a kicked dog. Thanks to Caliban's innate life-sense, she could taste the man's dread like the tang of metal after licking a copper pipe.

"Magus Waaka, before we commence," she asked. "Can you affirm that you've kept all records of all transactions and that inventory has been kept reasonably up to date? Do understand that the audit will go back some time, about a decade, usually."

"I… can." The Maori's face grew visibly cautious.

"Good." She took a step back. In her mind, there must be excellent reasons why a Pocket Dimension played home to the files, as anything lost in the Astral Plane was effectively lost forever. As a consultant who often engaged in the auditing phase of an acquisition, she had heard all kinds of wondrous reasons why files were lost, from fires, floods, and malicious janitors, to shredders with a conscience. "Please retrieve all the files for my team. Whatever we see—is whatever I'll assume you've kept. As a friendly reminder, I'll assume that anything we don't see has been kept from us."

Waaka's expression grew rigid, making taut the fading Ta Moko on his chin.

"Nor do we have all day," Gwen reinforced her point. "From the Enchantment on that thing, I believe the filer corresponds only to a specific Glyph, yes? I wonder what would happen if I tried to open it without the correct invocation."

"What do you mean?" Waaka moved toward the cabinet with the fatalism of a man headed for a trench at the Northern Front. With a click, he unravelled the security Glyph, then quickly entered another set of Glyphs before either of Gwen's assistants could stop the man.

A disarming Glyph? Gwen recognised the Sigils.

As it opened, a burst of spellfire flared from a point in space beside the draw. Then, in the next moment, more paper than anyone could have imagined gushed from the cabinet, flooding Gwen, Richard, and their aides from Cambridge, who responded with ungentlemanly remarks.

"It's an old system." Waaka smiled weakly at the mess. "We haven't emptied it for a decade."

Gwen quickly scanned the chaotic floor filled with manila folders and envelopes. Some closed, some bound, others opened with their white pages looking like splayed wings of spatchcocked hens. Despite the Magus' best efforts, some semblance of chronology remained.

So the man had too much self-preservation to destroy the files outright but not enough gonads to give over the data directly. No doubt, the time it would take to reorganise the floor would add days, perhaps a week, to the schedule of a regular audit—enough to hide something or organise a countermand.

But who was she?

She was the custodian of the Isle of Dogs Redevelopment Project! Tonglv's architect! Her Illusion School of PowerPoint™ might not possess a fully automated Excel program, but the organisation was so good Charlene paid CCs for the privilege.

Ten years of data from a mere Manufactorium? Her hounds from the isle, aided by Thinking Engines and data slates, would have the damn pile filed and calculated within the next twenty-four hours!

"Thank you, Magus Waaka." She gave a smile worthy of the Devourer, accentuated by the eldritch menace of her dread-bird attire. "And please refrain from telling me you're a busy man. You mustn't go anywhere yet. There'll be questions very soon, first from Magus Kuznetsova once she finishes her calculations—and then more from me."

Friday.

The Sky Tower was in an uproar.

Not because there was a Shoal out there threatening to engulf the city wholesale, but because two members of the Grey Faction had been stripped of their positions, and a third had faced Stasis.

At the heart of the uproar was a problem within the Penrose Manufactorium, one of the largest in Auckland. According to the auditors from the Shard, materials had been going missing steadily over the first few years of the last decade. Then when an "efficiency" reform was applied, the raw material costs had steadily climbed until it was as much as three-quarters above The Shard's market rates for the same period. Even so, an excessive volume of Wands had been retired to "defects". Yet, the materials were never recycled, nor were the Wands repaired and returned to service.

And finally, even when the Wands made it to the hands of the militia, the Core quality, the HDM cartridges, and the number delivered did not match the manifests attached.

It was a level of kleptocracy absurd enough to make Petra proud of Moscow.

