Time Elapsed: 03:52:59

They stood on the crumbling curtain wall of an old fortress. Situated on top of a hill, the fortress presided over rolling hills of green as far as the eye could see in any direction.

This place had clearly been abandoned long ago, for grass grew over old walkways and young trees pushing their way up between stones. Where a once proud banner had hung against the castle exterior now remained a few tatters of rotted cloth, feebly flapping in the wind.

Severance looked around, curious despite the bone-deep exhaustion clawing at him. "Where are we?"

"A place that has been forgotten," Jack Coyote answered. He stood on the wall nearby, searching the grounds within and without with careful attention. "We'll be alone here."

At that, Severance's eyes snapped to the tank. He wasn't sure why Jack had suddenly dragged him off, but he could almost see the red warning flags going up one by one.

Warily, he asked, "What do you want?"

"To talk." Jack gestured around them. "If anyone tries to approach, we'll see them long before they reach us. It's just us, Severance. No one will hear us, and whatever is said here will not leave this place. You have my word."

Severance watched the other player, who was easily as tall as he himself was, but with a whole lot more muscle and armor. If it came down to a fight between them, Severance didn't think he had much hope of winning. Unless he ran.

He didn't think Jack brought him to this secluded place to fight, though.

"Okay, so?"

Jack's semi-permanent glare softened a little, downgrading into a still-intense stare that was only mildly less intimidating. "Good. I want you to understand that."

That no one will come to save me when you decide to kill me? Severance couldn't help the morbid thought. It was a stupid thought. Jack Coyote, for all his flaws, seemed a decent sort. He wouldn't stoop so low as to murder someone for no good reason.

Unlike me.

Severance folded his arms across his chest as goosebumps rose on his flesh. There was a cool wind blowing in from the east, and his burnt rags did little to shield him.

"Hold on a second," he said. "It's kind of cold up here, so..."

A small nudge at his Inventory, and a set of black clothing appeared in his arms. He didn't feel like freezing while sorting out whatever issue the other player had.

Jack said nothing, though his eyes narrowed a fraction. Not that Severance noticed; he'd already turned his back and was pulling off the shredded remains of his coat. He took a moment to look at them, feeling both sorrow and guilt at the coat's destruction. Mouna had made it for him, and now her efforts were ruined.

His tattered clothes were tossed into Inventory, after which he quickly dressed in the black loose trousers and fitted tunic of his Clan. His boots were also wrecked, but he had the foresight to grab another pair earlier as well.

Once dressed and feeling a whole lot more comfortable, he turned back to find Jack frowning at him. Honestly, did this man never do anything else?

"What? Is something wrong?"

"Yes." Jack's answer was immediate. "Tell me, healer. How long have you been able to feel pain in this world?"

Severance felt the ground drop away from beneath him, leaving him mentally flailing. "Uh... what?"

"These bodies are constructs," Jack gestured at them both. "A blueprint that can be restored at any time. Sure, it looks real, it bleeds, it walks, it talks, but it's just an empty shell that we pilot around. We don't breathe, Severance. Or rather, we don't need to. We do it simply because we're accustomed to doing it. Everything we see and hear and sense—it's all simulated. It's not real."

Severance felt faint. And dizzy. This was all out of the blue, like a sucker punch to the gut. He hadn't even been able to brace for the blow. "I'm not sure what-?"

"I don't know how they've managed it," Jack Coyote went on. "But it doesn't really matter. What my point is, there is no way you should be able to feel pain. So, tell me."

He advanced, and Severance instinctively backpedaled until he felt the cold stone parapet behind him.

Jack leaned in, uncomfortably close. "What's going on here?"

Severance's thoughts spun, trying to figure out how Jack had found him out. As far as he could remember, he'd been pretty good at healing himself quickly, and he hadn't let his own injuries hinder himself from doing his job.

Still, it didn't matter whether it was true or not. The warnings from Olen and Maun rang fresh in his mind. It's a weakness. You know too much, and if anyone finds out, they'll use that against us. There only was one way he could respond.

"I don't know what you mean."

"No," Jack growled. "Don't even try. I know what I saw."

"And what did you see?" Severance leaned back; every muscle tensed. He wasn't sure if he should try to run. The tank had him all but caged against the parapet; getting past him would be difficult.

Jack glared at him.

