Technus kept his organic eye pinched closed as his face was bathed in scorching heat and a light like a thousand suns turned everything around him as bright as sunlit snow. His welding torch slowly drifted across the surface of his latest creation, his mechanical eye still able to observe and guide his actions without being burned to a crisp.

By now, the point he had to make about that should be clear as cut glass.

Bypasses had winced and murmured at his actions each time they passed by, often several per hour. But soon enough, the light of the arc welder vanished and a small flicker of relief ran through Technus.

Why? Because he wouldn't have to endure that any longer. Because his newest invention using the gun parts he had purchased earlier today was finally finished.

Leg-pistons creaking as he rose to his feat, Technus opened his living eye and looked down at the long, thin musket cradled in his segmented fingers. Every part of it had been crafted and calibrated into a facsimile of Erathis' godly perfection; twelve-bore rounds were fed into the breech through his ammunition tube – the one formerly attached to his pistol, but it had taken a matter of seconds to switch the device over and make the necessary adjustments. From there, they sat, eternally waiting and ready to fly from the long, dark-grey barrel that gleamed in the Milisevran sun. Over the trigger was a thick strip of metal looped into a guard, to protect the mechanism from damage should it ever need to be swung backwards quickly.

And there would be swinging. For this was not a normal musket.

His axe had been re-purposed using the parts he had purchased; the cog-toothed head had been worked into the firearm's butt, with the long handle now acting as the forestock while the muzzle protruded from the very end like the pommel of a sword.

The axe-rifle. A combination of both blade and ballistics.

He had conceived this weapon through the gifts of innovation that Erathis gave to all. And now, at last, he would put it to work in Her name. For before long, the tournament would be over and he could seek the fallen star.

He merely had to wait for his begrudging allies to win the squabbling of organics first. Much to his chagrin, even though he didn't want to admit it.

Rotating his head, Technus scanned the tourney grounds from his current position. He quickly located the crowd of organics moving to another part of the area, indicating that the archery contest was over and they were no moving to the next event.

Affirmative. He was one step closer to his goal.

But that feeling of progress and purpose immediately corroded when Technus then saw something else – Stalk, Ren and a few other huddled, dark shapes sweeping into the yellow tent that had been given to his companion's team at the start of this tournament. Sir Logan was holding the flap open, glancing warily around as he did so, and then entered himself, his shoulders hunched and visibly tense.

Technus felt a rattle inside his circuits then, his still fingers beginning to flex as he watched, one eye refocusing and the other twitching as a single thought shot through his CPU:

'What was the purpose of this action?'

Glancing up to his shoulder, Technus willed the compartment built into his upper back open before lifting the axe-rifle into position and lowering it carefully into the holster he had built for it and added to himself earlier. He then immediately approached the yellow tent, audio receptors clicking in his ears as he willed his body to propel more power to them.