In a rage, Te Wherowhero had led a group of the Tower's neutral Mages to raid one of the suspected Grey Warehouses, finding boxes upon boxes of mint-condition wands, the best Penrose could produce, kept in unassuming dusty storages.

A second raid, organised by the Militant Faction, uncovered a half-hundred kilo of Mithril, collected from shavings and other waste material, inside the deep storage belonging to the compound of one of the aforementioned "Stasis" candidates.

In the council sessions, the level of protest had reached decibels its vaulted roof never enjoyed, with Mages threatening one another with oblivion. Others demanded redress, splitting Auckland into two stanch factions of those who wished the city would cease its audits and focus on the Mer-threat against those who ordered a deep scouring of the rot that had taken root to survive the Mer-threat.

And the culprit of all this, a certain Devourer, was enjoying her allotted rest and relaxation with a blue-blooded lord currently nursing his bruised ego atop the flight deck of the Sky Tower.

"What's the score today?" Gwen sipped her freshly mixed L&P feijoa soda with gin, allowing the refreshing beverage to linger a little too long on her tongue.

"Quack!" Dede tossed a cucumber in the air, then chewed the thing in a most disturbing, un-duck-like manner.

"Advantage to me as usual." Thomas sat opposite on a deck lounge, his uniform open to expose a proud chest of orange hairs, now matted with bloody bruises and a slight concavity where he had taken a hit that dented his armour. "I am getting close. I can feel Zippy's will slipping when we duel. Maybe a week, maybe two. I want my dominion to be complete and total."

Gwen snickered. "I bet. How's the armour? Wyrm hide can't be cheap to repair."

"My Enchanter will source the materials from London. Rare mats are hard to auction for the likes of yourself, but we've got plenty of it in storage."

"What else have you got in that vault of yours?" Gwen took another sip. "Is it as rich as the Norfolk's?"

"The Holland's vault has items and materials you cannot even begin to comprehend." Thomas winced as he laughed. "Cough—you know, if you had played along, you could be taking whatever you wished from it right now. I can't brag that we have the world's loot, but our House has done its share of pillaging in the last five centuries. I am positive some ingredients there won't be seen again unless certain species can regenerate from extinction."

"Or travel here again from their home Elemental Planes," Gwen reminded the man. "That's my main concern. The gods know what will come through for an excursion in the next decade."

Hearing her prophesy, Gwen's man relented in nursing his swollen abdomen. Earlier, when she had watched the young lord receive healing from his Cleric, she bore witness to the spectacle of a man howling at the high heavens while finger-sized shards of Wyrm scale were extracted. She had asked Tom why he refused to rest in the infirmary, and then Thomas told her that it was a psychic pact between him and the turtle, whatever that meant.

"You really believe that eh?" Thomas belonged to the camp of the climate sceptics who could understand the dangers posed by Spectre but not the looming spectre of double-strength hurricanes with a quadruple incidence rate. "I've read your report, but London won't have food issues either way."

"London isn't the world. London will be fine," Gwen reiterated her point. "Places like Shalkar will grow far more common if lakes start drying out, mudflats become rivers or lakes, or deserts expand into tablelands. The more Fire Seas start popping up where we can't manage. The more Beast Tides will occur. That or Triffidus-infestations where only tundras had existed. When that happens, our cities will be sieged, supply lines will be disrupted, global trade will stifle, the economy will suffer, the poor will be jobless, and—"

"Alright, I get the picture." Thomas' eyes linger on what she hoped was the middle-distance of her ideas rather than her teasing pair of white stalks scissored over the chair's lip. "But you have to admit it's a bit far-fetched."

"Suit yourself." Gwen turned her chin up at the young lord. "If the Militant wants to miss the boat again and lose more money, that's not on me."

"You're too cruel." Thomas swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva. "I am hurt."

Before Thomas could speak again, their banter was interrupted by the sound of heels kicking up a fuss against the galvanised metal of the sky deck. The intruder was Aria Campbell-Ravenport, whose presence Gwen had been expecting.