A lifetime ago, Severance might have flinched from the sheer force of it. Now he just held the stare, keeping silent.

"It's your clan, isn't it?"

Severance's jaw tightened. It was scary how intuitive Jack was. Now he really didn't dare say anything.

With a low snarl of irritation, Jack abruptly stepped back. "All right, then. You won't talk, so I will. Let's start with you."

Severance doubted that Jack would know much, not when they had hardly even talked to each other. Yet that didn't stop the worry from spiking his heart rate.

"You're a Battle Dancer, a class that can both heal and dps. Most Dancers seem to focus on the former, but you—you've built up the latter. You're used to fighting. In addition, you move like a Shade. Actually no, that's not quite right. You move like a ghost. Not even Shades can pull that off. How is that possible, I wonder?"

Severance opened his mouth to refute, because surely that had to be somewhat of an exaggeration, but Jack didn't even give him a chance.

"Also curious is how you can somehow Revive yourself. No healer, Battle Dancer or otherwise, can do that. Isn't that just a little strange?"

"It's not strange," Severance muttered. "Everybody's been Gifted by now."

"Oh, it's Gifts, is it?" The corner of Jack's lip curled in a not-quite sneer. His eyes went to Severance's shoulder in a very pointed way. "Then take a look at this."

Jack unbuckled the gauntlet on his arm, then pulled it off. Beneath it was a thick gray sleeve, which he pushed up to reveal his bare arm. Turning his hand over, he showed Severance the inside of his wrist.

He had a clan marking there. Etched in solid gray lines was a wooden flute, a tassel hanging from a small loop by its neck. It was a simple, rather ordinary design, but the tassel itself was a lot darker in color than the flute itself. Severance thought it weird that Jack had a musical instrument of all things tattooed onto his skin. It didn't exactly fit the scary big tank thing he had going on.

"What clan are you from?" He asked, partly because he wanted to clarify, and mostly because he just wanted to get the spotlight off of himself.

"The Academy," Jack answered, then coldly said, "Don't try and change the subject. Look at this and tell me what's different."

Severance wearily rubbed his eyes. He wasn't sure what the tank was getting at. "I don't know."

Jack tapped the flute. "This was given to me by a shop owner in the Academy. He's a distant relative of one of the clan leaders, but doesn't actually have much pull in the Clan. This," and he pointed to the significantly darker tassel, "was given to me by a clan leader's granddaughter. Eventually, she'll become a leader herself."

"Okay." Severance thought he might be starting to understand. "So, the color difference is related to who gave you the Gift?"

"Yes," Jack pulled down his sleeve. Then he pointed at Severance's shoulder. "I've only seen one black marking before, and it was given by a leader. You've got at least three Gifts from what I've seen you do, but looking at that? I'm going to guess you have five. And all are from clan leaders. Anything you want to say about that?"

"What am I supposed to say?" Feeling somewhat defensive, Severance covered his shoulder with his hand.

"So you're not denying it."

"I'm not-!" Severance narrowed his eyes, all but biting his tongue. No, it was better that he kept quiet, lest he give the tank more fuel.

"Who is your clan?" Jack pressed. "They must be quite powerful to have so many leaders."

Powerful? Severance wanted to laugh. Instead, he shook his head, partly in disbelief. "Not really. They're very small."

"Small," Jack said flatly.

"A few dozen." Severance kept it vague. He wanted the tank to understand that the Veiled weren't some big powerful force. They weren't anything he needed to concern himself with.

"How many Outsiders do they host?" Jack's glower was back in full force.

Severance shrugged. "It's just me."

"I see. Then they're throwing everything they have at you. That still doesn't explain how a small clan of mere dozens has so many at the leader level."

It did if they used to be a huge clan that numbered in the hundred thousands. But Severance wasn't going to mention that.

"No, that doesn't line up." Jack gave Severance a dark look. "Those three that escorted us to the raid, they're high-ranking members of your clan, aren't they?"

That was one way to put it. "I guess."

"They're killers," Jack said bluntly.

Was that supposed to be news? It almost made Severance sigh. He wondered if Maun would be insulted or pleased by that sentiment. "I know."

The tank watched Severance for a moment, then his expression became pinched. "I guess you do. Who did they make you kill earlier?"