So he could listen to what was going on. To what they were up to.

~~~

In the tent their team had been provided, Logan sat with his arms folded and fingers flexing as he and the others listened. The jaune fabric seemed to echo as Ren explained everything, from beginning to end – the Gust of Wind spell, the likely Hat of Disguise, and Warble's sketch.

The clinching moment came when Warble turned her notepad around to reveal a perfect stencil drawing of Nilrem's face, smirking as brazenly as you pleased upon the parchment, the sight of which caused metal plates to scrape past each other as Logan closed one of his hands into a fist.

"Was there anything else?" he asked at length.

Ren's expression was pensive before he said "No, I think that was everything."

Logan nodded, "Thank you, Ren. For everything." As he spoke, he patted the wizard on the back and managed a smile, but as the thought that Milton and his cronies were cheating and getting away with it, getting places in the tournament they didn't earn by deeds, he felt the smile slip away and his eyebrows pinch. "Well, if we didn't have proof before, we do now," he stated to the others.

"I fuckin' knew it!" Stalk nodded vigorously as his eyes lit up. "The guy from the Green Team – Sir Whosit de Whocares – he was always waiting until after the wind died down before firing. Might suspicious if you ask me, given what we now know..."

"Not just suspicious – guilty as shit!" Warble called out, and a playful clap sounded in the air as brother and sister gave each other a high-five. Nearby, Finnan jumped down from where he sat on a box, grinning eagerly as he started to move that way to join in...

But then Bree flicked her gaze towards her children and said "Stalk, Warble. Language." Her sharp scolding made Finnan gain the look of a scared child, but it lightened Logan's mood just enough for him to chuckle, and he wasn't the only one – Arabella did much the same.

Surprisingly, while Logan knew she had helped spot the disguise spell, he noticed that the princess remained quiet until the explanation was finished, unfazed even though her name was never mentioned by Ren. Letting Finnan flop down on the floor at her feet, she reached down to stroke his hair before looking to Logan and asking, "He knew it was coming, wasn't he?"

Logan met her gaze, noticing how she straightened up stiffly and matronly when she spoke of this betrayal of the rules, her fine features looking more pale and severe. He didn't blame her at all – the very idea of this happening made his own mouth twist into scowl, a fire roiling in his heart and the scorching, wrathful heat spreading through his body second by second.

""He must have done – I'd bet on it," he snarled as he shoved himself to his feet. "The Green Team are behind this! They're cheating to win the tournament!"

His eyes scanned the party to find all of their eyes lighting up in shock and realization.

"I told you that the shield was spewing snakes!" Finnan shouted, arms gesticulating forward.

"You did, Finnan..." Logan told him with a nod. "My only regret is that we didn't listen to you sooner." As he then ran his gaze over each of them, Stalk craned his neck up at him from where he sat beside his mother... then sighed and hung his head.

"For once... I gotta admit that the paladin is right," the kenku said. "This is all just lines up too well."

Bree placed a hand on her son's shoulder, smiling at him even as his words came out like someone had pulled them from Stalk's beak with hot pincers. Meanwhile, Ren's arms moved to hug himself as he leaned forwards, and his eyes flicked frantically back and forth in their sockets as if searching for an answer.
"What are we going to do, though?" he asked, his tone squeaky with panic. "We can't just ask them to stop."

"Well, we could try," Finnan said.

"I don't think Milton and his cronies are gonna take that standing, little guy," Stalk replied, and when Finnan cocked his head, he added "That means best case scenario, they pull their fancy noble ranks and shut us down; worst case scenario, we get cut to pieces there and then."

Logan lifted a hand to grip his chin, jaw clenching and teeth grinding. "Unfortunately, this time Stalk's right..." he murmured through his teeth. "Even if Romain stands with us, he's only a landed knight. And Arabella... well, she's trying to keep her status a secret."

Arabella looked his way. "I am..." she said, her expression pale and her eyes almost mournful for a moment before she lifted her chin and said, "But I'm willing to reveal who I am if it means we can expose Milton, Anseis and Fulber for what they've done."
Logan felt a flicker of relief and gratitude, his mouth parting to thank Arabella. But then she continued, making a point that made him pause to think.
"Even being a princess, I have little authority here. But I can think of one royal who would be able, if we can bring the truth to him..."

A jolt shot through Logan's heart. "King Charles!"

The elven princess nodded. "Yes."

If Logan had been a bolder man, he might have kissed Arabella there and then. "That's true!" he said, eyes wide as he pointed in her direction. "If we go to him before the mounted joust starts, we might be able to-"