If Ruì was a Mage, Gwen mused. Would she be in a similar position as Aria? China had its faults, but it certainly loved its NoMs. For the Ivory Tower she wished to construct, there would be significant resistance against the inclusion of NoM officers and managers ruling over rank and file Mages. But according to Lulan, the young woman she handpicked for the Tonglv account's management took to power like a Drake to the heavens. Perhaps Ruxin could help? She entertained herself with a curious hypothesis. Could NoMs become Vessels? Hopefully, the recipient wouldn't explode like an overripe cherry tomato.

"Magister Song." Aria raised her voice a titter as she approached. "Your application for Sydney has been approved. You're free to leave now, with an expected duration of a month."

"Great." Gwen stood, halted Thomas when he tried to stand, then stowed her chair and belongings with a swish of her hand. "I am on call, correct?"

"You are, Ma'am."

"And the others?"

"Mistress Lulan is free to come and go as she pleases as a free agent unattached to the Tower," Aria reminded her. "Magus Kuznetsova has vetoed her vacation and wishes to stay and study the Barrier Stones. Master Huang is happy to return with you to Australia."

"I'll stay close." Lulan emerged from thin air. Earlier, Gwen had invited Lulu to join her on the deck, but her Sword Mage was far too professional about roleplaying a bodyguard after the scare with the Dragon Turtles.

"Of course, Lulu. What's Yue doing?"

"Magus Bai's team will remain in Auckland until the threat of the tide is diminished."

Gwen guessed that Yue's attachment to Auckland and her pal Whetu dove far deeper than the casual sentimentality and duty she felt she owed.

"And our men and women?"

"They'll be on a rotating roster."

Gwen nodded, leaving the Cambridge Mages' leave to Aria's discretion. Compared to the table staff, her R&R was well-earned, for a War Mage had certain rights the Tower must respect. Since her arrival, Gwen had been on three sorties and had held back two Tides before they bloomed into full-forced land invasions. Considering her achievements, Auckland had no right to refuse her request. On the other hand, the Tower was happy to see her go while their internal accounts were balanced. Gwen's auditors would take time to take names and seize assets, and the Greys were still in the process of fighting back tooth-and-nail for every HDM recovered. Rather than focusing all the fear and negativity toward her team with her presence, it was best to send Gwen away for the moment so that when she returned, a new wave of iron-fisted accounting could be conducted on the bruised and exhausted survivors.

"I'll make a call first. Cheers, Tom. Good luck." Gwen bowed her head at the waving lord as a goodbye. "And thank you, Aria. Don't work yourself too hard, and if anything outside your scope of work happens, Message me immediately."

"None would dare to interrupt the work of the Shard," Aria assured her. "The loss would far outweigh the gains. Besides, Lord Thomas is here for a while yet."

"Indeed. Before we're rivals, we're the face of the Mageocracy," Thomas offered himself in what Gwen saw as a gesture of goodwill. "If anyone attacks your accountants, I'll ensure the Stasis Chamber is the best thing they could wish for."

Gwen thanked the man again, gathered Lulan, Messaged Richard, and then made her way toward the Divination Array. She notified Dede and Golos as well. Her duck Gwen could afford to fit into the ISTC, but Golos would have to make his way over or wait for her summons. Whatever their choices, she was happy to entertain them.

As for herself, her mind quickly flew toward the horizon of the South Sea.

Just what, she wondered, would a serpent of the Dreamtime, one that had existed since the epoch of the Thunder Lizards, know about the phantom menace of the climate crisis?

There is another reason why Gwen's company to Sydney did not include Yue or her team.

The ISTC exchange between Auckland and Sydney was just over two thousand kilometres, costing a hefty chunk of HDMs that would make most Magisters' eyes water. While Gwen could afford such a holiday, the cost for Yue and her team's transportation would have to come out of someone's pockets, and neither Sydney nor Auckland had HDMs to spare on whims and frivolities.