Alarm thrummed through Severance, and couldn't hold back a startled flinch. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I-"

His throat closed, cutting off all sound. He could only stare blankly at Jack Coyote while his heart leapt in its cage. It thudded heavily against the bars.

Ervante. The creepy Trader who forcefully persuaded players to switch sides.

Fauna Geriolis. An unknown woman who the Veiled said needed to die.

The rest of the details came like a storm's deluge, heavy, dark, and relentless. He'd watched Evante die four times. Each death painted the ground in fresh crimson. And the woman, Fester—no, Fauna—she'd-

He swallowed, trying to dislodge the burning lump that settled in his throat like hot coal. She had cried the last time, he remembered. Soft sobs and moisture that wasn't blood dripping from her face. The gag had stifled her voice, but that hadn't mattered. The tone had been unmistakable.

She had been frightened.

He curled into himself, unable to bear the sheer weight of everything his mind threw mercilessly at him.

His clan had decided she needed to die. And that was that.

"Yes," Jack said quietly. "Was that the first they had you kill?"

"No," the word came out before Severance could even think to stop it. "It was-"

And then his mind caught up and he cut himself off. Heat burned across his face and he spun away, unable to bear the weight of that steady amber gaze.

He felt like throwing up.

A hand dropped onto his shoulder. It didn't squeeze, didn't move, but sat, heavy and unyielding. It felt strange. He didn't have the energy to throw it off.

"How old are you?"

The question caught Severance off guard. What did it matter? "Old enough."

"How old?"

"Eighteen."

"A kid, then. Even here, they're taking kids and turning them into soldiers." There was a dark bitterness in Jack's voice. "It's all the same."

"I'm not a soldier," Severance muttered. What a ridiculous idea.

Jack scoffed. "You are now. That's what the clans are doing, haven't you realized? And yours is one of the worst."

That made Severance turn to face him, suddenly annoyed. This guy had some nerve! He didn't even know the Veiled, and yet here he was painting them as the worst.

"That's not true! They're nowhere as bad as the Free Traders. Or the Chosen. My clan is-"

"They're manipulating you," Jack cut in. "They tell you what you want to hear, give you nice things, Gifts, and then they'll start pushing back, asking you to do small things. Which you'll do, because you feel obligated to, and then it'll escalate until today, where you kill at their command like a loyal pet. Because let's face it, we Outsiders make the best frontline soldiers. We can't die."

Severance stared at the tank, and felt a rare thrum of anger, just beneath his skin. It made his hands tremble, so he clenched them tight to hide it. "That's not how they are."

"No?" Jack's features were set like cold stone. "Because that's exactly what I see."

"Then you're seeing wrong," Severance insisted. "You know nothing about them, or what they're fighting for. But I do. And I'm with them, for whatever it takes."

"Oh, I see how it is. Told you the truth, haven't they? Now you're in too deep, so you'll justify anything they do."

Severance inhaled sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"I think you know." Jack finally smiled, but it didn't even come near to his golden eyes. "You care far too much about this clan and its killers. It defies reason, especially since they are exactly the type of faction that passive people like you would avoid in a video game. And now you're tormented by the blood on your hands. You've become a murderer and it sits poorly on you. The truth of the matter is, Severance, you'd only be affected by killing someone in Eliona if you knew it was real. You can't kill players, because we're just constructs. But a living, breathing person who was born and raised in Eliona? That's a different story."

Stunned, Severance sort of fell back and leaned heavily onto the parapet. It was all his legs could do to support him. Jack knew?

"How-?"

"I think if any player spent enough time in Eliona, they would start to pick up the clues. Though whether they accept it or ignore it is up to them." Jack paused, his attention dropping to the sword sheathed to his hip. He ran light fingers over its leather-wrapped hilt. "As for me, I wanted to be certain, so I went to one of the Academy's leaders and asked him."

It was a struggle just to breath. There was too much going on right now, and Severance was having trouble processing it all.

Are you saying, he remembered asking of Olen, that Eliona is real?

And Olen had said, Yes.

He looked at Jack with haunted eyes. "What did he say?"

For the first time, Jack actually snorted. "The bastard said yes. And then he got his granddaughter to give me a Gift and had me promise not to speak of it again."

They watched each other, neither of them moving. Wind gusted, tugging Severance's dark clothing and making the blue silk panels flap against Jack Coyote's legs.

He knows, Severance thought, and felt the strangest urge to laugh into the wind.