But then something cut him off.

"Negative," came a regrettably familiar voice, followed by the regrettably familiar clunking of metal feet pounding the ground. Logan turned his head and stood as he saw Technus march in through the tent flap, his sheer bulk pushing the thick fabric aside as if it were cobwebs.

At the sight of him, Warble's eyes bulged, and there sound like a flock of frightened axebeaks sounded as she and Bree they leapt to their feet and backed away. "Uh, little bro..." Warble asked "... what in the ever-loving fuck is that?"

Bree didn't scold her daughter this time – she was too busy stepping between her children and reaching for the knife at her belt, even as she looked no less terrified as those who'd never seen their guest.

Or, as Finnan abruptly put as he grinned cheerily from ear to ear: "Oh, he's just Technus! One of our friends!"

The hulking cyborg turned his head the halfling's way and briefly looked indignant. "Negative – I am not your 'friend'..." he replied. "You should be grateful I have come to offer you advice following your use of such... erroneous nomenclature."

As ever, no sooner was Technus in the room than Logan felt his eyes narrow and his mood sour. "Speak your piece then, Technus. We've not the time, nor the patience for you to punctuate your every word with insults."

Technus' red eye flicked up, the lines in his sallow, grey-green skin fading for a moment as he and Logan locked gazes. "Affirmative..." he said stiffly before continuing. "Your present evidence is insufficient and insignificant. None at the tournament will be able to compute how Nilrem could have done this; thousands have seen him in the stands beside the royal box – even King Charles himself, no doubt." The cyborg then rotated his head, eyes fixing on Bree. "Additionally, kenku are hardly reliable witnesses – they are perceived by locals as untrustworthy and deceptive. The sketch of the wizard's face will be dismissed out of hand, and anything that they say will have no weight should you attempt any accusations."

Logan felt a coiling, twisting sensation in his back and shoulders as he listened, muscle and bone tightening with every droning word Technus said. But he bit his tongue until the desire to lash out died down... because he begrudgingly knew that the cyborg had a point.

Arabella then chimed in, her eyes alight with hope as she demurely asked, "Do you have any suggestions, Technus?"

Technus briefly flicked his eyes her way. "I would advise the gathering of more evidence. Recommend witnesses and material proof. Otherwise, nothing you say will have any worth."

Stalk smirked brazenly. "So it'll be like your faith, then?"

Technus' gaze snapped around, mechanical eye homing in on Stalk like a beacon. With a hiss, steam blasted from the Tech-Cleric's mask, ruffling the hem of his hood and coating the surrounding in slithering wisps of pale, thin vapour. "For now, yes, But as with all things, the truth will come out eventually. Just as all organics will succumb to the certainty that machines will rule this world, the truth of Milton's treachery will be discovered in time."

Logan's heart sank. "How much time, Technus? If we don't move now, the Green Team might win the tournament and steal the prize away from us. And I can't let that happen." As he spoke, he took a firmer stance with his feet. "The honour of questing for the Lake of Virtue should go to the most righteous. Not to mention that, if we don't win, we can't accompany you on your quest for this fallen meteorite."

The idea only came to him right as he was speaking, but it seemed like the best thing to say. Technus had no love for Bahamut – he'd been open as a broken barrel about that.

His own god, though, was another story.

At his words, Technus' living eye suddenly became vacant, staring unblinkingly onward and perfectly focused on nothing at all. His expression was still as a statue, save for the occasional twitch, as if something was buffering or cycling through his mind. Eventually, he lifted his head and responded.

"Affirmative. But an accusation without evidence to support it is like a foundry with no fuel – a purposeless waste of space."

"Oh, like your religion again!" Stalk cawed, his and his sister's eyes both glittering as they shared a snide grin.

"Enough, Stalk..." Logan had to bite back the groan in his tone as he said that, and when the kenku opened his beak, the look in his red eyes instantly gave away what he was going to say. And so, raising a hand, Logan replied with "Whatever fun you're trying to have, we need each other right now."

Milton was a Count – a high-ranking nobleman, more than likely to have followers and supporters beyond Nilrem and his personal flock of sycophantic sword-wielding team members. And Nilrem was the Wizard Royale – a confidante and advisor of the King himself, if he assumed correctly.

They would have to use every asset they had in turn, hence why he than turned to Arabella and said

"Arabella... I wouldn't ask this of you any other time, but I appreciate you willing to do reveal your status for us. More than I can put into words..."