As the Sydney interchange was embedded within the Tower, Gwen told Richard to prepare for her visit to her Opa in Hunter's region. In the meanwhile, she paid a visit upstairs to Gunther and Alesia.

Unfortunately, Alesia was away on duty, though she found Gunther in-between meetings.

"I've been keeping a close eye on the reports. Well done on the Auckland front." Her brother-in-craft gave her a pat on the shoulder, then brought her in for a hug. "I feel Master would be very happy if he were to see you as you are now."

Gwen aided the awkward German with a returned pat on the man's broad back. "It's nothing, brother. I was just doing my job."

"Nonetheless, a pack of Dragon Turtles! And an Elemental Prince as well. Well done doesn't cover the half of it." The man relaxed. "Our very own War Mage, I am almost tempted to bring you back to Sydney."

"I'll be happy to return." Gwen pulled herself away, finally finding the opportunity to introduce her shadow. "Gunther, this is Lulan Li. From Shanghai, if you recall?"

"Master Shultz." Her Sword Mage bowed from the waist. "I have great admiration for your duty and prowess, Tower Master. It's an honour to meet you."

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Lulan. Thank you for keeping an eye on our troublesome sister."

Gunther extended a hand to shake the Sword Mage's trembling digits. Lulan grew red as a beet, unused to such an expression from a man higher in status than her Sect Leader by order of magnitudes.

Gwen amused herself with Lulan's starstruck expression of child-like wonder and awe, glad that Lulu was still capable of such an expression. "So, should I file to return to Sydney?"

"And leave your HDMs, your lord and ladies, your Isle of Dogs?" Gunther laughed, retracting his hand so that Lulan could relax. "Sydney's too small of a city for someone of your talents, Gwen."

"That isn't very convincing, brother." Gwen snorted. "Coming from the Morning Star, Gunther von Shultz."

The man shook his head. "So, you'll be visiting the Serpent, then?"

"I shall. Will you and Allie be coming this time? Remember what we discussed?"

To her surprise, the man declined. "No, I prefer to let sleeping serpents lie."

"But you're my siblings," Gwen said. "And in China, Ayxin and Ruxin are pledged with the CCP or the other way around. I recently heard that Sythinthimryr from Carrauntoohil has a pact with the Hollands. You don't think having Almudj aide you would help?"

Gunther invited her to relax. "Gwen, if we wanted to contact Almudj, then your Master would have done it. Alesia and I aren't very involved with the non-Australian period of Master's life, but I still know he's an acquaintance of Demi-god beings, like the Elves from Tryfan. Don't you think they could help? Why do you think Master never asked about the Snake? What had he said?"

"He said there's no point because Almudj won't see things in the limited perspective of mortals."

"Correct, and that point hasn't changed," Gunther said. "It's been five years since you've met the Snake. Has it ever been interested in anything you've done?"

"I guess not," Gwen confessed. Other than cleansing her Yinglong's blessing, Al's chill was glacial.

"Go see your Patron." Gunther's tone grew serious. "But keep us out of it, keep Sydney out of it. If it wants something, let us know immediately. Meanwhile, demand nothing, certainly not for me, Alesia, the city, or Oceania. We can't… afford the favour, nor can I imagine the cost of repaying it if it does feel generous."

"Alright, I understand," Gwen relented. "So I'll be taking just Richard and Lulu with me, then? Yes, I'll take care."

She did not believe it was a big deal for Al to dabble the pair with its love juice. Certainly, she would love to have a wonderful nephew or niece come next year.

"Take extreme care," Gunther warned her while looking at Lulan. "The Snake is infamous for disliking… strangers."

"I'll be careful," Gwen assured the Tower Master, suddenly feeling paranoid. Are Richard and co strangers? She hadn't assumed so, but now, she suddenly wasn't so sure.