Arabella smiled at him. "You needn't do anything, Logan. I can see how much this tournament means to you, and for the same of those you care about..." she said before glancing down at her dress and adding, "Besides, I could only keep up the ruse for so long, I suppose..."

"Understatement of the tenday there, Treacle," Stalk replied snarkily, eyeing Arabella's dress sense himself. "I ain't gonna try and pretend I'm some saint, but I've got things ridin' on this victory too. So I'm takin' your side here, paladin – if those bastards are gonna cheat, we can't let 'em!"

Logan arched an eyebrow, both wary and intrigued. And he wasn't alone.

"Pardon me, Stalk, but what do you mean?" Arabella asked him, her tone far from confrontational.

Stalk glanced at her and said nothing, but Arabella's query was filled in by Bree, who smiled and said, "Well, if my husband is to be believed, Stalk thinks that going on this quest might be the best way to get in good with the gods and lift our people's curse," she replied. "And if that's the case, then you have friends in the Seekers of Flight."

"Mum!" Stalk whined to a chorus of giggles and chuckles from around the room. Even Logan was smiling despite himself.

The fact that Stalk was doing this for his own reasons didn't surprise him in the slightest – but again, they needed each other right now.

Besides, the reason was the wellbeing of his family. Logan could understand that more than most.

"Can we count on your help, Bree and Warble?" he asked once the laughter had died down.

Warble met his gaze. "Trust us, love – we Seekers are some of the best snoops in the land. Even spoken words can't escape us!" she said, grinning toothlessly. "We'll find what you need, somehow..."

The end of her sentence seemed a tad hesitant, but the look in her eyes betrayed that she was only uncertain about where they'd find what the party needed – not that they couldn't get it.

"Negative." Technus suddenly cut in. "The time remaining in the tournament today is insufficient for you to gather substantial proof of what has been happening. To present it to the king would be a fool's errand."

Logan fought the urge to roll his eyes at Technus being so obstructive to their plan. Instead, he looked the Tech-Cleric in his human eye and said "Even if it is, Technus, it's still worth a try. The King is a Chosen of Bahamut – a servant of justice if there ever was one.

"You know, Cog Boy... for a cleric, you're a man of little faith," Stalk added with a smirk, a smile immediately shot across Logan's face as he listened. He couldn't believe his ears, nor himself for the sudden fondness he was feeling for Stalk the often kenku's sneaky, underhanded methods. But clearly, they were both the type to speak their minds and to take action when it was needed, whatever their misgivings. He had to commend him, for that if nothing else.

Meanwhile, Ren looked up, though his posture was still as curled-up as ever, as though he were hunching over in the hopes of hiding from something. "But what if he doesn't hear us out, Logan? We're all a bunch of strangers here-"

"Not anymore." Logan cut him off. "We're knights. Stalk and Finnan and Romain... even myself." He paused then, swallowing something in his throat. "Not to mention Arabella's a princess, and we have witnesses in Ren and Bree. Knights are committed to justice – to undo villainy and lay low the wicked. And I will not break my vows... not when I'm so close."

For a brief moment, he saw faces before his eyes. First, dead ones carved into sarcophagi in the depths of Frostpeak's crypts, laid out in rows amidst the dark blue stone and cold within and without. Then came two living ones – one with golden eyes, mature and strong as a mountain, and another surrounded by golden hair. A face that he'd known only for a few days, but had brought him here.

All of them were paladins. And so he had to do this. For Romain's sake... and his own.

But then something drew near, and the visions parted like shadows in sunlight as a pale grey face and white hair approached. Ren looked up at Logan, purple eyes wide and a hand gingerly touching his shoulder.

"So close to what, Logan?" the elf asked.

Logan's heart stuttered in his chest, alarm nicking at him like the tip of a dagger. Not enough to hurt, but just sharp enough to make him pause and realise Ren was there, and that all eyes were on him.

The pressure of this moment caught in his throat like a lump, stemming any trace of guilt.

"To... well, it doesn't matter," he managed to say stiffly. "What matters is that we need to do something, or no-one will know the truth. Everything we've worked for to help both Romain and Elsa will slide through our fingers like water."
He then paused, reaching for Sacrifice. "Besides, I have something else that might help us."

Every face in the room furrowed in confusion as he said that – even Technus. But those looks suddenly gave way to wide-eyed gapes of wonder as Logan touched the tip of his family blade to the ground and a beam of golden light ran the entire length of the sword, speeding to the ground like a lightning bolt.

And from there, radiant energy, scintillating white and yellow, formed into a glowing ring of runes, burning their sigils into the soil and illuminating the entire tent in wonder and holy power. Everyone save Logan watched wide-eyed as this disc appeared before them, while he only gave a small, proud smile before explaining.

"The Zone of Truth spell. No-one can lie while standing within its boundaries. And if King Charles orders it, Milton will have no choice but to step within the sigil and fess up to his crimes."

"And if he's not cheating, Logan?" Arabella asked him. "What if someone's putting him up to this, or if it's more complicated than we thought?"

Logan looked her way, fingers flexing on Sacrifice's hilt. "Then we'll know either way. But what Stalk and Finnan saw had convinced me that something's going on here – now we just need to convince His Majesty."

Arabella nodded, but then:

"Forgive my intrusion, but convince him of what?" came a voice with a Milisevran lilt. And at that very moment, as if on cue, the tent flap was pushed aside and Romain stepped in, the light of the Zone of Truth flashing both in the freshly-polished surface of his plate armour and his wide, wary eyes. Looking around the room, his brow furrowed and his mouth pulled into a dark straight line that was thick with disapproval.
"What's going on here?"

Taking a breath, Logan pulled Sacrifice from the floor, the circle of radiance instantly flashing as it did so before the light and runes dimmed and died away. "Romain, we've found out that Milton's team is cheating," he said as he stepped forward.

The instant he said that, Romain met his gaze dead-on, his skin draining of colour and his golden curls tossing as he briefly shook his head side-to-side. "What?" he asked, his eyes pinching while a small tremble in his voice – a sharp jolt of disbelief that made Logan's heart plummet in his chest.

But his friend had to know. Now more than ever.

"Arabella, Ren and Stalk's sister Warble saw the royal wizard Nilrem helping the Green Team in secret. He was hiding in the tents... the wind that kept striking up during the archery was his doing."

Romain's froze, his face falling and his eyes dropping to the floor. A long silence lingered before he finally replied with a single word.
"Impossible..." he hissed in a silent, deathly whisper.

"I know it seems insane, but Ren saw it with his own eyes. Not to mention Arabella saw that Nilrem created an imposter using a Hat of Disguise," he went on. "We think the Green Team were in on it because their archer seemed to know the wind was coming and waited for it to pass each time. Ren countered his magic, thankfully..."

Ren's mouth flickered into a smile, his eyes bright as stars as he began to beam proudly... only for the expression to vanish quicker than breath on a mirror as he looked Romain's way, for while one was gleeful, the other was growing gloomier by the second, his armour hands clenching into fists as he hung his head

"I don't believe it..." Romain, murmured through his dangling fringe.

Arabella then rose from where she sat, hands folded in front of her. "It's true, Romain..." she said softly. "But we-"

"N-no!" Romain said, eyes suddenly widening as he swung his arm in a wide arc. Glancing around, his features were creased with wrinkles and his teeth were suddenly bared as he shouted, "I don't believe it! And I don't care what's making you do this, Sir Logan – you, or any of you. But it stops this instant!"

His eyes and brandished forefinger pierced the air like ice-cold balance, and before anyone could say anything, the Milisevran had twisted and marched back out of the tent, something briefly glinted in his eyes as he strode off, armour rattling with each step and the fabric entrance jerking so harshly Logan thought it might tear as it was swatted aside.

"Romain, wait!" he called, advancing after him a few steps... only for his fellow paladin to keep striding off, his blonde hair shielding his face from view.

A few onlookers stared, but then abruptly returned to their own business, leaving Logan alone to watch Romain fade into the distance. After a moment, something shifted in the tail of his eye, and Logan glanced down to see Ren inching forward.

"What... what do we do now?" Ren asked, his worrisome expression all the worse as he glanced up at Logan. Worrisome... and saddened.

Giving a small sigh, Logan took a small pace forward and placed a hand on Ren's spindly shoulder. "I'll go and talk with Romain. Bring him around." He then turned to the others and said "The rest of you, do what you need to do. Arabella, see if you can meet with King Charles. Stalk and Finnan, do what you and the rest of the Seekers can to find more evidence. Anything at all."

A sea of nods and replies met his words. Only Technus seemed unflappable, his glassy, aloof gaze meeting Logan's with not a drop of faith, credence or confidence.

Whether he would help them in their mission was anyone's guess. But the cyborg's opinion didn't matter to Logan. They were past the point of no return, the hour for hesitance long past.

Whatever treacherous plot that knave Milton was weaving together, he would unravel to the final thread. The glory of this quest would not be stolen from him now.